# Danielle (1-7) - by Wetsobem (~BBW, Romance, ~SWG )



## Wetsobem (Jul 21, 2009)

_~BBW, Romance, ~SWG_ - A multi-part series about young love that turns out to be far more complex than it may seem.

[*Author's Note*: _Some of the chapters that will be posted here are, in fact, significantly updated, edited, and revised from the originals. Though the spirit of each chapter is left intact, I felt that some revisions were necessary based on how my style has evolved over the years. To read the originals, please visit my Deviantart page here]
_

*Danielle 
by Wetsobem*​

*Chapter One - Sweet Dreams Are Made of This*

_The moist heat of a midday summer sun dazzled me, and I stared, misty-eyed, upward at passing clouds. Rustling shadows cast by the trees behind me played soothingly over my body, but the cool metal bench beneath me had been warming quickly in the passing hours as the shadows slowly shrunk beneath the trees to hide from the white sun. 

I suppose it was a little out of character to find me sitting in a park all morning: I had no particular reason, no calling to be there, really. I couldn’t even remember clearly when or why I come here in the first place, or whether I had simply awoken in my present position from a dreamless sleep. 

For some reason, I couldn’t manage to keep my mind on...well, on much of anything. Little things kept popping into existence around me—or so it seemed—a falling leaf, a barking dog, a little girl or boy running by with a squeal of laughter. Each new attraction became the sole focus of my attention, rooting me in my pleasantly warm seat until the present. As a matter of fact, the first thing that was able to snap me out of my comatose reminiscence also happened to be the best thing that could have happened to me.

A new fascination appeared in the horizon, and I was so enthralled by its heat-rippled mystery that I almost arose to meet it head on. Upon realizing what it was, however, modesty overcame me. I knew that I should not—could not—get too close to it; I was forced to be contented with a mere glance over my left shoulder; only a contented glance, that is, until she came close enough that I could really see her. 

Her hair ruffled softly, buoyed on a breeze that I could not feel. Her face and calves were svelte and gleaming, with clothes tight on the rest of her in all the right places, maybe a few more. The way her sleeveless top clung to her torso held my iron gaze like a magnet. The front of her shirt bounced with each step and jiggled enticingly in between, betraying a hidden plush softness beneath it. 

Her rear, harshly confined in mini shorts locked in a losing a battle to contain it, swayed side to side with her rolling hips as each step thrust her bottom from one side to the other, falling back and forth, back and forth in a sluggish jazz rhythm. Just enough noticeable flab made her round behind wobble in every direction, but still it remained tight enough to hold its form.

She came closer with each step, and it seemed to me that her clothes became smaller and smaller at the same time, squeezing her poor tender flesh into bulges of round heft above and around the hems of her clothing, until at long last they were all but gone, and they burst from around her body in a vibrant, fluttering cascade. Her yellow-tan skin, the very best parts of it, bounded forth, completely visible. 

Her paunch gushed forth and hung rippling before her, happily free of its restraints but for a tiny, ultra tight bra and a pair of thong panties, the last remaining holdouts in the vain struggle to imprison her insistent girth that against their best efforts managed only to accentuate the rolls of flesh under her breasts and heavily jiggling love handles. 

She reached out to knead it with one hand with dreamy eyes as if in affirmation of its soft, yielding beauty, and she smiled, showing perfectly shaped, albeit large, white teeth between tender, pouting lips.

I could stand it no longer. Up I went, and she continued toward me. Leaping to the path on which she trod, I strolled casually forward until we were almost side by side, I on the right, and she the left. Then, like a clip straight out of an ancient, corny movie’s blockbusting romantic-action scene, I shot out my left arm and cupped her malleable gut in my hand at the belly button, and, simultaneously, I swung around to her back and slid my other hand neatly under her belly’s single, inviting roll to squeeze the tender blubber.

Of course, she was not so large that I had any trouble fitting around her, but her girth made it quite the stretch around the hips. I pressed my lower body into hers and squeezed. Who wouldn’t take the opportunity rub their entire body into the warm, soft ass cheeks of their dreams and to knead such alluring back flab, folding in gently curving rolls over creaking bra straps? Certainly not I!

In response, she collapsed into me, softly moaning as the playful caress of my fingers worked into her cushy belly mass. She tossed her head and nibbled ecstatically on her lover lip, and raven black hair that turned quietly to an auburn brown at the tips draped gently onto my neck. 

Soft; everything about her is wonderfully soft. Her weight pressed over me, making her sloshing tummy and squishy thighs spread over my groin, making the moment even more real, warmer and softer.

She rolled around my considerably slighter form to return the embrace, and her heavy flesh flowed over me as she heaved and bounced with excitement. She felt warmer and softer still as I dug deeper into her inviting flesh, sinking into her gorgeous malleable skin and squeezing, letting her skin fold over my hands. Her sweat-dewed skin was an intoxicating nectar to my tingling palms, and she grasped my face and held it to her wild, gleaming eyes. 

Oh, wow, yes! 

She poured over me, rubbing the hot, dense skin of thighs up and down my legs. Warmer, softer…she arched her back and thrust her chest into me, and I squeezed her around the waist—warmer—softer—!_I jolted into half wakefulness and rolled to my right, covered in sweat. ZZZZEEEET…ZZZZEEEET...ZZZZEEEET…. I sent a limp arm smashing down in fury onto the offending alarm clock. 

_Why couldn’t it have been spring back and fall forward?! Crap, I mean c’mon!? Why, even in my stupid dreams, do I never get anywhere?!_ I sighed loudly and shook my head invigoratingly. Instead of rising out of bed, I plopped backward into my pillow with a muffled _thump._ It was probably going to end up being another long, trying day. 

*****​
I am sure that a lot of people could say that school takes up a pretty big portion of my life—not nearly all of it! but enough to brand me boring just the same aside from a gas-money job at a bookstore and weeknights with friends—just friends. Always and only friends. There is not too much to preoccupy me at all these days. Except for Danielle Naik. 

By this point you have already been introduced, if you haven’t quite figured that out yet. I, of course, somewhat proudly and pathetically, know almost everything about her. Despite her “sturdy” outer appearance, she really is quite active. She pretty much carries the entire varsity volley ball team (and could probably do likewise literally with the members of the team—a bunch of skinny tramps, all of them…Erm…herself excluded, of course). The 18-year old Senior is a participating member in the student council, and, in general, she fits the description of a picturesque member of the popular clique, minus the prejudice and superiority complex.

As for myself, I am more of the “loving type.” That is to say, such things as, horticulture, animals, the violin, and especially people. Certain people more than others. Namely, Danielle, and I personally prefer to think of her in my own mind as the best player on the volley ball team. 

At least she probably is. You see, I say “probably” because I haven’t ever had the…shall we say “testicular fortitude” to show up at one of her games. What keeps me away is a mixture of paralyzing fear and antsy expectancy that she might notice that my eyes would be glued to her prominent posterior and frontal accoutrements gyrating as she leaps to block the next spike….

To shorten things up, no we are not dating—either of us—nor have I asked her out before. I’ve been having a go at the bachelor thing for quite a while now; scathing breakups tend to do that sort of thing to a guy, but the extended period of absence in the dating game is mostly due to singular standards, as in only one person meets mine. 

Stress, stress…it is mind boggling how much a little bit of anxiety can grow on a fellow given the time to fester. It is all the product of my own design, but the pain, the obsession! And, for an added bonus, these just happens to be the very last three weeks of the school year, and I can’t for the life of me think of any way to show up at the door of a girl with whom I have never had more than an passing conversation three days into vacation without coming off as some kind of stalker or obsessed pervert (honestly, I’m not).

Sorry…I occasionally get distracted. Just as I thought, though, the better part of the day ends up passing uneventfully…for Danielle anyway. For me, it’s a roller coaster ride every time I lock my eyes on her swaying figure bouncing down my end of a hall.

_Time is running out…_

I ground my teeth as I drove home from school. What could I do? I couldn’t just talk to her out of the blue…it was hopeless…and now, the dreams were becoming frustrating.

The next morning I accidentally met her eyes for a moment, and she flashed a smile at me. 

_She smiled at me._ Or at least in my general direction while passing. I couldn’t move; I couldn’t think or breathe. 

_She smiled at me…it’s nothing. I’m flying off the handle. But…she smiled at me!_

I fell backwards heavily against my locker and breathed out my held-in breath forlornly. My friend Anne slapped her hand rudely against the locker just above my head and glared down at me reproachfully. It was a look that I already know too well.

She wrinkled up her button nose and rolled her crystal-blue eyes at me like I was a child who was afraid to step into a wading pool. It was mostly frustration, but I detected a hint of pity wedged in there, too.

“Hopeless…” she muttered. She lifted her arm so I could stand.

“My sentiments exactly,” I sighed.

“You can’t make puppy faces like that and expect me to come and save the day every time, Vince,” she lectured me.

“Save the day?” I asked with an arched brow.

Anne and I have been friends for too long to try to remember, and it was possible that some people might be inclined to believe that there was something going on between us if they didn’t know anything about either of us. Rest assured; there is nothing more than friendship between us, and sometimes Anne’s form of friendship can be a little too strong. 

Don’t get me wrong; she’s smart, clever (yes, there is a difference), and very attractive by just about everyone’s standards, myself included. As such she had for quite some time been dating one of the most desirable young men in school—not to ever be confused with me, of course.

“Hey, Anne, what do you mean?”

She pursed her lips and said nothing. She wasn’t even looking at me. She just stared off down the hallway, mouthing something to herself, as if she were counting down to something. I was so intent on pestering Anne for an explanation that I did not see Danielle, way down the hall, wave “goodbye” to a friend and reverse direction.

It was fairly obvious to me that Anne knew what is going on with me about Danielle…and probably &#8216;why’ in great detail. Thankfully, she has never seen fit to bring it up without me starting the conversation, and I don’t make a habit of it. However, I occasionally wish that she would ask me more…specific questions about what I like about Danielle. I rather enjoy the &#8216;stimulation’ of such conversations about my own sexual preferences…not that I have ever actually had one with anyone.

“Seriously, Anne, what are you do…ooo—Hey!”

Anne body-checked me with her hipbone, sending me reeling into the middle of the hall just as Danielle passed in front of us again. I narrowly avoided plowing right into Danielle by agilely half side-stepping, half falling behind another girl walking in the opposite direction. Danielle walked straight by without even noticing, and I wiped my brow in relief.

Anne had tried to “discretely” force Danielle and I into contact for what must have been the dozenth time, but every time I confronted her about it, she played dumb and innocent. 

_I’m not stupid, Anne! I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work!_ I scurried back to her side of the hall, but before I could verbally reprimand Anne for her interference, she beat me to the punch.

She huffed, exasperated, “you’d better get your act together here, Vincent.” 

She calls me by my full name whenever she gets especially aggravated with me, which is actually a pretty common occurrence. She thinks that it is terribly intimidating, but it strikes me as sort of funny, like she is trying to be my mother. “Don’t screw this up and come crying to me later when you regret it!”

Before I could get in a single word, she flipped her blonde hair in my face and marched stiffly off to meet her boyfriend, who had appeared at the opposite end of the hall. As if to spite me, she hooked her arm through his, and they strolled off daintily together to fifth period.

“Gee, thanks Anne,” I mumbled to myself, “not only do I feel worse about putting this off, but now I have people staring at me for that little scene.”

_What if they could guess what we were saying? How mortifying would it be if they knew who we were talking about and why?_

I’ll be at lunch should anyone need me, through which time I shall most likely be unavailable as my mind and most of my senses—sadly excluding touch—will be preoccupied.

(Continued in post 4 of this thread)


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## Tad (Jul 22, 2009)

Wow, I'm loving the writing in this one!


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## Wetsobem (Jul 22, 2009)

Tad said:


> Wow, I'm loving the writing in this one!



Thank you  I've changed my style a lot since I first wrote this many years ago, so I thought that it needed a face-lift.


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## Wetsobem (Jul 26, 2009)

*Chapter 2 - Judeo-Christian Oaths*


By the time I had slumped into a chair, lunch was already half over, so I decided to forego it entirely. I was perfectly content to just plop down at a table and stew while pretending to chat with my friends Blake and Andrew when something caught my eye.

Or, rather, a lack of a few key some-ones. From my seat, I could clearly distinguish what appeared to be Danielle sitting completely alone. Now, that would be impossible: she was always surrounded by at least a handful of girlfriends everywhere she went. But it was true. She was there at the other end of the room, sitting at her usual table, sans the crowd of admirers. I honestly couldnt guess where her friends were. I didnt much care. It wasnt long before I found myself starting to walk over to her, and by then it was too late to stop.

I sat down directly across from Danielle at the small, round lunch table, but she didnt look up. Taking the short window of opportunity, I scanned her outfitagain. This time, however, it was not furtive or from afar; it was at close range. Her habitual Capri jeans, self rolled at the legs for a little added style, hugged her thighs and posterior cutely, and no doubt she was quite aware of it, too. 

I could always tell easily enough that Danielle knew she had a voluptuous behind and loved it. I would occasionally see her glance with a grin over her shoulder and oh-so-casually watch as it expanded over the uniformly small school seats. No small time perception for this young lady: she knew she was a hefty girl, and she flaunted it.

She also sported a red-hot polyester top that left little to be desired. It clung ever-so-snuggly to her bosom, displaying her bras outline clearly through the stretched fabric. It appeared that over the courseor several coursesof her large pizza slices, whole milk, cookies, and several fruit pies (an astoundingly large meal today, even for Danielle) that her already partially exposed pudgy belly (Danielle has this gorgeous habit of fastening her pants and skirts _under_ her gut, leaving just the smallest amount of creamy flesh visible for public admiration) was growing as the hem of her shirt rose slowly upward.

Completely enthralled and quite incapable of rational thought, my mouth acted of its own accord and started to hang open limply. I must have been gaping awkwardly in that way for quite some time; I only noticed that my mouth was open at all because my tongue dried out. As a quick cover I, in my dull-headed brilliance, decided that it might be a good idea to start a conversation. 

And so, like the idiot that I had recently become, I blurted out thickly, Hi Daniellewow! You look nice today! _Oh why? No, no, dont tell me; just kill me, right nowI would prefer it, really! Apparently, I am already brain dead!_

But, astoundingly, she only looked up, a little startled, and, Wha? She managed through half of a cookie.

_Okay, so you were spared this time, but dont get over zealous here and blow it now, Vince! Be cool, be cooljust say it again, nice and easy now_

I, er, said hi. 

Oh, sorryhello then.

_Good, good; great, that was reeaal smooth._

After a tense moment, she added, Youre Vince, right? From World History? 

Immediately I latched onto her participation and chimed in, Yeah (as a matter of fact, it was an English class, but I didnt bother to correct her), that would definitely be me all over. How are you? 

Not that great, really I shouldnt have done this, she said mysteriously.

Done what? What do you mean? In another moment, I knew perfectly well what she meant. 

I shouldnt have gotten all of this, she said and gestured feebly toward her tray, and she moved her other hand to rest on her billowing paunch. It sank in slightly.

_Sweet lord, is she doing what I hope she is? No! Stop getting so worked up over nothing. Absolutely not, no - not now, she wouldnt, why would she; she cantcan she?_

I peered into her face, and she met my eyes, her own silky brown melding with my hazel green. She turned up her lips in a leading grin, and her expression softened. _She is, she is! I mean, OH NO, she really is! What should I do? What should I SAY for that matter? Oh, who cares, this is it! Dreams and lust aside, this is it NOW. Pounce, tiger, do it now, or you never will!_

Oh come on, only that little bit? You can finish that, right? I goaded, desperately suppressing the urge to break into nervous laughter.

Go on then, why not? That is, I mean, if you want I trailed off, growing hot and uncertain hearing only my own voice. _Was that right? Did I blow it? Please let it have been right!_

She turned down her face in a mock pout and said a little dejectedly, Well, it wasnt so little when I started

_Oh no, I really had been wrong!_

But nono, youre right. I bought it, right? so now I should at least make an attempt to finish itall of it.

Now, I could not quite tell from my own perspective, but I think that my face may have hit the ceiling and the floor at the same instant. Quickly regaining what fantasies of poise I had lost I said, Atta girl; you just show thater, stuff whos in charge!

_I sound like a moron_ I must have been possessed or something; I had gone insane. But, as it turns out, whatever had gotten into me must have tripled itself inside Danielle and her amply roomy tummy. She immediately started to shovel food into her mouth in a frantic, rhythmic pattern. Pizzapizza, gulpcookie, now milk - SLURPfruit, more pizza *pant*, swallow Not exactly lady like, but hey, in a position like mine, who could care? Since Danielle seemed to have found something to occupy her attention for the time beingnot me, but a rather more savory medium nonethelessI thought it might have been safe to chance a look under the table.

_SWEET MARY-WIFE-OF-JOSEPH, MOTHER-OF-JESUS, SON-OF-GOD!_

Peeking out at me was one of the single most beautiful sights I had ever and would ever behold. Danielles shirt and pants had been completely overcome by her visibly expanding waist: flesh spilled over her pants in the form of one large, creamy soft and slightly paler roll of pure fat. Her Indian ancestry, obviously quite diluted by Caucasian blood (but to excellent ends), had given her the perfect complexion to accentuate the already deep pit of her belly button as the opposing pressure of the fat all around slowly consumed it. An almost imperceptible crease folded and quietly grew across her pudgy mound until it was practically smiling back at me. With each breath, her belly heaved and stretched then sprang back, rippling oh-so-sexily for a moment before starting all over again.

Then, all of a sudden, it stopped. Well, almost stopped. The momentum of her trembling belly kept most of Danielles squishy form wobbling for another moment. I sat up straight to see what had interrupted Danielle and to avoid being caught peeping at her. I looked up just as she was brushing herself off. I could see that both of us were obviously contented; myself definitely more noticeable to the casual down-cast eye, if you catch my drift.

And, bringing my head above the table, I noticed a distance absence of such casual eyes. It appeared that the entire cafeteria hand cleared out over the last few minuteshad it only been that long?leaving only Danielle and I. Alone.

At the same time that I noticed the stillness, Danielle sat bolt upright, sending her belly into another heavy spasm of delicious jiggling. Oh, crap! I almost forgot about the honors assembly! She slapped her lap once with both palms in sudden realization, probably more accidental than real frustration. The consequence of her theatrics, however, was a swift cringe as her hand sank deeply through the shallow sea of lard that was her midriff, and it quickly collided with her noticeably distended stomach, which had grown to obstruct any direct path to her thighs that her open palms had first sought. The result was what seemed to be quite a painful sort of fluid rippling that spread through her chunky tummy and thighs, officially retiring the jeans button that had managed so valiantly to confine her girth for so long.

I watched as her corpulent gut tumbled into full view, the graceful curve having given way to the folding depression of stretch-marked flab bounding over her panties. Those, at least, were still holding.

She flushed brilliantly, making herself even cuter, and quickly said, Ive gotta run, Vince.

Half way up from the seat, she turned back to face me again. Holding the flaps of her blasted shorts as close together as she could, she quickly asked with what I hoped were hope-knit brows, See you later?

She quickly and strenuously heaved herself away from her confining chair and bounced off down the hallway, leaving a quite visible stretch in the seat of her pants as well: not quite ripped, but holding on for dear life if only to avenge the death of its dear comrade, the button. I couldnt be sure, distracted as I was by this spectacle, but had the see you later been more of an expectation than a goodbye?



Assembly?! Why couldnt I ever remember these things? I really should pay attention to announcements. Snapping out of euphoria, I started out at a run, but I made sure to leave a safe distance between the two of us as Danielle hurried ahead. That way, I could catch the full view of her from behind. Even as I enjoyed myself, I couldnt help but wonder why she needed to be to the assembly so quickly.


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## Wetsobem (Jul 30, 2009)

*Chapter 3 - A Public Spectacle*

I rushed into the crowded assembly hall to seek out my usual seat, which, as usual, had been taken long before I arrived. All that remained nearby were aisle seats: the ones everyone brushes by, rapping your knees, and you have to lift up your feet every minute or two so a random, excessively friendly person can get by because they just _have_ to talk to So-and-So (who is always sitting just to your left), and there is no other way around—so could you, like, move or something? So, I opted for the absolute _joy_ of sitting on the edge of an aisle, consoling myself with the hope of getting to see Danielle walk by.

Just as I was sitting down, Anne walked up beside me. Even in such a crowded room, Anne managed to stand out above the mob. Especially in the last couple of years, time seemed ever to add more elegance to her existing beauty instead of rounding or completing it. There is something commanding about the sharpness of her intensely blue eyes, and her shining powder-white skin and polished platinum hair make her face quite literally radiant. 

It is easy to tell that she very much cares about her appearance, but though she puts in a large effort, she never really has to try. Even in a simple blouse and fashionably tight jeans she was stunning. Typically, her ornaments would include one or several complex silver necklaces and elaborately twisted earrings, although lately her primary accessory tended to be Evan draped over her arm, and, of course, just so did he stand, grinning with honest, placid happiness for just being able to touch Anne.

She swiftly motioned for him to find them a new pair of seats; the ones which they just vacated had already been seized. Evan made a sort of silent pointing gesture toward the middle of the auditorium. Anne smiled at him, and she gave him a brief peck on the cheek before he took Anne’s purse from her outstretched hand and walked in the direction he had indicated. With that, she plopped down in an empty seat directly behind me. She crossed her arms over the back of my seat and leaned over me obnoxiously.

“Hey there buddy,” she said and poked me in the back of the head. “Had a good day so far?”

My mind raced back to lunch and everything that had happened. My day had been fantastic, marvelous—far better than I could have ever imagined it. I had seen…_things_, things that I did not think were possible for me to have seen. It was...it was…

“It was different,” I replied shiftily.

Anne raised an eyebrow and shifted in her seat a little. She raised her head and scouted the surrounding heads like a meerkat, then quickly lowered it again. “Listen,” she said in a force whisper, “I know that you don’t like to talk about this in public, but doubt that anyone can hear us over this racket anyway.” 

She squirmed anxiously behind me, leaning further over the seat and elbowing me in the ear. “So, have you, you know…&#8216;talked’ to Danielle yet?”

I was taken aback by her forward mention of so sacred and silent a trust. She had never out-and-out mentioned my feelings for Danielle and certainly never in public. Instantly forgetting that she had asked me a question, I swiveled my head back and forth, my heart pounding, looking with mortified anxiety for any small hint that someone had overheard Anne. It took me about three seconds to realize that there was no way I could possibly tell whether any single person was looking at me, so I swallowed hard and mentally forced my heart to slow down.

“That was abrupt,” I huffed.

“Yes…but did you or didn’t you?” she persisted.

I squinted as I tried to compress my experience into something comprehensible. 

“Yeah, well, I did &#8216;run into her’ earlier,” I said, only halfway lying. “But, hey, you know… these things just take a little…erm…_time_….”

I winced as I said it, knowing full well that it had taken all of five hours for Anne and Evan to get together, have their first fight, make up, make out, and go out to dinner before clothes were removed.

There wasn’t much else I could have said; I mean, it was such a surprising statement out of Anne—who was usually contented to snigger quietly at my plights and smile with squinted eyes before tending advice—totally out of character. I should have expected something like this eventually, but how could I have seen it coming?

“Mmm hmmm…I guess you’re right,” she said.

“I’m…what?” I asked, astonished. Anne did not just tell me that I was right about something! That I should…take my time about this, no less? I turned to face her for the first time since she sat down. I did not find what I had expected to see. Anne’s face was a little flushed, and her eyes twitched with an eerie fervor heightened by the dim lights and scurrying voices all around.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you today, I know. You don’t want things to happen that way; I understand. It’s just that I—I mean….” She sighed. 

“Just do what makes you happy, I suppose,” she concluded as if talking to herself.

I really hadn’t expected to hear that, any of it. It was…frankly, weird. Sometimes, though, Anne does know when it is time to back off a bit and sympathize more than criticize. What else could it have been?

“Thanks, Anne,” I said. “Don’t worry,” I went on, trying to reassure her, “I think I have a plan (_I do?_) to start things moving a bit…”

Anne shook herself then smiled. 

“Just don’t overdo it there, DiMaggio. Be yourself about it, okay? I don’t know how anyone could resist you. Oops, I’ve got to run!” she squeaked. “They’re starting on stage.”

Anne jaunted off to cuddle with Evan, and I paid them no mind after that. Things went along according to normal assembly procedure: teachers desperately trying to turn chaos into some semblance of order, students getting up out of their seats and chatting, engaging in deliberately offensive make-out sessions near the doors, constantly rearranging every few seconds, and so forth—i.e., the usual. Shortly, one of the school councilors strolled on stage.

The usual, placating awards were administered, mostly for sports and some guy who nearly nuked the county with his science fair project. Now there’s some recognition where it counts! Anyway, it wasn’t too long before the councilor came back onto the stage for yet another introduction, the most important one of the afternoon.

“Hello again students, are we all ready for summer break? Yay!” (okay, she’s the slightly over enthusiastic one).

Polite applause followed.

“Alright then, here’s your favorite Stu-Co secretary and mine—with some awesome announcements for you all! Danielle Naik! Yaay!!”

She backed offstage clapping to the accompaniment of sniggers and loud, scornful applause from a few students, myself included. Who could blame me? Then came my most golden moment of the day: Danielle bounding into center stage wearing what must have been the most form fitting volley ball uniform to yet be seen by man. 

This time, there was real, enthusiastic applause from friends and admirers, whistles (me), and one obnoxious guy in the back who stood up and cupped his hands under what would be his breasts, yelling “Whoohoo! Dani, yeah!!” through a stupid, gaping grin while. Nearby, what was clearly his friend convulsed with laughter. Needless to say, if I wasn’t already preoccupied by “Dani” myself, I would have knocked his face off of his head. Or at least I wanted to, caught as I was in the heat of the moment. 

Danielle had stopped quivering with anticipation and a still over-filled tummy, and she had started to speak into the microphone after flipping absently her silken hair, now pulled into a bouncy ponytail, over her shoulders. 

“Hey everyone, what a year, right?” she proposed to load applause. “I just want to thank everyone for the great attendance to all of our games and for helping us to get to state finals this year! I know we didn’t take home first place this time, but next year it’s ours!” 

There was even more applause, even cheering this time. “So the girls and I thought that, as a reward to those certain someones…”

_Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap…did she just look in my direction?_

“…we should split the varsity ranks and play an exhibition game on stage for you—what do ya’ think?” Raucous cheering and applause erupted from all, and I think that my eyes may have rolled so far into the back of my head that I could see out of my mouth.

_Had she meant me? Was she looking at me? Why would she do that? It’s absurd! …but was she_ really _looking at me?_

My heart pounded against the lining of my chest, and I had to struggle to keep my breathing under control. I was a little excited.

Suddenly, the curtain behind Danielle split apart. In the middle of the stage had been erected a volleyball net, and the rest of the team was already gathered in formation. A grey-clad referee held a new, white ball aloft, and, with a nod, she tossed it to Danielle. Danielle leaped, surprisingly agile, to her server’s position on the far side of the court. 

The referee tweeted a small silver whistle, and immediately, Danielle pulled back her arm, jumped high into the air, and slammed the ball deep into the middle of the opposing side of the court before descending heavily. As her feet met wood, her breasts met belly, her belly met crotch in a wide, rippling mass, and her butt met her thighs, then her back, and then her thighs again, quivering with the same intensity as her tummy pudge. This whole sequence continued second after second, and after only two of them, I felt so hard that if I moved I would probably tear something.

The other side, of course, couldn’t return such a perfectly delivered serve. Danielle’s side scored. And then they scored. And just for a change of pace, they scored some more. The whole scene was amazing…ly one sided. The other girls scrambled not only to hit, but occasionally to avoid Danielle’s power shots. 

Danielle herself was in total control of the game. She also held all my attention. My eyes were glued to her perky ass as it swayed left and right with even the slightest movement. Jump after enthusiastic jump, the continual changes in pressure against her thighs caused her shorts to ride up enough to see where her globular butt cheeks met atop her legs. Each lobe was tight and round, but they still jiggled vigorously and were noticeably soft. Her gut wobbled with every movement she made until it eventually pushed its way free of her tight shirt. The bottom of her belly could be clearly seen hanging over the maxed-out elastic of her red shorts in a creamy, tan roll.

Her breasts, though adequately contained in her bra, would jumped and bounced enticingly with each spring of Danielle’s perfect legs, causing the excess flesh to cram over the brim of the fabric, then smack down hard onto the tiny shelf of her gut. Then the sweat came. Clothes that were once tight and form fitting now became translucent, and the lines of her thong and bra alike were easily discernable from the rest of the fabric.

Moisture beaded on Danielle’s smooth face. Her bangs, which were not confined in the ponytail, were matted against her forehead, and slowly flowing droplets dripped from her straight, sloping nose down onto her ample bosom. The drops formed a shallow puddle atop her breasts, and every time she reached quickly or jumped, the cool liquid splashed off her chest. Some ran down into her belly button, now a deep, folded depression that was no longer consistently covered in the least by her constantly flapping white shirt. Occasionally, she would tug down at her shirt out of distraction, but, to my personal pleasure, the effect never lasted long.

On the game went for what seemed like an eternity of bliss to me, until the whistle blew—an actual time of only twelve minutes. Danielle’s side had dominated (as expected), and they leaped into a round of hand slapping, body slamming and hugging, and, my personal favorite, ass slapping, all amid the cheers of excited onlookers. Then, while still waving enthusiastically, the team walked off stage-right in a neat line. I caught one last glimpse of Danielle’s billowing belly and sweat-soaked, bouncy buns before she disappeared.

I couldn’t begin to tell you what happened from then until the end of the assembly; it doesn’t matter anyway. I doubt that any of it was important, not that I could pay anything else much attention after that invigorating exhibition. Eventually we were dismissed to the last half hour of classes. Anne and Evan caught up with me at the door.

“So, did you have a good time in there Vince?” someone said to me. I stared absentmindedly into space, desperately trying to position myself to hide my embarrassing, though rapidly fading, erection. The disembodied voice continued to yammer at me.

“Hellloo, are you in there? Are you sick or something, huh? Vincent Bernheim, what is your prob-…oh…oooooh, I see. Carry on then,” it said, realizing at last my ecstasy’s cause.

Anne and her boyfriend departed together while I scowled determinedly and headed to my locker to wait out the day. 

_Women? Oh, goodness, no: Hell hath no fury like the scorn of jealousy on the wont! And what did Anne and Evan go and do? Flaunted it right in front of me. Screw the last ten minutes of history; it isn’t as if I’ll miss anything that hasn’t already happened. There is no way I’m going to miss this opportunity now!_


----------



## Wetsobem (Aug 7, 2009)

*Chapter 4 - “I Love Ya’, Tomorrow!”*

Reflecting on the past hour, I am still not sure exactly how most of it happened. It just sort of, well…did. Ah, how amazing are the inner machinations of the universe?—how a man can be so caught up in his own self reliance that he forgets the very thing he wants from another, so much so that when, unexpectedly, he gets it, it always leaves him shell shocked!

An hour ago I was in front of my locker, pretending to do something constructive in order to avoid notice by teachers. All I was really trying to do, of course, was kill time. The halls slowly cleared, but there was still no sign of any girl from the volleyball team. They were probably still changing in the locker room, and to find Danielle _there_ was a fantasy far too great for my feeble ambitions. I heard footsteps in the now considerably quieter hall and turned to find the one person I would never have expected to find alone: Evan Kaiser. I hardly recognized the boy without Anne hanging in stride, and his empty hand and unburdened shoulder made him almost unrecognizable to me.

He was a reasonably tall boy—nowhere near my friend Blake—but his short-cropped red-brown hair bristled safely several inches above mine, and it was no small wonder why Anne was so drawn to him. I feel it important to warn everyone that, in seeing him alone, I experienced a rare but significant guy-moment: the Man Scope. This little discussed but ubiquitous exchange between two men is a cornerstone of male competition. In it, one guy “scopes out” the other and asks himself the simple question: is he hotter than me?

Yes, Evan was taller, and beneath his fitted green polo shirt bulged an impressive muscular layer that I lacked. He was clean shaven along his prominent, tapered jaw which was a more defining feature than his flattish nose. If anything at all, his only obvious flaw was a persistent reddishness and dryness to his skin, both casualties incurred in a successful battle against acne that shrunk from showing itself directly.

Being alone, I was not sure why he stopped and stood next to me, and I had no idea how to initiate whatever kind of dialogue he wanted. Luckily, it seemed that he had no intention of letting me initiate conversation.

“Hey, what’s up?” he greeted me. 

“Hi,” I replied.

“I saw you here and just thought I’d say hello,” he beamed.

“…Okay,” I said as the awkwardness of the conversation became truly palpable. “…Eee-yeeeah….how…unh, how are you doing, Evan?”

“Fine, just fine…” he said wistfully.

“That’s…good,” I said and pointedly raised an eyebrow.

He seemed to get the idea readily enough. 

“Sorry!” he exclaimed. “This is just…a bit awkward for me.”

I couldn’t help but smile. 

“Oh, believe me,” I said, “it’s awkward for me, too.”

“No,” he shook his head, “I mean I need to talk to you about something. It’s Anne, actually. She told me about some of the things that you two talk about when I’m not around, and I want to know if—”

I cut him off before he could finish the thought. 

“What the hell!” I shouted. I paced away from Evan abruptly, muttering to myself, then whirled on him.

“Where does she get off telling people—you of all people!—about our private conversations! Is nothing sacred? You must think I’m an absolute _sicko_, and Anne, she must think I don’t even _care_, that I’m some kind of moron!”

“—if you could tell me how to connect with her like that,” Evan concluded softly.

I was still panting from my tirade, but I couldn’t believe it. He threw back his shoulders and frowned at me sardonically. “I guess that—apparently—I just don’t have the same _raw talent_ for communicating with people as you…or at least the way that you do it with Anne. Sorry I even asked…” he said, twisting his mouth into a pissy frown. 

_Well…crap. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like such an ass so quickly in my life. That really was bad, wasn’t it? Jebus…am I really that high strung about this?_ 

Evan had turned huffily away and started walking, but I skipped up behind him. “No, Evan, wait a minute. Sorry, I…I just thought that you meant…something else entirely.” 

“Oh, yeah? What? Or is that none of my business either?” 

“Of course it isn’t any of your—” I began, but I stopped, realizing that simply shutting him down so quickly was no way to follow up my last faux pas.

“No,” I started again, “it’s just…I can’t tell you right now. It’s not important, anyway. Sorry—what was it you wanted to know?”

Evan crossed his arms and smirked. “Heh…well, maybe I shouldn’t be taking relationship advice from someone with so many of his own problems.”

I knitted my brow in confusion. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, well, you know,” he said flippantly. “The way that Anne goes on about you all the time; it isn’t ten seconds that a girl’s name isn’t tossed around, so what am I supposed to think?”

What was he talking about? What had Anne been telling him? Did he know that I was hot for Danielle, or was it something different? Either way, this line of inquiry was getting a little too personal and far too judgmental for my taste.

“Hold on a minute,” I said. 

“Just what kind of &#8216;problems’ are you talking about?” I demanded.

“Her,” Evan grinned broadly, pointing a finger directly behind me. I spun around just in time to catch sight of the back of Danielle’s head as she turned the corner at the end of the hall. I whipped back around to try and question Evan, but he had already slipped out of sight. I fancied I could hear him chuckling, deeply satisfied with his deception. Which had been…what? To keep me here long enough for Danielle to walk by?

I was left gape-mouthed and clueless. Did Anne set that up? Did Evan even know what he was talking about? Probably, yes, but probably not why. Anne must only have told him that I wanted to ask her out and that I’ve been having trouble getting up the nerve. 

Anne and I have a history full of things like this going all the way back to grade school. I can’t really tell you the exact date we met, but the first thing I remember is that we were on a swing set, pretending that we were jet fighter pilots. She jumped out of her seat suddenly and then stepped right in front of me. I had to jump out of my cockpit at the zenith of my swing just to avoid smashing into her face. I practically broke my arm, but she just stood there with her arms crossed and proceeded to protest that I should have jumped two minutes ago, that she had already hit me, and that I was “dead.”

Well, I wasn’t about to take that sitting down, so we argued, and argued, and just for a change of pace, we minced some words. It went on for what seemed like an eternity, and eventually we both forgot what we were even fighting about. So, obviously, we became great friends and have been ever since.

Needless to say, Anne was and still is a terrible busybody, and she still hasn’t learned that people don’t always appreciate her sage advice. 

_Ooooooh, she will pay for this,_ I promised myself…_she will pay._ 

But later. At that very moment, Danielle was alone, and only a few seconds away from me.

I took my first step, and the dismissal bell rang. Bodies poured from every classroom in throngs, making it easy enough to become caught up in the suffocating crowd crush, and such was the case with me. I struggled vainly to find the stream of people going toward Danielle, but I was swept sideways by the current of overstuffed backpacks.

Anne herself brushed by on her way into obscurity wearing a smug, satisfied expression. Such nonchalance, such airy self-satisfaction; it made me sick! That little bump in her step…I knew that she relished the mayhem she’d caused! Wait…what was I doing?

_I’m going up a staircase!_

I had utterly lost track of where I was, and in only a few seconds I had been carried halfway up to the second floor. I hurried down the short flight as fast as I could, which is not very, considering the scores of moving bodies, many much larger than Danielle, pushing against me in the opposite direction. I was squished and prodded by buff and fluff alike, and soon I began to wonder whether the pattern etched into the handrail would becoming permanently engraved into my back and left arm.

Actually, it’s fairly difficult to say which I would have preferred; that is to say, buff or fluff? The chiseled appearance of the stereotype blonde elbowing me in the rib, or the short Puerto Rican girl with a round, plump face and thighs—which, by the way, had me wedged into a corner at the time. I suppose it is a rather peculiar thing, sexual preference. There are already so many things I’ve said in Danielle’s favor entirely concerned with her body. However, I’m afraid that those may have been a tad misleading. I’m not entirely fanatical toward women of Danielle’s particular build. Well, no; I really am, but not exclusively. 

I can’t and won’t try to describe the ecstasy of wrapping one’s hands around the inviting warmth of a pair of breasts which are more than just a little soft. No firmness for me, I say. Why wouldn’t I love large, round butt cheeks floating in a veritable sea of cushy fat? There is a response to accompany the sight of a roll of pudgy midriff swaying and bounding over the rim of a pair of hip huggers that cannot be denied. It’s pure rapture; an overwhelming urge to spring up and coddle the mass of tender skin that I know I can never succumb to, lest the recipient of such a loving gesture socially black balls me forever. 

In light of such revelations, it should be known that I now have and always have had a very lenient preference toward a woman’s physique. Basically it breaks down to three things. One: the face; they must have an acceptable face, nothing involving misplaced teeth, splotches, grotesquely huge or, especially, sunken or tiny noses, narrowed eyes, overly angular, or sagging cheeks, as is the sad case with too many wonderful big women.

That brings me to point two: The body. The first thing everyone sees and the first impression that a woman makes on me. These characteristics must be much more subtle; little bits, odds and ends that add to the perfect form. I kind of like to think about such things in a kind of spectrum. Just bear with me here: Consider a spectrum of the female form growing from left to right. The left (now bear in mind this has nothing to do with politics, it’s just easier to explain this way) consists of those who are considered beautiful in the typical sense, full hips, bust, and shapely waist. The old 36, 24, 36, if you will; this moves gradually farther out to the girls at the extreme left with practically—or factually—anorexic forms; frail legs and arms, no breasts to speak of and the likely occurrence of a sunken stomach. These I try my best to avoid altogether on the basis that no matter what we say or do as a couple, they will never satisfy a single sexual urge whether or not they have a perfect personality.

Moving to the right, aptly named, are contained all those with a body that begins to &#8216;widen’ around the edges, more of the preferred 42, 38, 46. Here, perhaps, bouncy little something might even pop out in the back of the hips over the skirt, but such women are hardly “fat” in the traditional sense. Following them the spectral band “widens” all the way up to the morbidly obese. The latter I find even more repulsive than the extreme left. It isn’t just the sheer fact that someone is fat that arouses me! There has to be some style, some grace involved, not just a smothering ball of lard. True, the last part is a tad alluring in theory, but far from sexy to see.

I truly hope this is not a disillusion for some. I sincerely have tried to live up to this mental Hammurabi's Code, but regardless of whether I’ve made it clear already, it is true. Much as I would love to feel up the warm form of a mound of pure belly fat, it just doesn’t work in reality the way that it does in a fantasy. However, if you like it and think what I say is a load of crap…granted, I’ve been known to be wrong. Good on you, I suppose.

The middle-right of the spectrum is where I prefer to stride. That is where Danielle is found, almost exactly in the middle; for me, a reference point. What I enjoy most is the seductive bounce of plump flesh popping out from under a tank top or over a bikini bottom, bunching up a little over a thin strip of fabric into smooth, shadowy folds. Danielle is a master of this particular accomplishment. Anyone lucky enough, as the situation may have it, to sit beside her would not only get a bird’s-eye view of her rotund love handles rolling over her jeans, but also the ride of her blouse up her back, revealing an even tighter thong where her soft layers of fat pour over it. 

Her group has legs, although round and tender, that are shapely and not too dimpled by cellulite. Or, if there be any, not so much that it detracts from other parts. The only sad part to it all is that nothing is permanent. The pinnacle of perfection will always fade. Things sag, beauty wanes; that’s why I don’t date based on looks, at least not entirely.

People like Danielle have sparkling personalities. People like her, I mean, not strictly physically, but as complete human beings. That is stepping away from physicality, however, and attractive uniqueness of a woman is a different subject entirely. Yet it is an equally important one because, more often than you might think, the little things that men find most attractive in a woman only become sexy after he has gotten to know her on a personal level.

For Danielle’s part, she’s outgoing, sweet, pretty intelligent, and funny; all told, she’s a gem among slag. To look around me would mean to witness the repulsive sneers and bitter, cliquey behavior of my peers. It’s sad really: it forces so many to become shallow themselves simply to achieve a little short lived recognition based on whom they’re standing near and for how long they were allowed to do so. Though Danielle herself is considered part of the generally accepted in-crowd, you will never find her with them, only a small, tightly knit group of girls who, as far as I can tell, have been friends for an extremely long time. I think it’s kind of charming. 

Forgetting myself there for a moment, I shook my head and pushed my way out of the stairwell. The halls had cleared dramatically in only a few minutes, and it did not take me long to run exactly where I needed to be in the first place: down the hall, walking toward….no one. 

Danielle wasn’t there. I had missed her, and she must have been halfway home by now. Defeated and feeling quite alone, I crawled back to my locker, grabbed my school bag, and headed down the stairwell.

_I don’t even feel like driving home today_, I thought.

_ I’ll probably plow off the road and kill someone on the other side of the median. Oh well…that’s what insurance is for, I suppose._

I took a deep breath and released it as a sigh then shook my head as if I were trying to dry out my hair.

_Well, that’s that; it was all so stupid, anyway. I read too much into too little. I mean, I know that it sounded great up here, but I never account for anything just…happening. Of course, nothing really seems to “just happen” to me. Honestly, I never— _

“Vince?” 

I didn’t turn around or even really pay attention to whomever had spoken my name. I assumed that it was only Anne returned to offer me sympathy, but at this point such an offer seemed just plain patronizing. I wasn’t in the mood for it. 

“Vince, hello? Wait! You just dropped, like, four books!” 

I paused a moment in my mute progress and, without turning, reached behind my back and blindly groped at it. The center zipper was not closed all the way. I had just sort of slung the pack over my shoulder, so no great wonder that a few things may have flown out in my rush. Normally, I would not have minded. The librarian always combs the classrooms and halls with laser precision for anything someone might have lost because, for all we know, it may be that one misplaced copy of _God Emperor of Dune_ that may contain the key to understanding all life in the universe. But given how much stress I was inflicting on myself, for the next few days, I would probably have wanted something to occupy my mind late at night, so I turned around. 

With my head still bowed a little, I mumbled a brief and rather gruff reply to—_DANIELLE!_ I gasped in shock and sucked in air so quickly that my inflated lungs forced my chest and head upward, and before I completely understood what was happening, there it was: eye contact. But, it didn’t make sense. I had missed her. I had seen her leaving minutes ago; she shouldn’t even have been on school grounds anymore! Yet there she was, standing at the base of the stairwell holding several hardbound copies of plays from the 1940’s, no longer in her volleyball uniform. 

That’s it—the uniform! She was changing, no wonder she was gone. Holy crap! How on earth could I have forgotten that? Waiting for her to change was all I could think about for the past hour and a half, and when I finally saw her in the halls, I had been so excited and nervous that I didn’t even think. I hadn’t seen her leaving; she had still been in her uniform! She, like I had done but moments before, must have needed to retrieve her own books from her locker…and now she was waving to me.

She was no longer in sports attire; all those clothes were slung haphazardly over her back inside a red and black sports bag. Neither was she in her outfit from earlier today. Now she wore a polyester aqua-blue top underneath a short, unbuttoned denim jacket. Gone were her Capri jeans and sneakers, in favor of a pair of yellow thong-sandals with two white daisies attached to the straps. Her footwear matched well with a rather tight and probably older pair of khaki hip-huggers that forced her lower paunch to bunch up and balance atop the straining white belt sash around her waist. Her top was likewise stretched so tightly that it was partially transparent, and it left exposed a thin crescent of skin at the bottom of the small torus of flesh around her middle. 

This sight alone was enough to stop me for a few moments, not including the fact that I was still stricken dumb by the idea that Danielle had actually found me and was offering to return a small collection of books to me.

_The silliest thing, really…I mean, if you’re one to appreciate irony then…Whoa there, duh, the books! Danielle! Books in hand, staring at me, staring at her! _

It took a moment to shake myself back to the present, and I lamented the loss of any second of this experience. I heaved my backpack from around my shoulder and onto the ground then spread open the pocket that was already ajar. Tentatively, I reached out to accept Danielle’s humble offering, my eyes never once falling from her face. She smiled sweetly, almost shyly as I took them. Her eyes twinkled, moist and fresh like her lily pink lips, parted in a thin, breathy mist through which glittered the faintest whisper of curved white teeth. The edges of my lips trembled with cold longing to press against hers and twitched in consternation that I held them back.

“Thanks,” I said. I delicately pressed my finger tips against the stack of plastic-bound covers and lifted them. Danielle’s tapered hand slid away with a sculpted grace, and once her offering had been released, it drifted, floating suspended in the air with her wrist angled and her fingers reflexively curled as if reaching timorously for something that she was afraid to grasp. 

“I’ve been…a little bit distracted all day,” I said.

Danielle’s hand dropped quickly to her side, snapping from a dreamscape into a stark reality. Her face remained bright, however, and she spoke in jubilant tones that inspired conversation. 

“Well then,” she inquit, “I guess that it was a good thing I was paying attention, or, I guess, that I was so slow in getting down here this afternoon.”

“Then I should be thanking you for that as well!” I beamed. 

“I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you’re heroic act of heroism. Why, I’d have absolutely nothing to do from now until July without these,” I said, weighing the books in my hands demonstratively. 

_Okay, new tactic here, considering how much like a loser with no friends or hobbies that last line made me look. I might actually try…being…_direct. _What do I have to lose? What’s the worst that could happen? She gets offended, stalks off, and gives me the cold shoulder for the rest of my natural life…that’s not too bad, right?_

“Oh, really? You don’t have anything planned for summer at all?” she asked. She shifted her weight to one foot and cocked back her head contemplatively.

“Plans? I haven’t got any, I just get up!”

She paused a moment with a puzzled look and flipped her head from the right side to the left, but then she formed her mouth into an “O” of realization. “Isn’t that from _&#8216;The Time of Your Life’_?” she asked.

“Ye-Yes! Yes, as a matter of fact it is! You know it?” I stammered, astonished.

“Yes, it’s alright, I knew that line sounded familiar. I think we read part of it in my drama class last year,” she explained pensively. 

“Personally,” she went on, “I couldn’t stand to have nothing to do for months at a time; it would drive me insane! That’s why I do so many extracurriculars all year. I just don’t know what I’d do with myself, otherwise.”

“So, then, you must have something planned for yourself all summer…right?” I asked, feeling my newfound hope quickly cooling off.

“Well, actually…” she trailed off and chuckled nervously. 

“You must think I’m such a hypocrite, but no, not really,” she said sheepishly. “And, to tell you the truth, I wish now that I had, but it’s probably way too late to make any long-term plans, at least not through the school.” 

She held up her open palms and shrugged. “Meh…I guess I’ll just bum around if nobody calls me to hang out.”

“You’re kidding me!” I exclaimed

“I—I…eee-_everyone_…ev-ver-ree-one. I’m sure _everyone_ would be happy to spend time with you,” I corrected myself. I had almost stated outright just how desperate I was for her attentions.

“Someone must be expecting all the ti—no, I mean looking forward to seeing you.” I smiled involuntarily out of sheer nerves. Danielle had one eyebrow raised in what seemed a queer salute to my awkward attempt at expression my admiration for her desirability, but I quickly realized it was merely puzzlement over what I meant to say.

Without altering her unusual expression she said, “But you don’t think that someone is going to try to call me tonight, then, do you?”

I was so momentarily concerned with answering her the way that she wanted that I was temporarily reduced to an idiot: “Sure,” I said, “why not? Or—okay, maybe not today, but what about tomorrow?”

As of 3:07 that afternoon, it is official: I have no tact. 

Danielle blinked at me strangely. “Tomorrow? What’s so special about tomorrow, Vince?” 

“Oh, well, I didn’t think—” 

“Why not today?” she cut me off. 

“I mean, today was really nice, wasn’t it? _Everyone_ did have a good time with _everyone else_ didn’t they? And didn’t you say that _everyone_ is always looking forward to spending time with me? So why _doesn’t_ everyone give me a call today?” she asked, leaning toward me with a curious gleam in her eye.

“Everyone?…t-today?” I stammered.

“Tonight.” 

“Then, perhaps…E-everyone…everyone who calls could see you this weekend?” 

“I don’t know. I guess everyone who calls me will have to wait to see if I have plans with anyone else. Maybe anyone who calls me tonight.”

Danielle’s eyes intensified fiercely of a sudden, and she held me with them until I understood her. I blinked at last, and the corners of my lips may have passed upwards into a willowy smile. Danielle pulled her face away and smiled at me, turned around abruptly, and walked down the hallway and out of the school without looking back once. A full minute after she had gone, I leaned down to pick up my books. Somehow, they had fallen out of my hands.


----------



## Wetsobem (Aug 31, 2009)

*Chapter 5 - Boob Tube*

The drive home from school seemed longer than it ever had. Admittedly, a small part of that feeling was because of a few missed highway exits and subsequent backtracking from a “minor” lack of concentration. In retrospect, I was lucky that I did not actually run anyone down. All that aside, time seemed to pass so slowly…. At one point I actually thought I should speed up the car just to make sure I hadn’t stalled on the highway.

I suppose that everyone has had that frame of mind: you aren’t really thinking about anything at all, but your woefully unguided thoughts won’t stop racing. I mean, you know that you are doing something—watching TV, cooking, or, in my case, driving—but you sort of just stare blankly into space, wanting to move or to think about something that you know you _should_ be thinking about—to do something that you know you should be doing—but you just, well…don’t.

My whole world was the arrhythmic passage of highway signs, trees, bushes, cars, more trees behind a few more signs…ad nauseam. Time better spent would have been used thinking, or better yet, planning about Danielle and the ominous phone call that loomed over the both of us. Try as I might, I just couldn’t shake the ridiculous notion that she was at that very moment sitting expectantly by her telephone, worrying and wasting away in anticipation. 

Yeah, I know, I know; I’m a little neurotic, but how can anyone be expected to be completely logical at a time like this? The very prospect—nay, the fate!—of a future relationship with Danielle had been lain upon me, and I was biting myself to the quick with anxiety.

I pulled into the garage under my house and went to the back door to let my dog inside after a long day of backyard loneliness. Kali wedged her nose into the door as soon as I had opened it but a crack, and she would have forced her way inside whether I was going to help her or not. She danced around me in the sort of pure canine glee that only a family dog can feel after her boy has returned from an eternity of school.

Her long straight white hair was matted almost comically into a limp knot that covered the right side of her body, a byproduct of sleeping on the back step for many hours. She stopped her gallivanting abruptly and looked at me eagerly through wet, brown eyes then, with her damp red tongue lolling out of her long, pointed jaw, she lowered her head and shook her body vigorously with a shiver that ran visibly from snout to tail. Kali squatted in a cocked position, then sprang toward me and pinned me against the side of my car then proceeded to lick my face mercilessly.

“Hey! All ri—Kali! Stop!” I warned her. She dropped to the floor dejectedly. I knew that she wasn’t really upset. Besides, I had a very important phone call to make—or at least some very important pre-call planning to undertake. I started to close the back door, but I paused and looked down at Kali again. She peered at me submissively through apologetic, soulful eyes, and…well, I _had_ been gone a lot lately…a little fetch never hurt anyone, did it?

I locked eyes with my dog and leaned toward her, building tension. She started to fidget and scratch her paw against the concrete garage floor. At last, when I was sure that she couldn’t stand it any longer, I spread my arms wide and shouted, “Let’s go play!”

Kali leapt into the air, pawing at the empty space in front of her and tossing her head in wild excitement. We both ran outside and I picked up her nearest chew toy.

_Aww, look at her, tail wagging, tongue lolling; she’s so excited over just as a little time chasing a squeaking ball around the yard._

Okay, so perhaps “a little time” might have turned into over half an hour. When I could no longer justify wasting time, I opened the door to the garage again, and Kali, about ready to pass out from exhaustion, staggered inside. She had succeeded in having a wonderful time. I had succeeded yet again in putting off the inevitable. 

A minute later, I slumped down into a chair in my room and turned on the television. I took a moment to glance at my wall clock before getting involved with the brightly flashing pictures before me. The sleek brushed, slowly turning metal hands pointed to 4:48, and the shadow the twin needles cast stood out boldly against a stark white background. It seems that it’s less and less often these days that I kick back and take the time to appreciate the sophistication of a simple, contemporary design, for instance, like I find in my wall clock. It fits in so well with the rest of my room’s décor: the brushed metal clock complements the unfinished woods and bold fabrics comprising my furniture, not to mention the austerity of sheer, roman shades drawn and… 4:52, right.

Mom would be home in a few minutes, and five is such an inconvenient time to call anyone, especially if your mother is going to walk in on a private conversation. It’s not as if my mother is an over involved parent. She doesn’t have to know where or what I happen to be doing every waking minute of every day, but her presence would at least make me feel uncomfortable. There are certain things I wouldn’t want her or Dad to know, and others I don’t want to get anyone else excited over…yet. I wonder what’s on TV….

And of course, there is never anything on. Thankfully the women on MTV have no sense of style; though, it works out well enough for me, and lord knows I needed a pick-me-up. Allow me to explain: for every svelte, skinny girl wearing a tiny babydoll clinging to her exposed clavicles, for each soft faced lady whose tank top falls just a few inches short of jeans that were designed to hug the waist, not hang on the hips; for each of those there are just as many whose mammoth mammaries are barely held in check by t-shirts that would be more appropriately classified as elastic, polyester films.

There is thankfully no shortage of exposed midriff or the piercing thereof in either specie’s case. For the former, the eyes may be inextricably drawn to a small glittering point of light from the cheap jewel adorning an otherwise unshapely figure, while the latter requires more involvement to enjoy. I must search intently within the cheaply tanned flesh of bobbing rolls and bellies protruding from jumping, crazed fans, all with the same shade of blonde highlighting. What I eventually find isn’t a glimmer of square-cut glass dangling from a short pendant—oh no, that had long since been swallowed by the sloshing amber waves in which they are suspended—but the shining clasp that binds it all to the vast masses of folded skin.

5:14, Mom pulled into the drive. We exchanged greetings between floors and she started defrosting a pork roast, whereby Kali’s loyalty quickly shifted downstairs to her owner with the meat. Following our brief exchange, I lost interest in watching the ditsy substitutes for Danielle on television.

So what could I do? Why did I need to do anything? I would have given anything to be in this position less than a day ago. Well, not this exact position…in last night’s dream, at least, I had some notion about what to do. It’s just too bad that the certainty, the unjustifiable confidence that even the most improbable circumstances make perfect sense, that everything has a logical consequence, even if the logic is engineered.

On a whim, and out of a lack of entertainment that moves, I turned to my school bag and began to riffle through it until I find one of the books Danielle had returned to me. One of the pages was bent back about half the length of the leaf, something that I know I didn’t do. I opened the book and turned to the creased page. Slipped cleverly into the binding I found a torn corner of loose-leaf paper with small, pointedly neat handwriting etched over it. Hmm…632-… 

I couldn’t believe what I had found. 

_Wow, that’s pretty slick._ I thought to myself. 

Very nineteen-eighties-standard, but I kind of like that brand of classic-moves. I suppose that I’m not the only one who can lay it on just a little thick when necessary. It seemed that Danielle had been leading _me_ on the entire time, that it had been I who had been stalked.

Still, I found that prospect somewhat unlikely, even if it was the most obvious. Albeit very limited, my experience with Danielle did not lead me to believe that she would have played coy with me. So, then again, perhaps the phone number was not so very coy after all.

I glanced over my shoulder reflexively. Mom was not going anywhere; time was not, for all that it seemed to me, moving any slower for my apathy; and I had half a tank of gas in my car. I descended the stairs into my living room with my cell phone in my pocket, car keys in my hand, and a watch on my wrist. Let’s roll.

“Hey, Mom? I’m going to go out for a little while,” I called from the door leading into the garage. 

“What, why? It’s after five,” she said, poking her head around the corner separating the living room from the kitchen. “I really don’t want you running everywhere at all times of the night,” she said. 

“Are you kidding? When have I ever done that before?” I accused.

_Well, I could have handled that just a little more smoothly, couldn’t I?_ my mind cautioned me. 

“Really?” she rebutted, crossing her arms. “How many times has your father found you coming home after midnight?” 

“You know I was only at Blake’s house,” I explained for what seemed like the thousandth time. “That is hardly &#8216;running everywhere at all hours of the night.’”

Mom brushed around outcropping and walked closer. She swiveled by me, turned around, and leaned with one hand against the side of our fluffy yellow couch; the other hand was mounted on her right hip. At her full height I am at least five inches taller, even with her shoulder length, brown hair fluffed up a bit as it was presently.

Despite the relative difference in height, I knew my mother could very well be imposing if she wanted to be. Her eyes were sharp and dark behind pointed, gold-framed glasses which rested weightlessly atop a smallish, round nose. She had warn those unique glasses for as long as I could remember, and I might not recognize my mother if she ever started to wear contacts. They seemed so integral to her features that, sometimes, I was almost positive that they actually bent and molded themselves to fit her expressions like a living extension of her face.

“Alright, fine, but what do you need to do so desperately that it couldn’t have been done on the way home?” she asked.

She was right without even knowing it. I should have either called Danielle straight away or I should be waiting until later tonight, but I had a powerful urge to get it over with now; else wise, I knew that I would just put it off forever.

“I…erm, I promised I would talk to someone,” I lied weakly.

“Well if that’s all, why can’t you just use a phone instead?” she said, standing upright again and walking back into the kitchen. I watched her return to the sink where she rinsed and then placed the freshly defrosted meat into the oven, practically having to beat Kali off with a stick in the process.

“I’m still sort of planning on it,” I mumbled through my teeth. 

Mom turned around in response to the murmur, “Hmm?” 

“What? Oh, nothing, it’s just that…it’s just as much _where_ as _what_ we’re going to talk about,” I said.

“Oh, but whe—” Mom sighed heavily, knowing that nothing she could say short of denying my request outright would get me to explain any further.

“Will you come right back after your important meeting? Vince, you know I’m making a roast tonight.”

“Yeah, of course right after I…meet them.” 

“Oh, wait, who did you say you were meet—” 

Too late, I had already closed the door, and to all her knowledge, I had no idea she had said the last part at all. And that was that. I had all the time in the world to put off something that I’ve based my life’s desires around for so long—years in fact. It has been years, hasn’t it? 

I’d been lusting after this particular girl for so long that you could practically call it “Danielle watching.” And what a time it has been! Her body has been a miracle in locomotion. The changes over the years were so gradual that, most of the time, I didn’t notice any change at all. Yet, every so often, like a surprise gift, I found some subtle difference to admire: the slow flow of her stomach into flab then into fat; the melding of her thighs into her butt….

It was freshman year, now that I think of it, the first time I laid eyes on her. I first saw her in the most impressionable of all places, gym class. She, and you wouldn’t ever guess this without my telling you, was definitely no more than one hundred twenty five pounds. She wore the mandatory two-inch shorts unique to those of the female persuasion—for the purpose of persuading males—under a comparably loose fitting dark gray t-shirt. From that point things would only get better. To be fair, she wasn’t perfect at first, but what is? Her stomach and thighs were only about the same width, the rectangular proportions that come from a fair amount of weight going on quickly, probably as recently as that summer, giving her a rather curve-less flair.

As time passed, her awkwardly bulging bulk puffed forward into one, uniformly-round mass and slowly migrated to rest around her waist, once again restoring the flaring curves of a classically beautiful woman, if not generously thicker in the thighs and belly. What’s more, in the passing of months and years, the steady stream of fatty padding pumping into her construction began to lay down almost everywhere at the same pace. The same exaggeratedly buxom form was held, but it expanded out in every direction. Her thighs spread front and back in unison, and her curiously athletic lifestyle kept them smooth and almost cellulite free. 

In fact, due to said activities, her entire body seemed to swell more than someone else’s of a similar weight; the layer of lean muscle below her fleshy extremities apparently helped to thrust out the quivering mass of lard that enveloped her, giving a softer and more rounded appearance overall.

As I’ve said before, Danielle’s butt was fairly huge. Wherever she walked, her burgeoning derriere bounced and jiggle enticingly, in constant motion until the moment she sat down. I sometimes wondered whether she had considerable trouble with the average school desk. Her meaty thighs and spherical mounds of ass-fat must wedge themselves uncomfortably tightly between the sides, bunching up into little rolls on the tops and bottoms of her legs….

Over the same period of time her chest inflated like a stop motion picture show. Firm lemons swelled to cushiony balls of adipose that now slosh and quiver as if filled with a thick liquid, both within and overflowing tight, busty tops. These round, fleshy tits rest atop her glory of all, a shapely belly that would put any other to shame. Her every mouthful seemed to begin and end in her cavernous gut, each time adding more and more deliciously soft fat to her large, rounded, rolling tummy.

Following her bust line, it spread outward in every possible direction like a dollop of molasses were poured into the mold that made her. Her sides melted into gooey, curving love handles that continue all the way around her front, forming her bouncy waist roll where it thickened in the middle; though prodigious, it was not quite able to mask the top of her crotch. Her handful-sides spread behind her pillowy back where all of her softness flowed downward in small bursts, barely missing the shelf of her continuingly wonderful ass cheeks.

7:18, and I had finally had enough. I pulled over and snapped myself out of my quiet, reminiscent euphoria.

Take a deep breath, I told myself. It did little to bestill my angry nerves. I pulled out my phone and started to dial.

_Wait, after seven is a little late isn’t it? She might think I’m a jerk if I’ve waited this long…of course, if I don’t call at all…and after all, she_ did _say “tonight,” didn’t she? Seven is night, right? No—no more of that! Just suck it up and push the buttons!_

…-4783 ... … … … 

“Hello?”


----------



## Britt Reid (May 25, 2011)

*Perspective*

My car seemed rather small lately. I don’t know, maybe it was just me, or at least the part of me that pressed up against the steering wheel, sloshing and gurgling and giving an occasional painful twinge that sent a quiver through my body. I pressed the flat of my hand into the middle of my stomach and rubbed gently in tight circles to quiet it.

_This is at least one thing I’ve gotten used to._

I reclined heavily in the driver’s seat. The pain is something else; it’s become routine, but it always hurts. It doesn’t get in my way anymore, though. Perhaps I’ve gotten used to it, too. 

Today, though, I may have overdone it a little. The experience wasn’t terrible by any means, and I wouldn’t have minded it at all, if I only knew where it had come from... 

“Ungh!” I grunted a little and I released the handle for the seat adjustment; it forced my paunch against my pant’s clasp, which I quickly unfastened, safely out of public sight for the moment. I expected an immediate wash of relief from unbuttoning my pants, another routine of mine, but none came. My gut rolled forward like it was supposed to, but it bunched up again immediately against my belt sash, which I had neglected to untie.

_Oh, this is just great!_

To my consternation, the pressure my belly put against the cloth had tightened the knot until the crinkled white material groaned, making it nearly impossible to untie. I pinched repeatedly at the straining knot and failed repeatedly to wedge my fingernails between the tight loops and pull open the tangled fabric. The belt was still looped through my pants, but in the small gap I had created by opening the fly the tense knot was still biting into the squishy flesh around my bellybutton. I grew frustrated quickly with the stubborn belt, and I became hot and anxious as the seconds ticked by in futility.

At length, I gave up on trying to work beneath the rubbery veil of my expanded tummy. I took a deep breath and held it, sucking in my gut as much as I could, which afforded me just enough room to rapidly wiggle a loop free from the knot and, at last, untie it. I felt a little surge as my pudgy belly unfurled completely. My relaxation was momentary, however. I hastily tugged down my shirt over what part of my stomach had been exposed. I had been in the car for a while already, and I did not want anyone to see me with my shirt up. I squirmed, readjusting my clothes and the seat position, then started the engine and drove away from school. 

As I was driving, I thought again about where it had come from, that little display of mine today.

“It was for Vince,” I muttered aloud. 

I’d actually known Vince for a long time before today…at least I had known _about_ him: his friends, his habits—everything I could learn about him—which, admittedly, was not much—secretly driven to figure him out not because of what I noticed about him but because of what I could not yet see. As much as I looked at him, his sea-green eyes and dark hair, his curiously tight and lean body for a non-athlete; for every glance I sent his way, he sent me back a furtive dozen. For the life of me, I couldn’t tell why. 

He always stared at me in what I’m sure _he_ thought was discretion, and he never tried to make eye contact. He would run his eyes over my body, my large, usually moving and jiggling curves and bulges, but he would walk right by without a word. After he was sure I wasn’t watching him, he always looked back at me. The odd part was that he had never once given any indication that he was disgusted with me, although people often find pleasure in studying the things that they hate and fear the most.

No, he couldn’t stare at me because he thought me ugly…but he was most certainly afraid of me, and _that_ was the silliest thing imaginable. He is surely afraid that every time he looked at me, I might look back with the same fear of him, the same fear that I want him but for some reason won’t go after him, exactly the way he hadn’t pursued me.…

He hates that he thinks that way—that much I could always tell—so I make sure he never thinks I see him. I guess you could say I humor him—isn’t that a terrible term for it? But it’s what I do. I look at him squarely in the face and smile, looking right through him to some imaginary other face. I know it sends him into a frenzy of excitement and tension, but a different kind of tension; a good one, a nervous one that goads him into action a little more each time. I say it’s silly that he should be afraid because, though he couldn’t know this, _I_ know that if he asked me practically anything I would say “yes,” which is why I halfway hope he will never ask.

I was almost glad that he didn’t ask me this afternoon. Almost. It would be too much, though, too good for the both of us….

Or I could be just imagining all of it. I like to imagine that I know what Vince is thinking—make-believe that I know him more than in fleeting glances. It all makes sense even if it isn’t true, but I can’t back any of it up. Still, I like to pretend. There is something for me to hold onto in that dream. It makes the whole sad situation more “romantic,” more beautiful and surreal, and much more interesting than the indifferent truth.

I think that is why I made the first move and also why he never even tried. We were both afraid of the same thing and never really admitted it to ourselves: he of something I still don’t completely understand, and I because I just couldn’t take it anymore. I’m too weak, that’s the problem, no wonder he never said any—No. Stop. I _don’t_ know that. 

I do know that I gave him what he wanted—gave it to him in abundance, and I was happy that I did; that’s why it hurt more than usual, and why I had to run away. I did it again at the game, moving more than necessary, practically waving my heavy curves in his face in the hope that he would be watching me. I’d never noticed him at any of our games before, which most likely meant that he had never been to one because in the auditorium today I couldn’t have missed him in the dark. He was the only spectator absolutely silent during the entire game. There was a special look on his face, like he had forgotten for just a few minutes why he was afraid, a passing realization that he really had nothing to fear in the first place. That’s how I knew what he really wanted…

_Me. _

When the game was over, some of the other girls on the team and I went to our school lockers to grab our books before going to the locker rooms. I had half expected to see him at the door screaming to get in, held back only by the resident campus policeman. Of course, he wasn’t really there. By hoping he would be, I was being even sillier than he would have been to think he could do something like breaking into the girls’ locker room. Then again, the voice of reason has never been my strongest voice. 

I looked around the room at all the girls changing, laughing, and ribbing each other for either losing or winning, whichever side they happened to be on at the time. I was laughing, too, and probably would have been lifted onto my side’s shoulders if they could have managed it, but of course they didn’t try. Once the other girls had all showered and departed, the fun and excitement of the day all but exhausted, and my excuses were all but gone, I stripped down. Only I and Charlotte Mays remained.

I showered right next to her. She didn’t look at me, but I looked at her. I ran my eyes over her sleek form, her wavy, dark blonde hair held behind her back in one hand as the other hand splashed water over her tall, glowing white face. Her button nose and hollow cheeks acted a spiteful foil to my own sharp beak and soft lines. I traced my eyes over her hip bones and pelvis under her concave navel, up and over her small, widely spaced breasts on her glass smooth chest. Her calves were almost as skinny as my upper arms, and her butt, nothing anyone could ever consider an “ass,” consisted of two symmetrical lumps growing from her thighs; on her they were like a pair of cosmetic tumors.

With my eyes closed, I looked away in disgust, the main reason Charlotte did not look at me anymore. Then I looked at myself. I held my sodden, black hair out of my eyes with my right hand and ran my left hand over my body in a cheap feign of washing without a cloth. I kept up the act though I knew that Charlotte was not looking. My moist palm slipped with ease over the arc of my belly: no bones to impede its progress. I slid my fingers under the weighty overhang made by my small gut, and I kept them there while working under and around the smooth, round love handles that bridged my belly to my ass. There was some cellulite on the back of my thighs, and my hand, though wet, pulled at the skin dimpled with fat as it slid down what length of my leg I could reach without bending. I recoiled my hand when I reached that point and turned off the water abruptly. Such a brief reminder was all I had needed, and I looked back to Charlotte with a grateful smile.

I walked out of the showers with a towel and dried myself. I meticulously worked the cloth over and under my bulges and curves, every movement lifting and jiggling my springy belly as it shifted side to side, quivering and billowing in and out with my shallow breaths. My breasts hopped and bounced gaily on their own, pendulous and sloshing with heavy fullness. My thighs did the least, held down by my always swaying and vibrating ass; they, like everything else, just pulled me in the direction of their motion, and my practiced resistance to tipping over from the constantly fluctuating momentum required the muscles in my legs to contract in small, quick waves. 

With my hair still damp and my skin moist with fresh steam pouring from the hidden showers, I stripped off my soaked bra and panties one at a time, each to be replaced by a dry pair that I always kept in my bag. I needed two pairs every time I went to practices and games.

I glanced at the lighter tan lines my negligee left on my sandy skin and frowned a little at their pale ugliness. I reached into my gym bag to retrieve what were probably the tightest clothes I still owned. The fabric stuck to my damp skin while I was stretching them over my body, forcing me to shake and pull them on one side at a time—I shifted my weight from foot to foot in a little stomping dance to assist in donning my pants, throwing my paunch upward and slamming it down with each tug. I slid a bright white sash through the belt loops with some difficulty and tied it, squeezing my belly over the waistline and pushing up the hem of my shirt. I quickly tugged it down in the front and back and breathed a sigh of both relief and fatigue.

I squeezed my arms into the sleeves of a tiny denim jacket then bent down to slip a pair of sandals over my plump—yes even those—feet. Bending over forced my shirt up my back yet again, exposing my creamy flesh halfway to my bra straps; I knew that I should let it be, but I couldn’t stand the exposure. I never wanted to feel that much cool air kissing my skin when someone was around to see it; my flesh was privately mine.

Charlotte finally left the shower and came out to see me fully clothed. She looked at me, and I at her, and she said with a knowing smile, “I’ll see you later, Danielle.”

We both smiled, and I walked out as she bent to change back into street clothes. After all these years, she was the one girl I knew who hardly called me “Dani.”

I hastily fled the locker room, pushing through the door with my head down. I saw Vince, then, practically dragging himself down the deserted hallway, dropping a slew of books out of his backpack without noticing. Without thinking, I rushed down the hall, practically bounding toward the fallen tomes. The gym bag slung over my back slapped me peevishly at every step. I snatched the books from the ground mid-stride and slipped a torn corner of paper into the pages of the book on top of the pile then bent the indicative page before closing the book. I had been carrying that paper with me for a good long while, in case I was ever too afraid to follow through with a decision like the one I had just forced myself into. I called out to Vince, but he paid no mind.

“Vince, hello?” I called again hopefully. 

“Wait! You just dropped, like, four books!” He turned around. 

I had been running up to meet him the entire time, and when he turned around it was the closest we had ever been to each other. My eyes were at his nose, so I didn’t have to look up; he was just a little short for a guy, but not very. Good. I didn’t need someone towering over me all the time.

I gave him the books and we had a terse, rather impersonal conversation. But then I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut about summer. At that point I didn’t care what I said to him, as long as it was said _to him_; I must have sounded like I was practically _begging_ him to ask me out. I was.

Then he said it; he said it stupidly like a little boy who had muddled his words in a preschool play, but he said it nonetheless:

“Tomorrow.” I knew that I just had to make it happen. 

“Tomorrow? Why tomorrow, Vince?…”

And on and on—he tried to interrupt, but if I let him, then “everyone” might not have followed through! 

“Hahaaaa! Hah ha, ah, that’s it, isn’t it?” I laughed aloud.

“That’s the whole reason I did any of it; it’s him alright! He makes me feel just like _I’m_ a nervous child…he was so much like a toddler himself, no cares, just the one thing he was ever afraid of!”

“Hunh,” I said, still chuckling, “I don’t think that either of us can be afraid now, at least, not tonight. I don’t know or care too much what he’s going to do until then, but I already know that he’ll call.”

I listened to the whir of the running motor and realized that I had been talking to myself. I closed my lips tightly and sighed through my nose. He would call. He had to.

On the way home, I stopped at a Burger King drive-through window, the only one in town and right on my route home; it was a stop I made every day. I wasn’t even hungry, but that didn’t matter—I usually wasn’t. I ordered a Whopper with cheese and a large Coke from the window attendant; I smiled at her dreamily, and she may very well have assumed I was drunk. She seemed like a nice lady, but then again, my own father would have seemed like a nice lady to me at the time. Everyone was a nice lady. Nothing mattered at all; I was…happy? It was odd to think that way again.

I drove away one-handed so that I could eat and drive at the same time. I wasn’t going home—I didn’t want to yet, so I just drove around town. Up hills, down them, passing street signs I’d never seen or read before. Somewhere along the way I tossed the empty hamburger wrapper on the floor of the car; I kept passing old and new buildings from law firms and lending offices that wouldn’t last the full year they leased the space.

Eventually I stopped on a little bluff called “Eagle Ridge” that overlooked the city. I had always thought it was funny that there were four places called Eagle Ridge in the county, and none of them looked even remotely like an eagle, nor were they real ridges, only places where hills had been cut away to make room for a highway.

I turned off the engine and listened to the radio. It was 5:43 according to my watch. I listened to rap and imagined the dancers rubbing their breasts up against the chest of a man with three gold teeth in his top jaw alone. I found a classical station and swayed with the evening music…hip-hop, and the car swayed with me. I finally settled on news: 

“Good evening…” the placid female announcer greeted me. “The time is now six PM, and you are listening to NPR: National…Public…Radio. Up next, the May 11, 2006 edition of Talk of the Nation….” 

There had been a hurricane last week, another few before that, too. There had just been an earthquake in South America, and the president was still a moron: nothing new. People from different ends of the continent bantered back and forth about nothing, yelling at someone that wouldn’t hear them for a fourth of a second. 

Suddenly, my phone rang, vibrating my squashed hips and making my belly quiver in its lowest region, just above my vagina; I let it go on ringing for a few more cycles, and though I felt nothing, I let myself pretend that I was being dirty. 

“Hello?” I answered as calmly as I could manage. 

To be honest, I hadn’t expected him so early. It was only a little after seven now, but as soon as I heard his voice, I knew I wouldn’t have been able to remember a scripted response, even if I had planned one. 

“Danielle! Hello, how are you?” There was a pause, and he mumbled something to himself away from the receiver that I couldn’t understand then coughed into the phone.

“Sorry…hey. This is Vince.” 

“I’m wonderful, Vince, and hello yourself,” I giggled into the phone. 

“Good, that’s really—yeah, good…anyway, I am calling in the hopes that I could ask you something this evening,” he said with even more nervously rehearsed eloquence than before. 

“Oh, really? Please, then, ask away,” I replied, playing coy over the phone but sweating a little in the driver’s seat.

He went on, like I hoped he would, as if we had never talked that afternoon—like I had never played dumb about our classes, or that he had tried to be indifferent to my presence; he pretended that it was all ordinary to him. 

“Yes, I was wondering if perhaps—if you don’t have a previous engagement—we could do something this Friday. Together.” 

“Friday?” I asked. “You mean tomorrow?” 

“Yes,” he said, “tomorrow.” 

“I’d love to. What exactly did you have in mind?” This was going perfectly, at least for me; I was positively giddy. 

“Well, I was thinking that maybe we could catch an early movie, you know, at the theater by the mall, and then go to a late dinner?” 

“A flick then dinner? Why that?”

Now why on earth did I just ask him that? I didn’t care what we did, not so long as we did it together. I quickly initiated recovery tactics.

“I mean—was there a specific movie you wanted to see?” That might do it.

“…Not…not in particular,” he said apologetically. “Was there one that you wanted—” 

I cut him off, trying to remedy the potentially halting situation as fast as I could. 

“Oh, no! No, never mind. It doesn’t matter, just curious is all!” I said loudly.

_I’m talking a little too fast…_

“Sounds great, really,” I added, trying to calm down the both of us.

“Oh, alright then…Er, wait, don’t you want to know which movie? And afterward…where we are going to…?” he asked, trailing off, as if he wanted me to finish for him. 

“Nope. You decide.” 

_It’ll be better that way. _

“Okay then! Great…! Oh, but I don’t exactly know how to find your place. Perhaps you could—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” I interrupted, half way laughing. “I’ll meet you at the theater tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow…at five, then?” 

“Vincent, it’s a date.”


----------



## Britt Reid (May 25, 2011)

*7- Friends, Indeed*

What do you mean you cant? Blake demanded. Several heads popped up from their trays of food at my friends sudden outburst.

I have something else to do tonight, I said with a toss of my head.

What? Andrew asked.

I have a thing, I said subversively.

Blake arched his brows skeptically. Dude, what could you possibly have to do that is more important than Xbox and a midnight McDonalds run? Just come over later!

I shook my head and shrugged. Sorry, but I dont know how long its going to take.

Blake furrowed his brow and set his thick lips in a childish pout. He crossed his arms and huffed loudly out of his nose, screwing up his face in a way that threatened tears; Andrew sniggered across the table at our friends antics. I rolled my eyes at both of them. Many years ago I had come to the realization that my two best friends were, in fact, complete idiots. Well-meaning idiots, yes, but idiots.

Blake slid his cafeteria tray aside and planted his elbows on the table in response to my obvious lack of compassion. He loudly scraped his chair across the floor, scooting closer and closer to me until his shoulder was firmly wedged against my side. He nuzzled his cheek against my shoulder in mock affection while Andrew could barely contain his spleen. The fair-complexioned Blake, a long, lean fellow who was considerably taller than me, draped his lanky arm over my shoulder and pawed lovingly at my left breast.

Aww, whats the matter? he cooed. Dont you love us anymore? We love you, Vince_I_ love youand I just thought that tonight maybe we could find outjust how _deeply_ that love _penetrates_whaddaya say? he finished, and a wide monkey-grin spread across his face.

Ive had better offers! I laughed, throwing him off of me.

Ooh, shot down! Andrew added.

Blake slumped back into his theatrical pout. 

Well, it looks like its just the two of us tonight, Andy, he said across the table, and youve got some pretty _big shoes_ to fill, if you know what I mean, he said to Andrew with a wink.

The round-faced, stocky Andrew cracked up again, and it was several laugher-filled seconds before he could fire back, Im more than you could handle, anyway, homo!

Dont you wish, quipped Blake with another mischievous wink.

Thats it, Im out, I stated. I collected my lunch tray and stood to leave.

Aww, you sure? Blake offered, tilting his chair back provocatively.

Like I said: Ive had better offers, I said, grinning to myself.

Never one to miss an innuendo, Blake caught on immediately. In a fluid rearrangement of spindly arms and legs, he rose from his chair and glided up beside me as I walked. 

Better offers, eh? he mused nonchalantly. How recent are we talking here?

Oh, recently enough, I smirked, proud in spite of myself.

Blake grinned broadly. 

Ahhh, so now its out! he exclaimed and clapped me across the back so hard that I almost dropped my tray. With the grace of a ballerina, Blake skipped in front of me and spread the fingertips of one hand across my chest to hold me in place. 

Sooooomebodys got himself a date. He punctuated the remark by lightly tapping the tip of my nose with a finger.

By that time, Andrew had reluctantly risen and caught up to us. Munching on the remnants of a chocolate cookie, he popped up behind me. Seriously? Cmon, dude: bros before hos!

Aghast, Blake spun between Andrew and me. He placed his broad palms on our friends shoulders and walked him a few paces off to the side. 

Andy, Andy! he scolded, We should be happy that Vinnies finally shopping around again! Besides, comments like that are what keep _you_, my friend, permanently off the market.

A tad confused, Andrew protested, Just yesterday you said I was priceless!

Yes, I explained, priceless in the sense of a museum piece: youre not worth anything on the open market because buying you would constitute a felony!

Blake guffawed, and Andrews face soured. Thats cold, he groused.

But true, Blake continued. No, nowe really oughtta be happy for little Vinnie! At long last, our prized stud has moved out to greener pastures after being penned up for too long. 

He paused, savoring his own wit, then turned to me. Sowhos the lucky filly?

I froze. _Danielle Naik_, I thought, but the name didnt come out. 

_Danielle Naik, Danielle Naik, Danielle Naik! Just say it! Say it, say it, SAY IT!_ 

But I couldnt say it. The words didnt even get as far as my throat to stick there. It was so odd! That Danielle was_bigger_ shouldnt mattershould it? But that was the first thing that came to mind when I thought about telling her name to Blake and Andrew. Shes Daniellenot Danielle the volleyball player, not Danielle the brown girlno, shes Danielle the chubby one. Just thinking about the soft lines of her waist, the wide, supple curves of her hips, the gentle, slow rhythm of her body when she breathed; it warmed my mind, but it also dominated my thoughts. 

Who cares, right? Shes more than just a body, after all, and Ive seen guys like me dating _much_ bigger women all the time; its just a common, ordinary thing these days. Well, alright, maybe those guys arent exactly like memostly they are a lot bigger than me themselves, at least the ones who dont stand out usually are.

I suddenly found myself in a tight spot. I had never really stopped to consider what my friends might think about my going on a date with Danielle. Would they see it as a lowered bar after last time? A pity date? That was so far off the mark it wasnt even funnybut what if they thought that anyway? I had been so diligent about hiding my feelings for her over the years that, to most people I know, they would seem to have popped out of the blue.

Andrew had always been a loud-mouth, and he was sure to have his fair share of questions and comments, though the situation might not click with him until he actually sees the two of us togetherassuming we even get that far! God, Im getting so far ahead of myself! Blake wouldnt say anythingnot at first, anywaybut even if he _never_ said anything, he would certainly _think_ things_loudly_. Blake tended to wear his thoughts on his face about as clearly as Andrew spewed them out his mouth, and I doubted he would approve. Blake liked his women the way he liked his own reflection: long, thin, and obsessed with staring at him. Andrew liked themwell, mostly Andrew tended to repeat whatever people said about things on television, which didnt bode well for me, either.

Anne was already keyed into the idea, but what about Evan? He really doesnt know me well enough go get involved, but there are a good number of people besides who do. Classmates who see us in the hallways, people in stores and parks, my own parents!

Ah, crap.

It all fell on me like an avalanche. I had never felt like this before. All over again, I was afraid to see Danielleno, now it was different; it was worseit was like I was afraid to <i>be seen</i> with her!

Well? Blake persisted.

What? I had been standing motionless for a while, and my two inquisitors were growing restless.

Oh! IIll tell you after I know how it went, I said and held my breath.

Blake cocked his head in contemplation, but to my relief concluded, Fair.

I breathed an inward sigh of relief. I hastily dumped the contents of my tray in the trash and made a terse farewell to my friends. I backed into the narrow hallway leading out of the cafeteria to make my nervous escape. I glided along the wall some distance before turning around just in time to avoid ramming into Charlotte Mays. We both stopped in our tracks, neither wanting to take the first step around the other.

My heart pounded even harder than before, and I felt a hot flush spread across my face. Charlotte frowned. There was a superior air in her expression, ripe with pity and revulsion; even after a stumble, Charlotte maintained the sort of frail elegance that she always carried about her. She tended to wear long, soft skirts, as she did today, and thin yet well fitted blouses. Her frame was slight enough that every empty fold of fabric draped over her skin seemed to hold a dark mystery. I, of course, knew the truth behind those secrets, but that dark knowledge did little to diminish the perfect symmetry of her face or the soft, straight lines of her light, sandy hair.

Charlotte, at last, shifted her feet and re-shouldered her backpack to a more comfortable position. These small movements, apparently, gave her the momentum to brush by me. 

Sorry, Vince, she murmured, her eyes pointed straight ahead and her chin level. I was too ashamed to say anything at all.

Crap.

***

Morning, Dani, Melissa greeted me as she slipped into the desk in front of me.

I started, caught in a daydream again. 

Morning, Mel, I mumbled, still staring off somewhere in my head, the sunlight from a nearby window reflected in my eyes.

Whats with you today? You seem so out of it! Ive been waving at you for, like, five minutes and you just looked right past me.

I turned to Melissa to reassure her that I was fine. In truth, I didnt really know what to say was on my mind. All morning Id been in class, but my head had always been off floating somewhere else. What was going to happen tonight? Will he choke up, or will he say the things to me that I want to hear? Will I make another spectacle of myself just so hell look at me even though, for the evening, Im already his?

I absentmindedly tugged down my shirt over the small of my back. Whenever I sit in these ridiculous desks, my hips squash out so much that my shirt always rides up off the waistband of my pants. Its so embarrassing to always pop out of my clothes every time I sit down! Even when it isnt riding up, Ive taken to tugging down the back of my shirt compulsively, just in case.

I pulled myself fully upright in my chair and leaned forward in an attempt to look more alert. Rearranging myself in the flip-top school desk felt like trying to turn over inside a small cage. It isnt as if Im anywhere close to being squeezed into these things, but the manufacturers seemed to have designed them with people Mels size or smaller in mind, not people like me. Not the person I am now. A few years ago, a desk like this would have given me room to send secretive text messages on my lap. Now, its a careful balancing act that keeps my boobs from grazing the desktop.

Mel smiled, but it was a wrinkled grin pasted over a face knit with concern. You sure, honey? Something hasnt happened again, has it?

I shook my head. Im fine, really. Justdistracted.

So whats his name, then? Mel asked with a flash of long, gummy teeth. I had to actively restrain myself from turning away; I could never stand to look at her when she made that face. It wasnt that Mel was unattractive; its just that all of her face projected forward toward the tip of her nose, pulling her top lip upward and her eyes inward to a point. She tended to wear her glossy red hair back in a long, tight ponytail, which dragged her forehead back as well. At just the right angle, especially when she smiled that way, Mel possessed the distinctive features of a rat. Right at that moment, I didnt wish for anything more than for a large, hungry cat to come prowling into the room.

Its not anything like that, yet, I said, safely. Its justsomeone Ive had my eye on for a while has finally taken an interest.

About time, I say, Mel concluded with a flip of her head. So what if youve grown up a bit since we started high school? Youre such a sweetheart, after all! And to think, you didnt even need a push to get yourself back out thereI honestly dont know how you ever kept the guys away for so long! I know that _I_ sure couldnt.

I smiled awkwardly; I didnt really have a good response. Sometimes, I wondered whether Mel really knew what she was really saying when she thought she was being complimentary. I tugged at the back of my shirt again, more violently than before.

Mels face suddenly brightened. Oh! Ill bet its Darren, isnt it! she speculated.

Isnt he dating Michelle?

So what? Travis was already with Sheila for seven months when he asked me out!

I grimaced internally. 

It isnt him, I said.

Mel propped her chin on her hand and gazed at the ceiling. 

Humphtoo bad, she pouted. I dont know how _anyone_ could do much better than him.

I didnt reply, and, gradually, my eyes wandered back across the room and out the window. What if everything goes wrong? But what if its wonderful?

An hour later, Mel nudged me in the shoulder. She was already standing; class was over. I must have looked startled; I hadnt even noticed the time passing, and Mel had probably been standing for some time waiting for me. Her face, now, was all compassion.

Youve really got yourself drawn out on this, dont you? she asked as I stood up.

I guess so, I said as I tugged my pants up to where they ought to have been.

I dont know why! Its not like hes asked you out already, is it?

I bent to pick up my books and said with a touch of pride, After tonight it will be.

Mel slapped my arm. 

Shut up! she shrieked. Oh, thats it: youre coming over right after school, and were going to dress you down to the last detailthe works! So whatre you doing, huh? Its not just another movie-dinner date is it?not that theres anything wrong with that!but _is_ it? You know when Travis and I went out, _he_ took me ice skating the first time, but all he did was fall on his ass the _whole time_, the big idiot 

She kept talking to herself, and I smiled as we walked out of the classroom.

I knew that it was best to just let her go on like that, but, secretly, I was grateful to have her with me later that afternoon. Mel did tend to have loose lips, but she also had a knack to picking up on the tiniest things that I would normally overlook when it came to makeup and hair. She could spend an hour describing the merits of taking more time preparing to look casual than to spend dressing up formally.

I was so invested in trying to keep up with Mels runaway thought-train that I didnt even notice Charlotte coming toward me until our shoulders had already collided, violently. She had been walking very quickly, flustered about something, but the severity of the jar shocked us both out of our own mental wanderings.

Oh! Im so sorry! I exclaimed as she stumbled; running into me had nearly knocked her wiry frame sprawling.

Its okay, sorry she mumbled without really paying attention. Without stopping, she shouldered her backpack and hurried on without a backward glance. I felt bad for running into her, but she looked so distracted that I doubt she really even noticed. Watching her round the corner into the next hall made me realize that moments like this would probably be the last that I would see of Charlotte for months. Our practices were over, and we didnt have any classes together, and I dont know how we would run into each otherpreferably not literallyover the summer. She was such a sweet girl, and spending time around her was like dancing in a sunbeambut no matter what I did or how much time passed, her presence would always be a torturous reminder of things that I would rather forget. No, perhaps it wouldnt be so bad to remain apart.

Dani!

I snapped back into the present to Mel craning her neck into my face.

Come on, she demanded, exasperated. Were going to be late for Spanish. Well deal with _you_ later!

I re-shouldered my backpack and followed Mel down hall. As we walked, I tugged down at the back of my shirt.


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