Snow Angel (Historical Muscle)

I wrote the Original Version of this story as a prelude to my series about a sweet, slightly accident-prone muscle girl named Sylph. I have since updated it (with significant input from Richard Greye and his wife, Jayne Greye) to make it a period piece. I hope you enjoy it. And, of course, if you do, I hope you will drop a few USD on the upcoming smashwords or Amazon releases of Historical Muscle. All proceeds from book sales will be donated to Feeding America.

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Snow Angel

by: Jak Cratocles 

Art by Jak Cratocles 

The 1980s recalls memories of pop music, bright colors, frizzy hair, leg warmers, and video game arcades. The crescendo of the Cold War with films such as Red Dawn and War Games introduced to popular culture the notion that even the young were trapped by geopolitical events they couldn’t control. Yet Hollywood also portrayed carefree latch key kids getting in trouble together finding ways to establish romantic relationships. Jak Cratocles reminds the reader of a John Hughes coming of age high school film transplanted to the collegiate level while adding a little twist. Snow Angel represents a prelude to Jak's series of stories about young powerhouse, Sylph Young, which can be found on his deviantart page.

*  *  *

schweeip!

spak!

fmp!

“Oh, cru-!”

shikka-shikka-WHAK!

“Ooulph!”

It was typical of Bill’s luck that he would hit a patch of ice just as a couple of the university’s finest, Buckeye linebackers Stan and Terry, would overtake him. His right leg shot out from under him, and it was only by dint of his years of training and practice that he managed to set it down again solidly, if a bit distantly. Unfortunately, that was the moment that the two enormous football players came up on either side of him and, jostling him with their shoulders, sending his walkman flying and landing him firmly on yet more ice, directly in the path of the oncoming woman he had been trying to avoid. The portable cassette deck popped open and his tape of Pat Benatar’s greatest hits fell out and landed in the snow, the magnetic tape yanked free of its housing by the ejection.

Cursing, Bill scrambled to regain his footing, but to no avail. His momentum, imparted from his momentary collision with over five hundred pounds of prime beef, drove him directly into the woman and they both tumbled to the ground in a flurry of puffy winter coats, scarves, mittens, and tangled limbs.

“Stupid California surfer dweeb... learn how to walk!” Stan called over his shoulder.

“And listen to some real music,” Terry guffawed, “not that girly stuff.” Bill gritted his teeth but held his tongue. He had been doing better since he moved out here. Now a sophomore at Ohio State, Bill hadn’t been in a fight since graduating high school.

Even now, obviously provoked, he restrained himself from returning fire with a caustic volley of his own. Sensei would be proud. Instead, he turned his attention to the poor woman he had collided with and landed on top of.

Even grimacing in pain, she was beautiful. Her hair, now freed from her heavy scarf and knitted hat, was an ebony cascade of loose curls. Her skin was the sort of flawless perfection that only existed on the covers of magazines and then only with the aid of an airbrush -- a deep, rich caramel color despite the February clouds.  She had thick eyebrows and amazingly long eyelashes- not fake, he realized- and high cheekbones that flowed into her aquiline nose and wide, full lips.

“Geez, I’m sorry, miss,” Bill apologized.  He had fallen entirely on top of her, making his landing remarkably painless, but adding his hundred-eighty pound weight to hers in the fall.  “Are you all right?”

Reaching his arms out, he discovered that the girth of her chest was rather larger than he had anticipated. He had to assume a fairly wide pushup position to actually get his arms positioned on the pavement on either side of her.

“I think so,” she replied, slightly breathlessly. As Bill started to lift himself off of her, she reached up and helped him with a gentle push that nearly catapulted him to his feet. Now standing, Bill first made sure he had firm footing, then offered his hand to the woman. She gripped it with her right and he tugged hard. He nearly fell back on his face until she got her other arm under her and shoved. She was heavy!

Getting her left foot under her, she struggled to an upright position, but almost immediately started to collapse again. Bill moved quickly and got his shoulder and back under her outflung arm, steadying her.

“Aah!” she winced, lifting the weakened leg to run her mittens over her boot.“I think I might have twisted my ankle when I fell.”

Bill cooed in sympathy recalling his own experience with the same injury while playing soccer in high school. It was still painful in hindsight. “Well, can I help you home?  I can call you a cab or I can walk you since it’s totally my fault…” he offered

“It wasn’t,” she remarked, her accent slightly Slavic, warm and melodious, “but there’s no need. I’m not hurt that badly; it’s just a little stiff. I don’t mind the company, though, and I don’t live far, if you don’t mind hiking a bit.”

“Good enough,” Bill agreed, glad that he wouldn’t have to spring for a taxi ride. “My name’s Bill, by the way.”

“I know. You study law, right? I know some of your classmates. I’m Diane.”

“Diane,” Bill mused, “in pre-med? I think I saw you a couple of times last semester over in Hendrick’s art class.”

“Yeah, I did a little modeling my freshman year, and Mr. H and I got along well enough that he invited me to T.A. a couple of his classes last year.”

Bill nodded. They started walking, but she stumbled almost immediately as her foot refused to take her weight and Bill hurried to support her again, shifting her weight to a slightly more comfortable position. She was a bit shorter than him, maybe five foot eight to his six-one, but her weight was remarkable. Her arm across his shoulders felt surprisingly dense and heavy, almost like a thick branch of a large tree, and the arm that he was using to support her back seemed to have to stretch for miles to reach around under her deltoids and across her laterals.

“Worse than I thought,” she grimaced, chewing her lip. “It better not... “ She broke off, a crease from her frown marring the smooth expanse between her eyebrows.

“So,” she said, covering her pain with a hiss and a grin, “apart from the asshole factor, how do you like Ohio?”

“Well, I was a little disappointed to discover that you have the same seasons here that we have in California, only colder,” he quipped as they got under way, “nine months of winter followed by three months of road repair…”

Diane chuckled.  “You’re from California, too?  What part?”

“Orange County,” Bill smiled, “Nice little sea-side town, nothing too special.  What about yourself?”

“Not too far off, it sounds like,” Diane admitted, “little beach town called Oxnard– nice place, though a little isolated. I moved out here for my last couple years of high school and ended up staying for college.”

“This is my place,” she added, gesturing to a moderately imposing brick-and-mortar structure.  A steep staircase led to the lobby entrance.

“Well,” Bill sighed ruefully, “I think I’d probably better actually help you to your room- it’d be awful churlish of me to just leave you here on the stairs…”

“Oh, there’s a railing all the way to my apartment,” Diane protested weakly, “I can make it.”

Bill raised a sandy eyebrow in mock consternation.  “Like Hell,” he said simply.

The steps leading up to the lobby had been salted, but much of the ice still remained, pitted and slushy on the stairs.  When they reached the entrance, Diane fumbled in her bag and eventually pulled out a large bundle of keys, aluminum tabs, a small metal baton, a whistle, and even a pair of fingernail clippers attached to a series of keyrings.  Bill estimated the whole thing was nearly as large- or possibly larger- than his clenched fist.  She fumbled with it momentarily before finding the correct key and moving to insert it into the lock.

Unfortunately, the key slipped from her mittened grasp and dropped before either of them could grab it. It landed with a splash in a small puddle at their feet, and Bill immediately stooped and retrieved it, soaking his glove straight through. Diane smiled gratefully, then managed to shove the key into the lock with a bit more success. Unlocking the door, she led them both into the lobby.

“I’m just up on the next floor,” Diane averred. Then, looking at him, a look of concern crossed her features. “Oh no, you’re soaked!

“You can’t go back out like that, you’ll catch your death!”

“It’s okay, really.” Bill was talking on autopilot, now; he really was cold and his fingers were starting to go numb. Even so, he didn’t want to impose and years of being unobtrusive overrode his better judgment.

“Uh-uh,” Diane answered firmly, “you’re coming upstairs with me and we’re gonna get you in something warm and dry until I can run your clothes through the dryer.”

Bill started to protest again, but Diane held up a hand and cut him off.  “Not open to discussion,” she said loftily.

“I guess I could help you up the rest of the stairs, at least,” Bill chuckled and she allowed him to support her up the stairs.

By the time they’d reached the second floor, Diane was supporting most of her weight on her own, the warmth of the building and the continued exercise of simply moving seemed to have reinvigorated her injured leg somewhat. Bill was profoundly grateful, too, because her weight on his shoulders and back had started little twinges and sparks of pain to explode warningly behind his eyes.

As they made their way down the hallway, a girl yelled, “Man on deck!” and laughed as she slammed her door.

“Not like we’re a segregated dorm,” Diane snorted. She pointed at a door with a movie poster of Dolph Lundgren as He-Man on it. A couple of girls called out “Hey, Diane,” as they walked, and they passed an open door where they heard Rick Astley’s crooning voice expressing his faith and devotion.

She let them into her room and they staggered inside together, Diane only slightly ahead of the wearied young man. She reached to her side and flipped on the light switch, revealing a modestly sized apartment, probably originally intended as a double, although the consistency of the décor informed Bill that it was currently occupied as a single. Diane had arranged the room so that the focal point was not the modest television on a small, round table in the corner of the room, but was, in fact, a wall of variously sized photographs. Many of the pictures were of people, Bill assumed friends and family, but a surprising number were also street scenes, pictures of buildings, and occasional landscapes. Looking closer, Bill realized that he’d never actually seen any of these photographs before- they all appeared to be original work.  A large, well-loved, and battered couch was placed against the back wall of the living room, with a small, plump barcalounger next to it.  The floor was polished pine-board, but a number of tasteful rugs had been laid on it to make it comfortable to step around barefoot even during the chilly Cleveland winters. The two of them staggered past the hallway that Bill suspected led to the bedrooms and the bathroom, past the kitchen-cubby on the opposite side, and collapsed onto the welcoming couch.

The thermostat for the rooms was apparently kept on the warm side. Bill estimated the high seventies because his glasses instantly fogged and he felt himself breaking into a sweat almost immediately. Diane pulled off her mittens, scarf, and hat, shaking out her hair as she did so. She reached up and unzipped her heavy coat, letting it fall open so she could flip it off onto the couch. Bill was slightly surprised. He had expected, oddly enough, that she would be remarkably busty, but instead, her torso revealed modest breasts as she shrugged her coat off. Her purple and white striped turtleneck showed her fashion-conscious side as well, although the shoulder pads almost seemed a redundancy, accentuating her V-taper to heroic proportions. The shape of her arms, formed curves that suggested she was unusually big and perhaps downright muscular.

Bill was in good shape, worked out regularly, and had been involved in... well, he liked to say he’d been in athletics since he was a boy.  Bill had never seen arms as thick and dense as Diane’s appeared to be. They were easily as large around the biceps as a two-liter bottle of soda. Either she was surprisingly heavy and the turtleneck was hiding her girth or she had achieved an unreal level of fitness and they were incredibly lean.

“Uggh, it went through the jacket,” she said in a huff. As if he wasn’t there, she pulled her arms out of the sleeves and started to pull it off her head before she froze, noticing him staring. He had assumed that the width of her shoulders was mainly caused by the padding so common in women’s clothes; now he wondered if there had been any padding there at all. Underneath, a slip with pencil-thin straps did a poor job of covering her surreal physique. There was no longer a question, Diane was the most muscular person he’d ever seen. The skin covering her arms was deeply tanned -- unnaturally so, Bill realized with a start -- and seemed slightly dry and papery. Even at rest, he could see the thick vein that crested the top of her biceps and snaked over her shoulders.

Bill realized with a guilty start that he was staring and the blood immediately rushed to his face. Diane noticed it, too, but, far from being embarrassed, seemed flattered. She grinned and cocked her right arm to about a half flex. “Pretty good, eh?” she remarked, looking at the immense bulge forming just under her skin and the accompanying bulge forming in Bill’s trousers.

Bill felt his mouth go dry. “Ah…” he managed, “not bad. Not bad at all.”

Now at least he understood why she had seemed so monumentally heavy as he walked her back. Muscle weighed more than fat or bone, after all, and she had an astounding amount of it.

Diane released her flex and grinned, then straightened up, and pulled her turtleneck the rest of the way off sending it to the couch with the jacket. “Your turn,” she smirked impishly, “strip!”

Bill was hesitant, at first, not least because he found himself unexpectedly in the presence of such a supreme example of willpower, dedication, and effort. Bill’s own physique was lean and wiry. He still maintained the flat, toned stomach of his days as a soccer midfielder, and his arms and legs were corded with whippet-long muscles from years of training with Sensei, but next to this beautiful amazon, he felt ever so slightly emasculated.

Still, she was standing there, hands on her hips, looking like she was plucked right out of a superhero movie, waiting for him to make the next move. With a sigh, Bill stood up and stripped down to his t-shirt and acid-washed jeans. She took his coat and gloves and started off towards the apartment door with a slight limp.  “Hey,” Bill called, “why don’t you let me do that?”

She paused, considering.  “You don’t mind?” she asked.  Bill shook his head. “Well, okay.” She handed the bundle over to him and gave him the laundry room keys from her purse along with a couple of dollars in quarters for the machines. Bill took the clothes and followed the signs to the laundry room in the basement. After getting the loads sorted out, he trotted back upstairs to find Diane’s door slightly cracked. He tapped tentatively and she called out for him to come in.

As she was not in the front room or the living room, he took a moment to admire the collection of cassette tapes next to a small boombox on the side table. She had a surprising amount of upbeat pop music, ranging from Nena to Meatloaf to Erasure, as well as a number of his own personal favorites, including Pat Benatar and The Traveling Wilburys. Breaking from the upbeat and fairly mellow selection, one row of the case was devoted to harder fare: Danzig, Anthrax, Scum, and several others. Shaking his head to refocus, he noticed that she had left a t-shirt and some shorts on the sofa. He cocked his eyebrow again and called out, “these for me?” to which her voice, coming from the hallway, answered in the affirmative. Bill slipped out of his jeans and his sodden t-shirt and traded them for the dry shorts. He was in the process of getting into the dry shirt- a triple-X, he realized, when Diane came back into the room.

He instantly reddened, feeling the hot flush as she openly stared at his naked chest.  “You’re not bad, either,” she growled huskily.

Bill shrugged the shirt on the rest of the way and smiled sheepishly. Diane had also changed while he was downstairs; she was now wearing a short skirt – mid-thigh at the longest- and a pretty, floral babydoll shirt that looked ridiculously out-of-place on her enormous, nearly masculine chest. Almost as quickly as he made that assessment, Bill found himself revising it.  Diane had an immense body, that was certainly true. She was tall for a woman, as he had noted earlier, but her height carried what had to be close to two hundred pounds of immaculately proportioned muscle. Wide, thick deltoids tapered down a precisely sculpted back and chest which lead into a deceptively thick waist, good hips, and the two largest thighs he’d ever seen outside of tractor-pulling contests. She had no breasts to speak of; indeed, she looked as if she had been carved from stone, with almost no fatty deposits evident anywhere on her body.

Bill realized that he found her level of condition slightly revolting, but the strength and power she positively radiated was the most sexual thrill he’d felt since he’d broken up with his high school sweetheart nearly a year before.

Bill had never really been into the bodybuilding scene even as an observer; on rare occasions he had seen a bodybuilder in the campus gym, but usually, they were heavily bundled or, as often as not, heavily into their off-season shape, appearing very big, but not particularly hard or sharply defined.  Diane, however, was clearly not off-season, in fact far from it. She had dieted down to a point that appeared almost painful, the veins and individual muscle groups and fibers pressing against skin pulled tight by her exceptional growth and made thin by the depletion inherent in the rigorous conditioning she had put herself through.

“Hey, Bill,” she chuckled, “my face is up here!”  She pointed to her head, deliberately bringing her right arm into a full flex and popping the biceps as she spoke. Bill laughed self-consciously; while he hadn’t been guilty of the typical guy-offense of staring at her chest, his gaze had become arrested by the mesmerizing sway and shift of the ropy clusters of muscle in her quadriceps. Now, having captured his attention, Diane flashed a dazzling smile at him.

“Like what you see?” she asked.

“You’re impressive as hell,” Bill admitted truthfully. “A little bit intimidating, though…”

“Hm,” she mused, “can’t have that. C’mere.” She crooked her finger and Bill walked over obediently as if hooked on an invisible line. He had to admit that there was something incredibly sexy about the combination of her exotic Mediterranean features, her world-class physique, and her playful humor.

“Have you ever done any muscle worship?” she asked him in a low whisper. Mutely, Bill shook his head no. “Me neither.”

She held out her left arm straight to her side. “Feel it,” she commanded and Bill reached out tentatively to touch her warm skin. As he touched her forearm, she cringed back- “Cold!” she hissed, then giggled. Maintaining a perfectly straight face, Bill put his hands together and slowly rubbed them together, building up the pressure and the speed as he went. Diane looked mildly nonplussed but said nothing.

Bill tried hard to remember his extremely limited reiki massage training- according to Sensei, healing energy could be gathered into the hands and then focused into a recipient’s body through a number of channels. Bill wasn’t too sure of that, but he could always remember the warm sensation flowing through his fingers whenever he practiced. He focused on that feeling now as he reached out again and gently took hold of Diane’s prodigious forearm.

“Wow,” Diane purred, “that feels really nice!”

Bill allowed himself a faint smile as he explored her arm. Each of the muscles in her forearm was prominent, separated from the others, large and dense, hard as stretched rubber.  She didn’t waver at all despite having held her arm straight out for several minutes, although Bill could see a very light sheen of perspiration beginning on her forehead.

As Bill’s probing fingers traveled further up her arm, exploring the ridges and curves of her tricep and unflexed biceps, she allowed her lips to quirk up at the corners very slightly. If her lower arms were huge, her upper arms were simply inhuman. There was just a hairsbreadth of give underneath the hot, damp skin, just space enough for her purplish-green veins to squeeze between the layers upon layers of muscle and that papery, almost fragile membrane that covered them. Beneath it, her arms had no give at all, no matter how he used his entire hand or tried to work just a thumb or finger in between those ropy fibers. She flexed harder, the peak rising harder and her arm shaking to demonstrate its full glory. He pushed back with great force as if allowing her to highlight her show, but was still unable to dent the unyielding muscle.

His hands moved to cup her triceps fingering the accentuated horseshoe groove that popped as she changed her flex. She held it momentarily while his exploration became more reminiscent of fondling. She didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she rewarded him with another display. Turning her head, she glanced past her shoulders as she slowly brought her arm into a full flex, twisting her fist so that the split, double peaks of her softball-sized biceps undulated under his hands. Bill felt the stirring in his groin even as he didn’t yet fully understand it.

Diane slowly lowered her arm, shifting her weight slightly as she alternated back to the even larger tricep muscle. Hitting a side tricep pose larger than anything Bill had seen outside of a Schwarzenegger movie, the muscle seemed to grow even larger as the blood ballooned the muscle.  Just as her weight moved from one foot to the other, though, she gave a tiny gasp and seemed to accordion into the couch.

“Ah, shit!” she swore, and Bill immediately knelt in front of her, examining her swollen ankle. An ugly purple bruise ran across her instep and to the inside of her ankle all the way to her heel. Bill winced as he saw it clearly for the first time. Heading back to the kitchen-area, Bill spied a couple of elegant, simple dining room chairs placed against a wall. An antique oaken table occupied a corner of the room, waiting to be pulled out again for further use. Bill snagged a chair and brought it back to Diane to prop her feet on.

She did so without prompting and Bill gently extended his fingers and palms over her foot, this time deliberately letting himself sense deeply into the way the muscles, bones, tendons, and ligaments all interacted just under her skin.

“Shit,” she moaned again, “and I was being so careful!”

“Careful of what?” Bill asked, perplexed.

“Not of- for,” she explained, “I’m registered to compete in a competition this Valentine’s Day. I was trying not to injure myself before the competition, you know?”

Bill nodded, understanding. “Well, I think it’s just a twist- maybe a sprain- we can probably treat it right now and have you up and walking just fine long before the event.”  He wasn’t entirely sure of that, but he had seen worse injuries and swifter recoveries; a lot of it depended on the patient.

“Treat it?” Diane asked, “How?”

Bill raised his fingers in front of his face, wove them together, then turned them over and cracked his knuckles. “Trust me,” he said.

* * *

Bill visited her regularly over the next few days, checking on her ankle, of course, but also just to chat and get to know each other better. Neither Bill nor Diane was much of a cook, unfortunately, and Diane’s stock of food was even more limited than Bill’s, consisting primarily of chicken breasts, protein supplements, and milk.

As the following Saturday got closer and closer, Diane spent more time practicing for her big day, getting up early to do cardio as best she could, and then going to the gym to workout.  She’s dropped the poundages on most of her weights, now, focusing on cranking out more repetitions and really sculpting what she considered to be her ‘problem areas.’ Bill managed to meet her for her morning jog once and kept up for nearly half of it before declaring her officially healed. As she slowed to a walk so that Bill could catch his breath, he informed her that he was going to be absent for a few days. He had to observe a case being tried in the Cleveland Court of Common Pleas for a class.

“I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I’m going to be insanely busy until it’s done.  I was really hoping to make your show, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able.”

Diane nodded. “It’s okay,” she lied, “you do what you have to. It’s not like we’re dating, right?” Diane hadn’t actually been on a date since she had started packing on muscle around her fifteenth birthday. She’d had a series of one-night stands, although even those had been rare, and they had gotten more and more infrequent as she had gotten bigger and bigger.  She had really been hoping that Bill, with his gentle, serious eyes and his quiet, stable demeanor, might be different.

Bill glanced at her sharply, his dark eyes brushing through her defenses like a thresher through rice-paper. If he saw what she was feeling, though, his face remained closed, guarded.  “It’s only going to be a few days, hopefully. I’ll call you as soon as it’s done,” he promised.

Diane had heard those words before, too. As soon as it’s done usually meant the day the demons started selling sno-cones for charity in Hell. She nodded again, decided not to say anything further, and set off for the gym at a dead run, leaving Bill standing on the sidewalk.

Bill sighed and ran his hands through his sandy hair. She was without a doubt the most stunning woman he’d ever met, on every level. Her body was like a temple, she had sacrificed so much to make herself into the breathing work of art that she was today-- more than one job, many people she had thought were friends, even more conservative elements of her family. He felt like a heel for letting her down this way, but he could see no way around it.

From Wednesday until Friday, Bill spent his days in the Cleveland Courthouse, taking notes on a case that meant absolutely nothing to him. He couldn’t stop thinking about Diane. He scrawled notes on the margins of his legal pad, planning what he'd say the next time they spoke on the phone. He even drew little pictures- not very good ones, he thought wryly- of her onstage before the assembled masses. In the evening he typed up a report for his professors, researched legal precedents in ancient, dusty tomes in the library, and ate Chinese food or Dominoes. Ever lurking in the back of his mind though was the humorous muscular woman. Finally, he decided that years of playing it safe meant losing out on what he desired so he decided to call. He felt his adrenaline rise with the decision until suddenly, with a start he realized he had neither her phone number nor her last name.

* * *

After leaving Bill that night, Diane had thrown herself into her workout like a maniac, lifting heavy and lifting to exhaustion, ignoring the tiny voice at the back of her skull that was warning her that she might be throwing everything away. She almost prayed that she would get an injury, but it didn’t happen. She went home each night and stared at her answering machine, willing it to flash the message waiting light, but it never did. She left Friday for a hotel in Columbus and called her mother from the phone in her room. She knew the price would be exorbitantly high, but she didn’t care. They talked for hours before her mother made her hang up the phone and get prepared for her contest.

* * *

The following morning, Diane arrived at the Columbus Convention Center for weigh-in and pre-judging. She scanned the room watching the other competitors and wondered what the judges would be looking for this year. She felt good; she was as big as she’d ever been, and her conditioning was razor-sharp. Any objective judge couldn’t help but recognize her superiority to any of the other contestants in view. Even as a rookie, she felt her win was little more than a formality. She steadied her breathing. Even as big and cut as she was, she still had to perform. She could still screw up, and she couldn’t afford to. This competition was a qualifier for even larger events such as Nationals and the Jan Tana, a stepping stone to the Olympia that she desperately wanted to claim for her own.

Diane went through the first few rounds easily, leaving only herself and a half a dozen other women who were serious competitors in her weight range. Actually, there was really no one else in her weight range; they would’ve classified her as a super-heavyweight if they’d had such a classification for women. She was on stage with women who were, on average, fifty pounds lighter than her and it gave her an undeniable mass appeal that the other women couldn’t match.

As Diane came off stage for a short break before the finals began, she overheard a couple of the judges chatting as they strolled into an adjacent room. “I know she’s the

class of the show, Ryan, but…”

“But what?

She’s got the whole package. The symmetry, the beauty, the size…”

“You can say that again. She's really big… far bigger than McLish and maybe Francis too.

It doesn’t matter how beautiful she is; If we pick her, we're going to change

the future of women's bodybuilding.”

“Do we care?”

“Well…”

The door closed behind them, cutting off the rest of their conversation.

Diane was making her way back to the pump room, pondering what she’d just heard when she recognized a familiar voice. It wasn’t a welcome voice, though she’d only heard it once before.

“Figures that you’d have something for these freaks,” the voice said.

“Just like I told you, Stan,” commented another voice, “all surfer-dweebs are queer.”

Heart pounding in her chest, Diane rounded the corner to see two of the largest men she’d ever seen harassing a much smaller man. The smaller man had his back to her, facing the other two, but she recognized the set of his shoulders, the carefully groomed coiffure, the neatly pressed and tastefully chosen ensemble of his clothes.

One of the Neanderthals noticed her. “Hey, dweeb,” he guffawed, “your date’s here!” He reached out and shoved Bill with both hands hard at Diane and she braced to catch him- except that he didn’t move. Instead, he shifted his weight and ducked into his arms, wedging his shoulder into the linebacker’s ribcage and twisting hard. The larger man made a sudden ninety-degree turn and planted his face directly into the wall.

“I hate to be rude,” Bill said acidly, “but that’s the last time either of you should even consider laying your paws on me. And I’d appreciate it if you’d remove yourself and your vile manners from the premises, too.”

The other man’s face displayed shock for only an instant before the alcohol clearly governing his higher thought-processes took over. He threw a quick right-left-right combination which Bill tapped aside, allowing the blows to get closer with each attempt. As the last blow wound up, Bill rabbit punched the big man hard under his shoulder and stepped around him, flinging the suddenly limp arm away. From behind him, Bill reached around the thick, bull-neck and settled the man’s trachea in the crook of his elbow. With a hard stomp, Bill buckled the man’s knee and dropped him hard so that his entire weight was supported on the elbow holding his neck. His eyes bulged as he realized that he couldn’t breathe, but that was really the least of his worries. Instead of going red, as Diane would have expected, his face seemed to drain of color as Bill cut off the blood supply on either side of the man’s neck.

Without even a sigh, the huge man went limp and Bill released him. Looking up, he saw Diane for the first time.

“Oh, God,” he muttered, stricken.

“What are you doing here?” Diane asked, stepping over the prone bodies to pick up the smaller man and swing him around in a fierce hug that he didn’t even pretend to resist.

“Actually,” he commented as soon as his feet were back on the ground, “I was looking for you.

“My case finished late last night so I cleaned my suit and went looking to figure out which competition you were going to be competing in. This seemed like the only likely one, so I grabbed my wallet and hired a rental that I drove like a madman to get down here and see you.”  He stopped and looked into her eyes. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Diane didn’t answer right away. Her face seemed to have shut down as she stared at him, her warring emotions not quite reaching her lips or eyes. Finally, she let out a long breath and pulled him close to her, hugging him fiercely once again. “You could’ve called, you know,” she growled fiercely, and he had the grace to look mildly embarrassed.

“Yeah, well,” he began, but then changed course in mid-sentence.  “Seemed like a pretty poor way to ask you out to dinner, though, or to ask you to be my valentine…”

He grinned sheepishly and fished in a pocket, pulling out a small, velvet-covered box.  “Or to give you this,” he continued, opening the box and removing a fine gold chain.

“Or this,” he finished, leaning into her, tilting her head back and kissing her firmly on the lips. “Now quit crying and go win this competition.”

* * *

She didn’t win. She didn’t even place in the top three. Instead, the win was given to a beautiful but relatively slight woman who weighed close to a hundred pounds less than Diane. She was crushed and practically monosyllabic as Bill navigated her through the crowd and out to his rental car.

He opened the passenger door for her, then let himself into the driver’s side. “Where to?” he asked. She looked smaller than he’d ever seen her, folded in on herself with her head down. When she didn’t answer for several seconds, he reached over and pulled a Gatorade bottle out of the glove compartment and offered it to her.

She shook her head.

“Just sip at it,” he said. “If I’m any judge at all, you need calories and, after being under those lights, you’re probably a little dehydrated.”

They sat in the parking lot a little longer and Diane reluctantly sipped at the bottle, then drank several swallows with a little more enthusiasm. When the bottle was about half empty, she screwed the cap back on and shoved it back in the glovebox. “Thanks,” she said.

Bill waited.

“I should’ve won,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bill nodded. “What do you want to do?”

She chuffed a short laugh. “I want to go back in there and beat the judges until they explain themselves, but that wouldn’t get me very far.”

Bill laughed. “Not that I don’t think you’d look impressive as hell in handcuffs, but there are probably better ways to spend the rest of the night.”

She sniffed and giggled and Bill breathed a little more easily. “Dammit. I was all set to wallow,” Diane said.

“Don’t let me stop you. I know a great ice cream place if you want some help with it.”

Diane shook her head. “Not right now,” she said and her stomach rumbled a faint protest. “Some real food might be a good idea, though.”

Bill put the car in drive and piloted them out into the city. “Let’s see what we can find,” he said. As they drove around downtown, Bill let Diane’s silence build, companionably leaving his hand close to her thigh, but not touching.

“This doesn’t seem to be getting us anywhere,” Diane noted as they passed the third restaurant with no lights on.

“We could’ve stopped at McDonald’s,” Bill noted, and Diane looked properly aghast. “Hey,” he protested, “I was just saying.”

“Please,” Diane said, struggling to keep from smiling, “stop saying it. That’s horrible.”

Bill glanced over at her as he stopped at a red light. “You almost smiled,” he noted, a touch smugly.

“I was covering my disgust,” Diane replied.

Bill chuckled. “Okay,” he said. “You win. I guess a restaurant is out since you won’t defile yourself with fast food. How about we hit a grocery store and I can fix something in your hotel room?”

She reached down and took his free hand. Her grip was gentle and the skin on her hands was cool, dry, rough, and calloused. “I guess that will work,” she allowed, apparently beginning to withdraw into herself again.

Bill sighed as he pulled into the Smith’s parking lot. He withdrew his hand from hers. “Why don’t you wait here,” he offered. “This shouldn’t take long. Is there anything specific you want?”

Diane mumbled something and Bill raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Anything. And tequila,” Diane said again.

Bill grinned. “You got it.”

True to his word, Bill was in and out of the grocery store in under twenty minutes. Diane had, apparently, spent the time in the car fiddling with the heat and changing the radio station. As Bill unloaded three pre-cooked baked chickens, various carb-laden sides, and a modest selection of fresh fruits and vegetables into the trunk, as well as several bags from the state-licensed liquor store inside the building, he heard Robert Smith’s distinctive vocals on The Kiss.

“A little dark,” he said as he slid back into the driver’s side. “You still okay?”

“You know why I lost?” Diane asked.

Bill blinked. “Not really; I thought you were a shoo-in for the win.”

“It’s because I’m too big,” she said. “Look at me. I’m bigger than most anybody I know who isn’t grossly obese. Even most men are small compared to me.”

Bill held his tongue as he maneuvered the car onto the freeway. “I thought that was kind of the point,” he said. “I mean, isn’t bodybuilding mainly about getting big muscles?”

“There’s other things, too,” Diane said, “but muscle size is supposed to be important.” She sniffed. “Apparently, what’s important about it is for them to not be bigger than even the men’s on the stage.”

Bill winced as he pulled off the freeway and slid the car into the hotel parking lot. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Diane muttered.

“What?” Bill asked, turning off the engine. “Why not?”

“Look at me,” she said. “I’m not exactly a normal girl. Hell, it’s been a decade since I had a real date, even.”

“I’d date you,” Bill returned without pausing.

“You think I’m a freak!” Diane said. “You left me in the car.”

Bill closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I left you in the car because you were nearly out on your feet and I figured you could use the rest,” he said.

“I thought you didn’t want to be seen with me,” Diana said, her voice breaking. “I thought you were embarrassed–”

“I’d be lucky to be out with you in public.” He interrupted. He felt the heat in his cheeks as he blushed. “How about I take you out to dinner tomorrow night to prove it to you? You could use the meal anyways.” He chuckled as he leaned over toward her. “I think your dinner tonight is going to be delayed.” He said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he looked into her eyes, cupped her cheek, and turned her towards him.

He leaned in and his lips met hers, his breath hot against her skin.

She kissed him, but then got an arm between them. “I think we need to back up a step,” she said. “Dinner first. Then we’ll see…”

“Another show?” Bill asked, flashing his teeth.

“Play your cards right,” Diane laughed. “Damn. How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“How did you make it not… I was all set to be depressed and sad,” she said. “How’d you take that away?”

Bill shrugged. “With you, it was easy. All I had to do was give you the truth.”

He let his hand trail along the line of her neck down to her shoulder.

“Inside,” she said, before he could get too far. “For one thing, I need to get out of my coat.”

Bill pouted briefly, but withdrew his hand, dropping it briefly to her thigh and giving her a quick squeeze. Even through her jeans, her legs were thick and hard, and he could almost feel the striations running up her quads.

She slapped his hand playfully. “Not here!” she said. “Upstairs. You promised me food and alcohol, remember?”

* * *

“Not exactly a repeat of our first date,” Diane said around a mouthful of roasted chicken. She had stripped down to a pair of boy-shorts and a sports bra.

“Well, I suppose I could try throwing my back out so that one of us was injured,” Bill offered, “but I think that might be overkill.”

“No injuries,” Diane agreed. “I think they might limit the rest of the night. There is one thing I’d like to do again, though.”

“Hm?” Bill asked as Diane got up from the table.

“Last time we tried this, you were shivering and I had a pulled ankle. I like the idea that you might be able to give me a little more attention,” Diane said. She picked up her drink from the table and gave it a healthy sip before putting it back down.

She moved over to the open space in front of the bed. “Here’s something you didn’t see last time,” she said, rolling her hips and pelvis so that her abs stood out in exaggerated prominence.

“I just watched you down two whole chickens,” Bill whispered in awed protest, “how do you still have abs, let alone a six-pack?”

The corner of Diane’s mouth twitched up. “Six-pack?” she asked as she doubled down on her flex, “I think you need to count again.”

“That is so not fair,” Bill said. “I’m lucky just to have a flat belly and you get– let me count– an eight-pack?”

“Come over here and feel them,” Diane instructed.

Bill felt as if he were hypnotized as he rose from the table to stand in front of Diane. He noticed again how tall she was; he only had to lower his chin a little in order to look her in the eyes, with her raising her chin a like amount. He placed his hands on her waist and felt the hot, hard flesh beneath his fingertips. The skin was still smooth, with just a hair of give beneath it, and any pressure brought out the striations in her individual abdominals. He felt the veins pulsing just beneath her skin, each one a river for the blood engorging her muscles.

Diane reached up and gripped Bill’s shoulders, gently applying irresistible pressure until he dropped to his knees. “That’s better,” she rasped huskily. “I kind of like you down there.” Bill huffed a silent laugh and Diane felt his hot breath tickling her belly, making her abs shiver in anticipation. He pressed his hands out from the thick layers of her central abdominals and along the rigid, galvanized sturdiness of her obliques until his hands were forced apart by the broad sweep of her lats, breaking away from her narrow waist in a symphony of smooth power.

Bill shook his head in disbelief. “You’re so big, I don’t think I could get my arms around your chest.”

Diane laughed as she pulled him back to his feet. “Not if you tried to go over my shoulders, that’s for sure,” she said. She cocked her right arm and brought it up into a full flex; the first time he’s seen her do this, her arm had looked big, cut, and vascular; now it was simply shredded. And huge. Decades of dedicated martial arts training had left Bill a deceptively fit, wiry physique, but Diane’s arm looked as if it might be closing in on triple the size of his own, with definition that might have been pulled straight out of an anatomy textbook.

Bill reached out and stroked the head of her biceps, then tried and failed to wrap both hands around her arm. Diane twitched a smile and bounced her flex, forcing his hands even further apart as her muscle contracted. “My big muscles don’t scare you?” she asked.

Her tone suggested she was joking, but Bill took her seriously as he turned his searching gaze into her eyes. “No,” he said. “Should they?”

Diane exhaled briefly, a mere puff of breath. “Not even a little.”

Bill stepped in closer to her, invading her space. Diane stood her ground and reached her arms around him, pulling him in even further, enfolding him in a tight hug. “You wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with me?” she asked, her voice muffled as her face was turned into his neck and chest.

“Diane,” Bill breathed, pulling back just enough so he could see the top of her head, “I would be honored.”