1479 word count as of 07/23/21

         For a woman who I rated so low, she had the gentle personality of a natural 10. Self-secure, not at all nervous, causal, all traits of a woman who knows she looks good...and this woman. Who was she? My own father railed and raged against his end, and she just casually mentions her own like she's ok with it.

         "Alright..."

         Normally there was no foreplay with these women-they attacked you and took the bare length of time it took to get you excited and wrapped before they impaled themselves. But this was a woman I feared moving around like that, like she could die any second. So, the old fashioned hand-crank it is.

         "I can do that much," her voice was musical, amused and dancing, stopping me midst-stroke "I'm dying, not dead."

         I shrugged and gave her a soft smile, letting her touch me as I gently traced my fingers over her body.

         Her touch was tender but almost expert, as if she knew where every nerve ending in my shaft was. As for her skin--I could tell everything was a bit distressed, but it was as soft as her hand on me.

         It reminded me of that comedian that said fat felt like everything was a breast. I almost chuckled at this thought, as it's a bit ridiculous, but it is a mind-over-matter attitude to hold towards something that is less than desirable to the shallow. Better than the asshole that got kicked out the club for an STD's comment on what he called ugly women: you do them so you won't be so excited in the sack, and last longer. I really should forget that guy exists.

         But in spite of this being what would be called so many awful things, it felt good. It felt more than good, this felt like something was going right in my life for the first time in years. This wasn't going to be as difficult as I first thought.

         When people get this big, there's no way to physically fit together--a lot of positions become awkward. Add health issues, and it gets worse. Thinking about it for a second, I had her lay on her side--bonus of getting all that weight off her ribcage, making her breathing more relaxed. Then I hooked her upper leg over my shoulder, positioning myself against her generous peach.

         Another issue, fat builds up in the mound, making the lips difficult to part, if I was facing her head on--half that work is done in this position. I slipped in as smoothly as ever, just not as deep. Not that I wanted to pound this woman.

        No, that's a lie.

        I was into this. Her breathing picked up just from sliding into her. I wanted to give it everything I had...but her health. It's hard to be thinking on 2 different levels like this.

        She started off like a vice. Where I thought her hand was soft, this grip was not. I was struggling to not go faster. I had been reaching out with my opposite arm gently flicking a nipple when she grabbed my hand and yanked it higher.

          She bit my wrist, then climaxed. It stung like all hell, throwing me off my stride, as she convulsed round my cock. Once the pain ebbed I began to move again--I had no idea why that bite hurt that much. Human teeth aren't sharp.

         But the kink of it pushed me. My own wasn't far behind.

         My gums itched...like much worse than the pain she caused me. I was going to have to bite her in kind. It was awkward, but I managed to bite her just above her knee, slightly to the inside. I couldn't bite hard enough.

        Shit. No wonder her bite hurt.

        I finally got my teeth in deep enough, massaging the horrible feeling in my gums. I didn't even last a full 3 thrusts after that.

         But I wasn't as breathless as I usually was after a round.

         And I was ready for another round as if I was 18 all over again. "Can you..."

         She laughed at me, breathless, all over again. "I'm dying, not dead."

        Well, I got my answer.

~~~

         One thing I didn't know about gentle sex is that both partners can fall asleep in the middle of it, if they are tired enough--not a lack of desire, just the body is so relaxed that it switches from one natural state to another with ease. I didn't fall asleep standing up--I found something else that worked.

          I woke up a few hours later, drowsily. The great epiphany of that moment was realizing that I really didn't give shit 1 about what a woman looked like--any woman. I rated women because that's what I was always around.

         I have no doubt that many guys have a limit on what they find attractive...but I had known a few that claimed to love all women--even as they rated them. How many times did I pass up someone I'd love to spend the rest of my life with for the life I now lived?

         That's the type of existential crisis that can keep you up at night...if you're not a man of the moment. I've always been one for the here and now, not what ifs. Right now, my arm was being smothered by the largest pair of breasts I've ever held, and she was comfortable to sleep next to. That would have to do.

~~~

         Morning came, and I was alone in the medical bed. I tossed on my boxers, then went to check on this ill woman in my house.

         Not in the bathroom. She must have taken the elevator down.

         Once I stepped out, I could hear arguing. It came from the old office.

         A man's voice grumbled. "This room stinks of multiple partners."

        "Papa, what did you expect of a man from that club? You knew where you sent me."

         "And he knows nothing."

         "...no. He wasn't one of those kept on the premises, but a human who frequents the club. They've kept track of him, over the years, and he asks no questions about the place or of the women."

         "But he might save your life if he comes with you."

        "He can't give up his life for a stranger that is dying. He's done enough."

        "But if he's running around out here sleeping around, it could hurt you."

         "I know that!" Up until this point, my recent lover kept a calm, modulated voice. The anguish of this last bit shook me.

          I can't remember the last time anyone cared if I whored around, save my father. There wasn't a reason to care.

         And this talk of sex saving her life, or alternately, killing her? Just as strange as the club I've wasted my life in.

         I knocked on the door, "May I come in?"

         Her laugh tickled my ears, even through the door. "It's your home."

         I stepped in. "I ah, overheard more than I wanted to...holy fuck."

          I paused. I began to regret calling this woman a 1 just last night, but based upon that number, she jumped from a 1 to a 4. She was still very much overweight, but the swelling that made me think she might burst was gone. Defined eyes that sparkled with life, a big moon of a face--but still, I could see where cheeks were, the rest of her nose, what the natural shape of her lips were.

         "So, I look better?"

         "Of course. You look healthier. I was really worried about you."

          The man leaning against one of the former supports for the shelving I ruined growled softly. "Worried. You should still be worrying. This was just a way to stave off the end. She still has a way to go."

        "I'm not going to ask. Just let me know what you need from me."

         "I need you to be celibate."

         Holy fuck. No one had ever asked that of me. When younger, girls asked me to be faithful, but that's because they wanted me to themselves. I don't think the reasons are the same, here. "How...how long?"

         "A month. If all goes well, I'll come back and explain what all went on, alright. I'll either come here or to...well..."

         I nodded, bowed slightly to both. "I won't run you out, but I need a shower. The front door self-locks, so no need to wait for me. I'll see you whenever I see you next."

          I walked out and took the elevator down to my basement--still just in my boxers.

         And that's a whole lot of firsts that I can't unpack right now.

        After all, it could mean nothing in a month's time.