Chapter 2 - her king-sized desires

Julianne had never had a problem with it before. In fact, it was years before she had any inkling that it was something that one was supposed to have a problem with at all. She remembered coming out accidentally to her sister Aggie when she was thirteen - accidental because Julianne wasn’t even aware she harbored any particular kink. She kind of discovered it in public, right there on the living room couch with her sister. The TV was on, though neither one was paying much attention – Julianne was reading Popular Science and Aggie was inspecting her hair. Then a show started up, and a big handsome actor appeared. Julianne glanced up at him, and her eyes sparkled.

“Wow. He’s cute.”

Aggie looked up at the screen, then turned and sneered. “Ew. Seriously? He’s totally fat.”

He is? Julianne looked back at the TV. Huh; how about that. He is.

“It’s one of those fat guy/hot wife sitcoms. Some fat gross old TV executive’s big-boob fantasy MILF.”

“But that girl’s got no tits.” She didn’t, either: the actress was a bony little reed. No matter; the couple onscreen kissed happily.

“Ugh, can they even show that? Lose some weight, lard ass!” With that, Aggie flounced out of the room.

Julianne turned back to the TV, and the hot guy with the skinny wife. Seemed perfectly reasonable to her. Man, her sister was screwy.

Years later and there she sat, alone in her car in the buffet parking lot. That ease and confidence in herself and her desires was gone. Her arms were crossed, and she looked stubborn over something; her face, staring straight ahead at the front doors to the restaurant, had drooped in the time she had been there, and had succumbed into a scowl. She was measuring up the patrons as they came and went. A few were skinny, most had some padding - especially the parents, herding kids. There were even a couple of really fat people. One teenager around 350 pounds grabbed her attention, and kept it; she watched him lumber in, and spotted him every now and then through the window. But none of it was cheering her up.

A car honked; she looked up to the rear view. Some guy was anxious for her spot. She shook her head and waved him on. Then she noticed her reflection, and her frowning grimace of a face. She looked like an old witch. “Good lord.” Julianne shook her head then stretched open her mouth and face to rid herself of the gloom. She cracked opened her window and the fresh air felt good. She took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders and groaned. “Ohhhh, crap.” Scoping out fat guys again. She felt like a pervert. Again. “I should buy a trenchcoat.” She closed the window and got out of the car. The air was brisk; she gave a shiver, then wrapped her coat around herself and headed into the buffet.

The fat teenager was more than just awkward. He seemed to want no connection to his body at all. The whole time Julianne had been watching him, picking at her plate of salad and ribs, he sat basically motionless. He ate his food carefully, without any expression of appetite or satisfaction, moving only his right arm, lifting fork from plate to mouth. Sometimes his left hand would help, cupping itself underneath a dripping morsel or an unstable pea, but mostly it stayed out of the way. He kept in the conversation, but his whole body was tense, as if he’d found the best position to fit at the table and then held it, terrified some fat part of him might stick out too far and touch somebody. Poor kid, Julianne thought. All she wanted to do was rub his shoulders and tell him it’s okay.

There was a time when she might have; at the very least she would have found a way to tell him he looked nice in that shirt - something. The kid was starving for a kind word. Lately, though, she’d been feeling a little too much like a pervert to do anything but stare from a distance. Which, of course, only helped to make her an actual kind of pervert. She felt a chill. Is ‘pervert’ really necessary? I’m just sitting here, she thought. She shivered and sipped at her tea. She hadn’t always felt so weird about liking fat guys - in fact it’s only been the last couple of weeks that she started haunting buffets. Haunting? I’m not a ghoul, she thought, I’m just having lunch. Liking fat guys used to make sense. Fat guys made her happy, and the fact that fat guys made her happy made the fat guys happy, and it always made her so so happy to see a happy fat guy. Everyone was fucking happy. It was certainly better than feeling like the freak that she felt like today.

A white cloud caught her eye; she looked toward the front of the restaurant, and saw someone new. Someone really big. Him, she called him. Look at him. He had just walked in, and greeted the hostess with a warm smile. He was tall and very fat. The white cloud that caught her eye was his belly-stretched shirt, and it bounced and bounced as he ambled after the hostess to his table. It had to be a 5x, and he was filling it beautifully. His pants had a loose fit and an elastic waist; she bet they were the knockarounds she’d seen on the big and tall sites. God, did she really lurk on fat men’s clothing sites? Shut up; look at him. The man was gorgeous. His belly hung below his shirt; she could see its wobbling outline in the front of his pants--

Her teacup slipped from her hand and landed in a splash of green tea and rib sauce. She was splattered across her sweater, and cursed loud enough to bring a hush over the neighboring diners. She got up and dove for the bathroom. Inside, pulling off the sweater and cleaning herself up, she looked in the mirror and paused. She was shivering again. “This is Theo’s fault,” she said aloud as she splashed her face. Her whole life she’d never second-guessed a thing, as her fat affection grew into fat admiration and then into fat lust, she just rode the big wonderful waves. The guys were all happy to have her, even when her feeder side started to show, even when the numbers, the weights and measures, started to fascinate her. She never met a guy who said he wanted to gain weight, but she never met a guy who really objected, either. Well, she thought she hadn’t, anyway. And since Theo, she second-guesses everything. “God damn it, Theo...”

She opened the bathroom door, stepped into the narrow corridor, and stopped; had to stop. She was blocked. It was him, him in all his glory, filling the corridor as he headed for the men’s room. “Oh--,” was all Julianne could manage before she stepped back into the ladies’ room to let him pass.

“Thanks,” he smiled at her, and tried to make eye contact. Julianne was skittish, though, and the moment too quick, too easily made awkward; so he carried on his way. Julianne watched as if in a dream. She watched every step and ripple. The fat man passed like a great sailing ship, his belly a huge curved spinnaker billowing out before him. Here was obesity. God, she wanted to grab it and lick it, run her fingers over those rolls, fill that belly, feed that man. He disappeared into the men’s room, and she wanted to follow him, take off that shirt, open those pants, grab and grab and grab that belly fat.

Someone needed the ladies’ room, and Julianne stepped aside. The door swung closed, the corridor was empty, and Julianne was cold again. She hunched herself over the bundled sweater in her arms, and headed back to her table. “At least he’s not fifteen,” she muttered. “That is a full-grown man.”