Chapter 3 - the fat man strut

Daniel smiled as he washed his hands. “That was cute,” he thought to himself. He grabbed a towel and looked in the mirror. “She was cute.” He brushed some crumbs off his belly, remnants of the meals that had started his day. He was still buzzing from the excitement of the morning’s weigh-in. Facing his fat future head-on had really inspired him and charged his appetite at the first restaurants he’d gone to, but that burst of gluttony had him feeling sated sooner than he’d planned. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to take fullest advantage of the buffet, and for a moment considered returning another day lest he fail to live up to some enormous, feasting ideal of fat manliness; but that didn’t seem right. How better to express his gluttonous love of life than by eating at a massive buffet? Who cares how much he might or might not eat in a sitting, as long as he was eating? More than that - as long as he was striving every day to eat all that his growing belly wanted? He envisioned his fat life, stretching out years before him. Years filled with food, his belly grown fatter and fatter, eating just as he pleased. Yeah, today he sure felt inspired. He wondered if there was an obese muse.

Daniel stepped into the corridor and looked at the ladies’ room door. “She really was cute,” he smiled as he remembered the look in her eyes. He couldn’t tell if she was interested, but she certainly had found him distracting.

Julianne wandered through the buffet, looking for something good and fatty, fried chicken and mayo, sausage and cheese casserole - she’d eat like this whenever she was feeling cold. It calmed her down. It had also plumped her up, she’d noted. She found herself chilled more and more lately, and craving heavier and heavier foods. As a result, she had taken to wearing sweatpants full-time. “It’s just a couple of pounds,” she thought as she sat back down at her table. “Nothing to write NAAFA about.” She pulled on her coat, shivering as she nestled into it, and dug into the casserole.

“Wow; that’s really good,” she mumbled through food-stuffed cheeks. Then she heard the floor creak; the great fat yacht sailed back in, banking directly for the food. Julianne put down her fork. She didn’t want to miss one jiggling inch of this. The fat man moved slowly, graceful but for a tiny little waddle at the start of each step. It made him look a little full. He grabbed a plate and set to work loading it up. Could he really be a little full? She wondered. Wow; who comes to a buffet already full?

Daniel’s plate was respectably covered with food. There was still room to pile on top, but he decided it was better to start slow. As he bit into a chicken wing and considered maybe one thing more, he noticed her - he thought it was her - staring at him. He was sure it was her; she had put on a coat, darker than her t-shirt, but it was her - and she was definitely more than just distracted this time. Her stare was intense, and as he moved and jiggled he felt it sharpen, scratching like fingernails across his sloping love handles. Excitement rushed him, and stoked his hunger; he finished his chicken wing and reached out for some dumplings. He remembered telling himself something about eating slow or something, but this woman’s fixed interest in his fat was rendering all but his most gluttonous impulses moot. He filled his plate to heavy, and headed for his table. As he crossed the room he could tell he was still the center of her attention, and he was loving it. He relaxed his walk and let that little waddle bloom, then relaxed his stomach and let his swagging belly sway. A drop of sauce on his thumb caught his eye, and he licked it off as he passed her.

Julianne nearly swooned at the sight of this gorgeous, wobbling fatso. “God, he just eats,” she thought as he settled at his table. His pants pinched and pulled as he spread his legs to give himself belly room, and Julianne wondered if he had anyone in his life to shop with him for the next size up. She dreamed of breakfasts in bed, browsing through the fat clothing sites on her laptop, him lying next to her eating cinnamon rolls and butter as she counted the ‘X’es on camp shirts and elastic waist pants. She watched as he sized up his buffet haul, then with a quick glint of his fork started in with greedy satisfaction. The restaurant’s inadequate paper napkin bunched up uselessly in his collar, and she imagined tucking a real napkin under his double chin, smoothing the big white linen across his soft belly. Man eats like that deserves a proper napkin. Eyeing his middle, she saw that his pants weren’t the only things stretching toward obsolescence: his shirt had started to ride up and lift away from his belly, nudged forward by the fat rolling over his elastic waistband. Were his pants a 5x? 6x? She wished she knew – his lower belly stretched them so much she could see the whites of his pockets. Her eyes roamed over his body; she stared at his Hawaiian shirt. It was a lot of material, but she didn’t think it looked big enough to close around his stomach - it wasn’t even long enough to cover his love handles. Did he know that, or was he in denial about it? Had he gained too fast to keep up his wardrobe, still insisting that he could wear a favorite shirt? Or had he just thrown it on for a little color, fully aware that he’d long outgrown it? She hoped it was that last one. Suddenly he shifted in the chair, leaned back and took a deep breath. A little pause for air. He sucked his teeth and spun the now half-empty plate around so the full side was facing him, then dove back in. “Oh,” Julianne moaned softly. She opened her coat as she watched him. “So nice,” she felt warmer; relaxing. “Just eats and eats.”

Daniel had tried a couple of times to catch her eye, but her stare was locked in on his blubber. He thought tucking his napkin into his collar was a smart idea - get her to look up at his face, but even then she seemed one or two daydreams away. He couldn’t figure his next move. He had really put himself on display and she seemed to be appreciating the show, but if she didn’t do something more than just stare at him he was going to start feeling a little stupid. He took a big mouthful of General Tso chicken - sweet, spicy, juicy, fried; it was really good here - and looked over at her again. She had relaxed a bit, her coat was draped off her shoulder and he noticed for the first time her red hair, dusted brown. She had dark eyes, fixed - he could swear he could feel them - on his chubby, chewing cheeks. Her lips were in a loose open smile as she gazed at him, and he figured if she was going to keep sitting there fattening him with her eyes then they were at least going to say hello. He finished his mouthful, then turned to look at her straight on. It took her a moment to realize that he’d stopped eating; then she looked up. Her eyes met his, and she gasped and darted her eyes away. Hot blood rushed to her cheeks; she pulled her coat around her, and very nearly covered her face with her hands. She’s actually mortified, Daniel thought. Maybe he’d misjudged the whole thing. Maybe she wasn’t interested after all, just astonished, or horrified. Crap. Whatever; no reason to drag this out. I need a refill, and if she wants to stick around she will; if not, then she can duck out while I’m up.

Daniel loaded a new plate with cakes and fruit, pastries and cream cheese. Too bad, he thought, growing more certain that she actually would leave. Almost had a perfect day. He turned to the drink station, but the milk spigot needed two hands to work. He looked around in vain for some place to set his food, then stood there a moment, dreading the thought of making another trip. Yep, this day was tanking fast.

Suddenly she was at his side. “Here; let me.” She took the glass from his hand and looked up at him. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “Thanks.” She nodded a little smile and turned toward the spigot. “Chocolate,” he said after her.

She looked back at him and her smile grew. “Chocolate.”