When she sat down on the daybed, it creaked with the weight of her. She was wearing a hot pink singlet. The veins cobwebbing her shoulder muscles were still glossed with the posing oil from the competition. 'I'm exhausted,' she said. 'I can rub your feet,' Angus said. She slipped her feet out of her diamante sandals. 'Sure,' she said and placed one foot in Angus's crotch, reclining on the daybed. Unlike her body, her foot was delicate and pale. 'Are you ticklish?' he asked. 'No.' Angus massaged her foot with both hands. When she looked like she was starting to relax, he began to run his fingertips up and down her calf muscle. Her eyes were too close to each other and they shut for a moment and then opened again. She stretched her legs wider and he enjoyed seeing her wide thighs bursting in her cut denim shorts. Her waist was thin, her breasts defied gravity and her shoulders carried a generation. Without the stage lights, her face looked darker and her chin wider. He ran his hand to the back of her knees and up the inside of her thigh. When she pushed her weight on top of him, her arms were thick and shaped like blackberries. She took her singlet and white bikini top off. Even her breasts were muscles. He writhed under her, feeling like he didn't have a face or body, he was just an instrument for her desires, another workout tool.
