Twice My Size, Twice My Age Ch. 01

Just so we're clear: every character's 18+, consenting, and fully on board for this ride.

Sorry about 'Bent by Steele'. Chapter 2 and most of 3 are ready, but I had a blunder with Literotica that needs fixing.

So for now, here is something lighter.

======

The old Sharks' house sat on the edge of town, perched atop a hill like a set piece from a Freddy Krueger film. It was stitched into the fabric of my childhood memories. The lair of the beast.

To us kids, it was a dare. You'd ride your bike up that hill, touch the porch to prove you weren't chicken, then sprint back down the straight path to your waiting friends.

It wasn't the house that gave us chills, but the monster we believed lived within its walls.

Rosie Sharks.

Growing up, I swallowed the rumors whole--whispers of her being a weirdo, a loner, a pervert, off in ways that made adults twist their faces with disgust or unease. Some said she was a futanari, packing something extra under her jeans, even though she'd once been married to a guy named Tom.

Owen White swore his neighbor's cousin got too close to the house and was swallowed inside. He came back a week later with hollowed-out eyes, no memory, and completely mute.

Back then, for us kids, that was gospel.

At twenty-two, standing on that porch, those childhood legends felt distant and absurd. It was just an old house. Well-maintained. A freshly painted porch. Red tiles that looked recently replaced. I adjusted the weight of my backpack, my knuckles rapping against the warped wooden door.

It took another knock and a full minute before she answered. Heavy footsteps thudded from inside, and the mythical portal of my youth opened--smoothly, without a creak. Rosie kept her house in good shape.

"Yeah?" Her voice rolled out--low, demanding.

There she was. Rosie Sharks.

A towering wall of seasoned strength, her once-hard frame now softened by time. She wasn't fat, but she sure was big. She filled the doorway with sheer presence. Just shy of seven feet tall, with thick arms and a massive chest. Her red rusty hair, a little greying now but still thick, was pulled into a messy bun. Her face, lined and weathered like a map of solitude. Still beautiful--straight nose, symmetrical features, high cheekbones, good lips. An honest face.

I swallowed, forcing my tongue to work.

"Hi, I'm Lance. Saw your ad. I'm interested." My voice wobbled, betraying my nerves.

"You're the Browns' kid," she said, narrowing her green eyes. "Yeah. I remember you."

Shit. I was counting on her not remembering me. "Mom and Dad moved to Butler four years ago," I said, shifting my weight.

She grunted--a low, dismissive sound. No follow-up. No How are they? Rosie Sharks had no reason to care about my parents. Or anyone else in town.

"So... the ad still good?" I asked, trying to sound more confident. "You listed a phone number, but it's disconnected. I was checking out another apartment nearby, figured I'd swing by."

"I'm renting a room. Not an apartment."

"Yeah," I nodded. An apartment would've eaten too much of my new salary. I'd be saving $1,100 a month with what she was asking.

"So... is it still open?"

She didn't answer right away. Her gaze swept over me--chest to hips, lingering on the denim clinging to my thighs. Her sharp green eyes felt like they were peeling me open.

My mind flashed to the old rumors--futanari, married once, what was she hiding?

Before I could stop myself, my eyes flicked down--quick, guilty--searching the loose fabric of her pants for a hint, a bulge, something. Heat flared up my neck. I looked away, but not fast enough.

Her gaze snapped back to mine. Her face hardened. Eyes narrowed into slits. A flush crept up her neck, slow and angry.

I froze.

For a moment, I thought she'd slap me with one of those massive, callused hands--wide enough to knock me flat.

Then--

"You got cash?"

"Uh, yeah. I can pay. Just got a new job in town. Programmer for Rustwood Systems. Need something cheap," I said, stumbling over my words.

She grunted again and stepped aside, nodding me in, her glare still simmering.

"Let's see if you're for real."

The house looked like it had been redecorated recently. Nothing flashy. A lot of bare walls. A sagging couch and a cool-looking coffee table sat in front of a massive modern TV. One huge framed photo caught my eye--a signed picture of Franco Harris making The Immaculate Reception, right above the TV.

Steelers fan. Hardcore.

She led me down a narrow hallway, her broad shoulders brushing the walls as she walked. The room she opened was surprisingly clean--bare, but neat. A single bed with a thin mattress, an old closet, a small desk, and a window overlooking a tangle of backyard weeds. Nothing fancy, but for the price she was asking, I had no complaints.

I wasn't planning to stay long anyway. A year or so, maybe, saving up enough to start thinking about getting my own place.

"This'll do," I said, forcing some resolve into my voice, still a little rattled from her stare.

She nodded, dug a key from her pocket, and pressed it into my palm. Her fingers--long, rough, scarred from God knows what--closed over mine for just a second. A jolt shot through me.

My breath hitched.

What the hell was that?

"Rent's due the first. Don't screw me over," she growled, her voice still edged with heat. Then she turned and lumbered off, leaving me alone, gripping the key, my palm tingling.

That was it. No small talk, no digging questions. She didn't mention the paint. Not a word.

Me and my idiot crew--Jayden, Mikey "Toad" Carlson, and Eli "Fangs" Harper--on that one stupid night, decided to "decorate" her house with the kind of cruelty only twelve-year-old boys can invent. We scrawled "Ugly pervert lives here" on her fence and door in bright red paint. She almost caught us too--pulled up in her truck just as we biked off into the night. But since none of our parents got a phone call, we figured we were off the hook. I always thought she saw me that night, but since she didn't mention it, I figured she either forgot or never actually recognized us.

The first few days passed in a quiet blur. Rosie kept to herself--a hulking shadow drifting through the house--and I matched her silence, sticking to my room or the porch with my laptop. We barely crossed paths. She woke early, went to bed early. I reconnected with some of the old crew still in town and spent a few nights celebrating--once at the local pub, once at Cavo, a cool nightclub in Pittsburgh.

Turned out, the house on the hill wasn't part of some nefarious plot to kidnap kids and wipe their memories. It was a practical choice. She ran a smithy and leatherwork shop out back, mostly making custom gates and fences for online clients. Town noise regulations required her to keep a certain distance from the neighbors.

On the first Friday after getting paid, I had the security deposit ready--just like she'd asked--and tracked her down to the shed in the back.

A lone power hammer thumped a steady beat, a small hydraulic press whirred softly, and a compact gas forge cast a flickering orange glow. Rosie stood there in a sleeveless shirt clinging to her frame, muscled arms slick with sweat, face streaked with soot, hammering a red-hot gate panel with focused, solitary grit.

She glanced up, green eyes sharp behind safety goggles, and grunted, "Leave it on the table--under a hammer," jerking her chin toward a scarred wooden stand littered with tools. Her voice cut through the noise like she didn't care I'd seen her world.

She wasn't the creep the rumors made her out to be--just a woman who'd built a wall around herself tougher than the forge she worked in.

Still, something about her tugged at me.

Maybe it was the careless roll in her step, like she didn't give a damn what anyone thought.

Maybe it was the way her big tits filled out her shirt.

Or maybe it was those green eyes, catching mine a second too long--leaving me flushed and off-kilter.

The shift hit on Sunday night. I sat on the porch, legs crossed, laptop on my knees, taking in the cool night air and watching an online course I needed for work. Something pricked my spine, a feeling. I glanced up, and there--behind the front window's ragged curtains--a shadow loomed. Broad, unmistakable. Rosie.

My heart thudded.

Is she watching me?

"I forced my eyes back to the screen, fingers hovering. I fired up the laptop's camera and, pretending to stretch, rotated it so it pointed at the window behind me."

The curtain twitched, and I caught the faint curve of her face, half-hidden but fixed on me. And then, goddamn, was that motion?

What the actual fuck?

A slow rhythmic shift of her arm, up and down that every male above certain age knows. My brain was on fire.

Is she... stroking herself?

Was she really Futanari? A girl with a cock?

My body felt like someone poured molten lava into my stomach and inside my pants.

Shit!

And then another thing hit me like thunderclap. Arousal. My 22 self heterosexual male was hard like a 22 year old in a room full of naked beauties.

What the actual fuck?

I should've been freaked out--a 47-year-old mountain of a girl like her, scoping me like some perv, probably jerking off. But my skin buzzed, and my head was spinning. My heart was racing and my small cock was hard in my shorts. I didn't dare call her out--didn't want to--but I couldn't drag myself inside either. The idea of those green eyes devouring me from the shadows was a hit, a messed-up little game I hadn't known I'd wanted to play.

When I finally stumbled to bed, I was a live wire--restless and aching. Lying in the dark, I stared at the ceiling, my head a buzzing hive.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I should've been disgusted. Should've packed my crap and bolted into the sunset.

But the more I thought about it, the more I liked it.

The more I wanted more.

My hand slipped under my waistband, fingers wrapping around my tiny, stiff cock. I pictured her above me--her massive frame, that powerful hand grabbing my hips. Those green orbs inches from mine. That generous mouth crushing down on me.

The things she was doing to me in that image made me 40 shades of hot.

I stroked myself--slow, then fast--imagining her gravelly voice rasping my name, her hot breath against my neck.

"Oh, Rosie," I mumbled, as I rubbed myself and came hard, body jerking, cum spilling over my fist in thick spurts.

I lay there in the dark, in Rosie's house, breathing hard, shaking--gnawed by shame, but also riding a rush... and the quiet, dangerous truth:

I wanted more.

======

Morning brought no clarity.

I avoided her, ducking my head when she passed, but I couldn't shake the memory of last night. It clung to me like a dream that lingers--and you can't decide whether to go back to sleep and try to grab it again... or take a cold shower and scrub it off.

Did she really watch me?

Or was it all in my head?

Either way, my blood kept racing.

The next evening, Jayden invited me to hit a street party, but I gave him some made-up excuse about work pressure.

Instead, I sat in my room and had another solo session--starring Rosie, of course.

This wasn't a fluke.

Not a one-time glitch in the system.

Fuck me.

I wanted to test the water.

I drove to the local Kmart and bought myself a T-shirt a size too small, and a pair of shorts I probably could've gotten away with when I was twelve. The lower half of my ass was saying hello to anyone interested--and even to those who weren't. I wasn't just some passive participant sitting on the porch anymore. I was cooking.

I sauntered into the kitchen, phone pressed to my ear, loudly fake-chatting about some made-up coding glitch. "Yeah, it's definitely the Spark partitions screwing us--we're getting way too many conflicts from the database."

In the living room, Rosie sat on the couch with a plate of reheated steak balanced on her lap. The TV was blaring an old western--The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.

I leaned against the counter, angling my body so my ass stuck out, giving her something else to look at besides Clint Eastwood. I felt the tight shorts ride even higher up my butt as I stretched, shaking my head like I was deep in some tense argument with a nonexistent coworker.

My little dick pulsed inside my shorts. My heart was going 200 miles per hour. I felt like a pervert--and reveled in it.

"Yeah, I told you. Did I tell you, or did I tell you?" I said, nodding like a tech bro who'd just saved the day. "Yeah, way more deshonzel on the partitions."

Deshonzel wasn't a real word. I made it up.

I was so green, I'd only written my first Scala-Spark application last week. I barely knew what a partition was. I didn't have the experience to tell anyone anything. But my body did a little victory jig anyway--wiggling my ass like I'd just saved the entire company from collapse. I turned to the fridge, grinning as I nodded at Rosie. A casual hello that was anything but casual.

Heart pounding like her power hammer, I grabbed a bowl, scooped in some vanilla ice cream, and drizzled cold brew coffee over the top. The dark liquid pooled slow and sensual around the creamy mounds.

"Oh, sorry--just making a little treat," I purred, flashing her an innocent smile to dodge the tension.

She shifted.

Her fork clattered against the plate.

Her thick fingers tightened around it. A choked gasp slipped from her lips over the TV's murmur.

My cock throbbed in response.

Her eyes locked onto mine--dark, hungry, blinking--and then, damn... there it was: a massive bulge stretching the denim of her jeans, so big it looked unreal.

My breath stuttered.

The fake call in my ear forgotten. All I could do was stare, mouth dry, pulse hammering.

Rosie cleared her throat--a rough, desperate sound--and lurched to her feet. "Gotta hit the bathroom," she muttered, adjusting her jeans as she moved. Her massive chest rose and fell under her shirt, and she didn't look back. Never in my life had I made anyone--let alone a woman--react like that. I almost came in my too-short shorts.

I waited a beat. Then crept after her, pressing my ear to her bedroom door.

Silence at first. Then a low, guttural moan that hit my crotch like a lightning strike. She was jerking off. I could hear it--the slick, rhythmic slap of skin. Her breathing turned raw and wild.

My hand slid into my shorts. Fingers wrapped around my cock, trying to match the obscene tempo I could hear through the door. She moaned--and my heart skipped. I stopped my hand just a second before I exploded, biting my lip so hard it bled.

She came loud, with a guttural growl--and I came too, with a helpless squeak. I bolted back to my room, underwear soaked, slammed the door, and yanked my shorts down.

Usually, I'd feel spent by this point. Numb. But now? All I felt was wild energy, buzzing through me like it was trying to burst out of my ears. Fuck me, but a 47 years old futanari mountain of a girl made me feel more alive than my ex ever did--without even touching me. I couldn't stop myself. I felt on fire.

Later that night, I 'accidentally' left my phone near the fridge. Then, freshly showered, I wrapped a towel low around my hips, water still dripping from my hair, and used my Microsoft Phone Link to call my phone from my laptop. When my ringtone hit, I ran off to the living room, faking panic--but before I could reach it, I 'stumbled' hard. The towel flew from my grip, and I must've overdone the stunt, because next thing, I smacked my head on the edge of a cardboard box.

I was a bit dizzy when I got up on wobbly feet--naked as the day I was born.

Rosie was on me in a second, lifting my wet, dripping ass off the floor like I weighed nothing.

"You okay, kid?" she asked, voice low and concerned.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry," I mumbled--half dazed, half so goddamn turned on--as I leaned into her soft, solid body for support. "That was massively stupid. So fucking embarrassing. I'm sorry you had to see that, Rosie."

To my disappointment, her eyes were fixed on the ceiling--out of modesty, I guessed--but her neck was flushed a deep red, and the bulge in her pants had only grown more prominent.

I took my sweet time wrapping the towel back around me, and when I did, I 'accidentally' brushed against her crotch.

Oh my god.

She had a python down there. A python made of iron. "Fuck! Sorry!" I blurted, leaning against her again like I needed the support. "Thanks. I'll be more careful."

A choked cough burst from her. "Goin' to bed," she rasped, voice tight, stumbling off toward her room.

This time, I counted to ten.

And to my delight--her door didn't latch. Left just slightly ajar. It triggered a little war between the devil of temptation and the angel of decency on my shoulders. The winged guy stood no chance. Rosie's devil knocked him out cold in under three seconds. My heart thudded as I crept closer, nudging the door open just enough to peek inside.

There she was.

Sprawled across her bed, shirt still on, pants on the floor.

Her cock--holy hell--was a marvel. Ten inches at least, thick as my wrist, uncut, veined like a tree root. It jutted from a wild patch of reddish rusty pubes like some divine weapon forged for sin. Her hand wrapped around it, stroking slow, deliberate. Her lips were parted, eyes closed, soft moans slipping out like breathless prayers.

Fuck me, what a sight.

Each stroke drew the foreskin down, revealing a swollen, red head--angry and slick, gleaming like it knew it was being watched.

The bed creaked under her weight, shifting with the slow rhythm of her strokes. Each pump made it groan and thump like a drum, steady, rising. I could hear the slick, obscene sounds of lube and pre-cum, each wet glide punctuating the tension.

That massive head was winking at me, I swear--"I know you want to touch me." I imagined my small hand trying to wrap around that monster, and my legs started to shake.

Her pace quickened. Her moans turned to growls. And with a shuddering roar, she came.

Thick ropes of cum shot out--arcing. It hit her body. The bed. The floor. One rogue rope slammed into the ceiling fan and stuck, dangling for a second before dripping back down in slow, obscene globs like some perverted rain. The fan kept spinning, and when it came around again--splurt--it flung a wet strand my way and hit my face.

I bit my lip so I wouldn't scream. Some got in my mouth.

It was warm, salty, and thick. Like warm sea made of a giant blacksmith's essence. Slick and lingering. My tongue flicked against the roof of my mouth in shock--and then again, in curiosity.

I slipped away before she could spot me, bolting to my room, shedding the towel as I went. I threw myself onto the bed, hand flying to my cock, stroking hard and fast as I replayed it all. Her massive dick. The cum hitting the fan.

Her body, her sounds, the way she moved.

"Rosie," I moaned--loud and reckless--as I came, cum shooting across my chest, pooling on my stomach.

I lay there, wrecked and panting.

Already scheming.

======

The next morning, I woke up with a woody and ambition.

Last night still clung to me like a wet dream. My tongue kept flicking to the roof of my mouth, where I imagined traces of Rosie's milk still lingered. I stopped struggling with the fact that she was more than twice my age, that if she ever got on top of me I'd become a human pancake, or that her cock was easily three times bigger--and girthier--than mine. I caved in to the want. And damn, this was pushing buttons I didn't even know I had.

Suddenly, I understood why pretty women enjoyed teasing so much. To be lusted after? That was a whole new experience for slim, short me. A whole new universe.

Rosie was already outside--a towering figure in paint-splattered overalls and a faded T-shirt--painting her garage.

I grabbed my phone, dialed work, and rasped out a pitiful excuse. Scratchy throat. Throbbing headache. Hung up with a smirk.

I slipped on my too-short shorts, barefoot and bare-chested, and padded outside.

She didn't see me at first.

I watched her from the porch, her movements slow and deliberate, the brush in her meaty hand leaving wet streaks of white across the wood. Sweat beaded on her brow, trickling down her neck, and I bit my lip--imagining licking it off that tanned skin.

"Morning, Rosie," I called, leaning against the doorframe, voice pitched just high enough to snag her attention.

She turned, bun glinting in the sun, green eyes flicking over me--lingering on my torso a heartbeat too long. "Thought you had work."

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance as I stretched my arms overhead, letting my shorts ride up my ass. "Called in sick. Figured I'd take a breather. Need a hand out here?"

"Ain't your job, kid. Don't bother."

"I want to," I said, stepping closer, the gravel cool under my feet. "Really. It's no trouble. I sit all day at work--fresh air might do me good." I flashed a grin--like the innocent boy scout I've never been.

She hesitated, her massive frame stilling mid-brush. Then she grunted--a low, rumbling, noncommittal sound. Even her grunts were starting to sound like love songs in the state I was in.

"Start with this wall--scrape the peeling paint first, then scrub it clean."

I set to work scrubbing the garage walls, every move calculated--stretching high so she'd get a nice view, bending low so my shorts rode up, flashing the curve of my ass. The air felt thicker with each passing minute.

Her breathing got heavier--subtle at first, then ragged enough to send a thrill straight to my--Well, I want to say core, but let's be real--it was hitting my little dick dead-on.

Paint splattered across my chest--little "accidents" I wasn't exactly trying to prevent. I turned to her, all wide-eyed innocence. "Oops, I'm such a klutz, lol," I said, chuckling a bit, my voice totally dripping with faux sorry vibes. "Can you help me get this off? Would be tragic if I messed up these shorts--they're def my faves."

Rosie froze, her brush hovering mid-stroke, then loomed over me--a towering wall of heat and muscle. She grabbed the sponge, her calloused fingers grazing my skin as she wiped the paint away--gentle, but firm. Each rough scrape sent sparks through my nerves, like she was sandpapering desire straight into my bloodstream. Her breath hitched. And I couldn't miss it-- The bulge swelling in her overalls. Huge. Obscene. Straining the denim like it wanted out now. My mouth went dry. My cock twitched in response.

"There," she growled, stepping back and tossing the sponge into the bucket with a wet slap. "Try to be more careful, kid."

"Roger that," I chirped, beaming up at her, while inside I wanted to grab that bucket and pour it all over me.

We worked in overcharged silence for a while, tension coiling tighter with every passing minute. I stayed close to Rosie every chance I got--"accidentally" brushing against her. Pointing out a random crow just so I could tap her bicep. Letting my hip nudge her massive thigh. Then I started telling lewd jokes I'd bookmarked just for this.

"So this family's driving behind a garbage truck," I started. "And outta nowhere a massive dildo flies out and boom, smacks the windshield. The mom's freaking out, right? So she spins around to her kids and goes, 'Chill, it was just a bug.'"

I waited a beat.

"Kid says, 'I'm surprised it could get off the ground with a dick like that.'"

Rosie barked a laugh--deep, guttural, like a foghorn caught off guard. It burst out of her like she didn't mean to let it loose. And for just a second, I saw her walls crack--just a hairline fracture. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, mouth twitching with something close to joy.

Then she caught herself and looked away, clearing her throat like it turned Judas on her.

And me? I filed that laugh away like a treasure. Because it wasn't just the sound that got me. It was the break in those damn massive walls.

======

After a few more 'accidental' touches, she finally muttered something about needing water and lumbered back inside, her steps heavy, unsteady. I watched her go, my cock straining against my shorts at the thought of what she'd do alone. After a few beats, I followed--hoping to catch her in the act again.

She stood at the sink, back to me, gulping water from a glass that looked tiny in her grip. The overalls did nothing to hide the massive erection tenting the fabric--a thick outline that made my knees weak. I leaned against the counter, casual as sin.

"Need a hand?"

Rosie whirled, face flushed, green eyes wide with a mix of shock and something darker.

"No," she snapped--too quick. "I'm fine."

"Right," I said, nodding like it was no big deal. "But seriously, you've been busting your ass out there. Let me cook lunch--my way of saying thanks for letting me crash here."

"You're paying me."

"You're asking half what anyone else would."

"That can change," she said, flat.

I sighed. "How about lunch, then?"

Rosie hesitated, jaw clenching, then grunted, brushing a loose strand of red hair back into her bun with those thick fingers. "Alright. I'll get the stuff."

We moved around the kitchen, the air thick with unspoken promises we hadn't made. I kept it light at first--chattering about my job, college pranks, the sleepy town we both knew too well. But then I nudged the conversation, testing the waters.

"So, I tried Tinder for a bit," I said, chopping carrots with exaggerated care, the knife clicking in rhythm. "Total bust. Guess I'm not the type girls swipe right for--too short, too skinny, not enough... you know, manliness."

Rosie grunted, stirring something on the stove, her back still to me. "That so?"

"Yeah," I sighed, leaning closer, letting my elbow brush her arm. "But you? You're like the opposite vibe. Huge, total alpha energy, strong af look. Bet you had everyone simping for you back in the day, huh? A real heartbreaker?"

Her hands stilled. The spoon hovered over the pot. Her breath caught as she tucked another stray hair behind her ear. She didn't answer.

I pressed on, pretending not to notice the minefield I was stepping into. "Come on, Rosie. Wrong crowd for playing modest."

She turned, green eyes narrowing, a flush creeping up her throat. "Why do you care, kid?" Her voice was rough--wary.

"Curious," I chirped, holding up my hands, all innocence. "You're like... legendary around here."

"Sure," she spat.

"No, I mean--you've got a good face, good bod. You were probably a firecracker my age."

Her face went crimson. Eyes darted away. Her chest started rising faster, like something in her short-circuited.

I had no clue whether she was pissed, aroused, or both.

"That's enough," she rasped, voice cracking. Her free hand brushed her thigh like she didn't know what to do with it. "Drop it."

Fuck. What did I say that was so wrong?

But I couldn't stop--the thrill of her reaction spurred me on. I leaned in, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Okay, fine, no more past stuff. But... can I ask something else? Like, random guy question--do you think size really matters? You know, down there?"

Rosie's breath hitched. Her massive frame went rigid, fingers twitching toward her hair again. "What the hell you talking about?" she growled, voice tight.

"You know," I said, acting casual, slicing a cucumber with slow, deliberate strokes. "I've only had one girlfriend, and she dumped my ass over it. Said I was too small--three inches, if we wanna put a number on it. Kinda humiliating, honestly. What do you think--does it matter that much?"

"Why the fuck are we talking 'bout your dick size?" she snapped, half-turning, her green eyes flashing.

"I..." I stammered, caught off guard. "I'm curious."

"'Bout what?" she pressed, her head tilting, a bead of sweat trickling down her neck as she shifted her stance, hips swaying slightly.

"Your opinion about it? I mean, you have one. A dick. You're a futanari, right?"

"I'm still a woman," she growled, spinning to face me fully. Those green eyes squinted, sharp as lightning, arms crossed under her massive chest, pushing her tits up like a challenge.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't..." I backpedaled, hands up in surrender.

"You think I'm one of your fucking buddies you talk dick size with?" she barked. "Because you think I'm some kind of freak?"

Fuck. I'm in trouble.

"Sorry, sorry. Never said that, never thought that. I know you're a woman--a damn pretty one."

She snorted, rolling her eyes, fingers brushing her lips as she turned back to the stove.

I had to bullshit better than that.

"You think I talk with my buddies about my cock size, Rosie? Seriously? I don't even pee at urinals--I'm that embarrassed. Always scared someone might see it and start calling me 'niddledick.' I asked you 'cause you're a pretty woman with experience. You've probably seen some things. I can shut up if this feels off."

"The hell it does."

I mimed zipping my big mouth. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean... I'm just really insecure about it."

The bullshit worked--her face softened, shoulders relaxing. "What are you so insecure about?" she asked, her voice lower now, with a flicker of curiosity beneath the edge.

"Well, my ex," I said, tone quiet and confiding as I stepped closer. "She was brutal about it. Called me a 'little boy' and everything. I mean... you've been around. You've seen stuff, right? You think three inches is... hopeless? Or can a guy still, you know, make it work?"

Rosie turned, slow and deliberate, her face a storm of red and restraint, tongue darting out to wet her lips. "I'm sure it's... fine," she muttered. Her voice was thick. "Not as bad as you think."

"Really?" I tilted my head, wide-eyed, stepping just into her space. "You think so? That's sweet of you to say. Most folks would laugh." I paused, biting my lip, then went for it.

"Wanna see? Just, like... for an opinion? Person to person?"

"What--kid, no--" she stepped back fast, voice cracking, eyes going wide as her face lit up crimson.

"Okay, sorry! I didn't mean to--You know, to be weird," I said, backtracking hard.

"That was weird as fuck," she shot back.

"Yeah, I dunno what came over me. That kinda talk at work would've sent me straight to HR."

She let out a rough bark of a laugh, brushing her hand across her neck as her shoulders shook.

"What for?" she asked, voice lighter now, a trace of a grin pulling at her lips.

"Sexual harassment," I grinned, relieved.

"As if a tiny squirt like you could harass someone like me," she said, smirking now, eyes gleaming just a little.

I laughed too, the tension finally easing, though my pulse was still doing cartwheels. Her being 47 and a loner played in my favor--back in her day, if a gal didn't want a hand up her skirt, she was frigid, not filing a complaint.

We worked in silence for a few minutes, me making salad, when I caught her staring--her green eyes locked on me, hungry--until she saw me notice and jerked her head away, blushing like a teenage girl.

A few minutes later, she spoke, voice low and hesitant.

"Yeah... you can show it to me," she coughed, clearing her throat. "I'll give you an honest opinion."

"What? What?" I blinked, stunned.

"It's okay," she said, shifting her weight. "I'm not bothered by it. You can show me what you're so insecure about."

My heart did a massive flip in my chest. Holy shit--she was into this too. Before she could back out, I hooked my thumbs into my shorts and shoved them down, letting them crumple around my ankles. My cock sprang free--small, three inches, but rock-hard, the tip slick with pre-cum, glistening under the kitchen light. I stood there, bare and shameless, watching her reaction.

Her gaze dropped and locked onto me. Her breath hitched. One of her hands twitched toward her crotch before she forced it to her side like a rebuked child. The bulge in her overalls surged--monstrous and impossible to ignore.

"See?" I said, voice trembling with cheeky triumph. "Not much, huh? Kinda small."

"It's fine," she said, her green eyes blinking, slow and uncertain.

"You're just saying that to make me feel good?"

"It's not the biggest," she croaked, giving it a real stare. "But it's got good shape and all. You're just insecure 'cause you're young. Bet a lot of girls wouldn't mind."

"Would you mind, I mean..." I trailed off.

"You can pull your pants back on, kid."

"Sorry!" I yelped, yanking my shorts up, fumbling with the waistband--but I wasn't letting it end there. "I mean... would you have dated someone like me? I mean, back in the day..."

She shook her head, smirking faintly, her fingers tapping the counter. "I come from a small, backward place. Back in my day, we didn't have apps or dating. My dad married me off to a distant relative of his who didn't mind, you know..." She trailed off.

She meant he didn't mind her being a futanari. Maybe I should call her dad.

"Yeah," I nodded, encouraging her. "But hypothetically?"

"I dunno 'bout hypothetically," she muttered, eyes narrowing. "But you've got nothing to be insecure about. I bet it gets bigger when you're hard."

Ouch. "It... it is hard. That's as big as it gets," I said.

"What? Why the hell...?" She squinted--then smiled. "Ohhh. I get it. Saw her picture on your phone just now. Cute girl."

"What girl?"

"She's hot."

I grabbed my phone, laughing when I saw it was open on an article about the latest Dune movie. "That's Zendaya. She's an actress."

"You dating her?" she asked, smirking wider.

"Fuck no! Not that she'd give me the time of day. But she ain't my type."

"Sure," she laughed. "Little Lance and Zendania."

"Zendaya," I corrected, chuckling. "Nah, she's not it. Can't tell you the reason for this," I said, tapping my little bulge, "'cause you'll wanna kill me."

"Why the fuck would I--" She turned to me, face shifting colors--red to pale--mouth dropping open, hand freezing mid-air.

"Sorry," I said, not feeling one bit sorry.

Her face was a furnace. "What the fuck, Lance?"

"I don't know why I--maybe... you're so big and intense, it's messing with my head," I blurted, backtracking fast. "I'm not into futanari or anything, I swear, it's just... some weird vibe kicking in around you. Strange, right?"

She didn't respond--just stood there, eyes wild, breath shallow, hands flexing and unflexing. Finally, she turned back to the stove, hands shaking as she clutched the spoon like a lifeline.

"Let's... just cook," she muttered, voice barely audible, her shoulders hunching.

We finished lunch in silence, the air crackling with unspoken heat. I caught her staring several times--her green eyes tracing my chest, my hips, my shorts. Those glances stung like fire. But she kept her distance. No more 'accidental' brushes, no teasing replies. Her body language shut tight. She looked like Mount Vesuvius about to blow--and not in a sexy way.

We ate at the table, the silence deafening, every clink of a fork amplified. Her presence loomed over me, massive and unyielding--but also distant. Something was broken between us, and I cursed myself for pushing too far.

======

The next morning, I woke to the rich scent of coffee crawling under the door.

I stretched slow, my body buzzing with yesterday's memory--her hungry eyes eating me up--then I remembered that I'd fucked up big time toward the end.

Do you think my weiner is too short?

Yeah, real subtle and a winning line, Lance. Why don't you start writing scripts for reverse-porn? You know, porn movies except the sex never happens--on account of stupidity.

I decided to backpedal.

Rosie sat at the table, a steaming mug cradled in her huge hands. She glanced up as I stepped in, those green eyes catching on me, her fingers tapping the mug's rim.

"Morning," I said, voice soft and careful, testing her as I crossed to the counter.

She grunted, staring down at the table, her jaw clenching. I poured coffee, the dark swirl filling my mug, and slid into the chair across from her. Something raw simmered in her--and it wasn't lust. It wasn't anger either.

"You okay?" I asked, sipping my coffee, letting concern creep into my tone.

Rosie's grip tightened on her mug. "Couldn't stop thinking last night," she said, voice rough as a smithy, each word scraped out slow. "'Bout what you said. That it's me... affecting you."

"'Kay."

"That feeling... still there?"

My heart tripped, but I kept my face easy, casual. I shrugged, playing with my coffee, tasting it slow. "Maybe. Still figuring it out. Could be nothing."

Her frown deepened, eyes narrowing as she leaned forward. "But I'm a worn-out broad who's forty-seven," she said.

"Who's worn out?" I said.

"How the hell could I be doing anything to you?"

I faked a chuckle. "Attraction's weird, Rosie. Ain't just looks--it's head stuff, heart stuff. This part stuff," I tapped my belly. "You're... dominant. Powerful. You've got this thing going on that's impossible to miss." I smirked, glancing at myself. "Me? Total pushover vibes. If we were locked up together, I'd probably end up your little prison bitch in a--" I snapped my fingers.

Rosie stared, then let out a low, rumbling laugh. "Probably," she smiled. But that flicker of amusement in her green eyes died abruptly. "Still... I'm a damn mess. Too much weight." She gestured to her broad frame.

I nodded, eyes roaming her--thick arms, chest, the size that swallowed the chair. "Maybe a little," I said, voice soft, like we were sharing a secret. "But it's not that. It's your presence--big, commanding, like you own every damn room. And my body? It... notices. Gets all twisted up around you." I bit my lip, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Hope that doesn't weird you out. I'd hate to make you uneasy."

She shook her head, eyes softening, but her voice stayed gruff. "It's..." She paused, jaw working like she was chewing on the words. "This dominant-submissive shit. Never heard of it."

"Just a vibe thing--how people click, you know? Power stuff. But if it bugs you, I'll drop it."

"It does bother me."

I was hoping for 'that doesn't bother me one bit', so shitty little me just pretended she said exactly that. "Cool. I'm not..." I murmured, almost a whisper, "Something happens when you're around. Skin gets tingly. Head gets fuzzy. You ever feel stuff like that? With anyone?"

Her eyes darkened, a sharp glint slicing through as she leaned in. "You ever messed around with a futanari before?" she growled, her voice thick with a rough edge.

I shook my head.

"You know I was married once."

I nodded, thrown off, not catching her drift. "Tom, right? I remember."

She paused, face blank, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. Left years back," she said, voice raw. "Massive fallout. Bad divorce. He spread shitty rumors 'round town just to twist the knife."

Sympathy stung me, mixed with a heat that twitched my cock. "That's shit," I said softly, and meant it.

"It is what it is, Lance. Water under the bridge. How'd you little kids used to sing it? Rosie Sharks, giant chick, pervy creep, monster dick?"

I snorted, caught off guard. "Never sang that crap."

"Yeah, right," she said, smirking wider as she tapped her temple. "You didn't paint my wall with 'Ugly pervert lives here' either?"

"Shit!" I winced.

"Yeah, I clocked you when you showed up, Lance Brown," she said, pointing a thick finger at me, her smirk fading into something heavier.

"Fuck. I'm so sorry, Rosie. That was awful," I said, voice cracking.

She shrugged. "You were what, thirteen?"

"Twelve. Still."

"Like I said, water under the bridge." Then her face sobered, eyes sharpening as she leaned forward again. "You're a grown-up now."

"Trying to be," I said, giving her a faint smile. "Just getting started."

"Still," she said, her fingers curling into her palms. "Words carry more weight when you're not twelve, Lance. More meaning, more implications. That's part of growing up."

I took a long breath, steadying myself. "I'm not taking 'em back, though... My words about you. I'm--something happens near you, Rosie. Look, I don't wanna be some creep, and I sure as hell don't want you uncomfortable. I'll shut up if you want. Choose to believe me or choose not to--that's on you, Rosie. Not me."

"Why?" she asked, her head tilting.

"'Cause it's yours to figure," I said.

"No, how come you're attracted to a gal three times your age--" she started, her voice rising.

"You fucked the math," I cut in.

"Shut up!" she snapped. "Someone older than your mom--"

"My mom's eleven years older than you."

"Shut up! Someone much older than you, who looks like an aging sack o' spuds? Don't sell me that domination crap. I ain't buying. What's wrong with you?"

"If you were anything like a sack of spuds," I shot back, "I'd be jerking it into a plate of hashbrowns right now. It's--"

"What?" she pressed, her voice sharp, her chair scraping as she shifted.

I wasn't backing down. "It's that fucking massive bulge in your pants, that's it."

"What?" she sneered, her lip curling like a bear caught in a bear trap.

"Yeah. Never in my life has a girl thought I'm hot. Too short. Friendzone. One of the girls. Harmless. Sweet. Like a brother. I've heard it all. Hot? Never. But I put on pants so tight you can see what I ate for breakfast, and you've got the Eiffel Tower down there. It messes with my head. Excites me. I keep thinking about it--about you."

She stared, stunned, her mouth opening, then closing, her fingers digging into the wood. "You fucking... you've got some nerve..." she rasped, her voice shaking, her foot stomping once, hard, against the floor.

"What are you so scared of, Rosie?"

"Watch it!" She waved a big finger at me, her voice rising.

"You're scared that puny me'll pounce you? That I'm making this up? That I'm telling the truth?"

"Lance, I swear--"

But I wasn't stopping at red headlights, I was all in. "What's so damn scary, Rosie? You're forty-seven, for Christ's sake--I'm twenty-two. You've been there, seen it all, done it all."

"You know fucking nothing about me. You're a tourist in my life--fuck off back to your comfort zone, you and your tiny dick," she growled, her voice rising like a she-bear, her hands balling into fists as she shoved back from the table, standing abruptly.

"You're right." I stood too, storming to my room.

Ten minutes later, she knocked, her knuckles rapping soft on the door.

"Yeah?" I called, not looking up.

"What are you doing?" she asked quiet, her massive form filling the doorway, her shoulders slumped, her hands twisting together.

"Packing my stuff--what's it look like?" I said, shoving clothes into my suitcase, my hands trembling as I yanked a shirt off the hanger. "This tiny dick'll be outta your hair in no time."

"I'm sorry, Lance. I didn't mean it. I really didn't," she said, her voice low, her fingers picking at the hem of her shirt.

"Cool," I muttered, tossing in a pair of socks, my jaw tight.

She crossed the room, her steps slow, and slapped the suitcase shut, her thick hand pressing down firm. I tried to pry it open, but she held it steady--might as well have been shoving a truck.

"Look, I'm really sorry I called you... I'm sorry I used something you said you're insecure about," she said, her voice cracking.

"Do you, though?" I asked, meeting her eyes.

"You just caught me... Look, Lance, if you wanna go, go--just not like this. Angry."

"What'd I say that was so bad?"

"It's what you do," she said, her voice dropping, her hand gesturing vaguely as she paced a step, then stopped.

I stared at her, waiting.

"You're right--you walk around in those damn tight pants and..." She shrugged, her fingers tracing a scar on her knuckle. "Like you said. The fucking Eiffel Tower."

"'Kay," I said, unsure.

"It drags up all the awful shit people used to call me--stuff I buried years ago." Her hand clenched, then unclenched. "Pervert. Pedo. Monster girl. I never hurt a soul in my life. You think those words you scrawled in red paint didn't sting? I cried all night when I saw 'em."

That hit like a punch. "I'm so sorry," I said, voice breaking.

"You were a kid," she said, waving it off, her eyes dropping to the floor.

"Shit. Can I... would it be okay if I hugged you now?" I asked, hesitant.

She nodded, her shoulders sagging as she opened her arms a fraction.

I stepped in, wrapping my arms around her. Her strong body yielded under my grip--her massive chest pressing gently against my head, her breath warm and uneven against my hair. Her arms folded around me, heavy but tender, pulling me close as her head rested light on mine, a faint tremor in her frame. It was all softness, all comfort, like sinking into a warm, worn quilt stitched with years of hurt.

"I'm so sorry about everything, Rosie," I murmured into her shirt, voice thick. "I'll stop all that crazy shit around you. Swear to God, I'm not like that. Honest. No clue what got into me."

"That's okay," she said softly, her voice muffled against my hair, her hand patting my back once. "I kinda like you to keep going."

"Shit! What?" I pulled back, staring up at her.

She nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah."

"Oh, okay," I said, reeling. "But--but I'll check everything with you first--no shitty head games."

"Like the towel dropping? Or asking if your cock's long enough?" she asked, eyebrow quirked.

"Fuck."

"And keep those little trousers in the suitcase--they look mighty uncomfortable," she said, leaning down to kiss my forehead. Her lips were dry and quick. Then she turned and walked out, her steps steady but slow.

I stood there, suitcase half-open, staring at the empty doorway. My hands hovered over the mess of clothes, my brain a war zone--her words looping, sharp, soft, big, painful, and all of them Rosie Sharks. The sting of her hurt, the weight of my old stupidity, was brutal. But that flicker of her smile, her quiet "keep going," burned brighter.

I sank onto the bed, elbows on my knees, caught between guilt and something else--something like hope. A strand of something new that tugged at me like the pied piper of Hamelin, pulling me toward her.

======

Sunday morning sun knocked on my window like a nosy neighbor. I was pumped and I'm never pumped before 10 AM's coffee. Taking my first black hot for the day, my eyes caught on Rosie out on the porch. She leaned hard against the railing, her massive frame hunched, one meaty hand kneading her lower back with a grimace twisting her face.

Okay, that's my cue to be her knight in shining gym socks and a body that screams "discount intern."

"Yo, is your back acting sus or what?" I asked, stepping onto the porch, voice light and easy. My pulse was already picking up.

Rosie glanced over, green eyes unreadable for a beat before she grunted. "Little bit. Worked too hard this week."

"Which is good, right? Means you've got customers."

She nodded.

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool." I tilted my head like I was mulling it over, my gaze already being naughty. "You know, I used to vibe as a massage therapist back in college--picked up some hacks." The lie slid out smooth, I almost bought it myself. "I can... you know..."

She arched a brow. "No need to waste your time, kid."

"I planned to binge some bullshit sci-fi on Netflix, so it's not like you'll be keeping me from curing cancer or ending world hunger," I pressed, stepping closer, the porch boards smooth under my bare feet. "Seriously, just a few minutes. Might ease that ache right up."

Rosie's eyes flicked over me--then she shrugged, her hand dropping from her back. "Fine. Or quoting you, 'Cool, cool, cool.'"

My heart thumped harder as I led her inside. Massage? I knew the basics, and I could probably bullshit through the rest, knowing Rosie wasn't exactly a spa girl. This was just an opportunity to touch her--without resorting to yesterday's shenanigans.

She sat down on the couch, her bulk swallowing the cushions, back to me. She wore her usual shapeless gray T-shirt and jeans.

"Ready?" I murmured, close enough to catch the faint tang of hot metal I'd come to associate with her.

"Go for it," she muttered, voice a low growl, her shoulders hunching slightly.

I started slow, pressing my thumbs into the hard ridges of her shoulders through the fabric. Her muscles were tight--real iron cables--and I worked them with care, alternating pressure, asking for feedback. She kept grunting, telling me to press harder. At one point, she gave a sharp intake of breath, but urged me to keep going.

I felt myself growing harder as the heat from her body seeped into my fingers, sliding up into my core. I had to stop myself from landing a little smooch on the back of her broad neck.

A deep groan rumbled out of her--raw, unfiltered--and it jolted straight to my groin.

"Feels good," she growled, her head dipping forward slightly. "You been practicing this long?"

"I'm a pro. Tension whisperer level."

"You're a weird kid, that's what you are."

"But cute, right?"

She gave a noncommittal grunt.

I took my time, digging into tight spots, her grunts and soft murmurs spilling out as my fingers danced across her thick muscles. Twenty minutes in, my arms burned, but I wasn't stopping--not with her giving me all that sound and heat.

"This is just the warm-up," I said, pulling back and shaking my aching fingers. "I'll grab some oil--make it even better. Be right back."

Rosie twisted to look at me, brow furrowing. "Oil?"

"Yeah, for a full-body deal. Trust me, you'll feel brand new."

I didn't wait for a no--snagged my keys and bolted to the corner store, my brain full of filthy ideas: me on top of her, both of us slick with oil, nothing but skin and friction and heat.

I grabbed a bottle of lavender-eucalyptus oil--the fancy kind, as an afterthought I bought fresh orange juice. The bored clerk, an old friend from school, tried to strike up a conversation while all I wanted was to jump back into my jalopy and race up the hill. I got rid of him by promising to come by later for a game of pool, maybe hit a bar.

Rosie was still on the couch when I got back, slouched but alert.

"You don't gotta go overboard," she said, voice gruff, one foot tapping the floor once.

"Just sprinkling a bit of vibe, Rosie," I said, trying to sound more chill than I felt. I held up the oil like it was some kind of holy water blessed by the pope. "But we gotta do it right--shirt and pants off."

"Hell, no."

"Bra and briefs are fine. Like a bathing suit."

Her eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as she crossed her arms over her big tits. "Ain't no damn bathing suit. I'm good like this."

"I can get naked too, if you feel weird being the only one."

She snorted.

"Come on, the oil's the real deal, and I can't work it through clothes. It'll just soak into your shirt and jeans--waste the good stuff. I won't even get half the effect."

"Still sounds like bullshit," she muttered.

"Bra and briefs cover plenty--more than most swimsuits. You'll thank me later."

She stared at me, lips pursed, fingers drumming on her arm. I held my breath.

"Fine. You win, kid," she said finally, voice low. "But no peeping."

She stood, peeling the T-shirt off with a slow tug, revealing a plain gray bra stretched tight over her heavy breasts. Her pants followed, dropping to the floor in a heap, leaving her in snug gray briefs that hugged her hips--the bulge beneath already hinting at its size.

"Eyes here," she grunted, pointing at her nose.

"Perfect," I said, nodding toward her room. "Let's move to your bed--way more comfortable."

She hesitated, eyes flickering half-angry, half-scared, half something else, and the math was perfect. Then she shrugged and trudged after me.

Her bedroom smelled of old wood and a soft hint of lavender--faint, but feminine. The bed was a wide, sagging expanse that looked like it didn't have any stories to tell. Rosie was loneliness.

"Hold up," I said, darting out and back with a couple towels from the bathroom. I spread them over the sheets so the oil wouldn't soak through.

She lowered herself face-down, sprawling like a mountain range, the bed frame groaning under her weight.

I climbed up, straddling her lower back, my thighs brushing her hips as I poured oil into my palms. I hit her powerful shoulders first, oil slicking my fingers as they glided over her bare skin. Her muscles twitched, a low hum escaping as I pressed deeper. She was digging it--and so was I.

My little soldier jigged like a puppy whose owner just came home.

My thumbs circled her knots, pressing, untying, smoothing. Rosie wasn't fat--she was big, and most of it was muscle, hard-earned from hours at her smithy.

She shifted then, grunting as she reached under herself, tugging her bra free. Her chest pressed firm to the towel for modesty, and she tossed the faded fabric aside. It landed in a soft heap on the floor.

I traced the valley of her spine, kneading down her sides, oil pooling in the dips of her back. Her breath hitched when I hit a sore spot near her lower back.

She let out a slow, "Fuck, this is good," and I grinned like I'd just won the jackpot.

"Feeling better?" I whispered, lips near her ear.

She shivered--a faint ripple through her bulk--and nodded. "Yeah. Fuckin' better," she muttered, voice muffled by the pillow.

I kept at it, hands roaming her shoulders, her arms, down to her thick legs. While her arms and face were bronze-tanned, the rest of her was pale, almost creamy under the slick sheen of oil. Time blurred. I was enjoying it too much to stop. Maybe thirty minutes passed--maybe more.

When my arms finally gave out, I told her to stay put, ran to the fridge, poured some orange juice into a cup, and popped in a straw. I came back and held it out to her.

"Very important to stay hydrated during a massage, Rosie."

She smiled, nodded, and drank the whole thing in two long slurps. Didn't even lift her head. She probably wasn't buying half the crap I was selling--but damn, she was onboard now.

Finally, I slid back, hands on her hips.

"Alright, turn over."

Rosie stiffened--the tension popped right back into her massive frame. Her hands gripped the sheets. "Uh... nah. This is good."

"Come on." I patted her side, keeping it light--or at least, trying. "Don't bail now--I'm just getting started."

"Warmed up, you mean."

"Yeah, well. Yeah. You know I am." I hesitated. "When you say stop, we stop, Rosie. I won't force myself on you--even though I could, 'cause I'm like ten times stronger."

She snorted, then let out a low, resigned grunt and rolled over, the bed creaking loud under her weight. As she turned, she clutched a towel tight to her massive chest, shielding it from view.

Shit--I'd been waiting to get an eyeful of her melons. My ex had tiny little nubs, and I always liked big. But even without the full view, my breath snagged--her briefs were tenting wildly, the fabric stretched tight over a bulge so huge it was almost comic.

I stared, mouth dry, my little cock twitching in my jeans. "Guess I'm not the only one enjoying this," I said, trying very hard not to sound like a freaky creep.

Her beautiful, honest, feminine face flushed the color of a ripe tomato--and she stared intensely at the ceiling. At the headboard. At the window. Anywhere but me.

"Why is that so wrong, Rosie?" I asked.

She shrugged. "You're a kid."

"I'm an adult and I own one knife, two towels, and a Spotify subscription--how much more grown-up do I gotta be?" I shifted, sliding my hands to her front, starting at her abdomen--gentle, clockwise strokes over her gut, the oil slicking the way. Her breath was heavy, but you couldn't have stopped me with a gun. I moved up to her arms and hands, kneading the muscled flesh, squeezing her thick forearms. Her palms were callused--years of working that forge--and strong, even when they trembled.

My fingers glided over hers, smoothing the years of hammering, welding, grinding, clamping, and troweling. Despite it all, she had long, feminine fingers--even if her nails were short and smooth from wear. I started with the pinkie, working my way toward her thumb, massaging one finger at a time. Gently pinching the base of each between my knuckles, then slowly dragging my knuckles down to the tip, squeezing soft and steady.

"Fuck, this is good," she murmured, smiling.

I gave her palm a tender kiss and smiled when I saw the flicker of surprise on her face.

"I'm so sorry I wrote those shitty things on your door, Rosie. It wasn't about you. I was this scrawny little kid, crap at sports, always picked last. I tried to prove I was one of the gang by being nastier than everyone else. I didn't care there was a person on the other side of that wall."

She nodded--quiet, but listening.

"I want to knock on every one of my friends' doors right now and tell them what a terrible thing we did. To such a nice person."

I think she teared up. Just a little. She rubbed her eye quickly with her palm, pretending it wasn't there.

So I went lower, feeling a little embarrassed. Down to her legs and feet--firm strokes over her thick thighs, kneading the meaty calves, working her soles to loosen the knots and stir her blood.

"Mmm... this is amazing, Lance."

I gave her a warm smile--and got a real one in return. Another crack in that hard Rosie shell.

Her briefs strained tighter. Her cock swelling harder now, the bulge twisting and shifting like a live snake beneath the fabric--a wild, pulsing thing I couldn't peel my eyes from.

My fingers hovered, then brushed the taut fabric, feeling the heat pulsing beneath.

"Looks uncomfortable as hell," I murmured. "Take 'em off if you want--I don't mind."

Then, almost immediately--

"Shit! Sorry. I told you I wouldn't do that anymore. Forget what I just said."

She locked eyes with me--a long, searching stare--then nodded slowly, jaw clenching.

And then, to my utter shock, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband... and tugged the briefs all the way down, slowly removing them, then tossing them to land near her bra.

My heart stopped.

Her cock sprang free--huge, uncut, almost thick as my wrist. The red tip was fully engorged, slick and glistening like it had been aching for release. It heaved as I stared, like a living thing--muscle and heat and tension made flesh.

A single drop of pre formed at the tip--a white pearl--then slipped down into her red bush, slow and obscene.

Up close, it was the biggest, most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

Powerful. Ridiculous. Real.

"Fuck," I gasped, eyes wide, arousal hitting me like a freight train. "That's... unreal."

Rosie breathed deep, her chest rising slow. Her eyes never left mine.

"It's beautiful," I whispered.

She slowly shook her head. "You're crazy," she huffed.

"Never seen anything like it," I said, voice trembling with raw hunger. "You're fucking massive."

"Shit, you made me so damn hard," she growled, fingers curling into the sheet, her knuckles whitening.

I swallowed, my pulse racing, and went for it. "You know, some massages come with a... happy ending," I said, letting the words hang.

Her eyes darkened, a glint flashing as she nodded slowly, breath hitching. "Yeah, I've heard. If you're offering..."

This was it. I was doing it. My hands shook and trembled. I could feel my heart beating in my throat, in my teeth--my eyes went blurry from the pounding. I was going to touch her.

Excitement raced through my hands. I ran them slowly up and down her belly--from the insides of her thighs, then back up again--and each time I got a little closer, until the insides of my wrists brushed either side of her hardness.

She was incredibly long and large. Her cock wasn't just huge--it was beautiful. Thick skin, smooth surface, well-balanced proportions. The rosy brown head peeked above the foreskin, wide and swollen, and something about the shape made my whole body react.

I'd never been excited about a cock before--swear to God--but the fact that it belonged to her... to this huge, honest, powerful woman... it spun my head and made my jeans too tight.

"I, I'm... I... I'm gonna touch you now, okay?"

She nodded slowly.

That was my cue. I poured more oil into my palm, the cool slickness cutting through the heat, and reached out--

but froze. My fingers hovered just above her, trembling. This was it--the first time I'd touched a cock that wasn't my own. It was terrifying. Erotic as hell. That huge, living thing straining up from her like it was waiting for me.

My gut twisted--cold hesitation. Her green eyes flickered, and I caught a shadow of disappointment there. Like she thought I'd finally seen her the way the town did--like a freak. Like I was backing out now that it was real.

"You don't have to, kid," she said softly, giving me an out.

I forced a grin. "Shit, Rosie--I'm no expert. Hope I don't accidentally launch this thing into orbit."

She laughed--a rough, surprised bark that shook her gut and shattered the tension.

No guts, no glory.

I formed a V with my hands and slipped them underneath, lifting her cock. The head rose from her belly, the weight of it settling between my forearms. I ran my hands up her stomach, feeling the heat of her cock on my skin. My eyes fluttered. I felt weak in the knees. This was the craziest thing I'd ever done.

I stroked downward once more. This time, when my hands came up her thighs, I caught her scrotum between the V of my thumbs and forefingers, letting her heavy balls rest on my wrist while my thumbs stroked the sides of her shaft.

Her chest began to rise faster with each breath. Something was shifting between us--building. We were both exploring: me with my hands, her with a slow, steady roll of her hips that told me she liked it.

Her acceptance made my brain explode with possibilities. This was insane.

Rosie's mouth moved, but no words came out. Her strong fingers twitched against the bed cover. I eased my hands upward, slowly pushing until her massive balls stretched a third of the way up her shaft--then released them, letting them sag back down. My thumbs crossed over the sides of her cock, swirling tight circles in an alternating pattern, spiraling upward.

I was the smith now.

The long columns of spongy tissue hardened under my thumbs, turning to steel. I worked higher and higher, in slow swooping patterns. My fingers cradled the top of her cock, woven together to support it while my thumbs stroked.

The higher I went, the more her hips lifted to meet me--and the harder she became. The oil on my nails caught the light. They looked small, almost delicate, against the size of her cock.

Fuck me, I liked the look of my skin on hers.

The next step was to wrap my fingers around it--to take it in my grip.

That was bold.

A tremble ran through my knees as I prepared to cross another line. My eyes moved from her glistening cock, up her broad, strong body, over her strong, handsome face.

She was caught somewhere between shock and want. Her green eyes blinking, waiting for more, but saying nothing.

God, she had a good body. Not just for forty-seven--for any age. Just a lot of it. Her stomach was firm beneath a thin layer of flesh. It rippled under my touch, and my fingers traced every ridge of muscle hidden beneath her skin.

Fuck it.

I took her cock in my right hand and held it straight up, so it pointed to the ceiling. My grip slid up and down in a slow, sensual motion. Her cock was huge--maybe four times the size of my grip--and hard as iron. Even just below the glans, my fingers could barely meet my thumb.

I started slow, stroking base to tip, oil easing the glide as I marveled--soft skin over iron flesh, foreskin peeling back to show that dripping head, swollen and red.

"Shit, yeah," she groaned, voice a guttural rasp, her hips shifting as I worked her. The sound was primal, deep, mixing with the wet slap of oil-slicked skin. I tightened my grip, feeling veins pulse, heat searing my palm as I slid up, thumb brushing the slit. Pre-cum oozed, blending with the oil, the musky-salt scent hitting me hard.

I sped up, hand gliding faster, oil squelching with each stroke, a lewd symphony echoing my own desire. Her cock throbbed, and I twisted my wrist on the upstroke, teasing the ridge below the head.

Rosie's breath broke into jagged bursts--each a rough "Fuck" or "Yeah"--her big tits heaving under the towel, sweat beading on her brow. The bed groaned under her shifting weight, springs whining as her hips bucked, chasing my hand.

"Like that?" I murmured, leaning closer, my free hand pressing her smooth thigh, muscle flexing beneath.

"Goddamn," she snarled, voice cracking, her hand clawing the sheets.

I slowed, teasing her, fingers dancing light along the shaft--her cock twitched hard, pre-cum dribbling into the oil-slicked creases of her groin. She smelled of musk, lavender, sweat, loneliness, and want.

I shifted, straddling her thighs, my jeans tight and aching as my own need pressed hard. I used both hands--one stroking the length, the other cupping the base, fingers teasing her oil-soaked balls. They tightened, hot and slick, and Rosie's groan deepened--"Fuck, kid"--shivering through me. The wet, sucking sound of my hands filled the room, her ragged breaths a second voice to the choir. The air was thick with arousal--hers, mine.

I pumped faster, oil splattering my wrists, forearms, as I worked her relentless. Her cock swelled, head darkening red, glistening like it'd burst. I twisted my grip, thumb smearing pre-cum over the slit, and her hips jerked hard, a growl tearing out. "Don't fuckin' stop," she panted, voice raw, her big frame trembling.

Fuck me, I didn't. My hand flew, slick and confident, inhibitions probably halfway to China. The squelching was obscene, her heat burning my palm.

Her balls drew tight, thighs flexing, and I leaned down, breath hot on her ear. "Come for me, Rosie," I whispered, husky, urgent. That broke her--her body locked, a roar ripping free. Her cock pulsed wild in my grip, thick cum erupting in hot, forceful spurts--first slapping my hand, second arcing to splatter her towel-covered chest, third pooling wet on her belly. The smell hit--sharp, salty, cutting the oil's sweetness. Thick.

I kept stroking her through it, milking every drop, my hand slick with cum and oil, the wet sound slowing as her spurts faded. The sheets were soaked. Her groans softened to shuddering breaths, her body slumping, spent.

Cum and oil streaked her body, towel smeared with it. I eased off, fingers trailing her length like a feather one last time, feeling the final twitch as she gasped, "Fuck... fuck, kid, that was something else."

I sat back, hands sticky, my own arousal a fierce ache, grinning down at my big bad smith girl who wasn't even a tiny bit bad.

"Glad you enjoyed it," I said, voice rough with want.

Then her eyes got big as plates as I leaned and gave the big head a tiny kiss. Her skin was warm and soft under my lips, and I couldn't help but give it a tiny lick.

"Crazy kid," she huffed, breathless and half-laughing.

======

I stepped through the front door after work--shitty day. I was one of four new programmers hired last month. We were all given the same task: a web service and an Apache Spark job to routinely clean the database. I was lagging behind and felt like the runt of the litter, even though they all had a year or two of experience on me.

The house was quiet, but there was a buzz in the air--thick tension, just adding to the weight of my day.

Rosie was sprawled on the couch, her massive frame swallowing the cushions. She looked up--sharp green eyes locking on mine. I felt like I was in trouble.

"Hey," I said, voice a little wobbly as I kicked off my shoes. "Everything cool?"

"Yeah. No. Sit."

"Which is it?" I dropped onto the couch across from her, flashing a weak grin.

"Yesterday--what we did in my room--"

"Was friggin' awesome," I cut in fast, before she could drop some 'was a mistake' bullshit.

"Oh," she said.

"Why?"

"Dunno." She shrugged. "You took off with your buddies after and rolled in late."

"Yeah, with a friend I ran into when I bought the oil... never mind. We hit this banging club. The Hornet."

"Yeah."

"You were out cold when I got back."

"Had to get up early. Got me thinking--what the hell are we doing here, Lance? You're 22, partying at clubs. I'm 47. I probably should be hitting bingo nights."

"Why you hung up on the differences? Why not chase what we've got in common?"

"We don't have jack in common," she laughed.

"We both dig massages with a happy ending."

"Didn't give you one," Rosie said.

"Still blew my mind. I've never--never made someone feel that good before. My tiny dick couldn't get a chick off to save my life, but you? I had you erupting like Old Faithful."

The words just spilled out, no filter. Rosie's deep, rumbling laugh shattered the tension, her frame shaking.

Then she went quiet.

"I mean, besides that."

"Don't really know you yet. What're you into besides banging steel? Sports, right?" I pointed at the picture on the wall.

"Here we go, Steelers, here we go!?"

"Any other team worth a damn?"

"Might be a dealbreaker--hold up." I bolted to my room, came back waving my yellow Steelers' Terrible Towel, belting Renegade off-key: "The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me, the renegade who had it made..." I spun and twirled like a drunk stripper, not giving a damn, because the cloud had lifted from Rosie's face.

She roared with laughter and snagged me when I spun too close. I tumbled into her lap, squirming as she grabbed for the towel. She nabbed it--then froze, eyes popping.

"Holy shit, is this what I think it is?"

"Damn right! Franco Harris' signed Terrible Towel. Dad gave it to me--been dragging me to games since I could walk."

"Fucking score. Treat it right, kid."

"See? Two things in common already."

Still perched on her lap, I clocked how warm and solid she felt beneath me, how her green eyes were suddenly inches away. I reached out, brushed her cheek--soft as hell. Rosie shivered. "We just gotta dig a little. Bet we've got tons in common. I'm into sci-fi TV."

"More of a detective story gal. Crime drama."

"No way, I'm into that too. You seen Bodies? Sci-fi detective mashup, four timelines. Heard it's dope--wanna give it a spin?"

"Ahh." She grinned. "Sure."

"Sweet." I hopped up, dashed to my room, grabbed a blanket, and slouched back down beside her, draping it over us both. "Snuggling's the only way to watch detective flicks." I punched up the title and hit play on episode one. "If you get spooked, Rosie, I got you."

She cracked up again.

"Yeah," I murmured, edging closer, her heat bleeding through the blanket.

"I always get spooked," she said.

"Called it. Can I practice, y'know, comforting you?" I batted my lashes, playing innocent. "Gotta be ready if you freak out--I don't want a Homer Simpson 'D'oh, what now?' moment."

Her eyes searched mine, then she nodded slowly, resting a hand on her knee under the blanket.

"Go for it, kid."

My fingers shook as they grazed the warm curve of her belly, the T-shirt rough under my touch. I slid lower, tracing the swell, dipping into her navel, then up to brush her bra. Rosie's breath hitched, a low moan rumbling out. Her shoulders stiffened as my hands roamed--hungry and borderline worshipful. Her heat soaked into my palm. Her size sent a quiet rush through me.

"You're really into this, huh?" she muttered, her voice thick with amusement and something raw beneath it. Her eyes half-lidded as she leaned closer.

I nodded, pulse hammering, jeans tight as hell. My cock twitched. "Yeah. It's... fuck, it's hot. You're hot." I leaned in, my voice a whisper. "Ever had someone get off just touching you like this?"

Her breath caught, her hand jerking slightly on her knee. "Not like this," she rasped, shifting. The couch groaned under her.

"You're so hot, Rosie."

I circled her nipple through the bra, feeling it perk. "What about you? What revs you up? You're so big, so badass. Bet folks have begged for you, huh?"

Rosie's eyes darkened, a growl humming in her throat as she rubbed her neck. "Not really."

"Come on," I pushed, hand settling on her thigh.

"Can't even wrap my head around half the shit you say, Lance."

"Give it a shot. What's the worst that'll happen?"

"You keep running your mouth like that, we're gonna find out," she fired back, jaw tight, eyes sparking.

Heat surged through me. "Promise?" I whispered--half-joking, half-starved.

Her chuckle turned low and rough.

"What about kissing? You into that too?"

She froze--then nodded slowly, something softer flickering in her gaze. She licked her lips. "Yeah. You wanna kiss me?"

"Fuck yeah," I said, raw and eager, voice shaking with need.

She didn't hesitate. Rosie leaned in, her massive hand cupping my neck, fingers rough and steady as she pulled me close. Her lips hit mine--chapped, warm, tasting like coffee and salt--and electricity lit me up from the inside. I kissed back, greedy, hands sliding up to dig into her big chest. Her belly pressed into me, solid and warm, and I melted into her.

We kissed hard--slow and wild. A mess of heat, tongue, breath. I moaned into her, and she swallowed it, dragging me into her lap like I belonged there.

I felt small in her arms, like she could crush me, and I'd say thank you. I felt like a live wire.

Her hands roamed--one gripping my ass through my jeans, the other in my hair, tilting my head so she could dive deeper. Her calluses scraped just enough to make me shiver.

I pressed in tighter, her cock stirring under her pants, a thick heat nudging my thigh.

We broke apart, gasping, foreheads touching, her breath hot on my lips.

The show, Bodies, was playing on TV--first episode--but fuck if I could tell you jack about it. Good, bad, whatever. Best damn TV episode I never watched.

"Fuck, kid, what you're doing to me," she rasped, voice shot, thick with lust, her thumb brushing my jaw.

I nodded, head spinning, lips tingling from her taste--bitter coffee, pure woman. The TV flickered--some London streetlamp blew up--and I barely registered it. My world had locked on Rosie: her heat, her scent, that faint trace of soap drowning every other sense.

On the couch, mashed tight, my leg hooked over her thigh, our lips crashed again. The show droned on, but it was nothing compared to the wet, desperate sounds of us--the slick slide of tongues, the low grunts slipping from Rosie as my hands roamed under her shirt, tugging it up.

I yanked it higher, baring that killer belly and the soft swell of her big tits.

She grinned--sudden and bright--and peeled off her T-shirt in one smooth move, tossing it aside. Her bra followed, unhooked and dropped, and I damn near choked.

They were a revelation--big, heavy, real. Her skin pale and warm, flushed pink at the edges. Wide, dark areolas, and nipples thick and stiff, begging for my hands. My fingers shook as I reached for her, brushing the warm weight, sinking into soft flesh.

"Jesus, Rosie," I stammered, voice cracking as I kissed one, then the other. "These are... fuckin' perfect."

She moaned low, the sound rumbling through her as I kissed and sucked her gently, my palms kneading, heart pounding like a drum in my ears.

"You feel amazing," I murmured, lips brushing hers. "You're a goddess."

She groaned, tipping her head back, eyes fluttering shut as her fingers dug into my hips.

I slid lower, kissing her jaw, her thick neck, tasting her heat with every flick of my tongue. Her hands grabbed me and yanked me fully onto her lap. I gasped--my ass grinding against something hard and unmistakable beneath her pants.

"Damn, Rosie," I whispered, breath shaky. "You're so friggin' big."

"Keep talking like that," she growled, hands clamping down. "And I just might wreck you." She kissed me hard--teeth and tongue, no holding back.

She wanted me.

No one had ever wanted me like this. Not like I was something to unwrap and devour. My world flipped sideways and I didn't care. I was the princess in some backwards fairytale, and the other 7 foot princess had just chased me down with her pants undone.

Under the blanket, things got intense. I fumbled with her fly, unzipping it quickly, and tugged her pants down just enough to free her cock--ten inches of thick, uncut flesh, already rock-hard. She didn't hesitate, shoving my jeans and boxers down my thighs, my small dick springing out, stiff and leaking. Her rugged hand wrapped around me, tight and warm, stroking slowly, her calluses scraping just right.

I gripped her shaft, feeling it pulse, my palm slick with her pre-cum as I jerked her off, matching her rhythm. "Fuck, Rosie," I gasped, her thumb swiping my tip, sending a jolt through me. She groaned, low and raw, as I twisted my wrist, working her thick length. The blanket trapped the heat, the wet sounds of skin on skin blending with our ragged breaths. My balls tightened, her grip tightening too, and we pushed each other closer to the edge.

Then it hit--my body jerked hard, breath catching as I came, hot spurts spilling into her hand, slick and messy. Rosie erupted a split second later, like a damn volcano, her thick cum coating my fingers, pulsing out in waves. We gasped for air, chests heaving.

I didn't wait--I lunged for her lips, kissing her fiercely, sloppy and desperate, not caring about the mess, just craving her taste again.

Time slipped away, episodes looping unnoticed as we lost ourselves. My hands mapped her--her chest, those glorious tits pressing into me. Hers roamed me, slipping under my shirt to pinch my nipples, sharp enough to make me whimper into her mouth. Finally I collapsed against her, head resting on her chest. Her heartbeat thudded under my cheek--steady and strong, like her forge hammer. Her arm wrapped around me, heavy and sure. Her fingers traced slow circles on my back as my eyes drifted shut.

======

To be continued...