Melissa
By The Collector
Mother and daughter, sister and niece 

Copyright 1988 The Collector
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ChuckSt35@aol.com

I come from a very large family, from which I have three sisters, all 
younger than I.  We are not particularly genetically blessed with any 
propensity towards strength, so it was always a puzzle to me why a few 
of the women in my family are as strong as they are.  I will briefly 
describe two encounters, largely true, except for the names, one with my 
sister and another with my niece.  Of my three sisters and two nieces, 
they are all attractive; two are considerably stronger than I am, while 
the others fall into the average category. 
Yvonne is my oldest sister, a few years younger than I am.  Being the 
oldest male and female in the family, we had always been very close.  
She is bright, intelligent, and very attractive with brownish blonde 
hair to the middle of her back.  Her face is attractive with full lips, 
and bright blue eyes.  Although she doesn’t wear make up much, when she 
does, her looks will drop you where you stand.  At 6 inches shorter than 
I at 5’2” and 115, her body can best be called power packed, yet very 
feminine.  She is more muscular than most women are and even a few men, 
myself included.   
I had known from the time Yvonne was 14 that she was fairly strong, but 
I was never sure how strong.  I had come back from serving three years 
in the service, only home a few days, when I walked into our kitchen to 
find Yvonne in the kitchen with her friend Laura.  I had been carrying 
boxes from my old bedroom to the attic and had stopped for a drink of 
water.  
Yvonne asked, “Do you want us to help you finish?”  I was standing to 
her right as she sat at the kitchen table, looking up and back at me. 
“They’re pretty heavy, and I have only a few more to carry.  I don’t 
think you’re strong enough anyway.” 
I think she was hurt more than anything at my remark.  She looked at me, 
wanting my acceptance and said “We’re strong, we just want to help you.” 
A light went off in my head as I looked at my little sister and a 
thought came to me that I tried to immediately put in the back of my 
mind.  But I couldn’t resist. 
“Well, OK, let me see your muscles” I said as calmly as I could. No 
sooner had the words left my mouth than Yvonne curled her arm quickly. 
As she flexed her small arm, a bicep rose from it I wouldn’t have 
expected from a woman at the time, much less a 14 year old girl.  Her 
upper arm filled out and became at least as large as mine when I flexed, 
drawing my attention and an admiration I had to shield from her.  I 
placed my hand on it and squeezed it hard, but no budging.  Her arm was 
even more solid than mine was!  I asked to see the other one and it, 
too, was easily a match for me.  I was immediately jealous that my 
little sister’s muscles were as big as mine were and I knew I would have 
to reconcile that she would easily surpass me in a year or two. 
As we went to finish carrying the boxes upstairs, I noticed both Yvonne 
and Laura were making easy work of it.  They handled the boxes full of 
records, books, and my other belongings as easily as I did.  It was, and 
still is, a turn-on to me to think back to when I first discovered my 
sister’s strength, that at 14 she was able to match me at 21. 
Horsing around in our family amongst the kids is a long tradition.  It 
is our way of showing affection.  Several times, I have been in 
situations with Yvonne where strength would determine the winner.  As 
easily as I had drawn her into these situations, I have to make an early 
retreat.  I became evident to me several years after this first 
incident, that no matter how hard I tried, I was not going to overcome 
her superior strength.  But when we do mix it up, so to speak, I love to 
watch her eyes and her pretty biceps and how they jump at me, almost 
talking to me.  I think she definitely suspects that I’m afraid of being 
embarrassed by her, but she has said nothing to this point.  I’ve always 
wanted to arm wrestle her, just to see how strong she really is, but the 
situation will most likely never present itself.  I would hate losing to 
her, and I would love losing to her.  Go figure. Were she my size, I 
hate to think of how strong she’d be. 
Yvonne married at a very young age and has two daughters.  They are both 
a source of pride to me for different reasons.  Their personalities are 
totally different, but they are great kids that I’d be proud to call my 
own.  Jennifer is the youngest by four years and is very artistic, 
sensitive and tries to follow her older sister’s footsteps, like all 
younger siblings who are so close.  Both girls have the blessing of 
being very beautiful.  Jennifer is 16 now, is a cheerleader for several 
years running, is modestly athletic, but gets her real pleasures from 
books, her friends, and music.  She clearly can date anyone she wants, 
and boys are frequent visitors at her house. 
Melissa, at 5’4”, and maybe 110 or 115, is a marked contrast to 
Jennifer.  She has reddish blonde hair, more red than blonde, that curls 
without being told to.  She is intelligent, confident, and has a type A 
personality typical of a first born.  Growing up, she started playing 
soccer at a young age, often displacing boys on the team, much to my 
surprise.  In several instances, I noticed boys veering away from her, 
as she had no qualms about being bumped into, or knocking someone else.  
Looking at her, I never would have pegged her for being athletic, 
particularly as she looked femininely frail.  As years went by, I was to 
be pleasantly shocked. 
Melissa moved from soccer to cheerleading to tennis to track, short 
sprints and participated in as many sports as she could reasonably 
handle at one time.  She was gifted athletically and had numerous 
trophies to attest to her athletic prowess.  While these were not sports 
that tended to make girls any stronger than boys, it only enhanced her 
considerable natural strength, which I soon learned about.  To look at 
her, even to this day, you would be drawn to her feminine looks, not 
suspecting she may in fact be stronger than most women, and many men. 
At 16, Melissa knew she had something others didn’t but I don’t think 
she realizes it’s full extent to this day.  I was at my sister’s house 
with several of my brothers and sisters sitting around the kitchen 
table.  Melissa had come back from a track meet dressed in shorts and a-
yellow T-shirt.  While she is my niece, she still has a body that most 
women would kill for and legs that almost make me want to cry. 
She had won the 220, or 200 meter dash, which ever it was at the time, 
had beaten the favorite and was ranting about how good she was, how she 
couldn’t be beat, etc.  She was full of herself, very animated and this 
was mostly for our benefit.  As she stood there congratulating herself, 
she dropped her gym bag, slapped her thigh and said  “Look at that 
muscle!” to no one in particular. 
She tightened her pretty leg, and a muscle jumped out of her thigh, 
sleek, defined, yet extremely feminine.  Her calves were equally as 
strong and I delighted in both her display and her confidence in her.  
But she wasn’t done yet. 
I had been sitting there with one arm crossed my left hand rubbing my 
bicep, not doing anything to draw attention, just a place to rest my 
hand.  Melissa saw me and asked, “Why are you touching your muscle?”  I 
looked at her and said, “I wasn’t, just scratching it.” or something 
similar.  And I honestly wasn’t trying to do anything to elicit 
something from her.  But I got extremely lucky just the same. 
She came to my side of the table and said, “Here, look at this muscle!”  
Sitting around the table were six of us, with Melissa the center of 
attention, and not a foot in front of my face she curled her right arm.  
I saw a hint of her bicep from the rear; her sleeve having risen and I 
saw a gentle downslope of her bicep to her elbow.  As much as I wanted 
to prolong this event, I knew with everyone watching I had to be quick, 
nonchalant. 
Melissa was looking at me, smiling, waiting for my reaction.  I slid her 
sleeve back with my finger and her bicep appeared, as beautiful as I had 
ever seen.  She revealed a muscle more beautiful and feminine than I 
could’ve imagined, milky white, defined and I would estimate at 13”, 
very large for her 5’4” frame and only 16, and not being weight trained, 
and a girl at that!   I reached my hand around and grabbed the inside 
with my fingers squeezing it.  I didn’t have to worry about squeezing 
too hard, as it was like a rock.  I pulled my hand away quickly, not 
wanting to linger or embarrass myself, but wanting so badly to look at 
it, touch it, even longer. 
“Pretty strong huh?” Melissa asked. “Not bad, Melissa.”  I said, trying 
to hide my true emotions.  Melissa quickly grabbed her bag, went 
upstairs to change and the episode ended as fast as it had begun.   
Shortly after this, I was to find out a bit more about the extent of her 
strength.  Melissa had become old enough to participate in the 
roughhousing that went on amongst us brothers and sisters on an equal 
footing.  Since she was 12 or 13, she had been able to get the better of 
my youngest sister, 9 years her senior, quite easily, but couldn’t quite 
handle her mother. 
At 16, things were different.  At my sister’s house again, Yvonne and 
Melissa were chasing each other and finally grabbed each other’s hands.  
As their meeting progressed, the ending would be different as Melissa 
began overpowering Yvonne, her arms determining where Yvonne’s would go.  
To save face, Yvonne quickly pulled back, pulling her hands from 
Melissa’s, now aware that her daughter was a force to be reckoned with. 
In the same afternoon, I’m not sure if I was picking on her or her on 
me, affectionately of course, when our hands became locked.  I had 
started to push down on hers, sort of a mercy type position, and she 
started pushing back.  I got the shock of my life when I found she was 
so strong, I couldn’t resist for even the slightest moment.  As I felt 
my hands give under her strength, I quickly turned them sideways, 
catching her off-guard, and pulled my hands away.  She became frustrated 
and wanted to do it again.  I agreed, hoping now that I hadn’t been 
caught off-guard by her.  We locked hands again.  I was 4 inches taller, 
easily outweighed her by 40 to 50 pounds, my hands are larger, I had the 
leverage; this shouldn’t even be a match. 
But as we took each other’s hands, I started to push immediately, not 
wanting to have to overcome a fast start by her.  But it didn’t make a 
difference.  As soon as I started, she countered, dominating me in an 
instant.  She didn’t squeeze my hands or anything, but the force of her 
strength was so much, that I had to quickly twist my hands away from 
hers.  Had she known I was going to, she could have held me and I’d have 
easily found myself on the floor looking up at her. 
We have had a few similar instances since then, always with the same 
result.  Melissa is 21 now, and no doubt much stronger than before.  I 
can never tell since her strength at 16 was so great, her dominance of 
me so effortless on her part.  I have always had a secret desire to arm 
wrestle her and one day in the future I will.  I know I’ll lose, and 
much to my joy, probably very badly.