Chapter 1 - a lazy morning

It was a cloudy, intermittently rainy winter day in San Diego. The day after Christmas always necessitated a lazy and solitary day. Obligatory family time in body generated warmth of a crowded living room, the low rumble of adult conversation discordantly harmonizing, and questions about life that you’re very familiar with from the part of your own brain that seems like an enemy combatant most late nights, but this time asked with the friendliest intention by annual acquaintances who you happen to have blood ties with, all culminating into a deed need for rest. Not that she disliked her family, she actually felt that they were one of the better ones to be stuck with. The main thing that bothered her about the holiday festivities was the inescapable obligation that was left unacknowledged underneath the surface festivities. It was this feeling that made her envy all of her friends free strong familial ties and holiday obligation who decided to stay in the Bay over Christmas. It was also the same feeling on no-escape that drove her to seek refuge at the snack table when the rumble and questions got to be too much. Some cheese & crackers and a couple of her mom’s gingerbread cookies bought her a couple much needed minutes. And that was a small part of a whole other problem for Charlotte.

Slouching against the headboard of the bed in her childhood bedroom, propped up by a few pillows, Charlotte idly surveyed her post-christmas figure. She had always been more or less pudgy with an especially soft middle and like all girls with that as their default physique, she was a heap of self-consciousness. In high school she stayed active as a member of the varsity volleyball tea, but to her constant frustration was perpetually the flabbiest girl on the team. She was never even close to what any normal person would think of as fat, but growing up in San Diego where slim figures seemed to be the default, her slight softness relegated her to the lowly role of the fat friend. The fact that bikinis were the dresscode every weekend from May to October didn’t really help her self image either. Being back in her hometown always brought back memories of running across the beach with a tan, muscular, shirtless crush and being hyper-aware of the slight jiggle of her miniscule, but in her mind prominent, pooch. She also remembered countless pool parties spent with the ever present feeling of shame over the soft love handles poking over the sides of her bikini. When the shame and self-awareness of her all-too-soft bikini bod amongst slim So Cal model-types became too much she would, just as at holiday parties, seek refuge at the snack table. She felt like she had spent half her youth as the fat girl at the snack table.

While reliving the past, Charlotte remained slumped there on the bed, softly rubbing up and down the arc of her belly. She lifted up her shirt to view her soft tummy, feeling the underside of her pooch where it popped up and over the lip of her pants, then taking a pinch of dough and giving it a jiggle. At this point she always snapped back into self-conscious disgust, set her laptop back on her tum, and continue with whatever she was doing before, until eventually an idle hand would creep under the computer and continue the stroking. Then she would once again remove the laptop and continue with the investigation. Sometimes pinching her love handles, sometimes playfully sticking her gut as far out as she could and then letting it slowly settle back into it’s default bump. Her favorite thing to do was pull her shirt down tight against her belly, accentuating the curve of her pooch and the depression of her navel, creating what looked to her like a large donut. Then she would once again snap into self-consciousness and get back to her laptop, restarting the cycle. Over the years she had spent countless hours (maybe days!) of idle time vacillating between being hypnotized by her chub and hating herself for giving in to it.

She had always found her softness somewhat hypnotizing and at some point in her adolescents she became somewhat aware of a strange pleasure she got from fondling it. It was a pleasure she flat out refused to acknowledge as a teenager and still at 24 hadn’t yet fully accepted and therefore never mentioned it to a partner. She had had partners who certainly appreciated her body for what it was and even made her appreciate her body for brief periods, but open fat admiration had never been any part of her sex life. On a handful of occasions she’d been referred to as “voluptuous”, but this was an adjective she had always self-deprecatingly rejected for herself. “Voluptuous” to her was a busty woman with a big ass and curves in all the places curves should be. Charlotte had a fairly wide ass but there wasn’t much profile to it, and much to her eternal dismay her tits never filled in. Every pound she ever put on just seemed to settle in her pooch or on her hips, giving her the classic singular curve of a pear. At her most insecure she imagined herself as an egg with legs. Once in college, a drunk art student tried to hit on her by describing her as “rubenesque”, which she thought was the most hilariously pretentious and esoteric way anyone had ever called her fat. She walked away from the guy laughing with the slight blush of embarrassment (though, she was also a bit flattered, which only added to her embarrassment).

There was one specific instance with her high school boyfriend, right before she moved off to college, that she remembered much more often than anything else they did together. They were in bed together, her on top, with his hands on her hips. Slowly his hands slid a few inches up to her love handles and began slowly kneading the soft flesh. It took her a moment to fully realize what he was doing but as soon as the realization hit, her face flushed with embarrassment. Much to her confusion and compounded embarrassment, a deep unacknowledged part of her was silently enjoying having her fat fondled by another. Then he whispered to her, “Oh baby, I love your… thickness,” with the hesitant awkwardness of a teenager also unsure of the acceptability of his less-orthodox desires. But this was a bridge too far for Charlotte. She immediately rolled off of him, reaching for her shirt and rapidly spluttering excuses like how she thinks she hears her dad pulling in the driveway and how Cody should like leave right now before her dad sees them and they both get in like real big trouble. While she awkwardly scrambled for excuses and clothing Cody awkwardly mumbled how he didn’t hear anything and that he’s sorry if he did anything weird and to forget what he said and she’s beautiful but finally that he’ll get out of there. That evening she sat in her room crying and swore she was going on the strictest diet her teenage mind could imagine and that she was going to stay away from the snack table and that she would never again be the prize hog of a fucking chubby chaser. When she calmed down later that night she left her room to seek solace in a roll of oreos she knew to be waiting for her in the pantry.