NAMOW
BY MARK (MARKNEW742@AOL.COM)
An ancient mystical sect unlocks the power of woman. 

I know that no one will believe this story.  For reasons that
will become clear, I no longer live among other people.  Yet
someday, perhaps long after I am dead, this story may survive and
help someone to explain what I cannot.  Although I doubt it will
ever benefit me personally, I will set down my tale, as best as I
can, and trust that there are explanations for the mysteries that
I have seen.

I should begin by telling you about myself.  My name is Wesley
Baldridge.  When all of this happened, I was a man in my late
thirties, divorced, with one child, a thirteen year old daughter. 
When I was just out of school I made several lucrative inventions
and became wealthy enough to indulge my tastes and my interests. 
My divorce took a large portion of those earnings, but I have a
good eye for developments in my field that can be exploited
commercially, and I soon more than made up for the property
settlement.  I spent my time starting new companies, with other
investors, to market products invented by others who have less
business sense than I do.  I travelled alone a great deal on
business, so I often found myself in strange cities.  I'm an avid
walker and I liked to explore, so I usually allowed myself extra
time either before or after my meetings to stroll around parks
and downtown areas.  Even though cities nowadays have a lot in
common, there would always be something different to see, some
unusual flavor, either in the architecture, the food, the
nightlife or the people.  So my business and my pleasure combined
to make my life a happy one, if a little peripatetic.

I wasn't doing anything unusual that month when I was walking in
a park in northern Phoenix.  It was an early Spring day, the best
time of year in the Southwest.  The park was quite deserted -
most of the locals confine their outdoors life to golf courses
and boating on a lake.  I was distracted by a spectacular display
of flowering cactuses, the kind that must only come out after a
rare heavy spring rain, and wasn't looking ahead.  I was startled
when I bumped into something, an easel actually, and knocked it
over.

I was terribly embarrassed.  The painter, a young woman in her
twenties, was rendering the same scene I was admiring.  I could
see that her work was quite good, exceedingly good in fact, but
bread always falls butter side down and unfortunately, with the
dusty desert soil and the fresh oil paint, I had ruined her work.

The woman could hardly contain herself.  She told me she had
waited years for this type of display and had worked
painstakingly for three days.  The flowers were about to fade and
her chance to capture them was lost.  I apologized thoroughly and
begged her to forgive me, but she would not be pacified.  I
offered her money, and it was a goodly sum as I am not a poor
man, but this only offended her.  "You think art can bought so
easily," she asked.  I told her it was bought and sold every day. 
"Well this is not that type of art."  No, she explained, this was
the embodiment of an experience that could not be duplicated, and
I had destroyed it.  How would I ever be able to pay for that?

I continued to apologize.  What else could I do?  She looked at
me carefully, staring long at an odd pink birthmark on my chin,
and then asked about my date and place of birth.  I saw no reason
to keep that secret and told her.  She smiled, then said, "We
will replace one type of art with another.  We all have various
talents," she said, "and create art in many different ways."  She
gave me an address.  "You will come to my studio at eight tonight
and there you will make amends for your carelessness."  My
meetings would last only until five and I did not have to leave
that night, so I agreed.

"Dress comfortably," she said, and strode off, her easel, canvas
and paints tucked under her arm.

My meetings went well, as I tried to persuade a group of wealthy
retirees to invest in my latest biotechnology venture, so I was
in high spirits as I drove to the address the painter gave me. 
Heeding her directions, I had changed from my business suit to a
more casual sports jacket and slacks, and I wondered what kind of
"art" she would be creating that night.  

Now, you may think it strange that I wasn't more concerned going
to a strange address in a strange city, but I have found in life
that the most rewarding adventures come from taking chances, and
I felt secure in my belief that the outcome of the evening would
have any lasting consequences.

The painter's studio was on the Western edge of town, near Tempe,
in a large warehouse.  From the other cars parked outside, I
correctly inferred there would be an audience, and I was greeted
at the door by a serious young woman dressed in black who
motioned me to a chair on one side of a large open space.  The
walls were bare other than a photograph of a tapestry depicting a
woman's face, with long hair and a solemn, wide-eyed expression. 
On the other side were roughly a dozen people, all women, who sat
in a circle on straight-backed chairs.  I did not recognize the
painter among them.

Shortly, however, she emerged dressed in bicycle shorts and an
elastic top.  I noted her trim figure with approval, but could
not guess at what she had in mind for the evening's activities. 
She ignored me, and turned to the assembled group.

"We have studied and prepared for this day for many years.  We
are the few who have had the faith and discipline to find the
road to the power of NAMOW.  She has sent us this man, who was
born on January 15, 1956 in Tucson, Arizona."  There was a gasp
of astonishment from the women and quiet murmurings of
excitement.  "Yes, despite my faith in NAMOW I too was surprised. 
Soon will be the time."

The painter turned to me and motioned that approach her.  She
shook her head at my jacket and tie.  "You will not be
comfortable in that.  Please remove them."

I obliged her, laying my clothes neatly on the floor in the
corner of the room, and walked back to her.

"You and I will fight now."  

I must have looked startled.  I should confess that I found the
prospect of tangling with the painter very appealing.  I had no
fear of getting hurt, as I was at least seven inches taller and
fifty pounds heavier than she and I keep myself in excellent
condition.  But fighting her would conflict with every social
principle I had been raised on, and I replied, "I'm sorry, but I
can't fight a woman."

"Then be my guest and don't fight back."  She put up her fists in
an amusing parody of a boxer and waded in.  She hit me once in
the shoulder, then I caught her arms and held them firmly.  I
wouldn't fight her, but I had no objection to stopping her from
hurting me.  She struggled to get free, but to no avail.

"Is this why you brought me here?  Is this what you call making
art?"

She stopped struggling.  "You can let me go.  The first round is
over."  

She stepped back toward the other women and slipped inside the
circle.  The other women stood up and joined hands and the
painter lifted hers in the air and started chanting in a language
I could not recognize, except for the word "NAMOW" they had used
before.  Slowly I began to hear a sound, like a static, and a
pink glow seemed to permeate the room.  It seemed to collect
itself above the group of women and coalesce into a ball, then it
slowly traveled toward the painter.  The static grew louder, as
did the chanting, until all the women except the painter abruptly
stopped.  The painter held out her palms to the ball and repeated
three words, again and again.  Slowly the ball started to shrink
and grow brighter, then like a flash it shot toward me and seemed
to vanish inside my chest.  I felt nothing, but it had
disappeared and the room was quiet.  The women stared at me and
then all of them broke out into smiles and started to chatter
excitedly.  It was the first time I had seen the painter smile
and realized she could be very attractive.

Pleased with the change of mood, I began to smile too.  "That was
splendid.  I've never seen anything like it.  How did you do it?"

The painter looked at me seriously.  "We did nothing.  It was
NAMOW; we simply invoked her spirit."

"NAMOW?  What is that?"

"NAMOW is who we worship, the creator of the universe.  We seek
her in our innermost being to give us strength and she has
answered us."

I shrugged.  I have never been an adherent of any religion, and I
certainly had never heard of this obscure cult.

The painter walked up to me.  "And now it is time for the second
round."

I groaned.  "This serves no purpose.  I don't understand what you
hope to gain by this.  Is this part of your ceremony?"

The painter shook her head and positioned herself in front of me.
To forestall any blows I moved quickly to grab her arms; she made
no move to stop me.  Suddenly I heard the static again and saw a
faint pink glow around us.  The painter seemed to grow tense with
anticipation and then quickly her face erupted with great joy. 
Her slender frame appeared to swell before my eyes.  I looked
further down and saw the muscles of her thighs and calves grow. 
I let go and stepped back.  The static and glow disappeared, but
there was no mistaking it.  In a few short seconds the painter
had somehow gained mass.

"What just happened?"

Instead of answering, she fired a punch at my shoulder.  I
winced.  There was real strength behind it.  With her other hand
she aimed for my stomach, but I got my arm in the way and
partially blocked it.  My forearm burned from the impact.

"You'll have to defend yourself better.  I'm not letting up on
you."  She got back into position and started to fire more
punches at me, but I dodged them, backing up and moving away from
her.  She followed closely and soon maneuvered me into a corner. 
I feinted one way, then slipped behind her and caught her in a
wrestling hold I remembered from high school.  Immediately I
heard the static again.  My head was buried in her sweet-smelling
hair and I have to admit I was excited by our close contact. She
seemed to make only a token effort to resist.  I was definitely
becoming aroused, and I decided to wait out the end of the
"round" in this pleasant pose, but after about fifteen seconds
she abruptly snapped my hold and pushed me backwards.  When I
regained my balance I could hardly believe what I saw.  She stood
confidently before me, hands on her hips, enormous muscles in her
arms and chest straining the elastic of her top, while below,
unconstrained by any clothing, spheres of pure power sprouted
from her calves and thighs.

"What's happened to you!  Where did you get those muscles?"

"From you, thanks to NAMOW."  She casually tensed her arm and a
bicep any man would be proud to own burst out of her upper arm,
stretching the fabric to near transparency.  She took my hand and
pulled me toward her.  Using all of the strength of my legs, I
tried to hold my ground.  Again, the static rang in my ears and
incredibly her muscles grew even larger.  Alarmed at the obvious
extent of her power, I stopped resisting.

"So what are going to do to me now?"

"I'm not here to hurt you, but we must complete the ceremony for
the rest of the gathering."  She lifted me up and carried me over
the circle of women, who again began chanting and dancing,
joyously this time, in melodies and harmonies remote from any
music I had ever heard.  Slowly the circle closed on me.  The
static grew in my ears and the pink light returned, this time
more intense than before.  I was lost in a sea of female flesh,
bodies that grew more powerful every second.  I caught glimpses
of arms as large around as the wheels on my car, of legs like
tree trunks. I was handled, lifted, pushed and knocked about like
a feather in the wind. I felt trapped, closed in.  The static was
deafening, the light blinding.  I must have fainted.

When I awoke, I was in my rented car, sitting in front of the
warehouse, now dark and quiet.  The other cars had vanished.  My
watch said 1:21 a.m.  The ache in my shoulder and the bruises on
my arms told me I had not been dreaming  At least I was free once
more.  I drove slowly back to my hotel and slept fitfully the
rest of the night.  The next morning I caught a plane back to my
home in Boston.

Usually when I get home I'm eager to talk over the events of my
trip with my girlfriend, a lawyer with a patent firm in Boston,
but this experience was so unsettling I resolved not to mention
it, at least until I had made some sense out it.  During the long
plane ride I turned the events over in my mind again and again,
but clearly my rational mind, which understood not only the
workings of monoclonal antibodies and interferon but also the way
these wonders could be sold to the world was completely unable to
explain how obscure chants could produce static, pink light and
most wondrously the growth of muscle tissue in the adherents of
this strange sect.  And how would Barbara, who was even more
analytic than I, react?  Surely her mind would immediately leap
to much more logical alternatives.  Drugs, alcohol, orgies
perhaps.  No, there was no sense even discussing the matter I
decided as I drove quietly through Brookline to my house.

When I arrived, Barbara was at her desk, completing the drafting
of a patent application for one of my companies.  I came over to
kiss her, but she held up her hand.  "Give me thirty minutes Wes. 
This application must be filed right away and there's a difficult
prior art question I have to solve.  Why don't you get settled. 
We can go to the club for some tennis and then a light dinner
afterwards."  I happily agreed.

I should explain that my domestic arrangements are not the sort I
would hold up as an example to others.  I divorced my wife after
four years of marriage, four years when I was enjoying tremendous
success in my career for which I sacrificed all other parts of my
life.  It's amazing to me now, thinking about it, that there was
even time to do what was necessary to conceive my daughter.  I
was rarely home, even to sleep, and my wife ended up with the
sole responsibility to raise Nicole.  I have honored my financial
obligations to my family and spend as much time with Nicole as I
am able, given my business commitments.  I even live near their
house in Boston, notwithstanding that a residence in Princeton or
Claremont would bring me closer to my valuable contacts.  Sally
and I have stayed on tense speaking terms.  Nicole is of course a
typical adolescent girl, filled with resentments against my sins,
real and imagined.

Barbara and I have been together almost four years.  Although
some people would call her cold, she has always made me feel
comfortable.  I doubted that we would ever marry; we both enjoy
our freedom too much.  But our lives have blended together well,
both from a personal and business perspective.  I should confess
that we are very compatible sexually too.

The only flash point in our relationship has been that we are
both very competitive.  Happily, our skills generally complement
each other.  I am a scientist and businessman; she practices law
with a scientific bent.  We are both rational, although I tend
more to intuitive leaps while she reasons step-by-step.  And we
have always found the tennis court to be an excellent arena to
compete harmlessly.  Her form is more precise and polished than
mine, with my strength and speed an effective counter.

I unpacked and changed into my tennis whites and caught up on my
mail while Barbara worked and then got ready to play.  We drove
to our club and chatted about business matters.  As usual, her
tall, lean body looked great in her tennis dress.  We were lucky
to ride the elevator to the court by ourselves and I took
advantage of the moment to wrap my arm around her for a quick
kiss.  Barbara is quite modest in these things and as usual
pushed me away, lest the doors open unexpectedly.  Over the hum
of the elevator I thought I heard static, but I dismissed the
idea.

We warmed up for awhile on the court.  We had the indoor court,
with its artificial light and a loud air circulating system to
ourselves. I avoid playing there even in winter, preferring cold
air and natural light, but at 8:00 pm on a March day in Boston,
that was not an option. 

Barbara's game was off; she consistently overhit the ball, and I
was looking for an easy win.  Surely enough, she hit all four of
my serves out and I led.  We switched sides and I gave her
another peck on the cheek, which only made her frown more.  Her
first serve was long, but then she adjusted her stroke and served
the next few accurately, and hard.  I returned them and again won
the game and my next serve on her mishits - very unusual for her
disciplined game.  She was getting quite upset and sat down to
check the strings on her racquet when we switched sides.  I sat
down next to her and put my arm around her to console her - and
gloat a little.  She glared at me and jumped up to continue with
the game.

She seemed to be concentrating hard to control her strokes more. 
She started the next game again hitting long, but then began to
find her range and the set became more competitive.  I turned my
game up a notch and started to go for service aces to discourage
her, but she was returning shots she usually hit into the net.
After several deuces, she broke my serve and pumped the air with
her fist.  

Now it was her serve.  I stood alertly, determined to break her
momentum and watched her slowly position herself.  Her form was
perfect.  I watched the ball go up, her racquet glide back, the
contact, and before I knew what happened the ball sailed by me
for an ace.  I moved over to the other side and stepped back a
couple of feet.  She served again, a wicked shot to my forehand. 
I moved quickly over and swung, but the force of the shot turned
the racquet in my hand and the ball bounced weakly into the net. 
I walked back, annoyed and gripping my racquet more tightly.  I
saw Barbara bouncing around, eager to start the next point, so I
delayed and pretended to tie my shoe.  Barbara knew my tricks and
stuck her tongue out at me.  Signaling that I was ready, I set to
return another hard serve.  This time I got it over the net, but
it was a flat shot, mid-court and she easily placed it beyond my
reach.  I switched sides again.  She wound up and blasted another
ace right past my racquet.  Now I was angry with myself and
deliberately walked around the other side of the net.

"Don't be sore, honey.  You're still ahead," she shouted across
the net.

I was angry.  I didn't mind losing to Barbara every now and then,
but this was different.  She was overpowering me on the court. 
Once again I buckled down.  Serving hard to her backhand I forced
her to hit it out, but increasing the power of my first serves
only forced me to rely more on my second service, and she was
nailing me with passing shots on each one.  She ended up winning
six to two, sweeping the last six games.

Barbara left the court with enough good feeling not to rag me,
and knowing how annoyed I was, she discreetly left to change,
hoping I would be in a better mood when I had showered and
dressed for dinner.  She was right of course.  A long shower and
a brief dip in the Jacuzzi left me refreshed and ready for
dinner.

Surprisingly, Barbara was still not ready when I came out, but I
was relaxed and happy to wait in the bar and watch the Celtics
beating the Suns.  Finally she peered in the door, fresh and
glowing from the exercise, but with an unusually pensive look. 
She smiled when she saw that my good spirits had returned and I
paid my bill and got up to follow her to the car.  She looked so
ravishing I wanted to take her in my arms right there, but in my
relaxed mood I decided to respect her modesty - for now - and we
walked side-by-side to the car.

The game over, my emotions subsided and I was ready to discuss
the evening while we drove to our favorite bistro, Chez Martine. 
"That was an unusual game, Barbara.  I've never seen you hit the
ball so hard.  Were you angry at the ball?"

She pursed her lips at my attempt at humor.  "It was the
strangest thing Wes.  I can't explain it, except that I was
feeling very strong.  You know I've been working out more at the
gym, especially with all your traveling the past two weeks, but
this was very sudden.  I was late coming out because I went down
to the weight room before I showered, just to check, and sure
enough, I could lift twenty to thirty pounds more than I could
just yesterday.  One of the trainers was there, and she made a
comment about my muscle definition improving.  I hadn't noticed
anything, but then I did check, and all over my body, even my
legs, which I never train with the machines, I was noticeably
bigger and harder.  Now how could that be?"  

I must have looked alarmed, because she immediately put her hand
on my shoulder.  "Are you all right Wes?  You look frightened."

I held up my hand and turned onto a side street and stopped the
car.  "I am.  We have to talk.  But first, let me hold you, just
for a moment."  Under the circumstances, in a dark car, Barbara
made no objection.  Immediately I heard the static and a pink
aura filled the car.  I let go and moved away.

"What was that, Wes!"

I turned on the car's inside light.  "Take off your jacket. 
Let's look at your arms now."  Barbara did as I asked and gasped
when she saw they had grown still more and she now had a
discernable bicep even without flexing her arm.  

She looked at me inquiringly.  "Do you know something about
this?"

"I wasn't going to tell you, but clearly I must.  This happened
for the first time last night.  I owed a favor to an artist I met
in Phoenix, and I attended some sort of seance, dedicated to a
spirit they called "NAMOW."

"That's Woman, backwards, I guess."

"Yes, you're right.  So it is.  Well, there was an assembled
group of women and they summoned a spirit in a language that
sounded like none I had ever heard.  That pink light you saw, the
white noise sound, all surrounded me.  It was many times more
intense than what just happened in the car.  The pink light
seemed to gather together at one point, then I thought I saw it
shoot toward me, but I didn't think much of it at the time.  I
thought it was some kind of special effect the woman rigged as a
kind of performance art.  After the ceremony, one of the women --
the one who gave me the invitation -- started to fight me.  I of
course wouldn't oblige her, but to stop her from hitting me I
held her down.  Very soon she became incredibly strong.  Then
they continued the ceremony, but this time all of them
participated.  They all gathered around me and seemed to partake
of this spirit.  The experience was so intense I must have passed
out, because I awoke later in my car, quite alone.  Now it seems
that this NAMOW has stayed with me, and is still working."

"Yes, of course.  I thought I noticed something each time you
kissed or touched me.  What else can you tell me?  Why you?"

"I wish I knew.  I've told you all I can, except that she asked
me my birthday and where I was born just before she invited me."

"There's probably some kind of astrological bias to the group."

I shrugged.

Barbara was deep in thought.  "For just a moment, let's forget
about the fact that all this is totally impossible."  She looked
down at herself.  "And I'll try not to think about what this
means for my wardrobe.  I'll just never find anything to wear
with this body!"  

She closed her eyes, sighed, and continued.  "You realize Wes,
you will just have to keep your hands and every other part of you
away from me until we figure out a way to stop this from
happening. I love your kisses, dear, but I do not want to look
like a female Arnold Schwarzenegger.  And until then, if I were
you, I would stay inside the house and away from all women."

"I can't do that.  I have business to do.  I have a meeting in
New York next week, for one."

"So what are you going to do when some female investor wants to
shake hands?  Run away?"

"I'll think of something.  I'll pretend I've become a Moslem. 
They're not supposed to touch women unless they're married to
them."

"I can assure you that it doesn't work that way in real life,
Wes."

I shook my head.  "I understand your point, Barbara, but I have
to find another way.  Perhaps I can find this woman.  Maybe she
would tell me how to turn this thing off.  Problem is, I don't
even know her name, and I don't want to go back to Phoenix."

"I'll go Wes.  I have some follow up work I can do there on your
biotechnology deal.  I don't have to do it in person, but I can. 
I will bill you for my expenses though."

I smiled with relief and reached over to hug her, but a quick
burst of static and her expression of alarm reminded me to stay
away.  I started the car and we ate a quiet dinner and went home. 
Resigned to my fate, I slept in the guest room that night.

I drove Barbara to Logan in the morning and, notwithstanding her
warnings, went in to work, wearing bandages on my hand and
pretending to have a fever to ward off any contact.  The day was
going fine until I got a call from my ex-wife, who reminded me I
had promised to take Nicole and two of her friends to the
Northampton area to look at colleges.  I tried to excuse myself,
complaining about my burns and my flu, but she insisted that if I
was well enough to work and happened to be in town, I should not
disappoint my daughter.

That is why, against my better judgment and Barbara's advice, I
was driving Nicole and two sullen friends of hers, Monica and
Tiffany, toward the Mount Holyoke campus the next morning. 
Nicole and I have never been affectionate, so it did not take
much explaining about my illness to discourage any physical
contact between us.  I sat in front, and the three budding
feminists sat in back, egging each other on with stories about
the superiority of women in matters of culture, genes,
disposition, morality, and the like.  Only the news of a major
stock market rally helped me keep my temper.

We arrived in Holyoke and the three girls ran off to meet a
friend who had offered to show them the campus and introduce them
to other local feminists.  I found a coffee shop in town where I
could make some phone calls and read the Journal.  So I spent
three or four hours very pleasantly on my own.  I grew restless
only when evening came and the girls had not returned.  I waited
thirty minutes past the agreed on time, grew angrier, and decided
to head toward the school, leaving a message with the
proprietress for the girls to wait for me there if I missed them.

The campus was large, but the college has a small student body,
so it didn't take long for me to find someone who knew Nicole's
friend.  She walked me to her dormitory, called up to her room
and learned from her roommate that she and my daughter were at a
lounge in the Student Center.  I thanked her and trudged back
there, feeling very cross.  It was too bad, because in another
frame of mind, I would have enjoyed the campus setting, not to
mention the concentration of young, attractive women walking,
chatting, studying and doing other errands.

I soon found Nicole and her friends.  Nicole looked embarrassed,
but the other two girls were paying rapt attention to another
woman, a slim blond, probably a senior, who was lecturing about
ancient matriarchal societies.  I cleared my throat and told her
that it was time for us to leave.  The woman turned to me.

"Sir, if you would give us just twenty minutes more, I wanted to
show my guests some artifacts I keep where I live.  Are you
parked in town?"  I nodded.  "Then it's right on your way."

She seemed reasonable, and respectful, so I agreed.  She
introduced herself as Willa Bond and she walked with me across
the campus and pointed out some of the highlights of the school's
architecture, while my daughter, her three friends and another
girl walked ahead.  I started to calm down.

A couple of blocks from the car, we stepped into an old house and
walked down to the basement.  It must not have been updated since
the house was built, with a dirt floor and thick beams supporting
the roof.  I pushed open a heavy door, which closed behind us,
and we all filed into a back room, where Willa motioned me to sit
in an old chair.  She turned on the light, and I immediately
noticed the same photograph I had seen in Phoenix.

I must have looked alarmed, because she looked at me expectantly. 
Is there something here you recognize, Mr. Baldridge?"  I nodded
and stood up to leave.  She stood in my way.  "You said you'd
stay for a little while.  Now you don't want to disappoint your
daughter."

"Dad!  This had been a great day.  Don't spoil it for us! 
Willa's going to show something really special."

"Oh, really?  Do you know what this something is?"

"No, Dad, except that it would show us how relevant studying some
old things would be to solve the problems women have today. 
Isn't that the type of stuff you're always telling me about?"

"Not now.  Nicole, I want you to come with me."  She shook her
head and I took another step, until I was practically on top of
Willa.

"You can't order me around like that, Dad.  I'm not going!"

Willa turned to the others.  "Look how this man abuses his power. 
He tries to command his daughter, and he uses his size to try to
intimidate me.  I will show now how the ancients established the
power of woman.  I will show you the power of NAMOW."

She raised her hands to touch me, and I backed off.  I looked
around for another way out, but she had effectively cut me off.

"What's the matter Mr. Baldridge?  You're not afraid of me, are
you?  I weighed myself at just 110 pounds this morning, and I
admit that I don't even know karate.  Are you afraid of these
little fists?"  She faked a punch and laughed as I ducked away. 
"Or maybe my thumb?"  She jabbed me in the stomach.  "Why don't
you stop me?"  She held out her hands and started to slap me. 
She kept up a steady patter as she kept walking forward and I
kept retreating.  My daughter looked on in amazement, and the
others in excited anticipation.  Soon I was backed against a
wall.  

I don't know what Nicole was thinking.  Willa stood in front of
me looking as unthreatening as a slender, five foot five inch
woman could be next to a healthy six footer like me.  Something
about Willa was obviously frightening her father, and, sadly, I
realized Nicole was enjoying it.

Then Willa declaimed in a louder voice.  "Ladies, in the times of
the ancients, we were the warriors, we were the builders, we were
the aggressors, while men catered to us and kept our children
until the girls were ready to join us in the world.  In a great
war we lost the secrets of NAMOW and then became the slaves of
men, but she has revealed herself to us again, and we are poised
to recover our rightful places.  NAMOW has chosen this man as her
vessel.  Watch how woman is transformed as I drink from NAMOW and
then you may drink too."

Willa carefully unbuttoned her dress, revealing a loose elastic
bra and shorts beneath, watching closely that I did not make any
move to escape.  For my part, I waited for an opening, but seeing
none, decided it was better to resist than to submit to her
passively.  Without warning, I darted to the left.  Willa was
ready and grabbed my waist as I went by, not trying to stop me,
but holding on tightly.  I heard the static in my ears and tried
to push her off, but the static only increased in volume with my
efforts.  She slipped down to my legs and did no more than hang
on as I pressed forward, but it became harder and harder to walk
and drag her along, and I finally ground to a halt about ten feet
from the door.

Willa stood up, but continued to wrap her arm around my waist. 
Her grip was getting tighter and tighter.  I tried to loosen her
hand from around my waist and was rewarded with another loud
burst of static, a satisfied grunt and a sudden increase in the
pressure on me.  Using all the strength in my legs, I tried to
leap forward, but she caught me in mid-air, drew me closer to her
with one arm and then hoisted me in front of her.  She turned me
so I faced the ceiling, carrying me horizontally like a child,
and walked back into the center of the room.  To the amazement of
the others, she now balanced me on one hand and lifted me high in
the air in front of her, as her trophy.  The static continued and
I looked down at her bicep now equal in size with her head and
still growing.

"I'm sure I have your attention Mr. Baldridge.  Look, ladies, at
the power than can be yours."  She flicked her wrist and I sailed
across the room, into a row of cushions.

Tiffany stood up.  "How did you do that?  Can any of us be as
strong as you?"

"Of course Tiffany.  The power is yours for the asking.  When you
touch Mr. Baldridge the power of NAMOW will come to you."

Tiffany walked up and threw herself down on top of me squeezing
me with all of her strength.  The static roared in my ears.  The
strength of her hold quickly increased until I feared for my
life.  Fortunately, Willa hurried over and separated us.

"Be patient Tiffany.  We don't want to kill him.  He's invaluable
to us, at least until we identify other vessels."  Tiffany
nodded.  Already her arms were thicker than mine.  Holding just
my hand now, the volume of the noise diminished, and slowly
Tiffany grew in size until she was satisfied.  Two more girls
took their turns, until only Nicole was left.  Willa stood up. 
"Let's leave Nicole with her father for a few minutes."  She
pushed open the door and four massive women trooped out.

"Nicole.  You have to help me stop them."

"Help you?  Why?  This is, like, the greatest thing.  We can be
as strong as we want to be."


"This is outrageous.  I'm not a device to be used by you or
anyone else for pleasure, health, strength, what have you."

Nicole laughed.  "Oh yes you are Daddy.  You may be Mr. Wesley
Baldridge, but NAMOW is in you too now, and it is NAMOW who
invites us to be powerful.  It's too bad for you, but that's the
way it is."  She took a step toward me.  I held out my hands to
stop her and she giggled.  "It doesn't do you any good, you know. 
Like, the more you resist the faster it works.  Watch."

She stepped boldly against my outstretched hands, and I heard the
now familiar noise.  Before my eyes, I saw my daughter change
from a petite, attractive young girl into a monstrous amazon. 
The sleeves of her dress ripped from the pressure of her growing
biceps, then the rest of it burst from the growth of her chest
and shoulders.  She stepped back, flexed her new muscles with
evident glee and looked up at me.

"There's one more thing I've been dying to do."  She seized me in
her hands, turned me face down to the floor and curled her left
arm around me.  With the added pressure, the noise grew louder
and I could feel her arm growing underneath me.

"What are you doing?", I asked.  In answer, I felt a sharp pain
on my backside.  She was spanking me!  "Nicole!  Stop that. 
Immediately!"

She chuckled.  "I've always wanted to do this."

"But why? I've never hit you."

"Maybe not, at least not that I can remember clearly.  But you've
always bossed me around - me and Mom - with your male authority."

She was hitting me harder and I could feel her bicep digging into
my shoulder.  I choked out the words through the pain.  "You're
.. really .. hurting me .. Nicole.  Please stop."

She put her hands around the sides of my waist and lifted me up
life a rag doll.  "The strength I have is phenomenal.  Like, I
could crush you with my bare hands.  But this is enough. 
Tiffany, Monica and I, we'll like have so much fun back at
school.  See you, Daddyo."

She dropped me and spun on her heel and walked out the door.  I
followed, but Willa stopped my in my tracks.

"Whoa, Mr. Baldridge.  You're not going anywhere.  You, I mean,
NAMOW, will have more work to do."

"But I have to get back home.  I have a business.  My girlfriend
...."

"You may have your life, but so does NAMOW.  And here, her
commands carry more weight than yours.  Learn that and you can
begin to accept your fate."  

She threw me back in the room and closed the door on me.  It
wasn't locked; I could turn the doorknob, but I couldn't open it. 
I heard laughter from outside, and the door opened.  "There's a
thousand pound weight in front.  Any one of us can easily move
it, but you can't, I'm afraid.  You'll have some more guests in a
little while, then we'll give you dinner.  I suggest you make
yourself comfortable."

Shortly afterwards, a group of women walked in, talking
excitedly.  Willa directed me to sit down and lay my arms on a
table.  When I refused, she forced me down and pulled my arms
out.

"You know, you're only making me stronger by being difficult."

I realized she was right and stopped resisting.  Making
themselves into two orderly lines, the women systematically
approached me, placed their palms on my hand and transformed
themselves.  They varied greatly in their demands.  One or two
sought only the build of a normal man; most waited until their
arms were more muscular than any man I had ever seen.  One tall,
angry-looking woman held on to me tightly while three others took
their turns on my other hand.  By the time she was finished, her
untensed bicep was thicker than my waist and her chest must have
exceeded sixty inches.  She stood up opposite me, clenched her
hands and teeth and then tensed her whole body, until she seemed
encased in a wall of throbbing muscle.

"Kate was raped by her roommate's boyfriend two months ago,"
Willa remarked casually to me.  "The DA declined to press changes
and he thinks he's gotten away with it, but I bet he'll be sorry
now."

"How long are you going to keep me here?"

"Oh, you can leave any time now.  You've taken care of my group
already.  We know where you are when we need you.  So long as you
cooperate, we'll let you live your normal life."

"And if I don't?"

Willa lifted her hand to call my attention to the room.  "We've
got chapters in every city.  You can be sure we'll have no
trouble keeping you prisoner if we need to."

The other women had left.  Willa opened the heavy door for me and
led me out onto the street.  My car was out front.  "We drove
Nicole and her friends back home earlier.  Nice car."

"Wh-What did her mother say?"

Willa smothered a laugh.  "Her eyes practically popped out of her
head, but the next thing she did was ask whether she could get
strong too."

I swallowed.  "Did Nicole tell her?"

"Not while I was there."  Willa slammed the door and went back
inside.

I checked in with the office as I drove back to Boston, and
learned that the response to my Phoenix presentation was very
positive.  The offering would be oversubscribed, which would
allow me to raise even more money than I had planned.  Also,
Barbara left a pleasant but brief message that the trip had been
very informative and that she looked forward to seeing me.
Somewhat heartened, I decided to go to the symphony.  Not
expecting to be so late, I had left my tickets home, but a quick
call to the orchestra's management solved that problem and I lost
myself in an evening of Brahms and Berlioz.  

I saw some business friends at intermission and we chatted again
for twenty minutes or so after the concert ended, as both they
and I enjoyed discussing the details of a successful investment
in a new system to deliver toxins to tumor sites.

The parking garage was almost deserted by the time I arrived, and
as I turned the corner toward my car, I saw three punks sitting
on the rear trunk - two greasy toughs from one of the working-
class neighborhoods and a pale, thin girl with a pockmarked face.

"This your car, Mister?"

I nodded and tried to walk by them quickly.

"Give us a lift.  Our car broke down and we don't got enough for
a taxi."

I shook my head and put my key in the lock.  The two boys moved
quickly.  One grabbed me from behind; the other held my arm and
forced me to drop the key.  The girl laughed, "You did it, guys."

"Hey babe.  I told you."

I struggled to get free.  I've taken a few self-defense courses,
and managed to elbow the one behind me and then punch him in the
face, but the other one blindsided me and knocked me cold.  I
came to quickly, but the knife at my neck convinced me to stop
while I was still intact.

"You're smart, mister.  I would've used it on ya.  Now, get in
the car.  Terry, you drive."

He pushed me into the back seat, next to the girl, while the
other tough slid in front.  He tried to start the car, but the
code locked him out.

"No funny stuff, Mister.  Tell him how to get it going."

I gave him a code that would start the car, but also activate a
homing device that would alert the police that the car was
stolen, or that I was in distress.  I paid a thousand dollars for
that feature.  Now I would see if it worked.

We quickly passed through the empty streets and entered a
highway, Terry exclaiming about the power and the quiet of the
car. We headed north on I95.  Barney kept the knife on my side,
so I kept away from him as much as I could.

When we got out of town, Terry opened the front passenger side
window, and the girl complained about the wind in her face.  "Get
out of the car if you don't like it Sissy.  Man, we're really
moving."  To get away from the wind, she nudged closer to me.  I
started, when I realized she was touching me, but with the
Barney's knife on my hip, I was trapped.  The roar of the wind
drowned out any static in my ear, but I feared what would happen. 
I looked down at "Sissy's" body; it was impossible to see
anything under her windbreaker.  She closed her eyes, napping
perhaps.  She smiled and I thought I heard a soft moan of
pleasure.

We exited from the highway, the quick turn rolling the three of
us to the left.  The knife grazed my chest as I fell onto Barney,
and the girl fell squarely on me, waking her up.  She felt heavy
and my heart sank.  "Hey, watch where you're going Terry."

"Sorry Barney.  I didn't realize I was going so fast."

The girl was looking puzzled, but before she could say anything,
we stopped at a house.

"Where are you taking me?"

"This is my brother's country house.  He's not using it."

I heard the girl scream.  Terry looked disgusted.  "What is it
Sissy?  You see a bug?"

"Look at me!"

She had taken off her windbreaker.  The buttons on her shirt were
straining from the pressure of her expanded chest.  Her arms and
shoulders looked thicker than those on her friends.  Her blue
jeans were straining at her thighs.

"I was feeling funny in the car, but I didn't wanta say
anything."

Terry looked scared.  "You're swellin up and bustin out of your
clothes!  Are you feeling sick?"  He turned to me.  "Are you a
doctor?"

I said no.

"Terr, I feel alright.  Really good, in fact.  My clothes'r just
tight.  Barney, I think Sheila keeps some stuff here.  She's
bigger than I am."

Barney nodded, and Sissy went up to change.  Seconds later, she
screamed again, and then immediately started laughing.  "You guys
aren't gonna believe this when I show ya!"

Terry and Barney exchanged looks.  "I knew we shouldn't have
taken her.  She's always causin us trouble.  Now, what're we
going to do with him?"

"Simple, we'll leave him in woods somewhere and take the car up
to New Hampshire.  I know a guy in Manchester who can take it off
our hands.  He'll give us good money, I bet.  Maybe ten thousand
for a car like this."

Sissy bounded down the starts and burst into the room wearing a
muscle shirt and shorts.  "I gotta find something else to wear
outside, but I wanted you to see my new muscles.  Look at me. 
Now, I look as strong as you guys!"

The boys gazed openmouthed at the bulges on her arms and the way
her chest pushed out the front of the fabric.  "Hey, Sis. 
What're you up to?  I never seen you work out."

"I don't know Barn.  My clothes fit when I got dressed tonight. 
These just kind of popped out like this all of a sudden.  And
they're real.  Look!"  She went over to the sofa and slowly
picked up one end.  "Can either of you guys do that?"

"Of course we can!"  Nervously, Terry walked over to the sofa and
picked it up, more quickly than Sissy.  "See."

Sissy looked disappointed.  "Well, I'm stronger than I was
before.  I can help you now."

Barney elbowed Terry.  "Sure, Sis.  Why don't you guard Mr.
Mercedes Benz while I figure out where we're going?"

Sissy took the knife and held it under my neck.  I walked back a
step, trying hard not to touch her.

"Hey, like I'm so strong he's afraid of me."

"He's not afraid of you Sis.  You have a blade, remember?"

She looked down at her arm and made a muscle, which rose about a
quarter inch when she tensed it.  She put her knife hand down to
her side and with her other hand, faked a punch at me.  I ducked
back, and she laughed, stepping closer.  I saw that I would be
out of room soon and decided not to give any more ground.  She
got set to punch me again.  This time, I stood firm and she hit
me in the face.

"What're you doing Sis?  We don't want to beat him up.  We just
want his car, OK?"

"You ain't seen enough movies.  I'm toying with him, just having
some fun.  Is that a crime?  Get it?"

"You're a real card, Sissy.  Barney's right.  We don't want to
leave any marks.  We could get in even more trouble that way, if
we get caught."

"OK, OK, I got the message.  Jesus, guys, I thought we were
supposed to be having fun!"  The boys looked up in exasperation
and concentrated on a map.  

Sissy tucked the knife behind her back and then held her hands up
as if she were going to push me.  I tried to duck away.  She
panicked, thinking I was trying to escape and grabbed me tightly. 
The static roared again in my ears and I groaned inwardly.  I
could feel her hold getting tighter, tried to break away and with
all my strength pushed her back, but in the brief moments of her
tight squeeze, her arms had grown to be as thick as mine.  She
seemed to realize what happened, stepped back up to me and put
her arms around me again, locking her hands behind me.  I knew I
wouldn't be able to get her off me now and surrendered to her
hold.  She was more gentle this time, but held me firmly and I
could feel the growing muscles of her chest and arms digging into
my body.  After a minute, she let go and looked down at herself. 
Her arms now looked twice the size as those of a male
bodybuilder, and I knew they were rock hard.  Her chest strained
the fabric of her muscle shirt nearly to transparency, her hard
nipples clearly visible.  She grinned and tiptoed to the two
boys, then putting one hand on each of their thighs, twisted them
around toward her and lifted them cleanly into the air.  They
looked down at her in shock.

"What are you doing, Sissy?  What's happening?"


"It's him.  Something weird.  It's touching him that's doing it
to me."

"You're crazy."

"Yeah, tell me why I can lift both of you guys with one hand and
I'm not even tryin?"

They said nothing.

"I'm probably too big already, but watch this."  She walked over
to me and hugged me again, a full body hug this time for ten
seconds.  I heard a rip and then she stepped away.  The muscle
shirt was torn completely in two and hung limply on her.

"So, guys, do I look dangerous yet?"

Terry was about to respond, when suddenly, a police siren
sounded.  I saw flashing lights outside the window and a
loudspeaker ordered us to open the door.  We all froze, then
Sissy ran upstairs.  The police banged loudly on the door.  "We
know someone's inside.  Are you going to open up?"

"Shit!", Terry said.  How'd they find us?"

Sissy returned, wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, which fit
snugly around her.  Leaping past the boys, she opened the door.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"We have reason to believe there is a stolen car parked in the
driveway.  Can you produce any proof of ownership?"

"Why don't you come in?  I'm sure we can clear this up, sir."

"Sissy!"  Sissy turned around and glared at Barney.

The policeman entered and turned to me. "What's going on here?"

"The three of them kidnapped me at the symphony tonight.  But
watch out for the girl.  She's very strong."

He reached for his gun, but Sissy took it out of his hands.  She
tried to crush it.  She was frustrated to find that she couldn't,
but then she bent the barrel so it was unusable.

"Hey, just like on Superman!"  She took his billy club out of his
waistband and threw it like a dart three inches into the wall.

"You're just going to get yourselves in more trouble.  Now, are
you going to come quietly with me or do I have to call for
backup?"

Sissy reached for his belt and lifted him in the air like he was
a toy.  He grabbed her arm and looked down at her in fear when he
felt her wide, hard forearm.

"Yeah, that's right.  You should be afraid."  Holding him away
with one hand, she flexed her other arm and a bulge seven inches
high stretched the thick sleeve.  Tensing it more, it grew higher
until it was almost a foot high.  "Now I'm like Popeye, but
without the spinach!"  He fired a kick at her stomach, but
despite his evident training, the toe of his shoe was stopped
cold by a wall of muscle.  With his longer reach he hit her in
the face, drawing blood from her nose.  Enraged, Sissy pulled him
closer and ripped a punch in his face.  Her blow crushed the left
side of his head.  Blood and portions of his brains spurted out. 
In disgust, she threw him against the wall, collapsing the thin
plasterboard and half-burying his inert body in dust.

"Jesus, Sissy!  You killed him."

"Yeah, it was just like that girl on Superman 2, the one with the
super powers, until Superman -"

"You KILLED a policeman!  We could be fried for this."

Sissy looked at the boys impassively.  "Well, only if we get
caught."

Another set of sirens was approaching.  Terry looked out the
window.  They're almost here.  Quick, out the back.  They won't
find us in the woods!"

Sissy scowled.  "OK.  OK.  I didn't think you guys were such
cowards.  What about him?"

"Leave him.  We can go faster without him."

They ran out the back door.  When I was sure they were gone, I
opened the door, just as the police arrived.  They drew their
guns, but I put my hands up and quickly explained what happened. 
They found my story about Sissy's strength hard to believe, even
though I left out the part about my role in it, but they put out
a bulletin on them.  They let me call home to leave a message for
Barbara, and after taking some evidence from me, they let me
leave.

Driving home, I turned over in my mind again and again how I was
going to live the rest of my life without accidents like tonight. 
The most casual contact with any woman could lead to disaster. 
Maybe Barbara was right.  Maybe I would have to live as a hermit,
at least until my possession by NAMOW ended, if ever.

I was surprised Barabra still wasn't back by midnight.  The last
flight from Phoenix arrived at nine-thirty, but I decided to
relax by scanning the few archeological books I had for any
reference to NAMOW.  There was nothing.  I must have fallen
asleep at three in the morning, mildly worried about Barbara.

I awoke late and called my office to tell them I would be working
at home.  At eleven, I heard the key in the door.  Barbara!  But
the first flight would not be in until noon, I wondered.  I
called to her.  She took a while to answer, then came into the
office.

"I thought you'd be at work."

I shook my head and told her about the events of the previous
day, her face becoming more and more serious as I spoke.

"So, it's evident that there is a network of these NAMOW groups
everywhere.  They know who I am, where I live.  It's just a
matter of time before they come for me here.  In fact, I'm a
little surprised they haven't already.  I only came back to wait
for you."

She smiled gravely.  

"What did you learn?"

"Well, you're right about the group.  It's quite an organization. 
They knew who I was, and why I was coming.  But before we go into
this more, let's get out of here.  You're absolutely right about
the danger here.  Is your car alright?

"Yes, but I'm not supposed to go out of state with it.  It's
evidence."

"Let's use mine.  We can go up to Maine for a few days, until we
decide what to do.  We'll talk in the car."

I agreed, packed a few things and we left.  I shook my head
ruefully at how easily Barbara now lifted her suitcase into the
car.

"They were very open with me.  NAMOW is a very ancient goddess,
although this is a new name for her, obviously using the English
language in place of the Indian names.  She was worshipped all
throughout parts of the Western hemisphere, perhaps elsewhere in
the world also, although they didn't have much information on
that.  This sect was started about fifty years ago, as a result
of the discovery of some texts and relics in Peru.  This find led
to others, but the academic investigation was halted abruptly
when the relics were stolen in the fifties.  Since then, a very
energetic and committed group of women have been studying these
texts, trying to reinvoke the spirit.  You were their first
success."

"Why me?"

"They didn't tell me.  They must have recognized you from a
prophecy."

"How long will this possession last?"

"I don't know that either.  In ancient times, the priestesses
used various techniques to ensure a constant supply of vessels
like you for their purposes.  Once that source of strength was
interrupted, they lost their power and their cohesion.  The art
they practiced became an empty ritual, and the religion died
out."

We had left the coast and turned north on a two lane road
surrounded by the forest.  It was still winter here, and patches
of snow lingered in the sheltered parts of the woods.

"Where are you taking us?"

"A bed and breakfast I read about.  It will be real cozy, and
we'll have privacy."

"Any fax machines?"

"No, silly."

I was about to protest, then thought that it was best to keep my
location a secret from everyone, including my office, for the
time being.

We arrived in Burlon, a town of 400 near the Canadian border in
the late afternoon.  We ate at a coffee shop, then drove to the
inn.  I thought it was odd that they were expecting us and
started to become alarmed when I noticed other guests, all women,
sitting in the reception area. I turned to Barbara.

"Sorry Wes.  I had to do it this way.  It was the only way I
could be sure you would come, especially after what happened
yesterday."

"You're one of them?"

"I am now.  Wes, you can't possibly understand, or sympathize,
but this is more important than you as an individual.  This is
for the future of all women, for the future of our human race. 
You are the first, the first in a long time, but through you
there will be others.  Once we show the world that this is the
true religion, the true goddess, all the false gods will fall
away."

She gripped my arm, and I heard the static roar in my ears.

"NO!  I won't be used by you."  With a burst of strength, I broke
free of her and hurtled through the nearest window and toward the
woods."

"After him!  We must catch him."

Several of the women ran out of the house and followed me.  I ran
uphill, hoping to lose them in the growing darkness.  Desperation
propelled me ahead.  I found a stream and followed it north,
swimming through ice and swamp.  After hours of furious effort, I
found a cave and curled inside to rest.  I awoke after a couple
of hours, listened hard for any sound of movement, then continued
north.  There was no sign of my pursuers.

It will not surprise you that I had always made preparations for
an escape.  Money and success breeds paranoia, you see, and in an
odd way I turned out to be right.  I always carried with me a
false passport, and when, after several days, I found myself in a
small town in Canada, I presented myself to the police,
explaining I had become lost in the woods.  Suspicious, but soon
accepting my pose as another stupid American, they let me go.  I
quickly made a few telephone calls, and executing a strategy I
had devised years ago, sent several million dollars through a
complex chain of dummy companies incorporated in Panama,
Luxembourg, Uruguay, Liechtenstein, etc. (I'm not going to give
away all my secrets) and settled in a small rural area.

I no longer work.  The town accepts me as a hermit and accepts my
phobia about the touch of other people.  I keep in touch with the
world through radio, the internet, the newspapers.  I never hear
anything of NAMOW, although I did note the success of certain
sports teams for several years at Mount Holyoke.

THE END