The Bigger They Are, The Harder I Fall
by Max Hess


1 - Fatgirls

There are fatgirls and there are others. The seeking out, the looking at, and the experiencing of fatgirls has been the ruling obsession of my life. The sight of a female figure of more than usual bulk has always made my heart beat faster and sent me off to observe more closely the size and quality of her charms. I do not mean the merely buxom or the "pleasingly plump," but the downright fat-what some would call "the grossly obese." The fatter the better, and my pursuit of fatgirls has led to amazing complications-but of that, more anon. As I grow older, the urge to pursue does not lessen-the size of the "objects" merely increases, for I find myself seeking ever heavier girls. This is probably a fortunate aspect, for it places ever-increasing limitations on the scope of my activity: However numerous overweight females might be, the truly fat lovelies are rare. And since I can hardly be stirred by one of less than 300 pounds, the field is reduced, if not the individuals.

Most of my life I have censured myself and deplored my urge, not because I considered it shameful or immoral, but because of the distraction and diversion of time and thought (and money, too) from my profession--archaeology. I felt it was unworthy of me to let myself be a slave to this obsession, and often tried to curb it, knowing that this, if nothing else, contributed largely to my failure to attain the scientific stature I might have, had I been as dedicated to archaeology as I was to fatgirls.

But like the drunk who swears repentance when he is full, so I would swear repentance when I was momentarily sated with wallowing in fat, either in fact or fancy. With me at least, the sexual urge returns far more quickly than the desire for strong drink, and very soon I would find myself once again in hot pursuit of a weighty prospect.

Finally, I ceased to condemn myself so strongly and so often, giving in with complete lack of character to my inclinations and indulging my unusual preferences as frequently as possible. I decided that this overwhelming passion of mine was so much part of me that there could be no conquering of it, that I might as well accept it and enjoy it.

In looking back over my life I remember that my preoccupation with fat females manifested itself very early. One of my earliest memories is of the wife of the sexton of our church-an enormously fat woman who occasionally paid social calls at our home, where I could observe her to my heart's content close at hand. I could hardly have been more than five or six years old at the time, but I remember her prodigious bulk and her sweet face. I remember how good I felt just looking at her and being near her. Her sexton-husband was succeeded by one who had an almost equally fat wife, but she was not nearly so attractive in person or personality as the first, yet she too invaded my childish fancy.

It seems to me that there were many fat girls and women in that old neighborhood of mine, in Baltimore, but at a very early age I had already begun to discriminate. The mere fact of a woman's being fat did not suffice to make her attractive to me. For instance, I had a schoolboy chum whose mother was fat, but in a poorly proportioned way. She was definitely unattractive to me. She had a ponderous bosom such as one hardly sees nowadays, but which was not uncommon among women 50 years ago, oddly enough. She was enormous above, but dwindled towards her hips, and when dressed was so tightly corseted that she looked precisely like a pouter pigeon. But her homely example did nothing toward lessening my overall love for fat females. It only confirmed what I must have realized very early, that not all fat females are lovely and attractive.

This woman's three daughters, my friend's sisters, were also heavy in varying degrees. Unlike their mother, they were better proportioned and quite pretty. The youngest, who at this time was not the heaviest, had a beautiful face-a common characteristic of fat girls-but later became very fat and caused me some very disturbing thoughts, for by this time I was a student in high school and had passed puberty. Susan was four or five years older than her brother and I, and was hardly available to me in any sense, for I need hardly point out the tremendous gulf that exists between a teenage male and a female nearly 20. It is interesting to note that Susan-at her fattest, and at a time when fat femmes were especially unfashionable-had a very personable boyfriend whom she later married, and I often wondered whether he shared my predilection for overweight women. It would be interesting to learn, for apparently men of our preferences are fairly unusual, at least in our Western culture.

The older sister, probably in her late twenties at the time, had not so pretty a face as Susan, nor was she so well-proportioned, but she was definitely the fattest. Louise must have weighed at least 300 pounds; she lacked Susan's spectacular buttocks, but her monstrous bosom promised to rival her mother's in time. To me she was very exciting, and I remember a morning when I was at their home, waiting for my friend to accompany me to school. Louise had finished her breakfast and was preparing to leave for work. I helped her on with her coat, and the nearness of her huge body and her sweet fragrance nearly drove me mad with desire. I wonder if she could possibly have had an inkling of how her presence played havoc with my senses, so disturbing that that day at school was a complete loss-a loss that my marks could hardly afford. How I had longed to embrace her vast flesh, to make love to her in what would then have been an entirely inexperienced and inept way. What stuff she provided for my dreams.

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