Flipper and I engaged in semi-regular booty calls. We'd have several rounds of perfectly adequate sex, a little pillow talk and then he'd leave. It seemed to satisfy both of us. When I didn't hear from him for several months, I figured he'd gotten a girlfriend and was gone for good.
But it turned out he wasn't. After six months he popped back up. The girl hadn't worked out and he asked to hook up. I was game, but explained that my housing situation had changed and my new roommate was certifiably Section 8. My apartment was a no-sex zone. That was fine, Flipper told me. He had moved back in to his parents' house temporarily while changing jobs. But his parents were away this weekend. I thought it sounded good. Even just adequate sex can be hard to find in a college town.
On Saturday I showed up at Flipper's parents' house. It was in a neighborhood of non-descript Brady Bunch houses that had gotten more posh than it had any right to be due to explosive population growth. Flipper answered the door with a smile.
The minute I stepped inside I knew it was going to be a bad night.
The entire living room was done in Disney. And not a child-like primary color Disney. This was much more subtle and a lot more expensive Disney. The walls were hung with framed original animation cells. There was case after case of Disney figurines done in collector grade porcelain and Swarovski crystal. The solid walnut TV cabinet actually had mouse ears.
“So…” I said, “Your folks must really love Disney.” There didn't really seem to be anything else I could say.
“Yeah,” he replied, as if everyone picks a cartoon theme for their $40,000 living room. “We all love Disney. Didn't I tell you?”
“I guess it never came up.” Because there really is no place for “When You Wish Upon A Star” between “Take off your panties” and “Oh baby, do me harder.”
We headed back to his room. I was hoping for a break, but no such luck. More Disney, but with the child-likeness added back in. Duck Tales posters on the walls, Pluto and Goofy on the bedspread, Mickey Mouse alarm clock on the night stand. I asked when the last time he lived in this room was. “Right before I left for school,” he told me. He should have meant middle school, but I'm pretty sure he was referring to college.
What the hell, I figured. I spend most of my fucking time with my eyes closed or looking at the ceiling (Which was mercifully plain white. I checked). I could do this. No problem.
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Wow! All I can say is Wow..
Okay, I don't have any thing that tops Disney World.Here's the best i can come up with. I love women of color. I wound up talking to a beautiful black ass. I never saw her face but her profile pic was a beautiful black ass. She wanted to meet but didn't want to show me any other pics. I was a newb and horny and I went along with it. Figured the potential good would outway the bad.
She showed up and was a bbw. As a newb I was expecting a big botty girl from a 50 Cent video so I was a little let down. BUT this in itself does not rule out anything. Big girls need love too. I REALLY wish I would have had this info BEFORE she showed up though but meh, oh well. Why make a mountain out of a mole hill. Um…or vise versa.
So anyway, she brought over a LOT of alcohol which I did not partake of. Partially because I wasn't in the mood to drink, partially because if anything were to happen that night I was gonna need all my faculties in order to get things "up and runnin" and partially because she didn't offer me any. Glad she didn't bring dinner too.
She tells me she wants to watch TV for a while. Okay. She asks if we can put on the SciFi channel. I do. At this point she seems to be acting out her nightly routine only it's on my sofa. She gets enough booze and Stargate SG1 in her system to move things forward. We head to the bedroom.
I take her shirt off, her bra off (which, if Newton hadn't already discovered gravity, at that moment, I would have. And these were much bigger than apples) and discovered that her body was covered in a chalky white substance. I'm mean covered. Now she's a big girl, and I didn't want to say anything to hurt or feelings or ruin the mood (for her) but as a natural born smart ass, seeing a woman that size covered in a white powder, you can imagine how my tongue must have been bleeding from biting it. I assumed this was talcum powder, white deoderant or (albiet unlikly yet still possible), powdered sugar. If Al Pacino had 2 heads, her tits would have looked like that scene from Scarface.
I started kissing her and working my way down to her breasts which I regret to say were not dusted with sugar. It was a mix of talc and deoderant. White cake deoderant. It was chemical warfare in my bedroom. It was like licking your dads old spice crusted armpit (I'm guessing) because it WAS most certianly a mens brand. She apparently needed something strong enough for man but made for well…a man too.
It wasnt just on her breasts, though, it was literally everywhere. I couldn't go through with it. Aside from how it tasted it was just so unattractive to look at.
I really do enjoy women of ALL shapes, sizes, colors, etc. I firmly believe that sexy is just as much attitude as it is physical attributes. There are skinny women who can be completely unattractive to me cuz they're snobby daddy's princesses and there's BBW's who are sexy as heel just because they're confident in themselves. I understand that a BBW may have to take additional measures to stay confident, confident, DRY AND SECURE but come on. Really? Are there no other products on the market that DON'T make you look like you did a nude internship on Ace of Cakes? Or can't you go to the bathroom for a second and use a washcloth to wipe oit off just prior to sex? I mean this girl KNEW it was there and it didn't phase her in the least. I'm staring at winter in the Rocky Mountains and she's looking back at me bewildered as if to say "what's wrong? don't you like summer?"
There's no good ending to this story. I couldn't go through with anything. I politely ending the evening. Told her it was my fault or some bullshit like that.
Moral of the story is don't talk to an ass.