One Good Man
by Ashblonde
by Ashblonde
Part One
“It was nice to see you again,” I smiled and put my coat on. Pittsburgh felt bitter cold even in the spring. I was looking forward to getting back to a warmer, sunnier Houston.
“Call me when you’re in town again,” Paul smiled back from his bed. His soft chest peeked out over the sheets, and his tummy bulged below the covers with the outline of his large belly button tempting me back into his strong arms. His dark eyes and chubby cheeks were irresistible to me. I crawled back onto his bed and gave his belly a gentle rub.
“Goodness, you’re beautiful,” he murmured to me. I winked at him with a smile, we kissed and I left... same as before. I’d likely be back in a couple of months and see him again. He knew the deal. I wasn’t available for more than that.
When I got back to Houston, I already had a date with Jack lined up that weekend. Jack and I had no more in common than our profession, but he was an amazing lover and I couldn’t say no whenever he asked me out.
He picked me up at my place and drove me to his favorite Italian restaurant. He ordered his usual huge meal and I delighted in his gluttony. We went back to my place and worked off some of that dinner. Jack told me he weighs about 300 pounds and let me explore every bit of it.
Jack and I met putting together a major industrial project deal for our respective companies. I’m on the sales side and he’s the senior procurement manager. We argue all the time, but when we carry those arguments into the bedroom, it explodes into very fiery sex.
I’m an account manager for a global industrial company and my customer is a 150 billion dollar oil and gas giant. I may only be 28 but I make well into six figures. My job is high pressure and I’m good at it.
It helps to be attractive, of course. My green eyes, reddish auburn hair, athletically feminine body and fortunate genes have served me well. If you can be a smart, female engineer and still look sexy, you’ll have them eating out of your hand. It may not always be right, but its reality.
I’m not immune to love; I just think that sex has been what I’ve needed more. My career is very demanding. I travel a lot and meet plenty of people…well, mostly men in my business. But there are a select few of those men that I see after hours.
Jayson is in Chicago, working for an engineering contractor. He’s the smartest young engineer I know, not to mention the cutest 400-pound guy I’ve ever met. He makes me weak in the knees with his quick wit, towering height and wide, hanging belly.
He was recently promoted to Lead Engineer in a strategic area for my company, becoming an even more important customer. So now every time I fly to Chicago, I have a wonderful excuse to take him out for a sumptuous meal and then bring him back to my hotel room for whatever he wants. The first time I seduced him, he was shy and ashamed of his body. Now he instantly rips his shirt off and let’s me rediscover his amazing rolls and curves.
And there’s Mason. He’s a chemical engineer with a large oil company in Philadelphia. He’s 29 and adorable. He had been a department store model in his high school and college days, but the rigors of engineering studies gave way to more pizza and beer than his occasional trips to the gym could handle.
When I met him a year ago at a technical conference he was just somewhat tubby. Since then, I’ve seen him every few months when I visit our sister office in North Jersey and he keeps gaining weight steadily. He’s so good-looking and engaging that he has no problem getting dates at any size. I get the feeling that I’m one of many women in his life, but I don’t care. I figure that he’s got to have his fun too.
I know I sound like a heartless Jezebel, but I’m upfront and honest with every guy I date. I’m not interested in an exclusive relationship. I just want to enjoy life and can’t get enough sex with fat men. I do like them all for who they are, but I can’t resist what they carry around their middles either.
For me, the most intensely erotic moments in life are when my fingers are unbuttoning or lifting up a fat boy’s shirt, exposing his belly, and watching his shyness and shame melt in my hands. I ease his anxiety and turn his tension into sexual power. Then I become his for the taking, but only for the night. The next day, I’m back in charge.
Still, none of the sexual release I could get, nor my 35-mile a week running regimen was easing my work stress. I needed a break and the perfect opportunity arose. Some college friends and I had been discussing an early summer getaway to Hilton Head to relax. My best friend Jenna inherited a time-share at a resort villa there and offered to bring us along for a week. I splurged on a couple of new bikinis, some flirty sundresses and packed my bags.
