Suzanne (May 28, 2006)
by Chainer
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LoginShe had straight, black hair that was tied back in a ponytail, reaching a spot
just below her shoulders. Her face was one of the prettiest, most elegant ones I
had seen, with a small nose and a happy, joyful smile. Her jet-black eyes
dazzled me. As far as I could see, she had a slender build, most of which was
concealed under her jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt.
I was at my family reunion--or, rather, my family's excuse for one. It was held
at my cousins' house, and barely anyone was there except for my few cousins, our
parents, and myself. The girl had been introduced to me as one of my cousins'
friends who was staying at the house for a sleepover. She had struck me as
pretty upon first glance, and I had attempted to begin a conversation with her
several times, but had not found the right opportunity--until now, that is; she
seemed to be heading towards me.
I greeted her. She introduced herself as Suzanne, and we began to chat,
introducing ourselves to one another. She was 19 and--here I gave a small gasp
of surprise--attended my college. She seemed to be about 5'5" and maybe 120
pounds. It was a pleasure to talk to her; we got along almost instantly.
After a few minutes, the conversation shifted to sports. I asked her if she
played any.
"Actually, I've been doing gymnastics since I was four or five," she replied.
Gymnastics! My heart skipped a beat. I had never met a gymnast in person, though
I had heard stories about the grueling training sessions required to gain the
strength needed to be able to gracefully fly from bar to bar. I asked her about
it more; it turned out that she was rather competitive and mentioned several
awards and medals she had won, impressing me even though I wasn't familiar with
most of them due to my lack of knowledge of the sport. She had been on her high
school's team and was now doing gymnastics for our college. I was curious about
her training, and she was happy to answer. I was amazed at her description of
the countless pushups, pull-ups, and other strength and endurance exercises that
I had never even heard of.
I took a second look at her. I had to find out how strong she was. I had never
met a competitive gymnast like her before! Her shoulders did seem to be broad,
but the rest of her body was hidden under her shirt. I wasn't sure if it was my
imagination, but I thought I saw very shapely calves under her jeans. I couldn't
be certain.
I challenged her to an arm-wrestling match. She was reluctant at first, but she
agreed quickly; we decided to find a room in the house where we would have some
privacy.
My heart was beating faster as we found a small study-room with a desk, which we
moved to the center of the room. We sat down on opposite sides.
"You're sure you wanna do this?" she asked.
"Yeah… Why not?"
"I don't want to humiliate you or anything."
"What do you mean?"
"Well… I don't know… It's just that I'm pretty strong. Have you ever lost to a
girl?"
"I don't think so."
"Never mind," she said. "Ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
She placed her arm on the table. I was trying to see any signs of muscle… stupid
shirt! Her wrist seemed rather thick, though. Was she as strong as she claimed?
I couldn't wait. My heart beat uncontrollably.
I clasped my hand against hers. Her long fingers dug into mine. She certainly
had a grip! I tried testing her by slowly pushing her arm down, but it was no
use, since she wasn't trying to resist.
"Okay… ready?" I asked.
"Three… two… one…" she counted. "Go!"
I wasn't quite prepared for what she had coming. Her grip became stronger and
she pushed my arm down almost instantly. I had tried to resist, but she was too
fast. I hadn't expected this out of her so fast; I knew I could do better.
"Whoa… let's try that again… I wasn't ready," I said. "I wasn't really trying,
you know."
"Sure, whatever." She smiled. I got the feeling that she had been in situations
exactly like this one before.
We started again. "Three… two… one… go!" This time, I was much more prepared
than a minute ago. I gave an all-out lunge at the very beginning of the match,
which caused her hand to move an inch or two closer to her losing side. She was
prepared, though, and didn't lose an ounce of effort. Our hands shook from the
effort we were giving. Her grip had become insanely strong… I doubted whether or
not I could let go, even if I wanted.
Then, she took over. I was too fatigued to resist. With a strong pull, she
slammed my shaking hand against the table. It had taken about 15 seconds, and I
had been giving everything I had this time.
For a while, we just sat there. I broke the silence: "Wow… you're strong," I
said, lamely.
"Yeah, I know. I've beaten most boys I've arm-wrestled. Except the boy gymnasts.
I can never beat those," she laughed.
"Uh… do you have muscles, too?" I couldn't believe I said that. I had to see…
but I must have been sounding so horribly ridiculous.
"Yeah!" She didn't seem to mind. My heart beat faster, which I had thought would
be impossible. It was probably breaking some sort of world record. Guinness,
here I come!
Suzanne came over to my side of the table and flexed her right arm. I felt her
bicep through her shirt. Wow… it was rock-hard. Even though she looked lean, her
arm must have been all muscle. I tried to press the bicep, but it was hard to
make an impression.
"Like it?" she asked.
"Yeah… I think that's amazing… I've never met a girl this strong before…" I
stammered.
"That's not all. Roll the sleeve up."
"I probably shouldn't…"
"Come on, I don't mind…"
Of course, I was happy to oblige, as long as she seemed happy to show off. I
hoped she wouldn't notice my nervousness. I grabbed her hand and started to push
the sleeve up. It wasn't quite as easy as it would have been had she been
wearing a t-shirt, so I had to hold her arm right below her elbow once I got the
sleeve high enough. As I was holding her forearm, I could feel its toughness.
She wiggled her fingers, and I could feel the muscles in her arm moving, too.
Then, I finally pushed the sleeve up to her shoulders--as far as it would go. I
was breathless. In front of me was the most perfectly shaped arm that I had ever
seen or could have dreamt of seeing. Unflexed, her muscles were clearly visible.
As her arm was hanging down by her side, her tricep almost--not quite, but
almost--had striations on it. Best of all, there was a fairly thick vein running
straight down the middle of her bicep; it split into several smaller ones once
it reached her forearm. For the 30th time that afternoon, I was speechless; a
19-year-old girl, in front of me, right now! Rather than saying anything, I
squeezed her arm, imagining the training and effort that had gone into those
muscles to gain the strength I had witnessed earlier.
Once I let go, she smiled at me. In a quick motion, she tightened her arm, still
positioned straight down by her side. Her triceps contracted into the shape of a
triangle, while the vein along her bicep was stretched. There was no doubt now;
her arm was more muscle than anything else, which explained the lean shape that
I had noticed in her shirt. I felt it. In fact, I tried to pinch some skin, fat,
or anything between my fingers, but her muscle was so tight that this proved
impossible.
Then, with my hand still on her arm, she bent her elbow into a fully-flexed, 90-
degree angle. I felt her arm shake a bit from the effort. There was now a full
peak at her bicep, pushing the vein out further. Amazing… and not any softer
than it had been before. I thought I could feel tendons moving beneath the skin.
She let her arm drop, and once more, I could appreciate its full, round shape
while unflexed.
"Haha… you should have seen the look on your face!" she laughed.
"Oh, sorry…" I hadn't even been aware of that.
"What are you apologizing for?"
"Didn't you say something about the look on my face?"
"Oh, that… don't worry about it. It was just funny, that's all."
"People react like that a lot, don't they?"
"Actually, no. The gymnastics team is used to it, and many of the girls look
like me. We need the muscles, after all."
"What about others?" I asked.
"Most people don't care," she said. I wasn't convinced she was being truthful.
"I don't flex too much, anyways."
"Sorry, then I shouldn't have…"
"No… This is so much fun!" she said.
And, maybe to demonstrate her point, she raised her arms above her, into a
stretch. Her shirt--and on purpose, I suspected--rose to reveal the bottom of
her stomach. Needless to say, I saw the very bottom of something that was most
definitely a six-pack.
"So you've got abs, too…" I said. Lame, lame, lame!
"Haha, what did you think?" she said scornfully, yet in a joking manner.
I knew what was coming next. She grabbed the bottom of her shirt and lifted it
up to reveal a flat, defined six-pack, reminding me of the gymnasts that I had
previously only seen on the internet. I was in a dream. At first, she
straightened her back as much as possible so that the muscles in her stomach
were barely visible--then, she bent her back and brought out every little bulge.
She gave me a side view as well, allowing me to see her six-pack in perspective…
Her stomach would have been completely flat had it not been for the little
pockets of muscle. Turning towards me again, she bent her torso, first to the
left, then to the right, her stomach forming a different shape with each
position, the skin forming creases along the lines of muscle. It was just about
the sexiest thing I had ever seen; I wondered where she had learned to flex like
that.
The words slipped out of my mouth: "What can you do with abs like that?"
"Oh. Uh…" she mumbled. Then, as an idea came to her head, she walked over to the
table, and, with her back facing it, gripped the sides.
"We do this move quite a bit," she said. I saw her hands whiten as she gripped
the table. Then, she slowly began raising her legs, concentrating painfully hard
to keep them straight. The legs kept rising, inch by inch, her body trembling,
until they were nearly parallel to her torso. I had seen images of this before,
but I couldn't believe that I was now seeing the move with my own eyes--with
meticulous precision and care, too. If only I could have seen through her shirt
at her abs! I could see her right arm, though, since her sleeve was still
somewhat raised--the veins in her forearm were accentuated, as was her tricep.
As she was letting herself down, I contemplated what I was going to say. The
task wasn't easy, since, not surprisingly, I couldn't concentrate very well
after what I had seen. But I was saved the burden, since Suzanne spoke first:
"Now my abs hurt!" she joked. She lifted her shirt again for a brief time and
patted her hard stomach. "Man, I'm tired."
"You know, I'm not surprised!"
"Wanna go get something to eat?"
"Sure."
It seemed as though I wasn't going to get anymore flexing. While disappointed, I
couldn't be unhappy. I had just met the most amazing girl of my life! We spent
the rest of the day talking to each other even more--about school, her
gymnastics, our lives, our backgrounds. She was amazing to talk to, and, of
course, I couldn't keep my eyes off her beautiful features. I wasn't just hoping
for a glimpse of muscle, but her pretty face and dark hair were more than enough
for the moment.
By the end of the day, I had gotten to know her very well. If only I had met her
earlier at college! How could I have missed her? I had asked for her phone
number, and we had a date scheduled a week from that day. At my house.
