I really don't know what in the hell I was doing there. My buddy Steve said he needed a wingman. I told him, "Dude, you met her at a bar on Halloween and she had her tongue in your mouth in less than an hour. You DON'T really need me here!"
I couldn't tell him the blue-in-the-face truth though. If she's willing to run around the bases with you, take the chance and go. Don't fuck around dating this girl! Jump on it and bail!
But, he decided to play it cool. And so I got stuck with the fat girl's even fatter friend.
The sight couldn't have been more sickening. They're on one side of the half-circle booth (don't ask me how his lap wasn't losing circulation), and I could tell he's doing it all wrong. I'm sitting there watching them, and he's got a hand resting anxiously on one of her back's fat rolls when it should be cupping either that 50-pound rump roast or that unsupported meteor languishing sweatily over that third-trimester-like deer gut. Then, I panned upward and saw that she's feasting on his mouth like it's a meatball grinder after a three-hour fast. He's gotta open up more! Go at it with some confidence. Act like you been there before! Don't do this Hokey Pokey dance; if you want to tilt your head to the left, then do it by God!
I wanted to call a time out and go through the offensive scheme with him, but it was too late. Besides, she seemed to be into his bad kissing and who am I to block a cock?
I could tell the fatter friend was watching this scene too, but I don't think she shared my criticism. Before I had a chance to jump over the table and oust myself through the second-story window, the fatter friend started rubbing the inside of my thigh with her Spam-like mitts. I inwardly condemned my undiscerning hard-on. She took my growth as a sign of interest.
Frantically, I scanned my database of excuses for anything to get me out of this; but the more she rubbed and squeezed, the quicker everything in my brain dissolved. Thankfully, a waitress happened by, asking if we needed anything freshened. The fatter friend was forced to stop, but Steve and his chick ignored everything around them. I ordered a Double Jack & Coke and a shot of 151, then I asked the fatter friend if she wanted anything. Nothing short of graceful blackout bliss would save me from the forthcoming trauma.
As soon as the waitress - the pretty, pretty waitress, now she'd make a quality lay - departed with my order, ol' Fatter Friend sidled up next to me again, shoving her lubricated mouth in my face. Instinctively, for a few mind-boggling seconds, my hand fell to her crotch, rubbing. When I realized what I was doing, retreating to her outer thigh, she snatched it right back, pressing it into her newfound wet spot with all the surprisingly strong force she could muster.
I think Steve and his lady friend saw this out of the corner of their eyes, because he gave me one of those smiling head-nods that could only suggest, "Way to go, Tiger!" I had some suggestive words for him too, but my telepathy's a little rusty.
After three eternities, with the fatter friend almost achieving evactuation of my manhood from my jeans, the waitress returned. As soon as the drinks hit the table, the shot was devoured, the straw was tossed, and the Jack & Coke was half empty.
"Whoa man, take 'er easy! It's only ten o'clock," Steve said aloud. Of course, the tone said, "Don't fuck this up for me," and I wanted to yell at him, "She's a fat fuck! She'll let you do her in any hole as long as you can find a way to stay hard! Leave me the fuck alone!"
Instead, I excused myself to go to the bathroom.
The urge to vomit flowed strong within me, but I mustered the retentive strength. The alcohol was starting to take its toll, though. Those drinks, coupled with the half-dozen shots of Monarch Vodka I had an hour earlier when Steve sprang this evening on me, had me in just the right state where - another cocktail or two and I'd be pissing myself in sublime unawareness by morning.
And then she lumbered in through the bathroom door, completely unprovoked, and I felt like a salmon after a bear has jumped in the river.
She had me pinned inside the stall, half-conscious on the toilet. She started for my belt buckle again. I didn't want to die, not like this. Already, my contemptable cock thrived under such forceful cajoling. It was only a matter of time before she had a mouthful of my buckshot. What scared me was the fact that I'd most likely enjoy it. What scared me even more was the possibility that I'd make this a habit. Sucked off by fat women on a men's toilet in a shitty bar.
I had to end this before lips touched head, but she wouldn't take, "Let's just be friends," for an answer. So, I pushed her back with my knees, but it didn't have the intended effect. She just smiled wickedly and headed for my special area. I pushed again with greater force, following it instantly with a double-footed kick to her chest. She broke through the stall door, landing with a meaty thud on the tile.
{{{She rubbed at her head; a nasty knot would be forthcoming. Now, with rage in her eyes, she flew at me, determined to get her money's worth on this ride. No longer would she be content with pleasuring me orally. She had her parachute-sized panties on the floor in an instant and jumped on me. The strain brought visions of an arthritic future.
She pounded on me hard, ramming me down into the toilet. I was out of options. This fat woman was raping the hell out of me. The only thing I could possibly think of was the one thing that came naturally to me. I wouldn't be proud of myself, but then again, I'd already kicked a fat woman in the chest today. What further dignity did I have to lose?
After the first couple of grunts, she thought I'd finally relented, so she presumed to fuck me even harder. But, after the third one, I had the entire bathroom smelling like a bathroom should. By the time she realized what I was doing, I had a second bomb out of the chute, followed by thunderous gas.
Repulsion was immediate. She stood up to get off of me, but now I had command of the situation. I stood up with her, dragging my shitty ass en tow, but she pushed me back down and I didn't dare follow.
By the time I'd left the bathroom, she'd already told Steve and the fat lady what I'd done. They all looked absolutely nauseated as I closed my tab and walked outside.}}}
Alternate Ending 1
[[[Tears welled up in her eyes and she ran out of the bathroom, completely embarassed at such rejection. Back at the table, Steve and the women looked at me crossly. Steve looked upset because his action was in jeopardy. His woman presumed to call me every homophobic epithet she could think of, including a variety of combination shots, "cocksucking cum-guzzler" being my personal favorite. The fatter friend said nothing at all.
Remembering the lines we'd practiced a few hours prior, I set Steve's number one fantasy in motion. "Face it, you fat, ugly piece of shit! I don't want your fucking friend! I'd rather hump a pregnant mule! So, get fucked, or better yet, DON'T, and save us all a lot of mind's eye trauma!" While stomping away, I could hear Steve already implimenting his side of Operation Steve Sandwich.
"Don't listen to that asshole, I think you're both beautiful."]]]
Alternate Ending 2
[[[I heard the crack, but didn't think anything of it. I saw the blood streamlet and grew concerned. I felt she wasn't breathing and I left the bathroom.
Back at the table, Steve finally had an arm up his fat girl's blouse. "There you go!" I thought while casually sipping the rest of my drink. Two minutes later, they made tracks for her apartment three blocks away. She told me to tell so-and-so she'd call her tomorrow. I left a little after the fatter friend was carted away.
Emotional, the waitress said, "Isn't that the girl you were with?" I scoffed, saying (Don't do it! Damn your hide, don't say it! If you have any ounce of literary decency in you, you'll pick a different line to end with!) "I'd never be caught dead with someone like that."]]]