The statuesque bald, black woman got off the train. A crowd quickly gathered around her, mostly males, who seemed stunned by her muscular form. She was wearing a simple shift dress--sleeveless, that showed off her amazingly well developed biceps and shoulders, gathering at the neck. Even for a Black woman, her muscles were quite grand, but not overdone like a body builder. And as she moved to the station window to get her next ticket, she rested her bags on the ground so that she could easily pull money from her wallet. Bending down her skirt rode up, showing off her well defined thighs. The thing that attracted the most attention, however were her arms, which bore large numbered and lettered tattoos on each arm. One read something starting with an F in large letters. The other appeared to be three numbers. The men, who seemed to be drawn to her as if magnetically, had a particular interest in the numbers, it seemed, and they started to buzz about it--you could hear the murmurs "What do they mean?" "Lucky Numbers?" "How many boyfriends she's had?" The man at the ticket window stared but hesitated to ask. She bought her next ticket and then stood to wait for the next train. A nerdy male sidled up to her, eyeing her up and down, shaking his head. She glared at him.
"See something?" she asked, her tone low and annoyed.
"Yeah," he said. "Looks like a woman who isn't happy knowing her place."
She laughed and looked up at him, shaking her head. "What do the numbers mean, anyway?" he asked her.
"oh those are my important measurements." She replied. He laughed.. "What, your ring size?" he asked "You know for your engagement ring?"
She shook her head slowly. "It's my bicep size..here," she said, pointing to her right arm. "I can't really read it" he said to her, starting to rub his fingers over his own muscles idly. He was wearing an MIT tee shirt, and glasses, and under his arm he carried a netbook housed in a protective sleeve. He twigeted nervously with his blackberry. He was obviously one of those smart, geeky guys, on his way to some kind of conference.
Slowly she starts to flex her right arm, the muscles bulging, the letters popping out....the O in the word "FOURTEEN" showing very round. As she did so, his eyes started to widen, even though he tried to act as though he wasn't impressed. Others around started to stare. His hand stroked over his own bicep as she did so, and as he watched her muscle pump up, bulging out like a baseball, he knew it was bigger than his.. so he covered his own with his hand, and started nervously clearing his throat. "Well," he said, "I guess you're one of those jock girls... only exercises, not much of a thinker. Always at the gym," he said glibly. "So what's the other number?"
She grinned widely, her hand stroking over the three numbers tattooed over the muscle. As she did so, she started to flex it, the muscle bulking up conspicuously as she tensed it. The numbers 1 3 4 started to pop out large, almost jumping out at him, the 3 the middle looking particularly huge under the curve of her well formed bulging muscle. "That's my IQ" she said to him, her white teeth flashing at him. And as she said it..he started to shake.. and walked away.
She shouted behind him "So where's my place?" but he kept walking, his head hanging down, defeated, knowing this woman was more than he could ever be, both in body and in mind.
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