Fairy Tale Friday 22
Once upon a time, in the highest
tower of the Solitude Arms, there lived a beautiful, kindhearted,
lonely girl named Betty, whose soft, meaty belly and thighs kept her
separate from everyone. One morning, Betty woke up hungry,
for buttery cheese omelets, pancakes, and salty, chewy bacon.
These things are delicious, and breakfast is the most important meal of
the day, she reasoned. She wanted to be satisfied, and she
could always have salad for lunch.
On the bus to work, she ignored the looks from other riders, which said, "Don't sit here. Keep moving." She stood for the whole ride, clinging to the handrail with sausage-like fingers. At noon, a baconator with fries, and because the days are so long, a snickers bar at three for energy. No big deal, she'd walk home for exercise.
After a long day, she got off the bus at Lumplust's grocery store. As she passed a construction site, someone said, "Whooo, how 'bout some butter for those rolls?" There was laughter. Her stomach growled.
Betty stared into the refrigerator cases. She felt eyes on her, and turned to meet the gaze of a skinny red-haired boy in an apron stocking shelves nearby. He pointed to a package of gingerbread men, saying "Those are my favorite. Just nuke them for a few seconds." She smiled at his friendliness.
With a long lonely evening ahead of her, Betty heated up a plate of cookies and minutes later, the house smelled like love. The boy at Lumplust's was right, they were delicious. She remembered the
humiliation at the construction site, and bit off a cookie man's head. Betty went to bed, and had weird, sweaty dreams of apron bondage, red hairs everywhere.
The next day was the same thing all over again. Frustrating bus ride, bagel with cream cheese. Jokes about the wide sway of her huge ass
from walking stick figure Mary Wang in accounting, taco platter. Disappointment, loneliness, coconut cake. All the same.
There is traffic on the bus ride home. Betty nods sadly at the sight of the holdup - an accident at the construction site - a falling sheet of glass has neatly severed the head of some poor day laborer. She makes it to Lumplust's just before closing.
Betty stared into the freezer case, and again, the feeling of being watched like an itch on the back of her neck. She turned to find the red-haired stockboy, this time pushing a mop. "You're late!" he said, and Betty blushed at his noticing. "Looking for dinner?" Betty nodded self-consciously, but the boy grinned, and opened the case. He pulled out a box of frozen diet egg rolls, and said "Sometimes I eat a whole box of these."
Betty took the box from his hand. Their fingers touched briefly.
At home that evening, she devoured the egg rolls and licked her fingers, slowly enjoying her food in a way other people never seemed to do. Afterwards, she headed off to a night of lonely sleep, and weirdly erotic dreams of a chorus line of egg rolls, dancing, and spazzing, sprays of fragrant grease flying from their crispy bodies. She awoke with a strange yet pleasing pang of guilt. She did not care about the stares on the bus. Betty felt sexy.
The office was in turmoil, however, and teary faces reported that Mary Wang had tragically burned to death in a freak space heater explosion. Betty's stomach lurched. "Crispy low fat egg rolls," she whispered under her breath, to looks of great distaste from her co- workers.
The rest of the day was a blur. She worked, but did not think, and when the work day ended, and she boarded the bus for home, she avoided Lumplust's. She would not go there today. She stopped instead at O'Fool's, and sat at the bar to order a double cheeseburger. The bartender, Seamus McShaughnessy, looked her over. "How about a nice salad," he said, and his blue eyes twinkled. "No thanks, a double cheeseburger," said Betty.
Seamus looked to the two towering beauties sitting nearby drinking martinis. Their skin was jet black and perfect, and their naked arms were like mahogany whips. "Double cheeseburger, bejaysus," he whispered to them, and they laughed. Betty's own arms were like soft loaves of bread, and her thighs felt like hams on the barstool. She walked out of O'Fool's and home to her lonely apartment, collapsed in a chair and cried herself to sleep.
She was startled awake by a knock at the door. Betty opened it to a blood stained Lumplust's apron, a mop of red hair, a smiling face and an outstretched hand holding a bag of instant mashed potatoes and slim jims. "I am fat," said Betty. "I am disgusting."
"You are beautiful," said the stock boy. "You are perfect. Where is
your microwave?"
Betty and Bernie lived happily ever after, making hot, fat, sweaty love every night. She moved out of the Solitude Arms and into Bernie's place, and they sleep together in a giant fortified bed, and when anybody fucks with his woman, Bernie makes dinner that night. And that always makes her feel better.
The End! Happy Halloween! Eat lots of candy!
On the bus to work, she ignored the looks from other riders, which said, "Don't sit here. Keep moving." She stood for the whole ride, clinging to the handrail with sausage-like fingers. At noon, a baconator with fries, and because the days are so long, a snickers bar at three for energy. No big deal, she'd walk home for exercise.
After a long day, she got off the bus at Lumplust's grocery store. As she passed a construction site, someone said, "Whooo, how 'bout some butter for those rolls?" There was laughter. Her stomach growled.
Betty stared into the refrigerator cases. She felt eyes on her, and turned to meet the gaze of a skinny red-haired boy in an apron stocking shelves nearby. He pointed to a package of gingerbread men, saying "Those are my favorite. Just nuke them for a few seconds." She smiled at his friendliness.
With a long lonely evening ahead of her, Betty heated up a plate of cookies and minutes later, the house smelled like love. The boy at Lumplust's was right, they were delicious. She remembered the
humiliation at the construction site, and bit off a cookie man's head. Betty went to bed, and had weird, sweaty dreams of apron bondage, red hairs everywhere.
The next day was the same thing all over again. Frustrating bus ride, bagel with cream cheese. Jokes about the wide sway of her huge ass
from walking stick figure Mary Wang in accounting, taco platter. Disappointment, loneliness, coconut cake. All the same.
There is traffic on the bus ride home. Betty nods sadly at the sight of the holdup - an accident at the construction site - a falling sheet of glass has neatly severed the head of some poor day laborer. She makes it to Lumplust's just before closing.
Betty stared into the freezer case, and again, the feeling of being watched like an itch on the back of her neck. She turned to find the red-haired stockboy, this time pushing a mop. "You're late!" he said, and Betty blushed at his noticing. "Looking for dinner?" Betty nodded self-consciously, but the boy grinned, and opened the case. He pulled out a box of frozen diet egg rolls, and said "Sometimes I eat a whole box of these."
Betty took the box from his hand. Their fingers touched briefly.
At home that evening, she devoured the egg rolls and licked her fingers, slowly enjoying her food in a way other people never seemed to do. Afterwards, she headed off to a night of lonely sleep, and weirdly erotic dreams of a chorus line of egg rolls, dancing, and spazzing, sprays of fragrant grease flying from their crispy bodies. She awoke with a strange yet pleasing pang of guilt. She did not care about the stares on the bus. Betty felt sexy.
The office was in turmoil, however, and teary faces reported that Mary Wang had tragically burned to death in a freak space heater explosion. Betty's stomach lurched. "Crispy low fat egg rolls," she whispered under her breath, to looks of great distaste from her co- workers.
The rest of the day was a blur. She worked, but did not think, and when the work day ended, and she boarded the bus for home, she avoided Lumplust's. She would not go there today. She stopped instead at O'Fool's, and sat at the bar to order a double cheeseburger. The bartender, Seamus McShaughnessy, looked her over. "How about a nice salad," he said, and his blue eyes twinkled. "No thanks, a double cheeseburger," said Betty.
Seamus looked to the two towering beauties sitting nearby drinking martinis. Their skin was jet black and perfect, and their naked arms were like mahogany whips. "Double cheeseburger, bejaysus," he whispered to them, and they laughed. Betty's own arms were like soft loaves of bread, and her thighs felt like hams on the barstool. She walked out of O'Fool's and home to her lonely apartment, collapsed in a chair and cried herself to sleep.
She was startled awake by a knock at the door. Betty opened it to a blood stained Lumplust's apron, a mop of red hair, a smiling face and an outstretched hand holding a bag of instant mashed potatoes and slim jims. "I am fat," said Betty. "I am disgusting."
"You are beautiful," said the stock boy. "You are perfect. Where is
your microwave?"
Betty and Bernie lived happily ever after, making hot, fat, sweaty love every night. She moved out of the Solitude Arms and into Bernie's place, and they sleep together in a giant fortified bed, and when anybody fucks with his woman, Bernie makes dinner that night. And that always makes her feel better.
The End! Happy Halloween! Eat lots of candy!