The next four months were, as the saying goes, close enough to heaven for me. Our schedules kept us apart most of the day but the evenings were ours. We were both good students and, if you don't know, that meant we considered going to school our full-time job. I tended to be an early riser. I think athletes tend to get into the habit of rising early to make practice.
Anyway, that meant that I could schedule 9:00 a.m. classes, I wasn't crazy enough to do 8:00, and my eight-hour day ended at 5:00. At 5:01 I could turn out my desk lamp, close my books, grab a beer, light up a joint, and grab Carla. Her schedule was lighter in terms of classes taken, but heavier since she was writing her dissertation, a book in this case on the obscure topic of Homoerotic Aspects of Pre-Hellenic Grecian Urns or some such. I didn't pay a lot of attention to that. I'm not very artsy.
The week following my introduction to ΘΘΘ she took me on a Thursday night.
And I saw what she meant.
Thursday at ΘΘΘ is Gentleman's Night. Kind of their answer to Ladies' Night. Men got half-price drinks and, with a student ID, they were 75 percent off. It was almost a caricature of a classic singles meat market.
The women tended to dress for seduction and the men tended to dress a slight level higher than their normal student wear. And the women outnumbered the men significantly.
And, Oh my God, who would have imagined there could be that much cleavage on display in one room, or that many round-faced women?
You could tell the men who were there for cheap drinks. They tended to be in clusters and pretty much ignore the women who approached them.
But for the men who obviously enjoyed big women, a taste I was quickly coming to share, this was heaven. You could see them, mostly singles, no wingman needed, paying attention as a plus-size woman approached them.
I watched the little play as a plus size cougar, well, a super size cougar, made her moves on a slender young man that I guessed even younger than me. The woman, on the other hand, was either pressing hard on 50 or already had the half-century mark in her rearview mirror. She was big in that buxom, almost hourglass was of some big women with enormous breasts, I guessed her bra at 42 or maybe 44 FF at least, maybe GG or even HH. A wide belt and I suspected serious foundation garments, cinched her down to a relative wasp waist - relative because I figured her waist was still something on the order of 34 or maybe 36 - and then flaring to hips that matched her breasts.
Carla punched me.
"Eyes back in your head, buster," she said.
I laughed and said, "you wanted me to see this. Did you not want me to like it?"
She giggled and said, "Go ahead, dance, but remember who's taking you home tonight."
I started to say something back to that but a guy, older than me but not much, came up to the table and said, "dance, Carla?" Obviously, he knew her.
She smiled at me, stood, accepted his offered hand, and went to the dance floor.
So I sat, looking around, fascinated and captivated by the women I was seeing. Interested, as well, in seeing the men who were attracted to these big women. They tended to run to types, being either young and kind of skinny like me, or being more mature and, well, more substantial.
The women ranged from plus size to supersize and from about my age to a couple I suspected had their Medicare cards.
And the thing is, there was not one of them I did not find attractive.
I watched her approach, one of those women who deposited fat cells from the waist down. From the waist up she was what I would consider "average" size and buxom. I imagined her bra would be a 38D and her waist around 30 inches. But her hips, well, you've heard of "shelf hips" that you could put a six-pack on? Hell, you could put a case on these.
"Come on handsome," she said, offering her hand, "I see Carla let you loose for a while."
That's when it hit me, that this was a pretty tightly knit group where everyone knew everyone, and I wondered if I would ever really fit in.
But I took her offered hand, stood, and led her to the dance floor.
She was light on her feet and handled a basic box step well and then a passable jive.
"Give me your phone," she said so I handed it to her.
She punched in a number and handed it back to me.
"There," she said, "you have my number."
"But I don't have your name," I said.
She giggled, as we headed back to the table, "I'm Ashley," she said, "but most call me Assley," and she slapped her big hip with a loud slapping sound.
And she was gone into the group.
I danced with Carla a couple of times, with a lovely matron named Madge, a tiny round cherub named Gracie, and a frikkin' giantess named Laura before we called it a night.
"Wellllllllll," she asked as I started out of the parking lot, "think you'll survive after I leave."
I couldn't help but grin.
"Thank you," I said, smiling, "and yes."
"Now take me home," she said, "I have an urge I'm pretty sure you'll like."
I laughed then and said, "You haven't had any ideas I haven't liked."
At home, we barely cleared the door when she had me in her arms.
"I was jealous, watching you," she said.
"And I was jealous watching you," I said back.
