a strong body - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Ryan was half shadow, every muscle on his torso flowing from the light into the dark. He was a living work or art, his brown skin so tempting to touch; every move giving away his strength. His eyes were locked onto the monochrome street outside. Sylvia edged closer until she could see his face, illuminated by streetlight, serious like she'd never seen him before.
A strong body used to be a sign of either excessive leisure time or a professional athlete. Who else had time for it? Now it's just a necessity. If you can't run, you're dead. If you can't jump a low level wall without reducing speed you're dead. If you can't make your own weapon and fight with it...well, you get the idea. I used to be a desk-jockey living on caffeine and craving high sugar, high fat, high salt. I struggled against the bulge like everyone else and bought magazines that shamed me and advertised my addictions at the same time. Now that fat is hard muscle. This girl that used to pant to climb the stairs is now the fastest scout in the enclave. I've never gone toe to toe with an adversary because they just can't keep up but I can best almost everyone in training, even the men. I've lost everything I thought made my life bearable and I'm more alive than ever. I don't fear wars in far off lands or a virus outbreak thousands of miles away. I just live each day and I'm happy.
I called Sherbet my "little ant," but not because he was so small. He was just so freakishly strong. You've seen those ants carrying several times their own body weight? If not, check it out on discovery channel or something, it's awesome! Anyway, back to Sherbet. He's the most wiry and diminutive person but every ounce is either dense bone or sinewy muscle and he's as lithe as any olympic gymnast. Sometimes I wonder just how strong his body would be if he'd grown a bit more, but I love him just the way he is. He's as sweet as his name and twice as cute.
In the winter time Jason looked just like any other guy walking down the street in his jeans and duffle coat. There was something a little hippy-ish about him, from the way he moved to his slightly long hair and coarse beard. He looked for all the world like he was walking to his own beat, literally, like there was music playing in his head. But come summer when he stripped off to a tight t-shirt and bermuda shorts his muscles popped right out. Suddenly the girls' heads would turn. In his layers he was no-one and without them he was someone. He always returned a smile when he caught an admiring glance, but his heart had long been taken. He gave it away to a girl that fell for him in the winter time; and he kept her love sacred.
True, he was into his mid-fifties now, but standing at 6' 1'' in his socks, and with a well-toned and muscular body, his physique was admired by the opposite sex, and still fired the envy of many a younger man.
He turned around. I sucked in a sharp breath as his shirtless torso was exposed to me. Gawking wouldn't quite describe my state. I was shocked, stunned, flabbergasted, amazed, wonderstruck, mesmerized by his physique. It was like nothing I've ever seen before. His body was drool-worthy. He had a chiseled chest and the skin on it was glowing healthily. His abdominals were sculptured to perfection as his six-packs pop, instantly giving off the impression that he came out of a Calvin Klein shoot. I won't even forget about his arms for years. His biceps were the size of my head yet lean and his triceps looked like diamonds - really rare ones, indeed - and completing his masterpiece of a bodice, his shoulders, round and protruding, give his whole look a new flavor. I want to extend my hands and touch, but I also don't want to creep him out. Look at me, notice me, know me, LOVE me- I kept begging him mentally, hoping that it shows in my eyes and that he would be able to decipher my feelings.
His body was as strong as any state athlete, but his mind was shot. Harper would run around the track over and over, unaware of how far he'd gone or how long he'd been out there. Other days he'd be doing push-ups under a tree, the gentle spring light falling on his bare shoulders. There were days a girl would stop, caught by the sight of muscles giving definition under his tanned skin. She'd move on soon after he tried to reciprocate, speaking more like a child than a man.
Lucy looked like any other girl until she scaled a rock face. She had the most ridiculous strength to weight ratio of any other climber and a grip strength that would hold out longer than any man on the crew. The summer time was the only season strangers could tell she was something unusual, her muscles more defined than they'd seen in real life before. The rest of the year she wore blue jeans hanging off her hips and a semi-loose shirt, pony-tail swinging as she walked.