So, What's Your Archetype?
by Pac - written for DTM / Amy's Conquest

(edited by Michael-Leonard)

*** The Below is an extended segment from this story, written for us by the
Extremely talented author, Pac, whose other amazing Amazon stories can be
found on Diana The Valkyrie and

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For the Full Story of "So, What's Your Archetype?", please visit our Member's
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Thanks all, and as always, hope you Enjoy! ***

**********

So ... What's Your Archetype?

It's tough to get to know people as a returning college student. First off,
you're older than everyone else, and secondly, people see you either as "that
old dude," as someone who shouldn't be there, or as someone who should be
teaching classes instead of taking them.

The small college I was attending in the first year of training for my new
"dream" career was weird because of the young people's attitude. It softened
the blow somewhat when I noticed other "older" students on campus, either
working full-time and taking a course or two, or working on a certification,
masters, or some other targeted course of study to progress in their field.
Unfortunately, it was a very small platitude.

Unlike those other returning students, I was starting all over again. I had
grown to dislike my career in the so-called "hard" sciences after twenty
years, so I quit and became a full-time student for the second time in my
life. I had enough money to follow my dreams, and this time I was going to
follow my passion and become an artist, not pursue the "safe" course. Worst
came to worst, I could consult or find a job with some small company.

What struck me the most about being a student all over again when I started
the semester was the large number of pretty girls on campus. Maybe it's
selective memory, but I never recalled this many attractive women two decades
ago. It was more than a bit distracting, but in a good way.

And then I saw Tara.

I remember vividly the moment I saw her, a pretty, petite redhead (always had
a thing for redheads). She bounced from class to class around the time I was
walking around on campus and I was instantly smitten. She was fit-looking
(always had a thing for fit women), though not as visibly buff as the women I
usually dated, she was stunningly beautiful. And last, though certainly not
least, she had the biggest boobs I had ever seen on such a petite woman.
Eye-popping, gravity-defying boobs (always had a thing for big... ah, you get
the picture). Her entire body was incredible, but her boobs were just
jaw-dropping in their magnificence.

I don't want to sound like a pervert, but I found myself following the young
lady around campus, gravitating to where she was headed. I would end up
sitting a few seats away in the student union for lunch, taking the long way
around some of the buildings to get to my classes, and generally keeping her
in eyesight for a bit longer than I should have.

I don't know what it was about her besides that ideal combination of physical
attributes, but I found myself becoming inexplicably attracted to her, or the
idea of her; wondering who she was, what she was like. By the time I had
roused myself from some pleasant daydreams of having lunch, going for walks,
maybe even a bit of risqué contact, I always found that I'd gone quite a bit
out of my way. I knew I had it bad when I had to backtrack two whole floors to
get to where I needed to be!

I say it was inexplicable because I typically gravitated toward noticeably
athletic women - the type you found most often in gyms or out for a run - not
this petite, extremely curvaceous elfin beauty that had caught my eye. I had
met and dated several women like the fit ones I described, but never anyone
like this girl, so my head-over-heels reaction to her made me wonder.

Maybe it was that killer body alone, but for some reason I felt like there was
more to it than that; something intangible that drew me to her. She had a
magnetism for me that transcended her appearance. I wanted to KNOW her. What
was it that made me set aside my attraction to the gym bunnies I usually found
myself pursuing? Baffled, I concluded finally it had to be her boobs. Never
had I seen a woman with such an extravagant figure.

It didn't feel like the whole story, but I just decided that I was going
through some sort of mid-life boob frenzy.

My schedule on campus coincided with hers a few times a week. At those times I
followed at a discrete distance, trying to be unobtrusive, while I enjoyed the
sight of her wonderful figure. I never really sought her out or memorized her
schedule, but when I saw her at, say, the student union between classes, I
felt like I was being pulled toward her. Of course, being likely twice her
age, I didn't dare approach her directly. Frankly, I wouldn't dream of it; I
was content to look and daydream. Okay, as happy as one can get when one
doesn't think the possibility even exists to obtain such a perfect woman.

After the day I had to go down two floors to get to class - a full two weeks
of perving on this poor girl - I finally came to my senses. If she witnessed
my behavior, I reasoned, she would probably be scared out of her wits. I never
thought of myself as a stalker, but sadly that's what I was. I didn't like the
sound of that.

Thoroughly confused by my obsession, I vowed to stop. I was here to retrain
for my future after all, not bed some nubile young co-ed.

I had gotten two weeks into my new resolution, seeing the young lady
occasionally but refusing to do more than give her a longing glance or two,
when fate derailed my efforts.

While not in class or studying, I was a regular visitor to the campus rec
center. I liked to kill time during long stretches between classes by using
the elliptical or doing a light workout. Admittedly I'm not a big buff guy,
but I always kept in shape. I'm more of a casual fitness buff, I suppose you
could call it.

That fateful day I was just finishing up a brisk twenty-minute session on the
elliptical when I realized I wasn't alone.

"Hey," a pretty female voice intoned behind me.

I turned and was startled to find the petite redhead looking up at me as the
elliptical came to a stop.

"Uh, hey," I replied, unsure of what to say.

"I haven't seen you around lately," she said. Her tone was familiar, like we
knew each other.

"Well..." I began, "I... haven't been, um...."

"Following me around campus," the woman finished for me.

My stomach lurched. Oh, shit. I guess I wasn't being entirely subtle.

"Listen...." I began, worry creeping into my thoughts.

"Tara," the young woman said, interjecting her name into my pause.

"Listen, Tara," I said as I felt a flush creep up my face, "I hope I didn't
upset you. I realized that could come across as creepy, so I've been making a
point of not doing it. I certainly don't mean you any harm and apologize if
you're upset."

Tara crc cossed her arms under her chest, lifting them several inches. My God,
the boobs!

"Do I seem upset?" she asked. She had a confrontational stance, but it wasn't
reflected in her voice, which didn't sound hostile at all. It sounded more
amused, or curious. Her face had a look of curiosity as well that didn't match
her confident and sexy as hell pose.

The whole thing confused me. It looked like a jumble of mixed signals, and I
was never too good on the whole Mars and Venus thing, anyway - which was
probably why I was still single in my forties.

"Um... no," I said. "Are you?"

Tara laughed lightly.

"Actually, I sort of enjoyed the attention," she said, looking at her feet.
Well... toward her feet. I figured she hadn't seen her feet in years.

"I've never had a guy do that to me before," she continued, "Just follow me
around like that. Now that I'm up close... you're not exactly a typical
college guy, are you?"

The flush on my face deepened.

"No," I said, "I'm old enough to know better than to come across as a
stalker."

She laughed again, a bit harder, and her amazing bosom shook as it rested atop
her arms. It didn't shake as much as I expected, though, but I tried like hell
not to gawk.

"I'm not too worried about you stalking me," she said. "But I am really
curious about WHY you did it."

It was a weird response. You would think a young co-ed - she seemed like she
was right around twenty or so - would be concerned with some stranger
following her around campus. It was also weird that such a pretty, petite
woman would go out of her way to confront such a person - by herself, no less
- if she wasn't upset. We weren't even in a busy place. The rec was never busy
in the early afternoon. Besides an attendant who I saw once in a great while,
the room was empty.

Oh, boy. Maybe there was more to it than confrontation.

I stepped down from the elliptical, trying my utmost to not make any moves she
could misinterpret as threatening. I also glanced around. Maybe her gigantic
boyfriend was lurking in the wings to tear into me if I said or did something
she found upsetting. Maybe he was going to tear into me regardless of my
actions.

She noticed the glance.

"Dude, I'm here by myself," she said lightly, perhaps to allay my concern.
"I'm not going to sic the cops on you or anything. I'm a psych major, and,
frankly, I just want to know what was going through your head when you just
decided one day to follow me around. I'd seen you before, around campus, but
never saw you everywhere I was until a few weeks ago. Was it a deviant
thought, or something else?"

My eyes widened a bit at her bluntness.

"Nothing deviant!" I said quickly, to which she sighed.

"Seriously, dude," she said, and her voice sounded a bit exasperated. "I'm not
going to get you in any trouble or anything. I'm just burning to know why."

"No social media shaming or anything... less overt, either?" I asked,
remembering a TV show I had seen about cyber-bullying.

She paused, then let out a loud belly laugh.

"No! Nothing," she said, wiping away a tear from her eye. "Nothing but honest
curiosity."

I didn't know what to think, but I did feel bad now that this woman had
confronted me. I felt like I needed to apologize or do something to put her at
ease.

"Can I get you something to drink by way of apology?" I asked. "I have a class
in a half-hour, and I'd like to rehydrate. I would be happy if you joined me."

I started as I realized how smarmy that might have come across.

"This isn't a pick-up line," I added hastily, "Just killing two embarrassing
birds with one stone."

Tara was dressed in typical college girl garb, but I saw the hint of a jog bra
beneath the loose collar of her shirt. She seemed to notice my glance (she
seemed to notice everything, like she was searching for cues in my face) and
actually puffed out her astounding chest a bit. My eyes went wide and hers
crinkled in mirth.

"Well, no surprise there," she said. "I figured THEY had something to do with
it."

She laughed as my face went purple with shame.

"Really...." She paused, looking at me expectantly.

It took a second, but I finally figured out she was fishing for my name with
the pregnant pause.

"Alec," I supplied.

"Really, Alec," she said, "it's no big deal to be attracted to someone. The
thing I'm curious about is your response to the stimulus of being attracted.
Your distant pursuit. I figured at first you were taking pics or something,
but I never saw a camera or phone in your hand. Are you a shy person? My guess
is yes."

I was confused. I had never been confronted by such a blunt woman in my life.
Most of the women I'd ever met and dated always threw so many other signals at
me that I was trying to figure out if Tara's subtext was so subtle that I
wasn't picking it up.

Finally, I just gave up trying to figure out what she had in store for me.

"I am a bit," I said. "Please don't think I do stuff like this all the time."

Tara's hands went from under her chest to her hips, a very dominant stance.
She eyed me shrewdly for a moment, then seemed to relax.

"You know, for some reason I believe you," she said at length. "I think it's
your face. You have this guileless look in your eyes, like you're not used to
admitting things out loud."

Tara was starting to freak me out a little. I felt like I was being dissected.

She stopped and took her hands off her hips. I was sorry to see them go; that
pose had always excited me for some reason. Maybe watching Wonder Woman on TV
in my formative years....

Tara's posture became less confrontational.

"I was going to get in a light workout, but I think I'll take you up on your
drink offer," she said. "There's a coffee shop pretty close. You can buy me a
coffee."

I found myself becoming even more attracted to Tara. She was very forceful for
such a petite woman. I was almost a foot taller than her, but she definitely
seemed like the one in charge. Maybe being built like a goddess gave her a bit
of that power. Whatever it was, I really liked it.

Maybe all petite goddesses were like that.

"Let me change, okay?" I said, and she gave a quick nod.

I think I was in and out of the locker room in two minutes, and her lips
turned up in a smile as she saw me emerge.

"That has to be some sort of record," Tara said, arms crossed under her bust
again.

I had a moment to think while changing, so I figured I would go for broke.
Even if this was some sort of social experiment, or she had some master plan
to get back at me for a perceived slight, I figured I deserved it. Couple that
with the fact that I wanted to spend whatever time with her I could while it
lasted; I was eager to explain myself.

"I figure if I've put you out this much, the least I could do is not make you
wait," I said, and her mouth turned up further, becoming a fetching,
full-blown smile.

I hadn't seen her smile before, and it was enough to give me pause. Wow was
she gorgeous.

"You've had a moment to collect yourself," she said. "Good. Maybe that will
put us on a little more even footing. I don't think I like the shy,
tongue-tied Alec. Something tells me you might have something interesting to
say if you're not on the defensive. Let me just put your mind at ease now,
okay? No, I'm not offended. No, I'm not going to have my boyfriend jump you
outside or whatever you're thinking I have planned. No social media shaming,
no cops, no nothing. Just curiosity, like I said before. Do you believe me?"

I wasn't sure if I did or not, but I felt like a pig for setting this entire
uncomfortable event in motion, so I nodded.

"Good," she said, and turned to go. "See?" she said over her shoulder. "Not
worried, not creeped out. Let's go."

We walked side-by-side to the coffee shop, and Tara told me about her
behavioral psychology class, the thing that had inspired her visit that day.

"... So, I figured I'd see what inspired the behavior and how it compared to
the archetypes we learned about. Thank you," she finished as I held the door
for her.

I nodded in response.

"So, let me understand," I said. "There are twelve basic archetypes, and
pieces of each can make up someone's motivations and behaviors?"

"Yes," she said, walking to the counter. "That's what I was curious about.
These little vignettes of motivations - are they really there, or is this just
some social scientist's interpretation? I thought about myself and what little
bins I fit into, and then for some reason you popped into my head. You are
obviously very different from me, so I wanted to talk to you and see where you
fit; what archetypes make you who you are."

"Okay, I don't get it," I said finally. "Are these things so broad that you
can explain away practically anything by mixing and matching?"

"That's a good question," Tara replied, "let's find out, shall we?"

She ordered a cappuccino and moved aside to let me order.

"Tall coffee, black, and a chocolate biscotti... oh, and a big glass of water,
please," I said. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"The biscotti sounds good," she said. "Thanks."

We got our order and sat by the windows in the front of the store. Tara's
loose blouse afforded me an incredible view from my height advantage; if she
noticed my occasional glance, she didn't indicate it. I couldn't help but
think wistful thoughts about the extraordinary amount of perky bosom she
possessed. It was almost cartoonish to see so much breast on so little a
woman.

"It's hard to get a good read on a shy person," she said returning to her
question back at the rec. "The observed signs don't present as readily as
someone who is more expressive."

Tara pulled a couple of sheets of paper out of her back pocket. The squirming
around required was appealing to say the least. She laid them out flat in
front of me.

"So, from observing you, I think you're pieces of The Innocent, The Jester,
and the Orphan," she said, pushing the papers closer. "You see how The
Innocent is motivated by optimism and trust, and seeks some form of safety,
whether it be comfort in routine or a familiar situation. Then, The Jester is
invested in the moment, without planning or forethought, trusting in things to
remain as they are. And lastly is The Orphan, again seeking safety, but
realizing that life isn't always idyllic. That's what I see so far. So, you're
most likely a 'play it safe' kind of guy... which is why this observed
behavior fascinated me so much. It wasn't exactly 'play it safe,' was it?"

Embarrassed, I read through the list of archetypes, and noticed one striking
omission.

Nervously, I looked at her pretty face.

"You don't see 'The Lover' in your assessment of me?" I asked.

Her smile lit up her face and eased my discomfort a bit. It was disarming yet
painfully sexy.

"I was thinking that at first, but then I saw things later that changed my
mind," she said. "Maybe there are little pieces, like objectifying someone,
but honestly, with this body it's hard for people to NOT objectify me."

Tara again laughed at my embarrassment.

"I really have to stop doing that to you," she said. "Sorry."

She calls me on objectifying her, then apologizes for it? I thought,
mystified.

"I think I should be the one saying that," I said.

"Why? Because you like big tits?" she asked. "Ninety percent of the
hetero-male gender would be apologizing all the time. I had an evolutionary
biology class as a freshman that talked about biological imperatives, and of
course, procreation was at the top of the list. I think the prof was a bit of
a perv, but he quoted statistics that we're the only species of mammal in
which the female has disproportionately huge breasts all the time. He then
went on to say that not all cultures find breasts appealing. So that means
it's a psychological imperative, not a biological one."

She looked at me, then chuckled lightly at the bewildered expression on my
face.

"Obviously I do a lot of thinking about it," she said. "I always wondered why
I was the one who got cat calls and whistles when my prettier friends didn't."

"You have prettier friends?" I asked, unthinkingly, then shut up.

Tara laughed uproariously. My God what it did to her outfit!

"Yes, Alec, I do in fact have prettier friends," she said. "There's a lot of
literature that suggests that attractiveness has more to do with symmetry in
people's faces than any perfected features. My face is far from symmetrical,
I'm sure you've noticed that... or maybe you didn't. I've experienced that
particular, let's say ... focus ... with guys before. One asshole guy even
said to me he never realized that I even HAD a face. I never understood how a
person ever thought masking crudeness as humor could work."

She saw my pink-tinged cheeks and winked saucily at me.

"I'm not saying you're an asshole for checking out my tits," she said. "You've
looked at my face at least half the time we've been here. I'll bet you even
know what color my eyes are without looking at them now that I've said it."

Oh, good God, I thought as I realized my eyes had drifted away from her face
and her pretty green eyes.

"Green," I replied dejectedly as I looked up at her amused smile.

"Okay, I'm done teasing, I swear," she said gaily. "You're just such an easy
mark."

By this point, I just wanted to crawl under the table, and Tara recognized it.

"Seriously, though," she said, deftly switching gears, "I don't see 'The
Lover' in you beyond a measure of physical attraction to my figure, and that
is to be expected, not to sound arrogant. I have reams of supporting data for
my dissertation that my figure is close to top marks in most western cultures
for appeal. Oh wow, that did sound arrogant, didn't it?"

"Your dissertation?" I asked. "I would have pegged you as an undergrad."

"Ha!" she said triumphantly. "I have to tell my friend Meg about that. She
keeps telling me that I look eighteen, not thirty-one."

Tara raised an eyebrow at my look of astonishment.

"I guess I do to you, too," she said. "Huh. Is it the face or the figure? Look
closely. At my face, I mean."

Fighting down my embarrassment, I peered closely at Tara's face. Immediately,
the telltale signs of her age were apparent. She had the hint of crow's feet
at the corners of her eyes. The creases and folds of her face were that much
more etched, not quite vanishing when the expression that caused them ceased.
Other little signs were there as well, but they were subtle. She was truly
gorgeous, no matter what she said about prettier friends, but she was
definitely NOT eighteen.

"I... guess it must be your figure," I said after I spent a long time looking
at her face.

She looked satisfied.

"It's the whole 'judging the book by its cover' phenomenon, especially when
viewing at a distance," Tara said. "The main reason: my boobs are... okay,
brace yourself... very perky for their size. They're ridiculously huge, but
they don't sag. That automatically knocks ten years off every person's
estimate of my age, man or woman. I've done extensive studies."

I think she said the last to stave off the expected embarrassment. I'm proud
to say I resisted flushing further out of the red spectrum and into the
purple. It was a challenge, though.

"Tara, I have to say I have never met anyone with so much candor," I finally
said.

"Yep, I am completely tactless," she agreed. "Always have been. I think it's a
function of growing up with this body. I learned early on that people gave me
a lot of latitude when I spoke because they were more concentrating on my
boobs, so over time I made my conversations more and more outrageous to
compete for people's attention. That's my own theory, but it holds up pretty
well. It's a bit overwhelming over time. The personality quirk, that is. I
guess the boobs are, too. Hard for me to gauge that myself, since I live with
them."

I glanced at my watch, realizing that I had missed my class by thirty minutes.

"You're late, aren't you?" she asked. "Sorry. I'm enjoying myself."

"Is it the fact that every other sentence changes the color of my face?" I
asked, to which she smiled cheerily.

"That's part of it," she replied, "but the other part is getting a look inside
your head. You're not at all what I thought you'd be."

Tara stood up abruptly, putting her chest at eye height. She smirked as I made
a point of following her head as it rose with my eyes.

"You do realize that I'm used to men's eyes wandering by now," she said,
turning to toss away her coffee cup. "It's not a big deal as long as you're
not rude about it."

I followed Tara to throw out my cup.

"I really never intended to be rude. That's why I stopped being a creep when I
realized I did it any time I saw you. I have to apologize again."

"No, you don't." Tara said. "It's okay, Alec. You'll be shocked to know you're
not the first person to pursue me. However, you ARE the first person who never
approached me or said anything crass as a deflection to mask their
intimidation or shyness. That's what made me curious. I watched you as you
watched me, but I didn't want to scare you off. Then when you stopped, I was
curious about that, too, so I... well, I basically stalked you in return. For
the last two weeks, you've gone to class, studied at the Student Union, and
more or less kept to yourself other than saying a few hellos to people who
were obviously in your classes."

Tara looked up at me, her smile coy.

"I even intentionally presented myself in front of you a few times to see what
you'd do, and it was fascinating to see your behavior. It was a struggle to
not follow me around, wasn't it? Oops, there goes the shame response. Sorry.
See what I mean about tactless? I'm so fascinated, though, to see that
struggle play out. I really am. I'd love to know in the moment what you're
fighting against. Social mores? Some sort of inner guilt? My reaction if I had
'caught' you? Probably a little of all of them, right? Sadly I can never know
now, because I revealed my intentions. That always changes the outcome, of
course. Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle and all that. It may apply to
physics or whatever, but it seems to apply to people as well."

I just nodded, not comfortable even opening my mouth.

"Okay, tell you what," she said, her demeanor commanding again, "let's try
this: I want you to be comfortable around me so we can talk without you
crawling into that defensive shell again, so why don't you just shadow me for
a while, but not at a distance. Just go around campus with me while I do
stuff. Are you busy now that you've missed your class?"

It was weird, and still a bit uncomfortable, but her candor was, dare I say,
refreshing. Usually women said one thing but the subtext was reams of
indecipherable transcript. This was like nothing I'd ever encountered from the
Fairer Sex.

"You can accompany me back to the gym so I can get my workout in," she said,
the statement sounding more like an order than a suggestion. "I'd planned to
hop on the elliptical next to you, but I timed it wrong. I'll even let your
peep at my boobs to your heart's content while we walk there. Guys love to
watch 'em bounce, even though they don't do a lot of it, despite their size.
Ha, there's that blush!"

She surprisingly wrapped her arm around mine.

"But, seriously," she said. "I'd like for you to come with me. I have
something I want to show you at the gym ... neither sexual nor teasing."

"Uh, okay," I said. It seemed like I couldn't resist anything she asked.

We went back to the gym, and Tara changed into a modest workout outfit. She
had a fairly baggy sweatshirt over a pair of snug yoga pants. The sweatshirt
did a good job of hiding much of her figure, and her eyes crinkled in mirth as
she saw my face.

"See? No sexual overtones whatsoever," she said. "I'll even spare you the
embarrassment of unintentionally checking me out. Feel more comfortable?"

Surprisingly, I did. It seemed like less of an effort to prevent myself from
staring.

"Good," she said, looking around. "The place is practically empty. That'll
help."

I followed her nervously to the elliptical I had used. It was still set where
I had left it, so she had to adjust the stride length for her shorter legs.
After some tinkering, she ended up in the position I was in when we first
spoke, standing above me atop the elliptical's foot pedals. The vantage made
her figure even more awe-inspiring as I looked up at her. A baggy sweat shirt
helped hide her curves, but boobs that big were impossible to completely hide,
and looking up at them gave me extremely crude thoughts, like imagining this
would be the view if she was on top of me in bed.

"Okay, now don't freak out," she said cryptically, then proceeded to adjust
the machine to its highest resistance level.

I was just going to ask her why she did that when she started moving her legs
like she was going for a leisurely walk! She didn't even use her hands! I
doubt I could have moved it if I weighed fifty pounds more. My jaw dropped and
she watched me keenly.

"Wha..." I started. "How are you doing that?"

"Guess," she said, eyes sparkling.

Her voice was completely at ease! There was no hint of strain from pumping the
pedals of the machine. I knew for a fact that it worked perfectly, because I
used the same one every time I came to the gym. When I first started using it,
I set the resistance to 6 on the scale and fought hard to get the pedals
moving.

Tara had it set on 15!

"So here's the thing: I was never worried about anything bad happening to me,"
she said, looking down at me, "because I don't think you could have done
anything to harm me short of shooting me, and you definitely don't strike me
as the type of person who would do that. Are you amazed? It doesn't seem
possible, does it? That's the reaction I see ninety-nine percent of the time
when I reveal this to people."

Tara kept pumping away on the elliptical, legs flexing noticeably in her tight
pants. They were gray against a neutral background, so I couldn't get a true
sense of the muscle tone, but they did flex the fabric significantly with each
step. They STILL didn't seem like they were working hard, though, and I was
just flabbergasted. That had to be hundreds of pounds of resistance she was
pushing against! I wanted to reach out and feel her thigh to confirm what I
was seeing.

"Do you want to test it out, to see if it's some sort of trick?" she asked, as
if she could read my mind, and I shook my head.

"Really?" she asked, surprised. "That's a first. People usually have to verify
it, even if they'd tested the equipment out earlier, like you did."

"I would just like to know how you're doing it," I said, my voice hushed.
"You're not some gigantic bodybuilder, so it seems impossible."

"The how of it is I'm ridiculously strong," Tara said nonchalantly. "Always
have been. Grew up working hard from the time I was little, and my parents
never thought being a girl or being small was an excuse to keep from working.
Besides, naturally strong people tend not to get all jacked like bodybuilders.
That is a special type of muscle training to get that kind of size."

Tara was watching me like a hawk as she casually strolled on the elliptical. I
was watching her as well, but my eyes were glued to her legs, casually pumping
away as she moved the impossible resistance on the elliptical like it was
nothing.

After her warm up time was done, she hopped down lightly, and I half-expected
her to be wobbly from the astounding feat, but she moved on to the floor mats
without any trouble and started stretching. Even at my measly six on the dial,
my legs would be a bit shaky. Hers were completely fine, not a hint of
exhaustion.

"Come on," she said, not looking back, "I'm interested to see how this new
data is impacting you. Your reaction is atypical as well, so now I'm even more
fascinated. You are the most egregious outlier in my dataset! It's so
exciting!"

What could I do? I was drawn even more powerfully to Tara's forceful
personality, and her shocking physicality, than I was to her outrageous
figure. I don't think I could have disobeyed if I had wanted to.

Once we reached the mat, it was obvious that Tara did yoga, because she
contorted herself into some truly mind-boggling positions when she stretched.
She was so flexible that she could bring her leg straight up from the mat and
touch her knee to her forehead without any sign of effort. My eyes widened
when she did that. Her eyes were riveted to me through her entire bewildering
range of stretches. It blew my mind that her huge endowment didn't hinder her
in the least as she moved smoothly from stretch to stretch. I couldn't help
but watch her chest rise into the sky when she lay on her back. It didn't look
like it even flattened from its own weight, which had to be considerable.

"Did you do gymnastics when you were younger?" I asked to break the silence.
"My sister did stuff like that as a kid, but she had to quit when she
matured."

"I did a little tumbling when I was very young," Tara replied, "but mostly the
strength and flexibility is from hard work. My parents owned a dairy farm. I
was always carrying heavy stuff, wrangling thousand-plus pound animals in and
out of stalls, moving heavy stuff around. The most fun was tossing hay bales.
They had to go up in the hayloft of the barn, and I started by carrying the
little bales when I was really young. Eventually I got strong enough to just
toss the big ones up there. I used to love it when we got a load of hay; it
was my job to unload the whole thing, about twenty of them, or thirty if we
were running low. It was a shame that I only got to do it a couple times a
week, though. I used to look forward to our neighbor driving up the road with
the hay stacked high on the trailer behind his big pickup. Our hayloft
wouldn't hold any more than thirty bales, so the work went pretty fast. It was
just a little farm."

"That sounds like a lot of work," I said. I didn't know anything about hay
bales. I grew up in the middle of my hometown, Ann Arbor, and the only thing I
knew about hay was that horses and cows ate it.

She looked at my uncomprehending face and chuckled.

"Okay, just for information's sake - not to brag," she said, her face neutral,
"Little hay bales run around seventy pounds, and the bigger ones are about one
hundred twenty pounds. Oh, and the opening of our hayloft is about twenty-five
feet off the ground. I couldn't just fling them because they'd hit the side of
the barn and break. I learned that the hard way. I also couldn't just hurl
them as hard as I could through the opening, because then they'd break when
they got in the loft and hit the far wall. They had to be tossed... gently, so
they landed just right. Then I'd climb up there and stack them when I got
enough of them into the loft. Rinse and repeat until the loft was full. The
last few I liked to carry up the ladder and see how fast I could go, but
throwing them was my favorite part."

I was flabbergasted. She could throw one hundred twenty pounds twenty-five
feet in the air and be "gentle" about it? My head was spinning. She didn't
even look like she WEIGHED one hundred twenty pounds!

After Tara finished her stretches, she hopped to her feet and faced me. I had
done a few stretches alongside her, because I would feel weird just sitting
there and watching.

"Uh, is there something else?" I asked as she stood over me. I could just see
the top of her head and eyes over the immense swell of her bust.

"Just one more thing," she said, leaning toward me with a curious smile on her
luscious lips. "Hop up."

I got to my feet and faced her. I was wondering what the last item on her list
would be. She was very close as I got to my feet, inches away. Even though her
figure was obscured by the oversized sweatshirt, the way it billowed outward
at her chest made its massive size apparent from my vantage above her.

"So, your reaction was a big outlier when I showed you how strong I was, like
I said," she began, "and, based on your reaction when I told you about the
hay, with actual weights for a frame of reference, it seems that none of it
really gives you an impression of how strong I am. I was thinking that maybe
it just wasn't apparent in your head and that was why you accepted it so
readily. So, I figured I'd show you, well, up close and personal, you know? I
want to see your reaction with real, incontrovertible proof."

I was taken aback.

"What kind of-" I began, then abruptly lost my footing as Tara wrapped her
arms around me, clasping her dainty hands together behind my back, and
proceeded to bear hug me against her fabulous body. She didn't wrench me with
any kind of force, but I immediately felt the immense strength in those
unassuming arms. My hands shot down to her forearms in surprise as she lifted
me off my feet without so much as a peep of effort! I was suspended, pinned to
her body, and could feel the huge swell of her breasts press into my stomach;
but it was her arms, the steely hardness of them, and how they grew
impressively in my hands that most amazed me.

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