GIRL 33
OBESE DESPERATE GIRL
She soured me forever on females without photos. She begged me to show
up for a date with minimal emailing and almost no phone contact.
Let's just face facts, here, ma'am. I am desperate, after all.
But she must have been more desperate. The woman who appeared at the
bar was heavy to the point of making me wonder if the bar stool would
collapse. The cute blonde bartender was giving me her amused look
again, but I just pestered her for a third, then a fourth scotch. It
was a work night, and I needed to wrap things up.
I figured if I asked Obese Desperate Girl to come home with me, she'd be insulted and would end the night early. Instead, ten minutes later, when I dropped my pants on the bedroom chair, she lay on my bed, dwarfing it. Dutifully I pulled off her clothes. I yawned, wishing I could just go to sleep. I penetrated her with my fingers, then figured if I rammed a finger into her ass she'd object, but she just moaned. She was on her knees, staring at my cock as if it were a cobra, her pudgy fingers moving up and down on the shaft, faster and faster.
The next thing I knew, the alarm clock was buzzing away. I smelled her perfume, but there was no sign of her. I stood up to go take a shower before the commute to the project site, wondering if it had been a dream. Or a nightmare.
But on my desk was a note in loopy feminine handwriting.
Michael, my darling,
I loved seeing you and being with you, and I'd love to see you again!
Call me!
Terri Sue
609-867-5309
I stared at the note, wondering if I had fucked her. I didn't remember, but why would I have gotten a note like that without throwing some cock at her? And if I were so drunk that I faded out at the handjob phase, how good could I really have been?
The questions were immaterial. By the time I arrived at the refinery, I couldn't even remember what her face had looked like.
Thank God.
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