Dad hit his "midlife crisis" early. But I suppose he had a reason. Mom developed leukemia when I was five and died three months later. That's when Dad started hanging out with strippers.
I never thought he'd marry one, though. But he did. When I was seven, a busty 20-year-old who went by "Cinnamon" was suddenly my new stepmom.
To her credit, Cinnamon took well to her new responsibilities. While Dad was working long hours and making money he didn't have time to spend, Cinnamon transitioned nicely from stripper to housewife. She quit her job at the Bottomless Pit and focused on vacuuming, laundry, food shopping, cooking, and making sure she kept Dad happy in bed. I wouldn't say she went full Stepford wife, but she was definitely a credit to the household. And she made sure she knew what was happening with me. "You doing all right, David?" "How's your homework coming, David?" And as I got into high school, "Need help figuring out the girls, David?"
I managed to graduate without having too many issues along the way. Ended up dating three girls - one for 4 months while I was a sophomore, one for 2 months while I was a junior, and one for five weeks while I was a senior (that one ended badly: I caught her making out with a guy on the basketball team, called her a few very nasty things, and told the guy if he really wanted to have a cheating skank as his girlfriend, he was welcome to her, but that if she cheated on me with him, nothing was going to stop her from cheating on him - once a cheater, always a cheater.) I was on the track team as a pole vaulter for all four years.
I made plans to take a "gap year" before starting college. Quite frankly, I needed the down time. My high school was one of those where you had to work hard academically to succeed - they didn't just shove you on through. My dad had bought me a new car (not a fancy one: a Kia Optima, to be precise) for my 18th birthday, and I spent June and July volunteering at various animal shelters around the area on weekdays and chilling with my friends on weekends. Nothing fancy: we'd go to someone's house and eat dinner and watch movies, or we'd have a picnic in the park and bring things to grill, or we'd sit around and play video games. (I didn't hang out with people whose idea of a fun time was to get drunk off their asses and pass out. I never quite understood how giving yourself a hangover was supposed to be an awesome thing.)
And then in August, for whatever reason, the company my dad was an executive at decided to try and expand into Russia. They sent a negotiating team over there, of which my dad was one. I never found out exactly what went wrong, but the team was shipped back to the United States air freight - in very small boxes.
I'd never seen Cinnamon so distraught. Every day for a week she would sit on the couch next to me and bawl for hours. Money wasn't the issue (Dad had a massive life insurance policy he'd purchased on his own, plus the company had taken one out on him, and neither Cinnamon or I would ever have to work again.) I cried with her for the first three days before my tears were expended. We both really loved and missed him.
After the "crying our eyes out" phase ended, we entered the "obsessive activity" phase. Mine was hours on end of exercise - swimming, running, pull-ups, weight lifting, didn't matter what. It kept my mind off what had happened. I was already in pretty good shape, but I put on another 20 pounds of pure beef. When I went in for my yearly medical check-up in January, my body fat percentage was 4.14 per cent. The doctor said that was the lowest he'd ever seen - it's almost impossible for even a professional athlete to have a percentage under 5 per cent. The human body needs a certain amount of lipids in it to function properly.
Cinnamon's obsession was with comfort food. She ate more ice cream in a month than I'd eaten my whole life. She also consumed large quantities of pizza, soda, cookies and Taco Bell. (When Dad was alive, she ate salads, steak and vegetables primarily and drank only water.) She had never been rail-thin (her frame had to support her large bust), but she put on about 100 pounds in 6 months. Now instead of being toned and busty, she had become full-on BBW. Soft, round ass, thick legs, plump belly, still had her big breasts.
And much to my surprise, with every pound she gained and every dress size she went up, the more I found myself being attracted to her sexually. Although looking back, none of the three girls I had dated in high school were the kind whose ribs you could count from across the street. They weren't as massive as Cinnamon had become, but they were definitely somewhat "thick-framed".
The question now was how to let her know that without sounding like a pervert. I couldn't exactly go up to my stepmom and say, "Hey, baby doll, you're hot as hell, want to get naked and fuck?" She'd have, rightly, slapped my face hard enough to knock me into next week and then Bobbittized me. I would have to be more subtle.
My chance came at the beginning of February. After lunch, Cinnamon settled on the sofa and suddenly started bawling again. I came over and sat next to her.
"What's the matter?"
"Today would have been our anniversary. I really miss him, you know."
"I miss him too."
"Who's going to want me now? I'm old and fat. Used up."
"32 is not old! And you're gorgeous."
"You're sweet to say that. But I'm not gorgeous. I'm a tub of lard. A depressed one."
"Do I need to prove to you that you're still attractive?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I wrapped my arms around Cinnamon and leaned over, resting my head on her chest. The thin fabric of her nightgown was the only thing intervening.
"It means I think you're magnificently sexy."
"You don't actually mean that. I'm ugly and unwanted."
I slid the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders, freeing her large, soft breasts.
"Unwanted? Bull-fucking-shit. Let me show you just how wanted you are."
I kissed her neck, gently. She made a sound I interpreted as pleasurable, so I teasingly traced my tongue up towards her ear, then nibbled softly on her earlobe. Cinnamon giggled and a smile appeared on her face.
"Where did you learn that?"
"Stacy taught me that one."
