At 40 years old, Casey no longer expected Prince Charming to come charging up and sweep her off her feet. In fact, she didn't expect him to arrive at all. There are certain times in a woman's life when she knows that the possibility of some events are over, and this was one of them. So, why was she so excited about the emails she'd received from Stan? Seriously, it was re-friggin-diculous!
Casey felt too old for a casual, flirty romance, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped some kind of romance was still possible. After all, she wasn't ugly. She wasn't a prom queen, or a leggy model, and by no stretch of the imagination could she be confused with the awful stereotype of womanhood that pervades the media these days. She was, however, pretty in her own right, with cinnamon-brown hair, cut to her chin in a short and easy to maintain style. She had deep, hazel green eyes, and pretty good skin that didn't need makeup as a rule, although eyeliner made her feel 'dressed up'. Her problem, if one must be defined, was her size. BBW is the term most in use now, but she liked full-figured. Her chest was her most redeeming physical feature, and it helped to make the rest of her seem proportional. If she could just find a man who appreciated her as she was, she believed her chances that romance would find her increased exponentially.
Casey met Stan through an online personal ad. It took several months of false starts to build up the courage to submit the ad, and when she finally did, WOW! The vast number of responses took her breath away. Soon, though, it became problematic, since most men seemed to want a sexual encounter, or at the very least, wanted the conversation to turn sexual immediately. It all made Casey feel very uncomfortable, like a piece of meat, a hole presumably waiting to be filled. Did no one want her for her personality? Did anyone even read her profile? How did anyone expect to find lasting happiness by banging the first person that came along - before discovering that person's true self?
Large women had always been attractive to Stan. He admired the shape and jiggle of a high, round butt, the heft of DDD breasts, and the soft round belly ready to cushion him as he lay between full thighs. But Casey's ad was different from the others he'd responded to in the past. She had given her profile sketch so much thought that her personality glowed through the words. He found her sarcastic humor irresistible. He loved how she described herself as a feminist, yet between the lines he gleaned her desire to be cared for, cherished, even controlled by another. The notions she had about men were ruefully accurate, at least when applied to the majority. He hoped she'd find him an exception to the rule.
To Casey, Stan was the exception to the rule. His first response to her ad was to praise her intelligence in a truly meaningful way, by admitting that he was attracted to her physical description, but intrigued by her honesty about it. He said she didn't draw on any of the coy euphemisms other women of size employed. She clearly had a grasp of language and how to use it properly, which captivated his attention, he wrote. Casey was instantly hooked!
The first messages from Stan gave Casey some clues into his personality. He loved animals, travel and homemade chipotle chili. He preferred his exercise in the form of outdoor activities, but went to the gym to keep his doctor happy. He'd been married for nine years, but his wife had died in a fiery car accident. Everything he told her about himself illustrated the loving nature of his character: his easygoing attitudes contrasted with his impatience for bad drivers, his traditional view of manners versus his admiration and support of feminism.
He was refreshingly frank in all matters, but never treated sex as a standard topic for their nightly messages. In fact, she had almost begun to worry that he wasn't interested in any kind of physical relationship until one night about three months after they 'met'. As they were instant messaging, he asked her out of the blue when was the last time she'd masturbated. A little stunned, she responded, "last night." He asked her to tell him about it, saying that he hoped she wasn't offended, but he was so curious he couldn't help but ask.
Casey felt self-conscious, but decided that describing masturbation via email was harmless enough. Then she decided to be as frank and graphic as possible. It would either cement or doom their relationship, she thought. To put some of the pressure back on him, though, she agreed only if he would do the same. Stan promised, and she began her tale.
"I read through some stories on Literotica, which always drive me wild. I lay on my bed in my low-necked silk nightie, and rubbed my nipples through the whisper-thin fabric. I pulled and twisted my nipples, and lifted my breasts to suck them myself, (an advantage of large breasts!). One of my favorite ways to masturbate is to use my vibrating dildo. I rubbed it along my slit, making it slippery and slick, then slowly, gently rubbed it at the opening of my ass. Turned up full blast, it can send me over the edge by itself if I let it. But last night I wanted to come several times, so I carefully held back the speed to just a minor vibration. I pulled my breasts out over the top of my nightie, which made them stand up tall. I rubbed and tickled myself all over, then put one hand on my pussy and one on my right tit. I reached down to increase the vibe speed and started sliding my fingers along my slit. My clit was sticking out through my pussy hair as if it were reaching for my fingers to caress it, so I did, rubbing it first with one finger, then two - one on each side. It only took a few strokes before my first orgasm hit, a tiny little one that made my body jerk, but left me wanting more."
Her story continued for several more orgasms, but Stan was hardly reading anymore. He had his cock out from the first sentence and was jacking it for all he was worth. As he erupted into projectile spurts, he knew he had to meet this woman! He didn't want to spook her, though, so he waited through several more weeks of daily emails, with lots of descriptive episodes, before asking her to meet him.
One particular conversation involved Casey's explanation of why she felt her relationships never seemed to work out. Sex was fun and she enjoyed it, but she always felt inhibited, not just by her body's size, but her apparent inability to have an orgasm by someone else's stimulation. It was one of those conversations Casey thought had gone too far, and she hoped Stan didn't remember it.
The agreed to meet at Carlucci's for drinks, and if they each liked what they saw, they would stay for dinner. Stan arrived first, and tipped the waiter an extra twenty for the perfect table: not too central, but not hidden in some corner by the kitchen. He wanted Casey's first impression of him to be one of comfort, not fear that she'd be jumped by a raving sex maniac at the first opportunity.
As Casey walked in the door, Stan knew her immediately. It wasn't by what she was wearing, which she'd told him the night before, but by the way she looked across the room directly at him. Both of them had recognized the other instantly, that's how honestly they'd been with each other. Casey knew in her heart that no other relationship would ever be the same.
Stan greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, and helped her to her seat. "I ordered for us already. I hope you don't mind," he said softly. He was suddenly worried that she might take offense at his small streak of chauvinism.
"No, I don't mind," she said, just as softly. God, she thought, I have described my genitalia to him, why do I feel so shy NOW?
Dinner came in three courses, her favorites, as he'd garnered from previous conversations. It began with an antipasto of tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella with basil and balsamic vinegar, followed by spaghetti Bolognese, and finished with cannolli and espresso. Simple and delicious, the perfect meal to get to know each other, Casey thought.
"Now it's time for a gift," said Stan.
"What a coincidence, I have one for you, too," laughed Casey. "You first."
Stan handed her a small box from the custom jewelry store downtown. Inside was a pair of earrings, sterling filigree, with a small emerald in each one.
"Holy Cow!" she whispered. "They're beautiful, but..."
