Ronnie
By Q Bomb

If you're like me -- male, that is -- one of the first things you do when you get to college is, you check out the women. Human nature, right? I went to college in the Northeast, and it didn't take long to notice Ronnie. When I first saw her, she was playing volleyball on the Quad, jumping up and down, wearing a dark blue pair of short, short shorts . . . she was from California, and she was the classic California girl: tall, with a warm, pretty face, long blond hair, big, firm breasts, long lean legs, and an ass you could bounce a quarter off. Not precisely my type, as you might guess, but a woman no man would turn down. And, being always on the lookout for these things, I wondered if she had a different kind of potential . . .

Cold weather came soon thereafter, and that was the end of the short shorts - in fact, I never saw her wear them again, what a pity. She was always in sweatshirts and curve-hugging (and bulge-hugging) jeans. I didn't know her that well then, but saw Ronnie around enough to make some educated guesses. I think she played a sport in high school, but no longer. She liked the ice cream in the dining hall. I was studying in the basement one time and saw her and her roommate raid the candy machines. I'd see her outside the dorm buying Little Ceasar's. And she definitely went for the keg parties, big time. I really started watching her closely for progress.

The effect of this was not hugely dramatic, but it was plain enough to see. Her tight butt, which used to just wiggle when she ran or jumped, became wide, swaying hips, curves that started both high and low and swelled to a climax at each side. Her face grew dimplier. Her roommate got the extra weight too, but all of it in the 'saddlebags,' not well distributed at all, and she always wore painted-on-tight jeans that emphasized this. Ronnie had been the object of every man's desire when freshman year started; I mentioned after Christmas that I thought she was hot and the other pledges in my frat started making jokes and gestures about the size of her behind.

My heart tore as Ronnie soon left her jeans behind (or rather, her behind left her jeans) and she moved to baggy, floral pants and long windbreakers, the less to be seen. I hoped she didn't feel any less hot (or if she did, she'd like me to solve the problem). Freshman turned to sophmore year, and what had to be at least the Freshman 20 turned to 30 and more, and the exaggerated hourglass effect started to wear off as she thickened around the waist. She actually lost weight going overseas as a junior, but by senior year she had taken on almost a stocky look, with a tall, thick roll of flab running all around her waist, front and back, and she cut her hair into something rounder that just made her face look rounder too.

The night we finally got together, she was wearing a tight black turtleneck and dark jeans (the jeans came back senior year), breasts spilling out over the flabby waist, waist spilling over the jeans, jeans bulging at the sides and jutting out in front and back. She was chugging down the beers, not drunk but just soaking them up well. She felt very, very good . . .

After that, it's none of your business. ;)