my neighbor?s daughter
by scheherezade the amazon
we meet a young girl with surprising strength
     
     I have always been fascinated with human strength. From my earliest days, it caused a reaction in me 
that I couldn?t explain, just a fascination and excitement. Something raw, primal, and sexual. The idea of 
one person totally overpowering another and making them submit to their will excited me in my youth in 
ways that I did not understand at that point. Eventually I learned that this went quadruple in the case of 
women. 
     I was drawn to muscular athletic women in a way that I was not affected by large breasts or a 
beautiful face. It was something that touched the core of who I was. My crushes were always on athletic 
girls with muscular legs. My favorite pro/am female tennis stars were not necessarily the prettiest or most 
talented ones; they were the ones with the most muscular legs.  But back then, there were no fitness centers 
to speak of, and women?s sports were in their infancy. Athletic and especially strong women were relegated 
to sideshows and the circus midway. 
     Today, things are different. You will find women at the average gym who are stronger and in better 
shape than the most athletic women from the 1960s and into the 1970s. After Mary Lou Retton and the 1984 
Olympic Gymnastics team, young girls were, for the first time in American history, encouraged to do a sport 
that required physical strength and daring. Due to the growth of gymnastics and the passage of title IX, you 
could find athletic women in most local gyms, on the college athletic fields, or you might find them in your 
neighbor?s house. 
     We lived in a semi-rural cul-de-sac in a suburb of Rochester, New York, and we had about three acres 
of land which included an ample yard for neighborhood football games, capture the flag, etc.. We also had a 
nice heated pool, which meant that it opened early and stayed open late in the season. We got along well 
with our neighbors, and the old saying. ?Mi Casa es su casa? definitely applied to all our neighbors, 
especially the Abbotts right next door who had three kids about the same ages as our kids. They did little 
league, dance recitals, gymnastics, and soccer together. They were at our house or we at theirs two or three 
nights a week throughout most summers. It was an idyllic lifestyle for all of us. But this is all background to 
our story. 
     It was June of 2003, and Charlie and Jill Abbott, the parents next door and our best friends, were 
going out of town for the wedding of a college friend?s daughter and asked if we could watch their kids 
while they were out of town. The two oldest would stay at their own house but spend much of the time with 
us and check in with us as if we were the parents. This was not a problem. The youngest, their fourteen year 
old, Samantha would stay with us, as we had a fourteen-year-old girl of our own. Little did I know what an 
eventful weekend it would be for me. 
     Friday night we all had dinner together, and the kids went to the basement family room for kid time. 
My wife and I retired to our bedroom, watched a Netflix movie and then turned in. She is a realtor and 
reminded me that she had a few showings and an open house the next day, so I had kid duty, and would I go 
to the basement to check on the kids and remind them to get to bed soon.
     I happily obliged and started quietly down the stairs in my pajamas and robe. As I descended the 
basement stairs, I heard the familiar sounds of my free weights clanking, as if people were using them. I had 
no problem with this, as I knew my kids at least had familiarity with the equipment and would not hurt 
themselves. They were giving such rapt attention to what they were doing that they did not notice me there, 
and I remained silent as I watched. The two older boys had challenged each other to see who could lift the 
most. It looked like my son Oscar had just completed some reps with 205 on the bar, pretty good for a 
sixteen year old, and it was Chuck?s turn to try. When he struggled on the third one and failed on the fourth, 
Oscar declared himself the winner. That was when Samantha said, ?Hey, when do we get a turn?? 
     I knew she was strong, because she had been doing gymnastics for a number of years with my 
daughter, and she was no wilting flower. A little tall for a gymnast and quite stocky, except at the narrowest 
point of her waist, she was probably 5?7? and about 145 well-hidden muscular pounds. I was curious to see 
her lift.
     Oscar thought a second and said ?I don?t see why you girls can?t have a turn??
     ?Never! So forget it!,? interrupted Chuck, ?weightlifting is a guys? thing. You can practice your 
gymnastics moves.? And he flailed his arms and gave a little shimmy like some gymnasts do on the floor 
exercises.
     ?You?re just afraid I?ll embarrass you like the last time.? She retorted. The others looked confused 
about what she could possibly be referring to and turned toward Chuck.
     ?Shut up! And, and, and, keep your mouth shut? he said, as if he didn?t realize the redundancy. He 
then started towards the stairs, the hidden alcove of which I backed into. Then he turned back around and 
said, ?it?s time for all of us to get to bed and cool off a bit. Keep your yammering to yourself, Samantha. See 
you in the morning.?  
     This was the perfect opportunity for me to appear; I made some noise on the stairs and popped into 
the basement room as if I had seen nothing. 
     ?Hey what?s going on there?? Silence followed. 
     ?We were just playing some games and the tempers got a little hot,? said Oscar, ?but the older 
Abbotts are going home and we?re all going upstairs.?
     ?OK, let?s keep it quiet. Your mother has a big day tomorrow and is trying to sleep.? 
     I stood at the bottom of the stairs saying good night as I watched them all go by. I noticed that 
Samantha was looking down and taking time to gather herself, so when she went by me last, I said, ?Do you 
want to talk about it over some herbal tea before going to bed? 
     She looked up and smiled ever so slightly. 
     ?That would be nice, Mr. Richardson. I think I would like that.? 
     I could see that tears had been welling up and collecting in her eyelids, though none had fallen. I put 
the kettle on and sat with her at the kitchen table. 
     ?So what seems to be bothering you little lady??
     ?My brother Chuck is such a dick sometimes. All I wanted was to try the weights, and I think I would 
have done OK.?
     ?What was your brother?s issue with that?? 
     ?Well, I sort of said I would not mention it,?but now I?m pissed off enough.? She paused and then 
blurted out, ?Chuck and I settled an argument with some arm wrestling last week, ? and I beat him, so he is 
afraid I?ll tell other people and I will show him up. But tonight I didn?t want to show him up, I just wanted to 
see what it felt like, you know, to lift weights.?
     ?That seems fair enough,? I said, and got us the two cups of herbal tea.
     ?Yes, but I know he was afraid I would have shown him up, maybe lifted more than him or close to as 
much. He hates to be shown up, But damn it!  If he did not want to be shown up by his little sister, maybe he 
should have been working on strengthening his own body rather than trying to prevent me from 
strengthening mine.  He categorizes the world in old-fashioned ways, Chuck does, and I think that?s bogus. 
He is a great athlete, big strong, coordinated etc., but he is lazy. He does nothing but ride on his natural gifts. 
I think, Mr. Richardson, that if God gives you a special gift, you owe it to yourself and to the world to 
develop that gift, to work on it, to hone it. He just drinks beer and soft drinks, eats potato chips and pizza, 
and does nothing to improve himself. 
     ?There is nothing wrong with a high school kid having fun like that,? I pointed out.
     ?I know, but that?s all he does. I have gifts too, Mr. Richardson. I know I am uncommonly strong for 
a girl, I have developed that in gymnastics, a sport for which I have given up fatty foods, certain social 
opportunities, and in which I have gained a lot,  but I am already 5?7?, and both my parents are taller, so 
there is no real future for me in that sport. I want to use the weights to see how strong I can get and maybe 
turn that into a career, maybe join the boys? wrestling team, things like that, but if I have a brother like mine 
holding me back ??
     My eyes almost popped out of my head when she said she knew her gift was uncommon physical 
strength. She was only 14. How did she know that? I would pursue it later.
     ?Listen, Samantha, I have a proposal for you. School is just getting out, and you have a long summer 
in front of you. If you have nothing planned, you have my permission to use our weight equipment 
whenever you want. Maybe Brit can be a workout partner for you. I can help you get started. Does that 
sound like a plan??
     ?Oh my God! Yes. Thankyou so much Mr. Richardson. When can we start??
     ?How about you get a good night?s sleep, and we can get started tomorrow morning,? but then I had a 
thought, everyone else had gone upstairs, and we were alone in the kitchen. ?It would be instructive to know 
what I am working with. Why don?t we arm-wrestle right here and now so I can find out??
     ?Oh, Mr. Richardson, I don?t know. You?re an adult who has a weight bench and uses it. I won?t 
stand a chance.?
     ?That?s not the point, Vanessa, I will be able to tell, from the amount of effort I need to use, where 
you are strength-wise.? 
     I really had little doubt that I would be able to take her down, but I was curious to see how strong she 
was. If she had taken down her brother, she had to be pretty damn strong in those forearms and biceps. He 
was a two-sport captain and weighed about 200 pounds. Plus, I knew it would be a little titillating to arm-
wrestle a young woman who wanted to be strong. I put my arm up on the table. She looked at me, smiled 
sheepishly and giggled awkwardly. ?Don?t hold back Vanessa. I need to see what you?ve got? 
     She put her arm up on the table, locked her hand with mine, and then started to push. I offered only a 
little resistance at first, as I wanted to see how strong she was. I found out soon enough that she had more in 
the tank than I had expected. She moved my arm back a couple of inches, so I put my strength into it and 
returned our arms to center. I stole a glance at her bicep and noticed that it was bulging nicely, and the vein 
on top was beginning to engorge with blood. 
     Then I decided to put more effort in. I increased my exertion to what I would guess was 90%, quite a 
bit more than I expected to need. Slowly her arm started to go down, one inch, two inches, almost halfway 
down. I was pretty sure I had her, but she regrouped and had more fight left. She managed a surge and 
returned our arms to center after another ten or fifteen seconds. Then she giggled. At this point, I decided I 
had to end it. I put all my effort behind a last push, hoping she did not have another level to go to. Slowly 
but surely, I took her arm down. 
     ?Wow! You are strong. That was more work than I expected to have to do.?  She giggled again and 
smiled.
     ?Thanks, Mr. Richardson. You?re pretty strong too. You?re the first person I?ve lost to, but the others 
were wimpy boys in eighth grade, my brother and some of the teachers. They were surprised, especially Mr. 
Jones the PE teacher. Oh look, my muscle has gotten bigger.? Then she flexed her bicep and I nearly fell off 
my chair. 
     ?Well, sweetheart, I am looking forward to working with you. I think you will be a very good student. 
I think I am going to have to up my game if I don?t want you to beat me in a month?s time.?
     ?Oh, Mr. Richardson! I doubt that would happen. I?m sure you were taking it easy on me. See you 
tomorrow.? And she smiled and winked and flexed one more time. I grew weak in the knees and went 
upstairs. 
     
     To be continued