sheila and whitney 1 agreement

    The brunette twisted a lock of hair around her finger and shifted her weight uncomfortably as her roommate, a healthy blonde, held up another adorable two piece swim suit.
    “But Sheila, you can’t deny it, this one’s stunning,” the blonde said. She was currently arguing with her rather awkward roommate, something that happened quite often. Poor Sheila was one of the most self-conscious girls in the world, which Whitney couldn’t figure out for the life of her. She had good-sized, perky boobs, a nice ass, a beautiful face, and gorgeous skin, but she clammed up around men, avoided mirrors, and harbored a general ignorance of her beauty. It was flat out frustrating to be around. Sheila sighed.
    “You’re wasting your time, you know I don’t wear two pieces,” she replied, starting to be annoyed. What was supposed to be a five-minute run to Wal-Mart for Greek yogurt had turned into a one hour escapade through the bathing suit section, and Sheila wasn’t amused.
    “Yeah, I know, and I’m trying to get you to change. Show off your body a little,” she coaxed, poking her in the ribs.
    “Whitney, stop,” Sheila said, and thankfully, she did.
    “Fine. But I’m not giving this up,” Whitney warned, and Sheila rolled her eyes. Her roommate, despite all of her perks, could be so frustrating sometimes. They’d only been living together for a few weeks, but already Sheila was starting to dread her decision to live with the blonde. For the present, however, getting to leave the clothing department was her consolation.
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    Later that day Sheila watched as Whitney began making dinner, pondering over her way of cooking for four to six people just to have days of leftovers in the fridge. On the one hand, it was kind of convenient; instead of cooking every day, she only had to cook two or three times a week, but on the other, the girls would eat the same thing for days. This time around, it was mac-n-potatoes - a concoction devised by Whitney where buttery mashed potatoes were mixed into macaroni and cheese before being baked into a massive casserole - and a whole ham. At least the ham could be cooked a billion different ways afterwards. On the other hand, Sheila was always weary of the mac-n-potatoes, knowing just how fattening it was, but Whitney, who had meat on her bones but couldn't be called fat, never minded. In fact, this was a casserole she made at least once a week.
    The only other food she made as often was massive Swiss Rolls, homemade with 9 by 13 chocolate cakes and heavy custard filling. She’d cover the whole thing in a generous layer of ganache and serve it in huge pieces. It was Sheila’s weakness, but she was pretty good about not eating too much. Her weight needed to be watched, after all.
    “Are you actually going to eat the mac-n-potatoes this time?” Whitney asked as she poured two pounds of noodles into the roux she had made, consisting of two sticks of butter and two pounds of cheese. With two sticks of butter in the mashed potatoes along with almost a whole container of sour cream and good cup of heavy cream, Sheila was almost afraid to eat it, if she were honest. Offending her roommate wasn't always the best idea, though, as Whitney was really proud of her cooking.
    “What do you mean? I always have some,” she answered diplomatically.
    “Yeah, like, a bite. And then I always have to eat the rest all by myself. When are you going to actually eat it? I know you love my food,” Whitney said, which was true; Sheila did love her cooking. If anything, she loved her roommate’s cooking too much.
    “I eat as much as I want, and then I stop. Maybe you shouldn’t make so much,” Sheila said as her stomach turned; once again, she was telling half-truths. Whitney sighed, annoyed once again. Her roommate could be so frustrating, always counting how much she ate, watching what she ate, never snacking, never getting seconds. She was so disciplined... It was weird.
    “Indulge yourself for once,” Whitney replied as she poured the macaroni into the giant pot of potatoes. Sheila sighed; this pressure needed to stop.
    “Whitney, can I talk to you about something?” she asked.
    “Of course,” Whitney put the empty pot down and turned to face her roommate; this sounded serious. Sheila looked uncomfortable, and shifted in her bar stool as though debating how she wanted to say what was on her mind.
    “The reason I’m so weird about food and stuff, and things that show my figure, is that, well, I used to fat. Like, really fat. Like, morbidly obese fat,” she admitted, her face blushing with embarrassment. Whitney nodded, taking that information in and trying to visualize what Sheila used to look like. Her body had pretty hefty natural curves that left her looking gorgeous as she was, but with some padding around her hips, butt, and belly... Hell, to Whitney, she probably looked even sexier with extra pounds.
    “Like, how big?” Whitney asked, suddenly interested; it was no secret that she had always been attracted to larger women, the larger the better. They still had to compete with well-toned men for her affections, of course, but whenever she got tired of male stupidity, a fat woman was what Whitney would go for.
    “Like I was a whale. I’d get out of breath walking, I couldn’t ride roller coasters, people stared in public... I had to go to special stores to buy clothes and nothing that was in my size fit properly. God, it’s so embarrassing. I’m still ashamed,” she admitted.
    “Why?” Whitney wondered.
    “What what?” Sheila asked.
    “Why are you ashamed? You were bigger, so what? I bet it was really hot,” Whitney said, the last statement simply slipping out. She turned back to her cooking, knowing Sheila was staring at her in confused amazement, trying to think of a valid answer.
    “No one thinks being fat is attractive,” Sheila argued, and Whitney turned back around.
    “That’s where you’re wrong. Give me a fat woman - a really fat one - and I’d turn my back on men any day,” Whitney said. Sheila stared in disbelief.
    “What?” she said.
    “And I’m not the only one. I know plenty of people who think fat women are incredibly sexy. In fact, you remember Steve, the guy who was here last week? When you were in the bathroom he told me, he says, ‘Whitney, your roommate’s really cute, you know? But with a little meat on her bones... Oh man, I wouldn’t be able to control myself,’” Whitney told her.
    “He did not!” Sheila replied.
    “Well, it wasn’t those words, but he was mad into you,” Whitney said.
    “And besides, 'a little meat on your bones' isn’t the same as being so fat that when you sit in a chair, it breaks,” Sheila ignored Whitney’s comment.
    “You broke chairs?” Now it was Whitney’s turn to stare in disbelief, and she felt herself getting moist down below. Oh god, if only she had seen that.
    “Yeah.”
    “Holy shit.”
    “I know.”
    “No, not like that. Like... Damn. I wish I had seen that. Why’d you lose it?” Whitney asked. Sheila looked back at her as if she were bonkers.
    “Didn’t you hear me? I was breaking chairs, for god's sake.”
    “Yeah, I heard. Sweet Jesus,” she said in amazement.
    “You’re crazy,” Sheila said dismissively, although all the while she remained doubtful of her own position. When she was fat, she’d had a lot of self-acceptance issues; in fact, she still did. But with Whitney, most of those disappeared. It was weird being around someone who accepted everyone, and way weirder being around someone who actually thought that being fat was attractive.
    Whitney didn’t reply but turned around and continued putting the casserole together.
    “Have you ever thought about gaining it back?” she asked.
    “What?” Sheila’s mind reeled. After almost two years of strict dieting and exercising, the thought had never crossed her mind. It was true she got a lot of pleasure from eating and stuffing herself silly, but things had had to change after she broke the chair. The humiliation of floundering about on the floor, her gut holding her down while her arms and legs groped helplessly was just too much for her. These days she didn’t even resort to water bloating like she had in the past when the need to stuff was too strong.
    “Gaining it back. Or at least some of it. Ever considered it?” Whitney asked.
    “No.”
    “Oh,” Whitney dropped the subject as she bent to put the casserole in the oven, and they fell into a thought-filled silence while she started to whip up more glaze for the ham; it was looking a bit dry.
    “Hey, Sheila?” Whitney asked after about a five minute silence.
    “Yeah?”
    “Is that why you don’t wear two piece suits?” she asked.
    “Yeah. I still have some loose skin in my midsection,” she said, “it’s not as bad is it could have been, not by a long shot, but it’s awkward when your belly button’s not where it’s supposed to be.” Whitney thought this over, wanting to make a comment about how if she grew fat again, her belly button would be back in the right place, but held it back.
    “You should think about gaining it back,” she suggested instead. Sheila laughed.
    “Yeah, right,” she said.
    “No, really. I bet extra weight looks great on you,” Whitney said. Once again, Sheila couldn’t believe her ears.
    “Really?”
    “Yeah. Hell, I’d help you gain it back, if you wanted,” she offered.
    “Um, thanks, I guess,” Sheila said awkwardly, remembering the old feeling of her soft flesh. Her whole body had been a giant, jiggling pillow once, her massive belly jutting out so far that she couldn’t even see her feet. It had been so ugly, so disgusting, like a mountain of well-kneaded bread dough...
    Yet with a jolt she realized that her body hadn’t actually been so ugly or revolting. It was simply big, and there was nothing wrong with that. Her hand reached down as if expecting soft flesh and found simply her limp, wrinkly, leftover skin. The disappointment caught her off-guard and served as a segue into a flood of old memories, the memories of being stuffed full, struggling to breathe as her stomach snatched all extra room. God, she used to eat so much. Just thinking about it sent shivers up her spine.
    “Wait, you’d help me how?” Sheila asked, ending the long silence. Whitney smiled to herself while adding glaze to the ham.
    “Well, I’d cook for you, of course. And encourage you. Rub your belly, if you wanted me to,” she said after pretending to think it over. As if she'd had to think about all the things she'd want to do to a feedee. Sheila got even wetter thinking about it.
    “How big would you want me to go?” she asked testily.
    “However big you wanted. The bigger the better, in my book, but it’s your body,” Whitney said.
    “Would you wait on me?”
    “Always.”
    “Hand-feed me?”
    “I’d stuff you.”
    “Oh, god. When do we start?” Both girls were now soaked in their excitement at finding a partner.
    “Dinner. Unless you want to raid the pantry,” Whitney said.
    “Oh, I’m always down for a pantry raid,” Sheila said seductively, "let's see how much stretch room this old belly has." And with that she slid off her chair and walked into the kitchen.