This all started about ten years ago. It was a midsummer day, and I was hanging out with my old friend Erica.
Now Erica was what you would call a little on the big size. Like, back then I was a big guy- little under six foot and well over two hundred pounds- but Erica made even me feel small. She was maybe an inch taller than I was, and though I never asked how much she weighed, it looked to be somewhere in the same ballpark as me.
Most guys we'd known growing up with didn't think much of her- they weren't the kind of assholes to make jokes to her face thank god- but you could tell they all thought she was unattractive. Me on the other hand? I thought she looked great. She carried her weight well, and it helped that a good amount of it found its way to her chest, giving her the biggest breasts of anyone we knew. So who really cared if there was a bit of a belly underneath them?
On top of that, Erica had this long reddish-brown hair that cascaded down her back, and her face- already pretty cute as far as I was concerned, tended to be enhanced by her make-up skills to look even better. Hell, her lips alone should have been enough to make most guys melt.
If not for the fact that I knew a lot of people looked down on her- as well as the fact that we were friends- I probably would have tried to ask her out at some point before we graduated. But at the time, I didn't want to cross that line, and so we stayed just friends even once we were out of school.
Anyway, it was mid-July, the sun was hot and Erica and I were hanging out. Normally there was a whole group of us, but this time no one else was free so rather than be bored we decided to hang out one on one. We were at her place and had the entire house to ourselves which was a rare treat. The afternoon had been spent watching tv and making jokes about where we thought our classmates were going to wind up, as well as by my trying my damnedest not to stare at her chest, which was glistening with sweat through her white top. It wasn't easy, but I like to think I managed.
Then we ordered pizza for dinner and for the most part, everything seemed to be going pretty well.
When we finished eating, Erica decided to save her mother the trouble later and take care of the dishes, both the ones we'd made over the course of the afternoon as well as the ones that were already there. She told me to help her dry, and I quickly agreed, both because I didn't want to be a bad guest, and also because her firm tone had sent a shiver down my spine.
Maybe it was due to her size, but I always liked the idea of Erica ordering me around. Sure I was almost as big as her, but there was just something in how she carried her size that made me feel two feet tall. I don't know if she was aware of it, but this wasn't the first time she'd more or less given me an order that I'd jumped at the chance to fulfill.
I followed her to the kitchen, debating what we could do after the dishes were finished with, but all such thoughts faded away when she reached the sink. Leaning over, she picked up a pair of blue rubber dishwashing gloves, and my heart skipped a beat.
See, ever since I was a kid, I've had this thing about rubber gloves. In the years since I've discovered the correct term is a fetish, but at the time I didn't know what it was, just that I liked it when women wore them, and that when they did it made my cock harder than Chinese algebra.
And Erica- who I already stated, was pretty good-looking in my eyes- was pulling on a pair of them right in front of me.
I held the towel I picked up so that it hid my growing erection, but it was difficult to keep up the charade once she opened up the tap and added soap. The first time I caught sight of the sud-covered blue rubber I thought I was going to cum in my pants.
Erica started washing the dishes, and when she passed the first few my way I was careful to grab them without revealing my hard-on.
For a little while, I thought I did pretty well. But once we got a bit of a rhythm going, I guess I relaxed my whole trying to hide stance, because when Erica handed me the next dish, her hand got closer than I'd expected, and brushed against something that was definitely not a towel.
At first, I didn't notice, mostly because the sensation of the warm, soap-drenched rubber even brushing against my cock was enough to sever the connection between mind and body. But by the time my brain rebooted a few seconds later, Erica was looking right at me with those deep brown eyes of hers, gloved hands at her sides, and her gaze firmly focused on the tent being pitched in my shorts.
