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The Dancer
By MaxOut

I remember Roschelle from back in my high school days. She was the younger sister of a close friend, so I would see her whenever I was over at the friend's house. She was two years younger than Richard and I, but for all that, we still managed to find time to talk to one another and actually got to know each other rather well.

From the time she was a child all she wanted to be was a dancer. She loved to move and express herself in that form, and her natural grace and a certain flair for the dramatic went well with her dream. While too short to be a ballerina at five foot one and of a body type that didn't lend itself to that form (by the time she was fifteen she was a full fledged 36C) nevertheless, she figured that there was some form of dance, be it modern-interpretive, or tap, or ballroom, somewhere, somehow there would be a place for her to perform.

She worked at it constantly, and hence had a terrific body. Her legs firm and shapely and her body had a natural hourglass figure that was tight and firm. She used to flirt with me relentlessly, I suppose figuring (and rightly so) that Richard would kill me if I even thought about dating his younger sister. So we verbally parried, and became friends in our own way; almost as if I was another big brother to her. It always drove her crazy when I'd call her “Squirt."

After Richard and I graduated from high school I saw less of Roschelle as I went to the opposite end of the state for college, heading south while Richard went north. Still, during spring break and then summer vacation we both returned to Santa Carla and it was just like old times; Richard and I hanging together and little sister Roschelle always around, thrown into the mix.

She knew she was like catnip to all the high school boys, but confided in me that she couldn't be bothered, saying that having a boyfriend would take too much time away from her dancing. I just smiled and nodded. Boy, the guy that broke that code was really gonna be in for a great ride. I could almost fantasize those sturdy legs wrapped around me, her shiny silken black hair glistening in the sun, her enchanting smile with those luscious lips - wait a minute there boy. Don't go off the deep end, remember, she's off limits, even though she's eighteen now and can fend for herself. Keep both hands on the wheel, son; she's your best friends' 'lil' sister, and that's that.

During her senior year she wrote to me often, telling me of different dance competitions she had won, and it seemed that she was beginning to make a name for herself in the dance community. She was thinking of going out of state to a highly regarded dance school after graduation, but in late May, tragedy struck. She was a passenger in a friend's car when a drunk ran a red light and plowed directly into the passenger side of their car. Roschelle was pinned and her right side was crushed. She spent almost two weeks in ICU recovering from internal injuries and a punctured lung. Her hip was shattered and her femur and knee were beyond the help of medical science. In one stroke of fate, being in the wrong car at the wrong intersection at the wrong time, some drunk had dashed all of her dreams. She was lucky to ever walk again, let alone dance; so there she was, broken, all the fluidity; the spontaneous outpouring of joy that was Roschelle when she moved, caught inside a whiskey bottle.

I was studying for finals when I received the news. Richard's mother told me that she was pretty touch and go, and probably not conscious enough to even recognize me the first week, so not to worry and come up after finals. I had already procured a summertime job at a prestigious computer company, but I was able to take a week after finals to fly back up to Santa Carla. To see such a vibrant, alive person just lying there in a hospital bed, hooked up to all kinds of tubes and mechanical devices, her color all pallid, just broke my heart. I knew she would never dance again, and damn it, it was who she was. Her self worth and all her self-esteem was wrapped in her self image as a dancer. How was she ever going to see her way through this?

I spent most of my time that week staying at the hospital, trying to put a less bleak face on what had happened, but Roschelle barely responded, several times asking me to leave, claiming to be tired, but I felt she was simply withdrawing from life. Her mother assured me that a therapist who specialized in helping victims of traumatic injuries was seeing her. Mrs. Reese told me that she knew her daughter was strong and that she would tackle this challenge head on, and defeat it. I hoped so, for I found my heart going out to my little “sister.” She was so precious and had so much to offer the world. She was bright, witty, charming, and sexy. She was more than just a dancer; she just had to see it in herself.

I returned to my summer job and spent long hours thinking about just how special Roschelle really was. It would be such a waste if she couldn't find it in herself to get past this terrible tragedy and embrace life again. I didn't realize yet that I was falling in love with her. Maybe it was misguided, just feeling sorry for her and all, but I think that sometimes, when you're faced with losing something that you just sort of took for granted, it can open your eyes. I think this is what was happening with me. It took almost losing Roschelle to take my blinders off; realize that she was more to me than Richard's kid sister, and finally recognize that all our flirting and long heart to heart talks were very cherished memories to me and that all those times spent with her were really times of great inner peace and joy to me.

I wrote to her often and called her several times during her stay at the hospital. It was August before they released her, but she had to return for physical therapy every other day. Mrs. Reese told me that Roschelle had gone through two additional surgeries; one for an artificial hip, and the other for a knee, and that the therapy was grueling and quite painful. So much so that she often found Roschelle crying in her room. I informed her that I had the week after Labor Day off before school started again, and I would be up to see Roschelle. Mrs. Reese thanked me for my kindness, but then I received a letter from Roschelle asking me to please stay away. She couldn't bear to have me see her in her current state. I wrote her back, saying she was being foolish and that I would see her in September.

When September arrived and I arrived at the Reese's porch, Mrs. Reese answered the door, smiled and took my hand. She told me I was such a fine young man to care so about her daughter, and that I had to be strong now, for Roschelle was insisting that I not be allowed to see her. She said that it was breaking her heart to see her little girl in so much pain, and she was trying her best to nurture her the best she knew how. We walked together toward the darkened back room; it's grayness echoing the feeling of hopelessness that exuded from it.

“Baby, someone very special is here to see you,” Mrs. Reese began.

“Mama, I told you, I don't want him to see me like this, I'm hideous!” Roschelle shrieked.

“Now honey, Paul cares for you very much and he just wants to talk to you."

“I don't care,” she interrupted. “I don't want to see him."

With that I turned the corner, “C'mon Squirt, you're hurting my feelings."

I entered the room and Roschelle turned her head away. I looked at the huge exoskeleton brace she had around her leg and sighed. “Be strong,” I told myself. “Hey Squirt, I've flown a long way and my arms are tired, the least you can do is smile for me.”

She slowly turned back to face me, a tear streaking down her cheek. “I always wanted you to think of me as beautiful; like a swan."

“Whoever says you aren't is gonna get punched in the nose, courtesy of me,” I replied.

She smiled weakly and my heart melted. I flicked the tear off her cheek with a finger and then sat on the bed beside her. I gazed into her dark black pools and drowned.

“You are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen,” I ventured.

“I look like Frankenstein with this metal gizmo attached to me,” she sniffled.

“Not that it matters, but it's not gonna be there forever now is it? I mean, you work hard and they'll have you back up to speed in no time.”

She smiled and the room lit up. “Thanks for trying, but we both know I'll never dance again, and the doctors all say that the chances are very slim that I'll ever be able to walk without a limp."

I took her hand and told her, “Well, you'll just have to prove them all wrong, now won't you?”

She smiled at me again and I watched her cheeks dimple. Her coloring had come back now and she looked much healthier than last I'd seen her. She was wearing a long, loose dressing gown, and as she struggled to move her leg, erector set and all, I couldn't help noticing that she seemed softer, and somewhat larger than I'd remembered her. Maybe it was just the way she was propped up on the bed, but yes, her arms seemed heavier and her breasts more substantial (though they were more than adequate before).

We talked for the rest of the afternoon, and for the rest of the week I helped Mrs. Reese get her to therapy. Holding onto her I realized that yes, she did seem a bit rounder and softer. I guessed that she had maybe gained a couple of pounds being bedridden for so long, but after all she was going through, who could fault her.

The week shot by way too quickly, and before I knew it I was headed back to school with Rochelle's promise to work real hard on her therapy. While at school I wrote her frequently and received only short, terse, perfunctory sounding replies. I wondered about this at first, but then got absorbed in a special project. It seemed that the developing company I worked for over the summer was impressed with my work and wanted me to work on the strike team for a new game they were designing, knowing full well that I still was four units away from my degree. I had a feeling that this was a great intro to the industry, however this meant that I had to spend every waking moment on the development of this design.

I was unable to break away during Christmas, and before I knew it, spring break was upon me. I called Mrs. Reese to tell her that I would be coming by, and to get an update, as it seemed that my last few letters had gone unanswered. Mrs. Reese told me that since October, Rochelle had regained her ability to walk and had subsequently moved into an apartment in the downtown area. She complained that Rochelle had shut her out of her life since her move, and that she didn't even call during the holidays or for Easter. Mrs. Reese pleaded with me to come up and talk some sense into her daughter; try to get her to understand that her family and friends all loved her and she was not a burden or embarrassment to them. I told her I would give it my best, received her address, and booked a flight north.

I was curious how I was going to be able to talk to Rochelle when her mother had been unable to; I mean, hadn't she just shown up as I had planned to do? Well, maybe she would open her door to me. I at least had to try. I knocked on her door and waited. Nothing. I waited awhile longer then heard a slow step, drag, step, drag and then the door opened slightly and I could see that she had it chained. She told me to go away and then closed the door. I told her I was not leaving and had flown up especially to see her, so the least she could do was open the door and talk to me. A moment went by with me staring at the closed door, and then I heard the slide of the chain move and the door opened.

Rochelle was already halfway down the hall, shuffling towards the living room when I entered. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. She was wearing a pear of denim shorts and a mesh tee shirt to combat the warm spring day. My eyes followed her down the hallway; it was a tight fit. Rochelle had gotten quite wide, her ass jiggling and squeezed out of the bottom of the shorts, converging with her fleshy legs that rubbed together as she stepped and then dragged her bad leg. Not only had her ass gotten wide, but it was huge as well, riding high into her backside. I could see a roll of fat wobbling from side to side through her mesh shirt as she struggled to push her bad leg forward. What had happened to her?

She entered the living room and beckoned me towards a ratty overstuffed chair that sat across from the couch, telling me that, since I was here, I might as well sit down. I sat as commanded and watched her painfully maneuver herself to where she could drop her bulk onto the couch. The front of the mesh tee had a faded Chicago Bulls emblem on it, and the bull was stretched to cartoon proportions by her immense breasts and the jiggly flesh that ran around her rib cage. The shorts were button fly and the top button was undone, allowing her potbelly to come cascading out. Her belly button was deep and surrounded by folds of excess flesh that moved like waves as she settled into the couch, springs squeaking. I saw the barrel of KFC on the end table and the remains of five or six pieces resting on a plate.

She eyed me carefully and then asked me why I had come. I told her that I cared about her and that I had missed her, especially after she had failed to return my last two letters. She seemed to take this in for a moment and then sighed and whispered almost to herself, “Then I guess my rudeness didn't have the desired result. Why can't people just leave me alone?”

“Because people care about you Squirt. You've got to give people a chance.” “Oh.” She interrupted. “And where is that written in the rule book? You just don't get it do you? Sure, sure, you all mean well, but Christ, I don't need sympathy.”

“Hey kid, no-ones doing anything out of sympathy. I'm here because I want to be.”

“How could you? I'm so gross. I can barely walk, my fucking leg gets dragged behind me, and I'm sure you're just exctatic about my scars. C'mon, take a good look.” As she moved sideways showing me the angry set of scars that ran from her knee, up the side of her chunky leg and further, only to be hidden by the shorts.

“Hey, you've got to stop being so hard on yourself Squirt.”

“Oh yeah, like you'd really want to be seen with me in public; watching everyone gawk at me and think 'look at the gimp', or give me that big 'aww, I'm so sorry' look.”

“Let 'em look if they want to. It's only human nature, and besides, what do I care what someone else is thinking?”

“Oh, and like you don't think I'm disgusting?” she chided.

“Too the contrary. I have always thought you were beautiful.”

“Sure, sure. But hey, I sure don't look like I did back in those golden years, now do I?” The furor of her rage was burning. She patted her puffy belly, grabbed a roll of fat between her fingers and complained, “And besides, I'm a great big bucket of lard to boot.”

“Listen 'chelle, I don't care about that or your scars. I'm fond of you; I like to be around you, always have, and if you'll just lighten up and let me talk to you, you'll see just how much I really care about you.”

“Oh, great, you care,” she chided. “Look buster, I don't need any sympathy, especially yours.”

“Wait!” I interrupted, “this is not charity, damn it! Can't you see that you've always been important to me? It's just that before, things were more complicated, you being Richards' sister and all. I've always thought you were special, and I still do.”

“Great, then get me a beer from the fridge, will ya. Oh, and you can help yourself to whatever you want, and excuse me for not being the perfect hostess, but it's kinda hard for me to get around, in case you haven't noticed.”

I smiled at her and crossed the room to the kitchenette and opened the fridge. In it were several types of beer, liter bottles of Pepsi, a jar of Mayo, blue cheese dressing, whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and half a large pizza. I grabbed a couple of beers and returned to the living room, handing one to Roschelle.

We sat and talked for several hours and several more beers, Roschelle finally becoming less hostile, and actually laughing at some of my collegiate anecdotes. I told her of my exciting new job, and how I had the idea for a new engine that could make me a whole lot of money. Then, somehow I finally managed to admit to her that I had fallen in love with her, and was hoping that she would move south with me.

She appeared stunned, then looked at me closely, as if measuring my worth. She then gestured me over to the couch next to her and on my arrival, leaned into me and graced me with the sweetest kiss I had ever had. It was long, sensuous, slow, inviting, yearning, passionate. All I could ever hope for. She was giving me her soul in that kiss, and in my return of it I was promising to take care of her always. We finally broke apart, breathing deeply, and stared into each other's eyes. Roschelle whispered, “Help me to the bedroom then you can do whatever you want with me.”

“All I want is to please you,” I panted as I rose, extended my hand and helped her up from the couch. I put my arm around her thick waist and as she leaned her bulk into me, guided her down the hallway and into the bedroom, where I turned her towards me and kissed her again, feeling her soft body melt into mine. I fumbled with the buttons of her shorts as the material was stretched against her flesh; finally managed to undo the buttons and wrestle her shorts down her padded thighs to her knees. I carefully guided her down so she was sitting on the edge of the bed, and then pulled the shorts the rest of the way off. Her legs were slightly apart as her belly dropped below her tee shirt and hung in the space between her thighs, covering her pubic hair. Her thighs were so round and cushioned as they made their way up to her wide hips. I stood in awe for a moment, my cock swollen with desire, and then kneeling between her thighs as they parted to receive me, lifted the tee shirt up past her swollen belly, pendulous breasts and over her head. She leaned back, letting her arms support her, as her breasts swung slightly side to side, hanging magnificently over her belly, her areolas large and round, her nipples hard and erect. I lifted a breast from its resting place on her stomach, feeling it's heft and it's softness. I had more than a handful as I gently kneaded and then pinched her nipple. As I bent to take her other breast into my mouth she laid backwards with a deep moan and, putting her arm around my neck, drew me to her, letting her fingers run through my hair.

I let my tongue and fingers caress every inch of her soft, round body, Drinking in the curves and rolls of fat around her middle, the fold around her belly button, and then downwards to her velvety, incredibly smooth inner thighs, my fingers playing over the rough scars that ran up the outside of her legs. Roschelle's breathing became deeper and deeper, as she moaned with delight. She tore my shirt off, and with a trembling hand, undid my pants. I snaked them to the ground and then, lifting her heavy belly, tongued her moist pussy as my finger flicked her clit. She began to spasm, her corpulent body bouncing, her fat jiggling all over. I continued to caress her with my tongue and she wrapped her padded thighs around me, and bucking like a SUV going over rough terrain, cried out in exctasy. I tasted the juices of her joy, holding firmly onto a roll of fat around her middle, the other hand cupping her marvelous breast.

She pulled me towards her, intending for me to mount her, but I had other plans. Lying beside her now, sucking on a breast while my finger still caressed her vagina, I reached my other arm across her great expanse of belly and drew her towards me and then rolled her on top of me, feeling all 200 pounds of her pressing down on me. She started to protest, but I told her that it was all OK, she could do this, and everything would be all right. She managed to support her bulk with her arms long enough for me to maneuver my manhood into her still moist canal and then she collapsed her weight on top of me, pinning me to the bed. I got my arms free and worked my hands down her back, grabbing a handful of her flabby butt cheeks and guiding her in a slow, rhythmic gyration.

I felt smothered by fat as I began slapping her bottom, and she screeched with joy as I exploded inside her, her bulk jiggling and shivering. She looked down at me, her eyes watery pools leaking salty tears down her chubby cheeks, and then collapsed into me, my spent shaft still inside her.

We lay like that for hours as I gently stroked her hair and she sobbed into my shoulder. Finally she rose without a word and waddled to the bathroom, her bare ass jiggling and her pendulous breasts swaying in the dim early evening light. She returned with a damp cloth, dragging her bad leg behind her, and washed me off, still saying not a word. I smiled at her, and she gave me a wan smile in return and under her breath whispered, “Forgive me, but I do love you."

She painfully crawled back into bed as I drew her close to me once more, feeling her flabby gut expand and contract against me as she breathed. She fell asleep in my arms and, spent, I soon followed, blissfully aware that I was now deeply in love with Roschelle's mind and her rotund body; every inch of womanly pulchritude.

The next morning I awoke to find Roschelle staring at me from the other side of the bed, an enigmatic look on her face. Trying to fathom all that had happened, I smiled and took her hand in mine and again asked her to come south with me. She gave me a pained look and told me no, it just wouldn't work and she didn't want to hurt me.

Hurt me? Staying apart from me now was what was going to hurt me. I tried to reason with her; told her I loved her, and that there was no reason to stay here in Santa Carla. I told her we could start a new life together, go someplace where she could just be herself, where no-one knew of her past. There would be no baggage, no people feeling sorry for her after what had happened, but she just shook her head and turning away from me said no, and asked me to please leave her now. I tried further, pouring my heart and soul out to her, but, with a tear in her eye she held steadfast and pointed me towards the door. Defeated, I dressed and with a last look back at the sad visage of her sobbing, her great mound of flesh undulating as she wept.

I returned south and began seriously working out the details of my new gaming engine, finally getting the research together to a point where I could pitch it to my company. After some hard negotiations I managed a nice little package of a quarter million retainer and thirty five percent of the distribution, which, if the engine were anywhere near as potent as I anticipated, would net me several million dollars long term. But my enthusiasm was tempered by a gnawing feeling that Roschelle and I were meant to be together and that somehow my one great chance at bliss was being squandered.

I thought long and hard about what really went on that night. It was heaven for me and I thought for her too, so what was it? Was she just so embarrassed by her appearance that she didn't want to burden me? She said something to the effect that she couldn't stand to see other people looking at the two of us and getting the feeling that they were feeling sorry for me for being saddled with the likes of her. Well, if she couldn't get past that, there must be something I could do to make it so other people wouldn't feel sorry for me.

But what?

It came to me one evening as I was coding, and it was so simple, so obvious, that I just had to laugh out loud. So I wrote her a long letter, asking her please to reconsider and that I loved her with all my heart, and if she wouldn't head south, then please let me see her over the Xmas holidays. She confirmed my suspicions about being hung up on appearances, yet consented to see me in December. It was early June now so I had to get cracking.

As I sat at my computer, running code, I started lining my desk with cookies and potato chips. Always on hand were quarts of buttermilk to wash them down. On breaks from coding, I'd hit the freezer and spoon a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Sitting at my desk, munching away, ordering large pizzas; taking a break and driving down for an ultimate cheeseburger, large fries, taco and a large chocolate shake. Dinners of greasy fried chicken with apple pie alamode, microwave lasagna, and pastas with rich cream sauces.

In no time my waistband was feeling the effects of my gluttony. I had stopped working out completely, doing nothing but coding and eating and sleeping. By the end of July I had to spring for some new threads, and by September they were way too tight on me as well. I felt sluggish, but silently reveled as my gut swelled and my face got jowly. My love was pushing me harder and harder to consume more and more. I was getting really soft and round and the pounds were really piling on. My butt barely fit into my computer chair and my gut was pushing me farther and farther away from my keyboard.

The week before Christmas I bought yet another set of new gear and as I stood in the dressing room, looking at my reflection in the mirror I mused, “what a guy won't do for love.” Looking back at me wearing a pair of 46-inch jeans was a butterball of flab, belly high and distended, flabby breasts almost womanly in their appearance. I grabbed a handful of flab around my belly and a grin split my fleshy cheeks. “I hope she approves,” I grunted to myself.

So, the next week found me, all 265 pounds of me, at Roschelle's doorstep, listening for the familiar plodding step drag as she approached the door. It opened on Roschelle wearing a long black shift that failed to conceal the additional twenty or so pounds she had gained, her belly pushing the confines of the material. She had let her hair continue to grow, as it now fell in luxurious cascades of shiny ebony down her back. Her jaw dropped into her triple chin as she stood looking at me in a trance like state.

“Paul,” she began, a little shaky.

“Not the tooth fairy,” I answered with a grin.

She continued to stare at my corpulence and finally brought a chubby hand to her face exclaiming, “You did this for me didn't you?”

“I told you I loved you more than anything,” I replied.

She fell into my arms sobbing, “You really do love me, you really do.”

We held each other a long, long time, and then kissed as sparks flew from our lips, over five hundred pounds of flab entwined and as close as two bodies could get without melting, one into the other. Finally, Roschelle gasped, “Ask me to marry you."

“OK, will you marry me?”

“I do, I will, I love you,” she smiled as she gazed up into my eyes and I looked into hers, knowing I had done the right thing.