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Belle

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billedmeup

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[Author’s Note: A story of pure fiction inspired by the posts of Nomoreskinnygirl from Fantasy Feeder, written in collaboration with her, and posted with her permission.]

Belle

Chapter 1: Beginnings

A slim southern girl has a funny habit of gaining weight in winter and losing it before bathing suit season. Each year the pounds get harder to lose until…well you’ll have to read to find out.

Call me Belle, a Georgia Peach who grew up with my older sister Bonnie in the lush cotton and tobacco fields outside of Atlanta. The heart of Dixie where we grew up is the home of good cookin’: southern fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, mashed potatoes and gravy, anything with gravy, pecan logs, peach pie, peach cobbler, peach preserves, anything with peaches. You get the idea. The boys are sturdy and the girls fill out early.

To look at me now, it’s hard to believe I was always the skinny one, the pretty one. Bonnie was the clever one, the talented one. Now I feel like my ass has its own zip code and Bonnie is the thin one, at least relatively. Read on and I’ll tell you my story.

Bonnie is three years older. Bonnie could sing and play the piano and was always quick with a joke or a clever line. She was also a bit chubby. Whereas my “normal size was always 2 or 4, Bonnie is typically a size 10, 12, or 14. It depended on the season. Mom is a size 14-16. For as long as I can remember Mom and Bonnie have always talked about diets…mostly talked. They typically lose a few pounds on the latest fad diet and then gain them back and a few more. During the holiday eating season they will pack on the pounds and then try to lose some weight in time for summer.

Still, Bonnie has always been happy and she never has any problem attracting men. And, oh how she loves to eat. She loves all kinds of food, especially anything fattening…fried foods, rich deserts, mashed potatoes with gravy or butter. She loves butter. Butter goes on everything, even pizza and fried chicken and shrimp.

On Friday nights my family often gets together and goes to a local buffet restaurant. After five or six platefuls of food, Bonnie will walk out with an engorged belly. In the car on the way home she usually unbuttons her jeans and pat her belly and complains that they serve too much food. I never bother to point out that she wouldn’t be so full if she didn’t go back for five platefuls.

At family get-togethers during holidays I sometimes hear Mom and her sisters talking while they are cleaning up in the kitchen. Aunt Polly will say something like, “That Bonnie has such a sweet face; she could be so cute if she would just lose 20 pounds.” It’s always cute or sweet, never pretty. Remember, I‘m the pretty one.

Until recently, at these same family gatherings, I would be eating my salad and picking at everything else. My well-meaning Mother and aunts would scowl at Bonnie when she took seconds. For me, they would send the bowls my way or scoop some extra potatoes on my plate while saying, “Eat, on you it looks good.”

I always loved to watch Bonnie’s belly jiggle when she walked or watch it rise and fall when she took a nap on the couch after a big dinner. Sometimes I would watch Bonnie and Mom stuffing their faces and wish I could just let myself go.

Even in my college years I did let myself go at Thanksgiving and Christmas. I have fond memories of those dinners and the delightfully full feeling I had walking away from the table with three helpings of turkey dinner in my belly. Afterwards when the women were cleaning up and the men were watching football, I would sneak off to my room and lock the door. Behind that locked door I would strip down to my bra and panties. I would stand in front of the mirror and look at my bloated belly from all angles. I would try to suck it in and then push it out while stroking it with both hands. Eventually my fingers would make their way into my panties and I’d climax three or four times. I would finish up spent and covered with perspiration, but oh those orgasms were intense. I get a shiver of pleasure just thinking about it.

I have early memories of my Mother and aunts telling me that I was pretty. With blonde hair and light blue eyes, I liked to dress up and put on little girl makeup and look at myself in the mirror. Maybe because my sister was a big eater, I probably secretly liked the attention I got for being a picky eater. As a result I was naturally always thin.

Things changed when I turned 18 during my senior year of high school. There were a lot of triggers. I should have been more careful, but I was one of the popular skinny girls…cheer leader, runner up for prom queen…get the picture. Some of the boys I really liked were too shy or too intimidated to ask me out. Which left me with more than a few lonely Saturday nights. Eventually I started dating football players. They had enough bravado to ask. Unfortunately most of them were jerks which really messed with my self-esteem.

Late that year I was asked out by one of the best looking boys on the team. He was the hot guy that all the girls wanted. My friends were very jealous when I bragged about it. On the date he treated me like crap.

He asked me out on a second date. I know I should have said I was busy but he was “the” hot guy and I was 18 and feeling grown up, so I said yes. He said his parents were out of town and we could go to his place and hang out. Almost as soon as we got there he started getting aggressive and putting pressure on me to go all the way. Eventually I gave in and let him have his way with me. It lasted about 45 seconds and it hurt.

By the end of that week it was all over school that he had boasted to his teammates in the locker room that he had “banged me.” He never called me again (not that I wanted him to); I just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. My self-esteem hit rock bottom.

I had known Brad as a friend since we were very little and played in the playground together. When everyone else turned on me, I turned to Brad for comfort and solace. He offered warm hugs and a shoulder to cry on. I could call him any time of the day or night. I had always thought we would just be friends, but under the circumstance we started dating and he became my steady boyfriend until I started college.

I think we both knew it wouldn’t work out long term but we were having a blast while it lasted. Brad was sweet and not like the football players I had been dating. He was also a little pudgy and not very athletic. My girlfriends didn’t get it, but I was really turned on by his cute little teddy-bear pot belly. It was at that point that realized how much I was attracted to chubby guys.

Chapter 2: Virgin Gain

Burgers and beer and a long hot lazy summer can only mean one thing…

Big changes occurred when high school ended during that long hot summer before I started college.

First, my Dad gave me a car as a graduation present. It wasn’t that new, but it was a convertible and I loved to take it to the local drive-in for burgers and fries at lunch time. With the end of cheerleading and a new car, I was getting almost no exercise.

Second, Brad and I knew all the places we could be alone when our parents were working or out of town. Long story short…I decided to go on the pill. The first two days of each cycle I had something akin to morning sickness. Mom would keep asking me what was wrong. After that, my appetite seemed to take off and eating gave me a feeling of euphoria.

Third, Brad and I got part-time jobs at the food court at the local mall. We worked Fridays from 4 PM to closing and lunch and dinner hours on Saturdays and Sundays. Brad worked at the burger place and I worked at Hot Dog on a Stick. We wore red, white, blue and yellow hats and tops and blue shorts. Pretty stylish…are you getting turned on?

Fourth, my relationship with beer and junk food really took off. Almost every weekend someone in the neighborhood would throw a party and beer was the main attraction. I couldn’t buy it legally but our most parents allowed us to drink it in the privacy of our homes. I had a job and cash and Bonnie was old enough and willing to buy it as long as I gave her some.

When we weren’t working, Brad and I spent most of that summer by my parents’ backyard pool. We would often drive to the local burger joint for lunch or go to the food court at the mall where our friends and co-workers would give us free food. We would typically each get a burger and fries and wash it down with a shake. In the late afternoon, the Good Humor ice cream truck would come around our street playing its little tune. My mouth would water hearing that tune and Brad and I would run out and get a Good Humor Bar. We would be in our bathing suits or loose fitting t-shirts and shorts with elastic waist bands.

When I started at Hot Dog on a Stick, I was the skinniest girl working there. I wore size small shorts while the other girls tended to be a bit chubby and wore medium or large. At first, the shorts were baggy and I needed to use a safety pin to cinch in the waist so they would stay up. As the summer wore on, the shorts weren’t so loose anymore. I didn’t need the safety pin. Eventually, I could barely get the zipper up and I had to ask the boss for medium size shorts.

Working at Hot Dog on a Stick definitely helped pad my waistline. We all drank that lemonade that was loaded with sugar and ate those greasy fried hot dogs. Even worse, were the churros. For those who don’t know, churros are foot-long, deep-fried donut sticks covered with sugar. Churros broke all the time and there were always broken fragments that couldn’t be sold. We were allowed to eat them, and whenever I was bored or tired I would nibble on a churro fragment. Rather than get sick of them, I was more like an addict and probably consumed hundreds of calories every work shift eating those things.

My waistline was expanding but I was in denial. I had never gained weight before. It wasn’t until August that I fully realized the effects of the beer, burgers and other assorted junk food. Up until then, I knew my body was changing, but I was in major denial. My clothes were getting tight but I rationalized that I was a woman now and naturally had a fuller figure. Those were my high school clothes that didn’t quite fit my womanly shape.

One day, Mom called me in from the backyard where Bonnie and I were laying around by the pool. She told me that she wanted to take me shopping for some new clothes for college. Bonnie and I had been enjoying some lemonade and munching on potato chips. We were waiting for the ice cream truck plus I hated the idea of the summer ending. I told her I didn’t need any new clothes, I still liked everything I had from last year.

Mom raised her eyebrows and gave me a strange look like she was scanning my body from head to toe. She said, “Honey, you’re going to be starting college and meeting new people. I think you are going to need some new clothes.”

To prove she was wrong, I ran up to my room to try on some old clothes. The first item was a pair of my comfortable jeans (aka my fat pants). I hadn’t worn them in several months. I had some trouble getting them over my thighs, but they had always been a bit snug. When they got to my butt, I could barely get them over. I had to wriggle and dance for a couple of minutes until I was finally able to pull them all the way up. Then when it came to buttoning them, it just wasn’t going to happen. The zipper made a wide “V” and there was about a four inch gap at the top. Even when I laid on my back on the bed, I couldn’t pull it together. Where these really the same jeans, I wondered. I knew I had put on a few pounds, but this was crazy. Could they have shrunk over the summer?

The next item was a cute little pink skirt that had always been a little loose on me. I was able to pull it up over my butt, but the same thing happened as with the jeans. The zipper was on the side and formed a big “V,” even wider than the one on the jeans. By laying on the bed and pulling the skirt up higher on my waist, I managed to get the top buttoned. When I stood up a roll of flesh bulged out over the top and a round tummy bulge stretched the fabric of the skirt. Not only that, but the skirt was pulled up so high, it barely covered my private area.

I put my stretchy shorts back on and an oversized t-shirt and went shopping with Mom. My normal size in high school had been “4.” I knew I was going to go bigger so at the first store I picked up a size 5 jeans and Mom said, “Try these too, just in case,” and handed me a size 7. I grimaced but took them.

In the dressing room, I couldn’t get the 5s over my hips and the 7s wouldn’t button. After ten minutes I came out and screamed at my Mother, “This store sucks, let’s go somewhere else. Three more stores and the results were the same. Eventually, I bought two pairs of size nine jeans and some tops that fit and convinced myself that I looked fine. At the food court in the mall afterward Mom had a cinnamon bun and I had Diet Coke while my tummy rumbled.

My big turning point came about a week later on a hot Thursday afternoon in mid-August. In spite of the fact that I had gone from a size 4 to size 9 in about three months, Mom was still trying to feed me. That morning before going to work, she made me a big stack of pancakes with a side of bacon for breakfast. I tried to tell her I didn’t need such a big breakfast, but eventually ate everything and nearly licked the plate clean.

Later, Brad and I were having a lazy day hanging by my parent’s pool. At lunch time we drove to the local burger joint. We each put away a double cheeseburger, fries and a shake. After lunch, we pounded down a four-pack of Fosters and were working through a bag of chips. I was feeling pretty mellow. Actually, I have always been a light weight when it comes to beer. After two of those giant cans of Fosters drank quickly in the hot sun and I was flying high.

Brad stood up and took off his t-shirt and was about to go in for a swim to cool off. He was standing right next to me and I had a good side view of his bloated belly. Brad was pudgy when we started dating and had a little pot belly that I found really cute. Three months later, he had grown a full blown beer belly. His board shorts were pushed under his bulging gut. The Velcro fastener was stretched to its limit and barely closed and laces were strained.

In my drunken state, I sat up and gave his belly a slap and jokingly asked, “When’s the baby due? Next week?”

At first he looked shocked, and stood up straight and tried to suck it in. Then he smiled, let it out and shook it with both hands. “I’ll never tell. Besides, I thought you liked my belly. I like your belly. It’s so sexy.”

“What belly? I don’t have a belly.”

I was wearing my usual bikini with a light beach cover-up. “Oh no? What’s this?” He asked. With that, he pulled up the front of my cover-up and poked me in the belly.

I looked down and there they were, two round rolls bulging out over my bikini bottom. They stuck out so far that I couldn’t even see the bikini bottom. “Wait, it’s just the way I am sitting,” I protested.

I stood up, lifted my robe, and oops, what is that? Two rolls had turned into one soft belly that still obscured my bikini bottom. Oh shit, was I really getting fat?

In my drunken state, I decided I needed one more test. I ran up to my room to weigh myself. I dropped my beach robe and tried to prepare myself mentally. The last time I had weighed myself, about six months earlier, I was only 110 pounds – pretty skinny for a 5’ 7” girl. At that weight, by BMI standards, I was technically underweight.

The first thing I noticed when I stepped on the scale and looked down was my boobs. They had grown from a perky A-cop to a much fuller B almost C. My bikini top barely contained them. Then there was the tummy bulge. Where did that come from? I had been in denial all summer. Now I had to face it. I looked down at the blinking numbers. When the blinking stopped, it settled at 141. What? 31 pounds in in six months? How could that be?

I was both horrified and turned on. I checked my look in the mirror from all sides. I pulled my belly in and pushed it out. I felt my own boobs. They were full and firm. My belly was soft and it felt good when I stroked and pinched it. I was getting seriously aroused.

I called up Brad and we started playing with each other’s bellies. I knelt down pulled on the sting on his board shorts and the Velcro fastener flew apart. I tugged down his shorts and his erection almost poked my eye out. Modesty prevents me from giving all the details, but I can say we had amazing sex.

The next morning I made a decision to lose the weight. I felt it was expected. After all, I was the skinny girl, the pretty one. By BMI standards I was a 22, which is in the middle of normal, but to me I was fat.

For the next two weeks I turned down my Mother’s big breakfasts, passed on the burgers and fries, and quit nibbling on churros. It was at that point that I learned to love or at least tolerate salads. Mostly my stomach rumbled and I was hungry all the time, but I was on a mission.

I was losing weight, but there would be one last hurrah and that would come Labor Day weekend. In two weeks before Labor Day, I lost six or seven pounds and my newest jeans were starting to feel a little loose. On Labor Day, all bets were off.

For Labor Day weekend, my parents organized a big backyard barbeque to send me off to college in style. It was goodbye to my life as I knew it and hello to something new. Brad and I were going to different schools, and I told him that I thought that we should agree to see other people in college. He wasn’t happy but he had no choice. So, effectively, it was goodbye to Brad as my boyfriend.

I decided that for one day, the diet was off and I would eat everything in sight. Plus, there was a beer keg and my cup was never empty. Brad didn’t like the idea of me losing weight and was all too willing to make sure my plate was always full as well. By sundown, I was stuffed to the gills and drunk as a skunk.

Most everyone was eating salty foods washed down with beer, so the dessert table was almost untouched. When no one was looking, I piled cookies, cake and donuts onto a plate until it was overflowing and snuck off to my room. Once there, I unbuttoned my shorts and stuffed my face until I just couldn’t eat any more.

My belly was so round and bloated that I could barely move. I stripped down to my bra and panties and lay on my bed and stroked it. Eventually, I got up checked it in the mirror. I looked about five months pregnant. I found it very erotic. Back in bed, I stroked my belly some more and eventually my fingers made their way into my panties. I must have pleasured myself four times that night.

Two days later, I was unpacking in my dorm room and getting to know my new roommate. By the end of freshman year, while my roommate was gaining the freshman 15, I lost about 25 pounds. At that point I was at my “normal” adult weight of around 115 pounds. I was a size 4 and my boobs settled in at a perky A-cup and I had just enough curves to get looks from every drunken frat boy.


Stay tuned for Chapter 3: College and Beyond
 

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