For the majority of guys, ‘Will this be the night?’ doesn’t mean what it means to the Female Muscle Head. I, and maybe you as well, dear reader, have, on occasion, wondered as you get ready whether tonight will be the night when you walk into the venue and come face to face with your fantasy. Just me? Didn’t think so.
I don’t expect that the kind of social gatherings I frequent will be the same as, say, Alina Popa, but by the law of averages, if you go to enough parties, sooner or later you’ll run into a muscular woman somewhere. And as we tend to go out a bit more than usual over the Christmas and New Year holidays, surely this must be the best time of year for a little female muscle spotting.
Unfortunately, I can’t say that’s been true in my case. I’ve seen a lot more toned, muscular women in clubs in Spain, Berlin, Budapest and Prague than I have on cold December nights in London. But that doesn’t mean I’ve ever lost that sense of anticipation before the night begins, and I don’t think I ever will.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not deluded enough to imagine that I’m going to walk into a party and end up having Katka Kyptova flash her abs at me or Nataliya Romashko ask me whether I fancy ‘getting out of here and really having some fun’, but it is nice to dream, isn’t it?
As a fan of female muscle, a lot of my time is spent fantasising (as you’ve probably guessed if you’re a regular reader!), so I guess because of that the habit of dreaming about the night ahead comes naturally. And, like the time between buying the lottery ticket and checking the results, the time between getting ready to go out and arriving at the venue is when you can anticipate the possibility of what might be.
Imagine walking into this party and seeing Monica Mowi all glammed up and throwing shapes on the dance floor. Do you just find an advantageous vantage point from which to ogle her all night, or do you just go for it and join in the horseplay with the other guys? Take the first way and you just spend the night staring at her with a funny look on your face as ‘The Madness’ consumes you. The problem with the second option is that the guy she’s fooling around with is her old friend, whereas you’re just some bloke she’s never met. Moments after you start licking her leg for real, you find yourself back in the street with bits of you still attached to the door you’ve just been thrown through.
Just being in the same place, then, might not quite be the fantasy we’re looking for. Infinitely better would be if the muscular woman was with, but not involved with, someone you know. That way you get an introduction, a reason to position yourself in her vicinity, and an instant ice-breaker (‘So, how do you know…?) You might want to take a picture of the group, or just your friend and her, and so on. Gold.
But being able to get to know her a bit does depend on your ability to hold it together. Remember to look at her face when you’re talking to her. Remember to breathe. And try not to shake too much or salivate too obviously. And don’t ask a woman like Erica Cordie if she works out. Ask her if she’s going away for New Year or something and invite her to spend it with you and some friends at your Alpine chalet. If she accepts you might have to buy one or come up with a convincing story about an avalanche before New Year itself and then apologise with a champagne ride on the London Eye and a carriage ride through Hyde Park, but what have you got to lose?
Am I really the only one who has these thoughts? At the risk of sinking deeper than ever in your estimation, in the time-honoured Mastermind tradition, I’ve started so I’ll finish…
Club nights are all well and good, but I’m not getting any younger so I tend to go out to more dinner parties than anything else these days. And actually, instead of lessening my anticipation levels, going to smaller, more private gatherings makes me even more excited at the prospect of finding a muscular woman at the same table.
All the advantages of meeting one in your group at a club (and all the same dos and don’ts) plus the added advantage of a more intimate setting. And good friends that they are, the hosts have placed her right next to me. Would such a setting improve my chances of holding it together? Probably not, but this is my fantasy so let’s say I do and spend the evening basking in her healthy glow as she laughs at my self-deprecating humour, shows genuine interest in my thoughtful analyses of world issues, and ends the evening by insisting we swap numbers.
And I guess the only thing that could be better than turning up at a Christmas or New Year do and finding a genuinely muscular woman would be…
… two (or, let’s be greedy and say three) of them!
However, there is downside to having female muscles at a party. Not for us, dear reader, naturally, there is nothing I wish more for you than for your dream to come true this Christmas season. No downside for us, but spare a thought for the other women at the party.
They’ve spent more time and effort on getting ready than you can probably imagine. They’ve gone through excruciating pain to have their body hair removed, sat for an hour breathing in toxic fumes while their nails were done, and religiously applied the gradual tanning cream rated number one by their favourite woman’s mag. Buying their outfit took about a week out of their life. Accessories were considered and discarded until the perfect look was achieved. They, like you, have had their hair done, but unlike you it cost them about a week’s wages. And just before they left the house they tried on every pair of shoes they own before deciding on the killer heels they always wear when they want to look their best.
And it’s all going rather well. Her friends are telling her how great she looks. Some of the guys here would do very nicely and a couple of the better-looking ones have checked her out. And then, without warning, this gorgeous, perfect Amazonian creature arrives whose mere presence steals not only all her thunder, but also the thunder of every other woman in the room.
‘I’d always thought a female bodybuilder would look masculine, but all dressed up she was every inch a woman, and a beautiful woman at that. There was no competing with her. She was the most gorgeous creature in the room. And she knew it.’
Far from being another product of my imagination, the above quote comes from a thread on Yahoo Answers about the wisdom of inviting a muscular woman to a party: ‘Should I invite my personal trainer?’ And plenty of answers it has. And not one of them recommends it ‘unless you want to be a wallflower at your own party’. It seems there are plenty of women out there ready to share their experience of suffering in comparison to a muscle goddess at parties.
‘Everybody, and I mean everybody just gasped when she walked in. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. There was this incredible aura about her that demanded attention. With a big smile on her face and she looked around, obviously enjoying the shock she had caused.’
‘The outfit she was wearing exposed her entire midriff. A perfect six-pack. I felt so self-conscious. Me and the other girls spent the entire evening pulling in our tummies while our partners drooled over her. It was awful.’
‘I tried to pretend she wasn’t there but all night you’d hear these gasps of amazement from the crowd of men around her so you’d turn round and she’d be flexing one of her muscles for them. It was months (and a lot of sweat) later before I could stand naked in front of my husband again.’
In fact, Swell gets the distinct impression that ‘Inviting a Muscle Woman’ will start making an appearance in the ‘Top 10 Xmas Party No-nos’ before long. Having read the responses, it’s clear that being made to feel distinctly frumpy is not the only worry a party hostess might have when there’s a muscle babe in her house nibbling her vol-au-vents and drinking her Merlot.
‘I don’t think I even invited her personally – she works at the reception where I go to spinning, so she must have come with someone from the gym. My daughter spent the entire night kissing bits of her as she flexed, and the next morning confessed over breakfast that she thought she was bi. A wonderful Christmas present. Not!’
‘Her and her boyfriend just took over the party and basically put on a sex show right in my lounge, dancing while touching and licking each others’ muscles. Then their clothes started coming off. The men at the party obviously enjoyed it, they certainly looked like they were. When I asked them to tone it down a bit she asked me if I wanted to join in. I was flabbergasted. She was clearly on something.’
Why wasn’t I invited?
So now we know why they’re thinking in those glamour pics, what exactly that little smile on their face is all about. Like the female muscle addict, the muscular female is anticipating the night ahead. A night she knows she will rule.
Happy partying!
I love when a muscular woman gets all glamorous and sexy... Wow!
ReplyDeleteI'd love to be at one of those parties, that's for sure!