Rosie Cheeks Ch. 03: Night Life

Rosaline paced back and forth in front of her wide-open closet door, eyes narrowed in harsh evaluation of each article of clothing she had deigned to bring with her to Garrison University. The selection was sparse -- mostly soft cotton t-shirts and a few button-ups for fancier events -- nothing that at all fit the bill for a night of barhopping with mysterious sorority girls. Her butt wiggled with continental inertia as she lurched forward, grabbing a hanger at random and pulling it back toward her. Sitting atop it was a tie-dye sleeveless top that fluttered haplessly with the sudden motion. She knew from experience that it showed a healthy amount of midriff, and was not at all becoming for a first impression. How gaudy!

Rosaline replaced it hurriedly and nervously bit her fingers. This was her chance -- maybe even her ONE chance -- to make some serious connections at this school, to be enveloped into a friend group. Moreover, Grace was risking her own reputation by bringing a girl like her along for the evening -- what a true friend! The last thing the wide-hipped woman wanted was to be regarded with immediate disdain by these enigmatic new connections Grace had made. She needed to look perfect. She needed to act perfect.

Surveying her options, Rosaline's gaze fell upon a hint of burgundy peeking out from the clutter. A potential candidate, perhaps? She reached out tentatively and felt the thing. It was soft and velvety, sliding against her fingertips elegantly as she reached for its hanger. Retrieving it, she was greeted by the familiar sight of a long-sleeved top that she had worn on her move-in day. Rosaline beamed at the sight of it. It was a class act -- playful, with both pale white shoulders exposed to open air, yet respectable with dignified shoulder straps and a gown-like hem at its bottom that hinted at the allure of Rosaline's slender, slender waist. The chest was cut low -- but not too low -- and it would reveal a hint of the gentle swells that were Rosaline's b cup breasts. She looked at the blouse fondly. It still carried memories of her parents bidding her a tearful goodbye on move-in day as they began their journey back to Pennsylvania, piling into their junk heap of a car and unable to stop themselves from waving as they pulled off into the busy road. Her mother had complimented her on it before the had departed for this imposing school Rosaline now called home. This was the one.

Excitedly, Rosaline threw off her top with such force she momentarily thought it had ripped. She began to remove the chosen blouse from its hanger before freezing, having caught the eye of her silhouette in the mirror.

She stood motionless, taking in the form transposed into the humble little mirror affixed to the interior of her closet door, now fully open to greet her. There she was -- all of her. Rosaline's green eyes scanned her body up and down. They surveyed her familiar, youthful face, tall and adorned with a smattering of freckles and a button nose tucked behind unkempt sandy blonde hair. Her nimble shoulders compressed against her neck as she shrunk back, stomach twisting in an effort to forestall the embarrassment of seeing her upper body clad in just a simple black bra that all but eclipsed her modest boobs. She frowned. Their size had always been a point of insecurity for her -- she was forced to watch the figures of the other women in her small-town class become desirable and fine, seething with jealousy as they grew to fill their tops as she was relegated to explode into the fat-assed freak known all to well by the student body.

Her eyes paused at her impossibly thin waist. Her stomach angled itself lightly upward, barely protruding from her torso, tiny innie belly button in full view. On a smaller woman Rosaline's miniscule waist and stomach would be points of pride -- on her, it only served to enhance the impact of her pickup truck-sized moneymaker. Not yet willing to observe its sheer domination of her frame, she tenderly set gentle hands on both hips that forced themselves outward ludicrously. A pang of want echoed through her insides. Her hands sat atop her monolithic lower body like pebbles situated on a boulder -- her insane anatomy would just barely allow for her to reach the downward slope of her hips with some difficulty.

"I'm gonna have fun," Rosaline insisted, tearing her eyes from the mirror. "Grace said you have charisma. You couldn't make a bad impression if you tried."

Pointedly she turned from the mirror, trying to ignore the sensation of her ass wobbling as she did, and slid on her burgundy top. It fit like a glove.

"There!" Triumphantly, she admired the fit as she puffed up her hair. "Just a little work on the hair, and I'm -- "

Her eyes had landed on her leggings, fighting valiantly to contain the mass of thigh meat that vied for her attention below her. They had been warriors for many years and showed no signs of losing the battle against her ass... but they were grey. She whipped around to observe the color contrast in her mirror and confirmed what she already knew. The combination looked terrible! The top looked magnificent, but it couldn't obscure the fact that she simply didn't match.

"God... dammit." She muttered as she tucked her thumbs into her waistband. She had hoped to avoid this herculean effort until she tucked in for bed that night. Wistfully, she looked at her silhouette once more. Could she tolerate mismatched clothing for the night? No, she decided, and inhaled deeply.

"Anything for you, Grace," she whispered and began to pull downward. Immediately she felt intense resistance from the furthest protrusions of her cheeks -- an expected roadblock. Rosaline craned her neck back as much as she was able to survey the severity of the inconvenience. Her leggings had barely come down at all with the initial tug, held taut to her skin by the sheer volume of her lower body. She cursed silently. Out of wistful longing more than anything else, she extended a hand backward over her expanse to lightly touch the hem of the struggling pants. She could reach this far, and no further. Were she built with the proportions of a normal woman she could reach behind and pull her leggings down with a downward angle, but Rosaline lived with the unfortunate reality that her own anatomy was very poorly optimized. She physically could not reach backward far enough to grab most of the seat of her pants, much less begin to pull them down from a backward angle. Much of the prodigious swell of her backside had not been touched, and indeed could not be touched, by her own nimble hands since she had grown to her ludicrous size many, many years ago. She was forced to battle her own hips every time she wanted to change pants, pushing down at her hips and praying that eventually her enormous butt would relinquish its grip on the material.

"God..." Rosaline grumbled and resumed pulling downward at her hips, arms widening to account for their immediate explosion outward. She had been saddled with this fat ass for the majority of her life, and so had developed a few strategies to make daily life easier. Much to her chagrin she began rocking herself back and forth, and her cheeks followed suit immediately. Their mass shifted from front to back, front to back, moving with fluidity. Rosaline looked like a human wave pool as she shot her hips backward and forward, and she fought the urge to relieve her hands from their labor of forcing her leggings downward and cover her ears as a light clapping began behind her, her own ass applauding her progress. Slowly the cool breeze in the air conditioned dorm room lightly touched more and more of Rosaline's lower body as her unfortunate leggings slid down the enormity of her twin globes -- piece... by piece... by agonizing piece.

Rosaline grimaced. "Fuck... this... thing," she panted as she wobbled, continuously appalled that her ass's oceanlike motion was a more effective tool for removing pants than her own two arms. Soon, her valiant leggings fell to the floor, collapsing in a grey heap with an exhausted fwump. Their owner inhaled deeply and took in her form once again, now exposed in the mirror before her.

The sea of pale flesh, adorned with smatterings of brownish freckles that matched those adorning her other pair of cheeks, was there -- exposed to the elements. Somehow, without the protective covering, there seemed to be... more of her, as if she would ever need it. Wiggling with residual jostles and jangles as it all recovered from her labor, her elephantine legs were smashed together, locked in an eternal battle to occupy the available space before settling to an uneasy truce at her claves and ankles. Stretch marks adorned the widest portion of both hips, streaking down to fingertip length with the intensity of lightning. Her feet were positively tiny compared to the rest of her legs, to the point that they looked almost vestigial. When compared to her upper half, however, her feet looked massive, as if the sections of her body belonged to two entirely different people. It was nothing short of a structural marvel that they collaborated to hold her immense weight. And how much she must weigh... Rosaline hadn't checked for years. She was terrified of what she'd find.

"Oogh... Ugh." Rosaline was unable to articulate her disgust as she looked at the mega pear she had been imprisoned in. Her hands fondled the immensity of her butt tentatively, as if afraid their touch would make the infernal thing grow larger. It was so large that her elbows easily touched its upper curve and even lightly sunk into it as she explored its shape. Her ass, the crown jewel of the whole circus act, was no less impressive revealed than it had been concealed. Soft, white, freckled fat, all of it suspended into an impossibly perky counterweight behind her. The thing was positively bouncy -- its youthful suspension and utter inability to quit seemed to mock her as it made her silhouette all the more ridiculous. Its planetary surface showed no sign of dimples, but the underside of both cheeks was racked with subtle cellulite. Surprisingly, no stretch marks could be found on either cheek -- it was as if she was born to take this shape.

Caught in between the humongous cheeks was a pair of granny panties striped with baby blue that had bunched together and become a thong against Rosaline's will after just a few steps. She reached back with both hands and plucked it out with a bit of a reach, attempting to reclaim some dignity, but she had just settled the soft fabric back onto her cheeks when she began to feel it sliding ever so slowly back toward her cavernous ass crack on both sides. She sighed and, on impulse, shifted her weight from leg to leg, unintentionally causing her dumptruck to betray her frustration with sudden violent, wobbling fits. Her mother had dubbed this phenomenon Rosaline's "moody booty," and it only appeared when Rosaline's frustration outweighed her embarrassment. Indeed, she was frustrated -- her dignified blouse sitting elegantly on her top, her gelatinous ass vying for attention on her bottom.

There was nothing to be done. She could dress herself up any way she wanted -- there was no hiding that gargantuan thing. It looked tacky, undignified. God, she looked...

"Trashy." Rosaline mothed the words, her moody booty intensifying as she ground her teeth together. What had she been thinking? Her, Rosaline LeBlanc, accepted with open arms among established college girls? Not with this fat ass. Not when her only choice of attire was leggings...

Rosaline froze, her ass continuing to shift back and forth behind her. But, then... she had more than one choice, didn't she?

In a flash she had returned to the closet, digging through her various tops. Tucked in the back, behind a winter coat, she retrieved a pair of deep navy blue jeans. They were stylish, with their intricate stitching and mischievous rips here and here across the thighs. They matched her burgundy top perfectly, and the two together would make a perfect combination of smooth, sassy, and sexy -- perfect for a first impression. They came with the added bonus of being stiffer, meaning a booty that was more restrained and unable to wobble as freely as it had been wan to do in leggings. These were the ones!

Rosaline looked backward, examining her butt quizzically. It had still not ceased it's wobbling, and seemed to be taunting her: "Try it, bitch. You'll be here all night."

She smiled an uncompromising smile back at the thing. "Oh, we'll just see about that."

------------------

Grace Ingram settled onto her futon and kicked her feet up, poofing her curly mane of hair. She had just finished applying her mascara and was admiring it in a quaint little hand mirror. It was some of her best work! She gave herself a little kissy face, admiring the artistry on display on her dark face. She studied law, but she made it a priority to carve out time to dedicate to other skills. It just so happened that one of her favorites, and one of the ones she'd gotten quite good at, was makeup. Black cherry lipstick with a subtle red blush paired perfectly with her afro, deep brown and curling around her face possessively. She was beyond excited. Absentmindedly she checked her apple watch, which revealed the time of 6:35 -- they were right on schedule.

"Ros!" She called out, sitting up abruptly. "I'm ready to go when you are!"

Silence greeted her from the other room. Grace stood, noting the gently darkening sky. She had been locked away in her half of the dorm since earlier that day, and had been uncharacteristically quiet. She had heard occasional clapping, of course, but that had become so frequent that Grace considered it mere background noise.

"Rosie?" Quieter this time, with subtle apprehension. Grace began to slowly make her way through the bathroom. She was face-to-face with the door sooner than she would have liked. Quickly, she reconsidered, and on slight tiptoed feet hopped back into her room. She peeped at her outfit on the way back -- jeans and an open flannel, with her favorite black tee painted with an obnoxious yellow smiley face. Nice!

Escape complete, Grace halted, knees bent low as if she was an international spy. She briefly considered how insane she must look and returned to her full height, embarrassed.

"She's your friend," Grace thought to herself. "Stop feeling like checking in is wrong." She silently returned back to the door, sneaker-clad feet miraculously not making a peep.

"Ros? Are you in there, hun?"

No response.

Steeling herself, Grace opened the door just a crack and surveyed Rosaline's room, and was slightly taken aback by the scene before her. There was evidence of minor destruction everywhere -- an overturned lamp here, haphazard drawers opened there, and several humble belongings scattered across the floor. Grace peered at the form of Rosaline laid out on her bed... or rather, Rosaline's gigantic bare ass, which obscured her top half completely due to her facing away from her spying roommate. Her legs were wrapped in denim, and her mass quaked gently from little gasps of air. As Grace had come to expect she lay on her stomach, as she had told her roommate in confidence a week or two prior that her backside was far too large for her to lay on her back comfortably.

Grace held back a little gasp despite herself. Rosaline was massive. She appeared to be precariously perched in the exact middle of her twin mattress, and Grace certainly couldn't blame her. With her twin globes relaxed and spreading over the surface of the bed, she looked as though one minute scooch to one side would compress her uncomfortably against the wall, and to the other she would be dragged to the floor in an undignified fall by the bulbous weight of one cheek after the other. Grace examined the jeans wrapped hopelessly around Rosaline's calves curiously. She had never mentioned a pair of jeans before, and indeed had regarded them as something of a lost cause. Yet here she was, breathing heavily from what was clearly a long battle to pull them over her hulking glutes. Without a moment's consideration, Grace knocked on the door one more time, still looking cautiously through the crack in Rosaline's door.

"Rosie, you're worrying me."

"You can come in." The voice was meek and breathy, emanating from somewhere behind Rosaline's ass.

Grace processed through the door and made her way to her friend. The room showed evidence of some destruction -- a few drawers were open in Rosaline's closet, their contents spilling onto the floor, furniture was off-center as if impacted by something with considerable heft, and a lamp had fallen onto its side beside the bed.

"Hey. Can I sit?"

"Mmhm."

Grace made her way to Rosaline's desk and pulled a simple wooden chair from underneath it, dragging it across the tile floor. When the two had first moved in, Grace had shown Rosaline a proficiency with tools and had removed the armrests from it at her roommate's request, so petrified was she of attempting to wedge herself into it near daily. It had been one of the longest interactions the two had had, and it had catapulted them into friendly conversation to friendly conversation, initiating their friendship. The chair in place next to Rosaline's bed, Grace plopped her comparatively smaller body into the thing.

"You taking a nap?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know." Rosaline huffed, a minor earthquake initiating behind her as she did. Her partial nudity went unmentioned by either party. It didn't need to be mentioned -- Grace felt a kinship with Rosaline, and with that kinship's deepening certain boundaries were lifted for both of them.

Grace's eyes surveyed the mass before her, unbothered. "I like the jeans."

"Take them. You may even be able to get into them." She raised her calves for added effect, the navy material hanging limp off of them. They clung tightly to her lower thighs... Grace reasoned that she had been able to pull them up to a point, but was unable to conquer the summit of her ass's lower shelf.

She chuckled. "I like them better on you. And... I'm definitely not pulling them off of you. That's a little much."

"I can't fit in them, Gray. They were perfect with this top, and I can't fit in them."

"Let me see it," Grace said softly, gently. From her angle she was still unable to see anything past her roommate's titanic butt.

Grunting with effort, Rosaline maneuvered her legs to shift her weight back onto her haunches, allowing her to sit up. As she did, Grace noted that some panties were indeed imprisoned between the depths of Rosaline's ass, ridden up and stretched as they were. She looked back at Grace but refused to meet her eyes. A few tear marks streaked down her freckled cheeks.

Grace smiled, admiring her roommate's burgundy number. She would have pretended to like it even if it was disgusting, but Rosaline really pulled it off.

"Ros!" She exclaimed, clapping her hands to her cheeks. "You look so CUTE!"

Rosaline sniffed. "You're a liar."

"Am not! I LOVE it on you! Oh, with the exposed shoulders... you look suave, sexy, like a CEO. You HAVE to wear that tonight."

"Yeah. So suave, I can't fit this stupid, giant ass into normal people clothes. I'm done, Grace, I'm not going."

"You are SO going. Stand up -- I'm going to get something." And in a flash she was gone, chair rocking back and forth from the suddenness of her departure. Rosaline lazily looked after her and reluctantly rose to her feet, sighing. The jeans slid off her legs and crumpled to the floor at her feet as she did, easily undoing hours of hard work.

In a matter of seconds she returned, a while ribbon suspended between outstretched hands. Rosaline pouted. "What is that, Gray? I'm serious, I want to stay home."