index


Message-ID: <36050asstr$1018469409@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: richarddonnehy@netscape.net
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
Subject: {ASSM} BBW Blues in Baltimore part 1
Date: Wed, 10 Apr 2002 16:10:09 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


**********************************
The BBW Blues in Baltimore

(part 1)

    It's Baltimore, 8:18 a.m. on a Friday in July, and already
the temperature is up in the high 80's, and might go above 100 by
this afternoon.  I'm walking down Charles Street, heading to
work.  My light seersucker suit is already damp with humidity,
and my shirt is soaked.  I turn into a little bakery to pick up a
croissant for breakfast.  Usually, I'd just take it away and eat
it at my desk.  But the air conditioning in here feels good, and
I'm a bit early anyway, so I order an iced coffee with it, and
sit down at one of the little tables in the back.  

    Of course I recognize her when she walks in.  She's short,
like me, about my age, maybe a little younger, very cute, with
short auburn hair.  And fat.  At least 250 lbs.  I noticed her
two nights ago as well, at the Rat's Tail, a bar in Mt. Vernon,
my neighborhood, that features local blues bands on Wednesday
nights.   She was out on the dance floor, dancing with no one in
particular, in jeans and a t-shirt, swinging her huge ass,
letting her heavy tits and belly bounce around without
inhibition, getting into the good old Chicago blues sound.  I
might have summoned the nerve to get up and start dancing with
her.  But my friend Stan was with me, filling my ear with his
neurotic complaints about life (as usual); and so I stayed put. 
Besides, she was a much better dancer than me, and I didn't want
her to see me as a klutz.  

I watched her though. Her giant ass drew my eyes like a magnet,
filling me with a sexual longing so poignant that ... well, you
see, I've got this thing for fat women.  I've always been
attracted to them.  The softness of their bodies, their cute
round faces, their big breasts and wide hips, their thick thighs
- they turn me on like nothing else.  I know that Stan, if he
noticed this woman at all, would refer to her snidely as
something like "whale," or "blimp," and would think I was crazy
if I said I found her attractive.  How could he, how could anyone
in the room, be oblivious to the waves of sexiness she was
emitting?  

The set ended.  She beamed a smile at me and said, "Hi," as she
sauntered past my table on the way to the bar.  That was a
definite invitation.   As a short guy, I don't get that kind of
signal from women often.  Stan be damned.  I got up and headed to
the bar after her, intending to offer to buy her a drink.  But as
I made my way through the crowd, I saw that she was talking to
the drummer from the band.  Their posture suggested intimacy.  He
got the bartender's attention, and ordered two beers.  Crushed, I
returned to Stan.  I told him I wasn't going to stay for the next
set, and headed home.  I had the BBW blues.

* * * 

And now, here she is in the bakery.  It's a weekday morning, but
she's in cut-offs and a t-shirt.  I try not to stare at her bare
legs.  She looks at me, gives me that same smiling "Hi," as she
goes up to the counter and orders a danish.   Clearly the big
smile means nothing, or at least it doesn't mean what I initially
hoped it meant the other night.  BBW blues all over again.   

She comes back with her danish and sits at the other table.   She
looks at me again, still smiling.  "Excuse me, didn't I see you
at the Rat's Tail a couple of nights ago?  When Rollin' Red was
playing?"

    She actually remembers me.  "Um, yeah.  I ... I really
enjoyed your dancing.  Uh, would you care to join me?  My name's
Paul."  

    Her smile brightens even more, as she moves over to my table.
 "Hi, Paul.  I'm Amy.  So, you're a fellow blues fan?"

    "Yeah.  Lightnin' Hopkins is my favorite.  Though I love Koko
Taylor and Howlin' Wolf too."

    "Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee for me."  Her two front teeth
are big, and her cheeks are round, like a chipmunk.  She's so
adorable I can barely stand it.  "What did you think of Rollin'
Red's band?" she asks. 

    "They had a really good sound.  I enjoyed them.  The
bass-player's a little too rock-and-roll though, I thought."

    "Yeah, I know what you mean.  He was just filling in,
actually.  The band doesn't have a regular bass right now."  She
takes a bite of her danish.  She looks at me again, hesitating. 
"I, uh, I noticed you left after the first set, and I was
wondering if you really hated them or something."

    I blush.  "Oh, no, not at all.  I just, well it was Wednesday
night and I had to get to work the next morning, you know.  Do
you, um, know the band really well?"

    "Yeah, my brother's the drummer."

    "Oh, he's your *brother*?"

    She laughs.  "Yeah, he's my *brother*.  Why?"

    "Well, um, I saw him buy you a beer, and I thought maybe he
was your husband or boyfriend or something."

    "Nope."  She looks at me with her big brown, smiling eyes. 
"No boyfriend."

    I'm speechless.  If this isn't an invitation, then nothing
is.  "Oh," I say at last.  

    "So, where do you work, Paul?"

    "Van de Graf, Skolnik and Blount, in the Groenstein Building.
 Please don't hate me, but I'm a lawyer."

    She laughs again.  "My dad's a lawyer.  I don't hate you,
Paul." The way she says this, looking coyly at me, makes me
tingly down to my toes.

    "Well, if you don't hate me, that's a start," I joke.  "And
where are you headed, Amy?"

    "Up to the Peabody Conservatory.  I've got a class at nine. 
I study voice."

    "Opera?"     

    "Well, my vocal style is better suited to blues and jazz. 
And that's the music I really love.  But sometimes I sing opera,
supporting roles, mostly.  I sang Liu in Turandot for the
Baltimore Opera last season.  Are you an opera buff as well as a
blues fan?"

    "Not really.  Mozart, Rossini, Richard Strauss I like.  I've
never been big on Verdi or Wagner, though.  You know, nineteenth
century grand opera.  For Puccini, I can enjoy it if I'm in the
right mood.  I bet you were magnificent in Turandot."  She looks
down at the table, smiling and blushing.   "Listen, Amy, I have
to get to work now, but would you be free for lunch today?"

    She looks at me disbelievingly.  "Yes."

    "Do you like Italian food?  How about meeting me at Giotto's,
around one?"

    Her face falls, and she looks embarrassed.  "Well, I can't
really afford a place like Giotto's."

    "Oh, it's my treat.  Please."

    "You sure?"

    "Absolutely.  Please say 'yes'."

    "OK.  'Yes'  That would be lovely."    

    We head out the door together.  She's just my height, and as
I look into her eyes, I want so badly to kiss her.  We say
goodbye, she heads north toward the Peabody, and I head south
toward the Pratt Building.   A half-block later, I turn back,
watching her beautiful, wide, curvaceous body striding up Charles
Street.  I float to my office in a cloud of euphoria, not even
noticing the heat.

* * * 

It's 11 o'clock - two more hours to lunch.  I'm having a hard
time concentrating on this commercial lease I'm supposed to be
drafting.  
        
    My phone rings, old Mr. Blount summons me to his office. 

    When I get there, I see he is bristling.  "Paul, I just got
back from a meeting this morning with the IRS regarding their
audit of the Port Refineries Corporation 1999 return.  *You* told
me their expenditures for building an executive retreat center
were deductible.  Well they're not!  Now the Service is hitting
us with penalties and interest."  He was shouting now, and a
small knot of secretaries and associates had formed in the
corridor, listening to the tongue-lashing.  

    "Um, Mr. Blount, I believe I advised you that it could be
treated as a capital expenditure.  That was what my memo said."

    The old man's face is practically purple.  "Bullshit!"  he
roars.  "Show me."

    I hunt through the file on his desk.  There it is.  My memo,
dated two weeks ago, stating that under Buell v. Traugott, "All
ancillary executive facilities are to be treated as a capital
expenditure, and amortized according Schedule 12d."  I point to
the relevant paragraph.  He sinks back down in his chair, reading
it over several times.  At last, he looks up sheepishly, but
trying to hang on to his authoritarian scowl.  "Goddammit Paul,
when you tell me something important, you ought to be more
emphatic."  

A titter goes up from the co-workers gathered outside the door.
        
    "Yes Mr. Blount."  I'm trying to keep a straight face.

    "OK, you can get back to work, Paul."

    As I walk back to my office, Irma, the most senior of the
secretaries, who basically runs the firm, winks and gives me a
thumbs up.  

    I'm shaking.  That was close.  If I hadn't found that
memorandum, my ass would have been out on the street.  Thank God
I always keep copies of what I tell these superannuated senior
partners.  I settle back to work on the Hammerstein lease.

* * * 

    I get to the restaurant a few minutes early, to give myself
time to cool off after the five-block walk through the heat.  I
order a glass of white wine in the lounge.  She arrives promptly
at one.  She's wearing a strapless yellow sundress that hugs her
curves almost as tightly as I want to hug her.  And I thought she
looked sexy in a t-shirt and cut-offs. "You're ... stunning." 
It's a good thing my jacket's buttoned, or my hard-on would be
obvious. 

    The maitre d' shows us to our table.  "You like the dress,
really?  I just bought it this morning, after class.  For our
lunch date."

    "Amy, you're absolutely beautiful in it.  But you didn't have
to go out and buy a new dress."
    
     She's blushing again.  "Well, I don't get asked out often. 
Not by cute guys like you.  This is a special occasion for me. 
And I needed a new dress anyway."

    I order a glass of white wine for Amy, and some steamed
mussels for starters.  

    "You really think I'm cute?" I ask.  

    "Oh yes," she grins.  Her face turns a bit more serious.
"Paul, I have a confession.  I followed you into that pastry shop
this morning.  I noticed you at the Rat's Tail the other night,
and you seemed so cute and nice; and you looked like ... like you
weren't turned off by my weight, the way you watched me dancing.
I really wanted to meet you.  I was so disappointed when I came
back from the bar and you were gone.  But then this morning, I
saw you again, walking along Biddle Street, turning down Charles,
and I thought *Yes, there is a God!*.  So I followed you.  I'm
being too forward, aren't I?"

    "I'm very flattered, Amy.  More than flattered - I'm
delighted.  I don't often get compliments like that from
beautiful women.  And ..."  Our mussels arrive.  "And I think I
like you very much."  Her hand moves toward me, just an inch:
it's an offer.  I lay my hand on hers.  Our fingers fold
together.  I squeeze.  Her hand feels so good.  I can smell a
fresh, clean, lemony scent from her body.  The sight of her deep
cleavage in the strapless sundress is driving me to distraction.

She eats one of the mussels.  "Oh, Paul, this is fantastic. 
Here, try one."  She holds a mussel up to my mouth, opening the
shell with her fingers, letting the delicious meat inside slide
into my mouth. I feed her one then, and she briefly sucks the tip
of my middle finger into her mouth. The gesture is erotic beyond
description. If we keep this up, we'll get arrested.  

I tell her about wanting to meet her too, the other night.  About
why I left early.  She gives me her adorable chipmunk smile. 
Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.  I wonder to myself just how bushy
her tail *is*, and the thought almost makes me come in my pants.


I tell her a little about my job, about my run-in with Blount
that morning.  She tells me more about her music. We find out we
live just a few blocks from each other.  She just moved downtown
recently.  She was living up in Towson with her parents, but she
got tired of the commute to school every day, and moved in with a
couple of other Peabody students who shared an apartment on St.
Paul Street.  

We finish the mussels.  The waiter returns.  Neither of us is in
the mood for a heavy entr e in this weather, so we order a large
Caesar salad to share.  She says she's impressed with any guy
who'll eat her anchovies.  She says it innocently; I wonder if
she's aware of the double entendre.  For dessert, we split a
granita.  

Lunch is over now, I pay the check, but neither of us wants to
go.  

"Amy.  I'd really like to see you again; and I could ask you if
you're free tomorrow night, but that would mean I'd have to wait
a whole day.  Could you come over for dinner tonight?"

"I'd love to, Paul."  She's beaming, and the touch of her hand
holding mine is as intimate, as full of passion, as if we were
making love.  I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss her palm.  

I give her my business card, and write my home address on the
back.  

"Can I bring anything, Mr. Paul ... Keller?"

"Yourself and that dress, Ms. Amy ... I don't know your last
name."

"Magnusson."

"Ms. Amy Magnusson.  Beautiful name, beautiful woman.  See you at
seven."  I kiss her hand again.  She leans forward and kisses me
on the lips.

"I've been wanting to do that since Wednesday night."

My lips are tingling.  I walk back to the office with a cast-iron
erection in my pants.

* * * 

    When I get back from lunch, Mr. Jaeger wants to see me. "Is
it true that Blount did the opposite of what you told him on the
Port Refineries taxes?"  I tell him the story.   He shakes his
head, chuckling.  "OK, thanks Paul.  Don't worry about Blount;
you handled him the right way.  We're gonna have to have a
partner's meeting and persuade him to retire.  This is just the
last in a long string of his fuck-ups."  

    I wonder why he's telling me all this.     

    "You've been with us for three years now, right?"

    "Yes."

    "And how old are you, Paul?"  

    "Twenty-nine."

    "Well, that's a bit young, but lots of firms are
fast-tracking their more promising associates into partnership
these days.  You know we were pretty impressed at your handling
of that tax rollover issue for the Grammont family.  And with
Blount out of the picture, we don't want our associate/partner
ratio to get too high.  I'm going to suggest fast-tracking you at
the next partnership meeting.  Of course, it'll take a few months
before the decision goes through."

    "Well, thank you, Mr. Jaeger.  Thank you very much."  It
suddenly seems that my life is improving on every imaginable
front.  

    "Oh, Paul?  You might help me clinch the argument by boosting
your billable hours for the next couple of months.  I realize
you've been putting in long hours as it is; but a little extra
wouldn't hurt your case.  Show the other partners you're not
afraid of hard work, and you're willing to pay your dues, so to
speak."

    "Yes, Mr. Jaeger."

    Ebullient, I finish the lease, and start on some answers to
interrogatories.  Wait till Amy hears the good news!  I get ready
to leave at 5:30.  Jaeger raises his eyebrows as he sees me
heading to the elevator, but I explain that I have a hot date,
and promise I'll put in extra hours over the weekend.  He smiles
indulgently, paternally.    
    
* * * 

    A quick trip to the liquor store for some wine, and to
Teddy's Grocery for two thick salmon steaks and some fresh
asparagus tips -- simple to make, but impressive. 
    
    I rush home to my apartment, quickly tidy up the few odds and
ends in the living room, make the bed, and then jump in the
shower to cool off.  I put on my lightweight khaki trousers and a
short-sleeve white shirt.  Fifteen minutes to go.  I boil the
asparagus tips, then marinate them in olive oil and lemon juice
and put them in the fridge to chill.  Meanwhile, I quickly mix a
coating of pepper, tarragon, olive oil, egg and flour for the
salmon.  I'm putting on a Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee CD when
the door intercom buzzes.  It's Amy.   

I buzz her in, and a minute later she's at my door, her big
beautiful self in her yellow strapless sundress, carrying a small
backpack.  As I close the door behind her, she sinks into my
arms, and we begin kissing. This girl is not shy about her
feelings. I can't believe how good she feels, our mouths glued
together, her big soft breasts pressing against my chest.  She's
moaning into my mouth now.  I've got her up against the living
room wall, her lower belly is rubbing eagerly against my
erection. 

"God, Amy, you turn me on."

"Oh, Paul.  I want you so much."  

"What about dinner?"

"Dinner can wait.  Please?"

In the bedroom, she pulls me onto the bed with her, and
immediately begins removing my pants.  She pulls my underpants
down to my knees, and a second later, I feel her hot mouth on my
erect cock.  She devours me.  I don't last long against the
determined onslaught of her lips and tongue.  I've been aroused
all day, thinking about her, and when the orgasm hits me, it's a
gusher.  As she wipes my come from her chin and neck, she's
beaming.  "Oh Paul, you came for me!  Oh, thank you so much.  Can
I do that again?"  

 "Whoa," I laugh.  "It's going to take me a few minutes at least
to recover.  And besides, I want to make you come next."

"Mmm.  Your penis is so beautiful."

"Beautiful?"  I chuckle, "I always thought penises were kind of
ridiculous looking."

"Some, maybe.  Not this one."  She kisses the limp organ, then
looks at me with mock severity.  "Besides, it belongs to me now,
so you'd better not go calling it 'ridiculous' again."  She rubs
it against her cheek.

"Amy, you're still dressed.  I want to make love to you."

"Do you think I could take a shower first?  I'm feeling kind of
sweaty and gritty."

"Sure.  Can I wash your back?"

* * * 

    We're in the bathroom.  I'm completely naked.  She's still in
her dress.

"Oh God," she laughs. "I'm excited about undressing for you, but
I'm scared too."

"Do you want me to wait outside?"

"No.  But ..."  She hides her face in her hands. "I'm fat, Paul.
I know I'm so fat.  Before I met you, the nicest thing a guy ever
said to me was that I'd be cute if I lost a hundred pounds. I've
tried dieting - I've *really* tried - but it just doesn't work
for me. You're so sexy and sweet, I want you so much, and I'm
scared that ... that you'll be disappointed.  I couldn't stand
that."

"Darling, ssh, darling."  I take her in my arms.  "I'm gonna be
sooo not disappointed.  Listen to me: I'm not saying I'm
attracted to your 'inner beauty,' I'm not saying you have a
'pretty face,' I'm not saying I'd find you attractive *if* you
lost weight.  I'm saying I find you incredibly sexy.  I'm ... I'm
really attracted to your body: you're so soft and curvy.   I'm
getting hard again just holding you.  Not that you don't have
loads of inner beauty too, and that you don't have an adorable
face."

"You really think I'm sexy?" 

"Didn't you notice?  You just made me come all over your
tonsils."  She laughs. "Amy, I'm five foot two.  Most women look
at a guy my height, and it's like I don't even register with them
as a man - even women shorter than me.  I try to talk to a
moderately cute girl at a party and I see the embarrassment, the
revulsion even, flash across her face the second she realizes I'm
interested in her - as though a dog were trying to hump herleg."

"But that's ridiculous. You're so cute, Paul. You're absolutely
scrumptious."

"Amy, you don't know how long I've been waiting to hear a woman
say that to me.  And if you really do feel that way about me --
even though most women wouldn't be caught dead with a guy my
height -- you should understand that I feel *you're* absolutely
scrumptious, though lots of men are turned off by your weight.
The dickheads have no idea of what they're missing, that's all I
can say."

She's gazing at me with a mixture of vulnerability and desire.

"And, you know," I add, "it's not as though this dress leaves a
whole lot to the imagination."      

I begin lifting the hem of the dress.  She holds up her arms so I
can pull it over her head.  The dress has built-in breast
support, there's no bra, so when it comes off, I see her big
breasts flopping out of confinement and sagging against her
belly.   Her skin is alabaster, her nipples are big and pale, and
very erect.   She looks at me, shyly, then pulls the white cotton
panties off her huge hips and lets them drop to her ankles.  My
eyes are drawn to the thicket of auburn hair, peeking out from
beneath her belly apron.  Bushy-tailed indeed.

"Beautiful," I whisper.  "Absolutely beautiful." I turn on the
shower.  We step inside.  It's a small shower stall, and she's a
big girl, so with two of us in there it's rather cramped; but I'm
not complaining.  

"Turn around, love."  I begin soaping her shoulders and back. She
giggles as I run my soapy hands over her enormous ass.  I marvel
at it.  It's almost as wide as the shower stall, and the cleft is
deep.  Her buttocks jiggle as she shifts her weight.  My dick is
completely hard again, almost flat up against my stomach.   She
leans back into me, moaning.  I kiss her wet neck, reaching round
to cup her heavy breasts, feeling the stiff nipples poking
against my palms. She wriggles her bum against me, capturing my
dick in the deep, soapy crevice.  She laughs, squeezing it
between her ass cheeks.  

"I feel a hot poker back there."

"You're gonna make me come again if you keep that up."

"Yeah?"  She laughs, rubbing her ass against me some more.  I
pull back.

"Oh *behave*, you naughty girl.  I want to make love to you this
time.  And ... oh, damn, I forgot to get condoms."

"I brought some, Paul."

"You did?"  I chuckle.  "I love you, Amy.  You think of
everything."

She finishes soaping up, and rinses off.  We get out of the
shower and towel off.  

* * * 

continued in part 2


_________________________________________________________________
_
Your favorite stores, helpful shopping tools and great gift
ideas. Experience the convenience of buying online with
Shop@Netscape! http://shopnow.netscape.com/

Get your own FREE, personal Netscape Mail account today at
http://webmail.netscape.com/


------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+