Chunky Gyrations: The true story that inspired Angelica (and a couple of *very* old pics) (Patreon)

It was the perfect dress. Black and soft as sin—its velvety darkness serving to intensify the hot gleam of her golden hair and jewellery. A provocative v-slit down the torso exposed a plump crescent moon of each weighty tit, and squeezed between them was a low-hanging necklace, its tasselled tips curving subtly over the slight bulge of her upper abdomen then coming to rest just above the thin gold belt worn high about the waist. The skirt, finishing several inches above the knee, was also slit, opening like stage curtains to reveal a bulging abundance of inner thigh, the fabric tapering to a point so tantalisingly close to the crotch that every slight movement seemed to promise a glimpse of what, if anything, she wore underneath, but never quite delivered.

It was the perfect dress.

And it was far, far too tight.

So tight, in fact, that it was restricting its occupant's dance moves to stiff, pouty gyrations on the spot. As she dipped and rose, dipped and rose, the slender gold belt was sucked in between her bunching pudge and then pushed out again, straining around her out-swelling tummy.

That belt... Somehow it seemed to say so much about her. I pictured her in her bedroom getting ready, stepping purposefully into her dress. Thong-clad buttocks bulging skywards as she bent forward. The whispered rustle of silk on flesh as she shimmed the skintight garment up those gorgeously plush thighs and generous hips, assuring herself, as she wriggled her arms into the sleeves, that it had always been this tight—was meant to be this tight. 

A soft side-squish of the tummy as she reached for the elegant gold belt on the bed. The chin lifted haughtily as she drew it around her waist while admiring herself in the full-length mirror, her mighty bosom rising with a proud quiver as she sucked in her little party paunch the better to squeeze buckle and belt-tip together. A little gasp of triumph and relief as the prong slid into its usual notch.

The smug half-smile as she ran her hands down her silk-clad flanks slowly morphing into a sullen pout as puckered, pudgy bulges of straining black silk began to ooze with a rubbery squeak over and around the golden buckle, as if trying to suck it into some dark oblivion. Frustration turning to denial. It fit, didn't it? It was buckled! 

Just for a second, she considers letting it out a notch, putting comfort before pride, openly accepting the truth that she's buried deep within her psyche: that she's been getting a little soft.  But no... what if someone noticed? She imagines her bitchy friends whispering behind her back about their supposedly perfect leader needed another notch to accommodate her overindulged middle. No. Another notch is not an option. 

Besides, the dress is meant to be a tight fit. She's just a touch bloated from that burger at lunch, that's all. By the time she reaches the club she'll have digested a bit more. She'll still be the hottest girl there by far.

Watching her dance her taut little dance, the tip of that bright golden ponytail brushing the small of her back as it swayed in sync with her hefty bottom, I couldn't disagree. Every now and then her dress would grip her buttocks a mite too eagerly (who could blame it?) and get sucked into the gap, forcing the golden beauty to incorporate a squat into her dances moves in order to tug the clingy fabric out of her arse, which she did - somehow - without losing her air of superiority. Indeed, if anything her sullen pout became even haughtier each time she had to adjust her clothing.

Perhaps it was all that squatting that accounted for her most astonishing feature: calves so round and bulb-like that they almost defied belief.

Most people have a straight bit of leg just above the ankle, which then bulges out into a calf. But this girl's calf-bulge seemed to begin right above her ankles. And what a bulge... It was as if they had been pumped with air. In my drunken state, her swollen calves put me in mind, bizarrely, of a pair of bloated pigs doing handstands.

And she was clearly very proud of them. Tall wedgy gold heels and glittering anklets flashed as they caught the light, drawing attention to those wonderful bulbs. Her thighs were equally enticing: thick and firm-looking, but with no visible muscle tone, their strength hidden beneath a shiny smooth layer of fat. The overall impression was of an incredibly vain young beauty, who followed an intense beauty regime and worked hard in the gym to sculpt and build her legs and bum and arms, but also enjoyed her food, and had no desire to get all sweaty with cardio. Hence the slightly soft and pudgy tummy straining so deliciously at her belt.

Go and talk to her.

I blink a few times. 'Huh?'

My friend lowers her mojito and rolls her eyes. 'That girl with the massive bum you've been perving at for the last four hours. Why don't you just go and talk to her?'

'Who's he perving at?'

Oh shit...

Friend Two—also female, also very drunk—materialises beside us and follows our gaze to the dancefloor. 

'Oooh, Hal,' Friend Two chuckles admiringly, 'she is nice!'  She watches the gyrating blonde for a few moments, tilting her head with a thoughtful smile. 'Do you like a big bum then?'

Friend One snorts knowingly into her mojito, making the sugary liquid bubble over the brim.

And then they're both trying to drag me over to dance with her. When that fails, they head over themselves and start dancing just behind her, incorporating into their routine a move where they squat down just behind her back and look at me, o-mouthing, making crocodile pinching actions with their hands behind her bum.

Luckily the rather posh bar is busy and dark enough that no-one really notices.

Until she does notice, or senses something, and rounds on Friend Two with a frown. Unperturbed, Friend Two brushes back her hair, offers a few words of explanation, and then points over at me.

Or rather at where I was, because by this point I've scarpered for the bar.

After a few minutes, I feel Friend One's hand on my shoulder. She shakes her head apologetically. 'Got a boyfriend,' she slurs, pointing helpfully and blatantly at a table beside the dance floor.

A man with tattooed biceps roughly the size of my head is staring at us. 

He looks confused, and also not at all pleased.

God knows what he was thinking. Probably (hopefully) that a couple of lesbians had just been trying it on with his missus. Fortunately the boyfriends of my two friends were also with us, and we were enough in number that nothing came of it!

Or not quite nothing. For thus was born Angelica "The Goddess" Clay. I think I loaded up Daz3D the moment I got in that night. This was some years ago, and I was very much a novice (even more so than now) with none of the Photoshop techniques for lighting and skin look more realistic that I've learnt since. Still, I feel I captured her attitude and figure reasonably authentically. It helped that I found a dress so much like the one the girl was actually wearing it was uncanny. 

From there, I started to think about her backstory and personality. I imagined an ex-athlete (hence the hurdling pic) turned glamorous party girl, who works out but shirks her cardio and overeats and overdrinks. I decided Angelica would be a touch taller than the club girl, to make her sporty past more believable, and an event in her future (no spoilers) more interesting. Since then, her look has evolved based on a couple of minor celebrities, who I'll do a separate post about later. 

But she originated and was still most heavily influenced by that random encounter (if it can be called that) with the girl on that night out.

My only other memory of her was spotting her outside the club as we left, leaning against the wall and smoking, which I thought was interesting, given that she clearly worked out. Perhaps she was trying to keep those pesky pounds at bay, or burn through a big meal. At any rate, it meant that despite being a personal trainer, Angelica secretly enjoys a cheeky smoke, especially after meals.

The girl in on the right of the clique pic with three of them is my first attempt at Jasmine Lang, brother of Tyler Lang, Hayley Ward's boyfriend. Based in looks on a girl I once saw in an old gym, Jasmine is a regional diving champion turned model. I named the other girl Ceris and had a notion that she'd been a gymnast, but hadn't thought much about her personality, except that she's always glued to her phone.

Hope you enjoyed this! I realise that as real-life vignettes go, it's pretty tame. I have quite a few others, some more directly related to weight gain or fatness (think overheard discussions about added pounds, random acts of gluttony, the odd bit of friendly teasing a well-fed tummy popping free when a girl stretches, etc). They often form the basis of my characters and stories, but I could sharing some—along with pics—in a more prosaic form, if people are interested in this sort of thing. 

Let me know in the comments, and thank you so much for reading this and supporting me! I realise there hasn't been much exclusive content for Stuffed Tier patrons recently, but there is definitely more to come! 😊