Far out tales 1
Martin Kane
The Wolverines; Rusty; The truck dream; Experiments in transportation

Author's note:

Firstly, should anyone wish to contact me, you may do so via the DtV 
messageboard for readers and writers or via martinkane595 @ yahoo.co.uk.  
Please feel free to contact me with thoughts, comments or commission requests.

Secondly, a note on this particular entry to the bookshelf:

I was sat at my computer desk recently, idle and distracted, staring at the 
blank Word document in front of me.  I'd finally vowed to stop playing 
backgammon against an animated bear, which is often how I waste time when I'm 
supposed to be writing, and actually get some work done.  (For those who are 
interested, I am currently working on a novelette-length piece of writing to be 
posted on DtV.  Watch this space.)

My glance caught "The Far Side" desk calendar, which amuses me with a new 
cartoon every week.  (I say new, it's actually been I long time since I've seen 
one that's new to me.  I've been a devoted fan for a while now.)

That's when it occurred to me to write a series of short, silly stories, each 
based on or instigated from something within the cartoon.

I realise this is primarily to amuse myself, and not necessarily of interest to 
anyone else, but what the hell.  I also realise that like most of my bright 
ideas, it's the notion itself that interests me, rather than all that laborious 
writing that necessarily follows.  How far through the calendar I actually get 
remains to be seen.

I've also included a brief description of the particular cartoon used.  This is 
for those out there who are also fans of Gary Larson's work and are interested 
in which cartoon it was, and not intended in any way as a substitute for the 
cartoon itself, which any description, no matter how skilled, would utterly 
fail to do.

One last note: it is perhaps a bit of a leap, to take a piece of absurdist, 
observational humour, and translate it, however loosely, into a piece of 
femuscle erotica.  Still, I guess that's just a part of the fun.  So I invite 
you now to take that leap with me.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

1 - The Wolverines

The Wolverines were an unusual gang.  They stuck closely to the look of your 
average street gang, they were bikers, complete with heavy leather jackets, 
airbrushed with their logo, and a penchant for extreme violence - but they were 
a little different.  The gang began with a couple of health-freaks, two high-
school geeks who were sick of getting sand kicked in their faces, and so 
decided to take up bodybuilding.

They'd used a garage as a makeshift gym.  As others joined them, the gang grew.  
And as they became more successful in their aims, more and more people joined.  
The really unusual thing was that they were happy to let girls join them.  
Given the fact that throughout their school career most had never even dated, 
they had in fact welcome them.

So it was, a few years later, the gang had established themselves, earned their 
turf, gained a reputation.  (Even if they were named after a comic-book 
character.)

Though not everyone approved of them.

'We're not inviting the Wolverines,' Jake had insisted.

'We have to,' Nina said.  'Jonnie's my cousin, I can't not invite him, and I 
can't invite him and not the rest of them.  Besides, they know about it now.  
Are you going to tell them they can't come?'

Jake pondered a moment.  He imagined standing face to face with Logan, the 
gang's leader, who stood an inch below his height but was twice as broad.  
Though no slouch himself, a footballer back in school and still possessing the 
athleticism to intimidate the average man-in-the-street, he was still a 
weakling in comparison to Logan.

He imagined telling the notoriously dangerous man that he wasn't welcome.  The 
man who'd gotten into a fight with someone over whether "Babylon 5" was better 
than "Star Trek", and ended up tearing the man's arm off.  (It's rumoured he 
then beat his opponent unconscious with the sodden limb while his companions 
laughed, saying things along the lines of, 'yeah man, just like a wookie'.)  
Though the whole story is apocryphal to say the least, that didn't change the 
fact that the man in question was one not to be messed with.

'OK,' Jake relented.  'But they better not get drunk and trash the place.'

'Oh please,' Nina said.  'They're a bunch of health freaks, they don't even 
drink.'

And the party went along splendidly.  At first.

Only six people at the party kept their coats on.  Those coats were leather, 
with an airbrush logo of a Wolverine on the back.

'Wolverines stay cool,' Xavier insisted, despite the runners of sweat running 
down his T-shirt.

Jean however, took her precious jacket off.  It was the first social event 
she'd attended since she'd begun bodybuilding in earnest, and the last thing 
she wanted was to hide her amazing gains.

It was with bare arms that she walked over to the punch bowl to fill her glass.

'Oh my God, your arms!' exclaimed a woman, green dress and pearls, catching 
sight of the thickly veined, bulging limbs.

Jean was a little unsure how to respond.  'Yeah,' she hedged, agreeably.

'That's amazing.  I've never seen anything like that in my life.  You're one of 
those Wolverines aren't you?  I heard you were coming tonight.'

'Yes,' she agreed.

'I wondered if it was true that you're all bodybuilders, women included.'

'Oh yes, it's true alright.'

She swung her arm around for the woman's benefit, displaying an amateur, though 
still blatantly obvious biceps flex.

Another Wolverine was passing them and she stopped her.  It was Jug, actually 
her older sister, the one person most responsible for inspiring her into weight 
training.

Jug was taller than her sister, bulkier.  She'd transformed a heavy and 
somewhat overweight build into a heavy and solidly built one, through the 
applied use of five years of diet and training.  The result was capable of 
bench-pressing a small family car.  With a small family still inside it.

'You think I'm impressive,' she told the green dress woman.  'Wait until you 
see my sister.'

Jug was reluctant to take off her jacket however.  Years of ritual taunts and 
abuse at the hands of her peers had left an impression upon her victimised 
psyche.  She didn't like her body to be the centre of attention, even now it 
was re-sculptured into something so outstanding.

Instead, she flexed her biceps whilst keeping the leather jacket on.  Even 
through the thick sleeves, the massive bulging of her muscles was clearly 
visible, swelling to fill the thick tube.

'Wow,' the woman uttered, stunned.

She reached out to touch the leather, barely able to believe what she was 
seeing - the sheer size!

And then: 'Dear God, it's as hard as rock!'

Elsewhere, Logan was chatting amiably with his cousin, Nina.

'How many of you are here tonight?'

'Oh, just six of us.  I'm sorry we couldn't all make it.'

'That's OK,' Nina breathed, six scary people at one party were certainly 
enough, even if four of them were women.

'Is that Terry?'

'Yeah, we call him Xavier though.'

'Oh my God, he looks amazing.  Last time I saw him he was a hundred pounds and 
kicked out of the chess club for being too geeky.'

'It was the science club, not the chess club,' Logan corrected.  'And it wasn't 
for being a geek, it was for his radical ideas and techniques.  Quite ironic 
considering he now works in biochemistry.'

Terry, or Xavier as he would have it, was Logan's best friend and had known him 
for years.  Together they'd started the Wolverines and turned the tables on the 
sports jocks who'd made their lives hell.

Terry had once had a mad crush on his friend's pretty cousin, Nina, and it was 
with a certain trepidation that he approached the two cousins now.

'Hi Logan,' he said, 'Hi Nina.  Remember me?'

She smiled broadly and he remembered the crippling shyness that had stopped him 
ever approaching this woman five years ago.

'Of course.  But I don't remember you being like you are now.  You look 
fantastic.'

He took the complement graciously.

'You don't look too bad yourself,' he countered.

Logan left them chatting, slipping discreetly away.

Storm noticed her friend was troubled.  Rogue kept half turning her head, 
distracted by something at the far end of the room.

Rogue was an elegant woman, sleekly muscled, coming as she did from a 
gymnastics background.  Bodybuilding had given her mass, but she still carried 
it with a grace and poise that moderated her powerful bulk.

Storm by contrast was still a beginner.  She'd been training only a couple of 
months, (and was surprised and delighted that the name Storm was still free.)  
Her biceps barely stood out from her skinny arms.  But she kept an image in her 
head of what she wanted to look like, and she strove for it was the passion and 
determination of a zealot.

'What's wrong?'

Rouge was about to refute the question, as though it was an accusation but she 
relented, touched by her friend's concern.

'Girl over there, the perky blonde slut.'

'Cheerleader?  Yeah, I see her.'

'She was actually.  And she made my life hell.  Always wondered what I'd do if 
I met her again.'

'You mean, what you'd do TO her?'

Rogue didn't answer.  She was too distracted by the tortures of a school-
lifetime of bullying.

Xavier was getting on well with Nina.  His self-confidence had come on in leaps 
and bounds since last they'd met and it allowed his natural charm to shine 
through uninhibited.  In addition to which, given Nina's taste in men, given 
Xavier's efforts and achievements in the gym (however makeshift it may be) she 
was practically panting over him.

'You've really made yourself huge,' she remarked, somewhat unnecessarily, 'tell 
me the truth.  Do you use steroids?'

'No,' he told her, then admitted, 'not as such.  Steroids are too dangerous.  I 
actually use a form of bio-engineered protein nutrient that helps build 
incredibly dense musculature.'

'I've never heard of that,' she said, genuinely fascinated.

'Well, you wouldn't have.  It's something I concocted myself.  The only ones in 
the world to have tried it are myself and the other Wolverines.'

'Well I'd say the results are pretty conclusive - you're huge.'

There was something in the way she said it, an emphasis on the word "huge" as 
though she was shuddering with pleasure when she said it.

By the punch bowl, Jake and Mort were watching Nina talk to Xavier.

'She's fucking into him.  Slut.'

'She wouldn't cheat on you,' Mort assured his friend.  'So she's flirting a 
bit.  At least she's in the open about it.  It's if she was pretending not to 
be interested in him, then you'd have reason to worry.'

'She goes for that type.'

'You are that type, man.'

'Fucking Wolverines.  Bunch of freaks.  And as for the fucking women!'

'I've got something to liven things up,' Mort said, showing Jake the tequila 
bottle.

'No, man.  We can't.'

'Come on, it'll be a blast.  They don't drink, you said so yourself.  This 
stuff'll kill them.'

The idea of the loathsome gang members making fools of themselves was too much 
for him to resist.  Jake relented and Mort emptied the bottle into the 
punchbowl.  They sat back and waited for the fun to begin.

The first signs of something odd in the Wolverine camp was from Jug.  She was 
still chatting to the fascinated woman in the green dress.  She was asking Jug 
and Jean the kinds of questions that almost inevitably led to a gym membership.

Her husband was also there, though seeming somewhat reluctant.  He was less 
enthusiastic about female bodybuilding, it seemed.  Well you better get used to 
it pal, Jug thought to herself, there's a look in your wife's eyes that I've 
seen before.  Hell, I've seen it in the mirror.

But her contempt for the man turned into a curious kind of fascination.  A hazy 
kind curiosity; a lusty kind of haze.  She had no reason to desire the man at 
all but suddenly felt an inch - the kind of inch you can only scratch in one 
way.

Jean too had a strange look in her eye.  In fact, she looked like she was 
stoned.  Feeling misty and increasingly discombobulated, she excused herself 
and dragged her sister off to the bathroom with her.

Jean immediately threw her head into the sink and splashed water on her face.

'You too?' Jug asked.

'I don't know what it is.  What's happening?'

'I think someone's spiked the punch.  Jesus, my head is spinning.'

'You're kidding.  With these designer meds Xavier's got us on, that could be 
serious.'

'More than serious, he said himself he doesn't know what the side effects could 
be if it got mixed with any pollutants.'

'We better get back out there quick, and hope none of the others drank any 
punch.'

But outside, the shit had already hit the fan.

It began with Xavier's overwhelming desire to kiss Nina - the woman he'd been 
in love with for as long as he could remember.  So he wrapped one hugely 
muscled arm around her shoulders and took the plunge, irrespective of the 
boyfriend standing less than thirty feet away.

Nina didn't have the excuse of a drug addled brain.  The excuse she did have 
was a lousy boyfriend she was now sick of and a sweet, cute, charming, 
sensitive man (with the body of a comicbook superhero) who'd swept her off her 
feet.  Literally in fact, as another muscled arm swept under her ass and lifted 
her.  Hungry legs snapped around his waist and her lips slammed hard into his.

Rogue was standing in front of her old adversary.

'Jesus, I didn't recognise you!  I always knew you'd pile on the pounds but I 
never thought it'd be in such a fucked up way.  You really lost it, didn't 
you.'

All the smart conversations she'd imagined having with this bitch.  All the 
cutting putdowns she'd come up with, the arguments she'd won, the triumphs.  
Right now she only wanted one display of superiority.

Rogue slapped the bitch so hard those standing ten feet away could hear the 
bones crack.  She went down.  She didn't get back up.

'Man, that felt good.'

'What the fuck are you doing?' the obligatory boyfriend demanded, running up to 
her.

He probably would have said more but Rogue cut him off by sinking her fist into 
the guy's stomach, liquefying his internal organs.  Then again.  Then one more 
for luck.  And, what the hell, again.  She actually had to hold him while she 
was hitting him, supporting his form with a hand on the shoulder while her fist 
destroyed his guts.

Excited by her friend's violence Storm pounced on the closest guy, felling him 
with a headbutt and twisting his arm around until it not only broke, but 
shattered, splintering with a crystalline crunch.

He screamed and his friends ran to his aid, dragging the manic Storm off him.

She called to Rogue who turned to see her friend held back by two brutish thugs 
while a third punched her in the face.

It was the last thing he ever did.  Rogue wrapped her hugely muscled arm around 
his neck from behind and squeezed.  Her bicep popped into his throat and his 
neck snapped with an audible crack.

She dropped him and took the two men holding Storm, one in each mighty fist.  
She yanked them apart, freeing her friend.  Storm grabbed one of the guys, 
Rogue focused on the other.  The pounding continued.

The doorway between the bathroom and the party splintered, exploding outward as 
two crazed women smashed through it.

The woman in the green dress was stuck to the spot in shock and terror.  
However, it wasn't her they fell upon, but her husband, who had unwisely stayed 
with his wife.

She was now tossed aside like a rag doll as the two sisters began to tear her 
husband's clothes off of him.

He shrieked like a girl and tried to fight them off but there was little a 
decidedly average man like he could do to stop one heavily muscled woman, let 
alone two.

'Careful,' Jean insisted, 'You'll hurt him.'

'No I won't,' Jug assured her sister, then turning to the man.  'I won't hurt 
you.  I won't hurt you one little bit.'

The green dress woman tried to pull Jug off of her husband.  Jug swatted the 
woman away, like an irritable fly.  Nothing was going to keep her from her 
prize.

She pinned the man down with one hand, pulling her clothes off with the other.  
She sat astride him, semi-naked, her enormous muscles finally exposed to the 
world.

'Tell me Honey, have you ever dreamed you'd experience muscles like these?'

The frightened man managed a feeble, frightened shake of the head.

'Trust me, what you're about to experience you will never be able to forget.'

Then she ripped off his underwear, exposing the obviously unprepared penis 
lying limp and intimidated between his thighs.

'And don't think you're getting out of it that easily,' she told him, holding 
up a small tub of pills.  'Look what we found in the bathroom.'

He couldn't read what the label said, but then, he didn't need to.  He'd heard 
what Viagra could do and realised that she was right.  He was fucked.  So to 
speak.

'And when I'm done with you, it's my sister's turn.'  Jean gave him a little 
wave.  'And when she's done with you, I'll be ready to go again.  I'm sure you 
get the idea.  And don't worry.'  She shook the frighteningly full sounding 
pot.  'We've got enough here to make sure you don't let us down for a good long 
time.'

Despite the carnage that had been unleashed, despite the shrieks of horror and 
the mass exodus, the smell of panic, Jake's focus was instead upon the muscled 
freak currently locked tonsil deep within his girlfriend.

All fear had suddenly left him, rage fuelling his actions.  He crossed the room 
in a moment and went to strike his rival.

Without even pausing in his immersion within Nina, Xavier struck a fist out, 
knocking the man senseless.

Nina groaned all the more wantonly.  The lips parted long enough for her to 
gasp obscene promises into his ear, exponentially increasing his intensity.

She reached down for his jeans, desperately fighting to free his throbbing 
cock.

'Impale me,' she squealed.  So he did.

Mort was trying to creep away but he ran blindly into a wall.  A wall named 
Logan.

Given that all the Wolverines seemed to have been driven into a either a crazed 
lust or a manic violence, Logan was the last person he wanted to see.  The man 
could shatter his skull with one blow.

'You know,' Logan began, 'you have very pretty eyes.'

'No,' Mort murmured, his eyes weak with fear.  He tried to back away but a 
muscular arm blocked him.

'Come with me,' Logan said, surprisingly gently, but the hand on the man's 
shoulder was not to be denied.

Back in the remnants of the party, the sisters, Jean and Jug were taking turns 
with their haggard looking prize.

Xavier and Nina had found a dark corner and stripped it of wallpaper.  Nina's 
feet had yet to touch the ground.

Rouge had a hold of the one remaining party guest who hadn't fled in time.  She 
had him in a full nelson, her massive biceps swollen huge and hard, under his 
armpits.  His feet failed to touch the ground but Rouge held his weight with 
little difficulty.

Storm was working out on him, her fists a blur of violent energy.  He'd passed 
out by now but it didn't seem to interrupt her fun.

'You know,' she said, pausing for breath and wiping her brow with the back of 
her arm, 'I don't know what was in that punch, but it makes you feel good.  
Don't you think?'

Rouge shrugged, as best one could while holding an unconscious man aloft.  'I 
dunno,' she said, 'I didn't have any.'

'Oh.  OK.'  And she continued her workout.


[A party is in full swing.  A smug looking prankster is standing at the back 
where there is a large cage of wolverines.  "The party was going along 
splendidly- and then Morty opened the door to the wolverine display."]

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

2 - Rusty

Isabel knew she had no reason to complain.  'I have no reason to complain,' she 
would begin her laments to friends, to therapists, to bar staff - in short, to 
anyone who would listen.

'I wouldn't say we're rich, but we not poor either.  No, we're far from poor.  
I have a disposable allowance to envy.  I'd say Larry was difficult to live 
with, but in truth, I hardly see him.'

Larry was a corporate slave, just short of the top rung, and poised to hang 
there for the next twenty years, wheedling his patient way to the final 
position of power.

So her friends would pour another cup of tea, and listen sympathetically.  
Another glass of gin, and listen sympathetically.  But no, she'd given that up.  
She'd quit drinking.  Live long and live well.

Live long?  Jesus, how much of this could she take?  Why do hen-pecked men die 
before their wives?  Because they want to.  She'd never liked that joke, but 
turn the tables and she could certainly understand it.  But it did have a 
companion piece.  Why are divorces so expensive?  Because they're worth it.

Anna, the maid, was pottering about.  She was twenty, pert and pretty.  Larry 
had insisted on taking part in the employment process, picking this youthful 
nymphet out of a whole host of eminently more qualified, though less tight and 
buxom applicants.

She'd ceased to love Larry.  So long ago in fact, that she couldn't remember 
any other state of being.  Had it really only been seven years?  Seven years of 
marriage.  She was only thirty.  Why then did she feel so old?  And so she 
lived in this limbo - this emotionally sterile, Prozac hell.

Well forget drugs, forget drink.  She had found an inkling of her old self, her 
old, young and vital self, thanks to the unconditional love of Rusty.

'I'm going for a jog,' she told Anna.

And she did, pulling on sweats and meeting Rusty in the back garden.

'You want to go for a jog, don't you?'

Rusty was his ever-enthusiastic self, loving her, loving all that she was, 
loving all that she did.  He was just happy to spend time with her, happy to 
laugh and play with her.  Happy to run with her.

Rusty wagged his tail enthusiastically.  He gave a happy bark and jumped into 
the back of the car.

She drove down to the park.  It was always quiet this time of day and she could 
often run the circumference of the lake without passing more than half a dozen 
people.

So she ran.  She pumped her legs and flexed her muscles.  She threw her angst 
and her frustrations into physical exertion and it purged her.

And Rusty kept pace, never lagging and never complaining.  He followed her and 
he loved her.  He didn't judge her, he didn't criticise her or throw his scorn 
upon her.  He didn't complain about her gaining weight, he didn't look 
derisively at her latest diet fad or fitness regime.  He simply loved her.

When she got back she showered.  Rusty lay on the bed, his head on his paws, 
watching her, waiting for her.  He didn't complain about how long she was 
taking.  He didn't keep checking his watch and tut.  He didn't come and take a 
piss while she showered.  (Though he did occasionally drink from the bowl.)

Rusty knew he wasn't supposed to be in the house, though was allowed by his 
mistress when the Loud Man wasn't around.  He knew the Loud Man didn't like him 
much and would kick at him when his mistress wasn't around.  Rusty knew to be 
on his best behaviour when in the house, else this particular privilege would 
be withdrawn and he'd be outside again.

Rusty hated being outside.  Not because he hated the outside world, with its 
space to run around and nature surrounding him.  The very air that welcomed his 
barks, instead of the strange, closed echoes of the inside world.  No, he loved 
it outside, what he hated was being separated from people.  Being alone was 
horrible and it was only when his pack was around him that he felt happy.

His mistress was his favourite.  There was also the Bouncy Girl, who sang to 
herself when no one was around and hopped around and pranced like a cat.  She 
loved him too, slipping him scraps and treats when no one was around.  She 
spend time playing with him, but only when his mistress was absent.  

There was the Old Man, who tended the garden.  Like him, he was outdoorsy and 
uncomfortable inside.  He'd not play with Rusty but would chat amiably to him, 
talking in a calming droning warble that Rusty would sit and listen attentively 
to for hours.  (Though the only words he recognised were the tones meaning 
"comehere" and "baddog", surmised in his doggy psyche as "good" and "bad".)  

And then there was the Loud One.  The one he didn't like.  He was the least 
favourite of the pack and best avoided at all times.  Though that wasn't hard, 
he was hardly ever around.

Watching his mistress naked, Rusty noticed none of the extra weight she had 
gained, none of the changes her body had gone through of late.  He thought more 
in smells than in sight and only knew that she smelt much healthier and happier 
than she had before.

Isabel then went into her den.  It was where all her weightlifting equipment 
was, her exercise bike, her mats, her running machine, her stepper, her free 
weights and her multi-gym.

She wasn't here to work out, she just liked the room, though a little cramped 
and the natural light dull, being the basement, the only windows were just six 
inches high, right at the ceiling.

But it was hers, the one place that she had made her own and could come to 
truly be herself.  She'd moved her computer down here too.  Even Anna didn't 
come in here to clean.  It was truly her own space.

She switched on her computer and checked her e-mails, responded to some.  She 
went through her accounts.  She spent half an hour doing a crossword and 
switched off again.

Rusty had wandered outside again, preferring fresh air to this artificial light 
and stuffy environment.  She went back upstairs, into the garden.  No sign of 
her beloved.

She finally found him in the kitchen.  Anna was chopping food, salad and meat 
for lunch, sneaking him tendrils of boiled ham.

She saw Isabel and flinched.  She knew the woman wasn't keen on her and was 
careful not to be caught at any transgression, no matter how minor.  She was 
certain the woman only needed an excuse to pick on her.  She was in a position 
to make her life hell after all.

'Oh, I'm sorry.  I know he's not allowed in the house but it's just the 
kitchen, I didn't think it would matter.'

And besides, she thought to herself bitterly, it's not like you don't let him 
have the run of the place whenever your husband's out.

But Isabel surprised her then, waving the indiscretion away.

'That's OK, I do the same.  It's only Larry who doesn't like him in the house.'

Isabel looked at this young girl, the youth and vigour she so envied.  Because 
it was true, she had wasted her own.  It struck her that Anna wasn't really the 
cheerleader type - or voluptuous curves which was how she thought of it.  Her 
physical type was more muscled, though lean and gymnastic rather than the 
heavier kind of build.  And she didn't act like the airhead either.  It's true, 
she was a little spacey - but more in a fey manner rather than a typical bimbo.  
Her hair added to this impression, not cheerleader blonde but dyed to a stark 
artificial red.

'Why maid service?' Isabel asked.  'If you don't mind me asking.'

'An extension of my babysitter years I suppose.  I'm just keeping it together 
until I get discovered.'

'Discovered?'

'I'm a dancer.  I dance.  You know, theatre.'

'I had no idea.'

'I mean, not that I don't mind being a maid, I really like working here,' she 
added quickly, suddenly scared that this was some kind of test.

'It's OK, I'm just curious, that's all,' Isabel assured her.

'My friend used to work in this place, and they made her wear a maid outfit, 
like the French-maid thing, you know?'

Isabel snorted laugher.  'Larry probably would too, if he thought he could get 
away with it.'

Anna looked haughty.  'I'd quit first,' she assured her.

It suddenly occurred to Isabel that her husband's interest in this pretty young 
thing was entirely one-sided.  Just because he lusted after her, it didn't 
necessarily mean she reciprocated his attention.'

'I suppose I should apologise for Larry.  Has he actually made any improper 
suggestions?'

'Oh he flirts a bit, but I think he gets the message.  I try to keep him at 
arm's length.'

'If he gets out of line, just let me know.  I'll sort him out.'

Anna smiled.  It was genuine.  'Thanks.'

'I'm glad we had this chat.'  Isabel turned to leave.  Anna called after her.

'I just wanted to say, I think it's really great what you're doing with your 
body.  Most women wouldn't have the discipline.'

Isabel gave her a wry grin.  'Most women would say I look like a freak.  Men 
too in fact.'

'Oh, you'd be surprised.  I get a lot of attention from guys who are fascinated 
by my muscles.  Though I'm hardly in your league.'

'About that, I only noticed your physique just now.  That's from dancing I 
suppose.'

'I have to stay in shape.  Most of the time I cover up a bit though.  You know, 
with your husband, I don't want to wear anything that might be thought of as 
suggestive.'

'Do you use a gym?'

'Yeah,' Anna said slowly.  In actual fact the gym she used was in Isabel's den, 
whenever she could be sure of being alone.  They might be getting along OK at 
the moment, but that was one admission she felt it was best not to make.

'Well why not use the equipment downstairs.  I know gym memberships can be 
extortionate.'

'OK, that'd be great.  Thank you.'

Isabel headed outside.  A sunlounger, a magazine a messy furred mutt curled on 
her feet.

And that was when her turning point with Anna came, the girl becoming a little 
sister as opposed to an intruder.

And it was shortly afterwards when Larry surprised his wife by arriving home 
early one day.

It was late afternoon.  Isabel was in the bedroom with Rusty when she heard 
Larry's car pull up.  Damnit, what did he want?  She'd have to sneak the dog 
out while he was distracted.

'Stay here baby.  Shush!'

She went downstairs to see her husband struggling with the large package.  He 
lent it again the wall and stripped the brown paper off, revealing the antique 
bronze framed mirror beneath.

'It's an anniversary present for my parent's fiftieth,' he told her.

'That's not for another six months.'

'Still, I saw it and had to snap it up quick.'

Whatever, Isabel thought.  Why they would want to celebrate fifty years was 
beyond her anyway.  They were no happier together than she and Larry were.  
God, was that what she had to look forward to?  Another forty-seven years of 
dull and pointless existence followed by a token celebration that no one was 
convinced by?

A part of this thought train must have shown on her face, Larry turned on her 
viciously, his pleasant mood instantly gone.

'Damn it Isabel, can't you show a little enthusiasm?'

'I'm sorry.  I'm sure they'll love it.'

'They should do.  It cost more than your allowance for a month.'

She hated it when he did that - take every opportunity to remind her she was a 
kept woman, under his thumb.

She turned away, not trusting herself to remain calm.

'That's right.  Go on, walk away.  Walk back to the gin bottle.'

It didn't surprise her in the least that he'd not even noticed she'd quit 
drinking.  She had been completely clean now for eleven months.  Not even a 
glass of wine.

'I'm not going to do this,' she told him.  'Not again.'

'You cold bitch,' he called after, 'why can't you simply be content with what 
you have?'

But his venom wasn't in it either.  He was as tired and indifferent as she and 
in no mood to argue.

Rusty had heard the raised voices.  He'd wanted to follow his mistress but 
she'd closed the door after her.  But not completely.  He'd pressed his nose 
into the gap, and after much struggle forced the door open again.

'What is that fucking mutt doing in the house?' Larry demanded, back up to full 
throttle again.

'Shit,' Isabel murmured.  That was the last thing she needed.  She called Rusty 
over.

Larry kicked out at him as he passed.

'Don't kick my dog,' Isabel screamed, suddenly exposing more passion than he'd 
heard from her in years.

Panicked, Rusty yelped and leapt away from Larry, slamming into the balanced 
mirror.

'No,' screamed, Larry, watching as the huge mirror toppled, seemingly in slow 
motion.

'No,' screamed Isabel, as it threatened to fall over onto Rusty.

She snatched at her dog and held his quivering body to her as the mirror 
crashed down, shattering like ice.

Rusty was cumbersome and unused to being carried, though Isabel held him 
easily.  She comforted him and put him down, a distance from the wreckage.

Larry was kneeling besides his broken prize.

'Seven years bad luck,' he muttered, almost to himself.  His voice was cold and 
dangerously calm.

'Forty nine,' she corrected absently.  'He's a dog remember.'

He picked up a shard of glass and threw it at her.  His aim was off but that 
was hardly the point.

Isabel was more concerned for her dog than herself.  'You bastard,' she howled 
at him.

She was on him in a minute, shoving him hard.  He fell over backwards, landing 
with his ass in the middle of the shattered fragments.  He yelled in the pain 
of a dozen minor injuries.

'Bitch!' he screamed.

He stood.  He'd been surprised by her strength, though he wouldn't admit it.  
Must be all that weight she'd put on.  'Fat fucking bitch!'

'Fat?' she sneered.  'Christ, there's not an ounce of fat anywhere on my body.'

'You cannot be serious.'

'Your own wife, and you haven't noticed!'  She shook her head sadly.  'I've 
been bodybuilding for a year, and you haven't even noticed!  How can something 
like that pass you by?  Do I really mean so little to you?'

'What?'

Isabel was peeling off her sweater.  Beneath it she wore only a sports bra.  
The tremendous muscles she'd been developing were exposed to him in their full 
and magnificent glory.

Larry just stared, opened mouthed, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.  
Her average build, her simple bosom, her unspectacular torso, had been 
transformed into a work of Greek sculpture.  Her untoned, flesh now bulged and 
pulsed with the kind of muscle only the truly devoted could ever hope to 
achieve.

Her chest had doubled its circumference, her slightly pear-shape reconfigured 
into a huge triangular wedge of sheer muscle mass.  Her small breasts, removed 
of fatty tissue, reshaped and removed, higher and wider, sitting on her broad 
pectoral plates.  Her arms, swelled and ballooned to massive, rock hard peaks, 
the envy of most men, let alone women.

She grabbed him by the shirt front, one hand bunching into a fist and wrapping 
his clothing tight about his chest.  With a flex up muscles he'd never deemed 
possible, she lifted him clean into the air, letting his legs dangle and limbs 
flail.  She threw him, pulling back her huge round shoulder and tossing him 
several metres down the hallway.  

He landed on his ass again but was too shocked by what was happening, by all 
that he was witnessing to register the pain this caused.

'I know what you like,' she told him.  'I've seen the magazines.'

Anna had happened upon a pile of them when cleaning.  He'd thought his dirty 
secret safe, Isabel indifferent to him, never even venturing into his office.  
But Anna had told her of them, stacked up, dating back years, a fine history of 
the sport.  She'd also had to explain it to Isabel, who couldn't quite 
comprehend it's meaning.  How could something she considered a personal benefit 
only, translate in such a way?

'You read physique magazines like most men read pornography.  This,' and at 
this she flexed one of her enormous biceps, tightening the muscle into a 
massive, boulder peak.  'This is what you desire in women.  This is what drives 
you crazy with lust.'

Larry was shaking his head.  It wasn't a denial of what she was saying, it was 
sheer disbelief at what was happening.  How could he not know?  How could he 
not notice?

'All this time, I've been your fantasy, never knowing what it was you really 
desired in women.  I've been transforming by body, believing you'd think me a 
freak if you ever bothered to so much as notice the changes I was making, when 
all the time I was getting closer and closer to your dream woman.'

She pounced then, landing over him, lowering herself down on him.  She pinned 
his legs with her knees and her feet, his hands either side of his head with 
her own, infinitely stronger arms.  She settled, sitting down on him, his hips, 
thin and fragile below her thickly muscled thighs.

'And for all this time I've been your deepest fantasy, and you've never even 
known it.  We slept in the same bed.  You've been literally inches away from 
the kind of muscles to make you insane with lust, and never even suspected.'

She moved his hands above his head, gripping both his wrists in one hand.  He 
wasn't fighting against her.  If he did, he knew, he wouldn't stand a chance.  
Every move she made was loaded with potential power, with devastating strength.  
He realised that she could do quite literally anything she wanted to him and he 
would be utterly powerless to prevent her.

With her free arm, she pumped up her gigantic biceps muscle again and she 
thrust the solid peak of it hard against his face.  The unforgiving rock jammed 
painfully against his cheek, threatening to crack the high bone.

'How could you not know,' she demanded.  'How could you not even notice this?'

'I'm sorry,' he told her.  'I never meant to neglect you.  I wanted to be the 
businessman, the provider.  I wanted to be the success, accomplish all that I 
was supposed to.  This life we live, this house, this car, this lifestyle.  I 
wanted it all, I wanted to give it all to you.  I was just trying to live the 
lifestyle that was expected of me.  I wanted to be the man you wanted me to 
be.'

'The only man I've ever wanted was the one I married.'

Rusty was loyally joined in, biting Larry's feet.  He'd enjoyed chewing those 
fancy leather shoes back when he was a puppy, but he'd always been reprimanded 
for it.  He attacked them with gusto now.

'You're actually enjoying this,' she realised, feeling his swollen erection 
press against her.  She had to admit to feeling pretty het up herself.  How 
long had it been for her?  She could only assume the same was true of Larry.  
That was if he hadn't taken a lover.  Seeing the longing in his eyes now, the 
genuine yearn - something suppressed for so long it was almost forgotten and 
only now came frothing to the surface - she believed that he hadn't.  She was 
oddly touched but this most basic of loyalties, despite it all.

She stood, lifting him up with ease.  She set him on his feet and brushed the 
sprinkling of broken glass off of him.

'I'm sorry about the mirror,' she told him.

'I'm sorry about your dog.  I'd have hated myself if he'd actually got hurt.'

'I think perhaps we should give our marriage another try,' she told him.  'It's 
too easy to quit on these things and lose what you once had.'

'I'd like that.'

'But we've tried it with you as the dominant partner, and I think we can agree 
that it didn't work out for either of us.  We should try it with me as the 
dominant one.  I am, after all, eminently qualified.'

'I'd like that.'

She swept him into her arms again, cradling him like a child.  She did this 
with such effortlessness, such ridiculous ease, as though his weight were 
nothing to her.  He felt the muscles in her arms as she carried him, and it 
send shudders running through him.

Rusty watched as his mistress and the loud one, (though soon this title would 
be superseded in his doggy brain as the Quiet One, and later still as the 
Gentle One,) disappear upstairs.  He smelt something else now, something he'd 
not smelt in this house before, though, given the nature of the ongoing 
reconciliation that would follow, it was a scent he'd grow used to.  Lust.

He felt happy.  The tension was gone.  The house was already beginning to feel 
more welcoming to him.

The Bouncy One appeared to clear up the sharp shards.  She shooed him away from 
it, into the kitchen, as if he needed to be told.  When she returned she went 
to the fridge and took out a packet of processed meat.

The floorboards were creaking above them by this point, in a highly telling 
manner.  She smiled knowingly to herself.  She threw Rusty a piece of meat, 
then helped herself to some.

She stroked his head while he looked expectantly up at her, waiting for his 
next piece.

'You know, it's a good job dogs don't believe in luck,' she told him, and fed 
him another.


[Two dogs stand over a broken mirror.  "Bummer, Rusty - Seven years bad luck - 
of course, in your case, that works out to be forty-nine years."]

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

3 - The truck dream

Julia woke before her husband, as was her habit.  By the time Andy was up and 
showered, she was already downstairs and making breakfast.

'You want eggs?  I'm making eggs.'

'Yeah, eggs are great,' he told her.  He knew it was best to avoid conflict in 
the mornings, she could be awkward in the mornings.

She put scrambled eggs onto a plate, a couple of slices of toast.  She sat 
opposite him at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee.

They sat in silence for a while.  This wasn't particularly unusual or tense.  
Julia had a habit of going off into long contemplation and seemed unconnected 
to the outside world.  As with all her foibles, Andy had learnt to live with 
them, not stirring things up unless he had to.

'I had another one of my truck dreams,' she said suddenly.

'Really,' he said, finishing his breakfast and pouring out another coffee.  
'Was it bad?'

'No, not bad.  In a strange sort of way I enjoy them.'

He nodded sagely, not knowing what to actually say to this.  

Another long silence.  'Reuben.  His name was Reuben.'

'Was it the same man as the last dream?'

She shrugged.

'Reuben?  Isn't that a kind of sandwich?'

'Reuben was in the bible, one of the tribes of Israel,' she snapped testily.

'Oh.  Sorry.'  He tried to make his voice conciliatory, not wanting her to get 
herself worked up into a biblical rage.  They were always the worst ones.

But she accepted his apology happily enough.  'I think it is a sandwich too,' 
she admitted, offering him a wry smile.

He returned her smile, relieved.  Another silence followed.

'Have you told Dr Tessa about your dreams?' he asked.

'No.  It's just never came up I suppose.  I could do... I dunno...'

She trailed off.  As ever, Andy put her sentence together by her tone, her 
expression and the unspoken words, rather than those uttered.

'Do you think therapy's helping at all?'

She shrugged.  'I guess.  It just seems so silly, me talking about all my 
little worries when people out there have all these real problems.'

'Well, quitting your therapy won't cure the ills of the world.  Might as well 
be happy.'

'Being happy's overrated,' she told him.  'The last time I was real happy I put 
on so much weight.'

'Why don't you go to the gym today.  You say that always makes you feel 
better.'

She smiled at him.  'Yeah, I might do that.  Thanks.'

Julia had been worried that he would find her less attractive as she'd begun to 
build up her muscles.  In truth, he had found it a little uncomfortable, but 
only through a fear that he'd no longer be as impressive to her.  How could a 
bodybuilder with their physique trained to such perfection, such a pinnacle of 
what the human body is capable of achieving, ever look at a decidedly average 
body such as his with anything other than disdain?

Once they'd passed this hurdle, and she'd assured him she felt no scorn for 
him, and was incredulous that he could even think such, they'd both settled 
down and enjoyed her new body like an enticing and exotic plaything.  Despite 
his initial trepidation (she had to repeatedly assure him she'd be gentle with 
him,) he'd discovered the erotic allure of a muscular body.

Even so, she still felt the freak, and always appreciated the effort he made to 
reassure her, she was still beautiful.

Once Andy had left, she cleaned the kitchen then did some housework.  She wrote 
a shopping list, and packed her gym bag.  She'd normally walk to the gym, it 
was close enough.  But as she was going shopping afterwards, she'd take the car 
this time.

She signed in, went to the changing room and slipped into her leotard.  She 
liked coming to the gym during the day as it was a lot quieter than in the 
evenings.  Probably with people out working all day and using the gym on their 
way home.  She still considered working out to be a private thing and would 
indeed have preferred it if she were the only one there.  Still, until they won 
the lottery and could afford their own personal home gym, this would have to 
do.

But she never made it to the weights room.

'Fucking hell!'

The tone of voice was derisive as well as shocked.  Julia turned to see the fat 
man.  He was dressed in overalls, some sort of workman.  He had the manual 
labourer look about him.

'Jesus, bitch, what are you.'

Julia flushed.  She panicked, not knowing how to deal with this situation, how 
to reply to the man.

'What?' was all she could manage.  A small and weak syllable, quite in contrast 
to her intimidating physique.

'Don't you think you've overdone it?' the overalled fat man demanded, his 
confidence apparently boosted by Julia's obvious lack of it.

'What do you mean?'

'You want to look like guy, is that it?  You're a dyke?  Do you want to be a 
man?'

'Why are you saying this?' Julia asked him, confused and more than a little 
distressed by this sudden attack.  'What do you want from me?'

'I just want to know,' the man said, apparently perfectly reasonable.  Then 
added, 'I want to know what the fuck's wrong with you.'

Something suddenly occurred to her.  Julia looked at the man more closely.

'Are you Reuben?' she asked.

It was the workman's turn to be surprised.  'What?'

That would make sense.  She was calmer now, happier that she'd sorted that 
problem out.  'You're Reuben.'

'Who the fuck's Reuben?'

'You must be Reuben.  That's why I had the dream and why I met you here, today, 
now.'

'Lady I think those steroids you been pumping into yourself are rotting your 
brain.  What the fuck is a Reuben.'

'You wouldn't know it, that's OK, I suppose, no one would know it if it was them.  
That's fine but trust me, you are Reuben.'

It was Reuben's turn to be worried now.  A clinical nutcase was one thing, but 
a clinical nutcase with enough muscle power to shatter rocks between her 
thighs, that was another.

'I'm sorry I said anything,' he murmured, 'I should let you get back to your 
workout.'

He turned to go but she blocked his way.

'Lady, I'm sorry.  But I'm busy now, and I've got to go.'

She smiled at him and it was a perfectly calm and reasonable smile.  Somehow, 
that seemed to make it so much more frightening.

'You're not going anywhere.'

He tried to push past her but she grabbed his arm and shoved him hard against 
the wall.  It was such a careless motion for her but the power behind it was 
phenomenal.  Clearly those muscles weren't just for show, she was far stronger 
than he would ever have guessed.

Beginning to panic, Reuben punched her suddenly, slamming his brutal fist hard 
and square into her face.  His knuckles were rough and well practised, his 
strength and technique honed by a life on the wrong side of the tracks.

She rode with the punch, her lip splitting, but was otherwise completely 
unaffected by a blow that would send most grown men reeling.  A little blood 
tricked from her lip and she licked at it absently.

Reuben tried again, knowing from street-fights that the best defence is to hurt 
the bastard quickly, before they hurt you.  He punched her again, this time in 
the belly, swinging his full weight into the motion.

He may as well have punched rock.  In fact, that's exactly what it felt like to 
him, as though someone had covered a sculptured rock with a flat layer of flesh 
and skin.

Julia glanced around, saw a fire exit and walked Reuben towards it.  She held 
his arm and his shoulder and when she moved, he had no choice but to go where 
she led.  In fact, she practically carried him, half dragging his feet.

The fire exit had a push-bar opening, which she operated by raising her knee 
and slamming her thick thigh into his butt.  He smacked forward into the door, 
catching the bar on both his hip and his balls, sending an intense shock wave 
down his thighs and up his spine to the roof of his mouth.

He squealed a high bark of pain but it was lost in the crash of the door 
opening, smacking the wall.  It bounced back and caught him a blow to the face.

Outside was a back alleyway.  A fire escape from an adjacent building zigzagging 
down from on high; a couple of rubbish dumpsters; evidence of someone having 
slept rough here recently.

Julia tossed him out into the alleyway in the manner you'd imagine a bouncer 
tossing away a drunk.  She then turned and propped open the fire-door with a 
lump of trash from the dumpster, a piece of polystyrene used for packing 
electrical goods.

She turned to Reuben who'd taken his chance to start running, figuring this was 
his best chance to get away.

Despite his pained balls, he was giving it a good go.  Julia took off after him 
like a hound on the hunt.

She caught up in a matter of seconds, her muscular legs far more adept at bursts 
of speed than his heavily weighted down ones.  She grabbed his shoulders and 
stopped, pulling him back.  The momentum of his body pulled his feet from under 
him and he went down on his ass.

'Reuben, behave, or I'm going to have to punish you.'

She grabbed a handful of his overalls, lifting him at the chest.  Then she 
twisted her body around like a pro-league pitcher, throwing from the shoulder 
and hurled his overweight body back down the alley towards the dumpsters.

She closed on him again and gave him a boot in the ribs for good measure.

'What's this about?  Why are you doing this?'

'Coz you're Reuben,' she told him, as if this explained everything, and lifted 
him back onto his feet.  She propped him against the wall and then slammed a 
fist into his belly, much as he had to her.  The difference now was in that his 
defensive wall was sadly insufficient against her far greater strength.

Her fist seemed to penetrate though to his spine.  He went down, hard and 
heavy.  As he collapsed, she caught his shoulder.  She held him, half on his 
knees, agonised and already defeated, but she hadn't finished with him yet.

She held his wrist and lifted his arm, exposing the back of his elbow.

'Let me tell you about my dream,' she offered.  Then she carelessly pressed her 
knee against the elbow joint.  A flex of muscles and it ripped, folding back 
the wrong way, splintered bone tearing out through both the flesh and the rough 
cotton overall.  Blood began to soak out from the arm.  She released the wrist 
and the lower arm flopped useless in the sack of flesh.

Julia grabbed him by the belt with her free hand and threw him again, bouncing 
him off the dumpster.  He was down now, and not about to get up again.

As she walked up to him, she related her dream.

'I'm normally a truck driver or a hitchhiker who gets picked up by a truck 
driver.  In those cases, it's normally my husband who's the truck driver, or 
sometimes it's that guy off the TV, the doctor guy who went into movies.  I 
like him.

'There's always a lot of traffic and I find it so horrible, so claustrophobic 
and frustrating.  It takes us ages to get out onto the open road but when we 
finally do it's great.  We're just flying along, real speed, real momentum.

'And there's a guy.  A guy who gets in the way.  Normally just an innocent guy 
who happens to be in the wrong place in the wrong time.  And we close on him, 
and in those final moments, I am the truck.  That's the thing to understand - 
it's me who is the truck.  Those wheels are a part of me, I can feel them 
tearing up the road.  That bulk is my weight, my power, and I'm unstoppable.

'And the guy in the road is helpless and hopeless and can do nothing to stop 
me.  He is doomed.  And the full might of my fury falls down upon him.  And 
that man is you Reuben.  It's you.'

And she raises her leg, thigh flexing with indomitable power, and when it falls 
he knows no more.

Julia woke before her husband as was her habit.  By the time Andy was up and 
showered, she was already downstairs and making breakfast.

'You want eggs?  I'm making eggs.'

'Yeah, eggs are great,' he said.  He sat and drank the juice she'd poured for 
him.  She put the eggs on a plate, added two slices of toast and placed it in 
front of him.  'Thanks.'

He poured himself some coffee.  'You want some coffee, Honey?'  He poured a mug 
for her too.

'The paper's just come,' she said.  'You want it?'

He read the paper, eating his breakfast, drinking his coffee.

Julia sat opposite him, silently musing over the world and other things, 
sipping her coffee.

Andy read the story on the front page.  He read it again.  He glanced at his 
wife, then once again read the relevant details.

'Honey?' he began carefully.

'Mmm?'

'Did you go down to the gym yesterday?'

'Changed my mind,' she said quickly.  Too quickly.

The paper told of the body that had been found and the state it had been found 
in.  It told of the dumpster and the single word left upon the dumpster in the 
victim's blood, his hand having been ripped right off, the gushing stump used 
as a pen to write: "REUBEN"

'Did you have one of your... run-ins?'

Her guilty silence was confirmation enough.

Since she'd taken up bodybuilding the incidents had actually decreased, the 
physical therapy helping her far more than any attempted drug treatments had.  
Unfortunately, given her increased muscularity, when they did happen, the 
incidents tended to be that much more extreme.

'Honey, I was just wondering, what do you feel about moving?'

'What?'

'I think it's about time we moved again.  What do you think?'

Her face broke into a smile - an expression of pure relief.  This was why she 
loved her husband, because he was so tender and so loving and so understanding.  
He knew just what to say and what to do.

'Yes,' she said, tears welling in her eyes as though he'd just proposed.  'Yes, 
I think it's a wonderful idea.'

'Good,' he said finishing his coffee.  'Tell you what, I'll call work and tell 
them I'm not coming in today and then we can start packing.'


[The cartoon is split into two.  In the first, the sun rises over the highway.  
Among the vehicles is a van with "Reuben" written on the side.  The other, the 
sun rises through the window as a man awakens, rising from bed.  "Out there, 
ominously moving towards its destiny, was a truck with Reuben's name on it."]

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

4 - Experiments in transportation

It was a slow day in the warehouse, and that always ended in trouble.

The guys had taken some long planks and after some manipulation with the screw-
together shelving, created a series of ramps.  The highest shelving unit was 
now up to thirty feet.  The top layer, which they'd just added, was broad 
enough for two of them to stand.  

That was where the first foot-wide plank-ramp began.  It ran down at a sharp 
angle to the next adjacent shelving stack, which was lower, and then on to the 
next, which was lower still.

And so, the ramp ran the length of the entire warehouse, from nearly ceiling 
height, down to the ground.

They opened the hanger-style doors so they could use the space out into the 
compound.  They moved the trucks out the way.  The gravelled parking area was 
sixty yards long, but after that, it was the road, which ran down another hill.

It was a long flat but if enough momentum was gained down the ramp, they were 
hoping it would make it to the road, and then on down the hill.

'OK,' Jay announced.  'Let do a test run.'

He stood on the forklift prongs, supporting the gigantic tractor tire, which 
was balanced between the two.  It was as big as he was but he only needed to 
keep it from toppling over.

'Take me up.'

Donald did the honours, starting the forklift and raising it.

Ryan was already on the top shelf.  He took the tire and placed it in position 
while Jay got himself positioned on the other side.

Their lookout, standing by the large hanger doors, gave them the thumbs up.

'Let's go.'

They let the tire go.

It actually made it about ten feet along the ramp before it came off the side, 
bounced its way down off the tops of the shelves and tumbled into the midst of 
fleeing men.

Much shouting and relieved laughter followed as they each realised first that 
they were unhurt and then also that so were their colleagues.

'Hmm.  OK, some sort of clever side support would perhaps be in order.'

Ryan nodded agreement.

Half an hour later, they were about ready again.  Where each set of shelves 
supported the ramp, two poles now stood either side.  A rope stretched between 
every set of poles, running parallel to the ramp.

Jay hopped from shelf to shelf, working his way down, checking each one was 
tied taut along the left side of the ramp.  Ryan tested the ones running down 
the right.

When they were both happy, they headed back up to the top, via the forklift.  
Ryan first, then Jay and the tire.

Again the thumbs up.  Again they let go.

It made it down the runway, picking up speed as it descended.  It hit the car-
park running but was decelerating fast.  The men from the warehouse watched it, 
chasing after it, yelling encouragement.

It slowed and slowed and then flopped on its side.  Nowhere near to making it 
to the road.

A chorus of disappointed obscenities.

Ryan and Jay appeared, having got down by running down the descending stairs 
made by the shelving units.

'It didn't make it?'

He saw it on its side, barely halfway to the gate.  'Shit.'

'It needs more momentum,' Ryan declared.

Jay nodded agreement.

Luke's response to the next suggest was quite unequivocal.

'Fuck off!'

'Don't be awkward.'

'Why me?  Why don't we draw straws?'

'You're the lightest.  It's got to be you.'

'No fucking way.'

Luke was backing off as he spoke but the others were slowly spreading out as 
they closed.  He spun around as Ryan came up from behind.

'Stay back.  I said "no" and I fucking meant it.'

Three others closed from behind as he turned around, then three more as he 
turned again.

Luke pulled a hammer from his belt and swung it a gnat's breath from his 
closest assailant.

'You can't hold us all off,' Ryan told him.

'No, but the first one gets a cracked skull.'

Ryan tried to calm him.  He held his arms up in a conciliatory gesture and 
nodded for everyone to keep back.  He whispered to Jay.  'Get Catherine.'

Catherine saw the set-up, saw the tire, the ramp.  She rolled her eyes.

'Boys, boys, boys,' she sighed wearily.

Catherine was blonde and pretty.  She was tall and athletic, she had long hair, 
which she kept in a ponytail but when they went out after work, she loosened it 
and let it flow down her back.  'Like a golden river', Jay had told her once.  
She had then pushed him off her shoulder where he was leaning, happily letting 
him stumble to the floor, and told him, 'Jay, you're fucking pissed, mate.  
Come on, get up, it's your round.'

She was their boss and their poster-child, their favourite feminist.  She was 
their proof to the world that they weren't just a bunch of uncivilised lads who 
didn't respect women, coz look at her, she a woman, as we respect her, don't we 
babe, and usually followed this by a pert slap on the arse.

It's true that doing this risked a slap back, and when Catherine slapped you, 
you knew you'd been slapped, but it was good for a laugh.  Catherine was good 
for a laugh.  She kept them in order and treated them right.  She kept the 
suits off their backs and she got the job done.  And on top of all that, she 
was good in a fight on a Saturday night.  Coz the truth be told, when she put 
her mind to it, (normally after she'd put a few pints down her neck) she could 
cause just as much trouble as the best of them.

Like her boys, Catherine was dressed in dungarees.  You could made lesbo jokes 
if you dared, but careful of the tone.  You risked a slap if actually caused 
offence.

Unlike them however, she only wore a T-shirt beneath it - a sleeveless one.  
There was a very good reason for this.  Being a woman in a traditionally male 
role, she often had to command respect from those not used to giving it to anyone 
other than another man.  If you needed to intimidate a man, she had found, one 
of the best way to do so (without actually damaging him physically) was to 
expose the fact that your arms were about twice the circumference as his.

True, it had taken the boys a little while to get used to the fact that the 
strongest one amongst them couldn't even come close to matching her, in any 
competition of power or athleticism.  But they were the kind of guys that 
respected macho accomplishments and that meant you had to respect Catherine.

And now they'd got used to the freakiness a bit, more than one of them had 
wondered what it'd be like with a chick like that.  They liked Catherine, they 
like women, it was only natural the two should combine into desire, even if she 
wasn't the "normal" type.

In fact, Jay had even gone so far as to hang a muscle-babe calendar next to the 
page 3 one in the warehouse office.  (Anyone questioning this in anything even 
approaching a derisive tone, were told to take it up with the foreman.  They 
were they pointed towards the tall blonde woman with arms that could crush 
tree-trunks.  They almost always declined.)

And once you got used to hanging out with a real muscle-woman, you learnt some 
of the benefits.  When a bunch of macho guys are sitting in a pub, arm-
wrestling each other, you can almost guarantee another macho guy will come up 
to challenge you.  A few decisive comments ('shit man, you couldn't even beat 
my girlfriend') and before he knows it, the poor mug has bet all his money on 
defeating this blonde chick in a match.  She then takes off her jacket to much 
hilarity and humiliation and exchanging of cash.

'We need Luke to test it out,' Ryan explained.  'He's a little reluctant.'

'Can't say I blame him.  Why Luke.  Why don't you just draw straws or 
something?'

'That's what I said,' Luke declared triumphantly.  He was stood with his back 
against the wall, still brandishing the hammer.

'He's the lightest.'

'Oh, OK,' she accepted.  'Luke, put the hammer down and get your arse over 
here.'

A wave of amusement and approval from the other guys.

'No way.  Sorry Cath, but no fucking way.'

She looked at him, mighty arms resting lightly on mighty hips.  Even without 
flexing her biceps they were clearly huge.  She was hardly the only one here 
into bodybuilding but she left the other's standing.  Gun for gun, she was the 
biggest and the strongest, and they all knew it.

She walked over to Luke, who still held up the hammer, as though trying to ward 
her off with it.

'You know you ain't gonna use that on me,' she told him.

As she got close, he began to shiver.  'Please,' he murmured.

'Don't worry.  You'll be fine.'

Resigned to his fate, he dropped the hammer and followed Catherine over to the 
forklift truck.  She put the tire upright and held it for him.

'Get in.'

He got in.

He was swamped inside the huge tire, the thick rubber covering him on both 
sides.

'OK, stretch your body around the curve of it.  That's it.  Arms up above your 
head.  Now spread your legs and arms wide against the side, that's how to hold 
on.  Momentum will keep you in place.'

Jay went up first, then Catherine rolled the huge tire onto the prongs.  She 
turned it a little so he was upright in there while it ascended.

'Take us up, Don.'

Jay reached over to help but Catherine was perfectly able to handle it alone, 
lifting the tire, with Luke quivering inside, and positioning it on the track.

They looked down at his frightened face.

'We can't do this to him,' Jay suddenly sighed.  'Not like this.'

Catherine agreed.  She called down to the boys below.

One of them tossed up a hardhat which she caught and slapped onto Luke's head.

'Better,' Jay said.  He gave Luke the thumbs up.

Catherine leaned in to give the boy a hard, long smack on the lips, which made 
him feel a little better about all this.  She knocked on his helmet and told 
him, 'I'm going to count down from five, then let you go, OK?'

'Five,' she began, then pushed the tire down the ramp.

'UUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu cking-hell,' Luke called as the tire rolled.

It hit the ground faster than it had previously and looked promising.  The guys 
chased after it excited, Catherine only just behind them, leaping down the ramp 
with a grace and agility to be envied.

It seemed to be going much better than before but it still slowed too quickly 
on the gravel.  It stopped, then flopped sideways.

They helped Luke out and patted him on the back.  He looked shaken and scared 
but otherwise undamaged.  In later years, it became one of his favourite 
stories to tell those who hadn't witnessed the happenings, especially 
considering what he thought of as the punch-line, which is what happened next.

'Not good enough,' Ryan mused.  'Perhaps we should try again.'

'Fuck off,' Luke managed to say, though it came out shakily.

'We need more weight,' someone else suggested.

'Yeah.  Who's the heaviest?' Jay asked out loud, the question everyone was 
quickly considering.

Ryan backed up, apprehensively.  'No hang on, we shouldn't go straight to the 
heaviest.'  He backed into a wall of muscle.  It didn't flinch.  He did.

'Come come,' Catherine said to him.  'Have you never heard the maxim that one 
should never expect of another what you would be unwilling to do yourself?'

'No.'

'Put him in the tire,' Luke called, more enthusiastic now.

Jay couldn't help smiling.  'Ryan, get in the tire.'

He tried to flee but Catherine caught hold of his arms from behind, her strong 
grip biting into his biceps.

He struggled to free himself but it was futile.  She was far stronger than he 
and he knew it too.

She walked him over to the tire and practically pushed him into position, 
sitting his legs and arms into place as one would a child.

She wheeled the tire back into the warehouse, rolling Ryan inside it, 
irrespective of his pleas and protests.

'Just let me out a second,' he begged.  'I will do it, I just need to use the 
lav first.'

'You will do in a minute,' Jay quipped and everyone laughed.

Catherine took him up alone, easily heaving him into position without 
assistance.

'OK, sport, you ready?'

Ryan just gave a kind of whimper.

'Don't be such a baby,' she told him.  'Hold tight now.'

But as she pushed the tire down, he shifted his weight.  The wheel hit the rope 
rail and bounced onto the one opposite.  It came off the ramp about halfway 
down and fell straight onto the floor, between two shelves.

Everyone ran to check on him but aside from some bruises he seemed unharmed.

'He OK?' Catherine called from the shelf above where he'd fallen from.

'Yeah, he's OK.'

'Great.  Toss up the tire, I think we should have one more go.'

'Erm, probably not a good idea.  I'll get you a new tire.'

'Why?'

Jay actually had the decency to look rather sheepish.  'He weren't kidding 
about needing the toilet.'


They got a fresh tire and threw it up to her.  She leapt back to the top of 
the ramp.

'Jay get your arse up here.'

Jay obeyed climbing onto the prongs of the forklift and motioning for Donald to 
take him up.  He was dreading what was coming but willing to do what he had to.  
It had been his idea after all.  'Who's going?' he asked her apprehensively.

'I am.'

'What?'

'See, the trouble is, it's lopsided.'

She put the tire at the top of the ramp.

'Now I just need you to hold it steady while I get into position.  Just support 
it, I'll get it going.'

She stepped into the tire, standing in it as though her body were spokes.  She 
spread her legs wide and placed her arms apart above her head.  She looked like 
she was doing a cartwheel.  Or at least, she would do when it began turning.

'The weight needs to be spread evenly,' she explained.  'OK.  Now count me 
down.'

The whole group of the chorused down from ten.  On zero, the threw her weight 
down the ramp and the tire began to fall.

She kept it smooth, picking up speed evenly.  It powered off the ramp and 
blasted through the door out into the daylight.

Catherine's body span and she focused her strength on her extremities as if she 
could power the wheel with her muscles.

It kept going over the car-park, churning up gravel on either side.  Then she 
was out the main gates and bouncing onto the road.

The guys were cheering and trying in vain to keep up with her.  But once she 
hit the hill, they had no chance.

She accelerated, faster and faster, now bouncing as well as turning.  Still 
they pursued, though it was slipping further and further in front.

Catherine was dizzy from the exhilaration as much as the spinning, whipping 
herself into an almost orgiastic frenzy.  It took all of her strength and skill 
to keep the tire in the middle of the road but she didn't dare relent for a 
moment.

At the bottom of the hill, the road turned.  The hedgerow was fairly loose.  It 
would either catch her or it wouldn't, there was no way to tell until she hit 
it.

In actual fact, she was barely aware she passed it, the tire was going so fast 
at that point.  It tore through the bush like it was paper.  She hit the field 
and back on a flat, she finally began to slow.

By the time the guys had reached the torn hedgerow and climbed into the field, 
she had it back under proper control and had actually mastered movement, 
turning the tire around to rejoin them.

She slowed the tire, a little awkwardly, but managing to stop it with her feet 
down and her head up.  She stepped free of the tire and almost stumbled, 
completely ruining the style and grace of her big finish.

A dozen men ran to catch her.  She accepted support from two of them, Jay and 
Luke and graciously accepted their applause.

The stunt was much discussed by all those who'd witnessed it but none so much 
as was done in the Dog & Badger that night.  Catherine, who was always willing 
to pay her way, had drinks bought for her all night.  They simply refuse to let 
her buy a round.

And so it was that much later, much drunker they were on last orders.  Next 
would follow a kebab and a slow stagger to the bus stop.

Jay looked across at Catherine and tried to focus his eyes.  'So, are you ever 
going to sleep with me?' he asked her.

'No, Jay,' she told him honestly.

He was a little disappointed by this answer.  'Why not?'

'Coz you're a wanker,' she told him plainly.  Everyone at the table erupted 
with laugher.

'She's got you there, mate,' Donald told him.

'Tell you what,' she said.  'I will sleep with you, but only on one condition.'

Jay waited expectantly, holding his breath, wanting to know what the condition 
was, what it was he had to do.  Anything, he promised.  I'd do anything.

'If you can beat me in an arm-wrestle.'

More laughter.  Jay head sank to the table, defeated.  But he raised it again 
and placed his hand in the appropriate position.

More laugher, plus jibes along the lines of 'some hope,' and 'no way, dude.'

It was Catherine's turn to be taken aback.

'You don't really think you can beat me, do you?'

'No,' he admitted, 'But if I'm never gonna get to sleep with you I might as 
well get all the cheap thrills I can.'

She laughed pleasantly at this.  She took his hand and they battled it out.  
She even let him do pretty well, lowering her arm down, almost to the table, 
but then she fought back, defeating him easily.

'Maybe next time,' she told him.  Office romances didn't work after all, but 
you never knew.  Maybe it was worth a try.  'Maybe next time.'


[A group of cavemen are on the top of a hill, about to test a large stone 
wheel.  Tied tightly to the top of the wheel another caveman is sat, looking 
rather apprehensive.  "Early experiments in transportation."]