Stronger Women Than Me

Accepting My Weakness#

I have always been physically weak. Not in ambition or in the way I build relationships—those parts of my life are solid. But the structure I was born with refuses to grow much without chemical shortcuts, and the family history of health issues convinced me not to gamble with PEDs. I accepted long ago that, in pure strength, I am fragile.

The First Shock#

Back in the late eighties I saw a TV special about women paid to beat up men. The men hired them, desperate to taste that fetish. When the internet finally landed in my home I went looking for that same energy and found the clips that shaped me. These weren’t standard BDSM scenes; they were contests of raw force and humiliation. Male physical supremacy got flipped upside down, and I loved every second.

Building a Pantheon#

Names like Bunny Glamazon, Lethal Veronica, and Jazzmon became a private pantheon. They weren’t dommes whispering sweet cruelty—they were powerhouses. Veronica, especially, mixed gymnastics with pro-wrestling brutality. Rewatching her now is like opening a time capsule: grainy RealPlayer files, chaotic motel rooms, and a woman who never sold empty fantasy. Either you felt the weight of her body smothering you or you tapped out before the first minute.

Reliving the Sessions#

Seeing that old site still live in 2025 gave me the same chill teenage me felt. Every session was facesitting as submission training, jiu-jitsu holds slipped in between laughter, and carefully controlled slams that reminded you who owned every muscle in the room. Each revisit widens the catalog of “strong women” in my head—and highlights how my own softness feeds the obsession.

Algorithm Era Queens#

Now the algorithm serves me TikTok lifters, IFBB competitors, and MMA fighters offering “beatdown experiences” to well-paying fans. The filters changed, the distribution is slicker, but the feeling is identical. They take up space with mass and will, while I stay smaller, thrilled, waiting for the moment their strength becomes undeniable and I’m forced to surrender to it.

The Confession#

That’s my confession: I carry decades of reverence for women stronger than me. Their dominance is the mirror I press my body against, again and again, hoping they’ll leave a bruise that proves I was there.