Happiest Place?

“Hey fat princess!” Nate affectionately greeted Tara as he wrapped his arm around her, outside of the Chinese buffet they’d agreed upon for their first post-dance date.

“Hi handsome prince!” she replied, cuddling him.

“Shall we?”

“Yes, please.”

This brief greeting was the only time the subject of princes, princesses, and related fairy tale fantasies arose during the course of the date. Once they’d settled in with their first round of food, the conversation headed straight into getting to know one another—the real person—better. It relieved them both that many potentially contentious issues such as belief systems (religious, political, ethical) meshed well between them. Tara thrilled to Nate’s real-world tales of various bad-boy nerd exploits, given that she sought a gentleman she could trust in the living room and a bad boy in the bedroom, despite not truly being conscious of the latter. Nate learned that Tara had a variety of interests, though far and away it was her self-proclaimed modest collection of Disneyania and following that world which imbued her with joy.

The conversation went on for hours, and Tara was at least nibbling if not outright eating nearly the whole time. Nate felt pretty sure she’d sampled at least one of everything the buffet had to offer. He tried not to get too worked up seeing her hugely distended belly as she went back and forth again and again between their table and the buffet area.

“Ooooh… fat princess ate too much!”

“You’re not feeling sick are you?”

“No, thankfully. It’s mostly pain from being confined to these clothes and the internal pressures. Any chance you can give me a belly massage back at the car? You don’t have to come up with a story; we can listen to one of my playlists or whatever.”

He agreed. They paid and made their way out to her car.

Tara normally looked a few months pregnant in the belly to his eye; at the moment, she appeared ready to deliver.

She grimaced mightily as she pulled her skirt down and off, and especially as she tugged down her over-stretched undies and let her belly free. Soon after he started rubbing it, she couldn’t help but notice his raging hard-on. “What’s got you so worked up?” she asked as she momentarily touched him there, to clarify what she meant.

“You.”

“Specifically?”

“How much soft, jiggly fat I’m feeling between your skin and the hardness of your distended stomach within.”

“I’m fat, hun—I truly am! And if I keep eating like this, someday I might actually be the size of Princess Golden Belly.”

“Feature or bug?”

“Bug! This is real life!” She immediately noticed him attempting to hide his disappointment, and decided she might want to soften her stance, figuring fantasy might mean as much to him as she knew it did to her. “But… sometimes dreams come true. Sometimes things work out unexpectedly. Go ahead and dream, as will I.”

She switched on her alternative/indie/mixed playlist, whose only hint of Disney was a bar of “When You Wish Upon A Star” sung by Cliff Edwards, used as the sampled intro to Wish A Day, Wish A Night by Bosco 27. The music and the daylight put a more sexual tone on this belly massage—she was getting kinda moist playing the bad girl with her skirt off and her belly out in broad daylight, especially with a man who very much turned her on touching her sensually.

She let out a big yawn, about half an hour later.

“Sleepy?”

“Yeah. Now that the discomfort is pretty well gone, thanks to your massaging.”

“Me too” he small yawned.

She reclined her driver’s seat fully. “Let’s find out whether my pale white belly has any healing powers for whatever ails ya” she said as she guided his head down onto her belly.

“Ohhhhh you feel good!” he moaned.

“Sweet dreams, Prince.”

“You too, Princess.”

They didn’t fall asleep for awhile, especially with Nate kissing and gently lipping her belly, arousing her more than she knew possible for any activity of this nature. She fell asleep first, snoring in a manner he found unexpectedly heart-melting endearing.

{Yeah, I could see being with her for awhile… maybe quite awhile} he mused as he gazed up at his literal sleeping beauty, as he himself drifted off to dreamland.

They shared several more dates, doing things new lovers often do, such as going on long, slow walks, sitting in the park, traveling around to see local (non-human) wonders of nature, playing games in a local arcade, and more. Every date included at least one meal, and every time, Tara ate heartily, though not necessarily to massage-requiring belly bloating levels. She knew and Nate could obviously see and feel that she was fattening, symmetrically as was her body’s way: a little bigger everywhere, other than her still-delicate hands, relatively slender forearms, and still-small feet. Even her formerly lithe calves were showing signs of delicious, smooth thickening.

Given that he hadn’t been seeing anyone else (the arrangement with Nora fell through, on account of her being busy with extended family matters), they graduated to freely french kissing when so moved, and got into clothes-on fondling, but no more. She really could be a lot of fun to be with, and he saw potential. She felt the same way regarding him, additionally adding stability and security, despite his sometimes-edgy often sarcastic facade.

Neither had yet seen the inside of the other’s residence. Nate hadn’t even seen the exterior of her place. He hadn’t wanted to push her, given her somewhat traditional outlook on dating, though they’d been going out long enough that he was getting frustrated that things weren’t moving faster towards greater intimacy.

Tara sensed this, but hadn’t been ready to act on it, until one particular text message exchange.

Not knowing exactly what to expect, Saturday midday Nate groomed extra-nice and packed a generous 4 condoms in his pocket, in case a sleep-over might be involved. He allowed extra time and walked slowly to minimize perspiration and keep himself as fresh as possible.

Tara wasn’t able to minimize perspiration. She was running (and jiggling/bouncing) around the house naked other than her underpants, frantically getting things into order so they’d be perfect. In part her anxiety stemmed from the bad outcomes of the few other times she’d had men—her few other potential princes—over to her house—something she stuffed as far as possible out of her mind, feeling as she did that Nate was The One. Only once everything was as in order as possible did she jump into her second shower of the day, drying off and dressing just in time to safely be ready before the earliest possible time he’d show up.

As he reached her neighborhood, Nate grew excited, envisioning her in a low-cut top she’d worn on their date night walking around downtown, with a black slit-to-thigh skirt which really showed off all her curves and yielded glimpses of her shapely thigh flesh.

Her house was rather nondescript: a small tract house in an early 20th. century peaked roof style he did not know by name. It wasn’t very storybook, but it was about as close to a storybook house as any in the neighborhood. He breathed deeply as he headed up her walkway to the front door. {Showtime!}

The front door swung open at a dramatic medium pace. “Hello, my Prince!” she chirped.

Nate had to blink to ensure he was truly seeing what he thought he was seeing. No sexy seductress was in sight: he saw the fattest Alice in Wonderland he’d ever seen. Other than brown squiggly hair instead of blonde, and cheeks far wider than classic Alice scaled up to BBW proportions, Tara was the spitting image of the storybook character. Her outfit fit her well—she wasn’t bulging out anywhere particularly—yet by the nature of her body size, she was Fat Alice incarnate.

“No Princely threads for you, my Sir?” she only ¼ jested.

“Sorry, my prince duds are still at the store where I never bought them. You didn’t tell me this was a dress-up event.”

She stammered, “I– I thought we were going to live out our fantasy… sies!”

“Do I get to come in anyway?”

“Oh– uh– yeah– sure!” she babbled as she got out of the way and escorted him inside.

In no way was Nate prepared for what he saw. Upon further inspection and careful consideration, he wasn’t sure there existed any recreational drug strong enough to make what he was seeing palatable. He’d entered Disney Hell: her “modest little collection of Disneyania” covered her living room wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling. Disney trinkets were literally everywhere: tables, shelves, every horizontal surface, with posters and whatnot covering all available wall space. She didn’t have a collection, she had a museum! Total sensory overload, mostly visual though also olfactory in some instances.

“So this is most of the later vintage stuff in here” she explained, her eyes twinkling. “Cinderella, Peter Pan, Sleeping Beauty, Me (giggle)—and over there, there we are as Lady and the Tramp!”

His grimace muscles were in full combat against his smile muscles, a fierce quivering standoff in progress. “Why am I seeing almost no Mickey Mouse in your Disney collection?”

“Oh—Mickey has his own room! Follow me and I’ll show you!”

He held on for dear life to the saving grace of seeing her fat buns bouncing in her outfit, trying not to focus on how the collection extended onto every surface of her hallway. {Even the runner under our feet is Disney! Gaaaaaah!}

Mickey had his own room, Minnie had her own room, the Pixar co-productions had their own big room (apparently the house’s original family room or den), each covered wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling, all surfaces. He felt as though his eyeballs would start bleeding at any moment from overexposure to manufactured cloying fantasy child-centric cuteness.

“Here’s my bedchamber!” she announced with sparkly eyes and her cute chipmunk grin.

It’s a good thing Nate hadn’t had anything to eat since morning, as he surely would have lost it: this grown woman, on the front doorstep of menopause, had a Disney fantasy life more than able to compete with the most ardent reality-detached Disney-saturated 12-year-old. He was currently standing inside the most sickly sweet overblown ultra-pink little girl bedroom which ever existed. Pillows, stuffed animals—mostly Disney characters—and dolls everywhere. Everything was frilly, darling, precious, and fantastical, as in fantasy. Her oversized little girl bed with its frilly fabrics looked as though it would shrivel up and wilt at the first hint of anything carnal. Shrivel up is precisely what his testicles did as he struggled to take it all in.

The one mildly out-of-place (albeit color-coordinated) object in the room was a large pink bakery box, sitting smack-dab in the middle of the bed.

“Did you want to start from knocking on the door, or jump ahead to my eating the dough-nuts?”

His smiley, smirky expression vanished, exchanged for a dour dead-pan serious look. “I want to make love with an adult. Know any?”

Her face too grew long… this was starting to go wrong, as it had in the past. She scrambled to save the situation. “Princes and princesses are adults! Nearly every single one! Name me one who’s not!”

“I don’t know.”

“See! And for sure Princess Golden Belly and Prince Romeo were adults, the way you told it! Isn’t that what today is about?!”

“For me, today was about finally being allowed to be sexually intimate with a beautiful grown woman, here and now in the real world, not never-never land!”

Her lower lip and chin(s) started to tremble. “But… but… dreams! You, me, us! Going to Epcot and Disney World and the collectors’ shows and… and maybe someday… all the way to Disneyland!”

“C’mon, Tara! This whole fantasy world is bullshit.”

Her eyes alit with fire worthy of Satan at peak performance. She clenched her jaw and yelled out, “WHAT?!”

“You heard me” he replied in his usual calm, cool, collected hipster tone. “This Disney stuff is just a mountain of crap. All it is is a blatantly consumption-oriented world of pretend, built upon shaky foundations of marginal characters, protected by overreaching copyright laws Disney Corp. bought via lobbyists, designed to keep profits high with absolute minimal effort as it is inflicted upon each new vulnerable generation that comes along. I thought I was dating a mature woman, but obviously you’re just a big kid living in a fantasy world which will never come true.”

“Get out!” she screeched, shaking from head to toe.

He calmly walked out of the bedroom, back down the hall, towards the front door, as casually as if nothing at all emotional was playing out. For him, nothing was: he was all done with her, and at peace with this fact.

She followed him, still raging furious that he’d just taken a verbal dump on her whole world.

Stopping in the middle of the front doorway, he turned back to face her. “By the way, I’ve been to Disneyland, once, as a child. It rather sucked.”

He laughed and jogged out as she full-tilt raging bull charged him, screaming “It’s the happiest goddamned motherfucking place on EAAARRRRRRTH!”, hurling a Buzz Lightyear action figure at him, as though it would do any good.