CRUISING FOR MUSCLE
The hours leading up to my dinner date with Tina were spent being mercilessly ridiculed by my 3 friends. They couldn’t fathom why out of all the women on the ship, I’d pursue a musclebound she-man like Tina. In their eyes she was practically a guy with bolt-on tits, which made me a raging homo. Hell, I was worried they might be right about Tina given the massive meat-bulge I’d seen stretching her bikini bottoms.
But even with all the taunting and harassment and panty-straining terror, I still found myself on cloud nine. Why? Because I was about to live a life-long dream. I was about to go on a date with a mother fucking female bodybuilder! Holy shit! A flesh and blood female bodybuilder was meeting ME for dinner!
I was so elated that I’d temporarily forgotten how only hours earlier I’d been completely overwhelmed by Tina’s boundry-smashing muscularity. As the hour approached and my anxiety returned, I tried to tell myself that I’d over-reacted. After all, I’d never before in all my years of muscle-obsession seen a single bodybuilder, real or imagined that I considered “too muscular”.
Yet I was still anxious – scared that I couldn’t handle the magnitude of Tina’s outrageous physique. In an effort to calm my nerves, I Googled “Tina Brody bodybuilder” on my laptop. I found numerous competition pictures dating back to the 2000s. The most common pics were from the 2003 Ultra-Class Bodybuilding Championships. I learned how at only 18 years old, Tina had defeated an all-male line-up of the sport’s then-best heavyweights. Her physique was magnificent – a masterpiece of bulging beef and testosterone virility massively superior to any man – yet almost comically malnourished compared to the woman I was meeting. Facially she was almost an entirely other person. I had to examine multiple pictures just to recognize a hint of likeness. She’d been unquestionably gorgeous then - intensely sexual and fresh-faced, like a sultry model pasted onto a bodybuilder’s physique. How dramatically the hormones and steroids had changed her was almost beyond my comprehension.
I spent so long looking at online pictures that I almost forgot about our actual date. I became obsessed with finding something – anything – that matched the ‘roided-up behemoth I was about to dine with. The only recent pictures I could find were from her very last competition in 2008 and despite sporting more than twice the muscle-mass than she’d had in 2003 (which was unbelievable in itself), she was still nowhere near as jacked as she’d been by the pool.
I found myself pondering numerous questions. Even at 18 Tina had been a world-class muscle-freak, but how much chemical abuse did it take to change a woman THAT much? Why had Tina not competed in the last 6 years? And what had she been doing in that time that necessitated such estrogen-murdering muscle-development?
I arrived in a sharp suit in the nick of time for our date – mostly excited but a little bit terrified. While I waited for Tina, an endless parade of eligible girls passed me by. Thoughts of my friends’ hazing filled my mind. Many of the girls were stunners, yet I’d happily give them all up for this one date with Tina.
Looking up from my watch I spotted Tina approaching down the hall. Even prepared for her, I still felt the wind knocked out of me at the sight of her incomprehensible muscles. As she grew closer and the details of her body became clearer, she went from massive to jaw-dropping to a walking aberration of nature. She was a creature beyond my wildest imagination. Her shoulders and lats alone were so colossally beef-swollen that she filled the hallway – I mean literally filled it as couples passing her struggled to squeeze by.
As Tina stopped to greet me, I struggled like before to find my breath. This one-woman steroid industry had packed herself into a dress the size of a circus tent that was still way too small to tame her. The poor gown, full of glimmering sequins, elegant curves and a flowing lower half, did absolutely nothing to soften the rock-hard anatomy threatening to destroy it. If anything, the preposterously too-small dress made Tina look even more masculine (and had already ruptured several seams just from the walk over).
The strapless garment had even more trouble with Tina’s silicone chest. It would’ve been too much already to expect the dress to contain Tina’s ruthlessly meaty he-pecs, but it also had to contend with her huge fake titties, which were smashed together in an eruption of ballooning cleavage. On top of that, each shot glass-sized nipple stood so pervertedly erect that I felt like I was going to choke on them.
I was already drunk on bulging girl-muscle and I hadn’t even noticed the abnormally large purse Tina carried over her shoulder. It was about as big as a pillow sack and stuffed to bursting. The thing must have weighed 40 pounds. Was she carrying around dumbbells in there? Then Tina gazed at me with her sexy, lust-filled eyes and I forgot instantly about her mystery bag.
She’d made herself up spectacularly, her every feature pronounced and amplified, particularly her giant erotic lips. Her patchy hair was up in a sophisticated bun that left a few dangling curls framing her overgrown cheek bones. She had on sparkling earrings and a diamond barbell necklace that was buried several inches into the oaken enormity of her Redwood neck.
For an instant I could almost see the sexy young beauty that had won the 2003 Ultra-Class standing before me. If I squinted hard enough, I could imagine the tiniest, faintest glimmer of that gorgeous girl. She had been a sensual goddess in the early 2000s and that searing hotness still existed on some deep, genetic level. But a decade spent pressing iron, a fortune blown on steroids and enough hormones to grow two cocks had conspired viciously together. She was a fucking chemical super-mutant.
The sultry make-up made it even more tragic how seriously steroid-fucked her face was. All the hormone horror and caveman bone growth was way more twisted when she was trying desperately to look like a woman – and she was trying really, really hard. But not even a million-dollar makeover could hide how dried-out, shriveled-up and tendon-shredded her looks were.
There were the fat, furious veins crawling all over her neck and snarling through the thin skin of her face. She had massive mutant-league veins everywhere – on her cheeks, her jaw, squirming up her nose. There were horrendous, fist-sized vein-wads pulsating on her forehead like alien tentacles. But that was just the tip of the iceberg.
Her thick, masculine jaw, her superhero chin cleft, her sunken bug-eyes, none of it was what really what messed her up. THAT didn’t become apparent until she opened her mouth.
As Tina spoke to me I could hardly believe my eyeballs. Enormous steroid muscles came to life beneath the entirety of her face. All the hideous heaps of vascularity and the structure of her face itself shifted and tensed in a series of straining, coordinated muscle-masses. Striations and vicious knotting protruded through her wire-tight flesh, subdividing her flexing features and showing off a sick level of nightmarish ultra-conditioning.
I was so shell-shocked by the Mr. Olympia most-muscular happening to Tina’s face that I missed everything she said to me. I should’ve been running for the hills at this point but some twisted part of me was getting really turned-on. Obsessed seemed a wholly inadequate word to describe what Tina was. Standing before me was the hugest, thickest, most disgustingly hyper-developed bodybuilder I’d ever seen. The thought of fucking her seemed akin to sticking my dick in a meat grinder. And here I was about to have dinner with her.
Our poor hostess practically had a heart-attack when she appeared to seat us. A second later the entire restaurant ground to a halt. Tina didn’t seem at all embarrassed by the scene her heaving muscles were causing, nor did she notice when a few more stitches tore in her dress while we following the shaken hostess through the crowd.
We took a table by the window as the last dim light of the sun set over the ocean. I ordered a bottle of red wine, which Tina mentioned brought out her vascularity. I looked at the 3 foot thick forearms she had rested on the tabled, each one so grossly vein-stuffed that she appeared to be wearing sleeves made out of hotdogs and told her that it was impossible for her to get any more vascular. She laughed a ‘roidy baritone laugh and admitted that she’d skipped her afternoon workout so that she wouldn’t be too pumped for our date. She didn’t want to scare me too much – at least not yet, she added playfully.
I nervously gazed at Tina’s literally SUV-sized upper body and struggled to imagine how she could possibly get more pumped. Her muscles seemed hysterically swollen and loudly stretched her skin with the slightest movement. Her veins were so unnervingly blood-drunk that their bloated girth changed the outline of her body. She had a few dozen python-thick arterial monstrosities squirming between the striated grooves of her pecs that I couldn’t take my eyes off of. Hell, even her huge silicone tits were vascular.
Those tits – holy shit. I had to fight not to nakedly stare at Tina’s comic book boobs. They were the fakest, most ridiculous looking things I’d ever seen and launched off of her chest like two plastic basketballs. The funny thing was, for as big as they were, they actually seemed quite small atop the endless rippling girth of her pecs. They also weren’t working, as I assumed they were there to counterbalance her crushing masculinity. But Tina was so fantastically butch that they did nothing to feminize and just made her look like an even bigger freak.
Tina noticed my gaze and told me she’d gotten them towards the end of her IFBB career. She’d regularly lost points for being too masculine and at the time was sick of being mistaken for a man in her daily life. Trying to act cool, I asked if she liked them and she admitted that she hadn’t at first. But after she quit mainstream bodybuilding she began to change her mind. The bigger her muscles got, the faker they looked. She found the contrast sexy but there was a problem. As she packed on ever huger muscle-mass, they looked increasingly small until her original c-cups were barely bee-stings on her bursting dimensions. She revealed to me that she’d had bigger implants installed three more times. Swallowing a huge lump, I asked her how big her breasts were now. She told me they were triple-Es and she’d likely have to go up to Fs or even Gs at the rate she was still growing.
We continued to talk for a while before being rudely interrupted by Tina’s phone. I assumed it was her friends calling her but to my surprise it was an alarm. Tina glanced at the screen and politely excused herself. She picked up her huge, heavy bag and with a warm smile told me that she’d be back in a moment.
A moment ended up being closer to a half-hour. Just as I was starting to think I’d been stood-up, Tina reappeared – only something was immediately different. Sitting back down across from me, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Everything about Tina was dramatically intensified. Her dress had split open in a dozen more places and big, boulder-sized swells of shredded muscle-beef were layered explosively on top of her previous muscularity. Her entire body appeared to be on the verge of eruption – her every muscle and vein alarmingly swollen. Her huge traps and neck were even thicker than before and were literally crushing her tiny head like a grape. Each savagely defined blade of her wrecking ball deltoids seemed to contain the mass and width of an adult male - and even with shoulders so elephant-sized, her freak show lats STILL outstripped them, with each side of her back about as big as a SMART car.
All I could do was stare. Tina’s dress was under so much stress now that about 80 percent of her silicone tits were bulging nakedly in front of me. I could see her damn areolas playing peek-a-boo. The agonizingly sliced, testosterone-jacked air conditioners she called pecs were almost 100 percent covered by multiple squirming layers of veins – some of them as thick as my fucking ankle.
Tina turned to rest her bag at our feet and I noticed that it was now empty. I then saw to my heart-stopping surprise that she had a large syringe sticking out of her shoulder. She turned back to face me and I noticed two more syringes stuck in her – one in her left bicep and the other jabbed deeply into one of her pecs.
I covered my mouth in shock and tried to subtly motion to the multiple needles stabbed into my muscle-monster date. Tina wasn’t sure what I was hinting at and I had to tell her matter-of-factly that she had three fucking steroid injection syringes sticking out of her body.
Tina seemed more annoyed than embarrassed and pulled the needles out. She added them to a dozen more in her bag and told me that she was always forgetting a few.
At the risk of getting slapped in the face by a woman with biceps bigger than a basketball, I asked Tina point-blank if she used steroids. Truly there had a never been a more pointless question in history. Was water wet? Was salt salty? So why did I ask it then? I guess I’d always wanted to hear a female bodybuilder say out loud that they abused steroids. Tina seemed amused by my nerve and simply asked me “What do you think?”
Her non-answer was as clear and definitive a “yes” as I could’ve gotten. I mean, she was so muscular that she seemed permanently hooked to a steroid drip. I told her that she looked like she took more steroids than all the other bodybuilders combined. Instead of taking offence to my response, Tina laughed, smiled at me and replied “maybe I do.”
My dick instantly turned rock hard as Tina locked her lustful eyes with mine. Fuck – she was serious. She took a seductive sip of wine and licked her lips in a slow, sexy circle.
Maybe Tina didn’t realize that her face was a revolting muscle and vein super-orgy, or maybe she liked looking like a steroid muscle-mutant. Whatever the case, this butched-out she-stud was openly flirting with me – and I’ll be god damned if it wasn’t the kinkiest thing ever.
Tina told me that she was currently prepping for the toughest competition of her career and she needed to do a massive cycle every 4-5 hours.
My jaw hit the floor. Holy fucking shit. That 50-pound bag had been full of steroids? And she had to inject that much every 5 hours?! No wonder she looked like a muscle-growth science experiment, I blurted. Tina’s smile curled devilishly and she added that it was still early in her training and that she’d be ramping up the ‘roids in the coming weeks. With a hint of anger, she told me she was going to show those bulging bitches what REAL muscles looked like.
My dick was starting to get painfully hard. I wanted to know what this contest was that she was prepping for. I mean, wasn’t she retired?
Tina revealed that towards the end of her mainstream career, she’d started to outgrow official competitions. Even the heavyweight men’s division began deducting points for her over-the-top muscle-mass. That’s when she discovered a whole new world of illegal, underground competitions. Unlike the structure of sanctioned shows, underground competitions revealed themselves gradually and only as she won them. They were seemingly endless, with one ultra-hardcore title unlocking the door to an even more extreme one. Soon she was being flown to twisted private competitions run by obsessed billionaires offering thousands in black-market steroids as their prize purses.
And hardcore steroids were an absolute necessity. With Tina’s gifted genetics, she’d dominated the mainstream world, but the underground circuit was a whole new ball game. This was where the real freaks lived – men and women who knew no limits and had transformed themselves in living, breathing bodybuilding abominations. Tina was in the most incredible shape of her life when she stepped on the stage of her first illegal show. She was 485 pounds of shredded girl-beef – a total mass-mutant by anyone’s definition. Yet despite winning the show, she did so by a hair’s breadth, and the girls in the next “division” were even bigger super-freaks.
That was six years ago. Since then Tina had done thousands of cycles, taken hundreds of thousands of pills. The sheer lunatic intensity of the underground scene demanded the maximum of her muscle-building potential and much more. Even in the “off-season” she was taking 40-50 different steroids, at least 10 different hormones and even some “don’t ask, don’t tell” shit. When prepping for a contest, those numbers would double and were getting more outrageous with every new show.
But it was worth it. With psychotic determination, Tina had clawed her way through the ranks, winning some of the most twisted competitions there were. She was going up against “women” that were 700 pounds of testosterone muscle-horror. These were the most ruthlessly masculinized mountains of she-muscle imaginable – their sexuality utterly obliterated by oceans of chemicals. And yet toe to toe on stage, the hot auditorium lights glistening off their oiled-up physiques, she was savagely out-muscling every one of them. And the rabbit hole just kept going deeper.
I was almost caught up to the present now. Tina explained that she had spent the last 7 months prepping for the most intense competition of her life. The stories she’d heard about past winners were beyond belief. So she trained with a fury and dedication that would massively transform her already titanic body. At the apex of her prep she was taking over 100 steroids and injecting enough HGH to grow a mountain-man beard. Her voice – already unnaturally deep from half a decade of crazy steroid abuse – had dropped another few octaves just in the run-up to the show. By the time she stepped on stage she was literally sweating man-hormones and was losing hair in clumps. She had a roid-gut the size of a beer keg and even the bone-structure of her face had changed. She looked like a caveman Mr. Olympia with the muscles of the Incredible Hulk. The night of the show she weighed a mind-boggling 790 pounds at zero percent body fat. And she didn’t even place in the top five.
I was speechless hearing Tina’s story. She told me that her girlfriends had convinced her to take this cruise as a much needed break. They thought she regretted becoming the jaw-dropping muscle-horror that illegal bodybuilding had turned her into. What they didn’t realize was that she was more addicted than ever to getting fucking huge. And not just huge – unnaturally, impossibly fucking MASSIVE. Like a desperate crack addict, the more of a roid-freak she’d become, the bigger she wanted to get. It gave Tina an ultimate kinky thrill every time a stranger looked at her explosively-swollen muscles and wanted to run away in terror. She lived to cause scenes wherever she went, all the time, with absolutely everyone who looked at her. These days there wasn’t a piece of clothing she could buy, no matter how stupidly baggy that could hide the brutal shape, size and swollen vascularity of her ripped physique. She was 100% steroid muscle-mass – all the time.
With a bravery that surprised myself, I asked her what she thought about the devastating anabolic side-effects – her shockingly deep man-voice and her facial transformation into a literal Frankenstein’s monster. To my surprise, I could feel her arousal intensify as if I were turning a dial. Tina didn’t just accept her becoming an androgynous testosterone muscle-beast – she RELISHED it. She told me that she’d occasionally look back at pictures of the soft, girlish, barely-400 pound champion bodybuilder she was 6 years ago and feel embarrassed that she’d ever considered herself muscular. Compared to the freaks she was facing in the underground circuit, her younger mainstream physique was practically that of a fitness competitor. Tina seemed almost angry that her body was actually quite resistant to the worst side-effects of anabolic steroids. She didn’t grow body hair, she didn’t have acne, and all of the other ugly changes were proportionately weak considering the overwhelming volume of drugs she took. She was even teased backstage for being “pretty” – something I could hardly believe coming out of the mouth of the most repulsively steroid-pumped bodybuilder I’d ever seen.
Then something happened that I’ll never forget for as long as I live. Tina looked me in the eyes and asked me if I thought she was muscular enough.
The question was so patently ridiculous that I wasn’t sure I heard her right. Tina was supremely, ferociously ultra-muscular to a stomach-turning degree. She repelled even the most bodybuilder-obsessed part of me. Every time I looked at her she seemed even more shredded and tremendous, as if my brain and eyeballs were still struggling to accept the totality of her monstrous mega-mass. Yet despite being a horrible hormone-jacked she-man, her sheer demented enormity was a major turn-on.
I admitted with some difficulty that she was pretty scary looking. Tina tightened her gaze and prodded me to be honest. I took a deep breath and told her that she was ugly, freakish and completely terrifying. That said, I had to admit that I desperately wanted to see her flex those huge, bulging guns. Maybe it was the part of a person that looks at a car crash speaking, but I needed to see how insanely ultra-pumped she could make herself.
Tina bit her lip hard enough that the thick veins in her forehead bulged even more outrageously. She told me that for the rest of the night, she was my own personal steroid freak – and I could anything I wanted with her.