Stumpy and Olive

by qhml1

Copyright© 2015 by qhml1

Romantic Story: Romance

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

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.

I mean, come on, I'm a nice guy, I take showers sometimes three and four times a week, and shave at least twice. My wardrobe is a bit limited, perhaps going to the McDonalds interview with a Wendys uniform shirt wasn't such a good idea, but it was all I had clean.

Oh well, I'll get something soon, and be able to support you in the lifestyle you'll be forced to accept.

Keep it warm for me.


Damn this guy was good. It was gonna take a while to top him.

I let a couple of my girlfriends read the drivel, and maybe it was the two bottles of wine, but they laughed until they screamed. Then we conspired. Boy, women are sure some nasty bitches sometimes.

Remember the country song "Friends Don't Let Friends Drink And Text", by something Otto? Friends shouldn't let friends drink and compose emails.

Stumpy, man of my unpaid affections

Sorry to hear about your career challenges. That's one of the reasons I'm self employed. I'm not into sales, sorry if I gave you that impression.

I'm more into short terms rentals. Turnover is fairly high, but I require cash up front, so it doesn't really matter. The drawback is they almost always leave a mess I have to clean up, but I factor that into the rental agreement.

I'm also prominent in local civic affairs. For instance, I'm currently the Chairperson and sole member of the entertainment and welcoming committee for 4BMC, you know, the BIG Bad Black Bikers Motorcycle Club.

We have an out of town chapter coming in this weekend. There's only going to be twenty six, but if that's all I have to work with, I'll make do.

Gotta go, the chapter president is here, and he wants to sample the hospitality.

I'll save some leftovers for you.


I let my friend Mike see the correspondence when he asked how the internet dating was going. He grew up with me and my family, and sis had told him to watch out for me. He nearly fell of the chair laughing, and promised he would help me come up with more trash to talk. He also promised to keep it away from my sister.

I had been able to look her in the eye when she asked, and told her with a straight face I had met a woman I was talking with and a possible relationship may develop. She was over the moon.

Of course, she told Mom right away, damn it, and I had to finally tell them to give me a break and let it develop without pressure, and maybe they would get to meet her sometime in the future. That fended them off for the short term.

I excused myself, I had an email to compose.

Olive, you real live blow up doll

I commend you civic pride. Community should always cum first.

I hope the weekend festivities went well for you.

Honestly, the thought of your weekend activities excited me greatly. Unfortunately I was too broke to get help to relieve the tension I was under, so I decided to take things in hand. Sadly, I ran out of lotion Friday and couldn't afford more. Not wanting to risk blisters, from experience I can tell you it takes a long time to recover from those, I was forced to improvise. I had some bacon grease left over from breakfast. It works pretty well, but the downside is my bedroom now smells like burnt bacon.

Gotta go, the city is looking for a new garbageman, and I've got a pretty good shot at it. Wish me luck.

By the way, did I mention my favorite dessert is chocolate cream pie?

Love you, kind of mean it,


Wonder what she would say to that?

Thanks to my friends Gwen and Marcie I had plenty of material.

Stumpy, my cute little pervert

Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner, but it was a busy weekend.

First, the entertainment program was pretty well received. I'm pretty sure the guys will remember it for a long time.

Hold on, I need to get another pillow for my chair. I told that dumb son of a bitch there was no way he could get that 'ape hanger' handlebar up my twat, but he just had to prove me wrong. It was pretty damned uncomfortable until he started revving the engine.

The downside was when they left Sunday morning one of them accidentally took my purse.

I was broke so I worked the last day of the construction convention uptown to get a little pocket money.

I must say, the 'Pink Hammer' all women construction franchise taught me about the tongue and groove building system, and the Roto Rooter guys kept trying to back flush my septic system, but all they accomplished was clogging my drain lines. I did get to try out a lot of new tools.

Too bad you couldn't come over for dessert Sunday night, your chocolate cream pie had a big layer of vanilla frosting on it, and a couple of shots of habenero juice. It would have been an interesting taste.

To top it off I started my period Monday. Gotta go, I have a friend coming over who likes his cunt steak rare, and then a couple of the new members of the 4BMC are coming by to earn their 'red wing' patches.

And I won't be keeping it warm, it's always hot.


The emails got wilder and raunchier as the weeks passed.

He bragged about his new job as janitor at a sex shop, saying it didn't pay much, but the fringe benefits were great and he did get a 25% discount on goods and services.

She told him about her induction into the Southern Railway hall of fame, for 'pulling more trains than their entire freight division'.

Four months had gone by. They had pretty much exhausted the imaginations of themselves and all their friends.

Then she got a new email, and everything changed.


I have enjoyed this correspondence immensely, but all good things come to an end. I find you to be witty, articulate, and fun to talk to. But, it's time to either end it or go to the next level.

I suggest we start slow, by telling each other one true fact about ourselves.

My nickname really is Stumpy, at least to my family.

Your turn.


She thought about it a lot before really responding.


In reality I'm actually six feet tall.


She agonized over telling him that, but better to tell him now, especially if he really was short. She didn't need a repeat of her ex husband. Shocking her, he replied almost immediately.


Thank you for your honesty, but I find height to not be an issue if there is emotion going on.

Now, here's another revelation. I have a good job, selling cars. It's not for everybody, but I'm pretty good at it, maybe because I try to treat everybody right and don't make promises I can't keep. There is such a thing as an honest car salesman.


He thought hard before telling her that. Car salesmen didn't have the best reputation.

But honesty, or in this case semi-honesty seemed the best policy.

She thought long and hard about telling him what she did for a living, it could be just as off putting to men as her height, but he would find out eventually if they kept it up


My profession is just as difficult when it comes to trust. I'm a lawyer, and our reputation

is right up there with car salesmen. I am good at my job though, at least my bosses think so.


I sat back, thinking I'd really like to meet this woman. I grinned when I pictured her face when we would meet. I did indeed have the family nickname of Stumpy. Pretty funny considering I'm six feet four.

But, when you have two brothers who are six eleven, and a sister who stands an even seven feet, I kinda did feel short. It didn't help that Mom was six ten and Dad was seven one. We weren't circus freaks, just big people.

And I really did sell cars for a living. The thing is, my family owns seven dealerships scattered across the state. I manage the Cadillac, Lexus, and Mercedes dealership, both brothers and my sister run the Toyota/Subaru/Ford/Volkswagen/BMW/Austin/Jaguar/GMC/Ferrari dealerships, I can never remember which one has which cars. The rest have really competent managers. and Mom and Dad travel around, making sure none of us screw up too badly.

I fired up the computer and sent my next message.


I've been married before. The divorce was not because of me.

Love, Stumpy.

So he was a loser in love also.


So have I. And the divorce was his idea, even though I treated him with respect and never cheated on him. Looks like we're both losers.

Love you back, Olive

I thought about it for a long time, almost a week, before I replied.

Sweet Olive,

We are not losers! You are not a loser! Say it again and I'll spank you! We are just two people who didn't get it right the first time, and have experience on what to avoid, and what to look for. Based on our conversations, I find you witty, articulate, and bet you have a killer sense of humor. Of course, I have no idea what you look like(although in my fantasy you have long, sensual hair, a smile that would melt the hardest heart, very kissable lips, and a body that would make Helen Of Troy weep. Even if you're not that beautiful, I still bet you're damn hot. I can smell it. I have a nose for hotness, but it really doesn't mean all that much to me. You are who you are, and that's the main thing.

LUBX2, Stumpy.

Wow, that seemed a lot like a love letter.


I didn't know you had a silver tongue. I hope it's as good at other things. Helen doesn't need to be looking over her shoulder, but I'm not repulsive. My boobs are too big, my hips are too wide, and my waist isn't as small as I would like it to be, but I carry it well. It's a good thing you think I have a beautiful mind. I think I have nice legs, though. And you kinky boy, talking about spanking. Just so you know, for the right man I'd consent to a little discipline, if I think I deserve it. I might even wear my schoolgirl outfit.

If you can smell hotness, you might want to check your computer for shorts.

Oh, and I'm one hell of a kisser.

LUBX3, Olive.

Let his horny little mind digest that.

Wow, double wow, and wow again. Are we having cybersex? I hope so.

Sexy Olive,

You naughty girl. Do you know how hard it is to keyboard with one hand? Just so you know, there's no such thing as boobs being too big, unless they're like 99DDD. And I've been told my tongue is one of my best features, I've been known to give full body massages with it. Long, slow massages, speeding up only when I get to the good parts. Women have been known to thank me in really shrill voices sometimes.

I'd like to see the school girl outfit(although in my fantasy, you're wearing a bustier, and thigh highs, under a slinky silk dress that slides off easily. I'd unwrap you slowly, like the best present I've ever gotten, drop the dress off your shoulders, slip the detachable cups off the bustier and slowly lick your ... wait, what were we talking about? Oh yeah, school outfit), those incredibly long legs barely covered by your little plaid skirt, cute little white panties peeking out as you bend over my lap. I'd have to fondle it a bit before the spanking began, then ... damn, gotta go, something smells like it's overheating.

And you reek of hotness. My nose knows.

LUBX4, Stumpy.

I pushed back from the computer, looking at the bulge in my shorts. Damn, I needed to be laid in the worst way.

I pushed back from the computer table, my face flushed, my breathing ragged. I looked down to see my nipples standing straight out, hard as I've ever felt them. I had been squirming on my chair, and I could smell myself. I'd have to wash that cushion soon. Serves me right for sitting down naked. I left the computer open, and wandered to the bedroom, trying to remember where I'd stashed BOB, and if the batteries were still good.

An hour and three orgasms later, I was finally able to answer him.

Stumpy, darling,

How sweet you are. I don't have a bustier(yet), but I do have one little outfit I bought for myself after the divorce. I'll only wear it when I find the man I'm meant to spend the rest of my life with. It's a sheer lace, baby blue, one piece that can only be worn once, because after I put it on, it has to be unraveled to be removed.

And it has to be done slowly, for full effect.

It's symbolic of me shedding my old life, appearing to my man brand new, just for him, forever. Stupidly romantic, I know, but it means a lot to me.

All the love I have, Olive.

I'd never read anything so heartfelt, so genuine, that it hit me hard. All she wanted was to be loved by the right man, and she would belong to him forever.

I had to walk away from the computer for a while, there must be dust in here because I was misting up.

I thought about it a long time, almost a week. I wanted to meet this woman more than anything I'd ever wanted in my entire life. I was on a mission when I emailed her again.

Dearest Olive,

It's time. Time for us to meet, and go on a real date. Time to separate the fantasy from the reality. You may not like me. I might find you irritating. The only way to know for sure is to spend time together.

The thought of being with another woman has me tied up in knots. What if she's a bad person, what if she destroys me again? Could I take another hit that hard? So for the last year I've stayed away from women because of fear. With you, I have no fear. And paradoxically, that scares the hell out of me.

But I'm willing to take that chance. One thing though, if you're willing to do this. I don't want to know what you look like until we meet, or hear your voice. I'd rather see you for the first time face to face, try to catch the emotion in your voice, to gauge your reactions, see how quick you are on your feet. I guess I'm just a delayed gratification type of guy. The anticipation, to me, heightens the experience.

So, Sweet Olive, what do you say? Do we stay anonymous and safe, or go for the real, the raw, the unexpected? Your choice.

Think about it, I'll be waiting.

Just Love, Stumpy

I took a deep breath and hit send.

I stared at the screen for a long time. Did I want this? What if he's a bad person, has body odor and an annoying voice? Well, there was only one way to find out.


Name the time and place. Maybe this time I'll have the bells on.


She actually said yes! Now, I had to figure out how, when and where to meet. I actually talked about it to my sister Emily, telling her the whole story, letting her read the emails. It took her almost two hours.

When she was done she sat back and grinned at me.

"Wow! You guys are made for each other. You need to go for it and meet her, soon."

"I agree, but it has to be perfect. Suggestions?"

We talked for an hour, discussing different options. Dinner? Drinks? A club, a park, anywhere. Finally Em smiled.

"I know just the thing. Invite her to our Christmas party! It's three weeks away so she'll have time to decide what she wants to wear, or even if she wants to go."

The company Christmas party was a big event. All our managers, vendors, and a few select friends attended. The managers because they got their year end bonuses then, the vendors in appreciation, the friends because it was always fun. It was semi-formal, and the ladies went all out, while the men wore really nice suits. There were always between a hundred fifty to two hundred in attendance. We usually booked a really nice venue, had an excellent meal catered, made the mandatory speeches, then opened the bar and let the dancing begin. The band was always top notch, able to play something for every taste. Mom had made us all take lessons, and we usually opened the floor with a slow number, with mostly just family dancing. My ex didn't like to dance with me because of our great height disparity, she said she felt like she was six years old dancing with her grandfather. It hurt me, but I blew it off.

"I don't know, sis, don't you think it will be a bit much? Our family is not exactly shy. The poor woman might not have a good time."

"Leave it to me. I'll make sure the family gives you privacy, well, as much as possible. And if you two get close, she'll have to get used to them eventually. Better to get it over with right off the bat."

I looked at her trying to stifle a laugh, and agreed.


I formally request you accompany to my company Christmas gathering. My company goes all out, and it's usually a lot of fun. If you agree, I'll give you the details. I've thought a lot about this. These are the people I spend most of my time with, and if we become close you'd have to meet most of them eventually. And I promise, there will be a quiet place we can talk, without interruption. Think about it, it's three weeks from Saturday. I really hope you attend, I've told my friends that I've been talking with a really hot woman, and since I haven't dated in almost a year, half of them think I made you up.


I talked it over with my friends, and my mom before answering. I'd hoped for something a little more intimate, wondering why he wanted our first date to be in a crowd. Mom clarified it for me.

"I think he wants you to feel comfortable, honey. You're meeting a stranger, which would you rather, a large open space surrounded by people, or a dark lounge where you can't hear each other talk."

Looking at it in that light, I sent him my reply.

Darling Stumpy,

I accept your kind invitation, if you agree to attend my company function the following week. That's contingent, of course, if we can stand each other. I'm a girl, so I'll need details, dress especially.

Looking forward, Olive.

She said yes! It felt better than when Ginny Gilbert accepted my junior prom invitation.

Sweet Olive,

The dress is semi-formal, but I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the women usually went all out, competing a little, I guess. I work for the Stevens Automotive Group, and the party will be held at the Grove Inn. It starts at eight, with dinner, then there'll be a few short speeches, followed by dancing and an open bar.

And I'd love to party with a bunch of lawyers. I bet you guys sit around and tell fart jokes and see who can pass out the fastest. I'm in.

Well. The Stevens Auto Group. I knew a little about them through my firm, they were probably the biggest franchise in the state, seven dealerships, and were about to add an eight. I wonder which dealership he worked at? And the Grove Inn? It was almost impossible for a normal person to get to see the inside of the place. Only the cream of the local society set frequented it.

One of the partners at my firm had actually attended one of their parties, a date of one of their suppliers. She said she was sure I'd have a good time. When she described the dresses, I knew there was a shopping trip in my immediate future.

I suddenly had a thought. What if he was really short? I guess I'd have to wear flats. I actually told him I'd be wearing them, and was surprised by his response.


what's the highest heels you own? Never mind. If the heels you have on when we meet aren't at least four inches, there will be a serious spanking in your future. I'm not kidding, I absolutely adore women in heels, especially when that's all they have on. Oops, did I really type that? Disregard that last(or not).

See you in seventeen days and five hours, Stumpy.

Four inches? Really? The highest pair I owned were only two and a half, but what girl needs motivation to go shoe shopping? My friends giggled when they went with me and I tried on a pair, stumbling slightly from the newness.

"Would you look at that! Our girl Amber in high heels. And not just high heels, genuine CFM's!"

The salesgirl snorted back a laugh while I looked puzzled.

"Come on, Amber, you know, Come Fuck Me heels."

I flashed bright red before grinning, eyeing the shoes in the mirror. "Well, I certainly hope so," I said, making them laugh harder.

After three stores and fourteen pair, I finally found a pair I adored. Basic black strappies, but damn they made me legs look great. I made a visit to a very nice lingerie store, picking up three sets of thigh highs, and a really hot looking bustier. It shaped me, pushing the girls straight out and putting extra curving on my bottom.

In a flash of inspiration, I put the basic black dress I'd be wearing on, with a pair of patterned black thigh highs and my new shoes. I experimented in front of the mirror until I got just the shot I wanted, My high heel encased foot and my leg, all the way up to the band of my thigh highs. I sent it to him ten days before our date.

Stumpy baby,

I know we're not supposed to see each other until we meet, but I just had to show you my new shoes. Do you like them? What do you think of the hose? Too much? Give me an opinion.

your Olive

I opened the email at work late that evening. Big mistake. It was hot! And I mean HOT! I had to sit at my desk for thirty minutes before my erection went down. I seriously thought of ducking into the bathroom to help it along a little. Then I had a better idea.

Sexy Olive, baby,

I'm not an expert on ladies shoewear, but that is a damned impressive set of footwear! The leg looks really great, I can't wait to see the matched set. Words fail me trying to describe how hot you look, but then again, all the blood is rushing from my brain, making it hard to form coherent sentences. I think a picture is worth a thousand words, so I'm sending you one that will show you exactly how impressed I am.

The days aren't passing fast enough for me, Stumpy.

I know it was juvenile, but I sent her a picture of my erection, plain to see through the khaki pants I was wearing.

Wow. I wasn't sure exactly what to make of that. Finally I decided to take it in the spirit of our emails. After all, it was just a bulge in some slacks. I couldn't help enlarging it a bit, deciding it was a really nice bulge.

Stumpy, you little horn dog,

Thanks, I think. It's nice to be appreciated. And I WILL be wearing the bustier and thigh highs to the party, and no other 'foundation' garments under my dress. You won't get to see anything, although if you're a good boy some touching may take place.


Olive, you little tease,

Stop doing that! I read most of your emails at work because of my hours, and my secretary always knows when I get one of your notes. She just grins, looks at my crotch, and asks when she'll finally get to meet you.

When I told her you were my date for the Christmas party she frowned, asking me if I thought it appropriate to expose you to my family so soon. I forgot, but most of my family works for Stevens at different locations. They can be a bit overwhelming. My sister promised me she'd do her best to limit your exposure. She said she'd try, anyway.

See you in 183 hours and forty-nine minutes,


His whole family at once? I wasn't too happy about that. Mom just grinned.

"Better to get it over with quick. I know, tell him you want to bring me along to level the field. I've always wanted to party at the Grove Inn."

I knew she was kidding. Mom had been at loose ends for the past two years, ever since my Dad traded her in for a woman almost as young as me. It took her months to come to terms with it, and she was just now starting to be interested in men again. We were both hit about the same time, and sharing each others' misery had helped us heal. I hadn't spoken to my father but once since, telling him what an asshole he was, and that I'd laugh when she cheated on him. "After all, she as a history of it, doesn't she?" He slammed the phone down. He moved across the country, and I hadn't seen or spoke to him in sixteen months.

I mentioned in passing what my mother had said in my next email, and was surprised at his response.


By all means, bring her along. It would make me feel better about dumping my whole family on you. After all, sooner or later she'll have to inspect me, and meet my family, look how much time we'd save.

Oh, I have a Christmas present for you. My company usually retains a few rooms for those who have just a bit too much fun, and my bosses agreed to let me have a small suite for the night.

Before you get any ideas, I was thinking maybe you and your mother could have it. That way you wouldn't have to be driving, could relax, and have a good time. It doesn't mean I won't be there, I intend to take you both down to the Sunday brunch the Inn is famous for. We'll get to spend even more time together. Tell me soon, there are others who would enjoy the suite if you don't want it.

One hundred forty nine hours and seven minutes, Stumpy.

It's kind of hard to shock my mother, but I think he succeeded. When I told her I was going to decline, she slapped me on the back of my head.

"Oh no you're not! A night of partying, a suite at the most exclusive place around, and a brunch that's been written to be one of the top three in the nation? If you don't want it, give it to me. Maybe I can entice your boyfriend up, show him my appreciation."

She ran her hands down her toned body, the result of countless hours in the gym, and grinned. "After all, I know the younger guys in your office have voted me the "MILF I'd most like to..."

"Mother! What's got into you?" She smirked, and I was aware she'd seen the flash of jealousy.

"Nothing, at least not yet. But don't worry, I'll leave your honey alone, for now anyway. I'd hate to have someone expire from overexertion at the party."

She laughed at my expression and walked off, swaying her hips. I had to admit, if I looked like her at fifty-four, I was going to be damn lucky.

Dear Stumpy,

Mom says thanks, we'll buy matching bells. She's kind of hot for her age, but don't get ideas or fantasies about a mother/daughter combo into your twisted little mind. I guess I need to tell you now I'm a bit territorial. All right, I'm a LOT territorial, something you need to be aware of if we get into a serious relationship. If you're mine, you're MINE, understand?

Seventy four hours and nineteen minutes, damn you, now you've got me counting. Olive.


I understand. But if your mother shares the least bit of your hotness, it might be difficult. And I'm a little possessive myself, you can ask my exwife and she'll verify that pretty quickly. I'm sure she would be glad to tell you how I react to betrayal.

I'm going to ask you to trust me a bit. I want your address, but not your name. I want to give you a little token of my appreciation. It will arrive the day of the party. It's a little thing, but I think you will like it.

Forty-nine hours, Stumpy.

Finally! I was glad it was Saturday, I would have been worse than useless at work. Mom didn't help much, two women stressing in one house was a little nerve wracking. We'd both been to the salon, having our hair styled and makeup professionally applied. We dressed carefully, and I have to say the results were stunning. Mom had on an ivory silk sheath that came three inches above her knees, four inch heels, her blond hair shining, diamond studs and a matching necklace finishing the image. She looked midthirties, not midfifties.

I had on the basic black dress. It went three inches below my knees, and had a dangerously high slit in the back. The bustier made my figure even more appealing, and the feel of the silk on my bare bottom was exciting me. I slipped a black thong in my purse, in case I had moisture issues.

The black hose felt delicious when my legs rubbed against each other. I finished the outfit with pearl earrings and a single strand round my neck.

I admired myself for a moment in the mirror, loving the curves, the way my auburn hair glowed in the lighting. I licked my lips, deciding the shade of my lip gloss was perfect. I saw mom grinning over my shoulder.

"Damn! I did good with you, girl. He won't be able to talk with his tongue hanging out and the blood flowing away from his brain."

I patted a stray curl. "I hope so. I wasted a lot of time and money if he doesn't"

Mom went to collect our coats while I went out to warm the car. It was thirty degrees outside, with a threat of snow. I felt a tinge of sadness, the gift he was supposed to send me never arrived, and it had me wondering.

Opening the door, I almost got hit in the face. A woman, in a white uniform and cap, hair back in a bun, was about to knock on the door. She grinned when she saw me jump.

"Sorry, traffic slowed me down a bit." She handed me two small packages, one plainly marked Olive, the other simply Mom.

"Stumpy says hello. Can I come in, it's kind of cold out here."

I recovered and invited her in. Mom came to see who it was. The woman held out her hand.

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