Backstage Hijinx
By Leslie McCormick
A female bodybuilder enters her first competition



  I'd been bodybuilding for about three years when I entered my first 
contest.  Like most new adherents to the sport, I was nearly fanatical 
in my regime.  I watched what I ate and drank, took supplements to 
augment my training program, and worked out every day of the week except 
for Sunday.  To speed my muscle development, I was also taking a mild 
steroid.  I wasn't thrilled with its side effects, but I was very happy 
with my muscle growth, and speedy recovery after training. 
  When I first took up bodybuilding, I weighed one hundred and ten 
pounds, and I was woefully out of shape.  Even walking up a short flight 
of stairs left me weak and winded.  I smoked, and was a heavy drinker, 
and neither of those habits was conducive to good health.  Three years 
later, I'd quit smoking and drinking.  I weighed a solid one hundred 
forty pounds, and could run three miles in under twenty-five minutes.  I 
slept better, and started to develop a more positive attitude about 
myself. 
  My husband, Bill, was my personal trainer.  He'd been involved with 
the bodybuilding lifestyle since his teen years, and it was largely 
through his efforts that I managed to turn my life around.  We'd met 
through a mutual friend, and had hit it off immediately.  After a 
whirlwind courtship, we were married in a private ceremony in New 
Hampshire.  I had no family to speak of, having severed all ties with my 
sister and aunt, and Bill was just as happy not to have his family 
involved.  We set up house in a small Cambridge apartment, and after 
some convincing, I allowed Bill into talking me into taking up weights. 
  I saw it as a way for us to be together more often.  Bill was a 
dedicated bodybuilder and personal trainer, and he kept long hours at 
the gym.  At the beginning of our marriage, I would find myself alone in 
the house, and the solitude only made me want to drink more than normal.  
Having a baby was out of the question for several reasons.  I'd had a 
bad miscarriage that prevented my having more children.  Bill wanted to 
adopt, but the red tape and interminable wait discouraged us both.  So, 
when Bill suggested I take up bodybuilding, I took him up on his offer. 
  It was tough going at first.  Although I didn't look it, I was in 
terrible shape.  As a youngster, I was tall and thin, and I'd never 
really filled out.  I was skinny, and my dietary habits were poor.  I 
took no exercise, so I was, in effect, starting from ground zero. 
  With Bill's assistance, I progressed quickly.  He had a lot of 
experience with first-timers, and he was encouraging and solicitous.  
Rather than trying to accomplish too much, too fast, Bill stressed a 
slow, measured approach.  He set small, achievable goals, and before I 
knew it, I'd transformed my body. I remember the first time I truly 
noticed the difference.  It was mid-summer, and it was hot and humid.  
The gym's air conditioners were working overtime, but even they weren't 
enough to adequately cool the gym's interior.  I was accustomed to 
training in sweat shirt and pants over a T-shirt and shorts, but it was 
much to hot for that attire, and so I stripped off the sweat shirt.  I 
happened to be facing toward the mirrors that lined the walls, and 
caught sight of my reflection.  I was amazed at the sight reflected back 
at me.  I actually had muscles.  My arms no longer looked like sticks.  
The biceps were round and prominent.  There was a noticeable bulge in my 
deltoids, and my lats filled out the back of the T-shirt.  I was so 
mesmerized by the sight that I simply stopped to admire myself.  When I 
went back to training, it was with new-found determination. 
  It took Bill a long time to convince me to compete against other 
people.  He thought it would bolster my confidence, but I wasn't so 
certain.  I suffered from an inferiority complex, and though I hid it 
well, I was exceedingly insecure.  Deep down inside, I was intimidated 
by the other women bodybuilders.  In my eyes, their bodies appeared to 
be so much better than mine.  There was one woman in particular, who 
trained at the same gym as I did, who filled me with feelings of 
inadequacy.  I'd never seen a woman so big and well-developed.  On those 
rare occasions when I spotted her in the locker room, I was even more 
intimidated.  I couldn't imagine competing against her.  Her physique 
was the epitome of physical development. 
  But Bill was persistent.  He worked on my constantly, wearing down my 
resistance, and overcoming my objections until I finally said yes.  I 
still had doubts, but I was too weary to voice them.  Better to just get 
this over with, and make him happy.  I thought that if I fared poorly, I 
could use that as an excuse to avoid future contests.  So, I acquiesced, 
and let him take care of everything. 
  The competition was held on a Saturday in May.  It was unseasonably 
warm, with temperatures in the eighties.  The contest, sponsored by Twin 
Labs, was held in an old auditorium near Narragansett Beach.  The 
amusement park was still standing in those days, and the beaches and 
walkways were crowded with people.  We arrived early to insure that we 
could find parking, and so had several hours to kill before we were 
scheduled to check in. 
  I was on a very restricted diet, and the lack of food and my nervous 
apprehension made me cross and irritable.  Bill tried to engage me in 
conversation, but I only responded with monosyllabic answers, and after 
a while, he got the hint, and fell silent. 
  Bill was hungry, and wanted to stop to grab a bite to eat.  I decided 
not to accompany him, feeling that watching him eat while I had to 
starve was more punishment than I deserved to bear.  So we agreed to 
meet at the auditorium an hour before check-in.  He found a small 
restaurant, and I strolled down to the beach. 
  There were a lot of young adults laying supine on the beach.  I walked 
to the water's edge, and strolled along.  The water was ice-cold, and 
after a few minutes, my feet began to turn blue.  I angled away from the 
water, and headed for the sea wall, thinking to rest a while before 
turning back. 
  I passed a group of young men who were playing an energetic game of 
volleyball, and as I walked past them, one of them noticed me, and 
yelled something.  Ordinarily, I would have ignored the comment, but I 
was in a foul mood that day, and something in his tone of voice rubbed 
me the wrong way.  I stopped, and looked to find who'd made the comment. 
  He was probably no more than seventeen or eighteen years old, and as 
skinny as a string bean.  He wore a pair of baggy black trunks, and the 
dark material made his white skin seem even paler in comparison.  He was 
broad-shouldered, but had a concave chest, and no visible musculature to 
speak of.  He stood grinning at me while his friends watched. 
  "You got something to say?" I asked. 
  He feigned surprise.  "Who, me?" he asked innocently. 
  "Yeah.  You."  I don't know what caused me to accost him that way.  
Perhaps it was the steroids racing through my system.  Perhaps it was my 
way of releasing tension.  Whatever the reason, I was angry, and had no 
intention of backing down from him.  Perhaps he sensed that, because he 
suddenly became diffident. 
  "I didn't say anything." 
  His friends hooted at that, and began to tease him about being 
intimidated by a woman.  I stared at him for a few seconds more, then 
turned to walk away. 
  "I said you look like a fucking truck driver," he shouted to me. 
  I spun on my heel, and walked up to him.  I was as angry as I've ever 
been. 
  "I can punch like one, too," I said, and swung a fist at his face. 
  I had the element of surprise on my side.  My fist hit him just under 
the eye.  He went down like a felled tree.  He clapped a hand to his 
face, and stared up at me through his uncovered eye with a look that 
sent a thrill of exultation through me. 
  I was certain his friends would say or do something, but they didn't.  
They stared at me in wonder, and finally, I turned and walked away.  
When I reached the sea wall, I boosted myself to the top of it, and sat 
down with my legs dangling over the sides. 
  The boys were gathered around the one I'd struck.  I couldn't hear 
what they were saying, but they pointed in my direction, and I got the 
feeling they were trying to convince him to come after me and take 
revenge.  That was okay by me.  Adrenaline was running through my 
system, and I was ready to continue the fight.  When the group began to 
move, I jumped down from the wall, and stood waiting for them, but 
instead of approaching me, they gave me a wide berth, and walked down 
the beach toward the first aid station. 
  I was strangely disappointed.  That was the first time I'd ever 
punched anyone, and I was stunned at my feeling of power.  For the first 
time, I understood the chest-pounding that males engaged in.  I looked 
down at my hand.  The skin on my knuckles was a little chafed, but aside 
from that, I'd suffered no ill effects.  I wondered what it would be 
like to fight someone for real. 
  My sister, Mary Ellen, liked to engage in bare-knuckle fighting.  She 
seemed to get a kick out of it.  I remember watching her as she and 
another woman settled an argument in a boxing match.  Mary Ellen and her 
opponent were both big and tall, and they fought like men, without 
regard for niceties.  Mary Ellen's opponent gave as good as she got, and 
though she lost the fight, she blackened Mary Ellen's eye, and gave her 
a swollen lip that took nearly a week to heal.  At the time, I'd been 
horrified by the spectacle, but now I wondered how it would feel. 
  It was time to meet Bill.  I put my sandals back on, and walked to the 
auditorium.  Even though the competition didn't begin for more than 
three hours, there was already a line of spectators lined up in front of 
the entrance.  They seemed a normal mix of men and women.  It seemed 
strange to me that such an eclectic group of people could have shared a 
common interest like bodybuilding. 
  Bill was waiting by the entrance where the competitors had to 
register.  He gave me a hug, and escorted me to the folding table that 
was set up near the door.  I was pre-registered, so my check-in took no 
time at all.  We were assigned a number and a weight class, and were 
told to go up to the staging area. 
  I had assumed that the women would be isolated from the men.  This was 
true, in that the competitors had separate staging areas, but that 
wasn't true in regards to each competitor's retinue.  There were as many 
hangers-on as they were competitors.  They milled around, taking up 
space, and generally getting in the way.  A Twin Lab photographer was 
snapping pictures.  I asked Bill about that, and he explained that the 
entry form had included a provision that the photographer be allowed to 
take candid and promotional shots.  I didn't like the idea, but I kept 
silent. 
  Bill commandeered an area in the rear of the staging area.  There were 
no lockers available to hang our clothing, just nails pounded into the 
walls.  All around me, women were undressing with no apparent shame. 
  "Do you want to pump up your muscles?" Bill asked.  He pointed to a 
set of weights across the room.  "Or do you want to wait?" 
  "How much time have we got?" 
  "Pre-judging starts in fifteen minutes." 
  "That soon?" 
  "Yeah.  You better get your suit on." 
  I was dressed in my usual sweats.  I thought I would have a modicum of 
privacy, but I know saw that that assumption was wrong. 
  "I don't have any underwear on," I said to Bill. 
  "So?"  He seemed unconcerned.  "You'll only have to take it off 
anyway." 
  "But..."  I waved a hand around the room. 
  "What?" he asked.  Then it dawned on him what I meant.  He chuckled.  
"What, are you shy?  Get over it.  Look around you." 
  I saw what he meant.  The other competitors were standing around in 
various stages of undress.  No one seemed concerned with the fact that 
they were nude or semi-nude in front of strangers.  The women simply 
shed their street clothing, and donned their posing outfits.  It was all 
done so matter-of-factly. 
  Still, I hesitated.  I wanted to say more to Bill, but I knew it would 
only make him impatient.  This initial competition meant a great deal to 
him.  I knew that he viewed this as the first step toward the day when 
he and I could pose together on stage.  I didn't want to disappoint him.  
I loved Bill for what he'd done for me, and I felt that the least I 
could do for him was try. 
  I stripped off my sweats, and took my posing suit from the gym bag 
Bill had carried in for me.  It was a beautiful emerald green in color 
to complement my eyes, and contrast with my hair.  It was cut to expose 
the maximum amount of musculature.  The top was very narrow, and the 
bottom was nothing more than a Y-shaped thong that left my butt 
completely bare.  Bill had picked the suit out, and when I complained 
about its skimpiness, he'd grown peevish. 
  "The whole idea is to show off your body," he said.  "What do you want 
to do?  Wear a sack?" 
  "But there's no bottom to it," I protested.  "My whole ass will be 
hanging out." 
  "Your ass is the second best body part you've got going for you," he 
said.  "Besides, most of the judges are guys, and it can't hurt to turn 
them on a little." 
  "Bill."  I was shocked. 
  "Don't be so na‹ve," he said. 
  "Still." 
  "Leslie, don't start.  This is the suit you're going to wear." 
  After I got the suit on, I stood stoically while Bill applied glue to 
the suit's material.  The paste was designed to hold the suit in place 
while I went through my routine.  I didn't want it to slip and expose a 
breast while I flexed.  The audience might like it, but the judges 
deducted points for incidents like that. 
  Bill insisted I do some quick repetitions.  He claimed the pump would 
inflate my muscles, and make me look more impressive on-stage.  I did as 
he instructed, working up a light sweat, and then, with less than two 
minutes to go, I took my place in line. 
  We were the second group to go out.  The lightweights were finishing 
up the pre-judging, and were walking off.  I was sandwiched between an 
enormously muscled black woman and a short blonde with a stocky 
physique.  She was a fidgety type, and kept plucking at her suit, 
tugging it this way and that until I grew so irritated, it was all I 
could do to restrain myself from snapping at her. 
  The backstage coordinator gave us the signal, and we walked onstage.  
There was only a small audience for the pre-judging.  This part of the 
contest is usually only attended by the true die-hard adherents.  Pre-
judging has none of the flash of the final judging.  It's a mostly 
boring, predictable display of body parts. 
  There were six judges.  They sat at a long table just below the stage.  
The two women judges were former female bodybuilders I recognized from 
having seen in the bodybuilding publications.  I didn't recognize any of 
the male judges, but I did note, with some amusement, that they were all 
middle-aged men who were woefully out of shape. 
  We lined up on stage, facing the audience.  On instructions from one 
of the judges, we presented each side of our body.  They were looking at 
us to form first impressions, and to decide which of us to compare to 
the others.  When we were told to present our backsides, there was a 
muffled murmur from the audience.  Several whistles and catcalls sounded 
out, and I clearly heard one appreciative male yell, "Great glutes, 
Red." 
  I flushed at being singled out, and yet at the same time, I grew warm 
inside.  It made me excited to be noticed like that.  The blonde on my 
right flashed me a grin. 
  "They like your ass," she whispered out of the side of my mouth. 
  After the initial display, we were told to stand at the rear of the 
stage while the individual comparisons were being made.  I was called 
out fairly often.  I noticed that I was often being compared to a pretty 
brunette near the front of the line.  The blonde who'd been behind me in 
line wasn't called out once. 
  When the pre-judging was completed, and we were once again safely 
backstage, the blonde erupted. 
  "Fucking assholes," she said, to no one in particular.  "What are they 
looking for?  Bathing beauties?" 
  "Don't mind her," the black woman said.  "Kay sings the same song 
every contest." 
  "Stuff it, Theresa," Kay said.  "I'm right, and you know it." 
  "I don't know nothing of the kind, girl," Theresa said softly.  "The 
judges called me out, and I got more muscle than you." 
  "In your dreams," Kay shot back, but you could tell the remark had hit 
home. 
  "She does this every time," Theresa confided to me.  "Claims the 
judges ain't looking for muscle.  Girl thinks there's so sort of 
conspiracy goin' on." 
  "Are you going to tell me I'm wrong?" Kay shot back.  "Who always wins 
this things?  The one with the biggest tits.  Why'd you think they kept 
calling her out?  She's a fucking cow." 
  "Hey, wait a minute," I said.  I was sensitive enough about the size 
of my boobs without a perfect stranger commenting on them. 
  One of the stage hands was trying to herd us back to the staging area, 
but he was a difficult time getting us to move.  Collectively, we 
outweighed him by a good hundred pounds.  He darted around us, urging us 
to move along. 
  "Don't let it get under your skin, girl," Theresa said to me.  "Kay's 
just jealous 'cause she ain't got no more tit than you'd get from being 
bit by a mosquito." 
  "Fuck you," Kay shouted. 
  "You wanna try, little girl?" 
  I was certain that Kay and Theresa were going to come to blows, but 
the imminent fight was broken up by the master of ceremonies.  He was a 
big, burly man, and he pushed between the two with an angry scowl on his 
face. 
  "Knock it off," he said, harshly.  "If you two cunts want to fight, 
take it outside.  Either one of you start any shit backstage or in the 
staging area, and I'll kick you of the contest.  Now get back upstairs." 
  "Who is that?" I asked Theresa as we walked back upstairs. 
  "Lord, honey, don't you know you he is?"  She told me his name, which 
I immediately recognized. 
  "I've never seen him in person before," I said. 
  "He runs a tight ship," Theresa said.  "He meant what he said, too.  I 
got to stay away from that Kay.  She makes me want to pull her hair 
out." 
  We had quite a bit of time until the evening's competition.  I took 
off my posing suit, and pulled on my sweats.  I went downstairs 
searching for Bill.  I found him in conversation with a willowy blonde 
who was dressed in a tailored pant suit.  He excused himself when I 
approached, and intercepted me before I had a chance to meet the woman.  
Taking my arm, he led me away, steering me towards the door leading 
outside. 
  "Who was that?" 
  "Her?  Just some woman who started asking questions about you.  She 
says she knows you." 
  I glanced over my shoulder at her.  She was staring after us.  "I 
don't recognize her," I said.  "What's her name?" 
  "Mary McCrossan," he said. 
  I knew the name.  Before I met Bill, I dated a man by the name of Tom 
McCrossan.  The woman was probably related to him.  It wasn't a topic I 
wanted to delve into with Bill, and so I deftly changed the subject. 
  "How was I?" 
  "You were great," Bill said.  "It was good that you were called out so 
often.  That means that the judges like you." 
  "Did I really look good?  Theresa is so much bigger than me." 
  "Yeah, but your shape is better.  Stop worrying.  Are you hungry?  Do 
you want to get something to eat?" 
  In fact, I was famished.  I didn't understand Bill's nutritional 
theories.  It was all so complicated and complex.  I simply trusted his 
judgement, and ate and drank when it told me it was okay to do so. 
  We went back to the diner where Bill had had breakfast.  He ordered 
for me, and as we waited for our food to arrive, he briefed me on how 
the evening would go.  I'd brought three posing suits to the contest, 
and Bill was pushing me to the wear the white one.  I wanted the blue, 
but he overrode me, telling me that the lights would be on in the 
evening, and that the blue suit would make me look washed out.  He kept 
stressing that I had to show my back and butt more. 
  "It's your best body part," he said.  "Let the judges see your ass 
more often." 
  "I feel funny." 
  "Get over it," he snapped.  "Do you want to do well or not?" 
  I was quiet for the rest of the meal, letting him lecture me on the 
weaknesses he'd spotted in my posing routine.  When we got back to the 
auditorium, he told me he was going to visit with some friends of his 
who were also in the audience.  I pretended to climb the stairs, but 
came back to watch him walk away.  My suspicions were correct.  He found 
the blonde woman he'd been talking with earlier, and engaged her in 
conversation. 
  Watching them, I felt a tremor of apprehension steal through my body.  
Before meeting Bill, I'd been a wild and impetuous person.  I was a 
heavy drinker and smoker, and I did drugs.  In addition to all that, I 
was sexually active.  Those who judged harshly would have called me a 
tramp.  I slept with anyone who showed me the slightest bit of 
affection.  The fact that I was often used solely as a sex object didn't 
seem to deter me.  Tom McCrossan had been one of my former lovers, and 
he and I had had a strange and involved relationship.  If Mary McCrossan 
was related to him, I wondered how much of my past she knew and was now 
revealing to my husband. 
  The staging area was packed with contestants.  None of the weight 
classes had been called downstairs yet, so the upstairs room was crowded 
with women trying to ready themselves for the evening's competition.  
From below, we could hear the sounds of the audience.  One of the women 
mentioned that the auditorium had been sold out. 
  I found my gym bag where I'd left it.  Following Bill's instructions, 
I took out the white suit.  I stripped off my sweats, and stood naked 
while I tried to reapply the glue.  Unaccustomed to working on myself, I 
was having a hard time of it.  Suddenly, Theresa was beside me, taking 
it from my hands.  She pushed a towel at me. 
  "Here, honey.  Wipe that off, and we'll start all over.  Lord, girl, 
you sure are new at this." 
  "This is my first comp," I said needlessly. 
  Theresa laughed.  "No shit, girl.  Ain't no need to tell me that.  
Look at you.  Ain't even got no makeup on.  You ain't going on with that 
pale face, are you?" 
  "I didn't wear makeup this afternoon," I said. 
  "Girl, you got a lot to learn.  In the afternoon, the judges are 
looking at your body.  In the evening, they be looking at your face, and 
at your titties and your ass.  You gotta remember they looking for 
something they can sell.  They don't want a woman looks like a man.  
They want a woman looks like a woman." 
  "But I thought this was about bodybuilding." 
  Theresa rolled her eyes.  "Lord, girl, you some kind of na‹ve.  Now 
hold still while I get this glue on you." 
  She applied the paste with practiced strokes.  I slipped into my suit, 
and tugged it into place.  It was slightly smaller than the green 
outfit, and it dug into my crotch.  I started to pull it down, but 
Theresa slapped my hand away. 
  "Girl, you want to be pulling that up, not down.  The boys in the 
audience, they looking to see what they can see.  Give 'em a show.  Let 
them see that pussy of yours.  Turn around, let me look at you." 
  I turned.  Her hands touched the small of my back.  "You looking good, 
honey.  With those titties, and that ass, you going do all right 
tonight." 
  "Thank you for helping me out," I said. 
  "Ain't nothing.  I'm helping you out now, but don't be looking for me 
to help you out when we get down on that stage.  This is competition, 
baby, and I mean to win it." 
  The lightweight class had been called, and they filed out.  I noticed 
that the posing suits were much more daring than they'd been in the 
afternoon.  Then, only one of two of the women had been wearing thongs.  
Now, they all were.  I mentioned that to Theresa. 
  "They only doing what I told you to do," she smiled.  "Sex is what 
this is all about.  Don't let them tell you different.  Those judges, 
they as human as anybody.  They want to see titties and booty just as 
much as the next man." 
  "What about the women judges?" 
  Theresa hooted laughter.  "Lord, girl, those women are as queer as 
they come.  You know the short woman who was on the right at the end of 
the table, had a name badge on?  Every competition she judges, damn if 
she don't proposition one or two of the ladies.  She's worse than the 
men are."  She laughed again.  "You watch your ass 'round her, girl.  
You give her half a chance, she'll have your pants down 'round your 
knees, and her head 'tween your legs 'fore you know it." 
  "But I'm not a lesbian," I said. 
  That only made Theresa laugh harder.  "Lord, girl, that don't matter 
at all.  She wants your body.  She don't care none 'bout whether you 
like it or not." 
  The evening competition took much longer than the afternoon.  They'd 
added a five-minute free-style posing routine, and that extended the 
time required, although the number of entrants in each division had been 
whittled down.  It was more than forty-five minutes before the winner 
was announced.  She was a diminutive, dark-haired beauty with an almost 
perfect physique.  When she came backstage after accepting her trophy, 
she was jazzed.  She danced and jumped around, and pumped her fist in an 
ecstasy of triumph.  Her happiness was contagious, and despite my 
nervousness, I smiled. 
   After what seemed like an interminable wait, the middleweights were 
instructed to take the stage.  The field had been pared down to five of 
us.  Prizes would go to the top three competitors, leaving two of us out 
in the cold.  The way I saw it, Theresa would take first place, with Kay 
in second.  For third place, it was either Brenda, who'd traveled to 
this competition from Rhode Island, or Vivian, a local favorite who 
trained at a nearby gym.  I had no reasonable expectation of placing.  I 
was just as muscular and defined as Brenda and Vivian, but they'd been 
at the sport longer, and felt more comfortable on stage. 
  We were called out alphabetically to perform our freestyle routine.  I 
was fourth.  As I waited for my music to begin, I felt a strange sense 
of peace descend upon me.  The auditorium was packed, and it was warm 
despite the air conditioning.  The lights were bright, and I could 
barely see past the first three rows.  There were a few catcalls as I 
approached the front of the stage, but largely, the audience waited 
expectantly for my routine. 
  I'd choreographed the routine myself.  It was a combination of dance 
and karate movements, and I'd been practicing it assiduously for weeks.  
This was one part of the competition I felt comfortable about, and 
because I had no expectation of winning, I decided to throw caution to 
the wind. 
  The music started, and for the next five minutes, I was transported.  
I was the focus of everyone's attention, and I found that the idea 
thrilled and excited me.  I played to the judges' table, flexing and 
moving with a sinuous energy.  I was in total command; not only of my 
body, but of the stage.  I could feel the electric energy snap and 
crackle around me as I whirled and jumped.  I was in good shape, and I 
was proud of my development.  Three long, hard years of work had gone 
into my body, and right then, I wanted nothing more than to display it 
to the world.  So, I closed my eyes, and went through my routine as I'd 
rehearsed it.  Near the end of the routine, the glue holding my bra in 
place loosened, and as I came up out of crouch, I felt my breast slip 
out of the concealing cup. 
  My first reaction was to cover myself, but that would have destroyed 
the fluidity of my routine.  So, instead of covering myself, I continued 
with my planned motion, arms outstretched above my head, hands clasped 
toward the ceiling while I flexed every muscle as hard as I could.  The 
music reached a crescendo, and then stopped. 
  I was dripping sweat.  Slowly, I lowered my arms, pulled my top back 
into place, and then turned, and resumed my place at the rear of the 
stage. 
  The place erupted.  The thunder of applause and whistles was like a 
concussive blast of air.  It reverberated off the walls and ceilings.  
It was so loud, I could barely hear myself think. 
  I was stunned.  The other competitors had been met with appreciative 
applause, but it was nothing like the adulation I was getting now.  My 
routine had struck a chord with the audience, thrilling the men and 
women alike.  The clapped and stamped their feet, and then I heard the 
chant. 
  "Leslie. Leslie. Leslie." 
   Theresa nudged me with her elbow, and jerked her head.  "Go out there 
and give them a bow," she said.  "You earned it, girl." 
  Hesitantly, I took a few steps forward and bowed, acknowledging the 
crowd's appreciation.  I was so full of emotional energy, I thought I 
would burst open. 
  Vivian was the last to pose.  She swept by me without a glance.  I 
sensed that it would be hard for the crowd to focus on her routine, and 
I felt a momentary twinge of guilt at having stolen the spotlight.  But 
the feeling vanished quickly, replaced by a warm sense of satisfaction 
at having upstaged my more experienced competitors.  I was on top of the 
world. 
  As expected, I finished out of the money.  Theresa took first place, 
with Brenda edging Kay out of the second spot.  After the trophies were 
awarded, we left the stage.  Theresa was the only one of us who had to 
stay.  She'd be in the final pose down with the lightweight and 
heavyweight division winners to determine the contest's overall 
champion. 
  I was glad that it was over for me.  I was exhausted.  It'd been a 
long, tiring day, and my tank was nearly on empty.  It took all the 
energy I had remaining to climb the stairs to the staging area, and 
change into my sweats.  Gathering up my gym bag, I went downstairs, 
looking for Bill. 
  As I emerged from the backstage area, a woman came up to me.  She 
handed me a business card, and told me it was from the woman judge 
Theresa had pointed out to me earlier.  I thought about throwing the 
card away, but changed my mind, and stuck it inside my bag.  
Bodybuilding was a dog-eat-dog sport, and I would need all the friends I 
could get if I decided to continue competing. 
  Bill was watching the heavyweights pose, and he was reluctant to 
leave.  I took the car keys from him, and went to wait for him in the 
car. 
  I must have dozed off, because it was nearly eleven p.m. when I was 
startled by the sound of voices.  I'd been laying in the back seat of 
the car, and I sat up. 
  In the glow of a street lamp, I saw Bill with Mary McCrossan.  They 
were standing close together, and as I watched, Bill leaned forward and 
kissed her.  Then, he pulled away, and came hurrying toward the car.  I 
lay back down, and pretended to be asleep.  Bill didn't try to wake me.  
He simply got behind the wheel, started the car up, and drove away. 
  In the back, I stared at the sky through the rear windshield.  I'd 
gained something today, but I'd lost something as well.  Only time would 
tell whether the transaction was good or bad. 

The End