Melanie

It was a really hot day, one of the first of the summer, and about the last thing I wanted to do was go with my parents to a graduation party for a woman who used to do personal fitness training for me & my mother. It wasn't that I didn't like her or anything -- Robin had always been really great to me -- it was just that I didn't feel like dressing up and hanging out with a bunch of middle-aged people I didn't even know. Especially since I'd put on about 25 pounds in the two years since I'd last seen Robin and none of my dressy clothes even fit right.

But, Mom pulled the You're-living-in-my-house routine and the You'll-never-meet-a-nice-guy-if-you-sit-around-in-your-bathrobe speech which left no room for refutation. So I squeezed myself into this black skirt-and-blouse set which was a little tight, but, because it kind of draped down from my boobs, it did manage to hide most of the bulge from my belly. The long tail of the blouse was a little clingy around my hips and butt, but I really didn't have any choice. While I looked at myself in the mirror, I tried to picture what someone who didn't know me would see.

I'm medium tall (5'7") and I've been told I have a pretty face -- high cheekbones, dark Mediterranean skin, black eyes, straight white teeth; my black hair is long and wavy-curly, usually tied back with a scrunchy or up in a bun. Those are the parts of me that I like.

The guys I've gone out with, however, have usually had other things to focus on. They've always been very impressed with my boobs. When I was working with Robin regularly and was at my "fighting" weight of 132, I bought myself a bunch of 42D bras; I'm still wearing them, although they're way too tight and I'm bulging over the tops of the cups -- I guess it's that buying new, bigger-sized bras is kind of an admission to myself that I'm fat and I'm probably gonna be this way for a while.

Following the mirror's trail of self-loathing, we come to my belly. My belly was never really flat, but it used to be that I could put on a panty-girdle or control-top pantyhose and be pretty sure that no one would suspect; nowadays, my belly is loose and flabby and hangs over the waistband of my panties; I sometimes feel as if it enters a room before I do. My butt is another version of the same story, although in reverse, and my thighs -- well, saddlebags are definitely genetically inherited.

So, just as you'd expect from someone who liked herself as much as I did, when we got to the party, I promptly found a seat inside, in an inconspicuous location, and tried my best to melt into the wallpaper. As (bad) luck would have it, my seat was right next to the food table. And food -- any and all kinds -- is the reason I'm such a mess. I mean, I've met a lot of people I didn't like, but I don't think I can say the same about cheesecake.

From my vantage point, I checked out the table. Despite the fact that Robin is a fanatic about healthy food -- she panics if she thinks she's eaten a gram of fat -- she did put out a great spread for her guests. The caterers had laid out a huge tin of lasagna, three different kinds of pasta, a platter of cold cuts, baked beans, hot dogs and hamburgers, cheeses and crackers, chips, dips, salads, quiches, knishes, breads, rolls and baked potatoes. I resisted temptation and boredom for about ten minutes before I got up "for just a little something." I made my way around the table, and by the time I got back to my seat, my plate was exploring the boundaries of its structural capabilities.

There was a lot of food and I ate extra slowly, figuring that this would be my entertainment for the afternoon and that I should make it last. Even so, twenty minutes later my plate was clean and I was bored again. I looked around to see if anyone at the table was there when I filled up my first plate. Recognizing no one, I made another circuit, doubling up on the lasagna, which was especially good and avoiding the lame-o potato salad and coleslaw.

As I sat down in my chair again, I felt a dangerous tightness around the waistband of my skirt. Surreptitiously, I reached under my blouse and undid the top button. I breathed a sigh of relief and dug in.

It wasn't long before that plate, too, was history. I was totally stuffed and somewhat unable to move. I folded my hands over my swollen belly, leaned back in the seat and watched the crowd for a while. Robin came over for a minute, making the rounds -- she lied, telling me that I looked good, told me we'd talk more later, and darted off to say hello to another guest. It was strange, watching all the people at the buffet table and realizing that I'm just one of an awful lot of women who've got this dangerous flirtation with food. One woman piled her plate high with salad but sneakily stuffed her pockets with petit-fours and asked her daughter to hold her plate while she went to the bathroom. When she came back a few moments later, her pockets were flat and there was the tiniest smudge of chocolate on her lip. I was watching with fascination as a group of four chubby women did what seemed to be a synchronized dance, sneaking one at a time into the dining room, making sure that none of the others were watching, gobbling down a burger or a fried drumstick and then zooming back out to the deck where the others were waiting. A minute later, one of the other would excuse herself for a moment and repeat the performance.

Then, I got up to go to the bathroom at one point during that gobble dance and while I was waiting my turn, I heard the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up. I pretended not to have heard when an extremely thin woman whom I'd seen at the table a couple of times came out a moment later. I finished my business and checked the danger level on my skirt. When I came out, I saw two plump little girls who reminded me of my younger self sitting in the bedroom where the bathroom was, watching tv and eating enormous slices of cake.

I went back to my observation post and a moment later, the most gorgeous man on earth walked over, carrying two plates of food and said in a heavenly British accent, "There you are. I was looking for you and hoping you hadn't left. May I sit down?"

He was about 6'4" tall, with long, wavy brownish-blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a golden tan. His nose was a little crooked -- it had been broken at some point -- and it only served to bring his godlike appearance a little closer to earth. He wore a loose, white shirt and black chinos, but I just knew that his chest was a perfect V-shape and he had a washboard stomach and tight, tanned buns. I lost the ability to speak for a few seconds and was only able to motion to him that the seat next to me was unoccupied.

"Thanks," he said, and sat down, seemingly unaware of my sudden muteness. "I thought you might not have eaten, so I brought you a plate. I wasn't quite sure what you'd fancy, so I put on a bit of everything. I hope that's not too presumptuous of me."

"No," I said, learning how to speak again. "No. Not at all. It looks delicious. Thank you."

"Fantastic," he said and smiled a smile that threatened to strike me dumb again. "I'm Andy. And you are...?"

"Melanie," I mumbled, and he laughed again.

"I'm sorry for laughing. It's just that... I'm as shy as you are. I fight it all the time. Force myself a bit, you see. Pretend to be forward, while I'm actually quaking in my shoes."

I laughed, too, thinking of someone as perfect as him being shy about approaching me! We made smalltalk for a while -- how we knew Robin, the boring people at the party, the lame music, how drunk Robin's husband was. The whole time I picked at my food, almost unconsciously.

I had nearly plowed through the plate when he interrupted a particularly bitchy comment about one of the guests by saying, "I hate to interrupt you, and this might sound a bit odd, but I am absolutely entranced, watching you eat."

I must've turned redder than a fire engine, because he looked horrified. "I'm so sorry," he said. "Please forgive me. I've embarrassed you so. I'll just be going."

He stood up and I nearly panicked. "No, no. It's okay," I said, touching his wrist. "I just... No one's ever said anything like that to me before. It's a... strange kind of compliment and... I was just... surprised. That's all."

"I really had no intention of embarrassing you," he said. "Are you sure I haven't insulted you?" I reassured him for several moments, unwilling to allow him to escape.

"I was watching you eat," he said "and... There was something about your face... something old-fashioned and vulnerable -- with just a touch of passion, mystery and sinful enjoyment in your eyes. I couldn't help but watch you."

I kept hearing the word "Mystery" after that, and the word kept sending a shiver down my spine. He thinks I'm mysterious, I thought, and when he asked if I'd like a piece of cake, I didn't even think twice about how I would ever be able to force a piece of cake into my stomach which was already swollen to bursting. If he had asked me whether I wanted to eat the entire cake, I would have agreed and died trying. "Mysterious," I thought.

He brought me a huge slab of cake -- the first few bites were almost painful as the zipper on my skirt was digging into my inflated stomach. But then, I shifted in my seat, which caused the zipper to unfasten and quickly roll down into my crotch. My belly was free and the rest of the cake went down easy. We talked for a few more moments and then he looked at his watch and said, "Oh my. I've an appointment very soon. Tell me, are you busy this Saturday night? I'd love to get to know you some. May I pick you up for dinner?" I agreed, trying to hide at least some of my eagerness, gave him my address and phone number, and watched, as if a spectator, as he kissed my hand goodbye.

It was around 10:00 that night and I was sitting in the diner with my friend Jess. I met her right as she got off work at the mall, because I was just bursting to tell someone.

We had gotten home from the party at around 5:00 and I had taken a nap because I'd been such a pig that there wasn't much else I was capable of doing. I figured I'd eaten 2 hamburgers, 2 hot dogs, 4 slices of lasagna, at least a pound of pasta, a quarter pound of each of the salads, 5 pieces of fried chicken, a couple of rolls, some cookies, and a huge slab of the most wonderful cake I'd ever tasted. After detailing my overindulgence, I surprised Jess (and myself) by ordering a turkey sandwich plate.

"So, right after he left," I told Jess, "Robin comes over and gives me this hug, saying, 'I can't believe my little Melanie snared Andy. He was really impressed with you.' So, I told her we were going out on Saturday night and she squealed -- almost popped my eardrum -- and said 'That's so great! You're going out with Andrew Sansome. That's SOOOO great!'"

Jess dropped her fork and her eyes almost bugged out of her head. "Your Andy is Andrew Sansome? Andrew Sansome the model? The actor? The guy who's in his underwear on every bus shelter in New York City? He knows Robin?"

"I didn't recognize him. In all the pictures his hair is really short -- buzz cut -- and at the party it was long and down to his shoulders. And I didn't think he'd be so nice, so unassuming. And he came looking for me!"

"Oh my God. I still can't believe it," Jess said. "And you're going out with him on Saturday. Any idea where?"

The waitress came over then, and without thinking, I ordered a slice of Boston creme pie, like I usually did when Jess and I came here for dinner. "I wonder if I should cancel that order," I said.

"After everything you ate today, I'm amazed you finished your sandwich. You keep up like this and he's going to have to get a table for three so you can have two chairs to sit in. That's if he's even still going to be interested in dating a blimp."

I thought for a second about what I'd left out in the story I'd told Jess -- the stuff about how he liked watching me eat. There was something going on there, something I wasn't too sure about and I felt it was better left a secret.

"Well," I said, "today's a total disaster anyway in the battle of the bulge, so... I just won't eat anything for the rest of the week." I dug into my slice of pie while Jess and I talked for an hour or so.

When I got home that night, I undressed in front of the mirror and wound up staring a while at my enormously swollen stomach. It was bigger than it had ever been, both because, at 157 pounds (this morning!), I was heavier than I'd ever been, and, because I'd simply never eaten that much before. I put both hands on my gut, feeling the tautness beneath all the soft blubber; I put my hands under it, lifted it and felt the weight of it as it dropped. I laid down in bed and rubbed my stomach, fascinated with the way it felt. Then, my hand made its way down into my crotch which was warm and furry and dripping wet. The day flowed back over me with an intensity I'd never before experienced, leaving me exhausted and shuddering with delight. I fell asleep on my side, hugging my swollen belly and dreaming of Saturday and mystery.

I figured the week would drag by until my Saturday night date with Andy, the guy who, for some reason, was interested in ME -- 21 years old and a resident of the realm that lies between chubby and fat. I'd spent the better part of a Sunday afternoon stuffing my face out of boredom at Robin's graduation party before he came over -- like some vision out of mythology -- and decided to make a pass at me. It wasn't really a pass, though -- the word has so many negative and tawdry connotations -- he just politely brought me a plate of food and asked if he could sit down. He didn't realize that I'd already eaten enough for any two growing boys, and I didn't tell him.

When he had to leave the party, I was gorged beyond belief, and then I was informed that my Andy was Andrew Sansome -- top male model in the world, owner of the most prestigious male modeling agency in New York, Miami, Paris and London, designer of a hot-selling line of clothing, etc. And he was picking me up for dinner on Saturday night!

On Monday morning, I woke up at around 8:30, after my parents had left for work and waddled, naked, into the bathroom. My belly was still as fat as it had been the night before and it almost blocked my view of the bad news in the scale's little window. 165 pounds! That was the most I'd ever weighed. When I'd weighed myself on Sunday morning it had read 157 pounds and that was bad enough. But -- eight pounds in one day... The thought that a lot of it was the food still in my belly comforted me for about a half-second. While I showered, my lathered hands kept coming back to rest on the taut skin over my full stomach, and I kept thinking about how I'd been so turned on last night that I pleasured myself into oblivion. What turned me on? I wondered, rubbing my soapy belly...

After toweling off and trying three different pairs of jeans, I realized that there was no way I was going to be closing a zipper that day, so I put on a pair of shorts with an elastic waistband and headed down into the kitchen. I heated up a bagel, slathered it with cream cheese and cheddar and washed it down with a glass of orange juice while reading the paper before I realized that I wasn't even hungry. "Okay," I said to myself, "You've gotta watch what you're eating because you have to lose some serious weight this week." I started thinking about what I would wear on Saturday and soon came to the conclusion that even if I somehow miraculously lost 10 pounds, there'd still be nothing nice in my closet I'd fit into.

So, I was a woman with a mission. I was at the mall when it opened, prowling every aisle of every department store, searching for THE outfit. My college degree was in fashion illustration and I knew what I was looking for. That is, I knew I'd know what I was looking for if I could only find it. Only -- I wasn't having much luck. Finally, after combing just about every shop in our shopping-heaven town, I saw it in a little boutique on a mannequin who wasn't too far off of my size (Ha, ha!). I walked in and about 3 seconds later, I walked out. WITHOUT the outfit.

My chosen profession was a haven for ridiculous prices. It WAS just a skirt and blouse outfit and there was certainly no justification for a $700 price tag. I stared at the outfit through the plate glass, seriously considering cashing in some of the bonds I'd gotten for graduation, when I suddenly came to my senses, realizing that it just wasn't worth it. "It's just lace and jersey cotton and some appliqué. The materials probably cost $20 -- if that much -- and..."

The wheels in my head started turning; there was no reason why I couldn't copy that. It wasn't that complicated a design. Rummaging around in my backpack, I found what I was looking for: a small sketchpad and a pencil. For the next 15 minutes, I stood there on the sidewalk sketching furiously from every angle. About 6 or 7 passers-by stopped to watch me draw and the girl who was running the shop -- obviously a fashion student -- looked over my shoulder and asked if I wanted to come in and sketch the back of the outfit. Some of the women watching me followed me into the store and by the time I left, the girl had rung up a couple of hundred dollars in sales from the passers-by.

It was 3:30 in the afternoon by then, and I had a bunch of errands to run for my mother, so I figured I'd get everything ready and get started sewing in the morning. I ate just a salad for dinner, then, before I hit the hay, I dug out my sewing machine and measuring tapes, pattern paper, shears, pins and needles, and called my friend Jess to have her come over to help take my measurements in the morning.

Tuesday morning proved to be a little friendlier in the weight department. I didn't have to squash my belly in with my hands to see that the scale read 161 pounds. I had a glass of tomato juice for breakfast and felt pretty good, although there was still no way I was going to get my jeans on.

Jess came over and we bullshitted for a while; I showed her my drawings and she made some good suggestions, then we went up to my room and I got undressed. Jess looked at me, shaking her head. "Wow!" she said. "I can't believe how fat you've gotten." "Thanks," I said. "Thanks a fucking lot!"

"I didn't say it to be mean," she said. "I just hadn't realized. Look at me. I'm really not one to criticize." She stood up and stretched out her arms and did a little pirouette, demonstrating how huge she was. She'd been fat ever since I used to give her half of my lunch back in elementary school. She had fiery red hair, green eyes flecked with gold, and porcelain-white skin. When I weighed 132 pounds and thought that 161 was really fat, I would have guessed that she weighed about 180. Now that I was (gulp!) over 160 pounds myself, I realized that she must've weighed about 220. Her boobs were big, but she really carried most of her weight in her belly and butt.

"I know you weren't being mean," I said. "I'm just a little sensitive. This date and all. And, I mean, it's not like it's a secret or anything. I DID get pretty fat."

"Why?" she asked. " You were never really fat. When did you start putting on weight?" I stood in the middle of the room and handed her the measuring tape. "I guess it was when I stopped commuting to school from here and moved into the apartment in the city. It was junior year and things were pretty hairy. Living on my own, I wasn't eating regular meals like I did here at home, so I would just eat whenever I got a free minute. Add that to my not working out with Robin all the time, and... It wasn't bad at first; I only put on like 6 pounds in Junior year and lost most of it over the summer.

"But senior year -- it was like my metabolism totally changed or something. Number one, I was hungry all the time, so I was eating all the time. Not total gorge-outs like the other day, but -- a bagel for breakfast and a donut at 10, a slice or two of pizza at 12, a burger at two, an ice cream at 4, Chinese take-out at dinner time, a chocolate bar in the library, coffee and cake after the movies -- constant eating. Then, suddenly, it's graduation-time and here I am bulging out of everything I own and weighing in at 25 pounds heavier than I'd been. Of course, this had to be the time I meet the guy of my dreams, right?"

Jess wrapped the tape around my belly and I instinctively sucked in. "You can't do that," she said. "Even if you lose a couple of pounds, you're not going to be able to walk around with your gut sucked in all the time. Just relax." She was right, so I relaxed and felt the tape sliding through her fingers as my belly expanded. "Thirty-one-and-a-half inches," she said. "Now, the hips." I was still wincing from the first measurement when she pronounced that my hips measured 39 inches. I had her measure the inseam and the outseam, shoulders, neck, arms and torso. Then came the bust. I took off my ill-fitting bra and felt a little strange as the cold plastic-coated tape rubbed my hard nipples first and then the part of my chest above my floppy boobs. "Looks like you need to wear a 44DD bra." "Great," I said. "It was hard enough just trying to find the 42D bra I needed last time."

"Well," Jess said, "I wear a 40D bra and I usually can find one at one of the 'fat-lady' stores in the mall." I groaned. "That's like an admission of defeat, going into one of those places. It's like saying to myself, You're fat so get used to it."

"No, it isn't," Jess said. "It's just getting something you need in the only place available. It's not a big deal. Besides, you'll probably look wonderful in a muumuu." I flipped her the bird and we both laughed. Then, she said, "Well, hurry and get dressed, fatso, we've got to go fabric shopping."

There were a couple of fabric stores in town and we wound up hitting all of them, picking up the lace here, the cotton jersey material there, a little spandex in another place. We stopped for lunch in the diner and I just had a fruit plate and a bite of Jess's chicken breast sandwich. Out of habit, I almost ordered a slice of the Boston creme pie, but caught myself in time and ordered just a cup of coffee instead.

By the time we got back to my house, Jess had to get home. I went upstairs and started drafting my patterns and creating my slopers. I had a plate of pasta for dinner and my mother gave me a little wink when I said "no" to seconds. By the time I was done with all the drawing and measuring, it was well after midnight and I was ready to crash.

I spent all day Wednesday transferring the pattern, cutting the fabric, basting and sewing. I fought with the jersey fabric and ruined half of the spandex. I cursed and I bitched and I moaned, bruising my thumbs and pricking my fingers. The gathers and the pleats and the appliqués took forever, but -- by 8:00 that night -- it was done. I had some salad and a hamburger for dinner and then I met Jess at the diner after she got done at work. I'd been good all week, so I allowed myself a slice of pie to celebrate the completion of my outfit.

"Melly, are you sure you want to eat that?" Jess asked. "It's only two days away." "I know," I said, rubbing my soft blubbery belly under the table, "but I'm doing good. And I'll be extra good tomorrow." And -- just in case I'm not or I won't or I can't -- I'd given the wraparound skirt an extra six inches of breathing room. I smiled to myself and the pie went down real easy.

On the Thursday morning before my big date with Andrew Sansome, the scale said 159. I felt good -- on track and everything. The slice of pie I gobbled last night didn't even matter. My jeans went on -- after a bit of a struggle -- but, after about five minutes of them biting into my gut every time I took a breath, I decided that maybe the jeans weren't such a good idea. I pulled on a summer-y jumper instead and felt instantly better. I made a bagel with cream cheese and boiled a couple of eggs for breakfast. Mom & Dad had left for New Orleans for a couple of days and Mom left a note saying we were all out of coffee, money was in the cupboard, and I had better call her the INSTANT I got back from my date with Andy!

I swallowed everything down with a glass of OJ and headed out on my rounds for the day. I stopped at the donut shop around the corner for a cup of coffee and grabbed a jelly donut, too. I got to the mall (again) a couple of minutes later -- I was starting to feel like I lived there -- but most of the shops weren't open yet. I grabbed a seat in the coffee shop, ordered another cup of coffee and a plain donut and started browsing the newspaper. I got involved reading and drinking coffee and pretty soon, an hour had passed and the mall had come to life. So I headed for my destination -- the fat lady shops.

My belly felt pretty full and unconfined under the jumper -- it was jiggling a little as I walked and tickled when it occasionally rubbed against the silky fabric. I caught sight of myself in a mirrored storefront -- I didn't look that heavy and I wondered if I was the only one who could tell I had a big, fat stomach under that loose dress. I walked into the fat-lady shop and a saleslady came over and asked if I needed help. She was about my height, in her early thirties, I'd guess, and very pretty. She had spiky blond hair, perfect make-up, average-sized torso, and hips that looked wide enough for two women. I told her I was looking for a bra, and she motioned me to follow her to the lingerie section on the other side of the store.

I couldn't take my eyes off of her ass. She was wearing a long, paisley, rayon skirt, and with every step, I could see ripples and waves running through her flesh, and I wanted so badly to reach out and squeeze that magnificent blubber. I felt really strange and really excited -- over a woman! -- so I almost walked right into her butt when she stopped in front of the bra display. I found a model that looked like it would be nice for everyday and another one -- black, with a deep cleavage -- to go under my new outfit. There were no 44DDs out on the floor, so she went into the back to look for one. I followed her intently with my eyes as she walked into the storeroom, memorizing the rhythm of her massive ass.

I wandered around the aisles of lingerie while I waited, surprised to find that they were displaying all kinds of sexy underwear, including a hunter green silk teddy that was the most beautiful one I'd ever seen. It had a neckline which plunged to the navel, edged in black, washed silk, and laced with black silk cord. The high-cut legs were also edged in the black and ended about halfway down the cheeks. The saleslady came back while I was looking at the beautiful design and laughed politely. "I don't think we have that in a size small enough for you," she said. She took me a little by surprise and I stammered, "I... I didn't realize that you had such sexy... I thought you just had...you know..."

"You thought all we had was tent dresses here, right?" She smiled and said, "Large ladies like to look sexy, too, you know. I have that exact teddy there and my husband goes crazy when I wear it." I had to keep my jaw from dropping as a vision of her colossal ass exploding out of that revealing garment came flooding into my mind. I saw her bending over and the silk disappearing into her enormous crack. My crotch suddenly felt a little warm and I started thinking, This is getting totally crazy! I must be losing my mind! I'm getting totally hot for a woman with an elephant-sized ass! She read something in my expression and said, "Believe it or not -- just like there're guys who go crazy for skinny figures like yours -- there are plenty of men who are hot for big women like me. Show me any shape woman and I'll find you a guy who thinks that that is the ideal figure."

She handed me the two bras she'd come back with and directed me to the fitting rooms. After I'd locked the door, I sat down and realized I was shaking. I pulled the dress over my head and took off my tatty bra, standing in just my panties in front of the three mirrored walls of the extra-large cubicle. The mirrors were angled so you could get a view of your entire body: front, side and rear. For some strange reason, I wanted to call the saleslady in here and say, "Look! I don't have a skinny little figure! I'm fat just like you!"

I inspected myself thoroughly. My belly was protruding over the panty waistband a little bit -- considerably smaller than it had been the other day -- but I was sure that my love-handles hadn't been this big before. Then I caught a glimpse of my ass: it was round and full, but the whole thing was probably the size of the saleslady's left cheek. A little frisson of pleasure ran down my spine as I imagined her standing in her teddy in the room with me, my hands running down the silk until it ended in the yards of soft, pink flesh...

"How are you doing in there," she said, knocking gently on the door. "Need any help?" I was surprised and quickly got the bra on, but I was having trouble adjusting the straps. "No," I said, then, "Actually, yes," I heard myself say. "I could use a hand with the strap adjustment."

I opened the door a crack and she squeezed her way in. Although the cubicle was very roomy for one, it was pretty tight for two. I could feel her belly pressing against my back as she played with the adjustable straps, tugging on them, reaching inside the cups at one point to adjust my breasts. My crotch got warmer and warmer; If she touches my belly, I'm going to explode, I thought, as I looked in the magic mirrors and watched every move of her ass, and felt every touch of her warm hands on the cool skin of my back. She turned me around to face her, like I was a little kid trying on clothes for her mom; my belly brushed against the cloth of her skirt and I thought my knees were going to buckle. I had never been so turned on in my life, and then she asked, "How does that feel?" "Wonderful," I practically moaned. "Okay then. I'll just let you finish up." She gave me a gentle pat on the side of my fleshy waist and made her way out the door. I was sweating and breathing heavily and as soon as the door closed, I climaxed with an intensity I had only ever felt on the night I met Andy, when I was lying gorged and immobilized on my bed.

Although I had pretty much collected myself, I was still quivering when she knocked at the door again. "Everything okay," she asked. "Yes," I answered. "Only... after trying on a bra that actually fits, I don't think I can possibly put my old one back on. Is it okay if I wear this one out of here?" She laughed pleasantly, saying, "Honey, I wouldn't dream of making you wear that ratty old thing. Especially not when this one looks so nice on you. Just bring me the new tags."

I paid for the bras and thanked her, telling her that that was the nicest time I'd ever had trying to find lingerie. She thanked me for the compliment and handed me her card, telling me that I should look for her if I needed help again. My hand was shaking and my palms were sweaty as I took the card from her. "Genice DeVree," I read. "I'll be sure to remember that."

My brain was a little foggy when I got out in the mall. The food court was right across from the shop I'd just been in, and before I was totally sure of what I was doing, I was sitting down at a table, staring at the entrance to the fat-lady store and chowing down on a large fries from Isaac's Coney Island Franks. What was happening to me, I thought. Was I losing my mind? I'm lusting after a giant-sized woman like some hormone-driven pubescent boy, having orgasms in dressing rooms, and stuffing my face with junk food when I'm supposed to be on a diet. I heard a voice in my head, way back on the edge of consciousness answering: I want to be like her. I suppressed that thought quickly, pretending I didn't hear it.

My watch said 12:15 when I saw Genice walk out of the shop and into the mall. I grabbed my package and followed her, hypnotized by her fantastic rear and asking myself, Just what the hell do you think you're doing? She stopped at the bookstore and picked up a magazine and then went into the pizza place and sat down at a table. I grabbed a seat at the counter where I could see her, but I was pretty sure she wouldn't see me. The waitress walked over to her and they talked for a minute -- she was obviously a regular -- then the waitress came and told the counterman to fix her a half a veal parmigiana hero. "That sounds good," I told the counterman. "I'll have one, too." The hero was huge, laden with paper-thin filets of tender, breaded veal, gobs of sauce and a sea of molten salty-sweet mozzarella cheese. It seemed like I barely managed to get my mouth around the hero to take the first bite when, before I knew it, the whole thing was already gone.

Genice stood up and so did I, suddenly feeling the weight of the food in my belly. I followed her back through the mall, stopping when she stopped at the frozen yogurt kiosk. I stayed on the opposite side from her and ordered a jumbo cup like she did. I saw two aerobic-type women shaking their heads in disapproval after she passed them; I heard a little kid telling his mommy, "That lady sure is FAT!" I caught myself walking closer to the child, hoping (for some crazy reason) that he'd call me fat, too. I wanted to hear it, but, although I was sure that my belly was huge, he didn't seem to notice me.

Genice went back into her store, and I debated staying outside and following her when she went on break, but I decided that I was being altogether too crazy. So, I headed over to the record store where Jess worked and got there just in time for her lunch break. "How are you doing on your diet?" she asked. "Are you hungry? Do you want to get some lunch?" "Yeah," I lied. "I'm starving. I've been so good all week that if I don't let myself go a little bit, I'm afraid I'm going to go overboard." I patted my belly for emphasis, feeling how full it already was.

We went to Benny's where I ordered a chicken-fried steak platter with a side of onion rings and a strawberry milkshake. "Oh, what the hell," Jess said and ordered the same. "You're a bad influence," she said after the waitress had walked away. "What's gotten into you, anyway?"

"I don't know, Jess. I just seem to have no control over my appetite anymore."

"Well, if you don't do something about it -- and soon -- you're going to wind up as fat as me."

"You know what's really weird?" I asked her. "That doesn't even bother me! In fact -- and I can't believe I'm thinking this, let alone saying it -- I've kinda been thinking that I WANT to get really fat!"

"Oh, great! You finally meet a guy who's interested -- who every girl in the world would be interested in -- and you decide now that you want to be FAT! What is wrong with you, girl?"

She excused herself and headed for the bathroom, shaking her head. I watched her as she walked down the aisle, her fat ass stretching her jeans to the limit, and I fantasized about releasing her big pink ass from captivity, pulling her jeans down right there in the restaurant and letting her tremendous bottom breathe freely. The heat came to my crotch again and I imagined myself kissing and caressing her soft skin and softer flesh... My face was flushing -- I could feel it -- so I stopped myself. Banished the thought of Jess and Genice and my own belly and...

"Stop!" I told myself. I tried to distract myself by looking at the other people in the restaurant. The woman across from me, dining alone, reached under the table and unbuttoned the top button of her jeans. The woman behind me asked the waitress if she could have a little more hot fudge on her sundae. A little girl who was out of sight whined to her mother, "I can too eat the whole thing. I want it!"

I heard Genice saying, "Show me any shape woman and I'll find you a guy who thinks that that is the ideal figure." I heard Jess saying, "Wow! I can't believe how fat you've gotten." And I heard Andy say, "I love watching you eat."

Suddenly, it all made sense! I saw Jess heading back from the bathroom, followed by the waitress with our food, and I could feel my adventure was beginning.

It was Thursday evening of the strangest week in my life. In this one week, I'd: been gorged to immobility; dieted in the single-minded pursuit of fitting into an outfit I'd created; been asked out by an internationally famous male model; lusted after a huge-buttocked saleslady in a clothing store, and now I was standing in the kitchen of my parents' house -- gorged again -- furiously cooking a meal for my girlfriend Jess and me.

My minimalist outfit of just a t-shirt over my bra and panties was a necessity -- everything else I owned was just going to be too tight. It was 4:30 in the afternoon and I'd already eaten 3 big meals and my belly felt like it should probably have its own zip code. I hadn't meant to eat so much that day -- in fact, I'd started the day thinking I was going to continue my diet. But it had been a day of revelations, and it seemed that the feasting was both a cause and an effect of suddenly seeing the light. Okay, okay, I'm being a little oblique, but, it had hit me so suddenly, that I'm still having a little trouble with the words. See, I was sitting in the mall restaurant waiting for Jess to come back from the bathroom and the waitress to come with our food. My belly was already full with breakfast and donuts and a half a veal parmigiana hero and a jumbo frozen yogurt. All around me I was hearing and seeing women eating too much, talking about eating too much, trying to eat more than they should. I was thinking about what had been going on with me that week: the pigging out, the fascination with my growing belly, pleasuring myself while fantasizing about Genice -- the saleslady with the enormous rear.

In my head, I heard Genice saying, "Show me any shape woman and I'll find you a guy who thinks that that is the ideal figure." I heard Jess saying, "Wow! I can't believe how fat you've gotten." And I heard Andy say, "I love watching you eat."

Suddenly, it all made sense! Unconsciously, I'd known it since Sunday, but it was only at that moment that the explanation surfaced into my consciousness. Jess came back from the bathroom and sat down while the server put down our orders of chicken-fried steak platters with sides of onion rings and strawberry milkshakes. I popped a big onion ring in my mouth, tasted the salt and the sweet and felt the wonderful greasiness on my tongue and my lips, and said, "Jess, I figured it out! Andy Sansome wants to get me fat!" She gave me this look as if I was some mental hospital escapee. She swallowed a bite of her steak, washed it down with a big gulp of her milkshake, and asked, "Where the hell did you get that idea?"

"Well," I said, "when I told you about that afternoon, I left something out of the story -- I wasn't sure why -- I mean, now I think it was because I didn't want to admit to myself that it was fascinating to me but, then I wasn't sure of it, so... Anyway, when Andy came over to me, the first thing he said was that he was looking for me and hoped that I hadn't left. He also brought me this plate, piled high with food. I didn't think about it then, but if he was looking for me, then he had to have seen me sitting there before -- right next to the food table -- where I'd been stuffing my face and holding a plate on my lap pretty much since I'd walked in. He knew I'd eaten, and he brought me more food anyway!

Then -- this is the part I didn't tell you about -- he said that he was 'entranced' watching me eat. He said, watching me eat, 'There was something about your face... something old-fashioned and vulnerable -- with just a touch of passion, mystery and sinful enjoyment in your eyes. I couldn't help but watch you.' Then, he brought me this jumbo slab of cake, and when I was done exploring the boundaries of my stomach's expandability, he asked me if I would go to dinner with him on Saturday and left." Jess didn't say anything for a minute, and neither did I. We both just plugged away at our meals, thoughtfully, then, she finished her last onion ring, dabbed her face and asked, "Do you really think there're people who like fat women? Or who want to make a woman fat?" I told her what Genice had said about there being plenty of guys who like heavy women.

She thought again for a minute, then said, "How do you know Genice?" I told her that I didn't really, but I'd had a close encounter with her in the dressing room. "She's got some huge butt," I said. "Yeah, she sure does," Jess answered with -- I thought -- a strange trace of wistfulnesss in her voice.

There was another silence, interrupted by our simultaneous slurping of the bottom of our milkshakes. The noise was really loud and seemed to break the awkwardness of our conversation. We gossiped for a couple of minutes, then I said, "You probably have to get back to work. My parents are gone for a couple of days, so why don't you come over for dinner tonight and we can talk some more." She agreed, we paid the waitress and stood up to go.

I felt like someone had attached a huge water balloon around my waist. My belly was swollen and distended and I could feel its contents shifting and sloshing as I walked -- no, waddled -- out of the mall. Getting into the car was a challenge, but driving -- feeling every bump in the road as it set off ripples in my soft flesh and waves in my gorged stomach -- was exciting. My hand kept finding its way under my dress to caress my bulging tummy and then slipping down into my tight panties to massage my wet pussy; I nearly got myself into a couple of accidents as I fell into minor orgasm after minor orgasm.

When I pulled up to the supermarket, I had to sit in the car for a couple of minutes until I stopped shivering and twitching. I walked into the supermarket with a big smile on my face, and started filling up the shopping cart with chips and salsa and cheese and beer and all the makings for a big Mexican-style dinner. With every step, I could feel my belly bouncing under the skimpy dress and my thighs rubbing together and the warm still-tingling between my legs. I went home feeling full and fat and happy and took a nap, still smiling.

Jess showed up after work at about 6:00. I'd told her to stop home and pick up some things so she could stay over. "You're dressing a little casual this afternoon," she commented, looking at the t-shirt, which was all I was wearing over my bra and panties. I watched her big ass shimmy while I followed her up the stairs to the spare bedroom. "You might as well get comfortable yourself," I said. "No one's around but me and you -- and that chinos-and-golf-shirt-uniform thing isn't exactly your kind of clothes. In fact, I think what I'm wearing is the uniform for the evening. So, get changed and get downstairs. I gotta check on dinner." She saluted, and I did a military turn and marched out of the room. I could feel her eyes following me as I walked down the steps.

She came down a few minutes later wearing the proper uniform, grabbed a beer and hung out in the kitchen, talking to me while I started the rice and began defrosting the tortillas. The conversation worked around her day at work, my parents' trip, the menu for the evening, and pretty soon, we were sitting at the table with our beers, munching out on a big basket of chips, salsa and guacamole.

"So," she asked, "you really think that Andy Sansome likes fat women?"

"I'm not sure he likes fat women," I said, "but I know he'd like to fatten a woman. And I plan on obliging him. I'm bingeing -- gonna stretch my belly tonight and tomorrow and then I'm not eating a thing all day Saturday. He said he likes to watch me eat, so -- whether or not he really does want to fatten me up or not -- I'm gonna be starving and he's gonna see me eat like I've never eaten before."

"Did you ever really pig out before? I mean, like you're planning to do?"

"Well," I said, dipping and crunching the chips, "there was this one time when I was away at school that first year -- when I went to Purcell -- and there was this little restaurant on campus -- the Pancake House. They had this special there called The Chocolate Overdose; it was a stack of three chocolate-chocolate chip pancakes, drowned in chocolate syrup, topped with two scoops of chocolate ice cream and served with a large chocolate milkshake. One night around midnight, we were really stoned, so my first roommate -- what was her name -- Sarah -- that's it -- Sarah and I went over and ordered the Overdose. I remember it was so amazing that Sarah and I just sat there in silence and ate and ate, moaning occasionally -- I swear, we both had orgasms. So we go back to the dorm on this crazy pot and chocolate high, smoke a little more, and then, there's a knock on the door: Some of the girls on the hall are going to the Pancake House for an Overdose and do we want to come. We laughed hysterically for a minute, then Sarah said, 'Bet you can't!' I did and she did, bite after nearly-painful bite.

"We practically carried each other back to the room, and rubbed each other's bellies until we fell asleep. She was really sick the next day, but me -- I got my period and it was like the first time in my life that I wasn't bed-ridden with cramps!

"It's a strange memory," I said, "because last week, I probably would've been embarrassed talking about it, but this week..." I shook my head and got up to start serving dinner. "How about you?" I asked. "Did you ever pig out like that?" I put out the bowls for the black bean soup and ladled the sweet, thick concoction into our bowls, topping them with a huge dollop of sour cream.

"This is really good," she said, taking a couple of spoonfuls. "I've pigged out a bunch of times, and I've always been a big eater, but I guess the most I ever ate was also in college. I was pledging that sorority -- remember that? -- Phi Alpha Tau, and they had this hazing when we pledges were almost through the initiation. They took the rec room of the house, covered the floor with gym mats, made racing lanes, and lined up 8 slices of apple pie in each lane. They put all of us pledges in these tiny yellow running shorts and yellow tube tops -- I was a lot thinner then, but still NOT tube-top material! We were all chubs -- most of the other girls were no better than me, and a couple were much fatter than I am even now. " I put the burrito makings on the table as she told her story, and we both started rolling burritos and eating rice.

"So, they dress us up," Jess continued, "then they have us get down on the mats on hands and elbows so we can crawl down the lanes and eat the pie without taking elbows off the mats -- if you did pick up your elbows, they had a sister following you who smacked you on your nearly-bare butt. It was set up like a race with timers and bets and everything. I was in the second of 3 heats and I watched the first 5 girls getting smacked trying to keep their balance and still pick up the pies with their hands. When it was my turn, I didn't bother with my hands -- I just stuck my whole face in like a dog at a bowl, finished the slices one by one without getting spanked once, and beat the second girl by like a whole minute and a half. I was totally stuffed, and then they told me that I had to compete in a finals round. So, a half hour later, I'm back on the mat, feeling like my belly is so big, it must be dragging on the ground. I finished those six slices, too and came out as the Grand Champion." She put together her third burrito, then continued.

"They let us lie down in our rooms for an hour, then we changed into these tiny yellow thong bikinis. My belly was so huge and round, you could barely see the little triangle of material covering my pussy; meanwhile, every little ripple of cellulite was exposed on my ass and my nipples were barely covered by the little postage stamp top. So, there we were: 15 girls, ranging from chubby to obese -- most of our flesh exposed -- and doing a forced march to the 6 frat houses on campus! At each house, we marched in and all the guys lined up and rubbed our bloated bellies, pinched or slapped our flabby butts, stroked our almost-exposed boobs, then at the end of the line, one guy got to feed each of us, and we had to eat it! They got to make lots of lewd, rude comments because two of the houses had hot dogs, two had bananas, one had ice cream pops. Three girls -- the fattest ones -- quit right away, two threw up after the third house, and the rest of us just kept eating. The last house had eclairs and when it was my turn to eat, the house president squirted the creamy white eclair filling onto my cheek; I stared him in the eye and licked it off, then ate the eclair and said, 'Is that all you've got?' Everyone there applauded, cheering and whistling -- girls and guys -- as he fed me another eclair, then started kissing and licking my swollen belly while I managed to swallow every last bite. I was so turned on I was afraid my knees were going to buckle. We walked back to the house slowly; most of us had to hold up our bellies to keep them from sloshing as we made our way back to our rooms. When I laid down in my bed, my stomach was sticking out so far, that I couldn't see my toes even lying on my back and My arm could barely reach my incredibly horny pussy.. I don't think I've ever eaten that much since."

"Do you think you ever could eat that much again?," I asked, finishing my fifth overstuffed burrito. Jess was keeping up with me burrito for burrito, feeling some sort of competition -- maybe stemming from her story. I got up to get us some more beers.

"I don't know if I could eat that much again. I was a lot younger. I guess I'd really have to be inspired."

I put the beers down, then stood behind her. "What would inspire you?" I asked and stroked her hair, her cheek, her shoulder; she leaned into me for a second, then, realizing something, she froze up. "What are you doing?" she asked. "I'm not sure," I answered. "What does it feel like?" She still had a burrito in her hand when she turned her head around. "It feels like you're trying to seduce me," she said. "Maybe I am," I answered.

Jess was sitting at the kitchen table at my parents' house, wearing just a t-shirt, panties and bra; I was wearing the same outfit. We were both feeling very full, having together finished 10 or 11 burritos, a pound of tortilla chips, a quart of black bean soup and a six-pack of beer. I was standing behind her, my hand stroking the nape of her neck when we both realized that I -- sexually straight Melanie, who was due to go on a date with Andrew Sansome, incredible male model and probable closet feeder -- was making a pass at her.

She grabbed my hand gently and led me around back to my seat. "Melanie," she said, "there's something I have to tell you. A secret I've been keeping from you for a while. About my... my... sexual orientation." I looked right at her: "It's not really a secret," I said. "I've kind of known for a while... And it's okay."

She seemed to relax, then smiled, shook her head, closed her eyes and took a healthy bite of the burrito. "I've been so afraid of this moment. I was afraid I'd lose you as a friend. But how did you know?"

"Come on, Jess," I said. "A million little things. None of them worth anything on their own, but... Going to spend the weekend with some 'friends' in the city. College 'friends' with no names. Going out to clubs with no names. Never mentioning guys. Then all that talk about Sandra, Sandra, Sandra. Then, one day, no Sandra anymore -- just 'we weren't getting along.' So, I figured it was either you were gay, or having a secret life as a prostitute or dealing drugs -- and I just couldn't see you doing any illegal stuff, so..."

We clinked our beer bottles, both of us seeming to forget about the pass I was making. "To us," I said. "Let's live it up! Have another burrito!" She did and I did, and then we went into the living room. I opened up a little ceramic box my parents kept in the curio cabinet and took out their stash of pot. We smoked the joint I rolled, talking, giggling, drinking beer.

An hour later, the munchies kicked in and, although we could hardly believe it, we were ravenous. We raced each other to the kitchen, holding our already-gorged bellies and made short work of the remaining burritos. "How many did you have?" she asked. "eight or nine," I answered, "but I'm not sure." "I think I had more than that," she said. "But -- this is totally blowing me away -- I'm still hungry!"

Opening up the freezer, I took out two half-gallons of ice cream. "Ta-Da!" She took the carton of Chocolate-Chocolate Chunk and said, "You can have the other one!" We took spoons, plopped down on the couch, and dug in. I was full -- moving very slowly -- and still had about a quarter of the container left when she finished hers. "Mind if I help?" she asked.

I handed the carton to her, saying, "Where are you putting all that?" I lifted up her t-shirt and put my cold hand on her incredibly swollen stomach. She moaned a little, then shivered , and I started to gently rub her soft, sweet blubber. I kept rubbing; she kept moaning and eating. In a few minutes, she finished the last bit of dessert and put her hand on my hand. "Well," she said, "I can almost certainly say that this is the stuffed-est I've ever been. Help me up. I have to go pee."

I struggled to haul my gorged self out of the deep, plush couch, then, stood in front of her, grabbed her hands and pulled. Both of us were drunk and stoned, and when she finally got up, she bonked into me, bloated belly to bloated belly. I put my arms around her waist, surprised that I was able to reach my hands around our combined girth, and before either of us realized what we were doing, I was kissing her.

As our lips met and our frozen tongues began their explorations of each others' mouths, the word that kept going through my mind was "soft." Jess was soft. Her tongue was soft on my tongue; her lips were soft on my lips. My hands found their way down her back, feeling the soft, combed cotton of her panties covering the soft, rich flesh of her magnificent ass. I reached under the tight waistband of her panties and felt her soft skin, covered in a fine downy fuzz, like a peach. I was sure that if I bit her, she'd be juicy and sweet. I caressed her soft flesh, feeling it yield beneath my gentle touch. I pressed my fingers In deep and pulled her tightly against me. Our bellies squashed against one another, separated only by the thin t-shirt material. Her hands stroked my long hair, stroked down my back, then massaged and kneaded my newly-rounded buns.

Suddenly, her hands stopped their dreamy motions and made their way to my shoulders, gently pushing me away. "Stop, Melanie," she said. "Do you know what you're doing?" She turned away and went to the bathroom. I smiled and waited patiently, knowing she'd be back in a second.

She did come back, and I watched her every motion -- her red hair shining and bouncing in time with the sway of her wide hips, her hard nipples and her deep belly button making themselves known through the white t-shirt, the ripples in the flesh on the inside of her meaty thighs. She touched my cheek as she came over to me, and I felt the softness and pinkness of her skin as I would feel a feather on my face. "Melanie," she said, "we can't do this. We're drunk and stoned. You don't know what you're doing. I don't want to hurt you and I don't want to be hurt."

"I know exactly what I'm doing, Jess. I'm doing what feels good. And it would feel good to you, too, if you'd just let it. Unless..." I had a sudden moment of doubt -- a feeling like I had somehow joined a game and didn't know all the rules. "Unless you don't find me attractive?"

She laughed and I didn't know whether to join in or to be insulted. "Don't find YOU attractive?" she asked. "God, Melanie. It was my attraction to you that made me realize what I am! All through high school I was fantasizing about you day and night. I gave myself my first orgasm in the spare bedroom of this house -- after that pool party you had where everyone else wound up going home and just you and me wound up skinny-dipping and playing pool tag at two in the morning. You know what a good swimmer I am, but I was swimming extra slow that night just so you'd catch me and so I could feel your naked skin brush against mine -- I was half-ecstatic at your touch and half-mortified that you knew what I was doing. I was jealous of every boyfriend you ever had -- I thought I was the most horrible person in the world because I kept hoping you'd break up with whoever you were going with at that moment and you'd be upset and you'd come to me and we'd... we'd wind up... like... like THIS!" She motioned at me and at herself and the room.

"The other day," she continued, "when you asked me measure you, it was all I could do to keep from blurting out how much I wanted you. And then, when you got undressed and I saw how round and soft and full you'd gotten, it took this Herculean effort to stop me from burying my face between your breasts and..." I was tingling all over by then, practically ripping my shirt and my bra off of my swollen body and rushing towards her. We were kissing passionately, our hands and mouths in constant motion. Jess was naked, too, a moment later, and we both became even more frenzied. Her tongue was playing with my nipples -- kissing them and sucking them -- not too hard and not too gentle. Her hands were stroking my ass, my thighs, my love handles, the back of my neck -- a mirror image of what my hands were doing to her.

Without having to say a word, we made our way upstairs and into my parents' king-size bed. We became a flurry and a frenzy of moans and groans, hands and fingers, lips and tongues, hearts and hot hot pussies. It was all so new to me -- and yet so familiar. I kissed her breasts as if I'd always been kissing breasts -- and I realized that I was kissing her breasts the way I always wanted mine to be kissed -- the way I'd told every man I'd ever been with how to kiss mine. Her pubic hair was stiff and yet soft against my stuffed belly -- like an old favorite baby brush -- and I could feel each individual hair as it tickled my skin. I slid downward on the bed, my tongue and my teeth kissing and gently nibbling on her blubbery jiggly stomach-flesh; my hands found their way along the rolls at her waist, and my mouth kept moving lower and lower.

She smelled warm and tasted hot and her hips were thrusting towards my face in a gentle, yet insistent rhythm. She had the aroma of sex -- earthy and rich -- and my tongue mixed my saliva with her juices, stirring around and around, tickling her clitoris, playing with it, teasing it. Her thick thighs clenched my head, pulling me in tighter; my hands were gripping her hips, pushing my face in deeper. Her hands were tangling themselves in my long hair and her belly was heaving itself into impossible proportions as she took deep breath after deep breath, her back arched again and again, tossing us both around like ships in a storm-tossed bed.

I stopped, and the storm quieted to intermittent quivers. I rested my head on her belly for a moment, sinking through several inches of blubber before my descent was halted by the solidity of her too-full stomach. Her hands -- still shaking -- were on my shoulders then, a gentle pressure, motioning me to come further up on the bed. I obeyed, and seconds later, we were entangled in a passionate kiss, our arms stroking each others necks and backs and asses, our legs twining and untwining, our pussies rubbing on each other's thighs, our tongues and lips sharing each other's tastes.

Then, she was sliding down the bed and burying her head in my boobs. She was kissing and rubbing the sensitive nipples, licking and sucking and massaging, while I slid my burning twat against her hip, bringing me nearly to orgasm. Her hands massaged my bloated belly and, as she stroked it and kneaded it, I felt every ripple of my flesh like a shiver up my spine. I could see only hints of flaming red hair over the rise of my stomach, but when I closed my eyes I could see every move of her fingers and her tongue as if they were lighting little beacon fires inside of me. Soon, the fires began to connect and I felt the waves of heat and pleasure welling up from deep inside my womb and spilling out towards the extremities. My spine was on fire, my belly button, my nipples, my fingers, my toes -- every heaving breath I took just fanned the flames hotter and higher, over and over again.

The next thing I remember, it was a little after two in the morning. We'd been making love for hours and now, Jess and I were embracing -- my big belly filling up the hollow of her back, my arm cupping her breast, her large, soft ass pressing against my pubic mound. "Are you awake?" I whispered. She nodded her head, brushing my face with her hair. She turned over to face me, and when we were belly to belly, she touched my cheek and asked, "Melanie, do you think it's possible that we could stay friends?" "Of course," I answered. "Could we stay lovers?" "Sometimes. I would like that. Sometimes when we need each other this way. Okay?"

She smiled a beautiful smile. "This has been wonderful, Melanie. You are so great" "I know," I said. "And I'm so modest, too." She laughed -- a sudden, surprising, tension-releasing laugh -- and then gave me a spank on my butt. I felt a wave moving through my blubber, tickling my love-handles and my belly.

"You know what's the greatest thing about me, though," I asked, sitting up. "It's that I can read minds. And I can read that you wish there was a whole Boston creme pie just waiting in the refrigerator, right? Well -- there is!"

"You're crazy!" she said "How could you possibly still want to eat?" But, nonetheless, she followed me downstairs into the kitchen and didn't refuse when I put a quarter of the pie on her plate and handed her a fork. We finished those slices and then the rest of the pie in record time; we leaned back in our chairs and rested our hands on our distended stomachs. We didn't say anything for a few minutes, then -- wiseass me -- I mimicked Jess from the other day, "Wow, " I said. "I can't believe how fat you've gotten." She laughed, recognizing the reference, then said, "Yeah, well, it's nothing like how fat I'll get if I keep hanging around with you! I'll be 300 pounds in no time!"

"That would be okay," I said, "but only if you put it all on in your ass, like Genice, the lady from the fat lady clothing store."

"Oh, God," Jess said, "is that ass MAGNIFICENT, or what? I see her everyday I work -- there's this coffee shop right near my store and she stops in every morning for a large coffee and two of these big, gooey cinnamon buns -- and I practically drool after her like some construction worker seeing Cindy Crawford. I would just LOVE to bury my face in all that flesh! But, she's straight. Married..."

"I'm straight, too," I reminded her, " so... You never know!. "Well," she said, "for now, I'm just going to go to sleep and dream about it. And I'm going to dream about your chubby little ass, too!" "You won't have to dream about it," I said, "because my chubby little ass is going to be right next to you."

We waddled upstairs, crawled back into the well-used bed, kissed and cuddled, and before we knew it, we were both fast asleep.

I woke up next to Jess on Friday morning feeling warm, happy and FAT! The scale couldn't confirm warm and happy, but -- since I'd weighed myself in at 159 pounds the previous morning -- 168 pounds was definitely fat! And, since my stomach was hiding my toes and rumbling as if I hadn't eaten in days, it looked as if the fat train was gonna keep on rolling.

Jess was still sleeping when I got out of the shower; she'd kicked the covers off and was laying on her stomach, her wide, pink ass tempting me with memories of its softness. Jess was very soft and I was getting softer -- women in general made me think "soft". But, I knew that I liked "hard", too. And Andy Sansome -- the man whom "Faces & Places" magazine called, "the most desirable man in the world" -- was hard AND he was coming to pick me up for dinner on Saturday night.

Hard and soft. I kissed Jess hard on her soft lips, waking her up. She smiled, groggily and asked: "Last night wasn't just an incredible dream, was it?" "Not unless you found a way to give yourself hickeys on your own ass." We laughed and then I told her I was going to make breakfast while she showered. I threw on a t-shirt and headed downstairs; my nipples were sensitive from the previous night's licking and sucking and I felt them getting hard as they rubbed against the soft cotton.

By the time Jess came down, dressed in a loose sundress which showed off her deep, creamy cleavage, the food was ready. I brought our plates to the table, loaded with four pancakes, three eggs, hash browns, biscuits with white gravy and five strips of bacon. "Its a truckstop breakfast," I said. "But neither one of us are truckers," she reminded me.

"No," I said, dropping a couple of pats of butter on both of our pancake stacks, "but we've gotta eat like truckers so we can accomplish our goals." "What goals are those?" "Me -- I've got to stretch my stomach so that when I fast tomorrow before going out with Andy Sansome, the guy who wants to make me pig out, I'll be able to give him a great show because I'll be as hungry as a trucker who just did 600 miles without a stop. And you -- you've gotta make your ass as big as Genice's so next time we sleep together I won't need a mattress, let alone a pillow!"

"Well," Jess laughed, "I don't know about that goal, but I AM definitely hungry and these pancakes do look VERY good, so..." We dug in, making silly comments as we ate, giving each other those morning-after-lovers looks, and in no time at all we had plowed through those platefuls, seconds on hashbrowns and biscuits and the rest of the pound of bacon I'd cooked. After cleaning up, we plopped down on the living room couches and moaned a little bit about how stuffed we were. It was 10:00 and Jess had to be in work at 11:30. She asked what I was doing for the rest of the day.

"Eating," I said. "Stretching my stomach, preparing for tomorrow night. I think I made a pretty good start so far. "What do you think?"

"I think," she said, "that no matter what Andrew Sansome expects from his date tomorrow night, he's bought himself an unforgettable night."

I thought about it and started laughing. "Can you imagine if I'm dead wrong about him wanting to feed me? I can just see it: Andy picks me up, expecting that maybe I've dropped a couple of pounds in the past week, and here I come waddling out to his limo with my belly threatening to bust some buttons on my dress. Then, we're sitting in some posh restaurant, and I'm starving to death because I've been eating like an elephant pregnant with sextuplets for the past week and now I haven't eaten all day. The waiter asks what I'll have and I order two appetizers, soup, salad, three entrees, and four desserts. Andy's jaw drops and stays dropped while I finish everything I've ordered, and -- since he's been too shocked to pick up his fork -- I finish everything on his plate, too. Meanwhile, my dress has exploded off of me, but, on the way home, I insist we stop at Ted & Marty's for a quart of David Gooey ice cream. And he's too shocked to say a word when I can't put on the seatbelt because it isn't long enough to reach over my gut!" We were both picturing the scene, holding our bellies and laughing near-hysterically. Jess was laying on her back and kicking her feet in the air and I could feel all the food sloshing around in my stomach as I gasped to get the words out.

Jess calmed down enough after a while to say, "But imagine if you were right about his attraction to you." I thought for a second, then said, "Well -- then I'm going to be so fat so soon that you're going to look like an anorectic!"

After some passionate kisses and a couple of talk shows, Jess left for work and I tried to get dressed. "Tried" because nothing fit me. The sun dress I'd worn the day before was too clingy against my stomach, my stretch pants were in the laundry and my jeans would've laughed at me if they could've gotten over my thighs. I paced around my parents' bedroom, then opened my Dad's closet and -- eureka! His 36-waist jeans hung on me like a pair of baggies. I tied the waist -- what waist? -- with a piece of rope, pulled on one of his t-shirts and one of his tall-man button-downs, put on a pair of sandals, a big ridiculous straw hat with a matching beach-sized straw bag, blue eye-shadow and a pair of tiny, round granny glasses, and --voila! -- I was just another suburban fashion victim! I was ready to explore the boundaries of gastronomic excess!

My first stop was the Dippity Donut, where I picked up a box of 48 Pop 'Ems and started poppin' 'em as I headed for Harry Ho's Oriental Express -- home of the all-you-can-eat Oriental Lunch Buffet. It was only 11:30, so there was hardly anyone in the place besides me and a table of five lady senior citizens. They put me at a small table for two in the corner -- I was kind of glad, because, although it was a bit of a walk to the buffet table, I had to parade past almost every table in the place to get my food. The thought of all those strangers seeing me stuff my face was giving me this additional thrill.

Harry's buffet was famous for it's selection of "entree quality" buffet dishes -- usually more than 75 different dishes for only $6.95! My first plateful was a sampling of Asian appetizers -- spring rolls, eggrolls, dumplings, shrimp toast, fried wontons, chicken satay and vegetable tempura. The old people smiled at me as I walked back to my table, opened my book and started eating as I read. The second trip was chicken dishes from Korea, Japan, Thailand and China; the old ladies smiled again. The third trip was beef dishes -- Orange Beef, negimaki, a beef-coconut-peanut curry and a couple of others; the old ladies whispered among themselves as I passed. The fourth trip was seafood -- shrimp and scallops in lobster sauce, crab tempura, a Vietnamese spicy-fish-and-cauliflower dish and several rolls of assorted tuna sushi. The old ladies were at the counter paying, so I waved at them -- several of them looked somewhat shocked and the others shook their heads.

The place was getting pretty busy; almost every table I walked by was occupied now -- mostly middle-aged men in suits, but an occasional group of women or a woman with kids. I sat down and realized that the rope belt was starting to feel like a noose around my expanding stomach. I loosened it so it left a little room for expansion, but not so loose that the jeans would slide off of me. The bus-girl came over to clear my table. She was Asian -- very thin and very pretty, with long, black hair and ink-black eyes. "The food is great," I said. "I just can't stop eating until I've tried everything! How do you stay so thin?" She just smiled and asked if I needed the check. I told her that I wasn't quite done yet, but I'd let her know.

By 2:30, I must've made twelve trips to the buffet; my belly was so inflated that -- while the 36-waist jeans weren't even close to tight -- the rope belt wasn't necessary to keep the pants from falling down. I'd been feeling really hot and a little dizzy after about the eighth trip, so I'd taken off the button-down shirt, exposing to everyone present the curve of my swollen stomach under the thin material. The bus-girl had come by two more times, asking very politely if I was done yet.

I'd just finished the fried rice, lo mein and moo shu mixture I'd created on my plate, when an irate-looking Oriental man came to my table with the bus-girl. "You done," he said. I stifled a belch, smiled and said, "No, thank you. I think there's still a few dishes I haven't tried." He shook his head, saying, "No, you done." The restaurant was still pretty full and I could see a few people waiting for seats, so it didn't take much to figure out what he was getting at; I decided to play dumb. "No, really, I'm not." He got a little angrier. "You eat so much. So much is no good." "Oh, no," I said, innocently, "everything is wonderful, although I still haven't tried the Mongolian Beef."

He was getting louder and there were a lot of people looking our way. I thought he was getting ready to start jumping up and down, when he said, "You like pig! Just like pig!" I smiled and shook my head, "Yes, I like pork very much, but I love the tofu dishes and the vegetable dishes -- everything! In fact, I think I'm still a little hungry." I picked up my pocketbook, stood up and said, "Excuse me." He was practically screaming now: "No, you stealing. You stealing! Where you put food?" He looked under the table, on the seats, then grabbed my pocket book and opened it up. "Where you put food?" he yelled, grabbing my upper arms.

I could feel every eye in the restaurant was watching what was going on. "I don't like these accusations AT ALL," I said, brushing his hands from me. "You want to know where I put the food? Well -- I put it all here!" With that, I pulled up my t-shirt and pulled the waistband of the jeans down to the top of my bikini panties, leaving my hugely swollen pink belly exposed to everyone. He stepped back, jaw dropped; throughout the dining room, I could see heads shaking. There was an enjoyable little tingle that was starting in-between my thighs, so I put one hand under my belly, lifting the gorged blubber and dropping it several times. "Here's where I put your food! All twelve platefuls!" There were murmurs all through the restaurant: "God, what a pig!" "Can you believe she ate that much!" "She looks pregnant!" "It's almost like she's proud of being that fat!" "If she eats any more, she's going to explode!"

I was enjoying the scene I was making and the comments I was hearing, so I decided to take it to another level. I walked over to the next table -- four businessmen -- and said, "What are you looking at? Do you have a personal problem with how much I eat?" I didn't wait for him to answer, but grabbed an eggroll from his plate and swallowed it down in three bites. I grabbed a dumpling from the next table, fried wontons from the next -- something from each table and a couple of handfuls from the buffet, then I went right out the front door. The Asian man followed me, saying, "You no come back! You no come back!"

I just walked to my car, still swallowing and trying not to laugh. I unzipped the jeans and slid in, feeling the weight of my gorged gut spreading my legs apart. I was exhilarated, knowing that the entire restaurant was still watching me drive away, still making comments, still shaking their heads. My pussy was on fire so one hand quickly left the steering wheel and started massaging and rubbing, starting all those little fires again, until I had to pull over. I couldn't believe how a lot of eating could turn me from a sedate, self-hating, somewhat shy girl into a sexually insatiable, fat-loving, bi-sexual exhibitionist!

When the doorbell rang at 7:30, I quickly threw the button-down shirt over my naked body, grabbed the profusion of burger wrappers from the family-room coffee-table, crumbled them up, tossed them in the garbage and peered through the peephole. It was Jess, smiling and waving and carrying her overnight bag. I gave her a big hug and then we kissed. "You wouldn't mind some company tonight, would you? Especially not some company who just called in an order for two pizza pies delivered here, right?" "Well, sure," I answered, "but what are you going to eat?"

She came in and I told her about my Asian experience; she was properly shocked, and then totally blown away when I told her that over the past five hours I'd also polished off a half-dozen cheeseburgers and two jumbo milkshakes from Burger World. She moved behind me, reached around, put her hand on my belly and rubbed firmly, sensually, round and round; my knees got a little weak, then the doorbell rang again.

Jess answered -- I couldn't move. It was the pizza delivery guy. He was young and pretty cute, with a round face and a somewhat soft body; I suddenly wondered what he'd look like if he was fat. "Having a party?" he asked me, as Jess got the money out of her purse. "No," I said, pulling the shirt tight over my distended belly and walking close enough to read "Jason" from his nametag, "I'm just REAL hungry!" Jess laughed as she paid him, saying, "She's a little crazy -- and a little drunk." She closed the door behind him and said, "I've got to keep an eye on you. You really are getting out of control!" "Shut up," I said, "and let's get naked!"

We spent the next hour-and-a-half touching and kissing and laughing and feeding each other slice after slice of the delicious pizza. We licked the sauce from each other's lips, smeared sauce on each other's breasts and sucked them clean; I put the last slice on Jess's body -- the crust on her fat belly and the tip just touching her pussy. I crawled on top of her -- my crotch in her face -- and started slowly eating the slice of pizza, crust-first, moving slowly but surely towards the heat of her pussy, wriggling with waves of excitement as her hands caressed my soft round ass and her tongue dove deeper and deeper into me. She was thrusting her hips and her belly into my face as I kept eating my way down her soft, blubbery body. I could feel the weight of all the food in my belly as I lifted my ass in rhythm with her hungry tongue, keeping that same rhythm with my biting and chewing and my inexorable progress toward the last bite of the pizza.

With the last bite still in my mouth, and Jess's thrusting hips insistent, my tongue found its way to her clitoris. She moaned and sighed and her excitement and the fullness of my belly and the vibrations of her voice on my overstimulated clitoris sent me into paroxysms of pleasure, which sent my tongue into a frenzy which sent her over the edge, which took me to new heights... We were like some perpetual orgasm machine, each twitch and quake and quiver translated through our tongues into the other's particular pleasure...

When it finally stopped, we turned around and clung to each other, sweaty and exhausted; it was several minutes before we could do any more than stroke each other's hair and back and ass, belly against damp belly, enjoying the tiny tingles and larger aftershocks of our earthquakes of pleasure. "That was the best piece of pizza I ever had!" I said, finally. Jess laughed for a minute, then said, "Hey, it's not fair: I didn't get to have a slice like that!" She grabbed the cordless phone from the coffee table and pressed the buttons quickly. She asked for two pies, then gave the address. "Yes," she said. "we did get the other two earlier, but we need two more.."

"How did you know the number so well?" I asked when she hung up. "Because, my newly fat friend, you are not the inventor of pigging out!" "No," I said, between hungry kisses, "but I AM going to perfect it!"

Waking up with Jess on Saturday morning wasn't as sleepily enjoyable as waking up on Friday had been. This time, the phone rang at 9:00. Jess was lying on her back and the phone was on the night table next to her, so I scrambled over and wound up straddling her. Her eyes were open and pussy hair was gently rubbing against mine as I picked up the receiver. "Hello?" My voice was still froggy, and my sister didn't recognize it at first. "Mel? Is that you? Did I wake you?"

"Yes, yes and yes," I said. Jess had a big smile on her face and one of her hands was gently stroking my belly, while the other was tweaking my nipple. I grabbed her boob and almost missed my sister saying that she and her two kids would be over at about 10:30 to go swimming. "Is that a problem?" she asked in her usual unpleasant voice. "Well..." I started to say, but was cut off by her saying, "Deal with it." "Okay," I said to the dial tone. I laid down on Jess, carefully aligning my belly button with her belly button and then my nipples with her nipples and then my lips with her lips. She grunted, "Be careful, fatso, I've got to pee." I wriggled my hips and inflated my belly, saying, "Oh, does this hurt?" She giggled and rolled over, dumping me on my side of the bed, then jumped up and ran into the bathroom. I watched the ripples and jiggles in her butt as she went.

"Who was it on the phone," she said over the echo-y bathroom sounds. "The bitch," I answered. "She's bringing the two brats over to swim in an hour-and-a-half." "You mean your sister?" Jess asked, coming out of the bathroom naked and doing a pirouette for me. "Yes," I said, laughing. "What's so funny?" "Nothing," I said. "It's just that you've still got pizza sauce on your ass!"

"Well, I guess you weren't too hungry -- you didn't do a very good job licking it all off!" I walked over to her, turned her around, bent her over and gave her a big wet licking kiss right on her round, pink left cheek. Then, she stood up and turned around and we hugged, belly to bloated belly, our heads on each others shoulders. "I had a lot of fun last night," I said. "But, did we really eat four pizzas! There's some baseball teams that wouldn't eat four pizzas!" "No," she answered, "we only ate three. You had me sit in the last one, remember?" "Of course, I do. How about --" "-- do you remember the delivery boy's face when he showed up with the second two pizzas --" "-- He was so cute --" "-- and so shocked when you lifted up your shirt and asked him if he thought your belly was too big." "Do you think he likes fat girls? Maybe he went home and jerked off!" "More likely he went home and threw up!"

We were still laughing and bantering as we made the bed and then took a shower together. We soaped each other up, making sure to caress every inch of our bodies; she lovingly shampooed my long hair and I gave her scalp a vigorous massage. When we got out of the shower, I got on the scale and promptly gave a little scream. "One hundred and seventy-one pounds! Oh my god! I couldn't have gained that much!" "You didn't," Jess said. "Think about it: you haven't even digested half of the food from breakfast yesterday, let alone the twelve platefuls from the Oriental restaurant, the hamburgers or the pizza. You haven't gone to the bathroom, either. So, everything you ate yesterday is still in that big round wonderful belly of yours. If you're really not eating anything today, then I bet you'll be 166 or 167 by the time Andrew Sansome picks you up tonight." "But," I said, "166 or 167! I weighed 159 like two days ago! I've never been this fat before!" "I wish I had that problem," Jess said. "How much do you weigh?" I asked. "None of your business," she answered.

I was very surprised. "Why so secret," I asked. "We've been sharing everything for a long time and really everything for the past couple of days. I love every pound of you--" I pulled her close, running my hands over the soft skin of her still-damp ass. "Will knowing a number make you love me any better? Will it make me sexier? More attractive?" "Of course not," I said. "Melanie, you said you love me. We've been friends forever, lovers for a couple of days... You think I'm beautiful the size I am. You make me feel beautiful the size I am. When I'm with you, I love the way I feel, I love to eat and I love to think about getting even fatter with you. But when I look at the scale, and I see the number, all that goes away! So, please..." "I'm sorry," I said, and we hugged again.

It took a few minutes of running around the bedroom, hiding the evidence of our sleeping together, and then heading downstairs before we were able to shake the somber mood. But, picking up the last, uneaten pizza, with the unmistakable imprint of Jess's big ass -- that totally cracked us up! Then, it was back upstairs to figure out what we were going to wear sitting out at the pool. "This wouldn't have been a problem," I said, "if Witchy-poo wasn't coming over. I would've just gone naked! But, I'm not ready to show off my fat body to anyone yet." "Well, except for the entire occupancy of the Oriental restaurant, not to mention the pizza boy..." "No," I said, struggling to find the distinction. "Those were strangers. Strangers are okay. I kind of enjoyed hearing them all make comments and observations about me. But, this is my sister. Her comments will be mean."

"She's not really one to talk, is she," Jess asked, digging through my mother's clothes drawer and coming up with a one-piece that would probably fit her. "No," I said. "She's not one to talk about anything. Especially not her weight. My mother told me that she weighs like 300 pounds but she thinks she weighs about 110. I mean, my mother's heavy, you're heavy -- I'm getting heavy -- but none of us would dream of insulting someone to their face about being fat. I bet the first thing she says to me when she gets here is 'God, you're becoming quite a fat load aren't you?' I mean, I don't care if she's fat -- I do care that she doesn't believe me when I tell her that that low-life boyfriend of hers keeps making passes at me -- thank God HE won't be here!"

"It's okay, Melly," Jess said, trying to calm me down. "She's just jealous of you. She knows she fucked up her life... Look, we'll just hang at one end of the pool, away from her and the kids... We'll pretend we're sleeping when she wants to talk to us... And soon enough, Andy Sansome, the most gorgeous man in the world, will be calling you to tell you when he's going to pick you up. That'll really give her something to be jealous about!" I was feeling really weak, just then, not as strong and sure and secure as I'd been all week -- my sister always was able to make me feel that way. "What if he doesn't call?' I asked. Jess just shook her head, ignored my question, and pulled the black bathing suit up her thighs. It fit her well, containing most of her wide, soft ass in its generous seat. The tummy control hid a lot of the damage from the past two days we'd spent eating together, and the cups, which were several sizes too small, only seemed to emphasize and accentuate the deep dark creamy cleavage between her large breasts. Her brilliant red hair and beautiful green eyes were enhanced by the contrast with the shiny black spandex.

I was having trouble finding a suit for me, meanwhile. I'd never been this heavy, so there was nothing in my drawers, and my mother hadn't been this thin since she was first pregnant with my sister. Jess pulled a white string bikini out of the drawer. "How about this one?" "Are you kidding?" I answered. "That one was tight about 30 pounds ago! My sister'll have a field day with that one!" I continued looking, and suddenly realized that my sister was going to have a field day no matter what I was wearing, so... I tried on the bikini -- Jess helped me tie the hip ties and the back bow -- and then I looked at myself in the full-length mirror in my mother's room. I had to laugh! The suit was ridiculously small on me. All around my waist, the blubber was flowing over the string, obscuring it like white-bread dough rising over the loaf pan. My still-swollen stomach forced the little triangle of fabric to fold over on itself, revealing to all the world that my hair is not colored; in the rear, the cloth quietly sunk into the deep crack between my round cheeks. The bra cups were more like teaspoons -- they barely covered my nipples, and my breasts were barely confined, flowing over the tops, sides and bottoms. I felt like I was wearing one of those super-heroine costumes where you know that the fabric must have some anti-gravity properties. I looked at myself in the mirror, turning around a couple of times, watching the way my new blubber moved, then said, "Oh, what the fuck! Let her feast her eyes!"

Sure enough, when Linda showed up with Jewel, the six-year old, and Caitlin, the four-year old, she came right over to Jess and me, said, "Hi, Jess, how are you?" Then before Jess could answer, she turned to me and said, "So, look at you! You're turning into quite a blimp! Have you been living in front of the refrigerator, or something?" I gave her a forced smile, saying, "Yeah, I guess it runs in the family." The girls got to my chair, then, and Caitlin said, "Hi, Aunt Melly-Belly. I have a 'kini, too. And I have a big belly, too." She lifted her long t-shirt to show us that she did, indeed, have a big belly -- much bigger than a four-year old should have -- then, she lifted up her sister's shirt and, demonstrated that Jewel was also quite fat. "Mommy says we have good ap-a-pipes." "I'm sure your mommy would know," I said. "Yeah, well, Miss 'Melly-Belly' blimp-oid," my sister said -- making it obvious that she was spending too much time with little children, "I just hope that your dream date doesn't start having nightmares when he sees that he's going out with a fat pig!"

Jess was ready in case she had to physically restrain me, but I let Linda and the kids walk away without saying another word. I continued in silence for a little while, feeling the warm sun being absorbed into my soft white flesh, sensing the presence of Jess close beside me, hearing the sounds of the children getting into the water and my stomach rumbling with hunger, thinking about everything that had happened over the past week.

After a few minutes, Jess gently touched my arm "Are you okay," she asked. I shielded my eyes against the sun with my hand and rolled toward her. "Yes," I said. "I am, I really am. I've been thinking... About me and you, about Andy, about Linda and the kids... Jess, this past week -- the only word for what I've felt is 'Joy.' It's kind of an old-fashioned word, but it really fits. I think you felt it, too -- the past couple of days, you've seemed so relaxed and so happy -- " "-- I've been walking on clouds!" she said. "Me, too! Everything has been fun and exciting and NEW! I've felt joyful! Last week, I hated myself, but this week... And now I know why Linda is so miserable -- she has no joy. None. She just slogs along -- I've been doing it, too, for so long -- she doesn't try to do anything, to change anything, to find anything new. And she's making her kids like that. I mean -- this belly -- " I patted myself on my gravity-flattened bulge "-- this is a joyful belly. I enjoyed every bite that went into making it big." Jess nodded in agreement, saying, "Well, until these last two days, I never felt any enjoyment in being fat -- it was always painful -- but, now... I've had so much fun, that I don't care if my jeans won't close for a week!"

At that moment, my belly let out a rumble that probably registered on seismographs at the South Pole. It was shocking at first, then it was hysterical. "Wow! If my stomach is this hungry at 11:00, what's it going to be doing by the time he comes to pick me up?!" "I don't know," Jess said, "but I don't have to fast today, so you can watch me eat breakfast if you want!" With that, she got up and headed inside. I followed a moment later, concentrating on the many motions of her thighs, and feeling my own footsteps echoing through my flesh. The kids and Linda were sitting at the patio table absent-mindedly devouring a box of donuts while reading and coloring.

I went to the bathroom when I got inside, and by the time I was done, Jess had fixed herself a bagel, piled high with cream cheese, cheese, lox, onion and tomato, a glass of orange juice, and was cooking up an omelet with cheese. "You're trying to torture me, right?" I said. "No," she answered, "but I'm a growing girl. I need my nourishment." "Well, I'm starving, so I hope you don't mind if I go outside so I don't have to watch you eat all that." "But that's exactly why I'm eating all this," she said. "I want you to watch, and when my tummy's full, I want you to rub it, so I'll have room to scarf down some of those donuts your sister brought!" "You're torturing me!" I said, but stayed inside anyway. Jess made a big show of finishing every bite, and I really did rub her tummy. When we kissed, we both felt the danger of being observed, and it only made it that much more titillating.

The morning and early afternoon went pretty quickly. Jess continued to torture me by eating almost continually, while my stomach growled and growled, louder and louder, and I kept going to the bathroom. At around 4:30, Linda left without saying a word, and about 5 minutes later, the phone rang. I answered it in record time, and sure enough it was Andy. "Hi," I said, trying to catch my breath. "Hello, yourself," he answered, his beautiful British accent almost tickling my ears. Jess was slower on the take-off, so she came bursting in at that moment, the tight Spandex of her suit quashing all the collateral motion of her flesh, but making her stuffed belly and her big boobs dance up and down as one unit; I held the phone a little away from my ear, so she could listen, too. "You sound quite winded," he said. "You've been exercising to build up your appetite, I take it?" "You might say that," I answered, both Jess and I suppressing a giggle. "Well, I hope all that exercise has helped, because Zake's has a reputation for great food, generous portions and incredible desserts. So, I'll collect you at 7:30-ish, all right?" "Sounds terrific," I said, "and don't worry about my appetite. I'm starving right now!" "Great," he said, "Zake will be thrilled. So, I'll ring off now -- see you!"

"You know, you might be right about his wanting to feed you," Jess said, later as we toweled each other off from our shower. She'd eaten a half-dozen donuts, grilled herself three burgers for lunch, and polished off a bag of tortilla chips, so her belly was enormous. I reached around behind her and ran my hands over all the soft flesh covering the hard, full belly. "Yeah, well, if he doesn't want to feed me, we can feed each other, okay? "Sure, fine," she said, "only, I'm not going to fit into my uniform pants anytime soon."

Jess insisted on dressing me, like I was a little kid, and I enjoyed the feeling of her hands all over my body, fussing and primping, reaching into my bra cups to straighten my boobs, tying the skirt around my less-swollen-than-this-morning-but-still-much-bigger-than-it-had-been-bell y. I sat between her legs while she brushed my long, black hair, closing my eyes and leaning back against her cushiony body. When she was satisfied, she stood me up in front of the mirror. I had always hated looking at myself, so, this time I was surprised -- I liked what I saw! My skin had a sunny new-tan glow; my hair sparkled from all the brushing; my boobs were full, casting voluptuous, almost palpable shadows on the smooth, black spandex-paneled blouse; my hips were wide and womanly beneath my thickened waist, joining with my protruding belly and my round ass to give the flowing skirt a stage to drape over.

The doorbell rang while Jess and I were admiring my profile. I looked at my watch and was amazed to see that it was 7:35! We ran downstairs and asked Andrew in. His eyes seemed to study me, then he smiled broadly, "You look ravishing," he said, then looked at Jess and asked, And your beautiful friend is --" "Jess," I said. "Short for Jessica, which she hates." "Thanks," Jess said, giving me a fake dagger look. The three of us chatted for a moment, then he said, "Shall we?" Jess said she'd lock up, and Andy and I walked out to his car. Just as he opened the door for me, I thought of something I'd forgot, told him I'd be right back, and ran into the house. I blew by Jess, right up the stairs, into the bathroom, kicked off my shoes, and stepped on the scale; then, I stepped into my shoes, ran back down the steps, paused to tell Jess, "One hundred and sixty-eight pounds, with all my clothes on!" I opened the door, but Jess put her hand on my arm. "Two hundred and eighteen on Thursday," she said, "and two hundred and twenty-eight when I got out of the shower tonight." I smiled and kissed her and told her I'd call her first thing in the morning, then ran back to the waiting truck.

As we pulled away, I waved at Jess, still waiting in the doorway.

My stomach was grumbling so incessantly that I was sure that Andy could hear it over the sound of his engine. He made no mention of it, however as we pulled away from my house. I could see Jess in the side view mirror, getting smaller and smaller as we headed down the street. Was she upset, I wondered? Would she be depressed, the two of us having been so close for the past two days, suddenly being alone, suddenly having to deal with the fact that she'd gained quite a few pounds in a very short time? Would she be jealous? Did she still like men at all? Enough to be jealous of me for going out with Andrew Sansome, male model, number one on all the international hunks lists, now owner of his own modeling agency? Jealous of Andy Sansome for going out with me, her best friend, now her lover? Jealous of the way I'd decided to become fat, while she'd never really thought of it as a choice?

Andy was talking about his car, and I suddenly realized that I'd missed some of what he'd been saying. "-- I loved that car, so, I was going to bring the old tin can over here -- but the EPA wanted me to put 10,000 dollars into emissions modifications! That's when I bumped into a chap in the city who was from Dunedin who knew someone who knew someone who was selling a Rover --this one -- which was practically the same as my old one." I looked around the interior -- totally functional and spare, clean but old. I don't know too much about cars, but this one seemed rugged and well-used. "Of course," he said, "you Americans drive on the wrong side of the road..." The perspective shift took me by surprise and I laughed, suddenly back in the flow of the conversation, "I never realized that you look at it differently. I mean, I didn't even think that you British people probably talk about 'American accents', like we talk about English accents."

"Well," he said, "I don't know if English people talk about that, but in New Zealand, it was always one of our favorite games." I felt myself blushing, "I -- I didn't realize that you were a New Zealander. I hope it's not an insult..." "No, not really. We've pretty much decided that the Brits are okay -- we just won't let them lead our troops if there's ever a war again. Now, if you'd called me an Aussie, I'd've been honor-bound to give you the whole speech about them being convicts and us being traders and merchants. Now, aren't you glad you didn't touch that nerve?"

He laughed and looked over at me; seeing his face, so golden and perfect, suddenly made me realize that I -- Melanie Nobody -- was going out with one of the most desirable men in the world. The things I'd been sure of for the past few days -- my newfound sexual attraction to my girlfriend Jess, my conviction that he was a feeder and determined to make me fat, the incredible number of calories I'd consumed in what was really only a few hours, the snugness of my clothes against the new fullness of my waist and hips -- seemed in danger of collapsing in a spectacular cloud of dust.

Then, he said, "Well, talking about New Zealand, that's where Zake is from. You've heard of Zake's?" "Who hasn't?" I answered. "Anyone who loves food -- good food... I mean, I've never been there, but..." "I know," he said. "People have to phone months ahead for a table. It really fries Zake that the place is always filled with models and movie stars with these tiny little appetites, who barely touch the food -- they're just there to be seen. He loves people who love his food -- loves someone with a great appetite. I told him about your appetite -- told him you'd appreciate him."

Maybe, I thought. Maybe I was right. "Sounds like you know Zake well," I said. "Rightly so," he said. "I AM his partner, after all. We were roommates -- came over here together in '82. He busted his butt, waiting tables, bussing tables, coming in on his own time to watch the sous-chefs start the sauces, place the orders. Meanwhile, I go from nobody to the cover of HQ about 15 minutes after we stepped off the plane." He pulled up to the restaurant, and we waited while the chauffeur of the limo ahead of us opened the door and held the door open for the passengers -- that movie star with the violet eyes who'd gone from child star to divorcee screen goddess to alcoholic to fat and happy do-gooder for AIDS. "Now Zake won't mind seeing HER," Andy said. She appreciates his cooking -- and it shows!" "But, don't you think she's too fat?" I asked, testing. "Only if she thinks she is," he answered. "If she's happy, then she's beautiful. If she's free to do as she pleases, then she's even more beautiful." He pulled up to the valet, and said, "Now watch out for the paparazzi. They'll get up right in your face with their bloody cameras. Just chin up, smile and walk straight in with me."

We ran the gauntlet of flashbulbs, and by the time we got inside, all I could see were spots of electric blue and orange. Andy's arm was around my waist, his hand resting on the soft flesh of my love handle, his fingers just reaching the side of my belly. "Mr. Sansome," the maitre d' was saying, "Mr. Zinn has asked me to seat you and your friend in the Red Room. If you'd care to follow me..." As we walked through the restaurant, I could feel eyes all over me -- eyes which I'd seen millions of times on TV, in movies, on CD covers, in the tabloids; It felt exceedingly strange to be on the other side of the scrutiny. I thought about what they must've seen: Andrew Sansome, looking like a long-haired god in a black linen suit, accompanied by a chubby little girl in a wraparound skirt and spandex blouse. What a strange couple!

We were shown to a private room in the back of the restaurant. At first glance, it looked like something you'd see in an old British movie, where the men go to "The Club." It was paneled in dark wood, books covered the walls, there were three over-stuffed leather chairs, and a red velvet-covered chaise lounge. What changed the initial impression was that, in the center of the room was a table, adequate for four, but set for two, with delicate floral-patterned Limoges china, silver service and a silver candelabra, crystal goblets, and a spray of flowers in a Chinese vase. Andrew held my chair out for me, and pushed it in as I sat down. As soon as he was seated, there was a knock at the door; Andy said, "Come," and a girl about my age walked in. She was wearing a long skirt and a white, frilly blouse; her curly, strawberry-blonde hair was piled up in a loose bun; her blue eyes sparkled above plump cheeks. She said, "Hello, Andy," then turned to me and said, "You must be Melanie. Zake said Andy's been talking about you all week. I'm Mara, the head waitress and your waitress tonight. Zake's made some choices for you, unless there's something specific..." Andy turned to me and said, "Do you mind if we leave it in his hands?" "No," I answered, "not at all. Trying to decide is always such a pain." "Great," Mara said, "then I'll be right back with your appetizers."

She turned and walked out a door between two bookcases, which seemed to lead right to the kitchen. Andy followed her with his eyes, watching appreciatively the sway of her extra-wide hips; I couldn't help but watch, too. "She's really pretty," I said. "When she came here to work," Andy said, "she was this little waif-type thingie, barely a girl, barely 43 kilos -- 95 pounds. We're still not sure if she was anorectic or if she was just too broke to eat. Well, Zake got a hold of her, sat her down at the table -- married her last fall -- and now she's looking healthy and womanly. More beautiful all the time." "You don't think she's a little too heavy?" I asked. "Not even close," he said.

Mara came back with a couple of beers and a plateful -- almost a tray-full -- of Bluff Oysters, a New Zealand variety. They were large and plump, some battered and fried, some in the shell, some broiled with bacon. Andy doused his oysters with malt vinegar, so I followed suit, slurping and talking, and pretty soon, the plateful was reduced to just a pile of empty shells. My stomach's rumbling only seemed to get more insistent upon encountering the first food I'd had all day. Next came a green salad, garnished with kiwifruit and drowning in a sweet dressing, accompanied by another round of beer. I was pretty pleased that Andy was keeping up with me, finishing quite a few oysters and his entire salad. Mara brought the soup next, a delicious chowder of orange roughy, vegetables and cream, along with a hunk of crusty bread. I finished that quickly, as did Andy, and felt -- finally -- a respite from the incredible hunger; I wasn't full yet -- not by a long shot -- but I wasn't painfully hungry anymore.

Andy was finishing up telling a story about a friend of his named Jake, and how I would meet him later on. I was a little confused -- and a little buzzed -- so I asked if Jake was from New Zealand, too. His expression was confused, for a moment, then it dawned on him. "Oh! Zake and Jake -- they're the same person. His name's Jake Zinn. There were two Jakes in our primer class, so the teacher called them Jake B. and Jake Z. Well, Jake Z. became Z-Jake, then Zake -- kids' thing and it stuck. Sorry about that." I asked him a million questions about New Zealand, all of which he was happy to answer. He told me about the mountains and the Maori, the flightless kiwi and kakapo, the giant Tuatura lizard -- older than the dinosaurs -- and the 2000 year-old kauri trees. He sounded like he loved his country so much, I asked him why he came here.

He smiled wryly and said, "No one loves his country more than an expatriate. I left there because at 19 years old I thought it was too boring -- to provincial. I thought I was stifled by the country and that I needed to get to America, the center of the world. I was going to be a photographer -- photograph cities and the faces of the people who inhabited them. I had a camera and some cash I'd saved, I had Zake for company. We landed in New York, found a small flat -- Zake started waitering and I hauled my portfolio down Madison Avenue -- hoping to get some assignment work from an ad agency. First place I'm at, the bird at reception is staring at me like crazy, calls in her boss another woman who grabs me by the arm and takes me into her private, and asks if I've got an agent. Five minutes later She's taking me by taxi to a place on Fashion Avenue, where all these painted women and gay men are pushing me, poking me, prodding me, photographing me. The rest is history, I guess." He laughed a quiet kind of laugh, then said, "I never even got to open my portfolio."

At that moment, the kitchen door opened and Mara came in, with a large serving bowl of spaghetti and two plates. The pasta was in a pink cream sauce and was well-populated with deep red crayfish; she served me a heaping serving and Andy a somewhat smaller portion. The sauce was excellent and the crayfish tender, and although my stomach was feeling pretty full, I had no problem accepting when Andy offered me another helping. I could feel my belly pressing against the waistband of the skirt, so I deftly reached under the table, untied the knot and tied it again looser. When Mara came to clear the plates away a few minutes later, she nodded appreciatively, saying, "Zake will be so happy. Andy told him you appreciated good food." She leaned over and whispered in my ear, "And, by the way, the bathroom for this room is right through that door to the kitchen -- in case you need to... adjust anything. I know I've usually got to remove my girdle before the main course!" She giggled and gave my shoulder a little squeeze, then said, "Zake'll be right out with the roast. He wants to carve it himself -- but if you've eaten your fill..." They both looked at me -- I was ready -- So, I said, "Of course not. The food is great and I can never get enough good food! I'm looking forward to this!"

Andy seemed pleased with my answer, and when Mara's big butt had disappeared through the door, Andy asked me, "So, how come you've got no beau? A beautiful girl like you?" "Thanks for the compliment," I said, "but I'm really not that beautiful -- at least maybe not to Americans. In high school I had plenty of boyfriends, but -- college was pretty tough: lots of work, late-night studying, drawing, sewing -- not much time for romance. And, I put on about 25 pounds my senior year -- the few guys around seemed to disappear." "Well," he said, "they were bloody fools, then. I walked into Robin's party -- saw you right away -- and asked Robin who you were." He reached across the table and touched my hand. "I don't think I can recall another face from that day to this." I felt my face flush and a little tingle start its way up my spine. I knew that if I'd read that line in a story, I'd've never believed it, but somehow...

I didn't get a chance to reply at all, because just then, the kitchen door swung open, propelled by sudden contact with Mara's rear as she wheeled in a cart topped with an enormous black and pink roast leg of lamb. At the other end of the cart was a huge man -- at least 6'2" and easily 400 pounds -- who was wearing a toque and blabbing my name before he even entered the room: "Melanie, Melanie, Melanie, Melanie, all week long, Melanie, Melanie, Melanie, Melanie. She'll be too frightened. She's so beautiful. She won't believe I'm serious. She's so beautiful..." He was fully in the room, then, and he stopped, took a long look at me, motioned me to stand up -- I did, and performed a little pirouette; Andy and Mara were both shaking their heads in mock embarrassment. When I sat down, he bowed from where his waist would have been if he'd still had one, then said, "I am glad to make your acquaintance, Melanie. I'm Zake -- which you've probably figured out by now -- and because I'm an honest bloke, I must tell Andy right now those words I most hate to say: You were right! She is quite a heavenly creature!"

As he turned to me, the verbal torrent seemed in no danger of abating. "Now, I notice you taking in my bulk -- admiringly, I must surmise -- because surely you know the old adage: 'Never trust a thin chef or a fat doctor.' And by those words -- and the preceding courses -- you have come to the proper conclusion that I, Zake, am a master chef! Which I am, but only for those who really appreciate it. The hoity-toity starlets and starlocks out there get McZealand cuisine and they rave about it and pay my rent many times over and keep my beautiful Mara here in the jewels and fancy clothes she has so recently and so completely become accustomed to."

He gave Mara a little hug and kiss, then walked over to the cart and picked up his knives. "Now," he said, "before the main attraction becomes cold, let me just tell you that this is the leg -- the right rear leg -- of my uncle's prize sheep -- winner of the First Place ribbon at the South Island Agricultural Fair. I had him ship it over, telling him that it'd be eaten by Hollywood stars and business tycoons -- who I wouldn't waste it on -- except for that violet-eyed beauty out there. Poor thing, she's going in for hip surgery -- she'll be convalescing in bed for a month or two and all she'll be able to do is eat, eat ,eat until she's as big as a house again. Shame, isn't it?" He didn't give anyone time to agree or disagree, just kept his monologue going as his knives went snickety-snick and carefully, exactingly carved slice after slice -- each one containing the perfect proportions of carbon and caramel crust, tender and pinkish meat, and red and juicy flesh. There were garlicked potatoes, drowned in the pan juices and seared peppers to finish off the plate.

As soon as Mara set the plate with the first large slice in front of me, I dug in and realized that it tasted as good as it looked -- even as good as Zake's boasting had claimed it to be. The lamb was warm and cut like butter, the potatoes melted on my tongue, the peppers released their fragrance in my mouth. I must've been eating with my eyes closed, because I barely noticed Mara and Zake refilling my plate. Andy was eating his first serving slowly, and I felt his eyes studying my face even before I saw him watching. I could feel my belly swelling with each swallow, the skirt becoming tighter and tighter, a familiar warm tingling becoming more pronounced between my legs.

Andy asked if I wanted another helping; "One second," I said as I reached under the table and again loosened my skirt. I brushed my hand against my pussy, and the chill ran quickly up my back; my neck tipped back and I let out a tiny little gasp. My shoulders shook for a second, I regained control of my muscles, looked around to see if anyone had noticed, then said, "Yes, I'll have another helping, please." Zake clapped his pudgy hands together, saying, "Bravo!" and cut me another large slice. I ate the potatoes first, then stated in on the meat. I realized then that my arms were very tired, my belly seemed to be almost touching the table, and I was taking a long time between forkfuls; suddenly, Andy was next to me, cutting the meat, feeding me the last few forkfuls. I didn't protest, just surrendered, dutifully chewing and swallowing, feeling Zake's warm hand on my shoulder and Mara's soft touch brushing through my hair.

I don't think I've gotten that much attention for finishing a meal since I was 2 years old and ate my first plateful of big people's food. Andy Sansome -- world-famous model and my date for the evening -- was feeding me the last bites of my third entree. Zake Zinn, -- chef to the stars was cutting the tender lamb into bite-sized pieces, Mara -- the beautiful, plump waitress who was Zake's wife -- was stroking my long, black hair, holding my beer and voicing encouragement with every swallow. Andy's face was filled with a restrained excitement -- a quick glance at his crotch showed there were other areas of excitement, too -- and so, as I finished the last potato, I put on a little show: I licked my lips, then rubbed my inflated belly and said, "Now that was a delicious meal! My compliments to the chef! And, I'm sure dessert will be just as wonderful!" Zake took a little bow -- as much of a bow as a 400-pound man can take -- and I stood up to go to the bathroom.

That's when I realized just how full -- and buzzed -- I really was. My stomach felt like it wasn't really part of me -- like it was some bag filled with a semi-liquid attached to my front. The tight spandex panels on my shirt couldn't keep a grip on the steep slope of my belly, so the shirt's hem had ridden up above the skirt's waistband, exposing a strip of taut pink flesh; I raised my hands above my head in an exaggerated stretch, pulling the shirt all the way free, then ran my hand over the bare flesh, under the waistband, forcing the fabric down under my bellybutton, and exposing the entire expanse of my stomach. Andy's gaze was glued to my hand's motions, so I couldn't help one more little tease: I patted my tummy a couple of times, feeling the little ripples run around to my newly freed love-handles. "I'll be back in a minute," I said, and headed for the ladies room.

The food in my stomach was sloshing around with the rhythm of my steps to such an extent that I had to walk with my hand on my belly to support its weight. I untied my skirt, pulled down my panties and pulled up my shirt, then sat down on the toilet bowl. My gut was so swollen that my legs were forced apart and seemingly half of my thighs were hidden from my view; I couldn't keep my hands from massaging my belly, and each time I stroked the taut and tender flesh, a sexual tingle started in my crotch and worked its magical way outward around my entire body. I touched my thigh, flattened out and hanging over the edge of the toilet seat and that gave me a tingle. I reached my hand under my bra and as I gently brushed by my nipple, I shuddered, realizing that the fatter I got and the more I ate, the more I became one giant, sensuous nerve ending, stimulated by even the slightest touch.

When I was finished and standing in the toilet stall, naked from the waist down, unable to see my feet, I couldn't keep my hands from massaging my belly, from running through my pubic hair, from squeezing and stroking my well-padded butt, from teasing my pussy which was hot and very wet. I thought of Jess -- wondered what she was doing, whether she was eating, remembered her beautiful belly hanging over my chest as I teased her clitoris with my tongue and kneaded her wide fat ass, felt my finger impersonating her tongue in my pussy. My knees buckled as I came suddenly and violently, each thrust of my hips and arch of my back set my swollen belly to swinging as if it were something separate from me. When I calmed down, I was sitting again, slightly sweaty and trembling.

I'd pulled up my panties and skirt and splashed some water on my face, when Mara opened the door. "Are you okay?" she asked. "You were gone a while, so Andy asked me to check on you." My face was a little pale and I was still trembling -- I must've looked a sight, because she asked me if I'd been sick. I leaned against the wall, laughed and took her hand, placing it on my belly to show her just how full it still was, then said, "Nope. I wouldn't waste a drop of Zake's food! I'm just a little drunk."

She didn't take her hand away when I let go; instead she slipped it under my shirt. I could feel the warmth of her touch burning right through me as she moved around my waist, my back, my belly button. She pressed her mouth against my ear, whispering, "You feel so good, so soft, so round." My hand found its way to her wide, plump ass and I stroked and caressed it through the silky fabric of her dress. "Are you hungry?" she asked, her hot breath tickling my ear and the nape of my neck. I moaned and pressed her against me, feeling the shape of her fat belly against my side. Her hand was making its way under my waistband, under the waistband of my panties; "Are you thinking about dessert? You have such a big belly to fill. You can't be full yet, are you?" "No," I moaned, shivering as her tongue traced its way around my ear and her finger found my clit; I lost control of all my muscles except my hand which was frantically squeezing her blubbery butt. "Are you hungry? It's fun being hungry. I'm always hungry." she whispered. "Yes. I'm so hungry. I want to eat. I want to eat everything. I want to eat until I explode." "Good," she said. "Very good."

She backed her hand away slowly, despite my sudden grip on her wrist. She blew gently in my ear, stuck her finger, tasting of me, in her mouth, then in mine. "Come on," she said. "Andy's waiting and you've got dessert to finish. I'll tell him you're okay and you'll be along in a minute." She turned away, a wicked little smile on her face and left me alone, dazed and in such a state of arousal as I hadn't ever felt before. My clothes gave me the chills as they brushed against my skin, I could feel my hair tickling my neck, the breeze from the air conditioning vent dancing over my arms. I took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom, following my belly and my pussy.

The table had been cleared and Andy was sitting in an armchair next to the chaise lounge; there was a small coffee table, set with two cake plates and teacups. Andy stood up as I came near, his eyes focused on my hand, which was tracing slow circles around my stomach. He moved the coffee table away from the couch to allow me to sit down. I plopped, and he poured some tea for the two of us. "Are you hungry? " he asked, hopefully. "Were you thinking about dessert?" I heard Mara's voice in my ear, and shivered a little. "Of course," I said, dreamily patting my belly, "there's always room for dessert!"

He looked very pleased, put his hand on my knee, and said, "I'm having a wonderful time tonight. Better than I imagined! How about you?" "Definitely!" I said, the touch of his hand radiating up my thigh. I put my hand on his, sliding it up his arm, his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. I pulled him closer and kissed him, hard and deep, tasting his warm breath, his lips, his tongue. He was sitting next to me, and his hand moved up my thigh, around my butt, under my shirt and up my back. I moaned softly into his mouth, and pressed myself closer to him, grabbing his shoulders, then the back of his head, running my fingers through the long, wavy hair. Someone cleared their throat, and we separated guiltily, until then, unaware that Mara and Zake were standing just several feet away.

"Well," Zake said, "I'm right glad you weren't stuck together or something; I was just beginning to wonder if I'd need to turn the hose on the two of you. We've much more important things to do with our mouths than to bother tasting each other's tonsils! Dessert for instance. Mara..." She pushed the little dessert cart over next to the coffee table, saying, "We've got a few assorted things tonight: a cappuccino tart with whipped mascarpone cheese topping, a raspberry bread pudding, vanilla hokey-pokey ice cream, and of course, pavlova with whipped cream and bananas and passion fruit. Which would you like?" She looked at me and touched the tip of her index finger to her tongue -- the finger that had been exciting me only a few minutes before.

"It's so hard to decide," I said. "Maybe I should try them all?" Mara and Zake both grinned knowingly, and Andy's hand stopped it's gentle rubbing of my back. "Are you sure?" he said. "It might be too much." "Not if you help me," I said, and Zake let out a laugh that resonated from the depths of his massive gut. "This one's a danger," he said to Andy. "She's got you all figured out!" They cut slices of the pies and tarts and piled a bowl to capacity with the ice cream, then said, "Enjoy!" and made their way out, arms around each other's waists.

I picked up the first slice -- the cappuccino tart -- and dug in, gobbling forkful after forkful of the rich and slightly bitter tart and the sweet and creamy cheese topping. That was gone, along with the bread pudding in no time at all. But when I finished feeding myself the last bite, I realized that I was quite gorged. Suddenly, I was very hot; I could feel my forehead becoming slightly damp. "I think I need to put my feet up," I said. Andy sprang up from the couch, and I stretched out, supported by the couch and half-sitting up, immediately feeling some relief. Andy untied my skirt, and that helped even more. The coolness of the air in the room felt good on my bare thighs; I pulled my shirt up to just below my bra and my swollen belly felt the cool air, too. "Are you okay?" Andy asked, kneeling alongside the couch. He was genuinely concerned, but his eyes kept wandering over to the expanse of my stomach.

"Yes," I answered, my gaze following his. Reclining definitely helped -- the only pressure on my stomach now was the weight of all the food inside me. My hand seemed to have a mind of its own, resting on my stomach and making slow circles on the sensitive skin. I could see my belly was defying gravity, like a pregnant belly. My thighs were flattened out, squeezed together, with puffy little bulges where they met the tight elastic leg-holes of my bikini panties. There were little creases -- the start of a roll -- at the back of my waist. "I just started feeling very warm, but I think some ice cream would help cool me down." "Are you sure?" he asked, hesitantly and hopefully at the same time. "You don't have to..."

"Sure, I do. Mom always said you take what you can finish and you finish what you take. So... Why don't you feed me?" He picked up the bowl of ice cream which was soft and slightly melted, and I noticed his hands were trembling. My mouth was open and waiting as he brought the first spoonful near; I took it hungrily, the cold vanilla surprising my tongue and the chewy hokey-pokey bits bursting with sweetness. The second, third and fourth spoonfuls went down quickly, and I could feel the wave of cold flowing down the back of my throat and spreading into my stomach, cooling me down. He kept feeding me and I kept eating until all that was left in the bowl was a pool of melted cream; I took the bowl from his hand, brought it to my mouth and drank all the cold liquid.

As I passed the empty bowl back to him, a drop detached itself from the side of the bowl and dripped onto the hot skin of my stomach. He put down the bowl, looked me in the eye, then leaned over and licked up the single drop. The touch of his lips and the soft wetness of his tongue sent a powerful electric thrill straight through me; I pulled up my legs and arched my back, pressing my overstuffed flesh hard into his face. One of his hands ran down the back of my flabby thigh, while his other hand began to caress my breasts through my bunched-up shirt; his tongue was moving all over my distended belly, tasting every inch of the taut flesh. His fingers brushed against my pussy during his exploration of my thigh, and I gasped, my fingers grasping the material of his shirt, steering him by his shoulders until his face was near mine.

We kissed, long and hard and deep, roughly and tenderly at the same time, my cold tongue warming up in his mouth, our hands tangling in each other's hair. I felt his powerful shoulders, his strong arms, the slight roughness of his cheeks; his hands never stopped moving over my hips and love-handles, under my shirt and over my bra. The passion of the kiss flowed and flowed and then, slowly, ebbed, leaving us floating in each other's gaze, stroking each other's faces, brows, necks.

"We should go," he whispered. "Find a place..." "Not yet," I said. "I didn't finish." "You can't possibly still be hungry, can you?" "There's all kinds of hungry," I answered, "and right now, I'm starving for that pavlova. I want you to feed me every last bit." "But..." he protested, "... you can't." I put on a begging tone, playing the role so well, that I convinced myself: "Please. Please feed me." I whispered hoarsely about my hunger, and he complied, hesitantly at first, cutting a small piece of the shell with the spoon, and gingerly putting it into my waiting mouth. The crunchy meringue melted sweetly, exposing my tongue to the soft interior, the whipped cream, the pulped passion fruit, the starchy banana. I moaned when I'd swallowed. "Feed me more. Please feed me more." And he did, spoonful after spoonful; I was practically writhing in anticipation of each bite, swallowing hungrily, fitting the food god-only-knows where. I was dizzy and sweating and short of breath -- and still disappointed when the last bite was gone.

He kissed me, tasting the last bits of the dessert from my tongue. He stroked my impossible belly while my hand found its way to his crotch, feeling the heat and hardness of his dick through the loose linen fabric; I undid his button and his zipper and snaked my hand under his underwear waistband, finding my way to the prize. I thought I'd burn my hand, it was so hot... so hot and so smooth; wrapping my hand around the engorged shaft, I stroked and squeezed, cupped his scrotum, ran my nails gently up its length. I smiled inwardly as he occasionally lost his kissing concentration, his hand seemingly forgetting where it was. I rolled on my side, my packed-solid belly barely succumbing to gravity, and scooted down the couch until my mouth was pressed against the waistband of his boxers. His eyes were closed and he didn't move as I gently pulled his underwear down and blew on the tip of his cock, opened my lips around it and took it in my mouth without touching. I was breathing heavily and I knew he could feel the warm breeze of my breath as I exhaled and the cool air rushing across his sensitive skin as I inhaled. My hand was gently pressing against the small of his back, while my other hand was cupping his balls, and flirting with his rectum. I let my tongue gently roam around the head, teasing him by suddenly closing my lips around the shaft and taking him deeper into my throat.

His hands were wrapped in my hair, gently pressing my head down and his thick cock deeper into my mouth. A low moaning -- almost like a lion purring -- was coming from somewhere deep inside his chest. His hips started thrusting upward faster and faster, and I tightened my lips and flicked my tongue faster and faster. Then, I touched his rectum with the ball of my finger and he exploded in my mouth. The salty semen splashed against the back of my throat and I swallowed it greedily as if it were the best part of the enormous meal, again and again, sucking and licking until every last shudder and shiver had escaped from his body and he could no longer stand on his knees, collapsing onto the floor. He leaned his head against my chest and I smelled the warm fragrance of his dark-blonde hair, mixing with the earthy flavor of the cum still in my mouth.

After a few minutes, we both sat up and arranged ourselves. He kissed me softly, his hand gently trailing down my back, then he walked to the bathroom. I stood up, finally realizing how stuffed I was and how big my belly had grown. Tying my skirt around my inflated waistline, I was glad I'd sewn in six inches of ease -- I needed almost all of it!. Mara came in when I was deciding that it was futile to try and tuck my shirt in; she had a huge smile on her face as she grabbed my shoulders and pulled me in to a surprise kiss. "Mmm," she said, licking her lips exaggeratedly. "It tastes like you ate EVERYTHING!" She started clearing away dishes, saying, "Actually, I know you ate everything, because I watched. I couldn't take my eyes off of you."

I didn't know what to say -- I was slightly insulted at the intrusion on a private moment, I was intrigued by her voyeurism, and I was turned on by her kiss. She left as Andy returned, eyes seeing only me, and this time I was the only one whose gaze followed Mara's big ass out of the room.

Andy and I were getting ready to leave the Red room after a huge meal that -- for me -- included a healthy taste of Andy himself. My belly was swollen to impossible proportions with appetizer, soup, salad, pasta, entrees and desserts; I had to keep pulling my shirt down because it kept riding up and exposing the bloated pink flesh of my stomach. Zake -- chef extraordinaire -- and Mara -- his wife, who also seemed to have a little extracurricular interest in me -- came out of the kitchen to see us off. Zake was beaming with all of his 400 pounds. "You ate it all? Every last bit? Mara -- you threw some of it away, right?" "Not a drop," I said, patting my stomach. "It's all right here." He came over and hugged me then, and I was engulfed in his enormity, my swollen gut dwarfed by his vastness. "You make sure to bring her back here, Andy!" he said. "This is the first --well, second -- woman you've found who appreciates food!" Mara hugged me, too, her hand straying to give my chubby ass a squeeze, saying, "We should get together sometime -- get to know each other a little better. I'm off on Tuesdays, so give me a call, okay?" I nodded, unsure what I'd do about that invitation.

We walked out of the private room into the main dining room. I was surprised to see that it was almost empty. "Where'd everyone go?" I asked Andy. "It's after 11:00," he said. "Most of them are gone home or to party --" He led me over to one of the only occupied tables. "Let me introduce you to someone," he said. When we reached the table, I realized that it was the table of Victoria Sartor, the movie star I'd seen when we were coming in. I knew her from her roles as a child star in "Championship Velvet", as a young screen sex goddess opposite one of her ex-husbands in "Queen of the Nile", as a fat former alcoholic in real life and on screen, as a tireless crusader for AIDS research. Her violet eyes were known all over the world, and for most of the world, just mention "Vix" -- no last name necessary -- and their thoughts would be of glamour and Hollywood.

Andy bent over behind her and kissed her on the cheek, surprising her. "Andy! How have you been? I haven't seen you since... Well, we don't have to talk about that, do we?" Andy smiled graciously, "Talk about what?" he asked. "You are as beautiful as ever," she replied. "And who is this gorgeous young woman?" I tried in vain to suck in my belly as Andy's gentle pressure steered me forward a step, and Vix took my hand. "Melanie Bell," he said, "a very special friend of mine, meet Vix Sartor, Hollywood legend and another special friend." She swatted him playfully, saying, "Legends are old --" she struck a pose, hand under her chin -- "'I'm ready for my close-up Mr. DeMille!'" She laughed at her joke and said, "And old is not how I feel -- not anymore! It's a pleasure to meet you Melanie." She introduced me to the other three people at the table -- two older men and an ancient woman whose names I knew from mentions about charity functions and society balls.

"Would you like to join us?" she asked. "Have you eaten?" My hand instinctively held my belly, and Vix's eyes followed my hand; she smiled knowingly and said, "No, it's so late -- you must've eaten. Well, we just ordered dessert and coffee, but before it comes, I must visit the ladies room." She looked at me and said, "Would you be a dear, and accompany me -- I hate using the cane, and I've eaten so much, I'm afraid I'll just topple over forwards!" She put her arm in mine and she chattered on while we walked to the bathroom as if we were old friends instead of acquaintances of less than a minute. She told me how much more she liked Andy's hair when it was long, and how she thought the colors in my skirt were very complementary to my eyes.

When we got inside the ladies' room, she got into the stall, and I checked myself out in the mirror. My hair was somewhat disheveled -- but in a way that I thought looked somewhat alluring. Vix was only in the stall for a second before she asked me to give her a hand. When I opened the stall door, she was still standing up, but her dress was off and hanging on the hook. The skin on her bare arms and legs was surprisingly unwrinkled , but very pale, made even more so by the unexpected black, low-cut bra which supported her overly plump boobs. She was wearing a long-line girdle and that was what she needed my help with. "The arthritis -- I can't grip," she said. "Do yourself a favor -- don't get old! And do me a favor by helping me get this damned torture device off my body!"

I grabbed the edges of the girdle which was pulled up to within an inch of her bra and started to pull it down. It was extremely tight, straining the sturdy stitches, and as I dragged it downwards, rolls of blubber mushroomed over the top. When I had it down around her ankles, Vix leaned on my shoulder and stepped out of the garment entirely. Her belly was enormous and white, crisscrossed with a complex network of bright red stretchmarks. She ran her hands over the immense surface, rubbing it and lifting it's bloated weight, revealing that she was wearing a pair of black lace bikini panties -- almost completely hidden by the massive stomach.

She let out a huge sigh; "Thanks," she said. "I don't know why I bother with that thing. It's not like I can really hide all this fat -- especially not when I'm eating like this. I think I ate Zake's uncle's entire prize lamb tonight!" I laughed and said, "No, you couldn't have eaten the whole thing. I did a lot of damage to the poor beast myself!" I patted my swollen belly proudly. Vix laughed, too, and I couldn't take my eyes off the interplay of ripples in her soft flesh caused by her hearty laugh. "So," she said, "Andy's found another woman to fatten up! I'm so glad! After me -- he was miserable with that little Kate Lichen. He actually thought he could fatten that little waif. She could eat -- sure -- but she'd throw everything up as soon as it went down. I felt horrid for dumping him, but..."

I stepped out of the stall and she plopped down. "You and Andy..." I asked. "Oh," she said, "you didn't know. Well... I guess we did keep it somewhat quiet. It's been a while... I forget...." I leaned my butt on the counter and talked to the stall door. "Why did you dump him?" I asked. "It was like with my husbands... It seemed the right thing to do at the time. We'd met right after I broke my hip; he came to my house with one of the AIDS group reps, saying that he'd like to set up a program to donate a portion of his clothing line revenues to our organization. We looked at each other and it was like someone opened a romantic circuit -- like we'd known each other forever. He came back again and again, bringing me gifts, cooking for me, bringing Zake in to cook me huge feasts, pampering me. I was gaining weight and enjoying it for the first time in my life -- I felt beautiful and young and sexy when he was around. And then... I got the news that my hips were gone -- old and rotten -- and they'd need to be replaced. I got terribly depressed -- mortality catching up, the way it did with my friends Stone Huron and Winston Fortune. I got into a rage one night -- drunk -- and kicked him out. Told him that he was sick -- fucking his fat grandmother -- and that I didn't ever want to see him again.

"I was too proud to call him -- too proud and too drunk. I went into the rehab and then the hospital for the left hip. I've thought of calling him since I got out, but I figured he didn't want to hear from me." She flushed the toilet and came out of the stall, stuffing the girdle into her pocketbook. The button-down front of her dress was straining to contain the rolls of flesh beneath. "I lost 40 pounds between the hospital and the rehab, and since I've been out, I've put it back on, plus another 20. But its different now -- I've enjoyed every bite and every new bulge and I think of Andy every day. I wrote that diet book years ago and pretended I liked myself, but... He's why I really like myself for the first time in my life!" She looked me over in the mirror as she washed her hands. "You take good care of him," she said, then laughed and said -- half-seriously, I think -- "or I'll have to take him back from you!" She put her arm around my shoulder, patted me, smiled and said "Now, I must have some dessert!" as we walked back to the dining room.

Andy stood up when we walked in, and we quickly said our good-byes, then left, after Vix told Andy that he had to visit her in California after her operation next month. "And make sure to bring Melanie, too!" she said, winking at me. When we got outside, the photographers were still there, flashing away; the car was brought around quickly, and we made our getaway. My belly was still swollen and as I rubbed it, I laughed out loud. "My belly must be so huge! I can see the headlines in the tabloids," I said. "They're going to have a before picture and an after picture of us at the restaurant with close-ups of my bulging belly, saying, 'Andy Sansome gets mystery girl pregnant in restaurant!'" Andy laughed, too, saying, "And then they'll report that you're bearing my space alien love child! How else could you get pregnant so fast?"

We drove for a long time -- I didn't know where he was driving and I didn't really care. His hand found it's way under the overlapping material of my skirt and began stroking my pudgy thigh. I felt his fingers sinking into the soft, puffy flesh, brushing my pussy through my panties. The tie on my skirt was too constricting, so I undid it, unwrapping my gorged belly to his probing hands. He took the opportunity to stroke my blubber-covered mound of inflated flesh, massaging and caressing my stomach, his hand slipping beneath the tight waistband of my panties to tangle itself in the soft hair. His finger found my clitoris and the wet opening of my vagina, sending an electric current all through my body. I had goosebumps all over my arms and my neck and I was sure my nipples were so hard they'd be bursting through my blouse. I lifted my hips, pressing myself harder against his fingers, and he pressed back, making me writhe and wriggle. He drove very quickly and I felt the road in my pussy, every bump and curve transmitted directly to my groin; I was sweating and moaning and breathing heavily, when the car suddenly came to a stop.

His hand left my crotch and joined his other hand, tracing their way up my sides, over my waist, under my back. He lifted me close to him and kissed me, long and deep, for what seemed like hours. Then he whispered in my ear: "Let's go inside." I was entranced and hypnotized. My eyes were still closed as he got out and then opened the door on my side. He helped me out of the car, then grabbed the skirt from where I'd left it on the seat. As I stood, nearly naked on his driveway, I could feel nothing but the weight of my belly -- it's absolute fullness -- and the fire in-between my legs. Andy put his arm around my naked waist and led me inside, with my eyes still closed.

A moment later, he was laying me down on a huge soft bed and taking off my shoes; a moment after that, he was naked next to me, kissing me, and then gently lifting my shirt over my head. I was passive and limp, letting him do all the work. His hands massaged my breasts through my bra, gently squeezing and kneading them, then he reached around my back and unhooked the straps, setting my blubbery boobs free. His mouth instantly found a nipple, licking and sucking and gently nibbling, then moving to the other one so neither got jealous; waves of heat emanated from his tongue and made their way through my spine and down to my pussy. We were on our sides, his bare, hairless chest pressing against the taut skin of my bloated belly. His hands peeled my panties down my thighs and then grabbed my chubby butt, pressing us closer together. His thigh was between my legs and I rubbed my wet vagina against the smooth, hard muscled leg.

It seemed like his hands and his mouth never lost contact with my body, so I don't know where he got it from or how he put it on, but I could feel his condom-ed cock against my thigh, and all I could think about was how much fuller and fatter I'd feel with him inside of me. My pussy was as hungry as my mouth had been earlier. My voice came out rough and breathy -- it seemed like years since I'd last spoken. "Please," I said. "I want you in me..." His mouth left my breast and our hands and legs slid over one another as we rearranged ourselves.

Time had disappeared and I found myself on the bed on hands and knees, with the tip of his cock gently brushing against the wetness of my vagina. His hands explored every inch of my widened ass, and I rocked slowly backwards, feeling the head of his cock stretching my pussy open ever so slightly. I felt his fingers moving slowly up my sides, then down around my belly, swollen and hanging nearly down to the bed. He lifted the weight of it and let it drop, simultaneously pressing his burning hot cock slightly deeper inside me. I thrust my hips back violently, but he moved backwards too, whispering, "Slowly, slowly," and moving his hands to my dangling breasts.

I moaned as his fingers rubbed over my nipples, the muscles in my arms and my thighs started quivering and weakening, and his thick cock opened me up even wider, then slowly wider and wider and deeper and deeper, until his pelvis was pressed hard against my cushioned ass. There was a roaring in my ears as he pulled out and then thrust in, again and again; each time I could feel the layer of fat on my butt rippling and shaking as he made contact. I imagined that my ass was huge -- as fat as Genice's -- and how it would shake and wobble and nearly engulf him. With each thrust, I could feel my belly and my boobs swinging free, and I imagined that my belly was Vix's belly, so fat and full that it rested on the bed and pressed against the tops of my thighs and the bottoms of my breasts. Then, his finger made its way to my clitoris and the heat of his cock became a raging fire that raced through the core of my being, transforming into an escalating scream of pure pleasure, intensifying, rolling like waves of flame again and again and again, until my arms gave out and my thighs gave out and I toppled over on my side. Andy was next to me, spent, too, his softening cock still just inside me.

Sometime later, I was roused to consciousness by Andy stiffening inside me and his hands stroking my belly and his face in my hair. We made love again and then again sometime after that. Then, the next time I awoke, the sun was shining through the blinds. I could feel the warmth of his body sitting on the edge of the bed behind me, his chin resting on my plump upper arm; he smelled clean and sunny. "Are you awake?" he asked. I rolled over in response and kissed him; his free hand brushed my neck and my back and my butt, and my hand reciprocated, appreciating the soft skin and firm muscles and the slightly yielding flesh of his ass. My tongue explored his mouth and his perfect white teeth, and then I nibbled on his pouty lower lip. He laughed and said, "You must be hungry if you're trying to make a meal of me. I'll cook you breakfast instead."

He stood up and I stared at his honey-colored all-over tan, at the broad "V" of his chest and shoulders, at the strength and smoothness of his thighs, at his thick penis -- and at the barest hint of a little belly where I had expected a washboard! I scrambled to my knees, crawled over to the edge of the bed and ran my hand over his tiny tummy. "What's this?" I asked. He laughed, then asked, "Why? Do you like it?" I pinched gently, then said, "Too small!" I patted my stomach, which had shrunk a little overnight, then said, "Now, THIS is a belly!" "Yes, it is," he said, "and quite a beautiful belly. And probably famished, too. So... why don't you get washed up and I'll meet you in the kitchen." He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead, then put on his robe and headed for the kitchen.

I showered, imagining that it was his hands soaping me all over, put on one of his robes, gathered up my clothes which were scattered about the sparsely decorated room and followed my nose to the kitchen. His house was furnished and decorated in an ultra-modern Spartan style: solid-colored rugs over oak floors, light wood and natural fiber couch and chairs, abstract paintings in muted tones, windows and skylights everywhere. The kitchen was stainless steel and more wood, huge and open, with a screen wall looking out over a deck to the beach. I sat down at the ceramic-tiled table watching him as he finished cooking, and realizing that I really was hungry!

He finished cooking a moment later and, carrying two plates laden with stack of pancakes, piles of eggs and bacon and hash browns and toast, he told me to open the screen door to the deck. The breeze was salty and the table was set as I walked into a fairytale morning. --To be continued--