Free Softail Curves (A Big Girls & Bad Boys Erotic Romance by D. H. Cameron Page B

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    “I’m fine. I can take care of myself. I was just about to knee him in the balls,” I lied. Honestly, I had no such thoughts. To my surprise, I enjoyed being ravished like that. What the hell was wrong with me? I’d never given a second thought to guys like Dutch, if that was his real name, which I doubted. Where I came from, guys on bikes dressed in leather with tattoos were either losers or middle-aged doctors and lawyers reliving their youth. In either case, I wasn’t interested.
    However, Dutch was different somehow. Those blue eyes made my pussy wet and his strong, ink covered arms made me weak in the knees. He wasn’t some part-time, wannabe biker, but he wasn’t a dirt bag, as Becky put it, either. He was different and not at all what I expected. I could hardly keep myself from imagining him and I naked having wild sex. I didn’t know whether to thank Becky for rescuing me or tell her to mind her own business from now on.
    “You want to sleep over? I know I’d want company if some guy practically raped me in public,” Becky asked. She was being slightly dramatic. It was only a kiss. A magnificent, passionate kiss that sent chills up my spine, but just a kiss. I suppose I should have been upset about the way Dutch treated me, but I wasn’t. I smiled at Becky.
    “No, I’m fine. Really. Besides, I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow. Thanks,” I replied.
    “You sure?” she asked.
    “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. In reality, I wasn’t fine. I was confused. Why was a guy like Dutch making me feel this way? Why was his forcefulness so exciting? I wasn’t supposed to like guys that treated women like that. Guys were supposed to respect me, defer to me and treat me like a princess. Nevertheless, there was no denying that I enjoyed the way Dutch took what he wanted and didn’t ask.
    “OK, I’ll take you home. If you need anything, call me,” Becky said. A few minutes later, she dropped me off at my apartment. I needed to get Dutch out of my head. I left a trail of clothes from my front door to my bedroom and after grabbing my favorite vibrator, I climbed into bed and went to town. I didn’t even try to deny that I was attracted to Dutch. I hoped working through my unexpected feelings would make them go away.
    I didn’t mess around. No romance, no soft foreplay. I was wet already and ready. I turned on the vibrator, slipped it in between my soft folds and let my mind imagine it was Dutch’s thick, hard cock. For the next half hour, I let the sexy biker have his way with me, but I refused to call him daddy in my fantasies as he suggested. That was too much. I came more times than I could count and when I finally imagined him coming all over my full breasts, I turned off my vibrator sure I’d gotten the biker with the sexy blue eyes out of my system.
    I went to the bathroom to clean the toy. I looked at myself in the mirror and now another battle raged in my head. I’d been concentrating on why I was attracted to Dutch but as I stared at myself in the mirror, I wondered why he was attracted to me. I wasn’t huge, but I wasn’t skinny by any means. I wasn’t like Becky, thin and beautiful. I just couldn’t figure out why Dutch was after me instead of her.
     I put my vibrator away at the bottom of my panties drawer and went to bed. I was tired, having worn myself out dreaming of Dutch. Instead of basking in the afterglow, I was feeling inadequate and ashamed. Whatever, it didn’t matter. I had a feeling that I might see Dutch again, but I probably wouldn’t. After he sobered up, he’d realize what I really looked like and move on, just as I was trying to do.
    >>O<<
    Sunday, I hardly thought of Dutch and I was sure my strategy had worked. I had indulged my baser instincts and now that those torrid fantasies had been satisfied, I’d quickly forgotten about him. I did my laundry, cleaned the apartment