My BBW Rockabilly Queen - by Sean32

  My BBW Rockabilly Queen-bySean32

  As I drove into the parking lot, and noticed the tricked out 1950s low-riders, and the young, tattooed flesh, I immediately felt hot and foolish. My only friend who had an interest in this scene was out-of-town. No one else was crazy enough to come with me. I was totally alone.

  There was no one my age in sight. Apparently, all I would have in common with these cool, young, people was love for rockabilly music and culture. Yet even here I was different.

  I was something of a purist, dressed as if I had stepped out of a 1958 men's fashion magazine. Everyone here, though, seemed to favor the newly embellished rockabilly look. (Girls with nose rings, tattoo "sleeves," etc) I liked this, but it felt too young for me. I wasn't leaving, though. The music had me hooked. (Yeah, I also enjoyed admiring the young ladies, too.)

  Sheepishly, I made my way from my car to the venue entrance. I found out Brian Setzer wouldn't be on for a few hours, so I decided to check out the steamy hot side tents. These were sure to be full of groupies, second-rate music, and unleashed hormones. I was nervous. At 6'5", and over 40, I would not blend in.

  Nonetheless, a blast of old-school rockabilly drew me into the first tent I saw. The next thing I knew, I was in the middle of the very scenario I had dreaded. Behind me I felt a large crowd following me in, pushing me to the middle of the floor. Old, and towering above the kids, I turned to fight my way out.

  Just as I attempted a speedy retreat, my heart jumped and my legs froze. There, right in front of me, was someone out of my deepest fantasies. Her over dyed red hair, bordered on orange. It was pulled up and back in style I can't name, but which would have made Betty Page proud. Yet her eyebrows were thick and black. Her lipstick was screaming red, her mouthy pouty, and her skin milky white. A delicate silver ring pierced her right nostril.

  I didn't notice anything else for a long while. Her face had me transfixed. Then she turned. Eyes of green pierced my soul, and then she smiled a wicked little smile.

  "So, fantasy or freak?" she yelled at me over the din.

  "What?" I stood there like a fool, mouth trembling, embarrassed.

  Her eyes softened, "I mean, are you the type of guy who finds me hot, or a typical, modern man who only has time for stick figures?"

  Only then did I notice how curvy, and large she was.

  "Fantasy," I stupidly muttered. "Oh, definitely fantasy."

  All the while she continued to thrust, and jiggle. I thrust my hand into my pocket to deal with my growing embarrassment. Too late.

  She laughed a deep, melodic laugh, which drifted back into the music. She turned her attention to the stage, and gave a parting shot, "I'm here for the music you old pervert."

  I was crushed, then something told me there was hope, though. Her eyes seemed to sparkle a bit more now, as she moved towards the stage. I moved to the side of the tent, but my height allowed me to admire the show she was puttying on, hoping it was partially for me.

  My mystery woman wore black pedal pushers, a form fitting pink bowling shirt and platform espadrilles. The shirt was cute, and fashionably small. I could see a dragon tattoo curling out of her ass crack and onto her back, in vivid red and green.

  Her left arm had a "sleeve" of Asian motifs, but her right arm was bare except for a red, cinnabar bracelet.

  A fold of creamy white skin protruded from the top of her pants, and I pondered the size of her massive ass, and what it might look like, if I could get her out of her pedal pushers. I noticed sweat glistening on her neck, and I wanted to taste it.

  In delicious misery, I left the tent, bought a coke, and sat on the grass. All the while, I never took my eyes off the tent entrance.

  An hour later, the crowd began to pour out, but my "friend" was nowhere in sight. I looked in the tent, and finally caught a glimpse of her flirting with the drummer. I got pissed for no good reason, but something kept me from leaving, from giving up.

  Instead, I moved closer, and heard the most beautiful words of my middle-aged life, "Yeah, you're amazing, but I'm not going to fuck you. I mean, that's what you want right?"

  The drummer sat there stunned, and then that beautiful girl said, "I like my men a bit older, but thanks!"

  She blew him a kiss, turned to leave, then froze in her tracks when she saw me. She recovered quickly, smiled, and gave me the finger.

  I followed her like a puppy dog.

  "My name's Sean, by the way, I'm 'older,' and I know you are attracted to me." It was a bit arrogant, but it seemed necessary.

  Thankfully, she laughed, turned, looked at me with those beautiful green eyes, and said, "I'm Patti, and I know you just want to touch my huge titties?"

  This time I was ready for her bold approach. "Indeed, I do want to touch them, and lick them. Of course, I also want to kiss your pussy."

  Patti erupted in laughter, and her boobs shook with a promise of things to come.

  "Of course," I continued, "I also have a crush on you, and want to take you out. What do you think?"

  Patti smiled sweetly, opened her mouth to speak, but then she stopped, trembling.

  Hoping to make her as comfortable as possible, I grabbed her hand, laced our fingers together, and started walking her toward the soda stand. When she finally spoke, I noticed it came with that lisp so common to people with pierced tongues.

  "OK, I think you are a bit older than I am, but I like that. I'm 30, by the way. I don't usually find myself at a loss for words, but you really got me back there."

  She rambled on, "I'm going to just take a chance here. Here it is, most guys think I am just fat, or a fuck novelty to try and then discard. You just made me feel like a teen princess. Thank you. Even if it is an act."

  In spite of my intense arousal, Patti's words really got me. I saw pain in her eyes, and knew a lot of damage had been done to her heart. I wanted to kick someone's ass, and I told her so.

  Patti's eyes warmed, and she grabbed the back of my head, pulling my mouth down to hers. She gently nibbled my lower lip then, without wasting any more time, she mashed her body into my, thrusting her hard tongue deep into my mouth, while her right hand grabbed my left ass cheek.

  It was over before it got going. One playful bite on my lip and she jumped back.

  "OK, this is foolish, but I'm going to fuck you before the day is done," she calmly informed me,

  Before I could get a lame response out, she continued, "But ... right now, I want you to prove yourself. Hold my hand. Listen to me bitch, and like it. Then maybe lunch."

  My cock ached. This is what I wanted.

  I had never been able to articulate my idea of a "dream girl," yet here she was, in the flesh. Beautiful, big, bitchy, and yet a 1950s belle. Sorry for the alliteration, but it really works in Patti's situation.

  I now knew that I would never be satisfied with anything less than the intelligent, sweetheart in front of me. She was the whole package. Here was a lady of refinement, who also seemed to have a trailer park sensibility about sex. I pecked her cheek, held her hand and led her to my car. At the passenger side door, I slowly kissed my goddess on the neck, ear and lips, before opening her door.

  I headed for my favorite diner, grinning and listening to a monologue the entire way. Patti was brilliant, quick and funny. I worried that I might be too slow for her, but vowed to follow her anywhere until I was totally hers.

  Once off the free way, I used each stoplight as an excuse for groping and kissing her entire body. At our final light, I ran my hand across Patti's massive left boob, and was rewarded by a sharp pain caused by my pants cutting into my cock.

  Under the padding of her bra, I felt one of Patti's thick, long nipples, hard and erect. Yet there was more. Hard beads of metal framed her tit. Oh, shit ... I had to slow down, and I did. Jumping out of the car, I finally caught my breath, but forgot to be a gentleman. Patti was still in the car!

  I raced to her side, just as she wiggled out of her seat, and through the door. "You asshole!" she growled, and I saw the pain again. "What don't you like?!"

  Growing faster in my repartee skills, I volleyed, "I don't like fucking in the parking lot, even though want to. Hell, Patti, I can't play with you and your hardware and then calmly have an old fashioned diner lunch. Let me get my head together here!"

  Relieved, Patti turned, skipped (yes, skipped) and headed for the diner. I tucked my hard shaft into my waist band, untucked my shirt for camouflage, and followed at a leisurely pace.

  Thankfully, it was a bit of a walk from where we had parked. I was able to appreciate Patti's ass and thighs, and all the drama they naturally carried.

  Looking at Patti, I found myself incredulous that anyone had ever rejected this woman. I already had seen the intelligence and seductiveness in her eyes, and I had enjoyed the ripeness of her massive bosom, but now the sight of Patti's swaying ass almost caused me to erupt and embarrass myself while walking through a parking lot in the middle of the day.

  Each of Patti's thighs was larger than both of my muscular legs put together, but her ass shot back, out and up to create a protruding, round pile of flesh that swung and begged for something. I wanted to kiss it, lick it, bury my face in its folds, and if allowed, plunge my cock into it.

  I noticed that Patti was not just walking, though. It seemed that her hands were in front of her doing something. Oh, no ... the bottom of that pink bowling shirt started to rise, two inches, four inches, six ... and then the fabric tightened against her skin.

  Patti had tied her blouse up and off, up high. In the process, he had also shown me my old friend the tattoo dragon, slithering out of her ass and into the folds of flesh above her hips. He was sweaty, and I envied him.

  With her right hand, Patti pulled off her bra, snaked it through her right sleeve, and in one motion shoved it into her leopard-patterned purse. She then calmly sat on the waiting bench outside the restaurant doors and watched me approach.

  Plopping down next to Patti I saw that while her boobs sat lower now, I had a better view. She had unbuttoned at least four more buttons. Sweat trickled through pendulous boobs that sagged naturally with an invitation I was finding harder to ignore.

  "I was hot," she stated matter-of-factly, and then flapped her shirt in a cooling motion. She was showing me white melons topped by pools of pink with hard tits pierced by silver rings.

  She tousled my hair, as if I was a little boy, and I didn't mind. Indeed, I was intensely aroused, but also overcome by a desire to nurse at her matronly tits.

  Before fully processing any of this, Patti bounded inside, followed by me, her ardent suitor. Upon entering the diner, the young, blonde waitress almost rolled her eyes at us. Had their been a rope, she never would have led us past it. Somehow that knowledge comforted me. The whole world could go to hell, as long as Patti wanted me.

  Once we were ensconced in a cushy vinyl booth, the next two hours saw us coyly flirting, joking, playing footsies, and finally sharing a malt like some wholesome teen couple.

  I learned that Patti had been married for less than a year just after she graduated from the University of Iowa. She had always had huge breasts, but in her first, and only, year of marriage depression and slowing metabolism got the best of her. Apparently her asshole husband lost interest and started banging one of her friends.

  It was a shitty story, but Patti screwed up the courage to leave her desk job (managing 401ks) and headed to California. It had been a longtime dream, but alone it took a while for the fun to set in.

  After diving into L.A.'s alternative rockabilly scene, Patti had fun, but discovered even more assholes. It all sounded pretty typical until she hit me with the story of her most recent romance.

  Two years ago, Patti had moved into a studio apartment above the garage of a widowed woman in her 70s. This kind woman, Kathy, took to Patti like a daughter. She even cleaned for her and did her laundry.

  After long days at work, Patti would often stop by Kathy's for coffee and pie, and sit in amazement as Kathy shared surprising stories from her past.

  It seems Kathy, gray and quite thick in the middle, had been a bit of a bohemian in her 20s and 30s. She married a sweet little accountant named Fred once she hit 40, but that was cover for both of them. Fred had no interest in women, and Kathy was in love with a housewife from the valley.

  After a secret relationship that lasted three decades, Kathy's lover died. Fred died soon after, and Kathy was now childless and alone. Something about Patti stirred Kathy's motherly instincts, and, indeed, Patti loved her as if she were her mother.

  For a few months, Patti and Kathy shared long nights of talk, advice, and food. Patti, through Kathy's encouragement, learned to accept and admire her own curvy body. Then one night everything changed.

  Patti had been fucking a cute boy she thought she loved. I say "fuck," because that night this weasel admitted he didn't want anything more than sex. Patti, in good film noir fashion, slapped him hard, and retreated crying.

  Once home, instinctively, Patti stopped at Kathy's, sobbing. She pounded hard and hungrily on her front door. Kathy welcomed her protégé in, lovingly held her, smoothed her hair, and kissed her cheeks.

  Patti finally stopped crying, and then started wondering why she had been upset.

  "It was an epiphany," she told me, a gentle smile on her lips. "What I wanted was right there in Kathy's living room. It was Kathy, with her acceptance and love. Kathy with her passion and friendship."

  At this point in the story, Patti paused, looked at me nervously, and went on.

  "There was more, though. Kathy stirred something in me. The same feelings I had for my 9th grade English teacher. A buxom woman of 50 who I had fantasized about throughout high school."

  When she told me this, I just looked at her. Not aroused, not disgusted, just confused and scared.

  "Sean, I like both men and women, but it took me years to admit my bisexuality. Quality of relationship matters more to me than gender."

  I had to say something, so I offered an "OK. I get it. Trust me I get it."

  We knowingly smiled at each other and the awkward moment passed. Patti told me the rest of the story. Kathy refused Patti's inexperienced attempts at lesbian sex. At least for a few nights.

  About one week after the night of the "epiphany," Patti packed everything she owned into two suitcases, and moved out. Backing out of Kathy's driveway, her vision blurred by tears, Patti slammed on the brakes, and sat there sobbing.

  She remembers only the rain, and a gentle knock on the window.

  Kathy invited Patti in for tea. Over scones, Kathy invited Patti to move in and share her bed. They kissed tenderly, and then with hunger.

  Patti sucked Kathy's tongue, and slipped her hands into the sleeves of Kathy's robe, navigating folds of cloth with impatience and desire. Finally, she stumbled onto Katy's sweet, gentle boobs.

  Kathy unzipped her robe, and Patti paused to lovingly admire the wrinkles of a beautiful life. Faintly scented with Chanel no. 9, the old woman's breasts made Patti truly feel she was finally home. She sucked those gorgeous, welcoming tits, tasted the folds of skin, and then began to kiss her belly, going lower, and lower.

  Patti then reached Kathy's scented pussy, which was graced by a closely cropped silver bush.

  "You know Sean," she told me, "I began to kiss the lips of Kathy's cunt like I was kissing my first boyfriend. It was sweet, tender, but also arousing as hell."

  Unfortunately, their life as lovers was too short. Kathy died of a heart attack one night, in their bed, less than a year later.

  "So, what do you think?" Patti probed. "You better not gave a problem with this, because it is the one relationship I truly value in my pissy little life."

  Down deep, she must have known I didn't have a problem. In fact, I was well aware tell that much of what I already liked about Patti had been developed, or awakened, when she had been in the arms of Kathy.

  Gently, I took Patti's hand, kissed it, released it, and silently went to the register to pay our bill.

  We then headed out to the coast and drove in silence for half an hour, until Patti quietly gave me directions to a hotel in Santa Monica. She then popped out her cell phone and made a reservation for two nights. The next hour of driving was quiet, except for occasional anecdotes, questions, or murmurs of affection.

  Pulling off the Coast Highway into the hotel entrance, we were greeted by the valet. I laughed self-consciously, when opened the trunk and realized there was no luggage. Meanwhile, I watched Patti rush inside to get our key.

  When Patti reappeared in the parking lot, I left the car with the valet and chased her, as she turned and skipped to our room. As I caught up to her, she spun and pulled me into her arms.

  It was odd to feel so much power in a woman's arms. Odd, but nice. Also nice was the view down into her low cut bowling shirt. Her tits smashed against me, and they appeared ready to explode out of her top.

  My dick pressed into Patti's stomach, and I started dry humping her tummy. Patti just laughed, and reached between us to grab my shaft, which she began to stroke.

  I leaned down to kiss her, and she lightly bit my lower lip, just before she sucked it and rubbed her tongue around my mouth. I tried to reciprocate and found my probing tongue caught in the vice of a mouth that sucked it in hard.

  My right hand slid into her capped sleeve, and under her bra. I was rewarded with a tit that was as hard as my cock. Once again, I suppressed my urge to cum right there.

  Patti moaned in pleasure and slid her hand under my shirt searching for my tits, which she promptly tweaked. I am not ashamed to say that I am in touch with my "feminine side" when it comes to nipple play, and I uttered a high-pitched moan, followed by a heart felt request to "suck my tits, please!"

  My verbiage ceased to be original, but I was only attuned to enjoying this woman who completely tracked with me regarding foreplay.

  As my mind started to cloud, Patti ripped me back to reality. She yanked my shirt open, and began popping my buttons. Normally, I would have been humiliated. Today, I merely groaned in appreciation, and begged her to "fuck me."

  Wow, what a girl I was being. Oh well, I can accept that.

  Patti abruptly stopped, and led me in a stumbling haze down a few doors, before opening #117. I grabbed her by her thick waist, and refused to let her enter. Patti turned and faced me with a look of annoyance mixed with vulnerability and caged pain.

  I quickly set her fears at bay, and unlocked any of my remaining lust when I cradled her and carried all 200+ pound across the threshold. My back almost broke, but I was so stimulated by my being able to pull the move off.

  Wit as much swashbuckling elegance that I could offer, I deposited Patti on the bed, and just stared into her expectant eyes.

  This lasted only seconds, and then I pulled her pedal pushers down to her ankles, removed her shoes, and slid her pants and cherry print panties off. (Not before I told her how cute her panties, and accompanying bow, were.)

  Patti's massive thighs were now nude, perfectly shaped, and accentuated by gentle dimples of cellulite. She was obviously worried about what I saw. Right there I vowed to help her build up her self-image, and then immediately licked her toes with topped by retro cherry red polish. I sucked each one, while also massaging her rounded calves.

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