SUDDENLY
by Wilson Barbers


Betty Swift is driving home when she suddenly gains more than three hundred pounds.

The scenario plays like this: she's close to twenty minutes e.t.a. from home, tooling along I-55 in her Honda Civic, when it strikes her. All at once there's a whole lot more of Betty. The front of her white silk work blouse looms imposingly against the steering wheel; her twill dress slacks have beaucoup belly pressing between and on the top of her thighs; her face in the rear-view has two more chins than it did a minute ago.

The sight is so shocking that she nearly drives off the road.

Betty skids onto the shoulder but fortunately recovers enough to get back on the road and reach a nearby rest stop. As she sidles her wide rear across the driver's seat to disembark from her car, she hears a spring snap somewhere within the bowels of the seat. Simultaneously frightened and embarrassed, she examines her fuller reflection in the side window.

And sees: a moon-faced fat woman in her late twenties, who looks like she tips the scales at 470, packed in work clothes that hug her bulgy body revealingly. She'd picked a form-revealing outfit that morning in a futile attempt at spurring some attention from her boyfriend; now it shows every roll and fold on her blubbery body. Her short-sleeve blouse displays two massive upper arms, with deep elbow dimples. Desperately, Betty slams the car door shut and heads for the rest station.

The concrete steps are a killer. She's red-faced and panting by the time she gets to the top of 'em, a climb that never would've bothered her before. Out-of-breath, Betty pushes the door open with a shelving hip and stumbles into the Ladies' Room. There, she gets her first full-fledged sight of the woman that she's suddenly become.

At five-foot-nine, she's a singularly daunting figure: breasts in the upper sixties EE range, a belly that passes 'em and reaches eighty inches at its maximum circumference, hips and legs grown to support this incredible torso. Somewhere between car and restroom, her blouse has started to creep out of her slacks - small wonder, as the slightest move on her part gets her avoirdupois jiggling. Her face looks like she's just crammed a bag of marshmallows in her mouth: her cheeks bulge past her upturned nose, while her chins droop dramatically against her neck. She's like an "after" in a magazine diet ad, only with the image so much more clear and imposing.

What's happened here? Minutes before she was an average-sized woman - 157, soaking wet with her clothes off - not slender certainly, but nicely feminine. Now she's obese. What's been done to her?

Betty stands in the restroom, paralyzed and unsure what to do. Her initial panic has abated; all she feels is a numbing sense of shock. A mother and her small daughter pass behind her; she can see the girl's amazed reaction to the fat spectacle she's become. The sight shocks Betty into moving. Her Buddha belly rolling against the sink, she quickly splashes water on her face and leaves the room.

There, she comes face-to-glass with a row of vending machines.

Without a moment's hesitation, Betty snaps open her purse and starts feeding money into the machines.

She returns to her Buick LeSabre with her arms full of all the snack food that ten bucks can buy - Fritos and Doritos, Hostess Cupcakes, Brach's Spearmint Leaves, three types of M&Ms and more - and dumps it all on the passenger side of the car. Even with her wide hips, there's plenty of room for her bounty. As she starts the car, Betty reaches for her first purchase and tears the package open with her teeth. The whole drive home, she attempts to ease her distress with nonstop noshing. It doesn't work, but that doesn't dampen her unrestrained gorging. All that remains when she turns in the driveway is a pile of empty packaging.

She disembarks from her car once more, ignoring the sound of crinkling wrappers then pulls her satchel from the Buick's roomy back seat. As she reaches, her blubbery belly drops against the car seat, flattening and simultaneously pressing down her thighs. For an instant, it feels as if her boyfriend Ray is pushing provocatively against her pelvis. The sensation is unaccountably arousing; an electric sensation starts to emanate from behind her drooping forefront, but then she remembers -

Ray! He was coming over to take her out that night! She can't let him see her like this, Betty thinks - first thing to do is call and cancel. Then she'll phone her family doctor, see what he can tell her. Betty hurries into her apartment as quickly as her super-sized legs will allow.

She meets no one on her way to her apartment, thankfully, but when she unlocks and opens the door, she's assailed by a series of tantalizing aromas. Inside her apartment, she hears Ray singing along to a Brian Setzer disc. Her first impulse is to flee, but the smells coming from the kitchen have her hooked. Betty follows them to find her boyfriend pulling a large Corning dish full of au gratin potatoes from the oven. On the kitchen island is a five-pound baked ham ringed with pineapple, along with several other covered dishes. It all smells wonderful, almost as arousing as that moment in the car.

"Babe!" Ray smiles at her, wipes his hands on his "Kiss the Cook" apron, and he dashes across the kitchen to embrace her. He sinks against her body, and she can feel the buttons of her blouse give as he does. They kiss passionately before she can say a word, then he leads her back out of the kitchen into the dining room. The table, she sees, is already loaded with appetizers: a cheese tray, hollowed-out bread with spinach dip in the center, celery with cream cheese, popcorn shrimp and sauce - the whole shmear. Once again, she's overwhelmed by the display before her.

Settling her wide end onto a chair that she doesn't remember ever seeing before, she begins her first round of hors d'oeuvres. Everything she tastes is so crisp and fresh; she's torn between savoring and shoveling it in.

For the rest of the evening, Betty is lost in the dining experience. All other concerns are swept aside by the procession of delectable food that Ray brings to her. It's like the most profound foreplay, building and dominating her entire being. Each bite she takes makes her want five more.

It's late when Betty finally pushes away from the table, wiping the last trace of Dutch apple pie from her protuberant lips. She feels both overstuffed and sexually famished. As some point, she's unbuttoned her slacks and let them slip beneath her paunch; she can feel the under-hang of her belly as it falls against the edge of her chair. She watches her boyfriend Ray as he carries dishes back into the kitchen, and she wants to jump his bones right then and there.

If only she was capable of getting out of her seat.

Then Ray is back by her side, holding out both arms to help her raise her bloated self. As she slowly stands, a thin voice in the back of her consciousness struggles to remind her of her extraordinary situation. But Betty isn't listening. Instead, she follows her boyfriend into her bedroom.

Though both her blouse and slacks are unbuttoned, she's too full to just slip out of them. So she sits on a well-padded window seat and lets her boyfriend undress her. Ray peels her blouse off her body - her too-snug sleeves are the culprit here - then helps her off with her slacks. Her bra unsnaps in front, so she's able to shrug it off herself.

The room's cool air washes over Betty's vast expanse of skin. Her flesh is pale, and she can feel it flushing between her chins and breasts. She's never been able to mask her arousal: her nipples both point across her looming abdomen as if to draw attention to the massive mound shielding her groin. Her paunch quivers flirtatiously between her outstretched thighs.

Ray goes for her excited mams first - no surprise there. Betty's pendulous EEs are, if anything, slightly paler than the rest of her, thanks to the light stretch marks radiating from their base to their plump apex. Her areole appear to have faded over time and weight gain, especially around the edges, though they darken as Ray ministers to them with his lips.

Arching her back, Betty spreads her thighs and lets her belly drop further down the space between them. As she does, her forefront flattens to welcome Ray's slender form. He presses against her, hands feeling the bulges on her torso; behind her belly apron, she can feel her moist anticipation.

Then Ray backs off to doff his own clothes. As he does, Betty examines her reflection in the bedroom mirror, taking inventory of the body that has so aroused her boyfriend. She sees:

She grins at her reflection then realizes that she hasn't yet taken off her panties - only a tiny fraction of the flesh-colored lingerie is visible within her body's terrain. As she slowly raises her rear from her sear to slip the well-stretched garment off her cheeks, her breast and belly fat starts to undulate. Ray whistles in appreciation.

"Your body," he says, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his solid male torso. "It's got a mind of its own."

Betty smiles flirtatiously. In her arousal, Ray's statement feels deeply true. She vacates the window seat and rolls onto her king-size bed. Lying on her back, her belly feels preternaturally large and heavy: she attributes this to the huge meal she's just finished. She lifts her massive legs and pulls off her panties; one leg hole briefly catches in a fold between her hips and thighs. Her ass sinks deeply into her reinforced mattress, and she can feel her whole center of gravity shift.

Then Ray is in bed with her.

He knows the spots she likes and goes for them one by one: her ear lobes, that nearly buried space at the nape of her neck, the soft and sensitive undercarriage of her breasts, the folds within her inner thighs. By the time he's reached that last with his tongue and fingers, she's desperate to receive him. Her need is as strong as her gluttonous appetite had been just minutes before.

"I want you inside me," she tells her boyfriend. Ray smiles at the request, backs off and then spreads her cumbrous legs. Her thigh folds separate and catch the room's coolness. As he moves between them, she raises her legs - with his help, of course - until they settle on Ray's shoulders. Her belly fat slides toward her, pressing the top of her breasts into her chins. Betty feels his unseen erection enter her; she welcomes this visitor happily.

His shaft is thick and electric. As he thrusts within her, she feels herself quickly broaching her first climax. The tip of his manhood repeatedly pushes her urgent clitoral buttons; she can feel the top of his shaft rubbing against her underbelly. Betty's gelatinous mams bobble before her eyes; occasionally, she can see her exclamatory nipples cresting above each curving mound. Her bloated feeling has vanished; all that she knows is orgasmic anticipation.

The rest of her life is irrelevant.

When she comes, it's through her entire super-sized body. Every atom of her being seems to instantly grow distinct. It's as if her massiveness has made her a conduit for unparalleled sexual energies. What if she was even bigger? Betty thinks in a mad rush. Just these words are enough to send her tumbling into further ecstasy.

Then Ray follows suit, sending a burst of hot fluid that courses into her reddening body. For an instant she seems to have to no contact with her bed: it's almost as if her intensely gravity-bound body is floating.

Then she's aware of a lukewarm run-off between her legs, and this moist remnant brings her back to earth. Ray continues to pump into her - he usually stays hard for some time - and while she continues to feel small charges for some time, nothing matches that first huge surge.

After they separate, Ray slowly massages Betty's body, rubbing her rolling flesh tenderly. As she looks into his eyes, an inscrutable expression washes over them. "What are you thinking?" she asks.

"Just how beautiful you've become," he says, and his words have her unaccountably blushing once again.

They lie in bed, spoon position, and both drift off into sleep.

She wakes with a start two hours later, so startled that she nearly cries out. The panicky sense from her time on the road returns, but now the reason for her distress is less clear. She remembers feeling - what? - out of sync with her body, and she wonders if all fat women experience that sensation: the unsupported certainty that this is not my body; this form is not me.

Perhaps, a part of her mind considers, these women are right. Perhaps we have less control of the bodies we're given than we're led to believe. One day, you're an average-sized woman; then, suddenly, you're not.

Nice fantasy, she tells herself, rolling out of bed to get a midnight snack. Betty slips a lightweight rayon robe large enough to cover a small pony off a hook and drapes it across her shoulders. (A present from Ray, she thinks, though she can't recall when she received it.) Waddling into the kitchen, her famished forefront feels as if the night's stuffing had never taken place. As she opens the refrigerator, she's suddenly seized by the certainty that she'll find nothing of interest. But, of course, once she gets a good look at the interior, she sees it's packed with goodies.

She pulls out a bag of leftover ham, deli cheese and cold cuts and grabs a large Kaiser roll. A few small sides - a container of creamy cole slaw, some potato salad, etc. - and Betty's picnicking at the kitchen table. She considers her lot as a fat woman while she polishes of her late-night meal, seated on a stool that's clearly been reinforced to support her.

Then she heads back to bed, idly considering the satisfying stickiness on her inner thighs. She remembers first seeing Ray in his apron, remembers the erotic scent of the banquet he'd cooked for her. She feels lucky to have him, a man so obviously enamored of her size, and she gently pats his back before falling once more into sleep.

The next time she wakes it's to the smell of cooking eggs and bacon. Just the scent is enough to fire her appetite, and she eagerly rolls out of bed ready for breakfast. Waddling into the kitchen with her robe open, breasts and belly spilling past the edges, she smiles at her feeder boyfriend tending to her breakfast. The sight of this lumberjack-sized meal sends a mixture of desires through her close-to-a-quarter-ton frame.

Instead, she shuffles into the shower and grabs the hand-held showerhead. Tomorrow's the weekend, but today she needs to go and bring home the bacon.

By the time she's cleaned and dressed, Ray has set up her six-course breakfast. Betty tucks a napkin into her taut silk blouse - some day soon she's gonna have to place a new order with the plus-sized catalogs, she thinks - then before digging into her eight-egg omelet asks her stay-at-home boyfriend, "Got any plans for the day?"

"A few small creative projects," Ray says. "Found this book yesterday that has some cool ideas in it." He pulls a battered paperback from his apron pocket and briefly flashes it before her. "Fat Maji-," she reads, though the rest of the title is obscured by his thumb. He says something more about it making a big difference in their relationship, but already Betty has stopped listening. She's too busy focusing on her omelet.

As usual, she finishes her Brobdingnagian breakfast in record time: for some reason, she's really full of herself today. Soon she's in her car, driving back to work, a box of cinnamon and sugar donuts in the passenger seat for a drive-time snack. The day looks bright and full of promise: unlike yesterday, which was so innocuous that she can barely remember it. (The night she remembers, of course.) She reaches the office just as the donuts run out and toddles into her office.

Her co-workers are used to her being late - she drives the greatest distance of any of 'em - so her early arrival raises a few eyebrows. But nobody says anything, and the workday passes uneventfully. She has lunch at a nearby Chinese buffet, does her usual exemplary job demolishing several trays, then she returns to the office thinking of Ray. A few weeks ago, Betty would've said that their relationship was in a rut, but it sure seems to've picked up. She's not sure what changed, but at this point she's not prepared to ask too many questions. Like most people, she's less concerned about the reasons behind a change and more concerned with the results.

All she knows (she thinks, as she sits in her office, anticipating the night's meal) is this: she's happy with the way things are, and she'd be more than happy to have 'em stay this way.

Which they do - for at least four weeks at least, until that night she's once more driving home from work . . .

. . . and suddenly gains more than four hundred pounds.

Copyright (c) 2001 - OakHaus Designs

Fat Magic