StrugglingWriter
Well-Known Member
~BBW. Eating, Imagery, ~SWG - a mature lady finally realizes the ectasy of life in the plump lane
I remember where I was when it started. I was sitting at my desk, working late again, peckish, and frustrated that the only thing available to eat was in the lonely, stagnant building after dark was the vending machine. I was 30, single, over-worked (but well-paid), acquainted with many and friends to a few, but frequently bored and often restless.
At that time I weighed all of 112 pounds. I know this because I fought rigorously every day to make sure I saw that number blinking at me on my digital scale before I got in the shower that morning. I hadn’t always been at 112 pounds: in my mid-20s I had gained about ten pounds before stepping it away at the gym, only to gain about 20 more after a break-up a few years later.
During that time my slender body had paid off. I never lacked for the dates and friends that I’d wanted, and I’d had my shares of both shady and romantic encounters in and out of bed, in and out of town. But at 30 years old that excitement had waned, and the competing allures of a successful career and a safe suburban nest held much more promise than what blow-dried Bryl-crème boys had to offer me on a less and less frequent basis.
What I knew right then is that I was tired of saying no to that pecking desire to munch, and after all that willpower expended in the gym over the years I looked inside and found instead the will to endure that extra 20 pounds I’d been warding off all that time. I’d like to say that some solid sense of resolution led to some exquisitely erotic foray into multiple packages of Skittles and YooHoo in the break room, but it didn’t. I just remember quietly getting up and getting one of each from the vending machine, then returning to my office and the lonely hum of the HVAC to make headway on my plans for this month’s something-or-other gala. I recall that my night at the gym was satisfying, but uninspired.
It’s surprising how fast you can put on weight when you aren’t watching things. I’m an event coordinator, and back then I was working with a major entertainment company in the northwest. As that month’s gig approached, the length of my day, per usual, expanded. Ever conscious that my greatest business tool was my body, I had always regularly eschewed the overtime corporate perquisite dinners, conjured by CEOs eager to bribe us into exchanging the best years of our lives for service to their companies.
Again, the first night I ordered dinner in a long time occurred to me as nothing special. Watching myself ordering food several nights in a row caught my curiosity: there was none of the guilt about expense accounts I usually considered when devoting my extra hours to the boss. Looking back I can see that I was beginning to feel used through this endless pattern and was starting to grab at anything to bolster up my sense of self-worth. Not everyone at this company even had expense accounts!
I do know that all the extra work paid off. The boss himself congratulated me on the party’s success, and we celebrated with a few friendly drinks together afterwards. Well, I’d like to say a few, but that isn’t true. I don’t really remember that evening too much, except that I was a hit with the guys. Even buzzed I knew it was because I looked fuller in my clothes. I’d gone through this before when I’d let go of my regimen. Guys just love a curvy body! It’s the girls that don’t let you live it down.
But the real experience came when I stumbled into the bathroom hung over late the next morning. I noted the usual hideous hag staring back at me red-eyed in the mirror, and after the usual ministrations stripped my robe and stepped onto the scale. Unsurprisingly it said 120 pounds. I’d like to say I was surprised, but the truth is that at a mere 5’3” I’d felt the uncomfortable pull of my clothes around me all week: a pinch of the pants around my thighs, the pressure of a belt against my waist.
What surprised me was how different my reaction was this time. In the past, these moments inspired me to return to my diet and workout regimen. That morning I simply stepped into the shower and focused on the sensual experience of a hot, steamy shower. I always knew to schedule this day off in advance. I ordered Chinese for lunch and sat contentedly on my duff catching glimpses of soap operas, Maury and Montel between crossword puzzles and spoonfuls of Haagen Daas. That stuff is better than sex.
The September event having closed, it was my off-season. Holiday parties frankly were a little small for our firm—except inside the firm, of course—and fall is too late to really put on any kind of a networking push for the Christmas sales season. Which meant that I had plenty of time to play. Late nights at work behind me, I threw myself with new passion into the office social scene, parlaying my recent success into office envy with the girls. Off at five, we were frequently at the martini bar by 5:45, and I frequently came dressed the part to work—covered by a stylish enough to jacket for respectability, of course.
I simply pushed aside the trim office suits and slacks to embrace more of the stretchy slinky things I had bought through the years that hung mostly useless in my closet. Pushing those office clothes aside felt sort of like turning a satisfying page, and the truth is that the clingier something felt on me the sexier I felt on the outside. Before, the clothes provided definition for my straight, slender frame. Now the frame was providing the definition. Oh, was it fun, and I remember taking a lot of cabs to work in the morning, not home the night before. I don’t remember when I stopped going to the gym.
My days were spent organizing the office Halloween party, and, oh, was that a heightened new experience! No longer was I scared to spend too long browsing through vendors or indulge in sampling the fare. I spent an enormous portion of my time out of the office, slipping into this bakery here, this wine shoppe there, “sampling” menus in local haute cuisineries.
It was after lunch one late afternoon, just before heading to the costume shop, when I finally hit “that point,” when I sank back uncomfortably in my chair and felt oddly out of sorts. My clothes were tight, the chair seemed tight, my body just seemed a little crowded and my mind became guiltily aware of my inattention to my diet.
I paid a little extra attention to the mirror at the costume shop. The definition of my abs in my stomach had been replaced by a soft, slightly rounded cylinder, curving to meet hips that were somehow taller than I remembered. The waistband of my panties cut sharply into those hips about halfway down, and my thighs both met in my middle. I turned slightly to see the back, satin fabric stretched across rounded cheeks that once had boasted that chiseled look.
I rubbed my hands across the softness of my tummy and up around my breasts, where I cupped their unusual sized and gauged their unfamiliar weight. The lithe muscular me had slipped into a more pampered couture, athlete replaced by debutante. I’d like to say I liked it at first sight, but mostly I felt estranged by myself and thought with frustration about the long hours it would take to get myself back—after the Halloween party.
But at the party I was oh, so right. My French maid costume was perfect, the high froofy skirts thrown out bodaciously by the added cushion behind them. I still have a picture on my desk: thick thigh, reminiscent of its athletic past, lifted up to my boss’s waist, his hand resting on the soft curve of my waist, as I pushed my breasts, outrageously amplified by my elastic bodice, into his chest and kissed him with pouty lips and plump flushed cheeks. It was my brightest moment at that firm.
I served expensive hors’dourves and delightfully iced cookies and cake far beyond the time I was able, eating and chatting away delightfully between foaming goblets of misty Halloween punch. This time I took off two days, skipped the martini party and met the boss discreetly for dinner and recreation in between. I remember thinking with Jim that night that this was the best job I could ever think of having.
(Comtinued in post 7 of this thread)
What I'd Like to Say - Parts 1-8
by Struggling Writer
by Struggling Writer
I remember where I was when it started. I was sitting at my desk, working late again, peckish, and frustrated that the only thing available to eat was in the lonely, stagnant building after dark was the vending machine. I was 30, single, over-worked (but well-paid), acquainted with many and friends to a few, but frequently bored and often restless.
At that time I weighed all of 112 pounds. I know this because I fought rigorously every day to make sure I saw that number blinking at me on my digital scale before I got in the shower that morning. I hadn’t always been at 112 pounds: in my mid-20s I had gained about ten pounds before stepping it away at the gym, only to gain about 20 more after a break-up a few years later.
During that time my slender body had paid off. I never lacked for the dates and friends that I’d wanted, and I’d had my shares of both shady and romantic encounters in and out of bed, in and out of town. But at 30 years old that excitement had waned, and the competing allures of a successful career and a safe suburban nest held much more promise than what blow-dried Bryl-crème boys had to offer me on a less and less frequent basis.
What I knew right then is that I was tired of saying no to that pecking desire to munch, and after all that willpower expended in the gym over the years I looked inside and found instead the will to endure that extra 20 pounds I’d been warding off all that time. I’d like to say that some solid sense of resolution led to some exquisitely erotic foray into multiple packages of Skittles and YooHoo in the break room, but it didn’t. I just remember quietly getting up and getting one of each from the vending machine, then returning to my office and the lonely hum of the HVAC to make headway on my plans for this month’s something-or-other gala. I recall that my night at the gym was satisfying, but uninspired.
It’s surprising how fast you can put on weight when you aren’t watching things. I’m an event coordinator, and back then I was working with a major entertainment company in the northwest. As that month’s gig approached, the length of my day, per usual, expanded. Ever conscious that my greatest business tool was my body, I had always regularly eschewed the overtime corporate perquisite dinners, conjured by CEOs eager to bribe us into exchanging the best years of our lives for service to their companies.
Again, the first night I ordered dinner in a long time occurred to me as nothing special. Watching myself ordering food several nights in a row caught my curiosity: there was none of the guilt about expense accounts I usually considered when devoting my extra hours to the boss. Looking back I can see that I was beginning to feel used through this endless pattern and was starting to grab at anything to bolster up my sense of self-worth. Not everyone at this company even had expense accounts!
I do know that all the extra work paid off. The boss himself congratulated me on the party’s success, and we celebrated with a few friendly drinks together afterwards. Well, I’d like to say a few, but that isn’t true. I don’t really remember that evening too much, except that I was a hit with the guys. Even buzzed I knew it was because I looked fuller in my clothes. I’d gone through this before when I’d let go of my regimen. Guys just love a curvy body! It’s the girls that don’t let you live it down.
But the real experience came when I stumbled into the bathroom hung over late the next morning. I noted the usual hideous hag staring back at me red-eyed in the mirror, and after the usual ministrations stripped my robe and stepped onto the scale. Unsurprisingly it said 120 pounds. I’d like to say I was surprised, but the truth is that at a mere 5’3” I’d felt the uncomfortable pull of my clothes around me all week: a pinch of the pants around my thighs, the pressure of a belt against my waist.
What surprised me was how different my reaction was this time. In the past, these moments inspired me to return to my diet and workout regimen. That morning I simply stepped into the shower and focused on the sensual experience of a hot, steamy shower. I always knew to schedule this day off in advance. I ordered Chinese for lunch and sat contentedly on my duff catching glimpses of soap operas, Maury and Montel between crossword puzzles and spoonfuls of Haagen Daas. That stuff is better than sex.
The September event having closed, it was my off-season. Holiday parties frankly were a little small for our firm—except inside the firm, of course—and fall is too late to really put on any kind of a networking push for the Christmas sales season. Which meant that I had plenty of time to play. Late nights at work behind me, I threw myself with new passion into the office social scene, parlaying my recent success into office envy with the girls. Off at five, we were frequently at the martini bar by 5:45, and I frequently came dressed the part to work—covered by a stylish enough to jacket for respectability, of course.
I simply pushed aside the trim office suits and slacks to embrace more of the stretchy slinky things I had bought through the years that hung mostly useless in my closet. Pushing those office clothes aside felt sort of like turning a satisfying page, and the truth is that the clingier something felt on me the sexier I felt on the outside. Before, the clothes provided definition for my straight, slender frame. Now the frame was providing the definition. Oh, was it fun, and I remember taking a lot of cabs to work in the morning, not home the night before. I don’t remember when I stopped going to the gym.
My days were spent organizing the office Halloween party, and, oh, was that a heightened new experience! No longer was I scared to spend too long browsing through vendors or indulge in sampling the fare. I spent an enormous portion of my time out of the office, slipping into this bakery here, this wine shoppe there, “sampling” menus in local haute cuisineries.
It was after lunch one late afternoon, just before heading to the costume shop, when I finally hit “that point,” when I sank back uncomfortably in my chair and felt oddly out of sorts. My clothes were tight, the chair seemed tight, my body just seemed a little crowded and my mind became guiltily aware of my inattention to my diet.
I paid a little extra attention to the mirror at the costume shop. The definition of my abs in my stomach had been replaced by a soft, slightly rounded cylinder, curving to meet hips that were somehow taller than I remembered. The waistband of my panties cut sharply into those hips about halfway down, and my thighs both met in my middle. I turned slightly to see the back, satin fabric stretched across rounded cheeks that once had boasted that chiseled look.
I rubbed my hands across the softness of my tummy and up around my breasts, where I cupped their unusual sized and gauged their unfamiliar weight. The lithe muscular me had slipped into a more pampered couture, athlete replaced by debutante. I’d like to say I liked it at first sight, but mostly I felt estranged by myself and thought with frustration about the long hours it would take to get myself back—after the Halloween party.
But at the party I was oh, so right. My French maid costume was perfect, the high froofy skirts thrown out bodaciously by the added cushion behind them. I still have a picture on my desk: thick thigh, reminiscent of its athletic past, lifted up to my boss’s waist, his hand resting on the soft curve of my waist, as I pushed my breasts, outrageously amplified by my elastic bodice, into his chest and kissed him with pouty lips and plump flushed cheeks. It was my brightest moment at that firm.
I served expensive hors’dourves and delightfully iced cookies and cake far beyond the time I was able, eating and chatting away delightfully between foaming goblets of misty Halloween punch. This time I took off two days, skipped the martini party and met the boss discreetly for dinner and recreation in between. I remember thinking with Jim that night that this was the best job I could ever think of having.
(Comtinued in post 7 of this thread)
