How it All Began

 

 

            I was twelve years old when a girl imprinted upon me the preference that is with me still. 

            At the time, I was living with my widowed father on Lake James in northern Indiana.  Living by the water, I learned how to gig for frogs, how to fish from the bank, and, in the summer of my twelfth year, I began to notice the swimming suits of the girls who came from town to swim in the lake.   

            And living with a handsome widower, I learned that if I lie still in my bed at night I could hear noises coming from my father’s bedroom I did not understand.  Great wonderments and speculations come to me as I lay in bed, listening to groaning and gasping and muffled cries.  And I considered with some mixture of fear and excitement the possibility that I myself might one day learn how or why these noises were made.

            My father ran his business from home, and would very frequently invite men he had business with to the house.  Also he had a girl come from the other side of the lake to type for him, a big blonde seventeen-year-old named Lucy Barnes.  As the men spoke, Lucy would take shorthand, which she would later type.  At times, after Lucy had gone, the men would talk far into the night, and alcohol would cause their talk to be loud.  Occasionally, a burst of laughter made the house ring, and I would know someone had made a joke.

            I noticed things in the summer of my twelfth year as if I had been given new eyes.  I noticed girls in swimming suits, and I noticed especially Lucy Barnes. 

            It was on a Friday afternoon when I first noticed her.  I was fishing on our dock when I heard saw her car pull in our gravel driveway.  I noticed that she put on fresh lipstick and combed her hair before she got out.  And I had never noticed that before, although I was sure I had seen her arrival many times before.  Then she got out and I noticed she was wearing a sleeveless blouse and shorts.  She walked to the dock where I was fishing.  And as she came closer, I noticed her in a way I had never before. 

            I saw then the prominence of her muscles.  Her arms seemed to my young eyes to be as large as those of any laborer.  And I noticed a stirring in my loins, and that was new.  And I wasn’t sure if I should be afraid.  

            “Hello David”, she said, and I noticed her baseball-sized bicep roll under the skin of her upper arm as she brushed her blonde hair from her forehead.  “Is your dad here?”

            “He’s inside, Lucy.”

            “Thanks.  Are you catching anything?”  

            “Just one bluegill.”

            “Well, keep at it, David, I’m sure your luck will change”, she said, and then I noticed how beautiful she was, how straight and white were her teeth, and how the color of her eyes matched the sky, and as she walked to the house, I noticed that her calves were as thickly-muscled as those of our neighbor, Mr. Davidson, who used to play football for Notre Dame.  And that new feeling returned to my loins and stayed there long after she had gone into the house.    

            When the feeling in my loins receded, I went into the house.  Lucy and my father were discussing some project in earnest. 

            “These dictations need to be transcribed by Monday, Lucy”, my father said, holding a handful of thin, red celluloid cylinders upon which the Dictaphone had scratched grooves.   

            “I can do it if I work all weekend, Mr. Anderson.”

            “Can you?”

            “Yes.  I have no plans for tomorrow or Sunday.  Time-and-a-half?” she asked, smiling broadly.  I noticed again that she was beautiful.

            “Double time!” said my father.  “Are you hungry?  Would you like some supper?”

            “Please.  And thank you, Mr. Anderson, it’s always a pleasure to work for you.” Looking around, she said, “It’s so much more peaceful here than on my side of the lake, and you have David to keep you company!”  I blushed furiously.  My loins came to life again as the beautiful Lucy Barnes smiled at me.

            After supper, Lucy picked up one of the celluloid cylinders.  “I bet I can break this flimsy thing if I slip it on my arm and flex my muscle!” she wagered.

            “Let’s find out how big around it is” suggested my father.  He turned to me and asked, “David, would you bring the tape from the drawer?”

            I handed the tape to my father.  “Hmm, looks like fourteen inches.  That’s pretty big, Lucy!” he said. 

            “Never fear, Mr. Anderson”, the girl said.  “Once I flex this biceps of mine, this thing will burst into a million pieces!  Better shield your eyes, everyone” she laughed.  “If I do it, will you pay me triple time?”

            “It’s a deal”, my father said, and winked at me.

            Simply watching Lucy of the white teeth and sky-blue eyes work the celluloid thing up her arm made me break into a sweat.  At the top of her arm, it was tight already—and her arm was still straight.  My twelve year-old dick threatened to burst through my shorts.

            “OK” she said, “here goes”, and began to slowly bend her elbow.  As her biceps swelled it stretched the red celluloid until it was pink.  When her muscle reached its greatest circumference, the thing snapped and fell to the floor.  “I win, Mr. Anderson!” she cried triumphantly.  “Triple time—you promised!”  They both laughed.

            “Right you are, Lucy, right you are!” my father said.  “Tell you what.  If you would like to work into the night, I have a Dictamax and a typewriter with a fresh ribbon in the guest house.  If you’d like, you can stay there overnight.  I’ll call your parents and tell them you’re staying over and why.  I put clean sheets on, there are fresh towels, washcloths, everything you’ll need.”

            “Thank you, sir” Lucy said, gathering up the celluloids.  “Good night, David” she said.  “I’ll be up late typing.  I hope the tap-tap-tapping doesn’t keep you awake.”  And with that, the muscled Lucy who I had noticed that day for the first time was out the door.

            I did not fall asleep.  I could hear the tapping coming from the guest house, but that was not keeping sleep away.  The recollection of Lucy’s bulging biceps and my peculiar reaction to seeing it were elbowing their way roughly around my mind.  That was what made slumber impossible.  Why does my dick get hard just thinking about her muscle?  What should I do about it?  I would like to see it again.  What is this feeling that feels like an itch?   It is deep inside me, and I don’t know where to scratch.  I’m confused, but I can’t talk to Dad about it.  He wouldn’t understand.  I have to see Lucy’ muscle again, and I have to see it now!  There is a box outside…I can stand on it and peek through the window. 

            Making quiet, I stole out of the house. I found the box and put it under the window and stood upon it.  There she was, wearing earphones, typing.  She yawned, and as many of us do, when she yawned she flexed her elbows and her biceps bulged.  My heart beat fast, and I was afraid she would hear it.

            I noticed then she reached the end of a celluloid.  She slipped it from the Dictamax, and to my astonishment she slipped it on her arm, just as she had at our table that evening after supper.  She looked with what seemed to be a special kind of excitement at her biceps as it began the task of breaking the thing.  “Snap!” it went, and at that moment, I fell backwards off the box, skinning both elbows. 

            Lucy ran out the door and knelt over me.  “David”, she whispered, “what are you doing out here?”  I began to cry.  “You’re bleeding!  Here, let me carry you inside and look at your wounds!”

            I could not answer.  She picked me up as if I were as light as a suitcase and carried me into the guesthouse.  She laid me on the bed.  “Let me see your elbows”, she said.  “Be still, David, they are only scratches.”

            Ten minutes later, my elbows were cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged.  Lucy had found peroxide in the medicine chest, and band-aids.  But I was still crying.

            “David” she began, “let me hold you.”  She took me in her strong arms and let me cry.  In a while, I quieted, and she lay me down on the bed.  She looked at me with her sky-blue eyes and asked me, “Why?” and I knew she wanted to know why I had snuck out of the house and why I had watched her through the window and even though I was afraid she would be angry with me for saying it, I blurted, “Lucy, its because of your muscles!  I have a strange, new feeling when I see them!  It’s like an itch, but I don’t know where to scratch!  When your muscle broke the thing off your arm tonight, I felt as though I would faint, but at the same time I had a…a…a…”

            “An erection?” she interrupted.

            “What’s that?”

            “That’s the word for a penis that’s hard.” I noticed again her sky-blues eyes and white teeth and beautiful face.

            “Lucy” I said, nearly crying again, “I’m just twelve years old and I don’t know what to do!”

            “I know”, she said, her blue eyes shining.  “But in four or five or six more years you will, David.  You must believe me.”  

            “I don’t understand!” I whined.

            Lucy flexed her biceps.  “You like my muscle in a way you have never liked anything before, don’t you?”

            “Yes.”

            “Would you like to feel it?”

            “Yes.”  Hesitantly at first, then more vigorously, I felt and felt.  In my young hands it felt hard as stone. 

            And then I felt as if there was a fire between my legs and in my bowels and I was afraid and her name flew from my mouth.  “Lucy!”  She held my face to hers and I felt tears on her cheeks.

            “Hush, my sweet boy”, she said.  “There is nothing to fear, but you are too young to know it.” 

            Her words hurt me and I wept.  Her hand was on my mouth and she whispered, “Be still, David.”  And she held me and let me tremble and cry until I was finished. 

            Then when I had quieted, she said, “Go back to your bed now, David.  I will see you at breakfast.” 

 

*   *   *

 

            “As you can imagine, I didn’t sleep much that night!”

            “I can imagine”, the voice without a face responded. 

            “Well”, I said, impatience beginning to creep in, “what do you think of what I did?  Was it wrong?” I asked.

            “What do you think I think?”

            “I think, Dr. Rosensweig, you think I should be ashamed of myself for what I did!” I declared.  “And I think you believe I should be punished for doing it!  Besides, look at me now”, I said, “Now I have a fetish for muscular women!”  The deafening silence coming from behind my head was broken only by the sound of an old man taking a slurp of coffee.  “Well!” I shouted.

            “What are you yelling about?”

            “I want you to tell me I did wrong and that I should be punished!”

            “Well, I’m not going to.  If you want that, find another analyst.”

            “Why won’t you say what happened is bad?”

            “It’s not for me to say”, the voice without a face said.  “It’s just something that happened.  You decide whether you want to feel guilty about it the rest of your life, or if you want to leave it and go forward and enjoy yourself.  The choice, Dave, is yours.  I won’t decide how you should feel.  That’s your job.”

            “Well, don’t you think muscles are a weird fetish?”

            “Fetish, shmetish!  I once had a patient whose fetish was a raincoat, for God’s sake!  Every man I’ve ever known has a fetish; tits, high heels, nylons, red hair…what’s the difference if yours is a woman with muscles?  I don’t give a shit!”

            “So it’s OK with you?”

            “God dammit, Dave, it doesn’t matter if it’s OK with me or not!  You decide if it’s OK with you!”

            “Well, I do like muscles on a woman…”

            “OK, then.  I’ll see you next Wednesday.”

            I sat on the edge of the couch and looked at the old man.  He looked back.  “I don’t like leaving your office” I said.

            “I know, but you have to.  Someone else wants to tell me their secrets now.”

            “By the way, Dave”, Dr. Rosensweig said before I opened the door to the waiting room.  “You really have a way with words.  You should consider writing as an avocation.”

            “Really?”

            “Really.  Now, get the hell out of here and go enjoy your sexuality!”

 

*   *   *

 

            My associates and I had spent many working weekends at my house on Lake James over the years, but I had made this trip for pleasure, and pleasure only.  Dr. Rosensweig had given me permission to enjoy my sexuality via my fetish, and that was what I intended to do.  My fuzz-buster on, I had driven like a man possessed.  It had only taken four hours to get to the lake from my condominium in downtown Chicago, and as I sped along, I saw only one thing in my mind’s eye, and that was the beautiful Lucy Barnes.

            I knew she had been married, that she had children, and I had heard she had gotten divorced, but knew little else about her, except that she still kept her home on the other side of the lake.  I was hoping against hope she would be there that day, that she would be pulling into her driveway the moment I pulled into mine.  I knew full well if she were, it would be by some fantastic coincidence.  Nevertheless, that was my wish.

            The crunch of my tires on the gravel driveway took me back to that day in 1959 when I noticed Lucy for the first time. 

            I took my old seat at the table.  I recollected clear how the sight of her muscle breaking the old-fashioned celluloid had caused my loins to warm.  Her number was in my father’s old Rolodex.  Dr. Rosensweig’s words came back to me: “Now, get the hell out of here and go enjoy your sexuality!”  I dialed the number.  One ring.  Two.  Then three. 

            “Hello.”  A young man’s voice.

            “Hello.  This is Dave Anderson.  Is Lucy Barnes there?”  My heart raced.  “Yeah, she’s here.  Mommm!  Telephone…somebody named Dave Anderson!”

            “Hello?  Is this the David Anderson from the other side of the lake?”

            “Yes!  Lucy?”

            “David, where are you?”

            “I’m here…at the lake.”  I couldn’t believe it. 

            “I haven’t seen you for over forty years!  I was just thinking about you on the way up.  My boys and I just pulled in!  God, what a fantastic coincidence!”

            “Lucy”, I began, “I…well…gosh, you sound great!”  I felt like an idiot, stammering like a teenager.

            “I’d love to see you, David.  We have some unfinished business to take care of.”

            “Can you some over?”

            “I’ll be right there.”

            I was standing on the dock when I heard her pull in.  I noticed she put on fresh lipstick and combed her hair before she got out.  She got out and I noticed she was wearing a sleeveless blouse and shorts.  She walked to the dock, and as she came closer, I noticed her in the way I had that summer of my twelfth year.   

            I saw her muscles were still as prominent as they had been then.  And I noticed a stirring in my loins, but that was not new.  And I was not afraid.  

            “Hello David”, she said, and I noticed her baseball-sized bicep roll under the skin of her upper arm as she brushed her blonde hair from her forehead.  “It’s so good to see you.”  And she came into my arms. 

            “Are you catching anything?” she asked, laughing.

            “Just one bluegill” I played along.

            “Well, keep at it, David, I’m sure your luck will change”, she said, and then I noticed how beautiful she still was, how straight and white were her teeth, and how the color of her eyes matched the sky, and as she walked ahead of me to the guest house, I noticed that her calves were still as thickly-muscled as those of Mr. Davidson, who used to play football for Notre Dame.  And that old feeling was still in my loins.      

            “Do you remember how I carried you in and lay you on the bed?”

            “Of course.  I cried.  I didn’t understand what was happening to me.”

            “Do you remember when I asked if you’d like to feel my muscle?”

            “I think about it every night!”

            “Really?  Would you like to feel it now?”

            “More than anything.”  Her biceps was as big and hard as I remembered it.  She unbuttoned her blouse.  The sunlight streaming through the window painted her breasts a pale yellow. 

            “Feel them.”  She was in different places both exquisitely soft and incomprehensibly hard.  She unzipped my trousers and took out my penis.  “I wanted to do this in 1959, but it would have been wrong.”  I closed my eyes and then after a time I felt the back of Lucy’s head between my legs.  I felt her lips and her tongue on my penis and my hands felt her hard biceps and her shoulders and her soft breasts.  And in the next instant, she was in naked in the bed beside me.  She pulled me on top of her and slipped me inside her and told me to do without thinking, and my hips began to thrust back and forth as if they were obeying an animal command, and indeed, I felt like an animal.  I began to groan and cry out, and the noises I made were the same as those I had heard as I lie still and listened in my bed when I was a child and I understood.

            And then I felt as if there was a fire between my legs and in my bowels and I told Lucy and she held me tight and told me I was feeling everything that was right to feel at and hearing that, I let the feeling that was burning my privatemost parts wash over my body and fill my mind with thoughts of birds flying, and remembering I had once thought of kissing the girls I had seen in swimsuits when they had come to the lake to swim, I kissed the woman who heaved beneath me and she kissed me back and stuck her tongue deep in my mouth where it felt like a goldfish, wriggling in slow motion. 

            And like two sticks that have been rubbed together finally generate enough heat to bring a pile of shavings to burning, Lucy and I brought the sheets of the old bed to burning on that day forty-three years after that night in the summer of my twelfth year. 

            Words flew from my mouth.  “Lucy, I love you!” She held my face to hers and I felt tears on her cheeks.

            “David”, she whispered.  “I have loved you ever since that night.  I wish you could have done the man-thing and I the woman-thing then, but now at long last we have, and I am happy.”

 

             After we had eaten supper, I asked, “Would you excuse me, Lucy, I would like to make a call.”

            “Of course, my sweet boy.”

            I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number.

            “Hello.”

            “Dr. Rosensweig, its Dave Anderson.”

            “Dave?  You sound different somehow.”

            “Lucy’s here with me now.  She’s right here, across from me at the table in my house on Lake James.”  I was crying.

            “Are you crying because you’re relieved, Dave?”

            “Yes.”

            “I’m happy for you, Dave.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes, Dave.  Really.  See you Wednesday?”

            “Umm, I think I’d like to stop coming in for a while, Dr. Rosensweig.”

            “Good!  Call me anytime.  Oh!  And Dave, I meant what I said—you really should try your hand at writing.  You have a way with words.”

 

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