Fat Farm Counselor Ch. 05

Greg was in his office.

"Did you get the lovely Linda settled in?" he asked with a grin.

I plopped into the chair across his desk and said, "she was a fucking VIRGIN, man!"

"No shit?" he said.

I grinned. "No shit," I said, and added, "I think I'm in love."

He laughed.

"Oh, who with?" He asked.

"YOU!" I said, "thank you, my oldest friend, for bringing me to heaven."

He laughed at that.

"Okay, my homosexual friend," he said, "now we're going to a staff meeting and you'll meet your co-workers.

On the way to the smaller building, what Greg called the "staff quarters," I was introduced to three more of the residents. Paulette was a perfect matron, blonde, not unattractive, in a pair of hip-hugger pants and a halter top that put an interesting set of stretch marks on display. She did the kiss-the-palm thing and held my eyes when she said, "see you later?" "It's a date," I promised.

Jan was, by my estimate, pretty deep in her 50s, a blonde and I was pretty sure a natural blonde given her complexion and skin tone, and one of those women who had spent too many of her teenage years working on her tan. She had that deeply lined, leathery face I associate with that kind of woman. She was very buxom and very broad in the hips, both displayed in an interesting package of floor-length pants suit and high-heeled sandals. She kissed my palm and then, before I could react, pulled me down for a kiss on the mouth. She was a good kisser.

The third was Maxine and she was huge. She was on one of those little three-wheeled mobility scooters and her ass hung over both sides of the seat. Her black hair was a wide halo around her big head in a hairdo that looked straight out of the 1980s. Her face was really very pretty, she looked a little like Elizabeth Taylor done at about 200 percent scale. She did the kiss-to-the-palm thing when we were introduced but she did not release my hand. Instead, she said, "Well, David, I seem to have a rash that I just cannot reach. Maybe you could help me later?"

I smiled, patted her hand, and said, "I'm at your service."

Finally, at the staff quarters, Greg introduced me around the table.

The cook, Randall, was an interesting character. As I've said, I'm pretty much Mr. Average but still, I'm not used to having to actually bend my head back to meet another man's eyes, but with him I did. Christ, he had to be at least 6'6" and weighed maybe 180 pounds. He was a stick figure but good-looking in that long-faced way some very tall men are. He had a deep voice and I firm handshake. I liked him.

The assistant cooks, Brian and Stan, were pretty interchangeable. Both were, like me, Mr. Average at about 5'10" and about 165 or so. One of them, Brian I thought, had dark hair, and one was blonde. Both were good-looking in that college Junior way. You would have expected to find them at a college bar with a cheerleader in hand. Both seemed nice enough, though, with good handshakes and voices when we were introduced.

The general cleanup/handyman pair could not have been more different. Greg had mentioned they were students too, and I believed it. Tony looked like a football lineman, big, I guessed him at 6'1" or so and probably 250 pounds and Jerry looked like he would have been the president of the Chess Club or something. He was small, about 5'4" or so, and so skinny I doubted he weighed a hundred pounds. He looked kind of like Buddy Holly actually with slicked-back hair and horn-rimmed glasses.

Finally, the counselors looked like, well, counselors. Both were reasonably good looking, both were very well groomed, hair in place, clothes looking quite professional. Hell, their names even sounded counselorish (if it's not a word, it should be). Oliver was tall although not as tall as Randall, with red hair, a round face, and freckles. He looked very open, like he would listen as long as you wanted to talk. Henry was another Mr. Average with dishwater blonde hair, glasses, and a small goatee that I figured he thought gave him a counselor look.

"So," Greg said after the introductions had been made, "I recruited Dave and his official title is now Assistant Director. I have complete faith in him and if he tells you something, or asks you to do something, treat it as if it was me. He's a bright guy, though, so don't hesitate to tell him things and, yes, tell him when he fucks up. God knows none of you are backward about telling ME that."

His finish brought chuckles around the room.

As for me, I just said something like, "I'm happy to be here and Jesus, it looks like you guys have created a little slice of heaven on Earth."

We chatted a bit. As a staff meeting, it was pretty informal although there was real professional information being exchanged.

"We need to pay more attention to Darlene," Henry said, "or she'll backslide right into Bulimia."

Since I hadn't met this woman yet I had nothing to say.

"Hell," Stan said, "she came like a fucking garden hose for me yesterday."

Jeremy laughed and said, "she damn near squashed me first thing this morning."

Greg held up his hand and the chatter stopped.

"Dave, take the time to meet the lovely Darlene and let her know the new guy thinks she's beautiful," he said. I gave him a salute over my coffee.

It went on like that for almost an hour and I realized one thing for sure. Greg had done a good job of assembling a staff that was both professionally competent and who truly did enjoy big women. I felt like I fit right in.

When it all broke up I said to Greg, "Introduce me to the lovely Darlene."

"Eager to get to earn your keep?" he said with a grin.

"You know me better than that," I said, "I just enjoy a challenge."

"Well," he said, "let's see if we can track her down."

As we passed through the great room Maxine, in her mobility scooter, caught my hand.

"Ready to help my rash?" she asked.

I chuckled, bent, and kissed her.

"Tonight," I said, "after I've fed you."

She giggled at that and said, "it's a date, handsome."

"Fickle," Greg said, bending to kiss her.

"Just a fat slut, honey," she said, "you know that."

We walked across the main area, to the biggest building.

"Our gym-pool-hot tub-workout room," Greg said as we entered, "Darlene likes the hot tub."

I paused to take it in. There was a big pool in the middle of the room. I'm not sure exactly what an "Olympic Size" pool might be, but this sure looked like what I think of one as. Along one wall was a set of free weights and benches. Interestingly, a boxing ring sat in one corner, along with two treadmills and a couple of what I think are called elliptical machines. It was, all in all, a well-equipped gym.

"Boxing or some sort of oriental martial arts?" I asked, looking at the ring.

"Self-defense," he said, "nothing boosts a girl's self-confidence like knowing she can kick the ass of any man who insults her."

I grinned and continued looking around. One woman I hadn't met yet, attractive in that 60-something matronly way, was walking on the treadmill, at a very leisurely pace and I wondered what she thought she was accomplishing. Another, so big she sort of bobbed like a damn cork as she swam, was slowly swimming laps.

"Ahhhh, there she is," Greg said, nodding at the hot tub. I could see someone was sitting in it.

"Come on," he said, "let me show you the locker room before we do introductions."

It was a very professional-looking locker room, actually. It looked like something you would pay a lot to join, everything clean and swept, shiny chrome or well-varnished wood.

"No need for locks," he said, "go ahead and leave your clothes here."

So I did.

Naked, I padded out of the locker room and Greg led me to the hot tub.

"Darlene," he said and she looked up. The word "languidly" sprung to mind. She looked very relaxed.

And I didn't understand what she was doing at The Farm at all. She was very pretty in that sort of thin, narrow-faced way you associate with runway models. In fact, "narrow" was the word I thought of, looking at her. Her eyes were close-set, her forehead high, her nose narrow and straight, the nares, the nostrils, were long oval openings.

Below her face, that image of, well, thinness, continued. Her shoulders were narrow, and the hollows of her collarbones were distinct and deep. What I could see of her arms were slender too. The rest of her was pretty much hidden under the bubbles of the hot tub.

"Meet David," Greg finished.

When she smiled she was really pretty. Her black hair framed her face in a tight wet mask and her dark eyes sparkled.

"Come on in," she said, "the water's perfect."

Greg said, "you kids have fun. Dave, come by the office when you get a chance, You cannot believe how anxious I am to show you the administrative side of things."

"Will do," I said and he left.

She was right, the water was perfect. I guessed it at right at 100 degrees. And the whirlpool jets were powerful.

I moved to her and she took my hand and did the kiss to the palm thing.

"Very pleased to meet you," she said.

When I went to sit beside her, I bumped into her legs.

I mean, I was still a good ways away when I literally bumped into her legs.

She had an odd smile on her face as I looked down but, of course, I couldn't see anything through the bubbles.

Her smile had changed. It had been a pleasant smile of greeting. Now it was kind of frozen.

"It's called lipedema," she said as she stood up and then waded to the steps and climbed out of the hot tub. She turned and looked at me, I thought with a bit of attitude, maybe a bit of defiance on her face. Her posture, though, was good, back straight and hands at her side. She wasn't fidgeting or anything silly like that. It wasn't exactly a model's pose, but it was close.

It was the damndest thing I ever saw. I mean I've been with big women. I always enjoyed big women. I've seen my share of cellulite. I've seen plenty of shelf hips, you know, those hips on some women that jut out so much you can put your beer on the shelf they form. I've seen pear-shaped women and apple-shaped women. I had been with women so big their belly roll was an apron hanging to her thighs, what I always thought of as a fat girl's natural modesty. I had seen plenty of thunder thighs and bubble butts.

But what I was looking at was, well, two women grafted together at the waist.

From the waist up she was slender and busty. She had good breasts, an obvious D cup with oversize nipples on very big and very dark areolas. They sagged, of course, this was no young girl, but were still full and beautiful.

She wasn't skinny, but you could see a faint outline of ribs, and her flat stomach was nicely outlined by her ribcage. Not skinny, and I can't say that too much, but definitely slender. Her belly button was a deep slot just above where she spread.

And Christ, she spread like nothing I had ever seen. Hell, like nothing I had ever imagined. Her thighs were just huge. I would measure them later and at the fork of her hips each thigh was 32 inches which is to say, the size of my waist. Her hips were completely out of proportion to her torso, but perfectly in proportion to those thighs. I measured them too, later, it had been an interesting evening we spent with a tape measure, and, aided by a big bubble butt, had measured 84 inches.

But the thing is, those big, beautiful legs didn't taper as so many big women's legs do. At her knees, where a roll of cellulite dimpled fat hid her kneecaps completely, they were still 26 inches, and at the ankles, where a roll of fat covered the tops of her feet, were still 14 inches.

The way her toes peeked out from under that final roll of, well, anklefat, and if it's not a word it should be, I had an almost uncontrollable urge to reach over and do "piggies to market" on them.

"Well," she said, and her voice was a little out of place, husky, and a little deep, "at least you didn't run screaming from the room."

I waded out of the hot tub and closed the distance between us.

"Just because you are unique," I said, taking her hands in mine, and meeting her eyes, "does not mean you're not beautiful."

I held her eyes and got my Grin going, the one I practice in the mirror.

I held her eyes, the Grin full on, and took her hand and guided it down to touch my erection.

"And you are beautiful," I said.

Her smile in return was happy, almost girlish.

"Thank you," she said.

I moved forward just a bit until my erection pressed gently against the soft roll of fat that marked where she spread. It was as soft and warm as I had hoped.

Her face changed then. It was subtle but confidence was somehow gone, replaced by, well, not shyness, maybe tentativeness if there is such a word.

"Come back with me to my cabin," she said and it wasn't clear to me from her intonation if it was a request or a demand. Not that it mattered.

"Let me grab my clothes," I said, gave her hands a squeeze, and headed for the locker room.

It took just a few seconds to pull on my jeans and throw on the T-shirt.

When I walked out she wasn't there yet so I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I was about to go back in and see if she had somehow snuck out without me seeing her when she came out.

And I realized why it had taken her so long.

Her face was completely made up, and her hair was freshly brushed.

"You look terrific," I said, taking her hands.

She smiled and actually blushed a little.

"Except for one thing," I said after what I thought was a nice dramatic pause.

"What's that?" she asked, but she was smiling.

"You," I said, reaching down and grabbing a handful of the material of the shapeless thing she was wearing and pulling it up, "are WAY overdressed."

I'm not sure what you'd call the thing she had on. Maybe beach wear or, hell, I don't know, a sexy housedress. It was a bright turquoise color, setting off her dark hair and pale skin nicely, with a slightly scooped neck and it was sleeveless. But it hung with no belt all of the way to the tops of her feet. It was like a giant sack. You couldn't call it a muumuu. I had known big girls who favored those but they always had a sort of short puffy sleeve.

Regardless, it was clearly designed to hide her hips and it was failing miserably. There was no way to hide them and the, well, I'll call it a dress, flared dramatically.

Her eyes were big as I lifted the material.

"Arms up, Darlene," I said, "I want to show you off."

"God, you ARE good," she said, and lifted her arms allowing me to peel that ridiculous garment off.

I draped it around my shoulders like a shawl and did the sort of half bow, arm sweeping gesture, the universal "after you" move.

Mostly, I wanted to watch her walk.

And it was worth it.

The two cheeks of her ass moved almost independently, each cellulite-dimpled flesh-covered basketball moving up and down in a gorgeous dance. She was the very definition of "bubble butt."

Most fascinating, though, was the way her thighs sort of squeezed past each other, fat flesh rubbing with each step.

She giggled and said, over her shoulder, "Seen enough."

I laughed and joined her, walking side by side now, taking one of her hands in mine, her long slender fingers entwining with mine.

"Not nearly enough," I said and I liked her giggle in reply.

As we made our way across to the open area to the client's cabins I liked, very much, the way my hip would bump against the soft pillow of her hip.

At her room she opened the door, I noted that it was unlocked, and as soon as she was inside turned to face me.

"I won't say 'no,'" she said, "but I hope you'll be nice."

I chuckled at that. "Why wouldn't I be?" I asked.

"David," she said, and she looked, well, melancholy is a good word, "this happened," and she made a both-hands-moving-down gesture, taking in her body from the waist down, "the instant puberty struck."

"At first," she went on after a few seconds, "I was pretty proud. I was one of the first girls in my class to get my boobs," she lifted them, "pubic hair, and," and she took a deep breath, "hips."

She obviously wanted to talk so I let her.

"And, of course, THESE," and she almost yelled the last word, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, "just kept getting bigger, and bigger and BIGGER," that last word, again, almost yelled.

She was crying now, and damned if she wasn't even pretty when she cried. Her eyes were red and the tears were leaving dark, almost black streaks down her cheeks. Her thin, straight nose was running, thick clear mucus running across her lips and to hang from her chin. Her face was flushed and swollen sinuses added roundness.

I waited her out, wanting to see if there was more but she just stood there, her eyes meeting mine, crying softly.

When I saw her hand start to move, to wipe her eyes or her nose, I caught it.

"You are beautiful, Darlene," I said, careful to use her name, "and I mean that. Not just because I like big women, you are beautiful. Period, full stop. And I hope you're past that junior high school silliness."

She smiled at me, an honest smile, and then, much quicker than I had expected given her size, she grabbed me into an embrace, pulling me against her.

It was a good kiss, but more, it was an interesting kiss.

Her mouth was slick and salty the way her nose was running. Her back was firm and my fingers could feel ribs and vertebrae as I explored. And from the waist down, the softness of that great roll was sort of engulfing me in warmth.

I couldn't remember the last time a woman took my breath away with a kiss, but she did.

She finally broke the kiss and pushed me away.

"Show me," she said and the non sequitur kind of left me stumped.

She captured my hands and pushed them down to lay on her hips.

"Show me," she said again, 'that you think I'm sexy."

I grinned then, the full-on Grin, and moved away from her, went to the bed, yanked the comforter and sheet down, and then turned and crooked my finger at her, beckoning her.

She smiled and came to me with those odd steps, her fat thighs sliding across each other. I held her hand as she climbed, ponderously, up onto the bed.

She watched, her eyes watching every move, as I undressed.

I said another silent thank you to my medicine cabinet as I pushed down the boxers and showed her my interest in that way only a man can. I was fully erect, my dick pointing straight up my body.

She smiled and it was her turn to crook a finger, beckoning.

I stopped at the foot of the bed and used my hands to push the big roll of anklefat up from her feet, giving it a jiggle and watching the ripple up her thigh.

Then I did the other ankle, using my hands, and my weight, to push a wave of fat up.

"Welllll," she said, a soft giggle in her voice, "that's new."

I grabbed her ankles and leaned forward, slowly pushing her feet apart, spreading her legs.

Once again, her unique body shape was on display. I had her ankles far enough apart that for a normal woman, even one of the big, beautiful women I preferred, her pussy should have been on display. Instead, her big thighs were still touching all of the way down to her knees.

And I noticed something I had never seen before, hell, something I had never imagined before. The inside of her calves showed those slightly darker circles, the thickened skin where they rubbed against each other with every step, that I associated with the very top of a fat girl's thighs, something a girl I had bedded long ago had called her "chub rub."

I leaned forward and kissed those circles, finding the thickened, almost leathery skin erotic.

I got my hands under her knees and pushed, encouraging her to lift them, to fully open herself in that way a truly fat girl can.

She hummed, a soft sound, very deep in her throat, and responded, her knees raising a little, parting her legs yet more.