I glance at the girls around me at the bar, but he is looking straight at me. He nods his head and beckons me over. When I reach him, he heads outside, walking ahead of me. He reaches behind him, so I take his hand; he grips my hand tightly. What is going on? I wonder.
Outside in the pub's summer garden he chooses a table for two and holds a chair for me. When I sit he sits—not quite opposite me, more obliquely, to sit closer. Once again he takes my hand and looks me straight in the eyes; it is most disconcerting and although I want to drop my eyes in embarrassment, I hold his gaze.
“What?” I giggle, “what's going on, what do you want?”
The guy looks embarrassed now. “I, er... I mean... Oh, I don’t think you would...”
I raise an eyebrow, I am feeling more in control now. “Yes?”
His fingers close more tightly around my hand, his face is now crimson red but his eyes never leave mine. With a deep intake of breath he struggles to say the words that he has obviously prepared before hand.
“Jilly, will you come on a date with me.” The words are blurted out in one short breath.
OK, this must be a set-up, my girlfriends have told this guy to tease me to watch my reaction.
Let me tell you a little about me. I am 25 years old and single. I'm not single by choice, I just haven’t found a guy that likes me enough to ask me out. You see I am what kind people call a big girl—what those with no feelings call fat. Not just a big girl, but at five feet two inches, I'm not that tall. People, the kind ones, say I have a pretty face and a bubbly personality.
I try sometimes to convince myself that I am big-boned or that I my size is due to some quirk of nature, like my glands. But the simple truth is that as a teen I lacked self confidence and took solace in food and sweeties. My parents even tried to convince me that it was just “puppy fat” and that I would soon “grow out of it.”
So you can see that when a hot young guy comes and asks me, by name, for a date it's only normal for me to be suspicious. It's also not the first time my friends have played a joke on me, so I will play along with the joke—maybe making life a bit uncomfortable for him too. I glance over to where my friends are peering out of the pub door; they are trying to indicate that they wonder what’s going on.
“OK, you know my name, though I don’t know which of my friends told you it. Do you have a name or at least one you’ve made up for this?” I ask.
A hurt and somewhat confused look clouds his handsome face. He stutters out, “J... J... erm... Jon...athon... Jon.”
Oh well, I think to myself, I know this is a set up but Jon is acting his part well so I will play along. I agree to meet him for a date, we have a drink while we arrange the details and then I return to my friends. My friends all talk at once, pretending to be surprised and wanting to know who he is. I play dumb, saying that he was asking about a lady that my mum once knew. I study each face to see if it reveals something that would confirm my suspicion that my scheming girlfriends know that I am not telling the truth. To my consternation, the little witches give nothing away and seem to lose interest. The topic shifted to who was going to pay for the next round of drinks.
----
Some time later my friend Sammi, whom I told about the incident, asked me how my date went with the hunky young guy. I had completely forgotten about it. OK, I think, I am intrigued as to where this will all end. So I wave her question aside and check my phone for the details of my future date.
As a girl who is, sadly, without a male partner, or even a guy that just wants me for sex, I am not without the need for some sexual gratification. It is not unheard of for me to pleasure myself from time to time—actually, quite often. My friends aren't any help, relating stories, true or not, about their escapades.
For example, Sammi told me how on a date, a guy did "all the right things" to get her so horny that she was going to let him fuck her in the car. She told me that, at first, they sat in the car and talked and kissed. Then his hands started to roam. In a vain attempt to show she was a decent girl she limited his groping to the odd squeeze of her boobs. But as his kisses became hotter and his tongue tasted sweeter, Sammi admitted that she wasn’t able to control her desire.
Soon the guy had her top up around her neck, her bra pushed up, and was sucking at her nipples like he wanted to suck them clean off. As soon as his hand squeezed between Sammi's thighs and made a beeline for her coochie she knew that she had to have him.
His cock didn’t appear to be the big one that she wanted, but what the heck.