When I was growing up, we had a security company in town named Cox Home Security. After the 3:00 AM shocker Thunderhead had last night, I would love to travel back in time to pitch the idea of coxblocked as an ad slogan to their marketing department.
can tell you one of the reasons this fat girl is jolly is because life
never ceases to be entertaining. And let’s be honest, at the time of
this writing, I’m weighing in at 207 lbs, and wear a size 16 if the
pattern is generous or has 15% or more spandex in the fabric. I’m not
slight, and have no intentions of ever being so. One of the hazards of
being a plump girl is that parts of your body tend to either rub
together, or moosh into slightly lumpy versions of what your average
runway model has. For me, being apple shaped, it’s my belly and my
thighs. I’ve long told the joke that pants that are too tight tend to
show off an entire herd of camel toes if I’m not careful. I’m a meaty
woman. My thighs rub together when I walk and apparently create a
vacuum chamber with the help of my vulva while laying on my side.
other night, Thunderhead and I were up late with the dog after she’d
been sick on the bed. It was close to 1:00 AM when we finally got the
laundry as done as we could and calmed down enough to fall asleep. We
drifted off to sleep, a tangle of right angles, naked skin, and elbows.
Somewhere around 4:00 in the morning, as best as I can guess, he
snuggles up to the curve of my ass with middle-of-the-night wood. I
stir a little as he dry humps the crack of my ass and runs his index
finger over the little dimple where a tail might once have attached.
I’m groggy as he grabs my cheek and squeezes, tracing his fingertips
over my thighs.
this turns into an erotic story, let me tell you about the two of us.
It might have taken several months to get there, but as soon as we both
managed to fart in front of the other, there’s been very little body
shame in our relationship. The bathroom door stays open when we’re in
there. There’s no taboo about period sex, and from time to time we
engage in competitive flatulence contests just for the hell of it. It’s
not a big deal. There’s much more out there in the world to be hung up
on than something that the body does that’s out of a person’s control.
That said, let’s continue.
It would seem that on this night, a high
pressure system had moved in from up north in The Colon and had
unleashed an isolated thunderstorm in the area of the anus. However,
due to the seal formed by my thighs and vulva, the only place for the
pressure to go was up. And so, a queef was born.
he pressed down on the flesh between my legs, the seal they’ve created
is broken. As I exhaled, the weight of my chest collapsing pressed on my
abdomen and expelled the air trapped in the vagina.
are rabbis in this world that practice all of their lives to be able to
blow a note on the Yom Kippur Shofar that was as clear and as loud as
what came out of my body. Warriors have been stirred to battle with
blasts less sustained and fat ladies have sung their show-closing notes
with less vibrato and power than my ersatz flatulence.
would have thought King Midas was reaching for a handshake by the force
Thunderhead jerked his hand away from my parts. As I rocketed into
consciousness on the back of peels of laughter, I hear him gasp, cough,
and mutter “Whew, that’s ripe!”. Any trace of an erection gone as his
penis fled from the “shock and awe” my plumpness has treated him to.
There were tears flowing down my cheeks as I tried to hold in the
guffaws my belly was threatening me with. I laughed through my nose. I
held my breath. I bit my pillow. All in an effort not to shriek with
laughter, waking up the entire building in the process. Thunderhead
rolled over, and I snuggled up behind him as the Big Spoon, grinning
like an idiot and silently laughing as we both fell back asleep.
still tells me he’s going to buy that butt plug to protect himself from
me, but he reserves the right to choose the orifice.