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Generic Brand Hero By Sarah Barndt Chapter 1 I was, admittedly, a loser. I was a 24-year-old college dropout who worked at a video store and lived in my parent's basement. Add to that I was 5'5, scrawny and kind of weaselly looking. Well, as you could imagine, I was beating the babes off with a stick. Actually you could describe my love life by removing the words "the babes" and "with a stick" from the last sentence. The only thing that kept my Dad from thinking I was a complete failure was I loved football, just like him. While he actually played the game, I had placed the occasional wager. One night, real late, I was watching TV and saw an infomercial for generic celebrity DNA. I'd been doing a joint and sucking back some brews by then so maybe I wasn't thinking straight. I could never afford a real DNA transplant and become a twin of some celebrity, but these guys were offering a chance to look 'a lot like that celebrity of your dreams'. Since they didn't pay royalties to the celebrity, their rates were lower. On the other hand, you didn't look exactly like the celebrity either. That was OK with me. I wanted more a 'body type' than a look anyway. I went to their website to see who they had available and what the prices were. I wanted to become a twin of a football player. This was no small decision. Any DNA transfer was a one-way, once-in-a-lifetime deal. Nobody could survive a second DNA treatment so there was no way to reverse or fix any mistakes. It was still very expensive, but within the range of possible for me. As I thought, even ersatz DNA for the super-stars was way too expensive. Except O.J. Simpson, but that came with an indemnification agreement 30 pages long. "The purchaser agrees to hold the seller harmless for all aberrant or anti-social..." Better find someone else. Looking around the less well-known NFL players I found one I could afford, Dan Owens, a Detroit Lions linebacker. He even looked a little like my Dad in his younger days. I placed the order and maxed out my VISA card. I guess I should mention now that I was, slightly, wasted by now and I mistyped my order. I didn't enter DAN Owens, I had typed in DANA Owens, otherwise known as Queen Latifah. I hit the ENTER key and took the first step to becoming a new man. Little did I know... A few days later UPS dropped off a package for me. I looked at the vial. Taking that stuff was a big a decision, so like everything else in my life, I put it off for a while. Later that night I was my usual buzzed self. I saw a beer commercial where these jocks switch their brand of lite beer and hook up with the Swedish Bikini Team. Do I have to mention the vial was empty in 2 minutes? The instructions said I wouldn't notice too many changes right away since I was mutating (mutating!) at a genetic level. Later on these changes would become visible as RNA altered, which would change my DNA. As they said, I seemed to have a low-grade fever and a touch of fatigue for a couple of days, but that passed and I felt fine. I noticed my appetite picked up. A week later it was obvious I was gaining weight. For the first time in my life, clothes didn't fit like on your average scare crow. It was working. At least, I hoped it was. A month later I was 30 pounds heavier. Everybody noticed and commented, but the comments were all good. It was about then I started to get taller. This was fantastic! Over the next month I grew from 5'5" to 5'7". I grew so fast my joints hurt now and then, even my pelvis. I couldn't hide the truth anymore so I told my folks I had taken a DNA treatment. Naturally, my mom was worried, but my Dad was thrilled when I told him it was a football player's DNA. My mom was won over when my dad said, "June, now he'll be able to get a date, with a girl." Gee, thanks dad. However, that did please my mom. During the third month I grew to 5'9", though I thought my hipbone was getting kind of wide and my shoulders hadn't changed much yet. Another thing. I had been lifting weights since I took the DNA and though my muscles were firmer and I felt better, they weren't getting as big as I though they should. My big concern was Dan Owens had used steroids. I wanted to be big and muscular but I didn't want to use that stuff. Like tinkering with my DNA was much better, but no one had ever died from DNA transfers. Towards the last week of the month I felt tired and had an upset stomach all the time. It got worse and worse to point I didn't go in to work. Eventually it became a severe cramping. This got worse, too until I collapsed onto my bed. My fever came back and I got vague. I must have fallen asleep because it had been night and now it was sunny. My dad had already left for work and Mom was cleaning the breakfast dishes when she, first, heard me scream, then burst into the kitchen naked. She gasped and dropped a bowl, but not from seeing me naked, not exactly anyway. She gasped when she saw, as I had earlier, my new vagina! I was so desperate I asked her examine me and make sure what I saw was really what I saw. It was. She called my Dad at his office. From her responses I guess she told him what had happened. She had me put on a robe and we waited, oddly quiet, for my Dad to come home. He came home about an hour later. He looked at me and said, "Moron." For the next few minutes he launched into a tirade about how I couldn't do anything right; how this wouldn't have happened if I had a real life and not depended on 'magic pills' to make my life better. All true, I'm afraid. He was a corporate lawyer and had called GENERIC BRAND HEROES to see what had happened. They were in the clear. I had ordered Dana Owens and I had received Dana Owens. From the looks of things I was becoming Dana Owens, too. They did offer a refund since Dana Owens sold for less than Dan Owens. Thanks dad. I'll be needing that money... for bras!!!! Being true upper-middle class suburbanites, we decided to hide my condition as long as possible. Maybe it would 'go away' or no one would notice. Sure. The only other black women in this neighborhood all wore maid's uniforms. They'd notice. But for now at least, I still looked like me, as long as I didn't drop my pants. The next few weeks passed almost normally. I went to work, came home, watched TV and got wasted. Physically I looked the same but I definitely was losing strength. My muscles looked the same but just weren't as strong as before. But things changed. I had my first period. That was awful. Mom showed me what to do and I stayed home from work 'with the flu'. After that, the whole world seemed different to me. I didn't feel like myself anymore. I had become a visitor to my own life. The most frightening thing was Carl. He worked with me and was my best friend, sort of. We didn't hang out because he was bi, which to me meant gay but not pushy about it. After I had my period he started to look... well... attractive. The idea of it made me ill but I was getting so horny lately. Though it was still new to me, I was already adept at massaging my clitoris to orgasm, but more and more I wanted ...more. They say stress isn't caused by not knowing what to do, but from knowing what to do and not wanting to. I wanted a man inside me. Chapter 2 I spent the rest of the shift chatting with Carl. I really tried not to flirt but I was starting to get new, and unwelcome, feelings. Maybe I was flirting, I had no way of knowing, but we went out for beer after work. He asked me how my change was going. He knew all about my desire to look like a football player. Maybe he was flirting with me! It was hard, but I told him about my mistake and how I was becoming like Dana Owens, not Dan. "You mean Queen Latifah?" he asked in surprise. "Uh huh," I mumbled. "But she's a- a- woman! And she's got big..." He held his hands in front of his chest. "Yes, I know." I looked away. "Wow. How far along are you? You don't like a sister yet." I should have mentioned Carl was black. Like me, he was from an upper, middle class family. Unlike me, he was still in school, getting an MBA, and very ambitious. "No. I'm obviously not black yet, but I'm female now... completely female," I said, hoping he'd get my meaning. "But you don't look... Oh, I get it. Down there." "Yeah. Down there... and I'm really horny lately," I looked right at him, hoping he understood what I was asking. He did. "Oh. Uh, you want to go back to my place... to talk?" he asked clumsily. "Sure. We can talk... after." We left together. I was scared shitless but I really needed a fuck so bad I put all other thoughts aside. He, too, lived with his parents, for now anyway. He had a future and was saving up for a house when he finished his MBA. Ambitious people always impressed me. Not enough to become one, of course, but nonetheless they impressed me. We both knew why we were here, but Carl remained a gentleman. He offered me a drink. I think I said yes too quickly and too loud because he looked at me funny, but I really needed a drink. I threw it down and asked him to dim the lights. I didn't want any preliminaries. I took off my clothes and got into his bed. He followed. I did try to act the female I now was and lay back, spreading my legs. I was wet already but Carl needed some coaxing to an erection, but when he did... WOW! He had to be 10 inches or more! His balls looked like plums! What was I doing! He'll split me in two! Suddenly, in recognition of my future... and his past, I had him wear a rubber. Fortunately for both of us, he had some. But he did rip my hymen and that hurt a bit. Otherwise, it was kind of nice. I can't say I saw stars but I felt very... comfortable, with his penis in me. I sighed as his semen filled me up. Ooooo I suddenly felt VERY female and started nibbling his ear. However, when I came down from my 'glow' I felt very much like a homo and VERY ashamed. I got dressed in a hurry, thanked Carl, and went home. I didn't talk to Carl about it at work the next day and I didn't tell my mother, but after work I asked him if he wanted to 'talk' again. He said yes. Again I went to his place. I had a real orgasm this time. Not a big one, but definitely a female orgasm. As they say, practice makes perfect. I went home with Carl almost every night and within a week I was squealing, clawing his back and yelling his name whenever we made love. It was great and getting better all the time. We started to trade secret glances at work, and chuckle at private jokes. We came to expect to spend time together. My name was James, then, but my nickname changed from Jim to Jamie without any real thought or plan. Without either of us realizing, we became a couple. That's when we had some trouble, though. He had just finished screwing me when he started sucking on my left nipple. "What are doing that for?" I asked. We both needed some rest. "Just trying to make them grow," he said playfully. I pushed him away. "I don't WANT them to grow!" I was angry for some reason. "Oh, come on. How much longer do you think it will be before you start to look like a woman? What difference will it make then?" I didn't really hear much after that. He was right. What had I been thinking! Did I think I could hide my condition forever? I was going to look like the female I was very soon. Then I'd have to start living as a woman. I panicked. "Oh, no! You're right! What am I going to do?" He kissed me on the cheek and said, "You're going to become the prettiest lady I know, and I'm going to be with you all the way." He said gently. He put his hand on my belly. "You have a womb now. Ovaries, too. Sooner or later you'll have to face all that implies. I've been meaning to say something. After you have your next period, I want you to go on the pill. OK?" Periods? Pills? Ovaries? It was all so overwhelming. When had I become a woman to him. Maybe after he fucked me. Right? I just agreed numbly. I had my period a few days later. Mom had gotten me pads and such, and then she took me to her (our?) gynecologist for an exam and birth control pills. She knew about me and Carl somehow. Carl seemed to enjoy our lovemaking more without a rubber. I did, too. It was about then that he started to encourage me to wear female clothes. I resisted, though my nipples were starting to enlarge and my now longish blond hair had an inch of dark brown roots showing. As a kind of compromise I started shaving my legs and had my hair dyed to match my roots. I also had a perm to give it some body but I wore it pulled back in what I thought was a masculine ponytail. Smooth legs felt funny in my jeans, but real good wrapped around Carl's back. Over the next few weeks my complexion acquired a darker tone and my eyes turned brown, and slightly almond-shaped. Later on my pubic hair fell out and was replaced by black, nappy curls. I could tell muscle was turning to fat as my own estrogen did its insidious work, altering my body; altering my brain. My nipples began to bulge while my pecs turned to jiggly flesh. This was more than I could handle right now. I wore an ACE bandage around my chest and bought new clothes to hide my softening physique, though I seemed to prefer brighter colors and softer fabrics than I used to. People were starting to think I was some 'sweet boy', you know, some queen. Gay men hit on me sometimes. It was weird. Women began confiding in me in that way they do around gay men. I wasn't sure if I was a spy or not. Regardless, I wasn't being perceived as a 'real man' anymore and that bothered me more than I thought it would. I stopped shaving my legs and tried wearing a fake mustache. When Carl saw me he actually laughed. I began to feel angry but, all of a sudden, got all weepy. I didn't like Carl to laugh at me. Chapter 3 He lifted my chin and kissed me on the cheek. He said he wanted me to spend a month with him at his parent's house on the lake. "I want you to start living as my, uh, girlfriend," he said pleadingly. "This will be a good time to start. Don't you think?" He lightly touched my strapped down bosom. I couldn't refuse him anything. Beside, he was right. I couldn't hide my changes much longer, so I agreed. The lake house was large and very plush. He called it a log cabin but it was one of those ornate Adirondacks style log cabins. He asked me if I trusted him. I said I did. He said he wanted me to spend the next month naked, except for high heels and make-up, so I could get used to seeing myself as a female. He planned to fix me rich, gourmet meals and 'put some shape' on me. My estrogen soaked brain was already so passive and agreeable that I went along with the plan. I undressed, slipped on my first pair of high heels... and fell on the floor. We both had a good laugh. We sat by the fire that evening sipping champagne and him feeding me cheesecake. I liked this, too much I feared. We made love by the fire. My mother had had our gynecologist give me birth control pills with a high level of hormones. Mom and Carl were both conspiring to make me into a real girly girl. Breakfast was waffles. Lunch was a quiche and fine Chardonnay, dinner was duck l'orange. After only a few days I was starting to feel- plump. I knew that when I left here I'd never be able to wear men's clothes again, because I would never FIT into men's clothes again. About a week of this I looked myself over. My hips were definitely wider and my little boobies were starting to jiggle full time. I turned to check out my behind. I was noticeably rounder there, too, but I still had a looooong way to go. One thing I hadn't expected was a slight fleshy bulge just under my arms. I knew what it was. My mom had them; all WOMEN had them. I had grown a bra ridge already. I shouldn't have been surprised. I knew perfectly well that my teenybopper titties weren't anywhere near full size. Not by a long shot. I thought back to the last time I had seen Queen Latifah. She still looked pretty good for a 56-year-old grandmother, but she had to be pushing 400 pounds! The Classical Music Craze had also prompted some interest in jazz, so she did an album of jazz standards and was enjoying a comeback. She was on the Britney Spears Show. Britney hadn't had a hit in 20 years but she had made a comeback herself with this afternoon talk show. She'd adopted the persona of the 'singing soccer mom'. Her comeback album, HOTFLESH, was immediately dubbed by the critics HOTFLASH, but it sold well none the less. Too bad she couldn't use her own DNA, but it doesn't effect your age anyway. She'd still be a middle-aged woman in spandex pants and a belly shirt, except she'd probably look worse seeing as she would be the PRE-liposuction/face lift Britney. But she was still the little trouper that had dazzled them on the Mickey Mouse Club. She sang, talked about her kids (a lot) shared recipes and advice. Between doing some of her old hits, which didn't look so good with jiggly, cellulite dimpled thighs, and telling us about her kids, she found an audience. (Why couldn't her kids have her committed like Cody Gifford did to Kathy Lee?) And of course, she was pregnant again- at 43 and telling us about it like she was the first older woman to have a kid! "...and so I said to my husband, is that a gun in your pocket or is the Viagra finally working?" [Wild applause] "And now, I'm proud to introduce one of my best friends, who I just met today. Queen Latifah!" [Latifah waddles out ponderously, to applause] "It's great to be here, Britney. I'm happy to say I've become a grandmother for the third time." "Like wow! That's so awesome. And you, like, got your figure back already." [Audience laughs wildly] [Latifah chuckles; bosom rippling like a waterbed during sex] "Yes. Looks like I got THREE women's figure back" [turns for the audience, or should I say, orbits] [Audience laughs. Britney doesn't get it] "Like, yeah. Well anyway. My 13 year old, Tiffany. [Expects applause. Doesn't get any] ...was like playing this Classical music. All day long, Brahms, Beethoven, Bach. It was really loud, too. Who writes that stuff! Then she switches from, like, Baroque, to Late Romantic and puts on this Mahler dude. All day, Mahler! Mahler! Mahler! So I, like, lost it and told her "Shut that noise off! I can barely hear myself think!" And she, like, did. Wasn't that cool! I am such a MOM." [Audience applauds weakly. Latifah calls her an asshole and leaves] I noticed my legs and underarms had some stubble, so I lathered up and got my razor. I was sitting on the edge of the bed with my legs crossed when Carl came in and I blushed. I don't know why I was embarrassed. I was only shaving my legs. It's not like I was masturbating or something. I think it was being caught doing such a typically female thing that embarrassed me. To be seen as a female, to show that I thought of myself as female. Carl walked up to me. Kissed me on the cheek then got on his knees in front of me. He placed his hands on my ass and started to lick and kiss my labia. OOO that felt nice. He looked up into my eyes and motioned for the razor. I gave it to him and he shaved me smooth as a ... well, as a little girl. " Weren't many blond hairs left anyway," he said as he toweled me off. 'Now let me look at you girl. Good. You finally have some booty.' At that he slapped my butt, playfully, but it rippled! After two weeks I was nicely rounded, all over. I had hips, shapely legs, a plump ass and B cup tits. At least they would be B cup if I wore a bra. I was now big enough where I wished I had some support. It was unsettling to feel my breasts bounce and sway with every movement, although Carl liked it. It made me so aware of them. Of my growing femininity. Carl had me sunbathing, too, so I was getting darker. I was just a light mocha so far, but I was looking partly black now, somewhere between Jennifer Beals and Halle Barry. My face had begun to resemble Queen Latifah. My eyes were almond-shaped, my cheekbones were wider and my nose and lips had changed a little. I didn't look like her yet, but I didn't look like me either. I decided I wanted to be called a new name. I chose Pearl. Carl thought that was a good idea and never called me Jamie again. I wasn't Jamie anymore. I was Pearl. Funny, I didn't mind being naked in high heels and make-up anymore. I was Carl's woman. That's what Carl wanted. It was nice to be 'taken care of' and controlled by a strong man. A few days before our vacation was over I tried on my old clothes. My goodness. I could barely squeeze my hips into my pants and my shirt buttons were stretched by my new, heavy C-cup tits. I had also darkened to a lovely light cinnamon color. My appearance was 'all girl' now and I needed some clothes. We had some fun. I stood in my heels; with my hands on my hips while my lover man measured me. With all the 'slap and tickle' going on it took nearly an hour. I was now 5'10, 158 pounds, an increase of 5 inches and almost 50 pounds from my male body, and Carl had surely 'put some shape' on me. My figure had expanded to 38C-26-40 with a protruding ass. Mom and Dad were in for a surprise. That made me a size 14. Carl got me a dress and some plain white 'matron' bra and panties. Wow. It was weird putting on a bra for the first time. I actually needed one. This wasn't a costume or something. I couldn't just take off my boobs and go back to being Jim. These hooters were all me. I'd be wearing these things for the rest of my life. The panties looked like a parachute but I was shocked to see that they fit! Snugly! That's when I understood ... I was becoming a big woman. Thirty years from now it would be me who was the 400 pound grandmother, as wide as I was tall, with tits the size of bean bag chairs. Surprisingly, it didn't bother me. I put my hands on my fleshy hips and looked down at softening tummy. My new womanly figure agreed with me- and Carl certainly liked it. The dress didn't look too bad and it was the first clothes I had worn in a month. We went to mall and I got a basic wardrobe. I thought wearing pants and a sweater would make me look less girly. I was wrong. My bosom and butt made anything I wore look girly. At Carl's urging I got my ears pierced and he got me earrings and a necklace. Pearls, of course. After the mandatory trip to the make-up counter, I finished my transition to Pearl Carver by getting a purse. Now THAT felt girly. When we got home my mom was shocked by how much I had changed. My Dad said 'I looked nice' at Mom's urging, and then he went 'to the club'. I kissed Carl goodbye and went down to my room. I had slept with him for a solid month. The bed felt too big... empty. Oh, no. I was really in love- with a man. Chapter 4: I was starting to turn into a woman mentally as well as physically. I liked shopping with my mother, and watching soap operas. I quit work at the video store, too. Carl decided to work in his family's car dealership. He had worked there before but being the owner's son made him uncomfortable. But those were summer jobs, now he was working in management. He asked me if I wanted a job in the office. I agreed and joined 'the girls' filling out credit applications and registering cars. As the 'new girl' (they had no idea how new) I was responsible for the coffee room. I made the coffee and bought the donuts every day. It had an effect. I would buy a dress that fit loosely and by two weeks it was snug, and after a month I was splitting seams on it. My butt widened steadily and my bosom pushed out further and further. The differences between me and the real Queen Latifah were obvious. Where she was an 'apple' shaped woman, I had an hourglass figure which is another way of saying my butt was a lot bigger than hers. Three months after I started the new job I could feel the cheeks of my bubble butt swaying in counter-point to my immense DD cup breasts when I walked to get my third or fourth donut. I knew I was gaining weight, but Carl seemed to love it. We went out to dinner several times a week and he always encouraged me to indulge, in spite of my obvious expansion, and he was sexing me more passionately all the time. I had learned to give him blowjobs and we often had 'nooners', too. I was great when we would sneak into a storeroom and I would hike up my skirt and he would fuck me royally right on a desk. I was learning what a fat ass could be good for. I barely noticed we were doing it on a hard desk. As they say, "The Bigger the cushion, the sweeter the pushin'". Being a good girl, I'd lick him clean before he went back to his office. I hated my period but it was welcome news that I wasn't a mama- yet anyway. But I was changing. My complexion had darkened to a beautiful, smooth medium cinnamon- all over. I walked differently, I stood differently. I had the stiff legged gait of all women in high heels and my hips swayed constantly. I was taller than my mother and almost as big as my father. Mom began to hassle me about my weight. She didn't mind me becoming a woman, or black, but she didn't like the idea of me not having a perfect figure. Well, Carl thought it was perfect, so I ignored her... but not for long. The other day when I got out of the shower, I gasped when I saw what I had become. When had my breasts become so heavy, so pendulous? My back was sore and it was only 2pm. I placed my hands on my back to brace it. The backaches were becoming worse and more frequent. I couldn't deny it any longer. I needed to get fitted for a good, support bra before these udders were dragging on the floor. I turned to look behind me and my ass cheeks made a loud slapping sound as they bumped against the sides of the shower. I rushed to the bathroom scale. 188 POUNDS!! What had I done to myself! I was a hippo! I wrapped my bulging brown body in a robe and began looking for a good lady's foundation shop. I needed to get this blubber restrained before I hurt somebody. I got dressed and went to the nearest place I could find. The sales lady at 'REAL WOMAN' was an older woman almost my size, though slightly bigger. She measured me very carefully in the bust, waist and hips, but also my thighs and upper arms. She would look, tsk and write down another number then move on the next one. "It's you young girls who are the hardest to fit. You refuse to accept you're that can't fit into that flimsy 'Victoria's Secret' junk until it's almost too late. You've got stretch marks on your breasts already. Did you know that?" I shook my head. "I didn't think so. So you need support. So what. You're woman." She eventually fit me for a new 46DD support bra with 6 hooks! I bought three. I told her about my date tonight and she suggested a full body shaper. It was a virtually a spandex suit that started as a bra and extended down as a full panty girdle with long legs to restrain my chubby thighs. It was very uncomfortable but it made me look firmer than I had looked in months. I also got a few pairs of stockings to go with it since I couldn't wear pantyhose with it on. I decided to wear it and get used to it. The body shaper held me in but it changed how I looked and how I felt about myself. All my life I had been quick and agile, like a rabbit. Not anymore. I felt heavy, wide, flabby... large. I was sticking out in places where I didn't even have places a few months ago. And so mature. I sensed a schism between me and the young people who frequent every mall. I wasn't a kid anymore. I was a full- grown woman wearing grandma underwear because nothing else fits and I badly need the support. I hefted my tremendous bosom and watched it sway and ripple as it fell back down. I was 'all woman' now... and I was a fat woman. Yet I was only 25. I was sentenced to this spandex prison for the next 50 years! I strolled over to LANE BRYANT to find a new dress for tonight. I looked around at all the large women, OTHER large women, in the store and sighed. I'd be shopping here for the rest of my life. I wasn't feeling very confident. I ended up buying a loose dress that was one step away from a mumu. I was still down when Carl came for me. As usual he ordered a lot for me and encouraged me to indulge. I resisted this time. "Carl, I can't eat all that. Look at me. I've gotten so fat. These big pillowy thighs that you say feel so good wrapped around you would be rubbing together if not for a lot of spandex, baby." He just smiled a secret smile. "I know, Pearl. I don't want to marry some skinny, white boy." I almost missed that. MARRY! He was holding an engagement ring. I forgot all about my weight as I started to cry and said 'yes' over and over. Chapter 5 Being engaged to Carl was wonderful but it underscored a deep- seated unease that had been building for months now. I was happy and content when I was with him but when I was alone that feeling a being a visitor to my own life returned. Was it because I was a woman now? No. Truth be known, I liked it. Thinking about that horse dick of his made me all squishy. Was it because I was black? The world was still full of racist pinheads, but there were no segregation laws anymore. There were lots of black role models in all areas. Back in the 20th Century it may have been a problem, but not now. I knew what it was. The last big bigotry left. I was fat. I was a fat woman and it was still okay for people to point that out and tease you. Wanda, at work, had always been hot for Carl though he never was interested in her. She was very jealous of me and Carl and was the worst for taunting me about my weight. Once someone asked her to get a file and she said, "Do I have to? It's way on the other side of Pearl." Another time I heard her mention how Carl wanted to 'put some shape on me' but was the shape he had in mind a sphere? And so on. I tried to ignore it, but the others would laugh along with her. That made me cry sometimes. All my life I had been almost too thin. I never considered what it was like to be fat, nor considered the possibility of ever being fat, but here I was... fat... huge... big as a house! And getting BIGGER every day. I threw myself on my bed and had a good cry... lying on my side, of course. Lying on my stomach, as I used to do, hadn't been possible for months, and I doubted it ever would be again. I rolled onto my other side, my breasts flopping, first one then the other, like great bags of jelly. After I had a good cry I went shopping. How clich? is that. I went to Lane Bryant because they had the biggest selection in my size. Everything was nice but nothing was really exciting. I wanted something hot to wear. Damn. I wanted to be hot. But how could I now. I was a fat lady. I must have looked pathetic because a very elegantly dressed woman came up to me. "New at this, dear?" she asked kindly. "New?" "You know. Wearing plus sizes." "Yes," I said. "The weight happened... suddenly." She began to give me a pep talk about how I shouldn't let arbitrary standards affect my happiness. If I was OK with it and my fiancee was OK with it, why let anyone else interfere. "You are queen-sized, my dear. Act in a regal manner. You are the classic ideal of feminine beauty so don't apologize as most women of size do. Flaunt your womanly charms. Revel in your lush curves. Your young man must like what he sees. He asked to spend your life with him." She was right. I had a great figure, albeit a large one. I seemed to walk a little taller that day. I bought a new dress all right. It fit like skin, had a plunging neckline and a slit up the skirt. Yes, it was sexy and why not. I had the figure for it. I wasn't some skinny little girl. I was a woman. A few days later Carl took me to dinner and he obviously liked my new dress. As usual, he was encouraging me to have a rich dessert. I resisted only slightly. "You're the boss, baby. I'll eat like a good girl, but I have to warn you. You're engaged to a 206 pound woman." I could see him squirming from the raging boner I had just given him. **** I wanted tonight to be special. I was dressed in very skimpy panties of red lace, a matching bra and red high heels. Since I learned to like being a fat lady I was dressing a lot more provocatively. I looked out my window and saw Carl's car. I went to answer the door dressed this way and opened it wide. A gift for my fiancee... I don't why I was surprised that a Jehovah's Witness would have the same kind of car as Carl. I must have scared him. The walk was strewn with pamphlets. I decided to stop taking birth control pills and got fitted for a diaphragm. I wondered if the loss of hormones would affect me. It did. My ovaries started producing more estrogen on their own and I actually gained weight. I surrendered. Obviously, I was destined to be fat. I decided to spend a few weeks with Carl's grandmother to learn how to cook. I had been avoiding it because I just knew it would be a 'broadening' experience. Grandma Wheeler was a lovely woman who loved to cook and eat, as evidenced by her 400 pound figure. She taught me how to make all kinds of rich, country dishes. She also insisted I eat what I made. Carl's mother had avoided this for 25 years and Grandma Wheeler was determined to make up for her daughter-in-law's evasion. I would be the one to carry on the traditional family recipes. Looking at Grandma Wheeler I had a glimpse of my future... and I liked it. In addition to cooking she, of necessity, taught me how to let out a dress. Carl came to see me every weekend and seemed more and more pleased with me. I returned from my weeks at Grandma Wheeler's farm a 300+ pound mountain of lush womanhood... and pregnant. I was showing a little in my wedding gown but no one seemed to care. We spent our honeymoon on a cruise ship and I, shall we say, enjoyed the cuisine. Carl bought us his dream house and settled down as a happily married housewife. Keisha was born soon after and I loved breast-feeding my baby daughter. I certainly had enough for her. Visiting Carl at work didn't make me uncomfortable. Nobody teased me anymore. I was no longer the chunky girlfriend of the owner's son. I was the general manager's big, fat wife, and mother of the owner's grandchild. We were all very happy. The End