I yawned widely as I woke. I looked down at Cloey, her head pressed against my chest. I knew she had already woken up, for she occasionally moved about with too much animation for sleep. I kissed her forehead, and she smiled up at me with her round eyes.

"How's the girl?"

"In love." and she rubbed her hands along my chest. I ran my hand down to her belly, and cradled as much of it as I could--a very small percentage, even with my fingers stretched out fully.

Her body had adapted well to her new lifestyle. Her stomach hung regretlessly over any sort of pants she wore-soft and malleable to allow vast quantities of food to be stored. Her breasts filled her F cups to their fullest, squeezing out in any direction possible. Her legs had become round and fat, and perpetually rubbed together. Her arms were full, always squeezing against her sides, helping to accentuate the size of her breasts. Her rotund body was finished with a startlingly beautiful face, becoming softer from her newly acquired weight. Her long, silky blonde hair fell down to her shoulders, as majestic as she was herself. She rubbed her belly drowsily. Her creamy white skin squeezed as she pushed her fingers into her fat stomach. To pronounce her a goddess would be an insult. She had become the most magnificent sight to behold, bar none. And she was mine.

I smiled as I kissed her soft cheek. We sat in emotional harmony, words too vague to capture the full rapture that embraced us. And yet I saw something in her eyes; I knew she wanted to say something, needed to put her thoughts into words, yet she needed the gentle re-assuring push to help her get started.

”Well?" I opened forwardly, "What is it, babe?"

She looked into my eyes, searching for something to say, then nestled against my chest as she started, "I don't know. I've just been thinking...about us."

I knew from her tone of voice that it was less that our relationship was in trouble, and more about her thoughts about us, relating back to her exact words. I knew not to worry, and gently caressed her back as she continued, "It's funny. It almost seems like I'm throwing something away; as if I am looking back upon this image of beauty that all girls are told to become as they stand looking in the mirror at age eight, sucking in their stomachs and trying to push out their chests. And yet, I had already resigned myself to that fate: I am pushing out of the little path of 'Skinny is Beautiful', and yet I was never really on it," she looked up at me, "It's like everything is different, yet completely the same. Your coming into my life has just strengthened the notion that I am going to be a fat girl for the rest of my life. I had already given up on ever being skinny, and yet now that I am deliberately trying not to, I feel as if I have gone in a completely new direction, and yet I haven't."

Knowing full well not to stop her in the middle of one of her rants, I let her continue, "The more I think about it, the more I realize that I am destined to be a big girl. That's partially the reason I made the transition so quickly after you told me. I think I wanted someone to step up and say, 'It's ok, Cloey. There is nothing wrong with being fat.'. But the more I think about it, the more confused I become. What about all those times I stood in front of the mirror, wishing to be skinnier? Was that really me, or was that just the need to be skinny placed in my head by society? And what if that was really me, and my love for you has just completely re-wired the way I think? I don't know."

"I think you do." I said softly.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" She asked, with a twinge of annoyance.

"Well," I started, "I know you. You know you. You're a strong, independent woman, Cloey. You think you need support from me, and yet you don't. If you were even truly undecided about this, you would never have agreed to it. You want this. If you didn't, there would have been no way of getting you to relent to it-"

She cut me off, "If I'm so strong, then how did Tim get to me?"

"Because at that moment, your weight was your weak spot. You like being fat; you have to be at least a little turned on by your weight to even consider keeping it. It confused you, for when he called you fat you instinctively took it as a complement, which countered by the rigid guides of society created an inner turmoil that bubbled to the surface through the vent of your emotions, wracking them and tearing them to shreds."

She delved deeper into my chest, seeking refuge within my body's warmth. Finally she whispered, "I love you."

***

The mental state in which she had been suffering in left by the time we got up to cook breakfast. She patted her full stomach, smiling as she walked around the kitchen in the brisk-est manner she was able at her new weight. As she leaned over the counter to open a drawer, her stomach squeezed out and lied upon it. I watched this impressive sight with intense arousal, which started to become physically obvious. She smiled at me, and her gaze lowered. The lower she looked the deeper her smile became.

"Is that a pencil in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?"

"I got one huge pencil, baby."

She laughed, and tilted her head to the side, "Oh. Then how big is your penis?"

"Dude we say 'cock' nowadays. It's a much more sensitive word."

"Tits also I suppose?" as we kissed I attempted to chuckle. She drew away from me with a mock disgusted look, "What the fuck were you doing in my mouth?"

I just went on, "We have strange conversations."

"We are strange."

We continued to prattle on, as she cooked and I tried to help.

"What the fuck are you doing? How much grease does bacon need?" She exclaimed as I attempted to deep-fry the majority of the meal. She sunk a hand into her fleshy side at her hip, and motioned about the kitchen, "Honestly, Mason. Fuck; you took out Oreos and ice cream, you're attempting to drown the breakfast in fat, and you're trying to get me to eat 'appetizers' every fifteen fucking seconds."

I wrapped my arms around her, "Oh, you'll thank me later." And I patted her stomach. She let out an exasperated sigh, and continued on cooking while my arms stayed hooked around her rotund waist.

"You're cute, I'll give you that." she said, facing away from me. I just chuckled and sat at the kitchen table. I sorted through countless articles in the papers distractedly before I spoke up, "What are we going to do today?"

She thought for a moment, humming softly to herself over the crackling of hot grease, "We could see a movie..." she continued to think, "Oh! Kailey is having a party tonight! We should totally go! My parents don't get back until Sunday."

I laughed, "I love how it's Friday," we decided to skip the day of school and stay at Cloey's house, "But yeah--sure. Lets go to it. Kailey throws kick-ass parties."

"Indeed she does." Cloey said as she sat at the table. In front of her lied plates of bacon, eggs, pancakes, sausages, and a box of Oreos. "I can't believe I am going to eat all this." she remarked thoughtfully.

She bit into a sausage first, moaning in culinary bliss. I smiled as I watched her stuff the food greedily into her mouth. Her stomach had already begun to bulge in anticipation of the food that was about to enter it, and she rubbed her hand over her rotund abdomen as she lifted the fatty food to her full lips. She ate with a ravenous hunger sustained by the overnight fast.

I watched her start to eat the magnificent feast with desire in my eyes. She bit into the food, smiling as she did so, slowly caressing her fat stomach. Her hand began to slide her shirt up, revealing creamy, milky-white skin. Her inflated stomach brimmed with fat, and lied upon her lap in an erotic fashion. She continued to devour the food at a cosmic rate, her two chins moving constantly as she stuffed the food down her throat into her soft stomach.

Suddenly, she let a small burp escape. She squeaked, and covered her mouth with a hand as she looked at me, embarrassed. I just smiled and patted her fat stomach, and while kissing her I managed to say, "That was cute."

"How?" she asked, her lips sliding away from mine, "How is burping cute?" and with that I shrugged. She giggled, and continued on.

***

She was coming close to the end of her breakfast. She moaned happily as she squeezed pancake after pancake into her stomach, which had become slightly harder due to the increase in mass and volume. Underneath her fat, her stomach had become a hard basketball, stuffed full of food. I kneaded her belly as she tried desperately to finish off her fatty meal, plates stacked before her, once bearing heaps of food. Finally, she chewed the last sausage, and leaned backwards in her chair, groaning as her stomach worked to digest the massive quantity of food intake received recently. Searching her lap under her stomach, she unbuttoned her pants, and exhaled as the miniscule amount of comfort achieved by doing so set in. I softly caressed her stomach as I stared into her eyes.

"Here, I'll help you get up."

"Why?"

"You need to sit somewhere more comfortable."

I took her dainty hands in mine, and she lifted out of the chair. She wasn't big enough to have difficulties standing up-far, far from it; I guessed her weight to be around 200, although yet again I am a horrible guesser-yet with the amount of food in her stomach her center of balance had become off. I wrapped an arm around her waist, and led her to her couch, where she fell down graciously. Her stomach lifted her shirt up, riding it towards her giant breasts. I smiled and slowly caressed her blooming belly, stuffed full with fattening foods. She moaned, and reclined as her mind sedated her body to allow all energy to be spent on digesting her enormous breakfast.

"And to think it's but noon." I laughed poetically, and she giggled good-humouredly.

The amount of food she had taken in slowly drew her into a deep repose, her body's energy becoming spent on digestion, she slowly sank into a light sleep. She rested against me, slowly caressing her swollen belly with her left hand, as her right sought out mine and clasped it firmly. As she took her hand in mine, a smile slowly dawned upon her incumbent face. Asleep, her beauty somehow became magnified, her soft golden hair drifting upon her magnificent face. I studied her hair, how it began as a dark hazel, then slowly died into a mulled gold. Her beauty astounded me. And then my gaze drew lower.

The unconscious movements of her hand along her stomach had caused her shirt to ride up, revealing the entirety of her corpulent belly. It lied upon her legs as a dead-weight, devouring her lap. Perfectly round, it had yet to conjure any stretch-marks. While I enjoyed stretch-marks upon a belly, I could not deny the perfection of such a stomach, such skin, such fat. I laid my hand upon the front, my palm over her belly button. I slowly squeezed my fingers, sinking them deep into her fat. She giggled in her sleep, and drew her head in under my chin. I continued the movements, watching her reactions. They were as positive as mine, which were beginning to show by now.

I adjusted my pants for more comfort, and the movement shook Cloey. Her eyes shuttered, and her head moved. I cooed to her, and slowly but surely she sunk back into the peaceful trance brought on by her engorged stomach. The euphoria of a meal too big can match, if not outright beat, any drug, Cloey had once said. Her words rung true as she embodied her very statement. Her breasts lied upon her stomach, a sort of auxiliary aid to her bra in the perpetual fight to hold onto her giant breasts. They jiggled softly as she moved, as did the rest of her body. I wrapped my arms about her, and in mimicry of her, I fell asleep as well.

***

Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning! Cloey rolled about on the couch cursing as her clothes strained to contain her thrashing bulk.

Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning! Cloey uttered some indistinct obscenities and sat up, "Mason will you turn that shit off, please?" she screamed, and it echoed down the hall along with the Beatles CD I had stuck into her sound system.

"Shit?" I gaped as I strode back to the couch, "you just called the greatest band ever shit?" my eyes opened wider for dramatic effect, "You Heretic!"

"I was fucking sleeping!" she screamed in mockery of a young child, throwing back her head and opening her mouth as wide as it could go. She folded her arms about her busty chest, and her gaze slowly diminished into her famous "Evil Eye". I cringed, and sunk down into the couch.

"I didn't even know the speakers could go that loud." she said after a pause, still staring at me.

I continued the facade, shrinking at her gaze and nodding slowly at my feet, "Apparently it does."

"That was fucking loud."

"Mmmh."

"But I do like the Beatles." she relinquished, and then giggled. Her eyes softened as she stared at me, and then suddenly shot open wide.

"Macy! What time is it?" and I pulled out my cell phone from my pocket, "Three. You've been sleeping since like twelve." and she grimaced. Leaning backwards and utilizing the back of the couch, she slowly rubbed her round, fat stomach, an act she had recently taken up whenever she became deep in thought. Her stated reason was that any action of that sort against her stomach felt incredibly good, more so then before we had gotten together.

I helped her hand in its plight, and she absent-mindedly giggled as she continued to think.

"Ok," she started, "In three hours we should start heading over to Kailey's house. What do you want to do until then?"

"Eat?"

She sighed yet again, and watched my hand slowly caress her soft bulk. "I already passed out from eating too much once today, isn't that enough?"

I kissed her cheek, "Lets try for a new record, hun!" and she giggled happily.

"Alright," she relinquished at last, "I'm feeling...Oreos!" she squealed, and I ventured forth to apprehend some from her kitchen. Alas, but she was without Double-Stuffed, and only had the meager "normal" oreos.

She cooed as she ate, dipping them in a glass of milk which I had also brought as she curled up against me while I flipped through the television. Suddenly, she began to emote an almost purr, and I turned to look at her with amazement.

"Cat?" I asked in a neanderthal voice, and she continued to eat happily, her smile widening.

"We're weird." I said at last, and she nodded as she continued to gorge.

"You know," she spoke up, "You're never supposed to wake a lady; I thought that you'd know that by now, being the Ladies Man that you are."

"Oh?" I said, in tune with the facade, "I didn't know. You obviously don't need any more beauty sleep."

"There you go!" she laughed, and hugged me, "You always know what to say! I could bring up a conversation about clocks, and you could still find a way to slip in one of those remarks that women love."

"Is it hard for you to read a clock? I hear you make time stop."

"That was just stupid."

***

We stood upon Kailey's doorstep, arms around each others waists, mine having a much harder time. Finally the door was opened--not by the host--and we entered her house. Loud and raucous music filled the air. I wasn't sure whether the music was the raucous part, or the atmosphere gave the impression of it. Alcohol was in abundance; a bottle of beer was in every hand. Several people ran past us, a girl with her breasts nearly falling out of her shirt, and a hungry boy close on her heels, all laughing uproariously. Several sat upon the stairwell, drinking slowly and chuckling. We meandered through the house, and suddenly I found myself swilling some rum. Cloey was snatched up from me by some of her friends I hardly knew, and I continued to walk about, talking and laughing with everyone I passed by--I was well known by all.

I fell upon a couch inhabited by some of my closer friends, with the control for the house-wide stereos on my right, and a television before me. One of my friends passed me a bong, and we sat watching the TV, for all I knew it was on mute, and took rips from the bong. I pulled forth my iPod, plugged it into the stereo, and blasted The Garden by Cut Chemist at an even higher volume. The song wasn't well known, but it was obviously well received as the dancing in the halls increased.

"Pass that shit my way." I realized that all four of us on the couch were passing the bong back and forth and taking hits while nodding our heads to the music. A passer-by handed me half of a handle of vodka, and that followed the bong along with several brownies that were brought forth from ones pocket.

We continued to smoke and jest with the constant stream of students crossing the room, for the television room was in between the kitchen and the lounge, the two main rooms in Kailey's monstrous house.

One of the passer-byes turned out to be one of my closest friends Greg. "Sit down!" we all yelled over the music, which was Superficial by tripEpitoch, a song by one of my bands, and I brimmed with pride when everyone cheered at its arrival on the stereo.

He fell down between me and another, and put one of his arms around me, "Dude I'm on so fucking much acid right now. I'm tripping out man." he spoke incredibly slowly, and everyone else on the couch was so high we picked it up as well.

"That's cool man." I nodded along to the music, and took the first hit of a new bowl that had just been packed.

"No," he ventured, "You don't understand man. You don't understand how beautiful it is." he said vigorously, and I cut in, "What the fuck are you talking about? I've done acid with you plenty of times."

"Yeah," he said, "But they don't understand!" and his hand swept across the house. Layered Laird by Cut Chemist turned on, and I thought of the enormity of his statement as I drifted backwards upon his couch, an ethereal state upon me.

"You have any left?" I asked, and he shook his head, "No. Sorry man..." and he wandered off, his eyes slowly rolling across the ceiling.

The bong came back to me, and I laughed slowly, "How much fucking weed did you guys bring?"

"A Fuckton."

"That's a Fuckton."

"'Tis"

"What the fuck is up guys?" some kid whose name I did not recall held his arms outstretched for me and Greg. The brownies had started to kick in, along with the weed and alcohol, and I stared at his palm for a while. Another moving figure--it was almost to strange for me to comprehend.

In the Movie of your life, it becomes hard to fully realize that every single person you encounter is just as real as you are. The many faces of a crowd; each is alive and has carved their own path, and yet recognizes you just as little. Others actions seem to be coordinated with yours because you are only able to experience through your own eyes, yet everyone else has the same capacity for individuality as you. The world becomes a robot in your eyes, a film in which you are the main actor, for more is known about yourself then any other, and the film itself follows you, yet every other being has their own movie centered on them as well. And in that Movie, so many actions are focused upon ones own goals, yet every other being focuses their actions for their greater good as well, creating an imbalance in society where every individual is working for self profits, yet has to interact with others as well. A clusterfuck of attrition to the top of Capitalism, a tall, jagged hill upon which so many billions struggle to climb, throwing some off when need be, and helping others forward if it could free up another ledge to climb upon to hoist yourself to the next one. The perpetual climb, and the inevitable fall. If only every mind could realize that every action towards self-preservation is just a delay for the inevitable, then all could release themselves from greed, and work towards the common goal as a single unit, as a single mind, as a single being.

I realized that Greg had been talking to me the entire time, yet neither of us had noticed that I was far from paying attention. Suddenly a heavy form landed on top of me, and I groaned. Until I realized that it was Cloey.

"Sup hun!" she said awkwardly, and it became obvious that she was very drunk. The bong was passed to her, and she sat atop my lap, and began smoking from it.

"Burn it! Burn it! Burn it!" came the ragged cry from the couch, and she looked at me, "What do you mean?"

"'Burning it' is when you try and take as big of a hit as you possibly can, and try and burn down the bowl as fast as possible."

We gave her several tries, for she was much less high than us, and several weed brownies were tossed her way, and thus she laid on top of me watching the television that might as well have been on mute.

"Dude, Mason."

"What."

"Dude, Mason."

"What?"

"Dude, Mason."

"What, Sam."

"Start up that argument about religion again." and the entire couch became interested. A boy with a thin girl hooked around his waist shouted "Cheers!" as he walked by, saluting us with a red plastic cup full of alcohol as Justice's Waters of Nazareth screamed over the speakers.

"What do you mean?"

"Dude remember when like that teacher was like talking to you, and you got in a huge fight about like Jesus or some shit like that?" he asked hopefully, all eyes upon me.

"Well I do think he’s bullshit."

"Yeah, why?"

"Why are you asking?" I said apprehensively, not sure where the conversation was going.

"I just remember you like fucking won that argument."

"Yeah!" Cloey came in, "Tell us why!"

"Well," I began, taking a swill of some vodka, "He was bullshit, man. Like he wasn't, but Christianity is."

I believe that Jesus existed and shit, and he walked around, and I believe that he said that stuff, but not the 'miracles', which is the problem. People have become so hung up on all these fucking miracles, that Jesus has become like this Superstar, and instead of listening to what he had to say, which is what he wanted, people are using him like a deity, like fucking praying to him will change your life." Currency by Jim Ether started playing, "But he's not a God. He just had fucking good ideas, but no one wants to know how they can make their lives better, they want some fucker to walk up and do it all for them. If you just look at what Jesus said, Christianity and Buddhism are pretty much the same, but Christianity has just become corrupted by the Image of Jesus, and not what he had to say."

That’s why all these fucking people are using Jesus to say shit like, 'Oh, gays are bad!'. 'Jesus hates who I hate!'. No one ever uses the Ten Commandments in an argument in the Senate, which is what Jesus was really trying to tell us. Oh, and using Christianity to settle laws is also fucked up, and is impeding upon the Constitution, but that's another debate." I looked around, laughing to myself. Everyone nodded and smiled, enjoying my concepts.

"They're just using Jesus to bring us down!" one started, and I finished his thought, "Yeah, man. I get what you mean, man. Because Jesus has become like this celebrity deity whose words no one really cares about, people can just use him to impede upon the rights of select members of our society, which is violating both the Separation of Church and State, and the First Amendment. People in the Government are getting away with saying shit like 'Oh, Jesus doesn't like who I don't like, so lets shove a cork up their ass and pee on their shoes.'" everyone laughed, and I continued, "First Jews, then Blacks, now Gays. Whose next?"

Everyone on the couch sat with their heads down in contemplation. I changed the music to Cherry by Ratatat, and sat in contemplation alongside them. Cloey lied against me, and I noticed Ryan was staring at her. Finally, he spoke up, "Fuck society. Some shit-headed egomaniac whose face is full of plastic gets up and says, 'I think this is cool, and this is hot!' and everyone scurries to try and fit into that image. Girls are fucking losing their bodies to be skinny and shit like that."

"Dude," I came in, "Everyone tries to be someone they're not because they think it will get that one person they're looking at to like them. No one is themselves anymore, they just fabricate their personalities to fit in with the people they want to," the song rose to its climatic level, the guitars and synths going in beautiful harmonics, "Fuck everyone. If he doesn't like you if you act like yourself, then he's not fucking supposed to like you. End of story. It's despicable how people change themselves like that; they destroy their identities and become hollow."

"How are we talking like this when we are as high as we are?" and the masterpiece of Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon started.

"I dunno..." I trailed off, staring at the TV. I suddenly realized just how high I was. When enough weed is taken, it becomes a mild psychedelic. It is nowhere close to the intricacy and intensity of LSD, but it is beautiful all the same. I watched the TV, my eyes barely able to transmit the images flashing before me to my brain in time, making the screen a vivid jumble of shapes and colors, a beautiful design upon which I rode its complexity. Cloey slowly ran her hand down my leg, "I love you." she said slowly, and I kissed her cheek. Greg sat next to me, smiling and staring at his hands.

***

I wasn't afraid to drive at three AM, for there were no cars on the road, and I had sobered down sufficiently to be semi-adequate at driving. We kissed for a long time on my chair, as I slowly stroked her soft stomach. Finally, she went into her house, with promises of seeing each other tomorrow, and I started off towards home.

My cellphone began to ring, and I picked it up, slowly bobbing my head to Flat Beat by Mr. Oizo. "Hello?"

"Hey Mason!" it was Emily. I wasn't surprised, and it wasn't because I looked at the name that was being displayed on my phone.

"Sup, girl?"

"Hey I'm at Pier's park, can you come and pick me up?"

"Sure." I said, for it was on the way, and I couldn't live with myself if I left a girl alone at three in the morning. A bit of apprehension boiled sub-consciously, but it was quelled by the drugs.

I parked in front of the park, and watched her get into the car. She was incredibly pretty (though not as pretty as Cloey), with long black hair. Though she was thin, her breasts were enormous, I guessed maybe even bigger than Cloey's. She was a cool girl, but got alot of flak from the other girls about her bust size. While with Cloey it was understandable because she was fat, with Emily there was "no excuse". I would think that it was jealousy, but they were too big for many of the guys. She smiled as she got into the car, "You been smoking tonight, hun?"

"Yeah," I smiled, "And drinking too." I giggled.

"I just love your long hair," she continued, grabbing some, and rubbing it between her fingers and smiling, "It’s beautiful."

"Thanks."

"It accents your face well, you have a cute, but handsome face, with your long rugged hair. Its very...sensual." she said, still smiling.

"Ummm.....thass-anks." I said, stumbling over my words. Suddenly she was on top of me, her giant breasts against my chest. Her skin was wonderfully tanned, going with her long black hair perfectly. She tore off her pink shirt, revealing a dying bra. I was startled, and watched in erotic horror as she tore it off, and let her breasts free. They were definitely real, and were soft and sensual. She licked her right nipple, and unzipped my pants. She stuck a condom in her mouth, and put it onto my cock with her mouth. I gasped, and she tore off my shirt. Suddenly we were having sex. Her monstrous breasts took up the majority of her torso, and bounced heavily as she rode me up and down. I began licking her nipples, for since I was already in this far, why not take it to the end (no pun intended). We fucked several times, before laying on the back seats of my car. She lied naked on top of me, and I slowly swore.

"I need to take you home. Now."