(all images are (c) mssuperdomebooty.com)
Halloween has been an incredible sunny day here in California. Isn’t this supposed to be a scary, gloomy day? In any case, it was gorgeously bright, with such a clear, crisp light. There’s something about those days of Autumn that for some reason are inexplicably bright, as if it was Spring, but with fallen leaves on the grass. There’s a strange will to live, with a very proactive coziness.
I was at my friend Giovanni for a full Halloween day. When I got there, mid afternoon, kids had already been running around everywhere the whole afternoon, probably because of the charming weather. I was helping him prep the decorations and snacks. We were drinking wine and having a good time, when I overheard the door-bell ring. Unfortunately, I was too busy talking with Dionysus to care to pay attention. Too bad.
A few minutes later I turned my head to Giovanni, and found him already staring at me, as if something of utmost importance just happened. He looked breathless.
“What is it, man?” I ask him with curiosity.
“Mamma mia, did you see her?” He said anxiously, but with a big smile on his face.
“No, who?” I continued to question him with increased interest.
“That woman… mamma mia, che fianchi Edoardo!” Such hips, such hips. He said that right there, his wife right next to him.
He couldn’t keep it for himself, at the risk of embarrassing himself. The words of my friend hit me. I rushed to see if I could still see her going away from the door entrance. I couldn’t.
Who was that? How were her hips, dammit!
What if when he opened the door he saw a giantess with hips so enormous that she would block the way with her imposing figure? Large balloons of fat right on her hip bones, and bulges of cellulite on her thighs. He probably saw her hands sinking in into her cellulite-ridden hips. And maybe he raised his eyes, only to follow the most sensuous delta leading to a rich milk farm, with plump cows and bulls. Who knows what he saw. Sometimes I envy short guys because they get to lose themselves easier into the curves of a Goddess.
“Che fianchi.” Such big, fat hips.
That’s what he saw, the bastard. A spread of flesh so wide it could host two of himself.
And when she left, he probably stared at her big, fat buttocks jiggling away, under the squelchy health of those large water tanks. He saw big, fat lumps of lard bouncing everywhere as she stepped down the porch. Lush bubbles of cellulite swelling up underneath her catsuit.
Her eleven years old son kept bumping into her thigh. Was he doing that on purpose? He had a raging, constant hard-on, bigger than many grown men. A best of breed man from the ultimate, most generous Mother. He is going to make many women very happy.
She was a figure of opulence and grace. A hymn to the coming Winter, a song for the atavistic need to eat, in preparation for the cold season. Under the last sun of the year.
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