I’ve just returned from a week’s holiday in Scotland and had to tell you what happened. I had spent much of the week walking in the hills and mountains trying to take my mind off work so that I could find some sort of inner calm and return refreshed. The weather wasn’t good, often raining, sometimes extremely blustery high up on the exposed peaks but countered with the occasional dry spell. However, people don’t go to Scotland for the weather!. Mobile phone signal was non-existent at the caravan park where I was staying which meant nobody could contact me even if they wanted to and I couldn’t phone out. Living in one of the flatter parts of the British Isles meant that I was accustomed to fairly easy walking where I could average around 3 miles an hour over 7 miles. However up in Scotland my pace was dramatically slower as I struggled to walk up steep slopes, panting and with my heart beating in my ears. I had forgotten how long a Scottish mile was! Coming down again was just as bad as I was overly cautious of my footing so I did not fall. Additionally, the high levels of rain that had saturated Britain in recent months (during an official drought and hosepipe ban!) had made the ground very boggy which made for treacherous walking that made waterproofs essential. I quickly learnt not to hold onto a wire fence for support to get around a deep spot when it is electrified! Of course the wonderful scenery and the views from the top made the physical exertion worthwhile. I rarely encountered anyone else in these wild desolate places and when I did they were always friendly and willing to chat, whether they were locals or other walkers.

Now on the day that I wanted to tell you about, I had slogged my way through mud and rain to the top of a hill marked by a high tower commemorating the Battle of Waterloo with splendid views of the impressive landscape all around. I had an interesting encounter with a herd of young cows who were on the path during the steep climb up the rocky barren hillside who instead of moving aside kept running further up ahead on the path then stopping to watch me puff and pant behind them. It must have seemed that I was herding them. That only came to an end upon a crossing point in the electric fence. Upon my descent, I reached a small village about a mile or so from where I had parked my car. Water had soaked through my so-called waterproof walking shoes, making my soaks and aching feet wringing wet. The big hearty breakfast that I had to give me energy was now at the unfortunate stage of wanting to discard the waste products - oh, sorry, you didn’t need to know that! Being a man made it easy to relieve the pressure on one’s bladder behind a convenient tree or bush but I didn’t fancy digging a hole for the other end then covering it back over again afterwards. I just had to hang on until I got back to the car and driven back to the caravan park about 25 Scottish miles away (i.e. almost an hour’s drive).

Anyway I had just entered the village which consisted of a few old stone built houses, a pub and not much else when I saw a white-haired woman approaching from the opposite direction. Like me, she was dressed in waterproofs and walking shoes which covered up her figure, but she wasn’t one those scrawny little old women but seemed fairly robust and cheerful. As she got closer, she gave me a warm welcoming smile upon a cheery pleasant face that could have belonged to one’s idealised vision of a nice Scottish granny. We exchanged greetings and both stopped, chatting away, exchanging our experiences of the local walk which she told me she walked on a regular basis and the poor weather. As with many people I had met up here, She was very welcoming and friendly and willing to stop and make conversation. She was shorter than myself, perhaps 5 foot 4 inches and seemed medium built, although it was difficult to tell with the waterproof jacket. Her face was broad with chubby cheeks, a short thick nose, small grey eyes and with a cheerful wide smile. There were a few wrinkles and laughter lines with a fairly firm neck but overall she looked quite good for her age, whatever that might be, it being quite rude to ask. Her white hair was curly, short and worn high off the forehead. A rumble down below reminded me of my predicament and I asked whether there were any public toilets in the village.

“I’m afraid not, dearee. But you can use the facilities in the WI” she replied in a warm soft voice with a fairly strong Scottish accent. I accepted the offer from this nice white haired Scottish granny and followed her as she led the way along the main street. “My name is Agnes, by the way” she told me as we approached a low long building with a utilitarian black roof and a few square windows and an entrance way that was typical of many village halls and other public buildings up and down the land. I told her my name as we walked into the entrance with the name “Women’s Institute” displayed on a board above. Inside was a small entrance hall with big double doors leading off to the main hall and a couple of smaller doors to the side. “You can take off your damp things here and leave them over there to dry” Agnes told me indicating a row of coat hangers, many occupied by damp coats with a row of wet muddy boots and shoes beneath. “The loos are just through there. Just come through into the main hall when yeer finished and I give you a nice cream tea” she added. “There is really is no need, I don’t want to put you out” I replied, touched by her generosity. “Och, it’s nay problem at all. It’s always nice to meet a nice young man like yourself” she replied.

Removing my waterproofs, wet shoes and socks, I went into the toilets and did my business then made my way through the big double doors into the main hall. I was expecting to see chairs and tables with elderly women bustling about doing crafts like horticulture and baking. What I never expected to see was a long room full of bright shiny gym equipment and weights. All around were women of all ages, mostly middle-aged and elderly, in a variety of gym clothes standing at strange contraptions or sitting on benches exercising and they were exercising hard. Some of them looked quite fit and I couldn’t help but stop and stare. Nearest to me was a slim bookish woman with with bushy silver hair and a sour expression wearing spectacles, sitting on a bench. She wore a sleeveless red top with small denim shorts that showed off incredibly good looking legs for someone her age. They were long slender and firm with not a blemish but most of all, my attention was on her calves. These went from smooth, firm and shapely tightening into small hard balls of muscle with a sexy cleft between them as she pressed on a treadle that caused some weights to lift. I became aware that she had caught me staring and flushing with embarrassment, I looked away.

A middle-aged brunette with short cropped hair in a leather halter and shorts catches my eye as she standing pulling on a ski pole type machine, prominent bicep veins visible all down the front of her thick arm slick with perspiration. She stares at me with a smug look as if to say “I’m firm and fit, you’re flabby and not”. I look away, feeling uncomfortable. Anxiously I look around trying to spot Agnes but I can’t see her. An attractive slim woman with long blonde hair and wearing a sleeveless black top curling dumbbells catches my eye. Her arms are firm and sinuous, swelling into small shapely hills as she works out. A sheen of perspiration makes her taut toned body glisten. I feel my nuts tightening and avert my eyes not wanting to sprout a boner in a gym full of fit women, who were now all watching me.

Out the corner of my eye I spot the nice white haired granny appear through a door at the far end of the room and cross over towards me. Out of her baggy waterproofs, she wore grey baggy gym trousers and a rather tight black top that clung to a rather sturdy looking upper body. In fact, she cut quite an imposing figure. Her traps were very noticeable, steep thick slopes running from her neck to her shoulders with a well defined clavicle running across the top of her chest. If the gaze of the fit women working their firm bodies hadn’t been discomfiting enough, I now found myself confronted by a deep plunging neckline that showed a substantial amount of elderly yet firm bust and cleavage. I tried to keep my eyes on her gentle smiling face. “Och there you are. Let’s leave the ladies to their exercises and go in the back room. I’ve made you a nice cup of tea” she told me and turned to lead the way. “I thought this was the WI, it looks more like a gym” I said to her back which I couldn’t help noticing had very broad shoulders and tapered down to a medium sized waist. She stopped to open the door and turned her cheerful face towards me. “Aye this is the WI and that is our equipment. We like to keep in shape, there’s naught else to do around here in the bad weather especially in winter when you cannae get into the hills. Did you expect us to sit around drinking cups of tea and knitting sweaters all day long?” she asked with a chuckle.

The thought of this sweet white haired woman pumping iron caused my balls to tighten. I look more closely at old lady’s body and notice that her arms seem very thick and shapely in her tight top. She noticed my gaze with a touch of amusement upon her lips. “I am the trainer, you ken. I show the ladies how to use all the equipment safely and help them with their training regime”. With that she folded her arms and with growing excitement I realise that the top of her chest is puffed up like a stone pillow with deep striations. Her smile got even broader. “The men around here don’t call me Aberdeen Agnes for nothing you know, dearee” she said and went through the door leaving me to follow, totally gobsmacked with a growing tightness in my groin that I tried to dismiss as highly inappropriate.

The room in which I now found myself was a fair sized kitchen with tables and chairs at one end but my attention was all on the friendly white haired woman before me in the tight top. Agnes had a hand on her hip and I couldn’t help noticing how thick her arms seemed to be and how large her shoulder caps seemed to be. “Why, why do they call you that?” I asked my mouth dry with excitement. “Because I’m built like a bull, dearee” she laughed and the tightness spread to my dick. “I know this sounds a bit weird but, well, could you show me what you mean?” I asked nervously. I mean it’s not the normal thing you would ask a nice white haired Scottish granny you had only just met. “Oh no, not at all dearee. I am always catching the young men peeping in, trying to get a good look at the ladies working their bodies. They seem to get quite excited by it”. “Um yes. But what about you? Could you show me your bod ... er how you are built like a bull?” I asked, feeling uneasy asking an old lady I just met to take her clothes off. “Oh I think that might be a bit scary for you dear. I’m not slim and sexy like those ladies back there” she said with a smile. “I’m not built like a supermodel, more like a brick outhouse” she chuckled. “Please. I can see that you have a tantalisingly impressive figure. I really would like to see it in the flesh” I said. “Och you” she replied flattered with a dismissive wave of her hand.

With that she turned so that she was presenting her side to me. Her upper body around her shoulders and chest really were quite noticeable thicker and stronger looking than her waist. Then she stretched out her right arm in front of her giving me a view of it from the back. I gawped at the thick bump along the top of her upper arm and the thick bump opposite where her triceps would be. With her soft grey eyes watching me, she slowly bent forearm and I gasped as an absolute huge thick mound grew from the top of her arm. Her top was made of some sort of stretchy fabric that hugged the bulky contours of her upper body but now moulded itself tightly to the rugged contours of her bulging arm, the elasticised weave getting wider to accommodate the huge peak. As her forearm becomes vertical, I can only gawp as how substantially thicker it is around the base, becoming a powerful swell of mass tapering with a broad curve to quite a thick wrist. But most awesome of all is the massive bicep, to which the black fabric clings on like a film as it gets higher and firmer until a huge tall peak threatens to burst through the sleeve. I watch in stunned silence with a steadily growing stiffness in my pants. “Aye, looks like you like a bit of prime Scottish beef” she said with a smile. I feel embarrassed that she has noticed but I am too entranced by the incredible sight to try and cover it up. “Wow!” I gasp, my brain too stunned to think of anything coherent. I just can’t stop gawping at that tall peak upon her arm rising steeply from the thick mass that can only be muscle upon her arm. Even though I was only seeing it from the back, her bicep looked absolutely huge like a mountain with a higher pointy peak that surely pushed her black top to breaking point. Opposite this swelling downwards was an equally impressive solid mass that indicated that she also had big triceps.

I was speechless as the friendly looking white haired woman relaxed her arm then flexed it again. This time the black covered mound on top of her arm seemed to grow even larger and with a sharper peak. My mouth was dry, my face was warming up and my heart was beating faster while my dick was stiffening uncontrollably. “Wow! Amazing!” I gasped. I have met some muscular women in my time, but I never expected such awesome peaked mass on a sweet white haired lady who was otherwise most people’s ideal vision of a granny. OK, maybe my ideal vision of a granny would be one built like a bodybuilder, but then I’m weird. She probably had as much mass in her arms as my mother in-law, Paula [JIMP#13], but her biceps were much more peaked. “Oh, Agnes! That is amazing” I groaned unable to hide the desire in my voice. I don’t normally go around lusting after little old ladies but the tall peaked biceps on this one really stoked my fire. I knew there was no use trying to cover the rising tentpole in my trousers. “If you liked that, then hold onto your socks, dearee” she told me and proceeded to turn her back on me and flexed both arms at once. The view of the double biceps from behind was absolutely stunning. Her top stretched to ripping point, the weave stretching so much that there was spots of bare flesh peeking through in places as it clung on valiantly to her expanding upper body. And boy did it expand! Her broad shoulders became very broad indeed and the bumps and lumps appearing on her wide lats suggested a well developed back which sloped like an inverted V to her waist. I could control myself no longer and just had to step forward and feel that amazing upper body. She didn’t object as I placed my hands on her bowling ball sized shoulder caps and ran my palms along to her staggering biceps. With hands on each arm, I was totally amazed at the feel of the solid peaked mass under my palms. “They’re so big, so hard, incredibly pointed!” I gasped, sounding like an idiot. Lust does that to some people, a stiff dick seems to stop the brain working.