The proportions on the Port's foremost former sexpot meant that Harper literally could not make her arms rest at her sides.
Harper had this habit of swinging her arms from side to side whenever she walked anywhere. At her new peak size—a constantly shifting goalpost in her adult life if there'd ever been one—Harper's biceps kept the sleeves of her black denim jacket so packed with pudge that she couldn't have put her hands in her pockets even if she could reach them. Thankfully, the Rio was one of the few places around town where her knuckles wouldn't scrape the doorway when she waddled in, damp and breathless.
"There she is~!" Sam's loud accent pierced the empty lobby as she threw her hands up invitingly. "Come'n gimme a hug Har, it's been way, way too long!"
Harper barely had the energy to lift one hamhock arm to wipe her brow, let alone puff out a breezy greeting to her good friend Sam. Before Harper could waddle boobily over to the counter and lean on it, Sam had already started towards her, arms spread wide in pre-hug.
"You give the best hugs, honey." Sam closed her eyes warmly as she smooshed herself into Harper's prodigious frontal flab. "Ohhh I've missed you."
"You too." Harper managed, her voice squished and tiny as she struggled to breathe. "Can I... get something to drink?"
"Of course!" Sam clicked her tongue, parting halfway from their hug and smiling wide at her favorite customer. "One Dr. Pepper comin' right up."
The volume and dropped R's in Sam's accent said everything that Harper had ever wanted to know about where Sam was from. She was a transplant from New York that moved down South to open the Rio and get out of the city back when Piper was still Harper's chubbsy-ubbsy mini-me. The Black family had been coming off-and-on ever since thanks to cheap tickets and odd picks for movies, but now that both of her girls were too busy to spend time with their fat ol' mama, Harper had been coming more and more as a solo act.
Not the least of which because of the preferrential treatment that Sam seemed to give the huge and hungry mom of two.
"You want your usual, Har?" Sam asked while she worked the soda jerk. "I got a slushie machine since y'been gone, and I think you're gonna like the flavors..."
"Hhm?" that familiar tickle from Harper's submerged solar plexus fired up again at the mention of a sweet treat. "Don't tell me—"
"That's right!" Sam beamed brightly, red lips parting into a wide, toothy smile. "I got Cherry and Blue Raspberry and Cola and Cotton Candy aaand I even got somethin' called Twang-A-Lang—I don't know what that last one is, but I figured that you'd wanna try it."
Harper's nervous habit of pressing her fingertips into her flanks flared up again. She knew that she ought to be cutting back—she'd promised Piper that she'd try—but all of that just sounded sooo good. It wasn't like there were that many calories in slushies, right? She could afford to get something if maybe she got a smaller bucket of popcorn. Just this one time?
"Oooh I like the sound of that." Harper swooned lickingly as she pressed her belly flat and wide against the ticket counter. "Gimme... ooh... gimme the Twang-A-Lang."
Harper's nostrils flared as the smell of butter and grease and salt and chocolate and popcorn swelled around her, making her feel all mushy. She took a deep breath as she crossed her pillowy arms over the countertop and rested her heaving tits on them and the space between.
"It sounds..." she smacked her lips, synapses sizzled and teased by the promise of a new flavor she'd yet to try. "Mmm it sounds yummy."
"Comin' right up—extra large tub'a popcorn while we're at it?" Sam asked hopefully from over the shoulder as she turned to face the slushie maker. "I got a deal goin' on—Big Big Big for Small Small Small!"
Harper continued to fidget nervously with her flabby front, her words failing her at the prospect of having to flex her atrophied willpower. Her fleshy face mooned a little as she made a half-conscious attempt at trying to say no.
"Yeah, pile it on." Harper's lips twitched into a little smile. "You know just how I like it."
"You betcha—I'll drown this tub in butter, no extra charge." Sam winked. "You want I should put milk duds in it this time?"
"Ooh..." Harper panted, hot and bothered and pressing herself warmly against the glass. "Please..."
To a food-addled fatty like Harper, watching Sam work was mesmerizing. The kernels and the syrups and the pumps and all this machinery, going into making the perfect meal for a day at the movies that was all just for her, Harper felt all warm and fuzzy at the thought of it. For a long time, Sam had been one of the few people around Daven's Port that Harper would waddle out of the house and talk to—not the least of which because she knew just how to tempt Harper into treating herself in all the best ways. If Piper had seen the monstrosity that Sam had whipped up for her mother, she'd have chewed Harper's ear for sure...
"Just you today?" Sam smacked her gum as she slid the tub over the counter. "No Piper, no Parker?"
"No, they're both..." Harper struggled to tuck the tub of buttery bliss between her acre of boob and canopy of arm fat. "Too busy to hang out with their mom lately."
"Shame—that Pipey's a real cutie, I miss havin' her help out around the theater."
"Mmm." Harper's full lips were already wrapped firmly around the straw as she suckled down the sweet, sweet nectar of Dr. Pepper. "She'll come back to work in the Summer."
"She better—you can keep the other one." Sam curled her nose to one side. "Parker, or whatever."
"You say that like I want her." Harper chuckled fatly into her chin mound before struggling to crane her no-neck for another sip.
"Here, you look like you got your hands full—I'll walk you to one of the theaters." Sam picked up the massive popcorn bucket and stole a few kernels for herself. "Whatcha wanna see, hun?"
"Something..." Harper's flabby brain struggled to think straight with so much distraction within arm's reach. "Oh I don't know, you pick. You have good taste."
"I most certainly do." Sam winked again and ventured a little touch of her fingertips along the hammy swell of Harper's denim-packed upper arm. "You wanna watch somethin' sexy—c'mon, I'll put on somethin' with lotsa guys with their shirts off in number 4 for ya."
"Oh you." Harper muffled out a husky, simple laugh. "Thank you, Sammy."
"Any time, hot stuff." the younger woman hip-checked the monolithic mommapotamus. "Someone's gotta treat you right in this town."
In a lot of ways—at least, before the kids—Harper used to be just like Sam. She saw a lot of herself in the yankee transplant—taller than most girls with dark, curly hair and caramel-colored skin with a big laugh and lots of personality. When she was growing up, people always used to think Harper was Italian, but it wasn't until she met Sam that she understood why—if it hadn't been for her accent and the fact that she didn't have the Black Family Signature Shelf, Harper herself might have believed they were cousins. In fact, when she first came to town, and Harper hadn't been quite so rotund, they got mistaken for kin quite a lot!
Of course, now that she'd been living in Daven's Port for a few years...
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author
