Bodacious Bettina
by Caprishus, Caprishus@aol.com
Getting what you want in the personals can hurt

This story is based on actual people and an actual date they had. Some names 
have been changed, moments exaggerated or created, for your entertainment. Most 
of this story, however, is true.


	"Scorpio, late 30s, two cats, red hair, green eyes, seeks 
nice guy for fun and relationship..."

	I'm a cat person and fully believe women are at their 
sexiest from 35-50. I was also longing for female company as I 
rebounded from a divorce that had been my fault. So, this ad 
from the Dallas New Times Personals section, popular with many a 
single transplant, drew my eye.
	Besides, despite being a Gemini, I have many planets in 
Virgo and Scorpio. Scorps love me. My ex-wife was a Scorp.
	I left a message on the ad's voice mail box and went to 
fix a steak-and-fries dinner. The phone rang just as I wondered 
how a woman as big as Shannon Hall could do such a gymnastic 
fitness routine.
	"Matt here."
	A husky, sultry voice said, "This is Bettina. You answered 
my ad?"
	"Indeed. How are you?"
	"Fine." She took a breath and fired out "So, what do you 
want to know about me?"
	I made a bid for shallowness. "Well, give me your 
description. I'm 6-1, long arms and legs. Kind of built like 
Jerry Rice, the NFL wide receiver. I wear glasses."
	Bettina replied, "If you like skinny women, you won't like 
me. Don't expect to meet me and see a Barbie doll."
	Unsurprising, I thought. I knew very few slender Scorpios. 
"Actually," I said, "I like women who are big-boned. Not fat, 
but actually big-boned with big shoulders and good hips. Kind of 
a strong build"
	"Then you'd like me. I'm not fat, but I'm a big girl. I've 
always been kind of big. A long time ago, I dated a bodybuilder 
and lifted a lot. Now, with my job waitressing, I help out a lot 
with inventory. The heavy boxes help me keep up my strength. How 
much do you weigh?"
	"175."
	"Yeah, I could probably throw you across the room. I have 
a friend who lifts pretty heavy and I can outlift her on a lot 
of the machines in the gym."
	Not that it was impossible, but I would believe that when 
I saw her, which we agreed would be the next night just after 
happy hour. The bar was named Bernal's, a Tex-Mex version of a 
beer-and-pool joint.
	I told her I would be dressed down. I chose a t-shirt that 
was clean, but old and small enough to make my upper body look 
bigger. My jeans were tight on the butt. Considering that's the 
part of my body I get the most compliments on, it could be said 
I operate by the seat of my pants.
	Bettina hadn't told me how she would be dressed, but had 
said she had red hair and green eyes, a devastating weakness of 
mine. And there was little mistaking her when she walked in.
	Her red hair was a modernized Dorothy Hammill look, green 
eyes narrow, skin tanned more than usual for a red head, perhaps 
much South American influence in her ancestry.
	But it was her body that so held the attentions of the 
other pool players, two of whom gawked over their dates' 
shoulders. Her neck was medium length, but very thick. A print 
blouse was filled out by her immense shoulder breadth and 
globular breasts that defied nature's aging as they bounced and 
behaved. Her jeans had the painted on look over long, meaty 
legs, wide hips and a butt of such a grand semi-circle, a small 
man's hand probably couldn't grasp it at the corners of Glute 
and Hamstring.
	She moved with purpose, but not quickly. There was a 
weighty sensuality and sexuality to her, but also a muscular 
vibrancy.
	"Bettina!" I called. She returned my appreciative smile 
upon first sighting.
	A couple of drinks in and we were playing pool while she 
buckshotted me with questions and statements: What was a guy 
like me doing answering personal ads? (Why not?) How old are 
you? (29, yes, I know I look 22.) Where do you work? (Dallas 
Morning News) I was in the Morning News once, interviewed in a 
story about that Indecent Proposal question. I'm so happy you're 
normal and good looking. The last guy I met from the ad had an 
arm missing. (Just because he killed a doctor's wife doesn't 
mean he doesn't like to socialize with women.)
	She was trying so hard. I felt uncomfortable being the 
object of this much pent-up attention. Sensing this, she stepped 
quickly into my face, wrapped her arms around me and shook me as 
if the discomfort could be physically removed.
	"What's the matter?" she asked. I vaguely noticed how 
raggedly my body was jerked by her raw strength. "I might be too 
much woman for you," she teased.
	At this, I barked a laugh while wriggling out of her grip. 
Her face lost its smile briefly, then brightened as she bent 
over the pool table again. Her cleavage, visible from the rear 
booth across the room, drew a thumbs up to me from the 
aforementioned two guys there. Only guys give each other those 
"one time for me" signals.
	A waitress bumped her as she shot, prompting her to turn 
and yell, "Bitch! Watch where you're going! You fucked up my 
shot!"
	"I was just trying to get around that big butt of yours to 
get your empties," said the waitress, whose name tag said "Kim."
	"You should've waited!" Bettina yelled again. "You don't 
fuck up somebody's pool shot!"
	"Maybe if you didn't take up all the room in the world 
with your fat ass," murmured Kim as she grabbed the empties and 
walked away.
	"What was that! What was that?" Bettina yelled. "I'm on a 
date here, but I'll kick your ass if you talk any shit to me, 
bitch."
	We left soon after. At my car, I asked her where she 
wanted to go. She stepped forward, pressed me with her entire 
body to my Mustang and said, "My apartment."
	She kissed me, then. I pushed back to get her off of me -- 
when things go this quickly and easy, my STD Alert goes off 
because I'm sure it's not my overwhelming charms that are 
inspiring her in such a manner. I'm not the first one, I'm sure, 
to get passed through customs so quickly. Also, there was 
something...off about her.
	But as I pushed, she still kissed. I couldn't move her 
bulk away even a lip's worth while she wanted to grind against 
my body.
	She broke the kiss and said, "Let's go."
	Back in her apartment, she tossed her keys onto the dining 
area table, greeted her cats back in the bedroom. Small 
apartment, but functional. The living room was minimally 
furnished.
	She returned to me as I stood in the middle of the living 
room. She gently took off my glasses and placed them on the 
kitchen pass through.
	"Try to lift me up," she said as if the result were 
already a foregone conclusion.
	It probably was. Though I have wide shoulders and know how 
to use leverage, neither those shoulders nor my back possessed 
much muscle. We won't get into my long, skinny arms, lots of 
definition, but a mere dusting of mass.
	I tried hugging her around the waist from the front and 
lifting. Her toes barely left the ground. There was obviously a 
lot of weight in her upper body, but the problem was the drag 
from her mature hips, generously globular butt and big thighs 
that gave her a formidable center of gravity.
	I tried to hoist her over my right shoulder and was 
successful, but only enough to stagger a couple of steps then 
put her back down in exhaustion.
Bettina smirked at me, "I told you I was too much woman for you 
and you laughed at me. I don't like being laughed at."
	With that, she stepped closer, bent slightly at the knees 
and grabbed my waist with a hand on each of what would be love 
handles in a few years. I felt myself being slowly elevated. I 
looked down at Bettina, whose smile was a facial shrug of ease. 
It also wasn't lost on me that she was going this with steady 
strength, instead of with one violent burst of power.
	When she had me at arms' length, my head was near the 
ceiling. In addition to a degree of awe that was getting greater 
the longer she held me up there -- just how strong were those 
broad shoulders and back? -- I hadn't felt this helpless since I 
was a little boy fighting an older cousin. My heart was 
beginning to flutter when the rest of me was sent fluttering as 
well.
	I bounced off the floor, aches fastening my side as I hit, 
then my head tagged the wall. Woozy as I was, I couldn't come to 
the logical conclusion from her current actions as well as her 
overreactions in the bar earlier: get out.
	Across the room, Bettina was pulling off her jeans, and I 
saw why they were so tight -- her long legs really were that 
thick. Shapely and smooth with muscular firmness they were and 
swept out to a powerful set of hips. Her womanhood was concealed 
by bikini panties, the same blazing red as her bra which was 
coming into view as she pulled off her print blouse. She threw 
it to the ground, then turned. Facing me was that big, booming 
butt, which I watched for only a second because Bettina was 
grabbing the old-fashioned, jutting doorway overhang and easily 
chinning herself. Her shoulders and back were the most massively 
muscled I had ever seen on a non-weight trained female. No 
wonder she had so effortlessly hoisted and thrown me.
	She dropped from the doorway, meaty arms pushed out to her 
sides by those pumped out lats. As she turned to me, she said, 
"See that? And I weigh 182 pounds." She shrugged those huge 
shoulders. "You were nothing."
	I struggled up. She ran toward me, prompting a low, 
defensive tackle attempt on my part. No Ronnie Lott I against 
those beefy legs -- one of those pumping thighs caught me on the 
upswing, bashing my nose in as my head snapped back and led the 
rest of me to the floor.
	Escape had ascended to top priority in my head. But by the 
time I had fully processed and reacted to my nose probably being 
broken, Bettina had yanked me up and whipped me over in a 
parabola to the -- "SLAM" -- floor. Thank goodness I had an 
erection so my manhood wasn't hurt.
	Bettina spotted that and cracked, "Boy, you really do like 
your women strong." Before I could scramble up, Bettina booted 
me in the stomach. I stopped rolling when her left hand grabbed 
my shoulder. She knelt down, big torso looming over me as she 
unleashed a hard punch to my sternum.
	I was winded badly, gasping in search of any slice of air. 
Bettina calmly stood astride me. Looking at those hips and butt, 
as well as the incredible breadth and density of her torso made 
me realize she was right: she was much too much woman for me. 
During sex, those hips could launch me off the bed or pound me 
into exhaustion at will. With her strength, weight and energy, a 
sexual encounter with her could ruin me so many different ways -
- unnmatchable pleasure, broken bones, inferiority complex 
instilled.
	As I thought of this, I realized she was beginning to sit. 
"No!" I wanted to yell, but my just returning breath only came 
out as a squeak before my face was squashed by her large, round, 
firm buttocks.
	I was paralyzed with pain and being smothered. My head 
felt light. I needed air. This was insane. Surely she didn't 
intend to snuff me just for not capitulating to her attention or 
for doubting how overwhelming her femaleness was. Thankfully, 
she rose before I went out.
	"I could've killed you then," she said, sashaying around 
my helpless body. "Any breath could've been your last any time I 
wanted." She leaned down, her D-cups almost in my face. "But I 
thought it would be more fun to do this."
She jerked me up by my left arm so that I fell into her sturdy 
torso. Her arms were around me again. I could feel the softness 
of her chest basketballs. I could luxuriate like that -- or, 
could've if she hadn't said, "I'm going to crush you."
	Suddenly, those tremendously powerful shoulder and back 
muscles were at work again. I tried to move, but realized what 
little room there was between her arms, chest and shoulders, was 
shrinking.
	"Remember I warned you I could throw you across the room?" 
she whispered. "Remember how I told you I was stronger than my 
friend who does lat pulls with 150? Feel it..."
	Bettina's breath began to get heavier. At least I'm making 
her work, I thought. Then, I realized it wasn't effort. There 
was an ecstatic look on her face, indicating some great joy. It 
was probably from demonstrating that she was all woman, a 
superior woman, a being of great physical and sexual power.
	My ribs began to snap and I screamed without sound. Just 
before I passed out, she whispered in my ear, "I could break 
every bone in your body. I could paralyze you for life. I want 
you to remember this so you know that every time you see me on 
the street, in the mall, at the game, your life is in my hands."
	She released me and I slumped to the floor.
	Merciful woman that she was, she took me into Parkland 
General and explained I had been mugged. I didn't dare dispute 
her story. I've lost her phone number. I'm not sure if I hope 
that she's lost mine.