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- College-age guy with 'standards' tells the story of those standards evolving Crysta pt. 1 Small towns, small schools, small colleges, sometimes the same people show up over and over. That's where we'll start this, because sometimes you learn things about them, sometimes they teach you things you didn't know about yourself. We'll start with Crysta Harris. She came to my high school Junior year, 18 years old and blessed three times over by the goddesses of beauty and puberty. Everybody noticed her, she was impossible to ignore. She tried out to be a cheerleader senior year. I showed up to those try-outs. So did most of the straight guys in the school. She killed it in the audition, we all thought. Nobody bounced like she did, no one else's shorts left their round, voluptuous cheeks exposed. She didn't make the team; she was 'too short,' they said, and 'too busty for our uniforms.' Riots nearly ensued on behalf of every male student desperate to see that inevitable Crysta Harris' nip slip on the sideline, but she didn't seem to mind. A couple guys followed as she got the news, reported back that however she felt about it, her appetite wasn't spoiled. I was in the group that stayed behind. The cheerleaders started tearing into her as soon as she left. "Oh my god, can you believe her?" One of them asked, shaking her generic blonde hair and plastic face, "She's not even that pretty!" The girl next to her clearly disagreed, but didn't argue. She held up the information sheet Crysta had provided, "Look at this, though, she's like, super short." A third chimed in, "And kinda big, right? Like, all over!" Back to stick-thin barbie number one, "Totally. I mean, she say here she's 135? I mean, at her height, all I got to say is that bitch better drop ten pounds." They weren't lying, Crysta was definitely a tiny bit fluffy. She could have been a model with her red-brown hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones, facially, she was flawless, but she liked food too much, it seemed. Most teachers had rules against snacking in class. The male teachers made an exception in her case. She didn't try and pretend she wasn't a soft, squishy sort of girl. She wore her shirts tight; if you looked, you'd see those ten pounds of fluff, but she was curvy as all hell. Nobody cared about ten pounds. Her tits were huge, perky, her hips were wide, and she still had most of a waistline. Notice how I'm using past tense. This was true through high school. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ College, though... Okay, lots of girls gain weight their first year of college. The Freshman fifteen's a famous thing, and as much as senior girls tell themselves it's a myth, it's more a fact around here. Trust me, my sex life for most of Freshman year was based on the low self-esteem of former prom queens with muffin tops and thunder thighs, and I had a damn good year. My angle worked because I'm decent-looking and good at comforting when someone feels down. It worked when a newly-chubby girl was broken up with, or ripped her pants, or felt unloved. This wasn't about wanting fat girls. It was about how skinny chicks gain weight, get upset, feel undesired, and, basically, how they don't turn me away the second I start talking. I have standards, I always have, I've never been the kind of guy who'll sleep with anything on two legs, but... Thing about 'standards' is, they vary. I've always taken 'no fat chicks' with a grain of salt. These girls called themselves fat, maybe their ex-boyfriends had called them fat, but they weren't really. 'Fat' is when a girl's waistline looks like a stack of tires, all rolls, no hourglass. 'Fat' is when her gut sticks out further than her tits. A fat girl takes up two seats on an airplane. The girls I was with, yeah, they had a few extra pounds, yeah, they weren't so toned, but God no, they weren't fat. They were a tiny bit fluffier, a bit softer, some cellulite, bunch of muffin tops, but never anything major, no huge rolls of fat or anything. I didn't get with Crysta. I never had an opening. She was comfortable with how she looked, and had loads of admirers, even as the weight piled on, which it did. Let's start there. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ She came to orientation looking like she'd had a restful summer, laid by the pool, ate ice cream. She definitely hadn't been exercising, and she wasn't losing weight. Every time I went to the food court, there she was, stuffing her face. We didn't talk until Halloween. She was trick-or-treating dressed like Elektra. Her eyes lit up, "Jason!" She squealed, "Oh my god, I didn't know we were in the same building!" She moved in for a hug, and I tried to hurry it along. I was, let's just say, interested in the view she was giving me. That outfit was... Well, mostly a cut-short tank top, red panties, and a couple strips of cloth tied a bit too tight. There wasn't much to hide the fact that she'd been taking it easy. I laughed, "Crysta! I... Heh, how've you been?" I asked, feeling like an idiot, trying to hide my arousal, "What's up?" Crysta laughed, pulled out a plastic sai, threatened me, "What's up is you're gonna give me a fuck-ton of candy, or I'm gonna force it out of you!" She wrinkled her nose, pretending rage, "Come on, I'm waiting!" I chuckled, pouring a few Hershey's minis into her trash bag. Crysta groaned, "Are you serious?" "Wha- what?" Crysta narrowed her eyes, "I said a fuck-ton. This is like, three tiny ass bars." She pursed her lips, raised an eyebrow, "What are you trying to say right now?" She asked, "You trying to say I'm getting fat?!" She bellowed, poking me in the chest with her toy weapon. It's funny how intimidating a five foot chubby girl can be when she's hot as hell and dressed like a superhero, "What? I... No!" "You sure about that?" Crysta pressed, stepping closer, "You're sure? 'Cause let me tell you, I sure feel fatter!" I calmed down, this was a conversation I knew. I shook my head, told her "Don't be ridiculous. You're as skinny as you were at graduation." I left out that she wasn't skinny then, either. Crysta grinned, "Yeah, totally." She snatched the bag of candy from out of my hands, moved for the door, talking fast, "So I can have this? Awesome, thanks! Later!" I watched her chubby butt jog off. She wasn't the only squishy co-ed in the hall, but she was definitely easiest on the eyes. Some girls had cellulite I could see through their leggings, but Crysta's thick, padded legs were smooth and sexy as hell, jiggles rippling through them as she stepped down the hall. College was doing, at that point, just the most beautiful things to her bountiful body. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Halloween fattened her up good, though, I'll tell you what. She'd broken fifteen pounds by Thanksgiving, and I mean before she left for a week of unbridled piggishness. Spring semester came around, and I swear, by Mardi Gras, Crysta was up thirty pounds. I got a good idea, her outfit was pretty revealing, short shorts and a belly shirt, every fluffy pound was right there for the world to see. I saw her sitting on a tall guy's shoulders, probably her boyfriend's, to see the parade. Her belly bent around his head. He didn't look to pleased. A little later, he was gone, and she had king cake. It likely wasn't her first slice. She had a sprinkling of green, yellow and purple sugars across that poochy, pudgy, jelly belly she'd grown. This is where I'd normally make a move; she'd gained twice as much as she was 'supposed' to, and it showed. Only, Crysta seemed a different kind of girl. Spring is when most Freshman girls get their overeating, oversleeping, lazy asses in line, preparing for the summer, losing weight because their fat ass couldn't possibly fit back into that bikini. They did that. Diets happened, and the gym filled up. Girls all around campus lost weight. Crysta found it. They dropped pounds, Crysta picked them back up. And guys still loved her. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Sophomore year started. I had off-campus housing, and Crysta and I shared a morning class. She was late the first day. I recognized a few women from the last year, they mostly looked thinner. Then came Crysta. She did not. She was juicier than ever, I'm talking lots of that sweet, sweet jiggle. Her crop top, her yoga pants did nothing to hide the fact she'd packed it on something awful that summer. Her ass was fat and that gut was wobbling. Her top was tight, her tits were exploding from that bra, and there's no way she didn't notice she'd developed a thick layer of back fat for her titsling's straps to bury themselves. I said this was a morning class. You have three guesses which scantily-clad, chubby-as-fuck student brought donuts. Not to share, she didn't have enough, just to enjoy while the professor talked. More than enough to enjoy, it looked like, she forced her way through jelly-filled #'s 10-12 with a quiet, softly moaning and gently-sweating determination. Tell you right now, my hope was rekindled. She looked like she'd spent the last three months on her ass in an all-you-can-eat candy buffet, there's no way she had just as many suitors. Except she was in a relationship. I joined a study group to get to know her; boyfriend of the moment was leader. Crysta had a unique sort of study pattern, I came to realize. Snacks were very important, and she needed lots of them. You can guess how this affected her body and boyfriend status. I swear, I could almost see her getting bigger from week to week, and I couldn't miss the fact she really, truly, didn't care. I watched her bend down to pick up a box of Twinkies once. The seams of her sweats gave out. She laughed. She proceeded to eat the whole box in one, intense sitting. I kept missing my chance to ask her out, she'd break up one week, I'd hear about it, plan to make my move, then have to reschedule when she'd snap up a man ten minutes before I got there. I started helping a lot with her study snacks situation, hoping to get closer. It worked; at Halloween, we went trick-or-treating together. My car meant more dorms, meant more candy for her, and I just wanted to watch her. There was a lot to watch. She showed up at my door as the sexiest of cops, in a slutbag's version of a policewoman's uniform, tits exploding from the top, corset struggling to reign in that billowing body of hers, her ass hanging out from her short shorts and a suggestive set of handcuffs swinging from her hips. This was the costume. She added her own touch, her own accessories, a big box of donuts that I knew well enough not to touch. The corset didn't all that much to slim her up. Fat as she'd grown, her body was exploding from the thing everywhere it could, even before she started with the donuts. She lost an inch or two from the shape-wear, but got them back once the snacking started. All I'll say is that she ate a lot of candy as we moved. By the end, I don't know if I'd call her a 'Sexy' cop, anymore, not in the classic sense. Her corset did nothing at all to disguise her porky, rounded gut, her face was stained with chocolate. She was having problems breathing, and the stream of candy-to-her-face wasn't helping. I helped her back to her room. Her roommate was there, I nodded, but didn't introduce myself, just helped Crysta's groaning, overstuffed self onto the bed, told her goodbye, and left with the weirdest boner. This was the start of her dating slump that I could see. I guess she lost a lot of admirers when they saw her wheezing and sweating like a pig on Halloween, tugging at the strings of her corset, desperate to loosen it while the guys at the door debated whether they should really give her candy now she'd so clearly fallen from sex-symbol status. We ate lunch together every day, dinner too, more often than not, and I noticed a pattern. Crysta was a quantity over quality kind of girl, at least with food. Her eating habits could be described as 'constant.' I recall in November, she made an ice cream sundae. A very large sundae. She'd brought her own bowl for this bonanza. It was a large bowl. Plastic. I'd call it a popcorn bowl. She brought it in a backpack with a layer of foil on top to hold in the extra ingredients. She was more than a tiny bit proud to show me the massive monstrosity of future fatness she'd scrambled together, bragging, "Three kinds of ice cream, a couple of crumbled brownies, fuck-ton of chocolate syrup, couple of bananas, nuts, cherries, and big old spray of that good, sweet, white stuff—" she sprayed a towering pile of whipped cream straight into her mouth and squirted chocolate on top, doing her best to close her lips without making a mess, "Whiffed cweam!" She laughed, wiping up a blob that had escaped and licking it from her finger. I was conflicted, these things seemed sexy, but wrong, and I didn't know what to think. I just talked, "Wow, that's... Impressi— oh, and there it goes. Down the hatch." Crysta laughed, "Well duh, you don't make the ultimate sundae if you're not gonna eat it!" She pulled the bowl closer, "Come to mama." I looked around the table at the empty stacks of dishes. I'd had one plate. The rest were inside of the girl lost inside a world built of ice cream and fattiness. I just kind of watched. I knew Crysta ate a lot. She'd changed my definition of the phrase. I'd seen her stuff herself into a stupor at least a dozen times over the time we'd been hanging out. I knew that, I knew on an empty stomach, she could tackle that calorie bomb any day of the week. I knew she would, if it were an option. I also knew there was no way in hell her stomach was empty. She'd outdone herself at lunch and dinner. Lunch ended with her shirt rolled up and her hands massaging her fat gut, burping like she didn't have a care in the world. The sundae, it ended with a blissed-out, Crysta with a bloated belly and no cares for social norms. She dropped the spoon clattering into her bowl and closed her eyes, groaning, satisfied, "Mmph, oh, yeah..." She moaned, "I mean... Who needs men, give me ice cream!" I spoke up, "I don't really think you need more." Her eyes stayed shut, she pointed a finger in my general direction, "See? That's what 'm talking about. Ice cream makes me happy. Men just keep on pointing out the obvious, like damn, I already know I'm getting a little..." She let the sentence hang. "What?" I asked, playing the idiot. Crysta opened one eye, shook her head, "You know damn well what." Her forehead wrinkled, she gave a squeeze to her plush, bloated belly flab. "I'm talking about this shit that's happening." She wobbled it my way like I didn't watch her gut meat bouncing with every step she took, "I'm getting fat." "You're not that—" Crysta's arm rose up, one finger. She didn't change expression or her position. She looked blank, sorta happy, very fat, "Let me stop you there. I have love handles. I have a beer belly. I eat ice cream until I feel drunk. I can't move right now." Her arm fell, "Yep." She said, not sounding upset, "I'm a fat girl." _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ I learned in that conversation that Crysta wasn't deluding herself. She knew exactly what her eating habits were doing to her. She might have changed her ways, gotten healthy, gotten a boyfriend, but nope. She labeled the sundae the BellyBlaster, had it a few more times, even. It always put her in the mood for a certain conversation. BellyBlaster #2, she added chocolate chips to the ingredients, because of course, it needed more indulgence to it. I remember her finishing it off. We were in a booth. She turned to the side, sighing heavily with satisfaction, "Mmph, fucking yes..." She purred, pulling her knees up around the heavy swell of her gut. Her face wrinkled, she looked down, squinted her eyes to confirm, finally just wrinkled her nose, "Yep. There it's happening." "Huh?" Crysta shrugged, snatching a cookie from my plate, "Eh, my ass is fat." She slapped her legs with a loud clapping sound, "Looks like little miss thunder thighs is coming down with a case of the cellulite." She stuffed the cookie into her face, "Is it really that surprising?" I started standing up, "Really?" Halloween came back to me, those flawless, perfectly curves hips and rubbing thighs. "Sit your ass back down." Crysta commanded, "It's not like this is your one chance to see me looking fat. The dimples aren't gonna disappear just 'cause I can walk again." She pursed her lips, shook her head, "Shoulda seen it coming." Yeah, I wanted to say, I absolutely did. "It's not a big deal." "Oh, no, I know." She assured me, "I just didn't notice until now." "So what's this mean for you?" I mused, "No more daisy dukes, strict diet and exercise program?" She looked at me weird, "Are you saying that's what I should do?" I hesitated, yes to the diet and exercise, I wanted to tell her, you're turning into a exaggerated cartoon of excess and sexuality. But the daisy dukes, I like her in those, so "No—" "Good." She interrupted, "Cause I like food. I like short shorts. I do not like exercise. Besides," she said, swiping another cookie from my plate, "It's almost Christmas. Everyone gets fat at Christmas. It's tradition." _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Sure enough, Spring rolled around and Crysta looked like she'd eaten all the Christmas cookies. Even At this point, though, I was too invested, too determined to ask her out, and she was single, so I didn't think, didn't care about the fact that Crysta Harris was... Well, at this point, she was kinda, maybe, well, absolutely a fat chick. I did it at the end of January, in the lunch room. Crysta had just finished her dessert tray. She licked the fork clean dropped it to the table with a clatter, leaning back and moaning, "Uh, god, that was good!" She said, licking around her lips, clearing off the chocolate, "Mmph!" I smirked, "You good?" Crysta pursed her lips, shrugged, "I mean, I'd do dirty, kinky things to anybody who got me more, but yeah, I guess?" She laughed, "God knows I don't need more!" She crowed, "I'm fat enough as is!" I agreed with the last part of that, but the first bit... I hopped up, "Be right back." Maybe three ice cream brownies sounds like overkill to you, or the two slices of cheesecake I got after that, but I'd been eating with Crysta for the better part of a year at that point. The woman's a bottomless pit. I've gotten her full plates of food only for her to complain I only got one. I wasn't making that mistake this time. I grabbed her a little of everything sweet, a lot of the things I knew she loved. The look of her face when I got back. She smiled; she looked excited, tinged with worry, "Holy shit, Jason!" She laughed, "Either you really want those dirty, kinky things or you're trying to fatten me up good!" She licked her lips, grabbed the fork, and smiled, "I like it!" "Thought you would." I said as my friend shifted into full-on glutton mode, "I was kind of thinking we'd go eat somewhere, like... Oh, you told me you like Olive Garden! Maybe we start there and see where things go?" Crysta paused, laughed, "Right, 'cause the best way to a fat girl's heart is straight through her beer belly!" I scrambled, "I mean, I just thought... Maybe a movie?" "What? Are you kidding? I just told you how to get to the heart of a fat girl. I am a fat girl.” Crysta scoffed, “Gimme them breadsticks, dammit!" Force of habit, I started, "You're not that—" I caught myself. For one, she's too aware for that kind of thing to work, and two, I knew it'd just end with her arguing that she's a great, fat, fatty. Girl will defend her status as a fat, disgusting pig like most girls will if you call them stupid I thought fast, finished weak, "hungry?" She looked at me confused, "I just, I mean, you've had kind of... Well, big lunch. You don't really want breadsticks, do you? You can't!" Crysta laughed, "Uh, fuck you, yes, I fucking can!" She grinned, "I promise you, if you brought in a bowl of breadsticks, I would eat every one of them fuckers." I stared, she seemed to believe what she was saying. I shook myself, "O-okay, so, Olive Garden. When, I mean... When's a good time?" Crysta pursed her lips, thought, "How about... Valentine's Day." She suggested, "I know it's a ways off and all, I just... I mean, I'm out of shape, you know?" I could wait two weeks, "Uh, yeah! That sounds great!" I started going to the gym on a daily basis after that, for two reasons. One, I'm a bit dim, but I knew Crysta was a heavy chunk of sexy, so I needed some strength to handle that. I like to think that was the main reason, but in all truth, it was more the thought, the fantasy of seeing Crysta running on a treadmill in those spandex outfits she loves so much. Never once saw her there. Saw her every time I went to the cafeteria, and she definitely was enjoying those fast food in the union more than any 'getting-fit' girl should. She didn't look to be slimming up, that's for damn sure. Let me tell about that day forward.

Have you already seen that one scene in the 1985 teen drama film The Breakfast Club where a mischievously mean delinquent John Bender was barbing at ginger spoiled brat Claire about her looks, telling her that she appears like the type of thin girl you can't help yourself but looking at her and her somewhat soft features, telling yourself that once the biological clock running closer and one more needless snack on her way and she gonna be doomed to blow up in girth? That is exactly what this up-and-comer British Argentinian actress exudes since a while. A very talentuous young woman, though.