Not Over Until The Fat Ladies Sing

Bostonfictionwriter's Last Story

With sadness and trepidation, this is my last story. In two years, I've written 602 stories and 69 poems. I'm proud of everything I've written. At the time I wrote them, it was the best that I could write and not only have I learned a lot but also I've improved as a writer.

Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote this Dying Swan poem below.

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear
The warble was low, and full and clear;
But anon her awful jubilant voice,
With a music strange and manifold,
Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold;
As when a mighty people rejoice
With shawns, and with cymbals, and harps of gold.

And now with this last story I sing my swansong.

It's Not Over Until The Fat Ladies Sing

A custom story serves as a dating service for big, beautiful women.

It was a day like any other. I felt good that my service of writing custom stories was helping people. I was busy writing a story when I got a feeling that someone was staring at me. I turned to see six very large women standing on the sidewalk outside giggling and watching me through my office window. They seemed friendly enough, so I waved and they waved. Then, one by one they filed in my office, walked the thirty feet to where my desk is situated, and completely filled my line of sight. All in a good mood, they were jovial and their positive energy was contagious. Immediately, they had me smiling and I stood to meet them.

"Hi, I'm Susan," said one offering me her hand. "Our friends Dorothy, Betty, Peggy and Mary told us about you," she said giggling and turning to her friends for support. "We all sing in the town choir and everyone is talking about you and your stories," she said with another giggle. "You're famous."

She looked a little like Delta Burke, curvaceous in a plus size womanly way. She was a pretty woman. Meticulously groomed, they were all very attractive women, albeit heavier than some guys prefer, that is, those men who only measure beauty by the number on the bathroom scale and who carry an unrealistic internal template of the ideal women's dimensions of 36-24-36. As the sensitive writer that I am, I had a psychic moment and felt their pain of having to deal with weight issues and insensitive people, especially men, all their lives.

"Town choir? I didn't know the town had a choir."

"Well, that makes us even, then," said Susan. "We didn't know you wrote stories."

"Nice to meet you all," I said looking from one to the other. "I'm Freddie, Bostonfictionwriter. What're your names?"

"She's Gwen," said Susan pointing to a cute blonde standing beside her and doing the talking for everyone.

"Hi Gwen, nice to meet you," I said taking her hand. She had bright blue eyes and a warm smile.

"The chubby one is Rita," she said.

They, of course, were all more than chubby, but Rita was the only one dressed all in black trying to hide her weight, no doubt. The other women were dressed in bright colors of geometric and floral patterns. It was obvious by their odd and shocking stylized assortment of dress that fashion designers favor women who are size 6-10 and BBW women generally confined to the rear corner of the store; still have a limited selection of flattering and affordable clothes from which to choose.

"It's my pleasure Rita."

"The tall one is Gayle."

"Hi Gayle," I said shaking her hand.

She had a grip like a vice and she was big like a nurse you'd find in a mental institution or a prison guard in a woman's prison with huge tits that stuck out like long range cannons on a warship. I couldn't help but imagine what it must feel like to have those huge melons hanging down in my face. It took all the focused concentration that I could muster to maintain eye contact and not stare at her big tits.

I wondered where she found a bra to fit her. The biggest bra I ever saw was a 44 DD. She was maybe a 48 GG. Her bra was custom made, no doubt. It had to be to support those big boobs. Now, there's a great job for a guy, fitting women for custom made bras. That's a job even better than operating the mammogram machine in a hospital or working as a security guard monitoring a department store's dressing room. I imagined the conversation I'd have with a woman before fitting her.

"Please don't be embarrassed that, as a man, I'm standing before you while you are topless. I'm a trained professional. Think of me as you would your doctor, Miss," I say to her controlling myself from screaming out, 'nice tits' once she relaxes enough to remove her hands from her breasts and show me her knockers.

"I'm so embarrassed," she says. "No one has ever seen my tits, that is, except for my husband, my brother, my brother's friends, all of my friends' husbands, both my brother-in-laws, but I was drunk that night, the pizza delivery man, the UPS guy, the mailman, the football team in college, and all those guys I dated in high school."

"Please, don't be embarrassed," I say waving a hand of feigned disinterest. "I've taken the brassiere oath, 'Modesty has no place in preventing me from sizing your breasts for a custom made bra,' I say while holding and squeezing my hands out in front of my chest in readiness to feel some tits. "Once, I've made you a custom bra, you will wonder how you've lived without wearing one of my fitted creations and the next time you come for a fitting, I'll be so intimate with your breasts that I'll be their, I mean, your best friend."

"You're hands are so cold," she says looking down at the bulge in my pants. "And ewww...you have an erection."

"Erection? Don't be silly. I keep my measuring tape there to keep it warm and my banana that I plan to eat on my break later."

"Sorry," she says with a sour look, obviously, either wondering why someone would keep a measuring tape and a banana down the front of their pants or doubting that my bulge is even a measuring tape and a banana, by stealing another peek at my erection before looking away.

"I apologize that my hands are cold, but they are my skilled and highly trained instruments. For a precise measurement, I must first hold your breasts from the front while squeezing them, then from the back while caressing them, and then from the sides while feeling them for me to measure your exact cup size."

"Don't you have a tool that does that?"

"Honestly, I assure you that I derive no pleasure in feeling your breasts, Miss, other than to ascertain that you have perfect tits, I mean, of course, that you have a perfect fit. I know it may seem a bit bizarre, but the only way to properly measure your nipples is for me to take each one in my mouth and to swirl my tongue around them while sucking them to make them hard. This is my personal service that I give each customer. Trust me; you don't want a custom bra that is suddenly too tight when your nipples become erect."

"The short one is Maureen," said Susan suddenly bringing me back to reality from my fantasy of fitting women with custom made bras.

"Hi Maureen," I said leaning to look behind giant Gayle to see Maureen. She was tiny, not more than 5' and very round. She had red hair and freckles. I'm such a sucker for Irish women with freckles and she was very pretty.

"The skinny one is Priscilla."

"Hi Priscilla," I said giving her a smile.

I figured Priscilla was the only one who was a few pounds below two hundred pounds. The rest tipped the scales at football player weights.

"And I'm Susan," she said introducing herself again. "I'm the blabber mouth of the group," she said with a laugh.

"Hi Susan, it's nice to meet you," I said looking from one to another waiting for them to tell me what they wanted.

"We want you to write all of us a story," she said.

"Sure, I'd be happy to write you a story. What kind of story may I write for you?"

"A romantic story," she said. "We all love romantic stories with happy endings. Can you write a romantic story with a happy ending for us, as in getting us all men? So long as we all get a man in the end, it doesn't have to be a story as romantic as The Titanic," she said laughing and making all her friends laugh with her.

"I loved that movie," said Priscilla. "Oh, and I loved Pretty Woman with Julia Roberts."

"Me, too," said Rita. "They were both very romantic."

"Our friends told us that you're a wizard with your stories and that this place is magical," she said looking up at the ceiling and back around at the four walls. "If you could find men for Dorothy, Betty, Peggy, and Mary, surely, you can find men for us, too."

There were six of them. Six overweight, albeit very attractive, bright, articulate, and, by their confession that they sing in the choir, talented women. What man in his right mind would pass up any of these women?

Alas, too many men value a woman by her outside appearance and never take the time to look beyond that. Most men prefer fluff to substance. They'd do anything for a dumb, skinny bitch who doesn't cook and/or clean and who will divorce them as soon as the money stops. Whereas, when life takes a turn for the worse, much like a pioneer woman of old, a loyal and loving BBW woman will roll up her sleeves and help pitch in to do whatever it takes to save her family and her marriage in hard times.

Unfortunately, too many rejected obese women are forced to sit home alone through prime time television programs that idolize skinny, dumb, and self-centered models and commercials with more skinny, dumb, and self-centered models. It only soothes a lonely soul so long to convince oneself to believe that they are better off alone than to have a man so shallow in their lives, who won't appreciate them for the women that they are, just because they're overweight.

If you haven't seen it, Shallow Hal with Gwyneth Paltrow and Jack Black is a must see movie that brings comedic sensitivity to the issue of obesity. A big, beautiful woman doesn't want a man who will show distain for her obesity, resentment for her struggle with food, and who will have eyes for a thinner woman, a woman who may be lesser than she is in every way, especially in weight.

It was obvious that these women are lonely and want to have a full life with the company and companionship of a man who adore them and who appreciate them for the women they are down deep. Who would blame them? What's so wrong with that? Fortunately, I'm of the opinion that there is someone for everyone. Only, how could I possibly help them? I just write stories. Their unrealistic expectations put me on the spot.

"Well, I don't know about me being a wizard," I said, "and I can tell you that this place is not magical, certainly. It's just an office, although, I'm told that it was once leased by Madam Mona, who offered psychic readings. I guess you could make an argument that she left a spirit or two behind, that is, if you believe in that sort of thing."

"We know you're not a wizard. That's silly," said Susan. "Yet, we hope there's something charmed here. We believe in fairy tales. Perhaps, between the psychic energy left over from Madam Mona and from your talent for writing stories that attract men to the women who pay you to write a story for them; we're hoping you'll help us to find someone special."

"Ordinarily, we'd believe that for you to write a story to deliver us the men of our dreams is utter nonsense, but we're desperate. We're fat women who have tried every fad diet, diet pill, nutrition and exercise plan, and we're ready to try anything, even a story, if it will get us a man. What you did for our friends was beyond writing stories and we want you to do that for us, too," said Gwen.

I looked from one to the other. They all had this hopeful, soulful, puppy dog look waiting for me to write something that would deliver them the man of their dreams. I couldn't understand why they thought that I could write a story that would give them a man. It was ludicrous. I'm just a writer. I'm not God.

"Listen," I said. "What happened with Dorothy, Betty, Peggy, and Mary was a fluke and a coincidence. I just write stories. This isn't a dating service and I'm not a matchmaker. Perhaps, you should join one of those Internet dating services."

"We've tried all of them," said Rita.

"Yeah, there's nothing but creeps on those sites," said Maureen.

"Guys who join those sites are just looking for sex," said Priscilla. "And we're not that kind of women to be used by men like that. We have more respect for ourselves than that."

"Well, we are that type of woman for the right man," said Susan with a wink, a blush, and a giggle that made all the other women agree with her by their giggles.

"Once they see a photo of us, we don't hear from them again," said Maureen.

"They just can't see beyond our weight," said Rita.

"It's a rare man who doesn't judge a book by its cover," said Gayle.

"We know you're not a wizard, but we just thought maybe, because Madam Mona was so much into the occult and so accurate in her psychic readings, that possibly there's psychic energy remaining that she left behind or a window to the other side somewhere in here, a porthole that you've somehow drawn upon with your stories," said Susan looking around the office. "Now, that would explain why you've successfully found men for our friends and maybe how you can find men for us, too."

Now, I felt bad. I felt like Richard Simmons telling them that they would never be thin and can never eat a piece of chocolate cake. Nonetheless, I was determined to give it a try. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. The trust they put in my talent as a writer made me believe that I could help them. If I failed, they'd all be eating ice cream tonight and swearing at the skinny bitches on reruns of Friends, the latest episodes of Desperate Housewives, and while watching the Sex In The City movie.

"Well, I can't promise you anything, I mean, there are six of you, but let me start typing and see what develops."

"Oh, goody," said Priscilla clapping her hands.

My hands were shaking. My pulse was racing. I was nervous. I felt pressured. I felt stressed. I so wanted to help them. Yet, realistically, how could I possibly deliver six very overweight women six men of their dreams? I closed my eyes and, even though I had never met her, I concentrated while thinking of Madam Mona. I asked her for help in guiding my fingers over the keyboard to write these women the perfect story that would somehow deliver them men. Then, once inspired, I started typing.

"It was a day like any other when six attractive women, talented women, women of the town choir, Gwen, Gayle, Rita, Maureen, Priscilla, and Susan, walked into my office," I recited as I typed.

"This is our story," said Susan.

"It's a magical moment," said Priscilla.

"Shh," said Gayle.

"They all wanted a story, but not just any story," I said as I typed. "They wanted a very special story. They wanted a romantic story, a story that had a happy ending, and a story where they met the men of their dreams."

"Pardon me. Hello? Excuse me, I'm sorry to interrupt you," said a rather large man standing in my doorway and stepping inside my office while leaving the front door wide open. "Hey, hi there," he said acknowledging me first and then acknowledging the six women with a warm smile while looking from one to the other. "Do you know if Doctor James, the Chiropractor, on the second floor is in today?"

"He's cute," whispered Gwen staring at the man and nudging Susan.

"Yeah, but there's only one of him and six of us," whispered Susan to Gwen.

"Group sex, anyone," said Rita.

"Shh," said Gayle. "You're acting like school girls. He'll hear us."

"Yeah," I said looking at my watch. "Dr. James has probably gone to lunch."

"Thanks," said the man turning to leave.

"You can take a seat by the front door and wait here for him there, if you'd like."

"Yeah, I'd like that, thanks," he said turning to someone waiting outside and out of sight. "The Doc is out to lunch, but the guy, sorry," he said again and turning towards me, "what's your name?"

"Freddie," I said suddenly annoyed that I was interrupted from writing my inspired story, again. "Gees," I said under my breath suddenly feeling more pressure to write the women their story. "I can't keep a thought in my head in trying to write this story."

"Freddie said we can wait in here," he said to someone outside.

I turned my head in time to see five burly men following the first one with each man bigger than the next one. I've never seen men so big. Certainly, it was an oddity. I felt as if I was getting ready to witness a tag team wrestling match.

"Excuse me for a second," I said to the ladies.

I stopped typing and walked down to where the men gathered by my door blocking my office entrance like linemen of a football team hindering a running back from rushing. I'm not a small guy, but they all dwarfed me.

"Hi, I'm Freddie," I said offering them my hand hoping maybe to advertise my services and write them stories, too. I hadn't yet considered that these were the six men that I had summoned by beginning to write my story.

"I'm Jim; this is Dave, Larry, Eddie, Mike, and Johnny."

Then, once they introduced themselves, it occurred to me. It was spooky that I just started writing a story for six women and six men appeared from out of nowhere, men I've never seen before. Did I do this or was this just a coincidence? I turned to see Gwen, Gayle, Rita, Maureen, Priscilla, and Susan eying Jim, Dave, Larry, Eddie, Mike, and Johnny, who were eying them. The sexual energy was thick with lustful sexuality and wanton desire and, figuratively and literally, I certainly did not want to get between their huge passions.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure," said one of the men.

"Are any of you married?"

"No," said Dave with an embarrassed smile. "None of us are married. We're not adverse to marriage, that is, once we meet the right women," he said looking over at the women. "We just haven't found the right women, yet."

I couldn't believe it. Six single men suddenly here for six single women. What are the odds of that? Was that me? Was that Mona? Was that this office? Or was it just coincidence?

"What are you here to see the doctor about?"

"Oh, Johnny hurt his back again. We used to see Doctor James when he had an office in Cambridge and followed him here to Boston." He answered my unspoken question. "We're all weightlifters. We're always hurting some part of our body and Dr. James is always able to set us right, again. We were hoping to catch him so that Johnny could workout with us today."

"Weightlifters, huh?"

"Yeah, we like lifting heavy things," said Eddie eyeing the women.

"Well, would you like to try picking up these women?"

They looked to where I was looking and smiled.

"Sure," they said in unison.

"Follow me," I said with a wave of my hand, as I walked. "Allow me to introduce you to the ladies."

The six big men followed me to the six big women.

"Hi," said the women in unison, as if they were singing in the choir.

"Hi," said the men returning their looks with smiles.

"Jim, Dave, Larry, Eddie, Mike, and Johnny, this is Susan, Maureen, Rita, Gayle, Priscilla, and Gwen."

Wouldn't it be great if we could just write a story or think about whatever it is we wanted and get it? Well, you know, you can. There is a way. All you have to do when writing and/or thinking is to reinforce your writing and thoughts with positive thinking. Positive energy is very powerful and positive thinking will make your dreams come true. Try it. It's free. Remove negative thoughts and replace them with positive thoughts. If you've been negative all your life, it's not easy to switch your negative thoughts with positive thoughts, but once you start, you'll find that it gets easier and your life immediately gets better.