We Need To Talk - 1:17min (Patreon)

"We need to talk."

Four words that usually mean trouble. But when she says them, sitting on the couch with biceps bigger than your head, the conversation goes somewhere you didn't expect.

She wants to know if you like what she's become. The question is almost funny — she's massive, veiny, and glowing with the kind of confidence that fills a room. She already knows the answer. She just wants to hear you say it.

Then she flexes. Both arms. The kind of flex that makes furniture feel small.

And that's when she gets comfortable enough to tell you what she did last Tuesday. Just out of curiosity, she says. She walked over to your car and tried to pick it up. The back wheels came off the ground. She laughs about it like she's telling you about a funny thing at the grocery store.

You're still processing that when she asks for a massage. Fair trade, she says. She'll pay you back. And the way she says it, you know she means the thing where she picks you up with one arm — something that used to take effort but now barely registers.

The red hair, the freckles, the bright blue eyes. She looks like she should be running a bookshop in a small town. Instead she's sitting in your living room casually mentioning she wants to be the biggest, most muscular woman who has ever lived.

And she means it.

The scariest part? You believe her.

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