Fat Margaret

Fat Margaret! It was a name that Maggie Wilson had been running from for most of her life. It had certainly had positive effects; she knew that. After all, she would think to herself, 'Look at me now!' And her reverie was true, looking at her currently meant that the name 'Fat Margaret' didn't make sense at all.

It had been the brain child of her Uncle Clarence. He was so completely unlike his brother, Maggie's lovely Dad Roger, that you would hardly give credence to the fact that they were brothers.

Whereas her dad was loving, caring and compassionate, Uncle Clarence had a mean streak in him that fed on the way that his 'wit' could hurt people. Early on in her life he dubbed her 'Fat Margaret', and it had made her cry. Clarence was tickled that he had gotten such a good hold on his niece, and forever after called her by the hated name. It never failed, during those formative years, to bring her to tears.

Nor did her Dad, who died early on, ever stand up for her, though her Mom did, after at while of putting up with it, take Clarence to task for it. His usual defense, given with a laugh was that he was only 'joking' and the little girl should learn to take a joke.

She'd had a life time of it, whenever Uncle Clarence and Aunt Ida would visit. She could positively count on the fact that at some point during the visit, he'd call her 'Fat Margaret', to see what she'd do. He was always very jovial about bringing his niece to tears, and was willing to risk her Mom, Ceilia's wrath to get his jollies with his niece.

She'd recently been home for a brief visit. She had been happy about sharing with her Mom the details of her new life at the college where she'd gotten a position in the PE department. These times at home with her Mom were her best times.

Over the years, she and her Mom had turned into more like girl friends than mother and daughter. They genuinely enjoyed each other.

So, it was with some chagrin that Margaret realized that Uncle Clarence and Aunt Ida were to visit and say hello.

The couple arrived and exchanged greetings, and Maggie was just waiting for it. Of course, with Uncle Clarence, she didn't have long to wait.

"So how is life treating our Fat Margaret?" he asked, going into his usual laugh.

It was strange how she knew it, but in Maggie's mind she absolutely knew that this was the time, simply the time. She ignored her Mom's facial expression that said clearly 'Let it go, honey' and went to him.

He was grinning right up to the time when Maggie, a bit taller than he was by now, grabbed him by the necktie. She simply gave in to her pent up anger:

"Listen, Old Man, I am not your 'Fat Margaret'; I am not your anything. And I give you a promise this day; I swear on the grave of my father that if you ever call me that name again, which has been my burden for a lifetime, I will kick your fat old ass!"

Clarence was non-plussed and sputtering. He said: "Clairice!"

And Maggie turned on him again: "It's not between you and Momma, Old Man, it's just you and me!"

She took the drink that she'd been working on, grabbed him by the belt and poured the drink down the front of his pants. Then she growled at him:

"Next time I won't be gentle; you make sure that there is no 'next time'."

Clarence ended just shaking his head 'yes' in agreement.

Maggie then went to her Mom and said: "Momma, I apologize to you for losing my temper here. I'm going back to the school now."

She turned to her Aunt Ida who was suppressing a kind of smile and said: "Aunt Ida, I apologize to you too."

Then she looked at Clarence, who was still pale and said: "You are warned! Next time, I'm going to hurt you!"

Maggie left then.

The name itself had been one of the factors that had spurred Maggie on, as she grew up and matured, to be who she was today. She certainly had been a fat kid. That much she realized as truth but then during high school she began to grow. She'd gotten this kind of tendency from her Dad, who had been well over 6'4". She realized her full growth, toward the end of high school, and was 6 foot tall herself, when the growing was done.

From her Mom she'd gotten the tendency toward being big in the bosom. This was a fact that always pleased her. At the age of 18 Maggie was fully developed and had 38d breasts. She also got from her Mom the tendency to be big in the butt, although, this she worked on assiduously. It was that need to work on her physical form that pushed Maggie into her love of PE, exercising, sports. It helped to make her who she became.

So at present, at the age of 28, Maggie Wilsons was tall, and built well enough to be called 'a renaissance painter's dream'. She had even been called that a time or two and it certainly made the 'Fat Margaret' image fade.

But there were other factors at work here also. Maggie was, admittedly, short and still fat through most of her high school experience. The name, unfortunately was still apt. She became a person who could be everyone's best friend. She was bright, she was pleasant, she was loyal and a good buddy but still through that time she wasn't anyone's idea of a girl whom many asked for dates. Such experiences were few and far between.

As a result, Maggie was shy, when it came to boys, dating, sex etc. She wasn't ignorant, just shy. Nor had she ever considered even remotely the possibility of being sexually active in order to win or gain popularity. She left that kind of acting out for others. She wasn't a prude; she was just shy.

That meant that, when she got to college, with her newly gained height and her better weight to height distribution, with the added factor of her attention to her workouts and physical development, she was physically ready for dating but was still very shy, and things didn't happen very much.

She never encouraged boys very much. She was still, in a way, living in the shadow of Fat Margaret during that time. Oh, she did do some experimenting with sex. She'd had a few partners, under the heading for her of 'I guess I'd better try that to see what it's like, since everyone talks about it so much.' But those events never impressed her very much.

Maggie spent her college career devoting more and more of herself to her physical education goals and interests. She didn't date very much, mainly because she never promoted herself very much, and was not outgoing in those ways.

During that time period, she took on projects like martial arts, becoming a red belt by the time she was a senior and achieving her goal of black belt a few years later, when she was working on her advanced degrees.

She also participated in sports, especially in college: volleyball, soccer--she was a first rate goalie-- and woman's softball. She lettered in those sports and was a popular member of those teams.

Close friends were often enough asked if Maggie was a lesbian but were quick to assure people, who were interested for whatever reason, that Maggie was indeed not. She was shy.

She'd gotten the chance to join the PE staff at a local college, and was tickled by the position. She loved teaching the things that meant so much to her. She was popular and began to receive some male attention, after all, by now Maggie was a good 6' tall, and extremely well built, a condition that she honed constantly through her devotion to exercise.

That day, after she'd gotten back to school, she called her Mom to apologize again. However, her Mom told her that she'd told Clarence to go home and not come back ever again until he could be pleasant and not so ignorant in his use of names, and the way he treated people.

"Don't you cry about this, honey," her Mom said.

"No, Mom," Maggie explained, "I've given Uncle Clarence all the tears that he's ever going to get from me; I'm finished with that reaction but I will carry out my threat, if he ever does it again."

"No, Maggie," he Mom said, "Just calm down; he's not worth the upset."

"No," Maggie replied, "I know he's not."

Then she changed the subject: "Mom, when are you going to come and visit me here at school. It's lovely here, and I think that you'd love the trip."

"Honey," her Mom replied, "You look your schedule over and I will also and we'll find a time."

It was a pleasant prospect for Maggie, and she had a lot of time to herself. She was beginning to make friends, some of them good friends but was still relatively new at the school.

That began to change through an incident that occurred on a Friday afternoon.

Petie Doyle had come to Maggie in her office and asked if she could do the final sweep through the lockers that night. He said to her:

"I promised my wife I'd be home early and we'd go out to dinner."

"Go, Pete," Maggie said. "I still have some things to do and will be on hand to do the final sweep in about an hour and a half."

"You're a sweetheart!" Pete said. "I owe you one. Maybe you could dine with me and Sylvie one day. We'd like that."

"Thanks, Pete," she said, "So would I."

She got on with her work and in about the time that she'd mentioned was ready to go through the locker rooms before shutting down for the evening. She did a walk through in the woman's locker area first and it was fine and secure. Then she went into the men's expecting to find the same kind of deserted, secure scene.

She was surprised by what she saw there.

She entered the locker room and turned to walk down the row of lockers toward the shower room and just then a man stepped out from between one of the rows of lockers.

Maggie was shocked so much that she stood in place, put her hand over her mouth and made a kind of squeaking noise.

Then the man turned. As it happened, it was Dean Winslow, the dean of the college. He had just finished a work out and was dressed only in a jock strap. He'd had his back turned to Maggie at first, showing off a rather nicely formed ass. That was one of the reasons why Maggie made the squeaking noise.

With much more aplomb than she felt, the Dean picked up a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

"Dean Winslow!" she said, moving her hand from her mouth. "I'm so . . .so sorry! I'm, um,. . .making the final tour through the lockers before closing down. I had no . . .no idea . . ."

He stopped her by putting up his hand, the towel still wrapped around his waist.

"Please,"he began, "It's Maggie, Maggie Wilson, isn't it?"

She shook her head 'yes', and he went on.

"It's entirely my fault. I should notify you and your colleagues, when I intend to be here later in the evening and do my exercise."

He laughed then and added: "At my age, things go south pretty quickly, unless you work on it hard."

(Now Tom Winslow, the Dean of the College, was a man of 46 years; he was a widower, having lost his wife two years previously to cancer, and was a very handsome man, premature white hair that was a bit curly and not much fat on him.)

Maggie spoke before she thought and said: "But, Dean Winslow, you're gorgeous!"

She realized immediately the possibly in appropriate thing she'd said and put her hand over her mouth and squeaked again.

For his part Tom Winslow just smiled a huge smile at Maggie and said:

"Maggie Wilson, what a nice thing to say!" Then he went on: "I'll be out of your hair in a very few minutes."

"Take your time, sir!" she said. "I can wait."

"It's Tom," he said simply, "We're here together and there's no need to be formal."

(The Dean did have a reputation for allowing such familiarity with staff people.)

Maggie blushed then and said: "Thank you, sir, . . .er . . .Tom. I'll finish later."

She turned to go, when he said:

"Maggie, pretty spectacular looking this evening yourself."

(Maggie was wearing a sports jersey that came to her waist and a pair of black stretch exercise pants, the style that are clingy. They presented her lovely hips and butt to great advantage. The Dean certainly noticed.)

That broke through to her and she smiled at him broadly and said: "Why thank you, Tom."

Despite herself, Maggie was smiling and blushing, when she got back to her office.

She allowed herself only one lone comment: 'Pretty spectacular looking.' was the only comment that she made to herself.

She went about the business of setting up schedules and such tasks as needed to be done, and it was only a short time later that there was a knock on the door. She went to the door and found Dean Winslow standing there.

"Sir, er, Tom," she stammered. "I'm sorry, I don't really know which to use. I . . ."

He smiled as she trailed off.

"I was wondering if I could treat you to a cup of coffee, Maggie?" he asked. "There's something that I need to talk to you about."

"Why, yes," she said pleased---she really liked the Dean---"Just let me shut down here and put on a coat."

They walked companionably to the coffee house that was on campus, both of them nodding to people that they knew on the way.

They settled themselves down in a corner of the place, which had blues music playing and was fairly quiet at this time of day.

When they were settled with coffee, Tom Winslow spoke up:

"Maggie, I owe you an apology for what I said in the locker room. I certainly let my enthusiasm get ahead of my manners. I do apologize."

"For telling me how nice I look?" she asked somewhat incredulously.

"Yes, I thought that it might be inappropriate, given the situation or maybe just inappropriate period," he said.

Maggie blushed and looked down, not able to hold his gaze as she replied: "I thought that it was a lovely compliment!"

"Well, it was certainly meant that way," he said, "But I didn't want you to think that I was making inappropriate remarks to you."

"How nice of you to be concerned about the way you spoke to me!" she said. (Her horrible Uncle Clarence and his constant railing at her as 'Fat Margaret' came to mind very quickly.)

Without much thought, not knowing why, at first, she did it at all, she went into the 'Fat Margaret' story.

He listened, and when she was done, said: "I see."

"Oh," she said half to herself, "I told myself that I was not going to cry about 'Fat Margaret' anymore at all."

Then she finished off the story by a description of the encounter with her Uncle Clarence recently and what she'd said and done. To her surprise, he laughed.

"Wonderful!" he said, "You should have gored the old bull! Served him right! What a great way to handle that kind of crap."

She looked at him, when he'd said this and for a few minutes simply came out of her shell. (She was always on shaky ground, when dealing with these kinds of issues, and now was no different. But his words brought out a 24 carat smile from her, and it was dazzling.)

He smiled at her in return, and finally said: "Maggie, I hate to end this but I have some things tonight that I have to do."

"Oh, I understand perfectly," she hastened to say, the old Maggie gaining the upper hand.

"No, please," he said touching her hand, "I need to be clear and want you to know that what I have to do tonight must be done but I would rather sit with you or dine with you and continue our conversation. Would that be possible some time, Maggie?"

She was swept away by what he said and the implication of what he said.

"Oh, yes, it would," she said, giving him the smile again, "I'd like that. It's so kind of you to ask."

They got up from their table at that point and he said to her: "I know that the campus is safe but would still rather walk you to your car, if you don't mind."

"Thank you, Dean . . .er Tom," she said, then giggled: "I'm still confused."

"Tom it is then," he said.

She looked at him and smiled: "I hope you know that I will never address you inappropriately in professional circumstances."

"Of course, I do; I just enjoy, in these circumstances, being Tom."

They had about reached her car by then, she turned, gathered her courage and said to him:

"Tom, I appreciate you taking so much time with me, I mean, not as the Dean and all, just taking time with me."

Tom Winslow grinned at her and said: "I'll repeat then, Maggie, 'pretty spectacular looking!'"

"You're going to have me giggling next," she said, and got into the car, as he watched her drive off.

Maggie wasn't aware of it until a full block away but she was humming to herself

She replayed the whole incident in her mind many, many times that night. By the next day she had all but convinced herself that he wasn't being pleasant at all but just tolerating her and that she was probably in deep trouble.

She had lunch with her friend Lanie Schultz, who taught in the Math department, and was explaining it:

"But I walked in on him, just as he was getting ready for a shower!" Maggie moaned.

"Wow!" Lanie said, "Sounds hot to me!"

"Sounds like a career ending move to me!" Maggie said, "How could I have been so stupid?"

"Stupid? What's stupid?" Lanie asked, "You were merely doing what Pete Doyle asked you to do. You had no evil intentions."

"Well, not at first!" Maggie said, and then they both giggled.

"Ladies!" a voice said and they both looked up at Dean Tom Winslow, who was standing there with a lunch tray. "Mind if I join you two?" He asked.

"Please," Lanie said.

"Yes, please do!" Maggie echoed.

Maggie was on the lookout for telltale signs that he was upset and was going to do something unpleasant.

(The Dean did have a reputation for drifting into the dining room of the college and joining colleagues at random; so, it was no thing out of the ordinary that he asked to join them. But it was making Maggie nervous.)

"So, how are things in PE and Math today?" Tom Winslow asked pleasantly, to break the ice.

"Fine," Maggie said, and she was echoed by Lanie. He picked up, however, on their nervousness and said:

"Oh dear! I know what was going on here!" he said it with great good humor. "Maggie was telling you about our meeting yesterday!"

Maggie blushed a deep, deep shade of scarlet.

"Yes, uh, I was!" she said, not sure what to do next.

He sensed it immediately and put his hand over Maggie's, saying:

"Please, Maggie, don't think another thing about that; it was an accident and no one was hurt by it at all. Except maybe the retinas of your eyes!"

Lanie began to giggle at that point and Maggie followed suit. He gave her a huge smile that helped to settle her down a good deal. It was shortly after that, that Lanie left for a class.

"You were upset?" he asked Maggie softly.

"Oh," she said derisively, "I had convinced myself by this morning that you were really angry about what happened, and that I was in trouble."

"Angry about what part, Maggie?" he asked, "You seeing me without my clothes, getting a glimpse at the true me, so to speak, or me seeing you looking marvelous in what you were wearing?"

He looked at her earnestly and said: "Please don't be upset by it, Maggie; it was an accident and having given us the chance to be better friends, was probably a fortunate accident."

"Oh," she said simply, liking his response.

After a moment, during which he was watching her carefully, she said softly:

"Dean Winslow, I'm sorry, I'm not very good at this; I've never had much practice."

"Boyfriends?" he asked quietly.

"No, not for me," she said, "You know, 'Fat Margaret'."

"Maggie," he said in response, "You'd be lovely even if you were fat, which you certainly are not."

She grinned at him then and said: "Big girl!"

He gave her a responding grin and said: "Well, I like 'em big."

She blushed in response, and he laughed: "And she blushes!"

He went on softly: "I like that, Maggie!"

"Fat Margaret," she corrected him, not even knowing why she said it.

"Don't you dare!" he said with mock severity and she giggled behind her hand.

He left shortly after that, thanking her for having lunch with him. Maggie watched his progress out of the room, noting that he spoke to many, if not most of the people who were there. It made her sigh.