Greetings from Fat City, USA

A novella by Melanie Bell

Chapters
1	\|	3	\|	4	\|	5

Chapter 2

"Crime is so low in Las Mujeres, that one of our most prominent citizens, world-renowned mystery novelist Morgana Chubb, finds it unthinkable even to set her fictional stories in the city which her family has called home for more than 100 years. "When I sat down to write my first novel -- which eventually became Death Was the Appetizer -- I thought of setting it in the town which I knew so well. But after some research at the police station, I discovered that we've only had one murder here since records were first kept in 1908! I was afraid that even bringing fictional murder here might jinx our peaceful history!" In fact, the crime rate in Las Mujeres in ALL categories of crime have been the lowest in the country for a city of our size for the last seventeen years." (From "Las Mujeres: An Appetite for the Good Life", published by the LM Chamber of Commerce.)

I was a few minutes late and as I walked in, the competing aromas in the air made it obvious that I wasn't the first one to think of food. In fact, it seemed as if the entire place had become one big cafeteria. Every desk was loaded down with the remnants or soon-to-be-remnants of massive breakfasts. My own department was no different, and even though it was my turn to bring in the snacks, it seemed as if everyone had picked up some donuts or cakes anyway. Most of the girls were milling around the long counter which was usually home to the coffee maker and the day's pastries, but which, today, looked as if it held the entire contents of the local supermarket's bakery department. Everyone was in high spirits, laughing and talking loudly about how hungry they were and what they'd eaten for breakfast and how nice it was that all the food seemed to be free.
Putting my boxes down and taking the large chunk of chocolate-frosted sheet cake that was proffered to me, I asked of anyone who was listening, "Doesn't this seem strange to anyone?"
"What do you mean," my secretary Tonia asked. "Are you talking about you being late? It's unusual, but not all that strange..."
"No, I mean the hunger, the way everyone in Las Mujeres is forgetting about diets or propriety and just stuffing their faces. The way stores are giving away all this stuff for free. Doesn't anyone think this is weird?"
"Y'know what I think is weird?" said Karin, one of the ad designers who had been struggling for months to drop thirty pounds from her 180-pound frame. "I think its totally weird that my pants haven't exploded yet!" She lifted up the bottom of her blouse, showing us the way her still-buttoned jeans were bulging dangerously below the waistband, while a swollen roll of chocolate blubber was rising over the button. Then she dropped the shirt back down and said, "So, this weirdness has got to end! Somebody hand me another big chunk of that sheet cake and stand back!"
Everyone laughed at that, myself included, and pretty soon we were all back at our desks, working as hard as usual, although there wasn't a desk without some piece of fattening food on a napkin or paper plate, nor did a moment go by when one of the eight of us wasn't up at the food counter, digging around for some increasingly rare treasure.
At around eleven-thirty, I couldn't help noticing Tonia, standing at the counter, scraping up little bits of leftover frosting with her finger. She was barely twenty-one, and already a single mother of a one-year-old; her gorgeous face with its almond-colored and -shaped eyes should have ensnared any man who glanced into them, but her self-consciousness about her body kept her from looking anyone in the eye. She always wore loose clothes and described herself as a "fat load" although she was maybe 150 pounds, with most of the weight having accumulated since her pregnancy on her round butt, wide hips and chubby thighs.
Despite my commitment to Diana, I'd often fantasized about Tonia wrapping those legs around my head as my hands kneaded and massaged her magnificent rear. She'd gained a little weight over the past few months, much to my delight, and I'd even gone so far as to bring her little food treats from time to time, imagining that with enough encouragement, she'd grow even fatter. So, you can only imagine the rush of erotic energy that poured through me as she swept with her hand the few little crumbs that remained on the empty platters into her other hand, then into her waiting mouth.
Some of the crumbs went down her shirt, and without any of her characteristic shyness, she lifted up her shirt right there and began brushing the flecks and flakes off of her soft white skin. Her button-fly jeans were opened all the way down to her crotch and her gorged belly was protruding through the v of the pants and over the waistband of her tiny pink bikini panties. One crumb must've gotten into the depths of her belly-button, because she grabbed a roll of blubber and manipulated it so she could see the wayward bit of food. Then, she patted her tummy happily, dropped her shirt, looked around and said, "Who wants heroes for lunch?"
There was round of assent, then she took the orders and called it in; when she returned from the hero shop a half-hour later, it was with a six-foot hero on a board, instead of the individual heros we'd been expecting. "The guy said, 'No charge!' So, I got two! Can someone give me a hand?" she asked, putting the sandwich down. "The other one's in the car." Ronnie headed out with her, and a minute later, they returned with another six-footer and a couple of buckets of side salads.

"Las Mujeres is home to a daily newspaper, The Tabletop Times, well-respected among smaller city papers. In 1996, our paper won two prestigious Graham prizes in the categories of General Excellence and Best Investigative Feature. The Times' prizewinning 6-part series entitled 'Obesity: Beyond the Health Care Industry's Myths and Prejudices,' was cited by the prize committee as 'one of the most courageous and insightful pieces of reporting of the decade.' The committee went on to say that, 'This series of articles serves the greatest public good by illuminating the dark corners of the Health Care/ Industrial Complex, and revealing that our doctors and health-care workers maintain attitudes toward obesity which only indicate that they are driven by prejudice and superstition, while cloaking their pronouncements in the mantle of Science.'" (From "Las Mujeres: An Appetite for the Good Life", published by the LM Chamber of Commerce.)

We dug in without further ado, pulling up chairs and stuffing our faces with abandon. Karin's pants hadn't exploded, but when she'd eaten her last donut at eleven o'clock, she reported, she'd decided that she couldn't wait for the fabric to give way anymore. "When I unbuttoned that button, my belly came rolling out like some balloon being inflated by a helium tank. I thought it was going to keep going until it rolled right over my thighs -- maybe right over the mesa! And now: just look at it!" She lifted up her shirt and displayed what looked like a giant brown globe, pressing her boobs up and spreading her legs apart.
Everyone else took the cue, and began displaying their own bellies, to appreciative touches and remarks of approval. I took advantage of the opportunity to place my own hand on Tonia's engorged gut, rubbing around the stretched-taut flesh in gentle clockwise circles. She stopped eating for a second, closed her eyes, tossed her head back and began moaning softly in pleasure, hoarsely whispering that she'd never imagined that being so fat could feel so good.
Just then, the managing editor came into our department; everyone was hit with a dose of reality and began pulling their shirts down and sitting up straight. "I see you girls are having a good time, too," he said, lifting up the tails of his un-tucked shirt and showing us his hugely swollen and very furry stomach, hanging over the waistband of his still-closed pants.
"Would you like some hero?" one of the girls asked. "There's plenty here."
"Well, I wouldn't want to slight any department by not accepting a generous offer and eating with them," he said. He picked up a plate and loaded it down with a big hunk of sandwich and generous mounds of potato salad, macaroni salad and cole slaw. As he sat down, the button on his trousers gave way with a loud pop, then clattered onto the floor. He took a cheek-bulging bite of hero, then said, "Well, it was bound to happen somewhere. Guess I'll be shopping for some new pants."
Everyone joined in with a chorus of me-toos except Tonia, who just smiled, swallowed and said, "I thought I was so fat before that I've been buying clothes two sizes too big already. Wonder how long it'll take before I fill these out?" She pointed to the jeans she was wearing, loose everywhere except around her stuffed belly, then stood up and filled her plate with another huge helping of sandwich and salad.
The editor left after a while and eventually we all went back to our desks to work on the last touches of the day's paper, still nibbling occasionally on the last few pieces of the sandwich. I sat in my office, in front of my computer, amusing and tickling myself as I worked by using my swollen belly as a mouse pad. Tonia came in a couple of times to bring me some food or just to chat while she ate; she sat on the chair at the side of my desk, giving me a powerfully clear view of her expanding stomach every time she lifted her shirt to glance at it's growth herself.
"What do you think?" she asked at one point. "Do you remember me at seven months? I think I was about this fat at seven months. Or my belly was this fat anyway. My butt, though -- that's all new. Sometimes I like having a big ass -- I like the shape of it: narrow up top, wide at the hips. It just seems very womanly and not girly. What do you think?" She stood up and turned her rear to face me, then dropped her jeans, showing off her wide hips and bulging butt, framed in the near-g-string panties she wore.
I couldn't control myself: the strangeness of the day, the massive amounts of food swelling my belly beyond comprehension, the sweetness and perfect roundness of her fat, but cellulite-free ass. Grabbing her hips with both hands, I pulled her towards me, the mouse clattering off my blubbery belly onto the floor; I buried my face in the soft, soft flesh, kissing and caressing with my lips, while my hands roamed around her inflated tummy, her small, firm boobs, the fine tangle of her light-brown pussy hair. She moaned, bending over at the waist and pressing her bulging butt tight against my face. I pulled down her panties and slid off the chair onto my knees, while she kicked her foot free of her jeans and bikinis, then spread her legs wide enough that I could get my face full under her glistening womanhood. I licked and I sucked and I kissed her deeply, my hands pulling her down towards me while gently scratching the skin of her thighs and her back. As I rolled her rock-hard nipples between my thumb and forefinger and gently nibbled on her erect clitoris, she suddenly came again and again with an intensity that nearly snapped my neck. As she shook in ecstasy, I put my hands under the shaking globes of her fat bum, supporting her weight as her legs were incapable of doing, then gently letting her slide her soft and pliant rear down my chest, my belly, my thighs, until she was sitting splay-legged on the carpet in front of me, still limp and shivering in the aftershocks. I hugged her close into me, gently caressing her boobs and her stomach and her flattened-out thighs, until it seemed as if she had almost fallen asleep.
When I made to stand up, she reached behind her and touched my face, then heaved herself around and began kissing me with an intensity I hadn't felt in years. Her hands had free reign of my body, but concentrated on the sensitive skin of my engorged stomach and on the dripping rainforest between my thighs. Her fingers found my clitoris and began massaging it expertly while her other hand rubbed my stomach and her mouth found its way beneath my bra and began suckling at my nipple as if, with enough effort, she would draw forth nectar and be sated. My boobs have always been very sensitive, something Diana knew so well, and it took mere seconds before I was writhing on the floor in the throes of overwhelming pleasure.
Eventually we stopped and adjusted ourselves and kissed one another passionately before getting back in our chairs. "I'm so glad I remembered to close the door," she said with a giggle. "Although, I didn't do it because I expected THAT!"
"Why did you do it?" I asked, feeling sleepy and somewhat dreamy. "You never remember to close the door any other day."
"I know," she said. "But I did this time because I remembered that in the third drawer of your desk, you had a bag -- a three-pound bag, if I remember correctly -- of jellybeans left over from the Easter party. And, since it was ONLY three pounds, I figured it wasn't enough to share with everyone, but it's certainly be enough for the two of us..."
Wasting no time, I pulled open the drawer and found she was right on target. And besides the jellybeans, there were also two one-pound boxes of fancy chocolates I'd bought for my project of fattening Tonia up anyway! We chowed down on handful after handful of candy, feeding ourselves and feeding each other, both of us giggling and still in the afterglow of wonderful sex. "Did you ever make love with a woman before?" I asked her at one point, in-between mouthfuls of sugary sweetness.
"No, never," she said. "But it just seems like today is a day for trying all kinds of new things. It's like a day without limits. I just wish it could last forever!"

"Las Mujeres State College for Women, the city's largest employer, is one of the last state-run single-sex institutions of higher learning. Besides a national reputation for academic excellence dating back to the college's inception as the Agriculture School in 1884, the Las Mujeres Big Tops stand near the top of the national rankings for Women's Volleyball and Women's Softball. The entire town comes out to support our women, when -- as they have for the past three years -- the Big Tops host the US College Women's Softball Championships at our own Chubb Stadium." (From "Las Mujeres: An Appetite for the Good Life", published by the LM Chamber of Commerce.)

There was a knock at the door just then and we both guiltily snarfed down the last remnants of the candy before opening up to see who it was. Ronnie was there, one hand on the door handle, the other one visible underneath her shirt, absent-mindedly stroking her massive stomach. "I know you're busy," she said, "but I thought you'd want to know that the boss just dropped by some stuff for an afternoon snack. And with the way us piggies are eating today, if you don't hurry, there won't be none!"
We thanked her and headed out into the common room, where the entire counter was covered in platter after platter of hors d'ouevres: mini egg-rolls, dumplings, cheese sticks, fried mushrooms and zucchini and onion rings, jalapeno poppers stuffed with cream cheese, shrimp puffs, cocktail shrimp, nachos, olives and a dozen other types of finger-foods. We were like locusts on a wheat field, devouring everything with a frightening intensity and rapidity, until we had each gorged ourselves into immobility, trapped in our chairs by the weight of our bursting bellies.
As I leaned back in my chair, my hand gently stroked Tonia's fat stomach, while hers did the same for me. I thought about the strangeness I'd felt that morning and how everything seemed almost normal now -- as if we'd always gorged on massive quantities of fattening food all day long at work. As if we'd always had food-fueled sexual assignations on the floor of my office. As if we'd always walked around the office in states of half-undress, exposing our bulging bodies to near-total strangers.
But, I knew that it wasn't the case -- that this wasn't normal. I couldn't stop myself from participating -- I didn't WANT to stop myself -- but I wanted desperately to hold on to the knowledge that something had happened to alter our normality.
When I got home that night, after consuming my last dozen donuts in the car, my belly preceded me into the house by nearly six inches; I could feel the enormous calorie consumption beginning to settle in to its permanent place on my body. My thighs -- always the first part of my body to gain any weight -- were uncomfortable in the jeans which had fit just that morning, and rubbed together as I walked. My bra-strap was digging into my back, and even though my pants were open as far as they would go, I could still feel them digging into my soft flesh when I forced my body to bend into the driver's seat.
I was greeted by the warm, rich smell of pot roast -- one of my favorite dishes -- and I called out Diana's name while I kicked off my shoes and wriggled out of my confining pants right in the foyer. "I'm in the kitchen," she answered, and I followed the marvelous aroma through the house.
She had her back to me as she stood in front of the stove, stirring an enormous pot with a long-handled wooden spoon. She was totally naked and I couldn't be sure if it was just a trick of the light or of my memory, but her butt -- enormous as it had been that morning -- seemed to be even a little bit fatter. I stood admiring the view for a moment, until she pulled out the spoon, lidded the pot and turned around to face me.

"In addition to excellence in academics and athletics, LM State College is the site of a pioneering project in sustainable agriculture, sponsored by the City, the College and the State's Cooperative Extension. The historically fertile soil of this and the adjoining two mesas are the focus of scientific study in self-sustaining organic farming. The project's original goal when it was first funded in 1968 was to develop methods to plant and harvest enough locally-grown grain, produce and livestock to meet the entire food needs of the city's population by the year 2000. Wildly successful by any measure, the project realized its goal in 1985 and has been producing an enormous surplus each year since, with the proceeds from the sale of the excess food providing enough money to fund the expansion of public services for the growing population." (From "Las Mujeres: An Appetite for the Good Life", published by the LM Chamber of Commerce.)

My jaw dropped because, although I hadn't been sure if her butt was bigger, it was incredibly obvious that her stomach was swollen with food to gargantuan proportions. "You like?" she asked, hefting the great mass of her stomach and letting it drop back down. "You wouldn't BELIEVE all I ate today! Feel that!" She took my hand and placed it over her belly button, pressing it in so I could feel that beneath the soft blubber, her stomach was crammed solid with food. "After you left, I just didn't stop eating for a second. More pancakes, a couple of loaves of bread, a couple of dozen eggs, all the bacon in the freezer, a pound of cheddar, a whole box of cereal with a half-gallon of milk. Then I got dressed and went out to the supermarket. What a scene that was! Everything was free, so we were all just walking down the aisles as if the whole place was one big buffet bar. After I'd gorged myself blind, I still had the presence of mind to load up a couple of shopping carts before everything was totally decimated.
"Then, on the way home, I started getting hungry again, so I stopped in at the Chinese restaurant and treated myself to a half-dozen trips to the buffet bar -- split my pants on the fourth trip, but that didn't stop me, especially since I was about the only one wearing any pants in the place. Morgana Chubb, herself -- who makes me look like an anorectic -- was laying on one of the bench seats while the guy with her was just shoveling food into her mouth as fast as she could swallow."
"Sounds like fun," I said, my hand finally moving from the impossible swell of her belly down to the wet and furry patch nearly hidden by the load of blubber above it. "Maybe we could try that tonight. Maybe we could take turns stuffing each other beyond comprehension." Her breathing began to come a little heavier as she took a step towards me, pressing her massive gut against mine. It was like a circuit closing when we made contact and instantly we were all over each other, mouths and tongues and hands in constant motion. She didn't put down the wooden spoon right away, and I could feel the warm greasy sauce smearing across my stomach, and then her hungry mouth following the smear, eating off of me, as if she were afraid to miss a single drop of food.
There was a bowl of dressing for the pasta salad on the counter and I reached my hand into it, slathering it across my boobs; her mouth followed the food like a moth drawn to flame, cleaning me off and feeding herself at the same time. Our hands were deep inside one another now and we were moving in unison, like one huge mass of blubber and desire and sex, rubbing stroking caressing jiggling eating and finally exploding in a cosmic rush of hunger and satiety, food and appetite, sex and love and soft, soft oblivion.
"I don't think I can stand," I said, when I was able to talk again. But Diana forced herself upright and then onto her feet. I was sitting on the kitchen floor with my back against the oven door, looking up at the huge protrusion of my lover's stomach, wondering how this had happened, and afraid to ask, for fear that it all might disappear.
"I hope you're hungry," she said. "Because there's enough food here for a college football team after a big game. We've got the pot roast -- nearly five pounds of meat -- there's the veggie lasagna and the meat lasagna in the oven, there's the pasta salad, and there's about three pounds of spaghetti with my world-famous tomato cream sauce. And you only get dessert if you finish everything on your plate."
It took hours and hours, but by ten o'clock, we had finished every last scrap of dinner. Diana looked as if she had swallowed all the cushions off the couch and I was pinned to my chair by my medicine-ball of a stomach. "Tomorrow, I'm going to be as fat as you were today," I said.
"And I'm going to be fatter than I ever imagined I'd be. And the next day, I'm going to be even fatter than that. By this time next week, I'm gonna need a crane just to get out of bed in the morning."
"If you had asked me yesterday," I said, "I would never have believed that I could ever eat as much food as I've eaten today. In fact, I would've bet you that the amount of food I've put into this fat belly would've been beyond the ability of any human being, no matter how large they are."
"Well, I'll tell you, this," Diana said, "from what I saw of the way EVERYONE in this town was gorging themselves today, we're well on our way to becoming the Mesa of the Fat Women, like the city's name says!"
Despite the seeming impossibility of our eating any more that day, we each managed to force ourselves -- and each other -- to polish off the gallon of ice cream and apple pie Diana had procured for us earlier before dragging our bloated bodies upstairs and into the bed which suddenly seemed much too small.