chapter one

He is a big tease.
I was hoping he would be at the bar tonight. He often is, with his buddies, on wing night. I wore my highest ***-me boots and my lowest Grand Canyon of Cleavage top, on purpose to make him squirm. I spot him as I scan the room while handing over ten bucks for the cover charge, but I don't go to him. Instead I go directly to the bar to order a drink. I stand with my back to him, but I examine him in the mirror behind the bottles. Still dark, still handsome, still chunky.
He notices me and catches my eye in the reflection. I can't help it, I smile. Suddenly I look pretty, even to myself, with my hair streaming over my shoulder. He pushes his bulk away from the table and lumbers up next to me. He wedges himself in close even though it's not crowded, so that my arm and my breast push against his considerable belly.
"Hello," I say.
"Hello," he replies."You're looking hot tonight."
"I know," I say, leaning in so more of my breast touches him. "So are you."
"Me? Ah..."
The bartender turns to us, then. We order beers and I add on a request for wings. We join his buddies, but pay no attention to them. We talk about all the things we've done since we last met. His soft side presses against me. When the wings come I make him eat most of them. His plump, stubby fingers get covered in spicy sauce and he licks it off, saucily. He smacks his lips and makes little mmmmm sounds of enjoyment as he eats. Damn. I'm getting as slick as his fingers and I want him to lick me off.
Two can play at that game. I take out my red lipstick and reapply it without looking, like a dame in a glamourous 40s film. Then I pop my finger into my mouth and pull it out slowly, to remove the excess colour. He smiles, mounding his chubby cheeks and rounding his double chin. He knows what I'm doing. It's a game, to see who can make the other breathless with desire first. Usually he wins.
Tonight is no exception. He pulls me onto the dance floor. He moves his bulk smoothly, gracefully. I can't help it. I have to kiss him. I throw my arms around his neck and mash my lips to his. He kisses me back, then pulls away.
"Let's go for a walk," he says. Red lipstick is smeared across his face, and mine, too. He reaches out and rubs some off my chin.
We walk quickly though the chilly night. His winter coat doesn't zip up past his bulk, a relic of some thinner winter. We go to his place, of course. Inside, I am suddenly shy, until he pulls me to him to kiss me again. I wriggle in his arms. I want to grind against his cock, but I can't. The arc of his belly makes it impossible to kiss him and grind on him at the same time. Maybe a circus contortionist could do it, but I can't. He's too big. He could never be too big.
We strip each other's shirts off in equal haste. I love the softness of his gut, the way it hangs over the smaller pooch of plumpness above his genitals. I love his thick cock, too. He sprawls on the bed and I climb on top of him.
"Go slow," he says. "Go slow."
"I will," I answer.
So I tell him how I like his dark hair, the precise way he parts it that makes it so enjoyable to mess it up with lusty caresses. I tell him how I like his round face, his caterpillar eyebrows, his snub nose, his kissable lips. I touch all the places as I mention them. I tell him I adore his throat, his meaty chest, his solidly soft arms, his hands with the stubby clever fingers.
I tell him I like his majestic mounding belly, but he interrupts.
"No," he says. "You couldn't."
"I do," I insist. "I get to say what I like."
I drop a kiss on his belly.
"I like how big you are," I say. "It gives you a solid presence that is so, so sexy. Believe me."
I caress and cuddle his belly for a while before moving lower.
It's my turn to tease.