The Melinda Stories part one - Tall Skinny Melinda

Chuck meets and marries Melinda, an intelligent and loving, but very skinny, girl. After she sees his attraction to muscular women, she decides to give weight training a try. Do I have to say more?


Tall Skinny Melinda

My name is Charles Danforth; my friends call me Chuck. I, like many men I am
sure, have a secret desire to be with a woman with muscles. I don't want her
to look like a man; I want her to be feminine and sweet, but I want her to
have muscles that make most men envious. The problem is that women like this
are in short supply, and muscular women who are interested in being with an
average sized guy are in even shorter supply.

I have noticed in my perusal of various internet sites that most muscular
women end up with male bodybuilders, some of whom look like houses on legs.
However, every once in a while you will see a happy couple in which the woman
came to the sport of weight lifting and or bodybuilding after they were
married. Pictures of a family with an incredibly muscular woman and a happy
husband and family are always a bit incongruous, but for men like me, they
always lead to a certain amount of envy, or they did until my own wife started
to lift and we became one of those families. This is her story.

Melinda and I met when friends had dragged each of us to the same party. My
friend had particular interest in this mousey little girl who was cute but
definitely not my type. He brought me so that he would have someone to talk to
if she did not respond to his charms. Melinda was in a similar situation, as
it turns out. Things worked out for my friend, and in the end, they worked out
for me, but for a while, I was stranded at a party at which I knew almost
nobody.

I was wandering the party with my beer, looking for someone who looked like
they were in need of someone to talk to when I saw Melinda sinking into an
overstuffed comfy chair that did not have a lot of support in the seat, the
kind that every bachelor pad of recent college graduates has. I sat on the arm
of the chair and started to make small talk.

"So I'm here because my friend wanted to chat up a girl he was interested in,
and I don't know another soul here."

"Me too," she said. "Pretty typical party. In the main living room there's one
group of clueless people all trying to convince other people they are happy
and have their shit together by being obnoxiously loud. In the smaller room
over there is another group of individuals trying to impress someone who is so
out of their league it's ridiculous. Finally, there are about five people at
this party worth talking to;" she looked at me briefly, "Are you one of them?"

I knew immediately she was far more interesting than the other women at the
party. "I hope so; evidently you are."

She smiled and said, "And I thought no one would notice; maybe this is a
better party than I thought." We chatted for a while, and I realized that she
was funny, smart, and interesting. Our politics did not align perfectly, but
the reasoning behind them did. We were pretty much in-synch personality-wise,
and that made her easy to talk to. When that kind of chemistry happens, you
can get swept up in the joy of having someone you actually like to talk to
about things, and the dreams you might have about the ideal appearance of a
mate fade away.

She stood up from the chair and said, holding up her empty glass, "I'm going
for a refill; can I get you anything?" I was astounded when she stood, and
hesitated to answer.

"Yes, thanks!" I said, and I handed her my empty glass. She stood well over
six feet and was model pretty but thin, quite thin. When she returned, we
continued to laugh. We played the obnoxious and arrogant game of picking
people out at the party and sardonically weaving the story of their life. Then
we talked a little about ourselves: then we exchanged numbers, and I promised
to call. She probably thought I wouldn't ever call, but after some reflection
made me realize I had enjoyed that evening more than any evening I had spent
at the gym on the elliptical looking at the buff girls lifting and wishing I
had the balls to ask one of them out, I decided to pursue a relationship with
her. Soon we were dating steadily, and within a year, we were married. I have
never regretted it, but there was a part of me that continued to fantasize
about buff women.

About a year after we were married, I had been surfing the web and looking at
pictures of female bodybuilders, and I had to answer the phone. I failed to
close out of the website; I just minimized it. Unfortunately, while I was on
the phone in the other room, Melinda had to use the computer to look up a
recipe for the dinner she was making. Up popped a few of the pictures. She was
mortified, but she didn't say anything. She just left it, and the recipe page,
up on the desktop. When I returned to the computer, I saw it and realized that
she had discovered my secret.

We talked about it, and I told her I had always had this fascination with
muscular women, but it didn't mean anything. I loved her and only her, etc. It
didn't really matter what I said. She was quietly hurt, and I figured I was
going to pay for a while.

Perhaps nothing would have come of it except that we went to a party about six
weeks later, as the summer weather was beginning to soften the cold weather of
our northern climate. The host and a few of his friends were exercise fanatics
and they decided to have an arm-wrestling contest. One of the people who
really stood out was the new girlfriend of one of my oldest friends. About
5'6" tall and weighing probably 150 or more, she was built like a brick
shithouse. She had a gorgeous pair of arms that she displayed in all their
beauty by wearing a very skimpy top with no shoulders. Her bicpes had that
somewhat bulky look that shows fitness but still looks soft. Ne veins, and no
striations, but smooth round muscles that made most of the men at the party
circle around her. She easily beat all the women who entered, and then
dispatched with all but two of the men; I was one of the two to beat her, but
it was a struggle, and watching her biceps bulge as I struggled to beat her
turned me on and caused a different bulge to occur. Melinda noticed and
commented on it as we drove home.

"I saw the way you looked at that arm-wrestling chick," she said accusingly.
"What do I need to do to keep your attention on me?"

I sat in silence, as we drove home, guilty as charged. "I don't know," I said.
"I did not seek her out. I did not hang out with her during the party as most
of the other men did. I noticed her in that skimpy tank top she wore, but I
stayed away until I had to arm-wrestle her. I don't know what more I could
have done."

"I guess," she said, "the only thing left is for me to start lifting weights
myself." I looked at her. Her six foot two frame was packed with 135 pounds of
almost no fat or discernible muscle. I thought it was a hopeless cause, but I
wanted to be encouraging.

"I think that might be fun. We could go to the gym together."

"Let's start tomorrow," she said. "First we will have to go to the store and
get me some workout gear, though." Great, I figured. We'll waste a whole lot
of money on gear that she will stop using after a month. However, wisely, I
said, "Great idea. I'll help you pick some stuff out."

"No thanks. I have seen your sense of style, honey. You may be strong and fit,
but you don't have any taste in clothes, workout or other." That was how it
all began. When we went to the gym, I introducd her to the equipment and the
different exercises. "All this time, I thought dumbbells were the people who
did the exercises," she said once, and then "Leg curls only happen when you
haven't shaved in a long time." I realized we had a ways to go.

I handed her eight-pound dumbbells and showed her how to use them for curls.
They flopped uncontrollably as she performed her curls, but she managed to get
eight curls with each one. At the bench press, she could barely do five reps
with the bar alone. Her squats were better, but she was only doing bodyweight
squats. We would slowly add weight one dumbbell level at a time. She did leg
extensions and curls with one plate, and found them tiring. I could see this
was not going to be an easy climb. Every exercise was like this.

After she was finished, I did my own training. I worked upper body and knocked
off my usual 225 on the bench and 180 on the overhead press. I did
concentration curls with 40 pounds, and pull downs with 180. I had been doing
this for a while. She watched, somewhat surprised, never having seen this side
of me.

"I'm actually impressed," she said. "I never really cared about this side of
you. I mean, yeah, I appreciate your body being strong and toned, ... yeah,
there's that, but I never really appreciated the discipline side of it and the
attention to detail. I may be pathetically weak, and I may have seemed a bit
glib today, but I am going to stick this thing out. I want to be strong. I
want to be like that arm-wrestling girl the other night."

We got home and I took out a tape measure from her sewing kit. "You will want
to measure yourself so that you can document your progress, you might want to
keep a journal of your exercises, and we should take some pictures too, every
few months."

Her arms were seven and a half inches at the forearm and only nine inches at
the belly of the bicep, flexed. Her calves were only twelve and a half inches,
and her thighs were sixteen. Her chest measured 33, waist 24, and hips 34. She
had some nice curves, so there was potential for a very curvy body if she
added a bit of weight, but she was a very thin curvy, the kind with a wide but
bony pelvis and a narrow waist.

Six weeks into the routine, I began to notice some changes, and the most
amazing thing, from my point of view, was that she was still at it. I had been
certain that she would stop after a couple of weeks, but she was, if anything,
even more dedicated than she had been before. She had gained about five or six
pounds and her muscles, though not huge, were if not defined, at least
noticeably there. Moreover, she had added quite a bit of strength. However,
she seemed satisfied, at this point, to maintain her current size and
strength, so she had reached a point of stasis.

We continued to work out regularly together, and she made a small amount of
progress, but things were getting more and more difficult for me. Work was
picking up, and my business looked like it was going to take off. I decided to
spring for a personal trainer to work with her. I found a personal trainer
through word of mouth that everyone seemed to rave about, Sarah Latella. She
specialized in training women who were victims of abuse by boyfriends and
husbands, but she had branched out to others. I figured Melinda would be more
responsive to a female trainer and that the female trainer would have more
sympathy with the pace of her progress.

Melinda fell in love with Sarah, and I was pleased that she was so happy that
she did not mind my abandoning her. I have to say, Sarah worked her hard.
Melinda came home after the first few days with seriously sore muscles, but
she never complained. I noticed very quickly that Melinda's appetite changed.
She stopped craving sweets and she increased her intake of meat protein
considerably.

Melinda is a teacher, and school had started, so her daily routine had to
change. She would rise early every day to go over her notes before class, and
she would go to the gym as soon as school got out. Her workouts, which had
never been longer than an hour or so, began to stretch to two or sometimes
three hours, and her diet changed. She had always eaten like a vegetarian
bird. Well, she wasn't vegetarian, but she might as well have been, ... until
recently. Now she was eating lean meat and greens with only a few healthy
complex carbohydrates. Frankly, I loved the new diet; it was exactly what I
craved. Except I still wanted some white carbs. Melinda seemed far more
confident and happy than I had ever seen her.

I began to notice a difference in her appearance, too. It was hard to tell,
because she continued to dress in that "modest teacher way." She had always
been a modest dresser; typically, she wore long skirts and loose fitting pants
and blouses, clothing that covered up her formerly skinny arms and legs.
However, I noticed her when she got undressed at night. She actually had
muscle on her arms and legs, and her butt had gotten bigger, yes definitely
much bigger, but not in a wide or flabby way. In addition, she was more
confident and aggressive sexually. She no longer hurried to get under the
covers as if to hide her body, she walked in a sultry manner, as if to show
off her new muscular curves. By the time she got under the covers, no further
foreplay was ever necessary. I could not believe my good fortune.

"So you like your new trainer," I said, as a questioning statement.

"Oh, yes! She is the best. She started me off on a basic conditioning program,
but that lasted only a week. She said you had done good work with me."

I smiled, feeling good about that.

"Then she told me I needed to start increasing the weight to increase
strength. I had been content with maintaining, but she convinced me to
'unleash my inner female powers' as she said." I stifled a chuckle, but not
enough; she heard. "You laugh, but she has taught me a lot, and I am way
stronger than I used to be."

I left well enough alone, but a few weeks later, I got a demonstration of what
she meant. My best college friend David, visited from Boston for the weekend,
and the three of us went out to dinner. After a nice dinner, at which I
watched my wife order, and finish in its entirety, the 24 oz Delmonico steak
they had there, we found that two drivers had managed to park in such a way as
to prevent us from leaving. On the left was a Hummer, which barely left us any
room to open the door, and on the right a midsized sedan, I think it was a
Camry, but they all tend to look the same. The sedan was the real problem as
the driver had angled it so that it prevented us from backing straight out.

"Chuck, why don't you and I grab the tail end of the sedan and lift it. We
only need to move it about a foot and a half and it's only one end of the
car," David suggested.

"Seems like a plan." So we grabbed the tail end of the car, squatted down,
counted to three and lifted. We strained to the utmost of our strength, two
average guys with above average strength, and the car gradually lifted, but we
couldn't quite move it sideways because the rear tires wouldn't completely
leave the pavement. I was so focused on trying to lift, I didn't notice
anything else. I heard Melinda say something, but didn't pay attention. Just
as we were about to give up, the car suddenly seemed to become lighter and we
moved it easily to the right, away from out car. I looked to my left, and
there was Melinda, helping us lift the car.

"Jesus, thanks! You made a huge difference," David said to her. I just looked
at her, my eyes wide open. She had given much more than token help lifting the
car.

"I told you I was stronger than before," she said. It seemed to me she had
lifted as much as the two of us together.

The next afternoon, after David took off for the six-hour drive to Boston, I
said. "OK, let's go downstairs to the basement so you can show me your
progress. What you did yesterday amazed me, but I want to know whether that
was a fluke or something."

"Oh, it was no fluke. We have been doing power moves recently, a lot of squats
and dead lifts and such. She likes me to challenge all the muscles groups in
different ways. In the coming weeks we are going to concentrate on building
size, but we have been focusing on strength for a few months now."

"OK," I said. "Let's see."

We both changed for our workout and went downstairs.

I wanted to do dead lifts at first, but I didn't want to injure myself or put
her in an embarrassing position, so I started with one 45 pound plate on each
end of the bar. Before I could dead left it, she picked it up and started
doing two arm curls with it. Her form was perfect, and her formerly small
biceps had grown. I started counting her reps. Seven, eight, "Good job," I
said, thinking she was going to stop at eight, but she kept going. Ten,
eleven, twelve ... She did not stop until she had performed sixteen
repetitions. Her biceps seemed to expand with each rep. I was blown away. She
put the bar down and I stood over it to do my dead lift warm-up. I started,
and she stifled a laugh. When I finished, she looked at me with an astonished
smile.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It didn't occur to me that you were doing dead lifts
with that weight."

"I just wanted a light weight to start with so we could warm up and avoid
pulled muscles," I said. "I have not been lifting very much recently." She
then added ten more ponds to each end of the bar and curled some more.

I removed the tens, placed two more forty-fives on the bar and repeated my set
of six dead lifts. I was feeling pretty good about that, until she added
twenty-fives to the bar and said, "this is what I warm up with." She did eight
reps quite easily. I leaned over and did six more with that weight, but it was
not easy by any stretch of the imagination.

She removed the twenty-fives, added two more forty-fives and then did eight
more, seemingly with great form and little difficulty.

"What the fuck!" I said. "When did you get so strong?"

"Just be glad I did, or we might still be hanging around outside of that
restaurant. Well, it's your turn." I looked at the weight. 275 had seemed like
a lot, but I didn't want to be so easily outdone by my wife.

I stood over the 315-pound bar, squatted down and grabbed it. I yanked on it
lightly a few times to make sure I was centered, and then I started to pull. I
got the bar part way up, but I could not straighten my legs or my torso, and
when I knew I was not going to complete the left, I let the bar drop. I
shrugged and said, "I guess I need a bit more work."

"Really? Chuck, I thought you would lift that easily. I guess you do have to
get back into the gym." Then she added another set of forty-fives and repeated
the reps, this time doing only five and struggling a bit. However, she had
done 405, and my max had been 275. I looked at her body. The former string
bean had added a lot of mass that wasn't immediately noticeable under her
clothing, because of her height. After the dead lifts, I could see her traps
had gotten bigger; her shoulders were rounder and thicker, and the place where
her lower back met her butt and thighs, an area that had always been bony, was
packed with dense muscle tissue.

With the bench, she maxed out at 275 to my 225; in the squat it was her 315 to
my 225 again. As she squatted, her formerly thin legs exploded with power. The
thighs were thick and powerful. Again, her height masked it, because the
length of her legs meant that big thighs would look slender until they were
engaged in activity. This activity showed her power.

Later, she did dumbbell curls with fifty pounds, while I did them with
thirty-five, and I could see that her biceps were beginning to bulge and to
show veins. My skinny little non-athlete wife had turned into a strength
monster. In fact, with every exercise she outperformed me by as much as fifty
percent.

"Wow! You should be proud of yourself," I said. "But don't you think you have
gotten strong enough?"

"No! I got into this because I thought you wanted me to. Back then, I only
wanted to look more like those women in the magazines and websites you were
looking at. I was doing it for you. Now it has become a passion. This is
something I do for me. My coach says I have unlimited potential, and I intend
to develop that whether you want me to or not." With that, she struck a double
biceps pose, and held it for a few moments. It was designed to impress and
intimidate. It did both. "I'd like to see you try and stop me," she said.

At that point, stopping her was not something I had in mind. In fact, her
muscles turned me on, and the bulge in my shorts gave me away.

"Oh, I see that some part of you likes my new body, even if your mind is
telling you otherwise." With that, she swept me off my feet and carried me
upstairs, two flights, to the bedroom. She bounded up the stairs, her
prodigious thighs powering up two steps at a time without so much as a groan
or a hesitation. She plopped me down on the bed and proceeded to tease me by
taking what remained of her clothes off, slowly and provocatively. Then she
tore my clothes off.

When I reached up to pull her down to me, she pulled away. "Not so fast! I am
in control today." Then she proceeded to entertain me with a sexual dance that
would have been impossible before. The used the flexibility she had always had
due to Yoga and stretched and shook her new muscle mass in such a provocative
way that I almost lost my wad right then and there. Then she squeezed her pecs
and turned around to show me her rear lat-spread. Then she alternately
squeezed her left and right butt cheeks in such a way as to display a sexy
movement that would not have been possible when she was really thin.

Finally, she walked towards me and said, "Up in my arms, hunk." I jumped and
she grabbed my butt cheeks. My erection was rock hard and rubbed against her
even harder abs. We kissed passionately for a while and rubbed against each
other provocatively. After a few minutes of this foreplay, she said, "Wrap
your arms around my neck." I did as she asked.

"Now lower yourself and swing your legs between mine." She widened her stance
so I could do so. Then, she then put one hand behind my lower back and another
behind her back and underneath my right leg. My erection was screaming at this
point, absolutely throbbing with desire to encounter the soft, wet, flesh of
the female private parts. Using the strength of her hands and arms, she
positioned me perfectly and pulled me up so that my dick, as erect as a marine
at attention, entered her magic warm space. Then she squeezed muscles I had no
idea had gotten stronger. Alternately squatting down and standing up and
moving my body forward and back with her arms and a small amount of help from
me, she used her new strength and endurance to gratify the both of us, slowly,
completely, and most satisfyingly. When we had both reached the height of
orgasm, and were relaxing, she released me slightly. Then, putting her hands
underneath my armpits, she lifted me up above her, held me there a moment, and
brought me down for a big long and tender kiss as if I was a Teddy Bear or a
long lost doll from her past rather than a 200 pound man.

Finally, after having held me off the ground during foreplay, sex, and the
long kiss, for the better part of ten minutes, she placed me gently on the bed
and lay down next to me. I looked her in the eye and said, "You are the best
thing that has ever happened to me. I worship and adore you, and whatever you
want you have my blessing." She smiled at me, sweetly.

"As if you had a choice."

(To be continued)