This time it is I, Ellen, who am writing in place of my husband, John, who has documented almost all of the very few adventures in eroticism that we have enjoyed in our life together. In fact there is only one other encounter to date that John has not reported on, and he finds it all rather tame, but I found it all terribly erotic, much more so that John did, and so he suggested that it be I who should write it down for you.
It began with my friend Gail, who has been my closest friend since childhood, a fellow Catholic schoolgirl for 12 years. We even went to the same college together, and it was there and then that I became aware of her since-puberty obsession with men gifted with very large penises. Due to our upbringing this was a huge taboo even to discuss at our frequent get-togethers at one another's dorm rooms, or, later on, sleepovers at our apartments. But finally it all came out, her big obsession, and though Gail has remained unmarried (we are now both in our 50s), she is still lovely of face with the body of a high school girl.
At a recent luncheon, Gail confided in me that she felt that "her youth was gone", and though she has had many proposals over the decades and would like to settle down with a man, she believes her "Size Queen" persona would prove a curse that would work against her. I asked why this was so and was shocked at her reply that she simply has no interest in small or average-sized men, and could never be intimate with one. Indeed she had gone so far as to place ads in various publications to meet with men to satisfy her urges, but had what she called a "dangerous encounter" that ended her pursuits along this line. She did not elaborate.
As a girl, her obsession terrified her, but as she grew older she did research and discovered that there were many women like her, and eventually began to accept, and enjoy, who she really was. But she, like so many of us women, wanted more from a relationship as we mature. She wanted to find the Right Guy.
"So now I live like a nun," she told me over dessert. "I satisfy the urge, well... by myself."
"You think the nuns did that!" I gasped in mock horror, and we both laughed.
As the conversation went on, I kept coming back in my mind to John's painter friend, Rice. That's not his name, but that's what people call him and I never asked his real name. Besides, I changed it again to write about the encounter!
According to John, Rice is legendary in the local art scene, not so much for his paintings and sculpture, but for his (I troubled over how to put this, but I better just get it over with and used to it), very large genitals. It's so obvious, too. Even before John told me of his gifts along these lines, it was obvious at my first and every encounter with him that there is nothing he can do to hide it. I'm not size-obsessed myself, but it's hard for a girl to ignore completely. All things being equal, a girl likes to feel a little stretch.
"Ellen? Did you hear me? Are you there?" Gail asked.
"Oh. Sorry. I was thinking."
"More important than hearing about my new sheets? It must be important!"
"Well, maybe." I said, still musing.
"Well? What?"
"John has this friend..."
Gail moaned. "Oh gawd... what, a blind date?"
"Well, slow down." I instructed, and she sat back, crossed her arms and went into listening mode, with an attitude.
"He's an artist. A painter. And not only sweet and fun, but..."
"But?"
"But he's... Huge."
Gail burst out laughing. "And how would YOU know?"
"Oh no. Nothing like that."
"How, then."
"Well, by reputation, for one thing. John and their friends tease him mercilessly about it, plus..."
"Yeah? Plus what?"
"It's just so incredibly obvious." I said.
Gail sat quietly now, staring down at her shoes.
"You say he's a sweet guy?" she asked quietly.
* * *
So I ran it by John. He didn't say anything, just smiled and sat for a few minutes running it all through his brain, glancing over at me occasionally and shaking his head.
"It could get out of hand."
"Oh no." I said. John shook his head. "Okay." I said. "How?"
"How does this play out? Will we just introduce them, have dinner, a few drinks? Or will this turn into... you know... one of those nights?"
I thought about this. Readers who know us will understand that we can count our odd erotic encounters in our lifetime in one hand, but this did have all the earmarks and potential.
"Well, so what it things got a little wild. It might be fun!" I said. I realized that we, too, were not getting any younger.
"Not fun for me." John said. "Gail is a Size Queen, Rice is hung like a horse; I'm an average guy. How exactly will this be fun for me if things get wild?"
I hadn't thought of that. "Honey," I said, "I'm not a Size Queen. I'm not nursing an attraction for Rice. I mean, he's a swell guy and all that, but this is about Gail. I want her to have fun, for her to get to know him. Maybe good things will happen."
So John, sweet man that he is, agreed to the plan. I asked him if he would advise Rice a little beforehand, so he at least knew what he was getting into. Well, John SAID he would.
But he didn't.
* * *
We hosted the gathering, Gail's "blind date", at our home on a Saturday evening a few months back. It was summer and it was a warm night. John wore jeans and a white shirt (his typical daily uniform), and I wore a white sundress with a red cinch. For those who have not read John's accounts of our few odd adventures, John is slim, wears glasses, is very handsome, a lecturer at the university these days, and loves jazz and wine. I am full-figured but not fat, proud of my figure, confident, white skin, have unruly long black hair with some grey now (I won't color it). John says I have a lovely face and big blue eyes, and I would like to take him at his word.
Gail is slim. Sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of white wine, she looked nervous, almost brittle. Though she is small, she has the most lovely shape I think I ever saw in a woman. A lovely, normal, healthy body with nothing exaggerated. From across a room she looks like a schoolgirl, and only close-up can one see the deepened character that the decades have brought to her face -- but as a maturity, not a degrading. It occurred to me as I appraised her, how in the world can she take on these huge male members? She just looks too small. Oh well!
The knock on the door was Rice. After John and I gave our greetings I introduced him to Gail. She just glowed. I don't know what she was expecting, but Rice looked very handsome tonight, and he seemed a little jarred at Gail's presence.
"I thought it was just me tonight!" he said. "I'm glad I was mistaken," and he squeezed Gail's hand in greeting.
I shot a look at John, who smiled sheepishly back at me. He obviously gave no hint at all to Rice about the reason for tonight, not even telling him that Gail would be here. Men!
Rice is tall and thin, mid-40s is my guess, with short brown hair and one of those faces that looks like it needs a shave an hour after he shaves. Kind of a hairy guy, but attractive, with deep brown eyes and a smile that always seems to be there, as if it is his natural expression. He was in a white shirt and jeans, too, like John, but unlike my sweet John, he sported a bump down below that reminded me of one of those cod-pieces that one sees men wear in old paintings. His jeans were loose on him, it wasn't like he was showing off, there was just nowhere to hide what he had going on down there.
We had drinks and dinner, and Rice got on so well with glowing Gail that it made me glow, too. Maybe they would have something together, I hoped. He was courteous, even courtly, and she was sweetly responsive throughout the evening.
We each had a brandy and looked out of our big window at the woods behind our home, the sun just setting in a blaze of orange behind the trees. I was feeling warm inside and, well, a little mischievous. So I made a suggestion.
"I know what!" I announced. "Let's have a sauna!"
We had a single out-building on the property, a well-built sauna that we used all year round. It was brick, large, and very comfortable.