Megan Muscles
By Moxie
A young boy remembers growing up with his mega-muscular, superhuman little sister


(Like Little Ample Annie, but without the beatings)

By Moxie (moxie222@yahoo.com)

Last Updated: 11/3/05

Chapter 1

"Charlotte, don't shut me out," Wayne exhorted, "please, tell me."

But Charlotte just continued to stare silently out the window into the rain,
her hand holding back the laced curtains.

"Char, I don't know what to say. Do we even know where she comes from? Are we
sure someone's not looking for her? I..." Wayne began to say.

"Wayne, I just can't tell you, and that's it. I made a promise to someone,
and...we have a...a duty," she interrupted, "maybe some day I can tell you,
but not today. It will have to be a day of my choosing, when the time is
right. In the meantime, don't let this become a wedge between us, we must
raise her as our own..."

They were talking about the arrival of who would become my little sister,
Megan. The only thing is Mom wasn't pregnant. Somehow, Megan had
just...arrived. It never was clear to me how that happened, and no one spoke
of it. But Mom and Dad eventually did adopt her and raise her.

To say Megan was an extraordinary girl is like saying a thermonuclear warhead
is just a bomb. She was always different, even as a baby. But the older she
got, the more pronounced the differences became.

No one in the family was quite sure when Megan, the youngest child, first
began to exhibit her extraordinary strength. I pretty much remember her always
being that way.

I remember once when we'd returned from vacation, Dad asked me to go unload
the suitcases from the car. I was about 10, and fairly strong because of my
participation in athletics and martial arts. So I ran down to the station
wagon and swung the door open wide. There were three large suitcases piled
neatly into the back, and two more standing alongside. I grabbed the handle of
the one on top and tugged. It barely moved at all. I braced my foot on the
bumper and gave a harder pull. Still barely nothing.

"Hey Johnnie, want some help?" I heard from behind me.

I turned to see my little sister, Megan, who would have been about 7 years
old. She was a thick, stout little girl, even at this age. Although she didn't
have great muscular definition yet, it was clear that she was forming some big
muscles and was probably very strong.

"No, thanks I've got it," I boasted, "Dad asked me to help him out." I turned
and gave one more pull, this time with both hands and as hard as I could. The
suitcase slid forward slightly, but the roller on one side caught the inside
edge of the car door frame to hold it fast, and I clearly wasn't in control of
it. I started to huff from the exertion.

I felt Megan's hand on my shoulder as she literally powered me aside with one
hand, "here, let me give it a try."

She placed her hands around the bottom of the three large cases and gracefully
lifted all three off the back floor of the station wagon at one time and
gently lifted them out of the rear hatch. The rear end of the station wagon
raised up a few inches as the vehicle was relieved of the weight. She stood
there holding them in front of her so easily, with no strain, and cheerfully
offered, "See? With my muscles, they're not heavy at all."

Now, I know my family's penchant for not traveling light, and we'd been gone
for a long trip. So I'd guess each of the three suitcases probably weighed
over a hundred pounds. And yet, my 7 year old sister was holding all three in
her outstretched arms as if that weight was nothing. She turned and easily
carried all three into the house and then returned a minute later for the
other two.

Looking back, I really wasn't surprised at what she did. I instinctively knew
Megan was a lot stronger than me, but I'm sure I never thought about just how
much stronger she really was. She handled those 300 pounds of luggage as if
they weighed nothing, and she obviously could have handled a whole lot more
weight, even back then. And, as strong as she was then, that was nothing
compared to what she would soon become.

I remember a couple years after that, Megan must have been 9 years old, when
she got sick. Now, Megan had always been the picture of health and never sick
a day in her life, until this mysterious ailment hit her.

She came down with a fever that just wouldn't go away. It was pretty high,
too. I remember Mom looking at the thermometer in disbelief and muttering
under her breath, "105?" My guess is it eventually went a lot higher than
that. They put Megan into a bathtub of cool water to lower her basal
temperature, but it didn't seem to work. They kept hastily running up and down
the stairs bringing buckets of ice from the refrigerator to cool down the tub
water, but it quickly warmed up, melting in a matter of minutes, no matter how
much ice they added.

I remember that Mom and Dad were frantic, and at one stage I had gone upstairs
because I was concerned, too. When the bathroom door opened, I was able to see
my sister Megan lying back in the tub of water. Her eyes were closed. Maybe
she was even unconscious, I don't know. She was so hot that there were
tendrils of steam rising off the bathwater, and the bathroom mirrors were all
fogged up. I could even see small bubbles rising up in the water before they
quickly closed the bathroom door and ushered me back to my room.

Looking back, I guess it's curious that Mom and Dad never did call a doctor.
After about three days, the fever broke, and Megan was feeling better again.
Better, but not normal, not even for her.

She awoke from her fever with such a voracious appetite that no matter how
much she ate, she asked for more. I think she ate more in those next two days
than our whole family ate in a month. It seemed as if her body hadn't eaten
for weeks. What I believe was happening in actuality was that her body was
increasing its intake to fuel the furious growth that was just beginning. Over
the next few months, my little sister's body changed from being strong and
stout to being outrageously muscular. She lost her baby fat – nearly all body
fat, in fact – as her body became buffed and cut. At the same time, her
muscles began to grow and thicken, until they reached what many people would
call freakish proportions. But I sure didn't mind. Imagine a 10 year old girl
that was 55 inches tall with 30-inch biceps whose knot of a biceps muscle was
far bigger than a grapefruit and tree-trunk thighs bigger than a grown man's.

Mom tried to hide Megan's burgeoning muscles by dressing her in loose-fitting
clothes. The only problem with that was that there were few clothes big enough
to be loose fitting over muscles that big, which seemed to get even larger
each day.

Along with the incredible muscle size came a dramatic increase in strength.
While she was probably as strong as 10 grown men before the fever, her
strength now had grown to several hundred times that. In the span of just a
few months, the virus – or whatever it was that caused her fever – seemed to
change her body in a very fundamental way. It seemed like practically
overnight, my sister had ascended beyond homo sapiens, mutating into a
superhuman, hyper-muscular, mesomorph behemoth. And every night I fell on my
knees and I thanked God for that.

Chapter 2

Megan's dramatic changes soon became the talk of the town.

At school in P.E. they did testing for basic physical fitness, and Megan got
an A++, to say the least. She did 300 sit-ups in 60 seconds – she literally
was a blur by completing 5 sit-ups per second - but her 8-pack brick wall abs
barely looked pumped. They tested her on pull-ups and she did 500 one-handed
pull ups in 5 minutes – they had to stop counting because she looked like she
could have easily continued all day. Then, she completed the mile run in a
minute flat – and wasn't even out of breath. Finally, it wasn't part of the
test, but she started doing one-handed push-ups with a couple of the boys
sitting on her back. She got to 100 and the P.E. Teacher said that was enough,
but we all knew could have kept it up with all day.

Eventually, Mom had to start home-schooling Megan because of all the adverse
attention she was attracting at school. Because of the home-schooling, Mom and
Dad decided to enroll Megan in Brownies so she could get some opportunities
for socialization with kids her own age. Mom dressed Megan in a baggy
sweatshirt and some long shorts in an attempt to cover up her muscular body.
However, even this innocent activity was problematic.

At the Brownie Father-Daughter picnic, they served the dads and daughters a
lunch of hamburgers and hotdogs. After lunch, they started doing relay races.
They did the sack race, the egg-on-spoon race, and several others. Needless to
say, Megan won every event with her enhanced balance and coordination.

Then, it came time for the tug of war. First, they divided the girls into
teams two (this time Megan sat out) and had a little tournament. Then, the
fathers had a tug of war, with 30 men on each side of the rope. There was a
cheer as one side finally succumbed to the other.

When they were done, the men dropped the rope and began making the rounds
shaking hands. Suddenly, the rumble of their "good game" wishes was
interrupted by a relatively louder voice, "Well, gentlemen, would you care to
give it another try?"

They turned to see Megan holding one end of the rope. She had stripped off her
sweat suit, and it was now plainly visible just how buffed and powerful she
was. She was dressed in a pair of short-shorts that accentuated the large
flared slabs of her muscular thighs, a bikini top, and tennis shoes. At 10
years old, she didn't have boobs yet, but there was clearly a three-inch deep
muscle cleavage between her pectoral muscles, and her abs looked like a brick
wall. Her upper body had a dramatic V shape, with broad shoulders, a narrow
waist, and thick thighs. She flexed one arm, and it erupted in a 30-inch mound
of female power. "I'll take on the winning team," she smiled confidently, "if
you think the 30 of you can handle me! Tell you what, I'll just use one arm to
help keep it fair, okay?"

There was an uncomfortable buzz among the fathers as they joked nervously
about the sight of the young muscle girl challenging them. But Megan was not
to be dissuaded, "I tell you what, I'll take on both teams, all 60 of you, and
still only use one hand." The rest of the Brownies all cheered, and the men
felt pressured into the challenge.

The men all took their places and Megan held the end of the rope in her one
hand. The rope was pulled taut and Megan bent her arm at the elbow, causing
her biceps muscle to bunch up. "One...two...THREE!" the starter shouted, and
the men all yanked on the rope with a grunt. To everyone's surprise (except
Megan and her Dad), Megan calmly held the rope in place, easily offsetting the
pull from the 60 grown men with just one hand. The red handkerchief hanging in
the middle of the rope did not budge one inch. Megan put her free hand on her
hip, and appeared to be offsetting the combined effort of all 60 men with just
a casual flex of her fat biceps muscle.

The contest continued for almost a minute, and the men were in disbelief just
how powerful the young muscle girl was. The girls cheered and giggled at their
Dads' inability to overpower their friend.

"Well, I guess we all see what a little girl power can do, don't we, girls?"
Megan said as she raised her free hand to flex the biceps on her free arm. It
was enormous, and towered above her arm. She flexed it and relaxed it, teasing
every possible bit of expansion out of the swollen mass until eventually a
thick vein was visible. There was a collective gasp from the rest of the
parents and kids as it became obvious that her free hand was being flexed so
much harder than the arm holding the rope. Some of the fathers participating
in the tug of war also noticed how much bigger that one biceps was and knew
they were hopelessly overpowered.

As the fathers' hands slid down the sweat-soaked rope, the guy at the back
fell off. He took it upon himself to become cheerleader and coxswain, running
up and down the line shouting encouragements, "PULL!...PULL!...PULL!" But
every time they heaved on the line, the rope met an immovable force: the
overpowering brute force of one of Megan's biceps. Despite their yanking, she
didn't sway at all in response to their heaves. Another minute went by, and
the fathers were now grunting and red in the face.

Eventually, Megan announced to the crowd, "Okay, I'm going to end this before
they all have heart attacks!" She pulled hand over hand and effortlessly
pulled the rope with all 60 men in tow. When the ones in front fell to the
ground, she pulled the men behind them on top of them until there was a large
pile of fathers splayed on the ground at her feet.

"THE WINNER!" the starter said as she held up Megan's thick, powerful arm.

Megan's Dad ran to her, not believing what he'd just seen. He knelt down in
front of her, "Megs, how did you do that, sweetie?

"Easy, Daddy, I'm a lot stronger than you know. All those big men together
still aren't nearly as strong as just one of my arms. In fact, I could have
beaten a whole lot more," she said smiling.

"I'm tired of trying to hide my muscles, and I like being big and strong, see
Daddy? I feel like Supergirl," she said. She proudly raised both arms in a
double biceps flex, and her two upper arms literally erupted into large
grapefruit-sized balls of writhing muscle. Each ball of muscle was well
formed, with the split between the two heads clearly present, and some
feathering of the underlying muscle tissue with spidery blue veins were
plainly visible. Dad reached up in awe to cup each one with his hands. They
more than filled his hands as he tried to squeeze them. He told me later they
were large and hard as granite, but warm.

The pile of fathers still splayed on the ground recovering from the tug of war
against Megan were all spellbound by her muscular display. Dad rushed Megan
into the car and brought her home.

On the drive home, Dad thought about what had happened. He realized that with
Megan's murky past, he had no idea how she was capable of doing what she'd
done. The superhuman capabilities she was exhibiting were truly astounding,
and yet somehow not unexpected. But looking out of the corner of his eye at
the powerful shoulders, arms, and thighs on the muscle girl sitting next to
him, he sensed he had significantly underestimated her true abilities, and
might never understand their true extent. But he committed himself to helping
her develop them to the fullest. He also somehow instinctively knew this was
only the beginning of her development. Just then, they pulled up in front of
their house.

"Megan," her father asked, "I realize you're very strong, in fact, looking at
you, it's very obvious. But what I don't understand is why all those men in
the tug of war didn't pull you off your feet. You weren't bracing against
anything. I can believe that in a pure contest of strength, you'd come out on
top. But how did you maintain your balance and just stand there?"

"I don't know, Daddy," she answered, "I just used my sticking power to stay
right there."

"Sticking power?" her Dad muttered. He reached out with both hands and pushed
her shoulders with all his might, but she was as still as a statue. She stood
just as relaxed as before, with both hands on her hips, as her father pushed
with all his might. With one final shove, he actually pushed himself back away
from her.

He ran to the car and popped the trunk. He pulled out a strand of rope and
tied it to the towing hitch on the back of the car, and gave Megan the other
end.

"Here," he said, "try to use your sticking power again. Let's see how powerful
it is."

Dad got in and started the engine. Just as with the tug of war, Megan held the
rope with one hand and put her other hand on her hip. He idled forward and the
rope pulled taut. Megan just stood there smiling, somehow knowing that her
sticking power was more than up to the task.

"Okay, here I go, honey," he yelled out the window, "I'll start slow at first,
but then gradually build it up. Just do the best you can, and when it pulls
too hard, just let go of the rope."

Megan just grinned knowingly.

Dad gently pushed on the accelerator, and the car struggled against Megan, but
she didn't move a bit. The tachometer climbed to 1500, and Dad looked in the
mirror to be sure she was still okay. The tachometer hit 2000, and Megan still
held the car in place. Dad pressed on the accelerator more aggressively. At
2500, the tires began to spin on the pavement, and Megan still held the car
effortlessly in place with just one hand. Dad couldn't believe it, and floored
it. The tachometer climbed to 6500 as thick clouds of black smoke billowed
from the screeching tires. It looked and sounded like the warm-ups for a drag
race where the top fuel dragsters smoke their tires, but still the car was
held fast.

Seeing how easily she single handedly opposed the car, Dad could easily
understand how she'd won the tug of war. He put the car back in park and
turned it off.

"Megan," he said as he walked back to her, "that was amazing, honey, truly
amazing. Did you know you could do that?

"Well, I guess so, yeah," she said, "I mean, I've never done that before, but
I did somehow know I could do it."

"You know, being able to stick in place like that is sort of an ability to
fly. Have you tried to fly, or even float?"

"Yeah, I don't know how to fly, but it seems like I should be able to," she
said.

"And darling, I had no idea you were getting that strong, either," Dad said.

"Oh, yeah, I'm getting stronger every day," she said, "in fact, I'd like to
start lifting some weights, Daddy, so I can get even bigger and even stronger.
Will you get me some? Please?"

He nodded, and promised her. He knew this was a commitment he had to keep to
help her realize her full potential, whatever that was. He also knew that it
would have to be a very special weight set, indeed, based on what he'd just
witnessed.

>>From that day on, Megan was no longer concerned with wearing sweats to hide
her muscles. It was very clear that she loved her muscles and her strength,
loved flexing her muscles for others, and loved using her strength.

The very next day a large delivery truck arrived with Megan's new weight set.
Dad purchased an "Olympic Style" set, with four 25 kg disks, four 20kg disks,
four 15 kg disks, two 10 kg disks, and two 5 kg disks. It was a total of 270
kg, or just under 600 pounds. For the average world class weightlifter, this
would have been more than enough. However, based on what he'd seen his young
daughter do, this would barely make her break a sweat. So he also bought forty
100 kg disks to supplement the set, and bringing the total up to just less
than 9500 lbs. Four and three-quarter tons - it took several large men and a
forklift to offload it into the garage.

Dad was signing the acceptance paperwork with the deliver men while Megan was
setting up the weights inside the garage. When he returned to the garage, she
had every one of the disks, including all forty 100kg disks, loaded onto the
bar and was locking the collars.

"Hey Daddy, watch this," Megan said gleefully, as she smoothly snatched the
9500 lb. bar off the ground and rested it across her broad shoulders. The bar
dipped down on each end due to the extreme weight. Then she repositioned her
grip and began to do presses with it. Dad gulped as he realized the entire
weight set he had just purchased was no more than a warm-up barbell for his
superhuman little titan.

"Hey Daddy, when are the men going to bring the rest of the weights?" she
asked innocently as four and a three-quarter tons of iron pumped smoothly up
and down, "I need a whole lot more than this."

Dad was dumbfounded, and went inside to order more weights.

I had been waiting in the wings and watching. I couldn't believe how strong my
little sister had gotten, practically overnight. And those steely, bulging
muscles were incredible, they actually turned me on a lot, even though she was
my little sister.

Chapter 3

Two years passed since that day. Megan was now 12 and I was 15. And, it was a
very hard two years.

Living in a house with Megan just down the hall made my life miserable, and
also a dream come true. For me to live just down the hall from the epitome of
femuscle was like being a kid in a candy store. However, imagine that kid
peeking in the window at all that candy had no change in his pocket. After
seeing all the wondrous confections that existed, he found that they were
untouchable or just beyond his reach. That is the dilemma that I lived with
each day.

I had always been turned on by big muscled women, and Megan's muscles were far
bigger than any I'd ever seen – on either a woman OR a man! Her unflexed
muscles were so big they bulged out all over her body. However, to be so
attracted to my little sister was not something I wanted to get out because it
was obviously so taboo. So I hid the way I felt from everyone. However, the
one person I couldn't hide my true feelings from was Megan. She seemed to
instinctively know that I fixated on her every move – the way her muscles
bulged and rippled, swelled and jumped. She seemed to enjoy it, and had become
quite a muscle tease.

I barely slept at night. No matter what I tried, the image of my little
sister's amazing body was burned into my brain. When I tried to count sheep,
the incrementing numbers that I counted made me imagine Megan counting as she
effortlessly lifted some enormous barbell for reps. And all I needed was to
picture her for two or three reps and I had a raging hard-on. Sleep came in
short, exhausted bouts between feverish spurts of arousal.

Eventually, the sun would rise and I'd start another day, pretending to be
concerned with school, sports, girls, my friends, and other teenager boy
things. Pretending to be concerned about those things, but all the while I was
only concerned with Megan – she was all I wanted to be concerned with. She was
the focus of my being, and my secret passion. To have her so near and yet so
untouchable was a situation that caused me nothing but pain and longing, and
seemed to have no end in sight. I was a prisoner of my own muscle lust with no
hope of escape. I was possessed by visions of my muscle-bound sister. And I
was losing hope that I would ever earn the right to be with her, or learn how
to live without her.

On one particular morning the sun started to rise and I went down to the
kitchen to have some Cheerios, as I did on most mornings. I felt sort of
relieved to have the kitchen to myself and have a few quiet moments to
consider my situation. How the hell was I going to survive in this state of
perpetual arousal? I was nearly 3 years older than her 12 years – it was so
embarrassing – but God help me she was such a goddess to me. It was
embarrassing to feel that turned on by my own sister, and yet it was obvious
we weren't blood relations. I'd only had a couple spoonfuls when Megan came
bounding down the stairs four at a time.

She was a vision. She was wearing cut-off jeans and a bikini top, leaving all
her rippling and bulging muscles visible for my enjoyment. Schwing! I froze as
she bounced into the kitchen. She looked even more buffed than the day before,
if that was possible. Her thick, powerful thighs - each one bigger than my
waist - swept upward to the muscular curves of her curvy hips and rounded ass,
and then inward to a petite waist before expanding outward again in an
exaggerated V to her broad shoulders. Her golden blonde hair was pulled back
in a pony tail, and there were a few bangs dangling across her face because
she parted her hair on the side. Her eyes practically glowed with a light blue
hue. And it was amazing to me that her skin always had such a golden tan
because she didn't spend a lot of time lying out. But who cared, it looked
great, and there was usually so much of her skin showing.

She was more muscular than anything I had ever dreamed of. Her shoulders were
probably nearly three feet wide, capped off by large deltoids and biceps that
bulged to 20 inches before she even started flexing them. There were thick
pectoral muscles on her chest, and the beginnings of little breasts starting
to develop. Her abs were shredded and defined, like the rest of her. Her
calves...her thighs...in fact, all of her muscles, proportionately speaking,
belonged on someone 30 feet tall.

Everything about her was just so erotic to me – she was the ultimate muscle
babe, despite being only 12 years old. I looked at her delicate little hands
with red nail polish, and thought about all the power that channeled through
them. She was barefoot, and I noticed that her toenails had been painted the
same red. Gawd, even her feet looked beautiful.

She opened the refrigerator door and stared inside. When she bent over at the
waist to see into the lower shelves, it was like a pose from some Playboy
magazine as her unbelievable rounded ass stuck out for my gawking eyes. I
sighed in approval and she turned around to make a face at me, rolling her
eyes. To avoid posing for my ogling eyes again, she grasped the refrigerator
on each side of the door frame and smoothly lifted it off the ground so the
lower shelves were at her eye level. Our 24 cubic foot Amana refrigerator
looked weightless to her powerful arms, as if she was lifting a large piece of
Styrofoam. The muscles in her shoulders, arms, back, and thighs bulged into
huge cuts as she casually held it straight-armed in front of her, and I tried
to imagine what those muscles felt like.

A minute later, she gently set the refrigerator back down and opened the
orange juice carton, tipping it over her head as she gulped some of it down.
Then, she put it back inside and shut the refrigerator door.

She turned to face me and flexed both biceps, causing balls bigger than
cantaloupes to erupt from her upper arms, "Mmmm, I just love being this big
and strong. Isn't it cool, Johnnie?" She turned her head to each side as she
kissed the rotund, bulbous biceps on each arm.

"Cool?" I thought silently to myself, "COOL? That's hardly the word that comes
to mind. How about erotic? Or orgasmic?" I started to cough and it felt like a
Cheerio would come out my nose.

She put her hands on her hips like Supergirl and looked at me. "Johnnie, we
need to have a talk. I know how you look at me all the time, and I think I
know how you feel about my muscles, and I want you to know I think it's okay.
I know you can't help it – what young guy could? - and in fact, uh, I honestly
think it's nice. I like it when you watch me flex my big muscles. I want to
show you how strong I am, and I want you to like my body. I've always looked
up to you, and I'm just glad that you don't think I'm a...a freak. "

Somehow, I felt threatened for being outed but also tremendously relieved at
the same time, "A freak? Megs, I definitely don't think you're a freak. In
fact, I think you're...uh...well, I think you're hot. Really, really hot."

Megan smiled demurely and whispered, "Really? Thanks. But you're sure it
doesn't intimidate you at all that I can do this?" She grabbed a handful of my
T-shirt and smoothly hoisted my weightless body over her head with one hand,
my feet dangling above the tiled floor.

"Nope, that's the part I really love," I confessed.

"Yeah, I can see that," she said smiling as she eyed my bulging crotch that
was now at her eye level.

"I'll tell you what. Could you help me with my workout?" she asked as she set
me back down.

"Me?" I asked incredulously, "You bet!"

She left the kitchen and I followed her, mesmerized by her incredibly cute ass
and the way the muscles in her legs bunched when she walked. Despite being so
powerful looking and probably weighing over 250 pounds, she walked with
remarkable grace, and practically looked like her feet floated above the
ground.

We walked to the garage where Dad had set up Megan's weights. He had obtained
several thousand more pounds of weights, so there was enough iron in our
garage to start a steel mill. I looked around marveling that my little sister
would rather play with this tremendous amount of iron, than with a doll.

"First of all, could you check some of my measurements?" she asked as she
pulled a measuring tape out of a drawer.

"You're kidding, right?" I asked incredulously.

"Nope, I'm serious, I think I've gained a little size in the past few weeks,
and I like to keep track of that. And besides," she smirked, "I thought you
might enjoy it, too."

She stepped over close to where I stood and as I looked down on her due to my
height advantage I realized for the first time how broad her shoulders and
traps were, how thick her torso was. There was absolutely no way she could see
her feet, but this was solely because of her hyper-muscular upper torso and
not because of her breasts (she didn't really have any yet). In an odd way, it
was also the first time I realized how beautiful her face was. I just had
never noticed her face because it was so overshadowed by her physique. She
smiled and raised both arms in a glorious double biceps flex, "why don't you
start with these."

I normally didn't get this close to her, despite living in the same house and
everything. As arousing it was for me to just be so near her, to see her
biceps up that close gave me an instant boner. I almost felt faint as all the
blood rushed to one place. They weren't guns, they were howitzers - the
biggest biceps I had ever seen. I was speechless, and my hands were shaking a
little as I tried to wrap the measuring tape up over the peak of her massive
upper arm. My eyes opened wide like saucers because it took so much of the
tape – inch after inch of the loose end kept running through my fingers as I
reeled it out and wrapped it up and over the mountain on her upper arm - her
arm was bigger around than either my waist or my chest. Her skin was pulled so
taut and was paper-thin (like the rest of her body); she was incredibly ripped
and there was faint feathering of the swollen muscular tissues underlying the
surface of the skin. "It's 31 inches," I croaked, my voice was barely audible
because of my cottonmouth.

"I knew it. I've gained another inch. No matter I do, whether I work out or
not, I just keep getting bigger and more muscular, and stronger and stronger.
<Pause> It's okay sweetie, go ahead and touch it. We both know you want to,"
she offered one arm to me, smiling.

Speechless, I dropped the tape and raised my hands to behold the enormous hunk
of muscle. With one hand, I capped the top and with the other hand I cupped
the bottom of her thick, bowed triceps. The fingers from each of my hands
could not come close to meeting in the middle, and in fact, there was at least
5-6 inches between the fingertips on each hand, and 2-3 inches from the tip of
the fingers on each hand to the deep cleft that separated her biceps from her
triceps. My 12-year old sister's arm totally dwarfed my 15-year old hands.

She pronated her wrist and the large ball of muscle jumped back and forth with
my hand on top going along for the ride. Then, she straightened out her arm
and snapped it back upright, milking some extra expansion out of it, "Hey
Johnnie, you don't think my muscles are too big, do you?" Megan asked
honestly.

"What? Are you kidding?" I blurted out, "not a chance."

To say that I liked Megan's humongous muscles is like saying a fish likes
water. I longed to worship her muscle-bound body with all my pubescent soul. I
squeezed the ball of muscle as hard as I could, but there was absolutely no
give to it at all. I may as well have been squeezing solid steel, except that
her skin, which was stretched so tightly to cover the burgeoning muscle, was
warm and soft to the touch. My fingers roamed around the bulging expanse
enjoying every part of the experience: the sheer size and girth of it, the
sharp angles and abruptness with which it erupted from her upper arm, the
silky softness of her skin, and the steely hardness of the muscle that
throbbed with superhuman power just below the surface.

A small grin escaped the side of her mouth as she obviously enjoyed the
reaction she was causing in me. "It's pretty hard, isn't it? I can't compress
it either, not at all, no matter how hard I squeeze. And, no offense, but my
grip is a lot harder than yours. Ya' wanna know something else, Johnnie? I
like it when you watch me flex my big muscles, but, ooh, I like it even more
when you feel them. Mmm, I really like it a lot."

I was in the reverie of powerful muscle lust, I was totally succumbing to her
muscular charms, when my brain seemed to register her words. Suddenly, I felt
a familiar feeling that I experienced nearly every night as Megan filled my
dreams, most of them wet. Her flirtatious comment had pushed my buttons just
right. There was an undeniable eruption boiling inside me. I moaned and
shuddered as a wet spot appeared in front of my shorts. "Megs, I'm
sorry...I...I'm so embarrassed," I had cummed and she didn't even have to
touch me.

"That's okay," she smiled, "don't be embarrassed, I'll take that as a
compliment. I know you just can't help it. You poor guy, it must be torture
for you to constantly be around this body and these muscles. Why don't you go
get cleaned up and come back, and I'll show you some more. Johnnie, I like
showing off for you, and having you look at me the way you do."

I ran inside to clean up and when I returned she was doing alternating curls
with barbells that could only be described as gargantuan. Each
industrial-sized barbell had twenty 2-inch plates on each side of her hand, a
total of 40 on each barbell. She smoothly pumped first one and then the other
up and down, clearly not challenged at all by the weight of a small sedan in
each hand. "...198...198...199...199...200...200. Mmm, it feels so good to
give my muscles a little bit of a pump like this. It's just that it's still so
light to me - only wish I had more weight to really challenge me so I could
get a really good pump going for you."

I looked at the colossal biceps muscles erupting from her arms, shining with a
soft glistening of sweat and covered with an angry webbing of veins trying
furiously to get enough blood to her swollen muscles, and tried to imagine
what "a really good pump" would be like for Megan. Her arms already looked
bigger than the 31 inches I had just measured.

She set one of the barbells on the ground and rested her free hand on her
waist, casually holding the remaining barbell at waist level, "wanna go for a
ride? Here, jump on."

I jumped up onto the disks and it didn't dip at all from my additional weight.
I put a hand on her thick shoulder to steady myself. She smiled and began to
pump the enormous weight up and down with one hand, with me sitting on it.
That familiar bulge was back and I realized that with Megan around, I'd be
ready to fire any time of day or night.

"You really are becoming a supergirl," I said.

"I know," Megan said.

"My supergirl," I said as I kissed her on the cheek.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Chapter 4

After a few minutes, she set the barbell down and started testing the muscles
all over her body, flexing them as large as she could. It was amazing to me
how much more muscular expansion she could get out of muscles that already
were extremely big to start with.

"Mmm, I don't know what it is, but flexing these big muscles just feels so
good."

"They feel really good to me, too," I added, smiling.

"That's not what I meant, but thanks," she giggled. "Johnnie, I was thinking,
I wonder if there's something to that Supergirl thing. It's probably hard for
you to believe, but lifting this barbell is nothing for me. I do feel like I'm
getting stronger every day, but I can definitely tell you that lifting little
barbells like that one there have nothing to do with it. Sometimes I think I
could stay this big and even get bigger and stronger without lifting a single
weight. It's like I'm not actually training my self bigger, I'm just becoming
what I was meant to be. Maybe I will actually become Supergirl."

"You already are a Supergirl compared to me," I pointed out.

"I know, but..." she started to say, but I cut her off.

"But you know, there was more to Supergirl – THE Supergirl - than just her
strength. There was also her invulnerability, her super speed, her super
vision, the ability to fly..."

"Ooo, that's right. Let's try to figure out if I've got any of those other
things. Will you help me?" she asked excitedly.

"Okay, but hold still," I said. She looked at me with a quizzical look.
Suddenly, I reared back and hit her as hard as I could with my fist in the
middle of her brick wall abs. There was a loud THUD and my fist just bounced
off.

"Oh, that's so cute," she said, "you're seeing if you could hurt me? That's a
great idea. Do it again, only this time do it as hard as you can."

I was actually a little stunned. I'd just hit her as hard as I possibly could,
and I expected her to be doubled over. But my fist felt like it had hit hard
rubber, and that was only her unflexed abs. Evidently, her natural muscle tone
was more than strong enough to repel my best punch.

"I just did, Megan, that was my best punch," I said, "in my Tae Kwon Do class
that would break a block or split a board."

"Really? That was it? No offense, big brother, but I think you need a lot more
than that to get to me. There must be a greater strength gap between us than I
thought. Check this out," she said as she flexed her abs hard. While she was
already ripped before she flexed, the act of flexing made the muscular plates
come to life as they thickened and became far more defined. Now, each muscle
was deeply etched with a groove about an inch deep around it. They looked like
they'd gotten taller or thicker too, and stuck out further. She patted her
brick wall, "you care to try again?"

"Not with my bare hand if that feels anything like how your flexed biceps
feels, that must be as hard as steel now. I'd break a bone."

She laughed and pointed to Dad's workbench, "Well then get some of Dad's tools
and let's see just how invulnerable I am."

"Okay," I said rummaging through Dad's tool chest.

First, I got out Dad's utility knife and tried to cut her skin. We couldn't
prick her finger or slice the palm of her hand, so I quickly found out that
was a totally useless exercise, as her skin seemed impervious to any cutting.
We even tried one of Dad's drills, but it just spun and smoked as it struggled
to bore into her skin, but it never could and never did cause her any
discomfort.

Next, I got out a hammer. I started hitting her gingerly on her abs, but she
quickly encouraged me to swing harder. Even swinging as hard as I could
produced no reaction out of her at all, as the hammer head just bounced off
the sexy, rounded muscles of her abs with a THUD.

"That's pretty cool. Now try that with my abs flexed," she offered. Once again
she flexed her abs and they were transformed into a brick wall of shredded
girl muscle. I swung as hard as I could and the hammer rebounded off her abs
with a CLANK. Evidently, her flexed abs muscles were as hard as steel, and
perhaps harder. I suddenly remembered that the Supergirl comic books called
her the Maid of Might, and the Girl of Steel. My hands stung from the impact
and I dropped the hammer, "OW!" My hand throbbed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Johnnie, I didn't know it would do that," she said, "want me
to kiss it better?"

I froze. Hell yes, I wanted that, I wanted that and more, but she was my
sister.

I slowly raised my hand to her face, and she smiled coyly as she gently kissed
it. Schwing! The muscle girl of my dreams, my Supergirl, just kissed me on the
hand! I now knew I could die happy.

"Okay, are you ready to do some more tests? Now, I want you to try hitting me
in the face."

"You're kidding," I said, but her reaction told me she was not.

She stood with her hands on her hips like Supergirl as I gently swung the
hammer at her cheek. It felt like I'd hit a statue as it bounced off her face.

"Come on, harder," she exhorted me, "you can't possibly hurt me – I just know
you can't."

I started to hit my sister harder and harder. Each successive blow making me
feel less and less worthy of my muscle princess, as the gulf between us
suddenly seemed to get grew wider and wider. I simultaneously felt arousal at
not having to worry that I might hurt her and anger that she could be that
different from me. If she could at least shed a drop of blood, or feel a
twinge of pain, we could be linked together in our mortality. But as I clubbed
her face and the side of her head with such feverish abandon, holding the
hammer with both hands and swinging as hard as I could, she seemed more and
more omnipotent, more and more of a goddess who was on a far higher plane than
mere mortals like me. As far as I could see, the only effect we produced was
that the head of the hammer started to flatten from repeated blows against her
beautiful face.

However, my actions were evidently causing a fantastic change to take place
inside of Megan. She just smiled as she realized that my greatest attempt to
violently hurt her was totally inconsequential to her super-powered body, the
hammer blows feeling like gentle taps. The more my blows increased in
ferocity, the more Megan started to really enjoy the feeling of
invulnerability and the power that she felt. Omnipotence was obviously a
powerful drug. Her mind became swept away amidst the ecstasy she felt.

I swung again and she caught the head of the hammer in mid air and gripped the
steel in her powerful hand, the iron molding only slightly under the intense
pressures she was applying. She reached her other hand down her shorts and
started fondling herself, "Oh God, Johnnie, I feel so strong...so
powerful...and...oh, this feels SO good...and..I feel like I need
to...uunnhh!"

Megan fell to the ground and started to moan and shudder, as her muscle
ecstasy drove my little sister to have an orgasm. She wriggled and writhed on
the ground for 2-3 minutes, and each impact of her hands or feet hit the
ground with such force that they cracked and chipped the concrete. It felt
like an earthquake as I fell backward onto the ground, unable to maintain my
footing. Tools were falling off their racks above Dad's workbench and some
stacked boxes tumbled to the ground.

Finally, her spasms subsided, and she lay in a heap on the ground with her
legs splayed. Her bangs were matted down with sweat. Her eyes were closed and
she wasn't moving. I crawled over to her and lifted her head, cradling it on
my lap.

"Oh God, I've killed her. Megan, oh please, Megan, speak to me, are you
alright?" I was frantic. She remained motionless and I began to cry when I
realized that I was helpless to do anything about what I had caused. There was
nothing I could do, no doctor I could call for help.

I was about to administer mouth-to-mouth when she moaned slightly and rolled
her head to the side. Her eyes opened and she turned to look up at me. Her
eyes were glowing noticeably brighter than before, I thought.

"Hey, welcome back. You gave me quite a scare there," I said, "are you
alright?"

She said nothing for a few moments as she gathered herself. Finally, she sat
up, "I don't know. I mean...I think I had an orgasm – my first one. But the
main thing is...I...I feel good - REALLY good."

She stood up and began testing as she flexed muscles all over her body.

"I mean, this is incredible, Johnnie, I feel SO much stronger than before,"
she was practically giddy, "WAY stronger. I feel like a dam broke and this
flood of power and energy just washed into me. I feel like a butterfly that
just emerged from its cocoon."

She picked up Dad's sledge hammer and, with just a fraction of her strength,
crushed the large steel head in her grip. Whereas just minutes ago she could
only slightly indent the hammer, now she effortlessly crushed the sledge
hammer until steel oozed out between her fingers like a pudding. She used just
her thumb and index finger to smoosh the cold steel and cause it to squish out
from between her fingers. Her eyes reflected the wonder she felt.

"What I felt before was as weak as a flea compared to what I feel now," she
said as she walked over towards Mom's Ford Expedition in the third bay of the
garage. "Somehow, my orgasm must have triggered something in my body. Here,
check this out."

She grabbed the towing hitch on the back of the Expedition and effortlessly
lifted the back of the large vehicle off the ground with one hand. The
suspension creaked as the wheels drooped out of the wheel wells. "This would
have taken a little effort from me before, but now I barely have to try. It's
light as a feather. I feel like I have so much more strength in reserve that
I'm not even using to lift it."

She set the car back on the ground and picked up a long crowbar. She held it
in front of her and effortlessly bent it into a U-shape. It groaned and
creaked as she effortlessly rent the thick steel.

"Look Johnnie, I'm not just a muscle babe any more. Now I really AM as strong
as Supergirl! Now I really CAN be Supergirl...your Supergirl."

Just then, the door to the garage burst open and Mom and Dad ran out, "What
happened? Was that an earthquake? Is everything alright?"

Megan said to them, "Mom, Daddy...something has happened. Something
wonderful."

Chapter 5

We explained to Mom and Dad what happened, and they scolded us for taking
risks the way we did. However, they couldn't criticize the outcome.

Over the next hour, we determined that Megan had actually developed several of
the incredible capabilities that the legendary comic book superhero Supergirl
had. We confirmed that Megan now had super speed, as exhibited by the sonic
boom she caused when she ran through town. She was able to jump so high that
she was just a dot in the sky, and we guessed that she jumped several miles up
– much more than leaping a tall building in a single bound. When she plummeted
back to Earth her powerful thighs provided all the shock absorption she needed
as she landed on her feet in the middle of the field behind our house, her
feet sinking into the soil up to her knees. She had super vision that allowed
her to see everything from the electrons in my hand to the US flag on the
moon. She hadn't yet exhibited x-ray vision or heat beams, but we all wondered
how long it would be until those, too, were routine capabilities for my
mega-muscled little sister. She also had super hearing, and she could hold her
breath for indeterminate periods of time, even though it felt really unnatural
to do so. We stripped the wire on an extension cord and discovered that she
could not be electrocuted; in fact, she rather enjoyed the tingly warm feeling
of all that energy washing over her body. Although we didn't have any way to
test her invulnerability to disease, we did find that she could drink a whole
vial of Ipecac Syrup without any effects, so we reasoned that she could not be
poisoned.

We also suspected that she'd become vastly stronger than she had been just
earlier in the day, although we did not know how much stronger. Once Mom and
Dad made sure Megan was alright, we all talked about it over dinner. We
decided we needed to know more. Dad said he had an idea, so we piled into the
Ford Expedition.

It was well after dark, and he took us to a junk yard across town. The place
looked deserted as we slowly cruised past its perimeter and around the
neighborhood. A t-bone steak laced with an anesthesia (my Mom's a
pharmaceutical sales rep) knocked out the Rottweiler watch dogs, and we
returned to the front gate.

"Do you want me to lift the car and jump over the fence," Megan asked Dad.

"Actually, I was just thinking you could pull that Master Lock apart and we'd
just drive right through the front gate," he answered.

"Oh, I think I can manage that," Megan smiled confidently. She hopped out and
strolled up to the gate. She made a show for us as she pinched the hasp
between her index finger and thumb and effortlessly crushed it flat until her
two fingers met. Then, she easily tore the hardened steel, which was now no
thicker than tin foil, apart. She swung the gate open and brought the big
yellow padlock and several feet of the 2-inch chain back to the car.

"Hey, check this out. I'm super Megan now," she said as held a length of the
chain in front of her and effortlessly pulled it apart with a loud SNAP. Then,
she doubled it over a couple of times so that she was pulling on 4 lengths of
chain, and did the same thing again just as easily as she did the first time.
It looked about as hard for her as pulling apart Silly String.

Then, tossing the chain aside, her fingers closed on the lock. Her forearms
began to flex slightly as she crushed the cold, hardened steel in her hand.
She held up what used to be the lock but now resembled a steel snowball. Then,
she used both hands to continue to apply pressure to the steel ball. A few
moments later, she opened her hands and showed us that the steel had been
melted to the flow point as a result of the incredible pressure her hands had
brought to bear. She cupped her hands and poured the hot steel slag back and
forth.

"Well, if that's any indication, this little test I had in mind for you will
be a breeze, sweetheart," Dad said.

Dad drove us to the back of the property where the car crusher was, "Now, we
know that before today, you were lifting a few thousand pounds at a time. But
based on what you've said and done, it's possible that you're now at least
hundreds of times as strong as that. Maybe even thousands of times more."

"Honestly, Daddy, I think even way more than that," Megan said
matter-of-factly.

She stood in the middle of the machine where a car that was to be crushed
would go and confidently put her hands on her hips, "Go ahead Daddy, do
whatever you want. I don't think there's a machine on Earth that can match the
strength of my muscles."

I got a hard-on just hearing her say that. I got out my digital camera to
capture what was about to happen. I had a feeling it would be amazing. Hell,
just watching her walk by was amazing.

Dad climbed up into the cage and started flipping switches, and moments later
the engine came to life as the hydraulic pumps started humming. He called
down, "Meg, I'm going to start slow and then build, so just let me know if I
need to stop and let you get out."

She shook her head, "You don't have to start slow, Daddy, you don't understand
how strong my muscles have become. Start at the max, I know how strong I am.
Don't worry, this won't be hard for me at all. You'll see."

I knew Megan was incredibly strong, but this machinery was still pretty
imposing. I was nervous that she might get hurt. But she still stood there
proudly and confidently, in her Supergirl pose, a slight smile on her lips. I
was biting my lip because of all the tension when I caught her eye. She
grinned and winked at me as if to say, "don't worry."

First, the large overhead press started to lower over Megan's head. She raised
a single hand to stop it just inches above her head. The diesel motor started
to bellow and then whine as the force built, but despite the incredible
pressures – pressures that would crush flat the strongest Detroit steel – it
wasn't able to force her hand down even a centimeter.

Megan glanced at me and winked with a grin as she pulled the heel of her hand
away from the steel and started to do finger pushups, one at a time – the
strength in each one of her individual fingers still more than powerful enough
to more than oppose the car crusher. The hydraulic pressure continued to build
until the needle had posted. Then, Megan forced the press upward as she
smoothly straightened her arm out. The reverse motion immediately doubled the
hydraulic pressure and the line busted. This rendered the overhead press
totally inoperable.

None of us could believe how easily she had totally overpowered the machinery.
What brute force she was displaying, and rather casually! "See Daddy, I told
you not to worry, that was easy."

Then, the two sides started to pinch inward until they met the sides of
Megan's thighs. Similar to before, the motor revved, and the pressure built,
but naturally it was incapable of pushing her gorgeous thighs together.
Eventually she placed the palm of her hands against the two opposing sides and
thrust them outward. This time, she pushed them back so forcefully that the
mounting brackets of the crusher were bent back. The entire machine would have
to be replaced.

Afterward, we let Megan have a try at further compacting a car that had
already been compacted. It looked like a steel bale of hay as she lifted it
off the ground and held it in front of her. Then, she began to force her arms
together as her pectoral muscles expanded on her chest. The steel collapsed
inward to less than half its original dimension. She moved her hands around to
flatten other areas of the cube smaller. Eventually, it was the size of a
thimble, and far denser than any man-made car crusher could have done. She
left it on the ground as a mysterious present for the junkyard manager.

I snapped picture after picture of Megan using her phenomenal muscles to
overpower the car crusher. While my little sister had been powerful before,
now she was truly superhuman, in every sense of the word.

Megan just smiled proudly as we piled back into the Ford Expedition. There
wasn't any conversation at all, everyone else was so stunned by what they had
witnessed. I didn't know what to say, I was so overwhelmed – and aroused – by
her superhuman display of strength. It was actually a little frightening how
strong she had become, but I longed to feel those muscles of hers more than
ever. Little did I know that I would soon get my wish.

Megan and I sat alone in the darkness and relative privacy of the third row.
"Did you get some good shots?" Megan whispered pointing to my camera. I could
only nod stupidly. She smiled and reached across to hold my hand. She kissed
it and then guided it onto her muscular thigh. With her encouragement, my hand
roamed up and down the thick cords of muscle and deep contours of her thigh
and her broad heart-shaped calf muscle as she repeatedly flexed and flared her
leg muscles just for me.

Chapter 6

Needless to say, I couldn't sleep a wink that night because of visions of my
little sister overpowering that car crusher. I got out of bed at dawn and
dressed quickly. I knew what I had to do. I grabbed my wallet and jumped on my
bike.

It was a long ride, but I finally got there, and the store had just exactly
what I needed. I raced home with my precious parcel. I dumped my bike in the
yard and leaped up the back steps as I bounded in the back kitchen door. Mom,
Dad, and Megan were in the kitchen.

"Johnnie, where have you been," Mom asked.

I was out of breath, my chest heaving, "I've got it...just what Megan
needs..." What I failed to say is that I very much needed her to have this, as
well. I tossed the box onto the kitchen table between all the cereal boxes and
sat down.

No one moved. I looked at Megan, "Open it...it's for you..."

She stood and walked around the end of the table. When she opened the box and
grinned as at me. "It's a Supergirl costume," she said as she held it up in
front of her.

I'd gone to a party supply place and purchased a Supergirl costume with my own
money. It had been fairly hard to decide what size to buy. She was the height
of a 12-year old, but definitely didn't have a 12-year old body.

"Oh, that's so sweet of you, I want to try it on," Megan said as she walked to
the bathroom.

Mom and Dad looked at me suspiciously so I said, "What? After what I saw last
night, I just figured that's what she was now. She'll need something so go out
in public with."

Megan stepped right out of one of my wet dreams and into our kitchen, wearing
the Supergirl costume and assuming the Supergirl pose. I immediately had a
hard-on raging. She stepped into the center of the kitchen and said, "Well, is
this a job for Supergirl, or what?"

Dad stood, "John, where'd you get this?"

"At Simpson's Party Supply," I answered.

"Hmm. Well, I've actually been thinking about this, too. Megan's progressed to
a whole new level now, and she's going to need a costume when she goes out in
public whether she does Supergirl stuff or not. In this one, she'll definitely
be recognized as Supergirl, but I'm not sure that's what we'll always want."

He stepped around behind Megan and read the label inside the back of the
collar, "and I'm not sure how this will hold up to what she'll be able to dish
out."

"Megan, do me a favor, go out and run as fast as you can all the way to the
county line and back, okay?" he asked.

Megs just nodded and sped out the door. In 7 seconds she returned to the
porch.

The top was torn around the neckline and it exposed her down to her sternum.
The boots were smoldering and they had worn through so that one big toe was
showing, and the ends of the skirt were frayed.

"Just as I suspected. It won't be able to handle the type of strain she'll put
on it. It'll need to be a different material. Megan, do me one more favor,
flex both biceps, please."

Megan did as he requested and her biceps tore both sleeves of the costume, and
the seams around her powerful shoulders were separating. I wish I'd had my
camera.

"You see, John, it also can't handle the size of her muscles and the amount of
expansion she's capable of. Megan, your mother and I actually spoke about this
last night and we think we have a solution. Give us a couple days, okay?"

Megan nodded her approval.

Mom and Dad refilled their coffees and left the kitchen, leaving Megan and me
alone.

Megan stepped over to me, "I felt really powerful and really beautiful in the
costume you got for me. Thanks for trying." She kissed me on the cheek and
stepped out, leaving me in the kitchen alone. I had to wait a few minutes for
my boner to go down before I could get up.

Well, the new ascendance of Megan to true superhuman status was bad for me in
one way: she stopped lifting weights. Despite the fact that Dad had
accumulated a few thousand pounds of steel in the garage, asking Megan to use
that weight set was like asking me to work out with a piece of lint from the
dryer. However, it was good for me in another way: Megan secretly started
giving me private flexing sessions.

I'm serious, she said she missed having me watch her work out – evidently
she's somewhat of an exhibitionist and enjoys having a voyeur like me around.
So she'd wait for Mom and Dad to go to sleep and then come knock on my door.
I'd tiptoe down the hall to her room. And the best part is, without weights
she'd do isometric exercises. Let's face it, weights were a waste of time -
the only thing as strong as her left arm was her right arm. So, I got to see
her very biggest flexes, not just the partial ones she'd need to lift a few
thousand pounds. The very first night it happened, I was lying on my bed
reading when Megan knocked at my door.

"Come in," I answered.

The door opened and Megan peeked her head in. With the rest of her body
concealed by the closed door I noticed how beautiful her face was. She smiled
with deep dimples and her perfect smile was a brilliant white.

"Hi, Megs" I said, "what's up?"

She came in and walked to my bedside. She looked awesome, dressed only in a
training bra and bikini panties. Her smooth, tanned skin rode the turbulent
undulations of her underlying muscles as she made casual movements. She put a
finger to her lips to shhhh, and grabbed a handful of my t-shirt to lift me up
off the bed with one hand. Carrying me down the hall to her room, she shut her
door and set me down in her bean bag chair.

"Okay, here's the deal," she began, "I'll flex if you watch. Okay?"

I leaned back and knitted my fingers behind my head, "Deal."

I lay on her bean bag watching her flex the biggest, sexiest muscles I'd ever
seen. In just seconds, I had a boner from watching her. A couple minutes
later, I once again came in my pants.

She reached down and tore my pants open, "okay, we've got a new rule. If
you're in my room after hours to watch me flex, you've got to check your
underwear at the door."

As a result, for night after night, I'd lay in the beanbag and watch her flex
for me as I lay there with my flagpole sticking up. Sometimes she'd flex or
dance to music, other times it would just be an exhibition of brute strength
as one muscle offset the titanic forces exerted by another muscle. Time after
time I came, and Megan received confirmation of her effect on me. While she
worked out her muscles, my organ got a workout, too. And it seemed to respond
to its training, too. It was pretty big for a 15-year old, if I do say so
myself, and Megan would eye me appreciatively. We'd go through a box of
tissues every week as I wiped myself clean. I'd watch her for sometimes a
couple hours and never go limp, even if I climaxed three or four times. Once,
I was so moved by her that I painted the ceiling. Each night by 2:00 am, I'd
be spent and she'd quietly carry me to my room. I'd spend the next day
physically recovering until I was invited again the next night into her
flex-fest.

At no time did she have to touch me, nor did I touch her, or touch myself. She
didn't have to; it wasn't necessary. To see her body and physique was all I
needed, and that was all she wanted. We had perfect symbiotic relationship, a
relationship of mutual need: I craved to adore Megan, and she adored to be
craved.

It was also obvious to me that despite not using weights she was still
becoming bigger and stronger, just as she had predicted. She confided to me
that she'd run off into the woods behind our house during the day when I was
at school and had orgasms at least twenty more times. Each time, new levels of
power washed into her, adding to her strength level each time. Although it was
less and less incremental strength each time, the result was that she was now
far stronger than she was when we were at the junkyard. Her strength now far
eclipsed that night or anything I had dreamed of. We truly had no way to
measure her brute strength; there was no analog, no scale. It even tested my
imagination.

One night, we were having our customary nighttime session, and I had already
cum 4 times as Megan's show repeatedly pushed me to the edge. I decided to ask
Megan something that had been on my mind. I had been thinking of this for
quite some time.

"Hey Megs, I've been wondering. Where do you think you came from?"

"I don't know," she answered absentmindedly.

"I mean, we know you were adopted, but it's unlikely that you're from this
planet given what you can do, right?" I asked.

"I never thought that much about it," she answered, "but yeah, I guess so."

"So if you're not from this planet, where are you from?" I asked.

"I don't know," she repeated, "I already said that." Megan was starting to get
annoyed by my questions.

I got up. Megan had just finished doing isometric exercises for her biceps,
and she was admiring her two bulbous biceps in the mirror. I stepped between
her and the mirror and cupped a hand on top of each biceps. I was still unable
to grasp how much larger each one was than my own hands - my hands felt tiny
in comparison.

"What I'm getting at, is that I'm human but you can't be - I'm from Earth, and
you're not. We can't actually be brother and sister, we can't be related," I
said as I leaned forward to kiss her. It was a remarkably tender moment. My
lips touched hers and I felt like the fulfillment of a lifetime had just
happened. There was an electricity to it because of the openness of it, the
riskiness of it, and because it was the truth. I was declaring my feelings for
the first time, as if the air between us had finally been cleared.

I enjoyed her lips, and was encouraged when she kissed me back. Her tongue
ventured into my mouth and I welcomed it, and returned the favor. My tongue
explored her mouth, as hers did mine. I felt her hands reach down to my waist
as she gently lifted me off the ground. Our lips did not break as she lifted
me off the ground, and she craned her neck to ensure our lips maintained
contact. I'm not sure why she did it, except as a way to remind me that she
was in charge, and that I was totally in her hands, literally and
figuratively.

We sucked face for several minutes, and eventually she put my feet back on the
ground.

Our lips parted, and I looked her in the eye, "I just thought we both should
agree on that." I turned and grabbed my underwear and left.

Chapter 7

It was a Sunday, and Megan and Dad were at one of his luxury home construction
sites. Dad had asked Megan earlier in the week if she could lend him a hand.
I'd come along just to watch.

"Look Megs, I know I'm asking a lot - it's pretty heavy, even for you I would
guess," he said.

"No Daddy, you're not. This will be easy, believe me," she assured him, "you
don't understand just how strong I have become. Just tell me what you want me
to do."

Dad was building a luxury home for some reclusive poet, and he wanted to have
a wrap-around patio made of paving stones. The only problem was, the property
was remote and there was no way to get access with the necessary equipment to
get all the pavers to the site. Dad had looked into using a helicopter, but
the cost increases would put him into the red on this job.

"Okay, but if it becomes a problem at any time, you abort, promise?" he asked.
Megan nodded her agreement.

"Alright, I need to get that semi full of paving stones to the back of the
construction site. The only thing is, there's no road. If you can carry it
from here, through the woods in that direction, you'll eventually get onto the
property."

"Piece of cake," Megan said as she strolled over to the large tractor trailer.
It was covered in pallets that were each stacked 4'x3' and 3 feet tall with
paving stones. The semi trailer had 20 pallets stacked three rows tall, for a
total of 60 pallets. Since each pallet was around a ton, there was a total of
60 tons, plus the 10 tons of the trailer, itself.

She crouched down and walked underneath the trailer and found an appropriate
handhold. Then, she smoothly lifted the entire thing off the ground with one
hand while she casually rested her free hand on her hip. "See, Daddy? It's
light as a feather for your most muscular daughter. Now, where did you say you
wanted me to put it?"

Dad was dumbfounded and could only whisper, "Holy shit!" before he shouted,
"Follow me," and began tromping through the underbrush. Megan followed behind
him with the trailer held high over head.

They walked for a half mile or so before they got to a ravine with a small
stream in it. Megan started to go across it, and she tried to hold it level as
she went downhill. But as she started to go down into the ravine, the trailing
edge of the trailer started dragging the ground. The trailer was too long, the
ravine was too deep, and Megan just wasn't tall enough. She backed up to the
top of the ravine and talked about it with her Dad, but it looked like she'd
go through the same thing with the leading edge of the trailer when she went
up the ravine on the other side.

"Damn, we may be done. As far as I know it's deep like this for quite a way in
each direction," Dad said.

"Maybe not," Megan said, "let me try something."

"What are you going to do?" Dad asked.

"Wait and see," she said.

She started walking toward the edge of the downward grade and stopped at the
edge. She was still holding the massive trailer overhead with one hand as if
it weighed nothing. She turned around to look at Dad for a moment before she
went any further. Then, she began to step across the ravine as if on an
invisible bridge, her feet floating above the ground as it dropped away.

"That's it, Megs!" Dad shouted encouragement.

She was about in the middle as Dad and I forged the ravine and tried to catch
up. I looked up from the bottom of the ravine as my feet got wet in the stream
and saw my sister walking overhead – the trailer supported only by her one
arm, and her feet supported by thin air. It was astonishing.

We got to the other side and ran to catch up with Megan, In another hundred
yards or so we reached the back of the construction site.

"That's fine, Megs, anywhere there," Dad shouted, and she gingerly set the
large trailer on the ground and stood there with her hands on her hips. She
looked very proud, but I guessed that pose was mostly for my benefit.

"Megan, that was unbelievable, how did you do it?" Dad asked.

"I'm not totally sure, I just used my sticking power to hold me in a specific
position instead of pressed on the ground. It just so happened that the
position was above the ground."

"If you can do that, you should be able to float, or perhaps even fly," Dad
said.

"Fly?" both Megan and I said at the same time. We both gasped with excitement.

"Absolutely, you should experiment and try to figure it out," Dad said, "Come
on, let's get back home."

We went back to the house silently, each of us thinking about what this could
mean. Dad had obviously already decided.

When we pulled into the driveway, he said, "Megan, I just got something for
you to try...oh, and um, Johnnie, you'll probably want to see it, too."

He led us into the garage and pulled a small package out of a drawer.

"Look, Megan, I know you need some durable clothing, especially now that you
can potentially fly, but it needs to be durable given your
particular...talents," he said.

He handed it to Megan, "I had a friend of mine engineer a new suit for you.
It's made of Kevlar so it's pretty tough. Bullet-proof, in fact. And, it's
infused with a flame retardant so it's fire proof."

"Cool," Megan said.

"Oh, and one more thing," Dad said as she opened the box, "based on how easily
you flexed out of the last one, we made this version a..."

"Oh cool!" Megan said, as she held it up, "...a bikini! Um, you won't mind,
will you, Johnnie?" she asked, fighting a grin.

Megan used her super speed to change into the new bikini. A second later she
was modeling it for us and flexing her biceps. It was red, blue and gold, and
had the same logo as a Supergirl costume. "Thanks, Daddy, I love it," she
said.

"My pleasure, precious," he said, "I know we can't keep you cooped up in this
house all the time, especially if now you can fly. You'll invariably want to
go some places. This way you can keep your identity secret, and it's a tough
enough material to at least keep your privates covered when you do."

I was practically drooling, "...even though it won't cover much else!"

"Are you complaining, Johnnie?" Megan asked.

"No-no-no, not in the least," I said smiling.

"Now, why don't you two go see if you can figure out how to fly," Dad said.

I got hard looking at her muscle-bound body in the tiny bikini; Megan had
muscles on top of muscles. But this mind-blowing physique was topped with the
beautiful head of a sweet little tweenage girl. At first glance, the
combination seemed incongruous. Her head didn't fit her body, almost like she
was some kind of minotaur. And yet when you took a longer look, somehow the
head and the body did go together; they seemed to "fit" somehow – in my case,
under the spot light at center stage of all my fantasies. Imagining Megan
without muscles would be like Venus de Milo WITH arms, or a rock and roll star
without long hair. No matter how you cut it, she sure was an eyeful.

Megan and I ran into the back yard hand-in-hand.

She started using her sticking power and tried to concentrate on "sticking" to
a point several feet off the ground. Once she had recreated the feeling she
had when she was lifting the tractor trailer full of pavers, she was floating.
After a few minutes, it seemed easy. From there, the transition from floating
in place to floating in a particular direction was relatively simple and
somewhat instinctive for her. Before long, she was flying.

"Johnnie, I want to try to fly, but I want to share it with you. Will you come
with me?" Megan asked.

"Sure," I said as she swept me up in her arms, "just promise not to drop me?"

"I promise," she said, smiling.

A moment later she had jumped into the air and we were floating a few hundred
feet off the ground. Then, we slowly started flying forward. She tested
banking left and right and adjusted her speed. Within 2 minutes we were
soaring through the sky. I felt very comfortable in her powerful arms.

"You know, Johnnie, the muscles are great, the strength is awesome along with
all the other stuff, but THIS? This is the greatest. This truly makes me feel
like Supergirl," Megan said.

"You are absolutely phenomenal," I said, kissing her on the cheek and nuzzling
her neck. "I've always loved to see the land from up in the air, with all the
patchwork quilt of farms and fields and everything, but to see it from your
arms is wonderful. Hey, let's go down there," I said pointing.

"Thanks. What's down there?" she asked as we banked and descended.

"It's a construction site," I said shouted over the whistling wind, "there's
lots of heavy stuff down there."

Megan swooped down and landed with a jarring thump on her feet, "Sorry, I
guess I still need to work on my landings."

It was a pretty large construction site, they were building an interchange for
the highway. Because it was Sunday it looked pretty quiet except for one or
two machines working in the distance on the far corner of the property. Megan
flew to where they had parked some of the big earth movers and set me down.

"So, what have you got in mind?" she asked.

"Anything. Anything at all – go see what you can move, and what you can't," I
said.

She found a bracing support on the bottom of the largest Caterpillar machine
and braced her hand before she smoothly and effortlessly whisked it off the
ground.

She smirked and started walking towards me, "you still don't get it, do you?
I'm Supergirl. None of these will be hard for me to lift. I'd need a lot more
weight than this to challenge me."

Her one hand began to press it up and down with such ease that it looked like
a waitress lifting her empty tray up and down. I watched her for a few moments
– I never tired of watching her use her super strength. And now that she had
her new Supergirl bikini to wear, it was better than ever.

Then, I noticed back behind her where they stored the materials for the
project. "Hey, let's go over there," I shouted. She gently set the large
tractor back on the ground.

We walked over to a large flat-bed truck that was carrying enormous I-beams
for the bridge overpass. "Hey, watch this, I've got an idea," Megan said.

She jumped up onto the truck and snapped the metal tie-bands. There were 6
I-beams stacked in a pyramid. She grabbed the one on top and jumped down to
the ground in front of me. She was holding it roughly in the center as it
rested on her two outstretched hands. The I part looked to be about 3 feet
tall, and the whole thing was around 30 feet long.

"Here, Supergirl lover, check this out," Megan said smiling. Her muscles
immediately started to thicken and bulge as she began to apply her enormous
muscles, pouring her strength into the gigantic I-beam. She started to bend
the ends upward just as she had done to the tire iron in our garage. It began
to screech loudly that I had to cover my ears. Gradually, it started to look
like a big V as she folded both sides upward. I was astounded to see her do
it, and even more so to realize that she wasn't straining in the least. Her
muscles were flexing a little larger than had been the case when she bent the
tire iron, but it was obvious from the relaxed smile on her face that even
this failed to truly challenge my Supergirl's star-born strength. Eventually,
it had completely doubled back on itself and was now a 15 foot I-beam. She
tossed it on the ground in front of me and I felt a rumble under my feet.

"See? Not even that was tough for your Supergirl," she smiled and flexed her
biceps, "I still had lots of muscle in reserve."

Just then Megan happened to glance to the far side of the construction site,
probably 300 yards away where there was a single front-end loader working. It
was the only activity on the whole site. It was using its front bucket to make
a pile of fill dirt. Megan could see with her telescopic vision that the
tractor was approaching the pile from the right with a full load, but on the
left side of the pile were two young boys. They had set down their bikes and
were lying on the dirt pile and comparing Pokemon cards. Megan could tell that
there was no way the driver could see the boys on the other side of the 15
foot hill, and when he dumped the dirt the boys would be smothered.

"Oh my God," Megan said, "wait here."

She took off using her super speed, not even a blur to my eyes, as she ran
across the construction site. The front-end loader had reached the pile and
was about to dump the front bucket. Megan didn't think she could get the boys
out in time, nor could she get the driver's attention. So she ran to the front
of the front-end loader and grabbed the support arms for the front bucket. The
driver hadn't seen Megan because he had driven up a slight incline and the
front-end loader was angled upward as he focused on the bucket.

His hand moved the lever to release the bucket, but it didn't go anywhere.
Instead, the big machine just shuddered as Megan held the bucket in place.
Confused what could be happening, he disengaged the bucket and re-engaged it,
revving up the big diesel engine.

Megan felt the bucket move more forcefully, trying to force its way down so it
could dump its load. However, she held her arms straight, her triceps more
than equal to the task of opposing this puny tractor. With the bucket pressing
down on Megan's outstretched hands and no where else to go, the front tires
started to rise up in the air.

Megan started to worry that if she didn't do something, the front-end loader
would get away from her. If it lifted out of her arms, it could fall backwards
or to the side and the driver could get injured. She grasped the bucket
supports more tightly and started to bend them backward. In doing so, she
lowered the front of the front-end loader back down to the ground.

Megan was enjoying the ease with how she had overpowered this earth-moving
machine, and she wanted to remove its bucket. She knew if she used her
powerful arms to rip the bucket from its supports, the machine might tip over
and the man would get hurt.

She focused her eyes on one of the supports and somehow instinctively knew
what to do. Moments later a red actinic beam shot from her eyes and sliced
through one of the supports. She repeated the same for the other side, cutting
the bucket off the front-end loader, as her arms easily accepted the entire
weight of the dirt and the bucket.

By now, the boys had heard the noise from the engine and climbed to the crest
of the dirt pile to see what was going on. "Hey, cool," one said to the other,
"check it out. It's a girl and she's holding back the tractor."

"Whoa," the other said, "look at her muscles."

By now the driver had seen Megan and disengaged the bucket. He backed it up,
put it in neutral, and jumped out. Megan set down the front bucket on the dirt
pile and stood in the Supergirl pose with her hands on her hips.

"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing," he shouted at Megan.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I couldn't let you continue. You were about to dump all
that dirt on those boys – they were in danger on the other side of the pile
and you couldn't see them," Megan answered.

The man tipped his hardhat back on his head and began ogling Megan, "who are
you?"

"I am Supergirl," she said proudly.

"SUPERGIRL?" the boys said in unison.

"Yes, and you boys are lucky I was here to save you," Megan said, "I'm sorry
about your tractor, sir."

"That's okay, it's not mine anyway," the man said, "But the boss will never
believe me."

"Have him take a look at the I-beam over there that I got a hold of, and I
think he'll believe you," Megan smiled.

He jumped back into the front-end loader and drove away.

Megan turned to the boys, "You guys should know better than to play on a
construction site."

"Man, you're massive," the first one said, "Can I feel your muscle?"

"Sure," Megan giggled, cutely. She raised one arm and flexed it while the boys
both said, "Whoa! Check it out, it's huge!" They both rushed to feel it.

"Are you really Supergirl? Like in the comics?" the second one asked.

"Well, I guess so - I mean, I'm not from the comics – but I CAN do a lot of
the stuff that Supergirl did."

"Your muscles are really, really big, and you're really, really strong, and
really, really pretty," one of the young boys gushed, obviously becoming
somewhat smitten with Megan.

"I suppose I should get you guys home," Megan said, "where do you live?"

"Right through that path over there to those houses," one boy said, pointing
to the trees next to the construction site.

"Well, get on your bikes, and hold on tight," Megan said.

She grabbed each bike by the seat post, and with one in each hand, she lifted
them both off the ground. "Hold on," she said as she leaned and practically
fell forward and began to float as her feet left the ground. She flew them
back to their street and returned back to me.

"Sorry to leave you, Johnnie, I just saw that those boys were in trouble,"
Megan said.

"That's okay, what you did was fantastic," I said.

"And did you see what I did with my eyes? Those beams?" she asked.

"Yeah, pretty awesome. How'd you know you could do that? Can you control it?"
I asked.

"I don't know, I just knew. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can control it," she said.

"Well, we better go tell Dad what happened," I said. She picked me up and once
again we were soaring through the air towards home.

Chapter 8

We were on our way home when we noticed a line of police cars with lights and
sirens blaring heading into downtown. We decided to investigate.

We followed the police cars into the center of downtown until they screeched
to a halt. Megan floated above the rooftops and we could see a police line had
been cordoned off in front of the bank.

Megan set me down on the roof of the building across the street, "I'm going to
go see if I can help."

"Be careful," I shouted.

She swooped down behind the police cars and landed in the street. She walked
to where the police chief was hiding behind the door of a squad car, using a
bullhorn.

A TV crew had just arrived on the scene and a cameraman hopped out with a
camera on his shoulder. "Did you see that? That...girl?" the reporters said as
she jumped out of the passenger seat, "Did she just fly down there? Who is
she? Get that camera rolling, I want all of this on film. And call the studio
to tell them we've got a hot live feed."

Meanwhile, Dad had just walked in the door back at home when Mom said, "Um,
you better come see this." They huddled around the TV in the kitchen. There on
the screen was Megan talking to the chief of police, who was holding a bull
horn. Dad said, "Hoo boy..."

Back at the crime scene, the police chief had just begun to use the bullhorn
to talk to the bank robbers when Megan tapped him on the shoulder. She stood
behind him and the other men crouched behind the car.

The Chief turned around, gazing at the expanses of skin and muscle that Megan
provided, and stood up, "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Supergirl, Chief. Can I help?"

Just then a gunman inside the bank shot a rifle through the plate glass
window, shattering it. The bullet sailed through the air and headed directly
for the Chief. At the last second, Megan stepped in front of him, the bullet
hitting her in the middle of her chest. I gasped in horror because we didn't
know if she was bulletproof. But the bullet hit her invulnerable breast bone
and shattered.

She pushed the Chief to the ground, "maybe we should talk down here. What's
going on?"

"It's a bank robbery, but it was foiled when one of my off-duty men who was in
the bank at the time pulled his service revolver. He just called me to say
there was a terrific gunfight, and all the guards got shot. They have a few
hostages, but they're clearly a little disorganized – I don't think they
planned to have all this happen."

Megan looked through the front windows of the bank to see what was going on.
She saw one of the gunmen put a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) to his
shoulder. She remembered seeing one in the movies once. He aimed it at the
Chief's squad car and pulled the trigger. The rocket whooshed out the broken
plate glass window trailing a steam of smoke.

Megan ran around the squad car using her super speed and took the RPG in the
chest. There was a tremendous explosion, and I screamed, "NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

When it cleared, there was my sister standing in the middle of the street
unharmed. She was standing in the Supergirl pose and had a look of
determination. Even though she wasn't certain, she'd somehow instinctively
known she wouldn't be harmed by the RPG. Now she felt truly invincible.

"That's it! I've had it! Allow me, Chief," she said as she strode purposefully
towards the door.

With a hand on each door handle, she ripped the doors off the hinges and
tossed them aside. She immediately began taking machine gun fire, which
bounced harmlessly off her invulnerable body.

The gunmen had no idea who this infidel woman was, but she offended them. Just
look at how her arrogance and baseness allowed her to go out in public without
her burka! And look at all the skin she was showing above her ankles! She was
an insult.

Just then one of them tossed a hand grenade at Megan. She caught it and
covered it with her hands just before it went off. She smothered it with her
invulnerable body and continued walking inside the big bank lobby. Several
gunmen started spraying her with a fusillade of bullets from their AK-47s, but
the bullets just harmlessly bounced off her body as she let them expend their
clips on her.

She walked straight up to one of them and snatched the machine gun from his
hand. She held it in front of her and began to crush it in her hands, the
black gun steel folding under her powerful grip until it was a small ball of
steel. He swung his fist at her abs, but naturally his fist just bounced off.
Then, he swung at her face and she grabbed his fist with one hand. She held
his fist there, gradually increasing the pressure, until he was on his knees
and cracking noises could be heard. Megan grabbed his shirt and flung him into
the wall with a flick of her wrist, his body flying 20 feet through the air.
He slumped into a heap at the bottom of the wall. Then, she did the same to
the other machine gunner.

The last gunman popped up from behind the teller counter and shouted,
"INFIDELS!"

He leveled his AK-47 out the large window at the police, but before he could
pull the trigger Megan focused her heat rays at the gun. In less than a
second, the muzzle started to droop and sag as it melted from the searing
heat. When he pulled the trigger, it back fired when the bullets cleared the
breach but got stuck in the barrel.

Megan grabbed him by his belt and hoisted him off the ground. She carried him
out the front door holding him high over her head and tossed him on the
sidewalk, "Here you go Chief, I'm almost done. I just need to toss out the
trash."

In a matter of just two minutes, Megan had disarmed the gunmen, freed the
hostages, and not a single bullet was directed at the police. The Chief shook
her hand, "Thanks for your help, Supergirl. I don't know where you came from,
but I'm glad you're here."

Megan smiled, "Thanks. You'll be seeing more of me."

The wily old Chief grinned at her skimpy bikini and said, "Well, there's not
much more of you left to see, is there?"

Megan grinned, "You know what I meant, sir."

The Chief just smiled.

Megan floated into the air and flew down the street until out of sight. Then,
she circled around to pick me up and we flew home.

The people in the news van started to review their footage. They would sell
this footage to every the big news company within the hour. By the end of the
day, the entire world would learn that Earth had a new protector, a superhero,
a Supergirl.

Meanwhile, at home, Mom and Dad just stared at the live TV feed, stupefied at
what they'd seen. Dad joked with Mom, "Well, at least now we know that her
suit is bulletproof." He was very mindful that the implications were much
bigger than that.

Chapter 9

The media frenzy caused by Megan's first two appearances as Supergirl – first
at the construction site and later at the scene of the bank robbery –
blanketed the airwaves. There were literally no other news stories covered as
the big networks played the clips of Megan over and over, the announcement of
the amazing new Supergirl from the stars overpowering the news cycles of all
the other stories. There was conjecture about who this new Supergirl was,
where she was from, what her powers were and how she got them. She appeared to
be very young, but if that was so, then how did she get those enormous
muscles? She appeared to be friendly, but how could we be sure about that? And
if not, what could we do about it given that she appeared to be totally
invincible? There didn't appear to be an army in the world that could stand up
to her. The young boys from the construction site were interviewed, as well as
the police chief. Talk shows and blogs conjectured who this new super being
was. Did she live among us? And there were metaphysical questions such as what
meant for us to now look up at the heavens and know we weren't alone. No one
seemed to have any answers. Without obviously intending to, Megan had created
quite a global buzz. And because none of the film clips were crystal clear,
they didn't provide a positive identification of her face. Megan had become an
instant superstar without people knowing who she was.

Everyone in town was also on the lookout for this Supergirl, so our family
decided to get out of town for a few days until the initial furor passed over.
We decided to go to Colorado for some mountain sightseeing.

Dad had a supplier in Durango he wanted to incorporate into the trip, so we
flew into Denver and then took a smaller flight to Durango. We wanted to avoid
Megan making a public appearance at the airport, so while we flew commercial,
my sister flew "Air Megan." Truth be told, I wish I was, too.

We originally thought it would be a good opportunity for her to practice her
flying by following our jet, but we forgot how much faster Megan could fly
than a commercial air liner. Having to lumber along at only 500 mph was a
snail's pace for her when she could easily go hundreds of times faster. The
night before we left, we timed her and without really pushing it she could get
to Denver and back in under 10 minutes, rather than the 3 hours it took us.
It's just a short-suborbital hop for her, plus the tingly warmth of the
friction upon re-entry with infernal temperatures approaching that on the sun.

So on the morning of our trip we loaded our bags into the car and Mom, Dad,
and I headed for the airport. Megan stood in the driveway and waved goodbye.
When we were out of sight, she rocketed into the sky under her own power. She
went up to about 10,000 feet and floated there, tracking our progress with her
sharp eyes. We'd given her a cell phone so we could reach her, and she called
once to say she could see an accident on the road up ahead and that we should
take another route to avoid the congestion. Now that's my idea of a traffic
reporter!

Once we took off, she increased to 40,000 feet and floated along with our 757,
loping along like molasses at only 500 mph. Because it was so boring for her,
she would periodically take side trips flying to the next state and back with
her incredible speed. Then, she'd return to the course our plane was on and
because it was going so slow relatively speaking, it was easy to find. It
seemed to her that it had barely moved because she'd only been gone less than
a minute or so. She also shadowed the smaller flight to Durango, which went
even slower. Eventually, we rented a Jeep Grand Cherokee and called her as we
exited the airport so she could once again track us from the air.

This was the longest Megan had ever flown continuously, and she was amazed
that she wasn't getting tired. The truth was, her super-powered body never got
tired. But she was getting a little bored with all the slow flying. So she set
down on the top of a large mountain as we drove by on the road down below,
waiting for an opportunity to join us in the car.

She was enjoying the scenery and the fresh air, as well as the opportunity to
have her feet on solid ground. She failed to notice that about a hundred yards
away, a big horn sheep was picking at some grass when it caught sight of her.
It curiously began winding its way to where Megan stood. Feeling that its
territory had been violated, it charged and lowered its head. Megan had seen
it coming and flexed her abs while she stuck in place. The big horn lowered
his head and rammed her in the middle of her abs. Unfortunately for the ram,
it had chosen to attack the Maid of Might, and those flexed abdominal muscles
were far harder than the densest steel. His horns hit her abs with a CRACK!
that sounded like rifle fire. Although he rebounded back a few feet, Megan did
not move a micron. It wobbled on its legs for a few seconds before its hind
legs gave out and it plopped down, unable to maintain its balance because its
head was spinning so.

"Sorry, big fella," Megan said.

A few miles up the road they pulled into the hotel. Megan swooped down just as
Dad opened the doors to our rooms. I wished I could have shared a room with
Megan, but it didn't work out that way. Dad and I were in one room, and Mom
and Megan had the other.

The next day, we decided to go on the Durango-Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad.
It was a restored coal-fired steam engine that was narrower width than a
normal steam engine. Instead of the normal four-foot wide tracks, this train
was made to fit on to tracks just 3 feet apart. The slimmer width made it
easier for it to wind its way up the river gorge between Durango and
Silverton, which had very slender banks. In many areas, the track shadowed the
gorge to the river on one side, and the mountainside on the other, the ledge
the track was laid on no wider than 3-4 feet. It was historic and pretty cool,
and the scenery was said to be gorgeous.

The train had several restored passenger cars that had windows and bench sets,
but we sat in one of the back cars that were open air. There was a roof to
block the sun and rain, but the sides were open and there were two rows of
bench seats arranged lengthwise so each side faced out.

Megan was wearing a sweat shirt that had been custom-made for her. It was an
enormous piece of cloth that would have hung very loosely on me, but on her,
it draped nicely over her outrageous muscles and sort of concealed how big and
buffed she was. In fact, some people might have wondered if she was just over
weight. Underneath it, she had on her Supergirl bikini, just in case – she
could wear it like underwear and you never know when it might come in handy,
she'd say. Otherwise, we were determined to have some vacation time as a
family, a family that included Megan, and not have anyone recognize Megan for
who she was.

We left the station in Durango and the train continued through the mountains,
gradually gaining altitude as it followed the beautiful rushing stream. It was
a beautiful scene with the blue water below, the green woods along the banks
and the lower part of the mountain, and the mountains above on each side. Most
of the peaks still had snow up at the higher elevations, despite it being
summer. The obsolete little antique train happily went clickety-clack as it
rode down the track, singing its bittersweet song from days gone by.

Up above the train, the San Juan Mountains made for spectacular vistas as the
little train full of tourists puffed and belched, and spewed steam and soot,
while it lumbered uphill to Silverton. Little did anyone know that dynamite
blasting on the other side of the mountain to widen the road bed was damaging
this side of the mountain. Shock waves from each blast were transmitted
through the bedrock to this side of the mountain, and the gneiss and schist
rocks were weakening. Tiny cracks and fissures began to form; where they
already had formed they became wider. Eventually, there was an avalanche in
one area after the train had passed and the talus covered the tracks. Because
there was no avalanche detection system on this part of the track, the
conductor had no idea of the problem. The little train just merrily chugged
along towards Silverton, the sound of the engine and the clack of the tracks
sounding like a rhythm section.

It was a clear and crisp day, and my family was having a great time enjoying
the scenery that was so different from where we lived. In Silverton, we had an
ice cream and window shopped while the train was turned around. Then, it was
time for the return trip, and there was still no knowledge that the avalanche
had compromised part of the tracks.

The train was rumbling down the tracks until it made a sudden stop. Several
people fell out of their seats and anyone who was standing was thrown to the
ground. Anyone except for Megan, that is; her feet seemed to be unnaturally
glued to the floor as the train shook to and fro.

Unbeknownst to us, the engineer had just seen the fallen rock across the
tracks and was making an emergency stop. The screeching noise of the brakes
was ear-piercing, but the train gradually slowed. Just before it made a
complete stop, the engine hopped off the tracks. The rest of the train cars
all felt the jolt as the engine derailed.

The particular spot where the train stopped had one of the widest ledges along
the whole trip. Even though the train track hugged the water, there was about
30 yards on the other side to the edge of the mountain. Since there was a
gentle turn in the track, the people in the cars were able to look ahead and
see what the problem was.

Dad turned to Megan and had a concerned look on his face. "You want to go see
if you can...lend a hand?" he whispered to her. Megan smiled and nodded, and
there was a blur and a slight puff of air as she suddenly disappeared, while
her shorts, tennis shoes, and sweatshirt seemed to instantly appear in Mom's
lap in a neatly folded pile. Megan flew out the back of the train and soared
into the sky. Then, she made a wide arcing turn and gently swooped back down
towards the train. She landed right beside the front of the engine. The
Conductor and Engineer were standing about 10 yards in front of her inspecting
the rock pile that covered the track. Judging from how they had pushed their
hats back and were scratching their heads, they were obviously unsure what to
do next.

"Excuse me, sir?" Megan called out, "Can I lend a hand?"

The men turned to see her and froze. The engineer spat out some tobacco juice
and said, "Thanks little girlie, but I don't think you can do much with that
pile of boulders." He chuckled and elbowed the conductor, "she thinks she's
that new Supergirl from the news."

The conductor said, "Jake, you old coot, put your glasses on, I think she IS
that Supergirl."

"You might be surprised at what these little ole muscles of mine can do,"
Megan said. She knelt down and picked up an unused 8-foot section of railing
that littered so much of the track bed and quickly bent it into a U. Then, she
fashioned a crude loop and, pushing the trailing end through, made a knot. She
grabbed both ends and pulled the knot tight as the steel groaned.

"Shee-it," the engineer said, a stream of tobacco juice spittle once again
streaming towards the ground.

A few young boys on the train had seen her fly overhead and land at the front
of the train. They watched as she bent the railing with her bare hands, "Look,
it's that Supergirl. She's here. It's got to be her."

Megan tossed the now-deformed rail onto the ground and walked to a large
boulder that lay just a few feet away. She spread her arms and grasped the
large rock, which was about 6 feet in diameter, and easily lifted it off the
ground. She balanced it on the open palm of her hand and said, "Well, whatever
you say, but you see, sir, I do have some...talents...that you might find
useful." With a flick of the wrist, the boulder sailed through the air over
her shoulder and landed in the middle of the river about 200 yards away with a
mighty splash.

"Whoa!" the boys shouted as they jumped out of the train car and ran up the
track towards her.

"Oh look," Megan said as she bent over to lift the front of the engine up off
the tracks with one hand. She was casually holding up the 50-ton engine with
one hand with it upward tilted on its back wheels when she said, "It looks
like just the front wheels de-railed, like maybe a falling rock hit the rail
right there and twisted it before it rolled into the water."

Megan held the front of the engine overhead with one hand as she bent down and
twisted the iron straight with her other, the steel bending like a piece of
licorice in her powerful hand, "There, that should be better."

Just then, the boys arrived while she was holding the engine off the ground
with one hand. They were between 10 and 12, and approximately the same age as
Megan.

"Jeez, look at her, she's gorgeous!" one said. "And ceck out that bod," said
the other. "And she's really strong," said a third, "Hey, Supergirl, can I
feel your muscle?"

"Me, too," all the others chimed in.

"Sure guys," Megan giggled as they crowded around her. She flexed the biceps
of her free arm while they ogled her and copped a feel of her amazing muscles.
After a minute or two she said, "Okay guys, hold on a minute, and let me put
this engine back down now, okay?"

"Is it getting heavy for you?" a boy asked.

"Are you kidding? Naw, this is light as a feather, I just have some work to
do," Megan said.

They backed away and watched her gently set the huge engine back down onto the
tracks.

"There. Now if you gentlemen would excuse me, I have a little cleaning up to
do," Megan said.

She began moving with super speed picking up the boulders that covered the
track and moving them. She moved so fast it looked like the talus was melting
and a new pile was growing on the side of the mountain. In 15 seconds, she had
cleared the track and was once again standing in everyone's midst with her
hands on her hips.

"Thanks, Supergirl," they all shouted.

Just then there was another dynamite blast on the other side of the mountain.
There was a deep rumbling and cracking sound as everyone felt and heard the
mountain nearly split in two. A large, domino-shaped boulder sheered away from
the mountaintop as a result of the vibrations. There were gasps and a few
screams as the people on the train suddenly realized they were in the path of
the gargantuan, falling monolith.

It fell on its side and began to slide down sloped face of the mountain. It
looked to be over a hundred yards wide and maybe 50 yards thick. It destroyed
everything in its path and scraped the face of the mountain clean as it
collected a stand of trees on its leading edge and seemed to be building
speed.

The monolith reached the bottom of the talus from a previous landslide and
moved over a flat area where the rocks were accumulated. The flattened grade
acted as a sort of ski slope as the gigantic stone flipped into the air and
threatened to land on the train, crushing everything, and everyone, underneath
it.

Things started to move in slow motion to Megan, as she naturally slipped into
her accelerated state and watched this disaster unfold right before her eyes.
More people screamed. Others hugged their children one last time. One lady
genuflected and kissed her crucifix, confident that she would meet her maker
within seconds. The rock blocked out the sun and cast a large shadow over the
train which got darker and darker as the moments dragged on. Megan knew that
it would continue getting darker until there was total darkness and the stone
crushed the train and everyone on it into a paper-thin wafer. A mother with
several young children screamed in fright, "Supergirl, help us!"

Megan knew she had to do something, but she had never handled anything like
this before. Nevertheless, she knew she had to act fast, so she flew like a
rocket from where she was standing to intercept the stone just a fraction of a
second before it crushed the train. She caught the stone in mid-air on her
outstretched arms and held it in place, only hoping that it wouldn't break in
two. She slightly underestimated its momentum as it pushed her downward at
least 10-15 feet before her muscles powered up to counter the force.

Megan's shoulder, back, and arm muscles exploded into a riot of bulges and
clefts as they offset the enormous mass of the stone. It was more strength
than she had ever had to use before, but she was quickly rewarded with the
realization that she had more than enough strength, and could handle the
weight and still have plenty of muscle left over. She smiled smugly as she
estimated that even this was just a fraction of her strength.

"It's okay, I've got it!" she shouted down to the people in the train below
her as she floated overhead with the colossal, menacing stone resting on her
outstretched hands, "I've got it! Don't worry!" She was only vaguely aware of
the people shouting and pointing at her because she was concentrating so hard
on maintaining the balance of the stone and not letting it tip off her hands.

She slowly lowered herself to the ground as she held the stone overhead while
cameras and video cameras of passengers on the train caught every second of
her Herculean effort. She held the side of the rock that overhung the train up
higher so it wouldn't hit the roof of the train cars, and her toes finally
touched the ground. She maintained her flying power so that her feet wouldn't
sink into the ground from the weight.

I could see that the group of boys from the front of the train was running to
her, and I pushed my way through the crowd to jump off the train and join
them. They swarmed around her, cheering and feeling her muscles as I ran to
them. Megan was showing off a little by effortlessly pressing the football
stadium-sized stone up and down, as if she were using it to get a little
exercise. One young boy was evidently as moved by this sight as was I, and
leaned forward to kiss Megan on the cheek.

I pushed my way through the crowd and pulled away the kisser. When Megan saw
me, she said, "Isn't it great, Johnnie? I did it! I really did it! And I've
got so much left over, too! Watch this!" Megan then pulled away one hand and
started to press the stone up and down with just one arm. Then, she started
flexing the biceps on her free arm, and appeared to be really concentrating on
getting the largest flex possible. The muscles of both arms were flexing
larger than I'd ever seen before, even in any of her isometric exercises, but
the muscle on her free hand flexed even larger than the one holding the rock
overhead.

The stone must have weighed more than several aircraft carriers – I would
guess at least a couple hundred thousand tons – and I'd never been so turned
on by her in my life. I put my hands on her burgeoning triceps muscle and felt
it swell as she smoothly pressed the stone up and down for me. Her knotted
triceps bulged outward more than filling my hand. I ran my other hand across
her thighs, which were incredibly pumped and bowed out with thick bulging
muscles and deep cuts between the thick cords of muscle as they supported the
inconceivable weight overhead. Her eyes showed the excitement she felt at
being able to use her muscles this way, and also for the realization that
there was so much strength left over in reserve.

I put my hands on her slim waist and kissed her. She looked so powerful and
sexy, and so proud of her muscles. We kissed deeply, her tongue sweeping into
my mouth. I sucked it hard and even bit down on it, confident that I could not
hurt her. My Mom and Dad could not believe what they were seeing. I vaguely
heard one of the boys say something about Supergirl having a boyfriend.

I pulled away after a few seconds, mindful of the energy she must be expending
to hold a weight like that over head, but Megan pulled me back, "Mmm, not so
fast." We kissed long and hard for another minute or two as the entire
trainload full of on-lookers became wrapped up in the passion of our moment.
Couples shared a private moment together, celebrating that they hadn't
breathed their last breath. Many kissed, others cuddled. All were jubilant.
They were safe.

Supergirl had kept them safe. My Supergirl.

All the while, Megan had been holding half a mountain of granite overhead with
one hand. Finally, she pulled away from me, "But it's not the muscles or the
strength or the flying that makes me feel like Supergirl. It's helping people,
protecting them, like I just did. That's what makes me feel "Super." Well, I
guess your Supergirl needs to get rid of this little pebble now."

She looked for a place to put the huge stone, and saw another landslide area
on the mountain a half mile downstream. It had a large talus, but it seemed to
have filled in and built up a flat area, as opposed to continuing down to the
base of the mountain. She scanned the area with her telescopic eyesight and
verified that there were no wild animals there. Megan took a deep breath and
used both hands to heave the huge stone into the air across the river. It flew
through the air and landed on the top of that shelf. The shock waves knocked
everyone down as the train rocked back and forth on the track.

The crowd was stunned into silence at what they had just witnessed, when a man
on the train shouted, "We're safe!" The whole crowd cheered, and Megan was
beaming. She waved to the crowd and took off into the air. She made a slow
pass by the train before flying off into the distance.

To be continued?

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