Alice Part II: Show Muscles
By Merz;  mrmerz@yahoo.com
In the seventies, Alice tried competitive bodybuilding


Back in the '70's I had never heard the words "female" and "bodybuilder" put
together. They seemed as odd a combination as "concrete" and "lifejacket."
Then I learned my friend Alice had become one and I started trying to make
sense of it. After college I'd moved out of state to work as a chemist for a
company that made running shoes. Rather, they started out making running shoes
and then kept expanding the product line and moving into new sorts of sports
gear. Alice wrote me she would be competing in a town a couple hours drive
from me. I arranged to help staff my company's booth at the trade show that
always happens at this sort of sporting event. I wanted to spend enough time
at the contest to really figure out what this new phenomenon was all about.

I drove over two days before the contest to help set up our displays and
settle in to my room. The company was putting me up for two nights right in
the hotel where the contest was being held. The place was a lot fancier than
anyplace I would have checked into just three years out of graduate school. I
brought two of my cameras, one for color and one for black and white shots so
I could have a record of the event.

Soon the lobby and display area began filling with men and women flashing more
muscle than I had ever seen before. I'd seen weightlifters plenty of times,
and had no problem getting used to the muscle men walking around with their
shirts half unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up above their biceps. I was a
little surprised by the number of formerly in shape guys affecting the same
style. But I really wasn't prepared for the women.

I've been a runner for years, I had spent time in the gym in college, and I
was working for a sports company. I thought I was used to seeing athletic
women. These were something else again entirely. They mostly weren't dressed
as athletes, for one thing. High heels were common as well as tight mini
skirts and stretch pants. A few wore pastel warm up suits with lots of
jewelry. But what really amazed me, of course, were the muscles. Just like
with the guys every move the women made set off complicated stirrings of sinew
and cordlike muscles. I was in heaven.

"Johnny! Johnny! You really came!" I recognized the voice but had to look
twice to recognize Alice. She rushed up and gave me a long tight hug. The warm
smile with the cute space between her front teeth was the same, but her hair
was longer. Alice wore white stretch pants that showed every muscular curve of
her legs, and sandals with two inch heels that guaranteed there would be more
than usual to show. On top she had a tight maroon polo style shirt. I
estimated she weighed about 160 pounds, which was five less than when I knew
her in school. I learned later she was actually 150 to 155. I remembered a
girl with a full face and strong muscular arms. This Alice had hollow cheeks
and arms that measured about the same but were much leaner. She carried so
little body fat I kept thinking of a squirrel I had dissected in a science
class. We had removed the skin to study the musculature, and now I felt I was
seeing every human muscle fiber as distinctly as on that naked squirrel. I had
never imagined a healthy person could get so lean, the skin so tightly drawn
across pure muscle.

Even more than all that, I was shocked by her breasts. My Alice had been small
breasted, her mammaries pouching out slightly from nicely rounded pectoral
muscles. This Alice had large breasts riding high and firm. The nipples
thrusting against her shirt left no question she didn't need a bra to support
their weight. I was guessing C cup or maybe D. She interrupted my scrutiny by
suggesting we grab a place to sit in the hotel café before it filled for
lunch.

"I'm meeting Christopher for lunch and can't wait to introduce the most
important men in my life," she told me.

I complimented her on her deep tan and expressed amazement at how lean she
looked. I told her she ought to win this contest from what I could see because
her muscles looked bigger than just about any of the other women I had seen so
far. "Would you make a muscle for me? I want to see how big those things have
gotten with all this training and competing. It sounds like you're off to some
contest in the region every weekend."

"Christopher doesn't like me to flex my biceps. It emphasizes my muscle mass
more than the judges like to see and gives people the wrong impression about
female body building. We never make a fist and flex in a contest. But you
didn't say anything about my boobs," she finished with one of her throaty
giggles. "Or didn't you notice?"

"Oh, I noticed. Where did those things come from? I can hardly believe it's
possible to have breasts like that when you have absolutely no body fat
anywhere else."

"Of course you can't, silly," she replied. "They're fake. I got silicone
implants. The judges like to see certain female attributes on the contestants,
just like all men do. It's really a pretty clever operation. The doctor
inserts these silicone filled bags underneath the chest muscle so I get to
show pectoral definition as well as a nice rounded bustline. This is the first
time in my life I have anything to jiggle and the first time men have bothered
to stare at my chest when I talk to them. It's kind of a neat feeling."

"So, do you win these contests now that you have muscles and tits?" I asked
with my best leer. "With your strength and these . . . breasts, you should
really outclass these other women."

Her smile lost a bit of its brightness. "No, I really don't place very high
yet, but I'm working my way up. The judges go for smaller women, like gymnast
size, or a taller and more slender body type. I have my own following among
the fans, but it's taking a while for us more muscular girls to get accepted
by the judges. But Christopher has lots of confidence that I'll break through
soon."

"That's right, baby. Just hang in there and we'll show them," said a voice
from behind me.

I started to stand and turn to greet the newcomer, but froze about halfway out
of my chair. At that point Christopher and I were looking eye to eye. Aside
from height he was enormous. I'd never seen such a massive body builder. He
wore a polo shirt to match Alice's. His was unbuttoned to display the ridges
in his iron chest. The sleeves threatened to rip out as his upper arm swelled
when we shook hands.

"I'm John Smith. My friends all call me JB except for Alice who has some sort
of prior rights," I said. "You must be Christopher. Alice has been telling me
all about you." I was doing some mental math based on his body volume and the
percent of water in his tissue so I could judge his weight. I came up with
something around 240 pounds based on a cylinder 167 centimeters high. I was
guessing an inch taller than Alice and at least 80 pounds heavier.

"Good to meet you, Johnny. I understand you're here with the trade show. Alice
says you're some kind of science guy. What does a shoe company need with a
rocket scientist?"

A waitress arrived to take our order, which gave me time to work out my reply.
I knew I was entering treacherous social waters because my technical answers
to casual questions had put a pall over many parties in the past. Christopher
said," I'll have a club sandwich and a lite beer, the lady will just have a
small dinner salad with no dressing." He raised an eyebrow when I asked for a
chicken sandwich with a glass of dry white wine.

"I'm a chemist, actually," I began when the waitress had left. " I see you are
wearing our product. If you'll notice, the bottom sole is a different material
from the thicker, cushioning mid sole part. And then there's an even softer
layer of a third compound right under the foot. My job is finding compounds
that can give good traction and resist wear for the bottom, remain springy
through a few million impacts for the middle layer, and be absorbent without
retaining moisture or odors for the insole. That's an example," I said pushing
my glasses up a little self-consciously.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Listen, baby, I was talking with a guy at the trade
show who has this product we could slip in between your front teeth so that
gap wouldn't show. He says it's just $25 and can hardly be noticed from five
feet away. I think the judges would like that nice smile of yours even more
without the space between your teeth showing." Alice began a slow blush so he
continued, "Not that I have any problems with it. You know I think you're
perfect. But we gotta please the damn judges. Speaking of which, I've been
noticing that most of the girls placing in the last few contests have innies.
That school district insurance of yours wouldn't cover your implants, but if
we could get the plastic surgeon to just tuck your navel in a tiny bit, don't
you think you could get that paid for?"

Now Alice was crimson under her movie star tan. I knew she was a little self
conscious about her smile, which I had always found adorable. And I had
frankly never noticed whether her navel was an innie or an outie. I jumped in,
"I'm sorry, this is my first bodybuilding contest and I'm confused. What does
the shape of a belly button have to do with how big a woman's muscles are?"

Christopher rolled his eyes. "In this sport it all depends on giving the
judges what they want. It's a new sport. We're pioneering here and still
working out the ideal the gals will be held to."

The waitress arrived with our food. Christopher told Alice, "If you aren't
hungry you don't have to eat the whole salad. And remember, dinner tonight is
grapefruit, then nothing until the contest tomorrow."

Alice nodded and chimed in answering my question. "Bodybuilding isn't just
about how big your muscles are, especially for the women. Like you said, my
arms are bigger than most of the competitors. But definition and symmetry are
even more important. And the posing routine where you display the physique
either one body part at a time or as a total package. Christopher is working
to de-emphasize my muscle size, in fact."

"Yeah, you still want a woman to look like a woman," Christopher said. "When I
found Alice she was headed the wrong way entirely, pushing these big weights
around. This game is all about definition and matching the judges'
expectations."

"As I analyze this, then, you aren't describing a sport at all. I mean, this
all sounds like a matter of judgement and taste. It's about aesthetics instead
of athleticism." I was proud of my alliteration at the end. "If the judges do
change their standards so the same set of competitors do the same things next
contest but a more muscular or less buxom group wins and places, how can this
be an athletic contest?"

Now it was Christopher's turn to redden. "As you analyze it! You saying we
aren't athletes? Look at this and say I'm not an athlete", he exclaimed
flexing his enormous arm a half inch from my nose. "What's a wimp like you got
to say about athletes?" he sneered.

Alice tried coming to my rescue. "Johnny's a terrific athlete. He runs
marathons and can bicycle a hundred miles at a time. And he swims and lifts
weights..."

"Yeah, I can imagine the weight this bean pole can lift. Listen, it takes a
lot of hard work and sweat to get a body like this, so don't try telling me
body building isn't a sport," Christopher said, crossing those big, big arms.

"But that's not the point." I just couldn't make myself shut up with this ape.
"Ballet dancers are terrific athletes and it takes a lot of exertion for the
men to lift and carry the women as gracefully as they do, and the leaps are
certainly athletic but I wouldn't call ballet a sport. It sounds like
bodybuilding has some of the same aspects."

"Now Brainiac wants to talk about ballet," Christopher practically spit at
Alice.

"We're through eating. I think we should go," Alice said quietly.

"Your boyfriend hasn't finished his little white wine. You need any help
lifting that big old glass?"

I took the last sip and stood up. Looking way down at him I said, "I better
check in at the booth. It was very interesting talking with you, Christopher."

As I started back to the display area Alice caught me. "Christopher will
really grow on you, you'll see. What I am today I owe to Christopher."

I choked back a retort about gratitude for being a half starved showpiece.

"Johnny, would you give me a hand out in the parking lot?"

I followed her to her car. She opened the trunk to reveal a 60 pound dumbbell
nested among some suitcases. I recognized it from it from the first time I had
met Alice. She had bought it at a garage sale and took pride that she could
press such a big ugly hunk of iron overhead with one hand. Now she grabbed it
with both hands and heaved it out of the trunk. "Would you carry this inside
for me? It's sort of my lucky charm, you know, and Christopher doesn't want me
lifting anything this heavy. It gets my arms too pumped up." I never expected
to hear Alice asking my assistance with anything involving lifting weights.

"Sure," I said accepting the unwieldy object. "Where are we taking it?"

"To the prep room. Before we come on stage the women warm up there and get
oiled and do any last minute primping."

I followed along, leaning against the weight that threatened to lengthen my
right arm. My mind was spinning.

The room she brought me to held several floor length mirrors, tables with make
up mirrors, several barbells set up with light weights, and a weight bench
over in one corner.

"I remember when you gave me a hard time because I worked out with weights
heavier than these little things," I told her.

"We go for high reps with light weights" she shot back, "to increase muscle
definition. I told you, bodybuilding contests aren't about being strong."

"Alice, you worry me. None of this seems healthy, and every bit of this . . .
activity seems to go against everything in your spirit. You used to be proud
of your strength and you seem to be giving that up. This whole business of
substituting an appearance of strength for being strong feels dishonest, and
if you aren't eating you are sacrificing your health chasing somebody else's
idea of what's attractive. This all feels more unhealthy than beauty
pageants." A light went on in my mind. 'Look, we know you've always been lots
stronger than me. I'll bet I can beat you arm wrestling now. You've run
yourself down and given up your strength to fit an artificial ideal."

She was furious. "You'll never beat me. I am strong, I'm the strongest woman
you've ever met. You just can't handle the idea of the new woman that
bodybuilding is creating."

"Show me," I said, leading her to the weight bench where we knelt down. I
propped her arm up high enough so we could grip hands, but not up even with my
long arm. I counted down, "Ready, set," and gave a hard push an instant before
saying, "Go." I had given her hand a little twist to reduce her leverage even
more, I reached down with my left hand to grab the leg of the bench, and
leaned a good share of my weight down onto our wrists. I had her half way down
but she caught me and held steady. I began taunting her.

"See, you've let those other people make you weak. I'm about to finish you
off. You don't have the muscle left to do a thing about it." Most of that was
bull. She had stopped me cold despite every cheating trick I could think of.
Her breath came in short quick gasps. She stared at our hands not wanting to
believe I could force her so far down, then made a sound like a roar and began
moving me backward. Her bicep was exploding with power, and veins popped out
along her corded forearm. I had never seen such a display of raw muscle, there
being no hint of fat or water between the burgeoning muscle and tight skin.

"What the hell are you doing?" we heard Christopher yell, then the door slam.
Before we could stand up he had crossed the room and grabbed Alice by the
hair, very nearly lifting her off the ground. "Look at that. That's no woman's
arm. I knew I could never make a real woman out of a freak like you." He
slapped her face and she fell. I was on him in an instant, grappling and then
throwing a short right to his gut. Bad mistake. I felt an electric shock run
up to my elbow. It felt like I had punched an oak door. He grabbed my lapels
and tossed me backwards over the bench, my glasses flying. He leaned over me
with one hand on my throat and his fist cocked to deliver a hammer blow to my
face. Alice grabbed him around the waist and heaved. She shook him back and
forth and threw him from her. He was up at once and they grappled. He grabbed
two handfuls of her shirt and shredded it. Her full tanned upper body came
into view, the large breasts springing free. She took no notice but continued
wrestling against the larger, much heavier bodybuilder. All her muscles stood
our in sharp relief up and down her torso. The muscles of her back crawled
like a nest of snakes. He threw her down near a pile of weights, and I was on
him again with one hand grabbing his hair and one arm around his neck. He gave
me a backhanded slap that sat me down again. With a roar Alice was back up,
holding a five pound plate. She swung a huge roundhouse at his head, holding
the weight like a discus. If he hadn't gotten an arm up she would have taken
his head off. He took most of the impact on his forearm and the weight landed
flat against the side of his head. He went down heavily and lay moaning on the
floor.

Alice helped me up, her body gleaming with sweat, every muscle shining and
pumped to its extreme. "Johnny, are you all right?"

"I'm fine", I said, retrieving my glasses and wincing as I put them on my
throbbing face. "We better get out of here before he comes around. Here, you
can wrap this towel around you and we'll go up to my room."

We ducked up a fire stair and found our way to my room. "I'm sorry about those
things I said. I was hoping I could convince you that a lot of this lifestyle
seems to be unhealthy. I'm glad I was wrong about it doing you any harm," I
told her once we inside.

"No, you were right. I have lost a good deal of strength, and my diet over I
don't know how many months with all these contests doesn't give me enough
food. I can feel how low my energy is every day, but I've been blinded by this
contest madness. You would have beat me at arm wrestling. I saw you were
cheating and all, but a year ago none of that would have let you budge my arm.
I was moving you back to the top when Christopher came in, but I was
completely spent. I've burned up all the calories I've eaten in a week in the
last ten minutes. It was all adrenaline. I can hardly stand up any more."

I sat her down quickly and ran down the hall to the vending machines. A quick
sugar charge and glass of water soon had her revived.

"I need to go. I've got a lot of thinking to do." I tried talking her into
staying longer in my room, but she insisted.

"One thing before you go," I asked. " Make a muscle." She smiled her broadest
smile and flexed her right arm, still pumped from arm wrestling and fighting
with Christopher. The mound erupted from her arm, high and peaked and
vascular. I felt it: hard and round as a baseball. I traced the vein across
its top and into the ridged topography of her deltoids. "You're made of
steel," I whispered.

She put on my clean shirt and buttoned it halfway up to where it got snug.
With the sleeves rolled up to display her rippling forearms she would blend
right into the crowd downstairs.

Next morning I went for a run before breakfast and contest time. Despite
everything I was still fascinated to see how this thing worked, to see the
women display a new concept of the perfect female body. As I put my key in the
lock Alice slipped around the corner and pushed me inside. She wore a bathrobe
with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"Why Johnny, you have grown," she said eyeing me in my running clothes. "Maybe
I spoke too soon about beating you easily yesterday."

I blushed knowing I still had the same basic runner's body with just a few
more pounds added to my shoulders and chest from swimming. I do workout with
weights, but never seem to gain much muscle from it. Twenty pounds spreads out
pretty thin on a six foot three inch frame.

"Where have you been? Would you like some breakfast," I asked, feeling self
conscious.

"I've pretty much been eating since I left you yesterday. Cheeseburger with
fries, a banana split, pasta, a nice stack of pancakes this morning, with eggs
that included the yolk for the first time in months. And about five gallons of
water. We try deliberately to get dehydrated before a contest to increase the
definition even more. Another unhealthy bodybuilding secret. But mostly I
drove around and thought and tried to figure out who belongs to this body I
seem to be occupying lately. I slept in my car. The contest starts in a little
over an hour and I need your help getting ready."

She slipped off the bathrobe to show she was wearing a tiny yellow posing
bikini that showed off her impossible physique to its best advantage. "I can
already tell the food and the water are making a difference in how I look: not
so striated," she said, doing a couple poses in the mirror. "This is my last
contest and I want to leave folks with something to remember. I want you to
help me get pumped and oiled up here. I don't want to run into Christopher
downstairs before contest time. You say this isn't a real sport and I guess I
believe you, but it's still important for me to show what I think a strong
woman's body can look like."

"Exactly. A sport is about how well you DO something," I said feeling myself
slipping into intellectual mode and not being able to stop myself. "It's about
performing a specific action or following some rules to an objective like
scoring points. This is the opposite - it's about MAKING something, using your
own tastes and judgement and creativity. This is about expressing your own
vision for other people to see. If they have a different vision or different
taste, fine. As I figure it based on everything I've heard and seen here,
bodybuilding is an art and you're the greatest artist in this building. This
judging farce is just a distracting sideshow to you displaying your creation."

Her eyes sparkled when she looked at me. "Oh, Johnny, so you don't think it's
stupid that I want people to see my strong body like this? I am proud of being
strong and having muscles. Somehow that got all confused in this contest
business." She gave me a crushing hug.

We got to work. She did pushups, both alone and with me straddling and pushing
down on her shoulders. She did crunches with her legs up on my bed. We did a
series of tugs of war with a towel to stress all the muscles in her arms and
back. I sat across her hips like riding a horse as she did deep knee bends.
She chinned herself from my arm braced against the bathroom door frame. Before
long we were both dripping with sweat and her muscles throbbed with blood. My
shorts were barely containing my cock when she said, "Okay, now we'll rub off
the sweat and oil me up. I'll do my legs and you do my back and arms."

I started in, feeling faint with desire. Her strong arms flexed and tightened
under my hands as she vigorously toweled her leg. Her elbow gently bumped my
crotch and she stood up smiling.

"Do you always carry a flashlight when you go running, or are you just glad to
see me?" she asked in her most sweet and innocent tone.

In a flash she jerked down my shorts so my cock sprang up like a flagpole.
Then she pulled my shirt up over my head and released her bikini top. Her
tanned breasts tumbled out into my hands. I kissed and fondled them, then she
pulled me down on top of her.

"Like our old bet. Winner gets to be on top first," she breathed into my ear.
"We were interrupted yesterday before I got a chance to surrender, so I will
give up now."

Between her powerful thighs I sank myself into her moistness. We moved in
powerful rhythms until I felt her go rigid with pleasure. All her muscles
tensed as she clutched me to her, nearly squeezing the breath from me. As she
climaxed I felt her arching up, lifting me bodily until only her shoulders and
feet touched the floor with me suspended on top and inside her. Then I came,
in long tidal bursts. I brought her to orgasm twice more by hand. Each time
her supreme pleasure caused every muscle to go rigid, transforming springy
muscular flesh into a bridge that felt like living stone. At last we lay
gasping side by side.

"Oh, Johnny, I don't know if I can walk on to the stage with my toes all
curled up this way," she purred to me.

We showered together and dressed and got her ready to make her appearance. I
grabbed my cameras to record the event. We hurried down the fire stairs and
got Alice to the prep room just in time to line up with the other women.

I took a seat as close to the stage as I could manage, squeezing in between
other fans who had arrived a respectable amount of time before the contest
started. A fiftyish looking man in a leisure suit started the proceedings. He
looked like he would have been formidable twenty years earlier but now was a
little too fond of the good life. No salads without dressing for him! He
introduced the judging panel sitting to one side in front of the stage and
acknowledged some celebrities in the audience. He pointed out Christopher who
rose and waved and arm with a plaster cast on his wrist and an angry looking
swelling along his jaw. The emcee said something about the cowardly gang of
muggers who had ambushed Christopher being lucky they had escaped with their
lives. The crowd cheered his bravery in the face of the craven horde while I
silently agreed we had been lucky.

The participants paraded out to loud applause. To my uneducated eye it was a
phenomenal display of this new feminine ideal. Sinewy women of all heights
strode out, every movement setting off flashing bursts of muscle from their
oiled bodies. Alice stood out by the prominence of veins running up and down
her arms and across her shoulders. A black woman was the only other woman
showing muscle mass comparable to Alice's. The women began a series of
standard poses and Alice's plan became obvious. She emphasized muscle size
where the others concentrated on graceful movement. The crowd noticed and
began shouting its approval of her displays. When the women began showing
individual body parts the house began to rock. As Alice clenched her fists and
hit a double biceps pose I saw the emcee leap to his feet, red faced, and
begin an animated discussion with the judges. The other competitors were
noticing as well, with a variety of facial reactions. I noticed the powerful
black woman actually applauding a couple of Alice's poses and changing her own
approach to match. The most dramatic moment came when Alice went into a pose I
later learned was called a crab: arms flexed low in front of the body,
shoulders hunched forward to show mountains of muscle in the shoulders, neck
and upper back, stomach tensed, legs flexed. The judges were talking excitedly
and shaking their heads as the audience screamed approval.

Alice and the black woman were among the early competitors eliminated. The
rest of the contest proceeded with a good deal more decorum. As the winners
were announced many in the crowd began chanting for Alice and the black woman,
Gail. The emcee tried to quiet the room so he could present the trophies but
the uproar just grew.

Suddenly the curtains parted and Alice marched out, Gail sitting on her right
shoulder with the 60 pound dumbbell held aloft. Alice set Gail on the stage
and the two went through a sort of fantastic dance with the big gray weight.
They would pass it back and forth, sweep it high and then dip low to the
floor, every muscle in their bodies getting a chance to explode under the
strain. When one woman went through her steps the other would dance close in
the background to highlight a swelling arm or massive thigh on the lifter, or
to offer a complimentary pose of her own. At the conclusion Alice passed off
the weight to Gail, then did a little chest shaking pantomime that set her
large breasts jiggling. Gail mimed laughter, held the weight in front of her
face and flexed her own pectorals. The effect was like seeing two clenched
fists under her bikini top, the muscles tensing high, round and solid. Setting
the weight down both women hit double biceps poses as the audience screamed,
cheered and stomped. Even some of the competitors in line to receive awards
were clapping and smiling. The judges were definitely not smiling and the
emcee's face looked like a red balloon about to burst. In unison the two women
pivoted to face the judges, gave them the finger, retrieved their heavy prop
and marched off stage with the dumbbell held between them.

It took the emcee about five minutes to regain control of himself and then the
audience. He assured us that both those outlaws would be banned for life by
whatever organization controlled women's bodybuilding. The crowd booed at
this, but I doubted either woman would have been surprised or disappointed at
not being able to play the game again. Fans mobbed both Alice and Gail when
they appeared after the contest. They finally escaped and found me packing
away the display booth. Alice introduced us and said she and Gail were going
to be good friends. I promised to send them each copies of my photos. Alice
said, "I know you think all the crash dieting was bad for me, but the next
time you see me, there's going to be even less of me."

Puzzled, I asked what she meant. "Gail told me her theory about the ancient
Amazons. The Greeks said they burned off their breasts so they could be better
warriors. Gail thinks they burned them off with exercise and metabolism. The
Greeks just couldn't understand a woman seeking such low body fat that she
showed chest muscle instead of breasts. She and I are modern amazons and I'm
going to get rid of these implants as soon as I can. I want to go back to
looking like what I am." She and Gail exchanged grins.

"That sounds like one coming out party I want to be at," I told her with a
laugh.

"That's the other thing I have to say that you may not want to hear," she said
in a more subdued voice. "I don't think I can see you for a while. I got so
lost so quickly with all this bodybuilding hype that I can't even tell who I
really am anymore. And I need to find that out before I get close to a man I
care about as much as I do you." My heart was sinking as she told me this.
"Johnny, it may take years for me to get squared away. Can I ask you to give
me the time and the space I need for that search, and not come looking for me?
You thought I'd lost some strength when we arm wrestled yesterday. Well, I've
lost a lot more strength inside. You could really overpower me that way, and I
need to build myself up. Please, Johnny, I really need this favor from you:
that you won't forget me and you won't try to see me until I know I'm ready."

I protested but reluctantly agreed to let her just walk away. When we parted
with a hug at her car I never dreamed I would be saying goodbye for ten more
years.