“Then I met my ‘perfect’ man. He took my virginity, said he loved me and my life changed. I started eating more sensibly, he moved into my house and I was happy. Then I found him in bed with another woman. I stood and cried while they laughed at me. He asked what the fuck I thought he saw in me. He said I had flabby tits, an arse like an elephant and he thought he’d missed my cunt and was fucking fat every time we had sex. He said the money had been nice, but there wasn’t enough money in the world to make him keep bouncing about on my fat, ugly cunt when there were real women out there.
“Then he pulled back the bedclothes and showed me his partner’s body. He compared every part of her to me, and fondled her as he did. He got hard, and she started sucking him. I had to leave the room. When they finished, he said he was going to stay in our bed and I could have the spare room. There was nothing I could do about it.
“Next day, someone at work saw me crying. She was kind, and suggested I go to the gym with her. I didn’t want to, but … well … I couldn’t say no to anyone back then. I was amazed. I loved it — not just the actual activity, but the companionship, people not looking at me with pity, but talking about how I could improve myself, how I could ‘tone up’. There was acceptance.
“They came to my house and kicked my ex-boyfriend out. They left him naked on the driveway, along with his new girlfriend. I started going to the gym, eating healthy food, specially designed to make me lose weight where I wanted to while the exercise made sure I didn’t lose too much weight where I didn’t want to. My boobs didn’t became smaller, firmer, but I finally had some, rather than balls of fat. And I had hips. They said if I’d been eight inches taller I’d look like a model.”
I was impressed. I had expected it to be depression which drove her to training, but that wasn’t the case. What had taken her to the gym was friendship, inclusivity. It was a new slant for my writing. It added depth. My killer had been used because of his physique, but his sensitivity was ignored. There was more though, and by now, my thoughts had moved away from my writing, and was focused on this alluring woman opposite me. I just wanted to continue listening to her.
“That’s wonderful. Your face has a lovely shape, and your eyes are beautiful. It’s amazing how your skin looks so soft and smooth. Tell me though. You have this lovely body, yet you wear such shapeless clothes. Aren’t you tempted to wear more … I don’t know … tighter fitting clothes? Things that show the people who knew you how much you’ve changed?”
A smile lit her face once more, as she took another sip of wine.
“I haven’t finished yet. The thing is, while I was at the gym, I found myself looking at some of the other people there and admiring them. I wondered if I was a lesbian, but then I realised there was nothing sexual in the way I admired them, it was just that I liked their look. So I decided to ignore those who said I looked ‘perfect’, and do what I wanted for a change. Some people weren’t too keen, but as they said, it’s my body and as long as I’m healthy, it’s up to me. So I changed my training regime, changed my diet and became what I am now.”
I was rather confused. I understood that she had wanted something beyond the ‘perfect’ body which the media promoted, but how did that change what she chose to wear? The confusion must have been evident on my face, because once again her smile warmed my heart.
“Tell you what,” she said, “let’s arm wrestle. If you beat me, I’ll take off my hoodie and show you what I mean. If you lose, you take off your sweat shirt and let me see what sort of shape you’re in.”
I had to smile. I was almost six feet tall, perhaps not as strong as I had been in the halcyon days of my youth, but my muscles were sinewy, and I was powerful as a result of several hours of gardening each day and a generally active lifestyle. She was several inches shorter than me, and while I had no idea what lay beneath the hoodie, I was very confident I could beat her.
I have to admit, my interest in what lay under her clothing went rather beyond the purely academic. I was not far off double her age, and could hardly expect her to have any interest in me, but the sight of her young flesh was guaranteed to stimulate me.
She placed her elbow on the table and opened her hand, ready for me. Her confidence radiated, and I could not help but feel it was sadly misplaced.
I took her hand, loving the warm, soft feeling of her skin, and applied gentle pressure.
“3 — 2 — 1 — go” she counted.
I applied gentle pressure, knowing that my forearm was longer than hers, giving me an immediate advantage. I had decided to be gentle with her, and steadily pressed. She resisted, holding me comfortably as I increased my force. She smiled at me, seemingly comfortable.
I continued to push, still not moving her — it is a lot easier to resist than press back, however, and I knew she would have built some strength from her training, so I continued to push, expecting to feel her arm give at some point. I was casually reflecting, wondering if she would want a rematch afterwards for another piece of clothing. I had played strip poker before as a student, and later with my wife and some friends when we experimented with swinging, but strip arm-wrestling would be a novelty, especially as the game was so weighted in my favour.
Suddenly, she pushed back. I had been distracted and she took advantage. How careless of me! By the time my mind was back on the game, the angle was too great for me to force her back, and my knuckles hit the table.
Her laugh tinkled around the room, making me smile. I’m a competitive person, but losing to her didn’t bother me. It had been a result of drifting into an absurd erotic fantasy.
“You lose your top,” she crowed, “wanna try again?”
I removed the item as agreed. I’m not muscular, but I’m certainly toned and carry no excess weight, so I felt no embarrassment as I revealed my old ‘Pink Floyd’ t-shirt.
She looked at me, appraising. I felt very aware of her eyes on my arms, my chest, and noticed her tongue -tip between her lips, slowly, sensuously leaving a shining trail of saliva as she moistened them.
“What do I lose if you win again?” I teased.
She raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling.
“Up to you. Trousers or t-shirt.”
I was taken aback. Was she actually suggesting some kind of bizarre stripping game? I was old enough to be her father, yet couldn’t resist the impression that she wanted to seduce me. Since losing my wife, I hadn’t had sex with anyone — had not even been interested, yet here I was, with a lovely young girl who seemed to want me. I was momentarily reluctant, when, suddenly, logic took over. Why not? Why not play this to its logical conclusion? Maybe she was just a tease and would laugh it off after I beat her next time.
“OK. If you’re happy to be in a house with a half naked man who you hardly know, let’s do it.”
This time, I decided that I was not going to make any mistake. I pushed immediately, expecting her arm to collapse. It didn’t. Not only did she hold my push, she pushed back, defeating me with ease.