CRUISING FOR MUSCLE - chapter 1

Legendary female muscle artist FX-Man recently updated his blog with a bunch of free sketches, including the shocking, disturbing and incredible masterpiece on the left.  For those into hardcore female muscle, this pic is about as hardcore as it gets.  

I found the depicted character so frighteningly realized and so fearlessly extreme that it inspired me to challenge my own writing.  

FX-Man has some other pics for sale that run along the same lines as this one so definitely go check them out... if you dare.   

CRUISING FOR MUSCLE

Chapter 1

Our flight arrived in Fort Lauderdale around 11am.  We were already half-in-the-bag when we caught our transfer to Miami.  This was the type of party trip we’d been talking about since college.  Just the 4 poon-hounds, Brett, Dave, J.M. and me on a 7 day cruise to the Caribbean full of drinking, hook-ups and dirty sex.  Every fine female with a pulse was a potential target locked in our crosshairs and already things were looking good.  The cruise terminal was chock-full of fine ladies lined-up to disembark.  Brett and J.M. wasted no time chatting them up when I noticed something that made my heart skip a beat.  Far across the terminal was a hugely muscular figure like nothing I’d ever seen before.  I mean, maybe it was the distance but this guy looked like the Hulk.  Even on the internet I’d never seen this kind of muscle-mass.  It was really obscene.  Of course someone sporting that kind of drug-crazy muscularity couldn’t possibly be a woman but at a second glance I realized that holy fucking shit, it was! 

This barely-a-girl hunk was with a group of 4 or 5 cute women and completely dwarfed them in size.  I’d never actually seen a female bodybuilder in person before but even I knew that this was a special kind of freak.  She was wearing a stretchy cotton top with tights so she wasn’t showing any skin but her shape was pure beefcake.  Unfortunately, before I could get a better look, her line started to move up and they entered the ship.

My heart was still racing long after they’d gone.  It was the thrill of a lifetime to see a female bodybuilder in the flesh, even if it was from 100 yards away.  I was even more excited that this magnificent creature was on our ship.  I was determined to find her and soak in as much detail as I possibly could.   

I was bummed when I didn’t see her again for the rest of the night.  During the ship’s departure I stood on deck with the guys, quietly scanning the crowd to no avail.  I didn’t see her at dinner in the main dining hall or in the casino later and was pulled into drinking with some sluts for most of the night. 

About midnight I went out for some air.  The upper decks were quiet in the moonlight and the ocean breeze almost blew my drink out of my hand.  I was busy replaying her image in my mind when I spotted someone jogging on the deck above me.  I immediately knew that it was her.  She was in a Lycra jogging suit almost bursting to contain her Herculean body.  I wasn’t much closer to her than last time but I could definitely spy some addition detail. 

Firstly, I realized that this girl was even BIGGER than I’d first thought.  I simply couldn’t believe my eyes.  Every part of her was outrageously butch.  In fact, I began to question whether she was actually woman when I noticed the faint color of lipstick and an auburn ponytail.  She also had big, over-sized balloon tits that bounced up and down with every step – quite literally the only piece of female anatomy on her entirely masculinized body.

I was frozen in place watching as she stopped to check her watch, visibly panting and wiping her brow.  Then she was off again and out of my sight.  I snapped out of my daze and dashed after her, desperate to find the stairs to her upper level.  By the time I did, she was gone again. 

All of my thoughts that night were of the bodybuilder.  To my surprise, I rebounded between my initial excitement and a creeping dread.  Sure, she was built, but maybe there was such a thing as TOO built – a notion I’d never subscribed to until today.  With muscles as big as hers she was almost certainly on steroids.  What if she was a shriveled-up hag with chest hair and acne? 

The next two days were scheduled to be at sea as we cruised to our destination.  That suited my friends’ fine as they could play the field.  By breakfast I’d long forgotten about regular women.  Despite my trepidation I still wanted to meet the mysterious muscle-girl.  I tried to temper my expectations.  At the very least, I’d get a few wonderful eyefuls of her tanned and chiseled she-muscle.

I had no luck finding her during the morning but at lunch, Brett appeared excited about a group of hot ladies he’d met.  He described them as 4 twenty-somethings hot to trot, all with sexy bods except for their mannish, muscle-bound friend.  I perked up as he described her as “no joke, twice as ripped as The Rock”.  I laughed along with everyone but I was secretly elated.  It had to be her.

We found the girls on the pool deck.  The party was raging and the girls were in a crowded Jacuzzi sipping mixed drinks.  As we approached them, I scanned the area.  No sign of the female bodybuilder.  My friends introduced themselves and in no time we were rubbing up with the girls in the tub.  My friends were all over the girls and they seemed totally into it.  I tried to engage the conversation such as it was but all I wanted to know was more about their muscular friend.  I injected a few questions here and there – how long did they know each other, where were they from, etc.  One of them mentioned college but that she’d known Tina since grade school. 

“Tina?”  I asked.

“Yeah, you’ve probably seen her around.  She’d hard to miss.”  The girl answered.

I played along and asked why.

“Cause she’s a bodybuilder.”

Another friend chimed-in and added that she made Arnold Schwarzenegger look like Kate Moss. 

I was kind of amazed that the girls seemed genuinely proud and supportive of the bodybuilder.  In fact, when Brett dubbed female bodybuilders “tranny freaks”, the friends came to her defense. 

As the afternoon wore on, I continued to ask various girls questions about “Tina”.  I tried to keep it subtle but I noticed a knowing smile between 2 of the girls.  When I asked where she was, they told me she was working out. 

“She’s always working out!”  They laughed.

Tina was constantly training for one show or another they explained to the point where she had to keep a strict diet and schedule even on vacation.  Glancing at her phone, one of them told me she’d be along shortly.

A dozen drinks later, we all had a good buzz going.  I kept looking at my watch, hoping that Tina would finally show.  J.M. told me to stop fidgeting and go after one of the girls.  I laughed nervously and sipped my drink.

I was running out of optimism when the girls looked over our shoulders and lit up.

“Tina!”  They exclaimed to a huge figure approaching.   We all turned to find a living temple of pharmaceutical overkill drawing stares from all over the deck.  I must have gasped out loud because the girl beside me giggled. 

The mountain-sized steroid-hulk was still largely covered in a Lycra hoodie and sweats but it didn’t matter.  She was a fucking bull-stud.  No longer a distant figure, it was clear that I’d massively underestimated her.  She was way, WAY more freakishly muscular than even my previous night’ impression.  For the first time in my life, I felt a sickening fear fill my heart in the presence of such demented obsession. 

She came over to the pool and the girls urged her to join us.  As she sat down at the edge, they introduced my friends and we all just stared, barely able to accept just how grotesque this bodybuilder was.  Even the hardcore muscle fetishist in me found it unsettling.

Tina joined the conversation and I was immediately struck by her voice.  It was much deeper than the other girls and just shy of man-like.  Worse, she was hidden behind a pair of big sunglasses which made it hard to get a read on her age.  What a blind man could tell though was how lean she was.  I mean, this girl was gruesomely shredded.  She was so ripped that it had drastically affected her face, which was an anabolic nightmare of caveman features, dried-parchment skin and hyper-vascularity.  It looked like she’d been injecting HGH right into her face.

Over the next half-hour I kept trying to steal perverted gazes at Tina’s physique.  She was so God damn humongous that I struggled to believe my own eyes.  Her back seemed as wide as any 5 of us and her arms were Roman columns.  Her wrist and hands were covered in rippling tendons and big, bloated veins that resembled garden-hoses.  Even her tan was insane.  It was a deep bronze so intense and artificial that her teeth look like they were glowing.

 I really didn’t know how to feel about Tina at this point.  Her gorilla muscle-mass and hyper-androgyny were genuinely ugly, to say nothing of her drug-ravaged face.  So why did I have a hard-on?

I snapped out of my daze long enough to notice Tina’s friend whispering in her ear.  They looked at me with a giggle.  J.M. quickly leaned in to warn me that “Mr. Muscles” was checking me out.  Before I could feign a response, Tina got up and turned to me.  With an assured directness tinged by some unexplainable sex appeal, she asked me if I needed a drink from the bar.  It was my opening to join her, but was I going to take it?  Did even a muscle-nut like me want a butched-out ‘roid-bull that may well have been a hermaphrodite? 

With the most conviction I’d ever felt in my life I told her “yes”.  I couldn’t believe it was happening but off we went together - me and the she-man bodybuilder. 

Walking with Tina made me feel like a scrawny teenager.  Despite the fact that I was taller than her she totally eclipsed me.  Christ, she was a fucking mass-freak.  Her traps alone were as wide as my shoulders.  Her delts looked like shoulder-pads and were easily the size of beach balls.  I actually shuddered as I realized that each of her upper-arms was thicker around than my entire body.   

Her walk was about as undignified and ogre-like as I’d ever seen.  It was as much her lack of femininity as the ridiculous jumble of meat bulges grinding against each other.  It was no joke that her lats forced her arms out like she was carrying 2 beer kegs. 

We sat down at the bar and started to chat.  I was so nervous I could hardly form a coherent sentence.  Tina picked up on this quickly. 

“Have you ever met a female bodybuilder before?” She started, mercifully pointing out the elephant in the room

I replied “no” and she told me that most people got very awkward around her.  That helped me to relax and I was quick to apologize for me friends’ behavior.  With a smile Tina explained to me that she was accustomed to negative attention and that it was actually a big turn-on for her.  She told me that the only real downside of her physique was that it was hard to find nice guys – even hardcore muscle-admirers – who were into muscles as “envelope-pushing” as hers.  She then asked me point-blank if I was turned-on by muscular women.

I admit I was thrown-off by her bluntness and very nearly went to my stock “denial” line – a tactic I’d become comfortable with over the years when confronted by acquaintances.   But it dawned on me that Tina wouldn’t judge me the way a friend or a parent might.  Hell, she might’ve been the only person I’d ever met who I could share my fetish with and not feel like a total weirdo.    

With a deep breath, I admitted that I’d secretly been into female bodybuilders since my teen years.  Man, it felt strange to say that out loud but I immediately felt a great sense of relief.  I told her how I’d seen her in the cruise ship terminal the other day and almost lost my shit.  That made her laugh and it was clear that she understood my feelings completely.

Talking with Tina, I became surprised by how cool she was.  Despite her directness she had a fun personality that made being with her easy.  Still, I couldn’t shake the tension I was feeling.  My heart was racing and I felt a cold sweat on my skin.  It was like I was still realizing in waves just how completely mental her physique was. 

I continued to pick out details while we conversed, like how I could see fat wads of vascularity pressing through her clothes.  The fact that I could literally see veins moving beneath her outfit made me question whether I could handle what she was packing under those sweats or even behind those sunglasses.  When she did finally removed her sunglasses, what I faced made me seriously consider ditching her then and there. 

It was pretty clear that at some point Tina had been a knockout and on some level she still was.  She had beautiful, sultry eyes and a set of clearly super-fake porn lips.  But the combination of torture-level conditioning and liver-wrecking drug abuse had mutated her into a leather-faced horror.  Her forehead and cheek bones were hugely over-grown, her eye-sockets were sunken and her skin dry and tight.  I could see abnormal muscularity in her jaw as if she’d been lifting dumbbells with her teeth.  She had a receding hairline with a few large clumps missing that revealed enormous veins pulsating across her skull.  The entirety of her face was dominated by straining, bloated, writhing vascularity – almost like she was lifting a boulder with all of her might.   

I’d never in all of my years seen a woman so thoroughly ruined by bodybuilding.  Tina was like the worst, most ugly steroid-soaked bodybuilder cliché taken to a hysterical extreme.  She was a hideous creature from head to toe. 

I don’t rightly know what kept me there talking with her.  I’ll admit that the revulsion I felt was actually kind of exhilarating.  It was clear that this girl did ANYTHING to grow her muscles, and that was sexy.  As we continued to chat, I sensed Tina was into me as well.  It was kind of a dream come true as I’d always assumed female bodybuilders were into macho manly-men, not normal guys like me.  Unfortunately, my dream was shattered quickly. 

Two bulky jocks had spotted Tina and came over.  One of them literally stepped between us and started hitting on her.  Both guys were football player good-looking and probably 225 pounds of muscle.  But they were also assholes who started telling Tina what she needed.  My guess is that they were too drunk to notice her scary Frankenstein vein-face. 

Tossing me a sly smirk, Tina replied that she only dated guys with biceps bigger than hers.  Right away the blustery jocks started egging each other on and pumping their arms.  They were both pretty built but the mouthpiece between us had some serious guns.  After a dozen grunting flexes, he held his straining bicep before us.  It was nicely cut and popping veins from his exertion. 

“22 inches.” He proclaimed. 

Tina played coy.  She pouted her ridiculous fake lips and doubted aloud that her little girl muscles could match his big, tough bicep.

Slowly, she raised her outstretched left arm to his.  Both myself and the jocks could hardly believe the Godzilla girth of her unflexed bicep.  It was already double the size of his and had more veins stretching her sleeve than his naked arm.

She then slowly cranked it upward - her bowling ball, then basketball, then beach ball bicep rising until she locked it in a flex.  In direct comparison, her arm was now 3 or even 4 times the size as the jocks’.  It was unreal.  The fibers of her sweater were so severely stretched that Tina’s tanned skin changed the color of the material.

“Wait, I’m not done yet.” Tina teased in her raspy baritone voice and tightened her fist. 

Skin audibly groaned and veins bulged as thick as my wrist, desperate to burst.  She craned her fist around causing monstrous muscle fibers to snarl.  She then lowered her arm again and with a light grunt, flexed it hard.  A freakish watermelon bicep blew apart her sleeve from shoulder to her elbow.   

“I guess you don’t measure up” Tina gloated to the emasculated jocks.  They muttered a few exasperated slurs before promptly ditching us.

All I could do was stare at Tina’s arm.  Looking at her torn sleeve, she complained playfully that she’d ruined “another” shirt.  Then, to my mind-melting delight, she unzipped her hoodie and peeled it off.  All at once the totally of her chiseled bronze physique was revealed to me and nearly blew me off the deck.

A dainty string bikini was pulled hilariously tight across not only two CRT monitor pecs, but also a set of huge, super-fake stripper tits so artificially firm and spherical that they screamed silicone with a capital S.  Yet despite being double D’s or bigger, they did almost nothing to feminize her hulking mass.  She was just He-Man with big plastic tits. 

Tina turned around to adjust her bikini straps and gave me an eye-full of her naked backside.  I was immediately gut-punched by her lats.  Even the largest swells were striated and vascular, which continued to speak to her inhuman conditioning.  She seemed even more massive from behind and like a concrete wall made of muscle, blotted-out my entire view of the deck.  But what struck me hardest were the giant black letters tattooed across her upper back and triceps.  With all of the swelling peaks and valleys it was difficult to see in its entirety what seemed to say “MAXIMUM”.  Glancing to each arm, her craggy triceps read “MUSCLE” and “MASS” in chiseled rock text.  FUCK this girl was hardcore.

Next she pulled down her sweats revealing the bottom half of her bikini.  I could go on for hours about her thighs and calves, both of which were more than a match for the rest of her, but to be honest, I never even noticed.  I was far more concerned about the big, bulging tube steak Tina had packed in her overburdened swimsuit.  To my horror, she looked like some big-dicked stud with a 10 inch cock straining against her panties, to say nothing of the shocking orgy of veins squirming all over her crotch.  There was so much veinage and mystery meat jammed into her underwear zone that her bikini bottoms were audibly groaning with strain.  Her barely-covered crotch was more like a pouch of muscle-cock so huge and swollen that it ballooned defiantly a half-foot in front of her.

“What the FUCK!”  I thought.  “She’d a DUDE?!”  

Tina didn’t even acknowledge the Ron Jeremy elephant meat threatening to break loose and stab me in the eye.  She simply asked me if I wanted to hang with her in the pool like some ordinary girl in the middle of an ordinary hook-up.  I was at a loss for words but somehow found myself following her anyway.

It was easy to find a secluded spot in the pool as Tina generated a highly-vocal repulsion field around her at all times.  Now that she was showing a lot of shredded skin, people were practically puking at the sight of her. 

We sat opposite one another in the water and chatted for over an hour.  I learned that Tina Brody was a 29 year old personal trainer by trade, though obviously that was a day job.  Her age came as a surprise to me as her shriveled and veiny face made her look about 50. 

She was in a lot of ways a very normal woman.  She like chocolate and romantic comedies and TV’s The Bachelor.  We didn’t talk a lot about muscles or bodybuilding for a while and there were moments that I almost forgot what a muscle-nightmare she was.

Eventually, our friends tracked us down.  My guys couldn’t believe the sight of Tina’s bikini-clad muscles and I could hear the giggles and snickers.  We were almost forcibly pulled away by our respective groups but Tina held back long enough to ask me to dinner.  In a daze I suggested the formal steak restaurant, to which she agreed.  We’d see each other again in a few hours.