~BBW, ~~FA, True (almost), Self-discovery, ‘what if’
[Author's Note] Basically a true narration of what happened and Orsola (of course it’s not her real name) is just like I described it. I just invented some minor touches, e. g. Orsola never did belly dance and never grew to the glorious proportions I described. There is only one significant lie in the story: I was an FA long before meeting Orsola and she was not my first BBW. I just wrote a ‘what if’ story. What if I were unknowingly an FA and Orsola revealed ne my true self?
The story was written in 1995 and published in Dimensions 78, February 1998. I reviewed it, changed wording to make it more readable and added what happened after 1995. Hope it's OK to post it here.
How do you like it and, most important, what you do not like?
All this happened in Rome, which is fitting because I am an Italian and I almost always lived in Italy, where I have known Orsola for a long, long time. She is an interesting woman, bright, clever, very good company, amusing, cultivated, classy, witty and throughout pleasant. Anyhow she is also rather formidable, stubborn, strong-willed, egocentric, egotist and a snob. She is, in short, an odd mixture of an attractive and an intimidating, imposing person, both in her character and her figure. She in fact is about 1.75/5’9”, with straight dark hair flowing down to the middle of her back, a beautiful and intense Roman face with a handsome, strong nose, large dark eyes, white skin and a full mouth.
Often I had the feeling that she was interested in me and I too was somehow attracted by her, but I did not do anything for two reasons. Reason one, Orsola’s brother, who was one of my best friends: in those days I believed that the sister of a friend was to be approached only with the most honourable intents, and I felt that mine would have been quite far from that. Reason two, Orsola’s body. Under that beautiful hair and face of hers Orsola had a slender body, with small round breasts the size of a peach and a narrow waist. Yes, a body slender down to her waist. At that point it was like someone had glued together the upper and lower part of two different women, because Orsola had a classic pear-shape. Her round hips were half a meter/20” wide and her big, hemispherical buttocks stuck out just like the bottom of a large, juicy pear. I was sure that one could have put safely a cup of coffee on that butt. She had also very big, very thick thighs and big calves that ended anyhow in slender ankles and small feet. Orsola’s ample lower body was clearly firm and juicy, but her big bottom and a slightly bulging, round belly – clearly visible through the tight pants and short, tight skirts that were fashionable in those years – made her clearly a fat girl, and I did not like fat girls, period.
In some odd way I felt attracted by Orsola even if she had such an enormous bottom but obviously this happened only because of true friendship, since I did not like fat girls, period. So for some years Orsola and I saw each other a lot, but mostly with other people around and always as the good friends we were.
Meanwhile I got my degree, later on Orsola got her own in art history, I went on travelling around even more than before and we saw each other less. Orsola was developing into a cultivated, sophisticated, intellectual and snobbish lady of the type I am so terribly fond of, but still I did not do anything. It was clear I could have done well as Orsola was no chaste shrinking violet, but there were always her strong character preventing any “serious” relationship and her big bottom preventing a light one, based exclusively on sex. But in an odd way I still felt attracted by her. Then in the due course Orsola fell in love with somebody and eventually got married, more or less at the same time I moved out of Rome for work and so for some years I did not see her at all.
I knew anyhow that Orsola had begun her career as an art historian and then I heard rumours that there were problems with her husband. The problems later became big, then very big and one evening, after I moved back to Rome, Orsola’s brother told me that they had split and that she was quite low-spirited and depressed. So I thought of asking her out, both for the sake of old times and to cheer up her a bit, and one Friday evening, in April, we met again just at the bottom of the Spanish Steps.
When I saw Orsola again I went wide-eyed. She was no more like two different women glued together, now she was fully proportioned. Yes, fully proportioned and BIG! I was rather large myself, 1,91 and 90 kilos/6’3”, 200 pounds, but I felt overwhelmed by Orsola. Her body was a masterpiece of carnality, a triumph of firm round curves, like if it had been drawn using compasses as the only tool. Her face, once oval-shaped, was still beautiful but round of flesh; her shoulders, once small, were full, round and pillowy; her arms were padded with fat; only her breasts were still a bit out of proportion, as they were only the size of a medium-sized grapefruits. Under them the curve of Orsola’s belly bulged out, smooth, even and regular like a lute and her hips were doubtless more than 60 centimetres/25 inches across, with buttocks unbelievably big and round and hemispherical. Now not only a cup, but a whole tray could have sat on them. I could spot under Orsola’s dress thighs the size of a tree and her calves and ankles were like big, big bottles with the neck downwards. She was bigger than the women of 17th century paintings, I fancied thinking of her job, even bigger than Rubens’s women. Orsola did not seem ashamed of it a single bit, as she wore a tight green dress that clung to her body enhancing every curve, even the deep hollow of the navel of her abundant belly, as if she wanted to flaunt her big, juicy body in the face of a society that equated beauty with slimness. I felt that Orsola was proud of her body and that she was defying the general taste, a thing much appropriated to her character.
I compared Orsola with the slender girl I had taken out a couple of evenings before, I thought of her slim, fit, hard body and I wondered how someone could like that mass of fat, how anybody could want her at the risk of losing himself in that sea of flesh, smothered by her enormous curves. I must confess that for a moment I was a bit taken aback, ashamed of showing myself around with such an enormously fat woman – now I reckon Orsola must have been around 135 kilos/300 pounds – so different from my usual elegant and slender type of girls.
Anyhow I braced myself to the task, played the gentleman and we went to dinner. I realised how Orsola got that size as I watched her demolish happily a huge lasagna with minced meat and a rich béchamel sauce, a large portion of lamb with a generous side dish of Roman artichokes and a big slice of Sacher Torte with a two-inch layer of cream on top. After that Orsola suggested that we moved to a café, where she had a substantial chocolate and custard ice-cream with whipped cream.
She had always had a good appetite but she never ate so much, I thought, possibly the stress of the end of her marriage had a lot to do with it. Then I realised that remarkably Orsola did not wolf down her food, that she obviously enjoyed every forkful of her meal and that she clearly tasted and appreciated every morsel of it. The stress had doubtless something to do with the amount of food she ate, but basically the sheer love of food, the physical, sensuous pleasure of eating was evident from Orsola’s behaviour during the dinner.
We spent one or two pleasant hours chatting of the old times and of a lot of other relevant and irrelevant things then we went to a small cinema to see a re-run of Ingmar Bergman’s “Seventh Seal” as the good intellectuals we were. Then, towards the end of the movie, it happened. Just out of sheer habit, while I was deep into the show, I put my arm around Orsola’s shoulders without the slightest intention of doing it. And immediately, as if she were waiting for it – actually I think that she had been waiting for it quite a few years –Orsola nested her head on my shoulder with a soft moan and put her arm around my shoulder. I looked at her somewhat alarmed and I saw that she smiled happily at me. So there I was, sitting in the dark, not moving, not knowing what to do. I could not take my arm away, move my shoulder and pretend that nothing happened, it would have been the worst offence to any woman, but at the same time I did not want to get so intimate with Orsola. Not because of her brother, I had grown out of that teen-age camaraderie, but just because I knew that I did not like fat women, period, especially such a mass of flesh like she was.
Then, as the minutes passed, I began to get the feeling of Orsola’s body and I became conscious of the luscious sensation of her ample supply of flesh, of the warm, feminine softness of her body, transmitted through the zaftig round shoulder well-padded with fat. It was a very pleasant feeling, sweet and even a bit sexy, and as the time passed I began to find it no less pleasant and sexy than it was with Lilli, the slender girl I took out two evenings before. I began to realise that after all a big woman could have some pleasant sides but still, from the purely aesthetic point of view, the thing was not feasible. I was convinced that, although a round, soft feminine body could be sexy to hug and fondle, possibly even sexier than a slender one, no, Orsola’s sea of flesh was too much for my taste. But..... I really did not know what to do.
At the end of the show we went out arms around shoulder and as our bodies brushed the one against the other I found the feeling even more pleasant and sensuous. Obviously the night could not end there, so, still not knowing what to do, I suggested half-heartedly that we could have a drink at my place.
“And then what will happen?” asked Orsola with a smile, answering immediately to the question by throwing her arms around my neck, sticking to my body and kissing me deeply.
I never hugged a fat woman before. I could feel everything of Orsola’s juicy and soft body: the globes of her breasts pressed against me, my hands explored her wide, pillowy back, feeling the round softness of her shoulders, going slowly down to her large, round hips, coming up again and fondling the sweet rolls of flesh around the strap of her bra. It was the first time I held such a large, fully feminine, warm body against mine, the first time I could feel the firm and sensuous softness of a big woman. Large, elastic breasts filled my embrace, a round, pillowy belly pressed against me while a generous and soft body warmed and excited me. Then, always kissing, Orsola began to rotate gently her hips against me, the soft movement enhanced and enriched by her round, firm belly.
Suddenly I had the strongest erection in my whole life. Never before I had been so ready, willing, almost crying to make love. Orsola realised it and the rotation of her hips got more hypnotic and bewitching, the soft pressure of her body more electrifying. I was incredibly excited and surprised, I could not believe that a big woman could be so sexy; I would never have believed that my whole body could be screaming for Orsola with such an acute intensity and that I could desire a woman so much. Then, in a flash, I realised that making love to a fat woman would be the ultimate experience. It was a sort of illumination and a new world opened itself to me.
I almost towed Orsola to my car. I never was so in a hurry to take a woman to bed, I never felt so excited in my life, my whole body was aching for Orsola, for her divine flesh, for her warm softness, for her sensuous, exciting body. I felt like I had shed fetters and I was almost angry at the gurus of fashion and elegance that had deprived me and thousands of other people of such wonderful women. I could have kicked myself for having wasted so many years, blinded by fashion and accepting sheepishly other people’s ideas and tastes.
And we arrived at last to my place, excited and happy. Following the best tradition we left a trail of assorted lady and gentleman clothes marking the way from the door to the bedroom, but I did not jump at Orsola immediately. I wanted to savour the pleasure drop by drop, to the utmost. Again I filled my arms with Orsola, again her gorgeous hips rotated and her silken belly flattened against mine, again my hands explored every part of her sensuous body, caressing, fondling, tickling, feeling every curve, every fold, every inch of her now free vastness.
I was almost crazed by her softness and by the silken smoothness of her skin and her flesh, ten times superior to that of any slender girl I met. The breasts, comparatively small but very big for any “normal” woman, firm, round, upright, and scented, seemed almost an ideal representation. The smooth, round curve of the belly was high, sensuous and proud like those painted by Botticelli in his “Birth of Venus” or in the “Spring”. The majestic marble pillars of her thighs – the veritable entrance to the temple – big and exciting, were smooth and silken as satin, unbelievably without any cellulite, making a sensuous pillow and an exciting hiding place for my face.
I was kneeling on the floor at this point, my face buried in Orsola’s thighs, my arms around her round hips, squeezing her monumental buttocks, soft and round, two big, big worlds of pleasure, nearly too big even for my long arms. I was almost mesmerised by the sequence of curves that formed Orsola’s gorgeous, white body: for the first time I experienced the feelings and the emotions of innumerable generations past and I felt the truth of the age-old ideas hidden deep inside our ancestral mind. I held in my arms the archetypal Woman, the Goddess of Life, of Love, of Sex; I held in my arms Mother Earth, with all her richness, sweetness, generosity, abundance. Orsola’s hands were on my head, like in a hieratic and holy gesture and the atmosphere had become too intense, almost sacral, so to give it an earthy turn towards the amusement and whim that sex should always be I pinched and slapped Orsola’s big, sexy buttocks. Then I slowly rose following the curve of her belly with my tongue, reached the deep recess of her navel and plunged my tongue in it, tickling and sucking, pressing my face in that other soft, sweet pillow, the white mound of Orsola’s belly, making her giggle and laugh.
Our relationship developed in a peculiar way: both Orsola and I were very independent people – and somehow randy, I must admit – both of us put freedom above a “deep and significant” relationship, so there was never the slightest chance of becoming a couple or getting into a close-knit bond. We liked each other very much, both in bed and outside it, we met often for an evening, a weekend or a week, according to our whims, needs and possibilities, we called each other frequently, we went to movies, exhibitions and theatres but that was all. In short we were two friends who liked each other’s company very much and had a very good sexual connection, but no more than this. And nobody of us asked what happened when we did not meet.
Years passed since that Friday. Orsola put on more weight, she came up to 160 kilos/350 pounds and she was unbelievably sexy with her bigger, softer and rounder belly, still firm and high. Her hips also grew, they got over 80 centimetres/35inches broad, and so did buttocks and thighs, always almost without cellulite. The breasts too became bigger and bigger, they passed from the size and shape of a medium-size grapefruit to a big-size one and finally they grew to be just like small melons, always unbelievably firm and high. I was happy of this expansion and I found Orsola sexier and sexier as her weight went up. Sometimes I wondered how long it could have gone on, but I liked her too much and I am sure I would have found her unbelievably sexy even if she were enormous, full of cellulite and sagging all over.
Our sexual life was always great and Orsola had a repertoire of provocative tricks. For instance she drove me crazy when, in her sexy Oriental attire, she did the most exquisite belly dance I ever saw. Her whole body quivered and vibrated, like in anticipation of the pleasures to come; waves went through her flesh, her breasts bounced and danced with joy, her provocative belly moved rhythmically, up and down, in and out, and few were the sessions of belly dance that did not end abruptly before the time, with our bodies entwined and locked the one against the other. Also our friendship got deeper and stronger: we had basically the same tastes and ideas, we liked each other more and more, we understood and appreciated each other even better. In our way we got closer and closer, but we were wildly independent.
After that Friday I never forgot the lesson and I went out more and more with big women. I definitely find queen-sized ladies sexier and more exciting than the slim ones and my sexual fantasies revolve only around them, but I like also slender women, although their presence in my sexual life lessened as time went by. In fact I found that one of the things that attract me to queen-size women is something I can find only in them, that glowing, radiant feeling emanating from a Big Beautiful Woman happy about herself. It still gives me those sensations I first experienced that evening with Orsola, of being close to a spontaneous and natural being, of having beside me Femininity, the Archetypal Woman and Nature, maybe Mother Nature. I have a great debt towards Orsola and I shall always be grateful to her for having opened me a new, free world, unfettered by preconceived fashions and tastes.
[Author's Note] Basically a true narration of what happened and Orsola (of course it’s not her real name) is just like I described it. I just invented some minor touches, e. g. Orsola never did belly dance and never grew to the glorious proportions I described. There is only one significant lie in the story: I was an FA long before meeting Orsola and she was not my first BBW. I just wrote a ‘what if’ story. What if I were unknowingly an FA and Orsola revealed ne my true self?
The story was written in 1995 and published in Dimensions 78, February 1998. I reviewed it, changed wording to make it more readable and added what happened after 1995. Hope it's OK to post it here.
How do you like it and, most important, what you do not like?
Orsola: How it Began
By Orso di Monte Ribelli
By Orso di Monte Ribelli
All this happened in Rome, which is fitting because I am an Italian and I almost always lived in Italy, where I have known Orsola for a long, long time. She is an interesting woman, bright, clever, very good company, amusing, cultivated, classy, witty and throughout pleasant. Anyhow she is also rather formidable, stubborn, strong-willed, egocentric, egotist and a snob. She is, in short, an odd mixture of an attractive and an intimidating, imposing person, both in her character and her figure. She in fact is about 1.75/5’9”, with straight dark hair flowing down to the middle of her back, a beautiful and intense Roman face with a handsome, strong nose, large dark eyes, white skin and a full mouth.
Often I had the feeling that she was interested in me and I too was somehow attracted by her, but I did not do anything for two reasons. Reason one, Orsola’s brother, who was one of my best friends: in those days I believed that the sister of a friend was to be approached only with the most honourable intents, and I felt that mine would have been quite far from that. Reason two, Orsola’s body. Under that beautiful hair and face of hers Orsola had a slender body, with small round breasts the size of a peach and a narrow waist. Yes, a body slender down to her waist. At that point it was like someone had glued together the upper and lower part of two different women, because Orsola had a classic pear-shape. Her round hips were half a meter/20” wide and her big, hemispherical buttocks stuck out just like the bottom of a large, juicy pear. I was sure that one could have put safely a cup of coffee on that butt. She had also very big, very thick thighs and big calves that ended anyhow in slender ankles and small feet. Orsola’s ample lower body was clearly firm and juicy, but her big bottom and a slightly bulging, round belly – clearly visible through the tight pants and short, tight skirts that were fashionable in those years – made her clearly a fat girl, and I did not like fat girls, period.
In some odd way I felt attracted by Orsola even if she had such an enormous bottom but obviously this happened only because of true friendship, since I did not like fat girls, period. So for some years Orsola and I saw each other a lot, but mostly with other people around and always as the good friends we were.
Meanwhile I got my degree, later on Orsola got her own in art history, I went on travelling around even more than before and we saw each other less. Orsola was developing into a cultivated, sophisticated, intellectual and snobbish lady of the type I am so terribly fond of, but still I did not do anything. It was clear I could have done well as Orsola was no chaste shrinking violet, but there were always her strong character preventing any “serious” relationship and her big bottom preventing a light one, based exclusively on sex. But in an odd way I still felt attracted by her. Then in the due course Orsola fell in love with somebody and eventually got married, more or less at the same time I moved out of Rome for work and so for some years I did not see her at all.
I knew anyhow that Orsola had begun her career as an art historian and then I heard rumours that there were problems with her husband. The problems later became big, then very big and one evening, after I moved back to Rome, Orsola’s brother told me that they had split and that she was quite low-spirited and depressed. So I thought of asking her out, both for the sake of old times and to cheer up her a bit, and one Friday evening, in April, we met again just at the bottom of the Spanish Steps.
When I saw Orsola again I went wide-eyed. She was no more like two different women glued together, now she was fully proportioned. Yes, fully proportioned and BIG! I was rather large myself, 1,91 and 90 kilos/6’3”, 200 pounds, but I felt overwhelmed by Orsola. Her body was a masterpiece of carnality, a triumph of firm round curves, like if it had been drawn using compasses as the only tool. Her face, once oval-shaped, was still beautiful but round of flesh; her shoulders, once small, were full, round and pillowy; her arms were padded with fat; only her breasts were still a bit out of proportion, as they were only the size of a medium-sized grapefruits. Under them the curve of Orsola’s belly bulged out, smooth, even and regular like a lute and her hips were doubtless more than 60 centimetres/25 inches across, with buttocks unbelievably big and round and hemispherical. Now not only a cup, but a whole tray could have sat on them. I could spot under Orsola’s dress thighs the size of a tree and her calves and ankles were like big, big bottles with the neck downwards. She was bigger than the women of 17th century paintings, I fancied thinking of her job, even bigger than Rubens’s women. Orsola did not seem ashamed of it a single bit, as she wore a tight green dress that clung to her body enhancing every curve, even the deep hollow of the navel of her abundant belly, as if she wanted to flaunt her big, juicy body in the face of a society that equated beauty with slimness. I felt that Orsola was proud of her body and that she was defying the general taste, a thing much appropriated to her character.
I compared Orsola with the slender girl I had taken out a couple of evenings before, I thought of her slim, fit, hard body and I wondered how someone could like that mass of fat, how anybody could want her at the risk of losing himself in that sea of flesh, smothered by her enormous curves. I must confess that for a moment I was a bit taken aback, ashamed of showing myself around with such an enormously fat woman – now I reckon Orsola must have been around 135 kilos/300 pounds – so different from my usual elegant and slender type of girls.
Anyhow I braced myself to the task, played the gentleman and we went to dinner. I realised how Orsola got that size as I watched her demolish happily a huge lasagna with minced meat and a rich béchamel sauce, a large portion of lamb with a generous side dish of Roman artichokes and a big slice of Sacher Torte with a two-inch layer of cream on top. After that Orsola suggested that we moved to a café, where she had a substantial chocolate and custard ice-cream with whipped cream.
She had always had a good appetite but she never ate so much, I thought, possibly the stress of the end of her marriage had a lot to do with it. Then I realised that remarkably Orsola did not wolf down her food, that she obviously enjoyed every forkful of her meal and that she clearly tasted and appreciated every morsel of it. The stress had doubtless something to do with the amount of food she ate, but basically the sheer love of food, the physical, sensuous pleasure of eating was evident from Orsola’s behaviour during the dinner.
We spent one or two pleasant hours chatting of the old times and of a lot of other relevant and irrelevant things then we went to a small cinema to see a re-run of Ingmar Bergman’s “Seventh Seal” as the good intellectuals we were. Then, towards the end of the movie, it happened. Just out of sheer habit, while I was deep into the show, I put my arm around Orsola’s shoulders without the slightest intention of doing it. And immediately, as if she were waiting for it – actually I think that she had been waiting for it quite a few years –Orsola nested her head on my shoulder with a soft moan and put her arm around my shoulder. I looked at her somewhat alarmed and I saw that she smiled happily at me. So there I was, sitting in the dark, not moving, not knowing what to do. I could not take my arm away, move my shoulder and pretend that nothing happened, it would have been the worst offence to any woman, but at the same time I did not want to get so intimate with Orsola. Not because of her brother, I had grown out of that teen-age camaraderie, but just because I knew that I did not like fat women, period, especially such a mass of flesh like she was.
Then, as the minutes passed, I began to get the feeling of Orsola’s body and I became conscious of the luscious sensation of her ample supply of flesh, of the warm, feminine softness of her body, transmitted through the zaftig round shoulder well-padded with fat. It was a very pleasant feeling, sweet and even a bit sexy, and as the time passed I began to find it no less pleasant and sexy than it was with Lilli, the slender girl I took out two evenings before. I began to realise that after all a big woman could have some pleasant sides but still, from the purely aesthetic point of view, the thing was not feasible. I was convinced that, although a round, soft feminine body could be sexy to hug and fondle, possibly even sexier than a slender one, no, Orsola’s sea of flesh was too much for my taste. But..... I really did not know what to do.
At the end of the show we went out arms around shoulder and as our bodies brushed the one against the other I found the feeling even more pleasant and sensuous. Obviously the night could not end there, so, still not knowing what to do, I suggested half-heartedly that we could have a drink at my place.
“And then what will happen?” asked Orsola with a smile, answering immediately to the question by throwing her arms around my neck, sticking to my body and kissing me deeply.
I never hugged a fat woman before. I could feel everything of Orsola’s juicy and soft body: the globes of her breasts pressed against me, my hands explored her wide, pillowy back, feeling the round softness of her shoulders, going slowly down to her large, round hips, coming up again and fondling the sweet rolls of flesh around the strap of her bra. It was the first time I held such a large, fully feminine, warm body against mine, the first time I could feel the firm and sensuous softness of a big woman. Large, elastic breasts filled my embrace, a round, pillowy belly pressed against me while a generous and soft body warmed and excited me. Then, always kissing, Orsola began to rotate gently her hips against me, the soft movement enhanced and enriched by her round, firm belly.
Suddenly I had the strongest erection in my whole life. Never before I had been so ready, willing, almost crying to make love. Orsola realised it and the rotation of her hips got more hypnotic and bewitching, the soft pressure of her body more electrifying. I was incredibly excited and surprised, I could not believe that a big woman could be so sexy; I would never have believed that my whole body could be screaming for Orsola with such an acute intensity and that I could desire a woman so much. Then, in a flash, I realised that making love to a fat woman would be the ultimate experience. It was a sort of illumination and a new world opened itself to me.
I almost towed Orsola to my car. I never was so in a hurry to take a woman to bed, I never felt so excited in my life, my whole body was aching for Orsola, for her divine flesh, for her warm softness, for her sensuous, exciting body. I felt like I had shed fetters and I was almost angry at the gurus of fashion and elegance that had deprived me and thousands of other people of such wonderful women. I could have kicked myself for having wasted so many years, blinded by fashion and accepting sheepishly other people’s ideas and tastes.
And we arrived at last to my place, excited and happy. Following the best tradition we left a trail of assorted lady and gentleman clothes marking the way from the door to the bedroom, but I did not jump at Orsola immediately. I wanted to savour the pleasure drop by drop, to the utmost. Again I filled my arms with Orsola, again her gorgeous hips rotated and her silken belly flattened against mine, again my hands explored every part of her sensuous body, caressing, fondling, tickling, feeling every curve, every fold, every inch of her now free vastness.
I was almost crazed by her softness and by the silken smoothness of her skin and her flesh, ten times superior to that of any slender girl I met. The breasts, comparatively small but very big for any “normal” woman, firm, round, upright, and scented, seemed almost an ideal representation. The smooth, round curve of the belly was high, sensuous and proud like those painted by Botticelli in his “Birth of Venus” or in the “Spring”. The majestic marble pillars of her thighs – the veritable entrance to the temple – big and exciting, were smooth and silken as satin, unbelievably without any cellulite, making a sensuous pillow and an exciting hiding place for my face.
I was kneeling on the floor at this point, my face buried in Orsola’s thighs, my arms around her round hips, squeezing her monumental buttocks, soft and round, two big, big worlds of pleasure, nearly too big even for my long arms. I was almost mesmerised by the sequence of curves that formed Orsola’s gorgeous, white body: for the first time I experienced the feelings and the emotions of innumerable generations past and I felt the truth of the age-old ideas hidden deep inside our ancestral mind. I held in my arms the archetypal Woman, the Goddess of Life, of Love, of Sex; I held in my arms Mother Earth, with all her richness, sweetness, generosity, abundance. Orsola’s hands were on my head, like in a hieratic and holy gesture and the atmosphere had become too intense, almost sacral, so to give it an earthy turn towards the amusement and whim that sex should always be I pinched and slapped Orsola’s big, sexy buttocks. Then I slowly rose following the curve of her belly with my tongue, reached the deep recess of her navel and plunged my tongue in it, tickling and sucking, pressing my face in that other soft, sweet pillow, the white mound of Orsola’s belly, making her giggle and laugh.
* * *
To cut a long story short we spent the whole weekend in bed and it was the hottest I had until that moment. Orsola was not only very exciting, she was also exceptionally gifted for sex, a sheer natural disposition, I think. I do not like making comparisons, but definitely from this point of view she was one of the best, if not the best woman I ever had a relationship with and I believe myself lucky for the chance I had. Sometimes I think that she was almost a wet dream come true. Our relationship developed in a peculiar way: both Orsola and I were very independent people – and somehow randy, I must admit – both of us put freedom above a “deep and significant” relationship, so there was never the slightest chance of becoming a couple or getting into a close-knit bond. We liked each other very much, both in bed and outside it, we met often for an evening, a weekend or a week, according to our whims, needs and possibilities, we called each other frequently, we went to movies, exhibitions and theatres but that was all. In short we were two friends who liked each other’s company very much and had a very good sexual connection, but no more than this. And nobody of us asked what happened when we did not meet.
Years passed since that Friday. Orsola put on more weight, she came up to 160 kilos/350 pounds and she was unbelievably sexy with her bigger, softer and rounder belly, still firm and high. Her hips also grew, they got over 80 centimetres/35inches broad, and so did buttocks and thighs, always almost without cellulite. The breasts too became bigger and bigger, they passed from the size and shape of a medium-size grapefruit to a big-size one and finally they grew to be just like small melons, always unbelievably firm and high. I was happy of this expansion and I found Orsola sexier and sexier as her weight went up. Sometimes I wondered how long it could have gone on, but I liked her too much and I am sure I would have found her unbelievably sexy even if she were enormous, full of cellulite and sagging all over.
Our sexual life was always great and Orsola had a repertoire of provocative tricks. For instance she drove me crazy when, in her sexy Oriental attire, she did the most exquisite belly dance I ever saw. Her whole body quivered and vibrated, like in anticipation of the pleasures to come; waves went through her flesh, her breasts bounced and danced with joy, her provocative belly moved rhythmically, up and down, in and out, and few were the sessions of belly dance that did not end abruptly before the time, with our bodies entwined and locked the one against the other. Also our friendship got deeper and stronger: we had basically the same tastes and ideas, we liked each other more and more, we understood and appreciated each other even better. In our way we got closer and closer, but we were wildly independent.
* * *
Unfortunately time eats away everything, so after a dozen of years of such a relationship Orsola and I slowly drifted away. First we were still good friends but we met less often and sex, although always great, became rarer; then we met at even longer intervals, almost without sex and finally our connections were just a few phone calls. At the end these also have gone and in the last years I lost touch with Orsola. Possibly if either of us would have asked or suggested to evolve into a real couple the other would have agreed, possibly if we had become a real couple things would have ended in a different way, but neither of us asked and our relationship slowly wore out.After that Friday I never forgot the lesson and I went out more and more with big women. I definitely find queen-sized ladies sexier and more exciting than the slim ones and my sexual fantasies revolve only around them, but I like also slender women, although their presence in my sexual life lessened as time went by. In fact I found that one of the things that attract me to queen-size women is something I can find only in them, that glowing, radiant feeling emanating from a Big Beautiful Woman happy about herself. It still gives me those sensations I first experienced that evening with Orsola, of being close to a spontaneous and natural being, of having beside me Femininity, the Archetypal Woman and Nature, maybe Mother Nature. I have a great debt towards Orsola and I shall always be grateful to her for having opened me a new, free world, unfettered by preconceived fashions and tastes.
