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The Trainer - by Uncle Jack (~BBW, ~~WG)

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acadm

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Nov 1, 2005
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long layoff - what's the haps, mister writer man? in the interim, the lions and packers are 5 and oh, the nba season is in jeopardy, hockey got underway, tigers versus texas, and st louis versus milwaukee. hopefully this story doesn't share the nba's fate
 

Uncle Jack

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May 22, 2006
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I got to class early the next day. Only one person was there before me, a middle aged lady who exuded sadness from her pores. I was a keener so that I could spend more time with Jocelyn. She showed up right after I sat down, wearing a green tank top with a black bra underneath, and tight lululemon yoga pants. Those tights must have been more comfortable than jeans, with their restrictive denim and unforgiving buttons. Even still, these tights were mercilessly tight, showing off every little jiggle of her flab.

I went up to talk to her before class, drinking in as much of her as I could. She had eaten breakfast that morning (“Thank God, I actually woke up early enough to grab McDonald’s in the car on the way over!”) and so, after everyone from the class had shown up, things went much more routinely. We took a break in the morning, during which I volunteered to get Jocelyn’s snack for her.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said, while already sitting her big butt back down.

“Don’t worry about it. You sit easy, I’ll get it for you.”

“Okay!”

With only the most minimal persuasion, she dug out her wallet, gave me instructions on exactly which six items to get for her, and flashed me a toothy smile. I brought back everything on her list, plus an extra bag of dill pickle chips.

“I didn’t ask for dill pickle chips,” she said petulantly.

“I paid for them myself. A well-fed trainer is a happy trainer, right?”

She sort of blushed, and stammered a thank you right before shoving chocolate-covered peanuts into her face.

At lunch (today at our regularly scheduled time), Jocelyn wasn’t quite so quick to leave the room. She slowly got up from her chair, and I could see little rips in the inner thighs of her tights. She hung around the front of the room.

“Hey Dave, you wanna join me for lunch? I’m meeting up with my friend Tiffany at the Subway.”

I agreed, of course, and in no time, we were entering the food court Subway. A small mousy girl with chunky glasses waved both hands at us.

“Tiffany, meet Dave. Dave, Tiffany. I’m gonna get some grub.”

Jocelyn waddled over to the checkout line to pick up her food. I made small talk with Tiffany.

“So, how long have you known Jocelyn?”

“Oh, we were both in the same training class when we started.”

“You work at the centre too?”

“Yeah, I’m still up on the floor. I applied to the trainer job too, but Jocelyn got it.”

“She had the skills to pay the bills.”

“Yeah, well,” here Tiffany leaned toward me, conspiratorially, “Joss is a dear friend, so don’t tell her I told you, but… I heard the people in charge of the decision wanted her off the phones.”

“Was she no good? Why not just fire her?”

“Oh, she was good, good with the customers, good at sales. Good at her job basically. But…” Tiffany glanced over at Jocelyn, who was bouncing her butt up and down impatiently as she demanded more veggies on her sandwich, “She had this problem she just couldn’t shake. She would eat while she was on the phone.”

“Oh?” Intriguing.

“You’re really not supposed to eat up there at all. Let alone when you’re actually on the phone with someone. But she would just load up on snacks, sandwiches, you name it. One week it was chocolate covered pretzels every hour of every day. Another week, I swear, she ate chicken nuggets. Had dipping sauces and everything.”

“Wow.”

“She would be chewing while she was talking with people, talking with her mouth full. Like, you could hear it. People would ask her about it. Some would ask her to please stop eating, and she would just straight up lie, say she wasn’t eating, say there must be some disturbance on the line or something.”

“She never got in trouble for that?”

“Oh, she did. Several times, she got reprimanded. And she would stop for awhile. But inevitably, she would complain of hunger pains and slowly start eating again, a little at a time.”

“And so what? They just let her do it every time?”

“Well basically, she was a model employee in every other way. I mean, they had to make a show, to enforce the rules, but weighed against the average performance of the other employees, she still came out way ahead.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“Tell me about it. We both applied for the trainer job, along with a few other people. I wanted it to make a little more money to help out my sister. She’s a single mom. Joss, well, she wouldn’t say this, but I imagine she just wanted less work to do. Don’t get me wrong, I love her to death, but she’s lazy as shit.”

“So you think they made her trainer to get her off the phones?”

“I’ll put it this way: We submitted our applications, then shortly afterward, Joss was on the phone with a retiree from Calgary. She was chowing down on something, I don’t remember what, and, well, she let out this big honking burp. I’m sure you could hear it over my line and I wasn’t even sitting next to her. It was actually pretty funny, but the old lady got really mad, lodged a complaint against Jocelyn specifically, and then the next day she got the trainer job. Now, what does that sound like to you?”

Sounds like my kinda girl.

Speaking of, she had lumbered back over to us, carrying two subs, a bag full of cookies, and a bottle of orange pop. I thought she would sit next to Tiffany, but instead she sat next to me. I could feel her heavy side pressing into me, forcefully.

“Aren’t you getting anything?” she asked me. I had been so absorbed in the straight dirt Tiffany was giving me that it hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“Um, no. Not hungry, I guess.”

“Don’t go asking for any of mine,” she said, very seriously, as she unwrapped Sub Number One and stuffed it in her face. Bits of vegetables and steak fell from the sandwich onto the table, and even her lap. She ate with a complete lack of restraint or decorum.

“So Tiff,” said Jocelyn, demonstrating what the kids call ‘see-food’, “what were you two talking about?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Were you flirting? You hot for Dave? Watch out for her, Dave? She’ll pounce!”

Tiffany rolled her eyes.

Tiffany and Jocelyn upheld most of the conversation, talking about people and things at work that I knew nothing about. Tiffany picked at her tuna sub, while Jocelyn had food in her mouth at all times. It didn’t seem to faze Tiffany at all when Jocelyn stuffed the last large bit of steak sub in her mouth and her whole mouth bulged, so that what she said was so indecipherable. Jocelyn snorted and moaned in near sexual ecstasy as she unwrapped her second sub, a chicken bacon club, and prepared it for a similar fate as the first one. Tiffany seemed unfazed by Jocelyn. Clearly, she was used to this sort of gluttonous behaviour. I watched with awe as Jocelyn’s lips bounced around while she chewed, as her doughy arms brought the food up to her mouth, as her chubby cheeks inflated with enormous chunks of bread, meat and cheese.

An amazing thing happened at the end of the meal. Tiffany, a slow eater, still had a little less than half her sub left when Jocelyn crammed the last of her chicken sub into her gullet. Wasting no time, not even swallowing, Jocelyn reached an arm across the table, grabbed Tiffany’s sandwich, and immediately plowed into it. Her first bite was so big that fixings fell out the bottom, draping across her cleavage. Amazingly, Tiffany seemed completely unaffected by this theft. What’s the deal?

“Tfnee sid I cin et hrfud neetie.” Her mouth was so ludicrously full that it was gibberish.

Tiffany translated: “We have an agreement that she can eat my food anytime she wants. I lost a good amount of weight thanks to Jocelyn’s help.”

Jocelyn swallowed and let out a five second belch that rose in intonation and volume until, by the end of it, everyone in the vicinity was staring at her.

“Yep,” said Jocelyn, beaming, “and I think some of that weight ended up on me!”

She resumed devouring her friend’s food. When she finished, she leaned back in her chair and put her hands on her globular belly.

“Ugh, I was already full,” said Jocelyn, “but your sandwich looked so good, Tiff. I just had to have it.”

Jocelyn opened her mouth and a belch effortlessly came out of her. She brushed her hair back with both hands and arched her back, stretching out. Her boobs jutted out like zeppelins. I hadn’t noticed before, maybe because she was sitting across from me, but her cushioned butt made her seem taller than me while sitting. She looked like a greedy raven-haired goddess, sitting next to me with food on her clothes. She looked down, double chin bunching up, and noticed the scraps on her bosoms.

“Clumsy me!” she said. She picked up the bits of food and placed them in her mouth. She then cranked open her orange pop and chugged.

“I was a little overweight when I started here a couple years ago,” said Tiffany, “I was trying to diet and exercise, and Jocelyn came up with the idea of having control over my meals when we’re together. If she wants to, she takes food away from me, and then I eat less.”

Jocelyn belched and sighed. “So much good food. No reason it should go to waste.”

“It’s really helped,” said Tiffany, “I’ve lost 60 pounds.”

“I’ve gained a couple. But it was worth it to help out a friend,” said Jocelyn, seemingly without irony.

It was time to head back. Jocelyn got up, her belly now hanging out of her yoga pants. We began the walk back to work, walking slowly to accommodate Jocelyn’s fat girl shuffle. She was nibbling on her big bag of cookies. I was holding on to her pop for her.

“Y’know, I miss hanging out with you Tiff.”

“But being a trainer is great, right?”

“Oh yeah! It’s super relaxing, and the pay is great.”

I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw her look at me out of the corner of her eye, for a brief moment, and then dart his look away just as quickly.

“So far,” said Jocelyn, “it’s pretty great. Still, wish you were there Tiff!”

Jocelyn bumped Tiffany playfully with her gargantuan hip. The impact made her giant butt wobble endlessly. Tiffany fell over. Jocelyn clearly didn’t know her own strength. Or rather, her own size.

“Oh Tiff, I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“Yeah yeah,” said Tiffany, giggling a bit, “I’m fine.”

“Dave, can you help her up?”

I helped Tiffany up while Jocelyn put half a cookie in her mouth. Tiffany confirmed that she was a-ok, and we made our way back to the heart of the call centre.
 

acadm

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17,000 plus views on this story is really saying something about the quality of your work; interesting touch adding another woman into the mix, let's see how it unfolds --
 

Uncle Jack

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Joined
May 22, 2006
Messages
52
Location
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The day passed, as these days do, in a numbing haze of computer screens and trivial sales statistics. The training period at a call centre is designed to dull the pain that comes with having to become a robot for a living. My training period was buoyed by the monumental girl I had a monumental crush on.

After our trip to Subway, Jocelyn spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on her cushiony ass, occasionally snacking on treats she had squirreled away under her desk. She flat out refused to get out of her chair to help anyone. One girl, who clearly had never gotten her high school education, was near in tears because she was having so much recurring trouble with an application. Jocelyn kept brushing her off. “Just ask your neighbour,” she would say, mouth often full of chocolate. At the end of the day, with twenty minutes to go, this girl asked, voice quavering, “Please, Jocelyn, can’t you just please come here and help me with this? I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“It’s really not that difficult,” said Jocelyn, burping the word ‘difficult’.

“But I can’t!”

“Just try again.” Jocelyn put another handful of M&Ms in her mouth and shifted in her chair.

The poor girl gave up and ran out of the room, taking her coat and purse with her. Jocelyn watched her go.

“She’ll be back,” she said confidently, candy-coated chocolates muffling her words.

The next morning, she did not come back. She did not come back any day afterward either.

Jocelyn may have not been the greatest trainer. In fact, she was probably in the bottom of the pecking order. But most people in the class were so desperate for work that there was no way they were going to quit. Most realized how easy the class was with Fatso (as a couple witty wags in the back row had deemed her). They could goof off, text, surf the internet, and not get in any trouble. The girl who left must not have complained to HR, and the people upstairs must not have been monitoring the daily Internet history of the students, because Jocelyn didn’t get in any trouble that week for anything.

On Wednesday and Thursday, Jocelyn brought large assortments of food with her to class. She told me, during afternoon break on Thursday:

“Oh, you noticed that, huh? Well, I always liked having a little snack at work, but it was always kinda difficult. Here, I don’t have anyone breathing down my neck, telling me don’t eat this, don’t eat that. I think it really helps my job performance.”

Quite the opposite. There was the aforementioned refusal to move from her seat, which was exacerbated by the weight of the food that was always bloating her belly. There was the lack of respect she received from the class. If Jocelyn was just going to sit there in ill-fitting clothes, stuffing her fat face, getting food on her clothes, and burping like a bullfrog, then why should they try any harder themselves. There were also the occasions that something was ill-explained due to her words being lost in a haze of chewing and swallowing. Sometimes, she was too lazy to bother explaining things in detail. A notable example was Thursday morning when, in the midst of explaining different service tiers for cable customers, she just stopped and grabbed her big belly. She was wearing a tight red blouse, and the buttons were hanging on for dear life.

“Ugh, I’m sorry, I forgot what I was saying. I’m so hungry. Dave, could you go fetch me something to eat?”

This request startled me, but I wasted no time rushing off to the convenience store, grabbing jerky, chips, Hostess cakes, enough Coke to drown a cat and a big container of honey roasted peanuts. She was so grateful when I returned with the food that she didn’t even bother getting back to the cable tiers. She just started putting the junk food between her pretty lips and told everyone we could have a short ‘in-class’ break, which meant that we couldn’t leave the room, but we could do whatever we wanted. As the weeks went on, we would have more and more of these in-class breaks.

Jocelyn’s demand for me to save her rumbling belly was not the norm. In fact, since our Subway lunch on Tuesday (I guess I should say her lunch, since I wasn’t a consumer myself, but just a voyeur), we had not spent much time together at all. I didn’t want to appear too desperate, and so had been forcing myself to avoid her, in hopes of future payoff. Whether she was doing something the same, or was just not thinking much about me was hard to tell. On Wednesday, she jiggled out of the room during lunch without saying anything to me. She came back at the end of the hour with bread crumbs on her chest. I don’t where she went, or what exactly she ate, but judging by the slow deliberate pace of her walking, she had eaten a lot of it.

On Thursday, I forced myself, with Olympian resolve, to beat it out of the training room right when Jocelyn announced the lunch break. I’ve heard many girls talk about playing hard to get, but just try and bug a girl you’ve just met all the time. It doesn’t work; they’re interested to begin with, but something about the sustained proximity so early on makes them go a little squirrely. I ate lunch at a small café far away from the centre. Jocelyn had a car, but I knew she usually just picked up food from the derelict mall, so I was right when I guessed that she wouldn’t be there.

Friday came, and I was in love. Again, I should reiterate how much time I really did spend looking at her. I mean, we all did. She was right there at the front of the class, and while she may have been a pretty apathetic trainer, she did set the syllabus and determine what we were going to be doing at any given time.

On that Friday of that first week, Jocelyn showed up wearing a cleavage-bearing argyle dress, blue and grey, with one of those big chunky belts that girls, particularly fat ones, tend to wear right under their boobs, in order to accentuate their figure and cinch it all together, I suppose. All I know is it looks damn good to me. I missed the jeans and tights, just because there was less of her big jiggly ass to see in a flowing dress, but the way her back end thrust out, giving hints of its exact shape, was titillating in its own subtle ways.

As a perk for reaching the end of the first week of training (or just for being thankful we stuck around), the higher-ups at the call centre made a habit of supplying free pizza for lunch to classes of new recruits on Fridays. Around 11:30, there was a knock at the door. Jocelyn got up and shuffled over to let in the Head of HR.

“Hello everyone,” said The Head, “I hope you’ve had a great first week! Is everybody having a good time?”

The response was, to say the least, noncommittal. Jocelyn was shuffling from foot to foot, redistributing her weight. She smacked her lips with a wet sound, and darted her tongue around her mouth. The Head of HR kept spewing welcome-babble as the pizzas were ferried in by two strapping young men. They each had a stack of five boxes, and Jocelyn quickly snatched the top box off the first guy’s stack, cradling it in her beefy arms. She opened it up and her eyes sparkled.

“Meat lovers! Oh yeah!”

She grabbed two slices from the box, sandwiched them together, and took an extra big bite. The class, somewhat used to Jocelyn at this point, still couldn’t believe this display of hoggishness. She kept the meat lovers pizza to herself, hunkered over it so that no one else could get at it, and ate all eight large slices in four pizza sandwiches. Later, during a digestive conversation on break, she told me why:

“I knew that she would be bringing pizzas for the newbies, she always does to butter them up. When I was in training, someone snatched the pizza away from me and I didn’t get enough. I only had, like… a few slices. BURP. So anyway, I skipped breakfast this morning so that I would have tons of room. And I made sure no one would take it from me. I love meat lovers! And I deserve it. I’m the trainer after all!”

I was familiar with what Jocelyn was like when she skipped breakfast.

“By the way, some of the staff is going out to The Voodoo tonight. If you’re not doing anything, you wanna come?”

Was she asking me out? It sure seemed that way. Her glistening eyes looked right into mine. Other than her demanding me to fetch her food that one time, we hadn’t spoken to each other all that much other than a few exchanged words during breaks. I was getting the sense that we were both playing the same game of cat-and-mouse, with each of us seeing ourselves as the cat. With my lean build, I was probably more suited to mouse. With her heavy paunch and lazy attitude, Jocelyn was more cat. Housecat, that is. She looked at me, hungrily. I knew, then and there, that I was a mouse she wanted desperately to gobble up.

“Uh, sure, I’ll come. Who else is gonna be there? Anyone from the class?”

“Maybe. I dunno. It’s for staff, so they might. It’ll be a great way to meet people.”

I didn’t want to meet anybody. I just wanted to get to know my uber-chubby trainer a little better, with my brain, and with my hands.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Awesome! Should I wear this, or change?”

She spun around, giving me a great view of her chubby legs, her fat butt, her round hips. I was mesmerized, trying to mentally put some measurements to her proportions. I felt like an early astronomer, foolishly trying to mathematize the wonders of creation. Given the choice of pics between the Horseshoe Nebula and a cheesecake pin-up of Jocelyn, I would choose the pin-up anytime, preferably with her eating a cheesecake.

“You look fantastic in that. But you might want to wear jeans. Just a thought.” I hadn’t seen her in denim since Day One, and I was missing the unique way that jeans cradle and caress a fleshy posterior.

“Okay! Jeans it is.”

She was very eager to please. I wasn’t just physically attracted to Jocelyn, although my lust was overpowering. She was a wonderfully nice person, always positive and peppy. I’ve been focusing on her obsession with food, but in all other matters, she was the sort of person I would love to hang out with. But when it came to food, she had no desire to please anybody but herself. Food transformed her into a greedy gluttonous pig.

“Hey, do you need a drive home at the end of the day?”

Of course I said yes, and after the day came to an end, and the week with it, I found myself sitting in the passenger seat of Jocelyn’s two-door Accent. She had her seat pushed back into a comfortable position, so that there was room for her belly and boobs. Again, I thrilled at how tall she seemed sitting down. Where standing I was a few inches taller, sitting down I had to look up slightly to make eye contact. It made her seem that much bigger.

The seats were filled with fast food detritus. This was the vehicle of a slob. I had to push some burger wrappers off the seat before I could sit down.

“Sorry about the mess. I try to keep it neater than this, really I do. I’ll give it a good cleaning tonight. Just move all that shit out of the way, into the back.”

The back seat was unsittable. I added to the hills and valleys of the fast food landscape.

I gave her my address and she drove me home. We listened to Mos Def’s Black on Both Sides, a classic, and when “Ms. Fat Booty” came on, I took another glance at the pale-skinned goddess next to me. She was bobbing her head, shimmying her thighs, shaking her boobs imperceptibly, and running a hand through her hair to get it out of her face.

“Love love love this song!” she said. She spoke so often in exclamation marks that it was contagious, and soon I was bobbing my head to the music too.

On the way, she stopped off at a neighbourhood bakery.

“Can you run in and get me some things? They have the most amazing donuts here, I like to get them to ring in the weekend. Here,” she said, handing me her wallet, “get a box.”

It was nice that I didn’t have to pay for these, though I would have. I was a slave for her, and raised no fuss about running into the bakery for her while she went over her reflection in a compact mirror. I grabbed a glance at her applying lip gloss before I entered the bakery, old-timey bell chiming as the door opened and closed.

“Hello, welcome. How can I help you?”

They did have a large collection of donuts, as well as other pastries. I looked in the wallet, looked at the prices. She had enough cash for a box of twelve donuts, and that was it.

“Yeah, a box of twelve donuts, three chocolate glazed, three Boston cream, three maple glazed, and three jelly-filled. And two éclairs, and a small bag of croissants, and a cherry cheesecake.”

Screw saving my money. I’d spend her money on what she asked for and get the extras with my own cash. I knew that she would eat it, no questions asked. (Maybe one question, to appear polite, but her stomach would be screaming EAT.) Besides, I got a thrill on spending my dough on her appetite. Enabling her piggy behaviour, I hoped that she would get fatter, that her clothes would get tighter, and that she would eat more more more. What else did I spend my money on anyway? This was my optimal way of contributing to the economy; feeding a bottomless pit.

I came out with Jocelyn’s baked goods in a big bag. She gave me an O mouth of jokey surprise through the windshield, and when I got in the car, she clapped her hands together, which shook her tits around in her dress.

“Now, don’t worry,” I said, pre-empitvely, “I got the extras with my own money. To thank you for… driving me home. And, uh, being such a cool trainer.”

“Extras?!” She rifled through the bag and squealed with high pitched girlish glee.

She took an éclair and began to feast. Digging in with relish, she exhibited the gusto of someone who hasn’t eaten all day, not a greedy fatty who had hogged a whole pizza to herself and spent her whole day at work sitting and eating. She moaned and licked excess cream and chocolate from her lips. Jocelyn was such a messy eater, she should have worn a bib.

“Thank you soooo much, I love their éclairs, but I hardly get them because they’re so expensive.”

“Well, you could always just get one.”

“No way. I can’t have one without wanting four or five.”

Damn. “Whoops. I didn’t know. I only got two, but I got other stuff too.”

“That’s okay,” she said, simultaneously plunging the éclair back into her mouth, “Next time.”

I was thrilled at the idea of a next time. Jocelyn started up the car and resumed driving, one hand on the wheel, one hand eating the decadent pastries that I ferried to her from the bag, which I was keeping on my lap. After finishing her two éclairs, she started in on the donuts. She had eaten four when we pulled up to my apartment building.

“Here you are.”

“Thanks for the lift.”

“Thanks for the food. I wish you were still gonna be in the car to help me get it. I almost got in an accident a couple weeks ago when I bent over to get some fries out of a bag. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Be careful out there!”

“Haha, don’t worry, I will.”

There was a brief second of silent tension, but I got out of the car without allowing it to develop. I could feel the electricity, could feel that we both wanted something to happen, but I didn’t want to risk making things awkward for us later on. A last minute make-out, and then she heads home? She might think she did something wrong, that it was a mistake, I don’t know. I don’t pretend to understand the female mind. I assured her that I would be at the Voodoo later. Jocelyn pulled out into the street and sped off.


 

Uncle Jack

Well-Known Member
Joined
May 22, 2006
Messages
52
Location
,
The days passed, as these days do, in a numbing haze of computer screens and trivial sales statistics. The training period at a call centre is designed to dull the pain that comes with having to become a robot for a living. My training period was buoyed by the monumental girl I had a monumental crush on.

After our trip to Subway, Jocelyn spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on her cushiony ass, occasionally snacking on treats she had squirreled away under her desk. She flat out refused to get out of her chair to help anyone. One girl, who clearly had never gotten her high school education, was near in tears because she was having so much recurring trouble with an application. Jocelyn kept brushing her off. “Just ask your neighbour,” she would say, mouth often full of chocolate. At the end of the day, with twenty minutes to go, this girl asked, voice quavering, “Please, Jocelyn, can’t you just please come here and help me with this? I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“It’s really not that difficult,” said Jocelyn, burping the word ‘difficult’.

“But I can’t!”

“Just try again.” Jocelyn put another handful of M&Ms in her mouth and shifted in her chair.

The poor girl gave up and ran out of the room, taking her coat and purse with her. Jocelyn watched her go.

“She’ll be back,” she said confidently, candy-coated chocolates muffling her words.

The next morning, she did not come back. She did not come back any day afterward either.

Jocelyn may have not been the greatest trainer. In fact, she was probably in the bottom of the pecking order. But most people in the class were so desperate for work that there was no way they were going to quit. Most realized how easy the class was with Fatso (as a couple witty wags in the back row had deemed her). They could goof off, text, surf the internet, and not get in any trouble. The girl who left must not have complained to HR, and the people upstairs must not have been monitoring the daily Internet history of the students, because Jocelyn didn’t get in any trouble that week for anything.

On Wednesday and Thursday, Jocelyn brought large assortments of food with her to class. She told me, during afternoon break on Thursday:

“Oh, you noticed that, huh? Well, I always liked having a little snack at work, but it was always kinda difficult. Here, I don’t have anyone breathing down my neck, telling me don’t eat this, don’t eat that. I think it really helps my job performance.”

Quite the opposite. There was the aforementioned refusal to move from her seat, which was exacerbated by the weight of the food that was always bloating her belly. There was the lack of respect she received from the class. If Jocelyn was just going to sit there in ill-fitting clothes, stuffing her fat face, getting food on her clothes, and burping like a bullfrog, then why should they try any harder themselves. There were also the occasions that something was ill-explained due to her words being lost in a haze of chewing and swallowing. Sometimes, she was too lazy to bother explaining things in detail. A notable example was Thursday morning when, in the midst of explaining different service tiers for cable customers, she just stopped and grabbed her big belly. She was wearing a tight red blouse, and the buttons were hanging on for dear life.

“Ugh, I’m sorry, I forgot what I was saying. I’m so hungry. Dave, could you go fetch me something to eat?”

This request startled me, but I wasted no time rushing off to the convenience store, grabbing jerky, chips, Hostess cakes, enough Coke to drown a cat and a big container of honey roasted peanuts. She was so grateful when I returned with the food that she didn’t even bother getting back to the cable tiers. She just started putting the junk food between her pretty lips and told everyone we could have a short ‘in-class’ break, which meant that we couldn’t leave the room, but we could do whatever we wanted. As the weeks went on, we would have more and more of these in-class breaks.

Jocelyn’s demand for me to save her rumbling belly was not the norm. In fact, since our Subway lunch on Tuesday (I guess I should say her lunch, since I wasn’t a consumer myself, but just a voyeur), we had not spent much time together at all. I didn’t want to appear too desperate, and so had been forcing myself to avoid her, in hopes of future payoff. Whether she was doing something the same, or was just not thinking much about me was hard to tell. On Wednesday, she jiggled out of the room during lunch without saying anything to me. She came back at the end of the hour with bread crumbs on her chest. I don’t where she went, or what exactly she ate, but judging by the slow deliberate pace of her walking, she had eaten a lot of it.

On Thursday, I forced myself, with Olympian resolve, to beat it out of the training room right when Jocelyn announced the lunch break. I’ve heard many girls talk about playing hard to get, but just try and bug a girl you’ve just met all the time. It doesn’t work; they’re interested to begin with, but something about the sustained proximity so early on makes them go a little squirrely. I ate lunch at a small café far away from the centre. Jocelyn had a car, but I knew she usually just picked up food from the derelict mall, so I was right when I guessed that she wouldn’t be there.

Friday came, and I was in love. Again, I should reiterate how much time I really did spend looking at her. I mean, we all did. She was right there at the front of the class, and while she may have been a pretty apathetic trainer, she did set the syllabus and determine what we were going to be doing at any given time.

On that Friday of that first week, Jocelyn showed up wearing a cleavage-bearing argyle dress, blue and grey, with one of those big chunky belts that girls, particularly fat ones, tend to wear right under their boobs, in order to accentuate their figure and cinch it all together, I suppose. All I know is it looks damn good to me. I missed the jeans and tights, just because there was less of her big jiggly ass to see in a flowing dress, but the way her back end thrust out, giving hints of its exact shape, was titillating in its own subtle ways.

As a perk for reaching the end of the first week of training (or just for being thankful we stuck around), the higher-ups at the call centre made a habit of supplying free pizza for lunch to classes of new recruits on Fridays. Around 11:30, there was a knock at the door. Jocelyn got up and shuffled over to let in the Head of HR.

“Hello everyone,” said The Head, “I hope you’ve had a great first week! Is everybody having a good time?”

The response was, to say the least, noncommittal. Jocelyn was shuffling from foot to foot, redistributing her weight. She smacked her lips with a wet sound, and darted her tongue around her mouth. The Head of HR kept spewing welcome-babble as the pizzas were ferried in by two strapping young men. They each had a stack of five boxes, and Jocelyn quickly snatched the top box off the first guy’s stack, cradling it in her beefy arms. She opened it up and her eyes sparkled.

“Meat lovers! Oh yeah!”

She grabbed two slices from the box, sandwiched them together, and took an extra big bite. The class, somewhat used to Jocelyn at this point, still couldn’t believe this display of hoggishness. She kept the meat lovers pizza to herself, hunkered over it so that no one else could get at it, and ate all eight large slices in four pizza sandwiches. Later, during a digestive conversation on break, she told me why:

“I knew that she would be bringing pizzas for the newbies, she always does to butter them up. When I was in training, someone snatched the pizza away from me and I didn’t get enough. I only had, like… a few slices. BURP. So anyway, I skipped breakfast this morning so that I would have tons of room. And I made sure no one would take it from me. I love meat lovers! And I deserve it. I’m the trainer after all!”

I was familiar with what Jocelyn was like when she skipped breakfast.

“By the way, some of the staff is going out to The Voodoo tonight. If you’re not doing anything, you wanna come?”

Was she asking me out? It sure seemed that way. Her glistening eyes looked right into mine. Other than her demanding me to fetch her food that one time, we hadn’t spoken to each other all that much other than a few exchanged words during breaks. I was getting the sense that we were both playing the same game of cat-and-mouse, with each of us seeing ourselves as the cat. With my lean build, I was probably more suited to mouse. With her heavy paunch and lazy attitude, Jocelyn was more cat. Housecat, that is. She looked at me, hungrily. I knew, then and there, that I was a mouse she wanted desperately to gobble up.

“Uh, sure, I’ll come. Who else is gonna be there? Anyone from the class?”

“Maybe. I dunno. It’s for staff, so they might. It’ll be a great way to meet people.”

I didn’t want to meet anybody. I just wanted to get to know my uber-chubby trainer a little better, with my brain, and with my hands.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Awesome! Should I wear this, or change?”

She spun around, giving me a great view of her chubby legs, her fat butt, her round hips. I was mesmerized, trying to mentally put some measurements to her proportions. I felt like an early astronomer, foolishly trying to mathematize the wonders of creation. Given the choice of pics between the Horseshoe Nebula and a cheesecake pin-up of Jocelyn, I would choose the pin-up anytime, preferably with her eating a cheesecake.

“You look fantastic in that. But you might want to wear jeans. Just a thought.” I hadn’t seen her in denim since Day One, and I was missing the unique way that jeans cradle and caress a fleshy posterior.

“Okay! Jeans it is.”

She was very eager to please. I wasn’t just physically attracted to Jocelyn, although my lust was overpowering. She was a wonderfully nice person, always positive and peppy. I’ve been focusing on her obsession with food, but in all other matters, she was the sort of person I would love to hang out with. But when it came to food, she had no desire to please anybody but herself. Food transformed her into a greedy gluttonous pig.

“Hey, do you need a drive home at the end of the day?”

Of course I said yes, and after the day came to an end, and the week with it, I found myself sitting in the passenger seat of Jocelyn’s two-door Accent. She had her seat pushed back into a comfortable position, so that there was room for her belly and boobs. Again, I thrilled at how tall she seemed sitting down. Where standing I was a few inches taller, sitting down I had to look up slightly to make eye contact. It made her seem that much bigger.

The seats were filled with fast food detritus. This was the vehicle of a slob. I had to push some burger wrappers off the seat before I could sit down.

“Sorry about the mess. I try to keep it neater than this, really I do. I’ll give it a good cleaning tonight. Just move all that shit out of the way, into the back.”

The back seat was unsittable. I added to the hills and valleys of the fast food landscape.

I gave her my address and she drove me home. We listened to Mos Def’s Black on Both Sides, a classic, and when “Ms. Fat Booty” came on, I took another glance at the pale-skinned goddess next to me. She was bobbing her head, shimmying her thighs, shaking her boobs imperceptibly, and running a hand through her hair to get it out of her face.

“Love love love this song!” she said. She spoke so often in exclamation marks that it was contagious, and soon I was bobbing my head to the music too.

On the way, she stopped off at a neighbourhood bakery.

“Can you run in and get me some things? They have the most amazing donuts here, I like to get them to ring in the weekend. Here,” she said, handing me her wallet, “get a box.”

It was nice that I didn’t have to pay for these, though I would have. I was a slave for her, and raised no fuss about running into the bakery for her while she went over her reflection in a compact mirror. I grabbed a glance at her applying lip gloss before I entered the bakery, old-timey bell chiming as the door opened and closed.

“Hello, welcome. How can I help you?”

They did have a large collection of donuts, as well as other pastries. I looked in the wallet, looked at the prices. She had enough cash for a box of twelve donuts, and that was it.

“Yeah, a box of twelve donuts, three chocolate glazed, three Boston cream, three maple glazed, and three jelly-filled. And two éclairs, and a small bag of croissants, and a cherry cheesecake.”

Screw saving my money. I’d spend her money on what she asked for and get the extras with my own cash. I knew that she would eat it, no questions asked. (Maybe one question, to appear polite, but her stomach would be screaming EAT.) Besides, I got a thrill on spending my dough on her appetite. Enabling her piggy behaviour, I hoped that she would get fatter, that her clothes would get tighter, and that she would eat more more more. What else did I spend my money on anyway? This was my optimal way of contributing to the economy; feeding a bottomless pit.

I came out with Jocelyn’s baked goods in a big bag. She gave me an O mouth of jokey surprise through the windshield, and when I got in the car, she clapped her hands together, which shook her tits around in her dress.

“Now, don’t worry,” I said, pre-empitvely, “I got the extras with my own money. To thank you for… driving me home. And, uh, being such a cool trainer.”

“Extras?!” She rifled through the bag and squealed with high pitched girlish glee.

She took an éclair and began to feast. Digging in with relish, she exhibited the gusto of someone who hasn’t eaten all day, not a greedy fatty who had hogged a whole pizza to herself and spent her whole day at work sitting and eating. She moaned and licked excess cream and chocolate from her lips. Jocelyn was such a messy eater, she should have worn a bib.

“Thank you soooo much, I love their éclairs, but I hardly get them because they’re so expensive.”

“Well, you could always just get one.”

“No way. I can’t have one without wanting four or five.”

Damn. “Whoops. I didn’t know. I only got two, but I got other stuff too.”

“That’s okay,” she said, simultaneously plunging the éclair back into her mouth, “Next time.”

I was thrilled at the idea of a next time. Jocelyn started up the car and resumed driving, one hand on the wheel, one hand eating the decadent pastries that I ferried to her from the bag, which I was keeping on my lap. After finishing her two éclairs, she started in on the donuts. She had eaten four when we pulled up to my apartment building.

“Here you are.”

“Thanks for the lift.”

“Thanks for the food. I wish you were still gonna be in the car to help me get it. I almost got in an accident a couple weeks ago when I bent over to get some fries out of a bag. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Be careful out there!”

“Haha, don’t worry, I will.”

There was a brief second of silent tension, but I got out of the car without allowing it to develop. I could feel the electricity, could feel that we both wanted something to happen, but I didn’t want to risk making things awkward for us later on. A last minute make-out, and then she heads home? She might think she did something wrong, that it was a mistake, I don’t know. I don’t pretend to understand the female mind. I assured her that I would be at the Voodoo later. Jocelyn pulled out into the street and sped off.


 

Uncle Jack

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In the purple-dim recesses of the Voodoo, past the stonefaced bouncers, past the surly coat check girl, past the bar where drinks were pricey, past the tables where people sat with half-empty glasses talking nonsense, out on the throbbing dance floor, where the light changed colour and the beat never changed at all, was Jocelyn.

I had come fashionably late, alone, hoping that she would already be there. I didn’t have her cell, or any other way of contacting her to know for sure. I considered adding her on Facebook, but thought better of it. Her profile pic was a shot of her face with her chin thrust out. You could never tell from this picture that she was fat. Maybe she wasn’t as carefree as I had thought. Best not to add her just yet. Hang with her at the club, play my cards right, then add her, and maybe more.

I discovered Jocelyn, out there on the dance floor, and it was like discovering El Dorado. She was wearing a shiny blue halter top, made from synthetic material. It was riding up on her torso as she moved her fat body, so that the bottom of her belly was hanging out. She was indeed wearing jeans, a different pair from before, a black pair. These ones were buttoned, but they looked painted on. They didn’t contain her gut at all, and it bounced up and down in plain sight. Her dancing style involved a lot of thrusting of her butt behind her, shaking it around, then thrusting her pelvis forward and moving her arms and hips. Repeat to perfection.

She was dancing with a couple of girls, and didn’t see me at all. I revelled in the opportunity to play the voyeur. The way her fat body always threatened to take up space, more than is normal, was made very manifest here in the close quarters of the club. She kept dancing into people, swinging a hip into some twiggy hipster, ramming some dorky bro with her butt, falling into some dancing queen. It was all accidental; she was so into the dancing, and so large, that she couldn’t help it. She was clearly intoxicated, as her equilibrium seemed distinctly off. The girls she was dancing with were equally unsteady on their feet, and would sometimes fall into Jocelyn, laughing uproariously. Jocelyn would dependably prop them up, but the favour was not returned. When Jocelyn stumbled into her two friends, they would get knocked back. At one point, the shortest of the two girls was almost crushed under Jocelyn going timber, but fortunately the other girl, ropey biceps bulging, managed to hold Jocelyn back. They all laughed drunkenly at Jocelyn almost squashing her friend into oblivion, and then Jocelyn turned around, so that her back was to me.

Up to now, she had been in side profile, but now that I was drinking in the sight of her luscious ass, I saw that her pants did not cover the whole thing. The top of her ass crack was sticking up out of the top. The small of her back, which wasn’t very small at all, wobbled as she moved. She attempted to pull her pants up, grabbing at the waist above a fleshy buttock, but it was futile. There was just too much junk in that trunk for those black denim pants to contain. I couldn’t tell where her hips ended and her ass began. The whole rear end situation was just huge.

“Say no to crack.”

I turned around, to see who had said that. A guy with stretched earlobes and red spiky hair was laughing at Jocelyn.

“Girl needs to cover that up. For serious.”

I was about to say something threatening, but the dude went over to Jocelyn and squeezed her ass. She turned around, shocked, but recognizing the dude, she squealed and hugged him. I, of course, was crestfallen.

I went over to the bar, got a beer and a shot. Drowning my sorrows at the bar, I was toying with leaving.

“Dave, you made it!”

I spun around and there was Jocelyn, smiling and panting, looking radiant, perfect teeth practically making that TING sound that they make in cartoons. She was holding a vodka cooler in one hand and a Budweiser in the other. She immediately grabbed me in a big smushy bear hug.

“I was thinking you wouldn’t come,” she shouted.

“I’m here now.”

“Come on out and dance!”

“Yeah yeah, definitely!”

I followed Jocelyn’s bouncing butt cheeks over to the dance floor and started moving next to her. Seeing all of her flesh in motion up close was incredible. Her fat belly was wobbling around, her top riding up to her belly button. I noticed she got a couple stares from nearby dancers. Maybe some of them were admiring, but I think the majority were not. Jocelyn’s tits, belly and ass were hanging out of her sinfully tight clothes. Her cleavage was deep, and she kept adjusting her top so that her boobs didn’t fly out of their confines. The tops of her ass cheeks were sticking out of her pants. Those twin mountains of flesh were hypnotizing, as they went back and forth, up and down with the pounding bass rhythm.

She said something to me that I didn’t catch, and finished off her beer.

“What?” I said, “I didn’t catch that.”

I put my ear down to her mouth to hear her. She burped in my face, startling me.

“Whoops! Sorry!” she yelled, “I meant to ask if you could get me another drink.”

She then finished off her cooler and handed me the bottles. I went off to fetch her another cooler-beer combo. In the dense waiting pack of partiers at the bar, I ran into Jocelyn’s friend Tiffany.

“Dave, right?”

“Haha, yeah. How’s it going?”

“Good. Just here with the call centre crew. What brings you here?”

“Oh, Jocelyn invited me.”

“Oh reeeeealy? I think somebody has a crush.”

I gulped, feeling like a nervous Daffy Duck.

“Whatever you do,” she said, “make sure you let her down easy.”

“Huh?”

“Jocelyn gets crushes all the time, and it never ends up well. She’s perennially single. In fact, if I had to guess, I would bet she’s never had a boyfriend.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, because I thought it would sound like tacit admission that I liked her too. But Tiffany took it to be more general awe at a virginal twenty-something.

“It’s just the way she is. The way she acts. I don’t know, maybe in high school or whatever. I know she was in university for a bit, so she probably did. But I just get this feeling, you know?”

A dark-skinned dude came over, holding out a cocktail to Tiffany.

“Dave, this is Darren. Darren, Dave.”

I shook Darren’s hand, getting a boyfriend vibe off of him. Tiffany and Darren went off into a dimly-lit corner of the noisy club, and I refocused my attention on getting myself through the masses to the promised land of expensive drinks.

Why didn’t I want to make a tacit admission that I liked Jocelyn? Maybe I was still a little weird about liking fat girls in public. I had dated only chubbies for the past five years, but Jocelyn was bigger than any of them. But that didn’t feel right. I think it was because it seemed so unreal, that to say anything out loud about it would somehow make the whole situation vanish in a puff of smoke. And the way Tiffany had immediately proclaimed Jocelyn a virgin to a guy she had only met once previously made me worry that saying I thought Jocelyn was hot would lead her to question me, to find out just what the fuck was wrong with me, a barrage of noncomprehension that I just didn’t want or need right now. Then again, she probably would have been thrilled to hear that her single friend had an admirer. Besides, how could Jocelyn be a virgin? Someone so much the opposite of reserved that she would belch and make a pig of herself in front of a guy on the first day she has met him. It didn’t make any sense to me. I went back and forth, up and down, torturously, inside the confines of my skull, until I finally got to the bar and ordered Jocelyn’s drinks, with a bottle of beer for myself.

Turned back to the dancing floor, I witnessed Jocelyn’s body, built for worship, getting low low low, then bringing it back up. Her ass, the size of Brooklyn out there among the skinny bimbo bodies, would come perilously close to touching the ground and demolishing the dance floor, only to retreat back to its regular altitude. Every time she did so, her pants wiggled their way down a bit. Her thong was showing now, as well as more ass crack than previously. She got tired, obviously, because she stopped dropping her massive ass, and fanned herself off with one hand. She turned around and saw me approaching. Her face lit up, and it was at this point that I noticed she was holding a piece of pizza in one hand. Where the hell had that come from?

“Beer me!”

I gave her the beer, holding on to her cooler for the time being.

“Where did the pizza come from?”

She thrust out her pudgy arm and, hand holding beer bottle, pointed her pinky finger at a side of the bar near the restrooms that I hadn’t really noticed. Down a ways from where they served drinks was a spinning heat rack with a few pizzas inside. As we looked, a tall willowy chick and her teeny boy-bodied friend were waving down a bartender to fetch them a slice. They shared the slice, and I thought about how Jocelyn could have eaten that whole slice in the blink of an eye. These thin girls probably wouldn’t even finish it between the two of them. What a waste!

The night consisted of much dancing and drinking, as well as much pizza eating for Jocelyn. Whatever inhibitions this already uninhibited girl may have had were gone after she had downed a cask’s worth of booze, booze that she had me run and fetch at intervals. I got to feel the distinct sensation of having her cushiony ass backed up into my crotch and moved around. It felt like two heavenly clouds. It gave me a painful erection, that I couldn’t have hid if I wanted to. Jocelyn, feeling me poking her mammoth buttocks, shot me a look over her shoulder, winked, blushed a bit, and started grinding her ass even harder. The cat was out of the bag, the bag was in the river. No more pretending that what was going on between us wasn’t real.

“Hey, question time,” I shouted in her ear, when she was standing up again. Her hair smelled phenomenal.

“Shoot.”

“Who was that guy who squeezed your ass earlier?”

“Who?”

“You gave him a big hug, he had like the big circley earlobes?”

“Oh, that’s just Jarod. He’s super super gay.”

Gay! Super super gay! Outstanding!

“You want another slice of pizza?”

A minute later, I was off to the restroom to do what needed to be done. Coming back, I marvelled at the state of Jocelyn. Whipping her hair around, drunk as a skunk, her belly bared for the whole bar to see, her ass thrusting and shaking, back and forth, side to side, and, to top it all off, she had a slice of pizza in each hand and was taking alternating bites while shaking her groove thang. When I had offered another slice, I had meant two, because that’s just the kind of guy I am. She was a dream. A waking dream.
 

Uncle Jack

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We stumbled out into the night. Jocelyn had picked up her black denim jacket from coat check, and she looked very cool in it. It was starting to get a little cooler at night now, and I regretted not having a jacket of my own.

Jocelyn had been stumbling around the club, completely blitzed, and she had been in the middle of stealing a girl’s drink when I decided to grab her by the forearm and tell her it was time to go. The flesh of her arm had a pleasant give, and her skin was soft and smooth. I told her I would walk her home, make sure she got there safe.

“I just live down in the South End, it’s real close.” She told me the street name. “You know where that is?”

“Sure do.”

“Hope it’s not out of your way.”

“Actually, I live in the South End too. I’m just a few streets down from you. Remember? You drove me home?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, jumping a bit in excitement, “That’s awesome that you live so close! We can get coffee maybe? Or breakfast? So much fun.”

She groped my waist and came in close. I could smell the shampoo she had used in her hair.

“I’m soooo drunk. I can’t believe I forgot where you live. God, I… BURRRRRP. Uh, jeez. BURP. Oh, man.”

She clutched her belly in both hands, tightened her lips and furrowed her brow.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just (urp) feel a little (brapurp) unsettled.”

“You did drink a ton of drinks, Drinky.”

“I can drink anybody under the table, just watch me,” she said proudly, patting her belly and belching again.

On our way to her place, we passed by a trifecta of pizza places. Despite having eaten pizza pretty much all day, Jocelyn started licking her lips like Wile E. Coyote.

“Oh man, I want some pizza bad!”

“Really? I would have figured you’d be sick of pizza by now.”

She set her sexy mouth in a mock-shocked O.

“Sick of pizza? A girl doesn’t get sick of pizza.”

“Some girls do.” Most girls do.

“Not this girl! What has two thumbs and loooooves pizza pie?” She waggled her thumbs clownishly at her chest, opened her eyes wide, scrunched her face and bobbed her head up and down, rocker-style. I laughed.

“Okay, so let’s get some pizza then.”

She dragged me into a place notable for its sumptuous donairs. If you don’t know donairs, then you don’t know from messy food.

“I’m getting a donair, definitely,” said Jocelyn.

“What happened to pizza?”

“I want pizza too,” she whined, “Weh. What to get?” She pouted, half-sincerely.

“Why not get both?”

She bit her lip and looked into my eyes.

“You don’t think that would make me a pig, do you?”

Well, yes, I did, but that’s exactly what I was going for. If it seems weird that this girl who had so brazenly stuffed herself in front of me beforehand should be asking this question, I should note that there was a flirtatious overtone to her voice as she asked. She assumed I would say no, but she needed to hear it. She wanted permission.

“Of course not. If you’re hungry, you should eat. Don’t deny yourself. Indulge.”

“Davey, I like the way you think.”

She got a slice of the works and a large donair. I had to pay for the food, as she had spent all of her cash at the bar. I had wanted to get a slice for myself, as I had worked up a bit of an appetite, but I only had enough cash to fill Jocelyn’s order.

We took the food outside and seated ourselves on a low stone wall that ran along the perimeter of a nearby church. Jocelyn’s tempting ass crack peeped out of the back of her pants as she plumped herself down and tucked into her feast. Donair meat filled her mouth at warp speed, and the white donair sauce got all over her cheeks, hands, and boobs.

A couple drunk bros walked by, talking many decibels too loudly. They gaped at Jocelyn making a spectacle of herself.

“Hey, I got some meat for you, fatass!” said one of them, lewdly grabbing his crotch. His friends bellowed laughter and they walked on.

Jocelyn said something indecipherable through her mouthful.

“What was that?”

She swallowed, burped, and said: “What a douchebag. So what if I’m a little fat. You’re a lot douchebag. Asshole.”

“You’re not fat.”

“I’m a little bit fat.”

“No no no. You have curves. You have a womanly body.”

“Well thank you, David.”

She proceeded to Hoover up the rest of her donair, and performed the same disappearing act on the slice. Her belly bulged hugely onto her lap when she was done, and donair sauce mingled with pizza sauce on her face and chest.

“Okay, (burp) I am (BRRRRAP) full. I gotta get home and get some sleep. Ugh,” she cradled her bulging belly, “Dave, can you pat me on the back?”

I thumped her between the shoulderblades, which made her hair shake and her back fat jiggle lusciously. She erupted with a T.Rex belch that made passersby take notice.

“Whoo, that’s so much better! One for the record books! Help me up please.”

I grabbed her hands and pulled. Nothing doing. She looked up at me expectantly, head cocked to the side, like an expectant dog.

“Come on Dave! Use them man muscles!”

“Maybe you could… help out a bit?”

“Alright, alright, (burrrrp) I have to do everything around here.”

I pulled again, even harder this time, exerting my biceps to their limit, and Jocelyn grunted and brought her bulk forward, boobs first, and she slowly lifted off the stone fence. When she got to her feet, she stumbled, trying to get her centre of gravity. Her fat girl clumsiness was what brought us together, as she tripped right into me, nearly knocking me over, her breasts pressing into me, her stomach pressing into my rock hard erection. Without thinking, I reached my hands around her, grabbing her fat ass, as much as I could in my hands, which wasn’t really that much, but the fact that my arms couldn’t reach around, that there was still more to explore, more than could be grasped in a couple handfuls, just made me want her more, and I kissed her hard, smearing the sauce on my face, but I didn’t care, because she kissed me back, and there was a lot of tongue, and she tasted like food, and sex, and it was undeniably great.

(Continued in post 53 of this thread)
 

Uncle Jack

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I'm working on The Trainer, slowly but surely. I've hit a bit of a road block, but I know once I'm on the other side of it, it'll flow smoothly.

I haven't written any Spoiled Brat in a long time, but I do know the story. I have both of these things planned out, it's just a matter of putting in the work.

The real reason I've been so slow getting work done on either of those is I'm working on another story that I don't want to post until it's complete. It's a self-contained story, not a serialized narrative, and I don't want a third uncompleted thing on this site bugging me to finish. But it's almost done.

It's always a thrill to read encouragement and support. Thanks for reading!
 

B00TS

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Well, I can assure you we're on tenterhooks for all three! The quality of the writing and the plots is second to none. Hope they give you as much pleasure to write as they do us to read...
 

acadm

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dude are you still around to write these, or will these (trainer, company jack, other story with spoiled girl) be put on permanent hiatus? not rushing you or anything, but it has been a long while
 

Uncle Jack

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,
From there, things seemed to move blindingly fast. Jocelyn invited me over to her place and I heartily accepted. We started to trudge there, but Jocelyn, both hands cradling her immensely swollen gut, started complaining almost immediately. She called a cab, and we sat in the back. Her butt took up a lot of room, and she spilled over so that she was almost touching me. She had never looked quite as enormous as she did right then, burping and rubbing her bare belly. The driver seemed unfazed; he probably dealt with weirder stuff from drunk people every night.

The cabbie dropped us off outside Jocelyn’s small brick building. I paid with my debit card as Jocelyn busied herself extricating her mass from the confines of the sedan. With the dues paid, I hustled to Jocelyn’s side, grabbing a bit of exposed love handle. She fumbled for keys in her purse, grumbling and burping, with a fidgety energy that belied a bundle of nerves jangling within her.

And so I followed her up the stairs, her bulbous buttocks tick-tocking inches from my eyeballs. She lived up on the third floor, and when we arrived at that second landing, she was flushed, breathing heavily. It was only a matter of moments before she had let us into her apartment, invited me to take off my shoes, and make myself comfortable, while she popped into the bathroom briefly.

I sat on her bed, which was central to her somewhat abbreviated one bedroom apartment. For someone of a more optimistic bent, inclined to view glasses as being half full, it might be classified as an extended bachelor. The bed occupied the main “room”, which the door to the apartment opened into. There was a little table set up in the corner with three chairs, under a window, some shelves with knickknacks, a big screen tv at the foot of the bed, and not much else making up the main entertaining area of Jocelyn’s abode. There was a little kitchen set off, but rather than being a wholly separate room, it was sequestered from the rest of the room by a small island.

I sat on her bed, I sat and sat, as endless grains of sand fell through some internal hourglass. The location of my condom was checked and re-checked. The quips I could make when she exited the bathroom were analyzed and dissected like canonical poems. Calculations were made, regarding how much I had spent on her that night, extrapolated into the future so as to determine how much I would spend forever onward, and determining whether it was worth the forfeiture. A vision of her succulent ass floated before me, and I knew the answer was yes.

Jocelyn emerged from the bathroom. She was not stripped down to sexy underwear, as I had been hoping. She was weeping, and murmuring unintelligible miserablisms. Leaping from the bed, I enveloped her in a hug.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

“I just… (sniff) I don’t… I never…” and the wailing began anew.

I calmed her down, seating her on the bed, whispering platitudes, wondering what the hell had happened.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yeah, could you get me a box of Oreos?”

A box? I stepped into her micro-kitchen and opened the first cupboard I saw. It was packed with bread, cereal, cans of soup, the usual kind of stuff, and no cookies of any kind in sight.

“The one to the right.”

Opening the next one over, I saw a cupboard jam packed with every kind of cookie, chocolate bar and chip (potato and corn) imaginable. Sure enough, there was a box of Oreos, unopened. This was the cupboard of a girl who took junk food very seriously.

I brought her the cookies and she tore into the bag, clawing it open like an animal. She grabbed two cookies and crammed them in her mouth at the same time. This seemed to calm her. We sat silently, as she ate a row and a half of cookies. Sated, she sniffled and wiped a tear from her cheek.

“So,” I said, a hint of exasperation sneaking, “want to tell me what that was all about?”

“Yeah. I suppose the best way is to just blurt it out is to say that I’m a virgin and I’m terrified.”

“Of what?”

“What do you mean, of what? Of sex! Of having sex, tonight!”

“Well crap, obviously we don’t have to if you don’t want to!”

“I know that! But I do want to!”

“So… ?”

“Look, it’s scary, okay? I’m twenty-five years old and I’ve never had sex? I mean, I’ve built it up and… oh you have no idea how much I want to do it with you.”

I gulped, and my dick went rock hard so quickly that I almost fainted.

“I wish I could,” she continued, “but it wouldn’t feel right. I’m sorry. I know I’ve lead you on, inviting you up here but… BUUURP.”

“It’s okay, really.”

“And that’s another thing.”

“What’s another thing?”

“I know I’m fat. I’m not a total idiot. I don’t know why I eat the way I do, I don’t know why I’m such a pig, but I can’t help myself. Do you have any idea how many cookies I eat? That cupboard was nearly empty yesterday, and I restocked it.”

“All by yourself?”

“Well, my mom helped, but yeah.”

With her revelation out of her, she seemed to be calming down, and resumed eating the box of Oreos, rubbing her exposed gut in small circles with her other hand.

“So I just eat and eat, and I can’t stop myself, and most of the time I don’t really want to, most of the time I don’t even notice that I overeat a bit. But in the bathroom, I sobered up and realized how much I had eaten tonight and… I just realized that you would never want to be with me.”

She started to blubber again and began shoving Oreos into her mouth at an alarming pace. They were disappearing at the speed of light, and I was amazed to see she was on the last row.

“Easy there. Why do you think I would never want to be with you? Of course I would. You seem so confident. And you are crazy hot.”

She stopped eating, a single Oreo halfway to its destination, her jaw hanging open in shock. She just stared at me, silently, until a cookie burp came from her gut.

“You… really think I’m hot?”

“Crazy hot.”

“Crazy hot?”

“Oh yeah.”

She stood up, her belly hanging out of her halter top and over her unbuttoned pants.

“I’ve never heard that before.”

“Well, it’s true. And if you’re not ready… then we won’t do anything.”

“I really want to, but… I just can’t.”

“That’s fine.” My blue balls had a different opinion on the matter, but what was I to do?

“And me being hot… I hate to be a broken record, but you’re serious? I mean, look at me.”

She posed, her gut leading the way, her hands on her love handles. Impulsively, I stood up and placed my arms around her bare sides, jiggling and lightly squeezing them. The motion made her burp.

“You look, and feel, amazing.”

“So you don’t have a problem with me being… a tad overweight.”

Understatement city, but I was willing to run with it and nodded my agreement.

“And you wouldn’t mind it if I gained a little more weight? Or lost it.” This last was added in a hurry, her mouth betraying her brain, which was surely thinking that the losing of weight was a pipe dream.

“I just want you to be exactly who you are.”

“That’s fantastic! I want to celebrate. Get me those Chips Ahoy!”

Her wish was my demand, and her sniffling face visibly brightened at the sight of that blue packaging.

“Mmmmm. Droolskis.”

And she tore in, as if she hadn’t eaten anything in hours.

I watched her eat voraciously, lying on the bed across from her, admiring the way her blubbery hips forced her shirt up, no matter how much her chubby little hands pulled it down. Her weight sank into the bed, that fabulous butt pushing its way deep into the mattress, and her gut pressed out, filling with more cookies, more calories, always more for Jocelyn, sweet sexy Jocelyn…

A spear of sunlight hit me, violently bringing me back to the world. I had drifted off, watching her eat cookies, and now the daylight had returned. I was where I had left myself, on top of the covers, fully clothed, a patch of drool glistening from where my mouth had been gaping open during my log-like sleep.

She was beside me, beneath the covers, slowly breathing in and out. She had the covers pulled up snugly to her neck, so I couldn’t see what she was wearing, but I could see that she had taken the time to remove her makeup before coming to bed. Her plain looks, unaugmented, were dazzling. Such perfect white skin, the kind that so many white women these days want to eliminate in an orange inferno, sacrificing their pale beauty to a tanning bed. I love women of all races. My biggest crush in high school had been on an obese black girl named Mariana who was taller than I was and had beautiful dark skin. And when I fall for a white girl, it’s always a white girl. Not an orange girl. That gorgeous women should feel bad about their pale skin is a stone cold crime. Jocelyn’s, in particular, was like a statue, and as I watched her sleep, she seemed to glow.

She started to stir, her bulky body rustling beneath the sheets. I retreated back to my side of the bed.

“You awake?”

I pretended to be asleep and uttered a wordless grunt.

“Wake up Dave.”

I ‘woke up’.

“Good morning Jocelyn.”

She smiled, beamed even, and the contentment on her face was palpable, like it would leak out into the air, a benevolent gas, a happiness oxygen.

“It’s good to have someone in my bed say that to me in the morning.”

Her stomach rumbled, like a kraken emerging from the depths.

“Enough chit chat. I am hongry!”

“What would you like for breakfast?”

“There’s a couple great places right outside my building!”

A couple?
 

Uncle Jack

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In no time at all, we were fully clothed, sitting in a place called Cotton’s Snack Bar that was in the property adjacent to Jocelyn’s apartment building.

“They have the best breakfasts here! The best, David! The best!”

“I believe you, I believe you.”

Our waiter came over, a rough-looking elderly guy, short, with a bit of a paunch, a scraggly beard to make up for his bald pate.

“Joss, honey, how are you this morning?” He beamed at her.

“I’m doing great, Cotski. This is my… friend, Dave.”

Cotton stuck out his hand, and Dave shook it. It was the handshake of a man who ran his world based on the collective solidity of other men’s handshakes, a handshake that sussed out who made the grade. Dave and Cotton locked eyes; Cotton’s chin moved slightly. They broke off handshakes.

“I like him! I like this one!” he said, “This one, this is one of the good ones!”

“I certainly hope so, Cotton.” Jocelyn made eyes at me and blushed.

“Can I get you the usual?”

“Yessir, and David will have the same. Trust me Dave, it’s great. Perfect breakfast win!”

“Okay, okay,” I said, chuckling, “I believe you.”

“I gotta go tinkle, bee are bee.”
She got up from her chair and hustled her fat ass off to the bathroom. Both Cotton and myself watched her walk off. She was wearing a pair of sweatpants with the waist rolled down, the way girls do. She probably shouldn’t have bothered, because her ass crack poked out of the top, and with each heavy step more was revealed, the top of her flabby ass jiggling in plain view, until she one-handedly raised her pants back up before stepping into the bathroom.

“That girl,” began Cotton, in a conspiratorial tone of voice, “I swear, that girl was already pretty big when she started eating here. But she was a nice kinda big. Lately, she’s gotten even bigger, and soon that bottom of hers is gonna be as a big as a house.” He laughed boisterously. “It’s already as big as my car, but my car, it’s a small car! Hahaha!”

I wasn’t really sure what to say, or if I was even supposed to say anything.

“I suppose that Jocelyn, she is more than just a friend? Am I right?”

“Um… well, I…”

“Come now, you can tell me! I know there are men who like the big ones, the bigger the better, and you are one of these men, I am right.”

Because he said it like a statement, and not a question, I nodded my head and said, “I hope so, yeah.”

“I have seen it all. I have had quite a life, been around the world, and seen everything. You don’t need to feel embarrassed, so let me ask you a question, and I want you to answer me honestly: Would you like her bigger?”

“…Excuse me?”

“I imagine you quite like Jocelyn’s figure, and I am wondering, would you like her to stay the size she is now, or would you like her to get bigger? Because I could help out in my own small way, whichever you would like. I am a very good judge of character. I think you would be good for her. I adore Jocelyn, she is my best customer! So, if I can make you happy, and you can make her happy, and certainly her business makes me very very happy! then I would like to help.”

What could I say after all of that? I couldn’t really believe it, any of it, but I mumbled:

“Bigger. Bigger.”

“Alright, I will see what I can do.”

He shuffled off to the kitchen. As he disappeared, Jocelyn emerged from the ladies room. Before leaving the house, she had thrown on a white Adidas t-shirt that was woefully small. She said she used to jog in it (“back in the dark ages”), but now she just wore it around the apartment, and when she did laundry and got breakfast. Her stomach up to her belly button was revealed, and the jiggling from her confident sashaying walk was a sight to behold. Other customers in the diner stared at her, many of them older women giving her dirty looks, for being so fat, so young, and so free. She crammed herself back into her seat.

“Dang, I was hoping to come back to find my food waiting for me. Hey Cotton, hurry up with the grub!” She had no qualms about yelling this out in the diner, bothering other customers.

“He’s usually very quick,” she said, “I wonder what’s taking him.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

I was staring at her as she talked about her dream last night (is there anything more tedious than other people’s dreams, even the dreams of those we adore?), taking her plump cheeks, her thick neck and double chin, her sparkling large eyes, like a cat at night, and I thought about desire. Desire named Jocelyn, desire lost last night, and desire regained, right now and into the future. As my thoughts unspooled with the clarity of morning, a young waitress, stick-thin and all of thirteen, brought out two cups of coffee, two glasses of orange juice, two glasses of milk, and two milkshakes, one chocolate, one strawberry.

“Milkshakes?”

“Grampy said they were on the house. For being our best customer.”

“Oh yeah, give it here.” She was gesturing at the chocolate.

Our drinks were placed before us. Jocelyn immediately went to town on her milkshake, sucking with ferocity through two straws at once.

“So you always get coffee, milk and juice?”

She sucked up a little more and pulled her lips away, a little dribble of chocolate finding its way onto her belly shirt. She let out a small burp.

“Yeah, I believe in a full breakfast. It’s the right way to start the day.”

She grabbed cream and sugar and stirred it into her coffee, with a particular focus on the fine white powder.

“I like my sugar with coffee and cream,” she giggled.

She sipped at her coffee, and moaned her approval.

“Cotton makes good java.”

I took a sip of the juice. Fresh pressed. A sip of milk. Whole?

“Whole?”

“Yeah, I like my milk homo. That’s homogenized, sucka.”

“Too thick for me.”

“You sure? Give it here.”

She unceremoniously grabbed my glass and gulped it down. After chugging that, she chugged her own glass of milk, there never being enough for Jocelyn. She let out a juicy burp that made her giggle. The blue-haired biddy behind her crane her neck around and glare.

“Nummy moo juice.”

Around this time, our waitress came out bearing two huge platters that had her huffing and puffing. They were really too much for her adolescent musculature: colossal omelettes, heaping piles of pan fries, buttered toast glistening in the morning light, bowls of oatmeal sprinkled with cinnamon, and enough bacon, sausage and ham to feed a family. Jocelyn was literally drooling, and sucked it back noisily as her food was being set in front of her. She grabbed a piece of bacon off the plate before it had even made it to the table.

“There’s a little more of everything. And Grampy said he cooked it up extra special for you.”

“Awesome!” said Jocelyn, as she stuffed a gargantuan bite from the omelette into her mouth. Chewing with her mouth open, she readied her next bite.

Our waitress gazed at her with an odd expression, one I might call “familiar disbelief”. She couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing, even though she had seen it countless times before.

“Is this your first time… sharing a meal with Jocelyn?” she asked me.

“No.”

“Ah, I see.”

She went off, and left us to eat our breakfasts. These plates looked like the sort of plates that are usually used to cook turkeys, and they were filled with food. These omelettes must have taken six eggs to make. The toast was piled up in two towers. The amount of food was mind-boggling, but I was also really hungry myself, having not eaten a decent meal since lunch the day before, and so I tucked in myself.

I ate away, keeping one eye on Jocelyn the whole while. She was really pushing herself, seeming to goad herself on with each new bite. She would have some fries (“mmm, so good!”), then try the omelette (“oooh, extra cheese!”), then crunch on some toast, crumbs flying everywhere (“more butter than usual”).

The meal was huge, even for a trooper like her. She took a breather halfway through, having already eaten enough for one person (maybe two). Smacking her hands on her belly, she let out a contented sigh.

“So, I’m making a pig of myself again.”

I put down my fork. “No, no, don’t say that –

“No, I am, I can’t help it.” She did have some egg yolk on her chin, and ketchup on her right hand. “It’s who I am. I just (urp) love food. I don’t get people that don’t love food. But I guess that’s how they stay so thin.”

She curled up her lip and crinkled her nose, registering some annoying discomfort. She pressed her hands into her stomach and:

“BRRRRRAAAAAAPPPPPOORRRRRP! BUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRP!”

: unleashed two sonic boom belches. The patrons of the diner were understandably shocked and disgusted by this display. The blue-haired biddy sitting behind Jocelyn turned around.

“Excuse me, young lady,” she said, “but it is usually considered polite to say ‘excuse me’.”

“Yeah, well it’s usually considered polite to mind your own damn business, so why don’t you turn back around?” Jocelyn forced a small belch in the old lady’s face for emphasis.

“You should learn to watch your appetite, or soon you’ll be too fat for your boyfriend there.”

“Oh yeah? He thinks I’m crazy hot, he told me so, and when is the last time anyone said that to you? Now why don’t you turn around and focus on your senior special before I gobble it up on you!”

The biddy turned away, muttering curse words under her breath.

“Wow, very ballsy,” I said.

“Ballsy? You saying I have balls?”

“The lady version of ballsy.”

“I think that’s called brassy. And thank you.”

“Any time, brassy lady.”

“I wanted to check in with you, make sure you still want me to be me.”

“Of course. You being you is… the best you.”

“Because if you don’t like the way I’m eating, or behaving in general, like certain old bitches I could mention, then maybe we wouldn’t work out. I don’t want you to think I’m just (hic-burp) desperate for sex.”

“Like I told you last night, I want you to feel comfortable to be yourself. All the time. Okay?”

“Okeydokey. Say, you never touched your milkshake.”

“Huh?” It was true. “I didn’t really want it. Too early in the day for a milkshake.”

“Too early? No such thing. Give it here.”

I passed her the strawberry milkshake and she proceeded to suck it up.

We went back to eating, me slowly picking away at my massive portion, her packing it away like someone was going to take it from her. She had drained her OJ, finished her coffee, delivered her six-egg omelette to an untimely death, shovelled the pan fries in, and cleaned her plate. Her lips were greasy as they curved into a satisfied smile. A parade of hiccups began marching from her mouth, jiggling the fat around her chin and arms.

“Oof, that was (hic) sooooo (hic) good (hic). It feels great to really (hic-burp) pack it away.”

“I have to say, you certainly have a healthy appetite.”

“I always have (hic hic), even when I was a skinny-mini, but over the last (hicCUP!) few years, I’ve really just (hic) embraced it. I’ve gotten (hic beeeelch) fat in the process, which isn’t exactly ideal, but I can’t seem to control myself anymore.”

“I think it looks great on you.”

“I know you do,” she said, slyly, “you think I’m craaaaazy hot. (hic) I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. You didn’t just make my day, you made my whole life.”

“Come on, you are super pretty. I find it hard to believe that you’ve never heard you were pretty before.”

She shrugged her meaty shoulders.

“I had a couple dates in high school, but I never felt totally comfortable. I felt like I was just expected of me.” She put a clenched fist to her mouth and stifled a burp so rumbling that it resembled a dubstep bass drop. “Excuse me. I’m a pretty girl!” She giggled.

“So you never dated after high school?”

“Right after high school is when I started putting on weight. I felt too embarrassed to date anybody. And I kept getting… bigger. I wasn’t a huge fan of it, but I didn’t want to fucking exercise, or eat less. Speaking of eating…”

She stared at me, hunger in her eyes.

“When you said I should be myself, you meant it, right?”

I nodded yes.

“Then let me have your food.”

“Huh?”

“You’re not going to finish that, right? I mean, it’s just been sitting there for, like, ever.”

I wasn’t completely full. I had just been taking a breather while I talked to Jocelyn, and had been planning at picking away at a bit more.

“Are you sure you can eat anymore?”

“Don’t question me when it comes to food.”

She said it with a certain determination, like a person with no sense of humour trying and failing to tell a joke. I felt like I didn’t want to cross her and so, still hungry, I pushed my plate over to her.

She set to it, much slower this time, but with a ferocious resolve. Jocelyn couldn’t stand to see any food leftover. With every last morsel of my food in her bloated belly, Jocelyn let out a prolonged belch, looking completely greedy and gluttonous.

“Thanks Davey. All that leftover food on your plate was too tempting. Ooof.” She rubbed her belly, which was almost entirely visible, a fact she had just picked up on. “Oh jeez, I am popping right out of this shirt. I didn’t realize it had gotten so small.”

“I think it looks great on you.” She looked enormous, like she was wearing a kid’s shirt, filling up her side of the table, looming slightly above my line of sight on the cushioned throne of her own jumbo buttocks.

“I think I’m about ready to go. I need a nap.”

I got up and went over to her side of the table. She was waggling the fingers on her left arm about, indicating she wanted some help rising. It was hard to tell how capable she was of getting up under her own power; how much was the amount of food in her gut, and how much was simply sloth. Either way, it was quite a struggle to slide her out of the booth, but it was worth it to feel how massive she was, to see how jiggly she was, and to hear her huffing and puffing. Once standing, she gave me a peck on the cheek. I blushed, taken off guard by this kiss.

“I like you more than cake,” she said, cutely.

“Is that a fact?”

“Maybe the same. It’s definitely close.” Her eyes shone in sync with her jokey inflection. She marched toward the exit, her blown-up butt beckoning me to follow. She turned, catching me perving her out, and smirked.

“Could you get the bill? I’m gonna head over to Starbucks and pick up a coffee.”

Again I was stuck with the bill, and again I had no complaints. This woman ate through my wallet, but watching that greedy girl gorge herself in public was worth the price of admission.

I paid the young waitress who had served us, leaving a generous tip. Just as I turned, on my way to reunite with my gluttonous girl, I locked eyes with Cotton. He winked at me.
 

jdpoodoo

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wow! just when i thought the best story here was dead. man oh man was that good! I loved the dubstep bassdrop belch, i never laughed so hard in my life. please, you must continue this story.
 

B00TS

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A super instalment. So glad you continued - great work!:)
 

Uncle Jack

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Outside of Cotton’s, Jocelyn was holding a coffee cup with foam on the top, as well as a bag.

“Whatcha got there?”

“Got myself a caramel machiatto!”

“I meant in the bag.”

“Just a couple cookies, some banana bread, and a lemon square. For later.”

We walked (I walked, she waddled) back to her building. I opened the door for her.

“Milady.”

“Thank ye, milord. I feel like Game of Thrones here. Just don’t lop my head off.”

She looked at the staircase and sighed.

“I get so sick of going up and down these stairs all the time. The down part, not so bad. It’s the up that gets me.”

“I got an idea, if you’re game.”

“Idea? For what?”

“Just start climbing those steps.”

She placed one pudgy foot on the a step, then as she moved her other leg, I took the plunge and planted one hand in the middle of each mammoth ass cheek and pushed that whale of a woman up the stairs.

“Oh Dave!” she yelped in surprise.

“This… oughtta… do the trick,” I said, really putting my biceps and back muscles to the test.

Jocelyn giggled like a kid. She took out a piece of banana bread and got to work on it as I pushed her weight up the stairs. She had to move her feet, of course, but the sweat forming on my brow was telling me that I was supplying most of the upward momentum. By the time we reached the top of the stairs, I had to take a breather. Jocelyn was breathing heavily as well, despite all the assistance I had given her.

“I gotta say,” she said around her banana bread, “I don’t know how I feel about you grabbing my butt like that.”

“Sorry… I just thought… it would (puff gasp)… help… I didn’t mean to… overstep my bounds.”

“No no! I actually liked it…” she turned beet red.

“Oh yeah?”

“I just… my butt is so big, and wobbly and jiggly, I don’t know why any guy would like it. I know that I don’t. I would love to have a smaller butt.” She spied the instant erection I got, which was trying to break right through the denim. “Though I see there’s at least one guy that likes it.”

“C’mon, haven’t you heard Baby Got Back? Or what about J.Lo? Guys love big butts.”

“Yeah, but that’s just a song. And J.Lo is all athletic and shit. I’m not really the J.Lo type.”

“Well, if your butt ever gets smaller, I will lodge an official complaint with the Registry of Big Booties.”

Jocelyn laughed her delightfully boisterous laugh.

“Good to hear. I still wish it was smaller sometimes. A couple weeks ago I was line at the theatre to get popcorn, and I turned around too fast and bumped a kid to the ground with my butt!”

“No way!”

“She even cried. I was mortified!”

“Did you hightail it out of there?”

“Um… no… I really wanted popcorn! I apologized to the kid’s mother, but she seemed pretty upset all the same.”

“If you ever knock over any kids while you’re with me, I’ll catch them before they hit the ground.”

“You’ll be like my butt insurance!” She laughed nervously, comfortable joking, slightly uncomfortable with the topic of discussion.

“Absotutely.”

She spun around and rammed her butt into my crotch. My rock-hard dick poked back as I took a couple of steps back from the impact, to keep myself standing upright.

“Booty blast!” she said.

Watching her walk to her apartment door, I was struck by her natural beauty. The elegance of her exaggerated proportions and her lustrous black hair played in front of my eyes like a dream. Whereas the women I had known before Jocelyn had endeavoured to create the successful illusion of happenstance natural beauty, with Jocelyn there seemed to be very little effort. Her beauty actually was a festive quirk of the cosmos. When she reached the door and looked back at me, inquiring why I was lagging behind, the impact of her face on my synapses reinforced the ease with which beauty settled upon her, like a gentle snowfall. Without makeup, without fancy clothes, without wiping the food off her face, without even trying Jocelyn had every other girl in the world beat, fat or thin.

“What are you looking at?”

“Just admiring your beauty.”

That blush again.

“Never heard that one before. My absolute lack of allure usually prevents it.”

“Come on, you never heard you were pretty? I find that exceptionally hard to believe.”

“You believed that I’ve never been called hot easily enough.”

She opened the door and we moved the conversation into her small apartment.

“Okay, yeah, but other men… maybe they can’t appreciate your unique sex appeal.” She tittered, embarrassed. “But pretty… you have an objectively pretty face.”

“Oh stop.”

“It is. It’s a model’s face.”

“Yeah, but it’s round. Fat-faced models aren’t running the catwalk.”

I was about to suggest plus size modelling, but I realized that she was probably bigger than most, if not all, plus size models.

We hung around the apartment, chatting about this and that, still playing get-to-know-each-other really. She ate up all of the treats she bought at Starbucks, including her macchiato (I guess it was technically “later”). She finally seemed to be done eating, and she lay back on her bed, shirt riding up to exposed her entire bloated belly.

“Blargh, I am full.”

“You need some help there?”

“What, you gonna feel up my fat ass again?”

“No no, I thought maybe you could use a belly rub. For digestion.”

“Oooh yeah, that would be heaven!”

I sat next to her, admiring how much of the bed she took up, and began to rub her belly back and forth. All that malleable blubber felt amazing under my fingertips. Jocelyn sighed, purred, moaned, and burped.

“Nice one.”

“Pshaw. That’s nothing.”

She sucked in a couple small breaths and unleashed a mega burp right in my face, rude crude and full of attitude.

“Wow. Now that was a nice one.”

“I’m a champ.”

Suddenly a low rumble emerged from her rear end.

“…whoopsie.”

“It’s okay.”

“Excuse me. See, this is why I’ve never been with a guy. I’m hopeless! I’m just a fat pig. I’ve only known you, god, less than a week! And I’m already farting in front of you, parading my jelly belly around.”

“Listen, I want you to stop saying things like that. From now on, I want you to forget all that bad stuff. You’re damn perfect the way you are. Okay?”

“I can’t help but think that way sometimes. Not often, but when I’m with you, I think bad thoughts more often.”

“I don’t like that, hearing that I’m the cause of you feeling bad about yourself.”

“No no no! I mean that I’m just nervous and excited, and I just want to make a good impression, and I just realized that I ate so much for breakfast, and I’m worried about what you think of me, and oh god… BUUURRP.”

“I kinda like it when you eat a lot.” Now it was my turn to blush.

“Say what?”

As easily as doing advanced calculus, and about as voluntarily, I launched into a shambling monologue about how she was a large woman, and that that was fine, and there was nothing wrong with that, and there was nothing wrong with having a large appetite to go with it, but it takes a certain kind of man, a connoisseur, to appreciate such a woman. The way I said it implied that I was that certain kind of man, that I wanted very much to be that kind of man for her. The exact words, I don’t remember; I was barely aware of what I was saying while I was saying it. All I am sure of is that Jocelyn cut me off with a finger to my lip and, her other hand insistent, grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me down on top of her. She was spread out underneath me, her wide body preventing any part of me from touching the mattress. We began making out, our tongues intertwining, the delicious taste of bananas and chocolate and caramel in her mouth, as sweet as her, and when she burped in my mouth, she didn’t excuse herself, didn’t pull away, but kept passionately grabbing me. I felt free to squeeze her, squeeze her breasts, squeeze her arms, her love handles, her fat belly, and nary an objection raised. I tried to squeeze her luscious derriere, but her weight was too intense and I couldn’t wedge my hand underneath, so I settled for her bulbous hip. We made out for I don’t know how long, and just as I was starting to grunt like a gorilla, she pushed me off.

“We have to stop,” she said, “I just… I don’t want to go too far yet.”

“Okay, okay.” I attempted to regain my composure. My cock was throbbing so hard that she could see my heartbeat through the crotch of my pants.

“I see someone is excited. Would you like me to… take care of that?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“I’ve never done it before, but there’s a first time for everything, right?”

She went to sit up, putting her arms under herself and grunting. She fell back down.

“Ugh, too stuffed to suck dick.” We both laughed.

“It’s fine. Really.”

“Come here.” She patted the mattress on a spot closer to her arm.

I scooched over and she began fumbling with my zipper. I did the work for her, extricating my boner. She began stroking up and down, applying a very light pressure that was orgasmic agony.

“If you like me big, then I think we’re going to get along famously,” she said, “because I just can’t seem to control myself these days. The other night, I think it was, oh, Wednesday? When I got home from work, I ordered a big thing of nachos and the student special from my favourite pizza place. The student special is two medium pizzas and a 2 liter of Pepsi, all really cheap. I knew while I was ordering it that it was too much food, but I just couldn’t help myself, I wanted food so bad and no one was around to tell me no. My mother always used to tell me to watch what I ate, that’s how I stayed relatively skinny. But I would eat at school, where my friends would tease me, tell me I was going to get fat, but I didn’t listen to them. I remember this one time, we had a school assembly in the auditorium. Me and my friends sat at the back, and I snuck in a McDonald’s bag, Quarter Pounder with fries, and my friends thought it was a laugh riot, and I laughed along with them, but I also was secretly thrilled, like I was getting away with something, and I was kinda turned on. I never told anyone before, and I didn’t really understand it back then, I still don’t, but I gobbled that fast food up while Principal Blumen went on and on. I bet now I wouldn’t even fit into one of those auditorium seats! If I was in Grade 12 now, I might be the biggest girl in school. I forget most of the time, it doesn’t even occur to me that I’m fat, but then I do what I did on Wednesday night, I ordered all that food, I ate every last morsel while I watched tv and chatted on Facebook. I was chatting with my friend Holly, about normal stuff, and if she could have seen what a pig I was being, sitting in my computer chair, bloated and greasy and gassy, she wouldn’t have believed it. Just a second…”

Keeping up her handjob, which had only increased in intensity along with her speech, she patted herself on the chest, and produced a low, greedy, gluttonous, shameless belch, at which point I exploded, spurting across the floor and oozing over her hand.

“Ooooh, so that’s what that looks like,” she said, “I’ve seen videos, but never the real thing.”

I couldn’t say anything. I could barely breathe.

“So, did I do a good job?”

“How… how did you know to talk like that?”

“I dunno, it just poured out of me naturally. Why, did you like it?”

“AbsoLUTEly.”

“I really feel like I can be myself with you. Are you doing anything tomorrow? I already made plans for tonight, but I’m free all day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, definitely, yeah.”

“Could you clean that up?” she asked, pointing at my mess, “I’m feeling kinda sleepy. I’m gonna grab some shut eye before I shower.”

“Okay. I’ll just head home. I could use a shower myself.”

“You don’t need a drive, do you?”

“No, I just live in the area, remember? It’s not far.”

“Okay. I really don’t feel like getting up just now. I wouldn’t want to walk there, but then I’m not fit and trim like you.”

Walking home, after cleaning up and kissing her goodbye, I punched the air, fist-bumping God.




 

Uncle Jack

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Very excited to be getting back to this story. Coming soon: back to the call centre!
 

Uncle Jack

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Sunday. Coffee with Jocelyn at Starbucks by her house, after the theatre, talking about the things we liked about the movie and the things we didn’t. She had three big bags of popcorn and three large sodas, sending me back to get all the refills. She was wearing black leggings with a dress that white around the chest and sky blue around the belly, with a chunky black belt under her breasts. She slightly overpoured her single seat, so we had the arm between us up, so her hips could rest on the edge of my seat and push me to the side of my own chair. She was, frankly, obnoxious, laughing louder than anyone else, chomping noisily, and occasionally burping, with no attempt to quiet herself. She got some looks, and even a ‘shush!’ at one point, but to no avail. After the movie, she ran out of the theatre, having to pee like crazy, and the image of such a big pear-shaped beauty run was amazing, every footfall an earthquake, sending tremors through her ghetto booty, that image was still in my brain as we enjoyed our coffee.

“I had to pee so bad, I almost broke the toilet seat!”

“Haha, I don’t really follow.”

Jocelyn took a nibble from her muffin.

“When I got in the stall, I just tore down my tights, lifted my skirt, and sat down so fast that the seat kinda squealed. I broke my toilet seat at home before, so I recognize the sound. Sometimes when I’ve been out late, I’ll rush home so fast, running up the stairs, I’m sure my neighbours can hear me!”

Jocelyn running. A rare sight, like an endangered bird.

“So, there’s something I’ve been meaning to bring up, but I didn’t really want to.”

“Kay.”

“I am, technically, your supervisor.”

This weekend, since the night at the Voodoo, had been so incredible that I had forgotten about work, and had somehow forgotten how it was we knew each other to begin with.

“And since you’re still in training,” she continued, “I’m not really supposed to be dating you.”

“Oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not a big deal. Like, at all. But while we’re at work, we gotta keep things on the DL. In fact, at work we should just act like we’re not dating at all. Keep everything secret.”

“If that’s what we have to do, then ok.”

“Unfortunately it is. But hey, it could be fun. I actually like the idea of having a secret relationship. Maybe it’s because I’m not used to having a bo- not used to dating a guy, but I still don’t know how to be casual about it. Like, do you just walk around telling people you’re dating someone?”

“Only if it comes up. Otherwise you might look like a crazy person.”

“Too late, already am. All work and no play makes Jocelyn something something.”

“Go crazy?”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

She made a silly face and flung her beefy arms around like a maniac. People at Starbucks stared. It was somewhat unusual to see such a fat girl being so vivacious and goofy in public. I laughed hysterically.

“I didn’t think it was that funny,” she said, “but I’ll accept your laughter, humbly and graciously.”

At this point, a tall skinny man with glasses, a professorial looking type who had been pecking away at a laptop in the corner, packed up his things and left.

“Look at that,” said Jocelyn.

“What?”

“He just left his sandwich behind.”

It was true. He had been slowly eating his sandwich while he worked on his computer, and hadn’t bothered to take the rest with him.

“Go get it for me.”

“What?”

“No reason for it to go to waste. It’ll just get thrown away.”

“Joss, it’s someone else’s food. I don’t think…”

“I want it. Now.”

She was getting that serious tone in her voice again, the one that was so unlike her regular speaking voice. Feeling like a fool, I got up, nonchalantly, and quickly went over to the table. I snatched up the sandwich and darted my eyes around, to see if anyone noticed me. A middle aged couple were staring at me. Pretending I was being absolutely normal, I brought the sandwich back to my goddess. She took a huge bite, getting a spot of mustard on her right cheek. It didn’t take long for her to inhale the rest.

“How can people just leave their food behind? Waste of food, waste of money. Oh well, more for me. I gotta tinkle again. Too many drinkskis!”

She hauled herself up and wiggle-waddled to the little girls’ room. While I waited for her, I overheard the middle-aged couple whispering behind me, trying not to be heard.

“That poor boy, stealing food for that girl. As if she needs it.”

“I don’t know how people can let themselves go like that. Rick, shoot me if I ever let myself get that big.”

“The thing is, he’s just enabling her eating problem. He’s probably been seeing her a long time, watching her turn into a hog, and he’s too nice to say anything.”

“You don’t know that, Rick. Some men are into that sort of thing. I’m not saying it’s not weird, but it’s presumptuous to assume he doesn’t like her that way. All kinds of people are into all kinds of weirdo stuff.”

“Oh, please.”

I supposed that it was true, that what Jocelyn had was an eating problem. It certainly wasn’t healthy to eat that much. But I was never going to deny her. I would get her food anytime, under any circumstances. I was powerless to the principle of plumping her up as best I could. And she was happy, and I was happy, and who cared what Rick and his wife thought? Who cared what anyone thought? How could I have told Jocelyn to be herself, when I felt embarrassed? I made my own promise, to myself. No more shame.

Jocelyn waddled back, her belly looking blue and bountiful in her flowing dress, her arms slightly out to her sides. She was my sexy Miss Piggy, and to prove it she tossed her dark hair back and belched.

“Are you ready?”

I took a look back at the middle-aged couple. Rick was reading the paper, but I made contact with the wife. I nodded, barely, but I think she could tell. I looked back to Miss Piggy.

“Ready.”


 

Uncle Jack

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Just wondering if anyone has any comments regarding what they would like to see happen in the story. This isn't a guarantee that I will include things that are mentioned, but it's nice to know what people like, what they don't like, what they want to see and don't want to see. I see a good number of thread views, and I just want to know why so many people are interested (or alternatively, why people keep coming back over and over).
 

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