My ex showed up at my door, saying we needed to talk. I thought this odd since we almost never talked during our marriage, especially the bad years, so why now?
She looked good, I had to admit, lost a little weight and still had these drop-dead gorgeous legs. Annette’s a six-foot Amazon, no two ways about it, redheaded and freckled with mile-long legs that, in her prime, were sexily muscled, thick, huge – and deadly. I spent many an hour in her legjail, just being held against my wishes and forced to do things, sexual things, as well as household chores. I didn’t miss that at all, and neither did my head or neck.
But today, as she sauntered up the stairs to my apartment in short and tight black Spandex biking shorts, low gray socks and stylish black boots, I couldn’t take my eyes off her calves, which had gotten really huge, and the hamstrings on the backs of her thighs, thick and hard as stone. She was still overweight, but the weight she lost came mostly from her humungous legs, leaving nicely etched muscle behind.
“Nice calves, huh?” she said without looking back.