Lardibutts
Aged Member
SSBBW, Imagery, ~XWG - according to rhe authoir this story is based on a true encounter many wish they could replicate
Intro
On a crystal clear day the coast of Tunisia is close enough to be seen very faintly from the Mediterranean island of Pannecotta. Though Italian speaking, Catholic and technically an autonomous region of Italy, there is much that is Arabic about the island’s landscape, the look of its people, and their tastes. Because they love pampering their children and enjoy both pasta and sweet things, the islanders have the to some dubious reputation of being the most obese people in Europe.
Like Sicily and other areas of southern Catholic Europe, religious festivals are the highpoints of the year’s calendar. These can be highly theatrical, evolving down the centuries since the Counter Reformation to be colourful, noisy, ritualistic, spectacular. Sometimes they can also be dark, threatening and, it has to be admitted, compellingly erotic. No wonder they hold the populace in permanent thrall.
Easter Encounter 1
The centro storico of Panciuto high above the rest of the capital city, is normally deserted by late evening. This night it hums with the crowds pressing into the labyrinthine narrow streets. The citizens are a handsome dark people, subdued but striking in their best sombre dress. In half an hour it will be Easter; the custom is to visit all the old city’s churches in the last few hours of Thursday night. Even the laxest of churchgoers feel they can notch up some small credit against their name - posted against probable lapses in attendance during the coming year.
People walk in groups, talking in low voices. Mostly they circulate as families, otherwise in affinity groups: pensioners, widows, young men, young women. They are acutely aware of one another. While some may be checking for piety and probity, the majority are rating their fellow citizens, awarding points for style. Acutely self-conscious, everyone knows this a two way business.
In the crowded churches this night, the main altar is dark and chandeliers shrouded. Seating is turned to face a side altar simply dressed with Easter lillies. Just the right circumstances to indulge in surreptitious “people watching”. There are sideways glances everywhere under the stark light.
Walking with my family, I enjoy watching out for the sights. Now and again in the street, I spot a portly great operatic diva of a figure processing majestically, her family arranged around her like a stage chorus. During their 10 minute church visits, these women play corpulent Toscas, directing their husbands to seek out grandly commanding centre stage positions.
I observe a thick pair of braces under serious strain as a well groomed man in his late fifties rolls an enormous jutting paunch laboriously from church to church. Three plump women assist lovingly, fearful lest perhaps their carefully nurtured husband’s or father’s almost liquid belly could spill out of their clutches to escape down a drain.
On the crowded steps leading to a church entrance, a group of five young women squeeze out through the throng as I wait to enter. The last of these is far too large to get past, she bumps to a standstill against me. I am aware of her front compressing softly against me.
As our eyes meet, she looks flustered.
She is nearly as tall as me but teenaged, with a fresh beautiful face.
I try wriggling aside, she wriggles the same way. We remain pressed together. She flashes a sweet open smile at me, point blank.
“Mi dispiace”, we say to each other. Has she relaxed a little?
We repeat exactly the same sideways shuffly bodyrub, first to the left then to the right. Stalemate. She’s still squashed up on me. I can feel her against me.
We are jammed together – completely, all the way down.
The feel of her astonishing softness is indescribable.
Only on the third attempt is she able to work all that glorious quivering bodywork around me to freedom.
Elegantly turned out in the fashionable tailored black trouser suit with white blouse, she hastens off to catch up with her group. I turn to watch as she hauls her extravagant figure away from me, her magnificent rear end working spectacularly, heaving and dancing.
Quickly she is lost into the crowd.
A memorable night. I re-run the encounter in my imagination, in slow motion, frame by delicious frame.
Again and again.
(Continued in post 5 of this thread)
STEPS INTO FANTASY
by Lilo
by Lilo
Intro
On a crystal clear day the coast of Tunisia is close enough to be seen very faintly from the Mediterranean island of Pannecotta. Though Italian speaking, Catholic and technically an autonomous region of Italy, there is much that is Arabic about the island’s landscape, the look of its people, and their tastes. Because they love pampering their children and enjoy both pasta and sweet things, the islanders have the to some dubious reputation of being the most obese people in Europe.
Like Sicily and other areas of southern Catholic Europe, religious festivals are the highpoints of the year’s calendar. These can be highly theatrical, evolving down the centuries since the Counter Reformation to be colourful, noisy, ritualistic, spectacular. Sometimes they can also be dark, threatening and, it has to be admitted, compellingly erotic. No wonder they hold the populace in permanent thrall.
Easter Encounter 1
The centro storico of Panciuto high above the rest of the capital city, is normally deserted by late evening. This night it hums with the crowds pressing into the labyrinthine narrow streets. The citizens are a handsome dark people, subdued but striking in their best sombre dress. In half an hour it will be Easter; the custom is to visit all the old city’s churches in the last few hours of Thursday night. Even the laxest of churchgoers feel they can notch up some small credit against their name - posted against probable lapses in attendance during the coming year.
People walk in groups, talking in low voices. Mostly they circulate as families, otherwise in affinity groups: pensioners, widows, young men, young women. They are acutely aware of one another. While some may be checking for piety and probity, the majority are rating their fellow citizens, awarding points for style. Acutely self-conscious, everyone knows this a two way business.
In the crowded churches this night, the main altar is dark and chandeliers shrouded. Seating is turned to face a side altar simply dressed with Easter lillies. Just the right circumstances to indulge in surreptitious “people watching”. There are sideways glances everywhere under the stark light.
Walking with my family, I enjoy watching out for the sights. Now and again in the street, I spot a portly great operatic diva of a figure processing majestically, her family arranged around her like a stage chorus. During their 10 minute church visits, these women play corpulent Toscas, directing their husbands to seek out grandly commanding centre stage positions.
I observe a thick pair of braces under serious strain as a well groomed man in his late fifties rolls an enormous jutting paunch laboriously from church to church. Three plump women assist lovingly, fearful lest perhaps their carefully nurtured husband’s or father’s almost liquid belly could spill out of their clutches to escape down a drain.
On the crowded steps leading to a church entrance, a group of five young women squeeze out through the throng as I wait to enter. The last of these is far too large to get past, she bumps to a standstill against me. I am aware of her front compressing softly against me.
As our eyes meet, she looks flustered.
She is nearly as tall as me but teenaged, with a fresh beautiful face.
I try wriggling aside, she wriggles the same way. We remain pressed together. She flashes a sweet open smile at me, point blank.
“Mi dispiace”, we say to each other. Has she relaxed a little?
We repeat exactly the same sideways shuffly bodyrub, first to the left then to the right. Stalemate. She’s still squashed up on me. I can feel her against me.
We are jammed together – completely, all the way down.
The feel of her astonishing softness is indescribable.
Only on the third attempt is she able to work all that glorious quivering bodywork around me to freedom.
Elegantly turned out in the fashionable tailored black trouser suit with white blouse, she hastens off to catch up with her group. I turn to watch as she hauls her extravagant figure away from me, her magnificent rear end working spectacularly, heaving and dancing.
Quickly she is lost into the crowd.
A memorable night. I re-run the encounter in my imagination, in slow motion, frame by delicious frame.
Again and again.
(Continued in post 5 of this thread)
