Glootasm of the Week

This one was a team effort.

And it started with Cindy.

I thought I wouldn't have much in the tank given my excesses over Cathy yesterday. I was sore, don't get me wrong - in a good way, a super-sensitive way, but I wasn't planning on a start-the-day tribute that was too energetic as I checked the old inbox.



BOOM! Instant reaction. Oh Cindy! And then... what's the story with the fan?! Has Cindy achieved a level of hotness at which she constantly needs to have cooling?

Focus!

Hair, tricep, side boob, follow the line of the thong to her beautiful, bounteous bum.

He was online, the sender. C. Moore got in touch, sent him his own treat. Nothing too ridiculous at this stage, a starter pic - Jules at the beach. Thonged up. Showing it off.



Of course he took the bate. [bait? - ed.] I know what I wrote - bate.



Back and forth we went, my "not too energetic" plans turning into an edging session that lasted until lunchtime. If you take your lunch late, that is. These are just some of the highlights that took us both into the Land of Goon and, ultimately, beyond.



Balcony bikini bums - Yarishna, always a pleasure - such a tease, such a sexhibitionist, such glooteal sex appeal; and this unknown, a silhouette (kind of) of dreams, imagining each other on one leg each, working our ways up from those calves with our lips and our tongues. Drooling, pumping, throbbing, dripping, and we've only just started.



BOOM! The world starts to recede. Riding the edge feels so good, so right. Gripping the base hard, letting it pulse, letting it leak just enough to use as lube. Typing a lot to make it last, trying to describe what I imagine that ripped glory must feel like ("warm steel"). We decide to take her on together, her pre-contest slave boys. Naked, pulsing, uncontrollably dripping and spurting as we cover every inch of her hard body in oil.



We transition to "named glootz" and turn our mics on. Riding the edge becomes a lot trickier with no typing - and thus no breaks in motion - to help. Experience counts for a lot at this stage. I keep well away from the head, gripping near the base and going staccato works for me - but you need to find your own way to the happiest place of all.

And so we goon. Speaking becomes tricky enough. I would say we debated the various merits of these magnificent examples of womanly gloothood, but you hardly call my bud yelling "Zoa is FERRRRRRM bruvva!" and me yelling "Yeah but Michaela is HAAAAAAARD dude!" a debate as such, but the pleasure, the sheer physical pleasure (expressed in moans, in gasps, in animal yelps and bellows) flows through our bodies with beautiful intensity, and sharing the feeling takes it to a whole new level of ecstasy.



Eyes rolling back in my head I suggest, as best I can that exhibit A on the train, and exhibit B, in the bedroom are the same girl. He gets it, despite the wildly differing hair colours, and that's why I love doing this with him. With minimal verbal communication and maximum female muscle lovin' telepathy we dream she picks us up on the tube (our tentpoles give us away) and makes us her playthings for one glorious night.



And then he sends me this, and we start the countdown...

"Down from 10, alternate numbers."

"Let's do it bruvva!"



Alessandra Alvez's beautiful bum has the (perhaps dubious) honour of receiving our gargantuan, bucket-filling loads on this occasion, but really they belong to all the magnificent women and all the mighty muscle glootage we have shared today.

The clean up begins. Can it be almost 1.30pm? Was that really the best part of five hours?! And it's November, so it's already starting to get dark outside. Whatever. Today, no matter what happens this afternoon and evening, is already a good day.

Supranatural

C. Moore, I am very pleased to say, is getting mail.

Seems some of you are actually appreciating my temporary takeover here.

Many of you also have questions, the majority on subjects which are scheduled to be answered in future posts - I still have (dare I say, at least?) two more weeks to go.

However, there were a couple of things that I wanted to set straight today.

First, no, of course it's not my bloody real name. My real first name does actually begin with C, but that is just a coincidence. C. Moore Glootz is a parody of - not a homage to - Seymore Butts, American pornographer. And without wishing to appear unkind, a fairly obvious one I would have thought. So now you know. Thanks for asking!

Secondly, there have been more than a few messages wanting me to declare "what kind of glutes" I prefer, more or less explicitly asking me to choose between Bikini-type girls, the various forms of Figure/Bodyfitness, Physique ladies, or big bad FBBs.

I don't discriminate.

I'm for all of them. And more.

Crossfit, athletics, beach volleyball, gymnastics... You name it, and if there are muscular rears on show I will watch and enjoy. Yes, OK, my top favourite behinds ever tend to come from the Female Bodybuilding realm, but that might be because during my formative muscle butt lovin' years there was no Bikini, no Figure/Bodyfitness, and no Physique either, so the vast majority of the gorgeous glootage I saw in that period in my life belonged to FBBs. These days, of course, there are relatively few of those.

Probably the best idea is for me to illustrate what I mean with some of the more recent additions to my "Special Favourites" folder. All shapes and sizes, all incredibly hot.





I guess what they all have in common is "unnaturalness", whether that means they are unnaturally big and round - take Anastasia's above, so gargantuan they leave rooms a good few seconds after her sunglasses do - or of the more shredded, tighter, harder - perhaps more obviously unnatural - variety. Either way, all these women have trained their behinds; none would look like this if they had simply let nature run its course.









So perhaps "supranatural" would be a better way of describing their bums (and their bodies in general). Smooth or shredded, Figure or Physique, Bikini or Bodybuilding, all women who lift are engaged in a fight to transcend what nature would have them be.



Have you seen Lauren Martin Stow's recent work with HerBiceps? The clips where she is in the street somewhere busy, wearing more than she could have got away with sure, but still showing off plenty. When I got over the amazement that not one guy had stopped and reached for his crotch to pay tribute - as C. Moore would have done (in times past, not since I got fixed, I should say), I began to fully appreciate just how ridiculously different LMS looks to every single other woman who walks into shot, a contrast so stark an alien visitor would think they were different species altogether.



And there would be little doubt which species was superior.



So the answer to the question is simply "supranatural ones". And I will continue to scratch my head at anyone who insists they "only go for FBBs" or whatever. These categories are arbitrary anyway, defined not by the women themselves, but by aging men in suits. Why pay any attention to them? Just celebrate the supranatural.

Muscle Bum Lovers Beware!

"Do what you love, and you'll never work a day in your life," is what they say (or something similar). Well, C, Moore found out what he loved early on in his life.



There are - and this became apparent to me only slowly, for C. Moore has never been one for paying too much attention to what "society" deems to be an OK thing to do - issues with the full-time enjoyment of muscular women's backsides. Believe.



If I had a penny for every time someone has tut-tutted at what they have seen me looking at on the bus when they should have been minding their own business, well, I would have more than a few pennies. Might even have a pound. Once upon a time they were unimpressed with my choice of magazine - and I'm not talking Muscle Elegance here, I'm talking about WPW - bet they wouldn't have had a problem with FHM though. These days it's the phone. The craning necks and shock horror are just the same.



The content has barely changed either!



So I can only surmise that they really mean is "Do what you love, and you'll never work a day in your life unless what you love is frowned upon as a full-time activity, especially if pursued in a public place." In that case, "I'm just doing what I love doing," is, apparently, not much of a defence. Not in my personal experience, anyway.



"Follow your dream," they say, all encouraging and stuff. Or perhaps they say, "Follow your passion." Same caveats apply. You'd better make damn sure you have a passion that's acceptable. I am, I know, an extreme case, but my passion has landed me in some pretty sticky situations over the years, and has even landed me in jail.



The (Mis)Adventures of C. Moore Glootz continue this Friday...

A Different Universe

C. Moore should have read the fine print.

Contest reports were not part of my 28-day plan, but turns out I am contractually obliged to give my learned opinion on two of the shows of the season, and possibly more, which can be added "at the discretion of the editorial team", or so it says.

So, Birmingham. Saturday 28th October.

C. Moore was nowhere near it. Master of disguise though I am, NABBA's not a federation I wish to cross again, but help was at hand in the form of a live feed courtesy of NAPA. And 'twas very much a marathon not a sprint. Hours and hours of action - C. Moore had to stay up way past his bedtime, although sadly the vast majority of classes were male-based. Nevertheless, these days there are not two but three female classes - Athletic, Toned and Trained Figure - the Universe having given up on the "Physique" class seven years ago now (though you can still see really big girls in thongs at the NABBA Worlds). Plus there is a "Pro Figure" class as well, where champions past and other more notable names line up. This relatively new development within the original amateur federation has arguably led to a thinning out of quality in the amateur class, but on the flip side of that it has also allowed newer stars, younger women, to emerge.

Anyway, judging was early doors - the women were on from 10.00am till about 11.15am in the order of Toned, then Athletic, then Trained. I thought watching the Toned and Athletic back to back would give me some handle on the distinction between the two, but in fact the opposite was true. Seems to be a fair bit of switching between the two classes by the competitors as well, and this being NABBA, often women who turn up expecting to compete in one class are ordered to compete in another, blurring the lines even more. Still, there were a lot of very sexy bums in very tiny thongs on show. C. Moore found it more than a little difficult to pace himself.

C. Moore had had himself a good old nap after lunch, before the "Show" portion of the contest - routines, awards, pictures etc. - started up at 6.30pm. This time the Trained ladies were up first, then some men before the Athletic ladies took to the stage. Then were two more lots of men before the Toned ladies, with Pro Figure much later, the penultimate class on the bill. I liked the breaks between the ladies' classes - the chances to refuel were very welcome as the day wore on. The many bodacious bums, the vast majority in NABBA-style thongs, proved - as is usually the case - somewhat draining.

And so, to my picks of the show.

ATHLETIC FIGURE

Winner: Lee Tae Hee (South Korea)



C. Moore's Best of the Rest: Samantha Horne (UK)



Top bum for me. Check out 0.20 and 0.40 for why, and abs rolling is never a bad thing. She came to the show as the reigning NABBA England champion, having previously competed at first in Miami Pro and Ms Galaxy contests, and also this year in the PCA. Sam (as she likes to be called) started weight training at the age of 15 after being bullied at school. Would like to see what those tossers look like now and make collages of their (no doubt) disgustingly fatty bods compared to Sam's sleek, muscular sex appeal.

She should have had "How Do You Like Me Now?" for her routine.



TONED FIGURE

Winner: Natasha Novak (UK)





C. Moore's Best of the Rest: Jo Eun Na (South Korea)

Not an easy pick this one - there was more glootastic talent in this class than I remember from previous shows. Brits Charley Alexander and Stephanie Smith got C. Moore's joy trumpet standing very much to attention, and not only them. But Jo Eun Na not only gave the audience a treat with her bottom-heavy muscular Asian body, but also delivered probably the most memorable routine in the whole show.

Altogether now... HEEEEEEEEEEEEY SEXY LADY!



TRAINED FIGURE

Winner: Gemma Lancaster (UK)



Aka "The She Beast". Nice!

In 2017 Gemma has been crowned Ms NABBA England, Ms NABBA Universe - the second consecutive year a Brit has won - and, as a result of her win, she got to compete with the Pros. What an emotional and overwhelming day! she said afterwards.



C. Moore's Best of the Rest: Lydia Gerrard (UK)



By her own admission, Lydia needs to work on the "noodle arms" (her words, just to be clear). Fantastic glooteal definition though, and I think you will agree that her routine showed off her strengths very nicely and bagged her 3rd place. Lydia also seems to be the kind of woman you could have a lot of fun in a hotel with. Or anywhere really.



MISS FIGURE PRO DIVISION

Winner: Flora Conte (Italy)



With perennial NABBA Pro winner Daria Diossi sitting this one out, there was little real competition for the grande dame of NABBA Trained Figure. A two-time winner of the amateur version of the Ms Universe title (2010 and 2013), Flora has also been runner-up on more than one occasion. This is her first NABBA pro title of any sort.



C. Moore's Best of the Rest: Carol Bittencourt (Brazil)



With apologies to Lindsey Angel, whose bum work was exemplary, C. Moore has to go with the tanned, rippling Brazilian for the climax to his reluctant contest report.



Review all the routines at your leisure on the NABBA YouTube channel.

Bum Bakhar BOOM!

It may surprise you to learn that C. Moore is a creature of habit. Rising early, getting the joy trumpet set, and starting work on the first load of the day has been the way it has been for as long as I can remember - even during those regrettable periods when I found myself detained at Her Majesty's pleasure was I able to observe the same routine, even if some cellmates were less understanding than others re my needs.

These days I live an ever more monk-like existence - rarely going out, interacting only with delivery drivers and the occasional hawker. I think of my modest apartment as my cell, my sanctuary, and my morning release as my first daily act of devotion.

The routine keeps me out of trouble, keeps me away from yet more days in court, yet more sessions with the psychiatrists and psychologists, yet more long nights behind high walls with restricted internet access. But the routine is also designed (by yours truly) to maximise the time I have to spend in adoration of the muscular female.

Some say female muscle is their porn. For C. Moore it's religion.

And today my joy trumpet rose - not for the first time, not for the first time this week even, and certainly not for the last time - and rang out in praise of the bum of Bakhar.



BOOM!

I see my hands on her magnificent calves, skin so soft and yet never giving as they continue up to and over her hamstrings onto those monumentally glooty wonders. Quivering with excitement, I wonder if my fingers can fit under those shorts...



BOOM!

The shorts are suddenly gone. Now there is nothing between my face and my objects of worship. I press myself into the centre of her muscle heart just below them, emitting my prayer of devotion in gasps and moans of ecstasy and no little amount of drool...



BOOM!

To the beach. I follow her, like a dog their master, like a bitch in heat. I throb, held in a state of constant arousal by the sheer beauty of her thong-framed rear in motion. "Stop!" she whispers, her words carried on the wind. "Go!", "Come!", "Hold!", "Cum!"...

I pull out. It's too soon. The morning prayer must be a minimum specified length because if too quick, the tribute is too small, and the goddesses would be displeased.

I consider Bakhar from another angle. Her exhibitionism, her fan loyalty, the perks (financial, sure, but also emotional - to be "loved", "worshipped" by a following equivalent to the population of major European city can't be bad for the self-confidence, can it?) of her trade. Her business is that body. Business is good.



BOOM!

She could have 10, 20 guys in that room. 10, 20 joy trumpets sounding out for her so superior posterior. C. Moore obviously arrived a little late and has to take his place at the side, but there are always silver linings and in this case it's the view of both the sacred, untouchable wonder to the front and the excitement and explosions she and her wonders are causing to the side. It feels good to be part of the congregation...



BOOM!!

But even better to be alone with her and them. The garage makes me think of lube for some reason and just as I do my lube of choice starts leaking out. Polish the joy trumpet, make it glisten like her perfect skin sweaty after a hard gloot sesh. My (actual) head begins to tilt back in ecstasy, my eyes begin to roll, and my whole body starts to shake. Moaning, gasping, bucking, gooning, my prayer reaches an ecstatic climax...



BOOM! BOOM!! BOOM!! BOOM!!!

The joy trumpet rings out in four mighty splats against the altar screen. It's the perfect half-gloot peek - the thought she actually walked into the gym like that - which takes me over the edge. I start to chant, "BUM-BA-KHAR-BOOM" as I squeeze out the last few droplets from the twitching, pulsing tribute-maker. "BUM-BA-KHAR-BOOM!"

Morning prayer is over. Time for some Weetabix.

She's So Shredded: Lindsey Angel

Close-up, uninhibited, "how did that get by the censors?" shreds from the UK's most successful Trained Figure competitor at this year's NABBA Worlds, Lindsey Angel.



Lindsey has become a shredded, thong-wearing freak in just over two years' of lifting. When they say it takes years, yes, it does, she says. But it's also possible to do this in two years, she adds, somewhat confusingly. So, two years then, and Lindsey is the living proof. I have spent my life training in a ballet school, then doing other sports and pole fitness, so they too were developing my muscles. Oh right, now I see.



Here's Lindsey's glute-tastic routine from Russia. She was 3rd in her class.



Follow her on Instagram.