I laid with her, sharing kisses and hugs and caresses for a few minutes, the afterplay comfortable and, well, fun, as she giggled when I jiggled parts of her.
"It's hard to believe," she said, as I lightly jiggled the big roll of bellyfat that was her fat girl's natural modesty, making little ripples run up and down her body, "that a month ago I would barely look my own husband in the eye, I was so ashamed of my body."
"It's hard to believe," I said, mimicking her, "that society is so fucked up that you were forced into that situation."
She smiled at that, a happy smile on her cute face, and then ran her hand down my belly to find my dick.
"Got a second round in there?" she asked, giving a little squeeze.
"Wellllllll," I said, and then kissed her, and rolled away quickly, "there will be plenty more but you heard Greg. I have an intake in," and I paused and glanced at the clock on her headboard, "forty-five minutes and I don't even know where my room is yet."
She pouted and she was cute doing that too.
"Okay," she said, showing that odd combination of ponderous and grace many healthy fat women have as she rocked back and then rolled forward, swinging her arm and leg for momentum, and sat up on the edge of the bed, "lightweight, I'll show you where to go."
I laughed and stepped into my boxers, then pulled on my jeans and the T-shirt. I just stuffed the laces of my tennis shoes into the shoe and then my feet, sockless, into the shoes. Good to go for a short walk.
I realized she had no intention of putting on any clothes, just the flip-flops to offer protection for her feet. Christ, she looked sexy, her hair spiky, her makeup smeared, and, of course, semen lubricating those half-moon pads at the top of her inner thighs where they rubbed as she walked.
Casual nudity
Greg had said, and here it was on display.
"Come on, sweet cheeks," she said, "let me have the pleasure of making the other girls jealous because I got your Farm cherry," and she took my arm in that two-hands-on-the-arm possessive way some women can pull off.
The buildings were laid out in a rough circle. In the middle of the circle was a sort of park area with a baseball diamond, two tennis courts that I later learned were actually Pickleball courts, and a swimming pool. At the swimming pool, a guy I would later meet as Steve was coaching a wonderfully buxom woman from the low diving board. As I watched what was supposed to be a simple dive turned into an almost flat belly flop with a truly spectacular splash.
"Come on, sweet cheeks," Cleo said again, "you'll have plenty of chances to watch us wood nymphs cavorting in the pool," which made me laugh.
I stopped at my car and grabbed my suitcase and smaller overnight bag.
The staff quarters mirrored the building where Cleo and I had recently made love. I was moderately surprised when she came along with me. She led me to number F and said, "this was Fred's room so I imagine it's yours now."
"Thank you," I said, by way of thanks and goodbye but she just giggled.
"You need someone to wash your back," she said.
"Well, all righty then," I said, trying to imitate some character or other I had seen on television once.
The room was actually kind of a studio apartment. The bed sat against one wall and a couch that turned out to be paired recliners with a central cushion that didn't recline served as a room divider and faced the oversized flat-screen television on the other wall. A small free-standing closet, a wardrobe rather than a fancier
armoire
beside the television completed the inventory of furniture. A tiny kitchenette filled one corner consisting of a small sink, a single cupboard, a bar-size refrigerator, and a microwave on top of the refrigerator. A door led, I presumed, into the bathroom.
Cleo watched as I turned and took in my new digs and then sat on the edge of the bed, her legs parted a bit, invitingly. "Wanna break in your new bed?" she asked.
I closed the distance between us, kissed her, and said, "later, insatiable wench."
She giggled and laid back, assuming a very fetching pose, and said, "Okay, just so you know what you're missing."
I laughed, opened my suitcase, and put my meager wardrobe away.
I stripped off my clothes quickly and said, "come on, designated back washer."
In the bathroom, the most had been made out of limited space. The toilet and a sink shared one wall while an oversized shower took up the other. I wondered, briefly, if this had been a change made as part of the rehabilitation or if it had been part of the original dude ranch architecture. Not that it mattered. It was big enough to accommodate me and one very plus-size woman.
She was a good shower partner. I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn't been under a bit of a time constraint but we still didn't hurry.
I wondered, not for the first time, what it was about washing a fat girl's body that I found so damn arousing, but I sure did. As I washed her hair and face and the rest of her I kind of lost track of time. The soap made her slick and I loved the way my fingers just disappeared into rolls and creases.
"You have an appointment," she reminded me, giggling, as I thoroughly cleaned the deep crease of her belly button.
I laughed, kissed her, and said, "thanks, I was kind of getting lost in you."
She stopped then, looking ridiculously cute with the water running over her head, and said, very seriously, "that may be the nicest compliment anyone ever paid me, thank you," and she pulled me down for a kiss.
We finished the shower, dried each other, kissed once more, and she left, giggling, giving me an over-the-shoulder fingerwave, and saying, almost singing, "byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee for now."
I opened my little overnight bag and unloaded the essentials, my toothbrush and Colgate toothpaste gel, my razor and shaving gel, and my oversize bottle of vitamins completed my bathroom stuff. I sat the toothbrush and toothpaste and razor and shaving gel on the little countertop of the vanity and opened the medicine cabinet mirror/door to put up my vitamins.
The medicine cabinet was empty except for three large amber-colored prescription bottles.
I took one of the bottled down and saw my name, the name of a doctor I had never seen, the instructions - "Take one by mouth as needed" - and in tiny letters "Tadalafil: Generic for Cialis - substitution authorized."
The other two bottles were the same, only generic for Levitra and Viagra.
I laughed and put the bottles up. Then I thought for a minute, looked down at my soft dick, and pulled them down again. I had never used a boner pill but I remembered a conversation with a friend who told me he had tried them all when he was struck with early onset erectile dysfunction and the Cialis seemed to have, what he called, a "lingering" effect. So I shook one of the oddly shaped little yellowish pills out and took it, washing it down with water from the tap held in cupped hands.
I stood still for a couple of seconds. I don't know, I guess on some level I was half expecting an instant erection. But, of course, nothing happened.
I dressed then, my clothes not too badly wrinkled from being in my suitcase. I thought about it a bit and pulled on boxers, my dark navy slacks, brightly patterned socks, brown loafers, and a pencil-striped Oxford cloth button-down shirt. I dressed, in other words, in the go-to-meeting "uniform" I had worked out over my brief-as-it-turned-out career as a professional planner.
