~BBW, Romance, ~SWG - A multi-part series about young love that turns out to be far more complex than it may seem.
[Author's Note: Some of the chapters that will be posted here are, in fact, significantly updated, edited, and revised from the originals. Though the spirit of each chapter is left intact, I felt that some revisions were necessary based on how my style has evolved over the years. To read the originals, please visit my Deviantart page here]
Chapter One - Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
The moist heat of a midday summer sun dazzled me, and I stared, misty-eyed, upward at passing clouds. Rustling shadows cast by the trees behind me played soothingly over my body, but the cool metal bench beneath me had been warming quickly in the passing hours as the shadows slowly shrunk beneath the trees to hide from the white sun.
I suppose it was a little out of character to find me sitting in a park all morning: I had no particular reason, no calling to be there, really. I couldn’t even remember clearly when or why I come here in the first place, or whether I had simply awoken in my present position from a dreamless sleep.
For some reason, I couldn’t manage to keep my mind on...well, on much of anything. Little things kept popping into existence around me—or so it seemed—a falling leaf, a barking dog, a little girl or boy running by with a squeal of laughter. Each new attraction became the sole focus of my attention, rooting me in my pleasantly warm seat until the present. As a matter of fact, the first thing that was able to snap me out of my comatose reminiscence also happened to be the best thing that could have happened to me.
A new fascination appeared in the horizon, and I was so enthralled by its heat-rippled mystery that I almost arose to meet it head on. Upon realizing what it was, however, modesty overcame me. I knew that I should not—could not—get too close to it; I was forced to be contented with a mere glance over my left shoulder; only a contented glance, that is, until she came close enough that I could really see her.
Her hair ruffled softly, buoyed on a breeze that I could not feel. Her face and calves were svelte and gleaming, with clothes tight on the rest of her in all the right places, maybe a few more. The way her sleeveless top clung to her torso held my iron gaze like a magnet. The front of her shirt bounced with each step and jiggled enticingly in between, betraying a hidden plush softness beneath it.
Her rear, harshly confined in mini shorts locked in a losing a battle to contain it, swayed side to side with her rolling hips as each step thrust her bottom from one side to the other, falling back and forth, back and forth in a sluggish jazz rhythm. Just enough noticeable flab made her round behind wobble in every direction, but still it remained tight enough to hold its form.
She came closer with each step, and it seemed to me that her clothes became smaller and smaller at the same time, squeezing her poor tender flesh into bulges of round heft above and around the hems of her clothing, until at long last they were all but gone, and they burst from around her body in a vibrant, fluttering cascade. Her yellow-tan skin, the very best parts of it, bounded forth, completely visible.
Her paunch gushed forth and hung rippling before her, happily free of its restraints but for a tiny, ultra tight bra and a pair of thong panties, the last remaining holdouts in the vain struggle to imprison her insistent girth that against their best efforts managed only to accentuate the rolls of flesh under her breasts and heavily jiggling love handles.
She reached out to knead it with one hand with dreamy eyes as if in affirmation of its soft, yielding beauty, and she smiled, showing perfectly shaped, albeit large, white teeth between tender, pouting lips.
I could stand it no longer. Up I went, and she continued toward me. Leaping to the path on which she trod, I strolled casually forward until we were almost side by side, I on the right, and she the left. Then, like a clip straight out of an ancient, corny movie’s blockbusting romantic-action scene, I shot out my left arm and cupped her malleable gut in my hand at the belly button, and, simultaneously, I swung around to her back and slid my other hand neatly under her belly’s single, inviting roll to squeeze the tender blubber.
Of course, she was not so large that I had any trouble fitting around her, but her girth made it quite the stretch around the hips. I pressed my lower body into hers and squeezed. Who wouldn’t take the opportunity rub their entire body into the warm, soft ass cheeks of their dreams and to knead such alluring back flab, folding in gently curving rolls over creaking bra straps? Certainly not I!
In response, she collapsed into me, softly moaning as the playful caress of my fingers worked into her cushy belly mass. She tossed her head and nibbled ecstatically on her lover lip, and raven black hair that turned quietly to an auburn brown at the tips draped gently onto my neck.
Soft; everything about her is wonderfully soft. Her weight pressed over me, making her sloshing tummy and squishy thighs spread over my groin, making the moment even more real, warmer and softer.
She rolled around my considerably slighter form to return the embrace, and her heavy flesh flowed over me as she heaved and bounced with excitement. She felt warmer and softer still as I dug deeper into her inviting flesh, sinking into her gorgeous malleable skin and squeezing, letting her skin fold over my hands. Her sweat-dewed skin was an intoxicating nectar to my tingling palms, and she grasped my face and held it to her wild, gleaming eyes.
Oh, wow, yes!
She poured over me, rubbing the hot, dense skin of thighs up and down my legs. Warmer, softer…she arched her back and thrust her chest into me, and I squeezed her around the waist—warmer—softer—!I jolted into half wakefulness and rolled to my right, covered in sweat. ZZZZEEEET…ZZZZEEEET...ZZZZEEEET…. I sent a limp arm smashing down in fury onto the offending alarm clock.
Why couldn’t it have been spring back and fall forward?! Crap, I mean c’mon!? Why, even in my stupid dreams, do I never get anywhere?! I sighed loudly and shook my head invigoratingly. Instead of rising out of bed, I plopped backward into my pillow with a muffled thump. It was probably going to end up being another long, trying day.
I am sure that a lot of people could say that school takes up a pretty big portion of my life—not nearly all of it! but enough to brand me boring just the same aside from a gas-money job at a bookstore and weeknights with friends—just friends. Always and only friends. There is not too much to preoccupy me at all these days. Except for Danielle Naik.
By this point you have already been introduced, if you haven’t quite figured that out yet. I, of course, somewhat proudly and pathetically, know almost everything about her. Despite her “sturdy” outer appearance, she really is quite active. She pretty much carries the entire varsity volley ball team (and could probably do likewise literally with the members of the team—a bunch of skinny tramps, all of them…Erm…herself excluded, of course). The 18-year old Senior is a participating member in the student council, and, in general, she fits the description of a picturesque member of the popular clique, minus the prejudice and superiority complex.
As for myself, I am more of the “loving type.” That is to say, such things as, horticulture, animals, the violin, and especially people. Certain people more than others. Namely, Danielle, and I personally prefer to think of her in my own mind as the best player on the volley ball team.
At least she probably is. You see, I say “probably” because I haven’t ever had the…shall we say “testicular fortitude” to show up at one of her games. What keeps me away is a mixture of paralyzing fear and antsy expectancy that she might notice that my eyes would be glued to her prominent posterior and frontal accoutrements gyrating as she leaps to block the next spike….
To shorten things up, no we are not dating—either of us—nor have I asked her out before. I’ve been having a go at the bachelor thing for quite a while now; scathing breakups tend to do that sort of thing to a guy, but the extended period of absence in the dating game is mostly due to singular standards, as in only one person meets mine.
Stress, stress…it is mind boggling how much a little bit of anxiety can grow on a fellow given the time to fester. It is all the product of my own design, but the pain, the obsession! And, for an added bonus, these just happens to be the very last three weeks of the school year, and I can’t for the life of me think of any way to show up at the door of a girl with whom I have never had more than an passing conversation three days into vacation without coming off as some kind of stalker or obsessed pervert (honestly, I’m not).
Sorry…I occasionally get distracted. Just as I thought, though, the better part of the day ends up passing uneventfully…for Danielle anyway. For me, it’s a roller coaster ride every time I lock my eyes on her swaying figure bouncing down my end of a hall.
Time is running out…
I ground my teeth as I drove home from school. What could I do? I couldn’t just talk to her out of the blue…it was hopeless…and now, the dreams were becoming frustrating.
The next morning I accidentally met her eyes for a moment, and she flashed a smile at me.
She smiled at me. Or at least in my general direction while passing. I couldn’t move; I couldn’t think or breathe.
She smiled at me…it’s nothing. I’m flying off the handle. But…she smiled at me!
I fell backwards heavily against my locker and breathed out my held-in breath forlornly. My friend Anne slapped her hand rudely against the locker just above my head and glared down at me reproachfully. It was a look that I already know too well.
She wrinkled up her button nose and rolled her crystal-blue eyes at me like I was a child who was afraid to step into a wading pool. It was mostly frustration, but I detected a hint of pity wedged in there, too.
“Hopeless…” she muttered. She lifted her arm so I could stand.
“My sentiments exactly,” I sighed.
“You can’t make puppy faces like that and expect me to come and save the day every time, Vince,” she lectured me.
“Save the day?” I asked with an arched brow.
Anne and I have been friends for too long to try to remember, and it was possible that some people might be inclined to believe that there was something going on between us if they didn’t know anything about either of us. Rest assured; there is nothing more than friendship between us, and sometimes Anne’s form of friendship can be a little too strong.
Don’t get me wrong; she’s smart, clever (yes, there is a difference), and very attractive by just about everyone’s standards, myself included. As such she had for quite some time been dating one of the most desirable young men in school—not to ever be confused with me, of course.
“Hey, Anne, what do you mean?”
She pursed her lips and said nothing. She wasn’t even looking at me. She just stared off down the hallway, mouthing something to herself, as if she were counting down to something. I was so intent on pestering Anne for an explanation that I did not see Danielle, way down the hall, wave “goodbye” to a friend and reverse direction.
It was fairly obvious to me that Anne knew what is going on with me about Danielle…and probably ‘why’ in great detail. Thankfully, she has never seen fit to bring it up without me starting the conversation, and I don’t make a habit of it. However, I occasionally wish that she would ask me more…specific questions about what I like about Danielle. I rather enjoy the ‘stimulation’ of such conversations about my own sexual preferences…not that I have ever actually had one with anyone.
“Seriously, Anne, what are you do…ooo—Hey!”
Anne body-checked me with her hipbone, sending me reeling into the middle of the hall just as Danielle passed in front of us again. I narrowly avoided plowing right into Danielle by agilely half side-stepping, half falling behind another girl walking in the opposite direction. Danielle walked straight by without even noticing, and I wiped my brow in relief.
Anne had tried to “discretely” force Danielle and I into contact for what must have been the dozenth time, but every time I confronted her about it, she played dumb and innocent.
I’m not stupid, Anne! I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work! I scurried back to her side of the hall, but before I could verbally reprimand Anne for her interference, she beat me to the punch.
She huffed, exasperated, “you’d better get your act together here, Vincent.”
She calls me by my full name whenever she gets especially aggravated with me, which is actually a pretty common occurrence. She thinks that it is terribly intimidating, but it strikes me as sort of funny, like she is trying to be my mother. “Don’t screw this up and come crying to me later when you regret it!”
Before I could get in a single word, she flipped her blonde hair in my face and marched stiffly off to meet her boyfriend, who had appeared at the opposite end of the hall. As if to spite me, she hooked her arm through his, and they strolled off daintily together to fifth period.
“Gee, thanks Anne,” I mumbled to myself, “not only do I feel worse about putting this off, but now I have people staring at me for that little scene.”
What if they could guess what we were saying? How mortifying would it be if they knew who we were talking about and why?
I’ll be at lunch should anyone need me, through which time I shall most likely be unavailable as my mind and most of my senses—sadly excluding touch—will be preoccupied.
(Continued in post 4 of this thread)
[Author's Note: Some of the chapters that will be posted here are, in fact, significantly updated, edited, and revised from the originals. Though the spirit of each chapter is left intact, I felt that some revisions were necessary based on how my style has evolved over the years. To read the originals, please visit my Deviantart page here]
Danielle
by Wetsobem
by Wetsobem
Chapter One - Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
The moist heat of a midday summer sun dazzled me, and I stared, misty-eyed, upward at passing clouds. Rustling shadows cast by the trees behind me played soothingly over my body, but the cool metal bench beneath me had been warming quickly in the passing hours as the shadows slowly shrunk beneath the trees to hide from the white sun.
I suppose it was a little out of character to find me sitting in a park all morning: I had no particular reason, no calling to be there, really. I couldn’t even remember clearly when or why I come here in the first place, or whether I had simply awoken in my present position from a dreamless sleep.
For some reason, I couldn’t manage to keep my mind on...well, on much of anything. Little things kept popping into existence around me—or so it seemed—a falling leaf, a barking dog, a little girl or boy running by with a squeal of laughter. Each new attraction became the sole focus of my attention, rooting me in my pleasantly warm seat until the present. As a matter of fact, the first thing that was able to snap me out of my comatose reminiscence also happened to be the best thing that could have happened to me.
A new fascination appeared in the horizon, and I was so enthralled by its heat-rippled mystery that I almost arose to meet it head on. Upon realizing what it was, however, modesty overcame me. I knew that I should not—could not—get too close to it; I was forced to be contented with a mere glance over my left shoulder; only a contented glance, that is, until she came close enough that I could really see her.
Her hair ruffled softly, buoyed on a breeze that I could not feel. Her face and calves were svelte and gleaming, with clothes tight on the rest of her in all the right places, maybe a few more. The way her sleeveless top clung to her torso held my iron gaze like a magnet. The front of her shirt bounced with each step and jiggled enticingly in between, betraying a hidden plush softness beneath it.
Her rear, harshly confined in mini shorts locked in a losing a battle to contain it, swayed side to side with her rolling hips as each step thrust her bottom from one side to the other, falling back and forth, back and forth in a sluggish jazz rhythm. Just enough noticeable flab made her round behind wobble in every direction, but still it remained tight enough to hold its form.
She came closer with each step, and it seemed to me that her clothes became smaller and smaller at the same time, squeezing her poor tender flesh into bulges of round heft above and around the hems of her clothing, until at long last they were all but gone, and they burst from around her body in a vibrant, fluttering cascade. Her yellow-tan skin, the very best parts of it, bounded forth, completely visible.
Her paunch gushed forth and hung rippling before her, happily free of its restraints but for a tiny, ultra tight bra and a pair of thong panties, the last remaining holdouts in the vain struggle to imprison her insistent girth that against their best efforts managed only to accentuate the rolls of flesh under her breasts and heavily jiggling love handles.
She reached out to knead it with one hand with dreamy eyes as if in affirmation of its soft, yielding beauty, and she smiled, showing perfectly shaped, albeit large, white teeth between tender, pouting lips.
I could stand it no longer. Up I went, and she continued toward me. Leaping to the path on which she trod, I strolled casually forward until we were almost side by side, I on the right, and she the left. Then, like a clip straight out of an ancient, corny movie’s blockbusting romantic-action scene, I shot out my left arm and cupped her malleable gut in my hand at the belly button, and, simultaneously, I swung around to her back and slid my other hand neatly under her belly’s single, inviting roll to squeeze the tender blubber.
Of course, she was not so large that I had any trouble fitting around her, but her girth made it quite the stretch around the hips. I pressed my lower body into hers and squeezed. Who wouldn’t take the opportunity rub their entire body into the warm, soft ass cheeks of their dreams and to knead such alluring back flab, folding in gently curving rolls over creaking bra straps? Certainly not I!
In response, she collapsed into me, softly moaning as the playful caress of my fingers worked into her cushy belly mass. She tossed her head and nibbled ecstatically on her lover lip, and raven black hair that turned quietly to an auburn brown at the tips draped gently onto my neck.
Soft; everything about her is wonderfully soft. Her weight pressed over me, making her sloshing tummy and squishy thighs spread over my groin, making the moment even more real, warmer and softer.
She rolled around my considerably slighter form to return the embrace, and her heavy flesh flowed over me as she heaved and bounced with excitement. She felt warmer and softer still as I dug deeper into her inviting flesh, sinking into her gorgeous malleable skin and squeezing, letting her skin fold over my hands. Her sweat-dewed skin was an intoxicating nectar to my tingling palms, and she grasped my face and held it to her wild, gleaming eyes.
Oh, wow, yes!
She poured over me, rubbing the hot, dense skin of thighs up and down my legs. Warmer, softer…she arched her back and thrust her chest into me, and I squeezed her around the waist—warmer—softer—!I jolted into half wakefulness and rolled to my right, covered in sweat. ZZZZEEEET…ZZZZEEEET...ZZZZEEEET…. I sent a limp arm smashing down in fury onto the offending alarm clock.
Why couldn’t it have been spring back and fall forward?! Crap, I mean c’mon!? Why, even in my stupid dreams, do I never get anywhere?! I sighed loudly and shook my head invigoratingly. Instead of rising out of bed, I plopped backward into my pillow with a muffled thump. It was probably going to end up being another long, trying day.
***
I am sure that a lot of people could say that school takes up a pretty big portion of my life—not nearly all of it! but enough to brand me boring just the same aside from a gas-money job at a bookstore and weeknights with friends—just friends. Always and only friends. There is not too much to preoccupy me at all these days. Except for Danielle Naik.
By this point you have already been introduced, if you haven’t quite figured that out yet. I, of course, somewhat proudly and pathetically, know almost everything about her. Despite her “sturdy” outer appearance, she really is quite active. She pretty much carries the entire varsity volley ball team (and could probably do likewise literally with the members of the team—a bunch of skinny tramps, all of them…Erm…herself excluded, of course). The 18-year old Senior is a participating member in the student council, and, in general, she fits the description of a picturesque member of the popular clique, minus the prejudice and superiority complex.
As for myself, I am more of the “loving type.” That is to say, such things as, horticulture, animals, the violin, and especially people. Certain people more than others. Namely, Danielle, and I personally prefer to think of her in my own mind as the best player on the volley ball team.
At least she probably is. You see, I say “probably” because I haven’t ever had the…shall we say “testicular fortitude” to show up at one of her games. What keeps me away is a mixture of paralyzing fear and antsy expectancy that she might notice that my eyes would be glued to her prominent posterior and frontal accoutrements gyrating as she leaps to block the next spike….
To shorten things up, no we are not dating—either of us—nor have I asked her out before. I’ve been having a go at the bachelor thing for quite a while now; scathing breakups tend to do that sort of thing to a guy, but the extended period of absence in the dating game is mostly due to singular standards, as in only one person meets mine.
Stress, stress…it is mind boggling how much a little bit of anxiety can grow on a fellow given the time to fester. It is all the product of my own design, but the pain, the obsession! And, for an added bonus, these just happens to be the very last three weeks of the school year, and I can’t for the life of me think of any way to show up at the door of a girl with whom I have never had more than an passing conversation three days into vacation without coming off as some kind of stalker or obsessed pervert (honestly, I’m not).
Sorry…I occasionally get distracted. Just as I thought, though, the better part of the day ends up passing uneventfully…for Danielle anyway. For me, it’s a roller coaster ride every time I lock my eyes on her swaying figure bouncing down my end of a hall.
Time is running out…
I ground my teeth as I drove home from school. What could I do? I couldn’t just talk to her out of the blue…it was hopeless…and now, the dreams were becoming frustrating.
The next morning I accidentally met her eyes for a moment, and she flashed a smile at me.
She smiled at me. Or at least in my general direction while passing. I couldn’t move; I couldn’t think or breathe.
She smiled at me…it’s nothing. I’m flying off the handle. But…she smiled at me!
I fell backwards heavily against my locker and breathed out my held-in breath forlornly. My friend Anne slapped her hand rudely against the locker just above my head and glared down at me reproachfully. It was a look that I already know too well.
She wrinkled up her button nose and rolled her crystal-blue eyes at me like I was a child who was afraid to step into a wading pool. It was mostly frustration, but I detected a hint of pity wedged in there, too.
“Hopeless…” she muttered. She lifted her arm so I could stand.
“My sentiments exactly,” I sighed.
“You can’t make puppy faces like that and expect me to come and save the day every time, Vince,” she lectured me.
“Save the day?” I asked with an arched brow.
Anne and I have been friends for too long to try to remember, and it was possible that some people might be inclined to believe that there was something going on between us if they didn’t know anything about either of us. Rest assured; there is nothing more than friendship between us, and sometimes Anne’s form of friendship can be a little too strong.
Don’t get me wrong; she’s smart, clever (yes, there is a difference), and very attractive by just about everyone’s standards, myself included. As such she had for quite some time been dating one of the most desirable young men in school—not to ever be confused with me, of course.
“Hey, Anne, what do you mean?”
She pursed her lips and said nothing. She wasn’t even looking at me. She just stared off down the hallway, mouthing something to herself, as if she were counting down to something. I was so intent on pestering Anne for an explanation that I did not see Danielle, way down the hall, wave “goodbye” to a friend and reverse direction.
It was fairly obvious to me that Anne knew what is going on with me about Danielle…and probably ‘why’ in great detail. Thankfully, she has never seen fit to bring it up without me starting the conversation, and I don’t make a habit of it. However, I occasionally wish that she would ask me more…specific questions about what I like about Danielle. I rather enjoy the ‘stimulation’ of such conversations about my own sexual preferences…not that I have ever actually had one with anyone.
“Seriously, Anne, what are you do…ooo—Hey!”
Anne body-checked me with her hipbone, sending me reeling into the middle of the hall just as Danielle passed in front of us again. I narrowly avoided plowing right into Danielle by agilely half side-stepping, half falling behind another girl walking in the opposite direction. Danielle walked straight by without even noticing, and I wiped my brow in relief.
Anne had tried to “discretely” force Danielle and I into contact for what must have been the dozenth time, but every time I confronted her about it, she played dumb and innocent.
I’m not stupid, Anne! I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work! I scurried back to her side of the hall, but before I could verbally reprimand Anne for her interference, she beat me to the punch.
She huffed, exasperated, “you’d better get your act together here, Vincent.”
She calls me by my full name whenever she gets especially aggravated with me, which is actually a pretty common occurrence. She thinks that it is terribly intimidating, but it strikes me as sort of funny, like she is trying to be my mother. “Don’t screw this up and come crying to me later when you regret it!”
Before I could get in a single word, she flipped her blonde hair in my face and marched stiffly off to meet her boyfriend, who had appeared at the opposite end of the hall. As if to spite me, she hooked her arm through his, and they strolled off daintily together to fifth period.
“Gee, thanks Anne,” I mumbled to myself, “not only do I feel worse about putting this off, but now I have people staring at me for that little scene.”
What if they could guess what we were saying? How mortifying would it be if they knew who we were talking about and why?
I’ll be at lunch should anyone need me, through which time I shall most likely be unavailable as my mind and most of my senses—sadly excluding touch—will be preoccupied.
(Continued in post 4 of this thread)
