chapter 1

She had always needed to keep incredibly tight control of her own appearance. Modeling for makeup companies in her city, it was imperative her face be kept immaculate; she spent many an hour over the course of a week maintaining it just so. But she had gone out bar-hopping with friends one night and ran into a bouncer that absolutely magnetized her-- and he wasn't at all like the men she had been with before. They had usually been in her star-studded "league" or close to it, and although this guy had a nice face, it was buried under layers of fat. His job was appropriate to him in a way, because he filled the narrow doorway to the hole-in-the-wall-pub where he worked so that no one could have pushed past him if they tried. But he was quick on his feet and clever and charismatic, and she realized she was drawn to him, mostly for his body. She couldn't describe it to herself- she had never allowed herself to seriously consider anyone who wasn't as trim and fit as she was, but now it was finally dawning on her that much of that had been based on the expectations of the people around her, and it hadn't been what she had actually wanted. Maybe that was why, she supposed, none of them with their conventional good looks ever held her interest for long.
But him? This bouncer at this nothing-special club? He was different. He was fascinating, and he clearly was just as interested in her. He went so far as to leave his post off and on throughout the night to hover over her and join in her group conversation, recommending drinks, cracking jokes that they all laughed at. Things got more crowded as the night wore on and soon he was so close to her that she could feel the warmth coming off his body. Then, when someone bumped him from behind as they were passing through, his big belly hit the back of her shoulder- it was one of the softest things she'd ever felt. He apologized but she shrugged it off. She didn't want to admit it to herself, but she felt teased. Excited, even. She wanted for an excuse for it to happen again, but as she weaned down the drink in her hand, she relaxed, and allowed herself to simply lean back into him. What a heavenly feeling! What a soft, comforting, foreign experience. She giggled and hummed to herself and nuzzled into him a little deeper. He was laughing too, though in her buzzed state she wasn't sure if it was at her or at the conversation at the table. But he rested a hand on her arm and started stroking it very gently, and it made her blood rush. "Am I into big men?" she wondered to herself. The thought of going back to those skinny boys seemed silly to her in that moment.
As the night wore on and one or two people began disappearing and heading home, she found an opportunity to speak to him without necessarily being overheard by anyone else, and turned around. "You're so soft," she hummed, petting one side of his round chest through his shirt with admiration. Her hand sunk a couple inches into him with almost no pressure. And it was a genuine compliment; the fear was there that it might be misinterpreted, but that vanished with his big, warm smile. She asked him, "May I hug you?"
"Of course!" he chuckled, "I've been waiting all night for you to ask."
"Really?" she was a bit star-struck on top of being drunk. He nodded his fat head, and she dove into him. She sunk deep between warm, fleshy rolls that jiggled with her movement, so far that the dim, colorful lights of the bar grew dark for her. His big arms wrapped around her and she was flooded with pleasant feelings from being so fully-enveloped by another person. He was so big in every direction around her, he could have just about absorbed her into his hefty mass. She lingered there as long as she could without drawing attention to herself from the others, tentatively taking her hands and gently kneading the rolls that made them vanish from sight. With one ear buried deep into him, she heard him hum with content in a way that vibrated through the both of them.
"It's good to feel appreciated," said the big guy, and squeezed her tighter into him. She opened her eyes and for just one moment she honestly couldn't see anything past his black shirt- and refused to complain about it. It wasn't suffocating, but it was just enough to slow her breath down and lull her into a happy state of calm. Slowly, he released her and she "surfaced", not turning away from him.
"If you're that soft to hug, I bet your lips are nice and soft, too," she said. Her inhibitions were gone after that wonderful embrace. His eyebrows shot up but that bemused grin was etched deep into him. He slowly brought her up to him from where he stood and kissed her. She was proud of herself because she was right: everything on him was plush and corpulent including his lips. She kissed back, openly, lovingly, and found it all too easy to tune out the jeers coming from the table. "His mouth is so big, he could eat me," she thought to herself. Again, her blood was rushing through her veins, wanting more. In a daze she was sat back down on her bar stool, and when the friend she'd come with originally tapped her on the shoulder and whispered in her ear, "You shouldn't tease him like that, he's a good guy", all she could do was laugh at the thought that they weren't taking her seriously and thought she was only playing drunk games. She was infatuated.
Towards the end of the night when almost everyone had gone home, she was stumbling around in her attempts to walk. He took notice and knew she had to get home somehow, so he brought her away from her friends and over to the bar, and ducked behind it after sitting her down. "You need something to sober up," he explained. He was shaking something, mixing, pouring, and sat a glass in front of her: it looked like a milkshake of all things. The finishing touch was the straw he stuck in the foamy top. She looked up at him and spit out a laugh.
"You can't be serious."
"House specialty," he said, "to make sure our loyal patrons always get home in one piece." She hadn't noticed anyone else drinking this, and felt a tingle of suspicion.
"What's in it?" she asked. He just winked and gestured for her to take it.
"I . . . I can't have too much sugar . . ." she slurred. It was a hard fib to get out after the cocktails she'd been trying out. He picked it up and positioned the straw to her lips and said,
"It's just one milkshake. Drink." It was so much more inviting when it was in his big, meaty hands; they made it look like a smaller portion than it really was. She took just the straw-- it was electrifying when her small, dainty fingers touched his-- and began drinking. It was delicious and sweet, but she also found him to be correct, it was clearing up that drunk fog in her brain. If some small part of her had worried that the attraction would fall away with sobriety, she was wrong. Sure, by society's standards he was far from the conventional ideal, but he had a healthy glow to his skin and on top of that seemed just too damn content with himself for anything to be "wrong" with him as far as she was concerned. She slurped down the shake without a fuss, and when he slipped her a napkin to clean up the condensation from the glass, it had a phone number on it. She stood, noticed it in her hand, looked up at him, and again he simply winked at her and waved her good-bye as the friend who had chided her earlier took her by the hand to go home.
The rest of the night was still something of a blur as she made it back to her apartment and settled in. She felt overwhelmed by all sorts of wild new feelings, and as she slipped into sleep, those thoughts and emotions turned into dreams. Sweet, wonderful, vivid, lusting dreams, of lying in a giant pillow, giant, soft bed, and the bed was an enormous and warm belly that shew as vanishing inside of; soft flesh filling every crevice around her and inside of her as well. It made her sweat and convulse in her sleep in the sweetest way possible.