Fantasy Island Revisited.  Part 1
By Lomax


"Hey, Baas!  What is her fantasy?"  Tatoo exclaimed, gesturing toward the dark-
haired, attractive woman who had just stepped from the boat and was walking 
toward them cross the lawn.  "Tattoo…[Mr. Rork leaned close and spoke in a low 
voice so as not to be overheard]…her fantasy is very unusual.  She wants to…turn 
her body into a weapon…to become extremely hard and strong…to become "cut," 
"ripped," and "chiseled" beyond belief…and she wants to fight the world 
heavyweight champion, in the ring."  "But Baas!" Tattoo exclaimed.  "She is only 
a woman.  It's impossible!"  But Mr. Rork had no time to answer.  The woman had 
approached and was standing before them.  Her hair, long and lush, fell in a 
dark sheet across her shoulder as she came up.  "Welcome," Mr. 
Rork said, extending his hand, "Welcome to Fantasy Island."

A short while later, Heather came into Rork's office.  

Heather's training had begun.  In the strange time-warp of the island, her match 
against Lennox Lewis, the heavyweight champion, would take place in 6 weeks.  If 
she didn't pull out, her trainer told her.  Fred shook his head as he handed her 
a pair of 25-pound weights.  "I don't know if this is going to happen," he 
muttered.  "Do you doubt me, Fred?" Heather asked.  She held the barbells.  They 
felt heavy, but her muscles felt energized by the chance to defy them.  Fred 
instructed her to curl the barbells, alternately, one arm, then the other, a set 
of 20.  As she did so, he observed her posture.  He also admired her body.  Her 
figure was absolutely exquisite: curved hips, slim waist, nice-sized breasts.  
Her arms were smooth, yet wiry, with good definition already.  Fred had 
trained a lot of people before; he was an expert.  He knew how to make people's 
bodies hard as hell, if his client was willing to work enough.  But he couldn't 
see turning a 5 foot 5, 128 pound woman!, of all things, into an opponent for 
Lennox Lewis.  The fighter he would bring in to coach her in fighting would 
teach her how to box, but what good would it do?
Heather finished the set.  Fred instructed her to do another set.  Her arms 
really ached now, but she loved the strain.  She loved the feeling of getting 
stronger, the burn as her muscles contracted and grew harder.  She finished the 
set.  Fred told her to do a third.  By the time she finished the third set, her 
arms were on fire.  She was ready for more.  Next came stomach muscles.  Fred 
didn't want to waste gym time on situps.  He instructed her to do 300 before bed 
every night, another 300 in the morning.  Heather couldn't believe it, but she 
smiled because she loved that Fred was starting to believe in her.  Her stomach 
looked smooth and solid.  Fred almost felt bad prescribing the situps, thinking 
of the changes that stomach would have to endure.  But it was she who had said 
she wanted to be chiseled.  She would be, he thought.  Fred told her to lie on 
her back on the mat.  He walked away and came back with a bowling ball.  He told 
her "now I'm going to drop this on your stomach.  You throw it back up to me." 
He dropped the ball, and it smacked her stomach hard.  She had a quick intake of 
breath and a moment of nausea, but she quickly recovered.  She grasped the ball 
with both hands and pushed it off.  The ball rose two feet and fell back down, 
smacking her stomach again.  Ouch!  She realized, "This is going to be really 
tough!"  She gathered up the ball again, and this time, really put some 
force behind it.  The ball shot upward, and Fred caught it.  He smiled: she 
didn't give up quickly, that was for sure.  He immediately dropped the ball on 
her stomach again.  She tossed it back up.  They continued another 20 times.  By 
this point, Heather's triceps were sorer than she'd ever felt, but she felt 
great.  
Next, it was outside and the track.  Fred told Heather to run the track 12 
times; twice was a mile.  She started to run, and Fred went back inside.  A 
minute later, he came back with the 25-pound weights.  He motioned to Heather to 
stop running.  When she came over, he handed her the weights.  "Run with these," 
he told her.  "Finish the laps."  She ran with the weights in her hands, not 
slowing down.

It had been one week, so Mr. Rork called Heather into his office.  "Well, he 
said," you are looking good!  How is it going?"  She did look good.  Her sleek 
hair fell across shoulders that looked hard.  Her arms were beginning to be cut, 
with veins visible across her biceps.  Her stomach was flat and hard and ridged, 
like a washboard.  The muscles in her legs danced as she walked.  "It's going 
well!" she told him, with a smile.  "Your trainer is great.  I start my boxing 
lessons today."  "Good, that's good," Mr. Rork smiled.  
"But be careful…" he warned.  Heather looked up expectantly.  "What you are 
about to attempt, is very dangerous."  Heather smiled back.  "So am I," she 
said.

In the gym, her routine was the same, but now she was curling 40-pound weights.  
These were also the ones she had to run with.  And Fred was no longer using 
bowling balls.  Now he had a 50-pound ball that he dropped on her midsection.  
Heather had been doing her sit-ups as assigned.  Her stomach muscles were rock-
hard and her midsection looked like the granite rock-face of a mountain.  Fred 
timed her when she ran the track, and to his amazement, her times were 
increasing.  As her muscles hardened and her body became more and more defined, 
she seemed to be gaining in energy, too.  And that was not the fault of the 
island; it was simply the result of Heather's dedication and will.  

Her fighting lessons were also going well.  Mick, her coach, was a professional.  
He was impressed by how quickly she learned.  And he had never coached a body 
that was so well trained, or so hard.  He didn't think the fight with Lewis was 
for real.  Nonetheless, at Heather's insistence, he arranged her first match to 
be against a male fighter, even though he thought it was probably a mistake.  
Her opponent was a lightweight, 135-pound amateur fighter named Hugo.  Hugo was 
furious when he found out he was fighting a woman, and had boasted to all his 
friends that he would knock her out in the first round.    
Heather was excited about the match, about finally getting a chance to prove 
herself to Mick.  Fred was there, and the crowd was about 100 spectators, 
intrigued at the idea of seeing a mixed sexes fight.  Heather stepped into the 
ring wearing a black sleeveless top that cut off above her midriff, and boxing 
shorts.  As she walked out under the lights, people leaned forward, shocked at 
her muscles, her iron-board stomach, her ripped arms, her chiseled legs and 
thighs of stone.  The fight began.  Hugo wasted no time, coming directly for 
her.  He hit her with a dizzying barrage of shots, mostly to the head and neck.  
She was able to protect herself, but taken by surprise, found herself backing 
up, into the ropes.  Sensing his advantage, Hugo came in close and began to 
pound her in the stomach.  Suddenly, he backed up and realized that she had 
raised her arms, not even bothering to defend the blows.  Slowly, Heather raised 
her arms over her head, reached back, and, as if coincidentally, undid her hair 
and shook it out.  The audience laughed, and it had the desired effect on Hugo: 
he turned red with rage, drew back his right fist, and drove it into her midriff 
with all his strength.  There was a shrill yell, but not from Heather.  It was 
Hugo, recoiling from the stinging pain in his arm.  Heather walked toward him, 
smiling.  
Just then, the ring ended the first round.
When the second round started, Hugo came out a bit less confidently.  He was 
trying not to hold his arm, but the pain was killing him.  Heather circled, 
danced in and out, practicing the steps she had learned, but not trying to tag 
him at all.  It got to the point where he seemed to be backing up and retreating 
all over the ring, as she pursued him, goading him to hit her again.  She was 
taunting him, daring him to hit her.  Finally Hugo realized he had no choice.  
As Heather turned away from him, and flexed her muscles to the crowd, he rushed 
at her, hoping to catch her by surprise.  But Heather was more than ready: as 
Hugo hurtled toward her, she bent low, so that his momentum carried him 
across and over her right shoulder.  She placed her hand on his stomach, then 
pushed suddenly and powerfully upward, simultaneously standing up, until she had 
pressed him up over her head. 
Heather walked to the edge of the ring, carrying Hugo's 130 pounds over her 
head, in one hand.  
When Heather put Hugo down, he shook unsteadily, more from humiliation than 
actual exhaustion.  
She hit him then, a single punch with her left fist that snapped his head back, 
and convulsed his entire body, as he collapsed in an unconscious heap on the 
floor.  The referee raised Heather's strong, incredibly chiseled right arm high 
in the air.

The following week, Fred didn't let up on her workouts at all.  They still 
continued with the usual routines.  But now, Heather was curling 60-pound 
barbells.  Fred now had to have two men, big men, help him with the stomach 
exercise: the three of them, together, hefted a 120-pound iron ball, which they 
then dropped unceremoniously on Heather's midriff.  She tossed it back up to 
them, and they repeated it.  Fred had to admit that by this point Heather was 
much stronger than him.  In fact, he was starting to think her strength had 
surpassed that of any athlete he had seen.  Her stomach was hard beyond belief.  
When she ran the track, she carried the 60-pound barbells.  In addition, Fred 
made her race against men who sprinted against her for a lap.  Sprinting, 
pretending the 60-pound weights were weightless, was Heather's favorite game.  
She felt energized as she soared past the tired men, who stared in disbelief at 
the girl who had passed them while carrying 120 pounds in her hands.  Her 
strength was growing by leaps and bounds.  
Now, however, Fred had amped up the workout with a new routine.  He told Heather 
to stand still, with her feet  slightly apart, and raise her arms out to her 
sides, until they were parallel with the floor.  She did so.  Then, using two 
hands to life each one, Fred handed her the 60-pound weights.  "Keep holding 'em 
out like that," he told her.  Heather tensed her arm muscles, flexing her biceps 
and triceps as hard as she could, and found that she could hold the weights.  
Her arms did not move.  Soon, however, her arms burned.  She felt sweat dripping 
down her back, dripping down between her breasts.  However, she wouldn't let 
herself release the weights.  Somehow, she kept her arms at 90%, but they 
started shaking slightly.  Through the corner of her eye she saw Fred motioning 
toward the dark corner of the room.  From the shadows, a dark shape emerged and 
gradually materialized into the figure of a man as he sauntered over.  Dressed 
in nothing but boxing shorts, he was short and heavily built.  "Stay where you 
are.  Don't move," Fred cautioned Heather, as she was trying to turn to see what 
was happening.  "This is Diego, your new sparring partner."  He turned and held 
a brief, whispered conversation with Diego.  Then he turned to Heather.  "You – 
don't move.  Until you have to."  She was still holding the 60-pound barbells at 
90% to her body, but she knew she couldn't keep it up any longer.  Fred turned 
and left the room.  As the door clanged shut behind him, Diego moved in.  
Crouching low into a boxing stance, he let loose at Heather with a sharp jab to 
her stomach.  Heather's stomach muscles were so hard that it didn't hurt, but it 
took her by surprise.  She leapt back and dropped the weights.  "Holy shit, 
girl, you got some six-pack," Diego muttered.  Fred burst through the door.  "I 
thought I told you to keep holding those weights!" He looked pissed off.  "Now 
you want to fight Lewis or not?"  Heather felt herself turning red from anger 
and embarrassment.  Fred handed her back the weights, one at a time.  "This 
training session doesn't end until either he makes you step back or he gives 
up," Fred told her.  Heather raised the barbells back into position and gritted 
her teeth.  "Bring it on" she said to herself.  She willed herself to raise the 
barbells back into position.  Diego closed in and delivered a sharp jab to her 
midriff.  Heather closed her eyes and focused.  Diego hit her again, then again.  
But his blows didn't hurt.  Compared to the medicine ball, it was nothing.  Just 
as Diego danced back in for another shot, she tensed her stomach muscles as hard 
as she could.  Diego launched a hard right.  "Ouch!" he yelled, jumping back.  
Diego rubbed his fist in pain.  Heather grinned to herself; she knew she would 
win this competition, as long as she could hold the barbells in place.  She 
hardened her arms and held on.  The knotted veins in her forearms bulged from 
the strain.  
"Fuck this!" Diego spat, and walked away.  Suddenly the gym door opened and Fred 
came in, placed a hand on Diego's shoulder and spun him around.  "Where the hell 
you think you're going, macho man? You see that girl?" He gestured toward 
Heather.  Unwillingly Diego raised his eyes to look at her.  She flexed her abs 
again as hard as she could, making the hard ridges stand out in bold relief 
under the gym lights.  "This here little training session ain't over 'til you 
either move her backwards, or YOU drop dead 'cause you're too tired to hit any 
more, you got that?" Fred reminded Diego.  
Resigned, Diego got back to work.  He drilled Heather with a series of jabs, 
which had no effect.  Then, he drew back his right, but thought it over and got 
ready with his left instead.  He thought that over too, and decided it was 
better to still have one good arm.  Diego didn't know what to do.  Fred stood 
there, watching.  He was actually staring in amazement at Heather's rock-hard 
body.  He couldn't believe she was still holding the 60-pound weights – it 
didn't seem possible.  She was stronger than anyone.  
"Come on, macho man!" he called out.  Furious and humiliated, Diego fell upon 
Heather with a dizzying series of punches to her midriff.  Again and again, he 
pummeled her, letting go of all his inhibitions in a huge yell of rage.  Through 
the entire barrage, she continued to stand still, holding the 60-pound barbells 
at 90% angles to her body, immovable, hard as stone.  Finally Diego collapsed in 
a sweat-soaked, exhausted heap at her feet.  Heather placed one foot on his 
chest.  Then, she raised the two barbells in a double-biceps pose, flexed her 
arms to rock-hard, chiseled definition, and smiled at Fred.  "I'm ready," she 
told him.

To be continued…