This choice: the biggest, fattest branch on the family tree. She's seriously HUGE. • Go Back... I feel like my Aunt needs a little backstory here.
So like I said, we never really got to bond much when I was a kid. Mostly because I spent ages fourteen to eighteen in a ritzy isolated preparatory school in the mountains, but also because my Mom never really made it possible for my Aunt to visit us, or vice versa. I never really thought much about it, being a kid and all, but as I got older and I started to awaken to my own peculiar desires, I began to notice some striking similarities between my Mom's relationship with her sister and my Mom's relationship with me.
Whenever Aunt Rhonda came over, my Mom would make me and my sister (and my Dad too, now that I mention it) watch our portion sizes. She always got super crazy about how much we ate whenever Aunt Rhonda came around, and at the time (in my younger, more naive days) I thought that it was because she wanted to make sure that her sister got enough to eat. Forgive me, I was like five. But what was actually happening was a lot more indicative of how she'd treat me every year I came back heavier for Christmas. My Mom wasn't making sure that Aunt Rhonda had enough to eat, she was trying to curb our appetites so that we didn't end up like Aunt Rhonda.
Ever since I was a little girl, my Aunt had been a big woman. Like, a big woman. Compared to my cutting-board Mom and my then not-Dad-bodded father, my Aunt had to have been the biggest person in history to itty bitty me. She was about as tall as mother but, to put it bluntly, she was so big around that no one knew how to give her a proper hug. My Mom would always falter and my Dad just sort've avoided it altogether, but little me? Little cute, chubby, nine year old Mel? I just wrapped my arms around her belly and gave her big smile.
And I guess it was then that my Aunt decided that I was her favorite niece.
All growing up, my Aunt made sure to ask about me. How I was doing in school, what I was going to do when I graduated, how I was handling living away from home. It was like poor Alice never existed! Which was only fair considering I got little to no maternal interest or guidance at home before I moved out. It was only fitting that I got love from someone, right?
I mean, it wasn't like we didn't have anything in common. As I got older, I found that I was very much cut from the same cloth as my aunt. We both loved food to the point of excess, and we both loved to fuck with my Mom. What more in life was there? By the time I was eighteen and ready to move out (read: be kicked out) of my Mom's, I was even about her size--four hundred pounds of pure, unadulterated lardass.
Of course that had been a while. In fact, I hadn't seen Rhonda since my Junior year, when she came over for Christmas dinner. But she had been ready and willing to show us all four hundred pounds of hungry hungry hippopotamus that she was as she scarfed down the lion's share of the meal, leaving only myself and Alice keeping up behind her with varying amounts of success. Needless to say, I suspected her to be a bit bigger by now, but I digress...
Perhaps being more sensitive to the prospect of breaking furniture with nothing but the sheer weight of her ass, my Aunt Rhonda was gracious enough to let me live with her in the low-country. She'd moved there a while back and had found it most "appeasing" (no shit, she actually said it with a wink) for her appetites. So naturally, when I told her I was having a spat with my Mom, she was the first person to suggest that I come live with her instead. After all, graduates were supposed to move out of their parents' house, right? I wasn't doing anything illegal or anything!
So my Aunt was nice enough to splurge on the plane ride up here (not an easy feat! My ass alone takes up two seats!) and even sprung for a car to take me home to her beach house.
I didn't know what my Aunt did, but I could see she put it to good use. Phew. Seriously, my Aunt must have been loaded. It was one of those old houses by the ocean--the ones painted all the funkadelic colors? Yeah, she lived in one of those. Quite ciomfortably, but the looks of her pristine yard and immaculately painted brick.
I had just barely gotten out the obligatory "I think I'm gonna like it here." nod when a voice called out from the window.
"Melly!" I heard her say
"Auntie!" I held up my arms, letting my luggage fall as a....   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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