Two Desserts (BHM, ~WG)

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Ffancy

Well-Known Member
Joined
Mar 20, 2017
Messages
79
Location
In a salt fog
It is the second dessert that gets me in trouble, I think. I am sitting next to him at lunch time at the conference, a metaphorical horde of bees buzzing in my torso every time our elbows brush against each other, every time he leans toward me to address a remark exclusively to me. His voice is deep but it also has a slight droning quality to it, which some might find nasally unpleasant, but right now it reminds me pleasingly of the contented droning of bees on hot summer days. There are three or four others at the table with us, I think, but I couldn’t tell you who they are or what they’re saying. I haven’t been this attracted to a man in years. I haven’t been this attracted to a thin man in over a decade and I’m confused. It’s been fat boys for me ever since I fucked my first one and realized the lusty joys of luxurious rolls of plush fat. Thin men leave me meh. So why is this one clanging the alarms so hard?



He is tall, but I’m short so anyone over 5’ 5” towers over me. He’s got an average face - nice but nothing special - and his hairline is distinctly retreating. He has long fingers, no ring - I checked. And okay, there is a tiny bit of softness at his waist, enough to catch my attention. Not enough to call him chubby, or even plump, but not a hard body.



I am eating a slice of chocolate pie in small bites. He asks me if it’s good, then he grabs a slice from the buffet table behind us. He eats it neatly and rapidly as we talk. When his plate is empty, he looks back at the buffet, stands quickly and returns with one of the other dessert on offer - a miniature Oreo cheesecake. He looks at me and holds a finger to his lips before digging in. I am uncomfortably warm. Am I blushing? I am watching an attractive man eat two desserts, without any urging or encouragement from me. He can’t have any idea that he is tapping into my deepest sexual fantasies.



I imagine him swelling up, the hint of softness at his waist turning to an undeniably pudgy belly, soft and jiggly. His long-fingered, well-made hands becoming chubby and dimpled. His jawline softening and disappearing into the plush roll of a double chin. The soft mounds of manboobs straining the buttons of his neat button down shirt. The undeniable evidence of denying himself nothing.



I imagine myself feeding him sweet treats as he lays under my honeyed thighs, ready to eat his fill of delectable desserts and his mistress’s sweet pussy. Greedy in every way. A haze of lust carries me through the afternoon, and then we pack up and go back to our respective homes.



Maybe I’ll see him again at the next conference. Maybe he’ll be fatter then.
 

Clandy Caine

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Joined
Aug 22, 2016
Messages
26
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,
I’m not sure if this is just intended as a short vignette or if you plan to continue the story but I would love to read more from you!
 

Ffancy

Well-Known Member
Joined
Mar 20, 2017
Messages
79
Location
In a salt fog
I am surprised to see his name in dark blue letters in my inbox mid-morning Monday. Taliesin Jones. My eyebrows quirk up. I enjoyed our conversation on Friday, but I wasn’t expecting there to be follow-up. I didn’t even give him a business card, so he must have looked up my email in the staff directory for the Archives.



“Potential project?” reads the subject line. He says he enjoyed our conversation on Friday and asks if I would be willing to meet with him about an oral history project he has been contemplating. I answer at once: Yes, certainly I am interested. Within ten minutes he has emailed me back to propose a day and time for a phone call to discuss it. (A phone call! Who makes phone calls in this day and age?) My eyebrows are threatening to stick in a risen position.



I do what any sensible person does these days, of course: I google him. I’m not flattering myself when I say that I’m a good researcher. It’s not long before I know a good deal about Taliesin Jones. Doctoral candidate and sessional instructor in Atlantic Studies at St. Mary’s University. Cellist. Akido enthusiast. A person with a startling lack of social media presence. I stop on an old photo of a 20-something Taliesin - a decidedly chubby young man with a double chin and a soft belly. I stare at it for far too long a time.



I am unsettled. It’s been less than two weeks since my break-up with Matt - a reasonably amicable parting that had been preceded by a long, slow pulling away, but I wasn’t expecting to be attracted to anyone else so quickly. In the past it’s always taken me a while to get over the end of a relationship. It’s true that Matt was different from the men I’ve dated before. He was four hundred pounds of sexy beast, for one thing, beyond my wildest hopes for physical perfection. I loved squeezing the roll of fat on the back of his head while kissing him and then burying my face in the unbelievably soft pillow of pubic fat surrounding his cock until I nearly suffocated on his glorious obesity. And he was nice to me, kind and caring, which is not something I can say about many of my previous exes. But there was something lacking. I always thought I’d laugh a lot when I was with my love, but somehow with Matt, well, we just never seemed to laugh very much. At first it was good between us, but after about 10 months it stalled out. He stopped texting me kissy face emojis. He stopped calling me pet names. By the time we broke up, six months later, I had already accepted that things were over between us. He didn’t want to be my partner. I miss his luxuriantly, gluttonously, massively fat body, though. Maybe that’s why I perceive Taliesin as terribly thin - he’s perhaps half the man Matt was. Two hundred pounds? Maybe. It’s hard to estimate these things, although I’ve spent a lot of time looking at pictures of fat men on the internet. More that enough to know that one man can look bigger at 220 than another does at 315. And Taliesin is slightly taller than Matt-



I shouldn’t compare them.
 

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