Size Matters: Super Freaks

If there is a socially-acceptable reason why a woman has well-developed muscles (she's an athlete, a dancer or a gymnast, for example), the mainstream don't have a problem. But a woman who has muscles just for the sake of having muscles is labelled 'a freak' (or something less polite perhaps). Remember the outcry about Cameron Diaz and her 'muscles' (see older post) and then imagine what kind of abuse a picture of your average national level bodybuilder can expect from anonymous web users.

But some female bodybuilders take it a stage further. Put your avarage national level amateur FBB next to a 'normal' woman and the difference is striking. But some female bodybuilders look massive even compared to their peers in the sport. Even among the 'freaks' they look freaky.

I remember seeing  Pumping Iron II for the first time. Nothing in my sordid teenage female muscle lovin' imagination had prepared me for the sight of Bev Francis. And although she appears in the film right from the start, two scenes with her are seared into my memory. The first, just before the contest, when she is showing off her legs in her hotel room to some of the other competitors. The second is when she takes the stage and starts her posing routine, bronzed, ripped and more massive than I had ever imagined a woman could be. Truly, an 'unprecedented woman'. Surely, I thought then, there will never be anyone as big as Bev again.

But women lke Christine Envall, Colette Guimond, Rene Toney and others have pushed the boundaries even further.




Often the biggest woman is the crowd favourite at shows, but these super-freaks rarely end up with the first prize. Being the most muscular woman in a sport that is supposed to be all about developing muscles does not guarantee the highest rewards. The mainstream label them 'disgusting' or 'abhorrent', and even fans of female muscle accuse them of 'taking it too far'.




So what drives them? Is it what Rene Campbell has called 'bigorexia'? Do they simply love having such uniquely muscular bodies? I like to think it is rooted in a refusal to conform to societal norms and to ever-changing judging criteria. 'I'm going to be the most muscular woman on that stage, perhaps the most muscular woman in the world, and to hell with you if you don't like it!'




Personally, I can't help but admire such an attitude. And although Denise Hoshor and Gina Davis, big but obviously still feminine, are my absolute favourite female bodybuilders, I can't deny that from time to time only the super-freaky women with her mountains of pure female muscle beef will satisfy my female muscle cravings. It's rather like a marijuana smoker who occasionally needs an opium pipe!



Where will it end? How big can a woman potentially be? In my copy of Richard Dawkins' book The Greatest Show on Earth, there is a picture of a female bodybuilder on stage, hitting an impressive rear double biceps. Dawkins uses bodybuilders (in general, not just females) as an example of how the genes we are given can be moulded to extremes within extremely short periods of time. In the case of male and female bodybuilders this is achieved by pumping iron and taking various substances. For female bodybuilders the moulding process is greater, as their genes are not as naturally prone to developing large muscles as a male bodybuilder's are.



Next to the picture of the FBB is one of a Belgian Blue, a breed of cow. This animal's genes have been so interfered with by humans that it develops huge muscles 'naturally'. Specifically, a hormone called myostatin, which limits muscle growth, has been 'turned off' by generations of selective breeding. What results is a cow which pretty much looks like it's been taking steroids and pumping iron.



Is this, perhaps, the next stage then? Myostatin restricting drugs for humans may be being developed right now (or for all I know already exist). Does this mean that there is therefore no theoretical limit to the muscles a woman can develop? Will the female bodybuilders of the future look like something from the imagination of a digital artist like Tigersan?



And if it really is true that there is no limit in theory to the muscular development a woman can have, we can only conclude that in the future the muscles of today's super-freaks like Christine, Colette and Rene might seem quite tame!

Size Matters: After the Workout

Spend a little time casting your eye over the muscular goddess above. Notice, if you will, her veins, expanded to their limit, pulsating as they carry the blood her arm muscles crave. Observe the arm and shoulder muscles, engorged to their full glory, fully pumped. Now, take a minute to gaze upon her chest. See the nipples, bullet-like, straining the fabric of her T-shirt. Is her pumped body turning you on? Do you think she's turned on by being so pumped up?

It probably won't surprise you that my answer to both questions is a resounding 'Yes!' And in today's installment of Size Matters, FMS is going to give full rein to one of my biggest muscle fantasies. I like to call it...

After the Workout

You met her a few weeks ago, just about holding it together and keeping your eyes on her face while you spoke. A muscle goddess in your gym! And a muscle goddess who was happy to exchange numbers with you. You haven't missed a workout since. You can't get out of the office quick enough. Rush home, rush out again, and by the time you've changed and are leaving the locker room your mind is in a frenzy, your mouth is dry. Will she be there today?

Sometimes she isn't, but you're working out with a new sense of purpose now. You're also being super careful with your diet, and your intake of creatine is probably a little higher than it should be. You've even had your hair done. And it's all worth it when she is there. Now it's not always you who instigates the conversation. She's coming over to you as often as you go over to her. You can't sleep for thinking about going to the gym again, about seeing her again.

Then, one Friday afternoon at work you get a picture message. It's her, after her workout. There's an address and a simple instruction: COME NOW. You don't even bother making an excuse to your boss. You just go.

She buzzes you in and opens the door. The sight of her fully-pumped in her workout gear takes away what little breath you have left. Her body has you in a trance-like state and you automatically reach out to touch her, but she grabs your hand gently but firmly and leads you in, sitting you down then stepping back so you can admire her. Your eyes can't focus properly though, they dart from muscle to muscle, from bicep to thigh, from her abs to her shoulders.

I'm going to pose for you, she says. Then you'll have your chance to feel my pumped up muscles. It is the first time either of you has spoken since you arrived, and her words have magically broken your trance. Your breathing slows again and now you can take her all in at once. She is magnificent. Your female muscle fantasy made flesh. It is then you realise you have an erection so full it is aching. It is not an unpleasant feeling at all.

As she starts to pose you get a rush of adrenaline so big you think you might pass out. Your pulsating cock is being so greedy with your blood you are becoming light-headed. As if sensing this, she speaks again, once more breaking the spell. I can see you are enjoying your private posing show, she says with a smile and a wink. Why don't you get those trousers off before your cock rips them open? You blush and you obey.

When later you think back to what happened during the rest of your time with your muscle goddess, you recall not just visual images but full sensory experiences.

You kneel before her and put your arms around her mighty thighs. You feel the muscle pulse as if it were a living organism in its own right so that when you close your eyes and lay your head against it it's as if the beat you hear were the beat of the heart of that individual muscle.

You open your eyes and look up. You can smell her moist sex, and you reach up and run your fingers across her abdomen. You touch her smooth skin and feel the hard ridges of muscle beneath. You can hear her breathing becoming faster and deeper.

You worship and pleasure her. She is insatiable, and you are her tool. Her shuddering orgasms seem to get conducted out of her body and through yours, shaking you to the core as you explore her hard, vascular body.

The first night passes in wave after wave of ecstasy, your body bucking uncontrollably as she forces load after load out of your throbbing cock. Skin, oil, muscle, sweat combine and you can barely focus anymore, just smell, touch and taste.

You finally lose consciousness and drift into a long deep sleep. When you awake she is there, waiting. And you simply begin again. Time, and the outside world and your everyday life mean nothing.

All there is is her. Nothing else exists. You explore every inch of her. She poses in the mirror, admiring herself and watching you worship her at the same time. Every vein, every striation. You tell yourself to remember every detail. You never want to forget. You trace the outlines of her muscles with your fingers and your tongue. When you press them there is no give whatsoever. They are stone, granite.

When finally she tells you to go, there is no sense of disappointment. She has milked you dry. Blissfully you make your way home, floating through the streets.

And you dream of her that night, and for many many nights after. You dream of her body, of her muscles and her scent, of her enlarged clitoris and how it felt in your mouth, and of the strength of her grip around your erection.

You find when you awake that it is Monday. Like a robot, you begin your routine. On your way to work the women you see barely register, and you realise you have been changed forever. You can't pretend anymore. You have known a goddess and now mortal women will never satisfy you. But this insight does not down-hearten you though. It's better to have loved a muscle women once than to never have loved a muscle woman at all.


Oooof! I need a lie-down after that. More Size Matters tomorrow!

Size Matters: Shock and Awe

I've only ever seen one top female bodybuilder in public. Many years ago, Andrulla Blanchette passed me in Dean St. in the West End of London. Unfortunately for me, it being London in winter, Andrulla was fully wrapped-up and not one inch of her magnificent body was on display. She was also walking very fast and passed me in a flash. In fact, it did take me a moment to realise it really was her. It was over before it began, and pretty far from my fantasy of what a female bodybuilder in public would be like to see.

Brigita Brezovac

This is much more like it! In your face, muscles on display (and what muscles!), and plenty of members of the public there to shock and awe. Gold!

Helle Nielsen

In pictures like this one, and the one above, when I've taken in the goddess on view, I always find time to check the reactions of the other people in the picture. Has their jaw dropped as they are transfixed by the vision before them? Are they really looking away, or just pretending? How would I react? How would you?

Aleesha Young

Let's take this picture and imagine we are there. You've just noticed you are on the same street as a bona fide divinity. What do you do next? Are you drawn towards her? I know I would be. 'The Madness' would descend, my pulse would quicken, my blood would rise. And although I am ashamed to say it, if I'm honest, I would probably just surreptitiously start following her. I know, I know, it's creepy.

Tammy Jones

And I'm aware that 'the madness' can do this to me. It can turn me into someone I'd rather not be and make me do things I'd rather not do. But at the same time, the feeling is addictive. I don't get such adrenaline rushes every day. So I'd keep following, feeling both ecstatic and shameful, following for as long as I could without giving myself away.

Jana Linke Sippl (the only JLS I'm interested in listening to)

In an ideal world, I'd like to be able to approach her, complement her on her physique, and ask if I can take a couple of photos. In an ideal world, she'd willingly oblige, and I wouldn't shake so much with the excitement of it all that I would actually get some good snaps. Then, I'd go about my business. But this would suggest that I have some kind of control over my female muscle lust, and that, dear reader, is quite obviously NOT the case!

Gillian Kovack

So I'd like to apologise in advance for my behaviour if I'm ever lucky enough to run into a female bodybuilder in public. The urge to stalk is not something I can control. And that's not an excuse, I just offer it by way of explanation. On that hypothetical day when I see you, hypothetical goddess, the effect you'll have on me will be so powerful that I simply won't be acting like myself.

Elena Oana Hreapca
wonders who that creep who's been following her and taking pictures is.


Enjoy! More sizeable women tomorrow...

Size Matters: In the Gym

Although steroids undeniably play their part, you could slip your girlfriend as many anabolics and as much testosterone as your bank balance would allow, force feed her chicken, broccoli and sweet potato five times a day, and she still wouldn't end up looking anything like Angie Salvagno.




Bodies like Angie's are the result of hours and hours spent pushing, pulling and lifting the kinds of weights that would cripple most men. Achieving the physique of a goddess requires time, dedication, discipline and an unimaginable amount of sheer bloody-minded effort.

So, just in case there was anybody out there forgetting this, FMS would like to offer a selection of its favourite snaps of big girls lifting heavy. A homage to the grunts, the grimaces, the gritted teeth, and the determination it takes to break through the pain barrier day after day, week after week, year after year and forge a body that is truly exceptional. Ready to smell the female muscle sweat? Thought so!




















Enjoy! And tune in tomorrow for more big girls!