Chapter 3: Becky Shows Off

Doctor Jennifer Li was the doctor for the girls, a beautiful Asian woman in her forties with a slim figure and kind eyes. She smiled as we entered the office. “Is this a new camper?” she asked.

“Becky here is quite the weightlifter,” I said. “We’d like to get her a waiver to use the counselor’s gym. Sean and I will both sign off, if you need us to.”

Doctor Li puckered. “This is quite irregular,” she said. “I’ll want to perform an examination. And of course she will need a counselor to supervise her.”

“Megan, will you supervise me tonight?” Becky asked. “I start my workout at 8 pm sharp.”

“I would be happy to,” I said.

“Really?” Sean asked. “You’re going to come back after work to spot that fat little monster?”

“It’s an opportunity to gain her trust,” I said. “She’s got more problems than any girl I’ve ever worked with, but she’s also smarter than any girl I’ve ever worked with. She’s kind of like a pet project. Besides, I kind of want to see how strong she really is. Don’t you?”

“Look,” Sean said, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment as he remembered the weightlifting contest he lost to an eleven year old girl, “what happened today was obviously some kind of trick. No woman can be that strong, especially not a little girl.”

A little spark of anger lit inside me. “Boys in my high school used to say the same thing about me, Sean,” I said coldly. “Until they tried to lift with me.”

“The boys in your high school were twerps,” Sean said with a smile. “Compared to you at least.”

“Maybe you’re a twerp compared to Becky,” I said, teasing him.

“This is getting weird,” Sean said with a wink. “I hope you’re not going to get a crush on an eleven year old girl who pumps iron. I know how you are about big muscles.”

“You’re not jealous are you?” I teased. “I mean, how big can Becky’s muscles possibly be?”

I had no idea.

Every night, one girls’ counselor and one boys’ counselor had to stay overnight. Since I was the Head Girls’ Counselor, I never had to stay overnight. But since it was the start of a new semester I stayed after on Tuesday to make sure the dinner service went well. The cafeteria was full of savory smells and clanking silverware as I walked in. Henry may have been a little creepy, but he was a great cook, and the kids ate ravenously as the senior counselors did their rounds and tried to administer lessons on etiquette. I greeted most of the girls, those that weren’t face-down in their trays anyway. Out of the corner of my eye I spied Becky Finklestein’s tray, which was piled with four chicken breastbones, when the meal plan allowed for only one per student. I decided to ignore Becky and went to the source of the problem.

I could see the walk-in door propped open as I entered the kitchen. “Henry,” I said. “I saw you arguing about food with a resident this morning. And just now I saw that same resident with a tray piled high with chicken bones. Is there anything that you would like to tell me?”

Then Henry exited the walk-in with a tray full of sugar free gelatin desserts, which he struggled to carry, as one of his arms was wrapped in a sling. The left side of his face was blackened, from his swollen eye to his split lip, with a bruise in the shape of a tiny handprint. “What was that Megan?” he asked. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of the walk-in fan.”

“I was just wondering if you needed help.” I stammered. “Here let me get that tray.”

“Thank you Megan,” Henry said, as he handed me the tray and went back to get another.

I noticed that Henry was limping, in addition to his other maladies, and I also noticed that for the first time since we hired him, he wasn’t sneaking glances at my chest. “Are you all right?” I asked.

“I ... I fell in the freezer,” he said hurriedly. “But Doctor Li got me patched up just fine.”

I had heard residents lie about being physically abused almost weekly for the past five years, and I heard in Henry’s voice the same uncertain hurriedness that I heard from them. And it didn’t take a lot of reckoning to figure out who had abused him. I had no idea what to do, so I decided to respect Henry’s privacy. “I’ll get the counselors on overnight duty to help you with the dishes,” I told him.

Henry thanked me, and as I turned to leave the kitchen, I saw Becky Finklestein from across the lunchroom, staring at Henry with her burning green eyes and waving at him, wiggling her tiny fingers as he blushed and looked away. I left through the rear entrance, wondering how much power Becky Finklestein really had in that fat little body of hers.

I had no idea.

I used the next couple of hours to catch up on paperwork, and I lost track of time. When I looked up from my desk it was nearly 9 and I could see lights on the gym. I hurried across the grounds and into the gym. I could hear plates clanking as I approached the swinging doors. “Becky,” I said firmly as I pushed the doors open, “you know that you are supposed to...”

My voice trailed off and my clipboard dropped to the floor the second I saw Becky. She was at the cable curl machine, doing hero curls while dressed in a pink sportsbra and pink hotpants. I don’t know what I expected Becky’s body to look like. I guess I expected it to be thick and stocky, or maybe just swollen with fat rolls. But I certainly didn’t expect to see what I saw.

Little eleven year old Becky Finklestein was incredibly, impossibly, horrifyingly muscular. Her tiny feet and slim ankles bloomed into diamond-shaped calves the size of softballs. Her thighs were massive sweeping columns of muscle with deeply cut separation between her vastus, femoris, and tensor muscles. The pink hotpants were strained so tightly by her Olympian bulk that they resembled a bikini bottom, with her bulging thighs below, and the Apollo’s belt formed by her sculpted obliques above. Her entire midsection was wrapped with shredded muscle, her eight perfect abs and ribbons of serratus muscles perfectly chiseled under her freckled skin. Her prominent young breasts were clearly outlined by her top, forced outward as they were by thick slabs of pectoral muscle the size of paving stones. Her lats ballooned out so far that she was as wide as she was tall, and they were tense with power as her arms rested at full extension, biceps long and hard like steel ingots leading into forearms as big around as grapefruits. And crowning that impossibly ripped physique was Becky’s freckled, bespectacled face and frizzy hair, nestled between triple-headed deltoids the size of cantaloupes.

This was the body that Becky Finklestein had been hiding under her sweatsuit. The body that needed a SWAT team to subdue it, the body that was ‘VERY strong’ with the word ‘very’ capitalized and underlined three times, the body that her mother didn’t want her to show off, the body that the other kids wanted to touch, the body that effortlessly curled 225 pounds with mechanical precision. Her body explained everything about her, and it was most amazing thing that I had ever seen in my life.

Becky popped a big pink bubble. I swallowed, hard.

I’ve had a thing for guys with big muscles for as long as I can remember. Over the years I had swooned over countless bodybuilding magazines, rubbed myself raw to Arnold Schwarzenegger movies, and thrown myself at every beefy guy I had ever met. None of them could compare to the bulging, shredded, muscular perfection of little eleven year old Becky Finklestein. A hundred different feelings and urges washed over me as I gawked at her muscle-packed pubescent physique. I was hot with excitement and chilled to my bones all at once. I didn’t know how to feel, other than amazed.

I had to regroup, keep my cool. Until this moment, I was in control. I was starting to get through to Becky, and she was treating me with respect. If I showed any weakness now, I could lose control of the relationship, and lose her forever. “Becky, you were not supposed to start working out without written permission and supervision,” I said sternly. “Please show me the waiver from Dr. Li.”

“It’s on the table beside you,” Becky said.

I picked up the piece of paper, unable to completely tear my eyes away from the preteen amazon before me. “In the future, you have to wait for a counselor to supervise you,” I said. “Otherwise we could have big muscles—I mean trouble. We could have big trouble.”

Becky laughed. “You’re holding the paper the wrong way,” she giggled.

I looked down, and saw that she was right. The waiver was upside down, and its printed side was facing away from me. And what’s more my skin was covered in goosebumps.

I had lost control of her now, and I knew it.

Then, with a smile, Becky began her hero curls. She moved slowly, her form perfect and her body immobile as her biceps slowly contracted into towering double-headed peaks of adolescent muscle. She paused at the top of the rep, her biceps throbbing with power as she held every single weight plate in the machine suspended in the air, 150 pounds on each arm, without showing the slightest sign of exertion on her little freckled face.

Becky popped another big pink bubble. My throat was too dry to swallow.

Then she did another rep, sweat beading on her hulking arms as she slowly pumped her biceps up to mountainous proportions. Then, to my embarrassment, my nipples began to harden. Becky laughed as she looked at my nipples, as big and hard as marbles forcing their way to prominence despite the thick fabric of my blouse, and at the apex of her rep she popped another bubble. I shuddered.