Chapter 10: Becky the Protector

I awoke to the sound of a slamming door. Out the window we could see Sean stomping off to the gym. “Wow it actually did take him two hours to do his paperwork,’ I said. “He must be really mad.”

“Hey there are lights on in the gym already,” Rosita said. “Who else works out at 8 pm?”

“Becky,” I gasped, as I scrambled to put on my shorts and tank top.

As Rosita and I approached the gym, we saw Sean bursting through the doors into the counselor’s gym. We hurried inside, and ran through the double doors, afraid of what we may find. Sean was alone, putting weight plates on a barbell. As we entered, he stopped and turned toward us. “What the hell do you want?” He asked. Then his eyes drifted downward. “And why are you holding hands?”

Rosita and I looked down. Our hands were clasped together, fingers interlaced. But we didn’t let go, instead we moved closer together. “We’re together,” I said.

Sean laughed and shook his head. “No way,” he said. “So that’s why you’ve been staying here all these nights. You’re a dyke now? Unbelievable. You’re like the fourth or fifth hottest chick that I’ve ever seen in my life, and not only are you a lesbian, but you’re shacking up with this wetback slut?”

Anger boiled over in my chest to hear him talk about Rosita that way. I stepped forward to defend her honor, but she was already screaming in Sean’s face. “Maybe if you weren’t such a punk, Megan wouldn’t have spent the past two days up in my pussy!” She yelled, snapping her fingers.

Sean’s face reddened, and then he drew his hand back. “Sean don’t you dare!” I yelled.

But it was too late. Sean slapped Rosita to the ground, hitting her so hard that she fell against the wall, her black curls flying through the air. Before I could think, I was swinging at Sean. My jab snapped his head back, and my follow-up cross caught him right under the eye. I swung a big overhand right, but before it could connect he rushed me, pressing me up against the wall. He grabbed my arms and shook me so violently my teeth rattled. “Okay muscle Barbie. You want to fight?” He snarled.

I felt his right hand release my left arm, but before I could defend myself Sean slapped me so hard that I saw stars, and I fell to the ground. My heart was beating with fear as I stared up at Sean. “That’s what happens when you try to fight a man,” he bellowed. “Men have denser bones that women, stronger muscles than women, and faster reflexes than women.”

“Not necessarily,” Becky Finklestein said as she marched into the gym in her sweatsuit, taped up glasses and pigtails, followed by four girls dressed in shorts and tank tops. “Research indicates that with the proper diet and supplementation women can surpass men in every...”

Becky trailed off as she saw Rosita and I lying on the floor. “Are you okay, Megan?” Stephanie Lunderman asked.

I didn’t know what to say. There was so much going on in my head between the pain I felt in my face, my shame for being unable to defend myself or Rosita, and the sense of relief that I felt when I saw Becky. She would protect me, just like she protected the other girls. No one could hurt me as long as I was with Becky. Not now, and not ever. “I’m okay,” Stephanie,” I said. “Just a little dazed.”

Stephanie looked at me, her eyes were concerned and she nervously fretted with her long auburn ponytail. And did Stephanie Lunderman have muscles now? She did! Her shoulders were rounded with caps of muscle, as if she had been doing gymnastics all her life. And Kerry Wade had little teardrop-shaped vastus muscles above her knee, and calves like a ballerina. And Ivy Washington had little biceps popping out of her arms and the beginnings of horseshoe-shaped triceps. And Cynthia Schroeder had a six pack peaking out from her tank top. On Monday, these girls were skinny teenagers, and after just a few days of lifting weights with Becky Finklestein, they were built like girl jocks. And then, despite myself, I started to laugh. “They have muscles,” I whispered to Rosita. “They’re getting stronger.”

Becky pushed the other girls aside and looked down at me. Then she looked up at Sean, and then back down to me. “Megan,” she said calmly, “did he hit you?”

“Get back to your dorm,” Sean barked. “It’s after hours.

Becky ignored him and brushed my hair from my face. “Did he give you a bwack eye?” she said.

I nodded, and Becky’s face turned scarlet as a scowl spread across her lips. “Get back to your dorm and mind your own business,” Sean snapped.

Becky walked to the center of the room, standing between Sean and the door. The other girls lined up behind her, folding their arms across their chests and frowning with anger. “The cycle of abuse perpetwated by the patwiarchy is every woman’s business,” Becky said.

Sean laughed. “Those are big words for a little girl. Now go!” He shouted.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Becky hissed, her fists balling up, “and I’m not little.”

“I’m sorry,” Sean jeered, “I meant big words for a fat girl.”

“I’m not fat!” Becky screamed, stomping her foot, and the gym shook just a little.

Sean laughed again. “That earthquake and your baggy sweatsuit beg to differ,” he said.

“Ivy, Kerry,” she said through clenched teeth. “Could you pwease get the measuring tape hanging there on the wall.”

They obeyed, and Becky cracked her neck as she glared at Sean. She stood with her legs spread wide, and her hands on the waistband of her pants near her navel. Her sweatshirt bulged ominously behind her arms as her rear delts and lats began to swell. Sean’s eyes widened as he realized that Becky’s baggy sweatsuit wasn’t baggy at all. It was huge, but only because Becky was huge. And now it was getting downright tight a she uncrossed her arms and raised herself slowly to her tiptoes. First her pants tightened over her massive diamond shaped calves and the huge sweep of her thighs, the cuffs pulling up high on her ankles to accommodate the strain. Then the “Lake Peace” logo on her sweatsuit began to stretch as her lats spread out like wings, and her chest swelled up like a barrel, forcing her nascent breasts into prominence as the thick fabric pulled tight around her titanic torso. Then, as she slowly curled her arms upward, her sleeves tightened around biceps the size of softballs and triceps the size of American footballs.

As Becky slowly began to reach the apex of her flex, the sweatsuit was so tight that the outlines of her perfectly sculpted physique could be seen as plainly as if she were painted on. The deep separation between her vastus and femoris muscles, the outline of her eight-pack abs, the split in her bicep peak were all on display.

Sean’s jaw was hanging wide open. “Oh my God,” he gulped.

“You mean ‘oh my goddess’,” Becky said as her mountainous freckled biceps erupted through the powder blue fabric of her sweatshirt, accompanied by the sound of tearing fabric.

“Chiquita musculosa perfecta,” Rosita swooned.