The Housewife Changed  Cont.  Sarah's life Goals

In which Sarah, Richard and Alanna plan to save battered women and Sarah keeps pushing the limits of her strength.


Richard

Sarah came back from her ordeal at Stan Johnson's house with a renewed sense
of purpose and an excitement that I hadn't seen in years.

"I have a purpose, Richard, a real purpose. I'm not just designing ads to get
people to buy things they don't really want and definitely don't need. I am
getting stronger, which not only feeds me as a person, not only helps me
become the me I was supposed to be, but it gives me the power and the voice to
do good in this community. You did not see the fear in that woman's eyes,
Richard. I did."

Then she smiled and started to cry.

"Oh Richard, I just realized how lucky I am to have a husband who loves and
supports me."

Tears were spilling out of her eyes and running down her cheeks. I kissed her
on the lips and the cheek and everywhere the tears were falling. I was tempted
to wisecrack that if I wasn't supportive she could beat me up, but I sensed
her mood did not match that jocular attitude. She was making the point that
not everyone is as lucky as she is. A lot of people have husbands or partners
more like Stan than like me, a lot. They deserve better.

"What I want to do, honey, is to somehow empower these women, but first, I
have to protect them. I think we need more battered women's shelters, and we
need more money for the ones we do have."

"That's a good start, Sarah, but we need more. We need to educate and
empower."

Exactly, the next thing is to empower the women. We need to educate them in
nutrition, ... and health, and exercise. We need to get them working out so
they can first feel good about themselves and second be able to defend
themselves. I may have had you, and you may have made me happy. But I did not
feel good about myself. That came when I met with success in the gym."

"You can't expect everyone to have the same success you had, sweetheart. You
were blessed with genetics that allowed you to make two years of gains in four
months."

"I know, but you are talking physically," she pointed out. "I am talking
emotionally. If these women improve their lifts by even ten or fifteen pounds
in five weeks, that will be something they can be proud of, and I think they
can do more. Maybe some will quit smoking or start eating healthier. Maybe
some of them will avoid or abandon eating disorders, because they define
success by something within their control instead of outside of it and they
realize they need the nutrition to get stronger."

"So this is where your new abilities come into play. You can organize
fundraising through some bike race challenge or something. Get together with
Alanna Hussell and see if she will help you set it up."

Sarah

This was where it all began. I waited a few weeks and called Alanna, and she
liked the idea. She apologized profusely for the events of that Sunday, and I
said, "Forget it. I have. Let's work together on something we can both be
proud of." Then we agreed to meet and plan.

That afternoon, I was elated with the new goals and the possibilities. After a
substantial lunch and time to digest, I went downstairs and started my
workout. This was going to be tricky. I wanted to work myself hard but not so
hard that I would cause Amazonika to come out. Then no amount of weights would
satisfy her.

I knew that I had gained strength from the effects of the serum, and not just
the Amazonika type. The question was how much. I did not want to start too
high and ruin things, but it would have been a waste of time to start where I
had left off. For some reason I recalled the old man saying something about
20%. So I took 20% of my max and added that to my max in each lift and based
my poundage for each lift on that new max. Since my max in the bench had been
280, I added 56 pounds to that and rounded up. "340?" I asked myself. "Can
that be right?" So instead of starting at 185 and working up to 245, I started
at 225 for reps and worked my way up to 315. I was going to try to do work my
way up to that and then work my way down. Six sets of ten reps.

The first set seemed easy, so I was certain that I had figured right. If
anything, I had underestimated. I added 25 pound plates to the end of each bar
and started the second set, but even the second set was not too difficult. I
pushed up ten reps, breathing hard, but without any kind of struggle. I
removed the twenty-fives and added forty-fives for the third set, which I did
after a very short rest. Even that did not prove daunting, so I added
twenty-fives and did a fourth set at 365. I was approaching rarified air. Very
few women had ever pushed up this kind of weight. This time, it was a bit of a
struggle. I heard the "bells" go off in my head and feared the monster would
be coming out, but even though I worked hard to finish my set, Amazonika
didn't emerge. The descending sets got progressively easier, but not nearly as
easy as they had been on the way up the ladder, so I knew I had figured right.
I had pushed the limits and prevented Amazonika from coming out.

I did incline presses in much the same way, flyes with 80-pound dumbbells,
shoulder presses with 240 pounds on the bar. I did the max on lat pulldowns
and added some dumbbells to the stack to increase the resistance. I was not
resting long between sets, only long enough to refresh my energy drinks or
take my supplements. Soon I was feeling an incredible pump from the upper body
workout. I finished with biceps and triceps and then looked at myself in the
mirror.

People complain that bodybuilding is a narcissistic sport, and there is
something to be said for that assessment. You can only measure your success by
closely assessing the size and shape of the muscles in your body. This
involves a lot of preening in front of mirrors. This is totally normal.
However, there is also a fair amount of falling in love with one's self
involved in the sport too. I was guilty of that, but I did not blame myself. I
had worked hard over the past months, and I was making up for lost time. I had
always wanted to be big and strong, and it had always been inside of me. Now I
was reaching goals that I knew had been there all along. I thought back to my
senior year in high school when I had grown to 5"10" and weighed about 155 and
was still doing gymnastics strength moves that the 5'0' 85 pounders were
doing. One day when English class let out a bunch of us were still in the
classroom when an impromptu arm-wrestling contest had broken out.

We had just finished our class and were hanging out in there during recess
when some of the next class began to come in. I had just dispatched with five
straight victims, guys as well as girls, when two members of the football team
came in. One of the girls in my class started bragging about how strong I was
and that I could probably take on two of them at once. I regretted her
enthusiasm at once, when the two strongest members of the team, the tight end
on offense and the defensive end sat down opposite me. We have these octagonal
tables in English, so I sat on one short side, and they sat on the two
opposing edges, with the space opposite me left empty. The bigger of the two,
Max O'Brien, was right handed, so he took my right hand and the other guy, Sam
Taddeo, the tight end, took my left hand. Two different people grabbed our
connected fists and they counted down and started.

I had never lost an arm-wrestling match in school, never, but the odds looked
good for me to lose to at least one of these guys today. My strategy was to
hold them both off for the first ten or fifteen seconds, to see what they had.
Then I realized, if I was going to beat them both, I would have a better
chance if I took them both at the same time, rather than one at a time,
because this would increase balance.

They both decided to try to end it quickly; guys are so predictable that way,
so they fell right into the trap of my strategy. My arms both gave a little
bit, but without straining too much I was able to hold them, and they weren't
making any progress. When I judged they had spent a lot of their energy, I
started to push. They started to go down, inch by inch. They looked at each
other.

"Shit, she's as strong as a fuckin' horse," said Max.

Then, they glanced at each other. Unspoken, they decided to give one last
push. They brought my arms back to parallel and even started to push them
back, but I gathered my strength and held my ground. Then I saw it in their
eyes. They knew they were defeated, so I pushed back hard, relentlessly, and,
with absolute faith in my God given ability, I took then down inexorably to
the table at the same time.

The color of their faces told the story, and the smile on my face was full of
genuine elation. However, it lasted a short time. Winning this contest, one
that I had not sought out, was the beginning of my social downfall that year.
They looked at me with eyes that pleaded with me to keep my mouth shut, but I
did not have to say anything. There had been at least fifteen people in that
room. Some of them had left the room in a hurry, like carrier pigeons with
news for the world, and while my victory did no good for me socially, their
loss was even worse for them. It was the memory of this moment and the weeks
afterward that made me cease my efforts to gain strength and size, because
girls were just not supposed to do that.

In the moment, I thought it was pretty cool, and I do remember going into the
bathroom moments after the match and peeling my sleeves back to see my
muscles. They were big even then, and not just for a girl. I had the same type
of intoxication that moment that I was feeling now as an adult in the basement
of my own house, looking at the results of my hard work. But when reality hit
back then, I changed my tune and buried my desires for myself under the
garbage heap of society's expectations. That is why this new revelation was so
special for me; it was a vindication of who I was then and an empowering
moment. Now I looked in the mirror at a woman who was achieving her utmost
goals, a woman with 22 inch biceps, huge shoulders, ten pack abs and the rest
of the body to go with it. It was not the body of a man, as some detractors
might say, it was the body of a strong woman, and every inch of it was
feminine but powerful. I hoped it would lead to the empowerment of more women.
I felt as if God had given my body strength, my heart a purpose and had
touched my soul. I was happy.

Alanna Hussell

You could have knocked me over with a brick this morning when I got a call at
work and it was the boss's wife, Sarah. She called to socialize a little but
mainly to arrange a time to get together for drinks, because she had something
serious to talk to me about. I suggested later in the week when Mr Latella
would be in Texas on business, but she said, "No it should be earlier than
that, because I am going to Texas too. Can I meet you after work today?"

"Fine with me," I told her and we settled on a place.

When I got there she was not wearing her loose fitting clothes but a pair of
tight leggings that looked like leather, and a red top with no shoulders or
sleeves. Her delts just jutted out of that top, and her arms looked delicious.
This was a change from before. I had thought she wanted to remain somewhat
incognito as to her body. But this outfit emphasized her greatest assets.

"You look good in that outfit," I told her, and she said "Thanks. I have
decided not to hide my body any more. It's empowering, and I want to be
powerful."

"You don't need to tell me that," I thought to myself, but I just smiled and
nodded.

"Alanna, I have decided that there is an ultimate purpose in my newfound
strength. I want to be a voice for the empowerment of women, especially those
who have been, or are being, abused. There is no place in this country for
that kind of thing to happen."

Now she was speaking my language. I hadn't told her, but my parents had been
abusive to each other. My mom was rude and insulting to my dad, and then my
dad would haul off and hit her. Sometimes he hit her a lot. A few times, I had
to jump between them, because I knew my dad would never hit me. He loved me.
But one time, I had been wrong. My dad just kept flailing away, and both my
mom and me caught the brunt of it. That was the last time I saw my father.

" ... So I want to raise money for shelters for abused women, but not only for
that, I want to have exercise classes and weight lifting and bike riding to
empower women physically so they can have a better self-image and so they can
fight back if they need to. Richard thought fund raising through a bicycle
race or series of bike races would be one way to do this."

"Yeah, and I can help you with that. I know the routes we could ride, and I
know all the people in the biking community. This could really work."

"That's why Richard thought you would be a good person to ask."

"You know, it happened to me, sort of, when I was a kid." So I told her about
my fucked up childhood.

"I misjudged you Alanna. You deserve better, and you should be proud of what
you have accomplished after that.

"I don't know where I would have been if it hadn't been for my bicycle. It was
my refuge and my source of inspiration. I got good at it, and that is how I
gained self-confidence. You're amazing Sarah. You really are. You could have
blown me off. You could have gotten me fired. Instead, you are here getting me
started on a project that makes me feel like I am giving back, like I am
giving to other kids like me, so they don't have to go through what I went
through."

"I'm no saint. I'm just a woman with a great husband giving back to society
the way all wealthy women and men should."

"Well, count me in. I'm gonna hitch my wagon to your cart, or whatever the
saying goes."

With that, we started talking the details and came up with possible dates and
ideas. I was more excited than I have been in years, so excited I forgot to
watch her ass as she left the building. Damn! I would love to have watch her
ass dance up and down in that outfit.

Richard

I came home tonight to the happiest wife I have seen in ages, and she is
generally a happy person. Things had gone well in the planning of the bike
races, and she told me Alanna was the perfect choice for a partner. Perfect.
We started packing for the trip to Texas later in the week. I was worried
about the trip, I told him. "Ever since I started with my exercise regimen, I
haven't missed a day. Now I might miss four or five."

"No need to worry. I know the hotel workout room won't work well for you,
because they rarely have more than enough weight even for a lightweight
lifter. But don't fear, I looked up the local area, and I found a real gym
within walking distance of our hotel. It will be perfect, because for at least
part of the time I will be in meetings that will bore you."

In fact, I had made arrangements and paid for a week long membership at a
swanky club in Amarillo not far from where I would be having the meetings and
really near the hotel.

So we finished packing; she remembered to bring several changes of workout
gear as well as the obligatory formal wear for the fancy dinner when we closed
the deal. Two days later, we flew to Texas. We had a lovely dinner the night
we arrived, a great sleep in comfortable beds, and a relaxed start to the next
day.

Sarah

Richard left right after breakfast, so I read the local paper and sipped some
coffee before heading over to the gym. It was a pleasant walk, as the late
winter weather made for a cool snap in the air. I would not have wanted to be
there isn the summer.

Richard was right, the gym was incredibly well stocked. He had taken care of
everything, as they knew I was coming and gave me a temporary membership card.
I drew some stares from the membership as I sauntered onto the floor. Being
over 6'0 and weighing 240, as I now did, I expected to do that. Especially
since I sported a well-muscled and proportioned 240 pounds.

I stated relatively lightly to warm up, when this behemoth of a man came up
and started making comments. "You're pretty strong, for a girl," he said as I
finished my warm-up on the circuit, usually doing the entire stack on the
pulley machines. He wasn't even smart enough to realize the insulting nature
of his micro-aggression.

"Oh, thanks," I said. Smiling. What I wanted to say was, "Fuck you too. Wait
till you see what I can really lift."

It was leg day, to which I had at some time added dead lifts, so I wandered
over to the dead lift area and put three forty-fives on the ends of the bar. I
performed eight reps, neither straining nor grunting. Then I proceeded to add
another set of forty-fives, and repeated my lifts, and then another set, this
time with five pound weights capping off the ends, just so I could say I did
over 500 pounds. Then I broke down the bar and returned everything to where it
was supposed to be.

I repeated this type of thing with squats. Maxing out at 405 pounds for eight
reps. I was particularly impressed with my leg press. Their machine was the
type in which you lift the entire weight, not with pulleys. I was glad for
that, because the ones with a fulcrum or a pulley require so much weight to
get that same benefit.

I started with eight plates on each end. My legs powered through that. Then I
did it with ten on each end. Finally, I added six plates to a spindle they had
on top. I had to work hard for these, but I managed to complete eight more
reps with 1250 pounds. After which I performed leg extensions, leg curls,
backward leg lifts with weights on my ankles and hip thrusts with a bar across
my lap. I had seen a lot of the Brazilians do this, so I had added it to my
repertoire. When I finished I was tired and happy.

I looked at my legs in the mirror. They looked huge, bursting with power. I
shook them and the belly of the muscle shook loosely. Then I flexed and it got
as hard as a rock. I turned sideways and admired my ass. I looked over my
shoulder and admired myself as I flexed and unflexed, doing a pec dance with
my butt cheeks. Then I stood on my toes and saw my nineteen inch calve muscles
flare out into a perfect diamond shape. Then I got on the floor and stretched,
but while I stretched, Mr. Big reappeared and said, "Nice leg workout. You're
just like so many other women, obsessed with legs. What can you do with your
upper body?" The man was honestly clueless; I think he thought he was being
complimentary.

"Well," I said. "I'll show you tomorrow, that is unless you want to challenge
me to an arm-wrestling contest today." That got him thinking.

"I lifted pretty heavy today," he said. "I'm fairly tired. Can we do it
tomorrow instead?"

Just like a cocky man. Full of bravado but timid when a true challenge comes.
"Oh, so you want to do it tomorrow, when I am tired from MY upper body
workout?"

"No, that's not what I meant. I'm just saying, I am tired from my workout
today. I went for a PR and got it."

"Good for you. And what did "Mr. Mountain of a Man" lift today?"

"I benched 425 for two reps."

That was a chastening thought. I was basing my workouts on a max of well less
than that. It was only a couple of weeks ago that I had done 365 for reps.
"Well, It's ok. I'll take you on tomorrow, even after my workout. I bounce
back fast," but suddenly I was worried.

The afternoon and evening came and went. Richard had enjoyed meeting the
people he was doing business with. They definitely liked his product; it was
just a matter of deciding what the details of the contract would be. How many
machines, whose responsibility it would be to pay for repairs, that kind of
thing? We had a lovely dinner and went back to the hotel to get some shuteye.

I wanted to get a little frisky with him, but he was wary. "What if you get
big again? We haven't had sex where you didn't since that night many months
ago." I told him I had been working on preventing the monster from coming out
through meditation and mindfulness, and I thought I could make it work. The
difficulty is that sex and mindfulness access different parts of the psyche. I
was worried about whether it would work, and I made a mental note of where I
would have to lie down if Amazonika did come out, but I wanted nothing so much
as to blend myself physically with my husband that night.

It did not take me long to get him excited; that was one thing for sure. That
had always been true, but it was especially so these days. And seeing him
excited got the juices flowing in me too. I always liked the way he looked in
a state of arousal, but since the exotic cream days, it was something else. It
was, to be sure, a little frightening to see fifteen inches of manliness
protruding so high from his hips that he could have kissed the head of his own
dick. But as frightening as it was, it was also beautiful. It was a monument
to his love for me, and I worshipped at the altar of Richard. This particular
icon was magical.

I grabbed it lightly and started tickling him near the base. Then I kissed his
balls, taking each into my mouth for a moment before releasing them back. Then
I kissed his cock up and down the shaft. I pushed him on his back and got up
on my knees. I closed my eyes and straddled him, letting his monster rub
against my vulva bringing me closer and closer to the moment of fulfillment. I
could tell it was having the same effect on him.

Finally, when I judged I was ready to take him inside of me, I pressed down on
his hips and slid the top four or five inches inside of me. I was not quite
ready, but I gradually maneuvered so that with each movement, the pain blended
into wet pleasure and soon I was able to slide all fifteen inches into my
body. I rode it up and down, up and down, grabbing his balls, and gently, ever
so gently, squeezing and releasing them, when suddenly he groaned. It was a
groan of satisfaction so deep that he could not hold back. At the same moment,
I arched my back and squeezed my chest muscles. They exploded in size and in
just a moment, I too was experiencing the same type of climax I had months
before. I concentrated hard on my love and not on the monster, and it worked.
I felt the multiple contractions of the vagina and the rapid-fire orgasms that
made my eyes dilate, and my head lolled back and forth. I collapsed into the
bed on top of the sexiest and most loving man I knew.

"I did not think it could be better than before," I said. Then I looked at him
with a love as deep as I have ever felt. He was weeping. "Neither did I." he
replied. "I feared our days of spontaneity might have been at an end, but now
that you have worked on meditation, we can have sex again without having to
worry about Amazonika coming to visit."

"What's wrong with Amazonika?"

"Nothing my dear. In fact she turns me on like very little else can, but this
was nice too, and we can do this in hotel rooms or in our own bedroom in the
morning. We can have a semblance of normalcy." He nestled his head back into
the spot between my chest, my shoulder, and my neck and fell asleep. We slept
the sleep of our lives and it was good.

(to be continued)