In conjunction with the super bargain sale price of $1.99 for Obsessed: Erotic Romance for Women on Kindle
, here's my entire Big Handsome Man story (yes, taking its name from the Beatles song, part of a series of song title stories), "I Want to Hold Your Hand," FREE! You don't need a Kindle to take advantage of this big bargain. My book Passion: Erotic Romance for Women
is also for sale for $1.99 on Kindle
, both for a limited time!
I Want to Hold Your Hand
from Obsessed: Erotic Romance for Women
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Shelly looked over at her husband, Ron, across their gleaming lawn, finding him instantly amidst their party guests. She smiled slightly, then set her lips into a straight line; not a frown, but more of an adjustment. Adjustments were what she’d been making for the last two years, ever since he set out to, and did, lose over a hundred pounds, going from severely overweight to big but in shape, the kind of guy who could help push a car out of the snow or carry a heavy box or other tasks that required bulk, strength, power. Now instead of being fat and cuddly, a sexy teddy bear of a giant, he was more like a linebacker, thick and stocky⎯and sexy, at least, by conventional standards. While it seemed to Shelly that men had more leeway than women in acceptable weight gain, the old Ron had crossed over into invisibility in the sex appeal department, though not for her⎯never for her. Now, people, especially women, were fawning over him like he’d cured cancer, while she, in her same old not-too-big, not-too-small size-six jeans, smiled along, trying to adjust to the new man she was now married to.
The truth was, she had preferred him bigger; it went with his outsized personality, not to mention the way he held her down in bed, the way he kept her warm, the way she curved up against him, the way he looked at her, like he was the Tarzan to her Jane. Now, even though technically he weighed more than her, Shelly had trouble getting into that same submissive mindset, perhaps because his personality seemed to have changed too. She didn’t like to think that all the recent adoration had gone to his head, but maybe it had, because even when he was on top of her, even when he pressed her hips deep into the mattress the way she liked it, even when he spooned her at night, curling up around her, she couldn’t quite recapture the magic. She wanted to, but she liked her men bigger, brawnier, huskier. It was hard to fantasize about him being the brute who ravaged her when she could sense that soon she’d be able to feel his ribs. Soon she might not be able to pinch the inches she so welcomed, and would have to twist and squirm to find ways to fit into him, rather than just next to him. She still loved Ron and had no intention of leaving him, but seeing all the girls fawning over his new muscles made her want to gag. Where had they been when he’d stared unhappily at himself naked in the mirror, when there was nothing she could do to make him see what she saw in him? She felt like the heart of their relationship had slipped away along with the pounds; why didn’t Weight Watchers ever tell you about this possible side effect?
At least he had two body parts that hadn’t lost their heft: his hands and his cock. She knew that saying about a man’s feet predicting his size below the waist, but with Ron, his hands and his cock were both, well, manly, while his size-nine feet were what she considered average. His hands, though, were big, strong, powerful; there was nothing he could do about his man hands. Ron had always been able to speak to her with his hands, even on their first date, when he’d reached for one of hers and massaged it, his thumb tricking along her palm, his fingers tickling her skin, making her curious about him, about what he could do to her. They were soft, and seemingly tender, but when she dared to try to get to know them, he’d crushed her fingers within his own, letting her know that he would be the one to master their manual dexterity.
She was still curious, as she’d been then, eager to get to know him by running her lips along his skin, by listening to his heartbeat, though the parts that everyone else was so eager to talk about and salivate over were not the ones that interested Shelly. His abs, his biceps, all sounded like clichés to her ears. Her Ron wasn’t the macho bodybuilder they were making him out to be, and if he were, she wasn’t sure she would want him anymore. She’d caught a couple of college girls, home on break, whispering about what he might look like underneath his clothes, and had huffed her way through their conversation, stalking right in between them and giving them the stink eye. Who were these brats and why didn’t they find someone their own age?
“Honey, I want to go to the movies,” she said, pulling him aside, not caring how petulant she might sound.
“Now?” He looked at her in confusion.
“Well, tonight, yeah.”
“What do you want to see?”
“I don’t care,” she said, then lifted his right hand and brought it to her mouth. With that, she sucked on his index finger, making sure his eyes stayed on hers, taking it all the way before releasing it to lick his palm, not caring if any of their guests saw. Let them watch; let them see that she wasn’t impressed by Ron’s trimmer body, but by the things she knew his body could do, things that had nothing to do with how much he weighed. She knew what she was doing tickled from the way his hand quivered, and she liked making him squirm. Then she moved down to his wrist, where she thought she could feel his pulse racing. “I just want to hold your hand. You know, like we used to.”
It sounded innocent enough, but they’d done a lot more than hand holding back in the day. There was one movie date in particular she recalled, though not the actual movie itself. They’d gone to the theater at 12th and 2nd Avenue in the East Village, during the middle of the afternoon, back when they’d lived in the city, rather than the ’burbs in Jersey. It hadn’t been too crowded, with just a smattering of people. She’d been sitting on the aisle and he’d been next to her, his arm taking over the armrest⎯not that she minded. Shelley was drawn to Ron for his size, for what it symbolized, for how he used it. He could dominate her space any time, especially when his hand reached for hers and then held it, lightly at first, but enough to let the pressure seep into other parts of her body, so it almost seemed as if he were touching her pussy. The tingling increased as he lightly stroked his fingers along her palm, and by the end of the movie, she was shocked she’d been able to restrain herself from dipping her fingers into her panties.
He looked at her and paused, as if she’d said she wanted to go to the movies in Paris. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
With those three words, Shelly knew she hadn’t lost her man completely to his newfound popularity with the ladies. He could tell, from her innocent-sounding suggestion, what it was she was talking about, and that she wanted an escape. He could tell she didn’t mean holding hands like in a romantic 1950s photo, but in a way that signaled so much more. He took her hand in his and squeezed it hard, squeezed all of his love into the press of his palm against hers, his fingers digging deep. He’d lost some of his size, but none of his strength, and when she looked down at their joined hands, she smiled, and reached for his other. They stood there, smiling and squeezing, until he upped the intensity a notch, squeezing so hard her breath came out in gasps.
Trying to ignore the twinges, she sputtered out, “It’s just⎯all these girls⎯they don’t care that you’re married, they don’t care about who you were before. They just see, well, the new you, and it makes me wonder if we can hold onto us when you’re so different.”
He let go of her hands and she moved into his arms, letting herself relax against his bulk. She smiled as a tear rolled down her cheek, because he was still bulky; she was still shorter and smaller than him and fit into the crook of his arm, even if that arm was more solid and less fleshy than before. Ron patted her smooth hair and let his breath land against her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, Shell. Those girls…it’s flattering, I’m not gonna lie. I’ve never had that kind of attention, but all it does is make me prouder to be your husband, to be with the woman who’s loved me all these years. But I’m the same, and I love you the same. I want to celebrate with you, not with anyone else.”
He held their joined hands up in front of him, and Shelly stepped back, still sniffling. “So are we going to hit the movie theater? I’m thinking the art house, something with subtitles.” She blushed, because there was that one time when he got down on his knees, not an easy task for a man pushing 280 pounds, and planted his face between her legs. He was doing it because he loved giving head, but also because he knew how loud she usually got when she was close to orgasm. He was throwing down a dare, a challenge that would either make her come or get them kicked out. She loved that he was willing to take such a risk.
“We’re just gonna leave everyone?”
“Leave it to me,” he said, and then took his hand and wrapped it around her wrist. It was still big enough to encircle her there, and she felt the breath whoosh from her body, the blood circle below her waist. She went to get her coat.
She smiled at a neighbor who gave her a quizzical look and didn’t try to answer anyone’s questions as Ron hustled her into his car. “I left Katie in charge; she’s good at that sort of thing.” Their friend was, indeed, the type who could problem-solve her way out of most any situation. Shelly relaxed against the seat and as Ron drove, his hand wandered to her lap. She reached for it, staring down at their entwined hands, his slightly tanner than hers.
They didn’t speak during the twenty-minute drive, and she moved as if on autopilot. This wasn’t the way the afternoon was supposed to go, but she knew they needed it. She especially knew it when, after giving the clerk their ticket order, Ron leaned over and whispered, “Take off your panties and give them to me.”
She didn’t protest, though she did hurry inside and use the bathroom to perform the task. She slipped him the balled-up red mesh and instead of simply tucking it into his pocket, he made a show of slowly letting the fabric flutter loose, just enough for Shelly to stare at him in horror, to look around in an exaggeratedly slow way, to catch his devilish smile in return. “What are we seeing?” she asked, even though she didn’t really care.
She didn’t know the film or the director or the language. Subtitles weren’t really her thing, but they weren’t really here for the story. At least, not that story. Shelly wasn’t there to eat Twizzlers or popcorn or drink Diet Coke either, but she let Ron buy them for her, and let him put his hand on her ass while she carried the soda and Twizzlers.
But it wasn’t until the lights went down that Shelly truly relaxed. She felt herself sink into the seat; this time they were near the wall, with her closest and Ron beside her. He’d made sure to pick a row that wasn’t crowded, and he put the popcorn on his other side, then opened the Twizzlers and fed one to her. She smiled at him as she chewed the licorice while he held it, until she reached his fingers. She licked them gently, enjoying his soft moan, feeling almost giddy at having run off in the middle of their own party to play at being luststruck. Or maybe they weren’t playing at all, because when he reached for her hand with his free one and held it, she felt nothing but love and lust coursing through her.
“I’m always going to be here for you,” he whispered in her ear, so softly that had her hearing not been as sharp as it was, she might have missed it. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and brushed it away, not wanting to ruin the moment. He took her hand and guided it up under her sundress, the one she’d bought at their local thrift store, the one he’d said made her look like a sexy housewife. They’d both laughed, because she was the chief breadwinner in their home, designing websites and doing consulting while he wrote plays and taught at the local university. But still, she thought of it as her slutty housewife dress, and reaching under its red and white polka-dotted hem to touch her bare pussy, with his hand atop hers, was exquisite. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d used her fingers on herself, certainly not going slow and sensual like this. Usually it was a quickie with her plug-in vibrator and she was lucky if she could focus on it. Usually she was on all fours, and she loved that, but they hadn’t made love in any sense of the phrase in a long, long time. Fucking was one thing, a wonderful thing, but she’d missed this.
“I want to feel you,” he whispered, again, so soft, so tender, and both of their fingers pressed inside her, two of hers, two of his. His thumb managed to find her clit and she forced herself not to lock her legs tight, to stay loose and open, all while trying to look at the screen and produce some semblance of the same laughs or groans as were coming from the other audience members. Thankfully the film had a loud rock soundtrack, because even with her biting her lip, Shelly couldn’t keep from making noise. Ron’s hand, the hand she’d fantasized about holding, was suddenly over her mouth, his fingers inside her overtaking hers. She let her wet fingers drop to her side and he became the king of her body, the invading conqueror intent on his prize. She curled her hand around the seat and this time looked down, watching in the dim light as he pushed and twisted inside her, watching as he crouched halfway down, not caring who saw as he silently but swiftly worked his manual magic on her cunt.
Soon she was shaking, squeezing him tight, closing her eyes as she focused purely on the sensation of her husband, her he-man, her true love giving her something no one, not even she, could. This was no longer about the girls at the party, or his weight, or even him proving himself to her. It was a reminder that they’d neglected this side of their relationship for too long, and the orgasm that shook through Shelly made her feel like she’d never come before in her life, not like that. And after, when Ron kept his fingers inside her, insisting they stay for the whole movie, even though she was desperate to go, desperate to see him fully, to pay proper homage to every inch of him, the new muscles and the old favorites, they sat there, with three fingers of his left hand gently inside her, and his right holding hers until the lights came up.
If you liked this story, please check out ALL the stories in Obsessed
, by authors including Kayla Perrin, Bella Andre, Portia Da Costa, Logan Belle, Justine Elyot, Charlotte Stein, Kristina Wright and more!
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