No Do-Overs


Looking back, all the signs were there.

Rita never wanted sex anymore. That alone didn’t alarm me, given our sex life had never been vigorous. Then she started paying more attention to her appearance after years of neglect. Throw in the prolonged absences without sound explanations.

The whispered phone conversations which ended abruptly when I entered the room were the final tip-off, however.

One day Rita said she was going to the gym. I waited twenty minutes then drove down there. Her car was absent from the parking lot. I sat in the car for an hour in case she showed up after running some errands but she never did. I went home and waited for her wondering what to say.

Three hours later she stepped in the door and we had it out. After many tears and recriminations she admitted she was having an affair, breaking down sobbing.

Our marriage was a six year mistake. I grieved its failure, but underneath my pain was a growing sense of relief as we went through the process of divorce. We sold our house and went our separate ways. The divorce went smoothly, at least. I made good money and Rita made even more so finances weren’t an issue. There were no kids, either, which made things even easier.

I bought a condo close to work, a nice place with more space than I needed. I moved in, a divorced man with my entire life stretching out before me. I spent the first month of my new life lying around after work, not engaged with much of anything.

It was the death of my Uncle Mike which sparked my turnaround. He was my dad’s younger brother and we’d always been close. He’d take me along on fishing trips when I was young and we’d talk for hours out on the lake about everything. Even through my college years, I sought him out whenever I needed advice.

When my mom called me and told me Uncle Mike was losing his battle with cancer, I went to see him one last time in the hospital. It was tough. The man I remembered as a pillar of strength was a tiny, fading thing barely able to turn his head at my arrival. He smiled when he saw me, however, and I choked back tears.

“Kyle,” he rasped. “Come closer. I want to tell you something.”

“What is it?” I leaned in close over him, struggling to keep my composure.

“I know you’re feeling depressed right now,” he told me. “You think your life’s in ruins, because of the divorce. Take it from me, you only get one chance at life. When the end comes, there are no do-overs. You’re stuck with the choices you’ve made. You hear me? No do-overs.”

“No do-overs,” I repeated. “I got you, Uncle Mike.”

“Don’t waste the years you’ve got,” he said. “Live your time to the fullest.”

We talked for a long time and said goodbye when visiting hours were over. I kissed him on the cheek and left. Sitting back in my car in the parking lot, it was a few minutes before I could pull myself together to drive home.

Uncle Mike died a week later. Back home from the funeral, I lay back on my bed staring at the ceiling thinking about his final piece of advice. He was correct, I realized, in a way which hit me hard. When the end came for me, I understood with an absolute certainty that scared me, there would be no do-overs.

The moment was an epiphany, all at once powerful and clear. I had to live my life on my terms, because this was my one and only chance.

I found a sheet of paper and wrote the words “No Do-Overs” on it in bold black letters and taped it to my bathroom mirror. It would be my mantra from then on.


My turn-around began with myself. I started going to the gym every day after work, trimming down on the treadmill and toning my muscles with weight-training. Many months later I was in the best shape of my life. I’d always been thin, but now I was fit and toned and looked right for my build.

Next was my wardrobe. I spent a lot of money on clothes and began making a point of dressing my best wherever I went. I also traded-in my glasses for contacts and felt younger-looking at once.

I would take stock of myself in the mirror before leaving the house and had to admit I was starting to look good. I ran into Rita one evening at the supermarket and she did a double-take when she saw me.

I remodeled my condo, painting every room and cashing in some old bonds to refurnish the entire place. I was done with the old furniture I’d taken with me from my marriage. It all had to go. Before long, my condo was decorated in a sleek modern style.

I set up the spare bedroom as a study. It took weeks, but I finished installing built-in bookshelves. I took my time taking out my books and arranging them on the shelves. I had a small collection of leather-bound classics I inherited from my grandfather and selected a shelf at eye-level for them.

As I took each one out of the box they’d been stored in, I admired the cover and thumbed through the pages. Yeah, I love books. Seeing a book I’ve read always brings back memories, and a flood of them came down as I took those old volumes out of storage and turned them over in Escort Bayan my hands.

Among them was Gulliver’s Travels, one of the first adventure stories I can recall reading as a boy. I devoured it while staying at my grandparents’ farm one summer. Holding the book, memories of endless fields of corn flashed before me. I could almost taste my grandmother’s scrambled eggs, hatched by chickens living fifty feet from the kitchen.

Then I reached in and picked up a copy of The Divine Comedy. It was a beautiful edition, bright red leather with gold lettering on the cover. I opened it and read the opening lines.

Midway in our life’s journey, I went astray
from the straight road and woke to find myself
alone in a dark wood.

The power of Dante’s words struck me. They referred to when he was thirty-five, the same age as me, and he realized he’d strayed from the life path he felt he was supposed to be on. For Dante the “straight road” was Medieval Catholicism, not what I had in mind. Still, there was something to the words.

I hadn’t attempted dating since the divorce. For an entire year of working out and remodeling my new house, I wasn’t ready. As I thought more about Dante’s words, however, I knew the time had come. If I was going to resume dating, though, I had to be true to myself this time around. My straight road required a particular type of lady.

Here’s how it is: I like fat women. BBWs, as they’re called, big beautiful woman. I don’t know why they drive me crazy, they just do. I love their size, substance, and feel. I always have. I always will. Fat chicks do it for me.

I dated a few big girls in college, but always kept it low-key. The shameful truth is I was afraid of what my friends would think. I’d hear them make fun of fat girls and was scared to death of their disapproval. I’m not proud of it.

There was one girl in particular whom I often think of. Her name was Katrina. Sex with her was the best I’ve ever had. It was intense, passionate, and wild. But the entire relationship was a secret. I’d stop by her place for booty calls but we never went out. I suppose she didn’t think she had many other options so she let me get away with it. I told Uncle Mike all about it one day on the lake.

“Fuck your idiot friends,” he said. “You have to be true to yourself. If that’s the kind of girl you like, then go for it and to hell what anyone else thinks.”

I stupidly ignored his advice. In public I dated girls my friends thought I should date. I look back and want to scream. Katrina wasn’t merely drop-dead gorgeous and awesome in bed. She was also smart, funny, and kind. Yet I threw it all away.

Why did I marry Rita? She’s not the type of girl that turns me on. She’s tiny, for example, and proud of it, mocking bigger women whenever she gets the chance. A friend introduced us and we had a few things in common. Next thing I knew we were dating. I married her primarily because I figured it was what I was supposed to do. I told myself I could suppress this sexual abnormality of mine and everything would be fine.

So I pushed my desires way down and tried to ignore them. Only it didn’t work. I was a daily visitor to BBW porn sites, whacking off every day when I got home from work and then again after Rita went to bed. Or I’d see a BBW out in public and would think about her the rest of the day. I was miserable, unsatisfied and ashamed. It was no way to live.


I met my friend Phil for dinner one night later that week. We’ve known each other for years. He’s a big, gregarious guy. He’s got a wife and a gaggle of noisy kids so he likes to escape from the house whenever he can. We get together once a month for a guy’s night out.

We met at a sports bar known for its exceptional thin-crust pizza. We sat down at the bar and ordered a couple of beers and a pie. We talked about football for a few minutes, lamenting the recent inconsistency our favorite team was renowned for.

“So,” I blurted out the first chance I got. “I’m ready to start dating again.”

“Dude! I’ve been waiting to hear that!” Phil said. “Okay. You remember Lisa’s friend Denise?”

“Uh, yeah.”

I’d met Denise at a birthday party at Phil’s a few months earlier. She seemed like a nice person but not what I was looking for unless she’d put on around a hundred pounds since we last met.

“Nah, that’s not what I want,” I said. “I’m looking for a, uh, bigger girl.”

“What? You mean her tits?”

I paused, noticing a large woman at the other end of the bar. She had long blonde hair and fantastic curves. She was at least two-hundred pounds of sexiness.

“See that chick over there,” I said. “In the blue tank top. That’s what I mean.”

“Really?” He started to laugh. “For real?”

“Yeah. For real.”

“But dude, she’s -“

“Fat. I know. Don’t fucking judge, man. Like with Eric.”

Eric was Phil’s gay brother who came out a few years ago. It took Phil a while, but he eventually accepted his sexual orientation.

“Remember what Bayan Escort you said, about a year ago?” I went on. “You were sitting on that same bar stool, as I recall. You turned to me and said you’d decided to give up judging what other people like sexually. Let’s see, how did you put it? ‘The world would be a better place if everyone agreed to stop passing judgment on what turned other people on. Then everyone could be happy and get on with life.’ Wise words.”

Phil winced.

“Oh, fuck” he said. “I did say that, didn’t I?”


“Sorry, man.”

“It’s okay,” I said, calming down. “I kind of sprang it on you.”

“So…fat girls, huh? Okay. Cool. I had no idea. Rita’s so, um…”


I took a sip of my beer.

“You know,” I said. “I wonder if I didn’t push her towards the affair. I mean, I’ve got a strong libido but I hardly ever touched her.”

The pizza arrived. We ate and talked more.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed as he polished off the last slice. “It just occurred to me! I might have the solution to your problem! Her name is Danielle.”

“Keep talking.”

“She works with Lisa. Yeah, from what you told me I think you might like her.”

Danielle was a teacher at Phil’s wife’s elementary school one town over. She was single and Phil described her as a really nice person, not to mention the type physically I was interested in. The more I listened to what Phil had to say, the more I was interested. Phil said he’d have Lisa talk to her.

The next day Phil texted me her phone number and I called her that evening. Her voice was bubbly and pleasant and we fell into easy conversation. We talked for an hour, falling into an instant rapport and making a date for Friday.

I was back.


I stopped off at the gym for a solid workout after work on Friday and then headed home to get ready. I hadn’t been on a date with someone new in a decade. I felt like a teenager again.

I cleaned up and got dressed, picking out a pair of nice jeans and a navy blue sweater that makes me feel my most handsome. I took one last look in the mirror, taking stock of myself.

Danielle’s place was easy to find, a condo in a nice complex a few towns over. I found a spot right in front and knocked on her door. She answered a moment later, a broad smile on her face.

We’d exchanged pictures and I knew I wasn’t going to be disappointed. What surprised me, though, was how much better Danielle looked in person. She was cute in her pictures, but in person she was downright stunning.

Danielle was shorter than me, barely reaching up to my chin. She had long, lustrous dark brown hair cut past shoulder length. She had bright green eyes and dark eyebrows the same color as her hair. She had a heart-shaped face, with clear skin and pretty features.

Danielle was definitely a big girl, in all the ways I love. I guessed she was two hundred and fifty pounds, all of them delightful. She wore a purple top and dark blue jeans that showed off her plump thighs and wide ass. My eyes were drawn at once, however, to the big tits stretching the fabric of her shirt.

“Kyle!” she greeted me.

I started to reach out to shake her hand but Danielle would have none of it. She hugged me warmly and I returned the embrace. Feeling her substantial softness in my arms excited me, her huge breasts pressed against me.

“So nice to meet you,” she said, breaking off the embrace.

“So nice to meet you, too,” I said. “You’re even more gorgeous than your pictures.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Let me grab my purse and we’ll be off.”

We headed over to a Mexican restaurant ten minutes away we’d both heard good things about.

We settled into a booth near the back and enjoyed a long, lively dinner together. I loved the way she carried herself in a sprightly yet understated manner. I also couldn’t get enough of her flashing eyes and expressive lips.

We talked about a host of subjects, starting with careers. She was passionate about working with kids and I was impressed by her dedication.

“You sound like you really love your work,” I observed.

“It gives me a lot of satisfaction,” she said. “How about you? Being an architect must be like that.”

“It is,” I said. “It’s also satisfying. You get to look at the final result, point to it, and know you built that. It sometimes blows my mind.”

“I know what you mean,” she said. “Except I don’t always get to see the tangible result years down the road. It’s there, I’m sure, and that keeps me going.”

We stopped at a quiet bar for a drink after dinner and wound up talking for an hour. Danielle leaned towards me and her hand kept brushing my arm as we talked. I decided to put my hand over hers. She smiled.

I drove her home, walking her to the front door. I held her hand as we approached the door.

Danielle turned towards me and looked up into my eyes. I gave her a hug and then kissed her lips. They were soft and Escort succulent, the stuff of dreams.

“I had a really fun time tonight,” she said.

“Me too,” I said. “Look, I don’t play games. I like you and I want to see you again. How’s Tuesday?”

“Tuesday’s great.”

“Good. I’ll call you call you before then, and I’ll see you Tuesday.”

We parted with another soft, slow kiss on the lips


Phil texted me the next morning, reporting that Danielle told Lisa she thought things went well. I replied that I agreed.

I made sure to call Danielle that afternoon. I told her again how much fun I had on her date and we chatted for a few minutes.

Come Tuesday, she answered the door looking stunning. She wore tight-fitting jeans and a white sweater buttoned in the front over a pink button-down blouse. The sweater stuck to her ample curves and showed off her big breasts. My pulse quickened at the mere sight of her in it.

“Hey, you!” she greeted me.

“Hello,” I said and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

We drove to a fashionable new martini bar up the street and settled into an intimate table near the bar. We kept it light, ordering sushi and a calamari appetizer. I was impressed when she ordered the standard gin martini, the same as me, ignoring the various concoctions on the menu.

“Just cause they stick some bullshit in a martini glass, that don’t make it a martini,” she observed.

“Amen to that.”

The food was great and our conversation comfortable. Danielle had a second martini and started to loosen up, smiling and laughing easily. By the end of the meal we were holding hands across the table and there was a discernible sexual energy in the air.

I walked her to her door again, not sure how far it would go this time but eager for more of her.

We reached the front door and Danielle turned to me. I leaned over to kiss her and she turned her face up towards mine. We shared a long, luscious kiss, her lips parting to admit my tongue. I pulled her tight as our tongues danced. The kiss went on for a long time before she pulled back and looked up at me.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Very much.”


It was the first time I had a chance to get a good look at Danielle’s living room. It was bright and cheery, an extension of her personality. It was also neat and clean. In fact, it was spotless. She’d cleaned recently, I realized, perhaps in anticipation of inviting me inside.

Danielle opened a bottle of wine and poured out two glasses. She handed me one, kicked off her shoes, and sat down on the couch. I sat next to her. We chatted for a minute or so, sipping wine and looking into each other’s eyes.

We moved closer to one other, leaning-in and holding hands. I took one last sip of wine, put the glass down on the coffee table, and kissed her again. It was like at the door except both slower and longer. Her lips and tongue were all over mine, moist and tasty from the wine.

I pulled her towards me, wrapping my arms around her as we kissed. Her size and softness gave me a thrill unlike anything I’d ever experienced with Rita. It had been twelve years since I was last with Katrina my senior year of college, a long time to wait for the sex you want.

I grew more daring, placing a hand on one of her breasts. Even through the sweater and the shirt underneath, I could feel its size and substance.

Danielle sighed, placing her hand atop mine and pushing it harder against her.

“You’re so hot,” I told her, kissing her neck.

I kissed her again, our tongues dueling. My hands were all over her breasts, kneading and squeezing. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me closer.

Her hands ran down my back until they reached almost to my ass. She grabbed the bottom of my shirt and pulled it up. I backed off kissing her for a moment, sliding my shirt up and over my head.

We resumed kissing and I started unbuttoning her sweater. Off it went, her pink blouse my next target for removal. She leaned forward and gently positioned my shoulders against the back of the couch. Then she swung her legs around so that she was sitting on my lap facing me. Her big tits were right at eye level and her plentiful hips and thighs resting on my legs.

I felt her full size and weight against me and it was heaven. I ran my hands along her abundant curves. Her knees were on either side of my hips so I started there, feeling my way up her nice, wide thighs.
I ran my hands over her ass and let out a sigh. Danielle smiled at me, seeing the happy expression on my face. I placed one hand on each bounteous cheek and held them there, savoring the feeling of their sheer ampleness. She leaned down and kissed me.

I resumed my quest to rid Danielle of her shirt, unbuttoning it slowly. I undid the first button, kissing her neck. I undid the next two buttons in rapid succession, exposing her copious cleavage. She leaned forward, shoving her tits in my face. I growled playfully.

I finished unbuttoning her shirt and she threw it aside. I went right to the bra strap and managed after a few fumbling moments to get it off. Danielle cast the bra away and I finally got a good look at the top half of her naked.

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