plump but not enough

chapter 1

I'm a bbw. No secret that I adore the very idea of food, love the way I feel when I gorge myself, and enjoy the results of pleasuring myself by eating what I want when I want it.

Oddly enough, though most everyone in my family is either pretty fat or always dieting to keep their weight down, I thought I had found a happy medium at being 'pleasingly plump' as one old boyfriend used to call it usually as he poked my belly with a forefinger or lovingly caressed my curvy, not-so-underfed backside.

That was until I met Charles while I was away at college, and he totally unlocked something in me that I did not know existed before.

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While I was a sophomore at a rather ritzy private women's college, I took a job at a pancake restaurant working part-time. Charles was a sophomore at a notable nearby four-year university. As fellow beneficiaries of academic scholarships to our respective institutes of higher learning, we had money for essentials and not much else. Or that was at least the case with me, and what I thought was the case with Charles and why he would work as a short order cook at the Pancake Palace where I waited tables.

He was okay to look at for the nerd-genius virginal type, but he was way too thin and was kind of shy. He seemed to like the ladies, at least secretly, as on many occasions I noticed him checking me and every other female server out, particularly as they were walking away. The two or three female servers who were a bit on the plumper, myself included, got way more attention from Charles than the skinny ones. Total opposite of most men: we heavier ladies, despite the bigger size, are practically invisible to most men; the skinny ones are hard for guys to miss. Go figure.

I got unlucky one weekend and pulled the late Saturday night shift. That's the worst shift to get stuck with. Mostly drunks stopping in on their way home from the bars. Terrible tips and mucho demands.

At around 2:30 AM Charles and I started closing down and prepping for the Sunday morning shift. "Before I clean the griddle, let me make us a nice, hot breakfast," said Charles. "Sounds great," I replied. I was starving and had nothing in the puny fridge in my studio apartment. I told Charles I'd be done setting up the dining room in about ten minutes. "Perfect. Two hot Trucker's Eighteen-Wheeler breakfasts coming up," he replied. We had nothing like that on the menu, so I had no clue what he was talking about. I'd see soon enough.

When I wrapped up in the dining room, I walked in the kitchen to where the staff dining table was. I could not believe my eyes how much food was on the table: a giant omelet, copious amounts of home fries, grilled tomatoes like the English have with breakfast, sliced of buttered toast, pancakes, strips of bacon, two thick slabs of country ham, juice, coffee, yogurt, and fruit. It had to be about 3500 calories. My stomach let out a growl and my mouth began to water instantly.

Only one place was fully set. The other had only a cup of coffee and a glass of juice.

Charles indicated for me to sit in the chair with all the food in front of it and pushed it in for me. "I don't want to push you in too close, by the time you finish all of your breakfast you might need the extra space," and patted his own skinny, flat belly.
I protested only slightly, "you have to eat some of this!" "Nope, it's all for you. More where that came from in case you want seconds. Or thirds!" Charles replied. "You look like the kind of woman who'd have a nice, big, healthy appetite, right? But maybe, well, never mind."

While I ate and Charles drank his coffee, we shared stories about our studies at our two schools, our families back home, our hometowns, etc. I learned that Charles was from a very well-off family, and when I asked him what he was doing working at a pancake house he was evasive, mumbling something about "...makes me happy to..."

Stuffed as I was becoming, I'd nearly finished all of the hot items and was working on the fruit and yogurt when he offered to prepare more food for me. "No, Charles, but thank you. I'm so stuffed now I don't know if I can get up," I replied. He gently informed me that he'd pull the chair out and help me up and, "then we'll put your bicycle in the back of my SUV and I'll give you a ride home. You've eaten way too big of a meal to exert yourself and you need to just lay down and sleep."

I said out loud, "Wow, go to sleep on that much food!? If I ate like that every day--don't get me wrong it was all delicious--I'd be as big as a house! And my belly would stick out way further than it is right now!"

As he came around to help me with my chair, I swear he mumbled, "that's precisely the plan."

When Charles dropped me at my apartment, he asked what I was doing for Sunday dinner later that same day. "I have a rented house off campus--no roommates--and I'd love to have you for dinner. I can cook way more than a few eggs and pancakes. How 'bout I text you the address and you come over at 6 pm."

I gave him my cell number and he sent me the address. The text included the message, "wear loose clothing. I might want to make a lot of food for you like at b'fast this morning."
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