Too Big

When I stayed with her, I just parked in her middle garage stall, closed the door with the door opener she loaned me, and went into the house via the garage-to-house doorway. No one saw me except when I drove in or out.

Usually I called ahead, and when I got there, found her either already in bed or ready for it, her bustier on and holding her breasts up as if they were a presentation award for me. Her patterned or netted stockings showed off her long, lovely legs. Her contrasting garters, sometimes black, but other times possibly white, pink or red, hooked to the waist taper at the bottom of her corset held her stockings up, even as we thrashed around on the bed. Yes! And did she look good that way when she put on those skinny black stilettos, then paraded around the room in nothing more than corset, stockings and shoes.

Seldom was there any reason to go out; we had everything we needed there at her place. Pizza delivery, sex, manhood, womanhood, beauty, and a huge bed she bought during our first month of togetherness.

But, someone wise once said good things don't always last. I don't know about great things, but the Molly and I wonder we shared those two-plus years ended one evening almost as quickly as it began.

Her Ex returned. Apparently in the interim six years he had grown up while learning a few things about women and reality.

Now he wanted kids; Molly discovered she wanted kids, too. They decided to try getting her tubes untied, and if that failed, to adopt two or three. But age was the big factor. Mike was two years older than her, had begun another very successful business and sold out the first one with a great gain, grown up a lot in the meantime, and now he and Molly matched closely enough they could hold an intelligent, age thirty-something conversation.

I couldn't match that. Here I was: ten years younger than her, had done nothing yet that mattered to the world, and so far wanted no kids. My only accomplishment was learning how to make Molly happy in bed. After his three return nights with her, Mike's strategy won the race. I could see it in Molly's eyes: old love trumps newer hook-ups, any day.

My final hook-up with Molly was a doozie, though, let me tell you! She let her secret out about that Little Egg vibrator she put in her ass each time before she and I hopped into bed.

That weekend she did her utmost to teach me everything she'd ever thought we might try someday. From Friday night to early Monday morning, then finally with a kiss out the door I'll never forget. Mike was one lucky bastard! I told him so the evening he answered her door when I returned her garage opener remote. You know what he said?

"Jeff? You are one hell of a guy. Thanks for taking such good care of my wife. Molly will never forget you. You made us possible again, so we both hope life treats you good—forever. You deserve it, man!"

When I turned away, I had tears in my eyes—for more reasons than most men have to live— far more than 450 reasons.

***

So? I went from at least three times a week to zilch. Good thing my little rental shack had nothing in it reminding me of Molly. Nothing, that is except dreams of her, the things we'd one together in bed, and those other few things like—. Hell, there was NOTHING else. That had been my mistake. Had I taken the great leap from age twenty to age thirty, I might still have her. But like the saying goes, there's more to life than great sex, and Molly had discovered or rediscovered that with Mike.

I started 4-year college in the fall as planned, and because the U was not far enough away from my home town, the general knowledge of my endowment arrived on campus almost before me. It began all over again, the flirting, the girls being pests, the unabashed hints—or should I say outright offers?—of hook-ups. If only they knew! Somehow the fact of he hurts the women he makes love to got relegated to the unimportant category. B I didn't forget. Molly was only too fresh in my mind. Where would I find another woman big enough and patient enough to learn with me how to make her happy?

Like a trooper, I set about looking for another Molly. Most candidates lacked the good sense to take it seriously. Several dozen got hurt because they wouldn't pay attention and accept what I told them. Giggles and jokes don't count for much, and they paid the price. Unfortunately, so did I. My he hurts women reputation returned and landed on me so hard I could barely get a date. I mean, all they had to do was say no on a date. I wasn't one of those date rapists or some equivalent thereof. And, I was open to most other things besides poke me in the pussy sex.

Perhaps another older woman would be a better bet.

My Chem 101 graduate assistant introduced me to her office mate, and attractive woman who probably had a lot of Latino in her family, but I wondered if she had enough body size to cover the realities of the situation. Our first date—a first hook-up, really—put her out of the running. Far too small, although a real beauty—clothes on or off. Some regular sized guy would eventually get lucky there!

An older woman shared my Social Dance 101, but she, too, was small stature. She noticed me scoping her out and hit on me—which helped my ego, but not my situation. When she asked why not, I said sorry, not tall enough. Her rebuttal was: Let me try. So I did, much to her chagrin. Even our second try hurt her.

"Sorry," I said after we gave up.

"You warned me. I should have listened."

"You're one of about fifty. It's my problem, not yours."

"I wouldn't have believed. From when we're little girls we're taught all wrong."

"Thanks for the try."

"Oh, I'm not finished yet."

"What do you mean?" Surely she'd had enough pain.

"You want to meet my roommate?"

I shrugged.

"She's younger than me, only a couple years older than you, I think. She's pretty good looking, and all the girls like her."

Oh, wow! Now there was the description of a loser if I'd ever heard one.

"Okay, tell me. How tall is she?" I said, just to be polite.

"I don't know, but way taller than me."

"Skinny or heavy?"

"About like me."

Huh. Just right. Well, so far, so good. "Hair color?"

"She's oriental. About half Chinese and half Japanese, she thinks."

Remains of WWII? I wondered.

"Good family, Manchurian, I think she says."

The standard, old, rape-of-northern-China-during-WWII story, I supposed.

"Hard workers. They've done real well over here in the fifty years since. They live in Portland. You aren't prejudiced, are you?"

To me her race was my least concern. Did she have a brain? Have good sense? Speak English well enough to converse intelligently? Was she healthy? Clean? Have good work ethic herself? Generally, was she pleasant? And of course—last, but still important—would I find her attractive?

"Tell you what. Next class I'll bring you her picture. I have one on my computer, I think it's from her cousin's wedding."

I shrugged. Nothing to lose, so why not?

The picture she brought was a woman in some sort of ceremonial gown, and like most formal photos of Oriental women, it was difficult to tell much about her, even how tall she was. Oh, what the hell? I was only taking her for a cup of coffee. I wasn't committing to a hook up, let alone something more.

Too Big: Part 2

The woman who strode up to my Starbucks table could have been the same woman.

"Mr. Mathews?"

"Yes?" I said as I fumbled my way out from behind the table.

"I'm Mitzy, Mandi Acree's roommate? From your dance class?"

"Oh yes, sure. Hi. I'm Jeff. How do you do?" As I stood up the rest of the way I realized she must be at least five-ten. Her eyes hit me about chin level. "Here, have a seat." I pulled a chair for her and watched as she sat.

As I sat, she looked me over. Made me a little nervous because I had only a moment before watched a half-naked teen strut by with her butt cheeks sticking out of her cutoffs like she wanted to tease every male within a fifty block radius. The lump in my pants had swollen to embarrassing condition.

"So what do we talk about?"

"How about, Who are you?"

Mitzy chuckled. "That's a new one for this day and age."

"Got a better idea?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

Well, turn about's fair play, I guessed. "Not much here. Junior, graduated from junior college last spring, probably major in physics here once I decide. Grew up on the dry side of the mountains, no family now, so gotta make my own way. And age twenty."

"So Mandi tells me you got the Treasure of the Sierra Madre in your slacks. How come you're still looking for a place to bury it? You're good looking—at least I think so, so far. You treat women bad? Flunking out? You a drunk or a druggie?"

I shook my head.

"Well, how come, then?"

"Too much. Can't make love to just any woman. Sometimes I hurt them ... without intending to, of course."

She said nothing for a moment before looking up again.

"You do drugs?"

"No."

"Drink too much?"

"No."

"You like the way I look?"

"Sure." She wasn't beautiful by the Hollywood definition of beauty, but in the Asian version, she held her own very well. She stood and did an approval pirouette and park for me. Yes, she'd do all right.

"Mandi's gone to class for another three hours. Lets go over to our apartment and get better acquainted."

So, why not? This woman looked promising.

Their apartment was a typical college place: three rooms with a tiny kitchen attached to the main room, a mish-mash of hand-me-down stuff, though different because this one held a large measure of Oriental flavor.

Mitzy led me through the door as I scoped the place out. Yes, hand-me-down, but not cheap. In fact, not cheap at all, particularly the stuff on the more Oriental side of the room.

"How long you and Mandi known each other?"

"Since highschool. We're from the same school in Portland, but me just starting, when she was finishing. Hey, want some coffee? We sort of missed that at Starbucks."

I shook my head. I went to Starbucks because Mandi told me to, not for coffee.

"Well, I'm not a coffee hound, either. Here, let's sit down. You and I got a lot to learn about each other ... haven't we?" She pulled a chair out from closest side of the breakfast table, pointed me to it with her eyes and a nod of her head, then pulled one for herself from the adjacent corner.

She sat, leaned forward, and planted her eyes in mine for a moment, then looked quickly around the room.

"I wish I wasn't so tall," she said, looking back my way, then down.

Why? for god's sake, I was thinking.

"Nobody here wants a Chinese girl who's too tall and not all that pretty. Short and cute, yes. But not tall and lanky. Just look at all the war bride pictures. You never see a woman like me."

Sure, she was tall, but I had gotten used to that during my two years with Molly. My failures with all those medium and short girls before and since Molly had proven I should stick with tall ones.

"So, how is it you come from Portland—not China, is it? Family?"

She nodded, but said nothing. The look on her face said she figured we should talk about something else.

As my subject change line I said, "I always liked Portland. Never lived there, but what I've seen is nice."

"When it isn't raining. I get so sick of that. But when the sun does shine, the roses make up for it."

Like here in Seattle, I thought—except for the roses.

"What about you, Jeff?" The way she said Jeff urged me to come on to her.

"Dfrom the dry side of the mountains, like I said."

"You got girls like me over there?"

I shook my head. There were a few Filipino families who truck-farmed in the valley, but other than the several families of Chinese restaurant owners, no. Oh, and one Japanese family farmed near our little town. That was it. When I mentioned them, Mitzy shuddered

"What's that all about?"

"Japanese. Before World War II. Nanking."

I raised my eyebrows to ask, 'Oh?'

"Killed most of my family. The women they raped later produced my great grandparents. This—she pointed to her face—is what I got out of it. So see? You probably don't want me. I'm just ..."

"Beautiful."

She looked up, now. "No, I'm too tall, and skinny, and ... Japanese."

"Mitzy, you are what you are. I'm liking what I see."

Her eyes sought mine, now, looking straight into them. I'd term that a hopeful smile that toyed with the corners of her mouth.

"You got classes later this morning?" That was an abrupt change of topic if I ever heard one.

I did, later. But if cutting class got me closer to this woman, I'd chance it.

She looked down a moment, then back up and into my eyes. "You want to get better acquainted? In bed?"

I nodded. We could talk family history, likes and dislikes, philosophy of life, and that sort of thing later, after we'd done the qualifying/disqualifying research I'd come here to do. I had plenty of friends; what I needed now as a woman, one capable of taking ten inches, or at least willing and capable of learning to. She led me into one of the bedrooms, the more Oriental one.

She started unbuttoning her blouse, shyness now taking over he face.

"Here, Mitzy, let me do that. A woman should never undress herself in front of a man she's just met. He should do that for her. Helps her feel like she's desirable, not hard up and overly eager."

A smile shoved shyness from her face as I fiddled one-by-one with those tiny buttons until the only thing covering her breast cleavage was her bra clasp. I pulled her blouse off her shoulders, folded it as well as any guy would, and laid it over the back of a convenient chair.

I looked at her. I had never seen beauty like this—even if it was tall and Oriental. Her smug smile was a killer, and I was dead meat. Even considering Molly, I had never wanted a woman more than this one now standing before me.

"Please," she said. "My bra?"

Why not? Why not expose even more beauty? I undid the clasp in her cleavage, brushing backs of my hands against her. She shrugged her shoulders so her bra slid off her shoulders and back, and in doing so, became a non-factor.

I think I licked my lips. Damned nice, she was. The smile on her face just added more to my optimism.

***

I'd be lying if I told you all went well. We tried sticking tab A into slot B every way we could think of, but nothing really worked—even as well as Molly and me.

She sucked me off several times, which didn't take long because it had been a month since Molly's send-off. We learned Mitzy's ass would need a lot of attention before it relaxed enough to take me there—even half deep. And I went half deep lots of times in her pussy. But going all the way just didn't work, although what did, served as bait enough to keep us both trying.

She lay there alongside me, her long, slim fingers ringed around my half-hard prick, caressing it up and down, squeezing as she pressed against me, and relaxing a little as she withdrew

"Once more?" she said. "Can you get off once more?"

I shook my head. How many times can a man squirt in an afternoon? I thought about the old beans-in-the-jar story. You know? The one about if newlyweds put a bean in a jar every time during their first year, then take one out each time after that, they will have beans in the jar the rest of their lives. Right now I wanted to fill a jar with Mitzy beans ... if she'd just wait until I could.

"You know what, Jeff?" she said as she raked her fingernails across the tip of my fatigued penis.

"No?" I shook her head, with no inkling of where this was going.

"You and I are going to make a lot of great fucks together."

Maybe she thought so, but so far our results, although pleasant enough, lacked a lot of what I'd had with Molly. I didn't reply; I didn't want to hurt Mitzy's feelings. I just raised my eyebrows.

"We are, Jeffie—you don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

Why would I mind?

"You're the best fuck I've ever had, you know that?"

I shook my head. How would I know? She hadn't hinted. I just hoped I wasn't number five thousand or so.

"You know what you're doing, so when I got hurt, it couldn't be your fault. I gotta find out what's wrong with me."

"You're fine, Mitzy." I hoped she bought that load of BS, because it took all my resolve not to hurt her real bad by accident. At least she had a great mouth and knew how to use it. And those breasts? Not many women that tall had breasts that nice.

"No, I'm not, and I'm going to do something about it."

"What? I mean, you are what you are. And you did make me feel good."

"I know, but I want to be better. You know what I mean: So when you get your best into me, I'm not trying to hold you back."

"I'm okay."

"No, Jeffie, you're not. I can do better, and I will, if you'll just come along with me."

"What? Where?"

"Portland."

"What's in Portland?"

"Fred. My uncle—sort of. He's a gynecologist. I'll call him, get an appointment, and let him help us figure this out."

'Ooh, boy!' I was thinking: Did I want another man getting involved in this?

"He's real nice ... My step-uncle's half-brother. He's seen this all with our family before, I'm sure. I've always gone to him for my little girl problems, so he knows me."

How did I feel right then about discussing my manhood situation with my (hopefully) woman's step uncle—sort of? I imagine you can guess.

"Please, Jeffie? Just for me?" With that she gave my penis a couple good jacks with her hand, then rolled over onto me so her breasts mashed against my face.

"When?" seemed the answer most likely to get me out of this predicament and prevent mammary induced suffocation.

"Can you go Saturday?"

"Saturday" See a doctor on Saturday? One that's not in the local hospital Emergency Room somewhere?"

"I'm sure he will—if we wait until after his morning golf game. Even my aunt gets nothing from him if it interferes with golf." She chuckled.

So did I. I never understand some people's affection for golf. "In Portland? Drive down? Get there when? In the afternoon?"

"If you'll do that, I'll call him tonight at home and see what I can talk him into."

I nodded. What else could I do?

"Meanwhile, let's try again. Maybe we can still figure this out for ourselves."

Mitzy was fast getting me into condition for that, so I kissed her to indicate no reluctance on my part. But just then, the apartment's front door rattled and she and I both grabbed for bed clothes to cover ourselves.

"Oh, sorry," Mandi said from the bedroom's door. "Got out of class early. You two should have put our note on the door."

"It's okay. Jeff and I just finished."

Bull shit! I had another raging erection that needed to go somewhere warm and wet, real soon.

The bedroom door closed just in time. I rolled the covers out of the way, her to the side and me on top of her, and pushed into her.

"Oooh!," Mitzy moaned. Good! That sounded like enjoyment.

I pushed until the end of me stopped against something that felt like the upper end of her insides again. I pulled back to see her face. It held another of her grins of pleasure.

"Enough?"

"Yes," she said. "I feel clear full. You're so big around, too, you know."

Yes, I knew. That was half of what made erections in public so embarrassing. But only half my length was inside her, and the rest wanted inside, too.

"Please, Mitzy. Can you take more?"

She shook her head solidly enough I knew she meant it.

"But I'll tell you what, okay?"

"Sure."

"Remember when we first tried? With me cowgirl on top of you?"