I met Everett at Garcia’s Irish Pub. I’m sure he weighed at least 550 pounds, but he only admitted to 430. I think he was being modest. At any rate, he was perfect. I love fat men. I love the succulent, soft feel of their bodies. They’re very gentle lovers because they are so afraid they’re going to squish you.
When I first saw Everett, he was telling gross jokes to Don, the bartender. He told Don the Boil Sucker Joke. I told them both the Spittoon Joke. Everette told the Sandpaper Sally Joke, and I told the joke about the armless guy with the green dick. We hit it off right away.
“Want to stop by the grocery store with me?” Everett asked when the bar closed at 1:00 a.m. “The Safeway is open 24 hours a day.”
I followed Everett around the store, admiring his ass. He wore his pants low, revealing the cleavage of his rear and exposing a vast expanse of Donald Duck underwear. In front, his belly hung down nearly to his knees in two great lobes, a fleshy apron. I was so enthralled with the idea of seeing Everett naked that when he invited me to his place for a snack, I didn’t hesitate to accept.
In the car, he fumbled open a box of tea bags that he had just bought. “Put this in your armpit, and I’ll show you something really neat,” he told me. I put the tea bag in my armpit. “No, under your shirt, right against your skin.” He put one in his own armpit.
His apartment was fascinating – he had Betty Boop wallpaper and hundreds of books. He had a Tasmanian Devil rug, and a portrait of Tom and Jerry signed by Chuck Jones.
He took my tea bag and went into the kitchen. I followed him. “What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Make tea, of course,” he said. He gave me a cup of tea made with his tea bag and he made his own cup of tea from mine.”It’s an aphrodesiac,” he explained.
“I don’t need an aphrodesiac,” I said. I wanted him in my arms.
“Do you like tuna fish salad?” he asked.
“I love it, but right now I’d rather be eating something else.”
He grinned at me, and said, “You’re in for a treat.”
He undressed me on the Tasmanian Devil rug in the living room, and put a Popeye cartoon on his wide-screen TV with the sound down. “We’re going to do this with a nautical theme,” he said. He packed my privates with tuna fish salad, and he told me to read The Rime of the Ancient Mariner while he ate it.
“’T’was of an ancient mariner…’” I began.
“Louder,” said Everett.
“’AND HE STOPPETH ONE OF THREE…’” I could feel his soft jowls rubbing against my inner thighs and his double chin sliding over my buttocks.
When it was his turn, he had me pack a tuna fish sandwich around his dick. He told me to put a Tom and Jerry cartoon on the TV. Then he asked me to open the door of his bedroom. When I did, two gray tabby cats ran out. He read The Cat in the Hat Comes Back with great expression while the two cats and I ate the tuna off his parts. At first Everett had to hold up the apron of his great belly to give us access, but then he rested its soft weight on my head.
“You are such a literary guy,” I sighed.
“Yeah, I majored in English as an undergraduate,” he said.
I wanted him to take me then; I wanted his great weight on my body; I wanted to be enveloped in his tremendous creamy mass, mantled by his abdomen. I ran my hands over the tattoo of Mickey Mouse on a surfboard that he had on his chest. Mickey rippled under my hands. I pulled Everett toward me, but he leaned away at that moment and reached for a pack of cigarettes.
“You’re not going to smoke that, are you?” I asked, dismayed.
“No, I’m going to eat it,” he said, and he did. He leaned forward to kiss me, his lips and tongue flecked with filter threads and tobacco particles. I kissed him, and sucked his double chin.
“I’ll be Sylvester; you be Tweety,” he whispered as he lowered his bulk onto me. We made slow, ponderous love, his great belly draping over me and making a small sucking noise as he pulled away. “Thufferin’ thuccotash!” he cried when he came. Afterwards, I lay on top of him, swimming on him as if he were a great rubbery waterbed.
“Oh, my God, look at the time,” Everett exlaimed suddenly. “And I have to be at the Capitol by eight this morning!”
“The Capitol?” I asked. “What do you do there?”
“You don’t know?” he laughed. “I’m your Congressman.”
“Oh, Everett,” I sighed. I dressed quickly and left as soon as I could.
When I got home I cleansed myself thoroughly, inside and out. Maybe I am just narrow-minded, but I can’t bear the thought of being touched by a damn politician.