Chapter 2

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After years of nagging, genuinely concerned for her husband slouching endlessly in front of a flickering screen, Winter convinced Philip to join a gym.  But that had been short lived.  It was a gritty warehouse of a place, the only thing they could afford, with muscle bound men and woman grunting and straining.  She stuck to the cardio machines as Phil always claimed he liked the skinny look.  She couldn't help wondering why she still cared what he thought.  Nonetheless, it felt her responsibility to give what she could.  She just had never anticipated there'd be so little available in return.  Perhaps, at least, Phil was getting himself in shape?

But when she looked over her shoulder at her husband, he never appeared to actually be working.  Instead, time after time, Winter noticed his eyes lingering over some of the older woman, muscled and defined from years of lifting.  The female bodybuilder's faces certainly seemed weathered but their muscles bulged and glistened with proportionality.  Deep ravines separating quad muscles, tight sports bras drawing eyes to countered abs, shredded obliques and rock hard traps.  Shoulders that pulled on the sports bras straps with such power, they seemed to risk snapping the fabric altogether.

  Shoulders that pulled on the sports bras straps with such power, they seemed to risk snapping the fabric altogether

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They must have been in their 60s but these woman were physical specimens of the highest order.  Winter had a momentary spark of jealousy, but it couldn't be attraction that had diverted her husband's attention, could it?  Even with some weight gain, Winter's beauty was undeniable.  The smoothest skin, chiseled jawline, deep dark eyes with slightly freckled magazine gracing skin.  She was exotically one in a million.  But then again, she did have extremely over-sized breasts and freakishly broad shoulders.  Even out of shape her calves showed distracting size and definition, she wasn't 18 any more.  If skinny was what beauty meant, she fell impossibly short.

On the way home, Winter asked her husband what he thought of the amazons in the gym.  He turned towards her with a mortified look, as if saying with his eyes: "you saw me stare?"  Then he quickly gained his composure and muttered:  "it was so disgusting, wasn't it?  Gross."

Disgusting wouldn't have been how Winter described them.  It was revelatory from her point of view.  Those woman seemed to radiate confidence.  Their rippling physiques and tight workout clothing had a permanence and perfection to them.  The gym and its inhabitants belonged to them, not the other way around.  If anything, they had seemed a vivid, surreal representation of what a woman could be in the purest, most natural, sense.  Femininity defined by curves and tight ripples.  Almost a metallic sheen of power.  They combined overwhelming strength with grace and hourglass perfection.  Narrow waists, broad backs, bulging arms, boulder shoulders, abdominal muscles able to swallow quarters in their creases.  Lines and shapes that seemed more reminiscent of a foregone empire etched in stone.  No, there was nothing gross about their appearance, it was the opposite.  But men didn't seem to care for muscle in an era of skinny broadway models.  In the world Winter knew, emaciation equated to femininity.

Months of repetition stretched into years as Winter bent over backwards to provide and garner an ounce of her husband's attention. When on the rarest occasion Phil showed an inkling of interest, it faded the moment clothes came off.  As she furiously stroked, yanked, kissed and prodded in efforts to wake up his limp member, he'd sigh and blame exhaustion and coding fatigue.  She'd embrace his tired masculinity with her boobs, messaging.  Their unusual firm perkiness combined with their enormity made Phil seem a pencil between mammoth mountains of firm perfection. It made no difference.  Phil never made an effort to touch her himself but kept his eyes closed, in another place. It was hard for her to keep trying and slowly the pounds added on. Despite a growing laziness and softness, a slow creep from a size zero to a tight six, Winter's athletic physique still echoed its once limber tautness.  Not that it mattered for their marriage.

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