Mean Curves

My first foray into erotica, so any advice/criticism is welcome.



...



I go around the back of the house, per instructions, and it’s obvious where she needs me. I’m not a cocky guy (okay, who am I kidding?), but I know steamy windows , I know women’s curves, and those dark outlines in the foggy pane aren’t random shapes and swirls.

I tap the window and she’s quick to respond.

“Goddamit, get me out of here!” She’s frantic, sweaty and shiny, a thick towel wrapped around her bosom, straining to absorb the jiggle. My tools make short work of the stuck window, and she’s instantly half-out, drawing in breath, her pink skin steaming in the cool night air.

Damn, she is stacked, rack to back, as my dad used to say. Long legs, plush thighs. Cotton candy lips and a candy apple ass. A few extra pounds here and there but a body that had real per-son-a-li-ty.

She swings her sticky blonde hair a few times and sweeps aside my prolonged glance.

“What the hell took you so long?” Her eyes flame blue. Yeah, she’s a firecracker.

“This part of town ain’t GPS friendly, ma’am, and your instructions were pretty vague” The wet heat is still coming strong as I climb inside and examine the main door. It’s warped as hell, stuck. “Let me guess: homemade sauna plus cheap wood...”

Still leaning outside, she turns her head enough for me to see her rolling eyes. Roll ‘em all you want, I think, your face is saying one thing, but your behind’s telling another. “I fell asleep, and when I got up everything had gone to hell.”

“Yeah, probably not a good idea…”

“Oh, you think?”

“Should’ve just broken the window…”

“Really?”

“Easier ways to ruin a good door…”

“Is that so?”

“Lady like you should know that wood swells when it’s wet and hot…”

Sure it’s corny, but I win this battle of wits. Now she’s facing me completely, a hip raised, her towel a lot less secure. She twists her lips to fight the grin, but she’s not fooling anyone and not really trying. Still, the night is young and she plays it cool.

“I need something cold. You want a beer while you unstick that door?” I shake my head and she slowly climbs out the window, the towel’s security no longer anyone's concern.

…

I’ve almost finished when she comes back. She’s still in a towel she no longer needs and there’s a candy-cane popsicle in her mouth. Twisting it between her lips, she leans against the sill and watches me work. I slow my pace.

“After this is done, you outta stay away from the makeshift saunas.”

“Just trying to lose some quick pounds.” She sucks in her belly self-conciously. “ Fifteen year reunion tomorrow. Skinny-Bitch High.”

“Believe me, it’s not worth it. Be happy with who you are, ma’am.”

“Calling me ma’am pisses me off. It’s Kristen.”

“Derrick.”

We continue to talk while I work, then after I’ve finished, both of us cleverly coy, neither of us particularly shy. Kristen’s smart and quirky, probably too good for me, definitely too good for what I want to do to her. Her body insecurities amuse me, but I know not to be patronizing. I was chubby once, I reveal to her, always chasing the skinny girls.

“And now?” Kristen asks, her hand sliding down my shirt.

“Lean boys need mean curves.”

That’s all she needs to hear. Before I know it, the popsicle is out of her mouth, my manhood in its place. Her lips are warm, her tongue is cold. She pauses long enough to make sure everything is the right amount of wet and starts to slowly slide my dick back and forth. She looks up, her insecurities long gone, and I’m suddenly the weak one. I moan.

What? No, but…I never moan.

I’m in trouble and she knows it. She smiles with her eyes before she grips my base and focuses on the tip, flicking, teasing. She gives a loud slurp for good measure and giggles at my predicament. Good god, my dick is straining, stretching her mouth. I feel larger than I’ve ever been, out of control, goddamn pulsing. I grab her by the hair and stroke her mouth deliberately. She grips my behind and we both know we’ve met our match.

Before Kristen can react, I flip her over. She’s right where I’ve wanted her all night: face down, knees apart, ass to the sky. Gripping her cheeks, I push into her wetness. And man, do I push. A sharp yelp escapes her throat as she wiggles her ass into me.

The towel long gone, I ponder her body as we make love, my fingertips moving back and forth along her curves, through her hair, between her lips. She bites and licks them; I pinch and pull her nipples in return. Reaching around, I play with her clit until she comes, streaking my dick with thick cream. When I finally lose control, my orgasm is with such force that I’m surprised she’s still mobile. Kristen rubs a finger against her pussy and then places it to my lips.

“Fuck the reunion.”

I give my agreement with a lick. Who has time for skinny bitches, anyway?