I Am the Strawberry

It is extremely hard to harp on the fact that you're fat when you so much enjoy making love to yourself. I like to think of myself as a bowl full of Jell-O. Everyone likes Jell-O; at least that is what Bill Cosby would have us believe. Jell-O is like one of the ingredients of ambrosia, isn't it? I mean who wouldn't want to be a part of ambrosia? I guess if I were to say I was in fact Jell-O then I would be the kind in shapes. I mean I'm not the big blob and I'm not exactly a shot of Jell-O either, so, that leaves the shapes. When I make love to my Jell-O like form, I marvel at the wetness that gushes free forming into a shape that I hadn't seen coming. When I taste myself, I'm sweet but not overly so. I guess that is why I think I'm such a delectable treat, but over the years, I've found that other people have different opinions.

For instance, when I first went down on someone, he told me I looked like birthday cake. I mean I'm down between his legs, with his nine inches in my mouth and all he can do is look at my ass and think I look like a birthday cake. Some might see this as a compliment, but I don't. I see what he did as a distraction. A portly girl like me had deemed it necessary to fall to my knees and give pleasure to him and all he can think about is cake. Fat girls love cake, but not when I'm waiting on that moment when the head of the cock starts to swell and he just about to cum. Cum does not taste like cake.

Then there is when I lost my virginity. It wasn't fireworks or champagne, but instead with a guy I barely knew in my parents' bedroom. Luckily he was a boob man. Unluckily for me, he couldn't keep my breasts out of his mouth because he said they reminded him of cantaloupes. He would lick up them and down them. All I remember thinking is, cantaloupes have a shell. I mean who licks a dang cantaloupe. Here he was going to town on my breasts like he had just found his first fruit after being lost at sea. I let him though. I didn't mind. I never thought I'd be able to give my cherry away I was so fat at that age. Little did I know that some guys can't stay away from food or things they can compare them to? For that matter some girls can't either.

Then there is today. Today is the day that I finally realized what I am. My boyfriend lay beside me in bed with early morning just beyond the window. I love to watch him sleep even though he snores like a train. I snuggled into him with my head resting on the nook just below his shoulder. He nuzzles into my hair.

"I love you," I tell him wrapping my hands around his waist.

"So much that you woke me up I see," he laughs.

He isn't as emotional as me, but it works. Instead he kisses the tattoo just on the side of my right breast. It is the tattoo I got just after I met him. It is the tattoo I got just after we made love for the first time and he had to hold back from cumming inside me because we were in the back of his truck without a condom.

"I'm a strawberry," I whisper just under my breath, but he hears me anyways.

"Strawberries are my least favorite fruit."

That is what I am after all. I'm a strawberry because they represent women and my boyfriend's least favorite fruit. I guess I might examine that part later. I ignore it now though as I shove my breasts in to his face. He loves my F cups. He tells me all the time that I have better boobs than anyone he has been with. A girl likes to hear just how special she is from time to time. I mean I am a strawberry after all, his least favorite fruit.

"Marry me," he says getting serious all of a sudden.

It is what I've been waiting for my whole life, not the proposal, finding my fruit. I of course say yes and take him under me with my extra-large thighs. I hate to be on top. We fumble a lot when I'm on top. It doesn't matter though as I start the twenty minutes of slick wet thrusting he will get for the day. In a way, we are married already. Afterwards I lay next to him with my mouth again at my breasts.

"I could learn to love strawberries," he laughs. I could learn to love strawberries too.