Nine Times Out Of Ten 1

Nine times out of ten, I'm not thinking about sex. I won't lust after every semi attractive man that walks into view and I don't think naughty little thoughts about bulges in pants and hot, wet kisses. Nine times out of ten I'm firmly rooted in reality. I realize and accept the fact that I'm not perfect and the kind of relationship that finds me is one of give and take. I know that the sudden, hands under hems, steamy love making won't ever happen to me, and that's alright.

Oh, but when that one out of ten time hits, it hits hard. It has to be somewhat similar for all women, but when the right combination of looks, scent, and build walks into view everything around me melts. It's like being reminded that I'm a woman. Like when you're shuffling through a cd and find that perfect song. Everything just clicks, and before I know it I'm batting my eyes and jutting out my breasts like a common whore. It's extremely shameful, but it's pretty much involuntary.

I guess I've been thinking about it more ever since I caught sight of that devilishly good looking man at the coffee shop. I usually get a massage every other Friday after work and afterwards I need a few moments to gather myself back up, so I walk to the coffee shop next door. He must work or live close, because every other Friday when I'm lounging on one of the sofas, checking my email, he walks in. It's like clockwork and I've grown to love the cocktail of hormones he stirs inside me each week just as much as the massages beforehand.

Now maybe I should clear up some formalities. I'm not a looker. I'm 26, stand 5'6, and have a fuller build. I've met a few guys who really enjoy the 42G's I carry around with me, but most of them see my size 18 ass and run for the hills. I'm not flabby. I keep active and everything is smooth and proportioned as it should be, but sometimes genetics win out. I have wild, dark brown hair that falls around the middle of my back and the eyes to match. My favorite feature, and probably the most sultry of the lot, is my mouth. I have these thick, pale pink lips that tend to read just about as easy as my eyes do, and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't ever used them to my advantage.

All in all though, I'm a pretty tame lady. If you can stand the thicker broads, then I'm yours, but all due respect to the man that prefers a more petite frame. Like I said before, I'm realistic. I don't expect free drinks and copious amounts of men flailing about for my number, but I won't deny enjoying any attention of the sort that I do receive. I relish the feminine feeling that floods over me when I catch a man giving me the once over with a smile. It's intoxicating and I love it.

The man that I see in the coffee shop every other Friday has been the dreamy, hunk of love meat, kind of guy that I've been fantasizing about all my life. He is the most attractive specimen of man I think I've ever seen. A dusty blonde mess of curls bundled atop at his six foot frame. Light stubble across his jaw coupled with blue eyes that look as though they've broken quite a few hearts. I can't help but think how I would love to be pressed against that broad chest of his and feel the warmth radiating off of him. And just like that, those girly feelings start to surface and I'm soaked with lust.

I should really stop gawking at him from afar like a pathetic school girl, but he's so amazing. He casually stands there waiting for his coffee and I began to wonder what he smells like. Freshly pressed dress shirt with a matching vest and dress pants. I don't care what anyone else may say, a man in nicely tailored dress clothes is a definite panty melter. Oh, and did I mention the tattoos? Cause yeah, god damn. The man is fine as hell and has this fiendish undertone that makes me so, so thirsty.

Well, remember when I said my mouth gave way to my emotions? This particular day it got me in a heap of trouble. It was a Friday of course and I had just sat down with a latte, intent on staying there until he came in and I got my bimonthly dose of man candy. He came in moments later, and like the tactless slut I am ten percent of the time, I started to drool. He walked over to the barista who greeted him with a familiar smile, and proceeded to order his drink. I was undressing him with my eyes while he chatted with the barista. I assumed they were flirting with the way she was smiling, but I didn't really care. He was fine and I don't blame her. Unexpectedly, he dropped his keys. Like it was nothing he bent over to retrieve them, but I watched with bated breath, biting my bottom lip. The little girl behind the counter gave a quick glance my way and laughed.

She knew. I have never been more ashamed than I was in that single moment of time. My stomach bottomed out and I felt sick. Every alarm in my head was blaring and I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I had been caught. I ran home like the frightened little girl I was and tried to forget those fifteen seconds of my life. I knew that barista saw the lust and greed in my expression. Why on earth did I bite my lip? Am I a sick person? How can I not be able to control these silly little emotions?

I think the worse part of it all was he knew. This man that I'd been eying for months now knew that I saw him as a sexual object. That's not the kind of person I am. I'm a nice lady who takes the time to get to know people and treats everyone with respect. For crying out loud, that barista gets a two dollar tip from me most of the time. I'm nice! The only time I let my guard down and give in to some primitive urges is every other Friday when he's around, and I just blew it. I felt horrible. He was out of my league and my being a wallflower was the reason it was so much fun. I never intended to be noticed, never mind be transparent.

I spent the next two weeks having decided that I was never going to go back to that coffee shop and that I should probably give up the stuff altogether. If only my masseuse would've had another available time slot. In a perfect world my appointment could be moved and I would never have to be confronted with him again, but no, I was stuck with my every other Friday. There was to be no more slutty behavior from me, though. No more ogling and no more drooling. I was dead set on keeping my lips together in a polite smile and nothing more.

Friday came around and I had a massage. I almost made myself late, anxiously waiting in the car. I needed to make sure the coast was clear and that nosey little barista wasn't watching for me to repeat my past behavior. The massage helped. I ended up telling Bonnie, the loving mother of three who does my massages, everything and she listened as she eased all my tension away. She assured me that it was probably all in good fun and that he probably got plenty of that sort of attention. I was very thankful for such a wise and understanding masseuse, and I let her words take the place of that uncertainty that had been there before. I still wasn't going to get a latte, but I felt less awful about it all.

I took a little extra time redressing after my massage and reveled in the fresh feeling that comes with getting a good rub down. That particular day was a bit chilly, so I pulled my t-shirt back on, slipped my jeans up, and bundled up in a sweater. I tied up my cute little sneakers and gave myself a quick once over in the mirror. I thought I was adorable for a fat chick. The sweater hugged all my ample curves while the jeans downplayed the more dominantly thick parts. I sighed and gathered the strength to walk out the door, praying that I wouldn't be seen by him or the barista. You can imagine my surprise when he was a foot outside the door of the massage parlor, waiting for me.

He was holding two cups of coffee and offered one up to me with an award winning smile. "Hey there, gorgeous. Coffee's on me today." His voice oozed sex appeal. I hadn't been close enough before to hear him before but his sound was rich and smooth, like a good maple syrup. It even left me feeling a bit sticky.

I was stunned. Mouth gaping open with a fearful shock settled deep into my eyes. I couldn't muster up anything but gasps. He laughed and tilted his head towards a bench sitting between the coffee shop and the massage parlor, suggesting that I sit down. My heart hurt it was racing so fast, and sitting seemed like a great idea so I followed him.

He sat far enough away to give me some time to adjust, but nudged me when he realized my look of shock wasn't fading. "You know," he smiled, "You're very good for a man's self-esteem."

My stomach was in knots. I slid one hand over it to sooth the constant churning and used the other to cover my face in shame. I managed a moan, but only heard him chuckle more. "God, I'm so sorry," I quivered, letting each word come out slow and painfully. "I'm so, so sorry."

He broke out in a full laugh; throwing his head back with a smile that I'm sure cured some sort of third world illness. He set the coffee he had bought me between us on the bench and used his newly freed hand to rub my back. "You have nothing to apologize for, really. I like the attention, but I'd love to return some."

I've never been very good at handling myself during times of turmoil. My face grimaced and I bent over my knees, wrapping my arms around my stomach as if my guts were spilling out. I didn't fully understand his words, but I understood the feelings and they were getting harder and harder to deal with. Even through my sweater, his hand against my back was warm and comforting. I was excited but scared, totally thrilled but utterly embarrassed. It was a complicated thing to deal with.

"Come on, honey. I have to run off to work in ten, so you've got to give me something to go on." He was leaning over with me, I guess trying to catch my gaze. "The name's Logan. What's your name?"

I sat up slowly and took a deep breath. I knew full well my behavior was verging on childish, but I had to deal with it somehow. I looked up at his face, the face I'd grown to adore over the past few months and found my voice. "Arlene, but everyone calls me Arnie."

"Arnie?" he nodded in approval. "That's adorable."

A few moments of silence passes. I was still trying to come to grips that this man was talking to me and he was perfectly patient letting me. He held his coffee over his lap and looked forward, keeping his wandering in his head and not his eyes. I had expected him to use his looks to his advantage, but he was so polite. He finally spoke, "That coffee is yours if you hadn't noticed. The barista assured me you drank just about the same thing every time you came in, so hopefully she remembered right."

I took the cup that was seated beside me and noticed where she had written 'good luck' with a winking face on the cardboard sleeve. I smiled. "It's perfect. Thank you." I was happy to finally find some sort of dignity left within me. Wasn't sure I had any left, but relieved nonetheless to have found it. I sat watching him drink his coffee and the questions started forming. Being the self-conscious lady I am I couldn't leave well enough alone. "Why are you talking to me?"

He looked back at me with a disapproving expression. "I had thought that part would've been fairly obvious." I didn't reply and he took another sip of his coffee. He softened a bit and poked my knee with his index finger sending shivers up my spine. "I guess you could say that I'm a bit fascinated with you. Never have I met someone so patient and content with just watching."

He was right in a way. Watching must've been what it looked like on the outside, but during those five minutes he got his coffee my mind was racing with scenarios and dreams. I had entertained the idea of talking to him for the longest time, but it was only ever a thought. I wasn't much for putting plans into motion and it didn't bother me anymore. He was pretty enough to watch, and even as he spoke, I continued to watch knowing full well that this scenario hadn't been one I'd planned out. Oh, but the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the way his fingers laced around the coffee cup, it was all so perfectly sinful.

He had been looking away, but turned on the bench to face me. I could see the vest and tie hidden within his coat and his leg bent up on the bench, flashing the bright red socks that so unexpectedly hid under his pants. This time I made a conscious effort not to bite my lip or give a smile that could be misconstrued. I kept still like a good little girl.

"Why do you just watch me? It's what, every other Friday that I find you sitting in there waiting to watch me get my coffee? Why?" It was a genuine inquiry and I felt that I owed him and answer.

"You're very attractive." I cursed my honesty and couldn't believe I just said that. I was even more surprised that he blushed. His head sunk down, hanging over his lap and a bashful grin formed. "I'm not super great with confrontation, but I am a spectacular watcher." I was concise in my answer, but I had little idea what he would do with that information. He wasn't the person I had imagined him to be all this time.

He hummed as he furled his brow, raising his head just enough to look me in the eyes. He was obviously thinking about my answer. "So it wasn't that you were scared to talk to me or that I was unapproachable. You made a deliberate decision based on past experience to sit this one out?"

"Yes," I hesitantly answered. "Does that bother you?"

"A little, to be honest," his voice wavered a bit, like he wasn't prepared for the conversation to be a frank as it was. "I mean, if you like the way I look, why would you rob yourself of other characteristics of mine you might enjoy?"

"Other characteristics," I repeated his words, knowing the implication that was behind them. My mind went straight to the gutter and I blushed feverishly.

I looked up in time to see the corner of his mouth ease up into a sexy little smirk. "Give me your number, Arnie," he commanded with a warm expression. "I have to go, but I feel the need to keep in touch."

He handed me his phone, and with shaking fingers, I entered my contact information. I handed the phone back and he reached out with both hands. The first took the phone, while the other grabbed my hand and pulled it to his lips. He kissed the back of my hand with closed eyes. His lips lingered and shot volts of electricity though my body. What a sweet, yet horribly intimate thing to do.

He returned my hand to my lap and stood. "I'll see you again?" he asked. I couldn't do anything but nod. He has just stolen my heart and the feeling of functioning without it was new to me. "Good. Until then, darling."

I watched in awe as he walked to his car and drove away. When had I become darling?

The days drifted by and I took the conversation for what it was, a freak happenstance. After all I wasn't the girl who got the steamy encounters. I went to the gym, I hung out with a few friends, I even read a little, but my life was fundamentally normal. Everything fell back to the way it was before he kissed my hand. The memory was still there, the feeling of his lips attached to me. It was crazy and every time I closed my eyes to think it through again, I found myself getting restless and itching with sexual desire, but it was over with.

It was Saturday when the phone rang. I saw the unfamiliar number flash up on and I had an aching feeling that I'd be greeted by him. His voice seeped out the small speaker and into my wanton ears. "Arnie? Baby?" he breathed out, his voice just a little raspy and sexy as hell. "I want to see you tonight. Would you please come out and see me?"

Who was I to deny this man? I sheepishly replied, "Sure. Time and place, honey, and I'll be there." I was surprised with my forwardness. I loved it when he did it, but I'd only spoken to him for ten minutes and it was so unlike me.

He groaned through the phone and I went weak in the knees. "I'll text you an address and see you at nine." He paused for moment and I could hear his breath get caught in his throat. "I'll meet you at the bar."

The call ended and I began to wonder what he was thinking. I was well aware of all the apprehensions and feelings I had about the meeting, but what could he possibly gain from this? I wondered if he thought I'd be easy considering my blatant staring and honest confession of feelings. What if he thought he could just charm his way into my panties? I didn't want to believe that, of course, but it was the most logical thing my brain could rest upon.

I ate a small dinner that night and around six, I turned up some music and began getting ready. I hopped in the shower, lathering up and shaving. I danced my way to the closet after a quick blow dry of my hair, and debated what to wear. I was feeling kind of generous and was curious as to how genuine his pursuit of me was. Maybe I could dress to kill and use his reaction to gauge the legitimacy of his words.

I decided on a little black dress. I'd never actually worn it out of the house, but then again, I'd never had a reason to. The neckline was square and cut deep into my cleavage while my hips and thighs looked as though they'd been vacuumed sealed in the smooth, black fabric. I didn't mess with jewelry because I felt the focus should be on me, but I did invest in some lingerie. I wasn't sure what he liked, but I knew what made me feel sexy and isn't confidence the key with things like this?

One final look in the mirror, and I was out of the door. My black stockings hid the skin lurking under the knee length dress, while the heels extenuated all the hours I'd spent on the elliptical trying to not get fatter. There were no obscenities and everything was tight and in place. Between the outfit, the wide curls I'd set my hair in, and the subtle hint of makeup, I was sure that I had accomplished a sultry, yet inviting look. If he was for real, he should be in for a pleasant surprise.

I recognized the street of the address he gave me and thought I didn't have to bother looking it up before I left. I should have. I really, really should have taken the time to clarify where it was that I was going. I had expected a bar with dim lighting and a quiet atmosphere, but this was a club. As I stood outside watching the stream of barely legal youngsters pile in, a new wave of embarrassment came toppling in. They were wearing tube tops and jeans, ready to spend the night dancing and I was significantly over dressed.

I had three minutes until the clock struck nine. The fear of standing out is a very inhibiting thing to a thicker woman. If anything, I wanted to blend in and become completely invisible. If I stood out then I was memorable, and if I was memorable then people would remember that old, fat lesbian that sat in the corner drinking her vodka tonic. I was mad at Logan. How could he not tell me this was a club and who the hell brought a girl to a club on the first date? We are adults. The protocol is dinner and a movie, not bumping and grinding.

I fished enough money out of my bag for the cover charge and dove in with my bad attitude in tow. The bouncer had given me a weird look as I walked in, no doubt thinking I didn't look the type. His glance just fueled my anger and I was going to give Logan a piece of my mind. He should know better and I charged my way to the bar with a mission in mind. I was going to teach him a lesson.

The club was loud. There was a constant roar from the crowd as speakers boomed with electric wobbles and throbs. Lights bounced around the high ceilings and there was a fog that seemed to radiate from off the floor. Everything was so full of motion and I felt like a beetle that just walked into the ant colony. I was given a once over by nearly everyone that passed, some even chuckled and they watched me make my way to the bar. Logan was going to pay for this.