One afternoon I was sitting in the back break room eating when she walked in and sat down at the small table. We spoke casually but nothing to intimate. She a little down. My cock was hard as a stone pillar just under the table. "What's wrong?" I asked her, mentally I had pictured her reclined on a sofa and I was pouring warmed oil over her belly which (in this fantasy) was absurdly white. "Just some personal stuff. You don't want to hear about," she responded and nibbled unenthusiastically at her sandwhich. 'Sure I do,' I said, careful not to come on too strong. There was a long silence before she began to speak, not looking directly into my eyes and seemed a little shy about what she was about to say. "My husband is turned off by my belly," she said. "What! That's crazy. How can he?" I asked her. "He calls it my poy belly. It really hurts my feelings." "I can imagine. It's pretty thoughtless." "He..." she started speak and lapsed into a brief silence. "We haven't...you. I followed her into my living room and watched as she made a beeline to my kitchen and the fridge to grab a beer. While she was gone, I quickly slipped into my favorite spot on my sofa. She returned to the living room and looked at me with some annoyance until I moved down to the other end of the couch. She took her place where I had just vacated and gave me a smug smile of approval."So, I hear you and Momsie and the Squirt did the beach thing yesterday?" she pulled on the last half of her beer as she paused from her question."Yeah. I replied, "We went down to Huntington and rode as few waves and caught a few rays." I tried for surfer chic with this comment, but might have overdone it a tad."What I heard was you copped a few feels, burned like a lobster and couldn't get your shitmobile running because your windows were all stuck and you couldn't open the doors." She was smirking as she said all this.This little "biatch" was starting to grate on my nerves."Actually Donna, we all had a.
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