Flamingos Ch 09

For a change, I woke up to an empty bed and the smell of coffee and bacon cooking.

I was shocked, when I looked at the clock and realized I had slept until 9:30 in the morning. I couldn't remember the last time I slept that late.

I peed and brushed my teeth and walked in to see Paula finishing up breakfast. She looked particularly fetching in just her short apron.

"I thought I heard you stirring, sleepy butt," she said and put a cup of coffee on the table.

I muttered something and started on the coffee, hoping my heart would start beating soon.

"I think," I said, yawning and scratching, "that we're spending an extra day in Baton Rouge. I don't want to have to hurry to get moving."

She smiled and said, "okay, it's not like we have an appointment."

It turned out to be one of the best decisions EVER!

We had breakfast and decided to just kick back. One of the great joys of retirement is to be able to just do nothing.

We took a walk around the RV park, spotting flamingos and waving at other campers. We spent some time in the pool, made a quick, light lunch, and then I laid back in my hammock with my Kindle, read a little less than a chapter of my latest Jack Reacher novel, and took a nap.

The warm sun woke me after an hour or so and I went inside, showered quickly and then went back out to tune up and practice. Paula joined me in little while, bringing a beer and sitting beside me, singing softly as I tuned and played through some of the songs we knew.

And then a Goddess and Her attending angel appeared.

Okay, okay, I know they weren't truly divine, but that was my first impression.

What with my Y chromosome and all, I looked at the woman first. And I couldn't look away. She was Earth Mother and a Fertility Goddess in one being. She was short, I guessed her at just a hair over five feet tall but it was hard to be sure since the young man next to her was tall, over six feet and I guessed six foot three.

He was young, early 20s but he probably wouldn't get carded if he ordered a beer. She had one of those faces that said she was somewhere over 30 and under 70 but it was impossible to guess any closer.

She was pretty, not cute, not gorgeous, but pretty. I just wanted to look at her. There was no single thing that caught my eye, but the package was perfect. She was round faced with smooth skin, the phrase alabaster skin came to mind. Wide-set eyes made another phrase, "cornflower blue" come to mind, and the sclera, the whites, were perfectly white, the whitest I had ever seen. Her nose was thin and straight, her cheeks were round with a great underlying bone structure. Her mouth was generous and when she smiled her teeth were unbleached, a natural ivory with slightly crooked bottom incisors the only flaw I saw. And that face was big. She had a big head. A mass of strawberry blonde hair, that color favored by women of a certain age that no combination of genes has EVER created naturally, framed her pretty face.

She and her attendant angel stood, calmly, respecting the RV park protocols and not stepping onto our outdoor carpet without permission. In RVland, that is our front room.

And I kept staring. I couldn't remember being affected like this since puberty had left me speechless around girls so often.

She was like two women had been formed into one. Between the neck and hips, she was reasonably thin. If that had been her overall shape I would have guessed her at no more than a hundred pounds.

But it wasn't. Below her waist, her hips were about twice the size you would expect. She had on jeans so tight you wondered how in the hell she got them on. And her bare arms, big and tanned and very soft with those big pads of fat on the back of her upper arms associated with a truly fat woman belonged on another body.

She was a fertility Goddess incarnate.

And her attending angel was a perfect match for her. He was ridiculously good looking with the square jaw with an actual cleft in it, high brow, blue eyes to match hers, and the physique of a long distance runner.

I didn't pay as much attention to him though, my eyes drifted back to the Goddess.

Paula pinched my arm, giggling, and said, "eyes in your head, bub."

I chuckled and the spell was broken.

I waved the newcomers over.

The angel stepped forward and offered his hand.

"My grandmother DOES have that effect, doesn't she?" he said by way of greeting, "I'm Fred and this is Ashley."

I stood to shake his hand then turned to the Goddess and took her hand in mine. It seemed perfectly natural to bend and kiss it, something I had never done before but only seen in movies. It was a good hand, strong with long fingers that seemed out of place.

Fred moved and patted the big flamingo standing at the edge of our "front room."

"You understand the meaning of this?" he asked.

Paula, evidently as taken with Fred as I was with Ashley, moved to him, did the two-hands-on-the-arm thing, looking particularly, well, "available" as she looked up at him, and said, "we do."

He grinned then, and you could tell he practiced that grin in front of a mirror, covered her hand in his and said, "well then, Gorgeous, would you like to see my etchings."

She giggled like a schoolgirl at that. She was, and it's a word I had seen but never really used before, "simpering" at him. You could practically see the desire rolling off of her in waves.

"I'd like that," she said, and turned to face Ashley and me.

"Don't wait up," she said, and then turned away, her whole attention on Fred, her focus perfect.

"My grandson has that effect on women," Ashley said beside me.

It was the first time she had spoken and her voice was just as captivating as the rest of her. It was musical, a clear soprano, and I wanted to hear her sing although I know that often a speaking and singing voice are far different.

I managed to get myself together and say, "it's obvious where he gets it from," and I deliberately looked her up and down.

She giggled at that, another musical sound, delicate bells ringing, did the same two-hands-on-the-arm thing that Paula had done, and said, "why thank you, kind sir."

"Do you know 'Stormy Weather'?" I asked.

She smiled and sang, "Don't know why.........."

And her voice was as good as I had hoped. She sounded like Ella Fitzgerald with just a hint of gravel deep in there somewhere.

So I played it and she sang it and it was beyond just singing. It was a sensual, an erotic experience.

I could smell it getting to her, her womanscent was full of need and desire and also with love.

She hopped down from the picnic table where we had been sitting side-by-side and turned to face me. I wasn't surprised to see a small darker circle where her too-tight jeans forked between her legs.

"Yes," she said, and the grin she flashed was as well practiced as her grandson's had been, and giggled.

I didn't know what to do so I sat still.

She giggled again.

"Dammit, David," she said, "I said 'yes,' now are you going to take me inside or not."

And I was finally able to move.

I closed the distance between us and took her in my arms. She was such an odd combination I just wanted to explore her. Her upper body was slender, almost hard. Her arms were soft and warm. And those magnificent hips were shelves on which I could have placed not just a beer, but a six-pack. Her breasts pushed against me, oddly hard in her bra.

And the kiss was spectacular. Her mouth was a warm, moist, inviting thing with a darting tongue living inside that was eager and hungry on its own.

It was a long kiss, a combination of gentle and demanding, of soft and rough. It was a truly world class kiss.

When we finally parted she took a deep breath and then breathed out a soft, "wow."

I grinned and said, "yeah, wow."

I opened the door to the trailer for her and then followed her in.

"Does a beautiful woman know the effect she has on men?" I asked, standing in the middle of the front room, my hands on her shoulders.

She giggled at that. "If I ever meet a beautiful woman," she said, "I'll ask her."

It was my turn to laugh but she took a step, put her hands on my chest, and said "I'm serious."

I waited her out.

"David," she said, serious now, "I realize the effect I have on men, but I don't understand it. I'm not being coy or falsely modest or anything, I just don't understand it. I look in the mirror and I see a fat granny, not some sexy siren."

"I see," I said, my hand going to the hem of the sleeveless T-shirt she wore and starting to work it up.

She giggled and lifted her arms straight up over her head in invitation.

With the T-shirt off but the bra on the, well, the dichotomy of her body was even more on display. She wasn't exactly what you'd call "skinny" between collarbones and hips, although you could see ribs under a very thin layer of fat and skin. But the size and softness of her upper arms was even more in display, with those big pads of fat you associate with truly fat women hanging down, almost covering her elbows. Her forearms, though, were the slender forearms of an athlete and those hands with long strong fingers belonged on an artist or a musician.

She giggled again and did a slow turn.

I kissed her again, this time reaching around to unhook her bra, all six hooks, it was a heavy duty bra for a heavy-chested woman.

Her breasts were amazing. I peeked at the tag on her bra and saw 36FF. They were beyond "saggy." They hung almost to her belly button, a cute little outie. Her areolas were huge, the size of a salad plate, and very dark. Her nipples matched them, inch long hot dogs pointing straight at the floor. As I watched a white drop formed on her right nipple.

She giggled and lifted them.

"Twelve children, 37 grandchildren, and an even dozen great-grandchildren," she said, using her thumb and index finger to work her nipple until that drop fell, "I haven't been dry since I got knocked up the first time."

When I didn't move she said, "don't you like?"

"I love," I said, "I'm just taking you in."

She giggled and did another slow turn.

Then she moved to me, did the hands-on-my-chest thing and asked, "do I please you, David?"

I pulled her to me, enjoying the way it felt different without the bra between us. She was soft and warm and her face was turned up in invitation so I kissed her, another long, lingering kiss, as I explored her oddly thin back and equally oddly soft and fat arms with my hands. I felt warm wetness as she pressed herself against me.

I grinned down at her and said, "well, you're sure starting to."

"I can be very good," she said, and flashed a smile. Remember, she was still fully made up and very pretty. She had mentioned great-grandchildren so I increased my estimate of her age dramatically, but I still enjoyed looking at her. Hell, I still thought she was drop-dead gorgeous.

I ran my hands down her sides until the edge of my hands contacted the denim of her jeans. Then I traced the swell of her hips, those magnificent shelves, as we held each other's eyes.

I reached down and found the steel button of her jeans. They were so tight I broke a thumbnail trying to get it loose making me yell and shake my hand. She giggled and caught my hand, took my thumb, and kissed it. There was something so, well, maternal about that move it damn near brought a tear to my eye.

"All better?" she asked, smiling up at me.

I grinned and looked and saw how the nail was broken all the way down to the quick.

"Hold that thought," I said and went into the bathroom, rummaged through the medicine cabinet, and found the nail clippers.

She had followed me and said, "Here," holding out her hand.

She clipped the nail, very carefully, and then opened the medicine cabinet again, found a nail file, and carefully smoothed it.

"I don't want," she said softly, smiling, kissing me, "any sharp edges if you put that where I'm kinda hopin' you might."

Which made me laugh.

I walked her back into the front room but didn't let her sit. Instead I got to my knees and found the button that had been defeating me. With her standing it was easier, and I got the damn thing unbuttoned.

But that was just the first step. The jeans were still so damn tight it was like skinning a rabbit, or, well, anything I suppose. I'm not really a hunter so I'm just going on descriptions I've read.

I took one foot, a surprisingly small foot at that, onto my lap and she had to grab my shoulders for balance. I got her tennis shoe untied and off, and then rolled her white sock down and off. She giggled and jumped when I ran my little fingernail across the arch of her foot. I did the other shoe, sock, and foot the same way and then returned to the jeans.

I got them past the first big roll of her hips and it went easier then. Her panties were white and cotton and there was a LOT of material in them. I worked the jeans down, slowly, working up a bit of a sweat in the process and again she held onto my shoulders as she did that awkward two-step to get free of them.

I leaned back to look and caught my breath. Her age showed with the jeans off. Her thighs were as thick as most people's waists and heavily dimpled with cellulite. They tapered from those immense hips down to ridiculously small ankles and those small feet. Her thighs were heavy enough that a roll of fat hid her knees. Slightly darker patches of skin marred her inner thighs and I realized that was from the constant rubbing against each other whenever she walked. When I touched I found I was right, the skin there was almost leathery. All of which only added to her fertility Goddess image.

I couldn't wait so I rolled the panties down quickly and again she did the grab-my-shoulders-two-step thing.

I stepped back and just took her in.

I started at the top, that pretty face with her halo of the odd colored hair was still stunning. Her shoulders were an athletes shoulders that would have been comfortable on a woman of 20. Her arms, those big soft flabby upper arms tapering to those delicate forearms were an odd combination, sexy for all of the softness. Between the shoulders and the waist she was that 20 year old swimmer again except for those outrageous FF cup breasts with their huge areolas and nipples hanging down.

Just below her belly button, though, she flared out into what I later measured as 54 inch hips. They were true "shelf" hips, You could set a whole six-pack on each of them. And I thought they were so damn sexy I just wanted to grab a double handful of the softness.

She didn't have big belly rolls as you'd expect from a woman with hose hips. Rather, there was one big roll, just below her belly button, that effectively covered her sex. Right at the lowest point of that apron of fat and skin was a tattoo of some sort of a sun symbol, basically a round figure with a delicate pattern of lines and colors. I'm no fan of tattoos but this was truly lovely ink.

I held out my arm, index finger down and twirled it in the universal "turn around" gesture.

She smiled, a happy smile, almost an angelic smile, and slowly turned.

Her ass mirrored her belly, jutting out, another shelf, heavily cellulite dimpled. I wanted to spread those magnificent cheeks and bury my face in there. Her legs from the back were what you'd expect, cellulite dimples, a soft sag at the back of her knees, and tapering to those small ankles and feet. Her calves retained a hint of the runner's legs under the cellulite.

She had another tattoo, similar but not quite the same, where the great shelf of her butt jutted out.

She finished that slow turn and stood, smiling.

"Well?" she asked.

I was absolutely enchanted.

"You," I said and coughed, cleared my throat, and started again.

"You are a Goddess," I said, "how did I get so lucky?"

The smile on her face spread even more.

"A Goddess?" she said, stretching her arms out to the side dramatically, making those fat pads under her upper arms hand and wobble, "is that what you really see?"

I closed the distance between us and it seemed natural to get to my knees, look up at her across that roll of her belly, take her hand and brush it with my cheek, and say, "yes."

She giggled softly and said, "I like that, Goddess Ashley."

I didn't look away as I said, "and her worshipper, David."

"Oooooooooooo," she sort of cooed, "I like that, too. Will you worship me, David?"

I took her hand and brushed it across my cheek, kissing her palm, and said, "if you will allow me."

"Ooooooooo," she cooed again, "will you make me happy?"

"I'll try," I said without hesitation.

"Will you give me pleasure?" she asked, and it was starting to sound like a litany she had practiced before. Between beer, pot, and the way I was thinking with my little head rather than the one on my shoulders I didn't care.

"I'll try," I said again.

"Will you tell me I'm beautiful?" she asked.

I stood and brushed a few errant hairs away from her face, very gently laid my palms on her cheeks, and said, "you are beautiful."

"Will you mean it?" she asked.

I held her eyes for a long five count and said, "Goddess, you are the very embodiment of beauty and woman."

She giggled a little at that and said, "oooooooooo, I like it when you call me Goddess."

"Then that is what I shall always call you, my Goddess," I said, being careful to not use any contractions. It seemed like that kind of exchange.

"Will you feed from my body," she asked, serious again.

"If you allow me, Goddess," I said, "I will feed at my Earth Mother's breast."

Again she cooed that soft vowel, "ooooooooooooo."

"When our bodies merge," she said, "will you last for my pleasure?"

"I promise, Goddess," I said, simply.

"And yet," she said, pushing me away enough to look me up and down, "you stand clothed before me."

My fingers were trembling as I undid the button of my shorts and pushed them down, along with the boxers. That line from the Blake Shelton song ran through my mind, "I fell down, tryin' to kick off my jeans." I didn't quite fall down, but it was a near thing.

She was smiling.

"Tell me I'm beautiful," she said.

"You are my beautiful Goddess," I said.

"Mmmmmmmm, call me a Goddess," she said.

And I realized she wanted the words, that this was part of foreplay for her.

"I worship my Goddess," I said, my fingertips very lightly brushing her round cheeks.

"I love your strength," I said and very gently squeezed those soft pads of fat flesh of her upper arms.

She shivered a little but said nothing.

"My Goddess, my Earth Mother, feeds the world from her body," I said and lifted her breasts, heavy in my palms, gently squeezing, before I bent and touched each nipple in turn with the tip of my tongue, tasting her warm, sweet milk.

Her breath came in a sharp little gasp.

"My Goddess, my Earth Mother," I said, getting into it now myself, the songwriter in me coming out, "gives birth to the world and all of its life," and my hands found her hips and squeezed gently.

"Oh myyyyyyyyyyyyyy," she said softly, very breathily, almost a sigh.

I got to my knees, kissing that round roll of her belly, that natural modesty hiding her sex.

"My Goddess is strong," I said, looking up at her as my hands lightly rubbed those thighs the size of a waist, feeling the softness, fingertips tracing the cellulite dimples, "to defend her children and her world."

She hissed in a long breath.

"My Goddess," I said, bending all of the way down to kiss her feet, "is worthy of my worship, I just hope I am worthy of her."

I held that position, prostrate before her, kissing her feet, until she giggled and bent over and touched my back.

"Stand, baby," she said.

I stood, slowly, caressing her skin with the skin of my forehead and cheeks as I did, across that great apron of her belly and then her breasts before I stood at my full height, looking down at her.