Chicken Droppings

By August Door

The folks at the Skinny Rabbit Farm discovered a fool proof way to keep women thin. Their next challenge is to slim down the country’s male population. There is a way, but are the Fat Guys up to the challenge?
Chicken Droppings is two stories in one. Nancy (the most beautiful woman ever placed on the planet) takes on the ominous task of teaching oversized rednecks the fine art of wooing women. At the same time, Bobbie (the inventor of the magic slimming process) languishes in luxurious captivity, doing everything in her power to escape a south sea paradise.
Add an overly patriotic French kidnapper, foul smelling psychotic scientist, well-intentioned mafia hitman, and love starved gigolo. Stir slightly. Watch the pages turn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: August Door
• Release date: Aug 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370345656

August Door

August Door is a retired professional who can finally write whatever he wants. He doesn’t rely on his writing to buy groceries so he can push the boundaries of acceptable subjects without fear of failure. His goal is to entertain his readers while simultaneously challenge their view of the world. August’s first two books include touches of science fiction, romance, social commentary and, yes, a bit of tame erotica. He finds it curious that readers will think nothing of buying a murder mystery in which the action involves the gruesome dismemberment of several innocents, but those same readers will pass on a book which describes the natural act of sex. Puritans beware. If you are easily offended, August’s books are not for you.

Book preview

I hadn’t been this nervous since… well maybe I’d never been this nervous. I’d known about the Skinny Rabbit Farm for several years. Everybody knew about them, their miracle weight loss process … and the other thing. They’d been the center of a national debate for years. But before, when I read about them in the paper or watched their congressional hearings on TV, it was a spectator sport. Now it was real. I was in Nevada, at the Farm. And I was their newest client.

It was a 45 minute drive from my Vegas apartment to their facility in the desert. I parked in their lot and approached the main building, expecting to find a central reception desk and a waiting room.

Rhonda? A young man walked out to meet me.

Yes.

Hi. I’m Marty. I’m going to be your Farm Boy. He handed me a single rose.

Farm Boy?

Weight loss counselor is the official title, but everybody around here calls us Farm Boys.

Are you the one… the guy I’m supposed to…

Yes. I’m the lucky man that will help you lose weight. If you’ll come with me, we’ll get things going.

Marty escorted me into a well-appointed lounge, somewhere between old style western saloon and modern Denver hotel.

Fruit juice? A glass of wine? Maybe something stronger? Marty asked.

White Zinfandel, if they have it.

Two White Zins; the Northern California vintage please, he said to the barkeep.

I find it hard to believe you’re a pink wine kind of guy.

Not normally. But considering what we have planned for this afternoon, I thought it best that our lips shared a similar taste.

Is that necessary? Kissing?

Absolutely not. There are plenty of ways to get where we need to go. Some ladies enjoy the scenic route while others would rather take the interstate. We’ll work all that out later. Right now, let’s sit and talk for a while. Get acquainted.

Marty was in his mid 20’s. Not young enough to be my son, but certainly younger than my kid brother. Our get acquainted discussion ended up being decidedly one sided. After 30 minutes, Marty knew all my likes, desires, phobias, and dreams. I still knew very little about him. It was all about me and I had absolutely no problem with that. Who in the world taught him to be so comfortable around women? And why didn’t they teach my ex?

I drained my first glass of wine quickly. Marty carried what remained of my second glass while we climbed the stairs to our weight loss chamber. I hesitated at the door. There may have been other furniture in the room but all I saw was a huge bed with the covers neatly turned back.

That’s a pretty dress, why don’t you let me put it on a hangar for you?

Are you sure? The zipper can be worrisome.

He took the rose from my hand and placed it in a vase by the bed. When he returned, I felt the unruly zipper descend the length of my back without a hitch. Marty offered an arm so I could steady myself while stepping out of the size 14 garment.

How did you do that? The hook and the zipper always give me trouble.

Training and lots of practice. His smile almost distracted me from his impressive chest, now completely bare except for a tape measure draped around his neck. We take measurements on your first day and then every month. Let’s us track our progress. Just pretend I’m a seamstress fitting you for a new wardrobe.

I’d been measured by a seamstress several times before. This was different. The seamstress’ hands didn’t linger on my skin longer than required, her lips didn’t kiss each area after the tape was removed, my remaining clothes and those of the seamstress didn’t magically disappear during the process and, when the seamstress was done measuring, she certainly didn’t guide me to a king sized bed for a full body massage.

Nearly an hour later, after the official weight loss event was over, I had another glass of wine in the lounge while Marty enjoyed a Coors.

This is what you do? You get paid to make love to fat ugly women?

No. The way I see it, I’m working my way through grad school by helping beautiful ladies lose weight.

What happens then? After you get your degree?

I hang up my Farm Boy boots and go out into the real world.

No time soon I hope?

I don’t graduate for another year. Plenty of time to get you well under 130 and back in the dating game.

When I was ready, Marty escorted me out of the building and to my car.

Same time next week? I asked.

I’m looking forward to it. He might have been telling the truth.

SECTION 1

Total Life Transformation

Chapter 1

Marty Johnson speaking

I’d been a Farm Boy for almost two years when my boss, Bobbie Bottoms, the lady who discovered the magical powers of Rabbit Food, called Nancy and me into her office. She was already joined by Matty (who was one of my Don Juan School instructors) and a man I didn’t know.

Marty, Nancy, meet Bernard. He is going to help us open up another product line.

Nancy Brodigan speaking

Sorry to interrupt, but it just occurred to me that you may have no idea what Marty’s talking about. All this talk about Rabbit Food and the Don Juan School won’t make a lick of sense if you haven’t read the book ‘Skinny Rabbit’. Maybe a bit more explanation is in order.

Marty

I’m fairly sure everybody on the planet already knows about Rabbit Food, but before I continue, I’ll give you a quick summary. Not because you need it, but if I don’t, Nancy’s going to hound me until I do.

Rabbit Food: A cereal made in Kansas that, up to this date, had three known beneficial properties; weight loss, breast enhancement, and contraception. It was, and still is, a bit controversial because of how it was administered.

The weight loss and breast enhancement only worked on women, but they didn’t eat the cereal. If a woman wanted to lose weight, she had intercourse with a Rabbit Food Fed man. Fellatio with a Fed man increased her bra size. No birth control required. The Rabbit Food not only gave the man’s semen magical fat reducing and bust increasing properties; it also killed off all his sperm.

Now can I tell them the story?

Nancy

Not quite yet. You told them about Rabbit Food, but you didn’t tell them about us. Permit me.

Marty mentioned that he was a Farm Boy but didn’t go into sufficient detail. Think of him as a gigolo whose primary job was to screw women until they’re thin. To make the process pleasurable for their clients, the Rabbit Farm put him through a training program, the famous Don Juan course, which supposedly made them the best lovers on either side of the Mississippi.

I was a Milk Maid. The fat female clients didn’t seem to mind rolling in the hay with a Farm Boy to lose weight, but some of the flat chested ladies were reticent to do what was required to get a respectable bust line. Consider me the middle man (woman). I extracted the magic boob growing juice from the Farm Boy, mixed it with the only thing known to preserve its’ breast enhancing properties (tapioca pudding) and then fed it to the client.

Now that you’re caught up, Marty can tell you what came next.

Marty

Like I was saying, Bobbie introduced us to Bernard, who was this crazy smart scientist with the social skills of a dead snail.

He thinks he can make it work on men, Bobbie said.

Make what work on men?

Rabbit Food. Bernard thinks he knows how men can use it to lose weight.

I looked at Bernard. How is that possible?

Why wouldn’t it be possible? If it works on the female of the species, wouldn’t it be logical that the male would have a similar response?

But it doesn’t. It doesn’t work on men.

How do you know? Have you fed the Rabbit Food to women?

I looked over at Bobbie. She invented the stuff.

We never fed it to human women, she said. But our initial experiments were on rabbits – that’s why they called it Rabbit Food – and in those trials, both sexes ate the food but only the female rabbits lost weight."

I understand, Bernard said. However the chemistry suggests the effect should go cross gender.

I think he means it should work on both women and men, Nancy interjected.

Thanks. I never would have figured that out without your help. Sarcasm, I’m trying to cut down. Bernard, I hate to burst your bubble, but what the chemistry suggests may not reflect reality.

True, Bobbie said. But it’s certainly worth a try. Where do we start? she asked Bernard.

I suggest additional mediums, perhaps something higher in phosphoritics, with a number 237 DNA closer to that of the corresponding Y chromosome. Or at least that’s what I think he said. He was using words I’d never heard before. I looked to Bobbie for help.

"What Bernard is saying, is that we need to look in my mom’s garden for some other vegetables to add to the Rabbit Food.

Correct, Bernard said. Plus we must ensure the test subject expresses paraurethral fluid during the exchange.

All of us waited for further explanation, but Bernard remained quiet, as if what he said made perfect sense. After a very long pause, Bobbie leaned over and whispered into Bernard’s ear. He whispered back.

The woman has to have an orgasm, Bobbie translated.

You’ve got to be shitting me. An orgasm?

Women secrete paraurethral fluid when they reach their peak of sexual excitement; just like men produce semen, Bernard explained. The properties of the paraurethral fluid are affected by Rabbit Food and it is this fluid that transfers the chemical process to the male. No orgasm, no paraurethral fluid. No fluid, no male weight loss.

I’m a business major, I told him. So humor me for a minute. What you’re suggesting is that we make modified Rabbit Food using different types of vegetables from the Bottoms garden. Then we feed the new Food to women who will engage in intercourse with overweight men, resulting in an orgasm, a female orgasm. During this highly unlikely event, the woman will squirt out some unpronounceable liquid that will somehow find its’ way into the man’s body and make him lose weight. Is that right?

Bernard nodded his head in the ‘yes’ direction.

Great. Now all we have to do is find fat men who are good in the sack and women who won’t lie about their orgasms. Who’s going to do that?

You two are, Bobbie said to Nancy and me.

Nancy

Marty and I didn’t really get to know each other until the Rabbit Farm asked us to work on a special project together. I won’t go into detail about that, but we were picked because of our unique abilities.

My talent is obvious. I’m gorgeous, I’m sexy, and I’m confident. I don’t say that to brag. Ask anybody, its common knowledge. You just need to know that men find me completely irresistible.

Marty also has many great attributes, one of which is a talented set of fingers. Yes, they are good for what you are thinking, but he is also a very accomplished pick pocket. That too is another story. The important thing is that Marty and I are a good team and that’s why Bobbie gave us the job.

Bernard told us that if a woman ate the right kind of Rabbit Food and had an orgasm with a man inside her, then that lucky man would lose weight. Our job was to find a bunch of fat guys and then figure out which new vegetable, when added to the Food, made them skinny.

I was tasked with finding the fat guys. That was easy; there were thousands of fat men in Vegas who were more than willing to have sex with any woman we offered. But we wanted 20 overweight men who could consistently excite a woman. Finding that particular breed of homo-sapien-humongous would take some searching. To narrow the field, we held interviews in one of the fancy hotels on the strip.

Twelve of us Milk Maids interviewed over 400 large but eager men. We weren’t exactly sure what to look for. How do you look past a hundred pounds of excess fast food to sort the Romeos from the rejects? We let each Milk Maid set her own standards and asked each girl to pick five candidates. I was looking for men with:

1. A face that didn’t frighten small children

2. Hair (on top of his head)

3. A sense of humor that wasn’t based on bodily noises

4. Sexual experience with a woman he didn’t pay in advance

5. Adequate personal hygiene

6. Eyes that could focus above my shoulders

I was on interviewee number four before I found a man who met even two of the six requirements. The first 10 failed requirement number 6. I buttoned my blouse all the way up to the neck and considered lowering my standards. When fat guy #15 (a man whose odor preceded him) told my completely covered boobs that his vast sexual experience was with hookers financed by his mother’s welfare checks, I was ready to give up. And then interviewee #16 came to my table.

Your card says your name is Jonathan Storey. Do you mind if I call you Jon? I didn’t even look at him. He was the 16th guy I’d talked to that morning. Any pretense of friendly was gone.

Nancy, you look absolutely exhausted. Do you want me to get you something to eat, or maybe a drink?

I glanced up and saw a very large man looking directly into my eyes. A full head of recently trimmed brown hair sat on top of a head without any obvious facial flaws. I sat up a bit straighter and stared back at him. Most men would turn away. Not this guy. He kept his eyes on mine.

No. Thank you. They’ll bring me something.

I took a deep breath, primarily because I needed the oxygen, but it also gave me a chance to see if Mr. Storey had bathed recently. No obvious body odor and no obnoxious cologne. He passed hygiene.

Jon, tell me about yourself. I know. Boring question. I didn’t care. He was supposed to impress me. If he was a heterosexual male, I’d already impressed him.

Well, I drive a bus for a living and, when I’m not doing that, I cook. He was still looking into my eyes. Not a creepy, staring kind of thing, just good eye contact.

That’s interesting, I lied, for the thousandth time that day. What do you cook?

Too much.

What?

I cook too much. That’s why I’m a few stroganoff platters over my ideal weight.

That’s funny. Not hilarious, but it suggested the possibility of a sense of humor. When you cook, do you have a specialty?

Most people ask for a second helping of my Bavarian Schnitzel and I usually don’t have any leftover baked Alaska after a dinner party. His eyes didn’t drift below by mouth.

That sounds good. It did. Do you have any lady friends?

Yes, a few.

I undid the top two buttons on my blouse. Unfair move. But I wanted to find his breaking point.

"Tell me about them.

Nothing real serious. Mostly women I meet on my route.

You mean your bus route? I released another button.

Yeah. A lot of professional women take my bus to work. Still no downward eye movement.

By pro, do you mean… One more button undone, I was starting to run out.

No. Not that kind of professional. Nurses, secretaries, nice ladies just trying to make a living. I think he was memorizing my facial features, his eyes never left mine.

Jon, this next question is kind of personal, but that’s the nature of our business. These professional women you are friendly with. May I ask how friendly? One more button. The last one without completely taking off my blouse.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, contemplating his answer. I thought I’d finally beaten him. But when they reopened, they were still focused on mine.

I invite them over to my place for dinner. A guy my size can’t be real picky. These ladies aren’t gorgeous like you. But they are good people. We have fun together.

Can I assume that some of that fun takes place in the bedroom?

He smiled. Sure, sometimes we make it to the bedroom. And sometimes it’s the living room couch or the dining room table. One lady especially enjoys the bearskin rug by the fire place.

Just one more question. We are looking for men who can consistently satisfied women. When you entertain women, are they truly fulfilled?

I like to think so. As far as I know, no woman has ever left my house hungry. But you ladies don’t always reveal your true feelings. Not bad. Link the food with the sex. At least that’s what I think he meant.

Our time was up. We actually went over the allotted ten minutes, but he was the first man to impress me. I stood up, giving him one more chance to let his gaze wander. No luck. He stood with me, his eyes still on mine.

Thank you for coming in Jon. We’ll call if you make the next cut. I extended my hand to shake his. By now, every other man in the room was staring at my half exposed bosom. Not Jon Storey.

One question if I may, he said.

Sure.

My Daddy always taught me to look a person in the eye. But you Milk Maids are famous. What would happen if my eyes were to wander south for just a second?

I giggled. He knew what I was doing and called me on it.

Jon, if you can hold off for just a few days, I’ll give you a chance for more than a glance.

He took my hand, raised it up to his mouth, and kissed it, without once looking at my boobs. I finally had one of my five fat guys.

We interviewed over 400 men before we chose 60 semi-finalists. I like to think that my five were a cut above those the other girls picked, but time would tell.

Over the next two weeks, each semi-finalist came out to the Rabbit Farm for a more intimate interview with one of the Milk Maids. Those that showed the right stuff were invited back again until we found 20 moderately fat, and fairly romantic, male volunteers.

Marty

I was in charge of finding the right women. We didn’t even consider thin good looking ladies.

Pardon me ma’am, but would you like to drive forty miles out of town twice a week to tumble in the hay with a fat guy?

That was a non-starter. Even if one agreed, the odds of a fat man consistently pleasing her were near zero. We needed women who were not only willing to have sex with overweight strangers but also likely to enjoy it. The thought did occur to ask for women with overweight husbands who routinely brought them to a climax, but we doubted that any existed.

So we spread the word around town, promising free weight loss treatments in exchange for participation in an ‘unusual scientific experiment’. On interview day, only 65 women showed up; far less of a turnout than what Nancy and the Milk Maids drew, but hopefully enough to find 20 qualified test subjects.

We held the fat lady interviews at the Rabbit Farm. Sat them all down in the biggest room they had and explained the process. Fifteen ladies got up and walked out during that initial orientation. Those that remained were given a free bedroom session with a Farm Boy who judged, on a scale from one to ten, how easy it was to bring the lady to a climax. A one meant that the Boy said hello and the woman screamed in ecstasy. Ten was reserved for those ladies who never reached Nirvana despite the best efforts of the world’s most proficient wooers of women.

Now I know what you’re thinking. How did we know if the lady really reached a sexual peak? Women notoriously lie about their weight, their age, and their orgasms. But in our line of work, we got very good at recognizing the real deal. If the Farm Boy said the lady wasn’t faking it, she most likely wasn’t.

Those women with scores of four or less were invited back three days later for a turn with another Boy. After three iterations, we had 20 easily orgasmed women, ready for our 20 fat guys.

While Nancy and I were picking out our male and female test subjects in Vegas, Bobbie’s parents were busy in Kansas making different versions of Rabbit Food. The standard Food contained wheat, corn, peas, and squash. At Bernard’s suggestion, they made four new versions of the Food, each with the original four ingredients plus one additional vegetable; radishes, carrots, beets, and potatoes (I’m not sure if all of those are vegetables and don’t really care). They shipped the well labeled experimental Food out to the Rabbit Farm and let us take over.

We split our 40 volunteers into four teams, each with five well insulated men and five easily orgasmed women. At first they didn’t like being called the potato team or the beet team, but they got over it. For the next three weeks, each woman ate her specific brand of experimental Lady’s Rabbit Food while the men were fed the tried and true men’s version.

It took two to three weeks for the normal Food to take effect. We used this time to put the men through a modified version of the Don Juan course given to the Farm Boys. They got all the classroom and bedroom instruction but weren’t allowed in the gym. We wanted to make sure any weight they lost was a result of sex with a properly fed woman. The women were a different story. We knew they’d lose weight, so we encouraged them to start working out, hoping it would prepare them for sex with a less than svelte man.

Finally the day came. Everybody had been on their modified diet for three weeks, the men finished their Don Juan courses, and the easily orgasmed women were in fairly good physical condition.

Twenty well trained fat guys, and 20 less than beautiful, certainly not slim, but easily excited women started regular bedroom sessions together. Each one of them was trying their best to satisfy their partner. Not because they were kind hearted, but bringing their bedmate to orgasm was the only way a person could shed pounds.

Bad news: Three weeks went by and only the women were losing weight. A couple men lost a pound or two, but we chalked that up to all the sex they were having. Probably more exercise than they’d done in years. It occurred to us that maybe the ladies weren’t really having orgasms. But most claimed they were and they certainly couldn’t all be lying. The modified Rabbit Food just wasn’t working.

Four additional weeks passed. The women continued to shrink but only one fat guy lost weight. It was that Jon Storey guy that Nancy recruited. We accused him of changing his eating habits or working out, but he swore he was still a million calorie a day couch dweller who never stepped foot in a gym. The only thing he was doing different was the sex.

You mean sex with the ladies in your carrot group?

Yeah, the ladies in the carrot group plus the other one.

What in hell do you mean by ‘the other one’?

Well, I kind of hit it off with one of the radishes, so she and I have been meeting at her place once in a while.

You’re screwing the carrots four times a week and also poking a radish?

Just a few times. Is that important?

Unbelievable. To keep this experiment semi-scientific, nobody was to stray from their assigned vegetable. Fat guys in the potato group only screwed potato Food eating girls. If a man lost weight while having sex with a potato girl and a beet lady, we wouldn’t know which veggie had the magical powers. But Jon was getting carrot orgasm juice four times a week plus radish flavored vagina wine at least once a week.

We couldn’t get mad at him. By disobeying the rules (don’t let your dick wander out of your food group) he stumbled onto something that we should have thought of in the beginning. Maybe we needed more than one of the additional vegetables to make the magic happen.

We immediately put the radish and carrot women on a mixture of both. In a week, those men started to shed weight. Then we put all 20 women on the carrot/radish mixture and the 10 remaining fat guys were dropping three to five pounds a week. After a month of consistent results, we knew we were on the right track. In three months, both the guys and the gals were at their target weights. Most of the women were also taking full advantage of their Rabbit Food enhanced male counterparts to pump up their cleavage.

Since the group was accustomed to their roles as guinea pig, we kept them together for further experiments. We continued to modify their diets (no complaints) and frequency of sex (lots of griping) until we knew the exact mixture of crops and sexual schedule for male weight control. It turned out to be real close to what worked for the ladies.

A mixture of Poppa Bottom’s wheat with Momma Bottom’s peas, carrots and radishes, eaten twice a week, was all the women needed to produce fat melting orgasm fluid. Once a man reached his target weight, unless he ate like a hog, he had to satisfy his Lady Rabbit Food eating partner at least twice a month to maintain his now fit figure.

That’s where Nancy and I found our niche.

Chapter 2

Nancy

There were two mysteries at the Skinny Rabbit Farm. The first was obvious. Why does Rabbit Food work? Brilliant scientists had been tackling that problem for over ten years and still didn’t have a clue.

The second unsolved dilemma was why Bobbie Bottoms hadn’t thrown Peter Gregg out on his ass years ago. Everybody loved Bobbie. She was like a second mother to us; Milk Maids and Farm Boys alike, we all looked up to her. Peter, on the other hand, could annoy a waitress just by ordering a beer.

Here’s an example. When I told Bobbie about my selection process for the fat guy interviews, Peter had to tell one of his stupid parables about women. Remember, this is Peter’s story, not mine.

If an artist spent several weeks creating an oil painting, put it in an expensive frame, and then prominently displayed it on a well-lit wall in a gallery, she would expect you to spend several minutes studying her piece of art. You should look at it from a distance to appreciate the masterpiece in its entirety and then examine it up close to marvel at the fine detail of each brush stroke. Once you were done, it would be inexcusable to leave the gallery without first seeking her out to praise the beauty of her work.

Now, suppose that same woman spent an hour every day in the gym to mold her figure, spent thousands of dollars for a boob job (or paid a Farm Boy to get the same results), bought expensive bras, specifically designed to lift up her breasts for optimal viewing, and then wore low cut tops to ensure an unobstructed line of sight. Proper etiquette insists that you openly admire her work and verbally praise her presentation.

But my vast experience with women suggests not. No matter how much trouble a lady goes through to display these wonders of womanhood, even a single glance at a partially uncovered bosom is considered indiscreet. Openly staring at exposed cleavage will certainly garner a caustic comment. Verbally praising a woman’s chest (nice rack) is often followed by an immediate slap to the face.

That is just one item on a long list of conundrums that puzzles me about women.

See what I mean? The man was an Ivy League educated Neanderthal. But for some reason, Bobbie couldn’t live without Peter so we had to put up with him.

Marty and I spent nearly a year figuring out how to make Lady Rabbit Food work and, when we were done, Peter didn’t want to use it on the Farm.

I don’t mind selling the Lady Food on the open market, Peter said. But I’ll be damned if we’re going to waste our time trying to teach a bunch of fat slobs how to romance women so they can lose weight. I don’t think it can be done and, even if it could, who gives a shit what men look like. There’s only a limited amount of Rabbit Food available and I want to use it to make women beautiful.

At the time, we obviously didn’t know what was going to happen to Peter and Bobbie, so rather than fight him, Marty and I quit the Rabbit Farm and started our own business. We called it Total Life Transformation (TLT). Overweight, out of shape, sexually frustrated social outcasts came to us and we turned their lives around. Unlike the Farm, we catered to both male and female clients.

Making women lose weight was easy. Feed the Food to the man, who had sex with the woman, who lost weight. You men are so easy. I may have mentioned this before, but I am absolutely gorgeous. I can put a wet spot on a man’s trousers just by winking at him from across the room. But even women without my assets, even fat, smelly, bitchy, ugly women, once they get you in the sack, you have no defenses. I’m convinced that all but the most unappealing women on this earth can make nearly any man ejaculate. That is nature. It is how we propagate the species.

It’s just not the same with women. Just because a woman eats the Lady Food and has regular sex with a man, there is absolutely no guarantee that he will lose weight. As much as we wish it wasn’t so, we women are not near as prone to orgasm as you lucky men. Some ladies have never experienced one. Some wouldn’t know an orgasm if it was formally introduced. Sure, she might get slightly hot and bothered when a man is doing his best to impress her but, unless he is especially skilled and considerate, the man is usually done and snoring before she is even halfway to paradise. A good many women live their entire lives that way. After all, a female orgasm is not necessary when making babies.

If you believe in Darwin and natural selection, all the men who couldn’t ejaculate on demand were weeded out eons ago. No sperm blast meant no offspring to carry on the limp dick family tradition. But the men who couldn’t satisfy a woman continued to reproduce. Those ugly, tedious genes kept coursing through the trunk of the family tree, spreading evenly throughout the boring branches. In our male dominated world, there was absolutely no incentive for men to sexually satisfy a woman; until Lady Rabbit food happened. Once men benefited from a female orgasm, all of a sudden it became important.

Am I bitter? Not at all. Man’s inherent disregard for a woman’s need of sexual fulfillment was what kept us employed.

Fat men who desired to slim down using Rabbit Food had two choices. Find a woman he could consistently please or let us teach him how. Most men needed help.

For women, there were three ways to lose weight using the Food.

If a she already had a man, she simply fed him the Food and let him love her thin. That was the preferred method but lots of overweight women didn’t have the confidence to approach a man with such an offer.

For overweight women without a man, she could either go to the Rabbit Farm, pay an outrageous fee, and let a Farm Boy screw her back into a size six or, if she wasn’t independently wealthy, she came to us.

We started a new class every two weeks. Ten fat men and twenty overweight gals came to our Vegas TLT center and, four months later, those that passed the course were transformed into born again Romeos and Juliettes.

Why the men came was obvious. We offered the same Don Juan course that they taught on the Farm. The men who completed the course were not only thinner but also fairly proficient lovers.

Most women came because our rates were much lower than what the Farm could offer. We didn’t have to hire Farm Boys to service the ladies; our male clients did it for us. But quite a few gals came for our ‘love your new body’ courses. That was my specialty. I taught women how to be beautiful. I’d been doing it all my life and it was time to share my wisdom with these newly transformed butterflies.

Marty

Once they completed the initial three weeks of the Don Juan course, each Fat Guy was assigned two large women and expected to bed each of them at least once, and preferably twice, every week.

We knew all of the women would lose weight but weren’t so sure about the men. The requirement for a female orgasm was a difficult, but not insurmountable challenge. To stack the odds in our favor, we admitted two types of fat female clients.

Ladies that were prone to sexual excitement, no matter who they were with, got preferential treatment in both price and admittance. They were our Easily Orgasmed Women (EOWs).

We struggled naming the ladies who wanted to lose weight but weren’t likely to enjoy the experience to the degree necessary to help their male partners also slim down. We considered calling them triple F’s (Fat, Frigid, Females), but settled on the more polite title of Extra Wooing Required (EWRs).

Nancy

One of my favorite parts of the program was taking the ladies shopping just before they graduated. We discouraged the clients from buying new clothes while they were losing weight and growing boobs. No sense wasting money on stuff that wouldn’t fit in a couple of months. Instead, we suggested they save their money so, when the time came, they could buy an entirely new wardrobe.

A staff member (usually me) would take two ladies at a time. It was an all-day affair. Remember the scene from Pretty Woman when Richard Gere takes Julia Roberts shopping? I’m sure the women do. And each Don Juan course graduate also knows it. Required viewing. Well, that’s what we did, sort of. Vegas didn’t have the clothing store selection of Beverly Hills, but they had enough variety to keep our girls happy.

Marty

What Nancy failed to mention was how she often took a Formerly Fat Guy with her on these shopping sprees, especially to Victoria’s Secret, where she reserved a special room just for these occasions. This was her chance to help the girls buy new undies while simultaneously teaching the FFGs how to shop with a woman.

Her favorite trick was the black bra, white bra decision. With the FFG comfortably seated outside the dressing room, the now well-proportioned lady came out wearing skimpy panties and a black bra while holding a white brazier in her hands.

I just can’t decide between the two, she’d tell the FFG.

After letting him peruse the black bra from several angles, she turned her back to him and replaced the black with the white.

So what do you think? she’d ask again, giving him another great view. Black or white?

Pay attention guys. This is one of those trick questions that women constantly throw at you. As in life, the correct answer is not black or white.

That’s a tough choice. Would you try on the black one again?

Excellent answer. She knows you don’t care about the bras, but she is pleased that you enjoyed the show. She will gladly change bras again, and this time may not turn completely around as she does it.

Now you have to say something clever.

I like how the black bra contrasts with your beautiful skin, but I’m also impressed at how easily that white bra comes off.

Remember, this conversation has nothing to do with bras. Use the bra as a tool to compliment the lady and then hint that you really think she looks better with nothing on at all.

Would you mind showing me the white one just one more time?

You’re taking a chance if you go this far. She may be tired of playing the game, or this might earn you a night of bliss. If she refuses or changes them quickly, you’ve struck out. But if she smiles, and does a slow, deliberate bra removal and replacement, you’ve hit a home run.

No matter what happens, you still have to eventually answer the black or white question.

You know what? A beautiful girl with your figure can’t have too many bras. Why don’t you get both and maybe look for one in red as well.

That was our niche. That’s what Nancy and I did. Men and women came to us with a body they didn’t like and all the emotional baggage that came with it. We transformed them into the person they wanted to be. We gave them a new body and taught them how to use it to their advantage. The right body with the right mindset. 90% satisfaction rate. Not perfect, but considering what walked in our door every two weeks, pretty damn impressive.

Chapter 3

Marty

Our first TLT class started with 30 clients and graduated 27. Not too shabby. But I looked at our clients as alcoholics or drug addicts. We put them in rehab for four months and got them straightened out. But would it stick? What would they look like in six months? A year? Five years? Would they remain thin and toned or would something make them fall off the wagon? Time will tell the saying goes. A half decade later, we had the luxury of looking back.

After five years, while nearly every woman graduate remained slim, nearly half of the men ballooned back up to their pre-TLT girth. That dismal long term male success rate was about the same for those that slept with one or a dozen properly Fed women. Some of our previous EOWs turned into EWRs and the men didn’t have the skills to pull it off. I blamed the Don Juan course. I blamed our client selection process. I blamed Nancy’s love your body course. But then something happened to make it very personal.

Nancy and I hooked up in 1992. We were both in our early twenties and neither of us needed Rabbit Food to stay thin. Nancy got a boost in the bust, but that was part of her job back then. I worked out almost daily because that’s what Farm Boys did. Part of the mystic. I never really worried about what I ate, didn’t have to.

Once we quit our jobs at the Rabbit Farm to start TLT we became primarily monogamous. Nancy continued to expose her body to any man who would look and I tested female clients to determine EOW or EWR status, but otherwise, when my penis wasn’t in my pants, it was in Nancy.

Several years after we founded TLT, I started gaining weight. Not a lot, but enough to force me into the next size of Levi’s. I cut down on what I was eating and upped the exercise routine, but to no avail. My new pants were now getting tight around the middle. I didn’t want to admit this to Nancy, but finally had no choice. Better I tell her before she recognized it herself.

You probably haven’t noticed, but I’m putting on a few pounds. Would you mind going on the Lady Rabbit Food diet? I asked her.

I’ve been on the Food for the last six months, she replied.

She might as well have kicked me in the nuts. I hadn’t satisfied my woman for half a year. Maybe more. Hell, maybe she never had an orgasm with me. Maybe all those moans of pleasure and cries of passion were faked. Was that why she had this annoying habit of taking her clothes off in public? She couldn’t be satisfied in bed so she made up for it elsewhere? Probably not. It was most likely a case of familiarity. She’d been with me long enough to know, and tire, of all my bedroom tricks.

This mental abuse, blame shifting, and soul searching went on for weeks. Nancy did what she could to ease my pain, everything except what she couldn’t do. She couldn’t help me lose weight. And that’s the point of me telling you this embarrassing story. Not to sound egotistical, but if I, a professional wooer of women, couldn’t coax Nancy into semi regular orgasms, our clients didn’t have a chance.

Nancy

Marty was devastated when he discovered he no longer satisfied me in bed. We definitely had some personal issues to work through. However, besides being lovers, we were also business partners and right in the middle of a big expansion project. So we temporarily set our bedroom problems aside and concentrated on the job of turning losers into socially acceptable, and sometimes desirable, members of the human race.

Our Las Vegas facility was a resounding success. It was time to branch out. For no particular reason, we chose Atlanta for our second TLT center.

We found a building in a southern suburb, got the