Pelle Marco

"I did, you're right. I am hopeless with women. I should accept being alone forever."

"Don't say that, Dad." She held my hand reassuringly. "We're going to fix this. You said she was angry. Did she leave?"

"No, we finished the day doing our work, and then I walked her over to the station for her train home."

"Good! Seems like there's still hope. You said she was pretty? Help me understand. Pretty, how? Describe her."

"Yeah... Late thirties, brown curly hair, brown eyes. She's white, but kind of a darker complexion, maybe southern European? She has this really sweet oval face and smile. Sallie is about your height, so, five-eight, maybe? Curvy, not slim. I guess, to be honest, some belly. Actually, I gotta say it, big round ass, heavy breasts, my favorite body type."

Hidden by the table, I was glad Kara couldn't see the erectile reaction Sallie's memory was having on me.

"Dad, don't be nervous. You're allowed to have these feelings," Kara said reassuringly, like a grade schoolteacher "You see, when a man loves a woman, and they want to have a child, he gets this special--"

"Oh, fuck you, Kara."

She covered her mouth as she burst out giggling. Trying to be parental, I frowned disapprovingly for a few moments. She wasn't buying it, so I chuckled as well. Kara's laughter was always infectious.

"Let me guess, she's wearing your favorite attire of leather, fishnet stockings and stilettos."

I grinned. Kara thought she knew my weaknesses. "No, that would be weird, even for San Francisco," I replied. "I work in a bank, not City Hall."

"Kara, you asked me how Sallie was pretty. To explain, it's not what clothes she was wearing. For me, it was imagining her body underneath her clothes. Imagining her clothes coming undone. Every man has his own cravings, they are as diverse as their bodies and personalities are. Sallie was in a boring ordinary woman's business suit, you know, jacket and skirt, kind of worn, kind of tight. Thin white blouse underneath, pulling on her breasts. When she took her coat off, oh, wow. I could go on, in greater detail --"

Kara grinned at me. "Sounds like she made quite the impression on you, dad."

"Yeah." I admitted. "Her grin grew into a smirk." I guess I better leave the room before you stand up, so my delicate young eyes won't be intimidated by your looming organ of generation."

"Wait, weren't you supposed to tell me how to fix this?"

Kara looked up to the ceiling as she considered. "Tell you what, I'm going to write Sallie a note tonight. Make sure you get to work before her. Put that note and a fresh cup of coffee on her desk in the morning."

"A note?" I raised my brows. "You know there's still this new phone invention called text messaging, right?"

Kara gave her usual eye roll at my cluelessness. "A note shows more sincerity and won't have all those silly emojis and LOLs!"

I frowned. "I don't use silly emojis and LOLs."

"Dad, you aren't writing this note. I am. Let me judge for myself what I want to say and by what means."

She reached for my hand and turned serious for a moment. "Dad, you're a great guy, and a wonderful father. You two were having a lovely time together, even though your clothes were still on. Now, don't forget to wash this when you're done."

She squeezed my hand, kissed my cheek. "Have fun tonight," she whispered into my ear and flounced off, giggling.

"Brat!"

She understood me, though. In my bed, later, I came so hard, I actually cried out--and the noise was monitored from our other bedroom. I heard more giggles from Kara.

Brat.

Chapter 4: Meanwhile

[Author's Note: Sallie's Point of View]

I unlocked the door and entered our apartment, hustling to the bathroom for a much-needed pee. Relieved, I skinned everything off my lower half: skirt, half-slip, panties, stockings, and shoes. Charlie watched me carry the whole bundle to my closet with my ass hanging out incongruously under my formal suit coat and blouse.

"Don't you ever get tired of watching my giant flabby ass, Charlie?"

"Not in the least." She smirked. "Because, one, not giant, two, not flabby, and three, perfectly adorable."

"Sounds like someone is in the mood," I replied.

"Later." She gave a salacious grin. "For now, just put some fresh panties on it so we can sit and eat. I made tortellini soup, and we have fresh sourdough." Since it was a day ending in the letter 'Y', it was Charlie's night to cook. I did all the cleaning and housework; it was a fair balance.

"If you weren't so good at cooking, my ass wouldn't be getting so flabby and fat," I complained.

"Fuck! Sallie, we're not going to do that again." Charlie sighed. "One more crack about your crack, and I'm going to withhold sex! My ass is bigger than yours, anyway."

"Your ass is a mighty temple, and I worship it. Here, I'll take your plate." I brought everything to the sink and half an hour later the kitchen was clean.

Charlie was a union electrician, making good money working for the city government, necessary in this high-rent town. She was powerful with a slightly stocky body type, but not masculine, in my eyes. It was that feeling of Amazon warrior in her personality, also brought out in the purposeful striding way she moved. I found her very enticing, that way. She happily attracted a lot of interest from the lesbians she met.

I guessed, though, her power was a little unhelpful in finding the long-term romantic lesbian romance Charlie craved. Neither of us really knew why.

Charlie kept her blonde head hair short for practical reasons. At work, her required hard hat meant that less hair was safer and more comfortable. Elsewhere on her body, though, there was free growth: light-colored, fine, and straight, even above her pussy. Neither of us saw the point in shaving. In our old building, the broken radiators were always leaking steam, heating our rooms. To keep comfortable, we just stayed nude or nearly nude all the time, especially during the hot summer months.

We had a sort of marriage of convenience. Neither of us were very good at dating, for some reason. We had been involved with others, in various partnered arrangements, but we had also been friends since high school.

My last boyfriend, Gene, didn't work out. Gene and I were together for two years, I even moved into his little bungalow in Oakland. We got along well; we had a lot of compatibility. Then Gene brought home Doolie. On top of her idiotic name, Doolie was too stupid to use a smartphone and was plastered top to bottom with piercings and tattoos. Some were misspelled, the whole collection made my teeth grind. And her piercings quite literally poked me the wrong way. Gene was pushing unwanted FFM sex so often it drove me away, four years ago.

Charlie and Marybeth flamed out, also four years ago. Rents were so high, living single was impossible. When our other relationships failed, we would go back to being roommates. I liked imagining us orbiting each other as two heavenly bodies. I didn't have a man, but Charlie's body and her arms around me could feel heavenly.

We were fond of each other as long-time loyal friends. We were comfortable and compatible, kind of like family to each other. Not romantic, but not platonic, either. Once or twice a month we succumbed to temptation and fell upon each other like ravenous beasts. Charlie was fully lesbian, and my body unquestionably inspired her lust. I think if we didn't sleep separately, she would be grinding on me every other night. When I felt extra-bisexual, Charlie left me dripping, too.

I was mostly straight. I thought of myself as only 20% oriented towards women. Realistically, the only pussy I really wanted to play with had blonde hair and belonged to Charlie. Almost all of my fantasies were of men. Men's strong arms around me. Hard little boy butts, held in my hands. Scratchy male beards on my face. And on my thighs, gah! Rampant cocks, pushing forcefully into my pussy. Maybe even my ass! Rubbing my nipples into chest hairs. And those three special words, in a deep voice, which I longed to hear.

------------------------

I crawled into Charlie's big bed and leaned on her shoulder. "I met a man at work, a nice single dad."

Charlie gave her usual smirk. "Attractive?"

"Very," I said. "Tall, built and good looking."

"You sound smitten." Her smile grew. She wrapped her left arm around me and hugged my waist.

"Smitten? I was aching, just looking at him! When he smiled at me, my breath caught. And his eyes! Gray-blue, blonde brows and lashes. Oh, hon, Andrew's eyelashes were long and pretty like yours.

"He squatted under my desk to cable my PC. Those suit pants stretched tightly over his hips, ooh."

She caressed her hand downwards over my butt and gripped it. "Is that why you're crawling into my bed tonight? Handsome stranger got your motor revved up?"

I began to cry. "But then I fucked up!"

Charlie brows creased with concern. She released my butt and stroked my hair affectionately. "What happened?" she asked in a gentle voice.

"I made a stupid joke, and he responded saying I was hot. And I suddenly lost my mind. Weeping, thinking he was lying, and furious because the lie was cruel. I disbelieved him and my reaction was completely disproportionate. 'How dare he?'

The poor guy backed off so fast he should have gotten whiplash."

"Oh no! What happened after that?"

"We hardly spoke the rest of the day," I said. "But I did calm down and we worked politely together."

"Sounds like you both ended on good terms."

"I hope so. He did walk me over to Muni for my train, before driving himself home."

"Sounds like a gentleman, at least."

Despite her reassurances, I was sinking in self-loathing. "I hate myself, Charlie. I always fuck up with guys. The better they are, the more pathetic I act."

"I'm sure that's not true," she said, affectionately. "Could you be imagining things?"

"The only cock I'll ever get is that purple one you strap on for me," I grumbled.

Charlie kissed me, butterfly kisses on my wet cheeks and my eyelids. "So this guy told you that you were hot, and that set you off?"

"Yeah, he just met me, and already he's lying to my face!"

"I'm sure he is not lying, Sallie. You are hot."

"Oh, hon, thanks. I know you love my body, but I'm fat. Men like young thin girls, not 40-ish porkers like me."

"Sallie, don't. Just stop. Goddammit. It's a building code violation to make an electrician cry. Salt water, shock hazards, it's bad for everything. And I hate crying," Charlie was tearing up too. Oh gosh, my sadness was infecting her.

Charlie cupped my chin and lifted my face to meet her eyes. "I am your best and oldest friend and I never lie to you. I am not crying because I think you are pathetic. I am crying because that's what we women do sometimes when we are frustrated. I am frustrated with you, dear Sallie, because you are beautiful.

"You. Are. Beautiful. I think Andrew agrees. Did you feel his eyes on you? Did he check out your gorgeous tits? Watch your sexy ass while you walk?"

Contrary to my low self-image, Charlie was correct. "OK, you're right, I noticed when I took my jacket off that he gasped, because my breasts were trying to burst free from my tight old blouse."

"Are you sure you didn't arch your back for extra magical tittieness power?"

She grinned and I let out a chuckle. "Okay fine, I was preening for him... I guess."

"Uh huh." She gave me a knowing look. "And your ass. I'm sure he was noticing your magnificent ass."

I blushed. "Well... I could tell he was watching my ass from under the desk while fixing my computer cables."

"So your back was conveniently shown to him when he was under the desk? What else are you not telling me?"

"Nothing," I feigned ignorance.

"Yeah, right. Spit it out, girl."

I gave a coy smile. "Okay, yes, I turned myself sideways so he could see my butt more easily."

"Sounds like a dirty old man."

"No! It's not like that," I blurted out. "Uh, he wasn't leering or creepy. It was more like... like being, uh, optically caressed."

"Optically caressed?" Charlie said with a chuckle.

"Optically caressed," I confirmed and stuck to it.

Charlie chuckled again. "To sum up, you were both checking each other out? Sounds like a good start."

"It was, except that I fucked up."

"Then you just have to un-fuck it."

"How?" I asked.

"Tomorrow you will not wear one of those drab old suits."

"My drab old suits are required by bank policy," I argued.

"Don't care. There's nobody to check their stupid dress code anyway."

I still wasn't convinced. "You think wearing something nicer will help?"

"Of course it will. You will be in a nice dress that shows yourself in all your lusciousness. Ten minutes later, there's going to be a party in his pants. I guarantee it."

I started to think of what to wear tomorrow. "You think my lusciousness is good enough to erase my fuck-up?"

"If there is no pants party, he's either gay or not right for you. A worthwhile man wouldn't be deterred by your first surprised reaction. A worthwhile man would not give up on you. So tomorrow, you'll know about Andrew. Sweetie, there's a party in my pants right now, and I don't even have a swizzle stick."

I could tell Charlie was getting aroused, probably fantasizing over seeing me show off in the dress I was going to wear tomorrow. I knew which dress she liked on me, the one with the stretchy slinky fabric clinging over and under my ass cheeks.

When I'm being honest, in our full-length mirror I can look at my ass in that dress and use my Paris Hilton voice: "That's hot!" Then I see the reflection of Charlie watching me, lust on her face, and I can even believe it.

Right now I could easily tell how our discussion was turning her on. She's definitely in the mood tonight. My self-loathing was easing up. When Charlie looks at me like I'm her model of womanly delights, I always get horny. How could I not? Any idea that I was too fat to fuck burned away and vanished under Charlie's lustful gaze.

"Raise up," I said as I tugged off her (wet!) panties, and then she pulled mine (wet!) down and off as well.

What I really enjoy when we fuck is that our clits both stick out a little, less than a fingernail, but enough that we can grind them together pelvis to pelvis while we kiss. She keeps some jelly in her nightstand that we use to keep our clits nice and slippery as they flip back and forth over each other. When we get a glimpse, they look like our little pink tongue tips do as they fence in the space between our open mouths.

And nothing beats the intensity of that clit-to-clit grinding.

I have to assume because Charlie's ass is big, her pelvis is big too. Because I can easily lube up my whole hand and thrust it completely inside her pussy. My tightly gripped fist pushes and pulls at her tissues and just drives her right over the edge. We always put a towel down first because her orgasm causes tremendous spurts, wetting the mattress.

Fisting doesn't work for me; Charlie's hands are just too large. But those strong electrician's fingers are perfect for reaming me--two or three at a time, whipping in and out while she is frantically clit-licking. I come over and over until I have to beg her to stop.

Chapter 5: The Second Day

[Author's Note: Andrew's Point of View]

Following Kara's wise counsel, I left for work early. With me was Kara's note on stationery, with "Sallie Macron" neatly lettered on the envelope. She made me promise not to read the letter until after I had handed it to Sallie.

From our kitchen I brought an upscale stone-finished coffee mug, part of a set I received as a gift. Peet's Coffee was still open, around the corner from the office, so I made my purchase and carried everything up to the 22nd floor. None of the office's swill for us today.

On her desk I arrayed the mug, the hot coffee in its covered cardboard cup, and the note. I waited nervously for her to arrive, now that it was the proper time.

The elevators were about twenty paces from our cubicles, attended by a trash barrel, an asymmetrical Ficus, and a large wall clock.

8:07. According to my phone, the wall clock was accurate.

8:12. There were eleven ballpoint stick pens in my desk drawer. Six blue, three black, and two red. One extra cap.

8:14. My own coffee was all gone.

8:20. Four stainless steel door panels on the elevators. All of them stubbornly inert. Mocking my pain.

8:23. Ficus Benjamina is Latin for the Weeping Fig. I could relate.

8:32. I was a wreck. I cataloged all my mistakes from yesterday.

8:35. The right-hand elevator doors split open, and Sallie finally walked in. She was clearly frazzled and cross, but she put on a smile as she caught me watching for her.

I paid attention to her dress as she walked towards our row of cubicles. She stopped to hang her coat, shrugging off the sleeves with her back towards me. The accompanying ass wiggle was endearing.

Her dress was conservatively cut with a squared neck and back openings between wide shoulder straps. Not a lot of bare skin showing below her neck, but that was fine. The fabric must have some stretch to it because it clung to her curves enticingly. I assumed because her breasts were big and heavy, she had to wear a supportive bra underneath, with wide comfortable straps. A dress with little shoulder strings would be impractical, and I could see very faintly the outline of her bra. No problem, I'll learn how to get the thing off with practice, I hope. Lots of practice!

My eyes followed the clingy fabric down through her waist, swooping over the upper swell of her ass and hips, gathering in to cup the sharp crease between ass cheeks and upper thighs, and ending with the hem two or three inches above the backs of her knees.

Exquisite. In just that quick moment before she turned and closed the remaining distance between us, I had a memory to savor.

"The damn Muni... 'Switching problem,' they said. One hundred- and ten-year-old railroad, and they still can't figure out switches?

She was panting a little and I could just detect her perspiration, it was not unpleasant. There was something arousing about her scent. And with her breasts heaving as she caught her breath, I couldn't help noticing all over again how sexy she was.

I wanted to compliment her dress, but I had a horrible thought: the last time I said she was beautiful, it was a disaster. But I had the impression she was dressed for my benefit, particularly since her outfit technically violated the bank's dress code. Here goes nothing!

"Sallie, that dress is very flattering. You look wonderful."

She gave me a very uncertain look, but then settled into the most gorgeous wide smile.

Whew!

"You think so?" she asked meekly, uncertain.

"I absolutely do," I assured her. "Please, rest your feet after standing so long on that dysfunctional train."

"What's this? You brought me Peet's coffee?"

"It's probably cooled, let me go heat it for you."

When I returned, Kara's note was in Sallie's hands. She looked stunned, and misty? Definitely emotional.

I placed the cardboard cup on her desk.

Sallie asked, "You told your daughter about me? About yesterday?"

"She's very very smart. Kara recognized I was upset and interrogated me. Like an FBI agent, or a psychiatrist. I had no choice but to confess. Then she insisted on writing a note to you. I hope it wasn't, uh, inappropriate."

"You didn't read it?" she asked.