I'm always on the lookout for female muscle, but rarely do I see it. Not real muscle.
But a few weeks ago, as the summer still lingered here in the UK, I got a rare treat as I took a lunchtime stroll in the sunshine and bagged an eyeful of proper female muscle.
The street wasn't crowded, but even if it had been she would have stood out. Tall, in a white vest with a Kennedy Ledgerwood blond quiff shaved at the sides. Just from the neck up she was striking, but there was no mistaking the muscle. And she had that aura too, that vitality, that confidence, that power which every one of the handful of muscle woman I've had the pleasure of seeing has radiated. She had it in spades.
And she was carrying... a take-away pizza.
Not exactly what I would expect, but there you go.
She was on the other side of the street, or more accurately, the lane. You know the sort of thing, narrow and cobbled and you find it in the old part of the city. It's more or less pedestrianised, but businesses need their deliveries, though vehicles are few and far between. Boutiques, barbers, coffee shops and bistros on either side. And she was in no hurry, it seemed, and I got a good look at her shoulders and back as she looked into the window of one of the establishments on the other side from me. Heart rate rising rapidly, I don't hesitate for a moment. I pass her then double back, crossing the road.
She moves slowly away from one shop window and onto the next. Closer to her now I can see how tall she is compared to the few people who pass her coming towards me and then I see the heels. They are not small, but those legs are not just shapely but long too, and the overall effect with the broad shoulders and the slim waist is mesmerising. She's wearing jeans, but images of her calves and quads and glutes popping as she walks across a contest stage in a posing suit and those heels go flashing through my mind.
Not a Bodybuilder bodybuilder. A Bodyfitness/Figure amount of muscle, and that (what with even the Bikini ladies growing more muscular these days) puts her comfortably into the top 5 most muscular women I've seen with my own eyes!
By now I'm doing that thing where I'm walking so slowly to maintain a reasonable distance that I'm pretending to look in the shop windows, I'm pretending to check my phone for messages, I'm looking about pretending I'm trying to remember where that little cafe with the great coffee was... But mostly my eyes are all over her.
The vest is pretty modest, but offers a tantalising glimpse of her back. She's tanned, but not unsubtlely, and there's some real definition there. Her shoulders are on full display, so much more rounded, more curvaceous than your average woman, and - I think I may have audibly gasped at this point - they twitch and ripple as she moves.
Overcome by The Madness I find myself uncomfortably close to her all of a sudden.
I walk past her, then double back once more. I simply must see her front on.
When I turn, she's stopped her ambling and is now heading purposefully in my direction. Cobbles, I believe, are not the surface of choice for women in heels but this goddess is positively striding, and what a sight she is to behold. I can see her arms now as well as her shoulders, her biceps, a vein running along each one, inadvertently flexing as she holds her pizza box with both hands. I'm breathless as she gets closer, I'm not even pretending - or have lost the ability to pretend - I'm doing anything else but look at her, but I do manage to make sure it's her face I'm looking at as she passes.
She has slightly drawn, angular features and the strong jaw that suggest she takes her muscle building more seriously than just weights and shakes and chicken breasts. Clear, bright eyes. Simple but effective make-up. No great beauty in the conventional sense, but her face is just as radiant as the rest of her. A strong, muscular beauty.
I did look down as we passed. And I did observe a clear pec line running through the centre of her unenhanced, pure muscle chest meat. Did I see striations? Now, I'm not so sure, but for days afterwards as I recalled this moment, I saw striations in my mind's eye. I swooned then, and I'm swooning again now thinking about her, about the rush, the high, and those twitching delts and the veins along her biceps.
Should I double back again and follow her? The very fact that the thought came to me as a question rather than a compulsion signalled the end of this female muscle encounter. I stayed where I was, and turned and watched her go out of sight. And only then did I realise that she had had someone with her. A guy, a good six inches shorter than her and built like a powerlifter (or at least that's how he looked to me from behind). Off to enjoy that pizza with his tall, sexy muscle woman.
It would be a lie if I said I was not ever so slightly jealous of him.
Or that my head was 100% focused on my work that afternoon.
Now, after a few weeks I can look back and think about her and at the same time picture myself and how I behaved, I can only marvel once more at the power these women have over me (us). I mean, there I was, thinking that I'd cracked this Madness thing with maturity and marriage and all that. I was delusional. All it took was a glimpse of some real muscle and The Madness struck me, just as powerful and terrible and yet, at the same time, glorious as ever. I was so high I didn't come down for a week.
And I guess that's why I've never been interested in a cure.
Showing posts with label Spotted. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spotted. Show all posts
Saturday, 15 October 2016
Saturday, 7 June 2014
Muscle in Tesco (!)
Here at FMS, we love hearing about your real life female muscle experiences, and we love it even more when you give us permission to go ahead and make a post out of your story. Today, a UK reader tells of a recent sighting in an unexpected place...
I only had a few things in my basket so I went to the tobacco counter where the queue wasn't so long. To be honest, the girl at the checkout there was pretty nondescript. I hardly noticed her as I waited my turn, nor as she scanned my items. When she had emptied the basket, I went to grab it and place it on top of the stack next to the counter. As I went to pick it up, I found it was stuck. Or I thought it was stuck anyway. It wouldn't move. Then I realised she was holding the other side of the basket and that was why I couldn't move it. I mean, I really couldn't move it at all.
She said, "That's OK, sir, I'll take it."
I don't know why, but I didn't let go. It sounds ridiculous, and I guess it seemed kind of ridiculous if you were looking at us, but I just kind of stood there resisting her. I was getting off on feeling her strength pulling the basket away from me.
I didn't let go, but suddenly she had the basket in her hand and was putting it down behind the counter there. I'm not the strongest guy in the world, but I'm no wimp. And she had pulled it right out of my grasp. Effortlessly.
The older guy who was working the counter with her said something like, "Don't bother mate, she's stronger than you." Took a moment for me to register he was talking to me. Honestly, I can't remember what I said back. I think I mumbled something about how I'd just wanted to put it down on the stack next to me, to save her the trouble. I was just so IMPRESSED by what she had just done.
"You don't want to get into a tug of war with me," she said. And as she said it, she flexed her arm. Right there in front of my eyes. BANG!
Unfortunately she must be some kind of supervisor or something cos she had a blue jacket on over the blue short-sleeved shirt most of the assistants wear in Tesco. She only held the pose for maybe a couple of seconds. Maybe less. Over before it began kind of thing. But I had seen her bicep through her jacket. The Madness! There was most definitely a muscle under there. She's put me into a trance. My eyes were probably popping out of my head. I probably looked a right idiot.
Late 30s maybe, but hard to tell. She has the look of a woman whose life has not been easy so looks older than she is. Ginger hair tied back, pale complexion. No stunner, but more than just plain. Clear skin and nice blue eyes.
"Sir? Sir?!"
How long had I just been standing there staring at her?!
"That's £8.53. Do you have a Clubcard?"
I pulled my card out of my wallet. I was shaking a bit from the rush and had a bit of trouble finding the slot. She reached out and held the card reader steady for me and I noticed a vein running up from her wrist, disappearing under the cuff of her jacket.
I get a picture in my mind of her lean body. There's not an ounce of extra fat on her, just muscle and veins all over. More adrenaline!
Somehow, I remember my PIN and punch it in. As she tears off my receipt and hands it to me I'm still transfixed by that vein but I take my shopping and start to head out.
"Sir? Sir?! Your card!"
I was so out of it I had left it in the reader and had to go back and take it from her. She probably thought I was drunk or stoned or something. I thanked her. Smiled - or at least that's what I think I did, who knows what stupid look I had on my face. I was rushing. 100% female muscle high. Dazed, you know.
This was about a week ago. Of course I've been back! Not stalking her or anything, it's the second most convenient supermarket from the office!!! Seen her a couple of times doing her supervisor thing, always wearing her jacket. She's tiny. Can't be more than an inch or two over five foot, and real petite. Like I said, lean. Like she could have done some distance running at school or something. Seems kind of energetic as well. Not your average Zombie-like supermarket worker. She kind of fizzes around.
Can't wait for it to get hot. Hot enough for the supervisors to take off their jackets! Bet she has some big fat veins on those arms. I'll keep you posted.
We look forward to it!
And if you would like to get in touch about any female muscle sightings of your own, wherever you are in the world, please drop me an email: 6ft1swell@gmail.com.
Enjoy, and happy female muscle spotting!
I only had a few things in my basket so I went to the tobacco counter where the queue wasn't so long. To be honest, the girl at the checkout there was pretty nondescript. I hardly noticed her as I waited my turn, nor as she scanned my items. When she had emptied the basket, I went to grab it and place it on top of the stack next to the counter. As I went to pick it up, I found it was stuck. Or I thought it was stuck anyway. It wouldn't move. Then I realised she was holding the other side of the basket and that was why I couldn't move it. I mean, I really couldn't move it at all.
She said, "That's OK, sir, I'll take it."
I don't know why, but I didn't let go. It sounds ridiculous, and I guess it seemed kind of ridiculous if you were looking at us, but I just kind of stood there resisting her. I was getting off on feeling her strength pulling the basket away from me.
I didn't let go, but suddenly she had the basket in her hand and was putting it down behind the counter there. I'm not the strongest guy in the world, but I'm no wimp. And she had pulled it right out of my grasp. Effortlessly.
The older guy who was working the counter with her said something like, "Don't bother mate, she's stronger than you." Took a moment for me to register he was talking to me. Honestly, I can't remember what I said back. I think I mumbled something about how I'd just wanted to put it down on the stack next to me, to save her the trouble. I was just so IMPRESSED by what she had just done.
"You don't want to get into a tug of war with me," she said. And as she said it, she flexed her arm. Right there in front of my eyes. BANG!
Unfortunately she must be some kind of supervisor or something cos she had a blue jacket on over the blue short-sleeved shirt most of the assistants wear in Tesco. She only held the pose for maybe a couple of seconds. Maybe less. Over before it began kind of thing. But I had seen her bicep through her jacket. The Madness! There was most definitely a muscle under there. She's put me into a trance. My eyes were probably popping out of my head. I probably looked a right idiot.
Late 30s maybe, but hard to tell. She has the look of a woman whose life has not been easy so looks older than she is. Ginger hair tied back, pale complexion. No stunner, but more than just plain. Clear skin and nice blue eyes.
"Sir? Sir?!"
How long had I just been standing there staring at her?!
"That's £8.53. Do you have a Clubcard?"
I pulled my card out of my wallet. I was shaking a bit from the rush and had a bit of trouble finding the slot. She reached out and held the card reader steady for me and I noticed a vein running up from her wrist, disappearing under the cuff of her jacket.
I get a picture in my mind of her lean body. There's not an ounce of extra fat on her, just muscle and veins all over. More adrenaline!
Somehow, I remember my PIN and punch it in. As she tears off my receipt and hands it to me I'm still transfixed by that vein but I take my shopping and start to head out.
"Sir? Sir?! Your card!"
I was so out of it I had left it in the reader and had to go back and take it from her. She probably thought I was drunk or stoned or something. I thanked her. Smiled - or at least that's what I think I did, who knows what stupid look I had on my face. I was rushing. 100% female muscle high. Dazed, you know.
This was about a week ago. Of course I've been back! Not stalking her or anything, it's the second most convenient supermarket from the office!!! Seen her a couple of times doing her supervisor thing, always wearing her jacket. She's tiny. Can't be more than an inch or two over five foot, and real petite. Like I said, lean. Like she could have done some distance running at school or something. Seems kind of energetic as well. Not your average Zombie-like supermarket worker. She kind of fizzes around.
Can't wait for it to get hot. Hot enough for the supervisors to take off their jackets! Bet she has some big fat veins on those arms. I'll keep you posted.
We look forward to it!
And if you would like to get in touch about any female muscle sightings of your own, wherever you are in the world, please drop me an email: 6ft1swell@gmail.com.
Enjoy, and happy female muscle spotting!
Tuesday, 17 December 2013
Inspired by... Her Legs His Obsession
It's always nice to know that someone is reading my musings, and even nicer when they actually bother to share their thoughts and/or reach out a mutually female muscle appreciating hand. So, this week on FMS, for some of the lovely readers who have been in touch (whether by email or the comment box), a whole post inspired by them as a way of saying thank you for supporting the blog.
I hope they, and you, will enjoy them.
The reader who inspired today's post got in touch to tell me about his epic experience of multiple encounters with a muscular female runner in June of this year. His story, which if you haven't read yet, you probably should, was recounted on FMS as Her Legs His Obsession, posted during Legs Month (August).
He says, 'I love to hear about muscular sightings in the UK as in my head, all muscular women are in the US or Canada!' I know that feeling. However, (and I can only apologise to him for sitting on this for so long, I just haven't got round to emailing) I DO, finally, have a decent sighting to relate. My own true story.
Let's call it...
HER POWER
The second time I saw her it took me a while to realise it was her. She came into the coffee shop with another woman and a guy, and they sat by the window right in my line of vision. She certainly made me look up from my broccoli and stilton soup, but it wasn't until she'd taken off her jacket and walked right past me as she went up to the counter to order that my heart turned a somersault and I knew that it was indeed her. In that white vest she had on, there was absolutely no mistaking those shoulders.
I'd seen her for the first time back at the end of August. One of those moments that is over almost before it begins but sears itself into your memory.
I was on a break, and as I took a stroll in the late autumn sunshine (I doubt I'm the only female muscle head who never misses a chance to mingle with the crowds when the sun's out, just because you never know...) I was calling back a rather important client when the female muscle radar went truly ballistic.
She was running up the hill towards where I was, wearing a black vest and leggings. And she was running fast. Suddenly, what my client was saying to me on the other end of the line was utterly irrelevant as I focused every iota of my being onto her. There was nothing else in the world that mattered more than taking her in.
My heart was pounding so hard I could hear the beat inside my ears. She wasn't huge by any means, but as she got closer I could see just how incredibly lean she was. Her arms, my God her shoulders! The definition was AMAZING! I had never seen such a ripped woman before. It was intoxicating. I honestly think I actually kind of swooned as she ran past, my heart attempting to leave my body and follow her.
Follow her! The thought actually crossed my mind. I'm sure I would have looked truly ridiculous, trying to keep pace with her in my work clothes with the phone still pressed to my ear as she sprinted ever further away. It's a good job that I didn't try!
So all too quickly it was over. She was gone, and as quickly as I'd tuned him out, I tuned into my client's voice again and did my best to pick up the conversation. But my heart was still pounding (and would continue to do so for some time afterwards), making it impossible to concentrate. I made my excuses - something had just come up - and promised to call him back as soon as I could.
Later, I reflected on what I had seen. I closed my eyes and pictured the definition of her shoulders and arms, and it was enough to get the heart racing again, but more than that it was the aura of power she had had that I sensed. Her stride, her speed, her look of determination all told of that power. Power that made my head spin. I lay back on the bed in my hotel room and swooned once more.
I didn't work in the same place again until the beginning of November. As I drove there I thought about whether I might see her, but experience told me I shouldn't hold out too much hope. All I was expecting to do was a couple of days' work, and there would be little free time. Nevertheless, like some pilgrim revisiting a shrine, the evening I arrived I went and stood where I had been when she had run past. What was I expecting, some sort of miracle? If I was, it didn't happen, but somehow it did feel good to be standing in that place again.
And now she was standing right behind me at the counter. I could hear her voice. In a moment she would walk back past me and sit down with her friends again. I would have a perfect view of her, of her in a vest no less.
With my heart thudding into my chest, I watched as she took her seat again. She was sitting with her back to me, and with her table at the window, I could watch at will. Every movement she made set muscle in motion. Her bicep as she ran her hand through her hair, her shoulders as she took her plate from the waitress, whatever she did caused subtle changes in the shape of her muscles.
I was transfixed, hypnotised. What a treat to be able to enjoy, at leisure, the sight of such a sculpted female body - well, the parts of the sculpture I could see anyway. And enjoy it I did, drinking in every beautiful curve, every single bit of definition, every striation revealed by the slightest twitch.
Minutes passed. She became quite animated in her conversation, and the visual overload created by her arm movements brought me close to letting out an audible moan. I became aware my hand was shaking when my spoon started to rattle against my bowl. The spell was broken briefly as I put it down, and I realised my face was hot, flushed. And then there was the erection. Full, throbbing, verging on painful.
I looked around me. No one seemed to be paying me any attention. I sat forward and got back to business, enjoying her muscles. Her tricep exploded as she reached down and rubbed her calf, and this time I'm pretty sure I did moan out loud.
"Shall I take that for you?"
If you can look casual after you have been so startled that your right knee has shot up and hit the underside of the table you are sitting at, causing everything on it to jump and then fall with a crash; if you can look casual while aware that there is a veritable tent pole in your crotch, and that if you sit back the waiter is going to get an eyeful of it; then I looked casual right then. Really casual.
He started to clear the table. "Can I get you anything else?"
Oh, sure. You see that woman by the window. I'd like her on a platter, please. A bottle of oil, maybe some strawberries and cream. And some privacy. Oh, and if you can organise a few scented candles and a bit of mood music, that would be great.
"A double espresso, thanks." Like that was going to help my heart rate!
By the time the coffee came, I'd run through some 'normal' single guy having lunch in a coffee shop activities, like checking the phone (and as I did wondering whether I could get away with a couple of snapshots or even a bit of video - wisely, I think, I decided it wasn't a good idea). Seeing the time brought me back to reality, telling me as it did that I was already ten minutes late. This knowledge had a dampening effect that gradually eased my trouser problem, even though, as I sipped my espresso, I grabbed some precious final looks at her magnificent muscles in motion.
It would be fair to say that that afternoon was not my finest hour, professionally-speaking. I was, to put it mildly, a little distracted. I was OK as long as I was talking, but somehow whenever anybody else opened their mouth, what they were saying seemed a lot less important than thinking about what I had just been through, thinking about her. Nor was the next morning representative of me at my most focused. At lunchtime you can probably guess where I went, and yes, of course, there was no sign of her. I drove back home that evening, after another less than glorious performance during the afternoon, my thoughts still full of her.
And so it remained for some days afterwards. I would piece her together in my head. Short, no taller than 5'2" or 5'3", her hair was shortish, frizzy, strawberry blond. In her thirties, definitely, but beyond that I couldn't say. Blue eyes? Green maybe? I hadn't had a chance to see for sure. Her waist, tiny. Her shoulders, broad. Those shoulders! And the definition in her arms and across her back! I closed my eyes and remembered every line, every curve of her musculature. And quietly, to myself, I'd moan.
I'm due to go back there late February, early March. Fortunately I've done enough in the past for those clients that my questionable behaviour last time around doesn't seem to have mattered too much. Late February, early March. I might see her again. And she has no idea. No idea of the power she wields. Or perhaps she does.
I hope they, and you, will enjoy them.
The reader who inspired today's post got in touch to tell me about his epic experience of multiple encounters with a muscular female runner in June of this year. His story, which if you haven't read yet, you probably should, was recounted on FMS as Her Legs His Obsession, posted during Legs Month (August).
He says, 'I love to hear about muscular sightings in the UK as in my head, all muscular women are in the US or Canada!' I know that feeling. However, (and I can only apologise to him for sitting on this for so long, I just haven't got round to emailing) I DO, finally, have a decent sighting to relate. My own true story.
Let's call it...
HER POWER
The second time I saw her it took me a while to realise it was her. She came into the coffee shop with another woman and a guy, and they sat by the window right in my line of vision. She certainly made me look up from my broccoli and stilton soup, but it wasn't until she'd taken off her jacket and walked right past me as she went up to the counter to order that my heart turned a somersault and I knew that it was indeed her. In that white vest she had on, there was absolutely no mistaking those shoulders.
I'd seen her for the first time back at the end of August. One of those moments that is over almost before it begins but sears itself into your memory.
I was on a break, and as I took a stroll in the late autumn sunshine (I doubt I'm the only female muscle head who never misses a chance to mingle with the crowds when the sun's out, just because you never know...) I was calling back a rather important client when the female muscle radar went truly ballistic.
She was running up the hill towards where I was, wearing a black vest and leggings. And she was running fast. Suddenly, what my client was saying to me on the other end of the line was utterly irrelevant as I focused every iota of my being onto her. There was nothing else in the world that mattered more than taking her in.
My heart was pounding so hard I could hear the beat inside my ears. She wasn't huge by any means, but as she got closer I could see just how incredibly lean she was. Her arms, my God her shoulders! The definition was AMAZING! I had never seen such a ripped woman before. It was intoxicating. I honestly think I actually kind of swooned as she ran past, my heart attempting to leave my body and follow her.
Follow her! The thought actually crossed my mind. I'm sure I would have looked truly ridiculous, trying to keep pace with her in my work clothes with the phone still pressed to my ear as she sprinted ever further away. It's a good job that I didn't try!
So all too quickly it was over. She was gone, and as quickly as I'd tuned him out, I tuned into my client's voice again and did my best to pick up the conversation. But my heart was still pounding (and would continue to do so for some time afterwards), making it impossible to concentrate. I made my excuses - something had just come up - and promised to call him back as soon as I could.
Later, I reflected on what I had seen. I closed my eyes and pictured the definition of her shoulders and arms, and it was enough to get the heart racing again, but more than that it was the aura of power she had had that I sensed. Her stride, her speed, her look of determination all told of that power. Power that made my head spin. I lay back on the bed in my hotel room and swooned once more.
I didn't work in the same place again until the beginning of November. As I drove there I thought about whether I might see her, but experience told me I shouldn't hold out too much hope. All I was expecting to do was a couple of days' work, and there would be little free time. Nevertheless, like some pilgrim revisiting a shrine, the evening I arrived I went and stood where I had been when she had run past. What was I expecting, some sort of miracle? If I was, it didn't happen, but somehow it did feel good to be standing in that place again.
And now she was standing right behind me at the counter. I could hear her voice. In a moment she would walk back past me and sit down with her friends again. I would have a perfect view of her, of her in a vest no less.
With my heart thudding into my chest, I watched as she took her seat again. She was sitting with her back to me, and with her table at the window, I could watch at will. Every movement she made set muscle in motion. Her bicep as she ran her hand through her hair, her shoulders as she took her plate from the waitress, whatever she did caused subtle changes in the shape of her muscles.
I was transfixed, hypnotised. What a treat to be able to enjoy, at leisure, the sight of such a sculpted female body - well, the parts of the sculpture I could see anyway. And enjoy it I did, drinking in every beautiful curve, every single bit of definition, every striation revealed by the slightest twitch.
Minutes passed. She became quite animated in her conversation, and the visual overload created by her arm movements brought me close to letting out an audible moan. I became aware my hand was shaking when my spoon started to rattle against my bowl. The spell was broken briefly as I put it down, and I realised my face was hot, flushed. And then there was the erection. Full, throbbing, verging on painful.
I looked around me. No one seemed to be paying me any attention. I sat forward and got back to business, enjoying her muscles. Her tricep exploded as she reached down and rubbed her calf, and this time I'm pretty sure I did moan out loud.
"Shall I take that for you?"
If you can look casual after you have been so startled that your right knee has shot up and hit the underside of the table you are sitting at, causing everything on it to jump and then fall with a crash; if you can look casual while aware that there is a veritable tent pole in your crotch, and that if you sit back the waiter is going to get an eyeful of it; then I looked casual right then. Really casual.
He started to clear the table. "Can I get you anything else?"
Oh, sure. You see that woman by the window. I'd like her on a platter, please. A bottle of oil, maybe some strawberries and cream. And some privacy. Oh, and if you can organise a few scented candles and a bit of mood music, that would be great.
"A double espresso, thanks." Like that was going to help my heart rate!
By the time the coffee came, I'd run through some 'normal' single guy having lunch in a coffee shop activities, like checking the phone (and as I did wondering whether I could get away with a couple of snapshots or even a bit of video - wisely, I think, I decided it wasn't a good idea). Seeing the time brought me back to reality, telling me as it did that I was already ten minutes late. This knowledge had a dampening effect that gradually eased my trouser problem, even though, as I sipped my espresso, I grabbed some precious final looks at her magnificent muscles in motion.
It would be fair to say that that afternoon was not my finest hour, professionally-speaking. I was, to put it mildly, a little distracted. I was OK as long as I was talking, but somehow whenever anybody else opened their mouth, what they were saying seemed a lot less important than thinking about what I had just been through, thinking about her. Nor was the next morning representative of me at my most focused. At lunchtime you can probably guess where I went, and yes, of course, there was no sign of her. I drove back home that evening, after another less than glorious performance during the afternoon, my thoughts still full of her.
And so it remained for some days afterwards. I would piece her together in my head. Short, no taller than 5'2" or 5'3", her hair was shortish, frizzy, strawberry blond. In her thirties, definitely, but beyond that I couldn't say. Blue eyes? Green maybe? I hadn't had a chance to see for sure. Her waist, tiny. Her shoulders, broad. Those shoulders! And the definition in her arms and across her back! I closed my eyes and remembered every line, every curve of her musculature. And quietly, to myself, I'd moan.
I'm due to go back there late February, early March. Fortunately I've done enough in the past for those clients that my questionable behaviour last time around doesn't seem to have mattered too much. Late February, early March. I might see her again. And she has no idea. No idea of the power she wields. Or perhaps she does.
Tuesday, 17 September 2013
Gym Bodz: Back Day, A True Story
Today, FMS is proud to bring you another experience of female muscle in real life as related by one of our readers (see also Her Legs, His Obsession). The events took place in a London gym a couple of years ago, the bodybuilder described is an absolutely gorgeous top international competitor. For me, and I dare say a few of you too, what transpired would be like a dream coming true. Well, part of the dream anyway! I certainly get the impression that was the case for the writer as well.
[Names and so on have been changed to protect the non-so innocent and the extremely muscular.]
BACK DAY
I had already been there for an hour when she strode in, on her own, in a tight black bra/workout top and tight black cycling short-material hip to ankle leggings. Those quads were just shouting across the gym, but only I seemed to be listening. She did 20 minutes cardio whilst I sneaked glances, trying not to be too obviously wide-eyed. Most of the regulars ignored her. Later her training partner came an she did some stretching, and then hit the weights.
Back day. I tailored my workout to make sure that I had a good view. When I was on the pec deck, I was facing her on the chinning bar. She was glistening by then, huge hydraulic lats and perfect bulging biceps in awesome motion as she almost touched the bar with her breasts on each rep, and when her partner held her ankles to help her squeeze out those last reps, I honestly thought I might fucking well explode. Simply the best thing I've ever witnessed.
In between sets her pumped lats had no where to go, they just pushed her arms out wide. By this time she had seen me watching her a few times, but didn't seem to mind and even smiled at me.
At the end of her workout (I'd been there for two and half hours by then, and ignored countless important voicemails and emails) she went to the mats for abs and stretching, and her partner went out to chat with a friend. I hit the mats too, and controlled my road-digger heart enough to talk to her.
I told her she looked awesome, and that I'd kill for a back and shoulders like hers. She thanked me, explained that she hadn't been to the gym for a while, and we moved on to general chit chat. I said I'd never seen a female bodybuilder before (a lie) and that I was impressed by the dedication she must have, and asked how she dealt with the inevitable stares, etc. She said it depended on what she was wearing, but she has learned to tune out the 'haters'. She also said she has a movie coming up, a bit part in a 'trashy action flick'. She asked me my name, and I told her. She told me hers and said, 'You should check out my website', and spelt out her surname.
She knew. My saucer-like pupils were screaming at her 'this guy gets off on my muscles.'
She seemed genuinely flattered and boosted by the positive attention. She was so nice.
When I had showered and changed I went for a coffee next door for some free wi-fi, and as I left there she was, still in workout gear, 10 feet in front of me. I decided against catching her up and talking to her again for fear of being thought of as a stalker, so I watched other pedestrians' reactions as she walked by them.
Everyone noticed. Some looked away, others gawped, others stole glances at biceps and delts, followed by a face-glance. She just strode on, head high, soaking it all up. Awesome.
[Names and so on have been changed to protect the non-so innocent and the extremely muscular.]
BACK DAY
I had already been there for an hour when she strode in, on her own, in a tight black bra/workout top and tight black cycling short-material hip to ankle leggings. Those quads were just shouting across the gym, but only I seemed to be listening. She did 20 minutes cardio whilst I sneaked glances, trying not to be too obviously wide-eyed. Most of the regulars ignored her. Later her training partner came an she did some stretching, and then hit the weights.
Back day. I tailored my workout to make sure that I had a good view. When I was on the pec deck, I was facing her on the chinning bar. She was glistening by then, huge hydraulic lats and perfect bulging biceps in awesome motion as she almost touched the bar with her breasts on each rep, and when her partner held her ankles to help her squeeze out those last reps, I honestly thought I might fucking well explode. Simply the best thing I've ever witnessed.
In between sets her pumped lats had no where to go, they just pushed her arms out wide. By this time she had seen me watching her a few times, but didn't seem to mind and even smiled at me.
At the end of her workout (I'd been there for two and half hours by then, and ignored countless important voicemails and emails) she went to the mats for abs and stretching, and her partner went out to chat with a friend. I hit the mats too, and controlled my road-digger heart enough to talk to her.
I told her she looked awesome, and that I'd kill for a back and shoulders like hers. She thanked me, explained that she hadn't been to the gym for a while, and we moved on to general chit chat. I said I'd never seen a female bodybuilder before (a lie) and that I was impressed by the dedication she must have, and asked how she dealt with the inevitable stares, etc. She said it depended on what she was wearing, but she has learned to tune out the 'haters'. She also said she has a movie coming up, a bit part in a 'trashy action flick'. She asked me my name, and I told her. She told me hers and said, 'You should check out my website', and spelt out her surname.
She knew. My saucer-like pupils were screaming at her 'this guy gets off on my muscles.'
She seemed genuinely flattered and boosted by the positive attention. She was so nice.
When I had showered and changed I went for a coffee next door for some free wi-fi, and as I left there she was, still in workout gear, 10 feet in front of me. I decided against catching her up and talking to her again for fear of being thought of as a stalker, so I watched other pedestrians' reactions as she walked by them.
Everyone noticed. Some looked away, others gawped, others stole glances at biceps and delts, followed by a face-glance. She just strode on, head high, soaking it all up. Awesome.
Tuesday, 27 August 2013
Calves and The Madness
From the field notes of 6ft1swell, summer 2011...
It's a lovely, sunny day on the South Bank. I'm browsing the second-hand books outside the National Film Theatre. My friend's just texted to say he'll be five minutes late. I know that means ten, maybe twenty minutes of waiting for him but we don't have to be anywhere. There's no rush.
Then suddenly, my whole mood changes. The female muscle radar has gone off. Beautiful tanned legs at ten o'clock. Short skirt, wedge heels and, crucially, bulging calves. Without thinking I move away from the books and towards her. My hand reaches into my pocket for my phone. The adrenaline surge comes, my heart beating faster and stronger with every second that passes.
Camera. Video. Ready.
I get closer. The rush has become so great my hand is shaky. They're going inside. There are a few steps to climb. They will slow and her calves will have to do some work. Perfect for me as long as I can keep my hand steady.
Record.
My heart pumps the blood through my body with such force I can feel it in my ears. She's started to climb the steps. I close in. Her calves are in shot. Good, good, now keep them there. The counter reads 0.09, 0.10, 0.11. I want more, more, more.
We're in the foyer now. Voices, people around us. The spell breaks as the fear of discovery, of being caught, overrides the urge to capture her calves for myself. I stop and she walks on.
Stop. Saving video. Please wait. Done.
My heart beat begins to slow, my breathing gradually returns to normal. My hand is steady again. I am back to normality. Back to sanity. Out of The Madness.
But I have so little to show for it. I have not even captured twenty seconds' worth, and what I have got is extremely shaky, just enough to get a couple of usable screencaps from. I find that her skirt was not nearly as short as I'd thought, her legs not nearly as tanned, her calves not nearly as big.
It's always like this. The video is always disappointing.
And yet this is the fifth time I've done something like this in a month. So if I'm not doing it for the result, why am I doing it at all? The only logical conclusion is that I'm doing it for the rush. I'm doing it for the feeling, for the moment of temporary madness. It's scary, of course, scary because it turns me into a person I would rather not be. A person who follows and records women in public. But having said that, time inside The Madness is time spent in a state of great exhilaration...
I haven't attempted to capture any candid legs or calves for over a year now, but like the recovering alcoholic on the twelve-step program, I'm well-aware that it would only take one pair of perfect calves to get me reaching into my pocket for my phone again.
Fortunately for the likes of me, there are plenty of other 'sufferers' out there who do have a steady hand as well as a female muscle radar. They also seem to have more luck sighting truly exceptional calves than I ever did.
And even better than that, there are others whose hand is so steady, even within the intensity of The Madness, that they can get the kind of video that I once aspired to.
Ironically, when I watch this kind of clip, it's not the sight of the beautiful calves that appeals to me most. In fact, it's the fantasy of being the one walking behind her, the thrill of The Madness that returns as I imagine being the one holding the camera.
Watch more of this fella's work on his youtube channel
For candid calves, visit johncalfaddicted's Ladies Candid Muscular Calves blog
And keep working the program!
It's a lovely, sunny day on the South Bank. I'm browsing the second-hand books outside the National Film Theatre. My friend's just texted to say he'll be five minutes late. I know that means ten, maybe twenty minutes of waiting for him but we don't have to be anywhere. There's no rush.
Then suddenly, my whole mood changes. The female muscle radar has gone off. Beautiful tanned legs at ten o'clock. Short skirt, wedge heels and, crucially, bulging calves. Without thinking I move away from the books and towards her. My hand reaches into my pocket for my phone. The adrenaline surge comes, my heart beating faster and stronger with every second that passes.
Camera. Video. Ready.
I get closer. The rush has become so great my hand is shaky. They're going inside. There are a few steps to climb. They will slow and her calves will have to do some work. Perfect for me as long as I can keep my hand steady.
Record.
My heart pumps the blood through my body with such force I can feel it in my ears. She's started to climb the steps. I close in. Her calves are in shot. Good, good, now keep them there. The counter reads 0.09, 0.10, 0.11. I want more, more, more.
We're in the foyer now. Voices, people around us. The spell breaks as the fear of discovery, of being caught, overrides the urge to capture her calves for myself. I stop and she walks on.
Stop. Saving video. Please wait. Done.
My heart beat begins to slow, my breathing gradually returns to normal. My hand is steady again. I am back to normality. Back to sanity. Out of The Madness.
But I have so little to show for it. I have not even captured twenty seconds' worth, and what I have got is extremely shaky, just enough to get a couple of usable screencaps from. I find that her skirt was not nearly as short as I'd thought, her legs not nearly as tanned, her calves not nearly as big.
It's always like this. The video is always disappointing.
And yet this is the fifth time I've done something like this in a month. So if I'm not doing it for the result, why am I doing it at all? The only logical conclusion is that I'm doing it for the rush. I'm doing it for the feeling, for the moment of temporary madness. It's scary, of course, scary because it turns me into a person I would rather not be. A person who follows and records women in public. But having said that, time inside The Madness is time spent in a state of great exhilaration...
I haven't attempted to capture any candid legs or calves for over a year now, but like the recovering alcoholic on the twelve-step program, I'm well-aware that it would only take one pair of perfect calves to get me reaching into my pocket for my phone again.
Fortunately for the likes of me, there are plenty of other 'sufferers' out there who do have a steady hand as well as a female muscle radar. They also seem to have more luck sighting truly exceptional calves than I ever did.
And even better than that, there are others whose hand is so steady, even within the intensity of The Madness, that they can get the kind of video that I once aspired to.
Ironically, when I watch this kind of clip, it's not the sight of the beautiful calves that appeals to me most. In fact, it's the fantasy of being the one walking behind her, the thrill of The Madness that returns as I imagine being the one holding the camera.
Watch more of this fella's work on his youtube channel
For candid calves, visit johncalfaddicted's Ladies Candid Muscular Calves blog
And keep working the program!
Saturday, 10 August 2013
Her Legs, His Obsession: A True Story
Today's post is a retelling of one reader's true story.
It is, quite simply, the most epic story of its kind that I have have ever heard or read, spanning as it does a full decade. This most definitely could have happened to me. I can strongly relate to the actions and reactions of our protagonist/hero, and quite possibly you, dear reader, will relate to them to.
It is, I think, in part, a story of obsession, but at the same time it is, in my opinion, equally reminiscent of a great love story, even though, in the end, that love is unrequited. But above all, I feel, it is a testament to the power that muscular women have over us.
[I have changed the story as it was recounted to me only by using the third person (a little dramatic effect), and removing any specific names (of places) that might lead to someone working out who the people involved are.]
HER LEGS, HIS OBSESSION
He works in the heart of the city, and in summer he has his lunch by the river because there you get a lot of people jogging in their lunch hour and he loves to see the fit women run by. And ten years ago, back in 2003, he first witnessed the sight that would dominate many of his waking thoughts for much of the next ten years.
The biggest muscle woman he had ever seen in real life ran by.
She was in her early 20s, about 5'4", with long light brown hair tied in a ponytail. She was very tanned, and her face was very pretty. She also happened to have a lot of muscle. She wore a sports bra and shorts that showed off her big, wide shoulders and muscled back, a back that tapered to a slim, defined waist. But the best bit was her massive muscular legs. Seeing those muscles working with every stride she took was a sight to behold.
Luckily for him, she had a routine and ran at the same time on a Monday and Wednesday. On those days he was excited just to go to work because he knew he would catch a glimpse of her, and one day he even went for a jog so he could find out her route and where she worked, which turned out to be about ten minutes from him.
In that same year he was at an office party, chatting to the girlfriend of one of his colleagues, telling her an edited version of this story, that he always had his lunch next to the river and often saw a good-looking woman jogging.
The first thing she said to him was 'Does she have big legs?'
'Yes,' he replied, 'not fat but...' and before he could finish, the colleague's girlfriend had cut in.
'Really big muscles?'
He couldn't believe this girl happened to work at the same company, this was a huge big company with a large work force. But more than that he couldn't believe that she was known in her company for having big muscles!!!
'I want to work there!!!' he thought to himself, but his heart sank when she told him his object of desire was married.
He continued to see her in the summer months for the next three years as she jogged by the river at lunchtime but he never spoke to her, just admired as she went by. Later, he would regret that he never approached her.
Then for years he never saw her, but last year, while heading for the station to take the train back home to the wife and family he now had, he spotted her.
She was in her running gear, walking towards him, and she looked bigger than ever.
'It's now or never,' he thought to himself.
He just stopped, and stood staring at her. He could feel his heart beating fast.
She didn't notice him at first but as she drew nearer he heard himself saying 'Wow, you are fit.'
She looked at him and casually thanked him.
She continued walking and as though in a trance he then walked with her for about thirty seconds, just staring at her enormous muscles, particularly her legs, her thighs bulging with every step. She didn't seem to mind and for those thirty seconds he was in heaven.
But again, he was compelled to speak.
'Your muscles are really big!'
She just laughed, almost mockingly he thought, and simply said 'I know.'
And he watched her run off until she had disappeared completely from his view. And then he kept staring at the point where she had gone out of sight, and he wondered if he would ever see her again.
It is, quite simply, the most epic story of its kind that I have have ever heard or read, spanning as it does a full decade. This most definitely could have happened to me. I can strongly relate to the actions and reactions of our protagonist/hero, and quite possibly you, dear reader, will relate to them to.
It is, I think, in part, a story of obsession, but at the same time it is, in my opinion, equally reminiscent of a great love story, even though, in the end, that love is unrequited. But above all, I feel, it is a testament to the power that muscular women have over us.
[I have changed the story as it was recounted to me only by using the third person (a little dramatic effect), and removing any specific names (of places) that might lead to someone working out who the people involved are.]
HER LEGS, HIS OBSESSION
He works in the heart of the city, and in summer he has his lunch by the river because there you get a lot of people jogging in their lunch hour and he loves to see the fit women run by. And ten years ago, back in 2003, he first witnessed the sight that would dominate many of his waking thoughts for much of the next ten years.
The biggest muscle woman he had ever seen in real life ran by.
She was in her early 20s, about 5'4", with long light brown hair tied in a ponytail. She was very tanned, and her face was very pretty. She also happened to have a lot of muscle. She wore a sports bra and shorts that showed off her big, wide shoulders and muscled back, a back that tapered to a slim, defined waist. But the best bit was her massive muscular legs. Seeing those muscles working with every stride she took was a sight to behold.
Luckily for him, she had a routine and ran at the same time on a Monday and Wednesday. On those days he was excited just to go to work because he knew he would catch a glimpse of her, and one day he even went for a jog so he could find out her route and where she worked, which turned out to be about ten minutes from him.
In that same year he was at an office party, chatting to the girlfriend of one of his colleagues, telling her an edited version of this story, that he always had his lunch next to the river and often saw a good-looking woman jogging.
The first thing she said to him was 'Does she have big legs?'
'Yes,' he replied, 'not fat but...' and before he could finish, the colleague's girlfriend had cut in.
'Really big muscles?'
He couldn't believe this girl happened to work at the same company, this was a huge big company with a large work force. But more than that he couldn't believe that she was known in her company for having big muscles!!!
'I want to work there!!!' he thought to himself, but his heart sank when she told him his object of desire was married.
He continued to see her in the summer months for the next three years as she jogged by the river at lunchtime but he never spoke to her, just admired as she went by. Later, he would regret that he never approached her.
Then for years he never saw her, but last year, while heading for the station to take the train back home to the wife and family he now had, he spotted her.
She was in her running gear, walking towards him, and she looked bigger than ever.
'It's now or never,' he thought to himself.
He just stopped, and stood staring at her. He could feel his heart beating fast.
She didn't notice him at first but as she drew nearer he heard himself saying 'Wow, you are fit.'
She looked at him and casually thanked him.
She continued walking and as though in a trance he then walked with her for about thirty seconds, just staring at her enormous muscles, particularly her legs, her thighs bulging with every step. She didn't seem to mind and for those thirty seconds he was in heaven.
But again, he was compelled to speak.
'Your muscles are really big!'
She just laughed, almost mockingly he thought, and simply said 'I know.'
And he watched her run off until she had disappeared completely from his view. And then he kept staring at the point where she had gone out of sight, and he wondered if he would ever see her again.
Thursday, 10 May 2012
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...
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...
Tuesday, 20 September 2011
Muscle in London
I'd downgraded my femuscle radar alert status to 'forlorn' as the miserable excuse for a summer this year in London had turned to a chilly September. But even on low alert the radar didn't fail me as I came out of Shepherd's Bush tube yesterday afternoon to the sight of a pair of magnificent muscular calves.
As always, 'the madness' descended and I sneakily shot some video of her. At first, she was on the phone with a coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other so she would keep stopping to put the coffee down.
But despite this, once again, my sneaky video skills have been found wanting - I just don't seem to be able to keep the damn thing steady! Partly, I guess, that's lack of practice at this kind of thing, and partly I suppose it's because, at moments like these, I am pretty far from calm and composed!
Anyway, her calves. This woman was definitely not shy about her muscles, wearing a pair of denim shorts that showed off her legs beautifully. The screencaps don't really do her justice, her calves were 'the real thing' you could say. Big, defined, solid balls of muscle that danced with every move she made.
She didn't seem obviously muscular elsewhere but she wasn't tubby either, although I do concede that I wasn't paying very much attention to the rest of her body - it was all about her calves! I was quite overwhelmed in fact.
And she was wearing flat shoes! I spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening unable to concentrate on anything else except fantasising about what her magnificent calves would look like in a pair of heels!
Maybe this autumn my femuscle-spotting luck is going to be in! I certainly hope so.
Enjoy!
As always, 'the madness' descended and I sneakily shot some video of her. At first, she was on the phone with a coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other so she would keep stopping to put the coffee down.
But despite this, once again, my sneaky video skills have been found wanting - I just don't seem to be able to keep the damn thing steady! Partly, I guess, that's lack of practice at this kind of thing, and partly I suppose it's because, at moments like these, I am pretty far from calm and composed!
Anyway, her calves. This woman was definitely not shy about her muscles, wearing a pair of denim shorts that showed off her legs beautifully. The screencaps don't really do her justice, her calves were 'the real thing' you could say. Big, defined, solid balls of muscle that danced with every move she made.
She didn't seem obviously muscular elsewhere but she wasn't tubby either, although I do concede that I wasn't paying very much attention to the rest of her body - it was all about her calves! I was quite overwhelmed in fact.
And she was wearing flat shoes! I spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening unable to concentrate on anything else except fantasising about what her magnificent calves would look like in a pair of heels!
Maybe this autumn my femuscle-spotting luck is going to be in! I certainly hope so.
Enjoy!
Wednesday, 24 August 2011
Muscle in London: Cheering Myself Up
Is there anything more depressing for a female muscle fan than hearing a woman with muscles say she wishes she wasn't so muscular?
I was sitting in Paternoster Square (London) this afternoon, having a quiet smoke, and she and a friend had come and sat nearby. My ears perked up when she asked her friend to check out her calves, immediately wanting to check them out myself.
Maybe I'm over-sensitive, but the next thing she said crushed me: I hate my calves. By this time I was in a position to see them, but instead of the usual female-muscle-spotting rush, I had a feeling of helplessness. But they're gorgeous! I wanted to scream. Of course I didn't.
But I did decide to continue checking her out. And so what if she caught me doing it? If she did, I'd tell her what I thought about her calves, and that I was sure I wasn't the only guy who'd find them attractive. Probably. But that didn't happen either.
What happened was she told her friend she was going to have (now brace yourself...) calf-reduction surgery.
A pair of delicious muscular calves are going to disappear from the world, so let's remind ourselves that not all women with beautiful, strong, shapely legs hate them and are willing to pay for the privilege of turning them into twigs. So...
Whether you and her are out tonight, or are staying in...
Whether her thighs are rounded or ripped...
Tell the woman in your life with muscular legs how much you appreciate them and make the world a better place. For admirers of female muscle, anyway!
Quiz time!
(In your best Rolf Harris voice)
Can you guess who it is yet?
I think her legs are seriously under-rated
(Maybe because there are some other parts of her body that may distract you from giving her legs the attention they deserve!)
Denise Masino
(Not a very difficult question, I know)
I feel a bit better now for that fix of strong shapely legs. Hope it's cheered you up too.
But I wish I'd spoken up and told the girl what I thought. I hope you have the balls not to make that mistake. You might just stop a pair of hard, sexy muscular calves from disappearing from the world.
Calf-reduction surgery?! The devil's work.
I was sitting in Paternoster Square (London) this afternoon, having a quiet smoke, and she and a friend had come and sat nearby. My ears perked up when she asked her friend to check out her calves, immediately wanting to check them out myself.
Maybe I'm over-sensitive, but the next thing she said crushed me: I hate my calves. By this time I was in a position to see them, but instead of the usual female-muscle-spotting rush, I had a feeling of helplessness. But they're gorgeous! I wanted to scream. Of course I didn't.
But I did decide to continue checking her out. And so what if she caught me doing it? If she did, I'd tell her what I thought about her calves, and that I was sure I wasn't the only guy who'd find them attractive. Probably. But that didn't happen either.
What happened was she told her friend she was going to have (now brace yourself...) calf-reduction surgery.
A pair of delicious muscular calves are going to disappear from the world, so let's remind ourselves that not all women with beautiful, strong, shapely legs hate them and are willing to pay for the privilege of turning them into twigs. So...
Whether you and her are out tonight, or are staying in...
Whether her thighs are rounded or ripped...
Tell the woman in your life with muscular legs how much you appreciate them and make the world a better place. For admirers of female muscle, anyway!
Quiz time!
(In your best Rolf Harris voice)
Can you guess who it is yet?
I think her legs are seriously under-rated
(Maybe because there are some other parts of her body that may distract you from giving her legs the attention they deserve!)
Denise Masino
(Not a very difficult question, I know)
I feel a bit better now for that fix of strong shapely legs. Hope it's cheered you up too.
But I wish I'd spoken up and told the girl what I thought. I hope you have the balls not to make that mistake. You might just stop a pair of hard, sexy muscular calves from disappearing from the world.
Calf-reduction surgery?! The devil's work.
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