1300 Class
Pam Poovey's Stunt Double
BBW, whatever direction it takes.
Street of Dreams.
It was raining again. Ever since Monday it had been raining almost constantly, rarely even giving the sun a chance to shine through and enlighten the earth. Living in a ninth story flat in a twenty story building, it still sounded heavy. It was dark and grey outside, almost impenetrable, the clouds hanging low in the sky. The television blared out some infomercials from the pay television channel, more mindless advertising.
Diana Clipton, alone at the age of 22. A widow, her young husband killed overseas, both parents dead in a car crash three years previous, she was alone in her world. Although the pension and the inheritance allowed her to not lift a finger in work if she lived a modest life, she was not even doing that. Her flat was both her paradise and her prison. The occasional venture to the shops or down the main street were the limit of her forays into the world. Pay Television and the Internet provided the rest. Her body covered by a getting old dressing silk dressing gown, she turned away from the television to look out over the town.
Perhaps 40,000 people lived in East Cheam, and Diana knew perhaps three or four at most now. When she was at school she could have been the life blood of any party, to clever by half, she could have been witty and charming given a chance, but now there was little chance for that. The rain was awful she thought to herself, but at least it encapsulated her in her world. It was approaching lunch, reheated take-away most likely from the bowels of the refrigerator. She strolled into the kitchenette and turned on the gas oven, grasping the fridge door and taking the previous nights Vindaloo, leaving it on the bench until the oven heated up.
Diana made her way to the bathroom and stood looking into the mirror. Her dark brown hair had began to grow long. Maybe I should get it cut one day. She pondered to herself. Diana stared at herself in the mirror - as if searching for something hidden by her face. She slid the silk gown off, revelling her body to herself, yet it seemed almost foreign in nature. She stood there naked, just looking in the mirror. At 510 Diana was not short, her dark brown hair beginning to grow long. Just staring. She stepped over to the scales, and waited for the hand to stop. 129 pounds and half. Maybe a little to much. She muttered, looking down, at her curves. Defiantly a pear, there was the smallest of small layers of flab on her stomach. It was more a smooth layer around her midsection that seamlessly flowed down past her hips and into her thighs, they were a little soft as she ran her hand against them. She looked to her breasts, roughly on the verge between a B and a C, her shallow narrow-minded claimed them to be her greatest assets, however her sane voice said she had much more to offer the world. She felt both happy and sad about her body, but in her life she didnt particularly care anymore. It was Dianas, and would do as she wished with it, with neither the world nor its wife to say yay or nay to it. Damn it, I need a holiday away from this place. She said to herself, for there was nobody else to hear it.
Diana spent the rest of the night dreaming of places to go. The sunny sands of the Med, the wintry mountains of Europe, far off places like India or Australia, places that to her seemed an entire world away. After drifting in almost aimless thought she hoped onto the internet and began searching for the best deals out of the country, away from boredom and dreariness. There were a number of equally appealing offers, all seemed so good and interesting, but for the life of her, she could not make up her mind, staring at the computer screen in her darkened flat. It began to rain again, the droplets cascading down the windows.
[/FONT]
Where should Diana Go?
№ 1. The Sunny Med.
№ 2. The Wintery Alps
№ 3. India/Far East
Street of Dreams.
It was raining again. Ever since Monday it had been raining almost constantly, rarely even giving the sun a chance to shine through and enlighten the earth. Living in a ninth story flat in a twenty story building, it still sounded heavy. It was dark and grey outside, almost impenetrable, the clouds hanging low in the sky. The television blared out some infomercials from the pay television channel, more mindless advertising.
Diana Clipton, alone at the age of 22. A widow, her young husband killed overseas, both parents dead in a car crash three years previous, she was alone in her world. Although the pension and the inheritance allowed her to not lift a finger in work if she lived a modest life, she was not even doing that. Her flat was both her paradise and her prison. The occasional venture to the shops or down the main street were the limit of her forays into the world. Pay Television and the Internet provided the rest. Her body covered by a getting old dressing silk dressing gown, she turned away from the television to look out over the town.
Perhaps 40,000 people lived in East Cheam, and Diana knew perhaps three or four at most now. When she was at school she could have been the life blood of any party, to clever by half, she could have been witty and charming given a chance, but now there was little chance for that. The rain was awful she thought to herself, but at least it encapsulated her in her world. It was approaching lunch, reheated take-away most likely from the bowels of the refrigerator. She strolled into the kitchenette and turned on the gas oven, grasping the fridge door and taking the previous nights Vindaloo, leaving it on the bench until the oven heated up.
Diana made her way to the bathroom and stood looking into the mirror. Her dark brown hair had began to grow long. Maybe I should get it cut one day. She pondered to herself. Diana stared at herself in the mirror - as if searching for something hidden by her face. She slid the silk gown off, revelling her body to herself, yet it seemed almost foreign in nature. She stood there naked, just looking in the mirror. At 510 Diana was not short, her dark brown hair beginning to grow long. Just staring. She stepped over to the scales, and waited for the hand to stop. 129 pounds and half. Maybe a little to much. She muttered, looking down, at her curves. Defiantly a pear, there was the smallest of small layers of flab on her stomach. It was more a smooth layer around her midsection that seamlessly flowed down past her hips and into her thighs, they were a little soft as she ran her hand against them. She looked to her breasts, roughly on the verge between a B and a C, her shallow narrow-minded claimed them to be her greatest assets, however her sane voice said she had much more to offer the world. She felt both happy and sad about her body, but in her life she didnt particularly care anymore. It was Dianas, and would do as she wished with it, with neither the world nor its wife to say yay or nay to it. Damn it, I need a holiday away from this place. She said to herself, for there was nobody else to hear it.
Diana spent the rest of the night dreaming of places to go. The sunny sands of the Med, the wintry mountains of Europe, far off places like India or Australia, places that to her seemed an entire world away. After drifting in almost aimless thought she hoped onto the internet and began searching for the best deals out of the country, away from boredom and dreariness. There were a number of equally appealing offers, all seemed so good and interesting, but for the life of her, she could not make up her mind, staring at the computer screen in her darkened flat. It began to rain again, the droplets cascading down the windows.
[/FONT]
Where should Diana Go?
№ 1. The Sunny Med.
№ 2. The Wintery Alps
№ 3. India/Far East
