Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Artist Roundup: IncubusCharmer




Just when you think you’ve seen everything on DeviantArt, here comes IncubusCharmer.

His stuff is the sexiest, and just drips masculinity, youth, and sex. The best part about him is the effort he takes to stay realistic. Realistic artists, with skilled knowledge of anatomy that know which part connects to which, have always had more appeal for me than cartoonier styles or caricatures. The best part of his characters are by far the abs: he remembers it’s far sexier to have a definite shape to the abs than to painstakingly pencil in each one. A close second would be his lips, all of which are thick and sensuous and almost feminine.

Visit his gallery here.



What’s impressive is, his grasp on anatomy is so strong that he can be successful in a cartoony style. Ironically, it takes a lot of realism to be a good caricaturist.

All in all, one of the most distinctive and sexy artists I’ve seen: I certainly would never confuse a work of his with somebody else’s.



Oh yeah: apparently, one of his big specialties is big gay barbarians. (Hey, is there any other kind?)


Part of the reason I like this image down here is because it has the usual patterms of cover art, perhaps duplicated unknowingly. Frank Kelly Freas, my hero, always explained that covers in fantasy, western and science fiction art fit a general pattern that is very studied, and used to get the average reader to buy books.


Usually in the cover image, there’s a threat of some sort, usually vague and monstrous, then you have something threatened or emperiled by the creature to arouse the reader's sense of protectiveness (usually a scantily clad femme, but this time a cute little guy) and finally someone for the reader to identify with that is rising to the challenge of protection. It’s sort of like the Thematic Apperception Tests psychologists give, and despite the sexism, the pattern works on both men and women alike.

You’re probably saying to yourself, “boy, I’ll never let myself be manipulated by cover art,” to which the cover artists are, as we speak guffawing heartily. Why? Someone that’s unaware they can be manipulated are the people for which covers can work their appeal best.

Friday, July 25, 2008

Fabio!

Fans of romance novels are a little embarrassed of Mr. “I-Can’t-Believe-It’s-Not-Butter.” He’s a joke we’re all so very tired of by now.

I guess the only thing I can compare it to is how lots of fans of Batman are embarrassed of Adam West, for associating something they want taken seriously with camp. Or how fans of punk rock are humiliated by Avril Lavigne co-opting the trappings of punk rebellion to wean girls off the Olsen Twins.

I haven’t met Fabio personally, but my uncle was a novel cover artist, and he did. It was always great to see him, first because he lived in Greenwich and it meant a trip into the city, and also because I always took away an armful of Choose Your Own Adventure books. He met Fabio a few times before the Fabster was famous, and said that he was a very nice, sweet guy, but a little on the dumb side.

I will admit, I always laughed at Fabio, but he gives me a lot to work with. One of my all-time favorite moments in recent history is when Fabio was asked who he wanted for President. His response? “Hillary, because I want a woman president, as I owe everything to women.” Another moment I heard about was how a woman once asked him for his autograph, and Fabio wrote, “Thanks for last night! – Fabio.”

Then there was Fabio’s slapfight with His Majesty the Queen George Clooney, which should have led to the greatest battle since Godzilla vs. Mothra.

Everyone I’ve ever met that’s into Fabio has been a little weird, like people that wear dragons on their t-shirts. At the library, one of my Christian co-workers had a musky, creepy kitty-litter/old person smell and had (I’m not making this up) a Fabio mousepad.

Still, there’s no denying Fabio is a good looking man with incredible muscles and a daring foreign accent. I will confess something here on the internet I’d never confess in real life: at age fourteen I went through a period where I was into Fabio. I actually had his CD, Fabio After Dark.

What can I say? I was fat (or at least I had enough neurosis and bad body image to think I was) and I had cokebottle glasses, and at lunch people threw things at me. I was basically the target audience for Fabio’s hauntingly erotic version of romance, where that muscular man of mystery softly crooned in his Italian accent things like:

“I can be vary shy when I first meet a woman. But I’ll always dream of learning her secrets. First I look into her eyes ... Thar is a quality in a woman’s eyes that show more than her physical being. It reveal her tanderness, and passion. Her inner beauty. I loff to take her anyplace I can devote all my attention to her. It can be a corner of our li’l ressrunt, it can be in front of my fireplace, [whispering] curled up, together.”

Then again, maybe there is something to Fabio:



RE: Fabio Bashing (sent to People magazine, November 2, 1993)
Quoted in LA Times, November 1993

I do not go to bed at night dreaming about the manager who wanted me to take dictation, the vice president who patted my fanny, the company CEO who called me granny when I began to turn gray, the lab manager who wanted to run his hands up my legs because he liked my nylons and "wanted some for his wife", the personnel director who wanted me to wear a tee shirt and the co-workers who planned to use spray bottles if I did, the department head who started rumors that cost me a job when I refused to sleep with him, or the vice president who had me leave one job because his friend liked the position I had created and wanted it for himself. These men do not inspire dreams, just disgust. Instead, I dream of Fabio.


Here’s the thing, though: Fabio is a real-life person, who farts in bed like everybody else. What the hell do you possibly SAY to something like that? How does a real person possibly live up to being a romantic fantasy?

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

The gay fascination with muscle guys


I’m a female muscle growth writer, which surprises a few guys, and I often get very bizarre comments like “Wow, I thought only men were into this!”

By far, the single question that annoyed me the most is, “Why do you think more men are into muscle men than women?”

There’s no way I can answer that question without acknowledging an absolutely outrageous premise, like “do you still like to beat children?” So many women like muscular men, or find them sexy, and so many gay men think visible veins are icky.

But hey, don’t listen to me, listen to science. Not a day goes by some behaviorist institute puts forward the idea that as a whole, women have a sexual preference for muscular men, and muscular males are more likely to have lots of previous female sexual partners than non-muscular brethren. Wow, now there’s some shocking results. Who did the survey, the Institute for Figuring Out Really Obvious Things? I guess science has dedicated itself to proving that High School actually happened.

But it is undeniable that the muscular male physique is seen as a fundamentally gay interest. This has led some to believe that there’s something hard-wired about loving muscle for gay men, or something about women that leads them to not like it – an idea that I reject. Rather, the current gay love of all things muscle is mutable and non-biological and had its basis on historical and cultural factors that are actually very recent.

When my mother was growing up in Brooklyn in the sixties and seventies, she knew a lot of gay men, and all of them, she said, were thin, harmless “fairies” that were bad at sports. There may be an element of stereotype in this, and it is one person’s subjective experience, and there may be class and regional factors in play, but it is true that the emphasis in gay culture was not on muscle. Prior to the 1980s, the most famous figures associated with homosexuality were Andy Warhol and David Bowie (who once famously said that he was a “closeted heterosexual”).

Good physiques have been valued since Ancient Greece, but the beginning of the modern gay fascination with muscle men starts in the 1980s with AIDS. It’s impossible to compare the horrifying devastation AIDS had on gay communities, especially before modern drugs were able to make AIDS something less than a total death sentence. AIDS is a wasting disease, and being muscular and built says, “hey, I’m healthy.” That’s when we start to see the gay fixation on bodybuilding. Gay gyms were not new to the 1980s, but their prominence and central role in gay culture was new, and the new desire for size and strength dovetailed nicely with traditional Western ideas about the male appearance.

Monday, July 21, 2008

Artist Roundup: A visit with David


Now check this out, this just never happens.

First, some Poser art that isn’t mind-destroyingly terrible. How about that, eh? I think Hell just froze over.

Visit David’s website here.

Wow, what a face! The most striking thing about him is, he’s extremely hunky in a way that makes you doubt what you’re seeing is possible, but realistic enough to know you can doubt what you’re seeing, if that makes sense at all. Damn!


Second, this is on a Geocities site. Wow, doesn’t that just bring back memories? Remember when the internet was actually pretty cool, and every nut with a conspiracy theory had a Geocities site? Yep, it actually took a little effort to get out and connect to other people. MySpace and Friendster killed the Geocities star.

It used to be fun to find a cool website where the Final-Fantasy obsessed webmaster would post her kitten pics and Gargoyles slashfic. Nowadays, the internet is barren of little gems like this website, and is all the poorer for it. In fact, with the rise of the social networking sites like MySpace (pronounced Mee-Spah-Chee), I’m inclined to think the Internet has jumped the shark.


Essentially, the whole David website is dedicated to a baby-blue eyed superhunk with the amusingly plain, unpretentious name of David. David raises the exact same questions Malibu Barbie does: like for instance, how can she be both a Flight Attendant and a Prima Ballerina? I won't deny, I got a little crush on David, with his built godlike physique and Yaklike chest hair. The best part is, he's so unreally large, yet possible, he activates the part of my brain inherited from our animal ancestors, who used to breed with males based on their size alone.

David's pretty much the only thing on the site, in various outfits like a guy playing with his poser doll, and obviously so much work has gone into creation of a fake alternate universe for him (see the below cover) that I suspect that David is the artist’s younger, handsomer, more successful, better endowed and (finally) stronger and shapelier dream alter-ego.


What’s especially worth noting are the pages about the guys that “inspired David.” While I thank him for bringing a few of these guys to my attention (that superhot 6’6” guy Lucille Ball hung around with is worth a post by himself!), it has the side-effect of dating the artist.

I don’t know this artist personally, but yet, I feel like I do.

He’s a Boomer, obviously; Dad was a war vet and then an underpaid wrenchslinger at a factory; Mom’s a homemaker, and he’s a towel-headed scamp accompanied by his dog, a slingshot in his back pocket, with hobbies that include stickball with the neighborhood kids, reading horror comics, Hardy Boys and Tom Swift novels, and finally, that brand-spanking new invention, television. Yep, after waiting the 60 seconds’ warm up time, that black and white giant twelve-incher showed images of Howdy-Doody, the Lone Ranger, and Captain Video...but also Tarzan and gladiator movies, that made little Davie Artist feel as if he only liked girls (voice becomes a whisper here) because he was supposed to.

Now the most absolutely unbelievable part about this whole site is the Cafepress store, which has to be seen to be believed. It features such gems as this Wanted Poster (for only $7.99!) Now, I’m hardly what you’d call a shy or reserved type by any means. In fact, my uptight, Christian ex-co-workers at the Library think I’m the Whore of Babylon. But still, even I’m too shy to possibly stick this bad boy on my office cubicle wall.



What’s even more impressive is how big the fan club is, around 1,500 members in the group as of this writing! All that, despite the fact the attention-grabbing pic that supposed to lure you into the club, looks a little like David’s wearing the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.



They also have a thing about wanting some David fanfiction. Hey, what the hell! I just might write some...

Friday, July 18, 2008

Artist Roundup: Funbird

Now here's something you don't see everyday: today's artist, Funbird, is equally skilled as a writer. Now there's a Renaissance Man for you! He's also not very prolific, which I expect he does just to annoy me, because he knows how much I love his stuff.




You can always judge the success of an erotic writer by how well they can give you a new interest or fetish you didn't have before...or at least, make you aware of something that you didn't know you liked. In that respect, Funbird's "Emil Part 1" gave me a whole lot of things to love that are a part of my love of these kinds of stories even today: 1) a huge long tongue like a snake inside the mouth (the very idea of that is pretty exciting), 2) a muscular man with a youthful, handsome and almost girlishly beautiful face. Both those things have forever after been something I've looked for and found hot.

Monday, July 14, 2008

It's coming out day, for lurkers!

Are you a longtime or first-time lurker? Please show your appreciation and introduce yourself in the comment threads! Tell me what you like and love about muscle, guys, and the rest.

In the meantime, here's an absolutely jaw-dropping tight muscle stud bubble-ass video!

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Maybe some of my guy readers can help me out with this...



I don’t have a penis, so I don’t really know, but when reading a muscle growth story, who is it that the average male reader identifies with and longs to be?

The reason I ask is because so many stories have their point of view character be a man that knows the guy that grows, and that leads me to believe the desire here isn’t to be a muscle stud themselves, but to worship and admire one as an object.

Who the “point of view” character in a story is, is usually pretty revealing. In psychology there’s a test called the Thematic Apperception Test. Usually a photograph is shown to the subject, which they have to tell a story about. Usually the pictures are ambiguous, and what the subject projects on them are very revealing. One big question of the test is, “who is the hero/heroine of the story?” All sorts of things can be learned from who the person the test-taker sees themselves in.

In a great many muscle growth stories, the point-of-view character is the muscle growth stud’s boyfriend or girlfriend. If the story is written first-person, they’re the narrator, and if it’s third person, it is through their eyes the events are described. The reason this is important is because the POV character represents the desires of the writer themselves.



With the exception of BIG DRAGON II, the events of my stories are usually told from the POV of the female character. I think it’s pretty obvious at this point to say that Morgan was a self-insertion, although I hope she was spunky and sexy enough that I can be forgiven for this. I’m way, way past my Goth phase, but a few of the things that happened to Morgan, like the incident where she whaled on a far larger Frat guy at a party, are actually derived from my own life.

Take a story I’m currently reading and enjoying, like “The Boy Kevin” or “The Office Boy” or “The Creation of a God” by Gideon. All are told from the point of view of a guy that is masterfully dominated by a far younger, handsomer muscle guy that’s obviously a sex object. The main character is older, less physically perfect, more like the audience themselves, and clearly expresses a wish to be a “sub,” to be dominated.

(This, by the way, is why fannish stories and internet erotic fiction will never get respect in the mainstream. Imagine on the nightly news, “The world is anxiously holding its breath today for the release of the latest masterpiece by Superfister69...”)


If everybody’s reading this and going, “well, no duh, honey,” I apologize, but it always seemed more logical to me that muscle growth stories reflects wish-fulfillment on the part of the writer themselves to grow strong and desirable.

Artist Roundup: SoaringShadow


Québecois artist Soaring Shadow specializes in sensual, sleek dragons and demons that are sexy and almost unaware of their own sex appeal.


Let me explain something about women: we generally are sexually fascinated to things that frighten us. This is why there are all sorts of romance novels about vampires and werewolves, and also why a show like GARGOYLES had a fanbase that was disproportionately female, and also why there’s a fascination with female fans for villains in books and television shows.


In fact, now that I give the matter some thought, that may also explain why I’m such a big fan of muscle guys. I’m five feet tall if I yawn and stretch, and every time I’m alone in an elevator with a guy over 6’, I find myself fingering the can of mace inside my purse.

Visit Soaring Shadow's gallery here.

Monday, July 7, 2008

I (HEART) Asian Men!

Of the five guys I dated in college, two of them were Asian. They're something about their exotic looks, midnight-black hair and gold skin that drives me crazy. They absolutely look great with muscles. Take for instance, personal trainer Stan McQuay, who is like the ultimate surfer stud, the kind of beach god you have a crush on over a whole summer. He's got great glistening gold skin, sexy tattoos, a flawlessly cut, brawny bod. His very hot, well groomed and pointed beard kind of makes him look like a sexy version of Dr. Fu Manchu.

What a Beast!







And we've also got old school physique favorite, former 1970s Mr. Japan title holder Ken-Ichi Suemitsu, who looks as glorious and godlike as an Ancient Greek statue. This was back in the day when bodybuilding emphasized proportions and sheer beauty over raw size. Absolutely magnificent looking man, with the best abs and narrow core I've seen this side of Gordon Scott.



Unlike Asian men, I've never dated any Asian women yet...but if I did, I'd be sure to save a little for Polynesian/Chinese fitness queen and exotic dancer Sasha Ogata, who's got me white-hot with lezzie lust.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Little Big Men



I write muscle growth fiction, where I sexually admire muscular, handsome men with perfect bodies. Being a female writer sexually objectifying men the way men usually do so for women (I thoroughly enjoy the reversal and the power, by the way), I find myself asking a disturbing question: am I contributing to unrealistic standards and bad body image among men?

Well, let me explain one thing: as a former functional anorexic, I don’t believe bad body image comes from the media the way a lot of other people claim. It doesn’t come from outside, but from an internal chemistry, a combination of self-hatred and perfectionism, a desire to have control over your life. Obsessive perfectionism and self-loathing go hand-in-hand. Every single anorexic I ever knew had a 4.0 GPA.

Problems with body image don’t come from the media or from magazines. In my case, it’s about my relationship with my Mother. I grew up very chubby, and I was constantly belittled by my Mother for that reason (among others), a woman who had real problems expressing love or approval. I was made to feel worthless, and that nothing I did was good enough. Also, I was judged a “gifted” student by testing, so essentially I could never, ever come home with a “B.” According to Mom, B’s were for average, little people…which I was not.

In other words, I was trapped in a situation where being valued highly led to belittling my own achievements and good qualities.



It goes without saying how all this is connected to body image. No matter how good your thighs are, they’re not good enough. You internalize feelings of not being “good enough.” Your stomach is always, always chubby no matter how much you do, no matter how much any reasonable person thinks it looks fine. And your self-esteem is so fragile: anytime somebody said my butt looked chubby, I didn’t eat anything for three days.

So, it comes as no surprise I was a functional anorexic all through high school. To this day, I still take most of what I get in a restaurant home, and I never order desserts. Even lattes make me feel bloated.

How does all of this relate to muscle growth fiction?



Well, I’ve noticed in a lot of these stories there’s an excess, a feeling that you’re never “big enough.” Even in muscle growth art, I’ve learned to always stop reading a muscle growth comic two or three panels before the end, because that’s when they’re the brawniest and sexiest. Yet inevitably, the growth comic continues to a point that even someone with a tooth for beefcake - to say nothing of a normal person! - would consider to be grotesque or excessive. And believe me, it takes a LOT for me to say that, too, because I like men BIG!

When I write stories and post them on sites exclusively related to MG, the response I often get is “whoa, make him bigger!” To which I say, “Look, I made him 6’8” and 350 pounds. THERE IS NO “BIGGER.”

That's where my concern about adding to bad body image comes into play. Have I created a sense that "big" isn't "big enough?"

Immobilization is something I especially find disturbing. I probably sound hypocritical criticizing any fetish, because of how sexually dysfunctional and omnivorous I am. As George Burns once said, there are two things you can never argue with: what people find funny and what people find sexy. My purpose isn’t to point and say “ewww!” but rather, to call into question a few assumptions these fetishes work under.





At first, I thought immobilization was a turn-on closely related to being handcuffed, where the pleasure fantasy comes from a loss of control. If that were true, there’d be a lot more scenes in immobilization stories like from cheesy romance novels, where the hunky Pirate King captures a beautiful girl and says something like, “Ha ha, you’re my prisoner to have my way with…!” Instead, there’s a feeling of pushing the body beyond any reasonable dimension, where it’s no longer usable.

This relates to a website I’ve visited, called epiclust.com. For those not in the know, epiclust is a big penis story site. EpicLust has the distinction of being the first place I posted that wasn’t under a man’s pen name, incidentally. At first I thought epiclust was a website related to my fetish: muscle growth, only with a lot more of an emphasis on stories with male/female content. Actually, it’s more on big dicks.

I know what you’re thinking: “heh, sounds like your kinda place, Cristina.”

It’s true: I’m a size queen. I love well-endowed, ox-huge virile men. I don’t want to disappoint any of my fans that imagine me as some super-voracious cock-crazed queen, but really…if I was to make a list of the most important things in a man, a big dick wouldn’t even make the top ten. Wouldn’t even make the top fifteen. It’s nice to have, but it’s way, way behind other and far sexier characteristics.

Which is why I find epiclust bizarre. The sort of penises they fantasize about having are too large to possibly have sex with any normal earthling woman, and in fact many protagonists of the stories there are frustrated for this VERY reason. In other words, the stories aren’t about sex as such, or even fantasies about being more sexually competent.

Penis size, to men, represents masculinity and value as a man. That’s why they call it a “manhood.” That’s what leads me to believe the writers on epiclust have serious issues on a par with anorexia or bigorexia: feelings of worthlessness or anxiety about being a man.

Everything about epiclust indicates a readership that is so sex-starved that the act of sex itself becomes mythologized, almost unreal. It doesn’t matter if a dick is four feet long and thus, less likely to be pleasure-giving and more like a brutal killing weapon Vikings fight with. There’s an emphasis also on elements of sex that anyone that actually HAS sex is downright terrified of: pregnancy, for instance. Like the Bigorexia of musclegrowth sites, their fixations are pushed into transparently psychological dimensions related to self-loathing.

I will admit, there’s something kind of sexy about incest, a common epiclust theme. That’s not how it comes off on epiclust, though: it comes off as an anxiety about women. Women related to men are “safe” and nonthreatening.

Finally, I have to say a few words about the Furry phenomenon.


Psychologically, furries are an interesting and fascinating case, and if I decide to get my Master’s in Psych after I finish my MLS, I think I’d study them more in depth.

Here’s the behaviorism/Pavlovian explanation for how fetishes form. Let’s say you’re sexually aroused by something, for instance, a hot guy holding something incidental to the arousal, like (for the sake of the example) a rubber duckie. Later on, when you remember the arousal you received from the image, there’s an association made between getting turned on, and the incidental feature of the image (in this case, the rubber duckie). Enough of this happens, you might get a fetish for guys holding rubber duckies.

My mentor in the psychology department as an undergrad had actually studied and written on the furry phenomenon, and would have written a book on the subject if she hadn’t put it on hold due to cancer. Essentially, she studied furries, and found that it was different from other sexual fetishes, and didn’t form the usual way.

She found several interesting commonalities among male furries. Essentially, all of them had a similar profile: they usually had an absent father figure, suffered from social awkwardness caused by anxiety. “Furry” is less a fetish, more a “safety room” created to ease anxiety. That’s why furries comically overreact to any criticism: it’s an invasion, an intrusion into their “safety area.”

Men who are chubby chasers or who like female bodybuilders sometimes overreact this way. Their overreaction takes the form of dislike for society’s “standards of beauty.” It’s ESPN’s fault for not showing the Ms. Olympia, because of the unrealistic standards of beauty in our culture! Absolutely there’s some truth to the idea our media standards are airbrushed to an insane degree, but still…we have to be honest here. Female bodybuilders are weird looking (not a bad thing, I’d love to be one and freak people out), and reactions of disgust or bizarre fascination are to be expected, and are not offensive. Anyone who likes female bodybuilders and fat women are weird (which is not necessarily a bad thing). Please stop being sanctimonious, stop saying “everybody else” has the problem, and please have a sense of humor and laugh off any criticism.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Romance Novels

Hey, wait a minute! On the clench-cover of that bodice ripper, is that...




Why, it is!

Mike O'Hearn himself!

Sure, the clench-cover has gone out of style a decade ago, but you can always count on chiseled, brawny Mike to star in MY fantasies.



What I find interesting about romance novel cover boys is, I wouldn't really want to have a good old-fashoined groupie shag with THEM, but with their characters. It's like they use their bodies to stand in for more interesting, dangerous, romantic male figures.

I suppose, for my male readers, the best thing I could translate this to is how, after BASIC INSTINCT, men fantasized not about the "real" Sharon Stone, but the image of Sharon Stone. That, and even I can tell Sharon Stone could probably suck the chrome off a bumper.

Another amusing/frustrating element of romance novels is how, if a romance book is any good, it's never called a romance novel. Jane Austen is never called a "romance" writer, despite the fact her work is the single most influential material for the modern romance novel.


Likewise, take a work like Zora Neal Hurston's THEIR EYES WERE WATCHING GOD, unquestionably a part of the western tradition along with ETHAN FROME and others. Nobody calls it a "romance novel" because it's considered a classic. But it is: a woman's search for love and personal authenticity ends with a sinister, slightly aggressive giggolo that she "tames."

Of course, Janie and Tea Cake's relationship wasn't perfect (he often beat her because he felt he wasn't good enough for her, a detail left out of the film version), but it was, undoubtedly, a romance plot with a histrionically tragic ending. What I find interesting is, because of the nuance and complexity of the Janie/Tea Cake relationship, and the fact it wasn't idealized, disqualifies it from being labeled a "romance novel."

This irritates me, because I hate the hyper-idealized relationships in romance novels...the only ones I enjoy are ones that have nuance and quirks and unexpected twists, as well as elements from other genres (detective, horror, action, thriller) that make their categorization unclear.

Incidentally, the movie starred the very beautiful piece of man candy, the naturally blue-eyed stud Michael Ealy, quite easily one of the best-looking men in Hollywood. How he got those blue eyes I'll never know, but they smoulder and make a grown woman melt like butter on a skillet with a gaze.

Supposedly, he also likes older women, so good news for all you cougars!


(Scene from the movie...or clench cover?)

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Diana Ross tells it like it is

Yet another "woman that loves muscle guys." You go, homegirl!

And her video has some primo beefcake. Ahhh, see, that's the high life for me. If I ever get insanely rich, I'd have a harem of beautiful muscle boys to fan me with palm fronds and bring me drinks with umbrellas in them.

This was neither the first nor the worst song that's clearly about masturbation, but never has anyone sang with such panache about What Every Little Girl Does.

Pre-Sound Muscle Stud Movies

Imagine this. It's 1894, and you're Thomas Edison. You've just invented a new technology, the kinetiscope, and you've captured motion. What's the first thing you're going to film?

Why, a muscle guy, of course!

And not just any: the strongest man in the world, Eugene Sandow.

Here's a 1894 film of Sandow:



Here's a clip of the winners of the first Bodybuilding Competition ever held in 1904, featuring the most perfectly developed man and woman:



And then you have the first great muscular movie star in history, long before Steve Reeves and Arnold: Bartolomeo Pagano. According to legend, Pagano was a Milanese stevedore that director Pastrone saw when walking by, and on the spot, hired him for his movie.


The movie was 1914's CABIRIA, one of the most influential and important movies in film history. Martin Scorcese has written a lot about it; supposedly, many of the innovations we credit to D.W. Griffith were actually developed by Pastrone a great many years before.


Bartolomeo Pagano, as the muscular black slave Maciste, was nothing short of the star of the show, interestingly enough, the first and last muscleman to be a good actor.

Watch CABIRIA!


Part 1:



Part 2:



Part 3:



Bartolomeo Pagano's awesome biceps, dominatingly huge height, and cut physique let him muscle his way into the Italian film industry, where he did nothing less than 25 spin-offs featuring the superstud slave Maciste.

The most famous of these was 1925's MACISTE IN HELL, which supposedly is the movie that made Federico Fellini want to be a director. Even today, it's one of the weirdest movies I've ever seen, a film made of awesome, as wild and epic as the Shaw Brothers' INFRA-MAN. Maciste punches and pummels his way out from Dante's Inferno. I guess even Satan is no match for pecs of steel. It has these brilliantly bizarre intertitle cards with lines like "The Dragon - Hell's Aeroplane" and "You fool, you blasphemed, and now you are in my power!"



The Archive doesn't allow direct linking, but here, have a look at MACISTE IN HELL.

While in Hell, all the lustful she-demons want a little of Maciste because of his splendid physique!

Internet Archive: Maciste in Hell

Ulisses Jr., the Lion of Africa


I know, I know, I already blogged about Ulisses Jr., but...my God, look at him! I have to catch my breath, seriously.

He's hung like a rhinoceros, great skin, he's sex on two (three!) legs, a muscle stud fantasy brought to life, Adonis and Hercules in one person, with his long, virile hair, his exotic accent, sexy thick lips, jaw-dropping abs and shapely, sinuous strength.


I once heard it argued that every truly sexy person is known because they combine opposites together in one person. Ulisses Jr. certainly is that: he is, on the one hand, a very godlike, dignified, regal person, sheer dignity, but on the other hand, he's got the heat, a bump n' grind like a male stripper. Have a look:



Takes a lot to make me gush fangirl these days, but wow. If Ulisses Jr. had a harem, you'd better believe I'd join it.

Attention all muscular superstuds:


If you're mesomorphic, above 6', and an easygainer, consider sperm donation, as according to the Daily Show, there's currently something of a crisis of sperm donors. Be sure to mention your height and muscular development and athletic ability. In fact, if you're under 5'10", most sperm banks won't even accept your sperm.

C'mon, guys, nature needs a little push here. Don't you WANT a sexier, brawnier human race?

There's currently at least 14 kids that all came from the same German bodybuilder/track star/violinist.

I've often wondered if there are any celebrity sperm donors somewhere. If Steve Reeves or Denzel's should come on the market, sign me up!