When you invited your crush from school to a barbecue at your house, you weren’t sure shed come, mostly because when you actually talked to her, she was way too far gone to remember much. Somehow, though, she did remember, and now she’s in a very tight leopard print dress, belly already bulging a bit, asking if it’s okay if she smokes. You try not to stare too hard as she pulls her smokes and lighter from between her massive boobs and lights up. You watch, mesmerized, as she smokes, spits on the ground, and then goes off to find a beverage. You find her again in the garage, after losing track of her for a little while, and she’s clearly found the cooler of high gravity sweet drinks in big cans, because her belly is way rounder now. She praises you having her favorite drinks on hand and gladly accepts the plate of three big hot dogs, messily devouring as you tell her you asked Marty, the bartender where you met, what you should stock and what you should cook. As she eats and drinks and chats with you, you let slip that you planned this whole barbecue just so you could see her again before you have to leave town. She asks if you have a thing for party girls. Clearly you do. She gets flirtier and visibly looser, talking about her early party days, asking if you liked her back then. She says she used to love watching older women at concerts getting fatter from overindulgence. Clearly you like it too. She shows off more overtly, eventually pulling her dress up to show her fat gut off for you, asking if you can get away from the party for a bit to have some fun. Two weeks after the barbecue, you get a text from your crush telling you she got the bartender, to set up a camera so you can watch her have fun even when you’re not in town. Then you receive a vid of her very far gone and bloated, guzzling down more on her favorite stool. You hope this is the first of many.