Alice Part 1: Potato Muscles 
by Merz, mrmerz@yahoo.com
I met Alice in college


When I finished my run it was hot out. The cool basement felt good. I set the
bar on the rack attached to the little bench, peeled off my wet shirt and lay
down to do my ten reps.

"So you're the one," said a female voice.

"Well, I always think I'm the one." I was a sophomore in college and therefore
a smart aleck. "Which one did you mean?"

"The one whose been using my weights."

"Oops. I saw them a couple weeks ago and didn't know who to ask. I do wipe off
the bench when I get done and put the bar back on the floor." I sat up and
turned to face her.

She was a stocky, sandy haired girl a couple years older than me. I had seen
her in the building all year and knew she was a senior, but we had never
really met. We lived in a big old house near campus that had been converted to
half a dozen "efficiency" apartments. Cheap and perfect for struggling
students in the late sixties. The house had a big basement for storage and
laundry. That's where I found the weight set and started doing bench presses
and a couple other exercises.

"I don't mind. I just noticed things got moved around a bit. I'm surprised
you're the one who has been using them. You look more the runner type than a
weight lifter."

I looked down at my skinny chest and arms. "I am a runner, but we jocks have
to live up to the whole image."

"Keep trying," she replied with a grin. "You're benching with my arm curl
weight. Some jock."

It was a nice smile, bright with a cute gap between her front teeth. I looked
at the broad shoulders under the oversized t-shirt and the strong thighs
bulging between her knees and the bottoms of her shorts.

"I have my letterman's sweater to prove it", I said very solemnly. "Two years
on the high school cross country team. You look like a serious athlete,
though. What do you do?"

"Nothing here. I tried gymnastics in high school but I got too big and heavy.
The landings really beat me up. But that built my strength up so I got on the
girl's track team. They made me a shot putter, if you can believe it. I was
okay in high school but there are a lot of girls bigger and taller than me at
the college level and besides, I would have seemed like a real freak if I'd
gotten serious about shot putting." She sat down on a box and leaned forward
with her elbows on her knees. She was kind of bouncing her feet up and down on
her toes as she sat there and the flexing of her calves got pretty
distracting.

"So you curl 65 pounds without being serious. That sounds a little freaky to
me." Remember, I was a sophomore talking to a senior. Two years age difference
is a big deal at 19. And talking to any girl was a big deal when you're 6 foot
2 inches and 135 pounds of late adolescence like I was. I was bumbling around
trying not to sound too retarded or too nerdy.

She blushed and looked away. "I know. I've felt like a freak here for four
years. When I lived in the dorms the girls would make cracks about thinking I
was a man sneaking in when they saw me from behind in the showers. And asking
me if I was a dyke." She put her head down and ran her fingers through her
short curly hair. I saw muscles bunch up under her t-shirt as she pushed her
fingers through.

"I finally got a boyfriend this year. A runner like you. I had my weights at
his place. We broke up because he said I was just too muscular, so I had to
move the weights in here."

"So it was, like, an ego thing for him? When did he figure out you had
muscles? He sounds like you're better off without him, if you ask me."

She crossed her arms and was kind of squeezing her upper arms. They looked big
and firm the way she was squeezing. "I didn't ask, but thanks. I just like
being strong and that scares the guys around here. If you bench 65 pounds,
what do you curl?"

"I don't", I said. Now I was really floundering. "I figured 65 pounds was half
my body weight, so it'd be a good amount to bench. I do some rowing exercises
and military presses for my back and chest. I don't do curls because by my
analysis there's no point in having big biceps except just flexing them to
show off that you have big biceps. And I'm more interested in strengthening
the muscles around my trunk for any practical things I need upper body
strength for. I lift heavy things with my leg muscles, not my arms. Mostly I
just run and ride my bike. And some other guys and I climb the rock cliffs
down by the river. I do have good endurance even if I'm no muscle man."

"By your analysis?" She laughed a pleasant throaty laugh.

"Sorry, that's an occupational hazard for science geeks. We can't stop
sounding stuffy," I said feeling my own blush coming on.

She dropped her hands back down and looked at me. "Sixty five pounds is half
your weight? I'm about eight inches shorter and weigh almost 25 pound more.
God, I am a freak." She sat up. "Look at me. I'm flat chested as a boy and I
do have biceps. No wonder I can't have a boyfriend and all the girls treat me
like I belong in a circus."

Now I was feeling bad for her. For once in my life I didn't seem like the only
lonely person in the room. So I just blundered in. "Boobs are overrated. In
ten years all the stacked girls will have them hanging around their bellies
and you'll look the same as now for your whole life. I don't see any fat on
you so you're going to look better and better at all the high school reunions
you go to. Besides, you said you liked being strong and it seems like you
worked hard lifting weights to get there. What was that all about if you don't
like how it looks? My name is Johnny - uh - John, by the way. Apartment 5."

"I'm Alice. Nice to meet you, Johnny. I do like being strong and in a couple
weeks I'll be back at my summer job where I can really like it. I'm graduating
but I've had this summer job back home since I was a junior in high school.
It's really hard work and I just love being able to do it. Then I'll have to
start a real job teaching school in September. This might be the last time I
get to feel good about having muscles."

"What's your job?"

She brightened and started talking with real enthusiasm. "I work in a potato
plant back home. The company figured they'd have to go along with all the
women's lib stuff so they started hiring high school girls for some of the
jobs guys usually get during the summer. I thought I was in good shape from
sports and all and it paid really well so I applied for a job on the loading
deck. It nearly killed me. The potatoes get bagged by machines and sent to the
loading deck where we put them into trucks or stack them on pallets to go to
storage. It's just lifting bags of spuds all day long. The bags are anywhere
from ten pounds to these huge hundred pound commercial bags. There's usually a
crew of six but they add one or two kids in the summer when a new crop comes
in. They've had women work the deck before but I was the first girl summer
hire. The guys there are just the greatest. They've been heaving these loads
around for years and are so strong! The company probably just hired me so it
would look good, figuring I'd quit fast and they could say 'see, we tried to
treat women equally and they couldn't handle it.' But the guys were so nice to
me. At first they just had me working the small bags. But heaving ten pound
weights around all day is still hard work. For the first couple weeks I just
ached so much I could hardly move. But the guys told me everybody felt like
that at the start, and then you get used to it. And I did. After my muscles
got used to all that lifting and carrying I could just feel myself getting
stronger, and I really liked that. The guys there are about the strongest men
I've ever seen. They could break any football player in half without trying.
But they're so sweet. They never brag about muscles or show off, they never
push anybody around and they took real good care of me when I started. At my
high school graduation they all showed up and cheered for me - I had my own
rooting section. They'll probably come for graduation here, which will be a
real trip for some of these snobs around here. I mean, some of these guys work
only the hundred pound bags and they can put a hundred pounds of dead weight
over head all day long - with either hand! It's great when we're all working
away there. We wear these baggy coveralls and I just blend in with the guys.
At the start of each year I get the same old aches and pains, because however
hard I work out here over the school year there is nothing like eight or ten
hours a day of moving those bags around. Each year I start with the same pains
and then I feel myself getting stronger. Each year they have me moving up to
more of the heavier and heavier bags. I can boost the hundred pounders around
myself some now. The guys are proud of me for that, too, along with my getting
through college."

By now I was feeling totally intimidated. I had been feeling sorry for this
woman and now I find out she gets a kick out of tossing around more weight
than I've lifted in my life.

"Wow! I can't help noticing that you do have some muscle, and I think it looks
great. Are you really that strong?" I burst out.

"You want to arm wrestle me or something? "

"Whoa. How about we run a ten mile race and we reduce your time by however
many seconds it takes you to pin my arm down? That'd be a fair contest." I
said, smiling. "Guys can only lose arm wrestling women. If we win there are no
bragging rights because we're supposed to be stronger, and if we lose it's
total humiliation. Besides, I think we established with your weights that
you're stronger than I am. I'd need serious stakes to arm wrestle you."

"What kind of stakes? Like a bet? There's nobody to see us so you can't get
embarrassed."

"Winner gets to be on top first. No - sorry -- I was kidding. I surrender
without a fight. I'll just take my skinny body and slink away from here and
let you work on your potato muscles. I have to tell you, I think you look
terrific. Like the healthiest, sleakest animal you can think of -a panther or
a tiger. Like I said, I have huge respect for the work you've put in to get
strong. I wish you could always feel like you do with your friends lifting
those potatoes."

"You don't get off that easily, not after a crack like you made." She knelt by
the weight bench and put her arm up. I was feeling a rush of excitement and
got down opposite here. My arm was so much longer I had to find on old
textbook to put under her elbow so we could grip hands.

"Okay, two rules," I said. "First, no fair hurting me and second, take your
time so I can savor my humiliation." I winked so she would know I was kidding
about the humiliation part. Clearly this was going to be no contest for her.

We started and she slowly moved my arm downward, then let me push back up even
to be sure I was really trying. Then she looked in my eyes and smiled. "That's
what you have, huh? You better keep lifting my weights." Slowly she pushed my
arm downward again. I stared at the sleeve of her t-shirt bulging, her back
looked like two hills of muscle rolling up on either side of her spine. I
reached over and felt her biceps. An electric shock ran through me as I felt
its rounded hardness, like squeezing an apple.

"So this is what else you do with biceps. Maybe I should start doing curls," I
laughed.

She pushed her sleeve up so I had a good look at that mound, and then she
pushed my arm all the way down. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?" she asked
sweetly.

"It hardly hurt at all. Do you really curl 65 pounds? Would you show me
sometime?" I was shaking my arm to get circulation going again.

"I can do more, but I go for lots of reps. I do my heavy lifting in the gym on
campus. Watch." She rolled up both sleeves and grabbed the bar I'd set on the
rack. Her upper arms swelled and pulsed as she mechanically raised and lowered
the bar. She looked down at her muscles.

"You're enjoying watching your muscles work as much as I am, aren't you?" I
asked, feeling my heart race and throat tighten.

"I like them a lot. Check 'em out"

I stood behind her and gripped her arms. The muscles swelled and sank
rhythmically under my hands. I smelled her hair and brushed my cheek across
the top of her head, feeling weaker with every rep. She gave a little purr.
She did another half dozen and set the bar back down.

"You really know how to make a woman feel good," she giggled turning towards
me. "Now it's your turn. Let's see those bench presses."

I blushed and hoped my jock was keeping my hardon under wraps. "You have
completely intimidated me. Look at your arms. Now I'd kill to have that kind
of muscle. And it does look wonderful on you."

"You have to lift the weight to get the muscle," she said. "Down you go. I'll
spot you."

I lay down under the bar and she kept a hand under it as I lifted it off the
rack. I started pushing out reps. At ten I started to put it back on the rack
but she said, "Oh no you don't. You're not done until you're done. Give me
five more." She put her other hand down on my bare chest and started stroking
it. "Nice little muscles. I like feeling them move." I started pushing for all
I was worth. I was trembling all over, I felt my face was going to explode
from the blood pressure. "One more," she said sharply. She gave me some help
getting the last one back up to the bar.

"That was great. Next time you'll have to add weight," she said.

"Next time? I'm not sure I'll ever be able to lift my arms again, let alone a
barbell," was all I could reply.

"Let me introduce you to a friend of mine, since you like working large muscle
groups." From behind a box she pulled an ugly dumbbell cast with hexagons at
the ends. "I found this at a garage sale for $1. Sixty pounds of iron. Try
grabbing it with both hands and bringing it from the floor up over your head
and back down. As you get better," she said as she started demonstrating, "you
can shift from going straight up and down and go off a little to the side,
emphasizing one side of your body at a time. Eventually you can work up and do
it one handed." The last variation showed incredible coordination of all her
muscles from legs to forearms.

She set it down and again and said, "I'll leave you alone to finish your
workout. Would you like to meet for a beer in a couple hours? That should give
you time to do your workout and shower. I'll go for a jog now and come back to
do my lifting."

"I'd love to get together," I blushed again, "but I'm not legal for the beer.
And I have a class this evening."

"We can get together another time. When should I collect on our wager?" she
asked me in an innocent voice.

"Wager?"

"You know, Johnny. Winner gets to be on top first. I'll come by your room to
collect some evening. I don't like welshers," she said with a wide smile.

I was back to blushing once more. I felt like my face had been beet red for
the last half hour, either from embarrassment or exertion. I got up to face
her and said, "I told you, I was kidding. I shouldn't have made that crack. A
dumb joke."

She reached up and pulled my head down to give me a little kiss on the cheek.
"I know you were kidding, but a bet's a bet. Some night you better plan on
paying up."

"I better leave my door unlocked so you won't break it, then," I said with a
weak little chuckle, and she was gone.

* * *

I lay wide awake in bed at midnight. I heard my doorknob turn and saw the door
swing silently open and close. Alice was briefly silhouetted in the hall
light, wearing a bath robe.

"I thought you might have just been joking," I breathed.

"And I was afraid of the same about you," she whispered s she crossed the
darkness to my bed. "I'm going to turn on your lamp."

She tipped the shade away so I wasn't blinded and switched it on. "Do you
really want to go through with this?" she asked in a nervous whisper.

I reached for her and said, "I never believed you would actually come to a
person like me."

"A person like you? You made me happier today than I've felt in months. I
don't want to let that get away. But you have to see what you'd be getting.
I've scared away enough guys, I don't want to be making another mistake. I
just did my workout and showered now so you'd really see what my body looks
like. If you don't like it, I'll just go and we can both forget the whole
thing. A dumb joke."

I was swallowing hard and trembling and could hardly croak out a word. "Show
me."

Under the bath robe she wore another big t-shirt. Her breasts made small tents
against the fabric. She swept the shirt over her head and watched for my
reaction. She fingered her nipples and said, "See, there isn't much of me that
jiggles, but I can make them dance." She flexed her chest muscles a few times
and the breasts rode up and down. "Scared yet?"

"You're so beautiful," I gasped out.

"And the biceps you don't see a reason for anyone having." She flexed both
arms repeatedly. I sat up and reached for the mounds of strength as she flexed
them harder and harder.

"Amazing. No, not scared yet."

I ran my hands over her arms and shoulders. We embraced and I felt the rolling
landscape of her back muscles, running my hands up and down from her neck to
her butt. She wrapped strong arms around me and we kissed long and hard.
Everywhere I touched I found new ropes of muscle under soft skin. We kept our
bet. She was on top first.

* * *

We were a passionate couple for the weeks until she graduated. At the ceremony
I sat in the middle of her home town friends. I was surprised they were a
variety of shapes and sizes instead of being a squad of iron giants, but each
one looked solid as the marble pillars holding up the building. We all cheered
when her name was read, and I saw a couple of these strong men dabbing at
tears with red bandanas.

School ended, she moved on, and I knew I had taken a long step in growing up.
We didn't meet again for years.