I remember it well. I was eleven years old, and Hannah, only nine. She was a chubby girl, not an inch over four feet tall and probably a good twenty pounds overweight. She carried this weight unevenly, with the bulk of her flab resting on her gorgeous belly and leaving her less rotund limbs, neck and face behind. Her choice of clothes was often tight around the middle to boot, and I was always entranced by her beauty.
I wasn't particularly good friends with Hannah--it was her brother whom I spent most of my time with, when I went to their house--but there were occasional days when her brother and I, and she, would sit lazily on the couch and watch TV or play a few rounds of Smash Bros. One such day was, quite literally, a magical one.
Her brother paused the game to go do something briefly, and then it was just Hannah and I, alone, on the couch. I was perched on the backrest of the couch, with my feet where most people's butts would be, and my butt where most people's heads would be. Hannah, dressed in blue yoga pants and a shirt that seemed a few sizes too small, was splayed out on the right-hand side of the couch. She propped her left leg up on the couch, and the opposite arm over the armrest.
I couldn't help but notice that her left hand rested squarely on her soft and exposed belly. She ran her fingers over her pudge absentmindedly, slowly kneading the dough. I was so transfixed that I didn't notice that she had caught me staring until she spoke, "does my belly look fat?”
I looked up at her eyes and that was when I realized she had probably been staring right at me. “I don’t know, I might need a closer look,” I cautiously replied. I wasn’t about to squander this moment!
“Okay, then, get down here and look. Get real close and tell me.”
Was she serious? No, she was only being sarcastic. But still, I could always play dumb! I hopped down and stuck my nose right next to her creamy dome. She jiggled her belly for me, as if I wasn’t already convinced it was definitely a mound of belly fat I was staring at.
Despite laying on her back, she had a lot of volume to her belly. It was smooth, no stretchmarks, no “double-belly”, she had a pronounced “innie” belly button. “hmmm…” I said, faking curiosity, “I definitely see some fat here,” I poked her belly, “here, and here”, I slapped my hand down on her stomach to demonstrate where the fat was, and this made her laugh. I think she’s ticklish! “Yeah, ok, you’re kinda fat I guess. But I’ve definitely seen fatter girls before.”
“But I’ve worked so hard to get this big,” she pouted, “how much weight do I need to gain to beat those other girls? I’m already a hundred pounds.”
“Oh, the fattest girl I’ve ever seen was well over four hundred pounds, and she was only seven. You’ve got a long way to go, hon’.”
“So what do I have to do? Just eat lard out of a hose? Do I just eat a bunch of donuts until I'm over 400 pounds?”
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