Laurie, Part III (April 19, 2006)
by Chainer
andraspikler.gwm@gmail.comI rounded the last corner, and Laurie’s house was in plain view. I wiped the
sweat off my forehead, which had gathered there due to the afternoon sun’s
pitiless shine.
I was on my way to Laurie’s house to help her with her trigonometry homework. I
had gotten to know her well in the last two months--we had eaten lunch together
almost every single day, talking about school and our lives. Quite often, I had
asked her to flex, and she never disappointed me, knowing that I was into her
physique, and enjoying it. Now, this warm June day was the first day that I was
visiting her house. She had said that we could work out together after I showed
her how to do the math--little did I know about sights I was in for.
I arrived at her house and knocked. She opened the door, and I was, as usual,
startled by how pretty she looked. Her brown hair was tied back in a ponytail
and her bright smile lit the room. She was wearing a t-shirt, but best of all,
she had on a pair of those short-shorts that are typical of 18-year-old girls.
Her legs were lean and cut--with every step she took, the separation between her
quads and hamstrings became clear. The years of running and lifting had taken
their toll on those muscles.
“Hey!” she greeted me.
“Hey. What’s up”? I said.
“I just got finished taking a shower after a 6-mile run. It was exhausting. I’m
not used to this warm weather yet.”
“Your legs are looking good, I’ve noticed…”
“Yeah. Look!” She quickly tightened her legs, and her quads bulged, the muscle
in her legs clearly visible.
“Let’s get the work out of the way,” she suggested. “Then we can actually work
out and enjoy this day.”
We lay down on the floor, next to each other. Going over the math homework took
quite a while, and I must admit that I didn’t have the easiest time
concentrating with her forearms right next to mine. They were so athletic, even
as she wasn’t flexing them or paying attention to her arms…
Eventually, we were done. “Come on,” Laurie said. “I have some equipment in the
basement. I’ve been waiting for this--I haven’t worked out today yet!”
At the top of the stairs, she flipped the light switch, and we climbed down. The
basement had been made into a traditional room, and I saw the “equipment” she
was talking about: there were several sets of weights, dumbbells, and even a few
machines that you’d find at a gym. Quite an investment.
“So, is this where you work out?” I asked.
“Normally. Although sometimes I go to the gym, but I can usually get a pretty
good workout down here. What do you think?”
“Pretty neat.” It was cool here, which was a relief after the heat upstairs and
outside.
“Wanna start with abs?” she asked.
“Sure.”
But I wasn’t expecting what she did next.
She took off her t-shirt and threw it on the ground. Underneath, she was wearing
a tanktop that cut off right below her breasts. For my benefit, undoubtedly.
In the two months that we had been friends, she had never quite shown me her
abs, except for short amounts of time. Now, her stomach was completely exposed
and I could see a beautiful six-pack that fit perfectly with the rest of her
lean, muscular body. As she breathed, the tight muscle contracted and expanded.
“Okay, I’ll start,” she said. She grabbed a 10-pound dumbbell from the rack, lay
down on her back, and held the weight across her chest. She started doing slow
crunches. I was rendered breathless by her abs. So tight, so fat-free. With each
crunch, the muscles were drawn into lines.
I couldn’t resist the temptation and put one of my hands on her stomach. It was
hard; I could feel her abs moving underneath her skin each time she lifted her
back off the ground. I pushed down, but my hand didn’t go very far.
After countless amounts of crunches--countless for me, at least, since I
couldn’t count while being mesmerized by her abs---she became tired and stopped.
But it seemed as though she could’ve done many more.
“Whoa, Laurie…” I said. “I’ve never seen a stomach like that on a girl, not at
this age. Wow…”
“That’s why I’m showing you!” she smiled.
Then, it was my turn, but I don’t remember much about that. I took the weight,
and, of course, did less than what she did. I don’t have the slightest
recollection of the numbers involved.
“That was fun,” she said. “Look, I don’t even have to flex my abs, and you can
see them.” It was true. “Then, she smiled. “Come on, let’s see yours!”
I showed her, but there was nothing there. She jokingly felt it with a strong
pinch from her cool, skinny fingers, and remarked, “You know, I think mine are
better.”
“Do you really think so?” I said, sarcastically.
She laughed. “You know, I’m probably stronger than you, too,” she challenged. To
me, this seemed obvious, after having known her for a while, but I wanted to
take her up on the challenge. Why not?
“You definitely aren’t,” I said. I felt like a 6th grader. “I’ve never met a
girl stronger than me, even if she seemingly has more muscle.”
“We have to find out,” she pushed. “I know I can do more sit-ups and pull-ups
than you, and I can run farther. Why don’t we just, simply, armwrestle?”
“Deal!”
So we sat down on opposite ends of a small, square table and locked our right
hands after putting our elbows on its surface. Her grip was strong, just as I
had expected, with her fingers digging into my hand. The muscle was clearly
visible in her arm, forming a bulge that was, for now, soft.
“Ready?” she asked. “On the count of three.” Her arms and her abs tightened,
almost unnoticeably, from her concentration. “One… two… Three… Go!”
The match began. At first, I tried to feel her strength, and I didn’t push with
all my might. It seemed she was doing the same, gripping fiercely, but somewhat
effortlessly. She started to move my arm downwards, and I decided to take a shot
at winning this match. Here was my chance, if I was ever going to have one.
I closed my eyes and concentrated--my only thought was to make her hand hit the
table. I felt our arms trembling, and I felt her giving in ever so slightly.
Push harder, I told myself. Push harder.
But the thud of her hand making contact with the table never came. As I opened
my eyes, I saw that according to our position, I was winning, with her hand
slightly closer to the table than mine. For one final time, I attempted to slam
her arm down. It didn’t work. She simply increased the force she was applying to
match mine.
Spent, I glanced at her arm--her shoulders had become slightly striated from the
effort, and the vein on top of her biceps stood out with the muscle. For a
moment, I lost my concentration.
Then, she gripped my hand harder. She started moving it down, rather
effortlessly, since I was too tired to attempt to resist. With a final slam, she
won.
For a moment, we stared at each other in silence. She smiled. I was breathless.
“You… you never stop amazing me…” I stammered. After all, a dazzlingly pretty
girl my age had just beaten me, and fairly easily at that. That’s not something
that happens to me every day.
She laughed. “That’s okay. I won’t tell anyone about this.”
“You really are stronger than me…” I said.
“Seems like it,” she said, modestly. “Well, after all the training I’ve done,
I’d be pretty sad if I lost!”
“How strong are you?” I asked. I wasn’t aware of how silly I must have sounded.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, could I see you curl a weight with your arms, or something? I just want
to see.”
“Oh, sure.” She sat for a while, thinking. “Wait, I have an idea.”
She placed her right elbow on the table, much as she would for an armwrestling
match, except that her palm was facing her face.
“What are you doing?” I wanted to know.
“Just an idea. Pull my hand towards yourself. I’ll try to resist, and I’ll do
curls that way.”
“Why not weights?”
“I could use weights in my own time. You’re here, so we might as well make it
interesting, right?”
“I see…” I gripped her hand with both of mine. “Ready?”
“Okay.”
I pulled. Not with all my might, of course, since no matter how strong she was,
there was no way she was going to hold my entire bodyweight with one arm. Or so
I reasoned.
Her pull was strong, and I made her struggle. Each time her arm bent, her biceps
came up to meet her forearm--and when her arm was straight, I could see the vein
on top of her muscle. Her forearms, as usual, were impressive, as were her abs,
which she had unconsciously tightened, just as she had during our armwrestling
match.
After about 15 reps, I could see that she was straining rather hard. She let go,
and we worked her left arm in the same way, which was equally strong and
muscular.
Once we were done, she dropped her arms on the table in exhaustion. I marveled
at her biceps--now unflexed, they were soft, but still defined. Then she gave me
a full double bicep flex, and smiled, knowing that I was loving it. The hard
peaks were gorgeous, and I imagined the strength they were capable of, the
strength she had shown--
“Wanna feel?” she asked.
She came around the table to the side I was sitting on, and relaxed her arm. I
put my hand on her bicep and gave it a squeeze, feeling the soft muscle. Then
she flexed, and hard at that--and I felt the muscle harden and move beneath her
skin. Incredible, even though this must have been at least my tenth time feeling
that same muscle. I didn’t know what to say.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to say anything. I let go of her arm.
“Okay, I think it’s time to work my legs,” Laurie said. I wondered what she had
in mind this time, amazed that she wanted to strain her legs even more after her
recent run. No wonder they looked the way they did.
She stood up and walked to an empty area of the gym-basement. “Come stand in
front of me,” she commanded. I did so.
It hit me--I realized that she was going to lift me up. She bent down in her
knees and slipped her right arm underneath my legs and her left arm under my
back. She asked if I was ready--I said that I was--and she lifted me, slowly,
off the ground. My eyes were now facing the ceiling and my body was right
against her tight stomach. She was straining--I hoped she wouldn’t drop me.
Then, she bent her knees into a squat. It couldn’t have been in great form, with
the shifting of her balance point due to carrying me, but it was a squat
nonetheless. Once her legs were bent, she started to straighten them--I noticed
how slowly she was doing it, letting the full weight strain her thighs for a
long time. I wish I could’ve seen her thighs, the muscles tensing and moving,
but the sight of her abs was good enough, as the separations moved close to one
another and the muscles were squished due to having her back bent.
She was now standing upright, but decided to go down again--down we went,
slowly, and up, just as slowly. She stood for a long time, trying to make up her
mind about whether or not she could do one more rep. But she couldn’t, and let
me down.
She informed me that sadly she was probably done with her workout for today.
I got a chance to look at her entire body, pumped after her workout. It was so
perfect… small drops of sweat were running down her stomach, making it glisten…
the veins on her arms were clear… her shoulders were rounded… and her thighs
formed clear curves from her knees. Her breasts stood out softly on her hard
body. I had a chance to look at her calves, too, when we were heading up the
stairs--they formed clear striations from soft curves as she raised her weight
onto each new step.
She put her t-shirt back on, once we reached the regular, living area of her
house.
“Thanks so much. That was the most interesting workout I’ve ever had!” she said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever worked out like that with someone before.”
“Yes, that was… definitely the best workout,” I responded. Of course it was, and
she had enjoyed it, too.
I still remember that day clearly, and I’m sure I will never forget it. The girl
with the most perfect body--and I was the guy lucky enough to see it in action.
