A few days ago -- well, last Thursday to be precise -- I was on my way to the station when something interesting happened.
It was one of those days when it kept threatening to rain but never quite did. The sun was out, but the clouds were gathering, and there was a fresh breeze. I was just about to walk past the main entrance of a building that houses an advertising agency (among other things) when a woman stepped out of the building and started walking a few feet in front of me.
She must have been about five foot four, maybe five foot five, and she was wearing a cobalt blue top and a short, loose-fitting black skirt. But what I really noticed was that she was quite a big girl and she had great legs. I mean really great legs. Also, she was wearing matt black tights which probably made them look even better.
I don't know why, but I found her curiously appealing -- and I hadn't even seen her face properly.
As she walked along in front of me, little unruly gusts of wind occasionally threatened to lift her skirt. But each time, she discreetly caught it -- until, that is, we reached the corner of Brown Street. This time, the gust seemed to catch her completely by surprise and, for a moment or two, her skirt was up around her waist. It was, as I say, only for a moment or two, but it was long enough for me to catch a glimpse of her substantial-but-wonderfully-shaped bum. It was love at first sight.
Unfortunately, just a few steps past the Brown Street corner, she walked into a clothing store. For a moment there I was tempted to hang around outside the store until she came out. Stalking? In a way, I suppose. But I was already in danger of being late for my train. So I just kept on walking.
Clearly the image of her -- her great legs, her shapely behind -- stayed with me, because that night I dreamed that she was in The Calico Café, standing on tiptoes, bending over a table, inviting me to enter her doggy style. I often (well, occasionally) wake up with morning wood, but last Friday morning I woke up with morning iron.
Later that same morning I was sitting at one of the outside tables at the very same Calico Café that had featured in my dream. I was waiting for my friend Tucker Box to join me for a mid-morning latte. If I'm spending the day working from home, I often take a mid-morning break and meet Tucker for coffee. But on that morning, Tucker was running late, so I was taking the opportunity to catch up on a few emails. At one point -- I have no idea why -- I looked up from my iPad and saw this woman walking towards me. She had a sweet face framed by long dark hair. She wasn't tall, and she was quite a big girl, but she was very shapely. Oh my god, I thought, it's her! It's the girl with the wonderfully-shaped bum!
The beautiful creature of my dreams was carrying a supermarket bag that looked to be quite heavy. And, just as she walked past the front of the café, the bag burst, spilling its contents all over the footpath. For a moment or two she froze -- as if she thought that her own lack of movement might somehow halt the movement of the canned products that were now tumbling in every direction. And then she was crouching down, trying to stop cans of tomatoes and olives and artichoke hearts from escaping into the gutter.
She was wearing a soft scoop-fronted T-shirt-type top and, as she crouched, I had a wonderful view of her full breasts trying desperately trying to burst out of a black lace bra . And then, as she leaned forward, I caught another glance of her beautiful backside. Heaven.
Of course, in less than a heartbeat, I was up and helping her to corral the fugitive groceries.
'Oh, thank you,' she said. 'The bag broke.'
By then we were both crouched on the footpath, facing each other. Not only did I have an exquisite view down the front of her top, I also had a great view of her substantial thighs.
'They probably have a spare bag in the café,' I said. 'Let me go and ask.'
'Oh, thanks,' she said.
The guys in the café had a couple of recycled supermarket bags and, within a few minutes, we had the cans back under control -- this time, double-bagged just to be sure.
'Thank you,' she said for the third or fourth time.
'You're welcome,' I said. 'By the way, I'm Rob.'
She frowned slightly. But then said: 'Oh. Rob. Yes. Thank you. God, now I really am late.'
'So I can't tempt you to a coffee,' I said.
'Umm ... no. But thank you anyway.' And she was on her way again.
It was disappointing that she hadn't had time for a coffee, but I consoled myself with the view of her shapely derriere as she walked on down the street and turned to walk up the hill.
The following Sunday afternoon, I decided to wander down to the pub to watch the match of the day on the big screen (and perhaps enjoy a pint of two). I was just standing at the bar, chatting with Sam, the barman, when I looked in the mirror behind the bar and there she was, reflected back at me.
She was sitting at a table with a couple of other women. They were chatting and laughing and she was looking more attractive than ever. Just at that moment, Sam was called away to the telephone, so I took my beer and just casually, 'accidentally' cruised past her table. 'Oh, hello,' I said. 'Did you manage to get your groceries home without any further escapes?'
She looked up -- straight at me -- and frowned slightly. But then she smiled and nodded. 'Oh. Yes,' she said. 'Thank you. Yes. And thanks for your help.'
'My pleasure,' I said. 'Sneaky things, canned vegetables.'
'Yes. I suppose so,' she said.
It was clear that I had interrupted some sort of girls' conversation. 'Right,' I said. 'I'll leave you to it. Maybe see you later.' She said nothing, but smiled politely. And I took my beer and went and found a seat from where I could get a good view of the game.
I sometimes think that pub landlords must prefer it when the game of the day is a dull game. Or even a frustrating game. I'm sure that on such occasions they sell more beer. If the game is an interesting game, about half of the drinkers make one beer last for an entire half. And then at halftime, everyone wants a refill at the same time. Sunday's game was a real cliff hanger from start to finish. And all around me, people were nursing empty glasses, unable to take their eyes off the screen for even a second.
After the final whistle, about two-thirds of the patrons immediately drifted off. But, having no pressing calls on my own time, I decided to treat myself to another pint. I was just standing at the bar, waiting for Sam to do his thing, when I glanced into the mirror and noticed that the BBW goddess was now sitting all on her own. Trying not to look too eager, I strolled over to her table.
'Oh, hello,' I said. 'Your friends have left you?'
'Umm ... yes,' she said. 'They had to go.'
'Well, then perhaps I could buy you a drink,' I suggested.
'Umm ... no,' she said. 'I mean ... thank you, but I'm just waiting for George, and then we're going to go to a movie.'
'Oh. OK,' I said, trying not to sound disappointed -- even though I was. 'Well ... enjoy the movie.'
'Thanks,' she said.
I went back to the bar and collected my pint. George! What a lucky bastard he was. Mind you, I don't know what made me think that such a heavenly creature would be unattached and simply waiting patiently for me to appear in her life. It was hardly likely, was it? Theoretically possible; but hardly likely. A couple of minutes later, I again glanced in the mirror and she had gone.
That night I had another dream about her. She was kneeling on a bed, wearing a black chemise with a soft frilly hem. She had her back to me and she was leaning forward. The hem of the chemise came to an end about halfway down her ample buttocks, leaving the lower half of her bum and the backs of her shapely thighs exposed. I could clearly see the generously proportioned outer lips her of her pussy protruding from between her thighs. The bright pink inner lips -- which appeared to be glistening with pussy juice -- were just peeking out from between the outer lips. Once again I woke with morning iron rather than morning wood.
On Monday I was late leaving work. And then, to make matters worse, the train driver decided to park in a tunnel for what seemed like an hour or two -- just for the fun of it. So, by the time I left the station for the walk home, it was already well past eight.
Not only was I late, I was also hungry. I hadn't had time for lunch, and the only sustenance I had had since breakfast was a slightly stale piece of shortbread.
Initially, I decided to pick up something ready to eat from the deli counter at the supermarket. But then I remembered that it was Monday. On Monday, the supermarket closes at eight.
I didn't feel like a burger or anything like that, so I decided to see if the local convenience store had any of its famous rotisserie-style chickens left. I was in luck. There was one; just one; but one was all I needed.
The middle-aged woman (who I think is one of the store's owners) had just put the chicken in a foil-lined bag when the goddess appeared.
'Do you have any more of those?' she asked.
'Oh, hello,' I said. 'We meet again.'
'So it would seem,' she said. And then she turned back to the store owner and an answer to her question.
'Sorry,' the woman said. 'That's the last one.'
'Damn!' the goddess said. She looked really disappointed.
'You could have this one,' I said generously.
'No, no. I couldn't do that,' she said.
'Or we could share,' I suggested.
'Share?'
'Half each. In fact, a quarter will be enough for me.'
'Are you on your own?' she asked, frowning slightly. 'You don't have a family to feed?'
'On my own,' I said.
For a few seconds she looked me up and down as though she was seeing me for the first time. And then she said: 'OK. You bring the chicken. I'll throw together a bit of salad. And I'm pretty sure there's a bottle of wine in the fridge.'
'Well, if you're sure,' I said, hardly able to believe my luck.
'We both need to eat,' she said. And she smiled.
I suggested that she lead the way. And, once out of the store, we turned left, in the opposite direction from the street in which I had originally seen her.
As we walked, I tried to strike up a conversation. 'Have you had a busy day?' I asked.
We were walking side by side, and I could only see her face in profile, but I knew from the brief silence that she was probably frowning. It seemed to be what she did whenever she was asked a question.
'Busy? Yes, I suppose so,' she said. 'Most of my days are busy.'
I was about to enquire what it was that filled her days with busyness, when we reached a gate that led into a small walled courtyard.
'This is us,' she said. And she reached into her bag for a bunch of keys. Finding what she was looking for, she unlocked first one lock and then a second lock, and pushed open the door to the modern-looking townhouse.
'This is nice,' I said.
She nodded. 'George owns it,' she said.
Ah. That lucky bastard George again. 'So ... is George ...?'
'Away on a course,' she said.
'Ah. Right,' I said. Well, that was something for which to be thankful. It seemed that I would at least have the goddess to myself for an hour or so.
The goddess led me through to the kitchen and started gathering ingredients for a salad. 'Oh, and the wine,' she said. And she produced a bottle of Pinot Grigio and a couple of glasses. 'Can I get you to look after this?'
I opened the bottle and poured some wine into each glass.
'Look, I'm terribly sorry,' I said. 'I seem to have forgotten your name.'
