Gifts

Bridget’s 35th birthday was coming up, so I asked what she wanted.

What she wanted, she said, was a night out. She wanted to come over to my place, get fucked, take me to a nice dinner, take me to a movie, and get fucked again. I checked my calendar, and said: my gift to you. It’s yours.

Bridget wanted to take me out for her birthday, and I was going to gift wrap that for her.

When I first met Bridget, her generosity took some getting used to. Now, I can let her take me out for her birthday. I am even able to accept that she will bring me gifts, even though I will give her none.

Bridget is sweet like that. Attentive, giving, protective of her friends. Smart too; she holds a few degrees. And she showers me with gifts. She hasn’t met the kids, but she knows their clothing sizes, their tastes in food, books and games. I get regular deliveries of the junk they love, pretty much any book I mention wanting to read, and good looking clothes. Cute Asian gal, great sense of humor, looks out for me . . . she is a find.

I should also mention she’s pretty large. I’m bad at estimating weight, but comparing her body to mine, I’d say she is pushing three hundred pounds, easy.

I met Bridget last year via Craig’s List, just as I was getting familiar with that way of meeting people. I then assumed that one “B” of “BBW” meant “black,” with the others standing for “beautiful” and “woman.” Bridget set me straight on that. Big Beautiful Women are a fetish, and Bridget gets plenty of attention from boys who like that.

I was no fetishista for BBW, but I was game. We traded an afternoon of instant messages, talking about clementines, bubble baths and sex. I begin to get very bossy, insisting on sex tonight. She liked being told what to do.

We met near my place. She was sipping a Diet Coke when I arrived. Wow, I thought, she is pretty big. She was funny and flirty, like the instant messages. I was determined to go ahead. We walked back to my place. She seemed a little nervous, which was cute.

That first time, I really let loose on her. I assumed we’d never meet again, so why not have fun? We kissed for a while, then I unzipped and fucked her mouth. She was a hungry cocksucker, which won her some praise.

We undressed. The bed complained as she reclined on it. I mounted her head and kept my cock deep in her mouth as I surveyed her body. A very round belly, large thighs, large breasts, shaved pussy. I smiled down at her big, brown eyes as I squeezed both nipples with my fingers and thumbs. I twisted, hard. She nearly gagged on my cock.

I took my dick out of her. She moaned loudly from the pain to her nipples. Damn, I thought, a screamer.

I climbed off her, and started to bite her body. No holds-barred biting. “Yes!,” she shouted, “Mark me! Own me!!” Fine. I bite fiercely and strategically. I would bite a spot, then bite it again, layering teeth marks in her flesh.

She came.

In due time, I fucked her. This was my first time with such a large woman, and it did take some learning. The first time I entered her, she was wet and very loose. I started to push. She reached down to guide my cock; turns out I wasn’t in her, just within the folds of flesh between her legs. Her hole was tight—a nice contrast to the enormity of her body.

We embraced for a while afterwards. She wanted to go at it again, but I refused. I told her to get dressed and get the fuck out of my apartment. She scurried about, dressing, giggling. We kissed at the door.

She was eager for more dates. I was eager to keep it interesting. I told her she needed to fuck boys with me. She agreed. We auditioned a couple of losers before finding the right guy, a cute bi-curious Puerto Rican who loved fat girls. That was a nice match for us, for as long as it lasted.

But for Bridget’s birthday, it was just me. She took more than I offered, leaving work early to be with me. We kept to her itinerary. We fucked, and then walked to a very posh restaurant. I let her order for me, as she really knows food. We took in a movie, then went back to my place for more sex. She nodded off in my bed. I noticed the time—it was nearly one. I had a big snoring woman in my bed.

This put me in a quandary. We have an agreement: we can have sex, but the next morning, the only thing I want to wake up with is a hangover. Was I going to give her a sleepover too?

Nope, she kept to the rules. She roused herself, thanked me for the nice birthday. After she left, I put away the things she had brought me: a sweater, a pair of dress pants, a DVD for the kids. She also brought me a big bottle of bourbon. I cracked it open and poured a few fingers.