“Customer service, this is Curt. How may I help you?”
For the last five years I had worked as a CSR, or Customer Service Representative, for a large Midwestern manufacturing company. We specialized in selling all kinds of industrial fasteners and over the years the company had built up an extensive national distribution network. My job was to service the needs of our customers all over the country, answering their questions, resolving their problems, and listening patiently to their complaints.
It was not a great job, but it had its moments, and I enjoyed talking to our mostly female clientele from all over the USA. Eventually I came to know some of our best customers who called on a regular basis. Most of the time our conversations were strictly about business, but occasionally we would engage in some light chit chat to help pass the time. We talked about the weather in Philly, the latest foibles of the Cubs, or the weekend spent hiking in the Rockies.
I tried to imagine what they looked like from the sound of their voices. For example, Debbie in Kansas City had a quiet, squeaky, somewhat high-pitched little voice, and for some reason I visualized her as a petite blonde with a ponytail. Moira in New York had a throaty, manly voice with an unmistakable Brooklyn accent, and I imagined her as a well-built, dark-haired, street smart big city broad who wouldn’t mind playing rough between the covers.
But my favorite was always Lisa, who worked for a company in the suburbs only about 20 miles away. Lisa had an obvious sense of humor and her voice conveyed kindness and empathy. For the life of me, I simply could not picture what she might look like, but she struck me as the kind of woman I would like to meet.
As for myself, I have a very deep, masculine sounding voice, and I’m sure my callers imagined me as a tall, muscular hunk with bulging biceps, tanned brown skin, and a smile that flashed a set of perfect super-white teeth. I never had the courage to tell them the truth. In reality I was of about medium height and moderately handsome, but with the distinct drawback of carrying 306 pounds of very flabby fat on my body. I was just the typical out of shape guy who tends to eat too much and exercise too little, and who enjoys sitting on the couch on Sundays watching a game on TV with a cold beer in hand.
I was reasonably satisfied with my existence, with the exception of my co-workers at the company. It would be hard to imagine a more disagreeable bunch of people. They spent most of their days engaged in malicious gossip, interrupted only briefly by half-hearted attempts to do any productive work.
I seemed to be a special target of their malice. Maybe it was because of my weight, or maybe it was because I was just a friendly, easy-going guy who offered little resistance, but either way, they left me not a moment of peace while I was in the office.
Behind my back they referred to me as “Fat Curt” and when the office was renovated, my supervisor provided me with a tiny, narrow secretary’s chair as part of my new office equipment. I think she did it deliberately, just so they could laugh at my oversized butt cheeks hanging over the edges. After two hours of continuous sitting in that chair, my hips and back would ache and burn painfully. All my requests for a chair more suited to my size were rebuffed with the reasoning that “resources are not currently available for the purchase of additional office furniture.” I hated them and I’m sure that they hated me. Little did they know that I had my own little nicknames for them too, such as “Cheats-On-His-Wife Bob,” or “Drinking-Problem Fred,” or “Sleeps-With-Almost-Anyone Alice.”
The only real bright spot in my day was when a call came through from my favorite customer, Lisa. We were developing a cozy little telephone relationship and every so often Lisa would suggest that we get together for a personal meeting.
“I’d sure like to meet you sometime, Curt. You seem like such a nice guy, especially compared to all the jerks I have to work with here.”
“I know what you mean, I have the same problem.”
“We have these salesmen,” Lisa said, lowering her voice a notch, “and they are such brainless assholes. They’re always hitting on me and asking me to go out. I really would like to meet a nice decent guy like you.”
“How do you know I’m decent?” I joked and we both laughed.
“But seriously, Curt, I’m one of your best customers and maybe we could meet somewhere and talk about business.”
Lisa emphasized the word “business” and I had the distinct feeling that her suggestion was just a pretext for something else. She probably thinks I’m some big, sexy hunk, I thought to myself.
This cat and mouse game continued for a few weeks, with Lisa becoming more and more insistent about the need for a face-to-face meeting. I was evasive because I didn’t want her to discover that the sexy hunk was really 306 pounds of soft flab.
Finally one Tuesday morning, Lisa brought in the heavy artillery. “You know, Curt, our company does quite a lot of business with yours, but I’m starting to become dissatisfied with the level of customer service I’m getting.” She paused to let her words sink in. “I could decide to shift my business to another supplier, unless of course you would agree to a meeting to discuss our mutual interests.”
My nice Lisa had suddenly revealed a side of her I was previously unaware of. It was true that she placed large orders on a frequent basis, and if she really did pull the plug, for whatever reason, I would be called on the carpet to explain why. I panicked and went to find my skinny bitch supervisor.
I explained the seriousness of the situation, but she shook her head. “No, Curt, you’re a back office person. We have better, uh, more qualified people to handle external contacts with customers.”
I knew what she was thinking. There was no way she was going to send a fat 300-pound slob out to a personal meeting with one of the company’s best customers. Better to send one of those good-looking but idiotic salesmen to charm and persuade the customer.
“Our objective is to project a lean, efficient, dynamic, fast-moving corporate image and frankly, Curt, you just don’t fit that image.”
She stood in front of me and looked at me from head to toe with a critical expression, as if to emphasize what she had just said. “Nevertheless,” she continued, “I understand the customer’s concerns, and for this time, and this time only, I will make an exception. Call back and make arrangements to meet the customer as soon as possible. And, Curt,” here she patted my round belly with the back of her hand, “try to wear something that looks slimming.”
The following week I went out to meet Lisa at a coffee shop in the suburbs not far from her office. Wearing my best navy blue suit, I arrived early, got my coffee, and sat down at one of the tables. After about ten minutes, an attractive young lady walked in the door. She looked around the room, did not see anyone who appeared to be of interest, and glanced at her watch. I realized from her confused look that this must be Lisa. I waved at her from my table. She walked over and I stood up to shake her hand.
“Hi, I’m Curt.”
She appeared to be utterly astounded and her mouth dropped open. “Oh,” she said looking me over, “you’re not quite what I expected.”
My worst fears were coming true. I was embarrassed, but I forced myself to smile.
“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but this is the package.”
She recovered her composure quickly and laughed.
“No, Curt, I’m not disappointed, it’s just that I had a different mental picture of you, that’s all.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, “that happens a lot. But . . . please sit down, can I get you a coffee?”
“Oh, Curt,” she smiled, “you really are sweet. Yes, I’ll have a double mocha with extra cream, please.”
I was slightly surprised and walked away to get her order.
“Here you are, ma’am,” I said when I returned with her cup. “Service with a smile for one of our very best customers.”
I sat down and watched Lisa as she started to sip the hot drink. She was short and slender without being skinny. She was very fit and appeared to exercise on a regular basis. She had a cute face, full lips, dark brown shoulder-length hair, and ample breasts that seemed out of proportion to her small body. I understood why the men in her office would hit on her.
“Your last name, Cioffi, that sounds Italian,” I said as a way of making conversation. It sounded stupid, but I was taken aback by the loveliness of her appearance, and for once the talkative fat man was speechless.
“Yes, it is. Actually, our family was from Sicily originally. Lots of Sicilians came to the States in the last century.”
“Interesting,” I nodded. “So that must mean that you like to eat all those delicious pasta dishes.” Another stupid comment, I thought after it was too late, but Lisa didn’t seem to mind.
“Of course,” she replied. “We’ve always had lots of good food in our house. And I just love to cook. I could even cook up some nice lasagna or mostaccioli for you.”
“No thanks, I have to stay away from all that stuff. I’m already big enough as it is.”
“Not really.” Lisa was looking at me in a way that made me slightly uncomfortable.
Yeah right, I thought to myself. Even with my conservative clothing, she’d have to be blind not to notice how fat I was.
“Actually, I like the way you look, Curt,” she said with a slight blush.
“No, you’re just trying to be nice and protect my fragile ego.”
“No, honestly. Believe it or not, Curt, there really are women who like big strong men like you. Sometimes even bigger,” she laughed.
“Ewww, I can’t even imagine that,” I said. “It seems kind of weird, doesn’t it?”
“Are you calling me weird?” Lisa said, pretending to be angry. “But why weird? It’s a preference just like anything else. If a man likes a girl with long legs or red hair, nobody thinks that’s weird, do they? They don’t say he has a ‘long leg fetish,’ do they? So why is this any different?”
“Well, I suppose that’s true. So, what you’re telling me, is that some women actually get hot for fat guys specifically because they’re fat?”
“Yes, Curt, that’s it exactly. We call ourselves female fat admirers, or FFAs for short,” Lisa confessed.
“You mean you’re one of them???”
Lisa held up both hands and laughed. “You got me, Curt. I surrender. Call the police and I promise to go quietly.”
“No, I didn’t mean it that way.” I was afraid that maybe I had offended her. “It’s just that you are so darn attractive, you could have any man you wanted.”
“Maybe that’s true. But it’s men like you that I like.” She looked me right in the eyes.
“Wow, that’s incredible. I wish I would have known you in high school.”
“Yes, high school’s often a problem for big guys and girls. But I’m here now and I’d like to get to know you better. Sorry if I’m being too nosy, but tell me, have you always been a big guy?”
We had only just met in person, and I wasn’t quite sure I was ready to talk to Lisa about my weight problem, but she smiled so reassuringly that she blew away all my inhibitions.
“Well, yes, for the most part. I was always chubby as a kid. I gained some more weight in middle school and I remember that the girls would always tease me and say that I needed a bra.” I felt embarrassed because I had never told anyone about this before, but Lisa’s warm brown eyes encouraged me to continue with my story. “In high school I was too afraid of being rejected to even ask for a date, though I think a few girls really did like me a little. I gained some more in college, but after that my weight has pretty much stayed the same. I really haven’t gained much over the last couple of years.”
That can change, Lisa thought to herself with a hint of anticipation.
“So, what about you?” I asked. “Why don’t you tell me your true confessions?”
Lisa shrugged. “There’s really not that much to tell. I grew up in Chicago and then when I was 14, we moved up here to Milwaukee. I was just an average student, but in high school I had this huge crush on this really cute, shy boy. He was really heavy, but the nicest guy you could ever think of. I always wanted him to ask me out, but he never did. I was more timid then than I am now.”
She paused to take a sip of her coffee and then continued. “I majored in Accounting in college and that was where I met my ex. He was this really good-looking jock, sexy as hell, and everyone else was jealous that he was interested in me. After college we got married, but it only lasted about three years and then we split. Today I don’t understand why I married him in the first place.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said sympathetically.
“Don’t be sorry. He turned out to be a real asshole,” Lisa explained bluntly. “On top of that, I found out that he was interested in more than just women, if you know what I mean. Now I have this job in the Purchasing Department and I spend my days buying stuff for the company. It’s not great, but it pays the bills.”
“Sounds just about as boring as my job,” I commented dryly.
“Yes, usually it is boring. But it does have its moments. Sometimes I talk to this really sweet guy in the Customer Service Department of one of our suppliers. His name is Curt – do you know him?”
At this Lisa laughed out loud and suddenly I felt very pleasantly flattered.
“Yes, I know him well. And I know that he likes this really nice customer named Lisa.”
I looked down into my coffee cup and now it was Lisa’s turn to feel flattered.
“You really are sweet, Curt! I like you even more now that I’ve met you in person.” Lisa put her hand on top of mine and smiled.
I was starting to feel dizzy. I thought, Wow, this one’s a keeper.
“But are you still thinking of changing suppliers?”
“Of course not. I was never serious about that in the first place. It was just an excuse to get to know you. You always sounded so nice on the phone and I wondered what you looked like. And as I said, I’m not at all disappointed.” She looked at me with a smile that gave me goosebumps.
After another half hour of conversation, Lisa reluctantly looked at her watch. “I’m having a great time, Curt, but now I really have to go. My parents have invited me over for dinner.”
“Yes, I’ve enjoyed it too. Maybe we could get together again sometime,” I suggested.
“I’d love that. Why don’t we meet and go out somewhere for a nice dinner this Saturday.“
“Sounds great to me, “ I said, trying to hide how absolutely thrilled I was. “Why don’t we plan on meeting at about six.”
Lisa agreed, and as we both got up to leave, she came over and gave me a quick, but intense hug.
God, he’s meaty, she thought to herself and realized that her nipples were hard.
On Saturday I went over and met Lisa at her apartment. She lived in the city’s old Third Ward, formerly a working class Italian neighborhood that more recently had gone upscale with expensive condos and converted lofts. It was a nice spring evening and together we walked the few blocks to La Scala, an Italian restaurant that Lisa recommended. We were seated by the windows and the waiter took our drink order. After he brought us our wine, I asked Lisa what she liked best on the menu.
“Oh, I like just about everything here. The food’s very good, but if you don’t mind, I’ll order for both of us.”
“Sounds good to me. Most of this is in Italian and I’m just a pizza and beer guy myself.”
The waiter returned in a few minutes and stood in front of us, his pad ready in hand.
“Scusi, Signore,” said Lisa, “but tonight I will order for both of us.”
“Of course, Signorina.”
“First of all for my handsome friend, fried calamari with marinara sauce as an appetizer, Cobb salad, and a big bowl of chicken pastini soup. Then, for the entree, pasta alla norma with a side of garlic toast.”
The waiter glanced at me and opened his eyes wide.
Lisa then gave him her own, somewhat smaller order. The waiter smiled at both of us, took our menus, and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Good Lord, Lisa, I can’t eat all that food!”
“Of course you can, silly. You’re a big boy and you need to keep your strength up.”
I have to admit that the meal Lisa had chosen for me was delicious, but I could feel my belly pressing firmly against my belt as I finished off the last of the pasta.
“Any dessert, Signorina?” the waiter appeared again at our table.
“No thank you,” she said, “We’ll be having our dessert later.”
“Si, Signorina.” The waiter left, and I noticed that he was grinning from ear to ear.
The walk back to Lisa’s apartment seemed twice as long as when we came and I was puffing slightly.
“Did you enjoy that, Curt?” and she affectionately patted my outstretched belly.
“Oh yes, Lisa, it was marvelous, but it was just too much!”
“Maybe you’d like to come upstairs for an after-dinner drink to help settle your stomach.”
Lisa’s apartment was modest but stylishly furnished, and I admired her good taste.
I sat down on her couch while she went into the kitchen to get our drinks.
She came back with two small glasses of Amaretto di Amore.
“This will settle the tummy,” she said as she sat down very close next to me.
We sipped our drinks together, but Lisa didn’t take her eyes off of me, and despite our large dinner, something about her expression told me she was still hungry.
“So, are you ready for your dessert, big boy?”
“Oh Lisa, really, I just can’t eat another bite,” I replied naively.
She pushed me back into the cushions and as she snuggled up on top of me, she brought her lips close and began nibbling on my ear lobe.
“This is my dessert,” she purred.
Before I knew it, she had unbuttoned the front of my shirt and had started to massage and squeeze my rolls of fat. She poked my belly with her index finger and watched as it sank deep into the soft blubber. Then she let her fingers do the walking up to my chest and started circling my nipples and pinching them with her fingers. Her lips parted and I heard her begin to moan softly.
“I want you, Curt,” she whispered, “I want you right now!”
I was starting to feel a tingling sensation all over my body. Lisa suddenly launched herself on top of me and held my head in both her hands as she started to kiss me with a wild passion. I closed my eyes and returned her kisses and soon we both had our clothes off and were caressing, squeezing, licking, and biting each other like there was no tomorrow. Before long, right there on the couch, Lisa was riding me up and down like a rodeo cowboy.
I was completely and hopelessly hooked after that first outing with Lisa. In the days and weeks that followed, Lisa and I saw each other at least several times a week, and each time our meetings involved huge meals and great sex. Instead of going out, we often had dinner at Lisa’s apartment, and she delighted in cooking me huge delicious meals followed by her own “special” dessert. I was totally helpless in her clutches; I loved the food, but I loved her loving even more. I was gaining weight steadily, but for some reason I didn’t care. I was addicted to Lisa and I only thought about consuming her and the food she prepared for me.
The months passed and one day at work I sat at my desk reflecting on how my life had changed since I first met Lisa. I had developed an entirely new way of thinking: in my mind, food equaled sex equaled love equaled Lisa. I had already gained 80 pounds thanks to Lisa’s quick weight gain diet. My old clothes were left hanging in the closet and I had been forced to go out and find new ones in larger sizes. I now waddled rather than walked, slowly putting each leg ahead of the other, my heavy thighs getting in the way and rubbing against each other, my hips and ass swaying back and forth.
Whereas before I would often walk six blocks or more during my lunch hour, now those six blocks seemed as unattainable as if I had tried to run the Boston Marathon, so I stayed inside and ate my lunch at my desk. I avoided climbing stairs entirely and even waited to take the elevator a mere one floor up to my office on the second floor. The gravity of my expanding body seemed to weigh me down more and more.
But in spite of my physical transformation, or maybe because of it, Lisa gave herself over to me wholeheartedly and without reservation. In my previous life, I had been starved for love, but now Lisa filled me with her love even more than she filled me with food.
One evening, after she had served me an especially heavy meal, we sat together on her couch and I told her that I was afraid I was turning into just a big fat blimp.
She snuggled up close to me, tenderly put her hands on my full belly, and looked at me deeply with her soft brown eyes. “Curt, my darling, you still don’t understand how much I love you, do you? I love you more than anyone else on this earth, more than my father and mother, more than my brothers and sisters, more than any other man I have ever known. Tears started to form in her eyes and with the deepest of sighs she continued, “You are my life, you are my everything. I have nothing without you. If I can love you so much, why can’t you at least love yourself even a little bit?”
That night Lisa told me she wanted to make me hers forever.
One Monday morning, I walked into the office as usual following a two week vacation. I had only walked a short distance from the parking lot, but already I was out of breath. By now I had advanced to a huge 412 pounds and this made my co-workers more spiteful than ever. I sat down heavily on the tiny secretary’s chair, which was now totally inadequate to support my massive bulk. I could hear them laughing behind my back as they watched my huge fat buttocks spill over the sides of the chair.
Now and then I caught snatches of their conversation. “ . . . hope she was the one on top.” “Like getting two guys for the price of one . . .”
Finally, my skinny bitch supervisor came over and flashed her fake smile. “So, Curt, how was the honeymoon?” She raised her eyebrows, as if she expected to hear some juicy details about how a fat man makes love.
To hell with her, I thought. It’s none of their damn business. “Great,” I said shortly and turned back to my desk.
A call was coming in over my headphones. It was Lisa. She was at work too, so she didn’t say much. “I can still feel you inside of me,” she whispered. “I can’t wait till we get home tonight. I’ll have you screaming for mercy!”
In the eight months since that first meeting with Lisa at the coffee shop, I had turned into a whole different man, physically as well as emotionally. My fat literally drooped in waves over my body and with every step I took, I felt like I was moving a ton of bricks. Was it worth it?
“Are you still there, pumpkin?” Lisa asked because of my long silence. “I’ll cook you a nice dinner when you come home tonight, how about spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread? And for dessert you can have Lisa a la mode -- all night long.”
I hung up and sat there thinking for a long time. Then I realized that I was the luckiest, happiest fat man in the whole world. And yes, it was all worth it.
