FROM BEST FRIENDS TO SOUL MATES  Part 1 
by Mike Snow - written for DTM / Amy's Conquest



*** The Below is an extended segment from this story, written for us by one of
the

best authors I've read in a long time now, Mike Snow!

For the Full Story of "From Best Friends To Soul Mates (Part 1)", please visit
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Section at Amy's Conquest (www.amysconquest.com), or purchase it on its own on

our AC site.

Thanks all, and as always, hope you Enjoy! ***

********************

She bounced lightly ahead of him on the muddy, rock-strewn trail, her black
ponytail swinging between her broad, swimmers' shoulders and over her muscular
traps. She hadn't put her shirt back on after their dip in the tropical
stream, leaving only her bikini top covering her chest. Two sturdy pillars of
muscle ran down either side of her spine, following the gentle curve of her
back before they disappeared at her narrow waist into her hiking shorts.
Though he had to reapply bug spray every couple of hours, the mosquitoes
weren't nearly strong enough to penetrate her tan skin. Below her shorts, her
quadriceps flared with each step, exerting an infinitesimal amount of the
power they contained to propel her up the jungle path. Below her slender
knees, her round, firm calves flexed into diamond-hard, heart-shaped relief
every time she used the toe of her hiking boot to lift her body gracefully
over one of the boulders in their path.

He trudged behind her, the vision of her spectacular posterior distracting him
from the heft of the day pack he carried, weighed down by their water bottles,
granola bars and the change of clothes she had not bothered with. Of course,
she could have carried it much easier than he. While sweat matted his short
hair to his scalp and dripped down the sides of his face, her skin remained as
dry as if she were lounging by a pool. Neither of them knew exactly how much
stronger she was than him, mostly because they weren't entirely sure what the
upper limits of her strength were. One thing they were sure of, however, was
that the pack would've been all but weightless to her. He, on the other, hand,
wanted the workout. He wanted to stay in shape -- for him, certainly, but
mostly for his new bride. So he bore the weight and watched her, tired from
their hike but enthralled, as always, at her easy muscularity and gymnastic
grace.

When they reached the base of a particularly steep, rocky portion of the
barely-maintained trail, he huffed, "Hold up."

She turned on her toe, her head pointed upward and her ice blue eyes on the
rainforest canopy. A sliver of sunlight slipped through the lush blanket of
leaves and lit the left side of her face, highlighting her high cheekbones and
delicate nose, her slender chin line, the almost imperceptible crease at the
upturned corner of her mouth that happened involuntarily when she was content,
and the smooth lines of her muscular neck. He stared, and fell in love all
over again.

She looked down at her exhausted mate.

"Want me to take the pack for awhile, babe?"

"Nah," he said, trying to slow his breathing. "I just need a minute before we
tackle that," he nodded toward the imposing incline ahead of them.

"Because, you know..." she said slyly, her lips parting in a smile that was
part flirtation, part playful condescension.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, returning her playfulness with his own mock
exasperation. Both knew he wouldn't even have to take off the pack; she could
almost as easily sling him over her shoulder and bound up the mountainside. He
closed his eyes and took a long swig of water.

"Really, I'm fine. You keep carrying all the heavy stuff and I'm going to end
up pudgy before our first anniversary," he said, and sat down heavily on a
large rock beside the trail.

She pouted.

"Poor baby," she said, and jumped lightly off the boulder she was standing on,
landing with silky, feline ease.

She leaned against a tree and pulled off first one boot and sock, and then the
other, setting her bare feet on the rocky ground while she shook out the
pebbles that had worked their way in. She looked up and saw him glance at the
smooth skin and sculpted, almost dainty-looking feet. They bore her weight on
the sharp stones without causing even the whisper of a wince to cross her
face. A devilish smile curled her lips. She knew how much he loved it when she
toyed with him by showing off -- be it her immense strength, her seemingly
indestructible body, or the sensuous athleticism of her figure.

"Mmmm, sometimes I forget how hard it must be," she said, rising from the
tree, her boots hanging from her left hand, "not being as strong...," she
slung the arm holding the boots over her shoulder, dangling them from her
fingers and giving a little extra flex to her bicep, "or as tough...," she
began to saunter towards him, "as I am."

She lowered her head slightly, locking her eyes on him, her hips swaying, her
gait liquid, the rocks grinding against one another beneath her feet.

Most of the time, she went out of her way to stay below people's radar, almost
never exhibiting her superhuman abilities in public. He swivelled his head
around to check the trail.

"What if someone..."

"Shhh," she said. "I don't think anyone is within miles of us."

She was closer now, just a few steps from him, making him more aroused with
each inch she covered.

"You know," she purred, "I never thanked you for last night."

His eyes travelled up the ridges of her abdomen, now just a few inches away,
past her armor-plated obliques and breasts held high by her thick pectoral
muscles. His heart began to thump. She extended her right hand toward one of
the shoulder straps on his backpack, and wrapped her fingers around it. She
pulled, and gently lifted him to his feet.

***

They had grown up across the street from each other, and had been friends
since they knew the meaning of the word. As they entered adolescence, Kira
blossomed into a beautiful athlete, running track, swimming and playing
basketball. She excelled, but was never the star, more often finishing second
in races or leading her team in assists. As she trained, her muscles responded
quickly, growing and strengthening, though it would be years before Mark knew
what that training actually entailed.

He, on the other hand, was a late bloomer. His awkward phase lasted just a bit
longer than most of his classmates. He turned inward, preferring to spend his
afternoons behind closed doors, reading or gaming and eating too much junk
food. He wasn't obese, but he didn't feel the healthiest, something that
exacerbated his introversion. She rose through the social strata; he
languished near the bottom.

Through it all though, she remained his loyal friend, coming up behind him in
the cafeteria to dig a finger into the ticklish part of his ribs or giving him
a playful hip check when they passed in the halls. They'd often walk the six
blocks home together when she wasn't practicing.

And that's what did it. Kira grew more gorgeous every year, and her boyfriends
grew larger and more handsome. During their senior year, Doug, a wrestler she
was dating, saw them walking home together. Mark had said something funny, and
she had draped herself on his shoulder, laughing as the two 17-year-olds
walked away from the unseen boyfriend.

It was a Friday in autumn, and after the sun set, Mark, like the rest of the
town, headed to the high school football game. He walked alone over the
leaf-strewn side-walk; Kira was home, primping for a night out with Doug. Mark
wasn't surprised, then, when he saw Doug walking towards him down one of the
streets between school and home.

He kept his head down, and offered a small, "Hey," when they passed. Then he
felt Doug's large hand close around his shoulder.

"Just the guy I wanted to see," Doug said, and pulled him off the street into
the parking lot of a mini-mart. Mark thought about resisting, but it would've
been futile. At 6'1", Doug was two inches taller and, at about 190 muscular
pounds, 25 pounds heavier.

"W-What's up?" Mark asked, trying to sound casual.

"Me and Kira's what's up." He had his bulging arm draped across Mark's
relatively narrow shoulders and was smiling down at him. Mark smelled alcohol
on his breath.

"Saw you guys walking home today. In fact, I see you guys walking a lot of
places."

He led them past the mini-mart door and towards an alley. The alley was long
enough to back a semi-trailer into, surrounded by brick walls and had a green
dumpster at the far end. A single orange light shown down on the metal door
used for deliveries -- far too dimly for Mark's taste.

"And I don't like it," he said, pulling his arm off Mark and spinning him to
face him.

"Look, man, we're just friends," Mark said, putting his hands up, palms out.

"You looked like more than 'just friends' today." Doug was still smiling,
though his eyes had narrowed. "Now, I don't give a shit what you think you
are. I don't ever want to see that again."

The possessiveness in Doug's demeanour tripped something in Mark, and despite
himself, Mark found himself getting angry. She wasn't property. Where did this
guy get off?

"Look, we've known each other since-" he began, but was cut off when Doug put
one of his giant paws on Mark's chest and shoved.

Mark nearly flew back into the mini-mart's brick wall. He had never felt
another human being that strong -- not surprising, considering his sedentary
lifestyle.

"You're not listening to me," Doug said, quickly closing the distance between
them. "I'm telling you, you're fucking done with that. I don't want to see you
hanging around her, drooling all over her, hoping to cop a feel like some
fucking loser. And if I do see it again, I'm going to beat the shit out of
you."

He was close now, leaning in, inches from Mark's face.

"Maybe I'll drag your sorry ass in front of her before I do it. Show her what
everybody else already sees when they look at you. Now fuck off."

The smart thing, Mark would later admit to himself, would've been to just shut
the hell up. But to the surprise of both of them, he didn't.

"She's my friend, asshole," and, at the last word, tried to push Doug away
from him, one hand on his hard chest and the other on his bowling-ball
shoulder. Somewhere in the cosmos, Sir Isaac Newton shook his head in
displeasure. Doug's weight advantage, coupled with his immense strength, meant
Mark just ended up shoving himself backwards.

Doug -- a little drunk, more than a little angry and itching to show this
twerp where he fit on the food chain -- squared up, seeming to grow even more
imposing.

"You little shit," he said, and yanked Mark toward him by his collar.

He drove his fist deep into Mark's gut, doubling him over. Lifting him back
up, Doug fired three powerful shots into Mark's face, bloodying his nose and
lip, and sending stars flying across his vision. Doug grabbed the front of
Mark's shirt with both hands, lifted him off the pavement and slammed him into
the brick wall, pulled him back, and slammed him into it again. Doug dropped
him and Mark crumpled at his feet. Doug pulled his leg back, and his colossal
quads powered his foot into Mark's stomach. He yelled in pain and rolled over,
opening his ribs to another shot from Doug. Doug reached down, grabbed the
gasping Mark by the collar again and muscled him to his feet. He drew back his
fist for another jab at Mark's face when Kira screamed from the side-walk.

"No!"

Before either knew what was happening, she was there, her slender hand closing
a little more than halfway around Doug's thick, cocked forearm. She was
wearing tight blue jeans and a cream, long-sleeve, form-fitting sweater for
the date she'd planned with the man who was pummelling her best friend. Mark
lolled in his grip, bloody, struggling to breathe and woozy from the powerful
blows. A fury burned in Kira's eyes, something neither Mark nor Doug had ever
seen. She squeezed the hand holding Doug's forearm, her fingers overcoming the
tension in his muscles as though the were made of putty. The bones in his
forearm snapped so sharply the sound echoed off the alley walls. He drew in a
breath and dropped Mark, who again collapsed in a heap. Kira flung Doug from
between her and Mark, and knelt beside her friend. She gently held his bloody
face in her hands. His vision came back into focus, and he looked up at her
through eyes that were beginning to swell shut. Tears rolled down his cheeks,
as much from the humiliation as the pain. Her eyes filled with tears as well,
until Doug's scream snapped her out of it.

The initial shock had worn off and he cradled his shattered arm in his other
hand, staring at it with his mouth open. Kira clenched her teeth, stood and
turned to him. She grabbed his throat with her left hand and lifted him into
the air. Though the brute was four inches taller than her, and appeared to
outweigh her by at least 50 pounds, her movements were smooth. Mark stared up
from the pavement in disbelief at his friend holding his struggling assailant
off the ground as easily as if she were hanging up a coat.

She pulled her right arm back and drove it hard into Doug's ribcage, causing
him to buck as if someone had fired an electric shock through him. Mark heard
a sound like dry branches snapping, but her grip on Doug's throat kept him
from screaming. She fired off two more bone-shattering punches before lowering
him and sending her small, hard fist into the side of his face. His head
snapped back. She kept him from falling over by grabbing a handful of his
shirt with one hand. Closing her other hand around his belt, she lifted him
again, this time pressing him above her until her arms were nearly fully
extended.

With a loud grunt, she took a step forward and threw him the length of the
alley. In the act of taking that step, the rounded calf muscle above her back
foot flexed, opening a small split in the bottom of her jeans right before
Mark's eyes. Doug sailed through the air and crashed back-first into the
dumpster, hitting it so hard he dented the metal side and pushed the heavy bin
back six inches. He slumped on the ground, barely conscious. She stalked
toward him, fists clenched.

Jesus, she's going to kill him, something in Mark's brain shouted at him.
She's going to kill him because of your useless, pathetic ass.

He struggled to his feet and stumbled after her. He reached her just as she
crouched beside Doug's broken form. Grabbing a handful of his shirt, she
lifted his torso off the ground and cocked her right arm back. Mark wrapped
his hands around her elbow just as she began to swing. The strength in that
one arm lifted Mark off the ground and would've sent him sailing over her had
she not immediately realized what was happening. She halted her punch, spun,
shot her left arm out and wrapped it around Mark's torso, catching him and
lowering him gently to the ground.

He caught his breath and grabbed onto her shoulders. Looking into her cerulean
eyes, her black hair hanging in dishevelled strands around her soft face, he
shook his head.

"It's over."

He felt the tension seep from her shoulders. Her eyes flickered over his
bruised face and again welled with tears. She pulled him into an embrace, and
they both tried not to weep.

***

An anonymous call led the ambulance to Doug, who woke up the next day in the
hospital and told police he couldn't remember anything. The physicians
diagnosed multiple broken ribs, a compound fracture in his forearm, a
dislocated jaw and broken orbital bone, a minor concussion and organs bruised
by blunt force trauma. The police chalked it up to a hit-and-run, most likely
from a large pick-up, considering his height and the angle and severity of the
injuries. The doctors couldn't think of anything else that would've done that
to him.

Kira helped Mark home, where he washed out his wounds while she filled a
couple of zip-lock bags with ice. Mercifully, his parents were away for a long
weekend at a friend's cabin.

They sat silently in his living room for a few minutes, neither quite sure how
to bring it up. Mark held one ice pack to the side of his face, and pinned the
other against his ribs with the underside of his arm. Kira looked down at the
ottoman in front of her, feeling guilty and worried and afraid. She had worked
so hard for so long to hide this from people, terrified of what those closest
to her would do if they knew. She wondered if she could explain it away -- a
surge of adrenaline, maybe. She imagined the conversation: You know those
stories about a mother lifting a car off her child...? But, then, the mother
never flipped the car over, never held it aloft. Sitting inches away from
someone who knew more about her than nearly anyone, and who had just learned
of this colossal thing that separated her from everyone -- him included -- she
groped for the words, but could hold onto none.

Mark, his head back and eyes closed, spoke first.

"So... you work out?"

A cheesy pick-up line, a sarcastic delivery, and they were back on familiar
ground -- friends, in the living room they'd hung out in so many times before,
light and foolish.

She looked into his eyes; they were the same -- not fearful nor wary, but open
and eager to understand her. They were her friend's eyes.

She breathed in. Fuck it, she thought. Here goes.

She told him everything: how, as an 8-year-old, she'd discovered she was far
stronger than a normal human when she playfully pretended to push her father's
car out of the garage after they'd returned from the grocery store. She
recalled the horror on his face when the car began moving, how he'd yelled at
her to get away, dropped the grocery bags and leapt back into the vehicle,
thinking he'd endangered his daughter by forgetting to put it in park. He
hadn't, and he spent the next couple of days in increasingly agitated phone
calls with the dealership's mechanic over a transmission that the mechanic
said was in perfect working order.

Seeing her father's panicked reaction, and the way he never even considered
the truth of what had happened, instilled in her a fear -- or, at least, a
deep-seated wariness -- of her power. She didn't want to scare anybody. So she
hid this part of herself, even though it secretly fascinated her. When she was
sure she was alone, she'd sneak down to her parents' workout area in the
basement, loading the barbells and dumbbells with amounts of weight seemingly
impossible for a girl to lift. She enjoyed pushing herself, and the rapid
increases in strength with which she was rewarded. It seemed she never failed
to lift a weight more than a few times; her muscles would strengthen and,
within weeks, things that had been too heavy to pick up became her new
repetition weight. By 10, she could bench press nearly 300 lbs, and curl 120.

By 12, both those figures had doubled. That year was the only other time she'd
used her strength violently. She'd been playing with her friends in a park
near their homes. As she left to go home for dinner, she noticed a man who'd
been sitting on the park bench near them get up to follow her. Something
inside her told her this was wrong; her heart started to beat faster as she
heard him get closer. Soon, he was beside her, smiling down at her. She was
nearing panic now. As they approached an alley, he reached his hand to her
shoulder and started to say something. The moment his hand touched her
shoulder, she reached up and grabbed it to pull it off. "Hey- Ow!" he yelped.
He tried to pull his hand free, but her grip was too strong; his pull only
yanked her small body closer to his, deepening her panic.

She squeezed, grinding the bones together -- had she felt something snap? --
and tried to spin away from him, but didn't have the presence of mind to
release her grip. The man was lifted off his feet as she whipped around. The
inertia flung him into the wall of the building beside the alley, and he
cracked his head on the bricks. He yelled loud enough that a passing car with
its windows rolled down screeched to a halt. The man inside saw a panicked
little girl and an angry adult screaming. He got out. "What's going on here?"
he asked. "Help!" she yelled, and ran toward him. Regaining his senses, the
man who'd followed her saw he'd been spotted and took off down the street. The
man in the car ran to Kira, calling 911 on his cell phone. The police took
their report (Kira omitted the part about flinging the grown man around like a
rag doll) and Kira's panic-stricken parents had taken her home and put her to
bed. By then, she'd calmed down more than they had. It had been so easy, she
thought to herself. She could've crushed his hand in hers, and she'd actually
thrown him -- a grown man -- into a wall by accident. Smiling, feeling
invincible and absolutely safe in her own skin, she drifted off to sleep.

On the playing fields and in the gym, she held back, using increasingly
smaller fractions of her strength to keep herself or her team in the game, but
never dominating, never drawing too much attention. At home, all the weights
in her basement couldn't challenge her, so she moved to the garage. The first
night, she waited until she was sure they were asleep and slipped quietly onto
the cold concrete floor. She started with the back bumper of her father's
sedan, wrapping her small hands around the metal underside, locking her back
into a dead-lift position and slowly straightening her legs, teeth gritted,
arms quivering, as the shocks extended and then, amazingly, the back tires
left the floor. She dropped the car and leaned into the trunk, panting, flush
with the accomplishment. Eventually, when the dead-lifts became easier, she
moved on to the front of the car, then on to her mother's SUV, each new
achievement sparking anew the desire to keep going.

By the end of the summer that had just ended, she was able to curl the front
of the big Ford her mother drove.

***

The words, bottled up for half her life, tumbled out of her. Mark listened in
astonishment, part of his brain telling him he was hearing a fairy tale and
another part responding, "Oh yeah? So what was that in the alley?" The
descriptions of her superhuman feats of strength contrasted with the soft,
beautiful face before him and the trim, athletic body below it, causing a
stirring in him. Since adolescence struck, he'd been aware of her beauty but
had shoved those feelings aside; even if he had been dumb enough to risk their
friendship, she was laughably out of his league. But now they came flooding
back, and he found his mouth was suddenly dry.

But as her story continued, he realized the thread throughout it all: She was
alone. She was perhaps his best friend in the world, yet she felt she couldn't
tell him about this defining part of her. That was enough to calm his hormones
and reawaken his conscience. She showed this to no one; the only thing
powerful enough to draw it out of her was her loyalty to him, her care for
him.

When she finished speaking, her shoulders were slumped, her voice soft. She
was staring at the ottoman again.

He moved to her, reached around her shoulder and pulled her lightly toward
him. She didn't resist, and leaned into him with her head down.

"I am so, so sorry," he said softly.

"What? Why are you sorry? I've been... we've been friends how long, and I've
been lying to you this whole time." Her voice sounded small and on the verge
of breaking.

Part of him couldn't believe he was the one comforting her -- like giving
Supergirl your coat while she's carrying you through the sky. It was a nice
gesture, but come on.

But she was genuinely adrift, vulnerable.

"You don't even know who I am," she said.

He pulled her tighter to him and leaned his cheek on top of her head.

"How could you say that? Of course I do. You're my best friend. You're the
girl who never pretended she didn't know me, who asks to pet every dog that
someone walks past her, who can't sing worth a damn, and who never tries to
take anything away from anyone. You're the best person I know."

She sat up and turned to him, her blue eyes soft and moist.

"And, you know, you can... curl a truck," he added with a half smile and a
shrug that hurt his damaged ribs. He hid the wince; jokes require commitment.

She laughed a little, then sniffled. But she didn't quite relax.

Her smile faded and she looked away.

"So what do you... I mean, what's your..." she struggled to find the right way
to ask what he thought of the thing she'd been terrified of revealing since
seeing the horror on her father's face all those years ago. She finally
settled on, "Does it scare you?"

He looked at her for a moment.

"You don't scare me, Kira," he said gently.

She smiled again.

"In fact..." he began, then paused. He should stop, he thought, but he
couldn't. "If you ever want any, I dunno, any company or anything on one of
your workouts..."

She raised her eyebrows slightly, studying him and processing his halting
question. Her smile became something slightly more sly.

"Really?" she asked, her tone making it unclear whether she was questioning
his offer or the nature of the interest behind it.

Now it was his turn to look away. He cleared his throat.

"I mean, you know, only if you want company... I'm a little thirsty. Are you
thirsty? I'm thirsty. I haven't had anything to drink in awhile." He stood and
turned to walk to the kitchen.

She was silent for a few moments, slightly giddy with the release of finally
letting someone else in on her secret -- and at seeing him react with
something other than fear. In fact, he almost seemed...

"So, what did you move on to after your mom's SUV?" he asked, coming back with
a couple of glasses of juice. She took the one he offered her, kicked off her
shoes and tucked her legs up beneath her on the couch. He sat at the other end
and resisted the urge to inch closer.

"Well, nothing, really. I kinda stalled. I mean, I can't think of anything
heavier around the house."

"And you'd probably wake them up if you lifted the house itself."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Don't be daft, Mark," she said in a passable
faux-English accent.

After a pause, she added, "It's actually been a little frustrating. I mean,
it's getting easier and easier to lift, so I know I can do more. I just don't
know where or what."

He thought for a minute, then looked over to her.

"So... Nah," he said.

"What?"

"There's the rail yard, but that's private property. I mean, it's big enough
that we could probably stay out of sight. But it's a bit of a risk."

She raised the glass to her slightly smiling lips and, looking over the rim at
him, asked, "We?"

He blushed.

"Well," he said, injecting some mock bravado into his voice, "the lighting's
bad. It's kind of a shady area. Somebody's got to protect you."

She giggled, nearly snorting her juice, set the glass down, and shifted on the
couch. It actually wasn't a bad idea, she thought.

She turned her head toward him and tilted it so her hair fell away from her
face.

"Got any plans tomorrow night?"

***

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