The Weight Loss Camp
A Serialized Novel by Wilson Barbers

Chapter Three

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful: Bob returned to the dining area and glad-handed more campers, and he was formally introduced at lunch by Venn. He thought about Maureen often that day - and continued to think about her at home that evening. He knew it was getting in the way of his time with Ann, but he still couldn't purge his mind of her. The image of her fat and sexy body, first half-clothed and then naked, was constantly before him. That night when he and Ann made love, the only way he was able to keep himself going was to hold onto Mo's image.

Ann seemed to notice something was wrong, too. "You were awfully quiet," she said as she rested in the afterglow. The night felt chill and humid, the sheets beneath were uncomfortably clammy and wrinkled.

"Really?" he said. "I'm not usually very talky, am I?"

She looked confused for a moment, then answered, "No, I guess you aren't. I dunno; you just didn't seem all there. . ."

"It's been a busy day," he said, leaning over and kissing her on the shoulder. "First day of work." The answer seemed to satisfy her. She moved toward him and snuggled into the crook of his left arm, falling asleep without further comment. He lay in bed for the next two hours, staring at the ceiling fan, replaying that time at the peephole.

Next morning, he began the day coaching his student workers on the fun way to lead aerobics exercises. All seven boys looked interchangeable to Bob, young and full of sarcastic comments about the campers that he did his best to discourage. "If you want to make jokes at these women's expense, do it at home," he said, winding up his pep talk. "Do it here and it will spill over into the way you relate to the clients. They'll pick up on it and be twice as resistive to you."

"That may be true, but you've only been here two days: it's depressing spending all your days around these fatties," a pimply sophomore named Larry responded. "You've got your degree in rec, after all - doesn't it piss you off to see all these out-of-shape bods?" He gestured out the nearest window; at that moment Maureen came into view.

"Fat doesn't necessarily mean out-of-shape," Bob rebutted.

"You're telling me," one of the other boys said, watching Mo until she was out of view. Her unrestrained womanly form bounced with every step she took. Someone sniggered, and Bob felt momentarily protective in the face of the group's ogling. Jesus, he thought, he was acting like a love-struck kid!

He almost confessed as much to Dale Harvey the next day at work. The corpulent computerman had been resting in the sauna after a strenuous morning eyeing the various women around camp. He knocked on the door of Bob's office, sweat pouring all over his massive body, then came in without waiting for permission. Plopping down on a vinyl couch (which protested loudly), Harvey grinned knowingly at Bob. "Well," he said, "looks like you've met everyone on camp and picked the ripest item!"

This was all Bob needed: gossip in camp already. "What're you talking about?" he asked, trying his best to look uncomprehending. He shuffled the client file he'd been reading to the bottom of the pile and focused on Harvey. The man smiled companionably, but for a moment Bob thought he saw something else there.

"No," Harvey said simply, reaching down to ineffectually adjust his swimsuit under the hang of his belly. "I've been scoping every good-looking gal around, and that one's out to get you. Saw her looking your way this morning at breakfast and the way you tried not to look back. You don't see that much avoidance unless there's something behind it."

"I dunno," Bob said. "Maybe you should make a play for her. From the way you were talking yesterday, it sounds like she's right up your alley."

"Don't think I haven't tried," Harvey sighed. "One problem with being attracted to fat girls is that so few of 'em are ready to return the favor if you're big, too. They've been told for so long how awful obesity is that even when they've come to terms with it in themselves, they can't accept it in others."

"Mo strikes me as a pretty open-minded girl," Bob said carefully. As fat males went, Dale Harvey was not unattractive: he looked like a young opera singer, in fact. But how many women went for that type in this time of obsessive physical culture? Harvey belonged in an earlier era, when fatness was linked to success and prestige.

"That may be, but open-mindedness doesn't always translate into lust," Harvey answered. "Make my words: she's got the hots for you." With that, he hefted himself off the couch and prepared to leave the office, an outline of droplets lingering on the couch. "What I wanted you to know was: there's a nice clearing in the woods where you saw me coming out the other day. Secluded, cool, romantic. You did me a favor by not narking the other day, so I'm returning it." He walked out the office then returned to stick his head back in. "The food," he said complicitously, "is cached in an empty log. Just in case she gets hungry." He cocked his finger at Bob and ducked out of sight.

Bob sighed deeply. There was no way, he thought, he could follow up on Harvey's offer. To do so would lead to his ruin as a counselor. Yet that afternoon, as he led a group in volleyball and later aerobic exercises, he kept stealing a look toward the woods. He had no intention of doing anything about it, but he just had to check out Harvey's hideaway once he got off work, if only to see where the fat man was cheating.

He was late getting out, and perhaps he dawdled deliberately. Calling home to let Ann know he was behind schedule and planned on picking something up, Bob fiddled with the files past dinnertime. The sun had dropped to the top of the trees as he drove over the rumbly wooden bridge to the spot he remembered seeing Harvey for the first time. He pulled off the gravel road, got out and took a deep breath. A squadron of gnats danced before him in the shade. Following Dale's trail, he pushed through the broken thicket and followed the winding man-trod path. Fifteen feet in, the grove appeared. Surrounded by a circle of oak and maple so thick that he couldn't see his car, Bob found the hollow log and sat back to take in the setting.

He heard her approaching before he saw her. There was no way a girl her size could have moved through these woods without disturbing some branches. She came through the brush wearing a tropical top that hugged both her breasts and belly and a pair of lightweight stretch pants two sizes too small. The outfit showed every curve and roll on her rotund body.

"Dale told me you might be here tonight," Maureen said. "I figured even if you weren't, the walk'd make good exercise."

"And that's your walking outfit?"

"It is when I'm walking in front of someone I want to impress!" She let loose of the branches that had been blocked her way, then decisively stepped into the cleared ground.

"You win; I'm impressed."

The plump beauty walked slowly toward him, moving her hips seductively, breasts bobbling freely. "That's not my idea of winning," she purred. "Getting you to act is my idea of winning." Mo opened the neck of her blouse two buttons down, revealing the cleft of her bra-less breasts and the gap between mams and protruding belly. "No use pretending you don't know what I'm talking about," she said. "You've been thinking about us together since you first sat down at my table!"

What was he supposed to do? Lie? She looked so damn sexy there before him, sunlight filtering through the tall trees on her buxom body. She was lightly made up, and her round youthful face was challenging. Somewhere behind her, a squirrel started chittering; the sound was startling.

"There's no one else out here," Mo said, keying into his reaction. "Dale's back at the dining hall, trying to put the make on a new redhead. It's just you and me here."

She sat on the log beside him, her wide left hip coming into contact with his jeans. A whiff of Impulse drifted his way. Bob looked into her eager eyes, leaned over and lightly kissed her on the lips. Her prominent cheeks reddened prettily, all pose of self-possession vanishing in that simple moment of brief contact. Maureen had the shyness of a young woman, and the change in her demeanor was just the touch that clinched it. He reached over and held her, putting more into his second kiss. Her back was soft and yielding to his fingertips.

They moved away from each other on the log. "You're right," Bob admitted. "I haven't stopped thinking about you." He bent down, reached into the log until he felt what he was searching for, a pulled out a soft-sided cooler. Unzipping it, he grabbed a couple of wet long-neck bottles. He twisted them open and offered Mo a Corona. She held the cool bottle up to the space between her breasts and tilted the neck to her luscious mouth. Tonguing the neck salaciously, she smiled then took a swallow. He took a swig himself and watched the condensation bead around her fingers, dripping into her cleavage. It trailed down slowly and disappeared into the cleft.

"You knew I was coming!" Mo said in surprise, once more dropping all poise. "You set up a picnic! How delightful!"

Obviously, Harvey hadn't told her everything: she knew nothing about his food cache. Bob didn't correct her - why violate the man's confidence? He reached back into the log, found another cooler (which he left in its hiding space) and a blanket. This he pulled out and spread on the leafy ground.

Mo had untucked her blouse and tied the front in a knot; her lightly tanned belly pushed out through the space between top and tight pants as she carefully sat herself down on the blanket. Bob lunged toward her open flesh and kissed her cool jiggling skin, knocking over his beer in the process. It foamed into the blanket, spreading against his elbow, so he knocked it into the weeds. Kneeling by the blanket, he traced his tongue up to the knot of her top; the design on her blouse showed tiger eyes hidden within an array of palm leaves.

"Let me get that," the fat girl giggled as she rose on her knees, untying and unbuttoning the rest of her blouse. Breasts and belly parted her tropical shirt. Somewhere in the trees above them a sparrow started singing. Bob pressed Maureen's body against his, flattening her roundness. Her mammoth breasts separated if trying to embrace him.

They held onto each other, his arms under the back of her blouse exploring every inch of padding covering her shoulder blades. She nibbled on his right ear lightly, whispering his name, and continued to clasp him tightly. Bob felt the heat coursing toward his crotch as he started to harden.

Maureen felt him stiffening, too. "Well," she said, backing away and looking down. "What have we here?" She reached for his pants and undid belt and zipper with her fat fingers. Pulling both his pants and shorts down to get to him, she shucked her blouse and went face down onto his erection. Topless and kneeling, her mams dangled to full size, great globes of feminine fleshiness made more wondrous by gravity. Her nipples had grown erect in the cool summer evening.

Maureen's moist tongue shimmed up and down his shaft, slowly and with obvious relish. She ringed the tip with her lips, and as he looked down into her eyes, he saw a hunger that was almost frightening in its intensity. Instead of wilting him, it made him stronger, and he felt himself growing inside her mouth. Mo rose before him and unbuttoned his shirt. As she started to trace his sweaty chest, her breasts squashed against him. Once she got low enough, he pushed his erection between them.

He was lying on his back now, her massive fat form kneeling over him. As she came back up to face him, Bob wondered what it'd be like to feel her full weight on top of him, if he could breathe with all those pounds spreading on him. Even kneeling, her paunch and breasts dragged against his body. He fondled her great upper arms as they tongued each other frenetically, was aware of her belly flowing over him.

Maureen lifted herself, and he admired her beauty in the wooded light. Her pendulous breasts jauntily jiggled as she reached down to pull her pants off. Standing, she slid her tight pants down her fulsome thighs and calves and kicked shoes and pant legs off one at a time. She looked down at him yearningly, her hands provocatively moving along her sides. A red line where the elastic band of her panties had been was still visible on her torso as she knelt astride him. Her belly shelved over the top of her vagina. Bob lifted and passed the roll of flesh, fingering her dampened pubic hair.

She stretched next to him, and he explored her with his free right hand, parting her fleshy opening and inserting an exploratory digit into her wet insides. Maureen moaned suddenly, and he redoubled his efforts until he got to the nub of her clitoris. Pressing against her clit, his thumb feeling her roll of belly fat, he bit into her opulent left shoulder. She gasped his name once more, scratching his back with her free left hand.

The more he pressed, the wilder she got: his back was going to look like a road map. "No more!" she suddenly gasped, and he quickly removed his finger. She lay there resting, breathing heavily, and said, "I wasn't sure I could take any more."

"Let's try something else then," Bob said, rising. Pulling some protection from his wallet, he quickly covered himself. She lifted and spread her stout legs in invitation.

Bob entered her slowly, tight walls hugging him imploringly, as he fingered her quivering inner thighs. When he was fully inside, he leaned back and looked her over. Maureen was a vision of womanhood, a corpulent testimony to sex and sensuality. Her chubby fingers displayed herself to him, outlining her full-fleshed midriff then holding her breasts out to him. Bob leaned over and nipped as he started to thrust inside her. "God!" she cried, as he continued to pump and hold himself close to her. He held onto her buttocks and felt her flesh slide beneath him.

He was close to bursting now, so he arched back and took a breather. The evening had darkened into gray duskiness. He returned his attention to the girl's smooth and zaftig body, fingering each fleshy crease. Mo smiled up at him and said, "Plenty of me to hold onto, isn't there?"

"You bet," he said, "and it's all full-blooded woman." He stretched his body on top of her and, using his feet, once more started to push into her. "Christ, but you're beautiful," he said happily. His spontaneous comment was apparently just the thing she wanted to hear: with his words, she let out a joyous yell and began to push her wide rear off the ground into him. They bucked and strained together mightily, his erection once more ready to burst forth.

Bob let it go this time. He felt the hot liquid shoot out with an urgency and abundance that was as young and opulent as the woman beneath him. "Yes!" he yelled, and she gasped the same in response.

He rested on her cushiony body as he spent himself, but when he finished he realized that he was still stiff. Continuing to prod and tease her, he shifted his rigid shaft inside her until she finally began to calm.

They separated and straightened the picnic basket, rescuing Bob's bottle which was miraculously half-full. Maureen turned back to the soft-sided cooler and examined the rest of its contents. Inside were several kaiser rolls packed with cheese and cold cuts, slathered with mayonnaise. Mo eagerly tucked into one and offered its mate to Bob. Sitting cross-legged with a bag of Fritos between her legs, a strand of mayo dripping onto her incipient double chin, she brought the same level of intensity to her eating that she had to their lovemaking. "You miss dinner?" Bob asked, biting into his own sandwich after first taking a pull on his warm beer. It tasted marvelous, fresh and sharp like a meal around the campfire after a full day's heavy hiking.

"Of course not," Maureen said, carefully wiping her chin with a paper napkin. "But those helpings aren't enough for a growing girl like me!" She'd finished her first sandwich already and was into her second, a fat hand full of chips ready to take the place of her sandwich once she swallowed each bite. They sat on the sweat-dampened blanket and ate in silence. Bob pulled two more bottles of beer from the cooler, then went back into the log for its brother. The second cooler contained dessert items, none too surprisingly: a lemon cream pie, chocolate tortes and more. He wasn't much of a sweets eater, so he let her have the lot. The plump girl ate it all, quickly and ravenously as if it were the first meal she'd had in a week.

He watched her display of innocent gluttony with fascination. The sight of her nude body quivering as she reached down into the cooler, the look of rapturous pleasure on her face as she devoured the first "bad" meal she'd had in over a week, savoring each calorie-laden swallow - this was even sexier than the sight of her in her room.

"Does it bother you to see me eat this much?" she asked, stopping to pick a fallen piece of cheese off her pudgy right knee.

"Not at all," Bob answered. "If you'd asked me a week ago what I would've thought of this, I know I wouldn't give this answer. But watching you eat is a turn-on."

"Careful," Mo said with a grin, whipped cream on her lower lip. "Once you get into fat, you may never go back." Her tongue reached out for that dollop of cream, then she resumed. "Most folks see fatness as a failing," she said, "as if it were a sign of weakness, as if eating and enjoyment itself were a sin. Most fat women that you meet, in fact, will make a point of telling you that their size isn't the result of overeating. You know the line: 'I was born with big bones.'"

"Isn't there a grain of truth in that, though?" Bob said. "Heredity and metabolism can play a part in individual size, after all. Two people can eat the same amount of food and have totally different results on their physiques."

"I'm sure it's true for most men and women," Mo replied. "But I know how I got to be the size: from following my taste buds. I'm not about to apologize for it or feel guilty because these days I feel freer and more confident than I ever did when I was living on a diet. I know this goes against the Puritan Ethic. It ain't fashionable or even good manners to look well-fed in this country nowadays. I'm sure there are even people who'd consider the way I eat immoral: gluttony's one of the Seven Deadlies, you know."

"So's lust," Bob said, "but you'll notice I'm not taking that 'un seriously either."

"Sorry." Mo shrugged. "Sometimes I tend to rattle on about it. When you've spent so much suffering under your parents' fat phobia, you build a whole volume of speeches in your head. You just brought one out." She licked her fingers clean and stood to put on her clothes.

"No problem," he said, but from the look on Mo's face he could tell she'd already stopped worrying about her tirade.

"This was fun," Mo said, as she worked to squeeze herself back into her pants. When she got to her full belly, she gave up and decided to let her expanding paunch hang free. "No need making myself uncomfortable," she explained as she reached for her blouse and put it on untucked. The top was long enough to cover her naked flesh provided she was careful how she walked. "I'll change when I get back to my room. Maybe there'll be someone watching in the cleaning room, eh?"

Her mention of the peepholes brought a sudden flush of anxiety to him. Now that they'd been together, he was starting to feel protective of her. "Maybe you should cover that pair of holes," he said.

She leaned over to kiss him, the scent of pastry mingling with her perfume. "Feeling proprietary?" she chuckled.

"Maybe just a little," he answered.

"Then I guess I'll stop the peepholes," she decided, and she lightly kissed his forehead.

"We going to do this again?" he asked.

The grove had darkened with the sunset. "I'm here until the end of the week," she answered. "That gives us three more days." With that, she moved to the edge of the grove. "I'm willing if you are," she called out, then she dashed into the woods. Her final statement lingered in the evening air, so simple and clear that he knew he had to say something.

"Watch out you don't get snagged on the branches," he yelled. Her responding laughter rang through the grove.

Fat Magic

Chapter 4