First day of class

Chapter 2

I walk to my next class, clear across campus in the biting January cold. I’m feeling a bit conflicted because I darted out the doors immediately when my class with the hot fatty ended.

I can’t hit on a freshman on the first day of his second semester. He’s like, what, 18 or 19? He can’t even drink yet! Although we’re both adults, I don’t usually go for younger guys and there wasn’t a reason to start now. This is what I keep telling myself.

The rest of the day, I try really hard to get thoughts of his plump indulgence out of my mind. It’s not like there’s not other fat guys to check out. But the tightness of his pants, the thick shake he drank (whatever it was), the way he kept doing that fat-guy thing where they pull their tight shirt away from their belly for a second, trying their darndest to make that thing a little less curve-hugging. Jeeze. What a gem.

Before I head back to my apartment, I duck into the campus bookstore since I’m nearby and need to pick up an overpriced textbook I neglected to order earlier. As I leave, I pass by the coffee shop and who do I see? The rotund man who’s been living in my head rent free since this morning, still stretching the limits of his tight t-shirt with the wide stripes, ordering what looks like a venti size of something caffeinated but mostly fattening.

We make eye-contact. I flash a quick smile and nod as I keep walking by. I see him shyly smile back before he’s out of my view.

Dammit! Maybe I should have taken that chance. The class is just once a week, so I’ll probably have to wait until next Friday if I want to make a move. Or, maybe I’ll gather my senses and hold off. Time will tell.


The next week arrives and although I decide that I won’t make an effort pursuing him (I’ve got job applications to worry about! I can find a fat lay on tinder! He’s too young! There’s no way I’d run into a guy with the same fetish as me at this small school, so don’t bother! - are things I keep telling myself), I admit I put a little extra effort into my appearance that morning. We exchange some small talk, nothing more. I find out his name is Logan. Class ends. The next week, he misses class (even if he decided I was weird and sat on the other side of the room, there’s no way I’d miss a tub of lard like that in my vicinity). The following week, I’ve toned down my lust, and we once again make minimal small talk. The next three weeks are the same, but I’m actually struggling in my other three classes (f me for leaving three hard classes for my last semester) so I’m surprisingly enough thinking less about plump gluttons and more about how the f I’m going to pass this semester and graduate.

But then, he wears that striped shirt again.

He takes his coat off, of course, because he probably gets pretty warm with all that blubber. It’s almost obnoxious. It’s white and navy, and the stripes aren’t thin sailor stripes but tall, fat stripes you can see from a mile away. I can’t help but briefly smile to myself as I take my seat next to him. As is customary, we nod and smile to each other and ask each other how we are. Class begins. Today, he’s drinking a venti coffee. It’s hot so I can’t see the contents but there’s definitely milk or cream in there. I’m pleased. He quietly gets out a protein bar and eats it. I notice the empty shake container in his backpack’s drink pocket. I chuckle to myself internally; does this guy really think he’s building muscle?

Near the end of class, the class groans as instructor drops a devastating bombshell: group project. Well, he clarifies, groups of two are okay as well.

“F***,” I lament under my breath. Group projects really are the worst. However, I notice some eyes turn my way. Eyes belonging to a plump, round face.

“So, should we work together, Mila?” Logan asks me. His eyes, by the way, are dark brown and absolutely gorgeous.

“Sure!” I say, brightening my attitude.

“Okay, cool,” he says, bending over to get his phone out of his backpack. “We should probably get each other’s contact information. Uh. Is it okay if we exchange phone numbers and not just email?”

“Totally,” I reply. As we exchange information, though, I notice his shirt has ridden up. Just a hair. Under his tight, striped shirt a bit of that delicious belly is now exposed.

It’s tighter. It’s totally tighter than it was just a few weeks earlier. He’s… he’s getting fatter. I swallow and avert my eyes quickly.

“It’s due in three weeks, but we have to watch a film. We should probably make plans soon. I’ll text you.” He gets up to leave and pulls his shirt back to it’s proper (?) position.

“Hey,” I catch him before he leaves. “Do you have time today? Let’s just talk about it over coffee. Way more effective for me than texting, to be honest,” I laugh a little in self-depreciation, telling myself this is a totally accurate statement.

“Oh, yeah, perfect,” he responds, pulling on his shirt once more, totally oblivious to what he’s doing to me.

I’m doomed.
2 chapters, created StoryListingCard.php 9 years , updated 2 months
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Built4com4t 2 months
Excellent…love hearing her inner thoughts and desires. Very arousing to read.
Rrrtree 2 months
LOL decided this needed more, 9 years later.
Johnnyblaze 2 months
Hope you keep going, this is great
Lovesfatguys 9 years