She entered the diner trying to act naturally, although she could already feel the tight fabric of her blouse clinging to her large belly with every step. The sweet smell of freshly baked donuts seemed to embrace her entirely, warm, sugary, irresistible. The place was full, tables occupied, voices low, glasses clinking. Still, she tried to ignore the quick glances that always came when she passed through tight spaces.
Clutching her purse tightly, she walked cautiously between the tables, already aware of her own clumsiness. But as she turned to reach the candy counter, her stomach first bumped against a poorly positioned chair. The impact sent the chair sliding high across the floor.
Before she could correct herself, she tried to step to the side—and ended up pushing another chair with her hip. This time, she fell completely, hitting the floor with a dry thud that seemed to silence half the diner.
Her face burned instantly.
Some people stared openly. A boy lowered his eyes, trying to hide a smile. Two girls whispered something to each other. An older man pretended to continue fiddling with his cell phone, but she perfectly noticed the amused expression at the corner of his mouth.
But along with the shame came another sensation, warm and heavy, slowly sliding through her body. The brutal awareness of her own size. Of her large belly pressing against her shirt. Of how everyone had noticed how clumsy she was. How much space she took up. How incapable she seemed of going unnoticed.
She quickly bent down to lift the chair, awkwardly, feeling the fabric of her pants tighten even more against her legs and waist. The movement only intensified the feeling of being watched.
Her face burning, her breath short, her whole body consumed by that humiliating mixture of embarrassment and arousal. The more she tried to act normally, the more aware she became of her own heavy body moving between the narrow tables. Each step seemed to draw attention to her belly swaying slightly under her tight blouse.
When she finally reached the counter, she could barely look at the attendant.
Her voice came out too low.
The attendant smiled politely, but she was already wondering if he had also seen everything. If he had also noticed her knocking over the chairs because of her size.
The shame tightened even more.
And, secretly and confusedly, it left her trembling inside.
The waiter's smile didn't seem mocking.
That was what confused her most.
She slowly raised her eyes, still feeling her face hot from the scene of the overturned chairs, and finally managed to observe him properly behind the counter. He must have been a few years older than her—maybe his early twenties—and he was absurdly handsome in a simple way. His strong arms were visible under the rolled-up sleeves of his black diner t-shirt, defined by the constant movement of preparing orders and lifting trays. His forearms had subtle veins marking the skin. His broad chest slightly tensed his uniform when he leaned over the register.
Everything about him seemed firm, controlled, proportional.
And that only made her more aware of her own body.
Of his large belly pressing against the counter as he tried to get closer. Of his heavy curves spreading the fabric of his clothes in all directions. Of his soft arms pressed against his body. She felt enormous next to him. Almost awkwardly enormous.
But his gaze didn't seem cruel.
He smiled again, this time more gently.
"Excuse me… could you repeat the order?"
His voice was calm. Low. Polite.
She felt her throat tighten slightly.
For a second, she was afraid she heard judgment in his voice. Some hidden irony. After all, after the spectacle she'd made in the middle of the diner, ordering eight donuts seemed only to make things worse.
She watched as he began to separate the sweets behind the illuminated glass. His movements were precise, calm. The muscles in his arms contracted gently each time he picked up a box or reached a higher shelf. She hated how much she noticed it.
And she hated even more how much she liked the contrast.
He seemed like someone who naturally belonged in that athletic, handsome, compact body. While she felt her own body occupying too much space even when standing still. Her stomach brushing against the counter. Her thighs pressing against each other. The heat trapped beneath her clothes.
He kept looking at her as if it wasn't a problem.
When he finished packing the order, she noticed something strange. He put two more donuts in the box. Big ones. Covered in chocolate.
Then he picked up a tall glass and started making a milkshake.
She watched the young man mix ice cream, syrup, and whipped cream with an almost hypnotic naturalness. His body moved lightly while hers always seemed too heavy, too slow, too excessive.
When he placed the milkshake next to the box, she finally mustered the courage to ask:
He rested his arms on the counter and smiled slightly.
Up close, she realized he was even more handsome. His jawline was defined. His dark hair was slightly messy. The faint scent of coffee and sugar emanated from his clothes.
She felt a shiver run down her neck.
His eyes quickly dropped to the box of donuts… then back to her.
"Because you seemed to need a better night than the one you were having."
That hit her in an unexpected way.
After all the stares, the hidden laughter, the shame burning inside her… that simple, kind gesture almost seemed dangerous.
She pressed her fingers against the warm box of donuts, feeling her heart beat faster.
And, for the first time since she'd stepped in there, she didn't want to disappear.She left the diner still dazed.
The warm box pressed against her arms, the cold milkshake in her other hand, and that phrase swirling endlessly in her head.
“You looked like you needed a better night.”
Outside, the cool night air helped to lessen the heat on her face, but not the confusion inside. She walked to the car, trying to ignore the persistent feeling of still being watched. And perhaps she was.
When she opened the car door and settled into the seat, she let out a heavy sigh. The seatbelt immediately tightened against her large belly, forcing her to adjust her body with that awkward effort she always hated making in front of others. This time, however, she was alone.
Because the feeling of his gaze was still there.
She placed the box on the passenger seat and finally opened it. The two extra donuts were on top, enormous, covered in a shiny layer of chocolate and cream.
Underneath them was a folded napkin.
She opened her eyes slowly.
“Next time, try not to knock half the diner over. Or you will. That’s how I noticed you.”
Then she let out a short, incredulous laugh, bringing her hand to her hot face. The shame returned immediately, but now mixed with something much lighter. Hotter. More dangerous.
No one had ever flirted with her like that.
Especially someone like him.
She could perfectly imagine his body behind the counter: broad shoulders, defined arms under the tight t-shirt, the relaxed and confident posture of someone used to effortlessly attracting attention.
She always felt the opposite.
Too big. Too loud. Too visible.
Yet he had looked at her as if none of that diminished her femininity. Maybe even the opposite.
The thought sent a slow shiver through her entire body.
Without thinking much, she grabbed her cell phone. The order receipt was stapled to the side of the box.
At the bottom, written in pen:
She involuntarily bit the corner of her lip.
Then she heard two soft knocks on the car window.
Lucas was outside, a little awkward now, unlike the provocative calm he had behind the counter. Without the diner's lighting, he seemed even more handsome. Tall. Athletic. The black uniform highlighting the shape of his chest and arms.
She slowly lowered the window.
He held up an extra straw for the milkshake.
—I think I could survive without it.
—Maybe—he replied. —But I needed an excuse to talk to you again.
Her stomach churned completely.
She noticed his gaze quickly traveling down her body before returning to her eyes. Not quick out of discomfort. Nor out of mockery.
And it almost felt too intimate.
"So…" he said, resting an arm on the car window, "do you always come here to destroy furniture, or was today a special event?"
She covered her face immediately, laughing with embarrassment.
"Oh my God… don't talk about that."
"Hey, I thought it was cute."
No one had ever used that word to describe her like that.
She felt her chest tighten as Lucas smiled at her with a naturalness that seemed to dismantle, piece by piece, all the insecurities she had carried for years. Lucas glanced over his shoulder when someone called his name from inside the diner.
"Damn... I have to go back."
She felt a strange pang in her chest at that. As if she'd been ripped from a dream too quickly.
He straightened up, still leaning against the car window, and smiled that calm smile that seemed to completely dismantle her defenses.
"Goodnight... chair-destroying lady."
She let out a muffled laugh, covering her face in embarrassment.
"You'll never let me forget that, will you?"
His eyes gleamed for a moment, amused. Then he simply stepped away from the window, took two steps back, and raised his hand in farewell.
Without asking for his number.
Without giving him his contact information.
Without promising anything.
She watched him cross the parking lot and go back inside the diner, completely lost.
For a few seconds, she remained still with her hands on the steering wheel, trying to understand exactly what had just happened.
Because it didn't make sense.
Not the overturned chairs—that made perfect sense within her life. Nor the embarrassment. Nor the awkward way her body always seemed to bump into things, take up too much space, draw attention even before she opened her mouth.
What didn't make sense… was Lucas.
A handsome young man like that, looking at her like that.
She drove home almost automatically, while jumbled thoughts filled her entire head. Every time she remembered his smile, she felt a warmth rise through her body. Every time she remembered his gaze discreetly descending over her curves, her heart raced again.
When she entered her house, she dropped the box of donuts on the kitchen table and stood motionless for a few seconds in the silence of the apartment. The place seemed small around her. Familiar. Safe.
Still, she felt different.
She walked slowly to her room and stood before the long mirror attached to the wardrobe door.
Then she truly observed herself.
The blouse still accentuated every curve of her large, soft body. Her heavy belly hung over the waistband of her trousers in a soft, voluminous, round fold, occupying space with an undeniable presence. When she breathed deeply, she could see the fabric slowly rise and fall over the soft contours of her abdomen.
She ran her hands over her waist.
Her fingers sank lightly into the softness of her sides, feeling the smooth layers of fat beneath the warm skin. Small creases formed where the trousers tightened most. Her belly had a natural, rounded weight that slightly pulled her posture forward when she walked.
Her thick thighs pressed together even when standing still, strong and voluminous under the tight fabric of her trousers. Her wide hips gave her body a full, exaggeratedly feminine silhouette. And her heavy bottom rounded out her clothes in a way that was impossible to hide.
She turned slightly to the side in front of the mirror.
There was a soft flabbiness in her arms, a smoothness at her waist, folds scattered all over her body. Her skin felt cushioned, warm, alive. Nothing about her was rigid or defined.
Her face remained beautiful in a delicate way that contrasted almost cruelly with her insecurities. Her wavy black hair fell over her shoulders in messy waves. Her light eyes seemed even larger when she was emotional. Her thin, slightly upturned nose gave a sweet air to her expression.
The soft fat on her face hid part of the contour of her jawline, but didn't erase the beauty there.
She stared at her own reflection in silence.
Trying to see what Lucas saw.
Trying to understand why his gaze carried no pity… no mockery… no embarrassment. Just desire.
As if her body weren't something to be tolerated.
But something to be noticed.
Vote so I know you food addicts and lard accumulation fat pigs want a sequel.
Voting ended onMay 27
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