I still remember the first time I saw you.

A room full of thrashing bodies, but you were the only one living.
Your swaying hips,
your vibrant steps,
your wild arms,
your smile.
I had to know you.

I did my best impression of you as I weaved, slid, pushed my way through the crowd,
and there you were.
I don’t remember the words, the jokes, the pleasantries,
I just remember the joy, your toned, athletic body sidling up to me, your empathic aura,
and that smile.

We met, we talked, we grew closer,
and we danced.

I grew to know more about you, visited you often,
came to your studio, watched you dance with grace I had never seen before.
Even surrounded by other dancers, you absolutely stole the stage
just like you stole my heart every time you glanced at me with a smile.

I remember how much that broken leg hurt,
more on the inside than on the outside.
Physical therapy, the doctor said,
as I sat with you and clutched your trembling hand.
You could dance again. It would just take work.

Hard work. Every day. Exercise.
The basics. Moving again. Stretching again.
And then, the weights.

I could see it in your eyes. The joy, the pride every time you bested yourself.
You smiled, and that made me smile, too.
Leg workouts turned to full-body workouts,
to make sure you weren’t uneven, you said.

You came back, better than ever.
You flew across the stage with new power, new confidence,
everyone complimenting your built, toned physique.
You smiled. A nice smile, but a different smile.

I thought the gym visits would stop. But you kept going.
To stay in shape, you said. To be more athletic. To dance better.
But I went there with you. I saw how much you loaded those bars,
grunted with exertion, loaded them up more.
You didn’t want to be defeated. You wanted to be bigger.

Your body rippled as you danced, muscles pulsing in ways they never had before.
People began to notice, began to comment. Said you didn’t look like a dancer.
It made you frown. Made you upset. I’d console you about it in bed while I
rubbed your thick, wide arms, nuzzled into your growing neck, explored all of the
new spaces, new parts of you.
But you never stopped going to the gym. Seven days a week.

A bodybuilding contest, you said,
as you adjusted a tight shirt over your broad chest.
Everyone at the gym had begged you to do it,
so you signed up.
You would miss dance rehearsal for it, but it wasn’t a big deal,
you said with a smile.

Even surrounded by other musclemen, you absolutely stole the stage,
flexing thick, heavy muscles to the cheers of the crowd.
You were slow, particular, hefty,
but effective.
You won your weight class handily, but you weren’t satisfied.
The problem wasn’t the win,
it was the weight class.

You hit the gym harder, that determination always in your eyes.
You lived for it, but you didn’t smile as much,
except when someone complimented your size, had you flex, looked up at you in awe.
Then you smiled, Cool, confident, proud,
radiating in instead of out.

You quit dancing to bodybuild full time.

You spent long days and long nights while I stayed home,
cuddling the sheets and the heavy hole you laid.

You succeeded. You were a titan, a mountain,
the biggest man alive.
Biceps bigger than my head, thighs like pillars, a chest wider than truck tires,
a manly swagger that announced your presence as much as your body did.
You knew how to work a crowd,
and I wasn’t a crowd.

I showed up to Mr. Olympia,
smiled as you dominated the competition
and hauled up the trophy with one thick hand.
A fire burned within you
and I hugged you and went to the hotel and snuggled with you
but you were a mountain,
huge and strong and unmoving.
I hugged around you
and was smothered
like I was hardly even there.

One last shot.

I texted you,
told you to meet me at a familiar address.
You came straight from the gym, body glistening, gleaming,
pumped beyond belief.
You walked into the empty studio, saw the lights dimmed,
heard our song playing,
saw me standing in the middle of the room.

You walked over, quads looking ready to burst out their shorts.
I looked up at you, pleading.
I wrapped my hands around your thick obliques, as much as I could.
You obliged and copied me.

I looked right into those fierce, warm eyes.
You did the same.

I smiled,
you smiled,
and we danced.