Chapter 1

I’d loved her for years before I could bring myself to tell her. She was this perfect thing, the girl who made my wishes come true, made me feel like a Princess, was fucking gorgeous and most importantly, lesbian.

She had this passion, this exuberance to her, an overabundant joy that was infectious and warm and welcoming. She hung onto every thing you said, even if it was wild or silly or had nothing to do with anything. She had a way of making you feel seen in a way I’d never really experienced before.

When I’d come to college, I was basically terrified of most things. My classes, especially––far too many people still scoff at women in engineering and stem in general. I felt the profound need to give the biggest middle finger to every single one of those people––which, to me, meant studying. A lot. All the time, even––at least that’s what I thought I was going to do.

I filled out my roommate questionnaire the summer before, answering a ridiculous amount of questions I assumed would match me with a roommate like me: quiet, studious, outdoorsy, focused, a coffee enthusiast, and no booze or weed or anything like that.

When move in day came and my dad carried all my heavy things into my room and my parents kissed me goodbye, I had no clue anyone like Rylee would walk through the door.

I helped her move in, and either through shared suffering (she had a lot of clothes, like a lot) or just who she was, we started talking, and I couldn’t bring myself to stop. She was unbelievably hilarious and somehow figured out how to make me laugh like almost immediately. She told me explanatory stories as we pinned photos to her corkboard, laughing as we decided on the arrangement of the dozens of them: by color, vibe, amount of chaos––we ended up pinning them randomly, as no amount of light-hearted debate could settle us one way or another.

Somehow, on that first day, she’d also assembled a group from the floor to go play intramural soccer, people to drink with, people to smoke with, bribed the RA, and discovered how to get onto the roof of the brand new dormitories.

Orientation started the next day, but she pulled me out of our room and my computer to access said roof, citing a coming meteor shower. A firm but kind, “Callie, you have to,” and her eyes told me she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She’d physically pulled me from my chair, tossing me one of her hoodies, and we went.

I met another dozen people from our floor and, of course, at the behest of my roommate, smoked weed for the first time that night. Everyone (including myself) thought I was hilarious, and we watched the stars burn over and over again, talking about college, high school, family, stress, setbacks, stupid stories.

It was the best welcome to college I could’ve asked for.

Orientation was a week-long exhausting extravaganza of presentations, get-to-know-your-group games, adventures, and days that seemed to last forever. Being in different groups, I only saw Rylee in passing, when she’d wave, or the single night she was asleep before I was.

Then week one rolled around, and she went off to do Theater major things, auditioning and securing a spot in the fall play, while I sat in my introductory mechanical engineering classes and GEs.

Then Thursday came around, and Rylee lurched our door open, a little out of breath, as if she’d run a great distance.

“Callie!” she called, blue eyes wide, each breath controlled. “What are you doing?”

“Homework?” I said.

“Hell no,” she replied. “First soccer game’s tonight. You’re playing in it. Let’s go.”

I’d forgotten my ill promise to her to play on our floor’s team. Panicked, I threw on a sports bra and shorts, grabbed my cleats and goalie gloves, and ran with her back to the sports fields. It was nearly a mile, and I dearly missed the conditioning I’d done with my soccer teams over the years.

But we made it for the start of the game. I’d played goalie for many years, which only meant I got to watch this game from the back and spectate.

God, watching the way her body moved, it was straight out of a movie. Her legs alone were the stuff of LEGEND, their muscled curves toned and strong and tight, her ass literally designed for leggings, her toned core peeking beneath the sports bra she wore.

She was competitive as all hell, a ferocious midfielder that tore up and down the pitch, but as soon as the play stopped, that cute smile came back and she was chatting up the same opponents she’d just stripped of the ball.

It wasn’t because of her looks that I started to like her. It wasn’t the red hair that fell in auburn locks, nor the infuriatingly perfect cupid’s-bow lips that so easily parted in the most infectious smile.

Okay, maybe a little. Maybe more than a little.

I learned later that night that she was the child of an Olympian that night. Her mom was a distance runner of all things who took gold in the Atlanta olympics, her father basically the inventor of Crossfit gyms.

That night, I did it for the first time, the image too perfect in my head. She’d left to go drink with some friends (I cited class tomorrow, somehow she didn’t have classes on friday, the lucky bitch) so I had the room to myself.

I closed my eyes and saw it so pristinely.

*She was strapped to the bed, handcuffs tying her hands to the metal.*

I clicked my vibrator on, its buzz instinctually quickening my breath and starting my haven.
She wasn’t scared, no, this was something she was looking forward to. She wore the same outfit she’d worn today, the spandex tight around her ass, the black, many-strapped sports bra cute and fashionable and just revealing enough to let everyone know what she was working with.

I pressed it further south, breath catching.

*But she didn’t look like she did on the pitch today, toned legs flying, ponytail whipping as she found the perfect pass and executed it, no, she was very, very different indeed.*

Contact. It felt so, so good.

*Above the three-sport athlete, the sexy actress that had won the hearts of everyone on this floor, she was neither anymore. Pouring from above her was a funnel I held, filled to the brim with the thickest milkshake, chocolate and cream and sugary goodness flowing into her.*

I squirmed, pressing my vibrator closer, breath increasing in its purpose, a small moan escaping my throat.

*Gone were those toned abs, no, she had a gut, more than just a gut, a folded double belly that hung so far over the waistband, covered in splitting, furious red stretch marks that climbed up her hips and around the bottom of the belly. It spilled ceremoniously onto her thighs, thighs the size of tree trunks I could bury my face in and stay there forever.*

I gripped the sheet to protect my palm as my nails dug into them, the thin cotton their only protection. I couldn’t breathe, the pleasure radiated so strongly.

*Her chins pressed into one another as she struggled payfully with the bonds, her whole body shaking and jiggling, her chest struggling against the confines of her bra, arms pressed against the mattress, their fatty, shapeless masses of fat and cellulite pushed wide.*

Closer. Closer, closer, closer.

*It wasn’t her body that pushed me over the edge, no it was those blue eyes. They looked up to me, pleading, not to stop. She wanted more, more of the milkshake, more belly, more fat, more width, more jiggle, more her. She was addicted to getting bigger, she needed every calorie to keep growing, she needed me to keep feeding her. There was nothing else in the world besides getting as fat as I wanted her––*

“You ***ing pig––” was all I could breathlessly say as the climax poured from me, tremendous and exceptional, breath catching as I a moan escaped me, a moan I’d never felt, strong and powerful and unashamed.

Then the door unlocked.