As you're lying on top of Ted, your enormous stomach chooses to gurgle, loudly. As Ted pushes you off a little, he says 'Hungry? I know a nice little buffet in the mall.'
'Buffet?' you ask, as you roll off Ted and sit up. 'A minute ago you said I was too fat, I eat too much, and now you're offering me food?' You've been to a few buffets, back in Chicago, but only with friends - your Dad wasn't big on them. Most of your magnificent mass came from the food your Dad hauled home, not from public gorging. In fact, you're not sure if you like buffets - sure, there's lots of good food, and people around you also chowing down, but you were never sure that people weren't staring at you too. And, you hardly know this guy - what will he think of your appetite? After all, it doesn't look like he eats very much....
'That was before I discovered there's some muscle under your flab,' Ted replies. 'I don't like guys who are just fat, but I like strong fat guys who like to eat.'
Your tummy rumbles again at the word 'eat', and your mouth waters. Ted suggested the buffet, the hungry part of your brain says, take him up on it. After all, now that you've been on top of him, you know that he likes you.
'And judging by that sound,' Ted continues, pushing hard on your gut, which gurgles again, 'you like to eat. I like you a lot. And I like to watch guys eat. I like to eat along with guys who are eating lots. Maybe some day going out with fat guys who eat will help me put on a little weight.'
'Well, maybe,' you reply, still a little suspicious. You find Ted incredibly attractive - but in your experience, beautiful, muscular guys like Ted only hang around with fat guys in order to make fun of them. Why should Ted be different? Especially when he's already made a crack about how big you are. Still, he was lying on top of you a minute ago, and obviously liking it. 'Where is this buffet, and what does it cost?' you say.
'It's just a few minutes away, in the Clifton Heights Mall. We can take my truck.'
'You've got a truck?'
'Yeah, it used to be Dad's, I use it for everything.'
'OK, but first I have to find some clothes that fit.'
'You shouldn't keep clothes around that don't fit,' replies Ted. 'There's a big guy warehouse outlet near the buffet, if you need some new threads.'
'I don't have much money,' you say, 'I haven't had a job in a while, and Dad's been between jobs for two months.'
You poke around in the boxes for a bit, but you know there isn't much that really fits you anymore. And you don't have the money to buy more clothes.
'Well, if you don't have any money for clothes, maybe I can help,' says Ted. 'You pick out some jeans and t's, and you can pay me back for them later.'
'Well, thanks,' you reply. You wonder why this handsome guy would offer to buy you clothes, but you do need the clothes...and maybe he honestly wants to be a friend. 'I'll squeeze into something, and then let's go.'
You pull an old pair of khakis from a box, and a golf shirt. Trying to get the khakis buttoned you realise you're going to need to lie down to do them up. Ted watches you struggling, then says, 'You want a hand?'
'Sure, but I'm not sure I'll be able to do these up without lying down,' you reply. Ted's strong hands grab the ends of the waistband and pull them together. Usually you hate people to touch you, especially on your fat belly, but you find you hardly notice Ted's knuckles digging into your flesh. Together, the two of you finally get the khakis done up and you pull the old red golf shirt over your head. The materials stretches to skintight as you pull it down over your chest and broad belly. You try to do up the buttons at the chest but it's hopeless, the material is stretched so tautly across your vast, soft pecs.
'Wow,' says Ted, 'those are tighter than tight. You really need new clothes, don't you? I'll be glad to help you out with new jeans.' You start to head out and he follows at your side. Going down the hallway his hand occasionally bumps your protuberant lovehandle.
'Dad, I'm going out with Ted for a while,' you call down the hallway to the backyard.
'OK,' your Dad shouts back.
You step out the front door and...
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