• Dimensions Magazine is a vibrant community of size acceptance enthusiasts. Our very active members use this community to swap stories, engage in chit-chat, trade photos, plan meetups, interact with models and engage in classifieds.

    Access to Dimensions Magazine is subscription based. Subscriptions are only $29.99/year or $5.99/month to gain access to this great community and unmatched library of knowledge and friendship.

    Click Here to Become a Subscribing Member and Access Dimensions Magazine in Full!

Dream Goddess - by Lardibutts (SSBBW, Archaeology, fantasy, ~XWG)

Dimensions Magazine

Help Support Dimensions Magazine:

This site may earn a commission from merchant affiliate links, including eBay, Amazon, and others.

Lardibutts

Aged Member
Joined
Feb 8, 2007
Messages
456
Location
,
SSBBW, Archaeology, fantasy, ~XWG - This story about Amelia Grossenbeine, (the very) Full Professor of Weight Gain Practices at Indiana South Central University is a sequel to “The Sabbatical Year: Shipboard Romances” found here.

Those who read the Sabbatical Year may recall how Amelia Grossenbeine Ph.D., M.Phil., B.Sc., AWGA, and her family, while on a cruise, were callously exploited as guinea pigs for testing a drug that halved their body weight despite increasing their body size.

Cutting short the Sabbatical she’d planned, Amelia returned home to safety in Kempton Indiana, vowing never to return to the luxury Mediterranean cruise ship.

Instead the Full Professor was persuaded to spend the remainder of her Sabbatical at Indiana South Central University’s Mediterranean campus on Pannecotterra, the small island famed for its fat inhabitants.

In a recent EU study only 43% of young Pannecotterrans were classified as “not obese” while 34% were found to be “morbidly obese”. The spread of American fast foods in addition to the island’s traditional bread and pastas culture, the high consumption of sweetened soft drinks, and the ever increasing popularity of sedentary computer games are said to be the cause.

This little island within sight of the coast of Africa is the setting for this story


DREAM GODDESS
by Lardibutts


Chapter 1


The late spring is the very best time of the year in the southern Med. Days of rain are rare by now and the winds have dropped. The sun is high and hot, yet still the landscape is lusciously green. Everywhere carpets of wild flowers are underfoot and in the markets an abundance of locally grown succulent vegetables and fruit overflow the greengrocers’ stalls.

But it’s a brief window.

By August the sun has burnt everything to a crisp and the ground is baked hard. There is no escape from the heat, save for swimming or visiting the limestone caves deep underground.

Then from September onwards the hot Sirocco wind blows out of the Sahara. Wind blown desert sand grit and dust gets everywhere, including coating the nasal passages and the back of the throat.

With no relief from the claustrophobic heat, people become noticeably irritable. This is the time of year when relationships breakdown and for the onset of depression. These are some of the reasons why the people of Pannecotterra, since the earliest stone age, have turned to religion. The temples of the southern Med are the oldest buildings on the planet.

It is to these “fat lady” temples one day in early May that the Full Professor has been escorted for a picnic by Professor Franco, Dean of the Institute of Weight Gain Studies (Pannecotterra), at the Palazzo Felice in the village of Campofelice,

Accompanied by her unfeasibly fat but still very mobile hubby and two roly-poly boys, the party is to be conducted around the site by the government archaeologist for Pannecotterra.

The official title of Soprintendenza Archeologica per la Regione Autonoma di l'isola di Pannecoterra seemed inappropriately grand for this serious but unassuming little brown mouse of a woman in her mid thirties.

Which is perhaps why she told them “do please just call me Giancarla.”

Descending from Franco’s ISCU minibus at the site just before mid day the party were overwhelmed by the idyllic view. They looked out southwards over a broad sloping sweep of exposed “garrigue” limestone shining in the sun down to the Mediterranean sparkling in the bright sunlight. Looked at more closely, a carpet of yellow wild flowers along with a myriad of other tiny plants were springing out of the cracks between the pale limestone pavement stones

The dramatic profile of a small island could be perceived with difficulty against the sunlight, apparently hanging in the brightness halfway to the horizon.

The narrow raised stone causeway they were standing on swept down dramatically before them, straight as a die, out across the limestone and on into the sea. It was the incomplete remnant of a grandiose project of the Mussolini years to build a processional axis through the site and out to the island.

Below them were the giant stones of an impressively large temple ruin. Well preserved compared to the others, a number of great lintels were still in place across the monoliths. Traces were discernible in the surrounding landscape of several other temples now vanished. Looking down over them, all had the easily recognisable cottage loaf shape of an extremely fat women - as did also the profile of the island out at sea.

It would be a total paradise save for the crackle of sporadic gunfire, 4x4 trucks could be seen ploughing across the rocks. These, the Archaeologist explained, were the wild bird hunters and she went on to explain apologetically how all across the Med migrating birds are ruthlessly gunned out of the skies for sport. Fortunately here in Pannecottera, she says, the hunters are so fat they are much more likely to hit one another than the tiny moving targets.

Excitedly Randy and his two boys bowled off down the now rather neglected stone paving of the Mussolini causeway.

“Honey, they are right about these temples; they really do look exactly like you lying flat out on your back,” he called back. “I guess the island does too, babes.”

“But out there I look to be in profile,” replied Amelia the Full Professor happily.

“Yup. I guess we’re looking up between your butt cheeks!” Randy gave a deep belly laugh at this.

Amelia blushed as she realised he was referring to the very abbreviated shorts she had on today. She’d felt her thighs working them up until they were uncomfortably disappearing into the cleft between her gelatinous buttocks. At least the lower third of her buns had jiggled out to freedom.

Giancarla the Diretorre started by explaining enthusiastically that the fat woman artefacts found here, right from the little hand-held figurines up to the larger than life size sculptures, all had strongly emphasised breasts, unlike the better known Maltese finds.

Her eyes now alive and shining with passion, she says that Pannecoterra is quite possibly the island from which the famous Venus of Willendorf originated. The limestone is similar.

They reached the well preserved large temple and stood before the entrance. This was an opening more than 6 feet square made through a single great slab of stone; truly awesome in scale. The Diretorre continued with her outpouring of information about the temples.

Why were these megalithic temples in the shape of fat women? Were they Fat Deities? The most common view is that they were Goddesses of Fertility. To support this belief, she said, the early stone age inhabitants had been a farming society who lived in peace. There is evidence that they traded across the sea with other more warlike peoples on the continents of Africa and Europe.

Such as, for example, the Saharan cave paintings of hunters or those chasing deer on the island of L off the west coast of Sicily – drawn with three legs, she added deadpan, they were so well hung.

The Full Professor remarked that all this conjecture about over-endowed sexual superheroes of ancient times was totally theoretical, there was nothing else to go on apart from the temples on the site and the excavated artifacts on show in the museum in Panciuto, the island’s capital.

And besides, she complained, unsubstantiated theory always made her feel hungry.

With that Amelia declared they should stop right here for their picnic; she’d just spotted an invitingly large and low stone slab. Turning, she positioned her spectacularly wide backside above it and plumped down. Immediately she yelped in surprise; the rock was baking hot from the sun scorching her bare hindquarters. It was a great flat stone she was sitting on, about 8 feet long and lying to one side of the entrance portal looking out over the sea to the island.

Franco signaled up to the attendant catering staff to fetch their picnic lunch down.

While the picnic was being laid out the party slaked their thirst by swigging bottled mineral water and sipping on a chilled prosecco curtain raiser to lunch.

All the while the archaeologist continued with her impassioned narrative. She’d got to debunking the Fertility Goddesses now as too simplistic; a borrowing of anthropological ideas from places like West Africa with its fertility dolls. She asked them not to discount the possibility that the sculpted figures on show in the museum might have been of priestesses rather than Goddesses.

As the trays of deliciously imaginative antipasta assortments were being raided she went on to declare that she actually preferred the suggestion that the fat women might have been oracles. She said that the underground caves also used by these stone age peoples were sometimes altered to improve the acoustics for use by an oracle. This could also be true of the temples’ shape.

Randy interjected “You mean these big girls might have been counselors? Like stone age psychotherapists!” He guffawed with laughter.

“Except they’d be the ones that were so fat they’d need to lie on the couch, not the patients,” the Diretorre said. “We know this from the detritus excavated from where the oracle might have been located."

By this time they were enjoying great slabs of crusty topped deep-pan baked cold pasta (a Pannecotterran speciality). Now the Diretorre was getting around to the bits that clearly interested her the most.

“So in these fat lady temples was it the women who were in control? Or were men in charge and coercing women to lose control of their bodies? “

Catching Amelia’s eye just as Amelia accepted a second giant slab of the tasty cold pasta offered to her, the Diretorre added suggestively: ”In which case, Professor, might women have been force fed to make them fat?”

Instantly the Diretorre had the Professor’s full attention. In posing the question, the little mouselike Giancarla was a woman transformed. Her eyes, already alive and shining, now had an wickedly piercing gleam that to Amelia was unmistakable. She recognised it from years of participatory research - and just as much as ever she was turned on by it.

For Weight Gain was Amelia’s territory. Ruined piles of stone were boring.
Present day weight gain was interesting enough for her to have made a successful academic career out of, but the idea of weight gain in the far off distant past - just where she was sitting right now - she found a total turn on.

It started her off theorising excitedly. Superhuman (perhaps Suprahuman) seemed to equal big and fat. The big bellied Buddha was the best known example, as well as these fat women. Just what might have been expected of these fat women – and how did they gain all that weight? And what might have been their relationship with the unfeasibly equipped Sicilian hunters?

The more absorbed in thought she became it, the more she ate: enough chicken breasts and drumsticks to totally depopulate the Palazzo’s poultry yard; a whole local peppery salami sliced for her into fresh crusty bread along with repeated bowls of salad richly dressed. Various formaggios followed, lavishly doled out by the ever helpful young men and women catering staff.

Amelia had quaffed more than a bottle in total of the various very palatable Palazzo wines by the time they got around to the enormous Pannecotterran desserts and by now she felt very muzzy. She managed to cope with the cassata ice cream; finally it was on the huge slice of ricotta lemon cheesecake that the Full Professor stalled.

She lay back on the great stone, her head spinning. Randy came across to sit by her and continued spooning the creamy ricotta down her half open maw.

She was more or less aware too of the Diretorre leaning over her and humming soothing sounds as she gently massaged the Full Professor’s great taut dome of a belly.

Through heavy lidded drowsiness Amelia registered a last view of the island shimmering in the heat haze and the hum of countless bees working away among the wild flowers.

*****

She awoke when a bee buzzed right past her ear. She was in shade now and saw the island was lit from the side now as the sun had moved around.

“Ah, at last you are awake, Oh Great One!”

Amelia could not see where the voice was coming from but heard the sweet sound of birdsong all around.

“Where are all the hunters?” Amelia asked, almost to herself.

“Hunters? We have no hunters here, Oh Great One.
Why should we? We can find everything here without having to hunt.
Across the sea I have heard it is different.”

“Oh, wow, it's you, Giancarla,” Amelia said as Giancarla the little brown mouse came around into view.

"Giancarla? What do you mean Giancarla? I have no name. We handmaidens are never dignified with names. I have brought you some grapes to refresh your mouth after your sleep, Oh Great One. You ate so well before you slept, we were all so proud of you!”

“Yeah, well I think I overdid it a bit,” Amelia commented, swallowing the grapes, “mind you I feel very hungry now after my sleep.”

”Here, suck this honeycomb while I go and tell the temple cook to prepare you something. Remember you have to be in place for after sundown.”

Amelia watched Giancarlo depart, clad only in a scanty scrap of what looked like rough hessian.

With difficulty Amelia rolled around onto her side; she could see a bit more now. She saw Giancarlo talking to Randy; they were making eating gestures. Randy turned and looked proudly in Amelia’s direction.

She would have responded except that she’d just been distracted by the stupid little scalloped skirt she had on. Actually more a frill than a skirt, it was all rucked up around her mountainous hip as she lay on her side. Since it felt like she was wearing nothing else but this tiny cheerleader’s skirt; she had to look one hell of a sight from the rear!

Where were the rather daring shorts she’d been wearing when she’d first burnt her bum on this rock?

To be continued
 

Latest posts

Back
Top