Confessions of a Muscular Woman
By Laura B. lauraflex@hotmail.com
Chapter One. How I came to know Ted.

This story contains violence and sexually explicit material and should
only be read by adults.

This is my account of a truly wonderful and yet also very sad and
unhealthy relationship. By telling about my physical and psychological
development, I hope to somehow come to terms with my emotions. I want
to disclose at the outset that I realize how vain and selfish some
parts of my story must seem. I'm trying to be as honest and transparent
as I can possibly be. I've dedicated my life to building my body. I
feel like I'd be doing a disservice if I didn't say exactly what I
think and how I feel; especially in regard to how I view myself. I will
try to be as descriptive as possible in order that you may accompany me
on this very personal journey. I welcome your respectful questions and
helpful comments.

In writing this, I am formally admitting the challenges that lay ahead.
I have no idea if this process will help. All I really know is that I
need to find a better way of sharing myself with my boyfriend, Ted, and
that I love him very much...

I guess I should probably start with a little about my background,
about how I met Ted, and about how I came to be the person that I am
today.

I've always been a curious and energetic person, blessed in many ways.
My parents taught me to value all of life's pleasures and experiences.
I grew up in a wonderful and nurturing environment in which my brother
and sisters and I where encouraged to learn and explore from an early
age.

As a young girl, I remember being more physically active than anyone I
knew. My mother had been an Olympic swimmer, and she particularly loved
to see my interest in physicality and exercise. Thanks to my parent's
beliefs and the ripple effects of title IX, it seemed natural for me to
pursue sports with as much intensity as any of the boys at my small
school. I grew up in a fairly liberal northern California community,
and so no "official" objections where raised when I decided to try out
for the traditionally male soccer team. Soccer had been my absolute
favorite activity from a very young age. The varsity coach appreciated
my skill, size, and athleticism, and even encouraged me to try out. I
became one of only two girls to play for the team, and was awarded a
starting position my freshman year.

When I was growing up, my mom never hesitated to tell me about how hard
it had been for her as a young athlete. When she was a girl, for a
female to dream of one day becoming an Olympian was still considered a
fairly outrageous idea. As I became older and started to experience the
world for myself, instead of rolling my eyes at her stories, I really
began listening to her and thinking critically about what she was
telling me. Trying out for the school team didn't seem like that big of
a deal at the time, but I now fully realize how lucky I am. I want to
express my eternal gratitude to mom and to all the women of her
generation for the bodily freedom that I now enjoy. She always made
sure that I was aware of the long road she had traveled, and I have so,
SO much respect and love for her and for all feminists who came before
me. I have since dedicated my life to helping all women advance in this
ongoing journey. I even recognize that my current relationship reflects
this ethos and is a direct result of conscious choices that I've made.
I guess on some level I can accept that. I only hope that by living my
life in such a way as to be completely true to myself and to everything
I thought I was raised to believe, that I haven't become truly lost.

Anyway, it seems like soccer and studying took up all of my time in
those early years. I liked school, always striving for good grades, and
I LOVED soccer, even soccer practice. As a result, I think I had a
really hard time relating to boys in the "normal" ways that I would see
and hear about from other girls. A lot of it had to do with the fact
that I had absolutely no free time to hang out at the mall or go to
movies, but there was also this sense that boys had no idea how to
react to me. I had a good friend named Robbie on my soccer team (he's
gay but at the time was completely in the closet). He told me things
that the older guys said in the locker room. They would call me a
"stud" and say creepy stuff about how I was unfeminine because of my
athletic ability. This really made me sad and upset because to my face,
the guys totally acted like they where my friends, but then when they
where alone they denigrated and disrespected me. I couldn't understand
why they would do this. On the field, I felt like I was really an
important and valued member of the team. I thought I had forged a bond
of respect and equality with almost all of my teammates as we
experienced the thrills and agonies of each season. But then when the
game was over, these same guys turned two-faced, treating me like I was
a freak and totally inferior. This left me unsure of boy's true
motives. With one wonderful exception, I didn't trust guys at all for
many years. I pretty much withdrew socially, never went to parties, and
generally only hung out with a few of the other brainy kids from my
classes.

At least I knew that on the field I had everyone's respect.  Being
genetically gifted (I was 5'9" when I was 15, and weighed 148 lbs) and
single minded in my dedication and training, I easily assumed a
leadership role.  I was defensive player of the year for 3 straight
years, and helped our team reach the state championships my junior
year.  I think there was a lot of jealousy involved in the guy's secret
loathing, and I can understand it far better now. Looking back, it's
easier to see how petty and naturally insecure boys are. I now
understand that because of the society we live in, it is still
implicitly unacceptable for a woman to excel physically when competing
directly with men. We have long since proved ourselves intellectually,
but when it comes to physicality we are still expected to demure; to
play fewer sets, to use a smaller ball, or to drive from a closer tee.
This never made any sense to me and simply didn't coincide with my own
experience of reality. From an early age, I recognized the illogic of
this mindset and the injustice of this perceived "natural" order. Why
would I ever want to be a cheerleader when I could be the one scoring
the goal? Thank god I had the support and encouragement of my parents,
and that I knew deep down that I was actually an attractive, and
intelligent person. I absolutely LOVED soccer and the positive
reinforcement of athletic performance.

My parents are both Scandinavian, and so I guess I hail from rather
hearty stock. I have long blond hair (which I usually wear in a
ponytail) and dark blue eyes. I usually wear mascara to accentuate my
eyes, but I don't require a lot of other makeup. My genes give me a
naturally thick build, and my chest is rather busty. I've never really
had a problem burning fat because of my history of aerobic
conditioning, and my body and limbs add quality muscle easily. As a
young girl, I could see that the face gazing back at me in the mirror
would be considered pretty or even beautiful. I have high cheekbones, a
small "button" nose, and full red lips. My fair skin has always been
tanned thanks to time spent outside. My extended family, and my
parent's friends especially, would tell me that I was such a "stunning"
or "remarkable" girl. Whenever we went on vacations, strangers (mostly
creepy older men) would hit on me and say how attractive they thought I
looked. I always shrugged this off and did my own thing. I was just too
busy with sports to even care that much about my newfound sexuality,
and my interactions with boys had left me so unfulfilled that I never
felt compelled to dress provocatively or to flaunt my "good looks".
Instead, I chose to concentrate on soccer and to do everything I could
to further my game.

When I was 14, my dad bought my older brother a bunch of weights and
set them up in the basement. Sometimes, my younger sisters and I
watched my brother and his best friend Ted workout. I grew intrigued by
the changes I saw possible through such seemingly simple motions. My
brother was a natural, and he quickly progressed way beyond where he
started. Ted was a cute but awkward skinny-guy who liked to joke around
a lot about his lightweight build. Though Ted was fairly tall, I was
easily 10 pounds heavier than him even after they had been training for
many months. Still, Ted came over a couple of times a week and
eventually I noticed his chest and shoulders starting to harden and
gain shape. Sometimes I thought Ted had a crush on me, but never having
had a boyfriend, I was completely inexperienced at reading a guy's
behavior. My brother told me once that Ted thought I was a total
goddess, but Ted never flirted with me at all and seemed somewhat
uncomfortable when I was around. I told my brother to shut up and
thought he was just giving me a hard time. I didn't find Ted
threatening or duplicitous at all because he never tried to cover up
how unsure he was of himself. At practice, the older guys constantly
bragged to each other about how potent they where sexually, or how they
had seduced this or that girl. But Ted was totally different. He liked
to talk to my brother about the books he was reading, and I never heard
a chauvinistic remark cross his lips. Though he was very shy, if I
approached Ted and started to chat, he would eventually tell me a joke
or say something cleaver that made me laugh and laugh. I had seen Ted
on the sidelines with my brother at a few of my games, and he always
complimented me on how well I played. I was fascinated by how smart Ted
was, and started to have pangs of romantic feeling for him whenever he
came over. It was total puppy love, and I found myself grinning from
ear-to-ear when I saw Ted in the halls at school. Unfortunately, Ted
was cursed genetically with a rather slender body type. He had a really
hard time gaining any mass or density no matter how hard he tried. My
brother told me that this bothered Ted a lot, but to me it was somehow
endearing and added to his allure.

One summer, my mom "suggested" to my brother that he let me give
weightlifting a try because she thought it would help me with soccer.
My brother grudgingly accepted, and let me workout with him whenever
Ted didn't show up. Because I had been watching their training routine,
it was easy for me to hit the ground running. After the first few
weeks, I was lifting heavier than Ted had been. My brother kept this a
total secret; he knew it would hurt his friend's feelings if he found
out. Because of Ted's naturally narrow shoulders, thin arms, and skinny
legs, he had reached a plateau in his training and grew discouraged.
Ted and my brother remained really good friends, but eventually Ted
stopped coming over to workout altogether. I still saw Ted, but not
nearly as frequently. I remember thinking about Ted a lot during that
time. I got the sense that Ted somehow knew that I had replaced him as
my brother's training partner. I recognized something slightly
different in Ted's face when he saw me- the glimmer of a shared,
unspoken knowledge. I felt a great amount of guilt. My brother quickly
grew to prefer lifting with me because of my superior strength and
fiery passion. My love of soccer and my desire to improve my game
fueled every rep. In turn, I totally motivated my brother and
challenged him every day to match my intensity. In my mind, I told
myself that Ted just didn't have it in him, and that he wasn't a
natural athlete; this was just the way it had to be, and there was
nothing that could be done about it. But my heart told me otherwise. I
wanted to talk to Ted, to share my feelings with him. I wanted to
apologize and tell him that he was such a great person; that he was so
smart and funny that he shouldn't worry about what everyone else
thought. Deep down, more than anything else, I longed for his approval
and wondered how he really felt about me.

Then came a huge shock. Ted's mom worked for a large corporation and
was transferred out East. It all happened so quickly that the impact of
this news barely had time to register. I remember the night Ted came
over to say goodbye to our family. Every detail is etched into my
brain. I didn't go downstairs with everyone else, just to see if Ted
would really try to find me before he left. When I heard a knock at my
door, I was elated. It was the first time Ted had ever come up to my
room. There was electricity in the air. The instant I saw him, I knew
that I meant a great deal more to Ted than I had imagined. He looked
serious, and sad; his face told me that he didn't want to have to say
goodbye.

Ted was wearing a red shirt and jeans. He entered rather sheepishly as
I glanced up from the textbook I had been reading on my bed. I was
studying for a calculus quiz, dressed for comfort in an old pair of
umbros and a sweatshirt. Lying on my stomach, my golden legs where
bare. My large, well-developed calves bulged as I absentmindedly rolled
my ankles behind me, stretching out my tired muscles after a long day
of practice. Ted tried to make small talk about my next game, but I
could tell he was completely distracted. He kept looking around the
room at my posters and at the books on my bookshelf, everywhere but at
me.

Ted began to say something, then stopped. I knew he was searching for
the right words, but was having a difficult time expressing his
emotions. As Ted fumbled for a way to verbalize his feelings, his eyes
panned across the room. I watched his gaze finally settle somewhere
just behind me.

I decided I had better go first; I'd just tell Ted what a huge crush I
had on him. No... I'd, attempt a joke: something to break the tension.
I would try to clear the air and put us both a little more at ease...

But then, ever so slowly, Ted's expression began to change. He suddenly
turned a light shade of red. He trailed off mid-sentence, totally
seizing up. He stood absolutely still and just stared, transfixed. It
was like he had entered another world, now oblivious to our attempted
conversation. Alarmed, I glanced over my shoulder, half expecting to
see a burglar at the window. There was nothing. Again I looked at Ted,
this time following the vector of his gaze. After a few seconds, it
finally dawned on me. Ted was focused intently on the motion of my
calves, slowly flexing, then relaxing again behind me.

I couldn't believe it. For the first time in my life, I experienced the
true impact my body was capable of having on another person. Shocked, I
studied Ted's impuissant expression. All thoughts of goodbye vanished
from the room. In their place, I felt an almost animalistic type of
reckoning... as if Ted were a gazelle, frozen in place by the sudden
appearance of a hulking lioness. By simply displaying my body in a
totally natural and uninhibited way, I had reduced a bright and
articulate person to a state of muted awe. I was as intrigued as Ted. I
slowed the motion of my left ankle to a deliberate, powerful roll. I
glanced behind me again. My calf's diamond surface bunched, and then
sprang to life. I looked at Ted. The room was dead silent as I flexed
rhythmically, save for the exaggerated rise and fall of Ted's chest. He
was mesmerized.

An eternity seemed to pass. Finally, Ted began to regain his composure.
He turned an even darker shade of crimson as he realized I had been
watching him intently. Diffident, he looked into my eyes for the first
time that night. I knew instantly that Ted sought forgiveness for his
transgression. It was so out of character, so unlike Ted to display any
kind of blatant, sexual fascination around me. I knew he felt
incredibly ashamed. He was searching for an out, a pass. His eyes
pleaded with me, begged me to release him from his torture.

I suppose I could've pretended that I hadn't noticed his ogling. I
could have let the whole incident pass between us, ever so briefly
acknowledged, then forgotten. But for some reason I didn't. Inside me,
a switch had been flipped. Suddenly, I was another person. I felt
emboldened by the newfound power Ted's reaction to my body had
elicited. I locked eyes with Ted, and returned his gaze. I smiled
confidently. I held him captive in my sights. Just viewing my powerful
calves had completely overwhelmed Ted. I felt tremendous and
intoxicated while Ted seemed to whither and shrink under the floodlight
of my scrutiny. Unrelenting, I stared at Ted, into him, through him. It
was my very first exercise in unforgiving mastery.

Ted has told me that at that very moment, when we where both still so
young, he immediately realized the idea of struggle would have been
senseless and utterly futile. He felt as if he were drowning in the
middle of a vast ocean, and had no choice but to quickly surrender, to
accept my will. Lost in my eyes, our true inner-selves embraced for the
first time. My dominant yin powerfully enveloped his submissive yang.
His demeanor changed. He looked stunned, tranquilized. He no longer
cared for anything in the world. Vanquished, he finally blinked, and
then slowly looked down at his feet. Minutes passed. He was broken. I
knew he could still feel my cold blue eyes boring into him like lasers,
and this added to his complete humiliation.

Then, seemingly from miles away, a sound echoed up the stairs. I
whipped my head toward its source, glaring at the door in a flash of
uncomprehending anger. I realized that it was my brother; he was
calling for Ted. My bubble of absolute power was burst, my dominion
intruded upon. I felt Ted's eyes once again; sensed him regarding me
with wonder. But by the time I could refocused my attention, Ted had
turned toward the sound of my brother's growing voice. Released from
his bondage, Ted trembled slightly, as unsure of himself as an
abandoned puppy. He looked sick to his stomach, but seemed to regain a
sliver of life as he reacquainted himself with his surroundings. Before
I could say anything, Ted's hand was on the doorknob. I heard my
brother, now bounding up the stairs. Cold hard reality had reasserted
itself. My heroic confidence was shattered, in its place, a creeping
despair. Ted's footsteps were erratic as he stumbled downstairs,
meeting my brother on the landing. Then, they were gone.

Looking back, I now realize I had no way of processing my true feelings
about that night. I was so young, so ill-equipped to deal with the
subsequent torrent of emotions that I had no choice but to repress the
"deviant" impulses kindled by this encounter. I largely internalized
its lessons. Fascination fused with guilt in my subconscious. Instead,
my adolescent memories of Ted consisted of fond, rosy images: the cute
and brilliant guy who I had such a crush on.

Ted has confessed to me that it was on that night so long ago, lost in
my eyes, that he comprehended my true being. I'm not sure if this is
really the case or not. I don't know if I was born with an innate
desire for ascendancy, or if this early experience helped to define the
person that I've become...

My brother kept in touch with Ted and updated me periodically on how he
was doing. Eventually though, they both went away to college and sort
of drifted apart. Ted won a scholarship to an Ivy League school, and I
had heard he was dating a bright coed from England. At first, I missed
Ted incredibly and thought of him every day. But then, inevitably, I
found myself falling in love once again.

(C) 2004 Laura B. All rights reserved.