LITTLE BABY DADDY II - THE "SUPERFEM" FORMULA

     My name is Darrell.  In "Little Baby Daddy" my father-in-law
related how he met and married my mother-in-law, the 6'7" Mona
who owned an operated a gymnasium for women, and raised their
daughter, Amanda, who eventually became my wife.  He also 
described briefly how Mona was able to obtain the exclusive marketing 
rights to a formula for women, which we subsequently called
"SuperFem", and which, when taken orally and combined with
vigorous physical workouts, significantly increased over time the
size, density and strength of the bones, muscles and organs of
their bodies without detracting from their beauty or femininity. 
Within a few years after they began selling SuperFem through
their gymnasiums, as more and more women saw the advantages of
obtaining physical equality to or superiority over men, not only
were we all prospering beyond our wildest dreams, but the formula
itself was beginning to have a profound effect on the social
structures of the world.  I have therefore decided, with the
consent of my wife and mother-in-law, to attempt to chronicle as
accurately as I can the events I witnessed and those which were
related to me by others.
     At the outset, of course, there was resistance, not just
from men, but also from certain women's groups who realized that
SuperFem was slowly altering traditional concepts of masculinity
and femininity and fought to preserve the status quo.  Legal
challenges were mounted based on every conceivable theory to
suppress its manufacture and sale, and even the FDA made a run at
us.  All were turned back, for SuperFem was not a drug the sale
of which could be regulated or suppressed, and there were no
demonstrable, adverse side effects which could be used to label
it as an inherently dangerous substance.  Quite the contrary, all
the women who used SuperFem enjoyed outstanding health.
     However, the publicity surrounding these efforts had been
largely unfavorable to us.  Articles appeared in newspapers and
magazines all over the country accusing us of trying to turn
women into caricatures of men, often accompanied by drawings or
photographs of women with their muscularity enhanced to a ridicu-
lous degree and other, totally fallacious misinformation about
SuperFem and its effects on the body.  At that point, Mona and
Amanda decided they had no choice but to counterattack with a
publicity campaign of their own and hired an all-female ad
agency, most of the executives of which were avid proponents of
SuperFem, to prepare a proposal.
     Full page ads were run in major newspapers and magazines all
over the world, under the banner headline, "WHY ARE MEN AFRAID?",
and featuring full length, color photographs of Mona and Amanda
in bikinis to demonstrate that extraordinarily tall, powerfully
muscled women could be beautiful, shapely and feminine as well. 
The ads were short and to the point, touting the benefits of
SuperFem and ending with an offer to appear personally before any
woman's group in any city in which one or more of Mona's gyms
were located, explain how the formula worked and answer any
questions.
     The results exceeded our wildest expectations.  We were
literally flooded with requests for appearances from all over the
world, to the point that my father-in-law and I were forced to
develop a form letter advising that the number of requests we
were receiving required that we establish a core group of over a
hundred women to make these appearances, and that we would be in
touch with the sender to set up a date as soon as this was done.
We were kept busy at the word processors for days printing these
form letters and mailing them out.  In the meantime, Mona and
Amanda forwarded to each of their gyms those requests received
from its general area, hand picked representatives from each gym
to make the appearances, and gave each representative a carefully
prepared brochure from which to speak.  Mona and Amanda handled
separately the requests from our city and decided to have my
father-in-law and I accompany them in the hope that our presence
would reassure any men who might attend that being married to a
much taller, stronger woman would not be the end of the world for
them.  And it was decided that Amanda and I should handle the
first of these meetings.
     In the meantime, during the preceding several years, work on
SuperFem had continued, for we had been seeing a fairly large
number of women who wanted to use it, but who were either already
as tall as they wanted to be or, at most, wanted to gain only a
few inches of additional height and wanted to add a proportionately 
greater degree of muscle than would result from reduced
dosages.  We were fortunate that, several months before our first
meetings were scheduled, a variation of the formula was perfected
and tested which achieved exactly that effect.
     Although Amanda, who was naturally nearly seven and a half
feet tall and possessed almost superhuman physical strength, had
not found it necessary to try SuperFem, she decided that it would
now be advisable to take at least a few reduced dosages of the
new variant so that she could attest to its use from personal
experience in the meetings she would hold.  The effect was
spectacular; although she gained only another 1/2" in height,
even those few, reduced dosages added another thirty pounds of
solid, shapely, gorgeous muscle to her already gargantuan frame,
and, by the time of her first meeting, her physical strength had
increased by more than a third!
     That first meeting with a women's group was a memorable one
indeed.  It was held in the auditorium of a local corporation, of
which the chairman's wife was one of Mona's customers and had
"convinced" her husband to make it available to us.  We were
seated at a table on a huge stage with the chairwoman of one of
the several local women's clubs sponsoring the meeting.  There
were about four hundred women present, many of them with male
companions, but it appeared that only a handful were taking
SuperFem.
     After being introduced, Amanda rose to her full height, an
even 8' in her 6" heels, and immediately introduced me as her
husband.  As I stood up a murmur went through the audience, for
Amanda towered almost three feet above me; the top of my head
barely reached to the wide belt of her tight, form fitting and
thoroughly revealing, print dress!
     "Ladies and Gentlemen," she began, "first of all, I want to
thank Mrs. Carstairs and her women's club for inviting me here to
talk to you about SuperFem.  As she told you, my name is Amanda
Fuller--you've already met my husband, Darrell.  My mother, Mona
Fuller, and I run the "Physical Woman" chain of gymnasiums
through which SuperFem is marketed.  I want to emphasize up front
that I am NOT here to sell either SuperFem or our gymnasium
services, but solely to try to correct some of the misinformation
that has been circulated about our product and its effects on
women.  The decision by any woman to get into body and muscle
building, either with or without SuperFem, is strictly a personal
one, and one that requires a great deal of effort, sacrifice and
discipline.  With SuperFem, that decision will also have a
profound effect on her life and her relationships with others,
particularly men.  Whether that change would be for the better or
worse only she can know, for that would depend on what she wants
from life--and her relationships with men.
     "Now, to keep this presentation orderly and conserve time,
I'd like to tell you all I can about our product, what it will
and won't do.  Then I'll throw the meeting open to questions.  So
I would ask that you kindly hold your questions until the end of
my presentation.
     "Okay, with that as a preface, what is SuperFem?  First, it
is NOT a drug; my mother and I have spent a ton of money in legal
fees proving that!  Nor is it merely a supervitamin.  It is a
combination of compounds, all found in nature, which, when taken
orally in liquid form, interact with the estrogens in a woman's
body to produce three new hormones: first, a growth hormone, not
unlike the growth hormones produced by the pituitary gland during
and after puberty, which acts on the skeletal, muscular and
organic structures of the body to stimulate growth and increases
the size, thickness and strength of every bone, muscle and organ
in the body; second, a female version of testosterone, which also
increases the size, but also--and most importantly--the density,
and therefore the strength, of muscle fibers in both the upper
and lower body, but without the typical male side effects such as
body hair, deep voice, etc.; and, finally, a hormone which, in
some way we haven't determined yet, further strengthens and
hardens the skeletal structures of the body so they can handle
its vastly increased muscular power without fracturing or breaking--
according to our tests, a SuperFem woman's bones are almost
as strong as steel!  The result can be a woman who is substantially 
taller and, if she follows the workout and diet regimens
we provide, extraordinarily muscular, many times stronger and
faster and with far greater endurance, yet as shapely and feminine 
as any woman could ever want to be.
     "How tall?  How muscular?  How strong?  That depends almost
entirely on her, how long she continues to take the formula and
how vigorously she pursues the exercise routine during the period
she's taking it.  The majority of the women who have followed our
program have attained heights of between 6'6" and 7' and have 4-5
times the physical strength of the strongest men and more than 10
times that of the average man!"
     A murmur of surprise ran through the audience.  Amanda
smiled.  "That's correct," she went on.  "I'm not exaggerating. 
For those of you who have some familiarity with weight lifting
records, it's not unusual for women who have completed the Super-
Fem program to regularly bench 2,000 lbs. for several reps, press
1,400 and clean and jerk 1,600!  And these are women who, before
they started the program, were well below average for non-Super-
Fem women in size and strength!
     "Now, obviously, there have to be limits beyond which the
principle of diminishing returns applies, but, frankly, we're not
sure what they are yet.  What we do know, however, is that, by
careful regulation of the size and duration of the dosages, we
can control within fairly narrow ranges the level of any woman's
physical development, so you can be assured that we won't be
creating any Queen Kongs running around attacking skyscrapers!  I
personally think that the practical limit is probably around 9
feet in height and, perhaps, 600 lbs. in weight--remember, the
muscles created by SuperFem are much denser and heavier than
normal muscle tissue.  At that level, a woman would probably be
as strong as 20 or 30 men."
     Another murmur reverberated through the hall, but Amanda
ignored it and continued, "Anyway, so far we haven't found any
women who want to get that big, so we haven't been able to test
my theory.  And, to be honest, we're not anxious to; if we ever
do find such a woman, we would certainly do our best to try to
talk her into a lesser range of development where we have the
experience to be sure that she could live with and enjoy the
result.
     "Before I go on, let me make one important point.  As I
said, SuperFem works only on estrogens, which means it won't work
on men.  Nor will it work on women before puberty or after
menopause.  Since the people who developed SuperFem were mostly
men, naturally they were concerned.  They have been working very
hard to find a compound that will have similar effects on men. 
They haven't found it yet, and we're beginning to doubt that it
exists.  But, if they do, please be assured that we will make it
available in the same way we have SuperFem.
     "Now, let's talk about adverse side effects.  In short,
there aren't any that we've been able to discern IF--and this is
a big 'if'--the workout and diet regimens we provide are followed.  
If they are not, well, SuperFem muscles are still muscles.  It 
takes continuous exercise to build them up and keep
them.  If you go off the routine, they degenerate into fat--a lot
of fat!  Then you'd have to go through the agony of dieting off
the fat, and in the end you'd wind up a much taller, but far less
muscular, person with no more than a quarter to a third of the
physical strength you had before, but still probably twice that
of the average man, since the muscles you'd have left would still
be SuperFem muscles, somewhat larger and with heavier, denser
fibers than ordinary muscle.
     "What about effects on the reproductive system?  Well, most
female bodybuilders in training don't menstruate regularly
anyway, so SuperFem doesn't appear to affect that one way or the
other.  We have had a number of women on SuperFem who have
relaxed their exercise routines just long enough to become
pregnant, and they did.  Of course, their pregnancies made
resuming and keeping up their exercise routines somewhat more
difficult, but the increased strength of the uterine tissues
apparently compensated, and, with a couple of exceptions which
the doctors were not able to attribute to SuperFem--not that they
didn't try!--they all had normal deliveries.  We don't see any
problem there.
     "By the way, one thing we have discovered is that SuperFem
does result in a significantly increased and somewhat more
aggressive sex drive in almost all the women who have taken it. 
In addition, a number of women who were acknowledged lesbians
suddenly became hetero or, in a couple of cases, bi.  We're not
sure why.  For obvious reasons, we don't consider those side
effects adverse!"
     Titters ran through the audience, which Amanda ignored.  "In
any event, we're certainly not touting SuperFem as a cure for
lesbianism, and any woman who's into that lifestyle and is happy
with it should obviously think twice before using it.
     "Finally, I'd like to address myself to those of you who
might be considering SuperFem, but who are already as tall as, or
maybe even taller than, you want to be.  We've very recently
introduced a variation of the formula that solves that problem by
producing a variant of the growth hormone which, while it
strengthens the skeletal, muscular and organic structures of the
body just like the regular one, does not make them bigger or
longer.  Hence, there's no, or at the most a minimal, increase in
height, yet the other benefits remain; the other two hormones
produced from the interaction with estrogens work in exactly the
same way.  We've tested this new variation sufficiently to know
that it works, but we're concerned about one potential problem:
that putting SuperFem muscles on a relatively shorter frame could
result in a huge, squat looking body that would be completely
unfeminine, just like many of the articles you've probably read
have accused us of doing.  For that reason, we won't make the new
formula available to any woman under 5'10" in height, and,
depending on the results we see, we may have to increase that in
the future.  However, we also believe that using the two formulas
in combination with each other will enable us to regulate growth
in relation to muscle size and strength and thus enable a woman
to attain exactly the kind of body she wants, to a much greater
degree than is possible with the original formula, since, with
only the original, the stronger you want to be, the taller you're
going to get.
     "One last comment, and then I'll take questions.  Obviously,
SuperFem is going to have a profound effect on society if enough
women decide to use it and use it properly, and, from the demand
we're seeing, more and more women are.  And as more and more use
it, other women who have resisted using it will, I think, be
almost forced to go along.  It's not inconceivable that within a
few years the average woman will be taller and far, far stronger
than even the strongest men.  We will be able to run much faster,
leap far higher and further, and lift many times more weight than
any man alive.  Men will not only be the weaker sex, compared to
us they will be like small children physically, totally unable to
even begin to compete with us on any physical level.  The question 
then will be, what will we do with our new found power? 
Will we be like some of the radical feminists today who want to
reduce men to nothing more than slaves?  I hope not, and that is
certainly not our intention in putting SuperFem on the market. 
SuperFem will make us bigger and stronger, but it won't make us
smarter than men, and if women try to use their physical superiority 
to achieve positions of complete dominance over men, the
consequences could be tragic--for many women as well as men. 
There could well be violence, even a war between the sexes, and,
ladies, SuperFem may make you bigger and stronger, but it won't
make you bullet proof!  Each of our gyms has a psychologist on
call to work with the women who start the program, to try to
instill in them a recognition of these concerns, but there's
obviously only so much we can do.  The women's groups of the
world can help immeasurably by working with their members and
with the high schools and colleges to try to ensure that the
transition is as peaceful as possible.  And, ladies, we can only
do that by making sure that we do not repeat the mistakes of
history, that we do not do to men what men have done to us in the
past.
     "Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes my presentation.  I'll
take any questions you have, now."
     A small, elderly woman in the front row stood up and was
recognized.  "Mrs. Fuller," she began, "that was an excellent
speech, very informative and very objective.  However, I can't
help but feel that what you're doing is against nature, destroy-
ing our femininity.  I, for one, think, and I think the vast
majority of women agree, that huge muscles on a woman are ugly
and unfeminine.  We want our men to be taller and stronger, able
to protect and cherish us, not the other way around."
     Amanda smiled.  "I hope you don't think I'm unfeminine," she
replied, "but let's stay away from personalities.  If what you
say is true, SuperFem will be a failure in the marketplace.  It
will create a minority of women who will be regarded as freaks,
and that will be the end of it.  That's not happening.  The
demand is incredible and increasing every day.  As far as being
against nature, I would remind you that SuperFem is a completely
natural product, utilizes the body's natural hormones for its
effects.  Making women taller and stronger than men may constitute 
a reversal of tradition and history, but I don't think you
can say it's against nature.  And finally, I would suggest you
visit some of the rape clinics and battered women centers and ask
those women if they really prefer men to be the stronger sex.  I
think the answers might surprise you."
     Another woman stood up.  "Have you taken this stuff?" she
asked.
     "Not initially.  I'm naturally extremely tall--was 7'5-1/2"
when I reached my full height--with, perhaps, 3-4 times the
physical strength of the average man.  I didn't feel I needed it. 
However, in preparation for these meetings, I did take a few,
reduced dosages of the new variation, just to test the effects. 
I gained only another one half inch in height, but another 30
lbs. of solid muscle and my physical strength increased by about
a third.  I now have well over 5 times, perhaps as much as 6-7
times, the physical strength of most men.  However, with more and
more women using it, I may have to use it again just to keep up!"
     "How long does it take to work?" a third woman asked.
     "That depends on how big and strong you want to get," Amanda
answered, "and how quickly you want to develop.  When the formula
was first developed we kept the dosages small and administered
them over a longer period, and it usually required around two
years for a woman to gain a foot or so in height and approximately 
quadruple her strength to about 2-3 times that of the
average man.  We learned early on, however, that we can achieve
far better results with larger dosages in a little less than half
that time with no adverse side effects other than a significant
increase in appetite, which is understandable given the rapid
rate of growth involved.  Because of the increased appetite,
we've not permitted any of our customers to develop themselves
any faster than that.  However, more modest results can be
obtained in only a few months."
     The same woman raised her hand again.  "How long do you have
to continue taking it?  Indefinitely?"
     "No, not at all.  You only take it during the period you are
developing, then you stop.  Physical development will continue
for a few days, in some cases a week or two, after that at a
reduced rate, until all the formula is either used up or excreted
from the body.  At that point, the effects will be permanent--as
long as you continue your exercise routines.  Of course, if you
decide later that you want to further increase your level of
development, you can go back into the program at any time."
     The woman persisted, "But how much time must you spend in
the gym exercising?"
     Amanda smiled.  "We have brochures on the table which
outline in detail the exercise routines required and which will
be made available to all you who want them after the meeting. 
But, to answer your question, again that depends on the level of
physical development you desire and the time in which you want to
reach your goal.  Three sessions a week of at least two hours
each should be enough for most women.  And, by the way, we do
provide female trainers, most of whom are SuperFem women, to help
you."
     A fourth woman stood up.  "Mrs. Fuller, the statistics you
quoted earlier about the level of physical strength attainable
with your program are astonishing!  How can anyone possibly learn
to control such strength?  My God, if I were that strong, I
couldn't even hug my husband for fear of accidentally crushing
him!"
     It was obviously a question a number of women had in mind,
for there was a murmur of approval as many looked at each other
and nodded.  Amanda smiled again.  "We are very much aware of
that problem," she replied.  "That's another reason we try to
make the improvement gradual, to give the women a chance to
adjust to their new, physical powers.  We also watch each parti-
cipant very carefully.  If we see that a woman is having problems
controlling her strength, we slow down--sometimes even stop--her
dosages of the formula until we're satisfied that she can handle
herself properly."
     Amanda hesitated a moment, then went on.  "That raises a
point I'd only touched on earlier, but which I should expand.  We
recognize that SuperFem is not for every woman.  Some women--very
few, so far, thankfully--are simply not psychologically capable
of handling the kind of physical powers our program can provide. 
For that reason, before admitting any woman into the program, we
do a complete psychological profile to try to discover any latent
tendencies, such as a tendency toward violence, which could make
the candidate a danger to others, particularly men, who would be
completely defenseless against her vastly superior physical
capabilities.  If we feel any woman is an unsuitable candidate,
she is denied admission into the program.  Our decisions are
final, and we have taken appropriate steps to ensure that none of
our gyms will accept a woman rejected by any other."
     A young girl of about fourteen stood up and was recognized. 
"How old do you have to be to start using it?" she asked.  "I've
been hearing that you're not letting teenagers take it.  Is that
true?  If it is, why?"
     "That is true," Amanda admitted.  "Although SuperFem will
work on any girl once she goes into puberty and is producing
estrogens, we're concerned that high school or college age young
women may not be emotionally mature enough to make an informed
decision about whether to use it or to handle the enhanced
physical powers they'll have if they do.  As I said earlier, the
decision to go into the SuperFem program will invariably have a
profound effect on a woman's life and her relationships with
others, and we want to be as sure as we can be that the powers
she gains will not be misused.  For these reasons, we've adopted
a firm policy of not permitting any woman under the age of
twenty-two into the program."
     "Any chance that might change?" the girl asked.
     Amanda shrugged.  "Not in the foreseeable future, but, long
term, anything is possible.  I can tell you that we're starting
to see some pressure to relax that policy, but we think we're
right.  As--perhaps I should say, if--SuperFem women become the
norm, we may have to take another look at it, but I can tell you
this much: under no circumstances would we permit a minor into
the program unless her mother had already completed it, and we
would limit her development to make sure that her physical
capabilities were significantly less than her mother's."
     Another woman raised her hand.  "Why are you only providing
this product through your gyms?  Why not make it generally
available, through drug and health food stores?  Are you trying
to force women to use your gyms as well?  If so, I should tell
you that I'm an attorney, and that might well be a tying arrange-
ment in violation of federal antitrust laws."
     "In the beginning, we were concerned about that," Amanda
replied, "because the company which developed SuperFem has a
patent on it, and, since we have exclusive distribution rights,
we didn't want to do anything which might invalidate the patent,
so we had our attorneys check it out.  The problem is, as I
stated earlier, that the dosage must be carefully regulated and
combined with a strict regimen of exercise to achieve the desired
results.  If we were to make this product generally available
without these controls, or even permit it to be taken outside our
gyms, even with all the warning labels you could imagine, there
would be women who would abuse it and wind up looking like
freaks.  Not only could both we and the company which manufac-
tures it be held liable for damages, but the product could then
be labeled as inherently dangerous and removed from the market. 
We therefore felt that we had to market it ourselves, administer
it only in our gyms, keep the supplies of the product safe and
secure--in locked vaults, actually--and maintain an internal
audit staff to strictly control how the gyms operate their
programs.  We have caught a few abuses by some of our gyms,
fortunately before any irreversible damage was done to anyone,
and immediately replaced the managements involved.  For that
reason, we won't even franchise our gyms--we own and control them
all.  Our attorneys have advised us that we have a reasonable
business basis for our policies and that they are therefore not
illegal."
     At that point a man stood up in the back of the auditorium. 
"Yes, sir, you have a question?" Amanda asked.
     "No question, lady!" the man snapped.  "If you think we're
going to take what you're doing laying down, you're dead wrong! 
You and your kind are trying to turn the world upside down, and,
one way or another, we're going to stop you!"
     "I hope you're not suggesting that you'd resort to violence," 
Amanda replied coldly, "because, short of that, you're
really not going to have any choice."
     "Just watch us!" he snarled.  "Now, guys!"
     There was a terrified gasp from the audience, and my stomach
did a flip flop, as five huge, burly men emerged from the cur-
tains on either side of the stage.  Each of them was close to or
over six and a half feet tall, and the smallest of them must have
weighed over two hundred fifty pounds, from the look of them most
of it muscle.  They obviously weren't bodybuilders, but men who
were either professional wrestlers or had developed themselves
physically through heavy manual labor.
     As screams of protest came from the auditorium, Amanda
grimaced, took several steps back from the table and stood facing
the audience, her legs spread and her hands on her hips.  In her
high heels, she dwarfed the five men, and her face showed no
concern.  Still, there were five of them, and they were huge.  I
knew I could be of no help to her, and I was worried.
     Still facing the audience, Amanda said quietly, "Gentlemen,
this is not a good idea.  I really don't want to hurt any of you,
but you may not give me any choice."
     "I got news for you, bitch!" one of the men grated.  "You're
the one that's gonna get hurt!"
     Then they attacked, two men from either side, two grabbing
her wrists, the other two by her massive biceps, and tried to
force her arms behind her back, while the fifth wrapped his arms
around her calves and tried to pull her legs out from under her. 
I saw her biceps flex, but otherwise she remained motionless as a
statue, her hands on her hips, while her five assailants strained
and grunted in their futile efforts to topple her.  There was a
sudden hush in the auditorium as men and women alike gaped in
openmouthed amazement at this unbelievable demonstration of her
physical power.
     "Would some of you in the audience make sure that gentleman
in the back doesn't leave?" she asked in a voice that was loud,
but betrayed no strain.  "I want him to see this."
     "Jeezus, Pete!" choked one of the men hanging on her arm. 
"Do sumthin', will ya?  We can't budge the bitch!"
     The one on her legs let go, rushed around in front of her
and, rearing back, lunged forward to slam his big fist into her
midsection with all the power and momentum he could muster.  His
fist literally bounced off her steel hard abdomen, and he yelped
in pain and grabbed his injured hand as she smiled placidly down
at him.
     "That the best you can do?" she asked sweetly.
     Then she moved.  Twisting her wrists free of the two men
holding them, she grabbed them by their throats and lifted them
bodily off the floor.  As the other two continued to cling to her
biceps, with an almost casual, backward flick of her arms, she
sent the two she was holding aloft flying back into the curtain
at the rear of the stage, tearing it from its anchors and bringing 
it down on top of them.  Looking down at the two remaining
men with a smile, she asked, "You boys want to be next?"
     They didn't.  They let go of her arms and ran for their
lives.
     The man who had hit her was still groaning and holding his
injured hand, his eyes wide with awe and fear.  She reached
around behind him, gripped his belt with one hand and lifted him
bodily off the floor to hold him at arm's length in front of her
with no more effort than if he had been a sack of laundry.  He
yelped again and thrashed about helplessly in her grip.
     "Now," she told him firmly, in a voice loud enough to carry
throughout the auditorium, "you've got a choice to make.  You can
agree to walk out of here under your own power, in which case
I'll put you down gently.  Or I can see how far I can throw you
with one arm.  I'm betting that, if I really put some muscle into
it, I can hit your friend in the back of the auditorium with you. 
Want me to try?"
     The terrified man shook his head vigorously and squeaked,
"N--no! No!  I'll leave quiet!"
     Amanda nodded her approval.  "Good decision," she said, and
lowered him to his feet.  He lost no time running after his
companions.
     By this time the remaining two had burrowed out from under
the fallen curtain.  Amanda turned to face them, hunched up her
shoulders, flexed her entire body into a mass of enormous,
rippling muscle, and, with a scowl on her lovely face, roared,
"BOO!"  They ran.
     As she turned to face the audience, everyone rose to their
feet, and the auditorium suddenly resounded with cheers and
applause.  Amanda held up a hand to quiet them and searched
through the audience with her eyes for the man who had started it
all.  He was standing in an aisle, surrounded by six of the
larger women.
     "Are you satisfied, now, sir?" she asked him.
     "We're not finished with you!" he yelled back.  "This is not
the end of it!"
     Amanda sighed.  "I'm sure of that," she retorted.  "May I
suggest that you ladies escort this gentleman to the nearest exit
and make sure he doesn't return?"
     She turned back to the table, where the chairwoman who had
introduced her was waiting for her, her face flushed with 
embarrassment.  "Mrs. Fuller!" she almost sobbed.  "I can't tell you
how sorry I am!  We had no idea--"
     "I know," Amanda replied.  "I probably should have expected
it.  I'm just thankful none of those men were armed.  The next
time, however, I'm afraid they will be, and they won't be so
open.  We'll just have to be prepared for it."  She turned to
face the audience again.  "Are there any other questions?  No? 
Then I have something else I'd like to say in closing.  What you
saw up here was an action by a few, radical men, and it might
well influence some of you to want to start using SuperFem.  I
don't want to try to tell any of you what to do, but I do think
that would be the wrong reason for your decision.  The main
purpose of SuperFem is not to make women physically superior to
men, although it certainly does that, or to enable us to dominate
or enslave men, but rather to help us to achieve our maximum
potential as women, not just physically, but emotionally, pro-
fessionally and socially as well.  Each of you, before deciding
whether or not to try SuperFem, should clearly understand how it
would change your lives, how it would affect your relationships
with men, and particularly your husbands and boy friends.  In
other words, the real question you have to ask yourself is, do
you really want to be stronger than men?  Could you love a man
who had only a small fraction of your physical strength?  And, if
so, could the man you love love you in return?
     "If SuperFem women, as I believe they will, become more and
more common, these questions may become easier for you to answer. 
But until then, you should understand that, as a SuperFem woman,
you would stand out, perhaps be regarded by some people as a
freak, as many of the more muscular female bodybuilders have
been.  And, for the time being, at least, you would have to be
prepared to accept that.
     "Thank you for your time.  As I told the lady earlier, we
have several hundred brochures describing the diet and exercise
requirements for using SuperFem here on the table, together with
an international listing of our gyms and price lists for each. 
Feel free to take them for yourselves or any of your friends."
     Back at our mansion, Amanda related to her mother and father
what had happened at the meeting.  Mona shook her head sadly.  "I
was afraid of this," she muttered.
     "I think we should schedule all future meetings at our
gymnasiums," Amanda said.  "These men realize now that they're no
match for us physically.  Next time they'll bring guns.  We can
install metal detectors at the entrances to make sure they can't
get them in and have our employees watching the audiences for any
troublemakers."
     Mona agreed.  "We'll also have to hire security for the gyms
themselves," she added.  "I'm concerned that some of these
crazies will try to bomb them out.  Thank God I had the foresight
to locate most of our gyms in outlying areas, where they can be
properly guarded, but there are still a half dozen or so in
downtown business districts.  They'll have to be moved as soon as
possible."
     My father-in-law shook his head wearily.  "But, Mona," he
objected, "doing all that's going to cost a fortune!  We've made
a lot of money with this stuff so far, but practically all of
it's been reinvested in all the new gyms.  I don't know that we
have the cash flow to finance that kind of additional expense,
particularly when we can't be 100% sure that SuperFem is going to
be the kind of success we think it will."
     Mona laughed, leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. 
"That's my little accountant talking!  We're sitting on a gold
mine, here, and he's worried about expense!"
     He flushed.  "Please, Mona, I'm not just talking about
expense!  I'm also concerned about risk!  Look, you and Amanda
have always been so much bigger and stronger than most men that
you naturally look at us as the weaker sex, and, compared to both
of you, we are!  But we're not just talking about you two, or
even the women who've already started using it.  Sure, the demand
for SuperFem has gone way beyond what I personally thought it
would, but we can't be certain how long that trend is going to
continue, particularly with the kind of violent resistance we're
starting to see.  I'm just not sure that the two of you appreciate 
how completely this stuff could turn the world upside down! 
I mean, you're talking about creating a world of superwomen, most
of them bigger and taller and all of them five, six, seven, ten
times more powerful than any man alive!  God only knows what kind
of repercussions and upheavals we'll see while that's happening,
or what kind of world we'll have when it's done!  And are you
really sure there are enough women in the world who are willing
to make the commitments in time, money and sacrifice to turn
themselves into superwomen that we can risk incurring the kind of
investment and expenses you're talking about?"
     I hesitated, but then decided I had to interject.  "With all
respect, Dad, I disagree with you," I said.  "I listened to
Amanda's presentation today, and I think she and Mona fully
understand what SuperFem is going to do to the world.  And I
think she's right when she says that, as more and more women
decide to use it, the rest will have to go along, as a matter of
self protection, if for no other reason.  I don't think there's
any question that, in the next 10-15 years, we're going to see a
world in which women will not only be the stronger sex, but that
men will literally be puny weaklings by comparison.  While I
don't pretend to know what kind of a world that will be like, I
think we're committed to go forward with this product and that we
have to do so in a way that will protect our gyms and our employees, 
no matter what the cost.  The only alternative that I see
would be to cave in to the resistance and pull SuperFem off the
market, and can you imagine the repercussions if we did that?"
     "That's not an option," Mona said shortly.  "We'd be bankrupt 
overnight."
     "Of course we would," I agreed.  "I wasn't suggesting that
for a second."
     My father-in-law sighed.  "All right, but I don't mind
telling you I'm concerned about where this is going.  Let me at
least get some cost estimates, run some projections and see what
the financial picture looks like."
     Mona laughed.  "Naturally, baby," she told him.  "I assumed
you'd want to do that.  Amanda will have our gyms get proposals
from local security firms and estimates on the costs of moving
the downtown locations and send them to you.  Run your income and
expense projections out five years based our historical data
since we started marketing SuperFem--I think we can assume that
the current trends will continue for at least that long.  That
should give us a pretty good picture."
     The projections showed that we could more than handle the
additional expense, and, in fact, proved to be overly conservative.  
Over the next two years, as more and more meetings were
held in our gyms, business began to literally explode, to the
point that Mona was forced to expand existing gyms and build more
new ones.  Of course, resistance continued.  We got a lot of hate
mail from men's organizations, and the gyms were picketed by
angry men and even some women, but they were protected by armed
guards (as time went on more and more of them SuperFem women). 
The pickets were never permitted close enough to do any harm to
either the gyms or the women who frequented them, and our 
customers were simply advised to, and did, ignore their jeers and
catcalls.  During the first few months there were a number of
attempts to disrupt our meetings, but we had made sure that no
weapons could be smuggled into the gyms and that the meetings
were patrolled by our SuperFem employees and recorded on video-
tape.  As more and more pictures of struggling, screaming men
being carried bodily out of a gym, tucked securely under the
powerfully muscled arms of a tall, beautiful Amazon, were released 
to the media, attempts at disruption gradually died out. 
Indeed, the publicity actually increased business even more.
     Then we began getting requests from rape centers and 
battered women shelters, on behalf of women who wanted to parti-
cipate in the SuperFem program for their own protection but
couldn't afford the cost, to make it available on a charitable
basis.  Initially, my father-in-law and I resisted these overtures, 
but both Mona and Amanda were understandably sympathetic. 
It was finally decided to provide SuperFem, along with weight
lifting and exercise equipment and SuperFem employees on a part
time basis to ensure that the necessary exercise programs were
strictly followed, to those centers and shelters which had space
for the equipment, free of charge.  It was insisted, however,
that these facilities be made available to any woman, not just
rape or battery victims, once it was determined with certainty
that she could not in fact afford the normal cost of the program.
     And, little by little, the world began to change.
     By the end of the next two years, in the United States
alone, over three million women were on or had either completed
the SuperFem program, and it showed.  Extraordinarily tall,
shapely, powerfully muscled women were becoming a relatively
common sight on the streets, striding purposefully along in their
high heels, ignoring the admiring looks of some men and the angry
ones of others.  In restaurants we were seeing more and more
women all but dwarfing their smaller, male companions and even
acting protectively toward them, much to the discomfort of most
of them!  Yet even this was changing.  Often Mona or Amanda would
gleefully point out to us a tall, handsome, well built man all
but clinging to a beautiful, powerfully muscled Amazon who
towered over him as she guided him to their table.  Yet the vast
majority of these women remained gloriously feminine in both
appearance and demeanor, disdaining masculine affectations or
attire as qualities properly reserved for a gender that was fast
becoming the "weaker sex".
     Surprisingly, the majority of men seemed to be grudgingly
accepting their evolving new position in society, or, at least,
recognizing that there was nothing they could do to stop it. 
Nevertheless, resistance persisted from certain radical groups,
albeit on a gradually reducing level.  We continued to get hate
mail, much of it now directed at my father-in-law and me.  We
even got a few telephone threats by men who had somehow gotten
our unlisted numbers, but, since all incoming calls were 
automatically ID'd and recorded, the callers were quickly apprehended
and prosecuted, and the calls eventually stopped.  And, of
course, our gyms continued to see the ever present, male pickets
who, although fewer and fewer in number, were becoming more
boisterous and threatening.  For a while literally hundreds of
rock and brick throwing incidents were being reported to us from
around the world, the perpetrators of which were immediately
collared by our SuperFem security forces and customers, held for
the police and prosecuted, and gradually the picketing became
more peaceful.
     Still, because of the continued resistance by these male
radicals and the potential threat of armed violence against us,
certain precautions were necessary when we went out in public,
even to dinners at restaurants.  We were driven in bullet proof
limousines and always accompanied by a contingent of armed,
SuperFem bodyguards.
     Because Mona and Amanda were so much taller and bigger than
we, dancing had been one form of entertainment we had decided to
forego, although we occasionally had dinner at clubs featuring
floor shows and dancing.  As time went on, however, we were
seeing a growing number of groups on the dance floor where tall,
powerful, SuperFem women was actually leading their smaller male
companions!  There were stares and grimaces at first, of course,
but these groups kept to themselves, and, as their numbers
increased, they seemed to be gaining greater acceptance.
     On one of these occasions, the women in a group of four such
couples recognized Mona and Amanda, and we were invited to join
them.  Each of the women was well over six feet in height, sever-
al inches taller and much bigger than her male companion.  Two of
the couples were married.  As we were introduced, I noted with
amusement that the women, and only the women, stood up and
remained standing until we were seated.  As the others were
chatting, the husband of one of the women, who was sitting next
to me, leaned over and asked quietly, "Your wife was the one who
started this SuperFem thing?"
     "Actually, it was my mother-in-law," I replied, "although my
wife has been active in promoting it."
     He shook his head.  "I--I don't mean to insult you or any-
thing, but don't you feel kind of funny about it?  Almost like a
traitor to your sex?"
     I admitted that I was a little uncomfortable with the whole
idea, but added, "There really isn't anything I can do about it. 
In case you haven't guessed, neither my father-on-law nor I have
much control over what they do."
     He smiled faintly.  "Yeah, I guess not.  Both of them are
SuperFem women, I take it?"
     "Actually, Amanda took a few, small doses of the new stuff a
couple of years ago just to test it, but she really didn't need
to.  Both she and her mother have been bodybuilding for years. 
They're naturally extraordinarily tall and much stronger than any
man I've ever seen."  I looked at him curiously.  "I gather
you're not altogether happy about what SuperFem's doing for
women?"
     He shook his head.  "I don't know," he admitted.  "I love
Carrie, and I want her to be happy, but this...I just don't know. 
When we were married five years ago, she was five four--I'm five
eight--and it was great!  Later some of her friends got on the
stuff, and she was sort of curious--she's always been pretty
athletic--but I was able to talk her out of it.  Then, one
afternoon when we were at a friend's garden party this great,
big, six foot drunk came on to her, wouldn't take no for an
answer.  I tried to intervene, but he just batted me away like I
was nothing.  Next thing I know, I'm getting up, and this huge
woman--must have been over six and half feet tall--comes out of
nowhere, picks up the drunk with one hand, tosses him over her
shoulder, carries him to a car and dumps him into it, then comes
back, apologizes to Carrie and me and to our hostess, and goes
back to the car and drives off with him.  Turns out she's the
guy's wife, been on SuperFem for about a year.  Well, that does
it.  Carrie says if I can't protect her, she's gonna protect
herself and signs up for the program.  A year later she's a foot
taller than she was, and a foot taller than me in heels, got
muscles all over her and can toss me around like I was a little
kid!  Hell, it takes two hands for me just to bend her little
finger!"
     I frowned.  "She doesn't beat you up or anything, does she?"
     "Good God, no!  She could kill me if she did.  No, she said
they checked her out pretty thoroughly at the gym, did a psycho-
logical profile on her, counseling, everything, just to make sure
she wouldn't misuse her new power.  Guess they don't want any
superhuman females running around breaking laws--or guys in
little pieces!  Not sure the jails would be strong enough to hold
'em, I guess.  No, it just that--well, it's awfully hard to take,
suddenly having a wife so much bigger and stronger than me.  You
know, I'm standing there struggling to open a jar, and she comes
up and says, 'Here, honey, don't strain yourself, let me do that
for you,' and pops it open like it's nothing at all.  But I guess
you wouldn't know what that feels like, would you?  I mean, being
that it's always been that way with you."
     I had to admit he had a point.  I was about to say so when I
felt a huge hand on my shoulder looked up to see Amanda looming
over me.  "Come on, baby," she grinned.  "I'm going to dance with
you!"
     I did a double take.  "Now, just how the heck are you going
to do that?" I asked.
     "Just like Mom.  Take a look."
     I did.  Mona was holding my father-in-law almost three feet
off the floor with one arm down his back and her hand supporting
his buttocks and was gliding around the dance floor with him to
the slow, easy rhythm of the music.  He didn't look particularly
happy, but his arm was around her neck and his face buried in her
shoulder, and he didn't seem to be trying to resist her.  Then I
noticed that over half the dancers on the floor were SuperFem
women leading their men, and that in many cases the men's feet
were barely touching the floor.
     I sighed and said to the man I'd been talking to, "Like I
told you before, I don't have much control over what they do,"
and was swept up into Amanda's powerful arms.
     We were seeing changes in other ways as well.  While men
continued to control, at least on the surface, the governmental
and corporate worlds, policies were changing.  The "glass ceilings", 
if they ever really existed, were beginning to disappear,
and women were invading in greater numbers traditionally male
pursuits into which they had made only limited inroads previously.  
Police departments, in particular, started actively
seeking to add SuperFem women to their rosters, out of concern
that men would no longer be able to apprehend and control female
lawbreakers without the use of deadly force, and even the military 
was considering recruiting large numbers of the women for
combat.
     The entertainment and professional sports fields were also
beginning to feel the effects of SuperFem.  We began to see a few
television programs, and even some full length theater movies,
all of them independently sponsored and produced by SuperFem
women breaking into the business, starring very tall, beautiful,
powerfully muscled heroines playing in various types of roles,
both action and romantic, opposite smaller, obviously subservient, 
male actors.
     In sports, the initial overtures by women came in the NBA. 
Before SuperFem, female college basketball players with abilities, 
but not size and strength, equal to their male counterparts, had 
seen their athletic careers end with graduation,
although a few had attempted to play for a while with European
professional teams.  These women became some of our earliest and
most dedicated customers, attaining physiques that rivaled Mona's
and Amanda's in height, muscularity and sheer physical power, and
immediately sought tryouts with the professional teams.  Despite
the fact that these women could easily outmuscle, outjump, out-
run, outdribble and outshoot even the best of the male athletes,
they were uniformly rejected "for the good of the sport", and it
required over two years of litigation and a U.S. Supreme Court
decision holding their rejections as violations of federal sex
discrimination laws to force the teams to accept them.
     The impact of that decision on the sport was instantaneous
and dramatic.  Overnight, teams, now realizing that an all male
team had no chance against a team with even a single, SuperFem
woman in the lineup, pulled out all the stops in recruiting the
biggest and best of the female athletes.  By then there were more
than enough to go around, and basketball suddenly became an all
female sport with former male stars either warming the bench or
released outright as the women ran up scores in the 200-250 point
range.  Eventually the league had to increase the height of the
baskets by several feet to provide at least a modicum of challenge 
for the taller, stronger, female players, making the game
well beyond the capability of the few remaining men, who were
therefore released.  And, surprisingly, the popularity of the
sport actually increased, for the strength and agility of these
towering, new female stars was wondrous to behold.
     Like any social revolution, these events were not without
tragedy.  In Chicago, the star female center of the Chicago Bulls
was shot and killed by a distraught, male former player she had
replaced, and, in other cities, other armed attacks on SuperFem
women, some with fatal consequences, began to occur when it
became apparent to the radicals that they could not stop us and
that this new breed of woman was slowly gaining a degree of
acceptance in society.  Nevertheless, the revolution continued
and even intensified as more and more women entered the program
and sought to become even bigger and stronger than their 
predecessors, and our gyms made sure that all those who entered the
program were provided with appropriate means to protect themselves.
     Baseball was next, but the transition was slower, since
there were no minor leagues for women, and most of the college
women's teams played softball, with the result that time was re-
quired for women to adjust to the somewhat different skills the
smaller balls required.  In addition, either equipment had to be
modified or stadiums quadrupled in size to accommodate the
incredible strength of the female athletes, and for obvious
reasons the leagues chose the former course.  New balls and bats
were developed that were five times normal weight and far too
heavy for the men to use effectively, along with thicker pads and
gloves, and, after an abortive attempt to establish a separate
league for the women was struck down, baseball, like basketball,
became an all female sport.
     Other professional team sports like football, hockey and
soccer were even slower to be taken over, but the die had been
cast, and eventually these, too, followed suit.  Single player
sports such as boxing, wrestling and karate, to which the federal
discrimination laws did not apply, were able to bar women from
participating and remained all male.  It became increasingly
obvious to everyone, however, that the so-called "world champion-
ships" touted by these sports were little more than jokes, and
that any woman who had completed even the most modest SuperFem
program could easily have defeated the biggest and best of these
male "champions".
     Even the Olympics were affected.  Except for those sports,
like swimming and gymnastics, in which the competitors were
limited to high school and college age women, records were set in
the women's events which eclipsed the men's, and efforts were
initiated to expand the women's sports to make them the same as
the men's, including wrestling and boxing.
     Nowhere, however, were the changes more startling than in
the field of men's and women's bodybuilding.  Although contests
for both sexes continued to be held, as greater numbers of women
took up the sport and developed their physiques to their maximum
potentials, they totally eclipsed the men in size, muscularity,
definition, proportion, in literally all aspects of the sport. 
Moreover, it was becoming increasingly obvious to everyone that
even the biggest and most muscular of the male bodybuilding
champions were virtual weaklings compared to any SuperFem woman,
so that the men's contests were reduced almost to objects of
ridicule and were receiving less and less national coverage.
     We were all surprised, therefore, when ESPN, less than a
month after its live coverage of the Ms. Olympia extravaganza,
announced that it would also cover the Mr. Universe contest.  We
decided to watch it out of curiosity.  Only a few minutes into
the show, the network's purpose in running it quickly became
apparent.  After opening with five second clips of each of the
ten male finalists posing and flexing, Sally McHenry, ESPN's
leading sports announcer, came on screen wearing only shorts and
a halter and sporting a physique on her 6'3", 245 lb. frame that
put every one of the male finalists to shame.  Then, after a
brief introduction, she brought on her guest commentator, Marisa
Pawleck, fresh from her victory in the Ms. Olympia, a towering,
7'2", 325 lb. vision of gorgeous, massive, rippling, shapely
muscularity, still in rock hard, contest condition and wearing
nothing but her Ms. Olympia posing suit as she flexed huge,
peaked, 28" biceps!
     "What do you think of this year's contestants. Marisa?"
McHenry asked after Pawleck had finished posing.
     Pawleck favored her with a condescending smile.  "Well,
Sally," she replied in that low, sultry voice for which she had
become famous, "I have to admire their hard work and dedication
in the gym.  After all, it IS much harder for a man to develop
himself to the point they have than it is for you and me.  But I
do think bulging muscles on a man are becoming passe, and, to be
honest with you, not very pretty.  In my opinion--and I think
most women today would agree--a tight, in shape, slender body is
a far more attractive look for a man, and MUCH, MUCH more seductive!"
     "Would you say these guys are trying to look like women?"
McHenry persisted, in what was clearly a scripted exchange.
     "Oh, definitely!" Pawleck laughed.  "Of course, some of them
may be trying to preserve some of the typically masculine stereotypes 
they had before SuperFem, but today it's silly.  I mean, is
there anyone left in the world who really believes that a man's
muscles can even begin to compare with a woman's in size or
strength?"
     "Do you think bodybuilding contests for men ought to be
abolished?"
     "Not abolished, necessarily, but changed.  Something more
like fitness contests, I think, would be more appropriate for men
today.  You know, contests that would emphasize that tight, in
shape, slender look I described a moment ago."
     It was all downhill from there.  Even Mona and Amanda felt
sorry for the contestants.  And it was the last male bodybuilding
contest that was ever featured on television.
     In the fifth year of the program, the U.S. government con-
ducted its regular census and included statistics on height,
weight and recreational preferences, as well as a statement, in
the case of women, whether the woman had begun or completed or
intended to begin a SuperFem program.  Clearly some of the
bureaucrats were concerned.  The results, published a year and a
half later, astounded everyone.  The average height and weight of
men was 5'9-3/4 and 168-1/2 lbs., barely up from earlier surveys,
whereas the average height and weight of women was now 6'1-1/4"
and 217-1/4 lbs.  Forty-two percent of the adult women who
answered stated that they had completed a SuperFem program, and
am additional forty-seven percent indicated they had either begun
or intended to begin the program.
     During this same period, partly as a result of the changes
in professional sports, we were being put under increasing pres-
sure to make the program available to high school and college age
girls, both in the U.S. and abroad.  I could understand why. 
High school and collegiate sports continued to be dominated by
boys, but interest among the better athletes was waning, since
there were no longer professional careers available to them. 
Moreover, teachers and counselors nationwide were detecting an
increasing resentment by more and more boys toward girls who,
they knew, would eventually become members of the "stronger sex",
resentment which was manifesting itself to an increasing degree
in verbal and, sometimes, physical abuse from which, of course,
most of the girls were physically unable to protect themselves. 
It was becoming a serious and wide spread disciplinary problem
which no amount of counseling or meetings with parents and
students seemed to alleviate, and there was a legitimate, 
prevailing concern that we were raising generations of male woman
haters.
     All of us were troubled by these developments, for the only
apparent solution was to make the SuperFem program available to
young girls who might not be ready to assume the responsibilities
that came with SuperFem powers, and the world could ultimately be
faced with problems worse than the ones it already had.  Of
course we received more advice than we needed--or wanted--from
all sides of the issue, both governmental and non-governmental,
but we knew the decision had to be ours and ours alone.  We
argued over it for weeks, but in the end, after we'd heard that
increasing numbers of young girls were being viciously raped,
Mona and Amanda were convinced that the girls simply needed to be
able to protect themselves.
     Both my father-in-law and I objected strenuously.  "Mona,"
he asserted.  "I think we need more research into the effects
this stuff might have on teenage girls before making it available
to them.  We just don't know enough about how it might affect
girls that age.  You're forgetting all the problems we had
raising Amanda.  You make this stuff available to these kids and
I'm scared to death that we're going to be seeing marauding mobs
of teenage Amazons all over the world!  You may be saving a few
girls from being molested or raped, but God knows what you'll be
letting the men of the world in for!  At that age, we just don't
know whether these girls will be able to handle the kind of
capabilities you want to give them!"
     Mona sighed.  "I understand the risk, baby, but I think we
can minimize it.  Look, we all recognized from the beginning that
it might come to this, and I thought we'd agreed on how we were
going to handle it: only let daughters of SuperFem women into the
program and limit their dosages and workouts so they don't get
too big or strong."
     "And rely on their mothers to control them?  Mona, look at
what's happening.  Things have changed.  These women are invading
the work force right and left, even making their husbands stay
home and take care of their kids like you did me.  Were you able
to completely control Amanda while you were at the gym all day
and sometimes into the night?  Or were away for days at a time? 
And how big and strong are you going to permit these girls get to
be sure that no boy, no matter how big or strong he is, can
molest them?  Six, six and a half feet tall, two hundred fifty,
three hundred pounds?  My God, even at that level they'll still
be 2-3 times stronger than most men, some of them maybe even
stronger!  And they'll still be kids!"  He shook his head vigorously.  
"I don't like it, Mona.  I don't like it one damned bit!"
     Mona spread her hands in what was, for her, an oddly helpless 
gesture.  "If you or Darrell have a better idea, baby," she
said quietly, "I'm listening."
     "That's just it, I don't," he replied.  "I think the only
safe course is to stay the course we're on.  Have the company do
more research into the effects of this stuff on the body.  In the
meantime, the mothers are still working out at our gyms in their
spare time, and we can have our people talk to them, have them
try to condition their boys into accepting the way things are
going to be for them and make sure they get punished when they
break the law.  Maybe we ought to hold more meetings with the
mothers and their sons to try to get more cooperation from them. 
Hell, I don't know.  All I know is that, if these mothers can't
control their sons now, they're sure as hell not going to be able
to control their daughters once they get a taste of SuperFem! 
And I don't care how much psychological conditioning you put 'em
through, we're not going to be able to, either!"
     Mona was silent for several minutes.  She looked over at
Amanda, raised her eyebrows in a silent question.
     Amanda hesitated, then said, "Daddy makes a good case, and I
agree with him up to a point.  There's clearly a risk we can't
control, and we can't be certain the mothers will, either.  But
we know that too many teenage girls today are having serious
problems with the boys, are even in danger from them, and we have
to balance that against what Daddy thinks they might do in the
future.  We don't know that additional research is going to give
us any more information than we already have.  How much longer
are we going to delay while we're waiting for results?  No, I
don't think we have any choice but to open the program to these
girls once they've hit puberty."
     "What about college girls?" Mona asked.  "Should we limit
them the same way as we would high school girls, keep 22 as the
age at which the benefits of the full program are made available?"
     Amanda thought a minute.  "Twenty-two may be a bit conserva-
tive," she replied at last.  "I'd consider reducing it to twenty,
maybe even eighteen or nineteen.  I think most girls that age are
mature enough to handle the full program.  I know I was."
     Mona looked at me.  I shrugged.  She knew I agreed with my
father-in-law, and there was nothing I could add to what he'd
said.
     Besides, I could see that the decision had already been
made.
     And I knew it was one we were all going to regret.

                          *     *     *

     During the following year demand for the SuperFem program
skyrocketed.  I had to wonder if there was a mother anywhere in
the world who hadn't put her daughters into the program.  We were
even seeing girls enrolling in the reduced program at eighteen or
nineteen and then almost immediately re-enrolling in the full
program when they reached twenty.  Our gyms were strained to and,
in some cases, beyond capacity, but my father-in-law and I argued
that this was only a temporary surge that would level out in
time, and, for one of the few times we could remember, Mona and
Amanda listened to us and didn't expand further.  Surprisingly,
most of the young girls enrolling in the program disdained the
newer variant of SuperFem; they wanted to be taller as well as
stronger, and it wasn't long before high schools and colleges all
over the world were filled with towering, steel muscled, young
Amazons who quickly took over and dominated varsity athletic
programs.  And, as expected, the boys left them pretty much
alone.
     But they didn't leave the boys alone.
     In the beginning we heard reports of vicious beatings,
presumably in retribution for past abuses by the boys involved,
but these died out after a few months, and, fortunately none of
the victims were fatally or permanently injured.  Even my 
father-in-law and I figured most of them had probably gotten what 
they deserved.
     What bothered us most were some of the other things we were
hearing, particularly at the high school ages: six foot plus
girls striding along the halls, streets and shopping malls,
flexing big, powerful biceps and bullying, pinching, tickling and
otherwise  publicly molesting smaller, helpless boys, holding
impromptu, class-wide, athletic competitions with unwilling boys
as "prizes" for the winners, and even disrupting classes and
daring their male teachers to stop them!  Over the next few
years, school district after school district was forced to
replace its male high school administrators and teachers with
SuperFem women who could enforce some measure of control and
discipline.  About the only places in which male teachers could
find work were in the elementary and junior high schools, in
which the girls had not yet reached puberty and were unable to
enroll in our program.
     Unfortunately, I even became an unwilling witness to one of
these incidents.  It was mid-December, three years after we'd
opened up the program to the high school and college crowd, and,
flanked by my two, ever present, SuperFem bodyguards, Tanya and
Belinda, I was doing some Christmas shopping at one of the local
malls.  We were on the second floor balcony, three floors above
the basement level, headed for Nordstrom's when we saw three
teenage girls, each of them well over six feet tall, who had six
terrified high school boys pinned in a corner next to the entrance 
to the store.  The girls were laughing and giggling as
they poked, prodded, fondled and rubbed their powerful bodies
against the smaller boys.  The area was fairly crowded, mostly
with women who glanced at the scene, some with disgust, others
with amusement, but did not interfere.  The few men around
averted their eyes and hurried by.
     "Serves you little wimps right for goin' out in public with-
out protection!" one of the girls, a big brunette, was saying
loudly.  "But we'll protect ya, won't we, gals?"
     "Sure, Steph!" another answered.  "Which two do you want?"
     Steph took a step back and put a hand to her chin as she
glanced from one cowering boy to another.  "Jeez," she said
finally, "I dunno.  Which of you wimps has the biggest dicks?"
     "Let's take their pants down and find out!" the third girl
chimed in gleefully.
     I looked up at my two massive bodyguards, towering nearly
seven feet on either side of me.  "We have to put a stop to
this," I said.
     Tanya shook her head.  "Sorry, Mr. Fuller, we can't.  Our
orders are to protect you.  We have strict orders not to get
involved in things like this."
     "Who told you that?  I sure didn't!"
     "Both your wife and your mother-in-law, Mr. Fuller.  I'm
really sorry."
     I felt sudden anger boil up inside me.  "Then, goddam it,
I'm going to try to stop it!" I exploded.  "Then you two are damn
well going to have to protect me!"
     Either one of them could have tucked me under one arm and
carried me off without even feeling my weight, and, as Belinda
laid a big hand on my shoulder, I thought for a minute that's
what she was going to do.  Instead, she said, "Wait, Mr. Fuller. 
Take a look."
     I did.  Two burly, six foot male security guards had come
out of the store and were standing behind the three girls. 
Neither were armed, but both had their hands on cans of mace in
holsters on their belts.  "Come on, girls," one of the men said,
"let the boys go.  We don't want any trouble here."
     I admired their courage, but not their intelligence.
     Steph turned slowly to face the two men, and her face broke
into a broad grin.  "Can you believe it?" she chortled.  "Two
guys--GUYS, mind you--tryin' to tell us what to do!"
     Like striking snakes both her hands shot out, and her
powerful fingers curled around each man's hand and mace can and
squeezed.  Both men yelped in pain, and she lifted the cans out
of their holsters and let them drop harmlessly to the floor. 
Then she spun them around, grabbed the back of their belts,
lifted both of them effortlessly off the floor, carried them at
arm's length, face down and kicking and struggling furiously, to
the edge of the balcony and held them out over the railing.
     "Three stories down, assholes," she laughed as they stopped
struggling and gaped back at her, speechless with fright.  "Bet-
ter ask me real nice to bring ya back in before my arms get tired
and I hafta drop ya!"
     I looked up at Tanya and Belinda again.  "NOW will you do
something?" I snapped.
     They glanced at each other, nodded, pulled their automatic
pistols from under their jackets and handed them to me.  "Hold
these," Tanya told me.  "We won't need 'em, and you might."  I
quickly slid them inside my waistband, out of sight under my own
jacket, hoping there were no police watching, since I wasn't
licensed to carry firearms.  "I'll take the one at the rail, you
watch the other two," she told Belinda.
     Tanya moved silently up behind Steph, looming almost a foot
taller than the teenage girl, and, before the girl realized what
was happening, had reached around her, put her hands next to hers
under the belts of the security guards and yanked her and both
men back over and away from the railing to the safety of the
balcony, pulling Steph's arms backward as she did so.  Then she
took Steph's wrists in a bone crushing grip, bringing a cry of
pain from her lips and forcing her to drop the men to the floor.
     I looked over at Belinda.  She had the other two girls on
the floor, writhing in pain, their arms twisted and bent slightly
back against the bodyguard's knees.  I hadn't seen how she'd done
it, but she obviously had both girls under control.  The six boys
were still huddled in the corner, gaping in amazement at what
they were seeing.
     Steph was cursing at Tanya and struggling helplessly in the
bigger woman's grip.  "Relax, little girl," Tanya said quietly. 
"You haven't the muscle for it.  Behave yourself, and I'll let
you go.  Otherwise I break your SuperFem wrists, and, believe me,
I'm more than strong enough to do it!"
     The two men had scrambled to their feet and were retrieving
their mace cans.  One started toward Tanya and Steph, but Tanya
stopped him with a backward look.  "Don't," she said shortly. 
"We'll take it from here."
     He looked uncertain for a moment, then muttered, "Yeah, I
guess so."  He motioned to his companion, and the two men left.
     By now Steph had seen that her two friends would be of no
help.  She stopped struggling and looked up at her captor tower-
ing above and behind her, her bravado melting.  "Whatcha gonna do
with us?" she asked, and there was a slight quiver in her voice.
     "I told you.  Behave yourself, and we'll let you go."
     "Okay."  Her voice was sullen, but she was thoroughly cowed. 
Tanya released her and stepped back, nodding to Belinda to do the
same.  The three girls stood quietly, massaging their arms, their
heads bowed.
     "Let's see some ID," Tanya said.  "Now."  Wallets were
produced and handed over, and, after a quick look at the gym
cards inside, handed back.  "I'm going to report your names to
the gym.  Our people will want to have a little talk with you and
your mothers about this."
     "You--you work for the gym?"
     "The owner, Mrs. Fuller.  Now, get out of here.  Go home."
     The three girls exchanged worried glances, then fled.  I
gladly returned the pistols, and the three of us saw the boys to
their car to make sure they'd have no further trouble.  They were
still shaken and thanked us again and again.  As they finally
drove off, I shook my head sadly.  "I don't feel much like shop-
ping any more.  Take me home, please."
     "You all right?" Belinda asked.
     "I guess I know now how Dr. Frankenstein must have felt
after he created the monster.  Only difference is, I'm afraid
we've created a world full of monsters, and it's too late to do
anything about it."
     When I got home, Mona and Amanda were in the family room
talking.  I told them what had happened.  "Were the boys hurt?" 
Mona asked.
     "No, just humiliated," I said.  "But I think they would have
been if we hadn't intervened.  The thing I don't understand is,
there were dozens of women in the area who could have stopped it. 
None of them so much as bothered to try."
     Mona shrugged.  "I guess they didn't want to get involved,"
she said.  "Or maybe they believed the boys started it and
deserved what they were getting.  In general, I think it's fair
to say they did, or we wouldn't have had to open the program up
to teenagers."
     "My God, Mona!" I exploded.  "They were going to expose
those boys in public!  We spent a ton of money trying to educate
these kids not to misuse their powers and their mothers to try to
control them!  From everything we've been hearing and from what I
saw today, it looks like all that money went down the drain!"
     "What you saw was a single, isolated incident, Darrell,"
Amanda interjected quietly, but I could tell from her face she
wasn't convinced.
     "You know better than that," I replied tartly.  "We all do. 
We opened up this program to teenage girls for two reasons.  We
were concerned about the welfare of the girls, and we were afraid
that we were creating a world of male woman haters.  Well, it
looks to me like we've made both those problems a lot worse!  The
girls have gone from being abused to being the abusers, and the
boys have got to be hating them even more!"
     "You still see a lot of girls and boys going out together,"
Mona said defensively.
     "Because the boys are being forced to, that's why!  You know
that as well as I do.  My God, Mona, these girls are getting
together and dividing up the boys like they were the spoils of
war!  The boys aren't given any choice about who they're forced
to go out with, and the mothers aren't doing a damned thing about
it!  They're too goddam busy taking over the world!"
     Mona regarded me for a long moment.  I could see that both
she and Amanda were troubled.  Finally she shook her head.  "I'm
sorry, Darrell.  Maybe you were right, and we shouldn't have
opened up the program, but we did, and it can't be undone.  We've
done everything we can to try to protect the boys.  There's
nothing more we can do."
     "No, Mona, you're wrong.  We have to.  We have to do some-
thing."
     It was my father-in-law.  He was standing in the doorway
with a large, flat package in his hands, and there were tears in
his eyes.
     "Baby!  What's wrong?  I thought you were at the club!" 
Mona was on her feet, striding over to him.  But he put his hand
up, and she stopped.
     "I was," he said.  His voice was trembling.  "A man stopped
the car on the way home and handed me this and begged me to read
it.  It's--it's a sort of a manuscript, handwritten.  I had
Bridget pull into a lot and wait while I read it.  I think you
all should, too."  He laid the package on a table and turned
away.  "I--I don't feel very well," he whispered.  "I think I...
need to go upstairs and lay down for a while."
     The three of us looked at the package for several minutes
after he had gone.  Finally Mona, a worried look on her face,
said, "I'd better go to him."
     "I'll go with you," Amanda said.
     They left.  I stared at the package for several more minutes.  
Then I opened it, sat down and began to read.

                          *     *     *

                         MICHAEL'S STORY

     My name is Michael Curtis.  There are twelve of us here
together, all of us in high school between our sophomore and
junior years and all of us close buddies since grade school.  I'd
been asked to write this before we got together because, although
we've all had our problems with the girls in our school, we all
pretty much agree that, at least at first, mine were the most
difficult and lasted the longest.  Besides, most of the guys
think I can write the best--I guess I'm not all that sure about
that!
     This is mostly my story, but to some extent it's also a
story about all of us.  And maybe even a story that could be
about all the high school kids in the world.
     What a change three years can make in a guy's life!  When we
all started Harrison High down in Orange County, California, life
was pretty normal--at least for back then.  All our moms, of
course, were on the SuperFem thing, and we all knew that, when we
got out of college, our sisters and girl friends would probably
get on the stuff, too, and that our lives would change.  None of
us much liked the idea of some day becoming the weaker sex, but,
like our Dads, there wasn't much we could do about it, and
besides, life at home wasn't all that bad, even though we all
remembered what our families were like before SuperFem hit the
market.
     My own family was pretty typical, I guess.  Dad was a big,
burly guy, about 5'10" and 195 lbs., an ex-wrestler in college,
and about as great a dad as a guy could want.  Mom was great,
too, despite being kinda shy, about 5'4" and real slender--she
never would tell us her weight--despite having two kids, me and
my kid sister, Susie, about a year and a half later.  Then a lot
of her girl friends got into the SuperFem thing and started
putting the pressure on Mom.  I think she always kinda wanted to,
but Dad made such a fuss about it, she backed off.  Then, one
night when they were out some SuperFem chick started to come on
to Dad, and neither she nor Dad could do anything about it; two
of Mom's friends had to come to Dad's rescue.  That convinced
her; Mom decided she had to be able to protect Dad, went into the
program, and a little over year later she was 6'5" tall and
weighed 280 lbs. of solid, SuperFem muscle.
     Dad would never talk about it, except once, to me, when I 
finally got up the courage to ask him how a man like him could
put up with having a wife so much bigger and stronger than him. 
I'll never forget his answer.  "Mike," he told me, "I won't kid
you by telling I like it; I don't.  But when I married your
mother, I swore it would be for better or for worse, and I meant
just that.  I loved her then, and I love her now.  Remember, she
may be a lot bigger and stronger, now, and sure as heck not shy
any more, but she's every bit as loving, kind and gentle as she
ever was, and that's what's important."  Then he put his hands on
my shoulders, looked me straight in the eye and said, "Mike, the
world is changing.  By the time you're through college, most of
the women in the world are probably going to be like your mother
and her friends, and we men are just going to have to accept
that, because there's no way we can stop it short of bloodshed,
and no decent human being wants that.  Until that time, though,
until they can get SuperFem, young girls will be like women used
to be; they'll look up to you, admire your strength, and depend
on you, and I hope you'll respect them and protect them when you
can, because some day you're going to have to rely on them to
protect you."
     So, like I said, becoming the weaker sex wasn't something to
look forward to, but it didn't look like it was going to be all
that bad, either, just something to get used to.  Besides, most
of the girls at school were pretty normal and nice, and some of
them were really fun to date.  And I remembered and passed on to
my buddies what my dad had told me, so we always tried to treat
them nice and with respect.
     But a lot of the guys in school didn't feel that way.  They
were really mad at the girls for what they knew they were going
to become, and I guess they were trying to take it out on them
while they still could.  We all thought that was kind of dumb,
even crazy.  After all, who wants to make enemies of a girl when
you know that in 10 years she'll be able to make mincemeat out of
any guy in the world?  I even had to take on a couple of guys who
were out of line with the girls, but, since I was almost as big
then as I am now--5'9" and 165 lbs.--and was a cinch to make the
varsity wrestling team in my weight class that year, it only took
a couple of fights to make most of the guys back off when I was
around.  I thought most of the girls in school really appreciated
that, as well as the way all of us felt and acted toward them.  I
think a lot of them really liked us.
     That all changed when Marcie Wentworth transferred in a
couple of months into the school year.  She was just under 15, a
freshman like me and real good looking, but already 6'3" tall and
looked like she went around 190, all muscle.  Biggest muscles I'd
ever seen on a girl that age, and looked solid as a rock.  One
look at her, and you had to figure she'd gotten into SuperFem on
the sly, particularly after she trashed several of the toughest
guys in school who had beaten up--and, in one case, raped--some
of the smaller girls.  She literally put them in the hospital! 
We didn't mind.  We figured they deserved it.  And we were glad
when she let it be known that any other guy that so much as
raised a finger against a girl would get the same treatment from
her.  After that, the assaults on the girls stopped.
     Then, when wrestling season started, she showed up after
school to try out for the team--in the heavyweight division, no
less!--wearing gym tights that showed off every muscle of her
tall, shapely, powerful body.  The coach didn't like the idea,
but the school already had a Title VII court order against it,
and he didn't have any choice.  When she weighed in at an even
245 lbs., we all knew there had to be some SuperFem in her, we
just weren't sure how much.  The coach decided to match her up
with big Paul Gilliam, a senior and our state heavyweight champ. 
At 6'5" and an even 300 lbs., a lot of it muscle, he was strong
as an ox and figured to have the best chance of taking her.
     How wrong we were!  It was a mismatch from the beginning. 
They squared off, and she literally became a blur.  Before Paul
or anyone else knew what had happened, she'd slid under him,
pulled his feet out from under him and toppled him on his back,
and then was on top of him pinning both his shoulders to the mat
and holding them there with just her two forefingers!  I couldn't
believe what I'd seen!  Neither could Paul.  He sweated and
strained and cursed, but couldn't budge his shoulders off the
mat.  To make matters worse, she held him there for a good ten
seconds, then gave him a little pat on the cheek and jumped up.
     Nevertheless, the coach decided to try another fall starting
from the Referee's Position, with Marcie on her hands and knees
and Paul on top of her with one hand on her arm and his other arm
around her waist.  At the whistle, he tried to pull her arm up
and roll her over, but he couldn't move her so much as an inch. 
She was like a rock, and it didn't look like her muscles were
even flexed!  She let him huff and puff for several minutes, then
suddenly rolled in the opposite direction, lifting him completely
off the mat with her right arm and leg and dumping him on his
back again for another ten second pin, this time holding him down
with just her two pinkies!
     Paul was livid, and it was clear to everyone that he was
losing it.  His face was red as a beet and he was sweating like a
bull.  It was pretty obvious that this was the first time in his
life he'd ever been so completely outclassed on the wrestling
mat--or anywhere, for that matter--and by a girl to boot!  No
matter that she was a 6'3", 245 lb. Amazon on SuperFem, he'd been
thoroughly humiliated.  As she reached down to take his hand and
help him to his feet, he suddenly lunged at her and slammed a
huge, hamlike fist right into her midsection with all the
strength and momentum his 300 lb. bulk could muster.  There had
to be at least 800 foot pounds of energy in that punch, but it
didn't move her an inch, and she didn't act like she even felt
it.  His fist literally bounced off her rock hard abs, and he
roared in pain and grabbed his injured hand with the other.
     Marcie regarded him solemnly for a moment, pursing her lips. 
Finally she said, "That wasn't real smart, guy.  I guess I need
to teach you a lesson."  With that, she grabbed both his wrists,
pinned them together and took them in a single hand, pulled his
arms back over his head and, as he was forced backward, bent down
to slide her other hand under the small of his back.  Then she
straightened up and effortlessly lifted his 300 lbs. of bulk
bodily off the mat, holding him high over her head with her
single arm fully extended and both his wrists imprisoned in her
other hand for balance.  He was too stunned and frightened to
even try to struggle, and, as the rest of us gaped in openmouthed
amazement, she casually pumped him up and down a few times to
show the ease with which she could control his weight.  "Guess
what, guy?" she asked, with no strain at all in her voice.  "Bet
I can throw you at least thirty or forty feet from here.  Want me
to try?"
     "Put him down, Wentworth!" the coach barked.  "Right now!"
     "I will, coach," Marcie replied with a grin, "as soon as he
apologizes for hitting me.  After all, at my age I'm still
supposed to be a member of the weaker sex, aren't I?"
     "All right!  All right!  I apologize!  Put me down, please!" 
Paul squeaked, now completely terrified that she might carry out
her threat.  Marcie smiled, thanked him, gently lowered him to
his feet and casually sauntered off the mat to where the coach
was standing.  We couldn't help but notice that she hadn't even
worked up a sweat.
     "How 'bout it, coach?" she asked sweetly.  "Am I on the
team?"
     He was shaken.  He said she probably was, but that he had to
check, and cancelled the rest of the tryouts for the day.  As I
was turning to back to the locker room, I felt a big, shapely
hand on my shoulder, and turned to look up at Marcie towering
over me.
     "I haven't seen you before," she murmured.  "What's your
name?"
     "Ah--Mike, Mike Curtis," I stammered.
     She tilted my head back with a forefinger under my chin and
looked down at me for a moment.  Then, without warning and in
front of everyone on the team, she reached down, put both hands
firmly around my waist, lifted me up off my feet and, holding me
at arm's length out in front of her and above her head, tilted me
forward slightly so that most of my weight was on the heels of
her hands.  Nevertheless, I could barely breathe, and I kicked
and struggled and tugged at her steely fingers in a futile effort
to loosen her grip as she casually looked me up and down.
     "You're cute, Mikey," she told me.  "You taken?"
     I was too stunned and embarrassed to be sure what she meant,
but I managed to choke, "N--no!"
     "Well, you are now," she laughed, tilted me further down to
plant a light kiss on my nose, and then lowered me gently to the
floor.  "If you get changed before I do, wait for me," she told
me as she strolled off.  "You and I are going to get a lot better
acquainted."
     "Jeez," somebody--I didn't know and didn't care who--mut-
tered in my ear, "I wouldn't wanta be in your shoes!"
     I couldn't answer.  I was totally humiliated.  After what
she'd done to Paul I probably shouldn't have been, but I couldn't
help myself.  My face was hot, and I knew it had to be beet red. 
All I wanted was to get the hell out of there.  They had a
special bus for us, but I knew she'd be on it.  I almost ran into
the locker room, threw on my clothes, sneaked out the back door
and ran almost the entire, ten mile distance to my home.  
     But even there I couldn't get away from it.  Everyone had
just started dinner.  As I sat down, still breathing hard, and
Dad asked me why I was so late, my sister, Susie, tittered and
said, "I know why!  Hear you got a new girl friend, MIKEY!"
     I could feel my face getting red again, but I tried to be
nonchalant.  "Oh?  Where'd you hear that?"
     "It's all over school," she giggled again.  "Heather
Mulrooney called me and told me all about it."  The giggle became
a snicker.  "Poor Heather!  She was crushed!  Almost as bad as
you were, MIKEY!"
     Heather Mulrooney was a girl in my class who, although she
lived several miles away, had struck up a friendship with Susie
back in grade school.  She was a tiny, skinny girl, and Susie,
who wasn't much bigger at 5'2" and 110 lbs., had been kidding me
about a major crush she was supposed to have on me, but I'd never
believed it.  Besides, I wasn't interested.  I was biting my lip,
trying to think of a smart alecky reply, when Dad intervened. 
"Don't call your brother that, Susie.  Mike, who's the girl?  Do
we know her?"
     Susie tried to look offended.  "Why can't I call him
'Mikey', Dad?" she asked mischievously.  "Big Marcie does!"
     Mom was suddenly interested.  She leaned forward, resting
her massively muscled forearms on the table.  "Big Marcie?  You
don't mean that new girl, Marcia Wentworth."
     "Sure do!" Susie giggled again.
     "Mike?"  Mom was looking intently at me.
     "Ask Susie," I mumbled.  "She seems to know it all."
     "Susie?"
     Susie was grinning broadly, completely unaware of Mom's
obvious concern.  "She showed up at the wrestling team tryouts
tonight," she chirped.  "Pinned that great, big Paul Gilliam hunk
twice without half trying, then picked him up over her head with
just one hand when he got mad and tried to hit her.  After that,
she went after big brother, here.  Guess that's why you didn't
take the bus home, right, big brother?"
     "Jesus!"  Dad, who almost never swore, pushed his chair away
from the table.  "Paul Gilliam must weigh 300 lbs.!  And you say
she went after Mike?"
     "Aw, she didn't hurt him, 'cept maybe for his masculine
pride."  Susie was repressing another titter.  "Word is, she's
real sweet on you, Mike.  I heard she told some friends of hers
she can't wait to get you alone!  Says she'll fix it so you won't
want to run out on her again!"
     "Susie, it's not funny, not funny at all!  Evelyn, do you
know anything about this?"  Dad was looking straight across the
table at Mom, and his face was grim.
     Mom nodded slowly.  She did not look happy.  "Not about
today.  But it's been fairly common knowledge around town that
Marcia's beaten several high school boys pretty badly, ones that
had been giving some of the girls a hard time, so about two weeks
ago several of us went to see her mother.  We were curious, be-
cause her mother's not at any of the area 'Physical Woman' gyms. 
It turns out that she completed the program in Long Beach long
before they moved here, and they have a complete gym set up in
their basement, with everything they need.  She told us that two
years ago Marcia was gang raped by five football players in Long
Beach.  She's apparently always been a big, strong girl, looks a
lot older than she is, but she was no match for the five of them. 
As a result, her mother forged a birth certificate for her and
got her into the SuperFem program at her Long Beach gym, even got
her past the psychological testing.  Since she was already so
tall, she used the newer formula, the one that limits growth.  By
the time the gym found out her real age, it was too late; she'd
completed the program.  Of course, they were both banned from the
gyms, but that's about all they could do.  They both have all the
literature on the program, and they're apparently able to keep in
shape on their own."
     "My God!"  Dad shook his head in disbelief.  "An oversexed,
SuperFem teenager!  That's all we need!  What are we going to do? 
Is there anything we CAN do?"
     "I'll talk to her mother again," Mom said.
     Dad leaned over the table and looked intently at Mom.  "Eve-
lyn," he said, "I can't say this strongly enough.  That girl has
got to be kept away from Mike.  If I have to, I'll go to the
police!  About the only thing you women haven't taken away from
us is the right to be normal, teenage boys.  I want that for
Mike."  His voice was quiet, but deadly serious, and we all knew
he meant every word.  Even Susie stopped grinning.
     Mom started to say something, then abruptly changed her
mind.  She looked troubled.  We finished our dinner in silence.
     The next day was Friday.  As Susie had said, everyone was
talking about what had happened at the tryouts last night, and a
lot of the girls giggled and looked at me, and then the other
way, as I went by.  Several of my buddies stopped me in the hall
to ask me if what they'd been hearing was true, and when I told
them it was, to offer me what little consolation and support they
could, but it didn't help much.  Fortunately, I didn't have
Marcie in any of my classes, and I was able to keep pretty much
to myself.  After my last class I checked the bulletin board and
saw that the wrestling tryouts had been postponed until next
week, probably to give the coach time to figure out what to do,
and went to my locker to stow my books and head home.  To my
dismay, Marcie was waiting for me.
     "You," she said pointedly, pushing a long forefinger into my
chest, "didn't wait last night."
     I thought fast, wondering whether I should try to lie to
her, tell her I had a ride home, and rejected that.  Better, I
figured, to be up front with her, tell her exactly how I felt. 
She wouldn't be expecting that, and it might stop her.
     "No," I said coldly.  "I didn't," and slid past her to open
my locker.
     "You weren't on the bus.  How'd you get home?"
     "I walked," I said.  "Or, rather, I ran."
     "Jeez," she laughed, "I must have really scared you last
night.  Didn't mean to, honest!"
     I turned and looked up at her with as steady a gaze as I
could manage and replied evenly, "No, you didn't scare me.  You
embarrassed me, humiliated me in front of the whole team, just
like you did Paul, but you didn't scare me.  As big and strong as
you are, you probably could have if you'd wanted to, like you did
Paul, but you didn't.  I just wanted to get away from you as fast
as I could.  I still do."
     I tried to step around her to leave, but she blocked me with
her big, powerful body.  Still, her face had an almost defensive
look, which told me my words had hit home.  I looked up at her
again and said as coldly as I knew how, "Are you going to stop me
from leaving?  I have a bus to catch."
     That did it.  Her face went blank, and she stood aside.  I
hurried away, trying hard not to show my relief.
     I should have known it was too good to last.  But I was
feeling cocky.  I'd set big Marcie Wentworth back on her heels
and made it stick.  So I made the big mistake; with several of my
buddies, I went to the Friday night mixer, the monthly dance
which was being held that night at the high school gym.
     As usual, there were more girls than boys there, and I
danced with several.  The music was loud and fast, making conversation 
impossible, so the subject of Marcie and me never came up
until, when I was dancing a slow dance with Becky Malone, Becky
asked me about it.
     "Naw, that was over before it started," I asserted.  "I put
an end to it this afternoon."
     "You did, huh?" Becky murmured.  "Then I wonder why she's
headed this way..."
     Before she could finish or I could react, I felt that
familiar, big hand clamp down on my shoulder.
     "Sorry, Becky," Marcie's voice came from above and behind
me, "I'm cutting in."
     I looked back to see her towering over me, dressed in a
tight sweater, skirt and flat heeled shoes.  As I started to
protest, I was spun around, away from Becky and into Marcie's
muscular right arm which encircled my waist, lifted me to my toes
and pulled me tight against her big, hard, shapely body.  Her
left hand took my right as she swept me across the dance floor,
my feet barely touching the floor, in time to the music and in
the general direction of the rear exit.
     "Dammit, Marcie!" I choked.  "Let go of me!  I thought we
settled that this afternoon!"  I pushed against her shoulder as
hard as I could with my free hand, but I might as well have been
trying to move the building.
     She grinned down at me.  "I KNOW what YOU thought.  And I
have to admit, you took me back for a minute.  Never had a guy
speak up to me like you did, at least not since I finished the
SuperFem program.  Made me even hotter for that cute, little bod
of yours.  In case you haven't guessed, cutie, what Marcie wants,
Marcie takes, and right now Marcie wants you!"
     "But I don't want you, dammit!"
     "Even better!" she murmured.  "Be more fun for me changing
your mind!"
     We had reached the rear exit, and suddenly Marcie backed
into the bar, pushing open the door, and swept me outside onto
the stairs leading down to the deserted parking lot.  "C'mon,
sweetie," she cooed, "let's take a little walk in the moonlight."
     "I'm not going anywhere with you!"
     "That's what you think!" she laughed.  "Okay, we'll do it
the fun way!"  She bent down, slid her right arm completely
around my waist and straightened, lifting me off the landing and
tucking me securely, face down, under her armpit.  I started to
yell for help, but her big, left hand clamped over my mouth,
stifling my outcry, and, as I kicked and struggled and tore
helplessly at the massively muscled arms holding me prisoner,
calmly carried me down the stairs and across the parking lot to
one of the cars, a convertible with the top down, parked there.
     "Now, cutie, you've got a choice," she told me matter of
factly.  "If you behave yourself and don't do anything silly like
trying to call for help, you can ride with me in the front seat. 
Otherwise, I'll have to knock you out and stuff you in the trunk
for the ride.  Which is it gonna be?  Tap my left hand once if
you want to be good."
     I didn't have any choice.  I tapped the hand covering my
mouth once, and she removed it, lifted me over the side of the
car and deposited me in the passenger seat.
     "W--where are you taking me?" I quavered.
     "Home," she replied brightly.  "Mom's out of town at a
convention this weekend, but Daddy's home, and you can meet him. 
Then, like I told you last night, you and I are going to get a
lot better acquainted!"
     "But--you're not old enough to drive!" I protested.
     She laughed at that.  "May not be old enough, but I sure am
big enough and I look old enough to boot!  Don't worry, I know
how to drive, and I won't break any laws."
     "You won't break any laws?" I sputtered.  "What the hell do
you think kidnapping is?"
     She reached down and patted my cheek.  "Now, now," she
soothed, "remember, you promised to be good.  Don't make me have
to change my mind and stick you in the trunk!"  With that, she
vaulted over me and slid down behind the wheel, pulled a key from
a pocket in her skirt, started the engine and drove off.
     I was praying we'd see a policeman, so, of course, we
didn't.  Fifteen minutes later we pulled into the carport of the
Wentworth home, a small ranch house in a fairly affluent neigh-
borhood.  "Sit tight," Marcie ordered, got out of the car and
came around to the passenger side, reached down to slide her big
hands under my armpits and lifted me bodily out of my seat. 
Holding me against her, she moved me to one side, slid a single
arm under my buttocks and around my thighs and started to carry
me into the house.
     "You know, I CAN walk," I snapped.  "I go to the bathroom
alone and everything!"
     "You're cute," she giggled.  "I can see I'm gonna have lots
of fun taming you!"
     I lapsed into silence, and she opened the door with her free
hand and carried me through the kitchen and dining room into the
living room in the front of the house, where a small, thin man
was sitting reading a book.
     "Hi, Daddy!" Marcia chirped.  "Look what I've got!  Want you
to meet my new boy friend, Mike Curtis!"
     Mr. Wentworth looked up, did a double take, winced and
slowly rose to his feet.  I was surprised at how small he was,
barely 5'5" and probably weighed no more than 130 lbs.  I had to
wonder what his wife had been like, before SuperFem.
     He looked up at me, still held off the floor and feeling
more than a little foolish in the curve of Marcie's single,
powerfully muscled arm, but obviously did not offer to shake
hands.  "Hello, Mike," he said in an oddly resigned tone of
voice.  "Marcie tells me you're on the school wrestling team."
     "Well, ah--yeah, I hope to be," I stammered, feeling even
more foolish at the thought--a high school wrestler being carried
helplessly around in one arm by a towering, Amazonian teenager!
     Then Marcie did something that stunned me.  She reached down
with her free arm, wrapped it around her father's thighs and
lifted him off the floor to hold each of us facing each other in
the curve of each arm with no more effort than if we were babies!
Her father's face reddened, and he squirmed briefly in a futile
attempt to extricate himself from his daughter's grasp, then his
body went slack, and he looked at the floor, avoiding my eyes.
     "Now I've got my two favorite guys in the world!" Marcie
gushed.  "My adorable, little Daddy and my brand new boy friend!"
     I wondered what could possibly come next.  I didn't have to
wait long.  Marcie lowered me to the floor, put her hands around
her father's slender waist and, holding him effortlessly at arm's
length, lifted him up until his head was brushing the ceiling. 
"But now," she continued, "it's time for Daddy to go beddie-bye
so I can be alone with my little Mikey!"
     "Marcie, please!"  He was so embarrassed it was hard for me
to look at him.  "Don't do this to me, please!"
     She laughed.  "Don't do what?  This?  Or send you to bed?" 
She grinned and shook him a little.
     "But, for God's sake, it's only nine thirty!"
     She tilted him forward until he was almost horizontal over
her head.  "Now, Daddy," she replied reproachfully, "remember
what happened to you the last time I had to put you to bed?" 
He winced again, closed his eyes and nodded, and Marcie set him
down and turned him around.  "Now, run along like a good, little
Daddy," she told him, and, with a little pat on his backside,
sent him on his way.
     I was beginning to feel a little sick at all of this, but I
couldn't resist asking.  "So, what happened to him when you had
to put him to bed?"
     She laughed.  "Put him over my knee and spanked him," she
replied.  "Not hard enough to hurt him, just hard enough to let
him know who's boss in this house!"
     I shook my head in disbelief.  I hated to think of my father
being subjected to something like this.  Despite the fact that
Mom was a lot bigger and maybe ten times stronger than Dad, I had
never seen her use her strength to humiliate or dominate him and
doubted she ever had or ever would.  But I wasn't so sure about
my sister, Susie, and, if Marcie was any example, I shuddered to
think of what the world would be like if many more teenage girls
got their hands on SuperFem.
     I guess I shouldn't have been worrying so much about our
fathers, for my own ordeal was just beginning.  No sooner had her
father left the room when Marcie slipped her arms around my chest
and thighs, swept me up in her arms, carried me over to a sofa,
sat down on it and plopped me down on her lap.  "Now, little
fella," she murmured, "let's you and me start getting better
acquainted!"
     It was instinct, I guess.  I knew I was no match for her
muscle, but I gasped, "No!" and struggled anyway, writhing and
kicking and fighting every way I could to get away.  She even
left my arms free, I guess because she knew I wasn't strong
enough to hurt her.  I pushed against her broad shoulders with
all my strength, but my right arm collapsed as she pulled me
against her and tucked my right shoulder under her armpit,
wrapping her long, powerfully muscled arm around my neck and
shoulders to press my head hard against her shoulder.  At that
point all I could do was beat on her back and shoulder as hard as
I could with my fists, but all she did was laugh.
     "Keep it up, baby," she whispered huskily into my ear.  "I
love it when a guy tries to fight me.  Your little love taps are
really turning me on!"
     Then she forced my head back with her forefinger and lowered
her open mouth to capture mine in a crushingly brutal french kiss
that literally took my breath away.  I heard myself whimper in
protest as her tongue ravaged the inside of my mouth, and I
redoubled my efforts to escape.  But it was hopeless.  I had
managed to slide my hips partway off her lap when, to my horror,
I felt her free hand force its way between my thighs, firmly
encompass my crotch, and begin to gently and intimately massage
me as she pulled me back against her.
     It was then that I knew she was capable of raping me, and
that there was not a damned thing I could do to stop her!  Be-
cause, little by little, no matter how I struggled to prevent it,
she was making me hard!
     How long she continued to ravage my mouth I can't remember,
but it seemed like an eternity.  When she finally lifted her
mouth from mine, her face was flushed and her voice a little
hoarse.  "This is going too fast," she rasped.  "If I keep this
up I'm gonna wear you out before the night's half over."  She
took a deep breath and thought a minute.  "I know," she said
suddenly.  "I'm gonna take you downstairs and show you what
you're up against.  Maybe showing you the things I can do will
scare the pants off you and keep me turned on besides!"
     She shifted her left arm from around my neck and shoulders
to around my waist, stood up, let me swing down so that I was
again tucked securely, face down, under her armpit and carried me
out of the living room to a door leading down to the basement. 
At that point, looking up at her still flushed, grinning face, I
knew there was no point in struggling further, so I let myself go
limp.  A flicker of disappointment crossed her lovely features,
and she said, "Aw, not gonna fight me any more, cutie?  Jeez,
maybe I should tickle you to make you struggle harder.  You
ticklish at all, baby?"
     I am.  I couldn't help myself.  My body stiffened in 
anticipation of those irresistibly powerful fingers probing my 
sensitive areas, but instead she laughed delightedly.  "Great!  
Now I can make you fight me whether you want to or not!"
     Mom had told us they had a complete gym set up in their
basement, but the extent of the equipment they had was amazing. 
They had everything!  Benches, curling setups, a complete set of
oversize nautilus machines, free weights on racks and on the
floor, the works, all on a thick mat covering almost the entire
basement!  And the weights, even the ones on the nautilus machines, 
were huge, bigger and heavier than I'd ever seen before. 
Everything here had to have been made specially for SuperFem
women.
     Marcie set me on my feet against a wall and held me there,
towering over me, with a forefinger against my chest.  "Now,
buttercup," she told me, grinning, "just stand there and watch
Marcie do her thing, and don't do anything silly like trying to
run away.  I'd catch you before you got halfway up the stairs and
bring you back down here, and then I'd have to hang you up on one
of those hooks over your head to make sure you didn't try it
again.  You wouldn't be very comfortable, and I'd be kinda mad at
you for interrupting my little demonstration.  And the one thing
you don't want to do, sweetcakes, is get me mad at you.  Okay?"
     She had a point.  I could only nod dumbly.
     "You ever been to a Physical Woman gym and watched the women
work out?" she asked.
     "N--no," I replied, and that was true.  Although I'd heard a
lot about it, even living with Mom and watching other SuperFem
women on the streets and in the malls, the only real demonstration 
of SuperFem strength I'd ever seen had been watching Marcie
destroy Paul Gilliam at the wrestling tryouts the previous night.
     "Good!  You're in for a treat!  Watch this!"
     She stepped back, pulled her sweater up over her head,
dropped her skirt and kicked off her shoes and socks, revealing
her titanically muscular, shapely frame concealed only by a tiny
brassiere and panties.  I had seen her the day before in gym
tights and had marveled at the size and hardness of her muscular-
ity even then, but now she was all but naked, and the effect was
even more amazing.  Her entire body was a mass of huge, rippling
muscles, not a soft spot anywhere that I could see.  Even her
breasts, barely concealed by the brassiere, looked like muscles,
small, erect and incredibly firm.  Moreover, I knew those huge
muscles of hers had been greatly enhanced with SuperFem and were
far denser, tougher and stronger than any man could ever hope to
have.
     She moved fluidly to the curling bench, where a short, very
thick bar with two large weights and a smaller one attached to
each end was resting on a narrow rack with a padded arm support
attached.  I could barely make out the numbers: the larger
weights were 100 lbs. each and the smaller one 25, 450 lbs. in
all.  She straddled the bench with her massive thighs, laid her
right arm across the rest, gripped the bar with her right hand
and, as huge muscles literally exploded under the smooth skin of
her mighty arm, heaved the 450 lb. barbell off the rack and
curled it for three reps before laying it gently back in its
rack!  Then she did the same with her left arm.
     Even after seeing what she'd done to Paul the night before,
I was stunned.  There were very few men in the world, I knew, who
could curl half that weight with both hands!  Yet her face had
showed not the slightest strain!  As she rose off the bench, she
grinned at me and said, "I could have done heavier, but I didn't
want to take the time to add more weights.  Get the picture,
sweetie?"  Then, seeing my open mouth, she added, "I see you do. 
But that was nothing.  Take a look at this."
     She walked over to a huge barbell lying on the mat, with
three weights on each end, each about twice the size of the
larger ones on the curling bar.  The barbell was facing me, and I
couldn't see the numbers, but the bar itself was substantially
thicker than the one on the curling bench, and I knew that
barbell had to be in the neighborhood of 1,200 lbs.
     She confirmed my guess.  "Twelve hundred pounds even, 
cutie-pie," she chuckled, then bent down, gripped the bar with both
hands, and, with a single, smooth motion, heaved it off the mat
and up to hold it, with her arms fully extended, high over her
head.  "This is clean," she told me, only a hint of strain
showing in her voice.  "Want to see me jerk?"
     At the end of a rope! I thought, as I stared at her trans-
fixed, again in open mouthed amazement.  I couldn't believe what
I was seeing!  For the first time I realized fully what SuperFem
was capable of doing, not just making women far stronger than
men, but turning them into veritable superwomen!  And Marcie was
only 15 years old!  The thought of what she might be able to do
when she was fully matured was mind boggling!  And terrifying!
     She dropped the barbell to the mat with a crash that shook
the building and grinned at me.  "I can do 1,450 clean and jerk
and bench 1,750," she informed me casually, as if reading my
thoughts, "and I'm getting stronger every day.  But I think you
get the idea.  Need any more demonstrations?"
     "N--n--no!" I blurted.  My whole body was trembling uncon-
trollably.  I was scared!
     "Good!  'Cause tossing those weights around and watching you
shaking in your boots has just made me hotter than ever for that
little bod of yours!"
     Before I could move, she strode across the room and reached
around me to wrap a powerful arm around my waist just above my
belt, sweep me up off the floor and tuck me face down under her
one arm again, but this time facing to her rear.  Then, gripping
first one of my ankles and then the other, she proceeded to
remove my shoes and socks.  I was so surprised and shocked I
didn't even try to struggle.  But when I felt her reach under me
with her free hand and unbuckle my belt, I croaked, "What--what
the hell are you doing?"
     "What do you think I'm doing?" she retorted.  "Stripping you
down to your buff to have a little fun with you, that's what! 
And why aren't you trying to fight me?  Are you too scared of me? 
Am I gonna have to tickle you to make you try to get away?"
     She didn't wait for an answer.  I felt her shift her grip
around my waist, and then the tips of her iron fingers probing,
finding, then digging into the ticklish areas of my sides.  I
remember screaming and convulsing with laughter as my world
exploded in a gamut of unbearable, yet wildly erotic, sensations,
and then kicking and thrashing about in a futile attempt to stop
the delicious torture she was inflicting on my helpless body. 
Only when she stopped and set me on my feet did I realize that,
in spite of my struggles, she had removed my pants and shorts and
dropped them on the floor, leaving me naked from the waist down
and all but exhausted from my efforts.
     "That was fun, sweetie!" she chortled.  "You put up a
delicious, little fight!  If you'd only do that on your own, I
wouldn't have to tickle you to make you do it!"
     It was all I could do to stand, but I tried to cover myself
with both hands and back away from her.  She laughed, reached
down and wrapped a long forefinger around each of my wrists,
halting my retreat.  I tried to free myself, but her fingers were
like steel bands around my wrists.  I couldn't move them.  Then,
without any display of effort at all, and using only her two
fingers, she gently forced my hands away from my body and pulled
me to her.
     "See?" she murmured. grinning down at me.  "I've got more
strength in these two fingers than you have in your whole, weak,
little body, and, except for that fat slob, Paul Gilliam, you're
one of the strongest guys I ever played with!"  She hesitated,
appearing momentarily uncertain.  "At least, I think you are. 
All you guys are so weak compared to me it's hard to tell for
sure.  Anyhow, let's get rid of that shirt..."
     "Marcie, please!" I begged.  "Don't do this to me, please!"
     She clucked her tongue sympathetically.  "Why, cutie-pie,"
she laughed, "do what?  I haven't done anything to you, yet,
'cept maybe play with you and tickle you a little and show you
how much stronger I am than you.  Now, don't worry that pretty,
little head of yours, 'cause I'm not going to hurt you.  They
taught us how to control our strength at the gym.  See?  I've got
you completely under my control, but I'm not hurting you now, am
I?"
     I had to admit she wasn't as long as I didn't struggle too
hard against the pressure of her two fingers.  As she continued
to grin down at me, she slowly forced my hands up above my head
and together, where she secured both my wrists in the grip of a
single hand, then casually unbuttoned both my sleeves and the
front of my shirt and slid it and my undershirt up over my head
and arms, transferring her grip on my wrists to her other hand so
she could pull them off and drop them to the floor.  Now I was
completely naked before her!  "Mmmmmmm!" she breathed, and raised
my arms higher until my toes were barely touching the floor while
she examined my naked body and ran her free hand up and down my
chest, stomach, sides, back and buttocks, stroking and prodding,
then fondling me intimately as I hung there, red faced, humiliated 
and helpless, in the grip of her single hand.
     Then, before I realized what was happening, she had forced
her free hand between my thighs to again cup my entire, now com-
pletely bare crotch in her palm and lift me bodily off the floor,
at the same time releasing my wrists and moving her other hand
quickly to the back of my neck.  I was turned until I was almost
sideways to her and tilted backward at an angle across her
massive, V-shaped body as her open mouth descended to again
capture mine in another, crushing french kiss and her thumb and
fingers intimately caressed my penis, testicles and buttocks.
     I can't begin to describe the feeling of utter impotence as
I hung there, helpless, in mid-air while she simultaneously
ravaged my mouth and massaged me to full arousal with her hand. 
Within moments she had me stiff and throbbing, my body consumed
with desire, but there was no pleasure in it, for I knew that I
was being taken against my will, and every fibre of my being
rebelled against the thought.  And so, even though I knew resis-
tance was hopeless and that she actually enjoyed my struggles, I
couldn't help myself; I fought against her every way I could.  I
squealed and kicked and thrashed about and pounded on her rock
hard chest, shoulders and neck with all my strength, but it was
like hitting hard rubber, and I'm not sure she even felt my
blows.  I even tried beating on and squeezing her breasts; they
had a little give to them, but not much, and I think I only
succeeded in arousing her more.
     Nevertheless, I continued my futile struggles as, still
holding me by my crotch and neck and without releasing my mouth,
she carried me up effortlessly up the two flights of stairs to
her bedroom and laid me on my back on her bed.  I scuttled back
against the headboard and covered my throbbing privates, staring
up at her in terror, too scared to protest.  Her face was flushed
and she was breathing hard, but I knew it wasn't from exertion. 
She was literally devouring me with her eyes as she reached back
over her shoulders to undo her brassiere, let it fall to the
floor, then slipped out of her panties and crawled onto the bed
facing me.
     I finally found my voice.  "Marcie!" I croaked.  "Don't do
this!  Please!"
     Her laugh was harsh.  "What's the matter, baby?  Still
afraid I'm gonna hurt you?  Or aren't you turned on my naked
musclegirls?  No, I can see you are, and that's all I need!"
     "But, dammit, I don't want to have sex with you!" I almost
screeched.
     "All the better!" she rasped.  "I love turning a guy on and
banging him against his will!"
     She reached out, forced her hands between my arms and body,
lifted me bodily off the bed and drew me down to lay me under
her.  The next thing I knew my hands had been pulled away from my
crotch, and I was buried under 245 lbs. of feminine muscle as,
with her hands firmly around my waist, she settled over me and
began to kiss and fondle me all over.
     The rest of that night is a blur in my mind.  I remember
that my arms were free and that my erect penis was pressed
against her rock hard abs, and that I was struggling and beating
on her back as hard as I could.  I can remember her whispering
fiercely into my ear several time, "That's it, baby!  Keep
fighting me!"  And I remember feeling strong sensations, but no
pleasure, as she took me inside her and brought me to climax even
as I continued my futile attempts at resistance.  And then lying
exhausted against her in the curve of her powerful arm, tears in
my eyes, feeling used and humiliated, while she stroked me and
told me that I was hers, that I belonged to her alone, that she
could arouse me at will and do anything she wanted with me, and
that if she ever caught me so much as looking at another girl
she'd put me over her lap and spank me until I cried.
     I have no idea how many times she took my body that night. 
All I know is that, at the end, all the fight had been drained
out of me, and I could only lay there while she used me for her
own pleasure.  But there was no pleasure in it for me, only a
feeling of helplessness and humiliation as she made me hard and
brought herself and me to climax again and again.  And when it
was finally over, and I lay, barely conscious, cuddled against
her in her mighty arms, and she was whispering softly in my ear
how good I had been for her, it only heightened the sense of
degradation I felt.
     But then she said something that chilled me, although it
didn't completely register at the time.  "I know it wasn't real
good for you, baby," she told me, "but it'll get better for you,
I promise.  And it won't be too long before you'll be glad to
have me, 'cause you'll need me to protect you."
     I vaguely remember her carrying me in her arms back down to
the weight room to dress me, then out to the car and driving me
home.  I had no idea what time it was, but the house was dark;
everyone was in bed.  At my door, she picked me up and kissed me
again, long and hard, and then set me down, and I stumbled inside
and up to my room.  And then I did something I hadn't done in
years.  I cried myself to sleep.
     I slept until almost noon and woke up ravenous.  When I came
downstairs, Dad was at the breakfast room table installing a new
drive belt on the vacuum cleaner.  "Must have been some night
last night, Mike," he remarked with a grin.
     "Yeah.  Some night," I mumbled and poured myself a huge bowl
of cereal.  I could hear Susie in the other room babbling on the
telephone, but, other than an occasional exclamation, "You're
kidding!", I couldn't hear what she was saying.  I guessed that
Mom was at the gym, where she spent every Saturday morning, but I
knew she'd be home soon, and I wanted to talk to her and Dad
alone.  Every time I thought about what Marcie had said to me,
about needing her to protect me, I got a hollow feeling in my
stomach.  I wasn't anxious for them to know I'd spent the night
with Marcie, but I figured enough people had seen Marcie spirit
me out of the dance that they'd find out soon enough anyway.
     Soon enough turned out to be right away.  Susie came bouncing 
into the breakfast room, saw me and giggled, "Well, sleepyhead, 
what time did you get home last night?"
     "None of your business," I snapped.
     "You and Marcie have a good time together?"
     I closed my eyes in dismay.  That damned school grapevine of
hers!  When I looked up, Dad was staring across the table at me,
motionless.
     "You were with Marcia Wentworth last night?"
     I nodded, looking hard at my half finished cereal.  "Yeah,"
I said.  "Not by choice, though."
     "Want to tell me what happened?"
     "I can tell you, Dad!" Susie bubbled.  "Marcie took him away
from Becky Malone on the dance floor last night and right out the
back door!  That's the last anybody saw of 'em!"
     I winced and closed my eyes again.
     "Susie," Dad said, "go somewhere."
     "Huh?"
     "Go somewhere," Dad said again.  "I want to talk to Mike
alone."
     "Oh."  Susie made a face at me and left in a huff.
     "Okay," Dad said quietly after we were alone, "now tell me
about it."  This time it wasn't a question.
     I kept my eyes on my cereal.  "Nothin' to tell," I mumbled. 
"We just went somewhere and talked, that's all."
     "Did she molest you at all?"
     "Dad!  Come on!"  I couldn't bring myself to tell him the
truth, but I didn't want to lie, either.
     "Well, the way you're wolfing down your breakfast..."
     Desperate to change the subject, I remarked, "She did say
one thing that kinda bothered me, though."
     "What was that."
     "Something to the effect that in a little while I'd be darn
glad to have her as a girl friend.  That I'd need her to protect
me."  I looked across the table at him.  "Geez, Dad, d'you think
they're gonna start giving that SuperFem stuff to high school
girls?"
     Dad's face turned grim, and he was silent for several
moments.  Then he said, "I don't know, son, but I'm damn sure
going to try to find out!"
     We sat in silence until Mom came in several minutes later,
bubbling, "Great workout this morning!  I feel like a million!" 
Then she saw us, and her expression changed.  "Hey, why so glum,
guys?"
     "Marcia Wentworth corralled Mike again at the dance last
night," Dad replied.  "God knows what she did to him or what time
he got home.  Tell your mother what she said to you, Mike."
     I gritted my teeth.  "She told me that pretty soon I'd need
her as a girl friend to--protect me.  I dunno, I guess she had to
mean from other girls."
     Mom sobered immediately and sat down next to Dad.  We could
tell she was troubled.  Dad looked over at her, and his face was
hard.  "Evelyn, do you know anything about this?  Are the gyms
going to start making SuperFem available to high school girls?"
     Mom bit her lip and didn't answer right away.  Finally she
said quietly, "Yes.  In about a month."
     "Jesus Christ!" Dad exploded.  "Are they out of their goddam
minds?  Can you imagine what life will be like with hundreds of
Marcia Wentworths running around loose in every town?  How long
have you known about this?"
     "About a week," Mom said.  "I--I didn't want to say anything
about it to you until I had to."  She put a big hand on Dad's
arm.  "Dan, I agree with you, it's a terrible idea.  Even my gym
manager agrees, and a lot of us have objected strongly to the
owners.  But you have to understand why they're doing this.  You
saw what was happening to the girls here before Marcia Wentworth
put a stop to it.  The same thing's happening all over the world,
and there are no other Marcia's to stop it.  They felt they had
to do something."
     "Can anything be done to stop them, to change their minds?"
     "No, I'm told the decision's final.  They've already distri-
buted a revised psychological review manual for the teenagers. 
Every girl who's started puberty will be eligible to enroll if
her mother's completed the program."
     "Jesus!  Susie, too?"
     "I don't think we'll have any choice, Dan."  Mom smiled
wanly.  "For whatever it's worth, they're limiting the amount of
formula the girls will be permitted to take, so they won't get
too big or strong.  That's probably what Marcia meant, Mike.  She
almost completed the full, adult program, so she'll still be much
stronger than any of the other girls."
     Dad shook his head wearily.  "So just how strong are they
going to let these kids get?" he asked.
     Mom shrugged, and she did not look happy.  "It's going to be
hard to pinpoint exactly, Dan, but I understand the target is
about half that for most adult women."
     "My God, Evelyn!  That's still 4-5 times stronger than the
average man!  They're crazy!"  Dad seemed to wilt in his chair. 
"I suppose they're all going to want to be six footers, too," he
muttered weakly.
     "I'm afraid that's the feeling, that most of the girls will
want the old formula, to increase their height as well."  Mom
turned to me.  "I hate to say this, Mike, but I think Marcia may
have been right.  By the time school begins again in the fall,
most of the girls will be big and strong enough that the better
looking, more popular boys like you will be fair game.  I'm sure
most of the parents will do what they can--we certainly will--but
you know as well as I that we can't always control what kids do
away from home.  If Marcia likes you, and from what I'm hearing
she does very much, and she doesn't get too far out of line with
you, you may very well need her protection."
     Dad put his head in his hands for several minutes.  Somehow,
he seemed smaller than he had.  Then he looked across at me, and
I could see the agony in his face.  "I'm--I'm sorry, Mike," was
all he said, and then he got up, and we heard him climbing the
stairs to his bedroom.
     He wasn't half as sorry as I was.  His world had already
changed.  Mine was about to.  And I wasn't sure it was going to
be the kind of a world I wanted to live in.
     As Mom got up to follow Dad upstairs, she stopped long
enough to swear me to secrecy until the news became public.  She
didn't have to.  The last thing I wanted was for any of the
girls--particularly Susie--to find out about this any sooner than
necessary.
     The following Monday I half expected to see Marcie waiting
for me at my locker, but Heather Mulrooney was there instead,
looking tiny as ever.  She wasn't a bad looking girl, but she was
too close to Susie, and I had no interest in her anyway.
     "Hi, Mike," she greeted me.  "Are you okay?
     "Sure, Heather, why wouldn't I be?" I grunted.
     "I--I was worried about you.  I wasn't at the dance Friday
night, but I heard what happened.  That awful Marcie Wentworth! 
She--she didn't hurt you, did she?"
     There was genuine concern in her voice, and I had to relent
a little.  "No, Heather, she didn't hurt me," I replied gently. 
"But thanks, anyway.  It's nice of you to ask."
     "She's terrible, the way she acts!"  Heather burst out.  "So
big and strong, and all those ugly muscles!  I wouldn't ever want
to look like that!"
     I smiled.  "I hope you feel that way when your time comes,"
I said, "when you can get that SuperFem stuff, I mean."
     "I wouldn't take it if you didn't want me to, Mike," she
said, and I could tell she really meant it.  I thanked her again
and went to class, hoping and praying Marcie hadn't seen us
together.
     The wrestling team tryouts were the following day.  Marcie,
of course, got the super heavyweight division--Paul Gilliam
didn't even show up--and I won my class fairly easily, thanks to
Dad's training, the only freshman boy to do so.  Our first match
was only two weeks away, so we trained hard to get ready, all
except Marcie, that is.  None of the bigger boys would get on the
mat with her, and the coach didn't push it.  Marcie didn't seem
to mind, even made jokes about taking on the whole team all at
once just for practice, but there were no takers.
     During that period at school, Marcie was my constant compan-
ion, and she made no secret of the fact that I was her private
property.  Since we had no classes together, she insisted on
meeting me between classes and in the lunchroom during lunch hour
and was pretty blatant about the way she hugged and cuddled me in
public, to the point that even my closest buddies, guys I'd know
since early grade school, were avoiding me.  It was embarrassing
and humiliating, but there was nothing I could do, so I endured
it as best I could.  By that time our mothers had talked, and it
was agreed that Marcie would be welcome at our house and could
even pick me up and take me out in the Wentworth family car, even
though she was still under age, as long as she didn't molest me
sexually.  Marcie didn't always abide by that limitation, of
course, but at least the times she took me, usually when we were
parked in a secluded spot somewhere, became less frequent and a
little more bearable.  There was never any pleasure in it for me,
however.
     When our first match came, word about her and what she'd
done to Paul had gotten out, so the coach of the opposing team
simply forfeited her weight class.  I barely won mine, but the
rest of the team wasn't so lucky; we were outpointed by a wide
margin.
     After the match, Marcie met me outside, put her arm around
my shoulders and walked me to the bus.  Bending down, she whispered 
into my ear, "You looked so cute out there, rolling around
on the mat with that wimp, I just wanted to go out there, throw
him into the next block and bang you right there!"
     Our next several matches also resulted in forfeits to
Marcie's weight class, since none of the coaches in our conference 
wanted to see their wrestlers humiliated by her on the mat
in public, and the boys weren't anxious to be, either.
     Then, about a month later, the news about the new SuperFem
program for teenage girls hit like a bombshell.  All over the
school the girls were buzzing, most of them complaining they
couldn't wait to start, others leery about becoming too much like
Marcie but recognizing they didn't have much choice if they were
to compete in this new environment.  Predictably, the boys were
horrified, particularly those who had been responsible for
abusing some of the girls before Marcie had stopped them; I guess
they figured they were going to be in for it all over again, this
time at the hands of their former victims!  The atmosphere at
school suddenly became almost eerie.  Almost all the boys began
keeping to themselves and avoiding the girls, and even a number
of steady couples broke up.  And a lot of the girls, even before
they started the program, hazed and taunted the boys, laughing at
them and letting them know how things were going to change once
they became the stronger sex!
     The school administrators was worried, too, about whether
the men teachers and administrators were going to be able to
maintain discipline in a school of teenage Amazons who were
bigger and stronger than almost any man alive!  Several meetings
with the mothers were held, during which a plan was developed
under which a rotating roster of mothers would be set up to
monitor those classes not being taught by SuperFem women and
assist the school administrators in enforcing discipline.  Since
the initial effects of the program could begin to become evident
within a few weeks, well before the end of the school year, the
plan was put into effect as quickly as possible.
     At home, Susie was jubilant.  "Just think, Mike!" she would
gush at me.  "When I start high school next year, we'll have
taken over the football team, the basketball team, the wrestling
team, everything!  Well, maybe we'll let you guys wrestle in the
smaller weight divisions, like yours, but you guys won't be able
to compete with us at all!  Isn't that great?  Maybe we'll dress
you guys in skirts and make cheerleaders outa ya!"
     And I would say, "Yeah, I'm sure that'll be great for you." 
But, knowing Susie, I was really more worried about what life
would be like at home.  Luckily for me, Susie had been very late
in going into puberty, and Mom had told me that she probably
wouldn't let her start the program until the end of the current
school year.  At least I was going to have that much of a reprieve...
     There was only one positive aspect that came out of this
entire situation from my standpoint.  My close friends, with whom
I'd been almost inseparable before Marcie--we'd called ourselves
the "Dirty Dozen" since grade school--started coming back and
talking to me again.  Like the rest of us, they were scared of
the future, and I guess they figured that my experiences with
Marcie might give them some insight about what might be in store
for them.  When Marcie was around, however, they kept their
distance.
     As time passed we began seeing noticeable changes in most of
the girls.  They were becoming taller, broader, more muscular and
more aggressive, both sexually and in their mannerisms generally. 
Even worse, many of them were already significantly bigger and
stronger than the smaller boys.  It was becoming an increasingly
common sight to see a big girl with a smaller guy trapped in a
corner trying to come on to him, but I didn't hear of any 
incidents of boys actually being molested by them--except that, of
course, Marcie continued to use my body whenever she had the
opportunity.  A couple of the girls who had always been taller
than most, and were now well over six feet, made passes at me,
but Marcie quickly found out and disabused them of any further
ideas along that line.  After that I was left pretty much alone. 
By the time summer came, I don't think there was a girl in our
school who wasn't at least physically equal to any boy in her
class.
     Except for Heather Mulrooney.  For some reason, I never saw
her after the SuperFem announcement.  She was around somewhere,
for she and Susie talked regularly on the phone, but I never ran
into her, and I had to wonder if she was still so opposed to
going on SuperFem as she had led me to believe that day at my
locker.
     When school let out, since I was an excellent swimmer, I
thought briefly about getting my first job, as a lifeguard at the
beach, but a sign at the employment office made it clear that
only the biggest, strongest SuperFem females available would be
considered, and, from the look of the line in front of the
office, there were plenty of female applicants who more than met
that requirement.  I guess it made sense; when I thought about
it, I really couldn't imagine that very many men were capable of
lugging a 7', 320 lb. tower of feminine muscle out of the surf! 
Besides, I discovered that a major part of the lifeguard's job
was protecting male bathers and beach employees from the women,
and it was pretty clear that no mere man would be up to that. 
But, along with the other male applicants, I was able to get a
job on the cleanup detail.  We walked the beaches daily picking
up trash left by the sunbathers and swimmers, always trying to
make sure we were within sight of the lady lifeguards in case
some SuperFem Amazon took a fancy to us.  And, from what we were
seeing and hearing, it seemed that at least several times a week
some overgrown musclegirl would find her way blocked by a couple
of female lifeguards as she tried to leave the beach with a
struggling male tucked under each arm!
     What was really got to me, though, was the so-called "Muscle
Beach" area, a section of the beach frequented by male bodybuilders, 
what few of them there were left.  There was no equipment
there, just an area where the guys would do pushups, handstands
and other exercises, flex their rippling muscles and pose for
each other while the women, all of whom were much bigger and more
muscular, made fun of them.
     Two guys, in particular, caught my eye one day.  Each of
them was at least six and a half feet tall and looked like they
weighed 275 lbs. or more, all huge, rippling muscles.  A young
musclegirl, one of the smaller ones I'd seen, barely six feet
tall, was standing behind them laughing and calling them "overgrown, 
musclebound wimps trying to look like women".  The two
guys made the mistake of getting mad.  They went at her from both
sides, and one of them snarled, "Get the fuck outa here, bitch!"
as they each put both hands on one of her shoulders and tried to
push her back, but she didn't budge, just stood there laughing at
them.  Frustration must have made them even madder.  They looked
at each other, and then both drove their fists into her midsection 
as hard as they could.  Their fists just bounced off her
iron hard abs.  Still laughing, she reached up behind their
heads, pulled both guys forward and down, then took a step
forward, wrapped one arm around each guy's waist and picked them
both up off the cement and started banging their rear ends
together.
     All the males watching, including me, just stood around and
gawked.  Each of these guys must have outweighed the girl by
close to 70 lbs. even with her SuperFem enhanced bone and muscle
structure, and their huge, ripped muscles were at least a third
bigger than hers, yet here she was handling them like they were
children with no visible effort at all!  They were kicking and
struggling and beating on her back with their big fists, and she
didn't even seem to feel it!
     Then she said, "I think I'm going to teach you guys a
lesson, not to mess around with the stronger sex!"  She dropped
one guy and at the same time brought her knee up into his stomach, 
knocking the wind out of him, and, as he dropped face down
on the pavement, pivoted, sat down on his back and slammed the
other guy face down across the rear end of the guy on the cement. 
Then she pulled down the trunks of the guy on top and proceeded
to spank his bare buttocks, hard!  With her SuperFem enhanced
muscle behind every blow, it must have hurt like hell!  The
cracking sounds of her open hand on his bare flesh reverberated
across the beach like pistol shots, and he howled and thrashed
about, trying everything to escape the brutal punishment she was
giving him, but she calmly held him down with her other hand in
the center of his back and continued spanking him until he was
sobbing like a baby and begging her to stop.
     She finally did and told him, "Now, your buddy get's the
same lesson!"  She grabbed him by the back of his neck and his
trunks, which were down around his thighs, lifted him up off the
other guy and slammed him face down on the cement next to him,
where he lay, still sobbing while she moved over to sit on his
back instead.  Before the other guy could move, she reached over,
picked him up the same way she had the first and draped him none
too gently over the rear end of the one she was sitting on,
pulled down his trunks and spanked him as hard as she had the
first until both of them were crying uncontrollably.
     Finally, she stopped, got up, gripped both guys by the backs
of their necks and lifted them up off the pavement to hold them
out on either side of her, their toes barely touching the cement. 
It was an incredible sight!  Each guy towered at least half a
foot taller than the girl, was more massively built, and yet here
she was, holding the two sobbing giants helpless at arm's length,
now fully exposed with their trunks down to their ankles and
their tears continuing to flow, and her arms were barely flexed! 
"Now," she asked firmly, "are you overgrown babies gonna behave
yourselves, or do I have to give both of you a repeat performance?"
     Between sobs, they both agreed vigorously.  She let them go
and, with a sharp slap on their bare behinds, sent them stumbling
across the sand, still crying and frantically pulling up their
trunks to cover themselves.
     That was the last time we saw any musclemen at Muscle Beach. 
     Marcie didn't work that summer, but spent a lot of time at
the beach, and, of course, continued to take me out the evenings
before days I didn't have to work.  She was changing, too.  Both
she and her mother had been readmitted to the local Physical
Woman gym, and she finally admitted to me that she'd resumed the
SuperFem program to get even bigger and stronger.  By the end of
summer she'd gained another 4" in height, towering nearly a foot
taller than I in her bare feet, and 50 lbs. of massive, solid,
shapely, SuperFem muscle.  I must have seemed almost like a toy
to her by then.  I never asked her how much weight she was
lifting, and she never gave me another demonstration.  In fact,
her whole attitude toward me was beginning to change as well. 
She was taking me less frequently and with considerably less
passion, and I had to wonder how much longer our relationship
would last.  That possibility was giving me reason for both
relief and worry.
     Summer ended, and school began again, but what a difference
those three months had made!
     Football practices had started about a month before school
opened.  Football wasn't my sport, so I wasn't there, but the
word spread like wildfire.  Seventy five girls showed up, all
well over six feet tall and ranging from 200-250 lbs.  The
coaches had expected it, and were ready with equipment for them--
practice suits, shoulder, hip and thigh pads--but couldn't fit
them with rib pads, since their breasts kept getting pinched
between the edges of the shoulder and rib pads, but, as it turned
out, they didn't need them.  The girls scrimmaged against each
other first, and the coaches selected the best of them to scrim-
mage against the first string boys' team.  It was no contest. 
The girls demolished them, scoring on a single down every time
they got the ball; even when the boys gang tackled them, they
simply could not be brought down, and it was common to see a girl
crossing the goal line carrying or dragging several boys with
her.  The boys, on the other hand, couldn't get so much as a
first down, or even close to one, and were being hit so hard the
coaches had to order the girls to take it easy on them to avoid
serious injuries.  When we learned that all the schools in our
conference were experiencing the same thing, all the boys were
simply dropped from the roster, and football became an all-girl
sport.
     My first day at school was positively eerie.  Towering,
shapely, powerfully muscled Amazons were everywhere, laughing and
joking at how small and puny we now were compared to them.  It
wasn't funny to us, however.  Despite the experiences of the
summer, our world had suddenly been turned upside down!  We were
not just the weaker sex; even the smallest of the freshman girls
who had completed the program--and none of them were under six
feet and 200 lbs.--was capable of subduing four or five of the
biggest, strongest, senior boys with ease and used every oppor-
tunity they could find to demonstrate their new found power over
us!  We never knew when we were going to be roughly jostled, have
our backsides pinched or squeezed, or picked up bodily under a
massive arm by some musclebound female Goliath.  As a result, we
kept to ourselves as much as they would let us.  Although there
were a few of the freshman girls who, like Susie, had only
recently gotten into the program, they were developing so fast we
avoided them as well.
     At home, Susie had started the program in early August, and
by the end of September was already beginning to show signs of
what she was to become.  She had gained 3" in height and 40 lbs.
of solid muscle, was almost as strong as I and was challenging me
almost daily to tests of strength.  Even Dad couldn't make her
stop, and it took several stern lectures from Mom, including a
veiled threat to pull her out of the program (which none of us
believed), to finally get her to stop.
     I didn't see much of Marcie that first week of school, since
she'd gone out for the football team and had won a starting
position as a running back--she'd wanted the quarterback spot,
but she was so much bigger and stronger than any of the other
girls the coaches felt her talents would be wasted at that
position.  I was able to complain to her about the treatment I
and the other boys were getting from most of the girls in school,
so she passed the word that I was still her property, and after
that the other girls left me pretty much alone.  I was surprised,
therefore, when, at my locker one morning, I suddenly felt a
looming presence behind me, and a voice that was familiar, yet
somewhat deeper and more aggressive than I remembered, said, "Hi,
Mike!  How've you been?"
     I turned and looked squarely into a pair of incredibly broad
shoulders over a typically wide, "V" shaped chest with small,
firm breasts jutting out against a tight sweater.  I backed up a
step and craned my neck to gape up into the lovely face of a
towering, 6'2" Amazon grinning down at me.  I had to look twice
before I realized it was really Heather Mulrooney!
     "H--Heather?" I gasped.
     "Uh huh!"  She did a graceful pirouette in front of me and
then moved against me, pressing me back against my locker with
her big, powerful body.  Like all the others, it felt rock hard,
and my eyes barely reached to her shoulders.  "How d'you like the
new me?" she asked brightly.
     I was stunned.  "Ah, well, Heather, I...ah, thought you said
you didn't want to...you know, get bigger and have huge muscles
like...ah, Marcie..."
     She laughed.  "I didn't at first," she replied, "but with
all the other girls doing it, I really didn't have any choice. 
Now I think it's just great!  I've never felt so big and healthy
and powerful in my life!  See?  Look at what I can do!"  And
before I could react, she slid her hands, now much bigger than my
own, under my armpits and lifted me effortlessly off the floor to
hold me high in the air above her head.
     The hall was crowded, and a large group of tall, powerful
looking girls stopped to watch, pointing to me and giggling,
which only added to my embarrassment, particularly when I saw two
of my friends slinking away, trying hard not to be noticed.  One
of the girls, a massive, red haired Amazon, called, "Atta girl,
Heather!  Show the little wimp who's boss!"
     "Heather, please!" I choked.  "Put me down, please!"
     "Oh, all right!"  With a grimace, she lowered me slowly and
sensuously to the floor, stopping my descent just long enough to
plant a light kiss on my lips.  "Anyway," she added mischievously, 
"with my new body, now maybe I'll have a chance of winning you!"
     "Ah, well, I think Marcie might have....ah, something to say
about that..." I stammered, still redfaced.
     She laughed again.  "But, from what I hear, maybe not for
long," she chirped and, with a pat on my cheek, strode away.  I
turned to my locker and got my books for class, doing my best to
ignore the Amazons who were still standing around laughing at me.
     Even our classes were different.  Several of the best male
teachers had left the school and were teaching at grade schools,
where they didn't have to rely on women to enforce discipline. 
Even some of the girls said they were going to miss them, parti-
cularly when we discovered that their replacements were young,
SuperFem women right out of college and nowhere near as good
teachers as their predecessors.  Then, after a few weeks we began
hearing rumors that the school board was considering replacing
the principal and assistant principal with women as well.  All in
all, it looked to a lot of us like the school was going to hell
in a hand basket real fast, and all because of that damned Super-
Fem!
     Our first regular season football game was against Valley
High, the smallest school in our conference.  The night before
the game the school held a pep rally at the football field, and
Marcie, instead of picking me up at home as she usually did, told
me to take the school bus to the rally and meet her there.  I
didn't particularly want to go, but I knew what would happen to
me if I disobeyed her, so I went.  There was a fairly large crowd
there, mostly girls, some with boys in tow, and, of course, the
entire football team dressed in their game jerseys, but I didn't
see Marcie right away.  The girl who played quarterback was on a
temporary stage set up for the rally, yelling through a megaphone, 
as I got there, and I managed to catch her last few words.
     "...and guess what, gang!  Valley didn't have enough girls
come out to fill up the team!  I hear that three of their first
string and their whole second and third string teams are--can you
believe it?--guys!  Is that a laugh or is that a laugh!  Guys
playing against us?  We're gonna kill 'em tomorrow, just abso-
lutely kill 'em!"
     I was moving around the fringe of the crowd looking for
Marcie when I saw Freddie Sorenson, one of my "Dirty Dozen",
scuttling toward one of the outdoor johns, stopped him and asked
him if he'd seen Marcie.  He gave me a funny, rather hurried look
and told me she was on the other side of the stage with Heather
Mulrooney and Dave Carlin, a junior who'd been a first string
wide receiver last year, before the girls had taken over.
     "She's been looking for you," he said quickly.  "Now, I
gotta go.  Sandy's gonna wonder where I am if I don't get back
right away."
     "Sandy Petronis?  What are you doing with her?  Are you
going with her or something?"  Sandy was a girl in our class
who'd never been very attractive or outgoing, and SuperFem,
except for making her about a foot taller and 150 lbs. heavier,
hadn't helped her looks much.
     Freddie stared at me for a second.  "You mean you haven't
heard?"
     "Heard what?"
     "Three days ago almost all the girls in our class got
together and drew names out of a bowl to determine which guy
they'd get.  Sandy got me.  All twelve of us except Tommy McLean
have been taken, and none of us have a damn thing to say about
it!  You were left out because Marcie already has you--for the
moment, anyway.  But she looked pretty thick with that Carlin guy
a few minutes ago.  And he didn't look all that happy about it,
either."
     I closed my eyes.  "Jeezus!" I breathed.  "What next?"
     "I don't even wanna think about it!  Look, I gotta run or
Sandy will have my hide.  See ya around."  And he disappeared
into the john.
     I found Marcie and Heather where Freddie had said they were. 
I got a kind of sinking feeling in my stomach when I saw them. 
Marcie had her arm around Dave Carlin's shoulders, like she was
protecting him or something, and he looked pretty damned uncom-
fortable.  Carlin was a shade over six feet tall and weighed a
solid one eighty.  He'd been a terrific wide receiver last year,
could jump like he had wings, but was no match for any of the
girls this year and had been dropped from the team.  Next to
Marcie's towering, 6'7", 295 lb. frame, he looked small and
downright puny.
     Heather was looking around, not really paying much attention
to what was going on up on the stage.  She looked exited.  She
finally spotted me and waved me over with her arm.  "There you
are!" she called.  "We've been looking for you!"
     I walked over somewhat hesitantly.  Marcie greeted me
warmly, introduced me to Carlin, whom I already knew, and then
Heather bubbled, "Guess what, Mike?  Marcie's giving you to me!"
     My eyebrows went up a mile.  I didn't say anything, just
looked up at Marcie and waited.
     "That's right, Mike," Marcie asserted, almost apologetically.  
"I've grown so much since I went back into the program,
you just weren't doing much for me any more, and I know Heather's
been sweet on you for a long time.  Davey, here, is big enough to
keep me happy, aren't you, sweetie?"  She hugged him briefly,
hard enough to make him grunt and turn red, but he didn't answer
her.  "Anyway, pumpkin, I guess I owe you something for everything 
we've had together," she went on, "so, even though
Heather's probably big and strong enough to protect you from most
of the other girls, I'll pass the word that you belong to her,
and that any girl who tries to take you away from her will have
to deal with me.  Okay?"
      It wasn't okay at all!  But, like my buddies and most of
the rest of the guys at school, I knew there wasn't anything I
could do about it except shrug and try to endure it.  Only I
wasn't sure how much longer I could...
     We stayed together until the rally ended, then split up.  I
started back toward the bus, but Heather took my arm and pulled
me back.  "I've got the car, Mike," she told me.  "I'll take you
home."
     I looked up at her in surprise.  "You old enough to drive?"
     "Uh huh.  Turned sixteen last month, and got my license a
week ago."  She grinned.  "Didn't know I was older than you, did
you?"
     "No, I didn't."
     "Got real sick when I was seven, had to repeat the second
grade."
     She walked me to a dark blue sedan, opened the door for me,
and I got in.  When she slid in behind the wheel, I said quietly,
"We ARE going home, right?"
     She gave me a quick look, then bit her lip.  "Mike," she
said earnestly, "I'm not like Marcie.  I'm crazy about you, and I
want you so bad I get wet just thinking about you, but I'm not
going to rape you or anything like that, I promise.  All I want
is for you to give me half a chance, meet me halfway, you know? 
If you do, I know I can make you love me as much as I love you."
     I looked over at her.  In the moonlight, I could see her
eyes were shining, and I knew she meant what she'd said.  For a
moment I was tempted to play along, keep her on the string, with
the protection she and Marcie could give me, while trying to use
her feeling for me to hold her at arm's length.  But as soon as
the idea came to me, I knew I couldn't do it.  It wouldn't have
been right.  Whatever else she might have been, she was being
honest with me, and I had to be honest with her.
     "I almost wish I could, Heather," I said.
     "Why not, Mike?"  Her voice was almost plaintive, now.  "Was
Marcie that--that hard on you?  Am I so--bad?"
     I sighed and shook my head.  "Heather, Marcie's only part of
the problem.  Look at what's happening this year.  I hear you
girls got together and parceled us out like we were your personal
property.  I ran into Freddie Sorenson tonight, and he's been
'given' to Sandy Petronis, just like Marcie 'gave' me to you, and
he's scared shitless that he might make her mad at him!  Freddie,
one of the sweetest guys in the world, wouldn't hurt a fly let
alone touch a girl against her will, and now he's like a goddam
slave!  Ever since you all got into this SuperFem stuff, you've
been walking around flexing your muscles and lording it over us,
treating us like we were your personal toys!  And you expect us
to like it?  What the hell did we ever do to deserve this kind of
treatment from you?"
     She winced.  "I wasn't at that meeting, Mike," she said.  "I
told you, I'm not like that."
     "Oh, really?"  I was literally making myself mad, and
suddenly, even though I knew it was wrong, I wanted to lash out
and hurt her with sarcasm.  "Of course, the fact that you'd made
your little deal with Marcie had nothing to do with that, did it? 
And who was it that met me at my locker the other day and picked
me up like I was a goddam toy in front of the whole school?"
     That hit home.  She wasn't crying, but her eyes were wet. 
"You're right, Mike," she said in a subdued voice.  "I shouldn't
have done that.  I--I'm sorry.  I won't do it again, I promise."
     She started the engine, and we drove home in silence.  By
the time we pulled into my driveway, I'd cooled off, and I knew I
owed her an apology.  She turned off the engine, and as she was
walking me to the front door I said, "Look, Heather, I shouldn't
have blown off steam at you the way I did.  I know you're trying
to be nice, and I appreciate it, but, well, you just have to
understand how I feel, how all of us feel about the way things
are now."
     "I know," she replied quietly.  "It must be hard for you
guys, and a lot of us aren't making it any easier for you.  I
just wanted you--I want you to know that I won't make you do
anything you don't want to, that's all."
     We had reached my door, and I turned and looked up at her
earnestly.  "But, don't you see, Heather?  That's exactly what
you are doing!  You and Marcie are forcing me to go steady with
you whether I want to or not!"
     She hesitated, then reached down and took me by my shoul-
ders.  "I'm not going to let you go, Mike," she told me firmly. 
"I love you too much for that.  If I did. you'd be fair game for
every girl in school who wanted to throw you in bed!  I couldn't
stand seeing that!  It was bad enough when I knew what Marcie was
doing to you, and I couldn't do anything about it!  You need my
protection, and I want to protect you, and, with Marcie behind
me, now I can.  I hope someday you'll understand that."
     I understood it only too well.  And I knew I probably should
have been grateful for the way she felt about me and the protec-
tion she was willing to provide, even after the way I'd spouted
off to her, but I was beyond that.  All I could think of was that
I was a human being, that we boys were all human beings, and that
these damned SuperFem Amazons were passing us around as though we
were chattels, to be used for their own pleasure and then dis-
carded when they tired of us.
     "I don't suppose you'd let me kiss you goodnight," Heather
said softly.
     "Let you?  As big and strong as you are, how could I stop
you?"
     "You could say, 'No,'" she replied.
     I looked up at her and saw that she meant it, and my resent-
ment melted away.  Perhaps for the first time, I realized fully
how different she was from the other girls, at least with respect
to her feelings toward me.  She would dominate me, of course; she
was so far beyond me physically, so much my physical superior,
that she wouldn't be able to help herself.  But maybe, just
maybe, it would be a loving, caring kind of domination that
might, must might, be bearable...
     "I won't say 'No', Heather," I said.
     She took me in her arms, then, bending me backward and mold-
ing my body to hers in a firm, but gentle, embrace, and her lips
descended to cover mine in a long, tender, loving kiss.  My toes
were barely touching the ground, but I knew it was because of her
embrace, that she had consciously avoided lifting me or succumbing 
to the temptation to ravage my mouth the way Marcie had.  And
I could not help but respond to her tenderness.  Almost uncon-
sciously, my arms rose to wind themselves around her massive neck
and up her broad, powerfully muscled back...  When, at last, she
released me, she pressed my head against her shoulder, tilted my
face up to hers, and lightly kissed my eyes, nose and, again, my
lips.
      "I love you, Mike," she whispered.  And then I was standing
alone, watching her car drive off.
     The quarterback's boasts that night proved right.  Valley
High had five huge boys on offense and three on defense.  The
girls did their best against us, but the boys were too much of a
liability; they were simply no match for our girls, particularly
Marcie, who not even the girls could bring down.  We slaughtered
them, running up a 56-0 score by halftime and then playing the
second and third string girls the rest of the game.  With Marcie
as our star running back, we knew our school was a cinch to take
both the conference and state titles.  In fact, we did.
     While my relationship with Heather was proving to be a lot
more pleasant than the one I'd had with Marcie, at home things
were rapidly getting worse.  By the time football season ended
Susie was as tall as I was and easily twice as strong and,
despite everything Mom and Dad did to prevent it, loved lording
it over her "big brother" every chance she got.  She was constantly 
challenging me to tests of strength, and I never knew
when she was going to sneak up behind me, wrap her now powerfully
muscled arms around me, pin my arms to my sides, and lift me
bodily off the floor, laughing at how easily she could overpower
the school's champion male wrestler!  A couple of times she even
grabbed me by the back of my neck and by buttocks and lifted me
all the way over her head, but didn't get the balance quite right
and had to drop me on my bed, breaking the wooden slats both
times.  Finally Mom told her that if she ever got wind of her
using her strength on me again, Mom would take her outside and
give her the thrashing of her life--something I'd never, in all
the time she'd been involved with SuperFem, her say to anyone
before.  Nevertheless, Susie continued to remind me every chance
she got how small and puny I was going to be compared to her once
she'd completed the program.  She was right.  By the time spring
came, she'd topped out at 6'4" and 255 lbs. of solid, shapely
SuperFem muscle.  And she wasn't even 15 yet!
     Of course, she was thrilled when she learned that I was now
"Heather's property" and for a long time insisted on picking out
my clothes for me whenever Heather came over to the house to pick
me up for a date.  When I complained about her to Heather, even
Heather admitted that she was becoming a bit of a pain and agreed
to have a talk with her.  She did, and after that Susie at least
let me decide what clothes I could wear when Heather and I went
out.
     When football season finally ended and basketball practices
began, it was a foregone conclusion that the girls would take
that over as well.  Naturally, Marcie made the team at center,
and there were several other girls who were almost as tall as
she, although nowhere near as strong.  But all the girls who came
out were so much taller and stronger, could outjump by such a
wide margin, and with a little practice quickly learned to
outdribble and outshoot all the returning first string boys that
it was literally no contest.  As they had in football, all the
boys simply dropped out.  There was some talk among the school
administrators about setting up a separate, intermural league for
the boys, but that merely added additional insult to our injuries, 
and the idea eventually died out.  Although Marcie's size
and strength was less of a factor on the basketball court than it
had been on the football field, the all-girl team did well,
making it to the state quarter-finals before being narrowly
beaten.
     Since that first football rally I hadn't seen much of the
"Dirty Dozen".  My free time was being pretty well monopolized by
Heather, and, except for little Tommy McLean, who, at 5'2" and
barely 110 lbs., was considered too small and delicate for a
SuperFem Amazon, every one of the guys was now the "property" of
one of the girls in our class.  Tommy didn't complain, but all
the other guys looked like they'd been beaten into the ground,
and, on the rare occasions when I would run into one of the guys
he'd seem nervous, would look around constantly to see who might
be watching and scuttle away as soon as he could.  I couldn't
help but feel for them; unlike my relationship with Heather, they
obviously couldn't call their souls their own!  And, honestly I
was beginning to wonder how long they could continue to put up
it...
     Finally it was time for the wrestling tryouts, the one sport
in the school's curriculum where boys like me might have a chance
to participate in the lighter weight classes, since there wasn't
a girl in school--or, for that matter, in the conference--who
didn't weigh over 200 lbs.  The real question in our minds was
whether the girls would try to humiliate us in some way that
would force us to drop out of that sport as well.  They didn't,
at least at first, although so many girls came out for the heavy-
weight division that the conference had to establish separate
weight classes for them all the way up to 280 lbs.  The officials
also laid down a rule that no boy would be permitted to wrestle a
girl, which was probably unnecessary, since no boy wanted to get
within a country mile of a weight class in which any girl might
be likely to wrestle.  We were outnumbered in the tryouts by
roughly five to one, but we kept pretty much to ourselves, and
there were no incidents.
     Marcie won her weight class, of course, and I won mine. 
Then, at the first meet, which was at home, we got an idea of
what we were going to be facing the rest of the season.  The gym
was filled with girls from both schools, only some of whom had
brought their boy friends with them.  Every one of the girl
wrestlers was cheered lustily as they came on the mat, whereas I
and the rest of the boys on the team were greeted with laughter
and catcalls of "Be careful, wimps!", "Don't hurt yaselves!", and
"Ooooo! Sexy!  Wiggle your little butts for us, willya?"  All of
us boys, including our opponents, were humiliated, and I know it
affected our performances on the mat.  The best I could manage
was a tie with my opponent, and we lost the meet by a narrow
margin, even though Marcie had won her match easily, and the rest
of the girls, all of whom wrestled first, had given us a small
lead to work with.
     The following Monday, the school principal came on the
intercom to deliver a stern lecture to the girls, pointing out
that their raucous behavior at the meet had probably affected its
outcome.  It didn't help much.  The next issue of the school
paper, which the girls controlled, featured an informal opinion
poll among the girls on whether boys should be permitted to
wrestle at all.   The conclusion: "It's silly to watch two boys
up there wiggling around on a wrestling mat when everyone knows
that any freshman girl could go up there and pin both of them at
once without half trying, and with one hand tied behind her back
to boot!  We ought to eliminate the smaller, boys' weight classes
and make wrestling an all-girl sport just like all the others." 
Even Susie, who by now had completed the program and had reached
her full stature, agreed with them and never missed an opportunity 
to ridicule me at home by referring to me as her "little,
wimpy, wrestling brother" and, when we were alone in the house,
proving her point by picking me up, tossing me on my back on the
floor and pinning me there with just one hand while stifling a
yawn with the other.
     Nevertheless, we stuck it out, endured the jeers and cat-
calls from the crowds, and over the remainder of the season felt
that we'd given a good account of ourselves.  Still, we were
relieved when school ended and the summer vacation began.
     I'd gotten my old job back at the beach and had been working
for about a week when I got a surprise call from Tommy McLean,
telling me that the "Dirty Dozen" were going to get together that
Sunday afternoon at Freddie Sorenson's house.  Freddy's parents
were going to be out of town that weekend, and since, unlike many
of the rest of us, he was an only child, we'd have the place to
ourselves.  "This whole situation is getting unbearable, Mike,"
he told me.  "We gotta talk about it, try to figure out what to
do."
     I told him I didn't think there was anything we could do
about it, but that, since I wasn't scheduled to work that day,
I'd be there, if for no other reason, to try to renew acquain-
tances with the gang.  He told me to bring my swimming trunks.
     I got there about two in the afternoon after a long ride on
my bike.  Freddie's home was a large, secluded home, complete
with a huge yard and swimming pool, in the country.  Everyone was
there, and we all congregated in the back yard next to the pool
with six packs of beer, commiserating about how we were being
mistreated by our feminine "owners".  All except me, of course,
for I had few complaints about Heather, and she and Marcie had
made sure that the other girls didn't give me any major problems.
     "You don't know how lucky you are to have Heather, Mike!"
Benny Majors exploded.  "That damn Janice Riley I'm stuck with is
at me constantly!  Always showing me how much stronger she is
than me!  The way she treats me, every night I have to go out
with her, it's all I can do to crawl upstairs to bed!"
     "At least you don't have to live with her," I remarked. 
"Remember, I've got Susie to contend with at home."
     "She beat you up a lot, Mike?" Tommy asked.
     "No, but what she does is almost as bad."  I went on to
explain how she treated me when we were in the house alone. 
"Mom's tried to stop her, but there's only so much she can do,
and Dad can't do anything any more, doesn't even try.  He's like
a beaten man.  I really feel sorry for him, almost as much as I
do for me."
     "Dammit, what are we going to do?" Carl Ferone muttered.  "I
can't take much more of this!  Linda McCallister is almost as bad
with me as that Riley bitch is with Benny, maybe worse in some
ways.  I'm like her goddam slave!  I just can't live like this
much longer!"
     I got a sudden, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. 
"What are you saying, Carl?" I asked, but I wasn't sure I wanted
to hear the answer.  I saw the others were looking at him intently, too.
     Carl didn't answer, just shook his head sullenly.
     "Look," I said, "we've all seen our mothers on this stuff. 
Is there anyone here who can say that his father is abused the
way we are?"  They all shook their heads.  "Okay, then," I went
on, "it's just a matter of the girls growing up a little and
learning how to handle their strength.  Maybe in a couple or
three years, things will get better for us.  We'll look at things
differently then."
     "Bullshit!" Carl snapped.  "My older brother's in college,
and he tells me the college girls are just as bad--even worse,
since the juniors and seniors can get the whole program.  Christ,
they're two, three, four times bigger and stronger than the ones
we know--like that goddam Marcie Wentworth!  We're not looking at
2-3 years, more like 6 or 8!  I don't know about the rest of you
guys, but I can't handle that!"
     "So what are you gonna do, Carl?" Tommy asked quietly.
     Carl looked him squarely in the eye.  "Tommy," he said, and
his voice was trembling, "I just don't want to live like this any
more."
     I looked around in amazement.  Everyone was looking somber,
but no one was disagreeing.  Several were nodding.  "Do--do you
guys realize what you're saying?" I gasped.
     If anyone was going to answer, they never had a chance.  A
booming, female voice from behind us stopped all of us in our
tracks.
     "Well, well!  What have we here?  A bunch of little, itty
bitty guys having a party, and they didn't even invite us!"
     There were four of them, two blondes, a brunette and a dark
redhead, all wearing tight shorts and halters and standing at the
side of the house grinning wolfishly at us.  They were big, as
big as I had ever seen, the two blondes easily six and a half
feet tall, the redhead nearly seven feet, and the brunette a good
seven and a half feet tall, and they must have weighed anywhere
from two eighty to well over three hundred pounds, all rippling,
shapely muscles.  Full blown SuperFem females, all of them.  They
weren't high school girls, that's for sure, but they looked young
enough to be college juniors or seniors.  It didn't matter.  We
didn't know them, and we didn't want to.
     Freddie got up from his chair and faced them, trying to
affect a measure of bravado.  "Girls, this is my home, and you've
no right to be here.  Please leave now!"
     The four of them roared with laughter at that.  "What are
you gonna do, pumpkin," one of the blondes asked him, "throw us
out?  Or maybe you think we're gonna let you call the police,
eh?"
     The mammoth, 7-1/2 foot brunette had spotted Tommy, who was
edging toward a cordless telephone lying on a table.  "Hey,
guys," she hooted, "I want that one!"  Before any of us realized
what was happening, she had covered the distance between them in
a dozen, huge strides and had snatched Tommy up off his feet in a
single hand, her long, massive fingers spanning almost his entire
waist so tightly he could barely breathe.  "Jeez," she marveled,
looking him up and down as he writhed and thrashed about helplessly 
in her steel grip mouthing wordless protests, "did'ja ever
see anyone so tiny?  If he was any smaller I could almost use him
for a dildo!"
     The rest of us were galvanized into action.  We all rushed
her.  From the front Carl and I tackled one of her legs, and
Steve Craft and Johnny Bullock the other, two of us above the
knees and two below.  Simultaneously Benny, Jimmy Greer and Scott
Fairless grabbed the huge arm that held Tommy, while Bobby Cain,
Sammy Doyle and Billy Sommerville grabbed her other arm and
struggled vainly to pull her backward, and Freddie jumped up on
her back to wrap both his arms around her neck, apparently hoping
his weight would help the process.  Hitting her legs was like
hitting a brick wall!  She didn't move an inch, and we just
bounced off.  As we were scrambling to our feet we got a glimpse
of her laughing as she reached up with her free hand, effortlessly 
lifting Bobby, Sammy and Billy, who were still clinging to
her arm, to pluck Freddie off her back and toss him to the
waiting arms of one of the blonde Amazons.  Then I felt a massive
arm encircle my own waist and arms, slam me against Carl, and
then both of us were plucked off our feet and squashed together,
both our arms pinned to our sides, under a single, long, 
powerfully muscled arm of the 7' redhead.  And, twisting my head, I
saw that Steve and Johnny were being held similarly helpless
under her other arm!
     "Relax, wimps," the redhead told the four of us with a
chuckle.  "You aren't going anywhere."
     Both Carl and I were struggling to breathe, and Carl was
gasping curses under his breath, but I couldn't help but be
concerned about what was happening to the other guys.  The
brunette had shaken off Bobby, Sammy and Billy, and the blonde
that had caught Freddie had Sammy and Billy face down on the
ground, straddling their backs with her thighs as they struggled
helplessly under her weight, and holding Freddie face down across
their shoulders with one hand.  Bobby was being dangled in midair
by his belt by the other blonde with one hand while she casually
removed Benny from the dark haired giantess' other arm, which she
had also raised, with the three boys clinging desperately to it,
to hold Tommy high in the air.  Shoving Benny between her legs,
the blonde then plucked Scott off the brunette's arm by his belt,
and the brunette completed the process by doing the same with
Jimmy, holding him and Tommy out at arm's length with no more
effort than if they were sacks of laundry.
     "Come on, Steph," the brunette complained, "take this one,
too, will ya?  I wanta play with little itsy bitsy here!"
     Steph shook her head with a grimace.  "Margo, you're too
much!" she retorted.  "You expect the three of us to keep the
rest of these wimps in tow while you have all the fun with just
one of 'em?  When do we get our turn?"
     The giantess called Margo laughed, shaking her heavy mane of
dark hair.  "Aw, take it easy," she replied.  "There's three of
'em for each of us, and I just wanta see if little itsy bitsy has
anything between his legs."
     The other blonde holding Sammy, Billy and Freddie on the
ground snorted derisively.  "Hell, Margo, he'd need a third leg
to satisfy you!"
     "Or any of us, probably!"  Margo laughed again.  "Here,
Steph, catch!"  A flick of her wrist sent Jimmy sailing through
the air to be caught expertly by Steph, who had dropped Benny and
Bobby to the ground and Scott on top of them.  She immediately
slammed Jimmy down with the other three and settled over all four
of them, straddling them and holding them down with her massive
thighs.  It looked like they were so stunned by what was happen-
ing to them they didn't even try to struggle.
     In the meantime, the redhead was grinning down at me.  "I
dunno about the rest of you," she told her companions, "but I
think I'm gonna keep the cute one with the pretty, little muscles!  
The one next to him isn't bad, either.  And," she added
with a chuckle, "it looks like they're getting to know each other
real well!"
     She was right.  She had Carl and me jammed so tightly
together we were unable to move anything but our heads and legs
and could hardly breathe, but I was still able to see what was
happening to poor Tommy.  He was barely conscious, hanging limply
in the grasp of Margo's single hand, and she was casually shred-
ding his clothes from his helpless body like they were tissue
paper.  When he was completely naked she roared with laughter
again as she explored his tiny privates with her long, thick,
powerful fingers.  Thankfully, it didn't look like he was even
aware of what was happening to him.
     "Jeez!" Margo exclaimed.  "Will ya look at this little thing
of his?  He'd have trouble satisfying a Pekinese!"
     "So what're ya gonna do with him?" the redhead rumbled. 
"Come on, Margo!  The rest of us would like a little fun, too,
and we're not gonna stand around holding these other wimps all
day!  Let's divide 'em up and get on with it!  I'm horny as hell
already!"
     "Hold on to your shorts, Sheila," Margo retorted.  "I think
I'll keep little itsy bitsy, here, anyway, just for fun.  Why
don't you all line up the rest of 'em so we can decide who gets
who?"
     "Not these two," Sheila chuckled, inclining her head toward
Carl and me.  "These two are mine!  Okay, girls, let's line the
rest of 'em up!"  She carried the four of us over to where the
two blondes were holding the rest of the guys captive and 
deposited Steve and Johnny on their feet as Steph and her companion
rose off their victims and herded them together in a line with
their backs to the swimming pool.  I could see a couple of the
guys glancing around for avenues of escape, probably figuring
that if all nine broke at once in different directions, several
of them might have a chance of getting away for help, but any
hope of that died as the four giant females formed a semi-circle
around them, hemming them in against the edge of the pool. 
Tommy's limp body still hung from Margo's single hand wrapped
around his waist, now hanging loosely at her side, yet his hands
and feet were a good foot and a half above the ground.
     "Okay, wimps!" Margo growled.  "Strip!  Now!  Right down to
the buff!"
     "But--" Freddie quavered, "what--what are you going to do to
us?"
     Margo glowered at him.  "I'm not gonna answer any of your
dumb questions, that's for sure!" she snapped.  "Now, hop to it! 
I wanta see nine bare asses RIGHT NOW!"
     Redfaced, but now thoroughly cowed, the guys hurried to
comply.
     As Margo surveyed them, it was obvious that, as the biggest
and strongest of the four girls, she was going to have first
pick.  "I'll take these two," she said, and swung the arm holding
Tommy around both Steve and Benny, crunching them together and
swinging them up off the ground to tuck them under her arm above
Tommy's sagging body still hanging, now face up, from her hand. 
Even after seeing what Marcie could do--and that was before she
re-entered the SuperFem program--and seeing how easily Margo had
withstood the combined assaults of eleven of us all at once, I
could barely believe my eyes.  Those three guys together probably
weighed well over 400 lbs., yet this 7-1/2 foot giantess carried
them over to a grassy area next to the house, held their combined
weight in her one arm as easily as if they weighed nothing at
all!
     Sheila was next, and she plucked up Freddie under her other
arm as she lowered Carl and I to our feet with our backs to the
pool.  "Okay, guys," she told us sternly, "your turn.  Strip!"
     We did.
     As the two blondes divided up our remaining six buddies,
Sheila marched Carl and I, now completely naked like the rest of
the guys, with Freddie still tucked under one arm, away from the
pool toward where Margo was laying her victims on their backs on
the grass.  The blondes followed close behind, each carrying
their prey, two under one arm, one under the other.  None of us
were saying anything--we were too scared, and worried if we were
going to survive the afternoon!  Then Sheila snapped, "All right,
on your backs next to each other!"  As we obeyed, she deposited
Freddie face up on top of us, and then, after quickly ridding
herself of her halter and shorts, settled down over all three of
us, straddling us with her massive thighs and leaning down over
the terrified Freddie, her ponderous weight all but crushing the
three of us.  "Now," she growled, "let's see if the three of you
together can give me any satisfaction!"
     The rest was pure nightmare!  I couldn't see what was
happening with the other girls, and, to be honest, at the moment
I didn't care.  All I could feel was my own sense of shame and
humiliation, that I knew was shared by Carl and Freddie, at the
realization that all three of us were probably going to be raped
by a single, giant female and the horror at what might happen to
us if we couldn't satisfy her lust!  Under the circumstances, I
wasn't even sure that any of us could even achieve an erection!
     Thank God Freddie did; it took a while, but in the end I
think he was too scared not to!  I couldn't see it, of course,
but I knew from all the grunts coming from Sheila and the way she
was pounding down on the three of us that she had somehow gotten
him inside her.  I tried to distance myself from what was happen-
ing by trying to conjure up erotic thoughts for when I knew my
turn would come, but it didn't help.  The combined weight of
Freddie and Sheila bearing down on us was just too much.  Besides, 
I wanted to cry!  Then I felt Freddie stiffen and heard
Sheila, a cross between a scream and a moan, and I knew Freddie,
at least, had achieved a measure of success.  The next thing I
knew Sheila was lifting herself just enough to squeeze Freddie
down between Carl and I and then pull Carl on top of us.  I had a
brief glimpse of her grinning wolfishly down at me as she said,
"I'm saving you for last, cupcake!"
     Freddie was sobbing like a baby, tears streaming down his
cheeks, and, in the background, I could hear the other guys
crying, some in obvious pain, others just from the humiliation of
having their bodies so brutally assaulted and used by these
dreadful Amazons.  Then Carl started to cry as well, as Sheila,
from her muffled curses, was obviously having trouble bringing
him to erection.  I tried to whisper encouragement in his ear,
but with the weight on my chest and stomach it was all I could do
to breathe, let alone speak.  Finally I heard Sheila mutter,
"It's about time!", and the pounding started all over again.  And
I found myself wondering how much satisfaction a girl could get
by raping a sobbing boy...
     By the time she'd finished with Carl and I felt myself being
lifted and placed on top, I was barely conscious.  Maybe it was
for the best, for I only vaguely remember my own ordeal, other
than that it seemed short.  Perhaps a year of cumming on command
to Marcie's lovemaking had programmed me to respond more quickly,
I don't know.  My eyes were closed, and all I really remember is
the overpowering weight of her on me, being pounded mercilessly
down onto Carl and Freddie, and finally ejaculating without any
sensation of pleasure at all.  When, thankfully, it was finally
over, she must have been satisfied, for she rose off us, leaving
us sprawled in a heap together, naked, on the ground.
     All this time I had been vaguely aware of the noise around
me, my buddies sobbing and the girls urging them on, but now I
was hearing only obscure moans and whimperings and the girls,
suddenly all in one area, laughing uproariously.  I managed to
push myself away from Carl and Freddie, who were barely stirring,
and look in the direction of the laughter, and I recoiled in
horror.  Margo was on her back with poor Tommy trapped between
her legs, his tiny body looking almost toylike between her mas-
sive thighs, his face buried in her cleft, and was working him
furiously while she held Steve and Benny prisoner in either arm,
pressing them against her chest and forcing them to suckle her
bare breasts!  She was writhing in ecstasy while the other three
girls stood around her watching and urging her on.
     "Atta girl, Margo!" I heard Sheila roar.  "If the little
bastard can't satisfy you with his dick, make 'im do it with his
nose!"
     I couldn't watch.  I could barely move, but I managed to
roll over, away from that terrible scene, and cover my eyes and
ears with my arm.  It was too much.  Like the others, I began to
cry.
     At last, after God knows how long, they were finished with
us.  I heard them walking around us, still laughing while they
put their clothes back on and prodding us with their toes.  And
as they strolled back to their car, Margo called back to us, "Now
remember, next time you guys have a party, don't forget to invite
us!"
     Then they were gone.
     I don't know how much longer we laid there, sobbing with
pain and humiliation.  When we were finally able to move enough
to get dressed, we couldn't look at each other.  Tommy's clothes
were in shreds, and Freddie eventually went into the house to
find him a T-shirt and shorts to wear home.  For a long time
after that we sat around in silence, staring at the ground.
     Then Carl said, his voice trembling almost to the breaking
point, "I don't want to live with this any more..."
     None of us answered him.  None of us could.  But I think we
all knew in that minute what we were going to do.
     It's been a month and a half since that awful day.  It's
taken us that long to work up the courage, I guess, to do this
thing.  And, as I said at the beginning, everyone wanted me to
make a record of why we believed we have to do it.  It's taken me
a couple of weeks to write this, and each of the guys have
written sealed notes to their parents that will go in the envelope 
with what I've written.
     Dad, Mom, this part is for you.  I'm sorry.  I really am. 
But, like the rest of the guys, I just can't take any more of
this.  Maybe if I could, maybe if we all could, in a few years
life would get better for us, I don't know.  We just can't wait
to find out.  We can't live with the shame of what we've become. 
Susie, remember me and try to understand why I'm doing this--maybe 
it'll help you deal with what you've become.
     Heather, don't feel guilty, please.  If all the girls were
like you, none of us would be doing this.
     All the guys will sign this, and Steve will take it down to
the mailbox to mail it to my home.  When he gets back, we'll all
go into Freddie's garage and close all the doors.  His parents
are out for the afternoon, but one of their cars is here, and
Freddie has a key.  He'll turn on the engine, and we'll all sit
around and wait for the end.  By the time his parents get home,
it will all be over, thank God...

                          *     *     *

     There were twelve signatures at the end of the document.  It
was dated a month ago.
     I sat for several minutes staring at the signatures.  None
of the names were familiar to me; there had not been a word in
any of the media about a mass, teenage suicide, but from my
father-in-law's description of the demeanor of the man who had
given him the package, I knew it had to have happened.  And I
also knew that we--all of us, Mona, Amanda, my father-in-law and
I--were as responsible for those tragic deaths as if we had been
there and started the engine ourselves.
     Mona and Amanda came downstairs from my father-in-law's
room.  Both looked worried.
     "How is he?" I asked.
     "Asleep, finally.  I've never seen him like this before,"
Mona muttered.  "What was in that package?"
     I handed her the manuscript.  "Read it," I said.  "I think
you'll understand."  I started to leave the room.
     "Where are you going?" Amanda asked.
     "I've got things to do.  When you read that, you'll know
what."
     I went into the study and got the Orange County telephone
book.  There were seventeen Daniel Curtis's in the book.  I
started calling, asking each if they were the parents of the late
Michael Curtis.  Finally a woman answered with a dull, "Who is
this?"  I told her who I was and asked her if she were Evelyn
Curtis.  She said she was.
     "Mrs. Curtis," I said, "your husband gave my father-in-law
the manuscript your son wrote before he died.  I just finished
reading it.  I--I can't tell you how sorry I am.  But I promise
you this, and I'd ask that you tell those other boys' parents as
well, that I'm as responsible as anyone for their deaths, and I'm
going to do something about it.  I'm not going to let their
deaths be in vain."
     "What can you possibly do now?  It's too late.  You never
should have opened up the program to begin with!"
     "I know that.  It was a terrible mistake, an honest one, but
still a mistake.  I know I can't repair the damage that's already
been done, but maybe I can help stop any more tragedies like this
from happening."  A germ of an idea had begun to form in my mind. 
I went on, "But first I need you to answer a question.  Why was
this never reported in the newspapers or on television?  Did you
or any of the other parents ask that it not be released to the
media?"
     "Of course not!  The school board and school administration,
the police and the press and TV made that decision jointly.  We
didn't have anything to say about it.  It's generally known
around the county, of course, but it was never formally reported."
     That figured.  I knew that SuperFem women controlled almost
everything in Orange County.  They wouldn't want this sort of
story to get out.  "Would you or any of the other parents to your
knowledge have any objection to any publicity at this point?" I
asked.
     There was a moment's silence on the line.  Then, "No, I
don't think our family would.  I can't speak for the other
families.  Why?  What do you want to do?"
     I took a deep breath.  "I think," I said slowly, "that if a
motion picture were made based on Michael's story, using real
names, showing everything, holding nothing back, and it were
distributed free to every high school, college, every organization 
that we could think of, maybe even shown free in theaters,
some--maybe even most or all--of these girls might stop and think
about what they're doing.  It just might do some good."
     "Could--could you do that?  It would cost a fortune!"
     I bit my lip.  "I think we owe you at least that much, Mrs.
Curtis, you and the other families, and a lot more besides.  Will
you check with the others and get back to me on this?  I can't do
anything unless all of you agree."
     "I will, of course."  There was another moment of silence. 
"Mr Fuller, I understand that Mrs. Fuller and her daughter
control the management of the gyms.  Have they agreed to this?"
     I smiled thinly.  "To be honest with you," I said, "I
haven't discussed it with them yet, but I guarantee you, if you
all do, they will."
     I gave her our telephone number, hung up, called our Beverly
Hills gym and asked to speak to the manager.  When she came on
the line, I told her who I was and asked her for a list of the
top Hollywood producers who, or whose wives, were members of her
gym.  It took her several minutes, but she got back to me with a
dozen names and office and home telephone numbers.  Three of them
I recognized immediately as men who had been openly critical of
our decision to make SuperFem available to teenagers.  It was
getting late in the afternoon, but I the office of one of them
anyway and got his secretary.  After identifying myself, I asked
for an appointment to discuss financing a movie and got one for
the following day.
     I went back into the family room.  Mona and Amanda were just
finishing the manuscript.  They both had looks of horror on their
faces, and there were tears in their eyes.  "My God!" Amanda
whispered.  "No wonder Daddy was so upset!  I never thought it
would come to anything like this.  Did they really do it?  I
didn't see anything in the news about it."
     "I just talked to Michael's mother," I replied shortly. 
"They did.  Your precious SuperFems at the school, on the police
force and in the media kept it out of the news.  Afraid it might
give other boys ideas, I guess."
     Mona shook her head.  "It's so sad!  Those poor boys!  You
were right, Darrell.  We never should have expanded the program
the way we did."
     "There's nothing we can do about that, now," I said.  "We
did it, and I'm as responsible as any of us for what's happened
as a result.  I didn't fight your decision as hard as I could
have, should have, and in the end I went along with it.  Reluc-
tantly, but I still went along.  We can't change the past, but I
think there is something we can do to try to help the future."
     "What's that?"
     I told them about my idea and what I'd done to begin imple-
menting it.  "I think we need the best we can get in Hollywood to
make sure this thing gets done right," I said.  "I want a movie
that will have such a tremendous emotional impact on these girls
that they'll never want to do anything like this again!  To get
that kind of impact is going to cost a bundle, and we're not
going to make a dime from it.  But we've made a fortune off this
program, and the money's still rolling in faster than we can
count it.  I think we owe it to the world to do whatever we can
to stop this steamroller we've created from going any further!"
     Amanda frowned.  "Do you really think that will do any
good?" she asked.
     "I think it might.  But, more important, I know we have to
try.  For our own peace of mind, if for no other reason."  I
thought a minute.  "There is something else, too, that's been
bothering me for several months, something we should have looked
at before we expanded the program.  I didn't think of it back
then, I don't think any of us did, and we should have."  They
looked at me curiously, but said nothing, and I continued. 
"Look, we've known all along that a side effect that SuperFem has
on mature females is a heightened, more aggressive sex drive,
even though we could never find a purely scientific explanation
for it.  I think we all just assumed it was a natural outgrowth
of such a fantastic increase in size and strength.  But suppose
there's something else, that SuperFem creates some kind of chemi-
cal reaction in the body that produces this effect.  Isn't it
conceivable, even probable, that this effect would be magnified
many times in a young girl only recently out of puberty, when her
sex drive is probably the strongest?  That would explain a lot of
what's been happening with these girls!  And if that's true,
isn't it possible that the people who developed this stuff might
be able to find some kind of antidote, something that would
counteract it, bring their sex drives back to where they would be
normally at that age?"
     "My God!" Mona gasped.  "Do you honestly believe...?"
     "Hell, I don't know.  I'm no scientist.  But I think we owe
it to the world--and to ourselves--to do everything we can to try
to find out."
     The two women looked at each other blankly, but I could see
what was going through their minds.  If my hypothesis was right,
we had been guilty of unleashing the equivalent of hundreds of
millions of Frankenstein monsters on the world!
     "I'll get in touch with the company right away," Mona said.
     "What about the movie?" I asked.  "I have an appointment to
discuss it with a producer tomorrow.  If Evelyn Curtis gives me
the green light, I'll want to go forward with it as quickly as
possible."
     "Do you have any idea of the cost involved?"
     "Only a very general one, but we should be able to handle
it.  We might have to tighten our belts here and there for a
while, but it seems to me that's a pretty small price to pay.  In
any event, I should have a better idea after tomorrow."
     Mona and Amanda looked at each other again and nodded.  "Do
it!" Mona said.

                          *     *     *

     We got the approvals of the boys' families for the movie in
less than a week and started work immediately.  Finishing it went
much faster than I'd expected, primarily because everyone in-
volved was enthusiastic about the project.  We had Hollywood's
top talent, and the result was a two hour long gem that told the
boys' stories strictly from their perspective, held nothing back
and was ready to go in six months.  As I'd expected, funding it
put a major dent in our assets, but it was worth it, and we
survived.  We printed hundreds of thousands of copies in dozens
of languages for distribution all over the world.  As the producer 
told me after the initial viewing, "When this thing hits,
we'd better have the arks ready, because I think we're going to
have another Great Flood--this one of SuperFem tears!"
     On the other front, although we hadn't known it, the scientists 
at the company which had developed the formula were way
ahead of us; they had seen what was happening, had reached the
same conclusion I had and had been working on the problem for
almost a year when Mona called.  They had already isolated an
obscure hormone they hadn't seen before which was being generated
in almost microscopic quantities by the interaction between the
formula and one of the estrogens and which they suspected was the
culprit.  Within a few months they had developed and tested a
pill that suppressed the formation of the hormone without in any
way detracting from the other effects of the formula.  We immedi-
ately put it into all of our gyms with instructions to ensure
that it was taken regularly by all SuperFem females under the age
of twenty-two who were into or had finished the program.  By the
time the movie was released, we were already seeing evidence that
the pill was working exactly the way it was intended.
     The combination of the movie and the pill had a devastating
impact on high school and college age girls all over the world. 
Almost without exception, they left the movie in tears, and
overnight we began seeing attitudes toward males, now clearly and
uniformly the weaker sex, change from condescension, disdain and
sexual emasculation to an affection and protectivism that came
close to being parental in nature.  Many girls were horrified at
some of the things they had done, and we made sure our gyms were
equipped to provide whatever psychological counseling was required 
to convince them that their actions were not entirely
their fault, but rather a natural outgrowth of what had happened
to their bodies.  And, of course, there were the inevitable
lawsuits against us by families of victimized boys, all of which
we settled quietly out of court.  But the families of Michael
Curtis and his friends, the "Dirty Dozen", refused to sue, even
though we felt they probably had the best grounds of anyone. 
Instead, we all actually became good friends.
     Over the next year Mona was offered countless awards by
private and governmental organizations for her actions in rectifying 
the problems the expanded SuperFem program had created.  At
first she refused to accept them on the basis that she had
created those problems in the first place, but finally relented
on the condition that the award be made to the Physical Woman
Corporation, not to her personally.  I'll never forget her simple
acceptance of the first award.
     "I'm accepting this award only in my capacity as Chief
Executive Officer of the Corporation," she said quietly, "on
behalf of all our employees who worked so hard to solve the
problems which we ourselves created by our decision to make
SuperFem available to high school and college age girls.  And
most of all, on behalf of my husband and son-in-law, who opposed
that decision so strongly until more research was done and who in
the end were proved right.  But I must tell you that, if any
single person or group of persons should receive this award, it
should be my son-in-law, Darrell and the scientists who developed
the formula in the first place.  While Amanda and I were wringing
our hands and wondering what to do, it was Darrell who came up
with and implemented the idea to make the movie, and it was the
scientists who developed the formula, all men, as well as
Darrell, who first conceived the notion that SuperFem might be
creating a hormonal problem which caused these teenage girls to
act the way they did, and it was the scientists who found the
solution.  It is to these men, not me, that all of you--and I--
owe our thanks."
     And, of course, these same scientists continued their ef-
forts to find a formula which would have the same effect on men
as SuperFem had on women.
     But they never did.

                               -30-