Big Hard Girls

by Nikki Crescent

  “No, that’s okay,” I said. I finished fucking her, leaving her with a warm, white creampie. We kept having sex each night, but it was getting harder and harder to make her come, and I was lasting longer and longer, feeling less aroused than ever before. Maybe I liked my wife with a cock. Maybe I wanted that cock back, even though it was weird and unnatural. Maybe I was a little bit gay—was that so wrong?

  My wife called me up to the bedroom one night, after our daughter was asleep. I went into the bedroom and saw her laying there with nothing but a little crop top and a skirt. “Want to fool around?” she asked.

  So I climbed up on the bed and started kissing her. She was strangely tense, keeping her body in one place and not rolling around nearly as much as usual. I didn’t think much of it. “Want to eat me out?” she asked.

  I smiled and then I began to sink down. I sucked on her nipples for a minute on the way, and then I flipped up her skirt. And as I flipped her skirt up, she spread open her legs just enough to let her strap-on cock flip up. It took me by surprise—it looked so real. It even had the same bulging tip and thick veins that Rey had before she took that second pill. My heart started pounding with a strange excitement.

  “I had my cock cast before I took that pill. It took a while for them to make it, but I think they did a good job, don’t you?”

  I ran my fingers up the long shaft. It felt real. It even had a surprisingly realistic foreskin that could be pulled up and down. Rey moaned while I stroked it. I laughed. “What? Can you feel it too?” I asked.

  She reached down and pulled on the dildo, revealing a backside that was pressed up her slit. “It’s got two ends. This end vibrated when that end is stimulated,” she said. I tested the toy out, grabbing it firmly and stroking it quickly. Rey squirmed and shuddered.

  And I felt my eyes lighting up. She didn’t have her cock anymore, but maybe she didn’t need it. And maybe it was a good thing that she took that first pill by accident. We probably would have never discovered our love for bedroom role reversal. I would have never learned that I loved taking a thick, throbbing cock in my ass, and Rey would have never learned that she loved to dominate her husband in the bedroom.

  I guess crazy things happen for a reason.

  After she finished fucking me in the ass, I asked, “How bad are the symptoms of that pill?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s like having a bad cold for a week. It wasn’t so bad the second time, when I knew what was happening.”

  “Maybe I could try having a pussy for a couple months,” I said. “That could be fun, right?”

  Her face lit up. “I won’t stop you,” she said, biting the corner of her bottom lip. We kissed and then she pushed me down and made me suck her realistic strap-on, straight out of my ass.

  THE END

  BEAUTY QUEEN

  Todd has had a crush on Jenna since he was a pre-teen boy, but he’s never had the courage to talk to her until one night at a party. Their chemistry is undeniable and Todd is excited when he gets Jenna alone in a bedroom. And then he’s shocked when she takes off her dress and undies and asks him to put them on. It’s what she’s into, and it’s the only way he’s going to get any so he plays along. He even lets her take a few pictures after she puts a bit of makeup on his face.

  It’s a few months later when Todd turns on his TV and sees one of those pictures of him all dolled up and pretty. He hasn’t just been submitted to the town’s Miss Beautiful contest—he’s won it. And now he’s expected to make an appearance on live TV, and a few other appearances around town as well.

  CHAPTER I

  It was a cold February night and I was closer than ever before to getting with Jenna Marvel, the girl I’d been obsessed with since I realized I liked girls when I was twelve years old.

  And the timing was perfect. She had recently split up with her boyfriend of eight months and she hadn’t started dating the next guy yet—and she never went very long without a boyfriend. I should have asked her out back when I was twelve, because it wasn’t long after I took notice that the other guys in town took notice as well. Shortly after she turned thirteen, Johnny Brooks asked her to be his girlfriend, and she accepted. They dated for three months, and then they split up during French class. Then she was only single for a week before Jeremy Trout asked her out on a date—and that relationship went on for over a year. Then Jenna found out that Jeremy had been seeing Vanessa Ferris on the side, so they split up, and then it was only three days before she was seen out at the movies with Brett Erskine.

  Sadly, I was keeping track: Jenna Marvel had only been single for a combined total of thirteen weeks in eight years, and she’d gone through lots of guys. But she wasn’t that kind of girl. She wasn’t ‘getting around’. In fact, none of her boyfriends ever got lucky. There was Kyle McDonough who claimed he got a blowjob, but Jenna denied it, and it was later revealed that Kyle was at his sister’s Bat Mitzvah the night he claimed it happened.

  And none of Jenna’s boyfriends were ever happy with the split. It was Brett Erskine who cried for months after Jenna told him it wasn’t going to work. He tried for years to get her back. He was still trying now, eyeing her up at that party on that cold February night. He was always eyeing her up while keeping his distance, always plotting but never making his move as if he truly believed he could win her back by acting like a creepy pervert. Twice he was caught by Jenna’s neighbours, creeping around her house in the middle of the night. He was lucky he didn’t have a restraining order.

  In the eight years that I’d been obsessed with Jenna Marvel, I’d only talked to her a total of three times. Once when I was fourteen, during English class—I asked her if I could borrow a pencil. She handed me one and said, “Keep it.” My face was red for the next three days. The second time I talked to her was when I was sixteen. We were partnered together for a science experiment, cutting open a frog on a lab table. I was so shocked with elation that I’d been paired with her that I only ended up saying a total of ten words at most. Our gloved hands accidentally brushed near the end of class, and then my cheeks were red for the next week. The third time I talked to her was at graduation. I bumped into her while leaving the auditorium and said, “Sorry.” She looked and me and smiled and said, “Are you going to the after party tonight?” I was too shy to respond, so I just shook my head awkwardly. I went to the party but I was too terrified to approach her.

  She was just too beautiful—far too beautiful for our little small town. She had long blonde hair and amazing curves and the shiniest blue eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life. Her teeth weren’t perfect: a bit crooked in spots, but that only made her cuter. And my God, that mole next to her nose—I bet I could have drawn that beautiful face from memory if I had to.

  When my friend, Stan, asked me to go out to a party with him that cold February night, I almost said no. I wasn’t big into drinking or smoking pot or staying up late or talking to strangers. “It’s not going to be all strangers. A few people you went to high school with are going.” I still almost said no, but the other option was to stay at home and play video games all night, which I was getting very sick of doing night after night after night. So I dragged my feet into that loud, booming house, and then I saw her from across the living room, standing with a drink in her hand and a big, gorgeous smile on her face.

  I hadn’t seen her in over a year, since we went to different colleges across town from each other. I still crept her Facebook page from time to time—and her Instagram page, and her Twitter page, and occasionally even her Tumblr page—but I hadn’t seen her in person. She looked like the same girl I’d spent years fawning over, but now she looked a little bit more mature. She had her hair tied back into a neat bun, and her makeup was clean and crisp. There was something elegant about the way she carried herself, and there was something majestic about the way she shifted her weight from one leg to the other while she chatted with her friends from across town.

  And I wasn’t even at that party for fiv
e minutes before I overheard two guys talking. “You know Jenna is single again, right? She’s probably even looking for a rebound.”

  I went straight to the kitchen and poured myself a stiff drink. I drank it fast and felt the alcohol burning my tongue and throat. I knew I was going to need the liquor if I was going to have even the slightest chance at getting with Jenna Marvel.

  For years, I’d been telling myself: ‘If you don’t man up and talk to her, you will spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been.’ I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been. I had a fantasy in my head that wasn’t so unrealistic: living in a modest house, maybe out in the suburbs, with a kid or two and maybe a dog, and Jenna Marvel by my side, her hand in mine. Why couldn’t that fantasy be real? Maybe because I still didn’t have the balls to talk to her after eight years…

  But that night was different. I hadn’t seen her in a year and I knew it would probably be a long time before I saw her again—and by then, she might not be single. In fact, chances were good that she wouldn’t be single, so I had to act now, despite my crippling anxiety.

  I went to the bathroom and I stared at myself for a few minutes, repeating, “You can do this,” over and over. I slapped myself on the face and then I took a series of deep breaths. “You can do this,” I said again before turning around and throwing myself back out into the party.

  And I didn’t make it far—literally. I was two steps out from the bathroom when my body slammed into Jenna Marvel. Her drink flew out from her hand and splashed against her dress. And sadly, her drink was red wine, and her dress was white. “I’m so sorry,” I said, speaking to her for the fourth time in eight years.

  She looked down at her dress and then she looked up at me. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s a cheap dress.”

  “I’ll replace it anyway,” I said.

  “It’s really okay.”

  “In fact, we can fix it. I know a trick. Give me the dress and I’ll get the stain out in ten minutes.” My aunt worked at a dry-cleaners and she lived in our basement for six months after her husband left her. Sometimes she would bring her work home with her, and she would dry-clean clothes upstairs on our kitchen table because she said she didn’t get enough light down in the basement—so I really did know a few tricks.

  Jenna laughed. “It’s really okay.”

  “I’m serious. Give me the dress while it’s wet and I’ll get the stain out.”

  She laughed again and then her brow lowered. “Wait—I know you. You’re Todd. We went to school together.” My legs trembled as my name fluttered out from her beautiful lips. She knew my name—even a year after graduation, she still knew my name.

  I nodded my head quickly and stupidly. “Yeah, I’m Todd,” I said. “And you’re Jenna Marvel.”

  “That’s correct. It’s been so long. How have you been? You look good.” I felt my face turning dark red. Did she just compliment me? Did the girl of my dreams just tell me that I looked good?

  I stuttered and then managed to say, “Thanks. I’ve been good. How have you been? I’m so sorry about that dress. Please let me take it and get that stain out.”

  She didn’t let me take the dress, but we did get to talking. And it wasn’t a short, passing conversation. It turned into the real deal. She asked me about college, I asked her about college. Then we got to talking about family, and somehow that conversation turned to politics. And somehow that turned into talking about movies. And then we were in the kitchen together, pouring a new set of drinks, clinking our glasses together and looking into each other’s eyes while drinking. An hour went by and then it occurred to me that I was probably dreaming. I reached down and pinched my arm hard, eliciting an “ouch” from my own lips.

  Jenna laughed. “What are you doing?” She was looking down at my arm, which now had a red spot from where I’d just pinched.

  “Uh, nothing. I just had an itch,” I said. This conversation was really happening. I was really talking to Jenna Marvel, and she was really listening and smiling and glowing.

  “So what made you want to pursue an art degree?” I asked. “Are you really good at drawing?” It seemed like a stupid question, but not until I’d said it out loud.

  She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t really draw at all. I’m not into new art,” she said.

  “New art? Like modern art? Like, those paintings that are just splattered paint, or whatever?” And then I shut up as I realized I was probably sounded condescending.

  She laughed. “No—more like social art.” She tried to vaguely explain ‘social art’ to me, but I was a little bit too distracted to listen. There was a slight breeze coming into the room and it was making her golden hair dance just a little bit, making her look like a model you might see on the cover of a magazine.

  Even with a big red stain on the middle of her chest, she was beautiful—more beautiful than any other girl in that town. I could feel the gazes of jealous men tingling my back as they waited for me to slip up so they could swoop in and claim the next chapter of Jenna’s life.

  But now I had confidence—from our talk and from the booze. We had way more in common than I could have predicted. She was funny and sweet and we liked all the same movies and all the same shows and we must have talked for an hour about Gogol Bordello after we found out that we both had tickets to their upcoming concert. I had to pee but I didn’t want to go because I didn’t want our conversation to end.

  And then finally, around midnight, Jenna said, “Why don’t you show me how to get the stain out of this dress.” She didn’t wait for an answer before turning around and heading up the stairs, towards the bedrooms. I was frozen for a moment before I realized she was asking me to join her in a bedroom—maybe to make out, maybe to fuck, or maybe just to get that stain out. And I knew that I would be happy with any of the options.

  CHAPTER II

  So there I was, standing in a bedroom with Jenna Marvel. She was staring at me with big, glowing eyes, and I was tempted to pinch my arm again. Just a couple of hours before, I thought my night would be spent playing video games, wondering how different life would have been had I ever had the courage to ask Jenna out on a date. Maybe God was listening to my internal dialogue. Maybe he was now giving me that chance that I’d missed in high school. Or maybe this was just fate, coming full circle.

  “Well?” she said.

  And I thought she was waiting for me to kiss her. So I took a deep breath and I stepped forward, ready to slip my arms around her and ready to press her lips against mine.

  And then she said, “Don’t you need soap or water or anything? How are you going to get the stain out?”

  My heart fluttered and then a chill crept down my spine. She really did just want her dress cleaned—and that was fine. I could still ask her out when it was all done. I was still being given a second chance, if you can even call it a second chance after eight years—maybe more like a seven-hundredth chance. But I wasn’t going to miss my opportunity this time. Even if she said no and laughed in my face, I still had to try. I couldn’t live with any ‘what ifs’.

  “Water—right. I’ll go grab what I need. You just wait here and, uh, take off your dress. Maybe you can wrap that blanket around yourself in the meantime. It will only take me ten minutes.”

  She smiled at me, melting my heart, and then I scurried away to grab what I needed. I got a few things from the kitchen and a few things from the laundry room in the basement. I probably looked crazy as I zipped through the party with a large armful of cleaning supplies and soda water. But I didn’t care if I looked like some Charles Manson lunatic. I was being given a shot at the most beautiful girl in the city and I wasn’t going to blow it.

  When I got back to the room, Jenna was on the bed with a white duvet wrapped around her naked body. Her dress was hanging on the bedframe. My heart skipped a beat and I tried to force my eyes not to look at her. That blanket was hardly teetering an inch above her nipples. One little s
lip and I would be able to see everything. One little slip and I would find out how close my fantasies were to reality.

  I grabbed the dress and pulled it over to the dresser. “This will be easy because it’s white,” I said. My face was red hot.

  “Take your time,” she said.

  “It will be a bit wet when it’s done—I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, that’s fine. I don’t plan on putting it back on until it’s dry anyway,” she said. And I didn’t look back. My legs trembled and my whole body suddenly felt hot. Was she suggesting that we were going to spend the night in that room? Or was I just being stupidly optimistic?

  I got the right mixture into a little bowl and then I started to scrub it gently into the dress. I used a handful of tissues to absorb the wine that was being lifted out from the white fabric. It was coming out easily, which was a relief because I wasn’t one hundred percent sure the dress could really be saved—that was also just some stupid optimism.

  I found myself too afraid to look back at her. She was suddenly silent, as if she was no longer in the room, though I didn’t hear her leave. But I didn’t want to look back and see that she was gone. I didn’t want this moment to end, even though the moment was technically just me cleaning a girl’s dress. Jenna was within my grasp and I had to make sure that every word that came out from my mouth was the right word, and every action was the right action. But I also knew I had to say something, or our chemistry would drop dead in an instant. “So do you like dresses?” I said. I quickly regretted asking such a stupid question.

  I heard her cute laugh. “I like them on special occasions, like tonight.”

  “Is tonight special?” I asked.

  “It could be,” she said. It was another comment that sunk deep into my gut and swirled around in my stomach. The girl of my dreams just told me that the night could be special, while sitting on a bed with no more than a blanket around her naked body. Surely there couldn’t be too many ways to read into such an innuendo.