Far out tales 4 
Martin Kane
Tales 16 to 22



16 - Neighbours

'Danny, why don't you go next door, introduce yourself to Eleanor?'

Eleanor was the new neighbours' kid.  His mom had done the standard, 
"Hi, welcome to the neighbourhood" spiel, and learned they had a 
daughter.  She was fourteen to Danny's fifteen.  "How perfect", mom 
no doubt thought to herself.  She had been nagging him to make 
friends ever since.  Just for a little peace, Danny had finally 
agreed.

His mom still thought of him as a little boy.  She didn't appreciate 
that what girls meant had changed for him in the past couple of 
years.  They had become something different - something far more 
mysterious and scary.  She expected him to go and make a new playmate 
as though they were both nine; she didn't realise what girls were to 
him now.  They were annoying, crass, obnoxious, foolish little 
creatures, who instinctively didn't like him, almost on principle.

But, on the other hand, this would be different.  She wasn't with a 
gang of schoolfriends, after all.  She wouldn't be setting out to put 
him down at every opportunity, wouldn't pretend to like him just so 
she can pull a disgusted face if he reciprocated, then going running 
back to her group and they would all giggle at the fine and clever 
prank.

Here was a girl, younger than him, not knowing anyone in area, 
probably a little apprehensive herself.

He may be only fifteen but he knew enough about human nature to 
recognise that there was a big difference between how someone acts on 
their own, and how they act within a large group.

So it was with only slight trepidation that he went next door to meet 
Eleanor.

A thirty-something woman opened the door.

'Oh, hi, you must be Danny, right?  Your mom said you were gonna drop 
by.'

She seemed nice enough, a friendly and smiley sort of person.  Her 
hair was tied up on top of her head and she wore sweats and a 
football shirt.  Dirt on her face, dust on her clothes.

'Please excuse the mess, there's so much to do, we've barely made a 
dent in it.  Eleanor's in the basement.  Go on down.'

And she ushered him down the stairs, into a brightly lit basement.

Eleanor was dressed much like her mother, blonde locks ponytailed, 
and similarly up to her elbows in cardboard boxed chaos.

She'd already started to claim the den as her own, putting up posters 
of new metal groups and slasher horror-movies.  As girls go, that had 
to be a promising sign.

'Hi, you're Danny?'

'Eleanor?'

She cringed at the name.

'Elle or even Ellie - but call me Eleanor again and I'll blank you.'

Danny smiled.  'Sure.  Elle's nice.'

'Oh, and if you even think about calling me Eleanor Rigby, I will 
have to hurt you.  I left that behind in my old school, and I really 
don't want to see it resurrected.'

'Not a problem,' he assured her.

'So, our mom's are setting us up, or what?'

'I think mine just figured you being new to the area, it'd be nice to 
have someone local your own age, show you around.'

'And mine just wants to throw any distraction my way, keep me out 
from under her feet.  She likes to organise everything her own way - 
she's very particular.  My dad's not supposed to start in his new 
post 'til next week but he's been in every day, just to get away from 
her.  She can be pretty psycho.  She's a bit of a Monica.'

Ah, Danny thought, a "Friends" reference, less promising.  But then, 
he had to admit, he'd got it straight away, so he probably shouldn't 
judge her on that fact alone.

'You like Korn?' he asked, gesturing to one of the posters she'd put 
up already.  'It's just that I've got a DVD of one of their shows.  
It's a pretty rare one actually.'

She smiled, went to a cardboard box, rummaged through it a while and 
then tossed him the same DVD.

'Cool.'

They chatted about music, about movies; discovering their tastes 
crossed pretty close.  Not bad for a girl.

'You wanna see around the house?'

'Sure.'

She gave him the quick tour.  

He was intrigued by the room that had, in its last incarnation been 
an office, back when the old neighbours lived here.  His friend 
Thomas had been forbidden to enter, but if the door was ever open, 
you could see the desk, the shelves of different files.  His dad had 
run his own business and worked a lot from home.

Now however, the room had been stripped of its businesslike décor.  A 
large mirror was plastered over one wall, practically filling it.  A 
running machine, cycle, weights bench.  It wasn't all set up yet, but 
it was obviously not an office anymore.

'Your dad?' he asked.

'God no, my dad's only exercise is walking to the car and back.  This 
stuff is my mom's.'

'Your mom's?'

Danny hadn't meant to sound so surprised by this.  In truth, his 
pulse had begun to rap an excited rhythm in his throat.


Elle gave him a haughty expression, taking offence at the chauvinism 
implied by his shock.

'Sorry, I just mean, this is serious equipment.  She's really into 
fitness then?'

'In a manner of speaking,' Elle said.  She went to one of the stacked 
boxes in the corner, opened it and began rummaging through.

Finding a hefty statuette she tossed it to him.

He turned it over in his hands, curious.  Surely it couldn't be!  

It looked like an Oscar, but he saw that the figure on top was a 
woman.  A woman, however, of quite extraordinary musculature, her 
arms swept around into a bodybuilding pose.

The pulse in Danny's throat sped so fast, he doubted you could even 
count it.  Just a blur.  He felt himself begin to blush.

Elle was still nose down in the box.  She recovered what she was 
after, a ten by eight photo-frame, packaged tightly in bubble wrap.

'She won that at the county championship, second place.'

Elle ripped the plastic protection off the framed photo and handed it 
to him.  

A glossy contest photograph - a woman standing there in front of the 
cheering crowds, lights blazing, her physique pumped and gleaming.

It was Elle's mom, he recognised her face, but the body was one he'd 
never have suspected.

His hands were shaking slightly as he handed back the trophy and 
photo.  Whatever cool persona he had hoped to present to this girl, 
he'd just lost it in a big way.

'OK,' was all he said as she took them back and placed them carefully 
in the cardboard box.

'What do you think?' she asked him.  She appeared to be sardonically 
amused by his reaction, his hopeless attempt to retain his poise.

'Impressive,' he admitted.

In truth, Danny was thrilled - just too shocked to know how to handle 
it better.  He was also a little surprised he hadn't gotten a major 
erection.  Normally, the slightest hint of female muscles was enough 
to give him a serious boner.  But this time, he was glad.  His jeans 
were tight and it would be obvious.  He didn't want her to think he 
was some weird pervert.

He knew he was blushing like crazy but he could do nothing about 
that.  Maybe that was what kept his erection at bay, after all, 
surely there could be no blood anywhere else in his body, it all 
seemed pumped straight into his head.  Which would certainly explain 
why he suddenly felt dizzy.

'Are you OK?' she asked him, actually sounding concerned now.

'Yeah, it's just the heat.  It gets to me sometimes.'

'You think this is weird, don't you,' she said, gesturing around the 
home gym.

'No,' he told her emphatically.  'It's just not what you'd expect, 
that's all.'

As his pulse slowed back to normal, his shaking began in earnest.  He 
realised he should get out of here, as quickly as possible.

He made his excuse and Elle shrugged, apparently accepting it on face 
value.

She led him out to the front door, and he was almost home free when 
Elle's mom appeared.  She still wore the loose shirt, concealing all 
evidence of her bodybuilding.  But now Danny knew what was beneath, 
he couldn't help but stare, trying to make out the shape of her 
physique from the manner in which her shirt hung from her frame.

'Danny, are you OK?' she asked him.

He muttered what he believed to be an assurance that he was fine, but 
he left the house almost at a run.

He called out a goodbye and pulled the door shut after him.  Outside, 
he stumbled on the doorstep and paused to collect himself, pulling 
his asthma inhaler out and giving himself a good blast of medicine.

He heard the two women's voices through the front door.

'You showed him my photo, didn't you?'  The mother, voice loaded with 
wry amusement.

And the Elle, giggling.  'Oh, you should have seen his face!'

Feeling embarrassed and ridiculous, Danny went back home.

He grabbed a handful of tissue, wedged shut his bedroom door, and 
furiously jerked himself off.

It was fair to say that as introductions go, he could have played 
that one better.  But when his mom asked him over dinner that evening 
how it had gone he told her, 'good.  She's a really nice girl.  Her 
mom's nice too.'

And he realised he had meant it.  However, there was the horrible 
feeling that he'd blown it.  How could he face her again after that 
afternoon?

Elle turned up on the doorstep the next day.  Fresh-faced and sweet, 
the all- American girl-next-door.  Her blonde hair in a long 
ponytail, lithe frame dressed in shorts and a halter.

'Hi, is Danny there?'

'Sure,' his mom said.  'Come in.'

The two of them sat in the garden, sipping cola.

Danny was a little embarrassed but Elle started the conversation by 
being apologetic.

'That was mean of me,' she told him.  'I guess I do like to try and 
shock people.  It is something that's so unusual - controversial 
even.  I tend to try and rub people's faces in it.

'It's not that I think it's freaky or whatever,' he told her, 'I mean 
I'm cool with anyone looking however they want to, you know.  It's 
just not what you expect to see; your neighbour's mom sudden turns 
out to be a bodybuilder.'

She smiled and sipped her cola.  'You are pretty cool,' she assured 
him.  Was that a flirt?

In truth, he was too distracted at that moment - distracted by the 
way she'd lifted her bottle of cola, the arm crooked, her top, 
sleeveless and exposing arms that were far beyond a normally healthy 
tone.

'Wow, you look like you take after her a bit yourself.'

She glanced meaningfully down to her biceps, still holding up her 
arm.

'What,' she asked, her voice deeply coy and suggestive, 'these?'

And she flexed in earnest.

Sweat peaks, sharp little slopes of solid feminine muscle.  She had 
hard definition, a clear dent where the muscle stood up hard from the 
arm.

Danny had the pulse problem again, the blush reaction, the mental 
stammer.

'Oh my God!'

'So,' she said, finally retracting the weapon of muscular 
distraction.  'Are you going to tell me I look like a freak, and that 
there's something wrong with me for wanting arms like a man?  And 
incidentally, no I've not finished yet; I have every intention to 
continue weight training to make my biceps and the rest of my body as 
developed and built as I possibly can.'

'Wrong?' he asked her, shocked that she could even suggest such a 
thing.  'There's nothing wrong with your body.  That is amazing.  I 
can't even begin to tell you how awesome you look.'

She smiled, all sweetness.

'Thank you.  Some people say it looks ugly.'

'Some people are chronically stupid.'

As they spoke, his eyes were following her arms, trailing wherever 
she moved them.  She noticed and was leading his head from left to 
right by shifting her arms.

'Hypnotic, are they not?'

She flexed again, getting her own little thrill from Danny's 
delighted reaction to her.  She giggled.  'You really are into this, 
aren't you?  I mean, you're not just pretending to be cool with it to 
try and please me, or impress me?'

'Are you kidding?  I think you're the most amazing girl I've ever 
met.'

And if she needed any further proof, she only had to watch the 
awkward and stilted way he walked back to the kitchen to grab them 
both another soda.

                              * * *

Despite the fact that the woman was the epitome of his sexual 
fantasies, Danny avoided Elle's mom.  He'd seen Elle almost every day 
for two weeks, but still managed to completely evade the woman.

The problem was how to keep his cool around such a woman?  And the 
simple truth?  It wasn't possible.  But when he was repeatedly 
invited to dinner, it became clear he wasn't getting out of it.

So he dressed himself in loose fitting garments, a T-shirt that would 
conceal his inevitable hard-on when he encountered her.

Together, he and Elle entered the house.  Her mom was pottering in 
the kitchen, getting the meal ready.

'Almost done,' she told them, 'sit yourself down at the table.'

She appeared.  She was dressed smartly enough, a neat pair of jeans, 
a chiffon blouse.  Sleeves that only came halfway down her arms, bare 
flesh from the elbows down.  Don't stare!

'Hi, Mrs Rainer,' he offered, smiling, eyes fixed tight and 
deliberate on her face.

She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, almost making him wince, 
though the sleeves of her blouse hadn't shifted.

He felt a hand lock into his and Elle whispered gently into his ear.

'Relax, there's nothing to worry about.'

He gave her look.  'OK, my girlfriend's mom has a body that is the 
equivalent of a playboy bunny, and you're wondering why I'm a little 
bit tense.

She squeezed his hand tighter.  'Girlfriend?' she repeated, teasing.

Elle's father arrived home late, as Elle had said he inevitably 
would.  He slipped first into the kitchen to say hello to his wife.

Danny noticed them clinch, Elle's father embracing his wife from 
behind, pressing his body against her as they kissed.  He also 
noticed the man cop a quick feel, grabbing hold of her arm, sliding 
his hand up beneath the billowing sleeve to caress the powerhouse 
biceps muscle hidden up there.

Danny was suddenly very grateful for the loose T-shirt bunched in his 
lap.

They all sat and ate together, chatting amiably.  They asked Danny 
standard questions about his studies, his hobbies, his taste in music 
and movies.

'Any sports?' enquired Elle's mom, perfectly innocently.

'Well, a little at school but I don't actually play anything, 
extracurricular, sort of thing.'

'Danny's not sporty,' Elle interrupted quickly, probably a bale-out 
he figured.

But in fact, she had instantly recognised the direction of questions.  
As she explained to Danny, quite pointedly, no doubt for her mother's 
sake.  'Mom thinks I should try and find a sporty guy.  She doesn't 
seem to realise that all jocks are jerks.'

That ended it.

Throughout the meal, Danny actually began to relax a little, the 
winning warmth of the family counteracting his inevitable tension.

There was only one particularly intense moment, when Elle's mom 
cleared the table, piling all the plates together and lifting them.  
Hardly a huge weight, in comparison to what she must train with, but 
her arm was crooked just so, her sleeve had slipped up just a little.  
Danny could see the opening slope of a biceps muscle so large and 
round it looked like a baseball had been implanted under her skin.

A wave of lust so wanton swept through him he had to bite his lip to 
keep from moaning.  His loins ached and a delicious shudder ran 
through him.

Elle trod on his foot, just to make sure he knew that she knew.  He 
guessed that lusting after mommy only carried so much humour before 
it would become an actual issue.

If the parents knew how he was affected so, then at least they made 
no indication of such.  Elle teased him mercilessly about it when 
they were alone, but that was something he could quite happily live 
with.

As for Danny's own parents, they were blissfully unaware of their 
neighbour's physical achievements, at least at first.

Danny's father brought it up to him one evening.  He was slouching 
against the kitchen unit, a beer in hand.

'That girlfriend of yours, I saw her mom working away in the garden 
today.'

'Yeah?'

'Well, I say her mom, at first I thought it must be her dad.  Have 
you seen that woman's arms?'

'Oh,' Danny said, clicking, 'yeah, yeah I have.'  Non-committal.  
Somehow he doubted his father was up on the physical liberation 
issue.

'I tell you, she looked like a marine.  Christ, what a monster.  
Honestly, there's gotta be something wrong with that.  I mean, it 
isn't normal.'

Not everyone wants to be just normal.  But he didn't have the guts to 
actually say it.  In truth, he wasn't too bothered what the old man 
thought.

'She's a really nice person, though,' he said, feeling the need to at 
least defend her.

'Oh, sure she is,' his dad said quickly.  'I wasn't getting at her, 
or your girlfriend.  It's just messed up, that's all.'  He gave a 
little smile.  'I mean, you're OK, that girl of yours has got a real 
sweet figure on her.'

He winked at Danny and swigged at his beer.

You should see her flex, Danny thought to himself, but just smiled at 
his dad as a reply.

'I suppose her dad's one of these bull-necked macho types too.'

'No.  Actually he's not sporty at all.  Quite a skinny guy.'

His dad was surprised by this.  'No shit!'

He pondered in silence a few moments, Danny not even wanting to 
speculate upon what.

'Oh well,' he finally concluded, punctuating his thoughts by crushing 
the can, as though unconsciously needing to add a macho swagger, 'I 
hope that she covers her arms a bit better if she drops Elle off at 
school and picks her up.  You know what kids are like.  The last 
thing she needs in a new place it to be  singled out as a freak.'

And with this, he left Danny in peace again, though those closing 
comments struck him a lot harder than they should have.

There was an undercurrent, a fleeting half-thought that had been 
nagging at the back of Danny's head.  It was something he'd tried not 
to dwell upon but his father's words had unwittingly sparked them 
into full bloom.

School was coming, and coming up fast.  New term due in a week - 
shit, no, less than a week's time.

Danny got on well with Elle.  He liked her.  She was his friend as 
well as his girlfriend, which he now understood was an important 
factor of the whole relationship thing.

But in school, there were other factors - other people.

She'd hang out with the girls - the obnoxious and ridiculous children 
he hated and who so delighted in mocking him.

He could be himself when he was with Elle.  He could be the cool and 
relaxed, smart and suave, the laid-back charmer that he knew was 
inside him.
But at school?  At school he had to keep his head down, avoid 
trouble, avoid certain individuals who would make his life hell, 
simply to relieve their own boredom.

When she saw him in this context, how long before she too shunned 
him?

Not long, he guessed.  Maybe they could still hang out at home.  OK, 
when she lost that respect for him, she wasn't about to show any 
interest in progressing their relationship, but he hoped at least 
they could remain friends.

Danny wasn't deliberately off hand with Elle in those final days 
before school, but it must have affected his behaviour because she 
called him up on it.

'What's wrong with you?' she demanded.  'Why are you so despondent 
all of a sudden.

'Nothing,' he lied.  'End of holiday blues I guess.'

'Oh, tell me about it,' she agreed quickly, 'I've got it bad.  I've 
got a new school to deal with too.  I hope you're not going to ignore 
me and play it all cool like you barely know me.  I'm depending on 
you to help me settle - get to know the ebb and flow.'

'Don't worry,' he told her softly, 'you'll be fine.'

When the first day of school arrived, it didn't take long for the 
shit to hit the fan.

He was on his way through the school, meeting up with a few friends 
at lunch.  He exited the building, headed along one path, down some 
stairs, turned a corner and then smacked bodily into the excessively 
built body of Jack Osseman.  Careless.  Careless and dangerous, as a 
group of girls were hanging around, fuel for the man's fire.  He was 
going to have to prove something now, show off to them.

He shoved Danny hard, making him drop his schoolbag, spilling books 
everywhere.

A ripple of attention, an audience formed for the show.

'Jesus, watch where you're going, geek.'

Danny was down on his haunches, sweeping the books back into his bag 
as swiftly as possible.  Just pick up and get the fuck out, as soon 
as possible.

Jack winked to the girls, then tipped Danny over onto his ass with a 
sharp prod of his foot.

Much laughter.  Especially when Danny tried again to get up, only to 
be kicked back down by Jack.  Again he tried and this time Jack let 
him.  Then he barged right up to Danny, right in his face, saying, 
'hey, Danny, guess what?'  And then he shoved him violently back down 
to the ground.

'Jesus, you fucking asshole, leave him alone.'

The thug stopped at this, turning around to see a pretty, sweet 
little girl, all young and all innocent.

'What's this?' Jack said, grinning widely.  'Danny-boy's got himself 
a girlfriend?'

Danny stood, brushing himself off.  Elle?  God, this was not what he 
needed.

Jack's heavy hand fell across his shoulders.

'Get off of him,' Elle hissed.

Jack stuck one meaty thigh out and threw Danny across it, spinning 
him back down to the ground.

'Whoops,' he laughed.  Much hilarity.

Elle punched him.

No discussions, no warnings, no further debate or question.  She 
simply swung a full and well-rounded fist directly into Jack's square 
jaw.  And, as it turned out, glass jaw too.  Coz the man went down.  
Hard.

Two stumbling steps backwards and then smack, flat down on his ass.

Shock from all those watching - unable to believe what they'd just 
witnessed.

Elle ignored it.  She offered Danny her arm.  Danny just stared up at 
her, quite blatantly not taking it.

'Too proud to accept help from a girl?' she demanded from him.

But it wasn't that.  Danny looked up at her, his eyes admitting that 
he was defeated.  'You don't want to associate with me,' he told her.  
'You're just starting here, you really don't need to hang out with 
the losers.'

'Oh, please, I'll pick my own friends, thank you.'

Her hand remained resolute and Danny smiled gently at her as he took 
it, letting her help him back onto his feet.

Jack had also found his feet by this point and was less than amused 
by the turn of events.  He ran at Elle.

She didn't even bother turning to face him, quite confident in her 
ability to defend herself.  As he reached her, grabbing at her, she 
jammed her elbow hard and sharp into his gut.

Winded, he went down again, his legs crumbling.

'Thanks,' Danny said.

'Any time.'

'Of course, you realise if you're seen with me in public, people are 
going to shun you.'

Elle shrugged.  Jack was just about finding his feet again, getting 
one foot planted and trying to lift himself up.  As they walked past 
him, Elle placed a finger on his forehead and pushed him backwards, 
robbing him of his balance and knocking him back on his ass.

'For some reason, people tend to always think I'm a freak anyway,' 
she told him.  'Hope you don't mind having an unusual girlfriend.'

'I'll try and cope with it,' he said.  'Hey, would show me how to 
lift weights?'

'OK.'

And, arm in arm, they walked away, passing indifferently by a stunned 
group of bystanders.


[A mom and little boy who is looking through the widow to see the new 
neighbours moving in, carrying boxes.  They are monsters, Godzilla 
style, though human-sized.  "If there're monsters moving in next 
door, Danny, you just ignore them.  The more you believe in them, the 
more they'll try to get you."]

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


17 - Corporate retreat 

'If you were in a situation where you had to take out a bear, I mean, 
it had stormed into your camp and was busy mauling someone or 
something like that, and you had to.  You've got an axe, or a machete 
or something like that, but you don't have a gun, and you've got to 
do something.  Would you, as an animal lover, hold back a little, 
attempt to wound the bear rather than killing it, or would you, in 
that situation, forget about your pre-decided morals, and take it out 
- no retreat, no surrender?'

Helen looked up from her Health and Fitness magazine, raised an 
eyebrow and gave a bark of a laugh.  'Nik, we're going to Scotland, 
not Darkest Peru.  It's hardly going to be teeming with lions and 
tigers and bears - oh my.'

'It's a hypothetical question,' he insisted.

She sighed.  'It's not a survivalist weekend.  We're going on what 
basically amounts to an extended nature trail - a camping trip.  
Groups of Boy-scouts do it every summer.'

'I know that.'

'I bet you were so peeved at not being born a Yank.  Imagine, going 
and buying a gun, going out into the beauty of nature at weekends, in 
order to kill some of it, and nobody thinking you're strange because 
of it.'

He looked a little blank at this.  'I do own a gun,' he told her.  
'And that's not answering my question.'

She relented, just to shut him up.  'OK, if I were in that situation, 
then, assuming I'm not crippled by panic and unable to do anything 
anyway, then I wouldn't hold back.  It's a live or die situation, and 
a bear is a big, bad, biting... thingy.  Unless you go in at full 
throttle, all guns blazing, you're gonna get eaten.  Satisfied?'

Nik smiled.  It was obviously the right answer in his book.  'You 
know, if you ever do have to kill a bear and you don't have...'

She interrupted him, a look of sudden concern, holding her hand up to 
silence him.  'I know we're meeting with a guide up there in Scotland 
and everything, but do you think Jeremy's got everything prepared.  I 
mean, we are gonna need the basic supplies and stuff.'  She made a 
wide-eyed expression, what she thought of as excessively feminine, 
like a bimbo trying to get out of a speeding ticket.  'Don't you 
think?'

Nik, nodded.  'I better go check with him,' he said importantly.

Helen smiled and watched him go.  She sipped at her martini cocktail.  
For an airport bar, it was surprisingly good.

                              * * *

It had all begun with Jeremy, as stupid ideas tended to.

Back in his huge office, he called his secretary in, clicking the 
speakerphone.  'Rebecca, I need you to take a memo.'

'I'm busy,' she yelled back at him, shouting through the wall, not 
even bothering to click on her own speakerphone.

'Whenever you've got a minute.'

Eventually Rebecca thumped in, perched into the chair opposite him 
and raised her notebook, pen poised to strike.

'Make it quick, I'm expecting a call,' she told him.

Rebecca was pretty, young, efficient and scared the shit out of 
everyone, despite her diminutive stature and slight build.  She had 
the air of one who could quite happily take her expensive, platinum 
ballpoint and jam it through your eyeball.  She was ruthlessly 
efficient and loathed everyone who was not.  Which was unfortunately 
most of her colleagues, including her boss, Jeremy.  She was the kind 
of secretary who would never suffer sexual harassment in the 
workplace, simply because everyone was too scared to risk offending 
her.  And she would never be fired, no matter how bad her attitude 
was, because, the simple truth was, though the place could run 
without her - probably - it would not run nearly so well.

Jeremy had a huge respect for the young woman, as well as a very 
healthy degree of fear.  But he didn't mind being so intimidated 
because he also knew she was too good to let go.

'Yes, I had this marvellous idea,' he told her.  'There's a weekend 
retreat my dad used to take me and my brother on, up in Scotland, 
back when we were lads.  They do all sorts of things, fishing, 
sailing, orienteering, that kind of outdoorsy stuff.  I was reading 
an article about alternative teambuilding exercises and decided that 
instead of the normal corporate yawn-fest, why not do something like 
that?  A very jolly weekend.  You can hire a guide, who'll take you 
out into the middle of the wilderness and give you a tour through the 
wilds.'

He chatted amiably while Rebecca jotted everything down, not missing 
a beat.  It didn't matter that he was simply rambling away, not even 
bothering to shape his speech into anything other than his current 
train of thought.  Rebecca nodded slightly, an unconscious gesture 
while her hand scribbled shorthand at the speed of speech, taking 
down every word.

'OK,' she agreed once he was done, and she stood to leave.

'Oh and one more thing,' Jeremy said, his voice becoming more 
authoritative, 'I want everyone to be there - no exceptions.'

She nodded curtly.  'I'll check the annual leave rota, shortlist the 
best dates.'

When she laid down the memo before him a short time later, he was 
impressed to see she'd amended his rambling stream of consciousness 
into a brief and professional document, coherently detailing the trip 
they were going to attend.

She also had the best possible sets of dates for him to choose 
between.  'There is one thing, however,' she began...

                              * * *

When Rebecca distributed the memo around the office, she made sure 
everyone knew that this wasn't an optional outing.

'It's not compulsory.  But that doesn't mean you can get away with 
not going.  Everyone is expected to attend.'

Helen took her memo and gave a resigned sign.  What had the over-
privileged twat dreamed up now?

'I take it "everyone" doesn't include you,' she remarked.

Rebecca, her humour as dry as her colleague's, just smiled slyly.  'I 
don't see any reason why it should.'

'Wait,' Adam said, actually interrupting his phone call with his 
bookie.  'You're not going?'  He barked into the phone, 'wait a sec,' 
then turned on Rebecca, seriously put out by this injustice.  'How 
comes you can get away with not going?'

Rebecca gave him a sardonic smile.  'My reward for making sure 
everyone else goes.'  And with that, she walked off, spreading joy, 
distributing the memo to a less than rapturous response.

Adam turned on Helen.  'How does she get away with this shit?  She's 
the most unpleasant, crude, psycho little Hitler; she's just a 
secretary but she strides around like she owns the damn place, and 
she gets away with it, every time.'

'Because she's very good at her job,' Helen explained calmly.

Adam thought about this a few moments.  He shrugged.  Yeah, that 
probably makes sense, he decided, and turned his focus back to the 
phone and his waiting bookie.

                              * * *

Jeremy turned up at the airport first, effortlessly shifting from 
boss to team leader.  Rebecca had given him the tickets, a detailed 
itinerary, a list of contact numbers and simple instructions of who 
to meet where and when.  She'd all but packed him a lunch and a 
Rupert the Bear thermos.

He was technically only actually son of the boss.  His father, the 
great mister boss senior, was semi-retired, and would probably remain 
so until he died, an instinctive knowledge such men have ingrained 
into them, that the day they let go completely of their companies, is 
the day they let go of life itself.

Still single at forty, he was dressed in customised cotton trousers 
and a close-knit sweater, boots and a riding jacket.  He looked like 
something from a Horse and Pony magazine article.  All he needed now 
was a shotgun over his shoulder and some rich in-bred brats behind 
him to complete the image.  He was what the Mail on Sunday described 
as a highly eligible bachelor, normally providing details of their 
pedigree and assets to back up the claim.

He waited patiently at the airport, standing by the corner of the 
wrong check-in desk, wondering where everyone else had got to.

Nik had turned up in army fatigues.  He'd never been in the army but 
was obsessed by it, a video collection of documentaries about the 
SAS, about special forces, Navy SEALs, any other group of 
professional soldiers.  He'd read survival guides, knew how to build 
a man-trap, knew how to read a compass, knew how to ad-lib a compass 
when he didn't have one.  

Technically he knew that this wasn't a survivalist weekend, but that 
didn't mean he couldn't make the most of it.  He hadn't brought a 
hunting knife with him, and was beginning to regret it now, airport 
be damned.  If he checked in his rucksack, it wouldn't be a problem.  
Maybe he could pick one up before they set out, there was bound to be 
camping shops after all.

'Oh my God, it's action man,' Emma sneered, just a little bit too 
snotty to be good humoured.  Fortunately Nik was too immured to such 
subtleties to notice.

'Hi Emma,' he greeted, amiably.  He felt (and was acting) like a kid, 
excited about a school trip.

Emma was dressed in the kind of immaculate elegance only a hefty 
clothing budget can assure.  Designer shades and a high-fashion neat 
little backpack about the size of a purse.  She shuddered to be 
associated with Nik but preferred it to waiting alone, and so 
consented to be seen with him, albeit at a short distance.

Steph turned up next, along with Adam, despite the rumours and talk 
this would inevitable cause.  Womaniser supreme with office tart 
supreme, why wouldn't there be gossip?

In actual fact, they were just mates, unless you counted a drunken 
fumble once when they'd both struck out.

Steph was the receptionist; a bright and happy, fresh-faced young 
blonde, in both name and nature.  She loved life and took it at face 
value, quite happy to adhere to the stereotypes thrust upon her by 
hypocritical others.

One of the corporate snobs from higher up, a prematurely grey and 
suited gentleman (in name only In Her Humble Opinion), who habitually 
stared at her chest instead of her eyes, had once actually been 
brazen enough to openly call her a slut.  Not to her face, but she'd 
unfortunately overheard him.  He hadn't realised she was standing 
close by and she had immediately stormed up to him.

The other suits he was talking to at the time cringed backwards in 
embarrassment.

Steph stared the guy down, before announcing, 'actually I'm a bitch, 
not a slut.'

She folded her arms huffily.  Whatever her intention had been in 
doing this, the actual effect of the action was not to conceal her 
bosom, but rather to plump it up, expanding her already substantial 
cleavage by a good couple of inches.

The already embarrassed corporate suit couldn't help himself, though 
he knew he shouldn't, knew he already had a foot jammed in his mouth 
and wasn't going to be able to bluff his way out.  It was 
irresistible however, his very nature betraying his better instincts.  
It was only a glance, but everyone saw it, and he knew that they saw.

'A slut sleeps with everyone,' she explained, 'whereas a bitch sleeps 
with everyone except you.'

And she turned on her heel and strode off, head held high.

The suit, in his blushing shame, excused himself from his colleagues 
without meeting their eyes, and tried to slope away despite the 
excruciating embarrassment of a blatant erection.

The punch-line to this story was that Steph related it Rebecca, who'd 
then focused her wrath upon the man, initiating a serial campaign of 
unflinching intimidation and abuse.  This, coupled with repeated and 
rather embarrassingly loud and inopportune insistences that he stop 
staring at her chest, even on those occasions when he was innocent of 
such and irrespective of the fact that Rebecca actually had little 
chest to speak of in which to ogle.

He lasted less than a month before handing in his notice.  Both Steph 
and Rebecca made sure they attended his leaving party, rejoicing with 
just a little too much zeal.

Adam was wearing very large sunglasses, the lenses picked for their 
ability to block out as much of the light as was possible.  He had 
hangover chic down to a fine art - mainly due to huge amounts of 
practice.

He gave Emma a polite nod but was too engrossed in his own headache 
to turn on the charm.  He looked at Nik and winced, though more at 
his boyish enthusiasm than his ridiculous get-up.

He found a spot directly in the blast of the air conditioning and 
opened his jacket gratefully.

Peter turned up after a while, looking as wretched as Adam.  Hardly 
surprising since it was the two of them who had been out drinking 
last night.  He was actually in a slightly better state than his 
younger companion and colleague, but mainly because he'd been living 
the lifestyle for years, and knew all the tricks for surviving it.

He wandered up to them, wearing a battered but surprisingly elegant 
Panama, a white cotton suit.  What he liked to think of as his Peter 
O'Toole look, though spiteful wits had dubbed him instead Peter no-
tool.  And it had to be said, he was hardly pretty as a picture.  
Years of the hedonistic lifestyle had left him battered and grizzled.  
Also left him poorer in pocket.  Where as some of his more frugal 
colleagues of days gone by had since retired, Pete was still plugging 
away at life, still taking it for all it was worth.

'Where is the in-bred little bastard?' he said.

'Probably waiting at the wrong desk,' Adam commented.  'He doesn't 
have Rebecca to lead him by the hand, after all.'

Emma turned to Nik.  Unconsciously she inclined herself forward a 
little, intimate and flirtatious, as she always did when making a 
request to a male.  'Do you want to go see if you can find him?'

Nik was simply happy to oblige, liking the idea of being sent on a 
mission, no matter how minor or petty.  He gave a sharp salute, which 
looked even more ridiculous than it normally did, with his current 
get up, and disappeared.

Collin fumbled up next.  He was late because he'd got on the wrong 
train.  Not in the sense that he'd mistakenly taken a train he 
shouldn't have, but because the train in question was faulty, 
dragging it's heels until finally breaking down at a tiny station in 
the middle of nowhere.  The passengers had been kicked off onto the 
platform to wait for the next train.  Unfortunately, none of the 
express trains stopped there, which Collin figured out after three 
slammed past without slowing.  Each of which he could have been on, 
if he'd only waited for an express at the beginning of his journey 
instead of taking the first train out.

In the end, he took a taxi to the nearest main station, though that 
was going back on himself, taking the next express train out, 
otherwise, he'd never make it to the airport on time.

Inevitably, this train made an unscheduled stop at the station he'd 
been offloaded onto.  He saw his fellow passengers board, some of who 
gave him peculiar looks, having just seen him storm off to catch a 
cab.

Collin related this tale to the others, who made appropriate noises 
and nodded in the right places, without taking any of it in.  It was 
just the sort of thing that happened to Collin.

He rummaged about in his carry-on bag.  He began to panic, fumbling 
through, managing to spill out a dozen different kinds of chemist 
medication.  Alleviation of a dozen minor aliments which all 
unfailingly plagued him on a regular basis.  No one at work ever 
bothered going to a drug-store, they just went to Collin.

'What's wrong?' Emma asked, fatalistically.

'I think I've lost my passport.'

Adam perked up here.  'Passport?  Collin, we're going to Scotland!'

'Well, you know, better safe than sorry.'

Adam just sighed wearily.  It was true that if anyone was going to 
somehow, by a bizarre series of mishaps, find himself stuck on the 
wrong side of passport control, it was Collin.

Jon had actually already arrived.  He was standing a little way off 
from the rest of the group, a comfy perch leaning up against a line 
of baggage trolleys.  He was scoping the chicks that walked passed, 
silently revelling in the young and skimpy.  You could tell when he 
was particularly impressed by someone, because he'd grab his mobile 
phone, point its built-in camera, and save the sight for posterity.

'Jesus, that guy is creepy,' Steph shuddered.  And this from someone 
who was quite open and blatant about her body, definitely from the 
"if you've got it, flaunt it," school of thought.

'Definitely,' Emma said, making the rare exception of actually 
agreeing with Steph on anything.

'If he points that phone at me I'm gonna shove it up his arse.'

Helen turned up just as Nik was guiding a slightly lost looking 
Jeremy towards the group.

She wasn't late, she'd just organised herself to only arrive once 
everyone else had finally turned up.

Her luggage was in a rucksack, strapped to her back like a student 
back-packer.  She didn't bother removing it now she was here, knowing 
they'd all be setting off to the check-in now anyway.

Jeremy fumbled around with the documents, getting confused by all the 
information Rebecca had provided him with.  Emma quickly went to 
assist.  She was the first to criticise him when he wasn't around, 
but the first to leap into his lap, like a good little suck-up.  
Unfortunately, she was almost as clueless as he was.  Collin was 
closest besides them and he started helping too.

'The blind leading the blind,' Peter remarked, but was too hung-over 
to do anything practical to help.

Steph noticed Adam, Peter, as dark shadows of one another, and Nik, 
completing the row.  She giggled and elbowed Helen.  'It's like the 
before, during and after pictures of those "Warning: your life on 
drugs" photo timelines.'

Adam, articulate as ever, flipped her his middle finger.  She blew 
him a kiss.

Jon finally joined them, swaggering over.  Another, particularly 
developed woman and dressed to flatter the fact, passed by his field 
of vision, and he actually diverted his route over to catch her full 
on, shooting his phone from the hip.

It was so blatantly done however, that there could be little doubt 
and the woman scowled disgustedly at him, changing her own path to 
avoid him.  She stormed off like thunder, doing her utmost to keep 
the sway from her hips.

Jon actually seemed delighted by this response, calling to her, 'hi 
darling, how you doing?'

After check in, they split up.  Jeremy announced the gate and time as 
if they didn't all have it printed on their own boarding cards.

Emma read a sign, pointing out all the shops.  'Ooo Gucci,' she 
declared.

Helen rolled her eyes.  'I'm gonna find a bar,' she sighed.

Steph held up her own bag.  'In that case, do you mind looking after 
this?'

'Why, where are you going?'

She shrugged, sheepishly.  'It's Gucci!  Thanks, Helen.  Oh, and the 
jacket.'

She peeled the jacket off, revealing the vest she wore beneath.  
Doing so turned heads, of both members of their own troupe and of 
passing strangers.  

Jon's eyes bugged out, fit to burst; Collin was politer but simply 
unable to help himself.  Nik blushed deeply and pretended not to have 
noticed, Peter merely raised a wrinkled eyebrow.  Only two of the men 
were resolutely unmoved by the sight, Jeremy ever the professional 
and Adam of all people - the consummate womaniser no less - though he 
did have the benefit of having seen them before.

'So that's what I've been doing wrong,' Helen remarked.  'I always 
thought the breasts went inside the vest.'

She was exaggerating - the top wasn't really that shocking - but not 
by much.  It was hardly an outfit for the modest client, as the 
gawping lust of all those in the surrounding area could well testify 
to.

'Trust me babe,' Steph countered, gesturing to Helen's own bosom, 'in 
that Tee, you're doing nothing wrong.'

'What?' Helen asked, in genuine innocence, regarding her high-necked 
T-shirt.

'For someone who spends most of her life in a gym, you really ought 
to look in the mirror more often.'

It had to be said, contrary to her original expectation, since she'd 
begun weight-training her breasts had actually gone up a cup size.  
And, in addition to their size, training had raised them, so they now 
stood bold and proud.  And the impressive fact was illustrated for 
her by the fact that the tee she wore now never used to be tight on 
her - now however, it was stretched out to capacity.

Steph headed off to the fashion parade, passing Jon, who had his 
camera-phone aimed at a group of Japanese teens.  She knocked the 
phone, ruining his shot.  She gave him a dirty look, daring him to 
say anything.  He didn't, muttering to himself instead.
 
Adam had disappeared to places of his own, leaving his own bag with 
Peter, who'd decided to join Helen in the bar.

Feeling old and decrepit, he sighed and stooped, pained by picking up 
his own bag, let alone Adam's.  Helen took his off him wordlessly, 
then picked up Adam's too.

'No let me,' he insisted, though without too much vigour.

She waved him off.  'If I'm gonna be the packhorse I might as well go 
all the way.  Besides, I normally have to pay to get a decent 
workout.'

She lifted all the bags with ridiculously little effort.

'Bless you, my dear,' he said in a wearied tone, genuinely meaning 
it.

'If you really want to be a gentleman, you can buy me a drink.'

'Gratefully.'

They settled in the bar, chilling out, shooting the breeze, Nik 
flitting around them like a boisterous puppy.  Thank God the man 
didn't drink, how much worse would he be with a half of shandy in 
him?  The rest of the group slowly reassembled around them, filtering 
back from shopping and into the natural meeting place for office 
colleagues.

                              * * *

Aboard the plane, they settled into their assigned seats.

Emma was laden down with shopping.  Collin helped her put it in the 
overhead bin, managing to get clonked on the head by knocking out his 
own bag in the process.

Helen saw her seat, next to Adam.  He was hunched low, snatching a 
sneaky draft from a hip-flask.  Caught, he smiled and offered it to 
her.

'I'm fine, thanks.'

She shook her jacket from her shoulders, and began removing it.  A 
steward was behind her and slid it off her arms for her, with a 
gentle, 'Madam, let me help you with that.'

Being the perfect professional, upon seeing the actual arms beneath, 
his remark was simply a sedate, 'oh my,' with a faint and impressed 
smile touching his lips.

Adam however was less faint, less polite and less sedate.  Though no 
less impressed.

'Oh fucking hell!'

'What?' she asked him.  All innocence again, though this time it was 
only half genuine.  She knew the effect her arms, unsheathed as they 
were here, could have upon the uninitiated.

Though Adam was hardly uninitiated.  If fact, he'd been one of the 
few in the office she'd actually told back when she'd first begun 
bodybuilding.  It had spread around of course, as these things 
naturally do.

He'd been interested, naturally, anything to do with female 
physiology always fascinated him deeply.  He'd even somehow persuaded 
her on one unforgettable occasion to roll up her sleeve and flex.

And he'd been genuinely impressed and awed by the pretty peak that 
she had already developed at that point.

'That's fantastic,' he had told her, enthused.  'Christ, your average 
guy would be proud of arms like that.'

And to end the scene perfectly, Pete had suddenly walked in on them.  
Helen pumping a bicep and Adam, clearly impressed, feeling it for 
density.

'I'm not even going to ask,' was his only comment.

But that was ten months ago, and a lot can happen in ten months.  
Especially if you spend it in the gym.

'You know I'm a bodybuilder,' she said to him.

Adam was simply staring at her arms, hypnotised by them.

'Yeah,' he murmured distractedly.  'I just didn't realise you were so 
good at it.'

Collin and Nik were sitting behind them, both now poked their heads 
over the seats to see what the fuss was all about.

Nik stared, bug-eyed and decidedly confused.  He apparently wanted to 
say something but when Helen questioned him with her eyes he just 
turned bright red and sat down quickly.  Collin muttered something to 
himself and also sat.

Emma was sitting across from Collin.  Saw the fuss being made and 
pointedly ignored it.

'Freak,' she muttered but it was only audible to Steph, sitting next 
to her.

Steph bit her tongue and ignored the remark, though she made a mental 
note to mention it to her friend later.  Who did the stuck up cow 
think she was?

The flight was uneventful - short.  Adam spent the first half trying 
to persuade Helen to flex her newer, larger biceps for him to see.

She couldn't work out whether he was just being Adam, fascinated by 
anything to do with the female form, in all its various forms, or 
whether he actually got a thrill from a bodybuilt woman, as some men 
did.

Either way she refused to display herself for his perusal and he gave 
up asking, spending the rest of the flight flirting with the 
stewardess instead.  His hangover seemed to be better at least.

                              * * *

Word had spread.  Helen walked through the airport with the distinct 
sensation that all eyes were upon her, assessing her.

Collin accidentally bumped into her, knocking her with his shoulder.  
It was actually as much her fault as his, not looking where she was 
going, but still he leapt back, frightened.

'I'm sorry,' he squealed quickly.  'Sorry, I didn't mean to walk into 
you.'

He'd thrown his hands up in submissive defence, as though scared she 
would hit him.

Helen shook her head, bemused by his reaction.  'Collin, why are you 
suddenly so scared of me?'

'I'm not, I'm just... I'm not,' he insisted.  Though his eyes had 
unconsciously swept down the length of her beefy arms as he made his 
denial.

'Collin, it's me.  I'm just the same as I've always been.  What?  Do 
you suddenly think of me as some sort of aggressive muscle-bound 
macho bitch?'

'Well, yeah,' he admitted.  Then suddenly seemed to realise what he'd 
said and panic returned.  'Please don't hurt me.'

'Collin.  I'm not going to hurt you.  Why would you see me like that?  
Why would you think of me differently?'

Collin just cowered.  Helen was getting annoyed now, and it just made 
his fear even worse.

'Jesus, what is wrong with all of you?  Collin!  Why are you so 
scared of me?'

'Because you could beat me up,' he offered with a weak, halfway kind 
of grin.

She had to laugh at that, and when she did, Collin laughed with her.  
Give the man his due, he had the self-derogatory slant of his humour 
down to a tee.  She guessed some people were just like that.

'That doesn't mean I'm going to,' she told him.  'And besides, what 
sort of reason is that?  I mean, no offence meant but seriously 
Collin, Steph could probably beat you up.  Hell, if it came to that, 
even Emma could, if she wasn't so scared of breaking a nail.'

Collin shrugged and relaxed.  He offered her a twisted grin.  'I'm 
scared of them too.'

                              * * *

They waited for the couch outside the airport terminal.

The smokers of the group, Steph, Peter, Jon, were all catching up on 
nicotine.

Steph took a happy lungful, throwing back her head in rapture.  She 
caught Peter's eye skirt her barely clad bosom.

'Yes?' she demanded, though there was no real venom in it.  She 
actually really liked the old guy, lech or not.

'I thought that smoking was bad for your chest.'

She grinned.  'I've never had any complaints.'

Jon had apparently overheard this because he then proceeded to wander 
up to a lone stranger also hanging out in the smoking area.

She wasn't especially young or pretty, but she was attractive enough 
and had a substantial bosom, though her suit was tailored well around 
it.  She was clearly a sophisticate.  She eyed Jon's approach with 
wary suspicion, as well she should.

'And I thought smoking was supposed to be bad for your chest,' he 
declared.

Wordlessly she stomped out her cigarette, only half done and stormed 
away.

He wandered back.

'What is wrong with you?' Steph asked him, simply incredulous at his 
behaviour.  'I mean, is it clinical or what?'

'I'm just a wild man.'

She turned away, shaking her head in bemusement.

Helen wandered up, jacket now on again, in the hope that her beloved 
colleagues would stop staring at her arms.  So far it wasn't working.

'Hey, Xena.'

'The coach is here,' she told them.

Jon had come up behind her so when she turned back again, she nearly 
ran straight into him.  His eyes did a slow and deliberate roll up 
her body.

'Is it me or have your tits got bigger lately?'

Helen just barged past him wordlessly, making sure her shoulder 
struck his.  The contact sent him reeling, flailing backwards and 
falling painfully onto his arse.

Steph laughed.  'Word of advice,' she offered as she passed by, 'be 
wary of pissing off a girl who eats her spinach.'

As they wandered to the coach, Nik came up to her, joining in step as 
she walked.  He was flustered and nervous, despite his normal macho 
swagger.

'Helen, I've always been interested in working out and stuff.  I was 
kind of thinking about taking it up seriously myself.  What sort of 
workout do you do to train your arms?'

It was however an inopportune moment.

'Fuck off and die, creep,' she hissed.

Nik didn't respond.  He stood rooted to the spot as Helen stormed 
away from him.

'That was unnecessary,' Steph scolded, catching up.  'Look at his 
face.  It's like you just shot his puppy.'

'Probably,' Helen sighed.  'But why is everyone making such a big 
thing about this?'

'You a fine one to talk about making things big.'

'Har har.  Still, at least it's not as bad as Emma's reaction.'

'Why, what did she say?'

'This was about a month ago.  I was in the toilets, getting ready for 
a big date.  You know the drill, you're all excited and eager to look 
your best.  I was in this sleeveless, kimono style dress, I was 
playing with my hair when she comes out the stall, looks at me and 
says, "Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with your arms?"  I just didn't 
know what to say to that.  I didn't say anything.  I mean, I'd 
actually chosen to go sleeveless deliberately - all the better to 
make an impression.

'She says, "It looks like you're suffering from some hideous giant 
tumour or growth."  I tried to think of some witty comeback, but I 
couldn't so I settled for ignoring her.  Then she walked out, leaving 
me with a final, snotty, "no wonder you're single."'

'Fucking bitch!'

'Pretty much what I thought.  But on the bright side, she has been 
kind of avoiding me ever since.  I think she's a bit uncomfortable 
around me now.'

'How can she accuse you of being single like it's an insult?  Fucking 
stuck up cow.  Just because she sleeps around all the time with all 
her preppy party pals.  It's not like she's had a serious boyfriend 
for God knows how long.'

'I guess she's too straight-laced to understand, that's all.  Most 
people don't get it, even if they accept it.'

'I think you should kick her ass.'

'I don't like confrontations.'

'Pity, cause you're certainly suited to them, physically.'

'Yeah?  Like it stops you that you're not.'

'Says who?  I could take her quite easily, thank you.  I'd happily 
smack her one, and I tell you, she wouldn't get up again afterwards, 
either.'

                              * * *

On the coach heading to the base station of their little camping 
excursion, Collin had sat himself opposite Helen and Steph.

He cleared his throat to get her attention and offered her his normal 
weak smile.

'I never actually knew you were so serious about training,' he began, 
gesturing vaguely to her arms, though they were now fully concealed.  
'It's very impressive.'

'Thank you,' she said impassively.

'Actually, I tried working out once, joined a gym and everything.  It 
was all going well enough, actually really getting into it.  It does 
wonders for your general health and well-being, as well as your 
strength and build.'

'Yeah,' she agreed.  She could almost hear it coming and was all set 
to wince in sympathy.  Then, sure enough...

'Until I snapped a ligament.'  He gestured to his arm - the shoulder.  
'I still can't move it any further back than that.  It gets stiff 
from time to time, and it does get incredibly painful in winter.'

He sighed gently, staring out through the window, sinking back into 
his own, Collin-esque little world.  Surely not a nice place.  
Although, perversely, he seemed content enough within it.

Helen looked at Steph, who had to stifle a giggle.

                              * * *

There was indeed a camping supplies store.  Nik was pressing his face 
against the glass, drooling over the selection available.

'Let me see that one,' he enthused and the clerk took out a steel 
blade, reverentially.

Everyone else was waiting outside.  The nicotine addicts getting 
another quick fix.

Jeremy came out the main building, Emma at his heels, practically 
panting after him.

'Being a suck-up is one thing,' Peter remarked to Adam.  'But she's 
practically in heat.'

'Don't,' Adam told him, his voice low.

Peter was taken aback by this.  'Since when did you care?'

'I don't.  It's just not like you to be so bitchy,' Adam lied.

He walked away, Peter watching him go, perplexed.

Jeremy called the group together.  With him stood an old man.  
Ancient flesh, weather worn and as tough as cowhide.  If this were 
America, he'd look like a cowboy.  In these colder, wilderness climes 
however, he looked like someone from Mountain Rescue.

His name was Jack and he used to be a part of Mountain Rescue.  Now 
he'd retired and worked as a tour guide.  He took troupes like theirs 
off up into the open wilds, showing them up mountains and down caves, 
camping, cooking food over an open fire, the full boy-scout 
experience.

'OK folks, I'm gonna run through a few of the basic rules with you, 
just get them out the way so we can all start enjoying ourselves.  
We'll be heading out from here to tonight's campsite, which is four 
miles that way.  Just to break you in gentle.  The adventure begins 
for real tomorrow.'

And he proceeded with the speech he'd doubtless given a thousand 
times over.  He lay down the basics and pretty much stated the 
obvious.  At least, in Helen's opinion it was obvious.  There were 
doubtless people out there (or indeed within this very group) who 
just lacked the requisite common sense to be allowed in the wild 
without supervision.

He came across as an amiable old feller though, and, given his 
history, he certainly knew his stuff.

'You, young lady,' he said, picking on Steph.  'That slip may be very 
pretty to look at, but it's not much for practicalities.  You've got 
something a little more all encompassing?'

'Oh yeah,' she assured him.  'This was just for the flight, trying to 
get bumped into first.'

'Or just hoping to get bumped,' Adam suggested.

'You've a beautiful chest,' Jack told her, 'but you don't want to get 
a chill on it.'

Then he picked on Emma.  'Those shoes are ridiculous.  No good for 
normal use, let alone where we're going.'

'I know,' she whined.  'I'm not stupid.  I've got some walking shoes 
too.'

She slipped into the camping shop afterwards however, while Jeremy 
was finishing the paperwork.

Helen strapped her bag to her back, glad she'd been frugal with the 
packing.

Emma was looking at her new shopping bags and the backpack, which 
they quite obviously weren't going to fit into.

Helen shook her head in weary despair at the state of the human race.

Adam came to her rescue, offering her space in his own bag, and then 
going the extra mile by tying the remaining shopping bags to the 
outside of his rucksack.

Finally everyone was ready.  Nik was the proud owner of a new hunting 
knife - a viciously edged beast of a blade, serrated and sharp enough 
cut bone.  He wore it strapped to his belt.

'Used to have one of those,' Jack told him as they strode along a 
fairly well trodden path.  'One time, I got myself stranded, needed 
to find my way into civilisation.  Not too much trauma, I had a basic 
idea where I was and I knew I just had to keep going straight.  But 
it took me eighty-four hours.  A long time, enough to kill you, you 
don't know what you're doing.

'Used that baby more in that one trip than I had done 'til then in 
total.  Probably since too.  Building my shelters, gutting my 
catches, just whittling wood to keep from going stir.  It's a handy 
piece of kit.  You treat it well, it may save your life some day.'

Nik beamed, in seventh heaven.

'Ever actually hunt with it?' Helen asked.

'Only time I ever hunted is when I was stuck and needed to eat.  And 
then I used traps.'

Helen hated to admit it, but she really liked this old geezer, macho-
man or not.  He had a no bullshit approach about him that appealed to 
her.  He couldn't be done with false courtesies or hypocrisies.  But 
he did have a genuine and easygoing respect for all life, which 
surprised the cynical side of her.  In a job like his however, she 
guessed you needed to be able to actually like people.

The rest of the grouped tromped behind them, grumbling for the most 
part, those that had the energy.

Jeremy brought up the rear, for all the world like a country gent 
ambling across his land.

By the time they reached the campsite, most of them were highly glad 
of the fact.  Most of them were cursing Jeremy for his desire to 
commune with nature.  Whoever thought traipsing through the jungle 
was gonna be a good idea?  As the sun began to lower, the gnats were 
out in force.  The trail, not actually that defined after all, had 
creepers tangling around feet.  There had been a few twisted ankles, 
a few sharp scrapes.

'You OK there feller?' Jack asked Peter.

Peter didn't make any of the kind of the comments or abusive remarks 
most of them would have expected at this, but only because he could 
speak right about now.  Once he caught his breath, however, it was 
probably time to duck.

His bag was dropped before him, his hands on his knees, his face 
seeing more colour than it had in a decade.

'This is officially a stupid fucking idea,' he announced, happily 
loud enough for Jeremy to overhear.  Under the circumstances, Jeremy 
didn't take issue with the fact.

Helen offered him a bottle of water.  'It's OK,' she told him.  'I 
didn't spit in it.'

'Thank you,' he gasped, before drowning himself with it.

The camp was set up already, probably a permanent feature.  Seven 
fairly large tents just needing to be claimed.  Toilet facilities and 
a tap.  Basic kitchen utensils and a gas burner.

They claimed their tents in a manner that surprised nobody.  Jeremy 
and Jack both privileged to have one to themselves.  Helen and Steph 
paired automatically, as did Adam and Peter.  Nik and Collin a silent 
nod to each other, almost by default.

Jon snaked a hand around Emma's waist.

'I guess that leaves you and me, babe.'

She shoved him roughly away and took a tent, leaving the last for 
him.

They freshened up a little while Jack prepared the food, waiving off 
all offers to help, insisting it was all part of the service.

                              * * *

They were sat around the campfire, enjoying the stink of real flames 
- wood and soot.  Thank God no one bought a guitar.

Jack was telling more stories about his adventures in mountain 
rescue.  Nik was staring up at him starry eyed.  Helen was also 
interested, as were Jeremy and Emma.  And, surprisingly, Adam.

A short distance away, though quite deliberately segregated, were the 
remainder.

Steph was lying on the ground, watching them from a small distance, 
more taken by the stars and the fire than by anything Jack had to 
say.  Peter sipped a beer, as did Collin, who was sitting carefully 
back from the fire - wisely paranoid.

No one bothered to speculate where Jon might be.  No one much cared.

'You can't really complain,' Collin remarked.  'I mean, how many 
other companies do things like this for the staff?  OK, so it's not 
to everybody's tastes - I admit I'd prefer to be at the hotel bar 
right about now - but at least he's making an effort.'

'Oh sure, ten out of ten for effort,' Peter hissed.  'But minus a 
couple of hundred for having your finger on the pulse.'

'I agree with Collin,' Steph said, rolling to lean up on one hand and 
look at her colleagues.  'I mean, I was never around when the old man 
senior used to run things, but at least Jeremy makes the effort.  He 
may be a bit of a twat but his heart's in the right place.'

'Well I'd still prefer a fucking bonus once in a while,' Peter 
snapped.  'I mean, seriously, last quarter.  Sales are up, we've made 
the fucker a forty-six percent increase in turnover against last 
year, God knows the cash profit into his pocket.  He rewards himself 
for good management, a fat bonus payment.  I don't know how 
individual figures breakdown, but I know the total that went through 
the payroll that month was almost triple its normal average.  And No 
one else got any extra money that month.  Can you even begin to get 
your head around that much money?  What did the staff get?  A 
corporate hamper, which, incidentally, were bought in bulk to 
distribute as client gratuities, and were all closing on their expiry 
date and would have had to be tossed out within the month.

'His heart's smack bang next to his wallet and don't forget it.  
Amiable chap though he may be, he's still a fucking fat-cat and his 
concerns end with number one.'

The other two were a bit taken aback by this venom.  Peter seemed to 
realise it too.

'I'm sorry if I come across as a bitter, tired old cynic but that's 
what I am so it naturally comes out like that.'

Steph giggled.  'You're not that bad. Pete, beneath all that bluff 
you're just a teddy bear.'

'I think my ex wife would have something to say to that.  None too 
complimentary either.'

'I'll prove it.  You're really a sweet, gentle-natured man.'  She 
rolled closer to him and poked him gently in the ribs.  'Go get me a 
beer.'

He battered her off, irritably.  'Get it yourself.  I'm an old man.'

Not to be perturbed she poked him again, her soft voice, even more 
girly and giggly than normal.

'Go on,' she whined, 'I'm thirsty.  Besides, it's getting chilly out, 
if I get it, I'll probably go get my cardigan too.  And I know you 
wouldn't want that.'

He laughed.  'Fine,' he sighed.

She grinned, satisfied.  'Men are so simple,' she declared.

'It's a gift,' Collin told her.

Adam joined them, leaving the fireside chat in favour of their little 
gathering.

'Oh, I see the twins are back,' he remarked brightly.

Steph shrugged nonchalantly.  'I'm not very good at dressing down.  
Besides, they don't like it when they're completely covered up, they 
feel stifled.'

Peter returned, distributed cans to Collin, Adam, Steph, put the 
others aside.

'He's decided to join us then?' Peter said, focusing his attention on 
Steph.

'Yes.  He's being very fickle today, isn't he.'

'And what's up with you guys?' Adam asked.

'They think you're blowing them out because you're trying to shag 
Emma,' Collin announced dolefully.  He looked up to see Peter and 
Steph shooting daggers at him.  'What?  It was a big secret?'

Adam sighed and sat, popping his beer.

'She's too into Jeremy to even look at you,' Peter told him.

'And what the fuck do you see in her anyway?' Steph asked, sounding 
affronted.

'Look, could we talk about something else!'

'Whatever.'

'It's because she's a woman and he hasn't had her,' Peter told Steph 
in a stage whisper.  'Makes her utterly desirable for someone like 
Adam.'

'Oh, you're a fine one to talk,' Adam snapped.  'I'm sorry, how many 
notches have you knocked into your bedposts over the years?'

'I'm not sitting in judgement,' Peter assured him.  'I'm just under 
no delusions as to what I am and how I live my life.  Besides, at my 
age you gratefully accept all offers, never knowing which one is 
gonna be your last.'

Adam swallowed beer.

'I was trying to shag Emma,' he admitted finally.  'But she's too 
into Jeremy to even notice me.'

'It's something the upper classes have,' Steph told him, 'something 
in the genes.  They're only ever attracted to their own kind.  It's 
why they're all so in-bred.'

He laughed and clicked beer-cans with her.

They sat in silence, though it was a peaceful one now, the tension 
finally cracked open a little.

'I've noticed she has this weird habit,' Adam remark finally, 
evidently still preoccupied by Emma.  'The way she folds her arms 
over her chest, all huffy, warding off the idle gaze of the passing 
male.'

'What's weird about that?' Peter asked.

'The way she does it on such a selective basis.  When Jeremy peeks at 
her, and he does, from time to time, she practically leans her 
shoulders back and aims her cleavage at him.  Anyone else so much as 
glances and she gets all offended.'

'That's just normal,' Steph told him.  'It's because she likes him.'

'I told you, she's in heat.'

'But I mean, if Nik, or you,' to Collin, 'or you,' to Pete, 'ever 
dared a glance she acts like you're a sick pervert and gets all 
huffy.'

'Nik?' Peter laughed.  'Nik doesn't get off on women.  I've never 
seen him with a girl.  His porno is probably "Gun 'n Ammo" or war 
films.'

'Oh trust me, he likes girls,' Steph assured them.  'He's just very 
nervous around them.  I think he's shy of women.  I'm pretty sure I 
make him a little bit uncomfortable.'

'What about you?' Collin asked.  'How does she react to you checking 
her out?'

Adam shrugged.  'Dunno, can't tell.  I thought she was in two minds 
about me.  Why I thought I had a shot I suppose.'

'I think she's just stuck up,' Steph huffed, bitchily.  'About 
everything.  I mean she dresses all fancily, elegant cleavage and all 
that shit, and tries to pretend that it isn't just flashing your 
tits.  She seems to think she's better than me because she's rich and 
comes from a better background and has a silver spoon up her arse.'

'That's just normal class snobbery.'

'No, she takes especial dislike to me.  She thinks I'm common, which 
I happily admit that I am.  But she thinks that makes her better than 
me.  Even though she behaves in the same way I do on occasions.  
She's just as much a slapper as I am, just as much a drunken tart as 
I am, but she thinks coz she's posh and I'm not that it's somehow 
different for her.'

'She doesn't flash as much cleavage as you,' Adam remarked.

'Because she doesn't have as much cleavage to flash.  Trust me, 
that's the only reason.  She still shows what she has got.  
Proportionally she's just as extrovert as I am at my worst.  

'I also take it as a given that if I choose a certain frontage, then 
chances are, I'm gonna get stared at occasionally.  Take Helen as a 
for instance.  Her tits are bigger than Emma's but you wouldn't know 
it from the way she dresses.  She just happens to be one of these 
chicks who covers herself up, exhibit A being the fact that the first 
time she's even remotely dressed down, everyone goes into shock coz 
they're completely oblivious that she's been walking around all this 
time with arms like the Incredible Hulk's big sister.'

Steph shut herself up then, not wanting to sound either bitter or 
bitchy.  And really not wanting to bother spending time talking about 
Emma, of all people.

They drank in silence.

'Helen seems taken by Mr mountaineer,' Collin remarked at length.

'He'd need to be a mountaineer, too,' Pete said.  'I've seen some 
fairly incredible women over the years, but she has to take the 
trophy.  Unbelievable.'

'Please, he's an old man,' Adam said.  'And she'd damage him even if 
he wasn't the age he is.'

'What, she'd be better suited to a younger specimen?' Steph asked 
him.  'Someone she works with perhaps, a colleague?'

Adam gave her a look but he didn't answer her.  Nor did he let his 
expression answer her.

She shrugged.  'Seriously though, you ever shagged a bodybuilder?' 
she asked, on a more general track.

'No,' Adam admitted.

She turned to Peter.

'Huh?  Oh no.  There was an athlete once.  Olympic class, or at least 
she was trying out.  Never qualified but she only just fell short.  
She was a decathlete, incredible body.  Competed in the javelin and 
shot-put, so you can just imagine.  She certainly had muscle I 
didn't.  In fact, she had muscles I'd never even known about before.  
But I've never been with an actual bodybuilder though, no.'

Which is where Collin surprised them all, by suddenly perking up 
with, 'I have.'

The all turned to look at him.

'You dark horse,' Adam said, his voice suitably impressed.

Collin just shrugged.  'I suppose it's a bit of an exaggeration to 
call her a bodybuilder.  She wasn't like Helen.  Certainly a fitness 
fanatic though, hard curves and toned up biceps.'

He had their attention but simply sat, staring out into space, 
sipping his beer.  The truth was, he wasn't used to chatting about 
his conquests and wasn't entirely sure how to do so.

'And?' Steph prompted, finally.

'And, it was nice.  I met her during the very short period in my life 
that I actually bothered to stay in shape - motivation to hit the gym 
if ever there was one.  It didn't last long though, I'm very sorry to 
say.'

'So what was the sex like?' Adam insisted.

Collin smiled at the reminiscence, surely enough of an answer.  
'Well, you know there's this silly cliché about overtly athletic 
women.  This image of the all powerful, dominating, rough, sexually 
aggressive, amazon?'

'Yeah.'

He grinned.  'Well that's all true.  The woman practically abused 
me.'

'And you loved it,' Steph cooed.

'Damn right.'

He blushed a little.  'In fact, I'll give you an example of how tough 
she was,' he said.  Again that awkwardness with relating such 
intimacies.  'On one occasion - particularly boisterous - I actually 
thought to myself that unless she calms it down a little, someone's 
actually going to get hurt.'

This suddenly sounded more like a typically Collin-esque tale.  
Images of an excessive woman accidentally damaging the hapless Collin 
in the heat of passion suddenly filled their heads.

'We're really letting go and suddenly there's this odd sound - a 
hollow pop - and a really weird giving sensation at the hips.'

They all winced appropriately.

'She'd popped her hip out of joint - dislocated it.'

'Wait a minute,' Adam said, surprised.  'She dislocated her hip?  She 
got hurt?  Not you?  Her?'

But Collin ignored his incredulity at this twist.  'The crazy thing 
is that she just popped it back in again.  She tensed up and just 
sort of wrenched at it and it snapped back into place.  I mean, she 
was as shocked as I was but she just shrugged it off and dealt with 
it.  And then we carried on.  I wanted to take her to the hospital 
but she said she was fine, it didn't hurt.  So we just went back at 
it.'

They just stared at Collin, seeing him in a new light, all of a 
sudden.  It was funny, but these team building session actually 
worked on occasion.  If you just got a few work colleagues together 
at fed them beer, who knew what they could learn about one another?

Helen had wandered into their midst.  'Sound's like a story I'm sorry 
I missed,' she remarked, finding a spot to sit.

'Collin used to date a bodybuilder,' Steph told her.

'Really?' she remarked, her own impression of Collin going up a few 
points.

'Yeah, so how does that work for you?' Adam asked her.  'I mean, do 
the guys you date have to be bodybuilders too?  Would you even look 
at someone who can't match up to you physically?'

'Oh, I don't bias.  But there's only two types of guy that go for a 
woman like me.  One is the freaky little fetish type who gets off on 
female bodybuilders, and the other type are other bodybuilders.  As 
it happens, I tend to date more bodybuilders than not simply because 
when you spend most of your spare time in the gym, those are the guys 
you naturally tend to meet.  Also, I think guys are intimidated by 
me.   If they actually come and talk to me they'd learn I'm actually 
a sweet, shy little girl and not the scary, aggressive dominatrix 
they all seem to think I am.'

'Ever been on a date with a guy who didn't know beforehand that you 
had muscles?'

She grinned.  'Once or twice.  Normal guys are usually pretty freaked 
out, even if they hide it well.  It's like they're suddenly offended 
I didn't warn them beforehand, like I have a disability or something 
and it might reflect badly on them.'

'Or there are those who are delighted?' Steph added.

'Oh yeah, there's always those.  They tend not to be the ones who are 
surprised though.  It's interesting - it seems that guys who are into 
muscular chicks have a third eye.  They're really attuned to any 
possible degree of muscularity and scope it out.  I'm serious, I've 
had guys start chatting me up coz they're into my muscles even though 
I'm wearing a loose sweater, or something that I thought completely 
hid the fact.'

'Like Adam,' Steph suggested brightly.  'I mean, he can pick a bored 
housewife out of a roomful of happily married women.'

Adam gave her a look but didn't say anything.

She focused instead on Peter.  'So Pete,' she asked brightly.  'What 
about you and this Olympian?'

                              * * *

They were sat in the tent.

'Can I ask you a personal question?' Helen asked Steph.

'You need to ask?'

'How do you feel about standing out from the crowd?'

Steph was surprised by this question.  'I fit it OK,' she insisted.

'Fit it?  Babe, you don't even fit in that top.'

'OK,' she sighed.  'I get good and bad attention from men on a fairly 
regular basis.  A stare, a glance, a crude passing comment.  This I 
can handle, I mean, guys I can deal with easily.  Women though, they 
can be a contradiction.  None of us are completely happy with our 
looks.  Most women want bigger boobs, longer legs, better hair, 
bulging muscles, whatever.  So why are women so quick to judge other 
women by their appearance?  I was in a club one time and these two 
women were standing by the bar.  I was returning from the ladies and 
as I approached the bar I could see one of them elbow her mate and as 
I passed, I actually heard her say, "what has she done to herself?"  
I've seen lots of women with nice noses, bums, legs and yet I don't 
assume they've been under the knife.  I would never dream of 
approaching a stranger and asking them who did their surgery.

'My experience with women has always been worse than with men.  I've 
over heard comments like "she must have been insecure to make them 
that big" and "they are just too big, she looks ridiculous".  Maybe 
if I was overweight, or really unattractive this wouldn't happen as 
often but because I'm not, most women assume that I inflicted these 
boobs on myself.  It makes me feel like I'm in a wheelchair or 
something.  I know it's not the same thing, but I do sometimes feel 
like I'm being ridiculed.  And what's worse, is the way I'm also made 
to feel that I somehow deserve it.  They believe that I inflicted 
this upon myself and therefore I should be vilified.'

Helen nodded, taking all this in.  'Wow,' she said, slowly, never 
really having thought about it before from her friend's point of 
view.

'I mean that sounds really negative,' Steph mused, 'I didn't mean for 
it to.  There's the other side too.  Despite the opinions heaped upon 
me by other people, completely unasked for, I hasten to add, I've 
somehow managed to form a long and loving relationship with my 
breasts.  I love the way they look and the way they feel.  I love the 
practical applications I can put them to.  And I happily endure the 
horror that is bra shopping, for their sake.  They're like me, 
they're big and brash and loud and totally in-yer-face.'

'They certainly are.  But then, this is quite a small tent.'

'Har, har,' Steph said, then she got more serious.  'So let me try 
and apply my pop-psychology to this.  You're concerned about standing 
out from the crowd.  Isn't part of being a bodybuilding the desire to 
improve yourself, to build a body far in excess of those possessed by 
us mere mortals?'

'I just have a problem with everyone staring at me like I'm a freak.'

'You mean this lot?  People aren't used to it, that's all.'

'I see everyone here on a daily basis, how much of a shock can it 
be?'

'That's precisely why they're so shocked.  Sorry Hon, remind me, how 
many short-sleeved blouses do you own?'

Helen just shrugged.  It was true she supposed.  OK, so everyone 
technically knew she was a bodybuilder, they knew she hit the gym 
religiously, but this was the first time they'd actually come face to 
face with the reality of her muscles - seen her biceps bulging as it 
were.

'Wanna know what I think?' Steph asked.

'Like it'd ever stop you if I didn't?'

'This is about confidence.  I could hide my chest and pretend that my 
breasts weren't the size they are.  I could dress more 
conservatively, hide them as much as it's actually possible.  But 
that's not in my nature.  I'm happy being the extravert, and in doing 
so, I've built up my own self-image - my own self-confidence.

'Getting back to your issue with confrontation.  It's all about 
having confidence in yourself.  Think of it like this, who is the 
scariest, most intimidating, most imposing person in the office?'

'Rebecca,' Helen said, without pause for thought.

'Right.  Half the men in the office are scared shitless of her, and 
justly so.  Even though she's the smallest, slightest, skinniest 
little thing.'

Helen nodded, understanding the point.  'Confidence,' she agreed.

'Now on the whole, today, shocked though they have been, the majority 
of your colleagues have been nothing but impressed and awed by the 
revelation of your body.  And so they should be.  Yet, you interpret 
this attention as "standing out like a freak."  Your own words.  Why 
do you think that is?'

Helen smiled.  'Anyone ever told you you'd make a good therapist?'

'Don't evade the question,' Steph told her sternly, 'why is it?'

'Because I need to be more confident in myself and about myself,' 
Helen conceded.  

'You're getting a ton of very positive reactions from everyone.  
Everyone who counts at least.  And yet, you slant it with your own 
negativity, referring to it as "standing out like a freak."  In 
truth, you're standing out because of how exceptional you are.  And 
people recognise that and respect you for it.  Positive Self Image!'

Helen smiled, then added, 'which, incidentally, bodybuilding does 
actually help me with.'

'Glad to hear it.  Go with that.  You really are incredible, Helen, I 
only wish you could really see it.'

There was a soft knock on the tent flap.  Adam.  He let himself in, 
sitting down to fit under the low canvas ceiling.

'Not turning in already are you?' he asked.  He noticed the sleeping-
bags, zipped together to form one double.  'Not interrupting 
anything, am I?' he asked with a sly grin.

'You wish!'

Adam leaned towards Steph and stage whispered, 'what's it like 
cuddling up to a female bodybuilder?'

'If you're that keen to know, why not just pick one up and find out 
for yourself,' Steph asked him.  'That's what you do isn't it?'

If Adam picked up on the bitter edge to her voice, he didn't remark 
upon it.

Helen also let it go, not wanting to stir tensions.  Adam sidled up 
to her, slipped an arm around her broad shoulders.

'You know, I never did get to see your biceps,' he said.

She peeled his arm off and tossed it aside, decidedly unimpressed.  
'And you're not going to,' she assured him.

'Does this mean I'm not going to get a goodnight kiss?'

She was actually a little thrown by his sudden flirting.  She knew 
him well enough, working with him day in, day out, but there'd never 
been any sexual tension between them.  Not that she was aware of 
anyway.  Their friendship worked so well because it was so platonic.

'Will you quit it,' she insisted.

'Sorry,' he told her.  'It's that top, it just does things to me.'

Helen glanced down at her T-shirt.  It was just as tight as the 
previous one, but had the additional benefit of a scooped neck, 
displaying to the lucky voyeur, a sneaky peak of the top of her 
curved breasts.

'Jesus, men are despicable,' she declared.  She sat herself back, 
folding her arms deliberately over her chest.  This had the effect of 
making her arms, already bulging out of the sleeves anyway, swelling 
and hardening in their tight cotton confinement.

It did little to dissuade Adam from his awed fascination.

'Tell me about it,' Steph sighed and gave him a sharp kick.

'What?' he asked, finally managing to avert his eyes.

'This is actually the downside to bodybuilding,' Helen sighed.

'What, voyeurs and perverts?' Steph asked, giving Adam another jab 
for good measure.

'No, that none of my clothes fit anymore.  All my skirts and trousers 
are too loose, all my tops are way too tight.  I need to completely 
re-kit my wardrobe.  I actually burst buttons off of a blouse the 
other day, just by yawning and stretching.'

'So, effectively, it means you now need to do a lot of shopping.  How 
is this a bad thing?'

'You burst the buttons off your blouse?' Adam asked, very impressed.  
'How did you do that?  Could you just sort of demonstrate the motion 
involved?'

Helen gave him her very best withering stare.  It needed some 
practice but she figured it got across the message.  'Adam, let me 
make something perfectly clear to you.  Flattered as I am at the 
prospect of becoming another one of your conquests, and a second 
choice at that, I really do actually have some pride.'

Adam sighed, resigned, the wind dropping out of his sails.  'Pity.  I 
don't.'

Steph patted him on the head.  'Don't worry,' she told him, 'neither 
do I.'

'On top of that, I think I'd rather fuck Collin.'

'I'll tell him that, he will be pleased.'

They chatted casually, and Adam, finally sensing how weird she was 
finding it, actually quit all the flirting.  Though she did catch him 
peak down her top on more than one occasion.  But then, that was just 
a distraction from his real focus, the far larger target exposed by 
her tent-mate.

Adam wasn't flirting with Steph, as such.  In fact, thinking upon it 
now, Helen couldn't remember a single time when he actually had 
flirted with Steph.  Ever.

But there was something between then, some unspoken and carefree 
intimacy, the sort of thing that you couldn't help pick up upon 
between friends.

And so it was, that when Steph made a meaningful eye motion, Helen 
responded immediately.  She muttered some excuse and left them to it, 
stepping outside the tent to give them some privacy.

Outside, night had well and truly fallen.

There was little sound of activity from any of the other tents.  The 
blatant and guttural droning of Peter's snoring.  Nik and Jack were 
still sat around the campfire, though now it was down to dying 
embers.

Peace and tranquillity all around, broken by a sudden involuntary 
squeak from Steph, stifled though it was, and followed by a giggle.

Helen moved away from the tent.

Collin suddenly burst from his tent, clutching his stomach, and ran 
in a panic towards the toilets.  Thank God they weren't out in the 
wilds right now.

She wandered over to the campfire, rejoining the boys.

They looked up as she approached.  Nik seemed pleased to see her - 
Jack however, was shocked.

'Holy hell!  I ain't seen a pair of arms like that since I left the 
army!'

Helen remembered she was wearing the skimpy T-shirt.  She shrugged 
and sat down.

'Yeah, well, I figure that I'm gonna work-out, so there's no point in 
going at it half-cocked.  If a job's worth doing, it's worth doing 
well, and all that shit.'

'Well in that case, you're doing it very well,' Nik told her, 
offering her a semi-smart smile.

He was trying, she'd give him that.  Trouble was the boy flirted 
about as well as...  And she thought it through then.  About as well 
as she did.

She smiled.  'Thanks.'

'Guess I just figured how you kept pace so well,' Jack grunted.  
'You're one of them weightlifting women.'

'Yes,' she said, impassively, 'that's right, I'm one of them 
weightlifting women.'

'Can't say I approve personally, I'm too old fashioned for these 
modern trends I guess, but then it's a matter of the choice of the 
individual.'

'Damn right,' she all but hissed.

She stayed a while, listening to the old man prattle, but excused 
herself presently.  Suddenly she was not liking their guide quite as 
much as she had originally.  How she'd managed to keep pace?  Jesus, 
the man wasn't impressed by any of the guys' ability to keep pace, 
he'd just taken it as read that they could. (Those of them that 
hadn't nearly suffered a coronary.)

She imagined going against him on her home territory - the gym.  
Battle of the sexes?  It would be a slaughter.  She'd see the old 
bastard keel over before she even broke a sweat.

She wandered around in the night air, her feet idly taking her 
wherever they would.  She moved in and out of the trees, though 
making sure she stayed close to the camp.  The last thing she needed 
was to get lost in the woods.  Eventually she found herself back at 
her tent.  The light was out, but there was unmistakable motion 
coming from within.  She checked her watch, saw she'd been gone about 
an hour.  Probably too much to expect them to have finished.  Well, 
she wasn't sleepy anyway.

She headed back to the campfire glad to find that Jack had gone now, 
leaving Nik alone, happily whittling a piece of wood with his new 
toy.

'Hi,' he said.  'It's OK, he's turned in for the night.  It's safe.'

'Huh?'  It did actually take her a moment to tune in to what he was 
on about.

'Old man Jack,' he said.  'Don't worry about what he said.  He just 
an old fashioned fool.  Wouldn't know what to do with a modern 
woman.'

'Most men don't,' Helen remarked carelessly.

'He probably thinks "feminine equality" is a brand of sanitary pad.'

She smiled.  She was actually taken aback at this line from Nik of 
all people.  Well, what was it they said about still waters?

She sat next to him and they began to chat, easily and gently.

'Were you serious about wanting to work out?' she asked him.

'Sort of,' he said.  'I am interested in getting myself into better 
shape.  Just general health and fitness, really.  In truth I'm also 
just curious, I've never met a woman with muscles like yours.'  Then 
he laughed and amended that statement, 'never knowingly.'

'Oh, we're everywhere,' she laughed, 'didn't you know that?  The 
percentage of female bodybuilding is far higher than most people 
suspect.  We're slowly moving ourselves into a position of power so 
we can overthrow society.'

He blushed a little, but giggled with her.

'It's so funny.  I mean, how long have we worked together?  It's just 
really weird to think that all that time you've looked like this and 
we're all none the wiser.'

That threw her.  That word.  'Weird?' she asked him, her tone 
suddenly wary.

'Let me put it like this.  My dad knew this guy when I was young, a 
guitarist.  They used to jam together, just jerking around, but he 
was pretty good.  Years later I discovered he was actually in a real 
band for a while.  A couple of albums, "Top of the Pops" and 
everything.  That's like you.  All this time I've just known you as a 
normal work colleague.  See you every day, chat about bullshit, and 
it turns out, all this time, you've been hiding the fact that you got 
muscles like an American Gladiator.'

'What these?' she asked, her voice coquettish.  She half flexed, 
making the biceps twitch weightily.

His eyes grew big at that, and any doubt she had about the fact 
finally evaporated.  He was hooked.

They chatted more, innocently flirting, though actually neither one 
was particularly practised or confident in the art.  But somehow that 
didn't seem to matter.  They sat and chatted - each totally 
comfortable in the other's company.

And time ticked by and weariness finally began to catch up.  Helen 
excused herself and headed back to the tent.

No joy, the bunnies still hadn't let up.  Christ, for someone who was 
so blatantly un-athletic, he was certainly doing a proper job of it.

If his reputation was anything to go by though, it was a form of 
exercise he performed with religious diligence.

She laughed to herself, maybe she should have given the guy a try 
after all.  But no, don't go down that avenue.  Besides, Steph would 
never forgive her if she did.

It did make her think of her own sex-life however.  Or lack of it.  
She wouldn't mind a bit of fun herself actually, but the trouble was 
the selection currently available to her.  Of all the men present, 
she either loathed or pitied them, and neither response made her want 
to shag anyone.

She checked her watch.  Swore.  Looked at the tent, wondering what to 
do now.

                              * * *

The next morning, Helen awoke.  Much to Collin's surprise as he 
turned over in his sleeping-bag to see her shapely form roughly 
contoured by her own bag.

She glanced at him, registered his surprise.  'Don't ask,' she said 
sleepily.

He didn't.

She'd given it a while longer the previous evening, but they weren't 
about to sleep.  She gave up, figuring that the chances were they'd 
be barely able to move anyway once they'd finally finished.  Let them 
get cosy.  It's not like she'd want to use the sleeping bag.

The choice between Jack, Jeremy, Peter, Jon or Emma as a tent-mate 
had given her a few seconds of pondering.  She'd heard the constant 
snore resonating out of Peter's tent and decided.  She opened Collin 
and Nik's tent.

Nik was still awake.  He looked up at her surprised.

'What's up?'

'You're up,' she told him.  'You're sleeping with Peter.  Take your 
sleeping bag, I've got Adam's here.'

'Oh,' he said, as though this were perfectly natural.  'OK.'  

He didn't even ask where Adam was, though it probably wasn't too hard 
to guess.

                              * * *

To his credit, Collin didn't ask any questions either.  Nor did he 
mention it, simply waving the whole thing off with the ease and 
carelessness with one who judges not.  The benefit (if there can be 
any) of living in Collin's world, must be the ability to simply 
accept and deal with all that life throws at you, until it rolls off 
like water.

More surprises were in store after breakfast, as Jack came up to her 
for a quiet word.

'I'm real sorry about what I said last night.  I was thinking it over 
and I realised the offence I probably caused, it was not my 
intention.  I guess I was just a little taken aback, that's all.  You 
have to admit - it's a fairly surprising sight to confront someone 
with, especially an old fart like me.'

'That's OK,' she assured him, just a little bit icy.

'Now, at this point I normally pick out who I've ascertained as the 
fittest few in any troupe, and I ask them to help me with some of the 
supplies - a little extra baggage to carry.  Now it's clear to me 
that you're by far the strongest one here.  You mind taking this bag 
on today's trek?  It's half-empty, your own sack will fit in the 
top.'

She picked up the bag, testing it for weight.  It wasn't a light 
burden, but she knew it was well within her capabilities.  But she 
also knew his asking her to do this, was in itself a kind of apology 
- an admission and acceptance of how fit and strong she was.

'Sure,' she told him.  Partly because she knew she could handle the 
weight, and most of the others couldn't, partly out of ego, to prove 
to the old fuck just how easy it was.

Nik had witnessed the scene and approached her afterwards.  'You do 
realise that he only apologised like that to stick you with the heavy 
bag.'

'Probably.  But I don't mind.  It saves having to spread it out 
between the rest of these guys.  And his own bag is just as 
cumbersome.  If he can handle it, I certainly can.'

'I thought you hated macho bullshit.'

'Doesn't mean I don't have an ego.  And besides, it's not like I'm 
not built for it.'

She saw Steph next, looking appropriately weary.

'How are we this morning?' Helen asked, her voice all prim and 
proper.

'Christ, are we gonna have to hike now?  I can barely stand, let 
alone walk.'

'If you're looking for sympathy, you're looking in the wrong place.'

Steph grinned lecherously.  'He doesn't have many talents,' she 
admitted, 'but what he does well, he does very well.'

                              * * *

And so the nature trekked.  Up hills and down valleys, through woods 
and across plains.  Jack pointed out lakes and dales, regaled them 
with histories and natural science, told them of rescues and 
wilderness tips.

They went through a cave, into the bowels of the hillside, a darkness 
blacker than the night had been.  Wet rock sucked the heat from their 
bodies, Jack's lecturing voice echoing through the caverns.

They came to rest as a designated spot, another fixed campsite, 
though more remote than the last.  They also experienced the joy of 
putting up their own tents, each with varying degrees of success.

Helen felt her body happily thrumming with the excursions of the day 
- a steady light exercise.  She and Jack were the only ones to see it 
as such however.  The rest of the group were in various states of 
collapse.

Peter seemed to have taken it worse, though he recovered quickly 
enough.

'This is gonna give the poor guy a heart-attack,' Steph said to 
Jeremy, genuinely worried.

'Nonsense,' Jeremy insisted, 'it's probably doing him the world of 
good.'  But he didn't sound quite so convinced as he probably wanted 
to.  This had been his grand idea after all.  He had absolutely 
insisted all of them came along.  Corporate retreats weren't supposed 
to have a body-count.

Jack gave them all a talk about what they'd seen so far, and what was 
planned for the following day.

'I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear we're actually pretty close back 
to where we started now.  It's a short trek back to the home base, so 
the worst of it is behind us.  No more long hikes.'

'Aw, Peter, you must be so disappointed,' Emma sneered at hearing 
this.

'Emma,' Peter said, sighing, his voice reminiscent of a teacher who's 
finally given up on a pupil, resigned to the fact they'll never rise 
above a certain level.  'The manipulation of irony is a delicate and 
subtle art.  It requires a dryness and precision that is often 
missed, rendering it instead into the form crass sarcasm, as tends to 
be delivered by children.'

Emma looked blankly at this speech.  She rolled her eyes as though to 
say "whatever".  She muttered, 'what did he just say?' her tone 
derisory.

It was supposed to be a rhetorical question but Steph happily took 
the opportunity to lean forward and translate for her.  'He called 
you a dumb bint,' she explained.

'Enough of that,' Jeremy told them, levelling the tone at both of 
them equally.

Emma glared at Steph but Steph held her gaze easily and it was Emma 
who looked away first.

                              * * *

So they settled into the camp.

Helen later found Steph in a clearing.  She was standing besides a 
large boulder, slamming a plastic shopping bag against it.  Whatever 
was inside was apparently taking a hefty beating.  She peeked inside.  
Not hefty enough it would appear because she then closed the bag 
again and began slamming it against the rock again with renewed 
vigour.

'Hi,' she said brightly when she saw Helen.  She acted as though her 
behaviour here were nothing out of the ordinary.

'If I were to ask you what you were doing, would I regret it?'

'Oh, nothing,' Steph said.  'I just happened to find Jon's phone 
lying about.'

Helen balked.  'You what?  That's his phone!  Are you nuts?'

Steph shrugged.  'Tell me this isn't just.  Tell me there's any part 
of you that doubts for one second that this isn't a perfectly 
legitimate and justified action.'

'That's not really the point,' Helen said.  But she was hardly 
bothered by the act either.  She wasn't going to lose any sleep, she 
had to admit.

Steph was really swinging her arm into each stroke, letting the lump 
in the bag take the brunt of the punishment.  In fact, the bag itself 
had begun to rip with her efforts.

Helen thought for a few seconds.  'Define "just happened to find",' 
she said.

'It was lying about,' Steph hedged.

'Lying where?'

'In the top pocket of his rucksack, sitting just inside his tent.'

Helen laughed and shook her head.  'He's going go mental.'

'Yeah?  Good.  He'll just think it fell out or something.  He's 
hardly going to start backtracking to look for it.'

'So tell me why.  Apart from the obvious.  It's just Jon being Jon.'

'I heard noises outside the tent, I was scared he'd tried to take 
some pervy pictures, you know, me and Adam.'

'That was probably just me.  I kept coming back in the vain hope I 
was gonna get some sleep at some point.  Had to give up on that idea 
in the end.'

'Yeah, well, maybe,' she conceded.  She took the phone out of the 
bag.  It was cracked and chipped but still more or less in one piece.  
Doubtless it didn't work anymore, but Steph was after something a 
little more conclusive.

'Surprisingly resilient, isn't it,' She sighed, returning the broken 
plastic to the bag.

'So?  Were there any pictures of you in there?'

'Tons of them,' she said.  'But then I'd expect that from him anyway, 
considering what I was wearing.  He can be subtle though, I'll give 
the bastard that much, I never actually noticed him take a single 
shot.'

'Anything of... you know, you and Adam.'

'No.  I'll tell you what there was though.'  Her voice dropped, 
conspiratorially.  'Well it's really dark so it's hard to be sure, 
and it took me a while to click, but basically, Jeremy.'

'And?'

'And Emma.  Well, Emma's head.  You can only see the back of it, if 
you know what I mean.'

Helen gasped.  'No way!'

'Honestly.  Cross my heart.'

'The little slut.'

But Steph stopped giggling then, her demeanour turning more serious.  
'And,' she added, slowly, almost reluctant to admit the fact, 'there 
were a few of you, too.'

Helen took this in coldly, her own mood changing instantly to a far 
more dour one.  'Such as?' she insisted.

'Oh nothing bad,' Steph assured her quickly.  'A couple of zoomed 
shots of your chest, that's all.  What you had on, you couldn't 
exactly see anything anyway.'

Helen nodded grimly.  She stooped to pick up a rock.  It was the size 
of her fist and fit snugly within her palm.  She gestured to the bag.

Silently, Steph handed it over.

'If you want a job done properly, give it to a bodybuilder.'

She placed the phone, still in the bag, on the flat top of the 
boulder.  She swung her arm around and slammed the rock down with all 
the considerable power she could muster.

She tossed the rock aside and tipped the shattered contents out, a 
thousand splinters of plastic and components.

Steph giggled.  'Wow!' she exclaimed.

Helen winked, feeling much cheerier now and began to sweep the 
smashed remains back into the bag.

'Give it here, I'll get rid of the evidence once we hit 
civilisation,' Steph said, but Helen kept hold of the bag.

'No.  I've got a better idea.  We should return it to him.'

It was Steph's turn to be shocked.  'Are you serious?'

'Absolutely.'

'You're the crazy one, babe.'

'Please.  What's he gonna do?'

                              * * *

'What the fuck?'

Heads turned.  A general air of "What's wrong with Jon?"

Steph looked decidedly apprehensive.  Helen winked at her and 
wandered over to where Jon stood, besides his tent, a handful of ex-
phone in his hands.  He sifted the fragments, not believing it.

'Oh, yeah,' Helen told him breezily, 'I borrowed your phone.  Didn't 
think you'd mind.  It got a bit scuffed up I'm afraid.'

'Scuffed up,' he murmured, dropping the pulverised ruin.  'Have you 
got any idea how much that phone's worth?'

Helen shrugged, disinterestedly.  'Well, not a lot,' she suggested, 
'unless you're really into jigsaws.'

That got a giggle from Steph.  As much nervous tension as humour.  
She had Adam beside her.  Peter had also joined them wanting to see 
what all the fuss was about.  Emma and Collin were wandering up too.

'You fucking bitch!' he yelled at her.  'What the hell is wrong with 
you?  You can't do that.  Just who do you think you are?'

Helen just remained perfectly calm.  She was enjoying this, smugly 
rubbing his nose in it.

'Tell you what, Jon, if you feel I've acted in any way that's 
improper or inconsiderate to others, why don't we all talk it over 
now, and we can come to some resolution that everyone's happy with.'

She smiled evilly.  'We can ask our colleagues here, Emma, Jeremy, 
and see what they think of the whole situation?  Would you like to do 
that?'

Jon looked at her, the hate palpable in his eyes.  But he knew she 
had him.

As if on cue, Jeremy had appeared, having heard Jon's cry and seen 
the curious gathering.

'What's wrong chaps?' he enquired pleasantly enough, striding into 
the midst of them.

Helen stared at Jon expectantly, waiting for his answer.

'Nothing,' he muttered.  'Just a misunderstanding.'

Jon retreated.  They broke and wandered back.

'What the hell was that all about,' Peter asked.

Steph slipped an arm about his waist.  'Hey Pete,' she cooed at him, 
'you wanna hear a funny story?'

                              * * *

Another campfire.  This time, the grouping was more seriously split.  
Emma and Jeremy, Jon looking bored and making the two of them 
decidedly uncomfortable.  Well Emma at least, Jeremy was fairly 
oblivious.  Anyone else would have been perfectly aware that she 
wanted to take her jacket off.  She wanted to display the Gucci 
décolletage she had concealed beneath especially for him, but was not 
able to do so with Jon around.

Jack had turned in early.  'Exhausted from overburdening himself,' 
Helen declared happily.

Then there were all the others, forming their own, elitist society, 
excluding those who didn't belong.

Nik had somehow talked Helen into letting him give her a back massage 
and was quite clearly getting more out of it than she was.  Though 
that's not to say she wasn't enjoying it.  She was seriously 
reassessing her opinion of Nik, as well as her personal policy on 
office romances.

Adam and Steph were looking particularly cosy.  They weren't actually 
seen holding hands or anything - but if they were, no one would have 
been surprised.

Peter was regaling them all with some tale from his past.
Not so much Peter O'Toole, more ode to Peter Ustinov.

'Pete, you ever think about writing a memoir?' Steph asked him.

'I've considered it,' he admitted.  'It's time and effort I guess.  I 
have neither.'

'I think you should,' Helen agreed readily.  'I mean, Jack said he's 
writing his life story.  He spins his yarns well enough but you're 
life's been no less interesting or eventful than his has.  Far more 
varied in fact.  After a while, mountain rescue adventures all begin 
to blend into one.'

'If a windbag like that can do it, why can't I?'

'Precisely.'

'Maybe,' he agreed, flattered by the thought, but genuinely 
considering the possibility nonetheless.

'Why did you never settle down?' Steph asked him.

'Oh I was married once.  Dreadful mistake that one was.  A rushed 
event; what should have been a tempestuous affair with a clean break.  
Instead it was a drawn out hell, each of us trying our honest best 
and hating one another because of it.

'We both knew it was doomed.  She had the habit of introducing me to 
people as her first husband, whilst we were still married.  She went 
on to a long string of short marriages and I partook of a longer 
string of shorter love affairs.  Marriage is a cruel and unusual 
punishment, for both parties.  I learned my lesson well.'

And so he told them about it, with his normal balance of wit and 
poignancy, humour and honesty.  And if any there present had any 
doubt as to his ability to write a memoir, it was soon obliterated.

                              * * *

Jon bought another phone at the airport.  He sat on the plane reading 
through the instruction booklet.  It too had a camera built in.

Helen was sat in the seat opposite the aisle to him.  Collin was sat 
next to her and he mentioned the phone, pointing out what Jon was 
reading.  He'd either heard the earlier story from Peter or Adam, or 
he'd put three and three together.

She lent across the aisle to hiss at Jon.  'You're a sad little 
wanker, you know that.'

He was still fuming at her, but he realised there was little he could 
do.  'Look, you don't have to take the piss,' he snarled, though he 
wasn't even able to meet her eyes.

'You're right,' she said, 'I don't.  I don't need to.  But it's kind 
of an end in itself.  Need or purpose really doesn't come into it.'

'I'm just saying,' he said.  His voice was getting whiny now.  He 
still couldn't look her in the face.

'Well, I could make my point by hurling abuse at you if you'd 
prefer.'

'You could just keep your fucking mouth shut.'

Helen suppressed a grin at this show of aggression.  Wow, the boy had 
guts, after all.

'I could,' she agreed.  'But I've been finding lately that that 
really doesn't work for me.'

Jon ignored her, so she just let it go.  She did give him a final 
warning however.  'Careful where you point that thing,' she advised 
him, highlighting the new phone sitting in his lap.  'Be a shame if 
it got broken somehow.'

But Jon was Jon and some things never change.

They were outside the main airport, just on the concourse, about to 
head over to the various rail and tube terminals.

A collection of baggage and weary travellers.  Steph was wearing 
another of her legendary tops - the kind that made you wonder how in 
hell the girl was still single - surely there wasn't a man who saw 
her who wasn't putty in her hands.

She'd forgotten herself a moment, or more likely she simply didn't 
much care.  She lent down, rummaging around in her rucksack for 
something or other.

Warning or not, Jon was simply unable to stop himself.  Unable to 
help himself.  Opportunities for shots like this didn't come along 
everyday, even from Steph.  He could see right down to her belt, for 
Christ's sake!

He'd got the phone up and aimed in a split second and had clicked of 
a few shots already when a powerful grip wrapped around the phone.

He looked up, peeling his eyes away from the magnificent sight, 
following the hand, and up the thick and muscular arm it was attached 
to.

Contrary to his first impression, Helen did not snatch the phone away 
from him.  Instead, she simply held her hand around it, giving him an 
evil look.

Maybe she hadn't realised he'd taken any pictures already.  Maybe she 
was just warning him again.  He hoped that was the case, because he 
knew he had at least three pictures and he was pretty sure they were 
gonna be the prize of his collection.  He hoped against hope that she 
would check the phone and force him to delete them.  What were the 
chances she'd know how to use the machine anyway?

The plastic casing creaked.  A pop was heard as something shot off.  
She was crushing it - she was fucking crushing his new phone bare 
handed.

Jon just stared, unable to believe the act he was witnessing.  The 
snapping - the crumpling of plastic, the destruction of components.  
The muscles and veins along her arm seemed to writhe, like snakes 
beneath her flesh.

She brought her other hand up to catch the falling, broken pieces, 
before crushing both hands together, grinding up all the bits against 
one another and thoroughly destroying his new toy.

Steph had looked up to see what the fuss was about and realised what 
must have happened.  She giggled - the horrified look on Jon's face 
too comical for words.

'Jesus, you really don't learn, do you?'

'You fucking bitch,' Jon stuttered as Helen dusted her hands off, 
spilling the thousand tiny fragments of a well pulped piece of trash.

Helen squared her shoulders, her arms hanging limber beneath them, 
thick and menacing.  'If you have an issue with that, why don't you 
come here and take it up with me?'

Needless to say, that was the last thing Jon was prepared to do.

He turned and stormed off, his head thumping with impotent rage.

Steph laughed.  'Bottle job,' she called after him, but more for the 
sake of those around her than the departing figure.

'Time to set Rebecca on him, I think,' Helen suggested.

Steph nodded.  'How long do you give him, two weeks?  A month, tops?'

                              * * *

And it was as they all prepared to split up and leave that Nik 
finally plucked up the courage to ask her.

'Helen, I was just wondering, you know, if you was interested or 
whatever, and if you free, if sometime you'd like to, I dunno go out, 
for a drink, or a meal, or something, with me, after work sometime.  
Maybe?'

And she may have, may even have shrugged and smiled and thought, what 
the fuck, why not?  She may even have said, "yes, OK," but for the 
fact that he'd made his own purchase at the airport.  A three for two 
sale on paperbacks.  All three of them were books about the lone 
soldier SAS, true story, how I killed gooks with knives style, real 
combat, military hardware hard-on, fuck yeah!

'Nik,' she said, 'not even if you fucking paid me.'

And she said goodbye to her colleagues, 'see ya in the office 
tomorrow,' and she headed home.


[Three campers in a forest, sleeping out under the stars in sleeping 
bags.  Two bears poking their noses into the clearing.  
"Sandwiches!"]

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

18 - Test run

Michelle pushed her broom absently around the workroom.  She could 
never be a cleaner, imagine having to do this every day!  She'd been 
at it for less than half an hour and she was hating it already.

The workroom was where the mechanics built their prototypes.  Odd 
piles of mechanical debris lay around, which she had been instructed 
not to clean up.  What was junk and what was a vital component in 
their latest contraption?  She couldn't tell.  She'd decided to err 
on the side of caution.  Mainly because that involved less work.

She swept, paying no attention to the large machines - the industrial 
equipment for cutting, shaping and drilling metal.

Inside the observation / control room, the engineers giggled and 
rubbed their hands.  They backed the camera off a little, framing her 
in the centre, not wanting to miss any of the action.

'Looks like our first test run has just gotten a little more 
interesting.'

And the switch was thrown.

On the screen, the cleaner didn't seem to notice as from the shadows 
behind her, a huge piece of machinery began to stir into life.  Arms 
raised, knocking loose the sheet that concealed it, and the full 
goliath was revealed.  Eight foot at full extension, full armoured, 
fully plated.  Half a ton of solid industrial sci-fi killer robot.

Two opposable legs stretched, caterpillar tracks drawing it forward 
into the open.  Arms raised, the hands, two clamp like claws, 
stretched open and slammed shut again, servo motors whining.  The 
head rose up, eyes burning bright red, iron jaw clunking open and 
shut.

Michelle turned to face it.

Her reaction probably wasn't quite what the two secret voyeurs were 
hoping for.  Instead of dropping the broom and screaming into the 
night, Michelle just stared at the encroaching metal beast and 
sighed.

'You have got to be fucking kidding.'

But, there was little to joke about, it would seem.  The robot was 
quite clear in its design.  Military hardware.

Michelle stood on the head of her broom, twisted the handle to snap 
it free, and lifted the staff into a defensive pose.  Compared to the 
hulking death machine, it was almost comical, but there was something 
in her manner, something in her stance that would have warned a human 
opponent to beware.

Back in the control room, the two engineers exchanged a meaningful 
glance.

'Looks like she wants to play,' one remarked.

The other sat back and smiled.  'Go through a routine.  Let's shake 
her up a bit.'

Back on the shop floor, the robot seemed to home in on her, focusing 
its attention.  A lurch and then it moved in.

It shot forward, arms sweeping down, those killer claws snapping away 
threateningly.

But Michelle was quick, throwing her body to the side and rolling 
away, coming up suddenly inside the robots range, stabbing up hard 
and fast with the staff to smash one of the gleaming eyes.

She fell back again, just as suddenly, landing in a defensive pose.

The engineers looked at each other again.

'That wasn't funny,' one of them said.

The other snarled a little, offended by the assault on their precious 
child.  'Activate,' he commanded.  'Let it play with her properly.'

The first balked at this suggestion.  That was taking it a bit far.  
'Don't be stupid, we can't do that.'

'The safety's on?  It'll stop short of actually taking her head off?'

'Well, yeah.'

'Then do it.'

Michelle stood opposite the killer robot.  It raised its head, its 
single eye glowing like an angry red coal.

She felt the constraint of her cleaner uniform, the starched white 
overalls inhibiting her movements.  She unzipped it and quickly 
stepped out of the confining garment, kicking it aside.  Beneath she 
wore her training shorts, a light bra-top, which she worked out in.  
The chill air touched her naked skin but she didn't feel it, too 
focused on her metal opponent, waiting for it to make the first move.

'OK, that's not normal,' one engineer protested.

The other just sat and stared, unable to take in what he was seeing.

The revealing outfit revealed more than just her body.  It revealed 
that this woman spent at least a dozen hours a week hitting a gym, 
and hitting it hard.

Muscles like neither man had ever seen before rippled from her stocky 
limbs.  Every motion, no matter how subtle, caused a cascade of 
harmonious muscles tipping other muscles.  Waves of power rolled the 
length of her explosive legs, her solid arms.  Her torso was a solid 
wedge, joining the awesome limbs together into a symmetrical and 
balanced whole.

'Why would a cleaner bodybuild?'

His companion didn't answer, still dumb with surprise.  Numbly, he 
reached forward and thumbed a button on the control board.

The robot suddenly lurched back into life.  Its actions had now been 
given over to its own circuits but it hung back, much to the surprise 
of its creators.  But the machine knew it had been damaged, and had 
effectively assessed its opponent.  It knew it was dealing with 
someone of both tremendous skill and strength.  It wasn't about to 
make the same foolish mistake its designers had in underestimating 
this woman.

Suddenly, the legs folded down, bringing the main trunk of its body 
low to the ground.  The caterpillars spun madly, powering it forward, 
the arms locked tight, aimed frontwards.

She dived again, but it had anticipated her, moving with her, 
lurching back to the upright following her dive.  The killer claws 
shot out at her and almost caught hold.

Michelle moved with a speed and grace that belied her obvious bulk.  
She was built like a truck, but moved like a rally-car.  And a good 
job too, she'd felt the metal actually brush her flesh as she pulled 
free.  That was too close.

It came at her again, metal arms swinging down.

No way to escape this time, she instead snatched at the arms, 
gripping tight around the metal wrists.  The arms powered in on her 
relentless, knocking her backwards to the ground.  She kept a hold on 
the wrists as she went down however, holding the killer claws at bay.

Her broad shoulders cushioned the impact, but it still knocked the 
breath from her.  The claws snapped viciously at her face, but she 
managed to hold them back.

She could hear the metal creak, the motors protesting, but she was 
barely keeping them back.  Her arms bulged with unreal strength, but 
still, it was a close match.  And she knew, if she slipped in the 
slightest, those claws would fall on her.

She tried to force it upwards, bracing her shoulders against the 
ground, heaving the arms up, as though this were a fancy piece of 
automated workout equipment, the ultimate in high-tech gymnasiums, 
but the robot would not relent and she could not gain any advantage 
on it.

She was losing the battle.  She would tire before it did, and she was 
barely coping as it was.  She needed to do something fast.

She placed both feet firmly on the robot's body.  She suddenly 
changed tack with the claws, levering the whole machine with all her 
might, throwing it sideways.

She took as much of its weight as she could on her own back, kicked 
upwards and spun the fucker onto its side.

As if fell, she kicked out again, propelling herself away.  As she 
turned over and righted herself, she faced the machine again.

It rolled onto its back, the caterpillars spinning useless in the 
air.  Then it extended the legs, folding the tracks downwards to lay 
flat.  They then eased back along the trunk of the body, moving into 
a position where it could regain its balance.

As it did so, the legs level with the fallen trunk of its body, and 
began to raise vampire like from the horizontal to the upright, 
Michelle leapt in there again with the staff.

She smashed the remaining eye, leaping backwards again afterward to 
avoid the flailing arms.

The robot however, seemed to suffer no adverse effect.  It righted 
itself, ran through a micro test of its systems, testing its motors 
with a quick flinch-like burst.

It then re-focused upon her, bring the arms up again ready for the 
next round.

Michelle sighed.  It was ready to go again - she was not.  Her arms 
were killing her, her back ached, her chest felt like it had been 
ripped open.  She was sure she'd just strained something.

She had hoped the eyes were actually important to the robot but they 
appeared now to have been merely a vanity feature.  Something to make 
it more humanoid.  She didn't know how it saw - or if it even used 
vision.  But it was clear that the red bulbs in the head weren't a 
significant part of that sense.

She strode to the side, spinning her staff around her body, kung fu 
fashion.  The robot moved with her, turning on the spot to continue 
to face her.  Watching her?

She ran at it.  The claws came up, as she knew they would.  She 
thrust the staff forward, and the claw snapped out at it.

It caught the staff and she threw her weight forward, her own grip as 
close to the claw as she dared.  Then she vaulted up towards the 
robot, flipping herself over it, one hand planted neatly on its 
shoulder and coming down behind it.

Her arm snapped around its neck, her legs around its torso, holding 
herself in place.

She was hoping the machine's arms would not function so well behind 
its body.  No such luck however.  They came spinning around, after 
her.

She caught one with her free hand, actually using it to get a better 
position on the monster's back, but the other folded around, double 
jointed, going for her throat.

In the precious seconds she had before having to give up the assault, 
she focused her full attention to her arm about its neck.  She 
tightened her biceps, squeezing for all she was worth, trying to 
wrench it head right off.

There was a buckling of metal - a harsh steel groan - but she had to 
abandon her efforts as the claw replied to her attack by going for 
her own throat.  She released its neck to catch hold of its wrist 
again.

But before she jumped clear, she noticed the arm she held with the 
other hand wasn't in on the attack.  Whatever twisting of server 
motors to make it hinge backwards, spin and fight behind its own 
back, hadn't happened.  She actually had the arm pinned, as though 
pulling taut someone's elbow joint.

She yanked on that arm, throwing her full and considerable weight 
into it, every ounce of her tremendous strength.  With a yell of pure 
exhilaration she felt it give - felt the metal fold against itself, 
the ripping pop of wires and plastic casings.  The arm creaked as it 
bent unnaturally backwards.

Then she leapt free, dancing back out of its lethal range.

Standing up to face the beast again, she saw it turn slowly around to 
face her, lift its blank eyes, lift one clawed arm.  The other hung 
feeble and useless by its side.

The head sat at a strange angle.  Evidently she'd done it some damage 
after all.  Good.  She stooped down to pick up her weapon - the 
staff.  It had been snapped in two by the robot's claw but it still 
felt good to have something in her hands, however ineffectual it 
might be.

She waited for the robot to attack her, standing prepped and ready.  
But it didn't.  The robot, it seemed, was waiting for her.

Michelle ran at the machine again, homing in on its wounded side.  
The robot spun, whipping its functional arm out at her.

She fell back.  It pursued.  She went for its back, grabbing the 
wrist again and trying to heave the arm backwards, as she had caught 
the first.

It went with her however, spinning on its tracks, the arm twisting 
like a snake in her grip, lunging the claw at her face.

She managed to catch it before it struck but the momentum threw her 
back.

The robot spun around and came up on her, as though to mow her down.  
The claw shot downwards.

Michelle was on her back again, and in a far better position than 
previously.  She jammed a foot at the base of the body, grabbed the 
claw, braced the weight against her shoulders, and pulled the whole 
thing right over, using its weight against it like they teach ten-
year-olds to do in Judo.

It slammed down hard and heavy.  Surely doing some internal damage 
coming down like that.

Michelle leapt onto it, grabbed its prone head and tugging at it for 
all she was worth.

With a cry of metal and components - the rip of wire and steel - the 
head tore free, almost pulled inside out as boards, servos and levers 
were ripped out.

She tossed the head aside, practically screaming in her glory.

But the machine wasn't dead.  Its remaining claw shot up and clamped 
around her hand, the jaw closing on her fingers.

Michelle yelled out in pain, trying to pull her hand free.  But it 
would have this last vengeance, its grip too tight to ease out of.

She was pissed off now however, and this machine wasn't about to get 
the better of her.  She gripped the trapped hand around one side of 
the steel claw, the muscles in her hand swelling with her fury.  Her 
other hand came up and she eased those fingers into the vice too.

With a roar of violent passion, she ripped the claw open, buckling 
the metal, destroying the motor, pulling the hinged vice apart.  Her 
arms swelled seemingly to bursting point, the muscles working to full 
capacity.

A torn pop issued and the clamp fell from her grip in two halves.

The robot shuddered in odd spasms and she set to it, beating the 
steel chest with her bare fists, screaming obscenities at it, yelling 
at it to die already.

She drove her fingers into the hole at its neck, in amongst the 
busted wires and burnt out boards.  She took a hold of the neckline 
and she tore at it, her muscles rippling with vicious energy.

Still screaming her wrath she peeled the breast open, tearing the 
innards out with her bare hands, ripping its machinery to shreds.

The watching engineers were not pleased.

'OK, bodybuilder or not, that isn't normal.'

'She killed it.  She fucking killed it.'

A voice sounded from behind them.  'And she's hasn't even finished.'

The turned to see one of the scientists from sector seven - genetics.  

The man smiled at them sardonically.

'Oh shit.  She's one of yours?'

The scientist didn't answer, just staring at the screen like a proud 
father.  'Isn't she amazing.  And this is after only a year of 
treatments.  Just imagine what we can do if we start working on 
someone in the developmental stages.  I can tell you, we're very 
excited in sector seven.'

'She killed our prototype,' one of the engineers protested.

'Yes.' 

She was standing over the wrecked machine.  A fine sheen of sweat 
coated her over-pumped body, making the spectacular muscles glisten 
under the lights.

She looked up, staring straight into the lenses of the camera and 
gave it a smug grin.  She flexed then, huge biceps, truly 
mountainous, far larger surely than anything that could possibly be 
developed on a normal human being.

'You see,' the scientist explained, 'we wanted her to genuine try her 
strength out.  We thought it would make for a more interesting first 
test run.'


[Two engineers sit unseen in a observation / control room overlooking 
the workshop.  They see a man sweeping a broom.  Close by is a large 
and scary looking robot.  One engineer is reaching for an on/off 
switch.  "Hey, who's that?  Oh, Mitch the janitor.  Well, our first 
test run has just gotten a little more interesting."]

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

19 - Mommy dearest

The woman came running at the car full pelt, a look of horror and 
panic on her face.  She was running straight at him, and from her 
expression, Conroy knew, she wouldn't have stopped, even if he'd 
stamped on the gas.

But he didn't of course.  He stopped the car, opened the driver's 
door and went to the front bonnet where the woman had slammed right 
into him.

'Jesus Lady, are you OK?'

But the woman paid him no attention.  She paid no attention to how 
heavily she'd ran into the front of his car - stopped or not.  She 
ran around, quite literally threw Conroy aside, and ran to the back 
of the car, where the boy still sat.

Conroy was amazed at her strength.  She had actually thrown him right 
off his feet, tossed him through the air like a beach-ball.  He had 
landed on the gravelled car-park surface, startled but not too badly 
hurt.

The woman had wrenched open the back door of his car and was tightly 
embracing the little boy inside.

Conroy guessed he'd just met the kid's mother.  As he saw the woman 
from behind, he also realised something else.  It may have been 
horror and panic that accounted for her behaviour, but the strength 
came from a much more basic source - muscle.

As her arms closed about the boy, her relieved sobs unabashedly 
blatant in the silence of the afternoon, he saw the tremendous size 
of her shoulders.

She was dressed in a sun-dress, appropriate enough for the time of 
year.  The sleeves were only short, though billowy.  They revealed 
that this particular mother found time in her busy schedule to visit 
a gym, a least a couple of times a week.  She was a bodybuilder, and 
one of impressive development.

She was still panicked, all fumbling as she tried to undo the boy's 
seatbelt.  Her hands were shaking so much they wouldn't obey her.

Conroy stepped forward to help but she had already resolved the 
problem in her own, rather overkill manner.

She wrapped her hand around the seatbelt clip and squeezed, crushing 
the plastic housing like it was made of china.  She untangled the 
pieces, unhooking the steel clip and freeing her little boy from the 
strap.

He flung his arms around the woman, beginning to cry himself now.  He 
had actually been relatively calm until this point, but his mother's 
hysterics were naturally contagious.

She stood, holding the boy so tight that Conroy was amazed she didn't 
accidentally hurt him, squeezing him like that.  He could actually 
see all the huge muscles along her back and arms, swell and tense, 
even through the flowery dress.

She put the boy down finally, wiping her face with the back of her 
hand.  

'He was wandering through the east wing,' Conroy began.

And then she turned on him, her face like thunder.  Conroy had seen 
anger before.  He'd seen uncontrollable wrath, let loose, and seen 
the damage those people had done while consumed by such madness.  But 
what he saw in the face of this woman would have scared him out of 
his senses even if the body she possessed was not one of such 
fearsome proportions.

'What were you doing with my son?' she demanded - a tone so low and 
guttural as to be barely audible.

'Hey, wow, Lady, I don't know what you're thinking-'

But he did know what she was thinking, he knew exactly what she was 
thinking.

'Look, I just found him wandering around.  He was lost.  I was taking 
him to the front of the mall, the main office.'

She didn't believe him.  Christ, he'd never in his life seen hate 
such as that he saw now.  She stood there, barely moving, her fists 
clenched, her shoulders hunched forward.  Her muscles so blatant 
along the length of those powerful limbs that an anatomy student 
could label each one at a glance.  She seemed to pulse with fury, the 
very muscles themselves breathing in and out.  They were waiting to 
be called into action, just aching to lay into him.  And if they did?  
Conroy had little doubt, this woman would tear him apart.

'Why was he in you car?' she demanded.

'It's the other side of the mall.  He was upset.  I thought it best 
to drive through to the front.  It'd take ten minutes to walk there 
or thirty second to drive.'

Still, that burning fury in her eyes, her fists clenching and 
unclenching, making the veins along her muscular arms throb.  Her 
body was practically shaking with anger.  If that wave broke, he 
knew, it would consume her.  She would let loose with her emotions, 
the rational mind taking a step backwards to let that passion flow 
freely.

If that happened there would be no stopping her.  Just looking at her 
bulging muscles, he knew he would be helpless.  He couldn't fight off 
a woman like her; she'd beat him senseless in a matter of seconds.  
One punch from this woman could break his skull, or splinter his jaw.  
And who knew how long it would take to get herself under control once 
more.  By the time she eased off, he would quite probably be dead a 
dozen times over.

'I saw him wandering, looking left and right,' Conroy told her, 
hoping to keep her calm by talking.  'He was obviously lost and on 
the verge of panic.  I could tell he was scared and so went up to him 
and I started talking to him.'

She wasn't convinced, but she was listening to him at least.  That 
was a good start.  Anything to keep her from breaking, anything to 
stop her just letting go and acting upon that lethal impulse.

'I know kids today are told not to talk to strangers, but when 
they're lost and scared, they'll take comfort wherever they can.  So 
I said hello and asked him who he was here with.  And he told me it 
was his Mommy.  I asked him where he'd been when he saw her last, and 
he said it was at Kay-Lees, which I know is a fair distance away.  He 
must have wandered all this distance.  That's why I thought it was 
best just to take him straight to the main office, as quickly as 
possible.

'I was just about to leave, my car was right through the exit.  So I 
thought I'd drive through to the front.  Much quicker that way.  
Also, I don't have to walk all the way back again to collect my car 
once I've dropped him off with the Mall staff.'

Again, that disbelief, that suspicion around every word he said.

'So I'd drop him off and they'd be able to do an announcement.  
They'd be able to find you and reunite you, as quickly as possible.'

He looked at her, almost pleading.  'Doesn't that make sense?'

'You shouldn't have put him in your car,' she told him.  Her voice 
was still low, but it was less brittle now.  She was finally easing 
down.

Those frightening muscles however were still tensed so hard he almost 
expected them to burst through her skin.

'Probably not,' he admitted.  'I wasn't thinking, I just thought it'd 
be best to find you as quickly as possible.'

'I see you with my son in your car, I'm going to panic, of course I 
am,' she told him.

'I know,' he told her.  'I'm so sorry I scared you.  Believe me, that 
wasn't what I intended.'

She was visibly relaxing now, finally having decided that he was on 
the level.

'I suppose I should thank you for finding my son.'

'Oh that's fine.  I'm just glad I found him rather than someone else.  
You hear such shocking stories.'

'That's what I mean,' she said, glad he understood.  I just saw him 
with you and something snapped inside my head.  'I'm so sorry, I was 
panicking and I just thought the worst.'

And she smiled at him.  He was surprised to see she actually had a 
very pretty smile.  So far, it had been her muscles that dominated 
his impression of her.  He'd been so caught up in his fear of what 
she might do to him, and how he could possibly escape from a beating 
he'd be lucky to survive, let alone walk away from, that he'd 
completely failed to notice anything else about her.

He personally found her physique to be freaky and not the slightest 
bit appealing, but her actual facial features were pleasant enough, 
and when she smiled like that, she really did light up, pretty as a 
picture.

He smiled back, pleasant and amicable.  'Tell you the truth, for a 
minute or two I thought you were going to hit me,' he said.

'For I minute or two, I think I may have done,' she admitted, 
sounding a little sheepish.  'In fact, I think I damaged your car.'

'Oh, its nothing he assured her.'

'No,' she insisted, 'let me see what I did.'

'Really there's no need.'

But she had already turned back to the car, opening the back door to 
examine the damage she'd done to the seat-belt.

'Don't know my own strength,' she joked, but the words caught harshly 
in her throat.  That throbbing horror began in her head once more as 
she lifted the rag up off of the floor.

She kept it away from her face, but the sweet fumes rose up, their 
spiky tendrils prickling at the inside of her nostrils.

'What's this?' she asked.  It was already making her dizzy, even at a 
distance so she was careful to hold it away from her face.  She never 
smelt the odour of chloroform before but was fairly convinced that 
that's what it was.

He had dropped the soaked rag, happy enough that he didn't need to 
knock the boy out just yet, so instead letting the vapours rise up 
and dull him a little bit, keep him sedate.

There was a bag on the front seat - a briefcase.  The woman moved to 
the front of the car and wrenched the door open, leaning across the 
driver's seat to grab the case.

'Look, Lady, this isn't what you think,' he began, but it was.  They 
both knew it was, and it wouldn't take her long to confirm that.

He turned, his intention to run.  But the boy stood behind him, 
looking up at him with those huge inquisitive eyes.  Absurd that the 
innocent child should intimidate him so, but it made Conroy hesitate.

The woman grabbed him from behind, a meaty fist clamping around the 
back of his neck.

Conroy was viciously swung around and slammed face down on the bonnet 
of his car.  The briefcase was slammed down beside him.

She tried to open it but it was locked.  Hardly an issue for one such 
as she however.  With her thumb she pressed the side of the lock, 
literally ripping it off the case.  She repeated this with the other 
side, then opened the case.  What was inside removed all sense of 
doubt - removed any vain hope Conroy had of talking his way out of 
this.

A glass jar of Chloroform; duct tape; bin liners; rope; surgical 
gloves.  Objects that chilled her, but none so much as the one which, 
on its own, should have been the most innocent.  A simple camera.

She closed the case again and turned the man over, looking down at 
him.  And he in turn looked up - looked up into the face of the woman 
who was going to kill him.  He looked up at her, along the powerful 
arms that held him pressed down against his car, the face, in shadow 
with the high sun eclipsed by her hanging head - the light spilling 
away from behind her as though she were haloed.

The little boy watched.  

'Go around to the back of the car,' his mother told him.  He nodded 
and did so, the man's car blocking his view of what was going on.  He 
knew this was adult stuff and he was too young to see it.  It might 
give him nightmares, which were bad.

He leant towards his teddy, the small bear he had clutched throughout 
the incident.  'Mommy's punishing the bad man,' he explained.

When his mother returned presently, there were a few odd spots of 
blood on her floral dress, but it barely showed.  She had wiped her 
hands clean too, so when she picked him up easily into her strong 
arms, she didn't get him dirty.

She carried him the long way around to their own car, not letting him 
see what she had done to his would be assailant.

'Was that a bad man, Mommy?' he asked.

'Yes,' she told him.  'He was a very bad man.  But it's OK, he's gone 
now.'

'I love you Mommy,' he said, hugging her tightly.

She smiled and hugged him back.  'I love you too, Honey.'


[A businessman steps into a lift, two of the current occupants just 
happen to be a large bear, and a small baby bear.  It is right 
between these suddenly anxious looking bears that the businessman 
happens to step.  "Tragedy struck when Conroy, his mind preoccupied 
with work, stepped into the elevator - directly between a female 
grizzly and her cub."]

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

20 - The light night flight

It is a well known and long established phenomenon that the 
application of excessive amount of alcohol, can make even the most 
rational and sensible individual commit acts of questionable 
judgement.

Alex was the sensible one.  Alex was the one to be relied upon to 
keep everyone else grounded, no matter the liquor he had consumed, no 
matter the drugs sampled.  Alex however, on this occasion had had 
distractions of his own.

'Come on man, it'll be a wild night,' Raymond had insisted.

'I've got to study,' Alex complained.  'Another time maybe.'

'It's always another time with you.  Forget that, you're coming with 
me tonight.'

'I can't do it.  It's alright for you, you have that weird mind that 
retains information.  I however, have to study.'

'Man, you have to come.  Sally's bringing a friend with her.'

'So.'

'She's bringing her especially.  She just you're type, man.'

'I doubt it.'

But Raymond smiled.  He'd planned this night and Sally did indeed 
have friend suitably unconventional for Alex's taste in woman.

Alex saw the grin, and had to admit, he was curious.

'What's so special about this girl then?'

'You know Sally's kinda into fitness?'

'Yes,' Alex said slowly, managing to keep the note of jealousy from 
his voice.  The first time he'd met Sally, her arms perfectly toned, 
her belly practically rippling she was so in shape, he had suddenly 
felt a wave of hideous envy for his old friend.

'Well she met Beth in the gym.  She's into working out too.'

'Oh yes?' Alex replied brightly.  He was into this idea now.  
Suddenly Beth sounded like the kind of girl he wouldn't mind being 
set up with.

'I can't promise anything, coz I've never met the girl, but Sally did 
say, and I quote, "she actually takes it seriously though."'

'As though to mean Sally doesn't?' asked Alex, incredulous.  Sally 
was by far the most athletic woman he had ever met.

'Her words.'

Alex took this in, closing his textbook.  'So where are we meeting 
them?'

                              * * *

'Raymond mentioned you were into working out?' Alex enquired 
politely.

'He told you that?'

She sounded fairly equivocal about the fact.

'Yeah,' Alex said, trying to sound cool, despite the jungle rhythm 
his heart had begun to beat out.

'OK,' she shrugged.  She seemed a little surprised by the turn in the 
conversation but happy enough with it.  'I guess it's just considered 
a little odd - a girl with biceps.'

The already speeding heart lurched into overdrive.  Alex felt weak 
but in the nicest possible way.  He said something.  Later he hoped 
it was something witty and cool, because he had no recall as to what 
it had been.

Beth smiled, apparently pleased by his surprise.

'You want me to take my jacket off, don't you.'

'I am kinda curious,' he admitted, his throat suddenly extremely dry.

Oh, she was into working out OK.

She wore a clubby top beneath the light jacket - skimpy and 
spaghetti-strapped.  Round shoulders and wonderfully well toned arms.

Her breasts were full and her top showed off a fair amount of 
cleavage, but on this occasion they failed to even draw his 
attention, so distracted was he by the way she raised her arms.

She flexed, pumping up a deliciously peaked biceps.  Smooth hard and 
utterly gorgeous.

'What do you think of that?'

Unable to take his eyes from that amazing arm, Alex - jaw slack and 
eyes wide - gave a low murmur of awed desire.

'That's pretty,' he told her, his voice remarkably dry, considering 
the cartwheels his head and heart - not to mention his aching loins - 
were currently performing.

She grinned and dropped the pose.  The jacket stayed off the rest of 
the night.

                              * * *

Sally was fascinated by flight.  Both the boys were also of course, 
they were in training to become pilots after all, a fact that had 
also seriously impressed Beth.  But Sally had got it into her head 
that she wanted to go on a flight.

They were all merrily wasted at this point, the cab dropping them off 
back in the shared apartment Sally and Beth rented. 

Among the many pictures and posters that decorated their home was a 
large old-fashioned vaudeville style promotion of Joan Rhodes.

'Wow!' Alex remarked.  She was dressed with typical circus glamour, 
but was flexing a serious bicep.

Beth came and stood besides him, her shoulder lightly brushing his.  
'Yeah.  She's not much compared to your average Andrulla of today, 
but she was kinda of a forerunner to the modern female bodybuilder.'

'Nothing compared to you,' he whispered.

She giggled and flexed her arm in front of her chest, as though for 
comparison.

Alex stared at the smooth round bulge of her muscle, unable to 
believe this wondrous specimen of female beauty was really his date.

'She was a circus strongwoman?'

'Sort of.  I mean there's a whole host of women who came before her, 
people like Katie Sandwina or Josie Wohlford.  They really were 
strongwomen.'

'Oh don't get her started,' Sally warned.  'It's her pet subject.  
She'll go on for hours.'

'I'm interested, really,' Alex assured them.

Raymond rolled his eyes.  'Yeah, we know what you're interested in.'

But he was busy trying to impress Sally.  Their talk was about 
flight.  Mainly because every time Raymond slipped an arm about 
Sally's waist, she brought the subject up.

She was dropping hints, and they were beginning to get blatant.

                              * * *

Alex and Beth were lying on the floor, their bodies touching in odd 
moments of increased intimacy.  Beth was showing him a large coffee-
table book, full of old black and white photos, athletes of various 
development.

'I didn't even know women had muscles back then!'

She giggled.

'You know what I mean.'

Raymond kicked Alex.  He turned, looked up at his old friend and 
mouthed a request that suggested he please depart.

Raymond kicked Alex again.  Alex sighed, said to Beth, 'excuse me a 
moment.'

'Of course,' she cooed, touching his arm gently with a fingertip.  A 
simple physical contact, but significant and deeply effecting 
nonetheless.

'What?' Alex hissed.

'You ever heard of the "mile high" club?'

'Where's Sally?' he asked, suddenly noticing her absence.

'Clearing her head.  Getting herself straight.'

That had him.

'Why?' he asked, suddenly suspicious.

'So she can drive.'

That was not what he wanted to hear.

Raymond sighed, his voice becoming more confidential.  'You know I've 
been going with Sally a little while,' he said.

Normally the sort of statement that would have Alex grinding his 
teeth, but right now, he was happy for the two of them.  Sally was 
beautiful.  She was extremely well toned, a light little peak of hard 
development signifying her toned biceps, a flat ripple of muscle for 
a belly and legs to die for.  Beth, however, took it seriously.

Beth had a chest that filled her glittery, clubby top to capacity.  
Not just because of her breasts, which were, admittedly, full and 
round, but because of the muscular taper her torso made, out to 
powerful shoulders and an expansive back.

Beth's arms were toned and hard, as were Sally's, but her biceps had 
real size and real density.  Her belly he'd yet to be privy to, but 
his hand had stroked it as they got intimate in the back of the cab.  
He had felt the abdominal muscles, round and solid like an open box 
of golfballs.  Legs, ass, he'd seen through jeans so tight that he 
knew she wasn't wearing underwear.  Perfect tone, buttocks round and 
smooth.  Awesome thighs, thick and overlaid with intense muscles, 
powerful calves, hard peaked.

In short she had the kind of curves that distracted a man like him - 
hard and plentiful.

So why was he answering Raymond's stupid questions, grateful as he 
was to the guy for the introduction, when he could instead, be 
getting to know this incredible woman.  And by getting to know, he 
was very much hoping he meant more than just getting to know.

'Skip to the end.  What is it you actually want?'

'Sally wants to go up in a plane.'

'Tell her to book a session.'

'Tonight.'

Alex couldn't believe this was happening, couldn't believe it even of 
Raymond.  Crazy, yes.  Stupid, yes.  Reckless and criminal... 
Actually he could believe it of Raymond.  But surely he'd think 
better than trying to drag Alex into it.

'Not gonna happen,' Alex said firmly.

'She's really, really insistent.'

'Don't care, I'm not gonna do this.  And neither are you.'

'I have to do this.'

'You know I'm going to stop you.'

Raymond sighed.  Tried again.

'I'm deeply in love with Sally.'

Substitute "lust" for "love" and maybe.  But that was understandable.

'Granted,' Alex agreed.

'And I'd like our relationship to progress, you know?'

Christ!  Alex managed to repress any reaction.  They hadn't done it 
yet?  No wonder the poor boy was eating out of her hand.

'Understandable.'

Alex pondered a moment whether to drop into the conversation, offhand 
of course, the fact that he'd got his hand inside Beth's bra in the 
back of the cab.  He decided against it.  True, he normally had 
little to be smug about around Raymond, and tended to jump at the few 
opportunities that presented themselves.  But this time it wouldn't 
help.

'And now, she's saying to me, she wants to join the "mile high" 
club.'

'And so, you're naturally eager to...' he sought around for a 
suitable euphemism.  'Recruit her.' 

'She can be very persuasive.'

'So can I.  It ain't gonna happen.'

'Look, it's easy.  We break in through the field.  We can't get into 
the hanger but there's always a couple of light aircraft outside.  
Royston's got a copy of all the keys in his cupboard, we can get into 
his room.  It won't be that hard to break into the cupboard, jemmy 
out the screws on the clasp.  We can fix it again after we put them 
back.'

'You're insane.'

'Probably.  But I'm still gonna do it.'

'You don't think someone will notice a fucking aeroplane taking off 
in the middle of the night?'

'None of the departments talk to each other.  They'll each assume 
it's someone else.  Who's gonna give a shit until morning anyway.  
And who else is gonna think it strange that a plane's flying around 
an aerodrome?'

'We'll get caught and we'll get kicked out.  We'd be lucky not to be 
arrested.' 

'Don't be negative.'

Alex shook his head.  Raymond had pulled some crazy stunts in his 
time, but this one really was the most extreme.

'Fine.  Go do it.  But I knew nothing, and I couldn't have stopped 
you.'

'No, man, I need you with me.  This is a two man job.'

'What do you need me for?'

'Come on man, it's not like there's an auto-pilot.'

He left this hanging.  Alex, just took it in.  The slow realisation 
that he wasn't going to get any peace from the man unless he agreed.  
But no, this was too, stupid, too extreme.

All he wanted to do right now was rejoin Beth.  She was over there, 
on the floor, waiting for him, idly flicking through a book full of 
pictures of muscular women, something they were both fascinated by, 
though admittedly for different reasons.  But it was still something 
massive in common, something that he'd never had the privilege of 
experiencing before.

'You like her, don't you?' Raymond commented.

'State the obvious.'

'She'll be into it.  What an adventure.  Look at the way she got all 
excited about the fact we're training to be pilots.  Man, she'll be 
hotter than hell.  You know what the say about a little bit of danger 
for turning up the temperature.  Me and Sally don't have to be the 
only ones to join the "Mile High" club tonight.'

'I don't need to be in the air to enjoy a woman like her.  I'll be 
quite happy to commence docking procedure while fully grounded.'

'I'm doing this,' Raymond told him, categorically.  'As soon as 
Sally's finished powdering her nose, I'm heading to the school.  I'm 
taking a plane up.  And Sally's coming with me.  Tell me, what do you 
think Beth is gonna choose?'

'What do you mean?'

'She can stay here with Mr Boring, or come on a wild adventure.  Oh 
she'll probably be happy enough to catch up with you another time, 
but I'm offering her a personal flight on a fucking plane.'

Alex cursed under his breath.  He wanted to lay into Raymond, but he 
was scared the guy was right.

'Or you could come with us.'

Beth rolled over onto her side, looking up over her shoulder at them, 
seeing what was keeping Alex.  She rested her head on her hand to do 
so, making the overtly developed bicep leap into a hard, tight little 
mound.  The sight of it made Alex catch his breath, made his loin 
ache, made his heart pound.

'I can't believe we're doing this,' he hissed.

'Trust me, it's gonna be great.'

                              * * *

They each took a snort of the coke, needing to straighten their heads 
for the adventure.  Drunk in charge of an aeroplane was not a good 
idea, after all.  But there was no need to slow the party down.  They 
took with them a bottle of whiskey and another of tequila, taking 
slugs as they went.

Breaking in was just as easy as Raymond had said it would be, as was 
getting the keys for one of the light aircraft that sat prepped and 
ready, practically sitting on the runway.

'Candy from a baby,' Raymond said.

He helped Sally into the plane, which involved groping her ass as she 
clambered up the ladder and through the doorway.  She squealed and 
giggled.  Raymond shot up the ladder after her.

'Are you going to take such hideous liberties?' Beth enquired as Alex 
gestured for her to go up into the plane.

Alex seemed to ponder this a second before nodding.  'Well, yeah,' he 
admitted.

She laughed, deliberately swaying her ass as she pulled herself up 
the ladder.

Alex went to grab her, but she was too quick, her strong arms easily 
hauling her up into the plane.  Also laughing, Alex pelted up the 
ladder after her.

It was cramped inside.  Two pilot seats side by side and then the 
passenger area, three two-person seats down the length of the plane, 
and barely enough room either side of them to squeeze past.

Sally sat besides Raymond at the front, amazed by the array of 
controls and their complexity, even for such a simple craft.

'Don't touch anything,' Raymond told her, starting the engine.

'I could say the same thing,' she remarked.  His hand had snaked 
between her thighs.  'Don't want you getting distracted or anything.'  
Though she made no efforts to stop him.

The prolonged partying had her het-up, definitely in the mood.  The 
silky touch of her, damp and wanting.  The feel of her had made 
Raymond flush with desire, made him tremble with longing.

He doused the fires a while with a heavy slug of tequila, focusing 
instead on the task at hand.

He went through the checklist out loud.

When Alex failed to respond, he turned, seeing him and Beth getting 
heavy on the first passenger seat, kiss impassioned, hands active.

Alex withdrew a hand from Beth's sleeve, where it was evidently being 
happily impressed by the contents, long enough to give him a thumbs 
up.

Raymond figured that was the best he was gonna get and so continued 
the countdown for Sally's benefit.

She sat excitably next to him, the duel pilot's stick sprouting from 
the seat-well, up between her thighs.  She happily clutched the 
wheel.

His own stick was locked to the movements of hers.  Where one moved 
up and down, the wheel turning, so then did the other.

Given the sight of her like that, her skirt ridden high, he couldn't 
bare to tell her to let go of it.  He'd cope.

                              * * *

Once in the air, it was just a case of circling.  Sally just stared 
in awe, her expression almost childlike in its wonder.

'We're flying,' she cooed.

Raymond laughed, impressed by her pure and unabashed delight.  'Yes 
we are.'

Beth was stood behind the two pilot seat, crooking her neck to fit in 
the cramped craft.  She stared out at the view, just as awed as her 
friend.

'Oh my God, look at that.'

Beth had another reason for coming up front however.  She produced 
the tequila bottle.

Sally lent her head back, mouth open wide.  Beth laughed and held the 
bottle as steady as she could above her.  She poured a quick shot 
directly into Sally's mouth, Sally having to swallow quickly or gag 
on it.

Raymond pulled the plane onto a straight and steady course.  He then 
tilted his own head back, looking upside down at her.

Beth gasped but obeyed, giving him a shot too.

'You're mad,' she laughed as Raymond righted his head and made a 
minor adjustment to their course.

'You have no idea.'

Alex came up and hugged Beth from behind, taking the opportunity to 
press himself against that fantastic body.  She twisted her head to 
kiss him, then thrust the bottle into his mouth as his tongue cried 
more.

Sally took a blast of coke, catching Raymond's eye as she did so.  
She tipped a tiny spattering down her ample cleavage, giving him a 
"oh silly me, lookie here what I've done" kind of look, the tops of 
her breasts dusted with the fine white powder.

Raymond saw Alex was behind him, took the opportunity.

'Say Buddy, it's just about your turn to fly.'

'OK,' Alex agreed.  He tapped Sally's arm.  'Gonna need to shift you, 
I'm afraid.'

'You need to what me?' she quipped, but got up from the second 
pilot's chair.

The plane shuddered suddenly and Sally was knocked off balance.  
Instinctively she clutched at the closest thing, for support, which 
happened to be Alex.  He felt her hard physique pressed tightly 
against his body, her arms squeezing almost painfully tight.

She was stronger than she looked, he realised.  He'd felt her biceps 
tighten against his arm as she clutched at him.  They were smooth and 
remarkably hard.

'Less of that,' Beth scolded, pulling them apart.

As he was sitting down, Alex noticed the unabashed way Sally used her 
sturdier friend for support as she found her seat.  He saw her give 
the other girl an affectionate slap on the butt.  He felt another 
tightening of the throat, another spear of lust rip through his 
stomach.

Once he'd settled himself as pilot, Raymond stood, letting Beth take 
his seat.

Raymond and Sally then slid to the back of the plane.  Both Beth and 
Alex made a personal note not to look backwards for a little while.

Alex started showing Beth some of the sights below them, started 
explaining to her the techniques of flying, started introducing her 
to his (other) passion.

And they both became so lost in the genuine wonder of it that they 
almost forgot what their two friends were almost certainly doing mere 
metres behind them.

There were soft moans, some harsh gasps, but mostly it was stifled.

                              * * *

Beth was flying the plane when Sally knocked Raymond unconscious.

She was holding the wheel, gently easing it one way then the other, 
struck dumb with delight as the plane obeyed her manipulation.

Alex watched her carefully, his own hands never leaving the duel 
control.

'I'm flying the plane!'

'You're flying the plane,' Alex agreed.

'Ray?  Ray?' Sally's panicked voice came to them, breaking the 
serenity.

Alex took control again as, responding to her friend's horror struck 
tone, Beth dropped the stick and twisted in her seat.

'What's wrong?' she called.

Sally was standing over her boyfriend.  He lay across the back seat, 
unconscious.

'He knocked his head, he's completely out.'

'Oh my God, what's happened?'

Beth scrambled over the seat and ran over to them.  Sally was 
discretely refastening her clothes.  She looked at the prone Raymond 
and quickly did the same for him.

'I didn't mean it,' she said, 'it was an accident.'

Beth gave him a cursory examination, checking pulse and breathing.

'Well he isn't dead,' she assured them.  But the careless tone was 
more of a relief than her words.  It proved she wasn't concerned, 
that it wasn't too serious.  'It's just concussion.  Jesus, Sally, 
what did you do to the poor boy?'

'It's not like there's much room or anything,' she protested, 'it 
wasn't my fault.'

'What's happening?' Alex called back to them, risking a glance over 
his shoulder.

'He's fine,' Beth told him, 'the excitement was probably a little too 
much for him.'

'I can understand that.'

'We were just... well, you know what we were just.  I didn't realise 
I was being especially rough or anything.  You know what it's like, 
you're getting into it, being a little... energetic.  And somehow his 
head just cracked against the side.  I think, that's what happened.  
I didn't actually notice until he sort of slumped over onto me.'

'Out cold.  But with a curious fixed smile on his face.'

Sally poked her.

'No, I'm curious,' Beth insisted, 'did you finish up before you 
actually checked what was wrong with him?  Owe!'

Sally had poked her again, sharper this time.

She chased Beth down to the front of the plane, stumbling against 
gentle turbulence.

'I take it we're not in a major crisis?' Alex called over his 
shoulder to the two girls who were now play-fighting behind him.

'We're OK,' Beth told him.  'We should probably land pretty soon 
though.'

Alex agreed and began turning the plane.

Which is when things really did take a turn for the worst.

Tequila can knock the hardiest drinker for six.  The term "blind 
drunk" however is normally only a metaphor.

Alex had been keeping a fairly steady head, despite the occasional 
swallow of liquor, and the coke in his system had him suitably sharp.

But you can't account for all eventualities.  The alignment of 
circumstance, the perversity of fate, as the differentiating factors 
line up, just so, in order to lead to that one particular climax.

Beth pulls out the bottle, taking a healthy swig; Sally lunges at 
Beth, who squeals and lurches aside; the wind catches the plane just 
as Alex begins to bank; the craft shakes, tossing the already 
unsteady Beth.  She loses her balance, throwing her arms out, 
instinctually trying to stay upright.  The bottle hits the wall - 
shatters.  Alex turns around to check the girls are OK.  He gets a 
faceful of tequila.

It burns.  He swears.  The plane lurches, as though in sympathy.

Alex rubbed his eyes furiously with one hand, the other holding the 
plane stable.

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, blinked.  He swore.

'Oh shit, are you OK.  Jesus I'm sorry.'

'Fucking hell!'

He held the stick as best he could with his knees and elbow and 
rubbed furiously at his eyes.  The plane lurched again and he had to 
grab the stick once more.

'Beth,' he said, his voice frighteningly low.  'Can you just grab the 
stick again?  Just like you did before.  I only need you to hold it 
steady.'

'Are you alright?'

'I can't see.'

'What?'

'I can't see.  I'm blind.'

Sally fell back, as though struck.  She began uttering a long stream 
of obscenities, holding the side of the plane for support.

Beth was deathly quiet.  She got into the seat beside Alex and held 
the stick as he asked.

As soon as her felt her grasp the wheel, Alex let go, rubbing 
furiously at his eyes, trying to clear them.

They burned like crazy, as if someone had poured boiling water in his 
face.  He forced them open, actually prising the eyelids with his 
fingers.  But they still refused to work.

'Does anyone have any water?'

There was no response.

'What do you mean you can't see?' Sally demanded, her voice fragile 
and panicky.  'You must be able to see something.'

'It's just one huge white blur,' he told them.  He threw his hand 
violently around in front of him face.  'I can't make out a thing.'

'What about light and dark?' Beth asked, sounding far calmer than she 
actually was.  'Cover your eyes, can you see a difference.'

He tried it, completely covering his eyes with his hands, sealing off 
all light.  'I guess, yeah.'

'OK, that's good,' she told him.  'It's temporary.  You're sight's 
gonna slowly come back.  It might take a few hours but it'll come 
back.  How long can we keep this plane up for?'

'Maybe another twenty minutes or so,' he said.

'OK, less good.  Can you land this plane blind if I act as your eyes 
- tell you what I see?'

'No,' he told her.  He thought for a few moments, running through 
scenarios.  There was only one.  'But you can, if I guide you through 
it.'

'That's insane,' Sally cried out, 'she can't land it.  We're gonna 
crash.'

'It'll be fine,' Alex assured them, with a calm he did not feel.  'If 
you follow the instructions I give you - do exactly as I tell you.'

                              * * *

And he was right.  The landing was remarkably smooth, all things 
considered.  Sally sat sobbing in the front passenger chair.  She 
held the still unconscious Raymond, hugging his head to her chest, 
her arms wrapped tightly around his slumped shoulders, her own face 
buried in his hair.

Beth sat as pilot, the long snorts of cocaine she'd taken practically 
frying her neurones.

Alex had his hands on the control board, touching the necessary 
instruments.  He'd told her which dials to watch, which to keep an 
eye on and the readings each should be giving at every stage of the 
final descent, but he pointed them out urgently as and when he gave 
her an instruction.

He could feel when some things were off - the angle of the plane, the 
buzz of the throttle - and juggled the different factors in his head, 
keeping track of the numbers via Beth as his proxy.

For the most part it was his voice alone that carried through the 
tiny environment, barking curt instruction.  Occasionally Beth 
answered a specific question, airspeed, altitude, but aside from that 
it was just Alex.

The last thing Sally said was 'shouldn't we adopt the safety, crash 
position?'

'There's no such thing.  It's a placebo - the illusion of safety.  It 
makes no difference whatsoever.'

'Oh fuck, we're gonna die.'

Alex tapped an instrument, the artificial horizon.

'Straighten up.

'OK, throttle down to half.

'We wanna be at about seventy knots.

'Ease us down until the altitude reads one fifty.

'Steeper than that.

'Better.  Be ready to level off again.

'You see the runway yet?

'OK, that's good.  Throttle down a little more.  Follow the landing 
lights in.

And so it went.  Until the last moments, and the only point of panic.

Beth had been doing fine - amazingly well - but in those last 
moments, the number of things to watch at once increased 
exponentially as the seconds counted down.

Alex's tone became harsher, more rapid-fire, but still reassuringly 
controlled.

'Throttle down.  Right down.  All the way.  Pull  back.  Harder.'

His slowly improving eyesight, finally beginning to clear a little, 
enough to catch something at the last possible moment, making him 
realise something he hadn't previously.

'Pull up!' he yelled in a sudden panic, all calm instantly gone.

He snatched at the wheel, the first time he'd done so in the whole 
descent.  But he missed in his panic.

'Pull up, pull up!'

And the plane struck the tarmac.  Hard.

It bounced, shaking them all to the bone.

Sally screamed.

The plane came down again, rubber screeching.

Alex had the wheel now, keeping the breaking plane steady.

They slowed.

'And bring her in to a gentle stop,' he concluded, his tone easy and 
calm once more.

The plane shuddered to a complete stop as the breaks finally cut the 
velocity to zero.

Beth sat before a bent control stick.  'I think I broke it,' she 
admitted.  'I panicked.  You suddenly lost it, I thought we were 
about to crash.  You said pull up so I pulled it as hard as I could.'

But Alex didn't care about the plane.  He'd begun laughing.  It was a 
hysterical laugh but it felt good nonetheless.  In fact, he couldn't 
ever remember feeling so good.

And when he started, Sally joined in, and then Beth.

He felt a strangle hold embrace him from behind the seats, Sally's 
excessive grip actually choking him.  He tried to prise her off but 
discovered that she was actually too strong for him to budge, even an 
inch.

He tried to gasp a plea but she was holding him too tight even for 
that.  He couldn't even breath.

He tried slapping her arm, attempting to draw her attention to his 
plight but she was too enraptured in their having survived certain 
death to even notice.

Beth saved him, finally, easing Sally's arm away.  And then it was a 
three-way hug - just as tight, but necks avoided this time.  Alex 
still felt like he was being crushed but at least he wasn't in fear 
for his life this time.

His sight was a slightly more multi-coloured blur now, but he still 
couldn't see.  At least it was improving and he was convinced no real 
damage had been done.

But after the fear of the past minutes, blindness seemed almost 
irrelevant compared to death by plane-crash.

And then lips were pressed against him and he was kissing... he 
assumed it was Beth.  It certainly tasted like Beth.  And, oh God, 
those arms!  It was Beth.

But other arms still clung to him also, Sally, refusing to let go.  
And other lips now, kissing the back of his neck.

Beth's muscles flexed hard all of a sudden, swelling huge as Alex 
suddenly found himself lifted bodily out of the seat.  The floor of a 
light aircraft was hardly the most comfortable place to be dumped, 
but his fall was half cushioned by the lean and muscled body of 
Sally, still clinging wantonly to him.

Hands over him.  Four hands.  Both women clutching at him, desperate 
for him.  His clothes were ripped away and hot flesh rubbed against 
his own.  Sweat and muscles encased him.  Breasts rubbed up on him, 
nipples sharp and hard.

Sight was still beyond him but the other senses more than made up the 
difference.  The smell of the two women filled his head, inspiring 
ever more fervent desire in him.  The sound of their inarticulate 
though nonetheless expressive sounds, making language redundant and 
regressing back to a primitive state.

Touch and taste ruled him however, his whole body a sensory membrane 
alive with stimulation of the most inciting kind.

All thoughts of aeroplanes and near death experiences were driven out 
of their minds and flesh ruled.  It was probably the close proximity 
of death that inspired such intoxicating ardour in the three of them, 
but none cared right now for the psychological ramifications.  They 
were all far too engrossed with the matter in hand.

                              * * *

Raymond awoke to the surprising sight of a rather spectacular orgy.  
Three bodies seemed actually physically merged with one another.  The 
sheer intense energy and joy of being alive.  

He wasn't sure what to make of it.  Whether to be aroused, or 
shocked, or to feel neglected.

From somewhere deep inside her revelry, Beth actually registered the 
sight of him, realised he was awake and watching them.

She smiled and held her hand out to him, inviting him to join them.

The other two thirds of the tangled love-knot saw this and twisted 
around to make the same offer to him.

Raymond shrugged and began to strip off.

                              * * *

The watchman had heard the plane take off and not bothered too much 
about it.  These things happened, after all.  He guessed it was 
students joyriding, but it could have been official business.

He'd not seen any signs of forced entry on his rounds so it really 
wasn't his problem.  He'd check it out once the plane landed again 
but until then, there was little he could do.

The plane had finally come back, landing rather heavily.  That made 
him think it definitely was joyriders.  He shrugged, finished his cup 
of tea.  Actually, there was another in the pot.  Might as well have 
that too.  Whatever it was would surely keep.  Finally, he stirred 
himself into action and went to go and investigate.

He took a slow wander over towards the landing strip where it had 
come down.  Skid marks.  Very clumsy landing.

He went up to the plane.  There was a strange sound coming from 
within.  Low moaning.  It occurred to him that maybe someone had been 
hurt in the landing and he suddenly felt a little guilty about 
stopping for that second cup of tea.

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't what he saw when he finally 
opened the door and peered into the body of the light aircraft.

They four occupants didn't even realise he was there.  The stoned 
eyes of one of the guys actually seemed to clock him a moment before 
being overwhelmed by the insistent attention of one of the other, 
squirming bodies.

His first thought was that it was a gay orgy, seeing as he did, 
writhing male physiques, some obviously being gym-rats.  But then one 
of them moved, changing the angle a little.  Men didn't have breasts 
like that.  But it had been an easy mistake to make - until that 
moment, he hadn't realised that women could have backs like that 
either.  The two most spectacular of the four men actually turned out 
to both be women.

The watchman stared for a full minute, not believing what he was 
seeing.  Not one of the four (he thought it was four, with such a 
tangle it was actually hard to count) acknowledged his presence.

He shook his head in wonder and left them to it.

He knew he'd have to call it in.  But honestly, it seemed a shame to 
interrupt them.  Christ, kids today!

He took a slow walk back.  After all, there was no hurry.  They 
didn't look like they were going anywhere soon.  Yeah, he'd give it a 
while before making the call.  Time for another pot of tea.

[We look along the aisle of a plane, right through to the cockpit, 
where both pilots are on their hands and knees, examining the floor.  
"Well there's some irony in all this, you know... I mean, we both 
lose a contact at the same time!"]

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

21 - The school board

Cat was bored.  So bored in fact, that she almost considered actually 
going to school.

She'd been waiting outside the chippy for Rona, who had agreed to 
meet her there.  She wondered if the dozy bint had got caught 
sneaking out of school.  Wouldn't be the first time.

She was out of cigarettes so she headed down the high street, a short 
row of shops, and wandered into the newsagents on the corner.

'Yeah, give us ten B & H,' she said to the clerk, keeping her manner 
careless and confident, just daring him to challenge her.

The guy was a geek.  A mess of greasy locks, un-ironed shirt and bad 
complexion.

'You got ID?'

He delivered this with a bored tone - as though he were deliberately 
unimpressed by her.  It was almost a sneer.

Fucking tosser.  But Cat kept it cool.  'I'm sixteen,' she hissed at 
him.

He kept up the bored persona.  She restrained the urge to lay into 
him; he wasn't worth it.

She cursed loudly while she ruffled through her bag.  'This is just 
coz I'm in school uniform,' she complained.  'It ain't fair.  That's 
prejudice, that is.'

She found her ID, a bus pass, presenting it with relish.

'See, I told you.  Maybe you'll be more trusting in the future.'

'I've got to ask,' he told her mildly, not particularly caring.

He served her at least.

She took them and left.  Assholes like that really got her down.  
Here she was, just trying to live her life as smoothly as possible 
and these self-important wankers - teacher mostly - kept trying to 
interfere.

She wandered back, smoking with relish.  By the time she got back to 
the chippy, Rona was waiting outside.

'Thought you weren't gonna show,' she said.

'Told ya, I had to make an appearance, Slade's been on my back about 
missing lessons.'

'Whatever.'

The smell of fish and chips was strong.  The rich acrid odour of 
vinegar.

'You getting any?'

'I thought you had no money.'

Cat smiled evilly.  'I ran into Sandy this morning.'

Enough said.  Sandy was an easy mark.  Always had spare change on 
her, never the sense to hide it.  Always easy enough to borrow some, 
given a little persuasion.  She'd make a token protest but always 
folded eventually.

Cat brought them both a portion of chips and they sat on the wall to 
eat them.

'Fucking wanker in the newsagents gave me a hard time getting fags,' 
Cat said.  'He was well giving me evils.'

'Did he serve you?'

'Yeah.  Gave him ID in the end so he had to.  He was well gutted.  
Eat that, ya cunt.'

'He well thinks he's something but he's just a sad little tosser,' 
Rona sympathised.  'You wanna go give him shit?'

Cat pondered, genuinely considering the suggestion.

'No.  It's the closest place around here to get ciggies.  Don't want 
them to bar us.'

'OK.  We could just stir him up a bit.'

'Maybe later.'

Rona finished her chips.  'What do you wanna do?'

Cat shrugged.

They headed to the park.  It was a nice enough day for it.

The park was small.  Just a patch of grass really.  But there were 
swings at least.

They were sitting on these when the guys came up.  A bunch of boys, 
twelve to fourteen-year-olds.  They were younger than the two girls 
but there were six of them, their collective confidence boosted by 
their number.

Their uniform marked them out as part of the same school, though they 
had to be in the lower school, years seven, eight and nine were 
generally kept separate from ten and eleven, mainly because they were 
housed in two separate buildings half a mile apart.

Cat was smoking so the lead boy at least had an opening line.

'Giss a fag.'

'Fuck off.'

'Go on.'

'You're too young.'

'So.  I been smoking for years.'

'It stunts your growth,' Cat told him and Rona giggled.

He was unperturbed though.

One of the other kids spoke up.  'I know you,' he said, 'you're 
Catherine Everet.'

Cat shrugged, unimpressed.

'You're in the same year as my brother.'

Curiosity overrode apathy.

'Who's your brother?'

'Nathan Brown.'

Rona gave a sneer of contempt.  'He's a right wanker,' she declared.

The kid didn't seem sure whether or not to take this as an insult 
against himself.  He decided not to follow it up though.  The girls 
were giving off a distinct air of aggression that it probably wasn't 
best to stir up.

'You used to be a runner, didn't you,' one of the other kids said.  
'Your trophies are still in the cabinet when you done the county 
championships.'

Cat shrugged.  'Yeah.  What of it?'

'I've heard of you,' he told her.  'Should you be smoking then?'

Cat rolled her eyes.  'I don't do it no more,' she told him, as 
though he were stupid.

'Is it true you've got a tattoo?'

'Yeah.'

'It's on your arse?'

'Fuck off you little shit.  It's on the small of my back.'

'Let's see it.'

Cat laughed in contempt.  'Er, No,' she said, her voice dripping 
sarcasm.

'My brother reckons you're well hard.'

She stared coolly at the kid.  'Let me put it like this.  If I gave 
you a good slap, you wouldn't get up again.'

She stared him down, intimidating the brat with her cold gaze.

Rona made a gesture to Cat, motioning to her friend's sleeves.

Cat replied, just as subtly, shaking her head.

She still had the muscles from when her body was in top condition.  
She knew she could flex a bicep that would shame and awe these little 
boys.  She'd done similar things in the past, making an impression by 
flashing her arms.  People just didn't expect muscles like hers on a 
woman, especially a teenager, and she'd enjoyed the shock value, 
loved the expression of amazement on their faces.

But she couldn't be bothered right now.  These were just bothersome 
children, and she didn't see the need to impress them.

There was a bloke sitting on the bench, a little way down from them.  
Maybe in his thirties or forties.  Casually dressed.  Jobless loser, 
would have been Cat's guess had she bothered to even consider the 
geezer for more than five seconds.

One of the kids mentioned him though.  'He's a right weirdo,' he 
said.  'He must live around here or something but he's always just 
hanging around.'

'Why?  What's he do?' Rona asked.

The kid mistook her question, however.  'He don't do nothing.  Ain't 
got a job.  But you often see him around here.  He ain't right in the 
head.'

'You ever spoken to him?'

'Na.  He's just a nutter.'

'Whatever,' Cat said.  Not really caring.

The kid however seemed to take it as a kind of insinuation.  That by 
not having said anything to the weirdo in question, he was lacking 
the guts to do so.

He and the other kids left the two girls.  Their journey out the park 
took them right past the bench were the weirdo sat.

Cat and Rona watched the boys depart.

'Fucking tossers,' Cat sneered.

'You should have flashed them.  Can you imagine their fucking faces?'

'Like I could give a shit.'

The kids were passing the bench.  She saw the lead turn his head to 
stare the geezer down.  Apparently words were exchanged.

The man retained his cool, unimpressed by such pointless hostility.

The kids walked past making their way back to school no doubt.  The 
man watched them go.  The wind carried their voices suddenly, Cat and 
Rona hearing someone shout "wanker".  They flipped the bird at the 
guy before disappearing into the distance.

The man shook his head wearily.  He had a book with him it seemed, 
and once the kids had gone, he returned his attention to it.

'I wonder if he is a weirdo?' Cat mused out loud.

'Who cares' Rona replied.

But Cat was curious now.  She jumped off the swing and threw her 
schoolbag onto her shoulder.

'Come on, let's check it out.'

Rona, a little nervous, but not willing to show fear or doubt in 
front of her bolder friend, quickly followed.

The man looked up at their approach.

He was getting on for middle age, with flawed features, sunken eyes.  
He was dressed in a sweater, jeans worn with age.  Cheap trainers.  
The book had the telltale slipcase of a library book.  A Jonathan 
Kellerman novel.

He saw Cat staring intently at him and seemed to sigh inwardly, as 
though grumbling "oh God, what now?"

Cat waggled a cigarette between her fingers.

'Got a light?' she asked, pleasantly enough.

'Sorry, don't smoke,' he told her, his voice clipped and quiet.

He returned to his book.

Cat however, didn't move.  He looked up at her expectantly, wondering 
what he'd done to deserve this.

'Yes?' he prompted finally, when she didn't say anything.

'What ya reading?'

He tilted the book up, showing her the front cover.  She'd heard of 
it, but had not read it.  Her father had it, she was pretty sure, 
which meant it was probably a crime thriller of some sort.

'Any good?'

'Yeah, not bad,' he told her.  His tone however suggested that this 
was not a conversation he wanted to be having.

Rona gave her friend a look.  What was communicated between them 
however went over his head.  Cat focused on him again.

'Give us a look,' she insisted.

He held the book up, an almost sarcastic tone of gesture, as though 
showing her what a book was.

'If you're really that fascinated, there's a library just down the 
road.'

He was getting a bit stroppy now.  It raised her hackles.

'What?  I ain't gonna nick it, Jesus,' she hissed.

'Is that all?' he demanded.

'What did them kids want?'

'I have no idea?' he sighed.  'They were just a bunch of kids with 
nothing better to do.'  There was implication in the way he said 
this.  As though he were rounding in this current encounter too.

He wasn't a weirdo, Cat decided, but he was a narky bastard.

'They go to my school,' she declared.  'One of them's my mate's 
little brother.'  Bit of a stretch but whatever.

'Look, do you actually want anything, because I'm trying to read 
here.'

'What's your problem?' she huffed, all offended.

'I'm not the one with a problem,' he insisted.  'I'm just sitting 
here minding my own business.  You seem to be the one with a problem.  
Aren't you supposed to be in school?'

'Free period.  I'm allowed to do whatever.'

'Fine.  Why don't you go do whatever somewhere else?'

Cat exchanged a look with Rona.  She was getting to him now.

'Do you think I'm sexy?'  She put a hand on her hip, and pouted 
suggestively.

He gave her an expression that suggested she was about as alluring as 
a particularly irritating gnat-bite.

'You're really not my type.  Teen slut just doesn't appeal for some 
reason.'

Rona almost winced at this comment.  But, surprisingly, Cat stayed 
perfectly cool.

She turned, as if about to depart.  At the last moment however, she 
sprung up to the guy, snatched the book from him and leapt back 
again.

'What?' he barked.  'What the fuck do you think you're doing?' he 
demanded, standing up.

'I just want a look,' she instead, her voice all innocence.

'Well now you've seen it give it here.'  He was angry now, but kept 
himself well in control.

'That's not polite,' she told him, her voice sardonic in its 
sweetness.  'Ask nicely.'

Rona was laughing, though inside she her pulse was racing.  She'd 
pulled some pretty crazy stunts with Cat in the past, but nothing 
like this.  This was seriously foolish, the guy really would loose 
his temper in a minute.

'You think this is a game?' he yelled, his voice incredulous, but 
still retaining the edge of superiority, that calculated sneer of 
contempt.  'What the hell is your problem?'

'Oh?  And what the fuck are you gonna do?'  Which is where she had 
him.  Because he knew like she knew that he couldn't lay a finger on 
her.  She was a schoolgirl and he was a grown-up and if he tried a 
single physical act of aggression against her, the shit would fall on 
him.

But Cat wasn't that calculating.  She was just out to get a reaction.

She held up the book for him to see, much like the manner in which he 
himself had previously.  Then she tossed it carelessly over her 
shoulder, into a patch of bushes behind her.

'Ooops,' she giggled.

The guy stomped angrily around her, though she noticed with some 
amusement that he resisted the more direct route which would have him 
barge right past her.  He'd actually given her a reasonable berth.  
Not wanting this to get physical perhaps.  Shame.

She watched him retrieve the book.  While he did so she tossed her 
bag to Rona, who shouldered it.

The man had the book now, and had apparently had enough.  Instead of 
walking back to the pathway, or towards his bench, he'd taken a 
tangent direction, taking him away from these two schoolgirls, taking 
him aware from their abuse.

He had a fast walk and Cat had to hurry to catch up.  But he wasn't 
going to run away - not literally.  Foolish.  Coz that's precisely 
what the fucker should have done, Cat thought gleefully.

She caught his arm and when the man spun around, he was furious 
enough to actually shove her.  He actually laid his hand upon her, 
shoving her shoulder hard.  Making her stumble backwards.

Except she didn't stumble backwards.  She should have done, because 
she was just a schoolgirl and he was a fully grown-up man.  But she 
didn't.

Her body seemed to absorb the power of his shove, and she remained 
completely stable.

Cat cooed, impressed that she'd finally got a reaction from the guy.  
She gave him a second to be surprised by her sturdiness.  Then she 
hit him.

A straight square punch in the face.

The gorgeous crunch of his nose - that sweet squirt of blood.

She punched again, same spot in his face - dead centre.  This time it 
felt like she was punching a slug.  A gloopy squish as she mashed his 
nose.

He staggered back, clutching his face in surprise and pain.  He 
dropped the book without even noticing.  His hands filled with blood 
in seconds, leaking wetly between his fingers.  His eyes were full of 
water and blurred his vision.  But he saw her move and reacted in 
panic.

As Cat moved in on him again, he actually yelped in fear, stumbling 
backwards and this time he tripped, coming down hard.

Cat watched him a few seconds and then began laying in with the 
kicks.

Foot into his side - hard and heavy.  The ribs - God that sharp crack 
sounded so righteous.  A couple to the head, spraying more blood.  
That one had to shatter teeth.

She was swearing - hurling abuse as she kicked the living shit out of 
him.

He tried to crouch up, minimise the exposure and the damage, but his 
resistance was rapidly waning.  It was all he could do to keep his 
head down.

Then she was on her knees, working over the face with her fists, 
mashing the features with all her vicious might.

When finally done she stood, breathless.  Rona offered her a tissue.  
Cat took it and wiped the blood off of her knuckles.

They began to head off.  Rona gave Cat her bag back.

'Thanks.'

'No probs,' Rona said, then added, 'Psycho-girl.'

'What?' she asked, all innocence.

'What?' Rona mimicked.  'Ask that guy you left back that.  At least, 
you'd be able to if he was conscious.'

Cat shrugged.  'Some people are just asking for a good kicking,' she 
said.  'Come on, let's get back.'

'Where, school?'

'Yeah, I better put in an appearance too.  Besides, it's nearly lunch 
time.'

                              * * *

'Catherine,' Mr Cunningham said, his tone weary, 'I have your test 
results here.  Seeing as you weren't present in class this afternoon, 
I thought I'd take them from your teacher and give them to you 
myself.'

He presented the sheet to her, the mark clearly labelled at the top 
in red pen.  "C".

He was apparently waiting for a response from her.

'So?' she asked.  'That's not a bad grade, is it?  I thought "C" was 
pretty good.'

'Good?  It's fairly incredible considering you've barely turned up to 
a single lesson.'

Cat just shrugged again.

'Your intelligence isn't what's in question here.  But I think we 
both know that you're currently achieving a bare fraction of your 
potential.  Your history here is exemplary.  Your academic 
achievements are unrivalled by your peers, and as for your sporting 
history!

'And yet, you've been suspended twice in this term alone, there's not 
been a week go by where you haven't been in at least one detention 
and there isn't a single one of your teachers that you don't have 
some issue with.  Tell me, what do you think about all this?  What is 
it that you see as the problem here?'

Again she just shrugged.

'Catherine, please try and understand, we want what's best for you 
but you have to help us.  It's got to be a two-way process.  I'm 
failing to see why we're having to have yet another discussion.'

It went on.  Cat did her best not to roll her eyes while he spoke, 
knowing that to do so would only extend the lecture.

                              * * *

'What did Cunt-ingham want?' Rona asked.

Cat shrugged.  'What does he ever want.  Normal lecture shite.  
Should be doing better.  Not fulfilling my potential.  All the rest 
of it.'

'You realise he's probably right.  You could probably ace every test 
you took if you wanted to.'

Again, that careless shrug.

The playground was empty, the head's lecture dragging on far longer 
than was necessary, in her opinion.

The staff carpark was adjacent.  'Which one is his car, do you 
think?'

'Think I heard someone say he owns a Merc.'

They exchanged a look.

'Dare ya,' Rona said and they both giggled.

                              * * *

Mr Johnson, the groundman gave Mr Cunningham, the head, a brief 
description of the two girls while he swept up the broken fragments 
of windscreen glass.

Bleach-blonde, shoulder length hair, the other natural.  Tall and 
kinda athletic.  Of course he knew who was responsible anyway, it was 
just a matter of confirming it.  And what he said next removed any 
possible doubt.

'And she must be athletic, too, coz I caught sight of her arm when 
she drew the brick back to throw it.  Christ, I ain't seen biceps 
like that on a girl since the Olympics was on TV.'

Mr Cunningham nodded.  It was enough.  He knew what had to be done 
next.  He'd have to clear the decision with the school board but that 
wasn't a problem.  In fact they'd probably wonder why he waited so 
long before taking this final step.

He sighed and actually took a moment to wonder if her expulsion would 
actually shake her up enough to get her act together.  Would it make 
her take life a little more seriously, make the most of the 
opportunities that life offered her?  God knows kids get few enough 
of them these days.  Either way, at least she would cease to be his 
problem.


[A fat cat lazes under a tree, oblivious to the huge nest in the 
branches above, full to spilling of baby birds.  It muses idly "what 
to do today... what to do..."]

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

22 - Marital bliss

Bill came home, collapsed into the armchair with a beer and watched 
fishing shows while he waited for dinner.

'Why do you put up with him?' Jane asked her sister.  

Louise sighed.  Then she stopped to think about it.  She actually 
struggled to find an answer.  'Habit?' she offered finally.

Bill came into the kitchen, looking for his second beer.  'What 
time's dinner?' he was asking when he saw Jane standing there.  His 
disinterested expression changed into one of distaste.  'Are you 
moving in or what?' he sneered.

'I'm here visiting my sister.'

Bill turned to his wife.  'She staying for dinner?'  He'd long since 
given up on hiding his feelings about his sister-in-law.  Besides, 
she was happily open about loathing him, so why should he bother?  
Especially in his own house.

'No, I'm not staying for dinner,' Jane told him, making a point of 
answering him directly, even though his question had deliberately 
dismissed her.

'Good,' he said, grabbing another beer and returning to his seat in 
front of the television.

Louise had once asked her husband what he had against her sister.

'She's too smart,' he had answered, without needing to stop and 
think.

'Is that a bad thing?' Louise asked.

'Well, if it makes her think she's better than everyone else then yes 
it is.'


'She doesn't think that,' Louise insisted, but Bill was not so 
convinced.

'She thinks she's so clever, just because she put herself through 
college and got herself a fancy teaching job.  Well I don't see 
what's wrong with factory work.'

He was getting defensive now, which was generally a bad thing.

'There's nothing wrong with it,' Louise quickly assured him.  'You've 
got a good job down at the plant.'

'I put food on our table,' he continued, as though she'd contradicted 
him.  'It's not like you have to work to cover us.'

Which was another sore point between them, Louise's desire to get a 
job.  The arguments they'd had about it all followed the same basic 
tract.

'What are the guys at the bar gonna say if they think I can't provide 
for my own wife?'

'I don't give a damn what the guys at the bar think.  I want to get 
out of the house.  I want to do something more with my life.'

'You don't give a damn?  I do.'

And so, she remained the housewife, the monotony of her daily routine 
killing her with its gravity - a slow but relentless momentum.

'Know your problem?' Bill once told her.  'That sister of yours, 
filling your head with ideas.'

Back again to that.

She had taken a part-time job in the end.  Bill didn't like it, but 
had accepted it, once she soothed his arguments.

'The wage is a mere pittance,' she'd assured him, as if this were a 
good thing.  'I'm helping out in a charity shop.  It's almost like 
volunteer work.  No one does this kind of thing for a living so 
you're not going to have people think we need extra money or that you 
aren't a suitable provider.'

And that was the crux of it.  The fact that his wife was donating a 
little of her spare time, even though she took a token wage for her 
troubles.  So his ego wasn't threatened, so he could rest easy with 
it.

He still had a nasty suspicion that Jane made her best efforts to 
cause trouble between him and his wife, but Louise denied it.  Unless 
he ever caught her in the act, there wasn't much he could do about 
it.  It wasn't like he could ban his wife from seeing the woman.  It 
just made him uncomfortable that she was around so often.

And then there came the occasion that she stopped by when Louise 
wasn't even in, letting herself in like she owned the place.  Though 
it actually turned out to be an interesting evening.

Bill was watching television, his normal method of winding down after 
a long session at the factory.  He watched the overtly theatrical 
performances of WWF wrestlers, going through the long pre-fight 
patter before finally getting down to it in the ring.

He heard the door open and looked up surprised, knowing that Louise 
wasn't likely to be back for hours yet.

'Oh, it's you,' he sighed as Jane walked in.  'She's out with some of 
the girls from the shop,' he told her.  'I dunno what time she'll be 
back,' he added quickly, not wanting her to stop and wait.

'Oh relax, I know, and I'm not staying.  I only stopped by to pick up 
a few things.'

'Oh.  OK.'

He turned back to the TV.

Jane picked up a couple of bags her sister had set aside for her.

Bill watched as one mountainous man threw his entire bodyweight down 
onto another.  He called an appropriate protest at the TV, calling 
for the other man to strike back.  Get up, get in there.

'You do know it's all fake,' Jane remarked.

Bill didn't warrant this with a reply.  She stopped besides his lazy-
boy armchair.

'I mean look at that.  If that were genuine he'd have broken his 
neck.  No way he'd just get up like that and carry on going.'

'You may think I'm just a dumb hick,' Bill hissed at her, 'but credit 
me with some sense, please.  Who cares that it's faked if they give a 
good show?'

'I suppose.  But we've got a college team who really wrestle.  As a 
genuine sport wrestling gets a fraction of the coverage as this 
pantomime.'

Bill shrugged, not being drawn into the matter.

'Credit where it's due though,' Jane went on, not letting Bill's 
deliberate lack of interest silence her efforts.  'At least they use 
women with actual muscles.  Silicone not withstanding, of course.  
There's a real preoccupation with breasts though.  I guess when your 
target audience is adolescent males then that's a given.'

'It's not like they use mud or anything,' Bill protested.

'At the school we've got a girls team as well as boys.  Not as many 
of them, but there's a few.  Believe me, none of them hold these 
women here as their inspirations.  And none of them are as 
ridiculously endowed as that either.  They're all lean as hell.  
Long, sleek muscles.'

'Well, tits sell,' Bill told her.

'It's about skill too,' Jane went on, ignoring his dismissive tone.  
'I know a few basic moves.  In fact, I'd bet I could take the average 
guy down.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' he said, a little more emphatically than he'd 
actually intended.  He turned back to the television.

'You don't think so?' Jane remarked, smiling slyly to herself.  
'Hell, I could beat you into submission.'

That was personal.

Bill just looked at her, not sure if she was trying to wind him up, 
or what sort of reaction she was gunning for.  That she was mocking 
him somehow, however, was not in doubt.

'Whatever,' he sniffed and returned his attention to the TV.  He 
wasn't gonna bite.

'You don't believe me do you?' Jane insisted.  'You don't think I can 
beat you?'

'Nope,' he agreed.

'Male arrogance!' she laughed.  'So.  Big man.  Prove it.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Prove it.  You and me.  Here.  Now.  Winner takes all.'

'Winner takes all what?'

Jane pondered a second, as if this were all a mere whim - a sudden 
impulse - rather than a carefully laid out plan.

'You don't like the way I'm round here all the time.  No don't deny 
it, I know it's true.  I'm willing to stop coming around.  How's that 
for a deal?'

'If I beat you?'  He had to admit, it sounded like a good deal.

'Uh-huh.'

'And what do you want?' he asked, suspiciously.

'OK, how about this,' she offered.  'Louise has been thinking about 
taking a college class.'

'What?' he spluttered.  That was news to him.  'She's never said 
nothing about that.'

'Because she knows what you'd have to say about it.  But I happen to 
think it's a good idea.  She wants to learn more about the world 
around her, how can that be anything other than good?'

'And you think I'm gonna agree to that?'

'If you think you're gonna win, what does it matter what we gamble 
for.  You're so convinced I'll lose, we could gamble the deeds to 
this house.  Or aren't you so confident after all?'

Bill looked at her.  She was sly, he had to admit.

'You really think you've got a chance, don't you?'

'I'm fitter than you, stronger than you, in better condition than 
you.  In fact, I'm in better shape now than I've ever been in my 
life.'

'And I've got a hundred pounds on you.  Don't you think that's gonna 
count?'

'Not enough,' she told him.  The mocking grin again.

Bill was maybe a little overweight but he wasn't obese.  He'd played 
football in highschool but that was fifteen years ago now, and 
whatever good it had done him had been more the counteracted with a 
diet subsidised by beer and unhealthy living.

Jane on the other hand made a point in keeping herself active.  Bill 
knew that she jogged ritualistically, and kept to a rigorously 
maintained diet.

But what did that really count for, in the greater scheme of things?  
She wasn't asking to compete in cross country, or something that 
required great reserves of endurance.  It was wrestling.  He was a 
stocky, well-built guy.  She was just a woman.  What chance did she 
have?

'OK,' he agreed, 'you're on.'

'Great,' she enthused.  'Switch off the TV, shift your chair over to 
the wall.  Let's make some space here.'

Bill put his beer down and did so.

'Ideally you need mats to wrestle on,' she said, 'but this carpet is 
pretty thick.  Come on, shoes and socks off.  What you got under 
there, shorts?  That'll do.  Shirt too.'

A little taken aback by this sudden spur into competition, Bill 
obeyed silently, removing his shirt and trousers, shoes and socks, 
standing before her in boxer-shorts and vest.

Jane too had begun stripping.  She'd pulled off her dress to reveal 
beneath, rather surprisingly, a leotard.  Bill began to wonder for 
the first time just how spur of the moment this match actually was.

And looking at his sister-in-law's body now, he was struck by a 
curious doubt.  Not that he would ever question his own capacities 
against a woman.

It was not like Jane to go around flaunting herself, however, he had 
seen her in summer tops before.  He had a vague awareness of her 
build - of her body shape and size.  But now, her chest seemed 
broader than he remembered, her breasts flatter.

He'd never felt any particular attraction towards Jane, other than 
her being a woman.  And that itself had pretty quickly dissipated as 
he'd grown to dislike her as a person.  As such, he'd never paid her 
any real attention, never really taken time or effort to take in the 
specific outline of her figure.  But even so, surely her shoulders 
weren't quite that bold before, surely he'd have noticed arms that 
toned.

'Have you been working out?' He asked her suspiciously.

'Little bit,' she admitted.

She made a pose, flexing her arms to demonstrate two full and well-
peaked biceps.  She dropped her arms again, letting them fall be her 
side.

Bill finally clicked that he'd been had.  But, as they say, the opera 
ain't over, until the fat lady sings.

He leapt forward, taking her by surprise.  One meaty arm swept out, 
taking her right across the torso, getting his shoulder into the 
move.

He struck her hard, and she went down, Bill's greater weight on top 
of her.  It was a close thing though, she'd been as steady as a rock.  
There was a real density to her body - a grounding he'd never have 
guessed, even given those muscles.

Jane went down on her back and Bill fell on top.  This was gonna be 
easier than he'd thought.

But then she scooped one arm between their bodies and simply tossed 
him aside, straightening the arm and sending his whole weight 
spinning off of her.

She stood.  'You're gonna have to do better than that, Billy-boy,' 
she told him.  'Nice effort though.'

Bill got back to his feet and looked at his opponent.  She was 
waiting for him.

She reached her arms out slowly, motioning for him to likewise.  
Carefully he did so until their arms locked over one another, hands 
twisting around shoulders.

Jesus, those were muscles alright.  He felt the size of them beneath 
his fingers, felt the density - the sheer awesome power within her 
flesh.  Sleek and powerful and rock hard.

Jane twisted her grip, breaking his hold as though he wasn't even 
exerting himself, twisting his body around and wrapping his neck with 
one hugely bulging arm at the same time.

Bill suddenly found himself facing away from her, a swollen bicep as 
smooth and hard as a baseball locked into his windpipe.  She had him 
pinned to her body, his back pulled hard against her chest.

He felt her breasts, absent of all fatty tissues, small and dense 
against his shoulders.  He felt her breathing, the steady ripple of a 
washboard of muscles.

Her other arm reached around his torso, encompassing the ribcage as 
would a python.  This constrictor however was short and thick, but no 
less powerful.  He felt the biceps leap and harden, swell hard 
against his chest, then she was squeezing and all conscious thought 
was given over to pain.

She gave him a couple of seconds' worth of pure agony - a certainty 
that the brittle shell of his chest would surely collapse.  Then she 
released him, dropping both monster arms and letting him fall to the 
floor before her.

Bill collapsed onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath.

'I think you must realise now that you're not going to win,' she told 
him.  'Give up and then I'll call Louise, give her the good news.  
I'll even keep quiet about this little match tonight if you want me 
to.  I know how delicate male pride can be.'

Bill didn't reply.  Instead, he did something that Jane genuinely 
wasn't expecting.  He shot a hard leg out and kicked her legs out 
from beneath her.

Jane went down again and Bill proved himself faster than she would 
have guessed.  He was on her in seconds, coming at her from behind, 
wrapping his arms around her shoulders from below and up above them, 
his hands back and around to lock together behind her neck.

It was a classic hold for a reason.  Simple and highly effective.  He 
pulled the nelson tight, not scared to really let loose.  This was 
one woman he didn't need to pull his punches with, she'd already 
proven herself more than tough enough.

He lent his full weight down on her, squeezing with all his might, 
not wanting her to slip out.  Her head was down, pressed face first 
into the carpet.  She twisted it to one side, letting her cheek rest 
on the ground and exposing a grimacing profile to him.

And he felt those muscles now, felt them hard and throbbing beneath 
his own rather uninspiring flesh.  He felt her arms and her 
shoulders, those unbelievable biceps.  Christ, even in his prime he'd 
never had guns like that - though he would have killed for them.

'Not so tough now?' he gasped.

Then she flexed.  He felt his grip give as her whole torso seemed to 
swell beneath him.  Her back expanded as she exhaled, broadening by 
the second.  Her shoulders moved, making his hold around them 
intensely painful, as though she were bending his very bones, 
fighting back against his grip.  It was either let go or have her 
snap his arms.  But he couldn't let go, couldn't give up his 
advantage.  Bill bit down against the pain and held on for all his 
worth.

Jane thrust her arms forward, raising her body up as she did so, 
irrespective of his weight on her back.  Bill's grip was wrenched 
helplessly apart, simply unable to compete with such obviously 
superior strength.

She stood, as though nothing inhibited her.  Bill peeled off of her, 
falling away.

He sat on his knees, nursing his deeply pained arms.  In fact, he was 
so distracted by his own discomfort that he didn't even notice when 
she came up behind him.

Jane lent down, eased her arms beneath his, around and above his 
shoulders, her hands locking behind his neck.  Then she straightened, 
lifting Bill up and into the full nelson hold.

She was tall for a woman, and with her back straight, her arms out 
before her, she actually held Bill completely off of his feet, 
gravity contributing to the strain inflicted upon him.

Bill yelped in pain and she tightened her hold, squeezing him tight, 
bending his spine.  He felt her biceps, huge beneath his arms.  He 
felt her forearms, merciless against the back of his neck.  He 
realised that if she really wanted to, she could quite simply snap 
him in two.

'This, is how that hold's supposed to work,' she explained, squeezing 
him tightly enough to make his bones creak.

And she held him there, helpless and agonised, dangling in the air.

Then she let him go.  Bill fell again to hands and knees, gasping and 
sobbing.

'You know,' she mused absently, 'a sensible person would have quit by 
now.  But you're a man.  And despite the inevitability of the 
outcome, you still won't admit defeat.'

Bill didn't reply, too busy trying to regain some sense of composure.  
If he'd stopped to think, even for a minute, he'd surely have quit.  
He'd happily admit defeat to this woman.  Anything to make this 
torture end.

'Guess we're gonna have to try something a little more decisive,' she 
said.

He was still on hands and knees.  That put his head in rather an 
unfortunate position.  Or a convenient position.  Depending on your 
point of view.

Jane walked forward, swung one leg over his prone form and eased her 
thighs together, neatly pinning his head between them.

She gave him a couple of seconds, letting him feel the size of the 
muscles that encased his head, letting him realise that he was 
completely trapped - completely helpless.

Then she flexed, and the slabs of meat that enveloped his skull 
turned suddenly into steel.

Bill let out a low howl of pain, his body electrified.  He clawed at 
her legs, trying with all his might to give himself even an inch of 
leeway, but she wasn't giving up anything.

She counted slowly to five before, easing off the tension, then 
almost immediately she gave him another hard burst.

Bill's whole body shuddered and bucked.  But somewhere, deep within 
the agony, a sliver of coherent thought made the necessary process 
that was his only conceivable way out of this torture.

'Ahhh,' he screamed, 'I give up, I give up.  Please, let go.  I quit.  
Stop.  Please!'

Jane grinned and opened her legs, letting him fall free.

Bill sat on the floor, his legs drawn up, elbows resting on his 
knees, his head hung low.  He was panting like a dog

'Not gonna go back on you word I trust?' Jane said to him.  'Coz I 
wouldn't be very happy if you did.'  But her tone was close to a mock 
flirt than real threat.

'Fine,' Bill stammered.  'She wants to go to college, she can go to 
college.'

'You've never had your ass kicked by a woman before, have you?'

'I've never had that pleasure, no,' he admitted.  He looked up at 
her, curious.  There was something in her voice.

'It's just that I couldn't help noticing you got yourself a major 
boner during that little tussle.'

Bill glanced down, embarrassed.  He covered the bulging evidence, 
closing his legs and folding his arms self-consciously.  He looked 
seriously uncomfortable all of a sudden.

'I'm sorry,' he stuttered quickly.  'I didn't mean anything.  I've 
never thought of you like that.  I dunno, I guess it's just been a 
while since me and Louise.  And, well-'

'It's OK,' she told him.  'I'm not offended.  It happens.  Anyway, 
some guys are into having a chick whip their ass.  Hell, you watch 
wrestling, you gonna tell me those female wrestlers don't do nothing 
for you.'

Bill didn't say anything.  He just sat there looking shamefaced.

It must be hard for him, she thought, hard to reconcile such 
submissive feelings with the macho posturing he found so necessary 
within the social hierarchy he inhabited.

'Guy I've been going with,' she told him, 'Steve.  You'd like him.  
He's a real macho type.  Used to play football, still in excellent 
shape.'  She was just chatting easily, carelessly talking while she 
slipped her clothes back on.  'I can even pin him down sometimes.  
Oh, he still gets me from time to time, but I'm improving.  As my 
body develops, the scales are beginning to fall in my favour, ya 
know?'

'Really?' Bill said.

Jane tossed him a towel and he began to wipe down the sweat.  He'd 
met Steve, just the once, and she wasn't lying.  He really was the 
macho type.

'Yeah.  Well, you've seen what I can do.'

'So, you guys wrestle a lot?' he asked, trying to make this question 
seem careless and innocent.

'Oh all the time.  It's a great way to let off steam.  Plus of 
course, it can really get you in the mood too.'

Jane was thinking about her sister again.  Thinking about the 
reaction Louise had to seeing her biceps for the first time.  They 
weren't quite so developed at that point - lacked the hard peak and 
wooden polish Jane had since achieved.  But her eyes had gone wide 
with awe and amazement.

'No way!' she enthused and insisted on feeling them.

Jane had seen the delight - seen the fascination.  And she had seen 
the desire.

'Why don't you hit the gym with me?' she'd suggested, and Louise had 
reacted with shock.

'What?  I could never,' she insisted.  'I mean, how could I?'

'Easy.  Come along.  I'll introduce you to a trainer, let you try out 
the equipment.  You can workout at whatever level you want.  Not all 
women want to get arms like these, after all.'

And with much nagging and persuasion, Louise had finally relented and 
given it a try.  She'd become addicted after one session, but, much 
to her sister's chagrin, she'd refused to touch the weights.

'Oh keeping fit and healthy is all well and good,' she said, 'but I 
could never give myself muscles.  Don't get me wrong, I think you 
look wonderful, I really do.  But it's not for me.  Can you imagine 
what Bill would say?'

And that was what was holding her back.  She still secretly coveted a 
muscular physique, of that Jane was sure.  She read through 
bodybuilding magazines with a passion and enthused wildly about 
Jane's own developing body.

Looking at Bill now, Jane could imagine that he might well surprise 
her if Louise chose to build up her muscles.  She could well imagine 
Bill taking quite a fancy to the idea.

Jane realised that maybe it was about time she started playing cupid 
with these two, knocked their heads together until they actually 
started communicating.

Bill began to put his clothes back up, his erection still throbbing 
intently.

'You know, if you wanted to come over for dinner sometime, I'm sure 
Louise could use your advice.  What with the college course and 
everything.'

Jane was around the place all the time anyway, the sisters were 
constantly talking.  But it was the offer that was important, it was 
the acceptance he now showed her.

'Sure,' she said.  'Thanks, Bill, I'll do that.'


[A fish husband is sat in front of his TV, drinking a beer when he is 
brought a plate of worms by his fish wife.  The worms have hooks and 
fishing lines attached.  "More worms?  Saaaaaay - why are you being 
so nice to me all of a sudden?"]