Flamingos Ch. 06

The next day WAS a travel day. We were heading north and west from the Alabama gulf coast so Baton Rouge, Louisiana beckoned.

Getting ready took a bit longer than usual because people we'd had sex with stopped by for their goodbyes. We both got lingering kisses from Estelle, said our goodbyes to Steve and Gwen, and exchanged a few words with others we'd met.

I did the unpleasant things, primarily dumping the tanks down the sewer and cleaning up around the lot. I rolled up the rug and stored it, pulled the outrigger stabilizers and stowed them, disassembled and stowed my hammock, stowed the little grill, and got out my telescoping ladder and used the electric blower to blow leaves and accumulated debris off of the roof and the awning.

"About ready?" I asked, walking back up the steps, a little sweaty.

She was looking fetching in only her light silk shorts as she finished putting dishes away.

"Yep," she said, coming to me, kissing me hard, her hands roaming up and down over my back, "unless you want a quickie."

I broke loose with a chuckle. "I'm good for now," I said, "quick shower and we roll."

So I showered and dressed in loose traveling clothes. The final steps were the simplest. I pulled on my mechanics gloves, drained the "grey water" tank the last time since I had showered, unhooked the hose, electricity, and cable, and raised the stabilizers. Paula did the backup and put the ball under the hitch thing, I pulled the chocks, and did a final walk around - you'd be amazed how many travel trailer owners try to drive away with awnings out or stairs down. At least we hadn't made that mistake - yet.

My comfortable cruise speed with 30 feet of trailer behind me is 64 miles an hour. With a break for lunch and one to just pee quickly, the slightly over two hundred-mile run took about five hours. We got set up by about three in the afternoon, the big flamingo proudly displayed on our indoor dooryard carpet, and went exploring.

Baton Rouge, like all deep south cities these days, is an interesting mixture of, to be perfectly cliched about it, "old and new." The older French quarter wasn't much, but there were interesting sections of the city. The food was pretty good and we had an early dinner.

Back at the RV park, we did a promenade, a slow walk hand-in-hand, looking at the trailers and fifth-wheels and fancy Class A and mundane Class C motorhomes. And now paying more attention and spotting flamingos where they were displayed.

It looked like it would be an interesting few days.

I got out my guitar and sat up on the picnic table that was part of the site, tuning and then running a few scales to get my fingers warmed up. Paula brought us beers, looking very fetching in her Daisy Dukes showing her ass nicely, and her titsack top.

She was singing "Wayfaring Stranger" in her pleasant, slightly raspy, Alto voice when a pure Soprano joined her from behind me.

I turned and looked and the woman singing made those letters SSBBW (super sized big beautiful woman) from my fascination with pornographic pictures jump into my mind. She was huge, immense, but also beautiful in that way some truly big women have. Her hair was white and worn very short. Her face was round, only the skin around her eyes showing her age with about a bazillion tiny wrinkles surrounding them. The rest of her face was smooth, skin drawn taut by the fat that kept her so delightfully plump. She moved with that strange grace of some truly fat women, her movements smooth, her huge body seeming to almost glide.

Her low-cut top showed about an acre of cleavage and the flamingo tattooed on the top of her breast was very nicely done.

I couldn't make a good guess at her age. Certainly north of 50 and south of about 80, but beyond that, I really couldn't tell.

Her significant other was the perfect opposite. In body type, he was the opposite, stick-thin compared to her enormous size and perfect roundness. Opposite in age too. If we gave him a beer I was sure we'd be committing a crime. 21 was out of the question and if we're being honest, I wondered about a draft card.

He was a handsome rascal, though, in that college debate team or maybe chess club sort of way with horn-rim glasses completing the nerd image. He was practically drooling as he looked at Paula.

As the song wound down, that slow coda, "I'm only going, over Jordan, I'm only going, home" repeated both women started giggling.

"Very good," the new woman said.

"You've done this professionally," Paula said.

"A little," she said, closing the distance and extending her hand.

"I'm Jeannie," she said, smiling.

"Paula," Paula replied, her smile as wide.

"And who," Jeannie said, closing the distance between us with that fluid grace and laying pudgy hands on my arm, "is this beautiful creature."

Paula giggled and I laughed. She had that kind of personality.

"David," she said, "meet Jeannie, Jeannie, David."

Paula, in turn, moved toward's Jeannie's, well, it turned out to be her husband, her sixth we learned, and just molded herself to him.

"And you are?" she asked, obviously free of all inhibitions now.

His smile was almost shy but he managed, "I'm John."

As we talked and sang and ate, it turned out John was a good cook with no musical talent at all, we learned about each other. Jeannie was kind of an itinerant semi-professional singer. She was one of those on whom the movie "Duets" was based, and she made a reasonable living winning karaoke contests. She and John had been married for six months and he knew of her Flamingo Life going in.

"What can I say?" he said at one point, "I'm in love with her, warts and all."

We followed RV park protocol and quieted down at 9:00 sharp.

"Come down to our shack," she said, taking my hand and pulling me up. I escaped long enough to case the guitar but then we walked down the road, two couples each hand-in-hand.

Their "shack" as she called it was a very high-end Class A motorhome, about 35 feet long with four slide-outs. Hell, I had lived in houses with fewer square feet than this thing had.

As we went in I looked around and said, "wow, karaoke must pay well."

She giggled and said, "no, choice in husbands pays well. This was my divorce settlement from number four."

Paula and I laughed at that.

Jeannie settled into her oversize recliner with a sigh.

"Paula," she said, "be a dear and get some beers out of the refrigerator. Oh," she said, giggling, "you'll find some very good pot in the freezer too if you're interested."

"And John, do come here, please," she added with a happy smile.

Paula went to the refrigerator and returned quickly.

The beers were Japanese Sapporo's and the pot was old-school, with buds, and a pipe. I sat next to Jeannie, in another recliner, this one not quite so overstuffed.

Jeannie reached into the little console between the recliners and came out with a small vial and a tiny funnel.

As I lit the pipe and passed it to Paula, Jeannie crooked her finger, beckoning John. "Take your clothes off, honey," she said, "let's show these folks why I love you so much."

He didn't hesitate. He peeled off the T-shirt that advertised some restaurant in Tucson, Arizona I had never heard of, kicked off his shoes, demonstrated good balance by standing on one foot after the other and peeling off his socks, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and pushed down his boxers.

And showed the biggest cock I had ever seen and that included group showers during basic training.

Jeannie lifted it in her hand and patted it with her other, giggling and saying, "Hello handsome."

I watched, fascinated, as she picked up the tiny funnel and dipped it into the saliva pooled on her tongue, and gently pushed it into John's urethra, her attention completely on what her hands were doing. Then she lifted that ridiculous cock until the funnel pointed up and tapped a small sprinkle of the white powder in the vial down the funnel and into his ureter and I watched as his cock sprang erect. I use the word "sprang" advisedly. It jumped from soft and hanging to solid and pointing straight up his body in about one second.

Christ, it was the size of a Coke can but about a foot long.

Paula's eyes were bright as she watched.

"Do you enjoy watching your wife with another man," Jeannie asked me.

"I never have," I said.

"Oh dear," she said, sounding for all the world like Maggie Smith as the Dowager in Downton Abbey, "we must correct that."

She crooked her finger again, this time at Paula.

And Paula came to stand before her.

"You are overdressed, dear," she said to Paula, "please correct that."

There was something about her, her size was part of it I suppose but it was more what they had called "command presence" when I was in the Army. I had enough to make E-5 before I got out, but this woman would have been a General.

Paula smiled, not exactly a happy smile but more an, well, an excited smile as she reached behind her to untie her top at the neck and then her back before dropping it. She lifted her small breasts and pinched her nipples, bringing them very pink and erect. Her eyes never left Jeannie's as she unbuttoned and unzipped the Daisy Duke cutoffs and pushed them, along with her bikini cut panties down until she stood naked, only in her flip-flops.

"Work your magic, baby," Jeannie said to John, "and rub my shoulders, please," she added to me.

It was almost automatic to stand and move behind her chair and begin massaging her neck and shoulders. I was captivated by the softness I found. My fingers sunk into her, that soft layer of fat under her skin warm and inviting more pressure. She hummed softly as I watched my wife dance, naked, with another man while the music, obviously what I would call a "torch song" compilation, played. Her arms were around his neck as if they were at the prom or something, and his hands were casually exploring her back from her neck to her ass. When he kissed her, without losing a step, she molded her body to his in invitation.

"I hope he doesn't ruin her for you," Jeannie said, snapping me out of my reverie.

I chuckled and said, "things stretch," as I remembered the night she had been "opened."

"It is fun watching them, isn't it," she said, tilting her head as my fingers found her neck. My fingers were digging into the softness of her body now, squeezing the fat until it kind of bulged out between my fingers.

"It is," I said, my fingertips gently on her temples now, finding a layer of fat even there.

"Help me, baby," she said, rocking forward a couple of times to get some momentum to stand, "I'm hot and overdressed myself."

I held her arm, just above the elbow, steadying her as she stood.

I moved around to her front and began unbuttoning the blouse she wore. She stood still, not helping at all, making me chuckle as I did the work, keeping one eye on Paula and John and the dance they were doing.

Jeannie smiled at me and giggled a little.

"It IS fun to watch, isn't it," she said for the second time.

I was working the blouse off of her, liking the way she was damp with sweat even in the cool air of their rolling palace.

I had no hope of reaching around to unhook her bra so I didn't try. I figured that would just embarrass us both. I walked around behind her and started in the dozen hooks that held the bra, a heavy-duty thing of a scale to hold up immense breasts.

Jesus, she was HUGE.

I had trouble with the button of her jeans, there was so much pressure from her belly, but I managed to finally get it undone, and the jeans unzipped. I was panting a little, though, by the time I got them peeled off of her. I was reminded of a woman I had once known who insisted on earring an old-fashioned girdle.

I finally got the jeans off of her and then I had to chuckle.

"Am I funny then?" she asked.

"No," I said, smiling, kissing her, "it's just that at your size," and I ran my hands over the expanse of her belly, "I'm not sure if I'm done or if you have panties on."

She smiled and wrapped me in her arms for our first real serious kiss. And it was a good kiss. She was strong, amazingly strong. Her arms were as big as my legs and underneath the great bags of skin-enclosed fat that were her upper arms was muscle. When I thought about it I realized that the simple act of movement with all of that weight was an exercise routine. But that didn't explain the things she did with her lips and her tongue that had me hard, my breath catching, and my hands seeking more of her.

When she broke the kiss she said, "yes I do."

I slipped to my knees, my cheek caressing her breast and belly. I lifted her belly, a found a ridiculous thong that I rolled down thighs the size of my waist, past ankles the size of quart paint cans.

Her breasts fascinated me and I found a big nipple with my mouth. Since it hung well down her belly it was right there when I was on my knees. She patted my head and said, "good boy."

She sort of collapsed into her recliner and then said, "now you're the one who's overdressed."

It took about five seconds to peel off my T-shirt and kick off my jeans.

"Come here, baby, let's watch," she said, patting her huge lap.

So I took the two steps, settled onto, well, as big and soft as she was more like settled into, her lap.

"Does it excite you, David?" she asked, "watching your wife with my big-dicked husband?"

I smiled, kissed her softly, said "yes," and turned back to watch the show.

It had gone beyond a dance now. They were laying on the thick white rug in front of the electric fireplace, wrapped in each other.

"Want to know what I'd like to watch?" she asked.

"What's that?" I asked, smiling and nuzzling her neck.

Her fingers were light on my neck, tickling, making little electric charges race up and down my body.

I felt her breath warm and moist in my ear when she whispered, "I'd like to watch you help him, guide him as he enters Paula."

I couldn't stop the sudden tension in my body. This was something beyond anything I had contemplated.

"What?" I asked, a little breathless, playing for time.

She giggled.

"Oh honey," she said, and made me yelp when she nipped at my ear, "don't play dumb."

She reached down and found me erect and squeezed hard enough to make me groan.

"You see that wife of yours over there," she whispered into my ear, "see how her hips are bucking," she giggled, "see how her nose is running she's so excited," her hands were busy on my body now, "well, John won't give her what she needs unless you help him."

And she was right. I could see that John, was excited as well, and the situation was getting to her. Her breath was coming in harsh little whistling gasps. Her fingers were digging into his back. And Jeannie was right, it was obvious her nose was running in her excitement, something I had only seen a couple of times in the years we had been married. When her legs scissored I could see her natural lubricant, thick and white, running down the crack of her ass. Christ, it looked like he had already cum inside of her.

"Go on, Davey," Jeannie said in my ear, "guide him."

"Jeannie," I said, hating the whine in my voice.

"Oh, don't be a jerk," she said and I heard a snap of anger in her voice, "look at her David. See how she needs his big cock. Now go on, help her."

She pushed me, gently but firmly, until I stood.

I hesitated just a moment and thought, "oh, fuck it."

I covered the three paces and knelt on the rug beside them.

Jesus, he was huge. But after what we had done, I wasn't worried that she could handle it. In fact, she was so excited she was leaking her natural mucus, her natural lubricant, thick and white and shiny. So I reached over and took him into my hand. He was so big I couldn't completely grip him with my fingers, but I could get my thumb to guide him. And on some level, I enjoyed the feeling. So I did. I pulled, gently, until his glans was touching where she was slick and ready.

But he hesitated while Jeannie giggled.

So I put my hand on his ass and pushed, gently at first, and then harder.

"Tell him to take her," Jeannie said. She had moved with that odd grace and was whispering in my ear. "Go ahead, tell him," she said, her hands on my back now.

"Tell him, baby," she said, her body pressing against mine now, the warmth and softness overwhelming me.

"Take her," I said softly, leaning forward so my words were whispered directly into his ear.

"She can handle it," I said, my own excitement getting the best of me.

"Go ahead," I breathed again, and this time I traced the shell of his ear with my tongue.

I looked down at Paula and she had a strange look on her face, a mixture of surprise and want.

"Please, baby," she said, an odd smile on her face, "let me have that big cock."

It was her language that got to me as much as anything. She never spoke like that.

Something inside of me took another step.

"Make her take it all," I said, breathing into his ear again, kissing his cheek, my hand pushing on his ass gently.

Her eyes got suddenly big and she grunted. I looked down and saw the tip of that ridiculous cock just starting to part her labia.

"Don't stop now," I said, patting his ass.

He thrust and she cried out, a wordless sound full of mixed pleasure and pain.

"Make her take it all," Jeannie said from behind me, now it was my ear feeling warm breath.

When I looked down there was still a full hand's width of that monster cock showing.

"Push," I said, patting his ass.

"No," Paula said, her voice high and breathy, "please baby, no, it's too much."

"Make him give it to her," Jeannie said, and she was giggling now, a hint of hysteria, or maybe madness there.

But I was a little crazy by then too.

"Push, goddam it," I said, slapping his ass.

"MAKE HIM!" Jeannie was yelling now.

"STOP!" Paula was crying, "Please, God, stop."

And sanity returned. I grabbed his hips and yanked, hard, putting my weight into it.

He came out with an audible splash and Paula rolled onto her side, hugging herself, and threw up.

Jeannie laughed and said, "well damn, John, I guess you went a little deep."

He was laughing too. "Warned her," he said.

I was on my knees beside Paula, rubbing her shoulder and arm as she retched.

We held that tableau for a long moment, Jeannie and John laughing at her distress and me comforting her.

Finally, she took a deep breath and said, still looking off into the distance, "take me home, David, please."

I helped her to her feet.

"Here," I said, "arms up," and I slipped my T-shirt onto her.

"Oh, come on," Jeannie said, "don't run off. There are still six inches for her to take."

I didn't say anything, just laid my arm across my wife's shoulders and guided her out the door and down the steps.

She was crying softly as we walked, very slowly, her very bowlegged, back to our own trailer. It was dark so I wasn't really worried about being seen, but I knew she would be worried about being seen not looking her best.

When we got back to the trailer she turned and threw her arms around my neck.

"I'm sorry David," she said, "I tried, I really tried."

"It's okay," I said, kissing her, "you don't have to do anything you don't want to do, you know that."

"But I WANTED it," she almost wailed, "it was just too much."

"Oh God," she sort of moan/yelled, jerking away from me and almost running into the bathroom.

I expected her to throw up again but instead, she sat and made a pad of toilet paper.

She wiped and looked and showed me. There was a faint trace of blood on the white paper.

"I HAD to stop," she said, her face a mess, nose running, tears still streaming.

"Oh shit," I said, "is it bad?"

Her eyes were big as she wiped again and looked. The trace of blood was very faint now.