Daphne

Last winter I became completely enamored of a friend of a friend. This woman, the friend of the friend, was, and is, about 5'3", with a face like a poem, and an exquisitely shaped figure, in an excellently fleshy way - large bulbous tits, though always concealed under weird sweaters, and great legs and an incredible, large and shapely ass, always covered by frumpy, odd, old-fashioned skirts and dresses and sometimes badly-fitting men's jeans. In other words, she was gorgeous, but no one knew it. No one had ever known how exquisite she was, including she herself, whose name is Daphne. . . . . I knew it, though. I've always had a radar-eye for this sort of thing. And, in the couple of times I'd met her, when she'd talked in a vibrant, intellectual, casual way, I'd fallen completely in love. But I was too paralyzed to do anything about it. She was just too much.

Then, my friend helped me out. I needed to do a cross-country road-trip, and my friend informed me that Daphne was also planning a similar trip. It was the kind of fluke circumstance that one can only thank the Gods for having caused to occur.

So. . . I called Daphne and explained the situation, asking if she might be up for doing the road trip as a joint thing - even though this might be weird or awkward, since she and I didn't know each other very well, etc. etc. She said yes over the phone in an enthusiastic and also slightly curt way that could've melted the hearts of Hellenic warriors.

On the journey, somewhere in western Idaho (having started in Portland), a horrible snowstorm came in. By a miracle, the storm started to abate just when we'd thought we were doomed in white-out conditions, in Missoula, Montana. I wasn't sure what was going to happen, but Daphne said that we needed to find a department store in Missoula.

I didn't know why we needed to find a department store; I was just mesmerized by the adventure of the whole thing. . . . It turned out that all stores were closed due to the snowstorm. We kept driving, and eventually I got Daphne to fess up to why she'd wanted to stop and make a purchase: She'd forgotten to bring extra underwear. I was in heaven over the fact that she'd told me this. . . . She also told me that she sometimes had trouble even finding underwear in her size, because her butt was so big. (It was big, yes, but in a great way.) She told me this in a matter-of-fact way, without seeming to have any awareness whatsoever of how this declaration would impact my overall psychology and, more to the point, my penis. Again, I almost died.

The storm then picked up again east of Missoula, and pretty soon it was almost impossible to see. But, amazingly, it turned out that Daphne's uncle had a seldom-used cabin right near this exact location. The Gods, again, seemed to be taking care of everything.

We got into the cabin with a key hidden under a rock, but inside there was no heat; the storm had caused a power outage, and the cabin relied on electric heat. The place was just as cold as the air outside, which was about 15 degrees Fahrenheit.

We started the sleeping situation with her in the bed and me on the floor, but then she said she was still cold (as I was too), and, so, I summoned the courage to ask if she might consider the concept of me getting into her bed with her, to share body heat.

She agreed, causing me almost to die for about the third or fourth time in the last sixteen hours. Then, there ensued an incredible few seconds during which I climbed into bed with her and felt and breathed in the heat and scent, the very pheromones, of her. I could smell her hair, her skin, her breath, her vagina.

We sort of spooned, with Daphne behind me at a slight, delicate, mannered distance of a couple of inches.

"I'm still cold," she said.

I was still cold as well. "You're welcome to press yourself against me," I said.

She did. She squeezed herself right up against me, so that every part of her front was pressed right up against my back and legs, and she was breathing against my neck.

"I love the way you smell," I said.

Then I playfully kicked her, and she pretended not to notice.

Five minutes or so passed. I was still cold, and I knew that she was, too.

"Put your arm around me," I said. And she did: she put her arm around me so that she was now hugging me, and we stayed like that for a few minutes. But we were still cold.

Then I reached my arm back and put it on her thigh, and rubbed up and down just briefly and quickly, and then pretended to relax, as if I had meant nothing by it. She made an "mm" sound, and then coughed, as if to cover up the sound she'd just made.

"I want to tell you something," I said.

"What?"

"It's hard to say."

"Just say it."

"I want to turn over so that I'll be facing you."

"Why?"

"You'll see," I said, and turned over to face her, though the darkness was pitch-black and we couldn't see each other at all. But I pulled her up against me and pressed my cold nose right up against her cold nose, and then I kissed her on the lips.

And that was it for the night. We fell asleep in each other's arm just like that.

When daylight started coming in, we started intermittently to wake up, and. . . . well, let's just say that, for lack of a more elegant phrase, "organic tumescence" happened to me, and it managed to get itself out of my boxer shorts. At one moment it poked Daphne right in the back, and she reached around, still basically asleep, and slapped me on the arm several times. I pulled away, and we both fell asleep again, but, after a while, I woke myself up by the very force with which I was pressing and thrusting my now fully erect penis against Daphne's big, soft bottom. My penis had forced Daphne's underwear completely into the crack of her buttocks, and possibly a little bit, dare I say . . . . into her anus.

"Mark!" she cried, and jumped out of bed into the frigid air of the room, her breasts and buttocks swaying and jiggling - normally I would've been titillated beyond belief at such a sight, but not now, not under these circumstances. I was mortified and didn't know what to do or what to say. Of course, what my penis had just done was exactly along the lines of what I'd wanted to do to her all along, but I'd wanted to do it willingly. Had I just committed rape??

Daphne covered herself, ran into a side-room, finished organizing herself, and then left and drove away in her car, with me watching out the window very, very sadly, with penis still shamefully erect.

I knew that she'd have to come back, though. She'd left almost all of her stuff in the room, including her phone and computer. So, I just had to sit around that cold, frigidly cold, absolute-zero-cold place and wait for her to come back.

When she did, it was like a miracle. She swept in like nothing had ever happened, happier than a clam, sort of like Scarlet on the morning after the infamous "marital rape" scene in Gone with the Wind. Daphne brought in grocery bag after grocery bag from the car, while I just stood around, dumbfounded. . . . Apparently the electricity was back up. Daphne turned the heat back on. Within half an hour, the place was 70 degrees.

Daphne sat me down.

"What do you have to say for yourself, mister?"

I didn't say anything, but she communicated everything: she gave me a quick peck on the forehead, and then told me to get dressed so that she and I could go for a walk.

She held my hand in the wilderness during that walk. . . . After a while she pretended that she was tired, which was an elaborate excuse for her to jump up on my back and continue on in that way, in piggy-back fashion.

That night, we stayed again in the cabin. Daphne cooked a great dinner from what she'd gathered from the store. I tried to help, but she kept shooing me away. During this dinner-preparation process, she had stripped down to panties and bra, without comment. Her panties were still the original ones from the start of the journey. I could see this; it was apparent. . . . And she could've bought new ones this morning when she went into town; apparently she'd made a point of not doing so. . . . and my knowing this fact was somehow just so endearing. . . . it made me want her more than I'd ever wanted her before, if that were possible.

After dinner, when we turned in for bed, in the sheer, absolute black night of that room, Daphne settled me down on my back and whispered to me: "I'm going to take off my panties now, you cutie. And if I have to, I'll turn the heat back off, if that's what it will take!"

And that's the story of how Daphne and I tamed each other, the wild and very different animals that we are.