You mean me?

“You mean me?”

I glance at the girls around me at the bar, but he is looking straight at me. He nods his head and beckons me over. When I reach him, he heads outside, walking ahead of me. He reaches behind him, so I take his hand; he grips my hand tightly. What is going on? I wonder.

Outside in the pub’s summer garden he chooses a table for two and holds a chair for me. When I sit he sits—not quite opposite me, more obliquely, to sit closer. Once again he takes my hand and looks me straight in the eyes; it is most disconcerting and although I want to drop my eyes in embarrassment, I hold his gaze.

“What?” I giggle, “what’s going on, what do you want?”

The guy looks embarrassed now. “I, er… I mean… Oh, I don’t think you would…”

I raise an eyebrow, I am feeling more in control now. “Yes?”

His fingers close more tightly around my hand, his face is now crimson red but his eyes never leave mine. With a deep intake of breath he struggles to say the words that he has obviously prepared before hand.

“Jilly, will you come on a date with me.” The words are blurted out in one short breath.

OK, this must be a set-up, my girlfriends have told this guy to tease me to watch my reaction.

Let me tell you a little about me. I am 25 years old and single. I’m not single by choice, I just haven’t found a guy that likes me enough to ask me out. You see I am what kind people call a big girl—what those with no feelings call fat. Not just a big girl, but at five feet two inches, I’m not that tall. People, the kind ones, say I have a pretty face and a bubbly personality.

I try sometimes to convince myself that I am big-boned or that I my size is due to some quirk of nature, like my glands. But the simple truth is that as a teen I lacked self confidence and took solace in food and sweeties. My parents even tried to convince me that it was just “puppy fat” and that I would soon “grow out of it.”

So you can see that when a hot young guy comes and asks me, by name, for a date it’s only normal for me to be suspicious. It’s also not the first time my friends have played a joke on me, so I will play along with the joke—maybe making life a bit uncomfortable for him too. I glance over to where my friends are peering out of the pub door; they are trying to indicate that they wonder what’s going on.

“OK, you know my name, though I don’t know which of my friends told you it. Do you have a name or at least one you’ve made up for this?” I ask.

A hurt and somewhat confused look clouds his handsome face. He stutters out, “J… J… erm… Jon…athon… Jon.”

Oh well, I think to myself, I know this is a set up but Jon is acting his part well so I will play along. I agree to meet him for a date, we have a drink while we arrange the details and then I return to my friends. My friends all talk at once, pretending to be surprised and wanting to know who he is. I play dumb, saying that he was asking about a lady that my mum once knew. I study each face to see if it reveals something that would confirm my suspicion that my scheming girlfriends know that I am not telling the truth. To my consternation, the little witches give nothing away and seem to lose interest. The topic shifted to who was going to pay for the next round of drinks.

—-

Some time later my friend Sammi, whom I told about the incident, asked me how my date went with the hunky young guy. I had completely forgotten about it. OK, I think, I am intrigued as to where this will all end. So I wave her question aside and check my phone for the details of my future date.

As a girl who is, sadly, without a male partner, or even a guy that just wants me for sex, I am not without the need for some sexual gratification. It is not unheard of for me to pleasure myself from time to time—actually, quite often. My friends aren’t any help, relating stories, true or not, about their escapades.

For example, Sammi told me how on a date, a guy did “all the right things” to get her so horny that she was going to let him fuck her in the car. She told me that, at first, they sat in the car and talked and kissed. Then his hands started to roam. In a vain attempt to show she was a decent girl she limited his groping to the odd squeeze of her boobs. But as his kisses became hotter and his tongue tasted sweeter, Sammi admitted that she wasn’t able to control her desire.

Soon the guy had her top up around her neck, her bra pushed up, and was sucking at her nipples like he wanted to suck them clean off. As soon as his hand squeezed between Sammi’s thighs and made a beeline for her coochie she knew that she had to have him.

His cock didn’t appear to be the big one that she wanted, but what the heck. Unzipping his jeans she tried to release his dick, but the guy made no attempt to help her. Instead his insistent fingers were almost tearing at her panties. To save her panties, and her sensitive pussy, from injury, Sammi pulled her undies off and tossed them aside.

To her horror, the guy grabbed them and proceeded to buried his face in the crotch of the fabric, taking deep breaths of air. This was too weird for Sammi and she booted him out of the car, sacrificing the underwear to him. She had to drive home to satisfy her aching pussy with her fingers and a vibrator. Sammi insists on going into lurid details about how she masturbates. She giggles at how her descriptions make my cheeks red and send my hand to my crotch.

The night Sammi told me of this episode we had been drinking at my apartment. It was clear that she would have to sleep over as she was not fit to drive. I made up the spare bed and we both went to bed, tired and inebriated.

As I laid in bed the pictures of Sammi and a guy, horny and panting in her car stuck in my mind persuaded me to get out my dildo—a purple phallus. None of the girls have seen it! I summoned up all my courage to buy it when I was on a training course in a large town far from home. It was a spur-of-the-moment purchase. I was so embarrassed to be in the shop that I grabbed a box that looked as if it contained a vibrator. I wanted to use it that night because I had spent the day in the training course with so many hunky guys. I paid by card and left, clutching my purchase wrapped in plain brown paper.

So, in bed, woozy with drink, I dressed in clothes similar to those worn by Sammi on her date and did all I was able to replicate what had happened in her car. I tore off my panties at the appropriate moment, and in my mind drove home, where, in my sweaty hand was gripped the dildo. I have become adept at using this purple phallus to pleasures myself. First, I rub it firmly over my clitoris, allowing it to only tease my lips. Many times I have brought myself to a wonderful orgasm by clitoral stimulation only, never needing to penetrate my soaking tunnel with the broad tip of the dildo.

As my internal heat builds, I feel the first trickle of vaginal juice trickle between my buttocks where it tickles me as it cools. It is not long before the familiar sensations begin to radiate from my clitoris. Tonight I need what the guy deprived Sammi of, deep and repeated penetration.

After bringing myself to the brink of a climax a couple of times, I firmly push the dildo between the inner lips of my hole. The low moan I hear, I know is mine—such an animal sound, so guttural. After three or four slow strokes that penetrate to my depths, I withdraw the dark phallus, and, as if it were a real male cock, take it in my mouth and suck it. I taste the fluids from deep inside me, sucking it until the bulbous tip depresses my tongue. I fight my gag reflex to swallow what ought to be a human penis as far as I can, even shutting my airway until, with a load gasp, I have to remove the blockage in order to breathe.

I am hooked on the taste of my own body fluids and the hardness of my substitute cock. I like the feel of it’s tip pressing in the depths of my throat as I continue blowing the dildo. My fingers now pleasuring my pussy almost automatically play out the scenario of rubbing, pinching, nipping and plunging deep and wide into my pussy. A pussy that can now almost accommodate my entire hand.

I am unable to wait any longer for my ultimate pleasure, I want that sensation that is all encompassing, reaching every part of my body in almost excruciating pleasure/pain. Pummelling the dildo into me, rubbing and squeezing my tits and then my clit, finally, with my hips thrust high, it is on me. It is a pleasure so debilitating that I flop to the bed unable to move for at least a minute.

—-

As she left next morning Sammi had a word or two of advice for me that left me blushing deep red to my roots.

“Hun? I know I was tired last night but nothing could sleep through your moans and screams,” she told me, “try a gag before the neighbours call the police to report a murder?”

To help get over my embarrassment, I turn my thoughts to tomorrow, the day of my date. I don’t plan to dress in anything special because I am sure that “Jon” will not turn up. I will just end up looking foolish waiting, in vain, in a public place

Next: Becky warns me to be careful, it could be a set-up…