My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding - By Katya Starkey

Chapter 1

Someone has placed two ten pin bowling balls upon my chest. The life is being squeezed out of me. I can barely breathe and my ribs are about to crack from pressure! I’m pretty sure the only way to stop this agony is to sit up, because I’m lying down right now for some unknown reason.

So I do sit up and the bowling balls cling to my chest.

Oh agony!

The balls are stuck under my skin! The massive weight is pulling me forward. I tip over and fall out of bed. When I crash onto the floor I realise that it’s not bowling balls on my chest but the weight of my own breasts that’s sucked me down.

I’ve crashed boob first onto the floor and I can’t get up.

Seriously, my knockers are stuck onto the carpet. And what’s this? They’re growing! My breasts are enlarging and elongating like nothing I’ve ever seen! I try to cry out for help but my throat feels like it’s under water.

Slowly but surely my boob size increases until I’m leaning onto a new pair of legs shaped like breasts.

This is utter madness. Clearly I’ve lost my mind. I especially know I’ve gone bonkers when one of my newly massified boobs takes a step forward.

How can this be happening?


My other breast follows the first, taking a step forward that causes a strange sound to emanate from my chestal region.

And here we go…

My boobs are walking me out of my bedroom.

Stomp. Bloomp. Slide. Squish, go my breastoid walking movements. I can’t reach the floor with my hands to stop myself and my legs drag behind, utterly useless.

I’m forced into the kitchen. Suddenly, one of my boobs opens the refrigerator. My mouth drops open in horror. Somehow my breast reaches into the fridge, pulls out a left over tub of trifle and stuffs the lot straight into my open gob.

“Mmmmmmaahhh!” I cry out through a smothered throat. “Someone help me!”

Now both my tits have started grabbing food from the fridge. I can’t stop the pair of leg/hand boobs. They’re in control of my every move. Even my own mouth won’t cooperate and shut like I want it to. I’m gagging on all the food that’s being stuffed down my throat.

“Noooooo!” I cry out. “You stupid boobs! You’re ruining my diet!”


“Emily, babe wake up.”

I can hear my fiancé’s muffled voice. I think he’s shaking me.

“Whu… what?” I mumble, still half asleep but slowly waking.

“You’re having a bad dream, honey. Wake up.”

“Callum?” Visions of walking boobs dissipate the more coherent I become. “I just had the worst nightmare.” Blinking my eyes open I discover my fiancé has turned on the bedside table lamp. He’s leaning over me in bed. His dishevelled brown hair looks cute and I’m wondering why I can’t look that good upon waking.

“You kept calling out about your breasts ruining your diet.” Callum smiles sleepily.

“I talked in my sleep again?”

He nods. “You know you’ve been doing that since we got engaged, sweet cheeks. I think you should really think about taking it easy.”

Take it easy? These words do not compute in a soon-to-be-bride’s mind. I’ve got wedding plans to consider!

Sitting up, I’m aghast when I get a look at myself in the nearby wardrobe mirror. Callum might be right. My blonde hair is a tangled heap on the side of my head. I’ve probably been tossing and turning all night thanks to boob walking dreams. I poke the underneath of one of my eyes. For someone with a complexion as light as mine, I certainly do have some very dark under eye circles.

“It’s just this new diet.” I croak tiredly. “I don’t think low-carb is the way forward for me. My boobs are already too big and for some reason all that high protein hurts my chest even more.”

“Mmmmm, your chest.” Beside me, I hear a rustling of sheets. “Your big, soft lovely chest.” As per usual Callum’s grope is already upon me. “Tits are so great,” he says, not very romantically. “And your breasts are the biggest and the bestest babe.”

I despair. My ever aroused fiancé wouldn’t think my boobs were so great if they were attached to his own chest. Not with how heavy they are. I shouldn’t be surprised at the crazy nightmare I just had. My breasts have always been such an encumbrance. In secondary school alone I was nicknamed Emily Everest for the fact that my breasts seemed to emerge first out of any other girls in my class. And boy did