The whole menu
by delicious
the girl who ate everything





"Fried chicken, roast beef or chinese noodles, Miss?"

The question failed to register, because Maude, the Miss 
in question was under headphones, and staring out the 
window at the Pacific Ocean. But she smelled dinner, and 
looked up, into the eyes of the cutest little steward.  
Blonde and blue-eyed as a cherub and as willing to please 
as if the plane were going to heaven.  

Nyum.  And so she smiled dumbly back at him, from under 
her headphones.

Inexperienced as Maude was, it turned out that she 
understood this heaven better than one might expect.  
Not so tiny Tim, at 6'2" and 200 lb, stood waiting. Any 
other passenger lost in thought like this might have missed
dinner. But Tim was willing to wait for this one.  No, he 
had never seen such a girl-woman before, but that didn't 
stop his guts from registering that this was absolutely the 
one.

For 200 lb Tim, the biggest steward on the wide-bodied plane
was tiny in the presence of wide-bodied Maude. He repeated 
the question, now that she was looking, even though he was
certain she would not hear. "Fried chicken, roast beef or 
Chinese noodles, miss....?" And no, she didn't respond to 
the question, which gave Tim an excuse to hover a moment 
longer in her shadow. He had stepped into the space of 
Maude's double seat, although she occupied most of both 
seats. Did women this big fly regularly, Tim wondered, a 
little breathlessly? How could the plane ever get into 
the air? Some of this was just automatic, after serving 
thousands of passengers, automatically registering their 
size as they sit in those tiny seats....too small for Tim,
actually.  When the right arm is against the window, one 
doesn't expect to encounter a left arm or leg so far over. 
And the face, floating in the middle.

Now she lifted her headphones, seeing his mouth--such a 
perfect mouth-- move.  She turned slightly. Her left knee
moved over, against his. As she turned her body to face him, 
she knew what would happen. She batted her eyes at him, 
while feeling her breasts shifting under her dress. Oh, 
and that extra moment of jiggle, like an aftershock, in
the aftermath of the earthquake: she knew it well, and 
watched how his eyes took in the major tremor, as well 
as that pert little wiggle of breast at the end.  
She could simply have come out and asked him.  "You're 
an FA, right?" But it wasn't necessary. She had heard 
his question, and continued to play dumb.  She knew how 
rude most of these attendants could be.  This one was 
hanging on her every word as though they were already 
out on a date.  In the time this one had waited for her,
two or three rows had already been taken care of.  Maybe 
she could get her confirmation another way...

She beamed at him, and said "could you repeat the 
question?" She put all the sweet sixteen coquetry she 
could inject into her voice, while jerking her shoulders 
around even further to face him, sending her breasts into 
another wild gyration. Their cleavage was threatening to 
go offside, bursting out of their already wide open and
suggestive display, so sure were they that they would 
get to slam-dunk him in an endzone celebration.  Oh yes, 
his goal-line stand would be as futile as any football 
team outweighed three to one. Her breasts were already 
planning to lead block for her fullback... that is her 
big ass, like pulling guards. 

Tim started again..."Sorry...maybe I wasn't speaking 
loud enough". Ah yes, she knew. He was stalling now, to 
get as many precious seconds with her. His eyes wandered
around, as eager, yet as shy as if they were his hands 
touching her. He stopped himself to say "Sorry, Miss.  
I said, Fried chicken, roast beef, or chinese noodles....
how do they sound?" 

She put her hand on his forearm, while giving him a 
knowing wink. "Sure.  They all sound great...so: can I 
have them then?  All of them, for all of me?"  He said 
nothing, while she continued to touch him slightly, and 
look oh so longingly into his eyes.

"Ah....yes." A big blush appeared now, on Tim's face, 
matching another hot place of wetness in his pants. He 
barely mastered himself, then continued "if only I
could....could...."

"...could what?" Maude looked a question, without taking 
her hand off his arm.  "What would you like to do....." 
--and she read his name off now-- "Tim?" And as she popped 
the "t" in his name she put more weight onto the hand on 
his arm. In fact, if her fingers were doing the walking, 
then her fingers on his arm were holding up a good 
portion of the weight of her arm: easily 60 or 70 
pounds. She enjoyed how deeply her finger nails dug into
his sleeve as though they were high heels sinking into 
a soft carpet.

"If only... I could...." His voice now shrank to 
inaudibility. "If only I could...feed you". As he said
this, he took her hand in his. "Could I?"

"Please! I think we could be quite cosy here." Maude 
indicated the space beside her: nowhere near enough 
space for a big man.  In fact if Maude ate the dinners 
she might fill the remaining inches herself.  There was 
almost no space, but, yes, wouldn't it be cosy. Where 
else would he end up, but either on top of her, or.... 
under her? Either way, he couldn't lose.

"...but...." Tim showed his conflict. His cart was 
almost empty, true, but he was expected to continue 
down the aisle.  What about his job, and his colleagues?  
What about the dinners of the rest of the passengers? 
All this was running through his head.

"Leave it to me" Maude said. "Feed me, now," she 
commanded amorously.  She grabbed his arm, and pulled 
him down. Tim seemed tiny beside her, as she shifted.  
For a moment he was sitting on her lap. Then she lifted 
her stomach and breasts, between her massive arms, and 
he was in the seat, while Maude flowed towards the window. 
There seemed to be enough space, at least for a moment. 
Then the tide of Maude that had been held back returned, 
a flood of soft waves, closing over Tim. She exhaled, 
warm air washing over his face the way her soft warm body 
flooded over his body. Only his right arm was free, while
his left arm, and his body and legs were inundated by 
Maude's warm jiggling body.

She sighed a deep pelvic sigh, almost like a moan, and 
released more air, and settled herself, as though she 
were relaxing, letting tensed muscles go soft and loose. 
All that looseness made her wider, softer, heavier and 
even more invasive. She sank deeper, if that was possible, 
into her chair, perhaps because it was bending beneath 
her demands. Maude did not ask; she simply took.  She 
took her seat, she took space, she took Tim's breath 
away. Tim wondered if she looked under her when she sat, 
because for someone so big, she seemed so carefree, as if 
she didn't care what happened under her.  What did the 
chair experience, he wondered, his field of vision 
narrowing, surrounded by soft round body parts on all 
sides.

She shifted again, her shoulders soft but as definitive 
as the plane itself. Maude was a wall of soft hot fat, 
and she could move. A moving wall.  She couldn't avoid 
jolting him like a plane in turbulence, suddenly slamming 
him, tight against the other side of their two seat 
compartment, her shoulders demanding three quarters of
the space, which was only fair. She needed three 
quarters of the space, being three times his weight.  
She pulled back, above him now, like a picky avalanche, 
choosing which village to bury.  Those eyes smiled down, 
while all that breast flesh, pressed between Maude's 
elbows jiggled above him. In that moment of pulling back,
Tim looked a question, as if to say "come back." And 
his sense of the world was that it's a cold place, 
at least, after having all that hot woman on him.

Maude reminded Tim of his dinner promise, with a nod 
of her head in the direction of the cart, and another 
provocative jiggle of boob and shoulder.  "So, ready 
to have the wildest meal of your life?" He nodded. A 
piece of chicken? She rubbed it on his face, and then 
licked the tasty juices off his chin. "Ah, you taste 
so delicious" she whispered. And then she opened her 
mouth wide, and sucked as much of his chin and face 
into her mouth as she could. She bit down, knowing 
that this might be painful. But she hungered so, 
hungered for him. All of him.

She made a puckering expression with her mouth, and 
then lowered her breasts into his face. "You feed me, 
and feed on me"...Her boobs spilled out of that 
low-cut cleavage.  Wetness. Tim discovered wetness,
in the unexpected lactation of those enormous 
breasts. As she felt him drinking, she pressed 
more and more of her boob onto him, above him 
and surrounding him.

"Now feed me, Tim, while you drink". He could 
not see, nor did he need to see. His hands reached 
blindly,  bringing a fistful of Chinese noodles to 
her mouth. No need to bother with knife or fork, 
when the feeding was so direct. She took whole 
potatoes from his hands, hands that felt for her 
mouth, sensing her hot breath. And he could hear 
the sounds of her eating, directly through her 
stomach. While his hands reached above his head, 
he drank contentedly, eyes shut. She took the 
potatoes and mashed them into her mouth. Her big 
hands took the potatoes in his hands, and Tim's 
hands themselves.  She kissed them and gently, but 
irresistibly pulverised them, mashed them into her 
mouth.  His hands and the potatoes were pressed together,
blended, absorbed. 

She moaned quietly, while rocking back and forth above 
him and on him like a steamroller, pressing now one 
boob, now another, each much bigger than his head, 
down onto the face. "Feed me".... She took food from him;
and she took him too, into her mouth. His hands and then 
arms, she took in her big hands, pulling them to her mouth. 
Her jaw never stopped, as soft mashed babyfood kept her 
chewing and swallowing, chewing and swallowing, chewing 
and swallowing.  And all the time, she rocked herself on 
him, like a food-processor, pressing him, grinding onto 
every hard part of him, crushing him and softening him, 
breaking every little piece of him into something soft 
and nyummy for Maude's big tummy.

There were some murmurs of complaint from adjacent seats, 
because dinner had been delayed for a few of the 
passengers.  But somehow, the meal was sufficient for 
all.  Maude shifted her position a few times. While Tim 
still needed to reach the cart, his arm had not yet 
been buried. And then, the meals were gone: the meals that had
arrived on the cart, that is. 

And so she shifted more energetically, and so much more
powerfully than Tim would ever have expected. She soared,
lifting, oh so much weight ponderously up, floating above 
him as though part of a slow motion slamdunk highlight. At
her peak she looked down lovingly at Tim.  His eyes went 
wide at that moment: perhaps with recognition, or maybe 
just the fawn-like glaze of a deer about to become roadkill. 
He looked deeply into her soft lethal headlights before 
she began dropping like a building in demolition. 

The plane shuddered in flight. Turbulence? She lifted 
again, and dropped her torso, a concentration of soft 
flesh as final and deadly as a horse plunging on its 
hind legs when flattening some small pest under its 
hooves.  Does the horse even wipe its feet off when 
the extermination is finished? Finally the hooves meet 
the pavement, and there is literally nothing separating 
the horse from the ground; so too, finally, when Maude 
filled the whole space between the seats.  Tim had vanished. 
But he was completely absorbed in Maude.   She continued to
shimmy around, pressing her stomach against the seat, 
enjoying the sensation of devouring, eating and owning. 
For a moment she allowed herself to remember that sweet
face, that tasty male morsel.

As Maude drifted off into sleep, she thought of her 
destination: Italy. What did the men there taste like?