There's an ongoing debate about female bodybuilders. Some feel they are the sexiest women in the world; there's a fair number of online sex videos featuring these women. Others claim there's nothing feminine about this bulky, muscular look. Chapter 15 gives you a chance to think about your opinion.
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Alana looked profoundly uncomfortable. "I feel exposed," she said.
That made sense. She felt exposed because she was. Alana wore a beautiful designer gown that revealed all the curves and clefts in that award-winning body of hers. It was particularly striking because the bare-shouldered dress put her muscular arms and shoulders on display. Just to make things a little more challenging for her, I'd insisted that Alana wear high heels, and that she stand up straight and proud. She was almost as tall as me in bare feet, but in heels she could look down on the top of my head. Alana was used to men who didn't like being seen with a woman taller and stronger than they were, and it took a lot of work for me to convince her that I thought she was like a Greek goddess, powerful and beautiful in a regal way.
Her gown featured a slit up one side, revealing the big, smooth muscles of her thigh. Her hair was piled on top of her head in an elegant updo fashioned by Mary. Alana had been a bit unnerved meeting the girlfriend of her boyfriend, but it went fine. Mary charmed her, of course. When Alana said she had nothing appropriate to wear for the date I suggested, I told Mary, and she found something perfect. They don't make dresses for women built like Alana, but Mary figured out a way to modify a nice, sexy gown designed for women who are tall and a bit overweight. A seamstress transformed the dress into something that conformed perfectly to Alana's physique.
She looked incredible, but she didn't feel confident. It was just another bit of evidence of the way Alana had been damaged by all the cruel things said by people who felt it was wrong for a woman to be so big and strong. I'm not sure why she decided to devote herself to competitive bodybuilding, but it didn't really matter. All I wanted to do was give her the help she needed to rise to the top in her sport.
But I also felt a more personal need to convince Alana she was desirable in a way that was deeply feminine and sexual. I believed that, of course, but Alana's past made it hard for her to believe a man would actually feel that way.
That's what tonight was all about. It had been Mary's idea to have me invite Alana to the trendiest restaurant in the city. "What that girl needs is a chance to doll herself up and go somewhere with a man intent on showing her off to the world," Mary said. "She needs to experience the feeling of being beautiful in the most conspicuous way possible."
"So you think that will cure her feelings of insecurity?"
"Of course not, David. That will take time. But it will help. It will help as much as anything can help. Outside the bedroom, anyway."
So here we were, standing at the entrance to
Savor
, a trendy new restaurant that catered to people on the highest rung of the social ladder. Patrons drove to the door in supercars and gave the valets hundred dollar tips to make sure their precious vehicles weren't scratched. Women wore diamonds - lots of diamonds - and dressed in fashions so new they'd barely had time to become all the rage. The men wore those stupid, oversized and overpriced watches that didn't tell time as well as the cheapest cell phone, but did announce to the world that the wearer had lots of money.
Mary made me buy a new suit so I could look good enough to be Alana's companion for the evening. She loaned Alana some nice jewelry, and helped select a special surprise gift for later that night.
"Welcome to
Savor
," the hostess said. "Reservation?"
"Two for David Lightfoot," I said.
Alana seemed very nervous as she followed the hostess to our table. Her overpowering presence silenced other patrons, who did their best not to stare. I pulled out her chair and pushed it in as she sat down.
"People are looking at me," she said
"You're damn right they are," I said. "You are, by far, the most beautiful woman in this room. Every man here wants you. Every woman is jealous. All of them are wondering how an average looking guy like me managed to get with a goddess like you.
"Don't look now, but there's a very attractive older woman behind you, to the right. She's wearing a red dress. That woman looks like she wants to eat you for dinner. Alana, you've transformed yourself into a work of art. It's inevitable that you attract stares from art lovers."
Alana smiled. "You have a way of saying the nicest things," she said.
"If I do, that's wonderful. Let me tell you the secret of thinking up nice things to say. I find that what works best is always speaking the absolute truth. I wouldn't say you look like a goddess if it wasn't true."
Some of you are probably thinking I'm laying it on a little thick with Alana. It might remind you of dialogue from an overwritten romance novel. All I was doing was try my best to undo the damage done by the haters who'd criticized and demeaned her since she became a serious bodybuilder.
It was becoming clear to me that I loved Alana. I hadn't told her because I didn't want to pressure her into giving more of herself than she cared to give. I had no reason to think she loved me. I was trying to express my feelings, that's all, and if it meant I sounded like a character from a bodice-ripper, I'm sorry.
This was a date, an actual date, and I hadn't been on one in a while. Somewhere in my forgotten past I'd read that what women want from a date is to have a man who listens. Really shuts up and listens. If the woman asks a question, the best thing to do is give the shortest possible answer, then turn the conversation back to them. I tend to think this is a reflection of the fact that women constantly deal with being ignored. Having someone pay real attention to what they have to say is shocking. In a good way.
I'd done enough homework that I studied the menu online and asked Mary for help selecting our meals. A lot of the choices were in French, and I had a feeling Alana might be intimidated by such fancy selections. She came from a blue collar family. That's part of the reason she needed the Gaia Foundation; her parents couldn't afford to fund Alana's competitive dreams. Mary knew which menu choices came closest to meeting Alana's nutritional needs, so she explained them to me in language clear enough that I could make intelligent suggestions. "Women love it when a man orders for them," Mary said. "It's like being served breakfast in bed."
I ordered the appetizers Mary suggested, ordered the wine, and focused all my attention on getting Alana to talk about herself. I might have been working too hard, because at one point Alana asked an uncomfortable question.
