Confessions of An Amazon and Her Admirer: Chapter 1
By muscle_elf@hotmail.com
An FBB and her admirer develop a strange codependent relationship


I licked my lips and cleared my throat uneasily. I could feel my guts
churning, and my hands shaking ever so slightly. The seats in the doctor's
office were extremely comfortable, but I shifted uneasily. This was harder
than I had thought it was going to be. Way harder. The fact that Winnie was
staring at me with that intense expression of hers wasn't helping.

"I ... uh, I don't want to go first," I stammered.

"Oh Douglas," she said in that way of hers. "We agreed that you'd go first."

My gut instantly bunched at the sound of that tone in her voice.

"Winnifred," the psychologist's gentle tones cut through my mental anguish.
"Please, we spoke about this." I saw Winnie's jaw tighten at this mild rebuke.
"But Doug, she is right. We did agree that you would go first."

I glanced over at Winnie. God she was as astounding a presence as ever, even
like this, nicely dressed up in business type clothes. I wondered if the
head-shrinker felt it too. Her gorgeous blonde hair was pulled back from her
angel like face in a severe bun, and she sported a very demure soft brown sort
of business suit, with a light orange turtle neck and quite conservative
length skirt. But the soft cloth was straining to contain her titanic
physique. It was her off season, and I knew her weight had to be almost two
hundred pounds. Two hundred powerful spring loaded pounds packed onto a five
eight frame. Sitting there with one colossal, tree-trunk like leg up on her
knee, she leaned forward slightly and rested her chin pensively on her right
hand. The result was to bend her right arm, and the soft brown material of her
jacket strained almost to the breaking point around by her massive upper arm.
God, she was doing it deliberately, I thought, as I felt the inevitable
reaction stir in my underwear. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Well, Doug?" the psychologist demanded. "Why don't you tell me about the way
you two first met?"

"Yeah, sweetie," Winnie said with that wicked grin of hers. "Tell him."

* * *

It was two years ago, and I had just been coming out of a bad time. I suppose
in retrospect that that was a major factor in what happened and why I now
found myself in this psychologist's office. After losing my accounting job in
a corporate take-over, I'd suffered almost a full year of unemployment, made
worse by a break-up with my girl friend of almost five years. Just as my
thirtieth birthday was approaching and I was sinking into a real depression, I
finally landed a new job, a good one, with a major company. One of the perks
was a corporate membership with a swanky downtown gym, and I'd thought that
taking advantage of that would be a good idea. I'd been something

of a triathlete back in university, but hadn't run or exercised at all for
most of the time I'd been unemployed. I thought getting back into shape would
be just the thing to get me out of the funk I'd sunk into. If only I'd known.

It was a gorgeous facility, one of those upscale places with massively high
ceilings, huge spaces, and lots of chrome and mirrors. When I introduced
myself at the front desk they were expecting me, and sent me into the back to
meet the personal trainer I'd been assigned. The weight training area seemed
as big as a hockey rink, with rows and rows of machines and racks of free
weights. As it was before ten in the morning it was relatively empty, and I
made my way towards the back, where I could hear the chiming and clanking of
weights. I'd never been into weight training, and it was with some trepidation
that I made my way towards the back. Why had they sent me here?

As I was wondering this, I could just make out two forms behind the last row
of weight machines, one lying down doing bench presses with a ridiculous
number of plates on each end of the bar, the other bent over, spotting the
first. I had a clearer view of the standing one, one of those huge young
bodybuilder types with bulging arms and shoulders. He was shaved bald and
sweat glistened on his polished dome, and I could just see that the other one
had long blonde hair tied in a pony-tail. This was the personal trainer they'd
assigned me? I wanted to get back into shape for triathlons.

"Come on Winnie, push it! Push it! That's it. You got it. You got it. It's all
you!" The bar was going up and down rhythmically while the spotter offered
encouragement. "Two more. One more. YES!" With a resounding crash, the bencher
let the bar collapse back into its rack and sat up, red faced and puffing. I
will never forget my astonishment when I saw that it was a woman.

My surprise must have shown on my face, because she smiled in a defiant way
and tossed her head to throw her pony-tail straight back. "You must be
Douglas," she said in a rounded British accent. "I'm Winnie. Winifred Bailey,
but don't ever call me that, it makes me sound like a great aunt or
something." For some reason, it seemed endearingly cute the way she pronounced
aunt "awnt".

She was quite attractive looking actually, or at least her face certainly was.
Mid twenties, with that lovely cream complexion the English so often have for
some reason, deep and wide blue eyes. The efforts of her exertions had
released scores of tiny little soft hairs along her hairline, and sweat beads
stood out all along her forehead. It was just that, she must have weighed ...
I wasn't sure 175 pounds, packed solid unto her five seven or five eight
frame. Her arms and shoulders looked as big as her male training partner's.
She looked bigger than I remembered Arnold Schwarzenegger from his movies. I'd
never seen anything like it. I goggled at her, transfixed by the sight.

After a moment when I still hadn't said anything, she spoke again. "Aren't you
the new chap I'm supposed to sign up?"

"Uh, oh yes. Yes, I am."

Her training partner snickered and walked off.

"Bye Joey," she sing-songed, in a girlish voice that clashed with the shape of
her physique. "Thanks for the work-out. See you tomorrow."

She had turned away to say this, and I could see her back, almost completely
revealed by the thong type gym top she was wearing. It was bizarre. She was a
living inverted triangle, her back spreading from a thin waist out to almost
cartoonishly wide and balloon-like shoulders, thick with deep, live, rippling
muscle. But her skin still looked like a girl's, smooth and pink and feminine.
Lustrous smooth, and electrically alive. For some reason, I felt my breath
coming in ragged gasps.

Turning back to me I was startled when she said "Well, what do you think big
fellah?" She was chuckling, almost tauntingly. I felt that an electric current
was passing between us.

All I could manage was a shrug, so she continued. "Fourteen stone three
pounds. That's a hundred and eighty five for you Americans. Eighteen inch
arms. Fifty two inch chest. Thirty two waist, twenty eight thighs. Sixteen
inch calves, I have to work on them." Playfully, she struck a muscular pose,
the one they call a most muscular with both arms bent crab like to the front.
Muscles popped out in stark relief everywhere; the shifting and jostling under
the skin of her upper arms gave me the sudden impression of cars parallel
parking. She grinned at him with a slightly gap toothed but dazzling smile.
"Ever see anything like it?

I could only manage to shake my head no.

She relaxed her pose, giant slabs of muscle rippling and ebbing back into
place. "You always this talkative? They told me you were already an athlete."

"Who did?" I asked.

"Your company silly. They booked your membership for you. Said you used to be
some big triathlete, and that you wanted to get back in the best shape. In
fact, that's why you got me." She put emphasis on the last word.

I was transfixed. I nodded. "Yes. Yes I do. I, I've never been into weights
though..."

She grinned wickedly and her eyes flicked quickly up and down my physique. "I
can see that, luv. Don't worry, that's all right. I used to do some triathlons
myself. I'll whip you into shape." She gave me a stunning grin. I had no idea.

***

I too remember our first meeting clearly. Doug was right, it was like an
electric current passed between us. The first time I ever felt that. I'd only
been in the USA for less than a year at the time, and truth to tell I was
deeply lonely. My last boyfriend had been back in England, another bodybuilder
asshole, and since coming to New York I'd been concentrating on establishing
myself - bulking up and trying to build a clientele for my personal trainer
business. That and make ends meet, which was becoming increasingly difficult
as my supplements cycled up. I was just finishing my benching routine when he
walked in, all gawky and sheepish, just like he said. But I could feel
something, he was, well, entranced with me, I could just tell. Of course, I'd
run into some schmooes before, but the reaction from him - it was like nothing
I'd ever felt. And he was cute too, in a totally non-bodybuilder sort of way.

He followed me off like a puppy when I led him around the gym on a tour. I
could feel him staring at my physique. I get a lot of that of course, but this
was different somehow; I felt his attitude was almost reverent. Stopping at
one of the free weight racks, I hoisted a thirty pound dumbbell and pumped off
a good eight reps. He'd been staring at my while I did this, and when I arched
my eyebrow and coyly asked, "You sure you aren't interested in the weights?"
he almost jumped.

"Oh, no! No, not me I'm afraid." He gave me a goofy grin. "Like I said, I, I
was into triathlons. I was never interested in bodybuilding."

"Oh really?" I smiled, switched hands, and pounded off another tight eight
reps with my left arm. "'Cause you look like you really are interested." I set
the dumb back onto the rack. "... in weight training, I mean."

He stammered something and I grinned at him. I was beginning to enjoy this, it
was like playing with a small child. And not like a small child. I'd never
gotten a reaction like this from a cute guy before, and something about it was
entrancing me, as much as I somehow knew I was entrancing him.

I stared him in the eyes and advanced towards him. This must have startled
him, because he jumped back as if he'd been shocked when we briefly touched.

"Sorry," I said. "I need the next weight."

I hefted a forty, and gave him another good eight reps with my right, then
shifted arms for another set with my left. Dropping the weight back onto the
rack, I shook my arms out, so the heavy beef on my upper arms shook
ponderously. "You sure about not being interested in this?"

This time I hoisted the fifty, and concentrated on another set of good solid
reps for each arm. By this time I had the best bicep pump going I'd had in a
while, and feeling somehow thrilled with myself I threw the dumb back onto the
rack with a mighty crash and flexed my now truly massive arms up and done a
few times. Glowing with a newfound sense of power, I grinned at him. "Look
Doug, I don't normally ask this with clients, but why don't you take me out to
dinner?"

I think we were both hooked on each other.