Mail Order Bride - Part Three By Wanderer My new Russian friend - Will I make her wife number four? This is adult material. Please do not read if you are under age 21 or laws in your country forbid you to do so. Copyright 2006 by Wanderer. (Parts One and Two of this story may be found on the Wanderer bookshelf). As a stockbroker I had to be at work pretty early, but then I got to get home pretty early. One day I come home from work - I had vacation time coming but not enough to cover the whole thirty days that Tara's visa allowed her to stay - unless we decided to marry - and I hear her working out. Usually I would find her in the bedroom working out with my weights. I had ordered another two hundred pound weight set, this time with a curl bar instead of dumbbell handles, and it was like Tara was in seventh heaven. "Stevie, Stevie," she would yelp, run over, put her arms around my waist, lift me up in a bear hug and twirl me around until I would gasp, "Stop! Stop! I'm getting dizzy!" After a couple days of recovering from jet lag Tara insisted on working out every day in my bedroom. I guess I could have gotten her a gym membership but it seemed silly if she was only going to be with me thirty days, and anyway I would have to drive her because she didn't have a U.S. driver's license, so she would pass the time until I got home by working out with my weight set and picking up English by watching TV while lifting. This day when I got home after she had been here about two weeks I could hear her working out, as usual. She's doing right arm curls with two hundred pounds, does ten, then flips the weight over to her left arm and does ten more. She sees me and gets a big smile on her face, like she's glad to see me. My first three wives always seemed angry when I showed up, like I was an annoyance, so Tara's big smile was a welcome change for me. "Oh, Stevie," she says, "I so happy to be here with you, I do six sets dumbbell curls with two hundred pounds instead of three sets. Now I set up for barbell curl with four hundred pounds. You watch me, I do for you, I know you like see big muscles on your girl!" Before I can tell her she's going to bust a blood vessel she runs over, picks up the four hundred pound barbell and instead of eight or ten reps she does twelve. I'm staring at her arms, speechless. Her arms are twenty-two inches relaxed and twenty- four when hot - I know, I measured them - but I swear, they've got to be twenty-five inches now, at least, after this heavy workout. The blood vessels running up and down her arm don't look like blood vessels, they look like cables. And the curls had inflated her pectorals. Her breasts, which were great anyway, seemed to be standing straight out now. And it looked like blood flow had even elongated her nipples. Boy, did I want to get my lips around one of those! Tara sees where I'm looking, and she giggles and flexes her right bicep, puts her left hand on her hip and strikes a pose. "You like? I see you like," she laughs. "Stevie have big boner again for Tara. Stevie wear out penis. It fall off if he not careful!" It was true. Every time she did something with her muscles my penis would pop up. And I thought I didn't like muscles on a woman! She just looked so damn sexy I couldn't resist! Besides which, I knew every one of her muscle shows with me got her adrenalin flowing and I was in for one helluva sex session in five or ten minutes, as soon as she strips my clothes off my body. But right now Tara is dancing around, twirling, happy as a clam. "Ooohhh, Tara feel so good! Even better now that Stevie is here! Come, Stevie, help Tara with workout!" Before I know what's happening she puts a hand on my neck and the other hand to my crotch and she's holding me over her head! Imagine. She's five feet five inches tall, and I'm a six footer and I weigh two hundred pounds and she's holding me up over her head! She says, "Tara need to work legs. Tara not leave house much, muscles in legs getting weak." So she's doing ten squats with my two hundred pounds over her head. She can do this with me high over her head, not even on her shoulders, without toppling over because years of gymnastics have given her amazing balance. Tiny adjustments of humongous thigh muscles and monstrous calves compensated for any imbalance that I was creating as my fear caused my body to quiver in her grasp. Then she does ten more squats with me after a thirty second breather. I'm gasping. "Put me down ... please!" I beg. "No, no!" she says. "Tara so happy!" She's dancing around and twirling, still holding me over her head. I'm scared as hell! "You like me, Stevie?" she asks. "Yes, I do," I can honestly reply. "You love me, Stevie?" she asks. Well, now this is a little different question. I mean, we've only been together about two weeks, and she is certainly gorgeous, the most beautiful woman I've ever been with, but I've already had three failed marriages with women I thought I loved and married. And it's hard to get adjusted to a woman who's stronger than you are - way stronger. But from my position high over her head I'd better be diplomatic in my reply. "S ... s ... sure," I reply, tentatively. But Tara doesn't take notice of my tentativeness. "Ooohhh, Tara so happy!" She's twirling more and more, still holding me over her head. "Oh, Stevie, I love you!" she sings. "And Stevie love me too! "Now we go screw!" Where does she pick up this American slang? Must be watching too much daytime soap operas on TV while I'm at work. She carries me over to my king size bed, hops up on the mattress and starts bouncing up and down, still holding me over her head. "Tara good on trampoline too," she giggles. "Tara show Stevie!" And she's bouncing higher and higher, still holding me over her head, and I'm starting to bump into the ceiling. "Ow! Ow! Ow!" I'm yelling, but Tara pays no attention. Finally she drops me into her arms and collapses on the bed, laughing like crazy. Then she notices the back of my head bleeding. She curls me into her arms and puts me on her lap. Cuddles me, kisses me on my neck. I kiss her back on her neck. On her trapezius. Behind her ear. I get a big erection. Every time I touch this girl anyplace I seem to get a big erection. And anytime she touches me anyplace I seem to get a big erection. Can this be true love? That night we had the best sex we've had in the two weeks she's been with me. I'm resolving in my mind that I encourage her to work out a lot more. Maybe I could add some more plates to my weight set. If sex is so good with four hundred pounds imagine what it would be like with six hundred pounds. "Oh, my girl friend curls four hundred pounds and she squats six hundred pounds," I could say nonchalantly at the office. I could make thousands placing bets. But did I want everybody pointing at me and whispering behind my back? Probably not. Maybe I could put her in a circus. Probably not. Whatever time I came home Tara always had the house spotless. She was a guest, a visitor, but she took it on herself to clean and wash. I was impressed. That wasn't what I was used to. Each of my three ex-wives was pretty much useless around the house. Oh, they knew how to use a can opener but that was about it. Hell, I could use a can opener. I could even use a microwave, which was almost more than any of my three ex-wives could do. So the time was rapidly approaching for me to make a decision. Stay or go? It didn't seem right for me to bring Tara here for thirty days and then say "OK, you can go home now." I mean, it was a nice vacation for her. She got to see Chicago. We went to nice restaurants. We got special attention from the Maitre D's. Every place we went people would look at her, she was so gorgeous. And some of that attention rubbed off on me. Who is that guy with that gorgeous woman? If you studied her carefully you might think wow, those are pretty broad shoulders for a woman only five feet five inches tall, or if you got a look at her calves you'd do a double take, but more than likely before you did any of that you'd be distracted by her beauty. I'm an average looking guy, nothing special. My first three wives were good looking but nothing like Tara. If I take Tara to be my fourth wife is she going to stay with me? Is she going to use me as a way to come to the United States and then take off with some better looking guy? Some richer guy, like my first wife did? On the other hand she genuinely seems to like me. I treat her nice. I'm thoughtful, considerate, I make a good living, I have my own home. She's not going to find a lot of guys who are going to be accepting of muscles on a woman like Tara has muscles. I'm not sure I'm really accepting of it, but what the hell, her muscles don't really show much in public and her strength and endurance make her absolutely the best sex partner I've ever had. And she likes sex. She initiates a lot of it. I have a feeling I'm never going to have to beg or plead. "Oh, please honey, couldn't we do it tonight?" "Oh, I'm sorry Steve, I have a headache." How many times did I hear that from my first three wives? And she was indefatigable around the house. Cook, clean, even did gardening, and when I got home from work she was ready for a romp in the bedroom. What's not to like? After three mistakes how could I get so lucky? If I passed this up I knew I would regret it to my dying day. So on Sunday, the twenty-eighth day of her visit, as she was tearfully packing her two suitcases to go home, I said to her "Tara, tomorrow is Monday." Tears started rolling down her cheeks and she says, "Yes, Stevie, I know. Tara leave Tuesday. I sorry I no please you. Thank you for visit. I always remember you. I love you. You no love me. Maybe if I call you Steve, not Stevie, you like me better. I make big mistake. Tara stupid. Always regret her stupidity." So I repeated: "Tara, tomorrow is Monday." Well, now she really broke down crying. She sat down on the edge of the bed and she sobbed and sobbed. "I know, Stevie ... Steve ... I ready to go. You want me to go to hotel tomorrow? No stay with you last day? Please let me stay just one more day with you, please." She was sobbing like her heart was going to break. So I repeated it again. "Tara, tomorrow is Monday. Tomorrow we go to the Immigration Service and we get an extension of your tourist visa. We tell them we are engaged to be married. I have an engagement ring for you here," and I pulled the little box out of my pocket and opened it for her to see the ring inside. It was like she didn't understand. She looked at me incredulously. "You mean Tara stay? Tara no go back to Russia? You like me? You love me? You want to marry with me? You not making fun of me?" "Tara, you are an exceptional woman," I said. "You're beautiful, you're strong, you're intelligent, you're strong, you're a great lover, you're strong, you're a great housekeeper, and you're strong. And you love me. What else could any man ask for?" Finally the look of doubt left her face. She got the most beautiful radiant smile on her face you could possibly imagine. She ran over to me and put her two hands under my armpits and raised me up to full extension of her arms with amazing ease. Then she starts dancing and pirouetting around the room, laughing and singing, and then she lowers me to where she can put her right hand around my waist but she's still holding my two hundred pounds a foot off the floor and she keeps dancing around and laughing and singing. Finally I gasp out, "Tara, you have to put me down or I'm not going to be in any condition to go to Immigration tomorrow." "Oh, Stevie right" she says. "But Tara so happy, want to show how much she love Stevie!" So I spent the rest of the afternoon on Tara's lap as she peppered me with kisses, invaded my mouth with her tongue, worked my ongoing erection with tenderness and skill, over and over, and finally carried me to our bed where she showed me how appreciative she was - over and over and over and over. I could barely make it to the Immigration office the next day. End of part three. How does married life go for Steve and Tara? Read part four to find out. Coming soon.