Short Story: Back from the Beach
My neighbor’s husband died a few years ago. It was tragic. He was young and healthy…except for the cancer that tore through his body in just a few months.Heather, a widow even though she was only in her early thirties, mourned his loss. The insurance money allowed her time to recover. Heather had always been a runner and found solace in her daily runs. She volunteered as a coach for the local high school track team. Through a chance friendship with woman working in the town police station, Heather began to look into law enforcement.The small town police department was happy to have a new candidate and they were impressed with Heather’s fitness; she was already in better shape than any of the officers. She breezed through training program and was soon a uniformed officer. As part of the job, Heather began to add weight training to her workout regimen. While her tall, lanky body was well-suited to running and endurance, she found it next to impossible to add anything more than stringy muscle to her frame. And while she enjoyed the job, Heather became increasingly fixated on building muscle. The comfort she had drawn during her period of mourning from her workouts had evolved into something of an obsession. But genetics are not easily overcome.Heather and I did not get along very well at first. I’d already been living in the neighborhood when they moved in and she wasted little time making it clear that she didn't think much of me. Her husband was athletic and I have always been more…cerebral. Not that he was dumb, but Heather valued physical prowess; while I considered that rather shallow.However, over the years we seemed to reach a mutual appreciation, or at least acceptance. Since her husband died she even flirted with me a couple of times, including challenging me to arm-wrestle. That’s a challenge a guy can never really win: if he wins then big deal, he beat a woman; if she wins, it’s a huge embarrassment to him. In fact, I beat her easily. She was quite upset by that, given how hard she works out while I do not. I tried to point out the inherent advantage of gender, but she didn’t want to hear it.One day Heather texted me to say she was going to the beach for a couple of weeks and asked me to keep an eye on her house, which I was happy to do. It was late in the summer and by the time she came home, the weather had already started to turn cooler. She pulled into her driveway on a Saturday afternoon. I waved and offered to help her unload, but as a matter of pride ever since the arm-wrestling match, she accepted no help with any physical labor. And I had to admit, she managed her luggage with ease.About a week later, a tree company I had hired came to cut down a very large oak tree that was dead and a danger to both our houses. I warned Heather it would be noisy that morning, which she appreciated. I had the tree cut into fireplace-length pieces, as I enjoy using the fireplace in my home. But that left me with the task of moving some pretty large logs across my yard.Heather saw me working and came over to the fence between our property. “Want a hand?” she asked. I was sweating profusely and nodded.“Not gonna say no.” I puffed. Heather put her hands on top of the 5-foot high fence and launched her bodily agilely over the obstacle. I looked at her, not sure what to say. She smiled and reached for one of the biggest logs. It had to weigh at least a hundred pounds and I started to advise against it. But before I could say a word, she smoothly hoisted it onto her right shoulder. Then she took another log under her left arm and began walking across the grass to the woodpile I was creating. I watched in surprise and awe, noting that the bulky sweater she was wearing was not loose-fitting at all.I loaded my wheel-barrow with wood and Heather made two more trips carrying greater weight in her hands than I could manage on the wheelbarrow.“How are you doing that?” I finally asked. That was the opening she’d been waiting for.“My trip to the beach wasn’t just a vacation.” Heather explained. “I signed up for a high-intensity boot camp.” Heather pulled the sweater over her head and tossed it aside. Underneath, she was wearing a simple white tank-top, which clung to her thickly-muscled torso. She raised her right arm into a bicep flex, producing a baseball-sized mound of muscle with a thick vein running right over the top. My jaw dropped open.“I think you owe me a rematch.” Heather declared, turning a large log onto its flat side. She knelt on the ground and put her elbow on the log, with her hand open. I hesitated. “Um, I think you’ve….” I stumbled. “Oh, no.” She demanded, with a bit of heat in her voice. “You’re going to give me satisfaction.” I acquiesced and knelt down opposite her, taking her hand. Her grip was strong, but I decided I wouldn’t go without a fight.“You say go.” She instructed. I braced myself and barked “Go!” as I threw my body weight into the initial push. She didn’t even flinch. Her arm didn’t budge. She smiled and slowly started to move my hand backwards. Her bicep didn’t even flex as she inexorably pressed the back of my hand to the wood.“Wow. That is just damn impressive.” I had to admit, shaking out my sore hand and arm. She turned and cocked her arm into a rear bicep flex, that was even bigger than before. I took a chance that I was reading the signal correctly and slid my fingers over her flexed bicep. “Hard as a rock.” I declared.“You like that?” Heather asked, already knowing the answer. “I’m just getting warmed up.” Turning back to the pile of cut wood, she stacked large logs on top of each other, two stacks of three logs each. I guessed each stack was a good 250 pounds. Heather bent down and slid her hands under each stack. She lifted them and stood, then carried them across the yard. Her strength was amazing – not only to lift such weight but to adjust and keep them balanced as she crossed uneven ground. The muscles in her back flared through the single rear strap of her tank-top.Heather came jogging back and repeated the feat, this time with the logs piled four high. Her shoulders bulged with striated muscle. It was really sexy, I thought to myself.I managed a trip with my wheelbarrow as Heather took another load – more than twice what I had in the wheelbarrow in each of her hands. There was a single log left. Heather lifted it and to my surprise tossed it in the air like she was playing basketball. The large log sailed through the air and landed next to the woodpile was a deep THUMP in the dirt.I turned to face her. She was glistening with the sweat of a good workout. A droplet fell from her chin and slid into her cleavage. I licked my lips involuntarily and she understood. She lifted the bottom of her shirt to wipe her face, showing off her rippling 8-pack abs.I took the cue and slid my hand across her sexy midsection. She moaned softly. I leaned in and our lips touched, then our tongues danced. She wrapped an arm around me. It felt like a steel trap. I began to realize I had only seen a sample of her inexplicable super-human strength.She saw the look in my eyes. “Time to decide.” She said. “If we go any further, I won’t be able to stop myself. And you definitely won’t be able to stop me.” I did not doubt her words for an instant. I looked into her eyes. My blood surged through my veins, my mind caught between lust and fear. Heather decided to break the tie. She flexed her chest, lifting her breasts into my line of sight and pressing them against me. My hand fondled her hard nipple and she delivered a powerfully lustful kiss that left no doubt I had lost any control I might have had.Heather lifted me off the ground and carried my into my own house like a doll. She took me again and again. Each time I thought I was completely spent she would flex her awesome body and bring me back to life. And then I simply passed out from exhaustion.