Not that I needed clothes to pick out Hannah Hammond, my Junior-year roomie.
She was the only skinny senior left in our graduating class by the time we left the Academy. Long brown hair, big blue eyes, and a figure that most people (not me!) would kill for. Big boobs, full hips and a pert booty; all with a tiny waist and oozing a natural charisma that made it so easy to fawn all over her. She was a hit at the Academy—everyone loved her, and she knew all the ins and outs of the place because of it.
We had spent an awful lot of time together before we graduated. She and I met up just about every day after classes for big lunches, went back to our dorm room to watch TV or do homework or whatever, and then we usually had dinner. If you want the truth, she was one of the reasons I was as fat as I was. I didn’t know it at the time, but Hannah was a serious obesophile. So when a big two-thirty-and-some-change me wobbled into her dorm room, all lazy and just coming off of the realization that she liked her body, it must have been her wet dream. Seriously, all of her friends wound up as blimps, but she gave me the extra attention and encouragement I needed to break the three hundred pound mark before Winter break.
I had been thinking long and hard about this—even before I had gotten her message on Facebook—and I knew, as she walked through the McDonald’s doors, that…
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