Cracker Barrel Cutie - BBW, Imagery, Illustration

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samster

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Mar 11, 2007
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Debbie rolled her Cadillac Escalade to a stop in the Cracker Barrel parking lot. Wednesday morning and she had breakfast with momma. It was a weekly tradition she wished she could break. Noting her mom’s Lincoln Continental parked close to the entrance Debbie parked in the far corner. It meant a longer walk for the fattened up MILF but it also meant she could leave her mom as soon as they stepped out of the Cracker Barrel. Which, on past form, would stop her from punching momma’s lights out.

Deliberately not rushing Debbie listened to the rest of the Miranda Lambert tune on the radio and checked her reflection out in the rear view mirror. Her make-up was perfect and her new Jessica Simpson style hair had kept its volume. Her face was pretty and after her last botox appointment there wasn't a wrinkle in sight. But with all the weight she’d packed on over the years her features had softened, her cheeks were chubby and her once defined beauty had a well fed softness to it.

A tapping on the Escalade’s window pulled Debbie away from her reflection. It was her mom’s slender, face lifted and heavily made up face. Resigned to her fate Debbie opened the door and stepped down

“Why did you park way over here? At your size I thought you’d have parked over near the door next to me. Its cold and I've had to walk all the way over here.”

“Hey mom” said Debbie.

“You’re late too.”

“I had to drop Savannah off at school.”

At that her mom began walking toward the Cracker Barrel. Debbie followed on. She could feel herself wobble and jiggle as she tried to keep up. Most people made an allowance for Debbie’s wiggle waddling walk but her Jane Fonda shaped mom kept her normal pace. It was going to be a long breakfast.

ILLUSTRATION: http://fav.me/d77hzv3

Meanwhile five miles away…



Highway 287 ran across the Texas panhandle down from Amarillo to Fort Worth. Miles of four lane highway it went straight like an arrow through the towns of Childress, Vernon, Wichita Falls, Decatur and mile upon mile of empty wide open space. At the wheel of his rented Ford pick-up truck, Englishman Matthew Hodgson had seen plenty of it. Prospecting for oil and gas drilling sites for the past week he was headed back to Dallas Fort Worth Airport and a ticket back to blighty. He hummed along to a county tune on the Ford’s satellite radio and yawned. Approaching nine o’clock and he’d already been on the road three and a half hours.

He looked at the trucks dashboard clock; there was plenty of time to get down to DFW and back to civilization. The sign he’d just passed declared the town of Wichita Falls was five miles ahead. Matt had driven enough miles around the Midwestern USA to know Wichita Falls would be an oasis of consumption with an array of restaurants to choose from. Morning and he was thinking about breakfast. That meant the IHOP, Waffle House, McDonalds or maybe even a Cracker Barrel. He mused over that. His last breakfast of the trip and he figured the best move was going all out chintzy American at the Cracker Barrel Old Country Store.

Matt got lucky. The first exit off the highway was signposted for a Walmart, Texaco, Subway and a Cracker Barrel. Slowing down the truck like it was a 747 jet he steered off the highway in a big arc and headed for the exit. Slowing gradually to a stop at the traffic light he adjusted to the fact he wasn't moving. Rubbing his eyes wearily he waited for the green light. Eventually, turning right at the intersection he headed for the Cracker Barrel. It looked exactly like every other Cracker Barrel he’d ever been to.

Stepping down from the truck he walked into the restaurant, through the store that was themed off an old country store of the 1950’s and toward the welcome station. The Cracker Barrel smelled of cinnamon and easy listening country music sang by Alan Jackson played in the background. It was like a group of corporate executives had “brain stormed” exactly what everyday people imagined an old country store should be like and then gone and built hundreds of them all around America. Matt stood and waited for the server.

“Hi there, welcome to Cracker Barrel” beamed a middle aged black woman with a fake smile “table for one?”

“Yes, just me” said Matt. His accent was northern English and he watched her surprised look. A regular world traveller he prided himself on fitting in. It was a hobby of his. Early thirties, 6ft3 with broad shoulders and a buzz cut he was sporting the “US male” look of blue Wrangler jeans, work boots and a simple grey sweater with a white t-shirt underneath. She was, no doubt, trying to work out if he was English or Australian. Sometimes the server asked. This one didn’t.

“Could I take one of the tables by the window” said Matt. Several other diners looked up and watched him pass – all wondering where that accent was from.

“Sure thing.”

She led him to a window seat, took his order of coffee and left him to look at the menu. Matt got out his Blackberry and flicked through his emails and watched the highway roll past. There was something so comforting about travelling and he loved America with its open landscape, the over sized cars, open road and the food. He also loved the women. Matt was a dedicated fat admirer and American women took fat and hot to a whole new level. Several years back he’d coined the descriptive phrase “American fat” to describe a hot, fat woman who’d got way bigger than she ever would have back in Europe.

His brown eyes looked up from the Blackberry and scanned around for a Cracker Barrel cutie. It was half full with the usual collection of diners with a mix of locals and travellers from the highway. His surveillance stopped at a table just across. There were two women. One older in her early to mid sixties and in good shape but the other was the ultimate hot, fat MILF. Matt guessed she was the older women’s daughter and she must had been triple her mother’s weight.

She looked like the ultimate hot cheerleader turned all-Texan trophy wife. With about a hundred and fifty extra pounds added to her frame. She wore a cashmere sweater was tight around her breasts and struggled to contain her swollen mid section. She was accessorized with a rattlesnake skin belt, jewelry and a pair of D&G sunglasses where on the table next to her glass of orange juice. Sat down and a thick slab of belly hang bulged in a delicious muffin top that ran right around her bloated middle. Her dark blue jeans were painted on and her tree trunk thighs that spilled slightly over her chair. That sweater was so tight he could make out the outline of her belly button. Matt guessed she was in her early forties, very well looked after and beautifully swollen.

This MILF was definitely “American Fat”. Back home somebody would have put that butterball on a crash diet. Instead, here in Texas, the blonde was stuffing herself with a full breakfast with country fried steak, two eggs, hash browns, biscuits and thick country gravy.

“Oh my…” he said to himself.

Sat too far away to hear the conversation Matt watched the beautiful blonde listen to her mom whilst shoveling breakfast through her lips. Momma’s breakfast was more modest and she was doing the talking whilst her fat daughter demolished country fried steak. Matt ordered his own breakfast and watched. He was seriously getting a crush on this hottie. Maybe she was even hotter than the Latina MILF he’d seen on his last trip?

Across from the wandering eyed Englishman, Debbie Hill was finishing her breakfast. Breakfast at the Cracker Barrel was a weekly routine and the only way Debbie could stand regular contact with her mother. She could hear her mom downloading her usual bitchy/ snobby thoughts of the week and she couldn't help checking out the cute guy sat by the window. She’d heard his accent when he arrived and he definitely wasn’t local. Back when she’d cheered for the Cowboys, Debbie had had an English friend and she figured he was from that country. He seemed to be checking her out too.

“…of course I complained to the housing association about the flamingo’s and they’re going to have to taken them down and I've talked to our lawyer and we’re gonna sue about…” said Debbie’s mom.

“Hey mom!” cut in Debbie.

“What?”

“That cute English guy is checking me out!”

“Don’t be stupid Debra. He’s Australian and I think you’ve long since outgrown that kind of attention. Besides, men only go out hogging in groups and he’s on his own.”

Debbie’s face flushed red. She knew hogging was when a group of guys had a competition over who could hook up with the fattest girl. The guy with the fattest won. Much to her embarrassment Debbie had been a prime target for guys hogging in Las Vegas when the female half of her family had gone to Sin City for a bachelorette party. Her mom had never let the hogging drop.

Instead of snapping back Debbie bit her lip. Her mom was a bitch and nothing was going to change that. The best thing was to get through the breakfast without fireworks and then ignore her for another week.

Eventually they headed out. Debbie’s mom paid the bill whilst Debbie left the tip. It was always generous; her mom managed to be a bitch with the servers every bit as much as she did with family. So Debbie figured she had to be generous or they were going to get spit in their eggs. After saying their goodbyes Debbie wiggle waddled over toward her SUV. Stuffed full of breakfast her walk was even steadier then usual. She could feel her belly hanging over her belt and was looking forward to getting to work, parking herself in front of her computer screen and forgetting about her mom.

Behind she could hear her mom driving away. Trying to push mean thoughts out of her head she paused by the Escalade and reached into her bag for her key. She glanced back toward the Cracker Barrel. The English guy was still sat at the window and checking her out. Debbie flashed him her cheerleader smile and a little wave. He waved back. She hauled herself up into her SUV, started the engine, slipped the gear lever into drive and headed out.

Sat looking out of the window Matt watched her leave. He smiled and said to himself:

“God bless Texas.”
 

Jerry Thomas

Well-Known Member
Joined
Apr 22, 2011
Messages
256
Location
Badger State, USA
Nice short short story and I loved your illustration of Debbie. From your comments on Deviantart, it sounds like you have more stories featuring the famous "Debbie Hill" character (she's not related to your funny countryman Benny Hill, is she?). Being a Midwesterner myself, I don't think this is the only region of the country where we have big women (and men), but we do seem to have more than our fair share. The South seems to be a close second, from what I can tell. So what is it - the local food, the climate, the air? The only thing I would object to is that few Midwesterners would consider Texas part of the Midwest - Texas is sort of an animal all of its own. It was even an independent country once (as any Texan would be glad to remind you!). Good work. You go Debbie!
 

bbwsrule

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Joined
Jul 4, 2007
Messages
431
Location
,
Very hot story! And nice deviantart. I find this type of story much more appealing, the girl already fat and getting fatter, than the "cheerleader gets fat" stories.
 

samster

Well-Known Member
Joined
Mar 11, 2007
Messages
267
Location
,
Thanks for the comments!

Jerry Thomas; you raise some good points! No Texan would ever think of themselves as a mid westerner but in my head the panhandle area fits into the mid west - geographically at least! As for Debbie I've written short stories about her for several years - you can check them out on my DA page and some are also posted here. She's very much the super hot ex Cowboys cheerleader matured to a sexy butterball MILF in her late 30's/ early 40's - very much written in a positive rather than revenge way.

bbwsrule; again thanks for the comment and glad you like it. There are some really great BBW weight gain stories out there but I'm very visual and love to just describe a hot BBW rather than sort of chronicle the gain. I also think there's an imagination angle where readers can picture Debbie getting bigger over the years.
 

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