Author's Note: Thanks for the patience this weekend, I've decided to take a break this from "The Queen of Cabin Nine," I'll return to it next week. This week I have a 2,500 word update to "The Double Date" and a 3,000 word one-off called simply "Hangry". I hope you enjoy!
Thanks for your support!
-Polaris
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Hangry
By Polarisdreamer
I didn’t know much about you the first time we laid eyes on each other, just what I could see of your captivating appearance. You were tall, with big breasts, dyed blonde hair, brown eyes, toned thighs, and a curvy caboose to match. My eyes naturally gravitated to your most attention-grabbing asset, but I was briefly able to pull my eyes away from your bountiful cleavage just long enough to read the name printed upon your name tag: “Helen.”
You were waitressing in a tasteful figure-hugging uniform that emphasized your gravity-defying curves. The black waist apron you were wearing obscured your stomach, the eyes of most men probably wouldn’t linger long enough to notice, but I’m not most men. Upon a closer look, I could see you were carrying just a hint of some soft stomach fat. To most, such a thing might be described as a flaw, easily overlookable considering your larger bust size, but for me the hint of stomach fat gave you yet another curve to tease my imagination with.
As you showed my friends and I to a table, you were friendly, and quick to joke around with us, you even ‘lost’ your balance and wiggled that big butt of yours firmly upon my lap. I thought you were just flexing your extraverted personality to ensure a big tip from us, but as we returned every other week or so, and quickly became regular customers, it became obvious that all the smiles, the flirting, the sitting on my lap, weren’t for tips, your eyes were always on me. They were always on me. It was like they were just begging me to make a move, but fresh out of a long relationship I wasn’t eager to jump back in. Besides at my core, I was shy. So, for a few weeks I made whatever excuses I needed to, all to avoid your restaurant.
Only after disappearing for a month, and doing some much needed self-care and soul searching, did I truly realize how much I missed your laugh, your smile, your effortless wit, your interested attention, and yes, that ass and those tits of yours. I didn’t have your contact details, so I told myself that the next time I saw you, I’d take the plunge and ask you out.
The next time my friends and I came in, I guess we both had the same idea, because you promptly beat me to the punch, writing down your number on a piece of receipt paper and slipping it to me when I got up to use the bathroom. We agreed to grab dinner the next night. I still remember the first thing you said to me when we were sitting down waiting to order.
“I’m warning you, I’m hangry tonight. So, I’m not responsible for my actions right now.” You explained clearly worried about coming off too pushy, “Haha, I’m probably going to order way too much.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I replied, not minding one bit, “Don’t hold back on my account.”
“I won’t.” You replied unwavering. You were dressed to impress, in a pair of high-waisted jeans, and a smoking hot yellow crop top that gave my eyes plenty to look at. You could have acted whatever way you wanted, and it still wouldn’t have caused me to form a single negative opinion of you.
Conversation with you was effortless, you always had something to talk about, and always wanted to hear what I had to say. The food arrived, and to my amazement you started eating like you’d been fasting for days. Ravenous from start to finish, you polished off an appetizer of mozzarella sticks all by yourself, practically slapping my hand away when I reached for one. I admired your passion for food.
Your entree was a hearty impossible burger, which also didn’t stand a chance, I don’t think I’d ever seen someone eat so fast. You finished well before I did, and succeeded in convincing me to give you my French fries while I finished my wings. I proposed dessert, and you eagerly accepted, ordering a large brownie with a large scoop of vanilla ice cream melted on top.
With a supremely stuffed stomach you were finally satisfied. Your mood rapidly improved as your belly continued to bloat and swell. The charm I knew you possessed came out in spades, so much so, you were even happy to poke fun at the food baby you’d developed over the course of our dinner and joke to me about how I’d never believe that only five years ago, you’d been an elite college volleyball player in pristine physical condition. I nearly lost it when you finished your story and unbutton your pants so your food-baby could: “Breathe.”
You showed me pictures of how thin and fit you used to be, but personally I preferred the hourglass hottie you’d filled out into, and I made sure you knew that. Neither of us seemed to want our date to end, so after a serious make-out session, you came with me back to my place and stayed the night.
Although you were not officially my girlfriend those first few weeks, we saw each other constantly, whenever we didn’t have to work. The more time I spent together with you, the more I realized that your personality differed drastically depending on whether or not you were hangry. I’d heard of the term well before we met, but you gave it a new meaning. The irritability you’d experience when too much time elapsed between meals was astonishing. It was like I was dating two different people, both beautiful, one angel and one little devil.
I had to be cautious when dealing with you. When you were full, we had no problems, but when you weren’t… it was like every emotion you experienced was irrationally heightened. So, I started doing what any sane person would do, keep you well fed and happy at all times.
A few weeks after our first date, we were walking around an Oktoberfest fairground, when you gave me a verbal warning:
“I haven’t eaten all day...” You softly mumbled, while gazing upon a crowded snack bar and resting a hand upon your constricted waist.
“Let’s grab some food then!” I quickly offered quickly steering you toward the snack bar so you could eat your fill of pretzels and drink your fill of beer. I couldn’t resist sneaking a peek of your cleavage in your dirndl, it looked even larger than usual for some reason.
Sometimes though, when I’d walk with you or hike with you, there would be no easy snack bar to save the day. I quickly learned that the best way to handle your hunger induced outbursts was to carry snacks with me at all times. You liked energy bars, gummy snacks, and salty stuff like chips or nuts.
Whenever you would express your hunger-induced frustration or moodiness I’d rapidly ensure that you had something to gulp down your throat. With my methods refined, keeping you stuffed and satisfied became easier and easier. There were still bumps along the road, but I always knew the correct way to respond.
A few months into our relationship, at your insistence, I took you clothes shopping. We spent hours in the local mall, going from store to store, so you could try on every single cute outfit that caught your eye. I’d come prepared with snacks, but you ran through those after the first two hours. Leaving me a little defenseless when you modeled a pair of noticeably tight sweatpants for me.
“Be honest, do these make my ass look fat?” You questioned, testing me.
I’d known you long enough to know that you were proud of the fat on your ass and chest, just not really anywhere else. So, I responded accordingly, “So fat. Your ass has never looked better.”
“Aww! Thanks, babe,” You hummed before some insecurity escaped from your luscious lips, “but is it like… too fat?”
“I don’t think your ass could ever be too fat.” I replied not sure how else to respond.
“I don’t know, I just feel like if I bent over in these…” You wondered, as you did exactly that, causing the material, already straining against your bountiful butt to rip cleaning across the seams in a loud sounding:
*Rip*
“F*ck my fat ass! No way!” You gasped, turning towards the changing room mirror and gazing at what your butt had just done.
“I mean, if you insist.” I joked, misreading the temperature of the room.
“Babe, this is serious! These were size 14! I’m usually a size 10-12! I mean I have some size 14’s in my closet too, but I mean… F*ck. Have I put on weight? Do I look fatter to you?” You squawked, demanding to know. The unsettled rage in your voice conveyed one thing to me, you were hungry.
“Fatter? You’re not fat in the first place! It must be the brand; you know different brands cut women’s clothing very differently.” I blabbed unconvincingly in my reply. In truth, part of me knew you’d been gaining weight. I’d been feeding you so much and you were such a shameless glutton all the time it was unavoidable that you’d put on a few pounds while dating me. Most of it when to your tits and ass, but it was apparent at a glance that your belly had also expanded in roundness a few inches.
“I can’t concentrate right now… I’m not feeling good.” You stomped, recognizing the origin of your discomfort, and adding, “I think I need something to eat.”
“I’ll grab you a snack before you turn into the hulk.” I promised, as I ran to the food court as quickly as I could before you had an honest to goodness meltdown.
The crisis at the mall came and went like they often did. I bought you some larger clothes, and for a time, you seemed to forget about the fact that you’d outgrown most of your old wardrobe after only a few months of dating me. After a few more months, things between us got more serious. I believe it was around our year anniversary that we scheduled a time to meet each other’s families.
You got your good looks from your mother, and your temper from your father. There was a lot of love in your family, and I could see why they liked to spoil their only child rotten. I was ecstatic to show you off to my family, I’d never had such an hourglass hottie like you, and my father instantly took a liking to you for the same reasons I did. Sometimes it seemed like you got along with my dad better than I did. After getting to know you, my mother even described you as the daughter she always wanted, but then again, my mom was a bit of a food pusher and you didn’t refuse a single plate she shoved your way.
After the winter holidays, we moved in together, something that didn’t exactly bode well for your rapidly expanding waistline. I noticed with each passing week that I pampered you, that rounded midriff of yours was pooching over your waistbands a little bit more and more. When you sat down it was even large enough now that it was starting to spread outward onto your lap. I did most of the cooking in our relationship, but even my cooking wasn’t always enough for you. One night, after you got home from work, while you were laying on the couch digesting you surprised me with an unusual request so soon after a meal.
“Can we please order pizza? I didn’t get enough food for dinner.” You explained while flipping to a channel you liked.
Rather than question why you were hungry after eating so much for dinner, I just responded as I always did, “No problem. Hangry girls must be fed.”
“Good man.” You laughed, as I got to ordering the pizza, and you asked me to put in an order for some dessert while I was at it.
Your bad habits only got worse from there. With me to take care of you, you got lazier, stopped going to the gym and started eating even more often than usual. Your mood was much better than it had ever been, but your weight problem was quickly spiraling out of control. When we met you were my hourglass hottie, now your frame was overflowing. You still had your curves, but you’d gotten decidedly chubby everywhere. Chubby belly, chubby butt, chubby thighs, chubby hips, chubby arms, chubby face, and chubby breasts. It seemed that gravity was finally catching up with you. Each and every step you took now caused your fatter body to wobble and jiggle.
Since I preferred you with the extra weight, our physical chemistry got better and better. Probably giving you enough confidence to fuel your ongoing denial about how large you’d actually grown in the time since we started dating. One day, probably a year and a half into our relationship, you were getting ready to meet up with some old friends from college who were in town. Your old volleyball teammates.
I wasn’t invited to your little girls’ night, but you did want my opinion on how you looked. Ripped jeans and a crop top were a bold move for someone whose body was now overflowing with fat all over the place, but to my eyes, you’d never looked better. And I conveyed as much to you when you asked me my opinion.
“Aww!! Thanks for the confidence boost babe. Do you mind if I raid the fridge before I go? I’m meeting my friends for dinner, but they’re always late. I’m getting hangry just thinking about it.” You explained, as your eyes gazed over toward the kitchen. Your mind was no doubt on food right now.
“We don’t have much at the moment, maybe some of my birthday cake is still in there though.” I replied, as you quickly licked your lips and waddled off to confirm my suspicions. I got a look of your ass, as you did so, it was growing as thick as it was wide. I wondered what your friends might say about your weight gain, but I decided it was none of my business. But since I didn’t want you to come home all upset, I decided to hedge my bets.
“Hey babe! Maybe you should bring a snack in your purse tonight too, y’know to hold you over until they arrive.” I proposed.
You replied with your mouth full, “Great idea babe! Will *burp!* do!”
After stuffing your face with three slices of chocolate cake you set out to meet up with your old friends and the rest was history. Your friends teased you about the noticeable change in your formerly athletic figure, and you decided that you wanted to diet.
This was the roughest patch of our relationship. In restricting yourself, your mood soured, and since I was the closest person to you, you often took out your hangry emotions upon none other than me. It was a rough few weeks, but it wasn’t all bad. I loved watching you exercise more often. The way your assets moved and grooved as you got your sweat on turned me on to no end. But more importantly, I saw some light at the end of the tunnel one night when you extended me an olive branch of sorts.
“It’s not fair you get to eat pizza! I’m on a strict diet and can’t eat my favorite foods! You shouldn’t eat that stuff around me! It’s making me so hangry!” You fumed in your workout gear, gym shorts and sports bra. Your belly was catching up to your tits and ass in terms of grith, it was only a matter of time before it rivaled them.
So, I decided to tempt you, just a little, “Maybe you need to treat yourself to a cheat day? Take the edge off.”
After thinking about my proposal, a moment, that smile of yours reappeared, “Babe, that’s a great idea. I’ve been good this month, I deserve some pizza, gimmie!!”
And just like that, the diet was over. The exercise continued, which I encouraged to the best of my abilities, but with food you’d lost all control. The fat floodgates had opened. Over the course of the next year of our relationship, your gain rapidly continued, in fact it didn’t really plateau until a whole two years later.
Now over 300 pounds, you’d transitioned from chubby to fat and come to accept that you’d really let yourself go. You never really liked the weight you gained, but I positively loved it, and I think you loved that I loved it. You loved your indulgent hedonistic lifestyle even if you were not thrilled about the fattening consequences.
To me, you’re the most beautiful woman in the whole wide world. To this day, I still sneak into your restaurant to sneak a peek of you while you work. They sized up your uniform, ordered it custom just for you. You wear your hair in a ponytail at work now, your cheeks have dimples, your potbelly has expanded globularly in front of you and jiggles with every step that you take along with your shelf of an ass, and zeppelin sized tits. You move slower than you used to, but you never lost your charm. Every time you lock eyes with me, that smile of yours still makes my heart melt. In the end, I defeated your hangry tendencies, and you love me for it.
And I love the way you still waddle over to me, pretend to lose your balance, and squash my lap with that tremendous ass of yours.