Roundhouse 

       Believe it or not, I met her in a bar.
       I know what you're thinking: one of those tacky singles bars
with blaring disco music and the assortment of garishly dressed
secretaries and insurance salesmen.   But you're wrong.  Aside from
the sheer tackiness of it, I've never had any luck in those kinds of
places:  I suppose the kind of women that go to that kind of place are
looking for guys taller than my 5'3".  But I digress.
       The bar I'm talking about is called the Roundhouse, a venerable
neighborhood pub in Southwest Baltimore, that features traditional
Irish music and dancing every Friday night.

       I had just ordered a Guinness and pressed my way out of the
bar, heading back towards the dance floor, when I noticed a woman
coming through the front door.  Make that a woman and a half.  Her
hips were as wide as the doorframe, and her bosom looked like two big
sacks of flour beneath her sweater.  My gaze travelled up to a lovely,
round face with big brown eyes and short dark hair.   Just about my
height. She was wearing an ankle-length wool skirt, sweater, and a
shawl, looking (I suppose deliberately) like an updated version of an
Irish peasant woman.
       "Ladies and gentlemen," Terry the band leader cried, "choose
your partners for the haymaker's jig."
       Ordinarily, I'm pretty shy and inept at these sorts of things,
but the timing was perfect.  Edging over to her, I nonchalantly asked,
"Care to dance?"
       "Huh?  Oh, sure.  Let me just put my purse and shawl
somewhere."
       "Here, they'll be safe with my jacket ."
       With that taken care of, we joined the lines,  men facing
women.
       "Just follow what I do, OK?  It's an easy dance to learn."
       "Thanks, but I know how to do a haymaker's jig."
       And when the music started, I could see that she did indeed.
Despite her bulk, she moved with grace and precision.  I tried not to
stare at her freely bouncing breasts and belly.  It was a tight fit
getting "under the bridge" with her (part of the dance where each
couple goes through an arch made by the head couple, like in the
Virginia Reel), but she giggled good-naturedly as we squeezed through
together.  Her body felt so soft as I squeezed against her, I couldn't
help longing for more contact.

       I soon got my wish.  A moment after the jig finished and we
were catching our breath, the band launched into a waltz.  Without a
second thought, I slipped my arm round her ample waist and we began
whirling round the room.   Oh, the softness of her breasts pressing
against my chest, the curve of her hip beneath my hand, the fresh
smell of her hair.
       "Whew, that was fun," she panted, as the dance ended.
       "You're a terrific dancer.  I don't recall ever seeing you here
before though."
       "I moved here from Philadelphia a couple of months ago.  My
secretary told me about this place."
       "Well, um, welcome to Baltimore!  My name's Richard.  Can I buy
you a beer?"
       She grinned.  I'd never seen anyone else smile like that.  It
started at the corner of her mouth and went all the way up to her
eyes, till her whole face was beaming happiness.  "Sure, a Guinness.
If you'll let me get the next round.  And my name's Gwen."

       Between sets, I learned that she had moved here to take a
senior job in the administration of Baltimore City library, living
(alone!) in Bolton Hill.  I told her a little about my life, teaching
math at University of Baltimore.
      We danced together that whole  evening.  Finally, as the bar
closed up around 1 a.m., I walked her out to her car.  We said
goodbye.  She got in her car and drove off.   IDIOT! I  creamed at
myself an instant later, YOU DIDN'T GET HER PHONE NUMBER!  Like I
said, I'm inept at this sort of thing.

       I was back again at the Roundhouse the following Friday.  She
didn't show up.  Damn, damn, damn!  What if she never showed up
again?  I wondered how many Gwendolyns in Bolton Hill there might be
in the phone book, or whether I could call the local library and ask
them to find an employee named Gwen.   It seemed pretty hopeless.
Damn!

       But the week after that, she appeared again in the doorway
shortly after I arrived.  It turned out she had had the flu the
previous week. We danced together for the first few sets.  I could
hardly bear to let go of her.  When the band went on break, we stepped
out for some fresh air.  Strolling east toward the harbor, I persuaded
her to stop in at Enzo's for some tiramisou.  We talked some more
about the Irish music scene, and somehow got onto the subject of
Celtic prehistory, which she knew a surprising amount about.
       She seemed even lovelier than I had remembered from the
fortnight before.  Every time she did that full-court smile of hers, I
could feel something in my soul warming and coming to life.  I was
undeniably in lust with her, but my feelings had already grown deeper
than that.

       On the way back, I took her hand.  With a sharp sigh, she
pulled it away.
       "Richard, I can handle a little friendly  flirtation, but when
you  tease me like this,  it hurts."
       "I didn't mean to hurt you.  I ... I like you, Gwen.   A lot.
And I'm very attracted to you.   Why do you think I'm teasing?"
       "You want me to state the obvious.  OK, Richard, I'm FAT." Her
voice was quavering.
       "So I'm SHORT, OK?"
       She smiled wryly.  "OK.  Touche.  But ... I'm sorry, I find it
hard to understand how you could really be attracted to me."
       I grinned sheepishly.  "I'm a mathematician.  I love
exponential curves."
       She cracked up laughing, and I was soon laughing too.  My arms
went round her, and before I even thought about what I was doing, I
was kissing her, and she was kissing back, cautiously at first, but
then more and more voraciously, as we stood there on  the sidewalk.
God, her mouth was so sweet; her body so soft; her hips so immense; my
dick was threatening to bust out of the zipper.  She must have felt it
against her belly.  Reaching down, she cupped my crotch in her hand.
       "You really are attracted to me, aren't you."
       "Yeah.  I hope you're not put off, but I've been jerking off
thinking about you, every night since I met you."
       She did another heart-stopping smile.  "I'm not put off; I'm
really, really flattered.  But next time you feel the urge, I want to
be there in person."
       "I'm feeling the urge right now."
       "C'mon, let's go to my place."

       Back in our cars, I followed her to her Bolton Hill rowhouse,
stopping on the way to pick up some condoms.  We had our arms round
each other, kissing, the moment the front door closed.  I reached up
to cup her immense breasts in my hands.  She groaned with pleasure.
Then she pulled my hands away, kissing them.
       "Am I moving too fast?"
       "No," she smiled, "but I want to get comfortable.  You're
making my knees weak, and I don't want to keel over on you.  And ... I
really want this, but I'm not very experienced. I hope you won't be
disappointed with me."
       "Don't worry about that.  I'm no Casanova either.  I just want
to be close to you, and we'll see where it leads."
       I followed her upstairs to her bedroom.  She kicked off her
sandals and lay back on the bed, patting the space beside her.
Pulling off my shoes and my jacket, I climbed on the bed and snuggled
up to her. Her hips seemed to take up most of the double bed.
       "Hi," I smiled.
       "Hi," she smiled back.  Her hand reached down and began
stroking the lump in the front of my jeans.
       "It's still hard," she cooed.  "It feels so big.  And hot. Can
we let it come out and say hi?"
       I quickly unzipped and pulled off my jeans.  She slipped her
hand inside my briefs, fondling my erection.
       "Ooh.   It's so silky and hard at the same time.  I want it."
       Matter-of-factly, she pulled my briefs down to my knees.
Suddenly, her head descended upon my loins, and I felt my cock
engulfed in the warm wetness of her mouth.
       "Aaayaannh," I grunted.  She released me with a 'plop'.
       "Does that not feel good?  I read that men like that."
       "It feels wonderful.  But, darling, I don't want to come just
yet.  I want to see you naked."
       The hurt look came back into her eyes.
       "But ... but, Richard, I'm so fat.  I'm afraid you'll be turned
off, and I couldn't bear that."
       "Gwen, darling, please trust me.  I won't be turned off.
Please, darling."
       I began unbuttoning her sweater.  "Who could not be turned on
by these?" I murmured in her ear as I slipped my hand into her bra
cup. "These are such stuff as dreams are made on."
       "They like to be sucked on," she whispered.  She lifted the
huge, alabaster globe out of the bra cup.   I plunged my face down on
it, rolling my nose and cheeks against the thick pinkish-brown nipple
and wide areola, before taking it deep in my mouth and sucking.
       "Unnghf!  Richard, oh, God, that's so good!  Richard, my baby.
Don't stop."
       I don't think I could have stopped if I'd wanted to.  As I
sucked the one breast, I lifted the other one out, cupping and
fondling it, feeling the heft of it in my hand.   I switched to the
other nipple and back several times, as Gwen panted and cooed with
pleasure, cradling my head against her bosom.   I couldn't get over
how huge her breasts were: freed from the bra, they hung down well
past her navel, nearly to her waist.
       At last, I sat up, pulling off the remainder of my clothes.
       "Darling, please.  Let me see you."
       "OK, but don't say I didn't warn you."
       She stood up, turning her back to me.  She pulled off the
unbuttoned sweater, and unzipped her skirt and wriggled out of it.
Then she unclasped the bra (why hadn't it occurred to me that the
clasp was in the front?).  Finally, she pulled her panties down from
her voluminous hips, letting them drop to the floor.  Oh, God! her
creamy white buttocks were so enormous, the cleft between them so
incredibly deep you could get lost in it.    Slowly, she turned around
to face me, her hands over her face.
       Springing from the bed, I took her in my arms.
       "Gwen, you're so beautiful.  You're so incredibly sexy.  I love
every inch of you."
       She was crying.  "Richard, you're the sweetest, sexiest man
I've ever met."
       "Then why are you crying, honey?"
       "I'm crying because I'm HAPPY, you dolt!  I ... I never thought
I'd meet someone like you."  We stood there beside the bed, holding
each other.  I throbbed with pleasure, feeling her warm, naked skin
against mine.
       "So, are you gonna fuck me, or do we stand here all night?"
       "You're such a romantic, Gwen," I laughed, as we collapsed
together on the bed.
       Starting with her neck, I  kissed my way down between her big
floppy breasts to the soft folds of her belly, lingering over her deep
navel. Gently lifting her belly flab to uncover her pubic mound, I
gazed reverently at her thick, expansive forest of shaggy dark pubic
hair.
       "Richard, are you gonna do what I think you're gonna do?"
       "If you mean cunnilingus, the answer is yes."
       "Nobody's ever done that to me before ..."
       "You mean you've been denying mankind a taste of this treasure
all this time?   Very ungenerous of you, Gwen."
       Giggling, she opened her massive thighs wide, letting me
snuggle down between them.  At last, I was face to face with her big,
beautiful, wide-open cunt.  Her fresh womanly smell was intoxicating.
I began brushing my lips over the shaggy mound; but after a moment of
this, she eagerly thrust her crotch up into my face, and I found my
mouth and chin buried in the wet, hot folds of her labia.   Not that I
was complaining: she tasted fantastic.  My tongue explored, caressed,
and tasted as deeply as possible within her vagina.  Meanwhile, my
fingers, slick with her cunt honey, caressed within the deep furrow of
her ass, circling playfully around the rim of her anus.  I could feel
the hardness of her clit against my upper lip, and I paused to suck on
it, while her anus opened to my finger and I slid it deep into her
rectum.  "Oooouh!" she gasped, clamping her mighty thighs round my
head and hand as the orgasm hit her.  A flood of liquid bathed my
chin, and I drank from her thirstily, while my finger caressed her
silky, pulsating rectum.  I felt a deep joy at having made her come;
and an even deeper tenderness for her.  At last, withdrawing my finger
and licking her clean, from her anus to her clit, I began kissing my
way back up her heaving torso towards her blissfully smiling face.
       "God that was good!   Richard, do you know how good you are?"
       What could I say to that?  I just grinned like an idiot.  She
took my cock in her hand and began massaging it.  "Poor little guy
hasn't had any fun yet.  I want him inside me."
       Happy to oblige, I ripped open the package of condoms, unrolled
one onto my rock-hard dong, and climbed between her thighs.  She
guided me into her with her hand, and as I sank down on her soft bosom
and belly, my prick instantly slid all the way inside her.  We both
gasped with shock at the pleasure.   It was unbelievable how good she
felt; and it got even better as she began rocking her huge ass
underneath me.
       "Oh, yesss!  Fuck me  Richard."
       I began pistoning in and out of her, gently at first, but soon
I was slamming into her with all my strength.  I tried to hold my
orgasm back, but as I heard her beautiful cries reaching a fever
pitch, the cum erupted within me, and my body was awash in such pure
pleasure as I had never known before.  I clung tightly to her huge,
soft body, heaving beneath me like the swell of the ocean.
Afterglow.  Her hands lazily caressed my back and buttocks.   She
smelled so good.
After an experience like that, there was only one thing I could say.
       "I love you, Gwen."
       She kissed me deeply.  There were tears in her eyes.  "I'm so
glad. I love you too."

       We got married just a few months later.  The reception was
held, of course, at the Roundhouse, and we invited all the regulars,
as well as our families and colleagues; and I think I can say that
everyone there had a blast.  Except, perhaps, my sister's husband, a
doctor, who made an asinine comment to me about it being my
responsibility to persuade Gwen to "get her weight under control."
       "Gwen is in excellent health."  I responded.  "Look at her:
she's been dancing all evening.  You're out of breath after one Kerry
set."
       "But, Richard, seriously, ahem, you can't, ahem, expect to have
NORMAL, ahem, marital relations with a woman of her, ahem, size."
       I paused.  "No, George, I don't expect to have "normal marital
relations" with Gwen.  I have FANTASTIC, MIND-BLOWING SEX with her,
every night.  So eat your heart out."
       As I walked away, George was, no doubt, evaluating whether I
required psychiatric hospitalization.

       We've been married seven years now,  and we have a wonderful,
very bright, five-year-old son, Ian.  Gwen and I don't have mind-
blowing sex every night; but it's still pretty damned good, and pretty
close to every night, and I'm more in love with Gwen now than ever.
We still drop in at the Roundhouse a couple of times a month.  The
most gratifying thing for me (OK, apart from the sex itself) is the
part I've played in helping Gwen at last to see herself as the
beautiful, sexually powerful woman that she is.   She knows she's got
my libido wrapped around her little finger.   Or, more to the point,
wrapped around that great big magnificent ass of hers.   I'm getting
hard now just thinking about her, naked, bending over the edge of the
bed as I shower her voluminous buttocks with kisses; thinking about
burying my face in the deep furrow, licking her anus, while my fingers
slide in and out of her dripping cunt; thinking about her joyous cries
and grunts as the orgasm hits her.   Well, only two more hours to
bedtime.

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