~BBW, Realistic, mild sex, ~SWG - - time and patience makes a dream into reality
Part One
The day that exercise bike moved into our house seemed like a most unlikely turning point. A fat admirer bringing home exercise equipment for his wife should be the very antithesis of the desired outcome. However, it was demanded, and for those who are married and have any hope to remain that way, demands will be met.
When I met her we were both juniors in college and randomly thrown together in a study abroad program. She was a knockout. Her jet black hair and olive skin made the Mediterranean locals think she was a native. Distinctly short, not quite five feet, but you never saw her in anything less than four inch heels. She even had this weird pair of beach sandals that had at least three inch lifts on them.
She had worked the previous summer at a Club Med, and she laughed as she revealed that the staff had nicknamed her “Miss Wonderbra” in recognition of the way her beautiful, round, B-size breasts so prominently filled the slinky costumes during the evening spectaculars in which all the staff participated. Despite her wondrous breasts and many other titillating features, it was the face that truly astonished.
You know how Hollywood runs through so many actresses and yet so few seem to ever stick around? They are certainly beautiful enough in that generic sort of way, but almost purposefully not dramatically beautiful in a way that might distract you from the explosions, inane dialogue, and product placement. My wife was that dramatic beauty, a beauty that interested you, a beauty that uniformly made males stop in their tracks and look inquiringly into her face searching for the source of that beauty. It was her nose.
Yes, she had the requisite luscious lips, high cheekbones, and doey eyes that you expected in an attractive female, but the nose was large. It was long. It protruded with defiance. Yet somehow, someway, it melded perfectly into her face and into the hearts of males everywhere. Hers was the face that was not merely beautiful, it was beautiful and different.
I pride myself on being able to make honest assessments. To the chagrin of fat admirers, if there is only one thing you could say about a woman who attracts an extraordinary amount of male attention, it would be that she is not fat. And she was not. At the time we met, she weighed 103 pounds, and that is exactly what you would have guessed had you seen her.
She had a wonderfully curvy body in spite of her slight weight. A cute butt, soft arms, and thighs that, if they didn’t jiggle even remotely enough to make me pant, at least made me pay attention.
She was truly a sight on those Mediterranean beaches. She tanned in a day, and the deep golden patina lasted for many months after the passing of seasons had long since driven us indoors.
So why the heck was she interested in me? I was Midwestern nobody with only two years of college and the dim glow of a suburban upbringing to restrain me from being an out-and-out redneck. She was East Coast sophisticate with a World’s worth of experience that I couldn’t even imagine. I was abroad struggling with my second language, she was polishing her sixth. She was the effortless socialite, the flirt, the tease. She appeared to have her pick of any of the dozens of men who regularly prostrated themselves before her. Yet she gravitated towards me almost from the day she first saw me.
A better question might be why was I interested in her? I have no way of knowing if my actions and choices were in any way typical of a fat admirer. I have never been in a fat admirer focus group. I have never even met another fat admirer. From the moment I gained sexual awareness, my desires had two prerogatives: short and fat. She had the “short” in spades, but as I have already described, her weight should have made my interest in her quite limited. But I challenge you, all you fat admirers out there, to have a woman of such particular beauty and sexual allure basically throw herself at you and yet remain unmoved!
Oh, I had plenty of other ridiculous justifications and psychobabble backing me up in my own introverted logic. She loved food. Certainly no glutton, but this girl loved to eat. She had never been on a diet in her life. She would snack absentmindedly if there was any food in sight. To top it all off, she was incredibly lazy. No sports, no exercise, she would ask you to bring her anything that was more than an arm’s length away. On the beach she would spend five minutes in the water and four hours on her recliner. Not on the sand – “too uncomfortable”- but draped across her recliner like a Greek Goddess with a cool drink within easy reach.
How could I go wrong? All I had to do was to hitch my horse to this wagon, and given these habits, how could I not end up with the fat wife of my dreams? Besides, don’t women gain weight as they get older anyway? Don’t they gain weight after getting married? Don’t they gain weight after having children? How could such a woman, surprised and thrilled in her husband’s obvious delight at her increasing size, not totally let herself go and arrive to contented, sated fatness?
One of the pitfalls of being a fat admirer is the unlikelihood of having a friend who knows your preferences, with whom you can share your logic, and who can look you in the eye after hearing that logic and tell you that you obviously don’t know a heck of a lot about women.
In another insightfully honest assessment, I was painfully aware of how little experience I had with women to that point in my life. That, I feel with certainty, is a reality is shared by many young fat admirers, particularly the introverts - unwilling to announce their preference, withdrawn from their friend’s lurid appreciative appraisals of thinner girls, and unmotivated to seek out a less-than-desired girlfriend.
In the absence of much previous positive reinforcement, I don’t think it strange that I dove right in with this new delicious, yet obviously flawed girl. We officially became an item in November of that year abroad, and she certainly made the year more pleasurable. She was as smart as a whip, and her language skills made touring and interacting with the locals all the more easy. There was no mistaking the way she looked at me. She was in love and I was immensely pleased to actually have a girlfriend.
The year abroad ran its course and we each returned to our universities. This was in that distant past when email was still a novelty and even college students hadn’t stopping writing letters. We wrote. We talked at length on the phone throughout the year. We exchanged tape recordings of our voices and mix tapes of our favorite music.
At the end of that school year I went to visit her. The chemistry was still there. We fell back together like two landslides meeting at the bottom of the valley. Of instant note and thrill to me at our reunion was that she had gained around ten pounds. It was definitely noticeable to me, but certainly too little to be remarked upon by either of us.
This development only fed into my oblivious belief that she would be overjoyed to be fat and was destined to be so. We discussed our situation. The long-distance relationship only made sense to continue if there was a goal at the end. It was time to make a decision, all chips in or cash out and go home. All chips in it was. Actually, it was all chip in, as in the tiny chip of a diamond that was all I could afford from the mall jewelry shop at the shopping center nearest her apartment the next day.
(continued in post 3 of this thread)
Lose the Battle; Win the War
by NKT
by NKT
Part One
The day that exercise bike moved into our house seemed like a most unlikely turning point. A fat admirer bringing home exercise equipment for his wife should be the very antithesis of the desired outcome. However, it was demanded, and for those who are married and have any hope to remain that way, demands will be met.
When I met her we were both juniors in college and randomly thrown together in a study abroad program. She was a knockout. Her jet black hair and olive skin made the Mediterranean locals think she was a native. Distinctly short, not quite five feet, but you never saw her in anything less than four inch heels. She even had this weird pair of beach sandals that had at least three inch lifts on them.
She had worked the previous summer at a Club Med, and she laughed as she revealed that the staff had nicknamed her “Miss Wonderbra” in recognition of the way her beautiful, round, B-size breasts so prominently filled the slinky costumes during the evening spectaculars in which all the staff participated. Despite her wondrous breasts and many other titillating features, it was the face that truly astonished.
You know how Hollywood runs through so many actresses and yet so few seem to ever stick around? They are certainly beautiful enough in that generic sort of way, but almost purposefully not dramatically beautiful in a way that might distract you from the explosions, inane dialogue, and product placement. My wife was that dramatic beauty, a beauty that interested you, a beauty that uniformly made males stop in their tracks and look inquiringly into her face searching for the source of that beauty. It was her nose.
Yes, she had the requisite luscious lips, high cheekbones, and doey eyes that you expected in an attractive female, but the nose was large. It was long. It protruded with defiance. Yet somehow, someway, it melded perfectly into her face and into the hearts of males everywhere. Hers was the face that was not merely beautiful, it was beautiful and different.
I pride myself on being able to make honest assessments. To the chagrin of fat admirers, if there is only one thing you could say about a woman who attracts an extraordinary amount of male attention, it would be that she is not fat. And she was not. At the time we met, she weighed 103 pounds, and that is exactly what you would have guessed had you seen her.
She had a wonderfully curvy body in spite of her slight weight. A cute butt, soft arms, and thighs that, if they didn’t jiggle even remotely enough to make me pant, at least made me pay attention.
She was truly a sight on those Mediterranean beaches. She tanned in a day, and the deep golden patina lasted for many months after the passing of seasons had long since driven us indoors.
So why the heck was she interested in me? I was Midwestern nobody with only two years of college and the dim glow of a suburban upbringing to restrain me from being an out-and-out redneck. She was East Coast sophisticate with a World’s worth of experience that I couldn’t even imagine. I was abroad struggling with my second language, she was polishing her sixth. She was the effortless socialite, the flirt, the tease. She appeared to have her pick of any of the dozens of men who regularly prostrated themselves before her. Yet she gravitated towards me almost from the day she first saw me.
A better question might be why was I interested in her? I have no way of knowing if my actions and choices were in any way typical of a fat admirer. I have never been in a fat admirer focus group. I have never even met another fat admirer. From the moment I gained sexual awareness, my desires had two prerogatives: short and fat. She had the “short” in spades, but as I have already described, her weight should have made my interest in her quite limited. But I challenge you, all you fat admirers out there, to have a woman of such particular beauty and sexual allure basically throw herself at you and yet remain unmoved!
Oh, I had plenty of other ridiculous justifications and psychobabble backing me up in my own introverted logic. She loved food. Certainly no glutton, but this girl loved to eat. She had never been on a diet in her life. She would snack absentmindedly if there was any food in sight. To top it all off, she was incredibly lazy. No sports, no exercise, she would ask you to bring her anything that was more than an arm’s length away. On the beach she would spend five minutes in the water and four hours on her recliner. Not on the sand – “too uncomfortable”- but draped across her recliner like a Greek Goddess with a cool drink within easy reach.
How could I go wrong? All I had to do was to hitch my horse to this wagon, and given these habits, how could I not end up with the fat wife of my dreams? Besides, don’t women gain weight as they get older anyway? Don’t they gain weight after getting married? Don’t they gain weight after having children? How could such a woman, surprised and thrilled in her husband’s obvious delight at her increasing size, not totally let herself go and arrive to contented, sated fatness?
One of the pitfalls of being a fat admirer is the unlikelihood of having a friend who knows your preferences, with whom you can share your logic, and who can look you in the eye after hearing that logic and tell you that you obviously don’t know a heck of a lot about women.
In another insightfully honest assessment, I was painfully aware of how little experience I had with women to that point in my life. That, I feel with certainty, is a reality is shared by many young fat admirers, particularly the introverts - unwilling to announce their preference, withdrawn from their friend’s lurid appreciative appraisals of thinner girls, and unmotivated to seek out a less-than-desired girlfriend.
In the absence of much previous positive reinforcement, I don’t think it strange that I dove right in with this new delicious, yet obviously flawed girl. We officially became an item in November of that year abroad, and she certainly made the year more pleasurable. She was as smart as a whip, and her language skills made touring and interacting with the locals all the more easy. There was no mistaking the way she looked at me. She was in love and I was immensely pleased to actually have a girlfriend.
The year abroad ran its course and we each returned to our universities. This was in that distant past when email was still a novelty and even college students hadn’t stopping writing letters. We wrote. We talked at length on the phone throughout the year. We exchanged tape recordings of our voices and mix tapes of our favorite music.
At the end of that school year I went to visit her. The chemistry was still there. We fell back together like two landslides meeting at the bottom of the valley. Of instant note and thrill to me at our reunion was that she had gained around ten pounds. It was definitely noticeable to me, but certainly too little to be remarked upon by either of us.
This development only fed into my oblivious belief that she would be overjoyed to be fat and was destined to be so. We discussed our situation. The long-distance relationship only made sense to continue if there was a goal at the end. It was time to make a decision, all chips in or cash out and go home. All chips in it was. Actually, it was all chip in, as in the tiny chip of a diamond that was all I could afford from the mall jewelry shop at the shopping center nearest her apartment the next day.
(continued in post 3 of this thread)
