Short Story: "She Shoots, They Score"

I couldn’t believe my luck.

I was on the Snag a Seat app, which shows last minute, available tickets for sporting events and concerts. Someone posted that they had a ticket to the Kansas vs. North Carolina basketball game here in Las Vegas—one of the biggest games of the year. And they were asking for an impossibly low amount for the seat. I filled out my information quickly and snapped it up.

I got to the arena with plenty of time to spare. I got through security without a hitch and wandered the concourse looking for the right section. I grabbed a beer, double checked the ticket on my phone, located the right section, and made my way to my seat on the end of the row.

The seat was perfect: lower bowl of the arena at center court about halfway up. Why was this seat so cheap? I wondered to myself. Did I get scammed?

“Excuse me,” I heard a voice say. “I need to get to that seat next to you.”

I was snapped out of my thoughts and turned to look at who was speaking to me. I found myself staring at a zaftig woman with curly brown hair that ran partway down her back. Her brown eyes gazed at me from behind a pair of black framed glasses. She had a small ring piercing her nose. She moved a couple of loose strands of hair behind her left ear as she gave me a quizzical look.

It took me a second to respond; my brain stopped working as soon as I saw her. I’m an idiot like that sometimes when it comes to beautiful women. And I definitely thought she was beautiful.

“Sorry. Um, here, let me get up,” I said as I stood up. I was a good seven inches taller than her. She squeezed past me, her plump ass accidentally grazing my crotch as she slid by. I gulped and started to cough to cover up the audible sound that gulp made.

Short Story: Put Her In A Photograph

“Thank you for being willing to see me today,” she said over the phone as I unlocked the door to my studio. “I’ll be there in about five minutes.

“Okay. The door will be unlocked. Just come on in. I’ll be in the back setting up,” I said as I ended the call. I had been a professional photographer for just a couple of years, and I loved what I did. One of my friends called to say that a coworker of hers was looking to have some glamour shots done but she could only come in on Sundays. I usually take Sunday’s off to recharge my batteries, but it had been a slow week it seemed to be an easy enough gig.

I closed the door behind me and headed back towards the portrait area of my workspace. I clicked on the overhead lights as I pulled down the backdrop and started to rearrange the furniture for a shoot for one.

“Hello?” I heard a voice call faintly.

“Back here,” I shouted as I clicked on one of the umbrella lights and started to adjust it.

I could hear the sound of footsteps approaching. I finished adjusting the light and turned around. I found myself staring into the hazel eyes of my latest model.

She was a couple of inches shorter than me, and she was decidedly curvy—mainly because of the massive baby bump that she was sporting. She was wearing a tank top and maternity jeans, and carrying a medium sized duffel bag. She sported shoulder length red and purple hair with a flower tucked over her right ear.

She held out a hand to me. “I’m Jessica. It’s nice to finally meet you, Hayden. Thank you so much for doing this for me. Elizabeth said you were the best.”

Return of the Mack. Okay, so not really.

First...a little mood music:

 

 

Okay, now that that is out of the way, I want to say welcome (once again).

 

Welcome to version 2.0 of BBW Pornucopia.

 

The site has essentially, save for one short story, has laid dormant for a year. Honestly, the last real bursts of activity were in 2013. As often happens, life got in the way. And since this site is more of a labor of love than a source of income, income generating activities had to take priority.

 

With that being said, though, I firmly believe that I need to carve out some time each month to focus on hobbies. And so, I come back to this site.

So, what is it going to look like going forward? I'll discuss below.

Short Story: "Private Dance Lesson"

(Author's note: This story is part of a series I plan on working on involving stories inspired by porn performers. You can consider "Service Call" from last year the first one; this one is inspired by Lyla Everwettt.)

Private Dance Lessons

My phone buzzed. I had an incoming text message. It was from my friend Matt:

Sry. Cant make it. Strep throat. Catch ya in a few days.

“Oh, are you shitting me?” I groaned. It was my worst nightmare come true.

Matt, somehow, had talked me in to signing up for dancing lessons. He assured me it was a great place to meet women. Not that he had trouble meeting women on his own; he was tall with movie star good looks.

I was always cast in the role of his wingman; bearded, overweight person of color to the blonde conquering hero. It was my lot in life. He was a great friend, don’t get me wrong; always there for me when I needed him and I’d known him since college.

But his getting sick left me stuck in a class that I didn’t want to be in doing something that I didn’t have the ability to do well: Dance.

I found myself in a familiar position in the studio where class was as I slipped my phone back into my pocket: hugging the wall. Alone.

The co-instructors for the class, a delightful, vivacious elderly couple in their 60s, welcomed us to the lesson today. The wife said, “We will focus on two dances today—the waltz and the tango. It looks like we have an equal number of men and women, so everyone find a partner.”

I looked around the room, trying to find someone who might take pity on me. And then I saw her across the room. A pale skinned BBW. Her shoulder length brown hair was highlighted with strips of purple and blue and done up in pigtails. She wore tortoise shell glasses, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirt that showed off her amazing chest, and a pair of jeans that accentuated an absolutely amazing booty. Our eyes locked from across the room and she smiled at me, revealing two dimples that caused my knees to get weak.

Short Story: "Service Call"

It started with an innocent enough comment from someone on Twitter:

Well, the AC man is due here any minute. Guess I better put some clothes on. Damn
— Sensual Sammie (@SammieSC2) October 8, 2014

 

I of course had to respond:

 

@SammieSC2 Well...are you sure you HAVE to? Odds are he MIGHT be okay if you don't. I know I would be.
— Jayson Dean (@jaysonfdean) October 8, 2014


@SammieSC2 You might have inspired me to write a new short story. ;)
— Jayson Dean (@jaysonfdean) October 8, 2014

 

And so here is the story. If you like this story and want to see more that I've written, I have actually created a collection of my previous erotic shorts called "Three to Tango." It's available for your Amazon Kindle e-reader or if you have an Amazon app for your smartphone or tablet. You can purchase my book here.

 

 

Service Call

 

It was the last service call of the day for me, and what a day it had been. It was approaching 5pm and I had been working 10 hours straight. Apparently everyone’s air conditioning decided to go out today in the middle of an early fall heat spike. And when you live in Las Vegas, it’s easy for your air conditioning to get overworked and give up the ghost at any time—especially at inconvenient times.

 

I pulled up to the house, grabbed my clipboard and toolbox and hopped out of the truck. I double checked the address against my call sheet as I walked up to the front door and rang the bell. I stood there, waiting. Nobody came to the door. I rang the bell again, a little more impatiently this time.

I couldn’t believe my luck. “The perfect end to a hellish day,” I muttered to myself. All I wanted to do was go home, take a shower and have a beer and some dinner. I rang the bell one more time and knocked twice.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I heard a voice say from behind the door. I looked down at my clipboard to check the name of the customer. The door opened a few seconds later.

“Hi, Miss Baker? I’m Quentin from Southern Nevada HVAC Repair. I’m here to check out your system….” I said. My voice trailed off as I looked up from my clipboard.

Erotic Short Story: Masquerade

(Author's Note: This is a short story from a small pamphlet of short stories I've written. It is available as a e-book for Kindle at Amazon.com. But I offer this one for free just because. ;) )

Masquerade

It took me some time for my eyes to adjust to the light. The lighting in the main hall of the playhouse wasn’t dark, but it was very dim. It wasn’t my first time here, but this was a new event that the owners were trying tonight.

I discreetly pulled the invitation from my pocket and finding a lighted nook, I read it again:

Let’s play “The Masquerade Match Game”
Make sure you’re wearing the proper colors.
Your assigned colors are: Black & Red.
Wear a yellow rose.
Your match is: submissive.

So my objective was clear. I placed the invitation into my pocket, adjusted the mask covering the top half of my face, and began to survey the room.

The tension in the air was thick as the crowd began to mix and mingle; looking at each other’s clothing to see who went together.

I spotted her quickly. She was quite stunning, in a red velvet corset and a black leather mini skirt. A yellow rose was in her auburn hair, and a white mask was covering her face from her eyebrows to the bridge of her nose.

Taking advantage of the shadows and my black suit, I crossed the room, approaching her from behind. I took my yellow rose off of my lapel with my left hand. I reached over with my right hand and placed it around her neck, holding the rose out in front of her so that she could see it.

She backed into me slightly. I could feel her pulse quicken through the hand I had on her throat, her breathing become erratic.

I leaned over her and whispered in her ear, “Simply stunning.” I then nibbled on her ear lobe while she sighed.

“Take the flower from me right now,” I said in an even, yet commanding voice, “and in five minutes, I want to see you alone. Go up to the second floor and enter the third door on your left.” She took the flower from me and I left her immediately.