Chapter 1

Debbie looked at her reflection in the mirror and back down at the card she held in her hand. She was not pleased with what she saw in either. What she saw was a middle-aged woman with a "matronly" figure; the face was still pretty but the body had definitely softened with age.

Twenty-year high-school class reunion, she thought. Has it really been that long?

"Yes it has," she said aloud to the reflection, "and you've really let yourself go. You look like crap!"

She took stock of what six years of widowhood and the resulting inattention to her personal appearance had wrought. Thirty-eight years old, a pretty face with just a hint under the puffiness of the beauty that had been there before, shoulder length blond hair, dark almost to the point of being brunette, tall at five feet ten with a bosom that would have been enormous on a smaller frame. Her legs had once been slender but now were beginning to thicken, especially as they flared into cellulite-covered thighs and a well-rounded buttocks. She was carrying about 30 more pounds than she should and looked it.

I can't go looking like this! she thought. The least I can do is lose a little weight and get in shape! Looks like I better spend some time in the gym.

Walking over to the dresser, she rooted through the drawers for some workout clothes. Nothing she found seemed to fit. Everything was about two sizes too small; even the athletic bra fit her like the skin on a sausage. Settling for an old pair of her husbands' sweatpants and sweatshirt she headed downstairs to the basement.

When her husband was killed in a commuter airline crash the resulting insurance and lawsuit settlement had left her a fairly wealthy woman. With part of her newfound wealth she had had a portion of the basement professionally remodeled into a small but well equipped gymnasium. She had envisioned working out as a therapy to help deaden the pain of her loss, but also anticipated that her then 12-year-old son Mark would use it as he grew up. She had been half-right. While her grief therapy had consisted mostly of Ben and Jerry's ice cream, Mark had become seriously involved in athletics and spent a considerable amount of his time there.

Walking down the basement steps she could hear loud music coming from the direction of the gym. As she opened the door and looked around she was assaulted by the blaring sound. The gym was a well-lighted, 20-by-30 area filled, but not overly crowded, with gleaming exercise and weight equipment. It looked even bigger than it was due to the mirrors that had been installed on every wall giving an illusion of great depth to the room.

Debbie glanced around the room and her eyes settled on her son off to one side. He was flat on his back at one of the machines pushing a bar vertically into the air above his chest. She walked towards him, noticing the numbers on the weights behind his head as they rose and fell with the rhythm of his expanding chest. Two-hundred twenty pounds they said. My God, she though! He's lifting almost one and a half times what I weigh!

As she approached the weight machine Mark slowly lowered the bar, took a deep breath and sat up.

"Oh, hi, Mom," he said. "You need me for something?"

"No honey. I just thought I would get a little exercise myself."

"Great idea. I was just finishing up for today; you want me to help you with anything?" He stood up and stretched. When he did, Debbie involuntary took in a little breath.

Mark was now seventeen years old, almost eighteen, stood just over six feet tall and weight about 180 lbs. He was in superb condition with broad shoulders and a muscular torso that tapered down to relatively slim hips. His shirt was off and she could see every muscle rolling beneath his skin as if they were chiseled in stone. He split his time between playing wide receiver on the varsity football team and the wrestling squad and looked every inch the athletic god that he was.

He was state runner-up this year, she thought to herself, and next year he'll be state champion. Then it seemed to hit her all at once: My God, he's beautiful! She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him without his shirt or wrestling singlet and was stunned by the sheer perfection of his body. The slight glistening of sweat covering his chest combined with the slight musk smell of a heated male animal magnified the sense of a herd bull in his prime. Her stomach suddenly felt like a knot had been twisted in her intestines. No, she thought, not just my stomach, lower. For the first time in over six years Debbie felt a stab of desire between her legs, a warm moist feeling that she had thought gone forever.

Trying to remain nonchalant she turned her head away and said, "N-no, I think, well, I guess I'll just try some of these on my own."

"Ok, Mom, whatever you say. I'm going to take a shower and get some studying done. Exams are coming up soon and I want to be prepared. Do you want me to change the station for you before I leave?"

"No, this one is okay, but could you turn it down a little?"

"Sure, no problem! I like my head-banging tunes loud when I pump iron. Gets the juices flowing ya know." He flexed his chest and loudly grunted "Uhr-raw!" He walked over and turned a knob on a panel next to the door. The volume of the music lessened considerably and he headed into the combination shower/toilet next to the gym.

His final flex set off twinges in her lower abdomen again and as she watched him stroll from the room she couldn't help but think, He is going to have to beat the girls off with a stick soon. Then another thought came to he unbidden. Or maybe they are going to have to beat his stick off! She couldn't help but think, With that package up on top, what is the package like below? Blushing furiously at her last thought she turned back to the gym.

"Where to start?" she asked herself aloud. Maybe a little run on the treadmill will "get the juices flowing", she thought. Putting thought to action she walked over to the machine in question. Having used it a few times when it was first installed she had some slight idea of how it worked. Reaching over she flipped the on/off switch. The treadmill softly hummed and the long rubber tread started to move, the readout on the panel read "6 MPH." Thinking that was awfully slow she hit the increase-speed button until it was going 10 mph.

That should do it, she thought. The faster I go the faster I'll get rid of this flab!

Jumping onto the moving belt she immediately found herself running as fast as she could just to keep from being thrown off. This is just what I need!

Five minutes later she was breathing heavily and starting to sweat. After seven minutes her heart was pounding, her lungs were on fire and her legs began to feel like lead. At ten minutes she couldn't keep up and was practically thrown off the machine.

"Oh my God, oh my God," she gasped. She struggled up the treadmills readout and look at the calories-burned reading: it said 10. She had about killed herself and had burned fewer calories than what she would get in one spoonful of ice cream! She felt like crying.

Over the next few weeks Debbie did her best to continue with her workouts. She was convinced that the more she sweated, the more she would lose. She ran on the treadmill until it hurt and stopped then tried some of the weights but they hurt too much. Trying everything she could think of and at the end of two weeks she weighed herself again, she had lost only one pound! She was devastated!

Coming home from his last day of school Mark found his mother with her head in her arms sobbing at the kitchen table.

"Mom, what's the matter? Are you all right?" he cried.

"Oh, Mark, I am such a mess!" still sobbing as she raised her head. "I tried and I tried but I just can't do it! I'm a cow and that's the way everybody is going to see me!"

"What are you talking about, Mom?" He was puzzled but could sense there was no immediate danger. "You're no cow! What's this all about?"

Debbie proceeded to tell him about the upcoming reunion and her attempts to get back into shape, her subsequent failure and utter sense of hopelessness.

"Is this really that important to you, Mom? I mean I think you're pretty and if you could stand to lose a few pounds, well that's okay too."

"Yes, it's important to me," said Debbie, "I hadn't realized just how important it was until just how. For the past few years I feel I have been drifting: no purpose, no focus, and no direction. I want that back. I want to feel good about myself; I want you to feel good about me! I feel like if I can't do this I'll be a useless lump for the rest of my life."

"Well, how about getting yourself a personal trainer, someone to come in and help you? Just like when my coaches run us through our conditioning. Sometimes it takes someone outside of ourselves to keep us motivated and focused on our goal."

"Oh no! I can't have some stranger in here. I just can't!" Debbie started to sob again, but then she suddenly stopped and looked up at Mark. "But what about you? You've done this before, you know how to get in shape and stay there! You can do this for me!"

"I don't know, Mom," he hesitated. "I know what coaches do to us when we go through conditioning. It's tough, even brutal! I don't know if I could do that to you."

"Please, you must! If you love me you'll help me! I don't care how you do it, or what you do to me, just help me get this done! Please, Mark, I'm begging you! Please help me!" She grabbed his hands and looked desperately into his eyes.

"Okay, Mom, okay, I'll help you all I can. But you know this isn't easy. It's going to take a lot of hard work, dedication and motivation. You may even end up hating me before it's all done," he said looking at her with an almost sad expression.

"Baby, I could never hate you! But I really need to do this, and not just for my silly reunion. I need to do this for me, so I can look myself in the mirror in the mornings, so I can have some pride in myself, and I want you to be proud of me too!" Debbie's eyes were still puffy and red from crying, but there was a glint of determination there also.

"Okay," Mark said, "then we start tomorrow. Today we begin by changing your diet and you need to pick up some new workout clothes. I'll get a training schedule set up and pick up a few things myself. You know, Mom," Mark said with an evil gleam in his eye, "this is going to hurt you a lot worse than it's going to hurt me!"

"Time to get up! Let's go! Get out of bed!"

Debbie rolled over and looked at her clock. Six o'clock! She rolled back over and looked at Mark standing in the doorway. "You have got to be kidding. We'll start in a few hours; now let me get some sleep."

"Get out of bed, you fat cow! Move it!" Marks voice was loud but not to the point of shouting.

"Mark! You can't talk to me at way. What are you thinking of?"

"From now on you will address me as Coach. Not Mark, not son, not baby or honey. Do you understand? If we're going to do this it will be my way or no way!"

Debbie took a short intake of breath and looked into he son's unblinking eyes. What she saw sent a chill down her spine. She felt a little apprehension, a little confusion, and maybe even a little fear. But there was also a hint of something else, a warmth in the pit of her stomach, a sense of pleasure, just a hint, but still there. Here was someone who cares about me, someone who will take care of me. Someone to look up to after all these years.

"Yes Mar ... Coach," she whispered. "We'll do it your way."

"Good," he said, "then get your ass down in the gym right now." He turned around without a backward glance and strode away.

She got out of bed quickly making her way to the bathroom where she did her business and put on her new spandex workout clothes she'd laid out the night before. Still a little lightheaded from sleep, she went down to the basement gym.

Mark was standing in the middle of the gym floor looking straight at her as she entered the room. He had his feet placed shoulder width apart and his hands clasped behind his back. His faced showed no expression and his eyes glinted like two pieces of pale blue ice. He was wearing a tight pair of nylon coach's shorts and a gray t-shirt that emphasized rather than hid his muscular build. Her heart started beating rapidly when she saw him, wondering just what she'd gotten herself into. But like a rabbit caught by the eyes of a snake, she couldn't do anything but stand there and tremble.

"You will start with warming up exercises," he said. "Watch what I do and follow along exactly." He proceeded to show her how to stretch her legs, arms, abdomen and back.

"You will begin and end each session with this routine. Do you understand?"

"Yes, dear ... I mean Coach."

"Good, now begin." Mark watched his mother try to repeat the stretching exercises he'd just shown her. His heart had been beating faster since he woke his mom up that morning. This is a real rush, he thought to himself. He had never felt this kind of power before, having always been on the receiving end of this kind of "coaching." He could even feel his dick start to get semi-hard. It wasn't that he found his mom all that sexually appealing ― in fact the flab rolls squeezed out between her warm-up clothes were fairly unattractive ― but the thought of dominating and controlling someone was exciting. And while he was at it he had to admit that even though she wasn't in the best of shape his mom did have a pretty face and if she lost weight could be very attractive. Debbie groaned as she finished her stretching and stood up.