Danielle 1

I sat in a mild daze from the moist heat of a midday summer sun; the cool bench beneath me was quickly warming as the trees’ shadows slowly moved away in the passing hours. I suppose it was a little out of character that I end up sitting in a park all day; no particular reason, really.  I couldn’t even remember when or why I come here in the first place. But, for some reason, I couldn’t manage to keep my mind on...well, on much of anything.  As a matter of fact, the first thing that was able to snap me out of my comatose reminiscence also happened to be the best thing that could have happened to me.

Upon realizing what it was, modesty overcame me.  I had to be contented with a mere glance over my left shoulder; a glance only, that is, until I could really see her. Her hair ruffled softly in an imperceptible breeze. She had a svelte face and lower legs, clothes tight on the rest of her in all the right places, maybe a few more. The way her sleeveless top clung to her torso held my iron gaze like a magnet.  The front of the shirt bounced with each step and jiggled enticingly in between, betraying a hidden plush softness beneath it.

Her rear, though harshly confined in mini shorts that were obviously in a losing a battle to contain it, swayed side to side with her rolling hips. There was just enough noticeable flab to make her round behind wobble in every direction, but still it remained tight enough to hold its form.

She came closer with each step, and for some reason her clothes appeared to become smaller and smaller, squeezing her poor tender flesh into bulges of round heft above and around the hems of her clothing, until at long last they were all but gone, and they burst from around her body. Her yellow-tan skin, the very best parts of it, completely visible. Free of its restraints, all but the remaining tiny, ultra tight bra and thong that only accentuated the rolls of flesh under her breasts and heavily jiggling love handles, her paunch gushed forth and hung rippling before her. She reached out to knead it with one hand, as if in affirmation of its soft, yielding beauty, and smiled, showing perfect, albeit large, but shapely white teeth between tender, pouting lips.

I could stand it no longer. Up I went, and she continued toward me. I strolled casually forward to her right until we were almost side by side. Then, like a clip from some ancient, corny movie’s romantic-action scene, I shot out my left arm and cupped her malleable gut in my hand at the belly button, and, simultaneously, I swung around to her back and slid my other hand neatly under her belly’s single, inviting roll to squeeze the tender blubber.

Of course, she was not so large that I had any trouble fitting around her, but her girth made it quite the stretch around the hips, so I pressed by lower body into hers and squeezed. Who wouldn’t take the opportunity rub their entire body into the warm, soft ass cheeks of their dreams and knead such alluring back flab in curving rolls over bra straps? Certainly not I!

She began to collapse into me, softly moaning as the gentle caress of my fingers worked into her cushy mass. Raven black hair that turned quietly to an auburn brown at the tips draped gently onto my neck. It’s soft, everything about her is wonderfully soft. Her weight pressed on me making her sloshing tummy and squishy ass and thighs spread over my groin, making the moment even more real, warmer and softer.

She rolled around me to return the embrace onto my considerably slighter form, her mass flowing over me as she heaved and bounced. She felt warmer and softer as I dug deeper into her inviting flesh, sinking into her gorgeous malleable skin and squeezing, letting her skin fold over my hands; warmer, softer still…

I jolted into half wakefulness and rolled over to my right, covered in sweat, smashing down my arm in fury onto the offending alarm clock. Damn it! Why couldn’t it have been spring back and fall forward?! Crap, I mean c’mon!? Why, even in my fucking dreams, do I never get anywhere?! *sigh* It was probably going to end up being just another long day again, now.

                                                           ***

I guess a lot of people could say that school is a pretty big portion of my life, not nearly all of it, but enough just the same aside from a gas-money job and weekends with friends - just friends.  Always friends. There’s not too much to preoccupy me at all these days. Except for Danielle, that is.

By this point you’ve already been introduced, if you haven’t quite figured that out yet. I, somewhat proudly and pathetically, know almost everything about her. Despite her “sturdy” outer appearance, she really is quite the activist. She pretty much carries the entire volley ball team, varsity (and probably could, bunch of skinny bitches all of them, she, of course, excluded), is a participating member in the student council, and, in general, fit’s the description for your picturesque member of the popular clique.

As for myself, I am more of the “loving type.” You know, horticulture, animals, music (an accomplished concert violinist at that), and especially people. Certain people more than others. Namely, Danielle, and I personally prefer to think of her as the best damn player on the volley ball team, or at least she probably is. You see, I say ‘probably’ because I haven’t ever had the balls to show up at one of her games. A mix of horrid fear and expectancy that she might notice that my eyes would be glued to her prominent posterior and frontal accoutrements gyrating as she leaps to block the next spike…

To shorten things up for the slower ones out there, no we are not dating - either of us - nor have I asked her out. I’ve had a go at the bachelor thing for quite a while now, scathing breakups tend to do that sort of thing to a guy, but the extended period of absence in the dating game is mostly due to singular standards, as in only one person meets them.  Stress, stress…it is mind boggling how much a little bit of anxiety can grow on a fellow given the time to fester.  It is all the product of my own design, but the pain, the obsession!  And, for an added bonus, these just happens to be the very last three weeks of school, and I can’t for the life of me think of any way to show up at the door of a girl with whom I have never had more than an passing conversation three days into vacation without coming off as some stalker or obsessed pervert (honestly, I’m not).

Coming back to things, just as I thought, the better part of the day ends up passing uneventfully, for Danielle anyway. For me, it’s a roller coaster ride every time I lock my eyes on her and her swaying figure bouncing down my end of a hall.

The next morning I accidentally met her eyes for a moment, and she flashed one o’ them world famous smiles at me, or in my general direction while passing, and my friend, Anne, shot me a look that I already know too well.

Anne and I have been friends for too long to try to remember, and one might be inclined to believe that there may be something going on between us if they didn’t know anything about either of us, but rest assured, there is not. Don’t get me wrong; she’s smart, clever (yes, there is a difference), and hot by just about everyone’s standards, myself included, and just so happens to be dating one of the most desirable young men in school, again and just to be clear, not me.

It’s fairly obvious that she knows what is going on between Danielle and myself…well, with me leastwise, and probably ‘why’ in great detail, but, thankfully, she never brings it up unless I do, and I don’t make a habit of it. However, I occasionally wish that she would; I rather enjoy the ‘stimulation’ of such conversations about my own sexual preferences, in moderation of course.

I digress, Anne flips her blonde hair out of her eyes and tries her best to discretely shove me into Danielle’s path, but I don’t budge. I’m not stupid, Anne!

She huffs, exasperated, “You’d better get your act together here, Vincent (she calls me that when she gets really aggravated with me, but it just strikes me as funny)! Don’t screw this up and come crying to me later when you regret it!” She strolls stiffly off to meet her boyfriend, then they continue on to fifth period. Gee, thanks Anne, now not only do I feel worse about putting this off, I have people half-staring at me for that little scene. What if they guess what we were saying?

I’ll be at lunch should anyone need me; most likely unavailable as my mind and most senses, sadly not touch, will be preoccupied.