Message-ID: <42319asstr$1052323803@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20030507053002.3814.qmail@mail.com> Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit From: "Zuleika Zull" <zuleika@cheerful.com> X-Originating-Server: ws1-6.us4.outblaze.com X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Wed, 07 May 2003 00:30:02 -0500 Subject: {ASSM} Tina and The Fatman (FM, angst, implied sex) Zuleika Zull Date: Wed, 7 May 2003 12:10:03 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2003/42319> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, IceAltar -- __________________________________________________________ Sign-up for your own FREE Personalized E-mail at Mail.com http://www.mail.com/?sr=signup <1st attachment, "Tina_and_The_Fatman.txt" begin> Zuleika's Glimpses of Life - Tina and The Fatman by: Zuleika Zull - zuleika@cheerful.com May 5, 2003 -------- FM, angst, implied sex I retain the copyright to this story. This story contains adult themes and discussions. If it is illegal for you to be reading this sort of thing, please go elsewhere. Thank you for pausing for a moment and letting me touch you. All my love, Zuleika Zull ============== I wrapped my hands around the cheap plastic cup and stared morosely out the filthy window of the diner that had somehow become the center of my life. 'Tina, maybe it's time you admitted you don't have a clue...' "Excuse me. Would you mind if I sat down here? All the other tables are full." Huh. Any other time this dump is deserted. I sighed and didn't bother looking at him. "Go ahead." "Thanks." I felt the table shift suddenly and I cursed as some of my coffee spilled on my hands. "Sorry. Sometimes I have trouble making my body do what I want it to do. Here's a napkin..." I looked and he was holding out one of the napkins from the dispenser. His hand was steady, but it looked bloated and pale. I followed his arm up to... I winced before I could hide my reaction to what I'd seen. The man was well past fat. He was bloated, pasty white, had more chins than I wanted to try and count... I blushed when our eyes met and he nodded his head. "It's OK. I'm used to the reaction. Want me to leave?" I hesitated and he smiled bitterly. "I'm not trying to pick you up or anything like that. I've seen this in the mirror every day for the last ten years. I haven't been out in a long time and I remembered this place used to make some damn good coffee. I didn't know it would be this busy or that it was under new ownership. I can't make it back to my apartment without taking a short break and you were sitting at the only table that had enough room left for me to sit down. Again, I'm sorry. I don't have the control of my body I used to have. I'll leave." He set the napkin and his cup down before he braced himself and started to push himself up. "No. Wait." I reached out and grabbed one of his his hands. "Stay." He resettled and I studied him awhile. Something in his eyes prompted me to take a chance. "Look. I'm tired of the whole woman-man thing. You ever get tired of playing the game and just want a chance to toss all that out and be yourself?" The bitter smile returned. "Ten years ago life tossed it out for me. I didn't have a choice about quitting. What woman would be willing to play with me?" "I would." My jaw dropped when I realized what I'd said. "Lady, I don't know what your game is, but I'm not playing." He gently pulled his hand from mine. I glared at him. "Dammit, You can sit there and finish your coffee while I tell you something. Then you can leave--if you still want to." I grinned and he flinched. "I don't know exactly what made me say it, except I know damn well it wasn't because I wanted to play games with you. You willing to listen to some truth? Maybe share some of your own truth with a woman who just wants to get some honest answers from a man--for a change?" He looked at me. "The same truth that was in your eyes when you got your first good look?" Damn. That hurt, even though I knew I deserved it. "I was thinking about what a mess I've made of my life when it comes to men. I haven't been fucked in years, because I turn men off with my honesty. *That's* the truth I was talking about. Truth about me. I'm sorry about my reaction earlier. I was thinking about sex, saw fat and..." I blushed again when he laughed. He held his hand out. "You really don't know how to avoid the truth, do you? I'm Sam. Where've you been all my life?..." He made it a question that asked me if I'd give him my name. I wrapped his hand with both of mine. "Tina. Tina Allison. I don't know about all of your life but for the last five I've been haunting this dump." He squeezed gently. "Tina. The last time I was in here, about eight years ago, it wasn't a dump. It was a place any man would have been proud to take his SO for a night out." Something in the tone of his voice touched me and his earlier comment about the coffee suddenly made sense. "You were a regular?" He looked around before he turned back and looked down at our intertwined hands. "Yeah. Until I had the accident she and I came in here a couple times a week. It wasn't the coffee that made me force myself out of the apartment. I wanted a last fling with my memories before I decided..." He left it hanging for a few seconds then shrugged. "You wanted honesty. I came here to see if I still wanted to live--or not. The jury's still deliberating." "What in HELL did she do to you?" I was angry. Angry with the woman who had left this man when he needed her most. She'd left him and... I paused in my thinking. Who left who, and why? "It wasn't like that, was it?" He shook his head. Dammit. 'Truth to Tell' Tina had done it again. At least this time I knew I couldn't make things any worse than they already were. I reached out, lightly touched his cheek and made him look at me. "Sam. Life's a bitch most of the time. Yeah, I can be one, too." That got me a faint smile. "I noticed." "Nevermind. I came in here and was brooding about how I seemed to screw up every relationship I've ever started. When you showed up I had just admitted to myself that I don't have a clue when it comes to how to deal with men." I stood up, leaned over the table and planted a kiss on his lips before I resettled in my chair. "Dealing with pain is something else. *That* I have plenty of experience with. The one thing you *don't* do about pain--is give up completely. You find something, anything, that makes you happy, even if it's only for a few seconds. Force yourself to do it often enough and eventually you wake up, realize the pain is gone--and you are enjoying life again." He looked at me, then at the diner. I waited while he thought about what I'd said. "Tina? What do you do when you get that depressed?" I blinked. Then I managed to force down another blush, barely. "You're hetero?" "Yes." "Then what I do probably won't work for you." I hurried on. "I go to this bar, 'The Beef Palace'. They have nude male dancers. If I can't get screwed, at least I can fantasize." He chuckled, then turned serious. "You still want to play? I'd like to take you there, now, to repay you for your kindness." I tried to remember their schedule. I winced when I realized what day it was. He caught the wince. "Something wrong?" "Ummm. Maybe. It's 'Old Fart's Night'." "And that means?..." I sighed, somewhat bitterly. "It means that there won't be any of their regular guys dancing. It's the night when men from the audience get on the stage and show their stuff, so to speak." I hesitated and then told him the rest. "Most women are there for the amusement value, not because they want to fantasize about a night with them." He nodded. "You?" I looked at him and wanted to cry. "Amusement." "I don't have a problem with that." His eyes suddenly went distant. "Nude dancing? I haven't... Maybe..." He shook his head slightly and then refocused on me. "Tina, may I treat you to an evening at The Beef Palace?" Perversity, thy avatar is named 'Tina Allison'. "Yes." * * * Allen, the bouncer for the night, bless his heart, didn't even blink when Sam and I handed him our IDs. "Tina, it's good to see you." He returned my ID. Then he looked at Sam's ID, lifted his eyebrows and bowed deeply. "Mr..." Sam stopped him. "That's done with. Sam will do." Allen smiled slightly and returned Sam's ID. "Sam, welcome to The Beef Palace. Tina's a regular so she'll be able to answer any questions you have." He motioned us through the door. Before the noise overwhelmed us I looked at Sam. He had a wistful look on his face. "What was that all about? I got the impression Allen knows you." "He does. We haven't seen each other in years." "The bow?" Sam chuckled. "Nothing much. He always used to greet me with that. It's something of an old joke between us. I'm surprised he did it after all these years." It was a struggle, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. Allen was a fixture at the Palace. Over the years I'd seen him greet all sorts of people and I knew damn well that he didn't use that deep, respectful bow unless he meant it. I finally shrugged mentally and admonished myself: 'Tina, let Sam keep his secrets. At least he's not thinking about suicide. And you, you're finally with a man who appreciates your honesty rather than resents it. Enjoy yourself while you can.' Sam touched my arm. "You know where you like to sit. Lead, and I'll follow in your footsteps. Don't worry. When I move slowly I still have good control of my body." I caught a waiter's arm and we held a whispered conversation. I pointed at a table next to the runway and he nodded. He blinked and grinned when Sam quietly shook his hand. I caught a glimpse of green and smiled to myself. Sam certainly knew how a place like this operated. In spite of his bulk and the attention it was getting, he moved as if he was totally relaxed in the raucous environment. He chuckled quietly. "Some things never change. I saw you point and I figured it would be a good idea to encourage his patience with us while we worked our way to your table." I couldn't stop my smile. "Thanks. It wasn't going to be a problem. Regulars do get some perks here. Table holding is one of them." We settled at our table, ordered our drinks and I started paying attention to the men on the runway. Every time I whispered a comment Sam seemed to hear it and ask me why I made it. His own quietly made comments and questions eventually had me forgetting my problems. I began to relax and enjoy what was happening. I also forgot about Sam and only noticed he was missing when I turned to ask him something about one of the dancers. I figured he'd gone to the restroom until people started laughing and pointing at the stage. 'Look. I've never seen anyone so fat.' The comments reminded me of my initial reaction to Sam. Suddenly my brain caught up with my ears and eyes. Sam not at our table. People pointing at the stage. Fat. I forgot about the man on the runway and switched my attention to the stage. My... God... Sam was on the stage and he was smiling and laughing with the MC. He was also naked. The MC frowned and asked Sam a question. I saw a glint of anger in Sam's eyes before he smiled again and nodded slowly. The MC shrugged, handed Sam the portable microphone and waved him onto the runway. The spotlight hit him and I winced in sympathy. Strangely, Sam, instead of trying to hide himself, stood straighter. It was as if he was proud to be there. He waited out the catcalls and taunts. When they'd died down a bit, he smiled and lifted the microphone to his mouth. "Ladies, I'm 'The Fatman' and I'm going to dance for you." I stiffened and looked closer as I noted his words. He hadn't said 'try and dance', he'd clearly said 'dance'. "The young lady I'm here with tonight said that most of you, including her, are here to be amused. That's fine with me." He made a gesture that took in his bloated body. "I doubt if any of you ever fantasize about fucking someone as grossly obese as I am." He smiled to take the sting out of his words. "With that in mind, if the band knows 'The Pink Panther Theme', I'll improvise something to go along with it." He chuckled. "At least it's slow enough that I can move without losing my breath after a few moves. Oh, by the way. The management made me sign a special release form before they would let me up here. Something about them denying responsibility if I have a heart attack on stage." There was a collective gasp of shock. It was understood that men never mentioned what was in the forms they had to sign. He gestured at himself again. "I'm fat, yes. Otherwise I am quite healthy, as my doctor assured them when they finally called him. So, after a bit of negotiating, here I am." I groaned. I'd never heard of the management being that stubborn. But then again, I couldn't recall anyone as fat as Sam wanting to dance on the runway, either After I forced myself to ignore my misery about the position Sam had put himself in, I realized I was hearing something unusual at The Palace. Silence. I noticed Sam was looking at the band leader. Some sort of communication was going on between them. Sam spoke into his microphone. "A count of three to set the beat?" The band leader nodded and turned back to face his musicians. When his baton reached the bottom of its third stroke, Sammoved. His feet slid forward and his rolls of fat bobbed and rolled, all in time to the music. It was slow, it was funny, people were laughing--and then there was silence and a few gasps. I looked away and noticed some of the women were watching him intently. They looked like predators. A few of them looked over, saw me watching them and saluted me, as if to say: 'You lucky woman.' I looked back at Sam. His penis was barely visible. His rolls of fat still bobbed as he moved with the music. His hands moved slowly, as if to suggest he was courting a woman. Their movements hinted at the pleasure he could give with them. He pointed at his almost invisible penis, smiled and then motioned as if he were telling her 'It doesn't matter. I can give you pleasure in other ways, with these, and my tongue. Would you like to play the game my way, this time?' When he held his arms open at the finale, as if he were waiting for a woman to enter them, he was facing me and smiling. His eyes twinkled as he whispered into the microphone: "Ladies and gentlemen, dancing and sex have a lot in common. They both depend more on the attitude of the performers than they do their physical attributes. I hope I've managed to amuse you with my performance. We all know there's no way a body like mine could be seductive." He handed the microphone to the MC, gathered up his clothing, got dressed and then stepped down to rejoin me at our table. While he caught his breath I studied him thoughtfully. "Sam, could I have some more of that truth?" Before he could respond Allen pulled up a nearby chair and settled in it. "Sam. It's good to see you again. Some of the women have been asking me who you were." He tilted his head in my direction. "I told them to forget it, that you were already spoken for." Sam sighed. "Actually, all of this is my gift to Miss Allison. She pinned my ears back and convinced me that it was time to quit being a coward. When we met this afternoon I was just about ready to go back to the apartment and kill myself. I don't know if I'm spoken for or not--and that's the simple truth." Allen coughed discreetly. " 'Truth to tell', eh? That sounds like the Tina we know." I bent my head down and glared at my drink. "Sam's spoken for. But, one of you is going to tell me what the hell is going on before I take him home for the night." When I raised my head they were ignoring me and looking at each other. Sam finally looked away. "Allen? I still have trouble with what happened. That little performance helped, but not enough, it seems." Allen leaned back in his chair and caught the attention of a passing waiter. "I pulled some strings so I'm off for the rest of the night. I didn't want to let Sam duck out on me this time." He saw my surprise. "Not here. Nine years ago we ran into each other when I was working a show. Before I could get away from what I was doing, he'd pulled a vanishing act. If it hadn't been for his ID he would have been able to walk right past me and I'd never have recognized him." He looked into his drink and swirled it. I don't know what he saw but it must have been interesting. He smiled and without looking up, began his story. "Sam and Brenda were two of the best supporting dancers I'd ever seen during my ten years of being a stage hand. Hell. They should have been doing leading roles, not the bit parts that made others look good. I never did figure out why they weren't doing leading roles." Sam's comment was quiet. "We'd seen what happens. Neither one of us wanted to work under that kind of pressure. We wanted our lives to be ours, still." Allen nodded. "Makes sense." We sat there in silence. I looked at the runway but I didn't see the man who was on it. I could still see Sam and his gentle, flowing, seductive moves. "You're telling me Sam was a professional dancer?" "A damn good one before the accident." "What happened?" "He and Brenda were doing a routine. He tripped over a plant that shouldn't have been where it was, fell off the stage and Brenda landed on top of him, breaking his leg." "But..." "Something rare happened. The doctors think something in the medication triggered a change in his metabolism. He was able to fight it for awhile but when I last saw him he was pretty much as you see him now. It takes a near starvation diet and iron discipline for him to keep from adding weight. I have to admit it looks like he's managed to maintain some sort of control over the weight gain since the last time we met." Sam turned and looked at Allen again. His smile was faint. "Nine years ago I only weighed 300 pounds. I've managed to stay under 400 pounds, barely, so far. It's nice of you to be so polite, Allen." I winced when I understood the undertones. Allen shrugged. "Sam, I'd seen how fast the weight goes on. At the time of the accident you weighed about 175 pounds. Within a year you were at 300 pounds. Nine years? I expected you to be up near 600-700 pounds or more. Like I said, it looks like you have some control over the problem, now." "Allen, it wasn't your fault." The change of subject was a surprise. Sam and Allen were obviously continuing an old conversation. Allen studied Sam's face before he turned away and sighed. "I was in charge when it happened. My head knows it wasn't my fault. My heart keeps telling me otherwise." Sam looked around and then chuckled mirthlessly. "So now you're a bouncer at a nude bar for women?" "It's not what you think, Sam. I'm the head stagehand here. Once everything's set up for the evening, I spend time greeting people at the door. Audience participation night is the one night a week I don't have much to do." Sam looked at me and raised his eyebrows. "I remember being told it's 'old fart's night'." Allen saved me. "You've seen the guys who are performing. If the women who have hunks with them have any sense at all, they're keeping their dates away from the runway or taking them somewhere else tonight." Sam frowned. "I would have thought they'd want to show their men off." I drained my drink and signaled a waiter for more. After it arrived and I was sipping it, I looked around the room and sighed. "I'm a regular. Most of the women here tonight are regulars. So are most of the men. You don't get to be a regular unless you've made a mess of your life and want some way to pretend otherwise. The men are gentle, willing to live with a quick tumble and don't mind being passed around from bed to bed. None of us are looking for anything deeper. Commitment terrifies most of us. We'd be terrified if we found it--and most of us run and hide as soon as we realize we might be developing a deeper relationship with a man. The same thing applies to the men. The people who aren't terrified don't come here for very long." Sam turned away and questioned Allen with his eyes. "She's right. I don't trust myself enough to take charge of a serious production again. This place suits me. So do the women." "A day for strange truths." Sam sipped at his drink as he considered what we'd told him. "Tina, Brenda and I were damn good dancers, even after you ignored our egos. One night I forgot to take the time to check out the stage before we did our routine. I paid with a broken leg and this obscene body. Yeah, eventually I drove Brenda away. She was too good to spend the rest of her life with a dancer who couldn't dance in public. Maybe it was a mistake but at least she's happy now and has a family that she loves." I thought about it. "Couldn't she have danced with someone else and otherwise stayed with you?" When he winced and ducked his head to stare into his glass I knew I'd done it again. "That's what she wanted to do. I drove her away instead, because I didn't want to live with the pain of wondering if she did more than dance with her new partners. She said she still loved me, in spite of my body. It wasn't the same, and deep inside, we both knew it." "You absolute and utter fool." His head jerked up and for the first time since we'd met, I saw tears in his eyes. "I know. I've known that for the last eight years--*after* she told me she was happily married to her latest partner." I gave myself a good mental spanking. 'Jesus, Tina. What is it with you? Here you are, doing your absolute best to drive away a man who is comfortable dealing with the real you. And you, you sit here and call *him* a fool!' "Sam?" He waited. "I'm not having fun any more. Take me home. Now. Stay with me tonight." He stiffened and then spoke a single word: "Why?" "I want to be fucked by, and fuck--a real man for a change. I've never done it before and I want to see what it's like." Allen started laughing so hard people turned to look at us. "Sam, she got you. Sounds like a good plan, to me." Sam and I glared at him before we started laughing, ruefully. <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ ------- ASSM Moderation System Notice-------- This post has been reformatted by the ASSM Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+