M’Lady Muscle · Part 1 (1/2)
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Chapter One: Incident on Everson Beach
Sometimes the summer comes early. I was used to the high temperatures that can arrive like a shroud in late June and stay, like a relative who doesn't take a hint, until late September. When that happens, it isn't until October finally rolls around that you feel that it has departed, and I usually find myself happy to see it go. But if there was one thing that made the summer heat bearable, that made the sticky clothes and hot summer traffic worthwhile, it was the beach. I had been told that when I moved out here, women would come quickly and easily.
I think that that was part of the mythology created about the place, and in the few months I had spent here since making my mid-winter move, I had found it to be just that. I spent the better part of the morning trying to convince my schoolteacher girlfriend to let her caution go to the wind, and dare to bare her winter flesh just a bit, even in a conservative one-piece swimsuit. It would be a rare sight for me, too, as I had discovered early in my relationship with her that she possessed all the natural exhibitionist tendencies of the Queen of England. I had given up, and when she reminded me that she had to correct some papers, I decided to come alone.
Even the newspapers were talking about how hot it was, and the people of the city responded to it, rustling up wives and kids and in-laws, and made a trek to the sea in mid-May. To put it another way, on this Sunday afternoon still in spring, the beach was crowded. I was standing at the soda machine trying to coax it to either return my fifty cents or send the nutrasweet down to my hand grown impatient as it waited… The machine was leaning up against the wall of the pavilion that served as a combination bathroom and changing room for the beach patrons.
I wasn't paying any particular attention to the conversation of the people that went by, but something in the voices of the two women stepping out of the shade of the building, having just slipped into their beach garb, caught my ear. "I swear Marlena, she was this big!", exclaimed a small, mousy- looking brunette in a high voice. She was dressed in a bright yellow sunsuit, the same style as the one her friend wore, and was holding her hands high above her head. "… Muscles everywhere, too…", the high little voice continued. "Yucch", exclaimed her friend, a teased-hair peroxide job, shaking her head in disgust at the thought. Suddenly, the drink wasn't so important.
I followed the two women. I wasn't interested in meeting either one of them, though. I was interested, however, in what they were talking about. I heard a metallic thud come from behind me, and turned to see a child, gleefully waving a can of coke he had gotten from the machine by simply hitting it with his hand. But I was too busy for that… "She was practically naked, too, it was so gross", she said, as she struggled with a beach bag almost as big as she was. The two women made their way along the boardwalk, walking slowly, I thought, to display themselves in all their over-the-hill glory.
They appeared to be the slightly overage bar girl type, who spend the day dressing as though they were twenty-one while trying desperately to catch the eye of Mister Right, and then spent the evening in the smoke, noise and bluster of the local nightclubs, trying to do the same. The long hours had taken their toll. Their faces seemed drawn, and the loose flesh on their arms and jiggling thighs did not add anything redeeming to the picture. "She went down that way," said the little one again, pointing to a stretch of dune near the eastern end of the beach, where the public section officially ends and the two-mile long stretch of private beach began.
Often, the private beaches were used at night by teenagers in the off-season, for making out and drinking under cover of dark. "I'd never want to look like that!", exclaimed the little one again, as the two anxious maidens peeked over their shoulders to perhaps get a glimpse of her, appropriately disgusted and righteously outraged at the thought of a woman in far better condition than them, and no doubt, a good bit younger… They shook their heavily-teased, and, in at least one of their cases, very peroxided heads. Just then the large beach bag/pocketbook that the little woman was carrying slipped out of her hand, and she let out a cry as the sound of breaking glass was heard.
"Shoot", she cried, "This bag is just too heavy, Marlena. I can't handle it", she whined. I was walking so close to the two women that their sudden stop caused me to bump into the puff-hair blonde, my elbow sinking into the soft and flabby flesh of her upper arm. I excused myself as I walked by. "Oh, that's quite alright!" she answered soothingly, pushing her oversized glasses up her head, her mating hormones switching on like that! I could feel her eyes on me as I walked past them, leaving the ladies to clean up the brown liquid that had began to seep out of the bag, iced tea that would go untasted.
I went down to the beach feeling the excitement stirring within me and beginning to sweat; the sand was hot beneath my feet, almost burning, as I scanned the beach for a few minutes, searching in vain for the object of the ancient maidens'derision. Suddenly a commotion arose from the beach crowd, a noise of murmuring that started out back nearer the boardwalk and seemed to spread, as its source, walking slowly with the confidence that comes with pride, continued a trek to the surf. The course of travel was not particularly swift, but it was sure, and the object of the attention began to come into view. Heads shook.
Some, as with the two beachflies on the boardwalk with the broken glass in their bag, were negative–unappreciative of the sights that they were seeing. Others were merely inquisitive, staring and then turning to their companions for a response to what they were seeing. Still others were frankly in awe at what they saw and looked blankly at the specter of early summer as it made it's way along the hot sand. But there must have been a few, though I could now know for sure, who beheld the sight with a strange lust they did not understand, who could not contain the feelings that were stirred by a sight such as this. I was one of them.
For walking down the beach on a hot Sunday afternoon was a very singular female vision in a tiny swimsuit. Her name, as I was to find out, was Margo. And staring at Margo, I was to learn, had it's own risks. And rewards. She was a revelation of muscle in a string bikini; tall and broad, with a physique so thickly chiseled it seemed almost inconceivable. Her impossible physique was developed to a degree I had never seen before; not even on the late-night bodybuilding shows on cable TV. Her swimsuit was almost illegal, and covered only what was required by law. That is, a tiny triangle of spandex that was easy to mistake for that which nature had given her.
Her breasts, bold and big and mostly bare, adorned by only the same equally small triangles, merely decorated by the skimpy cloth, not covered by it. The rest of the flesh of her awesome body was richly tan, a dark mahogany-brown; heavily, incredibly, muscled everywhere; wasp-waisted, and open for all to see.
It was as though some primeval wizard had tried to build a woman from stone or oak or some impenetrable hard wood; and unsure of her purpose in that harsh world had decided to make her adaptable to any purpose that may present itself; giving her the awe-inspiring frame and musculature of the most elemental Amazon High Priestess, as well as the huge perfect breasts and full curvaceous hips of a Siren; a Primitive Earth Goddess-Life Bearer going for a stroll on the dunes, as she surveyed her domain….. Her full round buttocks swayed with every step, as darkly tan as the rest of her.
Cleavage protruded from her torso, big intimidating breasts that seemed to threatened an imminent explosion from that tiny top any second now… Margo lifted weights. And it showed. Boy, did it ever….. She carried a small athletic bag in one hand, and a pair of spiky high heels that looked, from where I stood at a distance, to be too small for a woman her size. By now you can tell that I was secretly fascinated by women like this. She wasn't limited by the small, dainty frames that so many women have, their was no hesitancy in her bearing, in her approach. This would be a woman who would look you in the eye and tell you what she wants; or perhaps, one who would just take it outright…
She was strong, and beautiful, and I could not help but wonder what it would be like to be with a woman like that—a violation of the natural order, perhaps—-after all, isn't it only natural that the woman be smaller, daintier, someone to watch over, as the song went? What about a woman like this: What about a woman big and strong enough to do as she pleased? Would the natural order prevail just the same? Wouldn't she still have all the finer aspects of her sex? Or would she be an Amazonian She-Devil, devouring smaller men that crossed her path? Demanding satisfaction from her frantic lovers…. I hoped that she was a little of both… She was big, alright. Unthinkably big.
Preposterously tall. Hopelessly gorgeous. Incredibly stacked. A killer package of muscle, size, and sex. And by the confident, slow and slinky way she walked and moved, she knew what she had.
Her shoulders dwarfed those of almost every man on the beach, and no doubt caused quite a bit of inadequacy in some of the men in the crowd. Her arms were as large as the legs of the average woman on the beach, thick limbs wrapped in bicep, tricep,…… All in all, a woman of imposing physique. Margo was built. And I had to get to her, no matter what. The head was a mane of lustrous blonde hair, loosely worn, it's full body flowing down and down; past the wide shoulders so heavily chiseled with muscle. There was a serene confidence that emanated strongly, an unstated yet apparent power that exhibited itself in the seemingly casual way she shook her head freely, the tresses flying wildly.
It seemed to say, for all who were interested, "This is me. It's different. You can't stop looking, can you? Love it or leave it!" Here and there she coolly waved to someone she knew, barely showing recognition on her face behind dark sunglasses as she went, a small nod here, flick of a hand there, as they called out to her. She did not stop walking, or even slow down. She moved with purpose, wherever she was going…. The fact that she was a good head taller than most of the men on the beach, towering at over six foot seven, was enough to stop traffic.
For a moment, it seemed, even the bounding surf seemed to pause, as though a natural phenomena had been detected that even made nature pause. She stopped now, just for a moment, and set her blanket down on the sand, having moved diagonally across the beach to where the crowd thins out decidedly, perhaps sparing her from excessive stares…? Like mine?. Then she kept walking, down to the surf now, the waves meekly washing up against her powerfully-muscled yet shapely legs as she waded in shallow water. For just a moment it seemed that she would keep walking, down into the sea, to return to whatever Asgaard had created her.
With feminine grace, she knelt in the surf, and splashed herself with the ocean that was still full of winter chill. But she did not register any shiverings, as she continued to scoop the frigid fluid onto her skin with a strangely gentle, even girlish movement. That was a remarkable thing about her—despite her awesome muscularity, her every move was at the same time reminiscent of the light touch of the All- American Beauty Queen… A profound femininity had met ferocious muscularity, and rather than one conquer the other, they had conjoined to form a creature both quintessentially female and incredibly powerful. They made for a mesmerizingly attractive package….
She was like a futuristic momument of some kind, brought back to the late-twentieth century somehow, as both a warning of things to come for some, and a hope, for some others, of what was to be… She turned to the sands, walking slowly back to her blanket, smiling a bit, and enjoying the commotion she knew her mere presence was causing. It was certainly causing a commotion with me. All her hard tan flesh was like a dangerous and heady potion for my eyes. Everybody else's eyes were on her, too, it seemed… A guy walked up to her as she walked, magnificent, dripping wet, and she stopped, looking down at him with amusement.
He was tryiing his best to impress her, but she would have none of it, and he soon backed off, leaving her to her privacy, such as it was. My pulse was pounding, and it felt as though there was a half-ton weight on my chest, as I watched her cut a path across the sands, leaving stunned and awed people in her wake. Now and then someone would be looking in another direction as she passed by; their heads would look up to see who or what was throwing such an enormous shadow over their spot on the sands as she passed; the look of shock on their faces was uniform.
She walked with long, undulating strides over to that quiet corner of the otherwise busy beach, where she had sat down her blanket, a startlingly beautiful natural phenomena in blonde hair, muscle, and curves. She ran her hands through her thick mane of hair now, her power obvious in even this small and sensual act, and presently pulled a rubber band from her bag, pulling the gorgeous hair into a neat bun; the hard muscles of her abdomen flexed as she raised her arms over her head. She lay down on the white blanket and spread that massive, hardbody of female muscle on a blanket, offering her frame to the sun, like a high priestess, her sinewy arms spread out from her torso on the blanket.
I was transfixed, and I knew that I would have to spend the next hour trying to think of a way to get near her. But what to say? The bold approach? Walk right up to her? Not likely, especially when my lady-love-to-be outweighed me by some one hundred and fifty pounds. A rejection here could not only be embarrassing, but dangerous for my health as well! Maybe I could catch her eye? Not bloody likely, as they say in England. I was fairly good-looking, sure, but not in a way that would catch her eye, if you know what I mean…. She now began rubbing lotion all over the mountainous body, the white lotion fading into mahogany skin and oaken muscle.
My excitement tripled as I watched the slow, firm circles she made on her flesh, the sun-darkened skin absorbing the cocoa oils like balm. She took on a glow. A power that both promised and threatened exuded from her every pore. Huge breasts, magnificent, perfect, caught the sun, every contour of that amazing physique, both from the assets of her sex and the sessions spent with hard steel, caught in the sun's rays, as though being showcased for the stunned, worshipful eyes of whoever was lucky enough to be there. I watched for some time.
Quietly, with as little fanfare as possible, I took the few beach things I had with me, and moved over to that same relatively empty section of the beach, but close to where I could spy my mega-ladylove. Presently, she turned over, and the small g-string bikini bottom showed itself, a small string disappearing between two perfect buttocks, muscular, round and shining. What would it be like to be with her? Would she be a kind creature of affection, or a woman imbued with the harshness her strength implied?
Would there be the gentleness that comes with great strength, the assuredness that her vast physique would imply by it's mere presence, or would that elemental strength display itself outwardly, without subtlety? She would be dramatic–entering a darkened room; naked. The light from the hallway would silhouette her body, statuesque and powerful, her features indistinguishable in the shadow, only her huge and perfect shape apparent to me. Filling the doorway, she would stand there, unmoving, her size eclipsing most of the light now, as she leaned both muscular arms against the doorframe.
She tosses the blonde mane now; casually, with a sensual grace as it falls obediently behind her in a long, flowing wave of golden hair, streaming…
I had to get cooled down. I reluctantly got up, and walked to the surf that pounded on the shore, my head turned the whole time, staring at this prophecy of power. I found myself walk right into a beach bunny, a teenage girl in a small blue swimsuit, proudly displaying her adolescent charms. She saw the state of distraction I had been reduced to by the accumulation of female muscle basking in ultraviolet. " Hey, Mister," she teased, "why don't you ask her out?" And she jiggled down the beach, amused at her own wit. I walked absently along the surf and tried to get myself composed, leaving the public beach behind me. I began swimming in the strong sea, waves crashing onto shore.
I found that my pulse, though heightened by the exercise, return to a relatively normal state in comparison to what I had been experiencing on the sands. I ducked beneath the waves and enjoyed the day, and I even started ogling the beach girls who lay on the private beaches of their daddies' stilt-supported homes, gorgeous places built years ago on sand that had been, at the time, deeper and thicker around the stanchions, the receding sand levels revealed in the fading rings on the wood, year after year after year, dropping lower and lower as I kept walking along the beach.
I wondered how long it would be until nature took the houses altogether, revealing the arrogance of their construction against the most unstoppable force in the world. They would collapse one day, in a storm, perhaps, under a gale of wind and a slam of prehistoric ocean; or possibly they would die gradually, finally giving way on the calmest of days, as daughters bared their rumps to the summer sun just yards away, and giggled as they gossiped.
But the defeat and humiliation of the lovely and expensive old homes was coming, and anyone who looked closely could see it, too… The luxury and splendor and architectural ingenuity would be dashed to the ground for all world to see, an unstoppable and inevitable force reclaiming the fickle sand that the whole structure was based upon. Brute force always won out, even when it fought an architect's computer schematic that claimed the battle would be different this time….. My thoughts returned to the more immediate matters at hand, and as I walked closer to this next house, the last one for more than a mile, I saw several women in the distance, laying in the sun.
I wasn't too lost in philosophical thought that I hadn't noticed them! I lost sight of them now as I continued to walk, the dunes having been re-arranged by the high tide and high winds recently receded. A high wall of sand hugged the shoreline, and I climbed it at it's lowest peak now, and tried to casually stroll by the women for no reason other than voyeurism.
There was a high growth of sand grass, and I could hear their high-pitched talking, the words as yet undistinguishable, but the sing-song tones a clear sign that the girls were no more than teens, who no doubt were talking of college boys with dreamy awe while they bobbed their heads to the pop music that I could hear on the unseen music box. I was looking just for the sake of it, enjoying the prospect of viewing bikini-clad female bodies; and was aware that their youthful ages made any contact unlawful, not to mention immoral. There were limits, after all, even for a still-collegiate looking guy in his early thirties….
Suddenly, the grass cleared, the sand hills flattened, and I was mere feet from the three young girls…. I would just walk by slowly, nod maybe, and smile. Maybe they'd think I was still a bit "dreamy" myself, and I'd walk along the beach a little more pleased with myself than I was before. Male ego, you know. I was unprepared for the commotion I was about to cause… There was no way I could have known what I was about to stumble across.
I could not be expected to anticipate that the three young girls I had seen in the distance, anxious to get a jumpstart on their tans and their confidence boosted by numbers and the privacy they thought was offered them from wandering intruders, had removed their bikinis entirely, and lay in their birthday suits in the early summer sun. We all stood frozen for just a moment, not comprehending the invasion I had just perpetrated, however innocently (or semi-innocently) it had been intended.
The three girls were well-developed. One was clearly in her last years of her teens; her full breasts, nipples as yet unused for their original purpose, standing erect on their breasts, which in turn had the gravity-defying grace of untouched youth. The only hint of adult sophistication was the touch of make-up she wore, and the elaborate twirl of her hair as it swooped above her head. Perspiration glowed on her pale skin as she lay on her back, legs crossed. Her eyes, thankfully, were closed. The second was a bit younger, and already quite tan, firm and athletic. She had a beautiful figure, shapely with no visible trace of bodyfat, just hard lean flesh.
She lay on her stomach, buttocks sweat-soaked and dripping, hair loose down her back. Apparently, she was trying to tan and thus blend the small areas of white flesh on her glutes that stood out from amongst the darker skin. Still another girl, about the same age as the second, was laying on her back, knees up, legs slightly apart. I got a brief but shocking glance at her pink vagina, surrounded by a heavy growth of localized hair; she had apparently trimmed the outlying growths herself, amateurishly, to accommodate her now-removed bikini bottom. Her virginal lips were engorged and swollen under the basking rays of the sun, and her big nipples were hard around wide areolae.
She had a slightly heavy build, with big breasts and a broad back, her waist still somewhat trim, but with large thighs and buttocks that covered quite an expanse of the blanket upon which the three girls lay. Her body did not yet possess the folds of loose flesh that would soon be hers, with the passage of time and the pull of Newton's Law, and without dieting and exercise. But she looked to be a truly erotic sight, a young girl sexually unaware, naked and giggling and content in the privacy she now shared with her very best girlfriends…
M’Lady Muscle · Part 1 (1/2)
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