Encourager's Journal (WG, Stuffing, BBW)

[Enumerated_Bob]

So I've posted this story in Deviantart (at bob123456789123.deviantart.com) and in Dimensions forums, but I thought I would post it here also, do my bit to rebuild the forums here.

AND SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, I PRESENT TO YOU:

Encourager's Journal

July 7, 2012

_________________________

After what just happened, I finally decided to start writing stuff down, say some of what I saw. No particular reason, I've been doing this off and on for about the last five, six  years, this is just me picking it up again, hopefully for longer than last time. Definitely more than just one day, this is going to take a while just trying to get the past three days down. And I'm going to want to remember these days, for sure.

But since I'm starting over (new journal and everything) I should probably explain a few really basic things. I'm about 22, going into my junior year at QSU, got an apartment with my friend Nathan, and work part-time as a tattoo artist, which is going really well at the moment. No girlfriend at the moment, got dumped a  few months ago by Kat, which is depressing, but I'm past that now. She was hot definitely, but honestly, kind of a terrible human being. She dumped me because APPARENTLY, dating me was "making her fat!" I mean, yeah, it definitely was, but god, what a stupid excuse.

That's another thing, I like fat chicks. Remember that, it's kind of the most important part of the next few entries. Normal-sized/Skinny chicks can be. . . pretty, but let's just say I prefer extended detours to dangerous curves! That's not something I go around telling people about myself; I never actually say it out loud, but every girlfriend I've ever had mysteriously gained a bunch of weight. None of THEM knew, I'm just a manipulative son of a bitch. Getting a girl to eat really isn't that hard, believe me, and keeping them from exercising just looks like chivalry. Okay,time to get into what happened.

--  First off, to set the scene: Jen's finally moving out here, which is awesome. Oh right, starting from scratch, I got to explain who Jen is. She was my girlfriend in seventh grade, and for the first time in recorded in history, a girl and a boy ACTUALLY stayed friends, post-breakup. Not that I wasn't pissed for the longest time, but I took it out on her figure. Had all of high school to fatten her up, and she made it really, really easy, believe me. Then she lost (most of) it immediately after graduation, which sucked, but it's not like I saw her every day anymore. We kept in touch, though, which is nice. . . downside to it- I got called to help her move out of the country into the city. Upside, I got to check out how her diet's gone all to hell.

Anyway, the first thing that happened was, she was late picking me up this morning. Used to be, she was always like five, ten minutes early, but nope, this time she was about twenty minutes late. Not like her. Then again, it wasn't like her to get a belly-button piercing, but that happened just the same. Ah well, can't expect your friends to stay the same forever, grow and change and all that, but really? You're gonna be late to pick up the guy who's helping you move into a new apartment? Not such an amazingly smart move, is it? 

So when she finally showed up, I had to mess with her about it, "And just what time do you call this, young lady?"

"I call it 7:50!"

". . . Well. . . Okay, fair enough. "

"Ha. I missed you, Timmy!"

    Damn, I could tell you she's looking good, but considering how she looked last I saw her, that's an understatement. Didn't really mind waiting for her, she is a friend and all, but the way she looked totally made up for the time I spent waiting, not to mention what happened the rest of the day. It you look at how Jen is now, you'd probably never guess she lost sixty pounds a couple of months ago. Nowhere near the size I like, but then, she never really got that incredibly big to begin with, then she lost all of what extra she had. . . but she's gained back what, twenty, thirty pounds now? Getting back up there, I'm thinking. I remember her saying last time we talked, she was down to 135, size eight, but no way she's anywhere near that now. I wonder what she is? Still don't know exactly, never got that out of her, I mean, I couldn't just ask outright, that'd get me smacked upside the head, and Jen's got a vicious punch if I recall correctly. But I was thinking I could probably steer the conversation around that topic, get a little info. . .

"AHH, you look so SKINNY! I HATE YOU!"

  Or, you know, she could make it easy for me, start the weight talk on her own, right off the bat, that'll work, too. I already knew most of what she's going to say here, but it's way better when you HEAR HER SAY IT, so I just decided to play the fool for a while here. . . Wait, what? I look skinny? How the hell did THAT happen? It's not like I've tried to lose weight or anything. Heh, it's probably best for my safety that I didn't say anything about that.

"So do you! I DON'T hate you!"

" *Psshh* Don't even. I'm blowing up all over again."

Yes, she definitely is. And it is glorious. Couldn't actually agree with her of course, vicious punch and all.

"No, you are not."

"YES I AM!!!"

"You know what, no, I'm not going to play this game, if it's what you want, then, 'yes, wow, Jen it's amazing how you really are turning into an oinker.'"

"THANK YOU!"

It wasn't as obvious as I would have thought. The placement hid it a bit, I guess, but it was definitely there. No amount of genetic luck with where fat sits on your body can hide THIRTY POUNDS. It does make the thirty pounds extra-nice to look at, though. She's really lucky with how fat spreads out on her body. It's not any one space her fat goes, it's just everywhere, you know? She's not an hourglass exactly, but she's definitely close.  Best I can describe, she's an hourglass with a not-so-amazingly-small middle. Maybe a bit more up top than a pure hourglass. Definitely not small up top, but not so incredibly gifted either. Even at her biggest/hottest, she wasn't really MASSIVE, just. . .well-built. It's more how she's put together than purely what she's got, so even this 'minus-thirty-pounds' version of her is really hot. Sure, there are  bigger tits around, but hers? Perky, bouncy, PERFECTLY-shaped, the whole jiggly, joyful package. Not to mention, from the way she looked, they'd be plenty bigger, sooner rather than later, but at the moment, I had to lie through my teeth, in order to KEEP them.

"It's also amazing how no one else can see it. Your fatness is invisible."

"Well, I can feel it!"

No way she was lying about that one. Again, best I just disagree, keep her going about this awhile longer.

"The beginnings of psychosis. . ."

"Oh, stop it, I can't even wear most of my cute clothes anymore!"

"Why not?"

Yeah, yeah, I knew why, the answer was sitting in plain sight, sloppy around her waistline, but I had to hear her admit it. . .

"Pretty much everything I own gives me a muffin top, except super-baggy stuff like what I've got on right now."

"Gives you a what?" Again, hotter if she admits/describes her weight problems.

"Muffin top. Okay you know when girls try and squeeze into something too small, and their fat like puffs up around their waistband? That's a muffin top."

"Nope. You don't have one of those."

"Well no DUH, I don't have one right now, I'm wearing super baggy clothes and that covers it like I said, but if I try and wear anything cute, bam, muffin top city."

She might THINK that covers it up, maybe, but I was looking at some fairly compelling evidence says it doesn't.

"Nope, I'm looking at you, no way you could get a muffin top."

"Not like a HUGE one, but yeah, definitely a muffin top. I'm done trying to convince your blind ass about how I'm blimping out all over again; let's just get our butts on the road, we gotta get me moved into a new apartment."

I have to go now, but there will be more, this is nowhere near the best part of all this.

[Enumerated_Bob]

July 8, 2012

___________________

Okay, picking up where I left off, I've been saying for a long while it's about time Jen moved out here; she stayed at home in the middle of the freaking woods for three years after high school; she needs to try living in the city! And she needs to go to college, but I can't really force her to do that, not going to bring that up with her. Besides, now she's out HERE, I'll probably see her more often, get more frequent chances to observe her expansion. That's another reason I love this city, so MANY large ladies. Heaven for my type, not to mention good influences for Jen as her figure recovers from that gorram diet. Plus there's all these not-exactly-health-conscious restaurants for her to. . . Enjoy herself.

I thought it was best to start off the moving-operations on that note.

"Waffle House, here we go!"

"Huh? I ate breakfast already, I don't need another one?"

She said that doing that weird little thing where she was sort of asking a question, but not really, which is usually a good sign when you're doing this kind of thing. It means she's thrown off a bit, not totally sure how to react. Easy to persuade.

Wasn't too much of a surprise either, I'd kinda figured she'd eaten, her stomach looked a little too round for that to just be fat, plain and simple. Probably was a good sized breakfast, too, knowing Jen, but knowing that just makes it more fun to get her to eat more, which in my experience, really isn't that tough.

"What, a slice of toast and a bowl of cereal? Not gonna cut it, we've got boxes to move and possibly stairs to carry them up. You're going to pass out, fall down the stairs and die, and I'm not cleaning it up!"

"No, I had french toast, eggs—"

"Jen. You need breakfast. I've helped people move plenty of times; it's more work than you'd think. I'm just trying to keep you alive here, so shut up and eat."

"UGH, all right. . ."

Don't know how much breakfast she'd already eaten, the whole 'french toast and eggs' thing made it sound like it was a decently-sized breakfast, but I don't have a clue about that. What I do know is that she definitely ate her share of breakfast then. Probably more than her share, considering she's only about 5'1", but, and I don't know if you've figured this out yet, a girl eating more than her share of food isn't exactly the kind of thing that makes me get upset.

"Two All-Star breakfasts, please."

"HEY, I never told you what I wanted!"

"So I guessed."

"That's WAY too much—"

"—Not cleaning it up, remember?"

"UGH, FIIINE. But if I get fat moving here, I'm blaming you! "

"Blame away, won't make it my fault. So where is this new apartment of yours?"

"It's on Johnson, between Broadmoor and Burbank, you know the place?

"Yeah, I think so, not totally sure, you could direct me there, though."

"It's the street with that gym, I think it's called Fontenot's Fitness? Yeah, that's it. Place is called Cortoe Plaza."

"YEAH, definitely know the place! Remember Heather? That's where she's living now."

Road's got a gym on one end, Baskin-Robbins on the other, a Wendy's in the middle, and lots and  lots of fat chicks. Don't know how that gym's still operating from the looks of the people I saw there. Gotta explain right quick who Heather is, so in twenty words or less, she's the reason me and Jen stayed friends. She was Jen's friend first, we became friends during me and Jen's dating period, and I didn't want to stop hanging out with her after that ended. Jen didn't either, so we had an awkward period, and eventually just got over it. Heather's a good example of what this Cortoe place does; she used to be thinnish. Not a stick, just enough bounce to be interesting, but not enough to keep me paying attention. Last I saw of her before this, she was about fifty, sixty pounds fatter since she moved there two years ago. Things are definitely looking bad for Jen's diet. They'll be looking good on her body, though. 

On that note, for someone who already ate breakfast, she really didn't take her time on those waffles, or go easy on the syrup. Barely had any for my own waffles, not that I'm complaining! All I can do is hope she keeps these same sorts of eating habits after she's moved in, not go all diet-crazy again, though with Heather plus her sixty new pounds hanging around her, I don't see that happening. What I DO see is history repeating itself, specifically, Heather's history happening again, only this time with Jen as the focus.

"Yeah, I know, I talked to her, she told me it was a decent place, and it's not like it's in a bad area or anything. Plus, with that gym nearby, I can get back to exercising like I should be."

Exercising. . . riiigghht. . . Looking at her right then, stuffed with waffles and eggs, she didn't look too excited about the whole exercise-thing, which was encouraging. I've seen a little of her at that gym, and from that, I don't think there's going to be much more happening, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

She was done a few seconds later. But it took her about ten more minutes before she felt up to the task of walking again, which, strange enough, looked more like WADDLING.

"NHHHN, god, I'm full!"

Hurrah, mission accomplished. "Well at least now I know you won't pass out in the middle of moving."

"Ugh, I can't bend in the middle and you expect me to help you move my stuff? HA, not happening, sorry!"

Goal #2  in the "Make-Jen-Fat-Again Plan": Reduce exercise - accomplished. "Seriously? Not going to help at all?"

"Nope! HA, YOUR FAULT!"

Nope, my plan, not my fault, but I knew that if she does SOMETHING, it has a way of setting her mind at ease later with her diet. . . If she thinks she's done anything, she won't feel she has to get as much exercise. . .

Okay, puppy-dog eyes are a GO.

" Oh, don't give me that look. . . All right, I'll help a LITTLE, but you'll have to give me a while to get fully digested here!" Ha, she always was a sucker for my puppy-dog eyes.

"As long as you need."

***

[Enumerated_Bob]

July 8 (cont.)

________________________

Back, just had something to take care of, so we're at her place now, Cortoe Plaza. Nice place for a guy like me, a guy with my taste in women, a bit too pricey though for a guy whose salary depends on if a guy likes a doodle well enough to wear it around for the rest of his life. Before this, I'd only been here twice, I think. I liked what I saw at the time, and I gotta admit, most of what I saw was Heather, but damn, did she look good. Heather's one of those girls, you know the ones, looked better than decent in high school, then totally bloom once they get to college, and when I say 'bloomed,' I mean, of course, totally blimped out. She did like most girls do, 'improved' in her Freshman year, but then she moved here and poof, it was like she was suddenly hooked up to an reverse-liposuction machine. Glorious saddlebags last I saw, and that was about a year ago, so I can just imagine how she is now. This time, I was with Jen, who I'll admit, is (temporarily) skinnier, way skinnier, but damn did she put on a show!

"OOF, and that's the last of it! Now what you want to do?"

"Rest a bit. Then I really wanna check out that gym, see what they have."

"Better idea: Celebrate being done, then go introduce yourself to the neighbors. Come on, up, up, up, get in the car, we're going somewhere."

"Where we going?"

"You'll see."

Somewhere to eat, duh. Also, somewhere away-from-the-gym. Somewhere as anti-gym as possible. I know, she'd definitely eaten a good bit this morning, her stomach was still a bit swollen from her second breakfast, but then she HAD burned off a bunch of calories moving, don't want all that eating to go to waste entirely. If that means more eating, that means more eating. Actually, if that means more eating, then I like it. All it really was, was a decision about which high-calorie restaurant should I take her to?

"Cheesecake Factory?!"

"What part of celebrate did you miss?"

"What part of 'on-a-diet' did YOU miss?"

"The part where that applies to a celebration. Come on, just this once, break loose on the diet, order whatever you feel like. Be realistic, you've been moving boxes for the last four hours, it's not possibly going to make that big an impact after all that."

"You'd be surprised. But okay, I'll go with the uh. . . Carrot cake, carrot cake is relatively healthy, right?"

"Relatively"

Generally true, yeah, but here? NOPE! See, at Cheesecake Factory, they don't serve carrot cake, they serve carrot cake CHEESECAKE, and not small pieces of it, either! And I sure as hell wasn't about to help her eat any of it!

"So gym after this?"

Damn, she was still on that? "No, Mrs. I-have-no-short-term-memory, next we meet the neighbors. Bake them something, go around, introduce you."

"I'm supposed to bake them something? Why?"

"I don't know, because it's customary? Don't worry, I'll do it for you, I've been looking to try out a new recipe for cookies I found, anyway."

"UGH, stupid custom. Okay, fine, we'll get back, you can pop those cookies in the oven while I try and find, slash change into, my exercise clothes. Then, while they're cooking, we can run by the gym. Don't worry, we'll be back before the cookies burn, it's just a quick run-by to see what they've got, not a long, two and a half-hour workout."

This got me thinking, I could try and do my best to go there with her, try and get her out quickly, before she undoes too much of what she's been doing since she got here, maybe convince her that she undid all this. BESIDES, these exercise clothes she spoke of? Intriguing. Looking at her fat and flabby form, I'm guessing those weren't "new" clothes she had, but they weren't used, either.

There was more cake than I remembered it being, probably at least a good 800 plus more calories for her to not-work-off. I like the way it's just sitting on her gut, too; that my friend, is what you call a "food baby!"

"You ready to go? You look like you're just about done is all."

"Yeah, just gimme a second, and nnnnnhhhnnn! Okay, let's go."  That was a familiar grunt; that was her 'Oh god, I think I swallowed a bowling ball' grunt. In the time we dated, I heard that grunt almost every date we went on. I knew when I heard that, that even IF she went to the gym, she wasn't going to be doing much of anything.

Then she stood up and when I saw just how much her belly was popped out, I was impressed, which, let me tell you, is saying something.  After getting women to eat like pigs on a regular basis for ten years, I'm not easily impressed by how much a person's stomach swells. BUT, that food baby was in its third trimester, EASILY!

"Y'alright there?"

"Yeah, it's just SOMEONE got me to eat too much!"

"Sorry I forced you to enjoy yourself!"

Classic cover, and not actually bullshit, eating a good meal, even IF it's more than you need, gets your brain to make dopamine, which makes you happy, or something like that. Okay, I don't know the details, but find me anyone, anywhere in the world who says eating a good meal ISN'T satisfying, and I'll show you a liar.

"UGH, well I'm not enjoying THIS!"

Well I was, that's for damn sure.

"Just chill, you'll be fine, let's just get back to your room, you can lay down and recover while I cook, but then we need to meet the neighbors, all right? All right."

"No, no laying on the couch and 'recovering,' I'd just fall asleep, then I'd have another ten pounds to work off when I wake up, what I need to do is find those stupid exercise shorts and get to that place down the street, work this blubber-bomb off before it attaches itself to my massive thunder thighs."

Bringing up the exercise agreement again, my first thought was 'SHIT.' Then it hit me, with all that food stuffed in her gut, these 'exercise clothes,' which I'm willing to bet haven't been used in a million years, are going to be. . . fun to see. And seeing her TRY to exercise in this condition? Well now, this exercise thing wasn't looking so horrible anymore. Well, not AS horrible. It had its upsides, which I'll get to in a little while.

But that's going to have to wait 'til later, sadly, I got to stop writing for the moment, but I'll pick back up tomorrow, no worries, I'm not letting this drop mid-story like the last half-dozen times I started a journal.

[Enumerated_Bob]

July 9, 2012

__________________________________________________

Okay, so jumping straight back into it, we're back to the room, this is my chance to see exactly what sort of "exercise clothes" Jen's got stashed away, not to mention see exactly how much they HAVEN'T-been-used. 

So we walk in and she looks around, then turns to me and says, "Okay, give me a few minutes here, I'm not sure where my stuff is, or, heh, how it's going to fit. You know where the stuff is in the kitchen, just head in, get started."

So I did. So I cooked a few extra pans, because I totally 'miscounted the doors.' Besides, I could always get her to sample a few. . . dozen.

I started hearing these grunts from towards the bedroom, so I start thinking that's a sign I'm going to like what I see when she walks out of there.

I walk over to her bedroom door, "All right, the cookies are cooking, you ready?"

"Yeah. . . Just. . . Gimme a sec. . . OKAY!"

Then she comes out and glory, glory hallelujah, thank the good lord for spandex! So, from the serious grunting I'd been hearing, I was already expecting a glorious sight, and let me tell you, I was NOT disappointed. I'll try to put a picture in your head, so this wasn't just a pair of basic workout shorts, this was a full-body, color-coordinated, black and grey top and bottom set, seriously struggling yoga pants, and what probably began it's life as a full shirt, but by now, it only came nearly (not quite)  halfway down over her belly. I hesitate to take credit, but that may have had something to do with my terrible influence on her for the last few hours. Just maybe. That  food baby was still alive and kicking, a bit worn down, but still fully developed; if we went around while she looked preggers, everyone would assume  I was the daddy, which would be. . . awkward for her to explain when it was gone in the morning. In any case, I knew for a fact that we NEEDED to get to that gym before we went around. Only to give her time to digest, you know, the less she actually DOES at the gym, the better.

She noticed me staring with god knows WHAT kind of expression and says to me, "DON'T LAUGH, it's been awhile since I got these."

"I'm not laughing. You ready?" Hell no, I wasn't laughing, WAY too turned on for that. Must have been the mile-wide grin on my face that gave her the wrong idea. But hey, as long as she THINKS I think it's hilarious, I basically had a free pass to check her out. I may be wrong on this, but I don't think she had a bra on under there. Which was weird. No sports bra, I could kinda-semi-understand, with tits that size, I doubt she can find many, but just going without ANY support? Don't know how she reasoned that one out. Maybe she thought she would bounce out of it? Plus her thong was hanging out the back of her shorts, whale-tail style. Actually, on second thought, was it a thong? Can't remember quite, might have just been normal panties, wedged up her ass crack, which I can bet you happens a lot to her, with an ass like that.

"Yeah" And with that we started walking, SLOWLY to the other end of the street. There weren't many people outside, but I definitely noticed that the people outside the other apartment complex that was further down the road were a hell of a lot more in-shape. Glad Jen didn't move into THAT one. Terrible influences from where I'm standing. Jen's skinny enough as she is, by my standards, anyway, and I'm really looking forward to seeing her get fatter, not fitter.

"So what's first?"

She just ignored me saying that, just walked right up to the desk to grab a handout. The woman behind the desk gave her this weird look like 'Really? You think you should be here?'  but Jen doesn't even notice. She just looks at the pamphlet for a few seconds then walks over into the main part of the gym, over to this big blue mat in the corner, and starts doing lunges.

I think that's what she started, anyway. She didn't do many, and whatever it was, she did it horribly. Clearly out of practice. But the view. . . god that was amazing, those pants are tougher than they look, I'll tell you that, they went through a hell of a lot. I was just WAITING for the moment they finally give in and explode off her, but, sadly, disappointed on that front. I think she could feel how close she was coming, though, she never said it, but she could have gone longer on the lunges and squats and stuff. I think, anyway. Her face got red pretty quick, and she was sweating way more than she should have been for so little exercise.

She walked over to the treadmill where I was treated to a glorious two and a half minutes of her 'running,' as fast as she could, which was right about six miles an hour. She came off that thing breathing like she'd just run a marathon. Then she walks really stiffly, still kinda waddling (that food baby was STILL surviving. Somehow.) out to the middle of the mat and just collapses on her butt. Sound it made. . . Let's just say people on the other end of the gym heard it and turned to look.

In between breaths, she eventually managed to squeak out, "Get  my feet, a'ight?"

I'm sad to say, I'm an enabler. I didn't argue with her, I just mindlessly obeyed, bent down and held her feet down so she could try some situps. Emphasis on try. I think she managed one, maybe? Altogether? Does it add up, the times she nearly made it up? Because there were a lot more of those. So yeah, I broke rule #2, but in my defense, my mind was more concentrated on hiding how turned on I was. Then the lady who was behind the counter came to my rescue. Which was good for me and for Jen's developing flabby physique, but one hundred percent a BAD move on her part.

"Ma'am? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

What? We both just turned to the side and stared at her for a few seconds, no idea what she was talking about, she looked at us, realized we were clueless and took it as a signal to keep going, "I mean, don't you worry you might lose the baby?"

Aaaand that was it. Fontenot Fitness is officially a place Jen will never in a million years return to, so I guess by helping her exercise, I DID keep her from getting any exercise? Funny how things like that happen. Anyways, I know one thing. If I hadn't been there, there wouldn't be anything left of that woman to bury, and Jen would be facing a life sentence. Can't deny, I wouldn't have minded seeing her beat the ever-living crap out of that woman, bitch-fights, hot, but at the same time, I'm against murder as a rule.

Once she got done cursing that poor woman out and threatening her loved ones with dismemberment and disembowelment, she stormed out of there, swearing she'd never come back to this place ever again, which is yet another victory for me, but I had to run after her, help her focus, comfort her, guess how I did THAT. I got to go now, I'm doing a special, off-the-clock, specially-requested prison tattoo for this guy who came in wanting something that was done different from the usual way (Why this guy doesn't want to just get it done normally, I'll never understand) but I'll give you a sneak preview and tell you that, to put it shortly, Baskin-Robbins and Budweiser both had an extremely good sales night. Stuff happened, too, aside from just her eating that I gotta tell you about; I'll just tell you about it to that after I finish with the job.

[Guest Motsaki]

Nice! Can't wait to see more

[Enumerated_Bob]

July 9, 2012 (cont.)

______________________

So "Prison-tattoo-guy" NEARLY bailed out on me, but I took some time and in the end, I talked him into doing it anyway. Which is, you know, something you do when you need the cash, and that's really what this was all about. Did it totally free-lance, and since I wasn't using any equipment from the parlor, wasn't doing it on their time, I got one hundred percent of the profits. Which are WAY higher when it's a custom-job, not done like normal. I'm thinking I should do this kind of thing more often. You know, free-lance tattoos, special order. As it is, I'm designing every new tattoo they use at the parlor, why shouldn't I just design them on my own and not TELL them? Then, I mean, if someone wants that design, they HAVE to go to me. . .

Yes, in this case convincing the guy after he started freaking took a little alcohol. . . Okay, a LOT of alcohol, but the job turned out kind of amazing, so it all worked out. I took a few little liberties with the EXACT design he asked for, but I think he'll agree it turned out well once he's sobered up. . . SPEAKING OF ALCOHOL, that's where I left off last entry.

So for obvious reasons, the second we got back to the apartment, I got two things. A pan of chocolate cookies, and a six-pack of Budweiser. She just dove straight in, didn't even run into the bathroom and change out of those RIDICULOUS clothes, which made the rest of the night even more entertaining than you can imagine. She claimed the vast majority of the food and beer for herself, which I wasn't too upset about, but to give you an idea of what I mean, I got exactly one beer, she got the other five. I'm not much of a drinker, so that wasn't a problem really, but that's just how it was. I'm not going much into what all she said exactly during all of this because, really, she didn't say hardly anything until they were both gone. Too focused on the cookies.

For a woman who's not particularly skinny, Jen's what you call a bit of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. Meaning after that last beer, she was totally and completely plastered, slurring her words and everything, "Le's go ta' Baskin-Robbins!"

No arguments coming from me, I'll tell you that much. It was one amazingly sexy thing just seeing her sit there, stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey; it was another thing entirely to watch her stumbling along the sidewalk, that direction.  Every stumble sent a shockwave through her soft body, which was pretty much on display, still crammed into that workout getup. I was a little worried we'd be thrown out because she was so wasted, but they were surprisingly apathetic about it.

We got there, Jen was way too smashed to read a menu, so I just ordered for her, "Extra-large banana split, please"

Of course that irritated her, so she yelled at me, "Stop freakin' orderin' fer'me, Tim, GOD, I can do't m'sself,jus'. . ." she paused for a second, staring at the menu, muttering to herself, then pulls herself up straight(ish) and says very loudly " Gimme wha'he said, lady, n'make it snappy! Extra cherry, extra choc'late, extra EV'RYTHIN'!"

Yeeaahh, she was gone. Not so gone she didn't eat the massive sundae they brought her, though, which I gotta say, was way bigger than I thought when I suggested it. I didn't even think she'd be able to get the whole thing down when they brought it out, especially not thinking about just how much she'd already eaten. I said something about it, aannd she snapped at me for it, "I can eat it, Tim, jus' you fuckin' WATCH!" she pretty much yelled that at me, which raised the same concerns about the whole possibly-being-thrown-out thing all over again, and I had to wonder, if she DID get tossed out, would she ever be allowed in again? Wasn't really able to worry too long, though, I was kind of distracted by her eating. Woman just plowed straight through that thing in record time, DESPITE how much she'd eaten already today, and then she TRIED to stand up, which, needless to say, didn't go so well.

She collapsed back onto her well-cushioned ass, laughing, "HA, Think'm jus' gonna sleep HERE t'night, you 'K with'at?"

"I'M okay, but I don't know how okay THEY'LL be with it," pointing at the people behind the counter, who were definitely getting a little tired of this drunk woman inhaling an ungodly amount of ice cream in their store. I THINK they were a little worried she might puke all over the place. "We gotta get you home, get up, put your weight on me, all right?"

She tried, yet again, and just collapsed, yet again. It's worth noting that at this point, she looked probably 10 months pregnant with triplets. "NOPE, not happ'nin'. *hic* You could CARRY me, tho', couldn'ya? Come on, Tim, help m'out here. . ."

There was something about how she said that that was a bit weird. Suggestive. So of COURSE, I took her up on the offer, but the whole way there, I was thinking about what that would mean. Actually no, that was in a small part of my brain, most of it was thinking somewhere along the lines of 'holy shit she's heavier than I thought,' which made sense, I guess. I mean, she said at some point in recent history she was up to 150, but there was no way that was still true. Then again, she had about four pounds of cookies and a pound of ice cream hunkered down in her gut, so THAT was definitely a contributing factor, but I'm pretty sure that either she was lying about the 150 pounds, or that was an old stat and she'd grown since then. Could be either one, but Jen's generally an honest girl, so I'm thinking it's probably an old stat she's afraid to check up on again because she knows she's gained weight. That's definitely more like her than the other.

So I carried her into her room and laid her down in her bed so she could sleep it off, but as I'm walking out she says "Thassit? Yer jus' gonna walk out now, not ev'n gimme a little t'work with? 'M jus' askin' for a quickie here, c'mon back!" Yes, it was extremely tempting, I confess I took a few seconds to think about it before I turned around and walked straight out of her bedroom. But it's like I said before, the whole time we were walking her back to her apartment, there was this little bitty section of my brain that was thinking about this, and I don't mean 'thinking' like in the same way I'd been thinking about it all day. This wasn't a "HOW-I-would-fuck-Jen-given-the-opportunity" kind of thought process, this was more a "SHOULD-I-fuck-Jen-and-what-would-the-consequences-of-that-be" thought process, and the answer I came to in the end was 'no'.

Okay, I have to EXPLAIN this now, so listen up, Jen is one of my best friends. YES, I find her attractive, amazingly so, I've made that extremely clear to you, I think, BUT the question is, could we go anywhere in a physical relationship? I'm picky like that. What I want in life is a real relationship; I'm not looking for forty minutes of fun for a nights. That's where I'm doubtful about Jen. I do not want a fuckbuddy, I know well enough that that never ends well, it gets messy and you end up one friend less than you started. And Jen's been my friend for so long now, it just. . . if we DID try something, it might end badly, and I don't want to lose her as a friend. Hah, tables have turned there, no? A guy putting an amazingly hot woman in the friend-zone, that's something that's never happened before.

But it's not just the wanting to stay friends, if she was sober right then, I wouldn't have thought about it, just go for it, you know? But right then? She wasn't really responsible for her actions, she was totally SMASHED! I've seen Jen this drunk a few times, so I knew for a fact that she wasn't going to remember this tomorrow, and waking up next to me, she'd totally freak. She'd probably freak even more if she did remember.

So I just walked out and left her there to pass out. I had a lot to think about with this new development, so I decided to take a walk. I really didn't have a real choice of going home that night, not after what happened, and there was still stuff to unpack, and I knew Jen would have a massive hangover the next morning, and you know, one of the many things I'm good at cooking is a hearty breakfast to soothe a hangover. I thought, why not lend my services to helping her tomorrow morning? I was taking a small vacation from work at the time, due to 'my mother being sick,' which wasn't totally a lie, I mean, it was true when I said it, but when a vacation doesn't have a set deadline, I see no reason to go running back as fast as possible when I've got enough money saved up for the next six months.

Plus, I thought, she still hadn't gone around introducing herself, meeting the neighbors, and from what I'd heard from Heather about her neighbors, I sure wasn't missing THAT. What I'm saying is that it was pretty much a given that I was going to sleep on the couch that night. Like I said though, I had a whole bunch of things bouncing around inside my head right then for me to think about, so I decided to take a walk around the plaza, just go out in the fresh air for a while, walk around, clear my head.

And it was working great, that is, until Heather showed up and we talked for a good bit. Not that it was a BAD thing, seeing her and catching up with her, that is NOT what I'm saying, but she definitely gave me even MORE stuff to think about, that kind of thing. BUT it is now 1:30 PM and I have work in six and a half hours, so I'm leaving that conversation to tomorrow's entry and going to sleep.

[Enumerated_Bob]

July 11, 2012

________

Getting pretty good at this, this is the longest stretch of days in a row I've written in a long, long, LONG time. Okay, so I'm not telling about anything CURRENT, but that's not the important thing, now is it? The important thing is that I'm DOING IT. And I swear I'll stop congratulating myself on my consistency.

So back to where I was, I woke up pretty early the next morning, way before Jen was up, got started on the big, hearty breakfast thing I was talking about, french toast, cinnamon rolls, and bacon, always works wonders, for me at least. I also went and started baking some pans of brownies, since Jen had eaten most of the cookies already, and, in a massive plot twist you'll never see coming, I once again, in a total crazy accident, 'miscounted the number of doors' when determining how many pans to make.

I was just popping the last pan in the oven when the groans started coming from the bedroom. Then the words, "Oh GOD, my HEAD!" made their way in.

And that was my signal that she was up, my signal to keep her awake, my signal that I needed to get her up, sober, ready to meet the neighbors without making a complete fool of herself, oh, and unpack some more.

I went in, first round of Operation Sober-Jen-up, offer her a big glass of water, "A little hungover, are we?" Dumb question. Obviously. But don't judge, that was totally rhetorical .

A fact which passed right over Jen's head, "It'll pass soon enough. Until then, just kill me."

I was tempted to leave her be, I know how serious a hangover can be, but I knew that I couldn't. Remember? All those things we had to get done? "Not an option, we got to get you up, cleaned up, and ready to introduce yourself to the neighbors. I unpacked your shower stuff for you, so just go in, it's all set up."

She rolled over on her side moaning, but I just flipped her back on her back. She had to thank me in the end, once she pulled herself together. We repeated these steps a few more times, before she got sick of it.

You might have guessed, she wasn't in the mood to thank me right then. More in the mood to strangle me to death with my grandfather's pocket watch, which she gave up on pretty immediately. She struggled to sit up, then complained, "God, I'm so bloated it's not even FUNNY. What the hell happened last night?"

See what did I tell? No way she was going to remember that night. I thought for a second on what to say. This was a case where understating the events of the night would reassure her, so I broke it down to the basics, "Well you drank a little, you ate a little, you hit on me, then you passed out." Truthful Translation: You got major-league fucked up, ate enough to feed the entire Prussian army, tried to have sex with me, and passed out.

She awkwardly jerked when I mentioned the "hit-on-me" bit.  It was kind of pathetic, but at the same time, it was probably the most upset motion she could manage in the state she was. Her voice though, managed to convey how freaked out slash worried she was feeling, "God, I did WHAT!? What did I say to you?"

That was the most coherent thing she'd said so far, and in, that a faint glimmer of hope for her recovery, "Nothing too bad, don't worry."  Ignorance is bliss, I didn't feel like she really NEEDED to know exactly what happened.

She struggled even harder, managing eventually, get up and walk over to the bathroom, muttering something about how a shower usually helps. My happiness at her recovery was a bit over powered by my happiness that over the fact that she was unintentionally giving me a very clear view of exactly how much she WASN'T exaggerating about being bloated. It was like someone had come in in the middle of the night and pumped her up with a fire hose. She was still shoe-horned into those spandex workout clothes, so it made for a beautiful sight. All I could think about was whether she brought any slightly baggy clothes with her, because her normal well-fitted clothes weren't going to be fitting today.

OR SO I THOUGHT. I'll admit, maybe "fit" is the wrong word, but she WAS WEARING  the same size clothes she'd worn the day before. . . barely. In a technical sense, they weren't REALLY fitting her in any way shape or form. Those things had looked slightly uncomfortably tight the day before, and one area I was entirely right about her was that she could NOT get the pants to button. She'd worked around it though, old-school style. Classic move, the old use-a- safety-pin to get them fastened. Always handy in a pinch. One of the best things about this situation was that, NORMALLY when girls have to do this, and when I'm dating a woman, that happens rather a lot, you can see the safety pin just fine, but IN THIS CASE, I only saw the safety pin because she leaned back in her chair to pop her back. Why? Because in this case, the whole front of her pants was almost completely hidden by her beginner's belly, which was left hanging out over her waistband. Didn't expect to see that kind of gut on her, I've never seen so much of the weight she's gained going to her belly, it normally just distributes itself directly to her thighs or tits.  But there's no denying it any more, that starter belly she was carrying around, wasn't too far off from losing classification as that. Actually, I say it's like that very rarely the belly hides the safety pin, I should clarify that this is the THIRD time I've seen this happen on a girl. The two times previous both happened, post-high school, the first during the summer before I started and during Sophomore year.

These are some good stories, so I'm going to take a pause here, tell you about one of them.

The first girl was the first college-age girl I met who was also planning on going to the same place as me, so first up, we bonded on that, she was this relatively tall blonde with these good sized cans for someone as skinny as her, went by the name of, uh, can't quite remember. . . SADIE! That was it! I used to mess with her, sing that Beatles' song, Sexy Sadie, pretty much all the time, especially when she complained about how she looked. Hey, stop judging me, we all do stupid little things like that from time to time, escpecially when we're straight out of high school right? Right? Please tell me I'm right on this. . . Actually, no, not important, it doesn't matter what you think, it got me laid.

We dated until about midway through that first semester, I think, and I found out that, even though the majority of the weight she gained went to her tits, it wasn't THAT big a majority, and as she gained more, less and less went to her tits. If I had to give a rough estimate, I'd say that she gained twenty-five pounds by the end, and her tits were up to an E, but her belly wasn't far behind, and she couldn't seem to wrap her mind around how fat it was. She kept buying pants with way too small a waistband, which is what caused the problem with the safety pin, the band was still cutting way too far into her fat rolls, which just engulfed the whole thing. We broke up pretty smoothly, not because of her getting fat, you know by now that's a GOOD thing in my opinion, we just. . . both kind of knew it was over before we actually ended it.

The other one was this was the one I dated Sophomore year. Her name was Lacy, and she was in my graphic design class, and that's how we met. She was, at the start a BIT chunky, bottom heavy, but I saw potential in her, so I uh. . . Well, telling you my pick-up line. . . This is either going to make me sound either really really creepy, or really, really smooth, but I just walked up to her in the food court one day and said something like, "Hi, Lacy, right? We're in the same design class? Yeah, that's me, anyways, I was thinking. I've been working ahead in the book, and you know what we're doing next section? We're doing nude portraits, and I was wondering, would you help me out?"

To this day, I have no fucking clue how that line worked.

It did, though, and she never happened to bring up the awkward fact that NEVER once during that entire graphic design class, did we EVER so much as mention nude art. And yet, I used that excuse successfully, more than once to get her naked, and somehow, I'll never figure out exactly how this happened, I DID  manage to finish one or two, those other sessions, well. . . Yeah. . .  You can guess.

ANYWAYS. I was with Lacy almost all Sophomore year, and in that space, I turned her from 'a bit chunky' into a bottom heavy goddess, we dated for about nine or ten months, she gained fifty plus pounds during that time, and she was bottom heavy, definitely, but her stomach was nothing to ignore, the little guy went from a slight pooch to a big, sloppy gut flopping out over the front of her pants, so no one could see when they weren't buttoned. I think Lacy definitely picked up on my hints that I liked her no matter how big she got and that she didn't have to watch her diet so closely. I don't think she really like knew I straight up like fat chicks, but she didn't stick closely to any diets while we dated. Not closely, anyway, she went on like three of them, none of which lasted a week.

Oh, god, that's a good memory. . .

OKAY NOW, off of that. This entry is going to be about Jen. Not my ex-girlfriend Sadie's transition from big tits to big tummy. Not about the way that by the end of the relationship, she was sweating just thinking about a flight of stairs. This isn't about how Lacy asked me that one time if, instead of doing that classic pose with the grapes, she could be eating a piece of pizza. This isn't about her big, sexy stomach that hung out four inches over her waistband, it's about Jen. And I just realized I made that last bit about my exes anyway. No. This is not about Lacy, it's not about Sadie, it's about JEN. So this was my first time seeing how JEN'S stomach isn't so much a 'beginner's belly' these days; it isn't so much starting out, as it is fully established and expanding its territory. Her hourglass is losing its thin center. What would that make it, a pipe? ANYWAY, aside from THAT not-at-all sexy image, we're back to  the button issue. The shorts she'd managed by some act of God to wedge her thunder thighs into DID do their job, on a technicality; they held together, but you could see a mile away, how strained those seams were, and she was walking funny from how much they were pinching her. I think that shirt she had on was one of those "cute shirts" she was talking about before; you remember, the one's that gave her a muffin top? Well, I don't know exactly what quantifies a "cute shirt," but the muffin top was a definite thing. The shirt was form-fitting, so I could see that the cute little food baby that she'd been nursing so carefully under my guidance all day long, was at long last, gone (Aaaaw. . .) but at the same time, it left a pretty clear mark on her semi-sorta-kinda-not-really-but-almost-skinny figure.

I had to ask, "Hey, feel better?"

"A bit. . . not really, but kinda. . ." She definitely didn't LOOK much better. But she could just as equally be uncomfortable because of the clothes as she was because of the hangover, those pants were pretty nearly cutting off her circulation.

Instead, I deployed my go-to maneuver at dealing with hangovers, "Here, sit down, have some food, a good breakfast usually helps." It really does, I don't just use it on girls.

She grimaced and said "UGH, I don't feel like I could eat ANYTHING right now, what the hell did I EAT last night, a walrus?"

Again, underestimation always helps in this situation. Puts the mind at ease. "Just some ice cream, and just try a little, it'll help, I promise. Here, have a cinnamon roll." Even if she can feel it, if she can't remember the six dozen chocolate cookies and the jumbo sized banana split, I see no reason to tell her about it, get her all diet-crazed. Besides, if she KNEW, there's no way in hell she'd eat this breakfast, and yes, I cooked it for two, but I only PLANNED on ONE eating it! The less she knows, the worse for her diet, and, the less she knows, the fatter she'll get, and the fatter she gets, the hotter she'll be. Therefore, the less she knows about how much she ate, the hotter she'll be. This applies to times when she's NOT drunk, too, I read a study once, if someone doesn't notice the container emptying, they'll eat up to twice as much food. I took that as advice to always keep a woman's plate full of food, always keep HUGE containers of junk food around, since there's always like a hundred Twinkies around, and they ate just one, eh, no one's gonna miss another. And another. Maybe one more. So far, it's been working out great, they don't even realize how much they've eaten until they've eaten way too much.

Anyway, this breakfast operated on the same principle. She looked at the humungous cinnamon roll on the plate I was handing her in shock, "God, these things are like, massive! How am I supposed to eat all this!?" Expected that, but this should be easy, classic case of convincing, and I've been doing it with Jen so long it's not even a challenge anymore. Just routine.

The first thing to do, make a joke out of it, she's thinking about something else, it takes her mind of of how full she is. But how to do it? I decided to mess with her, take her question literally, "well, step one is you insert the pastry into your mouth like so" and I took a big bite out of one, "Step two: You move your mouth like—" In retrospect, teasing a woman like this who was this hungover wasn't the nicest things I've ever done.

She was a little too unfocused to get too annoyed, but she did cut me off there, "Ugh, stop, I know HOW IT WORKS. God, if it'll get you off my back, I can eat ONE, I guess." Well, that was part two of the plan, get her to 'just try ONE.' Well, if she's going to jump straight to that step without me having to work for it, that's totally fine with me! Getting Jen to 'try just one' is actually more of a big deal than it sounds like, because that, coming from Jen, it can be translated as: 'I will eat every single one and demand seconds.'

"Good."

She took a bite, and her face brightened a bit at the taste, then turned to me, and told me "Just so you know, I feel like a hippo right now. You seriously should have stopped me at some point last night." I noticed how feeling like a hippo didn't actually stop her from taking another bite of the cinnamon, though, which undermined her point a bit.

I didn't respond to what she said at all, just kind of nodded, and immediately turn away, back to the brownies, pull out a pan. That was a dangerous topic of conversation, always something you need to avoid. I needed a bit of misdirection to get her to stop trying to get me to NOT let her overeat, so I pulled out all the pans, and then left the room to take a shower. In an inexplicable mystery that will possibly never be explained by science, I come back to see Jen halfway through her third cinnamon roll, and via a similarly inexplicable phenomenon, she was sporting a mini-sized version of the previous day's food baby. She looked like she feels better.

She turns to me and confirms that thought, saying "You were right, this does help. GOD, you're a good cook, where did you learn?"

"Ah, just messing around in the kitchen, trial and error, that kind of thing." Also, when you enjoy getting girls to eat too much, you learn how to cook. I wonder what the correlation is between guys like me and really amazing, world class chefs. . . 

A few minutes later, she finishes the last of the six rolls I made, as expected, and was, same as I predicted, seemingly incapable and entirely unwilling to eat the rest of what I'd cooked. I managed getting her to eat it all though, but you can't really say I did anything special to get her to do it, there was no test of my skills in that. I mean, all it took to get her chewing was me putting the French toast and bacon on a plate directly in front of her. Yeah, for the first few minutes, she raised the same kind of complaints for a little while, saying crap like "I've already had to undo the safety pin!" and other (true) complaints, like I haven't heard those a hundred times. I remember one time, Miranda was near her biggest ever, she was having problems finishing some of what I'd gotten on my last trip to the buffet for her (she was too stuffed to go herself) so I suggested she loosen her belt. Her response? 'But it's on the last loop already!' This was the same situation, only in Jen's case, there wasn't the option to just take the belt off completely, but they had the same response in that I knew I didn't have to say anything to get them to eat, they couldn't resist the smell for long, and after they took a few bites, and in Miranda's case, sacrificed the belt for the rest off eternity, there was no more resistance to the gorging.

I didn't give Jen a huge plate or anything, I wasn't looking to exactly repeat yesterday, mostly because of the introductions. Actually I was looking to get her to eat as much as possible WITHOUT looking like we'd been playing hide the sausage without the casing. I have absolutely no interest in getting labelled as the new girl's baby daddy. When it was all said and eaten, even though I intentionally limited how much she had, she still ended up feeling immobile for a good while. I guess those last two or three slices of French toast were overdoing it a little.

I really was tempted to get her to help "taste-test" that extra pan of brownies, but at the same time, I also really, really wanted to meet the neighbors and that was never going to happen if I kept giving her food because Jen. . . Well, being totally honest, Jen is a glutton, one of the biggest I've ever met, and when you have my taste in women, that means a lot. What Jen does is, she tries to refuse food, but she never really does, she'll say no, then get a sample from someone else, then another. And another. Until she's eaten more than she would if she'd just straight said yes in the first place. And then she'll feel good about how she refused to eat whatever it was she was offered. Right then was a perfect example; even though she was bloated as a balloon and had eaten a breakfast that would probably feed six people, I knew without a doubt that Jen would have tried a brownie. Then another. Until the whole pan was gone, because that's how she is, no self-control, no restraint at all.

What I decided was going to be the deciding factor for us to go was for her to be able to get that safety pin fastened back up again, and I told her that, and she actually managed to fasten it on her first try after I told her that. Well, sort of, anyway, it wasn't REALLY fastened right, the pin was immediately bent, and we had to find her a whole new one. In the end, it took a full hour and a half before she was digested to where she didn't look knocked up anymore, but it finally happened. So we left to go around, meet people. Which was fun, I got to see what Heather meant when she told me everyone got fat out here. But more on that later, I have to go, I nearly forgot to go to the store, pick up some stuff and they're closing in not too long.

I'll be right back in just a minute, maybe thirty. However long I'm out; I'll have to get back to this immediately after I'm done.