A Serialized Novel by Wilson Barbers
When he got home that evening, Ann was out. The cold remains of a Chinese take-out were strewn about the dining table; a note was affixed to the fridge by an ice cream cone-shaped magnet. It read:
"Gone to Ginny's for some drinks and sympathy. Don't wait up."
The very abruptness of the note told Bob she was teed off. He reheated his meal in the microwave, ate a small portion, then sat in front of the tube to wait for her. Though he tried to stay awake, his time in the woods had taken its toll. By the second commercial block, he'd fallen asleep on the couch.
At four, Bob woke to discover that Ann had returned but not bothered to rouse him. He crawled into bed and fell back into a sleep so sound that he missed the alarm. When he woke for real, Bob found himself sheet-less and sans Ann. She'd left early for work - still, obviously, too p.o.ed to talk to him.
By skipping his shower and breakfast, he was able to get to camp early.
He found Dale Harvey rummaging through a picnic basket in the grove. Wearing a loud pair of checked shorts and a light blue tee-shirt, the portly matchmaker looked like a comic strip bourgeois tourist. He examined the basket's contents with an air of businesslike satisfaction.
"Got a refill, I see," Bob said, as he stepped into the grove. The fat man looked up happily and waved Bob over to his log, as if he'd been expecting the company.
"Every morning," he guilelessly said between chews. "I have my secretary drive it in. 'Course last night's meal took an extra trip, but I figure you deserved it. Was she as good as I suspect?"
"None of your business," Bob answered. Harvey nodded approvingly, then handed him a Hostess blueberry fruit pie. As he accepted it, Bob asked the question that had been bothering him all the way into camp. "Why are you here, Dale?" He bit into the pastry, glazed sugar coating flaking onto his pant legs.
"Out here?" Harvey replied matter-of-factly, brushing crumbs off his darkly hairy legs and opening a second pack of junk pastry. "That's obvious. This spot's the only place around Camp Venn that a man like me can get some sustenance!"
"I meant," Bob persevered, "what are you doing at Camp Venn itself? I've only been here two days, and it's obvious that you've got no intention of reducing. I haven't seen you make even the slightest stab at exercising. So what's the point?"
Pausing to consider the question (or perhaps take another bite of breakfast), the fat man took his time to answer. Finally, he moved close to Bob. "That business in your files about me being here at my company's request was an utter fabrication," he said. "I am the company." He crumpled the fruit pie's empty wrapping and dropped it into the basket, then he reached for two more packs, offering the second to Bob. "I'm here on a quest," he explained, "an obvious one. I'm here for the woman of dreams."
"One with meat on her bones."
"You got it," Harvey answered, showing obvious pleasure at Bob's remembrance of his earlier words. "I want a woman who's unafraid of experience and its consequences, who's comfortable enough with herself to say to hell with whatever the rest of the world thinks."
Sounds like he's describing Maureen, Bob thought, as his mind brought back the sight of her cross-legged and naked, eating like there was no tomorrow. "I'm looking for a woman who's fat and sexy and eager to make love to me," Harvey stated. "I've tried the mainstream dating scene and found it pointless, just a bunch of narcissistic beanpoles too stuck up to be interesting. I thought I'd give Camp Venn a chance. If nothing else, there's more to look at, more average poundage per girl than you'd find at any city bar."
"But most of these women are here to lose that excess poundage!"
"You're right," Harvey said, snapping shut his basket. "But there are exceptions: women who are here not so much to lose weight but to find self-esteem. Maybe I can convince 'em that there's more to life than perpetual dieting."
"Maybe you can," Bob agreed, not completely convinced. They sat there and quietly ate, temporarily lost in their respective fantasies, bonded by the moment. "Have you always been attracted to fat women, Dale?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.
"For years," the computer man said. "But is that your question? Or is this one of those 'When did you first decide that you liked fat chicks?' queries? You think there's a single moment that makes a man a fat admirer? That's like asking if there's a single moment that turns a man gay! Or straight for that matter. . ."
"Yes, but - "
"I remember the first time I made love to a big gal," Harvey continued, oblivious to the interruption, "and I guess if there was a moment that cemented my preference, it was that. If you'd like, I can tell you all about it."
Okay, Bob thought, he was willing to listen to Harvey's reminiscence. Leaning back on the log, he invited the fat man to tell his tale in the hopes that it might give him a clue to his own current obsession.
"It happened at a small-town food fair over fifteen years ago," Harvey began. "I was just a salesman at a mall-based Radio Shack down in Central Illinois, two years out of college. At the time I was about 100 pounds thinner than you see me now, still pretty big, and I was thinking of dieting for the first time in my life. But I wanted to have one last binge before my bout with self-denial. . ."
. . .the fair was an annual event, a celebration of food and eating that had been pretty inspiring the year before. The perfect way to usher out his old way of living, Dale thought: he'd resolved to go on his new diet after receiving two female rejections the night before. He was not unattractive, but these days all the girls he met seemed to be obsessed with slender. This diet was going to be the first step to a new Dale Harvey.
But he wanted to forget about all that for a day. The food fair was supposed to be the area's biggest yet: fifteen additional local restaurants were planning on attending with samples of their wares; local bands were going to play in the town square; and there were sure to be plenty of scantily-dressed gals all around. Food and femininity - his twin passions.
He arrived early in the morning, before all the booths were set up, and spent the first hour gassing with a local steakhouse manager that he knew from high school. It was a beautiful August day, full of sun and not too humid. The square and all adjoining streets were bedecked with streamers and balloons, but to Dale the only decoration worth noting was the growing scent of food booths. In the center of the square, a country rock band was rearranging its gear. He knew them from his irregular nights bar hopping: they were no great shakes.
By the time the band launched into its first ill-formed New Riders of the Purple Sage cover, Dale was ready to make his first reconnaissance. He'd bought a fistful of food tickets and wanted to explore his options. The square was starting to load up with visitors, and the air was rife with appetizing odors. Three booths to the right, he thought he saw one of the two girls who'd given him the brush-off the night before. He turned and walked the other way.
Five booths in, a family of latecomers was struggling to set up their display: a fat, fortyish looking couple racing to get their large-sized grill going. The man was dressed in white (which only accentuated his girth) while his spouse had what looked to be four hundred pounds of womanhood packed into jeans and a polyester blouse. Dale found it hard not to stare as she waddled around the booth, every part of her vast body quivering voluptuously. She was long-haired and brunette, her corpulence having smoothed the lines of age from her wide moon face.
As a girl watcher, he'd always been attracted to larger women but had typically found them the least tolerant of his own portliness. He'd never been fascinated by a woman so huge, however. He wondered if she'd always been this big, or if she and her husband had grown with their restaurant business.
He stood and watched them through two songs. Once they got their booth fully operational, he'd have to return and find out more about them; at this point, the fat duo didn't even have their restaurant's name up. Sighing happily, Dale moved on to get a fuller sense of the rest of the fair's offerings. First side street he hit, he met her.
She was standing alone alongside the final booth in line, munching on a fried pork chop and watching folks walk by. She appeared to be in her twenties, dark-haired and sloe-eyed with a clear round face. Her short, plump body was packed in a pair of tight hot pants and a tee-shirt. The straps of her struggling bra were visible under her top (though Dale was no good at guessing, her breasts looked to be in the mid-forties range); her plump upper arms were almost as sexily fascinating as her dimpled thighs.
Suddenly, the plump girl looked his way, and in the moment of contact, she looked invitingly familiar.
"Pork chop good?" he asked, moving up to her. The way she slowly chewed her sandwich, her chin line growing deeper as she swallowed, was sexy as hell. The plump girl looked him up and down appraisingly (she was about a head shorter than him, which somehow made her plumpness more appealing). Dale braced himself for the inevitable put-down. Instead, she smiled and finished off her sandwich. Then she leaned forward and said in a soft voice, "I've had better."
"Then you don't recommend it?"
"It's okay, if you're looking for a cheap cut of pork," she said, tossing her napkin in a nearby waste can. She started across the street toward a display of Italian food sandwiches, turned and gestured him to follow. "You here to check out the meat?"
"This is my second year at the food fair," he said. "You never know what you'll discover here."
"Ah, a lover of fine dining," she said, fishing into her tightly-packed tee-shirt for a food ticket.
"Don't I look it?" Dale asked, patting his prominent bay window for emphasis. (What are you doing, asshole? He asked himself. Trying to beat her to the punch on putdowns?)
"I guess," the plump girl answered, snapping a chubby finger to get the seller's attention. She leaned against the booth, round belly pushing into the makeshift countertop. "Though in my family you'd probably be considered the wrong side of frail. I come from healthy Italian stock. . ." So much for apologizing about his size: he pulled out a ticket for his own sandwich.
"Then I suppose you'll really be critical of this Italian beef," he finally said, biting into his hoagie and further looking her over. Her rear was round and protuberant, wiggling behind her like it had a mind of its own as they walked together down the street. Her filled-out thighs rubbed together familiarly. She quickly finished her sandwich and pronounced it fine.
"I'm not all that hypercritical," she said as they stood before a baker display. "I just want to get a measure of the area's culinary offerings. I'm fairly new in town, so this is the best way to do it."
Well, that explained why he hadn't seen her last year. Dale introduced himself over cream puffs, and she gave her name (Kay) as they examined a Mexican food display. It looked like it was going to be a better day than he'd anticipated. They progressed along the side streets, sampling everything they saw and getting to know each other.
Kay was a senior in college, majoring in Business; she was "between boyfriends," which was amazing considering how inviting she looked. When Dale said that last out loud, the coed plumper smiled between bites of a three-cheese pizza and said, "A lot of guys would be embarrassed to admit they were attracted to a woman my size: all the boys I meet these days seem obsessed with the hippie waif look."
That sounded awfully familiar.
"Not all the guys you've met," he said, and this brought another smile to her face. Looked like this was turning into a de facto date. As they ate their way through the bright August morning, he started noticing small physical details about her: the two small lines at the edge of her mouth created by her full cheeks, the start of a dimple on both elbows, the way her breasts struggled against her brassiere. She had a devilish sense of humor and a sharp gourmet's tongue. He loved to watch her approach each food item, sample and savor its flavoring. Kay brought an enthusiasm to her dining that he knew would also transfer to other activities.
By the time they'd wiped out all the side streets, Dale was ready to call a short halt to their nonstop eating. He was feeling stuffed but comfortable, amazed at Kay's ability to consume so many samples. The day had gotten hotter as it shifted into afternoon, the crowd bigger and more oppressive. "Could we take a break?" he asked as they approached the square. "Listen to the band and sit down for a spell?"
"I've got a better idea," Kay said. She took him by the hand and led him away from the square to a nearby parking lot. Two rows in stood a large delivery van with Kay's last name plastered across the back; beneath it was a phone number and the motto, "We bring it on home to you!" Kay pulled the van's back doors open, climbed inside and unrolled a rug.
"Come aboard," she said mischievously. Dale followed her inside, as she rummaged through a box and pulled out a seat cushion. "Close the door," she commanded, and as he did, she began to pull her tee-shirt up off her tubby torso.
She looked even fuller with her top removed. Her bra bit into her soft shoulders and overflowing breasts. As she unsnapped it casually, they spilled in front of her. The van was stifling, but Dale didn't mind in the least, not with this half-naked vision in front of him. Kay undid her shorts, kneeling on the rug, and the pressure popped her hanging belly free. It was round and distent, with a fold along her sides that emphasized her body's strain holding it up. Her pubic hair was dark and faded up her belly in a light line toward her navel. As she leaned toward him, cupping her mams in her pudgy hands, he longed to explore her underbelly.
"I've never done this before," she said, licking her lips and catching a bit of barbecue sauce in the bargain. "But being with you all morning and enjoying so much good food, it's made me feel daring."
"I've never done this either," Dale said, fumbling with his shirt buttons and marveling at his own honesty. "Though I have to admit, it's not because I haven't wanted to." He quickly stripped to his jockeys, feeling both aroused and sweaty. As he undressed, Kay moved into the front of the van and started the ignition; she upped the air conditioning to maximum level.
They embraced kneeling in the seat cushion, his hands holding onto her billowy hips, and kissed deeply. The van smelled of ripe fresh vegetables, an earthy scent that Dale found deeply erotic. He move down to her great stout breasts and started tonguing her thick nipples into exclamation points. She tasted wonderful, the essence of all they'd eaten together.
Below, Kay was fingering his testes; he felt himself harden and poke into her pillowy paunch. His fingers massaged her hefty cheeks, prying them apart from the bulge at the top of her hind thighs. Kay was so fulsome and womanly, so fleshy and stimulating, that every inch of her brought new levels of excitement to him. He tasted the salty under-hang of her pendulous mams, reveling in their freed floppiness. Finally, she stretched out on the rug, her wide round rear resting on the cushion. She held her breasts up invitingly.
He was more than willing to follow up on her invitation.
Dale straddled her shoulders, swinging his shaft between her jiggling breasts. His knees pressed into her chunky shoulders, as he pushed both gelatinous globes around his erection. Leaning over her great spread body, he reached for her moist womanhood, fingering his way insistently past her pubic forest.
She had his balls in her mouth now, first one at a time then both, as he struggled to concentrate on penetrating her lips with his tongue. But the feel of her massive mams cushioning his cock was so provocative, her tongue was so invigorating, that he lost himself in the sensation. The feel of her avoirdupois, cool and feminine. The touch of her stout arms against his sides. The press of her belly rise against his chin. It was all too stimulating to stem. Resting on her well-fed torso, he let himself go, shouting and shooting liquid lust between them.
When he was spent, he returned to his earlier intention and brought Kay to an equally loud climax.
They rested beside each other for a time, talking and exploring each other's body in the aftermath. "I really like holding onto your love handles," she said at one point, and Dale knew than that he was going to do his damnedest to keep this from being a one-shot fling. To hell with diets: this was a woman he could love and stay fat with.
Finally, she announced herself ready to return to the fair. "Still haven't checked out the square's offerings," she said. "All that exercise has worked me up an appetite." Though he wouldn't have guessed he could do it (considering how full he'd felt an hour ago), Dale agreed with the plan. Just being around this gal made him horny and hungry at the same time.
They dressed and rejoined the food fair, a little bit rumpled but feeling even closer to each other. Out on the square a band was asking the crowd if they were hungry for a good thing, baby. Holding each other's hands like they were kids on a date, Dale and Kay walked past several booths toward the one manned by the obese husband and wife team he'd observed earlier. "Want you to meet someone," Kay said, letting go of his hand to race up to the booth, wondrous end swaying. "Mom! Dad!" she shouted. "I want you to meet Dale!" Indeed, the name on the booth's banner was the same as the one on the van. That's why Kay had looked so unaccountably familiar, Dale thought. He'd been staring at her mother just before he met her.
"A friend of my daughter's, eh?" the porky restaurateur said as Dale made his way through the crowd to the front of the booth. "I'm very pleased to meet you." He raised his ham of a hand to shake with Dale. "Care to try some of my wares?" Before Dale could say a word either way, Kay's mother had retrieved a dripping Italian sausage and plunked it into a hoagy roll. With a coquettish look in her fat-shrouded eyes, she handed it to him, flabby arms dangling and quivering. Over the course of the summer day, her blouse had started to cling to her sweaty fleshiness, showing off every bulge and roll of her spherical body. Was this the bod Kay was going to grow into some day? Those watermelon-sized breasts, settling to both sides of that whale-like belly? That twinkling face full of chins and jowls? Those huge quavering calves? Were these part of Kay's future? The possibility was enough to get him stiffening again.
"Enjoy," the fat woman ordered in a soft, sensual voice.
"How about me, Dad?" Kay was saying, and while Mom continued to look at him with the same appraising look he'd first seen on Kay, the fat man got his daughter a pair of sausage sandwiches.
"Such a healthy appetite," he said with a hearty chuckle. "I swear you eat more than your mother and me combined."
Jeez, Dale thought, as he moved to hide his growing erection behind Kay's hip. Was that a knowing smile on Mom's sausagey lips?
"I'm still a growing girl," Kay said with a saucy grin, and, indeed, it looked as if the morning's repast had manifested itself on her, gapping the front of her pants and tee-shirt appealingly. She salaciously bit into her first sausage with a wink to Dale. He nervously finished his sandwich and praised it taste aloud.
"Hush. You'll give Dad a swelled head," Kay said, well into her second sausage. "Though to be honest, on the basis of my survey so far there ain't much competition at this fair."
"There's still the whole square to check out," Dale reminded her. "If you think you're up to it." He gestured through the crowd. The square was where the real heavy hitters had set up: at this point Dale and Kay had sampled about a third of the food fair's fare.
"Are you kidding, slim?" she said, locking fingers with him, chubby upper arm flattening against his. "I've barely started with this fair - and with you!"
"Fine," he said, and they began to make their way around the square in earnest, Kay's parents happily watching them go. . .
. . .which was where Dale's story ended.
"Quite a memory," Bo said, catching his breath. "But what happened to you and Kay? Sounds like you had a good thing started."
The computer man stood, after more caching his basket. "We grew apart," he explained. "Literally. She graduated and went into business, and we were an item for the next five years. The more we saw each other, the bigger both of us got, until Kay started looking more like her mother. As she got older, though, she became more self-conscious about her size. And one day she took a look at herself and decided she was no longer attractive. She blamed me for her weight gain and called the whole thing off. Kay wanted to leave, lose her weight and regain herself. I don't know what precipitated the event."
"Do you miss her?" Bob asked.
"All the time," Dale said. They left the grove and made their way back to Bob's Renault.