"What's wrong with my curves?" I already knew the answer to that, but I didn't want to accept it. My tone sounded a little fruity as her diddling was driving me to distraction. The buildup was getting intense.
"The better you match up with the others, the more readily they will accept you. Aren't you tired of being an outsider? It would definitely help."
"You're probably right," I heard myself saying as I strained for control. She grasped me through the nylon barrier. "They're always so proper when I'm around I can almost hear the change when I come into a room. The other night I heard laughter as I approached the family room, which turned into a deafening silence when they saw me. I hate being a damper on the group." I still didn't belong.
"What do you expect, you're not one of us," she grasped my manhood for emphasis. "That's why adding some curves might soften their attitude. Make you less conspicuous when you're amongst them. Can you think of anything else?" Her rhythmic squeezing was making it difficult for me to think, much less find a reply to her question.