The morning coffee
Cock hope. In her case anyway. And one didn't have to scrutinize her appearance in great detail, to see that for her to get some cock, it really was a long shot, hopelessly out of range.
It’s such a cliche, isn’t it? The whole morning coffee thing, the routine, the rush hour, the buzz of all things yesterday, people’s words still rambling away in my head, snappily interrupted by pestering awareness of the crushing weight of nullity of today’s void in my chest.
People say that I’m weird but I don’t care at all. I’ve always had this thing for fat girls. As I was explaining about this quirk of mine to a friend in the shady atrium of my local cafe, I caught a little shining speck of glimmering hope in a corner of an eye on some hopelessly unfortunate looking girl, as she persisted in her painfully blatant failure in presenting a disinterested appearance. She just stood there, the whole 250 pounds of her, trying to make it seem as if she didn’t hear anything. But she did. And something lit up inside her.
This whole scene I might actually consider leaning somewhat towards the amusing side, if the ignominiousness of her grotesque failure to conceal the burning furnace, that her body was becoming, the unbalancing gelatination of her knees, and the blushing redness of her glitteringly moist lower lip, tremoring in an overwhelming onslaught of unadulterated pristine pure bestial lust, didn’t make me hard.
She turned towards us, one hand moving slowly up the tit valley, the other one shivering its way towards her lips. She clearly hasn’t been touched for a while.
There is no free lunch. Yes, I like them fat. Fat, but not obese. Fat, but not chubby. Perhaps in the range between 33 and 35% of the whole fat spectrum from where chubby ends to where obese begins. The ass-and-tits kind of fat, not the gut-and-quadruple-chin kind. Compact, not sagging. Fair skin, as white as milk. Tender. No rough stuff. No spots. No scars, scabs, bruises, pimples or rashes. No visible veins. Straight nose. No silicone. Firm, round, compact, equal in size as well as in shape, large, area dominating, attention commanding pair of tits with straight ahead pointing nipples peeking through her brilliantly shining Pennsylvanian anthracite black, forward over her shoulders falling hair, as she breathes in, and slowly retreating back into her thick, shining, velvety black locks as she breathes out. Yes, that’s how I like them.
She was nothing like that.
She seemed to had noticed the bulge in my pants, that the plain view of her tremoring lips and wobbly knees, hopelessly magnified by her clumsy effort to make believe nothing was happening, had produced.
She reached towards me.
Hope is a powerful thing. God knew, what he was doing, when he left people to fend for themselves in this world, mindless masses completely lost in the vastness of this tiny little marble of a planet, floating around through space, not giving any consideration to a bunch of meat bags swarming all over it, who are being driven into a relentless chase after their dreams by pretty much hope alone. Most people throughout history had their lives filled with nothing but excessive amounts of basic unfounded hope, and amazingly, many of them actually pulled it through. Yes, hope is God’s great gift to humanity.
Cock hope. In her case anyway. And one didn’t have to scrutinize her appearance in great detail, to see that for her to get some cock, it really was a long shot, hopelessly out of range. It made me wonder for a moment, how many times she had been shunned by a bum. If I actually stuck my dick into a woman so horrifically nasty, that even the lowest of the bums, who sleep in piles of shit and vomit, and eat their beds for breakfast, would never ever touch, it might actually be a global one-of-a-kind achievement. If I hyped it up a bit, and became known as the man who dared fuck the nastiest creature on the planet, I’d be on Springer in no time.
And she was not fooling around either. No fingertip bullshit. She just grabbed the whole package and gave it a good squeeze. I thought I might be able to give it to her anyway. My friend retreated into the corner armchair of the atrium, pulling out his phone and pointing its lense in our general direction. It stung me. If this ever gets out, no woman will ever touch me again.
The woman sort of thing in front of me used her non-balls-squeezing hand to unbutton her blouse, releasing the shapeless bulk of her gut to hang out in the open. As it fell out, I started wondering, what kind of fabric her blouse was made of. It must had been some high quality shit, to withstand that weight.
But her tits seemed to lean somewhat towards the range of decency. Good. I’ll focus on her tits. That’ll get me through it.
Then she pulled her bra up.
What came out looked exactly like two firefighter hoses, neatly rolled up and tucked into her cups. Those things rolled down the vast shapelessness of her gut, and her finger-sized floppy nipples started flapping about, as the tits unrolled all the way down to her thighs. The sight of that made me belch. Looking back, I wonder, how I even made it that far. At the back of my throat I started to taste the coffee I had just had, mixed with the gore, that her undeniably unique appearance squeezed and sucked out of my gore bladder. My sickness made me try to pull away from the creature.
She was having none of it.
She squeezed my balls harder. At that moment, I was actually grateful for that, as the excruciating pain in my balls overshadowed the pain of what I had just seen, even if just for a little while. I fell down to the ground and she wasted no time starting to unzip my pants and pull my cock out, which for some weird reason was still hard. I dared not look any more, I just felt a great lump of lard enveloping my body. I guess she was doing the cowgirl.
I started praying. Please God, Allah, Shiva and Coxalceatl, I’ll convert to any of you assholes, just make my dick shrivel up, please make it useless, please make it disappear, make it disappear completely, turn it into a fucking hole. It was the only time in my life I ever wished having a pussy.
My wish was not granted. The bulk of blubber kept on twitching on top of me until I shot, and my dick finally shivered up like a stack of dimes. I can’t remember exactly how I felt at that point, but I know I was crying. She rolled off of me, finally, and my friend says, that she went straight for her purse, whipped out a bundle of dildos and started doing herself in all holes.
My friend, himself sick to his stomach, helped me up and we got out of the cafe, never to return again.
My morning shot of bourbon has been helping me forget the taste of my last morning coffee ever since.