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A Presentation of Plumpness - by Cylon Bob (~BBW, Intrigue, Stufffing, ~SWG )

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Cylon_bob

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~BBW, Intrigue, Stufffing, ~SWG - a FA's study project ex-cheeerleader partner turns out to be more than he thought possible

A Presentation of Plumpness
by Cylon Bob
________________________[

Sometimes things happen that feel like dreams, like there's no way what just happened could be reality, know what I mean?

You know they happened, but when you tell the story, you sound like you're lying, like there's no way things could have lined up the way they did, only they did.

Let me tell you what I'm talking about.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


I was in a Sociology class last year, an intro-level course, pretty basic stuff. Didn't have to really pay any attention to the teacher, so I went in on the first day expecting I'd be spending a lot of class-time day-dreaming, doodling, watching my classmates, you know that kind of thing.

And that's all it would have been. Just business as usual in my second year at a crappy community college. Only the professor started going on about some 'team project' we were all going to be presenting at the end of the semester.

We drew names, got bunched into pairs that day and told we should find time to get together and brainstorm ideas for presentations. Again, pretty basic stuff. Only thing that made it stand out was who I got paired with.

Her name was Anna, and I knew who she was already. Not on a personal basis, you know, but she was recognizable. She was on the cheer squad last year as a freshman, and she'd made herself. . . very visible. Made a big deal of herself. Grew a lot as a person.

Okay, I'm just making jokes.

See, long story short, Anna Ratcliffe started out looking like an average, slim, fit, pretty cheerleader, maybe a teensy bit chunky, and ended the season as the fat cheerleader, and I mean the fattest cheerleader. Not just 'the chubby cheerleader,' the fat one. Girl must have packed on the Freshman fifteen twice over by the end of the year.

I specify that she wasn't the chubby one, because at my school, we definitely have some chubby cheerleaders. Ten girls on the squad, there's always at least four of them are visibly overweight. Side effect of living in the fattest state in the nation. Usually though, the overweight ones have uniforms that fit them properly.

If (read:when) they gain weight, they get a bigger one. Except Anna. Anna never got the next size up. That outfit was tight at the start; by the end of it, there were dozens of theories flying around as to how she got it over her fattened form, and the most likely one was witchcraft.

Most of the fat girls on the squad, they wore a large enough uniform, do their best not to draw attention to themselves, but Anna. . . Oh Anna. She'd be out there on the field, playing with the mascot, flirting with the players, and the whole time, she'd be busting at the seams, world-class muffin top hanging out over the waistband of her skirt, her tummy hanging out there for the world to see.

Just this once, the fat, (oh did I mention really fattest?) cheerleader was a show-off.

Anyway, the point of all this is to say that I knew who she was on a very general level, and now I was going to have to find out on a more personal one.

We talked immediately after that first class about getting together to think up ideas for presentations, or rather, I talked, and she chewed on a king-sized Snickers bar nonchalantly right in front of me, not a trace of embarrassment. . I suggested we meet at a park later that week, she suggested we get started right away, meet up at the student union in an hour. So that's what we did.
---------------

This is a good time to describe Anna's characteristics other than her apparent affinity for overly-tight clothes and a beyond-healthy appetite for desserts and candy that was affecting her feminine physique.

She's a very pretty girl by anyone's standards, classically beautiful, angular face, smooth, tan skin, and shoulder-length blond hair. She's tall compared to most girls, about 5'11. And after last year, distinctly chubby all over. I'm talking muffin top, poochy belly, thunder thighs, fat rolls if she leans to one side or another kind of chubby. Bordering on fat.

What else. . . Oh yeah-- she's got gigantic tits. Should have mentioned those first since they're basically completely impossible to miss. I mean, they're not so impressive compared to some of the BBW models you see online, but for a girl at Anna's visible-but-not-extreme level of overweight, they were WAY disproportionate. Also, they were pretty much constantly out on display, sometimes intentionally, other times. . . Well, trying to conceal tits like Anna's would be like trying to hide an elephant under a napkin. She's got a nice, fat ass, as well, but let's be real, with tits like she's got, you're only gonna notice that ass when she's walking away from you.

Anyway, the story. In the first bit of Freshman year, I'd see her pretty regularly. Football games, walking to class, but mostly in the cafeteria. Girl was always in the cafeteria when I went. Always eating, as far as I could tell. Didn't seem to have an effect at first. I thought, 'eh, she must just be one of those girls with a crazy metabolism!'

I kept going to the football games, and somewhere around mid-season it became very clear she was not one of those crazily blessed girls. Her boobs took the first few pounds, of course, and that was nice. She wasn't exactly 'flat chested' at the start, but it was fun to see her moving up through the cup sizes, plumping up them titties 'til they're nice and round, big and bouncy.

Only it didn't stop there. She kept gaining. And they kept not giving her a larger uniform. I went to every game, and I don't even give a crap about football. I have no clue if we won or lost a single one, I was just too interested in the war between Anna's growing fatness and her tiny, tiny outfit.

I sound creepy. I wasn't obsessed or anything, it's just that the fight of the fat was more fascinating than the football game I was supposed to be watching. I didn't get hung up on her and start stalking her outside of the games or anything, trying to see her being fat in other ways.

Didn't have to be, really, I feel like her not getting a bigger uniform probably had a lot to do with her not asking for one, because she kept wearing the same tiny clothes around campus, despite the fact she was obviously getting bigger and bigger. I saw her mostly in the cafeteria during the spring semester, and I swear, her pants were never once buttoned up. Always unbuttoned, belly always bulging out. This was a woman who was pretty dedicated to being fat everywhere. Completely unashamed of her excessive curvature.

I said she put on the freshman fifteen twice over. I wasn't exaggerating, the girl started the year looking like what you imagine a college cheerleader to look like, ended it looking like a large, fluffy, woman-shaped marshmallow. And I'm pretty sure she gained even more during the summer, because the clothes she was wearing that day as a Sophomore were more than a tiny bit tight.

If you haven't put it together yet, Anna was basically my dream girl, at least physically and in regards to her weight, and this sociology assignment was my in. This was my chance to make a favorable impression on the buxom, pudgy
princess I'd been seeing around campus for the past year.

---------------

I showed up a bit early for our meeting at the Union. Better early than late, you know what they say.

Anna apparently doesn't know what they say, because she walked up to the table ten minutes late, holding tightly onto a very full MacDonald's bag. She was breathing heavy for a second, but as soon as she could talk, she got straight down to business, “Do you have any ideas for what we're going to talk about?”

I did, and I told her about them, but one after another, in between bites of Big Macs and other stuff , she shrugged them off, until finally, I was out.

“Well what about you, do you have any bright ideas?” I was a bit exasperated, so I might have been kinda rude, but she didn't respond to that.

No, she jumped straight into her idea, “I was thinking we could do something where we talk about prejudice towards fat people.”

She shoved the last of the burger into her face, covered her mouth with her hand and continued with her mouth full, “I mean, I used to be skinny, and now I'm fat, so I can do some proper compare and contrast. Talk about fat-shaming and how it's total crap.”

I was surprised with how open she apparently was talking about her weight gain, but not in a bad way. More of an encouraging way. Still, I needed to respond somehow.

The women I spend time lusting over tend to be a bit closer to the 'morbidly obese blob of blubber' end of the obesity spectrum, so I told her honestly that, from my perspective, “You're not that fat, Anna, what are you even talking about?”

She raised her eyebrow disbelievingly, “Daniel, you can try and be nice to me about this, but the fact is, I have literally put on fifty plus pounds since I started going here.”

She stood up and took a step back to let me get a good, clear look at her soft, bloated body, and the poor, poor clothes she'd outgrown, “I bought these jeans two months ago, and this morning, I spent thirty minutes getting them up over my hips, realized I'm way too fat to even dream of buttoning them, said 'screw it,' and went to class like this, fat belly pouring out all over the place! Then I get myself some MacDonald's. I. am. fat.”

She sat back down.

“Eh,” I said, “You're way curvy for sure, but fat? Nah. You'd have to gain like twenty pounds before you're there.”

Definitely an opinion most people would disagree with, but I remind you, this was coming from the kind of man who prefers his women fat enough to have serious difficulties with airplane seating.

This is where things went weird.

See, instead of backing down like I was expecting, she looked me straight in the eyes, shrugged her shoulders, and answered, “Fine.”

“Fine, what?”

“Fine, I'll gain twenty pounds.”

I was completely at a loss for words, and when I finally managed to speak, all I could say was “Wait, seriously?”

She shrugged again, shoved a handful of french fries into her mouth and shrugged, “Why not? Gotten this big. Besides,” she rested her hand on her round, bulging stomach, “twenty pounds would bring me to a nice, round two hundred pounds, perfect for a demonstration thing.”

I just sat there, wide-eyed and unbelieving. She'd just agreed to basically fulfill a fantasy of mine.

Frankly, though, as much as I wanted it to happen, I didn't think she could do it, I mean, she had something like four months to gain twenty pounds, and yeah, you hear about women gaining like that all the time, but it's usually coming from 98 lb. twigs who think eating a french fry will turn them into a sumo wrestler. Point is, not accurate sources.

So we made a bet.

“Fifty bucks says you can't even do it.” I challenged.

No hesitation, “Deal.”

I pushed my luck, “All right, so how's about we weigh-in, before and after, keep you honest?”

She shrugged, “”Sure, whatever, my dorm's right over there.”

Things were going my way. We crossed the street to her dorm and took the elevator to her room.

Walking in, the state of her room told me one thing very clearly-- this was a woman who loved her some junk food. If her flab wasn't proof enough of this, the multiple unfinished boxes of cookies and snack cakes told the story of a woman with the appetite of a half-starved hippopotamus with one hell of a sweet tooth.

She closed the door behind us and pointed off to the spare bed, “Sorry about the mess. Scale's. . . somewhere down under there, I think.”

I knelt down to look, and it took a while, but eventually I found it, dusty as hell, as far as could be from the light of day. I got the sense Anna hadn't weighed herself in a long, long time.

But she seemed remarkably cavalier about the whole thing for someone who had so clearly piled on the pounds since the last time she'd been clothes shopping! “Just set it over there.”

I did as she said, then sat back onto the bed for a fantastic show. Anna wasn't ashamed of her body, apparently, because she started stripping down to her bra and panties, both of which were more than a little overwhelmed by the amount of pure WOMAN that was Anna.

I just stared, open-mouthed, probably drooling on my shirt, at what was in front of me. What did I call her earlier, 'buxom?' Yeah, she was a few pounds beyond that now, she was positively busting at the seams, her curvaceous body on display for me, thick, juicy, like an overblown hourglass, J cup chest, round hips, with a very well-fed, doughy stomach sticking out in front of her. Her ass was two perfect globes of flab, round and smooth, sticking out behind her proudly, lightly sprinkled with a spattering of cellulite.

She sidled up to the scale, and I admired the amount of jiggle each little movement caused in her soft, flabby body. This was a well-fed and lazy woman, that much I knew for a fact.

She paused before she actually stepped onto the scale, to pinch a juicy roll of fat at her side, like she was checking to see how much more she had to hold on to than she remembered. I noticed a shy smile playing at the sides of her mouth, before she became very cavalier about the whole thing, “Let's see the damage, then!”

And she stepped on. The dial spun around for a second, stopping, eventually, on “189. Well crap, ten pounds more than I thought..”

Blank face, no shock and horror, none of what I'd expect from a girl who just got that kind of news. But that wasn't important, I had to keep the conversation relevant to the bet.

“So the, uh, deal is that you get up to 210 by the end of the semester, yeah?” I was starting to worry she might back out at this point, but no, she actually seemed unaffected by this.

Sort of unaffected anyway, She scrunched up her face like she was thinking, “Eh, well I know I'm 189 right now, but that's on a full stomach, so does it really count?”

She paused to give her soft, bloated belly a quick rub and a squeeze, like she was testing it while she thought about this, then turned back to me and bargained, “205 by the end of the semester.”

I wasn't falling for it, though. “How about you get to stuff yourself full before the second weigh in, that work things out?”

She didn't press the issue, just shrugged, “Eh, sounds fair enough;”

She smiled widely, “let's DO this!”

She walked over to her freezer, and pulled out a half-eaten gallon carton of ice cream with the spoon sticking out. She plopped herself onto the other end of the bed and dug in. Between mouthfuls, she asked me, smiling, “So, how are you gonna get me that $50? We talking cold cash or credit card?”

“Well what makes you so sure you can actually DO it?” I replied.

She laughed, “Steve, last time I weighed myself was two months ago, and I was 180 straight up back then, and if I can gain ten pounds in two months without even trying, I can DEFINITELY gain twenty in three!”

The conversation went off after that, to a lot of places. We actually had a lot in common, which is something I never expected. We made some plans to meet up again at the first football game of the season, as friends, not as classmates.
 

Cylon_bob

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When I showed up at the game on Friday, Anna was waiting for me outside the field. Making a scene of herself, as usual. Let me just describe to you how she looked.

She wasn't dressed fancy, or anything. She looked ready to party, with her maroon top cut off just below her boobs and elastic-waist shorts. We hadn't even gotten into the stadium and she was already halfway through a hamburger, and from the look of her bloated stomach, it wasn't her first one of the day. Well, that was a given anyway, since it was almost six in the afternoon, but the point is, she was out in public, a woman deep in the depths of a burger binge, and the way she was dressed made it obvious she did this all the time.

I walked up behind her, “Getting started early?”

Her mouth was full, but after she'd swallowed, she assured me, “Mmf? Nah, dinner as usual!”

I was about to ask her what else 'dinner as usual' had included, but my courage failed me. I'd been lusting after this girl for ages, and now she was basically acting out a long-time fantasy of mine entirely on her own. No way was I going to screew that up by letting her know just how much this turned me on. “You, uh, ready to go in?”

To answer, she shrugged, crammed the last of her burger into her mouth, and began trudging off towards the gate. I just followed, enjoying the view. I said a lot about her breasts, but let me tell you once again, girl got a booty too.

That steadily expanding waistline of hers didn't look to be the only thing those shorts needed elastic to contain!
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I'll give you three guesses where we ended up sitting. If you need all three, you're an idiot; we were right next to the concession stand.

One of the nicest things about small town community college football games is that everything is close together. There are bleachers, yeah, but about half the people who show up either bring their fold-up fabric lawn chairs and sit on ground level, or they back their trucks up to to the fence around the field and sit on the tail gate.

Neither of us had a truck, so lawn chairs it would be! For Anna, anyway. I didn't own one myself, but I was expecting to spend most of the game walking back and forth from where Anna was sitting to bring her food, so it didn't matter. Well, all that was supposed to be became past tense, since Anna's lawn chair. . . well, it had complications at the start.

I volunteered to make a concessions stand run while Anna set everything up by the fence, and I came back, arms full of high-calorie goodies, to find a very pink Anna Ratcliffe clutching a mangled version of the fold-up chair I'd left her with. She held the remains of the seat up for me to see, and looking flustered, asked me “You, uh, wanna sit on the bleachers, then?”

I laughed and nodded. We headed to the bleachers, and I had to ask, “What happened to the chair, anyway?”

Again, with the blushing. Or was the pink in her face from the exertion of the stairs this time? Eh, doesn't matter.

“It, uh, couldn't actually hold me up. I sat down, and phloomph!” She gestured to indicate the chair had just collapsed under the weight, then grabbed a burger out of my hands, “Guess I just got too fat for it.”

At this point, I'd given up being surprised at how cavalier she was about her weight.

Doesn't mean I wasn't gonna pretend she was thin, “Nah, I mean, where were you storing the chair? I'd bet you rats or something got ahold of it and cut a few of the seams on it.”

No, I wouldn't. I mean, that almost definitely happened to some degree, but the majority of the blame is on Anna's sweet, fat ass. And her gut. Just her generally major weight gain.

She was on the same page as me.

“Yeah, maybe, but I'm pretty sure it was more 'cause o' this old thing!” she slapped her stomach, sending ripples across the exposed surface, “You can make nice all you want, blame it on the rats, but fact is, it looked alright until the fat girl dropped her big butt down into it!”

“Hey, remember what I told you, you're twenty pounds from being 'fat.' Stop being over-dramatic!”

She rolled her eyes in response and went back to chowing down on the small feast I'd brought her, only stopping her snacking when she got the urge to chant along with the cheer squad. Which was surprisingly often.

When I asked her about it, she told me, “Oh, was I bothering you? It's just. . . this is actually the first time I've been to a football game where I wasn't cheering in years, it's kind of a reflex at this point.”

Also a reflex, I noted, was the way she plowed through the food and drink. Burger after burger, practically flying nonstop from my hands to her bloated and growing belly.

“No, it's no bother or anything, I was just wondering. Is it weird?” I asked.

For the first time since the game started, Anna seemed hesitant to grab another burger. Hesitant, but not unwilling, she reached out with one hand while the other cradled her stomach as she answered.

“A little bit, I guess. Not in a bad way, though, we weren't allowed to eat during the games, and that,” she took a huge bite, and covered her mouth with her hand, “I'm not missing!”

I think she took it as a mission that day to make up for years of not eating at the games, because it was incredible to watch. She slowed down as the game wore on, but seemed determined to eat everything the concession stand had to eat. Even in the fourth quarter, when she looked ready to burst, she was still asking me to go back to the stand and bring her back some nachos. Thank goodness she started giving me money to pay for the food because I'd have gone broke somewhere around the first half of the second quarter.

It had to happen eventually. I came back to our seats empty handed, “Sorry, Anna, they just closed.”

She was leaning back as far as she possibly could against the metal bleachers, trying to give her swollen stomach some space, and this was when the complaining began. With no more sweet, tasty treats to shove down her throat, Anna seemed to suddenly aware of how much she'd actually eaten.

She struggled briefly to right herself, “Nnngg oh, ugh!” she groaned as she completely failed to sit up. After that, seemed pretty accepting of the fact that if she'd wanted to be mobile, she'd have cut it out three hot dogs ago.

She looked amazing just then, leaning back, her round belly jutting out proudly for the world to see, fat and full of food. Let me give you an idea of HOW far out her stomach was. Those tits I told you about, those very full H cups (approximately) barely stood out more than the results of her binge. Woman looked to have swallowed a bowling ball. Her shirt was never intended to cover her stomach, but even if it were, it wouldn't be able to anymore.

“You okay?”

She responded sarcastically, “Oomph, oh, yeah, I'm. . . feeling fantastic, top notch, never been better!”

Her hands began kneading the rock-hard lump of calories, “Think I mighta. . . Eaten a little too much, though, ugghhh!”

I glanced around at the wealth of stadium food containers surrounding Anna's stuffed form, and remembered all the ones I'd personally thrown away, a little? Pretty sure she'd have set some world records if we'd kept track of what all she ate, and that's a 'little too much?!' I'm gonna chalk that comment up to underestimation.

“Uh. Yeah, maybe a little bit too much. You gonna be alright, though?” I said in a solicitous tone.

She responded by burping like a trucker. “Mmph. Yeah, no doubt. Just need a little while to digest is all.”

She burped again, “Digest and burp. Frees up some room.”

We ended up sitting there until about an hour after everyone else had gone, and even then, after all that time, she needed me to help her out. She didn't so much 'walk' out of the stadium as she waddled with me to my car. I saw how much trouble she was having with walking, so I offered to do her a favor, “Hey, Anna, if you want, I could drive you back to your dorm?”

The look of gratitude on her face was just incredible. The look of surprise when we pulled up, not to her dorm, but to Cold Stone Creamery was even funnier. She was more than just surprised, though, there was a bit of excitement in her eyes, presumably at the idea that she was about to get to gorge her already over-stuffed stomach with thousands of calories of ice cream. She turned to me with a knowing smirk, “This isn't my dorm. . .”

“I know, I just figured, since my sociology grade depends on this, I should do my part to help you gain those 20 pounds!” Also, my curiosity as to how far she'd go with this binge was killing me.

It shouldn't surprise you that Anna knew the menu at Cold Stone by heart. I'd be willing to bet that most of the staff there know her by name. But not that poor girl who was behind the counter that night, who, after hearing Anna's order of a 'Candy Land,' a 'Black Forest Dream,' and a 'Founder's Favorite,' had the nerve to comment, “Heh, pregnancy cravings can be crazy, right?”

She had the look of a young mother, I got the sense she was just trying to make friends with another young woman she thought was going through the same thing.

You can't really blame her, I mean, Anna definitely looked like she was about seven months pregnant, and she was waddling into an ice cream joint thirty minutes before closing and ordering a ridiculous amount of ice cream. But still! How could she not know the one rule about women who look pregnant? It's common knowledge, I thought!

'You do not congratulate them on the pregnancy, or otherwise mention the fact that they look like they swallowed a planet until they tell you!'

While I had to take a second to process exactly what was just said, Anna was right on top of things, yelling “Ex-CUSE me? Oh, no, you did not just imply I'm pregnant.”

I was more than a little taken aback at how angry Anna was getting over this. “I think I might need to talk to your manager. Is your manager here?”

The poor woman behind the counter looked so scared right then, and she started tripping over herself trying to make up for her faux-pas, “I'm sorry! Oh god, I'm so, so sorry, miss, I didn't mean to-- It wasn't meant to sound like--” until finally, “P-please don't tell the manager about this, I need this job, I can't afford to lose it, please can you forgive me?”

I was getting ready to hustle Anna out of the place, I mean, this woman clearly was in a tough place with something or other, but that's when Anna revealed what she'd been working for.

“Hmmph. Double what I asked for and sell it for the same price. Then I'll keep your little 'indiscretion' just between us.” Made sense, Anna wasn't actually angry, just putting on a little show to get more food. It didn't seem like the first time she'd done this, either. No wonder she'd gained so much weight.

The poor girl threw those sundaes together so fast, you'd think she feared for her life. She was too upset, it seemed, to think about putting them together with reasonably sized portions, In the meantime, I just stared at Anna in amazement. A bit of fear, too, I mean, that was some cold, calculated shit she'd just pulled! She leaned back with a satisfied smile, clearly overjoyed at how confused I was.

The satisfied smile turned into a hungry one a few seconds later, when the woman handed over four very large, calorie-filled sundaes over the counter. We walked over to a table to sit at, and for the next forty minutes, I just sat in silence as Anna mechanically swallowed spoonful after spoonful of ice cream, not at the rapid pace I'd seen her eating at earlier that day, but at a steady, unstopping pace. Even the woman behind the counter seemed entranced, but she was clearly trying very hard not to stare at the pig of a woman she'd accidentally insulted.

What's that? Oh, yeah, forty minutes. Yeah, Cold Stone closed at ten, but we didn't actually leave until ten minutes later. I'm pretty sure that poor girl was too terrified to say anything to us.

I took her back to her dorm after that, and we made some plans to hang out again.
 

Cylon_bob

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After the combination football feast and ice cream heist, Anna and I started hanging out a lot. We got pretty close, actually, hung out almost every day, really.

Things didn't always go down like what I just told you about, she wasn't always determined to eat herself immobile, but if I'm being honest, that did happen, more often than not. Found out she's pretty much a master thief when it comes to small junk food items, and one heck of a con artist when it comes to getting out of a restaurant bill. She may not have stuffed herself silly every time we hung out, but there was always some kind of eating involved. Candy bar, potato chips, always something.

So no, she wasn't constantly stuffed too full to move, but that's not to say she didn't blimp out. Constant minor indulgences, plus an insane junk food binge to the point of immobility every once in a while, add in a lazy lifestyle, and that kind of living is a recipe of blimping out. I didn't say this to her, since it might have made her stop putting on these little shows to me, but I was already resigned to losing that $50 by midway through October!
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

But these binges, wonderful as they were, were ultimately just minor siderails, not that important. This whole thing was supposed to be about the presentation, remember? And when it came time to prepare, we realized we needed more data. We were in her room, looking over our work, and Anna was, as usual, eating Nutella straight from the jar. I was getting kinda worried we wouldn't be able to pull it off, but this is when Anna came up with a brilliant idea: “How about we try going to the gym?”

I was a bit surprised at this, “The gym? But aren't you still trying to gain weight? I mean, I'm down, let's go, I'd like to keep my $50, but you sure you want to do this?”

Anna licked the spoon clean and laughed. She sunk her fingers into her soft side, “I think I got that covered, thanks, ha. But no, I was thinking we could go since we need more examples of people being rude to me about my weight. I go in, show off how fat I am, prove I'm pretty much useless at exercising, and listen to what people say about it! After that, I figured if you had any ideas for other places we could go?”

She gave her fatty stomach a pinch, a small smile creeping over her face. She looked up at me, “You in?”

Lets see, was I in? Did I want to see the overly full figured Anna, dressing up in what was essentially a spandex bikini and showing off to the world how amazingly out-of-shape she's let herself get? I wonder.

When she walked out of the girls changing room, though. I couldn't believe it. I wasn't serious when I said it, but 'spandex bikini' was an accurate description of what she was wearing. It was bright pink, and nowhere near her size. Busting out allover, but mostly in the chest and ass areas. Let's just say, if I owned the place, and wasn't suddenly too turned on to walk, I'd feel I had to toss her out for being indecent.

I wasn't the only one who thought so, from the dirty looks half the people in the gym were shooting her. She also had a small backpack, and just as I was wondering why she hadn't left it in the changing room, she pulled out a Hershey's from it. Suddenly, any worries I might have had about this gym trip off-setting her weight gain flew out the window.

I stepped off a bit to the side to let Anna workout, and to be honest she not do that. Whatever she weighed, it was pretty obvious it was mostly blubber with minimal muscle. She looked to be trying, laying on the floor, fighting with her fat rolls to just successfully do one single sit-up, but something about that thick layer of blubber she'd build up around her middle made that simple task impossible.

Me being the objective observer of the experiment, I just watched her repeatedly try to sit up, fail, and fall backwards breathing hard while other gym goers rolled their eyes at the fat girl who can't do even one sit-up.

After a few minutes of that, she retired, glistening in sweat and panting, to a bench, where she took comfort in the sweet embrace of Hershey's. Basically everyone who saw her rolled their eyes, disgusted by this blob of a girl who couldn't go ten minutes without her chocolate fix. Not that she cared, she was too focused on that sweet milk chocolate. This was why I was there, to record people's reactions to Anna's little display.

Finally, she shoved the wrapper into her bag, and it was time for her to try the treadmill! If she could figure out how it worked, anyway. She screwed around with it for a minute or two before this brunette, twig-looking woman sighed heavily, walked up to her and, without even saying anything to her, turned it on.

“Haha, thanks a lot, these things are so complicated! Like, how's a girl supposed to lose weight if she can't even figure out how to turn on a treadmill, am I right?”

Rude as ever, the woman said nothing out loud, but I distinctly heard her muttering to herself, “She could stop stuffing her face with chocolate every five minutes, for a start.”

Anna didn't hear her of course, since she was by then, walking at a medium pace on the treadmill. Which she did for about five minutes, which was plenty enough for her to be sweating like the pig she was and looking redder than a tomato.

We left after that, after giving Anna a few minutes to recuperate from such strenuous effort.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Fast forward a week to the presentation date, where Anna commanded the room's complete attention.

Not entirely because of what she was saying, I mean, she did amazingly well the entire time, but it's hard to take your eyes off of a woman as large as Anna when she's wearing clothes intended for women eighty pounds lighter.

Not that she wasn't professional! She had professional written all over the suit jacket, plain white button-up shirt, and grey slacks! It just wasn't written on her big flabby belly, visible where she'd given up buttoning the shirt, or on the cleavage above it. What I'm saying is basically thank goodness college doesn't have a dress code.

I let Anna do the talking, just keeping track of our 'visual aid.'

Probably better, I didn't want to distract her while she was getting into the topic. Girl's got a gift for public speaking, I'll give her that. The fact that everyone was staring at her with their eyes glued to that belly of hers, wasn't even important enough for her to pause her spiel, or even comment on.

Well, that's what I thought. The ending bit of her presentation said otherwise, and this was when everything shifted.

This was the moment she started getting her message across to the class.

“There's still one more thing standing as proof of our society's prejudice towards fat people: this presentation itself.” She paused, letting that sink in, continuing, “You might think I don't notice that you all spent this presentation staring at my stomach jiggling while I spoke. You may imagine that I didn't see your little 'fake-vomiting' performance, Jerry Harper. The truth though, I see it all. I don't respond anymore, though, and that's mostly because I see these reactions every day of my life, regardless of the clothes I wear. I see you reacting to my appearance, and I have to wonder, did you hear a word I said?”

She paused again, cocking her head to the side, “I suppose the only way to know would come down to hearing the questions you've got for me.”

She stopped, waiting for questions that didn't come. The room was silent. No hands went up.

“Just as I thought,” Anna said, “I know what most of you are thinking right now. You're thinking 'Well, if she wanted to be taken seriously, she shouldn't have dressed like that!' In response to that, I'd like to point out that what I'm wearing isn't actually the most revealing outfit worn by the women of this class for their presentations. Lindsey Starr, I'm not trying to be rude with this, you looked amazing, but did you not wear a belly shirt and hot pants for your presentation? And yet this class had no problems taking you seriously, and found no shortage of questions about the relatively unknown African tribe you spoke on. My question to you, class, is why should my opinion, as a bigger woman, be any less valuable than a thin girl?”

She paused again, and the first hand went up, a skinny girl in the front row, who when called upon, asked in a rather annoying 'valley girl' sort of voice, “Well, like, being obese is like, unhealthy, yeah? If fat-shaming gets a person to drop a few pounds, that's, like, a good thing, isn't it?”

Anna perked up at this question. I got the sense from the authoritative tone her voice took on, that she had been prepared for this exact question. “See, now there we go! Good question, and to answer it, I'd like to ask you a question. Does my physical health have any effect on the truthfulness of what I've been saying?”

She cocked a questioning eyebrow at the girl, “You're absolutely right, by the way, being overweight does often have an effect on the physical well-being of the person. However, it is not possible to tell on sight alone, whether an overweight person is affected in any of the ways associated with weight. I personally, despite being decidedly overweight, have suffered from none of them. Secondly, I want you to ask yourself. Do you honestly care about the health and well-being of the fat woman on the bus? Or are you more concerned with her fat butt encroaching on your personal space?”

She took a deep breath, “Finally, in reference to your suggestion that fat-shaming could be beneficial to those being shamed, I'd like to point to the science. If you'd been paying attention the whole time, you'd have seen the slide Daniel put up a while ago, you mind going back? Thank you.”

She pointed at the slide in question and continued, “As you see here, fat-shaming actually has the opposite effect to what you were predicting. See, the shaming leads to low self-esteem. Low self-esteem leads to comfort eating, and comfort eating, well, that leads to weight gain.”

The girl who'd asked sunk down in her chair, completely deflated, while Anna seemed pumped up from that speech. “Are there any more questions? From anyone else?”

I was actually surprised by the person who raised their hand next. It was Jerry Harper, who, if you remember, was that crap-for-brains cock-jockey who'd responded to Anna taking the stage by pretending to puke.

“Yeah, my question is this. Do you seriously expect dudes to respect you when you're fat? Like, most dudes want a hot chick, not no whale!”

Another response Anna appeared to have practiced, focusing an intense gaze on Jerry, addressing him directly, “Jerry, it is entirely your right to not be attracted to fat women. You're under no obligation to like the fat female form. I am concerned though, that you seem to see women as decorations more than human beings, and that, frankly, is BS. I'm not here for you to be staring at and imagining naked, and neither is any other woman. Pull your entitled head out of your butt, and accept that women are complex human beings, same as you are. Treat them as such.” Jerry's jaunty, confident demeanor fell with her words, as the entire female percentage of the class nodded in total agreement with Anna's words.

Anna stepped back and addressed the class as a whole, “That goes for all of you. You may not be a sexist little dillweed, like Jerry here, but you probably make little slip ups now and then where you mistreat heavier people or even mentally stereotype them. What I want to do is to ask every one of you to look hard at your own lives. Try to identify moments where you treat people differently based on their weight. Then, once you've found them, eliminate them.” She took a deep breath before delivering her final statements, “There's a band out there called Andrew Jackson Jihad, and I bring them up because they have a song with relevant lyrics. 'People are people, regardless of skin. People are people, regardless of creed. People are people, regardless of gender. People are people, regardless of anything.'

Those are the opening lines, and that's what I see as the problem. People see overweight men and women, not as human beings like themselves, but as something 'other,' when the truth is, that 'anything' category the line ends on can be interpreted as saying, among other things, that people are people, no matter their body type. Whether a person is thin or fat, they deserve to be treated like human beings. It's up to you, as members of the human race, to do your part. End fat-shaming once and for all.”

With that finishing line, she marched off back to her desk, not even waiting for the teacher to tell her to do so, and leaving me to clear up the visual aids. Not that it was a big deal or anything, all it meant was unplugging a flash drive and grabbing a poster. As I walked back to my seat, the professor walked up to the front.

She stood awkwardly for a moment, and who can blame her, I mean crap, she was supposed to follow Anna's frankly amazing speech? She finally found her voice, “Uh, wow. That was amazing, good job, you two!”

She paused before speaking to the class as a whole, “You guys, uh, that was our last presentation of the period, you can all go now.”

She didn't exactly tell us, but we knew from what she'd said, our presentation had earned us an A-plus. We proceeded to celebrate, in exactly the way you might think, with Anna having herself a great, big binge!

Specifically, we went on a fast food crawl, which is exactly the same as a pub crawl, but instead of alcohol, we checked the calorie count of each value meal, ordered the most fattening for Anna to add to her already expansive waistline. You've probably guessed by now, she invented this past-time, and it was one of her favorites.
 

Cylon_bob

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Post-fast food crawl, we were back in her dorm room, surrounded by the ever-present pizza boxes and random, mostly empty boxes of junk food of her room.

Immediately after walking in, Anna had abandoned the hopelessly outgrown clothes she'd packed her fleshy body into, stripping down to her underwear, and was happily skipping around the room, or doing the over-stuffed equivalent of skipping. Happily jiggling around the room, maybe. It was quite a sight, seeing what this former cheerleader had done to the slim, fit figure I remember her having Freshman year.

Her hourglass shape was more intense than ever, despite that big, fat spare tire-- well, actually, that was a straight up potbelly now. Despite the size of her gut, stuffed as it was, those frankly massive mammaries of hers, and those wide hips were still bigger, still exerting their dominance over that sizeable stomach.

She started stretching, bending to the side, where her flabby sides bunched up. I could have sat there watching all night without saying anything, but that would have been creepy, so I decided if I had to talk, I should try and get her to put on a show for me, “So Anna, you got that $50 you're gonna owe me all in order?”

She swallowed the last of her burger, “Uh, what? Excuse you, have you seen this body lately?I'm pretty sure I've gained twenty pounds!”

“Eh. I don't see it.” I blatantly lied.

“Uh, dude? Get your eyes checked.” She grunted as she stood up to show me how fat she'd gotten, “When we started all this, I was a tight size 20. Now, if I want to be comfortable, I gotta break out my new size 24 pants! I'm pretty sure that if you put my fat ass on the scale right now, I wouldn't even be able to see how much I weigh. Don't you tell me I don't look like I'm more than 200 pounds!”

I looked at her, and I had to agree, even though I wasn't going to admit it to her, I knew full well this was a woman who was definitely past the two hundred pound mark, and from the chocolate stains on the side of her soft, flabby stomach, from our stop at Cheesecake Factory, where she'd rubbed her belly in between bites. She was obese as heck and still gaining. Her undies left the fat rolls along her sides in plain view, and I'm still unsure if her panties were intended to be a thong, or if her ample, cellulite covered ass had swallowed most of a pair of 'full-cover' panties. Any hope I'd had of not paying fifty bucks was pretty much abandoned right then, but there was something strange about what she'd said.

She seemed angry. I raised an eyebrow, “Never had a woman tell me not to call her skinny before.”

“Yeah, well. Most women aren't actually trying to get fat!” She was still yelling,

“Hey, calm down, yeah? It's just fifty bucks, it's not that big a deal!” I cried out.

She seemed to relax a little, but not completely, as she turned to me, “Yeah, well, I mean, it's not just about the bet. . .”

“Wait, what?”

Anna sighed pretty heavily, and hesitated for a second before, “Daniel. . . I can trust you, right?”

I nodded, and she continued, “Okay. . . so don't go telling anyone what I'm about to tell you. . .”

She closed her eyes again and continued, “you remember last year, how I came onto the cheer squad and started getting fat?”

I nodded, and she sighed, “Well all that. . . That wasn't. . . It wasn't an accident, know what I mean?”

I was pretty sure I did, but I didn't want to jump to any conclusions, so I just kind of stammered out, “You were. . . trying to get fat? Like, actually doing it on purpose?”

She closed her eyes, “Yep.”

I laughed at the last few months in the light of this new information, “So basically, you conned me into paying you fifty bucks to do exactly what you were gonna do anyway?”

I think she was expecting some kind of moral outrage at the idea of a thin, 'sexy' girl turning herself into a fat cow, “Wait, what?”

Yeah, she was definitely surprised at my reaction, “I tell you I'm getting fat on purpose and all you can think about is that stupid bet? You're not even going to ask why I'm doing it?”

I shrugged. “I'll bite. Why are you trying to get fat, Anna?”

She rolled her eyes and sat down heavily onto her bed in a huff, “If you're not gonna take me seriously, then just get out of my room.”

I scrambled to try and fix this, “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I just thought I was being funny is all.” I straightened my face, “So, being for real this time, why were you trying to gain weight?”

She sighed heavily, “Not 'were,' 'am.' Present tense.”

It explained a lot, actually, knowing that Anna had been doing this on purpose before we'd made our little bet. I played along, asking again, “Okay, why are you are trying to gain weight?”

She looked hesitant, but after a second, “Don't laugh at me for this, I know it's weird, it's just. . .”

She looked down at her feet, “being fat. . . It just feels sexy to me. And gaining weight, just nnngh!” she moaned. Then she looked up at me with a questioning look, “You're not gonna tell everyone about this, are you?”

I smiled at her, stood up, and moved from my chair to the bed beside her. I reached out to grab a jar of Nutella, and hand it to her, and without really thinking about what I was saying, answered her, “Only if you promise not to tell anyone that to me, there's nothing hotter than a skinny girl getting fat.”

It was actually the first time I'd admitted that plain out to anyone, but it came out pretty easily. I guess it was something to do with what Anna had just said.

She turned her head sharply towards me, not even taking the Nutella from my hands, “Wait, really?”

She was apparently taken by surprise in hearing this news. Was she paying no attention whatsoever to how interested I'd been in convincing her to show off how fat she was getting?

I nodded, “Yeah, really.”

She went quiet for a few seconds, before a grin spread across her face, “So. . . Steve. . . you, uh. . .”

She paused, and my brain being what it is, jumped to conclusions, went into hyperspeed. She made eye contact with me, grinned broadly, and continued “wanna see if I broke two hundred?”

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little disappointed, but even I had to laugh at the buildup. I thought about what she was suggesting, and there was no reason not to do it, not now. I knew she'd keep trying to gain even when she knew she'd gained the twenty
pounds, “Definitely.”

She grunted, as she briefly tried to sit up and get the scale, but I cut her off before she'd managed to, “No, no, just wait here. Don't wanna burn too many calories, do you? I'll get the scale. Have some Nutella while you wait.”

She smiled slyly as she sunk back down onto the bed and dug a spoon into the chocolatey spread.

The scale wasn't far from where it was the last time we'd used it, just kicked under the bed, but I didn't rush. Gave Anna some time for a few extra mouthfuls of Nutella before the reckoning.

Came back to see her taking full advantage of my pause, shoveling a gigantic spoonful into her mouth, then pausing with an innocent look on her face. She responded to me bringing the scale towards her with another spoonful, and by reaching out her arms for me to help her stand. Or, rather, pull all of her steadily increasing weight up, since she apparently didn't feel like helping even a little.

Now, I consider myself a strong man. I grew up on a farm, building fences and plowing fields with a crappy gas-powered tiller. I played football in high school. I work out regularly. I know what heavy is. And Anna. . . She was very heavy. The kind of heavy I'd really have rather worn a weigh belt before I did that kind of lift.

She grinned at me mischievously, obviously aware of how much I'd been struggling to get her up, before she stepped on the scale, looked down, then started dancing a little shimmy, setting all her jiggly bits into a fine frenzy. I enjoyed the show for a few seconds before I asked, “So, uh, what's the verdict, then?”

She turned to me with a huge grin on her face, “I don't even know!”

More shimmying, “Too fat to see!”

She was very excited about this, I got the sense it had been a goal of hers for a while now.

I wanted to laugh at her happy dancing, or, more accurate, happy jiggling, but more than that, I wanted to know exactly how fat she'd gotten since we'd started hanging out. She was over 200, I knew that, if I'd ever doubted it, my doubts were washed away while I was helping her off the bed. I had to maneuver a bit to see the numbers for her, she took up kind of a lot of space, but when I finally managed, I gotta admit, even I was surprised. The fact she was 189 at the beginning was clear in my mind when I called up, “227!”

Yeah. She gained almost twice as much as the bet was for. I basically froze in amazement, and meanwhile, Anna literally began jumping for joy, which is what shook me out of it. Sounded like an elephant trying to tap dance. Lucky for the scale, her first joyful hop was to the side, so it was spared a certain death.

I straightened up and grabbed Anna by her shoulders, “Hey, stop that, fat girl, what are you trying to do, piss off the floor below us?”

She smiled shyly in response, and I wondered why until she finally took a step closer to me, pressing her bloated body against mine. She twisted around, leaning back into me, then turned her head to look at me, “You called me fat.”

I reached my arm around to her front, where I grabbed a handful of her soft, fleshy stomach, “Yeah, well, you've earned it, chubby!”

She giggled, falling back lightly onto the bed, which was a beautiful motion, sending ripples all across her more-than-chubby body. Still smiling slightly, she wrinkled her forehead and asked me, “Were you, you know, being totally serious a minute ago? You're legitimately into my whole thing? Like, not just accepting, it's a kink?”

“As long as I can remember. You're actually the first girl I've told, though.” I confessed.

She grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto the bed, leaning in close, looking sultry laying there in her fattened glory, “So, uh, you know what this means, right?”

Man, even her voice was sexy!

“What?” I don't know why I said that. I don't know why I didn't make a move, but I felt paralyzed for some reason.

Luckily for me, Anna didn't have that sensation. She went for the kiss, and I was in heaven all of a sudden, our bodies so close, my relatively firm body sinking into her layers of body fat, her massive tits pressing close against me, my fingers sinking into the flab of her midsection. . .

Then she pulled back, “Now you know what it means?”

“I think so.” This time, I wasn't paralyzed. I went for the kiss, and back to heaven with the pair of us.

I'm not sure how long we kissed the second time before we came up for air, smiling broadly. Panting slightly, she leaned back against the wall and reached for the Nutella once more. I happily handed it to her, and as she scooped out the last of the jar, I just admired the bloated body of the woman I was officially in love with, and began imagining what the next few months would do to that hourglass figure, whether it would just continue adding sand, or thicken the middle.

I was honestly fine with both options.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bringing it back to how I started this whole story, this whole thing sounds like a wet dream I had. Only better.

This whole experience, from the moment I was paired with the plump beauty that was Anna, to the second we officially became a couple, literally, my dreams have never been so perfect, and yet this was a real thing.

Oh, and all this happened last year, so I can tell you for a fact, Anna has continued gaining, an'd let me tell you, she's gotten big. Up to about 270 pounds last we checked, reached the 'morbidly obese' level, all of which makes it even more amazing that somehow, as massively fat as she's gotten, she's kept that hourglass physique.

It's been totally surreal, and absolutely amazing the whole way through.
 

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