a pie was not sweet enough to stop the pursuit of sexing a real female. The need to feed his simmering sexual starvation eventually grew to an extent that it won out over his need for gustatory overindulgence. A love of food gave him the weight, and the weight made him tired at recess, tired walking to class, tired walking at graduation, tired walking up office steps, tired walking to the buffet, and eventually tired of walking alone.
This current scene at the park only proves the adage (my adage) that save for the odd fetishist, the obese usually come in pairs – similar to intra-sexual insects, wherein only they will tolerate mating with someone that may potentially eat them. Go to any family dining establishment and there will be plenty of families where clearly a three hundred pounder mated with another three hundred pounder and created little future three hundred pounders. Of course Xander himself was a new mutation, weighing as much as Kate and Albert put together, but if he is able to procreate with this girl, there will be another litter of Xander’s born. She may be pregnant right now, she could be 8 1/2 months pregnant for all I know, but her girth makes it impossible to distinguish a bulge of abdominal fat from a bulge of fetal life. No one could comment for fear that their congratulations on a baby-to-be are instead congratulations on ingested Krispy Kremes. It could be that she does not even know if she was carrying a little Xander, ignoring nausea as a bad Big Mac and her lack of menses to her baseline metabolic dysfunction from obesity, leading to one day when she gets bad cramps after eating a full package of Oreos with a gallon of whole milk, then runs into the bathroom expecting to BM and instead comes a toilet baby.
Obviously they need to somehow have sex to create a baby. The usual simple task of insertion becomes a bastard task between morbidly obese persons and makes getting sperm to ova their miracle of life, rather than the actual birth of the baby. Mounds of flesh obscure genitals and create mushy obstacles that necessitate superhuman angles to align penis and orifice. Abdominal panni has to be lifted and moved aside, and rhythmic movements make for an ever shifting plane, like trying to keep an avalanche of mayonnaise from overwhelming a small pubic village during an earthquake using just your hands. The physics of obese intercourse are mind-blowing, but it must occur because this park’s playground is filled with their progenies; little rolys taxing swings and monkey bars with faces smeared in chocolate and hands sticky from earlier ice cream snacks. How does a morbidly obese man’s penis ever physically get into morbidly obese vagina? How does sperm ever get to that egg? Does the man fill a kiddie pool with ejaculate so the woman can take a fertilizing squat? Or is it related to why my local megamart is always selling out of funnels?
It looked like Xander and his lady were eating each other. This was way too much tongue and heavy petting for a mid-afternoon on a public bench. Both Xander and his lady were wearing black T-shirts with “Fat is Beautiful” on the front in block lettering. The tees were like every tee on the morbidly obese, in that the bottom of the shirts were unable to get all the way over the expanded belly and instead only able to stretch near the apex of the protrusion, unable to fully cover the hanging fleshy mass that was now flopped over their respective groins. I knew those exact shirts from the Fat Awareness Club that had a vocal membership at the nearby college, where I heard Xander had enrolled a couple years ago. The shirts were their uniform. This club always has cupcake giveaways most spring and summer weekends on the town’s sidewalks, yelling out “Fat is Beautiful!” on megaphones while handing out the baked goods with their “Fat is Beautiful” slogan in icing on the top and with
This current scene at the park only proves the adage (my adage) that save for the odd fetishist, the obese usually come in pairs – similar to intra-sexual insects, wherein only they will tolerate mating with someone that may potentially eat them. Go to any family dining establishment and there will be plenty of families where clearly a three hundred pounder mated with another three hundred pounder and created little future three hundred pounders. Of course Xander himself was a new mutation, weighing as much as Kate and Albert put together, but if he is able to procreate with this girl, there will be another litter of Xander’s born. She may be pregnant right now, she could be 8 1/2 months pregnant for all I know, but her girth makes it impossible to distinguish a bulge of abdominal fat from a bulge of fetal life. No one could comment for fear that their congratulations on a baby-to-be are instead congratulations on ingested Krispy Kremes. It could be that she does not even know if she was carrying a little Xander, ignoring nausea as a bad Big Mac and her lack of menses to her baseline metabolic dysfunction from obesity, leading to one day when she gets bad cramps after eating a full package of Oreos with a gallon of whole milk, then runs into the bathroom expecting to BM and instead comes a toilet baby.
Obviously they need to somehow have sex to create a baby. The usual simple task of insertion becomes a bastard task between morbidly obese persons and makes getting sperm to ova their miracle of life, rather than the actual birth of the baby. Mounds of flesh obscure genitals and create mushy obstacles that necessitate superhuman angles to align penis and orifice. Abdominal panni has to be lifted and moved aside, and rhythmic movements make for an ever shifting plane, like trying to keep an avalanche of mayonnaise from overwhelming a small pubic village during an earthquake using just your hands. The physics of obese intercourse are mind-blowing, but it must occur because this park’s playground is filled with their progenies; little rolys taxing swings and monkey bars with faces smeared in chocolate and hands sticky from earlier ice cream snacks. How does a morbidly obese man’s penis ever physically get into morbidly obese vagina? How does sperm ever get to that egg? Does the man fill a kiddie pool with ejaculate so the woman can take a fertilizing squat? Or is it related to why my local megamart is always selling out of funnels?
It looked like Xander and his lady were eating each other. This was way too much tongue and heavy petting for a mid-afternoon on a public bench. Both Xander and his lady were wearing black T-shirts with “Fat is Beautiful” on the front in block lettering. The tees were like every tee on the morbidly obese, in that the bottom of the shirts were unable to get all the way over the expanded belly and instead only able to stretch near the apex of the protrusion, unable to fully cover the hanging fleshy mass that was now flopped over their respective groins. I knew those exact shirts from the Fat Awareness Club that had a vocal membership at the nearby college, where I heard Xander had enrolled a couple years ago. The shirts were their uniform. This club always has cupcake giveaways most spring and summer weekends on the town’s sidewalks, yelling out “Fat is Beautiful!” on megaphones while handing out the baked goods with their “Fat is Beautiful” slogan in icing on the top and with
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