She'd rented a Ford Taurus wagon and it fit the character she'd created just perfectly. Strolling through the airport concourse, she was amazed and pleased at the anonymity afforded a heavy, white woman -- she was practically invisible, except for the few disapproving glances she got when she was greedily gobbling down a triple scoop ice-cream cone. The flight was uneventful -- she ate heartily and then watched the movie or read most of the way, with her hands folded comfortably across her artificial belly -- and the limo driver who met her was very efficient at getting her bags and then navigating the horrendous Friday night traffic and construction from Kennedy Airport all the way out to Southampton. She busied herself in the passenger compartment with most of the snacks in the mini-refrigerator, so that by the time they finally got to the house at around midnight, the refrigerator was empty and the fullness of her natural belly was making even the loose clothing feel very constricting.

No sooner had she closed the door behind her and listened to the limo zoom away, than she was wriggling her way out of her fat-suit and standing naked in the cedar-and-mirror lined hallway of the ultra-modern beach house, trying various poses while stroking her swollen stomach. She wandered around a little, turning on lights and getting used to the layout of the place, admiring some elements of the decor and grimacing at some of the others. The kitchen was well-provisioned -- Stephen knew of her fondness for Praline-Caramel ice cream, and there were no less than six half-gallons waiting in the freezer, with a note saying, "Just in case you want to have an Ice Cream Social! Love, Stephen." Lisha laughed, then took out one of the cartons and found a spoon in the drawer. She pressed the ice-cold box against her puffy skin and gave herself a very tantalizing chill. Her appetite for dessert, however, was no match for the exhaustion which suddenly rolled over her. She'd had only a couple of spoonfuls before she put the carton back in the freezer and headed upstairs to the bedroom which would be hers for the next couple of days.

The room was huge, taking up the entire third story of the house with floor-to-cathedral-ceiling windows making up practically all of the walls. The wall that faced the ocean opened out onto an enormous deck with jacuzzi and lounge chairs and an uninterrupted view of the endless ocean. She sat down in one of the chairs, put her feet up in the hassock and stared at the moon and the waves until her eyelids began to grow very heavy...

The next thing she knew, the sun was well above the horizon over to her left; a quick glance at her watch told her that it was nearly 10:00. She stood up and stretched, attempting to work out the kinks induced by a night of sleeping on a canvas and wood contraption. She was totally un-self-conscious until she realized that she wasn't the only one on the beach. She ran inside and grabbed one of the luxurious terry robes that were draped over the foot of the unused bed, then popped back outside to see who she was sharing the morning with.

It was only one person she'd seen: the woman who lived in the house to the east. Elinor, she remembered. They'd met once, at one of Stephen's parties back home, and Lisha recalled her as a large woman, but one of the ones who are so gorgeous and self-assured, that even the guys who make the worst jokes about fat women would find her incredibly attractive. Unless they saw her like this, Lisha thought, looking closer at the little tableaux in the sand. The woman was topless, standing on a blanket and annointing herself with sunblock. Her breasts were enormously full and drooped as far as the swollen mound of her stomach would allow. There were rolls at her waist and under the great globes of her butt, her arms seemed over-inflated and her thighs were loose and covered in cellulite ripples. Lisha crouched down below the railing, watching through the wooden slats, sure that if the woman knew she was being watched, she would interrupt the wonderfully slow pirouette she was performing. Then, as soon as the woman finished oiling herself, she suddenly sprinted across the sand, flesh wobbling and jiggling and rippling in a myriad of mesmerizing rhythms, finally diving headfirst into the crashing surf. She only stayed in the water for a moment, then came back up the beach, shaking her hair and bouncing her generous flesh with every step.

Without realizing how or why it had happened, Lisha suddenly became aware that her fingers were deep inside her wet pussy, massaging and moving and sliding in and out with the cadences of the neighbor's walk up the beach. And when Elinor reached the home base and reached for a bagel before even her towel, Lisha felt that familiar wave of pleasure radiating out over her entire body, making her sweat and shiver and moan.

When the tremors stopped, she got up and went inside to shower. The warm water and the soap conspired to make her want to touch every inch of her body. Who needs a man, she thought. I'm totally self-sufficient -- I even get off on just looking at myself. She tickled her pudgy boobs with the shower puff, then tugged on the pink nipples until they became like little rocks between her fingers. She covered her pudgy belly in a layer of foam, then excavated down to find the deepness of her navel. With the water still on, she opened the shower curtains and inspected herself in the profusion of mirrors. Twenty pounds ago, this butt and this body were all over MVTV as she blazed her way through a series of videos for the band Babe-itt, baring her belly-button at every opportunity and inspiring a legion of Lisha-lovers -- post-pubescent boys who each imagined that they alone could capture this wild child.

But now -- what would they think now if they could see this belly drooping over the waistband of a pair of hip-hugging jeans? Who cares? she thought. I like it much better this way. She dried off, remembering when she'd been younger and very fat, and how her memories of those times were tinged with feelings of vast freedom and limitless opportunities. Eat what you want , do what you want, be whatever you want. And today? Control seemed to be the key words in her life. Control your weight, control your figure, control your appointments, your career, your finances, your friends -- everything. I hate it, she thought, but what can I do about it?

As if in answer to her own question, she fixed herself a rebellious breakfast -- four or five frozen waffles drowning in syrup and butter, along with a couple of eggs, coffee and o.j. From the kitchen window, she could see Elinor, still on the beach, lying on her back, with the bulge of her butt sticking up like a speed-bump in the sand. There were a profusion of bird-feeders on the dune to the north of the house and on one of the wall-unit shelves, Stephen or Amy had left an open bird-book and a pair of binoculars. Lisha stopped chewing for a second and a big smile crossed her face. Picking up the binoculars, she trained them on her neighbor and was very excited to discover that these high-powered scopes gave her an apparent vantage point of less than five feet away from Elinor's abundant body.

Back up on the third-floor deck, Lisha arranged her chair so she could easily see Elinor's every move, while it would be difficult for her to be seen by her subject. When Elinor was laying on her side, with her back towards Lisha, the wide and well-rippled mounds of her butt, impossible to contain with that tiny piece of fabric, were available for inspection. And Lisha inspected, getting to know every bump and ripple of cellulite, able to predict how this roll would jiggle or that bulge would flatten with any movement. When Elinor was lying on her back, Lisha let her eyes roam across the wide pink expanse of Elinor's belly and then climb the nipple-capped mounds of her full breasts. She watched intently as Elinor took her hourly waddle down the beach, her thunderous thighs so thick that they seemed determined to melt into one another. And when, after several wary glances up and down the white sandy landscape, Elinor removed her bikini bottoms -- the only piece of clothing remaining on her abundant body -- and revealed a butt-crack as deep and dark and wide as the landscape of Venus and a pussy bush as thick and black and wet and tangled as the Amazon rainforest, Lisha could barely keep herself from leaping over the deck railing to the beach three stories below that she might bury herself in all of Elinor's softness.

Is this what the paparazzi do? Lisha asked herself. Do they sit all day, patient as anything, staring at me and desiring me? How could you possibly watch someone all day without falling into their rhythms and turning them into a forbidden object of desire. Is that why they're so mean to me? Because they look at me and stare at me and want me but know they can't have me? Will I be mean to Elinor if I meet her? Do I want her?

When the subject of her scrutiny went inside around three o'clock, Lisha went inside, too -- straight to the kitchen, where she felt her unrequited passion turning into hunger. She had already devoured a couple of turkey sandwiches and a pound of coleslaw when she realized that she could see into her neighbor's house. She watched what seemed to be a parallel universe as Elinor, too, made herself a couple of overflowing sandwiches, her enormous belly flattened against the cabinets so that she could reach the plate on the counter, then bent over to look in the refrigerator, her ass aimed directly at Lisha's vantage point, revealing all of her pink charms. Lisha froze and her jaw dropped, remaining that way when Elinor surfaced from her fridge-diving bearing a prize: a half-eaten cheesecake, which became a fully-eaten cheesecake in next to no time at all. When she'd finished licking the last creamy crumb from her fork, Lisha watched Elinor put the plate down then half-pat and half-heft her swollen stomach, while shaking her head and looking straight at Lisha's position.

Lisha was terrified for a moment. Can she see me? Does she know I'm watching? But Elinor made no sign of knowing -- she didn't close the blinds, nor did she put on any extra kind of show. Instead, she just waddled out of Lisha's view into some unseen part of the house. When she finally relaxed, Lisha felt her back slide down the refrigerator door until she was sitting on the floor. What is going on with me? she thought. What is happening to me?

That night, Lisha sat in darkness in the living room of the house; from there she could see Elinor sitting in her living room, wearing a tight t-shirt and a pair of panties, watching television, talking on the phone, and snacking incessantly. In between phone calls, Elinor would give a great yawn, stretching her flabby arms high over her head, and pulling the t-shirt up her body to reveal most of her monumental belly and just the pink tips of her fat boobs. When her neighbor finally went to sleep, Lisha was incredibly wound up and found herself in the kitchen where she gobbled her way through an entire half-gallon of ice cream and washed it down with a bottle of wine. Her head was spinning in drunkenness and her hands were frozen from holding the cold box; she soon found that the sensations that arose when she touched her hot pussy with her icy fingers were indescribably arousing. She played with herself for quite some time on the kitchen floor, before, in some trance-like state of inebriated arousal, she discovered how useful the wine-bottle could be, as its narrow, ice-cream lubricated neck gave way to the flaring body and wild, intense pleasure...

Some time later she took her wet and sticky mess of a self up the stairs and collapsed on the soft cool bed, still clutching the empty bottle.

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