The Romance of a Fat Girl

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We were in the state of satiation after a really great session of sex where even moving seems an effort. Our naked bodies touching, our sweat-slick limbs tangled, we lay cooling slowly from the heat of our passion.

“Shall I tell you,” my lover said then, “about the first time I had sex? Would you like me to?”

“Yes,” I said. “I would. Very much.”

My lover, I should explain, is fat. Not extremely so, not morbidly obese, but undeniably fat. She is also the most passionate woman I have ever slept with. She exudes sexuality from every pore of her being. “I can live without food, and I’ve accumulated fat to make sure of that,” she had said once, ruefully looking at the gentle bulge of her abdomen, “but I can’t live without sex.”

She said it again now. “I told you I can’t live without sex, and that’s true.” Her hand slid down my thigh and casually fondled my penis, still moist with her fluids. “And of course to have all the sex I need I have to be rather forward about my sexuality.” I could vouch for that, it was she who had seduced me the first time. I had been reluctant at first, and she had drawn me on, persuading me to share her bed just one time – and once I’d discovered what she was like in the sack, she hadn’t needed to persuade me any more. “But I wasn’t always like that.

“Back when I was in junior college I was really unsure of myself,” she said. “I was the fattest girl in class, and I was the only virgin – or at least I was the only one who would admit to being a virgin. But of course if I’d said I wasn’t a virgin, the rest of the girls would have laughed at me. No one would have believed me. Who would ever give a fat girl sex?

“I was at an all girl college. Nowadays it’s co-ed, but at the time all the boys we wanted were studying elsewhere. So there wasn’t any way of getting to know boys too easily. We none of us had much of a social life, or at least I didn’t.” Her fingers lightly tickled my scrotum, and my penis stirred slightly. “So the girls could do an awful lot of lying about their sexual experiences, and there was no way of knowing the truth. All I could do was listen enviously while – especially on Mondays – the girls told each other whom they had fucked on the weekend and what it had been like. Yes, I believed them then, when they said they had sex, all the sex they could handle. All I had was masturbation.

“And oh, yes, I masturbated a lot. I must have masturbated at least twice every day, sometimes four or five times. You’ve seen me masturbate, and you know how intense my orgasms are.” I knew; she would arch her back right off the bed and grind her vulva frantically against the edge of her hand, moaning and shuddering as she came. “Imagine me doing that every day, but not because I wanted the pleasure. Only for the relief of it, and out of envy. Don’t forget the envy.

“I was so envious of them! I would lie in bed and imagine them, naked on their backs like me, their legs spread apart like mine were, but instead of only their own hands between their legs, like mine, there would be a male body over each of them, a hard penis sliding in and out of their wet vaginas. I would imagine it and I would cry as I hit orgasm. The tears wouldn’t be of pleasure, either, even though the orgasms were intense.

“Some days I decided I would never, ever, be able to lose my virginity, that I was doomed to a life of envying every normal woman. Those days were really bad. Some other days I would wake up determined that if I met a nice man that day I would, at all costs, fuck him. But that never happened either.

“I should mention that my parents’ house was rather large, with an upper storey that they let out. Around this time new tenants arrived, a young couple in their mid-twenties, recently married. They seemed pretty much besotted with each other. I didn’t think much of the woman, she seemed to me utterly ordinary, but that was my envy talking. The man was gorgeous.

“He was young and of medium height, not slim but not too muscular, and he moved like a big cat. Do you know that motion? He didn’t walk, he seemed to glide. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him.

“Sometimes when I was returning from college and another day of listening to descriptions of sexual conquests, thinking of how I had never even been kissed, I would meet him on the stairs. He would nod and smile at me and I – I would merely gape. Afterwards I’d curse myself for how Anadolu Yakası Escort stupid he must have thought me. I must have seemed to be a half-wit.

“Nights when I masturbated I would no longer dream of faceless unknown men. When I closed my eyes and ran the edge of my hand up and down my cleft, the face hanging above me, the naked body lying on mine, would be his. I was so bitterly jealous of his wife I didn’t even look at her or ever answer if she said hello to me. So one of them thought me daft, and the other thought me rude.

“Around this time my father was sent abroad by his company for three months. The week after he left, my sister got a letter saying she’d been accepted to the medical college she had applied to, down in the south. She had to join classes in a fortnight’s time. My mother decided to go with her to get her settled in. She would be away for a week. For a week I would be alone.

“I didn’t mind being alone. I was, actually speaking, alone most of the time anyway, because no one at all understood what I wanted or thought or dreamed. I just wished them well for the journey and thought I’d carry on as usual.

“But that night there was an almighty commotion from upstairs, all the sounds of a violent quarrel, raised voices and things thrown around and all. I thought of going up to see what – if anything – I might be able to do about it. But I was scared, to tell you the truth. I was so diffident in those days about everything, even when I was in the right.

“Then, it was just about midnight, I heard someone come down the stairs and the front door slammed. I got out of bed, drew back the curtain and caught a glimpse of her from upstairs. She was dragging along an enormous suitcase and walking away towards the bus station. I stood there for a long time, my bare feet cold on the floor, my heart beating fast, a queer metallic feeling in my chest and the pit of my stomach. Afterwards I couldn’t go to sleep for a long time.

“Next morning I saw him. He seemed all right, nothing in his behaviour out of the ordinary, and I wondered if I should ask him if everything was all right. But it would have seemed trite and anyway I was sure to stumble over my words and make an awful fool out of myself.

“I must tell you the next four days were torture. Here I was all alone, alone and yearning, and the object of my desires just upstairs, equally alone. It was such torture that I even quit masturbating. I didn’t attend classes. I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling when he was home, imagining him just up there, the thickness of a block of concrete away, wanting to be with him and feeling the few short days of my freedom slip away.” She raised herself on an elbow and used her right nipple to trace a circle on my chest, watching my penis stiffen at the touch. “You never went through all that, so you can’t actually feel what I was feeling then. But it’s OK, I know you won’t laugh.

“The fifth day, with just two days left before my mother returned, I finally decided I couldn’t put up with things any more. I lay in wait for him and met him on the stairs as he was returning from work. I smiled at him and he smiled back. When he smiled I felt it shiver through me down to my feet.

“I asked him about his wife, something along the lines of ‘I’m so sorry your wife left the other day, when do you expect her back?’

” ‘She wasn’t my wife,’ he answered. ‘We were living together, and I’m afraid she won’t be back. We broke up good and proper.’ I didn’t know what to say to that.

” ‘I guess you must be lonely,’ I said at last. ‘All alone without her.’

” ‘I am,’ he admitted. ‘But it doesn’t matter anyway. I will have to find a new place to live. I’m already looking.’

” ‘But…why?’ My mouth went dry and a fist seemed to clench in my abdomen.

” ‘Your parents, I’m afraid, won’t be happy that we pretended to be married when we weren’t,’ he explained. ‘But it was the only way we could rent this apartment. And anyway now I can’t afford the rent on only my pay.’

” ‘Oh, I’m sorry.” I was; tears were burning my eyes and for an awful instant I was on the verge of bawling. Desperately, to hold the tears back, I asked him, ‘Why don’t you come in for a while? We could have coffee and sandwiches and talk. I’m alone and lonely too.’ The words were out of my mouth before I’d quite realised what I’d said, and I went red with confusion.

” ‘Give me an hour to freshen up,’ he said. ‘I’ll be there, gladly.’

“The stairs and floor seemed to vanish from beneath my feet as I went back to our living room. For the next hour I hustled, believe me – I was cleaning and arranging the living room so fast I didn’t give myself time to think. If I’d had the time I think I’d have reduced myself to a lump of quivering jelly.” She leaned over and kissed my lips. “Just like I like to do to you. I’d have loved to have some alcohol, just a shot of brandy, to give myself some nerve, but there was none in the house.

“Anyway, he was there promptly in an hour. I was there at the door waiting, but opened for him after a full minute. I didn’t want to give the impression of being too eager. He wasn’t fooled, I’m sure. He was in just a short-sleeved T shirt and shorts. I, on the other hand, was in a sweatshirt and denims. I felt overdressed.

“We sat down opposite each other and I gave him the coffee and sandwiches I’d made. We talked for a while, but I honestly don’t recall a word of what we said. Maybe we discussed his job and my college. I just don’t know. I sat opposite him and drank him in with my eyes and tried to work up nerve enough to hint at what I felt.

“At last he got up and said he ought to be leaving. I felt panic shoot through me then. He would go away and I knew I could never get him in here like this again.

” ‘Oh, wait a minute,’ I said. ‘You can’t possibly go without having a look at my room.’ I jumped to my feet. I was blabbering. ‘You do want a look at my room, don’t you?’

“Amazingly, he didn’t laugh at me. ‘Yes, I think I should like that,’ he said. ‘You don’t really know a person unless you see how she keeps her surroundings.’ There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice, and I knew whom he was thinking of.

” ‘Just give me a couple of moments to get the mess squared away,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ll call you. Just give me a moment.’ I was desperate, I didn’t really stop to think. As soon as I got into my room I kicked off my sandals, pulled off all my clothes as fast as I could, and stuffed them into my wardrobe. I stood there, completely naked, and called to him. ‘You can come in now…’

“He came. I was the first thing he saw, and he stopped dead in his tracks. I didn’t dare breathe. I struck no poses. I just stood there and let him look at me. His eyes were on me, from my head to my feet and back again. I felt – physically felt – his eyes on my breasts and on my vagina. Back then I didn’t shave my pubic hair like I do now, but then I never had much pubic hair anyway, so my lips were clearly visible to him. It was the first time I’d ever been seen naked by a man as an adult. I waited for him to look away in disgust, or, worse, laugh, but he didn’t. He looked back finally at my face but didn’t say anything. We stood, I nude and he in his shorts and T shirt, looking at each other, and there were no words.

“At last I reached out to him. I took him by the arm and drew him to the bed, and he came.”

My lover reclined on an elbow again and took my by now erect penis gently in her hand. “I do this to you so often I feel like I’ve been doing it forever,” she said. “But you can’t ever understand how I felt when I pulled down his shorts – he wore no underwear, I found – and took a penis in my hand for the first time ever. It was already erect, and throbbing. I was dimly amazed even in my excitement that I could ever turn a man on.

“I took his penis in my mouth and heard him sigh as I felt the wonderful sensation of it inside my mouth. I can see you’re wincing a bit…yes, I know it sounds gross to you, but you’re a man and you aren’t gay, so you don’t know what it felt like to me. It wasn’t just the pleasure of his penis in my mouth and his hands on my head, pressing gently down, guiding me. It was the realisation that I – even I – was a normal woman and I could be desirable to a man.

“I would probably have sucked him till he came in my mouth, but he pulled back and out. He stepped back and, before I could even feel the beginning of disappointment, pulled off his T shirt and kicked his shorts off. He pushed me backwards gently, and I was lying back on my bed with my feet on the floor and my legs spread as wide as I could get them before I quite realised what was happening.

“He didn’t lick me down there – not then. He sat down on the bed beside me, and leaned over and kissed my lips. His hands roamed over me, one on my breasts, running over them and rubbing the nipples with his palms until they were stiff and rigid with excitement. The other hand traced the line of my belly gently, with only the tips of his fingers, circling my navel and then further down, teasing my inner thighs until they brushed, just brushed, the line of my vulva, from top to bottom and back up again. This time his finger pushed between my lips and found my clitoris. I must have gasped aloud when he touched it, the sensation was so intense.

“He spent a long time teasing my breasts and the opening of vagina before his fingers finally slid inside me. I had long since ruptured my hymen masturbating, of course, so there was nothing to come in his way. I felt his finger inside, thrusting slowly and deliciously all the way in and then out again, and I could not wait any more.

“I reached out then, and took him by the shoulders, and urged him on to me. I closed my eyes as I felt him shift, and opened them again to find his face over me, as I had so many times imagined, and now it was reality. I felt his hips between my legs, spreading them apart with his weight, and then I felt what I had so longed for, his erect penis pressing between my lips.

“Even though I had long since torn my hymen, I’d never had anything thicker than one of my own fingers inside my vagina, except of course for his finger a minute ago, and his penis was rather thicker than that.” She began stroking my penis up and down. “So his penis didn’t slide right in as yours does each time you make love to me. He pushed firmly and I felt myself open to him. He was entering me slowly, penetrating me as I opened, but slowly. It felt incredible. I wanted to feel him inside me all the way, and when he paused I pushed down on the bed with my feet and thrust my hips up against him. We both gasped as I felt his penis nudge me right wide open and go in all the way. His heat radiated inside me. I could feel the throb in his penis.

“We lay there then for a moment, I feeling his chest against my breasts as they rose and fell as I breathed, his taut muscular belly against the soft swelling curve of mine, the sensation of holding his penis inside my vagina, and I never wanted it to end.

“He began to move, and I felt the ridge of his glans rub back and forth inside me, going in all the way until I could feel it no more, then all but completely out of me, and then back again. Instinctively, I began to undulate too, to press against him, feeling his pubis thrust at my clit as his scrotum pushed at the tender skin of my perineum.

“I felt my orgasm build. It came incredibly quickly, like a tornado, sweeping my senses before it, and just before it hit I felt him shudder and felt him spurt inside me, the hot jets striking at my vagina, washing me from the inside, cleansing me of my virginity, and then my orgasm hit with a force that made me cry out loud. The waves of pleasure radiated from my genitals all through my body. I was blind and deaf and unable to sense or feel anything but the immensity of that orgasm.

“A long time later I began to see and feel again, and he was lying gently beside me, his hands rubbing my breasts and shoulders. ‘Oh, you are beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘Why didn’t you ever let me know you’re so beautiful?’

“And when he said that suddenly I began to cry. But this time the tears weren’t bitter and sad like all the times that had gone before.

“We made love again that day, and as many as three times the next day. He taught me the delights of different positions, and once we did it in my parents’ bed, watching ourselves in the full length mirror they had. I wish I had the words to explain what I felt in those days – the intensity of my sexual wakening. I didn’t even care that I wasn’t using any contraceptives.

“After my mother came back we couldn’t do it any more, and at the end of the month he went away. I saw him again, months later, and he was sitting in a café with the woman who had posed as his wife when he had been renting from us. I guessed they were back together again, but I was no longer jealous. I had a regular lover by then, whom I’d have sex with at least a time or two a week. My father had changed jobs and stayed back longer abroad, and my mom no longer seemed to have the time to check up on me. Much later I discovered she had taken a lover of her own.

“And that,” she said, “was how I lost my virginity. And I see I made you want to help me lose it all over again…”

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