Evan Loves Curves

Whatever she was, I knew for a fact that she was the life of the party. Put it this way, when we walked into the Italian place to eat, every head in there turned for a good ogle. But the image that always stuck with me, the three priests seated in a booth, two with their backs to us. When Burley came in, even the two who had to turn around did just that and they stared. I was laughing at them and they didn't notice. I wondered if thirty naked boys or Saint Pete himself stormed the place if they would notice? Her body was that epic. After dinner, we headed out and the restaurant manager-a notorious pussy hound-actually came running out because we had left without him saying, please, if there is anything he can do for you, and I'm just like omg lol wut.

Throughout that evening, she made several passes at me. Meatballs right over the plate, as Anna might put it. But I was trying to walk. I'm not sure the baseball metaphor is working here, but it was plain that it would have been much easier to just fuck her in the bathroom, basement or closet than to ignore her for much longer. At one point, she found our copy of Cynthia Heimels' "Sex Tips For Girls," (an excellent read, even for boys, even decades after its publication, if you can find a copy) and was doing a running literary critique. "Faking an orgasm, oh I never fake an orgasm. First off, I only try to sleep with built guys, and second off, I will make myself cum if I have to." When she read something about deepthroating being a hoax of the porn industry, she said something like, "Oh no it's not, not for me anyway. Not even the big ones," and she looked at me like she knew I had a big one. And then Anna goes, "Why do you like big ones so much?" and laughed, but Burley kept looking at me when she said, "Because you can ride a long one real hard without worrying about it popping out, right?" Nut. Then later, I went for another beer and she cornered me in the kitchen, rubbed her tits on me-they felt fantastically large and firm-to get to the freezer for the vodka and said something about tying cherry stems in knots with her tongue. I fled.

As they left, everyone was hugging, and my wife had gotten off work so she was there. When Burley came to hug me, I timed it perfectly and dissed her nonchalantly by hugging Anna instead, then turning my back on her as I bid the rest of them farewell, like I'd forgotten she was there. Burley was left hanging, and I saw the look of shock and dismay on her face out of the corner of my eye. I bet that didn't happen very often. Maybe it did, but I doubt it. She held her hands out and gave her best, "what the fuck?" look. Anna heard and Burley pled her case, so Anna said, "Oh he just loves his wife too much to pay you any mind." I was smirking, then as soon as my wife was asleep, I got on the internet and found a trashy busty brunette pornstar who resembled Burley enough and I jerked off until my dick hurt (okay it was Christina Jolie, the Czech porn star, but Burley's boobs were twice as big [yep]).

So, years later, everything is different, and now Anna mentions her, and of course I remember her, but I try to play it cool, like, who?

"You remember, don't lie," Anna said, then she pushed her boobs up at me and tossed her imaginary hair, since Anna's hair was a lot shorter even than mine.

"Oh yeah, Burley, yeah, I remember."

Anna guffawed. "Yeah, I figured you would. Everybody who ever saw her remembers her. Well, she DM'd me about you a while ago, asked if that was you she saw on TV when you sold all the books."

I grunted, but looked at her expectantly.

"I think I forgot to respond to her," Anna said. She was flaky like that, the ADD.

"Come on-"

"Just kidding! I told her it was you."

"And...?"

"And I think she sent back, like heart emojis or something."

"That's it?"

"Let me make some calls, bro."

. I didn't know what to think about it, but I got a lump in my throat. I had only met her once, and she made this kind of impression on me. What impression did I make on her? And if I actually did make that much of an impression, was it because I was playing an asshole that night, presenting a challenge, out of character for me (but also out of basically trying to avoid a fight with my wife later)? Once I started, it didn't take long.

A few days later, Anna called me up, said she had a plan and we hashed it out. It all revolved around a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert in Buffalo in a few weeks. I went on the ticket resale site, paid a pretty penny for two floor seats up front on the right side by the guitarist and then dialed up all four of the hotels at the same famous corner as the arena, booking a posh suite on a late cancellation with the last one I called, the Hilton Garden Inn downtown.

The day of, I slept in, then swam and worked out, packed light but included a stash of pot and coke-which I hid under the Porche's battery in the "frunk," in case you wondered, coppers-as well as some high end prophylactics, tossed my bags onto the 911 Turbo's diminutive rear seats and headed east. Normally something like a two and a half hour drive on the highway became a four and a half hour curvy backroad excursion-with a stop in Salamanca for BBQ at Sam's-on some of the most epic ribbons of blacktop in the state of New York. It was exhilarating. I got to the hotel-glowing like a sex fiend, sweaty from more than just running with the windows down a lot-just after the earliest check-in. The room was big, with a great view over downtown and out to Lake Erie's ocean-like vastness. It was on the top floor, and the hotel was modern. The walls seemed like concrete or something, which I thought was good. Privacy. I stashed the coke in one of the bathroom drawers, smoked some pot, drank a beer and took a nap. Up a couple hours later, I shaved, shat and showered, had another beer, dressed in my trendy jeans and brand new plain white T-shirt, Raybans and black shoes.

From the hotel valet to the restaurant valet at Club 24 was about 3 minutes and $80-a pair of twenties for each guy. The bar had windows over the street so everyone could see me get out of the car and get the valet ticket, then watch them moving a brand new black Bentley on like 26" wheels to park the beastly little white Turbo in the prime spot near the door. Right up front. Not sure how I didn't crack a smile, but I guess I was just on a mission.

You couldn't get reservations but I had paid a service to hold a table for me. He was a young black guy, dressed nice. The service had texted me his photo so I went over and said the password greeting. He smiled like he knew me, picked up his drink, deftly and discretely wiped the already-clean table with a hanky, then gave me a cool handshake before he left. Everyone was staring at me. I took my high-top for two by myself, tried to look at ease, relaxed, confident. Project the vibe. Don't look around, or at least not too much. Club music thumped, everyone was dressed to the nines for a weekend night out in the Land. Even the waitresses looked hot. One super cutie with great curves quickly became option B, funny how my mind works. She didn't seem to notice me, and my server was a guy. I ordered a Great Lakes Dortmunder Lager and the grilled walleye with steamed veggies. It was excellent. I was only halfway through the big lemony filet when I saw her.

She came in from the patio area with a blonde and a black girl, both very good-looking and all three dressed sexy for a night in the Big City. The blonde was probably the prettiest-in the classical sense-but she was slim and toned and her hair was short, so she didn't catch my eye. The black girl was sexy but ghetto, good curvy figure, weird hair and makeup. Not doing it for me, no issues there. No, it was Burley's body. She looked the same as I remembered, if not better. Every eye in the place was on her, so I took a moment to join in the ogling, assured she wouldn't notice me way up here. She would walk past me though, I had chosen this table to be noticed at a strategic point close to the bar.

I turned and pretended to be watching talking heads on one of the big screens playing the sports channel. Out of the corner of my eye, I beheld the three small town princesses go by, and Burley paused mid-step for just a moment as she passed me, barely a beat, but I noticed. Still, I kept my gaze on the TV even as they sauntered far enough in front of me for me to be staring at their asses, but I pretended not to notice even when Burley's head turned and she looked back my way. I just watched sports. I'm not sure how I did it, and for a panicked second, I wondered if I should look and make eye contact, get the ball rolling, or at least look at her ass or one of her friends' asses to make sure she knew I'm not gay.

But I missed that moment by another beat, and she had turned her head back by the time I got my eyes squarely on those asses. And holy smokes, what hot hot asses. Especially Burley's which somehow beat out her black friend's for roundness and fullness. Like, how often does that happen, and is that not epic when it does? She was wearing a bright red halter top and skin-tight, white low-rise capri pants with black high heel sandals and a black belt. The way her pants hugged the curves of her hips and ass made my balls gurgle in my jeans. Her hips weren't that wide, really, it was just a lot of meat hanging off the back of her. like someone cut a basketball in half and stuffed both halves into those little pants. That round. No panty lines either. Her hair was down and looked a little longer than in my memory-to her waist now, when it had been just a bit past her shoulders; a bonus-but her figure looked exactly the same. Boobs and booty for days is probably an apt description, though she looked tall and strong but soft at the same time. Like a girl who finds ways to stay in shape despite eating lots of Taco Bell and Wendy's.

The three of them stopped at the bar and were immediately tended to. And I know this because I was staring, and while I was doing that, Burley turned and looked right at me. Wait, what? She nudged the black girl, who got the blonde's attention, and after a moment, the two of them looked my way while Burley let the bartender converse wit her jugs. Her two friends looked me over and then smiled at her. My heart thumped harder.

Then I glanced up and saw her turn. The way she did it caused her huge tits to wobble sideways, like her shoulders shifted and stopped but those jugs were just too big to quit swinging that fast and kept on going for another moment or two before they realized, hey, this bitch is looking this way now, and they swung back. Was she wearing a bra? Could she, with that top? I swallowed involuntarily. Was I in over my head?

But then her eyes came my way and she looked right at me, and she smiled. And of all the situations and scenarios I had in my head, the looks I'd practiced-I was going to try the, hey, I know you, but what are you doing here? arched eyebrow-everything just flew out the window. I smiled back. What else are you going to do?

I almost panicked again. What do I do now? Do I go over? Do I wait? Do I pretend I was smiling because I just farted? It turns out, just sitting there trying not to look confused was the right answer, because Burley said something to each of her friends, who smiled and turned back to the bar as she walked over, still smiling at me. So I just sat there and watched, which made her smile bigger. Her tits were breathtaking in that top. And her thighs looked breathtaking in those pants. It truly felt like all the hundred or so people in the fancy club were watching her walk over to me. Time stopped, except for all of the parts of her body that not even a magic clock stoppage could keep from moving.

"Heyyy," she said in that honey-coated husky voice of hers, and reality snapped back into focus. "Evan, right?"

It was hard not to let a big oafish grin crease my face, getting this much attention from a woman who looked like she could have horns and a forked tail tucked somewhere. I figured that if I stood up, I'd get a hug, and since I didn't get a hug last time, of course I wondered what it would feel like. But I tried to let it play out, stayed seated.

"I knew I recognized you," she said. "You're friends with Anna from West, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I thought I recognized you too."

"From that night down in Columbus, with that fancy Italian dinner?"

"Yeah," I said.

"You remember me from that one night? That was years ago right?"

"Everybody who saw you remembers you from that night," I heard myself say.

She beamed. "I'm Samantha, but everyone calls me Burley."

"I remember. Anna was my sister-in-law-"

"Oh, I heard you got divorced," she said with a sudden concern and tenderness, but then that went to a smile again when I nodded.

"I heard you wrote a book after that, and it's a best seller?"

Another nod, sipping my drink, looking up a little bit at her from my seat on the stool. I was surprised-that she said it, not that she knew (since Anna had told me, if you remember, but anyways), but I guess it didn't matter-and it must have shown.

She gave a little shrug and admitted, "I saw your picture on the news when they said how fast it went to, like, the top of the charts, and I was like, I know that guy!"

Because hanging out for a couple of hours is enough to imprint a years-long fantasy constitutes "knowing." I shrugged though, and I said: "I know, it is crazy."

"I know, that's, like, so fucking amazing!"

I liked that she used the F word in casual conversation with me. I was just sitting there, half a plate of food in front of me, and she was still standing, holding her cocktail, and now she looked at the empty stool and unused place setting, then back at me.

"Are you waiting for someone?" she asked, again the concern.

"Well, I was waiting for Anna-" her eyes brightened when I didn't say "date" or "fiance," presumably-"but she's texting me that she's not feeling good, so I'm not sure she's coming now."

"Oh, that sucks."

"Yeah, we were supposed to be going to the Chili Peppers here-"

"You're going too? I'm going!" she said, and was starting to sort of coyly ask if I wanted some company.

"You want to sit down?" I asked finally. She smiled with her lips together and put her hand on my right shoulder as she moved over to the other stool, making me extra glad I had worked out that morning. Her touch was electric, like she just meant it to be a pat and then oh, she liked it so her hand stayed to enjoy it and even though I wasn't flexing, I could feel that where she touched, my muscles were very hard and dense, and here we go. I saw her look over at her friends still at the bar, and after the blonde nodded, they turned away and started moving. Burley slid onto the other stool and crossed her long legs as she set her glass down.

"I see you've got a fresh drink-"

"Yeah, just came from the bar," she said and took a sip. Looked like a Cosmo but who knows.

"-have you eaten, want some dinner?"

"Really? That would be so nice!"

I signaled the waiter and she started talking. As expected, she asked about my books and being on TV about it. I was tired of talking about that stuff with people, and she admitted that she wasn't a big reader, though she had a friend who read a lot and she liked my book. So that was cool. I did my best Ryan Gosling from that one movie where he is a stud and kept giving her short answers before steering the conversation back to her.

Yep, still in West (her hometown, one town over from mine). She'd been a server at the newer hot bar downtown for a couple of months before they trained her to bartend, and then she started raking it in. I stifled a laugh at the downtown bar being hot, knowing the little burg she was referring to, but I could definitely see her raking in the tips. Probably didn't even have to wear a low cut top. But she said these young lawyers kept coming in and finally asked her to work at their office. I guess West does need an attorney here and there. So that's how she landed a pretty sweet 9-4 job with good benefits. And of course I thought to myself, she'd still be waiting tables if she was just a C cup and didn't have those huge melons. I kept trying not to look at them. Even though I was allowed this time, it didn't seem right. Not my way I guess. Always a gentleman. Was that going to work?

Our server brought a caesar salad and a chicken pasta alfredo dish, which Burley ate with relish, saying over and over that it was so good. It was fun watching her eat and talk and study her more. She was not quite a butterface girl, but I doubt anyone ever called her pretty unless she had makeup on. Which, after some scrutiny, it looked like she had a ton of it on. At least she didn't have fake eyelashes. Her skin tone was a nice even tan. Her nose was a bit wide, her jaw was a bit big and square, with a tiny hint of cleft chin. Her eyes were small and dark, but with the smokey eye makeup, they became very expressive. Her brows were nicely shaped but obviously plucked and filled. Her mouth was wide, with a lot of even, white teeth, and her lips were shapely with a nice fullness, and they looked very kissable tonight with a darker red shade of lipstick. I loved watching her eat. I think I said that already.

Her laugh was nice, deep and musical, and it made her breasts jiggle in that top. So I tried to make her laugh a lot. She was clearly having a good time. My favorite was when she very unselfconsciously clutched at the sides of her top and pulled it up a few times. God damn, her tits were big. Canteloupe sized, at least. More than a handful.

"This is not as good as that Italian place we went to, where your wife worked," she said when she was over half done.

"Tortoretti's? Yeah, it's still my favorite place."

"That was a fun night, wasn't it?" she asked, popping a big bite of chicken in her mouth.

"Yeah, it was. Nice having company, and Anna's always a riot."

Burley covered her mouth and giggled in agreement, then her brows knitted and she cocked her head. "You were being mean to me though," she accused, but smiled a little.

"Was I?"

"Yeah, Anna said you were the nicest guy but you acted like I wasn't even there," she said, showing that it stung.

I didn't really know what to say, but I laughed a little. "Hey, Samantha, you are hard to miss."

This made her smile very wide and her eyes scrunched up, though her lips remained pressed together as she chewed. "I thought you just didn't like me."

I shook my head, then shrugged, like I'd decided to be straight with her in that moment. "Honestly, I was afraid I'd get in trouble with my ex- if she even caught me like, glancing at you."

"Why?" she wanted to know, eating more chicken. Like she was clueless.

I looked at her, knowing that she knew, but I figured it was okay if she wanted to hear it. "Because you are so smoking hot, and she was jealous."

The big smile again, her eyes locked on mine, dancing. I think everyone could see the insecurity and self-esteem issues graffiti'd all over this chick, but at the same time, she knew what she wanted, what she could get. But I was a little surprised because it almost seemed like she was about to ask me if I really thought so, like to repeat it. But she didn't.

"I was trying to be nice to you, but you were like, ignoring me, and I got so frustrated."

"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean it like that. I just, I don't know..." This wasn't going how I thought.

"Don't know what?" She smiled as though she knew the answer but just wanted to hear me say it. Again.

"If I started to..."

"What, flirt back with me?"

"Yeah, then, I don't know where it would have stopped."

This made her laugh, because of course she knew where it would have stopped, even if I could only imagine, or perhaps I couldn't imagine at all, even if I really thought I could and in fact did. "Well, I didn't want to get you in trouble. I just liked you, and I can't help it, I always have to flirt with hot guys."