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Old 09-12-2011, 11:43 PM   #26
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Hey, You really are a good writer! Love your detailed descriptions of the lazy self-indulging beauty.

//Matt
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Old 09-13-2011, 04:41 AM   #27
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best story in a long, long while - please keep it coming, the imagery and dialogue are fabulous - can you imagine if this was a TV show?
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Old 09-14-2011, 06:51 AM   #28
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Everyone in the training room was agog at the state of Jocelyn. She was stuffed to the brim, her massive gut bulging much more than previously, and looking particularly solid with all the food packed within. The afternoon up until break was spent with Jocelyn seated, going through Powerpoint presentations and spiels about products and company policy. We were supposed to do a tour of the production floor, but she claimed that ‘today wasn’t right’. She wasn’t fooling anybody; she was too lazy to even get out of her chair. When our second break came along (which felt like forever, seeing as our lunch had ended so early in the day), she sluggishly rose from her chair and went off somewhere at a snail’s pace. I declined to follow, as much as I wanted to, because I figured I should ease off a bit, not to come off too eager or, worse, creepy.

With her huge appetite assuaged, Jocelyn spent the rest of the day, aside from the fifteen minute break, seated in her chair, being aggressively immobile. Her stained white shirt would occasionally ride up as she gesticulated with a fleshy forearm about this, that or the other. I studied her from my chair the way some people study works of Greek sculpture. I wanted to memorize every bulge, every roll, every curve of her body. I wanted to retain a photographic image in my head of the bob of her hair, the twinkle of her eyes, the roundness of her cheeks, the slenderness of her nose juxtaposed with the plumpness of her neck and chin. Her beautiful skin was a shade of off-white that I tagged and ID’ed in my head as Jocelyn white, or maybe Jocelyn eggshell. I’m sure this is ludicrous and racially ignorant, but she had the kind of body I did not usually associate with a white girl. Fat, yeah, sure, plenty of fat white girls; not very many with such defined curves. Even if she was ‘thin’, which I found it hard to believe she ever could have been, she would have had a huge bubble butt and jiggly eye-catching knockers. She would have had the kind of exaggerated Marilyn Monroe figure that had men falling over their own erections. Instead, I seemed to be the only person in this class to show any interest in her as a sexual being. And I had never seen a more sexual being in my life.

As Jocelyn had alluded to, we did spend the period after the last break basically playing games, like hangman, trivia, and word puzzles. We then spent the last half hour in free-for-all discussion, which got pretty loud and unruly. Through it all, Jocelyn maintained her spot at the front of the room, filling out her chair with her enormity, occasionally hiccupping, or holding her hand to her mouth to stifle some tiny digestive belch. For the last ten minutes, she closed her eyes and actually seemed to fall asleep. I suppose a meal that size would make anyone sleepy.

Four o’clock came and everybody went.

“See you tomorrow,” I said to Jocelyn, on my way out of the room.

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

“You staying here?” She was making no moves to leave.

“I have to have a meeting with my supervisor, just discuss how my first day went training, stuff like that. I won’t get to leave for awhile, like another half hour. It totally sucks, I just wanna go home and nap.”

“Well, make sure you don’t mention the long lunch.”

She whispered and giggled.

“Don’t say anything! The walls have ears!”

I said goodbye again and walked out. I afforded myself one last peek over my shoulder. She was bent over some paperwork, filling out a form. Her shirt rode up the back and her pants rode down her butt. Her panties stuck out, alluringly. One thing I’ve always admired about fat girls is how often they have to adjust their clothing, always tugging at their shirts and pulling up on the waist of their pants. All of that sexy flab is fighting for freedom, moving around imperceptibly inside the confines of the wardrobe. I knew just how it felt. I wanted to see Jocelyn out of her confining clothes too.

I let that image linger as I went home, taking the bus, thinking of her the whole way. The image was just starting to fade as I got in the door, kicked off my shoes, and ran to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me and pleasuring myself, until I was tired and fell asleep. When I woke up, it was dark out and I was starving. I thought of Jocelyn, and how unreal she seemed now that I was back in my familiar apartment. I had a slight worry run through me: she wouldn’t be there tomorrow, or for any of the future training classes. She was too good to be true. I let the feeling pass, but I couldn’t deny that the day had certainly been special.

And, of course, she was there the next day.

Last edited by Uncle Jack; 09-14-2011 at 06:53 AM. Reason: enlarged font size
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Old 09-15-2011, 04:50 AM   #29
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the weird thing is that from the start, I thought Jocelyn was - and still view her as being - Chinese or Korean American, while the narrator was white...might have had to do with that "China doll" reference...
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Old 09-15-2011, 06:43 AM   #30
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Huh, didn't think of that. By China doll, I meant old dolls made out of glazed porcelain. Funnily enough, they usually depicted white women, as they were mostly a nineteenth century Europe thing.

View her however you want though. Whatever floats your boat!
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Old 09-16-2011, 11:12 AM   #31
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Well it's great still; please continue
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Old 09-19-2011, 01:12 PM   #32
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not to insult you or anything, cause we are all busy, but maybe you should have done like that other guy did and written the whole story out first, corrections and all, then post all of it in like one day or something, like a movie, instead of piecemeal like a serial...but we are all still on the edge of our seats, rest assured
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Old 09-19-2011, 04:49 PM   #33
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I've just read this and I love it. The explainations are perfect!
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Old 09-19-2011, 07:18 PM   #34
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Other guy???

Anyway, I post the sections when they're completed. I'm not sitting on finished stuff and posting snippets when I feel like it. I literally haven't gotten to the next part yet.

Glad to read positive feedback though, it's what keeps me coming back.
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Old 09-25-2011, 07:47 AM   #35
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so how are things going man. okay I hope. the waiting is the hardest part, like if you have to wait for the result of some medical test to come back, it's like the time just slows down to a crawl
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Old 09-26-2011, 01:08 PM   #36
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This story is highly addictive. Need moar
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Old 09-29-2011, 10:53 AM   #37
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wow so fantastic!
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Old 09-29-2011, 11:28 AM   #38
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Sooooo...is the story over, or is there hopefully more to come?
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Old 09-29-2011, 03:24 PM   #39
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acadm - patience man! These things take time...
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Old 09-29-2011, 05:58 PM   #40
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yes, sadly, they do take time. which is good! but for those who need to do something while they wait, though, i suggest you go to www.dailymotion.com, turn off the family filter, register and sign in, and search for someone named vanessabbw, and watch her videos there - specifically this one http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xgs...w-vanessa_sexy
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Old 10-11-2011, 06:16 AM   #41
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long layoff - what's the haps, mister writer man? in the interim, the lions and packers are 5 and oh, the nba season is in jeopardy, hockey got underway, tigers versus texas, and st louis versus milwaukee. hopefully this story doesn't share the nba's fate
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Old 11-03-2011, 07:50 AM   #42
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I got to class early the next day. Only one person was there before me, a middle aged lady who exuded sadness from her pores. I was a keener so that I could spend more time with Jocelyn. She showed up right after I sat down, wearing a green tank top with a black bra underneath, and tight lululemon yoga pants. Those tights must have been more comfortable than jeans, with their restrictive denim and unforgiving buttons. Even still, these tights were mercilessly tight, showing off every little jiggle of her flab.

I went up to talk to her before class, drinking in as much of her as I could. She had eaten breakfast that morning (“Thank God, I actually woke up early enough to grab McDonald’s in the car on the way over!”) and so, after everyone from the class had shown up, things went much more routinely. We took a break in the morning, during which I volunteered to get Jocelyn’s snack for her.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said, while already sitting her big butt back down.

“Don’t worry about it. You sit easy, I’ll get it for you.”

“Okay!”

With only the most minimal persuasion, she dug out her wallet, gave me instructions on exactly which six items to get for her, and flashed me a toothy smile. I brought back everything on her list, plus an extra bag of dill pickle chips.

“I didn’t ask for dill pickle chips,” she said petulantly.

“I paid for them myself. A well-fed trainer is a happy trainer, right?”

She sort of blushed, and stammered a thank you right before shoving chocolate-covered peanuts into her face.

At lunch (today at our regularly scheduled time), Jocelyn wasn’t quite so quick to leave the room. She slowly got up from her chair, and I could see little rips in the inner thighs of her tights. She hung around the front of the room.

“Hey Dave, you wanna join me for lunch? I’m meeting up with my friend Tiffany at the Subway.”

I agreed, of course, and in no time, we were entering the food court Subway. A small mousy girl with chunky glasses waved both hands at us.

“Tiffany, meet Dave. Dave, Tiffany. I’m gonna get some grub.”

Jocelyn waddled over to the checkout line to pick up her food. I made small talk with Tiffany.

“So, how long have you known Jocelyn?”

“Oh, we were both in the same training class when we started.”

“You work at the centre too?”

“Yeah, I’m still up on the floor. I applied to the trainer job too, but Jocelyn got it.”

“She had the skills to pay the bills.”

“Yeah, well,” here Tiffany leaned toward me, conspiratorially, “Joss is a dear friend, so don’t tell her I told you, but… I heard the people in charge of the decision wanted her off the phones.”

“Was she no good? Why not just fire her?”

“Oh, she was good, good with the customers, good at sales. Good at her job basically. But…” Tiffany glanced over at Jocelyn, who was bouncing her butt up and down impatiently as she demanded more veggies on her sandwich, “She had this problem she just couldn’t shake. She would eat while she was on the phone.”

“Oh?” Intriguing.

“You’re really not supposed to eat up there at all. Let alone when you’re actually on the phone with someone. But she would just load up on snacks, sandwiches, you name it. One week it was chocolate covered pretzels every hour of every day. Another week, I swear, she ate chicken nuggets. Had dipping sauces and everything.”

“Wow.”

“She would be chewing while she was talking with people, talking with her mouth full. Like, you could hear it. People would ask her about it. Some would ask her to please stop eating, and she would just straight up lie, say she wasn’t eating, say there must be some disturbance on the line or something.”

“She never got in trouble for that?”

“Oh, she did. Several times, she got reprimanded. And she would stop for awhile. But inevitably, she would complain of hunger pains and slowly start eating again, a little at a time.”

“And so what? They just let her do it every time?”

“Well basically, she was a model employee in every other way. I mean, they had to make a show, to enforce the rules, but weighed against the average performance of the other employees, she still came out way ahead.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“Tell me about it. We both applied for the trainer job, along with a few other people. I wanted it to make a little more money to help out my sister. She’s a single mom. Joss, well, she wouldn’t say this, but I imagine she just wanted less work to do. Don’t get me wrong, I love her to death, but she’s lazy as shit.”

“So you think they made her trainer to get her off the phones?”

“I’ll put it this way: We submitted our applications, then shortly afterward, Joss was on the phone with a retiree from Calgary. She was chowing down on something, I don’t remember what, and, well, she let out this big honking burp. I’m sure you could hear it over my line and I wasn’t even sitting next to her. It was actually pretty funny, but the old lady got really mad, lodged a complaint against Jocelyn specifically, and then the next day she got the trainer job. Now, what does that sound like to you?”

Sounds like my kinda girl.

Speaking of, she had lumbered back over to us, carrying two subs, a bag full of cookies, and a bottle of orange pop. I thought she would sit next to Tiffany, but instead she sat next to me. I could feel her heavy side pressing into me, forcefully.

“Aren’t you getting anything?” she asked me. I had been so absorbed in the straight dirt Tiffany was giving me that it hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“Um, no. Not hungry, I guess.”

“Don’t go asking for any of mine,” she said, very seriously, as she unwrapped Sub Number One and stuffed it in her face. Bits of vegetables and steak fell from the sandwich onto the table, and even her lap. She ate with a complete lack of restraint or decorum.

“So Tiff,” said Jocelyn, demonstrating what the kids call ‘see-food’, “what were you two talking about?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Were you flirting? You hot for Dave? Watch out for her, Dave? She’ll pounce!”

Tiffany rolled her eyes.

Tiffany and Jocelyn upheld most of the conversation, talking about people and things at work that I knew nothing about. Tiffany picked at her tuna sub, while Jocelyn had food in her mouth at all times. It didn’t seem to faze Tiffany at all when Jocelyn stuffed the last large bit of steak sub in her mouth and her whole mouth bulged, so that what she said was so indecipherable. Jocelyn snorted and moaned in near sexual ecstasy as she unwrapped her second sub, a chicken bacon club, and prepared it for a similar fate as the first one. Tiffany seemed unfazed by Jocelyn. Clearly, she was used to this sort of gluttonous behaviour. I watched with awe as Jocelyn’s lips bounced around while she chewed, as her doughy arms brought the food up to her mouth, as her chubby cheeks inflated with enormous chunks of bread, meat and cheese.

An amazing thing happened at the end of the meal. Tiffany, a slow eater, still had a little less than half her sub left when Jocelyn crammed the last of her chicken sub into her gullet. Wasting no time, not even swallowing, Jocelyn reached an arm across the table, grabbed Tiffany’s sandwich, and immediately plowed into it. Her first bite was so big that fixings fell out the bottom, draping across her cleavage. Amazingly, Tiffany seemed completely unaffected by this theft. What’s the deal?

“Tfnee sid I cin et hrfud neetie.” Her mouth was so ludicrously full that it was gibberish.

Tiffany translated: “We have an agreement that she can eat my food anytime she wants. I lost a good amount of weight thanks to Jocelyn’s help.”

Jocelyn swallowed and let out a five second belch that rose in intonation and volume until, by the end of it, everyone in the vicinity was staring at her.

“Yep,” said Jocelyn, beaming, “and I think some of that weight ended up on me!”

She resumed devouring her friend’s food. When she finished, she leaned back in her chair and put her hands on her globular belly.

“Ugh, I was already full,” said Jocelyn, “but your sandwich looked so good, Tiff. I just had to have it.”

Jocelyn opened her mouth and a belch effortlessly came out of her. She brushed her hair back with both hands and arched her back, stretching out. Her boobs jutted out like zeppelins. I hadn’t noticed before, maybe because she was sitting across from me, but her cushioned butt made her seem taller than me while sitting. She looked like a greedy raven-haired goddess, sitting next to me with food on her clothes. She looked down, double chin bunching up, and noticed the scraps on her bosoms.

“Clumsy me!” she said. She picked up the bits of food and placed them in her mouth. She then cranked open her orange pop and chugged.

“I was a little overweight when I started here a couple years ago,” said Tiffany, “I was trying to diet and exercise, and Jocelyn came up with the idea of having control over my meals when we’re together. If she wants to, she takes food away from me, and then I eat less.”

Jocelyn belched and sighed. “So much good food. No reason it should go to waste.”

“It’s really helped,” said Tiffany, “I’ve lost 60 pounds.”

“I’ve gained a couple. But it was worth it to help out a friend,” said Jocelyn, seemingly without irony.

It was time to head back. Jocelyn got up, her belly now hanging out of her yoga pants. We began the walk back to work, walking slowly to accommodate Jocelyn’s fat girl shuffle. She was nibbling on her big bag of cookies. I was holding on to her pop for her.

“Y’know, I miss hanging out with you Tiff.”

“But being a trainer is great, right?”

“Oh yeah! It’s super relaxing, and the pay is great.”

I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw her look at me out of the corner of her eye, for a brief moment, and then dart his look away just as quickly.

“So far,” said Jocelyn, “it’s pretty great. Still, wish you were there Tiff!”

Jocelyn bumped Tiffany playfully with her gargantuan hip. The impact made her giant butt wobble endlessly. Tiffany fell over. Jocelyn clearly didn’t know her own strength. Or rather, her own size.

“Oh Tiff, I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“Yeah yeah,” said Tiffany, giggling a bit, “I’m fine.”

“Dave, can you help her up?”

I helped Tiffany up while Jocelyn put half a cookie in her mouth. Tiffany confirmed that she was a-ok, and we made our way back to the heart of the call centre.
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Old 11-05-2011, 05:35 PM   #43
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17,000 plus views on this story is really saying something about the quality of your work; interesting touch adding another woman into the mix, let's see how it unfolds --
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Old 11-09-2011, 02:11 PM   #44
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The day passed, as these days do, in a numbing haze of computer screens and trivial sales statistics. The training period at a call centre is designed to dull the pain that comes with having to become a robot for a living. My training period was buoyed by the monumental girl I had a monumental crush on.

After our trip to Subway, Jocelyn spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on her cushiony ass, occasionally snacking on treats she had squirreled away under her desk. She flat out refused to get out of her chair to help anyone. One girl, who clearly had never gotten her high school education, was near in tears because she was having so much recurring trouble with an application. Jocelyn kept brushing her off. “Just ask your neighbour,” she would say, mouth often full of chocolate. At the end of the day, with twenty minutes to go, this girl asked, voice quavering, “Please, Jocelyn, can’t you just please come here and help me with this? I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“It’s really not that difficult,” said Jocelyn, burping the word ‘difficult’.

“But I can’t!”

“Just try again.” Jocelyn put another handful of M&Ms in her mouth and shifted in her chair.

The poor girl gave up and ran out of the room, taking her coat and purse with her. Jocelyn watched her go.

“She’ll be back,” she said confidently, candy-coated chocolates muffling her words.

The next morning, she did not come back. She did not come back any day afterward either.

Jocelyn may have not been the greatest trainer. In fact, she was probably in the bottom of the pecking order. But most people in the class were so desperate for work that there was no way they were going to quit. Most realized how easy the class was with Fatso (as a couple witty wags in the back row had deemed her). They could goof off, text, surf the internet, and not get in any trouble. The girl who left must not have complained to HR, and the people upstairs must not have been monitoring the daily Internet history of the students, because Jocelyn didn’t get in any trouble that week for anything.

On Wednesday and Thursday, Jocelyn brought large assortments of food with her to class. She told me, during afternoon break on Thursday:

“Oh, you noticed that, huh? Well, I always liked having a little snack at work, but it was always kinda difficult. Here, I don’t have anyone breathing down my neck, telling me don’t eat this, don’t eat that. I think it really helps my job performance.”

Quite the opposite. There was the aforementioned refusal to move from her seat, which was exacerbated by the weight of the food that was always bloating her belly. There was the lack of respect she received from the class. If Jocelyn was just going to sit there in ill-fitting clothes, stuffing her fat face, getting food on her clothes, and burping like a bullfrog, then why should they try any harder themselves. There were also the occasions that something was ill-explained due to her words being lost in a haze of chewing and swallowing. Sometimes, she was too lazy to bother explaining things in detail. A notable example was Thursday morning when, in the midst of explaining different service tiers for cable customers, she just stopped and grabbed her big belly. She was wearing a tight red blouse, and the buttons were hanging on for dear life.

“Ugh, I’m sorry, I forgot what I was saying. I’m so hungry. Dave, could you go fetch me something to eat?”

This request startled me, but I wasted no time rushing off to the convenience store, grabbing jerky, chips, Hostess cakes, enough Coke to drown a cat and a big container of honey roasted peanuts. She was so grateful when I returned with the food that she didn’t even bother getting back to the cable tiers. She just started putting the junk food between her pretty lips and told everyone we could have a short ‘in-class’ break, which meant that we couldn’t leave the room, but we could do whatever we wanted. As the weeks went on, we would have more and more of these in-class breaks.

Jocelyn’s demand for me to save her rumbling belly was not the norm. In fact, since our Subway lunch on Tuesday (I guess I should say her lunch, since I wasn’t a consumer myself, but just a voyeur), we had not spent much time together at all. I didn’t want to appear too desperate, and so had been forcing myself to avoid her, in hopes of future payoff. Whether she was doing something the same, or was just not thinking much about me was hard to tell. On Wednesday, she jiggled out of the room during lunch without saying anything to me. She came back at the end of the hour with bread crumbs on her chest. I don’t where she went, or what exactly she ate, but judging by the slow deliberate pace of her walking, she had eaten a lot of it.

On Thursday, I forced myself, with Olympian resolve, to beat it out of the training room right when Jocelyn announced the lunch break. I’ve heard many girls talk about playing hard to get, but just try and bug a girl you’ve just met all the time. It doesn’t work; they’re interested to begin with, but something about the sustained proximity so early on makes them go a little squirrely. I ate lunch at a small café far away from the centre. Jocelyn had a car, but I knew she usually just picked up food from the derelict mall, so I was right when I guessed that she wouldn’t be there.

Friday came, and I was in love. Again, I should reiterate how much time I really did spend looking at her. I mean, we all did. She was right there at the front of the class, and while she may have been a pretty apathetic trainer, she did set the syllabus and determine what we were going to be doing at any given time.

On that Friday of that first week, Jocelyn showed up wearing a cleavage-bearing argyle dress, blue and grey, with one of those big chunky belts that girls, particularly fat ones, tend to wear right under their boobs, in order to accentuate their figure and cinch it all together, I suppose. All I know is it looks damn good to me. I missed the jeans and tights, just because there was less of her big jiggly ass to see in a flowing dress, but the way her back end thrust out, giving hints of its exact shape, was titillating in its own subtle ways.

As a perk for reaching the end of the first week of training (or just for being thankful we stuck around), the higher-ups at the call centre made a habit of supplying free pizza for lunch to classes of new recruits on Fridays. Around 11:30, there was a knock at the door. Jocelyn got up and shuffled over to let in the Head of HR.

“Hello everyone,” said The Head, “I hope you’ve had a great first week! Is everybody having a good time?”

The response was, to say the least, noncommittal. Jocelyn was shuffling from foot to foot, redistributing her weight. She smacked her lips with a wet sound, and darted her tongue around her mouth. The Head of HR kept spewing welcome-babble as the pizzas were ferried in by two strapping young men. They each had a stack of five boxes, and Jocelyn quickly snatched the top box off the first guy’s stack, cradling it in her beefy arms. She opened it up and her eyes sparkled.

“Meat lovers! Oh yeah!”

She grabbed two slices from the box, sandwiched them together, and took an extra big bite. The class, somewhat used to Jocelyn at this point, still couldn’t believe this display of hoggishness. She kept the meat lovers pizza to herself, hunkered over it so that no one else could get at it, and ate all eight large slices in four pizza sandwiches. Later, during a digestive conversation on break, she told me why:

“I knew that she would be bringing pizzas for the newbies, she always does to butter them up. When I was in training, someone snatched the pizza away from me and I didn’t get enough. I only had, like… a few slices. BURP. So anyway, I skipped breakfast this morning so that I would have tons of room. And I made sure no one would take it from me. I love meat lovers! And I deserve it. I’m the trainer after all!”

I was familiar with what Jocelyn was like when she skipped breakfast.

“By the way, some of the staff is going out to The Voodoo tonight. If you’re not doing anything, you wanna come?”

Was she asking me out? It sure seemed that way. Her glistening eyes looked right into mine. Other than her demanding me to fetch her food that one time, we hadn’t spoken to each other all that much other than a few exchanged words during breaks. I was getting the sense that we were both playing the same game of cat-and-mouse, with each of us seeing ourselves as the cat. With my lean build, I was probably more suited to mouse. With her heavy paunch and lazy attitude, Jocelyn was more cat. Housecat, that is. She looked at me, hungrily. I knew, then and there, that I was a mouse she wanted desperately to gobble up.

“Uh, sure, I’ll come. Who else is gonna be there? Anyone from the class?”

“Maybe. I dunno. It’s for staff, so they might. It’ll be a great way to meet people.”

I didn’t want to meet anybody. I just wanted to get to know my uber-chubby trainer a little better, with my brain, and with my hands.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Awesome! Should I wear this, or change?”

She spun around, giving me a great view of her chubby legs, her fat butt, her round hips. I was mesmerized, trying to mentally put some measurements to her proportions. I felt like an early astronomer, foolishly trying to mathematize the wonders of creation. Given the choice of pics between the Horseshoe Nebula and a cheesecake pin-up of Jocelyn, I would choose the pin-up anytime, preferably with her eating a cheesecake.

“You look fantastic in that. But you might want to wear jeans. Just a thought.” I hadn’t seen her in denim since Day One, and I was missing the unique way that jeans cradle and caress a fleshy posterior.

“Okay! Jeans it is.”

She was very eager to please. I wasn’t just physically attracted to Jocelyn, although my lust was overpowering. She was a wonderfully nice person, always positive and peppy. I’ve been focusing on her obsession with food, but in all other matters, she was the sort of person I would love to hang out with. But when it came to food, she had no desire to please anybody but herself. Food transformed her into a greedy gluttonous pig.

“Hey, do you need a drive home at the end of the day?”

Of course I said yes, and after the day came to an end, and the week with it, I found myself sitting in the passenger seat of Jocelyn’s two-door Accent. She had her seat pushed back into a comfortable position, so that there was room for her belly and boobs. Again, I thrilled at how tall she seemed sitting down. Where standing I was a few inches taller, sitting down I had to look up slightly to make eye contact. It made her seem that much bigger.

The seats were filled with fast food detritus. This was the vehicle of a slob. I had to push some burger wrappers off the seat before I could sit down.

“Sorry about the mess. I try to keep it neater than this, really I do. I’ll give it a good cleaning tonight. Just move all that shit out of the way, into the back.”

The back seat was unsittable. I added to the hills and valleys of the fast food landscape.

I gave her my address and she drove me home. We listened to Mos Def’s Black on Both Sides, a classic, and when “Ms. Fat Booty” came on, I took another glance at the pale-skinned goddess next to me. She was bobbing her head, shimmying her thighs, shaking her boobs imperceptibly, and running a hand through her hair to get it out of her face.

“Love love love this song!” she said. She spoke so often in exclamation marks that it was contagious, and soon I was bobbing my head to the music too.

On the way, she stopped off at a neighbourhood bakery.

“Can you run in and get me some things? They have the most amazing donuts here, I like to get them to ring in the weekend. Here,” she said, handing me her wallet, “get a box.”

It was nice that I didn’t have to pay for these, though I would have. I was a slave for her, and raised no fuss about running into the bakery for her while she went over her reflection in a compact mirror. I grabbed a glance at her applying lip gloss before I entered the bakery, old-timey bell chiming as the door opened and closed.

“Hello, welcome. How can I help you?”

They did have a large collection of donuts, as well as other pastries. I looked in the wallet, looked at the prices. She had enough cash for a box of twelve donuts, and that was it.

“Yeah, a box of twelve donuts, three chocolate glazed, three Boston cream, three maple glazed, and three jelly-filled. And two éclairs, and a small bag of croissants, and a cherry cheesecake.”

Screw saving my money. I’d spend her money on what she asked for and get the extras with my own cash. I knew that she would eat it, no questions asked. (Maybe one question, to appear polite, but her stomach would be screaming EAT.) Besides, I got a thrill on spending my dough on her appetite. Enabling her piggy behaviour, I hoped that she would get fatter, that her clothes would get tighter, and that she would eat more more more. What else did I spend my money on anyway? This was my optimal way of contributing to the economy; feeding a bottomless pit.

I came out with Jocelyn’s baked goods in a big bag. She gave me an O mouth of jokey surprise through the windshield, and when I got in the car, she clapped her hands together, which shook her tits around in her dress.

“Now, don’t worry,” I said, pre-empitvely, “I got the extras with my own money. To thank you for… driving me home. And, uh, being such a cool trainer.”

“Extras?!” She rifled through the bag and squealed with high pitched girlish glee.

She took an éclair and began to feast. Digging in with relish, she exhibited the gusto of someone who hasn’t eaten all day, not a greedy fatty who had hogged a whole pizza to herself and spent her whole day at work sitting and eating. She moaned and licked excess cream and chocolate from her lips. Jocelyn was such a messy eater, she should have worn a bib.

“Thank you soooo much, I love their éclairs, but I hardly get them because they’re so expensive.”

“Well, you could always just get one.”

“No way. I can’t have one without wanting four or five.”

Damn. “Whoops. I didn’t know. I only got two, but I got other stuff too.”

“That’s okay,” she said, simultaneously plunging the éclair back into her mouth, “Next time.”

I was thrilled at the idea of a next time. Jocelyn started up the car and resumed driving, one hand on the wheel, one hand eating the decadent pastries that I ferried to her from the bag, which I was keeping on my lap. After finishing her two éclairs, she started in on the donuts. She had eaten four when we pulled up to my apartment building.

“Here you are.”

“Thanks for the lift.”

“Thanks for the food. I wish you were still gonna be in the car to help me get it. I almost got in an accident a couple weeks ago when I bent over to get some fries out of a bag. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Be careful out there!”

“Haha, don’t worry, I will.”

There was a brief second of silent tension, but I got out of the car without allowing it to develop. I could feel the electricity, could feel that we both wanted something to happen, but I didn’t want to risk making things awkward for us later on. A last minute make-out, and then she heads home? She might think she did something wrong, that it was a mistake, I don’t know. I don’t pretend to understand the female mind. I assured her that I would be at the Voodoo later. Jocelyn pulled out into the street and sped off.


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Old 11-09-2011, 02:17 PM   #45
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The days passed, as these days do, in a numbing haze of computer screens and trivial sales statistics. The training period at a call centre is designed to dull the pain that comes with having to become a robot for a living. My training period was buoyed by the monumental girl I had a monumental crush on.

After our trip to Subway, Jocelyn spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on her cushiony ass, occasionally snacking on treats she had squirreled away under her desk. She flat out refused to get out of her chair to help anyone. One girl, who clearly had never gotten her high school education, was near in tears because she was having so much recurring trouble with an application. Jocelyn kept brushing her off. “Just ask your neighbour,” she would say, mouth often full of chocolate. At the end of the day, with twenty minutes to go, this girl asked, voice quavering, “Please, Jocelyn, can’t you just please come here and help me with this? I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“It’s really not that difficult,” said Jocelyn, burping the word ‘difficult’.

“But I can’t!”

“Just try again.” Jocelyn put another handful of M&Ms in her mouth and shifted in her chair.

The poor girl gave up and ran out of the room, taking her coat and purse with her. Jocelyn watched her go.

“She’ll be back,” she said confidently, candy-coated chocolates muffling her words.

The next morning, she did not come back. She did not come back any day afterward either.

Jocelyn may have not been the greatest trainer. In fact, she was probably in the bottom of the pecking order. But most people in the class were so desperate for work that there was no way they were going to quit. Most realized how easy the class was with Fatso (as a couple witty wags in the back row had deemed her). They could goof off, text, surf the internet, and not get in any trouble. The girl who left must not have complained to HR, and the people upstairs must not have been monitoring the daily Internet history of the students, because Jocelyn didn’t get in any trouble that week for anything.

On Wednesday and Thursday, Jocelyn brought large assortments of food with her to class. She told me, during afternoon break on Thursday:

“Oh, you noticed that, huh? Well, I always liked having a little snack at work, but it was always kinda difficult. Here, I don’t have anyone breathing down my neck, telling me don’t eat this, don’t eat that. I think it really helps my job performance.”

Quite the opposite. There was the aforementioned refusal to move from her seat, which was exacerbated by the weight of the food that was always bloating her belly. There was the lack of respect she received from the class. If Jocelyn was just going to sit there in ill-fitting clothes, stuffing her fat face, getting food on her clothes, and burping like a bullfrog, then why should they try any harder themselves. There were also the occasions that something was ill-explained due to her words being lost in a haze of chewing and swallowing. Sometimes, she was too lazy to bother explaining things in detail. A notable example was Thursday morning when, in the midst of explaining different service tiers for cable customers, she just stopped and grabbed her big belly. She was wearing a tight red blouse, and the buttons were hanging on for dear life.

“Ugh, I’m sorry, I forgot what I was saying. I’m so hungry. Dave, could you go fetch me something to eat?”

This request startled me, but I wasted no time rushing off to the convenience store, grabbing jerky, chips, Hostess cakes, enough Coke to drown a cat and a big container of honey roasted peanuts. She was so grateful when I returned with the food that she didn’t even bother getting back to the cable tiers. She just started putting the junk food between her pretty lips and told everyone we could have a short ‘in-class’ break, which meant that we couldn’t leave the room, but we could do whatever we wanted. As the weeks went on, we would have more and more of these in-class breaks.

Jocelyn’s demand for me to save her rumbling belly was not the norm. In fact, since our Subway lunch on Tuesday (I guess I should say her lunch, since I wasn’t a consumer myself, but just a voyeur), we had not spent much time together at all. I didn’t want to appear too desperate, and so had been forcing myself to avoid her, in hopes of future payoff. Whether she was doing something the same, or was just not thinking much about me was hard to tell. On Wednesday, she jiggled out of the room during lunch without saying anything to me. She came back at the end of the hour with bread crumbs on her chest. I don’t where she went, or what exactly she ate, but judging by the slow deliberate pace of her walking, she had eaten a lot of it.

On Thursday, I forced myself, with Olympian resolve, to beat it out of the training room right when Jocelyn announced the lunch break. I’ve heard many girls talk about playing hard to get, but just try and bug a girl you’ve just met all the time. It doesn’t work; they’re interested to begin with, but something about the sustained proximity so early on makes them go a little squirrely. I ate lunch at a small café far away from the centre. Jocelyn had a car, but I knew she usually just picked up food from the derelict mall, so I was right when I guessed that she wouldn’t be there.

Friday came, and I was in love. Again, I should reiterate how much time I really did spend looking at her. I mean, we all did. She was right there at the front of the class, and while she may have been a pretty apathetic trainer, she did set the syllabus and determine what we were going to be doing at any given time.

On that Friday of that first week, Jocelyn showed up wearing a cleavage-bearing argyle dress, blue and grey, with one of those big chunky belts that girls, particularly fat ones, tend to wear right under their boobs, in order to accentuate their figure and cinch it all together, I suppose. All I know is it looks damn good to me. I missed the jeans and tights, just because there was less of her big jiggly ass to see in a flowing dress, but the way her back end thrust out, giving hints of its exact shape, was titillating in its own subtle ways.

As a perk for reaching the end of the first week of training (or just for being thankful we stuck around), the higher-ups at the call centre made a habit of supplying free pizza for lunch to classes of new recruits on Fridays. Around 11:30, there was a knock at the door. Jocelyn got up and shuffled over to let in the Head of HR.

“Hello everyone,” said The Head, “I hope you’ve had a great first week! Is everybody having a good time?”

The response was, to say the least, noncommittal. Jocelyn was shuffling from foot to foot, redistributing her weight. She smacked her lips with a wet sound, and darted her tongue around her mouth. The Head of HR kept spewing welcome-babble as the pizzas were ferried in by two strapping young men. They each had a stack of five boxes, and Jocelyn quickly snatched the top box off the first guy’s stack, cradling it in her beefy arms. She opened it up and her eyes sparkled.

“Meat lovers! Oh yeah!”

She grabbed two slices from the box, sandwiched them together, and took an extra big bite. The class, somewhat used to Jocelyn at this point, still couldn’t believe this display of hoggishness. She kept the meat lovers pizza to herself, hunkered over it so that no one else could get at it, and ate all eight large slices in four pizza sandwiches. Later, during a digestive conversation on break, she told me why:

“I knew that she would be bringing pizzas for the newbies, she always does to butter them up. When I was in training, someone snatched the pizza away from me and I didn’t get enough. I only had, like… a few slices. BURP. So anyway, I skipped breakfast this morning so that I would have tons of room. And I made sure no one would take it from me. I love meat lovers! And I deserve it. I’m the trainer after all!”

I was familiar with what Jocelyn was like when she skipped breakfast.

“By the way, some of the staff is going out to The Voodoo tonight. If you’re not doing anything, you wanna come?”

Was she asking me out? It sure seemed that way. Her glistening eyes looked right into mine. Other than her demanding me to fetch her food that one time, we hadn’t spoken to each other all that much other than a few exchanged words during breaks. I was getting the sense that we were both playing the same game of cat-and-mouse, with each of us seeing ourselves as the cat. With my lean build, I was probably more suited to mouse. With her heavy paunch and lazy attitude, Jocelyn was more cat. Housecat, that is. She looked at me, hungrily. I knew, then and there, that I was a mouse she wanted desperately to gobble up.

“Uh, sure, I’ll come. Who else is gonna be there? Anyone from the class?”

“Maybe. I dunno. It’s for staff, so they might. It’ll be a great way to meet people.”

I didn’t want to meet anybody. I just wanted to get to know my uber-chubby trainer a little better, with my brain, and with my hands.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Awesome! Should I wear this, or change?”

She spun around, giving me a great view of her chubby legs, her fat butt, her round hips. I was mesmerized, trying to mentally put some measurements to her proportions. I felt like an early astronomer, foolishly trying to mathematize the wonders of creation. Given the choice of pics between the Horseshoe Nebula and a cheesecake pin-up of Jocelyn, I would choose the pin-up anytime, preferably with her eating a cheesecake.

“You look fantastic in that. But you might want to wear jeans. Just a thought.” I hadn’t seen her in denim since Day One, and I was missing the unique way that jeans cradle and caress a fleshy posterior.

“Okay! Jeans it is.”

She was very eager to please. I wasn’t just physically attracted to Jocelyn, although my lust was overpowering. She was a wonderfully nice person, always positive and peppy. I’ve been focusing on her obsession with food, but in all other matters, she was the sort of person I would love to hang out with. But when it came to food, she had no desire to please anybody but herself. Food transformed her into a greedy gluttonous pig.

“Hey, do you need a drive home at the end of the day?”

Of course I said yes, and after the day came to an end, and the week with it, I found myself sitting in the passenger seat of Jocelyn’s two-door Accent. She had her seat pushed back into a comfortable position, so that there was room for her belly and boobs. Again, I thrilled at how tall she seemed sitting down. Where standing I was a few inches taller, sitting down I had to look up slightly to make eye contact. It made her seem that much bigger.

The seats were filled with fast food detritus. This was the vehicle of a slob. I had to push some burger wrappers off the seat before I could sit down.

“Sorry about the mess. I try to keep it neater than this, really I do. I’ll give it a good cleaning tonight. Just move all that shit out of the way, into the back.”

The back seat was unsittable. I added to the hills and valleys of the fast food landscape.

I gave her my address and she drove me home. We listened to Mos Def’s Black on Both Sides, a classic, and when “Ms. Fat Booty” came on, I took another glance at the pale-skinned goddess next to me. She was bobbing her head, shimmying her thighs, shaking her boobs imperceptibly, and running a hand through her hair to get it out of her face.

“Love love love this song!” she said. She spoke so often in exclamation marks that it was contagious, and soon I was bobbing my head to the music too.

On the way, she stopped off at a neighbourhood bakery.

“Can you run in and get me some things? They have the most amazing donuts here, I like to get them to ring in the weekend. Here,” she said, handing me her wallet, “get a box.”

It was nice that I didn’t have to pay for these, though I would have. I was a slave for her, and raised no fuss about running into the bakery for her while she went over her reflection in a compact mirror. I grabbed a glance at her applying lip gloss before I entered the bakery, old-timey bell chiming as the door opened and closed.

“Hello, welcome. How can I help you?”

They did have a large collection of donuts, as well as other pastries. I looked in the wallet, looked at the prices. She had enough cash for a box of twelve donuts, and that was it.

“Yeah, a box of twelve donuts, three chocolate glazed, three Boston cream, three maple glazed, and three jelly-filled. And two éclairs, and a small bag of croissants, and a cherry cheesecake.”

Screw saving my money. I’d spend her money on what she asked for and get the extras with my own cash. I knew that she would eat it, no questions asked. (Maybe one question, to appear polite, but her stomach would be screaming EAT.) Besides, I got a thrill on spending my dough on her appetite. Enabling her piggy behaviour, I hoped that she would get fatter, that her clothes would get tighter, and that she would eat more more more. What else did I spend my money on anyway? This was my optimal way of contributing to the economy; feeding a bottomless pit.

I came out with Jocelyn’s baked goods in a big bag. She gave me an O mouth of jokey surprise through the windshield, and when I got in the car, she clapped her hands together, which shook her tits around in her dress.

“Now, don’t worry,” I said, pre-empitvely, “I got the extras with my own money. To thank you for… driving me home. And, uh, being such a cool trainer.”

“Extras?!” She rifled through the bag and squealed with high pitched girlish glee.

She took an éclair and began to feast. Digging in with relish, she exhibited the gusto of someone who hasn’t eaten all day, not a greedy fatty who had hogged a whole pizza to herself and spent her whole day at work sitting and eating. She moaned and licked excess cream and chocolate from her lips. Jocelyn was such a messy eater, she should have worn a bib.

“Thank you soooo much, I love their éclairs, but I hardly get them because they’re so expensive.”

“Well, you could always just get one.”

“No way. I can’t have one without wanting four or five.”

Damn. “Whoops. I didn’t know. I only got two, but I got other stuff too.”

“That’s okay,” she said, simultaneously plunging the éclair back into her mouth, “Next time.”

I was thrilled at the idea of a next time. Jocelyn started up the car and resumed driving, one hand on the wheel, one hand eating the decadent pastries that I ferried to her from the bag, which I was keeping on my lap. After finishing her two éclairs, she started in on the donuts. She had eaten four when we pulled up to my apartment building.

“Here you are.”

“Thanks for the lift.”

“Thanks for the food. I wish you were still gonna be in the car to help me get it. I almost got in an accident a couple weeks ago when I bent over to get some fries out of a bag. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Be careful out there!”

“Haha, don’t worry, I will.”

There was a brief second of silent tension, but I got out of the car without allowing it to develop. I could feel the electricity, could feel that we both wanted something to happen, but I didn’t want to risk making things awkward for us later on. A last minute make-out, and then she heads home? She might think she did something wrong, that it was a mistake, I don’t know. I don’t pretend to understand the female mind. I assured her that I would be at the Voodoo later. Jocelyn pulled out into the street and sped off.


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Old 11-10-2011, 01:22 PM   #46
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still loving this. Excellent story, well written.
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Old 11-15-2011, 04:20 PM   #47
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In the purple-dim recesses of the Voodoo, past the stonefaced bouncers, past the surly coat check girl, past the bar where drinks were pricey, past the tables where people sat with half-empty glasses talking nonsense, out on the throbbing dance floor, where the light changed colour and the beat never changed at all, was Jocelyn.

I had come fashionably late, alone, hoping that she would already be there. I didn’t have her cell, or any other way of contacting her to know for sure. I considered adding her on Facebook, but thought better of it. Her profile pic was a shot of her face with her chin thrust out. You could never tell from this picture that she was fat. Maybe she wasn’t as carefree as I had thought. Best not to add her just yet. Hang with her at the club, play my cards right, then add her, and maybe more.

I discovered Jocelyn, out there on the dance floor, and it was like discovering El Dorado. She was wearing a shiny blue halter top, made from synthetic material. It was riding up on her torso as she moved her fat body, so that the bottom of her belly was hanging out. She was indeed wearing jeans, a different pair from before, a black pair. These ones were buttoned, but they looked painted on. They didn’t contain her gut at all, and it bounced up and down in plain sight. Her dancing style involved a lot of thrusting of her butt behind her, shaking it around, then thrusting her pelvis forward and moving her arms and hips. Repeat to perfection.

She was dancing with a couple of girls, and didn’t see me at all. I revelled in the opportunity to play the voyeur. The way her fat body always threatened to take up space, more than is normal, was made very manifest here in the close quarters of the club. She kept dancing into people, swinging a hip into some twiggy hipster, ramming some dorky bro with her butt, falling into some dancing queen. It was all accidental; she was so into the dancing, and so large, that she couldn’t help it. She was clearly intoxicated, as her equilibrium seemed distinctly off. The girls she was dancing with were equally unsteady on their feet, and would sometimes fall into Jocelyn, laughing uproariously. Jocelyn would dependably prop them up, but the favour was not returned. When Jocelyn stumbled into her two friends, they would get knocked back. At one point, the shortest of the two girls was almost crushed under Jocelyn going timber, but fortunately the other girl, ropey biceps bulging, managed to hold Jocelyn back. They all laughed drunkenly at Jocelyn almost squashing her friend into oblivion, and then Jocelyn turned around, so that her back was to me.

Up to now, she had been in side profile, but now that I was drinking in the sight of her luscious ass, I saw that her pants did not cover the whole thing. The top of her ass crack was sticking up out of the top. The small of her back, which wasn’t very small at all, wobbled as she moved. She attempted to pull her pants up, grabbing at the waist above a fleshy buttock, but it was futile. There was just too much junk in that trunk for those black denim pants to contain. I couldn’t tell where her hips ended and her ass began. The whole rear end situation was just huge.

“Say no to crack.”

I turned around, to see who had said that. A guy with stretched earlobes and red spiky hair was laughing at Jocelyn.

“Girl needs to cover that up. For serious.”

I was about to say something threatening, but the dude went over to Jocelyn and squeezed her ass. She turned around, shocked, but recognizing the dude, she squealed and hugged him. I, of course, was crestfallen.

I went over to the bar, got a beer and a shot. Drowning my sorrows at the bar, I was toying with leaving.

“Dave, you made it!”

I spun around and there was Jocelyn, smiling and panting, looking radiant, perfect teeth practically making that TING sound that they make in cartoons. She was holding a vodka cooler in one hand and a Budweiser in the other. She immediately grabbed me in a big smushy bear hug.

“I was thinking you wouldn’t come,” she shouted.

“I’m here now.”

“Come on out and dance!”

“Yeah yeah, definitely!”

I followed Jocelyn’s bouncing butt cheeks over to the dance floor and started moving next to her. Seeing all of her flesh in motion up close was incredible. Her fat belly was wobbling around, her top riding up to her belly button. I noticed she got a couple stares from nearby dancers. Maybe some of them were admiring, but I think the majority were not. Jocelyn’s tits, belly and ass were hanging out of her sinfully tight clothes. Her cleavage was deep, and she kept adjusting her top so that her boobs didn’t fly out of their confines. The tops of her ass cheeks were sticking out of her pants. Those twin mountains of flesh were hypnotizing, as they went back and forth, up and down with the pounding bass rhythm.

She said something to me that I didn’t catch, and finished off her beer.

“What?” I said, “I didn’t catch that.”

I put my ear down to her mouth to hear her. She burped in my face, startling me.

“Whoops! Sorry!” she yelled, “I meant to ask if you could get me another drink.”

She then finished off her cooler and handed me the bottles. I went off to fetch her another cooler-beer combo. In the dense waiting pack of partiers at the bar, I ran into Jocelyn’s friend Tiffany.

“Dave, right?”

“Haha, yeah. How’s it going?”

“Good. Just here with the call centre crew. What brings you here?”

“Oh, Jocelyn invited me.”

“Oh reeeeealy? I think somebody has a crush.”

I gulped, feeling like a nervous Daffy Duck.

“Whatever you do,” she said, “make sure you let her down easy.”

“Huh?”

“Jocelyn gets crushes all the time, and it never ends up well. She’s perennially single. In fact, if I had to guess, I would bet she’s never had a boyfriend.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, because I thought it would sound like tacit admission that I liked her too. But Tiffany took it to be more general awe at a virginal twenty-something.

“It’s just the way she is. The way she acts. I don’t know, maybe in high school or whatever. I know she was in university for a bit, so she probably did. But I just get this feeling, you know?”

A dark-skinned dude came over, holding out a cocktail to Tiffany.

“Dave, this is Darren. Darren, Dave.”

I shook Darren’s hand, getting a boyfriend vibe off of him. Tiffany and Darren went off into a dimly-lit corner of the noisy club, and I refocused my attention on getting myself through the masses to the promised land of expensive drinks.

Why didn’t I want to make a tacit admission that I liked Jocelyn? Maybe I was still a little weird about liking fat girls in public. I had dated only chubbies for the past five years, but Jocelyn was bigger than any of them. But that didn’t feel right. I think it was because it seemed so unreal, that to say anything out loud about it would somehow make the whole situation vanish in a puff of smoke. And the way Tiffany had immediately proclaimed Jocelyn a virgin to a guy she had only met once previously made me worry that saying I thought Jocelyn was hot would lead her to question me, to find out just what the fuck was wrong with me, a barrage of noncomprehension that I just didn’t want or need right now. Then again, she probably would have been thrilled to hear that her single friend had an admirer. Besides, how could Jocelyn be a virgin? Someone so much the opposite of reserved that she would belch and make a pig of herself in front of a guy on the first day she has met him. It didn’t make any sense to me. I went back and forth, up and down, torturously, inside the confines of my skull, until I finally got to the bar and ordered Jocelyn’s drinks, with a bottle of beer for myself.

Turned back to the dancing floor, I witnessed Jocelyn’s body, built for worship, getting low low low, then bringing it back up. Her ass, the size of Brooklyn out there among the skinny bimbo bodies, would come perilously close to touching the ground and demolishing the dance floor, only to retreat back to its regular altitude. Every time she did so, her pants wiggled their way down a bit. Her thong was showing now, as well as more ass crack than previously. She got tired, obviously, because she stopped dropping her massive ass, and fanned herself off with one hand. She turned around and saw me approaching. Her face lit up, and it was at this point that I noticed she was holding a piece of pizza in one hand. Where the hell had that come from?

“Beer me!”

I gave her the beer, holding on to her cooler for the time being.

“Where did the pizza come from?”

She thrust out her pudgy arm and, hand holding beer bottle, pointed her pinky finger at a side of the bar near the restrooms that I hadn’t really noticed. Down a ways from where they served drinks was a spinning heat rack with a few pizzas inside. As we looked, a tall willowy chick and her teeny boy-bodied friend were waving down a bartender to fetch them a slice. They shared the slice, and I thought about how Jocelyn could have eaten that whole slice in the blink of an eye. These thin girls probably wouldn’t even finish it between the two of them. What a waste!

The night consisted of much dancing and drinking, as well as much pizza eating for Jocelyn. Whatever inhibitions this already uninhibited girl may have had were gone after she had downed a cask’s worth of booze, booze that she had me run and fetch at intervals. I got to feel the distinct sensation of having her cushiony ass backed up into my crotch and moved around. It felt like two heavenly clouds. It gave me a painful erection, that I couldn’t have hid if I wanted to. Jocelyn, feeling me poking her mammoth buttocks, shot me a look over her shoulder, winked, blushed a bit, and started grinding her ass even harder. The cat was out of the bag, the bag was in the river. No more pretending that what was going on between us wasn’t real.

“Hey, question time,” I shouted in her ear, when she was standing up again. Her hair smelled phenomenal.

“Shoot.”

“Who was that guy who squeezed your ass earlier?”

“Who?”

“You gave him a big hug, he had like the big circley earlobes?”

“Oh, that’s just Jarod. He’s super super gay.”

Gay! Super super gay! Outstanding!

“You want another slice of pizza?”

A minute later, I was off to the restroom to do what needed to be done. Coming back, I marvelled at the state of Jocelyn. Whipping her hair around, drunk as a skunk, her belly bared for the whole bar to see, her ass thrusting and shaking, back and forth, side to side, and, to top it all off, she had a slice of pizza in each hand and was taking alternating bites while shaking her groove thang. When I had offered another slice, I had meant two, because that’s just the kind of guy I am. She was a dream. A waking dream.
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Old 12-08-2011, 07:19 AM   #48
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We stumbled out into the night. Jocelyn had picked up her black denim jacket from coat check, and she looked very cool in it. It was starting to get a little cooler at night now, and I regretted not having a jacket of my own.

Jocelyn had been stumbling around the club, completely blitzed, and she had been in the middle of stealing a girl’s drink when I decided to grab her by the forearm and tell her it was time to go. The flesh of her arm had a pleasant give, and her skin was soft and smooth. I told her I would walk her home, make sure she got there safe.

“I just live down in the South End, it’s real close.” She told me the street name. “You know where that is?”

“Sure do.”

“Hope it’s not out of your way.”

“Actually, I live in the South End too. I’m just a few streets down from you. Remember? You drove me home?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, jumping a bit in excitement, “That’s awesome that you live so close! We can get coffee maybe? Or breakfast? So much fun.”

She groped my waist and came in close. I could smell the shampoo she had used in her hair.

“I’m soooo drunk. I can’t believe I forgot where you live. God, I… BURRRRRP. Uh, jeez. BURP. Oh, man.”

She clutched her belly in both hands, tightened her lips and furrowed her brow.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just (urp) feel a little (brapurp) unsettled.”

“You did drink a ton of drinks, Drinky.”

“I can drink anybody under the table, just watch me,” she said proudly, patting her belly and belching again.

On our way to her place, we passed by a trifecta of pizza places. Despite having eaten pizza pretty much all day, Jocelyn started licking her lips like Wile E. Coyote.

“Oh man, I want some pizza bad!”

“Really? I would have figured you’d be sick of pizza by now.”

She set her sexy mouth in a mock-shocked O.

“Sick of pizza? A girl doesn’t get sick of pizza.”

“Some girls do.” Most girls do.

“Not this girl! What has two thumbs and loooooves pizza pie?” She waggled her thumbs clownishly at her chest, opened her eyes wide, scrunched her face and bobbed her head up and down, rocker-style. I laughed.

“Okay, so let’s get some pizza then.”

She dragged me into a place notable for its sumptuous donairs. If you don’t know donairs, then you don’t know from messy food.

“I’m getting a donair, definitely,” said Jocelyn.

“What happened to pizza?”

“I want pizza too,” she whined, “Weh. What to get?” She pouted, half-sincerely.

“Why not get both?”

She bit her lip and looked into my eyes.

“You don’t think that would make me a pig, do you?”

Well, yes, I did, but that’s exactly what I was going for. If it seems weird that this girl who had so brazenly stuffed herself in front of me beforehand should be asking this question, I should note that there was a flirtatious overtone to her voice as she asked. She assumed I would say no, but she needed to hear it. She wanted permission.

“Of course not. If you’re hungry, you should eat. Don’t deny yourself. Indulge.”

“Davey, I like the way you think.”

She got a slice of the works and a large donair. I had to pay for the food, as she had spent all of her cash at the bar. I had wanted to get a slice for myself, as I had worked up a bit of an appetite, but I only had enough cash to fill Jocelyn’s order.

We took the food outside and seated ourselves on a low stone wall that ran along the perimeter of a nearby church. Jocelyn’s tempting ass crack peeped out of the back of her pants as she plumped herself down and tucked into her feast. Donair meat filled her mouth at warp speed, and the white donair sauce got all over her cheeks, hands, and boobs.

A couple drunk bros walked by, talking many decibels too loudly. They gaped at Jocelyn making a spectacle of herself.

“Hey, I got some meat for you, fatass!” said one of them, lewdly grabbing his crotch. His friends bellowed laughter and they walked on.

Jocelyn said something indecipherable through her mouthful.

“What was that?”

She swallowed, burped, and said: “What a douchebag. So what if I’m a little fat. You’re a lot douchebag. Asshole.”

“You’re not fat.”

“I’m a little bit fat.”

“No no no. You have curves. You have a womanly body.”

“Well thank you, David.”

She proceeded to Hoover up the rest of her donair, and performed the same disappearing act on the slice. Her belly bulged hugely onto her lap when she was done, and donair sauce mingled with pizza sauce on her face and chest.

“Okay, (burp) I am (BRRRRAP) full. I gotta get home and get some sleep. Ugh,” she cradled her bulging belly, “Dave, can you pat me on the back?”

I thumped her between the shoulderblades, which made her hair shake and her back fat jiggle lusciously. She erupted with a T.Rex belch that made passersby take notice.

“Whoo, that’s so much better! One for the record books! Help me up please.”

I grabbed her hands and pulled. Nothing doing. She looked up at me expectantly, head cocked to the side, like an expectant dog.

“Come on Dave! Use them man muscles!”

“Maybe you could… help out a bit?”

“Alright, alright, (burrrrp) I have to do everything around here.”

I pulled again, even harder this time, exerting my biceps to their limit, and Jocelyn grunted and brought her bulk forward, boobs first, and she slowly lifted off the stone fence. When she got to her feet, she stumbled, trying to get her centre of gravity. Her fat girl clumsiness was what brought us together, as she tripped right into me, nearly knocking me over, her breasts pressing into me, her stomach pressing into my rock hard erection. Without thinking, I reached my hands around her, grabbing her fat ass, as much as I could in my hands, which wasn’t really that much, but the fact that my arms couldn’t reach around, that there was still more to explore, more than could be grasped in a couple handfuls, just made me want her more, and I kissed her hard, smearing the sauce on my face, but I didn’t care, because she kissed me back, and there was a lot of tongue, and she tasted like food, and sex, and it was undeniably great.

(Continued in post 53 of this thread)

Last edited by Britt Reid; 06-29-2012 at 01:03 PM.
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Old 12-14-2011, 08:13 AM   #49
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Default Really good story!

I really appreciate your stories! Already looking forward to next part!

Thanks

Matt
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Old 12-14-2011, 08:11 PM   #50
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I'm working on The Trainer, slowly but surely. I've hit a bit of a road block, but I know once I'm on the other side of it, it'll flow smoothly.

I haven't written any Spoiled Brat in a long time, but I do know the story. I have both of these things planned out, it's just a matter of putting in the work.

The real reason I've been so slow getting work done on either of those is I'm working on another story that I don't want to post until it's complete. It's a self-contained story, not a serialized narrative, and I don't want a third uncompleted thing on this site bugging me to finish. But it's almost done.

It's always a thrill to read encouragement and support. Thanks for reading!
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