Ingenue
By MaxOut

She walked across the crowded room and my radar antennae went to instant overload. I was sitting at a booth in a nightclub, waiting for the band to begin performing when, out of the corner of my eye, she appeared. Oh my goodness, I couldn't believe just how fabulous she looked. You remember that scene in American Beauty when Kevin Spacey first castes his eyes on the cheerleader? How time stops and the whole world turns dark as she is spot lit? Get the picture?

I couldn't take my eyes off her, even as the band began to play; I was so drawn to her. From my vantage point she appeared to be somewhere between say 21 and 25, medium height, five foot four to five six with straight honey blond hair, banged and running to her shoulders. Ah, but that doesn't even begin to tell the story now does it? There are millions of girls who fit the description, so why did this one get me so hot and bothered? Could it be what she was wearing? Perhaps, but more to the point it was how she was wearing it, and the way that she looked in it.

Just a pair of jeans, so what's the big deal. Oh, nothing special except that it was quite obvious that she had outgrown them by at least one size, maybe two. Yep, nice and tight, squeezing her thighs like sausages and hugging her nicely rounded buttocks. 'Oh I see where this is going,' you're saying. This is about some huge behemoth trying to squeeze into a pair of 2x jeans. Nope, sorry, guess again, as this young lass weighed, by my not-so-precise measuring formula, somewhere between 160 and maybe 170 tops. Then what's the big deal, you ask? Oh, patience children, I'm getting there.

You see, what was so enticing was what those too small jeans did to her, something made all too visible by the vest-like top she was wearing. That top was also a bit too small for her, probably bought, like the jeans, 35-40 pounds ago. And since she had added some girth the top now sat a good three inches from the top of her jeans, exposing the most beautiful roll I'd ever seen. Three inches thick at least, it stretched almost completely around her except for a small patch of an inch or two at her spine. The tube of flesh was so perfectly formed, so well rounded and soft looking as it sat perched atop her jeans; it was enough to make a grown man cry.

And yet that same so-soft looking flab also appeared to be firm, not loose and saggy but solid and dense. Oh lawdy, lawdy did she look lovely. As I watched her begin to gyrate to the music my mind was on fire with the infinite possibilities being presented here before me. I looked again at her choice of attire and mulled over the meaning. Hmm, here was a young girl dressing up for a hot rock show. And what did that choice of clothing say about her? In my opinion it was saying volumes. That she was wearing jeans that were so obviously too small for her indicated to me that her weight gain had been recent and rapid; either that or she didn't like the way she looked in her new larger gear and was hoping to pull off an old look. Whatever the case it sure worked for me.

I further wondered if perhaps she had taken a good look in the mirror and decided that she liked the way she looked. Now wouldn't that just be perfect. A plump chubbette actually reveling in her drop-dead appearance. What a mind-blower.

I kept watching her; boy was she distracting me from listening to the band! As she continued to get her groove on the top kept sneaking further and further up her torso, revealing more and more lushciousness. She had a nice potbelly forming, but again it was that alluring contradiction of softness and firmness that really knocked me out. Oh man, the way she jiggled as she moved, like ripples across a calm pond. I was watching it all from my catbird seat in something kin to rapture when the song stopped and my icon of pulchritude stopped her heavenly motions and, realizing that she was about 1/4 naked, pulled her vest down to cover her belly. Hmm, not that much of an exhibitionist aye? Just shy or was she insecure about showing off her plumpness? All food for thought, pardon the pun.

The band launched into another song and soon my lovely was moving to the music and once again the wonderful vest began riding up, almost as if I had telekinesis. My subject seemed caught up in the music and was beyond the point of realizing that her entire belly was exposed for all to see. I just sat back and enjoyed the firm blubber bouncing and shaking as she moved, abandoning herself to the beat.

I was just thinking that I could admire her like this for the rest of the evening when I noticed a guy in a tie-dye shirt rapidly moving towards her from the seating area. When he reached her he put his hands on her shoulders, spun her around to face him and then pulled her vest back down over her belly. She stopped her gyrations and stared at him, as he appeared to be lecturing her. What, a boyfriend? I watched their pantomime and guessed that this was indeed either her boyfriend or her husband.

Man oh man, it seemed like this guy had a problem with his girl showing too much of her too-much in public. I looked at him and thought, 'yeah, like he should talk.' He wasn't exactly what you'd call chiseled in stone if you know what I mean. Sporting a moderate sized bay window on his otherwise lumpy frame you could see that this guy was a serious beer drinker. Hmm, connect the dots: girl meets beer-guzzling guy and adopts his habits. Result; a nice beer gut of her own. Oh what a nice job those hops and grains were doing for her, too bad the same couldn't be said for him.

As if to confirm my thoughts the two protagonists' argument seemed to be heating up rapidly, become all the more animated. Finally she moved away from him and then raised her vest to show off her wonderfully round belly, giving it a solid whack for good measure, sending shock waves rippling across its generous expanse. She then surprised me by moving back towards the boyfriend/husband and gave his paunch a good pat as if to say, 'look whose calling the kettle black.' Watching the display unfold a smile creased my face and I thought, 'good for her.'

Then she pulled her vest back down and moved to the other side of the dance floor. My eyes moved back to Flabby Boy, who stood dumbfounded and then shrugged it off and returned to his chair and his beer. I instantly made a mental L with my thumb and index finger. Poor girl, to be saddled with such a chump. I returned my gaze to the dance floor only to discover that my lovely vision was nowhere to be found. I scanned the room and then found her, in line at the bar ordering a beer. She paid, received her Bud and proceeded to chug it in two long pulls before moving back to the dance floor, her flab swaying with her movements.

I watched her for the rest of the show, ever thankful that I had been at the right place at the right time to witness such perfection. Of course I knew that the show, music and otherwise, had to end sometime, so with a sigh I accepted this small gift and knew that I would cherish the memory of this night undoubtedly forever.

When the lights came up and the crowd made like cattle in heading for the exits, I imagined that this was it; the end of my little slice of heaven. I mentally replayed scenes from the evening while waiting for my wife to take a bathroom break. As I leaned against a wall, trying to look nonchalant, who should round the corner but my lusty lady and her loser. When he took off for the head she walked over and leaned against a low railing, her blubbery gut spilling out over her jeans.

What fate! There she was, a mere ten feet away from me taking a swig from a huge 24-ounce can of Fosters Lager. Yes I was right in that, as well as other counts. From this closer proximity I could tell that yes, she was indeed in her early twenties, and yes, while her ass and thighs were not exactly skinny, most of her weight was residing in her belly. At close range I could see how well it was formed, nice and pudgy, widening and rounding as it poured downward from her ribs.

She was so fucking perfect. I had to tell her, had to try to convey to her that she was a complete 11 in my book. I moved across the aisle and came up close behind her, smelling the alluring combination of her sweet, cheap perfume mingling with her perspiration and the barley and hops. Did I dare? Maybe I was being totally foolish but I made my move, pressing a hand on her shoulder and whispering into her ear, "I wanted to let you know that I think you're beautiful. Don't ever let your husband tell you otherwise."

I moved to her side and she slowly turned towards me as if in a stupor. Her pale, blue gray eyes, the color of sky in the high desert, were glazed and confused. I could see that she was more than just a bit loaded as her brow knitted with concentration, trying to figure out what had just transpired. I pressed on, reinforcing my message, "there are thousands of guys out there just like me who would cut off an arm just for an hour with you. You have the most killer body I've ever seen and I don't want you to ever think otherwise. Promise me you'll never consider yourself as too fat."

With that I reached across to her lovely cheek, void of any noticeable excess padding, and gently gave it a light caress. I then turned away and walked back across the aisle as she stood there, beer in hand, lovely belly once again peeking out from under her vest. I had just returned to my station against the wall when my wife exited the bathroom. Just slightly shorter than my beer sotted dream across the aisle and of equal weight, my wife was wearing spiked high heels; tiger print Capri pants and a mesh leotard top, covered by a black leather jacket. Most of the fifty pounds she had accumulated in our twenty years of wedlock had found their way to her hips, buttocks and thighs, making her a lovely pear shape. I wrapped my arm around her moderately thick middle and as we walked off I let my hand slip down to give her bum a good squeeze. I then glanced back over my shoulder to the ingénue still standing there and winked.

To my surprise she smiled, patted her lovely belly, nodded her head, and raised her Fosters' in a salute before taking another long hard pull.