She was a pale and kinky bisexual BBW, close to two hundred and fifty pounds, probably five foot ten, with long red hair that she wore in a braid when she shot pool. Her name was Opal and she drove around in a pale blue Mercedes. She shot in two leagues and even managed her own team, an all-Lady crew in which she was the best player and in which two of the other seven members were also BBWS. Twice a year Opal would go out to Vegas to shoot in the National Ladies Bar-Table League. She never came back a champion but she did well in the money standings. And every time Opal traveled to Vegas, she'd tke a different male escort along for the ride ... at least that was the rumor in the local tavern where her all-Lady crew squared off against all comers on Wednesday nights.
I could tell Opal was kinky because she gave the room so many different looks and poses when she had her crew in ... she wore different apparel each time, sometimes ever so subtly themed, rather as if she kept a running subtext going in which she was not just a player, but she was also a Player. One night she'd look like a businesswoman, another night like trailer trash, then again she could appear to be a jogger, or a farmer's wife, or maybe even a defenseless widow. Her looks went on and on, and she was always perfect in whatever role she chose.
I could tell Opal was kinky because her eyes gave it all away. She was the businesswoman who liked her male underlings on their knees under her desk - you could tell that by the bold and contemptuous glare she would sometimes level at some wiseguy who flirted too openly when she came up to the long, U-shaped bar to order a round for "her girls." And when she wore those jogging shorts, with her thick strong thighs revealed in all their breathtaking glory, her eyes went way down the road when she leveled them at certain startled males. And when she wore her trailer trash ensemble, her cut-offs so snug to her abundant ass cheeks you couldn't fit a ten of diamonds between her skin and that stressed fabric, her eyes candidly solicited attention from both males and females alike. And when she wore her dark widow's dress, her eyes were ever so slightly smudged, as from weeping, and the entire room seemed to lean her way, as if seeking to comfort her ... I liked her widow's game a lot, because the dark aching dance deep within and all around the edges of her piteous gaze made my scrotum tighten and my nipples stiffen. Opal was a piece of work, oh you bet.
I could tell Opal was kinky because she could speak without moving her lips. It was her favorite game with some of the older gentlemen. You could tell she was doing it because when she'd come up to the bar and wait for the barmaid, the older gentlemen would kind of stiffen if she stood by them, as if they were being abused in some subtle way - she was very covert and said very nasty things, but only with certain of the older men. I know. Because I was one of them.
"How'd you like my poolstick up your ass, Sport?" was the first line she ever used on me. I spun my head toward her, not believing my ears, but she was watching for the barmaid and gave no sign of having said what she said. "You ARE an ass-man, aren't you?" I turned to her again, and again it was as if she hadn't said a word. She was in her businesswoman's outfit that day, but she never once even looked at me. I'd been watching her shoot, admiring the heavy spread of her powerful hips under the long skirt she wore. And even though her glance never came to meet my admiring stare, she had known I was eyeing her ass ... as she put a twenty on the bar and expertly took several drinks into her hands, she thanked the barmaid and then, just before she turned away, while my own eyes were still locked on her face, she said very quickly and clear as a bell, "I'll fuck you till you squeal, ol' Sport!" Her lips didn't move, and I was the only one who heard her. Then she was gone. She took my breath with her ...
Needless to say, I became a regular watcher of the pool league on Wednesday nights from that night on. I took care not to sit in the same place at the big, U-shaped bar, not because I didn't want to make my interest obvious, but more to see how Opal would react: I wanted to know if she was actually interested in me. Sometimes she would come to where I was, but mostly she did not. She never openly acknowledged my presence, but when she did appear at my elbow to order a round for "her girls," she always gave me a vulgar salute, never moving her lips and never uttering those lines in way anyone else could hear . . . "Bet if I stepped on your balls you'd cry out for more," she'd say, or "I need to take a leak - want some?" Each time I'd be shocked, and delighted, but I'd never let on that I heard. It became our private side-game, played covertly ever so often.
Weeks went by and then I noticed a change. Opal and "her girls" always sat at the far side of the big room, at two tables near the far end of the section that had the two pool tables. I'd watch her from afar from wherever I sat. Then I noticed that she was also watching me. Not in an obvious way, but I could tell: she'd be talking with her crew and her eyes would suddenly be in my own.
It was a palpable thing, almost as startling as when she'd speak without acknowledging me or moving her lips ... no one else could tell. For all the world she was completely engaged in managing the team, or in humiliating an opponent, but she would laser into me from afar, brief and startling. It became something I could count on and a thing I looked forward to. I became addicted to that distant laser of hers, glancing into me, but still, we never openly spoke to one another. For all the world we were strangers, yet we were locked in.
It was one of her crew who finally broke the ice. "You a shooter?" It was one of the other two BBWs, the biggest gal on the team in fact. She always wore jeans and a T-shirt with words or phrases or ads on it. She was tall, just under six feet, and a true Amazon. She leaned one elbow on the bar when she spoke to me, with her other hand at her hip and one of her feet up on the low rail. Her bosoms were close enough I could sense their heat and heft and when I turned slightly toward her it was all I could do not to leer over at them when I answered. "Used to be all I cared about doing, actually." She laughed, a knowing sort of laugh, and extended her hand, "I'm Opal's little sis ... you can call me that. I've noticed you here before. What's your name?"
From then on, Little Sis would always stop by at least once a night. I'd get updates on how the team was doing when it played in other joints. Apparently, they were a very good team and they won often ... Opal, in fact, never lost, is what Little Sis said.
Much as I admired the spectacular Amazonian dimensions of Little Sis, I never flirted with her. So much so, I couldn't even tell if she was making a pass at me when she asked, "You don't exactly play around, do you?"
"Yes, well, no, actually ... I guess I usually just kind of lay back and let things be... "
"But I'll bet you'd play if the woman made the first move though, wouldn't you?"
"Hmmm - I think that'd really depend on who the Lady was ..."
"Aw come on now - don't be so coy, Sweetie. It's not as if we haven't all noticed how you keep watching my sister Opal ... "
"Yeah, well ... I guess I am something of a sucker for Ladies who know the game ... "
"That, and you really like us Really BIG gals most of all, don't you ... go on, you can tell your Little Sis!?"
