Love Muscle

She was in the checkout line, all the way up at the front of the store. He stared for a moment, blinking, making sure that it was her. But there was no mistaking that form. Once again, she had her hair tied back in a little pony tail. She was wearing short shorts today, the material barely covering her butt and leaving most of her thighs bare. She was in sandals again, and a tee shirt that stretched across her sculpted back and shoulders. Other shoppers were staring at her, but she seemed oblivious to their glances.

Scott hurriedly threw a package of chicken into his cart and raced to the front of the store, even though he hadn't picked up milk or eggs or bread yet. He had to dodge one or two other shoppers who walked right out in front of him with their carts. These were people he had known all his life, who he otherwise would have stopped and spoken to for a few minutes, but today he just felt they were in his way.

When he got to the checkout lines she was gone. He could see her loading her groceries into the old Ford outside in the parking lot. He hesitated. This was his chance! But, what should he do? Leave his cart here, and run out to the parking lot to...do what? What would he even say to her?

Quickly, he scanned his groceries, picked up a bag of salad mix, and ran out the door. He would tell her that she had left this behind! Even though it wasn't hers, she'd see he was a nice guy...and that he ate healthy! She'd smile at him, and they'd start a conversation. It all played out so well in his head. But when he got out to the parking lot, he was too late, She was just starting her Ford and pulling out of the space.

He froze and watched her drive away. He glanced at her license plate, but what good would that do him? Would he track her down through his non-existent contacts with the police? He noticed that she had a bumper sticker - it was a barbell, and the crossbar was made up of the words, "Lift like a girl". On her back window was a decal that showed the outline of a scantily clad girl. At first glance it looked like those silhouettes that so many truckers had on their mudflaps - the stripper in heels, arching her back. But on this sticker the woman was muscular, flexing her arm, showing off her huge biceps.

"Hey," said a voice behind him, "you gonna pay for that or do I have to call the cops and send your sorry ass to jail?" Scott turned around to find the manager of the grocery store standing with his hands on his hips, a menacing look on his face. Then he smiled. Bill Mullen had been Scott's friend since high school. The two occasionally hung out, went to local sporting events, or knocked back a couple of beers together. Scott blushed.

"Sorry," he said, "I...ummm... thought I saw somebody I knew." Bill laughed.

"Yeah, I know who you saw." Bill said, glancing at Sara's old SUV that was just disappearing down the road. "Same girl everybody else in town has seen these past couple of weeks. Muscle girl." Scott blushed even more furiously and looked away.

"Man," Bill continued, "how could a woman get so muscular? I mean, what's the point?" Then he looked speculatively at his friend. He liked Scott, and his wife, Judy, always worried about him. He, himself, didn't think that muscular women were at all attractive. Judy had been one of those tiny cheerleaders, all peppy and bouncy. That's what he went for. But maybe...maybe his friend was different?

"You want to know her name?" Bill asked.

Scott looked up immediately. "S...sure!" he said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic and failing miserably. "How do you know her?"

"I don't," Bill admitted, putting his arm around his friend and walking him back into the store. "But a couple of the guys and I stopped by Double A's Sports Bar last week and she's a waitress there." Scott turned to look at Bill, not believing what he was hearing. "Her name tag said 'Sara', with no 'h'," he said. As they got back to Scott's abandoned cart, and Scott threw the bag of salad back in, Bill added the kicker. "And she applied for a bonus card here. Her full name is..."

Scott watched as Bill pulled up her account on the tablet in front of him. "Sara Teague" he said. He showed Scott the spelling. "I can't tell you her address, buddy - I could really get into trouble for that - but happy hunting" he said. Scott thanked him and paid for his groceries. He loaded his car and sat in the parking lot. He had her name and up close details of what she drove. He knew he could find her. Sure it was a bit creepy, but he was past that point.

After dropping off his groceries at home, he drove to the north end of town and began criss-crossing all the streets, hoping to see her parked SUV. After forty-five minutes or so he was about to give up. As he passed a very old Victorian house that he always thought of as nice and needing work, he was shocked to see her SUV in the side driveway. He drove around the block to get another look, but didn't see her..

He decided to go home and regroup and think about his next move. Should he walk by her house? For him, this was a big decision. What if she saw him walking by? What if she was mad, or thought he was some sort of weird stalker? Which, he had to admit, he was becoming.

As if to prove the point, after dinner that night he googled her name. It turned out that 'Sara Teague' wasn't that uncommon, so he refined the search. Typing in 'Sara Teague body builder' turned up her image, posing in a competition. It said that she was a personal trainer at Crossfit Athletics in Rockford. He used that to do a bit more research.

He found an old Facebook page that showed pictures of her and a dark haired, handsome guy. It listed her as being married...but the page hadn't been updated in a couple of years. On the Crossfit Athletics page she wasn't listed among the staff at all. Further down the page, there were some Youtube links. He clicked on one, and it brought up a video called "Martial Arts Exhibition".

He fidgeted as it buffered and then started. There she was, standing in the middle of a mat that looked like it was set up in a mall somewhere. Crowds of people stood in the background. She was dressed in the typical martial arts outfit with a black belt around her waist.

One by one, men dressed in similar outfits (but with white belts, he noted) came at her. He stared in awe as she pivoted, blocked their attacks, and put them on the ground one after the other. He didn't know the names of the blocks, kicks, punches, or other moves, but it didn't matter. He was mesmerized. The crowd in the background "oohed" and "aaahed" as if they were watching a fireworks show. Scott didn't make a sound, but his cock stiffened.

There turned out to be three more videos of Sara in various competitions or exhibitions. By the time he had watched them all three times he was sweating and his prick was bulging, trying to break out of his jeans. He wanted to take it out and stroke it, but he didn't. He decided he didn't want to just jerk off to her videos. He wanted more.

In the next few days, several odd things began happening to Sara. She usually got home from the bar about 3:00 each morning. As she was pulling into her driveway she always stopped to get the mail. Most of the time there wasn't anything there, or just a bill or two, or some junk mail.

On Wednesday she found a card. The envelope was blank. When she opened it, her heart in her throat for fear that her ex had found her and was sending some nasty note her way, she instead found a beautiful Welcome card. It was store bought, and the sentiment generic. It said that she was welcome, and it was hoped she would make herself at home. But at the bottom somebody had written in a strong, steady script, "Awfully glad you've moved to our little town. Hope you're settling in just fine. You really brighten the place up! Cheers!"

Sara couldn't decide if she felt welcomed or creeped out. It didn't seem to be from any sort of official welcome wagon or anything like that. She took a look around the neighborhood. She supposed it was too much to hope at this hour that somebody would be standing on his or her porch, waving at her. As she expected, everything was still. The street was dotted with pools of light from the street lights. Nobody was about.

As she drove up her long driveway, past the thick hedges her aunt had used for privacy, she scanned the yard and house. Nothing seemed out of place. She parked the car in its usual spot and locked it, as was her habit, and carefully checked the old, sagging porch and the front door before letting herself in. Nothing seemed disturbed or out of place.

By Friday, Sara had put the strange card out of her mind. When she got home that night, after a particularly stressful and tiring shift at the bar, she got her mail and drove up the driveway as usual. She almost got up the porch steps, carefully avoiding the middle step, which was rotting, before she saw that something was sitting there in front of her door.

Once again her heart went into her throat before she could fully process what she was seeing. It was a bouquet of flowers, beautiful, colorful, and fragrant. Next to it was a note, hand-written on nice stationery. It said, "Please don't be angry. I wanted to leave you these beautiful flowers because you are one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. I'm not a stalker, I'm just shy. If you're attached or uninterested or just want to be left alone, leave these out on your porch and I won't bother you again."

Sara couldn't believe what she was reading. She had some sort of secret admirer? Once again, she looked around. Her yard was quiet, and there certainly didn't seem to be anybody lurking in the bushes. Even though the house was in a nice neighborhood, it sat back from the road and her aunt had planted plenty of trees and shrubs for privacy. At this moment, it felt a bit remote and dangerous to her.

She stood there a minute in indecision, and then opened the door and went in, leaving the flowers on the porch. She carefully checked all of the windows and doors, finding them all still locked just as she had left them.

Despite what the note said, the whole thing was creepy. Still, as she got herself ready for bed, she couldn't stop thinking about it. A secret admirer? Some shy small-town guy? Before she went to sleep, she put on a robe and went downstairs and opened the door. She half expected to find some weirdo skulking on the porch, but it was empty. So was her yard. She bit her lip, then bent down and picked up the flowers and the card and brought them inside.

The next day was Saturday. Before going off to work, Sara walked around the neighborhood. She knocked on the doors of her neighbors. She introduced herself to one old lady, one older couple, and one middle-aged couple. They were pleasant, welcoming her to the neighborhood and telling her nice things about her aunt.

Most of her neighbors invited her in to sit for a while. She begged off, telling them all that she had to get to work, but she did ask if they had seen anybody lurking around her property. Maybe a sales person going up to her porch? They all seemed concerned, but nobody had seen anything unusual. They assured her that it was a friendly, safe town and that they had only seen the usual neighbors walking up and down the sidewalks. They did say that the kids could play pranks on people, but they were harmless. Sara thanked them all and left, promising to stop by again.

During the course of the next week, flowers and cards were left on her porch twice more. The cards never gave anything away, but they did tell her she was beautiful, and that the writer was happy she had moved into town.

The day after the third bouquet, she left a note tacked to her door before going to work. It said, "If you're married, have a girlfriend, or are in any way attached, fuck off. If you're looking for a mommy, fuck off. If you're looking to be slapped around, spanked, or otherwise beaten, fuck off. If you're a lesbian, sorry, I'm straight. If you're still reading, grow a pair and introduce yourself. I appreciate the kind words, but nobody likes a stalker."

For the next week, there was no answer. The flowers stopped, the cards stopped, and nobody introduced himself. She figured it was a married guy looking to tap the new ass in town, or some submissive wimp. But if it wasn't, she had put the ball in his court. It was up to him now.

On Monday afternoon she went to the grocery store. It was her day off from the bar, and she actually had the time and energy to do the shopping. She was loading her bags into the back of her SUV when she heard somebody clear his throat. She turned around to find a tall, skinny guy in jeans and a nice, button-down shirt. He was holding a bouquet of flowers. He started to speak, and his voice broke. He was sweating. He cleared his throat again and finally said, "H..Hi." That seemed to be all he could muster for the moment.

Scott was shaking with excitement as he held out the flowers to her. She continued to put the groceries away in the SUV. She had a sleeveless top on and her muscular arms were flexing as she worked. She finished, slammed the door shut, and turned to face him. "So you're the guy," she finally said, eyeing him up and down. He was very thin, almost comical.

"These are for you," he stammered. She slowly reached out and took the flowers. The silence seemed to last forever.

"They're lovely," she said, sniffing them. "It's really sweet of you to do this, but you could have just knocked on my door." He looked at the ground.

"Look at me," she said gently. He looked up for a moment, made eye contact, but then blushed even more furiously and looked away. "Well, we can work on that," she said. "At least you grew a pair." She giggled, and he laughed too.

"I'm Scott." he said, looking back up at her.

"Sara," she replied.

"Nice to finally meet you," she said, holding out her hand. He took it hesitantly, as if he expected her to hurt him. Her grip was firm, but warm and gentle. He found that her hands were smooth, when for some reason he had expected them to be rough and calloused. "So do you live around here?" she asked.

"Other side of town," he said.

"Almost neighbors," she replied, and they both laughed.

"I always liked that house," he said.

"You want it?" she quipped, thinking of all the work it needed. He laughed again, and she found that she liked his laugh. It was deep and genuine, and it erased the worry lines from between his eyes.

They stood there in silence for a moment. Sara waited to see if he would ask her out. He clearly liked muscular women, because he kept sneaking glances at her arms. In her experience guys who were really into muscular women were kinky or submissive, and she wasn't into that at all. She didn't need somebody who was aggressive or macho, but she wanted her men to be men. She stood there patiently, relaxed, enjoying the silence, refusing to make things easy for him.

"So, um, can I take you out to dinner?" he finally asked, his voice cracking just a bit.

"Sure," she said, smiling. This time he didn't miss a beat.

"Tonight? Pick you up at six?" he asked.

"I'll be waiting," she replied, liking his directness now. "How should I dress?"

"Um, something short, and sleeveless?" he asked, tentatively. "I mean, where we're going, we can sit outside," he added, hurriedly.

"You got it," she replied. He nodded his head vigorously, shaking with pure joy. She couldn't help but smile. "So I'll see you then," she said, getting in her SUV.

Scott was on cloud nine. He watched as she drove off, thinking of those huge arms, the martial arts videos, her raven colored hair, the ponytail. He loved her soft skin over her huge muscles, a very unique look. He loved her smile, and the way her brown eyes lit up when she laughed. He went home to get ready for the evening.

He took her to the Blue Duck Barbecue Tavern, down by the river. The ride was a bit awkward, because he still seemed too shy to talk much. Sara was comfortable with the silence, though. That was the key. She never felt like she had to fill silence with mindless chatter.

She noted that he drove well. He was safe, knew what was going on around the car, and he wasn't a maniac. So many quiet, repressed guys saved all of their anger and frustration to work out behind the wheel. She had had enough of anger and frustration to last for a lifetime. At the same time, he wasn't too cautious. He drove with confidence, and she found she liked seeing him confident.

At the restaurant, they found that they both loved barbecue and beer. He seemed surprised and happy to find a woman who liked to eat and drink beer as much as he did, and he began opening up. It turned out that he knew a lot about brewing. He liked IPAs and other hoppy ales, but he wasn't a snob about it. She liked malty porters and stouts. He gained confidence talking about food and drink, and though he bought her a second drink he cut himself off after one. He had to drive home.

He got up the courage to ask her some intelligent questions about her training, and he seemed honestly interested and impressed with what she had to say. He listened well, another important trait to her.

During the course of the evening she mentioned that she had lived in Rockford before moving here. When he asked why she left Rockford, she found that she was comfortable enough to tell him the short version of her story. He was sympathetic, and responded to her own questions by honestly admitting that he'd never had much confidence with women. He'd only had two girlfriends before in his life, and he was relieved that she didn't laugh or look down on him.

When he brought her back home he walked her up to the porch. She laughed, and told him that she felt like she was in high school again. When he looked concerned, she assured him that it was a good thing. He asked if he could kiss her, and she nodded. He leaned down, put his skinny arms around her broad shoulders, and kissed her. He was obviously nervous, but he took his time and didn't use his tongue until she opened her lips. Once he slowed down and began enjoying himself, she found that he really was a good kisser.

That first date turned into a series of regular outings. Their schedules didn't mesh well, since Scott worked all day at his bookkeeping business and Sara worked five nights a week at the sports bar, but they got together whenever they could. She would bring him lunch a couple of times a week, and they'd go out to dinner or the movies or just for a drive on her nights off. Just as he gradually got more comfortable opening up and talking to her, she gradually got more comfortable with his obvious attraction to her muscles.

She could see it thrilled him when she had to use her strength, and she began doing so on every date. When he came to pick her up, she'd arrange to be carrying something heavy out to the road. Or she'd be casually pumping some heavy dumbbells on the porch, as if she did that whenever she had a free moment to spare.

On their fifth or sixth date she insisted on going to the sports bar where she worked. They never saw her there in anything but her cargoes and baggy jersey, and she wanted to show off a bit for her co-workers. Besides, the food and drinks there really weren't bad, or too expensive.

While they were there, Gianni, the head bartender and a friend of hers, came over and spent some time shooting the breeze with them. When he commented on her huge arms, he could instantly see how excited Scott became. He challenged Sara to arm wrestle on the spot. If she won, the drinks were on the house for the night. If he won, she had to give him half of her tips on her next shift. She readily agreed. Gianni was a big, strong guy, but he was no bodybuilder.