Nude Gratitude

Daylight hours were getting shorter, the weather quite a bit cooler. It had been nearly 6 months since Tara Pelvig saved her company founder and head John Mercer. In the Mercer (and de-facto Mercer-Pelvig) household, everything was cheery and loving, with abundant cuddles featuring Tara’s abundant fat and nearly two lower bodies to keep them both warm.

Over in Tara’s owned home, Barb Bloom reached new depths of loneliness. Remaining very active with the poly group, visiting the Licks for overnights, and having Tara-approved members of the group stay over at the house all helped, but it wasn’t the same as coming home to a lover every night and sharing cuddles, the day’s events, hot sex, and everything else. She was on the waiting list to get into either of the group homes, though given the extremely low turnover, openings there often were nearly a decade apart.

Thinking about it whilst dinner baked and she did yoga, Barb concluded that continuing to rant, rail, and hold a grudge wasn’t going to help her meet her needs. She may never get Tara back as a primary lover, but at least she could forgive, apologize, and build bridges to allow as much of their bond as possible to refresh. Heck, she might even enjoy fucking Tara’s man John, given her positive primal reaction to his scent on the sheets all those months ago.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to move anything out this month” John apologized to Tara, regarding his pile of old technology sitting in the living room—the lynch pin blocking progress on so many home repairs.

“You’re doing really really well!” she encouraged him, caressing his arm as she cuddled into him. “You’ve moved at least one item every other month since I’ve been here, and August you got rid of two, so you’re on track to have things cleared out sometime next year.”

“Most people would be emotionally able to send this stuff straight to e-waste all within a few hours of one day.”

“But you’re not most people and straight to e-waste is not OK with you, so you’re doing what you can, and I appreciate it!”

Barb’s ringtone sounded on Tara’s device. As usual, she tensed up when she heard it.

Today it was her right butt with Smooth which she wanted seated on his lap as she took the call.

“Hi Barb. What’s up?”

“Doing anything for Thanksgiving?”

“Not that I know of so far.” She turned to John, “We doing anything in particular for Thanksgiving?”

“I have no specific plans.”

She turned back to the device’s mic, “Nothing specific yet.”

“If you’re down for it, I’d like to invite you and John over here to the house you own for a Thanksgiving pot luck. I’ll make the bulk of the feast, which if both of you are good with it, I’m thinking can be non-traditional, e.g. Barb’s barbecued pulled pork as the centerpiece rather than a turkey—things like that. It’ll be my chance to apologize to you, meet him no longer holding a grudge against him or you, and give thanks for the amazing opportunity to still be living in this house and having reconnected with you as an adult, as we all day by day make the best of our lives.”

“That’s sweet! We’d love to do that!”

Barb let go of the thought that, as far as she could tell, Tara hadn’t even had a few seconds to consult with John before replying for both of them. “Great! Let’s say noon for the core of the meal. It’s your house so obviously you can come over whenever you want, though it would be kind of you to wait until 10 AM or afterwards so I have half a chance of getting some noms prepped and things set up.”

“Go ahead and use any of the linens and anything else in the sideboard that we never use, if you want to set up the dining table in any formal way.”

“I’m thinking buffet, but yeah, I was going to serve off the dining table and would like it to have at least vestiges of traditional holiday decor. I’m so excited to see you again!

Me too! Any specific items or categories of items you’d suggest we bring?”

“Nah. I’m covering the whole range of appetizers through dessert with a minimum of one item each, so any category you want to cover in greater depth is open. I know pretty well what you like, but not John, so if there’s anything he especially wants on Thanksgiving, you two should bring that to ensure it happens.”

They excitedly wrapped up the call, then Tara excitedly shared with John, who’d heard most but not all of the discussion.

“I look forward to it” he shared.

“She’s really nice, and she’s a huge BBW—ultrasized, who’s totally down with being admired by FAs of all genders for her body as well as the rest of her, so we all should have a great time!”

They got right into planning what they’d bring, even with Thanksgiving still two weeks away.

Excitement grew as the day grew closer.

Barb spent evenings and weekends since her invitation phone call cleaning the house in small batches she could handle, both to impress Tara that she was being a good tenant (even though a lot of the time she tended towards messy and careless), and so John would only associate piggishness with her physique and not her domicile cleanliness. Living there alone further allowed her to start setting up the dining table well in advance of the event, given that she didn’t normally use it.

Heading into the final days, she had everything she needed on hand, able to start marinading and doing a few other things better done in advance.

Tara and John had little trouble working out their ideal Thanksgiving meal for this casual potluck non-traditional event context. Even though it was her house, they planned things which weren’t sensitive to timing nor needing to monopolize her home’s oven, not knowing what Barb had in mind (beyond the BBQ pulled pork) and wanting to keep things a surprise.

The day of the event, Tara had an urgent text message for Barb:

To: Barb Boobz

Tarazz: Dress code?

Boobz: You two: anything you and he want. Me: sexy casual.

Boobz: Recommend washable clothes, or protection like bibs or aprons.

Tarazz: Thanks. 10A still OK?

Boobz: Yes. Honestly, it’s all set up and prep is going well, so you could come over right now, but let’s make it 10 or later so I can go over my checklist and not miss something important. Let yourself in, any door, no text nor bell nor other notification of arrival needed.

Tarazz: X L NT. See you 10 or later!

“You sure this isn’t too casual?” John asked Tara, presenting himself dressed as she’d requested: one of his favorite t-shirts (a form-fitting semi-stretchy one), a pair of stretchy form-fitting sweat pants (that along with his usual white cotton briefs, showed off his package well and tended to make her moist if not outright wet), any socks he wanted, and one of his dressier pairs of slip-on tennis shoes.

“It and you are perfect!” she smiled, caressing his hip.

She wore her shortest skirt which still fit (mid-thigh in length), a maroon stretchy top which complemented his shirt, and her favorite triple of mule dress shoes.

Soon as the dish known as Tara’s (homemade chicken) Tenders was out of the oven and cool enough to safely carry, they finished loading up his car and were on their way.

“Hello Hello!” Tara called out with joy in her voice as she opened the back door (nearest the garage, in which John parked), carrying the first of several baking dishes.

Hey Kitten!” Barb called out in reply, wobbling on over straightaway, a huge smile on her large face.

“So good to see you!” she exclaimed upon her arrival, wanting to hug Tara but unable to do so because of the baking dish. “Is that what I think it is?”

“If you think it’s Crunchy Onion Waffle Potatoes, that is what it is.”

“Let’s get these inside so we can hug!

“Let’s hold off on the hug and the official introduction to John until everything’s inside. Brrrr, it’s cold today!”

She claimed the baking dish from Tara so Tara could turn around and get the next load from the car. “I was thinking of building a fire, but given what happened last time I tried that to surprise you with coziness, thought better of it.”

“Yeah, cleaning all that soot off the walls wasn’t fun. Be right back!”

John suggested a bucket-brigade passing arrangement: him to Tara to Barb, to speed things up. They tried it, it worked, and sooner than later everything was unloaded and Tara and John could close the garage, reenter the house for the final time, and truly say hello to Barb.

The two USBBW rushed to each other, arms open wide, prodigious piles of fat all over them moving every which way.

“So good to see you!” Barb exclaimed. “And feel you!”

“Thanks for letting this happen. Now that I’m here I’m feeling how much I’ve missed you.”

John needed no map to find the powerful love between Tara and Barb as he stood back a few steps and witnessed them embracing. Tara had never shown him pictures of Barb, though her several descriptions did her justice.

The shared hug drove home to both women something each thought they’d noticed, but weren’t sure until they hugged: each of them had lost weight, and not just a little. It wasn’t that either had dropped below ultrasized back to supersized, though they were both closer to that smaller size category than they’d been when they last saw each other. In Tara’s case, it was the combination of no longer living with a fellow sensual fat foodie with gainer, feedee, and feeder tendencies (which tended to bring out Tara’s own characteristics along these lines) plus being so excited and occupied with the many facets of her new life with John that she didn’t miss the extra food. For Barb the first of Tara’s conditions was equally true for her, and likely the bulk of the change in bulk. Her appetite had been up and down, a little more of the latter than the former. Each had shed in the neighborhood of 50 to 60 pounds over the half year—massive for a small person, but a small percentage when one’s total weight was in the 600s of pounds.

Barb still sported enough cleavage in her bright red above-knee-length party dress to hold an entire six pack of bottles lined up and one could still see her very large belly button, though she wasn’t falling/exploding out of her dress top, nor was her belly button and the belly surrounding it projecting quite as far forward, pressing so hard against the fabric.

Tara’s losses were less obvious, having taken place more or less equally all over. Barb mainly noticed the looser fit of her skirt and visibly less belly.

John wasn’t off Tara’s mind at all, even when she was hugging Barb, renewing her bond with her. About a minute into the deep, long, overdue embrace, she pulled back to introduce him, “It’s time, Barb Bloom. Please look past me and welcome the man I’m so profoundly glad I saved from what was almost a tragedy for humanity, founder, owner, and president of Model Magicians where I’m honored to work, John Mercer!

“Hi Barb” he smiled, extending his hand for a shake as he approached. “I truly am glad to meet you.”

She gave him a smirky, quirky “What’s up with that?!” look, taking his extended hand then its mate and wrapping them around herself as she eased them into a deep, pillowy soft hug. “Anyone who’s so special to my Kitten Tara that she doesn’t want to come home to the house she owns for half a year automatically goes right past the handshake stage directly to very close friendship hugs. I too am sincerely glad to meet you, and am beginning to understand at least a wee bit why Tara might find you so compelling.”

“I understand her pet name Pillow for you much better now. Viscerally.”

Barb snickered, holding the hug. What was baffling her was reconciling what Tara had shared about John being a fat admirer and his lack of full hardness for her as she immersed him in her huge busty soft front with her equally-soft belly pressed against his groin and pillowy upper arms wrapped around him. She’d not encountered such a feeble micro-erection from any woman-attracted FA prior to this moment.

Tara joined in from the side, to make it a 3-way hug.

“I don’t know that I’ll ever be over losing Tara as an every-night sleep-together lover, but I do regret the intensity and duration of my animosity. Love is what it is, and now with you both here I have a better sense of how deep yours seems to be. Having both of you in my life to some degree is far better than remaining cut off from Tara forever more, so I’m really, really glad both of you came today, to get us to this moment and allow me to apologize. I’m grateful for every moment of knowing Tara, from childhood through right now and beyond. I’m grateful for the opportunity to start to get to know a man who so dazzles her that she dropped an entire group of sexy lovers who are also nice people, to be with. I’m grateful to be allowed to continue to live in this very nice house as the new life you two are making with each other continues to unfold. Thank you!

Barb showed no signs of releasing the deep hug. Neither did Tara or John.

Tara had her own thanks to give, “In childhood and now again these past years in adulthood, you’ve been my closest, most dear and special female friend. It hurt to be cut off from you, even as I needed for myself as well as him to be with John every possible moment since that fateful day that changed all our lives and almost ended his far too soon. I hope we can all at least be friends and that this is the start of that process. But even if we only have this time together today, I’m grateful that it’s happening. Because I love you both… so much!” Silent tears of gratitude found their way onto both Barb and John.

“I wouldn’t be here without Tara, and not just due to events of that day of attempted suicide. Her ongoing love and presence in my life keeps me alive, and continues to heal me into a better-functioning human being. I have deep regret for what seems to have been and may still be a cut-off discontinuity from her prior life to the one she and I share together currently. For me having alienated all my friends long before Tara saved me, there has been no loss. That’s not the case for her, as neither of you need me to say. I can only hope that she finds a way to better reconcile her past and present lives, and that I’m the least impediment to that process that I can be. I’m very grateful that you gave her and me a chance to be here today, Barb. The love between you two is obviously deep, and it would be horrible for it not to be able to continue to the highest degree possible, given how all three of our lives have changed.”

A slight burning smell emanating from the kitchen reminded Barb of something important. She pulled out of the hug, “Cheese Whirls beckon. If they’re not already inedible charcoal, they will be in moments.”

John gasped softly and grew hard watching Barb’s bouncing backside as she rushed away. Even if not her largest parts, as a USBBW Barb Bloom had large fat mostly-round buns and enough curvy hip fat to grab onto, even if very little compared to true pear-shaped hippy fat women and especially Tara. Her boobs didn’t impress him, but oh how he wanted to (consensually) get into that gloriously fat ass!

Tara took advantage of the situation to enjoy his hardness pressed deep into her own fat middle bun.

Only a few edges of a few Cheese Whirls needed some charred areas cut off. Barb got back on track, with Tara and John helping deliver just-finished items and items out of the refrigerator to the dining table.

In under 5 minutes, everything needed for the initial course from what both Barb and Tara had in mind was all set out and ready to enjoy.


Barb waddled out with a touch of trepidation, holding a bottle of sparkling muscat wine. “Is wine permissible for today’s celebration, asked the woman who knows how Tara rolls with alcoholic beverages, but not John.”

“He’s down with that category of potent potables. Just don’t give him bourbon” Tara ended with a shudder.

“Why not? Bourbon’s my favorite hard liquor, when I get into that category of beverage.”

“You know why not!”

“I wanted one of my favorites in my last moments of life, and as part of Plan A.”

“I have no intention of serving anything stronger than wine today” Barb clarified. “Though I was very much thinking of more than just this bottle during the course of the celebration, if there’s sufficient interest.”

With that logistical element out of the way, Barb opened the bottle for self-service, with the three of them piling their plates with whatever appealed to them and pouring a flute of the sparkling wine for themselves.

Barb sat in a living room chair across from Tara and John on the couch, both because that was the obvious preferred arrangement and so she could take in more of the man and study their live interactions as a couple. Tara wasn’t at all shy about sitting her huge right butt in his lap, as they both routinely enjoyed and she found comfortable as well as lovingly intimate. Barb could only imagine what that felt like, given that between them she and Tara had so much fat, their closest equivalent to Tara sitting on her lap (when she cleared her belly off it) wasn’t all that close.

Barb directed initial conversation towards John telling them his life story from as close to the beginning as he felt like sharing. Interestingly, a number of anecdotes about his childhood were things he’d not shared with Tara, as she’d not asked and he’d not considered them compelling enough to mention.

He’d always been good with his hands from an early age, fascinated by objects in 2 and 3 dimensions, and how they interacted. Today, he’d be called a Maker, back when there was no such word because most people made or modified tangible physical objects with their hands and tools. He successfully built model car and other model vehicle kits several years younger than the recommended age on the packaging, dissatisfied with how crude they were in many ways, learning to modify them to be more realistic and have better structural integrity and adherence to detail.

Science and math came naturally to him, with english being of minor interest notwithstanding a natural talent for it, and neither a natural talent nor interest for social studies. History was a matter of history of what: technical and scientific history interested him; political and social history did not. Geologic history only interested him to the degree he could study images of geologic formations. He spent so much time focused on body mechanics in P.E. that classmates thought he had his head too far in the clouds to be a leading choice when picking teams, even though when he swung at a softball or kicked a soccer ball, the connection was solid enough to send the respective ball far beyond what the more “with it” players typically managed. The day they reluctantly made him goalie and he blocked every goal attempt and sent the ball soaring well past the middle of the field whether with his arm or his foot was the day his classmates had to re-evaluate what John “Cloud Head” Mercer was all about.

High school was more of the same. He continued to excel in the same subjects, and as in earlier grades, especially when an assignment allowed for the construction of a model or diorama or even a poster with moving elements. Several teachers came after his parents for the “unreasonably professional” results John brought to class, getting strong rebuffs from Mr. and Mrs. Mercer, with John happily making second editions of the works from scratch before the teacher’s eyes, until they apologized.

Nothing along the lines of sexuality nor romance came into John Mercer’s life until a fateful day near the end of his junior year. “Walking in the commons on my way to where I usually sat alone to eat lunch and watch people’s bodies as part of my study of human body mechanics, I happened to glance over and see Jenny Patussi standing, bent all the way over to pick something up or look at something. A plump pear, she had the most perfect curvy ass I’d seen up until that time, aimed straight at me in her snug knee-length green skirt!

“If you’ve ever seen the flood gates of a dam suddenly open and start gushing water, that’s what happened to me. I’d never felt a moment of desire in my life to that point, and barely recognized it for what it was at that moment. I was terrified! I was also highly driven, by forces more powerful than most I’d ever known, finding my feet rushing me across the lawn over to her before I was consciously aware that I was moving.

“Thankfully I stayed off her backside, coming up along side her gasping for breath as she stood back up. The whole interaction from that point forward is forever etched in my mind, so the quotes I’m about to recite from back then should be accurate, but might not be entirely.”

He took turns speaking in his voice and his rendition of hers:

“‘Hi John! What has you all out of breath?’

‘I saw you bending over, and—I’ve never seen anything nor anyone so beautiful!

“Now, I didn’t know it at the time, but Jenny later told me that no one before me in our class ever showed signs of being attracted to her, because she was plain, had small boobs, and was fat. She wasn’t actually fat, just plump and very pear curvy in a highly desirable way, but she felt fat and some ignorant people of the time labeled her as such. I didn’t think she was plain, either: she had cute, sweet eyes on a face which she didn’t bury in cosmetics like so many other girls in our class and the adjacent years. She flashed them at me and I fell deeper in lust with her as she said, ‘All I was doing was reaching down to pick up this marble I spotted’.

“She held it up for me to see it. It was a clear standard game size, with beautiful red, orange, yellow, and blue swirls inside. I told her about it being standard game size, and pointed out the signs of it being decades old, possibly dating back to when an elementary school had shared the now-high school site. Our eyes met again and she asked, ‘Would you like to have lunch together?’. I of course agreed immediately!

“Not knowing anything about any of this, I instinctively clasped her hand as she held hers out towards me. I truly tried to concentrate on what she was saying as she led us along, but all I could do was steal glances of those glorious glutes and her soft hips bouncing around!”

Tara cuddled deeper into him, possessively and with a huge grin.

Barb crossed her legs, hoping at least one of them would notice that she was rolling commando.

What even John didn’t know to this very day was that back then, Jenny had been as flustered as he was, babbling things she didn’t remember even later that day as her mind scrambled to Not Screw Up with the first young man who’d expressed interest in her—a smart, cute one that made her feel wobbly inside!

He continued his retelling, “She led me to Lovers’ Alcoves, a heavily-landscaped area in a corner of the campus away from the classrooms and most other buildings, other than a side of the administration building which couldn’t really see anything that direction because there were so few windows and they were for utility closets and the like. Whether intentionally planned as make-out spots when it was landscaped with tall, dense hedges I can’t say even today. The original intent was clearly to look beautiful from the street, since this exposure faced the two major streets leading to the school and is the first impression a lot of people would see, along with the large painted concrete name of the school right up near the corner intersection.

“Someone figured out that upper class students would find some place to neck, and that they might as well put faux marble bench seats in each hedge alcove and let people do it there, where they’d be exposed to anyone driving by on Hillbumple or walking along the sidewalk or over the distance of the interceding 35 give-or-take meters of lawn between the curb and each alcove seat.

“I didn’t know anything at the time other than the general nature of the area, the name Lovers’ Alcoves, and that Jenny Patussi was leading me there, holding hands! We sat down next to each other awkwardly, stealing all kinds of glances of one another. She had a pretty medium-pitched voice I felt I could listen to forever. We got started on our respective bagged lunches, keeping small talk safe by discussing what each of us had, why we did or didn’t like it, and so on. I didn’t understand at the time that her pointed comment that ‘I make my own lunches’ was intended as a selling point regarding her domestic skill set, and not a competitive boast that she was more adult than me because my mom still made mine. This was the mid-1970s after all. I don’t know whether that makes it first, second, or third-wave feminism. All I know is that patriarchal society still called it women’s lib, and kept trying to frame it as a fringe extremist group of malcontents and uglies who couldn’t land husbands, and that most of us of high school age with any interest in romance or related desires were trying to figure out the rules of engagement, often operating with different sets of them.”

Barb got up, claimed Tara’s empty plate, and assembled a second round of comestibles for both of them as John continued with his story, so Tara could remain cuddled into him so adorably. She also refilled everyone’s sparkling wine flutes.

“We moved back to the marble, which she ill-advisedly held in her right hand as her leftover meatloaf sandwich which needed two hands fell apart in her left. I set my peanut butter sandwich down and claimed the marble, answering her questions about how I was estimating its age via pointing out the pock marks and other signs of wear and so forth, along with finer points of glass manufacturing I’d been reading about. To me it was nothing special to know these things, but she looked at me like I was some kind of genius. Those eyes… oh those eyes!”

Tara decided she needed to get him gazing into her eyes, giving him the best glitter-eye look she could, caressing his face with a downward motion to get him to look at her.

“Yes DubLove, I can gaze into your eyes and your whole face for the rest of eternity with gratitude and joy.”

Barb smiled and batted her eyes furiously until someone noticed.

“I haven’t studied your eyes long enough at close range to have a sense with you. You don’t need the likes of me to tell you that you’re visually compelling in many ways on many levels.”

That was good enough for Barb, who took another sip of the wine.

“Anyway, back then I didn’t know either of you, and this was my first half hour of sexual awakening, so there were only Jenny’s eyes. I don’t know whether Jenny generally ate fast the way I did. On that day she seemed to be splitting the difference between matching my inhale-devour pace and her idea of ladylike eating. I must’ve seemed like quite the barbarian to her, the way I picked my teeth once I was done with my lunch, the way I always did without thinking about it. She asked me what I was into, probably as much to keep me there and talking while she finished her lunch as anything else, though she did appear interested.

“I had no idea why she was making such a grand ceremony of pulling a roll of spearmint Lifesavers out of her… oh what’s that word for a woman’s purse that doesn’t have any straps?”

“Clutch” Tara and Barb responded atop one another.

“Yes, that. She made a big deal of pulling that roll out of her clutch and handing me a piece, saying ‘Savor the flavor’ with a smile before putting one in her own mouth and making obvious that it was meant for a slow dissolve with licking. I had no idea if these things had drugs or what, or why else she’d insist I not chew mine the way I probably would have if nothing had been said. Her direct stare entranced me, even as all the visible tongue licking motions puzzled me.

“Once our Lifesavers had fully dissolved, she asked me to tell her what it was about her I found so beautiful that I felt the need to come over and tell her on that day. I told her that the shape of her ass and splayed hips as she bent over opened up an overwhelming floodgate of brand-new extremely powerful feelings within me, and that now that I’d studied the rest of her more closely, I felt quite sure that she was the most beautiful woman in our class, that I was feeling woozy and dazed being there with her, and that it would mean the world to me if she’d please sit in my lap.

“She happily sat down in my lap sideways, which wasn’t what I had in mind, but I hadn’t been more specific, and I did quite like seeing her face. It’s probably a good thing that there were at least 4 layers of clothing between my prong and her vag, otherwise I might have penetrated and impregnated her without conscious intent, lost to reality as I was. She obviously felt my erection, and quite liked it from all I could sense and what happened later. My hands instinctively moved to her hips, making her say with a sigh, ‘Mmmm… later. Kiss now, then it’s time for class’. She moved my hands around her shoulders, wrapping her arms around me in return. It had to be deep instinct that let me know that what she was doing with her lips was a cue to kiss, because my conscious mind sure didn’t know, and was totally lost anyway!

“Our lips met, and electric jolts of a kind I’d never previously experienced shot through me. I couldn’t think! I couldn’t do anything other than keep kissing her and struggling to understand what was happening.

“The kissing continued until she gently eased us apart just enough to speak softly and see the whole of each other’s faces. We were both dazed and losing ourselves to what much later I would recognize as passion-based love. She seemed to wait for me to say something. When I didn’t, she said, ‘Time for class. Let’s meet up right here today soon as 7th. period ends, so we can talk about what we want to happen next.’ Like the inexperienced idiot I was, I replied, ‘As long as you’ll sit on my lap, I will meet you anywhere and any time I possibly can that you want us to meet.’”

Barb couldn’t help snorting then laughing, which got Tara then John himself going. They decided it was a good time for another food and beverage replenishment break, and for John to enjoy some of what he still had on his plate.

Several minutes later, he continued his first love saga, “I’m probably getting too bogged down in detail.”

“Not for me!” Barb exclaimed. “I love a good love story!”

“And I’ve never heard this one” added Tara.

“OK. Let me know if it gets too draggy. Jenny was waiting for me by the time I arrived at Lovers’ Alcoves, leading me to a different alcove since another couple—a pair of seniors—was already in ours. She smelled different—more perfumy—and to my silent dismay had added wholly unnecessary gloss to her lips, but at least she’d left the rest of her face alone and not added any cosmetics there. She guided me down and sat back down on my lap, in the same orientation as at lunch. My hands instinctively went back to her hips—nearest hip and bun, actually. This time she clasped her hands atop mine, arresting their movement but not moving them away. She asked, ‘What do you want from me, John?’ I told her I didn’t know and that this was all very confusing and entirely new to me and that touching her hips and buns was magic and I yearned for more but had no idea what I was doing nor exactly what ‘more’ entailed, so if she did she was in charge and it would be kind of her to guide me. She smiled, massaging my hands with hers as they stayed where she wanted them to stay, getting us into a discussion of our class schedules and scheduled extra-curricular activities and so forth. Then we discussed what homework we had for the night, and how each of us normally scheduled working on that. I didn’t have anything due the next day and neither did she.

“She seemed to be thinking for some time, as though plotting her next move. I remained lost, and delighted that she was sitting on my lap! We both noticed various classmates passing by the opening of our alcove to check us out, some stopping and staring. Jenny brought my attention back to her by making her hands squeeze mine, which made mine squeeze her right hip and bun. She said, ‘I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with this marble I found today, to best display it.’ With little forethought, my mind jumped straight to, ‘It would make an excellent pendant, if you wanted to wear it’.

‘How would I mount the marble?’

‘There are all kinds of ways. Easiest is probably an artful wire wrap.’

‘Can you help me with that?’

‘Sure! I’ve got all sorts of supplies at my house. Can you come over sometime so we can go over what you like and don’t like in terms of materials and styles?’

“She was grinning so hard I thought her face might rip. She replied, ‘Let’s go now!’, taking my hand to guide me up as she stood up.”

“She followed me home in her car. I didn’t understand why she was trembling when she got out and rejoined me, until I asked and she explained that she was nervous about meeting any of the rest of my family. It didn’t seem to get any better when I told her that it was just my mother because Dad wasn’t home from work yet and that I was an only child.

“Mom was stunned to see me bring a girl home, and delighted that it was Jenny Patussi, because she and Dad knew Mr. and Mrs. Patussi from the PTA, and knew that Jenny was a good girl from a good family, of a caliber fit for her only son. Initially she did look askance at how pear wide and soft Jenny was, but let it go. She asked if we wanted any snacks, and I told her no thank you, because I’d be doing metalwork and other things and food would contaminate some of the surfaces plus we might ingest harmful substances if we handled them and ate without washing our hands, but maybe later. To me this was common sense. Jenny reacted quite positively, as though I was looking out for her well-being, which I suppose I was, but not as my primary conscious focus.

“Technically the house I grew up in was a one-bedroom. What was designed as a family room facing the back yard became my bedroom, with the living room serving as that plus how most people in the 1960s and ’70s used a family room. My bedroom was a big room, with lots of windows facing the back yard and the patio. It even had a fireplace backing the one in the living room, which I used as a micro blacksmith’s hearth for hot metal fab. Jenny was blown away with how big the room was, and how I had a whole workshop in there for model making and other forms of fabrication. The real heavy-duty stuff like the full-sized floor standing drill press and the band saw were out in Dad’s garage shop, but for things up to and including a small bench grinder and tabletop fine work drill press, those were in my room.

“She seemed even more amazed when I led her to the raw materials storage area and opened the drawer full of spools of wire. I pulled out a spool of clear-coated copper alloy wire, explaining how it wasn’t electrical-grade wire and happened by chance to be jewelry wire, intended for easy forming and staying shiny, and asking her if she liked how it looked with the marble, which she pulled out of a hidden pocket and agreed it did. I reminded her that because of metal fatigue, we’d need to try to sketch out the cage pattern before I tried to make it with the actual wire, which wasn’t cheap.

“There wasn’t anywhere to sit at all other than my bed and my work chair, so she sat in my lap once I sat in the chair, making me feel all woozy again. As before she sat sideways with her back to my left. This time when my left arm instinctively wrapped around her lower back and my hand rested on the juncture of the top side of her left bun and her left hip she didn’t move it nor put hers atop, even when with no forethought my hand gently massaged her there.

“She liked my rough sketch so much that she had no suggestions for changes. She wanted me to sign it and let her keep it, which I thought was ridiculous, but agreed to, once I was done fabricating. I told her I didn’t want her to stand up, but I needed full, free use of both arms to be able to work the wire properly. She stood up and stepped back enough to not interfere. I got into my zone and worked the wire into a 3D version in my mind of what I’d tried to draw in 2D. It didn’t quite match what I had in mind, but Jenny loved it and looked at me like I was some sort of magician. She didn’t understand why I reclaimed it from her until I pointed out that the wire needed some finishing twists then end clips and touches of matching lacquer for both appearance and smoothing the cut ends.

“While the lacquer was drying, we looked through the options we had for chains. Even I was surprised that I still had enough fine tight-link copper chain, left over from work on models of older structures in and near Salt Lake City, where copper is plentiful. The one thing I didn’t have was a proper jewelry clasp. My mother had one which was a little too big in scale and more bronze than copper which made me wince, but Jenny liked it and really wanted the necklace finished, so we went with it.

“Back in my room, I put it all together and made finishing adjustments. She was slightly annoyed that I put a dot of lacquer on the end of the marble cage loop after adjusting it around the chain, apparently not wanting to wait for it to dry. I kept her busy, showing her the tools and supplies and whatnot in all the drawers, plus pointing out details of some of the completed models up on shelves around the room.

“Once that last dot of lacquer was dry, I handed her the necklace. She became quite emotional, telling me that when I first mentioned making a cage for it, that she thought it would be some cute hokey thing made of linked paper clips or somesuch, but that I’d made actual jewelry for her, right before her eyes! She handed the necklace back to me, asking me to please put it around her neck and fasten the clasp. I felt all sorts of emotional power between us and in the room, not understanding what any of it meant then, and only some of the symbolism now, all these decades later.

“It looked really good on her. We’d done well sizing the chain length to get the marble centered on her breastplate, like pendants ought to be. We happened to be standing near my bed. To my total surprise, she pulled me into her for very passionate kisses like we’d shared at lunch, but more intense and frenetic. I couldn’t do anything other than let my instincts go, which made me kiss her back in kind and made my arms wrap around her low down, with my hands on her buns. She gently pushed me down onto the bed on my back, maintaining frontal contact and kissing, all of a sudden lying atop me. The kissing stopped suddenly when she pulled her head back and asked, ‘I’m not too heavy on you, am I?’ and I replied, ‘Not even slightly!’, at which point she resumed frenetic kissing. She didn’t stop me at all as my hands roamed around what I could reach of her buns and hips, which was a good area of them. Her hands roamed over me in ways I don’t remember, other than they found my buns and squeezed them similar to how I’d been squeezing hers. I didn’t then know if this was love or sex or what it was, but whatever it was, I wanted it to keep going!

“Again she pulled back her head suddenly, and the conversation went something like this:

‘You really like me, don’t you?’


‘You made a real necklace for me, for the marble I found today, because I’m special to you?”

‘There’s no one else like you, Jenny.’

‘No other girls?’

‘Not like you! I don’t notice them. They’re just there, a blur of people.’

‘Do you love me?’

‘I don’t know what love is, for sure. I feel all these extremely powerful feelings being near you and even thinking about you, which make me excited and swirly and woozy and confused, and make me want to be with you so we can be in contact and I can keep feeling them. Touching you, looking at you, listening to you, talking with you, having you sit on my lap, kissing you.’

That’s love! That’s how I feel about you! John: will you be my boyfriend?!

“I’d never thought about such a thing. It seemed to be for other people who were into that whole love and romance stuff I didn’t understand until all these powerful things on this first day started happening, and truly still didn’t understand but felt powerfully drawn towards. Not knowing if there were other options and knowing that classmates who were boyfriend/girlfriend got to hold hands walking together and kiss and stuff and I wanted those things, I replied ‘Yes. And, then, does that make you my girlfriend?’”

“She replied ‘Yes! And now we have to kiss on it some more, to make it official!’.

“We kissed and caressed for a long time, changing things only slightly via rolling so we were side-by-side, then a few minutes later she rolled me on top of her. I figured it was all part of making things official, and merely followed along, glad to have a first girlfriend who knew what she was doing.

“Eventually we sat up and cuddled. I offered her a snack; she said yes. My mother met up with us in the kitchen and together Jenny and I explained as we washed up what had happened and that we were now officially boyfriend and girlfriend. In retrospect I think Mom was relieved that we hadn’t taken things farther, especially to actual sex.

“Thus started my confusing adventures in love, romance, and sex, some of which still befuddles me to this day.”

“You can’t stop there!” Tara declared, poking him playfully.

“You’re not bored to tears yet?”


“Neither am I” said Barb, “though I’m calling for another food break so you can eat, John, and Tara and I can have another go, with at least me opening another bottle of wine. For me it’s fascinating to hear an adult FA man explain in this much detail what his romantic and maybe sexual awakening was like. Most men I’ve known have been too busy getting with me for sex to talk about much of anything.”

They took a longer break, with Tara and Barb discussing the day’s dishes, topics related to the house, and select pieces of news regarding people they both knew. This gave John a chance to actually finish a plate of the appetizers and other delectable noms currently out, and his first flute of the now-barely-sparkling wine.

“Sure you want to hear more of the saga of me and Jenny Patussi?”

Yes” the women replied in unison.

“Alright. Fortunately most of the rest isn’t hour-by-hour, since I only remember that level of detail for that first day, and a few other momentous events.

“I had no clue how to be a boyfriend, and wasn’t interested enough in learning to do much asking around and certainly no research in those pre-Internet days. Jenny seemed to know and I loved her, or thought I did, so I followed her lead. I quickly learned that it was important to be seen together as much as possible, especially around campus, holding hands. No hardship at all for me, other than we had only one class we were both in, making logistics challenging. She taught me how much staring at her ass and hips was good and how much was too much, and the best times for me to be doing that when out in public.

“Initially we had lunch in Lovers’ Alcoves when we could get an alcove. I get the sense she was training me to be a better boyfriend, in terms of what constituted appropriate and inappropriate PDAs. Demand was always high for alcoves so we didn’t always get one. Soon she apparently thought I was ready to sit with her out in the open in public at lunch. I quickly learned that we only had maybe a 50 percent overlap of strong interests if that. Thankfully conversation came easily to us and there was that other 50 percent, so usually we could find something we were both comfortable talking about.

“At first I was sad that she wouldn’t sit on my lap in public unless we were hidden at least in a Lovers’ Alcove or more so. The upside was that the subtle hip squeezes with my arm around her for which she’d taught me refinements for PDA times was a freely allowed boyfriend privilege.”

“What were you two doing in private?” asked Barb.

“At this early stage during the few remaining weeks of junior year, more making out or necking or whatever one wants to call the combination of passionate kissing, intimate cuddling, and fairly open caresses and gropes with clothes on. This went down most often in my room, but sometimes her room at her house, and once in awhile in one of our parents’ cars we were driving, when parked in some secluded spot. She mentioned more than once how she really appreciated that I was a gentleman who wasn’t pushing her to go all the way, when the reality was that I might have urged things that way had I known how, and how to do intercourse and related sex correctly. We’d had what passed for sex education so I knew about condoms and the basic mechanics, but the sex ed videos were so abstracted from actual human bodies, they left about as many questions as answers.

“Misunderstandings and squabbles started before the school year ended. I know now in late middle age that each of us had a lot to learn about not only love in the broadest sense, but civil behavior with other people. We also both needed to mature more. I lost count of the number of times I screwed up, usually acts of omission I didn’t know I was making, such as not calling her when she thought I should, failing to compliment her on some new outfit I had no way of knowing was new, spending too much time talking about her body, spending not enough time talking about her body. Very, very confusing!

“I recall we broke up once in junior year, about a week and a half before the end of the school year, but not what caused it. More literally she broke things off with me and I was left confused and hurt, as usual not truly understanding whatever it was that I did or did not do correctly, in this realm of no documented rules of engagement I could find or understand. Apparently following her lead was insufficient; I was supposed to be taking more initiative, did not know I was supposed to do that, and did not know how to do that. My parents counseled me, soothing my hurt feelings and explaining this was all part of learning how to love another person intimately, so I let it go and focused back on modeling, learning in and out of the classroom, and studying for finals.

“She came up to me about 3 days after breaking up, all apologetic and affectionate, handing me a poem she’d written onto nice vellum paper in a calligraphic writing style that looked excellent but was somewhat hard to read. It was a very emotional poem about love and us and forgiveness, which I didn’t fully appreciate at that time other than clearly she was sorry and wanted us to get back together. She made a point of sitting on my lap and having me caress her hips and buns when my hands were free all throughout lunch even though we were seated on one of the edge walls of the commons where hundreds of people could see us. Of course she wore her necklace, which she wore every school day and other times we were together, other than those 3 days where we were broken up. It meant a lot to her when she was over in my room a couple of days later to see that I’d made a frame for her poem—matting, mitered wood frame, UV-protective glass—the whole thing—and had hung it on the wall where I could see it every day. We made out for a long time that day, with her moving my hands up under her skirt onto her upper thighs for the first time ever. I didn’t know how to reciprocate, so I told her to go ahead and touch me wherever she wanted that she thought was appropriate. She snuck her hands under my shirt onto my lower back, explaining that once our junior school year ended, it would be summer and we’d be learning all kinds of things without going to summer school.

“Friction resumed soon after school was out. She was ticked that I’d taken a summer job in a hardware store, when she’d planned to have a restful, playful summer. Mr. Boltzmann, the hardware store owner, was actually happy when I asked about changing my schedule to work weekends and fewer days, given that weekends were his busiest days and a former employee had appeared out of nowhere, badly needing work and wanting to work weekdays. So I worked Friday through Sunday and had the rest of the week off to do things with Jenny or whatever else, which resolved that issue.

“Sexual passions between us went way up once summer started. Her parents both worked and she only had one sibling: an older sister who was a couple years out of college and into her adult life, not living at her childhood home. That meant we had the run of her parents’ house every weekday during working hours.

“She’d call me as soon as her parents left and I’d come over. With next-to-no time pressures, we made out for hours, more restfully than at school, immersing ourselves in the dreamy feelings. Footwear came off the very first day, given that it was getting warm and we weren’t going anywhere. She had a nice standard girl’s bedroom with a comfortable double bed, with a soft bedspread with furry 1 cm diameter piping in a crosshatch square pattern that made it even softer.

“Not even 3 days in during that first week, it was getting hotter and I’d experimented with bicycling over, so I was a touch sweaty. With a gleeful smile I still remember, she pulled my shirt off, cooing as she caressed my chest and the rest of my newly-exposed upper body. She told me how unfair it was that men could take their shirts off in public but that women couldn’t unless they wore a bikini bra or similar. I reminded her that we weren’t even close to being in public, offering to take her shirt off if she wanted. She very much wanted, and I did, gasping softly and reverently exploring her new surfaces. She wanted to take things further, asking me what I knew about women’s bras. I knew very little other than what I could see of the clasps, elastic and other fabrics, and general design of the one she had on. She demonstrated the normal range of stretch and the clasps, then had me take it off her. She got a bit upset with me that I wasn’t instantly all over her breasts, which were all well and good for U.S. 30Bs, but at any size weren’t my thing.”

{And apparently still aren’t} Barb thought to herself.

“I tried to explain, but things weren’t good in her world until I started talking about how nice their symmetry was, and asked her to please teach me how to pleasure her breasts, in case I was missing something being a rank novice in the broader sexual realm. I do have to admit that suckling stirred what I later knew to be sexual feelings within me, and that once she taught me how she preferred hers played with, I was able to keep her fairly happy, whether or not I was feeling moved for breast play, which after some initial novelty, I usually was not.”

Barb made a mental note to inquire into the biggest ones he’d ever handled, later.

“This is how things stayed until the following week. Oh—we didn’t just lie on her bed and make out all day every workday. At least once and usually twice a week, we’d get dressed and go out for a walk, or if Mom was staying home and I had her car, maybe to the mall or a record store—because this was pre-Compact Disc—or other places.”

“You didn’t have your own car?” asked Tara.

“Not then. Too much money sunk into all the modeling supplies and equipment plus no parking space. That would be when I started university.

“So that following week, Jenny declared to be Short Shorts Week: we’d each wear our shortest short pants. Mine were loose and not especially short, covering most of my thighs. Hers were tight and barely made it below her crotch, making me want to grab her hips and ass and squeeze her round mini-pot belly. Apparently the first two of those three things was precisely what she wanted, given how she moved my hands to those areas within the first few minutes of the first day of Short Shorts Week. Very quickly my shorts weren’t quite so loose, as my growing erection filled them out.

“Everything was good until we were spoon cuddling with me as Big Spoon, and I squeezed her belly through her pants.” He got back into reenactment:



I know I’m fat! You don’t have to remind me!’

‘That’s one of the things I love about you, Jenny!’

‘You love my fat?!

Yes! That’s what so much of your hips and buns and thighs are made of, which gets me so excited touching you and being near you!’

‘You’re gross! Get out!


‘–Get dressed and go!

“Such was a typical argument between me and Jenny. I put my shirt, shoes, and socks back on and left, as she demanded. Short Shorts Week was a very short week, in terms of me and Jenny spending time together. She didn’t come around until Thursday afternoon, when I already had plans with friends then my 3 days of work. This too set her off afresh, which puzzled me since she had friends too, and it seemed like a great opportunity for her to get with hers as I got with mine.”

“Your friends hadn’t met each other yet?” asked Barb.

“I hadn’t received any sign that that was part of the dating protocol, so no. Jenny always framed it as we were a capital C Couple, and everyone else was secondary.”

Barb shot an “If the shoe fits…” glance at Tara, who shot a “Nuh uhhh!” look back.

“Much as I loved all the tingly arousing enthralling feelings when things were going well, all this drama was getting tiring. I was beginning to understand all the songs and other social references regarding IIR difficulties—or so I believed at the time. She apparently remained ticked at me the following week, making no effort to contact me. I didn’t believe I’d done anything wrong and certainly had no reason to get back together with her if she wasn’t OK with me admiring her fat body parts, so I made no effort to contact her.

“She mailed the necklace back to me, with a break-up letter telling me how awful I was for being a fat admirer, and how she was going on a diet to slim down and get a better man.”

Tara and Barb shared knowing looks and smirks.

“Yeah, you’re jumping ahead in the story, but diets didn’t work long-term any better back then than they do now, and being more primitive, probably worse. More precisely, she didn’t literally mail the package: she apparently dropped it in the mailbox herself, given that there was no postage on it. The letter hurt a lot, especially back then when it seemed like I was the only fat admirer in the world, given how fringe it was and there was no Internet to bring us all together. Part of me took it to heart, but I knew that curvy soft wobbly fat butts, hips, and to a lesser degree bellies were the only aspects of a woman which unleashed all those intense feelings I’d later be able to label as sexual passions. Without that I didn’t sense any reason to bother with all of the drama and having to figure out how the rest of love worked. So I let Jenny and love go, refocusing on learning all I could about the material world and the materials which made it up, human-made and natural.”

“More food, anyone?” Barb kinda sorta interrupted.

Everyone agreed to take another break and get some more.

With fresh assurances that Tara and Barb wanted to hear the rest of the story of his first romance, John continued, “Given what could be called irreconcilable differences and the finality of her letter, I truly thought Jenny and I were permanently done. Therefore you can imagine my surprise when the doorbell rang one weekday morning barely a week after she’d dropped off the package with the letter. She was standing right there wearing quite-snug running shorts, a snug cotton t-shirt with no bra, and what passed in those days for running shoes. Not that much time had passed, so if she’d dieted at all, it hadn’t been long. To me she looked deliciously fatter: more hip spread and a bigger belly pot, though again in such little time, the change was barely visually perceptible as she stood there.

“As I’m staring at her wondering why she’s there and what the heck is going on, she explained, ‘I told my parents about you and what you’re into. They told me that you’re a chubby chaser, and that that’s an unusual but legit thing to be. So here’s the thing: if you truly are a real chubby chaser, you have to chase me!’

“She ran away about halfway down our adjacent front walkway and driveway as my mind struggled to parse this new reality, stopping on the driveway part, looking over her shoulder at me defiantly as she aimed her curvy butt straight at me and bent as far over as she easily could. That was what my primordial urges needed to see. I ran straight towards her as she took off, laughing wildly and loudly. Almost caught her when she ducked into our front yard garden, not quite a jungle but certainly not an open lawn space like most people had. She did admirably well dodging the hazards and finding her way through the maze of plants she’d only been in once before to my knowledge, when I was giving her a full house and property tour. I had the home field advantage, seizing an opportunity to jump back a couple of steps to the only exit point she had. She crashed right into me, laughing as I threw my arms around her to capture my ‘prize’ and she did the same. We needed to keep our lips occupied with make-out kisses for awhile before taking some air, giving her a chance to apologize and ask to please go inside the house and work things out.

“It was just the two of us, since Dad was at work as usual and Mom was out at her once-a-week volunteer job with the historical society. I offered her something to eat; she accepted. She wanted us to share some sour cream-based onion dip with ridged potato chips, and each have a beer.”

Barb stood up and soon delivered the very similar onion dip she’d made and ridged potato chips, both which had been sitting out on the dining table awaiting consumption. No beer was out, but she most definitely had some, supplying each of them with a bottle of amber ale.

“The onion dip was a packaged mix, not deliciously homemade like this tastes, and it was Pabst Blue Ribbon, not a nice microbrew like this, but yes, this was the basic idea. I didn’t normally drink beer nor any other alcoholic beverages until well after college and I doubt Jenny drank beer at home, but my parents had let me try beer one time when I asked, so I figured there was no problem. I was too excited being close to her again to be thinking rationally about anything anyway.

“We took the food into my room, with me putting down a towel on the bed in case we spilled. She made sure to sit in my lap, saying, ‘It’s OK now for you to feel any of my fat when we’re alone like this, but please don’t out in public. Keep it to my hips and buns with tact, like before’. As I tentatively rested my hand on her belly bulge, she explained how horrible her life had been as the plain, small-boobed fat girl, with all the teasing and hate and no one loving her before me. She admitted she hadn’t really started the diet, because not eating delicious food and drinking tasty beverages felt like torture to her and that she was always going to be chubby, so now that she knew that chubby chasers were OK, she felt especially grateful that I was one, and wanted us to get back together. I did learn an important lesson when she told me that it hurt that I didn’t pursue her more and that she felt she always had to chase after me. I asked her what I should be doing because I truly didn’t know, and she said, ‘Call me and tell me you love me sometime on your work days or nights. Or send or drop off some sort of note, so I know you’re thinking about me, the way I think about you when we’re apart. Love me enough to lead the way now and then with what we do on our days together, instead of always leaving it to me to decide.’

“So then things got a bit weird again when she asked, ‘You haven’t been with anyone else, have you?’

‘“Been” like what?’

‘Dated anyone. Gotten intimate with anyone. Kissed anyone.’

‘No on all of those. Just going to work and working on models, and researching which colleges and universities are best for materials science. I haven’t even gotten this love thing right with you, not to mention I still haven’t encountered anyone else who makes me all heart-racing excited giddy bubbly like you.’ That’s when she introduced me to the so-called Eskimo nose-rubbing kiss, which blew me away.

“We were starved for one another’s company, especially feeling one another’s bodies. She didn’t force me to feel her fat, but she made it ultra-clear that it really was OK, no doubt feeling how extra turned on I got when she pulled her belly fat out of her running shorts and lifted her shirt a little, so it sat right out in the open. She almost certainly felt more hardness as I caressed and squeezed her now-naked belly. She responded with shivers and ‘Ooooh!’s, as though I was tickling her, so I slowed down and used a firmer touch, just letting my hand rest there at many points.

“She had us take our shoes and socks off, then almost immediately our shirts, to get us back where we’d most recently been as a couple during our intimate times. It meant a lot to her that I squeezed her bare breasts, which from my end was to discover whether they felt heavier since they looked bigger. I explained again how to me as a fat admirer, her breasts were OK, but I got excited about big fat curvy wobbly butts, hips, and bellies the way other men got excited about big breasts. I offered to demonstrate, explaining that I had little control over my erection’s magnitude, and that it was a decent time-delayed indicator of my arousal. She assented.

“I narrated as I went along, telling her first that I was thinking only of her breasts, as I stared at them and fondled them. Needed to do this for a couple of minutes, to give my body time to make changes. They were hers, they were nice, and I loved her, so there was some tumescence, though not as much as a couple of minutes prior.

“It took barely a minute from when I moved to her nude belly and announced that was where my focus was before we could both feel me being much harder. Then I moved to her hips, still in her running shorts: about the same, maybe a bit harder. Kept my focus there for about two minutes, then moved to her buns: a little harder. Then I explained I was now going back to normal admiring all of her, letting my hands roam where they will. That made me hardest of all, which really touched her when peak hardness was around the time I was again gazing upon her face, my caresses migrating mostly over her buns, hips, and belly, though also other places.

“She asked what would happen if her butt and hips were as exposed as her belly. I told her I didn’t know. We were basically done with the dip and as much as we wanted of the chips, so she set those aside on a table at the foot of the bed. There wasn’t much left of her beer, which she quickly finished off, setting the bottle on that same table. I finished mine and put it well out of the way on the floor next to my overcrowded nightstand. I will never forget what she said next:

‘Let’s get naked, John. You’re a chubby chaser, and I’m you chubby sweetheart, whom you caught during our chase.’

“I had no reason to object. For that matter, at that moment, I had no reason. She took off my pants first, very excited by what she saw through my tight undies. I tentatively reached for the waistband of her shorts; she enthusiastically nodded, eyes lit up and smiling. Down they went, making me gasp softly, seeing more of her deliciously fat hips.

“She was nearly hyperventilating with excitement as she reached for my underpants waistband. When she looked up at me I knew the thing to do was smile and nod the way she had. She let out a loud gasping moan that several years later I would know was one of arousal and pleasure soon as my mostly-erect penis was freed and bounced out. She almost forgot to pull my undies the rest of the way down in her fascination. I gathered it might have been the first live in-person one she’d ever seen. If not that, there was something about it she found compelling.”

Barb watched with interest as Tara eased her hand down onto that part of John, on the exterior of his pants. She apparently found something compelling about it today.

“She begged me to touch it, with panting and a pleading look and tone the likes of which I’d never heard before. I encouraged her to explore it however she wanted, as long as she’d stop if I asked her to stop, such as if she started to bend it some way it wasn’t meant to bend, when it was erect. This was the first moment of my life when I experienced what I can only guess she and you two and probably most women experience when a lover, most likely a man but not necessarily, fixates on a particular body part of yours. In my case at that time, I felt special and deeply honored. She held them—the penis and the scrotum. Squeezed them, penis mostly, scrotum gently. Caressed them. Kissed them, which blew my mind. Apparently having forgotten all about herself still wearing panties, she whimpered ‘I have to!’, promptly putting my penis in her mouth.

“The sensations were so intense I told her ‘That’s all good what you’re doing Jenny, but I’ve got to sit or lie down, so I don’t pass out’. She stopped long enough to help ease me down onto the bed, then went right back at it. I could hear and see her getting more excited as I got harder from her stimulation. I didn’t know anything about sex and this was back when porn was in paper magazines sold in seedy shops in the bad part of town and several years before home videocassettes, so I was lost and along for the ride, thinking how lucky I was to have found a young woman who knew so much about sex. She didn’t actually, as I’d find out later. Just going by instinct, as I was. I had no idea why anyone would want that thing in their mouth, but she clearly loved it! She didn’t stop when I told her I was going to cum, keeping going until I blew up in her mouth and she started coughing, looking surprised and lost when she pulled her mouth off of me.

“I thought she was going to throw up in the bathroom, but all she did was rinse her mouth out, then come back to me all wide-eyed, still looking lost and now frightened. I became frightened, opening my arms to her and asking, ‘We’re good, aren’t we?!’. She rushed to me, just about leaping into my arms and wrapping hers around me, kissing me over and over. I kissed her back, hoping everything was still OK.

“Once she said ‘I think we just had oral sex. Or I did. Or maybe you did’, I got the strong sense that she didn’t know much more than me about what we were doing, which was both frightening and exciting to be more her equal. Then she said, ‘I want to do that again sometime, please’. I said ‘OK’, and asked whether it was my turn to see her naked yet, and if so, what was and was not OK. She said yes it was my turn, and that I should follow my instincts unless she said to stop, because that’s what she had done.

“My first instinct after pulling her undies all the way down and off was to wrap my arms around her middle: hips, buns, and belly. Since I was on her front side I kissed her belly and pressed my head into it. I shifted around her, hugging her from each side, kissing both hips and her buns. Got lost in her butt, burying my face well into her crack until things got anus smelly, then I pulled out and wiped my face on my shirt, even though I didn’t think then and knew for sure not that much later that nothing brown was on me.

“Jenny had what I can now describe as a standard somewhat fat muff mound, proportional to her body. At the time I’d never seen a woman’s vulva that I knew of, in pictures or otherwise, given the deep abstractions I mentioned in what adults back then considered sex education in public schools in the U.S. It had some hair like I was getting around my penis, so I figured between that and the location on her body, it had to be her genitals. She gasped suddenly when I squeezed it with my hand, which made me stop. She said ‘No, go ahead. That’s nice’, so I did. It was even softer and wobblier than her other fat, which as a materials person, really made me wonder. I felt it more and let my index finger slide into its fold, at which point Jenny jerked suddenly. I froze where I was, asking ‘Good or bad?’. ‘Good’ she told me, ‘but go gently. Parts of it are very sensitive.’

“Long story short I learned to work her vulva with my hand, despite not having ever seen nor heard the word vulva, and only once or twice having heard vagina. I liked being able to talk to her and explore her other fat with one hand while working her genitals with my other. She taught me many useful things about how to best touch the various parts of her in there, to where I could arouse her without overstimulating her so it hurt or became unpleasant. I told her I loved her and I wanted to make her happy, which got her more excited. Between the two of us, I got her to what adult me would describe as high arousal through unintentional edging. I still don’t know from where within me the following sentence came out, but as some wiser part of me sensed that she was close, I said, ‘I hope you keep enjoying food, chubby sweetheart. Because any size of chubby or fat feels and looks great on you and delights me.’

“She groaned and writhed into a loud, seemingly intense orgasm. I was about to stop when she cried out ‘Keep going! Keep going! Keep going!’ So I did. I didn’t have anything else to say, so I kept working her vulvar insides and focused on the rest of her fat in my favorite places. She came again when I touched her just right down below as I gave her belly fat a deep squeeze and uncontrollably gasped loudly from the sensations. A couple of minutes later when I’d figured out how to loll my head around on her nearest hip and belly with my right hand still inside her, she had what to me seemed like another half orgasm then yelled out ‘Stop!’ and in a normal speaking voice ‘Hold your hand inside me perfectly still. Good! Feel all the throbbing?’


‘That’s my body recovering from the great sex you just gave me. Or I gave you. Or both, and I still don’t know. Relax your hand and pull it out slowly and smoothly, touching as little as possible. Aaaaggh!—slower than that please, honey! That’s good… nice and slow.’

“I studied the fluids on my hand far more analytically than sexually. Definitely mucus-like in consistency. She sent me off to go wash up, then come back so we could share this wonderful cuddly thing she’d heard about called ‘afterglow’.

“I washed up thoroughly many places on my body, and dried. I’d been feeling sleepy for awhile, and now she seemed like she wanted to lie down too. She told me that afterglow requires getting into bed naked and cuddling, and trying to fall asleep. I didn’t have to try very hard, and neither did she.

“We were still deep asleep when my mother arrived home. Having no idea whether or not I was home and none whatsoever that Jenny could even theoretically be there since we’d broken up, she quite naturally called out my name. I was so sleepy and out of it, I couldn’t tell what was dream and what was reality. It felt so good—so warm and cozy—cuddling Jenny that I didn’t wake up. She did—she told me later—having a moment of panic, then deciding that her best move was pretending she too was still asleep, given that I wasn’t stirring and she heard my mother’s footsteps getting closer. She closed her eyes gently and matched my breathing pattern. She said she heard my mother say ‘Oh’, stand there a moment, then she backed out and quietly closed my bedroom door. Jenny actually did fall back asleep.

“I woke up about 40 minutes later, to Jenny gazing at me with those sweet, heart-melting eyes and her gentle smile. Soon as she saw I was awake, she gave me nose-rub kisses, asking me, ‘What do you think of afterglow?’ to which I replied, ‘I think it’s a good reason that people get married. Or live together like marriage. Or otherwise find ways to literally sleep together after figuratively sleeping together.’ She then explained that my mom was home, and what happened. When I stiffened up she relaxed me with more of the nose-rub kisses, calming me down and explaining that she’d had time to think about it, and that the best thing would be for us to get dressed and for me to put her pendant back on her so we’d officially be boyfriend and girlfriend again, then go out together holding hands and fess up.

“There was drama with lots of tears on my and Jenny’s part when my mother lit into me for having sex without wearing a condom, until Jenny remembered that the correct term for what she and I had done was oral sex, and so the condom wasn’t needed because I never penetrated her. My mother was relieved, more so when we each assured her that we’d never ever ever done anything like this with anyone else, or even with each other before today. That was right around the time when Mrs. Patussi called, to find out whether Jenny was there and OK, and when she was coming home. Jenny and I needed to cuddle tight as Mom said Jenny was there and was fine, then asked Mrs. P whether she was sitting down, and got into the explanation of what happened. They kept things calm, agreeing to pool information once Mom and Dad had queried me and Jenny’s parents had done the same with her. Jenny and I kissed goodbye, and she went home.

“The after-dinner grilling felt like I thought an inquisition must feel like. They asked me all sorts of things about whether I forced Jenny into anything and why the beer and other things that confused and upset me and made me cry. I told them the truth about everything to the best of my ability. They gave me their combined refresher version of sex education, then admonished me not to do anything remotely sexual with anyone until they got back to me.

“Jenny told me later that she got more or less of the same inquisition and lecture. Our parents met up in person the next day I was at work. They came to an understanding which each set of parents shared with their respective young adult. The upshot was: no more alcoholic beverages nor other drugs; total, rigid monogamy between me and Jenny—not even kissing anyone else; no intercourse without at least one layer of birth control; only at one of our homes in the young adult’s bedroom; no bragging to friends. Subject to additional conditions and/or changes and/or cancellation at any time.

“Jenny and I both thought we’d made out like bandits: our parents were letting us have sex! She especially liked the forced monogamy clause; I still couldn’t imagine being with anyone else, so it was a non-issue for me. The next morning before work Jenny and I went to the drugstore to pick out a box of condoms together. She thought we should get the large economy size. I suggested we pick out a smaller, fun package to ensure we—mostly I—knew how to use them and that we both liked intercourse before buying big.

“Our first ‘all the way’ was my next day off, which was Monday after these other adventures. We lacked sufficient clues, she was a virgin down there, it hurt. No fun. We didn’t at all get why people bothered. She felt like a failure and so did I, but then I said, ‘Jenny: it’s just body mechanics. We’re smart; we can figure this out! Let’s go to the library and study everything we can.’

“Well, it wasn’t as easy as going to a public library, but the librarian tipped us off that because we looked college age, likely we could get into a research library at a local university, or even drop by their student health clinic for a more direct answer. That didn’t work out, but Planned Parenthood did, especially once I showed them that we already had the condoms and had already tried sex but it hadn’t been pleasant and we wanted to learn the mechanics. I don’t think the assistance was part of the Planned Parenthood mission, but the person helping us figured out we were going to do it anyway, so things might be better for the world for us to be informed.

“We tried again the next day: it was much better! To the point where we understood why people went to the trouble.

“Everything seemed perfect, and for awhile it was. We tried other forms of outercourse, with me begging Jenny to let me cum in her crack, which got me off best of anything, and saved us a condom. We found a copy of the Kama Sutra, and started checking off each position we’d done.

“Then for reasons which have faded into the mists of time, tensions arose and we started arguing again. It could easily have been that we were spending too much time together, especially for adolescents who still had lessons to learn about friendships and other adult human interactions. The pattern became: argument, several days apart, apology by whichever of us started it, reconciliation with hot make-up sex. We craved the physical contact—love and sex was indeed addictive, and we were addicted! And immature.

“Neither of us knew what feedist stuff was, and from my adult hindsight I can assure you that neither of us were doing that. Jenny loved food, knew that I was what she then believed to be a one-in-a-million true chubby chaser, and had a lot of time on her hands over the summer with no summer job and not being into getting together with her other friends. Then there was the unspoken fact that the fatter she got, the harder I got. We both knew it, and from bitter experience of having yelled out how wonderful it was during one particular orgasm and immediately descending into an argument, I learned it was forbidden to verbalize or in any other way draw attention to. Fat: OK. Fatter: Trouble. As a plumper of not much over 200 pounds, gaining 12 pounds in barely a month over the middle of summer was a big deal.

“One day when I got a bit overzealous with fondling her fat, even though I hadn’t said anything aloud, Jenny jumped up in a rage, taking off her marble necklace and hurling it at me. I managed to catch it without harm to myself or the necklace. She struggled into her clothes, cursing at me repeatedly with each tug and yank as her fresh flab resisted being covered. Once dressed, she screamed ‘I can’t be this hugely fat when school starts! We’re done!’, then stormed off and out of the house and drove home.

“I figured this was going to be another of those short-term disappearances, and I’d hear from her or see her on my parents’ doorstep in a few days, maybe a week tops. Didn’t happen.

“Two weeks went by: nothing. After the third week, I tried calling her, several days in a row. Never got an answer during the day, so I tried an evening, and got Mr. Patussi. He explained that Jenny and her mother were at Lightning Loss Fat Camp, thanked me for being good to Jenny over our dating weeks of the summer, and wished me well in the upcoming senior year and beyond. I was devastated—she was gone, for real!

“Other people noticed my gloom, including at the hardware store. Mr. Boltzmann was wise enough to know that what I needed was something to take my mind off my loss. He invited me to join him to learn procurement and other aspects of the hardware business beyond working the floor and registers, the way I’d been doing and continued to do. In a few weeks once I understood how much turnover he needed for a product to be economically worth stocking, I was able to suggest a couple of specialized grades of sheet metal and plastic which were becoming popular enough that he could sell enough, and hadn’t yet made it into the typical hardware store. He gave me the go-ahead, including handling advertising amongst hobbyists already using the materials and so far having to special order them. One of the sheet metals was a borderline seller, but the others were big movers, bringing in hobbyists who hadn’t been to Nuts & Bolts, Man! Hardware before. It wasn’t that easy to cure a love and sex addiction as I’m certain you both know, but it definitely helped.”

They took another food break, and a bathroom break.

John continued the story of himself and his first love.

“I barely recognized Jenny the first day of senior year: she’d made herself thin. Now she was just another of the several hundred-some girls in my class. She was more than that in terms of our friendship and the under 50% of things we had in common, but it had been a physically-driven IIR, and those aspects were gone for me. She similarly showed no interest in me, swishing around in her new thin-girl outfits.

“I figured it was the distortion of my internal biases from my bitterness making me believe that she looked more off-putting than before, kinda snarly-surly, if that makes any sense.”

Barb smiled and nodded. Tara just smiled up at him, still happily nuzzled into him at an angle close enough to upright to be able to eat and drink. Her huge right butt and hips remained on his lap, soothing them both (though John didn’t notice much, being so into his story).

“It didn’t take a whole lot of observation time on my part to catch her being snippy with her friends. Again I dismissed it as my own personal mental distortion, until my friend Paul told me privately that Jenny had apparently decided to be a real B as a senior, and how she was a lot nicer person when she was a chunkster and hanging with me at the end of junior year, and before that.

“Jonah the Gossip was not the sort of friend I chose to cultivate, however he proved quite handy for keeping me informed regarding Jenny’s several dating attempts and fails. Apparently she figured that being slender, or at least average, which is as slender as she ever managed when I knew her, was all she needed to be the hot number able and entitled to pick her man. She must’ve had her own denial, given how long it seemed to take her to realize that the common idiots still saw a plain face and small boobs—a good bit smaller than when she’d been thicker—and while her relative slenderness may be perceived as an improvement, the disagreeable personality was not, and the overall package remained a No.

“I was done with love, not over Jenny and far too busy focusing to do well in my classes and graduate on time. Whether Jenny violated our parents’ condition of not boasting about our sexcapades, or whether she in some other way let known her happiness, possibly near the end of junior year, her friend Maya made a play for me, which I recognize far better now in decades of hindsight than I did back then. She was decent enough, with thick dark hair in a stylish shorter cut, friendly personality, nice skin. She had basic women’s curves and had the gift of being voluptuous, but not plump, and certainly nothing beyond on the fatness scale. I’d now estimate she was carrying 32Ds on her chest—nice, but not my thing, and not even all that big amongst our class, for those seeking breasts. When her flirts fell flat, she worked the angle of wanting my help with a topo model of Mount Vesuvius with both destroyed historic cities like Pompeii and Herculaneum, and modern cities and towns in the same danger zone. It was a compelling project and I did help, but it was strictly business on my part.

“Back in the mid-late 1970s, weight-loss diets not working had yet to become common knowledge. Thus it very much caught my eye that Jenny seemed to be thickening back up. Her new outfits gave way to older ones I remembered, on the loose side at first, then a few weeks later, snug. I didn’t know what was happening with her, and I didn’t know what to think about it, nor how I felt about it, since it obviously wasn’t the outcome she wanted. We still weren’t really on eye contact terms with each other, much less speaking terms. Sticking with studies was what I needed to do, and did.

“In early November, Jonah passed along that the running joke was that Jenny Patussi had eaten too much Halloween candy, in hopes of turning into either The Great Pumpkin, or a stuffed turkey for Thanksgiving, depending who was telling the joke. She had indeed gained visibly, recently. From a distance it looked like a new peak high, but I couldn’t be sure without getting closer than either she or I wanted. Then there seemed to be a slight downward trend for a week, then back up, then back down. She didn’t come back to school after the Thanksgiving weekend, all the way through early December when they let us out on holiday break.”

“Wasn’t that a dumb system compared to what they do now?” said Barb.

“What do they do now?”

“Start in August, so the first semester is done by December instead of that awkward break where evil teachers assigned major holiday-wrecking reports, then coming back for a few weeks to end the first semester. School year ends in May instead of June. And on the subject of Thanksgiving, it’s time to clear some appetizer plates and bring out the next course!”

Specialty cheeses, good quality sliced deli meats (including ham and turkey, for anyone not wanting to miss out on traditional flavors), crackers, and fresh (and freshly) gently steamed veggies made their premiers. Barb produced a bottle of malbec wine, opening it after receiving approval.

“I can’t believe you two aren’t bored yet.”

“This is better than any romance novel I ever read” replied Barb. “More so because it’s a true story.”

“And it’s a fat romance story!” Tara exclaimed during the process of moving John’s most convenient hand onto her fat belly.

“That too. More veggies and wine and I’m all ready ’til my next food break.”

Armed with new noms (some of which Tara insisted John share before he resumed storytelling), the women were ready for more.

“I figured something was up once the December holiday break started. At different points on different days, each of my parents failed to subtly ask me whether I ever thought about Jenny, and if I did, what I thought. Each of them worded things differently in their vain attempt to keep things closer to subliminal, but that was the gist of what they both asked. My two answers were variants of: I don’t think about her too often, my romantic heart still hurts, I miss what we had together, I wish her the best, and maybe love is not for me, or at least not until I’m older.

“I’m quite sure in retrospect that they were field agents, reporting back to Mr. and/or Mrs. Patussi. Only about a day after the last of them asked, I received a holiday card from Jenny. Not having it with me, you’ll not be able to appreciate her beautiful writing on the visible fiber decorative paper she used. She had short sentences, one per line, centered as is common for card text. I can share the words, which I still remember well:

I’m very sorry about what happened.
I’d like to apologize in person.
All I want this holiday season is You.
And I don’t want to wait until the 25th.
Come to me, please.
Bring the beautiful necklace you made
that I should never have taken off
and should never, ever have thrown in anger.

“The feelings of passion and desire were stirred afresh, overwhelming the lingering hurt and doubt. I couldn’t imagine that she’d ask me over if she was relatively thin again, but this whole experience remained a string of surprises and mysteries. I showered and dressed up nice, and went right over.

“The first surprise was when Mrs. Patussi answered the door: she was now fat! I’d never seen her fat. Not huge, certainly not supersize—there hadn’t been enough time for that, short of a significant biological issue or extreme intentional fat gaining attempts. Still, her hips had widened deliciously, she had a visible paunch, and her breasts had grown big enough to be seriously stretching her top, with a little cleavage visible through the small neck opening. I stammered, explaining that I’d received a very nice card from Jenny asking me to come over, and that’s why I was there.

“I almost lost my breath when she turned around and called for her daughter, seeing how her buns had grown. A few seconds later I forgot all about Mrs. Patussi’s body when Jenny came into view. In the grander scheme of fat women past through present, she wasn’t huge. Indeed, at most she may have been about the size of either lower half of this amazing woman”—he hug-squeezed Tara—“around the time she started at Model Magicians. Maybe a little bigger than that, but nothing like the life-saving entity both sitting in my lap and next to me at the same time right now.”

He smiled at Tara, who smiled back and lolled her head over him, claiming his left hand and moving it back down to her belly.

He gave her belly some loving squeezes, then continued with his story, “Jenny was way fatter than the last time I’d seen her, or any time I’d seen her—a true BBW, and not a small one! Recalling that this was the mid-late 1970s and fat women’s clothing was in a vastly more abysmal state than it is now, there were very, very few choices for women in larger sizes. Men too, but this is about Jenny, so we’ll stick with women’s clothes. Have either of you ever seen what used to be called ‘bulletproof’ casual stretchy pants for fat women? The ones with virtually no fashion sense, which forthrightly followed and revealed every fat fleshy curve of the woman’s middle to lower body, leaving very little to the imagination?”

“Have a pair” replied Barb, “for when I want that look.”

“I’ve seen ’em, but as you know, I don’t do pants.”

John smiled anew at Tara, caressing each of her three upper thighs. “That’s what Jenny was wearing, in 1970s olive green.”

Barb groaned and shuddered.

“Not quite as revealing as being nude, but close! I gasped for air, staring at her wide, soft, fat hips, and very prominent and saggy fat belly, some in her pants, some in her shirt, part of her most prominent roll deliciously escaping both garments! She wore a soft fleecy sweater up top, which looked very nice and made her boobs look bigger, which I would soon discover they very slightly were. I gasped again noticing her new double chin and softer, rounder cheeks, which looked beautiful. Her eyes and the rest of her face retained that look which so many others called plain and I considered alluring and endearing.

“She was sighing too. I recall her chest heaving, which didn’t mean anything to me at the time. It was the look of want in her facial expression and her eyes that hinted that she wanted me at least a fraction of as much as I wanted her, if not more equally.

“I stepped into the house enough for Mrs. Patussi to close the front door, as Jenny walked towards me. The way her hips and belly bounced so erotically almost made me shoot off right there!

“‘Thank you for coming, John’ she said. ‘My holiday wish list is complete, especially if you’ll forgive me and we can work things out.’”

‘I forgive you and look forward to working things out, so we don’t have to go through more drama. You’ve got some cookie dust on the corner of your mouth. Let me get that for you.’

“She yelled out ‘Wait!’, planting her hands on my shoulders to get my undivided attention. Her eyes darted back and forth between each of mine as she urgently asked, ‘Have you been with anyone since we broke up?’

‘Not anything like what we were doing. Not even so much as handholding.’

“Her tone remained inquisitorial, ‘Not even with Maya?’

‘No. Nice enough young woman and decent person, of no romantic interest to me. No one but you, when you’re beautifully fat and we’re getting along.’

‘I’m definitely fat now. But am I beautifully fat?’

“I honked like the loudest, horniest goose ever when she let go of me and did a slow full circle, revealing what especially back then to me were huge globular buns—again, about like Tara’s when she started at the company… maybe slightly rounder.

“‘I didn’t quite get that’ she snickered as she completed the rotation.

“Just barely gathering my wits, I managed to say, ‘Please allow me to answer with a kiss.’

“I sunk into her, wrapping my arms around her and giving her a potent kiss of passion for the ages. I could feel signs of her arousal as she gasped and whimpered when there was a moment to catch her breath, then joined me in making the passionate kissing mutual.

“With adult hindsight I now know that both of us were mechanically ready for primal fucking sex at that point. Apparently so did Mrs. Patussi, who touched our shoulders to get our attention, then asked, ‘Have everything you need?’ making condom unrolling motions with her hands.

“Apparently Jenny thought that was a bit crude, given how she exclaimed ‘MoOOOom!’. I pulled one of the several condom packets I still had from summer out of my pocket for Mrs. Patussi to see, which made her smile. As I put it away I said, ‘With all of Jenny’s exciting new surfaces, I might not need this. She and I will have to talk about what will be the most fun for both of us, maybe try some experiments.’

‘Let’s go love each other and talk about everything since last summer, so we’re good and there’s no drama and we can all have happy holidays’ she said before towing me off towards her bedroom, with Mrs. Patussi standing where she’d been, watching us and chuckling.

“Turns out we did need a condom, soon as she closed her bedroom door and our clothes flew off. I very much needed it to desensitize me, close to my edge just looking at all her new luscious fat wobbling and jiggling. Even with it, pushing in to her new fatter vulva ensured I wouldn’t be going long before blowing up.

Don’t close your eyes!’ she yelled.

You’re too extremely sexy for me to hold back another moment if I don’t close my eyes and think of something else!

‘I am?!’


‘Keep your eyes open and prove it!’

“No sense arguing with her. I opened my eyes back up, immediately going into my final sequence as I looked at her glorious body afresh. I’d been trying to go longer, based upon what I’d learned with her and elsewhere about women needing a longer warmup than men. That may generally be true, but on that day Jenny was all warmed up, going off into her own orgasm near the end of the time I was going wild with mine, and groping her fat like there was no tomorrow. Which, given her and my history, there might not have been.

“Before I even finished gushing into the condom down below, my mouth was gushing heartfelt scrambled accolades of her beauty and sexiness and general wonderfulness and, as far as I was concerned in that moment, perfection. She babbled things about me in return, which I’d wager she doesn’t remember any more than I don’t regarding what I said. It was more the feelings of the words that mattered than the actual words—a concept I still struggle with today. Once we’d each verbally enthused, we resumed passionate kissing, wrapped about as tight into each other as two people can be, nice and softly thanks to Jenny’s new corpulence.”

“Corpulence: that’s one of my favorite words for fat” Barb smiled.

“Mine too” added Tara. “Though John usually prefers ‘Magnificence’” she snickered, making him blush.

“More food?”

“We probably should” John sighed. “I keep thinking I’m done with the detail, then stay stuck in it.”

“Stay stuck. This is like listening to an audio book of a romance novel. Great way to spend Thanksgiving, as far as I’m concerned!”

Tara playfully moved John’s hands onto some of her most convenient fat parts. “And I like learning about important past events of my man’s life. Beyond the romance novel aspect, which I like too, I’ve learned that usually the more detail he goes into, the more important a subject is to him.”

They took another food break, getting into more of the current course. Tara and John declined Barb’s offer to steam more vegetables, preferring the meats and cheeses.

“Back to my unintended romance novel in spoken word form. Brief as it had been, fatter sex with Jenny was the best I’d had to that point. The kissing wound down and the sleep-inducing biochemicals were kicking in for me. She set us up sitting up in her bed cuddled next to each other, against what I called her ‘pillow mountain’: a significant collection of medium-to-large pillows of various firmnesses and all sorts of fabrics and patterns. Apparently Jenny liked softness, at least external to her own body. Anyway, it was comfortable to sit up in her bed when those pillows were properly set up. She explained that this was a special afterglow plus make-up session, so I needed to stay awake and pay attention. Honestly I was so excited and on-edge given our history plus so interested in understanding how she now we had gotten to this point, these other feelings swamped out the sleepiness.

“She explained how horrible it was to live as a fat person in our then-1970s contemporary world, and how she didn’t want to upset me and certainly didn’t want to disrespect my desires, but that if she could be thin and stay thin and be happy, she’d do it in a heartbeat. It took a long time for her to get me to understand that I was the only person she’d ever yet met who truly thought that fat was beautiful, and genuinely enjoyed looking at, feeling, and playing with hers—any one of those. I felt ashamed and weird, and must’ve started to emotionally pull away, because she paused her explanation to gently pull us into a deeper side cuddle and take a caressing break, whispering in my ear how being rare didn’t mean being bad, and for her meant quite the opposite.”

Tara interrupted his story with a gentle poke and a question, “Are you aware of emotionally pulling away when you do it?”

“Not usually. Do I still do that?”

“Yes” she smiled impishly, playfully poking him some more as she said, “Emotionally, we chubbies often have to chase after you!

He tickle-poked her back, “Thankfully for me, you’re well beyond chubby, young lady!”

“Don’t make me come over there and tickle both of you so you’ll tickle me back. At least not until the story’s done and we’re into the main courses or, better, desserts.”

“Despite Jenny’s best efforts, I still didn’t truly understand the trials and tribulations of life as a fat person in greater society, though she did well enough that I was a couple of steps closer. Her explanation of life at Lightning Loss Fat Camp I understood much better. To me it sounded like a true horror story and torture, and Jenny confirmed that her experience of living through it was basically that—especially the torture. She hated it, her mom hated it, but few other alternatives existed at that time and in our city, so they felt they had little choice, and no other choice promising the fast, dramatic results they sought.

“As primitive and awful as any of the three of us might find it today, the Lightning Loss people did have some of the psychological aspects worked out, such as having a Camp buddy going through the system with you. She also said that it wasn’t totally insane what they had people do in terms of food: they ensured everyone stayed hydrated, and the low-calorie vegetarian foods were apparently not bad for the era. Even so, they and others they spoke with at Camp all felt like they were starving, going through food withdrawal symptoms and having headaches and dizziness and other maladies. The exercise regimen was apparently intense, and nearly relentless. She spoke of some old 1960s Robert Preston exercise march song that they played every morning when they first started exercises at dawn, that her mom knew, she didn’t before going there, and everyone in the program quickly learned to loathe.”

“Oh gawd!” Barb chortled, “The chicken fat song!”

“You know it?”

“My parents had it! They made the mistake of playing it for me one time as exercise enticement. And you know, it worked! Soon as I had the chance, I ran outdoors with that small single record and flung it as hard and far as I could. It made a decent flying disc, which I used with my playmates for quite a few rounds of disc golf until it was so scratched it wouldn’t even play on Dad’s old kiddie phonograph made around the time that infernal record came out. Once it was too broken up to fly well for disc golf, it was part of a science show-and-tell experiment, where I demonstrated the melting point of small phonograph record PVC vs. other forms of PVC. For which I got an A–, ThankYouVeryMuch.”

“We should see if it’s online” Tara suggested.

Barb immediately objected, “Nooooo! It’ll ruin Thanksgiving! So Jenny and her mom survived fat camp and then…?”

“They graduated with the guaranteed results for which they’d signed up: nearly 40 pounds lost in Mrs. Patussi’s case, and almost 60 for Jenny. They went straight from camp out shopping, all excited to be in the smaller size clothing racks with the better, more fashionable options. This was only a day or two before the start of senior year of high school for Jenny and me and the rest of our class, so Jenny was all psyched to be the hot ‘new’ girl, as I think I mentioned.

“Reality hit her hard the first day of class: average-slender in a nice new outfit was an insufficient condition for automatically drawing strong notice from desirable male classmates. She explained that she didn’t know she was being disagreeable until well into the semester. From her vantage point, she was starving all the time, and the post-Camp ongoing low-cal diet wasn’t doing it for her. It hadn’t actually been doing it for her in camp, but she hadn’t paid attention when told that she’d have to stay on it once she was out. Seeing other students eating all the crazy junk most of us ate back then and really wanting to get back into doing so and knowing she could not further put her on edge.

“She had trouble getting inexperienced and somewhat self-centered young me to understand that it was not all bad post-fat camp, especially at first. People, especially strangers, often treated her better, or at least as a person rather than someone invisible. The greater clothing options were significant, and important to her self-esteem. I didn’t think she’d been big enough to have trouble fitting places, though apparently even her former just barely pear-wide width made some seating tight.”

“You’d be amazed how small some seats are” Tara interjected, with Barb nodding. “Any seats you found cozy snug with no wiggle room may have been too small for her in junior year.”

“I’ll have to pay more attention. I know airline seats in coach class have usually been as narrow as possible in the last 3 or 4 decades if not longer, and that antique seating made for smaller humans is often tight for modern humans. In any case, that was an upside for her when she was relatively slimmer.

“She started crying and I needed to hold her when she explained that she felt like a literally giant failure for being unable to stick to the diet. At least she wasn’t alone—her mother had trouble as well. Both of them tried and tried to not cheat on it, but temptation was too strong. And as we didn’t know then and do now, very strong signals from our little friends in our intestinal microbiome, all but ordering us to eat things they need to survive in our gut. I wish I’d known that back then; I could’ve done better consoling her and not having her needing to blame herself. The least worst I could do was have her get into greater detail about the foods on the diet, making faces and telling her truthfully that I’d have trouble staying on that diet. That of course brought up the fact that I wasn’t fat, and could eat what I wanted. I countered with the whole thing of we’re all different, there have always been fat people throughout recorded history, only really since the 1920s in western society have fat people been derided, that we just happened to be living in a time when fat wasn’t admired, and I was doing my little part to flip that around, since I couldn’t help finding fat women’s bodies profoundly desirable to look at, feel, cuddle next to, have sex with, and so on. Her crying wound down and we cuddled awhile, taking a break. I studied her breasts, squeezing each and confirming that actually they were a bit bigger. This observational confirmation made Jenny very happy, to the point where she hugged me tighter and kissed me.

“Both of us wanted to finish working through our time apart stories and finish working things out, so she continued hers. The food tension grew stronger and stronger, getting more out of control as she and to a lesser degree her mother would oscillate between rigorously sticking to the diet and cheating on it, sometimes bingeing. Exercise was more of a gradual fade than an oscillation, mostly. Colder days, less daylight, schoolwork in Jenny’s case, work in her mother’s case—all these factors made something neither of them especially enjoyed doing into something they didn’t do.

“The real killer for Jenny was when she was noticeably fattening back up and still mostly on the diet and doing at least half the exercising and was still starving hungry most of the time and was being shunned as the class bitch. Nothing close to any dates much less a new boyfriend the entire semester, and she had to get back into her older, bigger clothes. A few days before Halloween she concluded that she’d utterly failed and that everything was downside the way she was currently living. She threw a fit at home, ranting about how she was a big fat failure and couldn’t do any of the fat camp stuff any more. Her mother confessed that she herself was within a day or two of dropping out entirely, at which point the two of them purloined Mr. Patussi to take them out for a nice big steak dinner at Big Deke’s.”

“Mmmmm! Makin’ me hungry, John” said Barb, immediately slathering a big slab of brie cheese onto a thick baguette slice. “Hurry up, clock! The barbecued pulled pork needs another half hour, and I’m ready now!”

Deftly with her left index finger, Tara wiped some nascent drool off her lips. “If it wasn’t Thanksgiving and we didn’t have all this great food here, I might suggest we go.”

“One of those classic steak houses that was supersizing portions long before it was a thing” John noted. “Back then it kicked off the end of Jenny and Mrs. Patussi’s fat camp adventure—or so it seemed. Jenny went wild, devouring anything and everything she could get her hands on and felt like eating. She discovered the night of Big Deke’s that her capacity had been reduced, but it was back to its former high glory within under two days. She felt like absolute shit about herself, but at least she was no longer hungry. In the same way she hadn’t truly noticed she was getting surly and disagreeable until it was pointed out to her, it was others who thanked her near Halloween for being nicer, the way she used to be.

“Then the fat hate came roaring back—the Great Pumpkin jokes and all that, reminding her why she’d felt the need to go to fat camp in the first place. She threw things in reverse, throwing herself back into exercise and as much as she could stand onto the diet again. Her mother helped by making the diet meals for Jenny, but was having none of it nor the fat camp exercising for herself. Jenny struggled, trying to strike a balance between all these conflicting factors that she could live with, ideally one where she could feel proud and successful for doing all she could, even if she wasn’t as slender as she wanted to be. This was that period of weight oscillation in November up until Thanksgiving. On this day—Thanksgiving—all those years ago, Jenny Patussi had a breakdown. Faced with a cornucopia of amazing food—as we have here today, though likely all traditional fare—she threw in the towel. She told me she ate all day long, into the evening and almost ’til bedtime. Then again on Friday. Then again on Saturday. Then again on Sunday.

“By Monday morning she was so bloated with food, water weight gain, and new fat, she couldn’t get into any clothes and refused to go to school. Her mother called the high school, framing it as a mental health crisis that was being dealt with. That may have been so, but Jenny had no intention of going back for any of those final 10 days of class before the December holiday break. She wasn’t eating quite as intensely Monday onward mainly because there wasn’t the cornucopia of food. There were, however, freshly-baked holiday cookies and other treats, both from the hands and oven of Mrs. Patussi (who intended to indulge herself) and others—neighbors, extended family, work. Jenny and her mother found themselves colluding or being co-dependents or whatever, working together to make tasty treats and festive meals, starting well before school was over. Mrs. Patussi made arrangements with Jenny’s teachers to track where they were in the curriculum, collect homework assignments and distribute completed homework, and otherwise act as an intermediary for these 10 days. Mr. Patussi helped with this as well. Jenny told me he claimed that he honestly didn’t care who was or wasn’t fat, as long as his wife and daughter were happy and the family could afford food and clothes and the two women in his life still living at home could function normally in the world.

“On the night of the last day of class in December, when Jenny didn’t have to deal with going back to school until January, she got up for a snack after having gone to bed and caught her father squeezing her mother’s hips as the two parents stood in the kitchen in a loving embrace. She made a point of telling me that he was squeezing her mother’s hips the way I squeezed hers. She accused him of being a closet chubby chaser, to which he allegedly responded, ‘Well, there’s not much chasing with your mother since we got married and both live here and share the same bed, but yes, I suppose I do enjoy her extra softness’.

“That pretty much brought Jenny’s story up to the then-present moment, with the two of us nude in bed together. The only other aspect of the story was having gone out with her mother so they both could buy stretchy ‘fat girl’ clothes, especially not knowing which direction Jenny and her body would be going the rest of December. She got tearful again, telling me that the only way that she wouldn’t feel like an abject hopeless failure was having me as her loving boyfriend again, going wild over her and reminding her every day that she was good and OK and worthy and lovable. She got me really excited when she went on to say that she really wanted to celebrate all December long, eating and drinking as much or little of whatever she wanted that was available, and not have to worry at all about how fat she might get. This of course made me hard again, which compelled her to go down on me, with my penis apparently being what she wanted to ‘eat’ at that moment.”

“One of your favorite sex acts, I take it?” Barb grinned.

John found the visible tongue lick move she did afterwards eerily like what Jenny had done all those years ago. “Not really, to be honest, which I gather makes me unusual amongst men.”

Tara nodded, smiling.

“The many times we did that it was because Jenny wanted it. I didn’t mind and I’ve had it done to me enough other times since to know that she was good at it, but then and now it wasn’t something I liked enough to ask for.

“The last part of our important discussion, which was held back in bed cuddling after she was done, was what would happen when the holiday was over. Jenny was certain that she’d be fatter than she’d ever been seen at school before, whether it was around what she was at that moment, or even more so. She told me she’d absolutely crumple if she didn’t have moral and emotional support, imploring me to go above and beyond mere boyfriend and really be there for her as her special best friend when people hurled fat hate her way and she felt like a failure inside. She emphasized that I couldn’t be a closet chubby chaser: I had to own up to how I loved her body and all of her, visibly in front of everyone, including my other friends. I told her I thought I was already doing that at the end of junior year, but that I’d redouble my efforts, and seek suggestions for improvement from her. I guess she thought that I wasn’t truly listening, because she re-phrased things, saying that I’d be visibly dating the fattest girl in our class, maybe even the high school, and possibly in the history of the high school, and that I needed to be unflagging in my loving support for this to work. This naturally led me to ask how we were going to handle disagreements between us, so they didn’t become arguments which broke us up. She said she didn’t know, but that if we stayed true with one another and didn’t seek others, that love would find a way.”

Barb rolled her eyes and palmed her face.

“The last step in reconciliation was my putting the necklace I’d made back on her, officially renewing our boyfriend/girlfriend coupledom, according to Jenny. She promised me she’d take care of it the way fine jewelry deserved to be cared for, would never again throw it in anger, and would always be wearing it when she was out of the house as well as when she was home and had clothes on, other than if she was doing something like helping her parents with yard work where it might get damaged. She took it back off when the ceremony was done, since we were nude in bed and she fully intended for us to stay that way—at least the nude part—and get into various positions where it might hang and get in the way or tangled.

“So started the most amazing December holiday season I’ve yet had in my life. We were all over each other for sex and related intimacy. I felt I could feel Jenny’s self-esteem improving as we both kept on having a great time. Stayed for dinner, helping make it. Stayed overnight, sleeping with Jenny in every sense of the phrase. Cooked and baked with her the next day, when both Mr. and Mrs. Patussi were back at work.

“We were inseparable, and getting along great. We mostly went between her house and my house, rarely going out in public or meeting with other people, both because we wanted as much potential naked time as possible, and because Jenny wasn’t ready to parade her fatter body around where people might know her. Every day she was slightly rounder and fatter, that much more amazing and perfect to me, driving our physically-based love that much harder.

“One of the days of the first week of our December bliss when she was having a bad moment in terms of her self-esteem because we couldn’t do one of the positions in the Kama Sutra because her belly was too big, I pointed out that she now had more surfaces for sex than when she had been relatively thinner, or than any thinner-than-her women had. That meant that we had more sex position options, not fewer. I suggested we make our own Kama Sutra of Fat Sex, with me doing the drawings and her writing the text with her beautiful calligraphic writing style. It would also be documentation of all the positions we’d tried, as we were doing with our Kama Sutra checklist. She loved the idea, digging out a really pretty bound writing book, so far unused. She wrote the title out beautifully on the cover, and I did OK drawing illustrations of us holding hands side-by-side underneath.

“You asked a couple of minutes ago about whether a woman going down on me was one of my favorite sex acts, which I explained it wasn’t” he directed at Barb. “The one that Tara knows well is one of my very favorites is one I discovered with Jenny: placing my penis deep within her butt crack but not penetrating any orifice, rubbing back and forth and just enjoying being hard in there, until I’d eventually cum. Basically it was sexualizing the spoon cuddle position, with me as Horny Big Spoon. Jenny wanted to please me and was quite good with it as I just described. When we added me reaching down and into her vulva to caress her there in various ways and especially attuned delicate sensitive touch on her clit to maximize her arousal she was great with it—outstanding with it, truly. While we remained highly motivated to experiment and keep trying different things and did indeed do so, this became our default sex act. I couldn’t hide the fact that it turned me on more than anything else we did consistently, for one thing. It was also a natural cuddle position for sleeping, the very easiest one to transition from sleeping or just-awake cuddling to sex, or sex to falling asleep comfortably. This was something else we got into earlier in the holiday break, initially on account of having run out of condoms at night and not wanting to go to a store.”

Barb crossed her legs the other direction, resisting the urge to touch herself or seduce John and/or Tara.

“Apparently one time in the middle of the break when we were sleeping over at Jenny’s, we were noisier and more inspirational than we realized. After some great early Saturday morning first light sex, we heard sounds we’d never heard before emanating from her parents’ bedroom. It was Mrs. Patussi moaning loudly with pleasure as Mr. Patussi humped her. Our eyes were wide and I at least had a touch of fear instinct before I figured out what was happening. Jenny and I wrapped ourselves into each other protectively, a little stunned and quite fascinated. ‘Let’s get up and go listen closer’ she suggested. We got into the absolute minimum of clothes we could get away with: me in undies and a pair of warm sweat pants, her in a really big tent-like t-shirt which was long enough to just barely cover her butt if she didn’t bend over, and to my delight no longer long enough to cover the lowest part of her belly hang.

“They were still going at it when we quietly padded out to the kitchen. From there one could hear Mr. Patussi’s panting and some of the intercourse sounds, being closer to the master bedroom and its open doorway. We quietly got into some soft leftovers which wouldn’t make crunching sounds as we ate, being careful not to clink dishware nor utensils.

“From the sound of things Mrs. Patussi had a very nice orgasm, with Mr. Pastussi grunting one out soon thereafter. To our breath-holding surprise, the two of them came out into the kitchen barely three minutes later, grinning like bandits and holding hands. Mr. Patussi wore nothing other than a bathrobe, looking to me quite like Hugh Hefner. In that moment, I idolized him the way many do or did Hef. Mrs. Patussi had nothing on other than a sheer negligee that no longer fit. She was flashing more belly and hips than her daughter, and the lower part of her buns as well. It was totally easy to see her body’s outline through the thin fabric, including all details of her fat-swollen breasts and her big belly button—not as big as Jenny’s had become, but relatively big versus what most people had and she’d used to have. She didn’t seem to care at all that I was staring at her like that; nor did Mr. Patussi. They started making coffee and doing their usual morning routine, same as other days when they were fully dressed.

“Jenny blew me away when she said out loud, ‘That wasn’t a very long afterglow’. Her father replied, ‘We’re looking forward to having another round in a little while, after a light breakfast.’

‘Light for you, maybe’ Mrs. Patussi replied, slathering a thick layer of cream cheese onto a day-old bagel she’d just refreshed in the microwave oven.

“That was the unforgettable Saturday when both Mr. and Mrs. Patussi and me and Jenny had sex nearly all day long, in our respective bedrooms, with the doors wide open.

“We and our families worked out that Jenny and I would spend Christmas Eve and the overnight at my house with my parents, then all of us would go over to the Patussi’s to exchange gifts and share a big buffet meal, similar to what the three of us are sharing now, though nowhere near this level of grandeur.”

Barb smiled at the compliment.

“To me the gift was giving caring love and receiving family togetherness, with both families celebrating Jenny’s and my love bond. The highlight for me was watching the delight on Mrs. Patussi and Jenny, the two different moments each of them opened a gift of clothing. Mrs. Patussi’s was a nice cocktail dress with stretchy fabric. None of us had ever seen an attractive, eye-catching cocktail dress in that size. She was so excited she rushed off to their bedroom and put it on. She truly did look hot without looking what got judged then especially as slutty, and it fit well. Jenny was thrilled to receive a white cotton tie-dye above-knee dress which was sized just slightly large for her current body. What really made it great was the rope belt, easily adjusted as her size might change and giving the dress—and thus her—shape, rather than tending towards being a small tent the way it was before the belt was tied. There were no belt loops, so it could be adjusted higher or lower depending what worked on her body and what she wanted to emphasize. She too rushed off to try it on, impressing all of us both with how good it looked on her, and how happy she was in it. It hit the multipurpose dressy/casual dichotomy on the nose. She could easily wear it out and about just about anywhere that didn’t involve dirty stuff like yard work or intense exercise, giving her a spectacularly superior option to her ‘fat girl’ stretchy pants and t-shirts.

“It was a great day. Seeing Jenny’s self-esteem soar as her fat body was embraced in non-sexual ways and by people who mattered to her beyond me was worth all the drama we’d gone through earlier in the year. Despite being fatter than ever, between this new dress, a new pair of dressy shoes for her bigger feet, and knowing that there weren’t that many days left of the holiday break, Jenny was very ready to get out of our houses and be seen in public—with me at her side. She got over some last-moment nerves when, at her suggestion, we went to the mall to stroll around as the after-Christmas shoppers sought bargains. I dressed nicely to match her level of dress. A few people in our class who were doing their own mall cruising spotted us, often whispering and pointing at us, or at least Jenny. I was so proud to be with her, it was easy to radiate pride and joy as we did our hand-holding or arm-loop-locked stroll, each of those at different times. My unflagging love and devotion apparently helped her stay positive and strong when she faltered, which may be why some of the wide-eyed pointing had what I considered tinges of admiration.

“Jenny Patussi finished off that extremely special December holiday season weighing 292 pounds as of New Year’s Day, with an ass and hips to die for—at least for me at the time, when it was my reference for huge fatass—and a belly that could not be hidden and didn’t take kindly to being contained fully within two-piece separate top and bottom outfits. Given that she’d been a bit below 200 pounds when she and I first got together only about 7 months earlier, this was truly extreme! It also wasn’t all fat/muscle/bones/etc., since through New Year’s she continued to eat and drink a lot, having a lot of food inside her at any given time. There was also a lot of fluid, related to her body’s tendency to retain more fluid than average for most women when her sodium intake was high, as it had been.

“All of us—me, Jenny, and our two sets of parents—found it difficult to let go of the holidays, more so than usual. The holiday baking and special feast-ish meals did taper down, though Jenny and Mrs. Patussi in particular weren’t ready to let go of them entirely. Jenny and I started to mentally adjust to returning to school in not that many days, shifting away from quite as much playful sex more towards heart-to-heart conversations whilst cuddling. She needed repeated assurances that I truly would be there for her as a strong supportive loving figure, as classmates reacted in shock to how hugely fat she’d become. She also begged me to help her dial down her appetite, encouraging her to have water when she needed something and to get out and exercise a little more, even if it was just walking around the neighborhood. I had to admit I felt sad that she’d be losing weight, at which point she pulled me into her naked butt and pulled my arms around her as we lay in bed, telling me that while she did want to lose some, it wasn’t likely to be a lot and she might not be able to lose any at all, and again pleading with me to be her support in public, at school especially, no matter how more or less fat she became.

“We drove to school together, got out of the car together, strolled to our lockers together, and stayed together until about two minutes before first period started, given that we had different classes in different rooms. I had to do a lot of running to make it to my classes on time, then back to her at our pre-arranged meet-up points between classes. She was nearly in tears between first and second periods, telling me how there was no way she could fit her giant fat ass into those one-size-fits-some desks with the chair and book rack built into the desk tabletop.”

Barb and Tara ranted for several minutes about how much each of them hated those, with all three of them having another round of food and beverages.

“I assured her that she had so much beauty and magnificence, the desks couldn’t contain it all. When that didn’t go over especially well, I promised that I’d help her enjoy a lunch of water and small bits of other things or whatever else she wanted, and that no matter what happened, I loved her and was there for her.

“She did a little better the other periods through lunch. For lunch she told me that the most important thing was for me to focus on her with deep love, like nothing else beyond her in the world existed, demonstrating my desire for her with light, PDA-appropriate sexual touch. She might as well have asked me to breath normally, because what she was asking for was my automatic tendency anyway.

“Once our classmates got over the initial shock and had their gossipy whisper-fests of which Jenny and I were blessedly unable to hear, most of them adjusted to the new reality of Jenny’s fat body. She was eating less, moving around more, shedding both the mass of undigested food weight and a good amount of the water weight. Seeing the scale numbers go down and being able to tighten the rope belt on her dress and not have so much of her belly try to escape her fat girl stretchy pants while at the same time still being able to eat more or less what she wanted and with me remaining devoted in love with her filled her with joy and hope.”

“Did it bother you seeing the numbers go down?” asked Barb.

“No, for several reasons. One: this was before even BBSes connected like-minded fat appreciators online, and I was too young and totally disconnected from anything like NAAFA, which I wouldn’t even know existed for another couple of decades. Thus I felt shame for being so hot for fat, sometimes more, sometimes less shame. Two: I loved Jenny and wanted her to be happy. She never truly liked being fat, mostly finding places of acceptance when she felt the need for my deep love, and when for reasons apart from me, she was going to be quite fat anyway. She was thrilled, so I at least needed to be at peace with it. Three: she remained a lot fatter than she’d been junior year and over the summer, and continued to let me go wild loving her fat when we were alone. She was great, I loved her, and I didn’t have any other alternatives anyway. It’s worth repeating: her parents and my parents let us freely share responsible non-procreating sex! I highly doubt that happened with most late teenagers still in high school! Four: both she and I needed to focus on learning and school work, to be able to graduate on time and make it into our preferred institutions of higher learning.

“Jenny remained what I’d now call neurotic throughout most of January. I was beginning to get tired of having her plead with me to stay with her every single day, especially given that I still ran to be with her between every period and always had lunch with her, other than a few rare times friends who’d still deal with her wanted to have lunch and talk privately. I don’t remember how the idea got into my head, but somehow I decided, or society subliminally convinced me, that she needed an additional symbol of our commitment beyond the necklace—something both of us wore. I turned a pair of multi-stepped rings, out of aircraft aluminum, one sized for her and one for me, identical other than diameter, due to her having delightfully fat fingers.” He looked down to Tara, “Have I mentioned how wonderful it is to hold and squeeze a fat-padded hand?”

“No” she smiled, eyes glittering. She looked at her left hand, “I didn’t think mine were especially fat.”

“They’re not especially fat. They’re nicely padded.”

Barb held hers up, “So you’d call this something nicer than an attached baseball glove?”

“I’d call yours excellent: plenty of soft padding for receiving deep squeezes that would hurt delicate hands.”

“Come on up and squeeze me sometime” she voiced in her best Mae West impression, which was pretty good.

“The next time Jenny went off on an especially intense needy-clingy plea for my unrelenting undivided love, I pulled out a double-wide flocked jewel box I’d been carrying, presenting it to her and asking her to open it. She didn’t know what to make of the rings, given that they weren’t at all like standard jewelry, other than being rings, in a jewel box, and looking nice. I explained my reasoning: the nature of the high-tech aircraft aluminum, the way its matte finish would never blind anyone the way most shiny jewelry does, that there were no other rings in the world like this, that I’d made them for us and would wear mine every possible moment it wouldn’t get damaged or lost, and that if she did the same, it would be obvious to anyone with reasonable eyesight that she and I were an indivisible couple—like the matching wedding bands married people wore, but without us needing to be engaged or get married, until some future time when we were adults when we might decide to make our commitment more permanent. She kissed me so hard and long I wondered if I was going to have bruises or any skin left on my face!

“The rings were a smashing success, which had I known, I would have made and presented before our first day back in school. I enjoyed explaining what they were, both the symbolism and all about the material and how I’d made them. She did too with those who asked, especially her friends, focusing more on the symbolism. She told me a couple of friends were jealous that Fat Jenny had such a talented, committed boyfriend and that we got to have sex in our parents’ homes, which Jenny admitted she’d leaked out some months prior.

“Jenny and I did pretty well getting along, second semester senior year. We still had plenty of disagreements, but the ring commitment and my always being there for her helped defuse the tensions. Also, each of us had at least the start of maturity to discuss things with our parents or friends instead of directly escalating with each other. This is where I started to get the idea of how I could be unreasonable in some ways, and might want to rethink my stance on certain issues. Sometimes I did, impressed with how it could take the wind out of what otherwise would have been an argument.

“We did have one big blow-out argument in late March, which seemed like it was going to kill everything. We were out at the mall and I happened to spot a huge pear-shaped fat woman, looking just a few years older. I couldn’t tear my eyes off her: her body was too amazing to watch, in all its sexy motion! Jenny’s jealousy + faithfulness response tripped all the way off, getting us into a big, noisy scene right there in the mall. She pulled me down onto the mall seating and off we went into what seemed like an hour of yelling at each other, starting with the immediate trigger issue then going into every little or not-so-little thing that had been irritating either of us since we got back together.

“Once we’d worn ourselves out, we looked at each other apologetically. The woman I’d seen was long gone, and after we stopped yelling at each other, I’d been looking over Jenny, no one else. This went on for a few minutes, as we each settled back down, feeling feelings of desire and need for one another again. I eventually broke the silence with, ‘You know why your ass is better?’. Her hackles went right back up and she yelled ‘Why?!’. I said ‘Because it’s your ass! And I love you. And I’m wearing my ring, and don’t want to take it off. And we’re here together, and I want to work things out, because I know you and I love you and I don’t know her at all and don’t want to, long as I have you.’

“We spent another half hour give-or-take smoothing things out, arguments almost flaring up again when I pointed out that I’d seen her checking out other men—which she vehemently denied—and it hadn’t bothered me that she looked, as long as we remained the couple or re-negotiated. She reluctantly agreed that it was human nature for eyes to track other people’s movements, that at least some of these other people each of us might find sexy, and that as long as we looked and didn’t take things past looking, it would be tolerated. She did emphasize that I needed to stare at her ass as intensely and for as long as I had that other woman’s, starting right then and there when she made me walk behind her. She told me she wanted me to pervy stare with laser intensity she could feel, all the way to the food court, where I was going to buy her a fattening treat to ensure her ass would re-fatten a little and I’d keep preferentially staring at it. This was on a weekend, and we had very intense, primal make-up sex that night.”

Barb sipped some more wine, contemplating what her life would have been like with a devoted, steady boyfriend in high school, cleared by both pairs of parents to share regular sex. Then she remembered that on account of her parents alone, this never could have happened.

“The rest of our last months of high school, Jenny Patussi and I continued to grow up, and grow apart. What kept us nailed together was our addiction to physical love and sex, and her still being fat and still needing my support. It wasn’t arguments; more of a cooling off. Likely some burnout from having been so close for so long, though as Tara can vouch, I’m very high up on the clingy-needy-ongoing intimate contact scale.”

“Feature!” she smiled.

“That’s generally what Jenny thought as well. We were well-matched in that sense, but lacked the maturity to make it work reliably over years and years. We needed what each other had, but we also needed more life experiences with other people. The day-to-day reality was that we spent more time apart, which hurt the one of us who hadn’t made that decision for a given occasion. We did OK and didn’t argue much at all about anything.

“Part of this distancing and these changes was also knowing that separation was inevitable: we were going to different universities, many hundreds of miles apart. No Internet, no video chats—nothing other than travel, voice phone calls, and paper letters. At that point, we couldn’t face this reality, not able to even talk about it.

“What we did talk about and focus on in terms of our ongoing lives together was senior prom. I was likely the first person to have asked my prom date to prom, having asked Jenny during one of her down moments back in January. We were an anomaly, having in many ways already lived together almost like adults, having already gone through many of the experiences proms were intended to give to up-and-coming young adults for the first time. I told her I wanted her to be proud of me and being with me every moment, asking her to please consult with me on my attire. The ruffled front blue suit was more disco or fru-fru than I would have chosen on my own, but seeing her eyes again light up as they had in December was all I needed to know for making that my choice. She wanted her outfit to be a surprise to me, promising me I’d not be disappointed.

“Excitement and tension built as prom drew nearer—not that either of us had a lot of time for that, given school work we needed to do. I spent some quality time with my parents, asking them many things so that I could be the best possible prom date for Jenny. While others in our class might have been dancing around topics of sex and borrowing a car and so on for prom with their parents, I’d been there, done that. What I wanted was hints on maturity beyond my years, and blunt discussion of areas where I was immature, with ideas on how I could mitigate those factors.

“Things went great, from the moment I picked her up. Yes, I was definitely surprised, which I’ll explain in moments. Her parents were delighted, wishing us a great night.

“Into a well-decorated large multipurpose room filled with 17- and 18-year olds awkwardly making their first steps into formal adult social behavior in most cases walked a couple who in many ways were already young adults. Many eyes turned to us in awe, some in envy.

“My suit fit perfectly, making me look far more the part of an adult than usual. My face was clean-shaven perfection, having carefully used my father’s blade razor all week rather than my usual electric shaver with getting-dull blades. My hair was perfect, my posture nearly so.

“My arm was looped with a woman. Young woman yes, but a woman—not a girl playing dress-up, like so many others appeared and acted. Jenny discovered that having a big body the size of a fully adult woman meant access to a prom dress that fit exceedingly well. She had curves for days, and this tailored dress fit them all, showing off each to full advantage. Yes she was fat—very much so. Yes, this was still the mid-late 1970s, when fat hate was virulent. Many little girls and boys in the room whispered childish put-downs to one another, covering up their envy that each of us somehow managed to find a wormhole to adulthood that so far eluded them. There were some busty women in our class so she wasn’t the only one sporting cleavage, but in that prom dress that fit so well, she had real, natural cleavage, which no one including me had ever seen before. She liked having people stare at her boobs—thrilled at it, actually, which was about as close as she came to immature behavior that night. Her fat ass and belly were obvious, shown off to best advantage and making her look older than her age in the best possible way for a late teenager. There were other nice asses on display that night, but none were even on the same scale as Jenny’s, being at best minor planets to her Jupiter. My necklace from the previous year was part and parcel of her outfit, as were our machined aluminum rings for both of us.

“She must’ve had a conversation with her parents or someone along the lines of mine with my parents: I was engaging with an adult woman, every step of the way. I believe I did my part to be the least-worst adult man I could be at that point in time, and apparently did very well indeed. Many other couples watched us after the shock wore off, seeking hints and ideas for how to behave.

“We danced like a single precision machine, not because we’d practiced—we hadn’t—but because we were so attuned to each other and so used to walking and otherwise moving together as one. We served each other and ate food like refined adults, with our best manners and not having to think much about them. We carried on conversations with anyone who approached us civilly, even those who’d been mean to either or both of us in the past.

“Most participants were bringing their A game, even if their A might be a B or C for us and some of the others with greater maturity and/or experience. A few needed more time to mature, and weren’t truly ready for this, other than being seniors by chronology. One individual named Sean Sattabak couldn’t keep his immaturity to himself, saying out loud ‘I don’t understand why anyone would go out with such a huge fatass’. Before Jenny could get very far into her instinctive tensing up and emotionally circling the tents and closing down, I responded, ‘Sean! Haven’t you heard?! With a woman like Jenny there’s more to love! Including more cushion for the pushin’.’ Trite cliches I realize, but remember that Jimmy Carter was U.S. President, punk and disco were duking it out, and I was barely 18. My knowing smile first at Sean then turning to Jenny signaled her to put on her own knowing smile matching mine, at which point we kissed just a bit past polite, towards make-out. It totally shut Sean Sattabak down, and made a number of minds whir who’d heard the exchange.

“This being the bad old days with traditions which picked winner-take-all winners and marginalized everyone else, there was judging for a prom queen and king. Notwithstanding our excellent presentation, neither of us thought we’d win, given that it was basically a popularity contest. We were wrong: we both won in our respective categories. I still to this day don’t know how that happened. At our school back then, the newly-crowned prom royalty did a solo dance together as others watched, and please don’t ask me why nor whose idea that was, because I don’t know. From the all-too-limited selection of records from which we could pick a song, we settled on Electric Light Orchestra’s Boy Blue. For two people who had no idea about any of this before it happened and neither of whom had been involved in the drama program—our real-life romantic drama notwithstanding—I believe we did a credible job making up an elaborate dance. It was the full album version, with the baroque fanfare and all that at the beginning, giving us ample opportunity to act out stereotypes of ancient formality at the sort of dances which likely inspired modern-back-then proms. Whether or not anyone else liked it, our focus on each other’s faces and moves moved us on a deeply emotional level. Thankfully there weren’t other royal responsibilities, beyond continuing to act as adults, as we were doing anyway.

“There was no official after-prom, and most of our class were hot to go pair off and do it, with a number of them anxious to lose their virginity before graduation. A few clusters of friends made plans to go out and celebrate, but we weren’t amongst them. There had been food at the prom, but it wasn’t an all-out meal. My surprise gift to Jenny was asking her out to Darmond.”

Woooh, you must’ve had a fat paycheck from the hardware store that week!” Barb exclaimed.

“One day a week does not make for a fat paycheck, even if it was Sunday, since thankfully we were hourly and not commission, which would be insane in the hardware business. But yes, I had been saving up to take her and myself out to that expensive high-end date night formal eatery.

“Here was yet another opportunity to act as full adults, and again we did well. So well in fact that our waiter presented us with the wine list. Jenny didn’t entirely keep her eyes from growing wide, but by the same token didn’t let her eyebrows shoot up to her forehead. I motioned the waiter over and whispered ‘Thanks, but we just turned 18 and we’re here for a nice post-prom dinner. We’ll definitely consider having a look at it in a few years, when we’re of legal drinking age’. He blushed really brightly, thanking me and suggesting some very nice and special non-alcoholic beverages we could consider having instead.

“It was a great multi-course meal, dazzling the tastebuds of my beautiful fat foodie basically-adult girlfriend, and doing me well enough. She asked discreetly whether I had enough money for dessert, which I did. I don’t recall the name of what she had, but it was a work of art with chocolate, glazed caramel, nuts, and much more. Eating it was the one point during the evening and night while we were out where she almost slipped out of polite adult behavior into lusty adult behavior. Had we been eating in private at either of our homes and especially in one of our bedrooms, I have little doubt that she would’ve gotten off to that dessert. I was delighted, struggling to stay in the moment and savor it when my mind preferred to think about how that dessert was going to help keep my gorgeous fatass girlfriend fatassed.

“We were already feeling a touch let-down as we headed back to normal life after dinner, scheduled to sleep together in my room at my parents’ house. When we got home, after greeting us, taking pictures, and asking about how things went, my parents surprised us: they were taking a date night out of their own, staying over at a nice hotel they wanted to experience. We had the entire run of the house, and they’d cleaned up their master bedroom and put fresh sheets on the bed, in case we wanted to carry the adult experience further and sleep together in the master bedroom. We accepted, slightly shocked. They promised they’d not be back before noon the following day.

“We absolutely did share some great sex, like many of our peers were at least attempting. For us it was more bittersweet, since all this adulthood symbolism couldn’t help but bring our minds to our rapidly-forthcoming future of being separated by our disparate higher educational needs and goals. We got a bit weepy in afterglow, reminiscing about our time together even though there was no reason for it to be over yet. It had been such an amazing beautiful pinnacle day and night, it was difficult to feel that we’d not just jumped the shark, as people like to say.

“Sadly, senior prom did indeed turn out to be the final pinnacle moment of my and Jenny’s IIR. We continued to get along OK and sleep together through the end of high school and into the start of summer, but we both felt the distance growing between us. We were young, and truthfully we really didn’t have enough in common beyond sex and related physical love to maintain a life partner-style bond measured in years. Summer jobs kept us apart longer, and absence did very little to make our hearts grow fonder. Each of us had freak-out moments where we couldn’t handle the change, running to the other to re-light the passion and intense intimacy. Only once did those few events occur at the same time for both of us, leading to a passionate, tearful cling- and sexfest, as we struggled to find an alternative to the dreaded and nearly always love-fatal long distance intimate interpersonal relationship.

“By the start of July, Jenny was losing weight again, this time on a less-worse diet and exercise program that wasn’t promising huge nor fast losses. She explained she wasn’t doing this to hurt me, but because I wouldn’t be there, and she needed a fresh start. That and, as always, deep inside she didn’t truly want to be fat, even if it meant earning a wine list whilst underage. Our love cooled further. Each of us needed to, and did, focus on preparing to move away to university.”

John started to get emotionally worked up and weepy, compelling Tara to set aside her current plate and flute of wine to focus on him and soothe him.

“It was…”–he had to stop to wipe tears from his eyes–“… the start of August, when Jenny informed me that I needed to start removing my belongings from her bedroom and elsewhere at her house, and she needed to do the same over at my house. It was (sniff) difficult… for both of us. Being with each other at least for me remained necessary, but (sniff) always felt like a dirge, with no good ending!

He burst into tears, needing several minutes of sobbing before he could compose himself. Tara was there for him like no one else in his life had ever been, including Jenny Patussi.

Barb watched events unfold, so fascinated by each of their behavior and their interactions that she wasn’t even eating anything.

“The final day… (sniff) was the 12th. of August. She had us meet at Harwether Meadows, where long ago during happier times then again one other time when we were struggling, she and I had walked together for heart-to-hear conversations. The stiff breeze blew the huge meadow of grasses seeming to go on forever every direction so… beautifully. It was late in the day that clear, sunny day, about an hour before sunset. No one else was there. She took both my hands, facing me and saying, ‘You are a beautiful, wonderful man, John Mercer. You have a great life ahead of you, filled with exciting possibilities. So I’m hoping do I’–and I agreed with her. ‘We’ve lived and loved like almost no one our age have, sharing amazing, unforgettable events and times. But at the end of the day—where we nearly are now on this day—we want and need different things. Life is seeing to it that we find them, forcing us to part so we each find what we need for our next stage of growing up, and becoming who we each need to be.’

“Here, she got a bit weepy too. ‘I would not have survived well without you and your amazing love and support. I’ve been delighted to be your huge fatass girlfriend, having mind-blowing sex with you that many of our peers have yet to even taste. But I’m ready to be something and someone else… I need to be someone else. You don’t necessarily: you are good as you are, as a true chubby chaser and fatass addict. There are many fat pear-shaped women out there who need you and your pure love, the way I have.’” He was barely able to finish, crying again as he portrayed her saying, “‘Fly, John! Fly to the future—the bright future!’

“Then nothing for a few moments as we both cried, still holding hands. She let go of mine, taking the double-wide flocked jewel box out of her pocket, which made me bawl like a baby. Indeed, she opened it and slipped her ring off, carefully placing it in its slot.

‘Would you like our rings to live together forever in this box, either with me or with you? Or do you want to keep yours and have me keep this one?’

“I was too busy crying to answer, eventually slipping my ring off, placing it in the box, and gently pushing it at her to convey what at that moment I could not in words: that she should keep it. She kissed each of the rings as they lay in the box, closed it, and slipped it into her pocket. I wish she hadn’t said ‘One final kiss, John. For eternity’ but she did. What she actually meant was one final session of passionate kisses, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, the breeze blowing across us as the sun descended further towards the horizon.

“We went at it for quite awhile, 10 minutes at least. While I didn’t like to see Jenny cry, it would’ve been worse for me to be the only one. She very gently separated us, doing her best to smile as she unfastened her necklace for a final time. ‘Do you want this, to remember me?’ she asked, to which I yelled across the vast meadows, ‘I can never forget you, Jenny Patussi!’ She cried some more, hugging me again as she held the necklace.

“A minute or two later she pulled back, pulling the jewel box back out of her pocket, opening it and carefully placing the necklace inside next to the rings, kissing the marble in its cage. She closed it back up carefully, sliding it back into her pocket.

“‘I will open that jewel box and look at those beautiful jewelry items you made for me whenever I’m down or lost or lonely, needing to remember what we did for each other to make each other’s lives better, especially yours with mine! Whenever I want to remember the amazing things we’ve shared. Whenever I may be losing hope in humanity, needing to know that this all happened, and that you’re out there somewhere making it happen for someone else, who needs you as much as you need her.’”

Tara was getting weepy herself, from the combination of the sad story and her and John’s own almost tragic story. She felt the need to get his attention and make eye contact with him, to ensure he knew that Jenny’s prophecy meant her!

“She led me by the hand back to our respective vehicles, guiding me into my parents’ car in which we’d gone to prom. The last thing Jenny Patussi ever said to me was ‘Please drive home safely! And truly, have a really great life!’ One final hand squeeze, and she turned and left for her car—her parents’. The delicious fat ass that meant the universe to me bounced and wobbled away from me for the final time, into the driver’s seat of the Volare.

“She waved me forward, wanting me to drive off first. I didn’t understand until she followed me, apparently very worried I wouldn’t make it home OK.”

Tara clutched him close, totally understanding why Jenny may have felt concerned to that level.

“She followed me home, waving once as she rolled by and kept driving to her home. And that, my two beautiful, intelligent, amazing friends, concludes the overly-long, overly-detailed story of myself and my first love.”

“You never contacted her again?” asked Barb.

John shook his head, still struggling to let go of the dredged-up, still-hurtful memories.

As Tara soothed her man, Barb grabbed her tablet and did a little research.

A couple of minutes later, she held it out towards them, “Is this her?”

John claimed the device, staring at it, eventually looking up to make eye contact with Barb, “Yes.”

It was a website for Forever Fit, a health and fitness organization for women of size who wished to be a smaller weight and size. Jenny herself looked to have dropped back to what gets called average size in the undated photo.

John tapped to the About page, then About Jenny. The page explained how Jenny had overcome her fatness in her 20s with reasonable, ongoing exercise and a balanced diet meant as a forever lifestyle, not a limited, finite duration. She’d kept the weight off all these decades, and helped many others do the same. He felt shellshocked.

Tara moved his hands so she could get a better look at the screen. Once she’d had time to read what he’d already read and studied her photo (same one as on the home page, larger), she said, “She’s happy, John. She became who she needed to be—the same as you did. You told us several times she wasn’t genuinely happy being fat, and now we know for most of her life, she hasn’t been fat. Judging from her smile in the photo, she’s at least mostly genuinely happy. But some of us love being fat, and have fat asses and love that you’re a fatass addict—and love you! Isn’t that the best possible outcome for all of us?!”

He had to agree, hugging (and squeezing) her (fat) super-tightly. She carefully handed the tablet back to Barb, freeing that arm to join her other in reciprocating the super-tight embrace.

“Much as I loved hearing that entire story, remind me not to ask about the rest of your loves prior to Tara.”

“I couldn’t get into any of the rest of them in that detail if I wanted to. Overview is thus: kinda sorta dated a couple of beautiful fatasses in college, as in only going out a few times. I was way too pervy and fat-obsessed for them. Too busy struggling to get a business off the ground after graduation to have time to date.

“Saw a number of sexy women out and about as I went through life in my 20s. Being shy, I wasn’t one to strike up a conversation, the way I hear many men back then did.

“A sales rep named Raquel caught me taking a fancy to her big, bouncy rear. I wasn’t sure whether she was trying to sell her company’s line to me via sex, or if she was into me. Once I’d refused her company’s products, she came back to see me a few days later near the end of the day, in very hot street clothes. She showed me she had not one shred of company literature nor anything else on nor with her, and asked to go out so-called ‘dutch’ to dinner.

“We hit it off. Went back to my place; she stayed over. We dated another dozen times over several months, plus a few long phone calls. She stayed over a weekend; it was great. A few weeks later she took a week’s vacation and stayed an entire week—even better. Not as fat as Jenny at her peak, but close, and with devastating curves that she knew how to work. Quite orally fixated, she’d had issues with smoking, and was either going to have a cigarette in her mouth, or food or beverage. The cigs weren’t doing anything good for her health, her bank account, nor her career, so she went back to food and stayed with it. She wasn’t trying to gain, but it was obvious to both of us that it was inevitable.

“We lived together about 8 months before things went south. We’d never been as close as I’d been with Jenny, though close enough we thought that living together made sense. She’d remained in sales and traveled a lot, and got with other men without telling me and without allowing me equal opportunity. That put a big dent in things, but what killed it straight out was when she complained that she was getting too fat and needed to turn things around for her job. I’m sure she did, but as with Jenny, that took away at least half of my attraction to her. We parted amicably with no drama, and surprisingly few feelings—at least for me, and she already had a new man in a different state.

“My 30s were very hit and miss. I was running a company, of a sort which didn’t need to go to trade shows, with very, very rare exceptions. Fatass sales reps weren’t common, and after Raquel, I was wary of them anyway. As you may know, starting and running a business often means living and breathing that business nearly every waking moment. That was my realty, and I was fine with it, though it did mean I wasn’t meeting new people much at all.”

“Were there any delicious fatasses working for you?”

“Not until I hired Tara” he smiled at the person in question. “Even if there had been, anti-sexual harassment polices were in place for a reason, and it was my company, where my leadership set the tone.”

“Present tense, Sweetie” Tara prodded him.

“Almost by accident a few beautiful women walked into my life in my 30s, leading to a few more scattered dates, usually ending with them thinking I was far too fatass-obsessed and weird. One named Ann did an FWB thing with me, years before I’d ever seen that abbreviation. We only got together once every couple of months, when she was in heat as she put it.

“Only one woman in my 40s: Alenne. Supersized BBW with steatopygia making her buns even bigger, and beautiful medium-dark brown skin. She much preferred actual P.I.V. intercourse to my cumming in her crack—‘Hot dog and rolls’ as she called it, but we worked out a compromise where if I gave her foot and leg massages all the way up to her crotch then licked her to at least one satisfactory orgasm, she’d gladly let me do hot dog and rolls. We did other stuff too, to keep it fresh. After dating awhile she moved in with me. Our love grew stronger, and well past physical sex. As we passed the two year mark of living together, I thought maybe she was The One, or A One who could work for years.

“Unfortunately we didn’t make it to year 3. She developed ovarian cancer, which her doctor insisted was related to how fat she was. I didn’t buy it, but kept it inside and supported and loved her in every possible way, staying with her at the hospital for the surgery, driving her to her chemo and other appointments, etc. Her personality changed as she shed weight—not the surly nastiness Jenny had exhibited, more a spaciness and loss of libido. The cancer went into remission, for which we were both grateful, but she shrank to where she only had a small fraction of the butt I’d fallen in love with. Worse, while we remained friends and ran the household together still, she had absolutely no interest in any form of sex, with me or anyone else. Her mother heading into a prolonged slow death process was a compelling reason for us to part. I helped her move back in with her mother, several states away. Our goodbyes were as friendly as with Jenny, with precisely none of the emotions.

“That was it for me until Tara saved me. Despite what common wisdom says about men and their sex drive, my libido grew throughout my 50s. The tragedy for me is that I was busy running my company, not meeting people, and now a middle-aged man. Seeing fat asses out and about drove me to distraction, with no outlet for me other than self-pleasuring at home.”

“This had to have been over the past decade. What about online dating?” asked Barb.

“Tried it. Creeped a lot of women out with my ass obsession, well before ever even a voice call.”


“Didn’t know of it. Tried several of the fatlovesex sites, with the least-worst result being actual women who were on the given site who very much wanted me to come to them, and lived on other continents. No pears who were into me who lived anywhere near here, nor were willing to relocate.

“Gave up, got more frustrated, especially seeing Tara’s life-affirming near-double asses every day. The more they grew and fattened over time, the more frustrated and hopeless I got, all the way until I couldn’t take it any more and tried to end my life.”

“Had I had any clear idea of your attraction to me and how much it meant to you, it never would have escalated anywhere near that far!” Tara loudly insisted, again upset with how close things had come to the world losing John Mercer, and her never having experienced his amazing love. She decided she needed to wrap herself around him tightly yet again and kiss him passionately like she owned him… because in a way, she did. She also ensured that his hands were on her fat buns, knowing such contact went far beyond mere pleasure for him.

Drained from the detailed romance story as Tara and John himself were, Barb struggled to figure out how to change things up to get back to the happy Thanksgiving she’d envisioned. “Will someone who’s not a walking fire hazard like me please make us a nice, safe fire in the fireplace?”

Tara led John up by the hand, to help her make one. She could do it on her own just fine, but that wouldn’t be as romantic as doing it with the man she loved so deeply. Nor would it allow them to remain in close contact, so she could be sure that he was OK, and that she was OK. The thanks she gave every day regarding being with him as his lover, life partner, and closest friend resonated at a whole new level after hearing the story of him and Jenny.

Barb’s main course of Barb’s Barbecued Pulled Pork was finally ready. She consolidated and cleared some plates from the previous course and served, as her invitees (it was hard to call Tara a guest, when it was Tara’s own house, where she still had many possessions) built and lit the fire.

“Great on a pretzel onion bun, great on its own” Barb said of her barbecued pulled pork, as Tara and John approached the dining table.

All three of them chose the bun option, making nice sandwiches. It amused Barb that John’s sandwich had at least as big a heap of meat as hers and Tara’s.

“John, Tara: may I sit next to John opposite you, please?”


“I’m honored! Don’t you want to be next to Tara?”

“Later. Right now I need man proximity, and want all of us to be able to look directly at the fire.”

Tara and Barb alone filled the couch, and that was when they were cuddled close. John wasn’t that wide, but even a little more width meant very intimate seating.

Huuuaagghghhmmmmmhhh!” he exclaimed, as Barb sat down next to and into his right side.

“Hope that’s a good sound. What does it mean?”

“May I be blunt?”

“I prefer it.”

“The warmth and softness of your generously fat ass fills me with life-affirming energy. As Tara’s doing on my lap and my left side.”

“Thank you, John. Given the three of our relations to one another and your hardcore ass addict nature, I sincerely consider that statement quite a compliment.”

Her extremely soft, fat arm around him felt equally nice, with his arm sinking into her soft back fat intimately close.

Tara stiffened up, feeling John’s silent protective enveloping energy field diminish enough to no longer be covering her left side. Unaware of it as he almost always was, he’d unconsciously shifted it to cover Barb. The whole process worked down on a primal level, and she was a new affectionate sexy USBBW sharing her intimate love energy with him. Tara wiggled a bit, engaging a playful pixie mode she hadn’t exhibited in many years if not decades, which John hadn’t encountered before. It manifested as a playfulness in her expression as she ran her hands over him.

The energy field shifted. Barb noticed its sudden partial absence. Like Tara, she now felt half-covered nearest him, half out in the cold. She was more attuned than John was, and less than Tara to these sorts of energy fields. Seeing what Tara was doing, she took her own approach to getting his attention back. She claimed his right hand, placing it on her hip fat, “You have consent to explore my body as you wish, and not just today.”

The field moved to again fully cover Barb.

“John Love: you need to expand your protective loving energy field.”

He didn’t know what Tara meant. “Huh?”

“Close your eyes and look straight ahead. Feel all of my body, including my far side, in your mind and body.”


“Now do that with Barb.”

“Mmmmm” Barb sighed.


“Now do that with both of us at the same time, covering all of us.”

It took him a few tries and some more coaching. Eventually John Mercer was able to keep his expanded loving energy field covering all of both of them, even after he opened his eyes.

“Is this energy field thing at all related to how you sometimes seem like you’re trying to crawl inside my body when I’m feeling withdrawn and closed off?” he asked Tara.

“Yes! When you get like that, your protective love field collapses, likely because you need it to protect yourself. The issue for me is that I’ve become as addicted to being inside your field as you are to my asses. So when I’m deprived, it’s like you not being able to feel my butts for more than a couple of hours.”

“That’s not good.”

“No it’s not. So when you feel like that, please let me get as far into your collapsed space as possible. Or else expand your field enough to cover me.”

“I’m not aware of it and until about 10 minutes ago I didn’t know it had a range, or that the range could be controlled.”

“We’ll keep practicing. Help us out with that today, Barb?”

“Sure! I need somebody’s love field, whether it’s his or yours or both.”

Several times over many conversations, more of Barb’s Barbecued Pulled Pork, quite a few of Tara’s Tenders, and the course of the next hour, John’s protective love field shifted or contracted. Each time it happened to Tara, she interrupted the conversation in progress to say something and work with John to get it fully covering her again. Barb did the same when she noticed, which for her was not every time his field failed to cover her.

“So you’re not just into huge BBW for sex?” Barb asked John, in the middle of a conversation.

“Not at all. While it’s true that I find you exciting sexually and there’s that tension between us—at least I feel it, what I’m mostly feeling since you sat down over here is soothing tranquility. I’ve always felt that with every woman I’ve been with, proportional to how well we’re getting along and how fat they are. I feel safer, more comfortable, and more relaxed with you intimately cuddled into my right side. Peaceful, similar to very effective meditation.”

“And with Tara too, I assume.”

“Without question! The ‘getting along’ part has a factor for the depth and duration of the bond. I very quickly stop functioning well as a person when out of contact with Tara for more than a couple of hours. The comfort and relaxation from your and my cuddle is a worthwhile enhancement. That which I’ve been getting from direct contact with Tara since we got here is fundamental to my ability to function.”


Tara doinked her nose into John’s shoulder to get his attention, “Field’s not covering my far rear corner.”

He looked straight ahead, closed his eyes, and made it expand slightly in that direction. “How about now?”

Much better” she smiled.

“I don’t know that I truly believed in this energy field stuff before the three of us got into it here today.”

“You’re innately very good at it, and as I mentioned, that’s one of my primary addictions to you. You’ve almost certainly had it your whole life, and I think everyone from Jenny onward benefitted from it, even if, like you, they didn’t know what it was and/or didn’t believe in it. Keep believing and practicing, so you can keep me covered and sometimes have room for special others like Barb.”

Lots more food and wine and lots more conversation filled the afternoon. Most but not all of the time, all three of them tended to get up off the couch together for their next round of noms. In John’s case, he wasn’t going anywhere unless Tara got up off his lap. All the soft fat flesh meant plenty of opportunities for friendly sensual rubbing passing by each other as they refilled their plates, bowls, etc.

Over the hours they switched around the seating order, first with Tara in the middle, John under her left butt, Barb cuddled into her right.

“Don’t you get worn out from all her weight on your lap for so long?” Barb asked John.

“No, in large part because a majority of the gravitational pull on her mass vectors down through whichever side of her is basically fully seated next to me. Even when she sits centered on me with her middle bun directly over my centerline, there’s enough of a load being carried by her outer buns to keep her from being overwhelmingly heavy.”

“Wanna try me?”


Tara wasn’t 100% sure, but like her with the invitation to this event, John answered on her behalf with no effort to consult with her—unusual for him. She nevertheless got up with Barb and let them share the experience.

John felt a rush of passion, seeing Barb’s huge rear widening as she bent to sit—on him!

Barb set herself down slowly and gently. “How we doin’?”


“OK, I’m all the way down now. Are you alright?”

“Yes. Just about all your weight’s going through me, so you feel significantly heavier than Tara. I hope we can both enjoy this position for awhile, though I wouldn’t likely be able to enjoy it for hours at at time as I can with Tara, with her wider width and what I just explained about not all her weight impinging on and through me.”

He massaged Barb’s hip fat, working his way back to her buns, then forward to her belly, then up to her breasts (which, being huge, had horned in on the belly massage).

{Now that’s more like it!} she thought, regarding his turgidity. But it still wasn’t as much as she expected. {Maybe he’s small?}

About 10 minutes later, John had had as much of Barb entirely in his lap as he could handle at the present time. They shifted around to Barb being in the middle, John to her left, Tara into and partly onto her right.

“I haven’t eaten this much since the last time we were together when you actually still lived here” Barb shared, between bites of Tara’s Crunchy Onion Waffle Potatoes.

“MMmmm…. Me either. And I just want to keep going and going and going!”

“Me too. This slow all-day eating pace suits me.”

Filled to his far lower capacity, John wound up doing more fetching and clearing as the amazing beauties relaxed and ate, still with so much to share with each other covering their time apart.

By design, there was overlap between courses: anything which had not been fully consumed and would not spoil from a previous course was left out, as long as there was room for it. When there wasn’t, the items would circulate back to the kitchen counter.

Barb and Tara were all ready for desserts to start appearing, making no commitment that they were done with the previous courses.

Passions, which had been on a low idle or below for some time, shot up very suddenly. Barb was in the kitchen checking the doneness of her homemade apple cinnamon crumble cake, bent very far over as she did the toothpick test.

Delivering some used dishes to get into the cleaning queue, John only needed one look at that delicious derriere aimed straight at him and spread from feminine hip splay to totally lose it. He didn’t quite throw the dishes at the counter—though close—as he honked out “Haaaaannnnngggg!”, barreling straight at Barb’s butt.

She quickly closed the oven and braced herself, startled more by the massive hardness of his erection—easily felt through their combined 3 layers of clothes—than by the impact.

I’m sorry Barb!” he cried out in what sounded like torment, both his hands groping her ass and hips like there was no tomorrow. “I saw you bent over, and AAAuuugggghnnnnnnmmmmmmmmmm!

“A little more sudden and rough than I expected, but you did give me warning, and I don’t mind. I consider this part of the blanket consent I gave you to explore me.” {And you are not at all small.}

Tara came out with some more empty dishes, to find out what was going on. She didn’t mind what John was doing, other than she wasn’t part of it and his protective loving field wasn’t covering her. Soon as the dishes joined the others in the cleaning stack, she resolved that issue via backing her butts up into their sides, rubbing hers up and down vertically.

“This is all well and good, but wouldn’t we all be happier with our clothes off?” suggested Barb.

As much as she liked the idea in abstract principle, Tara wasn’t so sure. “It’s a little cold for that, don’tcha think?”

“Not if we keep John lit up and stay intimate with him!”

“He’s going to want to get inside you with penis and tongue, and very likely kiss you passionately on the mouth, which I’m vetting is totally safe, but we have no proof. Meaning: if you let things go that way with him and/or me, you’re suspended from the poly group unless and until you and those of us who share fluids with you all get tested and pass.”

John’s ongoing moans and sighs and fondling suddenly morphing into an affectionate hug won Barb over. “I‘m willing to take that risk. Let’s serve up the first set of desserts then get nekkid!”

Given that it wasn’t the season for ice cream nor other cold fare and none of the desserts had to be eaten warm or hot, putting them out and having them remain at their peak was easy.

Results took precedence over enjoyment of the process, thus each of them took off their own clothes without making a show of it. Each of them made their own pile, set on a table near the front door.

“Let’s try that initial greeting hug again” Barb grinned at John, her gorgeous fat arms already spread welcomingly wide.

This time their deep hug came with kisses, the first one kicked off by him, deep and passionate. She could easily feel through her belly that he was more than halfway hard, but no more. As an experiment, she eased him away, turned around, and pulled him back into a deep embrace with her nude backside. He hardened all the way in seconds, his love log and balls feeling massive to Barb as they pushed into her crack.

“Absolutely amazing” she muttered more to herself than anyone else.

“He’s a total ass addict, as both he and I have stated previously. If you happen to be wet and internally expanded enough and both of you want to do it, he’s had a vasectomy and is currently sporting that ‘first new fat ass’ extra hardness penis people often have with a new lover during their first time.

“Yeah, I’m near enough. Wanna plunge me, John? With permission to go hog wild over my fat ass?”

“YeaaaaaasssSSSSS!” he exclaimed, his reply getting wilder as she spread her legs to more easily take him in.

It felt like taking in a log. Barb now had a whole other experiential way of understanding what it was about this man that kept Tara away all these months and had her drop the poly group during that time. Not quite into menopause yet, boinking bareback was a real treat!

It was a great ride. Barb didn’t care that it only ran about 7 minutes, since he’d managed to rub her well enough along with everything else that she had a nice release. That and the apple cinnamon crumble cake was done, and she confidently figured this wasn’t going to be the last time, even during this visit.

Interpersonal dynamics were different, immediately after Barb and John finished up. Tara clung to John in a way familiar to them both which was brand-new to Barb. He split his attention between a form of working afterglow with Barb and re-verification of primary lover status with Tara. When they all sat back down on the couch together in their original threesome lineup (Tara–John–Barb left to right viewed from their seated position), John felt that suddenly he had two amazing USBBW lovers—at least on this day. Barb quite liked her first sample of John, wanting more and equally wanting Tara back as a lover. Deep inside, Tara had highly mixed feelings about John and Barb being lovers, and whether losing her exclusivity with him was truly OK or not—not at all how she thought she’d feel when she suggested Barb have a go with him.

Something Tara had thought she’d noticed months ago and had even alluded to earlier this same day out loud became much clearer: John’s protective field had broader coverage the more contented he was—especially sexually. His field was currently so strong as he sat nude with her and in sexual afterglow with Barb, it felt to her like it entirely saturated the room, possibly even reflecting off the walls, ceiling, and floor. Not overwhelming… delightfully immersive. She tested her theory, getting up to go get some of the Piggy Noggy Pudding. Sure enough, rather than weakening to almost nothing soon after she physically detached from him, she felt protected all the way until passing through the archway to the dining room, where the sensation diminished but did not entirely disappear. Earlier in the day when they’d all had clothes on and he was more worked up over the retelling of the story of his first love, she’d felt none of his protective field whatsoever in here when he was on the couch, and not even consistently when seated right there on his lap and next to him. His field at home was always stronger when they were nude than when they had clothes on.

Food and the joys of fat were safe and happy subjects, carrying them through dessert and beyond.

It had been nearly dark back when Barb and John were sharing their sex boink. An hour later and not even all that close to 6 PM, it was totally dark outside. Tara and Barb’s ongoing nibbling and nonverbal playful flaunting and enjoyment of their and each other’s fat brought sexual tensions back to a high level.

“No more wine for me, thanks” John smiled at pourer Barb, covering his glass with his hand. “Otherwise I won’t be able to drive home.”

“You’re going home tonight?!” she asked both him and Tara, wide-eyed.

Amazingly, given her vastly higher body mass and having eaten vastly more food than him, Tara was currently more intoxicated than John. So was Barb. Much of this was due to the two of them nearly single-handedly plowing through 1 3/4s bottles of sparkling wine John didn’t have time to drink, the whole time he was telling his first love story. “Well, it dependsssss!” She turned towards John, running her hands all over him with caresses. “He’s going to have to be immersed in his favorite double asses, wide belly, and all three of the legs he prefers to caresssssss!”

“There’s nothing stopping that from happening here! And both of you get another fat ass! More than that, I’m thinking he may not have had the joy of sleeping on a boob pillow, and I know for sure that you’re worse off for not having done so for half a year!

She stared at Barb’s huge breasts with deep desire, not having her own big pair. “Well then you’re going to have to convince him to let you pour more wine for him then both of us, so we’ll have to all sleep together in bed naked, with crashed inhibitions!”

He held out his wine glass, “Go ahead. I have no reason to object.”

The Thanksgiving party continued on into the night. It wasn’t so much the alcohol as the stated intent to let their passions run free that had all three of them playfully rubbing, caressing, and squeezing each other as they finished up what they wanted to eat and drink, and worked together to clean up and put away the few leftovers which were still out and needed sealing from air or refrigeration. A whole other bottle of sparkling wine was the last food item out, shared by the three of them by the light of the renewed fire in the otherwise nearly darkened room.

“I’m grateful this day has gone the way it has” said Barb, breaking a restful silence. “I honestly didn’t know how well, or even if, we’d all get along.”

“I’m grateful that the hurt between us related to my sudden and long absence doesn’t seem to be permanent.” Tara felt sufficiently moved to get up, come around John (in the middle again), and share loving and passionate kisses with Barb.

John waited until their kissing wound down. “I’m grateful for so many things! Two on my mind presently are that Tara’s and my deep, essential love appears not to have destroyed the beautiful, powerful love between you two. The other is what a great honor and delight it has been and continues to be to get to know you on so many levels, Barb. Including biblically.”

His conclusion made both women laugh, and decide to pull them into their ongoing embrace.

Getting in bed together nude was exquisite for all three of them. Tiredness and inebriation made for slow, sensual sexytime between all three of them at once. John found himself in vulva heaven, scooted down in the bed plunging his head into each of Smooth, Furry, and Barb’s stubbly one. He found it extremely exciting that Barb’s mound was even fatter than either of Tara’s.

While John was busy pleasuring them down below on vulvas and sensitive inner thighs, Barb and Tara were making up for lost time loving each other face to face up above, kissing endlessly and immersing themselves in breast love and warm, snug cuddles. Tara felt overwhelmed feeling throughout her being how much she’d missed Barb’s love. And here she was with Barb’s and John’s love, at the same time, with all their loving fields saturating the room! It was amazing, making her hungry for more!

It was also amazing that they managed to turn the lights off and reorganize themselves into positions amenable for sleeping, given how lost to love and lust they all were.

Odd as it may have been, the first words spoken by anyone in the morning were by Tara, to John: “You didn’t get up during the night to go to the bathroom, did you?”

“Dehydration plus a sleep-inducing chemical like alcohol can do that” he smiled.

Barb was awake as well. Her first words were, “Will it hurt either of your feelings if I cuddle Tara? I find myself aching from her absence.”

Both agreed it would not.

John went off to the bathroom to make it easier for them to get started. Upon his return, he cuddled Barb from behind, pressing his hardness into her crack. A little while later, he went around the perimeter of the bed to do the same with Tara, to her bed-closest rear.

The remainder of the Friday after Thanksgiving was all about nudity and love of every sort, with as much eating as the women could manage without putting on clothes and going out shopping.