CRUISING FOR
MUSCLE
Part 2
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.
