Love muscle
| Love muscle |
 Muscle worship is a fetish you don’t hear much about, but it’s surprisingly well-developed, writes Barry Lowe. “Body worship is as old as time itself,” Ed tells me. “The human body is a work of art. Nah, no use looking at me, my body is more like a Woolworths knock-off you’d find in the remainders bin.” Ed is a former body builder who got into the industry four decades ago and, now, in his sixties is a sort of mentor to young men who stray into the profession. He’s also something of a pimp -- his word. “It’s not rocket science. Just look at the audience at muscle competitions: other competitors, chicks turned on by bulky blokes and poofters. No offence, mate. I got a lot of time for poofters. Big payers they are.” And what they pay for, according to Ed, is to get up close and personal to the muscle men they worship. “None of that sex shit. Nah, my boys … you can touch, you can rub, you can lick even, but that’s as far as it goes.” Mark disagrees. In his home, surrounded by shelf after shelf of dubbed Italian sword and sandal DVDs and lurid posters of muscular semi-clad warriors and their clinging womenfolk (these movies were before the women’s movement) the 27 year-old from New Farm shows me his collection of muscle studs that he’s ‘had.’ When I ask him exactly what the word means he hesitates. “Different things to different bodybuilders. My obsession is abs. I love to just look at them, have a guy rub his abs against my body, let me lick them, feel them. I don’t need anything else to get off. It’s real disappointing when they throw their legs in the air and beg you to fuck them.” Ed doesn’t know of any legitimate bodybuilder who would do that. Or so he says. “If the other guys found out they’d run him out of the gym.” Later he admits that he’s heard stories but that’s as far as he’s prepared to go. Liam, a pro who was a runner-up in Mr. Europe Junior before moving to the Gold Coast a few years back, says it’s more than just stories. “Gay guys keep this business going. I had a few regulars who kept me fed and clothed in my early days just starting out. One liked biceps, another liked quads. It was perfect. No jealousy. Most just like you to pose. Stand over them. Let them touch you up. Some want the whole caboodle.” He shrugs. “That was always extra.” CJ has turned his obsession with the male form into a career. He got turned on to bodybuilding through Tarzan movies. “Not Johnny Weissmuller but those Tarzans of the 1950s like Gordon Scott and Lex Barker. Those guys were hot. I fantasised about being them and I discovered the gym. That first time walking in among all these muscle gods--ripped, rippling--it was like mainlining pure testosterone. I was hard all the time. “But it didn’t take me long to realise I was never gonna make it in either amateur or pro competitions but I made myself indispensable. I became part of the gym life and no one ever thought to ask what I was doing there. I was always ready with a massage – oh God, I creamed in my pants the first time I actually touched one of the guys. He musta known. They all musta. But still they let me. “Then I worked my way up till I was managing a few of the younger guys. Nothing spectacular but just enough to make a living. And what a living!” And the appeal of muscle is widespread. You only have to look at the internet or the magazine rack in any newsagent to see the market is saturated with living, breathing mountains of muscle. The worship of the male body is almost a religious experience to Frank. A businessman in his early 40s, he plays sport regularly and does weights but he knows he’ll never be like his idols without steroids. “It’s part of the game,” he admits, but he doesn’t want to go there. “With me it’s a spiritual experience. Looking at a huge semi-naked fucker posing with his triceps bulging and his abs … oh God, abs get me every time. You understand why the Greeks and Romans created statues to warriors. “Running your hands across some stud’s abs must be the way Michelangelo felt when he smoothed his hand across his statue of David. There is no feeling in the world like it. You want to worship it, possess it. You want to be it. You only have to look at, say, Eddy Ellwood [Mr. Universe 1998-2000] to know you’re in the presence of God.”
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