Icecream Sundae

It started with a secondhand book. Suzy and I were in a junk shop
rootling through the boxes when I squeaked "Oh, look! It's one of
those wartime utility cookbooks."

"Weird," aren't they?" Suzy observed. "It must have been a strange
time to live."

"I dunno about weird. Just so pinched. Utility this, utility that - it
must've been sooo depressing during the war," I said. "It's like that
bloody bloke we're stuck with in Life. He's about as utility as they
make them."

"He can't be that bad!" giggled Suzy.

"He is," I said. "He's worse. Might as well draw a cornflakes packet."

I'm an art student. The council-employed model we had for life drawing
was indeed as functional and uninspiring as the tired brown book in my
hand. I tossed it back in the box and we walked up the hill arm in arm
towards the boozer.

"Does it really piss you off, this model business?" said Suzy later,
after we'd a pint or four.

"Yes, it fucking does. It fucking does. It fucking does" I chanted. I
always feel more like a potentially famous artist once I'm getting
underway and for some reason this makes my language worse.

"Why don't you draw me?" she asked. "You know how much I want to get
in tune with my body. I can't go on fucking blokes who only ever get
to see my head over the top of the duvet."

"Brilliant idea," I said. So we stomped off back to the flat.

On the way back it occurred to me that she might change her mind. Suzy
is self-conscious about her body, well, she is normally. At that
moment she was pissed as a fart and full of swagger.

I needn't have worried, because she didn't change her mind. She piled
up the stairs and went into my room rather than hers, and plonked
herself down on my mattress. She was unlacing her DMs by the time I'd
navigated the stairs.

I put a tape on, guitar music, and she must've made some subconscious
connection, because she pulled all her clothes off, higgledy-piggledy,
and curled herself down on the bed with her bum towards me for all the
world like a great white cello.

You see Suzy is doing hotel management, we share a flat because we're
at the same college, but her course involves a lot more profiteroles
than mine does... Suzy's fat. She says so, anyway. She looks OK. She's
dainty and at least 40 pounds overweight, with none of it round her

I got my sketch pad out, and my other bits, and propped myself up on
one arm while drawing with the other. I started to look at Suzy's
bottom. She was maundering on about what great mates we were, and she
didn't look too awful, did she? And I said no, and murmured reassuring
bits in the right places, because something astounding had happened to

Something truly astounding had happened to me. I was in love, I was in
love, I was cunt-struck. "But I'm a fucking girl!" I said to myself.
The words echoed round an empty brain pan.

Because Suzy's body wasn't spare and dull. Suzy's arse wasn't fat at
all. She must have had a 24 inch waist and 44 inch hips. The sheer
scale and sweep of the curves made my throat dry. Her skin, in the
afternoon light, made all Renoir's dappled beauties a reality. Pearly,
so soft-looking. Matte, but with a sheen. Just the quality of her
flesh made me breathless.

She looked like the Monte Carlo rally, she looked like a National
Geographic landscape photograph made out of marzipan - she looked

And she smelt too. I could smell vanilla, talc or body lotion, and
although I could force my shameless eyes from the delectable hints of
darker skin and the glimpse of a peachy labia between her buttocks, I
could not ignore the trace - faint but unmistakable - of pussy scent
that was growing stronger as she lay there naked.

I stopped drawing. I must have stopped talking. I know, for a moment,
I stopped breathing. It was the smell, your honour, I would have to
say. And like a girl on the top board who can't not bounce, I slowly
leant forward and kissed that soft, cool creamy arse, right at the
bottom where her cheeks joined her huge sleek thighs.

Suzy gave a sort of shriek and convulsed, arching her back. I don't
think she can have been meaning to fight me off, because my face ended
up in her pussy. Slap bang, nose to nose, so to speak. And she didn't
move - or say anything. You know how sometimes someone wants something
but they can't say so. They (well, I) just go still once the something
starts happening so that they can enjoy it without feeling they've
actually encouraged it. Well, she did that.

I felt so weird. I was clearly the leader in this, and I wanted to go
on touching and kissing Suzy. But I wasn't at all clear what I
actually wanted to do in any ambitious detail. I mean I'd never though
about it before. My overwhelming desire was to sort of jump into her
as if she were a swimming pool or, more aptly, a great round bed with
cream satin covers. This wasn't practical (bloody uncomfortable for
Suzy) though it crossed my mind whether blokes feel like that at all
when they gaze at the silky, rippling lavishness of a beautiful fat

I started to lick at the top of her pussy, where her clit should be.
But she was much hairier than me, and I soon realised I was going to
have to get inside to get anywhere. Gently I slid my hands up by my
cheeks and started to ease her pussy open. I didn't want to move too
fast in case she felt she had to take notice of what she was
pretending I wasn't doing. Then I got the tips of my forefingers
inside her labia, ready to open her out. Shit, she was wet. Suzy was
drenched. So much for her baby girl reluctance. I moved my head back
and pulled her pussy wide open Then I flung my face into it. And shy
little Suzy went "Nnnnghhh" deep in her throat, and stopped

I lashed my tongue across that flat bit in the middle above the
opening and caught her hard little clit with the first pass. Once I
had it, I treated with great respect. I've had the top gnawed
off mine before now, or so it felt, and I wasn't about to make the
same mistake...

I used the fingers of one hand to hold her open at the top and the
other to diddle her. She was extremely tight but running with juice.
When my fingers felt how narrow she was inside I imagined rolls of fat
pressing in on her from the inside, and appreciated for the first time
one of the many reasons for her popularity. I frigged her while I
tongued her, I lost myself in her dark centre, my actions and my
feelings blurred. The highly-charged scent and taste of her
sex made me dizzy.

God, it was amazing. It was like mine, but different. I suppose
everyone's is, it's like eye colour or something. The same but
different. Spunk tastes different, from different men, and at
different times. It was such a nice familiar taste - heaven only knows
how often I've sucked it off my own fingers after a wank - and it was
a lovely feeling knowing for absolute certain good that doing it to
someone else was as enjoyable as blokes said it was doing it to me.

I rested one hand on her leg for a moment, to lean back and look at
her. Her flesh was very smooth. Nothing is as smooth as perfect skin.
A baby's is softer, but a woman with skin like Suzy's is sleek like a
dolphin, like warm fluid marble. She was round on her back now, her
great soft breasts spread out on her chest. The nipples weren't big
and blobby like the girls in magazines, but small and tense and pink.
So I sucked them, and she put her arms round me. We didn't stay like
that. I reared up and started trying to take my own clothes off very
quickly. I had dungarees on and a t-shirt, nothing else, but the metal
clips weren't doing her any good at all.

It's the only known case of inanimate objects being helpful - taking
your clothes off in these circumstances. Toast jam side down,
dishwasher breaks at Christmas - yes. But be crazed with lust and mad
for nakedness and your clothes will fly off you like birds.

I was bare in her arms in less than a second. And now she was doing
stuff too. Her little hand was flat against my mons, pressing hard and
side to side. My clit, cushioned within my labia, felt spangled with

I stroked and then clutched at her big round breasts while she traced
the ends of mine with her thumb. Mine stick up a lot. She said, a
little sadly, "I am too fat though."

Not from where I'm lying," I said, smoothing her satiny shoulders.
"You're like a delicious great icecream sundae with cherries on the
top." And she made a lunge at me, and we giggled.

We snuggled and suckled, and then slowed down for a while, playing
gently with each other's titties and discussing them. Predictably I'd
always wanted more, while she'd always wanted higher. We commiserated
about it, had a smoke, and then she said, "My turn."

"But you didn't come yet," I said. "Let's sixty-nine it!"

So we did. It was delicious - it was so horny, so wet, so all-over. I
never realised before how much tactile stuff goes on during sex apart
from the fucking. I mean all men are hard and hairy. That's what I'm
used to. But when a soft perfumed person with two-foot long freshly
washed silky hair starts doing things to you it feel fabulous. So
soft. Such tiny fingers. Such a gentle touch. And the smells. I could
write a book about smells. But I think someone already did.

But I couldn't come. I became aware of a longing. I tried to pretend
to myself. But every time I came close to orgasm my poor little fanny
would make a clutch for empty air. Where was that nice fat cock I
wanted? My cunt was speaking in Braille to her missing soulmate. I'm
into cocks in a big way. Or is that the wrong way round? In mid-making
love to your female flatmate the mind gets readily confused.

Suzy did come, and I felt a flash of pride. But it was only a little
one, and her clit was as hard as ever. The beer was starting to wear
off, and I was determined to come before the whole thing dissolved
around us. Too goal-oriented, that's me. Specially for an art student.
Whatever happened I could never betray her trust by letting her know
she was not providing all I needed from a lover.

Suddenly Suzy raised her head. "Bollocks to this for a game of
soldiers," she said in a silly voice. "I need some dick. Let's get
tarted up, go down the Bell and pull those twins you fancy. For some
reason I feel irresistable tonight." and she started laughing. And I
joined in. Not only was I grateful I hadn't hurt her feelings, but it
reminded me why I'd always liked Suzy quite so much.

  • More sex stories