Introduction:
(Some years ago, I posted this on another website. I’ve touched it up a bit for its 2nd debut here.)
Stuffed Belly
A Belly Tale
By
Paul Gazer
I found Penny sprawled on her kitchen floor in a ring of dead beer bottles and donut boxes, cradling her straining belly and groaning like a cow overdue to be milked. She was dressed, more or less, in men’s pajamas, but slopped beer had pasted the shirt to her undulant breasts and the elastic waist had slipped down the steep lower slope of her bulging gut, exposing her round, deep navel. The effect would have been stimulating if it weren’t for her obvious distress.
“Penny! What’s wrong?”
She stiffened at my voice. “G…g… gway!” The moaning turned into ragged sobs, and she clutched her stomach tighter. I sat down behind her head with my Legs stretched out straight on either side of her and heaved her shoulders until her head lay in my lap. She groaned, “No, no, no, no,” rolling her head back-and-forth uncomfortably on my crotch.
“Penny, uh, don’t do that – don’t.” I moved my hands forward to restrain her, then couldn’t find any landing areas that weren’t hills of belly or breast, so my palms ended up where the knobs of her hips would show if they weren’t an inch deep in flesh. I held on to her gently as her sobs decayed into shuddery snuffles.
A month before school had ended, my music teacher’d sent me to meet Penny because she was a good cellist who needed an okay pianist like me to work up some Beethoven sonatas. Her address turned out to be an ugly sandstone mansion Built around 1900. She answered the door herself because, it turned out, she lived there nearly alone. Her mother was long gone, and her big-shot father traveled constantly, leaving Penny with an old housekeeper who managed to stand up long enough to throw supper on the table before tottering back to the gin bottle in her room at the far end of the house.
We became friends during summer weeks of afternoon practice in the music room (it was that kind of mansion) talking mainly about the music we both loved. Penny never revealed anything really personal, except through that music. She played energetically, working her strong arms hard as she fingered and bowed and arching her back in the crescendos so that her thrusting stomach crowded the back of the cello. After a musical climax, a moist sheen would coat her upper lip, her breathing would deepen, and her blue eyes would sparkle with pleasure.
But she hadn’t sparkled on the phone today: “About practice? Um, just, uh, don’t come, okay, Eric?”
“Why not, Penny?”
Her voice had a leaden, hopeless sound: “Just….” She hung up.
Her tone of voice bothered me all afternoon until, at the supper table, I invented an evening practice at her house. At 18, I was the baby of four brothers and the only one still at home, so I got away with murder. My Dad tossed me the car keys without a question. Mom automatically said, “Finish your milk first,” reminding me of one reason I couldn’t wait for college in the Fall.
When my ring wasn’t answered, I pushed Penny’s door open and stood listening in the big foyer until I caught the sound of faraway weeping. I followed the sobs down a long hall and into the big white-tiled kitchen, where I found Penny beached on the floor with the bottles and boxes washed up around her.
And that’s how I ended up here with her head pressing into my groin. She’d quieted down a bit, so I ventured, “Can you get up, Penny?”
“Hunh-unh.”
“Why not?”
She peered at me with tipsy concentration. “Three reas’ns. One, I chugged eight bollsabeer an’ I’m not a sperienced drinker. Two: I ate two dozn donuts an I don’ feelvery good.” She thought solemnly, then added, “I am very, very full.”
“What’s the third reason?” No answer. “Penny?”
“If I get up you’ll look at me in my jamas.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
She muttered something like “fannully.”
“What?”
“CAUSE I’M FAT AN UGLY!” Penny’s eyes puddled up and tears spilled over her soft round cheeks.
“You’re not ugly.”
She nodded. “Such a pretty face, they all say. But y’know what the girls at school call me?. Jelly Belly.” She started to sob again. “P… p…preggers!” To distract her, I pushed her shirt tails up to her sternum and started rubbing the hard mass of her stomach beneath its pad of firm fat. “Ohhhhh,” she said, “feels good. My tummy hurts soooo bad.”
I continued kneading and caressing. “Because you stuffed it with donuts.”
“Ummmm. An’ beer.”
“No,” I said thoughtlessly, “the beer’s down here.” Shoving her waistband the rest of the way down, I pushed in the base of her belly smartly.
The effect was dramatic. A terrified look crossed Penny’s face and her voice dropped to a growl. “Don’t do that, oh, God, you shouldna… I gotta go, I mean I really gotta go. I, oh jeez, I don’t think I can hold it!”
“Then you have to get up!” Scrambling to my feet, I somehow heaved her 190 pounds sort of vertical. “Where’s a bathroom?”
“My room.” She staggered forward and almost fell. Without thinking, I draped her left arm over my shoulder, wrapped my right arm around her waist, and started walking with her. I could feel the weight of her big right breast bouncing on the back of my hand. Her pajama waistband was still riding just above her crotch and her big bare belly thrust out above it, wagging with every step. It really did look pregnant (or what I guessed pregnant must look like). I felt torn between guilt at spying on her and excitement at her abundant curves.
The trip up the grand staircase and down the hall seemed endless and Penny kept up a stream of terrified mumbling: “Ohgod, I can’t hold it, I’m gonna go, I’m gonna pee, jeez-o-jeez, I’m so embarrassed, I’m gonna let go, I’m gonna wet myself, I wanna die…” and so-forth.
She finally lurched toward an open doorway and I helped her across a frilly female bedroom to the bathroom on the opposite side. I walked Penny over to the toilet, turned her around, then unceremoniously yanked her pants down around her ankles. I pushed on her stuffed belly, right at the navel, and she abruptly plumped down on the toilet. I guessed I might as well finish the job: kneeling, I lifted one foot at a time and removed her pajama bottoms. It had been close: the pants were damp in the middle.
Penny looked down at me, her eyes widening as the situation penetrated the beer fog. “You pulled my jamas off.” She reached a hand to hide her crotch, realized that her big pot belly was on the job, then nervously rubbed the donuts in the extra bulge of stomach below her breastbone.
I faked an air of neutral efficiency: “You smell of beer and your shirt’s all wet.” Undoing the front buttons, I peeled her out of it while she protested feebly. I soaked a washcloth in warm water from the sink and started mopping her chest. Though remarkably large, her breasts weren’t flabby flesh bags, but gourd-shaped rockets that perched alertly on the shelf of her belly, pointing up and out as if ready for launch. As the rough cloth scraped a nipple, it rose erect, mirroring the action in my pants. I gathered the courage to cup her right breast and lift it, my hand trembling at its weight and taut warmth. Penny looked back and forth from my face to her nipple with a sort of stunned expression.
Breathing hard, I set the washcloth aside and said briskly, “Right: all clean.” Penny nodded automatically, her eyes still wide as blue poker chips. “Right, um, okay, Penny, weren’t you going to, um, you know, go?”
“Can’t.”
“But you almost couldn’t hold it.”
“Now I’m too embarrassed. You’ll… hear it and all. Go way.”
“Be sensible; if I let go, you’ll fall off the can. Here, straighten up!” At my tone of command, she did so, lifting her belly enough for me to slip a hand under it. I pressed upward on the tight flesh, massaging the hard balloon of her straining bladder. “Come on, baby, pee for me; that’s a good girl. Make a nice big pee.” I stroked and pushed on her warm, taut belly.
Penny looked at me with a sort of horror as I went on rubbing her gut, then a faraway look crossed her face, like a baby about to let go in its diaper, and she suddenly gushed and splashed into the toilet, on and on and on, while a red blush crawled up her plump cheeks all the way to her hairline. “Uhhhhhh,” she groaned, “good; oh, good.”
“Feel better?” Penny nodded. I wound toilet paper around my hand. “Up again!” She lifted her gut obediently and I reached between her thighs and patted her plump mossy mound. Without thinking, I pressed the paper between its vertical lips. After a couple of blind wipes, my fingers encountered some sort of inner bump. Penny sucked in a breath so deep and sudden that I stopped wiping her.
And there we froze, staring at each other, she propped up on the toilet, pink and naked, me kneeling with my hand between her legs and my finger pushing a button whose existence I hadn’t yet even heard of.
Whatever the situation may seem like today, it was inconceivable way back then, with Ike in the White House and Beaver Cleaver on the black and white tube. We crew-cutted, chino trousered, poodle-skirted high school graduates might brag about “getting to first base,” meaning touching a clothed breast, but anything racier wasn’t expected, and boasts about actual sex were dismissed as fiction. As for what was happening here in this very feminine bathroom, well, it was simply unthinkable. Penny looked down at my hand disappearing between her plump thighs with an amazed and frightened look as if she’d suddenly found herself flying a fighter plane.
As casually as I could, I pulled my fingers out and stood up. “Okay,” a pause to force the squeak out of my voice, then, “time to get you tucked in.” I held out my hands, “Grab hold.” She obeyed and I hauled her upright. Penny swayed and I was afraid her knees would buckle. “Can you walk?”
“Not without ‘ssistance,” she replied with droll dignity, and raised her right arm for support. Happy to oblige, I cupped her right breast to use as a handle and wrapped my other arm around her soft waist with my hand palming the convex lower slope of her bare, thrusting belly. I walked her this way into the bedroom, hoping she wouldn’t notice the painful boner prodding her bottom. At her bedside I flipped the covers back, turned her to face me, lowered her onto the bed, and lifted her feet up onto the sheet.
Penny lay back, grunted soft as a happy piglet, and then looked up at me like a little girl at bedtime. She said in a very small voice, “Don’t leave me alone,” and moved sideways to clear space on the bed. I smiled and sat beside her.
Not knowing quite what to do next, I started rubbing her big belly again. “Yeah, good, ohhhhhh, good!” she breathed. I massaged her slowly, moving my hand in widening circles until I was caressing the warm flesh from her sternum to below her navel. Like her breasts, her belly was too big and dense to collapse when she lay on her back. Starting at the hollow of her breastbone, it rose six inches in a shallow arc, continued south past the sexy well of her navel, then swooped down to meet the top of her pubic mound. My hand worked its way down to massage the tense flesh of this lower bulge and Penny buzzed like a purring cat, arching her back so her belly thrust even higher.
As my fingertips probed this swelling dome, I was amazed by its construction. Her belly had as many layers as an expensive mattress: taut skin on the surface, a pad of fat beneath it, then a tight, resilient sheath of muscle. That couldn’t account for the exuberant thrust of her paunch, which resembled a classic beer gut; so she must have had more fat in her body cavity, along with the usual organs. I pictured the mysterious tangle of small intestine in its three-sided frame of colon, all of it squirting and gurgling as it battled with two dozen donuts. Leaning down, I pressed my ear against her belly button. Sure enough, I heard a rumbling chuckle of liquids and gasses burbling away in the soft factory that distended her swollen belly. It was the most erotic sound I’d ever heard. My head rode up and down with her every breath, and the sweet smell and feel of her big round gut was intoxicating.
“Eric!” I sat up guiltily to find Penny watching me with a horrified expression. “This is the worst thing ever happened to me.”
“Hey, you just had a few too many beers; it’s not that awful.”
“No, no; I mean you saw everything. The whole fat ugly mess.” Penny waved a hand vaguely at her exposed body.
“I meant what I said: you’re beautiful.”
Her look said, don’t patronize me.
I went on, “Such a pretty face indeed, and your body’s indescribable.”
“I’ll say!”
“I mean it!” I placed a hand outside each breast and pushed them together. “Your, uh… these are amazing.”
“Grotesquely big, and my tummy’s disgustingly fat.” She sounded like she was sobering a little.
“Not disgusting, but yes, it’s fat.” When she looked hurt I continued firmly, “Let’s get this straight right now.” I fondled the warm abdominal dome. “This isn’t a tummy or a stomach or a middle.” I started caressing it with both hands. “It’s a belly: a BIG belly. A round, smooth, warm, soft/hard, elegant belly that’s so sexy I can’t stand it.”
“You think I’ll believe this awful GROWTH is sexy?”
I swallowed hard at what I was about to say. “Penny, do you believe a thermometer when it takes your temperature?” A puzzled nod. “Okay, read the thermometer!” Grasping her hand, I pressed it on my groin where she could feel the rod of my cock, as rigid by now as a galvanized pipe.
Her eyes shot wide open. “Is that your, um…?”
I nodded. “Know what makes it hard like that?”
“Of course! Well, I mean, I’ve read and all.”
“You make it hard, Penny, you and your red mouth and your big pink nipples and your navel that I want to lick. Most of all, your big, wonderful, sexy belly makes it hard, so hard it hurts!”
She was absently probing my groin with her fingers. “You really mean this, don’t you?”
“I can’t fake it, Penny; the thermometer can’t lie.”
“Could I…” she was whispering, “…see it?”
I never imagined, I mean, not like this… but then I thought to myself, I’m looking at her naked and she didn’t even have a choice. Fair is fair. Standing nervously, I lowered my pants and shorts and let my shaft arch out like a fat flagpole.
Penny’s eyes got even bigger, if possible. “Will that thing really fit… uh, you know?”
The boys’ shower in the gym had reassured me that I was quite a respectable size; but Penny’d probably never seen a pecker in working mode, if at all. “So they tell me.”
She wrapped her fingers around my penis and kneaded it as if stripping a cow of milk. It had almost the same effect on me. “Easy, Penny! Whoa!”
“Why is the top turning purple?” she breathed.
“It’s all your fault – you and your plump, sexy body.”
For the first time, Penny smiled. Keeping one hand on my cock, she pushed the other between her luscious thighs. The smile grew and grew until a delighted grin spread all over her face, as if she’d just discovered something amazing and wonderful. “My sexy body,” she murmured. “My sexy boobies, my sexy tummy.”
“Belly – your big, sexy belly, and proud of it!”
“Oh, yes!” She thought about this and then a shy expression replaced the grin. “If you want to…” she spread her legs on the bed, “…it would be okay; I mean I’d let you.” The adrenalin burst made my head sing and my eyes see little fireworks. I had to focus hard to keep from coming in her hand. This was unreachable heaven – a solitary guy’s wet dream.
And then reality cut in. “Let go, sweet Penny,” I said, and when she did, I pulled my pants up and sat down again.
She had the betrayed expression of someone who’d discovered a lie that she wanted desperately to believe. “Don’t you want to, after all?”
“I want to so much I’m about to ruin my underwear. I want to so much I’m shaking all over and sweat is running out of my armpits. But I can’t. Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re still more than a little drunk. Because you feel so bad you don’t care what anyone does to you. Because we don’t have any protection.”
“From what?”
“Jeez, Penny, like a rubber. You want to have a baby?”
She nodded slowly as the idea penetrated, then shook her head.
“Tomorrow I’ll come back and we’ll have a real date, and maybe make out, and if you like me and if I’m lucky, you’ll let me cop a feel.”
“What?”
“And if you eat a bit too much, I might rub your belly. Then we’ll see what happens. Date?”
Penny’s smile was very sweet. “Okay.”
“Now sleep, and I’ll take something to remember.” Very slowly, I kissed her mouth, then lifted her breasts and kissed and sucked each eager nipple, then kissed her belly button, snaking my tongue into it so she giggled. A last caress of her warm, full gut, then I pulled the covers over her. “As you sleep, remember how beautiful you are; remember what you did to my thermometer. Sleep, sexy Penny.”
I was at the bedroom door when her light voice floated after me, “Eric?”
“Mmm?”
“Eight o’clock tomorrow?”
“Fine. Sleep.”
“Eric?”
“Yeah?”
“About rubbing my tum… my belly?”
“Mm-hm?”
“I have a dress that buttons down the front.”
“My pants work that way too. Sweet dreams.”
I got home to discover that I’d been at Penny’s no more than an hour. When I gave my dad the car keys he looked up from grading essays. “Was your rehearsal successful?”
Rehearsal? I’d forgotten my invented excuse to go to Penny’s. Suddenly, the word struck me as both wonderful and funny. “It was a thorough rehearsal, Dad; we practiced almost everything.”
Absently, “Good, Son. You two have a performance coming up?”
“Dad, I devoutly hope so.”
He looked puzzled, then shrugged and went back to work.
* * *
Promptly at eight the next night I was again knocking on the big pompous door of Penny’s house and wondering how a now-sober young woman would feel about a guy who’d sucked the nipples on her oversized breasts and caressed her beer-swollen belly while she lay there groaning helplessly. We hadn’t Gone All the Way, as folks so coyly put it then, because gentlemen in those ancient ‘fifties didn’t take advantage of ladies who were drunk and emotionally distraught. As the door finally swung open, I could only hope Penny would remember this and at least readmit me to her house.
She greeted me with a mumbled “Hi, Eric” and a nervous smile, refusing to look directly at me. Tonight, her curly auburn hair was brushed and her lovely face looked more or less recovered from last night’s stuffing. She wore a house dress stretched tight around her thrusting breasts and belly. There was a sheen of oil on her lips and she rubbed her fingers absently on the fabric covering her hips, leaving a stain. “Um, well, c’mon in. I’m in the rec room.”
It was a converted basement with wet bar, pool table, huge couch, soft lights, and the usual 17-inch black and white TV soundlessly showing a western rerun. The coffee table was littered with end-crusts of what we then called pizza pie. Penny plumped onto the couch and gestured for me to join her. “Hungry?” I shook my head. “Well…” A wan smile. “Here I am, pigging as usual, though I’m so full by now, I’ve got a tummy ache.” Leaning back, she rubbed her swollen stomach, just below the overhang of her outsized breasts
“So,” she resumed a bit too casually, “last night you saw everything, didn’t you?” I nodded cautiously. “Now you know why the girls named me Preggers.”
I couldn’t think of an answer. We stared stupidly at the soundless TV.
An uncomfortable pause, then, “Millie van Daan calls me ‘Guts!’ She’s the worst.”
“Um, sounds like it.” Looking at her legs propped up on the coffee table, I noticed how shapely they were, like a pinup girl’s except a size bigger.
Finally, Penny couldn’t stand the silence. “Big fat slob, huh? Say something. Tell me what you think.”
Instead of answering, I moved closer and started gently massaging her stomach. Penny stared at me a moment, then relaxed and let me do it. Feeling the firm/soft layers of her gut was exciting, but a button got in the way. I undid it and slipped my hand onto smooth, warm flesh. When Penny didn’t react, I kneaded her packed stomach for a while, then undid buttons above and below so I could caress her all the way across her pizza bulge. Penny grunted softly and closed her eyes.
After a few minutes of this, she said, “I could probably stuff in those last slices, but I’m too comfortable to move.” Taking the hint, I picked up a pizza wedge and touched her lips with its point. Penny opened her eyes and mouth. As I slowly fed her the pizza, her eyes brightened oddly. By the end of the second slice, she was breathing heavily, and when she’d finished the final slice she was shifting her hips uneasily on the couch and arching her back so that her distended belly strained the other buttons on her dress. “Oooh, that’s good,” she cooed, and a tiny line of olive oil dribbled down her chin.
I leaned slowly forward and licked the oil off; then before she could react I covered her rich mouth. Her kiss was clumsy at first, but as I tongued her lips, they parted and let me enter. After a long, moist engagement, we separated.
“Does that answer your question?”
Penny could only blink because she was breathing as if she’d just entered a footrace and won. Watching her heaving belly, I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I undid the rest of her buttons and pulled the dress aside. There it was: a ripe, rising dome, veiled in white panties from the deep navel down, but arcing pink and shiny up to the base of a white bra as big and hard as a fortress. This erotic bag of fat and organs swelled with each breath like the throat pouch on a frog. When I resumed caressing her taut belly skin, Penny sighed and closed her eyes again.
As we lounged there in the low lighting, I rubbed her flesh in ever larger circles until my finger tips ventured inside the waistband of her panties. Penny stiffened momentarily, then relaxed; so I let the orbit of my exploration grow and grow until I could feel the bottom of her bra above and the first curls of pubic hair below. Continuing to massage Penny’s tense belly, I pushed her panty waistband down until it rode along the base of her gut. As I caressed her warm flesh, I leaned in for another kiss and this time her mouth instantly welcomed my tongue. After another long, wet communion, I settled beside her and went on stroking her swollen stomach, soft navel pit, and full lower gut. It was heaven.
Who knows how many minutes later she murmured, “Eric?”
“Mm?”
“‘Cha thinking?”
A long pause while I got my courage up and then, “If you really want to know, I’m disappointed.” Her belly stiffened suddenly. “I mean, here I am, actually touching your boobs, at least a little, but your bra’s so hard it’s like scraping concrete.”
The convex slope under my hand relaxed again, then shook with a silent chuckle. “I’ll have to stand up,” she said, and did. She reached her arms around her back inside her now-unbuttoned dress and struggled with her snaps. The move thrust her belly forward until she looked more pregnant than ever. When her bra cups loosened slightly, Penny grasped the tip of each one and slowly, hesitently upward so that her breasts finally tumbled out onto the upper slope of her gut.
Those breasts were indescribable imagine cantaloupe teased up in front into cones and faired in back into lush organic gourd shapes where they joined her chest. Imagine red/brown aureoles with nipples like swelling mushroom caps. Imagine shiny skin stuffed tight with flesh that swayed with every movement. Imagine sculpted bags so big that they should have flattened on her belly, but so ripe and gorged with substance that they pointed up and out as if straining to leap off her chest. I sat there and gaped like an idiot.
“Big and sloppy, huh? Elsie the cow, that’s me,” said Penny sadly. As if to prove it, she leaned over so that Elsie’s udders swung before me like a pair of great, lazy bells.
I stared at these vast elastic globes, hypnotized, swallowing repeatedly, then slowly captured one heavy breast in each palm. “My God, Penny. Your breasts are the most arousing sight I’ve ever….”
Penny dropped to squat in front of me, staring up into my face. She studied me intently for a long moment. “Tell me everything,” she whispered, tell me what you’re feeling.
I looked at the heavy breasts now overflowing my hands; I looked at the provocative thrust of the belly globe nesting between ripe thighs; I looked at shimmering hair and curving lips and wide blue eyes. And when I got my voice under control I said, “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen or want to see. Your breasts make my hands shake and my ears ring like I took ten aspirin. Your belly drives me crazy. I want to caress it, tickle it, knead it like warm dough. I want to pour honey in your navel and lick it out again. I want to rest my head on your swelling stomach and listen to your sexy guts bubble and purr. I want to push on what’s down below it until you open up and let me inside. I want you, Penny, so badly that I can’t express it.”
Penny grinned. “And you haven’t even mentioned my backside.” Then a strange thing happened: the grin dimmed to a smile and held there while tears welled up in her blue eyes, coursed down her plump cheeks, and splashed the bulging contours of her breasts.
“Penny, I didn’t mean…”
She shook her head, still smiling and flowing like a faucet. “‘S’all right, ‘s’all right.” I helped her up beside me on the deep couch; and held her for five solid minutes while she wept and smiled and wept some more.
I was helpless to deal with this, except to rock her gently and pat her shoulder like a dummy. “Was it something I said?”
“Was it ever!” Penny’s smiling and weeping ramped up to laughing and bawling until I was scared she’d choke or something. I was afraid she’d really come unglued. Eventually, however, she snuffled, wiped her eyes on a paper napkin, and honked loudly into several more. “Sorry,” she said in a small voice. “So.” She pressed her upper arms inward against her breasts, pushing them upward. “You don’t think they’re totally awful.”
By way of answer, I surrounded a nipple with my lips and sucked it upright. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“And you don’t think this giant gut’s disgusting.” Taking a deep breath and holding, she arched her back so that her belly rose to almost double height.
When she deflated for another breath, I swung around and lay with my head in her lap, ear and cheek pressed against her convex wall of soft/hard flesh. “My thermometer can’t lie,” I said, indicating the crotch of my pants.
Penny hesitated, then placed a palm lightly on my groin. “Feels close to freezing.”
“Wait.” As I lay there, my neck soaked up the warm softness of her thighs. My eyes caressed the looming bottoms of her great breasts floating above me like twin moons, my cheek marked the tension beneath her warm belly skin and moved with the rhythmic pressure of her breathing. My ear eavesdropped on an argument between guts and pizza, a struggle marked by gurgles, squirty hisses, and long insistent rumbles like distant summer thunder. The stuff surging through her snaking bowels was so intense that I could swear I felt small pushes on her taut belly surface, like a baby kicking. Those deep-gut quarrels were too erotic to resist.
“Hmmm. Up to 98.6.” She bent forward to look at me over her mighty breasts, shoving them down far enough to press my nose. “Whoa! Now you’ve really got a fever!” Struggling one-handed with unfamiliar buttons, (jeans had buttons then) she opened my fly and snaked her fingers down my own much flatter belly to my pulsing cock. “I want to see it,” she whispered and tried to push my jockey waistband down under my balls.
“Ow! Use the leg opening.”
“Sorry; what about this funny overlap in the middle?” She fingered it and giggled.
“Doesn’t work as well. Hoo-ee!”
“Okay okay.” Obediently, she pulled my briefs aside and guided my cock free. “Ooh!” she said. “You’re really sure it’ll fit?”
“It’s what I hear.”
“Is that a drop of pee?”
“No there’s valves inside that switch over.”
“Yeah, I read about that.”
“It’s well, guys call it jisum, and if you don’t let go pretty soon you’ll see an awful lot more of it.” An extra-loud colonic fanfare made my cock jerk dangerously.
“Mellie, she’s my only friend the other girl no one will talk to.” (Where did Mellie come from? I thought, fighting for control.) “Mellie said it tastes salty and I said how do you know? and she said it’s fun to suck on boys and lick it.” She rubbed my shaft gently with one fingertip. “It sounded dirty when she said it, but now….” Her voice trailed off into a speculative smile.
Now what? At 18, we were still virgins in those days, and even my big brothers’ stories of their conquests were long on brag but short on practicalities. Finally, I said in a half-strangled voice, “Penny, are you as uncomfortable as I am?”
“Tell you the truth, I’m kinda scared.”
“Me too, I guess, but I meant clothes. C’mon: let’s get up.” Untangling gracelessly, we clambered off the couch. “Are you scared of, you, know, doing it?”
Penny shook her head. “I’m not drunk and feeling bad, as you so gently put it last night.”
“Yeah, but you’re still fertile.”
Another head shake. “I just finished, um, you know, monthlies, yesterday.” Penny looked at me directly, as if resolved to tell an uncomfortable truth. “I’m really scared you’ll wake up and see how ugly… see me as I am.”
I returned her steady gaze. “Let’s test it out.” I helped her out of the open dress and lifted the mighty bra off her arms. “My turn.” I stripped my golf shirt, kicked off my loafers, and dropped my pants suavely enough, but ruined it by nearly falling as I tried to get the pants off my ankles. Penny suppressed a giggle. Looking her in the eye, I shoved my briefs down past my erection and stepped out of them.
“Oh God.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s still dripping.” Sinking quite gracefully to her knees, Penny whispered, “I want to see what Mellie meant.” And so she did.
And while she kissed my cock tip and licked around it, and pulled it, inch, by inch, between her curving lips, I looked down at the symphony of curves below me: the double arc of her big pink bottom, the twin torpedoes of her wagging breasts, the shallow parentheses of her sides above all, the swollen globe of her thrusting belly. Talk about the music of the spheres! As she moved her head back and forth to milk my shaft, her whole body followed and her stomach skin whitened as it pulled tight over her luscious paunch. Watching her gut strain rhythmically, I wondered if her navel would pop out; and as this erotic vision flashed by, her intestines erupted in a virtuoso solo a long, cascading arpeggio of burbling chuckles.
“Oh, God, Penny!” I pulled out of her mouth so suddenly that her lips popped audibly.
“Did that hurt?”
“No, but I almost couldn’t hold it.”
“Let’s go, then.” Rising, Penny lay down on the wide couch, spread her big shapely legs, and held out her plump arms.
It would be nice to report that our first lovemaking was a glorious communion, but we were virgins, as I said, and we frankly made a mediocre job of it. We fumbled and panted and giggled and slipped; but when we were finally through, Penny’s eyes shone.
“Did you, uh, make it?”
She grinned but shook her head. “Not quite; we’ll have to practice more.”
“Like our music.”
“VERY MUCH like our music,” she said emphatically.
We knelt facing each other on the couch, and I held her great hanging breasts in both hands. “God, you’re beautiful!” I was almost moaning.
Penny looked me in the eyes and started speaking softly. “I knew you must be out there someplace since I was twelve and realized I wasn’t just a temporary fat girl. I invented you when they sent me to the stout lady clothing section. I imagined you when they made me do push ups and play field hockey and the coach yelled at me and the skinny girls giggled in my face. I visualized you when the boys looked at each other and grinned and I sat by myself at dancing class in a dress like a friggin’ rain barrel. I didn’t know who you were or when you might show up, but I had faith someday you’d come.”
“Not much of a prince.”
“But close enough; I’ll take you!”
Rather than mumble some ‘aw shucks’ answer, I moved my arms up and held her silently.
* * *
On another night six decades later, Penny would sadly leave me behind; but between those life-changing evenings 60 years apart, I made her smile ten thousand times, I rolled with her in fragrant sheets, I swelled her belly triply great with babies, I played Bach and Schumann with her in soft summer twilights, and I paraded her through the world on my arm with public pride in my big round woman and grateful joy that I had found her.
I have written this short memoir for you in particular, because you belong to the happy few who know what shouldn’t be a secret: that the great-breasted, full-bellied women are the oldest tribe, that the fat ladies sing the lustiest songs, that the most abundant females are the sweetest in the hay, and that they have the biggest, truest hearts of all.

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