Chapter 9: Past, Present, and Future

It took me a long time to get to sleep, but it was the best rest that I had gotten in weeks. I awoke to the smell of coffee and went out into the house. Gloria was gone, and the living room and dining room were cleaned up. Courtney was sitting at the kitchen table, still wearing her jeans and sweatshirt, staring out the window into the back yard. “We need to talk,” she said.

I about exploded. “What do you mean by that?” I demanded. I needed to get laid, and she wanted to talk.

“I mean we need to talk about us, Greg,” she said, and went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. When did she start drinking coffee?

“Since when did you start drinking coffee?”

“Since about a month ago.”

“So you went away to college prep for a few months and you came back all mature and we need to talk, huh?” I sneered.

“That’s right,” she shot back. “I changed a lot over the past few months, and I learned a lot about myself. And one of the things I learned is that I don’t love you.”

“Of course you do.”

“I never did.”

“Of course you did. You always did.”

“I’m in love with someone else, Greg.”

I flashed with anger. “Who is he?” I demanded, jumping to my feet. “I’ll kill him!”

“It’s not a ‘he’ Greg. It’s Becky.”

My anger disappeared in a sea of laughter, but I pulled it together when I saw Courtney starting to cry. She looked angry, so I had to take her seriously, or at least pretend to. “Courtney I know you like muscles, and I know you’re feeling mixed up right now—”

Courtney laughed and shook her head, mascara running down her cheeks. “No Greg. No. This is the most certain of myself that I’ve been in a long time.”

“Courtney—”

“I always liked girls Greg. I never wanted to admit it to anyone because I was ashamed. But now that I can admit it, I feel stronger, more in control, more like myself.”

“Courtney, you’re not a dyke.”

“Greg, remember how I told you that my first kiss was with Jimmy Harrison in third grade? Well it wasn’t. It was with his sister, Jenny.”

“Courtney—”

“I like girls, Greg. I like tits and ass and pussy.”

“And you like little kids?”

Courtney set the coffee cup down and held her face in her hands. She was crying. “I know it’s wrong Greg. I can’t control myself. She’s so...” Courtney was smiling through her tears as she looked up to the ceiling, her mascara running down her cheeks. “She’s perfect Greg. So big, so strong, so fast, so smart, so pretty ... Since the first time I saw her all I wanted to do was worship her and touch her body, just run my hands all over those muscles and feel the warmth of her power on my skin.” Courtney was crying and laughing at the same time. She needed psychological help. She leaned toward me, her eyes wild. “You can feel her power, Greg,” she said. Digging her nails into my legs. “When you touch her muscles, you can feel her heat and her power, and it makes you feel safe and strong like nothing can go wrong.”

“Courtney, you need help,” I said.

“No Greg. You’ve felt it too,” Courtney insisted, standing up and pointing down at me. “I can see it in your face. You felt her power. You want her, too.”

“No Courtney. I do not want a ten year old girl. Besides, girls with muscles are about the grossest thing I can think of.

Courtney sobbed into her hands again. I have no idea why that set her off, but it sure did. “I hoped you would be proud of me,” she said.

“Courtney-”

“It would be nice if you at least respected me, Greg.”

“Courtney-”

“Our relationship was based on lies, Greg. But I thought we were friends. It would be nice to have your respect after all these years.”

“What are you talking about?”

And then, with tears still in her eyes, Courtney stood up and peeled off her sweatshirt and jeans. She stood before me, hands on hips in tiny white panties accented with a tiny pink bow and a strapless white bustier bra with a matching pink bow, bent out of shape by the swelling of her big perky tits. They must be double d’s now. But it was hard to focus on Courtney’s on tits, because she had muscles. Real muscles. “I hoped you would be proud of me,” she said.

Courtney O’Neal, my Courtney, was sporting long, lean muscles that put Gloria Valderrama’s to shame. Courtney’s muscles were slim, angular and sharply defined. She was sleek and lean like a predatory animal, with her abs, arms, and legs cut into muscle shapes that looked like they were carved from granite. She looked dangerous. “Four months...” I mumbled.

“Yeah Greg. Four months. Four months to get this body. I thought you would be proud of me.”

“How?”

“She taught me how Greg,” Courtney grinned, slinking over to me, the lean, steely curves of her newly hardened body dancing with every movement. “You didn’t want to teach me how to lift weights, but I found a better teacher. She taught me how to lift weights, and she taught me more about anatomy than I learned from any stupid textbook, and she finally got me to understand calculus.”

“Courtney—”

“She was everything to me, Greg!” Courtney screamed, tears streaming down her face. “And you took her away!”

Courtney’s nostrils were flaring, and her eyes were flashing with anger and framed with streaked mascara. But she was laughing. She looked crazy. She looked dangerous. “Stand up,” she said.

I blinked. Courtney walked into the center of the living room and put her hands on her hips, twisting her bare feet on the hardwood floor as he went through ballet positions, her shredded leg muscles rippling as she flowed gracefully from one to another. I didn’t move. “Stand! Up!” she shouted, dropping to the floor and slapping it with her hands, black tears dripping onto the polished wood. “Stand up you pussy!”

So I stood up, and so did Courtney. She raised her fists, and lifted one knee slightly. It looked like a martial arts stance, but she never would have had time learn martial arts in four months, what with her college prep and weight lifting. “I’m not going to fight you, Courtney,” I said.

Courtney smiled a horrible, leering smile. “You don’t have a choice, Greg,” she growled.

“I want to help you, Courtney.”

“I want to hurt you, Greg.”

I stood up and held my hands out. “Courtney. You need psychological help or you’re going to wind up in jail or on the streets or worse.”

Courtney laughed. “Greg I have muscles now, and I can protect myself. A year from now I’m going to be valedictorian, and I’m going to be a doctor, and I’m going to be rich, Greg. I don’t need help from anyone.”

“Courtney—”

“I only need one thing Greg, and that was Becky. And you took her away from me.” Courtney’s breath was heavy and erratic, and her muscles throbbed as her bosom bounced up and down with her sobbing and laughter. “Now put your hands up so we can fight.”

“Courtney—”

Then Courtney punched me. A quick, tight hook that hit me right in the ribs. Right where Becky used to hit me. Courtney always had great reflexes and quick hands, and her punches were so fast I could barely see her swing. Then she hit me in the ribs again. And again. I was getting angry, and I guess she could tell, because she leaned forward and put her face out. “What’s the matter Rubber Chicken?” she taunted. “Afraid to get beat up by a girl? Again?”

Out of anger, I took a swipe at her face, just to back her up. But she didn’t back up. Courtney expertly ducked under my arm and threw another hook into my ribs. And then another in lightning succession. They hurt. I tried to push her back, but she spun away and slipped out of my range, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet and laughing at me through her streaked mascara. “Come on, big man,” she called, pounding her fists against her chiseled pectorals with a heavy thud. “Come over here so this little girl can show you what real muscles can do.”

“Courtney—”

“Are you scared of my new body, Greg?”

“Courtney—”

“You should be scared of my new body Greg.”

“Courtney—”

“Could you hear me and Gloria last night, Greg? She made me come more times in an hour than you have in the past four years.” Now I was seeing red. Courtney must’ve been able to tell, because she kept talking, leading me on. “She made me quake with desire Greg. You never made me quake with desire.” My hands were clenching into fists. Courtney kept hopping, her big firm breasts bouncing heavily as she did. And she kept talking. “And you know what, Greg? After I kick your ass, I’m going to find Gloria and fuck her brains out again. In ways you can’t even imagine.”

I roared forward, throwing a huge overhand right at the girl that I love. She raised her left arm and swatted my haymaker away with ease, showing the timing and precision of a trained fighter. She laughed. Then I felt her hands clasp behind my neck. Then I saw the floor as she bent my head down. Then I saw her muscle-cabled thigh rising up to my face. Then I was on my back with blood spurting out of my mouth and nose.

“By the way, I do Muay Thai kickboxing now, Greg,” Courtney said. “I’m pretty good.”

I pulled myself to my feet. The knee to my face didn’t do any structural damage. But it shocked me. I was still shocked. “Four months?” I wondered aloud as I stood up.

“Yeah Greg, four months. Four months to turn my boring little all-American cheerleader body into a lean, mean, killing machine.”

“How?”

“You know me Greg. I have willpower. When I set my mind to something it gets done.”

Then Courtney landed another hook in my ribs, but I was ready, and launched a counterpunch. Which Courtney deflected before it got halfway close to her. She answered instantly with jab that snapped my head back. And then a high kick that would have taken my head off if her punch hadn’t reeled me. “You just got sooooo lucky,” she laughed.

I tried punching, I tried dodging, I tried blocking. But Courtney’s fists, elbows, knees and feet were everywhere. No matter where I turned or ran, I got hit with one of her technically perfect strikes. She threaded her punches through my blocks, and her kicks were waiting for me when I dodged. She was like a tornado of laughter, tears, and bouncing tits. And pain.

For most of the fight, the only thing keeping me on my feet was Courtney. I would buckle and fall to one knee, and she would hoist me up again with her sinewy arms. And then knock me back down. A referee would have stopped the fight after the first knee to the face, or the first time she bent one of my punches back and countered with an elbow. Or when she caught my fist in midair and laughed at me. Finally I landed a lucky punch, a big sweeping hook that crashed into Courtney’s obliques and ribs. She buckled.