Author's note: none of this ever happened, these characters are entirely fictional, although the setting is very real. It takes place in San Jose California, in 2013.
It had been about ten years since my wife died, so I finally started allowing myself to look at other women: that's when a particular black woman began piquing my interest in a very big fat way. I started calling her Ms. Pigtails because she always wore her hair in pigtails; she looked to be in her mid-thirties. She was always reading a real book of some sort, that is, I never saw her reading on a cellphone: I knew she was different. She was about my height, 5', 9" (175-cm), maybe 425-Lbs. (193-kg), with very large pendulous breasts that were slung over her round beach-ball-belly, that then protruded from her wonderfully expansive hips, although the thing that had a sleeper-hold on my brain was that queenly posterior of hers.
I had wistfully admired her throughout the summer, walking to-and-fro past my house: she eventually became friendly with my black cat, Lucy Fur. Lucy would rush out to meet her then rub herself on Ms. Pigtails leg while receiving a good scratching behind the ears and rump: oh, how I envied hat cat! Because I'm an artist and always busy in my studio, it allowed me to see her from my window whenever she'd go by. Seeing her bent over like that always made my day: right afterwards I'd make a mad dash for the bathroom and jack off into the sink:
I'd envision her glistening dark-mahogany skin beaded in sweat... kissing her wide flat nose and big full lips... biting her nipples... but I'd always reach my climax just as soon as I began imagining pushing my face between her butt cheeks and licking her puckered little asshole: without fail, the thought of it would always make me salivate!
That October I didn't see her for about a week and a half: perhaps she'd gotten another job?
I was out front pruning my trees and shrubs when at last I finally saw her again.
She was petting Lucy when I popped up from behind a gooseberry bush, "Her name's Lucy: Lucy Fur..."
"
Oh my god, that's soooo cute!
" she had a shy smile with crooked teeth that made my heart flutter.
"Gosh, I haven't seen you in a while, everything OK?" I blurted out before I realized what I had said.
"Hang on..." she took off her headphones and from out of her skirt she removed an old compact tape player, and with a crisp
snap!
it was silenced, "I'm sorry, what was that?" she asked.
My heart was racing because I didn't want her to think I was a creepy old white guy, "I uhhh, Lucy hasn't gotten her kitty lovin's from you for a while..."
"Oh, I had the flu..."
"Wha'cha listenin' to?"
"Some old French punk music..."
"Gosh, really: who?"
"Plastic Bertrand's first album..."
"You fer real?" I asked incredulously.
"
Hey, ya know what!
" she snipped.
"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect..."
"Someone like me to listen to anything like that?" she growled putting her headphones back on and began to walk away.
"Wait...can't you please forgive me--really?" I felt like such an ass.
"
Whatever!
"
"No, seriously: I have that on vinyl... I bought it when it first came out..."
"Seriously?"
"I'm just kinda surprised because most people only know about the one song..."
"I know right?" she grinned: damn, there were those oh so adorable snaggle-teeth again! "I mean 'Ca Plane Pour Moi' is totally cool, but that mandolin and bass on 'Bambino' is awesome! You can totally hear the Ramones influence..."
"My name's Clancy..." I held my hand out to her, and she accepted; her touch was so soft and gentle just like her voice, "So what else do you listen to?"
"Oh, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Black Sabbath, Gary Numan..."
"You're listening to that stuff on cassette? How old're you?"
"My name's Lashawna," she paused, "I'm forty-one... My dad and I used to listen to that stuff when I was a kid!"
"Have you heard Gary Numan's latest album?"
"I've only heard 'Love Hurt Bleed' so far..." she looked at her phone, "I totally gotta run! It was nice meeting you,
Clancy
..."
"Yeah, uh, be safe Lashawna ..." perhaps I was just imagining it and being hopeful, or is it that I'm a dirty old man, but I thought I'd recognized a certain gleam in her eyes that my wife would get!
Damn, she's forty-one and I'm fifty-four: that would work, wouldn't it? I was having he biggest crush on her ever: I immediately headed for my computer and did an image search for black SSBBW's. I had to whack-off twice before I was satisfied, and then again before bed.
After dinner I made her a tape of Gary Numan's album, "Splinter: Songs from a Broken Mind": I wanted to surprise her when I saw her again...
I was finishing up my breakfast the next day when I heard a knock at my door: it was Lashawna and she was holding Lucy in her arms, "I made you a 'mixtape'..." she set the cat down and handed me the cassette.
"Uh... uh... uh..." I stammered, "I mmm-made one ffffor you too, please wait!" I snatched it from the end table and handed it to her with trembling hands.
"You alright?" she queried.
"I am now!" I smiled, "It's Gary Numan's new album, I hope you like it?"
"Thanks, I gotta run now..." she turned and hurried away.
What she gave me was a mix of songs from 1980's bands like Split Enz and The Buggles, but none of them were the hits, they were much more obscure, then on the other side it was the Cocteau Twins. I had all this music already, but it felt so special coming from her. Once again, I did another image search to frustrate my purpose while listening to her music.
"
I loved all those songs!
" I said calling out to her as I stepped down from the porch to intercept her on her way past my house.
"Dang, that whole album is hella tight--I liked how dark it is!" she smirked turning her music off, "What else have you got?"
"Ohhh, I've got tons of stuff..."
"Can I see?"
"Ummm, sure?"
"I don't bite..." she giggled, "unless you want me to!"
"Are, are yyy-you flirting with me?" I squeaked.
"Well, that was the general idea anyway..." her big brown eyes sparkled behind her chubby cheeks.
"W-would you l-like to come up on the porch... to, to... to just talk?"
"W'll yeah!"
"Would you like something to drink: water?"
"Beer?"
"I have some home brew: it's a dark stout..."
"Just like me then?" she teased.
"Ummmm..." I blushed.
She stated bluntly, "I know you like to watch me!"
"I, well... ya see, I ummm..."
"I like it--
a lot!
" she looked around my house through the front window, "You don't seem like the creepy type..."
"Oh?"
"Naaawww, people's pets reflect their person... Lucy's a nice kitty: if she wasn't, I know you'd be an asshole to stay away from..." All that week she made a point to stop by to talk about music.
It was Friday afternoon when I asked, "Lashawna?"
"
Uhhhh-huh?
" she purred.
"C-can I... Um, would you... I mean... can I t-take you to, to, to dinner?"
"Clancy, are you askin' me out, like on a date?"
"I, well, umm-er-ah... yes?"
"I was hopin' you would..."
I took her to a little hole in the wall called "The Lunch Box" on West San Carlos in the Burbank area that served the most amazing Ethiopian food ever. I learned that she worked as a librarian at the Willow Glen branch on Minnesota Ave and that she lived only a mile away so that she could walk to work. She seemed extra fascinated when I told her that I was a freelance graphic artist as well as a fine artist.
We had been dating three weeks before I worked up my nerve: we had just finished dinner and walking back to her car when I asked, "Pigtails... May, may I kiss you?"
