Filth ain't filth if it's funny!
In order to share this Tale, I must discard my vanity. I’d waited my whole life to fall in love. Romantic, deep, storybook love.
I was forty-something and overweight. Melissa McCarthy at her most overweight, but unfortunately not as funny.
I don’t think I had low self-esteem but I was realistic. I knew that Brad Pitt was not in my future.
I just wanted a kind, gentle man who would love everything about me. I have a lusty sense of humor but was still a virgin (insert 40 year old virgin joke).
I finally met him. We happened to be at a midnight showing of an obscure foreign film. The conversation was great and neither of us had an issue with each others heaviness. Months of dating, laughter,and all night conversations later, it was time to make love. That was our downfall.
How to explain it? My fatness was all in my belly and butt. A pear shape. He carried his weight just like your average fat white guy. All in the gut. Unfortunately, none of that fat was distributed to his penis. It wasn’t humiliatingly small. It wasn’t Long Dong Silver either.
We tried it missionary. My girth trumped his lack of length. I was able to feel the tip of him against my upper thigh fat, but mostly it was just hairy gut meets rumpled belly. We attempted doggy-style.
The deep valley of my fleshy ass trounced his smallness. I wasn’t able to feel anything except his hands spreading my cheeks apart. That and his sweat that trickled down the inside of my buttocks like a trail of disappointment.
These attempts took place over four weekends, each more discouraging than the last. I pride myself on being intellectual and intelligent. I purchased several hard-core porn movies. Studied the mechanics of it all.
I approached a couple of my female friends for advice. After detailed, precise measurements of his penis; we got to work. The girls would come up with creative ideas for me to try.
‘Scissor’ action with me on my side, left leg lifted in the air, right leg on the bed. Him on his side between my legs, cock perpendicular to my vagina (sort of an L shape) was a failure. The shortness of his dick, and the bloat of his belly, defeated us yet again.
To be honest my thigh fat was not our ally. Even with my left leg lifted as high in the air as I could manage, my thighs still kissed each other before giving way to my vagina.
Riding his dick. Fail. We both enjoyed foreplay and had several serious conversations on if that would be enough. I went on a diet and advised him to also. Contrary to commercials, there is no proven way to lengthen a cock.
A co-worker who was aware of my problem came to me with a solution. At this point I was beyond offense. I wore my despair for everyone to see. My hopes of ever getting fucked by a man I loved dwindled with each meal. So I listened. Considered. Shopped. Attempted.
Utilitarian under-wire full-figured 16 hour bra. Two over-stuffed body pillows. The love of my life. The plan was to harness my breasts with a tight fitting, immobilizing bra. Lay on my back in the missionary position but drape myself over the side of the bed.
The large pillows were used to cushion the top of my head from hitting the floor. The stiff bra stopped my fleshy breasts from covering my face and kept their pressure off of my throat while I was upside down.
My face turned purple from the position and the weight of having my large stomach colliding with my steel encased breasts. My hips ached from keeping my legs so far apart. He was able to prop his gut on the top of my pelvis. We had penetration!
It wasn’t the thing of my girlish romantic dreams by any means. But it was a cock, fully inserted. A man who was patient, kind, loving. Quick, jerky thrusts. Excitement. Awe. Womanhood. Finally.