I'll bring the muscle

Ask and ye shall receive. If it's strong women you want, baby, it's strong women you get. Now anyone who was around during the Summer Olympics knows my fetish admiration for athletic women is boundless. I'm endlessly impressed by “muscularity/toned/athleticism” in women. Heck, I've even theorized before that strong arms are like cleavage for lesbians. They certainly get more overt ogling from me than either T or A. Part my love of athletes is the dedication and work that goes into these glistening bodies and part is because I am a spectacularly clumsy, scrawny, athletically-challenged dork. So, you know, opposites attract.

Dara TorresI think my deep reverence for the accomplishments of this five-time Olympian could best be summed up by the saying: humana humana, humana humana.
Natasha KaiSoccer star. Check. Lesbian. Check. Gold Medal. Check. Tattoos. Check. No, seriously, check out those tattoos.


Gina CaranoI'm a lover (or at least aspire to be a lover), and decidedly not a fighter. Still, any way you slice it mixed martial arts fighter (a.k.a. Crush from “American Gladiator”) is a knockout. Seriously. Thud.
Gro HammersengI don't really understand handball other than that it looks hard as hell to play. What I do understand is that 6-feet-tall lesbian Norwegian handball captains have the kind of arm cleavage that renders me temporarily incapable for forming multisyllabic words, or any words at all.
Fabiola da Silva

When Brazilian inline skater and seven-time X-Games gold medalist reaches for the sky, the sky has to take a step backward. Her skills are so limitless the league had to create the “Fabiola Rule” to allow her to compete against the men. From the looks of things, she could out bench press a bunch of them, too.
Jessica ZelinkaIf muscle definition was an Olympic sport, this Canadian heptathlete would be a world record breaker. Guess she'll just have to settle for being an actual Olympian. Oh, and cute as a button – a really fit button.
Steffi GrafSteffi is my favorite tennis player, and possibly athlete, of all time. Her sheer domination of the sport was nothing short of mesmerizing. Also, I'm pretty sure her famous Vogue photoshoot from 1989 helped make me gay.

My Weekend Crush

Last weekend, Steffi Graf and her husband Andre Agassi were playing a charity event in Houston when he accidentally hit her in the face with his racquet, requiring three stitches. The news was relatively unextraordinary (but, if you are so inclined, you can watch the whack on YouTube), but it served to remind me how much I used to love to watch tennis. In particular, I used to love to watch Steffi. Her explosive whip of a forehand was a thing of beauty to behold. And then there were those seemingly-endless legs. Damn. I’m pretty sure that if we stood side-by-side her legs would stop somewhere near my armpits. I started rooting for Steffi back before her Golden Slam, when she was still playing Martina and Chrissy. I kept cheering as a string of would-be rivals came and went from Gabriela Sabatini (Ooh, remember her and those grunts? Man, I used to love tennis...) to Arantxa Sánchez Vicario to Monica Seles to Martina Hingis.

I know it’s cooler to root for the underdog, but the sheer dominance of Graf’s game was mesmerizing to watch. In fact, her loses were so unexpected that a friend and I once had to paint our toenails pretty colors to console ourselves after a nail biter of a French Open went the other way. Some called her cold and emotionless, but I always though of her as shy and reserved -- something I related to growing up as a very shy kid. When she and Andre first got together, I was a little quizzical. Fräulein Forehand with the Las Vegas Rebel? Really? But now – unfortunate face smacking aside – I think they make a good pair. They seem happy; she seems completely relaxed and he seems totally devoted. I still wish Steffi had won that last Wimbledon instead of Lindsay Davenport, but regardless she is a true champion for the ages. Happy weekend, all.