FMS @RP2018: Tales from the Feed (Part 1)

It's 5.45am my time. I am somewhat tired and more than a bit boss-eyed. Alina's just been crowned Ms Rising Phoenix 2018, but it was the joyous 20-woman posedown before the prizes were handed out that led to my own - explosive - personal climax.

Finally, it's over.


Emcee Sarah Hurrle

Just over 12 hours earlier the live feed from the prejudging had started with the Fitness ladies' two-piece round. Not my favourite bit of a Fitness show - is it anybody's? - so initially at least I was only half-watching. I dipped into the chat. "Benjamin Harrison" (his first language probably not English) was ruling the roost there, his moronic comments ("What is this? Why we have to see Barbie show? We want FBBs!!!") didn't just put me off joining in the conversation, but ultimately everybody else too.


Cydney Gillon & Karen Reyes

Figure was next, I heard former Olympian and emcee Sarah Hurrle announce. OK, now you've got my undivided attention - if not Benjamin's. Unsurprisingly, Cydney Gillon looked - and proved to be - the class of the line-up, and she, together with the sultry Karen Reyes and the ripped Tracy Williams, had me reaching below the keyboard and fantasising I was in the front row for the first time on the day.



Bikini seemed to last an eternity, so I flicked around social media. Plenty already up from the previous day's check-in and meet-and-greet, plenty of make-up and hair done head shots. However, I clicked back to the feed quick snap when emcee Sarah addressed the crowd: OK you guys, are you ready to see some MUSCLE?!



You couldn't hear the crowd much on the feed - the music and Sarah's microphone very much dominated the soundscape - but this was one of those occasions when you could hear the cheers and whoops and whistles. Then the music started up again, and Michaela came out. After well over an hour, the first beautiful biceps, pecs, back, glutes, abs and thighs were flexed at the Arizona Pro. I sat back and let myself go. In all, 24 Physique Dreams of all ages shapes and sizes brought their muscle to the stage. I imagine the "guys" were impressed, but like I say, you couldn't hear them much.



The first callout had Michaela, Natalia and Jennifer Taylor at its centre. It looked close between them - not just to me, but more importantly to the judges, who had the ladies changing places during both the first callout and when the top 4 (those three plus defending champ Heather Grace) lined up again for a last callout. Meanwhile, Benjamin had piped down a bit after someone had pointed out to him there was actually a schedule so he shouldn't be too surprised about the running order.



The Physique Over 40s were going through their comparisons, and backstage a "still waiting!" Sheila passed the time taking selfies with Isabelle, Helle and Alina. I can't speak for Benny, but my own anticipation level was way past 11 by now. Tributes were paid to Tim Gardener, Jake Woods, and Lenda Murray, without whom etc. and Sarah worked the crowd a bit. Once again, she referred to the crowd as "guys", making me wonder if the Rising Phoenix audience really is just a bunch of obsessive drooling heads like me (but with better travel opportunites). Be sure to join us for the after party upstairs at the Chrome Night Club, Sarah said. Really?! Anyone can just go hang out?! For a moment, I imagined something pretty damn close to heaven...



And then it was time for the main event. A bit of bombastic build-up video (heavily featuring, I noted, Yaxeni, Irene Andersen, and Lisa Cross - none of whom were competing this year) and Benny Boy got his wish - the FBBs came thundering on.




It's such a rare treat to watch female muscle live, even rarer [once a year in fact! - ed.] to see the biggest and best of all. The gulf of size between them and even the biggest of the Physique women was obvious, and - to me, and I dare say to Benny Boy too - quite overwhelming. Gasping and moaning, I didn't know where to look as these beautiful beasts came out five at a time in alphabetical order for a round of initial comparisons.




Jill Blondn's epic, thrilling calves; Barbara Carità's posing top stretched to its absolute limit; Jay's huge quads - the way they have to walk because of their massive legs is in itself fascinating - and that semi-visible coming-together of strange crotch muscles only FBBs have; Tananarive Hue's apparently immense back muscles...




Maryse is just immense; Wendy's beautiful beefy British bum; Pauline Nelson's slow, sexy posing style takes me right to the edge; Virginia's massive arms keep me there...



By the time the first callout is announced, I'm in quite a state. The actual excitement of the competition brings me back above the keyboard though. As I watch, I type this:

Margie, Alina, Helle and Sheila in first callout
Plus Jill Blondin and Nicki Chartrand
Shocker is Helle is at the edge
Margie, Alina and Sheila in the middle
Helle and Jill kept there for 2nd callout plus Virginia
Helle no better than 5th?! Nicki Chartrand 4th maybe - well-deserved she looks great but Helle visibly shocked and Margie seemed to be shocked about it too



It seemed as though both Sheila and Alina had a genuine shout, and that one of the "Big Four" - Helle - wasn't actually going to be in the top 4. The women thundered off to very audible applause, cheers, whoops and whistles. That's all folks - for now.




I opened the chat box. Benny Boy had been typing too:

###############################################################################################################################ALINA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Only one winner for him then.

I checked out the social media updates, one hand back down below.



And realised I probably wasn't going to get much kip before the finals.

Tales from the Feed continues tomorrow.

(More) Summer Lovin': Stalker?

Saw "Not Emma Paveley" again today (time of writing). She's still got it, but this time it wasn't quite as exciting as previously (see Woman of the Week: NOT Emma Paveley, see Street of Joy, Street of Shame). Although I did one of my silent moans, for the very first time I resisted the urge to turn around and follow her (and her "normal" friend).

Now this may be because I've discovered a bit more self-control (as if!) but more likely it's because yesterday (again, time of writing) I sighted another muscular woman, a woman that "Not Emma" - for all her impressive muscularity - simply couldn't compete with. Probably the hardest, most ripped woman I have ever seen up close, and she was properly gorgeous - in a sultry Mediterranean way - too. There was zero debate in my head yesterday, just a voice, quickly rising to a kind of hysterical crescendo. "Oh my God! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!!!". I stared, I swooned, and I turned.

As she passed me I'd noticed a fair bit - olive skin, great round deltoids, huge flowing jet black hair, bicep veins, her powerful stride. All that in what must have been well under a second - I must have been gawping like a fool! She passed, I turned. I didn't walk after her, not at first anyway, I was kind of rooted. There was her super-tight bum in skin-tight black leggings, her angular calves, and - either side of her mane of hair - rear delts and lats twitching with every move she made. I may have moaned audibly.

She powered inside one of the shops further up the road from where I was, and only then did I start to zombie-walk towards her. New Look it turned out to be, not a shop I'd usually go into, but there I was. She was walking up the escalator to the upper floor I noticed, following the hair more than anything else. I paused, noticing that apart from a couple of bored looking boyfriends, I was the only guy in the shop, and even including the bored looking boyfriends, I was probably the only person over 30.

I stepped back towards the entrance and took stock. Despite all my protestations that at times like this I am not in my right mind, I was, apparently, fully aware of what I was doing on this occasion. She had to come out sooner or later, I reasoned, wouldn't it be better to position myself across the road and wait? I could hardly be seen snapping pics in the store - an older guy caught taking pics where young women shop... "Snap Perv Nabbed in New Look" would not be an easy headline to explain to the missus.

So I waited for her to come back out of the entrance, imagining that as I waited she was in the fitting room, trying on all sorts of revealing outfits, no doubt doing a bit of posing in the mirror, maybe the sight of her beautiful muscular body getting her a bit worked up. I imagined a lot. And I waited... And I waited... And I waited...

A full twenty minutes later I couldn't resist any longer and went back in. She wasn't on the ground floor, so I took the escalator up - turns out there's menswear upstairs, who knew? I could have gone up, looked at some ties or something. Fool! And then... OH MY GOD!!! I saw there was another entrance. Superfool! She was long gone.



To me it is totally inconceivable that I could be around a woman like that and not want to get a stalk on - even if some time later a wave of guilt stopped me. So, when I see some random dude in the back of a photo such as that of Australian WBFF deity Rach White, I can't help but project all my stalker tendencies onto him.

Look! There's nobody else in the gym. In my experience, that means it's either very early, or very late. Coincidence that he's there when she's there? Coincidence he just happens to be looking up as she proudly displays her beautiful rock hard muscle body in the mirror? Coincidence my arse! He's perving on her, and I don't blame him.

And he's doing a good job at keeping his subject in sight!

But I could be wrong. Maybe he just has a busy schedule, has to work out late (or early), and though he might be having a look, he might be admiring Rach, it doesn't mean he's planning how best to position himself to snap a cheeky secret pic later.

I could be wrong...

Enjoy!

(More) Summer Lovin' continues next week.

Street of Joy, Street of Shame

FRIDAY, 20th JULY

The radar goes off. It's HER...

Having seen her relaxing at lunchtime - twice - (see "NOT Emma Paveley"), I had continued to stalk the park near where I'm working after the 5th, but to no avail. By the 12th - when I made the post - I'd stopped making the park the only place I'd go for lunch, and pretty much given up on the idea that I would run into her again.

Suddenly, though, there she was - shoulders and all, unmistakable in a pink workout top - across the road and slightly behind me, and heading in the same direction.

Heart pounds, adrenaline rushing, dry-mouthed... The whole bit, full-on MADNESS!

What happens next I am not especially proud of - perhaps writing about it has become, on some level, the penance I have to pay for it. In my defence, however, I will say that looking back it feels like I was, for those few minutes at least, actually out of my mind.

Without thinking, I stop and watch her. She's maybe 10 metres away at first, and then crossing the road I watch her - attempting to be subtle, probably just gawping - move towards me. It's the first time I've seen her walk, and though she doesn't have the swagger I expected, she is a sight to behold. It's also the first time I've really seen her from front on, seen how muscular her chest is - how her pecs go right up to her collarbone, proper pec line, very little breast as far as I can tell. Oh SWOON!

I don't recall if I gasped or not, seeing as I was in a public place it may have been a silent, inward gasp, probably followed by a silent, inward moan for good measure...

She's maybe three or four metres away now and slightly ahead of me. I set off after her, as though yanked into motion by an invisible rope, and I follow. I notice she's with a friend, a "normal" friend, who except for the fact she's wearing a (long) skirt, is covered up. She, on the other hand, is proudly exposing delts, lats and arms in her vest, and her tight leggings reveal her shapely legs - strong hams, full calves.

Gazing at her, watching her move, I'm in ecstasy. I can see the unicorn and I am utterly overwhelmed. Without thinking for a moment that it isn't the right thing to do, I get my phone, open the camera, hold it close to my chest and snap snap snap.

Then suddenly I realise that imaginary invisible rope around her narrow waist has got quite short. She's slowed, and as I've tried to close the gap and get as good a look as I can I'm not much more than a metre behind her. Skin, a glowing, healthy tan and for the first time I see half a tat poking out just under her right delt, and her shoulders and triceps ripple as she raises an arm to point out something in a shop window...

The voice in my head screams - DUDE!!! - if I don't stop or turn or something I am literally going to walk right into her, but just in time I veer off to the shop window opposite, watching her reflection. Silent, inward gasp; silent, inward moan.

They move off and I follow - snap snap snap - down the narrow lane. I see men and women coming the other way notice her. One or two really notice her. Do they feel what I'm feeling? Do they turn and walk behind her behind me? Snap snap snap.

Looking at some of the pics later she looks like a different species altogether. A shining, sculpted and sexy superior being in a crowd of bland, shapeless bodies. Am I, I wonder, one of the bland, shapeless bodies in another person's surreptitious snap?

As it always seems to do, the Madness lifts without warning.

I see myself - stalking, secretly filming - and am appalled. No gasp now, no moan (well, perhaps just a little one), but a silent, inward apology. Forgive me, I whisper to her. I couldn't help myself. You're just so... A final, lingering look and I let her go.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't spend some quality time with the pics over the following few days, and I'd also be lying if I said I haven't regretted deleting them more than once since. But I still don't trust myself, I don't trust that I'd be able to resist posting them here, or even resist sharing them elsewhere. You get a lot of kudos on the forums for these sorts of pics, kudos that rightly belongs to her - whoever she is - for building the kind of body that made me lose my mind - again - on that hot hot hot July afternoon.

Summer Lovin': My Summer of Shannon

"The Summer of Shannon" began back at the Jr USAs at the start of May. Though she was runner-up in her class, she didn't win her pro card, but she did make quite an impression. "Never really noticed her before but..." posts went up all over. The body, yes, but the majority actually mainly emphasised her beauty. And her smile.



Suddenly she was everywhere.

A shoot for Muscle Angels with Annie followed; another with James Cook for FTVideo (Rivieccio Mrs and Mr). Sean Nelson, schmotographer extraordinaire, worked with her, and so did Her Biceps - the one site that had noticed Shannon last year - again.



At the same time, clips of Shannon's cam shows started to appear in some of the murkier parts of the FBB lovin' world. Places where you only need to subscribe (for no charge) to a particular user who has such things in order to get to see them.



She smiles a lot while she's doing her shows as well - the clips I've seen anyway. Apparently, Shannon truly does love showing off her muscles. Not for her the stock-in-trade sultriness of so many other performers. Instead, Shannon does joy.



She can - perhaps archly so - be somewhat coy at times, and she's not completely uninhibited (if you expect your performer to dangle it in front of camera for you, you'll be disappointed). But at the same time she knows which parts are her best parts, flexes slow, hard and long, and seems completely unable to keep her hands off herself for more than a few seconds. She also does great lingering, passionate bicep kissing - the best I've seen since Dena (best ever) would regularly give her own a big wet one.



She says all the right things too, "I wanted you to see me with a little more definition before my show..." and so on, an attitude always guaranteed to get me wondering which card the wife is least likely to notice I've topped up the HBCam credits with.



With more photo shoots to come, and - I hope - more cam show recordings as well, "The Summer of Shannon"... OK, "MY Summer of Shannon" looks set to run and run.



Especially if the wife doesn't notice that payment...



shanisfierce on Instagram

Summer Lovin' will be back later in the summer.

Summer Lovin': Summer of C. Moore

Today's slice of Summer Lovin' is brought to you by none other than our long-time irregular contributor, and one-time temporary editor Mr. C. Moore Glootz.



IT'S HOT



It really is. Temps climbing to high 20s now heading for the mid 30s. Even at night C. Moore tosses and sweats. Day time sojourns out into the bright light have been risky to say the least. On the one hand, C. Moore is nothing less than ecstatic to see the ladies of London showing off toned bodies. On the other, temptation all around is not good for C. Moore. Never has been. Self-control has been set to maximum at all times.



Well, maybe not all times.

LASTING DAMAGE



Armed with shaky phone video of some tight cheeks in shorts so short they hardly qualified as such, C. Moore stumbles through the front door and hooks the phone up to his big (worship) screen. Moments later - literally, I only shot about 15 seconds worth of footage and never made it halfway - it's all over. Barely got it into my hand before the eruption began. A climax, yes, but a bit of an anti-climax all the same.



This has turned out to be a recurring issue.

THE EDGE OF THE MADNESS I



All that flesh out there + all the images in here (on the big worship screen - slideshows running on those rare occasions when I absolutely have to get out of my (big worship) chair) means C. Moore is never getting a break so C. Moore is always on edge.



Consequently, C. Moore has been locked and loaded at all times, and has lacked the pleasure of a good long session in the (big worship) chair recently. Either he's come back from outside all worked up (and possibly armed with images still and/or moving that he really shouldn't be armed with), or he's heading out all worked up from indulging too much in his hobby and needs to release quick so as to minimise the risk of the kind of incident all too characteristic of his past occurring again.

THE EDGE OF THE MADNESS II



C. Moore has not been aided in his quest for restraint by the fact that after six long years of trying and failing, a gym - not a very local one, but reasonably near to home - has granted him membership, although technically membership has been granted to a "Mr. Phil Butt". C. Moore has not yet dared to enter its confines as yet, but it's left his imagination running wild regarding what glooteal delights may await within.



When I do go, I'm taping it down and taking a diazepam first.

SUMMER LOVIN'



Still, C. Moore should not complain. Long, hot summer nights fly by with - to name but two of my most recent favourites - Joanna Jean at the pool, intimidating the women, tentpoling the men; and Krista Dunn's unnaturally tight, contest ready rear.



JBW may not be showing much actual gloot flesh, but it's hardly covered. C. Moore can't help but imagine himself following as she sashays up those stairs, pausing to strip a little more every other step. In the fantasy, C. Moore lasts all night. Reality, more's the pity, little C. Moore blows even before the fantasy reaches the bedroom.

GAZE UPON THE FACE OF GOD (OR SOMETHING)

And if you make it to the end, you're a stronger man than C. Moore!



Tape and diazepam, definitely.

Normal service resumes tomorrow.