Sue was ahead of her time

[bigjake737]

In the polyester pulse of 1975, where disco thumped and shag rugs sprawled, Sue lived in a modest house tucked behind the grander home of Michael's family. Sue was Michael's sister Jenny's friend, a lanky 16-year-old with a galaxy of freckles, a nose that seemed to chart its own course, and a deep, gravelly voice that sounded like she'd been gargling gravel. The boys at school snickered, tossing out nicknames like "Froggy" or "Big Nose Sue." Michael, though, was smitten. At 18, a senior and the school's golden boy—track star, prom king hopeful, and the guy every girl swooned over—he couldn't fathom why Sue, of all people, made his heart sprint. Her unapologetic oddity, her loud laugh, the way her hazel eyes twinkled when she cracked a bad joke—it hooked him. He was popular, smooth, but utterly stumped by his feelings for her.
One muggy July afternoon, Michael was in his upstairs bathroom, fiddling with the window blinds for no good reason. His gaze drifted to Sue's backyard, a scrappy patch of grass framed by a wobbly fence. What he saw stopped him dead. There was Sue, in a bright red bikini straight out of a Sears catalog, lifting weights. Not those flimsy, pastel dumbbells girls sometimes twirled in gym class, but heavy, clanking barbells that would've humbled the wrestling team. Her pale, almost ghostly skin shimmered under the sun, muscles straining with each rep. Her biceps bulged, her shoulders flexed, and her thighs looked like they could crush a cinderblock. Michael's jaw dropped. This wasn't just rare for the mid-'70s—it was radical. Girls didn't lift like that. But Sue did.
He couldn't look away. The image branded itself into his brain: Sue, fierce and powerful, her freckled face locked in determination as she hoisted the barbell overhead. For the rest of the year, Michael was a wreck. Even as he glided through the school hallways, classmates orbiting him like he was Elvis, his mind kept replaying Sue's backyard. Her baggy sweaters and corduroy skirts couldn't hide what he knew was underneath—a physique forged by sweat and iron. Every time he passed her, loping beside Jenny, his cool-guy mask slipped. His cheeks would burn, his palms would sweat, and he'd mumble something dumb before bolting. Sue, oblivious, would just grin and wave, her coarse voice calling, "Hey, Mikey, what's up?"
By spring, Michael's crush was a five-alarm fire. He was doodling barbells in his notebook during history class and zoning out during track practice, daydreaming about Sue's muscles instead of his next race. One day, after school, Sue cornered him in the empty hallway near the lockers. Her freckles seemed to glow under the fluorescent lights, and her eyes had a mischievous glint.
"Mikey," she said, her voice low and playful, "I gotta talk to you."
Michael's heart jackhammered, his usual swagger AWOL. "Uh, yeah? What's up, Sue?"
She leaned closer, her lanky frame slightly shorter than his lean, athletic build. "I've seen you, you know. Staring out your bathroom window. Watching me lift."
His face went fire-engine red. "I—I didn't mean—uh, I was just—"
Sue laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that made his knees wobble. "Relax, I'm not mad. Actually... I love it." She paused, her grin softening. "I've had a crush on you for a while, Mikey. And I can tell you're into my muscles. Don't try to hide it."
Michael's brain bluescreened. The school's golden boy, who could have any girl, was floored. "You... you have a crush on me?"
"Yup." She crossed her arms, and even through her sweater, he could see the outline of her biceps. "So, I gotta ask—do you ever, like, dream about my body? All this?" She flexed one arm playfully, and Michael nearly choked.
"I, uh..." He swallowed hard, his voice a whisper. "It's more than dreams, Sue. I think about you all the time. Like, all the time. Sexy thoughts, I mean." His face was practically molten, but the words tumbled out, his cool-guy filter fried.
Sue's grin widened, and she grabbed his hand. "Come with me."
She led him to the community pool, deserted in the late afternoon. The water gleamed under the fading sunlight, and Sue kicked off her sneakers, peeling off her sweater to reveal a tank top that showcased her sculpted arms. Michael's mouth went dry. She sat on the pool's edge, feet dangling in the water, and patted the spot beside her.
"Sit," she said, her voice taking on a theatrical, deeper tone, like she was channeling a game-show host. "And get ready, Mikey, 'cause I'm gonna give you a show. See, women aren't doing bodybuilding yet—kinda crazy, right? But me? I'm obsessed with male bodybuilders. Guys like Arnold and Franco, all oiled up, flexing like gods. I study their poses, their routines, everything. And since you're obviously into this—" she flexed both arms, her biceps popping like softballs—"I'm gonna be your personal Mr. Olympia. Call me... Steve!"
Michael laughed nervously, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might crack a rib. He was already feeling a rush of arousal, his track shorts suddenly feeling tighter. He crossed his legs, trying to play it cool, but Sue's playful energy was electrifying.
"Alright, Steve," he managed, his voice cracking. "Show me... uh, what you got."
Sue hopped to her feet, striking a dramatic stance. "Bodybuilding's all about symmetry, power, and attitude. There's these compulsory poses every guy's gotta nail. Watch close, Mikey." Her voice was still deep, hamming it up, but her eyes locked on his, knowing exactly what she was doing to him.
She started with the double biceps. "This one's the money shot," she said, turning slightly, her back to him, then snapping her arms up. Her biceps exploded, veins snaking across them like rivers on a map. Her lats flared, giving her a V-shape that made Michael's breath hitch. "You gotta squeeze every muscle, make 'em pop. Chest up, abs tight, legs grounded." Her freckled skin glistened with a light sweat, and Michael shifted uncomfortably, his face burning.
Next was the side chest. Sue pivoted to her side, planting one foot and flexing her arm closest to him. "This shows off the pecs and arms," she said, her bicep bulging against her chest, which, even in her tank top, looked carved. "You angle just right to make everything look thick—shoulders, triceps, even the quads." Her thigh muscles rippled as she tensed them, and Michael gripped the pool's edge, trying to focus on her words and not the heat coursing through him.
Then came the back double biceps. "This one's for the wings," she said, turning her back to him and flexing. Her lats spread like a cobra's hood, her traps rising like mountains. "You gotta make your back look like a roadmap—every muscle defined." Her voice dropped lower, teasing. "You like this one, Mikey? I bet you do." He nodded dumbly, his throat too dry to speak, his arousal impossible to hide now.
She spun around for the front lat spread. "This screams power," she said, planting her fists on her hips and flaring her lats wide. Her shoulders looked broader than his, her abs a faint ripple under her pale skin. "It's all about width—make yourself look like a wall." Michael's eyes were glued to her, his hands clenched to keep from trembling.
Finally, she hit the most muscular, crouching slightly and crunching every muscle inward. "The crab pose!" she growled, her biceps, traps, and quads exploding in a symphony of strength. "This is where you show everything—raw, animal power." Her freckles stood out starkly against her flushed skin, and she held the pose, grinning wickedly. "So, Mikey, what's the verdict? Am I a champ or what?"
Michael was a mess, his face scarlet, his breath shallow. "You're... unreal," he stammered, barely able to meet her eyes. His body was betraying him, and he shifted again, hoping she wouldn't notice. But Sue—Steve—knew. She sat beside him, closer now, her tank top clinging to her chiseled frame.
"Women might not be bodybuilding yet," she said, her voice back to its normal, coarse warmth, "but I'm gonna change that. I'm obsessed with those guys in the magazines—their strength, their swagger. And you, Mikey, you're into it too. I see how you look at me. Makes me feel... unstoppable." She flexed one arm casually, the bicep peaking. "Wanna feel it?"
Michael's hand shook as he reached out, his fingers brushing her bicep. It was granite-hard, warm, the freckles dancing under his touch. He traced her shoulder, her forearm, her quad, marveling at her power. It wasn't just her muscles—it was her boldness, her defiance of every rule about what girls should be. That's what had snared him, the school's golden boy, all along.
"You're incredible," he whispered, his voice thick with awe and something deeper.
Sue leaned in, her coarse voice soft. "You're pretty great yourself, Mikey."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, they sat by the pool, talking and laughing, their hands intertwined. Michael didn't care about his popularity or why he was drawn to Sue. He just knew she was the strongest, most extraordinary person he'd ever met—and she liked him back.

[bigjake737]

⚡ Support Saradas

Keep the archive alive with Bitcoin

1QDxcxUx8pnsZvauyVxTqaJrWkeNhQrPdK

Donate →

[Wookey]

Great start. Hopefully Sue will encourage Michael to train with her.

[musqular6]

Nice. This story has a lot of potential to get better. Hope you add to it.

[brave_archer]

This is really great. I love the playful, lustful dynamic between them. It's hot and sweet at the same time. Here's hoping Mikey's love of Sue's body pushes her to even greater heights.