The Channel Swimmer
By Q Bomb

Jenna was never skinny; not anything like that. But she was lean, all muscle, when I met her and when I married her. She was a swimmer, a competitive one.

We'd been married a few years and were in our late twenties, and Jenna started looking for a new challenge, when her brain landed on something she'd dreamed about when she'd first started swimming: the ultimate swimmer's challenge, swimming the English Channel.

She started training hard, training outdoors, getting in the best shape of her life - and that's when she met with a trainer who told her: you need fat. A lot of fat. "I don't care how great shape you're in, you won't last an hour in the Channel if you don't have a good lot of fat on you."

What to do? Jenna was an athlete. She didn't want to be fat. But she did love ice cream and cheesecake and chocolate, and on top of her already-hearty training regimen, she made sure to have a whole cheesecake or a pint of Ben & Jerry's every night. And then some.

The weight came on in fits and starts, but it came. She'd been trim in the waist and lean in the hips before; now, her waist thickened heavily, and her breasts grew and her arms and legs got thick. Her face grew dimpled and she added an extra chin. But the biggest change was her butt. Jenna's rear end grew so rapidly, she shot through dress and jeans sizes, from 6 to 8 to 10 to 12 to 14 in a few months, finally winding up with a wide load that started a good four inches above where her ass used to start and spreading impressively side to side when she sat down. The weight wasn't loose, flabby, fat; Jenna was actually still in great shape, and the casing of fat around her was still rather firm, like a whale's blubber. Before we knew it, she'd gained 50 pounds.

At first, once the novelty of gorging on her favorite junk food wore off, Jenna groaned about her new size; she didn't like having to buy all new clothes (she mostly hung out in sweats now) and feeling fat. She was embarrassed when we saw old friends who thought she was just fat and out of shape, although she gloried in telling them about her plan to swim the Channel.

Me . . . I'd married an athlete, and I hadn't bargained on getting a big fat woman. But it turned out that I didn't know what I'd been missing. I loved the feel of her new size, and the . . . well, the marital relations were great. Uh, really great.

The big day came in July, and she set out on a grueling journey. She made it! I was chilly as all get out up in the boat (even in July, with the wind), but when it was all done, she was beaming.

And she said to me: "You know, I should do this again."

"Really, you wouldn't mind . . . you know, . . . staying this size to train again?"

"Would you?" (She could tell, I think, that I didn't mind one little bit.)

"Um, that would that would be fine with me."

She smiled, sending ripples across her cheeks and down her chins.