Be Careful What You Wish For! Part 1
By Vinny
A mostly true story about my life with a serious woman


This is my story of how I got what I wanted and then some.

I'm now a 32 year man, 6 foot 4, 225 pounds. I'm still in pretty damn good
shape. I play pick up basketball, tennis, softball, touch football and just
about every other sport and when the weather's not great I go to the gym. You
see, I've always been active. And I've always loved sports. I guess its
because it was the one way I could channel my aggressiveness in a societally
approved activity. I'll take you back to the beginning.

I was already 5' 6", 150 pounds when I was 11. I was the biggest kid on the
little league team, the strongest kid in my school and the best athlete at
just about every sport I tried.. So you see, it wasn't that hard for me to
dominate.

By my junior year in high school when I first started screwing around with
girls, I was 6' 3", 215. Needless to say, there weren't many high school girls
that could stand near me in size and strength. So as I became sexually active
most of my girl friends were relatively tiny, waifs compared to me and my
developing muscularity. I always felt like I had to hold back. In fact, except
for one swimmer that I dated in my senior year who was 5' 10" and maybe 140
pounds, everyone that I screwed around with was about 100 pounds lighter than
me. I could flat out dominate without ever trying.

Then came college and my largest size gains. You see I got a scholarship to
play tight end at a semi-major college program. My coaches told me to bulk up
and before I blew out my knee as a junior I was at my current height, but had
gotten my weight up to 265. Plus my strength level at that time was at its all
time high. I was benching 345 for reps (with a one rep high of 405) and
squatting well over 450. I was enormous. And so was my appetite - for food and
women.

At least in college, I had the opportunity to pick from some of the mid-
west's finest co-eds. I had several relatively long relationships and numerous
trysts, but again, very few women could satisfy what I wanted. Even if at the
time I didn't know what it was that I wanted.

After graduation I continued to mess around with women while shedding much of
the excess football bulk. By the time I was 28, I was down to my current size
and was coming off a failed 9 month relationship with an ex-volleyball player
who was at least a bit stronger than the usual generic hotties that I found
myself with. Then one night at a party, I was introduced by a friend of mine
to the dark haired women who is the real subject of this tale and who, for
better or worse, I would spend the next four years with.

Cara was 27 years old, a graduate of a prestigious liberal arts college in
Pennsylvania where she was on the field hockey team. She was 5' 9" and an
athletic 135 pounds, with shoulder length black hair, bright blue eyes and
about the most exotic look I had ever seen (the result of her Swedish father
and Italian mother). We hit up a conversation, virtually ignored everyone else
at the party and made plans to meet for a few sets of tennis the next day.
Tennis led to a 40 mile bike ride the following weekend, which led to a
romantic dinner the next night, which led to my condo, which led to mutual
exploration of each other's body, which led very quickly thereafter to Cara
moving into my place.

Our life together was great. I was never happier in my life. Cara was as
athletic as I was. She loved biking, tennis, swimming, sports of all types and
even went with me to the gym, where she did aerobics, yoga and pilates. In
short, she was great. So I guess I shouldn't have complained. Especially since
I knew that in addition to being impulsive, Cara was compulsive. If I beat her
in tennis, she would take a lesson to try to get better. If we went for a bike
ride, she always made sure that she was the one in front when we got back to
the condo or the car or wherever it was that we were going. Once we went to
the beach and she was the one who went out body surfing even though red flags
warning everyone to stay out of the waves were out. Then she spent the next
few weeks calling me a wuss for not following her into the water.

Above I said I complained. That's not really true. I didn't complain actually.
Instead, I answered a loaded question honestly. You know what I mean when I
say loaded question, right? "Am I fat?", "Does this dress look OK?", "Was it
good for you too?" Well in this case, we had just finished a beautiful night
of love making and were lying in bed caressing each other. Cara said "that was
amazing, I love you so much. I would do anything for you. Wasn't that the best
sex ever?"

Now, most of you are smarter than me or at least most of you probably have
more discretion than me or maybe most of you are just better bull shit artists
than me. But in that moment of passion, in that time of love, in that embrace,
with Cara's amazing body intertwined with mine, with our various secretions
oozing all over each other, did I do what every guy has done since time
immemorial? Did I lie? No. Instead, I said, "that was great, but ... no, no,
that was great". Its hard for me to write the nuance. The hesitation. The
momentary lapse of sanity. You see there was a slight pause. And that was all
Cara needed. "But what?" "No seriously, that was great. About the best sex
ever." There I did it again. The qualifier -" about". Not "the best" but
"about the best". Bottom line, Cara was hurt. How the hell women can get hurt
from that, I thought. In retrospect, its perfectly clear, but in the moment,
when you dick is lying there limp, and your body is spent and your mind is
weak, some goddamn honesty sneaks in.

Anyway, it took 3 days of the cold shoulder before we broached the topic
again. This time Cara was ready for every nuance, every inflection, every
twitch. So after a few moments of prodding I figured I'd come clean. I came
out with it. I said Cara, "you're amazing. You're the most beautiful woman
I've ever known. Sex with you is fabulous. You satisfy my every need. The only
thing that made me hesitate the other night when we spoke is that I wish you
were stronger than you are. And I think you're plenty strong. But I outweigh
you by 90 pounds. And that doesn't matter in regular life. When we play
tennis, or ride, or swim or hike or anything else, that makes no difference.
But in bed, I sometimes wish you were bigger and stronger and I could go all
out. That's all."

She considered that for a moment. Then she started to cry. Like they always do
at these times. If you've been with a woman long enough you know the
conversation. "I just want to make you happy." "You do." "No I don't. You said
I'm not strong enough for you." "No I said, I wish you were stronger. See the
difference." "You don't love me." "Yes I do." Etc. Etc. Yada, yada, yada. Then
she left the condo with tears running down her face.

Now Cara was not a weak person. In emotional strength, she'd kick my ass. In
mental strength she'd kick my ass. In determination, in stamina, in endurance
she'd kick my ass. But in physical strength, c'mon I had her by 90 pounds.

She didn't come home for 4 hours. When she did she didn't talk to me at all.
The next day she left the house early and I didn't see her all day because of
work. In fact, I didn't hardly see her for the better part of the week.
Finally, that Saturday I confronted her. I had a little speech that I had
worked out about me being a jerk, insensitive, not wanting to mess up a good
thing, still madly in love, forgive me, please. After the little speech she
just said, "thanks for the apology. But no apology was needed. We're in this
relationship together and we've got to do things for the other person to make
the relationship strong. I joined a new gym." I was shocked. "You did what?"
"I joined a gym. The one near my work. I signed up for a personal trainer. A
guy named Tony. He's an ex-power lifter. I just walked in and said to him that
I needed to be stronger. I want strength. So he's been teaching me all kinds
of lifts. Its actually kind of fun. I like it a lot. Tony says I've got a
great base from all the sports I've played and because I'm in such great shape
he's sure I'll be a lot stronger in a hurry."

Wow. You could have knocked me over with a feather. Cara was going to get
stronger for me. At that moment I was so overwhelmingly in love with her that
I would have done anything for her. Instead, all she wanted to do was go up to
bed and fuck. Her words exactly. So we did. In fact, we reignited our sex life
with a bang. Cara said that lifting made her horny so we started having sex
just about every night that she went to the gym. In the beginning it was every
other day, soon it was 3 days on one day off. Then it was 3 days on, the
fourth day for cardio and then back to 3 days on etc.

I'll stop here for a brief description of Cara at the time of joining the gym.
Some of this is from memory and some is from putting some of the pieces I put
together later on. As I said above she was 5' 9" and about 135. She had the
solid body of a jock. Not muscular. Just solid. Lean. If you saw here at the
pool in a bathing suit you would have said jock. Well really you would have
said babe, but for purposes of where this story is going let's just say jock.
Using the traditional measures, I'd guess she was a 34B - not busty but you
never doubted she was a woman. She had very firm legs. In fact her legs and
her butt were more muscular than her upper body, I guess from all the biking
and training she did for field hockey. I know that when she started she was
able to bench press 95 pounds, squat 135 and she curled 10 pounds for her
sets. If I had to guess her arms were less than 12 inches, but she didn't
start tracking her measurements until much later on.

Back to the story. Cara joined the gym in mid-September 1999. By Christmas,
her gains were already noticeable. Just the way her body felt and acted in bed
was noticeable enough. Her appetite was totally different. She started downing
protein shakes and carrying around protein bars. Her attitude was different
too. In bed she was much more aggressive, especially if she worked out at
night after work as opposed to during the morning or afternoon which she did
occasionally.

On January 2, 2000, she came back home from the gym still sweaty, called me
into the bedroom, stripped completely naked and said "see the difference" and
proceeded to flex her brand new muscles in every imaginable way. There wasn't
a lot of visible muscle there, but for me knowing what she looked like just 4
months before, it was unbelievable. We then proceeded to have the greatest sex
ever. We were all over each other. She even tried to deny herself from me and
then at another point she tried (without success) to move me off of her. Still
I was startled that she could be this much stronger in so little time. And I
loved it. Later while we were caressing after we finished fucking she said
"wasn't that the best sex ever?" This time there was no hesitation in my
answer. "Yes. Thank you for getting stronger. I love your strength. I love
your body. I love you."

At that point, when I was exhausted and ready to fall asleep, she rolled onto
of me, straddled my waist with her legs, sat up and said "you've seen nothing
yet. I'm just starting. I love the way I feel. I love the way I look. I love
the way we fuck. I love being strong. You better get your ass back in the gym,
because it won't be long before I'm throwing you around this bed, big man."

Things continued like this, with Cara ever escalating her intensity. Like I
said above, she was going to the gym just about every day of the week now. She
was buying power lifting and bodybuilding magazines, she was downing
supplements plus her shakes and powders and she had stopped paying Tony to be
her trainer. Instead she had hooked up with 2 male bodybuilders at her gym
joining one or the other or both depending on when they were going to be at
the gym. I was still having great sex, and I loved the way her body was
changing before my eyes, but it seemed like we were losing some of our
relationship because of the time she spent at the gym. For example, we were
down to maybe a bike ride a month by early summer and just an occasional game
of tennis. So to celebrate our anniversary of when we started to live
together, I proposed and Cara accepted a trip to The Bahamas.

On our second day at the Atlantis hotel, after not going to the gym at all the
prior day, Cara asked me to join her at the well equipped gym that they had at
the hotel. It was a big day. It was going to be the first time that Cara
invited me into the gym since she started her lifting. She wore a pair of tiny
spandex shorts and a sports bra and looked great. It was chest day. Now back
when I was playing football I could bench well over 300, but by June 2000 I
was happy to get 225 up. Cara worked her way up from a warm up at 115, then to
135, then 155 and finally with some help from me 175. I was impressed. She
wasn't. She said "Chest is one of my weakest body part. I work so hard on
chest and I'm hardly able to get any gains." Well she sure looked like she was
having gains. Watching her workout for 90 minutes on her chest and triceps was
amazing. She threw herself into every lift. She squeezed out every rep and she
didn't cheat at all. She used perfect form. Oh, as for me. I was able to get
235 up, which was pretty good for me, but nowhere near the 350 that I once was
able to do.

Cara noticed too. When we were back in the bedroom she said, "you know, I've
just got 60 pounds to go. And chest is one of my weakest body part." I said
"60 pounds to go to what?" She said "to catch your weak ass bench. If you
can't get it back up to where you say you used to be I'll catch you within the
year. I just went from 95 to 175 in 9 months!" It was true. Her gains were
unbelievable. And she wasn't that much heavier than when we started. Or so I
thought. This whole conversation got me interested and when we got home, I
snuck in and checked her very detailed, workout notebook. On July 1, 2000 she
weighed in at 155. Her bench was 180. She was squatting 275 and she was doing
single arm curls with 35 pounds.

That's when I started to hit the gym in earnest. There was no way I was going
to let her catch or get close to me. By the end of the summer I was able to
get my bench back up 275 and all of my other lifts followed accordingly. I was
looking good and feeling good too. It came back pretty easy to me, although I
knew there was no way I was ever going to get where I was when I was 21. Cara
noticed. One night we were fucking our brains out and she said, you've been
lifting again haven't you? Yes I said. Good she said, you're afraid. that's
how I like it.

Later that night while we were snuggling I did it again. I opened my mouth
after sex and said something that seemed Ok at the time but was totally wrong.
I said, "Cara, you are plenty strong enough for me now. I think you are
perfect in every way imaginable. You don't need to try to get any stronger." I
thought that she was waiting to hear that since I was the one that set her off
on this road. She just glared at me and then smacked me across the face (the
first time she ever hit me) and said "Fuck you. I'm not doing this for you.
I'm doing this for me. I'm the one that's been lifting. I'm the one that's
getting stronger. I'm the one that's building this body. Its not for you, you
fucker. I'm not changing my body for your sexual amusement. I hate you." And
then cold cocked me. One solid right to my jaw. Holy shit it hurt. Then she
got up and left. For the first time since Cara moved in we didn't sleep in the
same bed. In fact, she didn't come home for 2 days.

to be continued