September 2012 – Female Muscle Slave

The sprinter has the time to race against. The weightlifter has the weights. The bodybuilder only has the mirror.

narcissism (noun)
excessive or erotic interest in oneself and one’s physical appearance

Are female bodybuilders all narcissists? It wouldn’t be too surprising to find that many of them (and their male counterparts) are. After all, if bodybuilding isn’t all about taking interest in oneself and one’s physical appearance, what is it?

They may have changed, transformed, from a body they are not happy with to a body they are ecstatic about. They want to show the world. Have you ever seen a woman who recently had plastic surgery not exhibit cleavage, or a new hairdo wear a hat?

A little while back, I referred to a clip of Denise Masino and Tatianna Butler on a US TV show in which at one point Tatiana says one person per household walking around half-naked, unable to walk past a mirror without flexing, was her limit, that there was only room in her life for one narcissist: herself.

Right from the beginning of my interest in female muscle, I found images of muscular women gazing at their own muscles while they flexed especially stimulating. The idea, confirmed by Tatiana, that the women enjoyed looking at themselves as much as I enjoyed looking at them was, and still is, a turn-on. And I don’t want that fantasy to be eroded by evidence suggesting otherwise.

Nevertheless, I fearlessly researched the subject for this post, but came across very little evidence either way – as usual there has been so much more written about the subject regarding male bodybuilders. When I did find something that suggested vanity on the part of a muscular woman, it aroused me. Evidence suggesting insecurity was easy to ignore.

In general, what I found was that competitive muscle women love themselves most at the point where they achieve their contest look. Every bit of their hard work is on show. They are literally all muscle.

I was getting ready for a show and I was about two weeks out. I was having sex; specifically I was giving this persona a blow-job. I was in front of the mirror when I noticed the arm I was propped on was tensed and all the muscles running down my arm were flexed. I couldn’t take my eyes off myself. I was in my GLORY. I temporarily forgot what I was doing and I was so caught up in how good I looked. I must have been gazing at my image for a long time when my companion interrupted my moment by clearing his throat and in a slightly annoyed/half amused tone was like ‘Hi, hello…remember me? Are you through checking yourself out, or am I in your way?’

On the other hand, competition time is also judgement time. Standing on a stage having your body scrutinised by the judges, the audience and your peers probably isn’t the best way to keep your insecurities under control, I imagine. But if it’s true that being in contest shape brings out more insecurity than confidence, I frankly don’t want to know about it. Let’s talk about something else…

Better even than an image of a muscular woman gazing at herself is self-worship; stroking, squeezing, kissing or licking her muscles. This takes it to a whole new level. It’s no longer enough for her to just look at herself, she is compelled to touch. It’s irresistible – both for her and for me.

self-worship (noun)
idiolatry, the worship of yourself

My self-worship Queen is Dena Westerfield, who seemed to go through a period a few years back when she couldn’t pose for a camera for more than a couple of seconds without touching herself up and planting a big smacker on a bicep. In a classic Awefilms clip, she spends quality time in a hotel room with just a mirror for company, and you get the impression that’s how she spends all her evenings when she’s on the road, and most of her evenings at home for good measure. All an act? If it is, it’s a very convincing one, and one that I’m all too ready to believe!

The moral of the story? Well, when she’s looking in the mirror at the gym there’s a good chance she’s checking herself out, but if it helps you to believe that she’s actually checking you out, then believe, but if, like me, you find the idea that she can’t wait to get home, disrobe and spend the rest of the evening gazing at herself in the mirror, believe that instead. When all is said and done, a fantasy is just that, and it’s better it remains so.