Crysta

[Enumerated_Bob]

- College-age guy with 'standards' tells the story of those standards evolving
                                                                                                                          Crysta

                                                                                                                             pt. 1

 

Small towns, small schools, small colleges, sometimes the same people show up over and over. That's where we'll start this, because sometimes you learn things about them, sometimes they teach you things you didn't know about yourself.

We'll start with Crysta Harris. She came to my high school Junior year, 18 years old and blessed three times over by the goddesses of beauty and puberty. Everybody noticed her, she was impossible to ignore.

She tried out to be a cheerleader senior year. I showed up to those try-outs. So did most of the straight guys in the school. She killed it in the audition, we all thought. Nobody bounced like she did, no one else's shorts left their round, voluptuous cheeks exposed.

She didn't make the team; she was 'too short,' they said, and 'too busty for our uniforms.' Riots nearly ensued on behalf of every male student desperate to see that inevitable Crysta Harris' nip slip on the sideline, but she didn't seem to mind. A couple guys followed as she got the news, reported back that however she felt about it, her appetite wasn't spoiled.

I was in the group that stayed behind. The cheerleaders started tearing into her as soon as she left. "Oh my god, can you believe her?" One of them asked, shaking her generic blonde hair and plastic face, "She's not even that pretty!"

The girl next to her clearly disagreed, but didn't argue. She held up the information sheet Crysta had provided, "Look at this, though, she's like, super short."

A third chimed in, "And kinda big, right? Like, all over!"

Back to stick-thin barbie number one, "Totally. I mean, she say here she's 135? I mean, at her height, all I got to say is that bitch better drop ten pounds."

They weren't lying, Crysta was definitely a tiny bit fluffy. She could have been a model with her red-brown hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones, facially, she was flawless, but she liked food too much, it seemed. Most teachers had rules against snacking in class. The male teachers made an exception in her case.

She didn't try and pretend she wasn't a soft, squishy sort of girl. She wore her shirts tight; if you looked, you'd see those ten pounds of fluff, but she was curvy as all hell. Nobody cared about ten pounds. Her tits were huge, perky, her hips were wide, and she still had most of a waistline.

Notice how I'm using past tense. This was true through high school.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

College, though...

Okay, lots of girls gain weight their first year of college. The Freshman fifteen's a famous thing, and as much as senior girls tell themselves it's a myth, it's more a fact around here. Trust me, my sex life for most of Freshman year was based on the low self-esteem of former prom queens with muffin tops and thunder thighs, and I had a damn good year.

My angle worked because I'm decent-looking and good at comforting when someone feels down. It worked when a newly-chubby girl was broken up with, or ripped her pants, or felt unloved. This wasn't about wanting fat girls. It was about how skinny chicks gain weight, get upset, feel undesired, and, basically, how they don't turn me away the second I start talking. I have standards, I always have, I've never been the kind of guy who'll sleep with anything on two legs, but...

Thing about 'standards' is, they vary. I've always taken 'no fat chicks' with a grain of salt. These girls called themselves fat, maybe their ex-boyfriends had called them fat, but they weren't really.

'Fat' is when a girl's waistline looks like a stack of tires, all rolls, no hourglass. 'Fat' is when her gut sticks out further than her tits. A fat girl takes up two seats on an airplane. The girls I was with, yeah, they had a few extra pounds, yeah, they weren't so toned, but God no, they weren't fat. They were a tiny bit fluffier, a bit softer, some cellulite, bunch of muffin tops, but never anything major, no huge rolls of fat or anything.

I didn't get with Crysta. I never had an opening. She was comfortable with how she looked, and had loads of admirers, even as the weight piled on, which it did. Let's start there.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She came to orientation looking like she'd had a restful summer, laid by the pool, ate ice cream. She definitely hadn't been exercising, and she wasn't losing weight. Every time I went to the food court, there she was, stuffing her face.

We didn't talk until Halloween. She was trick-or-treating dressed like Elektra. Her eyes lit up, "Jason!" She squealed, "Oh my god, I didn't know we were in the same building!" She moved in for a hug, and I tried to hurry it along. I was, let's just say, interested in the view she was giving me. That outfit was... Well, mostly a cut-short tank top, red panties, and a couple strips of cloth tied a bit too tight. There wasn't much to hide the fact that she'd been taking it easy.

I laughed, "Crysta! I... Heh, how've you been?" I asked, feeling like an idiot, trying to hide my arousal, "What's up?"

Crysta laughed, pulled out a plastic sai, threatened me, "What's up is you're gonna give me a fuck-ton of candy, or I'm gonna force it out of you!" She wrinkled her nose, pretending rage, "Come on, I'm waiting!" I chuckled, pouring a few Hershey's minis into her trash bag. Crysta groaned, "Are you serious?"

"Wha- what?"

Crysta narrowed her eyes, "I said a fuck-ton. This is like, three tiny ass bars." She pursed her lips, raised an eyebrow, "What are you trying to say right now?" She asked, "You trying to say I'm getting fat?!" She bellowed, poking me in the chest with her toy weapon.

It's funny how intimidating a five foot chubby girl can be when she's hot as hell and dressed like a superhero, "What? I... No!"

"You sure about that?" Crysta pressed, stepping closer, "You're sure? 'Cause let me tell you, I sure feel fatter!"

I calmed down, this was a conversation I knew. I shook my head, told her "Don't be ridiculous. You're as skinny as you were at graduation." I left out that she wasn't skinny then, either.

Crysta grinned, "Yeah, totally." She snatched the bag of candy from out of my hands, moved for the door, talking fast, "So I can have this? Awesome, thanks! Later!"

I watched her chubby butt jog off. She wasn't the only squishy co-ed in the hall, but she was definitely easiest on the eyes. Some girls had cellulite I could see through their leggings, but Crysta's thick, padded legs were smooth and sexy as hell, jiggles rippling through them as she stepped down the hall. College was doing, at that point, just the most beautiful things to her bountiful body.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Halloween fattened her up good, though, I'll tell you what.

She'd broken fifteen pounds by Thanksgiving, and I mean before she left for a week of unbridled piggishness.

Spring semester came around, and I swear, by Mardi Gras, Crysta was up thirty pounds. I got a good idea, her outfit was pretty revealing, short shorts and a belly shirt, every fluffy pound was right there for the world to see.

I saw her sitting on a tall guy's shoulders, probably her boyfriend's, to see the parade. Her belly bent around his head. He didn't look to pleased. A little later, he was gone, and she had king cake. It likely wasn't her first slice. She had a sprinkling of green, yellow and purple sugars across that poochy, pudgy, jelly belly she'd grown.

This is where I'd normally make a move; she'd gained twice as much as she was 'supposed' to, and it showed. Only, Crysta seemed a different kind of girl. Spring is when most Freshman girls get their overeating, oversleeping, lazy asses in line, preparing for the summer, losing weight because their fat ass couldn't possibly fit back into that bikini.

They did that.

Diets happened, and the gym filled up.

Girls all around campus lost weight. Crysta found it. They dropped pounds, Crysta picked them back up. And guys still loved her.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sophomore year started.

I had off-campus housing, and Crysta and I shared a morning class. She was late the first day. I recognized a few women from the last year, they mostly looked thinner. Then came Crysta. She did not.

She was juicier than ever, I'm talking lots of that sweet, sweet jiggle. Her crop top, her yoga pants did nothing to hide the fact she'd packed it on something awful that summer. Her ass was fat and that gut was wobbling. Her top was tight, her tits were exploding from that bra, and there's no way she didn't notice she'd developed a thick layer of back fat for her titsling's straps to bury themselves.

I said this was a morning class. You have three guesses which scantily-clad, chubby-as-fuck student brought donuts. Not to share, she didn't have enough, just to enjoy while the professor talked. More than enough to enjoy, it looked like, she forced her way through jelly-filled #'s 10-12 with a quiet, softly moaning and gently-sweating determination.

Tell you right now, my hope was rekindled. She looked like she'd spent the last three months on her ass in an all-you-can-eat candy buffet, there's no way she had just as many suitors. Except she was in a relationship.

I joined a study group to get to know her; boyfriend of the moment was leader. Crysta had a unique sort of study pattern, I came to realize. Snacks were very important, and she needed lots of them. You can guess how this affected her body and boyfriend status. I swear, I could almost see her getting bigger from week to week, and I couldn't miss the fact she really, truly, didn't care. I watched her bend down to pick up a box of Twinkies once. The seams of her sweats gave out. She laughed. She proceeded to eat the whole box in one, intense sitting.

I kept missing my chance to ask her out, she'd break up one week, I'd hear about it, plan to make my move, then have to reschedule when she'd snap up a man ten minutes before I got there. I started helping a lot with her study snacks situation, hoping to get closer.

It worked; at Halloween, we went trick-or-treating together. My car meant more dorms, meant more candy for her, and I just wanted to watch her. There was a lot to watch.

She showed up at my door as the sexiest of cops, in a slutbag's version of a policewoman's uniform, tits exploding from the top, corset struggling to reign in that billowing body of hers, her ass hanging out from her short shorts and a suggestive set of handcuffs swinging from her hips. This was the costume. She added her own touch, her own accessories, a big box of donuts that I knew well enough not to touch. The corset didn't all that much to slim her up. Fat as she'd grown, her body was exploding from the thing everywhere it could, even before she started with the donuts. She lost an inch or two from the shape-wear, but got them back once the snacking started. All I'll say is that she ate a lot of candy as we moved.

By the end, I don't know if I'd call her a 'Sexy' cop, anymore, not in the classic sense. Her corset did nothing at all to disguise her porky, rounded gut, her face was stained with chocolate. She was having problems breathing, and the stream of candy-to-her-face wasn't helping. I helped her back to her room. Her roommate was there, I nodded, but didn't introduce myself, just helped Crysta's groaning, overstuffed self onto the bed, told her goodbye, and left with the weirdest boner.

This was the start of her dating slump that I could see. I guess she lost a lot of admirers when they saw her wheezing and sweating like a pig on Halloween, tugging at the strings of her corset, desperate to loosen it while the guys at the door debated whether they should really give her candy now she'd so clearly fallen from sex-symbol status.

We ate lunch together every day, dinner too, more often than not, and I noticed a pattern. Crysta was a quantity over quality kind of girl, at least with food. Her eating habits could be described as 'constant.'

I recall in November, she made an ice cream sundae. A very large sundae. She'd brought her own bowl for this bonanza.

It was a large bowl. Plastic. I'd call it a popcorn bowl. She brought it in a backpack with a layer of foil on top to hold in the extra ingredients.

She was more than a tiny bit proud to show me the massive monstrosity of future fatness she'd scrambled together, bragging, "Three kinds of ice cream, a couple of crumbled brownies, fuck-ton of chocolate syrup, couple of bananas, nuts, cherries, and big old spray of that good, sweet, white stuff—" she sprayed a towering pile of whipped cream straight into her mouth and squirted chocolate on top, doing her best to close her lips without making a mess, "Whiffed cweam!" She laughed, wiping up a blob that had escaped and licking it from her finger.

I was conflicted, these things seemed sexy, but wrong, and I didn't know what to think. I just talked, "Wow, that's... Impressi— oh, and there it goes. Down the hatch."

Crysta laughed, "Well duh, you don't make the ultimate sundae if you're not gonna eat it!" She pulled the bowl closer, "Come to mama."

I looked around the table at the empty stacks of dishes. I'd had one plate. The rest were inside of the girl lost inside a world built of ice cream and fattiness.

I just kind of watched. I knew Crysta ate a lot. She'd changed my definition of the phrase. I'd seen her stuff herself into a stupor at least a dozen times over the time we'd been hanging out. I knew that, I knew on an empty stomach, she could tackle that calorie bomb any day of the week. I knew she would, if it were an option.

I also knew there was no way in hell her stomach was empty. She'd outdone herself at lunch and dinner. Lunch ended with her shirt rolled up and her hands massaging her fat gut, burping like she didn't have a care in the world.

The sundae, it ended with a blissed-out, Crysta with a bloated belly and no cares for social norms. She dropped the spoon clattering into her bowl and closed her eyes, groaning, satisfied, "Mmph, oh, yeah..." She moaned, "I mean... Who needs men, give me ice cream!"

I spoke up, "I don't really think you need more."

Her eyes stayed shut, she pointed a finger in my general direction, "See? That's what 'm talking about. Ice cream makes me happy. Men just keep on pointing out the obvious, like damn, I already know I'm getting a little..." She let the sentence hang.

"What?" I asked, playing the idiot.

Crysta opened one eye, shook her head, "You know damn well what." Her forehead wrinkled, she gave a squeeze to her plush, bloated belly flab. "I'm talking about this shit that's happening." She wobbled it my way like I didn't watch her gut meat bouncing with every step she took, "I'm getting fat."

"You're not that—"

Crysta's arm rose up, one finger. She didn't change expression or her position. She looked blank, sorta happy, very fat, "Let me stop you there. I have love handles. I have a beer belly. I eat ice cream until I feel drunk. I can't move right now." Her arm fell, "Yep." She said, not sounding upset, "I'm a fat girl."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I learned in that conversation that Crysta wasn't deluding herself. She knew exactly what her eating habits were doing to her. She might have changed her ways, gotten healthy, gotten a boyfriend, but nope. She labeled the sundae the BellyBlaster, had it a few more times, even. It always put her in the mood for a certain conversation.

BellyBlaster #2, she added chocolate chips to the ingredients, because of course, it needed more indulgence to it. I remember her finishing it off. We were in a booth. She turned to the side, sighing heavily with satisfaction, "Mmph, fucking yes..." She purred, pulling her knees up around the heavy swell of her gut. Her face wrinkled, she looked down, squinted her eyes to confirm, finally just wrinkled her nose, "Yep. There it's happening."

"Huh?"

Crysta shrugged, snatching a cookie from my plate, "Eh, my ass is fat." She slapped her legs with a loud clapping sound, "Looks like little miss thunder thighs is coming down with a case of the cellulite." She stuffed the cookie into her face, "Is it really that surprising?"

I started standing up, "Really?" Halloween came back to me, those flawless, perfectly curves hips and rubbing thighs.

"Sit your ass back down." Crysta commanded, "It's not like this is your one chance to see me looking fat. The dimples aren't gonna disappear just 'cause I can walk again." She pursed her lips, shook her head, "Shoulda seen it coming."

Yeah, I wanted to say, I absolutely did. "It's not a big deal."

"Oh, no, I know." She assured me, "I just didn't notice until now."

"So what's this mean for you?" I mused, "No more daisy dukes, strict diet and exercise program?"

She looked at me weird, "Are you saying that's what I should do?"

I hesitated, yes to the diet and exercise, I wanted to tell her, you're turning into a exaggerated cartoon of excess and sexuality. But the daisy dukes, I like her in those, so "No—"

"Good." She interrupted, "Cause I like food. I like short shorts. I do not like exercise. Besides," she said, swiping another cookie from my plate, "It's almost Christmas. Everyone gets fat at Christmas. It's tradition."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sure enough, Spring rolled around and Crysta looked like she'd eaten all the Christmas cookies. Even At this point, though, I was too invested, too determined to ask her out, and she was single, so I didn't think, didn't care about the fact that Crysta Harris was... Well, at this point, she was kinda, maybe, well, absolutely a fat chick.

I did it at the end of January, in the lunch room. Crysta had just finished her dessert tray. She licked the fork clean dropped it to the table with a clatter, leaning back and moaning, "Uh, god, that was good!" She said, licking around her lips, clearing off the chocolate, "Mmph!"

I smirked, "You good?"

Crysta pursed her lips, shrugged, "I mean, I'd do dirty, kinky things to anybody who got me more, but yeah, I guess?" She laughed, "God knows I don't need more!" She crowed, "I'm fat enough as is!"

I agreed with the last part of that, but the first bit... I hopped up, "Be right back."

Maybe three ice cream brownies sounds like overkill to you, or the two slices of cheesecake I got after that, but I'd been eating with Crysta for the better part of a year at that point. The woman's a bottomless pit. I've gotten her full plates of food only for her to complain I only got one. I wasn't making that mistake this time. I grabbed her a little of everything sweet, a lot of the things I knew she loved.

The look of her face when I got back. She smiled; she looked excited, tinged with worry, "Holy shit, Jason!" She laughed, "Either you really want those dirty, kinky things or you're trying to fatten me up good!" She licked her lips, grabbed the fork, and smiled, "I like it!"

"Thought you would." I said as my friend shifted into full-on glutton mode, "I was kind of thinking we'd go eat somewhere, like... Oh, you told me you like Olive Garden! Maybe we start there and see where things go?"

Crysta paused, laughed, "Right, 'cause the best way to a fat girl's heart is straight through her beer belly!"

I scrambled, "I mean, I just thought... Maybe a movie?"

"What? Are you kidding? I just told you how to get to the heart of a fat girl. I am a fat girl.” Crysta scoffed, “Gimme them breadsticks, dammit!"

Force of habit, I started, "You're not that—" I caught myself. For one, she's too aware for that kind of thing to work, and two, I knew it'd just end with her arguing that she's a great, fat, fatty. Girl will defend her status as a fat, disgusting pig like most girls will if you call them stupid I thought fast, finished weak, "hungry?" She looked at me confused, "I just, I mean, you've had kind of... Well, big lunch. You don't really want breadsticks, do you? You can't!"

Crysta laughed, "Uh, fuck you, yes, I fucking can!" She grinned, "I promise you, if you brought in a bowl of breadsticks, I would eat every one of them fuckers."

I stared, she seemed to believe what she was saying. I shook myself, "O-okay, so, Olive Garden. When, I mean... When's a good time?"

Crysta pursed her lips, thought, "How about... Valentine's Day." She suggested, "I know it's a ways off and all, I just... I mean, I'm out of shape, you know?"

I could wait two weeks, "Uh, yeah! That sounds great!"

I started going to the gym on a daily basis after that, for two reasons. One, I'm a bit dim, but I knew Crysta was a heavy chunk of sexy, so I needed some strength to handle that. I like to think that was the main reason, but in all truth, it was more the thought, the fantasy of seeing Crysta running on a treadmill in those spandex outfits she loves so much. Never once saw her there. Saw her every time I went to the cafeteria, and she definitely was enjoying those fast food in the union more than any 'getting-fit' girl should. She didn't look to be slimming up, that's for damn sure.

Let me tell about that day forward.

 

[Enumerated_Bob]

Part 2

Valentine's Date

She didn't see me at first, that day in class. She had chocolate. Chocolate was all she was thinking about. She was powering through a decent-sized box of the stuff, and she was shameless.

No woman who cared about other people's opinion of her appearance would wear that outfit. Everything on her, bright pink; everything could stretch and my god did it have to. I couldn't pretend, she looked fat.

All January, she'd worn heavy coats, kept it hidden. This outfit covered nothing. It was workout clothes for a thin, active woman fighting hard to contain a fat woman whose only activities involved getting and eating food. If that was exercise, Crysta was addicted.

I stared at her corpulent body. Her ass overflowed the chair, her gut pushed into her lap, exposed, and her tits... actually, I had no problems there. Her cups were overflowing, the straps dug deep into her back fat, but that deep canyon of creamy cleavage, I liked that. 

I bit my lip. Crysta was big. Second thoughts entered my mind as she cheerfully stuffed more calories down her throat. Whether she was ignorant of how big she was, or apathetic, I don't know. She looked blissed out, happy just to keep eating.

She tossed a chocolate towards her mouth. She missed it; it bounced down into her cleavage. She jumped, like she was surprised, and in the bouncing, the chocolate slipped between her pale, pillowy breasts. She giggled, shoving her hand down her shirt and pulling it out. It smeared, melted by the heat of her bosom. More giggling, echoed across her flabby figure, then she went to lick herself clean.

I... Yeah, forget those second thoughts.

She spotted me during clean-up, waved me over. I hesitated. She sensed this. She smirked, balanced a chocolate between her tits, tilting forward and scooping it up with her tongue. I was there a second later.

Crysta giggled, "Knew that'd get you!"

I gulped, "Yeah, it... It worked."

She sighed, smiling, "Silly boys. You'll do anything for a girl who can suck her own nipples won't you?" I didn't answer, she leaned in, whispered, "I can, you know... I'm pretty good at sucking..."

"Oh!" I spluttered, we were in public, "Yeah?"

Crysta smiled, amused, "Oh yeah. You know what they say about fat girls... We give good—"

I interrupted, finished the sentence, "Presents?" The guy behind me was listening intently.

Crysta chuckled. She didn't care, "Oh yeah. Best presents you can imagine..." She pursed those pink, perfect lips, "The best part is the unwrapping—"

I am not good with bedroom talk. God knows, not in public. I panicked, "I got you a present!"

Crysta just laughed, she thought this was hilarious. I dug around in my bag, she talked, "Oh yeah? What'd you—" she stopped when I found what I was looking for, "Oh my god, that's..." She snorted, "Wow!"

"I just... I saw them and I thought of you!"

Crysta was quaking with laughter, "Let me get this straight." She said, "You saw giant, one-pound chocolate bars and you thought of me?" She laughed, "And then what, you figured 'one pound isn't enough, this a fat bitch,' and bought three?"

"Uh... Yes?"

Crysta broke down laughing, "Wow, you... I mean, I think it's the nicest way anyone's called me fat!"

"I... I didn't mean to—"

Crysta waved my objections away, "No, but you definitely did!" She shook her head grinning, "I swear if I wasn't actually the kind of girl who buys these for myself all the time, I would be furious!"

I tried to put these things together. Crysta tried to finish off the rest of her chocolate box in ten seconds. As she tore into the wrapping of the first bar, I found words. Sort of. "So... You're not... Angry?"

Crysta snorted, "I'm a fat girl. I like chocolate." She chomped into a solid pound of fat and sugar with the ferocity of a starved wolf, chewing, grinning, "I'll be paying you back tonight." She swallowed, winking, "Maybe into the early hours of the morning." Another fierce bite, "We'll see."

"That... I like that."

Crysta chuckled, "Damn right you do. So. My place at 7. You drive. We eat." She picked off a single square, brought it eye level, "You drive to your place for the night." She winked, scooped up the square with her tongue, "Sound good?"

The lesson started. I wasn't listening. Crysta was such a pig. I couldn't look away, she was so fat, so overfed, but she was in the zone, so carefree. She muffled her burps, but kept going, cramming herself full of as much chocolate as possible.

One pound of chocolate, god, that's a lot. I worked out the calories, it's over 2,000. By the end, Crysta was almost done with two bars. The classroom emptied, lots of students gave her weird looks as they left, some of them disgusted, most of them impressed. Crysta didn't seem to notice. She sat there, whimpering a bit. Her eyes were dull and glassy; her face was pink. Her gut poured out into her lap, packed pretty tight with candy.

I didn't know what to do. I tried sympathy, "You okay?"

Crysta shuddered back to life, "Huh? Oh... Yeah, I just..." She chuckled, held up the empty wrappers, "I'm kinda full. Lotta chocolate."

I smiled, "So you're good?"

She blushed, "Actually, could you..." She had a sheepish grin, "Could you help me up? I'm kinda... Can't really... bend in the middle..."

I could see that. “Need some help?”

She took my hand, stood, pressing her warm, womanly body against me, purring, "Wanna help me back to my room, big, strong man?"

I was more than happy.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I hoped for some early action; Crysta was up for it, and lord knows I've heard stories about her bedroom style, but it wasn't to be.

Her roommate, Kay, was there, playing Fallout and looking every inch a gluttonous heifer. The descriptions I gave of proper, truly fat girls, the ones I was thinking might apply to Crysta, they all apply to Kay and then some. She was eating a family size bag of Doritos resting on the table of her gut. Her belly apron hung down so far, I couldn't have told you if she was wearing shorts.

She nodded my way, then looked at Crysta, "You got some packages."

Crysta's forehead wrinkled, "From who?"

Kay shrugged, "Dunno. Bunch of fuckboys trying to get laid, probably" She glanced my way, "No offense."

Crysta wasn't listening; she was at her bed looking at the boxes. "Chocolate!" She squealed, like a woman who hadn't already eaten multiple pounds of candy. She fell, heavily, onto the bed, lying on her side. Her shirt rode up; gravity pulled heavily on her flabby tummy. She held up a box of bite-sized chocolates, "Maybe someone wants to help me through all this chocolate?" She asked. Her big brown eyes begged me to stuff her chubby face, but her overfull belly begged me not to. "Maybe someone wants to feed me one sweet, delicious bite at a time?"

Kay... I don't know if she ruined the moment or saved me, rolling her eyes, "Or, maybe he doesn't, cause your roommate's still here."

Crysta coughed, shook her head, "Right. Don't want to give it all away before we've even gone out." she smiled and leaned back on the mattress, spreading her thick, meaty thighs apart to hint at the night ahead and pulling the box of chocolates onto her gut, popping the seal, winking at me, "See you tonight, big boy..."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

6:55, you know where I was.

Only hint Kay had moved, there were no Doritos. I didn't see Crysta, but I saw the empty chocolate boxes that meant she'd been there. Kay answered my question before I asked, "She's in the bathroom, trying to get ready." She rolled her eyes, snorting, "Told her this would happen. I warned her."

I had a hunch, but, "Told her what?"

"To stop with the chocolate." Kay said off-hand, "I told her, you keep that up, you're gonna be too fat for your dress tonight." She scoffed, raised her voice, "And somebody didn't listen, did she!"

Crysta's response came from the bathroom, "I can hear you, you know!"

Kay yelled back, "Kinda the point!"

The door to the bathroom cracked, and Crysta's rounded face poked out, petulant, "I am not too fat."

"Keep telling yourself that, cupcake." Kay responded, barely looking away from the TV, "You sit on your ass eating chocolate, you get fat, it's that easy." She paused the game, snorted, turned to Crysta, "Wanna tell loverboy what you did today?"

Crysta bit her lip, "That's... that's different!" She tried, "That was like, an hour ago. Chocolate can't make you fat in an hour!"

Kay had more to say; I could see the gears turning, so I stepped towards the bathroom, "Crysta?" I called, "I'm coming in there."

Crysta sputtered, panicked, "What?"

I held up my hands, tried to be non-threatening, "Crysta?" I asked, "Maybe I can help?"

In response, Crysta sighed, slumped, pursing her lips, "Yeah, all right." She tugged at her curve-hugging dress, defeat in her eyes, "I..." She sighed, setting her hand over that bloated, swollen gut and frowning, "I can't get it zipped, okay?”

No, she could not, and a part of me already knew without trying that I wouldn't be much help, but I did my best, took my place, "Suck in, like really hard."

"Because I wasn't... doing that... already!" Crysta spat out between my attempts to yank that zipper up higher. Finally, the fat girl pulled away, moaning, "Ugh, it's useless!"

I paused; she wasn't wrong, "Maybe... Maybe it shrunk?"

"Nah... I grew." Crysta pouted, "I never even wore it until now."

I hesitated, "How about..." I unzipped the dress completely, pulled it from Crysta's pillowy, silken body, "No dress,” I said, sliding my hand between the dress, pressing against her soft warmth, “nothing with buttons, no zippers, just stretchy pants and a stretchy shirt."

Crysta didn't resist my undressing her, stepping out of the dress and breathing freely, letting that gut billow out to it's full size, unrestrained, "Where's this going?"

I dropped to my knees, hands on her soft, pliable body, sinking into the malleable meat, "I think you know." I murmured "You wear loose clothes, elastic stuff, nothing too hard to get off..." I said, tugging at her lacy, black panties, running my hands gently down the inside of her tender, dimpled thighs as I pulled them off, slowly running my hands along her over-abundant, fleshy curves as I rose, "No panties, nothing to get in the way later on tonight, when..."

Crysta gasped, shivered, "When... what?"

"You'll see."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Little later, we walk into Olive Garden. I'm dressed up, nice khakis, polo shirt, and my date... looks a fat mess. Emphasis on fat. Even I had to qualify her as that, as much as I didn't want to. Her face was still stunning, but she never gained much weight there. She'd done her makeup over again, but she still looked a combination of beauty queen and sloppy pig.

She wore outgrown sweatpants and a sweatshirt, tugging off the sweatshirt as soon as we were inside, revealing a low-cut, curve-hugging tank top that was a few inches too short to cover her wobbling potbelly. She tied the sweatshirt around her hips, a bit tight, creating a muffin top. Chocolate stains on her over-tight sweats, rippling, flabby belly hanging over a sweatshirt belt, she looked the classic fatty-in-denial, and I was her enabler, trying to pretend she wasn't huge.

She didn't pay much attention to anything until we were in the restaurant, until she smelled Italian food. That's when she realized, "Oh, shit. Olive Garden?"

She asked this as we were lead to a table. I turn to her, "Yeah? Is this... a problem?"

She hesitated, eying me. It felt like she was sizing me up, trying to piece things together, "I... I guess not."

I wasn't falling for that. "Hold up. Is it a problem or what? What's the matter?"

Crysta blushed, "It's... It's the breadsticks, okay? I told you. They're my weakness. I've eaten enough today, I'm puffed up like a dang balloon, but let me tell you," she looked me straight in the eye, dead serious, "I could go to town on some breadsticks, right now."

I actually laughed, "What? Afraid you're getting fat?"

"No, I'm afraid 'cause I'm about to be fat." Crysta corrected me, "You're gonna be rolling me out of here; that's how I am with breadsticks."

"Well, long as the end result's the same..."

I could see in her eyes, something clicked, "So, bring on the unlimited breadsticks." she finished with a devilish grin.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

'Unlimited' is an exaggeration; they eventually stopped coming, but my god, they were relentless. Those servers had no respect for the dying remains of Crysta's womanly figure. Her gut pushed further and further into her lap, and still, they brought bowl after bowl of rich, calorie-packed carbohydrates to my piggish date.

I warned her once, "Maybe you should... slow down? Your food's gonna be here pretty soon..."

To which she replied, red-faced and panting, "No, I... I can manage!"

"Are you sure?"

She swallowed heavily, pushing away the empty bowl, "Yeah, I'm... I can... I can eat a lot."

Without thinking, it slipped out, "I noticed!"

Crysta flushed red, "Right..." She bit her lip. Another bowl of breadsticks arrived. "But it's not... I mean, it's not that big a thing!" Crysta argued, waving a breadstick in my face, "I mean, these are like, pure carbs, right? Carbs go straight to my boobs!"

That was a damn lie, but I didn't call it. I still felt good about my chances, and lord knows, when fucking's on the line, you best bet I'm gonna keep quiet and let the pretty girl delude herself. I shook my head, "If you say so."

She must have read my mind, arguing at me between greedy mouthfuls, "No, but... for real! I watched this... This documentary on carbo-loading! Turns out it's like, super good for you!"

I squinted, "Yeah?" I asked, "You saw this... When?"

Crysta shrugged, "I dunno, after high school? Right before college?"

'Right before you blimped out,' is what I didn't say. I arched an eyebrow, "And? How's it working?"

Crysta chuckled, sending a glorious ripple up and down the length of her cleavage. She squeezed her tits together, grinning proudly, "Up four cup sizes!"

'Half a dozen pants sizes as well,' I didn't point out. Those second thoughts were back, small ones, in the back of my mind. She was so unashamedly stuffing her fat face, I had to wonder if I'd waited too long to fuck the hot girl. My brain said yes, my body didn't care, "Really?" I asked, "Four?"

Crysta beamed, cradling those sweet, tasty babies, crowing, "DD to an HH!" She crowed, reaching her arms under those mammary mountains, giving a bit of lift, bragging, “Big enough I can suck 'em!”

"I... Really?"

"Oh yeah, and this big mouth of mine..." She said, making eye contact with me, stuffing her face with not one, not two, but three breadsticks at once, wrapping those sculpted, pink lips around the greasy dough, moaning softly as she bit down and chewed, swallowing the heavy carbs, "Well..." She said, winking, "You'll find out later on tonight, won't you?"

I couldn't make words, "I..."

To my rescue came our entreés, much to Crysta's excitement. The woman had eaten thousands of calories that day; she looked like she'd swallowed a basketball but she grinned at the idea of adding a massive, steaming plate of spaghetti on top of it all, "Aww, yes, now we're talking!"

Except, we weren't.

Crysta was too busy stuffing her belly; I was too busy staring, trying not to drool as she teased me, licking the sauce from the meatballs, groaning sensually as her body was packed tighter and tighter with more food. I was... I don't know, she was so sexy with those cannonballs for breasts, with that long, nimble tongue licking up marinara from her cleavage, but... so big. If you'd have told me she was pregnant, I'd have asked how many months overdue she was.

She was determined to clean her plate, and she had the resolve to do it. I, on the other hand, lacked resolve enough to look anywhere but my date as she finished her impression of a black hole by licking her plate clean of sauce, setting it down and leaning back with a long sigh. She looked so happy, so satisfied, and so, well, huge, with her tank top rolled up over the swell of her belly, showing off her gut to the world. The waiter comes up, "Would you like a dessert?"

I was actually speechless. Crysta looked about ready to explode, and this idiot thought what this fat girl really needed was more fucking food. I started to send him away, but Crysta spoke first. She sounded... turned on? "Mmm, yeah, gelato."

The waiter walked off, I looked to Crysta, disbelieving, "You... Really?" I sputtered, "I mean... Dessert?"

She was sweating, breathing heavily, clearly uncomfortable, but she forced a sassy smile my way, voice confident but strained, "Most important part of every meal!"

I struggled to wrap my brain around this. Crysta was massaging the doughy bulk of her gut, kneading that soft, malleable flesh, finding comfort in it, and I was... not grossed out by it? I couldn't look away, it was entrancing. I gulped, "I... Well..."

She let out a small burp, breathed a sigh of relief and smirked at me, "What, you're worried about my figure?" she teased, "You think a little ice cream's ruin my whole diet?" She laughed; her hands tightened around a thick, juicy roll of gelatinous belly-flesh, and she shook it in my direction, "I think... we're past that, don't you?"

"You... Diet?" I sputtered out, weakly. I was finding it hard to reconcile everything in my mind. She was so lost to indulgence; she was a pig, a hippo, maybe even a cow with those udders.

Her sides... She used to have the gentle curve of a soft, tender-skinned hourglass. Now she had thick, bulging rolls of soft meat, just folds and folds of fat, flabby flesh that I just... I wanted to squeeze them. I wanted to show her how far she'd let herself go. I wanted to pinch an inch; I wanted to pinch all those extra inches. She was massive, a gorgeous goddess lost to gluttony, her feminine curves were buried beneath layers of warm, plush blubber; she was disgusting on all levels, and god, I wanted her. She'd changed before my eyes, from an overweight, over-voluptuous vixen into an example of everything wrong with the modern American life, obese, overindulgent, lazy, and in denial of how far things had gone. And I was ten seconds away from leaping over the table and fucking her right there.

She knew it, too; she had that knowing smile, "Oh, you didn't know?" She asked, "I'm on the seafood diet! I see food, I eat food." She winked, grunting as she thrust herself forward, resting her elbows on the table, leaning until her tits flattened against the tabletop, "You should see me at the buffet."

"Maybe next time..." I offered, trying to contain myself.

Crysta chuckled, leaning back again, "Eh, better not. You don't want your girl getting fat, now do you?"

"Eh..." I found myself saying, "Maybe a bit." I froze, eyes wide. I didn't mean to say that, I'd never thought it before, but somehow, I couldn't take it back in all honesty.

Crysta was just amused, there was a twinkle in her eye, "Oh yeah?" She said, "That so? Well you're in luck, 'cause oof." She said, grunting, clutching at her bulbous belly and wincing, "You're gonna be waking up with a fatter girl come tomorrow morning!"

I had nothing to say; I was saved by the waiter with the gelato, and I'll be damned if I didn't get a single bite of that dessert. Crysta shoveled that icy treat down her throat like a machine. She got the last of it, though, enjoyed those last drops of sugary, calorie-rich sweetness, licking up the drops with a deliberate scrutiny. She knew I was watching, she made the most of it, using her tongue, clearing out the bowl completely before tossing it recklessly at the table. I couldn't say much, just, "Goddamn."

Crysta winked, "Get the check. You'll be talking to God again pretty soon."

[Enumerated_Bob]

'Pretty soon' took a while. Seems a woman who just ate her weight in breadsticks isn't so mobile just after. She belched loudly enough to get the attention of couples all around the restaurant, and the sounds she made as she struggled to get upright were damn near sexual. Cue more confusion on my part, disgust and horniness, both at once, connected. She was gross, and it was... sexy?

I reached my hand around her spherical tummy, helping her up, holding her close. My hand sunk into her body, down to the solid wad in the center of her fatness. My fingers twitched, she burped again, and both of us felt my cock stiffen. Crysta, I knew, felt it pressing against her overgrown gut; she giggled, grinning up at me, "Excuse me!" She said loud enough for the room to hear, grabbing my crotch and whispering, like a lady, "And excuse you!" I waved apologetically at the crowd, escorted my whale of a woman from the premises, with her hiccuping, whimpering with every bit of jostling.

I was practically carrying her, and it wasn't easy. I wasn't sure until then, but she was well over 200 pounds on an empty stomach. Her stomach was not empty. I set her on a bench outside the restaurant, "I'll bring the car around."

She said nothing, just sat on the bench, hiccuping, blissful grin on her face until I had her in the car. Then she smirked, leaning over, whispering into my ear, "That was a good idea..."

"Huh?"

"Setting me down..." Crysta purred, "You could've made me walk..."

I started the car, "Yeah, well—"

She looked at me with those big, blue eyes, "I could've worn myself out walking, but now..." She licked her lips, eying my crotch, "I think I'll enjoy wearing myself out..."

I don't know what the speed limit was on the drive back, but I broke it.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Stepping through the doorway, she wasted no time. She'd kept up the 'groaningly-full, too-stuffed-to-walk' act until the moment that door closed behind us.

The latch clicked, her grasping hands tightened at my hips. She swung me around, pressing me against the door and looking up at me. I barely registered her hand reaching around me, locking the door. You know where I was looking. She chuckled, "I'd say 'eyes up here,' but I think we both know that's not happening..." She teased, thrusting her chest out, glancing down at her massive, pillowy breasts. She tilted her head back, asking me, seducing me, "Your roommate's not coming home tonight, is he?"

I swallowed, "Uh... No, he's... Somewhere else..."

"Good..." Crysta purred, stepping closer. Her tits pressed against me, below them, her warm, bloated belly, "Then let's get started..."

I panicked. My college sex life was, to that point, hot girls who got soft, girls a douchebag would turn down but anyone else would snap up in an instant. Crysta, though... She turned me on, I knew that, but after what I saw at Olive Garden, I... I don't know what I thought.

I coughed, tried to play it off, "Do... Maybe you want a drink, first?" I sure as hell did.

Crysta giggled, "You think I need to get drunk to put out?" She asked, "Trust me, I'm ready..."

"Are you sure?" I pressed on, "My roommate's got some... some real good stuff in the fridge."

Crysta considered, "Eh, what the hell. Let's make it a night." She said, to my relief, "What kind of 'good stuff' are we talking, whiskey, vodka?"

I laughed, nervously, "Heh. I don't really... There's definitely beer in there, maybe something... Something else?"

I opened the fridge. There was beer, yes. Full-calorie stuff. No other alcohol, but Crysta didn't mind. She pushed past me to grab a couple of tall boys, cracking the tab on one and commenting, "Ah, well. Looks like my beer belly's getting some work done, tonight." She gulped down a huge swallow. I moved to get the other can, she pulled away, yelping her displeasure. Swallowing hard, she narrowed her eyes at me, "Get your own, dang it!" She took another gulp, then defended herself, "I like my beer, okay?"

I gave a tight smile, then pulled a can of my own, "Sure... sure thing!"

Crysta took a seat at the table, plopping her heavy body onto the rickety chair with reckless abandon, forcing a dangerous creak from the poor thing. Her eyes got wide, she cursed, "Oh, shit!"

I tried to make her feel more comfortable, lying, "Don't worry, that chair's, it..." I paused, Crysta was chugging the last of that beer; I could almost see her belly swelling bigger, "Well, it does that."

Crysta belched, popping the top to can #2 and laughing, "Oh yeah? You get a lot of fat, piggy bitches coming over, then?"

"W-What?" I stammered, "I... What?"

Lowering the can down, Crysta sighed with satisfaction, looking amused, "Aww! That's so cute!" She giggled, told me, "Don't worry so much; you're not gonna hurt my feelings! I'm a big girl!"

That's a fact, but one thing I've learned from targeting girls who've gained weight: always deny it. I took a sip of my drink, pulled a disbelieving grin, "What?" I said, "What are you even talking about?"

Crysta finished her second beer, slamming it to the table, rolling her eyes and instructing me, "Get me another, yeah?" I did as told, handed it off, and she continued, "I'm talking about the uh..." She took a drink as she remembered the numbers, "Ninety pounds I've gained since high school?"

A bit of beer shot from my nose, "N-Ninety?" I stammered, trying to process, "Ninety pounds?" I knew she'd gotten big, huge in fact, but that number, that was just...

Crysta laughed to see my reaction, "Oh, god, no!" She assured me, "It's gotta be over a hundred pounds by now. I don't know, all right? Doctor said ninety pounds at the start of Christmas break." Her face twisted, was that embarrassment or pride? She sounded proud telling me, "I can't exactly see the scale on my own any more."

"I... Wow..." It was my turn to chug. I didn't quite know what to think, so I wiped the foam from my mouth and asked, "Really?"

Crysta smirked, "What, you can't tell just looking at me?"

I grabbed another beer, took a swig to bolster my courage, tried to reassure her it was fine, "Well, I mean... College can do that, right?"

To that, Crysta laughed. She was looking loose, declaring with what I could tell was actual pride, "What? College didn't make me fat, I done this to myself!"

"What?"

"You thought this was just happening without me noticing?" Crysta cackled, "Oh, damn! Ha, yeah, let me tell you, Jason. Let me clarify for you." She pursed her lips, then shrugged, "Okay, you went to our senior prom, right? Do you remember how I looked?"

I nodded, "Yeah?" That dress didn't hide a damn thing. Everybody knew, from the moment Crysta jiggled onto that dance floor, there was nothing under that blue, strapless dress but soft, silky woman.

"Yeah, a girl doesn't just accidentally go from that to this in a year in a half." Crysta assured me, "Hell, I was already trying at that point, I had to loosen my zipper after they opened that snack table." She took a sip, "Like, twice."

I felt slow. Things were coming together, "Trying?" I asked, "Wait, so... You got like this on... on purpose?"

"There we go!" Crysta laughed, "You got there in the end!" She slapped her thick, dimpled thighs, then inched her hands up along her plush, pliable flesh, "I think I'm doing a good job, don't you?" She snorted, "What am I saying, of course you do."

I was just repeating myself, but I didn't really have anything better to say, "Wait, what?"

"It's a fetish, okay?" Crysta said with a smirk, "And you... Well, I kinda thought, but I wasn't sure, until..." She raised her brows, confident in what she said, "You're into this kind of thing, aren't you?" Her lips curled, she oozed certainty, "I seen you eying bigger girls aplenty, especially me."

I stammered, "I... I don't really..." but I went quiet, eyes wide, taking it all in as Crysta stood up from her chair, tugging her shirt completely off and stepping towards me, jiggling with every step.

She grabbed my hand, pressed it to her soft, fat body, pushing it in. As her gut flesh engulfed my hand, she purred, "This is what you're into, isn't it? Big, soft girls?" She licked her lips; I felt her unbuttoning my pants as she kept talking, "Oh yeah, proof right there. You like 'em big, don't you. You like your girls horny as hell and hungry as fuck; you like 'em big and beautiful, right?" She asked, "Fat and fuckable?"

"I..." The problem wasn't that I didn't know, I knew damn well I liked what Crysta was putting on the table. I didn't know why; I found it hard to say out loud, "Maybe?"

Crysta almost laughed, "Keep playing safe then, I know your type. Don't wanna say it loud, haven't really accepted it, but oh yeah, you've fucked some fatties." She reached back to grab her beer, draining it and celebrating with an echoing burp, laughing afterwards, "Ugh, yeah!" She cheered, "Now that... That was a good one!"

"I... Yeah, sure, I guess?" I responded, trying, and failing to think straight with no blood left in my brain, "So... getting fat make you feel... good?"

Crysta rolled her eyes, impatient, "Getting fat makes me feel sexy." She said, "Feeling full makes me wet. And right now..." She said, moving close, "I'm fucking stuffed."

I'm not a nervous guy, but words weren't coming, "Well, uh..."

Crysta took the lead. She grabbed my half-empty beer, draining it. She looked like she regretted that, but she kept going, groaning, putting her hands to that round, spherical stomach of hers, "Oomph. Okay, now..." She hiccuped, grabbing my ass and twisting me towards the door, slapping my butt and ordering me, "Bedroom. Now. Get the shirt off while you walk." She commanded, "Come on. Let's go!"

I led the way, tried not to look backwards as Crysta groaned, burped. I'd drank enough to wonder if Crysta was right; she was so big, so fat, and yet, every piggish grunt brought me closer to turning around and fucking her right there on the hallway floor. I resisted, turning around only after we'd made it to my room, "Well, here it—"

The words dried up in my throat; my brain froze. The sounds I'd heard made sense. Crysta had left a trail of clothes. She was totally nude, confident in her body, way fatter, and way sexier than I'd imagined.

Her gut was round, the spherical bulk hung down over, hiding her pussy from view. Her tits were huge, stretch-marked and minus the ill-fitting bra, they sagged to the sides of her stomach, too heavy to stay perky. She smiled, "You like?" She asked, reaching down. She lifted her belly fat, showing off, "I waxed and everything..."

"I... Yeah—"

"Let's go." Crysta said, shoving me backwards and onto the bed, "No more talking." she said, "You got condoms?"

I pointed to the dresser, "There."

I watched as Crysta got protection, "There we go." She kneeled by my legs, "Now let's get these off, see what we're working with..."

The next few minutes... Oh god, I was about to explode the entire time, and Crysta knew it, toying with me, rolling the condom on with her mouth, teasing, "Oh, wow, you're just about to pop, aren't you?"

She crawled on top, all 230+ pounds of her. The bed sagged under our combined weight. She was the dominant one that first go around. I couldn't breathe; I could barely move and my God, I didn't want to. She did the work for me, riding me, up, down, squeezing the air from my lungs with every thrust. Her body wobbled, her tits bounced. I reached out to squeeze; they were too big for one hand. Crysta moaned at the feel, "Oh, you... You like my tits, don't you?" She said between heaving breaths, sweat glistening from every exposed inch of her.

I did. I do, still. Goddamn.

She kept going, "Oh yeah, I could smother you with these, couldn't I? You'd like that, wouldn't you? Yeah?"

Tell you now, Crysta had something I'd never seen, a knowledge of what I didn't know I found sexy...

That first round didn't last too long; maybe it was the weight of her, or how impossibly hot she seemed at that moment, or what she said, but I burst inside her in a matter of minutes, to her amusement. She took it as a compliment, got us another condom the second as she knew I was up for more. Which was immediately.

Twice more, we went at it; I did better these times. I found out Crysta's a screamer, that she grabs her chest when she orgasms. She likes being on top, in control. I discovered what 230 pounds of woman feels like on my face, what that amount of soft, gelatinous flesh looks like pumping up and down, bouncing, rippling. Call it a learning experience; I learned that Crysta was better than any girl I'd ever been with.

After round 3, she talked me into ordering pizza. She was convincing; she brought up how many calories sex can burn, how all those calories weren't going towards plumping up her juicy, jiggling jugs. I ordered my porky princess two large pizzas, and I think I got a slice or two. She got my crusts, got a few more of those sweet, sweet carbs.

She dozed off in the aftermath of two pizzas and three more beers, curled up on my mattress clutching her full tummy, naked as the day she was born. My bed was warm that night, lower to the ground.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

My roommate came back early the next morning. Not so early he caught anything, though I will say the shenanigans started again when we both woke up, not so early we didn't finish breakfast, but still early enough to see Crysta before she left, bloated from a big breakfast and bubbling out of all her clothes. Her whole body was like Jello, wobbling with every step.

His first comment, after she'd left was amazement, "Holy shit, dude, that was your date last night?" He scoffed, not impressed, "She's like, fucking huge."

I didn't take it as an insult towards her, "Yeah." I murmured, "She really is."

He went for the cupboards, for food, but couldn't find much. He looked my way, "Uh, where... What the hell happened here? Where's the food?"

"Like you said." I snorted, still smiling, "She's fucking huge.

[Enumerated_Bob]

Part 3:

Standards

The way I described our first date, you know I wasn't letting Crysta Harris get away from me.

I did some research on what she'd told me. Learned a lot.

Second date was just a few days later. Let me talk about that. She... made requests.

Crysta looked like a good girl on a date this time, at least at the start. Her hair was pinned up. She wore a tight white blouse and a pair of khakis she should have sold five pounds ago. Her shirt was tucked into a waistband that dug into her soft body, exaggerating her hard-earned muffin top. The buttons over her tits were straining and the seams in her pants weren't doing much better. I could tell from my sneaky glances at that voluptuous ass that one, she had panties, two, the fat cow was too big for them. I'll admit, maybe she showed a tad more cleavage than was appropriate, but I don't think she could help it, the way those buttons were straining, and I wasn't complaining.

She didn't seem too sure as we walked in, "I've actually never been here before." She mused as she took a seat close by the desserts table, "You're sure it's good food?"

I arched my eyebrow, reminded Ms. Food Snob, "Do you care that much? It's fatty. You're eating in bulk."

Crysta shrugged, "True." She smirked, suggested, "Let's play a game."

"I'm listening."

Crysta leaned over the table my way, "Okay. It's called 'Slop for piggy.' I am piggy." She grinned, "You're the farmer. Piggy needs her slop. Don't bother keeping stuff separate on a plate; piggy don't care. Piggy wants quantity. Piggy needs a lot of feeding. Got it?"

I squinted, "You just don't want to get it yourself."

Crysta shrugged, feigned innocence, "Piggy can't leave her sty! Piggy needs your help. Piggy needs food." I didn't move, so she pouted, puffed out her bottom lip and widened her eyes. She pleaded, "Oink oink, food?"

I laughed, shook my head, but went to fix her plates. She loves her some sweets; I piled two plates high with desserts, added a generous dash of chocolate soft serve to each and set them on the table as I went to the main courses, mashing teriyaki with lo-mein with general Tso's chicken, moving quick. I wanted to get back to Crysta, I wanted to see this.

I put the plate in front of her, "There you go, master, glad to serve, I—" I stopped. The dessert plates were untouched. The ice cream was melting on both plates, sinking into inches of Chinese and American pastries. "Why... You're not hungry?"

Crysta snorted, "Like that's ever stopped me from eating before. I'm just waiting for the ice cream to melt. And don't pretend you're a slave. That's a different role-play altogether.” she winked, “Save that for another night, I feel like letting you be the leader tonight." She smirked at the look on my face, “Yeah. I think this is just about melted enough, now...”

"Melted? Why are you— oh."

Crysta dropped her face into the plate, gobbling up the sweets as fast as she could, tongue scooping up the food, grunting lowly, tilting her head to gasp for air. It was animalistic, she was sucking the plate clean with all her focus. She gave it one last lick, straightening back up and smiling, proudly, chocolate staining her face and tits, milky cream on her nose, "Piggy doesn't use hands. Piggy just eats."

The beginning of plate two. Her tits slammed into the tabletop as she ate, squishing flat under Crysta's determination. Her tongue kept nuging the plate away, it was near out-of-reach, the edge of the table was digging into her fatty belly. I pushed it closer to make things easier; she grunted thanks, looked up. The plate wasn't clean yet, but she had a request. With just two words, she made her wishes clear, "More slop."

"What?" I asked, gesturing to the plate of entrees, "But—"

"Yeah, like that." Crysta clarified, "Piggy needs carbs. Get piggy fuck-tons of carbs. Carbs go to Piggy's boobs, remember? You want Piggy to get her carbs, don't you?"

I just wanted to keep watching, but I obeyed. I piled two plates high with noodles, piled them to overflowing. Crysta was pleased, she looked up from savory plate #1, smiled, "Oh yes, piggy is eating real good. Piggy's titties are gonna get real big!" She said, reaching up to loosen a button from her blouse, "Piggy's gonna get real big!"

She paused before starting the noodle dishes, unbuttoned her pants and groaned with relief. She leaned back, stuck her gut up into the air. She'd lost a button, I could see her skin in the fabric gap, "I'm getting kinda... Kinda full." She admitted, dropping back to the bench with a thump.

I grabbed a bottle of soy sauce on a whim, dumped it generously over the plate, "There you go, new flavors." I told her, realizing she'd love to hear this, "But watch out, I heard this stuff bloats a girl up like crazy..."

That's all she needed to dive down into her food again. She was slowed down, her belly got in the way, and it took more time to slurp up the noodles. She made a mess, of herself, of the table, of her clothes. Her hair was coming unpinned, little locks coming loose, dipping in sauce and slinging it. Her tits were speckled with soy sauce, her face was drenched, and I could see her eyes that her resolution was wearing thin. She sucked up the last niblets and fell back against the partition. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. She put her hands on her tummy, and groaned, "I... I think I'm just about..." She erupted into an echoing, sickening belch. She moaned, looked relieved, then slammed her head into that last plate.

"You think you're what?" I asked, "Ready to keep eating? You really can't stop can you?" I was taunting her, I knew she was into getting fatter, so I made fun of her, "What am I saying. Of course you can't. You'll never be skinny again, you're just gonna get bigger, and rounder, and..." As I talked, she sped up, eating quicker, "You want another fucking plate, don't you, you fat hog." She was almost done, but her grunts said please. I stood up, turned to get more, and froze.

A man was there, looking managerial in a suit. He did not look amused, and he got right to the point, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

I blinked, uncomprehending, "Huh? What?"

"Would you and your..." He paused, looking disgusted at Crysta. Her blouse was held together by just a few buttons, at her bust line. She felt stared at, so she straightened up, turning to look at us. She literally had noodles stuck in her cleavage. The manager's condescension, his disgust were unapologetic, "Your person, please come with me."

"But... Why?"

He was getting impatient, "Your little... display, okay? This is a family restaurant!" His lip curled, "Cover yourself, ma'am, I can see your nipple!"

"What?" Crysta jerked, looked for herself. She laughed, "Ugh, yeah, dude?" She said, fishing around in her bra, "That's teriyaki." She popped it in her mouth, "Tasty, tasty teriyaki." she winked at me, “Love me some meat.”

The guy had had enough. "Just leave, dammit, before I call the cops!"

I was convinced, but Crysta had one more, "Ooh, cops! Maybe they'll bring donuts!"

The man in the suit snapped, "Okay, that's it." 

He pulled out his phone, and I interjected, "We're leaving, we're leaving!" I shouted at him, grabbing my girl and dragging her overfull ass up from her place at the table. I stared at the suited man to ensure he put the phone away, "Okay? We're going."

Crysta, lovely girl that she is, had her mouth between her tits slurping up the last of her lo mein. "Yeah, we're..." She belched in the man's face, "We're going."

I walked with Crysta to the car, a thankfully short walk, and we fought back the laughing until then. The whole thing, from Crysta's boob noodles to the manager's hair blowing back when she burped, if you aren't amused, you should have been there. As the laughing died down, she turned to me, looking like a trash diver, "Well, that was pretty damn sexy."

I looked at the clock, "Night's still young. There's more sexy to be had." I eyed her poor date outfit. Some of the buttons had just unsnapped. Others were somewhere in that restaurant. She'd grabbed a napkin and wiped her face, but her clothes were so stained. I started the car, "So let's have it."

Crysta clutched at her poor, overstuffed gut; she'd been eating all day; I picked her up for our date after dinner. Crysta wheezed, "If you're talking about going to eat somewhere and making me eat even more fucking food, I swear to god, you horny-ass fatty-fucker," she said, "I will suck your cock dry and swallow every salty calorie."

"Don't worry, there's plenty of food options where we're going!"

We went to the mall.

"See if you can get those buttons done back up," I told her, "They might say something here  if you don't."

"What are we even doing here?"

I chuckled, reached over and put my hand on her bloated potbelly, "Crysta, babe, this is an intervention." I said, trying to stay straight faced, "It's just... All this food you've been eating, it's... Well, you're getting kind of fat."

Crysta scoffed, "Uh, no shit. And you're clearly getting a boner just talking about it. The hell you trying to stop it?"

"Stop it? God no! I'm talking about this shit!" I said, tugging at the loose, unbuttoned flaps of her blouse, "Bitch you need bigger clothes!" I slapped her thigh just to make it jiggle, "Come on, you're a plus-sized woman in a skinny bitch's britches. Your fat ass about to rip them britches. Let's get you some back ups."

Crysta pouted, "Humph. Okay, but I'm not buying it if it's not sexy."

This from the girl who'd turned being fat and getting fatter from something I just didn't mind into my biggest kink. "Crysta, you just made eating like a sloppy pig into a wet dream. You can make anything sexy. Besides," I shrugged, "didn't you see the sign out front? 'Now open: Sloppy Sluts LLC,' or something like that. You'll be fine."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The place was actually called 'Size is Sexy;' it was a strange collection of plus-sized lingerie and spandex suits, and believe it or not, Crysta was skinny, comparatively. Talkative service, a lovely lady named Linda helped us. She looked like her ass could clog a waterslide at a park built for fat people. She laughed at the sight of Crysta, with her semi-buttoned shirt, messy hair, guessed, "Little one's staying with grandma, right? Looks like the poor thing didn't want mommy to leave!" She grinned like she knew us, "How can I help you lovely couple, then?"

"Exercise clothes?" Crysta asked, "Where are they?"

"Back corner over there." Linda chuckled, "Trying to lose the weight, right? Well, good luck to you. Lord knows I never did!"

I asked as soon as I was out of Linda's earshot, "Uh, what the heck was she talking about?"

Crysta shrugged, "She probably just thinks I shot a baby out. I look like a fat, sloppy housewife right now." She said, finding what she liked, "Let's hit Torrid's next."

That we did. Then another plus-sized place. Seems they pop up in places with lots of fat girls. Crysta got some proper fitting clothes, some clothes that'd fit in a size or two, a sexy dress for another date, a shit ton of stretchy stuff, and to round things off for the night, she sent me to the food court while she spent a fortune at the candy shop, none of it she touched until we were again at my place. I'd told my roommate to fuck off for the night, so you know.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Crysta kept changing back to the blouse and khakis. All the walking, the 'not eating' for a few hours, things were closer to fitting. She sat on the couch, smiled at me, and made her second request of the night, "Tie me up. Feed me."

"W-What?"

Crysta smirked, "You heard me." She reached into her bag, tossing me a thin, leather rope, "Tie me up, pervert. Great big porker-lover, tie me up and feed me. I'm not hungry, but you don't care. I'm your house guest. I will eat the food you provide for me, every damn bit."

"Wait, you... You really want this?" 

Crysta bit her lip, "Look, I just... I want you to feed me. I need you to feed me. You feed me, I get fatter. I get fatter, I get horny. The more you feed me, the hornier I'm gonna be. It's a—" She paused to stretch, shoving her chest out like I'd forgotten the size of her tits, “It's a vicious circle that ends with you getting laid, so you know...” she looked at me seductively, those blue eyes begging, pink lips pleading with me, “feed me up...”

I saw the chance for her type of dirty talk, "You want me to force you to get proper huge?" I held up a Hardee's bag, "You want all this inside your fat, piggy belly?" She nodded, she saw where this was headed, "And in return, you'll fuck me more?" She nodded; I smiled; I could try this, "So you're the guest. I'm your host. You're stuffed like a greedy little pig, aren't you? Big lunch? I bet you ate a big breakfast, too, didn't you?"

"Y-yes, I had a big lunch." She sounded actually nervous; I later learned this was her first time being force-fed, "Too big. I overdid it. I just... The food tasted so good..."

I raised my brow, "But you're my guest!" I told her, "I brought you all the food a fat, little girl like you could want!"

"But I'm so full! Crysta moaned, clutching at her gut and showing me.

I shook my head, "A good guest doesn't turn down food when it's offered." I told her, "No, she... What does she do, again?"

Crysta frowned, "She eats it all and calls it delicious."

I was catching on, "Damn straight you will." I tossed her the Hardee's, "You like burgers, right? You look like you're really into burgers and fries."

"Oh, but... I can't!" She argued, "I'm so fat already!"

I smiled, stepping over to the couch, "I can see that." I said, settling behind her and whispering into her ear, "Big girl like you never misses a meal, does she? You're a healthy, full-figured kinda woman, aren't you?" I mused, talking to distract her as I ran my fingers along her ample, corpulent curvature with the rope in my hands, "You know how good it is to eat..."

"Well... Some would say I know it too well!" Crysta admitted, "Especially lately, I've just been... Well, you see how my clothes are fitting me."

"Looks just fine to me..." I said, pulling a massive burger dripping with grease from the bag, "So, little darling, you've been eating too much lately, is that what you're trying to say?" I waved the treat in front of her nose, "Too many of these?"

"Oh, yes." Crysta nodded, "Too much of everything! Why, I spent most of Sunday stuffing myself with donuts, eating myself big and round, just going at them things until my belly ached and my brain went numb. Then I slept for a couple hours and started over again." Her eyes were big and reproachful, "They had chocolate icing."

"So, what I'm hearing," I started, pinching lightly at various points on Crysta's body, subtly getting the rope where I needed it, "Is that you, my dear, you're a fat little pig, now aren't you?"

"Well... I don't know about that, but—"

"But you are." I interrupted, "You're a fat, rude little pig who eats, and, eats, and eats, and then tells her host she's too full for his food."

I pulled the knot tight around Crysta's butter-soft bicep, she yelped as the flesh bubbled around it, "What are you— ah!"

I had her other arm in grip; it was just as soft, just as flabby, no muscle tone to be found. "Teaching... you... some manners!" I said as I lashed her arms together, tied them tight, wrapping round and around the soft meat of her arms until I reached her hands, cinching the knot and watching as the fat enveloped the rope while she struggled in vain to get free.

"Ugh, it's so... tight!"

“It's tight because you're fat." I sneered, "God, look at you! So young, so fat... Your metabolism hasn't even slowed, yet, and look at you." I reached out for a handful of belly flesh, "Disgraceful."

She looked at me, big eyes, a trembling lip and a wavering voice, "W-what are you gonna do to me?"

I grabbed the fast food again, same burger, waving it under her nose, "Oh, don't worry, sweet, disgusting fatty. I'm gonna make your dreams come true." With that, the feeding began. I sat behind her, reaching around with one hand to keep her eating, the other exploring those expansive curves, those cushioned contours. Over and over, I filled her mouth, stuffing it with grease, meat, bread and choose, "You like a full belly, don't you? You love that feeling of being so full you can't move? Well, don't fight it. Just accept it. Eat."

She did that. The fast food was finished in no time. There was a pause, she was writhing, "Oh, keep... More... Fat girl needs..."

"Fat girl needs the gym." I corrected her, "Fat girl needs a salad and a regular exercise routine."

"Candy..." Crysta wheezed, "God, I can't breathe..."

"I wonder why." I said, fingering her pants button, "maybe if you get rid of these, it would be..." Crysta groaned, relief, "That's what I thought. Girls these days. Too much candy, not enough common sense."

Crysta perked up at 'candy.' "Fuck common sense." She spat, "Gimme that candy."

I ripped the last buttons from her shirt, to her surprise, "You want candy? Chocolate?" I asked, ripping open a bag of Hershey's mini-kisses, pouring them down her cleavage, laughing as she fought valiantly to get her head down to the sweet chocolatey nibbles melting wholly between her heavy, heated milkbags, yelping, trying so hard, but the weight of them, the sag, she couldn't quite.

She grew more and more panicked, her tongue reached, but only pushed them deeper.  The trill in her voice, "Untie me!” she yelled, “U-untie me!"

"Now why would I—"

"Get me loose, dammit,” she ordered me, “get me loose, fuck my tits, and I'll lick your cock clean! Augh, just..."

She was free before the sentence ended. She leapt up, tearing her bra off, letting her golden globes swing free. She pushed me onto the couch, tore my pants off and went to work, rubbing me between her huge, gelatinous tits, pulling me out to lick me clean until the melted chocolate wasn't there anymore, deep-throating me, gagging gently, pulling back, going in again. I stood no chance, it was over in minutes. My girl looked at me, cheeks puffy with my seed, and swallowed, licking her lips.

I haven't looked back since that night. This girl was everything I didn't know I'd been missing. She was the dream girl I wasn't crazy enough to imagine.

[Enumerated_Bob]

I started this story talking about people showing up again. About things we realize about them in retrospect, things they realize about us.

That came out of the night we had a few days ago. It's been three years since we started dating; Crysta's gotten huge, and we expected to have a lot of fun horrifying people at our five-year high school reunion.

We had low expectations for the company, high hopes for the beer and food. Got the beer, and Crysta had more than enough food, but the company was surprising. We expected the jocks, the cheerleaders, people we all knew had peaked in life, even when we graduated. We got mostly those people, and a few more, but those high school stars... Well, let's just say that Crysta had gotten the fattest, and that wasn't in competition, but second place was hard to tell. I won't say everybody porked out, but there were more tubby twenty-somethings than there were thin ones.

We arrived a few minutes late, missed the cheerleaders attempting their old routines (minus the pyramid, because reasons), but we got there right in the middle of the beer-chugging, binge-eating aftermath of their humiliation. We didn't see them the second we walked in, there was a cluster of guys around the much fewer former-fatties who'd lost weight, but if you've listened to a word I've told you about Crysta, you know what the first order of business was to her. To the food table she went, just in time to hear moaning.

I mentioned three specific cheerleaders at the start. I told you about Blondie, the top of the pyramid. I mentioned her friend, who's issue was height, not looks, and lastly, I mentioned the one who pointed out Crysta's weight. The first two, I know for a fact were there. The third... I suspect I know which one she was.

The blonde girl was definitely there, she was called Mindy, and she had a lot to do with the lack of a pyramid in the routine. She was frowning, upset, complaining how she'd sprouted "a fucking beer belly! Look at this shit!" She urged her former teammates, leaning back and puffing up her gut as if someone possibly might not have noticed she'd turned into a fleshy volleyball. Forget a muffin top, this girl had a dang bakery going on, the amount of dough spilling over those jeans. She grabbed at a convenient roll, "God, how'd this even happen?" She asked, without irony as she drank deeply from her beer.

Crysta answered her question, "You got drunk a bunch and ate like a pig?" She suggested, "Went to parties, stuffed your face, and sat on your ass the rest of the time?"

Mindy spun around, red from combined rage at the idea and embarrassment it was absolutely true, "Bitch, the fuck d'you think you a—"

She froze at the sight of my girl's massive tits pouring out of her silky dress. Either that, her gut beneath them, the grease stain on her face or the chicken wing she was eating. It was probably the tits, there's some kind of ocular gravity around those things, nobody can look away.
Crysta chuckled, put out her hand, "Crysta Harris. Remember me? I was too fat to be a cheerleader senior year?" She smirked, grabbed a slab of her hefty belly, "Looks like things haven't changed much."

Mindy was speechless. The girl next to her, Jess, I didn't recognize as the friend until she spoke. She'd changed a lot, opened up a whole new chapter. She wore a leather jacket, combat boots, had a side-shave, and she was quick to assure Crysta, stumbling a little bit and staring, "Nah, it's... We all put on a..." She glanced at her own body, her white wife-beater only exaggerated the gut she'd grown and her wide hips were undeniable. She gulped, staring deep into the chasm of Crysta's cleavage, "a little weight."

Crysta laughed, "No, y'all put on 'a little weight;' I straight up porked out!"

Jess swallowed, "Yeah, well... You... You look like... I mean, you're super—"

Mindy broke in, rolling her eyes at Jen's word problems, "What my fatass lesbian friend is trying to say is 'you look good.'" She scoffed, she couldn't deny the fact that every guy in earshot was staring at Crysta, and most of them, more than you'd guess, weren't grossed out, "Hell. You look better than most of us."

"Yeah, no shit, I look good!" Crysta cackled, "Fuckin' look at me! I'm a goddamn hippo with tits!" She struck a pose, thrust her hip to the side, puffed out her gut, "Body like this, fat ain't bad!"

The chunkified former cheerleaders hung their collective, double-chinned heads in shame, frowning at their less-well-proportioned, fatty bodies. One of them snorted, her slurred words and the pile of empty cans to her right put her in a group with Mindy, former party girls, current potbellied pigs, "Yeah, well, you're fuckin' lucky, 'kay?" She glared, "You get fat; its all ass n' titties f'r you. I fuckin'... I diet n' exercise five nights a week, 'nd look at me, I'm fuckin' huge!"

True story. Crysta not included, the drunk chick was biggest by a solid margin. She pretty clearly was lying about working out, but Crysta let it slide, "Yeah?" She said, smiling warmly at the girl, "You're Tara, right?" The girl didn't answer, but the rest of the group nodded, "Tara, you've got one hell of a rack. How big are them puppies?"

Tara's head jerked back, surprised, "Huh?" She lifted her hand to her feel the size of her tits, "Uh, F's?"

Crysta nodded, "You were flat back in high school, right?"

"I was a B!"

Crysta waved her hand, dismissive, "Same difference. Now you got tits. Not all bad." She was getting excited now, "Fuck, all of you look hot!" She started pointing, "Mindy, you too; your tits are amazing. Jen," she winked, "I don't swing that way, but good for you on owning that, and damn girl, that ass is perfect. All of you! cheer the fuck up, you look awesome! Have a couple beers, eat some carbs, you'll live!" She walked over, strutting like the sexy thing she was, making that fat, overblown ass bounce, to the cooler. She grabbed a beer, grinned, popped the tab, "Fuck it!" She said, "We're fat! Let's party!"

I'll never understand the source of Crysta's charisma, my best bet, it's her tits, but god, I love seeing it in action, especially in cases like this. This whole time, music was playing, and there was a dance floor, but it was empty. These were the girls who'd dominated the dance floor five years ago. Crysta went to speak to the guy with the playlist. The speakers began blaring Freddie Mercury, "I was just a skinny lad, never knew no good from bad!"

Quickly, the floor filled up, the cheerleaders taking center-stage, just as they'd done in high school. Back then, they'd been thin, classically sexy. Their dancing was hot, men admired from afar, the bold would take the floor to grind. This time, they brought plates of food, cans of beer. Thick thighs threatened to destroy pants, round, heavy bosoms were bouncing, bellies rippled, and if more people hadn't joined, mostly thinner, more fit girls, the whole thing would have been over in a matter of minutes. Tara was wheezing within seconds, it seemed, and all of them had started to sweat by the second verse. They sang along at the top of their lungs, they were the fat girls, fat-bellied, fat-bottomed, and goddammit, they made the rocking world go 'round.

Guy next to me scoffed, "Fuckin' fat chicks." He muttered, looking to me, as if my fatty-fucking, force-feeding ass would agree with him, "Can you believe this shit? I figured there'd still be some hot chicks left, right?"

I managed to tear my eyes off of that bountiful buffet of big, beautiful women to look at the guy. I barely recognized him. "Bunch of porkers." I responded, meaning it as a compliment, "Especially that Crysta girl, right? She's just huge!"

"You think I ain't noticed? I got eyes!" He laughed, sipping his beer, "Can you fucking believe she came with a date?" He asked me, "I mean, I'd have fucked her in high school, but shit..." He shook his head, "Whatever. Some dudes don't have standards."

I didn't respond. I ignored the guy as he got drunk and complained how all the 'good' girls had turned into hamplanets.

Crysta was having a great time. They'd left the floor by the end of the tune, girls like them weren't built for prolonged exercise. Four minutes of pretending they weighed under 180 pounds, of dancing like they still had waistlines and toned bodies, grinding like a man wouldn't be crushed under their heavy weights, and their blubbery butts were exhausted, glistening all over with sweat, and panting like pack animals.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

These girls hadn't burned calories like that in years, they looked like hell. They must have felt as bad, so of course, you know, fat bitches found their happy place, resting on their plumped-up asses within arm's reach of the food. No one else could get to the food now they'd set up camp there, but whatever. They could clear it all out. The caterers had planned for more people to show up, but these girls had appetites, their struggling zippers told their story; they could, had, and were very happy to eat enough for multiple people.

The music didn't stop now the best part of the show had succumbed to lazy obesity. I told you, the bulk of my classmates were looking bulky, and I still could've gotten a good show from the girls that replaced Crysta's new crew, but let's be real, even on their asses, that lot put on a show. Tara was drunkenly singing along with the music, directing her most heart-felt emotions, crooning Bruno Mars' Just The Way You Are to her overflowing bowl of banana pudding and whipped cream, too wasted to notice the irony of telling it “there's not a thing that I would change,' as she drowned it with chocolate syrup.

I watched Mindy beg another girl to loosen her dress. She couldn't breathe anymore, I heard her say, and she wanted more beer, that she needed more cake. She got more of both, grew even rounder in the middle, complain more. Her dress was unzipping itself, she was eating her way out of it, and still, the fallen-from-grace hot chick was sure that what she 'needed' was another beer, because then she'd be too drunk to care how fat she'd gotten, what she 'needed' was some comfort food, but no more cake, maybe some fried chicken, some of that hot, lardy, saturated fats. She looked like a beach ball, only thing she 'needed' was to do some sit ups.

I'm saying that as boyfriend of that sexy-ass woman who was cheering Mindy's pig-butt on, whose ass was wide enough to watch I-max, whose titty-tectonics could register on the Richter scale.

Crysta was a terrible influence on these poor, porked-up pretty-girls, showering them with compliments and calories, reassuring her new best friends, and really going overboard with the eating. Her dress was new, and it had elastic in it, but it wasn't built for so much woman, let alone so much woman stuffing her face. It wasn't handling the situation well, to put it lightly. She was about to ruin it from the inside out, and her friends weren't far from the same fate. They were enjoying themselves, loving the compliments, and using the fat girl's nice words as excuses to eat like heifers. It was damn clear why they'd gotten fat. 

I decided to save these poor girls from their weak-wills, remove the cow who kept handing out beer, giving kind words and fatty foods to girls who needed salad and exercise. I came from behind, reaching around my girl's ripe, soft spare tire and pulling her close. Her drunk ass hiccuped at the motion, then she laughed, "Oh, feels like somebody's a little excited!"

I smiled, "Babe, you're drunk. Let's go home."

Crysta stepped away, spinning, nearly falling. She narrowed her eyed, sunk her hands into the softness of her hips. "I am—uuuuuurp!" She flushed red as most the people around were dying laughing, "Okay, maybe I'm a li'l tipsy." she admitted.

"You're a mess." I said, shaking my head and hugging her.

"Yep!" She boasted, "Great, fat mess!"

"Hot mess." I corrected.

"'S what I said." She slurred, "Great, fat, fucking sexy-ass mess." She nuzzled against me, "And you're the guy who's taking my fat butt to Dairy Queen."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, "And I'm doing that why?"

She pulled away, putting her back to my car, "Cause I'm fun when I'm drunk!" She declared, slipping out a nipple and winking, struggling to tuck it back in, "And fun, drunk me plus fuck-tons of fatty food means a fuck-load of fun, drunk, fatty fucking for you when we get home!"

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Half the drive home, my favorite fun, drunk fatty was chattering about how awesome the cheerleaders were now they couldn't see their toes, how they were hanging out tomorrow.

Then came Dairy Queen. She did her thing, I think I've told you about it, stuffing herself to the limits, until her face was red and her breathing ragged then ordering herself half a dozen chicken strips and a large peanut butter cookie dough smash for the road.

The rest of the drive, she was silent, stuffing her face until she'd passed out. Her ice cream was dribbling between her tits, and she wasn't budging. I had my thoughts to myself, and I kept coming back to what that guy'd said, "Some guys have no standards."

That's probably true of some guys, but not me.

I have standards. They aren't the same standards I had in high school, they aren't what I had when I left for college, either. They're still standards, though. I know what I like, and I chase after it.

I like my women big, first of all. Skinny chicks don't really do it for me, anymore. Not all big girls, though, I'd pass on a girl like Mindy. I like a woman with big tits, a fat ass, and enough bounce in her belly to prove they're all-natural. She's gotta be confident, for another thing.

I like curvaceous cows with reddish hair, blue eyes, exhibitionist tendencies and insatiable appetite for fatty food and near-constant fucking. I like girls who work from home, sitting on the couch all day with nothing on but a bra to save her poor, aching back, who eats all day, and celebrates meals by stuffing herself until she's gasping for air. Who loves buffets because she can eat to bursting, then groan enough the whole restaurant knows how full she is.

I'm into girls whose idea of foreplay is covering my crotch in whipped cream and licking me clean, who drinks chocolate syrup from the bottle and whose tits double as a snack tray when she's watching TV. Any girl who needs at least two sittings to empty off a large pizza isn't my type. If she prides herself on looking pregnant after each meal and still being able to take charge in the bedroom with an 8-month food baby pouring out in front, then she can make it on my list.

I'm into women who's daily company is a full belly and a box of beer, who knows every pizza delivery guy by their first name and makes it a game to see if she can get them all in one day. Women who can recite, from memory, every fast food menu in town, who asks me if her new clothes make her look fat just to hear me say yes, and who will sit on my face with her 275 pounds if I dare say no, who tells me that, then stares me in the eye and makes me want to tell her she looks as thin as the day we met.

These are pretty specific standards, you might notice.

To that guy who said I must not have standards, I say fuck you.

Crysta is the standard.

-The end-

[Guest high]

Great story! Thank you!