THE STRONGER WOMAN
Southern California: The Present
Unless one saw the two women from the front, no one would
ever be able to tell them apart. Each of them had dark hair,
reaching the middle of her back. Their general builds were
identical, the same slim waist, supported by well-muscled
legs and slender, though well-curved, buttocks. Their upper
bodies were well-defined too, the muscles rippling though
arms and shoulders with each movement.
It would indeed have been difficult to tell them apart from
a distance, as well, since each was blessed with high, full
breasts, held that way by incredibly erect posture, the mark
of a woman who knows her body and is proud of it. And each
woman moved with the same measure of smooth, coiled,
athletic grace. Each of them was about five-nine, about one
hundred and forty pounds, though neither looked it. And each
was extremely beautiful.
No, the viewer would have to get close to them to see the
difference. Only a look at their faces would allow the
determination of who was who.
One of the women was Miranda, a second-generation Cuban. She
was twenty-eight years old. She was an executive with an
advertising agency, starting with her firm immediately after
college graduation, and making her way through its levels to
the point where she was a part of the hierarchy, and was
being considered for a partnership. She had proven herself
to be adept, reaching for the accounts that had made her
what she was. Each problem Miranda encountered, no matter
how complex, had been solved by her tenacious, never-say-die
When one studied her face, one saw sharp, intelligent eyes.
She was single and, though she had many offers, her
commitment to her career had always taken first place. The
other woman was Cathy, born and raised in California, though
she had traveled extensively throughout the world. She was
forty-two years old. Cathy had been a real estate broker for
seven years, seeking something to do after the breakup of
her marriage. Three years before, she and a friend had
formed their own company, but she had bought him out the
year before. She had a large, wealthy clientele, and handled
luxury properties all over the world. She had worked long
and hard on many sales, finally convincing many clients by
the force of her personality to make purchases that, five
minutes before, they hadn't wanted to make.
The women both belonged to a racquet club in an upscale part
of the city and each was renowned for her prowess at
racquetball, though they had never played against each
other. It was rubbed into each, however, when any loser to
either invoked the other's name.
They had never spoken, but each knew who the other was. Each
quietly studied the other in the weight room, watching with
some interest as the other did her weight routine. Sometimes
they seemed to follow each other around from set to set,
always lifting the same weight as the other, no matter how
difficult as though each had something to prove.
Miranda, for her part, watched with disgust as Cathy, fully
capable of attracting lovers half her age, did exactly that.
Miranda was even heard to say that she wondered what such
young and handsome men were doing around an "old bat" like
Cathy, of course, had heard about these comments, but had
studiously ignored both the comments and the commenter
during the two months since they had begun. A tension had,
of course, built between the two during this time, but
neither had been disposed to do anything about it, beyond
the watchfulness that each imposed on the other, until
Friday, July 18, when the two women left the gym at the same
Miranda was dressed in a short-skirted business suit, dark
blue in color, with a white blouse and black heels. Cathy,
having time to go home before going to her office, was
dressed in a blue tank-top, with a short denim wrap-around
skirt and athletic shoes. They were carefully avoiding eye
contact as Miranda started her Sable and Cathy started her
Porsche. Each arrived at the parking lot exit at the same
moment, at exactly the same moment.
The left front quarter-panel of Miranda's car was crunched,
having met the passenger door of the Porsche. The two women
locked eyes before either left her car, and each knew what
was going to happen. Each woman left her car at the same
time and locked eyes again for a long stare-down before they
approached each other, while a dozen pairs of eyes watched
from the windows of the gym.
"You wrecked my car," Cathy said. Her eyes never left
Miranda's. Miranda smiled slightly, though not with her
eyes. "The way I see it, you wrecked *my* car."
"I see," came the reply. "Shall we let the police sort it
out?" Miranda shook her head, unbuttoning her jacket. "Do we
really need the police?"
The posture of the two women changed with that remark. Both
stood more erect, turned a little more to face each other,
and there was a sudden light in their eyes, along with the
barest hint of a smile. Each breath came a little deeper and
their breasts pointed at each other just a little more.
"No," Cathy replied. "We don't."
Never letting her eyes leave Cathy's, Miranda reached into
her jacket pocket and extracted a business card, which she
handed to the older woman. "My address and number are on the
card. Call me in three hours and tell me what the estimates
on your car are. I'll trade you the information. That will
give us each time to get to the bank before they close for
Cathy nodded. "Good."
Miranda started to get into her car, but turned around. "You
know, your workout clothes are really very nice, good enough
for much more than just a gym. I particularly like the white
outfit. And I have a skirt just like that one."
Cathy smiled. "Thank you. You really look nice in those
heels. They show off your legs very well."
"Good of you to say so. I do like to show off."
At eight o'clock the following morning, the agreed-upon
time, Cathy, armed with a white envelope, walked unannounced
through the door of Miranda's apartment. She was dressed in
her skintight white exercise outfit, nothing underneath, and
the wrap-around skirt covering her from waist to mid-thigh.
On her feet were a pair of black heels, which caused her
calf muscles to bulge with each step.
On the table, just inside the door she saw two silver
plates. In one, was a white envelope which was identical to
hers, and a wristwatch. She placed her envelope in the other
plate and removed her watch, the only jewelry she wore, and
placed it on top of the envelope. She felt her breath coming
in deeper as the anxiety grew in her. She stepped into the
Miranda was across the room, dressed identically to Cathy,
standing with her feet apart, her hands on her hips, muscles
tense with anticipation. Cathy stopped just inside the
doorway, assuming the same pose as her rival. She saw the
younger woman's nipples extending sharply, distending the
cloth of the exercise clothing she wore, and felt her own
growing ever harder in response.
From the time that Cathy had walked through the front door,
everything which had been pre-planned by the women had been
done. Everything now was ad lib, yet each knew that the
rituals were far from over. The two were too much alike, too
eager to enhance their intensity even further.
"This has been a long time coming," Miranda said quietly.
"I've wanted it for some time," Cathy replied.
Miranda took a small step forward, matched identically by
the other. "Yes, I have, too. Look at us. We could be twins,
except our faces are different." She took another step as
she spoke, and again, Cathy did the same. "You know, I read
your progress chart in the gym one day last week. Our
measurements are identical. And we lift the same amount of
weight, in every respect."
This time Cathy took the step and Miranda matched her. They
were about six feet apart now. "I also read yours," Cathy
said. "We do the same amount of time on the stair climber,
the bikes, the treadmill..." She took another small step, as
did Miranda. Three feet.
They paused there, taking a few moments to reexamine the
body of the other, look at the muscles which were flexed,
almost quivering in anticipation. The arms, the flat
stomachs, just barely visible over the tops of the skirts,
and the legs, flexed so much more than could ever be caused
by a mere pair of heels. Then the eyes locked again, almost
"You are a beautiful woman," Miranda said. "So sexy."
"You're no less sexy," Cathy replied.
"Two women so evenly matched in strength and endurance,"
Miranda said. "So competitive." She slipped off one shoe
with the other foot, tossing it gently behind her, knowing
without watching that Cathy was doing the same. The other
shoe was removed in the same manner.
"And neither of us likes the other," Cathy replied, closing
one more step.
Miranda did the same and felt her nipples against Cathy's,
not hard, but just barely touching. Her breath came in a
sharp gasp, matching Cathy's.
Each woman moved her arms out to her sides, slowly, eyes
still locked. The heels of their hands made contact and
their fingertips came together. They built up strength
slowly, with just their fingertips. Soon each was pressing
with all the strength their fingers could provide. Eyes
still locked, looking for any sign of weakness in her
opponent, neither could find any. The excitement built
further, with each set of nipples pressing harder into the
other, each breath becoming harsher. Neither knew how much
time had passed, but each could feel the sweat forming,
beginning to soak their hair.
"Two women, so strong, so sexy." Miranda said with effort,
through clenched teeth. "Equal isn't good enough, for either
of us. One of us has to be better."
The pressure of the fingers ceased and the two women stood
for a full minute, breast to breast, fingertips still
touching, looking at each other's sweat-covered face, not
just the eyes. Then the eyes made contact again and each
could see the other's intensity.
Both women silently reached down and undid the buttons which
held shut her skirt, and removed it, tossing it off to the
side, neither breaking the eye contact. Then they reached
out to their sides again, this time interlocking their
fingers, with agonizing slowness. They began, with the same
slowness, to put pressure on each other's hands, to try and
bend the fingers back. At the same time, each placed her
right thigh against her rival's, high enough that it
sexually aroused the other.
The sexual contact between them had nothing to do with
physical attraction. What caused it was the desire of each
to be proven the better woman in *any* physical respect. The
sexual duel between them was no more than an extension of
their test of strength. But, it was no less important,
Breast pressed harder together, stomachs came together, then
hips, and the eyes, which only moments before had been
looking for weakness or pain in the other, were now looking
over the right shoulder of the other, as they were now cheek
to cheek, hearing the other's breath, which turned into
gasps, then grunts, then groans.
The two duels fought for attention as each woman gave in to
the sexual duel and felt her hands being forced back. She
would then turn her attention more to the test of strength
and force the hands back to the neutral position. The arms
were nearly perfectly still now, and neither woman had a
square micron of her body that was not covered in sweat.
Each felt the body heat, the slick sweat of the other, and
reacted to it below.
Miranda felt the spasms in her arms and shoulders as the
contest entered its fourth minute. She wanted more than
almost anything to quit. The only thing she wanted more was
to win, to best this other woman, both physically and
sexually. She felt Cathy's long dark hair sticking to her
face, to her hair, and kept fighting.
Had she seen Cathy's face, it would have inspired her. The
older woman was grimacing in pain, fighting to keep going,
despite the flames which shot through her upper body. Still,
she felt Miranda's steel-hard nipples against her own, both
sets unyielding, and knew that she could last as long as her
Their sexual duel had expanded now, five minutes into their
battle, as each ground her hips against the other, feeling
as though they were two bucking, straining wild mares,
though to the casual observer, the motion was almost
negligible. But each knew the effect of the other's
rock-hard thigh pressed against her, could feel the strength
of the other's leg muscles against hers, and each was being
drawn closer by the second to her orgasm. The groans were
slowly changing from signs of mere pain to a mix of pain and
Each felt her own strength giving out, at the same rate as
her rival's, neither able to move, able to win, and neither
woman able to admit defeat.
At the same moment, each felt the climax rush up on her. The
moans were louder now, and they felt as though they were in
convulsing fits as completion came, though, from visible
appearances, nothing had changed. Yet each screamed and felt
each other's strength increase briefly to almost maniacal
Yet, as it passed, they sagged against each other, spent,
and stood that way for five minutes, their arms at their
sides, legs still pressed together, leaning their heads on
the other's shoulder.
Finally, they had the strength to stand, though their hands
were still too weak to release their interlocked grip. Their
eyes met once more, and stared, though glassy, at each
other. After a long two minutes, the animosity arose again
and each began to tighten her fingers, once more.
The legs moved apart as they each realized that this would
be their final effort. They were each willing to admit their
sexual equality. All that mattered now was strength.
Pain filled the face of each woman as the renewed duel
continued. Both were still weak - exhausted, actually, but
both refused to concede. For another three minutes, the test
of the strength of their bodies, as well as the test of
their will through their eyes, continued.
Miranda felt her strength beginning to ebb. Sobbing with
pain, her knees buckled and she felt her breasts moving
below Cathy's. It was no comfort to her to hear Cathy
sobbing as she was - not while she was sinking to her knees,
and she fought back with the last of her reserves, but
fruitlessly. It took another two minutes for her to kneel
and another minute after that for Cathy to bend her fingers
to the breaking point. Finally, tears streaming down her
face, she whispered "enough".
Cathy immediately released the pressure and fell to her
knees as well. The last of her strength was completely gone.
They knelt there, hands interlocked, for five minutes before
Cathy could work her fingers free of her rival's. After
another minute, she rose and, fingers still trembling,
buttoned on her skirt, and stepped back into her high heels.
She walked back out into the foyer, stopping at the door to
look back at Miranda, who was still on the floor, but no
longer crying. The younger woman met her eyes one last time,
but this time, there was respect.
Cathy nodded and walked into the foyer. She examined herself
quickly in the mirror and ran her hands through her hair.
Satisfied, she reached down and picked up her wristwatch
from the silver dish, then her envelope. With a small smile,
she moved the other wristwatch into the empty dish and took
the other envelope. With a sigh, she left the apartment.