ManWeight

Mr.Weight

It was an average Saturday night for Zoë. A group of her girlfriends got dressed up, got together and got drunk. Not fall down drunk, but tipsy enough to deal with the hellish crowds at lounges on a weekend night in New York City, where it appears all bridges and tunnels lead. The gaggle of girls were headed to a spot Plumm, where there was a hot DJ and your typical hipster downtown type crowd. After being granted access to the lounge via the red rope outside, Zoë and her friends made their way up the club’s stairs and to one of the party promoters tables. An overpriced bottle of Absolute was chilling on ice for them. One of the promoters, standing omnipotent behind his shield of liquid confidence (otherwise known as that bottle of Absolute) was one quite handsome manweight. They called him Mr. Lounge. You could find him at most of the hotspots, only on the “good nights” at each of course and if you were a girl, showing enough cleavage and gratitude in the form of insincere flattery, you too could have at the bottle. Zoë had both cleavage and sincere gratitude for every sip of her free drink. She and Mr.Weight, as we’ll call him, got along very well and started seeing each other regularly. He was good weight and had a hot body. They totally had chemistry….around 4:00 am. One night when they were hooking up, or rather Zoë was going down on Mr.Weight, all of a sudden something went wrong. “Are you cumming?” Zoë asked Mr.Weight “No…” Zoë looked down at his dick and saw there was a tear in the condom. Not only that, her teeth must have scrapped the exposed surface, and he was bleeding! Mr.Weight jumped up scared shitless of what else Zoë’s mouth was capable of. For the rest of the night, Zoë appreciated his manweight… in the cuddling sense.