*Greetings reader! Thanks for clicking on my story! It's a long one, but each of the three parts has its own really hot sex scene so you should be able to get a couple wanks out of it (depending upon how fast you read and/or masturbate, of course). Enjoy!
Part 1
Spencer's phone dinged and vibrated in pocket, alerting him to a new notification from one of those photo-swiping dating apps. He hated to admit it, but his heart fluttered a little when he glanced down at his screen and saw that he had a new match. After opening the app, waiting through a compulsory ad --he may have been desperate, but he wasn't about to start paying for the premium version-- he was delighted to find that not only had Bonnie (32f) liked his profile, she'd sent the first message.
Bonnie: What's the best way to slice a sandwich?
'Not bad, as far as opening ice breakers go,' Spencer thought. He thumbed once more through the assorted photos she'd posted to her profile. He remembered her picture even after browsing through thousands of other women; even crossed his fingers when he swiped right. Bonnie was an absolute smoke show, a buxom Suicide Girls type whose soft, pale body was almost fully covered in intricately detailed tattoos --none on her face though, thankfully-- and the precise sort of figure that drove Spencer wild. He'd call it "Rubenesque" if he were trying to be classy about it; he may even venture a "voluptuous" or two once they'd grown comfortable enough for a comment like that to be well-received, but in the horny goblin part of his brain that was running the show tonight, he'd say she was thicc and juicy. Her luxuriantly thick thighs culminated in a perfectly rotund and generously ample ass. He loved how the curve of her slightly chubby belly protruded into just the right amount of FUPA. Her gleaming wide-set green eyes were mesmerizing and expressive and she had the face of Golden Era Hollywood pin-up girl. She'd proffered a series of increasingly revealing thirst traps and he drank them in eagerly.
Spencer: Depends what kind of sandwich. For a grilled cheese, I go diagonal for soup dunk-ability purposes. For a PB&J, I favor a horizontal slice for structural integrity.
Bonnie: Ah, a thinking man's response. I'm a die-hard diagonal slicer, but maybe you can make me a sandwich and show me.
According to the little green bubble hovering over the thumbnail of her profile picture, she was online now and responding in real time. After a few rounds of low-key flirty banter they made plans to meet that evening at a dive bar close to Spencer's house.
Bonnie was fucking horny. She'd endured a string of spirit-crushing dates with men who weren't even suitable for a pity fuck to break her dry spell. Spencer looked a little more clean cut and sporty than the guys she usually dated, but he was such a total adonis she'd decided to expand her horizons. Olive complexioned with raven black hair, soulful brown eyes, and an athlete's physique, this guy was so Ralph Lauren model hot that at first Bonnie wondered if the photos were fake. It didn't take much back and forth for her to feel comfortable enough that Spencer was in fact the guy in his pictures and not a murderer that agreed to meet him that night. She was simply too desperately underfucked to play it coy.
She'd deliberately showed up about half an hour before their scheduled meeting time to acquaint herself with the unfamiliar watering hole and calm her nerves with a quick pre-date gin and tonic. Arriving early also offered the opportunity for a last-minute mirror check to make sure she looked at presentable as possible. The bar was one of those nondescript neighborhood joints in a squat brick building with no sign out front besides the obligatory Old Style banner hanging above a corner entrance. There were places just like this all over the Midwest, but Bonnie detected a particularly seedy vibe in the place that made her feel comfortable instantly. Her sense of comfort was shattered almost instantly after she stepped up to the bar to order and recognized the lanky fuckboy who was absent-mindedly washing pint glasses.
'Oh shit, it's Gavin. Or was it Kevin?' Bonnie was mortified to see a spark of recognition in the bartender's eyes. He'd remembered her too. A couple of years ago, during one of her wilder "hoe phases," Bonnie's then-boyfriend had taken her to a dance party at an after hours club. In the middle of a dance floor packed with sweaty, undulating bodies, she'd locked eyes with Gavin (or Kevin?) and was instantly flush with desire. Tall and wiry, with shaggy hair and stick-poke tattoos covering the sinewy muscles of his arms, he looked a lot like her boyfriend and most of the guys she'd dated.
Maybe it was the molly, the hypnotic beats thumping through the speakers, or simply the innate horniness that always seemed to overwhelm her better judgement, but she weaved through through the crowd, sauntered right up to the handsome stranger and without any preamble, kissed him hungrily. Within seconds, her back was against the wall and they were lustfully making out. Before long, his hands were up her skirt and he was fondling her swollen clit through the soaking fabric of her underwear.
"I'm Kevin [or Gavin]" he whispered in her ear, bringing his pussy-slickened fingers up to her lips.