Stumpy and Olive


Caution: This Romantic Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, .

Desc: Romantic Story: Romance

As usual, I don't have any idea where this one came from.

"Happy birthday, bro."

It was a paid subscription to a dating service. A really high priced service, with guarantees of strict confidentiality and carefully screened members. I wasn't smiling. She saw.

"Come on now, don't be like that. It's been fourteen months. Have you even gone on a date since then?"

"That's your business how, exactly?"

She stood up and towered over me. Man I hated that. Being eight inches shorter than your baby sister sucks. Add three inch heels and it really sucked.

"Listen here, Stumpy. It's time to get moving, she has."

"Well yeah, but in all fairness she started way before me. Almost a year, before I caught them.

So she's what, got almost two and a half years on me. Check back with me in a year or two."

"Damn it all! She fucked over you, she cheated, lied, tried to steal from you in the end. What did it get her?

Not a damn thing. The prenup and our Dad's high priced lawyers saw to that. She didn't even get to keep her lover, when he found out the money was gone, he was gone. She left a three quarter million dollar house that you built just for her and now she's in a studio apartment, living like a college student. She had to get a job, no more lounging by the pool at the country club. She was a cake eater, plain and simple. When you caught her and took the cake away, she choked on the crumbs. And the best part was she did it to herself, you didn't have to lift a finger.

Grow up and move on. You're young, rich, not repulsive to look at. Think of it this way, Stumpy, it'll keep you out of the grasp of those country club sharks. You know I'm only doing it because I love you."

She tried to look innocent. I laughed.

"Yeah, and a side benefit would be getting Mom off your ass about finding Mr. Right and pumping out grandbabies."

She had to grace to blush.

"Well, yeah, there's that too."

I picked up the envelope and gave her a kiss.

"I love you anyway, and how many times have I asked you to stop calling me Stumpy?"

She giggled and kissed my cheek.

"Probably a million, when it gets up to two I'll think about it. Love you, bro, gotta go."

Every man in the room watched her exit, the short skirt swishing over a very nice bottom. Must be a bitch to be young, beautiful, rich, and single.

Three days later I was rattling around that big house I hated, thinking once again how I wanted to sell it, but the real estate market sucked like never before, and I refused to take a loss. Plus, I knew it drove my ex crazy knowing I had it and not her.

I walked into my home office and idly noticed the dating service card. Honestly, I was about half buzzed, and I thought I would kill two birds with one stone. I would put the stupidest rant I could think of on the site, and be able to look my sister in the eye and tell her I actually tried it. I wouldn't get any hits, and sis would leave me alone. I fired up the computer.

Punching in the user number I was assigned, I placed my profile.

"Short, bald, fat, ugly, broke guy with small penis seeks tall, thin woman, teeth optional, for correspondence and possible relationship. Round heeled slut preferred, but simple promiscuity accepted. Must be willing to give and receive verbal abuse. Don't need to like you, fuck loving you. I just need to get my rocks off. My name is Stumpy, for obvious reasons."

I put a picture of Baldy, one of the seven dwarfs from the Disney cartoon production, and signed off.

"That should settle that" I thought, as I sipped my straight rye whiskey.

Sometimes I hate my Mom. She was holding the dating service card, waving it in front of me.

"Come on, what have you got to lose? You haven't exactly met anyone close to Mr. Right in your social circle, have you?"

I hated her even more when she was right. I was six feet tall and weighed two hundred and ten pounds. I liked to describe myself as someone the painter Reuben would have loved to use as a model. My ex was two inches shorter than me without heels. Damn, I hadn't worn heels in the three years we'd been married, and I loved them.

I was more successful, more connected, more social, the litany went on. As he put it at the divorce, I was just more. More than he could compete with, more than he could handle, more than he could ever be. The sad part was I didn't care.

It didn't matter, he couldn't stay with me and maintain his male principles, so he left me.

The fact that I loved him just didn't matter anymore.

So, yes, I was bitter, and gun shy. I was also twenty eight years old, and as Mom handed me the card, she whispered "Tick-tock, honey."

Great, no pressure there.

The card sat on my desk for two weeks. One night, bored out of my mind, I logged on.

Member directory popped up, starting with the newest. I scrolled through some, reading the bios and trying to figure out how hard they were lying. Jesus, some of the pictures of the thirty somethings had to be straight out of high school year books.

Then I got to his. I was a sucker for the movie, it was one of my favorites growing up. The picture pulled me in.

When I read his description and actually smiled for the first time in a long time. This guy was either a pathetic loser or had a wicked sense of humor. I decided to play along. I sent him a message.

Stumpy, You pathetic worm.

I'm your dream come true. Six feet four, I weigh a hundred and thirty four pounds, all in the right places, if you like big guts and cellulite thighs. I won't say I'm flat chested, but when I'm hungover, which is usually all the time, I'm been known to put my bra on backwards, and nobody notices.

And I'm proud to say I have my own teeth, four of them to be exact. Hey, they're a good anchor for the dentures, when I remember to wear them. I'm not exactly sure where they are, but I'll find them eventually.

You better respond quick, or I'll reach through cyber space and bitch slap the hell out of you.



I sent it off with a picture of Olive Oil[or is it Oyl? I can never remember], one where she's just been hit and one of her eyes is an x and her tongue is hanging out.

I forgot about the dating site until the weekend, when I pulled it up just for fun. Forty eight responses! Damn!

There are a lot of sick bitches out there, and apparently most of them know how to use a cell phone camera. I'm glad I looked before dinner. Now, I wasn't so hungry.

If Olive hadn't been the third one I read I would never have seen it. After eight I just started deleting, keeping only hers. Damn, I think she gets it.

I sent her a reply.


you low rent bitch. How the hell do you sleep at night? Never mind, you lucky cunt. You probably don't sleep at night much, do you? I'm pretty sure you do 'shift' work.

You've just met the man of your dreams. So stop fucking those losers and get with the program.

Not to brag[well yeah I am] I'm hung like a donkey. You know, the cute little miniatures that are only about two feet tall.

Here. I'll send you a picture. Four and a QUARTER inches, and yeah, it's a whopping three quarter inches in circumference. Gotta tell you little girl, I've had few complaints, but then again, by the time it's my turn they're usually passed out, or afraid to blow a big tip. Stop drooling on the screen!

So name the time and place, and if there's a bus route nearby I'll be there with bells on. It's sort of a fetish.

Damn, I just looked at the picture, I had my thumb on the lens, but what the heck, it's real similar.

Get back to me soon, sweetness.


Ha! let her top that!

I almost wet myself laughing. This guy was great!

I had to think of something even more outlandish.

Tuesday I replied.

Stumpy, you sick bastard

I saw the picture, gotta tell you, my nipple got hard. Yeah, I've only got one, the other one got bit off. Long story. My pussy did drip a little, but I think that may have to do with my medical condition. The doc says I'll be back in action soon, and be sure they use condoms from now on. I'm trying to send you a picture of my cunt for your enjoyment.

I've only got about ten pussy hairs, and no, I don't shave. Let's just say constant friction wears them off. The ones I've got are about six inches long, I braid them and put a cute bow on it. And when you see the picture, no, I don't have two clits, it's just a wart. You'd be amazed how many guys nibble the wrong one.

Oops! Gotta go, my first custom--er, friend for the evening is here. I know I'm out of action down below, but I can suck a cock and drink a soda through a straw at the same time, and not lose suction on either one. You'd be amazed how much money I've won with that little trick.

Your indifferent bitch,


Bet he can't top that.

She was partly right. It took me about four days to frame his reply.

Olive, the future queen of my singlewide

I'm glad to know you have a profession, one you obviously excel at. I'm sure your practice and dedication has reaped many rewards for you.

I'm sorry to say I'm temporarily between careers at the moment, though I have applied for a position with many nationally recognized corporations.

You know, McDonalds, KFC, etc.

No luck yet, they just can't find the right position yet. But really, how fucking hard is it to say "Good morning, welcome to Wal-Mart?" Apparently hard enough to exclude me from consideration.

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Story tagged with:
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