Loading...It’s a warm spring morning and I’m sitting with my husband in the patio area of a local coffee shop. The warm air feels wonderful and we sit in a quiet silence reading different sections of the newspaper and snacking on coffee and scones. It’s quiet except for the occasional bird singing or car driving past. We’re comfortable – comfortable in with our meal, in our surroundings, with our middle age status in life, and in our marriage. Maybe we’re a little too comfortable.
At the table next to us, a young woman is sitting reading over a couple of college textbooks trying to study. While reading, she absently pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her purse and lights one up. The smoke eventually makes its way to our table and I sit back from my paper and inhale the nicotine scent. The flavor of burning paper and tobacco sends me back into my memories.
I remember back to the beginning of our marriage. We were young and passionate. Six months into it, we did not have the ideal honeymoon period. When we were together, we were fighting all the time. There were long periods, not of comfortable silences but icy moments where any noise, any motion would set the other one off into a confrontation. Any time apart was seen as a gift. They were blessed moments to reflect – was this marriage a mistake or was there hope still?
The smell of her cigarettes comes wafting back to me again and I am reminded of my lover during that turbulent first year. His name was Kirby. He was a smoker. He was beautiful, a few inches taller than myself, handsome, younger and oh so virile.
I remember meeting him, a cashier at a convenient store, working at a place along the way home, where I usually didn’t stop, but needed to that day because I was running low on gasoline. I remember walking into the store. We chatted briefly, both of us recognizing, immediately the sexual chemistry between us.
Kirby knew he may never see me again and laid his cards on the table quickly and briefly. “I usually don’t chat with the customers, but I have to say that you are a very beautiful lady. I’ll have to admit that I find myself attracted to very large women, especially those with very large, round asses. And you are one of the best looking ones I have seen in a long time. Can we see each other again?”
I was stunned, flattered, and curious all at the same time. I was a young bride, and yes, I was, and still am, a very large woman. I am well over twice my ideal weight and the thought of such an attractive man talking to me in such a forward manner had me a little intrigued. I admitted to him that I was married, but that if it didn’t bother him, I could come back at a latter time, closer to his closing time if he wanted to ‘continue this conversation.’
He agreed.
Later on that night, I would find myself on my knees in front of him. A scant few hours from our first introduction, I was there, mouth open taking his cock as he worked it to his pleasure. My brown eyes were looking into his smoldering dark green eyes watching his facial expressions. Wanting to see if I could detect the moment right before he came inside hitting the back of my throat. I watched his eyes soften and mouth open and I knew. I felt him grab the back of my head and tilt it so my mouth was better angled with my throat as he tried to place as much of himself into me as possible.
Later that week, we talked again. I went to the store where we had met. Kirby was a smoker and liked to take his breaks outside. He smoked about a pack and a half a day.
We were discussing our sexual interests and tastes. I am somewhat of an oral girl and like the feeling of going down on a man. I like to taste every part of him and the feel of his cock working my mouth like a cheap whore. I like to sweetly and delicately lick and suck on his balls and taste that part of him between his anus and his sac. To taste that delicate section closest to his prostrate and lick, feeling the sensation of his reaction.
Kirby was more of anal man. He liked to ass fuck, especially a very large woman, grab onto her hefty hips and work himself as much as possible into her. He liked the tighter feeling of a woman’s ass and the feel of pushing hard and working himself into such a tight opening. I told him that, anally, I was a virgin, but that I would be willing to try anything once. Why not? I had already crossed the line into infidelity, how much harder could passing the taboo of anal sex be?
He didn’t waste time, within a few short ‘meetings’ I was introduced and exploring the world of anal sex. To be honest, the first few times it was very uncomfortable, even a bit painful. He was patient though and wanted to help me enjoy it. Eventually, we found that working with lubricants really helped. I had also read that working to relax my ass muscles, like I was going to take a shit, helped immensely.
In time, I began to enjoy the pleasures of anal sex. I liked the feeling or fullness it provided.
One of the times I remembered the best was when I met him after he got off of work. It was about 2 AM and the streets were pretty deserted. I had borrowed my husband’s pick-up, we were trying an ‘open’ marriage, and Kirby and I were driving around the city looking for an open place to eat. About 10 minutes into the drive, Kirby slid over to my side of the truck, leaned in and began sucking on my neck. Knowing that I loved to have my neck fondled, I began to become overwhelmed with desire.
As I pulled into a dark but empty strip mall parking lot, I could feel Kirby’s hands starting to work to pull up my skirt, feeling as much of my thighs as possible. At this point, food was the last thing on our minds. And before I could finish setting the parking brake and turning off the engine, Kirby was on my side of the truck opening the door for me.
As he helped me out of the truck, and pressed me against the seat, I remember him kissing me, quickly and roughly. Desire had us both by the throat. He briefly touched my breasts working his hands to my wet pussy. I was ready for him. As he fingered me to orgasm, I was working on releasing his cock from his jeans, stroking it and squeezing it from time to time.
He then grabbed my waist, turning me to face the cab of the truck. Then with one hand, he pushed me down so that my upper body was laying on the seat bench while with his other hand he was bringing up my skirt. He quickly began to pull down my panties as he guided his cock to my asshole. His hands had been wet from my cum and so that acted as a make shift lubricant.
He tried to be gentle at first, allowing me to become open enough to his size, but he couldn’t wait for long. Soon after, he was working in me, creating a pounding rhythm. I felt his hips pushing harder and harder into my ass. I was there for his use and pleasure. He was grunting, trying to say words, trying to express the moment. But he was so overcome with his desire that it only came out as grunts and moans. When he came it was overpowering. He was pounding into me as hard as he could.
At that moment in time, I was ‘just a piece of ass’. I absolutely loved it.
During that 6-months of our brief affair, he taught me so much. He made me realize that I had ‘assets’, I didn’t know existed. I think often of him and that time. And every time someone lights up near me, I am again reminded of him in the scent of cigarettes.