Chubby by G-boy
When I was sixteen the little sandwich shop I'd been working at after school closed down, leaving me without a job. The owner had been shot in a robbery, and he decided that it just wasn't worth the measly amount of money he was making. The guy who bought it told me he and his daughter would manage just fine without my help, thank you. Within a month of opening, he called me in for an interview. Obviously he'd underestimated just how many people would be coming in, the shop was right across the street from a car dealership and right down the street from a printing press and photography studio. The best thing, though, was the dance studio right next door. Ballerinas were in there all the time, for malts and sundaes and the occasional burger. His lunch crowd was healthy, but the after-school crowd easily surpassed that in dollar amounts. Within moments of entering for the job interview, I was behind the counter, smiling at all the leotards that were smiling back at me. Many of them had asked Mr. Trepan where I was, and were glad to see me back. (They knew I was good for an extra cherry on their sundaes, and a little extra squirt of chocolate in their malts.)
"Hi, Gary," one of them simpered at me.
"Hi, good looking," I smiled.
I never bothered to learn their names, most of them were eleven or twelve, way below my age range, so why bother with them? Plus that, even if they were fourteen or fifteen, they were so bone thin and sexless that I'd never consider going out with them.
"Can I have a chocolate, no make that strawberry sundae?" she giggled, knowing that a large chunk of her flat buttocks were peeking out from underneath her leotard at my lecherous gaze.
"No," I joked.
"What?" she squealed.
"I'm kidding," I said and rapidly made it.
Mr. Trepan watched as I kept the line moving, the customers happy, and the counter clean, in spite of the repeated spills and jostling girls. The old cash register was busily ringing up the sales, and his eyebrows went up as I tapped the side of it whenever the cash drawer stuck.
"The older ones need a little help," I explained.
"A banana split? A banana split? What? Do you see 'Monkey House' on my shirt?" I yelled to the gales of giggles. "We don't have banana splits here!"
"Um, then I'll take a sundae," the little girl giggled and laughed.
"What kind? Banana?" I barked.
"No! Hot fudge!" she squealed.
Mr. Trepan smiled as I rapidly mopped the floor clean and straightened the counter before we left at six thirty that evening.
"Six thirty!" he exclaimed. "That's the earliest I've gotten out of here yet!"
"Takes a while, but you get the hang of doing everything at the same time," I said.
"You'll be back tomorrow?" he asked as I unlocked my piece of shit car.
"Yeah, three fifteen," I smiled.
When I walked in, there was a girl, about my age, behind the counter. She was, to put it mildly, chubby. At about five feet tall, she had to weigh at least one hundred and fifty pounds. Her ample flesh was tightly constricted in a knit shirt that molded itself to the flabby breasts and wide biceps. Her stubby little fingers tried to jab the old cash register keys, but she was nervous and the ass hole car salesman wasn't helping her nerves any. I didn't like him; he thought just because he had a suit and tie, he was hot shit. She brushed her long brown hair out of her eyes and I saw the brown pools that peered at the stubborn numbers. Her little button nose wrinkled as she tried to make the damned machine work.
"It's stuck," I said. "What'd you have, sir?"
"No shit it's stuck," he scoffed, and then mumbled under his breath, "Fat bitch." To me he said, "Cheeseburger, small fries and chocolate shake."
"Three eight five," I said and held out my hand.
"How'd you do that?" she asked.
"Because he knows what the fuck he's doing," the ass hole sneered.
"Thank you sir," I hissed. "Oh, and sir?"
"Yes?" he smirked.
"If you cannot watch your language, you can take your business elsewhere," I said evenly.
With a dark scowl, the son of a bitch left the shop. The fat girl turned and looked at me. The gratitude was evident. She was pretty, in spite of the fifty or sixty extra pounds.
"You're Gary," she said.
"Yeah, but I don't know who you are," I replied.
"Debbie," she said and we shook hands.
I spent the rest of the day the same way I always did, keeping the line of giggling girls and other customers flowing. Mr. Trepan came in and watched as Debbie and I bustled. She wasn't very good at this job, but she hadn't had the experience behind her like I did. We got along all right, too busy not to. When we locked the doors at six, I rapidly mopped the floors and set up for the next day's business, while Mr. Trepan told Debbie to watch and learn.
The next afternoon, I was greeted by a big smile as I sauntered in. She told me that the jerk salesman had been back, but as meek as a lamb. We had a slight lull and I watched as her ample buttocks wiggled in their tight jeans and looked at the fleshy thighs that rubbed together as she wiped the counter clean. I went around and emptied all of the ashtrays, made sure the napkin holders were filled and straightened up the few tables and chairs we had there.
"Banana split? A banana split?" I yelled at the giggling girl. "What do you think this is, the zoo? We don't have any banana splits here!"
"Hot fudge sundaes? You got that?" she asked.
"Oh, well, that! Yes, we have that!" I yelled, which brought on more gales of giggles. "You want one of those, you little monkey?"
"Yes!" she yelled back and I rapidly made one and slipped an extra cherry on top for her.
Debbie saw the extra cherry and frowned. She frowned whenever I did anything nice for one of the leotard-clad girls that giggled and simpered and vied for my attention. She tried to wait on as many of them as possible, but it seemed like most of them wanted me to wait on them. Finally the giggling girls paraded out of the shop and I wiped down the sticky counter and smiled broadly at Debbie. She didn't smile back, which puzzled me. A few minutes ago, we'd been getting along fine, and now that we had a moment to breathe, she seemed withdrawn.
"Something wrong?" I asked.
"No, why?" she snapped.
"Just wondering," I said and finished up the few chores that needed to be done. "If you're mad about the extra cherries and the extra squirts of chocolate, the way Mr. Reynolds explained it to me is it keeps them coming back, so it's worth the few extra pennies," I said, thinking she was mad because I was wasting her dad's money.
"And you want that, huh?" she huffed and disappeared into the employee's bathroom.
"Well, yeah!" I yelled through the closed door. "They keep the cash register ringing, don't they?"
I didn't get it. She was jealous of the skinny, sexless girls in their skimpy dance clothes that seemed to get so much of my attention. To me, they were simply customers, nothing more. At sixteen, I wasn't exactly a prizewinner in the looks department. I was cute, but that was about it. Big glasses, small face and head full of bushy dark hair. All of this on a five foot, ten inch body that weighed one hundred and fifty pounds. If I got jeans to fit my slender waist, they were too short in the length, and if I got them long enough, I had to wear a belt with them. I wore long sleeve shirts most of the time because my arms were so skinny. Like I said, no prizewinner, but I did attract attention with my loud boisterous attitude and easy smile. I once had a woman ask me if my teeth were false because they were so white and straight, even though I'm a heavy smoker.
We spent the next hour while her dad did the inventory in the stockroom, ringing up customers and silently avoiding each other. When it came time to clean up we did a tug of war with the mop, which I let her win. I watched her short, plump body wiggle as she frantically mopped and missed most of the spots. I finally had to call her attention to this, at which point she threw the sticky mop at me and stormed out.
Mr. Trepan smiled and told me that he suspected that Debbie might have a little crush on me, which produced a furious blush from me. She didn't come in that day, so he and I waited on the girls as they trooped in. Mr. Trepan tried to match my jovial ribbing of the girls, but because he was so much older than they were, (he was maybe thirty-seven) they took his ribbing personally, and I had a few ruffled feathers and hurt feelings to soothe.
Saturday, we were open from ten 'til four, and Mr. Trepan seemed a little flustered at the rough crowd of teens that came in to pound on the three pinball machines, smoke cigarettes and loudly curse and threaten others. Twice I had to leave the counter and stop fights before they started, while he and Debbie looked on. Debbie was wearing a nice blouse, baggy enough to not contour to her fleshy torso, and tight jeans, which emphasized her full buttocks and heavy legs. I told her she looked nice, which prompted a flurry of activity in her; all designed to avert her attention from me. I still didn't know much about women, so all this did was make me think maybe Mr. Trepan was mistaken about Debbie having a little crush on me. I thought to myself, "As heavy as Debbie is, there's no such thing as a little crush. That's a whole lot of crushing in them thighs!" but knew better than to say that out loud.
"Oh, yeah? Well, fuck you!" some older boy was screaming at me as I was ordering him out of the small store.
"Not in this lifetime," I said, which made his friends laugh.
"Fucking ass hole, who needs this place anyway?" he sneered and strutted out the door.
A few of his buddies apologized for their friend's behavior and the other boy that had been involved in the original problem also left. Debbie's eyes were wide as I stepped back behind the counter.
"That boy was twice your size," she whispered.
"I know," I whispered back. "Thank God he's too stupid to know that."
We both giggled at this and another one of her beautiful smiles rewarded me.
"So, um, what you doing tonight?" she asked as I cleaned up.
"Not much," I admitted. "You?"
"Nothing," she said and blushed deeply.
"So, um, you want to go do something?" I asked.
"Um, like what?" she asked.
"I want to fuck you. Let me rub my cock all over them big titties and shoot my wad all over that pretty face. Let me grease that big ass up with whipped cream and eat it up," I thought.
"You seen 'The Song Remains The Same' yet?" I asked.
"No!" she said.
"Want to?" I asked.
I'd seen the Led Zeppelin film about five times already, but the Joy Theatre was playing it, and they had installed a full four hundred-watt stereo system just for this. It was almost just like being at the concert itself; your ears were bleeding by the time you left there.
She looked cute in her Led Zeppelin tee shirt and white jeans and her hair all loose and fluffed up. She shocked me by lighting up a joint the moment we were out of her driveway. We shared it on the way; she sliding closer and closer to me on the large bench seat of my piece of shit sixty-eight Delta. I shocked her by pulling a nice sized flask of tequila sunrise from under my car seat. By the time we'd gotten to the Joy, we were buzzing nicely and had the munchies. Popcorn, chocolate bars and tequila definitely goes great together. Yes, I noticed some of the stares and giggles we were generating among the rude boys and their bone thin dates. Her tight jeans and tee shirt didn't hide her bulk, but at least she didn't look like a freak or starvation victim.
The film was blaring at full volume and she asked me something. I turned my attention from Jimmy Page's screeching guitar solo and looked at her.
"What?" I yelled.
"I don't have to be home until eleven thirty, my dad trusts you," she screamed. "What time does this movie end?"
"Nine," I yelled back.
When I opened my mouth to ask her if she wanted another sip from the flask, she jammed her fat tongue fully in my mouth. Surprised and stoned but not stupid, I went with it. Within moments, we were pawing at each other's bodies. I had a good handful of fat breast and could feel the nipple, ridiculously small in the midst of this mound, swell up through her thick bra. She was moaning and grunting as we kissed passionately. I've seen movies where people managed to have sex in the middle of movie theaters. I have no idea how they manage it; the fucking armrest was keeping us apart and wedged in our seats. With a blast of noise, the film ended, and we scurried out of there, racing for my car.
"Where to?" she panted as she sat almost in my lap.
"Lake Front or Boat Launch?" I asked.
"Which is better?" she asked as she fondled my cock through my jeans.
"Boat Launch," I moaned as the come boiled up in me.
The Boat Launch is great for teenaged sex because it's fairly isolated at night, the police don't check it as often, and when you need to get some beer, cigarettes, or condoms, the bait shop at the gate sells all of that. Louisiana in the seventies seemed to not know what age verification meant, so beer, cigarettes and condoms were available to anyone who had the balls to ask for it. We drove there, kissing at every red light, as fast as we could. I'd already shot one load in my jeans from her hand job, but my cock never lost its hard. When we arrived, I was grateful, for once, to have such a large car. Wordlessly, we scrambled into the back seat and really got into some heavy petting. I had her tee shirt bunched up around her neck, the large bra soon to follow. I was mauling those fat globes of flesh and chewing my way up her ample gut as she wrapped her stubby hand around my raging cock.
"Want to fuck?" she asked as I unzipped her tight jeans.
"Want to eat you," I moaned and worked the jeans down slightly.
She lifted her ass up and I was able to get the jeans down to her knees. The large white panties, crotch visibly wet, followed. Her large ass wiggled and jiggled as she tried to kick the jeans off over her platform shoes. The waistband of the jeans left a wide red mark where they'd cut into her flesh, and I licked around the pasty white flesh, zooming in for the abundant forest of pubic hair. Her arousal was evident; the musk aroma filled the car and her inner thighs were wet. I tried valiantly to part the fleshy lips, but the abundance of pubic hair thwarted my efforts. With a grunt, she reached her plump hands and pulled the lips as far apart as she could. I delved in, sucking and licking the juice from each lip and trying to shove my whole face into her. I was very inexperienced at this, but I must have done it right, because she grunted and yelled and my face received a hefty dose of juice. I must admit, I wasn't crazy about the taste of her pussy, but I liked the thought of what I was doing. Finally, she gripped my ears and pulled my along her reclined bulk and kissed me. Then she unzipped my jeans and worked my cock out of the nylon briefs I wore. She avidly returned the favor, but it was obvious that this was her first time too, because her teeth scraped my head painfully, and she gagged when only three inches were in her mouth. I didn't take long, though, and warned her that I was about to come. She swallowed the first shot and made a face. She didn't know that there was more than one shot, and my second and third hit her squarely on the nose and cheeks some even splattered in her hair. For this, I received a punch in my stomach, and drove a surly Debbie home shortly after that. She'd combed the evidence from her hair and wiped the rest from her face, and was calmed down enough to kiss me good night at her front door. I fell asleep with visions of a bouncing ass riding my cock and smiled in my sleep.
Monday afternoon, Mr. Trepan had to run to the bank before they closed, and asked if I would give Debbie a ride home. I gladly agreed, even though she was being somewhat withdrawn. She was quiet until I pulled up in front of her house. Then she turned and faced me.
"How come you didn't want to fuck me?" she accused.
"What?" I asked, surprised.
"It's because I'm fat, isn't it?" she yelled.
"No! I want to fuck you like you wouldn't believe!" I protested.
"Yeah, sure," she huffed and eased herself out of my car.
"I do!" I yelled. "I just don't want you getting knocked up, that's all!"
"You ever hear of rubbers?" she yelled.
"You ever hear of holes?" I yelled back.
You should let me worry about that," she said, and waddled to her front door.
Tuesday, Mr. Trepan had to run back to the bank. Obviously, he was a little behind on his loan note and was trying to work out some kind of payment plan with them. We cleaned up the storefront, and Debbie called me into the stockroom just as I'd locked the door. When I walked back there, she held out two condoms in her little hand. I wasn't looking at them, though. She'd wiggled out of her knit shirt and tight jeans. Her ample girth was wiggling and bouncing as she threw a blanket on the floor. With an almost defiant look, she turned to me, fully exposing her fleshy breasts, hanging gut and pasty white thighs with the full bush of pussy hair above them.
"You say you want to fuck, well, come on, let's fuck," she demanded and threw the condoms at me.
Nervous as hell, I shed my own clothes and rolled one of the condoms on my semi-hard cock. She flopped down on the blanket and spread her arms wide for me. She was as inexperienced as I; the fumbling and groping wasn't getting us anywhere. Finally, my cock, despite my nervousness, was at full erection, and I attempted entry. She was wet from my fingers digging at her flesh, but she was unbelievably tight. With a final shove, I seated my cock into her to the hilt. She screamed sharply, and I remembered my older brother telling me that the first time always hurt the girl. It hurt me too; my cock felt like it was bent double in the tight confines. She was shoving and pushing at me, and I tried to pull out of her tight cunt. This seemed to have done something right, though because within seconds, her fleshy hips were thrusting up at me. We fell into a rhythm, humping and grunting on the sticky blanket. With a scream, she shuddered and almost shook me off. I wasn't far behind and howled as my cock emptied into the constricting rubber. After a few moments, we dressed and I drove her home. Convinced of my true like of her, she kissed me passionately at the door, and I drove home, an hour late for supper.
Mr. Trepan called me into the stockroom at six o'clock the next night and I was nervous; supposed Debbie had told him I fucked her? Instead he told me that the bank had called in the loan. He had no choice but to call it quits. That Friday was our last day in business, and I was sad to lock the door behind the last customer, the car salesman prick. The girls from the dance studio were all tearful as they told me good-bye, and my favorite little girl didn't even ask me if we sold banana splits. But, she did tell me her daddy owned the local bowling alley, if I needed a job, go see him. I thanked Shay for this little bit of information, and Mr. Trepan called Shay's father and put in an excellent word for me.
Debbie and I dated a few times, mainly hot and sweaty times at the Boat Launch, until Mr. Trepan decided to move them to some God-forsaken town in Alabama, where he was sure they could make a go of a feed store. One of my favorite memories is of her on her side while I straddlee her fat thigh. Her other leg was up on the back windowsill. In this position, I was able to plunge my cock into her wide spread cunt with almost no difficulty. She grunted and squealed as I slipped the head of my cock into her tight ass hole in this position, and giggled as my hot sperm flooded into her bowels. The head of my cock was the most I'd ever gotten into her ass hole, but it wasn't from lack of trying.
My job at the bowling alley lasted until I left for college, and yes, the concession stand at the bowling alley did sell banana splits. But, eve when I was sweating and grunting on top of the little blonde Shay, I wished she had at least twenty more banana split pounds on her breasts, ass, and thighs. She did let me fuck her up the bony butt, though. That was nice, but not as nice as a fat ass. Chubby just rides better, if you ask me.
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