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No Do-Overs

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Looking back, all the signs were there.

Rita never wanted sex anymore. That alone didn’t alarm me, given our sex life had never been vigorous. Then she started paying more attention to her appearance after years of neglect. Throw in the prolonged absences without sound explanations.

The whispered phone conversations which ended abruptly when I entered the room were the final tip-off, however.

One day Rita said she was going to the gym. I waited twenty minutes then drove down there. Her car was absent from the parking lot. I sat in the car for an hour in case she showed up after running some errands but she never did. I went home and waited for her wondering what to say.

Three hours later she stepped in the door and we had it out. After many tears and recriminations she admitted she was having an affair, breaking down sobbing.

Our marriage was a six year mistake. I grieved its failure, but underneath my pain was a growing sense of relief as we went through the process of divorce. We sold our house and went our separate ways. The divorce went smoothly, at least. I made good money and Rita made even more so finances weren’t an issue. There were no kids, either, which made things even easier.

I bought a condo close to work, a nice place with more space than I needed. I moved in, a divorced man with my entire life stretching out before me. I spent the first month of my new life lying around after work, not engaged with much of anything.

It was the death of my Uncle Mike which sparked my turnaround. He was my dad’s younger brother and we’d always been close. He’d take me along on fishing trips when I was young and we’d talk for hours out on the lake about everything. Even through my college years, I sought him out whenever I needed advice.

When my mom called me and told me Uncle Mike was losing his battle with cancer, I went to see him one last time in the hospital. It was tough. The man I remembered as a pillar of strength was a tiny, fading thing barely able to turn his head at my arrival. He smiled when he saw me, however, and I choked back tears.

“Kyle,” he rasped. “Come closer. I want to tell you something.”

“What is it?” I leaned in close over him, struggling to keep my composure.

“I know you’re feeling depressed right now,” he told me. “You think your life’s in ruins, because of the divorce. Take it from me, you only get one chance at life. When the end comes, there are no do-overs. You’re stuck with the choices you’ve made. You hear me? No do-overs.”

“No do-overs,” I repeated. “I got you, Uncle Mike.”

“Don’t waste the years you’ve got,” he said. “Live your time to the fullest.”

We talked for a long time and said goodbye when visiting hours were over. I kissed him on the cheek and left. Sitting back in my car in the parking lot, it was a few minutes before I could pull myself together to drive home.

Uncle Mike died a week later. Back home from the funeral, I lay back on my bed staring at the ceiling thinking about his final piece of advice. He was correct, I realized, in a way which hit me hard. When the end came for me, I understood with an absolute certainty that scared me, there would be no do-overs.

The moment was an epiphany, all at once powerful and clear. I had to live my life on my terms, because this was my one and only chance.

I found a sheet of paper and wrote the words “No Do-Overs” on it in bold black letters and taped it to my bathroom mirror. It would be my mantra from then on.


My turn-around began with myself. I started going to the gym every day after work, trimming down on the treadmill and toning my muscles with weight-training. Many months later I was in the best shape of my life. I’d always been thin, but now I was fit and toned and looked right for my build.

Next was my wardrobe. I spent a lot of money on clothes and began making a point of dressing my best wherever I went. I also traded-in my glasses for contacts and felt younger-looking at once.

I would take stock of myself in the mirror before leaving the house and had to admit I was starting to look good. I ran into Rita one evening at the supermarket and she did a double-take when she saw me.

I remodeled my condo, painting every room and cashing in some old bonds to refurnish the entire place. I was done with the old furniture I’d taken with me from my marriage. It all had to go. Before long, my condo was decorated in a sleek modern style.

I set up the spare bedroom as a study. It took weeks, but I finished installing built-in bookshelves. I took my time taking out my books and arranging them on the shelves. I had a small collection of leather-bound classics I inherited from my grandfather and selected a shelf at eye-level for them.

As I took each one out of the box they’d been stored in, I admired the cover and thumbed through the pages. Yeah, I love books. Seeing a book I’ve read always brings back memories, and a flood of them came down as I took those old volumes out of storage and turned them over in my hands.

Among them was Gulliver’s Travels, one of the first adventure stories I can recall reading as a boy. I devoured it while staying at my grandparents’ farm one summer. Holding the book, memories of endless fields of corn flashed before me. I could almost taste my grandmother’s scrambled eggs, hatched by chickens living fifty feet from the kitchen.

Then I reached in and picked up a copy of The Divine Comedy. It was a beautiful edition, bright red leather with gold lettering on the cover. I opened it and read the opening lines.

Midway in our life’s journey, I went astray
from the straight road and woke to find myself
alone in a dark wood.

The power of Dante’s words struck me. They referred to when he was thirty-five, the same age as me, and he realized he’d strayed from the life path he felt he was supposed to be on. For Dante the “straight road” was Medieval Catholicism, not what I had in mind. Still, there was something to the words.

I hadn’t attempted dating since the divorce. For an entire year of working out and remodeling my new house, I wasn’t ready. As I thought more about Dante’s words, however, I knew the time had come. If I was going to resume dating, though, I had to be true to myself this time around. My straight road required a particular type of lady.

Here’s how it is: I like fat women. BBWs, as they’re called, big beautiful woman. I don’t know why they drive me crazy, they just do. I love their size, substance, and feel. I always have. I always will. Fat chicks do it for me.

I dated a few big girls in college, but always kept it low-key. The shameful truth is I was afraid of what my friends would think. I’d hear them make fun of fat girls and was scared to death of their disapproval. I’m not proud of it.

There was one girl in particular whom I often think of. Her name was Katrina. Sex with her was the best I’ve ever had. It was intense, passionate, and wild. But the entire relationship was a secret. I’d stop by her place for booty calls but we never went out. I suppose she didn’t think she had many other options so she let me get away with it. I told Uncle Mike all about it one day on the lake.

“Fuck your idiot friends,” he said. “You have to be true to yourself. If that’s the kind of girl you like, then go for it and to hell what anyone else thinks.”

I stupidly ignored his advice. In public I dated girls my friends thought I should date. I look back and want to scream. Katrina wasn’t merely drop-dead gorgeous and awesome in bed. She was also smart, funny, and kind. Yet I threw it all away.

Why did I marry Rita? She’s not the type of girl that turns me on. She’s tiny, for example, and proud of it, mocking bigger women whenever she gets the chance. A friend introduced us and we had a few things in common. Next thing I knew we were dating. I married her primarily because I figured it was what I was supposed to do. I told myself I could suppress this sexual abnormality of mine and everything would be fine.

So I pushed my desires way down and tried to ignore them. Only it didn’t work. I was a daily visitor to BBW porn sites, whacking off every day when I got home from work and then again after Rita went to bed. Or I’d see a BBW out in public and would think about her the rest of the day. I was miserable, unsatisfied and ashamed. It was no way to live.


I met my friend Phil for dinner one night later that week. We’ve known each other for years. He’s a big, gregarious guy. He’s got a wife and a gaggle of noisy kids so he likes to escape from the house whenever he can. We get together once a month for a guy’s night out.

We met at a sports bar known for its exceptional thin-crust pizza. We sat down at the bar and ordered a couple of beers and a pie. We talked about football for a few minutes, lamenting the recent inconsistency our favorite team was renowned for.

“So,” I blurted out the first chance I got. “I’m ready to start dating again.”

“Dude! I’ve been waiting to hear that!” Phil said. “Okay. You remember Lisa’s friend Denise?”

“Uh, yeah.”

I’d met Denise at a birthday party at Phil’s a few months earlier. She seemed like a nice person but not what I was looking for unless she’d put on around a hundred pounds since we last met.

“Nah, that’s not what I want,” I said. “I’m looking for a, uh, bigger girl.”

“What? You mean her tits?”

I paused, noticing a large woman at the other end of the bar. She had long blonde hair and fantastic curves. She was at least two-hundred pounds of sexiness.

“See that chick over there,” I said. “In the blue tank top. That’s what I mean.”

“Really?” He started to laugh. “For real?”

“Yeah. For real.”

“But dude, she’s -”

“Fat. I know. Don’t fucking judge, man. Like with Eric.”

Eric was Phil’s gay brother who came out a few years ago. It took Phil a while, but he eventually accepted his sexual orientation.

“Remember what you said, about a year ago?” I went on. “You were sitting on that same bar stool, as I recall. You turned to me and said you’d decided to give up judging what other people like sexually. Let’s see, how did you put it? ‘The world would be a better place if everyone agreed to stop passing judgment on what turned other people on. Then everyone could be happy and get on with life.’ Wise words.”

Phil winced.

“Oh, fuck” he said. “I did say that, didn’t I?”


“Sorry, man.”

“It’s okay,” I said, calming down. “I kind of sprang it on you.”

“So…fat girls, huh? Okay. Cool. I had no idea. Rita’s so, um…”


I took a sip of my beer.

“You know,” I said. “I wonder if I didn’t push her towards the affair. I mean, I’ve got a strong libido but I hardly ever touched her.”

The pizza arrived. We ate and talked more.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed as he polished off the last slice. “It just occurred to me! I might have the solution to your problem! Her name is Danielle.”

“Keep talking.”

“She works with Lisa. Yeah, from what you told me I think you might like her.”

Danielle was a teacher at Phil’s wife’s elementary school one town over. She was single and Phil described her as a really nice person, not to mention the type physically I was interested in. The more I listened to what Phil had to say, the more I was interested. Phil said he’d have Lisa talk to her.

The next day Phil texted me her phone number and I called her that evening. Her voice was bubbly and pleasant and we fell into easy conversation. We talked for an hour, falling into an instant rapport and making a date for Friday.

I was back.


I stopped off at the gym for a solid workout after work on Friday and then headed home to get ready. I hadn’t been on a date with someone new in a decade. I felt like a teenager again.

I cleaned up and got dressed, picking out a pair of nice jeans and a navy blue sweater that makes me feel my most handsome. I took one last look in the mirror, taking stock of myself.

Danielle’s place was easy to find, a condo in a nice complex a few towns over. I found a spot right in front and knocked on her door. She answered a moment later, a broad smile on her face.

We’d exchanged pictures and I knew I wasn’t going to be disappointed. What surprised me, though, was how much better Danielle looked in person. She was cute in her pictures, but in person she was downright stunning.

Danielle was shorter than me, barely reaching up to my chin. She had long, lustrous dark brown hair cut past shoulder length. She had bright green eyes and dark eyebrows the same color as her hair. She had a heart-shaped face, with clear skin and pretty features.

Danielle was definitely a big girl, in all the ways I love. I guessed she was two hundred and fifty pounds, all of them delightful. She wore a purple top and dark blue jeans that showed off her plump thighs and wide ass. My eyes were drawn at once, however, to the big tits stretching the fabric of her shirt.

“Kyle!” she greeted me.

I started to reach out to shake her hand but Danielle would have none of it. She hugged me warmly and I returned the embrace. Feeling her substantial softness in my arms excited me, her huge breasts pressed against me.

“So nice to meet you,” she said, breaking off the embrace.

“So nice to meet you, too,” I said. “You’re even more gorgeous than your pictures.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Let me grab my purse and we’ll be off.”

We headed over to a Mexican restaurant ten minutes away we’d both heard good things about.

We settled into a booth near the back and enjoyed a long, lively dinner together. I loved the way she carried herself in a sprightly yet understated manner. I also couldn’t get enough of her flashing eyes and expressive lips.

We talked about a host of subjects, starting with careers. She was passionate about working with kids and I was impressed by her dedication.

“You sound like you really love your work,” I observed.

“It gives me a lot of satisfaction,” she said. “How about you? Being an architect must be like that.”

“It is,” I said. “It’s also satisfying. You get to look at the final result, point to it, and know you built that. It sometimes blows my mind.”

“I know what you mean,” she said. “Except I don’t always get to see the tangible result years down the road. It’s there, I’m sure, and that keeps me going.”

We stopped at a quiet bar for a drink after dinner and wound up talking for an hour. Danielle leaned towards me and her hand kept brushing my arm as we talked. I decided to put my hand over hers. She smiled.

I drove her home, walking her to the front door. I held her hand as we approached the door.

Danielle turned towards me and looked up into my eyes. I gave her a hug and then kissed her lips. They were soft and succulent, the stuff of dreams.

“I had a really fun time tonight,” she said.

“Me too,” I said. “Look, I don’t play games. I like you and I want to see you again. How’s Tuesday?”

“Tuesday’s great.”

“Good. I’ll call you call you before then, and I’ll see you Tuesday.”

We parted with another soft, slow kiss on the lips


Phil texted me the next morning, reporting that Danielle told Lisa she thought things went well. I replied that I agreed.

I made sure to call Danielle that afternoon. I told her again how much fun I had on her date and we chatted for a few minutes.

Come Tuesday, she answered the door looking stunning. She wore tight-fitting jeans and a white sweater buttoned in the front over a pink button-down blouse. The sweater stuck to her ample curves and showed off her big breasts. My pulse quickened at the mere sight of her in it.

“Hey, you!” she greeted me.

“Hello,” I said and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

We drove to a fashionable new martini bar up the street and settled into an intimate table near the bar. We kept it light, ordering sushi and a calamari appetizer. I was impressed when she ordered the standard gin martini, the same as me, ignoring the various concoctions on the menu.

“Just cause they stick some bullshit in a martini glass, that don’t make it a martini,” she observed.

“Amen to that.”

The food was great and our conversation comfortable. Danielle had a second martini and started to loosen up, smiling and laughing easily. By the end of the meal we were holding hands across the table and there was a discernible sexual energy in the air.

I walked her to her door again, not sure how far it would go this time but eager for more of her.

We reached the front door and Danielle turned to me. I leaned over to kiss her and she turned her face up towards mine. We shared a long, luscious kiss, her lips parting to admit my tongue. I pulled her tight as our tongues danced. The kiss went on for a long time before she pulled back and looked up at me.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Very much.”


It was the first time I had a chance to get a good look at Danielle’s living room. It was bright and cheery, an extension of her personality. It was also neat and clean. In fact, it was spotless. She’d cleaned recently, I realized, perhaps in anticipation of inviting me inside.

Danielle opened a bottle of wine and poured out two glasses. She handed me one, kicked off her shoes, and sat down on the couch. I sat next to her. We chatted for a minute or so, sipping wine and looking into each other’s eyes.

We moved closer to one other, leaning-in and holding hands. I took one last sip of wine, put the glass down on the coffee table, and kissed her again. It was like at the door except both slower and longer. Her lips and tongue were all over mine, moist and tasty from the wine.

I pulled her towards me, wrapping my arms around her as we kissed. Her size and softness gave me a thrill unlike anything I’d ever experienced with Rita. It had been twelve years since I was last with Katrina my senior year of college, a long time to wait for the sex you want.

I grew more daring, placing a hand on one of her breasts. Even through the sweater and the shirt underneath, I could feel its size and substance.

Danielle sighed, placing her hand atop mine and pushing it harder against her.

“You’re so hot,” I told her, kissing her neck.

I kissed her again, our tongues dueling. My hands were all over her breasts, kneading and squeezing. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me closer.

Her hands ran down my back until they reached almost to my ass. She grabbed the bottom of my shirt and pulled it up. I backed off kissing her for a moment, sliding my shirt up and over my head.

We resumed kissing and I started unbuttoning her sweater. Off it went, her pink blouse my next target for removal. She leaned forward and gently positioned my shoulders against the back of the couch. Then she swung her legs around so that she was sitting on my lap facing me. Her big tits were right at eye level and her plentiful hips and thighs resting on my legs.

I felt her full size and weight against me and it was heaven. I ran my hands along her abundant curves. Her knees were on either side of my hips so I started there, feeling my way up her nice, wide thighs.
I ran my hands over her ass and let out a sigh. Danielle smiled at me, seeing the happy expression on my face. I placed one hand on each bounteous cheek and held them there, savoring the feeling of their sheer ampleness. She leaned down and kissed me.

I resumed my quest to rid Danielle of her shirt, unbuttoning it slowly. I undid the first button, kissing her neck. I undid the next two buttons in rapid succession, exposing her copious cleavage. She leaned forward, shoving her tits in my face. I growled playfully.

I finished unbuttoning her shirt and she threw it aside. I went right to the bra strap and managed after a few fumbling moments to get it off. Danielle cast the bra away and I finally got a good look at the top half of her naked.

Danielle had soft, rounded shoulders and nice plump arms. Her breasts were exquisite. Whatever cup she wore, it was way beyond Rita’s B. I’d guess it was well past the DDD range, probably a few more letters down. They were as I’d pictured them, too, twin mounds of womanly magnificence. They hung halfway down her midsection, resting on her lovely round belly. Each was topped by dark pink nipples already erect.

I took them in my hands, squeezing them. I sucked each nipple, long and slow. Danielle moaned and caressed the back of my head.

“Oh, Kyle,” she sighed. “Let’s lose these pants.”

She stood. I stared at her with rapt attention as she undid the button on her jeans and unzipped them. She smiled at me, swaying her broad hips as she wiggled out of her them. She did not have panties on underneath, I was pleased to discover, her dark brown bush on full display.

She grinned at me, removing her socks.

“Wow, Danielle,” I said. “You are so fucking awesome.”

“Now your turn,” she teased, arching her eyebrows. “Off with those pants, boy!”

I stood and faced her, unbuttoning my jeans and stepping out of them. I took off my underwear and socks and we stood before each other naked.

Danielle reached down and grabbed my half-erect cock, her touch turning it rock-hard. She looked down, nodding in approval as she stroked it. Then she looked at me, a mischievous smirk on her face. She put her hand on my chest and playfully pushed me back on the couch.

Danielle stepped closer and dropped to her knees. She looked up at me, rubbing my thighs. Back and forth her hands caressed over my quads, always stopping short of my penis. It was erotic agony.

“You’ve got incredible legs,” she murmured. “Such muscles.”

At long last she took my cock back into her hand and stroked it gently while her other hand tickled my balls. I sighed happily, my head spinning by this point.

“Oh my god,” I sighed. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Danielle smiled, licking her lips and lowering her head onto my cock. First she licked one side of it, then the other. Next she took me into her mouth, her head bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm.

I sighed, the unique sensations that accompany a good blowjob overtaking me. She was a skilled fellator, and knew it. She sucked my cock for a long time, bringing me twice to the brink of orgasm. Each time she backed off, holding my cock in her hand and gazing up at me. Then she’d plunge right in again, sucking me with renewed vigor.

Danielle knew all the tricks to drive a man wild. She licked my balls as she jerked me off. She sucked on the head of my penis. She blew on the tip gently while stroking me. She did everything she could to excite me with her mouth. I was at her mercy.

“You ready to fuck?” she asked.

“So ready,” I said.

Danielle, I soon learned, liked to play a bit of the dominant role in sex. I further discovered I was fine with taking a submissive role. For the first time in my life, the woman was directing the course of sex. I wasn’t in charge anymore and I loved it.

“We need a condom,” Danielle said, her hand still stroking my penis.

“Right,” I said. “Uh, of course. I have some in my wallet in my pants.”

Danielle reached over and opened the drawer on the end table next to the couch. She produced a condom, ripping open the package and then sliding it over my cock in one fluid motion.

“Always be prepared,” she said.

Danielle climbed on top of me again. She reached down, guiding my cock into her pussy. She must have been turned-on, because her pussy was soaked and my cock entered her with ease. She lowered herself onto me until I was all the way inside her.

She began rocking back and forth on my cock, slowly at first but speeding up after a while. I lay back and watched, taking in her big tits and soft belly bouncing in rhythm. I put my hand on her hips, mesmerized by the heaving breasts above me. For so long I’d dreamed of such a sight.

I began thrusting upwards against her in time to her own rocking. Her breath grew more rapid and I could tell she was enjoying herself. She reached down and started massaging her clit, speeding up her riding of my cock.

“Oh my god you feel so good,” she sighed.

“You’re so hot,” I told her. “That’s it, babe, work your clit.”

Danielle kept rocking on my cock, back and forth, rubbing her clit the whole time. She closed her eyes and lifted her face towards the ceiling, her finger moving back and forth rapidly over her clit. The motion of her head shifted her tits and belly outward and I thrust upwards against her as hard as I could in time to her rocking.

Danielle’s breathing grew rapid and I felt her pussy contracting on my cock. She gasped and I felt her entire body spasm. She let out a long but gentle squeal as she began bobbing up and down on my cock rapidly. Then she slowed her pace, lowering her face and looking at me with a contented smile.

“Oh, wow, that was great,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time came so fast. What would you like, baby?”

I didn’t hesitate. I knew exactly how I wanted her.

“Lay back,” I said.

Danielle lay down and I climbed on top of her and reentered her pussy. I kissed her long and hard as I grabbed hold of one of her breasts. I wanted to feel her close against me in all her glory, face to face and going at it with wild abandon.

I started drilling her hard. I kept my mouth right above hers, our tongues extended towards one another and doing battle.

My pace quickened and I buried my head against her neck, kissing it as I fucked. I thrust into her with a pace and an intensity I’d never experienced before. I was like a madman on her pussy, more turned-on than I’d been in years. I fucked her with every ounce of my being and with all the energy and strength I could muster. The feel of her substantial size and sweet softness underneath me spurred me on to animalistic heights.

Danielle started to moan again, slapping my ass.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered in my ear. “Fuck me good. Fuck me!”

That’s what I wanted to hear. Throughout my marriage, Rita never talked dirty in bed despite my hints. To hear Danielle talking that way sent me through the roof. The only thing I love more than fat girls are filthy-talking fat girls.

“That’s right, fuck me!” she shouted, sensing my reaction to her words. “Fuck my pussy good! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!”

I somehow found a higher gear of crazed lust and fucked her furiously. She gasped loudly, slapping my ass the whole time. I felt her shudder briefly underneath me as she came again.

My own orgasm was fast approaching. I drilled her as fast and hard as I could manage, slamming her with such speed I surprised myself.
I froze mid-thrust when my orgasm arrived, jamming my cock as far into Danielle as I could manage. It throbbed violently inside her. I let out a long gasp, riding that universal wave of joy coupled with profound satisfaction. At last it subsided, a few tiny twitches all that remained of the explosion only moments before.

We kissed, long and slow, and I remained atop and inside her for a long time. I pulled out and we lay side by side with me behind her. I rested my hand on her hip, admiring its wide curve.

I snuggled behind her, wrapping my arms around her soft shoulders and kissing her cheek. I felt a profound sense of contentment as I lay there. Life was much better, I decided, when lived on one’s own terms.


Danielle is smart enough to know I wasn’t ready for anything exclusive.

We were lying in bed at my place a few weeks later. We’d just enjoyed another round of vigorous lovemaking. I brought up the possibility of something more serious but Danielle was skeptical.

“You’re boyfriend material, that’s for sure,” she said. “And then some. But you’re definitely not ready for anything serious.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked. I was curious to hear her reasoning.

“First, you’re on the rebound,” she said. “It’s been over a year, but nevertheless. I’m your first since Rita.”


“Second,” she went on. “You’re just realizing your sexual identity. You’re like a gay man fresh out of the closet. You to have some fun with other women first or you’ll resent settling down too quickly. Talk to me in six months after five or six more gals have been in this bed.”

We decided to keep it casual, seeing each other now and then. I don’t know if it will develop into anything permanent, but I wouldn’t rule it out down the road. Danielle is a special lady.

I’ve dated a few other BBWs and am enjoying life in a way I never thought possible. One thing still bothered me, though. Staring at my “No Do-overs” sign while brushing my teeth one morning, I knew what I needed to do.

It wasn’t hard to find Katrina. After a few fruitless internet searches, I realized she might be married with a new last name. I took a different approach and found her brother on a social networking site. That led me right to her.

Katrina was surprised to hear from me but agreed to meet for lunch. She lived over an hour away and picked a café where we could meet. I got there a few minutes early and sat by the door.

I recognized her at once. The years were kind and she looked gorgeous as ever. She was short and round, with big tits and a fat ass that looked fantastic in the long skirt she was wearing. Her blonde hair was cut to shoulder length and she looked young for her age.

We hugged and made small talk for a few minutes. She was indeed married, with a small child at home. Our lunch arrived and we kept up with the chit-chat until the first lull in the conversation.

“So what is it you wanted to tell me?” she asked.

I put down my fork and looked her in the eyes. They were gorgeous, light hazel topped by fair eyebrows.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” I began. “I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate you. I used you and treated you poorly and I’m sorry.”

I explained everything. She nodded.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a jerk,” she said after I’d finished. “I was good enough to fuck, but not good enough for your friends to know about me.”

“I make no excuses,” I said.

“Kyle, you’re as adorable as ever, especially now that you’ve become an adult.” She put her hand on mine and looked me in the eyes. “I accept your apology and I forgive you.”

I walked her to her car after we finished lunch and we shared a brief, friendly hug.

As I drove home, my mind turned towards my evening plans. I had a second date that night with a big blonde beauty named Kate.

Who knew where the night might lead?

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