# Madison's 28th Birthday ~BBW, "interactive"



## crazyjoe (Jan 7, 2015)

_This is a continuation to hatrick199's interactive story from a couple years back, that I recently posted on the original writing.com page here: http://www.writing.com/main/interact/item_id/1911783-Madisons-Freshman-15/map/124
I've really been enjoying both reading, and making a few other contributions to this great story. I would encourage anyone who's interested to join in continuing to flesh out this already massive story (pardon my intended puns)

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*<MADISON'S 28TH BIRTHDAY>*

Madison couldn't believe that tomorrow was her twenty-eighth birthday. She felt as though just yesterday had been her first lecture in Carlton Hall, a bright faced freshman, so eager and full of promise. 

The alarm woke her from a wistful dream of lying on the emerald-green quad at Powell, surrounded by warmth and belonging, back when her fantasies and aspirations had teemed with lofty visions of a professional career. These hopes had then blossomed into the search for true love, but her passionate affair with higher education proved to be a day lily, bursting forth with fire like a dwindling star. She thought of the lovely grass, a perfect kelly green, standing in sharp contrast to the red brick footpaths witch traversed it in number, forming a constellation from above. As she brushed the sleep from her eyes, sitting up in bed to undo her hair, these brick walkways brought to mind that bloody dress, how its strappy back of deep ruby red pressed tight against her skin, the goddamned Prada rag that Steven had gone to such trouble to bring back for her from Austria. Why on earth had she promised to wear it for her birthday party? She had gotten that dress months ago. Fashions had changed by now, Madison rationalized. How could she be expected to wear something like that?

Seriously, this was the last thing she wanted to be thinking of right now. On her birthday of all days, truly unbelievable. This was {i}her{/i} day. This was Madison day. For once it wasn't Steven day, but still she was thinking about what {i}he{/i} wanted, the bloody ungrateful bastard. He expected too much of her.

As the curtains rose on an automatic timer and light streamed into the room, Madison noticed her reflection in the many-mirrored surfaces of the sleekly appointed bedroom. The fact that her glass likeness was the only object not like the others in the room deposited itself discretely into her vast library of denials. Steven, usually only a rumple in the down comforter at this hour, had not even left an imprint last night, the linens still pulled tight. Instead, there was a crystal wine glass laying on its side, above an angry red stain. Madison cursed under her breath. She would have to replace it without Steven noticing. She simply couldn't be bothered by these sorts of things, on today, of all days.

Suddenly roused from her morning fog by the ringing of her phone on the bedside table, Madison felt a wave of comfort and reassurance pass over her, to see Cassi's familiar face flash onto the diamond-crisp display. Cassi would make everything right, just like she always had, for practically as long as Madison could remember. She had always been her most loyal friend, confidant, and sorority sister. They had stuck together like glue all through their time at Powell and even afterwards, Cassi finding work in retail, and Madison as a secretary for a law firm downtown. Cassi hadn't shared in Madison's "luck" in finding a rich man such as Steven. She was still a working girl, a single, but relatively prosperous regional director for a mid-level clothing chain by now, with an office at corporate out in the Midwest. Madison could never admit it, but deep down, she was jealous of her best friend's independence and success. Cassi made good on her own. Had Madison chosen the easy route like so many others? She always felt a strange breaking feeling deep inside of herself to see Cassis frequent postings of exotic vacation photos on FaceTab. Steven took her for a week in Cabo on their honeymoon. She remembered him getting so drunk onetime he shat the bed. Madison had not been far out of the suburbs since.

Motion sensing lights flicked on, as Madison stepped into the master bathroom. Her feet were cold, until the heated floor was finished warming. She had become an expert at performing her morning toilet routine without ever catching a glance of her own reflection. Like a vampire only to herself, she did not appear in mirrors or photographs. If she had examined her appearance on this particular day, she would doubtless recall a number of things, not the least of which being that it was clearly evident her weight was becoming a serious problem. Madison would have surely noticed that her face appeared puffy and had an almost swollen quality. Her beautiful features had become buried under a thick layer of fat, like the mad impression of an over-zealous pottery sculptor, massing on ever more clay, the product of her endless pattern of overeating, and not to mention frequent overconsumption of alcohol. A corpulent roll of chin fat, visible from every angle, had replaced Madisons neck. With her thick black mane of hair, well puffed up from a tumultuous nights sleep, reaching down to her well-padded shoulders, Madison would definitely have then been astounded by what had become of her pert young breasts. They had ballooned to an impressive size, but at the expense of their once pleasant perkiness, hanging a bit lower than Madison probably would have liked. Luckily for her, she now had a thick spare tire of a gut that her heavy boobs could rest on, giving her over-taxed back some much needed respite. Madisons bulging belly hung low and did a nifty disappearing trick on her lacey underwear that probably should have been replaced about 15 pounds earlier. From profile, her ample paunch extended several inches past her bust and transferred to far thicker hips at her sides, which often popped buttons and always fought a losing battle with elastic waistbands. She had no idea what she weighed, but the last time she dared to peek at a scale, the number had been 227, but that was months ago now.

Stepping into the steamy stream of the multi-head shower, Madison began to clean her growing body with a fluffy pink loofah, as she loathed to feel the spongey quality of her fat flesh. It was becoming harder for her to get to every deepening nook and cranny of her form. Spending nearly half an hour under the almost painfully hot water of the shower. She used this time to meditate on the day ahead, to calm her obsessive mind by coming to terms with her days responsibilities. Madison could reasonably count this as a fairly stress-free day. All she really had on her to-do list was her birthday party later in the evening. Beside that, the entire rest of her time could be devoted to getting good and plastered, surely to be followed by a lot of greasy takeout.

*<OPTION "A": It is time to go to the party, but the dress won't fit!>*

*<OPTION "B": Two years pass... Madison is now 30.>*_


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## crazyjoe (Jan 8, 2015)

*<A>*

Madison looked up from the crumpled remains of a couple of Big Macs, her favorite drunken meal, and glanced at the clock in the center console of the brand new white Mercedes CLK AMG. Yikes! She had let the time get away from her at the bar of a chain restaurant. Although, it was known more for its pancakes than it's Long Island iced teas, Madison preferred drinking there because she knew that she would never run into any acquaintances. She had few friends these days and had become a bit of a recluse, her out of control weight being a large blow to her once shining self-confidence and bubbly personality. When she did interact, it was usually with some of Steven's cadre of yuppie friends, or as they liked to be called, "young professionals."

Grabbing a fry from between the crease of her constantly touching thighs and popping it into her mouth, Madison put her spaceship-like vehicle hastily into reverse. She was really hoping to wait out and soak up her buzz with fatty food. But damn, it had gotten so late.

She was taking a major risk by driving in her still drunken state, but as is so often the case, the alcohol still very active in her system impaired her judgment. Madison struggled to keep things in her path from cloning themselves in her vision.

As the saying goes, “everybody get’s one,” and Madison got hers in not being pulled over on her way home from Mcdonalds. Stumbling through the entryway, she did not expect to see Steven, who chastised her for making them late for the party.

Ridiculous, she thought, the nerve of that foul man, especially hating how the veins in his forehead popped out when he was angry. She found it grotesque how they continued up his shiny scalp, ravaged it was by male pattern baldness.

He had been handsome once, but now he seemed like an ogre to Madison. She wasn’t sure whether it was his aged appearance that caused her to look at Steven differently, or if her more learned experience with his dysfunctional personality painted him in a more dubious light. This wasn’t what she had signed up for, but then again, events had transpired which Steven had cause for grievance with as well.

From Steven’s point of view, Madison, his beautiful and voluptuous young Latino wife had turned into a total pig before his very eyes. Sure, she had a fair amount of junk in the trunk, by the time they met, and he had seen old photos of when she had really blown up in college, but she had to be even larger than that now. Madison had an even bigger beer gut than that fat fuck Larry from accounting.

The woman he had married was practically a health nut. Steven had been more than happy to pay for her thrice-weekly Bikram yoga classes and expensive Nike running gear. He had even paid for a fitness room to be added onto his already spacious 3-bedroom six-bath house in a great neighborhood. Now he had lost 15 pounds and was running up to 6 miles daily, training for a marathon, while Madison’s elliptical machine gathered dust in the corner.

She used to be a vegetarian, only drinking biologically diverse white wine with meals, but now he had decided to turn a blind eye to the astronomical bar tabs on her visa. Steven figured he might as well own a fast food restaurant for the level of those receipts alone.

Under the guise of becoming a wine connoisseur, he had allowed Madison to sign up for a mail order “Distinct Wine List” subscription. Stains everywhere now, two new sofas.

Steven found her appearance to be disheartening. While he disliked yelling at her, he had always had a bit of a temper and it made him distressed to see her this way, clearly drunk, with smeared make up, standing in the hall with her pants unbuttoned. Her fucking stomach was literally oozing out of the too-small trousers. He could see her ass from the front. The t-shirt, sporting a fashionable Chanel logo, hardly recognizable across the chest, was hardly much better. She had fifteen minutes, and that was final.

Upstairs, in the master bedroom closet, Madison scrolled through her clothing hung on a powered rack. There it was, the fateful Prada dress, the dreaded rag. She didn’t even think it was pretty anymore.

What was the big deal about Prada anyway? They had to seriously get over themselves. All these yuppies were so materialistic, only concerned with conspicuous consumption, keeping up with the Jones’. Madison seriously considered not even attempting to put on the clearly under-sized garment. Deep down, though, she knew she had to.

Standing before a full-length mirror, forced to confront her countenance for aid in navigating the red cocktail dress up the treacherous slopes of her stout frame, Madison struggle to pull the haute couture past her fat thighs. The dress had refused to move past a point barely above her dimpled knees. Frustrated beyond all belief, Madison gave one final tug, and that was when she heard the first horrid sound of ripping fabric.

“Fuck it, she thought.” This damned thing was going on anyways, rips, or no rips, but as she would find, definitely rips. With the first tear allowing for the dress to come up to her butt, Madison now struggled to pull it over her lumpy rear. Finally it went, but at the expense of a rip in the hindquarters, exposing her pink panties and jiggly cheeks.

Next was the belly, or the Battle of the Bulge, as one might call it. Madison was really having a hard time fitting the front-piece over her huge gut. The dress zipped up the sides and was strapless with an open back, she was simply too wide for it, but damned if she didn’t try her best.

She broke both the zippers and burst into tears, running down the stairs to find that Steven had left without her, on her fucking 28th birthday.


_*<YOU HAVE THE FOLLOWING CHOICES...>


<OPTION "A": Madison gets Drunk and gets a DUI on the way to her Party.>

<OPTION "B":Madison Drinks to much and Passes out, Missing her Party.>

<OPTION "C":The Doorbell Rings. Its Cassi.>*_


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## crazyjoe (Jan 9, 2015)

*<B : MADISON IS 30>*

One quarter of a Boston cream-pie sat in a box on the kitchen counter. Someone had eaten all the frosting off the top, though. Madison decided last night, that it was her 30th birthday so fuck it, she was eating cake. 

She sat across the line of the small studio apartment, where the kitchen turned into a cramped living room. Filling out a slightly shabby green recliner, her mountainous stomach rose and fell with each breath, deep she was in an alcoholic slumber. 

Her laptop on the coffee table still played through a season of MTV reality show, a cigarette still burned in the crowded ashtray, next to a purple, plastic bong. The walls of the apartment exuded a smoky musk. The digital clock on the stereo in the media cabinet read 4:00 AM, then 6:00.

At 7:30 AM, Madisons cell-phone alarm went off where she left it on the apartments small, dingy balcony. Well insulated in both sleep, and a thick woolen blanket she had donned, half awake in the early morning hours, Madison slept soundly through her wake-up call.

Drifting through a vague dream, Madison was laying on a white sand beach, the whole of it, for only herself and some hot guy she had fucked her freshman year. He was a total dreamboat. Tan skin covered his limber, toned features, with a full head of sun bleached hair and pearly smile to match. She, herself, was in the prime of her physique, a skimpy black two-piece hugging her slender curves. Her hair raven hair was wet with seawater, and flecks of sand peppered her perfect skin, resembling the surface of a café-au-lait. As they moved toward each other, under the tropic-sun, about to join in passionate embrace, when a loud knocking sound distracted Madison, jolting her into an unwilling wakefulness.

Frankie was frustrated. This was the fifth time in three weeks, that Madison had gone MIA, and Josh, their manager, had sent her a few blocks to Madisons apartment to try and fetch her. One more round of knocking and that was it, if Madison wanted to get fired, that wasnt Frankies problem.

What on earth was up with that girl? When they first started work together at the restaurant, Frankie had found Madison to be fairly chill. They had even gone out for drinks after shift a few times, or smoked a joint in the parking lot. 

Madison had certainly had her issues back then, always drinking Frankie under the table, and it was almost like she thought the rest of them didnt notice her snacking off of customers plates and eating all the go-backs. Frankie found it funny, originally, and she empathized with Madison and her evident weight problem, but Christ, She had gotten even fatter!

Reaching out a closed hand to leave a final rapping upon the door, Frankies fist made only two knocks, before the door opened inwards, and there was Madison, bleary-eyed and fitting the doorway tightly. She mumbled something like just a second, and lumbered off again into the darkened dwelling. Frankie supposed she could step in for a moment, take a load off, and smoke a cigarette or something. Late as it was, a couple more minutes would hardly matter.

Frankie could only describe Madisons apartment as dank, and not in the new meaning of the word, which is good. She meant like a dungeon. The windows were all drawn, and very little outside light found its way in through the blinds. She also noticed an empty handle of cheap vodka on the kitchen counter, standing beside smudged tumbler and forest of empty cans of Miller Lite. No wonder Madison had such trouble waking up.

It took far longer than just a second for Madison to collect herself and head off to work with Frankie. By the time they arrived at the restaurant, after the short walk, Madison was winded, sweaty, and a bit rumpled, her dark hair a tousle from the wind. She did not know it, but she would now tip the scales at over 300 pounds, meaning she had more than doubled her weight in the decade since her first days in university.

Clumsily fumbling around with the apron strings behind her back, Madisons massive belly dominated her appearance, as usual. It kept on peeking out from beneath her too-small work polo. Damn it, she cursed under her breath as her sausage-fingers struggled to tie the strings above her bulging posterior. There just wasnt enough slack in the line. How was this possible, the apron had fit yesterday?

Not until she glanced in Madisons direction and saw that her aprons nametag read Frankie, did she realize that Madison was attempting to put on her smaller apron, and that she herself was wearing Madisons, which now seemed comically oversized on her smaller frame. Would Frankie need to babysit Madison all day? Perhaps a bit cruelly, she let her co-worker squirm with the incompatible garment for a few extra moments, before alerting her of the problem.

Broken into a visible sweat, Madison accepted the apron wordlessly, from Frankie. It was 2:30 PM and time for her to begin the shift, more than three hours late. It was then that Josh, the manager walked into the back room, looking quite irate.

*You have the following choices:*

*<OPTION A : Josh fires Madison on the spot.>*

*<OPTION B : Josh is angry with Madison and makes a rude comment about her weight.>*

*<OPTION C : Flashback sequence to another point in time.>*


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## crazyjoe (Jan 19, 2015)

*< "BA" : Josh fires Madison on the spot.>*
_
Original post: http://www.writing.com/main/interact/item_id/1911783-Madisons-Freshman-15/map/12421

_Josh came in, looking at this slob of a girl in front of her. He thought about how when she started, he actually thought she was not the worst looking girl in the world, and when he had saw photos of her from her college days she was a total babe. _What the hell happened to her?_ Josh wondered to himself, trading off astonished disbelief at this, and anger that she could be late again. He wanted to ask her how things could have gone off the rails this bad. Clearly, she had a drinking problem, but did that really explain the complete lack of motivation besides that? He knew she had a college degree and a failed marriage, did she thing it was below her to be working at the restaurant? 

Instead of asking her these things, he directly took action. 

"Madison," he said, "sorry you came in today, but you're fired." 

"What?" she said, somewhat shocked by that. 

"I'm sorry, this isn't working out."

Madison got up and approached him, trying to playfully hug him like she had when he started. Possibly trying to flirt her way out of a problem as she had so many times in her high school and college years. However, she was no longer in the same universe of appearance as that version of herself, so it failed, and Josh stood firm. 

"Madison, I'm not kidding," he said, "don't make me have to call security. If you leave now, I'll let you leave out the back so you don't have to walk past anyone." 

Madison was defeated. As meager as the pay was, she needed this job. She wanted to cry on the spot, but she kept her composure, and walked out the back door. After she left, Frankie walked to Josh's desk. 

"Josh, was that really necessary?"

"Seriously, Frankie? You of all people should know how big of a drag Madison was on this restaurant."

"Oh come on." Frankie wanted to vouch for her friend, who was clearly having some kind of problem with her life. Madison just was not the same person she was when she started working at the restaurant, and Frankie feared what would happen without the (albeit small) level of responsibility and structure that came from this job. 

Josh was not going to let Frankie get out a rebuttal, however; "I should have fired her weeks ago, and you know it. She was dragging you down worst of all. I know you two get along, which makes you a rarity on the staff, but believe me, you're better off without someone like that derailing your career." 

_My career? What, as a waitress?_ she thought to herself. Frankie figured this was a fight she was not going to win, so she gave it a rest. 

Meanwhile, Madison had gotten back to her apartment, and cracked open a beer. What was she going to do? She had not spoken to her parents since the divorce, and, well, she knew what had happened with Cassi. Madison seemed out of options--there was not much breathing room left in her checking account, so she needed something quick, and she figured she could always find some kind of entry level job somewhere. 

*You have the following choices:*

*<OPTION A : Madison's job search>*

*<OPTION B : She calls on someone for help>*


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## crazyjoe (Jan 19, 2015)

*< "AA" : Madison gets drunk and gets a DUI on the way to her party>
*
Still wearing the remnants of the very expensive dress, Madison wailed madly as she shuffled down the main stairway, into the dining room, and over to the zinc-countered bar, tears further streaking her already ruined eyes.

Reaching her fat arm across and under the bar to grab a shiny new bottle of Stoli, her exposed belly pushed up and over the countertop, the cold metal making her shiver, plush body quivering. 

Madison filled a cut-glass tumbler almost to the rim, with the almost oily, clear liquid. The smell of it alone, was enough to send warm tingles down her spine. She had never quite recovered from her day at the bar, so it went down in a couple gulps like so much water.

Thirty minutes later, the vodka bottle lay in a dry pile of glass upon the dining room floor. Madison, surely blacked out, had retreated to the kitchen pantry, sitting upon the floor with a bag of chocolate chips between her wobbly thighs. Her hands and mouth were covered in melted brown residue. She had even wiped some errantly across her swollen gut.

Another twenty minutes of gluttony, and Madisons insides began to protest. Enough food, she thought. Time to grab a beer for the road and go to her fucking twenty-eighth birthday party, for christsakes. 

Corona in hand, Madison swerved her way dangerously down the wide residential streets of their upscale neighborhood. This was her last chance to find some sense and turn around, or even get out and walk back, before she hit a major arterial and would get called in for DUI for certain.

She was too far gone, though. Subconsciously unable to confront her birthday party in this or any other state, for that matter, Madisons hedonism drove her towards the McDonalds she had visited earlier in the afternoon.

Steven glanced at his watch for what seemed to him like the thousandth time that evening. Where was she? At this point he was as much worried, as he was annoyed and frustrated. She had done some outrageous things before, but this made absolutely no sense. She had been talking about this party for weeks, as though thinking about nothing else, and now she doesnt show up? He felt guilty and at fault for leaving her at home. He had even driven back to the house an hour ago, to pick her up, having been gone for less than an hour and a half, but Madison was nowhere to be found and her car was missing from the garage. His many calls and text messages had gone unanswered.

The bright pearlescent face of the Rolex Mariner, read 10:45 PM, and Steven was beginning to fear for the worst when an attractive blonde waitress approached his table in the rented out lounge space, to inform him that a phone call was waiting for him with the maître de. 
Gulping down a final sip of cabernet, Steven followed the pretty young woman through the darkened space, past many confused looking friends, to the swanky clubs lobby. He admired the fine lines of the waitresss rear-end as it moved, slinking from side to side with each step. 

Pulled from his daydream, by the attention of a man with a mustache and a cordless phone on a tray, Steven almost hated to pick up the receiver, absolutely certain that it would be bad news. He was absolutely right.

At approximately 10:23PM on the night of Friday, September 3, Officer Robert Guevara of the Miami-Dade Police Department observed a white, late-model Mercedes sedan (license plate #981XXH) driving at a high rate of speed through the intersection of 4th St and Deltona. 

Noticing also that the vehicle appeared to be swerving, as though the driver was having difficulty maintaining a lane, Officer Guevara flicked on his lights and proceeded to give pursuit. 

When the vehicle continued after three blocks with the Guevara signaling a stop, he engaged his siren and decreased the follow distance between his patrol car and the suspect vehicle. With headlights shining through to the interior of the Mercedes, Guevara was able to identify the driver as female, possibly Hispanic, with a heavy build.

Madison was positively freaking out! The cops were after her. The game was up. Why was she running? What the fuck was she doing? She had absolutely no idea at this point. Things were absolutely out of control. Planting her foot down hard on the accelerator, the powerful car shot forward down the strip-mall lined street. She took one last swig of her beer, before tossing the bottle out of the drivers side window.

Guevara had already called in for backup, in pursuit of what he now strongly suspected to be a DUI, judging from the beer bottle, thrown from the suspects window, that whizzed past his car, shattering on the pavement. The chase had escalated to about 70 mph on a busy Friday night in Miami, and Guevara decided it was time to bring it to a swift end, before bystanders were put in any more danger. 

Her drunken brain drawing a blank on how to proceed in this fantastic scenario, Madison locked her eyes on the golden arches visible just then about six blocks ahead down the strip. It was her birthday, and she needed a fucking Big Mac.

Coming fuzzily over the cruisers radio-set was an O.K. from the air unit for Officer Guevara to move in and terminate the high-speed pursuit. Other units had already blocked off all intersecting streets, and placed a spike strip about two quarters of a mile ahead, should he fail to stop the suspect vehicle by other means. A spiking at this speed could easily prove to have a deadly effect.

So Close now, images of French-fries and chicken nuggets floated through Madisons detached mind. The police car was almost in her back seat now, the luxurious leather cabin aglow with red and blue lights. She leaned in over the steering wheel, engorged stomach pressing firmly into its lower curve. Madison was practically naked, the tattered dress mostly deteriorated at this point, only her lacey panties and overstressed bra maintained a speck of decency. She spilled out of the German-engineered drivers seat, hips bumping into the console and cup holder alike, shining brown eyes agleam in her fat face.

This was it, the first time that Officer Robert Guevara would actually execute a PIT maneuver in the field. He remembered spinning out on the blacktop of the training course at the academy, as a few beads of cold sweat formed on his brow. Ok. He was going in on the count of three: 1, 2,  

Were here! Madison chimed to no one in particular, as she yanked the wheel in a sudden, violent movement to the left, badly overshooting the Mcdonalds parking lot entry in a skidding turn. Had it not been the terrific suspension designed by those boys in Baden, the car certainly would have flipped. Regardless the front-left tire exploded on impact with the raised curb, which also made a joke of the bumper.

Woah, Guevara said loudly to himself, turning around in his seat to watch the white Mercedes fly off the curb, clearing a row of shrubs, only to touch down briefly in a parking lot, before barreling into the plate glass window of a lighting store. 

Not far enough down the road, the four officers manning the spike strip began to grow increasingly concerned by the failure of the speeding patrol car to show any signs of slowing down before them. Seconds later, applying brakes far too late, distracted by the spectacular crash behind him, Guevara shot over the spikes at about 60mph, spun out, rolled twice, and came to rest overturned in the middle of the next intersection.


_*You have the following choices:

<OPTION "A" : Madison wakes the next day in hospital to some bad news from Steven.>

<OPTION "B" : One year passes...>*_


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## JimBob (Jan 19, 2015)

Take it off!


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## crazyjoe (Jan 19, 2015)

JimBob said:


> Take it off!


How do you mean?


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## crazyjoe (Jan 26, 2015)

*< BB : Josh is angry with Madison and makes a rude comment about her weight.>*

Madison, you are late again, you _fat b*tch!_ This is ALL THE TIME. Are you _trying _to run this business into the ground with your lack of discipline? Do you know how many people would happily take your place that wouldnt knock dishes off the table with their _fat f**king gut_? 

Josh was furious. He had tried to be accommodating with this woman, but he was up to _here_ with her bullshit. He thought of firing her, but whatever. For the record he had been lying about people lining up for a job at this shithole. He would rather keep useless Madison than have to explain to corporate about hiring someone on for three times the wage that she had bargained her way in on. She was a damn felon after all, practically slave labor.

Get back to work, and dont let me see you eating out of the _garbage _today, Madison! With that pleasant remark, Josh made his way through the swinging doors out of the kitchen, leaving poor Madison in tears.

Frankie was furious! How dare Josh treat and employee like that? Even the Madison-train wrecks of the world deserve some common decency, the mouth on that bastard! She rushed in to console an hysterical Madison. Come on, girlfriend, lets go out and get some air.

Out in the alleyway, Frankie lit two cigarettes between her lips, before passing one to Madison, who had perched herself precariously atop an old stool kept out there. Frankie recalled silently to herself, that the stool had been brought back here after a long life of service at the counter that had cost it a cross-support, as well as the adhesion of most of its wood-glue. She found herself a bit worried as to whether the stool could withstand Madisons immense weight. Her ass was practically eating the too-small seat.

Josh is such a total prick, Madison. Hes just a no-life loser! Dont pay any attention to what he says. Ok, girl? Madison made a sniffling noise, before wiping some the black eye-makeup that was running in streaks down her fat cheeks. Frankie then heard her mumble something about how she could use a drink. Frankie couldnt deny that she felt the same way.


*You have the following choices:**[FONT=&quot]

<OPTION A : The girls duck out of their shift and head to the bar.>

<OPTION B : Frankie convinces Madison to keep on with the workday.>[/FONT]*


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## Observer (Feb 1, 2015)

The interactive Madison saga (Madison's Freshman 15) has been unfolding for at least three years over on writing.com. I've been privileged to be one of the contributors. What appears above is one of the latest permutations, set some years after Madison would have long graduated

Various branches of the life of Madison and her corpulent classmates could be fashioned into separate stories. However, in bringing an interactive tale to Dimensions it is totally confusing to include the interactive story options at the end of each scene. A better approach is to blend multiple installments into a single narrative.

Hopefully this will be done not only with this "branch" but also with other branches in the future.


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