Big Girls Don't Cry

Published by GRETCHEN LANE & DIVALICIOUS EROTICA

Edited by MELISA HEATHA

Copyright © 2012 by GRETCHEN LANE

This is a work of Fiction

All characters appearing in this eBook are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead, other than those in the public domain, is not intended and purely coincidental.

This eBook contains sexually explicit material and is intended for a mature audience.

All characters are 18 years or older. All sex within this story is consensual.

Visit GRETCHEN @
http://www.divaliciouserotica.com/

INTRODUCTION

“I’m
sick of it, Michelle!” I cried into the phone.

“I k
now, sweetheart. I’m so sorry,” she comforted.
Michelle has been my best friend since third grade, and truthfully, I don’t know how she puts up with me. Really, I don’t know how anyone puts up with me. I’m just fat a
nd pathetic, and today was
the world’s way of
letting me know it.

The crowd erupted into laughter
when the first fat joke was yelled from
the passing car. They fell silent when the 32 oz. soft drink hit my face
with a loud smack
,
before
splashing
to the ground
.
I stood soaking wet, stunned, and humiliated. My
embarrassment
quickly turned to pain, and I wept openly. Not one person asked me if I was okay. I ran home to my apartment, where in a moment of frustration and hurt I actually contemplated suicide. And, then I felt stupid, like I always do. I mean, I guess I should be used to it by now. It’s been happening since
I was in the
third grade.
That’s when I got
my
nickname
,
‘
The
Pillsbury
dough
girl
.
’

My mom told people the reason I ate so much
, was
I lost my dad at such a young age. He passed away from a heart attack when I was five
years old. That’s when I started
comfort eating
,
Mom says.

Anyway, I didn’t kill myself. Instead, I called Michelle.

~ ~ ~

“Don’t talk like that,
Gretchen
! God! It makes me want to kill those guys!
Who does that to another human being
?”

“
Don’t be mad at them. It’s my
own
fault.”

“What
are you talking about?” Michelle screams. “Are you serious?”

“I’
m totally serious. I’m th
e one who made me like this. I
shouldn’t
be taking the bus anyway. I should be walking to work. It’s only like three or four miles.
It would probably do me good
.
”

“You know what,
Gretchen
,” Michelle states sternly. “It probably woul
d. But, that doesn’t change the
fact that those assholes were wrong. And YOU, did
NOTHING
wrong
. Do you understand that?”

“Yeah, I know,” I answer,
meekly. “Truthfully, I just want to start the whole day over.” Which means,
when I get off of the phone
I will
chase away the day’s horrible events
with a half-gallon of my favorite ice cream
.

“Well, let me know where you want to go workout tomorrow. I’m ready for a good
one
,” Michelle said, on
queue
.
She’
s always in for a few classes. She
kn
e
w that’s all it w
ill
take
,
and I’
ll
be over i
t
and back to being my old self
… N
ice, funny,
‘She would be pretty if she lost some weight’
,
Gretchen
.

“I will.
”

“And, don’t
eat and
go to bed! Do something different this time, okay?”

“Okay,” I sniffle.

“Promise?”

‘Shit.’
I hated w
hen she made me promise. “I
Promise.”

“Call me later.”

“I will.”

“K, love you.
”

“Love you to
o
. Michelle
,
wait!”

“What!”

“Thank you.”

“Stop it.
You don’t have to thank me.
I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye”

I close my phone, rubbing
the sore spot on my face. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a black eye tomorrow.
‘
Great, that’s just what I need
. People at work thinking my
fake b
oyfriend beats me up.
’
I know it’s stupid, but I didn’t want the fact
,
that I’m a twenty-four year old virgin
,
being
spread around my office
… Meet Jack, m
y now
abusive
boyfriend.

I’ll
just
tell
everyone I kicked him out
for doing it
.
It’
s getting to
o
hard explaining why he never comes to office parties anyway.

‘Do something different this time.’
Michelle’s words play in my head.

‘Join a gym fat ass!’
A voice
in the car had yelled before the soda was thrown.

CHAPTER ONE

I had been
standing outside
for half of an hour
,
before walking
up to the front door of the fitness club
. Now, I’m standing looking at my
reflection
in the glass and I’m frozen solid.

‘Open the door,
Gretchen
. Open the door.’
My heart is racing and I’m not sure which I’m going to do first, throw up or pass out.
‘What if I pass out,
and then
I
throw up?
Will
I suffocate? Will anyone give a fat
girl
mouth to mouth? OH GOD, I can’t do this!’
I let go of the door and turn to leave.

“Let me get that for you,” he said,
reaching
around me
,
and pull
ing
open the door.
I watched as the muscled arm stood flexed, holding
it open
. I was tr
apped between him and my escape
to
the
Dairy Queen—
and I felt like he was
reading my mind
,
as he tried herding me
back inside.

“Oh thank you,” I sa
id, avoiding eye contact. “
I was
-I was
just leaving.”

“What
? You do
n’t like the club?”

“No, it’s fine. I forgot something in the car.”

“Well,
make sure you come back, ok? You’ll like it here. I promise” he replied, with a wink as I looked up. He was gorgeous. Too gorgeous, and I looked away quickly as I slipped past him
,
hurrying
away
in a fluster.

I don’t
do well with good looking men, e
specially when they
talk to me
. I get extremely nervous and I think I digress at least 50 I.Q. points.
I start to stutter, getting all tongue tied and weird. I hate it. My girlfriends get a big kick out of it
though
. I swear they’ve paid guys to come up and talk to me at
clubs. It’
s pretty
amusing
, I guess.

I
stood hidden outside
another fifteen minutes before I got up enough courage to try again. This time I made it all the way to the empty front desk of the gym, spurred on by the voice of the handsome stranger at the door.
‘Well,
make sure you come back, ok? You’ll like it here. I promise’.

It’s still pretty early
in the morning and the place is
quiet except for a few people working out
,
and a small group of male trainers huddle
d
under a wall mounted T.V. on the far side of the gym. My back is to the group
,
and I watch in a mirror as they stand talking about the sporting event on the television
,
and contemplating who is going to come and help me.
Normally, a group of trainers would be all over a 5’8” woman who weighs 248 pounds coming into your gym. But, they know me. I’ve been in here before. Not once. Not twice. But, three times. And every time,
I’ve spent two hours with a salesperson
,
who showed me around the gym,
made me run on a treadmill until I
wheezed
,
kicked my ass on ten different machines
, a
nd
while I sat there
green
at the gills ready to puke, told me how close I was to
dy
ing
. T
hen
they
offered
to
not only save my life, but at the same time turn
me into a totally un-realistic,
skinny model
.

‘Wow! I’m in!’
I accepted, before they showed me the twelve thousand dollar, one year program price
tag
.

‘
Do
you have
anything
for struggling college students?’
That’
s when I got my first two week pass. I used it
one day, each time
before dropping out
.
So, it’s no wonder nobody wants to help me
now
.

I embarrassingly wait at the counter for five minutes
pretending
to
be interested in
the
piles
of supplements bein
g offered for sale
.
Just looking at the
before and after pictures
make
s
me want to buy
some
of the
life changing powders and elixirs.
But, I won’t
. I know it all works, but you have to actually workout when you use them.
Something, I don’t do. Not yet, anyway.
‘Man
, somebody is making a killing off of this stuff,’
I think, looking at
the
astronomical prices.
‘It’s cheaper to be fat!’
I’ve told Michelle before, when we emptied out my cupboards of tons of partially used expired jugs and bottles of the same products I’m looking at now.