Angie by MBP (MWFAN318@aol.com) Arm-wrestling with my girlfriend’s mom. When I was a college freshman, I worked part-time: every other Saturday and one evening a week. My immediate supervisor was a Hispanic woman: 40ish, attractive, short and solid. One Saturday, about a month after I started working, Angie’s daughter visited. Priscilla was 17, a high school senior, taller and slighter than her mom, and very pretty. I was smitten. We went to lunch that day, and began dating. A couple of months later, I stopped by their house to see Priscilla. She was taking her SAT that morning, and we were to celebrate its ending. My girlfriend was running late, so Angie let me in the house to wait. We made work-related small talk, chatted about my plans with Priscilla, and then Angie excused herself to do some chores. I noticed she was moving some stuff that looked heavy, and I offered her a hand. She just smiled and easily finished her task. I guess I was looking at her quizzically, so she laughed and said, “I’m pretty strong,” and flashed an impressive double biceps pose. And then she shocked me. “Do you want to arm-wrestle?” Did I want to arm-wrestle? Did I? I didn’t know. I was 18, in shape, 5’5” and 165 pounds. Angie was nearly as old as my mom and about 5’1”, 120 pounds. If I beat her, it would mean nothing. But if she won, then I’d have been defeated by a relatively small, middle-aged woman. I had nothing to gain, but I was curious. So I agreed. We sat at opposite ends of the dining room table and clasped right hands. Angie’s were large for her size and felt strong. We indicated readiness, and said “go.” Then we started. I took a slim advantage early without using most of my strength. It was going to be relatively easy although Angie was obviously strong. When her arm hadn’t moved for a couple of seconds, I began increasing the pressure, expecting a quick ending. But her arm still didn’t budge. I continued pulling harder and harder, but with no change in position. I looked up at Angie. She was smiling, her lovely brown eyes dancing. Angie wasn’t straining unduly. I started to worry. I decided to regroup and hold my slight lead. Angie pulled my arm back to the original starting position. I rethought my strategy, and pulled for all I was worth. I succeeded in inching Angie’s arm down again, but my progress stopped. Angie then add more power, and slowly, relentlessly moved my arm down. I glanced at her face and could see the strain. Her right biceps was a rock. Mine were bigger, but Angie’s were stronger. She banged my hand to the table. I stared uncomprehendingly at our locked hands. It took quite a few seconds before I actually believed Angie had beaten me. I looked up at Angie’s smiling face. Her smile was in-between - smiling for winning, and teasing for having overpowered a strong (?) young man. My emotions ran a weird gamut. I was mortified at having lost to an old (how I felt at the time) woman, not to mention smaller as well as being my girlfriend’s mother. I was also kind of excited. Angie and I were still “holding” hands. They were warm; she was flushed and looked good, and the physicality of the arm-wrestle had turned me on. I don’t think anything would have happened, but we never found out. Priscilla walked in, all flushed herself from a successful SAT. I prayed that Angie wouldn’t say anything but I really knew she wouldn’t. My afternoon and evening with Priscilla was a blur. She talked about her SAT, her college plans, and other school-related stuff, but all I could think about was arm-wrestling: the losing and the mixed emotions that went with it. Priscilla and I dated for another month, but it wasn’t the same. When I’d visit, I’d mostly be physically interested in Angie. Not in a sexual sense, but in a “where did she get all that strength” sense. At work, I lasted an extra month. Angie was all business, although she’d occasionally, purposely, make a muscle for my viewing “pleasure.” We never came close to arm-wrestling again.