Size Matters, a short story

I wanted you from the first moment I saw you – in the launderette of all places. You were bending over to put your clothes in the dryer. Such a lovely arse, I thought. Covered by faded denim, as the best arses often are. I wanted to touch it. To run my hand over it and up your muscular back, now exposed at the waistline as you bent over. Of course I shouldn’t be objectifying a man like this. Not after women have spent centuries trying to escape the staring eyes of men. But I couldn’t help it. The sight of you was electrifying.

You straightened up and looked in my direction. Maybe you had sensed my look. I tried to look away but my eyes wouldn’t let me. You smiled. It was a friendly smile, but you knew. You knew the thoughts that were flowing through my brain, the part of my brain that connects directly to my pussy and makes me wet. I smiled back; then turned to put my clothes into the washing machine, before sitting down on the bench nearby.

Having put your clothes into the dryer, you too sat on the bench. You were just three feet away and I could feel the sexual heat shooting from your body to mine. I could have said something, but I exercised caution. I’ve spoken too soon before and made an absolute idiot of myself. This time I will be patient and see if you make the first approach. You did.

“It’s boring, waiting for stuff to dry, isn’t it? Should have brought a newspaper I suppose.”

I turned to look at you. “Well you can talk to me if you like, to pass the time. I’ll try not to come over all weird and scary.”

Why the fuck did I say that. Now you’ll think I am weird and scary.

"Oh, I quite like weird women, and I don’t scare easily. I noticed you looking at my arse.”

Now who’s being all weird? What do I say to that?

But I answered in the honest, direct way I’ve tried unsuccessfully to stifle over the years.

“Well it’s quite a nice arse, as arses go.”

“Glad you like it. I’d like to repay the compliment, but I haven’t seen yours yet. I don’t mind waiting until you’re ready to use the dryer, and then you can give me a quick look as you bend to put the clothes in.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. My bottom is big. I’m very self-conscious about it.”

“Every woman thinks her arse is too big. I like big arses anyway, so no need to hide it on my account – the bigger the better as far as I’m concerned. J-Lo’s is magnificent.”

Of course, you were being polite. Weren’t you? Or were you just winding me up? Giving you something to laugh about later in the pub with the boys? You must have read my mind.

“I mean it. Women worry far too much about the size of their bottoms. Now we men mainly worry about the size of our dicks, rather than our arses. Much more important we think. After all, diet and exercise can often change the size of a backside, but it won’t help the size of a man’s dick. We’re pretty much stuck with what we’ve got.”

How did we get on to the subject of the sizes of arses and dicks? A bit different to talking about the weather I suppose. I trotted out the usual cliché in response.

“Well it’s not what you’ve got, but the way that you use it that matters.”

He smiled, ruefully. “I wonder how many times that comforting statement has been trotted out, and we guys never believe it. Thankfully I’m okay in that department.”

“So we’re now discussing the size of your dick, are we?”

God, me and my big mouth. Why did I say that? I felt my cheeks become warm. Now I am going to have the humiliation of blushing bright scarlet in front of you. Shall I just abandon my washing and flee the scene now, before I make an even bigger idiot of myself?

“Well we weren’t, but we can if you like.” You were grinning at me. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it amused you, didn’t it?

Then your mood changed slightly. Perhaps you thought you had teased me enough.

“I’m hungry. Fancy some chips from next door?”

“Sounds good.” I went for my purse.

“No, I’ll pay. Just a cone of chips okay?”

“Yes…thanks. Oh, and salt and vinegar on them please.”

“Coming up.”

You disappeared to the chippy next door and I had the opportunity to take my foot out of my mouth, and think of something wise and witty to say on your return.

The chips were hot and freshly fried, and tasted so good. I’d forgotten that I hadn’t eaten yet. We didn’t talk much as we munched away; using the little wooden forks they give you at the chippy.

“Mmm, they were nice. Thanks for getting them for me.”

“My pleasure. It looks like your washing is done. Time to put it into the dryer.”

Oh God, now he’s going to see my fat arse. I feel so self-conscious. Oh fuck it. Be big and be proud.

The only available dryer was the one right in front of you. You knew that, didn’t you? I bet you’re grinning like a Cheshire cat, having my backside stuck in your face. I turned round, having shut the door and put the coins into the machine. I spotted a glint in your eyes.

You smiled broadly at me. “Nothing to worry about with that arse, love. Best one I’ve seen for a while, it is.”

“Oh you’re just saying that now, to make me feel good.”

“Nah! Honest, your backside is right up there with the best of them.”

“Thanks, I think. Now can we stop talking about my bottom please? Good job there’s no one else here. They’d think we had a fetish for arses.”

Wrong word! Your eyes lit up like a beacon.

“And what do you know about fetishes?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“And why do I think you’re telling fibs?”

“You do like putting me on the spot, don’t you? When you came here tonight, did you think, I must find a woman to torture at the launderette?”

You laughed, but it was a really dirty laugh.

“I’d like to remind you that it was you who started this by eyeing up my arse as I bent over the dryer.”

“Yes, unfortunately I realise this only too well. I must learn to eye up men’s backsides with a little more subtlety in future.”

“Please don’t. I like a woman who isn’t afraid to be bold, a woman who takes life by the balls, metaphorically speaking of course. Unless they are my balls, and then she can take them any way she wants to.”

I tried to inject a bit of humour into the conversation. “Well I like to take a serving of balls lightly fried in soy sauce.”

You roared with laughter.

“And talking about arses and fetishes, what do you think about spanking?”

I was momentarily struck dumb. It’s not the type of question you expect to be asked at the launderette, or anywhere really. Should I plead ignorance? Or should I let on that I tried it with my last boyfriend, and really quite liked it. Or should I be ambivalent and turn the question around?

“It’s not something I think about much. Are you hinting that you like to be spanked?” Ha, ha, now he looks a little flustered.

“Well I prefer to be the one doing the spanking, actually. Especially when I see a beautiful girl with a luscious arse right in front of me.”

So he’s not talking about me then. I’ve never been accused of being a beautiful girl with a luscious arse.

You looked at me a little sternly.

“I hope you’re not ruling yourself out of that category, because you are definitely pretty and that bottom…wow.”

“I think you’re just a big tease, having some fun with me.”

“Oh I’m always serious when it comes to sexy women and spanking.” You smiled, a broad, attractive grin that spread to your rather attractive blue eyes. Talking about bottoms and spanking had made me a little damp between my legs, and perhaps my breathing was a little faster than usual. I hoped you hadn’t noticed that you were turning me on with all this flirting.

We both went quiet for a moment. I don’t know what you were thinking, but I couldn’t get the image of lying across your lap and having my bottom spanked, out of my mind. I imagined you pulling me down over your knees and slowly pushing down my jeans and panties. Your hand would be smooth and firm as it covered the surface from my bottom to my knees. You would feel every inch of my bottom, stroking and kneading, appreciating it before you began to spank me. I shivered, in delicious anticipation, but I don't know if you noticed it. It was you who broke the silence.

“By the way, it looks as though your washing is dried, and so is mine. So how about we adjourn to the pub and continue our discussion about whether size matters, in relation to both women’s arses and men’s dicks. And if you’re a good girl I might show you mine if you show me yours.”

I laughed. Perhaps what started out as a boring evening of chores might end up in a much more interesting way than I had envisaged.

“Sounds good to me.”

I hope you enjoyed this fun little story.

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