# Ms. Nightmare Returns III - by Matt L. (~BBW, Magic, Class/Personality Changes, ~MWG)



## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

~BBW, Magic, Class/Personality Changes, ~MWG - Abby continues to give some peoples pretensions a much needed paradigm shift

(*Editor's Note:* This is the third volume of a trilogy. For part one, click here; for part two, here.)

*The Return of Ms. Nightmare III
 The Fragile Ego
By Matt L. *​
*A*​
Wanda Campton advanced toward the scale, her butterball figure clad in hackneyed gray sweats that amplified her chunky waist and billowing belly. A pretty enough gal whose short red hair was tied in frazzled ponytail, revealing her moon shaped face. 

It was her weekly weigh-in at the Clarke Street Fitness Center, located in the heart of Chicago’s swanky North Side. Wanda paused before stepping on the scale, a row of various-sized females behind her. She was the heaviest member of the club, however. She tilted her head ever so slightly toward her coach. The glum smile, for want of a better term, displayed Wanda’s reluctance. Her coach, Deanne Princeton, peered at her with impatient eyes, her smirk said a mouthful. Wanda grasped her bulging big belly and progressed unto the scale. 

The numbers rolled forward and back, finally resting on 248. 

“Guess I didn’t do too well?” Wanda heaved a weary sigh that matched her uncomfortable smile. Deanne curved her head, glimpsing at Wanda’s body before screeching to her face, “Your target weight loss was five pounds. You managed to gain two pounds!” 

Wanda eased off the scale, “I’ll try better next time.” 

Deanne placed her hands over her narrow waist, “Next time?” 

Wanda’s ponytail wiggled as she shook her head, “I promise to try harder, it&#8216;s just that sometimes.” 

Deanne stepped into Wanda’s space, “You are a complete waste of time! Why do you even bother showing up?” 

Wanda trembled, looking at the other patrons, humiliated by the critical attention. A few shared whispers and stares inflamed Wanda’s brittle emotions, especially after hearing a hearty chuckle from Alexis Amblin in the middle of the line. 

Deanne continued the chiding, “Pay attention, I’m talking to you!” 

Wanda backed away as Deanne’s wraith intensified, “Get with the program, porky, or end your membership!” 

Wanda inched another step backward while Deanna vehemently criticized Wanda’s appearance and lack of discipline, “If you’re going to eat like a sow, you’re going to look like a sow!” 

Wanda stood still, accepting every comment like a punch-drunk fighter absorbing unreciprocated punishment. 

The line of females now circled Wanda; Alexis held her fingers up to her lips, suppressing the giggles. 

Abby observed the scene from a stationary bike, pausing from peddling; she glanced over at Alexis and then Deanne. 

Deanne elevated her chin, coldly in her reprimand, “Really, Wanda, if you’re content in becoming a blimp, please quit the center!” 

Wanda knew she was heavy, was aware that since joining the spa she had even gotten heavier. But there was no need for such verbal thrashing. Deanne locked eyes with Wanda, “Well, are you going to say something or what?” 

Wanda’s moist eyes burnt with anger, “I wish you knew what it feels like. No self control, no self esteem, mocked, ignored, losing guys to your thinner friends, I wish . . .” 

Deanna interrupted Wanda with a backhanded wave, “Go home and cry in your ice cream; your whining is holding up class.” 

Wanda rotated her body and walked through the meandering circle of females. Brushing shoulders with Alexis Amblin, Alexis’s pretty face took on a foul expression, “Ew, watch it, tubby.” 

Abby watched as Wanda disappeared into the locker room. Within thirty-minutes, two conversations were exchanged. Deanna began to stretch in front of the mirror, a fleeting glimpse at her beautifully lean figure brought a smile to her face. 

An additional image reflected back, Pamela Dunn, the spa’s manager. Somewhere in her late twenties, Pam’s curly strawberry blond hair collaborated nicely with her pleasant facial features, “Don’t you think you were a little rough on Wanda?” 

Deanna placed her hands on her waist and bent sideways, “Not especially, no.” 

Pam tapped her water bottle before enjoying a sip, “Well, lighten up a little on her, okay? She’s having a difficult time with it.” 

Deanne flexed her eyebrows, “Why should I coddle someone who puts no effort in improving their appearance?” 

Pam was adamant, “She doesn’t deserve to be called names.” 

Deanne’s pert breasts slightly jiggled as she curved at her hips, “If you’re so concerned about Wanda, then you deal with that fat ass.” 

Pam stale expression coincided with her tone, “I think I will.” 

Deanne was more then a little pleased, “Fantastic, I’m sick of looking at her.” 

Pam exhaled loudly, “That’s enough! I’m willing to accept Wanda in my class, but I encourage you to watch your attitude.” 

Deanne paused from stretching, smiling as she fluttered her eyes, “Nothing wrong with my attitude.” 

Pam firmly planted her hands unto her hips, “Like you’re not superficial and impolite?” 

Deanne drew her svelte body near Pam, “I have overwhelmingly high ideals and speak my mind, so what?” 

Pam snickered, “Wow! You certainly are pretentious.” 

Deanne caught the glare from Pam’s radiant blue eyes and the twisted smirk upon her cute face, “However, I studied physiology in college and have been an experienced aerobic instructor for several years . . . ” 

Deanne flung her hand to her hip, rolling her eyes while Pam continued with her lecture, “ . . .I’ve an expertise in body types, and I’m confident Deanne, if not for your healthy lifestyle, you’d be just as heavy as Wanda.” 

Deanna naturally balked at the suggestion, “Not a chance. I’ve never had any problem maintaining my weight.” 

Pam’s droll chuckle was like nails on a chalk board, “But, Deanne, you’re only 23, wait until your metabolism slows down. I imagine you won’t be as superficial a few years from now when you’re up a few dress sizes.” 

Patsy took a quick sip from her water bottle, smiling while parting company, “You shouldn’t be so vain -- for tomorrow, who knows? You just might be that former instructor who’s now a member.” 

Deanne cringed as Pamela winked.


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## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*B​*
Alexis Amblin had just exited the shower and, once she had finished drying off, wrapped the long towel around her curvaceous body and tiptoed over to her locker. Once the locker was jarred opened, Alexis dropped the towel, her nude body snapped by Abby’s cell as she stood yards off in the distance. 

Abby sneered at the cosmopolitan vixen who swung her hips in a provocative motion before slipping into her figure flattering duds. Her lengthy chocolate brown hair danced over her shoulders, framing her exquisite facial features, her tight blue t-shirt and designer jeans diligently showing off her feminine curves. 

Abby rounded the locker that had obscured her from notice, unflinchingly marching over to Alexis with a cheeky smile, “You had a good laugh at Wanda’s expense!” 

Alexis twisted her head, a puzzled expression muddling her enchanting face, “Are you talking to me?”

Abby wildly shuffled her head back and forth, “I don’t see anybody else in the room!” 

Alexis originally felt intimidated by Abby’s projected wrath; then, seizing her purse, she softly exhaled and managed to recover her cool, “Back off.” 

Upon closing her locker, Alexis glimpsed over Abby with contempt, “I’m not obligated in explaining myself to you. Run off and join your fat friend.” 

Abby backed away as Alexis arrogantly walked by. 

“We’re not done here!” Abby called out. 

Alexis whirled around within reach of the door, “I think we are.” 

Abby snickered at the superficial vixen, “What do you fear?” 

Alexis blinked, “Excuse me?” 

Abby curiously glimpsed over Alexis, “You’re in splendid shape yet you're not just working out here; you’re in a weight management class.” 

Alexis rolled her eyes, “It’s none of your business, but if you must know, I happen to be a fashion model.” 

Abby shook her head, “That makes sense. Snotty attitude, trendy clothes; have you been modeling long?” 

Alexis snapped back, “Long enough!” 

Abby half smiled, “Just starting out?” 

“Why are we having this conversation?” Alexis vehemently replied. “I’m not going to apologize for laughing at your friend.” 

“Of course you aren’t, it’s against your nature,” Abby concurred. 

Alexis folded her arms over her breasts, “I have had enough of this!” 

Alexis opened the locker room’s door, though spewing her opinion before leaving, “Food whores shouldn’t be allowed in such a classy environment!” 

Abby mildly chuckled to herself, “_Food whores? I have to give her credit on originality.”_ 

Latching unto to her duffle bag, Abby journeyed through the chaos of scantily clad females working out and opted to take a photo of her other target, Deanne Princeton. Deanne had just stepped off the stair master and was strolling over to the office when Abby secured her picture. Deanne’s trendy hairstyle with loose curls decorating her forehead enhanced her statuesque facial features. 

A soft platinum blond hue, certainly not natural, vigorously bounced over her shoulders. Her trim shape clad in a peach colored t-shirt and dark blue spandex gym shorts complimented her curvaceous figure; her energetic strut was almost overshadowed by the aura of her confidence. Deanne swiftly clapped her hands, capturing the attention of a pair of well fed college age chicks alongside each other on treadmills, “Let’s go, ladies; those chunky thighs make you look sloppy; put some extra gusto into it!” 

Abby snapped her photo and smiled.


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## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*C​*The overcast sky provided an enthralling atmosphere, raindrops against the windows, like music setting the mood. Abbys plump behind jiggled profusely while she anxiously arranged the blanket on the floor and lit a tall bizarre looking candle. The snapshots of Deanne and Alexis propped upward, and Abby opened the book, digesting the contents before closing her eyes, implementing the chaos directed to their fears . . .

The snazzy black gown wrapped around Deannes body was a tad uncomfortable. Inexplicably tight. She promptly addressed the salesgirl, a lean blond dish with a jovial smile, Are you sure this is a size 4? 

Yeah, she snapped back with perky zeal. Ah, maybe youre, like, a larger size? 

Deanne clenched her teeth, the very idea she was a larger size was ludicrous, I think Im more aware of my size than you. 

The salesgirl circled Deanne, cracking her gum,  Lots of chicks come here thinking theyre a smaller size; youd be surprised. 

Deanne retorted with a repugnant stare, I assure you, Im a size 4! 

Hmmm, the salesgirl muttered while scrutinizing the material attached to Deannes figure. It looks sort of okay, I wouldnt plan on having a big meal unless youre going to wear a girdle under the gown. 

Deanne recoiled at the insinuation, You cant be serious? 

The shops manager, who just happened to be within earshot of the conversation, glided over. She was a middle aged, shapely dressed, pudgy gal, and innocently smiled, Now dear, you do have an adequate figure but your shape is the type that is prone to weight gain. 

I dont believe this, Deanne femininely growled. 

The shops manager unobtrusively smiled, I can conceive a girdle being a regular part of your wardrobe in about two, maybe three years tops! 

Deanne had enough. 

Listen, chubs, a flushed-faced Deanne rattled off, I guarantee you, I wont get fat. 

The salesgirls immature giggle blistered Deannes ego, thus she sailed into the changing booth, I think Ill find a classier boutique! 

Deanne slammed shut the door, noisily exhaling as she peeled away the garment and climbed into her casual attire. Her soothing features buckled in doubt. Her clothes narrowly fit, What the ???? 

Plodding out of the boutique, Deanne shrewdly contemplated, There has to be a rational explanation! I couldnt have gained weight -- thats impossible! 

However, Deannes cotton blouse and Gap jeans were unusually snug. Deanne sped her car out of the parking lot and into traffic, her goal unaccomplished. Deanne had a highly important date with her main squeeze and required a suitable dress for the occasion. Baxter G. Flannigan, a brassy and successful legal eagle had invited Deanne to finally meet his friends, the lucrative and affluent residents of Chicagos North Shore. 

The banquet to which she was invited was being held at a swank country club; naturally, she needed to obtain the best gown possible. Deanne set her course on the Old Orchard shopping mall; they had a boutique or two worth her while. The drive to Skokie was longer than she anticipated, but she amused herself with daydreams. Baxter was the key to the lifestyle she deserved. Deannes main objective to stay in shape was to acquire a pampered existence and live among the elite. 

Deanne moved through the malls concourse like she had a purpose, the definite gown weighed heavily on her mind. Deanne was inches away from Strombergs, a ritzy boutique that catered to the well to do. An uncanny veil distorted her image on the glass door; she hesitated before entering, horrified at the reflection that displayed an obese, motley clad version of Deanne. Her preppy mane was a decrepit mess, profoundly contouring to her pudgy face, while her enormous body was clothed in a ramshackle housedress. 

Deanne closed her eyes and drew a breath; her reflection back to normal, she entered the shop. Logically or otherwise, Deanne credited the disturbing version to overdoing it at the gym. Reclaiming her wits, Deanne leisurely ventured through the shop, eventually locating a worthy gown for the event. The stars didnt alleviate their course. 

Upon arriving home, a modest apartment near Division street, Deanne happily received a phone call from Baxter. The lengthy conversation projected an ample amount of amorous flirting between collaborating their plans and talking shop. Baxter spoke volumes pertaining to his legal agenda and Deanne, between giggles, insolently talked up a storm concerning those in her class that struggled with the pounds. 

Obviously Wanda was mentioned and not with good humor, If she isnt going to work on her appearance, its own fault if shes criticized for being fat and sloppy. 

Baxter was drunk in his shallowness, I suppose shes probably content in her despicable lifestyle. He boldly added with conviction, Its insane to deal with second class people and losers; I really dont know how you handle it. 

Deanne giggled in a contemptuous manner, Being exposed to fat chicks all day long is draining but pays the bills. 

Baxter coolly hinted, I wouldnt worry too much about being employed at that health club. Who knows what just might happen in the future? 

Deannes eyes sparkled to their fullness, realizing she had seized the prize.


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## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*D*​
_Arriving at the health club, Deanne fleetingly exchanged glances with Pamela as she uncharacteristically lumbered through the door. Pams mind was on the business at hand, an application for membership, but she curiously steered back her eyes toward Deanne. Deannes mane appeared flat, and her attire was an ordinary gray sweatshirt and pants. Not even a hint of cosmetics traced her elegant fac,e and she was minus the usual caliber of exuberance she openly flaunted. Deanne tiredly plodded toward the bulletin board; nibbling on a glazed donut, she looked over the classes she was required to instruct and heaved a long yawn. 

Deannes lack of energy was all the more apparent as she sloppily fumbled through her warm up exercises. Pamela eventually approached with a wily grin, You have a late night or what? 

Deanne staggered as she paused, Huh? No, not at all. I fell asleep watching TV. 

Deanne was rarely one that watched television, though the donut trumped Pamelas inquisitiveness, And whats with the donut? I thought you avoided them, calling donuts ass fatteners. 

Funny thing, Deanne half smiled in vague bewilderment. This morning for some totally bizarre reason, I had a taste for donuts. 

Slipping her hands to her waist, Deanne unthinkingly admitted, I only had four; Ill finish the rest later. 

Pamela noticed a pronounce puffiness to Deannes features and thus, upon scrutinizing her figure, politely told Deanne, Lets go to my office; we need to talk in private. 

Deanne eyed the clock over the bulletin board, But my first class starts in fifteen minutes. 

Pamela made a beeline to her office, imperiously writing off Deanne, Ill have Rita handle the class, so lets go. Deanne followed Pam who opened her office door and waved her in, Wait here while I see Rita.

Deanne swerved her head, This wont take long, will it? 

Pamela lifted her chin, brazenly smiling, Nope, I have a beginner's class shortly, so this will be brief. 

A few minutes later, Pam returned and addressed Deanne. 

Listen, um, Deanne, Pam commented while circling her employee. You look kind of soft, terribly out of condition. 

Huh? Deanne lifted her eyebrows, I do not. 

Pamelas expression filled with exasperation, Oh please, youre becoming flabby. 

Am not, Deanne adamantly disagreed. 

However, gripping her tummy, Deanne discovered the tissue to be spongy with a plump curvature as she massaged the surface, How did this happen? 

Pam snapped, I dont know. How did this happen? 

Deannes mouth dropped, Hey, dont get angry with me. Im as clueless as you. 

Pamela took a seat behind her desk, You look more like a member than an instructor. 

Deanne faced the broad mirror that was fastened behind the door, I already told you; I dont know how this happened. All I had was four donuts. 

Right, Pam denigrated Deanne, And how many cookies and pastries? Step on the scale. 

Deanne rotated her head, Youre kidding. 

Pam sternly motioned with her eyes, and Deanne monotonously climbed aboard the scale. Pam could tell by Deannes unexpected expression the numbers werent favorable. Pam undiplomatically sighed, Well, are you going to tell me how much you weigh, or do I have to guess? 

Deanne walked off the scale and advanced to the mirror, Are you sure that scale's accurate? 

Pams sarcasm wasnt appreciated, No, I own a butcher shop so the scale is deliberately inaccurate.

Deannes fingers investigated the cushy layer of flab that concealed her hips while her eyes concentrated on the roundness of her face, There has to be a logical explanation. 

Im amazed youre so naïve. Obviously, youve been cheating on your diet, and, come to think of it, youve havent been my best employee. 

Deanne spoke as she examined the softness of her belly, Na-huh, I always watch what I eat, and, for the record, Im the very best instructor you have. 

Pamela swung her head, acrimoniously stating, Let me clue you in, just for the record. You just admitted to having four donuts, and, owing to your defective shape, its plausible you either have a huge appetite or a diet high in calories. 

Pam leaned toward Deanne as she continued, And, maybe at one time you were my sharpest instructor, but, lately, youve been lethargic and lackluster in your abilities. Since you have not told me how much you weigh, Im going to take a guess and say . . . 

Deanne seized her miniature tummy bulge as she interrupted Pam, 140-pounds, okay! 

Dropping her chin, her hand circling her belly, Deanne whimpered, I never weighed this much, ever. 

Pamelas voice took on an eerie twang, Today youre 140-pounds; next month youll be within the 160-pound range; a year from now youll be unrecognizable. 

While Pamela spoke, Deanne glanced into the mirror and watched her weight increase with collaboration to Pams lecture,  . . . Youll drop by here, but not as an instructor but client. 

Deannes face became significantly rounder; her belly blossomed, and her thighs and rear practically exploded, Youll try to lose weight, maybe. But your sedentary lifestyle wont alter nor your vast appetite for junk food and sweets. 

Deannes sweatshirt drifted upward, separating from the slacks, exposing her colossal belly and immense rolls that circled her chunky waist, Youll be laughed at and mocked, just like you mocked Wanda. Only difference, now youll be envious of her. 

Deanne stared at her reflection, her butterball body and chubby face, even her platinum blond mane had reverted back to its natural brownish-blond hue and its style was tedious at best. 

No! Deanne screeched, her hefty girth trembling, No! _

Deanne opened her eyes. Discovering she was in the confines of her bed at home, she weakly sighed in relief. It was but a nightmare. Shifting her honey colored eyes to her alarm clock, she questioned the day of the week. She could still sleep a while longer once realizing it was Friday. She had taken Friday off so she could spend the entire day preparing for her special rendezvous with Baxter. 

Closing her eyes, the nightmare played back in her mind, and she promptly sat upward and cupped her eyes, This is stupid; it was only a bad dream. 

Glancing at her pillow, Deanne bit her lip, deciding that a modest breakfast and shower would put her in a better humor. Naturally, a twenty-minute workout would follow. Deanne stretched after she glided off the mattress, her usual routine, though without thinking, she dashed off to the kitchen in half the time she typically took. 

Hmmm, she tapped her cheek. Breakfast was habitually half a grapefruit and toast with just a hint of butter, but this morning she opted for four slices of toast fully buttered and oddly enough, a few samples of chocolate that Baxter had brought her back from his trip to Brussels. 

While enjoying her strange meal -- at least to Deanne it was strange -- she didnt question her behavior and sprawled out over her pricy sofa like an uncomplicated housewife. In reality, Deanne didnt watch much television: CNN and Fox to keep up on current events and a few fashion and health programs. Deanne viewed the morning news but soon lost interest and began to channel surf, something she hadnt practiced in years. There was a documentary on PBS about the economy, but this bored her. 

After a docile yawn, she gobbled up another piece of chocolate and searched for something entertaining. A celebrity talk show piqued her interest, and she curled up and watched the remainder of the show. A serial talk show followed, and, without any qualms, Deanne stayed glued to the sofa and watched television until noon. 

Eventually, she rolled off the sofa and, wiping her locks away from her face, started off to the bathroom to take her shower. She smiled at her reflection and pushed back her hair, remembering her appointment at the saloon was at one oclock sharp. She tugged on her silk, emerald green nightgown that agreeably showed off her ample bust, then proceeded to slip off the garment. Before the garment reached her feet, Deanne began belligerently harping, Oh no! How could this happen? 

Though Deannes figure was practically flawless, one blemish did stand out. Somehow, she had acquired a modest tummy bulge.


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## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*E*​ 
Tilting her head, Deannes finger traced over the soft pouch that had developed over night. A minor potbelly at best, though plump enough to dangle over her silk panties, it wiggled slightly as she hopped upon her scale, a scale that was always accurate. Wide-eyed, Deanne squirmed as she looked at the number, 135-pounds? I weigh 135-pounds -- how could that be possible? 

Deanne embraced her tummy and quietly mumbled the words she never though shed ever say, Im going to need a girdle. 

Advancing into the shower, another thought entered her head, Whats Pam going to say when I show up at work Monday? 

Deanne brushed her hand against her tummy as she hurriedly washed, feeling the flabbiness of its texture; she dropped her head and gazed over her distorted stomach and involuntarily whimpered, Im getting fat. 

Lifting her head upward, she let the water splash away the suds and then proceeded to leave the stall. 

Examining her figure while she dried herself off, Deanne sighed in relief; all except her tummy was virtually unchanged. Within seconds, Deanne was in her bedroom where she contemplated her afternoon wardrobe. Standing naked and facing the mirror, she patted her protruding belly, surmising what garment would best hide the flaw to her shape. Buried at the bottom of her dresser Deanne discovered dark gray sweat pants. Upon slipping into her silk undergarments that didnt exactly flatter her fatty bump, Deanne put on the sweats. The sweats were baggy enough to conceal her tummy; she then clothed the top half of her body with a basic black sweatshirt. 

Brushing back her platinum blond locks, Deanne pulled herself away from the mirror, absent mindedly forgoing the cosmetics she regularly used to spruce up her facial appearance. Not that she actually needed makeup; still, it was unlike her to go natural. Deanne took one final glance in the mirror before leaving to accomplish her afternoon agenda, Do I look dumpy or what? 

Where the sweats did in fact hide her tummy bulge, it rendered Deanne the look of a sloppy chick who had no clue about fashion, easily exaggerating the size of her midsection and duff. Speedily, she exited her building and walked to her car; her first goal to complete: buying the unfavorable girdle. Deanne would be simply embarrassed to no end shopping at her usual clothing shop. What would the shop girls think? Naturally, Deanne realized a few of the gals would be overly delighted with the knowledge she had put on a few pounds. 

Jealous tarts, she thought to herself. Theyd like to see me fat. 

Spotting a K-Mart, Deanne pulled into the parking lot, I wont give them the satisfaction. 

Unaccustomed to shopping there, Deanne needed to ask a saleslady for directions to the womens apparel section. A mature woman, a few years over forty with curly black hair and a pear-shaped figure, smiled at Deanne as she approached her. 

Excuse me, maam, Deanne asked, her voice unnaturally low, a tad uncomfortable about buying a girdle, Where might the . . .  

The saleslady bluntly interrupted Deanne, Diet products are in aisle five; we have Weight Watchers and a shelf of Fat Burners . . .  

Huh? Deanne questioned with a perplexed expression, Do I look like I need to lose weight? 

The saleslady looked Deanne up and down, Come to think of it, you do. 

Hey, Deanne snapped. Im not overweight -- you kidding? 

The salesladys eyes sparkled, a convinced hum to her voice, Not now, but I can tell by looking at you, youll become chubby before you know it. 

Deanne fought back her anger, Could you just direct me to womans wear. 

The saleslady tilted her head, cheerfully guiding Deanne, This way, to your left. 

Deanne abrasively remarked, Im perfectly able to find it on my own. 

Well, the saleslady spoke up with conventional candor. Its a slow day, so Ill walk you over to the plus-size section. 

Deannes platinum blond mane whirled freely as she twisted her head, Plus-size? I do not wear . . . 

The saleslady pleasantly corrected Deanne, Ah contraire, youre a chubby gal living in a thin gal's body. You might be holding back the pounds, but youll be wearing plus-size clothes before you realize. 

Reaching the womens apparel section, Deanne searched for undergarments, the saleslady within close quarters, Listen, maam, I appreciate your help, but I think I can find what Im looking for by myself. 

The saleslady generously smirked, Youll find the girdles in the next row. 

Deanne loudly sighed; though refusing to acknowledge the saleslady, she made tracks to where the girdles were displayed and didnt waste much time before selecting the garment. Rounding the corridor and on route to check out, Deanne happened to overhear a hearty chuckle with her name applied, Hello, Deanne! 

Deanne swerved to the sound of the voice; there stood the saleslady speaking to a very hefty sized young lady of 300-plus pounds. The young ladys brownish-blond hair was combed back, revealing her pudgy face while her husky, round body was clad in an ill-fitting gray sweatshirt and matching slacks. A cheese sandwich was clutched in her plump fingers, and her shirt was covered with stains. As wide as she was big, the young lady tilted her head toward Deanne and smiled. 

Deanne closed her eyes. 

_Deanne opened her eyes to the sound of the saleslady's voice, You shouldnt really be bringing food into the store. 

Noticing the sandwich in her grip, her eyes veered off to the mirror within feet of her. Absorbed with the unmistakable feeling of inferiority and awkwardness, Deanne was compelled to bite into the sandwich while apologizing in a timid tone, Im sorry. I wasnt thinking. 

Deannes vision locked upon the mirror that held the reflection of her beefy, inadequately dressed body. Her big breasts drooped over her colossal belly, her fat waist was almost as spacious as her hips and her thighs were simply enormous. 

"Take it outside, come back when you finish, the saleslady urged Deanne.

Obeying without question, Deanne waddled forward, her outrageously large rear bouncing behind her. Shifting from foot to foot while walking was excruciating for the once physically fit instructor. Her swollen thighs rubbed together, indisputably sore from the chafing; she made a mental note to purchase skin lotion while out.

Various patrons observed the fatigued butterball. Deanne became privy to the same gapes, whispers and giggles that Wanda surely encountered. 

And I thought I was fat, a vaguely plump teenage girl confided to her mom. Deanne briefly paused in her tracks, granting the right of way to a pair of petite chicks that obscured her path. Their rhythm went unchallenged, chirping away; Deanne went unacknowledged. 

An authentic trailer trash chick elbowed her boyfriend in the ribs to attract his attention. She motioned over to Deanne and laughed at his reaction, Thats one humungous gal, huh? 

Deanne was within reach of the exit; a lean cashier rolled her eyes as Deanne wobbled by her, the cashier's expression speaking volumes. Deanne practically bumped into a couple of teenage guys. The taller one chuckled while telling his friend, Isnt that your girlfriend? 

The shorter male looked over Deanne, focusing on her hefty belly, No way, man! I couldnt afford to feed her! 

Deanne finally made it out of K-Mart, certainly embarrassed by her size and exhausted by the speed of her trek. Gobbling up the remainder of her sandwich, she peered through the glass and glanced at the lean casher, Wish I could look like her. _

The skinny cashier eyed Deanne before repeating her request that was broadcast over the loudspeaker, Price check on Auntie Maudes wonder girdle!


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## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*F​*Deanne felted overwhelmingly embarrassed. It was bad enough that for the first time in her life she needed to wear a girdle, having it announced over the loudspeakers made it worse. 

The vain vixen had always perceived herself as above average in appearance, but she couldnt help surmising that the customers in line looked upon her as common stock. An ordinary gal who couldnt control her subversive appetite and needed a girdle to masquerade her flabby figure. 

Finally the cashier was told by the manager, Auntie Maudes wonder girdles are nine-ninety-nine! 

The cashier casually batted her eyes at the handsome manager, Sure thing, Mitch. I dont have to wear them, so Im not aware of the cost. 

He smiled, Dont I know it! 

The cashier giggled and added a extra comment that was abruptly interrupted by a hostile Deanne, Please flirt on your own time; I have a momentous agenda this afternoon! 

The cashier turned to Deanne, viciously grinning, Sure, maam, dont mean to keep you waiting. 

Maam? Did she just call me maam? Deanne thought to herself, then corrected the cashier, Im the same age as you. 

The cashier grudgingly shook her head and, upon ringing up the girdle and accepting the cash, placed it in a bag and told Deanne, Tomorrow, were having a sale on cookies. Im sure youd want to get here early. 

Deanne didnt bother to reply and stormed out of K-Mart. The next item on her agenda was getting her hair done for her date with Baxter. Deanne drove by a Burger King and almost was inclined to grab a Whopper. Though that strange illusion that had occurred at K-Mart soured her appetite. For the moment.

She however did contemplate the delusion of her being overweight. What brought it on? The weight she had inexplicably gained? The lecture she received from Pamela due to her criticism of Wanda? Whatever the logical explanation, Deanne smugly assured herself, Like I would ever become a blimp. Im too classy, too dignified to get fat. 

As she turned down Sheridan Road, Deanne glimpsed a chubby young lady clothed in a worn out t-shirt and spandex, her ridicule amplified with laughter, It does appear some couch potatoes actually do leave the house! Deanne hummed in arrogance as she pulled her car into the lot. Id never look like that. 

Cushings On Sheridan was one of the most extravagant beauty salons located on the north side of Chicago. Outrageously overpriced, it was frequented mainly by professional career females and the upper class. Deanne couldnt exactly afford such a posh salon; thus, she needed to make major withdrawals out of her saving account. However, once she was wed to Baxter, all that would change. Deanne entered the establishment; her lackluster attire unsurprisingly drew a fair share of unfavorable looks from the crowd of Gucci chicks and socialites. Deanne lowered her head as she approached the service counter; a superficially cute young lady acknowledged her in a subdued manner, Yes, may I help you? 

A paradox of emotions surge through Deanne as she peered at the materialistic babe with lush curly black hair and attractive heart-shaped face. Her crimson red dress with black trim contoured to her svelte figure, and her posture dictated the aura of confidence. Clad in her sweats and with the knowledge that she had just purchased a girdle, Deanne felt a tad awkward in her company. Bland, ordinary, dowdy. Deanne had been to the salon on several occasions; this was the first time she felt out of place. 

I have an appointment, Deanne managed to squeak. 

Name! the plastic maiden practically commanded. 

Deanne Princeton, Deanne replied. 

The young lady flipped opened the schedule book. Hmmmmm, she looked Deanne up and down, I see your appointment; take a seat; someone shall be with you shortly. 

Deanne shook her head and strolled over to the lavish waiting area. Impulsively yawning, Deanne eased back into the comfortable sofa and waited her turn. Naturally as expected, those already seated were called first. Not exactly. A pretty blond gal who strolled in after Deanne was summoned almost immediately after she entered; subsequently, another upper class babe received the same prompt service. 

Deanne grew irate and leaving the confines of the waiting room, approached the young lady at the counter, Excuse me miss, did you forget about me? Deanne asked in a casual manner, not wanting to create a scene. Had she been clothed to her ideal, she would have harshly scolded the chick for making her wait. 

The young lady swung her head, Noooooooooo, its an unusually busy afternoon; youll be taken care of as soon as somebody is available. 

Yeah, but, Deannes voice cracked, You called a couple of customers before me, and I was here first. 

The young lady tapped her attractively polished nails on the counter, Theyre established customers; we cant keep them waiting.

Deanne folded her hands over her belly region, Yeah, but Im an established customer, too. 

Youve been here before? the girl snapped. 

Deanne shook her head and smiled, Yes, Ive been coming here for months. 

Well, Maam, the girl suggested with candor. You might want to have your hair done elsewhere, perhaps a shop that is better suited for your expenses; were quite steep. 

Deanne planted her hand over her hip, Im fully aware that you charge an astronomical amount. I can . . .  

Before Deanne could finish her sentence, the young lady greeted a pair of patrons who happened through the door: Clovis Maxwell and her teenage daughter, Mila. The pair reeked of prosperity, Clovis appeared much younger than her fifty odd years, and Mila looked as if she just left the catwalk. 

Darling, Kathy, Clovis addressed the young lady at the counter by name, Pardon the intrusion; do you think you could possibly fit us in? 

Kathy nodded, Absolutely, let me see who's available? 

Mila unpleasantly glanced over Deanne, who could feel her icy stare down to her bones. Kathy returned and cheerfully stated, Sylvia will be with you in a couple of minutes; youre welcome to go in. 

Clovis complimented Kathy, then promptly entered the main area of the salon with daughter Mila. Deanne limply leaned against the counter, Hey, what was that all about? I have been waiting . . .  

Kathy calmly interrupted Deanne, Mrs. Maxwell and her daughter are top priority clients. If you dont like it; I advise you to take your business elsewhere. 

Deannes jaw dropped, Thats not fair. 

Kathy smiled, Theres a Cheap Cuts or something on Belmont Ave. Im confident theres no waiting.

Deanne gaped over Kathy with a mixture of dread and resentment, though as she was about to vehemently challenge the one-dimensional babe, she became utterly introverted. Deanne focused on Kathys face and trim figure, her appearance suggesting a superior category of female, posh and attractive -- the rank of which she didnt belong. 

A wobbly essence flourished through Deannes voice, evidence of her own self-consciousness, I um, suppose I could go there? You said it was on Belmont? 

Kathy lifted her chin, I assure you, its much more appropriate for your background. Now, unless you need directions, I have a business to run. 

Deanne backed away and speedily left the upscale boutique. While driving to Cheap Cuts or whatever it was called, Deanne drove by a former dwelling place, Hannie's. Hannie's was a popular fast food diner, much like Burger King. Deanne had worked there during her senior year of high school and a short time after. A floodgate of memories opened, Deanne was definitely the most admired babe that Hannies had employed. 

Wow! Hannies is still in business! Deanne enthusiastically beamed. Been a while since Ive been in, Deanne added, Maybe Ill drop by after I get my hair done? Deanne chuckled as she reminisced, I wonder if Kelly still works there? The delicious looking and somewhat athletic Kelly Golden was more than Deannes co-worker and fellow Mather High School student; she was indeed her gal pal Numeral Uno. 

However, while Deanne pushed on through life and became more goal-orientated, specifically toward marrying a well to do elitist, Kelly was content in the rigmarole of a pedestrian standard of living. Thus, Kelly was discarded. 

"She must be 200-pounds by now, Deanne surmised, based on the added pounds Kelly began putting on while employed at Hannies. A large neon sign in the window, KRYSTALS DISCOUNT BEAUTY SALON, captured Deannes eye, This must be the place. Deanne parked on the street and promptly walked toward the shop.


----------



## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*G​*The salon was half-filled with several patrons from modest backgrounds. Not as roomy as Cushings, the place was casual with a cozy ambiance. Deanne balked at the entrance, unsure if this place, though not exactly grungy, could accomplish the hairstyle she desired. 

Hey girlfriend! a bubbly voice called out. First time here? Deanne swayed her head toward the voice and was greeted by a chubby African American young lady. 

Hi, Im Sabrina. What can we do for you today? 

Undeniably cute, Sabrinas curly black hair rolled over her shoulders while her voluptuously thick body was clad in a bright purple t-shirt and khaki slacks. 

Deanne shrugged her shoulders, I dont have an appointment. 

Sabrina giddily marched over to Deanne, her plush derriere profoundly shaking, Appointments arent necessary here; we appreciate all our customers. 

Deanne was a little hesitant; this salon was void of any kind of elegance but bestowed a simplistic atmosphere. Sabrina grinned as she studied Deannes face and then proceeded to run her fingers through Deannes platinum blond locks, Ah, you could use a trim. Im not crazy about this dye. 

Deanne blinked, You can tell this isnt my natural color? 
Sabrina giggled as she chimed, Girlfriend, please! Im a highly trained professional. So what it be? 

Deanne heaved a long sigh, I have a very important date tonight . . . 

Sabrina roped her arm Deannes and led her to the waiting area, Want to get all glammed up so to entice Mr. Right -- leave it to me, honey. 

Deanne paused as she glanced over the row of folding chairs. You now take a seat and well be with you shortly, Sabrina unperturbedly told Deanne. Help yourself to some donuts and coffee. 

Deanne tilted her head, How long will I have to wait? 

Sabrina ventured over to the counter and grabbed a clipboard before whirling around, Not very long, honey. Whats your name? 

Deanne slipped downward unto the seat, Deanne, Deanne Princeton. 

Sabrina scribbled the name, radiating a content smile, Okay, Deanna, just relax and read a magazine; youll be taken care of very soon. And like I said, have a donut. 

Sabrina drifted away to tend to another client. Deanne glimpsed over the few other clients waiting their turn, nobody exceptional in her eyes: a plump young mom with child over her lap, a pair of mature ladies and a Gucci chick wannabe. Deanne veered off in the distance, pondering over Baxter, her hand aimlessly falling unto her squashy tummy. 

She closed her eyes, How did my belly get so big virtually overnight? she grumpily chaste herself. Deanne unconsciously began to massage her flabby tummy, her fingertips smoothly circling the pulpy tissue. Though her mind was centered on Baxter, the blissful chatter among the other patrons snared her interest. They were ordinary gals, unpretentious and satisfied in virtue. Deanne opened her eyes and to the sight of the young mom grabbing a donut. 
 
Her innocent face was more fair than pretty, but she possessed a wide smile that blossomed from the heart. Slightly pudgy with a pear shaped figure, she cheerfully invited Deanne to join her, adding with giggle, The donuts sure are good; have one. 

Deanne slid her hand over her tummy bulge and rocked herself out of the chair, I believe I will, thank you. 

The same Deanne who once avoided donuts, calling them ass fatteners, picked up a vanilla frosted donut, remarking as she nibbled, Yeah, they are good. 

Im Amy, she introduced herself and then her child. And this is Ellie. 

Deanne smiled as Amy waved her over, patting the empty chair beside her and chirping, Youre welcome to join us! 

Deanne took a hearty bite out of the donut, before seizing another donut of the chocolate variety, and then casually walked over and took the seat. 

Amys nature was charming to say the least, I dont think I ever seen you here, but its a nice place, and they do fine work.  

Deanne eased back and stretched out her legs, speaking as she nibbled, My usual place had an extremely long wait, so I popped in here. 

Good call, Amy warmly replied, This place has affordable rates and isnt as stuffy as those overpriced salons. 

Deanne shook her head, So I noticed. 

Soon the Gucci chick wannabe and the mature women joined in on the conversation. Deanne was absorbed by the banter; their uncomplicated lives seemed far-fetched at first, though she discovered them to be content and happy. The pomp and circumstance of the social elite that Deanne had aspired weakened its grip on her moral fiber. She enjoyed yet a third and then fourth donut with coffee, her fondness for sweets somehow superseding the concern for her appearance. One female after another left the circle to receive work on their hair. Eventually, it was Deannes turn. 

Deanna, Deanna Princeton! Sabrina called out. Deanne effortlessly left her chair, though she was unexpectedly infected with a blasé aura that removed her energetic prowess, leaving her body completely exhausted. 

Deanne wandered over to Sabrina in a sluggish manner, I think I had one donut too many, she contemplated to herself. 

Sabrina gyrated her hips, a perky smile on her cute face, Okay, girlfriend, ready for your makeover? 

Huh, makeover? Deannes question interrupted by an elongated yawn. 

Bouncy in step, Sabrina led the way, Youre going to look more beautiful than ever; that poor boy aint got a chance. 

Situated in back were several chairs, many occupied by clients. Sabrina pointed over to an exceptionally chubby 20 year-old gal, Ill leave you with Lucinda; shes fresh out of beauty school." 

Lucinda was quite pretty; her black hair with streaks of blue set in a high ponytail. Her circular shaped figure was clad in a basic black sleeveless t-shirt that revealed her beefy upper arms, large bust and enormous belly, while red and gold colored striped spandex slacks outlined her roomy bubble butt and husky thighs. 

Lucinda cracked her gum, pointing to the cushions with a hairbrush, Have a seat. 

Deanne couldnt come up with any other rational explanation other than the donuts for her lack of zip. She covered her lips to conceal her unattractive yawn, half embarrassed she informed Lucinda, Pardon me; I feel a little worn out. 

Lucindas beautiful face cracked a wide smile, Another donut would perk you up. 

Deanne plopped down in the chair, Ah, I think I had enough . . .  

Lucinda handed Deanne a glazed donut, giggling, I can tell youre fond of sweets. 

Deannes facial expression spoke otherwise, at first -- a combination of rejection and distain; confusion following. Deanne couldnt fathom why, but she did desire another donut. 

While Deanne munched on the donut, Lucinda bent over and scrutinized Deannes face and hair, I just thought of the best hairstyle for you; youll look so cool! 

Cool? Deanne questioned to herself. 

She expected her hairstyle to be posh or sharp but cool? 

Lucinda lowered the back of the chair and lay Deannes head over the sink, Going to wash out that horrible dye, just relax. 

Deanne was about to mutter, Horrible dye? though the burst of water interrupted her speech. 

Lucinda proceeded to massage Deannes scalp and then added a few chemicals to rid her mane of the platinum blond dye. Deanne sighed as she became so relaxed; her entire body felt limp. Lucinda then added shampoo and slowly worked it through Deannes locks. 

Lucinda glanced over Deannes body while washing her hair, humorously pointing out, Somebody has a chubby tummy! 

Deanne unconvincingly disagreed, My tummy isnt that chubby. 

Lucinda good-naturedly snickered, You cant be that naïve Deanna? You have the kind of figure commonly known as a fat chick in a thin body. Trust me, your potbelly is indication youll become very chubby before you know it. 

Deanne had meant to harshly dispute Lucindas claim, but a passive sensation disrupted her cognitive thought and she instead mumbled, Very chubby? 

Lucinda wrapped a towel around Deannes head and after drying, began to snip at her mane. 

Just a modest trim, Deanna, then well see about setting up your hair in curlers. 

Deanne indistinctly questioned, Curlers? 

Lucinda optimistically chimed, Yes maam, youre going to receive the full treatment!


----------



## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*H​*Lucinda tilted Deannes head backward, running the comb through her moist hair she began snipping away. 

Deanne wanted to convey, Not too short, but she didnt have enough strength to pull it off. 

Instead, she closed her eyes and nodded off. It wasnt much longer until Deannes hair was in curlers, the big, ugly vintage kind, and directed to the old fashion, 1950s era hair dryers. Sabrina led the way and helped the dazed Deanne slip onto a large comfortable chair under the dryer. 

You just relax, girlfriend. Ill turn this monster on and then get you a snack. 

Deannes posterior tumbled into the seat, A snack? Deanne reflected to herself. No wonder all the chicks here are so hefty 

Sabrina giggled before turning on the switch, This should take twenty/twenty-five minutes, then Lucinda will carry on with your makeover. 

Deanne blinked as the dryer started; the vacuum was much stronger than she thought it would be. Another employee, a pretty young lady whose butt and thighs were coated with a cushy layer of fat, brought Deanne a large glass of milk and a slice of cheesecake. Deanne squinted at the plate, originally wanting to decline the snack; she oddly enough changed her mind and began consuming the treat as if her stomach was empty. 

Deanne fastened her lips to the straw and slugged down the milk. Her plastic fork falling off the plate onto the floor, Sabrina took a step forward within Deannes sight and encouraged her in the usage of her fingers to partake in the remainder of the cheesecake. The baffled expression that blistered Deannes stunning face faded in a heartbeat. Scooping up the cheesecake with her fingers, she shoveled every morsel into her mouth. 

Sabrina waved to the plump attendant who promptly brought Deanne another slice and refilled her glass. Deanne contently grinned, making yummy sounds as she practically inhaled the cheesecake. Sabrina aided Deanne in wiping off her fingers, eventually shutting off the dryer and guided her out of the chair. 

Back to the styling section so we can resume your makeover, Sabrina told Deanne as she cupped her elbow to help steady her balance. 

Deanne was quite disorientated; the room seemed to be spinning and her thought processes jumbled. Once in her seat, Lucinda proceeded to remove the curlers and, with use of a curling iron, spruced up Deannes new do. Deanne heaved a long sigh as she glanced over her reflection. Her hair was clipped unusually short, tapering off at the middle of her neck and extremely curly. 

Back to her original almond brown shade, the style was far more appropriate for a common type of gal not so much for a social climber. Furthermore, it produced a circler shape to Deannes face, an item that her former style successfully hid. 

I look so different, Deanne thought to herself. 

A bizarre voice within her mind convinced Deanne, This is your natural look; your former hairstyle was a misrepresentation of your character. 

Deanne cracked a smile, Its not so bad? 

Thought youd like it, Lucinda chirped. And it only cost you ten dollars! 

Deanne stood up out of the chair and walked over to the cash register and paid Sabrina. Deannes sluggish condition and cloudy mind did her few favors; she moved at a snails pace and needed to concentrate before speaking. 

Amy approached Deanne, Beautiful hairdo, Deanna. Say, a bunch of us girls regularly get together on Saturday nights; we pig out and watch B-horror movies and talk about guys -- would you care to mingle with us? 

Deanne eased her duff against the counter, Huh? Saturday night? 

Amy whirled her daughter next to her, Yeah. Most of us are unattached, but were good company for each other. 

Deanne scratched her bloated tummy, Saturday night I, um, Im not sure? 

Deanne routinely spent her Saturday nights out on the town with her friends, the typical materialistic class to which she belonged, though, somehow, an uncomfortable sensation had thwarted her self-confidence. 

Amy sparkled in her demeanor, Ill give you my number just in case, okay? 

Deannes nod was shortened by an abrupt yawn. Perhaps it was the fresh air that invigorated Deanne? Once she had left the quaint salon, she no longer felt sluggish. Well, not as sluggish. She did feel a tinge lazy. Once in her car, Deanne began drive home, deciding against dropping by Hannies due too the surplus of donuts and cheesecake she'd devoured at the salon. She credited her loss of energy to that feeding extravaganza. 

Once arriving back at the ritzy apartment complex where she dwelled, Deanne snared her package and made a beeline to her flat. Mrs. Compton, Deannes neighbor briskly walked by her, waving hello but with an odd look upon her face. Deanne shrugged it off, branding Mrs. Compton as altogether loopy. 

However, Muriel Mattlebaum, the stylish cheerleading vixen who lived in the apartment below Deannes, gazed over her with a repugnant stare. 

Deanne quietly greeted her with, Hello, Muriel, whats up? 

However, Muriel could only manage a shabby, Hi, Deanne. 

Deanne closed her eyes, sighing out loud, Its this mundane hairstyle. Why did I go through with it?

Once inside her apartment, Deanne dropped off the package with the girdle and swiftly made tracks to the powder room to check the damage, It couldnt possibly be that bad! Nah. Her almond brown locks, ridiculously short and curly made her appear unsophisticated and, ugh, a tinge ordinary. It added a circular shape to her face and enhanced her double chin. 

Double chin? Deannes mouth dropped, I have a double chin! 

Far out, fantastic! Deanne sarcastically spewed in anger as she inspected her facial appearance. Just before my big date with Baxter. How will I ever be able to see him now? 

Were her cheeks puffier? A tad. Deanne gripped her belly, How could I let this . . .? 

Her belly felt larger, softer. Deanne tilted her head downward, her hands cupping her swollen tummy, Ive gotten fatter! 

Deanne pounced on the scale, Oh-no-no-no! I cant weigh 145-pounds? 

Deanne leaned over and slammed the bathroom door shut and viewed her figure against the reflection of the large looking glass adjoin to the door. Her ass looked roomy, very roomy. 

Deanne hurriedly slipped off her sweat slacks, This cannot be happening and on such an important night! Her tummy was plumper and bulged in two sections, one trapped by her undergarment, the other protruding over. Her posterior was definitely larger and her thighs, besides losing every trace of muscle tone, were thicker with minor saddlebags in production. 

Deanne stared at her reflection. Guiding her fingers over her tummy, she squirmed while her fingers sunk into the flabby tissue. She brought her face back to the mirror over the sink. Yes, her cheeks were fuller, and that double chin spoiled the exquisite aura that advanced her beauty. 

Undeniably still attractive but less unique, Deanne pouted before strolling out of the bathroom and into the living room. 

She froze as she entered, How the . . . ? 

An empty donut box laid over her coffee table; another one on the floor next to the sofa. Glasses, plates and bowls were situated in various spots. 

Have I gone mad? Deanne ardently questioned.


----------



## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*I​*
“This is totally absurd,” she mused over the empty donut boxes and dishes. “I don’t eat that kind of stuff.” 

She heaved a prodigious sigh, “But, then again, how did I manage to put on so much weight?” 

Deanne scurried into the kitchen, opening the fridge she grabbed the carton of whole milk and chugged a vast amount. Deanne momentarily paused to catch her breath before relieving her thirst with another swallow. Rotating her body, Deanne looked over the bowl of fruit upon the counter; returning the milk back into the fridge, she spotted apple pie. 

“When do I ever buy pie?” she half smiled. 

Deanne closed the fridge and reached for an orange. Deanne was abnormally perplexed but followed through with her compulsions. Steering away from the fruit, she opted instead for a large slice of pie and a glass of milk. A few minutes later Deane was on the sofa enjoying her snack, contemplating her dilemma while channel surfing. Clad in the black sweatshirt and underwear, she rested her feet on the coffee table, her plump thighs in full bloom. 

Deanne gulped down a quick swallow and then slipped a mouthful of pie between her lips, “I’m going to have to call, um, what’s his name and cancel.” Deanne required much thought to get Baxter’s name right. 

“Can’t let Bruce, um, Baxter see me like this.” 

Relishing another bite, Deanne reached for her cell phone. Good call to have his number on her favorites list. 

She got his voice mail, “Leave a message; will return your call as soon as possible.” 

Deanne drew a blank, unsure of what to say, she needed to call back. Her thoughts at first meshed with her sociable personality, “Hello sweetie, about this evening’s event. I can’t make it because . . .”

However, her voice cracked with self-conscious implications, “Um, you see, nothing would be so cool you know but, like, I have to take a rain check because . . . ?” 

Because? What was Deanne suppose to say? She'd gained weight? She had become unacceptable to the in crowd? 

“Call me back, babe, when, um, you can.” 

Her face couldn’t conceal her self-pity. Deanne needed to place the plate further on her lap; her bulging belly was too much in the way. 

A modest sip of milk with a modest burp, “I better call Pam. No way I can show up for work like this.”

Deanne’s finger tips inches away from the phone, her signature chime rang, “Diamonds are a girl's best friend . . . ” 

The familiar voice was Pamela. Deanne indolently slid sideways against the armrest, her slouching position exaggerating the puffiness of her belly, the bulge of fatty tissue bursting freely, pushing her silk skivvies lower down her abdomen. 

“I was just about to phone you,” Deanne greeted her employer.

“Oh,” Pam laughed in startled surprise. “Then you must be Deanna Princeton?” 

Deanne strenuously boosted herself into a sitting position, the plate of pie almost tumbling over. “Ah, yes, Pam, it’s me,” Deanne nervously sniffled. 

Pamela’s voice hummed with authority, “I’m calling about your membership at the club.” 

“The club?” Deanne insecurely replied, unsure of what Pam meant by membership. 

Pamela ingenuously replied, “The health club,” then brought Deanne up to speed. “It’s apparent you haven’t been to a meeting in over two weeks. Unless you want to forfeit your membership, I suggest you attend your next meeting, which is scheduled for tomorrow.” 

If Deanne wasn’t already confused by the added pounds she inexplicably gained, being told she was a health club member and not an instructor was all the more disturbing. 

And it became worse. Pamela spoke in a professional manner, 

“What really surprises me, for someone who is struggling with her weight, you’d be diligently attending the meetings and putting more effort in your target weight loss.” 

Deanne gawkily replied, “Huh? But Pam, this will sound very strange . . . ” 

Pamela spoke over Deanne, “I’m not interested in any excuses; I’ve heard them all.” 

Deanne was keen on explaining the bizarre developments that had occurred, though Pamela hung up before she could manage to do so. Slipping the last piece of pie into her mouth, Deanne realized it would be pointless. Just like the shocking amount of pounds she put on and her overall worn out feeling, she was confident, Pam would never acknowledge her as an employee. Deanne guzzled the remaining portion of milk, then stretched before resuming her channel surfing. 

“I don’t know what happened to me. I was, like, in the best shape ever.” 

Deanne deeply exhaled, “Bob was going to propose tonight. I just know it.” 

Realizing she had conjured an erroneous name for her main squeeze, Deanne cringed, “Baxter, his name is Baxter.” 

“There has to be an logical explanation for this?“ Deanne pondered while viewing _Beverly Hills 90120._

Deanne’s slanted posture exaggerated the plumpness of her belly, her hand skimming over the pulpy surface as she watched the soap. Envy of the scantily clad sirens on screen, their svelte figures in trendy outfits, mangled her self-esteem. Gorgeous slim chicks lured the hearts of popular men. Deanne wasn’t able to qualify. A sturdy knock on the door captured her attention; she twisted her head to the door as another knock followed. Deanne feared it might be Baxter. A lapse of judgment, more or less misguided logic and Deanne left the sofa, answering the door without a second thought. 

There stood a husky young man with a pizza, “I have a pizza for Deanne Princeton.”

Deanne glimpsed over the delivery man before she replied, “I didn’t order a pizza.” An inch taller than Deanne, his wavy blond hair was in need of a comb and his congenial features were masked by five o’clock shadow. Clad in a short sleeve shirt and scruffy looking jeans, he owned an authentic beer belly. 

“Says here you ordered a large sausage pizza with extra sausage,” he addressed Deanne with a smirk as he looked her over. 

Deanne leaned her hip against the door, a fleeting glimpse at the pizza roused her appetite, “Sure, I’ll take the pizza.” 

He smiled, “I appreciate that, Miss; if you didn’t accept, I’d end up paying for it.”

Deanne rotated her body; her eyes fell upon the television screen. Those slim gals had the luxury of attracting first-class men, guys like Baxter who wouldn’t be seen with the likes of Wanda. Deanne would have never given this young man the time of day, though, now, the economic bottom of the barrel didn’t seem so bad. Deanne half-smiled; awkward nervousness set in as the surge to flirt drifted into her consciousness. 

Deanne fluttered her eyes, “That doesn’t seem fair.” 

“No, miss, it’s not fair, but I’m just an out-of-work stiff, trying to make ends meet by delivering pizza.” 

Deanne waved him in, “Step inside while I grab some cash -- how much did you say it was?” 

“$21.50,” he answered Deanne as he checked out the characters on TV. 

Realizing that she was barely clothed, Deanne giggled, “You have to excuse me, I didn’t usually answer the door like this.” Chivalrously, he shook his head. 

Deanne pranced over to him, “I had a difficult day, by the way; my name is Deanne . . . Deanna.” 

“Nice to meet you, Deanna,” he coolly told her, his eyes focused on her pleasingly plump figure. 

“Same here,” she giggled. 

Handing him twenty-five dollars, Deanne hummed, “Keep the change. You work there often?” 

She stood daringly close to him as he happily revealed, “Mostly weekends, but all the hours I can until I find work.” 

Deanne was felt overcome with light headiness, “Totally awesome, um, what did you like, normally do?” 

He gladly explained that he used to run the fork lift at a factory, but the factory went under and he was about to exhaust his unemployment check, “ . . . and that’s why I’m delivering pizzas.” 

“Well, I guess I’ll be a regular customer,” she chuckled. 

“I’d like that,” he shook his head, then drew a breath, “I have other deliveries, so I best be going.” 

As he backed away, Deanne began to laugh, “Hey, you never told me your name!” 

He gazed longingly at Deanne, “Dale, I’m Dale Curtiz.” 

Deanne excelled in cognitive dizziness, “Nice to meet you, Dale. I’m Deanna Princeton.” 

Dale’s hand slipped to his waist, “I know. Your name was on the address.” 

Once Dale had wandered away, Deanne placed the pizza on the coffee table and began eating. Deanne’s flighty demeanor shined through, counting calories were no longer essential. Wanda’s wishes, stimulated by Ms. Nightmare, had just begun to infiltrate Deanne’s lifestyle, appearance and behavior. 

Deanne felt a tad uneasy watching the trim, vivacious vixens on 90120 and switched the channels several times until she discovered a program that coincided with her perceived lifestyle of the frumpy and fat. Likewise, she hogged the pizza; every bite encouraged her for more until it was unremorsefully devoured.


----------



## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*J​*
“Ummm, I must have fallen asleep on the couch,” Deanne ventured as she woke to the humming of her cell. It took her some effort to pick up the phone. 

“Yes? Um hi, sorry I just woke up.”

“Hey, sleepy head, I apologize for disturbing your sleep,” the perky feminine voice told her. 

Deanne instinctively began nibbling on some left over crust and pizza crumbs, “So, what’s up?” 

“Hey, you sound like you don’t even recognize my voice? It’s me, Kelly!” 

Deanne blinked herself into consciousness, “Kelly? Kelly Golden, from Hannies?” 

“Duh, yes, it’s me!” Kelly laughed. Deanne’s brow wrinkled. After all this time, why was 
Kelly calling her from out of the blue? Kelly was keen on the spot, “I know you’re suppose to be off today, but could you do me a teeny little favor and work a few hours this afternoon?” 

Deanne blurted in surprise, “Huh? Work a few hours?” 

“Yeah, babe, I’m in a jam. Trish, you know, the it girl, was out late, and she’s not going to be in.” 

Deanne pushed herself upward, “Let me get this straight . . . ” 

Deanne froze in mid sentence; over a chair was the powder blue waitress uniform. 

Kelly sent Deanne back into reality, “Deanne, you still there?” 

Deanne’s voice cracked, “Yeah, I’m still here.” 

“Fabulous!” Kelly chirped. “Think you could show up in an hour, hour and a half, tops?” 

Deanne shook her head before replying, “I guess so? One question: how long have I been working at Hannie's?” 

Kelly giggled, “Ever since senior year of high school. Why’d you ask?” 

Deanne industriously labored to get to her feet, “I wasn’t exactly sure.” 

Kelly finished the conversation with a cheerful, “I won’t work you too hard, so relax; see ya!” 

Deanne reluctantly sighed, then scratched her belly, “I need professional help. How did I wind up back at . . . ?” 

Deanne’s train of thought was interrupted by the stark certainly that she had become bigger. She couldn’t help but to notice how her breasts distended the fabric of her sweatshirt and that her rounder, larger belly jutted outward. Her waist curved, than expanded, before reaching her hips; a distinct roll circled her mid section, and a surplus of flab seeped over the waistband of her underwear. Deanne’s balance was distorted. Swiftly, she hobbled to the bathroom; her vigorous gait had developed into a conspicuous waddle. 

She clumsily entered the bathroom, apprehensive of the additional weight that had claimed her body. The reflection in the mirror revealed a chubby gal who reeked of a sedentary lifestyle. The shortness of her curly hair exemplified the unique structure of her fuller face. Closer to U-shape than circular, her budding plump cheeks accurately connected to her spongy second chin; the overall sharpness of her features had radically softened. 

Deanne exhaled while removing her sweatshirt; dropping it to the floor, she turned toward the full size mirror latched to the door. Her breasts had easily increased a whole cup size larger; however, they appeared squishy in texture, the firm quality noticeably absent. Deanne’s eyes next studied her thoroughly pudgy belly and waist. Her swollen belly pushed outward, while her flabby waist practically expanded over her spacious hips, surrounded by two seriously beefy rolls. Deanne hesitated before examining her thighs, meticulously fat as well as abnormally wide, visibly thunderous in appearance. 

Deanne maneuvered herself around and silently gazed over her voluminous derriere. Semi-circular, her hefty hindquarters moderately hovered over her thighs with a blubbery quality that enhanced its bloated form. Deanne Princeton was now an official overweight, hugely pear-shaped young lady. Deanne tottered to the scale, at least to the spot where it was kept. A peculiar thought seeped into her head: why would she have a scale? It would only encourage her bitterness. After all, Deanne realized she was fat, just how fat? 

It plainly didn’t matter. Breakfast before getting ready for work: donuts and milk and some tea with lemon. She no longer had any qualms pertaining to donuts, or even candy bars. She gulped up the first one in two bites; the second one she nibbled while on her way to the restaurant. Now, Deanne’s skills as a waitress never deserted her, and she picked up where she left off. 

However, where she basked in popularity while a slender vixen, her plus-size figure diminished her status. To the patrons at Hannie's, most of which were of the teenage variety, Deanne was just another waitress. An overtly chunky one at that. Tips were meager; flirting was futile and Deanne was overcome with envy due to the various slim high school babes who frequented the restaurant. 

As for Kelly, Deanne was further disappointed that she hadn’t actually gained all that much weight. Kelly was sensationally pretty with short, black hair and a chubby apple shaped figure. Though within the 125-pound range when she first began working at Hannie's while a high school senior, her weight had genuinely fluctuated ever since. As perky and cordial as ever, Kelly looked absolutely gorgeous at 170-pounds. Deanne was easily wider and heavier. 

“Say,” Kelly beamed an unobtrusive smile. “Isn’t your fitness class this afternoon?” 

Deanne strolled by Kelly, struggling with an armful of plates, “Yeah, um, let me serve this up and I’ll be right back.” 

Deanne’s blue uniform revealed every pound of her butterball figure, especially in her butt and thighs that unavoidably jiggled. 

Kelly observed her friend waddle back after serving the food; smiling with warmth, she repeated the question, “Don’t you have a fitness class at the health club this afternoon?” 

“So?” Deanne unenthusiastically replied. 

Kelly brushed the bangs out of her eyes, an award winning smile upon her face, “I can manage okay until Alice gets here. Why not run off to the fitness center?” 

Deanne wasn’t sure if she wanted to attend; after all, she remembered how she treated Wanda. What if she was ridiculed in the same manner? “I don’t think I’m feeling up to it,” Deanne rattled off, her eyes locking on a slice of pie. 

Kelly was direct, “Deanne, I’m fully aware that you’re uncomfortable about your weight, but, honestly, unless you get motivated in dropping the pounds or at least controlling your weight, you’ll need a new uniform within a couple of months.” 

Deanne quibbled, uneasiness echoing through her voice, “Hey, you’re not so slim anymore either." 

Deanne sluggishly walked by Kelly and helped herself to the pie. 

Kelly folded her arms over her healthy bust, “I might have filled out since high school, but girl, you’ve more than just filled out, you . . .” 

Kelly paused, rethinking her message of concern, “What I meant is, yeah, I got chubby, but you’re definitely heavier than me, much heavier.” 

“So you mean well,” Deanne’s sentence becoming indistinguishable due to the huge piece of pie she stuffed into her mouth, “But, willy, I’z donz fee eel upz toit. . . ” 

“One more time in English,” Kelly laughed. 

Deanne’s frown inflated her plump, doughy cheeks; again, her words were obscured, speaking while shoveling another portion of pie between her lips. Kelly sighed with concern, “Back in high school I was so . . .” 

“Hello Kelly!” a cheery voice interrupted Kelly’s speech. 

Kelly spun around; approaching the counter was another Maverick High School alumni, Mona Hart. Mona’s honey blond mane was set in an elaborate hairstyle, short and neat, it lucratively favored the shape of her appealing face, while her figure, meticulously trim though loosely hourglass, was attired in a black short sleeve blouse and matching slacks. 

Mona waved at Deanne once she reached the counter, Deanne acknowledged her with a congenial nod. Kelly politely enquired, “What can I get you?” 

Mona half-smiled, “A Caesar’s Salad should do it and a diet Pepsi.” 

Kelly swung her head toward Deanne who was gorging upon the pie, “Care to fetch Mona her order?” 

Deanne squinted, cramming the final portion of pie into her mouth, her plump cheeks swelling, “O. . .okie-doky.” 

Mona veered over at Deanne, “Be sure to wash off your fingers.” 

Deanne used her wrist to wipe off her mouth, nodding at Mona in agreement. 

“How are things?” Kelly sugarily asked Mona as Deanne assembled the posh chick’s order. 

“Fabulous!” Mona chimed, “Never better!” 

Deanne overheard the entire conversation while laboring on the meal. Mona leaned on the counter, excitedly speaking with her hands as well as with words. “Baxter has arranged for me to meet his friends tonight at some kind of fancy event. I’m totally enthused.” 

Deanne slid the Pepsi over the counter, nervously scratching her portly big belly, “Excuse me? You know Baxter Flannigan?” 

Mona flashed a wide smiled, “We’re something of an item.” 

Kelly characteristically chuckled, “If you’re not already an item, you will be after tonight!” 

“My thoughts exactly!” Mona concurred with hearty commitment. 

Deanne, mouth wide open, gaped in disbelief, “You talking about Baxter Flannigan, the lawyer?” 

Mona looked at Kelly before flippantly asking, “Of course, how would you know Baxter?” 

Kelly sighed with an embarrassed laugh, “Deanne is delusional; she couldn’t possibly know Baxter. She’s seldom out.” 

Deanne wanted to correct Kelly and tell Mona off, though the indistinguishable chaos that made Deanne fat blurred her cognitive thoughts, in the same manner as earlier, when she couldn’t recollect his name. Deanne’s stance reflected her awkwardness, “Um, no, I don’t actually know him; I just, um, seen his picture in the paper. He’s cute.” 

Mona stone faced replied, “I didn’t think so. Now about my salad?” 

Deanne’s rubbery cheeks inflated with her smile, “Coming right up!” 

Mona spoke to Kelly in confidence while Deanne briefly removed herself to grab the salad. “What happened to her? It’s like her bulb went out, and she looks fatter every time I’m in here. She wasn’t like this in high school.” 

Kelly tilted her head, “Tell me about it, though I’ve gained some weight, too. Working around food has that effect.” 

Mona, who by the way was a bank teller, added, “Yeah, but she’s gotten completely huge. Haven’t you tried to encourage her?" 

Kelly shrugged her shoulders, “All the time. She must have become content or something?” 

Mona slipped her hand to her waist, “We used to be such good friends; it’s a shame she’s . . . here she comes.” 

Deanne wobbled over to the counter, salad in hand, her portly belly poking out, slightly jiggling. 

“Here’s your salad; that’s exciting news about the guy,” Deanne pleasantly grinned. 

Mona shook her head, “Thanks.” 

Deanne twisted toward Kelly, “I’m going to clean up in back and then . . .” 

Mona interrupted Deanne, “Wait a minute.” 

Clearing her throat, Mona told Deanne, “We were just talking about you. In high school you used to be; I mean, there was a time when . . .” 

Kelly broke in, “What Mona is trying to tell you, and, I agree, you should really lose some weight.” 

Deanne’s facial appearance sparkled, “Finally! Then you noticed. I wasn’t always this fat.” 

Mona shook her head, “No you weren’t.” 

“Yeah,” Deanne chuckled, “It started the other day . . . ” 

Kelly edged her way into Deanne’s comment, “Metaphorically speaking. It wasn’t like you become overweight overnight.” 

Deanne paused. Scratching her head, she realized, Kelly and Mona would never believe the strange occurrence that had inflated her figure. 

“Something like that,” Deanne grumbled. 

Kelly happily smiled, “Then you’re going to attend class this afternoon?” 

Deanne’s contemporary identity went into effect, “Weren’t we through that already? I’d rather not go.” 

Kelly refused to relent, “You’re going even if Mona has to drive you there herself!” 

Mona blinked in shock, “Huh?” 

Kelly gestured over to Deanne, “I can’t very well take her; I have a restaurant to run.” 

Mona rolled her eyes, “Fine. Mind if I finish my lunch first?” 

Deanne grumbled while backing away, “Go ahead,“ though her mood changed course as her eyes happened upon the display case that featured German chocolate cake. Her effervescent giggle filled the room, “I’ll have a slice of cake while I wait.”


----------



## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*K​*
Deanne was exhausted. The variety of aerobics she encountered had worn her out. Taking refuge on a bench, she watched her fellow members working their abs in unison. Clad in a basic gray sweat suit, her thighs looked glued together while her big, bloated belly strained the material. 

“Where do they get the energy?” she grumpily questioned. Deanne could recall the spunky vigor she once flaunted, but as of now, she was simply too out of condition to keep up. 

“All tuckered out?” a cutesy caliber of voice disrupted Deanne’s train of thought. Deanne twisted her head, discovering Pamela standing behind her. Deanne struggled as she turned around, 

Pam cordially smiled, “Are you new here?” 

“Pam, it’s me, Deanne,” her voice cracking. 

Pam placed her hand over her hip, “I apologize for not remembering you, but I handle many customers.” 

Deanne lifted her eyebrows, “You don’t remember me at all?” 

Pam was confident in her approach but generous in demeanor, “I’m afraid not, miss. Deanne, you said?” 

Deanne nodded, “Deanne Princeton, that’s me.” 

Deanne scratched the pudgy roll that circled her soft waist, “I used to be as slim as you.” 

Pam nodded, “Is that right? Well, Deanne, we can work with you and help you shed those unwanted pounds. Are you following a well organized diet?” 

Deanne answered with a stale expression, “You’re kidding? Since I&#8216;ve fattened, my appetite is incorrigible.” 

“Huh-huh,” Pam acknowledged Deanne. “Let’s go to my office, and I’ll check your file, then I can manage your weight loss in an appropriate manner.” 

Deanne insipidly replied, “I guess?” 

Not yet fully acquainted with her excess weight, Deanne staggered onto her feet. As they journeyed to Pam’s office, Deanne naturally received the identical stares and whispers, a few giggles as well, that she'd once directed toward heavier females. Deanne did very well ignoring the unfavorable looks and jeers, but, within the catacombs of her memory, it was a callous reminder that she was once as insolent. As Deanne entered Pam’s office, unlike her previous visit when she was a shapely instructor, she was now merely an overweight client. 

Pam smiled while gliding into the chair behind her trendy desk, “Take a seat, Dina.” 

“That’s Deanne,” she grudgingly corrected Pam while uncomfortably squeezing into the plastic, classroom variety chair. Her thick waist ventured between the armrest, her cushy flab abundantly oozing over, her hefty thighs jammed together, elevating the fatty tissue skyward. 

“So,” Pamela chirped as she looked at the monitor, “Please give me your full name and address.” 

Deanne obliged with the request, “Deanne K. Princeton, 1280 North Devon.” 

“Ritzy neighborhood for a waitress, isn’t it?” Pam emphasized with acute pretentiousness. 

A frustrated expression distorted Deanne’s chubby features, “I, um, kind of?” 

“Bingo!” Pam announced as she happened upon the file. “Deanne Karrie Princeton, age 23 . . .” 

Pamela paused, momentarily studying Deanne’s file before continuing, “Average weight until senior year of high school, increase in weight corresponding to employment at fast food . . ." 

Deanne listened as Pamela read a loud from her file, describing a new version of her life. She became keenly aware of her stagnant personality due to the effect of her dwindling popularity while she piled on the pounds. Pam breezed through the facts, concluding with, “Your target weight loss is 125-pounds.” 

“That’s a whole person!” Deanne grumbled in distress. 

Pam adjusted her taut t-shirt before addressing Deanne, “That’s really pushing the bar, don’t you think? Your attendance is spotty; you’re unreasonably lazy and you can’t control your appetite.” 

Deanne’s doughy second chin expanded while she whimpered, “Pam, if you only knew what happened to me; it’s beyond weird, you&#8216;ll think . . . ” 

Pamela spoke over Deanne, subjecting her to the same form of ridicule that she had bestowed upon Wanda. “Stop whining, you’re giving me a headache. You aren’t even trying to lose weight! I’m totally perplexed. Why do you even bother showing up when your motivation is bankrupt? It’s obvious by your size, you must be content in getting fatter. Here’s an idea: find another job; snacking continuously at that fast food place isn’t doing you any favors.” 

Pamela continued her tirade a few seconds longer until a cute, pleasingly plump red headed chick swung open the door, “Say, Pam, if you’re through with Deanne, Rita needs to see her. It’s time for her weigh-in.” 

Pam tapped her nails on her desk, “Fantastic timing, thanks, Wanda!” 

Deanne coughed, “Wanda? Wanda Campton?” 

Wanda shook her head, her fiery red mane bouncing in flight, “Yeah, that’s right. Rita is anxious for you to . . .” 

Deanne squinted, looking Wanda up and down in amazement, “You . . . you’ve lost weight!” 

Wanda’s spunky attitude matched the smile upon her pretty face; her 165-pound figure, down from 248, was comfortably attired in a black t-shirt and powder blue sweatpants. 

Wanda nodded, “Twenty more pounds, and I’ll reach my goal.” 

Pamela stood up and walked around her desk, focusing her attention on Deanne, “Let’s go. If you haven’t made any progress, I’m suspending your membership.”

Deanne needed to force herself out of the chair, her squishy belly jiggling madly, “I can’t weigh myself in front of everyone. Do realize how embarrassing it is?” 

It was Wanda who spoke up, “I’ve been there, babe. Some of the snotty chicks used to laugh at me and, well, were just plain mean. A couple of them are heavier than me now, so I got the last laugh.” 

Pam walked by Wanda, waving Deanne on with a morsel of harshness, “You’re holding up the class.” 

Wanda chuckled. Receiving Deanne’s bitter expression, Wanda excused herself, “I can’t explain it, but it’s almost, like, our situations are reversed?” 

Around the scale was a crowd of females, a few moderately plump, most vaguely slender or slim. Rita stood with a clipboard, “About time you joined us.” 

Deanne’s whine echoed throughout the gym, “Do I really have to weigh myself in front of everyone?”

_Ms. Nightmare’s influence seeped in, corrupting Deanne’s reality, her fears realized. _ A few chuckles emerged from the crowd as Rita read a loud Deanne’s precise weight, “289-pounds.” 

Pamela glimpsed over the numbers, “Congratulations, tubby, you managed to put on a whole nine pounds since your last visit.” 

Deanne clumsily stepped off the scale, practically bumping into Pam. Pamela whirled herself sideways, avoiding the collision with Deanne’s gigantic butt, “You are a complete waste of time!” 

Deanne tried one last-ditch effort in explaining the bizarre experiences that had increased her weight and redesigned her life, “No, Pam, this is totally insane . . .” 

Deanne’s tone distorted into the fragile whimper of an insecure young maiden, “Remember when I was thin?” 

Pam was reluctant to agree; Deanne’s employment was authentically erased, “Why would I remember when you were thin?” 

Rita stepped around Deanne to address Pam, “She was thin?” 

Pam looked beyond Deanne, as if she was insignificant to the conversation, “She claimed so in her fact sheet.” 

“That’s a shocker!” Rita blurted, adding with cynicism, “Just how thin? 150-pounds when she was 18?”

Deanne turned to Rita, “I’ll have you to know . . .” 

Pam intercepted Rita’s attention, “That makes sense. Even though her file says she didn’t start gaining weight until senior year, she probably was always chunky.” 

Deanne swerved at her hips, confronting Pam, “That’s not true . . .” 

Wanda interrupted Deanne, “Whatever the case, if you’re going to eat like a sow, you’re going to look like a sow.” 

Deanne’s eyes widened. She had used the same words while lashing out at Wanda. Noticing Deanne’s perplexed expression, Wanda beamed a catty smile. Deanne’s jaw dropped, “No, I’m not a sow!” 

Pamela stepped in front of Deanne, glimpsing over her big belly before telling her, “Stop your whining; you’re holding up the class.” 

Deanne pouted in defeat. Rita tilted her head toward Pam, quietly asking, “What do you think? Should we can her ass or give her another chance?” 

Pamela placed her hands over her slender hips, “Deanne, I’m canceling your membership.” 

Deanne managed to squeak out a timid, “Cancel my membership?” 

Pam pulled no punches, “You’re a waste of time. It’s obvious you have no desire to lose weight.” 

Pamela rotated her body toward Rita, “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” 

Deanne stood in a room that was full of other females, but at the same time, she was effectively alone.


----------



## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*L​*
Before Abby withdrew her spell and turned the talents of her Ms. Nightmare persona on her next target, Alexis Amblin, she needed to adjust a few items concerning Deanne.

The wishes Wanda had made for Deanne that afternoon were somewhat accomplished but not completely. Deanne had learned what it felt like to have no self-esteem, no self-control, to be mocked and ignored. Just as Wanda experienced, though Wanda was now achieving the appearance and popularity that Deanne had once flaunted. 

However, Wanda’s beautiful heart kept her from becoming pretentious. The final experience Deanne faced was losing a guy to a thinner friend. Naturally, once Deanne introduced Dale to Kelly, this was accomplished. Dale and Kelly became an item after their first date. Deanne bitterly conceded but, over time, accepted the outcome and remained friends with the happy couple. 

Unable to afford her pricey apartment, Deanne moved in with Amy from the beauty salon. The apartment was small but cozy, and Amy’s influence on Deanne aided in accepting her status and size while Amy put on a decent 25-pounds due to Deanne’s influence. Deanne’s romantic outlook appeared bleak until Amy arranged a blind date for Deanne with the brother of the guy whom she was seeing. 

Not nearly as handsome as Baxter, no way as intelligent and employed as a janitor, by coincidence at one of Baxter’s buildings. On the positive side, he was dutiful in affection, loyal and very kind to Deanne -- though a big date usually meant bowling, maybe a movie and Burger King. 

A few years later, once Deanne reached the 325-pound mark, she enrolled in a different fitness center, a quaint, unobtrusive club that she could afford. Deanne was greeted by the instructor. Her curly red hair was set in a bouncy ponytail, and not a trace of fat could be found on her lean figure. She smiled at Deanne and welcomed her, “Hi, I’m Wanda, let me walk you through the gym.” 

Deanne didn’t lose much weight, but she discovered a whole new respect for plus-size gals. She was a member of their club. But that would be the future.

For Abby it was now time to move on to Deanna's arrogant pupil from the gym, Alexis Amblin ...


----------



## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*M​*Alexis arrived home, a comfortable middle class neighborhood, to the sound of her neighbor, George Hashnel mowing the lawn. George was a nice enough character, the neighborhoods handy man, so to speak. Curly black hair, undeniably handsome features and somewhat overweight. George was a moderately intelligent person who was employed at the local supermarket. He waved over to Alexis as she strutted by him, Hey, cutie, how was your work out? 

Alexis paused, glided her hands down to her hips and chimed, Absolutely perfect! What do you think? 

George had lived across the street from Alexis since high school, though they rarely socialized. However, for a time Alexis did run with the same clique as Georges sister, Sandra. Seems Alexis eventually discovered Sandra and her other friends to be underachievers, since they didnt aspire more in life other than having run-of-the-mill careers or becoming unadorned housewives. Alexis didnt just want it all; she expected it. 

Alexis managed up the stairs before swinging her svelte form into Georges direction, Hey, think you might be able to wash my car once youve finished the lawn? 

George paused and scratched his head, I promise Id take a look at the Johnsons kids' bikes; theyre in need of some repair, but Ill work it in. 

Alexis brushed backed her chocolate brown hair in slow motion and candy smiled, Youre a peach; I appreciate it. Maybe Ill stop by sometime for a beer? 

Naturally, she didnt mean it. But she learned early on that by being sweet and flaunting her assets, she could control her environment and snare anything she desired. Alexis never realized that George would have come to her aid without the dramatics or vow to stop by. George would have granted any favor requested due mainly because he was a nice guy, but especially since he had carried a torch for Alexis from the time she was his sisters friend. 

George took a step away from the lawn mower, Actually, Sandy is having a BBQ tomorrow. Why not stop by? Youre more than welcome. 

Alexis placed her hands over the railing, manufacturing a stance as if it was a photo shoot, That is sweet; Ill have to check my schedule. Alexis had no intention on accepting the invite, but if she would have flatly denied the occasion, she might have not gotten her car washed. 

George upped the ante in happy-go-lucky fashion, Sandy has invited a bunch of people youll remember from high school, and the menu includes ribs and burgers and the usual BBQ fare, you know? 

Alexis worked hard to contain her giggle, though a snippet of sarcasm leaked out, That sounds yummy, and who wouldnt want to spend an evening with a crowd of people you havent seen in four years? 

As noted previously, Alexis had her reasons for breaking ranks with her former friends. Why restore bonds she was relieved were broken? George, it has been nice speaking to you, Alexis pushed herself away from the railing and began climbing the stairs, I have to run, see ya! 

Alexis was already in her home by the time George replied, I liked our conversation, too! 

The modest dwelling in which Alexis shared with her mom was a humble abode, the type that appeared in most any middle class neighborhood. Alexiss dad had divorced her mother back when she was a child and now lived with his second wife in Palm Springs California. Pearl Amblin was a force to be reckoned with and the relationship with her daughter was closer to friends than actually parent and child. Slender with short brown hair, Pearl was a captivating, just under forty-five years old woman who toiled as an office manager at a beauty supply warehouse. Pearl had never remarried but dated a lot. Thus, Alexis grew up with more uncles than she could possibly remember. 

Alexis removed her overpriced sneakers and stretched before joining her mom, who was relaxing out back on the patio, reading a fashion magazine and sipping a Margarita. Pearls figure was uniformly taut; attired in a spectrum of colors one piece bathing suit, she was positively in better shape than all her friends and many of their daughters. 

Alexis peered through the screen door, Hey, Mom, did anyone call while I was out? 

Pearl lifted her eyes upward as Alexis joined her on the patio, That guy who was over the other night phoned: Roger, um, sorry I cant recall his name. Probably because he didnt impress me. 

Alexis pulled over a plastic white colored lawn chair, Roger Sherbet. Dont worry he didnt impress me either. 

Id sooner date George than him, Alexis added as she sat down next to her mom. 

Oh Pearl inquired with a hum, George was nice enough to mow our lawn. Why not bring him a soft drink, its awfully hot. 

Mother! a perturbed expression soured Alexiss alluring features. 

Pearl rolled her eyes, I asked you to bring him a soft drink, not to mate with him. 

Alexis stretched out her legs and examined her luscious thighs, I just got home, in a minute, okay? 

Pearl nodded as she sipped her beverage. Alexis brought up her knees and inspected her thighs with her fingers, Did that modeling agency per chance give me a ring? 

Pearl resumed her reading, Regrettably no. I trust youll call them. 

Alexis basically leaped out of her chair, Ill do one better; Ill drop by their office. 

While youre up, Pearls eyes didnt deviate from the article she was consuming, Be a peach and bring George a diet Dr. Pepper or something? 

Alexiss mane swung in a breezy motion, Why are you so concerned about George? 

Pearl rolled up the magazine and in a relaxed manner explained her reasons, Ill admit Im just as shallow as you, but Im not a hypocrite. I like George; hes the real thing, not a phony. I saw him mowing his lawn this morning, and he politely offered to mow ours. Hell refuse monetary compensation, so we could at least give him a soft drink. 

Alexis disbursed a contemptuous laugh, I guess? 

Pearl gazed over Alexis with a silly smirk, Youre so clueless about the male gender. One day the wrong guys going to knock you up, and unless you're strong enough, youll pay for it the rest of your life. 

Alexis left loose the screen door that slammed shut, What the hell does that mean? 

Pearl folded her arms over her bust, Women like us are attracted the wrong type of men. I learned the hard way; your dad expected me to be something Im not. In many ways, I wish I never strayed away from that beauty salon that employed me in my youth. It didnt have the perks my current occupation provides, but I would have been around more often. 

Pearl continued with a chuckle, I doubt you remember. But I used to bake and make these outrageously delicious meals for your dad. Damn, I was starting to get fat. I imagine I would have become huge if your dad hadnt left me for that high society trollop. You, too, you had a splendid appetite. I suspect you would have been quite chubby yourself. 

Alexis didnt take Pearls chubby comment as a compliment; it essentially repulsed her, Mother, stop. Contemplating what could have happened is ludicrous. I had a strenuous work out and Im tired. All I want to do is drive over to the agency, and then take a bath and relax. 

Pearl tilted her head and reached for her Margarita, Be kind to George; he might be your knight in shining armor. 

Alexis reeled back her head, Sure, Ill put on a tube top and daisy dukes and bring him his damn soft drink, would that please you? 

Pearl replied once she finished her drink, Ah, you neednt go to that length, but once you brought him a soda, fetch me another Margarita. 

The able bodied Alexis swiftly proceeded with her tasks, bringing her mom a Margarita before dropping off George a diet Dr. Pepper. George politely thanked her, adding with curiosity, Where are you off to? I thought you wanted your car washed? 

Alexis responded with a casual smile, As soon as I return, my cars all yours!


----------



## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*N​*While this transpired, Abby was quite aware of Alexiss masquerade. She was a complete fraud. 

_Alexis had lied during their heated argument in the locker room. She was not a model, but a model wannabe. Abby began to chew on her nails, concentrating in depth, What does she fear?

Abby stood up from the sofa, still mesmerized by Alexiss false impression. 

She said she was a model? Abby snickered while she lit the first candle, pondering over Alexis calling her a food whore, I have to give her credit for originality. 

Plopping her husky rear onto the floor, Abby reached over and grabbed the book, mumbling as she leafed through the yellow pages, Alexis wanted me to believe she was something shes not . . . Shes in a weight management class . . . Alexis is deceiving only herself . . . What does Alexis fear? 

Abby placed Alexiss photo over the gaping pages. Closing her eyes, Abby began concentrating on her intention, Alexis fears mediocrity and everything that comes with an insignificant status. _

Alexis had just entered her car when she felt a noteworthy sensation of pain rummaging through her lower back, OW! What the hell? 

Alexis tried to adjust her position, but the pain increased, though this time she only let loose a high-pitched whimper. George dashed over to the car, You okay? 

Alexis swung opened the door, which George caught before it slammed into him, Do I look like Im okay! 

Alexis clenched her teeth as another blast of pain seized her back. George eased himself around the car door, Let me give you a hand. 

Alexis motioned her legs out of the car, Back off! Ill be okay. 

George nodded, backing away just enough for her to exit the car. Alexiss feet hit the pavement, a modest tingle of muscle pain followed. George looked down at Alexis, You want me to get your mom? 

Alexis presented George with a bitingly hostile expression, then grumbled, Ill be okay, Im just having a back spasm. 

Maybe you over did it at the gym? George politely mentioned. 

Alexis grasped the car door and slowly advanced upward, You think?

The remark was soaked with sarcasm. 

OWWWWWWWWW! Alexis bellowed as a dynamic detonation of pain traveled from her back to her thighs down to her calves. 

Her posture straightened, OK, Get my mom, hurry! 

Thus George fetched Pearl who arrived with Margarita in hand, Child, this is the outcome of overdoing it. You really neednt work yourself so hard. 

Alexis derisively replied with a bit of a snarl, Ill make a note of it. 

Pearl sipped her Margarita, and then, in a casual manner told George, Bring Alexis into the house and place her on the couch. 

No! Alexis jumped down her mothers throat, George is going to drive me to the hospital and youre going to phone the modeling . . .  

Pearl interrupted Alexis, stepping within inches of her daughters face, Dear, youre blowing this out of proportion. You have a simple muscle spasm, nothing major. I wont pay $250.00 for a visit to the emergency room where youll receive the same diagnosis. 

George, who stood next to Pearl, turned to the striking older woman, That makes sense to me. 

Pearl gently patted his cheek, You are brimming with intelligence young man. 

Alexis winced in soreness, In the meantime, what about the modeling agency? I cant very well drive, besides sit. 

A pair of young guys rode by on bikes, checking out Pearl attired in bathing suit. Pearl lifted her glass high in the air, saluting them with a toast before enjoying another sip. Alexis loudly exhaled to obtain her mothers attention. Pearl lifted her sunglasses with her free hand, Youll be okay. I have a bottle of muscle relaxers, and the worse theyll do is make you drowsy. 

Pearl finished off the Margarita, adding with a broad smile, Unless you would like me to make you a Margarita? 

No, I dont want a Margarita, Alexis fumed. 

Pearl whirled her hand in the air as she rotated her body, Bring Alexis inside and put her on the couch; she can call the modeling agency. 

George nodded, pausing before handling Alexis, How would you want to do this? 

Alexis watched her mother climb the stairs in a sensual display of her feminine qualities, Just, ah, guide me. I think Ill be okay. 

Alexis was besieged with pain as she moved forward, Ow! damn it. 

George didnt hesitate as he picked up Alexis, Ill just carry you. 

Fine! Alexis grumbled. Alexis brought her arms over his neck, George cradling her as he tracked forward. Pearl stood by the door, leading the way into the living room, gesturing to a well worn couch, Set her down here, Ill see about the muscle relaxers. 

George wisecracked as he placed Alexis unto the couch, There you go, Allie, and just in time, youre heavier than you look. 

Alexis snapped, Ha-ha, and dont call me Allie. 

George sighed with his hands over his hips, Unless theres anything else, Ill finish the lawn, and then I have some bikes to repair. 

Alexis grunted in pain, until she discovered a comfortable position in which to lie, No, George, your services are no longer required. Take a hike. 

George didnt bother to respond and walked to the door, though he never quite made it, Alexis shouting out, Wait! Grab the phone. 

George veered off to the coffee table and picked up the cell, Alexis bluntly demanding, Bring it here. 

George nonchalantly followed through with the command, handing Alexis the phone, Anything else? 

No, Alexis irritably stated, though then she changed her mind, Yes. Take off my shoes. 

George tilted his head, glimpsing into her eyes, Of course. 

As George removed her sneakers, he jovially broadcast a discovery, These arent Nikes, youre wearing a counterfeit brand. 

Embarrassed that her shoes werent the trendy variety that she aspired, Alexis harped upon George, Thatll be all, thank you very much; now run off and fix those damn bikes! 

Hey! George bent over, looking Alexis squarely in the face, First, I need to finish the lawn. 

Standing upright, George scratched his belly as he told Alexis, Youre much too pretty to be miserable, and, on top of that, you shouldnt be putting on airs. The people who actually care about you will always accept you. 

Alexis shifted her curvaceous body,  Im not putting on airs! 

Georges easy going demeanor was challenged but he didnt surrender to anger, Were all not meant to live in a penthouse or drive sport cars. Take stock of who you are; thats where true happiness lies. 

Alexiss tirade ensued, You work in a stupid grocery store; do you really enjoy it? 

George laughed, Yeah, I dont mind it. Why do you? 

Alexis adjusted her body, the slight pinch that worked its way down her thigh sent her back into the cushions, I dont care! 

Okay, George partially grinned, I hope you feel better overnight and make the BBQ. 

Alexis squinted, Id rather walk naked through the mall. 

George walked toward the door, laughing, Id pay to see that. 

Once George took a powder, Pearl entered the living room with a glass of water and pills, George left? Too bad, I didnt have the chance to thank him. 

Alexis cantankerously complained, "Enough about George, Im in pain, and, anyway, I cant stand him! 

Pearl handed over the yellow capsules, Take these; youll feel better before you know it. 

Three? Alexis grumbled, Isnt that a little extreme? 

Pearl virtually tossed herself backward into the comfortable loveseat facing Alexis on the couch, failing to splash a single drop of her Margarita, Its directed on the label to just take two . . . 

Pearl continued after sipping her drink, . . . but dear, youre a pain in the ass, and Im developing a headache. 

Alexis studied the pills, No weird side effects? 

Pearl stretched out her arm, gesturing with the glass in her hand, Youll become sleepy, which is a benefit because I need the rest. Naturally, itll relax you. The objective you desire. 

How long will I be out of commission? Alexis inquired. 

I guess youll probably nod off for a little while? Pearl replied. 

Mother! Alexis twisted at her hips, Thats not what I meant! I mean, how long before Im able to work out? 

Pearl finished her beverage, speaking as she placed the glass on the coffee table, Tomorrow I suppose? Just dont overexert yourself. 

Alexis slipped the pills between her lips, followed by the water; she then quietly mumbled, I feel sore all over, tense, like my whole body is sprained. 

Alexis struggled to put the glass on the coffee table; Pearl stood up and came to her aid. 

Thanks, Alexis sighed. 

Pearl nodded then calmly told her daughter, Take it easy. Why not skip tomorrows work-out? 

Alexis picked up the phone, I cant. I need to work out; its important for me to maintain my appearance. 

Pearl swung her head from side to side, Youre overreacting. Just because you gained some weight in high school, doesnt mean youll get fat. 

Alexis firmly disagreed, I dont want to be like Sandy and those other cows. 

Pearl began to drift away, Wow, thats rude. I never thought youd become even more superficial than me. 

However, she paused and turned to her daughter. Alexiss outburst wasnt quite finished. I dont want to be hindered with an ordinary life, having a boring career and get fatter in the process. Thats why I stopped hanging out with those rejects. I want to be a model, okay? Lead a life thats exciting, date wealthy men deserving of my time. Sandy is a librarian and Rhonda is a housewife. 

That reminds me, Pearl chimed, Rhonda told me to say hello. I saw her at K-mart. 

Is she any heavier? Alexis trumped her mothers message. 

Pearl nodded, She has put on a considerable amount of weight, yes. She gave me the sweetest compliment . . . 

Alexis fiercely interrupted her mom. See! I dont want to be like her! Im better than she is! 

Pearl gazed at Alexis with a ratty smile, And you wonder why I drink? 

She then amused her daughter with a confidential fact, To be brutally honest, I wouldnt receive the same attention if I was heavier, so we share that bond. Id hate to get fat, too. Logically and perhaps my instincts are right as rain, dont get all bent out of shape if you dont become a model. Theres plenty of room in the world for food service employees and office staff. 

Pearl then wandered off unto the patio.


----------



## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*O​*Alexis waited until her mom had left the room and proceeded to call the modeling agency. 

Good afternoon, this is the Rakers' Modeling and Talent Agency. This is Belinda speaking; how may I direct your call? 

Alexis stated her name and business, Hello, Im Alexis Amblin, and Im calling about the portfolio I sent. I was wondering if anyone has seen it yet? 

Belindas voice took a nosedive down in terms of exuberance, And what management is representing you? 

Alexis acknowledged the question, None, I dont have a manager. Im representing myself. 

Belindas tone was now strictly stale, Ill forward you to Mr. Webb; please hold the line. 

The routine type of music poured through the phone line while Alexis was put on hold. A couple of minutes later, Hello, Webb here, how may I assist you? 
Alexis purred, the medications soothing effect created a mind numbing buzz that strengthen her euphoric demeanor, Hello, Mr. Webb, Im Alexis Ablin . . .Amblin, and Im calling you about the snapshots and profile I sent. Alexiss body began to feel limp ; she blinked, the fuzzy tingling sensation warping her thought process, Did you see the pictures; theyre awesome, you know? 

Mr. Webb was a dedicated curmudgeon, You are no doubt a novice? Without appropriate representation, anything we receive is tossed away unopened. 
Alexis yawned, Yeah? Is that a problem? 

Mr. Webb sighed in aggravation, Yes, its a huge problem. We cant possibly look over every photo op sent to us. Besides, our clients are managed by some of the most renown agents in the country. 

Alexis lifted her head, Yeah, okay, can you like, direct me to someone? 

Mr. Webb sternly advised her, Find yourself a reputable sponsor and refrain from sending any more photographs unless directed to do so. 

Alexis rolled unto her back, Ah, okay, sure. But, did you see my photos? 

Mr. Webb blistered Alexiss ego as he discourteously told her, I have not, though Im sure your amateur collection of photos reveal a moderately pretty young lady, probably better suited for a career behind a desk or discount clothing chain then in front of a camera. 

Huh? Alexis sunk into the comfortable cushions of the couch, Youyou didnt loook . . .look at them? The phone slipped away from her fingers. Mr. Webbs less than flattering reply went unheard. Her fingers skimmed across the phone until she finally managed to retrieve it off the floor. Alexiss dumbfound expression wouldnt win her any prizes, Damn, he hung up. Ill just run by there tomorrow. 

Alexis was able to stretch without any discomfort, humming out loud, a vigorous smile to her cute face. Resting her arms over her flat tummy, Alexis closed her eyes and soon enough was out cold. 

_Now sweetie, be kind enough to bring George a soft drink like I told you, Pearl told Alexis while resting on the patio enjoying a Margarita. Déjà vu? 

This is impossible? Alexis questioned her predicament. Her mom was seated on the lawn chair, clad in the bathing suit and reading the same fashion magazine. As if she was repeating the events leading up to her muscle cramp. 

You seem awful loopy, Pearl asked, Anything wrong? 

Alexis twisted her body sideways and glimpsed through the screen door, Wasnt I just laying on the couch? 

Pearl chuckled, You have been overdoing it at that fitness center; youre exhausted. I suggest taking a long hot bath and having a Margarita afterward. Itll sooth your nerves. 

Alexis nervously ran her fingers down a strand of hair, Thats not a bad idea. 

Pearl smiled, Of course not. But dont forget, a soft drink for George. Its excruciatingly warm, and hes working very hard. 

Alexis lifted her eyebrows, realizing she was about to ask, Why are you so concerned about George? The very same question she posed earlier. 

Pearl half smiled, Something on your mind? 

Alexis lowered her hands to her hips, Actually, yes. Alexis went against her intuition and curiously asked, Why are you so concerned about George? 

Pearls comment didnt vary, Ill admit. . . Alexis listen to her mother repeating her reply, word for word. Though once Pearl had finished, Alexis simply nodded, refusing to challenge her mothers remarks. She obviously knew full well what would happen next, or did she? 

Pearl eased back into the lawn chair, switching her drink into the other hand; she looked over Alexis attire, a bright blue t-shirt and Gap jeans, You look exceedingly boring, Pearl bizarrely hummed, Too discreet. Wear something that George can admire. 

Alexis scratched her head, Excuse me? Whats wrong with my clothes? Its only George! 

Pearl smirked through her eccentric drone, George is the man of your dreams, something you fail to realize. Give him something to perk his infatuation. 

Mom, Alexis sizzled in anger, I have no interest in George, who by the way, would find me appealing even if I was clothed in a scruffy housedress. 

Not a housedress, Pearl snapped, Something more like this. Alexiss t-shirt had morphed into a tube top and her jeans into daisy duke variety shorts. The meager material of the tube top advanced her large breasts upward while the shorts exposed much of her luscious thighs. 

How the hell did this happen? Alexis screeched, I look like a bimbo! 

Pearl sipped her Margarita, then chuckled, I applaud your suggestion! 

Alexiss pretty face was now enhanced by a wide assortment of cosmetics; vivid pink blush, black eyeliner and cherry red lipstick. Her chocolate brown hair was now bleach blond and arranged in pigtails. The absurdity of the moment clashed with Alexiss cognitive thought. It didnt matter how she became clothed in such a manner, she was more concerned with George seeing her in such an outfit. 

I cant let George see me looking like this! Alexis bellowed, her plump knockers bouncing with her movement. 

Pearl gazed over her daughter with an absentminded smile, Now dear, flaunt your figure while you can; youll fatten up before you know it. 

Alexis challenged the absurdity of her moms prediction, Thats ridiculous! Im not going to fatten up! 

Pearl snickered, Through exercise and dieting, youre slim and fit, but once you begin to breed, youll become heavier with every child. 

Breed? Alexis vehemently disagreed, Im not the stereotypical type that settles down after high school, marries and then procreates. I desire more because Im attractive and sexy and better then those common chicks.

Pearl lifted her eyebrows, You abandoned Sandra and your other friends for those petty reasons, ignorant of the fact, you're of the same alliance. 

Alexis was indignantly defiant, Afraid not, theyre content leading ordinary lives, working meaningless jobs and having babies. Worrying about the mortgage and clipping coupons to save a pennies. I want none of that. 

Steadily Pearl sipped her Margarita, an overwhelming comical grin formed over her face, Had you remained friends with Sandra, I suspect your values wouldnt be so outrageous . . . Alexis froze in her spot, her mothers assessment continuing, . . . Sensible, down to earth in ambition and a change of attitude, far from the perplexity of conceit. 

Pearl slid herself upward out of the plastic lawn chair, another sip of the beverage and she began circling her daughter, Youd have no reason to put or airs, compatible in nature and appearance to your friends . . . 

Alexis began to shiver, her bust expanded in width but dropped slightly due to the flabbiness of the tissue, while she received a modest potbelly that snuck out over the top of her daisy duke shorts. A noticeable love handle decorated her waist; her butt became bloated with a spongy quality and a cushy layer of fat coated her now husky thighs. Alexis' facial appearance barely changed at all with the exception of her cheeks becoming somewhat fuller and a diminutive double chin in development. 

Alexis was now able to move, cupping her plump belly with both hands she shrieked, Im a cow! 

Pearl sighed, Youre barely 145-pounds. Alexis let loose her bulging tummy; almost circular in shape, it sloppily poured downward. Pearl gently tapped her daughter's swollen gut, sweetly conveying, This is your exact weight, if you still entertained a friendship with Sandra and never ventured to that fitness center. 

Her all the more buxom breasts appeared quite uncomfortable in the tube top, straining the fabric, I cant be seen like this. 

Pearl nodded, thus Alexiss wardrobe was again altered. A pink one-piece swimsuit with a red floral design that covered her extremely large bust and squishy potbelly. The suit, though with built in support for her breasts, tummy and rear, didnt flatter her pudgy thighs that excelled in fatty substance. Alexiss hair was changed as well, no longer in pigtails; her brown mane was styled upward, revealing the roundness of her face. 

Pearl rolled her head, Grab a Margarita and lounge with me. We can discuss many marvelous things. 

Alexis exhaled, I look like a desperate housewife and a fat one at that. How can I possibly become a model now? 

Pearl returned to her seat and flipped open the fashion magazine, Speak your mind, dumpling. Do you really notion to be a model or is there something else that piques your interest? 

Without thinking, Alexis blurted, I have the strangest desire to bake something for Sandras barbecue. 

Pearl agreeably smiled, Nice. 

Alexis beefy thighs quivered as she advanced toward her mom, a high pitch whine to her voice, But I dont know a thing about baking? 

Pearl flipped down her sunglasses, Patience, Alexis, search your inner thoughts, you have the capability. You might say, its your forte. Her mom lifted the magazine within eyeshot, Dumpling, fetch yourself a drink and well chat. 

Alexiss shoulders rolled over in defeat, shifting her plump body around, she walked to the door. And what about George? 

Pearl chimed, Any romantic contemplation concerning him? 

Alexis squeaked as she opened the door, Its complicated. Once Alexis entered through the door and into the kitchen, a shocking blast propelled her into further chaos, her future . . ._


----------



## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*P​*_. . . Alexis did enter a kitchen but not the same kitchen she shared with her mother. In one corner was a high chair, posted on the fridge were drawings made by a child. Coloring books covered the table and in the sink, among the plates, dishes and pots were a few baby bottles. 

Alexis closed her eyes, counting to ten; she hoped to be free of the illusion. The noisy sound of a lawn mower outside the residence convinced Alexis that she had been liberated from the disturbing hallucination, going as far as smiling, “George is still mowing the lawn.” She opened her eyes, expecting the façade banished. No such luck. 

Speedily she followed the sound of the lawn mower, looking out the window, she spotted George, at least she thought it was George. Actually hoped it was him. The guy mowing the grass was a stout man, thirty or so pounds heavier than George, but with the same black hair and similar facial appearance. He waved his big, burly arm, his large belly poking out from underneath his Chicago Cubs t-shirt. 

“Hey sweetie!” he shouted with affection, “I’ll be right in!” It was George! George, ten years in the future. 

“This is impossible!” she squealed. Alexis rotated her body away from the window, catching the glimpse of her future self in the dining room mirror. 

“Is that me?” she questioned in a monotone drone. “What, how?” 

She moved at a snail's pace, focusing first on her astronomical wide hips and enormous belly. Her chocolate brown mane was trimmed, though long enough to dust the top of her shoulders. There was a distinct roundness to the shape of her pretty face; her plump apple cheeks had an elastic quality and she owned a doughy double chin, a third in the early stages of progress. 

Her clothes were uninspired at best. A normal white cotton t-shirt, overly large for her voluminous body, revealed her humongous breasts and colossal belly. Her extremely roomy bust excelled in softness, sprawling over her squashy, bulbous belly. Alexis’s upper arms were particularly bloated, the flabby tissue virtually obscuring her elbows, and several plump rolls circled her substantially wide waist. 

Upon her lower body, she was attired in economically priced slacks of a burgundy color; the material embraced her well-fed figure, adapting to her escalating girth through wash and wear. The elastic waistband contoured to her enlarged belly that copiously jetted outward, identical to the size and shape of her gigantic ass that sailed over her jumbo variety thunder thighs. 

Alexis hadn’t noticed she was barefoot; mesmerized by her reflection, it hadn’t occurred to her quite yet: her status as an accurate version of the barefoot and often pregnant, housewife. Alexis placed her hands over her abnormally widespread hips that elapsed the borders of the mirror; veering sideways she gazed over her abundantly hefty derriere. Reaching outward, she cradled her huge belly and looked around the room until her eyes happened to latch upon a wedding photo. George and her in formal attire. 

Looking spiffy, though she was certainly pleasingly plump. Intuitively it emerged within her conscious that she had become chubby while dating George. She was 170-pounds, had lost weight for the wedding, 155-pounds, and was now on the verge of 300-pounds! 294-pounds to be exact. 

Alexis scratched her pulpy waist, automatically journeying back to her comfort room, the kitchen. While sampling a delicious slice of pie over the sink &#8211; naturally, she didn’t want crumbs over her shiny clean floor -- George wandered into the kitchen. Alexis stuffed the remaining portion between her lips as George approached her. Usually, Alexis would feel uncomfortable eating in front of a male, though it didn’t affect her the least. 

George warmly smiled at her as he wiped his hands on a natty dishtowel, “Kids are away at my sister’s the whole weekend. It’s her anniversary present, a little alone time between us.” 

Alexis faced George; her gigantic posterior flattened against the sink while her corpulent belly merged with his inferior size gut, “George, this is incredible . . .”

George traced the side of her chubby face with his fingertips, misconstruing her thoughts, “Tell me about it, babe,” he congenially chuckled. 

Initially she wanted to explain how she just walked through the back door, after turning into a plumper, younger version of her mom, and landed ten years into the future. However, Alexis couldn’t ignore the electricity she felt within his space, how his fingers against her skin aroused her sensuality.

He sugary half-smiled, “I was thinking, you rarely leave the house. Why don’t I spring for dinner out and possibly a movie?”

His organic aroma dealt pheromones that stirred her blood, she arched back her neck and they kissed . . . _

Alexis opened her eyes and exhaled; she was back on the sofa, “What a weird dream?” 

“Hey,” a voice rang out from the shadows, “You slept there the whole night through, I told you not to wait up for me.” It was Pearl. 

“Mom, I had the all time, most shocking nightmare.” 

Pearl abruptly spoke over her daughter, “I&#8216;d appreciate sparing me the details until later. I have an appointment for a massage.” 

Alexis’s hand settle upon her belly, “In my nightmare,” her fingers felt the distinct soft texture of a well nourished stomach, “Oh no, my belly?” 

Pearl spoke as she walked over and picked up her car keys, “I’m sure the dream was quite amusing, share it with me later.” 

Pearl continued as she motioned to the door, “Better get ready; it’s nearly one-thirty, and Sandy is expecting you.” 

At first Alexis was distracted by the flabby tissue of her belly roll, but curiously needed to ask, “Why is Sandra expecting me?” 

Pearl opened the door, her hands gripping her slender hips, “To help out with the barbecue. I suspect you didn’t make all those desserts for yourself; you’ve gained a decent amount of weight over the last couple of months, and they’re certainly not for me.” 

Alexis dropped her chin, gaping at her pleasingly plump body, “I have gained weight!”

Pearl whirled the key chain around her fingers, “Yes you have. You’re a pretty girl, could have possibly been a model. A shame you didn’t follow through with that fitness club you were going to join.” 

“How did this happen?” Alexis cringed in panic. 

Pearl stepped forward, pointing to the coffee table that was covered by a plate, two empty litters of cola and candy wrappers, “You tell me. Clean up your mess before you leave.” 

“But mom, I had a dream that . . . ” Pearl looked over her watch as Alexis babbled about the dream and her previous figure. “Don’t you remember, I used to avoid fattening food because I wanted to model and . . ."

On and on Alexis went, describing every detail of her aspirations and lifestyle. Pearl drifted over to the love seat along side the couch where her tubby daughter vented in frustration. Eventually, Alexis needed to pause to catch her breath; that’s where Pearl forced her way into the conversation. Delicately brushing back Alexis’s brown mane out of her eyes, Pearl resumed her role as mother not buddy to her daughter. 

“I surmise I haven’t been the best role model for you. Battling my weight to stay thin and being self-absorbed with my own goals. I can be superficial, too; that’s another fault I’ll admit. Living with someone like me must be a challenge. I sense you feel somewhat awkward at times, knowing I wear a smaller dress size and, well, frequently checked out while among your male companions. We’re all not meant to be thin, and the model remark was definitely out of line, and I apologize. You really are a pretty girl and smart and resilient, especially in the kitchen. Though I date often, I haven’t met one man worth my time, but I know you’ll do fine. You’re the type that attracts the best in character, and, whoever he might be, I’m sure he’ll take good care of you.” 

Alexis mumbled, “Like George.” 

Pearl stood up and swept the wrinkles out of her figure hugging dress, “Exactly like George.” 

Alexis noticed a genuine heartfelt smile blossom over her mother’s face as she told her, “I know you’re smitten with him. Make some moves will ya? Before someone else realizes he’s a good catch.”

Pearl playfully twisted her daughter’s nose before making a beeline to the front door, “Can’t keep Sergio waiting; don’t wait up. I’m joining Debbie and Marcia for martinis later!” 

The door shut, and Alexis rocked herself off the sofa. Clad in a wine-colored t-shirt with a faded picture of a flower and teal colored shorts, Alexis dropped her chin and inspected her heavier body. There was a minimal enlargement to her bust, but her breasts were softer and roomier, swaying over her portly tummy bulge. Her belly was quite inflated and spacious, a thick roll circling her chunky waist and her fat coated hips were generously wider. Alexis was surely amazed by her thighs and butt, which she scrutinized after hurrying to the bathroom. 

Her thick and chunky, minor league thunder thighs were encased in a spongy cocoon of fat, and she had developed an official bubble butt, the lower section of her plump cheeks peeking out from her shorts. Her breasts swung freely as she approached the mirror to check out her facial appearance. 

Alexis’s chocolate brown hair was inches away from shoulder's length and outlined her semi-oval shaped face. Still very appealing with a cute and chubby ambiance, her puffier cheeks and conspicuous double chin rendered her a less than grandiose look in terms of appearance. Much of her pudgy belly lay over the sink; slowly, she slipped off the t-shirt for a better look, her huskier arms jiggling in effect. 

Gazing at her reflecting, she gently rubbed the squishy tissue of her belly, her hand skimming against her standard bra that kept her swollen rack in check. 

“This is . . . ” Alexis softly spoke as she realized, “This is the real me.” 

The ambitious young lady with dreams of grandeur had become a content young lady of simplistic values. Casual and domestic, at a hefty 170-pounds, Alexis Amblin accepted her girth as typical to her lifestyle.


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## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*Q​*In the kitchen, once removing the clothes she had slept in for another t-shirt and sweat pants, she was pleased to discover her mother wasnt being sarcastic about her proficiency in baking. Cookies and pies and a vanilla flavored cake covered with M&Ms. 

Oh wow, these are super duper boss! Alexis announced to herself as she sampled a cookie, I really aint such a bad cook! Fetching a second cookie, then walking over to the fridge for milk, her big ass virtually taking flight as she moved, Alexis heard the unexpected sound of Sandras laughter, Hey, Al, you going to share or do I have to come over there and kick your butt! 

Alexis non-verbally replied, her widening eyes and powerful smirk insinuating, bring it on! An additional gesture, a non combative, didnt think so, followed. Steering open the fridge, Alexis handled the milk with purpose and carried the carton over to the cabinets. Alexiss slender form and high maintenance persona were exchanged for the chubbier, down-to-earth version. Still vivacious in her own way but content in matters of social acceptance. Sandra Hashnel was a bubbly, fuller figured gal who excelled in congeniality. 

Naturally pretty, her curly black hair rolled over her shoulders, framing her moon shaped face that featured lush apple cheeks and copious double chin. Somewhat pear-shaped at 185-pounds, Sandra was casually attired in a sleeveless pink T-shirt, a big red heart over her bust and dark blue cutoff shorts. Alexiss blubbery belly wildly shook while she tipped toed upward to fetch a pair of glasses out from the cabinet. 

Care to join me in some milk? Alexis asked. 

Sandra nodded, Sure, fine. 

Alexis buzzed while pouring the milk, I made all types of goodies for the barbecue; just give me a hand bringing them over, and then Ill help setting things up. 

Sandra leaned against the counter, Thats cool. George is just now getting the folding chairs out of the garage. 

George is so out of this world fantastic, Alexis chimed. 

Sandra sarcastically giggled, You think? 

Alexis blushed, Did he say anything about me? 

Sandra motioned with a swift nod, He talks about you all the time. I swear its nauseous. 

Alexis folded her hands over her squishy, big tummy and purred, Aw, thats cool. And a load off my mind. 

Sandra wandered over to the kitchen table and seized a cookie, Ill help you find something nice to wear; when theres food around, George rarely notices anything else. 

Alexis skipped over to Sandra, That would be sweet. Thanks a bunch, youre my bestest friend ever! 

Sandra led the trek to Alexis bedroom, laughing in her banter, Dont get overly sentimental stating the obvious; its a distinction that deserves no comment. 

Alexis snuck a few cookies as she wobbled by the table, Ill say, were like two of a kind!


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## WG Story Drone (Feb 22, 2009)

*EPILOGUE:​*

Abby. via her Ms. Nightmare persona, had succeeded with her goals, reshaping the lives and events of her targets. 

Having no personal need of the manuscript any longer, she wrapped it in newspaper and placed it in a box for shipment to a friend.

This friend she knew was having a difficult time with a pair of conceited vixens . . . which we may hear more of another time.


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## morepushing13 (Feb 25, 2009)

You were right, that was quick...haha


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## Pinkbelly (Feb 25, 2009)

i have to admit, this has been one of my favorite series' in a very long time


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## atcAlan (Mar 3, 2009)

Another good story so far Matt. I love the description of her at her largest. I am preferable to Large bottoms. I'm very much into the Pear Shape. Looking forward to the rest.


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## Matt L. (Mar 4, 2009)

Hello atcAlan, Pinkbelly & Morepushing13, I really appreciate the feed back and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Best regards, Matt


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## nocturnal33 (Mar 4, 2009)

its good to see more people put thought into the story line. Build it up slowly over time, well done. Haven't seen stuff this enjoyable since Swordfish.


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## Matt L. (Mar 4, 2009)

Hello Nocturnal33, Thank you much, every bit of feed back I receive really has a powerful influence on my motivation. Delighted you're enjoying the story. Cheers, Matt


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## Observer (Mar 13, 2009)

OK, The Return of Mrs. Nightmare trilogy concludes with a final bump!


Coming this weekend: 



The Goth Chick returns with a story about the Prom Queen


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## atcAlan (Mar 16, 2009)

Matt, the Alexis story was great. Fast paced with a positive ending. I love the description of the future Alexis, I very fond of exagerated pears shapes and Big Bottoms. Great read.
Alan


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## Matt L. (Mar 16, 2009)

Hello atcAlan, I appreciate the kudos, and I'm glad you enjoyed the story. It's messages as yours that aid my motivation and it's noteworthy to mention, I think you'll enjoy the main character in the story I'm currently writing. Cheers, Matt


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## Paquito (Mar 17, 2009)

One of the best series on this site, no doubt.


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## Matt L. (Mar 17, 2009)

Hello Free2beme04, thank you very much, I appreciate your thoughts. Matt


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