
56-year-old lifelong bodybuilder. Muscle fetishist from way back!
243 posts
AlexeyLesukov. Practicing His Posing Routine At FIBO In 2011.
Alexey Lesukov. Practicing his posing routine at FIBO in 2011.
Baby-faced monster.
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More Posts from Musclefetish
As someone who has done unspeakable experimentation and lived to tell the tale, all I can say is that you should go full-out to get big. It feels amazing but as you mentioned, it's fleeting. I'm 49 now, about 40 pounds off my top weight. Still big, but not so big that I make "ordinary" people uncomfortable anymore. I miss those days.
At this point, I would be filled with regret if I had not pursued my goals as aggressively as I had. And I'm learning now that limiting my regrets makes aging a lot less unnerving. Big muscle: been there, done that, loved every millisecond of it.
Dual pronged question: Hypothetically, assuming it was possible, would you want to get as big as the men in your stories? Y'know, muscular verging on semi-immobility, or is that meant to stay fantasy? Secondly, if I recall correctly, your hubby isn't big on muscle like you-- do you foresee that becoming an issue between you two as you get bigger?
Shit I let this sit in my inbox for like two weeks. Sorry, anon, because this is a very good question.
1.) Difficult. At the moment thankfully it remains a purely theoretical question. If it ever became something that was actually possible, I suppose I’d want to go for it. My desire urges me to it; there’s no limit to my desire, it’s impossible to sate, I think. But that’s what makes desire so terrifying (and there are those of us - I’m one - who find the frightening irrational aspect of desire absolutely compelling - the terror of getting what you want, utterly unmediated by societal norms or practical considerations, it’s so delicious and depraved and excessive - I love it).
At the first juncture I think I’d say “sure” - even if I was too big to function normally (which would be hot in its way), the size would begin to quickly fade whenever I wanted it to, if having trouble with doors and such got tiresome - muscles aren’t forever, they take a lot to just maintain (if you ever want a depressing reality check, seek out bodybuilders who retired and gave up maintaining their size - Andreas Frey, once a 300+ lbs freak’s freak, is just like a fit normal-big suburban dad now, for example - as far as I can tell from facebook).
But at the SECOND juncture, I think - if I grew to a 400+ lbs twitching heap of super-developed beef and then, after a few months or a year or whatever, shrunk back down to a ‘mere’ muscular 220 lbs or whatever, would I be able to accept that? Or would I live in a depressing aftermath, having ventured into the wild territory of unbridled desire for a visit then wheeling my horse around and reluctantly traveling back behind the city walls of compromise and practicality?
But at the THIRD juncture, isn’t that the problem of aging in general? I can bench press 225 lbs pretty easily right now; there’ll come a time when I can’t. I can look forward to progressing, being stronger and bigger in six months than I am now. There’ll come a time when that’s not true, either. Barring violent accident, we’re all of us sentenced to become frail, to diminish, to die.
I love meat, but sometimes it’s a bummer being made out of it.
2.) That’s delicate. It has been a source of private unhappiness and anxiety for me for some time now. I don’t think he’ll ever dump me because my body has become disgusting to him - that’s not how our relationship goes (he doesn’t do anything to try to make his body more appealing to me, for example). He’s a sapiosexual among other things, and I’m a fuckin’ smartypants sexual omnivore with a monster libido, so I guess that’s what makes the match work despite our badly mismatched tastes in male bodies.
I do worry that my need to have my muscles appreciated and to appreciate other muscular bodies combined with his absolute inability to even fake it will cause me unhappiness. Hell, it already has caused me unhappiness.
We’ve begun talking about it, because, frankly, I’ve started to feel choked about the whole thing. Ideally, I’d like to have permission for some muscle-related extra-curricular activities - nothing penetrative, nothing romantic. But I have no idea if that will come to pass. It bums me out, because I am very happy in every other way - romantically, emotionally, socially. I’m completely confident that he’s my primary bond for life—but sexual jealousy and possessiveness are such alien concepts to me it makes me wonder if I made a mistake even agreeing to a monogamous relationship to begin with. He got me when I was still immature and very insecure (he’s a good deal older than me), totally unable to assert myself and my needs, a complete wallflower who had almost no experiences, who could not name his desire, let alone pursue it. I’m not that person anymore. I can name my desire and assert my right to pursue it. But damn if I’m reluctant to—the last thing I ever want to do is hurt this person.
Love. What a headfuck it can be.
Josh Bergeron. There is some seriously freaky biceps action going on here. Video from Bill Comstock.
Michael Kefalianos. This!
Grab that big thing.
Aaron Fletcher. Thick, sexy, hot and hairy. Just the way I like ‘em.
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