My mom refers to me as ‘big-boned’ but that’s not entirely accurate. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve just been bigger than other kids. They made fun of me constantly. “Chubby Ronnie.” That changed for a time when high school and boobs happened. Then I became a fixation. The tiny girls hated me for the curves that they would never have. The guys just saw boobs the size of their face and immediately treated me like a walking porn chatroom. The teachers came down hard on me because of my clothing. I got written up more than once for wearing ‘suggestive’ clothing in high school. Except that it was just a t-shirt. T-shirts became the enemy because my boobs were my enemy. I moved to wearing sweatshirts and baggy clothes all year regardless of the weather. I never wanted to stand out. Eventually, I just blended in and continued my life as an anonymous face in the crowd.
College was a blur, and I tried my hardest to stay out of the limelight while I was there. I wanted, more than anything to be one of the vivacious girls I saw, who lived life without fear. They embraced their curves when I despised mine.
Then I met Terra.
Terra became the sister I never had. She has enough personality for three people and she doesn’t take no for an answer. It started out with shopping trips. Then hair appointments together. Slowly but surely, she brought me out of my shell. We joined clubs and made friends.
I became more than the sidekick or the curvy trophy. I came into my person. I dated. I had sex. I tried new things. I bloomed.
When I met Adam and he looked at me like I was the dessert he’d been waiting his whole life for, I was hooked. Terra urged me to go slow, but I couldn’t. I jumped all in, and for four years I was determined to make it work. I wouldn’t be a failure at this. I had everything I ever wanted. Or so I thought.
But my years with Adam slowly stole my shine until I didn’t even recognize the woman I was becoming.
I sigh and lean deeper into Darren as we enter another turn in the road. I stretch out my locked fingers and he shifts ever-so-slightly and my hand brushes across the front of his jeans. The impressive bulge in the front of his jeans. Oh my. A shiver of lust goes through me and he tenses.
Hel-lo, Silver Daddy is having complicated feelings about this ride too.
The first brush of my fingers against the denim pressed against his crotch was, arguably, a complete accident... But a second time? Totally purposeful. Guilty as charged. In my defense, it honestly never occurred to me that my complicated feelings about this stranger could be returned. I can’t stop myself. I lightly brush over that impressive bulge again.
He surprises the hell out of me when he reaches down and captures my hand. My face floods with heated embarrassment. Obviously, this is beyond inappropriate. I am groping a complete stranger while on the back of a motorcycle. That’s...not something anyone should do. Ever. Instead of stopping my movements he presses my hand boldly into his erection and my whole body lights up in sensation and excitement. Um, yes? Yes. Please. I am so here for this.
The fact that I can’t see his face makes this little interaction seem extra torrid and taboo but I don’t move my hand. Together, we cruise along the coastal highway. Me, clinging to his back, nestled up to him with my hand pressed against his cock, him allowing it. Because this is normal. This is just your average Saturday.
It occurs to me that maybe I’m overthinking all of this. Fate is a hard concept for me to grasp, but it has served me well so far. Maybe I should take a page out of Terra’s book and just let Fate take the wheel for a while. It’s tempting, and it definitely takes decision making out of the equation for a while. I could just lean back and let the chips fall where they may.
CHAPTER FOUR: DARREN
SHE. IS. TOUCHING. My. Dick. Red Alert! Red Alert!
I growl. It’s the only reaction I can manage without diving off into any one of the protected coves along our path. Not being able to touch her is the most exquisite sort of torture I have ever endured. I want to grope her, taste her, and spend hours in bed with her making her moan and scream my name. My whole body is calibrated to her touch, that’s the power of a Matestone.
It takes enormous effort, but I’m able to pull my thoughts from the downward spiral they are racing towards and focus on the road. Ronnie fits so perfectly on the back of my bike, her body leaning comfortably against mine, and I wish, for the thousandth time, that we weren’t in a hurry.
The town limits come into view and, much to my displeasure, Ronnie straightens up and looks around. I try to see our little town through her eyes.
It’s not much, but it’s home.
The main drag is very quaint and picturesque. Misty Cove was started in the 50s and not much has changed. We have bright awnings up over the local businesses and a banner stretched over Main Street advertising the annual surf festival that happens at the end of the month.
The fire department has a prime location just off Main Street and I watch as the firefighters washing the fire truck all stop to stare at us passing by. All of their noses are in the air, scenting us. Thankfully, they don’t shift, but I can see the spots pop
