Fat Farm Counselor Ch. 03

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I laid with her, sharing kisses and hugs and caresses for a few minutes, the afterplay comfortable and, well, fun, as she giggled when I jiggled parts of her.

“It’s hard to believe,” she said, as I lightly jiggled the big roll of bellyfat that was her fat girl’s natural modesty, making little ripples run up and down her body, “that a month ago I would barely look my own husband in the eye, I was so ashamed of my body.”

“It’s hard to believe,” I said, mimicking her, “that society is so fucked up that you were forced into that situation.”

She smiled at that, a happy smile on her cute face, and then ran her hand down my belly to find my dick.

“Got a second round in there?” she asked, giving a little squeeze.

“Wellllllll,” I said, and then kissed her, and rolled away quickly, “there will be plenty more but you heard Greg. I have an intake in,” and I paused and glanced at the clock on her headboard, “forty-five minutes and I don’t even know where my room is yet.”

She pouted and she was cute doing that too.

“Okay,” she said, showing that odd combination of ponderous and grace many healthy fat women have as she rocked back and then rolled forward, swinging her arm and leg for momentum, and sat up on the edge of the bed, “lightweight, I’ll show you where to go.”

I laughed and stepped into my boxers, then pulled on my jeans and the T-shirt. I just stuffed the laces of my tennis shoes into the shoe and then my feet, sockless, into the shoes. Good to go for a short walk.

I realized she had no intention of putting on any clothes, just the flip-flops to offer protection for her feet. Christ, she looked sexy, her hair spiky, her makeup smeared, and, of course, semen lubricating those half-moon pads at the top of her inner thighs where they rubbed as she walked.

Casual nudity Greg had said, and here it was on display.

“Come on, sweet cheeks,” she said, “let me have the pleasure of making the other girls jealous because I got your Farm cherry,” and she took my arm in that two-hands-on-the-arm possessive way some women can pull off.

The buildings were laid out in a rough circle. In the middle of the circle was a sort of park area with a baseball diamond, two tennis courts that I later learned were actually Pickleball courts, and a swimming pool. At the swimming pool, a guy I would later meet as Steve was coaching a wonderfully buxom woman from the low diving board. As I watched what was supposed to be a simple dive turned into an almost flat belly flop with a truly spectacular splash.

“Come on, sweet cheeks,” Cleo said again, “you’ll have plenty of chances to watch us wood nymphs cavorting in the pool,” which made me laugh.

I stopped at my car and grabbed my suitcase and smaller overnight bag.

The staff quarters mirrored the building where Cleo and I had recently made love. I was moderately surprised when she came along with me. She led me to number F and said, “this was Fred’s room so I imagine it’s yours now.”

“Thank you,” I said, by way of thanks and goodbye but she just giggled.

“You need someone to wash your back,” she said.

“Well, all righty then,” I said, trying to imitate some character or other I had seen on television once.

The room was actually kind of a studio apartment. The bed sat against one wall and a couch that turned out to be paired recliners with a central cushion that didn’t recline served as a room divider and faced the oversized flat-screen television on the other wall. A small free-standing closet, a wardrobe rather than a fancier armoire beside the television completed the inventory of furniture. A tiny kitchenette filled one corner consisting of a small sink, a single cupboard, a bar-size refrigerator, and a microwave on top of the refrigerator. A door led, I presumed, into the bathroom.

Cleo watched as I turned and took in my new digs and then sat on the edge of the bed, her legs parted a bit, invitingly. “Wanna break in your new bed?” she asked.

I closed the distance between us, kissed her, and said, “later, insatiable wench.”

She giggled and laid back, assuming a very fetching pose, and said, “Okay, just so you know what you’re missing.”

I laughed, opened my suitcase, and put my meager wardrobe away.

I stripped off my clothes quickly and said, “come on, designated back washer.”

In the bathroom, the most had been made out of limited space. The toilet and a sink shared one wall while an oversized shower took up the other. I wondered, briefly, if this had been a change made as part of the rehabilitation or if it had been part of the original dude ranch architecture. Not that it mattered. It was big enough to accommodate me and one very plus-size woman.

She was a good shower partner. I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t been under a bit of a time constraint but we still didn’t hurry.

I wondered, not for the first time, what it was about washing a fat girl’s body that I found Kartal Escort so damn arousing, but I sure did. As I washed her hair and face and the rest of her I kind of lost track of time. The soap made her slick and I loved the way my fingers just disappeared into rolls and creases.

“You have an appointment,” she reminded me, giggling, as I thoroughly cleaned the deep crease of her belly button.

I laughed, kissed her, and said, “thanks, I was kind of getting lost in you.”

She stopped then, looking ridiculously cute with the water running over her head, and said, very seriously, “that may be the nicest compliment anyone ever paid me, thank you,” and she pulled me down for a kiss.

We finished the shower, dried each other, kissed once more, and she left, giggling, giving me an over-the-shoulder fingerwave, and saying, almost singing, “byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee for now.”

I opened my little overnight bag and unloaded the essentials, my toothbrush and Colgate toothpaste gel, my razor and shaving gel, and my oversize bottle of vitamins completed my bathroom stuff. I sat the toothbrush and toothpaste and razor and shaving gel on the little countertop of the vanity and opened the medicine cabinet mirror/door to put up my vitamins.

The medicine cabinet was empty except for three large amber-colored prescription bottles.

I took one of the bottled down and saw my name, the name of a doctor I had never seen, the instructions – “Take one by mouth as needed” – and in tiny letters “Tadalafil: Generic for Cialis – substitution authorized.”

The other two bottles were the same, only generic for Levitra and Viagra.

I laughed and put the bottles up. Then I thought for a minute, looked down at my soft dick, and pulled them down again. I had never used a boner pill but I remembered a conversation with a friend who told me he had tried them all when he was struck with early onset erectile dysfunction and the Cialis seemed to have, what he called, a “lingering” effect. So I shook one of the oddly shaped little yellowish pills out and took it, washing it down with water from the tap held in cupped hands.

I stood still for a couple of seconds. I don’t know, I guess on some level I was half expecting an instant erection. But, of course, nothing happened.

I dressed then, my clothes not too badly wrinkled from being in my suitcase. I thought about it a bit and pulled on boxers, my dark navy slacks, brightly patterned socks, brown loafers, and a pencil-striped Oxford cloth button-down shirt. I dressed, in other words, in the go-to-meeting “uniform” I had worked out over my brief-as-it-turned-out career as a professional planner.

By then I was about an hour and forty-five minutes into my two-hour window so I went in search of Greg.

In the main building, I was greeted by another woman I had never met.

“Hi,” she said, a very nice smile on an otherwise pretty homely face, “I’m Shirley and before you ask, no, I do NOT know LaVerne, and you must be the new guy, David is it?” and she extended her hand.

“It is,” I said and watched as she turned my hand over and kissed the palm, something I was coming to understand was kind of a standard greeting, woman to man in this place. I wondered, briefly, if I was supposed to reciprocate, but she took her hand back and said, “very pleased to meet you.”

She was pretty damn spectacular in her own way. Her hair was black and coarse and curly and shot through with grey, and her face was round and plain but it was her oversized nose that made her, well, “homely” is the word. But her body was fascinating. She had large breasts that had obviously fed her children the way they hung with dark, oversize nipples pointing straight at her feet. It was from the belly button down, though, that I found fascinating. She had obviously lost one hell of a lot of weight in the past. Three heavy flaps of skin that had been stretched when she was much bigger hung like curtains, the tracery of heavy stretch marks almost a pattern on the drapes. The bottom flap was almost a skirt, completely covering her sex, almost touching fat thighs that looked the same, soft rolls down to her knees. Her calves, I noticed, were strangely slender, a dancer’s calves, and her feet were small.

She was watching my face and eyes as I took that inventory and when I looked up and met her eyes again she was smiling. “Yes, David,” she said, “it feels just like it looks. I know that’s what you’re wondering.”

I smiled and said, “I can’t wait to find out,” and then took her hand and started to turn it over.

She giggled and said, “no, David,” she said, “that is a greeting for women, not for men.”

“I see,” I said, “and what do men do?”

She smiled then and closed the distance between us, her hands lightly touching my arms, and said, her voice breathy and pitched low, “whatever they want, but a nice embrace is always nice.”

So I embraced her, my hands finding Tuzla Escort soft flaps low on her back to match those on her belly, and kissed her. The Cialis was working nicely and she giggled as she arched her back, pushing against my fresh erection.

“I am sorry,” I said, breaking the kiss and holding her at arm’s length, “but I DO have to get in to see Greg. Later?”

She smiled and in that instant, she was actually pretty. “I hope so,” she said.

I released her hands, said hi to the lovely Jeannie, who was still looking like sex incarnate, and knocked on Greg’s office door.

“Open,” he called.

He looked up from a stack of papers on his desk and said, “good, I was afraid I was going to have to send one of the girls after you.”

I chuckled and sat across from him.

“I think I’m in love,” I said.

“Oh?” he said, looking up at me over the reading glasses he sported at times like this, “dare I ask with whom?”

“With YOU man, for offering me this,” I said.

He laughed at that.

“You’re welcome and, believe me, I have my ulterior motives. You’re the only one I trust enough to really turn as much of this operation over to as I intend to,” he said.

It took a second to sort out that syntax.

He watched me and when my eyes returned to focus he chuckled and said, “Dave, this shit,” and he waved at the paper on his desk, “is making me fucking crazy and besides that, it’s cutting into my pussy time.”

I laughed and said, “any time, my brother, what are we doing now.”

“Okay,” he said, serious again, “I’d like you to sit over here,” and he pointed to a chair beside his desk, “and mostly observe. The intake procedure is pretty straightforward but the lawyers have made it clear that there are some things that have to be said and responses made clearly.”

“Okay,” I said, moving to my designated chair.

“The basic procedure is standard so pay attention, I want you to handle at least half of these moving forward. This is a unique case, in my experience. Laura, the mom, is bringing in Linda, the daughter. Laura went through our program a year ago and, well, she evidently does not want her daughter to need to later,” he said.

Again I sorted out syntax, chuckling.

The door opened and an absolutely gorgeous fat woman leaned in and said, “they’re here.”

“Open the door, Monica,” he said and she swung the door wide.

It was pretty clear which was Laura and which was Linda. Laura was soft, round, and clearly proud of it. She was tall for a woman, I estimated her at 5’8″ or 5’9″, and dressed in a tight blouse ending about four inches above the belt line of the shorts giving her a full muffin top, actually, in her case, more a mushroom top with high heeled platform sandals giving big cellulite dimpled thighs and calves definition.

Linda was, essentially, the opposite. She was dressed in a shapeless blouse and a long skirt almost to her ankles. Her hair was dark, like her mother’s, but where Laura wore hers up, framing her face, Linda’s hung long and straight, with bangs for Christ’s sake, almost hiding her face completely. Her posture absolutely screamed, “don’t look at me.”

Greg grabbed Laura in a bear hug, kissing her full on the mouth, his hands roaming up and down her back, patting her ass, and finally releasing her.

Linda’s eyes stayed on her shoes.

“Okay,” Greg said, moving between them and guiding them gently to the chairs in front of his desk. Oversize, sturdy, well-cushioned chairs I noticed.

“Dave,” he said, crooking his finger, beckoning me.

I went to them.

“Dave, greet Laura,” he said, and I noted the use of the word “greet” rather than “meet,” and understood what he meant.

So I kissed her, hard, my hands enjoying the softness and warmth of her back and the size and shape of her ass before I released her.

He grinned approvingly.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said and was not surprised when she took my hand and kissed the palm.

“And greet Linda, please,” he said.

I sidestepped two steps until I was in front of Linda. It seemed pretty natural actually to brush the hair back from her face, allowing my fingertips to brush her cheeks as I did so. Her eyes stayed down so I did that two-fingers-under-the-chin thing I had seen my cousin do with his wife so many times, forcing her to meet my eyes.

She was really quite pretty and I felt a flash of raw hatred for a society that would make this girl feel so ugly she didn’t want her face seen just because she was, well, somewhere north of 250 pounds.

I laid my palms gently on her cheeks and bent forward and kissed her. She was rigid at first but I held the kiss until she finally relaxed and kissed me back, at least a little.

“Pleased to meet you, Linda,” I said, and then released her and returned to my chair.

“David’s my new right-hand man,” Greg said, “and this is his first intake so if you guys don’t Anadolu Yakası Escort mind he’s going to observe.”

Both nodded and he said, “Okay, let’s sit and get this out of the way so the lovely Linda can start her rehabilitation.”

I saw a flash of life in Linda at that turn of phrase, she looked up sharply but then her eyes returned to her ongoing examination of her feet.

“Now,” Greg said, leaning back and assuming what I would come to think of as his “serious voice,” “the formalities. This meeting is being recorded by video and audio, the cameras are here,” and he pointed to a camera I hadn’t noticed discreetly installed in the top of the bookshelf behind his desk, “and here,” and he pointed to the little half globe in the ceiling. “Do you consent to having this meeting recorded?”

Laura said, “uh huh,” and Linda said, “I guess.”

“Sorry,” Greg said, “that won’t do. Please respond by saying ‘yes’ or this meeting is over.”

Laura smiled and said, “YES!” loud and clear.

Linda said nothing.

“Linda?” Greg asked.

The was silence for a long time but Greg waited her out. I figured this wasn’t, as they say, his first rodeo, and eventually, Linda said, in a soft voice, “yes.”

“Okay,” Greg said, “that wasn’t too hard now, was it.”

“Okay,” Greg said again, into the quiet, “let’s get started. Laura, you sign the top line. Linda, you sign below. This first form certifies that Linda is on Depo-Provera or equivalent birth control and it is effective for the 12-week Farm program.”

He slid the top form across the desk and smiled at me as they looked it over. “I make this the first form,” he said to me, “because if they won’t attest to this we can’t have them. With the form signed, if we’re being honest, I don’t really give a shit if she’s on birth control or not. We won’t be responsible if she gets knocked up.”

Laura laughed gaily at that aside while I heard a soft, “as if,” from Linda.

The second form, the longest of them all, Greg explained, simply lined out that at The Farm casual nudity and casual sex, were both encouraged and expected. Refusal to participate would result in expulsion from the program.

“Do you understand and agree to our terms and conditions?” Greg asked.

“Yes,” Laura said, grinning and signing with a flourish.

“I guess,” Linda said and Greg pulled the form away before she could sign.

“Answer ‘yes,’ Linda,” he said, “or we’re done here. My lawyers are quite firm on this point.”

Linda sighed, theatrically, and you could almost hear her eyes roll, but she said, “YES!” almost yelling the word.

Greg just smiled and slid the form across to her.

The whole process took about a half-hour. There were forms indemnifying The Farm in case of accident, injury, or, and I loved this one, death. There were forms covering billing and payments, lodging, medical releases, and emergency contacts. Then, so help me, and I couldn’t help but laugh, there was a form to certify that the forms had been reviewed and signed.

“Now, Dave, please show Linda to her room, 4F,” and he handed me a key on a delicate silver chain, a necklace I thought and figured that made sense if she wanted to lock her door and had no pockets. Of course, she could do like Cleo and just not lock the door but that would be up to her.

“I need to wrap up some things with Laura,” he said and his grin told me that “wrap up some things” was code for “get her out of those tight pants.”

We stopped at Linda’s car, well, at her SUV, a Lexus RX if it matters, an easy 50 grand sitting there, and I pulled out the two suitcases she pointed to.

“Christ,” I said, feeling their weight, “did you think we wouldn’t have any lead here?”

That finally drew, if not a laugh, at least a giggle from her.

I felt a little foolish, actually, needing to look at the numbers on buildings to get oriented in the way the place was numbered. I finally got it and took her to building 4, found room F, and opened the door. I thought, briefly, about trying to do the carry her across the threshold thing but she WAS a very big girl and I didn’t want to embarrass her by failing.

So I walked her into the room and stopped as she did that slow turn we all do when entering a motel room.

“Not bad,” she said, and her voice, for the first time, showed a little life.

I reached into the bag of tricks I had learned over the years. I’m one of those guys who has always enjoyed women and sex and I had a couple of good teachers in my cousin and his buddy.

I closed the distance between us and brushed her hair back again.

“You really don’t know, do you?” I asked.

She met my eyes then, frowning slightly, as she considered my question.

I waited her out, my fingers still entwined in her hair.

“Okay,” she said, and I saw the first smile cross her face, making her truly pretty, “what don’t I know?”

I grinned then, my best boyish grin, the one I practice in the mirror regularly, “what a doll you are,” I said.

She tried to look away but I didn’t let her.

“You really don’t,” I said and kissed her. Again there was that hesitation but she finally kissed back. “But we’re going to teach you,” I added, “starting now.”

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