FAT MODEL

PART 1

I hate myself. I hate my body. It’s huge. Well, not so much. But it’s incredibly flabby. I’ve got flab

everywhere. My legs are two enormous bags of flab. They jiggle and move as if they were filled with

water they are so big, that my inner thighs rub each other while walking (which hurts as hell). My

butts are also huge. I’ve always been teased because of them. They are a couple of jelly filled balloons

that bounce every time I walk. My belly and my moobs are also very flabby (by the time my girl

friends boobs were growing, my were huge as hell. In fact, the first contact that my friends had with

boobs were with mine). It’s not that I am obese, but I’m a huge bag of flab. And when you’re a bag of

flab, it’s not easy finding a girlfriend (or at least a girl to flirt with, for that matter). I’m 19. And I’m a

virgin. I’m fat. I want to be a model and I’m ashamed of myself. True, I’ve got a couple of chances to

get laid with someone but I haven’t had any luck yet. And, I know this sounds weird, I’m ashamed of

my body. What would I give to have an Abercrombie model’s body. So lean and perfect. But I had to

be a pig. A flabby pig.

The other day I was skimming through a models casting agency brochure, and something caught my

eye:

“We’re looking for fat models for TV Infomercial”.

Fat models?

Really?

TV Infomercial.

“Great pay for one day’s work. All you have to do is to help us promote a weight loss gel.”

Great pay for one day’s work?

Weight loss gel?

OMG.

They are getting me paid for promoting a weight loss gel?

Meaning that I will get paid to use something that will help me loose weight?

I immediately called. They wanted a couple of pictures of myself (wearing bathing suit only). I took

them. And sent them. (While taking them something funny happened: my roommate came into our

room. He saw me almost naked. Me in all my fat glory. I blushed. He laughed and commented on how

fat I’ve recently gotten (he’s in great shape). Damn, I wanted to die.

“What are the pictures for”, he asked.

“Oh, nothing.”
“Oh, come on Lard” (all my friends call me Lard (or Lardass). Blame the fat (and fake as hell) kid from

Stand by Me. “You’re taking pictures of yourself naked”.

“I’m not naked”

“Well, then you must buy bigger underwear”.

“It’s my bathing suit.”

“Well, if you don’t want Greenpeace to come for you and set you free into the ocean, don’t wear that

in public. ****. Don’t wear that whenever you’re with me. Girls will freak!”

“I know I’m a little overweight.”

“Overweight? You’re obese man. I’ve never ****ed a girl with bigger boobs than yours.”

(By the way, my roommate bangs everything that has a vagina).

“I’ve already lost some pounds. One day I’m gonna be an Abercrombie and Fitch model, you’ll see.”

“Yeah, right. You’ll be the first obese Abercrombie model.”

“But I’ll loose weight.”

“Come on Lardass, you’re huge and those ****s are not bigger than your forearm. And even if you

loose weight, you’re so freaking fat that you’re excess skin won’t go away.”

He grabbed and shook my belly.

“Disgusting. And those boobs.”

“Do you like them?” Do you like them? Where the hell did that come from?

“They’re bigger than Analluisa’s, and boy is she big.”

“Really?” And I squeezed them together.

“Ha, ha. I like you. You’re a funny fat ****.”

My god. What happened to me? I squeezed my moobs in front of my roommate. I started feeling

something growing between my legs. With an incredibly fast movement (the kind of movements that

are only learned by experience) he took of his shirt showing his amazing body in all his glory. He was

simply put, perfect.

“Wow, I cannot imagine having boobs”, he said while touching my right moob.

“Moobs”.

“What?”

“Nothin’”.

“I swear Lard, these feel just like women boobs. Perhaps softer.”
My God. The growing feeling between my legs got bigger.

Then he slapped my belly and grabbed my overhang.

“Man, this is weird. Does it ever get uncomfortable?”

“No.” I lied.

“This feels just like…” he began squeezing my gut. “what’s that?”

“What?”

“Are you having a boner?”

“Me? A boner?”

“Don’t worry. I’d get one if someone played with my belly.”

“I’m not gay. I swear.”

“It’s okay, Lardie.”

And with that, he slapped my ass (“You should really do something about all that cellulite”, he

remarked.) and left the room. I felt awful, and not because of the boner (he knew I was not gay), but

because of how fat my body was and how much I disliked it.

I spent the rest of the day eating frozen whipped cream with M&M’s (an amazing recipe) while I

whacked off watching and Abercrombie documentary about their beautiful girls. Just before going to

bed I checked my computer. I had one new mail. I opened it and read it “You’v got the body type

we’re looking for. Not obese. Not chubby. Simply put, flabby. You’v got the job.”

My heart pounded. I’ve got a modeling gig. Wow. Lardass. Me. Trying a weight loss gel in front of

many people. It was weird. I mean. I hated my body, but I was about to get paid for showing it.

Well, what could go wrong?

Many, many things…

END OF PART 1