Haley and Houston

[JDubois]

~BBW, ~SWG – She has a gorgeous figure despite being a little thick in the thighs and hips, and one of the most purely beautiful and modelesque faces you have ever come across. She looks even prettier now that she’s let her hair down, and the intoxicating sweet floral scent that surrounds her is enough to pull you in all by itself.

Haley & Houston
By Jolene Dubois

Chapter One

HALEY: I was running away. I was running away from Seattle, from my childhood, from the winter and from a sequence of untidy and unattractive love-affairs. And I had run a very long way indeed. I had come all the way from the cloud covered Pacific Northwest to the heat of Tulsa, Oklahoma in late spring. And I felt that I, or at any rate my skin, (which had gone from a creamy olive tone to nicely sun tanned) had changed just as much – from the shallowness that had been the badge of my Seattle life to the snap and color and sparkle of living in the sun and going to bed early and sleeping late and all those other wonderful simple things that had been part of my life in Quebec before it was decided that I must go to the Thomas Robert Powell school of fashion and modeling in Seattle.
    Very unladylike, of course, this cut-off denim mini-skirt and this overly revealing white tank top. I had even stopped going to the gym and got reacquainted with my passion for chocolate fudge, but to me it had been like sloughing off a borrowed skin and getting back into my own, and I was childishly happy and pleased with myself whenever I looked in the mirror. I’m not being smug about this. I was just running away from the person I’d been for the past 3 years. I was pleased with the person I was now, and I had hated and despised the other one, and I was glad to be rid of her face.

    I liked going to the baseball games. There is a lovely grassy hill on the other side of the right field wall where I like to absorb the sunlight, have a drink, and just be alone. Jack & Diane played between innings and suddenly I am back on Lake Washington and it is two summers ago and Derek is driving his speed boat while I worked his iPhone in my green and white Bermuda striped swimsuit, feeling nervous that my ass looked too big in the revealing bikini bottoms. So now I feel sad – not because of Derek, but because of the sweet pain of boy and girl and sunshine and first love with its music and snapshots and memories. It was a sadness of sentiment for lost childhood, and of the self pity for the pain that had been it’s winding sheet, and I let a small tear run down my cheek before I brushed it away and decided to have a short orgy of remembering.

    My name is Haley Somerset Edwards and, at the time I was sitting on that small grassy hill at the ballpark in the Tulsa Fairgrounds and remembering. I was twenty-one. I am 166 centimeters tall, or five foot five, and I always thought I had a good figure until the American girls at Thomas Robert Powell told me my hips were too wide and that I must wear a bigger bra. My eyes are a deep blue and I like that my hair is such a dark shade of brown that people often mistake it as black, although those same girls said it made me look foreign. I have been told by modeling coaches that I have a perfect nose, but my lips are too full so that they often look sexy when I don’t want them to.

    I am French-Canadian. I was born just outside of Quebec at a little place called Sainte Famille on the north coast of the Ile d’Orleans, a long island that lies like a huge sunken ship in the middle of the St. Lawrence River where it approaches the Quebec Straits. I can’t remember much about my parents – except that I loved my father and got on badly with my mother – because when I was eight they were both killed in a car crash in Montreal on their way to a wedding. The courts made me a ward of my widowed aunt, Florence Toussaint, and she moved into our house and brought me up. She sent me off to the Thomas Robert Powell fashion school in Seattle when I was eighteen, in hopes I would become a glamour model. It was there that I met Derek.

    He was twenty-one at the time, the same age I am now. I didn’t know anyone in Seattle and he was very popular, so I was happy to be his arm candy, if nothing else it was a way to get myself established in a new city. He wasn’t bad to look at either. He was tall, and a member of the University of Washington crew team which, no doubt, was the reason for his lean, muscular physique.
    I remember the way he seemed so interested in me from the first time he saw me. I remember when he got me into that nightclub only shortly after we met. We stayed out until two in the morning and when we went out onto the street I had to hold him. He got an Uber and it seemed natural when he took me in his arms, and when he kissed me I kissed back. After I had twice taken his hand off my breast, the third time seemed prissy not to leave it there, but when he moved it down and tried to put it up my skirt, I wouldn’t let him, and when he took my hand and tried to put it on him I wouldn’t do that either, although my whole body was hot with wanting these things. When we kissed goodbye later that morning, he put his hand down behind my back and squeezed my ass hard, and when he left I could still feel his hand there. When I crept over to look into the mirror I saw that my eyes and face were radiant as if they were lit up from inside and, although probably most of the lighting-up came from the vodka, I thought, ‘Oh my goodness! I’m in love!’

    My love for him didn’t last however. As time went by he became passive aggressively controlling. He would look at me with disgust any time he saw me eating something he considered to be ‘unhealthy’ and make offhanded remarks regarding the size of my backside, and back then I was only just a shade over 66 kilograms or 145 pounds, and being in fashion school I knew that I measured 38DD-28-43, and without corset training a 28 inch waist was by no means fat. But I did know that I had a bit of a sweet tooth and the tendency to put on weight very easily, and I feared if I did his comments would get all the more blunt.
    What’s more is that being with Derek became increasingly less enjoyable. His idea of fun was jogging around Green Lake or going for a hike in the Cascade Mountains, two things I was not accustomed to doing, or wanted to do to say the least. It would be pointless to mention that my smoking didn’t go over well with him either, and now that I look back I wonder how we stayed together for so long in the first place. I suppose I was nothing more than a pretty face to him and needless to say we eventually parted ways.

    After Derek I took a job as a hostess at the type of restaurant where you cannot be overdressed called Canlis, and moved into an apartment off campus. It was at Canlis where I met Brad. The whole thing just sort of came up out of the blue, or so it seemed. I had finished my shift at the restaurant and decided that I’d have a glass of wine before retiring for the night. The owner liked me well enough to allow me a drink or two, even though I was underage at just twenty years old. I hadn’t noticed the handsome man in the Armani suit two barstools down, but I inevitably felt his eyes dissecting every inch of me in my little black dress and decided to play along.

BRAD: Another worthless dinner meeting with the suits. All they do is talk and nothing ever happens expect for an excuse to overindulge in expensive Scotch. It may have been worth it however now that I have a closer look at the young hostess I have had my eye on for a while now. I followed her round, heart-shaped ass with my eyes as it swayed and gyrated to the bar in that tight, thought provoking black dress, and my body couldn’t help but pursue.
    She is absolutely stunning. Like a young Cindy Crawford and Monica Bellucci put together, only better. She has a gorgeous figure despite being a little thick in the thighs and hips, and one of the most purely beautiful and modellesque faces I have ever come across. She looks even prettier now that she’s let her hair down, and the intoxicating sweet floral scent that surrounds her is enough to pull me in all by itself.
    She looks so good it’s almost otherworldly, like she belongs on the big screen in a French romantic comedy, as the hot chick or object of desire of bumbling billionaires, not a hostess at a ritzy Seattle restaurant. Judging by the tightness of her dress, the softness of her cream colored arms and the small yet visible belly roll that she tries to keep hidden behind crossed legs; she is slightly ashamed, or at least self-conscious of the fact she’s probably ten or fifteen pounds away from her ideal weight. I would normally translate that into easy prey, but this girl is different. She’s confident, and doesn’t seem like the one night stand type, and I’ll admit that I wouldn’t want her for one night only anyway. This girl is just too good, too beautiful, and too sensuous for that, and I’ll need more than just a taste. So what if I’m married, so what if I have kids, I’m still human, and how often does a guy come across a woman who looks like that?

 

HALEY: We started flirting and he bought me another drink and asked for my number. I normally don’t give my number out to every guy that starts hitting on me, but I had seen Brad at Canlis before, and I knew he was well-off and well respected and he seemed worth my time. He was in his early thirties and was a television reporter for the Seattle Mariners baseball team on one of the local sports channels. He was slim, kind of bony but good-looking and a bit of a local celebrity, which I found exciting.

    We started dating and he involved me in some of the perks of his job; I would get box seats for free at the baseball games, and get to meet many of the players. Back then I knew nothing of the game of baseball, or sports in general for that matter, but there was something relaxing and comforting about watching a game on a warm summer evening that I found delightful.

    Late night dinners together after the games became a nightly routine and I started sleeping with him at his lavish downtown apartment more frequently, and Brad was a lover of quite exceptional finesse. I had lost my virginity to Derek, but he always failed to satisfy me fully. So many nights I had longed for someone to play upon me also like, as Brad put it, ‘a great violinist playing upon his instrument’. And it was inevitable, I suppose, that it was Brad who came to me in that role – so safe, so gentle, so deeply understanding of a woman’s physical needs.

    As time passed I found it odd that Brad never introduced me to any friends besides ball players, and I began to notice the way he flirted with the female sports reporter Nicole. A tall big breasted young woman, whom I did not think to be as pretty, was more athletic, and physically fit than I. Brad was surrounded by many attractive women in his line of work, and I guess I didn’t notice, or didn’t want to notice his often obvious womanizing.
    I suddenly became more self-conscious about my body. While I didn’t think I was overweight, I was definitely much more curvaceous than most of the women in the social circles that surrounded a television station and a Major League Baseball team. And almost overnight, the subtle comments made by Brad (who was extremely health conscious) about my penchant for overindulging in food and wine, became magnified to my ears. I tried hard to change for him and do and be what I thought he would want me to be. I tried to smoke less, and eat healthier, and began going to the gym more often. He told me he loved me, and I had told him I loved him back, and I started to think we might be together forever. But even that thought scared me, as I didn’t know how much longer I could continue depriving myself of the comforts I was accustomed to, and keep up with an exercise routine that I hated.

    Then one day I overheard some women mentioning something about a Mr. and Mrs. Brad Adams, and something about kids, and it all made sense. Deep down I think I knew it all along, but was just too naive, to trusting and love drunk see the whole picture. I felt utterly sick about it. To think that I had tried to change who I was for a man who was committing adultery, and I was the stupid adulteress. I went home heartbroken in tears, and stopped returning his phone calls from then on.

    A trite reflection, of course, but I had now been let down both by the manipulation of Derek, and the dishonesty of Brad and I was prepared to lose confidence in every man. I suppose both men had been drawn in by my physical beauty, but both wanted me to change into a female version of themselves. Derek had wanted me to be more outdoorsy and active, and a part thinks that if that’s what he wanted then he should’ve been dating a man. The same was true with Brad only he also wanted me to be okay with being nothing more than his piece of ass on the side. I had had the desire to please (and take pleasure but that had been secondary), and that had marked me as easy meat, expendable.

    Well that was the end of that! I had tried to change for these men, I tried to accommodate to their needs, and I had even tried to change my body. I would not make that mistake again. I had always been slightly curvy and perhaps even voluptuous as of late, but that was part of what made me feel sexy and feminine. I liked smoking, drinking, eating at nice restaurants and wearing nice clothes. Not working up a sweat in the gym, or hiking in the wilderness with nothing but a bottle of water and a granola bar while dressed in baggy knee-length cargo shorts! From now on I would take and not give.

    For the next several months I lived for myself and myself only. I didn’t understand Derek’s dull liberal world, and I didn’t know how to manage the clinical, cold-eyed, modern ‘love’ that Brad had offered me. I told myself I had too much heart. Neither of these men had wanted my heart, they had just wanted my body. I isolated myself a bit I suppose, but it was a welcome change. I felt snug and warm and protected in my apartment, food became my condolence and loneliness became my lover, and solitude was a darling sin.
    I started Thomas Robert Powell at 143 pounds, and I had heard stories about the freshman fifteen, but I knew I had curves and the so-called ‘junk-in-the trunk’ (how I hate that term) that many men desired, and I didn’t give much thought to my diet. It wasn’t until Derek and then Brad that I realized I was getting bigger, but I honestly felt somewhat ‘de-feminized’ once I started repressing my vices for these men. And after I ended my unhealthy relationship with Brad, I let all my worries about such things go, and the longer I let them go, the more beautiful I felt.

    Over the years I have learned that one of the main components to looking beautiful, is feeling beautiful, and I felt more beautiful after Brad and after what was for me the freshman, sophomore, and junior ‘twenty-five pound gain’, than I ever had before. Even still, living like an arrogant isolated princess can eventually become boring; much like school had become boring. I didn’t fit in at Thomas Robert Powell, and although I was friends with many of the girls there, and had a love of fashion, I was just too simple, or perhaps too classy a woman to survive the big town jungle.
    It didn’t help that I was now considered to be ‘plus size’ by the modeling coaches. It didn’t so much offended me but rather amused me. I knew they way men looked at my body and the attention it attracted in public, and I also knew the way men looked at some of the other slimmer girls at Thomas Robert Powell, and I have to say that honestly, the majority of the eyes were always focused on me. But I was nice, and sweet and easy prey for middle-aged former models turned coaches who had less natural beauty than I, not to be smug. I was altogether too ‘Canadian’, or too ‘French’ to want to compete with these women. So be it! I was simple, so I would go back to simple lands. I stuck my chin out like a good little French-Canadian (well, a fairly good little French-Canadian!), and decided for a change to dish out.

    My plan was to go off on my own, for at least a year, and see the other half of America. I would go off to explore, to adventure, something I had really never done before in my life. I would use my inheritance and savings and follow the highways right down through the states, until I got to Florida, and there I would use my education and get a job as a fashion journalist for a sensible magazine or something, and sit in the sunshine until I felt like doing something else.

    Once I had made up my mind, the details of my plan absorbed me. I mapped out the distance, and chose the most suitable, while still scenic route I could find, and then wondered about transport. The thought of using my 09’ BMW had occurred to me, but I suddenly fell in love with the idea of a Porsche Cayenne. If I were more daring I would have said a Spyder, but that involved shifting and taking a convertible top on and off. I sold my silver M3 for $14,000 which was less than it was worth but I didn’t care to wait around for better offers.
    At first it seemed ridiculous, the idea of taking on the great transcontinental highways as opposed to flying someplace like a sensible person, but really I wanted to take my time, and I wanted an adventure and I wanted the solitude and the freedom only driving can provide.
     I cleared out my apartment, giving away all my possessions, withdrew from Thomas Robert Powell, and facetimed Aunt Florence for the first time in several months. She was shocked (as I expected) at the plan I had conjured up. She looked older and paler than I remembered, but part of that may have just been from her great surprise of the news I was giving her. I think she thought I was running off with a boy or something, and didn’t believe me when I told her I was single.
    She was complimentary about my looks, or what she could see of me through her lap top computer. I had become ‘une belle fille’. It seemed that I had developed ‘beaucoup de temperament’ – a French euphemism for ‘sex appeal’ – or at any rate the appearance of it, and it seemed incredible to her that at twenty-one there was no man in my life. The thought of me on the road horrified her; she told me America was full of gangsters, and how it was very unladylike to travel alone, and drive no less. I managed to reassure her that I would be safe, and everything would be fine, and, on a beautiful yet chilly April morning, I was off.

    The Cayenne was a dream, and wonderfully easy to drive. The acceleration was enough to give the ordinary American sports car quite a shock, and I soared up hills like a bird with the all the freedom in the world. Of course I had to put up with a good deal of wolf-whistling from the young, and grinning and hand-waving from the old, but I’m afraid I rather enjoyed being something of the sensation my aunt had predicted and I smiled with varying sweetness at all the sundry at every rest stop. I made it as far as a town called Baker City, Oregon, off of highway 84 before I decided to get a hotel for the night. I must have looked like a fish out of water to the receptionist at the hotel, standing there with mascara and a bright red pea coat and tight designer jeans.

    I ate voraciously that night in the comfort of my hotel room. Nothing too fancy, just a local gourmet pizza with pepperoni, salami, Italian sausage, and a micro beer battered crust which was absolutely divine along with a bottle of wine.
    I would never admit it to Derek or Brad, or to my friends at Thomas Robert Powell, but I absolutely adore the feeling I get after a large, and yes, fattening meal. Curling up and taking a nap with a full belly used to a guilty pleasure for me when I was younger, but now it’s just simply, a pleasure. I don’t mind the effects it has on my figure either, I don’t know that I ever did, it’s just now that I don’t care what other people think. I always wondered why it was that if you’re a girl with a pretty face, you’re criticized anytime you gain weight, but no one seems to care when an average looking girl get’s fat. I like the fact that I have hips, and a butt and soft skin. I wouldn’t even mind if I got a belly, and I fell asleep that night with a satisfied full stomach, feeling happy and excited. It had been a long and wonderful day.
    I woke up early the next the morning but not too early, and had a good hearty, but admittedly fattening Hotel breakfast to take the edge off the aftereffects of the wine from the night before. Once over the Idaho State border I headed almost directly south in search of warmer weather, and wandered from national monuments to quant little towns, as well as stopping at every appealing drive-in and diner I passed along the way like I was on an early summer holiday. I won’t go into details since this is not a travelogue, but there was hardly a decent looking greasy spoon that interested me that didn’t get my dollar.
    I just went on a kind of splurge that was part genuine curiosity but mostly self indulgent gluttony with the notion in mind that I no longer cared what dress size I was, and wanting to put off the day when I actually had to settle down and face the inevitable reality of getting a job again. There were plenty of artsy and unique shops, and I bought clothing as I traveled, not wanting to weigh myself down with luggage. I even got audacious enough to buy a pair of black leather pants, (Aunt Florence would have cringed) and they certainly turned some heads and got their fare share of admirers to say the least!

    It was at the end of two and half weeks of living like a wealthy tourist that I found myself in the city of Tulsa, Oklahoma. As painful as it was to admit, I was altogether sick and tired of driving. My legs were sore, I was exhausted and I questioned what in the world made me think I was capable or suited for a cross country trip without the comforts of decent or respectable hotel rooms. It was here that I fled from the horrible mainstream that interstate 44 had become and took to the delightful Midwestern setting of Oneok field, home of a ‘triple A’ baseball team called the Tulsa Drillers and the small grassy hill where I have been sitting remembering just how I happened to get here. Tulsa was as good of place as any to relax in an extended stay hotel a Homewood Suites by Hilton, and buy time before I decided what do for the remainder of my journey.

 

Chapter Two

HOUSTON: It had been the first multi-homerun game of my young career. I didn’t really care about keeping baseballs as mementos but the first one, which I hit 450 feet to left-center, was brought to me by the bullpen coach like it was my 3,000th hit in the majors. He made it seem so important that I keep it and treasure it that I felt obligated to find the second, which had gone over the right field wall to end the game. Of course, I had another motive to find the ball. That girl was out there.

    The girl I had seen every day since we came back from the road trip. The girl everyone, at least all the guys seemed to be talking about. It was probably just because she was so different from all the other slutty blonde high school groupies in such a wonderful and refreshing way. I don’t know if it was the long dark hair, or the flawless skin, or the pretty face or perfect rack, or if it was that she was so much more mysterious, and so much hotter than any girl I or they had ever seen before.

    “Excuse me; you didn’t happen to see the ball that was hit out here did you?” I asked as I stood about ten feet away and looked at her. She was worth a stare. She was stretched out, ankles crossed and sandals off, so I stared at her legs, which were exposed all the way to her upper thighs. They seemed to be arranged to gaze upon. The knees were soft, not bony and sharp. The thighs were wonderfully thick, the calves were beautiful, the ankles tiny and all of her looked perfectly tanned and smooth and delicious. After slowly removing her dark sunglasses she gave me a cool level stare.

    “So it was your ball that I grabbed.” She said. I looked at her, now a little taken back by how beautiful she was. She had the prettiest face I’d ever seen, almost too perfect to be real, a whole other level of unobtainable prettiness and symmetry. Her hair was very dark, almost black, it was thick and long and framed her face from below the exquisite, delicate, feminine line of her jaw, and her eyes were unbelievable. They were big and dark and sexual, with intelligence beneath them and a touch of sadness masked behind long eye lashes. She has no idea what she’s doing to the guys around here, or maybe she does. If she does she certainly hides it well, sitting here all alone, reading a magazine and smoking a cigarette like she hasn’t a care in the world.

    “I’ve seen you before.” I said. “You know someone on the team, or do you just get a kick out of distracting the outfielders?” I felt confident before I said this, but regretted it the moment it left my tongue. What was I trying to be clever? Trying to qualify myself by acting like I’d seen plenty of women that could even hold a candle to her? I’m Houston Hey, I’m almost famous, I led the NCAA in doubles as a junior at Rice, I just hit two home runs, I single handedly won the game, I was a second round draft pick! So why am I getting chills when it’s ninety degrees outside?

HALEY: At first glance I inwardly groaned – God, it’s another of them, he’s going to try and hit on me. But he stood there so quiet and controlled and wore that baseball uniform so wonderfully and was good-looking in boyish, yet rugged kind of way, like a young man in an old American western film, like James Dean in a baseball cap, if that makes sense. But how could I answer a question like that, ‘distracting the outfielders?’ He couldn’t be serious.

    “No, I don’t know anybody.” I told him as I gazed at his tan completion, his broad shoulders and tight and dirty baseball pants. It had been months since I’d been to bed with a man, and there seemed to be an unconscious connection between us. Well aware of the fact that I was utterly bursting out of my tank top, and that my denim mini skirt was short enough to promote public Sapphic love, getting his full attention was effortless.
    Despite having eaten myself to upwards of 170 pounds, I had acquired enough personal image and fashion sense to know that I looked damn good, and to the opposite sex, genuinely sexy. I was quite pleased that the effects of my indulgence and laziness flattered my body so well. I knew that a diet and a gym would be in my not too distant future, but at the moment I felt ultra-feminine with a somewhat exaggerated hourglass figure and, I’ll admit, a pretty big butt.

    The thought had crossed my mind, after all I was on somewhat of an adventure and I was feeling adventurous in more ways than one. I felt my animalistic nature take over, I needed a man, and he was very hot. I wanted him badly, perhaps just for tonight; I had his ball in my hand, which along with a playful finger in my hair and slight smirk across my full glossy lips, was enough of an invitation if he had the confidence to act on it. He smiled at me and I put down my copy of Marie Claire and without getting up, stretched out my arm holding his ball.

HOUSTON: We ended up at a bar not far from the stadium. I don’t even know how we got there, nor could I believe my good fortune of happening upon a lady of her elegance and beauty in the middle of Oklahoma. She said her name was Haley. She has a body worthy of being sculpted by a great artist and a face to match. That mini skirt was driving me insane, her thighs up close were thicker than I imagined, but they were tan and smooth and their exaggerated shapeliness flattered her.         Judging from her magazine-cover-worthy face alone, I wouldn’t have guessed that she was this heavy, or that her body was as big and voluptuous as it was. I wouldn’t call her fat or even chubby, but she certainly wasn’t skinny, and the extra pounds that she carried were proportioned in the most appealing areas. She had wide, curvy, womanly hips and a very healthy sized ass that was as round and full as it was beautiful. Also, to put it bluntly she had huge boobs that seemed to defy gravity. As a whole she surpassed what was the mental image I had since I was a kid, which I didn’t think really existed, of my ideal fantasy icon of classical femininity. Before her I never considered any woman to be beyond my reach or out of my league, but if I was completely honest with myself, Haley was out of my league. I had never been so anxious in my life. I don’t even really drink, but I found myself ordering a pitcher of beer just to calm my nerves.

    I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to muster up a banter that moved from small talk to strong sexual tension, then to an awkward silence. And when I kissed her, she kissed back, and she tasted like strawberry vanilla ice cream. For some reason I felt a chemistry and connection with her that went deeper than her physical beauty. It was strange too, because we seemed to be very different people on the surface. I was religious and have always been very anti-smoking, and she seems to light up one cigarette after the other. Stranger still is that I liked it. I loved watching those wet plump lips get their oral fixation, and hearing the soft female sounds of her breath after filling her lungs with smoke and then daintily exhaling through her delicate mouth and nose. I found it incredibly arousing and titillating.

    I don’t sleep around much, being a professional baseball player, minor leagues or not I get my fair share of bimbos throwing themselves at me, and being a fairly good Christian boy I almost always turn them down, but I woke up in my apartment with Haley’s warm soft body lying next to me after the most exhilarating sex of my life. My few previous partners were all very attractive, but none had a body that could even mildly compare to Haley’s. With her turquoise lace bikini panties digging slightly into her soft, lightly tan flesh and her perfectly shaped, behemoth breasts pressing against my chest I was in heaven. How refreshing it was to lay next to a classy, goddess-like beauty with curves to spare.

    She opened her big blue eyes, batted those long black eyelashes and smiled at me.
    “I normally don’t do things like this,” She said as she sat up, arched her back, stretched out her arms and coolly yawned. In nothing but those stylish, sexy turquoise bra and panties, it was easy to see that I was in the presence of truly an amazingly perfect creature. She didn’t even have tan lines. Her skin was flawless and creamy smooth from head to toe. Her waist narrowed as she arched her back and moved her ass on my mattress, giving me a great view of her cute little deep-set belly button. Her waist was surprisingly thin in comparison to her more than ample tits and ass, but it was a bit pudgy, and it was soft and tan and very sexy, and I was on the brink of having a female-beauty induced stroke.

“Neither do I,” I muttered as I tossed the sheet away and elbowed myself into a sitting position against the head board of my queen sized bed. I had a fairly nice apartment as I was signed for 1.5 million by the Padres out of college, and I kept it clean, for a bachelor anyway, but I never realized how plain it was until I had Haley sitting next to me on my bed. “We barely know each other.”

She leaned forward on the mattress and lit a cigarette. I had never let anyone smoke in my apartment before, but she had already had two after sex earlier, and I wasn’t about to tell her she couldn’t. Besides, I found it incredibly sexy. Especially from my view of her back, with her hips and thighs spread wide on the bed, and a small roll of fat pushing over her skimpy panties as she adjusted her bra.
    “What’s going on?” I inquired, probably with a silly grin on my face.

    “What do you mean?” she asked as she turned around and ran a hand through her soft, flowing hair.

    “I mean what’s going on between us, you know…this thing…right now?” I asked again. “Because I feel like… there’s something going on here.”

    “Sure there’s something going.” She replied with a smile. “We’re just two people who met, and now I’m here in your apartment after a lovely night together.”

    “Yeah?” I muttered in an asking tone and chuckled.

    “I don’t know, who cares? I’m happy, and I…. think you’re happy. Let’s try not and make things awkward., she said as she rolled her big blue eyes, sat back down and started rubbing my chest. “I like you.”

    After that comment I squeezed her squishy upper arms, kissed her hard on lips and proceeded to caress her perfect body with wild abandon. After we came back up for air she finished her cigarette, which she had deftly placed on the brim of an empty beer can which also served as an ash tray and said, “I’m hungry, you want to go get some breakfast?”
    “Yeah, but I I’ve got to get to the field pretty soon.” I answered, sitting up and grabbing a shirt.

    “Oh…. well if you have to get going then I’ll grab something on my way back to the hotel.”

    “No, no, I have a little time. There’s a donut shop right across the street, we can go get some coffee real quick.”

    “Oh god, donuts sound so good right now.” She cooed as she squeezed her thighs and ass back into her skimpy denim mini skirt. “But I’m not going to be able to fit into this skirt much longer if I keep eating like this.”

    “So just buy a better size.”

    “You mean bigger size,” she said as she sucked in her belly.

HALEY: Houston was amazing in bed. Although he was less experienced than Brad, he was younger, more vibrant and more masculine. I thought of his sinewy shoulders, his soft short hair that smelled of patchouli oil. I thought of his beautiful skin and the way he got dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, but mostly I thought of his eyes. They were so deep and intelligent, so peaceful, so accepting of me, and so filled with wild desire. They seemed to connect with mine, and it was as if they stared into my soul when he and I shared our bodies. I loved the way I saw him seeing me, really seeing me for who I was, naked and completely vulnerable. I knew that this affair would have to last for more than just one night.

He went off to the stadium to get ready for his game later that morning. I went back to my hotel and told him I’d meet him after the game. I took a long cool shower, and slipped into my brand new True Religion jean shorts, which were short enough, (especially when I rolled up the cuffs) and flaunted my ass in such a way that was sure to get Houston excited. Its funny how fast things move sometimes, I just met this boy the day before and already I feel like I’m in love. It is different than the way I felt with Derek and Brad, this feels right, like the school girl crush, or the love at first sight that I’ve always heard about but never experienced nor did I think really existed. As it would be another hot day in the mid-nineties, I squeezed into a tight grey, pearl trim tank top and then headed over to the hotel restaurant for lunch, to kill some time until his game started.

I sat outside behind my big sunglasses with a view of the pool, with my copy of Cosmopolitan and Gourmet to keep me company. I started with some baby pork ribs marinated in red chili and hoi sin sauce with a side of rainbow striped designer coleslaw with black seeds in it. To drink I had sparkling water with a twist of lemon and a sweet white zinfandel. Then because I knew I needed some energy for the afternoon I had the leg of lamb, marinated in garlic sage oil. There was polenta on the side which is really grits but nobody around here was going to tell you that. I had a local red wine with the main meal, even though I’m not big on drinking so much in the middle of the day. I knew I might need to drift away a bit because of what was coming. I had a side dish too what was it? Oh yes I remember, it was sautéed vegetables, which ordinarily would not sit well with me because I do not like vegetables, as childish as that sounds. But they were tossed with a pecan demi-glace, butter and mint, it was so good I almost decided not to go for dessert. But when I saw the light simple strawberry cheesecake, I could not refuse.

HOUSTON: Seeing Haley standing there in the grass beyond the outfield wall, with a hand those electric hips of hers which were packed into those beltless denim hot pants was something out of every man’s best dreams. I didn’t know how long our extended fling would last but we saw each other every day and night for the remainder of my team’s home stand. I was in a state of euphoria when I was with her and in a state of depression when I had to go back on the road. She wished me well and said she would see me again, but when I returned to Tulsa she was gone. Not a phone call, not a letter, not a word. I felt naïve and stupid, I should have known it was too good to be true. A girl like that doesn’t just fall into your lap like that. She was probably a young trophy wife married to some middle-aged millionaire who just happened to be on a business trip, and she just wanted some action on the side with someone her own age. I was crushed and sickened and I threw myself into baseball and into church. I had given into my hormones and temptation and I paid for it emotionally. Would I do it again? With Haley? Your damn right I would. My two weeks with her were the best two weeks of my life.

HALEY: The week and a half that Houston and the Tulsa Drillers were in town were complete and utter bliss for me. Houston and I were together all of the time; it was a relationship that went from zero to one hundred in a matter of seconds with little to no thought of repercussions or consequence. I had tunnel vision for only Houston and the way he made love to me, and the joy and pleasure that he brought to me. Something about the way his ruff, strong hands would gently and aggressively caress my soft naked skin. I felt so liberated knowing I could eat whatever I wanted and feel completely at ease about it when I was with him. I think he liked my (admittedly) big thighs. I know how some men feel about curvy women of a generous size and proportions. I could tell by the way he would look at me in morning; so tender, so loving and so close, and I can still smell the manly spice of his deodorant and feel the heat of the sun on his clean cotton clothes.

This is why I felt so sad. We were from two different worlds. He was traveling all around with baseball, and I was on my way to Florida. I wanted our love affair to last forever, but I knew it couldn’t. And when I got the tragic call from Quebec after Houston went on the road, I had no choice but leave him forever. I suppose we will always have a connection between us, it was the truest love of my life, even if it was sort lived. But that memory would soon fade for both of us and the news about Aunt Florence snapped me out of my girlish fantasy, and brought me back down to earth. I didn’t belong on the road, in the Midwest, or even Florida. I had had my fun, but it was time for me to go back home.

 

[Seenthe]

Interesting

[Seenthe]

Keep up the good work m8!

[JDubois]

Chapter Three

HALEY: More than two years had passed since my childish attempt at what I thought was an adventure, in what reality was fear, which is also an acronym for: fuck everything and run. I suppose that’s what it was really, I was afraid of growing up, afraid of becoming an adult, basically afraid of doing what every other person does. I was afraid of facing the reality of life, trying to hold on to my delusion that life is like a romance novel, that people get swept of their feet and marry for love. So I did as the acronym suggests, I ran. I ran half way across the United States in an expensive Porsche as a college dropout! Looking back I think I must have been crazy. The truth is that people rarely marry for love; they marry because it makes sense.

    I suppose I fulfilled my girlish fantasy during my time in Oklahoma with Houston. He was so cute, and so shy, and yet exciting, and most of all so good in bed, and I believe I was in love with him, more than I have ever been in love with anyone in my life. But those things don’t last. Aunt Florence’s sudden passing caused a huge shift in my way of thinking. Houston was had to travel with his team and I knew that it just couldn’t work between us. I gave up on my road trip and promptly returned to Quebec feeling completely and utterly alone in the world.
    In the midst of the funeral proceedings and followings I was reintroduced to Claude, an old family friend who had just moved from Paris to Toronto. He was sixteen years older than me, he had no kids, he was rich, and he was French. Claude was exactly the type of man my parents would have picked out for me. And with both of them gone as well as Aunt Florence, marring Claude and following him to Toronto, even at the age of twenty-two, seemed like the most logical thing to do. He was safe and sensible, but after being married to him for two years, I must admit, he was quite boring.

    Claude was a financial officer for the Rio Tinto Alcan company and was often away on business trips, while I took the role of house wife, and was often left to my own vices in our six bedroom chateau. There was a personal chef, grounds keepers and maids, everything was taken care of and everything was done for me, and my first year of marriage consisted of a lot of lounging around and eating.

    I felt like a woman ought to feel or so I thought, at least that’s what I kept telling myself. Provided for by my husband, every need taken care of, and pampered to my heart’s content. My problem was I wasn’t all that attracted to Claude. I thought this was normal for many wives, especially in our circle of upper-class, well-to-do friends, and I thought a love for my husband would come in time, but it never did. He was pleasant enough to look at, but he was somewhat effeminate and not meeting my needs sexually. What’s more is that while he was somewhat slim or better put, weak in the upper body when we wed, two years later he was doughy and pudgy.

    Of course, I gained some weight along with him, but it’s different with women. As much as I hated myself for going up a dress size or two…or four, I still looked genuinely sexy, and I know that wasn’t just my opinion. In fact I kind of liked the extra curves and I certainly didn’t receive any less looks or compliments from the opposite sex. But I don’t think there’s anything sexy about a fat stomach on a man, and don’t even get me started on man boobs, I find that disgusting. In my opinion a man’s body was designed for work, and walking around and getting around as efficiently as possible. And there’s nothing sexier to me than a man with a slim muscular physique. A woman’s body on the other hand is a work of art, and with a softer more voluptuous body I felt extremely aesthetic.

    However I found myself missing the girl who was bold enough to drive over mountain ranges alone and free. I couldn’t even imagine doing that now. My life as a wife has consisted of sleeping in until ten in the morning, eating luxurious gourmet French style breakfasts, and snaking and even drinking expensive champagne daily, on top of that smoking more than ever had before. I knew I was falling into a trap of an unhealthy, overly comfortable, loveless marriage, and I was becoming board and restless as well as complacent at the same time.
    If I wasn’t at a girlfriend’s wedding, or a frivolous dinner party, or shopping my way through Europe, I was on the sofa in front of Netflix. All I had to do was stick out my ass, wear something sexy and look pretty when I stood by Claude’s side at business dinners and meetings to keep him happy. I reality I was a shell of the girl I was three years ago, and I blocked out her memory with retail therapy, and gluttonous self-indulgence.

CLAUDE: When I first met my wife she was something to behold, a thing of pure beauty. Not to say that she isn’t those things now, it’s just that now she seems distant, and health wise she’s let herself go completely. She used to go to the gym quite often before our wedding, and she looked splendid at 73 kg, (162 lbs.) and she only weighed that much because of her large breasts, and I always felt proud that I had the most beautiful wife out of any of my colleagues. She is still undoubtedly more beautiful than any woman I have ever seen or known, but she seems to be getting heavier by the day and she is now tipping the scales at close to 100 kg, and outweighs me by at least 8 kg. She is too spoiled, and too lazy, maybe I should have her take a holiday where she can get some exercise and get a little healthier and more active, and maybe not smoke so much.

    “Oh Claude, come here.” She says as she sits on our bed smoking probably her zillionth cigarette of the day. I can feel myself getting hard just from looking at her, curled up so comfortably on the bed. I’ve been looking forward to necking her all day; it’s been weeks since we’d made love. “Xavier made these to die for cream cheese croissants. Would you go and see if he has any more please?” She holds out her little platter like I am some kind of butler. Dessert croissants and champagne at four in the afternoon in bed? No wonder her bum is making such an impression on the Tempur-Pedic mattress. Oh but she looks so good as well, with her enormous breasts showing a ‘not in public’ amount of cleavage in that snug, silk baby doll top, and I cave in and do as she says as always. She has that effect on me, and I can tell that she wants me to take her, but not on an empty stomach perhaps.

“What are you watching, the Blue Jays?” I ask as I return to the bedroom and hand her the warm and flaky, generous sized cheese croissants. She takes one last puff of her cigarette and accepts them as she curls her ample, smooth legs up and underneath her even more ample rear. “I have never known you to watch baseball before.” I add as I mute the television in anticipation for what’s coming.

 

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[JDubois]

HOUSTON: I had tried wipe away the memory of that wonderful week or so that I had with Haley in Tulsa. It was like some kind of dream, like she didn’t even exist except in my mind. It was lucky that I was traded by the Padres to the Rockies and have that wonderful brief encounter with Haley, and I felt lucky again to be traded to the Mariners farm system just a month later. It helped me keep my mind on something other than her. I continued to play well in AAA Tacoma and a year later I was fortunate enough to be invited to spring training in Arizona.
    I bounced back and forth from the big leagues to AAA that year and by the next season at the age of twenty-four I landed the job of starting left fielder in the majors with Seattle. Every day since then, the memory of Haley became dimmer. I figured she was probably happily married by now, if she hadn’t been when I met her. Or maybe she became a model and lost that perfect ass. Whatever she was doing I hoped she was happy, I knew she was making some lucky guy somewhere out there happy, that was for sure. I told myself whatever I had to, just to be able to move on.
    I felt kind of silly letting such a short period of my life have such an impact on me, but the image of her beautiful face and smile faded as the days and months went on. I have a great girlfriend now named Nicole. She’s a former model who’s now a TV reporter for the Mariners, that’s how I met her. She gorgeous, she’s tall, athletic, and has an excellent rack. She’s even training for her first marathon. She may not be quite as glamorous or va va voom as Haley was, but she loves me, I and I think I love her.

HALEY: I don’t know why I was watching baseball, I haven’t since my time in Tulsa, and never before have I watched it on television. Perhaps it was something in my subconscious mind that I happened to turn it on that day. I don’t believe in synchronicity but right after my husband turned the sound off, I see on the screen that the Blue Jays are playing Seattle, and at the plate for the Mariners is none other than Houston Hey. I almost choked on my croissant and motioned for Claude to refill my champagne glass. He fills it and I quickly drink it down and ask for more.

    “Are you okay honey?” He asked in amusement as he filled the glass again.

    “Yes (cough) (hic) I’m fine.” I stammered, trying to keep calm, like nothing is wrong. But at that moment a flood of memories were coming back to me, and I think to myself what a mistake I had made. The man to my right should be the man on the screen. I try to block this thought out of my head, I curse myself for deleting Houston’s number after I got engaged, and reach for another croissant; I’d almost rather just eat than have sex with Claude.

    “I am having someone come over tomorrow to install new granite counter tops, I would like you be home when he comes. He tells me after a long awkward pause, trying to sound sexy. “So try and get up before noon okay?” He adds condescendingly as he sits down on the bed next to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. What an asshole, I don’t sleep in that late. “Why don’t you take a holiday this weekend?” He tells me. “I’ll be gone on my golf trip with Robert anyway, and you haven’t had a break in weeks.”
    “Okay.” Is all I say in response, as I pull the down comforter over my ankles and finish the croissant. Claude does this sort of thing all the time. He thinks he’s doing me such a big favor by allowing me to travel. He just doesn’t understand me at all. This is not at all what I pictured married life to be like. Here I am showing a sinful amount of skin, looking incredibly hot, and all he can do is sit there with that stupid dumbfounded look on his face with no clue of how to meet my sexual needs.     We’d been together this long and it was like Claude suddenly thought I was too good for him all of a sudden or something, like I was out of his league, but in his defense, maybe I was. He was waiting for me to make the first move, that’s how it was with him. I was sitting on the edge of his bed waiting for him to act. I felt so sexually deprived, that I didn’t even care that I wasn’t all that attracted to him anymore. This man was sucking the life out of me, taking away my womanhood, I wanted to be seduced, devoured. I wanted him hungry for me and unafraid. We just stared at each other; it felt uncomfortable even after two years of marriage.

    He finally starts rubbing my shoulders and back, leans in close and kisses my neck. This sort of intimate moment was supposed to grab me, but it didn’t. I had nothing to say to that man anymore. I really just wanted to take a nap. I wanted someone to lean against while a TV played a movie in the dark, but only somebody interesting to talk to. I wanted someone who didn’t think of me as an out-of-reach piece of meat, someone who thought of me the way I think of myself. I wanted someone to love me the way Houston loved me, I guess I just wanted Houston.

    “Can I give you a massage or…something?” He asked, all wimpy and eager to please me. Suddenly I regretted ever getting married, and I started to feel sleepy and hungry for something other than croissants and other than him. I just wanted to curl up with a real man and maybe some sweet and sour chicken with noodles and fried rice.

    “Sure.” I rolled over onto my belly and waited for him to come next to me. It took a few seconds, but then his hands were on me, tentative, inexpert, and freezing cold. It was like being touched by uncooked tofu from someone’s refrigerator. I pulled my silk top over my head without sitting up, and he continued on the soft moist skin of my back. When I had enough of that heartless groping, I rolled over. He ran his eyes over my perfect, gravity defying breasts and grinned.

    “You look really hot.” He said. I wanted this to just be over with, I wanted him to leave. I sat up and kissed him just get things moving. We went on messing around like that for a while and he squeezed my boobs a little, and before I knew it he started taking his clothes off and I took my panties down, even though I didn’t think I was wet enough to do anything yet. I should’ve really tried to go down on him or something, but I didn’t feel like it anymore. I was a little bit drunk from the champagne, and a little tired, but seriously, most off all I was still freaking hungry. This is going to sound stupid but all I wanted right then was for someone to go buy me some Taco Bell or some kind of fast food or something, and cuddle with someone I actually found sexy, someone with some hard strong deltoids and nice abs, instead of this effeminate dough boy who pathetically was my husband.

    He went down on me and did a half-assed job that I didn’t feel like correcting. “Yeah, yea, that’s good.” I said unenthused. He awkwardly took his tighty whities off and in it went. It felt all right, not great, just okay… he was okay. He got that glassy look in his eyes, and stared at the different pieces of me like I was all his favorite foods in a grocery cart. Tits, ass, his eyes went back and forth, his mouth was half cocked like he couldn’t believe he was doing this. It was like he was watching himself from a great distance, he was with me, but he might as well have been masturbating, there was no connection there. He couldn’t bring himself to look me in the eye, the way he did early in our marriage. He went at it for less than a minute, no longer than that, and then he was done, just like that, a damn minute man, he still didn’t have any kind of stamina.

    “Merde!” He said with a slap to his forehead, still not exactly looking at me. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to do that.”

    “Better luck next time.” I said. I just laid there staring at the ceiling and feeling very alone. More alone than I felt in my entire life, this couldn’t be all there is surely. I had married the so called ‘best catch’ and one of the richer, and supposedly one of the most eligible bachelors in Montreal, we’d been married over two years, and I felt lonelier than ever.

    “Can I do anything for you?” He asked all embarrassed and ready to beat himself up. “You want me to use my mouth again?”

    “No, please don’t.” I rolled over and closed my eyes against the sight of him. I wished he hadn’t come home early for our little afternoon bedroom time. I knew I couldn’t keep doing this. I’d be better off with a vibrator and memories.

    “What?” He asked as I listened to him put his clothes on. “Was I that bad?”

    “Pretty much sucked, yeah.” I told him.

    I struggled to squeeze my thighs back into my panties, and tossed my bra on the floor being too tired to put it back on. I didn’t even care that my belly was spilling over my waistband as I worked my way back into my silk baby doll top.

    After a long pause and with him sitting against the head board next to me looking pathetic and depressed I broke the silence. I felt bad. I knew he was just doing the best he could, and he was a nice guy. I genuinely felt sorry for him. I tried to change things over so we could both forget the previous half-hour. “So you think I could use a little holiday getaway huh?” I said, giving him a little grin to hopefully raise his spirits.

    “Yeah, just tell me where you want to go and I’ll have Jade take care of it.” He said as some life came back into his face. “I think we could both use a little time apart.”

    Oh gosh, my poor husband, he was just trying to do the right thing, trying to be nice. All he wants is for me to be happy, so many women would love to have a husband like him I suppose, asking them to take holidays asking them where they want to travel to. So where do I want to go? I went Milan only a few months ago. London? No I don’t like the food. Wait a minute….No. I can’t do that…or can I? I shouldn’t….I mustn’t.

    “I think I’d like to go to Seattle and visit…. Lauren.” I said, trying to hide a devilish smirk.

    “Lauren from fashion school?” He asked.

    “Yes, you remember her.” I said as I lit a cigarette. I really did want to see my friend Lauren from my school days back at Thomas Robert Powell, but I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t truly motivated to go to Seattle to find Houston. I didn’t know how or what I was going to do if and when I found him, but I think I was finally beginning to learn from past mistakes.
     Derek wasn’t right for me, neither was Brad, I thought I was being responsible when I didn’t give into my desire to stay with Houston back in Tulsa. But now that I look at it, he was the only boy I was ever really in love with, and I felt bad for leaving him in the dark like that. I thought I was doing the right thing by going back to Quebec, back to my roots and marrying Claude. It’s what I thought my parents would’ve wanted. But the facts were that my parents were dead, and I didn’t need to be living for them. Getting married to Claude had been a horrible mistake, and although I didn’t know how or when or if I would or could tell that to Claude, I had a feeling that it wasn’t too late to make things right.

    “Okay, then you have a good time in Seattle.” He said smiling at me.

    “I think I’d like to stay for a while so don’t wait up for me too much. You’re right, it’s been weeks since I’ve been away, I think it will be good for me.” I said as I held out my hand for assistance off the bed. I felt excited again for the first time in a while, but also a little sick inside for being so deceptive to my husband. He was so trusting of me and didn’t have clue.

CLAUDE: I grabbed her delicate little arm and helped her to her feet. She had gotten heavy enough that it took a bit of strength to lift her up. Those heaving breasts of hers were substantially bigger than they were when I married her, and although I am somewhat disgusted with her lazy, lavish, queen-like demeanor and frankly, gluttony, she still looked as breathtaking as ever. And I felt my heart skip a beat as she pressed her warm voluptuous pudginess against me. It was as if she was trying to reassure her love for me after my admittedly shameful performance in bed. My wife has such style and such grace about her, and a lot of women could learn something from her. It doesn’t matter so much what your dress size is, it’s how you wear your dress that counts.

    I pretty much gave up on trying getting her to exercise a while ago, just as she had given up on herself. I remembered how hard she tried to lose weight before our wedding, all that dieting and yoga she did made her bitchy, and from the moment she said ‘I do’ she went straight back to her bad habits. I didn’t think much of it at first, her widening derrière and a more sedentary lifestyle I thought was a temporary part of being a new bride. But it wasn’t temporary, it was like she was in denial about her weight, or perhaps she just didn’t care. When I asked her to marry me, I knew I was signing up for a bit of a high maintenance wife, but like most things that are high maintenance it’s because they’re the best, I thought of her as the greatest achievement in my life, and I saw the jealousy on other men’s faces whenever she stood next to me. But after five kg found its way mostly to her bum, which later turned into ten and then nearly fifteen kg, I felt I should do something.
    I remember I bought her and exceedingly expensive dress that was purposefully a couple sizes too small. My thinking was that if she thinks she’s thinner in my eyes, and the only thing telling her otherwise is a piece of clothing, she’d work morning noon and night to fit into the cursed thing. It didn’t happen like that however, and in fact my little plan only resulted in a dress torn at the waist, which she was too ashamed to admit to. After that, I gave up. I wasn’t all that turned off by her growing size anyway. Unlike many women I’d seen, Haley didn’t have cellulite, or stretch marks or a big double chin or any unsightly features, her genes were just too blessed. Her face and skin remained as beautiful as ever. It was mostly only her bum and her thighs and breasts that had gotten huge, and she still had that seductive hour-glass, guitar-like figure, only bigger and juicier. So she’d get out of breath from a sort walk up the stairs once in a while, I could live with that I suppose. My only fear was that she didn’t seem to recognize the fact that she was acquiring bad habits that were sure to be hard to break, and if she continued the way she was going she was bound to have health problems in the future.

 

[JDubois]

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