Content notice:
The following story contains depictions of negative body image, weight stigma, and diet talk.
I’ve done my best to portray these issues with empathy and sensitivity. Beauty comes in every size, and a joyous, fulfilling sex life is the privilege of anyone who wants one.
That said, if you’re someone who prefers to avoid such things altogether, you might try one of my other stories instead.
The characters depicted in the following story are all 18 or above. One of the themes involves sexual liaisons between young adult women and much older adults in a position of relative power over them.
The inclusion of this theme is for storytelling purposes only. It is not a comment on the advisability of such relationships in real life.
The Author
~
M.U.F.F., Part V
Graduation is less than six months away.
During that time, I’m on a rampage.
On the next day of school, I expected things might be awkward around Mr. Robinson, but they’re not. In fact, when he greets me, he shows no sign that anything happened.
My invasive fantasies of him choose this moment to lie low.
I don’t have to wait long for my next experience. Just a week to the day, after that afternoon in the motel room.
I get asked out by a boy–not from my school, but a cousin of someone who is–and, before I’ve even said yes, I’ve decided he’s going to get lucky.
He’s cute enough. A little chubby, a little nerdy. He doesn’t know I’m supposed to be a dowdy virgin, which helps.
We meet at a movie theater and take our seats. He wanted the middle of the theater, but I seated us in the back. It’s some mindless action thing, which I agreed to without reading anything about ahead of time.
It’s fine.
I’m wearing a sleeveless blouse, short skirt, and thigh highs, all brand new.
I’m not used to showing so much of my body. It feels a little like I’m wearing a costume, but I’m sure it won’t always.
The comfort of my clothing isn’t the goal here.
He’s wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants.
It’s fine.
Within 10 minutes, we’re holding hands. Then I’ve got his hand in my lap, then on my thigh under the skirt.
I slouch a little, get my legs apart, and allow him to maneuver his hand in between them.
I flick a glance at him. He’s staring straight ahead, at the screen. I do likewise.
I feel his middle finger clumsily feeling its way through my pubic hair, then between my labia. Then the tip of it is inside me.
It’s weird. It feels like being poked and prodded by an alien.
But soon, his finger is curling in and out, and he seems to be enjoying it, and it doesn’t feel too bad for me, either.
God. I’m so wet.
I’ve always had a strong fragrance. There’s no way the people in the seats to either side of us don’t smell something.
I don’t care. I let him have his fun.
Eventually, he gets bored and extracts himself. Maybe he’s just engrossed in the movie, which I think is halfway over.
I look into his lap and silently thank him for wearing the sweatpants, which are doing nothing to hide his erection.
He says nothing when I touch him on his soft belly, through the shirt, nor when I slide my hand under the shirt.
Then my hand goes into the waistband of his pants and he whispers “What are you doing?” in my ear.
My fingertips are in what feels like bushy, scraggly pubic hair.
“Do you want me to stop?” I whisper back.
He shakes his head no.
As the movie plays on, I feel him up and down, touching what I think is his foreskin, then the length of his shaft. He’s not very big, but he’s quite hard. I find his balls and give them a playful squeeze.
I jerk him, slowly and loosely, beneath the fabric of his sweatpants at first.
Soon, I tire of the obstruction and pull him out over the lip of his pants.
Any objections he had earlier must have evaporated, because he doesn’t even try to stop me. Never underestimate the pliability of a horny 18 year old boy.
Then I’m leaned over into his lap and I’m learning for the first time the tastes and textures and contours of a cock in my mouth. His crotch is hot and sweaty and smells faintly of piss.
I have no idea what I’m doing, except to avoid scraping him with my teeth, a piece of advice I picked up from a dozen magazine articles.
I think someone on the other side of me is watching, which only makes me feel bolder.
It’s an amateurish job, if I say so myself, and he doesn’t come, but I don’t mind. As I lift my head back up for the last act of the movie, I feel proud of myself. And he seems like he enjoyed it.
After the movie, we have sex in the back of his parents’ minivan. It lasts for about a minute, but it’s nice. It’s the first time I’ve ever been fucked on all fours.
The condom I furnished for us goes out the window, heavy with cum. I straighten myself up, promise him we’ll do this again sometime, and head to my car.
~
I don’t see him again. I get asked out by a few other boys, in places like the corner store or the library, which I find funny. This never used to happen. And it’s never anyone who goes to my school.
I always say yes, and we always end up parked in their car, or sneaking into their parents’ house, or whatever. It’s usually not very good, but I’m getting more confident that I know what I’m doing.
If my family knows, they don’t say anything. I think they’re just happy I’m finally dating.
In addition to my new hobby of taking any opportunity for sex that arises, I’ve made it my mission to remake myself.
This is ostensibly Alex’s project. But I haven’t seen much of her lately.
She’s started getting rides home from other people. Something she would “just so you know” to me each afternoon, ruefully at first, then as a courtesy, then not at all. I’m not sure why.
(It might have something to do with me wrecking our friendship by kissing her, then spurning her proposition. I’m having a weirdly hard time regretting it, though. It’s a genie out of the bottle.)
Lately, we regularly go days without speaking.
It’s okay. I don’t need a chaperone to help me buy lingerie, or sex toys, or personal grooming products. Those are my main expenditures these days.
Those, and condoms.
One night, the phone rings. I can’t answer it, because I’m awkwardly splayed in the bathtub, hard waxing the hair from my anus.
(This is a practice that took a couple weeks of trial and error, but I’ve pretty well mastered it. After Mr. Robinson, I decided to go completely hairless from the neck down. I love the way it feels.)
I finish my business, glance at my hairless body in the mirror–I don’t love it, though I’m trying–and retire to my room. Sitting wet and naked on my bed, I check my messages.
It’s Alex’s voice, speaking in a tired, obligatory tone. Apparently, Rob is in town, and she wanted to call me to let me know she’s probably going to fuck him.
Just so I know.
I think she thinks I’m still hung up on Rob, and I can’t decide if she sees this phone call as doing me a favor or if it’s something else.
I shrug and set the phone down. I try to remember the last time I spoke to her, and I realize I can’t even pin down an exact date.
I grab my newish toy–one of those nifty air pulse clit sucker things–and masturbate until I feel sleepy. It takes three orgasms, but they go quick.
~
As it turns out, Rob is in town. A couple nights after Alex’s message, he calls me on the phone.
He lets me know that, yes, he did hang out with Alex, yes, she did come onto him, but no, they didn’t do anything and the evening ended with them hugging goodbye.
I’m not sure what my reaction to this should be. Annoyed that everyone keeps trying to baby my feelings, perplexed that apparently everyone on Earth thinks I’m still hung up on this guy.
Maybe even a little grateful that they’re showing concern for my feelings, however misguided it might be.
He tells me he feels bad, and we decide to meet for a late night coffee.
The diner is swarming with theater kids from a nearby school. (The school attended by my movie theater date, in fact.) The only booth left is one of the big, round ones designed to seat a large party.
We sit right next to each other, which I find cute.
Afterwards, I suck his cock in his car, and, with his careful coaching, I make him come.
I’ve been wondering what cum tastes like, and I’m not sure what I expected. It’s a little acrid, but not as strong as I’d imagined. I find myself liking the thickness of it.
I drive home, my stomach full of diner coffee and Rob’s DNA. We’ve promised to be better about staying in touch.
~
I’ve had an online dating profile for a while, but only recently started spending any time on it. After some internal debate, I set it for men and women.
For a while, I correspond with a pretty girl my age. It doesn’t last long. Maybe because she bears more than a passing resemblance to Alex. I’m still not sure I’m into that.
(Not to say that I didn’t imagine meeting her, or that I didn’t idly masturbate while viewing her answers to some of the naughtier questions on her profile.)
After my aborted dalliance with the fake Alex, I switch my profile to seeking men only–somewhat annoyed by the limited gender options–and that’s when I start talking to Christopher.
He and I exchange increasingly vivid fantasies about what we’d like to do with each other. His experiences are on the seedier side of pornographic; he has no qualms about regaling me with them.
New Beth never turns down a chance to try something she hasn’t done before.
When we decide to meet in person, he cautions me that he’s much older than I am–something I’m aware of from reading his profile. I tell him that’s perfect for me.
When I tell him I’m still new at this, he tells me that’s perfect for him.
He books a hotel and tells me to plan for an overnight stay. I tell my family I’m spending the night with Alex, who I haven’t spoken to in weeks.
~
I get to the hotel, which isn’t luxurious by any means, but much nicer than the one chosen by Mr. Robinson.
I take the elevator to the room, and Christopher welcomes me in.
He’s friendly and well-dressed, but much older looking than I expected from his pictures. He’s balding, potbellied, and his face looks weathered. He’s around Mr. Robinson’s age, but the years show more clearly.
He closes the door, looks me up and down, and says, “You’re a rolly polly little thing, aren’t you?”
Okay, so my pictures didn’t exactly represent me at my most accurate, either.
I want to show him the dark sheer bra and panties I chose for the occasion. Instead, he tells me to go take a shower, and that he’ll be out here waiting.
The bathroom is nice, all fluffy towels and sweet-smelling soaps.
I exit the bathroom clad only in a towel. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, naked and fully erect. His cock is big, hairy, and circumcised.
He gets up, inspects my body, bending me this way and that, feeling me up and down, kneading my arms and breasts and belly, making me touch my toes, pulling my asscheeks apart.
He makes pleased little remarks whenever he discovers something he likes, which is often.
I want to suck his cock, but he says no. First, he lays me on the bed and licks me with expert precision until I have a pretty good orgasm. “Ladies come first,” he says.
He sits on my face and masturbates while I lick his hairy asshole, which tastes a little bit like a rubber glove.
He comes into his own hand, licks it off, then kisses me, passing the cum into my mouth. I swallow it. At his suggestion, we both brush our teeth.
We recline naked in bed next to each other. While we wait for him to get erect again, he tells me stories of the various women he’s bedded, and looks pleased when I start to rub myself without being encouraged.
I ask him to fuck me on all fours and he does. He asks to come inside me, offering to buy emergency contraception in the morning, but I say no. I offer to swallow it instead, but he tells me no.
“It doesn’t taste any good after the first shot,” he says, huffing and puffing.
He settles for coming on my back.
We shower together, and Alex’s prediction of a boy carefully cleaning my breasts finally comes true.
He spoons me in the night, atop the covers, snoring softly, radiating heat. With his arm thrown over me, I can’t sleep.
I wake him up and climb on top of him, grinding my hips in a way that I’m not quite sure I’m good at. I finish him with my mouth. He was right–his semen is thin and bitter.
We fuck one more time in the morning, his flabby body clapping against mine, and I try not to weep with frustration when I feel close to a coital orgasm and can’t stay out of my head long enough to get there.
He finishes on my belly. We have a good laugh as we cuddle and smear it between our bodies.
We get in the shower one more time.
“I’d like to piss in your mouth,” he says.
I almost say no.
New Beth says yes.
I kneel on the bottom of the tub. The urine comes out of his half-soft cock, a dribble at first, then a stream. Most of it hits my chin, breasts, and belly, but some of it makes it into my mouth.
It tastes kind of nutty. Not what I expected, but then, I’m not sure what I expected. Reflexively, I swallow a little bit of it, and I’m immediately unsure of how it’ll sit in my stomach.
“You’re mine now, Bethany,” he says. “Our destinies are forever linked.”
Beth isn’t short for Bethany. But it’s a nice sentiment anyway.
We take a relatively chaste shower together. Then I brush, gargle, and brush again.
After we dress, he hands me a thick envelope, which looks like money. I’m not sure I like the implications, but he insists, and I accept it.
“Come on,” he says, “buy yourself a nice gift from me.”
It must be a stack of singles, I think, around $10.
We share a randy kiss. He asks if he’ll see me again soon. I’m being sincere when I say yes.
He tells me offhand that he has some friends who might be interested in getting to know me. He says he can give them my information, if I’m interested. After a moment’s hesitation, I agree.
We bid our farewells. I leave him in the room, go down to my car, and get in.
Only then do I look in the envelope, and my heart starts pounding. It’s $200.
~
My usual rotation of boys peters out somewhat, though not entirely. I start seeing Christopher’s friends instead.
There’s a few of them, around his age, varying degrees of handsome. And they’re very sweet. I’m genuinely enjoying the sex, and the newness. I’m learning a lot and getting good at new things.
They tend to have similar proclivities to Christopher’s–though I’d hasten to add that pee hasn’t reappeared on the menu. They mostly just want to slake their forbidden lust for someone young, or someone fat.
One of them is obsessed with my asshole. It’s a strange new sensation each time. The soft wetness of being licked, the wriggling of a finger, the pressure and fullness of being fucked.
He’s cute. Thanks to him, I’ve quickly gone from being leery towards anal sex to really liking it. I’ll take it any time it’s on offer.
I show up at a hotel, we do whatever they want, I take home a “gift” in an unsealed envelope. Nothing as extravagant as the envelope from that first night with Christopher, but still a handsome amount.
I rarely stay more than an hour or two. I try not to think about what this makes me.
Christopher himself, I’ve seen only once since. It was nothing like the first time. We were both in a hurry. I sucked him off and swallowed his cum. He finger fucked me until I came.
As we pulled our pants back up, I asked him why he’s away so much.
He told me, “I’m not going to lie to you, Bethany. I’m always getting my fingers into a new pie.”
Fair enough.
Between them and the boys my age or near enough, I’m getting laid at least once a week, sometimes twice, and frequently with someone I’m meeting for the first time.
I’m still in high school.
I’m proud to say that my grades haven’t slipped at all, though I’ve had to create a panoply of after-school friends and activities to justify the late days.
~
I’ve more or less decided men, or at least people with cocks, are my thing. I’m pretty sure my almost-encounter with Alex was the only chance I would have taken to change tracks, and I passed on it.
Nevertheless, there is one unfulfilled fantasy I’ve been unable to shake.
Late one night, as I’ve done many nights, I’m browsing an escort page, looking at their women for women section. I’m specifically looking for escorts who remind me of myself.
The idea’s been growing in my head for some time. And, with spending cash on hand that can’t be eaten through by any amount of lingerie or condoms, I’m finding it harder to justify not acting on it.
I’ve decided, this is it. Tonight’s the night I pull the trigger.
I select a girl who looks enough like me in her pictures to be my fraternal twin, who specializes in women and seems down for everything. I get myself off before and after submitting the request.
My appointment is for next week, the night after graduation.
I’ll tell my family I’m going to a celebratory party with friends.
This is my present, to myself, from me. Not just for graduating, but for becoming what I’ve wanted to be. For doing it under my own steam, not as the beneficiary of someone else’s charity.
For the first time in my life, I’m someone I can love.
TO BE CONTINUED
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