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vicepeddler · 3 months ago

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CW: As chapter 1, Second-person male POV, 18+ subject matter, angst, fat appreciation, a lot of eating, sexuality, office work

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POSITIVE INFLUENCE - Chapter 2

"So it's just that simple? We're boyfriend and girlfriend now?" You ask, still not quite believing that this moment is actually happening, and that it was practically dropped into your lap.

Val gazes back at you and gives your hand a little squeeze. "If you want to call it that. I'd certainly like to, but if you want to take it slow..."

You flip your hand over and wrap your fingers around Val's firm palm. "Nah. I'm ok with keeping things brisk. Anon and Val, boyfriend and girlfriend..."

Val seems to glow with happiness, and enwraps your hand as well. Next, she gently tugs on your wrist, beckoning you closer and leaning forward across the table. It's a very easy hint to take.

Reaching across the table with your free hand, you gently touch Val's cheek and run a finger along the bone under her eye. Her skin is soft and smooth, and seems to be actively warming in the wake of your touch. Val closes her eyes and gently leans into your caressing finger. Escalating, you slide your finger down past her mouth and under her chin, ever-so-slightly hooking her jaw. Val keeps her eyes closed, but lets a smile curl her lips before parting them expectantly.

Shifting in your seat, you lean forward, then hesitate for the merest moment, still not quite believing the day's turn. And before you can think any further, you purse your lips and join them with Val's. From the first instant of contact you're floating, your world shrinking to this singular point. Her lips are soft and slightly sticky, still sweetened by the chocolate remnants. She moans into your mouth as you gently nibble and suck, still afraid of overplaying your hand and somehow ruining the moment. In the next beat, you sense more than feel a certain tension uncoiling within Val's being as one of her hands wraps around the back of your head and firmly knots into your hair. You barely have time to gasp at her thrilling and aggressive move before she's pressed voraciously against you, sucking hungrily at your lips and her slick sweet tongue periodically invading your mouth.

When you finally re-open your eyes, you're staring into the face of a radiant goddess. Val's skin is flushed and all but luminescent, her backlit hair glowing angelically, and her eyes are burning into you like sapphire flames.

"Hey."

Val's whisper seems to land on your ears without her mouth moving. Her hand on the back of your head has long since relaxed its grip on your hair, and is presently delivering gentle fingernail-forward scratches to your scalp. In spite of yourself, your eyes roll back for a moment at the delightfully tingly sensation.

"Well, you got me," you laugh softly. "Was it as easy as you expected?"

"Easier," she whispers with an audible smile.

You reach back and wrap your fingers around her wrist, taking in every tactile detail of her skin and contrasting against the wiry sinews beneath.

Val explains, "I know this all seems really sudden, and maybe it is. But I figure - why mess around? Why not just go for it?" Her nails are still sending tingly waves through your scalp and right into your brain.

"Gotta admit," you sigh. "It feels kind of nice to be the pursued one for a change."

Val giggles slowly, then purrs, "Wanna head to the couch?"

"I think that sounds lovely."

Val gestures at a doorway and into a dimly-lit area beyond. "The sitting area is through there - you can't miss it. I'll be there in a sec, I want to do something here real quick."

With an "ok", Val has released her gentle hold and you're on your feet heading through the doorway. Then, you get an unobstructed look at the sitting area. It's actually a little sparse: a TV atop a glass-and-metal stand plus a small gaming console on a lower shelf, a coffee table in a similar modern style, an admittedly nice-looking gray cloth couch, and a thick wooden end table (maybe a family bequeathment or thrifted). As you sit and attempt to get comfy, you also notice a lightweight computer desk next to a flight of stairs off to the side.

You've barely had time to situate yourself on the spacious couch when Val emerges from the kitchen doorway, holding a spoon and a carton of ice cream (Ken and Barry's, judging by the distinctive color scheme). Upon approaching the couch, she laughs - you must've made a face.

"I'm not done with my dessert!" She chortles.

"Should I even bother asking how you're still hungry?" You laugh back.

"Oh, I'm not! But the meal's not done until I'm ready to burst!"

She doesn't wait for a response, flopping down next to you on the couch and peeling off the carton's lid - some sort of chunky caramel swirl in there. Val takes a moment to hide a small fresh burp behind her hand, then licks the underside of the lid clean. After setting the lid aside, her hand goes to her midriff, sliding under her loose t-shirt and gently rubbing her gut. Val lets out a sigh and a soft groan, then turns to you and asks, "Would you mind if I undid my button? I love these pants, but the waistband is -hrk- a little too tight right now..."

There's such a rush of blood to your cock that you can only pray that Val doesn't literally hear it. "Uh, yeah, do whatever you need to."

Val's free hand slides downwards and opens the button on her capris in what you assume to be a deft, fluid motion - you still can't see what's going on under that accursed shirt. She sighs again, this time deeper and with obvious relief. She then extricates her hand and fishes out the TV remote from somewhere to her side, powering on the screen. "Any preferences for a show?"

"I'm good with whatever. And besides," you muster all the confidence and charm you can manage, "Somehow I don't think we'll be watching the screen that closely."

Val has to swallow a bite of caramel swirl before replying. "Ooh, such confidence. Well, casanova, I'm going to put on a nature documentary, and we'll see where things go from there."

"It's your house," you grin.

With that, Val does indeed call up a nature documentary - a collection of vignettes following different predators and currently focused on a pride of lions. Val's definitely rooting for the hunters, cheering around a mouthful of caramel cream as a group of lionesses drag down an unlucky antelope. In spite of the tangible sexual tension, you get caught up in the televised moment too, attentively watching the savagery.

As the lionesses finish off their doomed prey, your attempt to recalculate the "right" next move is interrupted by Val thinking aloud. "I've always kinda wanted a cat," she says.

"Yeah?" you reply, feeling a little lame.

Val hurriedly gulps down another bite of her second dessert before replying, "Yeah. I like their independent temperament, but I also like that I can spoil the crap out of them if they warm up to me."

In answer to your curious expression, she continues, "This complex has a no-pets policy. Shame, honestly. I really like this place, but it's just a little too quiet with just me."

You're about to try a slick quip of "I could fix that", but Val still barges on, "Ah well, I'll deal with that later. If ever. Never planned too far ahead, and things have worked out ok so far."

Thrown off-balance by Val's pre-emptive interruption and her unexpected motor-mouth overall, you don't have a follow-up comment ready. She throws you even further off by holding a loaded spoonful of her ice cream in front of your face. "This is real good, you should have some," she tempts.

Chuckling internally, you just open your mouth, figuring that you probably wouldn't get a word in anyways. Val gently guides the spoon past your lips then flips and drags the bowl against your tongue. Yep, the ice cream is pretty darn good - high on sweetness without being cloying, the caramel shot through with a complimentary note of salt which transitions seamlessly to peanut fragments and some chocolate chunks. "Yeah, that is real good," you agree, then a moment later realize you had closed your eyes while savoring the treat.

Eyelids re-opened, you see Val's got the spoon in front of you again, but this time she's holding it backwards, offering you the handle. The implication is pretty clear.

She fixes you with an almost-bashful expression and says, "I know this is sudden, and you don't have to if you don't want to. But -" Val inhales, her muscley body seeming to coil with anticipation, "- would you like to try feeding me the rest?"

Despite your earlier half-assed protest, Val's request singes your ears and sends a thrilling pulse through your core and rippling even lower. Presented so bluntly with the opportunity to intimately hand-feed a girl, you quickly realize you were lying to yourself with your earlier ambivalence. You want this. You've always wanted this. Everything about Val's bearing is pleading for you to do this; her wide eyes, her nibbled lip, the open zipper on her capris. Val obviously loves food (or is putting on a masterclass show), and the prospect of offering her even more sugary caloric pleasure profoundly resonates with you.

"Alright" comes out of your mouth, smoother than you'd expected. You take the spoon and the half-empty tub of ice cream and scoot closer. She settles back against the couch cushions and finally lifts up her shirt, groaning sensually as she caresses her taut, rounded gut. You simply have to stare for a long moment as Val soothes her ache. For all the world she looks pregnant, only hints of her ab muscles stretched atop the distended bulge of her stomach. Her hands barely sink in as she massages herself, flesh tight and springy.

"I ate sooo muuuch," she whines huskily, turning her head towards you, tongue restless on her teeth.

Fuck it. Let's get kinky for real.

Meeting her hungering gaze and mustering what you hope is the right energy, you grin back and whisper, "But you're not done yet, though, are you?"

"No," Val breathes. "Please... Please help me eat just a little bit more..."

"You keep stuffing yourself like this, you're gonna get fat," you chance some teasing, waggling the spoon half-scoldingly.

Val squirms and sucks a breath through her teeth, a fresh tinge of pink appearing on her cheeks. "You promise?"

With all your heart (and all your loins) you burn to say "yes". Val's self-assured hedonism is plainly obvious, but - that quirk. That damn metabolic quirk. How could you possibly overcome that anomaly when she's been trying and failing for months?

"As much as I can," you answer, the carton steadily chilling your fingers. "I can promise I'll help you figure out that metabolism thing. But that's a problem for later, and you want this ice cream right now, don't you?"

Maybe not the most romantic, but Val seems satisfied with that. She grins, "Why are we still chatting? You said you'd feed me!"

"Alright, open up then," You shoot back, digging into the softened dessert and scooping out a heaping glob. The vibe re-established, Val closes her eyes, rests her head on the back cushion, and holds her mouth open lasciviously.

Your cock is ready to tear through your pants, and you're not about to back down from the most obvious invitation you've ever seen. You heft out an oversized spoonful and bring it to Val's waiting mouth, depositing the cold lump a touch more clumsily than you intended. Val chuckles cautiously as she takes in the mouthful of ice cream, eyes still closed, and hums with pleasure as she takes it down with an audible gulp. She licks ineffectually at her lips, missing smears of sweet cream.

Reaching with a finger, you try to brush away some of the mess, but Val gently says, "Don't worry about it. Just leave it. I don't mind being a bit of a piggy sometimes."

Another spoonful on the way, and as you bring it to Val, "So you don't mind if-" only part of this spoonful makes it past her lips. A sticky caramel-rich glob pointedly winds up on her chin, slowly melting into a viscous rivulet and drawing out a slow purring chuckle.

Val's tongue briefly stabs at the glob, repeatedly coming up short, then retreats behind her teeth for good. Eyes still closed she whispers, "If you're going to be wasting food, you better help clean up."

Hovering the carton over Val's chest, you quip, "So if I badly missed your mouth...?"

Val peeks at your antics and grins, but a touch harder. "Maybe not on a first date. But I like the way you think..." She groans then takes a manifestly uncomfortable deep breath. "Please tell me there isn't much left."

A quick glance into the carton. "About a quarter?"

Val immediately groans. A moment later, her hands gently squeeze circles into her bloated tummy and she lets out a tight, uncomfortable-sounding burp. "I can finish this," she hisses. "Especially with your help. Keep it coming, Anon!"

"As you wish, Princess," actually earns you a smile. Another spoonful and Val seems to be slipping back into a haze. She's clearly euphoric despite barely being able to move, her groans and hums growing steadily lustier with each bite. It isn't long before you pull together the last bits of solid-ish sweet mass and deliver them to your new girlfriend.

"Alright, Val," you declare. "This last bit's gonna be an improvised milkshake. You ready?"

In reply, a groan which swiftly morphs into an excited moan. "Please..."

It actually isn't much left, maybe a mouthful, but Val's really packed it away and is clearly feeling every ounce of her feast. You bring up the carton, briefly teasing her lips with the rim before tilting it up and sliding the last creamy dollops into her greedy mouth. Feeling a dash of pervy inspiration once you'd drained the carton, you pull it away and pointedly dribble the very last bits onto Val's chin, neck, chest, and even manage to get a couple sweet drops onto her bulging middle. Val offers no resistance aside from minimal squirms and giggles as each drop lands.

"Looks like I made a little mess," you chuckle with fake innocence.

"Then you... know... what to do..." Val replies with a touch of difficulty.

You set aside the empty carton and spoon, and lean in towards Val's helplessly overstuffed form. Starting around her mouth, every spot of spilled or "spilled" ice cream receives a long kiss and a gentle cleanup from your tongue. Val sighs indulgently as you work your way down, her skin warm, soft, and sweet even before considering the errant cream. When you finally reach Val's gravid belly and kiss it clean, she reaches down and gently holds your head in place. Her skin taut against your face and her innards churning away busily, Val whispers, "Feels good to know... that you did this to me, doesn't it?"

The throbbing in your cock crushes whatever uncertainty you might have mustered. You deeply enjoyed this evening, no question about it. A kiss on her swollen tummy before replying, "I hardly did anything though. You did the lion's share of the eating tonight."

Val's fingers again do that delightful scritching thing on your scalp. "Maybe. But you did the last bit... Got me full to the brim... And that's what counts..."

You can only muster a gentle chuckle and smile against her tight skin. "You're weird."

"Takes one to know one." A few long moments of scalp scratches on one side of your head, and a warm full tummy against the other.

"Still want to be weird with me?" Val asks with a small chuckle.

"Fuck yeah I do," you reply in a heartbeat, and gently pat your ersatz pillow.

Val giggles slowly and teases, "Feeder."

Right on cue you retort, "Piggy."

The two of you share a quiet laugh, then Val looses a groan of genuine discomfort. "I need to shift a bit. And that can't be comfy for you either."

"No," you admit, and haul yourself to a sitting position while Val adjusts her posture as well.

Even after re-adjusting Val seems ready to fall asleep, hands working her full tummy seemingly on their own. The sun has long since disappeared by now and the room is bathed in blue: the nature documentary has progressed to a segment on sharks. You distractedly watch the scenes of reef life and death for a few minutes, but can't refrain from commenting on the night.

"Hell of a first date," you unwisely smarm, glancing over.

Instead of some annoyance or retaliatory snark, Val languidly reaches across the couch and clumsily grabs at your hand. "Yeah, it was."

Matching the tight grip on your hand, you can't help but offer some vulnerability. "I still can't believe it was that easy. Hell, you reached out to *me*!" That gets you an encouraging squeeze, but you continue, "I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. The reveal that this is some elaborate prank..."

Val's eyes glitter in the dim light. "Anon..."

"Val, I'm terrible with girls," falls out of your mouth. "There's no way I'm living up to whatever you imagined me as back as a teenager."

An odd smile, and those sparkly eyes go wide. "No," Val whispers. "You're better."

You try to say something, but Val gently shushes you, effortfully reaching over with her other hand. "I'm... impulsive. Clearly." She says uncertainly. "Everything in me was screaming to take it easy tonight, yet here we are." She pats her bulging stomach for emphasis, and despite the angst the two of you chuckle. "Anon, do you think we're moving too fast?"

The blunt question catches you a little off-guard. A moment for genuine consideration, and you answer, "Ok, maybe a little? We didn't do much talking tonight, heh." Val's face falls a bit, and you scramble to add, "But we'll have plenty of time for talking in the future!"

"Future, huh?" Val grins warmly. "So how much cooldown time will you need before our next date?"

"Ask me in the morning? Let's just enjoy tonight?"

"Sure." Another hand-squeeze and another grin. God, Val is so pretty but that's not why your heart is melting. Maybe it is the romance of the long-unrequited crushes getting together. Maybe it's because she's clearly kinky as hell and advances your boundaries? Maybe it's all of the above and a certain something more. You already know you'll be seeing her again ASAP, and Val knows it too. Neither of you needs to say it, though.

As the TV gushes about the magnificence of the great white shark, you snuggle up next to Val. She offers no resistance, though that may be more due to her looming food coma. A gentle smile and a slight lean against you conveys her unambiguous approval. The two of you lounge on the couch for a while, Val half-asleep with hands on her belly, you with an arm around her shoulders and a finger caressing her sinews.

The show on sharks wraps up, and as the screen goes to commercials, Val yawns and sinks into the cushions. "Mmmmm, I think it's bedtime," she murmurs.

"Kicking me out?" you reply with a smirk.

She looks at you with a lazy smile. "You don't have to leave if you really don't want to, but I'm not going to be much fun." A pat to her turgid belly, then, "I don't always get a food coma, but I'm really feeling it tonight."

You place a hand atop Val's atop her tummy, enjoying the effects of her gorge yet unable to completely banish a thread of uncertainty. Did you genuinely enjoy feeding Val that dessert, or was it just her taking the lead and savoring your attention? She certainly enjoyed the experience at least. But it's probably smart to get to know the woman behind the appetite.

"I changed my mind. Would tomorrow be too soon to meet again?" You ask.

Val yawns again before replying, "I don't think so? Got a fun idea?"

"Maybe not exactly the most creative, but I was thinking just a quote normal date? My job's fairly flexible with hours so we could do a relaxed lunch?"

Val takes a long moment to think. Unable to parse her delay you hastily add, "I had a great time tonight, and I'd really like to get to know you better."

"You'd already convinced me, I was going to say yes," she giggles. "Got some place special in mind?"

"This might sound kinda lame, but there's some cute cafes near where I work. We could meet at one of those? I can send you a specific tomorrow."

A tired but happy grin, "That sounds good to me!" Then after a beat, "Oh and by the way, don't worry about covering for me. I'll pay my own way."

You reply with a raised eyebrow, then she clarifies, "Anon, I'm going to routinely eat way more than you. It wouldn't be fair."

"Sure," you laugh. "But consider the offer open notwithstanding if you decide you need some chivalry."

Val continues smiling but it takes on an odd edge, "This is the twenty-first century. Knights and noblemen and shit belong in the history books."

"But I can still call you princess?"

"Not just can, but should. See, I knew you'd catch on!"

A kiss to her forehead, "Sure thing, princess." As Val giggles, you get a glance at your watch - it is indeed getting a little late.

"Alright, I should probably be going," you say with some reluctant energy. "You're about to pass out, and I've got work tomorrow."

"And a date with me, don't forget!" Val giggles.

"Oh don't worry about that." As you haul yourself to your feet, Val does the same with some huffs and groans.

She stifles another small burp and straightens up, giving her bulging belly one more rub and a couple satisfied pats. "Lemme walk you to the door."

You take Val's hand and traverse the handful of steps to her condo door. Before you can prep some final words, she reaches over, grabs your free hand and pulls it behind her. You take the hint and wrap your new paramour into a hug, tilting your head back for the inevitable parting kiss.

Val pulls you tight, holding you for a few seconds, perhaps deliberately letting you feel the affirming thrums of her life - heart beating against your chest, her belly churning and bubbling away, her sturdy chest rising and falling, breasts feeling larger than you expected and a soft warm contrast to her muscular form. She stares into your eyes for the last moment of the night, happiness and desire refracting from them, then she leans down for you once more. She goes slow, soft breath ghosting into your mouth and making sure you really feel the warmth and flavor accrued on her lips. You nearly float off of your feet once again, tightening your grip around Val, savoring every heartbeat and delicately nibbling up at her. She tastes so good, and it's not just from the dessert, almost as though her very essence could be exactly what you've been missing.

The tender moment is interrupted by an audacious intrusion of flesh - Val unexpectedly slid her tongue into your mouth, damn near down your throat. You gasp, more out of shock than discomfort, but in the next moment Val retreats, pressing her tongue against the roof of your mouth as she slithers it back out. A final flick of your lip with the slick appendage, and Val stares you down with a lupine grin. She gently gyrates a hip against you, immediately honing in on your throbbing cock.

"Gotta make sure you come back for more," she purrs.

"You're absolutely certain you don't want me to stay?" You insist, and slide a hand down her firm, sleek back and grip a handful of meaty ass. Val's butt is all muscle, yet perfectly enjoyable to squish and grope. Until she tenses her glutes with a giggle and you're pawing at warm stone.

"Yes, Anon, I'm certain. I need to sleep off all this dessert," a deep yawn that reverberates into your chest. "Fuck, I really carbo-loaded tonight. Mm, I'm already crashing, despite your best efforts."

"Alright," you concede, and stretch upwards to give Val one last peck on the lips. She squeezes your butt real quick before finally releasing you, grinning.

"I'll text you when I get home," you add.

"I can basically promise I won't see it until the morning."

"Still gonna do it."

And with that, Val practically shoos you out the door and you're heading back towards your car.

~~~~~

The drive home isn't nearly as exciting as the drive out, despite the clear road and clear night sky. Nothing on the radio seems to fit your mood, nor any of your streamed playlists, so you make the drive accompanied only by the hum of your tires and the watchful waxing moon. It's easy enough to autopilot your way back home, and soon enough your mind is wandering. All thoughts about Val, of course. Brief recollections on whatever (little) you know about metabolic issues swiftly give way to outright fantasies. Scenes of Val scarfing down whole tables of food, imagining her eyes lighting up with every new plate, maybe even the occasional cartoonish bite out of the plates or silverware.

What you wind up fixating on the most is speculating on her plus-sized shape when (not if) the two of you manage to figure out her quirk. There's so little present softness on her aside from her breasts, it's hard to honestly guess. Maybe that's a good augur, and she'd turn out to be top-heavy, growing a massive pair of heaving, jiggly melons. She's probably already primed to manage potential back pain, too. Maybe it'd go the other way, new poundage settling mainly onto her hips, thighs, and ass. Val's already pretty shapely from the waist down, and the prospect of her getting softer and wider is also pretty darn alluring. Then again, she really seems to like her tummy, perhaps she'd be pleased with a big doughy gut?

Your thoughts are starting to turn fantastical again by the time you reach your street and start approaching your own apartment complex. Setting aside a half-formed scene (imagining Val as a chubby and expanding devil-girl), you ease your car into a parking spot and kill the engine. A deep breath and a couple of calm moments to get your libido somewhat under control, then it's back to your apartment, cozy yet oddly forlorn tonight. The promised "got home safe" text to your new girlfriend, then a quick shower with a happy ending to drain away the day's twists and tensions. Toweled off, old alarm clock pressed back into service, and cell phone back on the charger with a long and distrustful glare. Still no acknowledgment from Val; she probably is indeed deep in a happy food coma. Exhaustion finally seeping in, you curl into the blankets and try to recover your fantasies about Val all chubbed up, but sleep takes you in no time.

~~~~~

An unfamiliar buzzing yanks you back to awareness. After a flash of confusion, you recognize the sound as belonging to your old-style alarm clock and paw at the device to silence it. Not a minute later your phone goes off, this time its normal all-to-chipper chimes and not electronic madness. Sighing and growling, you blindly fidget with the screen but do haul yourself to a sitting position. Birds are chirping outside your window, but this new morning greets you with dim, gray light. A cloudy day. Good weather for sleeping, but alas you have responsibilities. Val's finally returned your text from last night and added an emoji-festooned "good morning" message, which immediately puts a huge smile on your face. You send back a slightly flirty "good morning" of your own, then it's into yet another morning prep routine. It's almost a surprise when nothing out of the ordinary happens during breakfast and your commute - maybe the wacky bullshit is slated for later.

You practically skip into work. Nobody seems to notice your lightened mood, and that actually annoys you just a bit. But soon enough you're settling in at your desk, once more ready to chip away at the nightmarish tangle of international timber-trade regulations. Maybe it's your unusually energetic mood, but the company intranet seems to be running a touch slow. The corporate reference servers always had a tendency to get a little shaky, especially if the weather was even slightly imperfect, but somehow you want to suspect that today's lag and hiccups are just a bit excessive. Regardless, your patience pays off: it takes a little while to sift through a repository of "veteran notes" on Southeast Asian business practices and helpful contacts, but you soon come away with a near-comprehensive checklist for your nascent ironwood deal.

Reaching a stopping point, you glance at the workstation's clock and you realize you've been in a work trance for nearly three hours. With a groan, you pointedly blink your eyes a few times and gently massage out some strain, then straighten out your back and flex your shoulders. The chorus of synovial pops and cracks scold you for your bad posture, and you get to your feet for a little walk and a well-earned break. But not before mashing the "save" hotkeys on your work about five times. Bathroom pitstop, then a visit to the water cooler and drink station to restart the liquid cycle.

As you're occupied topping up your second cup, you hear somebody approach. Before you have the chance to look up, the newcomer talks at you, "Ey, Anon! Wassup, man, been a minute since I last saw you!" From the distinct dashes of arrogance and accent you immediately identify the speaker.

"Hey Carlos! Just resetting my brain after a power work sesh."

With a lean angular face, slicked-back hair, and a slightly-too-wide smirk, Carlos invariably puts out an unmistakably douchey aura. It doesn't help that he deliberately leans into that vibe, but the hell of it is he's actually one of the nicest people you've ever met. The two of you wound up going to the same college, though not the same programs, and stayed in touch once you'd wrapped up the studies and partying. He even referred you for your current job.

"Hell yeah, productivity. Uh, Bossman had you working on something with timber?" Your friend and colleague asks.

"Yeah, some ironwood from Indonesia. I think the buyer wants do do like some real custom furniture?"

Carlos snickers.

"I swear, if you're prepping a 'woody' joke..." you warn.

"Nah, that's too cheap even for me," he retorts. "No, what I was chuckling at was all the moving pieces for something like that. No wonder you needed a power sesh."

A sip of water, then you say, "It *was* productive though. I found this area on the company L drive with a bunch of notes and tips on navigating that market, almost like a ready-made guidebook."

Carlos' smug facade cracks a bit, "Whoa. I've never seen anything like that. Sounds like quite the find. Could you pass me the link?"

"Sure, I'll get that to ya once I'm back at my desk."

"Alright bro, I gotta get back to it."

"Me too," and after a fist-bump the two of you part ways back to your respective cubes.

Refreshed and revitalized, you log back in and realize that you're actually close to actually having a deliverable for your project. Keeping your promise to Carl, you pass along the repository path in the work chat tool, then realize you'll be able to keep the other promise you made to Val last night. You dash off a text asking if a lunch date is too short-notice, expecting a redirect for dinner, but just before you can put your phone away it buzzes with a reply from your brand-new blonde girlfriend.

"Not at all a problem, I can make it work. Where do you want to meet up and when?"

As you alluded to last night, you mentally rack through the locations in that nearby food court. Lotza's is out, because it's a franchise and because you ate there yesterday. Variety and all that. A cute alternative quickly comes to mind.

"How about the Bent Palm Bistro? They do good lunches and solid coffee."

"Solid coffee sounds gross lmao"

You send back an annoyed emoji and Val retorts with an animated laughing smiley.

"Nah but seriously that sounds fine to me!"

"The coffee is in LIQUID FORM there. Very important that I make that obvious!" you clarify with a grin.

Val fires back another barrage of laughing faces along with, "Ok, Mr. Details. Meet you there at 12?"

You lock in the time with her, then buckle down to tidy up your final product. You're not quite being trusted with executing that ironwood deal on your own, but your supervisor is expecting you to do basically everything short of making the actual purchase and reception calls. So, the end result of your research and digging should be a step-by-step plan, with the exact businesses and officials that would be involved. What you've got fits the bill already, but you still put in a little time organizing it and throwing on a little fancy formatting. At about a quarter to noon, you're satisfied with the result and send it along to your supervisor plus a note that you might be taking a long lunch.

Hard-won satisfaction gives way to excitement as you step away from your workstation and prepare to make your way over to the Bent Palm and meet up with Val. "Normal meal this time," you tell yourself. "We’re gonna talk to each other about stuff that isn't kink. Normal couple things."

#writing #romance #fat #WIP #OC #yeah the formatting is probably awful #yay getting to learn yet another platform #I reserve the right to edit these things as much as needed after the fact

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vicepeddler · 3 months ago

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Alright let's do this thing. First chapter of a WIP top-to-bottom rewrite of an old novel-length fic.

Content: Second-person male POV, 18+ subject matter, grown-up angst, fat appreciation, food appreciation

"Step into the shoes of a twenty-something white-collar man who is both starting to succeed at work but also haunted by whispers of ennui. An unwelcome morning shock is followed by a much more welcome shock as a distinctive acquaintance from years past reaches out, hoping to rekindle an old crush."

The elevator pitch is WIP too.

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POSITIVE INFLUENCE - Chapter 1

It is the start of a Tuesday in early May for the town of Northeaston, or "Anytown" for the hip: concrete suburbia struggling to conquer rolling hills, crashing into indomitable old-timey charm and piling into a modest but shiny city center. The sun has just peeked above the horizon, casting golden light across the land and into windows, stirring souls much like those you may already know, yet not quite the same. Eyes begin to open, lips take their first conscious breaths, hands flex and grasp for the first time in hours - a perfectly average morning. Except: eyes more readily take in the sight of an abundant human form, lips more easily curl into smiles at the prospect of a big meal, and hands are more accustomed to the feel of soft curves or warm rolls beneath them. This is a world whose inhabitants, quite simply, are down with the thickness.

Which brings us to you.

You are a twenty-something white-collar man, for our purposes we shall call you Anon. The warm golden tide of sunlight reaches your bedroom window and washes over you. You grumble something and turn your back on Sol's warmth, trying to miser a few more moments of sleep before beginning your own day.

A horrendous cacophony explodes from your nightstand. Not the prosaic clanging of your smartphone's alarm clock, a genuine electronic pandemonium, like an armful of dial-up modems screaming in terror before being devoured by an industrial shredder. Yanked immediately and thoroughly awake, heart pounding, you nearly fall out of bed scrambling over to determine exactly what the hell is going on with your device. Your phone screen is a roiling malebolge of alphanumeric characters, jpeg fragments and scintillating rogue pixels, and just as you're wondering if the formerly-trusty device is about to explode, a calm eye of sorts emerges amidst the digital storm.

Transfixed, you see some characters appear, clear as day, spelling out "Are you ready for this?"

All you can do is blink. As you behold but fail to process the spectacle, the first message disappears, replaced by "Chaos everywhere".

You stupidly gawp at the screen, and just as the gears finally begin to turn and you resolve to throw the cursed device out the window, stillness falls and the screen goes black. Two moments later, the reassuring routine of the boot cycle begins, the anodyne logo of the manufacturer lighting up the screen. Soon after, the boot process completes normally and the device cheerily displays the lock screen, a colorful abstract design.

With your free hand, you rub a temple and hiss to yourself, "what the fuck", hesitantly plugging in your passcode with the other thumb. The smartphone completes its boot cycle as though nothing happened - not a single pixel on your home screen seems to be out of place. You sigh, note the time, and manually disable the day's wakeup alarm, giving up on some extra shuteye and shuffling into your morning routine.

The spectacular malfunction of your phone is by far the most exciting thing to happen in months, and that realization gets you a touch reflective as you freshen up. Is this going to be your life from here on out? Morning coffee, modestly-challenging job, shuteye, then do it all over again for another thirty-plus years? Maybe get a house somewhere in there (if the earning situation keeps up, this'll actually be in the cards in a couple years)?

Good lord. Your frontal lobe has just finished baking and you're already thinking in terms of years. And there isn't even a lady in the picture, plus-sized or otherwise. After spitting out some toothpaste and rinsing out your mouth, you take a moment to stare down the man in the mirror. You're not exactly displeased: handsome by your own reckoning, though you perpetually wish you could make it to the gym more no matter how many ads or slogans you see extolling "soft boys". What does displease you is a refreshed sliver of white: a gray hair that first appeared front-and-center during a particularly tough round of final exams back in college. A moment with tweezers and the unwelcome memento mori is washed down the drain. With that, you let out a deep sigh, consciously draining some angst from your chest, which makes space to notice a gnawing sensation a bit further down. Perhaps adulting won't seem so dire after some breakfast.

While slouched into a kitchen chair and picking at some toast, your phone buzzes again. After your bizarre wakeup, the sound sends a lightning bolt through you, and you glance over half-expecting the thing to be on fire.

No fire, no malfunctions, but there is a surprise - a text from a number you don't recognize.

"Hey, is this Anon? You might not remember me, but we kinda knew each other back in high school."

Immediately followed up by, "OMG, I'm such an idiot! This is Val Sojka, if the name rings a bell?"

There's enough emojis to slow your parsing of the messages, but some teenage memories come rushing back. Val (short for Valentine, which she hated) was a striking figure in your class to say the least: Blonde, blue-eyed, fair-skinned, and athletic. Well, "athletic" is underselling it: she was a muscular six-foot-three, outweighed most adult men, and improbably was one of the all-time best tight ends on the football team, boy or girl. She's hard to forget.

Your pulse picks up as you reply, "Yeah, you've got Anon. I remember you! We were in Ms. Rosenthal's history class junior year, and we did that group presentation on the Cold War?"

"OMG yes! I knew I got the right Anon! lol so I know this is random, but can we catch up and chat sometime soon?"

You blink a few times and your heart skips a beat. This has to be for a good reason, right? No sense in looking a gift... muscle babe? in the mouth.

"I'd love to! But I've got to get to work and I'm having a weird morning to boot. I can try and find a minute later to hash out a time?"

"Ok! My schedule is actually pretty open, so just text me when you can!"

With that, you fire back a quick acknowledgment and finish your preparatory routine, but now infused with elated, nervous energy. As you hop into your car and head for work, you realize that you're actually badly out of the loop regarding your old friends. Sure, you're still close with Carlos and the dudes in his orbit, but he's about the only one you'd stayed in contact with. Your social media accounts are basically for show, and your circle was never particularly active online either.

As you round a corner and approach the drab block of your office, two thoughts strike you. First, if nothing else, (re?)connecting with Val would be a great chance to catch up with your old group by proxy. The second thought draws a smirk - maybe Val ran into the old "football player curse" and put on a little chub in the intervening years.

~~~~~

Morning in the office is a fluorescent blur. Spreadsheets, the same tired jokes about the weather, the same dirtlike breakroom coffee, stealth glances at well-fed office lady butts in plus-sized pants or skirts.

Around noon you take a much-needed break back to the real world, and trek out from the building, walking towards a food court a few minutes away. There's a few options, but a certain sandwich shop, the local Lotza's franchise, is your favorite. Not for the food, though it is solid.

The line stacked up before the ordering counter is actually a blessing in your book, because it gives you plenty of time to steal glances at a seemingly-omnipresent chubby cashier girl. Her black work jeans are practically sprayed over thick hips and a luscious tummy pooch, and her uniform shirt seems to strain with every motion of her plump middle and arms. A nametag, pinned conspicuously near plunging cleavage, declares the owner of said cleavage to be one Syl. A grin never leaves her round face as she effortlessly weaves small talk in between taking orders, and a short chestnut ponytail bounces around cheerfully as she gestures and works.

Soon enough you're face to face with Syl the cashier. A hand sinks into her denim-clad flank as she politely awaits your order.

"Hi, just a number 3 with an unsweet tea, please."

"Sure thing," she says with a smile. "Anything else?"

"Nah, that's it."

"You sure? You look pretty hungry to me." Now a grin, and a wink.

"Temptation," you laugh. "Just what I need! But no, I'm good."

She punches in your order to the screen while evenly retorting, "It's a lot easier than you'd think. Especially for a regular like you."

You must've replied with a stupid face, because Syl laughs again.

"Always gotta try!" She hands you a receipt. "It'll be ready in a few minutes."

A spin by the self-serve fountain, a double-check that you're indeed selecting the reserve of unsweetened tea, then a few awkward minutes with the other hungry patrons at the pickup area. The staff is working fast, and you've barely settled in to wait before you're scooping up your tray and making your way outside for some fresh air. An unbidden vision of Syl growing fatter in real-time, her strained uniform growing tighter, and tighter, seams starting to give... You mentally swat away the spicy but ill-timed fantasy and find a free table.

The number three is a turkey sandwich, stacked with a quotidian array of lettuce, tomato, and mayo, but with a rather uniquely quality toasted bun. You've barely swallowed the first bite of your meal when a gruff voice erupts to your side.

"She did WHAT? Oh, not again..."

Managing not to jump, you turn towards the voice and take in a sturdy but scruffy blue-collar guy leaning against a nearby table. One hand holds a cell phone to his ear, the other rubs a gray-streaked temple. Judging from the fluorescent hi-vis vest (partially hiding a Dropkick Murphys t-shirt) you guess the guy's working at one of the nearby construction projects.

"Well if little miss Carol actually apologized this time, I'll make sure my daughter does too."

Silence on this end of the line, then, "Right. I appreciate that, I suppose. Yes, I'll be able to pick her up after school today. And yes, I'll talk to her. Again."

With that, the guy hangs up and slams a hand onto the table, cursing not quite under his breath. He glances up and makes eye contact with you. You know better than to play innocent, so you simply play the situation straight. "Sorry, man, wasn't trying to eavesdrop. Everything ok?"

His body language is hard to get a fix on. After a tense moment he says, "Not really. My daughter got into another fight at school today."

The man's stark admission isn't particularly surprising, but it's still jarring. "I'm sorry to hear that. Teenager?"

A "yeah" plus a glance off to the side. The next moment, the man's gaze is back on you.

"Honestly, I'm at fuckin'... wit's end, dude. If you've got any ideas, I - nah, that's stupid. I shouldn't be bothering you with my problems."

Something about his weary body language grabs at you. "It's ok. What kind of advice? Dunno how much help I'd be, but I can give it a shot."

The man visibly slouches a touch more and sighs, "You sure?"

You nod and set your sandwich down. This seems serious.

"My daughter Lisa, she's fifteen and... Ugh, it's so crazy, man. She's turned into a total wild card, I don't know where it came from. She could be a complete hellion one moment, and the next she's apologizin' from the bottom of her heart."

After a long pause, "I just don't know what to do. Part of me's thinkin' about military school. All this is on top of her getting arrested last week!" He quickly clarifies, probably to answer your raised eyebrows, "They let her off with a warning, but still. I'm just worried that she's on a fast track to some real trouble."

Gesturing at a nearby seat, you finally reply, "Geez, that does sound serious. But maybe we can put our heads together."

The man extends his hand, and the two of you shake. His grip is calloused and firm, but respectful - he doesn't try to yank your arm off. "Duane."

"Anon. Nice to meet you."

After Duane sits, a small smile cracks his face. He smells a bit like an ashtray. "To be fair, the arrest was for some bullshit loitering charge. I got into way worse trouble when I was her age, heh. Thank God we didn't have the internet back then."

He chuckles again, and you offer a small laugh in return.

"So," you start cautiously. "I'm not a dad, and I don't know shit about raising any sort of kid, much less a teenage girl. But if you're asking me to talk off the cuff..."

"I think I am."

"It sounds like your daughter might be acting out for attention? It's a real common thing for teenagers, or so I've heard."

Duane gazes past you and watches a few cars roll by on the nearby road. "I'd considered that," he eventually replies. "Everything's been fucked since the divorce."

Taken aback, you avoid stammering, "I'm sorry?"

"Don't be. There's a reason I got custody. But that's a whole 'nother can of worms."

Another pause, but Duane continues monologuing a bit. Maybe he just needed a sympathetic ear. "I know I haven't been around much. I'm busting my ass to keep a roof over our heads, but I know little Lisa isn't seeing that. She just sees her dad isn't around much."

"That's gotta be real tough. I couldn't imagine, Duane."

"Yeah..."

An awkward pause, then an idea. "The two of you must bond over something, right? Uh, maybe there's a class that she really enjoys?"

Duane's eyes seem to light up a bit. "Lisa gets ok grades, but now that you've mentioned it - we took a trip to the Carbon Spires National Park last year. She took so many pictures with her crummy lil' phone, I saved some cash and got her a proper digital camera that Christmas!"

"Hey, that's something!"

"God, I've been so burnt-out from work, I barely noticed she's been snapping up tons of pictures." Duane scratches his stubbly chin pensively. He hammers a fist onto the chintzy table, drawing a couple nearby sets of eyes. "I'm going to set aside more energy for her. She's my goddamned daughter. She deserves nothing less!"

You grin at your surprise guest. "She's got to know you're busting your ass, and I'm sure that even a quick photo review session would mean a lot to her!"

Duane grins at you and grips your shoulder. Internally you hope he isn't smudging your shirt, but you're more charmed by this moment of human connection. "Maybe she'd be into some photography lessons," he muses. "It'd be a way to keep her out of trouble too.."

The two of you share a quick laugh, then with a metallic scrape, the older man is back on his feet. "Man I picked a winner, huh?" He chuckles. Before he turns to leave, he fishes something out from his vest pocket. It's a business card, a little bent up but otherwise fine. "Hey, Anon, you're alright. Dunno if you'd want to keep in touch with ol' Duane, but if ya do..."

Accepting the card, you reply, "Thanks man. I just hope I gave you good advice!"

He turns a bit more, but another laugh, "Can't hurt! And if worse comes to worse, I'll figure something out. I'm a big boy after all!"

And with that, he's dipped into the sandwich shop, doubtless an easy mark for Syl's upselling charms. You do actually load Duane's contact info into your phone, praying that the device won't eat the data with another digital seizure some day.

The rest of your meal is blessedly lonely. Soon enough, you've tossed your trash and are headed back out of the restaurant, though not before stealing one more glance at Syl. This time she's unwittingly struck a pouty pose, chubby hip checked to the side as she glares at an apparently-misbehaving register.

You only allow yourself a moment, and are promptly pounding concrete on the way back to your office building. Thoughts of your eventful lunch plague you, but Duane's predicament just doesn't stick. Maybe you push him and his daughter aside because you've already done all you reasonably can to help. In spite of your altruistic instincts, of course it's Syl, that rubenesque sandwich goddess, who takes up the most space in your mind.

"You look pretty hungry to me..."

Quit thinking with your dick, man. Yeah, you are in fact hungry, maybe because you've been single for too long. Besides, she probably says that to everybody.

~~~~~

You push past the glass doors of your office building, heave your way back up the stairs, and yawn. Though the morning's phone incident was close to your normal wake-up time, you still blame the malfunction for cutting into your energy. Need coffee. Roll past the cubicle farm and into the little breakroom. There's a pot ready, so you load up a paper cup, blow across the rim, and stare into the liquid darkness, thinking. Not about Syl or Duane, or even Val for that matter. The change of location has gotten your head back in the game, and now you're mulling over customs laws for a demanding client who wants a shipment of fancy Indonesian ironwood timber.

The sound of nearby footsteps pulls you back to the moment. You look up from the caffeinated abyss and spot your coworker Kelly, emerging from the shared fridge with a flat container and a slightly-concerned expression. Though she's about your age, Kelly has a powerful "team mom" aura, an impression only enhanced by her plump busty figure and disarming squirrely smile. "You doing ok, Anon?" she asks.

You return a wry grin. "I'm having a weird day, and that ironwood contract makes me want to die."

"Awww," she bursts out simultaneously laughing and cooing. "You having a delayed case of the Mondays?"

"Guess so, heh."

Without another word, Kelly holds out her arms, offering a hug as she frequently does. You let her come in, and return the brief embrace with your free arm. It's comforting to be sure, but you don't dwell on the sensation - Kelly is very much taken and this is a professional environment after all.

She pulls away, apparently satisfied with the change in your expression or bearing.

"Guess I needed that," you quip.

"That's what they all say! Listen, Anon, boss man gave you that project because he knows you can handle it, and I believe in you too!"

"Thanks, K. I gotta get back to it."

Kelly gives you a polite wave and returns to her lunch container (something with rice), and you start back to your cube. A few moments later, you're settling into your chair and trying to find your center amidst the busy buzz of the office.

One last distraction though. You break out your phone and finally dash off a text to Val. "Hey, this morning's been crazy, but do you still want to hash out a meetup time? Also, can I ask why you've reached out? Did something happen?"

A reply comes surprisingly promptly, "I just wanted to see you and to reminisce. Is that suspicious somehow lol?"

You're trying to read between the lines and failing. Is Val actually hitting on you?

Gather more information. "Gonna be honest, I'm pretty out of the loop too, but last I saw you were pretty steady with Dale."

"Don't worry about him," comes back with a cluster of cheeky emojis.

Your eyes bug out and you need a moment to compose your next message, "I can't help but be worried about Big Dale, Val. If you're asking me to go behind his back, he will literally kill me. Maybe eat me too, like with a fork."

There's a long pause on the other end, then you see the bouncing triple dots indicating an in-progress response. You count off a solid 100 seconds before Val's next message finally lands: "Dale and I have been split up for months, but yeah I guess you wouldn't have a way of knowing that."

In spite of the angst-soaked words, your heart soars, and a smile immediately cracks your face. And there's more.

"Anon, to tell the truth, I had a crush on you back then and I think I still do. Sorry to ruin the surprise lol."

Sheer elation nearly knocks you from your chair, but before you can begin to compose a reply, Val drops another bomb: "To keep telling the truth, senior year I was going to ask you to prom. I made a deal with Dale and everything. But you got to Jen literally one day before. OMG I was so jealous!"

You must've made some sort of weird noise, because your cube neighbor rolls back and gives you a concerned look. He returns to his workstation after you give him a halfhearted "I'm ok" gesture.

A breath to recenter, and you decide to stick with the reminiscing. "Val, that's simply amazing. And I thought that prom already had so much drama around it. Lena and I made a deal too, but I still thought she was going to kill me when she actually saw Jen on my arm."

"OMG right? I remember that! And I remember how happy Jen looked... See, this is why we need to catch up, Anon!"

A glance up to the heavens, and a subvocalized "I don't know why I deserve this, but thank you God".

Looking back at the screen, about all you can muster is a simple, "When and where do you want to meet?"

"Dinnertime, so about six-ish and at my place?" Val attaches her current address and instructions to reach her specific condo unit.

You do a little mental math before sending your reply, "Would you mind if I headed there straight after work? I'll probably be a bit early if I do that."

"Perfectly fine! I'll see you this evening!" The added heart-studded emojis are probably just Val being over-the-top girly. Probably?

The afternoon is intractable. Constant false-starts on finding the appropriate customs forms and regulations are driving you nuts, but you do eventually nail down the applicable statutes in the waning hour of the workday. Having reached a stopping point, and way more excited about what awaits you on the outside, you're promptly hauling ass to your car and down the road. For a moment, until you run into the rush hour. Plus an accident. Plus some roadwork. All told it takes you almost 45 infuriating minutes to reach Val's place, though it probably won't be so bad next time.

~~~~~

Val lives in a rather unorthodox modern-style condo complex with generous covered parking. Double-checking to ensure you're in a visitor or undesignated spot, you shut down the engine and practically skip through the hallway toward Val's unit. Everything is clean and bright in desaturated earth-tones, the condo doors painted in a gradient of calming grays and browns. Val's door is a pale taupe, somehow almost purple-ish. For a moment you consider sending a text to announce your arrival, but decide instead to just go for it. Thrice you smartly rap your knuckles on the door. It feels fairly solid. A moment later the latch clicks and the door swings open.

The first thing you do is tilt your head back slightly, and you're eye-to-eye with Val Sojka for the first time in years. Her eyes are crystal-blue, nestled under prominent cheekbones and framed by a fair heart-shaped face. The fluffy bun topping her head is every bit as blonde as you remember and a touch messy. A calm smile plays on her lips, with an unplaceable energy bubbling beneath the surface. You can feel your pulse thrumming from your chest up into your temples.

"Heyyy! Glad to see you could make it, Anon! C'mon in!"

Val reaches out, perhaps to touch your shoulder, but stops short, instead beckoning you over the threshold. So much for her getting chubby - Val's arm is every bit as wiry and sturdy as you remember, maybe even moreso. In spite of yourself and your own preferences, your gaze sticks to her forearm for a long instant, fascinated by the taut interplay of tendons and muscle as she gestures.

Somehow you're across the threshold and the door latches behind you.

"Anon, are you ok?"

You blink and your mind returns to your own body. Val's front door opens into a rather wide tiled space, a dining table to your right and a kitchen area to the left. Covered cookware and scattered packaging tells you that Val was cooking even before the aroma of sauteed garlic hits your nose.

"Wha? Oh yeah, sorry. Guess I'm a little out of it, today's been crazy," you answer a little sheepishly.

"That's alright," Val laughs. "Sounds like you could use some dinner. Chicken alfredo sound good? Oh, wait - gosh I should have asked first!"

"Relax, I'm not a picky eater, especially if somebody else cooked. I'm sure it'll be great," you say politely.

Val grins and leads you over to the table, and you glance at her figure while she double-checks the table setting. Yep, still just as tall and imposingly-built as you recall. Her outfit is a mix of complement and concealment: knee-length capris that hug her powerful thighs and show off her calves, paired with a loose purple t-shirt draped over doubtlessly shredded abs. A moment later, you sit.

You barely have time to fiddle with the weighty silverware before Val swoops by the table with a steaming pot of pasta and spoons a generous portion into your bowl. She sits across from you and barely fits a double-portion into her own bowl.

"Bon appetit!" She giggles, and digs in without a reply from you.

And with that, you start in too, twisting up a small tangle of fettuccine, dripping in creamy sauce. It's good: first thing you notice is the smooth, savory hit of the sauce, counterweighted with a strong but not overpowering note of garlic. Something has you suspecting that she made the sauce from scratch, and the gentle not-quite-crunch of the al dente noodles adds to your enjoyment. Taking another bite, you go for a chunk of chicken. Breast meat, and a good cut, flavored through without drying out at all.

"This is really good, thanks for cooking and for having me over, Val." You don't even have to try to sound appreciative.

Val slurps a stray length of pasta past her lips, licks away a blob of cream, and swallows heavily before replying. "Thanks!" She beams, "I've really gotten into cooking, and I just plain kind of like doing nice things for my friends."

"So we're friends already?" You grin.

"Why wouldn't we be?"

"Got me there."

Another awkward bite or two, and you peek over to see that Val is seriously outpacing you, even counting her larger portion. Somehow you manage to keep a poker face and attempt to restart the conversation. "So... Uh, I managed to spoil one of the reasons you wanted me to come over, but wasn't there another?" You ask, not certain how to address Val's confessed crush.

Val again has to swallow before speaking. "Honestly the crush was the big one," she giggles, and your heart again soars. Contrasting with her imposing physique, Val's voice is on the higher side and very girly. Her giggles immediately set you smiling. "But I have been in touch with who I think was your old ladyfriend cabal?"

Now it's your turn to down a bite of pasta before replying. "You mentioned Lena and Jen. How about Zoe and Vicky?"

"Vicky! I knew it was something with a V," Val snaps her fingers. "Well, lemme start from the beginning. Lena and I ran into each other at the mall a few months back. We wound up next to each other in line for a food stall and got to talking."

Val takes another small bite, "She's doing good. Got a biology degree, works at some sort of lab or a clinic these days? Could never really keep the details straight. We actually do little meal meetups pretty regularly, it's how I met - re-met? - the others."

You let Val continue as she counts off one-by-one on her fingers. "I'm not 100% on what Jen did after high school, but these days she works at her family's cafe. Zoe got some kind of business-related degree down in Novaville, and she does something with quality; still with Matt actually."

In spite of yourself you smirk. Sounds like the two teenage sweethearts are still treating each other right. Val doesn't notice your expression. "Vicky got an engineering degree, I forget where. She's always really busy but she loves her work."

"Geez," you exhale. "Now I feel like an asshole for not staying in touch."

"Hey, this is a way of staying in touch."

"Well how about yourself?" You ask.

Val's demeanor darkens a little bit. She pushes around a clump of pasta for a long moment before answering. "Well, I couldn't get a sports scholarship or an academic scholarship, and... well... the money situation wasn't great for a degree, so I started working pretty quick."

"No sports scholarship?" You blurt out, probably unwisely. "That's ridiculous!"

More pasta nudging before Val's sigh and reply. "I know. But it all worked out."

You feel a little warm under the collar. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Val fixes you with a small smile, "It's alright. Really. It sucks, it's unfair, but that's life. I got started as a personal trainer. Surprisingly lucrative, at least it was for me."

She finally spears a morsel and downs it before continuing, "Saved up some money, did some thinking, and started taking night classes for a finance associate's degree. I'm... doing ok for myself now."

Something tells you that Val is not a good keeper of secrets, but you don't pry. "What matters is that things worked out, right?"

"Yeah, haha. Got a nice place, made some new old friends, and now..." Val's eyes seem to glint in the evening light, "I've got my old teenage crush trapped in my lair." Her smile is toothy but lacks any real menace.

"Val, are you asking me out?" You laugh.

"I think we skipped that step," she retorts. "You are actually single, right?"

"Yeah," you reply a tad hesitantly. "Honestly all of this just... seems too easy? Too good to be true?"

"Sometimes nice things happen for no particular reason. You got lucky, the stars aligned from your perspective. Why overthink it?" Val breezily props her chin against her knuckles.

You need a moment to think about the conversation's turn, ironically enough.

"Speaking of thinking," Val interrupts your nascent internal monologue, "I think I could use some chocolate. You ready for dessert?"

"Sure," you answer, immediately moving to scarf down the last remnants in your bowl. Truthfully the rich pasta was more than satisfying, but you're presently very concerned with ingratiating yourself to Val.

She rises to her feet and strides across the dining area. You make sure to steal a glance at her toned backside as she walks, especially when she bends down and reaches into the fridge. Does she know you're staring?

The next moment you've snapped your gaze innocently forward again, and Val glides back to the table, depositing a neatly-arranged plate of brownies and two fresh glasses of milk.

"Made 'em today!" Val says brightly before scooping up one of the chocolaty bricks and taking a huge bite.

Weighed down by all the carbs and butter, your stomach gurgles uncomfortably at the sight. Still, you want to be a good guest, so you tear one of the brownies in half and sink your teeth in. It's admittedly fantastic - the cold temperature is refreshing and adds a nice feel of resistance to the fudgy matrix. The unmistakable smooth complexity of dark cacao sinks deeply into your gums and tongue as you chew - Val must have also sprung for primo ingredients here.

You're nibbling at the half-brownie, easing the treat into your belly, when you spot movement. Val's going for seconds. Or rather, seconds and thirds, alternating bites from fresh brownies in either hand.

Val catches your eye, and you must've made some sort of face, because she shoots you an impish chocolate-flecked smile. "What?" She chortles, "I'm a girl. This is chocolate. Do the math!"

Closing your eyes and putting on what you hope is a sage expression, you reply, "It's rude to comment on others' eating habits."

Val smirks back at you, then pops the last hunk of one brownie into her mouth and says around it, "Well what if I'd like you to comment on what I just ate?"

This throws you, but only for a moment. Was Val always this much of a trip? Evenly you reply, "Well, you're bigger than me and you look like you're still working out. It makes sense you'd have an appetite, though admittedly this isn't exactly performance food."

Val sucks some chocolate from her thumb then extracts the digit with a soft pop. Reaching for a fourth (!?) brownie, she replies, "That's because it obviously isn't!"

"Val, I'm confused. Where are you going with this?"

She gulps down a mouthful of chocolate and looses a quiet moan before bluntly addressing you, "Anon, I've been eating like this for the past three months."

Pieces, threads, bits of evidence, appear in your head and start floating around like some mental conspiracy board, but nothing's quite lining up. You think for a long moment. Even if Val had a ridiculous metabolism - not implausible, it'd match her powerful physique - three months of meals like this would surely stick something to her.

"You're pulling my leg."

"I promise you I'm not. And again," Val's face takes on a curious expression, "I'm directly asking you to comment on that fact." She then pauses her chocolate binge and poses gently, making sure to flex her arms and chest. With a half-eaten brownie in either hand, the net effect is incongruous and amusing.

"You're sure?"

"Yes!" with noticeable annoyance.

"Wow. Well," you start. "Three months of a heavy surplus and no fat gain seems... strange. Though you probably know way more about bodybuilding and macros and stuff than me."

"Anon," Val fixes you with a serious look. "This is also hard to believe, but I never paid attention to that stuff either. I just ate whatever, worked out, and got stronger. I have never done a proper bulk-and-cut cycle."

"Honestly? That sounds like the exact opposite of a problem."

"It's the entire problem!" Val almost yells but pulls herself back. "Anon, I... Haven't told many people this but - I like being strong, but I... I actually really, really want to be curvy."

"You want to get fatter?" Even to you, in this more enlightened place and time, the words feel surreal coming off of your lips.

"Fat? Heh," There's the merest glint of mania in Val's blue eyes. "I want to be huge."

She just laughs at your wordless staring reply.

"And that is the other actual reason I wanted to talk and catch up," Val explains. "I wanted to see if your old feeder magic still worked."

Ah shit, not that stupid rumor again.

"Val..." you groan, tiredly pinching the bridge of your nose. "This would be a lot for any day, and today was so fucking wild already..."

"I'm sorry... Should I drop it?"

"No," you groan again. "Just gimme a second to think."

You probably take over a minute before speaking again. "Ok, one thing at a time. Val, how long have you wanted to get fatter?"

Val dabs her mouth with a napkin. Aside from the specimen you tore in half, the brownies are all gone. She stifles a small burp, then puts on a pensive face and replies, "Honestly, probably for about as long as I can remember. I can't point to any specific experience or memory off the top of my head."

"Interesting. Now, on to this feeder business," Your tone hardens a bit. "I will not deny that I like bigger girls. That said, I did not feed or encourage any of the girls in my orbit to gain weight. Not Lena, not Zoe, not Vicky."

A pause, then with an authoritative upturned index finger, "I'll admit a sorta for Jen, but only because she was clearly underweight and trying to change that for a long time."

Val looks at you with an unreadable expression. Confusion coupled with interest? "Why the rumor then?"

"Damned if I know. Teenagers are awful. Maybe because I picked up the tab for sides or extra helpings once in a while? Maybe because I stuck up for my friends when dipshit jocks tried to bully them?"

Val seems to flinch at the "dipshit jocks" comment, then takes a long moment to digest this revelation. One of her hands is under the table, probably rubbing her belly. In spite of the moment and yourself you can't help but wonder how that washboard stomach looks when filled with huge meal. "So you're not actually a feeder, huh?" The disappointment in her voice is impossible to miss.

You nearly choke on your sip of milk. After recovering, you admit, "I could be? Er, I am? I... suppose I identify as one? On paper? Internally. But it's not something I've ever intentionally done. It... just feels like something intimate. Like something you should only do within a couple."

Val grins at you, "So what if we became a couple?" As she speaks, she reaches out and gently grips your hand. Sure enough, she's got some slight weight-lifter calluses, but her touch radiates nothing but tenderness, femininity, and desire.

Never mind your heart skipping a beat, your whole body seems to miss a few entire moments from sheer excitement.

"I'd like that," comes out of your smiling mouth with no conscious action, and your heart soars.

#writing #romance #fat #WIP #OC #so apparently I've been writing “x reader” fics the whole time?#trying and failing to understand the genres and “rules” in the fic space #but also I exclusively write OC fictions?#HELP

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