Suzanne, Part II (June 28, 2006)
by Chainer,
andraspikler.gwm@gmail.comThe doorbell rang. I had been waiting for this all week.
It was a week ago that I had met Suzanne. Since then, I had seen her quite a bit
on campus due to her having shared her schedule with me, but I had never gotten
into a lengthy conversation with her. It seemed as though each time, one of us
always had something to do, somewhere to go. But now, I was going to get a
chance to spend an entire evening with her on our first date.
I opened the door; she stood there, smiling.
"Hey. Come on in," I greeted her. "Great to see you… how's it been going?"
"Not much. The usual, you know," she said.
I showed her around the room. It wasn't much, but it didn't have to be. We sat
down on the couch after I had gotten a few drinks. I almost got lost in my
thoughts again; every time I saw her face, I was surprised at how cute her dark
eyes and hair were. Except for her forearms and a powerfully built chest that I
thought I could see through her shirt, I would never have guessed the amount of
muscle that her tight body possessed.
"So, how has gymnastics been going lately?" I asked, as though I had actually
known her for a long time. I forgot that it was most likely the same as it had
been last week.
"We have a meet coming up next week, actually." She took a sip of beer. "Know
what we did yesterday?"
"What?" I asked.
"Well, remember the hold I did for you last week? With me holding the table and
my legs up in the air, parallel to me?"
"Yeah, I do." That had been pretty incredible.
"We had to hold that for five minutes."
"Christ!" I knew that I couldn't even get my legs that high in the air. But she
could actually do it for five minutes… I tried to get a glimpse of her abs, but
of course that was impossible because of her shirt. Each time I looked at her,
she seemed so solidly built, though, something that her shirt couldn't hide.
Weird how I didn't notice that a week ago when I first met her; now, I could see
her chest expanding and contracting with each breath. Was I imagining it?
She interrupted my thoughts. "Yeah, I was pretty sore after that. Heck, I'm sore
as hell right now!"
"Do you actually like that sort of training?" I asked, still unbelieving. I
couldn't imagine myself going through that.
"Well, as I was doing the hold, I obviously wanted out as fast as possible. But
gymnastics training does make me feel good afterwards…"
"You like being sore?" I joked.
"No, it's not that. I don't know, I can't really describe it… I just feel so
powerful afterwards."
"What do you mean?" The conversation was moving in a good direction.
"I can sort of feel the strength in my entire body."
"What strength?" I'm not sure why I said that. It sort of slipped out.
"Well, my muscles." She smiled. I hoped the conversation wouldn't end there, but
I couldn't push her anymore…
She seemed to change topics: "Hey, that reminds me… You'll never guess what I
brought with me."
I was disappointed. "No, I won't. What?"
"Check this out." She reached into a small bag she had brought with her and
fished around a bit. Then: "Got it," she said, and took out a small bundle of
measuring tape. She tossed it over to me.
I didn’t understand. "What's this for?"
She flexed her arm under her shirt. "What do you think it's for?"
It hit me, and my heart started beating. She must have realized how interested I
was in her body last week… I didn't think she did, but she must have. Probably
wasn't very hard to tell…
"You want me to measure it?"
She nodded. "I've never done it before, and it occurred to me that you might
like to."
She sat closer to me. She grabbed the bottom of her right sleeve (she was
sitting to my left) and slowly--excruciatingly slowly, maybe for my benefit--
rolled it up to her shoulder. Once again, for the second time, I could see the
fullness of her arm, her smooth skin drawn tightly over her triceps and biceps.
"Unflexed first," she said. With her other arm, she grabbed mine--once again, I
was surprised at her grip's strength. She moved and placed my hand on her
exposed bicep.
"You have a strong grip…" I said.
She simply smiled. After letting my hand go with her left hand, she grabbed it
with her right--the arm with the sleeve up. I felt her strong, skinny fingers
dig into my hand, which seemed even a bit soft all of a sudden--compared to
hers, at least.
"Think so?" she said. "Squeeze my hand. Hard."
"What do you mean?" She was my date. Was she asking me to hurt her?
"It's okay. Just do it. See how hard you can squeeze." She smiled, her face
giving me that look of innocence that I had fallen immediately fallen in love
with last week after meeting her.
I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing, but I obliged, starting to apply
pressure to her hand. Now, I'm not a very strong person, but I'm certainly not a
weakling. (That's why it surprised me when last week she beat me at armwrestling
with ease.) I didn't squeeze as hard as I could have--I was exerting about half
of my maximum strength. I looked up at her, expecting her to want me to stop.
Instead, she was simply smiling in her usual, cute way. "That isn't the best you
can do, is it?" She laughed. "I hope not."
I was getting a bit frustrated. "No, it isn't."
Now, I started to give it all I had. I hadn't wanted to do this before, but she
was certainly asking for it! I closed my eyes in concentration, my arm shaking
from the effort. I blocked out everything from my mind--all that was left was
the will to squeeze her hand. I tried to keep track of the time, although that
proved difficult: one second… Two seconds. My arm started to burn, but I was
expecting her to tell me to stop any moment now. Three seconds. Where was she?
Four seconds. Come on, I couldn’t keep this up much longer. I opened my eyes,
and still keeping the pressure on her hand, I looked up at her face for some
reaction.
Once she saw me look at her, she smiled. Not as convincingly as before, but it
was a smile.
"This enough for you?" I said through gritted teeth.
"Not bad, not bad… Hey, I can actually feel your squeeze now," she joked.
With a final effort, I gave her hand one last squeeze. Then, I let go, shaking
my arm in an attempt to loosen it.
"Look," she said, "you actually left a mark on my hand." It was true--her hand
had turned a light shade of red where mine had been. I was starting to regret
this. Maybe I had actually hurt her--I must have! But she didn't show it. Why?
"Sorry…" I said. "You asked me to."
"Oh, it's nothing." She shrugged. "You can't see it anymore. But hey, guess
what?"
"What?"
"My turn!"
"Oh."
"Let's see what this muscle can do!" she said, playfully punching her exposed
upper arm with her other hand, then grabbing it. Her fingers sunk into the soft,
unflexed muscle. I was starting to fear what that muscle could do, too.
We locked hands again, and once more her fingers dug into the back of my hand.
She smiled again, but as usual, it was a kind, playful smile; then, she started
applying pressure. I could see her forearms tighten, the veins getting a bit
more prominent than before.
Meanwhile, her grip was getting stronger and stronger. But it wasn't nearly as
bad as I had expected from her taunts. Seems like she's overestimated herself, I
thought.
I playfully mocked her: "That isn't the best you can do, is it?"
She had a sad look on her face. "Yes, it is…"
I felt bad. I had just made fun of her in an uncomfortable situation. Crap, my
first date with her, and I had already messed up.
"Oh, sorry," I said. I squeezed back a bit to try to reassure her.
Her grip started to weaken, and I felt her start to slip her hand away. I looked
at her forearms, which looked as lean as always, but were now relaxed; I had
expected more out of her than this.
I patted her on the back; but almost instantly, she smiled mischievously. "Don't
tell me you fell for that," she laughed.
I saw the veins start to stand out in her arm before I felt the squeeze. Then,
it came; the pressure was about five times the strength of her previous try. Her
grip was like iron. I simply couldn't get my hand free. She knew the perfect
place to apply pressure: she was squeezing my knuckles together with the hard
palm of her hand, forcing the joint at the base of my index finger towards the
joint at the base of my pinky. Once again, I tried to escape the pain of her
grip, but no success. She was just too strong.
"Agh! Stop!" I yelled. Not wanting to hurt me (I'm sure she could have, had she
continued), she stopped and let go. Her arms relaxed.
"You're right. My grip is pretty strong," she noticed. She made a fist with her
hand to demonstrate, but I was busy dealing with my hand, where the pain was
just going away, and watching the muscles in her arm move and tighten with each
motion of her hand. All those years gripping those bars as a gymnast must be
what had made her grip so insane.
I couldn't resist making a comment. "You really have quite amazing arms,
Suzanne."
"Thanks." She flexed quickly, grinning. "Do you still have that measuring tape?"
I had dropped it on the sofa as she was squeezing the life out of my hand. I
picked it up again. "Yeah, here it is."
"Okay, let's try my forearms first."
"Sure." She held out her arm straight in front of me, and I took the tape and
wrapped it around what seemed to be the thickest part of her right forearm. Of
course, I didn't miss the opportunity to feel the muscle with my fingers. Then,
reading the tape, I said, "11 inches."
"Okay," she said. She bent her wrist so that her hand was at a 90 degree angle
with her arm and then flexed her forearm. Small striations appeared both on the
inside and the outside, along with two prominent veins. The lack of fat on her
arm showed everything under her skin clearly; one could almost have taught a
muscle anatomy class with her. I put my finger on one of the veins and slowly
traced it up her arm. She laughed, finding it interesting. "How much does it
measure now?" she asked.
I had nearly forgotten about the tape. "11 inches and a fourth," I told her.
"Pretty amazing."
"Cool," she said. "Try my biceps now."
Again, she held her arm out in front of me, and I put the tape around her upper
arm. She wasn't flexing, letting the muscle hang loosely. Even so, I could once
again see that her arm was wrapped in sinewy muscle. I pulled the tape fairly
tight--I wasn't sure how tight I should make it, since I didn't want to cut off
her circulation--then read the number: "11 inches."
She started to flex, but I objected. "No, you have to pump it up first."
"Oh, I guess you're right," she said.
She extended her arm and started bending it slowly. The sinewy bicep slowly
started contracting and hardening. As she continued the motion, it rose into a
peak that was almost more cut than any that I had previously seen on a boy--and
Suzanne was obviously a girl. As with the rest of her body, the gymnastics
training had rid her biceps of any excess fat. As she kept straightening her arm
and then flexing slowly again and again, I couldn't resist not putting my hand
on the growing muscle, and I was able to feel it moving beneath her smooth,
clear skin--just as I had felt with her forearms last week.
Once Suzanne noticed that I was feeling her muscle, she asked, "Is it hard?"
"Yes, it is…"
"How hard?"
"Very hard… That muscle is incredible."
"Neat. I don't think I've ever felt it before." With that, she put her hand next
to mine and gave her own muscle a squeeze. "Vein, too," she noticed.
"Yeah, I saw that. Didn't know girls could get muscles like that."
"Okay, try measuring now." After she curled her arm one last time, flexing her
muscle, I wrapped the tape around her peak. This time, it was clear how tight I
should wrap it; once her muscle filled out the tape, its hardness prevented me
from pulling the ring any smaller.
I was amazed at the measurement. "13 inches! Your arm expanded a whole two
inches!"
"You know, I didn't even know I was quite this muscular."
"How could you miss it? You're amazing…"
"I don't know. I can often feel muscles under my skin during and after
exercises. I just never thought of measuring anything."
"Glad I could help."
"Sure." She collapsed back on the couch, fatigued. "That doesn't help the fact
that I'm sore all over from today's and yesterday's workouts, though," she
groaned.
"Try stretching," I recommended. I wouldn't mind seeing her bend and stretch her
fit body, I thought--but I didn't know the least about how sore one could get
after going through Suzanne's training.
She looked at me. "Hey, I have an idea."
"Yeah?"
"Do you… do you think you could give me a massage?"
My heart skipped a beat. She was volunteering to let me feel all of her body
with my own hands. "I think I could," I responded.
She stood up and pulled her t-shirt off over her head. I could see her fabulous
six-pack, and her powerful chest, which I had seen under her shirt, was exposed
for the first time. Then, she took off her sweatpants, revealing a pair of
gorgeous, muscled legs that were as sinewy as the rest of her athletic body. Her
thighs moved with each step, and every time she lifted her feet off the floor,
her calves became full and round. It was as I had expected--the perfect legs
that matched her upper body--but I was still rendered breathless. I saw that she
was wearing a bikini top and bottom; I imagined her jumping with that powerful
body during a gymnastics exercise.
"Suzanne… you have an amazing body."
"Thanks… I guess I've worked for it." She flexed her legs quickly, knowing that
I hadn't seen them before, and laughed at my lack of a response. With that, she
lay down on the bed, her back facing upwards.
I slowly approached her, a bit apprehensively. Although I had done something
similar for a girl before, that girl did not have Suzanne's body or anything
anywhere close to it. I put my hands on Suzanne's upper back and slowly dug my
fingers into her skin. It felt so smooth, yet my fingers were met with the
resistance of her back muscles. I pushed down on her back, harder, and rubbed my
hands up and down on it. "Ohh… That feels so good…" Suzanne moaned. I felt her
back loosen under my touch.
I moved my hands over to her arms, which were now limp on the bed. I started
massaging her triceps, which were facing me, letting them fill my hands before
giving each squeeze. For a quick second, she tightened her arm, letting me fully
appreciate the difference between when her arm was flexed and when it was
unflexed. Then, I moved down to her thick forearms, holding each one in the grip
of my two hands, continuously rubbing the skin.
I then started massaging her calves. They felt much like her triceps, with each
motion of my hands causing them to fill my palms, except that the skin felt like
it was even more tightly stretched around the muscle.
"How does it feel?" I asked.
"Very good… much better than before. You're pretty amazing at this."
I moved up to her thighs, which were so muscular and large--typical of a
gymnast, in other words--that I could no longer comfortably hold one in my two
hands. As a result, I pressed each one together from opposing sides while
pushing my hands up and down her legs. As with her arms, she quickly tightened
her legs for me, and I was nearly stunned when the muscle hardened and jumped up
to meet my hands.
"Great legs…" I murmured.
Then, I rolled her over onto her back so that her abs and her breasts faced up
at me. She looked at me, somewhat sleepily, but with a look of content upon her
smooth face. I started massaging her abs, but she moved.
"Hey, that tickles!" she laughed. With my hand still on her stomach, she did a
quick sit up. "Could you feel my abs tensing?" she asked.
I was breathless. "Yes, I could… they're incredible."
She jumped up, off the bed.
"Here, try something," she said. "By the way, thanks for the massage. It felt
very nice."
"No problem." What did she have in mind now?
She paced around the room a bit, leaving me to admire the shadows on her body
that her curves of smooth muscle created. Then, she quickly turned around.
"Punch my abs."
"What?" I was sure I had misunderstood.
"I said, 'punch my abs.'"
"What do you mean?" I gave her a puzzled look.
"I want to see how strong and hard my abs are. So, go ahead, try to punch my
stomach."
"But you can't ask me to… You're a girl!" I started. "Look, gripping hands was
one thing, but this…"
"So what if I'm a girl? Just trust me. Try it."
"I'm not sure I'm all that comfortable with this," I said, walking up to her.
Yes, this was beginning to eerily remind me of the hand-squeezing exercise.
"You don't have to be. Just do it for me. Squeezing my hand turned out to be
okay, and you didn't want to do that, either."
"Suzanne, you're sure with this? I can punch pretty hard."
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Well, uh, okay, I guess I'll try." I couldn't believe this. I felt her stomach.
It really was hard, as she had said, but to punch it… it seemed unbelievable
that she would want that. Nevertheless, I was going to try, even though I didn't
quite understand her.
"Ready?" I asked.
"Not quite yet." She backed up against a bare wall and leaned against it for
support. "Okay, I'm fine now." She was flexing her stomach as hard as she could.
Her six-pack stood out clearly, yet I was still uncertain.
I pulled my fist back and brought it forward, although quite slowly. I was
hoping she wouldn't notice that I wasn't trying very hard. My fist moved, then,
with a soft smack, it made contact with her stomach. I looked up at her face,
expecting her to cry out--but she hadn't even flinched. It seemed as though her
hard abs had simply absorbed the momentum of my moving fist.
She wasn't satisfied. "Come on, I know you can punch harder than that."
"Suzanne, no."
"Yes. I don't think it'll hurt me."
"Fine, but I'll give you one last warning…" I tried to resist.
"Just do it. I'm used to pain."
Once again, she leaned against the wall and flexed her six-pack. I would almost
say that the muscle looked like little bricks in her stomach, except that they
were smoother, rounder, and, of course, much smaller. They certainly felt like
bricks, though, just warmer.
I brought my fist back again. I took in the surroundings--what would someone say
if they saw the situation right now? I would probably get locked in a jail cell
for a few years. Then, I looked at her stomach, which was shimmering and as
tight as ever.
I let my fist go, flying towards her abs with the energy that I had put into it-
-almost my maximum potential. Still not quite, but my punch was definitely
harder than last time. Then, as I made contact with her rock-hard stomach, I
heard a sickening thud, and I thought that this was the end. I had really hurt
Suzanne. Yet I was surprised to find that once again, her abs had stopped the
momentum of my fist; my hand hadn't even sunk into her abs, which still stood
out, as hard as before.
I looked up at her face, fearing the worst. But I was stunned.
Her only apparent reaction was the fact that she was slightly biting her lip.
Her body trembled slightly. But it couldn't be… I had hurt her… hadn't I?
"Suzanne, I'm so sorry…" I gasped.
"It's okay," she said. Her voice was almost normal. "It wasn't that bad."
"Are you all right?"
"Don't I look okay to you?" she asked back. I looked at her, still standing
there, leaning against the wall. Then I realized that she was right; her
trembling had stopped, and she looked almost as she had before I had hit her.
"You mean… that didn't hurt?"
"It did hurt a bit," she said. "But as I said, the one good thing about my
training is that it gets you used to pain."
I was still getting over it. "So you're okay?"
"I'm fine," she said. "Now I know that my abs are really that hard."
"How hard?" I asked, stupefied.
"Hard enough to take a punch, as long as I'm prepared for it."
I looked into her soft eyes. It was at that moment that I realized that I had
fallen madly in love with her. She was so cute, yet crazily, even insanely tough
at the same time. Without knowing it, I had been looking for a girl like her all
my life.
"I thought I had really hurt you," I stammered, moving closer to her. I ran my
fingers over the smooth curves that her abs created in her stomach. With one
finger, I softly poked the wall of muscle. "Yes, your abs are really hard."
"Just don't worry about it," she said. She hugged me, tightly.
I kissed her, first brushing her soft hair away from her face. "You're amazing,"
I told her. She looked into my eyes with her deep, dark ones and smiled once
again.
"You are too," she said. "I have never seen anyone admire me for my body so much
before." To demonstrate, she squeezed me hard--striations formed on her
shoulder. Then, looking down behind her back, I saw her calves and thighs
harden, and almost instantaneously, I felt my feet get lighter and leave the
floor for about a second… her strong arms were still around me, supporting me,
lifting me.
My feet back on the floor, I held her even closer to me, and we collapsed on the
bed, still holding each other in a close embrace.
It was one of the best nights of my life.
