Nancy annihilates Jeffy
By Jay Croushore
Long-awaited match turns into mismatch

It all started with an impromptu arm-wrestling match between 
platonic friends who had a little bit to drink and were working off 
some energy in the back seat of a car.
"Come on," Nancy said, flexing her fingers as she put her elbow on 
her knee. "I think I can take you."
Nancy, 5-foot-11, about 140 pounds, didn't look like the kind of 
girl who could put a whupping on a guy. She was tall, yes, but 
slender, and not athletic in the classic sense of playing sports. 
She hated team sports, in fact. Her idea of athletic activity was 
walking in the park, doing yoga, riding bicycles and other 
noncompetitive physical exploits such as aerobics and stretching.
But she was deceptively strong, as I was about to find out. And she 
had huge hands.
We locked right hands, my hand was almost dwarfed insider hers, and 
she smiled.
"Ready, Jeffy," she said, whispering with confidence.
Without saying a word, I turned up the pressure, thinking it would 
be quick and easy. But it wasn't. Nancy  met my attack with a cocky 
smile and we stalemated.
"What's wrong, Jeffy?" Nancy said. "Am I surprising you?"
I applied a little more pressure. Again, no advantage. I was 
starting to get a little concerned. I was all out to hold my 
position. I couldn't tell whether she was.
Then, the front seat got interested.
"Who's winning?" Kathy said, shrieking from the driver's seat.
Neither one of us answered. Our arms were squared off in a draw.
The smile slipped off Nancy's face, finally. My overall strength, a 
strength I developed by doing more than 50 pushups a day, took over 
from Nancy's lithe strength, a strength that had been sapped by a 
four-month bout with mononucleosis, I was later to find out.
I landed her arm to the seat, finally.
"You got me," she said, kissing me as she did. "This time."
I didn't know what she had meant by the this-time comment. But 
later that night, after several more arm-wrestling bouts, I asked 
her why she felt compelled to challenge my male ego in front of 
friends.
She told me she had always been attracted to me, and she felt arm-
wrestling was a way to bring two people closer together.
We had sex back at her apartment that night. We talked afterward 
about the arm-wrestling thing. She wouldn't give in.
"I could beat you," she said. "I just need to get my strength 
back."
I asked her where her strength had gone, and she explained that I 
had arm-wrestled a woman who had done virtually nothing physically 
for the past four months because of her illness.
I was not pleased with her implication that she could beat me if 
100 percent. I asked her how long it would take for her to get into 
shape to beat me.
"Three, four months," she said.
"How about six months," I said, sarcastically. "Why don't I give 
you six months?"
"You've got a match," she said, extending her oversized hand.
I extended my hand, and she quickly grabbed it by the fingers, not 
allowing me a fair shake.
"I will win," she said, using that smirky smile.
"Yeah, right," I said, my face turning a little red.
I left that morning with a feeling that Nancy was serious about 
this. There was a message on my answering machine, when I got home. 
She was serious, indeed.
"Let's do it six months from Sunday ¥ July 4," Nancy said. "You set 
the stakes."
We talked about various things, but we ended up with an 
arrangement. She loved shopping. I loved the horse races. We 
decided if she won, I wouldn't be able to go to the track for a 
year. If I won, she would be barred from afternoon sprees for a 
month. Plus, we each bet $1,000 on the match.
This was serious business.
I continued my daily routine of pushups and running, as the months 
went by.
Nancy was doing much more. Our mutual friend, Kathy, told me that a 
friend of Nancy's, a female body-builder, put her on a strenuous 
free weights program.
Nancy would call and try to intimidate me with a sexy description 
of her body, every few weeks.
"My arrrms are getting stronnnger and stronnnger, Jeffy," she would 
say. "How about yours?"
We did not see each other during the period. Kathy would give me 
updates on her conditioning. "Nancy's looking great," she would 
say. Or, "Man, Nancy's going to whip you."
I remained somewhat unaffected. How much stronger could she get in 
six months? And it wasn't like I was getting any weaker.
Nancy's phone calls increased as the big day approached. She had 
always sounded confident and sexy, but I must admit, her strategy 
was working. It was starting to get to me a bit.
"I'm going to take your arm; I'm going to hold it for a minute; I'm 
going to smile and bring it down to the table and not let it up," 
she would say.
The match was to take place as part of a holiday barbecue at 
Kathy's apartment. The barbecue was set for 4 or so. The big match 
was the centerpiece of the evening.
I went for a run and did my pushups that morning. I weighed in at 
160 pounds. I looked pretty good. But I was nervous. I was starting 
to wonder.
I arrived first, at about 5.
 "Hi Jeff, " Kathy said, happily. "Come in. Have a beer."
My heart was pounding as I walked amongst friends, many of whom 
were coming to see Nancy pin my arm to the table.
"She's going to whip you," Kathy said, shaking her head with a 
smile. "You're not going to believe how good a shape she's in."
I sat outside, sipping a beer, contemplating whether to pull out, 
waiting for Nancy to arrive.
The whooping and hollering began about three beers later. Nancy, 
with her hair up and horn-rimmed glasses on, ambled in. She was 
wearing a pair of jeans, sandals and a very bulky sweatshirt. She 
didn't look much different than when I had last seen her six months 
ago, to be honest. So I felt a little better.
Nancy was one of those 1960s-looking gals. She could look good, 
sometimes. She could look sort of plain, sometimes. She certainly 
didn't look like someone who could beat me in arm-wrestling, that's 
for sure.
"Hi Nance," I said, somewhat relieved.
"Hi Jeffy," she said, with a small smile spreading across her face.
Kathy rang a bell and we all huddled around the kitchen table. 
There were about 20 people or so there. Most of them were rooting 
for Nancy.
I was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt, gray-cotton shorts and 
running shoes. I sat down at the table. Nancy was joking with 
friends, acting as if victory was a given.
Kathy announced the conditions of the match. If I won, Nancy 
couldn't shop. If Nancy won, I couldn't go to the races.
Kathy also asked for us to put our $1,000 bets on the table. 
Getting a little nervous, I moved up in my chair and stuck my elbow 
on the table.
"What's the hurry?" Nancy asked, biding her time as if she had 
orchestrated the whole thing.
With that comment, Nancy took her glasses off, took a pin out of 
her hair, letting it flow to her shoulders, and lifted her 
sweatshirt over her head.
She had transformed into superwoman in a matter of five seconds. 
Everybody was going crazy. My heart was beating frantically.
Nancy, wearing a tank top with a tiny T-back, went into a double-
biceps pose that showed arms much bigger than I had encountered six 
months ago. She looked like she must have gained 10-15 pounds, as 
well.
"I've been working out," Nancy said, smiling at me." I'm going to 
humiliate you."
We put our arms together at the center. Kathy held our hands.
"Go," she said.
I met Nancy's arm at the table with every bit of strength I had. I 
had the upper hand, for a minute. But there were problems. First, 
Nancy not only has larger hands, she has longer arms, giving her a 
leverage advantage.
It was a tremendous struggle for me even though it appeared I was 
holding my own, and I couldn't even tell if she was trying.
I know I straining with all my might. Slowly but surely she started 
to pull back to even. And she was smiling, talking to Kathy as if I 
wasn't even there.
"What do you want to do later, Kath?" Nancy said, pretty much 
ignoring my presence.
She turned her head and looked at me with disdain.
"What's wrong, big guy? Nancy asked, as if I were wasting her time. 
"Just let me know when you've had enough."
I gave another burst of effort, taking Nancy's arm past the middle, 
as she once again started talking to Kathy.
"Did you guys save me any burgers?" Nancy asked Kathy. "I'm getting 
a little hungry."
Kathy handed Nancy a hamburger and she grabbed it with her left 
hand, still using her right hand to wrestle.
"Mayonnaise, please," Nancy said after taking a bite.
Kathy spread on the mayo.
"Thanks," Nancy said, taking another bite. "Good burger."
Nancy turned her attention back to me and shook her head.
"Pathetic," she said, as she ate. "You're boring me."
She smiled her cocky smile, winked and turned her wrist.
"This arm-wrestling exhibition is all over, Jeffy," she said.
She lowered my arm to my side of the table as our friends roared 
their approval., finally pinning me to the table with no apparent 
effort.
Everybody was going crazy and Nancy's wasn't done. It was as if I 
had wasted her time and she wasn't going to let me off the hook 
that easily.
Nancy kept applying pressure to my arm. I couldn't get it off the 
table.
"Who's stronger?" Nancy asked, as she held me down.
I said nothing.
Nancy sneered. To make matters worse, Nancy had slipped her feet 
out of her sandals, extended her long legs and was rubbing my 
crotch with an expertise that had me ready to cum. Plus, she had 
somehow managed to undo my zipper and now her toes were fondling my 
cock as she held my arm down at the table.
 I gulped. I came with a shudder. And nobody knew.
Nancy stood up on her chair. I slumped to the table.
 She flexed her arms in a series of body-building poses.
She wasn't Corey Everson, but she was plenty strong. And she wasn't 
done.
"Who's stronger?" she asked one more time.
I wouldn't answer.
What a mistake that was.
Nancy got off her chair and walked around to my side of the table. 
I got up to shake her hand, but she bearhugged me and lifted me 
into the air. Everybody could see the stain in my shorts. She 
carried me around the room for a minute, like a victory lap, then 
took me to the ground, somehow slipping my shirts off as she did.
With my back facing her front, she took us to the ground and put 
her left arm around my neck, and spread her incredibly long legs, 
forcing mine to spread-eagle in the process. She was on her back, 
and I was trapped in a necklock, my legs spread-eagled, my dick 
pointing in the air. I was unable to move. At all.
"Who's stronger?" she asked, one more time.
I couldn't respond.
She reached over with her free right arm and started massaging my 
penis, a penis that already ejaculated five minutes before.
"Let's count to 10," Nancy said to everybody., massaging me as she 
did.
"One ...
"Two ... 
"Three ... 
"Four ...
"Five ...
"Six ...
"Seven ...
"Eight ...
"Nine... 
"Ten ... "
She whispered into my ear on the count of 10.
 "Jeffy., who's stronger? Don't make me embarrass your pathetic 
body anymore."
I struggled, with one last gasp of pride. She tightened her hold, 
completely dominating my body, increasing her strokes on my penis.
Then she whispered: "You're a wimp."
I came all over the carpet.
Nancy finally let me go. I slumped to floor in exhaustion, and 
disgrace.
She double-biceped one more time.
And she smiled.
"You know, Jeffy, I was lying about that mononucleosis thing," she 
said. "I could have beaten you six months ago, too. I just set you 
up for this."
I don't know if I believed her or not, but at this point, I was in 
no position to argue. One thing was certain. She sure was stronger 
than me now. Much stronger.