Clean

Or, "If You're Reading This, Man, You Are One Sick Puppy"

Three days before the race and I was incredibly nervous as I stood with the other unhired racers in a row, hoping to be hired. My black rubber gas suit bore my pressure stat “425” in large proud white letters across my swollen belly as I stood with my hands behind my back. Problem was, so were my other eight competitors, six women and two men. Women had more natural adaptability for this than men did; among men, I was a minor celebrity. The crowds were still milling around as a young debutante—tight sweater, tight jeans--strolled up to me, all hips and lips and boobs.

Or, “Brainy Beauties Blow the Biggest Balloons”

The cold Halloween air gave her goose bumps all over her belly. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her bare stomach. She hoped to combat the cold, but her arms felt just as cold as her middle. Veronica was small and skinny with a curvy body. She had long black hair and wore emo glasses. Her tummy pooched out a little but otherwise it was small. She had worn nothing but a red plaid half-top and mini skirt with torn wings and mesh sleeves for effect.