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Subject: {ASSM} Turning the tables (FF, BBW, butch-femme, rom, oral-anal, political activism)
Date: Fri,  8 Jun 2001 06:10:03 -0400
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Turning the tables (FF, BBW, butch-femme, rom, oral-anal,
political activism)

This story is inspired by the erotic fiction of Katherine T., and
Sam Cornell, and by the Reclaim-the-Streets protest movement
described by Naomi Klein in her recent book "No Logo".  It
contains scenes of consensual lesbian sex, including anal
rimming, and (very mild) domination, in the context of a budding
romantic relationship, involving a BBW (big beautiful womyn). 

If you shouldn't be reading this story, don't. 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

TURNING THE TABLES

    Don't get me wrong.  I am emphatically a femme.  I wear
skirts, jewellery, lacey lingerie; sometimes I even do my nails.
And a genuine butch can instantly make me go weak in the knees
and damp in the knickers.  But what I really love is turning the
tables on her.  Once we're all alone and in bed together, I want
her butch toughness and coolness to be discarded, along with her
clothes; I want to get her begging and whimpering for me to make
her come; I want her body writhing on the bed, letting me give it
the worshipping it deserves. 

    This is the story of how I met my partner, Jay. 

*   *   *

    I was browsing the recent fiction shelf at Sister Sarah's,
one of north London's feminist bookstores, one summer day, 
searching for a bit of light lesbian fiction to pick me up after
a particularly dull week at work, and an even duller year in the
relationship area.  I looked up, and there, by the till, stood an
unambiguous butch, chatting with Sarah, the shop owner.  And it
so happened that she was exactly the type I go for: an older,
heavyweight butch. She was in her forties, I guessed; not much
taller than me, but quite heavy; with short grey hair and a
handsome, rounded, intelligent-looking face; wearing jeans and a
black turtleneck.

Why do I go for heavyweight butches?  I think it's the contrast:
they seem to tough and powerful on the outside, but when you
snuggle up in their arms, you find they're so delightfully soft,
so very womynly.  As promised above, I promptly went weak in the
knees and all that, taking in the sight of this butch from behind
the shelter of my book rack.  Then Sarah pointed in my direction,
and the butch strode right up to me. 

    "Excuse me ..."  Her eyes were piercing blue, her voice
husky. 

    "Y-Yes?"  My heart felt like it was bouncing on atrampoline.

    "Um, I need to get to the bulletin board.  It's just behind
you."

    "Oh, sorry."  Feeling like an idiot, I stepped aside.  She
moved past me, pulling a poster out of her briefcase and stapling
it to the notice board.  Her broad body blocked it from my view,
though.  Summoning my courage, I asked, "What's your poster
about, then?"

    "Reclaim the Streets," she smiled.  She moved aside, letting
me see the poster. It had a picture of a crowd filling a street.
 "This Saturday, in Aisquith Park." I tried not to stare at her
heavy breasts, straining against her turtleneck, apparently
unsupported by a bra.

"Ooh, right, I've seen something on telly about this sort of
thing. Demonstrators take over a street and turn it into a big
block party, right?  It looks like a lot of fun." 
"That's right.  In this case we're demanding that the City
Council close Boulton Road off to motorised traffic, permanently.
 We think too much of the city has been turned over to cars.  We
want to create spaces where people can encounter their neighbours
- to build community, you know."   I detected a charming hint of
broad Yorkshire in her speech.

    "That sounds worthwhile.  Perhaps I'll see you there, then."

    "Perhaps you will," she grinned.  "It starts at noon."  She
gathered up her gear and started towards the door.  She
hesitated.  Turning back, she added, "Um, I'll probably be
minding the sound equipment at the demo - in case you maybe don't
know anyone there and want to find a familiar face in the crowd.
My name's Jay, by the way."

      Could she be cruising me?  My heart was pounding. "That
would be lovely, Jay.  Right, I'll look for you then.  And I'm
Ellen."  I suppose I was grinning like an idiot.

    "Well, Ellen."  She paused.  "I must be off in search of the
next bulletin board."
   
I wanted to go with her, to offer to help with her postering. But
I knew it would be ludicrously forward of me, so I just watched
her leave, admiring the generous breadth and fullness of her hips
as she sauntered out the door.  A brave, politically active,
electronically skilled, charming, mature, gorgeous, heavyweight
butch.  I was smitten. 

*   *   *

    Thursday and Friday dragged on interminably.  Friday night I
got my hair done, in a "Beatles" bob - retro, I admit, but it's a
look that suits me (imagine me as a diminutive female version of
the young Paul McCartney and you're not far off the mark).  I
spent most of Saturday morning deciding what to wear.  I finally
settled on my purple knee-length sarong, with a Greenpeace
t-shirt that showed off my perky little tits rather nicely.  And,
just so there would be no doubt about my sexual orientation, I
wore my silver labrys earrings. 
    At 11:30, I headed down to Aisquith Park.  A small crowd were
milling around.  No sound equipment, though.  No Jay.  For a
moment, I was rather disconcerted, wondering if I'd gotten
something wrong, or if Jay wasn't going to make it.  Soon,
though, a womyn with a megaphone climbed up on a statue and began
directing us to move into Boulton Road.  A small army of cyclists
were already blocking off the street, and the middle of the
intersection was Jay, unloading speakers from a small lorry.  I
hurried up to her.  She beamed me a magical smile, with those
dazzling blue eyes of hers. 

    "Ellen!  Glad to see you here."  She paused, looking me over.
 "Did you get your hair done?"

    I nodded coyly.

    "You look terrific!"

    "Really?" I giggled.  "Thanks."

    Despite her protestations that she had everything  in hand, I
began helping her lug her equipment out of the lorry.  As we were
finishing setting up, a young man in dreadlocks came over,
carrying a crate of CDs.  Jay introduced him as Bongo, the
Reclaim-the-Streets deejay.

"C'mon Bongo, let's get some music going.  I'm hoping Ellen will
dance with me."

"And I was hoping you'd ask me," I chimed in. This butch was
definitely flirting with me, and I was flirting back.

    Bongo agreeably started off with some Jamaican hip-hop, and
Jay took my hand and dragged me into the midst of the suddenly
dancing crowd.  We were filling two blocks of Boulton Road by
now, with some bewildered looking police milling about on the
fringes, frantically radioing headquarters, trying to figure out
what to do.           

    Jay knew what to do, though.  For an older womyn with more
than 200 pounds on her frame, she was a great dancer - not a
show-off, just someone who understood the rhythm and knew how to
move her body to it with confidence and grace.  As we danced, I
couldn't help staring at her bouncing bra-less breasts and belly,
and her massive but oh-so-captivatingly-swaying bum.  I let
myself imagine her body naked, and my knickers started to get
damp again.   

    We danced till I was out of breath.  Eventually Bongo took a
break with the music, and we sat down in the road and watched as
a troupe of street theatre perfomers did some skits on various
political themes.  Some people from Food-Not-Bombs passed out
free bottles of fruit juice and sandwiches.  Jay told me a little
about her job as an sound engineer in a recording studio.  I told
her about my job as a graphic designer, building webpages for
businesses.  We traded stories about growing up as lesbians, her
as a butch in '70's and me as a femme, over a  decade later.

    Then she asked me The Question.  "So, Ellen, are you, um,
involved with anyone right now?" 

    "No.  Are you?"

    "No."

Later, wandering among the crowd Jay ran into a number of mates,
some of them other butches, and introduced me. I was thrilled as
Jay took my hand, claiming me as hers. Soon, the music started up
again, and Jay and I danced some more.

Finally, a young Pakistani guy with a megaphone climbed on top of
the lorry and read some demands, beginning with closing off
Boulton Road to traffic, and ending with the abolition of
capitalism, while the crowd cheered him on.  I was getting high
on the carnival-like atmosphere, as well as the thrill of having
Jay beside me.  It was anarchy, but Jay and her mates had it
running like clockwork.

*   *   *

Meanwhile, more and more police, now dressed in riot gear, were
massing at the west end of the crowd.  Jay started to look
worried. 

"OK, Bongo, let's get the equipment packed up before the cops do
something daft."    In five minutes, we had everything back in
the lorry.  The cyclists in the crowd got back on their bicycles,
forming a hedge around the pedestrians and the lorry, which Bongo
was driving, and we started moving east on Boulton Road, away
from the police.  

Despite the fact that we were already retreating, the police
megaphones blared an order to disperse.  A scant 30 seconds
later, they started lobbing tear gas canisters toward the
peaceful crowd.  Luckily, the wind blew most of the stinging fog
back over the police phalanx.  I was very upset, almost in tears,
but Jay put her arm round my shoulder and kept me moving away
from the police. 

"It's what cops do at demos," Jay shrugged stoically.  "I'm just
pleased they held off this long.  I've had a lovely time with you
today and I don't want it to end with you being arrested or
clubbed.  C'mon love." 

As we surged along Boulton Road, groups started splitting off,
heading down into tube stations or onto side streets,
outmanoeuvring the police phalanx behind us.  Soon Jay and I were
by ourselves, and I realized we were near my neighbourhood.

    "Hey, my flat's just down this block," I offered.  "Please
come up for a cup of tea." 

*   *   *

    Once up in my flat, I got Jay and myself some tea and
biscuits. Jay asked to turn on the telly, looking for news
coverage of the demo. The faint residue of tear gas was still
irritating my skin, so I quickly jumped into the shower to scrub
off.  When I came back out to the living room, in my dressing
gown, Jay was still glued to the telly.  After a few more
minutes, a 10-second spot finally came on, showing a bunch of
leather-clad teenagers screaming at the police.  Nothing about
our demands.  Nothing about the wonderful party atmosphere. 
Nothing about the unprovoked use of tear gas.

    Again, Jay shrugged stoically.  "It's typical mainstream
media reporting of a demo.  Ah well, the people who saw us know
what went on.  That's what counts.  And the cops and the Council
know we can shut down Boulton Road whenever we want to." 

Jay was less than stoical, though, when she noticed the dressing
gown. She did a proper double-take, trying to maintain composure;
but there was no hiding the lust in her eyes.  Inwardly, I
exulted over her obvious interest in me.  Time to make my move.

"Isn't your skin stinging still from the tear gas, Jay?  You're
welcome to use my shower."

"Um, well, thanks, but I haven't any clothes to change into."

"You could just wrap yourself up in a blanket ..." I took her
hands in mine.  "Or go naked."  I began kissing her hands.  "I
prefer the latter option myself."

    "Ellen ..."  She pulled back.

    "What's wrong?"

    "I ... nothing's wrong.  You're ever so lovely, and I love
being with you.  But this is a bit sudden for me.  I barely know
you yet.  All my other lovers I've known as friends first."

    Classic butch, insisting on controlling the pace of the
courtship.  Too bad I wasn't going to let her.

    "Well then, it's about time you let somebody sweep you off
your feet."

    Determinedly, I took her in my arms and kissed her on the
mouth.  She was startled at first, but it didn't take long to get
over that. Her lips opened to my tongue, and mine to hers.  I was
rather startled myself: I knew I wanted her badly, but I wasn't
quite prepared for the surge of electricity I felt as our mouths
and bodies melded together. Her hands began touching my breasts
through my dressing gown, stimulating my sensitive nipples, while
mine slid down her back and began kneading her voluminous bum.
Her body was lusciously soft.

    "Go take a shower.  I'll be waiting, love." 

*   *   *
   
A few minutes later, Jay emerged from the bathroom, into my
bedroom, clutching a towel that didn't quite reach round her.  I
was sitting on the bed, naked.  My can of whipped cream stood
ready on the night stand. 

"Drop the towel, love.  Let me see you."

She hesitated, then let the towel fall to the floor.

"Oh yes," I whispered.

Her heavy breasts, with pale pink nipples, sagged nearly to her
navel, resting upon her big, rippling belly.  Her skin was
alabaster, in stark contrast with the wild, dark thicket covering
her prominent mons.  I was dying to just melt into her arms and
let her make love to me, feeling her massive, mature butch body
against mine.  But I restrained myself.  I wanted to do this
right. 

"Turn round.  Let me see you from behind."

    She froze.  "I - I'm not used to this," she stammered.

    "Not used to what?" I asked innocently.

    "To a lover paying so much attention to my body."

    "Get used it, love.  I think you're the sexiest thing I've
ever laid eyes on."

    She giggled nervously.  "Really?"

"I'll prove it to you in just a minute.  Now turn round and show
us your bum." 

She obeyed. I like a butch with big, womynly hips, but Jay's
positively took my breath away. Her arse was enormous - acres of
pure lard.     

"Come to bed, love.  I'm going to make love to that big beautiful
butch body of yours."
   
She climbed into bed beside me. 

"Roll over for me."

"But can't we just ..."

Whack!  I slapped her playfully on the hip - not hard enough to
hurt.  It got her attention, though.

"Listen, love. Outside this bedroom, you're the butch, and I'm
your femme.  But when I make love to you, you let me do it the
way I want.  You *do* want me to make love to you, don't you?"

"Yes."   

"Right then, roll over for me."

This time she obeyed.

Tenderly, I kissed the spot on her bum that I had just slapped. 
Then I began kissing the back of her neck and her shoulders,
whispering in her ear how much I wanted her, how good I was going
to make her feel, as my hands reached down, caressing and
kneading her vast, soft bum, then slipping down between her
thick, flabby thighs.  She shuddered, eagerly spreading her
thighs to me, gasping as my fingers stroked lightly along her
lips, feeling her wetness.  She smelled heavenly.  I longed to
plunge in, but I had my sights set on a different target. 

"Bring your knees up beneath you, love.  That's right.  Now pull
your cheeks apart for me."       

I knew I was asking a lot of her.  It wasn't easy for her, as a
butch, to open her body like this to a lover, particularly in
that most intimate place.  It takes a special kind of butch
strength to allow this kind of intimacy, to trust your lover to
turn the vulnerability and embarrassment into tenderness and
pleasure.  Jay was finding that strength in herself, that trust
in me.  And I loved her for it. 

I paused for a moment, gazing reverently into the deep, furry
abyss between her buttocks, marvelling at the lovely, dark anus
winking back at me.  Below it, her meaty, wet cunt hung open to
me.  Her skin was darker, ruddier here, on her inner thighs and
between her cheeks.  Beautiful.  The hot, clean, womynly smell of
her cunt was going to my brain, intoxicating me.  One more little
trick, though, before I tucked in. I let her see me reach for the
whipped cream.  I shook the can, then squirted a blob right on
her anus

"Oh!" she shuddered.   "It's cold!"

"Don't worry, love. I'll warm you up."  What a stunning
confection she made, with that flower of whipped cream nestled
between the two giant puddings of her bum. 

Unable to restrain myself a moment longer, I plunged my face down
into her arse, spreading the whipped cream up and down the length
of her crevice with my tongue, as her quivering buttocks
enveloped my head.  Finding her anus, I joyfully worshipped it
with my tongue and lips, licking round it, kissing it, sucking
it, making it wet and soft, lapping up traces of whipped cream.
Meanwhile, my hand began rubbing over her wet vulva, fingers
dipping inside her, as my thumb stroked her erect clitoris.
Craving deeper intimacy, I pressed the tip of my tongue against
her ring of muscle: she opened to me, and my tongue surged deep
inside, caressing the walls of her anal canal. Her moans and
shudders intensified, like a kettle coming to the boil. Then her
body suddenly went rigid, as her anus pulsed wildly round my
tongue; she let out a long, keening sigh.

I live for moments such as this. 

Later, I told myself, there would be time to take her slowly, to
make love languorously and tenderly to every inch of her body,
over and over again.  But just then, my lust for her was too
urgent.  I nuzzled my face down into her wetness, tasting the
sweetness of her fleshy cunt, rubbing my chin on her clit, then
finding it with my lips and tongue, sucking on it.  I slipped a
wet finger back into her arse, not wanting it to feel neglected.
Her huge hips bucked against me, thrusting her open cunt against
my face, taking my finger deep in her rectum. Thirstily, I drank
deep from her honeypot, as I snaked my finger in and out of her
bum.   It felt as though she were taking my whole head inside her
- and as this appealingly kinky image flashed through my mind, I
spontaneously had a powerful little orgasm.   

And so, I'm proud to say, did Jay. Or, more likely, several.  I
lost track of time down there.  I just know that her cunt was
gushing honey, she continued moaning and keening, and I could
feel her vagina periodically spasming round my tongue.  By the
time I climbed back up beside her, her smiling face was beet red,
and she was huffing and puffing like she had run a marathon.   

*   *   *
   
I snuggled into her arms, and we kissed ... well, that's a bit of
an understatement - it was the most unbelievably sensuous,
uninhibited snogging I'd ever had.  My face was slick with
whipped cream, and with Jay's juices, and she licked them off me.
 She rolled on top of me then, pinning me beneath her marvelous
weight, enveloping me in the warm softness of her flesh. My cunt
was literally melting into a pool of desire; and when her hand
slid up between my thighs, they instantly parted for her.  She
rubbed my wet, open cunt with her whole hand.  I came
immediately.  She kept rubbing, and I came again. One of her
heavy breasts was swaying over my face, and I took the nipple in
my mouth and sucked like a baby.  Goddess, it was so good.  Her
fingers went deep inside me, filling me, then beginning a steady
thrusting, and I came for what seemed like minutes, moaning into
the fat breast that filled my mouth. Then she went down on me,
and I came some more, wailing her name.

I live for moments like this, too.

*   *   *
   
And here's the sweetest irony: I set out to turn the tables on
this big butch, to sweep her off her feet.  Who do I think I'm
kidding? I'm completely swept off my feet myself, head over heels
in love with Jay, with her strength, with her tenderness, with
her desire for me - and of course, with her big beautiful bum.

_________________________________________________________________
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