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The club is a haze-filled, neon-soaked place where the bass ..
🕑 Added 2025-03-01 22:41:32 +0000 UTCThe club is a haze-filled, neon-soaked place where the bass pounds through the walls. You move between the shoulders of mostly strangers, and a few friends, in a heady kind of half-asleep sleeplessness.
Until you look across the floor and see him.
For the first moment, its as if you must be dreaming. You've never seen anyone in your life like the man sitting on the plush bench on the other side of the dance floor. He's... fat. Provocatively so - and his crop top says as much, emblazoned with the sinful word in large block lettering. He's not the fattest man you've ever seen - not by weight, anyway. But if fatness could be measured by sheer audacity, he'd hold the record by a mile. He aches of obesity. His body strains with it.
Beneath the crop, a black mesh tank strains across the top part of his belly, the rest of it left hanging in an exposed, greedy flop. His thighs are big clouds of fat and cellulite, dimpled and spreading, surprisingly bottom heavy and completely exposed in a tiny pair of stretchy black shorts. The blacklight sweeps, illuminating a shock of jagged stretchmarks clawing up his softly billowing hips.
Shoulders shove around you as you forget to dance.
- to be continued? -
I wrote this little piece and then felt inspired to make a video of it. Let me know if you guys like this and I'll keep writing it!
