So, while Swell was away from FMS HQ during August, he found himself at a dinner to mark the successful end of a project he had been working on. And during that dinner, one of his erstwhile colleagues (male) was talking another of his erstwhile colleagues (female) about Tinder, which, according to Marie Claire, is the dating app that came out of nowhere and now completely dominates the UK dating scene.
“Yeah, I’d probably fuck her,” he said (with all the class I’ve come to expect from him) as he swiped to the right (which means “Yes”). “No way I’d fuck that,” he said, swiping to the left this time (left means “No”). And on he went. Left, left, right etc.
Don’t panic. I’m not about to weigh into the Tinder debate that seems to be going on everywhere from the media to the pub (and at the dinner I was at as well). If you are in the UK and have single friends, you’ve probably heard it already anyway.
“Jesus Christ! Look at her muscles!”
Tinder Boy was suddenly holding up the phone for all to see. And, to my surprise, what all saw was some proper female muscle. And proud female muscle at that, making damn sure you could see it. She was flexing her right bicep, her teeth gritted. “Yessss!” she seemed to be saying. “Look at that and right swipe if you dare boys!”
THE MADNESS!
I wanted to grab the phone from his hand and get a real good gander. I seriously wondered whether I’d recognise her – a local UKBFF or NABBA competitor perhaps? Given where the dinner was taking place it could have conceivably been a number of women I’d blogged about… Turned out grabbing wasn’t necessary. The phone was being passed around now. And yes, you guessed it, all the usual “looks like a dude”/”would kick the shit out of you” type comments were being made.
I waited my turn, and as I did I was still curious who she might be, but I was also getting more than a little righteously vexed. After all, my own wife has been busting her behind to gain some muscle in the last four or five months, and the thought that similar comments might be made about her at some point in the future when she had the muscle to match this lady, well, it was making my blood boil, I can tell you.
The phone came my way. I didn’t recognise the lady at all, and her arm wasn’t nearly as big as I’d thought it had been after that first glance (probably The Madness making everything seem bigger than it really is), but still, she was impressive. And hot.
I passed the phone on and waited till Tinder Boy had it back and had safely swiped Ms Muscles to the left. Now, at this point I should say that I had had a couple of drinks. Had that not been the case I would probably have let it lie, but I didn’t. Not this time.
What I said exactly is a little hard to remember, but it started with a question to the parents at the table about whether they would like it if their daughter’s photo had been passed round in such a way. When Tinder Boy responded that it was just a little bit of fun (“Relax, man!”) I asked the table whether it would have been a bit of fun to pass round and ridicule a very fat woman, a black woman, a disabled woman?
According to the table, those instances would be “different”.
And at that point I started up about the wife. And once I got going I found myself becoming less and less angry, and more and more effusive about the benefits of her newly-toned body. The benefits for her self-esteem, the benefits for her health. The compliments she gets, the admiration of her friends. And then, smelling blood, I started to talk about the benefits for our sex life, about strength, flexibility, stamina, and even, I’m almost ashamed to say, the greater control of certain hidden muscles.
The Madness, the drink… No doubt I remember myself as slightly more eloquent and a lot more heroic than I actually was. When I’d finished, one of the ladies broke the silence and made everyone laugh by saying somewhat suggestively that she couldn’t wait to meet my wife. I probably came across as a bit of a twat/weirdo to most of the assembled, and I dare say some of them may well have decided that no matter how good I might be at my job, they won’t be calling on my expertise in the future.
Whatever.
I hardly told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but I felt like something needed to be said and I said it. It felt and it feels good to have done so.
This must be how Brian Eno feels ALL THE TIME!!!
A couple of weeks on from the incident and I find that I haven’t told the wife about this. I’ve been telling her, as I have from the start of her fitness regime, how wonderful she is, how wonderful she’s looking (and not just telling her, if you know what I mean). But about my speechifying, nothing. And I’m not sure why. Perhaps I don’t want her to get self-conscious about her muscles before she has the sort of muscles that might make her feel self-conscious. Perhaps I don’t want her to start thinking about whether there was more to it than just defending her lifestyle choices!
And I’ve also been thinking about the Tinder Muscle Lady. I’m no longer very curious about who she is. I don’t want to find out her name and then broadcast that she is looking for fun. I’m not about to “out” her or anything like that. But I have been thinking that Tinder is probably a good thing as far as she’s concerned. After all, she has almost certainly cornered the market within her specified geographical radius for female muscle lovin’ single guys (and even the odd naughty non-single guy as well).
And in this week of good news, I’ve found that the Tinder Muscle Lady that my erstwhile colleague came across is not the only one out there. On the forum whose first rule is you do not talk about it, there’s a member from Texas who is happily posting images of all the muscle women he finds on Tinder in the San Antonio area – and if you care to have a look for his thread, you’ll find they are surprisingly numerous.
I’m not suggesting you move to San Antonio, I’m just saying that it seems that there are muscle women out there and advertising for dates. If I were you, I’d get myself a job/a haircut/in shape/a new wardrobe/whatever it takes to get a right swipe…
Where the hell was this app when I was young, free, beautiful and single?!
Enjoy (responsibly)!
And by the way, NONE of the women in this post are either from Tinder (as far as I know) or my wife. They are purely for illustrative purposes. All are culled from Femularity (aka “tenantcomplex”) on Tumblr, which I find is a great source for an unidentified girl-next-door-type female muscle fix. And more! Recommended.
Female Muscle Slave 