~BBW, ~XWG, ~Alternate Reality - ?
[Authors Note:] This is going to an interesting point...people probably won't like the title, but please, bear with me.
Part 1
"No, no, no, no, no, no, and....no!"
Jaques Von Maricio's words were ringing in Cathy's ears. It had been three weeks since she had gone to see the fashion extraordinaire, and she still was in shock at what he had said. This was meant to be in the bag, her agent had said, this was meant to be one hundred percent secured, there had been bribes and underhand dealings up the rectum. She had even given the man a blowjob, and still, that was the answer.
"Maybe you should have offered him anal." That was what her agent, Mister Upton "Nigeria" (pronounced Neh-med for those who hadn't met him), had said.
She had done her absolute best to please, and yet... the man had rejected her. It must have been because of her weight, she was a huge, unsightly whale. She had even gone up 10 pounds since the meeting, and none of it had had the decency to put it on flattering places. Mostly on her bum, which bounced in all its unflattering glory, but her former washboard abs didn't escape the wrath of the pariah pudge.
"Jesus H. Christ, Cathy, you look terrible." The words of her flat mate, Maddie, who had known Cathy since high school, all the way through college, which of course she dropped out of to do modeling. Sometimes she regretting taking the sugar coated words of the jocks, with sweet nothings like, "damn, girl, you're fine, are you a model, or something?" Maddie never shirked in her duty as the attentive, less attractive friend, and was always happy to help Cathy wake up in the morning, as long as Cathy would help her with her science coursework.
Her teachers had called her a genius, but she now felt like one of the most stupid people in existence. She should have exercised and watched what she ate. But she hadn't, and she was about to meet, for the second time, a man who had rejected her from modeling. Walking down the busy street, her painful heels clacking on the pavement, her bag with her swimsuit in one hand, in the other a slip of paper dictating the address. She was unprepared, but she was willing to do 110%, this time, and ready, mentally, for anything.
Bad luck always strikes at that moment
There was a snap and she toppled forward. The heel on her shoe had broken, and she fell onto a bench. Picking herself up, she looked at her self. Ages of picking out a nice jacket and managing her wardrobe, all gone to ruin. She sat done on the bench, trying to dust herself off. She needed to be pristine for this presentation, but why bother, with a broke heel!
A glimmer, a flicker, a little flash of light caught her eye. Looking down, she saw a bottle; a large, dark brown, glass bottle, the kind that bums drunk before going away to beg. She picked it up, no brand name... well, there might be, if "Jim Genie," was a brand of some unknown beer, probably European. She sniffed at it, whatever it was it smelt foul. Looking at what it contained, she saw only four things.
1) Drink the contents and be granted 3 wishes
1.I) wishes do not affect self.
1.II) wishes last for a 3 day trial period to see if the user is satisfied.
1.II.a) anything that happens in the trial period to the wisher will not be removed if the wisher does not want the wish to continue.
Cathy looked at the bottle, and a thought popped into her head. She took a swig of the contents and felt the powerful, raging, burning tang of alcohol hitting her throat. She coughed and spluttered as a cloud of vapor immerged out of the bottle. Gradually, it took the shape of a person, floating just above the seat, Cathy looked around, if this genie was real, was he handsome?
There was a loud sound of an old fashioned bus bell, and a man popped out of the cloud. He wasn't handsome; he was a long haired, bearded, unkempt bum with a patchwork hoody, holes in his shoes, and a stench that could have killed goats. He landed on the bench, belched, farted and turned to Cathy, who shrank away as though his poverty was catching.
"A'righ' Lass," he said with a thick Manchester accent. "Me name's Jim. Got any booze?"
Continued in post #3
The Worlds Thinnest
By IrishBard
By IrishBard
[Authors Note:] This is going to an interesting point...people probably won't like the title, but please, bear with me.
Part 1
"No, no, no, no, no, no, and....no!"
Jaques Von Maricio's words were ringing in Cathy's ears. It had been three weeks since she had gone to see the fashion extraordinaire, and she still was in shock at what he had said. This was meant to be in the bag, her agent had said, this was meant to be one hundred percent secured, there had been bribes and underhand dealings up the rectum. She had even given the man a blowjob, and still, that was the answer.
"Maybe you should have offered him anal." That was what her agent, Mister Upton "Nigeria" (pronounced Neh-med for those who hadn't met him), had said.
She had done her absolute best to please, and yet... the man had rejected her. It must have been because of her weight, she was a huge, unsightly whale. She had even gone up 10 pounds since the meeting, and none of it had had the decency to put it on flattering places. Mostly on her bum, which bounced in all its unflattering glory, but her former washboard abs didn't escape the wrath of the pariah pudge.
"Jesus H. Christ, Cathy, you look terrible." The words of her flat mate, Maddie, who had known Cathy since high school, all the way through college, which of course she dropped out of to do modeling. Sometimes she regretting taking the sugar coated words of the jocks, with sweet nothings like, "damn, girl, you're fine, are you a model, or something?" Maddie never shirked in her duty as the attentive, less attractive friend, and was always happy to help Cathy wake up in the morning, as long as Cathy would help her with her science coursework.
Her teachers had called her a genius, but she now felt like one of the most stupid people in existence. She should have exercised and watched what she ate. But she hadn't, and she was about to meet, for the second time, a man who had rejected her from modeling. Walking down the busy street, her painful heels clacking on the pavement, her bag with her swimsuit in one hand, in the other a slip of paper dictating the address. She was unprepared, but she was willing to do 110%, this time, and ready, mentally, for anything.
Bad luck always strikes at that moment
There was a snap and she toppled forward. The heel on her shoe had broken, and she fell onto a bench. Picking herself up, she looked at her self. Ages of picking out a nice jacket and managing her wardrobe, all gone to ruin. She sat done on the bench, trying to dust herself off. She needed to be pristine for this presentation, but why bother, with a broke heel!
A glimmer, a flicker, a little flash of light caught her eye. Looking down, she saw a bottle; a large, dark brown, glass bottle, the kind that bums drunk before going away to beg. She picked it up, no brand name... well, there might be, if "Jim Genie," was a brand of some unknown beer, probably European. She sniffed at it, whatever it was it smelt foul. Looking at what it contained, she saw only four things.
1) Drink the contents and be granted 3 wishes
1.I) wishes do not affect self.
1.II) wishes last for a 3 day trial period to see if the user is satisfied.
1.II.a) anything that happens in the trial period to the wisher will not be removed if the wisher does not want the wish to continue.
Cathy looked at the bottle, and a thought popped into her head. She took a swig of the contents and felt the powerful, raging, burning tang of alcohol hitting her throat. She coughed and spluttered as a cloud of vapor immerged out of the bottle. Gradually, it took the shape of a person, floating just above the seat, Cathy looked around, if this genie was real, was he handsome?
There was a loud sound of an old fashioned bus bell, and a man popped out of the cloud. He wasn't handsome; he was a long haired, bearded, unkempt bum with a patchwork hoody, holes in his shoes, and a stench that could have killed goats. He landed on the bench, belched, farted and turned to Cathy, who shrank away as though his poverty was catching.
"A'righ' Lass," he said with a thick Manchester accent. "Me name's Jim. Got any booze?"
Continued in post #3
