~BBW, Romance, Feeding, ~MWG – An exceptional young lady recruits her widower dad and friends in pursuit of a seemingly impossible dream
Chapter One
"Careful there, Deb, or you're going to be the fattest girl in the world."
*1 [Editors Note: Oh yes. This is a unique story in that it has footnotes to explain salient points. The author would have us believe it was because he was just too lazy to go back and work them into the narrative. We think he did it just to be different. In either case, the footnotes are appended to the end of the story (see post seven of this thread).]
"Yeah, right, Daddy." I grinned at my father, then scooped a huge spoonful of apple pie and ice cream into my mouth. Dad laughed; he was only teasing.
His latest Barbi glared her disapproval from across the table, but that was okay; I didn't approve of her, either. I don't even remember her name, but it didn't matter; they were all alike, tall and slender and buxom and hard and fake, so I just called them all Barbi. Some of them never even noticed.
Our family cook smiled as she cleared the table; she knew who appreciated her food! She had a job for life, as long as she kept cooking like this!
Okay, I'll admit it. I'm a big girl; I hit 300 lbs. before I started my Junior year in high school; It shows, too; I've got this big pillow of a belly that fills half my lap, and my breasts... well, they're big and soft, and they sort of lie on top of my belly when I'm sitting down. Big hips, of course, that goes with being a girl. Well, maybe not this big; they reach past both sides of my chair. So what? I think it's kind of kewl!
I know lots of girls don't feel that way. I'm always hearing the Barbi's whine about their weight, and the girls at school are almost as bad. I mean, it's so funny to hear someone half my weight complain how fat she is. Really? What does that make me? Don't answer that! At least I don't sit around and moan 'poor me, I'm so fat, no boy will ever ask me out!' To hear them speak, they sit home alone every Friday because they are soooo fat... like all the skinny girls go out every night with a different boy! I think not!
And they talk like the only point of living is to have a guy ask you out! Am I really going to let my happiness depend on what some guy decides to do? Get real! Not that I have anything against guys, of course. Far from it. It's not hard to attract a boy, if you are willing to put up with a jerk... which I am NOT.
No, it's finding a quality male that's difficult. My friend Angela could be a swimsuit model, her waist is like the size of my thigh, and not my upper thigh, either; even she ends up sitting home some nights. Okay, yeah, she gets asked out more than I do, but I'm not complaining. At least not as much as a lot of girls, anyway.
Sometimes it makes me mad, though. When I hear girls whine about their little tummy, I want to knock the diet soda out of their hand, grab their shoulders and shake them, and yell "Look at Warren over there! He's cute. He's smart! He's funny! And he'll never ask you out because he's terrified you'll say no. I'd love to date him, except he's my cousin. And if you don't like Warren, a quarter of the guys at this school are in the same boat. Instead of sitting here feeling sorry for yourself, get over there and ask him for help with your Chemistry homework. You'll both have a great time.... and honestly, your grades could use some help, too."
There are even some guys who like big girls too, you know? Even as big as I am. I know this guy, let's call him Roger. One time I sat in his lap, just as a joke, you know? And he liked it! I had been sitting there and I was getting worried; so I asked if I was too heavy, and he said it was nice! He told me I was heavy, but it didn't hurt at all because I was so soft! I guess so! Anyway, I could tell he liked it because I could feel.... anyway, he really liked it! I hang around with him, but I'm really looking for someone who can speak in complete sentences.
*2 (Editors Note: the author wants a time out here to explain he rationale for the high school setting – if you care about such things)
When I left the table, I was still thinking. Dad might have a point, even if he was just kidding. Come to think of it, that was my third helping of pie, and I've put on at least forty pounds in the past year. Not that I'm upset about that, but what if it keeps happening? Will I have to start watching what I eat? Not to get skinny, like that would ever happen! But will I have to cut back on what I eat just to stay the same size? It seems likely, unless I want to just keep getting bigger and bigger.
Somehow that thought stuck with me all evening; I couldn't get it out of my mind. Bigger and bigger? The fattest girl in the world? Ridiculous! I would have to be twice the size I am now... probably bigger! When I was watching TV with Dad I kept wondering how much of the couch I would fill up. That's when I realized I had just finished my second bowl of ice cream, on top of supper and all that pie. When I went to put the bowl in the dishwasher, I though 'why the heck not?' and got another!
“Maybe there’s something to thi.s” I began to think. .
Up in my room I couldn't stop thinking about getting larger and fatter. I undressed for bed and looked at myself in the mirror. Yes, I was fat, no doubt about that! And it looked pretty good, all smooth and round and soft. Soft? I realized I was gently kneading a handful of belly fat in one hand, and man, was I ever soft!. Roger was right. Soft and warm and really nice...this was getting weird!
Looking in the mirror, I tried to imagine myself larger. What would a hundred pounds do? With a shock, I realized I had probably gained a hundred pounds since puberty. Jeez! Maybe I had better cut back! Sometime soon, but not today. Well, not too soon... next year sounded better. Or maybe the year after that.
When I went to bed, I couldn't get to sleep. Fattest girl in the world? I mean, like HUGE?! How would I finish school? How would I work? Well, Dad's rich... he came up with a better way to make elbow joints for plastic water pipe... Big whoop!... unless you happen to be in the plumbing biz, in which case you pay Dad his first few million for the idea. So if I wanted to, I really could just sit around and be as fat as I wanted
And then I thought... right now, my career plans are writing or programming....not very active jobs. Hmm. This is crazy! Why am I even thinking about this?
But I didn't stop.
So I just laid there in bed, all hot and bothered, and I just had to reach down and touch myself, only usually I'm thinking about Brad, or some movie hunk, but now I was thinking about me! This was just too, too strange!
The next morning I went to school; in the hall I met Angela, (bikini model covergirl, remember her?) and Brad (star of many romantic dreams, and if you tell him I'll kill you!) All the girls ooh and ahh over Brad; he's perfect. Tall, handsome, muscular, top of his class, captain of the football team... he's even going to West Point! Isn't that just too much? He's not a person, he's a cliche!
Nice guy, but really serious. Too serious. Almost grim. Someday he'll die bravely winning a war or be the first person to land on Pluto or something like that. And maybe sometime he might even smile or crack a joke. Nah!
Brad usually goes out with Angela. Everyone assumes the two perfect people at school will naturally pair up. Not so, except by default. They are just good friends, but everyone is sure they are a couple.
Brad is probably saving himself for marriage. Angela, on the other hand, will have trouble saving herself for this afternoon. No, that's not fair, she really isn't like that... but she told me she once let Brad know she was interested, but his reaction was 'I'm flattered, but no, thank you.' Maybe he's gay? I've heard all the great guys are gay. Hmmm.
I had just met Roger and Angela when Roger came around the corner. "Hi, guys!." he called. He came over.
"Hi, uh, Deb," he grinned. That's just the way Roger is.
"Hi, uh, Roger," I teased.*
*3 [Editor's Note: Guess who Roger stands for? Our author wants to make sure you don't miss it.]
He doesn't mind. Well, I guess he doesn't mind; he's never said anything. Then the bell rang and I had to go to class; Calculus is usually fun, like a puzzle, and history is always boring, but that's because of the way Ms. Pergintine teaches. Today, though, I don't think I learned a thing; all I could think about was getting fatter and being huge. At lunch I gobbled my meal, stole Roger's dessert, and stared longingly at Angela's plate, which still held almost all of her food.
Angela was on one of rants... 'It's so difficult being a girl with a body like mine.'
No, she's not fishing for compliments; she does this all the time, and she means it.
"I didn't do anything to be this way; it's not anything I earned, but people all expect me to act a certain way and be a certain type of girl. I mean, I don't want people to think of me as just 'that girl with the big tits."
Here's a girl who could be a Barbi, if she only had half as many brains. She does have a point, but that doesn't stop me from being sarcastic, usually.
Today, though, I was distracted and let her ramble on, until she comes out with a comment like "It's such a burden to have breasts like these!"
We all just stared at her! I mean, they're big, but not that big! I never knew she could blush like that.
School was over, so it was time to do some serious research. As I drove home, I made plans. First, hit the Net; there should be stuff about fat women somewhere; I mean, you can find anything on the net. Probably mostly weight loss sites: "Here's how big I used to be and how I lost it all" Still, there should be pictures, stories, all sorts of information. I could always look at the diets and do the opposite.
Hmmm.... Just how big was the heaviest woman in the world,. anyway? 700 pounds? 800? How much did she eat? Could she walk? This is crazy... but I can't stop thinking about it!
At home I started up to my room, then made a detour by the kitchen; I needed some calories! I got a huge bowl of ice cream, over half a carton, then added a big bag of chips. 'Chips first,' I thought; 'Nice and salty, and by the time I finish them the ice cream will be all soft and gooshy.'
With greasy fingers I logged on and discovered a whole new world!
Here were women who made me look like Kate Moss! Women larger than me who posed ... well, I suppose you would have to call them dressed, but only technically. Sort of. Huge soft women who made little computer movies of themselves eating and rubbing their tummy and jiggling. Men who were begging for more pictures. I resolved to ask Dad for a digital camera for Christmas. No, for my birthday; I didn't get anyone prosecuted for being a pedophile. I mean, I know I'm mature and have good judgment (most of the time, anyway) but how would the law know?
I learned a new vocabulary, too. I already knew I was a "BBW", or maybe a "BBT", a Big Beautiful Teen. If I put on a few more pounds, I'll be "supersize". Any guy who was attracted to me would be, in my own opinion, a "Man of Good Taste". If he was attracted mainly because I was fat, though, he would be an "FA", or Fat admirer. Sounds like the same thing to me. I had suspected as much... bodies come in all shapes and sizes; doesn't it make sense that someone would be attracted to each and every type?
Here was something strange... A lot of women on BBW boards and chat lines complain about guys who are turned on by their fat. Excuse me?A man thinks you are beautiful and this is a problem? Not me! Oh, I guess I wouldn't want a guy whose only interest in me was my fat any more than Angela would want a guy who only cared about her boobs. Still, any applicant for the position of "Deb's Serious Boyfriend" had better be totally wild about my body, and that means attracted to fat.
I read more and started to find out the crowd I really belonged to. Some people really get into gaining weight or seeing someone else gain. Bingo! If a guy helped me gain, encouraged me to eat and told me how he loved me getting fatter, he would be a "Feeder". That sounded interesting.. I need one of those! Let's see.. If I gain, then I would be a "Feedee". I don't like that term... it sounds so passive, like I just receive food someone gives me. I need something more aggressive, like 'I'm going to stuff this body and make it grow'. There doesn't seem to be word for that... maybe I can come up with one?
I also found the word "immobile," meaning too heavy to walk or maybe even stand up. Did I want that? With a shock I realized that instead of a resounding NEVER! in my mind I was actually wondering what it would be like and how I could make it more pleasant.
I found Rosalie Bradford. She's the Guinness Book record holder for heaviest woman, at an estimated 1200 pounds. That's four of me! WOW! But she wasn't happy that size, so she lost it all. I could see that; what's the point of being something you don't enjoy? World record super-fat size should be reserved for people who get a thrill out of it. Like me? Maybe.
There were a couple of pictures there, but they weren't very good. I mean, I could see she was huge, but it was impossible to tell anything about her shape I looked down at myself. Four times the weight....
From downstairs I heard a guitar; that meant Dad was home. I had to talk this over with him, at least a little, so I pushed my fat thoughts aside and went downstairs.
*4 [Editor's Note: our author’s ruminations about what literary type Dad is. It may expand your literary vocabulary if you go look at it.]
I found him doodling, writing a song. He's really good... I mean, like a pro. I walked up behind and listened a few minutes, and when he paused I cleared my throat.
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"Suppose a person wants to do something everyone else thinks is crazy? Something other people would think was weird, or unpopular, but you really think you might want to try."
"Why should you care what other people think? Don't even think of changing yourself to be popular." He really meant it.
"It's not about being popular, really... It's more like everyone would think this was a huge mistake"
"I take it this person is you?" I nodded. "And what are you thinking about doing?"
I shook my head. "Maybe nothing... I'm not sure. I'll tell you when I decide."
Dad frowned, then shrugged. "I'll trust your good judgment, Honey." Have I got a great Dad, or what?
He looked down at the guitar in his hands, played a few notes and put it aside.
"Let me tell you a story. When I was in college, just a serious, straight-A engineering nerd, I was in a band. Not one you've ever heard of, but we were pretty good. And during my Junior year we got an offer to cut a record, plus be an opening act for some really big name groups. So I had to decide... did I want to go off and maybe become a rich and famous rock star, or did I want to finish school? You can guess what kind of advice I got, too, from my family, my professors, and all my friends around the engineering school. They said I had a great future, and I was going to throw it all away for a shot at some improbable dream."
"And you decided to do the smart thing and stay in school."
"Nope!" He grinned. "I dropped out and we started touring the Midwest. A different town every night... Booze, drugs, girls...I was never into the drug thing, though."
Huh? Dad!? My Dad?
"And you didn't like it?"
He burst out laughing. "I loved it! A party every night, the girls.... Deb, this was the 80's... after 'the pill' and before anyone worried about HIV. And the music, and the crowds..." His voice trailed off. Dad?
"So what happened?"
"We stunk. Well, not really...the crowds loved us, but our album didn't sell and our label dropped us like a hot rock. After a year we broke up, and then I went back to school. Sure, I was a year behind, but I'm glad I did it. If I hadn't, I would have kicked myself about it my whole life."
I thought a moment. "So you're saying go for it?"
"I'm saying there are only a few things you can't change your mind and back away from. Most decisions don't have to be permanent. Is yours?"
"Maybe not..." Could I gain all this weight, then lose it?? That would be a heck of a diet! But it was possible, at least in theory.
"Deb? Before you do anything serious, talk to me, okay? And don't assume my answer will be an automatic 'No'"
"Okay, Dad."
"Oh... I've got a date coming over for supper, and then we're going out. Be nice, okay?" Another Barbie after Dad's money. Great.
"Okay. I'll be good." I resolved to be really nice, no matter what.
"And don't call her Barbie."
"Okay... what's her name?" I guess they have names...
"Susie"
"S-U-Z-I ?" I spelled.
"Yeah.... how did you know?" He gave a resigned smile. Why did he date these bimbos? He didn't know himself.
At supper, I was perfectly gracious. Really. Why do you doubt me? I greeted her at the door, and suffered her inspection in silence. I did my own inspection as well, just to see if she was up to specs: Five seven. Thin, thin, thin, with big stiff hair. Big stiff boobs, too. Perfect clothes. I'll bet she has a whole Malibu Playhouse full of perfect clothes. I led her to the living room and left her alone with Dad.
Supper was a tiring experience. This woman watched every bite I put in my mouth, keeping a running calorie count. She chattered away about nothing in particular, taking inventory of the dining room and trying to estimate Dad's net worth.
"Is everyone done with dessert?" our cook said, clearing dishes away.
"Why, you haven't touched yours!" she chided Barbi... I mean Suzi. For supper she had unsweetened tea, two kernels of corn, and a sprig of parsley.
"Could I have another?" I asked.
"Certainly," our cook answered.
Suzi scowled, but Dad didn't notice.
"Go ahead, it's really good!" I enthused. If she would only taste it, she might like it.
"No, thank you." She gave a hard, tight lipped smile. "I'm afraid if I ate like you, it wouldn't be too long until I started to...."
This time Dad noticed, and the temperature dropped like fifty degrees. "Before we go, let me check in with the plant."
He picked up the phone. "Bad news... I have to go check on something. I'll have to ask you for a rain check for tonight. Can I drop you off?"
"No, thanks.... I'll call a cab." That's a good thing about Barbis; they know when to cut their losses and move on.
Ten minutes later she was gone, and Dad was conspicuously not going to the plant.
"Sorry Dad. I really was trying to be nice."
"You were. Not your fault.... this time."
He went into his studio, and I heard his guitar again; sad stuff this time, the songs he played when he was thinking of Mom. She passed away when I was little.
Fattest Girl in the World
by Click
[Another migrated classic novella from the Dimension’s Weight Room]
by Click
[Another migrated classic novella from the Dimension’s Weight Room]
Chapter One
"Careful there, Deb, or you're going to be the fattest girl in the world."
*1 [Editors Note: Oh yes. This is a unique story in that it has footnotes to explain salient points. The author would have us believe it was because he was just too lazy to go back and work them into the narrative. We think he did it just to be different. In either case, the footnotes are appended to the end of the story (see post seven of this thread).]
"Yeah, right, Daddy." I grinned at my father, then scooped a huge spoonful of apple pie and ice cream into my mouth. Dad laughed; he was only teasing.
His latest Barbi glared her disapproval from across the table, but that was okay; I didn't approve of her, either. I don't even remember her name, but it didn't matter; they were all alike, tall and slender and buxom and hard and fake, so I just called them all Barbi. Some of them never even noticed.
Our family cook smiled as she cleared the table; she knew who appreciated her food! She had a job for life, as long as she kept cooking like this!
Okay, I'll admit it. I'm a big girl; I hit 300 lbs. before I started my Junior year in high school; It shows, too; I've got this big pillow of a belly that fills half my lap, and my breasts... well, they're big and soft, and they sort of lie on top of my belly when I'm sitting down. Big hips, of course, that goes with being a girl. Well, maybe not this big; they reach past both sides of my chair. So what? I think it's kind of kewl!
I know lots of girls don't feel that way. I'm always hearing the Barbi's whine about their weight, and the girls at school are almost as bad. I mean, it's so funny to hear someone half my weight complain how fat she is. Really? What does that make me? Don't answer that! At least I don't sit around and moan 'poor me, I'm so fat, no boy will ever ask me out!' To hear them speak, they sit home alone every Friday because they are soooo fat... like all the skinny girls go out every night with a different boy! I think not!
And they talk like the only point of living is to have a guy ask you out! Am I really going to let my happiness depend on what some guy decides to do? Get real! Not that I have anything against guys, of course. Far from it. It's not hard to attract a boy, if you are willing to put up with a jerk... which I am NOT.
No, it's finding a quality male that's difficult. My friend Angela could be a swimsuit model, her waist is like the size of my thigh, and not my upper thigh, either; even she ends up sitting home some nights. Okay, yeah, she gets asked out more than I do, but I'm not complaining. At least not as much as a lot of girls, anyway.
Sometimes it makes me mad, though. When I hear girls whine about their little tummy, I want to knock the diet soda out of their hand, grab their shoulders and shake them, and yell "Look at Warren over there! He's cute. He's smart! He's funny! And he'll never ask you out because he's terrified you'll say no. I'd love to date him, except he's my cousin. And if you don't like Warren, a quarter of the guys at this school are in the same boat. Instead of sitting here feeling sorry for yourself, get over there and ask him for help with your Chemistry homework. You'll both have a great time.... and honestly, your grades could use some help, too."
There are even some guys who like big girls too, you know? Even as big as I am. I know this guy, let's call him Roger. One time I sat in his lap, just as a joke, you know? And he liked it! I had been sitting there and I was getting worried; so I asked if I was too heavy, and he said it was nice! He told me I was heavy, but it didn't hurt at all because I was so soft! I guess so! Anyway, I could tell he liked it because I could feel.... anyway, he really liked it! I hang around with him, but I'm really looking for someone who can speak in complete sentences.
*2 (Editors Note: the author wants a time out here to explain he rationale for the high school setting – if you care about such things)
When I left the table, I was still thinking. Dad might have a point, even if he was just kidding. Come to think of it, that was my third helping of pie, and I've put on at least forty pounds in the past year. Not that I'm upset about that, but what if it keeps happening? Will I have to start watching what I eat? Not to get skinny, like that would ever happen! But will I have to cut back on what I eat just to stay the same size? It seems likely, unless I want to just keep getting bigger and bigger.
Somehow that thought stuck with me all evening; I couldn't get it out of my mind. Bigger and bigger? The fattest girl in the world? Ridiculous! I would have to be twice the size I am now... probably bigger! When I was watching TV with Dad I kept wondering how much of the couch I would fill up. That's when I realized I had just finished my second bowl of ice cream, on top of supper and all that pie. When I went to put the bowl in the dishwasher, I though 'why the heck not?' and got another!
“Maybe there’s something to thi.s” I began to think. .
Up in my room I couldn't stop thinking about getting larger and fatter. I undressed for bed and looked at myself in the mirror. Yes, I was fat, no doubt about that! And it looked pretty good, all smooth and round and soft. Soft? I realized I was gently kneading a handful of belly fat in one hand, and man, was I ever soft!. Roger was right. Soft and warm and really nice...this was getting weird!
Looking in the mirror, I tried to imagine myself larger. What would a hundred pounds do? With a shock, I realized I had probably gained a hundred pounds since puberty. Jeez! Maybe I had better cut back! Sometime soon, but not today. Well, not too soon... next year sounded better. Or maybe the year after that.
When I went to bed, I couldn't get to sleep. Fattest girl in the world? I mean, like HUGE?! How would I finish school? How would I work? Well, Dad's rich... he came up with a better way to make elbow joints for plastic water pipe... Big whoop!... unless you happen to be in the plumbing biz, in which case you pay Dad his first few million for the idea. So if I wanted to, I really could just sit around and be as fat as I wanted
And then I thought... right now, my career plans are writing or programming....not very active jobs. Hmm. This is crazy! Why am I even thinking about this?
But I didn't stop.
So I just laid there in bed, all hot and bothered, and I just had to reach down and touch myself, only usually I'm thinking about Brad, or some movie hunk, but now I was thinking about me! This was just too, too strange!
The next morning I went to school; in the hall I met Angela, (bikini model covergirl, remember her?) and Brad (star of many romantic dreams, and if you tell him I'll kill you!) All the girls ooh and ahh over Brad; he's perfect. Tall, handsome, muscular, top of his class, captain of the football team... he's even going to West Point! Isn't that just too much? He's not a person, he's a cliche!
Nice guy, but really serious. Too serious. Almost grim. Someday he'll die bravely winning a war or be the first person to land on Pluto or something like that. And maybe sometime he might even smile or crack a joke. Nah!
Brad usually goes out with Angela. Everyone assumes the two perfect people at school will naturally pair up. Not so, except by default. They are just good friends, but everyone is sure they are a couple.
Brad is probably saving himself for marriage. Angela, on the other hand, will have trouble saving herself for this afternoon. No, that's not fair, she really isn't like that... but she told me she once let Brad know she was interested, but his reaction was 'I'm flattered, but no, thank you.' Maybe he's gay? I've heard all the great guys are gay. Hmmm.
I had just met Roger and Angela when Roger came around the corner. "Hi, guys!." he called. He came over.
"Hi, uh, Deb," he grinned. That's just the way Roger is.
"Hi, uh, Roger," I teased.*
*3 [Editor's Note: Guess who Roger stands for? Our author wants to make sure you don't miss it.]
He doesn't mind. Well, I guess he doesn't mind; he's never said anything. Then the bell rang and I had to go to class; Calculus is usually fun, like a puzzle, and history is always boring, but that's because of the way Ms. Pergintine teaches. Today, though, I don't think I learned a thing; all I could think about was getting fatter and being huge. At lunch I gobbled my meal, stole Roger's dessert, and stared longingly at Angela's plate, which still held almost all of her food.
Angela was on one of rants... 'It's so difficult being a girl with a body like mine.'
No, she's not fishing for compliments; she does this all the time, and she means it.
"I didn't do anything to be this way; it's not anything I earned, but people all expect me to act a certain way and be a certain type of girl. I mean, I don't want people to think of me as just 'that girl with the big tits."
Here's a girl who could be a Barbi, if she only had half as many brains. She does have a point, but that doesn't stop me from being sarcastic, usually.
Today, though, I was distracted and let her ramble on, until she comes out with a comment like "It's such a burden to have breasts like these!"
We all just stared at her! I mean, they're big, but not that big! I never knew she could blush like that.
School was over, so it was time to do some serious research. As I drove home, I made plans. First, hit the Net; there should be stuff about fat women somewhere; I mean, you can find anything on the net. Probably mostly weight loss sites: "Here's how big I used to be and how I lost it all" Still, there should be pictures, stories, all sorts of information. I could always look at the diets and do the opposite.
Hmmm.... Just how big was the heaviest woman in the world,. anyway? 700 pounds? 800? How much did she eat? Could she walk? This is crazy... but I can't stop thinking about it!
At home I started up to my room, then made a detour by the kitchen; I needed some calories! I got a huge bowl of ice cream, over half a carton, then added a big bag of chips. 'Chips first,' I thought; 'Nice and salty, and by the time I finish them the ice cream will be all soft and gooshy.'
With greasy fingers I logged on and discovered a whole new world!
Here were women who made me look like Kate Moss! Women larger than me who posed ... well, I suppose you would have to call them dressed, but only technically. Sort of. Huge soft women who made little computer movies of themselves eating and rubbing their tummy and jiggling. Men who were begging for more pictures. I resolved to ask Dad for a digital camera for Christmas. No, for my birthday; I didn't get anyone prosecuted for being a pedophile. I mean, I know I'm mature and have good judgment (most of the time, anyway) but how would the law know?
I learned a new vocabulary, too. I already knew I was a "BBW", or maybe a "BBT", a Big Beautiful Teen. If I put on a few more pounds, I'll be "supersize". Any guy who was attracted to me would be, in my own opinion, a "Man of Good Taste". If he was attracted mainly because I was fat, though, he would be an "FA", or Fat admirer. Sounds like the same thing to me. I had suspected as much... bodies come in all shapes and sizes; doesn't it make sense that someone would be attracted to each and every type?
Here was something strange... A lot of women on BBW boards and chat lines complain about guys who are turned on by their fat. Excuse me?A man thinks you are beautiful and this is a problem? Not me! Oh, I guess I wouldn't want a guy whose only interest in me was my fat any more than Angela would want a guy who only cared about her boobs. Still, any applicant for the position of "Deb's Serious Boyfriend" had better be totally wild about my body, and that means attracted to fat.
I read more and started to find out the crowd I really belonged to. Some people really get into gaining weight or seeing someone else gain. Bingo! If a guy helped me gain, encouraged me to eat and told me how he loved me getting fatter, he would be a "Feeder". That sounded interesting.. I need one of those! Let's see.. If I gain, then I would be a "Feedee". I don't like that term... it sounds so passive, like I just receive food someone gives me. I need something more aggressive, like 'I'm going to stuff this body and make it grow'. There doesn't seem to be word for that... maybe I can come up with one?
I also found the word "immobile," meaning too heavy to walk or maybe even stand up. Did I want that? With a shock I realized that instead of a resounding NEVER! in my mind I was actually wondering what it would be like and how I could make it more pleasant.
I found Rosalie Bradford. She's the Guinness Book record holder for heaviest woman, at an estimated 1200 pounds. That's four of me! WOW! But she wasn't happy that size, so she lost it all. I could see that; what's the point of being something you don't enjoy? World record super-fat size should be reserved for people who get a thrill out of it. Like me? Maybe.
There were a couple of pictures there, but they weren't very good. I mean, I could see she was huge, but it was impossible to tell anything about her shape I looked down at myself. Four times the weight....
From downstairs I heard a guitar; that meant Dad was home. I had to talk this over with him, at least a little, so I pushed my fat thoughts aside and went downstairs.
*4 [Editor's Note: our author’s ruminations about what literary type Dad is. It may expand your literary vocabulary if you go look at it.]
I found him doodling, writing a song. He's really good... I mean, like a pro. I walked up behind and listened a few minutes, and when he paused I cleared my throat.
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"Suppose a person wants to do something everyone else thinks is crazy? Something other people would think was weird, or unpopular, but you really think you might want to try."
"Why should you care what other people think? Don't even think of changing yourself to be popular." He really meant it.
"It's not about being popular, really... It's more like everyone would think this was a huge mistake"
"I take it this person is you?" I nodded. "And what are you thinking about doing?"
I shook my head. "Maybe nothing... I'm not sure. I'll tell you when I decide."
Dad frowned, then shrugged. "I'll trust your good judgment, Honey." Have I got a great Dad, or what?
He looked down at the guitar in his hands, played a few notes and put it aside.
"Let me tell you a story. When I was in college, just a serious, straight-A engineering nerd, I was in a band. Not one you've ever heard of, but we were pretty good. And during my Junior year we got an offer to cut a record, plus be an opening act for some really big name groups. So I had to decide... did I want to go off and maybe become a rich and famous rock star, or did I want to finish school? You can guess what kind of advice I got, too, from my family, my professors, and all my friends around the engineering school. They said I had a great future, and I was going to throw it all away for a shot at some improbable dream."
"And you decided to do the smart thing and stay in school."
"Nope!" He grinned. "I dropped out and we started touring the Midwest. A different town every night... Booze, drugs, girls...I was never into the drug thing, though."
Huh? Dad!? My Dad?
"And you didn't like it?"
He burst out laughing. "I loved it! A party every night, the girls.... Deb, this was the 80's... after 'the pill' and before anyone worried about HIV. And the music, and the crowds..." His voice trailed off. Dad?
"So what happened?"
"We stunk. Well, not really...the crowds loved us, but our album didn't sell and our label dropped us like a hot rock. After a year we broke up, and then I went back to school. Sure, I was a year behind, but I'm glad I did it. If I hadn't, I would have kicked myself about it my whole life."
I thought a moment. "So you're saying go for it?"
"I'm saying there are only a few things you can't change your mind and back away from. Most decisions don't have to be permanent. Is yours?"
"Maybe not..." Could I gain all this weight, then lose it?? That would be a heck of a diet! But it was possible, at least in theory.
"Deb? Before you do anything serious, talk to me, okay? And don't assume my answer will be an automatic 'No'"
"Okay, Dad."
"Oh... I've got a date coming over for supper, and then we're going out. Be nice, okay?" Another Barbie after Dad's money. Great.
"Okay. I'll be good." I resolved to be really nice, no matter what.
"And don't call her Barbie."
"Okay... what's her name?" I guess they have names...
"Susie"
"S-U-Z-I ?" I spelled.
"Yeah.... how did you know?" He gave a resigned smile. Why did he date these bimbos? He didn't know himself.
At supper, I was perfectly gracious. Really. Why do you doubt me? I greeted her at the door, and suffered her inspection in silence. I did my own inspection as well, just to see if she was up to specs: Five seven. Thin, thin, thin, with big stiff hair. Big stiff boobs, too. Perfect clothes. I'll bet she has a whole Malibu Playhouse full of perfect clothes. I led her to the living room and left her alone with Dad.
Supper was a tiring experience. This woman watched every bite I put in my mouth, keeping a running calorie count. She chattered away about nothing in particular, taking inventory of the dining room and trying to estimate Dad's net worth.
"Is everyone done with dessert?" our cook said, clearing dishes away.
"Why, you haven't touched yours!" she chided Barbi... I mean Suzi. For supper she had unsweetened tea, two kernels of corn, and a sprig of parsley.
"Could I have another?" I asked.
"Certainly," our cook answered.
Suzi scowled, but Dad didn't notice.
"Go ahead, it's really good!" I enthused. If she would only taste it, she might like it.
"No, thank you." She gave a hard, tight lipped smile. "I'm afraid if I ate like you, it wouldn't be too long until I started to...."
This time Dad noticed, and the temperature dropped like fifty degrees. "Before we go, let me check in with the plant."
He picked up the phone. "Bad news... I have to go check on something. I'll have to ask you for a rain check for tonight. Can I drop you off?"
"No, thanks.... I'll call a cab." That's a good thing about Barbis; they know when to cut their losses and move on.
Ten minutes later she was gone, and Dad was conspicuously not going to the plant.
"Sorry Dad. I really was trying to be nice."
"You were. Not your fault.... this time."
He went into his studio, and I heard his guitar again; sad stuff this time, the songs he played when he was thinking of Mom. She passed away when I was little.
