I can tell there will be trouble when it first starts. Here is my second wife, huddled in the den with her older girlfriends on a rainy Friday night, sipping wine and chatting. And as with most chats, it turns to one thing: sex, or rather the lack of it thereof.
Now, this is my wife Cheryl's first marriage, and there are some things she doesn't know that I should've already hipped her to. There are things you talk about with your girlfriends and things you don't.
But before I get too far, let me describe my winsome wife. Cheryl, 35, is 5'4", four inches shorter than me. She has smooth, caramel skin than makes me want to taste every inch of her often. Her C-cup melons, with their thick, peg-like chocolate nipples, get the lion's share of attention from my soft lips, especially since she loves to thrust them in my face when she's riding me. She's got a bit of a tummy, but her sweet, wide, 38" hips with accompanying juicy thighs more than makes up for it. The way her big ass quivers when I fuck her from behind has me gritting my teeth and trying to do trigonometry in my head, all in an attempt to hold off cumming until her frothy pussy squeezes my cock rhythmically in orgasm. But Cheryl's most potent weapons are her almond-shaped, hazel eyes that hypnotize me at any given moment, and her plush, pink lips. Hell, kissing my wife as we do for hours on end is almost better than sex. Almost.
Her friend, Marie, 38, is almost a pixie. With her red hair, green eyes, and 5-foot-even stature, she can't be more than 98 pounds soaking wet. Her chest is pretty much non-existent, but her nipples seem to be always hard and poking through anything she wears. Her cute, heart-shaped ass is the most prominent thing on her body—not that I notice these things, mind you.
Andi, her girlfriend from down the street, is the tallest, standing 5'11". She has long, lean legs, showing some muscle definition, very slender hips, and a flat tummy. You'd almost think she was a boy, except for the fat, D-cup tits thrusting high and proud on her chest. At 40 years of age, you'd think they'd have a hint of sag to them, but no. It leads me to question if they're really hers or not, but damn, they fucking look good anyway. With her sandy-blond, shoulder-length hair, and her dazzling blue eyes, she's the quintessential MILF of the group.
Cheryl's third friend, Trixie, 39, is the bona fide BBW. She's 5'5" and must weigh near the 200's. But strangely enough, she's a sexy package, sporting a pair of huge, mahogany DD's? F's? (I'd love to take a peek at that bra size.) Her waist is relatively small before flaring out to an outlandishly-wide ass. Trixie looks like an exaggerated hourglass, but she carries and dresses it well. And she knows how to flaunt it, using her big, brown eyes, cute button nose, and winning smile to flirt heavily. I don't know how her husband, Theo, puts up with it.
So anyway, it's a Friday night, right, raining cats and dogs outside in mid-April, and I'm planted in front of our big-screen plasma TV in the living room watching some action flick on our fiberoptic connection. And the women are laughing, drinking, and talking. Then their voices get low. I know they're chatting about something they don't want me to hear. Suddenly, Andi says in that brassy voice of hers, "I don't see what's the big deal about sex, anyway."
There is a moment in which there is absolute silence. That, right then, is when I should've jumped up, grabbed Cheryl, pulled her into the kitchen out of earshot, and told her the Golden Rule. But hey, a guy hears an attractive woman (not that I notice these things, anyway) utter that magic word—SEX—and strange things happen. I got rooted to my plush Barcalounger. My dark dong surged to half-hardness in my relaxed-fit jeans. I swallowed a lump in my throat as my thumb gently pressed the down-volume button on my ever-present remote.
I guess they were waiting to see if I responded in some way. Once satisfied that I was too wrapped up in my movie to have given them another thought, they continued.
"Well, it's true," Andi says, this time a little quieter. "Sex is no big deal to me. Al comes to bed, slobbers all over my boobs for a few minutes, then sticks it in. It's just starting to feel good when he pops, rolls over and goes to sleep."
Al's my golfing buddy. Big, strapping guy, over six feet, was a defensive lineman in college. He's balding now and has a paunch, but still has a lot of that college muscle left over underneath. He always gives me the impression he'd rather watch ESPN SportsCenter than get it on hot and heavy under the sheets. Still, I hate hearing about it this way. My dick starts to soften a little.
Marie is the shy type, so I'm surprised when she pipes up. "Is he, you know, big down there?"
Andi chuckles. "He's okay, I guess," she replies. "I still like the feel of it, if only he'd go a little longer." She sighs.
"I wish Johnny had one his size, then," Marie says. "Johnny's is huge."
Another pause. "HOW huge?" Trixie asks. I can almost hear the calculating in her head.
"I measured him once when we first started...um...you know...he's, like, 9 ½ inches," Marie says. "And it hurts so much when he shoves it in. When he takes his time and makes sure I'm good and we—umm, ready, it can be really good. But most of the time he just drives it home, and I feel like he's ripping me apart. Maybe I could get used to it if we did it more often, but..."
I winced involuntarily, thinking about a wee frame like Marie's taking on a monster prick like Johnny's. Johnny's a dark-haired, rail-thin car mechanic with his own garage over on Maple Street. Sometimes I hang out with him while he's working on my ride. He brags about having a big one all the time, and I guess he's right. But lots of big-dicked men think that's all they need to please a woman, and use it like a battering ram instead. They forget about using their fingers, lips, tongue and teeth to get a woman primed before working their big muscles inside.
"Well, at least y'all men can get it up," says Trixie with a huff. "Theo talks a big game, but when it's showtime, he's limp as a noodle."
"There's a little blue pill that can fix that right up, you know," replies Andi.
"I know that, you know that, errybody and their fuckin' MOTHER knows that," Trixie answers, agitated. "But Theo don't want no doctor tellin' him he's got that erectile dysfunction crap. Won't even think of goin'." She takes a long sip of wine, draining the glass. "But I bet he can get it up fo' his fuckin' big ass secretary, though. Fuckin' office slut..."
I didn't know much about Theo. We're cordial acquaintances at best. He's an investment banker downtown, and we ride the same commuter train. His girth matches Trixie's, although he's taller by a few inches, and it's conceivable that his weight, plus his high-stress job, makes it tough for him to rise to the occasion.
