FICTION

Fat-related FICTION

The Fattest Girl in the World

Section Two of Nine

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The next morning I went to school; in the hall I met Angela, (bikini model
covergirl, remember her?) and Brad (star of many romantic dreams, and if
you tell him I'll kill you!) All the girls ooh and ahh over Brad; he's perfect.
Tall, handsome, muscular, top of his class, captain of the football team...
he's even going to West Point! Isn't that just too much? He's not a person,
he's a cliche! Nice guy, but really serious. Too serious. Almost
grim. Someday he'll die bravely winning a war or be the first person to land
on Pluto or something like that. And maybe sometime he might even smile
or crack a joke. Nah!

Brad usually goes out with Angela. Everyone assumes the two perfect people
at school will naturally pair up. Not so, except by default. They are just
good friends, but everyone is sure they are a couple. Brad is probably saving
himself for marriage. Angela, on the other hand, will have trouble saving
herself for this afternoon. No, that's not fair, she really isn't like thatl...
but she told me she once let Brad know she was interested, but his reaction
was 'I'm flattered, but no, thank you.' Maybe he's gay? I've heard
all the great guys are gay. Hmmm.

I had just met Roger and Angela when Roger came around the corner. "Hi, guys!."
he called. He came over. "Hi, uh, Deb," he grinned. That's just the way Roger
is.

"Hi, uh, Roger," I teased. He doesn't mind. Well, I guess he
doesn't mind; he's never said anything. Then the bell rung and I had to go
to class; Calculus is usually fun, like a puzzle, and history is always boring,
but that's because of the way Ms. Pergintine teaches. Today, though, I don't
think I learned a thing; all I could think about was getting fatter and being
huge. At lunch I gobbled my meal, stole Roger's dessert, and stared longingly
at Angela's plate, which still held almost all of her food.

Angela was on one of rants... 'It's so difficult being a girl with a body
like mine.' No, she's not fishing for compliments; she does this all
the time, and she means it.

"I didn't do anything to be this way; it's not anything I earned, but people
all expect me to act a certain way and be a certain type of girl. I mean,
I don't want people to think of me as just 'that girl with the big tits."
Here's a girl who could be a Barbi, if she only had half as many brains.
She does have a point, but that doesn't stop me from being sarcastic, usually.
Today, though, I was distracted and let her ramble on, until she comes out
with a comment like "It's such a burden to have breasts like
these!" We all just stared at her! I mean, they're big, but not
that big! I never knew she could blush like that.

School was over, so it was time to do some serious research. As I drove home,
I made plans. First, hit the Net; there should be stuff about fat women
somewhere; I mean, you can find anything on the net. Probably
mostly weight loss sites: "Here's how big I used to be and how I lost
it all" Still, there should be pictures, stories, all sorts of information.
I could always look at the diets and do the opposite.

Hmmm.... Just how big was the heaviest woman in the world,. anyway? 700 pounds?
800? How much did she eat? Could she walk? This is crazy... but I can't stop
thinking about it!

At home I started up to my room, then made a detour by the kitchen; I needed
some calories! I got a huge bowl of ice cream, over half a carton, then added
a big bag of chips. 'Chips first,' I thought; 'Nice and salty,
and by the time I finish them the ice cream will be all soft and gooshy.'
With greasy fingers I logged on and discovered a whole new world!

Here were women who made me look like Kate Moss! Women larger than me who
posed ... well, I suppose you would have to call them dressed, but only
technically. Sort of. Huge soft women who made little computer movies of
themselves eating and rubbing their tummy and jiggling. Men who were begging
for more pictures. I resolved to ask Dad for a digital camera for Christmas.
No, for my birthday; I didn't get anyone prosecuted for being a pedophile.
I mean, I know I'm mature and have good judgement (most of
the time, anyway) but how would the law know?

I learned a new vocabulary, too. I already knew I was a "BBW", or maybe a
"BBT", a Big Beautiful Teen. If I put on a few more pounds, I'll be "supersize".
Any guy who was attracted to me would be, in my own opinion, a "Man of Good
Taste". If he was attracted mainly because I was fat, though, he would be
an "FA", or Fat admirer. Sounds like the same thing to me. I had supected
as much... bodies come in all shapes and sizes; doesn't it make sense that
someone would be attracted to each and every type?

Here was something strange... A lot of women on BBW boards and chat lines
complain about guys who are turned on by their fat. Excuse me?
A man thinks you are beautiful and this is a problem? Not me!
Oh, I guess I wouldn't want a guy whose only interest in me
was my fat any more than Angela would want a guy who only cared about her
boobs. Still, any applicant for the position of "Deb's Serious Boyfriend"
had better be totally wild about my body, and that means attracted to fat.

I read more and started to find out the crowd I really belonged to. Some
people really get into gaining weight or seeing someone else gain. Bingo!
If a guy helped me gain, encouraged me to eat and told me how he loved me
getting fatter, he would be a "Feeder". That sounded interesting.. I need
one of those! Let's see.. If I gain, then I would be a "Feedee". I don't
like that term... it sounds so passive, like I just receive food someone
gives me. I need something more aggressive, like 'I'm going to stuff this
body and make it grow'. There doesn't seem to be
word for that... maybe I can come up with one?

I also found the word "immobile," meaning too heavy to walk or maybe even
stand up. Did I want that? With a shock I realized that instead of a resounding
NEVER! in my mind I was actually wondering what it would be like and
how I could make it more pleasant.

I found Rosalie Bradford. She's the Guinness Book record holder for heaviest
woman, at an estimated 1200 pounds. That's four of me! WOW! But she
wasn't happy that size, so she lost it all. I could see that; what's the
point of being something you don't enjoy? World record super-fat size should
be reserved for people who get a thrill out of it. Like me? Maybe.

There were a couple of pictures there, but they weren't very good. I mean,
I could see she was huge, but it was impossible to tell anything about her
shape I looked down at myself. Four times the weight....

From downstairs I heard a guitar; that meant Dad was home. I had to talk
this over with him, at least a little, so I pushed my fat thoughts aside
and went downstairs.

I found him doodling, writing a song. He's really good... I mean, like a
pro. I walked up behind and listened a few minutes, and when he paused I
cleared my throat.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Suppose a person wants to do something everyone else thinks is crazy? Something
other people would think was weird, or unpopular, but you really think you
might want to try."

"Why should you care what other people think? Don't even think of changing
yourself to be popular." He really meant it.

"It's not about being popular, really... It's more like everyone would think
this was a huge mistake"

"I take it this person is you?" I nodded. "And what are you thinking about
doing?"

I shook my head. "Maybe nothing... I'm not sure. I'll tell you when I decide."
Dad frowned, then shrugged. "I'll trust your good judgement, Honey." Have
I got a great Dad, or what?

He looked down at the guitar in his hands, played a few notes and put it
aside.

"Let me tell you a story. When I was in college, just a serious, straight-A
engineering nerd, I was in a band. Not one you've ever heard of, but we were
pretty good. And during my Junior year we got an offer to cut a record, plus
be an opening act for some really big name groups. So I had to decide...
did I want to go off and maybe become a rich and famous rock star, or did
I want to finish school? You can guess what kind of advice I got, too, from
my family, my professors, and all my friends around the engineering school.
They said I had a great future, and I was going to throw it all away
for a shot at some improbable dream."

"And you decided to do the smart thing and stay in school."

"Nope!" He grinned. "I dropped out and we started touring the Midwest.
A different town every night..Booze, drugs, girls...I was never into the
drug thing, though." Huh? Dad!? My Dad?

"And you didn't like it?"

He burst out laughing. "I loved it! A party every night, the
girls.... Deb, this was the 80's... after 'the pill' and before anyone worried
about HIV. And the music, and the crowds..." His voice trailed off.
Dad?

"So what happened?"

"We stunk. Well, not really...the crowds loved us, but our album didn't sell
and our label dropped us like a hot rock. After a year we broke up, and
then I went back to school. Sure, I was a year behind, but
I'm glad I did it. If I hadn't, I would have kicked myself about it my whole
life."

I thought a moment. "So you're saying go for it?"

"I'm saying there are only a few things you can't change your mind and back
away from. Most decisions don't have to be permanent. Is yours?"

"Maybe not..." Could I gain all this weight, then lose it?? That would be
a heck of a diet! But it was possible, at least in theory.

"Deb? Before you do anything serious, talk to me, okay? And don't assume
my answer will be an automatic 'No'"

"Okay, Dad."

"Oh... I've got a date coming over for supper, and then we're going out.
Be nice, okay?" Another Barbie after Dad's money. Great.

"Okay. I'll be good." I resolved to be really nice, no matter what.

"And don't call her Barbie."

"Okay... what's her name?" I guess they have names...

"Susie"

"S-U-Z-I ?" I spelled.

"Yeah.... how did you know?" He gave a resigned smile. Why did he date
these bimbos? He didn't know himself.

At supper, I was perfectly gracious. Really. Why do you doubt me? I greeted
her at the door, and suffered her inspection in silence. I did my own inspection
as well, just to see if she was up to specs: Five seven. Thin, thin, thin,
with big stiff hair. Big stiff boobs, too. Perfect clothes. I'll bet she
has a whole Malibu Playhouse full of perfect clothes. I led her to the living
room and left her alone with Dad.

Supper was a tiring experience. This woman watched every bite I put in my
mouth, keeping a running calorie count. She chattered away about nothing
in particular, taking inventory of the dining room and trying to estimate
Dad's net worth.

"Is everyone done with dessert?" the cook said, clearing dishes away. "Why,
you haven't touched yours!" she chided Barbi... I mean Suzi. For supper
she had unsweetened tea, two kernels of corn, and a sprig of parsley.

"Could I have another?" I asked.

"Certainly," the cook answered. Suzi scowled, but Dad didn't notice.

"Go ahead, it's really good!" I enthused. If she would only taste it,
she might like it.

"No, thank you." She gave a hard, tight lipped smile. "I'm afraid if I ate
like you, it wouldn't be too long until I started to...."

This time Dad noticed, and the temperature dropped like fifty degrees. "Before
we go, let me check in with the plant." He picked up the phone. "Bad
news... I have to go check on something. I'll have to ask you for a rain
check for tonight. Can I drop you off?"

"No, thanks.... I'll call a cab." That's a good thing about Barbis; they
know when to cut their losses and move on.

Ten minutes later she was gone, and Dad was conspicuously not going to the
plant.

"Sorry Dad. I really was trying to be nice."

"You were. Not your fault.... this time." He went into his studio, and I
heard his guitar again; sad stuff this time, the songs he played when he
was thinking of Mom. She passed away when I was little.

I can barely remember Mom, but I missed her too. In my memory, she's the
most beautiful woman in the world. In old pictures, she's nothing special,
but I remember she was warm and funny. And soft. I thought about going to
bed, but then I just sat in the living room and listened to Dad play in the
next room.

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