Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site



Sam is what happens to the typical high school jock when they get a bit older but don't grow up. Full of ego and testosterone, Sam lives for two things; sports and casual sex with the never ending supply of young, morally flexible, local college dollies. That is, until he meets Hope, an entirely different type of girl, and begins to realize that less isn't always more. View table of contents...


Chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Submitted:Feb 20, 2013    Reads: 485    Comments: 4    Likes: 3   


B.B.W. Chapter 2: One Track Mind

After his tryst with Mia, Sam went back up to his apartment. He stripped down to his briefs and clicked on the 54 inch flat screen mounted to the west wall. The television, the Camaro, even the extra thick frame on the Cannondale racing bike hanging from a wall rack, were all the accoutrements of a guy compensating, even though Sam clearly had no physical need. He was just "that guy.".

Sam prepared his dinner, boiled white rice with chicken breast. Sam's sexual lifestyle was only one symptom of his arrested development. It was no accident that his career still basically focused on sport, the thing that had made him a standout in high school. He approached his job like a competition as well, and it was that ethic that had helped carve out a successful niche for his gym in the town of sixty thousand. Arrested development also probably explained why, once he finished preparing it, he ate dinner alone, in front of the television, in his underpants.

After dinner, Sam was watching a Bear Grylls show on Discovery (because, once again, he's just "that guy") when he saw an add for a new brand of milk chocolate bar. The way his mind worked, it reminded him of the Newsbeat girl. The image of her face in his mind persuaded him to hit the shower and work on some relief, despite having gotten laid a scant two hours before. After soaping up and washing his short, dark, hair, Sam began to stroke the shaft of his cock, thinking about the big, sexy, girl with the amazing smile. He imagined her in the shower with him and wondered what it would be like to soap up her ample body. She would, no doubt, be much softer than the women Sam was accustomed to and he wondered, more than a bit lustfully, what that would feel like. The thought of sex with someone so unlike his usual partners was tremendously arousing and soon, Sam was slowing his strokes, wanting to prolong the sensation and the fantasy. Too soon though, he ended up cumming for the second time since leaving work, his seed spewing out of the head of his organ, splattering the shower curtain. The force of his climax caused him to utter a single sharp grunt of pleasure, unusual for Sam during masturbation. Even after exiting the shower, he thoughts lingered on his burgeoning fantasy of the big girl at the newsstand. Before going to bed, the thought had occurred to him that he could simply ask her out. After all, let's be honest, what was she going to say? No? She wasn't wearing a wedding ring, so unless she was gay, how could she refuse? How many prospective suitors could she have, that would be Sam's physical match? Of course she would go out with him, but he dismissed the idea out of hand. To Sam, the very idea violated some asinine notion of aesthetics, not to mention his pride. As if he would ever show up a social function with a date bigger than he was. Nevertheless, there was something about that girl that really got his motor running.

Sam woke up the next morning with the ubiquitous morning wood. He had the time before work so he cranked out another load from his tool, once again thinking about the lovely, Rubenesque girl from the smoke shop. Afterward, he realized that she had been the inspiration for his last three orgasms, despite the fact that yesterday's first was elicited by a twenty two year old, NCAA athlete with a body worth killing for. He had no explanation that satisfied him, so he let the question go, but throughout the work day, her face still popped, unbidden, into his consciousness.

At one point, around two thirty, Sam found himself checking out Mrs. Hollister. She was one of the middle aged working women that attended the gym irregularly. She was heavy, but seemed, at best, only marginally determined to make any real changes to her body, or "improvements" as Sam thought of them. He stared at her rotund behind, which jiggled hypnotically under her strained spandex leggings as she jogged slowly on a treadmill. He felt a little twinge in his belly and balls, but nothing like he usually felt staring at a taut, firm twenty something butt. He thought then of the mystery girl's incredibly sweet face and the twinge got much stronger. His musings were interrupted when Mrs. Hollister noticed him staring. She smiled and waved, "Hi Sam," she said, "am I doing it right?"

"Doing what right, walking?" Sam thought, "No, I was just staring at your big ass for some reason.". Out loud he said, "No Julie, your doing great, see if you can go for another ten and then we'll do some free weights OK?"

"You got it coach!" the heavyset, one time high school softball standout, said, smiling widely. If she didn't know better, she'd swear that stud had been checking out her ass.

A while later, Julie Hollister was using the nautilus lat pull machine and Sam walked by offering to make a minor correction to her form. "You've got to widen your grip and...here, do you mind if I..." Sam paused, his strong hands hovering over shoulders.

"No, no, it's fine" Mrs. Hollister replied, "Go ahead.".

Sam put his hands firmly on her shoulders. His pinky and ring fingers lay on the outside of her tank top straps, sinking just a little into the soft, white flesh of the older woman's shoulders. He stood behind her, guiding her movement into the proper form for the exercise, feeling slightly aroused throughout. After a few reps, he feared he needed to excuse himself before erecting a tent. "That's great Julie, just keep going like that.".

He walked over to the water cooler, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He may have been a horn-dog, but he had never had trouble keeping it down at work before. He could, and had, rubbed out cramps from the calves, thighs and even buttocks of several smoking hot female clients over the years without even the slightest dent in his composure. Now, after 15 seconds looking at the smoke shop girl, and the mere touch of a fat lady's shoulder has his body threatening to pop a chubby. What the hell was wrong with him indeed.

When Paul, the night manager came on a few minutes after four, Sam left work and made a bee line for Newsbeat to pick up another can of chew. He arrived in minutes, parking the Camaro and hurrying past "hair gel guy", who was out front, enjoying his pass in the eternal smoke break. Sam entered, jangling the bell, and looked around to see who was working. Leather face was behind the reg. and otherwise, the joint looked empty. "Damn" Sam swore, under his breath. He walked up to the counter and said "Can of Kodiak, green, please.". Leather face handed him the chew and rung up the total without saying anything. Sam had completed the same transaction with her scores of times and had never been one for chit chat. "So," he said lamely as he fished a fiver out of his pocket, "you guys got some new people working here these days?"

Leather face paused for a moment, considering, and said in a gravelly voice perfectly suited to her nicotanned exterior, "No, not lately.".

"Oh, there was a girl yesterday..."Sam began.

"Oh, yesterday? You mean the pretty girl?" leather face said knowingly.

"Um, yeah" Sam said, feeling uncomfortable for some reason.

"That's Hope. She's been here a couple months, but she usually just works weekends. She was filling in for Kevin." Leather face nodded in the direction of the parking lot. Sam's mental Rolodex promoted "hair gel guy" to "hair gel Kevin" and, much more importantly, big sexy clerk to Hope.

"Oh, that explains it, I never come in on weekends" he offered and began to walk to the exit.

"'Levin til seven on Saturdays and Sundays"Leather face offered helpfully, "in case you needed to come in on the weekend".

"Uh, thanks." Sam said, red faced, before hurrying out the door.

Sam couldn't understand why he felt so embarrassed asking after the big, sexy girl; "Hope" he thought. Leather face had called Hope pretty, certainly other customers had tried hitting on her. Of course, none that looked like Sam, he was sure. Still, pursuing women wasn't really his style. His general pattern was: meet a girl, tell the girl what he does and find an excuse to take his shirt off, bang the girl, lather, rinse, repeat as needed. He certainly wasn't the guy who finds out your work schedule and then shows up on your shift. That was actually a little creepy.

Sam went out Friday night and picked up a new girl at Mom's tavern downtown. When he arrived at the bar, a large, well kept club with great live music, he started to scan the crowd for potential playmates as he strode over to the bar for a drink. His recent flights of fancy had caused a change in his predation pattern however. His eyesight had improved to include women that deviated at least a little from his normal physical type. Once he stopped expecting a sexual partner to fit inside one particular silhouette he could see things like a pretty face on top of an out of shape body or beautiful hair that might be paired with crooked teeth or blotchy skin, but he found no amazingly warm smiles on any of the bigger girls; apparently Hope had better things to do than bar hop on Friday nights. After a while, though, all that personal growth made Sam feel uncomfortable, so he singled out another Poly Dolly, a five foot five brunette with a short pixie haircut and olive skin. Apart from skin tone, you could have swapped her head with Mia's and never noticed a difference.

It turns out the girl was sort of there to see her "friend's" band, but apparently ultra-fit gym owner tops long haired bass player, and, after a couple of Jager bombs (again, because he was just "that guy") Sam was leaving Mom's with the girl before the band could finish their second set.

The girl, Shania as it turned out, came back to his place and somehow managed to be both horny and uptight at the same time. They didn't even get through the beers they had opened before the diminutive girl was all over Sam, kissing him and running her hands beneath his shirt, over his muscular chest but her sexual instruction booklet must have been dated 1954, because when they moved from the couch to the bedroom, Shania insisted on leaving the lights off. She didn't give head and Sam never did manage to get her bra off, but when she slipped her hands onto Sam's formidable rod, she was appropriately impressed and eager to take it for a test drive. She was able to take pretty much the whole thing too, as long as Sam was careful, but she was really only comfortable in the missionary position. She was quiet like a mouse too, only squeaking like one after twenty minutes when Sam really started deep dicking her. Mounting her in the dark, Sam's mind began to wander, predictably now, back to Hope. He imagined what it might feel like to be on top of that big, sexy, girl instead of this tiny little paper doll, a carbon copy of all the other girls he had banged since he was 16. Once again, when he pictured Hope's face, an orgasm soon followed. This time, he came so hard thinking about her, that, for a second, he feared he had blown the rubber off of his cock.

The next day, after driving Shania back to her place, Sam decided he desperately needed another can of chew so he swung by Newsbeat around 10:30. He pulled into the parking lot, telling himself that he was being stupid, that his mind had obviously distorted his memory of this fat girl into something supernatural, that he would just walk in, see her and realize that she was just big girl with a sweet face, and he could get back to fucking women that looked like they just stepped out of a Nike ad.

At first, Sam thought the place was closed; there was no one smoking in the parking lot! The neon OPEN sign flickered however, and he opened the door, once again hearing the little jangle of the brass bell suspended above it. Grouchy lesbian was behind the counter. "Dammit" he swore, more loudly than he intended.

"What's the matter, did you forget something?" a sweet, high pitched voice said from behind him. Sam turned to the back of the store, Hope was standing there, stocking what appeared to be various brands of rolling papers onto a shelf. It turns out, Sam's mind had, indeed, been distorting his memory of the brief glance he got of Hope the other day; it had underestimated her beauty considerably.

Hope was wearing a long cotton "hippie" dress and a dark green, open, button down sweater. Today she wore her hair in a long side ponytail. Her "warm, concerned" smile was even more amazing than her "casual greeting" smile. She wore little make up and the skin of her face was a flawless, creamy, tan. Sam was, once again, stunned.

"Huh" he stammered.

"When I say 'dammit' as soon as I walk into a store, it means I forgot my purse. Did you forget your wallet?" the girl asked cheerfully.

"Uh" Sam said, no more suavely.

"Your wallet?" she said again, more slowly, in a tone that suggested many mentally ill and retarded people smoked cigarettes or bought newspapers.

"No, I'm good, I just remembered, uh, that I forgot something at home." Sam finally managed to say.

"Oh, OK then, let me know if you need any help." Hope said and went back to stocking Zig-Zags.

"Nice recovery dumb ass" Sam thought. He struggled to think of a way to keep the girl engaged in conversation. Finally, he said, "I thought you guys were closed, I didn't see anyone smoking in the lot."

She laughed, a light, crystalline, sound, and said, "I don't smoke and Cynthia just had her break." but she nodded her head in agreement and added, "I know what you mean though, it seems like somebody is always standing out front having a smoke doesn't it?"

Sam nodded, and said "Well, maybe it counts as advertising."

Hope smiled wider and said, "Maybe the owner should have people take their smoke breaks out on the sidewalk, so they can wave to cars, maybe hold a sign with their other hand, like those poor people dressed up like the statue of liberty, dancing in front of that tax place up the street."

Sam laughed genuinely, still nervously aware of just how cute he kept finding this girl. He tried to keep the conversation going, "So, you don't smoke eh? That's good, I hear those things are bad for you" he joked lamely.

"Shhh" Hope said, putting her finger up to her lips, "No one around here knows that yet, it's a secret."

Sam laughed again and almost blurted out "Would you like to go out sometime?", but managed to control himself. Instead he said, "Hi, I'm Sam.".

"Hi, Sam, I'm Hope," she responded, "nice to meet you."

Sam continued to make small talk, trying to revert to his usual lines, dropping his occupation and referencing his sports prowess, but without dim bar lights and loud music, his spiel sounded lame, even to him. Hope kept talking with him politely but went back to restocking her shelves. Sam couldn't ever recall being this awkward around a girl before. He'd had better moves in the eighth grade. He decided that discretion may indeed be the better part of valor this time and started to make a hasty retreat. "Well, Hope it was nice to meet you," he said heading for the door, "hopefully I'll see you again some time."

"Um, did you need to, you know, buy something?" She asked hesitantly as he opened the front door.

"Crap" he said, "you're right, uh, thanks." He went to the counter and bought another can of Kodiak from Cynthia the grouchy lesbian, who seemed mildly amused at the floor show she had been watching. "Bye" he offered lamely again to Hope as he left the store.

Sam sat in his Camaro for a minute, feeling embarrassed, and even a little ashamed. He was a player, and a damned successful one at that. He couldn't believe he was a party to that fiasco that just occurred in the smoke shop. What the hell did he have to be nervous about, so what if she was beautiful, she was a fat girl and she would surely jump at the chance to go out with a guy like Sam, right? He thought about his options. If he went home, he knew he was just going to keep thinking about her, especially in light of the time spent chatting with her. He needed to take her out, maybe to a movie or somewhere his friends wouldn't see him, then take her home, ride the roller coaster and get it out of his system; time to bite the bullet. He screwed up his courage and went back into the store. This time the little brass bell grated against nerves as he walked directly over to Hope.

"You're back" she said, smiling, "did you remember you forgot something again?"

"Uh, yeah, I did actually," Sam began, trying to sound cool, "I was just wondering if you would like to go out with me sometime soon?"

"Oh" Hope's eyes widened, "Wow, that's very sweet, but, um, I don;t think that would be a good idea.".

Of course she had a boyfriend, how could she not. "Oh, boyfriend huh." Sam said, a little bit crushed.

"No, not at the moment." Hope said honestly, "I don't mean to offend you, it's just that, you're kind of, not my type."

Rejection from a woman was a new experience for Sam, and he was surprised to find how similar it was to being punched in the gut.

End Chapter Two.





3

| Email this story Email this Novel | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.