Love Muscle

I wrote this story in conjunction with another author who wishes to remain anonymous. The story was her idea, and she contributed several paragraphs. Thank you, Sara, for allowing me to post it here.

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Scott sat at his desk in the middle of his small bookkeeping business. It was a one man show as the area provided just enough business for him to make a living. He had a little work to do but decided to take an early lunch and run by the post office.

His office was situated in an old bank building on the village square in a small town not far from Peoria in Central Illinois. It was a town of 6,000 people, and he knew a lot of them from living there his whole life. The post office was directly across the square. As he locked up, holding onto the small box he had to mail in his left hand, he looked up and down the street and took a deep breath. It was a warm day in May, the type of day he loved, and he looked forward to stretching his legs.

Scott was approaching 40 years old. He wasn't bad looking, but at 6'1" and a very thin 160 pounds he had never attracted much female attention. Couple that with being almost painfully shy around the opposite sex and it was not surprising that he was still single. In fact, aside from a couple of brief flings in college he had never even had a real girlfriend.

The short walk to the post office was uneventful and as he jogged up the steps to the old building he admired its classic columns and wrought iron railings. As soon as he opened the doors he saw that there were three people in line ahead of him. He waved at Mrs. Billings, the clerk, who had worked at the post office for as long as he could remember. She gave him a nod, but was too busy to say anything. He didn't pay much attention to the people in line, except to notice that the man in front of him was very fat and very old.

A moment later the person at the head of the line finished her business and walked out. The next person in line went up to the counter, and Scott heard an unfamiliar female voice. He moved to the side to get a better view of the lady. He stopped, and stared. It took him a minute to process what he was looking at: a medium length summer dress on a 5'2" woman whom he had never seen before.

She seemed to him to be about 30. She had short dark hair she had tied into a small ponytail. As she turned to the side to look over the display of stamps he saw that her face was lean and cute. As she turned back to the counter he took in the rest of her. He started at her feet, which looked thick and strong in a worn pair of summer sandals. His eyes moved up to a pair of large calves and on to massive, muscular thighs that even a male bodybuilder might have envied. Her short height made them look even bigger. Next he took in her slim waist and thick, corded forearms. Her upper arms were huge, every bit the match for her thighs. Her shoulders were wide, and they tapered to a well-defined neck.

Despite all of her muscles, she had a soft layer of skin that made him think that she never starved herself like a lot of professional bodybuilders, who just looked like dried up raisins to him. She was so thick. So built. He couldn't think of anything else: his mind was on overload. He was shaking with excitement and anxiety, a mixture of feelings that he couldn't control or even sort out.

She finished her transaction and walked by him out the door. He was so nervous that he couldn't speak to her or even make eye contact. He did manage to glance down at her hands and he didn't see a ring on her finger. She wasn't wearing any jewelry, for that matter, except a large, silver watch stretched across her left wrist.

Sara left the post office and looked down at her phone. She had been in town for a few weeks and felt free for the first time in a long while. The divorce had been very messy and her bastard of an ex left her with nothing. That was the price you paid for marrying a shark. She had retreated across the state, to here, where her aunt had lived, where she had never even visited, to a house that was left to her. She was glad she hadn't sold it when her aunt died.

She was broke, working a job at the local sports bar. It was enough to pay for food and taxes and for the maintenance on her car, but not much more. As she walked up to the car, she groaned. It was a 15 year old Ford SUV, rusted out and with 250K miles on it. She got in and just sat in the front seat for a moment, gathering herself, before she headed out to buy groceries.

She never thought she'd find herself in a situation like this: starting her life completely over again at 32. A few years ago she had everything going for her - a career she loved as a personal trainer, a beautiful house, sophisticated friends, great vacations, and a husband who was one of the most successful lawyers in town. Sure, her mom had never liked Tony. She had gone to her grave warning her daughter not to trust him, but when you're young and in love you can overlook even the most obvious warning signs.

Walking up and down the aisles in the little podunk grocery store, trying to find a way to make her meager paycheck stretch to cover meals for the week, Sara went over the events of the last couple of years in her mind for the millionth time. Her suspicions, the incriminating texts and receipts, discovering his cheating, confronting him, the lies and arrogance and abuse, the financial shenanigans, and finally discovering that he was so connected to the legal establishment in town that nobody would even take her divorce case.

She had muddled through, her self-esteem taking hit after hit after hit, until in the end her ex had walked off with everything. Even her friends turned out to actually be his friends. Still, she wasn't a quitter. She was tough. Even if she couldn't see a path forward right now, she knew she'd find a way.

She was so preoccupied with her thoughts and her shopping that she didn't notice the glances she was getting from the other shoppers. Even if she had noticed, she was used to it by now. Some gave her a quick glance, then looked away. Others outright stared. Nobody in town had ever seen a woman like her before. There were those who were overweight, either a little or a lot, or the underfed waifs. There were strong women who had grown up working on farms, but nobody had ever seen anybody with the kind of sculpted musculature she could boast.

One of the men carefully watching her was Scott. He had quickly left the post office, his small box unmailed, rushed across the square to where his car was parked, and followed her to the grocery store. He didn't know what had come over him. He never just followed women around - it seemed too creepy. And he had work to do back at the office. But he couldn't take his eyes off her.

He had never seen a woman that attractive before. It was her body, and her face, and maybe even the sad expression she wore. He found himself incredibly aroused. Like many tall, thin men he was well endowed and he found himself uncomfortably hard in his pants. He was self-conscious, trying to hide his bulge as he wandered the aisles in the store, pretending to look at groceries he didn't need. He felt like everybody was looking at him.

Scott was so shy that just the thought of going up to a woman and talking to her made him break out in a sweat. What would he say? He always got so tongue-tied that he stammered or said something foolish. He had never dated in high school, and he had only had one or two short term girlfriends in college. Then he had come back here, to his hometown, to take over his uncle's bookkeeping business. At this point in life he figured he'd always be single.

He ducked behind a display as Sara walked his way. When she passed, he turned and looked at her again. He couldn't believe how she filled out that little sun dress. He wanted to go up and get in the check out line behind her. There weren't many strangers around here, and certainly none like her. A little voice in his head told him that this was his chance, but instead of going up and making conversation he stood and watched as she finished buying her groceries, loaded them into her old Ford, and drove away.

Sara drove across town and pulled into the driveway of a sad looking Victorian house. There was no garage so she parked on the rutted dirt driveway and brought the groceries in the side door. The old oak floors in the kitchen, their finish long since gone, creaked loudly as she walked across to set her bags on the counter and she was reminded of all that needed to be done in this place. All the things she had absolutely no money to do.

She sighed and went up to her room to change for work. The sports bar had hired her immediately with no interview. She liked to think it was because she was so attractive, but honestly it was more indicative of the way that it was managed. She put on the required uniform, which consisted of baggy cargo pants and an oversized football jersey tied off at the waist. She was disappointed to have to cover up so much, as she had worked hard for her figure for most of her adult life, but alas. She brushed her hair and redid her ponytail, then she grabbed her keys and headed to her SUV and to work.

She pulled into the back parking lot about fifteen minutes before her shift began. Unlike some of the other waitresses she could see in the staff parking area, she didn't sit in her car and get high before heading in. She didn't ruminate over everything that had happened in the past year, either. She couldn't help but be sad about the way things had turned out, but getting depressed wouldn't help. She hadn't gotten her physique, to say nothing of her black belts in judo and taekwondo, without being able to visualize her goals, motivate herself, and work hard to achieve them.

Instead, she thought about her home, or, specifically, the gym she was building in the basement. She had managed to snag some old wrestling mats on the cheap from a high school that was auctioning off surplus items. After being cleaned and disinfected, they now formed her martial arts area. She was always on the lookout for old weights or gym equipment that people were selling or giving away. She had most of what she needed already, but tomorrow morning she had to be up early to drive over to Champaign to take a look at a set of barbells and a bench press some graduating college kid didn't want to take home with him. At the thought of the weights she smiled, and then got out of her car and headed toward the staff entrance.

As she went through the door she could already hear the loud, rowdy crowd coming in. Even though it was a small town, the place was always crowded. It was right off I74 that cut through from Indiana to Iowa, so it got a lot of traffic. The walls were covered with the usual sports memorabilia, and there were dozens of TV sets showing every sporting event you could imagine.

Sara went to work immediately, taking care of her tables, getting food and drink out to the customers, and never quite getting the tips she was hoping for. Some people were generous, but others were cheap as hell. Some noticed her, but others looked right through her or talked around her as they ordered. Others noticed her in the wrong way, staring at her chest or ass as they gave her their orders.

It was close to closing time when it happened. She had a table full of businessmen from out of town, and they had clearly had too much to drink. She had learned that these were the types who always caused trouble, never the college kids or the bikers or anybody like that. They seemed to feel so entitled. As she turned and walked away after delivering their third round of drinks she heard one say, "Figures, we get the fat waitress. Why couldn't we get the skinny blonde?"

She was hurt, of course, but she tried to shrug it off. Lots of guys mistakenly thought muscular girls were fat. Others just called them that, covering up their own jealousy or inadequacy. But when she approached the table to drop off the check she heard another one of them say, "She ain't fat, she's built. I'll show you." As she left the check and turned away, she felt a hand on her ass. She froze as the creep copped a feel, the rest of the table laughing.

As the drunken suit squeezed her ass and followed it up with a sharp slap, she felt a burst of rage break through her icy self control. She couldn't afford to lose this job, and she knew the sleazeball manager wouldn't do anything to piss off a paying customer even if she complained, so she took a deep breath, smiled sweetly, and turned around.

The self-satisfied creep was grinning up at her. She bent down to whisper in his ear, taking his hand as she did so. As the rest of the table hooted and cheered, she squeezed for all she was worth. She could feel the muscles in her forearm, wrist, and hand bunch and tense, exerting all the pressure she could bring to bear. An instant later she felt something pop in the guy's hand, and he turned white as a sheet.

"Now, that wasn't very polite, was it, sir?" she whispered in his ear, still squeezing for all she was worth as tears began to form in the guy's eyes and his mouth hung open in a surprised "o". "I sure hope your hands don't go roaming unwelcomed over any other woman's ass ever again. Who knows what could happen? Now, you be sure to leave a good tip, and come back soon." With that she let go and he carefully put his injured hand in his lap. She could see that he was trying not to let his buddies know that she had hurt him. She smiled and walked away.

At the end of the night Sara drove home, exhausted, feet hurting, and with less money than she had hoped for again. She had only been in town for a few weeks, but this was getting old already.

Meanwhile, Scott spent another night at home. While Sara was hustling drinks and bar food, he had worked late, then gone home to his small place on the outskirts of town. It was the family home, where he had been raised, and he had inherited it when his parents had passed. He got a beer out of the fridge, and a frozen dinner, and settled in for another night of TV.

This is what he always did, and he always felt safe and content here. Somehow, over the years, he had convinced himself that this was enough, maybe that he didn't deserve more. It was a life, he always told himself. There are others who are plenty worse off than me, he'd say. But tonight, none of that rang true. The beer didn't taste as good, nor did the frozen food fill him up. He couldn't keep his mind on whatever medical drama was playing on TV. He channel-surfed, trying to find something that would distract him. But nothing could take his mind off of her.

He was so angry with himself for not talking to her in the store! He kept thinking about her, turning her around in his mind. He loved her legs. He couldn't stop thinking about them. Her skin was so smooth and tanned, and he had never seen calves and thighs that muscular. He had never considered muscles like that on a woman to be remotely sexy, but now he couldn't think of anything else.

He thought of her arms and hands, how her fingers had been so long for somebody who wasn't very tall at all. He thought of her forearms, and those shoulders. She clearly spent a lot of time lifting, but she still looked so feminine. And her face, the way her hair was tied back, those warm, brown eyes. He pictured her looking at him, smiling, talking to him.

He looked down at his own body, in his tee shirt and pajama bottoms. He wasn't fat, but he wasn't in shape, either. He never had been, He was always...skinny, scrawny. He thought again of how her neck flowed smoothly down into her shoulders, and the muscles in her back that were barely hinted at by the sun dress. He thought about how muscular her ass seemed, the sun dress hugging it snugly. TV forgotten, he lay there fantasizing about her. About lifting that dress, seeing that fit body, seeing her smiling at him in encouragement.

Unable to sleep, Sara went to her closet and unfolded her martial arts uniform and put it on. She tied her black belt and went down to the basement. She did a series of stretches and breathing exercises which calmed her down. Picturing the guy from the bar, she turned to the punching dummy in the corner and delivered a series of high kicks to the face, kicking back and forth rapidly. She then fell to her knees and with her right palm open slammed it into the fake crotch of the dummy, sending it off the floor and up into the air. She stood in satisfaction.

Unable to sleep, Scott lay in bed across town thinking of the woman from the post office. He imagined her lying there next to him, smiling at him in invitation. He closed his eyes and pictured himself kissing her, running his hands up and down her arms, feeling her muscles. When he opened his eyes he realized he was fully aroused now, his pajamas tenting out in front of him. Slowly, still picturing her in his mind, he slid his hand inside his pajamas, wrapped it around his cock, and began pumping.

The next day, Scott found it hard to concentrate on his work. There were all the usual accounts to maintain, spreadsheets to update, and reports to write. He had never had problems with any of this work before. He enjoyed the detail, and the feeling of keeping up with a steady stream of tasks that he could easily understand and master. Nothing here was threatening, or challenging. Suddenly, though, it all seemed so...narrow. For the first time he asked himself if this was all there was.

He found himself staring out the window on more than one occasion. He daydreamed about her several times. He imagined her walking into his office because she needed some help with her finances. He imagined her looking at him, smiling. He imagined... Then he blushed, and mentally reprimanded himself. He got back to work as best he could.

When lunch came he was still restless, and he decided to take a walk. It was a beautiful day, he told himself. No reason not to take in some fresh air. But he found himself strolling by the post office and looking through the windows. He was disappointed that she wasn't there in line, then he shook his head at himself. What did he think, that she stopped by the post office every day at the same time? Idiot.

He tried to put her out of his mind. He wasn't a stalker, and she was obviously too young and pretty to ever be interested in him. He didn't even know what he'd say to her if they did meet, and then he blushed imagining how tongue-tied he'd be.

He went back to work, but later that day found himself driving by the grocery store. He went in and wandered the aisles. He picked up one or two things he could use, but eventually he admitted to himself that he was really hoping that she'd be there.

He wondered what she'd be wearing today, hoping it would be something that showed off her amazing, muscular legs and arms. He thought again about the brief sundress she'd been wearing yesterday, and he got so preoccupied daydreaming that he almost ran into old Mrs. McGillicuddy. She scolded him and moved on. He sighed, gave it up, and went home.

The next few days were the same. He got up, went to work, and tried to keep his mind on his job. He found himself constantly looking out the window to see if that old Ford SUV was driving by. He drove around aimlessly, visiting the post office and the grocery store even when he didn't need anything there. He was restless and unsure of himself. The life that had seemed so safe just a week earlier now seemed so boring.

A week later, Scott had almost given up hope of ever seeing his fantasy girl again. He was in the grocery store, this time because he actually needed groceries, and was filling his cart up with all of the usual foods - the same things he ate every week. He was standing at the back of the store looking over nearly identical packages of chicken breasts when he glanced up and saw her.