Worship Me Part 1
By Muscle Fan, covert.1@hotmail.com



This story may be a bit different from others I have written; 'Genie-Modern
Amazon', 'The Transformation', 'The Alternative Life' and 'My Story'. These
stories may be found in the library of Diana the Valkyrie, who I wish to thank
for giving me the opportunity to post them. Thanks also to the readers that
have written and expressed interest in my stories and made recommendations. I
may be reached at the email address above.

Prologue

My name is Jane and I won't bore you with a lot of early details of my life.
Suffice to say, I grew up normal; normal childhood, normal parents, normal
education. At this writing, I'm 25 years old, a college graduate with a major
in English with an emphasis on creative writing. I'm what some would call a
free-lance journalist. I've been published in everything from your typical
woman's magazine to your hobby or household publication.

I'm 6'-5" tall and my weight, well, let's just say, it's enough so that I
won't be mistaken for Olive Oyl any time soon. I carry it well. I have
naturally blonde hair that I keep short, green eyes and try to maintain that
healthy southern California tan that people see on the screen and in
magazines. I'm muscular, man, am I muscular. I don't try to conceal my body as
I'm quite proud of the transformation that I've gone through, but it does get
a bit 'tiring' having people stare at me on the street, in stores or on the
beach and continually ask if I'm a bodybuilder, if my muscles are real or even
commenting that I'm a freak. Perhaps I am a freak, but I can live with that.
Some people, men and women, have stopped me and commented how great I look and
that they wished they could look like me. Some people go so far as to ask for
a photo or if they can touch my muscles. Maybe we do have a bunch of weirdo's
in southern California.

I lead, by some, a rather provocative life. My freelance writing affords me
the time to indulge myself in what I like, what I enjoy, but we'll get to that
later. I don't have to punch a time clock or be anywhere at a given time
unless I set up the appointment or make that decision.

But my life hasn't always been as I've described and I haven't always looked
the way I do now. My story really starts some time back when I was Jane, just
plain Jane.

Chapter 1

I was fresh from college. I began my career in writing working for one of the
larger women's magazines. I was one of many who received assignments from one
of the editor's, researched and wrote a piece. Some were published, some were
not. Life fell into a routine.

I had a steady boyfriend, Todd, and while he was a good guy, he was in a
routine as well. I guess you could say our relationship wasn't going anywhere
and soon, Todd and I drifted apart. No dramatic, 'get out of my life', no
breaking down in tears (that would have been him, not me), but we drifted,
apart, that is.

It was about this time that a college friend of mine, Emily, contacted me
about coming to work for her. She was working in her father's firm and had
been put in charge of assigning who did what story. They were a large, well
respected firm that specialized in freelance writing, publishing as well as
some video and commercial production. I viewed this as a door being opened and
I stepped right in.

Emily and I were roommates at school. While I was thin, flat chested and
socially awkward, Emily was curvy, with decent size breasts and generally the
life of the party. We hit it off right from the start. She was a business
major destined to move up the ranks in daddy's firm. She was smart and knew
how to succeed in class while balancing an active social schedule. We both
disdained sororities and the social stigma associated with them.

As roommates do, we found ourselves bonding over our personal relationships
and shared intimate secrets with one another. While we were both
heterosexuals, we did 'experiment', exploring each other's bodies, 'petting'
and kissing. We never displayed any public intimacy and had a healthy sex life
with the men on campus.

I moved to a one-bedroom apartment not far from work. This afforded me the
opportunity to walk to work, and though I owned a car, save on gas. Shortly
after I moved in, a storefront on the main boulevard began undergoing some
renovations. A sign in the window read, 'Coming Soon, Sheila's Gym.' That was
odd, I thought, a woman's name associated with a gym. And so I watched as I
walked to work, the progress being made on the interior.

It seemed that every day I passed, something was happening. Painting the
outside of the building, new sign above the door, paper covering the windows
(this I didn't like as I always looked forward to seeing what was going on
inside), and new carpeting being installed. Blinds replaced the newspaper, but
these were never shut.

Soon the paper came off the windows and gym equipment began dotting the floor
space. Mirrors had been installed along one wall and racks upon racks of
dumbbells and weights and barbells arrived. Still I had not caught a glimpse
of Sheila or any other woman for that matter.

Opening day arrived and that night on my walk home, I stopped in. Either I
missed the rush or my timing was perfect, because there was no one there but
me and a guy in a tight fitting T-shirt. Don was the picture of health and
looked like he had just stepped out of the pages of a fitness magazine. He
seemed genuinely glad to have someone to talk to and show around the place.

I asked why he had named it Sheila's Gym thinking that he named it after his
mother or wife, but he told me that the gym wasn't his, but did in fact belong
to Sheila who was on her way from her native Australia. Don went through his
salesman spiel and when he saw that I wasn't going to bring my checkbook out
of my purse, made me an offer I couldn't refuse. For no money down and only
ten dollars a month, I signed up. How could I go wrong? I was spending more
than that on lattes and espressos. He seemed genuinely happy that I signed up,
and said that I'd probably meet Sheila in a day or two, depending on her
schedule.

I passed the gym on the way home and didn't see anyone except Don again,
running a vacuum around the floor. I went home, changed, and walked back to
the gym. Don got up from his desk as soon as I came through the door. "Jane,
good to see you," he said, "Can I explain anything, help you write up a
workout plan, or help with a piece of equipment?" Since I was the only one
there, I took him up on his offer and he showed me how each piece of equipment
worked, the proper way to use each and what they did. He was thorough and to
the point. He made me feel comfortable and at ease at all time.

Glancing at the clock above the mirrors, I noticed that it was nearly nine
o'clock. Could I have been here two hours? And why hadn't anyone else come in?
I grabbed my workout towel, "Good night, Don," I said as I headed for the
door. "Good night, Jane," he called after me.

My muscles ached the next day at work. Every time I stood up my thighs ached
as well as my calves. I was never into sports but had been blessed with decent
genes so as not to have wide hips or flabby arms. My flat chest was my least
favorite physical attribute and I had considered having breast augmentation
surgery but decided against it, especially when I found out what the cost was.

The day flew by as I was in the midst of a project that involved extensive
research. Grabbing my purse and book bag, I headed for the door. I passed the
gym and as usual, no one was there. I didn't even see Don, but he could have
been in the back room, locker room or cleaning the showers. I wasn't sure what
I could do, my muscles ached so badly, but wanted to put forth the effort. I
changed and walked back to the gym.

I began warming up; crunches, stretching and a half hour on the tread mill.
The ache in my legs seemed to have subsided. I was getting a curl bar ready on
a bench when the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen came out of the back
room. She was tall, well in excess of six-foot and had reddish hair, cropped
short. She had the most beautiful green eyes that held your attention. She
wore a track suit that belied her size.

"Hi," she said in her Australian accent, "I'm Sheila, and you're Jane, good to
meet you," and reached out her arm to shake my hand. Tentatively I shook her
hand, my hand being dwarfed by hers. "Pleased to meet you too," I said. "So,
how do you find the gym," she asked. "Its fine," I said, "you seem to have all
the equipment." "Yes, I do," she responded, "and it's a well equipped gym as
well." I gave her a quizzical look and she merely smiled.

"Don't let me hold you back," Sheila said, "I was just getting ready to do
some squats myself," and she walked over to the squat rack and proceeded to
put a couple of large plates on the barbell. I did my curls, keeping eye
contact with myself in the mirror figuring it would be impolite to stare at
Sheila. I did steal a glance in her direction and noticed that she appeared to
do her squats effortlessly so that her butt nearly touched the ground, then
stand up with the barbell across her shoulders.

I continued with my arm exercises, working the biceps and then the triceps. I
was on my final set when Sheila came by once more. "Looks like you're doing
fine, Jane," Sheila said, "Anything I can help you with or answer any
questions?" "Just a question if you don't mind," I said, "how much did you
have on the bar that you were squatting?" Sheila smiled and said, "I was doing
480 pounds, but I was going for reps and not for the heaviest lift." "I'm sure
a lot of men couldn't squat that weight," I said. "No," she said, "not many.
It's something you have to train for and want to do." "Well," I said, "that's
why I'm here, to get stronger, and to feel better about myself." "With the
strength comes the assertiveness," Sheila said, "you feel better about
yourself and others respect you. Do you really want it?" "Huh," I said, "want
it? What do you mean, it?"

"Do you want the gift, the power, the strength; can you handle it" she asked.
"Maybe I'm a little confused," I said, "I'm not sure what we're talking about
any more." Sheila only looked at me and smiled and said, "You will, Jane, you
will."

That night after showering I tried to piece together that conversation, to
replay it in my mind, but I couldn't. Something just wasn't making sense.

Chapter 2

I went to work as usual. And once again, the day passed quickly. Near 5:00
Emily came by my desk and said that a group of co-workers were going to meet
up at Kelly's, a pub down the street, would I like to come along. 'Sure,' I
thought, 'why not.' Besides, I could skip a night at the gym.

A group of us squeezed into a couple of back tables at Kelly's, mostly women,
but several men including Bob from accounting. Bob was attractive and my age.
He had nice brown hair and dressed well. As luck would have it, he took the
seat across from me. We made small talk, and I thought all was going well, but
then I noticed that began staring over my shoulder rather than looking me in
the eye.

I saw the reflection in the mirror behind him of what, or should I say who, he
was staring at. She was a nicely endowed brunette wearing a figure
accentuating red dress.

'So,' I thought, 'the women who are assertive and aggressive are the ones who
ultimately get the men. It's no longer that Mr. Right and Ms Right pair up,
but one of the partners has to be the assertive member of the team.' I
continued to talk to Bob, but let the conversation wither and die. I finally
excused myself and made a beeline for the door and home.

The next day, Emily said, "Did you have fun last night, Jane? I didn't see
what time you left." "Sure," I said, "it was great. I talked to Bob, from
accounting, for a while, then a few others." "That's good, we need to do that
every now and then," Emily said, but I was thinking, 'I'd rather have a root
canal than to do that again.'

That night after work, I ran home, changed and went to my gym. Sheila was
there, this time on a flat bench doing presses. The bar bent under the plates
she had on each end. I waited till she was done with her set then approached
her. "I've been thinking about what you said and I truly do want to be more
assertive, to press myself," I told her. She smiled that smile as if to say,
'I knew you'd come to that conclusion.' "I thought you might," she said,
"we'll get started tonight, how about that." "Started?" I asked, "What do you
mean?"

"Just let Sheila take care of everything," she said, "you'll see, we'll have
you in shape in no time." And so it started.