A fat black old woman story: seven steps is a short way for rewarding.
I want to share my story because I did not expect at my age to find a (young) lover and experience such delight in it (may it last forever!).
The first step: "Well, I accepted my new job in New York and he didn't want give up his to move with me, so I've ended our relationship." With this words a younger friend of my announced me that she ended her relationship with a fine young white man. They are both 32 years old and in the eyes of a 63 years old black woman like me, unacceptable to end a relationship for such a reason; I am old fashion by this.
"If you love him enough you could stay here with your job and be happy with him?" I said.
She responded. "No man can stand in the way of my carrier. I have made my decision and by the end of the week, I'm gone. A new place, a new job, and a whole new life for me."
I answered: "Just leave such a wonderful man for that? That's not fair and not nice from you and I think you're very selfish!"
"Well, you may have him. Comfort him if you want to. I've notified you two get well along together! Didn't you know I've noticed if he's passing you, he likes to grab you by your ass and you let him?" She laughed: "Maybe he like being comfort by an fat black old woman like you!"
I was shocked and did not understand why she had to be so rude. I kept quiet for a while. Then I got angry: "I think you better leave now!"
And she went, leaving me shocked. I knew I was a fat black old woman, widowed for 14 years now. My late husband was always fond of me, in those days I had half the largeness I was now and I remembered he could not take his eyes off me in all those years we are together. Yes, I did have a big ass and my breast has always been large. But my husband liked them and searched me several times a week to make love to me. But, I think as compensation of lack missing him, I began eating more and more. And now I admit, 14 years later, I am fat. I do not use the scale anymore but I think I am near 290 lbs now. Even my ass and my breast grow in the same proportions. I do not mind, I have learned to live with it.
During the days, the words of the former friend (I don't think we're friends anymore) kept my mind busy. Somehow, I was fond of this friendly, nice white man. He sure was good looking, blue eyes, we black women fond of, a nice bush of blond hair, and a nice slender body shape. We made a lot of jokes together and I have notified sometimes, when he was greeting me, his kiss on my cheek lasted longer then required. Also sometimes the way he looked at me, maybe because of my fat ass, my big belly, or my large breast?
I've also notified that, when he was passing me, he always lightly stroked my ass, as if I didn't notice; I let him because it's a pleasant feeling and didn't want his (ex) girlfriend to know he did. But she did as I now discovered.
But her words kept me occupied. I may be 63 with a fat black old body but I have got feelings too. I miss the touches, the lovemaking, and what it does to me. I sure like to comfort him and I needed some overdue comfort too!
And only those words of her loosen those feeling with me! What if... No! It is too silly to think off! But..... if the greeting, the touch on my ass, the looking at me?? I felt a pleasant shiver by the tough of it running over my body; I have got that special feeling in my belly and felt a light tingle beneath it. What if he feels really attracted to a fat black old woman like me? Should I give it a try??
That night I had a very pleasant dream about the young white man and me. But next morning, standing naked in the bathroom in front of the mirror, I rejected the thought. Fat, fat, fat; rolls of fat I saw in the mirror, a big massive black belly, and an enormous black ass, worth a mention for the Guinness Book of records. And I was certain; if this young white man saw my gray pubic hair, he would run away. I did not shave my pussy since my husband died because I saw no need for it.
So, the first thing I did was shaving it. I sat myself down on the floor in front of a mirror for I could not see my own pussy because of my large boobies and my fat belly. I took my time, first with a scissor clipping most of my gray pubic hair as possible, then spreading my legs as wide apart as I could get and began to lathering my pussy with shaving soap. Fortunately, I had a razor blade in provision.
Carefully I began to shave my pussy, one hand holding the raiser, the other one of my pussy lips. An hour later, after taking a shower, I looked with joy at my new born pussy. It felt magnificent as bald as it was! Feelings of lovemaking came over me. More then ever I wanted this young white man.
For the rest, I couldn't make better of other parts of my fat black old body; maybe he like my boobs, men do have some fetish for them and I have a pair, which always attracted men's eyes. And, maybe he like my new born pussy. Now bald, you could see that my pussy had fat puss lips, I think, as they should be, not a pair of flabby little skin, I'm proud of mine!
The words of that woman and the possibility of lovemaking with this white young man did not leave hold of my mind. But my what.. if's kept bothering me.
A few days later I thought: "Why don't I give it a try? There is nothing to loose except that if I try perhaps he will never want to see me again. I have to make a plan."
I knew him that well that a carefully approach was required. And, if I did well, he would not notify; I knew my sub tile womanly tricks, he is going to ask for it himself if I played it well or else I can deny if he accuse me of seducing him. I knew what to do! First, I had to call this young white man.
And so I did; I knew I had to be very patient with him. He had just digesting the lost of his relationship. And I was right, the voice of this young white man sounded depressed and it was a short call. Not that he was impolite, no; he just was not in the mood for talking.
But I am a persistent person; I called him every two days at evening and our conversations became more relaxed. He got used to it. Then I thought it was time for me to wait if he would miss my calls if I did not call him. The second evening after my last call (I used to call around eight) I waited; a half hour passed by, three quarters, and then............. the phone rang. Although I wanted to, I did not hurry to pick up the phone but when I finally did it was the young white man! Step one did ring a bell!
The second step: Now I had to come near to him! I have read in the papers the yearly Pasar Malan was coming. Pasar Malan is a kind of Indonesian marketplace where they sell Indonesian goods and delicious food (and I'm fond of it!). I knew he likes of that kind of event and I arranged for us to go for next Sunday.
I have considered how I should handle this. Shall I call him and tell him about it or should I kept silent and surprise him. It kept my mind busy for a couple of days. At last, I had decided not to tell him. I made my preparation; I bought a new set of clothes and some other woman stuff and painted my hair black (I was rather gray at that moment).
That Sunday morning I have to stand up early fixed my self to look as sharp as a fat black old woman could be and stepped in my car. On my way to his home my what...if's again entered my mind. What if he wasn't at home? What if he was at home and had a new girlfriend, I did not know of, with him? What if he will not let me in and send me home again?
Well, all I had to do is set through and wait what would happen. At a half past eight in the morning exact, I rang at his doorbell. It took a while but fortunately, I saw a sleepy head looking from his bedroom window.
"What you're doing here at this time? Is something the matter?" he said, "It's just half past eight!"
