Sex by the Numbers (BBW and Alpha Males)

by Lynn Richards

  SEX BY THE NUMBERS

  Copyright 2012

  Lynn Richards

  Wolf Publishing

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  WARNING: This book is intended for mature audiences only.

  SEX BY THE NUMBERS

  Lynn Richards

  “So, I get the low numbers – six, seven, eight, nine, ten – and even the twelve, but what are the others?” Emily Thorton motioned to a man with a twelve on his back and a sixteen on his front. “Why two numbers? Cause let me tell you if you see a sixteen inch penis coming at you, I suggest you turn and run the other way.”

  The gaggle of women seated around her burst into gales of laughter. A few snorted, a few cackled.

  Her best friend Jennifer just sighed. “You can’t even say it, can you?”

  “Say what?” She had a very good idea what her friend meant, but was so not going to say it.

  “Cock, dick, jackhammer.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “Anything, and I mean anything, but penis!”

  The last word was almost shouted, earning the group some strange stares. Really strange considering the type of club they were in.

  A Mandingo Club. Yup, that’s what Jennifer had said. Emily didn’t really get that reference either but she wasn’t about to ask, she appeared naive enough as it was. Which she was. Truly naive. But it wasn’t her fault. Circumstances had forced her to live a very sheltered life. An all girl’s catholic school until college, then, even though she’d been accepted into Harvard, Yale and Stanford – her dream college, three thousand miles away from her parents – she had attend Wesley, an all girl’s college on the east coast less than a hundred miles away from her parents.

  Majoring in psychology had been hard, leaving her little time to socialize. While Wesley was not a fortress with moats and drawbridges guarding the virgins within, it was difficult to date. But more important, it was difficult to form any lasting relationships with a member of the opposite sex with the restrictions on her time and the inaccessibility of the college coeds. She knew all she could possibly want to know about the female population – and some things she truly wished she had never learned, but there were so many blanks in her knowledge when it came to men.

  The bartender brought another round of drinks. She had no idea who had ordered them this time; she just knew they’d all be paying for them later – literally and figuratively.

  They’d agreed to split the bill at the end of the night – cover charges, drinks and food. With the stipulation that if one of them ordered a drink; she ordered a round for the table.

  Emily had three pink colored drinks lined up in front of her, reminding her of the one legged flamingos stuck in the front yard of a trailer park. Pretty at first but faded and used looking at the end of the day.

  She had hunch she’d be feeling the same way in the morning.

  Not wanting good money to go to waste, she picked up a glass and downed the contents in one long gulp. They really weren’t that bad. Quite tasty in fact. She licked her lips. It was the calories she didn’t need. The alcohol she didn’t mind. She’d told herself she needed to get out and experience life if she wanted to become a successful psychologist. How could she possibly relate to the woman who habitually got drunk and picked up a different man each Friday night if she’d never gotten drunk or picked up a man?

  Looking over the gorgeous, and some not-so-gorgeous, but all acceptable men, she knew the possibility of picking up a man tonight was slim to none. Her chances being none.

  Because she was also surrounded by gorgeous – truly gorgeous women. Against such competition, she fell quickly into the non-acceptable category. She wasn’t ugly. She considered herself pretty. And as all of her family was fond of saying, she’d be a beautiful girl if she’d only lose some weight. And that’s why she was unacceptable in this sea of women – she was the fat one. The one no one wanted to fuck. Take that, Jennifer! Was that plain enough for you? She downed another flamingo.

  Wait, was that the name of the drink or had she just made that up? If so, it was a pretty darn, uh damn, good name even if she said so herself. The room started to spin and she reached out to steady herself, almost pushing Jennifer off her stool.

  “Okay, ladies, no more drinks for at least thirty minutes.” Jennifer righted herself on the stool. “Our woman of the hour is getting a little tipsy.”

  “Am not.” Emily reached for another drink but Jennifer moved it out of her reach.

  “Party pooper.”

  The other women laughed. It was good to be out with her friends. They rarely had time to get together like they used to. Work, school, families – something always took priority.

  She frowned, her thoughts blurry. Why were they out tonight?

  She must have asked the question out loud because Deb answered. “Because you are finally a licensed, state of the art, psychologist. You can now officially tell us all what we’re doing wrong and why we’re doing it.”

  “Here, here.” All the women around the table raised their glasses in a salute.

  Except her. Jennifer had taken away all her flamingos.

  “Now where were we?” Sue asked. Emily didn’t know Sue that well. They hadn’t spent much time together or gotten to know each other that well. She was a friend of a friend. “Oh, yes, Emily had asked a question.” She smiled cattily. “What was that you asked dear?”

  If she hadn’t been so tipsy, well on her way to getting rip-roaring drunk, she may not have walked straight into the trap.

  “I wanted to now what the other set of numbers meant.”

  “Why, that’s how big a man is willing to go.” Another catty smirk.

  “A man? Is this a gay club? If I were a man, I’d especially run from a sixteen inch penis. Look there’s a man with a twenty-six on his front. Come on! There is no such thing as a twenty-six inch cock!”

  After downing her pretty pink drinks she had no trouble calling a spade a spade. Or a cock a cock.

  This time the rather loud squawks of laughter and giggles not only drew attention but actually caused a moment of complete silence. At least a moment of silence within a six foot radius. It was surprising how much a slightly inebriated woman’s voice carried even over the ear shattering music blasting in the background.

  Jennifer threw Sue a scathing look. Jennifer was her best friend after all. “That’s not what it means, Emily. The number on the back indicates the size of a man’s cock.”

  Man, Emily really liked the sound of that word. Cock. Cock. Cock.

  Jennifer smacked her arm to get her attention. “The number on the front indicates the size of the woman they want.” She delivered the information as dryly and matter-of-factly as she would have if describing the law of supply and demand to her first year economic students.

  Thankfully, the hum of conversation had resumed and no one seemed to notice how this information had stunned Emily.

  “But that means. No, that couldn’t mean that.”

  She looked around and saw a gorgeous blonde with the number seven on his back and a twelve on his front. That made sense since six inches for a man (no matter how much they protested) was considered average and twelve was a little above the average dress size for a woman.

  She looked around again, suddenly realizing she was not the only plus sized woman in the club. In fact the number of women of her size were bordering on being the majority. If other women of size were as self-conscious
as she was, or should she say as undeserving as she thought of herself, why did they think they could actually attract a man – especially one with a big dick?

  She watched as the man with the twenty-six on his front approach a woman wearing a tight red dress. She was a very full figured woman. Not a twenty-six Emily didn’t think, but larger than her own size eighteen. Well sometimes twenty depending on the brand.

  The woman was gorgeous. And she didn’t need to lose any weight to look that way. The woman’s friend appeared to be a size ten or twelve. A woman Emily would have considered skinny, but whom society still labeled as overweight. When the man approached, the smaller woman smiled at her friend and left the table. She didn’t go far, casually circling back around so she was facing her friend but the man’s back was turned toward her.

  Emily saw her laugh and give her friend a thumb’s up before moving completely away. She realized why when the man turned slightly and the number on his back came into view. Twelve.

  Wow.

  Jennifer and Deb were in a discussion concerning bleached blonde men and the color of their pubic hair and she took the opportunity to liberate one more flamingo.

  “So what if they lie?”

  That got their attention. Jennifer cleared her throat before she spoke. “I don’t believe they fill out an application, Emily. But I’m sure they wouldn’t lie about something that important.”

  All the women around the table snorted and waded up their napkins to throw at Jennifer’s head. “What? Why would they lie? That’s a very discoverable lie.”

  “No, not that.”

  “Well, the women can’t very well lie either,” Sara stated. Her tone held a hint of disgust that Emily had heard most of her life. And usually from skinny little bitches like Sara.

  Yup, she really liked those pink flamingos.

  “The women don’t have to tell their dress size, Sara. This club is for the women, not the men.”

  “But what if they lie?” Again she asked the question.

  Jennifer eyed her with concern. “I don’t understand honey, who’s lying about what?”

  “The men, what if they’re lying about what size woman they want to be with? This could all be a great big prank. Get the fat girl alone and then make fun of her.”

  “Alright, that is definitely enough for you.”

  Emily wanted to retract the words as soon as they left her mouth, but she couldn’t. She saw the malicious gleam that entered Sara’s eyes and groaned. She had just inadvertently revealed one of the most embarrassing experiences of her life. That prank had almost happened to her at her junior prom. A boy had asked her out and she had been all excited, studying dress patterns – fifteen years ago there were no plus sized prom dresses available unless you paid an arm and a leg for an extra half yard of sequins and satin – and waiting for that magical night. Luckily the boy hadn’t been the star quarterback and the night hadn’t turned into a lesson-to-be-learned Disney movie. But it had hurt when he’d kissed her and tried to grope her breasts. When she had protested, he’d told her she was lucky he’d even asked her out, her being such a heifer and all.

  Of course that had added tremendously to her self-esteem issues.

  Before anyone could answer her, a man came up to Sara and asked her to dance. He was a great looking man and the front number said zero. Emily was sure that was just to flatter the women he tried to pickup, since Sara was definitely not a size zero. Seeing the eye rolls of the other women, she knew she was right. His back number said ten and she hoped he had lied about that number as well.

  Sara didn’t deserve a ten.

  Eric didn’t know why the hell he’d let his brother drag him to a club. Club hopping usually wasn’t his style. The last time he’d hooked up with a hot number, but it had only been a one-night stand. A true wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am since they had both been three sheets to the wind. Not one of his finer moments.

  But it had been over a year since he’d hooked up with someone. His last breakup had made him reexamine his life. The woman had been professional, smart, beautiful and pencil thin with breast enhancements the size of grapefruits. He’d woken up one day and realized he was dating Professional Barbie. Not what he wanted at all.

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust when they entered. The deep bass of the music sounded like a giant heartbeat, pulsating with life. Maybe this was what he needed. A pretty brunette. Or a blonde. Or a redhead.

  “Damn.”

  He cursed when the hostess handed him two white place cards and a black sharpie. He’d forgotten the “theme” of the club. It was a Mandingo Club. A place where women came looking for men with extra-long assets.

  Big dicks in other words.

  Even though anyone was welcome, the underlying excitement for the women was that most of the men there were very, very well endowed.

  He wasn’t complaining, he liked the idea, even appreciated it. He’d learned early on that even though most women fantasized about making love with a man with a big, thick cock, when it came right down to it, sometimes the size of the one-eyed snake coming at them scared the shit out of ‘em. In his teens, he’d actually had a girl cry when he’d whipped it out in the backseat of his daddy’s car. Since then he’d learned not to reveal himself too soon and how to make the experience pleasurable for himself and his partner, but it took trust which meant a relationship.

  He sighed. This was not a good idea.

  “What’s wrong, bro? Thinking about Cindy?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” They took a seat at the bar. His brother raised his hand and flipped the index and middle finger of his right hand, indicating they wanted two whisky shots, straight up.

  “I forgot.” He motioned to the white cards.

  “Man, how could you forget? This is the best place. Ever.”

  Eric smiled at this brother’s enthusiasm. He was only two years older but seemed so much more carefree than Eric ever had.

  The whisky came and both men lifted their glasses, clanked them together and downed the amber liquid. Eric tapped the bar top and the bartender refilled them before moving on to another customer.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t let you drink yourself under the table tonight. Maybe you can remember the experience this time. There’s nothing like a woman who appreciates size. Cause let me tell you, size does matter.”

  He picked up his own sharpie and wrote the length of his penis in big, bold numbers. Ten. He didn’t round up.

  Eric knew his brother’s dick was almost eleven inches, but it wasn’t in their nature to brag. They’d come from a long line of men who had damn good…uh, genes. In fact, Josh was probably the smallest of their generation. Yeah, when the male cousins where younger, they’d compared, they’d measured, then told stories about their dad’s dicks along the lines of my dad’s bigger than yours. Referring to their cock sizes of course.

  When it came time to have sex, it had helped to have older males to go to with questions and concerns. And his dad. His dad had been cool about it, telling him in plain, understandable terms what he had to do to make the act of sex pleasurable for himself and his partner. The fifteen year old Eric had pretended not to listen, but had absorbed every word as any fifteen year old would when learning something new about the most ‘forbidden’ of subjects.

  It had freaked out the seventeen year old Eric when he’d put two and two together and realized all the things his dad had told him about, his dad had done to his mother.

  He reached for his drink. So not the image he needed tonight trying to pick up a woman.

  Josh grabbed one of Eric’s cards and wrote twelve in even bigger letters than his proud ten.

  “Josh,” Eric growled. “That’s not right.”

  “Oh, come on big brother. We both knew it’s just a matter of centimeters.”

  “Then change yours too.”

  “Boys, boys, boys. Let’s not argue.” The hostess stood behind them no doubt hoping she’d have to referee a measuring contest.
Eric wondered if they did that, verify the truth so to speak?

  She stood on tiptoes to see over their shoulders to read the cards. “Well, now, I don’t think you boys have to worry about anything. I’m sure you’ll be very popular.” She licked her upper lip, eyeing Josh like a lion would a baby gazelle. “But if you don’t see anything you like, just let me know. Either of you.”

  She walked away, her firm ass swishing under a tight black leather skirt.

  Eric laughed. “Well, I guess you have a sure thing tonight.”

  Even though he might have the bigger dick, he had to admit Josh was always the bigger hit with the ladies.

  “Do the other one.” His brother wrote a ten on his remaining card.

  Eric frowned. “Where does that one go?”

  He knew they wore one on their backs. They managers were smart, they didn’t want the size to matter too much. If you saw someone you liked coming at you, you were more apt to stop and chat and maybe strike up a conversation. That’s why most men, no matter what the size of their penis, could take home a woman most any night if they were charming and sincere.

  “On the front.” Josh peeled off the sticky back adhesive and slapped the card on his left pec.

  When Eric wrote a twelve on his other card, his brother frowned. “What’s with that?”

  “You wanted me to round it up. I can’t very well have two different numbers can I?” He slapped the twelve card on his chest and moved to put Josh’s ten card on his back for him.

  Josh reached over to grab a blank card from a stack on the bar. “That one wasn’t for you. That’s for her.”

  Eric started to stand. “You are making absolutely no sense. Let’s go. I don’t have all night.”

  Suddenly he wanted to get laid. And laid fast.

  His brother grabbed his arm. “They’ve added a little something extra. You need to put the size of your woman on the front.”

  “Did you drink before you picked me up? Cause you are making absolutely no sense. Isn’t the purpose of the number so the women will know what size we are? What do we have to do, guess what size they want? Which makes absolutely no fucking sense because why would you put anything other than your own freaking cock size?”