Beauty Beyond Girth

To those who cannot, and will never be able to appreciate the abundant beauty inherent in many obese women, there is no sense reading further. All else, ENJOY!



I strode down the hall fast, always in a rush. A mail clerk for the EPA, I was on my way to deliver a package to the big woman, Shelly Donovan. She was a friendly, kindly woman, and I can't say it was ever unpleasant to greet her and say hello.

But, my God, was she curvaceously humungous!

She was absolutely the largest woman I had ever met. A truly obese woman, with many extra pounds of flesh carried on her frame, and a bone structure of such massive proportions that I often felt somewhat in awe of her, as if standing before some great, majestic beast of the wilderness. That's not very flattering, I know. But I will also note that never had a thought of ridicule entered my mind about her, and I held for her the same respect that I did all my clients. Furthermore, I often felt a little sorry for her, figuring she rarely got any romantic attention; and surely, there was no ring on her finger. How lonely her bed must be in the still of the night. That thought would echo in some deep recess of my mind now and then, though it was nothing I ever dwelled on.

Taller than me, and with a girth that had her derriere measuring at least two and a half feet across, considerably narrower in the shoulders, and thighs so big that it's probable I could never wrap my arms completely around them, she posed an impressive, though not very pretty figure. Her tremendous breasts occupied a vast expanse across her chest, stretching the fabric of her shirts, the buttons strained to near popping trying to contain them. They hung full and heavy, her nipples of a size I judged to be quite large, for they pressed firmly against her shirt and made themselves readily discernible to anyone standing within visual range. I had thought to myself a few times: What a waste of lovely breasts... to be attached to a woman so unpalatable.

She was in her mid thirties, and I will give her credit for having a considerably young looking face. At the very least, the skin of her puffy, rosy cheeks and abundant jowls was smooth and supple, and her smile was pleasant enough. She wore her hair on the short side, almost boyish, but not quite, sandy blond with loose curls, and that hair style did little to hide her big ears and the rolls of fat on her neck. Obviously, she didn't have any desire to grow it out and style it, and I instinctually sensed that her low self image probably fostered a certain apathetic approach to the maintenance of such things as her hair. Sometimes it even looked slightly greasy and unkempt.

Her clothes were cheap and not at all stylish, and often a grease dripping or two from her lunch could be seen on her shirt where their fall had been arrested by those massive breasts. She was obviously unruffled by such things, and one sensed she made no effort at decorum which might detract from her momentary enjoyment of eating. I guessed she knew beauty had passed her by, and she held no pretense that that fact could be altered.

She most commonly wore cheap, knit stretch pants where the threads were stretched to near tearing trying to accommodate her startlingly large ass and thighs. She was normally seated in her chair when I'd arrive with her packages, her desk a busy mess of documents and stationary, though sometimes I had occasion to witness her getting up and bending over to reach for this or that, and the sight of that herculean-sized ass entertained my whimsy, where I often thought about it as being a sure contender for the 8th wonder of the world. Her chair certainly had it's work cut out for it.

The fact is she was rather homely, and not nearly attractive enough in her features to sway one's eyes away from the sheer bulk of her body. The moment you looked at her, all you saw was the fatness, a towering gigantess, and that was enough for most folks to stop looking altogether.

But the day before, as we had chatted cordially before I took my leave, I noticed something about her for the first time - because of the singular type of character that I am, always with a peculiar curiosity about people, a desire to study those I interacted with... especially women. What I noticed was that she was quite fond of applying a heavy coat of lipstick upon her rather full lips every day, deep, dark red lipstick that was of the glossy variety.

As I was turning to leave, I had a momentary flash that, indeed, her mouth might actually be kind of, well, kissable... if one could get around all else about her that was ungainly. Because I was stepping away, I never really got the chance to confirm such a notion, and by the time I was down the hall, the thought had slipped my mind.

Though now, as I approached her small private office again, I remembered that fleeting observation, and I felt the need to follow up on it, to see if it was true. Could it be possible that her lips were nice enough to afford her at least one appealing attribute? Was it even possible for such a woman to have an appealing attribute? Now, as I opened her office door, I had it in mind to give her lips a good looking over.

"Hi, Shelly... how are you?" I said in greeting, my eyes immediately drawn to her lips. Hmm, I thought as she looked up at me from her chair, smiling brightly, Actually not bad. Holy shit... not bad at all.

Full and vibrant, beautifully shaped, and with a pleasingly moist appearance, I observed how her lips sparkled invitingly under the florescent lights upon the glossy lipstick she favored. I particularly liked the way the outside of her lips were fully coated with that rich, vibrant red lipstick, yet inside, where the lipstick application ended abruptly, a glistening, gentle shade of light pink held sway, imparting a lovely sense of juiciness.

"I'm doing well. Thank you, young man. And yourself?"

I actually beamed a little, as a man does when in the company of a woman he finds attractive. I wondered how odd that was... that I should do so as a result from simply identifying this newfound appreciation of her lips. As crazy as the thought seemed to me, I concluded, despite myself, that they were some of the most kissable lips I had ever seen... now that I thought about it.

So beam I did, and as I appraised the characteristics of her lips further, I realized I was momentarily mesmerized by them, and had not answered her greeting for an awkward amount of time. Snapping to attention, I said sheepishly, "Oh, um... I'm doing great."

We proceeded to chat for a little while. I couldn't stop stealing glances at her mouth, and soon I began to notice, with growing appreciation, that her tongue was often prominently on display as she spoke. I had noted this peculiarity in other women before; some women's tongues were easy to see while they spoke, some women's weren't. Shelly's certainly was! I studied it, and soon became somewhat fixated on catching little glimpses of it.

A veritable seductive package of wetness, her tongue was like a sheet of glass, so perfectly smooth and glistening. There were no flaws in it, no creases, no discoloration, no bulbous nodules - just glass-like smoothness. It was a plump, full tongue; and of such a beautiful shade of light, frosted pink, that the contrast of it against the dark red of her glossy lips was more than pleasing to my eye. The word soon came into my mind which, to this day, I still use to describe her mouth: SUCCULENT!

For the next few days, I couldn't help myself, and I fantasized about long, passionate sessions necking with her, (if you can believe that) almost to the point of obsession. Such a humongous, rotund woman, her body a vestment of rolling swells caging her soul within. A woman too large - so large as to squash the torrential chemistries of feminine attractiveness into a tepid, stagnant puddle. So how could this be?

BUT THAT MOUTH! That red, liquid portal of silky warmth that devours all the delicacies and edibles year after year succumbing to her cravings and passing through to add to her girth. That rouge, wet cauldron of hers where the wind of her hot, steamy breath bellows out from healthy, pink lungs; surely a womanly, fruity fragrance it must be, carrying the very essence of her. Oh, how I fantasized about that soft, inviting opening of hers where a man who likes to engage in deep, wet kisses could lose himself forever...

I came in feverish ejaculations, spewing seed all over my belly and thighs and bed sheets on those nights. Oh... if she only knew...

Weeks passed, and just about every day I would visit her to deliver parcels and such. She was easy to talk to, and very engaging, thought she never showed anything more than polite cordiality. But now, with the added dimension of my very narrowly focused infatuation with her only striking feature - a mouth so pleasingly seductive, transcending all my previous expectations of what kissable lips should be - my time spent talking to her grew longer and longer every day without either of us realizing it.

I sensed she enjoyed the disruption from her work, and with that glistening tongue of hers dancing ever so gracefully behind her delicious red lips, constantly sending little ripples of lustful fancy racing through my mind, I was more than happy to stay with her as long as I could. With the growing sense of warmth I began to feel towards her, the constant awareness of her obesity seemed to fade away in my perception of her, becoming slowly replaced with a certain awe of her, almost a respect for her greatness in size. I began to imagine, as I let myself give in to my fantasies for want of tasting those sultry lips, that all the other parts of her body were not simply grotesque, but rather enhanced manifestations of the lovely curves of feminacy. I began to see her face in a new light too, where the youthfulness and vitality of it was complemented by a certain softness of it's features. Suddenly I could appreciate her skin tone painted in shades of gentle pastels which framed very pleasantly those most beautiful of lips. She was not attractive to the world at large... but incredibly, shockingly, she was becoming so to me.

Considering how many nights where now being spent fantasizing about kissing her, I had to face the fact that I was becoming somehow spellbound by her - by her lips. I realized that I had a full fledged desire to make love to this unbelievably obese woman with the succulent lips - for my fantasies no longer focused solely on drinking in the breathy warmth of her wet kisses, but began to expand in their reach, entertaining such endeavors as fornication - in all its myriad forms and positions - and oral pleasures, mutually delivered with utmost urgency. I didn't know who I was anymore. What fluke of nature could attest to this startling notion. How does a woman so fat, so hideous to all around her, come to command the desires of a young stud like myself, a handsome man in his prime, a man of unfettered masculinity?

I knew how, didn't I? It was those lips. It was that amazing mouth. In some quirk of time and space, I, unlike others, had taken the time to notice her. I had looked at her without malice or disgust, but rather with kindness, respect, and curiosity, and in so doing, I discovered that there are things of beauty and grace in this world which can so easily be missed if not searched for.

My emotions ran the gamut from all out lust and obsession, to self conscious shame and loathing. That I could find such a grotesque woman the object of my desires startled me. Upon subsequent deliveries, I realized that I had an urge to please her - perhaps in recompense for fueling all those deeply intense orgasmic fantasies I'd been having the last few weeks. Or perhaps because I was courting her without even realizing it? I don't know. A man does strange things when arousal takes hold of him.

I began to pass vague complements to her, whether it was her sunny disposition that particular day, her pleasant smile, her intelligent conversation, or even the odd piece of jewelry she sometimes rarely displayed.

And then one day, before even thinking about what I was saying, I told her that she was "...looking lovely today." WHAT? AM I NUTS? I couldn't believe I had uttered such a thing! Immediately after saying it, I cringed. I blabbered foolishly while self consciously scuffing the floor with the tip of my boot. But with her so cool and collected, so accepting - despite being struck from left field with my unexpected words - and obviously, might I say, charmed, we somehow managed to weather that awkwardness.

Yet something about giving her that compliment felt very good, very satisfying, very stimulating. The feeling of letting myself spiral out of control, letting myself be wisked away by the powerful attraction her lucious mouth held for me, how it commanded my mind to conjure up fantastical journeys into nightly lustful adventures, left me cloudy of mind and excited of heart. Oh, how satisfying - how dangerous! - it was letting myself get caught in her uncanny web of appeal she spun without ever an ounce of conscious effort.

It all made me nearly reach the point of arousal standing right there in front of her, and I simply had to take my leave that day before I embarassed myself further.

But, as I reflect on it, I think it was that moment where something clicked in her mind. Where some small, fledgling sense of the situation had begun to peek out from her subconscious and race out to the forefront of her thoughts; where she actually began to entertain the possibility that I was attracted to her.

Being the stout fellow that I am, strong and masculine, I'm sure she was rather reluctant to entertain such a ludicous fancy... that a stud like myself was falling for her... for she knew what she was. She knew what men saw when they looked at her. She knew that she was the object of many a man's ridicule behind her back. I bet she's spent many years coming to terms with that. She'd evaluated what the probable extent of her love life would amount to, and she'd accepted that it would be virtually nil beyond the most desperate of miserable, wretched sorts of men. Yet still, whether it was my changing body launguage, my multiplying compliments, the sheepish, contented look upon my face as I gazed at her with puppy dog eyes, or all of the above, I believe she began to let the idea that there was sexual chemisty fizzling between us become fixed in her mind.

From my perspective, I noticed that she began to beam herself... probably without even knowing it. The glow around her chubby cheeks was positively radiant. Tension seemed to drain from her facial expressions, and I'll be damned if she didn't suddenly look ten years younger. Her smile was just delightful. She engaged me in intense discussions, her big head, with its short, losely curled locks animated with movements of inflection as she raced along with thoughts and ideas, her tongue a constant flutter of sparkling, beautiful movement. Rushing head long into heady dissertations about her philosophy, she opened up to me, warmly engaging me, constantly asking my opinion, listening intently to my replies and laughing heartily at my silly jokes. It was obvious that an idea had firmly rooted in her mind that I was indeed interested in her, and I sensed that she found that prospect, however unsure of its validity, to be truly exciting. I sensed that she didn't want me to leave too soon, and I picked up from her body language that it was alright for me to waste her time shooting the breeze however long I wanted to. That body language cryed out, in no uncertain terms, that I shouldn't fret about burdening her with my presence.

I noticed she never let a moment of silence linger, which might initiate the end of our conversation. She'd continue speaking on and changing subjects rapidly. I found myself thoroughly engrossed in her conversation. Her laugh was infectious, and she held my gaze with sparkling eyes, cheeks flushing a dazzling red. She seemed to come alive with the sense of budding romance blooming all around her... something so foriegn to her, yet something she found, like most women do, to be particularly exciting.

And I found myself feeding off of this energy, this awakening within both of our perceptions that something of an intimate nature was brewing under the surface between us, something which could immently erupt into a tidal wave of passion. I constantly had to scold myself for entertaining such thoughts. This woman simply did not present the image of what I pictured to be a romantic interest. How could I hold my head up in the immenently hip social circles I ran in with this massive woman at my side, holding hands and stealing smooches in public? Although, even as I pondered such things, I found myself falling right back under the spell cast by those perfect lips and that silky tongue sloshing around so wetly. Never was my gaze long removed from watching the way her mouth moved and the way her tongue, looking so incredibly delicious, beckoned to me, no matter how much my logical brain scolded me; and I began to wonder if she could readily discern just how fixated I was becoming with the need to kiss her.

I doubt she knew the extent of what she was doing to me, how often the prospect of kissing her nearly brought me to full arousal, or how thrilled I was that she dropped everything when I arrived. But I do believe she sensed that there was something going on with me. I think she probably began to surmise that I had an obese-woman fantasy or fetish (even though I did not) and I believe she'd concluded that that was just fine; for a woman like her had to take what she could get. That she'd found a man who had a thing for fat women, and actually found even her colossal body the perfect canvass on which to channel his lustful cravings, well then... she had to conclude that that was just one of those rare moments of luck which happened to find it's way into her life. Considering her recent ebullience in our discussions, I believe she concluded that, who cared if it was sexual weirdness or fetish, it was a man, finally come around to her, and he was hot, and such a circumstance of luck was not something she should let pass her by... for now she may finally have what she so badly needed... to have a virile man to cuddle with on those cold, stormy nights.

She was a very intelligent woman, and while she was very lucid and well spoken, often times her words simply flew over my head unheard, hypnotized as I would become dwelling on the beguiling nature of her mouth.

One day, I almost lost it. "What is it?" she asked. "What's the matter?"

I had been sucking on her tongue in my mind, tasting it's frothy juices, and luxuriating in the sexy fragrance of her warm breath as it washed onto my face... "What?"

"Are you okay? You look like you're a world away." Her gorgeous lips formed a coy smile, and a playful expression showed on her fat, oval face. Did she know?

Becoming hard, I blushed. "...Ah, I have to go..."


Considering I'm just a mail clerk, and she is just one of my many clients, it's a very odd thing I did one day. I brought her a gift. It wasn't much of a gift, could barely even be called a gift; for a can of Coke was not something one offers to another to signify a conveyance of intimacy, or sexual interest, or high respect. Bringing her a can of Coke, along with her packages, was such an odd and out of the ordinary gesture for a mail clerk to make, and she hesitated for a long moment, quite unsure of where I was coming from and what I was doing. She stared at it as I put it on her desk. "Here... for you."

"You brought me a Coke?"

"I did. That's what you like to drink, right?"

"It is." And then her hesitant, nonplused bemusement suddenly melted away, and she looked up at me with just the most lovely, animated smile, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You know just what I like, don't you? How very thoughtful, Jimmy."

And then she let the matter drop, just like that. She popped open the can and took a hearty swig of the sugary liquid. "Mmmmm... that's good." She beamed at me. She dropped everything she was doing, swivelled her great girth around in her desk chair and faced me directly. I couldn't help myself, and I looked her up and down, from her sneaker-like loafers bulging at the seams to contain her plump feet, on up to her massive breasts, where her nipples presented themselves in plain relief from within her shirt, and then on to her lipstick coated lips. She noticed my perusal of her big, curvatious body, and her body launguage was powerful in expressing how much she adored my attention. The way she arched back in her chair, seeming to expose her mamoth breasts to me; the way she brushed her curly hair over her ears with heavy, padded hands; the way her gigantic thighs, wrapped so tight in their stretch pants, seemed to part ever so slightly, ever so inviteingly. Her conversation was crisp and engrossing, she was funny and made me laugh, and I found myself, for the first time, a bit less focused on her lips, and more focused on the simple pleasure I derived from pleasing her.

Such a silly thing to do, bringing her a Coke! Yet I realized what it actually conveyed... and I sensed that she understood too. It showed her that I was thinking about her while we were apart. Such a silly gift, yet the gesture was imense in meaning.

In the next few days, I completely got off on bringing her food and drink. Knowing that a woman of her size cherished eating, I felt that this was the perfect track to take in easing her into the idea that I cared for her. I'd gotten to the point where I couldn't stand just gazing at her mouth anymore. I just had to taste those lips. I had to feel the soft, gentle cushion of her lips pressing upon my own; to know how that quivering, wet tongue of hers felt as it wrapped itself around my own tongue, caressing in soothing swirls, frolicking playfully, hungrily, deep inside my mouth as if taking up residence in its new home; I had to experience the essence of her through the intoxicating scent of her warm breath, become enveloped by her, one with her.

So I brought her food gifts all the time. She hemmed and hawed at first, but like a woman saying "no" and shaking her head, yet still letting her man make his advances, she acquiesced, and I could tell that this new development had her heart racing with excitement even as she scarfed down her meals without hesitation or shame. I sensed satisfaction in her, and also that my pleasing gestures where starting to perhaps foster some fairly steamy expectations within her - for shirt buttons started to find themselve unbottoned further down her chest, and her great, fertile cleavage began to make seductive appearances. Shoes were kicked off during mid conversation and feet so large and plump, yet so exceedingly beautiful and shapely - even softly delicate, if one can believe that - caught my eyes and made me ponder just how pleasurable it might be to take hold of them and massage them. I found a new desire brewing up from my loins, almost equal in degree to my desire to devoure her lips - for now the prospect of sucking on her toes, using my tongue to massage the tension out of them from all the sweat and toil they faced each day to support the great weight of her, filled me with the wildest passion. Such an endeavor became an addition to my fantasies about her, and I felt like I was on a on-way trip to completely losing myself forever... to return only as nothing more than her obediant pet.

The next crazy turn of events found me massaging her neck and shoulders as she sat back lazily in her chair. By this time, we both knew there was passion whirling in the air around us, but we didn't quite know how to transcent into the realm of lovers. It was she who worked out this sly plan to finally get our skin touching. I wouldn't be surprised if I'd learned she'd sat up nights thinking and coniving how to further advance this thing we had going, and I'm sure a shoulder massage was just the thing she settled on.

For a few days, she started to mention the stress and tension she was experiencing - though now I believe that was a flat out fib, in the highest order of cunning manipulation... and how greatful I was for it! She would shrug her shoulders and bemoan the tension. On that eventful day, she swiveled around in her chair, present her large back to me, began rubbing her neck with one hand while pretending to tend to some work with the other, and snidely work into the conversation all things pertaining to the art of massage. She'd ask me if I had any experiense with it, and I explained I didn't, but she persisted in that vane.

And then, I offered, completely lost in my desire for her, unfettered by any nonsensical notions such as consequenses. And she readily agreed.

It was no great turn on for me simply to massage her shoulders, but it was vastly satisfying to please her that way. I also reckoned this may just be the perfect way to get closer to her physically; to lean in close to her neck, breath in her ear, perhaps even whisper something nice. In fact, that is exactly what I did. I leaned in very close, and whispered in a heavy, breathy voice, "Does that feel good, Shelly?"

"That feels MARVELOUS, Jimmy..." It was a very intimate moment, and I nearly purred with delight. But there was something even better about that moment in that she had turned her head around when she'd spoke those words. With my face at her ear, I found myself mere inches away from those most beautiful, pouty lips. I looked into her eyes, but only for a moment, for my gaze could not be kept from settling on her mouth as the sound of my name issued forth from it. I saw close up the red lipsticked textures of her lucious lips, so glossy and juicy. She followed my eyes, and I feel at that moment that she became fully aware of my desires. Being immensly forward with me, she parted her lips and wiggled her tongue ever so slightly, and let her sweet breath come wafting out of her open mouth with enough force to blow directly into my face. With an audible inhalation, I breathed the sublime essence of her fragrant, pleasing breath deep into my lungs and realized instantly, having then just experienced exactly how intoxicatingly sultry her breath smelled, that my fertile fantisies about how insanely perfect it must be to kiss this giant woman could never have been anywhere near as blissful as the real thing. Such a sexy scent her breath carried with it, all a mixture of fruit and cinnamon, lipstick and spice, so warm and humid. It tickled my nose at the same time as tickling my fancy, and I was left rooted in position, craving more and more. She exhaled again, exerting her powerful spell over me. And then again, a breeze of magical, sexual potency. I leaned in closer, mad with desire, only to discover a veiw down upon her great, hanging breasts, and was startled to see her hand there, unbuttoning two of the top most buttons, revealing to me the best look at her soft, mountainous cleavage that I'd seen to date. Such a daring, sensuous act, my heart pounded by her actions. The magnificent, deep crevis that plunged down between her breasts look so tantalizingly inviting to me, and I imagined how wonderful it would be to place my face between them.

A knock on the door nearly paralized us in frozen stillness. The moment was broke, and I pulled away from her. She sat up abruptly, fixed her shirt, wiped sweat from her forehead and went to the door. I left shortly after, my member stiff as a board, aching marvelously!

To be continued...