Big girls, small girls. Short girls, tall girls. Thin girls, fat girls. Old girls, brat girls. What’s the difference? Who cares what they look like, just as long as they cook right! What a load of rubbish! All women are not ‘girls’, and all women are not the same. There are only two things that really matter to me in a woman, and they aren’t on her chest or between her legs. Heart and soul – they are what makes a woman.
Don’t get me wrong, I like women’s more female attributes as much as the next guy, except perhaps that time when I was the next guy. As for cooking, well, I spend as much time at the stove as my partner. Yes, I have a partner. You didn’t think I was single did you? Of course, she’s eighteen, got a perfect body. She works out every day and I just love to slip her sweat sodden kit off and slip deep into her there in the changing room, pumping away as she climbs up me. We nearly got banned the other day when her screams of passion could be heard in the pool at the other side of the squash courts. Yeah, right, of course they were. So, she’s not a California-fit super-babe… thankfully.
Anyway, our local leisure centre wouldn’t look kindly on men lurking and humping in the female changing rooms. No, she’s got a great body all right – she modelled in Paris. She can turn me on with just her supermodel glare and a twist of her Cinderella foot on an Eiffel tower heel. She walks out there with nothing on but a paper-thin lace skirt the price of Cuba’s GNP. How wonderful her breasts look as they pout firmly under the lights that caress her golden-tanned skin. They almost pulsate to the music as they swagger up and down.
Ok, so she’s not a model really. She looks great in her leathers. The seat of her GSX 950 gets a real good seeing too every time she straddles it. I’d love to be that seat, but I don’t do 130 mph, and I don’t kick her in the backside every time she twists my grip. She’s a real wild child, her long shining tresses streaming behind her in the wind. As she gets off she unzips her leather jacket revealing… nothing, nothing but her breasts and nipples. She never bothers to wear much else, it’s too much hassle to keep on taking on and off. Before she’s had a chance to tell me how busy the roads were she’s lying with her breasts astride the tank and her legs beside the warm engine being filled by me. If only that seat could talk – but of course it can’t and the nearest she’s ever been to a motorbike is watching Easy Rider on TV.
She used to be an air hostess, but she had to give it up and she spent much too much time servicing my needs in the air rather than those of her passengers. The Mile High club? Club, First class – even in economy. No matter where we were flying high, and flying united. Then she became a nurse. Oh, those uniforms! All crisp creases, starch and black stockings. We’d thrust the night away in the linen cupboard, she come over and over in the nurse’s station yet her creases would always stay put, and her stockings would never ladder.
She always cared for me as well as for her patients. Ok, they had to be patient as they listened to her fifth orgasm of the hour, but at least she always looked great as she gave them the benefit of her bedside manner – she always looked great when I got an eyeful of it. No? Well, at least she did start early. I first met her outside the showers. We talked, she seemed to like me. She told me about how uncool all this camping stuff was, and about how much she missed her boyfriend back home. Actually she told me how much she missed his eight inch cock. She stood there, bold as can be, and told me straight how straight and thick it was and how no man could ever match up.
She said they had been at it for over a year. She said she loved it best when he forget to buy condoms, she said she got an extra-special thrill when he came right up inside her. Then she told me it was her going to be her birthday, and that she’d die without him there to give her one, or two, or, as she wanted, four or five.
I did the gallant thing. I offered my services. She laughed and walked off. So there I was, the next morning, standing naked in front of her as she lay half-asleep in her tent. She woke and saw my erection. She soon forgot her boyfriend as I repeatedly stuck her with my nine-inch love pole. We must have woken her parents; as I licked her out we heard them at it too. They didn’t go for long and he can’t have been much good as after I came inside her for the second time her mother came in and pulled me outside and sucked me off before getting me to do her doggie fashion on the still damp grass.
Maybe it was Clacton, and maybe I just tossed off in the washrooms after saying hello just the once. I never met her parents, and I’ve no idea if she had a boyfriend, or whether the only love of her life was a picture of the cute blond one from East Boyz. No, to be honest she chatted me up in a bar. She walked in and came up to me and sat down on the stool next to me. She ordered a beer, and taking it by the neck swilled down a mouthful. Looking intently at me she licked the froth from her lips.
She liked to ride horses so that she could use the whip. She loved the feel of leather wrapped round her, and reined me in good and proper. She loved the feel of my firmness wrapped up in hide as she stuffed me into her. She never let me come. If I did she chained me up in the basement for a couple of days to teach me a lesson.
She brought home a couple of black dudes one night after I’d been naughty. She made me suck them hard for her, then she drained them dry three times each, covering herself in their cum. She yelled at me that I didn’t deserve her, and that I’d have to bring up these stud’s kids if I wanted to have touch her again. She didn’t get pregnant so she got the studs round to serve her again. I had to pay her stud fees for her. Eventually she got her baby – twins in fact – and I soon got used to the laughs as I pushed her half-casts through the park.
She was really shorter than me. I really mean shorter. On stage, as an unknown understudy on for the lead for the very first time, she ate the audience. They loved her, and she loved them, but I was the first to LOVE her. I met her backstage. She bumped into me as she was returning to the dressing room. She dropped all the flowers her adoring audience had thrown to her. Her dancing was exquisite, her body flowed flawlessly. She became the music, moving with delicate grace hiding all of the immense strength and fitness that the demanding role required. I offered to carry her flowers for her, handing her just a single red rose.
She giggled as she opened the door of the changing room for me. She stepped in without hesitation, I baulked at the threshold. Inside her colleagues, the other female dancers of the corps, sat, chatted in various states of undress, seemingly oblivious that a male was watching. She beckoned me in. I tentatively put a foot through the door. She slid off thin the shoulder straps that held up her costume, she began to peel it away from her chest. I closed the door quietly behind me and then went over to her. She kissed me, pressing her partly exposed breasts to me. I reached down to her hands and pulled her up from the chair. She didn’t resist as I pulled her buttocks to me. She had to stand en pointe to reach my lips, but that was no problem to her.
The soft pink silk fabric of the crotch of her costume yielded to my firm hand, revealing her soft pink. She said nothing, heaving in my arms, one leg twined around me in a vice-like embrace. No one looked as I yanked my zipper down. No one saw as I exposed myself to her pink. No one saw, but everyone heard her cry out for me to stop as she felt the ripping of her delicate flower of flesh as I roughly impaled her pas de deux. Honest? Really honest? Ok, she took my virginity, or did I give it to her?
We’d been dating for over four months. We’d spend all evening on the sofa, her head in my lap as I fondled her nipples. But she never let me touch her “down there”. On night she said she’s been to the doctor, so that it was “all right” now.
She led me to my bedroom, turning down the light to the barest glow. Stripping in the near darkness I saw her nakedness for the first time. I didn’t see much, her bush was just a darker patch in the night. She got into my bed, slipping under the duvet. She asked me if I was going to stand there all night. I asked what she wanted me to do. She told me to do whatever came naturally. She told me it was OK to take my clothes off too. I had touched her once, it was after an office dinner. She wore this soft dress and in our passionate kissing she didn’t notice, or mind too much, my hand pulling it up, exposing her bare thigh, smooth above her stocking tops. I fumbled around, she didn’t seem to mind much, not even when I pushed my fingers under her panties and felt her bush.
She stopped kissing me and drawing her head back looked at me. She said nothing as I squirmed my fingers between her tightly clasped pussy lips. She kissed me again and pressed her breasts closer, our whole bodies coming together. She was not a slip of a lass, she was a big girl: a large woman. She had a lot of flesh on her and we were so close that I couldn’t turn my hand to feel her properly. She held her thighs together tightly, not opening to let me go further. When we parted from the kiss she drew away from me, straightened her dress up and left.
That had been six weeks before and those weeks had grown increasing frustrating for me. As I slipped into bed beside her she got comfortable, her back flat on the bed. She reached for me. She had not often touched me there. She had occasionally stroked me. Just stroked me, delicately and never so that I came. She never looked at me there. She remarked how big I felt, and I told her how much I wanted to fill her with it.
Once or twice she’s let me feel her pussy, opening her legs just enough for me to slip a finger over her moistened folds. I think she came once, I wasn’t really sure and she wouldn’t say. I felt a movement lower down the bed, I felt sure it was her legs parting. My heart pounded. I asked what she wanted me to do. She just said she was on the pill. I still wondered if what I wanted to happen really was about to happen. I asked her if she really wanted me to make love to her. She replied that she hadn’t gone on the pill for nothing.
I positioned myself as bed I could but all I could do was thrust my tip into her hairs. She grasped me again, pressing my head lower. It slipped over her flowering folds. They were open and moist, even I could tell the difference between them and her hairy mound. She held me at her opening. She told me to kiss her. As I dropped my head to hers she pressed firmly on my buttocks. Still with her other hand around my shaft she engulfed my head. We stopped kissing and I closed my eyes to feel every pulse of my heart. She pressed on my buttocks again…
When ‘it’ finally did happen it was, to use a well-worn cliche, truly earth-shattering. When I came down to earth I feared that I might have brought up blood and not spunk, the feelings had been so intense. Shaking, I reached for the bedside light and, flipping the covers back, turned it on and looked down to my groin. There on the sheet was not blood but something quite new and unexpected yet desperately hoped for. It was there. Not much, a few drops maybe, and it was surprisingly yellow, but it was undoubtedly come – I was a big boy.
In the days, weeks and months that followed I took every opportunity to repeat the experience; twice or three times a day. The fluid soon turned to the more expected white, or at least very light grey. I looked at it, smelt it, and tasted it even – marvelling that this was all that was needed to make a new life. Each drop could make many, many lives, yet each drop made none, it was all spilled and quickly wiped away. Each time I did ‘it’ I hoped it would feel as mind-blowingly powerful as that first time. Each time I was a little bit more disappointed. A few times on camping holidays I did hang around the shower blocks waiting in case some desperate young girl needed what I innocently thought was a man. They never did of course.
My dick only wanted to feel warm…
As the days turned to weeks and eventually into years I began to wonder if I would ever experience as wonderful an orgasm as on that lonely bed. In those years my thoughts turned more and more to how it would feel with a woman. I knew how it felt by myself, by my own hand. I knew that only too well, but with a woman…? Would it be different? How different? There was only one way to find out, but somehow the opportunity never seemed to present itself.
The only time a stewardess took me by the hand to somewhere quiet was when I’d had a few too many before a long flight to Canada. I even took up weight training at one time, partly hoping that some toned beauty might take a fancy to me. None ever did of course. I look stupid in leathers, and motorbikes and I never seemed to see eye to eye. I’ve never actually found what the media say is beautiful to be beautiful. Models remind me more of anorexia and then look sexy. Call me old fashioned, but I like a bit of flesh on a woman. I like something to snuggle up to. I love to think I can enter a woman and really get inside her; not tear her apart or blow her away. That’s what I was about to do, enter a woman. Not just once either.
We had been together for many months now, and slowly but surely we’d been leading up to this moment, the moment when we’d join together physically in love. It’d be a while before we’d be joined officially, but for now what was about to happen, indeed was actually happening, would be more than enough. I felt her pulling me to her. I felt her tilt her hips to give me easier passage into her. I felt her special lips open around me. I felt her heat on my engorged head. With another pull she had me in her half-way. It was different, very, very different, but in ways I couldn’t put into words. It was the best feeling in the world. It was great. It was mind-blowing.
I didn’t thrust, I didn’t move; I just lay there, supporting myself on my knees and outstretched arms and filled her with my cum. I didn’t so much as come, as it came over me. I was so amazed at everything – that it was happening at all was enough, that it was in my own bed was too much to bear – that I didn’t feel any of the familiar build up that normally foretold my coming. I just closed my eyes and came, or more correctly I just ejaculated into her, warm and gentle. It felt the most perfectly natural thing to do.
She lay quietly underneath me as my come suffused her, filling the tiny voids between us, making us one. My continuing hardness must have surprised her. She asked, in a quiet almost apologetic tone, if I still wanted her. I replied with the first, very tentative, thrust I had ever made inside a woman. She reached down, I caught her hand in mine and held her to the bed. My thrusts steadily grew in firmness, the bed beginning to rock slightly with my movements. We kissed, her lips on mine, our tongues together, thrusting, thrusting and thrusting. Her lips tight around me, moulded to me, holding me. Her hips moving with mine, our bodies together, firmly together, sweaty chest on sweaty breast, hair in hair, bone pushing against bone over and over, over and over. Head held back, stress flowing through tight bodies, ever straining, buttock clenching, pelvis thrusting, glans aching, clit pulsing, shaft pushing, cunt taking, sweat raining on to virgin white sheets. Harder and harder, vagina-stretching, cervix- pummelling, labia-curling, clitoris-clubbing, glans- pulling, foreskin-rubbing, thigh-tearing, head- wrenching.
With a cry mistakable for terror she grabbed at me and held me to her. With three shakes of her body she took her long earned release. I felt her pleasure throes on my shaft, a soft throbbing barely detectable over my pounding heartbeat. She arched her hips high, bringing her thighs together, cutting me out. I struck down to her thighs, pushing them apart. With a thud of the bed on the wall, she dropped back to the bed and protesting silently with her legs, I took her. No delicacy now, all her pleasure was spent. I thrust heavily, as fast as I could, taking her, having her… fucking her.
She was almost limp when I, every muscle in my body drum-tight, felt those sensations again. As I dreamed of a boy and body contoured dancers a few drops streamed out of me and with them finally went our innocence.
Another time, in another place and another bed, she straddled me, towering above me naked in the moonlight. She was heavier now, laden with the joining of my sperm to her egg. It was soon, very, very soon yet she still offered her lubricant jewelled lips to mine, waiting for me to slip my tongue between them and taste her private nectar. She didn’t have to wait long. Nor did I when she later slipped back down the bed, folding her now gaping flesh on to my eager pole. With carefully measured strokes she helped herself to my body, apparently unhindered by the nine-month weight within her.
She didn’t take herself there, still, after all this time, she felt it felt best with her on her back. After delicious thrusts she slipped off me and rolled on to her back beside me. Taking my hand she drew me on to her, opening her legs wide to accommodate mine. Almost on fully outstretched arms to avoid the massive full-term bump, I took her once again. It wasn’t difficult, and the tight roundness of her belly rolled down all the way to her groin, the two seemingly as connected on the outside as we knew them to be inside. I entered her, holding my shaft in well-practiced motion to her labia, drawing my tip over her frilled lips, tantalising her clit, and spreading her juices over her gaping vulva. With a push I penetrated, thrusting deep and strong, mercilessly taking my pleasure and hers. That’s what she wanted, and my semen, when it flooded her cervix, gave her exactly what she needed. Pounding and probing, pulsing and pushing; I explored her well- charted depths and conquered her long-since mapped lands once more.
Her powerful muscle dam, bathed in my prostaglandin rich come, surely must soon break. I did, I emptied myself into her, as I had to give her, her now almost-newborn. Side by side, the three of us, all quiet, the kicks long since subsiding in those cramped confines, slept for a few all too short hours. At five the remnants of my semen were swept aside. By seven-twenty, and in that same bed, I held our daughter in my arms, I wondered what type she would grow up to be…