Quarter Ton

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaged in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

*Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, using Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned.

*.*.*

Benito's Italian Dining had a head chef that truly knew the dishes, knew the secrets to making the perfect sauce, the marriage of olive oil and garlic and freshly crushed tomatoes. She measured nothing, using pinches, dashes, handfuls.

She didn't even 'eyeball' things when she meted out the ingredients. The totally blind woman relied on smell, feel, and taste.

"Miss Benito, how you do that?" Scarlet, her assistant asked.

"My husband's mother showed me," Lakendra Vangetti smiled as she worked the dough into the perfect consistency for ravioli. "Said, hey, my boy? He going marry a black girl? No, no, I make you Italian."

The large black woman laughed. Then she began rolling the dough flat so she could cut the squares.

"My own momma? She was always so afraid let me in the kitchen. 'Oh no, honey, you going hurt yourself.' But my mother in law? She said, 'Hey! You burn yourself? Bet you don't do it again, eh?' So, I'm in the kitchen, cutting up onion and bell pepper and garlic and grating up cheese. I come home? And my Benito? He all over me! I'm all hot and tired and smelling of onion and garlic and olive oil and he's just pawing away at me. I finally figured it out. It's the smell of food making him hot to trot!"

"Miss Benito!" Scarlet giggled, scandalized.

"So, cher? Every spoon I taste? Every onion I cut up? It's a little kiss to my Benito, a big hug to his momma loved me enough show me how cook for my man. Now, them bread sticks need come out that oven yeah," The woman said, a sad smile on her lips.

Very few in the dining room of the restaurant knew that their authentic dishes were being prepared by a blind African-American woman that had grown up in the heart of DeGarde, Louisiana, had never learned to read nor write.

On the floor, LaSalle Trahan approached a couple that had been seated in her section. The blonde woman eyed her other tables, checking to see if anyone needed a refill of their drinks, needed coaxing to try their delicious desserts, needed their checks.

"Hi, welcome to Benito's," the chubby blonde said to the slightly chubby dark skinned woman at table seven, placing the basket of warm breadsticks in the center.

The woman's hair was long, a shiny black. Her beautiful face was round, with large almond eyes and dazzling white smile.

LaSalle could tell the woman had Asian heritage, but wondered what heritage the dark skin came from. The woman's smile was warm, friendly as she put her menu down.

Then the woman's dinner companion also put his menu down and LaSalle nearly gasped. LaSalle nearly turned and ran for the safety of the kitchen. LaSalle nearly burst into tears.

But the man smiled a warm, genuine smile. He reached out and took his companion's hand.

Kayla? Remember I told you about LaSalle?" Martin asked, voice still a rich, warm baritone, just as she remembered it.

"The beautiful blonde? The one who left you for another...?" Kayla asked, then turned and looked at LaSalle, beautiful eyes opening a little wider.

"Hi, LaSalle, I uh, I didn't know you worked here," Martin said.

LaSalle could tell he meant it. Even as their breakup was under less than friendly terms, Martin Boyd had never been ugly. He had never responded to LaSalle's cutting assessments of his masculinity or his abilities as a lover.

"She is pretty," Kayla agreed, talking to Martin.

"So I uh, so, how's Rachael doing?" Martin asked, voice low.

"I uh, she and I aren't..." LaSalle whispered, face flaming bright red.

"Oh! I I'm sorry. I, that's a shame," Martin said, handsome face twisted in concern.

"Bread sticks are nice and hot; y'all know what y'all want drink?" LaSalle asked.

"Unsweetened iced tea, lots and lots of lemons," Kayla asked, smiling.

"Why not just get lemonade with a splash of iced tea?" Martin teased. "And I'll have..."

"Water, easy on the ice," LaSalle guessed.

"Hey, you're not supposed remember that," Kayla playfully complained, smiling.

LaSalle turned, approached table ten and assured them she'd be right back with their check. Then she hurried to get the drink orders.

She dropped off the check for the four people at table ten, then pasted a smile on her face for Martin and Kayla. She could see her ex-boyfriend and his dinner companion engaged in a conversation. Their fingers were on the table, entwined.

Martin must have sensed her approach; they both looked up and smiled.

"Here, there's five wedges and I brought a bowl of some more if that's not enough," LaSalle said to the young woman.

"Perfect," Kayla smiled.

"Kayla wants to try the tortellini and you know I've never been able to say 'no' to a lasagna," Martin smiled warmly.

By the time Martin and Kayla left, LaSalle's stomach had unknotted and she was able to wish them a good evening. And checking the signed receipt, LaSalle saw that Martin had left her a twenty five percent gratuity.

LaSalle Faye Trahan had been a one hundred and seventy three pound nineteen year old when she'd met the twenty four year old Martin Boyd at First Union Bank. The man had helped the girl fill out all the information for her first checking account. LaSalle knew she was more than fifty pounds overweight for her five foot one inch height. She'd been told enough times that she had a pretty face, but very few seemed to be able to get past her lumps and bumps of fat.

She wore her straight straw colored hair to just below her buttocks. Her round face was pretty, with rich brown eyes, a button nose, and pouting lips. Her right forceps was slightly twisted, but other than that, her teeth were straight, white. She showed them off whenever she smiled.

"And, here, this is my card," Martin said, looking into LaSalle's deep brown eyes. "Need anything? Have any questions? Give me a call, all right?"

"Even if it something stupid?" LaSalle had asked.

"What's stupid to one person might not be all that stupid to someone else," Martin had assured her.

At the sliding glass doors, LaSalle turned and saw that Martin was looking at her. He smiled, coloring slightly at being caught.

LaSalle nervously brushed her long blonde hair back and scurried out of the bank.

He was handsome, in a rough hewn way, with a strong jaw and slightly large nose. His blonde hair was cut very close to the scalp, a military burr and his eyes were a crystal blue.

Home again, LaSalle flipped open her cheap PC Nation cell phone, then flipped it shut again. Even if she did call the handsome man, what would she say?

"I uh, man! Cher, this LaSalle, you ever eat at Manny's?" she practiced.

"Yeah, like he want go anywhere some big old fat blob like me huh?" LaSalle then said bitterly.

"He ain't going say nothing you don't never call," she finally convinced herself.

Martin looked at the caller ID box on his desk. He did not recognize the number, but it had come directly to his desk. He let it ring a second time, then picked it up.

"Hello, Martin Boyd," he stated.

"I uh, hi, I, man this hard yeah!" LaSalle sputtered.

"Miss Trahan?" Martin asked, pulling up the phone number on his computer. "Hi! What can I do for you?"

"Hi, you ever eat at that Manny's?" LaSalle blurted.

"Best salsa ever," Martin agreed. "Let's see; I've got your address right here. Why don't I pick you up, say, six thirty? You like bowling?"

"Played in a league last year," LaSalle bragged.

"Oh yeah?" Martin said, playful challenge in his voice.

"Yeah, you not going cry I beat you, huh?" LaSalle asked, almost giggling with happiness.

"Oh, not too bad," he chuckled.

When Martin picked her up at six thirty, she'd finally decided on a simple pair of jeans and a nice top. As her mother answered the door, LaSalle decided that the top just wasn't nice enough, but had no time to change again.

LaSalle entered the living room and winced. Her mother and step-father were giving Martin the third degree.

But if Martin minded, he didn't show it. He smiled warmly when LaSalle entered the room and stood.

"Oh no!" he smiled. "You even got your own ball?"

"Man, told you, was in a league yeah," LaSalle smiled as he bent to take the bag from her grasp.

"Mr. and Mrs. Savoie? Real nice to meet you," Martin said, reaching out a hand. "What time do you expect her home?"

"She a grown up," Alton shrugged. "Marie?"

"No later than what? 'Bout midnight?" Marie said. "You working tomorrow?"

"That should be fine," Martin agreed.

When he unlocked the trunk of his car, LaSalle saw that he had his own bag. All the way to the Mexican restaurant, they engaged in light hearted banter, in between learning more about one another.

Their first game, he beat her, two ten to one hundred eighty seven. The second game, he again won, one hundred ninety one to one hundred sixty four.

"Supposed let the girl win yeah," LaSalle grumbled.

"Man, was trying yeah," Martin stated.

"You was not!" LaSalle screeched, then slapped his arm when he laughed.

At Clark's Drive-In, LaSalle wanted to order the large butterscotch sundae. But she was also trying to lose weight. So she ordered the small sundae instead.

By the time LaSalle and Martin made love for the first time, she'd whittled away nine pounds. This put her weight at one pound lighter than the six foot tall Martin.

The date had started out at eleven that morning, with a visit to the petting zoo in Elgee, Louisiana. Then they had lunch at Mama's Po-boys in Jack's Creek, Louisiana. After lunch, they went to the water park in Jack's Creek.

LaSalle had been embarrassed to let her boyfriend see her in her one piece bathing suit. But, blushing hotly, she'd dropped shorts and tee shirt to the floor of his car, then got out, towel draped strategically around herself.

"Tower of Terror, huh?" Martin asked the attendant.

"Uh huh, it's nearly twelve stories up there," the young man said.

"Dare you, double dare you, triple dare you," Martin said to LaSalle.

"Uh huh," LaSalle agreed and started climbing the steps.

It was an extreme drop and LaSalle couldn't help but shriek as she plummeted down. The water was cool as she splashed down.

And then Martin's arm was around her waist. They laughed at having done the 'Tower Of Terror' together.

They stayed for nearly an hour, trying nearly every slide before finishing off their afternoon with a small snow cone each from the park's concession stand.

"I uh, I mean, uh, listen. We uh, we been dating now what? Three weeks?" Martin said.

"Take me your place," LaSalle ordered.

"I uh, you sure?" Martin asked, voice thick.

They kissed at every red light until Martin reached his apartment complex. They kissed for a few more moments in the car.

The apartment was a small one bedroom apartment. The living room furniture was simple, just a loveseat and matching recliner and a television set, an old tube style television. The dining room table and chairs were simple, functional.

The kitchen was spotless. The door to the bathroom was closed, but LaSalle was sure it was just as spotless as Martin's car, his living room, his kitchen.

The bedroom was similar to the living room and dining area. Simple furniture, spotless, bed neatly made.

They kissed again. Then Martin eased the shoulder straps of her swimsuit aside. LaSalle wanted to put her arms over her 37E breasts, wanted to put her arms over her lumps and bumps, her chubby and pasty white belly.

He kissed her, his kisses growing in intensity as he eased her to sit on his bed.

Her breasts were large, heavy, lightly tanned globes of flesh. Each was capped with a light brown areolae and fat nipple. They sagged under their own weight as she sat, bare to just below her protruding belly.

"Oh my God, you are just so beautiful," Martin sighed and kissed her.

He kissed and suckled each breast. LaSalle often pinched and tugged her nipples whenever she pleasured herself. On Martin's bed, she found out a small orgasm could be had, just by over stimulation of her nipples and wide areolae.

Martin eased her swimsuit down her pudgy legs, baring her blonde thicket. She'd trimmed her bush this morning because of wearing the bathing suit.

"God, LaSalle, I can't believe, oh my God, you are just so beautiful," Martin said, his deep voice thick with lust.

Her nipples were sensitive, sources of pleasure. Her belly was not. But Martin seemed to delight in nibbling and nipping on her paunch. She did giggle when he slurped noisily at the tunnel her navel formed in the center of her paunch.

Then his warm breath blew over her blonde wisps. LaSalle shuddered. Then his thumbs were opening her.

LaSalle suddenly worried that Martin might find the smell of her pussy unpleasant. She'd heard jokes about how nasty a pussy could smell.

Then his tongue was lapping at her excitement. If Martin found the taste or smell off-putting, he didn't mention it as he lapped and sucked at her heavy pussy lips.

"Oh, oh God!" LaSalle suddenly cried out, clamping her thick thighs forcefully around Martin's head.

A moment later, LaSalle let her flabby thighs fall to the side. Martin wiggled out of his own tee shirt and swim trunks. LaSalle's eyes opened wide at the sight of his cock.

She'd seen other cocks before. Her first time had been at a party her cousin had held when her Aunt Linda and Uncle Frank went out of town. After a few drinks, a boy hustled LaSalle into her cousin's bedroom. Losing her virginity had not hurt, as she'd heard others state it would. But LaSalle did wonder what was so great about it as the young man thrust his small thing into her.

After she'd dressed, she'd come out to find that Alvin had already left the house.

The next time wasn't much better. The boy just shoved his four inch erection into LaSalle, wiggled a few times then sighed. And afterward, didn't want to even talk to her.

Martin's cock was seven and a half inches long, and quite thick. His balls looked large, heavy, full. She shivered as he knelt between her splayed legs.

"Oh, oh yes," she hissed as he rubbed the head of his cock up and down her wet pussy.

"Oh yes!" they both hissed as he pushed into her.

Unlike Alvin and Trent, Martin didn't crush LaSalle with his weight. He held himself off of her with one arm. He didn't enter her with clumsy thrusts. He slid himself into her halfway, then held himself there. A few short jabs, then he was fully inside of her.

"Jesus!" LaSalle cried out in orgasm.

He sucked and tugged on her nipples as his cock plowed in and out of her wet pussy. LaSalle heard the obscene squelching sounds their flesh made as he thrust in and out of her. The squelching sounds increased as she frantically thrust up to slap against him.

"Fuck!" Martin suddenly bellowed.

LaSalle froze for a moment. She'd never heard Martin curse.

Then she felt his semen jetting into her.

"Fuck!" she echoed, legs clamping tightly around his waist.

"I, I'm love you yeah," LaSalle whispered as Martin's cock finally slipped from her sloppy pussy.

"Oh, Sweetheart, I love you," Martin gasped, still trying to catch his breath.

The next time Martin saw her in her bathing suit, LaSalle and he had made plans to use one of the charcoal grills the apartment complex provided. He'd bought a few skirt steaks and marinated them overnight. As they waited for the coals to get that whitish exterior, they swam in the overly chlorinated pool of the complex.

There was an eighteen year old neighbor, breasts barely contained in her skimpy bikini top, buttocks quite visible in the scrap of bikini bottom. The five foot three inch girl probably weighed no more than one hundred pounds. LaSalle glared over as the attractive, slender girl stretched, flexed, preened and posed in front of Martin.

"Poor girl," Martin whispered to LaSalle as he dropped a steak onto the grill. "Think you ought to tell her she doesn't even come in a distant second compared to you?"

"No, leave her be," LaSalle smiled and kissed him.

Even when the girl 'accidentally' flashed Martin a pale breast with hard nipple, Martin paid her no mind.

A few months after they'd begun dating, Martin asked LaSalle to move in with him. LaSalle's mother and father and step-father were less than enthusiastic. Marie went so far as to tell LaSalle, when it didn't work out, LaSalle wouldn't be able to just waltz back into Marie's home.

LaSalle found out the reason her mother did not want her to move as because, according to the terms of their divorce, Marie would have to sell the house and Marie and Victor Trahan would then split the proceeds.

Victor did like the idea of finally getting some of the money he'd been putting into the house. But he just didn't like the thought of his baby girl being sexually involved with anyone, didn't like the idea of his daughter living with the man without the benefit of marriage.

LaSalle's job at A and A Soaps paid eleven dollars an hour. It was mindless, repetitive work, which was why Toni Delacroix paid slightly higher wages. Toni knew it was mindless, redundant work, but it was also a strain on the back and shoulders.

Rachael Norton sat next to LaSalle most days as they mixed together the ingredients of the handmade soaps and candles. She was LaSalle's confidant as LaSalle complained bitterly about her parents' reaction to her moving in with Martin. But Rachael also did offer a few suggestions that Martin should have asked LaSalle to marry him before asking her to live with him.

And Rachael was LaSalle's confidant when LaSalle admitted that living with a man was a lot different than dating him. She agreed with LaSalle when LaSalle complained about Martin's snoring, Martin's infrequent passing gas, Martin's unreasonable fussiness, fastidious mannerisms.

"I mean, Jesus, I put the butter in the wrong thingy and he gets all mad, 'made me open another yeah,' like we ain't going use it huh?" LaSalle spat.

LaSalle wasn't used to having to clean up after herself. LaSalle wasn't used to having to contribute to expenses. She wasn't used to having to participate in the preparation of meals.

And Rachael agreed with her. Martin was being unreasonable. LaSalle wasn't his slave. Martin didn't own LaSalle.

"Huh? What I told you?" Marie spat when LaSalle broached the idea of moving back home. "What I told you? Knew this wouldn't work out no."

"You uh, I mean, it's just this one room, but uh, you could come live with me," Rachael suggested.

Rachael was built much like LaSalle. She had a chubby torso, pudgy arms, thick middle and plump buttocks. She kept her brown hair cut quite short and her brown eyes were hidden behind cheap sunglasses. A and A Soaps was lighted by fluorescent light fixtures and Rachael claimed that the lamps hurt her eyes.

"I swear, he keep this up, I just might," LaSalle grumbled as she lined up the guides over the tray.

Martin was studying at nights, studying to get a brokerage license. He tried to explain stocks and markets to LaSalle, but all the information just hurt her head.

"Treats you like you stupid?" Rachael accused when LaSalle complained about Martin's teaching her about stocks and dividends.

"Yeah," LaSalle grumbled.

Upon arriving home, back and legs hurting from being stooped over all day, LaSalle was greeted by an irate Martin. LaSalle had accidentally left the carton of orange juice out on the counter from breakfast that morning.

"I mean, damn! I don't know if it's still good or not; I'm afraid to drink it now," Martin snapped.

"Had enough this shit yeah," LaSalle shrilled.

Martin did plead with LaSalle, did promise to change. But LaSalle had her fill of not being appreciated, loved as she deserved. Rachael had stated as much, over and over, that LaSalle deserved to be treated like a goddess, not a child, or a servant.