I toggled the light switch and heard the pop and saw the flash and instantly knew that the light bulb just died. I looked for a replacement in the linen closet, but I could only find a 40-watt bulb to replace the 60-watt bulb that just popped. In the dim light, my crows' feet wrinkles looked more ominous than usual. "Damn, I hate the thought of getting old," I whispered to myself.
The wrinkles were not the least of my body's problems. My breasts were extra pendulous and seemed to sag a little more today. Gravity and time was working together to stretch what were once nice, firm, and pert 34b cups, with nipples that pointed slightly upward, to sagging bags of flesh topped with tired looking nubs pointing slightly down. "Damn, I wish the light were a little brighter," I whispered again to myself.
Also, I couldn't focus my eyes correctly to look for stray hairs. The effort was useless because with my glasses, the focal length was off, and without them, I simply couldn't see distinctly. It's good thing that I wear contact lenses because wearing glasses makes me look even older.
The needle zoomed up as I stepped carefully onto the foot-pad of my bathroom scale. It bounced a little and finally settled on 135 lbs. "Damn, I'm overweight again!" I thought.
"A careful look into the tall mirror on the bathroom door confirmed what I had just inwardly felt. I'm fat in the hips again. I feel like Tweedledumb's sister. My 5'6" height appears too wide in the middle. It would be a challenge to get back to 120 lbs. in just two weeks. I want to be my 120 lbs. plump in time for my 40th birthday. This fat would be disgraceful. I'll try, and get close, even if I don't quite get there. The 120 lbs. plump is a weight I can live with most of the time. When I try to reach 110 lbs., I find it immeasurably harder to maintain. My body looks good, but the cost is too high. I made a deal with myself to allow a little fat in return for a manageable life. So I live life at 120 lbs. plump most of the time.
I turned to each side to inspect the damages.
"Now what the hell was that dark spot on my leg? A bruise, but from what," I thought? The bruise makes me look like I've got a skin disease or something. I feel like a big potato with those ugly black spots that you have to cut out of them.
I wonder what Kevin and C.D. think of working with me. They probably think I'm fat too, but wouldn't tell me that to my face. Based on their age, and their good looks, they'd probably prefer working with some one closer to their own age, not some one nearly 15 years their senior. I think Kevin is 25 and C.D. is 26. They seem such virile young men. I should call them hunks. They could easily be a woman's dream man based on their physique. The reality is that hunks don't go for women with crows' feet, saggy tits, a weight problem, and ugly bruises.
Young men want young girls with firm breasts, a slim waist, and blemish free skin. I should just face the facts. I'm not young and desirable any longer. I can't turn heads any longer. Nor can I turn back the hands of time. I can just try to preserve what I still have for as long as I can.
I looked in the closet and found a "fat staple" to wear to work. My "fat staple" outfit was comfortable and hid my fatty features well. I found some of the larger plain cotton panties, a pair of panty hose, and a matching white cotton full support bra.
The panty hose were stubborn, as usual. I nearly toppled as I lost my balance striving to pull the left foot hose in place. A nice white blouse went on next. It was a 50-point opaque cotton twill with buttons down the front. I pulled on a half-slip and a full navy skirt. Some comfortable shoes with 1-inch heels found me fully dressed.
Not too bad in disguising my faults. A little makeup, perhaps put on at work where I can see properly, will do the trick.
I hurried to catch my bus.
I saw that two groups of people had formed at the bus stop. One group was waiting for a bus, and the other group was waiting for a private car to ride to work in. I thought that it would be faster to ride in a car this morning. Normally, there is a line, but today there just seems to be a group of people waiting for cars. A few cars fill up and I move closer to the curb. As I wait for the next car, I am flanked by two young and beautiful girls. A car stops, its' window goes down, and a handsome man asks, "Anyone going downtown?"
I begin to move towards the car. The young girl on my left bumps my arm and my newspaper falls to the ground. While I retrieve it, the girls hop in and close the doors. The youngsters are whisked away. A giggle can be heard through the open window.
I angrily think, "They're laughing at me." I take a big deep breath. "Perhaps, I should just stick with my own age."
A man in his early sixties is standing beside me now. The man has salt and pepper hair and is immaculately dressed in an expensive suit. I guess we oldies can look good at times.
Another car drives up. Again, a window goes down and an offer is made. But this time, the older man, now smiling as he looks upon me, wordlessly gestures for me to get in the car first. I do get in.
I say, "Thank you," loudly, so that he can hear me. I quickly scoot across the seat. He nods, still smiling.
I inform the driver of my destination, "Bank of America, please."
The older man just says one word, "Exxon". He repeats it, "Exxon."
The driver nods as we pull away. We travel rapidly into town. The older man with his expensive suit and a smile is going to Exxon. He was a gentleman to me, and I want to thank him somehow. I could listen to him. I could be an attentive ear in the morning rush. He asks me if I speak German! I don't. He can't speak English yet.
We smile and sit in silence as the driver listens to music on the radio. An old Dan Fogelberg song is playing. It's that song about meeting an old lover in the grocery store on Christmas Eve. The couple bought a six-pack and brought it out to the car in the parking lot. They talked about what had happened since they had last seen one another. They toasted to their youth and innocence. They imagine, for a moment, about what may have happened if they hadn't drifted apart. I think he named the tune "Auld Lang Syne." It always reminds me of lost values, whatever they may be. It could be a lover, or a career, or a hobby misplaced and then remembered too late, but especially, the road never taken.
I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. The old man noticed and got a handkerchief out for me. I blinked out a few more tears. It wasn't that time of month. Why was I so moody today? I smiled and thanked him again. There was no doubt that I was in the presence of a gentleman. It was his character. He treated everyone kindly. Again, I wasn't special, but fortunate for his company.
My stop came and I got out.
I worked feverishly all morning. Our department was rushing to meet some deadlines for documents. Kevin and C.D. were friendly but seemed preoccupied. I wanted to talk or joke or something with them, but this morning they ignored me. I felt so alone. Isolated and brooding about it, I realized that I hadn't had enough human interaction. I enjoyed a tear on several occasions over nothings. Kevin loudly asked C.D. to lunch.
"Why hadn't they asked me," I wondered?
The deadline was met just in time for lunch. I had tried to get Sue on the phone to arrange some lunch plans, but her phone mail answered with an old greeting. She might not be here today.
I decided to walk at lunch. It will help me to lose the weight I needed to lose. I reached the elevator lobby and went for the revolving door. I literally bumped into Sue. I had my head down, and my feet were on autopilot. Sue rounded the corner from her elevators and we collided gently.
"There you are," she said smiling. "Are you ready for lunch?"
I sighed a huge sigh and a smile just burst upon my face. I think I may have even blinked a tear I was so happy to see her. "Yeah, how about Tree Beard's," I managed to say quietly.
"Sound's great to me. I'm gonna have red beans and rice and Cajun sausage. The spicy hot sausage," Sue's familiar happy voice returned. Just hearing her reply reversed my sour attitude.
"I have to tell you I had the most fabulous weekend. We went to Barbara's house and I photographed all weekend. I have some work I am so proud of," Sue said with such exuberance that I felt excited for her! "It was an absolute blast! The guys can be so much fun!"
Sue is a red haired, green-eyed beauty. She is 4 years younger than I and stands 5'11" in socks. Her 38DD's look absolutely great on her tall frame. Her hips are all woman and she exercises to keep her tummy somewhat firm. She smiles incessantly.
"Baby, how have ya been," Sue asked looking me in the eye?
"O.K.," I said softly.
"Pumpkin, there's something not right. You say O.K., but you look like shit, darling," she observed correctly.
'I do look like shit and that's my problem,' I thought to myself. "I've been feeling plump and moody," I told her.
"Plump! Baby, you see plump where I see luscious," Sue quipped. "You have no idea, darling, how scrumptious you are."
"Let's hear about your shoot at Barbara's," I said trying to change the subject and get back to some levity.
Sue talked about her shoot. She is an amateur photographer. She has dabbled in portraits, and weddings, but her real interests lie with fashion, fine art and combining social commentary with fine art. Now, I call it fine art. Sue calls it nudes. The more sexual, the better she likes it. I have not asked her what her nudes do, but she described several shots in detail anyway. I was shocked and excited too.
"That sounds so interesting," I said, but I was thinking it sounded so erotic and sensual. I squirmed cautiously on my restaurant seat.
Sue had described three male models she had worked with including descriptions of some of their physical attributes. The three were Harold, Steve, and Pete. They had modeled commercially and Sue had met them first as models. They were casual friends now.
Harold was the oldest at 42 and the tallest at 6'2". He was thin because he was a runner. His body had lots of chest and back hair. He had the smallest cock. It measured 5.5"and was thin and curved to the right when he had an erection.
Steve was 27. He and Pete worked out at the gym together and he had a muscular 5'11" body. He had shaved all the body hair off his legs, arms, back, and chest. It was something that some bodybuilders did. His cock was a little longer at 6", straight, and fatter than Harold. It was also uncircumcised.
Pete was also 27 but stood only 5'7". He like Steve had shaved all the hair off his body because of his bodybuilding. His musculature was the best of the three. Pete had the longest cock at 6.5", but he was also the thinnest of the three.
I sat in wonder as Sue described how they ended up measuring the size of their manhood for some "official stats about the photograph." As she described their cocks, I got caught in a daydream of my own and didn't hear all of what she said.
Just "working" with young naked males seemed like some exotic, maybe erotic, activity. Sue mentioned photographing these young men with erections. I couldn't imagine how she might have helped to arouse them. I imagined what I would have done!
But this thought of young male models is just fantasy to me. It's merely fodder for my daydreams. Reality is that I am a fat old broad with smallish drooping tits and wrinkles. Young studs' like Harold, Steve, and Pete were not excited by the likes of me.
For the rest of the day, I daydreamed about young stud's cocks and how I might enjoy them. It was a dream and nothing more. I would never cheat on Charles, my husband.
Charles was late, again. He worked as a store manager at the mall for a large department store. He often had to be there when the store was opened and sometimes he stayed late to help with after hour activities like testing the fire detection system or something server related. He did get time off. It was sometimes rather generous, amounting to days of comp time.
"Hello darling, how are you today," he asked me with a smile.
"I'm fine. Are you hungry," I asked?
"I'm hungry for you sweetie. I want to make love to you tonight," Charles said and then growled like a wild animal.
"I want it too, darling," I confessed unbuttoning two buttons of my blouse. My daydreams had me primed and I was wet already.
Charles took the hint and began to remove my clothes. When he had bared my nipples, I moaned my enjoyment. When he placed his delicate wet tongue on them I began to gush secretions from my pussy. His hands quickly bared my bottom and I stood before him naked.
"What would my darling like this warm wet tongue to do this evening," Charles inquired with the words that were more than familiar.
He had asked me that question so often that those words are etched in my mind. I don't even know if I actually heard him say the words. I think my mind had raced through them as he used his lips to slowly form them. So, while I think that I know what he was saying, I didn't even hear it all.
I don't exaggerate when I say that he always asked that question of me. I don't mind that much. I guess that it's nice, that he should ask. I do appreciate that he'll do whatever I request of him. Well, almost whatever I request.
Charles mostly just licks my nipples first and then moves to my clit and then fucks me twice. I always come several times and I've grown accustomed to our routine. I can't remember last when we hadn't done just this. It must be years we've done this. At times I wouldn't mind if we tried something else, but this works so well for both of us. I know he really likes to eat me.
Sometimes though, I wish he'd just take me. Sometimes, I long for a change.
I'd like to know that I'm desirable. It's not that Charles doesn't tell me I am. He tells me using the same words every single time we have sex, which amounts to nearly every day. So, what do I want from him? I don't know. We have a good thing going on. So what's my problem?
"I want you to eat me between my legs. I have to feel your tongue on my pussy, darling," I whispered as we lay down on the couch.
I wouldn't mind being on his side sometimes. I wouldn't mind being asked to do something for Charles every once in a while, but he always beats me to the question. He always asks what he can do for me with his tongue.
God, how I love his tongue doing me, just like he is now. Shit! That's good! Fuck, that's good!
Charles did his usual fabulous tonguing. I began to orgasm after ten minutes of A,B,C's. Charles uses his willing tongue to draw the A,B,C's on my clit and pussy lips. He never fails to get me off. I pull his mouth from my pussy, because I need his cock inside me.
Charles mounts me and I cum as he enters me with his fat cock. He pumps and strokes for ten minutes before I feel him tighten and thrust in earnest. He bathes my insides with his cum. I have had three orgasms as he has built to his own. I guess I'm easy to please.
Charles begins to go flaccid.
"Darling that was so nice," I coo. That's what I always say to Charles.
"Tina, your so fucking beautiful. I'm the luckiest guy on the planet to have you as my friend and lover," Charles says.
He says I'm beautiful. I guess he ignores the faults. He'd say I'm beautiful even if I were 175 lbs. I don't really know what to think.
Let's do something different.
"Charles, Sue was measuring guys cocks this weekend. How do you measure a cock? Can we do yours," I ask gaily?
"Hell yes," Charles says as he hurries off for a tape measure from the sewing kit.
"I'd say it's six inches, and fat," I tell him.
"Yep, that about sums it up," Charles adds. He pauses a moment and tells me, "Tina, I'm having problems getting it to really go rigid though. It's erect, but it's strangely erect. It's like it's partially erect. This is fucking strange."
"Have you been beating off too much or something," I ask?
"I can't afford to jack off. Hell, we're having sex 5 days a week and I cum twice on each little outing," Charles reminded me.
I do have to admit that Charles and I have a pretty active sex life. It's routine and I like it a lot because I can count on it. Until now, Charles hadn't commented on the demand it made on him.
"Come fuck me again, darling," I requested.
"Let's try this maybe doggie style," he suggests. We position ourselves. "Oh, yeah, but I'm still too limp to enter you! Shit! What the hell is going on here?" Charles asks, clearly puzzled. "I don't understand. This has only happened when I've drunk too much alcohol. Now I haven't had any drinks and I can't get it hard!"
"Charles, baby, you gotta stick that big hard cock in me and fill my insides with your cum," I nearly yelled at him. He can't just break up my routine! He owes me another erection, another fucking! He hardly ever leaves me hanging. I need this today. I'm feeling fat, I've been miserable, and I need his hard cock in me!
"It's beginning to work, yell out some more. I'm getting harder," Charles said panting.
What's beginning to work? What did I do? I yelled at him to give me his fat cock and he liked it!
"You fucker with the fat six inch cock. You gotta stuff me you bastard. You gotta get that cock hard and slam my aching cunt with it. You gotta show me with that big tasty cock what a tight little pussy gets when it hungers for some tasty cock. It aches for you," I was talking gibberish. We never talk like this out loud. It was new to me and new to Charles.
"You fucking little cunt. You'll feel a real man tearing into that little cock sucking cunt of yours. I'm gonna pound that hungry pussy till it ain't hungry any more. Take this bitch," Charles yelled as he pounded furiously into my grateful pussy.
"Yeah, baby, yeah, tear me up with your steel. Shit that's good! Oh! Oh! Shit! Oh," I managed to say before Charles began to explode inside of me for the second time!
"Damn that was good! You gotta yell at me like that next time. That was fucking incredible," Charles managed to say as I felt him slip from my pussy lips!
"Charles, lick me to another orgasm, baby," I implored him.
"Are you kidding me? Baby, I don't lick that goo. I never have and I never will. I'm no fucking homosexual. Besides, you told me yourself how you won't touch the stuff because you hate the taste! I'm really tired, baby," Charles said as he slowly shut his eyes and lay back for a rest.
The next evening sex was very good. We even shouted at each other more. I called him nasty names and he called me his whore and his slut and his cock-sucker. I couldn't get enough of him calling me names while he impaled me with his very rigid manhood. I don't know why calling me degrading names' was turning me on. I don't think of myself for real as a whore. I do sometimes imagine what it would be like to be a sex object and treated in whatever manner my Charles would treat me. But no, I don't really think of Charles ever taking me that way. It's not like him to do that. So, in my dreams it is someone else that is strong, and is so sexy I would do anything for him and he knows I am his to please him. But, it's just a fantasy. I'd never cheat on Charles.
The next two evenings were scary. Charles could not get hard enough for penetration at all. Yelling didn't help and whispering didn't help. Something was really wrong! This was strange.
Charles made a doctor appointment and was prescribed Viagra. Only the 100mg dose worked and without the pill Charles had no erection of any use to me. The medical insurance would only give him 12 pills per month. That provided for less sex than either of us was accustomed to. After the pills were gone Charles would bring me off orally. That was all we could do together. To make matters worse, Charles had an eight-hour recovery time! If he came, it would take another 8 hours to recover enough to get hard and climax again.