After Tuesday it was clear to Tara, me, and everyone else who cared to notice that our relationship had certainly rounded a bend. The love we’d had before seemed like a candle in comparison to the wildfire it was now.

What I thought was really amazing was how we had come this far in just three weeks. It seemed like an eon, looking back on that first night in Hometown Buffet, but after checking every calendar in the house, I was forced to believe it.

When I told Tara, she was equally as stunned, “No way! I feel like we’ve been seeing each other for ages!”

“Yeah, and I didn’t even take you out on a date until a week and a half after that,” I replied.

To be honest, I was really concerned that as hot as our relationship was, it was going to get a little cold. I tried several times to tell this to Tara, but every time I did, I just couldn’t get the words out of my mouth. For some odd reason, I found, kissing wasn’t the best way of communicating ideas. I suppose that simply locking lips can’t transfer words as well as I thought.

We nearly couldn’t keep our hands off one another in public, and made absolutely no pretense of propriety in private. Tara and I had become that at ease with one another now. Whenever Tara and I had a “study session”, it usually involved a healthy amount of snacks to keep our brainpower up, proper breaks in studying to make sure we didn’t think too hard, and plenty of physical activity to keep us limber (but nothing improper, mind you).

Anyway, like I said earlier, I could hardly keep from fondling Tara when we were alone. I mean, now that we were both open about how we felt about one another physically as well as emotionally, I sort of had free license to finally begin getting to know Tara’s body intimately. Whenever we sat together, I always made it a point of getting as close to her as possible so I could feel the warmth and softness of her abundant blubber against my body.

I only really explored Tara once in depth (the rest was just casual, playful stuff), just because years of curiosity were pent up inside of me that could no longer be held back. It was during one of our study sessions when Tara was sitting between my legs, allowing me access to all angles. When I first put my hand on her tummy, exposed by her too-short t-shirt, Tara was a little surprised and gave a tiny yelp. “What are you doing?”

“Only trying to get to know you better,” I replied, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

Tara, in her immense love for me, decided to patiently let me continue my fantasy. My hands began to gently feel over first her gut, delicately, sensually inspecting each inch of her beautiful belly roll, raising up her t-shirt in the process, exposing the whole of her vast, white sea of skin. I poked my finger into her deep belly button and Tara giggled a little bit. Our bodies pressed close together, I knew Tara could feel my arousal, but I no longer cared. In fact, I somehow wanted her to know that I was enjoying this.

As I grabbed her love handles and squeezed them slowly, Tara let loose a shudder. I stopped, concerned I had done something wrong. “No, keep going,” Tara said, her voice a whisper.

I was in luck today as Tara had on a pair of those short workout shorts that girls were so fond of, exposing nearly all of her giant legs. I slithered from around Tara so as to better access her thighs and calves. As I gently began to map Tara’s thighs with my fingers, Tara let a small, soft moan loose. She seemed to be enjoying this just as much as I was. My fingers delved through the soft, pliant fat of her thunder thighs, eager to discover every inch. I then worked my way down to Tara’s chunky calves, and then to her feet, which to my pleasure were chubby too. I worked over each and every toe before coming back up Tara, picking up spots I’d missed on the way down. I made sure to get underneath Tara as we were lying on her bed, history long forgotten.

Naturally I made sure that I gave Tara’s hips and her ass a very thorough exploration. I was almost sitting on Tara as I cupped each of her butt cheeks in my hands, slowly squeezing them. Tara was breathing heavy now, the pleasure beginning to build in her, and my breaths were coming quicker and quicker now too.

I continued my hands upward progress, except now I went up Tara’s arms, starting at her chubby little fingers and working up to the fat on her upper arms that jiggled so violently when she went up to make a stop during water polo. That done, I worked over Tara’s shoulders, left nearly bare by her spaghetti strap tanktop, and then moved down to her breasts. They seemed more like exsquisite melons than boobs, but I couldn’t resist them. I eagerly, carefully, lovingly took the clothed breasts into my hands in a moment I had fantasized about for years. I could feel Tara’s hard nipples straight through the cloth, which was taut against the roundness of her jugs. I sat there with her tits in my hands for what seemed like an eternity before we both broke apart and were panting side by side.

“Sorry,” Tara said, out of breath, “but I had to or else…”

“Me too,” I said, “me too.”

***

The water polo team kept winning too. Over the next two weeks the Robert Kennedy High School Women’s Varisty Water Polo team (that was our high school, you know) went undefeated in their matches, improving their record to 9-1, chasing the girls from Central with their perfect 11-0 streak. The team was ranked second in their division, behind the team from Madison High with a 10-1 record. They were ranked fourth in the county, and everyone had very high hopes as we hit the Christmas Break.

Tara, or “Teddy” as her teammates for some unknown reason affectionately called her (I used the nickname occassionally too, to her slight embarassment), was doing phenomenally. She hadn’t allowed more than five goals, except in the one match against Central, for the entire season. While this wasn’t phenomenal, it was a very good showing. What was more impressive was the fact that Nina was averaging over two goals a game and Morgan was close behind with just under two a game. Everyone else was getting good scoring opportunities that they were usually converting when they were patient enough to find the hole. The team, as a whole, was looking rather strong.

An interesting phenomenon occurred at the home games. Slowly but surely, more people were beginning to show up to cheer on the girls. It hadn’t taken long before other people, mostly guys, joined Matt and me started showing up. It seemed as if anyone who had always wanted to go, whether for the girls themselves or the sport, now could because other people were too. The last game before Christmas was on the final day of school and the stands, while not packed, were home to a healthy population. Of course, having a winning team always helped to bring people out to the game, and it suddenly seemed like guys were starting to figure out that a sport consisting of women beating each other up in swimsuits was not necessarily a bad idea.

I had also noticed that it seemed like the number of boyfriends were beginning to go up across the board, but most notably among the larger ladies. Chelsea was now seeing a tall, thin boy named Ross who I knew casually from a couple of classes. A good friend of mine named Tom had finally, after years of secret confidence in me, after much encouragement on my part, landed a date with Jenna that I was told had gone over quite successfully. Kristin, the team’s lone sophomore, was joined at the hip with Chris, who was her exact splitting image. Consensus was that they were by far one of one of the cuttest couples the team had seen in a while. And, well, there was always Christy, who never seemed at a loss for being able to find a guy, but no one actually counted her.

The team was eagerly looking forward to the Christmas Break, mainly because it involved fewer practices, but they had a very big tournament on the horizon. It was the Nereid Invitational and was usually a precursor to the County Championships in March. Though their best finish at the tournament, which usually fielded anywhere from twenty to thirty two teams, had been seventh, the girls’ strong showing against Central had empowered them. For the first year in a very long time, it looked as if Kennedy High actually had a shot at the Nereid Cup.

***

In the meantime, Tara and I were nearly out of our minds with excitement by the time Break rolled around. It meant we’d get to spend more time together, minus the annoying projects and papers that teachers just love to hand out to attempt to ruin your vacation. Luckily, we’d both gotten headstarts on those and were looking forward to having so much time on our hands we didn’t know what to do with it all.

Though the Pacific Ocean is frigid in December, Tara and I got up that Saturday and went to the beach to take a walk. Our town was fairly close to the ocean; only about a twenty-minute drive there, so it was very easy to go there when one wanted. Being early in the morning we only met with the occassional jogger or pairs of powerwalkers. Tara and I just took our time and headed down the beach as far as we could before turning around and heading back.

We talked a little bit, hands linked, and admired the grey landscape of the marine layer that covered the shore. A cool wind came off the sea, making us both thankful we’d brought our matching polo jackets to keep us warm. Being a typical Californian, however, I was wearing shorts like I did every day of the year, rain or shine, so Tara was warmer than me in her jeans.

Tara and I usually stopped to watch the surfers in their wetsuits riding whatever waves they could laugh and giggled a little bit at their intense dedication. “That’s pretty much how it is with Canadians and hockey. If there’s ice, they’ll find it,” I said.

When we were done, we stopped into a small doughnut store and bought an entire dozen, of which I only got two. Tara and I unabashedly sat on a bench and looked out over the bleak shore as we ate our doughnuts. There were, of course, in this trendy, beachside community, plenty of people who seemed to sneer at Tara as she dug eagerly into each doughnut anew, their faces saying, “Don’t you think you aught to lay off on those?” Of course, we both barely noticed. Our attention was much too fixated on one another to care.

***

We did other things too, like miniature golf. That was a lot of fun, because naturally I had to show Tara the correct way to putt in typical fashion. After I lost (which I usually do), I challenged Tara to a bout of blistering air hockey, which I also wound up losing. To make up for my horrible luck, Tara paid for lunch, which naturally made everything better.

We took in a couple of movies and generally just hung out together. By now we both knew each other’s families quite well and went over to each other’s house with ease. My parents were thrilled with Tara, thought she was just the greatest thing to happen to me in years, and never had anything but a kind word about her. From what Tara could tell me, her mother was on the verge of planning our wedding already she liked me so much and her father thought I was great because I played hockey (I had neglected to mention that I wasn’t a very good player, but I didn’t think it’d matter too much).

And speaking of hockey, I was extremely surprised when Tara showed up at one of my games. I played every Saturday night in a coed, beginner’s league and could begin anywhere from 8:45 all the way until 11:15, and that night was a 10:00 game. I could barely get my mother come watch me, so I was actually quite touched when she showed up. Of course, the one night Tara shows up, we lose.

In my attempts to explain hockey to Tara (she’d barely even watched a game on TV), I had told her it was like water polo except with more gear. After the game while we sat and watched the beginning of the next game since I was usually too tired to drive initally, Tara told me this was about right, except hockey looked a lot harder.

“And, the goalie looks a lot cooler,” Tara said.

“Yeah, but not cuter,” I replied.

She just rolled her eyes at me. Since I’d finally gotten Tara to come see me play, I then insisted that I bring her along to see the local minor league team. Being an absolute hockey fanatic, my family had season tickets and sometimes my sister had absolutely no interest in going so that conveniently left me with a seat for Tara. We had a good time and the home team, unlike my team, won as they usually did. Now that I’d brought Tara to a hockey game, she vowed to get me to a basketball game, despite the fact I wasn’t a big fan of basketball.

Of course, as this all went on, I still had no Christmas present for Tara and was beginning to go into a last minute panic stage. I’d bugged Tara repeatedly and she still didn’t know what she wanted. I didn’t have a Plan B right now, but figured that I’d need one quickly.

Among other things, Tara finally dragged me down to our church youth group one night. Though I always went to church, I wasn’t too thrilled about going to the youth group. However, Tara really enjoyed it, so I went because she asked me enough that I had to say yes. There were quite a few people I knew there and Tara introduced me to some of her friends who said they were pleased to meet this Liam O’Shea that Tara just couldn’t stop talking about who came to all of her water polo games and whatnot. Tara frequently left me to go say hello to someone else or catch up with a friend from another school. During one of these absences, our mutual friend Molly Creighton happened to wandered over to where I was standing.

“Well if it isn’t Liam O’Shea,” she said without emotion.

“Well if it isn’t Molly Creighton,” I replied, slightly mocking her.

“Okay, now that’s just not fair. You’re not supposed to have an answer,” she said.

“I always have an answer Molly,” I said.

Molly was a senior, destined for Harvard law we all thought, but that was only if she could reconcile herself to wearing long pants in the winter. Worst came to worst we thought she’d go to Stanford. She was noted for her short brown hair and the conspicuous mole on her right cheek.

“Though usually it’s overly witty and flies over too many heads for people to notice,” Molly replied instantly. It was this biting wit that we thought would probably stop her from being the first female Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, but we didn’t think it’d stop her from making Associate Justice, “Anyway, I thought my congratulations should be in order.”

“For what?”

“Your new-found bliss,” Molly replied, “You and Tara are just so cute together.”

I could feel my cheeks warming up. Even though Tara and I were unabashedly showed our love in public, whenever someone actually brought it up I couldn’t help but be slightly embarrassed.

“Uh, thanks Molly,” I said.

“I knew I could leave you speechless,” Molly said with pleasure, “You do know everyone is talking about you guys.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah, you’re the toast of the town. Smashing stereotypes and barriers and all that. I mean, if I’d put down a one dollar bet in Vegas on the two of you hooking up, I think I would have my college education paid through law school,” Molly said, “You’re an inspiration to us all. And if you can get a date, Liam, then that means there’s hope for nearly anyone in the world.”

“Get off!” I said as Molly laughed.

“You know, I think they’re substantial material here for some big romantic love story,” Molly said, “You could even put it on the Internet and people could read it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, and who’d want to read about two regular kids have a regular romance?”

“I don’t know, worked for Shakespeare,” Molly said with a shrug of her shoulders, “See you around.”

Molly always did have big ideas.

***

That night I had a dream. Tara and I were Greek gods reclining in the clouds of Mount Olympus. I wore a toga and sipped nectar from a golden goblet. For some reason I knew that I was the god of wisdom and knowledge, and wedded in immortal and unending matrimony to Tara. She was the goddess of feasting and beauty and was revered throughout the Achaean realms. Together we were the gods of youth, love, and fertility, destined to remain young and in love for eternity. Tara’s raiment was like a toga, except it had two long slits along her legs, exposing her gorgeous thighs, and exposed her colossal gut, which hung freely in front of her. Her skin was ivory white and glowed in the sunlight that could not tan her milky complexion nor fade her chestnut hair.

A pair of chubby cherubs bring to Tara’s exquisite lips a bowl of ambrosia, as a goddess of her status should not be troubled with such petty matters. Tara lazily sips from the bowl, small rivulets running down her face from the corners of her mouth. I gaze over at my goddess as she finishes the bowl and the cherubs flutter away to refill it from some heavenly spring. Rolling across the clouds to her side, I gently kiss the ambrosia from her face before our lips lock for a sweet, soft, slow, lazy kiss.

As we lie together, we see in our omniscience the hoards of Greeks that flocked to Tara’s temple where they set baskets of food and cornucopias of harvest before her rotund statue. The cherubs would later take up these offerings for the feasting of the gods, though Tara got the lion’s share. Women across Greece emulated Tara’s wide hips, her round breasts, her pendulous avoirdupois. We peeked into houses and saw portly mothers admonish their podgy daughters to eat heartily so that they might be attractive in the eyes of men. Women who were thin were considered bereft of the favor of the gods, destined for menial jobs and a low-class marriage.

We were aroused from our observations by the announcement of the feast. Tara in her omnipotence got to her feet, her body jiggling and shaking. As she waddled through the Olympian clouds, her breasts jiggled freely with every step and her soft, inviting thighs rubbed together. Her paunch swayed from side to side, ripples coursing through its vast white expanse. Tara’s rump moved up and down in a slow, lazy rhythm with her feet that I could only find electrifying.

As we reclined at table with the other gods of Olympus, the dishes always began and ended with Tara, who, the provider of such bounty, always took as much as she wanted to start and whatever was left over, increasing her godly girth. Her wine glass was always full and her plate seldom empty. Not even mighty Zeus after a full day of throwing thunderbolts could match Tara’s ravenous appetite. Tara ate more than all of Sparta’s hungry warriors could in a day in but one meal upon Olympus’s lofty heights.

Tara waddled back with me to our usual look out position, belly now taut with the bounty of Greece’s earth. As we looked at one another in a satiated haze, we both slipped out of our garments and into each other’s arms. I lowered myself onto the soft cushion of flesh of my goddess and…well, let’s just say that by the mighty thunderstorms the Greeks knew the gods Liam and Tara were engaged in the pastime they were venerated for.

Needless to say, I was unhappy when my phone interrupted such heavenly bliss. I grudgingly searched my bedside table for my cell phone and picked it up.

“Yes?” I asked.

“I know what you can get me for Christmas,” Tara said.