Content notice:
The following story contains depictions of negative body image, weight stigma, and diet talk.
I've done my best to portray these issues with empathy and sensitivity. Beauty comes in every size, and a joyous, fulfilling sex life is the privilege of anyone who wants one.
That said, if you're someone who prefers to avoid such things altogether, you might try one of my other stories instead.
The characters depicted in the following story are all 18 or above. One of the themes involves sexual liaisons between young adult women and much older adults in a position of relative power over them.
The inclusion of this theme is for storytelling purposes only. It is not a comment on the advisability of such relationships in real life.
The Author
~
M.U.F.F., Epilogue
After the party, new offers start rolling in--more clients, opportunities for more parties, live sex shows in proper clubs, and, eventually, pornographic videos.
It starts small. I buy a video camera and perform solo. Stripping, showering, masturbating, things like that. Alex helpfully sets up and manages my website, being the more tech-savvy of the two of us.
Eventually, holding the camera myself, or using the miniature tripod I bought, becomes too limiting, so Alex becomes my videographer. I've never felt so attractive or so turned on as when she films me.
When clients learn of my website, it isn't long before I'm in touch with other sex workers, getting chances to perform with them in little homegrown clips.
At first, it's other women, one on one, secluded in anonymous motel rooms, Alex happily leering at us through the camera eye.
Then it's all kinds of people, from all across the gender spectrum, in all kinds of configurations, sometimes in groups. I have my first gangbang--a memory I'll cherish for the rest of my life.
At some point, I fall into touch with proper companies, who offer me proper money. With Alex's help, I carefully vet them and figure out which ones I want to work for. Usually smaller, queer-run groups.
I periodically invite Alex to appear on camera with me. She always declines--she enjoys working behind-the-scenes. It eventually blooms into a professional role as my personal producer-director.
It's a shame she won't join in. She's the hottest person I know. Her and Darla.
(I shoot with Darla regularly. She'll half-jokingly warn me not to fall in love with her, and I reassure her half-sincerely that I never will.)
In a strange episode in our lives, Alex and I are in a polycule with Rob. For a time, he brings home boys for all of us to swap around with. It's fun while it lasts, but he eventually leaves us.
Alex and I come out as lesbians and as sex workers at the same time, first to our friends, then to our families.
Alex's family is taken aback, but I can already see them adjusting in real time as the shock wears off their faces. They'll be fine.
My family, not so much.
The sex work part, they seem oddly undisturbed by.
(Perhaps it explains why my hours at my part time job tapered down to nothing, while my disposable income apparently skyrocketed.)
It's the lesbian part that raises their anger.
I get a lecture--I won't repeat it here, but we all know the negative stereotypes and misconceptions--and they advise me, in very colorful metaphors, not to come back until my sexual orientation changes.
Alex and I combine our earnings to buy a house and help me through college.
We get married. It's a small courthouse thing, followed by a friends-only gathering. Many an amused comment is made about the two of us starting out as high school sweethearts, which I guess is true.
Later, we have a second, much sexier celebration amongst colleagues and professional acquaintances.
Not long after, Alex comes out as they/them. They start wearing boi clothing and hairstyles, which I can't get enough of. They make me feel like I might die from an overdose of sexual attraction.
They still float with every step they take.
Neither of our appetites has diminished. Our marriage is wide open by necessity. Sometimes, we go days without seeing each other.
But we always welcome each other home.
~
After some small-time porn awards ceremony thing, I get contacted out of nowhere by Mr. Robinson. He lets me know that he's caught up with the career exploits of Alex and me. He invites us over, to "catch up."
(Alex and I cleaned up big at the awards. Though not the most likely thing, it wasn't impossible for the news to get his attention. And we're not trying to hide anything.)
It's been three years since the last time I saw him--since that night with him and Mrs. Robinson.
It's the same scenario as before. We sit down to a nice meal, all home-cooked. This time, we all have wine.
The dinner drifts by, as if a dream, free-associating, plates of delicious food and glasses of wine appearing and disappearing. Conversation floats on the air in an indeterminate haze.
We all know what we're here for.
I sit down on the Robinsons' spacious living room couch. When no one else does, I briefly wonder if there's a cue I've misread, until I'm surrounded on all sides at once by three sets of very busy hands.
As if by magic, items of my clothing are spirited away from my body, one at a time. I'm becoming more and more bare as I'm stroked and squeezed and prodded, until I'm naked in a nest of clothed people.
Mouths are on my face, my neck, my shoulders, my upper arms, my breasts. Hands fondle the rolls and folds of my abundant flesh. I'm pushed onto my back; my legs are hoisted and parted. I'm on display.
A hand--it feels big, rough, masculine--glides down my belly, taking its time, luxuriating. It traces the full growth of pubic hair that trails down from my navel and blooms on my crotch and inner thighs.
