Looking for whole world changing stories..

[Hexagonner]

Guys,can u recommend some stories where the whole world changes and women become more 😉u know what mean.. I have read changing times(unfinished) but a recent one.. But I think there are some older ones too.. Feel free recommend.

[bobthebob]

MarkNew

We're in the "New Woman" universe. A dedicated band of feminists eager to
achieve world domination for women has invented a growth formula that works
only on women. After distributing it initially through a network of clinics,
it has spread throughout the environment irreversibly. Now women grow to an
average height of 7'6", with biceps the size of bread loaves and all their
muscles three times the density of male muscles. They have vastly increased
endurance, vitality, response to exercise, resistance to disease and
recuperative powers. And the benefits they enjoy are not limited to the
physical. Their sensory perception has become more acute, their powers of
concentration greater, they need only three hours of sleep a night, and they
will age more slowly, with minimal loss of mental, physical and sexual
ability. The New Woman chemicals are also passed on from mother to daughter in
utero, so that the next generation of females is "New Woman" from birth. In
fact, although the first New Woman babies are just three now, initial studies
suggest that the formula will be even more effective when ingested from
conception, the body's absorption rate higher, and the resulting hormone mix
more intense. The next generation may be even taller and stronger, and the
effect may continue to increase, from generation to generation.
To men, the new women are "superwomen," leaving them far behind in any
competition in work, play or even love. In white collar jobs, women have
gotten in line for the top jobs, as they can work faster and longer, while
easily intimidating the fewer and fewer men working alongside or opposite
them. Blue collar jobs have gone to women even more quickly, as their strength
and endurance made them immediately far more productive and less prone to
injury or sickness. Almost overnight, men are becoming financially dependent
on their women or live in near poverty, doing only the poorly paying jobs that
anyone with a choice would refuse: cleaning floors and toilets, ringing up
purchases, taking tickets and answering phones. Even sexually the balance of
power has shifted. As if their enhanced physical attributes weren't enough,
women seem to gain the power to use their pheromones to stimulate men to
distraction, even from ten feet away. If a woman wants a man there is no way
he can resist her, physically, financially, or sexually.
The formula has achieved all that its inventors had envisioned, and more. It
seemed only one short step for them to achieve their stated objective of
complete control: total political power and the loss of civil rights for men
so that they would be treated as little more than the children that, as all
the new women know, they truly are. In fact, it wasn't second class
citizenship the women were after for men, but third class, for they envision a
society where men would be subordinate even to female children over the "age
of reason" -- seven years old!
But one obstacle stands their way. One thing gives men the heart to resist
this final surrender, to resist the loss of their vote, the loss of their
right to work, to live on their own, to control their meager earnings, to
marry, to own property, to drive a car and to have legal protection from
physical intimidation and domination.
That one thing is: Superman!
2
Like most people in the world, Superman had been unaware of the initial spread
of the New Woman formula until there were well over a thousand New Women. As
they were generally law abiding adults even then he could do little to
interfere with their activities. At least at first. As the numbers of New
Women increased however things changed, and allegations of male mistreatment,
rape and abuse began to pile up.
Male police officers were of course unable to arrest New Women. In one early
case that later became a famous story, three police officers responded to a
cry for help from a husband whose formerly abused wife had threatened to give
him, in one day, as much pain as she had suffered in the five years before she
had escaped to a shelter. The woman, Carol Miggs, formerly a 5'3" waif, was
now well over seven feet tall, with rock-hard thirty two inch biceps, a
muscular 60 inch chest and fury in her eyes. When the officers arrived she had
pinned her husband to the wall with one long arm. He was swinging futilely at
her, but his fists fell far short of her face and she mocked his efforts. Her
New Woman-fed biceps loomed thick and hard between them, and his frightened
blows just bounced off the hard muscles in her arm. With a sneer, she fired
one punch at his right shoulder and smashed it. At that moment the police
arrived, bursting through the locked door and ordered her to release her
howling husband. She turned around and quickly recognized two of them from a
day when she had called for help and had failed to persuade them that her
husband's threats were serious. With one kick she shattered her husband's
right knee and let him crumple to the floor, whimpering in pain. She then
turned to face the police.
"Ma'am, step away from your husband, now!" the senior officer, Sergeant Tunney
commanded with all the practiced authority his fifteen years on the force gave
him.
She grinned and took one large step toward them. "Well, well. Officer Brown,
Officer Munoz. Haven't you been here before? You do remember me, don't you?
Carol Miggs?" The two officers she named looked at each other uneasily. Munoz
crossed his thick arms in front of his chest, while Brown stared at her
impassively. "I don't remember you coming as quickly the last time." She put
her hands on her hips and tensed the muscles in her chest, enjoying the amazed
stares of the men as her pectoral muscles pushed her breasts outwards and
stretched her already tight shirt into deep creases. "I don't think you boys
have ever dealt with a New Woman before, have you?"
Officer Munoz stepped forward. "That's none of your concern."
"Oh that's exactly right. I think it's YOUR concern." Now she tensed her
biceps too. It was as though her upper arms were balloons being inflated by a
tank of compressed air.
The three officers stared in shock as her biceps quickly filled the space
between her arms and her expanded chest. Again, Officer Munoz spoke up.
"Listen Mrs. Miggs, you're a citizen like anyone else. We treat everyone the
same. We DON'T tolerate ANYONE assaulting another person, whether it's a
husband hitting his wife or the other way around."
She laughed. "Is that so? You saw him hitting me. Why don't you arrest him?"
"We all saw what you just did to him. I'm going to have to insist that you
come with us. Now."
"Oh really?" She stood immobile, her eyes seemed to sparkle and her nipples
slowly hardened, the two large, dark thumb-sized spots now pushing her shirt
out even further. The officers seemed to stagger and shifted uncomfortably in
place. Brown couldn't help but put his hands in his pocket to move his erect
cock to a better position, while Munoz and Tunney twisted and turned.
"Heh-heh. I think you BOYS are behaving unprofessionally. All three of you
big, strong men showing off your great big cocks to a defenseless woman like
me. I think I'm going to have to file a complaint."
Her nipples were fully erect now and her face was flush, but the policemen
were all trembling, barely able to stop themselves from stroking their painful
erections to relieve their aching desire. Finally Officer Brown could stand no
more and he ran off to the bathroom and quickly masturbated himself to orgasm.
Munoz found himself cumming in his pants, without any manual assistance. Only
Tunney tried to resist, and for all his efforts stood in place painfully.
"What is WRONG with you men!" he said, angrily. "Pull yourselves together!" He
turned to the woman. "Mrs. Miggs. I don't know what you think you're doing,
but if you think you're going to resist arrest you're making a big mistake."
She sneered at him. "No, Sergeant. The mistake is yours. Your men didn't
protect me when I needed help. And now you've interrupted the afternoon I'd
planned with -- I mean, for -- my husband."
Ignoring her remark Tunney awkwardly stepped forward and put his hand on her
thick forearm. "OK. Let's just do this nice and easy. No need for trouble. You
just come along with me, Mrs. Miggs." He tried to close his hand on her arm to
take her along, but her muscle was so large and so hard that his fingers
slipped off. Slightly unnerved, he looked back at his men for reassurance.
Then he put his hand on the inside of her arm and pulled, gently at first and
then more and more firmly. It made no difference. She didn't move a fraction
of an inch and even with Sergeant Tunney using all his strength and his weight
neither did her arm.
"Tee-hee. You're turning all red, Sergeant. I hope you don't have a weak
heart." She pulled her arm inward against her stomach, trapping his fingers
and then tightened her muscles again. There was a sound of cracking and then
crumbling bone followed immediately by a cry of intense pain. "Awww, that MUST
hurt a lot." She released his hand, which was rapidly swelling with blood. The
brave sergeant refused to retreat and instead reached for his nightstick with
his other hand, but no sooner had he pulled it from his belt and begun to
raise it, then Carol plucked it from his grasp. She smiled and then snapped it
in two pieces and tossed it across the room. "You know, Sergeant. I don't
think you're very good at your job," she smirked. She broke his other wrist
with a squeeze of her fingers and then shoved him across the room into his two
partners.
Officer Munoz scrambled to his feet and pulled out his radio. "Munoz here.
Calling for backup! We're gonna need backup!" he shouted. "1524 Peoples
Drive."
"We're gonna have a party, aren't we?" Carol said.
Officer Brown took his gun out of his holster and aimed it at her. "Listen
lady. That's ENOUGH! Now, I want you on the floor, hands behind your head.
NOW! I will shoot. You have five seconds. Four. Three."
At three, Carol sprang into action, zig-zagging across the room with
surprising speed and agility. Officer Brown fumbled in surprise, but before
Carol reached him did get off one shot that missed due to his haste. She took
his wrist and snapped it with one twist and took his gun. Munoz was reaching
for his, but one powerful kick sent him sprawling onto the floor, gasping for
breath while Carol dived on top of him and wrestled his gun away. Tunney was
too hurt to pull out his weapon, but Carol removed his as well. She emptied
the chambers and discarded the weapons.
The police radio blared. "Munoz, what is your situation? Munoz!" He ignored
the call and stood up painfully.
"We're one on one now, Munoz. No weapons. It's even, right?" She looked down
at him and then at her massive biceps and laughed cruelly. "Yeah, right!"
"Carol, you don't want to get in any more trouble than you already are ..."
"You don't seem to understand, Munoz. I'm not in trouble. You are. I've
changed. The whole world is changing, and there's nothing you or any other man
can do about it. If you don't realize it already, you will soon. Once you and
your little army of weaklings tries to stop me." She smiled. "I can hear your
backup coming. They're nearly a mile away, but I can hear their sirens. Can
you? Can you hear the frequency rise and fall, as they try to work their way
through the traffic? And I can see that your skin is paler than it was when
you came in, thanks to your fear and the blood that's collecting where I
bruised your mid-section with one little kick. I bet that hurts a lot. I'm a
New Woman, Munoz. Bigger, faster, stronger and tougher than you or any other
man. And it's just a matter of time before all of us women are like me. And
then where will you be? I'll tell you. Not on the police force. On home duty.
Changing diapers, cooking meals, washing floors. That's all you'll be capable
of, Munoz. You can just change your motto from 'To protect and to serve' to
'To serve'." She licked her lips and showed him her long tongue. "Maybe you
should start now, Munoz. Maybe if you serve me well I'll cut you a break."
"Never!" he said and prepared himself to subdue her. Sure, she'd handled his
partner and his sergeant. He knew she was strong, but he was a professional.
Trained in martial arts, he advanced, hands out, then twisted and kicked at
her knee to hobble her, but her knee didn't buckle at all, and the shock of
the impact sent a shooting pain all the way up his leg to his hip.
"New Woman means new, super joints, Munoz. Harder, thicker bones, tougher
cartilage and more of it. I can take more punishment than you, and you can
give a lot less than I can." He set himself up again. "You stupid man. You
still think you can take me down. You think you're still in control, still the
dominant one, still the ...."
Letting her drone on with her trash talk, Munoz steeled himself and then
stepped forward and using all his weight fired his hardest punch at Carol's
abdomen. For a moment he was gleeful that he'd caught her by surprise, but
then groaned in agony as her dense muscles proved an impenetrable barrier to
his fist and his wrist bent backwards with the impact. Before he could pull
away, she'd grabbed his arm in a vise-like grip.
"Come on, Munoz. Can't you get away?" He tugged with all his strength and to
his amazement she held him firmly in place without even tensing her biceps.
"Guess you can't. Come with me -- like you have a choice. I want to show you
something before your 'backup' gets here. She pulled him back to where her
husband lay groaning on the floor. "Don't get stupid, Munoz, and try to stop
me, or you'll get it twice as bad as he does. Hi honey! Did you think I'd
forgotten you? I was just beating up three of your police rescuers. There are
three more teams on their way, so I'm gonna be real busy soon, but I didn't
want to keep you waiting. How's the knee?"
"You goddam drug-crazed cunt! You better fucking stay --
"Oh, sweet as ever. I thought Munoz here -- you remember him, don't you? I
think you gave him and his partner something to go away one night, so you
could settle our domestic problem 'privately'. Well, unlike you, I want Munoz
to see everything I do to you, and then I can have the pleasure of knowing
he'll do nothing about it. Right Munoz?"
"No! No way!" he cried defiantly, trying to free himself.
"We'll see. In the meantime, remember how you used to hold me down, honey. How
I'd try to crawl away from you in terror when you wanted to discipline me?
You'd stand there, your face twisted in your disgusting smile, flaunting your
superior strength, holding my arm behind my back. It made you feel so strong,
didn't it. So powerful. But were you even twice as strong as I was? Even then
you had to work hard to keep me down. Do you think I had to work hard to smash
your shoulder and your knee? It took me only one hit each. 'Cause I've got
more than ten times your strength. Ten times! Think about it!" She put her
hand on his chest. "And now, I'm going to crush your pathetic life out of you,
push your ribcage to an inch of thickness, squash your little heart into a
pancake -- just how hard do you think it will be to do it? How -- shit, not
..."
There was an explosion of sound as a pair of blue-costumed legs crashed
through the wall.
"Superman!" said Munoz, surprised and greatly relieved.
Disappointment fell over Carol's face. "So it's you, here to help your fellow
'man', I see."
Superman stood next to Carol and looked at her, his hands on his hips,
somewhat taken aback by her size and muscular development. "No," he said
quietly but firmly. "I am here to help Mankind, not men. I am here to see that
justice is done and that evil is NOT done. Now move away from them. I'm afraid
you'll have some charges to answer for your behavior tonight."
She hesitated a moment, then released her husband, rose up to her full height
and looked down at Superman. "You think so? Did my husband EVER answer for the
years of abuse I suffered? No! Nothing the system did ever stopped him. The
male justice system failed me, but already New Woman has been a success, even
if you won't let me finish what I've started. And now, do you think any jail
will hold me? Do you think any guard will dare to tangle with a 'New Woman'?
Do you think I will let ANY man EVER tell ME what to do AGAIN?"
Superman held his ground. "I expect you, and every man or woman, to obey the
law. I say this not as a man, or a superman, but as a representative of truth,
justice and the American way. You must answer to the law, which demands that
injustice be punished as decided by America's courts, not according to the
whim of the powerful."
"Is that so, Sillyman? Then the law will change. We will MAKE it change so
that women, with our instinctive sense of justice, can do what ought to be
done without interference from the likes of them," she said, pointing to the
injured policemen, "or you!" She crossed her powerful arms against her mammoth
chest. "There are nearly 10,000 of us today but our numbers are growing by
leaps and bounds. How will you stop us when we are millions? When we are tens
of millions. Billions. One Superman against a billion New Women. Ha-ha-ha-ha!"
She roared with laughter as a dozen policemen pushed into the room, guns drawn
at her. "That's right. Shoot me! Show Superman how men do justice."
The police were angrily checking their beaten colleagues and making
threatening noises, but with Superman there they didn't dare do anything more.
"No one's shooting you," Superman said. "I suggest you go with them to the
station, where you will be arrested for beating your husband and resisting the
officers you have already hurt."
She smiled and licked her lips. "Oh yes, Superman." She sauntered over to the
police, swiveling her great hips. "Who wants to handcuff me and take me in?
Hmmm?" She held out her arms. One of the younger offices eagerly took out a
pair of handcuffs, but her wrists were far too large for them. "Ooops. I guess
you'll just have to TRUST me to behave."
"Stand up against the wall so we can check you for concealed weapons," the
senior officer said.
Carol glared at him. "If you DARE touch me I will kill you," she said simply.
"What do I need with weapons, when I have 'guns' like THESE?" she said,
flexing her arms. Even Superman stared at the massive bulges of muscle. She
looked at him. "Jealous?"
The senior officer swallowed and said, reluctantly, "Uh, Superman, we can't
take her in. Not without special equipment. She's too strong."
"Of course I am. You see," she smirked, looking down at all of them, "we New
Women are ABOVE the law."
"No one is above the law," Superman replied, and moved to take her arm.
"I said NO one touches me," she said, slapping Superman's arm away. He
reddened, not expecting her resistance, and took her arm more forcefully. She
resisted, now using all her strength, her muscles bulging with the effort. As
the police watched breathlessly Superman countered her force and steadily
brought her arm behind her back.
"Don't make me hurt you," he said firmly.
Her face red now, all her enormous muscles tensed, she struggled mightily but
she could not overcome the Kryptonian's smaller, but super-powered muscle.
"Your ... days ... will ... soon ... end, Superman. Like all men ... you will
be ... defeated!" she shouted angrily as Superman lifted her in the air,
carried her outside, and flew away.
"Did you see that?" one of the men asked. "I could swear even Superman had
trouble with her."
"Naaah," the senior officer said. "He was just being easy on her. He didn't
want to hurt her."
"But what about us?" Munoz said. "What if she's right and ALL women become New
Women. What are WE gonna do?"
The police all looked at him. No one had an answer.
3
So how did this story get out? If not for the others, Superman would not have
said a word. Carol Miggs was under arrest. The police were embarrassed by
their helplessness, and Mr. Miggs, not ordinarily a reticent man, was too
frightened of his wife, and her New Woman friends, to speak.
But other interests quickly appeared. The injured officers, dissatisfied by
the measly compensation they were offered for their injuries, sued the city.
The city, through a tough manager named Charlene McKenzie, claimed their own
reckless incompetence was to blame, and insisted that no special payments
should be allowed. Carol Miggs refused a plea bargain offering her house
arrest in lieu of jail and demanded a jury trial with maximum publicity. The
New Woman inventors, sensing that the tidal wave they had launched was nearing
shore, arranged legal representation for Carol, getting her a brilliant young
attorney who was also an intimidating 7'8" New Woman. All insisted that their
story be told, in their own way. In the ensuing uproar, Superman, struggling
to uphold the values he'd sworn to protect, gave interviews to preach
tolerance and respect for the law.
At first, sympathy was with the injured officers and against Carol as a cruel
bully. But cracks in that sentiment began to appear. Carol refused to put up
bail, but also refused to cooperate with her incarcerators, and the stark
methods of isolation and heavy security they imposed on her were resented by
women generally, who were naturally sympathetic to the plight of a former
battered wife. As time passed, many prison guards became New Women, but they
uniformly refused to guard or discipline Carol. Eventually the authorities had
no choice but to release her without bail. Once freed, Carol was cheered at
rallies everywhere as a symbol of how women, through New Woman, could overcome
the oppression of men and their false and hypocritical "ideals" of justice.
Meanwhile, as the increasing number of New Women made the idea of male
policemen impractical, the cases of the injured men seemed more and more
absurd. How could they have thought they could arrest and subdue a New Woman?
It was foolishness, not bravery or duty, akin to a man trying to stop a
rampaging elephant by standing in its way. The men were scorned by all:
derided by New Women as relics of a past age, looked down on by the shrinking
numbers of "normal" women as losers and whiners, and avoided with
embarrassment by other men, as symbols of their own weakness and inferiority.
By the time the date for Carol's criminal trial came, 18 months later, it was
clear no jury would convict her. Almost two-thirds of the women in America
were New Women, and after the election of a New Woman district attorney the
charges were dropped with great ceremony and celebration. Under her regime and
others like her elsewhere in the world, acts that once would have been termed
crimes of violence against men weren't prosecuted. Everyone knew now that,
inherently, men were violent and women were sensitive and nurturing -- unless
men got out of line, in which case the only remedy was immediate and forceful
correction. Increasingly, men looked to their wives, girlfriends, sisters or
mothers for protection from, at least, random violence, and failing that fell
back on appeasement, charm or surrender. There was no protection from
domination or abuse in the home. Only Superman had the courage to stand up for
the universal rights and bodily integrity of men and once he accepted this
burden he had little time to do anything else.
By the third year after the "Miggs Melee" as it came to be known, 95% of the
world's women, 99% of American women, were New Women. Many superheroes had
disappeared. Batman's advanced training and fighting techniques were no match
for the abilities of New Women, and at last report he was well-adapted to a
new life as boy toy for Catwoman. The Flash had given up his efforts, his
speed useless to a man who could do nothing against a female evildoer when he
arrived. Spiderman found his spider-power left him after he was bitten by Mary
Jane during some rough sex. Even the Hulk had left the scene, his gamma charge
drained after a night with Betty Ross. Female superheroes did not fair any
better. Due to her different physiology Wonder Woman proved immune to the
formula and was soon surpassed by New Woman in strength and other abilities.
The same problem afflicted the X-Men mutants, except for Rogue, but to the
shock of the other heroes, she not only became a New Woman physically, but she
also adopted their ideology of female supremacy and in one dark night for
males, she absorbed the abilities of Magneto, Wolverine and many other male
X-men, until they retreated underground in an attempt to keep their powers
safe from her.
Only Superman remained, but except to repel the occasional invasion by alien
super-villains, the women now in charge of society had no use for a "hero"
whose values were so old fashioned and so male. The practices of New Women
police, juries, and members of ordinary society had changed. Female justice
for misbehaving females was Intuitive, Community-Centered, Informal and
Effective, known as ICCIE (pronounced with a hard "C") Justice and consisted
of in-depth counseling sessions to uncover the source of their inappropriate
behavior. Justice for men was similarly ICCIE but due to typical male
resistance to emotional sharing, was normally administered on the spot with a
firm application of the palm of a large strong hand by women who "knew what
had happened."
With that shift, the New Woman movement passed to the next stage: to strip men
of all their civil rights, legally, and irrevocably. Men, after all, lacked
the power to employ emotional intelligence, relying instead on sterile logic
and false, abstract reasoning. Besides, they were too weak and dependent to
exercise independent judgment. To the surprise of the women in power, this
proved more difficult than the other changes that had come about. Somehow the
example of one man, still the most powerful being in a world of New Women and
frightened men, speaking forcefully for equal rights, respect, and the dignity
of all, held back the tide. He was the last obstacle to New Woman world
domination.
The New Woman movement fumed. This alien could NOT be permitted to stop the
progress of womanpower. He was a male, inferior. This was necessarily true. It
must be SHOWN to be true. It must BE true! And so, the formidable minds of the
movement that invented the New Woman formula went to work.
4
It was time for the most popular weekly TV program, "Amanda Against All."
Amanda Adams had been 14 years old when New Woman first came out and she was
eighteen now. Nearly eight feet all, over four hundred pounds of thick
rock-hard muscle and bewitchingly beautiful, she entertained 70 million
Americans weekly with her battles against as many males as chose to enter. She
never lost. Whether wrestling against twenty men at once, playing beach
volleyball singly against fourteen men, boxing against twenty-five or playing
baseball (with an added catcher) against thirty men, she always destroyed the
opposition, both in score and physically. Yet the certainty of humiliation and
pain did nothing to stop the flow of men who wanted to appear. Perhaps because
their new lives were so bleak, men preferred to be vanquished once and for all
by a woman so young, beautiful and strong, rather than endure daily
degradation by any female they might encounter, whether their boss, fellow
passenger in a bus, or the young girl down the street.
Superman had different troubles. True he did not have to bear the physical
threats suffered by ordinary men, but the slights he suffered were as real as
theirs. For most of his life he had felt the world's adulation as its
protector, an exemplar of its most generous values. To women he was the ideal
man, strong, brave and gentlemanly -- although not, to be honest, a man to
take to bed. To men, thankful he was not their competitor in life or the
boudoir, he was nearly a god. All respected the careful restraint with which
he used his powers. He could have been a tyrant. Instead, he guaranteed their
freedom and their right to find their own happiness.
Now all had changed. He was a freak, a throwback, a reminder of the days when
men were strong. For men, in their minds he helped support the small shred of
their old identity, but in person he was a painful symbol of what they had
lost. And for women, well, frankly, he was just in their way. A powerful man
who used his strength for what "needed to be done" and otherwise held back was
an anachronism. All men were "gentle"men now. Superman had always had to hold
himself separate. Now, combined with Lois's tragic death, the change brought
about by New Woman made him the loneliest man alive.
He was always in motion now, always on the run. He was the only protector of
the weak, and only his constant vigilance against the unceasing enforcement of
domination of man by women let him feel that he fulfilling the role he had
taken on. He was a worldwide peace officer, taking up the cases of weak male
victims everywhere, from India to Iceland, from New York to New Zealand,
intervening in thousands of beatings a day, knowing that as soon as he left
the man or boy would be under threat again, because no human authority would
step in. His telescopic vision never rested, his super-mind remembering
millions of past rescues, which he had to monitor to ensure the domination he
had stopped did not resume. Physically it didn't matter. He needed no sleep,
no food or rest. But mentally he was as bored, tired and discouraged as any
human would be. Was this his fate, his destiny, to fight the tide of human
history? To fight a battle that could never be won?
He had appeared on "Amanda Against All" once. Not as an official guest, but to
stop a fight that had quickly become an assassination. Fourteen men in an
enlarged boxing ring against one girl, then seventeen years old, towering two
feet above her opponents, her shoulders nearly as wide as two of them standing
side to side, her New Woman biceps like two extra heads sneering at them and
bringing their certain doom. She stood, bearing a barrage of their punches to
her abdomen, back and shoulders like they were a series of flea bites, and
then, methodically, crippling them one by one, one punch at a time, making the
enlarged ring suddenly seem to the men as confined as a prison yard, as deadly
as a firing squad. Superman saw the fight first on live television as he was
stopping a ten year old girl from using Amanda's tactics on her three older
brothers. Once he had subdued and chastened her he flew to the set, an arena
holding thousands of cheering fans, landed in the ring, and held Amanda's
mighty arms at her sides to stop the breaking of the eleventh terrified man.
Amanda grimaced in frustration as she strained against Superman's iron grip,
but her mammoth muscles, dwarfing Superman's, her efforts bulging them harder
and larger than ever before, still could not overcome the incredible
super-powers of the man from Krypton. To the jeers of the crowd and the relief
of the contestants, now desperately conscious of the folly of their suicidal
choice, he forced an end to that episode and a grudging promise that future
events would protect the health of the male contestants, if not their egos.
But did it matter? Like all of his victories now, he wondered if he really had
succeeded. Were broken bones truly worse than broken wills? The very next week
on "Amanda Against All", she easily defeated a team of America's best nine
male baseball players, none of whom could manage even a foul against her
untutored 150 mph fastball, while her New Woman strength, eyesight and
reflexes enabled her to hit tape measure homeruns at each at bat against, in
succession, Curt Schilling, Pedro Martinez, Mariano Rivera and Josh Beckett.
With each passing week, Superman saw male resistance crumble a little more.
Now half his "victims" simply waved him away in resignation. Recently he had
rescued the valedictorian of an Evanston, Illinois high school from a beating
by the female salutatorian, angered that his unfairly high scores in the
almost exclusively male subjects of math and physics had given him a .02
advantage over her in grade point average. Yet two weeks later, at a
commencement Superman monitored from a distance, no one could see him behind
the six foot six inch high lectern or hear his unamplified voice reading his
plea for equal rights of males and females, although the head, shoulders and
proud, burgeoning chest of the runner up were clearly visible, and her
salutatorian speech, boomed out through the auditorium in her powerful voice,
was heard by all, text and subtext, her triumphant tones ringing out the
message of the limitless potential of the day's FEMALE graduates and,
unmentioned, the invisibility of her male classmates. Still he pressed on.
Proposals to enact male "protection" laws had been circulating for months.
Circulating yes, but they had not been adopted. He knew his constant
interventions enraged the New Woman vanguard, undermined their monopoly on
power. Was that not itself proof of the value of continuing his mission?
5
The offer shocked the nation, and very quickly, the whole world. Surely Amanda
wasn't serious. She couldn't hope to win. As powerful and successful as she
was, not even a New Woman could ever hope to defeat Superman in three of five
contests, only one of which, bodybuilding, favored the spectacularly
proportioned teen. But wrestling? Boxing? Weightlifting? Arm wrestling? It
would mean the end of her show, the end of a national ritual, the end of the
most popular entertainment of the New Woman era, and the end of a contract
that paid an eighteen year old girl $15 million a year. The serious press
questioned her decision. The entertainment magazines gave the inside story.
Amanda had tired of her show and this was simply her way to exit. The tactic,
transparent to any, reflected her teenage immaturity. Didn't, the seasoned
feminist critics asked, it mean handling an unnecessary and misleading victory
to men, undermining the great lessons Amanda had taught week after week?
Should she be ALLOWED to give up what had been so painfully won? The most
senior of the writers journeyed to the New Woman council -- the (still)
unofficial leaders of the movement -- and returned chastened for daring to
question the judgment of a heroine of the revolution. But unknown to the
critics and to all but a half dozen women in the world, Amanda's offer was not
just approved at the highest levels. It had begun there. As had the
development of a special drug to be ingested by Amanda just before the show.
6
Three billion people watched in rapt attention as the first event, the
bodybuilding, was about to commence. Superman, without his cape and having
shed for this event and the wrestling his top, leggings and boots, shook
Amanda's hand and then stood beside her, dwarfed by her unmatched physique as
they waited for the signal that the show would begin. Some technical problem
delayed them. He had never stood so near to her, and now he felt the full
force of her feminine appeal. Her breasts, level with Superman's face,
extended extravagantly from her muscular chest. They seemed to float in the
air, without visible support, covered only by the thinnest and narrowest of
fabrics, which did nothing to impede the extension of her thick nipples. His
eyes glanced further down at her arms, invested with such enormous muscle, so
round and full. The world had never seen Amanda's muscles fully flexed, but
Superman could tell even as she waited calmly, arms loose by her sides, that
her amazing development would give him no chance to win this part of the
competition, or if he had lacked his superpowers, any other contest with her.
He had a good physique, for a man, but it was the mysterious interaction of
the yellow sun and his Kryptonian biology that gave him his strength, not the
size of his muscles. He looked up briefly at Amanda's eyes, so cool, bold and
confident, at her breasts again and then her arms, grateful that muscles like
hers were not super-powered. He looked around the arena and was suddenly
conscious that every one of the 15,000 seats was filled by women, most under
30, and all wearing insignia of one of the New Woman organizations. Was this
some kind of trap? He scanned the arena more closely, opening his senses to
any sign of kryptonite or of a lead container. There was nothing. But he would
stay alert.
Technical problems solved, the judges ordered the contest to begin. Superman
stepped forward first, raising his arms and flexing to the titters and jibes
of the audience. "Hey, Punyman, why don't you work out?" "Where are your
muscles?" "Give it up!" were the most polite cries. Superman's posing music
stopped for an announcement. "Ladies. Ladies! Please. You must welcome
Superman. Even though he is a man he IS our guest." Silence filled the room.
"Thank you. Superman, you may proceed." His music began again and Superman
resumed his routine. He felt now the full attention of the assembled women,
regarding him with curious attention as he paraded his physique before them.
No, not just their attention. It was their presence, their interest as women.
It had a palpable existence all its own, almost like a second atmosphere he
was breathing. He felt on display for them, exposed in his maleness as a
object for their mysterious feminine purposes. Feeling awkward, his posing
became mechanical and his attention strayed from the music to individual women
in the crowd. He hadn't noticed at first how stunning each of them was, how
radiant their hair, how flawless their skin, how splendid their coloring, how
supple their bodies, and how their breasts called to him, reached out with
their nipples to his hands, his fingers, his lips, his tongue, creaming for
his touch. Suddenly aware of his massive erection, he grew more self-conscious
and he tried to focus his mind back on the contest to calm his member, its
sturdy outline perfectly visible against his skimpy briefs, but he could not.
Involuntarily, his eyes focused on the pursed lips of the thousands of women
before him, flitting from one to the other more rapidly than any normal man
could conceive, each one seemingly prepared to apply its subtle pressure to
his throbbing organ to give him the relief he had denied himself for years,
ever since Lois....
His body now subconsciously acting out the movements of his desire, he only
gradually became aware that the music had ended. "Thank you, Superman," the
announcer was saying. "A very creative use of your anatomy, particularly in
the one area where Amanda can of course give you no competition!" There was
abundant laughter. "Of course for that reason we must disregard it in the
judging, just as we will disregard the extra bumps and curves that Amanda's
feminine sex gives her. So, judges, just as a reminder to you all, please pay
no attention at all to Amanda's breasts or her hips, or to her slender waist,
which some of you may find more compelling in a body building contest than
Superman's straighter, less dramatic build. This contest is about muscle, not
sex. We do not want to put our guest at ANY unnecessary disadvantage.
Understood? All right, Amanda, please go ahead."
Amanda looked back at Superman and smiled and then stepped forward, raised her
arms slowly in front of her and began tightening her muscles. Superman watched
from behind her in amazement as her muscles bunched and then began to rise,
ever so slowly, higher, rounder and harder, her veins slowly pushing to the
surface of her soft skin, but still her muscles grew. Already they were two
and half times the size of Superman's, two perfectly symmetrical globes of
power. She stood now, her arms poised while her hips swiveled to the left,
back to the right and then twice more. His erection pounded. His eyes were
riveted to her bubbled ass, each shake of her hips, each flex of her glutes
echoing like thunder in his cock. Where was his self-control? She turned
slowly to show the judges her broad back, which spread inexorably as she
expanded her lats, like the head of a python as it prepared to strike. She
loomed over him, her great muscular arms still extended, as though she were
about to pounce on him, enveloping him in her larger body and then wrapping
him, then, instead, she dramatically tightened her arms still more and her
biceps burst still higher. Superman's nearly gagged, never imagining that an
"ordinary woman" could have so much muscle or ... be so beautiful. She was
giving the judges the view of her back and the rear view of her biceps. To
Superman she flashed her eyes and stretched her pectorals, lifting her breasts
still higher on her broad chest, her nipples still extended toward him like
"power on" buttons he desperately wanted to push. He felt the heat radiating
off her skin. It was a passionate heat and then he realized SHE was "in heat"
too, her body calling for him to press his skin against hers, to join them as
one. Her eyes beckoned to him and then she turned again and danced away, with
a slow, purposeful shake of her ass. But what was distance to him? His eyes
were on her, his senses attached to her scent as with a tether.
Her routine ended, and now they were called out together. Superman had lived
for years now in the New Woman world, but he had never felt as humiliated and
small as he did now as they posed side by side. Yes, the New Women had always
been larger than he was, but their size didn't matter when faced with his
super-strength. Now, for this contest at least his strength was irrelevant.
All the superpowers he possessed could do nothing to make his muscles bulge
like Amanda's, to make his pectorals extend into space like hers did even
without her stunning breasts, or to give him an abdomen that could ripple
almost audibly as hers did when she rotated her hips. Standing next to Amanda,
flexing his shorter and much thinner arms, he felt almost like he didn't
belong, as though he were her younger, pre-adolescent brother, tagging along
to her exhibition, providing a comic counterpoint to her performance. But even
worse, he felt waves and waves of sexual desire, buffeting him as he moved his
body, as though he were moving through a fog of caressing tendrils,
stimulating him enough to arouse him, but far too weakly to bring him to
release. He struggled to concentrate, to bury the yearning he was feeling for
Amanda, for each of the 15,000 women in the arena, for any female, but even if
he were physically capable of resistance, his psychological reserves were
fully spent. He had been fighting women forever, it seemed, instead of loving
them as he and every man was meant to do, and today too he was in a
competition, fighting this heavenly creature. And now must he also fight his
own desire? It was super as he was and he had no wish to do battle with it, to
fight himself and her as well. He stood stiffly until the posedown ended, the
pressure of his cock against his briefs bringing him unbearably close to a
humiliating ejaculation. Only by a supreme exercise of will did he hold
himself back while he prayed that no pre-cum stained his briefs.
There was thunderous applause as the presenter declared, "Well, to no one's
surprise, the judges have unanimously named Amanda the winner of the first
contest. Amanda has now won 342 consecutive competitions against her male
opponents. After a brief break while the mats are laid, we will resume with
the second contest, wrestling. And Superman," she said, pausing for a moment,
"I'm sure I need not remind you that although it's not a disqualification, you
get no points for an ejaculation." The crowd roared with laughter, and Amanda
looked down at him, her face flushed, her nostrils wide, and her chest rose
and fell rapidly as she caught her breath. Her mouth was slightly open and
Superman could hear her heart beat rapidly. She flashed him a toothsome smile
for a brief moment and then flexed her arms and chest, showing off again for
him her prodigious muscles in bold outline and pushing her breasts upward
again. "I will defeat you, Superman. You will regret you ever dared to accept
my challenge, that you ever imagined you could beat a New Woman," she said,
taunting him. And then, too quietly for the microphones to capture, she added,
"Maybe you should run away from me, while you still can." He fixed her in a
stony stare, showing her he was not intimidated, but as he did so his eyes
flickered around her face and he felt, physically, the cold appeal of her
model-like bone structure, the musical variations in the subtle hues of her
skin, and, especially, the piercing green of her eyes, which twinkled as she
held his gaze.
The mats were ready and the two moved to face each other, within the circle,
and then the referee directed Superman, as the loser in the first contest, to
take the offensive starting position. Amanda got to her hands and knees and
Superman knelt beside her, putting one hand on her inside elbow and the other
arm reaching high to wrap it around her waist, resting lightly on her abdomen.
Up close to her, he felt even more engulfed by her scent, and his arm's sense
of the curve of her waist and the touch of her skin made his whole body
tingle. Then Amanda's hip pressed into Superman's crotch as they waited for
the signal to begin. It seemed to take an eternity, and Superman realized, to
his horror, that Amanda was rhythmically flexing the hard muscle of her glutes
to push against his erection. Was there no limit to what she would do to
degrade him and, by implication, all men? He looked to the referee for help,
but she was engrossed in checking the timer. Finally as Amanda was pulsing her
muscle still more rapidly, the referee blew her whistle to start and Amanda
pushed her leg onto Superman's cock, twisted her body toward him and rolled
down, pulling him on top of her and then over so she lay on top, appearing to
the crowd as though she were struggling to stay on top but in fact pushing
against and kneading Superman's overstimulated cock with her rock-hard thigh.
The referee scored a reversal, but Superman realized that her real score was
to have put him over the top, well past the point of no return. In just a
couple more seconds he spewed his cum out wildly, his stallion-like cock
peeking over the waistband of his shorts, spurting his cum onto Amanda's leg,
chest and face. She grinned at him and to his shock calmly scooped a load off
her legs and arms, turned away from the cameras and discreetly pushed it into
her mouth. He stared at her, then out of anger and frustration reversed her
and without further delay, held her down for a pin, ending the match as she
swallowed. The crowd booed and the announcer cleared her throat.
"Quiet, quiet. It was an unorthodox maneuver but Superman won; the man from
Krypton has broken Amanda's streak." The boos grew louder. "Yes, yes, I know
how you feel. We'll have a short break while the contestants change and, ahem,
clean up. And then we'll have the concluding three matches of the
competition."
They both stood, preparing to go to their separate changing room, when
Superman put his arm on her, stopped her and glared. "What the hell was THAT?
How DARE you!"
She laughed and put her hand on his, stroking it possessively and replied
breezily. "Hey, Superman. Read your law books. My maneuvers were all legal. I
can't be responsible because your little balls were way overdue. Last I heard,
making a man cum isn't a crime, you know."
"Well, you've gotten all you're going to get out of me, young lady."
"All I need," she interrupted quickly. "I know how weak and lazy men get after
cumming."
"Not this man," he replied. "I'll end this charade quickly after the break,
and then you'll be off the air, as you've agreed."
"IF you win, Superman," she said, laughing. "IF!" And she left the stage for
the locker room.
Superman went to his own room and quickly showered. His mood was black. He
knew then that he would leave Earth, abandon it to its misery. New Woman had
made a mockery of the human race. These women regarded males as less than
human, and there was nothing he could do about it. For all his power he was
but a gnat, buzzing around the faces of billions of empowered women. Empowered
with strength, but now lacking in humanity, decency, in all that had made him
proud to be Earth's Protector. Better to leave them to soil their own planet.
There were other planets around the universe where he could live, where he
could again make a difference. Without Lois, was there really any reason to
stay? Well, he would defeat Amanda first, and then he would go.
He emerged from his room and stepped to the side of the boxing ring. At least
his sexual tension was released. There would be no repeat of that trickery.
Amanda was already in her own corner, answering the questions of an
interviewer. "Yes," she was saying. "Superman is a tougher opponent than any
of the men I've competed against. After all, he's got super-powers, right?
Still, we are tied, one to one."
"But Amanda, he's broken your streak, and like the wrestling, which he won,
the remaining matches are all tests of strength. How can you hope to compete
with a man from Krypton?"
"Well, Sally, years ago no one believed women could compete evenly with men,
and look where we are today. There are so many things we New Women are capable
of, things you wouldn't dare to dream. Would you have bet before that I could
score even a reversal against Superman? You've seen men compete against me,
week after week, despite heavy odds against them. Do you think I have less
competitive spirit than any of those men?"
"Of course not, Amanda."
"Well then. I will say that yes, I am sad to have lost a match and my streak,
but I think I've established myself as a worthy competitor to the so-called
Man of Steel. Just remember, there are three more matches to go. I can lose
one more and STILL win. And Sally, I WILL win!" There were roars of
enthusiastic approval from the crowd. Amanda winked at the interviewer.
"Cause, after all, he's just a man."
The interviewer shook Amanda's hand and walked away to sum up. "You heard it,
viewers. 'After all, he's just a man.' Amanda ends the interview with the
words from the old country standard, 'Stand by your Man.' An ironic choice?
Perhaps not. After all, that song, long thought to be a paean to women's
inferiority and submissiveness, in truth ended with a woman's perfect
understanding of man's weaknesses and limitations. Perhaps Amanda will have a
similar message for us in the second set of contests, which begin now."
Superman and Amanda approached the center of the ring and touched gloves for
the three round fight and then returned to their corners. Superman was dressed
in his normal suit except for his cape, while Amanda wore a skin-tight t-shirt
and shorts. The bell rang and the two came out, their gloves raised. Superman
was ready, well aware, despite his fury, of his pledge never to use his powers
to kill. He callibrated the force he needed to down Amanda quickly, just as he
had ended the wrestling match, and moved toward her. She kept her guard up and
with her longer reach sent out two jabs, which Superman easily blocked. They
danced around each other and then Superman faked a blow at her stomach, which
didn't fool her, and then more quickly than the human eye could follow, he
hurled a blow at the side of her face, hard enough to knock her out without
causing brain damage or marring her beauty. He connected solidly. Her face
turned and her body twisted. Her left leg rose into the air and she spun
around, her arm flung outward and then she completed the turn, her fist
crashing into Superman's face, knocking him sharply to the right as she
pivoted and landed opposite him, ready to hit him again. The crowd, silent at
Superman's initial blow, gasped at Amanda's counterattack and burst into a
roar. Superman stared at her, stupefied, and she hit him with a jab to his jaw
and another to his stomach before he recovered his senses and blocked her next
punch, then back-pedalled two steps to give himself a moment to reassess the
situation. But Amanda didn't allow him that moment. She followed him, firing a
series of jabs at his face and shoulders that startled him with their speed
and ferocity. Although they didn't hurt him, it was like being surrounded by a
swarm of insects and he found himself being attacked by an opponent whom he
should already have dropped to the canvas. In frustration he let her hit him,
ignoring her blows and hurled a huge roundhouse swing at her and missed. Then
he realized that even though she wasn't actually hurting him, it looked to the
crowd, the TV audience, and the judges as though she was beating him. He told
himself to slow down, to use his concentration and super-speed. He started to
connect and several blows pushed her back, forcing her to defend herself.
Still surprised by the amount of punishment she seemed capable of absorbing,
he kept increasing the pace of his punching and the force of his blows. He had
obviously misjudged her strength, he realized, but he was staggering her now
with each hit and felt he was about to apply the knockout blow when the bell
rang.
As he feared his final flurry was not enough and the judges gave the round to
Amanda. Superman stood alone while Amanda excitedly talked with her assistant.
Then she turned and stared at Superman, pressing her gloves together and once
again flexing her muscles. She didn't seem at all tired and of course neither
was he. They each bounced out of their corners when the second round began.
Not daring to rely on the dubious impartiality of the female judges, Superman
had decided to knock her out early in the round and sized her up for a killer
blow. When they were four feet apart he waded in close. He could see the
muscles of her right arm tense in preparation for an uppercut. Good. That
would put her in position for his counterpunch as the momentum from her swing
would carry her down and to the left. Without fear from the blow of an
ordinary woman, even a New Woman, he let her swing away and then he would ....
The next thing he knew he was on the canvas, hearing the referee counting
"five, six, seven ...." He scrambled to his feet. What was THAT? Amanda was in
her corner holding her gloves high in the air. She seemed surprised he had
gotten up, and her lips curled into a sneer. She lowered her arms and at the
referee's signal moved back toward him. Still feeling confused, he moved away
into his corner. Was it kryptonite? He didn't feel any signs of weakness, and
a quick scan of his surroundings, including her gloves, revealed no trace of
the substance. He didn't have the luxury of considering it further because she
was already on top of him. He swung hard at her chin, but she intercepted with
her arm. They both grimaced at the impact, but Superman followed up with a
second swing and connected with her cheek. He was hardly holding back now.
That blow SHOULD have at least knocked her back, but she only turned her face
and grunted. What in God's name was this girl made of, he thought. And then
out of the corner of his eye he saw the blur of her boxing glove and before he
could react he found himself leaning against the ropes, the referee calling
for Amanda to back off while she stood poised above him, ready to strike
again. His head was spinning. He took a step forward but slipped and fell to
the canvas. The referee started counting again. Superman knew the round was
lost and stayed down until the count of nine. Amanda came out of her corner as
soon as the referee gave the signal, but the bell sounded before she could
renew her attack. Again the arena echoed with waves of cheers for Amanda.
What was WRONG with him? Was some unknown force robbing him of his
super-powers? A quick check proved he still had his super-vision and hearing,
and he floated a millimeter above the canvas to confirm he could still fly.
Other than the after-effects of being knocked down he didn't feel any
weakness. Was she using some kind of magic that was nullifying his strength
and invulnerability when used against her? If so, there would be no way he
could sense that -- and probably nothing he could do to stop her. Briefly he
felt tempted to quit the contest and fly out of the arena. If she had
bewitched him what was the point of continuing? But no, that was not his way.
Even if he left Earth, he had to see this contest through to the bitter end
and do his utmost to win, whatever the odds. He would do it to honor the other
men she had beaten, some crippled now, many others dead. To leave would be to
devalue their sacrifices. He would fight twice as hard, and if she beat him,
well, perhaps he would not be remembered as the invincible, unbeatable
Superman, but at least he would be remembered as someone who knew what it
meant to be a man.
The bell rang for the final round and he came out more determined than ever.
Amanda wore a haughty expression, seemingly confident of her superiority.
Superman moved quickly to hit her, but again her much longer reach meant she
connected first with a jarring punch to his temple that made him see stars and
weakened his own punch, which glanced off her cheek. She followed up with two
quick punches above his eyes. To his amazement, she was hurting him and he was
forced to adopt a defensive position, putting his gloves up to block her. She
pounded them, sending rivers of pain through his hands, and then striking
deliberately at his arms and chest. He couldn't stand there letting her take
him apart like this. He backed away and ducked under a punch and then, leaving
aside his earlier caution, hit her solidly in the cheek, this time without
pulling his punch at all. She seemed stunned by his punch, and he quickly
followed it with another solid blow. She looked surprised and then fell to the
canvas, shaking the whole ring. At last! Superman moved back as the referee
began the count. "Three, four, five ...." He'd done it. He'd turned it around!
"Seven, eight ...." But no. She got up on one knee, then on both feet. She
shook her head to clear it and set her jaw. Superman returned to the fight,
bitterly disappointed. He knew he had to knock her out or he would lose.
She came back to him, ready to fight. He alertly eluded her jabs, which were
coming faster and faster, and seemingly with even more power and speed since
he'd knocked her down. He tried using his super-speed to break through her
defenses, made so much more formidable by her height and reach, but she seemed
to anticipate his moves. Either that or her reflexes were faster than he
expected. Finally he found an opening and fired a punch at her stomach with
all his strength, heedless now of the consequences. Her look of surprise and
distress at his approaching fist, which she could not prevent, betrayed a
unexpected sign of vulnerability, and his blow connected solidly. But she did
not collapse in pain. Instead she absorbed the blow, bending only slightly as
her torso tried belatedly to soften the attack, and she remained standing,
breathing as steadily as before, a smile slowly spreading across her face.
"It's OVER, Superman, all over for you!" she said, exultant. He hit her again,
as much to knock the smile off her face as to win. This time she was ready for
him. Her stomach tightened into a dense web of muscle and stopped his fist
cold with a resounding clap. She grinned and instead of defending herself she
rolled up her t-shirt to show that his punch hadn't even left a mark. Angry at
her showboating he hit her there again and again, having no more effect now
than before. The crowd watched in awed silence as the Man from Krypton
suddenly seemed as overmatched against Amanda as the ordinary men who battled
her week after week. "Weakling!" she taunted him, as he became more and more
furious, finally giving up on her apparently invincible abdomen and hurling
his fist upward at her chin. With lightning speed she evaded the punch and
counter-punched at Superman's head, catching him squarely in the temple. His
legs stiffened and he went straight over, hitting the canvas just as the bell
rang to end the fight.
The crowd roared, shaking the arena with the volume of the powerful voices of
15,000 New Women. Amanda leapt out of the ring and, motioning with her still
gloved fists, led the crowd in a chant of "A-MAN-DA! A-MAN-DA! A-MAN-DA!
A-MAN-DA!" turning 90 degrees in each direction as the crowd shouted at her
name. With the final turn she faced Superman, who was groggily trying to stand
up, and she flexed her magnificent muscles again, then pointed at him and then
down to her feet. Was she insane? Did she think he was going to bow to her?
His super-fast recuperation now nearly complete, Superman crossed his arms in
front of his chest and glared at her. She smiled again and motioned for the
crowd to be quiet and spoke, her powerful voice echoing through the arena.
"It's OVER for you, Superman. It's OVER. You can see your powers are WORTHLESS
against me. You are just a MAN, a man against a WOMAN. What CHANCE do YOU
have?" She looked up at the crowd. "NO CHANCE!!" they roared. "NO CHANCE!!"
they repeated.
He set his jaw, then responded with less emotion but just as powerfully. "I
don't know what kind of magic you have working , Amanda, but --
She interrupted, her higher voice overriding his. "It's not MAGIC, Superman.
It's SIMPLE. It's STRENGTH. I have more MUSCLE than you, Superman. MUCH more
muscle. Much BETTER muscle. And I have more STRENGTH. It's as simple as THAT!"
Superman shook his head. "That makes no sense. I have super-powers.
Super-strength. For all your enhancements, you're still an earthwoman."
She grinned. "And I say, SO WHAT!!" She looked at the crowd and they repeated,
"SO WHAT! SO WHAT!! SO WHAT!!"
"Yes. SO WHAT, Superman. You may have your super-powers. I have WOMAN power."
"WOMAN POWER. WOMAN POWER. WOMAN POWER. WOMAN POWER." they echoed, their
throaty voices filling the arena. "WOMAN POWER! WOMAN POWER! WOMAN POWER!
WOMAN POWER!!!" The sound was deafening, shaking the arena. Amanda lifted her
arms again and again in triumph as the chant evolved to "WOMAN. POWER. WOMAN.
POWER. WOMAN. POWER. WOMAN. POWER."
Superman stared up in wonder and disgust at this foolishness and illogical
hysteria. Is this what the human race had become? He would be relieved to
depart from this planet, to go to a new place where there were no New Women,
only men and women. The mystery of how Amanda was able to hurt him still
disturbed him. She denied it was magic; that was obviously a lie. But if the
New Women had tapped into a source of magical power to nullify his
super-powers, then shouldn't he stay to fight it? Once the answer would have
been an unequivocal "yes", but now what did it really matter? They could
dominate the planet as it was. Would it make a difference in the end if they
were ten times as powerful as men or a thousand times? And perhaps, if they
were experimenting with magic, it would backfire on them in some yet unknown
way. It was one of the ironies of power in human history that all dynasties
inevitably fell, the sources of their power ultimately turned against them,
enabling their former subjects to dominate their masters. Perhaps that was
only what was happening now. Where men had dominated women, now New Women
dominated men. Who was to say that some day, a New Man would not emerge,
perhaps aided by the very magic Amanda was using against him? All he knew was
that he would not be there to witness it. There were greener pastures
elsewhere, far beyond where New Women could ever venture.
During his angry musings the stage had been rearranged for the weightlifting
contest. Obviously no normal weights could tax the strength of Superman, and
even the power of New Women far exceeded the type of weightlifting equipment
that had been used five years ago. For this contest, Superman had provided
"Amanda Against All" with an advanced exercise machine that generated
incredible levels of resistance through the application of extreme (and
well-shielded) magnetic fields generated by power produced in fusion energy
cells. The user would stand on a platform that recycled the downward pressure
generated by the lift into its power source so that the stress on the floor
never exceed the weight of the machine itself. At its highest settings, this
machine could generate resistance that exceeded the capabilities of even his
super-strength. The machine however was set at a small fraction of that level
for the contest.
The initial resistance was set at 1 ton, which Superman pulled up easily.
Amanda followed him and after a few deep breaths grasped the bar and equaled
Supeman's lift. She then increased the weight to 2.5 tons. Superman watched,
impressed, as Amanda lifted it with ease. He then matched her feat and
increased the bar to 4 tons. The crowd groaned. This was close to the record
for New Women. Superman lifted it and then left the bar for Amanda. All eyes
were on her as she took it in her hands and then steadily hoisted it upwards.
The crowd cheered and then quieted as she increased the weight to 5 tons. 5
tons! There were excited murmurs throughout the audience. That would be a huge
increase in the record. She looked around her and then stepped up to the bar.
Now she had just ten seconds to complete the lift. She breathed deeply and
raised it to her shoulders and then pushed the weight upwards, held it aloft
for an extra second as the cheers broke out and let it drop. Superman looked
annoyed. He lifted the 5 tons quickly and then turned it up by a factor of ten
to 50 tons. He'd decided that this "charade" had gone on long enough. He took
the weight and pushed it up without ado and then put it down. He turned back
to Amanda, fixing her with an angry stare, which she equaled. Now the crowd
was silent. Soon this contest would end and the competition would be decided
by a single round of arm wrestling, which Superman would be sure to win. The
air was heavy. Amanda rubbed her hands together and took the bar, set her feet
and began. Fifteen thousand women held their breaths as Amanda extended her
arms and the bar slowly rose up. She held 50 tons above her head for several
seconds and then let it fall. Again the crowd burst into raucous cheers. It
was Amanda! There was NOTHING she could not do! "A-MAN-DA! A-MAN-DA! A-MAN-DA!
A-MAN-DA!" they roared. Superman stared at her in wonder. She then doubled the
weight to 100 tons and lifted it above her head. The cries too doubled in
volume. "A-MAN-DA! A-MAN-DA!" She sauntered back to Superman who wasted no
time lifting the 100 tons and then increasing the weight to 1000 tons. He'd
had enough. Enough! He lifted it and let it drop without ceremony, just
glaring at Amanda and her trickery as she approached the platform. The crowd
did not know what to think now, but so many times today Amanda had
accomplished the impossible. What was once more? Grinning, she raised the bar
above her head, lowered it and set it to 100,000 tons. 100,000 tons! Was she
insane? No human could lift so much Forced to wait while the machine charged
the bar for the vast increase in weight she wrapped her arms around herself
and twisted from side to side, then raised each leg in the air above her head
to stretch her muscles. Finally the machine light showed green and she stepped
onto the platform, took the bar and pushed it above her head. "A-MAN-DA!
A-MAN-DA! A-MAN-DA! A-MAN-DA!" they cried.
Superman shook his head, mystified. He looked carefully at the machine,
checking its internal workings with his X-ray vision. There were no flaws he
could see, the magnetic fields were being generated properly. "Superman, you
have ten seconds!" the referee called. Startled, Superman walked up to the
platform and lifted the weight, then increased it to 1,000,000 tons. He was
approaching the weights he himself used for his occasional half-hearted
attempts at exercise. Surely Amanda could not lift this much! She was watching
him closely now. He lifted it, felt the slight strain in his arms and let it
drop. She nodded and took over. She knit her hands together and then raised
the bar to thunderous cheers. She looked back at Superman. It was a long,
deliberate look. She spun the dial to 10,000,000 tons and looked at him again.
Was she crazy? If she failed at this weight, under the rules for this contest
all he would have to do to win would be to lift half a ton more than his
previous lift. She took a deep breath and grasped the bar firmly, then once
again looked back at Superman. Satisfied that he was watching, she swiveled
her hips to the left and to the right, set herself again, took a deep breath
and lifted the bar steadily into the air. She held it there for a full five
seconds and then let it fall.
"NO!" he cried out. "You CAN'T have lifted that! It's impossible!"
Amanda smiled smugly at him. "Oh yeah? Well, I'll do it again!" After a nod
from the referee she settled herself underneath and put her hands on the bar
and then slipped one hand to the center, dropped the other from the bar and
pushed it up one-handed. She turned around and scrunched up her nose at
Superman and then put the bar down. "Your turn ... SUPERman!" she said, loudly
taunting him. She walked toward him daintily, wiggling her hips and holding
her hands down at her sides, palms facing the floor. Superman looked
frightened. He stood next to the bar and looked at it reluctantly, then
grasped it and pushed. His triceps flexed, his chest muscles strained, his
face grew red and his legs shook. The bar rose a tiny fraction of an inch.
"Five seconds, Superman," the referee called out. He grimaced. His red face
turned purple, his knuckles turned white and the bar gave way, settling once
again in its original position.
The arena roared with excitement. "A-MAN-DA! A-MAN-DA! A-MAN-DA! A-MAN-DA!
A-MAN-DA! A-MAN-DA! A-MAN-DA! A-MAN-DA!"
He still stood at the platform staring at the bar in disbelief. Amanda quickly
approached, bumped him aside with her hip, took the bar in one hand and pushed
it up once again. Superman looked on in amazement and was too shocked to
resist when her other hand gathered his uniform at the "S" emblem and lifted
him into the air too, to the wild cheers of the crowd. "Isn't he a fitting
champion for our men!" she cried out, her unamplified, powerful voice ringing
out over the resounding cheers. She walked him over to the specially made
titanium table nearby. "Even though I've already won the match, we have to
give them their money's worth, don't we, SUPERman?" she shouted. She dropped
him roughly onto one of the seats, kneeled on the floor next to him, her face
still higher than his, and proffered her hand for the arm wrestling contest. A
dispirited Superman took it and the referee gave the signal to begin.
Superman's muscles jumped immediately but there was no sign of any reaction by
Amanda, who just ran her free hand through her hair and stretched her long
legs. "Any time you're ready, oh Man of Steel," she said, mocking him, their
hands still at the starting position. He was pushing with all his strength
now, all of his muscles were tensed and straining, his forearm trembled while
she sat calmly, her arms completely relaxed. "Come ON, SUPERman. What are you
WAITing for? Use TWO hands if you HAVE to. You feel as weak to me as all these
other men!"
"No! I ...." Suddenly Superman uttered a loud groan. His face contorted in
pain as Amanda tightened her grip. "Great ... Scott!" he exclaimed.
"Who's Scott?" she replied, unconcerned. "You know, SUPERman, this is BORing.
I'm not going to wait all DAY for you to challenge me. You know why? Because
YOU CAN'T!" she said and slammed his hand onto and then through the solid slab
of metal, embedding his hand within it, and then mischievously reshaped the
table around his arm as though the hard metal were as soft as taffy. While he
struggled to extricate himself from it, managing only very slowly and with
great difficulty, she leaned against the block of metal, amusing herself by
poking holes in it with her fingers. "It's as I said before, Superman. My
muscles are bigger," she said, pumping her biceps once, "better," pumping them
again, "and STRONGER than yours!" pushing her biceps to two glorious peaks.
She reached into the slab of metal and effortlessly carved a channel along
where Superman's arm was still partially immersed, freeing him.
Superman gripped his arm and massaged his bruised muscles. "This can't be
magic! Y-you couldn't do what you've done unless ... unless you have
super-powers too!"
Amanda grinned. "Well doh, Superman! You figured it out, finally. I DO have
super-powers. Just like YOURS. EXACTLY like yours in fact." She floated in the
air several feet off the ground to the crowd's cries of astonishment and then
applause, and then settled down again and put her arm around him, pulling his
head against her breast. "I've got the same invincibility, Superman, the same
super-vision, the same ability to fly. But with one twist of course. One very
important twist." Fearful of what she was about to say and all of a sudden
feeling very small and vulnerable, he looked up at her intently. "Isn't it
obvious? The same exact super-power that infuses your muscles -- your puny,
softer, male muscles -- and gives them what you've known as their
super-strength now also infuses my bigger, thicker, denser, New Woman-enhanced
muscles and gives them REAL super-strength. Super-DUPER-strength. The average
New Woman is twenty times as strong as the average man and I'm stronger than
the average new woman. Is it ANY wonder that a power that makes you a hundred
million times as strong as an ordinary man would make me more than two billion
times as strong as the same man, and more than twenty times as strong as you!
So, after all, you're just a man. A Superman, perhaps, but only a SuperMAN!"
"B-but how --
"Oh, does it really matter how? Leave that to the scientists. Our New Woman
scientists developed some kind of chemical that interacts with our New Woman
physiology and with the genetic material in your sperm." She winked and ran
her tongue around her mouth. "Poor Superman just couldn't control himself with
ALL our pheromones from me and fifteen thousand other new women filling the
air, and I will tell you, you were VERY yummy, Superman. I'll have to
recommend you to my 'sisters'. Anyway, it was lucky for you that you pinned me
in the wrestling. I was already starting to get stronger then, by the time we
started boxing I was rapidly gaining power. Your namby-pamby punches felt like
love taps to me, except when you got mad. But even when you used all your
strength you couldn't really hurt me. Stun me maybe, but that was all. It was
I who had to hold back to keep myself from destroying YOU!"
"No!"
"Oh yes! It took all of twenty minutes for the chemicals to finish their work
on me, to enable my body to produce enough of the enzyme that, when combined
with our New Woman hormones, gives me the same super-powers as yours. It's
fully effective now, all throughout my system. I'm a Superwoman, and since I'm
a New Woman, I'm more than twenty times as strong as you are! And it's not
just in my strength that I'm superior. We New Women have sharper senses,
stronger bones, faster reflexes more resistance to injury and disease than
men. Just as with my strength, I'll bet having your powers will have
multiplied those differences. You're at least as inferior to me as a normal
man is to a New Woman."
"No! NO!! It can't be! Aren't things awful enough?! I can't have contributed
to the creation of a SuperNewWoman!" He wanted to get away, to bear his
misery, horror and shame alone, but his strength was no match for hers. She
slipped her hand over his stomach and held him in place, showing the amazed
and excited audience, both within the arena and all around the world, that
just one of her arms was more than equal to the task of subduing the one
remaining symbol of masculine power.
"Don't leave us so quickly, Superman. Miranda? Miranda, come down here,
please." A tall blond girl emerged from the side of the stage and walked to
the center. "Superman, I'd like you to meet my younger sister, Miranda. She's
sixteen, but already she's almost as strong as I am. I mean, as strong as I
was." Miranda looked down at Superman and crossed her arms in front of her
chest. "See the family resemblance, Superman?" He just glared up at her. "Oh,
you're such a grouch. Just because you're not the strongest person in the
world anymore, just the strongest man, and the second strongest person you
don't have to be so angry. I mean, things could be worse, right? Oh Miranda,
let your big sister give you a kiss, won't you?" Miranda obligingly stepped
closer to her sister, and Amanda held her head and gave her a long open kiss,
full on the lips, and then whispered in her ear. Miranda giggled and then
walked in front of Superman, put her hands on her hips and looked down at him,
and then continued to the side opposite Amanda's and took his arm.
Amanda smiled and said loudly to the crowd. "Well, don't all of you think we
look nice standing together! The two strongest persons in all the world." She
let go of Superman. "And Superman too, the strongest man." Miranda giggled
again and clutched Superman's arm closer to her. A low curious murmur was
trickling through the crowd. What was Amanda up to? Superman wondered too, but
it was no great curiosity. His mind was on other things and other places. He
didn't give a thought to the implications of her comments' syntax.
"If you don't mind, I'll be...."
"Oh but I DO mind. And Miranda does too. We're not ready for you to go. Are
we, Miranda darling?' Miranda shook her head and possessively clutched
Superman's arm more tightly to her body.
"Yes, well I --" Superman had pulled his arm to extract himself from Miranda
and fly away, but he wasn't moving. His arm was being held back -- by Miranda!
"What the --"
Miranda was giggling and smiling sweetly at Superman, whose efforts to free
himself were growing ever more frantic while remaining completely ineffective.
She toyed with him, letting him fly into the air while she held onto his arm,
so that he looked almost like a kite with his arm as a very short string, then
she started spinning him around in circles like a streamer, so quickly that he
looked to their human eyes like an amalgam of blue, red and yellow. The crowd
laughed and cheered at the helplessness of the great Man of Steel.
Amanda was laughing too and applauded her sister's antics. "As I said, the two
strongest persons in the world -- my little sister and me -- and the world's
strongest man too, but really just a weakling compared to us, as all men are."
Miranda had stopped twirling Superman around and now set him firmly onto the
ground, twisting his arm behind his back and beaming with delight. "But, my
dear friends, we haven't forgotten you." She motioned for two more women to
join them on the stage. "Carlota, my director, and Betty, my assistant. Let me
give each of you a kiss! The women touched lips with Amanda for five seconds
each. Now, if each of you kiss another woman, and then the four kiss four
more, the eight kiss eight more and so on, by the end of the day all New Women
around the world will be SUPERNEWWOMEN." Carlota and Betty did as Amanda asked
and within two minutes the arena was filled with flying women, buzzing from to
another like bees pollinating flowers, until all of them had super-powers.
Then they burst through the ceiling to spread their wondrous powers to women
in every corner of the world, leaving Superman alone with Amanda and Miranda.
"I can let him go now, right Amanda?"
"Of course, sweetie! Now that he's as helpless as any man we needn't worry
about him ever again. You can go now too, if you want. I'll take care of him."
"OK, Sis. Bye. Thanks!" Miranda kissed her sister, on the cheek this time, and
released Superman, who rubbed his arm where the teen's super-duper-powered
grip had left a purple bruise. It healed quickly thanks to Superman's
recuperative powers, but the psychological damage lingered unabated. He was
now little better off than the men he had tried for the five years to protect.
And to underline the point, seconds later a young girl, two thirds the height
of Superman but already half again as muscular as he, streaked into the arena
straight at Superman and tackled him. He glared at her then began to get up
but she pushed him back down with one hand on his chest, pinning him to the
floor. "Ha-HA! Look at me! I did it! And it's so EASY! I'm WAY stronger than
SUPERMAN!" Following her closely behind was her mother who, rather than
disciplining her unruly child, floated several feet above the prone Superman,
nodding with approval.
"Very good, Mildred. You have excellent control for a girl your age. We'll see
how you do on your brothers next. They're more fragile than Superman, you
know. Start with Alan. He's sixteen after all and by now he should have
learned not to wriggle around nearly as much as Gerald, or as much as Superman
is doing here. Hmmph! It's about time that man was taught how to behave!
Flying about everywhere interfering in other people's business! So like an
American!" She turned to Amanda. "Bless you, darling. We are all SO proud of
you over in England. My daughter and I have watched you from the very
beginning. Truly inspiring of you and jolly good entertainment too. Let's be
off now, Mildred. I've always wanted to see Saturn. Let's get there before the
Germans take all the best spots."
Mildred looked down at Superman, reluctantly letting him go. "All right,
Mummy. If you say so." She floated up to her mother and took her hand. "Mummy,
since he's not really 'super' any more, are we going to let him wear that
costume? I think Amanda should get it. She did beat him."
"Why, that's a delightful idea, darling. Of course she can just take it from
him if she wants it. But since ALL of us are 'super' now, I dare say she won't
want it. And after all, it's just his old baby blanket and it's not terribly
pretty." Mildred nodded, waved to Amanda and flew up with her mother into
outer space.
Amanda looked down at the prone Superman. "Well, Superman, I'm really glad you
accepted my challenge. Too bad for you that you lost. But I'll give you what
you wanted. This will be my last show. We have no more need of this kind of
entertainment."
"Then you won't mind if I take my leave of you and this poor cursed planet.
You can have it." He started to fly up, but Amanda leapt in front of him and
let him crash into her, blocking him, and then threw him back onto the stage.
"What now? What more do you need from me? To make me your slave, as you've
already done to all the men of Earth?"
"My SLAVE?" she laughed. "What use would I or any other Super-New Woman have
of your pathetic labor, or that of any other man? Is there ANYTHING you could
do that we could not do better and more quickly and with less effort than it
would take to try to teach you what to do? You men are worthless to us."
"Are we? Well, I for one will go far from Earth, and from New Women. That is
for sure!" he said defiantly.
She settled down next to him and put her hands on her hips. "Don't rush off,
Superman. For starters, I don't want you going anywhere until the
transformation of women into superwomen is complete. You might try to
interfere."
He scowled. "I've lost interest in Earth, Amanda. I'll find someplace far away
from you and your New Women."
"Oh, do you think so? You heard Mildred's mother. There is no reason for us to
stay only on Earth. Many of us will want to explore the stars, and if we find
other females oppressed by their men then we will help our sisters there too.
And certainly, wherever YOU go, one of US would have to watch to make sure you
don't cause any trouble. We don't want you applying your super-brain to
discovering an antidote to the New Woman formula or to anything similar. We're
surprised you never tried something before, but now we can stop you. Three
billion super-eyes wouldn't have any trouble keeping track of you Superman,
for the rest of your days. Still ...." She reached down and lifted him up, her
large hand tight around his upper arm, his face showing pain from her grip.
"Still, it might be fun to have you stay around even longer."
"Wh-whaa?" He struggled ineffectively to free himself from Amanda, trying to
pry her hand open. Amanda responded by closing her hand even more tightly
around his biceps. Superman's eyes opened wider and he barely suppressed a
gasp of pain. His knees buckled but Amanda lifted him so that they were face
to face.
"Ha-ha! The great Superman! With muscles of MUSH!" She encircled him with her
other arm. "I'm thinking of a new series, 'The New Adventures of Superman,'
starring you and me. Each week we can have a little challenge, to inspire the
men of Earth, to show everyone just how powerful the most powerful man in the
world really is." She tightened her arm around his waist, crushing him against
her and then dropped her hand to his ass, compressing his cheeks with her long
fingers. "What do you think, my little sweetie? As the co-stars we'd have lots
of time together. We might even have a little affair, as co-stars often do."
"You ... can't ... make me ... stay with ... you!" Superman declared, trying
to resist the pain.
Amanda pursed her lips. "Oh, but I can! And in more ways than one." Her eyes
dilated slightly, her nostrils flared and an enchanting scent permeated the
air. She began to pant slightly. "You see ... Superman. If you think my
pheromones were ... potent before I became super ... mmmmm, you respond to me
so quickly!" She giggled. "Oooh, I can just FEEL the PASSION locked inSIDE you
as you PUSH your TOOL against my ROCK hard ABS." She squeezed his ass more
tightly and Superman groaned. "I BET I can even MAKE you start to enJOY pain,
Superman, hmmmmm? To enjoy your subjugation to me, and to every female on this
planet? Isn't THAT something worth staying for?"
"Oh ... god ... no!" he grimaced, as she tore his uniform and rested her
fingers directly on his skin, then tore further to make a large hole. She
reached inside and then, easing the pressure, lightly stroked his very erect
cock.
"I've let go now, Superman," she said, caressing him ever so gently with her
long fingers. "Why don't you go? Why DON'T you?" She brushed her erect nipples
against his chest and put her blood red lips on his ear. "Don't you WANT to?"
she asked softly, her tongue flirting with the lobe of his ear. "Don't you
WANT me to STOP BOTHering you?" She had taken her hand off his cock.
"No! Don't stop!" he begged.
She prodded him gently, pushing him onto the floor. "Weak as a baby, you are,
Superman. I wouldn't DREAM of stopping. We'll make you beg all the time, now."
She looked up at the camera. "All the time."

Many others by Marknew.

[derekh48]

one of my faves from MARKNEW


NAMOW
BY MARK (MARKNEW742@AOL.COM)
An ancient mystical sect unlocks the power of woman.

I know that no one will believe this story.  For reasons that
will become clear, I no longer live among other people.  Yet
someday, perhaps long after I am dead, this story may survive and
help someone to explain what I cannot.  Although I doubt it will
ever benefit me personally, I will set down my tale, as best as I
can, and trust that there are explanations for the mysteries that
I have seen.

I should begin by telling you about myself.  My name is Wesley
Baldridge.  When all of this happened, I was a man in my late
thirties, divorced, with one child, a thirteen year old daughter.
When I was just out of school I made several lucrative inventions
and became wealthy enough to indulge my tastes and my interests.
My divorce took a large portion of those earnings, but I have a
good eye for developments in my field that can be exploited
commercially, and I soon more than made up for the property
settlement.  I spent my time starting new companies, with other
investors, to market products invented by others who have less
business sense than I do.  I travelled alone a great deal on
business, so I often found myself in strange cities.  I'm an avid
walker and I liked to explore, so I usually allowed myself extra
time either before or after my meetings to stroll around parks
and downtown areas.  Even though cities nowadays have a lot in
common, there would always be something different to see, some
unusual flavor, either in the architecture, the food, the
nightlife or the people.  So my business and my pleasure combined
to make my life a happy one, if a little peripatetic.

I wasn't doing anything unusual that month when I was walking in
a park in northern Phoenix.  It was an early Spring day, the best
time of year in the Southwest.  The park was quite deserted -
most of the locals confine their outdoors life to golf courses
and boating on a lake.  I was distracted by a spectacular display
of flowering cactuses, the kind that must only come out after a
rare heavy spring rain, and wasn't looking ahead.  I was startled
when I bumped into something, an easel actually, and knocked it
over.

I was terribly embarrassed.  The painter, a young woman in her
twenties, was rendering the same scene I was admiring.  I could
see that her work was quite good, exceedingly good in fact, but
bread always falls butter side down and unfortunately, with the
dusty desert soil and the fresh oil paint, I had ruined her work.

The woman could hardly contain herself.  She told me she had
waited years for this type of display and had worked
painstakingly for three days.  The flowers were about to fade and
her chance to capture them was lost.  I apologized thoroughly and
begged her to forgive me, but she would not be pacified.  I
offered her money, and it was a goodly sum as I am not a poor
man, but this only offended her.  "You think art can bought so
easily," she asked.  I told her it was bought and sold every day.
"Well this is not that type of art."  No, she explained, this was
the embodiment of an experience that could not be duplicated, and
I had destroyed it.  How would I ever be able to pay for that?

I continued to apologize.  What else could I do?  She looked at
me carefully, staring long at an odd pink birthmark on my chin,
and then asked about my date and place of birth.  I saw no reason
to keep that secret and told her.  She smiled, then said, "We
will replace one type of art with another.  We all have various
talents," she said, "and create art in many different ways."  She
gave me an address.  "You will come to my studio at eight tonight
and there you will make amends for your carelessness."  My
meetings would last only until five and I did not have to leave
that night, so I agreed.

"Dress comfortably," she said, and strode off, her easel, canvas
and paints tucked under her arm.

My meetings went well, as I tried to persuade a group of wealthy
retirees to invest in my latest biotechnology venture, so I was
in high spirits as I drove to the address the painter gave me.
Heeding her directions, I had changed from my business suit to a
more casual sports jacket and slacks, and I wondered what kind of
"art" she would be creating that night. 

Now, you may think it strange that I wasn't more concerned going
to a strange address in a strange city, but I have found in life
that the most rewarding adventures come from taking chances, and
I felt secure in my belief that the outcome of the evening would
have any lasting consequences.

The painter's studio was on the Western edge of town, near Tempe,
in a large warehouse.  From the other cars parked outside, I
correctly inferred there would be an audience, and I was greeted
at the door by a serious young woman dressed in black who
motioned me to a chair on one side of a large open space.  The
walls were bare other than a photograph of a tapestry depicting a
woman's face, with long hair and a solemn, wide-eyed expression.
On the other side were roughly a dozen people, all women, who sat
in a circle on straight-backed chairs.  I did not recognize the
painter among them.

Shortly, however, she emerged dressed in bicycle shorts and an
elastic top.  I noted her trim figure with approval, but could
not guess at what she had in mind for the evening's activities.
She ignored me, and turned to the assembled group.

"We have studied and prepared for this day for many years.  We
are the few who have had the faith and discipline to find the
road to the power of NAMOW.  She has sent us this man, who was
born on January 15, 1956 in Tucson, Arizona."  There was a gasp
of astonishment from the women and quiet murmurings of
excitement.  "Yes, despite my faith in NAMOW I too was surprised.
Soon will be the time."

The painter turned to me and motioned that approach her.  She
shook her head at my jacket and tie.  "You will not be
comfortable in that.  Please remove them."

I obliged her, laying my clothes neatly on the floor in the
corner of the room, and walked back to her.

"You and I will fight now." 

I must have looked startled.  I should confess that I found the
prospect of tangling with the painter very appealing.  I had no
fear of getting hurt, as I was at least seven inches taller and
fifty pounds heavier than she and I keep myself in excellent
condition.  But fighting her would conflict with every social
principle I had been raised on, and I replied, "I'm sorry, but I
can't fight a woman."

"Then be my guest and don't fight back."  She put up her fists in
an amusing parody of a boxer and waded in.  She hit me once in
the shoulder, then I caught her arms and held them firmly.  I
wouldn't fight her, but I had no objection to stopping her from
hurting me.  She struggled to get free, but to no avail.

"Is this why you brought me here?  Is this what you call making
art?"

She stopped struggling.  "You can let me go.  The first round is
over." 

She stepped back toward the other women and slipped inside the
circle.  The other women stood up and joined hands and the
painter lifted hers in the air and started chanting in a language
I could not recognize, except for the word "NAMOW" they had used
before.  Slowly I began to hear a sound, like a static, and a
pink glow seemed to permeate the room.  It seemed to collect
itself above the group of women and coalesce into a ball, then it
slowly traveled toward the painter.  The static grew louder, as
did the chanting, until all the women except the painter abruptly
stopped.  The painter held out her palms to the ball and repeated
three words, again and again.  Slowly the ball started to shrink
and grow brighter, then like a flash it shot toward me and seemed
to vanish inside my chest.  I felt nothing, but it had
disappeared and the room was quiet.  The women stared at me and
then all of them broke out into smiles and started to chatter
excitedly.  It was the first time I had seen the painter smile
and realized she could be very attractive.

Pleased with the change of mood, I began to smile too.  "That was
splendid.  I've never seen anything like it.  How did you do it?"

The painter looked at me seriously.  "We did nothing.  It was
NAMOW; we simply invoked her spirit."

"NAMOW?  What is that?"

"NAMOW is who we worship, the creator of the universe.  We seek
her in our innermost being to give us strength and she has
answered us."

I shrugged.  I have never been an adherent of any religion, and I
certainly had never heard of this obscure cult.

The painter walked up to me.  "And now it is time for the second
round."

I groaned.  "This serves no purpose.  I don't understand what you
hope to gain by this.  Is this part of your ceremony?"

The painter shook her head and positioned herself in front of me.
To forestall any blows I moved quickly to grab her arms; she made
no move to stop me.  Suddenly I heard the static again and saw a
faint pink glow around us.  The painter seemed to grow tense with
anticipation and then quickly her face erupted with great joy.
Her slender frame appeared to swell before my eyes.  I looked
further down and saw the muscles of her thighs and calves grow.
I let go and stepped back.  The static and glow disappeared, but
there was no mistaking it.  In a few short seconds the painter
had somehow gained mass.

"What just happened?"

Instead of answering, she fired a punch at my shoulder.  I
winced.  There was real strength behind it.  With her other hand
she aimed for my stomach, but I got my arm in the way and
partially blocked it.  My forearm burned from the impact.

"You'll have to defend yourself better.  I'm not letting up on
you."  She got back into position and started to fire more
punches at me, but I dodged them, backing up and moving away from
her.  She followed closely and soon maneuvered me into a corner.
I feinted one way, then slipped behind her and caught her in a
wrestling hold I remembered from high school.  Immediately I
heard the static again.  My head was buried in her sweet-smelling
hair and I have to admit I was excited by our close contact. She
seemed to make only a token effort to resist.  I was definitely
becoming aroused, and I decided to wait out the end of the
"round" in this pleasant pose, but after about fifteen seconds
she abruptly snapped my hold and pushed me backwards.  When I
regained my balance I could hardly believe what I saw.  She stood
confidently before me, hands on her hips, enormous muscles in her
arms and chest straining the elastic of her top, while below,
unconstrained by any clothing, spheres of pure power sprouted
from her calves and thighs.

"What's happened to you!  Where did you get those muscles?"

"From you, thanks to NAMOW."  She casually tensed her arm and a
bicep any man would be proud to own burst out of her upper arm,
stretching the fabric to near transparency.  She took my hand and
pulled me toward her.  Using all of the strength of my legs, I
tried to hold my ground.  Again, the static rang in my ears and
incredibly her muscles grew even larger.  Alarmed at the obvious
extent of her power, I stopped resisting.

"So what are going to do to me now?"

"I'm not here to hurt you, but we must complete the ceremony for
the rest of the gathering."  She lifted me up and carried me over
the circle of women, who again began chanting and dancing,
joyously this time, in melodies and harmonies remote from any
music I had ever heard.  Slowly the circle closed on me.  The
static grew in my ears and the pink light returned, this time
more intense than before.  I was lost in a sea of female flesh,
bodies that grew more powerful every second.  I caught glimpses
of arms as large around as the wheels on my car, of legs like
tree trunks. I was handled, lifted, pushed and knocked about like
a feather in the wind. I felt trapped, closed in.  The static was
deafening, the light blinding.  I must have fainted.

When I awoke, I was in my rented car, sitting in front of the
warehouse, now dark and quiet.  The other cars had vanished.  My
watch said 1:21 a.m.  The ache in my shoulder and the bruises on
my arms told me I had not been dreaming  At least I was free once
more.  I drove slowly back to my hotel and slept fitfully the
rest of the night.  The next morning I caught a plane back to my
home in Boston.

Usually when I get home I'm eager to talk over the events of my
trip with my girlfriend, a lawyer with a patent firm in Boston,
but this experience was so unsettling I resolved not to mention
it, at least until I had made some sense out it.  During the long
plane ride I turned the events over in my mind again and again,
but clearly my rational mind, which understood not only the
workings of monoclonal antibodies and interferon but also the way
these wonders could be sold to the world was completely unable to
explain how obscure chants could produce static, pink light and
most wondrously the growth of muscle tissue in the adherents of
this strange sect.  And how would Barbara, who was even more
analytic than I, react?  Surely her mind would immediately leap
to much more logical alternatives.  Drugs, alcohol, orgies
perhaps.  No, there was no sense even discussing the matter I
decided as I drove quietly through Brookline to my house.

When I arrived, Barbara was at her desk, completing the drafting
of a patent application for one of my companies.  I came over to
kiss her, but she held up her hand.  "Give me thirty minutes Wes.
This application must be filed right away and there's a difficult
prior art question I have to solve.  Why don't you get settled.
We can go to the club for some tennis and then a light dinner
afterwards."  I happily agreed.

I should explain that my domestic arrangements are not the sort I
would hold up as an example to others.  I divorced my wife after
four years of marriage, four years when I was enjoying tremendous
success in my career for which I sacrificed all other parts of my
life.  It's amazing to me now, thinking about it, that there was
even time to do what was necessary to conceive my daughter.  I
was rarely home, even to sleep, and my wife ended up with the
sole responsibility to raise Nicole.  I have honored my financial
obligations to my family and spend as much time with Nicole as I
am able, given my business commitments.  I even live near their
house in Boston, notwithstanding that a residence in Princeton or
Claremont would bring me closer to my valuable contacts.  Sally
and I have stayed on tense speaking terms.  Nicole is of course a
typical adolescent girl, filled with resentments against my sins,
real and imagined.

Barbara and I have been together almost four years.  Although
some people would call her cold, she has always made me feel
comfortable.  I doubted that we would ever marry; we both enjoy
our freedom too much.  But our lives have blended together well,
both from a personal and business perspective.  I should confess
that we are very compatible sexually too.

The only flash point in our relationship has been that we are
both very competitive.  Happily, our skills generally complement
each other.  I am a scientist and businessman; she practices law
with a scientific bent.  We are both rational, although I tend
more to intuitive leaps while she reasons step-by-step.  And we
have always found the tennis court to be an excellent arena to
compete harmlessly.  Her form is more precise and polished than
mine, with my strength and speed an effective counter.

I unpacked and changed into my tennis whites and caught up on my
mail while Barbara worked and then got ready to play.  We drove
to our club and chatted about business matters.  As usual, her
tall, lean body looked great in her tennis dress.  We were lucky
to ride the elevator to the court by ourselves and I took
advantage of the moment to wrap my arm around her for a quick
kiss.  Barbara is quite modest in these things and as usual
pushed me away, lest the doors open unexpectedly.  Over the hum
of the elevator I thought I heard static, but I dismissed the
idea.

We warmed up for awhile on the court.  We had the indoor court,
with its artificial light and a loud air circulating system to
ourselves. I avoid playing there even in winter, preferring cold
air and natural light, but at 8:00 pm on a March day in Boston,
that was not an option.

Barbara's game was off; she consistently overhit the ball, and I
was looking for an easy win.  Surely enough, she hit all four of
my serves out and I led.  We switched sides and I gave her
another peck on the cheek, which only made her frown more.  Her
first serve was long, but then she adjusted her stroke and served
the next few accurately, and hard.  I returned them and again won
the game and my next serve on her mishits - very unusual for her
disciplined game.  She was getting quite upset and sat down to
check the strings on her racquet when we switched sides.  I sat
down next to her and put my arm around her to console her - and
gloat a little.  She glared at me and jumped up to continue with
the game.

She seemed to be concentrating hard to control her strokes more.
She started the next game again hitting long, but then began to
find her range and the set became more competitive.  I turned my
game up a notch and started to go for service aces to discourage
her, but she was returning shots she usually hit into the net.
After several deuces, she broke my serve and pumped the air with
her fist. 

Now it was her serve.  I stood alertly, determined to break her
momentum and watched her slowly position herself.  Her form was
perfect.  I watched the ball go up, her racquet glide back, the
contact, and before I knew what happened the ball sailed by me
for an ace.  I moved over to the other side and stepped back a
couple of feet.  She served again, a wicked shot to my forehand.
I moved quickly over and swung, but the force of the shot turned
the racquet in my hand and the ball bounced weakly into the net.
I walked back, annoyed and gripping my racquet more tightly.  I
saw Barbara bouncing around, eager to start the next point, so I
delayed and pretended to tie my shoe.  Barbara knew my tricks and
stuck her tongue out at me.  Signaling that I was ready, I set to
return another hard serve.  This time I got it over the net, but
it was a flat shot, mid-court and she easily placed it beyond my
reach.  I switched sides again.  She wound up and blasted another
ace right past my racquet.  Now I was angry with myself and
deliberately walked around the other side of the net.

"Don't be sore, honey.  You're still ahead," she shouted across
the net.

I was angry.  I didn't mind losing to Barbara every now and then,
but this was different.  She was overpowering me on the court.
Once again I buckled down.  Serving hard to her backhand I forced
her to hit it out, but increasing the power of my first serves
only forced me to rely more on my second service, and she was
nailing me with passing shots on each one.  She ended up winning
six to two, sweeping the last six games.

Barbara left the court with enough good feeling not to rag me,
and knowing how annoyed I was, she discreetly left to change,
hoping I would be in a better mood when I had showered and
dressed for dinner.  She was right of course.  A long shower and
a brief dip in the Jacuzzi left me refreshed and ready for
dinner.

Surprisingly, Barbara was still not ready when I came out, but I
was relaxed and happy to wait in the bar and watch the Celtics
beating the Suns.  Finally she peered in the door, fresh and
glowing from the exercise, but with an unusually pensive look.
She smiled when she saw that my good spirits had returned and I
paid my bill and got up to follow her to the car.  She looked so
ravishing I wanted to take her in my arms right there, but in my
relaxed mood I decided to respect her modesty - for now - and we
walked side-by-side to the car.

The game over, my emotions subsided and I was ready to discuss
the evening while we drove to our favorite bistro, Chez Martine.
"That was an unusual game, Barbara.  I've never seen you hit the
ball so hard.  Were you angry at the ball?"

She pursed her lips at my attempt at humor.  "It was the
strangest thing Wes.  I can't explain it, except that I was
feeling very strong.  You know I've been working out more at the
gym, especially with all your traveling the past two weeks, but
this was very sudden.  I was late coming out because I went down
to the weight room before I showered, just to check, and sure
enough, I could lift twenty to thirty pounds more than I could
just yesterday.  One of the trainers was there, and she made a
comment about my muscle definition improving.  I hadn't noticed
anything, but then I did check, and all over my body, even my
legs, which I never train with the machines, I was noticeably
bigger and harder.  Now how could that be?" 

I must have looked alarmed, because she immediately put her hand
on my shoulder.  "Are you all right Wes?  You look frightened."

I held up my hand and turned onto a side street and stopped the
car.  "I am.  We have to talk.  But first, let me hold you, just
for a moment."  Under the circumstances, in a dark car, Barbara
made no objection.  Immediately I heard the static and a pink
aura filled the car.  I let go and moved away.

"What was that, Wes!"

I turned on the car's inside light.  "Take off your jacket.
Let's look at your arms now."  Barbara did as I asked and gasped
when she saw they had grown still more and she now had a
discernable bicep even without flexing her arm. 

She looked at me inquiringly.  "Do you know something about
this?"

"I wasn't going to tell you, but clearly I must.  This happened
for the first time last night.  I owed a favor to an artist I met
in Phoenix, and I attended some sort of seance, dedicated to a
spirit they called "NAMOW."

"That's Woman, backwards, I guess."

"Yes, you're right.  So it is.  Well, there was an assembled
group of women and they summoned a spirit in a language that
sounded like none I had ever heard.  That pink light you saw, the
white noise sound, all surrounded me.  It was many times more
intense than what just happened in the car.  The pink light
seemed to gather together at one point, then I thought I saw it
shoot toward me, but I didn't think much of it at the time.  I
thought it was some kind of special effect the woman rigged as a
kind of performance art.  After the ceremony, one of the women --
the one who gave me the invitation -- started to fight me.  I of
course wouldn't oblige her, but to stop her from hitting me I
held her down.  Very soon she became incredibly strong.  Then
they continued the ceremony, but this time all of them
participated.  They all gathered around me and seemed to partake
of this spirit.  The experience was so intense I must have passed
out, because I awoke later in my car, quite alone.  Now it seems
that this NAMOW has stayed with me, and is still working."

"Yes, of course.  I thought I noticed something each time you
kissed or touched me.  What else can you tell me?  Why you?"

"I wish I knew.  I've told you all I can, except that she asked
me my birthday and where I was born just before she invited me."

"There's probably some kind of astrological bias to the group."

I shrugged.

Barbara was deep in thought.  "For just a moment, let's forget
about the fact that all this is totally impossible."  She looked
down at herself.  "And I'll try not to think about what this
means for my wardrobe.  I'll just never find anything to wear
with this body!" 

She closed her eyes, sighed, and continued.  "You realize Wes,
you will just have to keep your hands and every other part of you
away from me until we figure out a way to stop this from
happening. I love your kisses, dear, but I do not want to look
like a female Arnold Schwarzenegger.  And until then, if I were
you, I would stay inside the house and away from all women."

"I can't do that.  I have business to do.  I have a meeting in
New York next week, for one."

"So what are you going to do when some female investor wants to
shake hands?  Run away?"

"I'll think of something.  I'll pretend I've become a Moslem.
They're not supposed to touch women unless they're married to
them."

"I can assure you that it doesn't work that way in real life,
Wes."

I shook my head.  "I understand your point, Barbara, but I have
to find another way.  Perhaps I can find this woman.  Maybe she
would tell me how to turn this thing off.  Problem is, I don't
even know her name, and I don't want to go back to Phoenix."

"I'll go Wes.  I have some follow up work I can do there on your
biotechnology deal.  I don't have to do it in person, but I can.
I will bill you for my expenses though."

I smiled with relief and reached over to hug her, but a quick
burst of static and her expression of alarm reminded me to stay
away.  I started the car and we ate a quiet dinner and went home.
Resigned to my fate, I slept in the guest room that night.

I drove Barbara to Logan in the morning and, notwithstanding her
warnings, went in to work, wearing bandages on my hand and
pretending to have a fever to ward off any contact.  The day was
going fine until I got a call from my ex-wife, who reminded me I
had promised to take Nicole and two of her friends to the
Northampton area to look at colleges.  I tried to excuse myself,
complaining about my burns and my flu, but she insisted that if I
was well enough to work and happened to be in town, I should not
disappoint my daughter.

That is why, against my better judgment and Barbara's advice, I
was driving Nicole and two sullen friends of hers, Monica and
Tiffany, toward the Mount Holyoke campus the next morning.
Nicole and I have never been affectionate, so it did not take
much explaining about my illness to discourage any physical
contact between us.  I sat in front, and the three budding
feminists sat in back, egging each other on with stories about
the superiority of women in matters of culture, genes,
disposition, morality, and the like.  Only the news of a major
stock market rally helped me keep my temper.

We arrived in Holyoke and the three girls ran off to meet a
friend who had offered to show them the campus and introduce them
to other local feminists.  I found a coffee shop in town where I
could make some phone calls and read the Journal.  So I spent
three or four hours very pleasantly on my own.  I grew restless
only when evening came and the girls had not returned.  I waited
thirty minutes past the agreed on time, grew angrier, and decided
to head toward the school, leaving a message with the
proprietress for the girls to wait for me there if I missed them.

The campus was large, but the college has a small student body,
so it didn't take long for me to find someone who knew Nicole's
friend.  She walked me to her dormitory, called up to her room
and learned from her roommate that she and my daughter were at a
lounge in the Student Center.  I thanked her and trudged back
there, feeling very cross.  It was too bad, because in another
frame of mind, I would have enjoyed the campus setting, not to
mention the concentration of young, attractive women walking,
chatting, studying and doing other errands.

I soon found Nicole and her friends.  Nicole looked embarrassed,
but the other two girls were paying rapt attention to another
woman, a slim blond, probably a senior, who was lecturing about
ancient matriarchal societies.  I cleared my throat and told her
that it was time for us to leave.  The woman turned to me.

"Sir, if you would give us just twenty minutes more, I wanted to
show my guests some artifacts I keep where I live.  Are you
parked in town?"  I nodded.  "Then it's right on your way."

She seemed reasonable, and respectful, so I agreed.  She
introduced herself as Willa Bond and she walked with me across
the campus and pointed out some of the highlights of the school's
architecture, while my daughter, her three friends and another
girl walked ahead.  I started to calm down.

A couple of blocks from the car, we stepped into an old house and
walked down to the basement.  It must not have been updated since
the house was built, with a dirt floor and thick beams supporting
the roof.  I pushed open a heavy door, which closed behind us,
and we all filed into a back room, where Willa motioned me to sit
in an old chair.  She turned on the light, and I immediately
noticed the same photograph I had seen in Phoenix.

I must have looked alarmed, because she looked at me expectantly.
Is there something here you recognize, Mr. Baldridge?"  I nodded
and stood up to leave.  She stood in my way.  "You said you'd
stay for a little while.  Now you don't want to disappoint your
daughter."

"Dad!  This had been a great day.  Don't spoil it for us!
Willa's going to show something really special."

"Oh, really?  Do you know what this something is?"

"No, Dad, except that it would show us how relevant studying some
old things would be to solve the problems women have today.
Isn't that the type of stuff you're always telling me about?"

"Not now.  Nicole, I want you to come with me."  She shook her
head and I took another step, until I was practically on top of
Willa.

"You can't order me around like that, Dad.  I'm not going!"

Willa turned to the others.  "Look how this man abuses his power.
He tries to command his daughter, and he uses his size to try to
intimidate me.  I will show now how the ancients established the
power of woman.  I will show you the power of NAMOW."

She raised her hands to touch me, and I backed off.  I looked
around for another way out, but she had effectively cut me off.

"What's the matter Mr. Baldridge?  You're not afraid of me, are
you?  I weighed myself at just 110 pounds this morning, and I
admit that I don't even know karate.  Are you afraid of these
little fists?"  She faked a punch and laughed as I ducked away.
"Or maybe my thumb?"  She jabbed me in the stomach.  "Why don't
you stop me?"  She held out her hands and started to slap me.
She kept up a steady patter as she kept walking forward and I
kept retreating.  My daughter looked on in amazement, and the
others in excited anticipation.  Soon I was backed against a
wall. 

I don't know what Nicole was thinking.  Willa stood in front of
me looking as unthreatening as a slender, five foot five inch
woman could be next to a healthy six footer like me.  Something
about Willa was obviously frightening her father, and, sadly, I
realized Nicole was enjoying it.

Then Willa declaimed in a louder voice.  "Ladies, in the times of
the ancients, we were the warriors, we were the builders, we were
the aggressors, while men catered to us and kept our children
until the girls were ready to join us in the world.  In a great
war we lost the secrets of NAMOW and then became the slaves of
men, but she has revealed herself to us again, and we are poised
to recover our rightful places.  NAMOW has chosen this man as her
vessel.  Watch how woman is transformed as I drink from NAMOW and
then you may drink too."

Willa carefully unbuttoned her dress, revealing a loose elastic
bra and shorts beneath, watching closely that I did not make any
move to escape.  For my part, I waited for an opening, but seeing
none, decided it was better to resist than to submit to her
passively.  Without warning, I darted to the left.  Willa was
ready and grabbed my waist as I went by, not trying to stop me,
but holding on tightly.  I heard the static in my ears and tried
to push her off, but the static only increased in volume with my
efforts.  She slipped down to my legs and did no more than hang
on as I pressed forward, but it became harder and harder to walk
and drag her along, and I finally ground to a halt about ten feet
from the door.

Willa stood up, but continued to wrap her arm around my waist.
Her grip was getting tighter and tighter.  I tried to loosen her
hand from around my waist and was rewarded with another loud
burst of static, a satisfied grunt and a sudden increase in the
pressure on me.  Using all the strength in my legs, I tried to
leap forward, but she caught me in mid-air, drew me closer to her
with one arm and then hoisted me in front of her.  She turned me
so I faced the ceiling, carrying me horizontally like a child,
and walked back into the center of the room.  To the amazement of
the others, she now balanced me on one hand and lifted me high in
the air in front of her, as her trophy.  The static continued and
I looked down at her bicep now equal in size with her head and
still growing.

"I'm sure I have your attention Mr. Baldridge.  Look, ladies, at
the power than can be yours."  She flicked her wrist and I sailed
across the room, into a row of cushions.

Tiffany stood up.  "How did you do that?  Can any of us be as
strong as you?"

"Of course Tiffany.  The power is yours for the asking.  When you
touch Mr. Baldridge the power of NAMOW will come to you."

Tiffany walked up and threw herself down on top of me squeezing
me with all of her strength.  The static roared in my ears.  The
strength of her hold quickly increased until I feared for my
life.  Fortunately, Willa hurried over and separated us.

"Be patient Tiffany.  We don't want to kill him.  He's invaluable
to us, at least until we identify other vessels."  Tiffany
nodded.  Already her arms were thicker than mine.  Holding just
my hand now, the volume of the noise diminished, and slowly
Tiffany grew in size until she was satisfied.  Two more girls
took their turns, until only Nicole was left.  Willa stood up.
"Let's leave Nicole with her father for a few minutes."  She
pushed open the door and four massive women trooped out.

"Nicole.  You have to help me stop them."

"Help you?  Why?  This is, like, the greatest thing.  We can be
as strong as we want to be."


"This is outrageous.  I'm not a device to be used by you or
anyone else for pleasure, health, strength, what have you."

Nicole laughed.  "Oh yes you are Daddy.  You may be Mr. Wesley
Baldridge, but NAMOW is in you too now, and it is NAMOW who
invites us to be powerful.  It's too bad for you, but that's the
way it is."  She took a step toward me.  I held out my hands to
stop her and she giggled.  "It doesn't do you any good, you know.
Like, the more you resist the faster it works.  Watch."

She stepped boldly against my outstretched hands, and I heard the
now familiar noise.  Before my eyes, I saw my daughter change
from a petite, attractive young girl into a monstrous amazon.
The sleeves of her dress ripped from the pressure of her growing
biceps, then the rest of it burst from the growth of her chest
and shoulders.  She stepped back, flexed her new muscles with
evident glee and looked up at me.

"There's one more thing I've been dying to do."  She seized me in
her hands, turned me face down to the floor and curled her left
arm around me.  With the added pressure, the noise grew louder
and I could feel her arm growing underneath me.

"What are you doing?", I asked.  In answer, I felt a sharp pain
on my backside.  She was spanking me!  "Nicole!  Stop that.
Immediately!"

She chuckled.  "I've always wanted to do this."

"But why? I've never hit you."

"Maybe not, at least not that I can remember clearly.  But you've
always bossed me around - me and Mom - with your male authority."

She was hitting me harder and I could feel her bicep digging into
my shoulder.  I choked out the words through the pain.  "You're
.. really .. hurting me .. Nicole.  Please stop."

She put her hands around the sides of my waist and lifted me up
life a rag doll.  "The strength I have is phenomenal.  Like, I
could crush you with my bare hands.  But this is enough.
Tiffany, Monica and I, we'll like have so much fun back at
school.  See you, Daddyo."

She dropped me and spun on her heel and walked out the door.  I
followed, but Willa stopped my in my tracks.

"Whoa, Mr. Baldridge.  You're not going anywhere.  You, I mean,
NAMOW, will have more work to do."

"But I have to get back home.  I have a business.  My girlfriend
...."

"You may have your life, but so does NAMOW.  And here, her
commands carry more weight than yours.  Learn that and you can
begin to accept your fate." 

She threw me back in the room and closed the door on me.  It
wasn't locked; I could turn the doorknob, but I couldn't open it.
I heard laughter from outside, and the door opened.  "There's a
thousand pound weight in front.  Any one of us can easily move
it, but you can't, I'm afraid.  You'll have some more guests in a
little while, then we'll give you dinner.  I suggest you make
yourself comfortable."

Shortly afterwards, a group of women walked in, talking
excitedly.  Willa directed me to sit down and lay my arms on a
table.  When I refused, she forced me down and pulled my arms
out.

"You know, you're only making me stronger by being difficult."

I realized she was right and stopped resisting.  Making
themselves into two orderly lines, the women systematically
approached me, placed their palms on my hand and transformed
themselves.  They varied greatly in their demands.  One or two
sought only the build of a normal man; most waited until their
arms were more muscular than any man I had ever seen.  One tall,
angry-looking woman held on to me tightly while three others took
their turns on my other hand.  By the time she was finished, her
untensed bicep was thicker than my waist and her chest must have
exceeded sixty inches.  She stood up opposite me, clenched her
hands and teeth and then tensed her whole body, until she seemed
encased in a wall of throbbing muscle.

"Kate was raped by her roommate's boyfriend two months ago,"
Willa remarked casually to me.  "The DA declined to press changes
and he thinks he's gotten away with it, but I bet he'll be sorry
now."

"How long are you going to keep me here?"

"Oh, you can leave any time now.  You've taken care of my group
already.  We know where you are when we need you.  So long as you
cooperate, we'll let you live your normal life."

"And if I don't?"

Willa lifted her hand to call my attention to the room.  "We've
got chapters in every city.  You can be sure we'll have no
trouble keeping you prisoner if we need to."

The other women had left.  Willa opened the heavy door for me and
led me out onto the street.  My car was out front.  "We drove
Nicole and her friends back home earlier.  Nice car."

"Wh-What did her mother say?"

Willa smothered a laugh.  "Her eyes practically popped out of her
head, but the next thing she did was ask whether she could get
strong too."

I swallowed.  "Did Nicole tell her?"

"Not while I was there."  Willa slammed the door and went back
inside.

I checked in with the office as I drove back to Boston, and
learned that the response to my Phoenix presentation was very
positive.  The offering would be oversubscribed, which would
allow me to raise even more money than I had planned.  Also,
Barbara left a pleasant but brief message that the trip had been
very informative and that she looked forward to seeing me.
Somewhat heartened, I decided to go to the symphony.  Not
expecting to be so late, I had left my tickets home, but a quick
call to the orchestra's management solved that problem and I lost
myself in an evening of Brahms and Berlioz. 

I saw some business friends at intermission and we chatted again
for twenty minutes or so after the concert ended, as both they
and I enjoyed discussing the details of a successful investment
in a new system to deliver toxins to tumor sites.

The parking garage was almost deserted by the time I arrived, and
as I turned the corner toward my car, I saw three punks sitting
on the rear trunk - two greasy toughs from one of the working-
class neighborhoods and a pale, thin girl with a pockmarked face.

"This your car, Mister?"

I nodded and tried to walk by them quickly.

"Give us a lift.  Our car broke down and we don't got enough for
a taxi."

I shook my head and put my key in the lock.  The two boys moved
quickly.  One grabbed me from behind; the other held my arm and
forced me to drop the key.  The girl laughed, "You did it, guys."

"Hey babe.  I told you."

I struggled to get free.  I've taken a few self-defense courses,
and managed to elbow the one behind me and then punch him in the
face, but the other one blindsided me and knocked me cold.  I
came to quickly, but the knife at my neck convinced me to stop
while I was still intact.

"You're smart, mister.  I would've used it on ya.  Now, get in
the car.  Terry, you drive."

He pushed me into the back seat, next to the girl, while the
other tough slid in front.  He tried to start the car, but the
code locked him out.

"No funny stuff, Mister.  Tell him how to get it going."

I gave him a code that would start the car, but also activate a
homing device that would alert the police that the car was
stolen, or that I was in distress.  I paid a thousand dollars for
that feature.  Now I would see if it worked.

We quickly passed through the empty streets and entered a
highway, Terry exclaiming about the power and the quiet of the
car. We headed north on I95.  Barney kept the knife on my side,
so I kept away from him as much as I could.

When we got out of town, Terry opened the front passenger side
window, and the girl complained about the wind in her face.  "Get
out of the car if you don't like it Sissy.  Man, we're really
moving."  To get away from the wind, she nudged closer to me.  I
started, when I realized she was touching me, but with the
Barney's knife on my hip, I was trapped.  The roar of the wind
drowned out any static in my ear, but I feared what would happen.
I looked down at "Sissy's" body; it was impossible to see
anything under her windbreaker.  She closed her eyes, napping
perhaps.  She smiled and I thought I heard a soft moan of
pleasure.

We exited from the highway, the quick turn rolling the three of
us to the left.  The knife grazed my chest as I fell onto Barney,
and the girl fell squarely on me, waking her up.  She felt heavy
and my heart sank.  "Hey, watch where you're going Terry."

"Sorry Barney.  I didn't realize I was going so fast."

The girl was looking puzzled, but before she could say anything,
we stopped at a house.

"Where are you taking me?"

"This is my brother's country house.  He's not using it."

I heard the girl scream.  Terry looked disgusted.  "What is it
Sissy?  You see a bug?"

"Look at me!"

She had taken off her windbreaker.  The buttons on her shirt were
straining from the pressure of her expanded chest.  Her arms and
shoulders looked thicker than those on her friends.  Her blue
jeans were straining at her thighs.

"I was feeling funny in the car, but I didn't wanta say
anything."

Terry looked scared.  "You're swellin up and bustin out of your
clothes!  Are you feeling sick?"  He turned to me.  "Are you a
doctor?"

I said no.

"Terr, I feel alright.  Really good, in fact.  My clothes'r just
tight.  Barney, I think Sheila keeps some stuff here.  She's
bigger than I am."

Barney nodded, and Sissy went up to change.  Seconds later, she
screamed again, and then immediately started laughing.  "You guys
aren't gonna believe this when I show ya!"

Terry and Barney exchanged looks.  "I knew we shouldn't have
taken her.  She's always causin us trouble.  Now, what're we
going to do with him?"

"Simple, we'll leave him in woods somewhere and take the car up
to New Hampshire.  I know a guy in Manchester who can take it off
our hands.  He'll give us good money, I bet.  Maybe ten thousand
for a car like this."

Sissy bounded down the starts and burst into the room wearing a
muscle shirt and shorts.  "I gotta find something else to wear
outside, but I wanted you to see my new muscles.  Look at me.
Now, I look as strong as you guys!"

The boys gazed openmouthed at the bulges on her arms and the way
her chest pushed out the front of the fabric.  "Hey, Sis.
What're you up to?  I never seen you work out."

"I don't know Barn.  My clothes fit when I got dressed tonight.
These just kind of popped out like this all of a sudden.  And
they're real.  Look!"  She went over to the sofa and slowly
picked up one end.  "Can either of you guys do that?"

"Of course we can!"  Nervously, Terry walked over to the sofa and
picked it up, more quickly than Sissy.  "See."

Sissy looked disappointed.  "Well, I'm stronger than I was
before.  I can help you now."

Barney elbowed Terry.  "Sure, Sis.  Why don't you guard Mr.
Mercedes Benz while I figure out where we're going?"

Sissy took the knife and held it under my neck.  I walked back a
step, trying hard not to touch her.

"Hey, like I'm so strong he's afraid of me."

"He's not afraid of you Sis.  You have a blade, remember?"

She looked down at her arm and made a muscle, which rose about a
quarter inch when she tensed it.  She put her knife hand down to
her side and with her other hand, faked a punch at me.  I ducked
back, and she laughed, stepping closer.  I saw that I would be
out of room soon and decided not to give any more ground.  She
got set to punch me again.  This time, I stood firm and she hit
me in the face.

"What're you doing Sis?  We don't want to beat him up.  We just
want his car, OK?"

"You ain't seen enough movies.  I'm toying with him, just having
some fun.  Is that a crime?  Get it?"

"You're a real card, Sissy.  Barney's right.  We don't want to
leave any marks.  We could get in even more trouble that way, if
we get caught."

"OK, OK, I got the message.  Jesus, guys, I thought we were
supposed to be having fun!"  The boys looked up in exasperation
and concentrated on a map. 

Sissy tucked the knife behind her back and then held her hands up
as if she were going to push me.  I tried to duck away.  She
panicked, thinking I was trying to escape and grabbed me tightly.
The static roared again in my ears and I groaned inwardly.  I
could feel her hold getting tighter, tried to break away and with
all my strength pushed her back, but in the brief moments of her
tight squeeze, her arms had grown to be as thick as mine.  She
seemed to realize what happened, stepped back up to me and put
her arms around me again, locking her hands behind me.  I knew I
wouldn't be able to get her off me now and surrendered to her
hold.  She was more gentle this time, but held me firmly and I
could feel the growing muscles of her chest and arms digging into
my body.  After a minute, she let go and looked down at herself.
Her arms now looked twice the size as those of a male
bodybuilder, and I knew they were rock hard.  Her chest strained
the fabric of her muscle shirt nearly to transparency, her hard
nipples clearly visible.  She grinned and tiptoed to the two
boys, then putting one hand on each of their thighs, twisted them
around toward her and lifted them cleanly into the air.  They
looked down at her in shock.

"What are you doing, Sissy?  What's happening?"


"It's him.  Something weird.  It's touching him that's doing it
to me."

"You're crazy."

"Yeah, tell me why I can lift both of you guys with one hand and
I'm not even tryin?"

They said nothing.

"I'm probably too big already, but watch this."  She walked over
to me and hugged me again, a full body hug this time for ten
seconds.  I heard a rip and then she stepped away.  The muscle
shirt was torn completely in two and hung limply on her.

"So, guys, do I look dangerous yet?"

Terry was about to respond, when suddenly, a police siren
sounded.  I saw flashing lights outside the window and a
loudspeaker ordered us to open the door.  We all froze, then
Sissy ran upstairs.  The police banged loudly on the door.  "We
know someone's inside.  Are you going to open up?"

"Shit!", Terry said.  How'd they find us?"

Sissy returned, wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, which fit
snugly around her.  Leaping past the boys, she opened the door.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"We have reason to believe there is a stolen car parked in the
driveway.  Can you produce any proof of ownership?"

"Why don't you come in?  I'm sure we can clear this up, sir."

"Sissy!"  Sissy turned around and glared at Barney.

The policeman entered and turned to me. "What's going on here?"

"The three of them kidnapped me at the symphony tonight.  But
watch out for the girl.  She's very strong."

He reached for his gun, but Sissy took it out of his hands.  She
tried to crush it.  She was frustrated to find that she couldn't,
but then she bent the barrel so it was unusable.

"Hey, just like on Superman!"  She took his billy club out of his
waistband and threw it like a dart three inches into the wall.

"You're just going to get yourselves in more trouble.  Now, are
you going to come quietly with me or do I have to call for
backup?"

Sissy reached for his belt and lifted him in the air like he was
a toy.  He grabbed her arm and looked down at her in fear when he
felt her wide, hard forearm.

"Yeah, that's right.  You should be afraid."  Holding him away
with one hand, she flexed her other arm and a bulge seven inches
high stretched the thick sleeve.  Tensing it more, it grew higher
until it was almost a foot high.  "Now I'm like Popeye, but
without the spinach!"  He fired a kick at her stomach, but
despite his evident training, the toe of his shoe was stopped
cold by a wall of muscle.  With his longer reach he hit her in
the face, drawing blood from her nose.  Enraged, Sissy pulled him
closer and ripped a punch in his face.  Her blow crushed the left
side of his head.  Blood and portions of his brains spurted out.
In disgust, she threw him against the wall, collapsing the thin
plasterboard and half-burying his inert body in dust.

"Jesus, Sissy!  You killed him."

"Yeah, it was just like that girl on Superman 2, the one with the
super powers, until Superman -"

"You KILLED a policeman!  We could be fried for this."

Sissy looked at the boys impassively.  "Well, only if we get
caught."

Another set of sirens was approaching.  Terry looked out the
window.  They're almost here.  Quick, out the back.  They won't
find us in the woods!"

Sissy scowled.  "OK.  OK.  I didn't think you guys were such
cowards.  What about him?"

"Leave him.  We can go faster without him."

They ran out the back door.  When I was sure they were gone, I
opened the door, just as the police arrived.  They drew their
guns, but I put my hands up and quickly explained what happened.
They found my story about Sissy's strength hard to believe, even
though I left out the part about my role in it, but they put out
a bulletin on them.  They let me call home to leave a message for
Barbara, and after taking some evidence from me, they let me
leave.

Driving home, I turned over in my mind again and again how I was
going to live the rest of my life without accidents like tonight.
The most casual contact with any woman could lead to disaster.
Maybe Barbara was right.  Maybe I would have to live as a hermit,
at least until my possession by NAMOW ended, if ever.

I was surprised Barabra still wasn't back by midnight.  The last
flight from Phoenix arrived at nine-thirty, but I decided to
relax by scanning the few archeological books I had for any
reference to NAMOW.  There was nothing.  I must have fallen
asleep at three in the morning, mildly worried about Barbara.

I awoke late and called my office to tell them I would be working
at home.  At eleven, I heard the key in the door.  Barbara!  But
the first flight would not be in until noon, I wondered.  I
called to her.  She took a while to answer, then came into the
office.

"I thought you'd be at work."

I shook my head and told her about the events of the previous
day, her face becoming more and more serious as I spoke.

"So, it's evident that there is a network of these NAMOW groups
everywhere.  They know who I am, where I live.  It's just a
matter of time before they come for me here.  In fact, I'm a
little surprised they haven't already.  I only came back to wait
for you."

She smiled gravely. 

"What did you learn?"

"Well, you're right about the group.  It's quite an organization.
They knew who I was, and why I was coming.  But before we go into
this more, let's get out of here.  You're absolutely right about
the danger here.  Is your car alright?

"Yes, but I'm not supposed to go out of state with it.  It's
evidence."

"Let's use mine.  We can go up to Maine for a few days, until we
decide what to do.  We'll talk in the car."

I agreed, packed a few things and we left.  I shook my head
ruefully at how easily Barbara now lifted her suitcase into the
car.

"They were very open with me.  NAMOW is a very ancient goddess,
although this is a new name for her, obviously using the English
language in place of the Indian names.  She was worshipped all
throughout parts of the Western hemisphere, perhaps elsewhere in
the world also, although they didn't have much information on
that.  This sect was started about fifty years ago, as a result
of the discovery of some texts and relics in Peru.  This find led
to others, but the academic investigation was halted abruptly
when the relics were stolen in the fifties.  Since then, a very
energetic and committed group of women have been studying these
texts, trying to reinvoke the spirit.  You were their first
success."

"Why me?"

"They didn't tell me.  They must have recognized you from a
prophecy."

"How long will this possession last?"

"I don't know that either.  In ancient times, the priestesses
used various techniques to ensure a constant supply of vessels
like you for their purposes.  Once that source of strength was
interrupted, they lost their power and their cohesion.  The art
they practiced became an empty ritual, and the religion died
out."

We had left the coast and turned north on a two lane road
surrounded by the forest.  It was still winter here, and patches
of snow lingered in the sheltered parts of the woods.

"Where are you taking us?"

"A bed and breakfast I read about.  It will be real cozy, and
we'll have privacy."

"Any fax machines?"

"No, silly."

I was about to protest, then thought that it was best to keep my
location a secret from everyone, including my office, for the
time being.

We arrived in Burlon, a town of 400 near the Canadian border in
the late afternoon.  We ate at a coffee shop, then drove to the
inn.  I thought it was odd that they were expecting us and
started to become alarmed when I noticed other guests, all women,
sitting in the reception area. I turned to Barbara.

"Sorry Wes.  I had to do it this way.  It was the only way I
could be sure you would come, especially after what happened
yesterday."

"You're one of them?"

"I am now.  Wes, you can't possibly understand, or sympathize,
but this is more important than you as an individual.  This is
for the future of all women, for the future of our human race.
You are the first, the first in a long time, but through you
there will be others.  Once we show the world that this is the
true religion, the true goddess, all the false gods will fall
away."

She gripped my arm, and I heard the static roar in my ears.

"NO!  I won't be used by you."  With a burst of strength, I broke
free of her and hurtled through the nearest window and toward the
woods."

"After him!  We must catch him."

Several of the women ran out of the house and followed me.  I ran
uphill, hoping to lose them in the growing darkness.  Desperation
propelled me ahead.  I found a stream and followed it north,
swimming through ice and swamp.  After hours of furious effort, I
found a cave and curled inside to rest.  I awoke after a couple
of hours, listened hard for any sound of movement, then continued
north.  There was no sign of my pursuers.

It will not surprise you that I had always made preparations for
an escape.  Money and success breeds paranoia, you see, and in an
odd way I turned out to be right.  I always carried with me a
false passport, and when, after several days, I found myself in a
small town in Canada, I presented myself to the police,
explaining I had become lost in the woods.  Suspicious, but soon
accepting my pose as another stupid American, they let me go.  I
quickly made a few telephone calls, and executing a strategy I
had devised years ago, sent several million dollars through a
complex chain of dummy companies incorporated in Panama,
Luxembourg, Uruguay, Liechtenstein, etc. (I'm not going to give
away all my secrets) and settled in a small rural area.

I no longer work.  The town accepts me as a hermit and accepts my
phobia about the touch of other people.  I keep in touch with the
world through radio, the internet, the newspapers.  I never hear
anything of NAMOW, although I did note the success of certain
sports teams for several years at Mount Holyoke.

THE END