Greetings from Fat City, USA

A novella by Melanie Bell

Chapters
2	\|	3	\|	4	\|	5

Chapter 1

"Like your favorite candy, hidden in a box of chocolates, Las Mujeres may be hard to find, but once found, it's never forgotten..." (From "Las Mujeres: An Appetite for the Good Life", published by the LM Chamber of Commerce.)

Dear Sis,
I'm not sure if this letter will even get to you, based on the strange events lately, but I figure I might as well try. Everything seems so normal here now that it's becoming more difficult every day to remember that things were quite different just a short time ago. But, I'm getting my tongue tangled and ahead of myself. See, it started about six weeks ago...
At first, I thought it was just me. I woke up tangled in Diana's sweet embrace: her full breasts pressed tightly against my own, slightly smaller ones; the protruding bulge of her soft, fat belly filling up the angle described by my thighs and my chest; one of her thick thighs between my own chunky thighs, while her other leg was tossed over my calf. Her breath was warm on my shoulder and I could have stayed like that forever were it not for the sudden roar of ravenous hunger that tore through my belly.
Why am I so hungry? I wondered, coming fully awake. I'd eaten dinner last night: one of Diana's eternal low-calorie diet meals, but a filling meal nonetheless, followed by some frozen yogurt while watching TV. There was no reason I should be this hungry, yet I was. "God, I'm starving," I said in a little whisper into her tangled hair.
"Me, too," Diana said, waking up, too. "I feel like I haven't eaten in days. Why don't you get showered and ready for work -- I'm off today, na-na na-na na na-na -- and I'll fix you some breakfast."
"Okay," I said, standing up and smacking her on the flat of her big fat butt, watching the complex ripples the impact made on her soft cellulite flesh.
"Ooh! That felt good!" she said, sticking the twin globes of flesh up in the air. "I felt that shake all over my body. Mmmmm-mmmm! I guess there are SOME advantages to being fat. C'mon: spank me again!" So, I did, a couple of more times, each time she'd moan a little louder and stick her reddening butt up a little further. We would probably have continued that way for a while if the alarm-clock hadn't suddenly gone off, bringing us back down to earth.
She wriggled across the sheets on her belly and slapped the off button, then rolled over on her back, displaying her large floppy boobs and the stretch-marked expanse of her fat belly. She ran her hand over the bulging mound of tummy-blubber, then down to where it tangled in her golden pussy-hair. "That made me so horny," she said. "But I know you've gotta get out of here so... I'll just deal with it! Besides -- you know me: horny, hungry, it's all the same thing. So, I'm just gonna go make us a BIG breakfast!" With that, she rolled out of the bed and pulled on a tiny pair of lacy bikini panties that did little more than cover her crack and her furry patch, while leaving her butt hanging out in back and her belly hanging over the waistband in front. She grabbed a t-shirt that had been tossed over the back of a chair and pulled it over her head before realizing that it was one of mine. It was skin-tight, clearly displaying her nipples, the swollen rings of her areolae, the deep depression of her belly-button, the cellulite bulges of her love-handles. She tried stretching it down, but it stubbornly kept riding up, leaving a good two inches of her fat stomach visible beneath its hem.
"Y'know," she said, "for a second there, I thought this was MY t-shirt, and that somehow I'd gotten so fat that it didn't fit. And what's really weird is: I felt kind of amused by it, and not upset at all!" She blew me a kiss and headed off down the stairs, leaving that strange statement echoing in my head.

"Occupying the top of the 4,600-foot Big Top Mesa in the majestic Corazon de Cristo range of the Rocky Mountains, our city is home to nearly 40,000 people of ethnically and racially diverse backgrounds, united in their love of the clean, mountain air, natural beauty, and the unhurried pace of life that is impossible to find in less-secluded environs." (From "Las Mujeres: An Appetite for the Good Life", published by the LM Chamber of Commerce.)

The shower water felt great on my skin, and I let it run all over me for a few minutes, catching in my hands the twin rivulets of water that fell from the tips of my hard nipples. I thought of Diana's marvelous body: the folds and rolls of blubber, the ripples and bulges, the way her flesh moved in so many directions with an activity as simple as walking. My hands massaged my own breasts as I thought of her heavy boobs, swaying from side to side, the great weight of her belly riding up and down, the undulation of her meaty thighs.
She'd been even heavier, I remembered -- nearly two-seventy at her peak -- although now, at two-thirty, she was still as beautiful to me as ever. She'd hated herself when she'd been so heavy, and even hated me for a little while, since it was with my encouragement that she'd gotten so big. Ever since I'd realized that I was attracted to my own sex, I knew that it was specifically an attraction to heavy women. And Diana, my friend since childhood, had been equally attracted to me. We'd been together nearly two years before I'd confessed to her my fantasy of making her fatter; although very hesitant, she agreed to help me realize that dream.
But her heart wasn't in it: she had too many issues with her weight to just give in to my desires. She ate, although joylessly and mechanically, and she put on weight at a rapid clip. Each day her body would expand, at each meal she would eat until she was ready to burst, each night I would praise her and minister to her every want and desire; but with each pound she gained, she became more withdrawn, more despondent, more angry with me for doing this to her and more angry at herself for allowing herself to go along with it. Eventually, I stopped encouraging her and she stopped eating, and began losing weight as quickly as she'd gained it. We didn't talk about it, and I couldn't fault her for her reaction to my selfish demands. Eventually, she grew happier and our love regained its vigor, although it became a wiser love than it had been.
Still, there was something about this morning, I thought, that seemed different -- slightly altered. My stomach gave another loud rumble while I ran through our little spanking scene as if it were a movie, rewinding again and again to my favorite parts: her attempts to pull the small shirt over her swollen stomach, her rolling over on her back and running her hands over the gravity-defying bulge of her belly. I stroked the little bulge of my own belly, imagining what it would look like and feel like if it were as fat as Diana's. I arched my back and puffed my stomach out as far as it would go, then ran my hands all over the taut and smooth wet surface.
Why not just do it myself, I thought. I've spent all my life admiring the shapes and movements of fat women -- why not become one myself? The hunger in my stomach -- why not use it, I thought. Why not eat with total abandon? Why not stuff myself with all the passion I'd put into stuffing Diana? Why not gorge myself at every meal? Why not expose myself to other people's comments about my appetite, my burgeoning body, my obvious lack of any self-control? My hands had moved between my thighs as I pictured myself growing fatter and fatter, swelling over even the biggest clothes, eating supermarkets-full of food, becoming insatiably, monumentally obese. My fingers were in constant motion deep inside me and soon the heat began spreading out from my thighs into my belly and up my spine, until I exploded in a knee-buckling orgasm that left me shivering and twitching on the floor of the stall shower.
When I came downstairs, energized and full of resolve to begin my gorging right then, I was shocked at the scene in the kitchen. Diana was standing in front of the stove with her back to me and the huge round bulge of her butt almost completely exposed. But, as enticing as that view was, it wasn't what shocked me: instead, my attention was drawn to the enormous stack of pancakes piled high on two plates right next to her. She tossed another giant flapjack onto one of the already-overflowing plates, then poured some more batter in the hot pan, saying, "I know this looks like a lot, but if you're as hungry as I am, I'm not sure even this much is going to be enough! Go grab the butter and the syrup and some jam from the fridge, would you? I'm just about done."
Returning to the table, I was greeted by my lover turning around and placing a stack of fifteen pancakes in front of me. "Eat up," she said, slathering gobs of butter and jelly in-between each of her pancakes, then drowning the whole stack in so much syrup that it began dripping over the edge of the plate. "And don't worry if you can't finish, because I'll be glad to help!" I watched, dumbfounded as she took one huge forkful into her mouth, then followed it with another and another.
Afraid that she might realize what she was doing, or that she might finish before me and start working on my portion, I began eating furiously, too, so that in a few minutes, both our plates were empty of pancakes and we were each mopping up the little pools of syrup and gobs of jelly with our fingers. When her plate was spotless, Diana leaned back in her chair and patted her swollen stomach with both hands, saying, "That was great! I haven't felt this good about a meal in ages! And -- believe it or not -- I think I'm even still hungry!"
"I can't believe you," I said. "Where did this come from? What happened to your diet?"
"'Diet?'" she asked. "Never heard the word before. Now, I don't know about you, but in about two minutes, I'm going to be ready for another round of pancakes..."
"I don't know..." I said. "I mean, I'm actually still a little hungry, too, but it's just breakfast and I think I'm never going to get my jeans closed."
"Well, then, that's the start of a GOOD day! But -- don't force yourself. If you don't want any more, it'll just be more for me!"
"Like hell," I said, suddenly feeling very competitive. "If you're having more, then so am I!" She got up to start making more batter and I came around behind her, feeling the convexity of my full stomach fill up the hollow of her back, while my hands reached around her and rested on the swollen bulge of her inflated gut.
"Big enough for you?" she asked, and I mmmm-ed my assent in her ear. "It is? You mean you wouldn't want to see me get any fatter?"
A little hesitantly, I answered, "Only if YOU want to get fatter."
"It's not so much that I want to get FATTER, as much as it is that I want to EAT like this all the time and not CARE if I get fatter."
"What about me?" I asked. "What do you think about me getting fatter? About me eating as much as you and the two of us becoming huge together?"
"I think that that would be the sexiest thing I could ever imagine!" She turned around and kissed me deeply and long -- yet managed to avoid burning the pancakes...

"But, what else does Las Mujeres have to offer beyond the awe-inspiring vistas surrounding our Big Top?" (From "Las Mujeres: An Appetite for the Good Life", published by the LM Chamber of Commerce.)

By the time I finally got out to the car, I was running a little late and I was more stuffed than I'd ever been in my life. Just to get myself into the seat, I had to unzip my jeans all the way, pull the denim aside and lift my belly over the fabric. Then, pulling out of the driveway, I remembered that it was my turn to bring in the donuts to work. It was a strange ritual, the donut thing, since virtually all of the women I worked with at The Times professed to be on diets, yet donuts were de rigeur and always managed to disappear by the end of the day.
I pulled into the parking lot of Falstaff's Donuts, surprised at how many cars there were. I thought about trying to zip up my jeans, but hoped, instead, that my long, loose shirt would hide the evidence of my overindulgence. I'd been forced to park far away from the store and on my way across the lot, I noticed several cars, each recently pulled in to the spot, with the driver furiously trying to close their pants and make themselves presentable. There were also drivers who'd just returned to their cars, oblivious to my stares as they closed the doors and began ripping into the boxes of pastries they'd just purchased.
Inside, it was a madhouse. The line was ten times longer than I'd ever seen it, and no one was purchasing less than four dozen at a time. There were mostly women on line, but a few men, too, and I couldn't help but notice the way some of the crowd were staring at the bins of pastries, practically salivating; some were rubbing their bellies over their shirts, while one guy, with a huge gut cantilevering out over his belt, had reached his hand up under the shirttails and was massaging his massive beer-belly.
Linda and Louise behind the counter were running back and forth trying to accommodate the crowds, yet managed, somehow, to have time to grab a donut for themselves every now and then, taking a big bite before putting on the latex gloves and grabbing an empty box. The smells of sugary sweetness, warm oil, and baking cakes began getting to me, and I was shocked to discover that, by the time I finally got to the counter, that I was hungry again. "Getting fat is going to be easy -- a piece of cake," I thought, "if I stay this hungry all the time."
"What'll it be?" Linda asked after swallowing a mouthful of chocolate creme donut." I told her I needed six dozen assorted, planning that even if I managed to finish an entire dozen in the car, that'd still leave me with four times as many donuts as I usually brought in, plus another dozen for me for the ride home! "Y'sure that'll be enough?" she asked with a smile as she put my order on the counter. She tied the boxes in two stacks of three and when I took out my wallet, she said that it was on the house today. I was incredulous, but she just took another bite of her donut, wiped a bit of creme from her cheek, then said, "You enjoy 'em, that's all. Next!"
It was really strange, but it seemed to explain the incredible crowds, which had gotten even bigger by the time I was leaving. Of cours, the price didn't explain why, on the way back to my car, I passed vehicle after vehicle where the driver and passengers were sitting with open boxes of donuts, filling their faces without any concern. As a result of all the vehicle-based gorging, there were no available spots and the parking lot was becoming a zoo, with people just leaving their cars anywhere, blocking people in, double parking, sometimes even forgetting to set the emergency brake in their single-minded desire to get their free donuts. The smell of pastries permeated my entire car with its delicious perfume, and although I was tempted to begin chowing right there, I decided I had enough willpower to wait until I got out of that insane parking lot.
Maneuvering was tricky, but it was only a minute before I was out on Russell Road, steering with one hand, while untying the string around the boxes with the other. Without caring what variety I grabbed, I took the first donut I touched and stuffed it whole into my waiting mouth. It was delicious, but instead of sating my hunger, it seemed to intensify it, so that it was only a couple of seconds before I was reaching for another. Luckily, I was looking at the road while rooting around in the box, so I managed to suddenly switch lanes and avoid hitting anyone when the right lane all of a sudden came to a full stop. A few yards down the road, the reason for the jam-up became obvious, when I passed the drive-thru burger restaurant and saw that the line of cars for egg and biscuit sandwiches had stretched so long that it took up the entire shoulder; cars that made the decision to get into line too late had stopped in the roadway with their signals on, hoping that someone would let them cut in.
That's so strange, I thought, for that to happen at the donut place and here on the same day. Then, as I passed the competing burger chain, and the bagel shop and the couple of delis along the road, and saw the same scene repeated at each place, I began to wonder what was going on. At every traffic light, I could see in the cars next to me, the drivers and the passengers all eating with abandon, oblivious to the potential for disapproving glares from onlookers. Of course, anyone looking into my car would've seen the same behavior as I plowed through the entire box of donuts, finishing the last morsel as I pulled into the parking lot of the newspaper where I worked.