Coming Together With Curves

by Victoria Blisse

  Tariq bucked up into Marisa's warm mouth. She squeezed the base of his cock and his balls quaked. This was it, oh yeah. Pressure mounted. Any second now, he wouldn't be able to hold it in. He gripped to the back of Marisa's neck with one hand and Chloe's leash with the other. He thrust as much as she'd let him. As predicted, that well-known feeling of bliss overwhelmed him. He released, and warm cum streamed from his cock like a volcanic eruption.

  Marisa kept sucking until he was too sensitive to handle the delicate warmth of her mouth. Zipping up his sopping-wet pants, she smiled and nibbled his ear. "Wasn't that good?"

  "No, that was bad," Tariq scolded like a child's disciplinarian. "You are a very naughty girl."

  "If that was so bad," she teased, "then how come I got a whole mouthful?"

  With a chuckle, Tariq collapsed like a dead man on the bench. He laughed. "I can't believe you gave me a blowjob in a park!" When he let his head fall on the cushion of Marisa's lap, Chloe wasted no time in jumping onto his belly.

  "You were a surprisingly good girl," Marisa praised, petting her head. "I wish I had treats with me."

  "I can't wait until you have a giant belly," Tariq mused.

  "Won't be long now," she said with a smile. "Come on, get up. It's home time."

  Groaning, he fought the urge to fall fast asleep. "Can you carry me?"

  "Give me a break," she chuckled. Treetops obscured the night sky. It would be great to see stars, but light pollution put an end to that years ago. "Are you asleep?"

  "Yes."

  Giving him a playful slap on the cheek, she said, "You never did tell me your version of how we met."

  "That's right." He reveled in his impending moment of vindication. "It was on the subway."

  Marisa reflected, her eyes gleaming as she looked deeply into his. "Yeah, that's what you said at dinner."

  "I can't believe you don't remember. On the way to the board of directors meeting, you and I were on the same subway car. You were standing right in front of me, so close I could almost touch you."

  Her eyebrows furrowed, like she was trying to make it true in her mind. Finally, she shook her head. "I guess I didn't notice, babe."

  "Well, I sure noticed you. The moment I saw you, I was gone. It was love like I'd never felt it. I was tense all through my chest, I could barely breathe, but I had to say something because I knew you were the woman I was going to marry."

  The look she shot him spelled b-u-l-l-s-h-i-t!

  "Serious!" he went on. "So you know what I said to you?"

  "I have no recollection of any of this…"

  "You had your subway pass on a lanyard around your neck, and I said, "Hey that's smart. That way you won't lose it."

  "You didn't!" Marisa chuckled.

  "I did. If I was making stuff up, I'd come up with something more suave than a comment about your subway pass."

  "Are you sure it was me? I don't remember…"

  "Absolutely," he said. He needed to convince her. "And then I said…"

  "Oh god, there's more?"

  "Yeah, I told you that my old granny lost her bus pass. She was crying, being out all that money. You didn't say anything, so I kept going. I should tell her to wear it around her neck. That's a smart idea."

  A light went on. Marisa's mouth fell wide open. She held her dumbstruck pose for a moment before laughing so hard she knocked Tariq and Chloe clear off the bench. "Christ Almighty!"

  "You remember now?" He brushed the dirt from his knees before scooping Chloe into his arms.

  "Yes," she cackled, rising to her feet. "I thought you were an utter fool!"

  "Thanks," Tariq replied. He helped her up from the bench and they sauntered through the park. She kept laughing even as they headed home. "But do you remember what you did next?"

  Marisa doubled over in hysterics, crossing her legs like she might pee if she kept laughing so hard. "I walked to the other side of the subway car to get away from you."

  Bingo! "You do remember me!"

  It took her nearly five minutes to catch her breath. When the hooting died to giggles, she assured him, "I remember the situation, but, baby, I didn't actually look at you then. You think I pay attention to every strange man who talks to me on the subway? I thought you might solicit spare change for your poor old granny."

  As they cut across deserted tennis courts, she took his arm in hers. Chloe leaned in to lick her chin. "But if we were on the same train, why did you get to the AGM so long after me?"

  "I got lost. Then, when I saw you sitting at that board table, I thought, Shit! I hope I'm in the wrong place. But you waved me over to sit next to you. All this time I thought you were being nice to make up for walking away on the subway."

  "Nope!" she replied with another peal of laughter. "And they say marriage is a stagnant institution. I can't wait to tell the girls I didn't even remember meeting you."

  Tariq came to a halt at the edge of the tennis courts. Placing his hands on Marisa's belly, he said, "Make sure to tell them—and Darien, and this little baby, and anyone else who asks—that it was love at first sight. Ours might have two sides, but it's still a great story."

  Marisa leaned forward to kiss his lips. "A love-at-first-sight story."

  The Wrong End of the Stick

  © Lucy Felthouse

  Bonnie stifled a sigh. He was doing it again. Staring at her, as he had been every day that week. She was on a fortnight's training course through work. She was the only one from her office who'd been sent. As a result, she knew no one and ended up sitting alone in the college's cafeteria at lunchtimes. She'd had a couple of invites from kindly people also on her course, but she'd turned them down. It wasn't that she was being rude or anti-social, she just hated people to see her eat. She was a big girl—that was putting it politely—and when people saw her have a meal, she could feel the judgment rolling off them in waves, the thoughts that she was fat because she ate so much.

  It wasn't true. About what she ate, that was. She was fat, and there was no denying it. But it certainly wasn't her doing. She'd been born to large parents, and despite a healthy diet and plenty of exercise, she was still overweight. All she ever managed to shift was a pound or two here and there, and that was hardly noticeable, particularly on a woman her size. She kept at it, though, resigned to being a larger lady, but determined not to get any bigger.

  Because she'd always been big, she was used to the snide comments, the dirty and derisive looks, the open stares. So it didn't upset her any more, but she still got irritated when people simply gawped at her. Surely one glance was enough for them to ascertain that yes, she was a shapely girl, and then move on. In most cases it was, particularly if she glared at the person in question. But not with this guy. She was sure he was trying to be subtle, because he often averted his gaze as she trained hers on him. But even if he'd looked away, she could tell by the position of his head and body that he'd been peeking at her. Again.

  Now, on day seven, she was almost at boiling point. What the hell was his problem? Had no one ever told him it was rude to stare? She was on the verge of doing just that.

  Eating her lunch was an unpleasant task, knowing she was being observed. If she hadn't been so damn hungry, she'd have left it. But she'd been running late that morning and had committed that mortal sin—missing breakfast. So her chicken salad—with no dressing—was absolutely necessary to avoid making herself feel ill, or passing out, so she devoured every last morsel. She ate faster than she normally would, not because she was being greedy, but because the sooner she finished eating, the sooner she'd stop feeling so damn self-conscious about the guy across the room watching her.

  She decided to give him one last chance. When she'd finished her lunch, she'd drink her carton of apple juice, then sit for a few seconds, doing nothing. If he continued to look at her, she was going to stomp over there and give him what for. If he didn't, then she'd carry on with life and do her best to forget about him and his rudeness.

  Deep down, she knew s
he was going to have to go over and say something to him. After seven days, he wasn't going to suddenly amend his habits. She was just being a bit of a wimp, really, hoping to find some way of getting out of confrontation, because she didn't like it, not one bit, and it was absolutely a last resort. Unfortunately, she couldn't think of a single other way of stopping him from doing it. Perhaps she could put up a sign in front of her saying "Please stop staring at me." But if he couldn't take the hint when she'd glared at him, he wouldn't take any notice of a piece of paper.

  Several minutes later, her salad was gone and she moved onto her drink. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she saw he was just as interested in her now as he had been when she'd been eating. Damn, confrontation it was then.

  Draining the carton, she gathered her plate, cutlery and other rubbish onto her tray, stood up and slid it onto the rack nearest her. Then she returned to her table, grabbed her bag, pulled in a deep breath through her nostrils and marched over to the Peeping Tom. She slid out the chair opposite him and sat down on it.

  "Can I help you?" she asked. Now she was close to him, she couldn't help noticing that, annoying gawping habit aside, the guy was pretty cute. He had strawberry blond hair, pale skin, eyebrows and eyelashes to match, startling blue eyes and full red lips. Every time she'd seen him he'd been sitting at a table, so she had little clue about his height or physique, but his face was a damn good start. He looked about her age, too, mid-thirties. She chastised herself—she was meant to be telling him off, not lusting over him!

  "W—what do you mean?" he replied, the blood draining from his face and making him even paler.

  "I think you know, Mister. I've been attending this college on a training course for seven working days now, and on every single one of them, I've caught you staring at me at lunchtime. And you haven't even been subtle about it, either. You've gawped openly and it's doing my head in. Which is why I've come to find out exactly what your problem is, and to ask you to please pack it in."

  "M—my problem?"

  "Is it because I'm fat? Haven't you ever seen a fat person before? If you haven't, you've led a very sheltered life. And regardless of whether you have or not, hasn't anyone ever told you that it's rude to stare?" She was getting into her stride now—as much as she hated it, he'd driven her to this. She thought she'd kept the volume of her voice pretty low, but apparently not enough, because they were drawing stares from other tables nearby. But at least they had a valid reason to look—not many people could resist checking out an argument or a fight.

  "F—fat?" The colour that had drained from his face came back, then heightened further and further until he began to resemble a tomato. He clutched the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles went white. "You're not fat. Y—you're beautiful." He dropped his gaze to the table then, and remained resolutely silent until Bonnie spoke again, which was a good few seconds later, as what he'd said sunk in.

  "Hey," she said quietly, and, she hoped, kindly. "Look at me." Considering the whole point of their conversation, she was aware her words were ironic, but she only had another twenty minutes before she had to be back in her class, so there was no time to waste. He looked up.

  "What's your name?" she asked.

  "Owen."

  "Well, Owen, I'm Bonnie. Would you like to go somewhere a little more private and talk? We seem to have amassed quite an audience here." She indicated the people at the surrounding tables, who quickly looked away.

  He glanced around, and a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, then immediately disappeared again, presumably as he realised the seriousness of the situation he was in. He nodded, then excused himself to put his own tray on the rack, before returning to where Bonnie still sat. "Okay," he said, "but I don't have long. I have to be in class in just over fifteen minutes."

  "Don't worry, so do I. Let's just go and clear the air and sort this out, then we can get to where we're meant to be, all right?"

  He nodded again, then followed her from the cafeteria and out into the corridor.

  Bonnie turned right down the passageway, heading to the door that led out into the courtyard. She'd been able to see it from the classroom she'd been in for her course, and noticed that not many people used it. Probably because the lecturers could see it easily. The younger students would prefer to bunk off and mess about somewhere else.

  She pushed open the door, shivering slightly as the cool air rushed at her. Holding the door for Owen, she waited until he'd closed it behind them, then spoke. "So, we're alone. Let's get this misunderstanding sorted out, shall we? Starting from the beginning, why on earth have you been staring at me?"

  "I told you," he murmured, staring at his hands, which he was twisting together. "I just couldn't help it. I think you're beautiful, Bonnie. As soon as I first saw you, I thought so. It was kind of like those people in the cafeteria who were staring at us—I just couldn't help it. I tried really hard not to, and every time I looked away, it was like my eyes had a mind of their own. I'm really sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, or upset."

  Bonnie puffed out a breath. "It's okay, Owen. Well, sort of. You shouldn't have kept on doing it, whatever your reasons were, because you did make me feel uncomfortable. I ignored it for as long as possible, but you were annoying me. Now I know you weren't staring at me because I'm fat, I'm not quite so angry, though."

  "You aren't?" His eyes grew wide, and he looked hopeful.

  "Nope. Don't get me wrong, I'm still a little pissed off at you. Why the hell didn't you just come over and say something?"

  "Because I'm shy. I'm shitting myself now, just standing here talking to you. I feel a bit better now I know you're not going to slap me, but I'm still nervous. I am absolutely crap at talking to women—well, women I like, you know, in that way—and although the whole time I was looking at you, I was trying to psych myself up to come and talk to you, I just had no idea whatsoever of what to say. I was terrified of making myself look like an idiot."

  "Well you achieved that without even talking to me, didn't you? You made yourself look like some kind of creepy stalker. Now I know you a little better, I realise that's not the case. But just for future reference, although eye contact is great, follow it up with a smile, or a wink. So the woman knows you're interested in her, as opposed to just being a total weirdo. Then get off your arse and go and speak to her!"

  "Um, that's not going to happen."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I don't want to let another woman know I'm interested in her. I like you, Bonnie. And you already know I'm interested, so I'm not going to wink at you. I'd probably end up looking like I'd got something in my eye. But what I am going to do, before I lose my nerve, is ask you out. So, would you like to go out with me? For a drink, or dinner?"

  Bonnie raised her eyebrows. The rushed, breathless way Owen had spoken showed just how much effort he'd made to get past his nerves and say what he wanted to say. And now she'd ascertained that he wasn't crazy, he was just a nice guy who liked her but was too shy to say so, her opinion of him had completely changed. Her annoyance had evaporated and had been replaced with a feeling of fondness. Owen was incredibly cute, after all, and he was the first guy to show an interest in her since... she didn't even want to think about how long it had been since she'd last been on a date. Way too long.

  "Yes, I'd love to. I find it difficult to eat in front of other people, though, so maybe just a drink? Unless you can promise you won't watch me eat."

  "I can't promise, but I'll do my level best."

  "That will have to do."

  "Great. So when do you want to go out?"

  "I don't mind. I don't have much of a social life, I'm afraid, so I'm free pretty much whenever. God, don't I sound like a total sad case? Are you sure you still want to go out with me?"

  The smile that crept onto Owen's face threatened to make her melt into a puddle of lust. It lit him up, transformed him from shy and retiring to smokin' hot sex god. It was the dimples that did her in—she'd always been a
sucker for a man with a nice smile, and dimples were the big, fat, juicy cherry on top of the cake. Delicious.

  "Are you crazy? Yes of course I still want to go out with you. I'd say tonight, but is that too soon for you?"

  Part of Bonnie wanted to say yes, it was too soon, and make her appear less eager. But then she remembered she'd already told Owen what a pitiful social life she had and he didn't seem to mind. So why not boost her social life by going out with him? Who knew, if it went well, she might end up going out with him the next night, and the night after that, too. She sternly reminded herself not to get too carried away. This thing had already gone from nought to sixty in less than fifteen minutes—she should try and take it easy. He could still turn out to be a nutter.

  "Nope, that's fine. Where shall we go, and when?"

  "Shall I pick you up at seven thirty? Is that too early—what time do you finish here today?"

  "It's okay, I'll meet you somewhere. And half seven is fine. I finish here at three thirty and I don't have to go back to the office, so I have plenty of time."

  "Excellent. How about the place on the corner of Cromwell Street? Do you know it?"

  "Yep, that sounds great. And good choice, they have a great menu, something for everyone."

  "That's why I chose it. Oh, I suppose we'd better go, huh?" He glanced at his watch.

  "Yeah, I don't want to be late. Especially since I can see the classroom from here, and anyone in it can see me. That would be taking the piss to roll in late, wouldn't it?"

  "Just a bit," he said with a smile. "Okay, I'll see you at about seven thirty then." He moved over to the door back into the building and gestured Bonnie to go in ahead of him.