“I’m proud of you,” he said as he nibbled her meaty neck, then ran his tongue up her jugular vein, pushing just enough to feel the pulse.
“How much fatter am I going to get?” Aurora looked miserable as she stood naked in front of the mirror.
“No. You can’t think like that.” He walked around and stood in front of her. “You are metamorphosing into a magnificent work of art. You are becoming the world’s most treasured sculpture.” He clasped his hands in prayer. “You will be exquisite.”
“I’m a pig.” Aurora demonstrated by grabbing a thick handful of skin on her lower lat.
“No more mirrors,” Charles said forcefully, walking to the closet for a robe. “Two more weeks. You’ll get much bigger. Then we stop and you’re going to drop a lot of water. You won’t believe what’s underneath. Until then, no more looking.” He put the white terry cloth robe around her shoulders and guided her into the hall. He remembered that May had felt this same fear and frustration the first time she got on the serious androgens. It was hard for these girls to see the big picture, hard for them to trust in his supreme pharmacological knowledge.
“I want to show you some pictures.” Charles led Aurora down the hallway to his bedroom. He took the three green leather-bound photo albums from the bureau and lay them on the bed. They were embossed with gold writing: “May One,” “May Two,” “May Three.” The pages were rimmed with a tough metallic gold ribbon, custom-made to last a lifetime. Charles handled them carefully. He opened the first book.
“Here she is as a child.” Charles smiled. May at fourteen, pudgy and awkward with her crooked pigtails and sloppy clothes, her right hand holding the left arm, smiling, standing in the small yard of her family’s house. Even here Charles could recognize her posture, her physical language, and the splendid creature she was to become. “At sixteen.” He pointed to her in her cheer-leading uniform, the red-and-white skirt and matching sweater. Those legs starting to form, the perfect genetic sweep of her quad.
“Did you know her as a kid?” Aurora studied the page.
“We didn’t meet until she won the Iron Rose.” He turned the page. There was skinny May in a bathing suit at twenty standing ankle-deep in the ocean. She had the perfect framework, wide shoulders, tiny waist and hips, and a nice deep cut down the middle of her body separating the two sections of her abdominals. “She had never even touched a weight here.” He turned another page.
Nude May at twenty-one, locked in her bedroom with the camera on a timer. Charles had several pages of these. She looked so sure of herself, so confident in her appeal. The way she presented her apple breasts, one in each hand. Her display of both labial folds, held open by her beautifully manicured hands, were sophisticated beyond her years. And while she was not yet muscled, she already possessed that brilliant instinct for display.
“I’d love to have some pictures of you,” Charles said. He put his hand inside Aurora’s robe and lightly brushed his fingers over her nipple.
“I don’t have anything like this.” She pulled away and turned the pages, more roughly than Charles would have liked, until she came to the first contest shots.
“First place in the Novice at the Gold Coast,” Charles said. “I think she might have won the open division. Look at her symmetry.”
Aurora leaned in and examined the photograph. “Amazing genetics.”
“You’re easily as gifted.” Charles slid his hand back inside the robe, this time pinching and twisting the nipple.
Aurora continued to study May.
He leaned in close and whispered, “Turn the page.” Then he ran his tongue around the rim of her ear as she looked at photographs of May’s triumph at the Iron Rose.
“You have smaller joints.” He untied her robe.
“Your shoulders are broader.” He moved and sat behind her on the bed and kissed her neck.
“Your glutes are fuller.” He eased the robe off her shoulders and traced the prominent outline of her lower traps with his lips.
“You have shorter bicep insertions.” He guided her to the floor so she was kneeling, resting her breasts and arms on the bed.
Aurora turned another page and there was May with her big trophy at the L.A. “How long between the Iron Rose and the L.A.?”
“Six months.” Charles took off his green silk robe and positioned himself behind her, his erect penis resting in the crack of her butt.
Aurora pulled the book closer. “How’d she make those gains so fast?”
“How do you think?” Charles held Aurora by the hips and rubbed himself against her in a gentle humping motion. He reached down and ran his finger along the slit of her swollen, wet, plumlike pussy. “Go on,” he said. “Look at the Junior Nationals.”
Aurora turned the page and sighed in admiration. Charles worked his fingers in her body and she responded by leaning back against him. He pushed her farther over the bed and entered her slowly. They pumped together through the triumphant pictures of the Nationals and climaxed with May at the Ms. Olympia contest.
Amy Isn’t Home Yet
Aurora ran a bath, took off her clothes, and did not look at herself in the mirror before sliding into the hot water. It was two-thirty. Amy wouldn’t be home until at least three.
Her body felt sore, each muscle identifying itself according to how many days had passed since training. Her hamstrings were the quietest; they were just beginning to hoard the lactic acid that would make walking such a difficult task tomorrow. This training with Hendrik was different from any she’d done. Her body could usually adjust to a level of intensity after the first week or two. But not with Hendrik. Every time they trained he had new and different exercises that tricked her and left her sore and exhausted. Hendrik was a genius at creating new movements, at hitting a muscle in a way no one else could.
She felt stronger now and her endurance had improved. She knew it would work; look what Charles and Hendrik had done with May. In less than two years they’d made her one of the best. Aurora closed her eyes and relaxed in the water.
Charles had surprised her today. His whispering and his fingers made her actually want to fuck him. She came at the same time he did and with great intensity. Thinking of it brought back a vague throbbing and she considered masturbating. She took the soap and ran it around her nipples so they were slippery and hard; she touched her clit, but couldn’t work up the interest. She washed herself instead, scrubbing her skin with the new loofah that Charles had given her.
Hairs grew on her big toes. She’d never noticed that before. There weren’t many—four, maybe five—but they were long and a dark enough brown to make them noticeable. At first she thought she’d shave but the hair would just grow back, thicker and more hardy. She climbed out of the tub and got a pair of tweezers from the medicine cabinet, then returned to her bath. She propped her right foot up by the faucet, leaned over, selected a hair, and got a good grip with the needle-nose tweezers and yanked. Aurora could not believe how much it hurt; as if that hair was an integral part of some essential nervous system, the pain shot up her leg. How could that be? It was just a toe. Aurora grabbed her razor and finished the job.
The bathwater got cold. Aurora climbed out, dried herself quickly, and put on clean sweats. As she brushed her hair, the phone rang. It was Eileen, Aurora’s mother.
“I just got a letter from Amy,” Eileen said, not bothering with a greeting. “She’s miserable. Did you know that?”
“She’s fine, Mother.” Aurora hated to be caught off guard. She gripped the receiver tightly and prepared for battle.
“She’s not fine. She’s in trouble. Have you done anything?”
Aurora forced herself not to answer.
“Have you spoken to her teachers? Have you gotten to know any of the other mothers? Do you know what goes on at school? Jeanine, have you even noticed her lately?”
“You’re out of line, Mother.” Aurora cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear and held up both middle fingers, silently tel
ling her mother to fuck off but deriving little strength from the gesture.
“Let that sweet child come home. She’d be fine here and then you can devote yourself to whoring.”
Aurora hung the phone up very carefully, before her mother could say another word, then said, “Shove it up your fucking ass till it comes out your mouth. I hate you.” She took a deep breath and went back to brushing her hair. Her mother was jealous. She’d always been jealous. She couldn’t stand it that Aurora was having success. “I don’t need you, Mother.” Aurora smiled at herself in the mirror. “We’re doing just fine.” She walked into the bedroom, lay on the bed, stared at the smooth plaster ceiling.
Aurora woke up to the sound of Amy coming up the stairs. It had begun to get dark. “Hi, sweetie,” she said when Amy passed her door.
“Hi, Mom.” Amy didn’t stop; she continued down the hall toward her room.
Aurora got up and followed. “What’s up?” She stood in the doorway and watched as Amy stuffed something into her closet. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
Aurora walked to the closet and opened it. There in the corner was a large green-and-white umbrella. “Where’d that come from?”
“Someone left it on the bus.” Amy avoided her eyes.
“You took it?” Aurora didn’t want to fight.
Amy nodded.
“Honey, that’s stealing. You should have turned it in.” Aurora took the umbrella out and examined the wooden handle. “It is an awfully nice one. You don’t know who left it?”
Amy shook her head.
“You need an umbrella, huh? You could have used one today.”
Amy agreed.
“Better turn this in tomorrow, okay? I’ll buy you one.” Aurora hugged her daughter, then released her and sat on the bed. “How was school?”
“Good.” Amy stood awkwardly in front of her mother.
“Sit here, next to me.” Aurora patted the bed. “Have a lot of homework tonight?”
“Not really,” Amy said. She sat on the bed.
“Want to just forget it and go to a movie?”
Amy looked delighted. “Absolutely.”
“Let’s go buy a paper and see what’s playing.” Aurora stood, walked to the door, and Amy followed. “Let’s go have some fun.”
At Breakfast with Hendrik
Hendrik carefully unfolded his paper napkin and tucked the corner of it into the white collar of his maroon long-sleeved polo shirt, creating a flimsy paper bib. The restaurant was crowded with oversized men and women from the gym crammed into pale green Naugahyde booths. Aurora thought they looked like adults at a child’s tea party, squirming around uncomfortably in the too-small furniture, legs bent this way and that in an effort to fit. She and Hendrik had a small table against the wall.
“Arnold worshiped me,” Hendrik said. “Wrote me long letters begging for my secrets. Had a picture of me in his wallet.”
“No way.” Aurora said. Hendrik had never mentioned Arnold before. “When was this?”
“Late sixties.” Hendrik looked defensive for a moment, but then relaxed. He dumped the bowl filled with raw onions on top of his bloody, rare steak. “Came pleading for help after he lost the Universe and Olympia.” Hendrik cut a piece of meat the size of a baby’s fist and stuffed it into his mouth.
Aurora opened her eyes wide to show how impressed she was, then cut her small steak into six big chunks and put a teaspoon-sized pile of white rice on each bite. She didn’t know Arnold had a mentor. She’d read a lot about his early days—what bodybuilder hadn’t—but she’d never seen Hendrik’s name.
“I created him.” Hendrik chewed with his mouth open and spoke through saliva and bloody steak and onion bits. “He was a baby elephant.”
Aurora had her mouth full, so she nodded in admiration.
“They all came to me.” He drank his milk and relaxed, stretching his legs out farther so that they pressed against Aurora’s. “Sergio, Dave Draper, Franco.” He scooped up some onions with his fork and ate them.
“Did you compete too?” Aurora said.
“Of course.” Hendrik was annoyed. He sat up straight and pointed to himself. “I started everything.”
Aurora waited for him to go on, list his titles, whom he had beat. But Hendrik busied himself with his meal and ignored Aurora completely. The waitress came and he ordered more milk. Aurora took another bite of steak and rice.
Finally he said, “Did you know I created Dianabol?” He folded his arms on his chest in anger. “Ziegler came to me for help, then took all the credit. It was me.” Hendrik looked hard at Aurora.
Aurora set her fork down and shook her head. “That’s horrible.” Why was Hendrik mad at her? She sat still, staring into his eyes, her face blank, trying to show him that there wasn’t an ounce of guilt in her. He seemed to be challenging her to a duel and she didn’t know why. It was several long seconds before he dropped his eyes back down to his plate and cut another bite. Aurora didn’t move in case he wasn’t finished talking. Maybe this was some kind of German thing.
Behind Hendrik, the door opened and a man in ragged cutoff Levis, a camouflage T-shirt and filthy white sneakers with no socks walked in. His black-rimmed glasses were crooked on his face and taped at the bridge. Skip DeBilda. He was smiling just enough to show his missing front tooth. Aurora looked down, angling her body toward the wall. How in the world had he gotten to California? She hadn’t seen him since the Southern States, when he showed up at prejudging and sat in the audience heckling the other contestants. Aurora had pretended not to know him even though he kept yelling her name, screaming that she was the best and the other girls flabby heifers. She’d been in the middle of her compulsory poses when security forced him to leave. He’d screamed to her, “We did it, Jeanine,” all the way up the aisle.
Aurora brought her hair forward over her face.
“And who do you think started the growth hormone?” Hendrik hit the table with his sledgehammer fist, rattling the utensils. “Hmmm?” He pointed at Aurora, waiting for an answer.
She peeked up at him from under her hair curtain. “You?”
“I am the father of this sport.” He hit the table with his fist again, a judge with a verdict. “It was me.” He was getting loud.
“Jeanine,” Skip called. Aurora could tell he was close, maybe five steps away. She kept her head down and held her breath.
“Jeanine Johnson.” Skip had his hand on her shoulder. There was nowhere to hide. “I’ll be damned.”
Aurora remembered his smell. The first time he spotted her on the pull down machine, his arms raised over his head, his body odor brought terrible tears to her eyes like some noxious gas from a chemical spill. His breath in the morning when she woke him up in his car. He wouldn’t even stop in the bathroom at the YMCA to brush his teeth or pee. He’d lead her down to the weight room in the basement, in the dark, and train her with sleep in his eyes.
She turned and faced him, remembering how she’d told him, that night in the parking lot after the Southern States, that she never wanted to see him again. He cried and kept asking her what he’d done wrong. She’d offered him money to go away but he didn’t take it.
She tried to stay calm. “What are you doing here?”
“I moved here.” He was grinning wide, talking to Hendrik now, too. “Got the old car fixed up and brought her on out.” He extended his hand to Hendrik; his nails were packed with black grease and God knows what else. “Skip DeBilda, Jeanine’s trainer.”
“Go away,” Aurora said with quiet hate. “You’re not my trainer.”
“Was.” Skip reached over and grabbed Hendrik’s hand, shaking it and smiling with demented joy. “Did it for free.” He sniffed wetly and dragged his bare forearm across his running nose. “You ever seen such genetics?” Skip pulled a chair over and sat at the edge of their table, blocking the aisle. “Greatest accomplishment of my life was turning this little ugly duckling into a swan.”
“Ja.” Hen
drik wiped his hand on the napkin. Aurora could see he was annoyed. He pulled off his paper bib and placed his knife and fork neatly on the plate next to his unfinished steak.
“This is great.” Skip reached over and pinched her tricep. “You’re quite the porker now.”
Aurora jerked her arm away. “Stop it.”
Skip patted her shoulder. “I’m just kidding.” He grabbed her knee. “Glad to see you.”
One night, a year into her training, Skip had been teaching Aurora how to pose. The YMCA was closed but he had his own set of keys. He took off his shirt and she had been shocked to see how finely shaped his body was. He pulled himself up into a front double bicep and then had her stand next to him and do the same. At that moment, looking in the mirror at her body and what he’d done with it, his smell changed from bad to good and Aurora got excited and fucked him on the mats of the gym floor. That was the end. He fell in love and became a problem. She joined another gym and told him to stay away or she’d call the police. She managed to avoid him except when he showed up at her contests and made a scene. What an idiot she’d been. That she’d ever touched him, his hand on her now, made the food in her stomach sit uneasy and the taste in her mouth sour and rank.
“Get your hand off me, you piece of shit.” The words came out before Aurora could stop them.
“Excuse me.” Hendrik put his napkin on his plate and walked away from the table to the bathroom.
The clogged pores on Skip’s nose formed a pattern of black dots that looked like newsprint through a magnifying glass. There was white-yellow crust in the corners of his mouth. Aurora took a deep breath. “What do you want?”
“I heard things were going real good for you.” Skip reached over, took a piece of Hendrik’s steak, and popped it into his mouth. “Always wanted to see California.”
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