emily 9a

# Miami Bender

The girls giggled as their rideshare pulled up to the crowded beachfront. The sun blazed high overhead, reflecting off the azure waters of Miami Beach where hundreds of bodies were already packed onto the sand. Music pumped from massive speakers, a heavy bass line that Emily could feel in her chest as she stepped out of the car.

"This is it?" she asked, surveying the scene through her oversized sunglasses. Despite the wine they'd consumed, she already felt uncomfortably sober in the bright daylight.

"Just wait," Carmen promised, leading them toward the throng.

They wore modest sundresses over their swimwear, blending with the tourist crowd until they reached the center of the action. A section of beach had been roped off, with security guards checking IDs at makeshift entrances. As they approached, Emily noticed something striking about the crowd inside—the women were predominantly plus-sized, ranging from curvy to morbidly obese like herself.

"Told you you'd fit right in," Carmen whispered, flashing her ID to the bouncer.

Once inside, the girls found a spot to drop their bags. Carmen immediately stripped off her dress, revealing a tiny bikini that showcased her thick thighs and ample cleavage. Lucia followed suit with slightly more hesitation, her swimsuit equally revealing but with strategic cutouts that flattered her shape.

Emily froze, suddenly self-conscious. The sundress had been comfortable, covering her rolls and stretch marks. The thought of removing it made her pulse quicken with anxiety.

"Come on," Carmen encouraged. "Everyone here is beautiful. Look around!"

Emily glanced around and saw women larger than herself confidently strutting in swimwear, their bodies glistening with suntan oil, drawing appreciative glances from fit, attractive men. It was like an alternate reality where conventional beauty standards had been flipped upside down.

Taking a deep breath, Emily pulled her dress over her head. Her black bikini—specially ordered in her size—had a halter top that supported her massive breasts and high-waisted bottoms that covered her belly button but left her thick thighs fully exposed.

For a moment she felt naked, vulnerable. Then a muscular guy walking past gave her an approving nod, and something shifted in her perception. Here, her size wasn't a liability—it was an asset.

"I'm going to get drinks," Carmen announced. "What do you want?"

"Something strong," Emily replied, still adjusting to the sensation of so much of her flesh being exposed to the sun and public view.

As Carmen and Lucia headed toward the bar, Emily's nose caught the unmistakable scent of barbecue. Her stomach growled reflexively, despite the substantial brunch she'd had earlier. Following her nose, she waddled through the crowd toward a large food stand where smoke billowed from industrial-sized grills.

The area around the barbecue stand was dominated by the largest women at the party, creating an almost comical scene—like planets orbiting a delicious sun. Some were ordering multiple plates, others were already seated at nearby tables, devouring ribs and brisket with unabashed enthusiasm.

Emily joined the line, feeling an immediate kinship with these women who clearly shared her passion for food. By the time she reached the front, she had decided on one of everything—full racks of ribs, brisket, pulled pork, and all the sides.

The server raised his eyebrows slightly as he assembled her order but made no comment as she paid with Max's credit card. Emily found an empty table and arranged her feast before her, the rich smells making her mouth water in anticipation.

When Carmen and Lucia finally located her, they found Emily already halfway through her first rack of ribs, sauce smeared across her cheeks, eyes closed in ecstasy.

"Damn, girl," Carmen laughed, setting down three colorful cocktails. "You didn't waste any time."

Lucia looked at the array of plates. "Is one of these for us?"

Emily swallowed a massive bite of mac and cheese, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Nope. All mine," she declared, playfully swatting at Lucia's hand as she reached for a cornbread muffin. "Get your own!"

Carmen shook her head in amazement. "I'm going to mingle a bit, scope out the scene. Coming, Lucia?"

Lucia looked at her drink, then at Emily who was now attacking the brisket with single-minded determination. "I'll stay here for now. Still feeling that wine from earlier."

Carmen shrugged and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Lucia to watch in fascination as Emily systematically demolished plate after plate of barbecue. There was something almost hypnotic about Emily's capacity, the way she ate with total abandonment, oblivious to the sauce on her chin or the eyes occasionally turning her way.

"You really enjoy food, don't you?" Lucia asked, her voice soft with admiration rather than judgment.

Emily paused, a forkful of beans halfway to her mouth. "Is it that obvious?" she replied with a smirk, then continued eating.

By the time she finished, Emily was so full she could barely move, her already substantial belly distended further with the massive meal. The thought of standing seemed impossible, her limbs heavy with the combination of alcohol, sun, and food coma.

Fortunately, she didn't have to move. Carmen returned with three guys in tow—all tan, fit, and grinning like they'd just won the lottery.

"Emily, Lucia, meet Jake, Tyler, and Damon," Carmen announced, gesturing to each in turn.

Emily analyzed them through lazy, food-drunk eyes. Jake was tall with sandy brown hair and an easy smile. Tyler was shorter but built like a swimmer, with dark features and intense eyes. Damon had a more rugged look—tattoos covering his arms, long hair pulled into a man bun, and an easygoing demeanor that immediately put Emily at ease.

After brief introductions and small talk, Damon leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Man, I could use a smoke right now. This heat is killing me."

Emily perked up. "What kind of smoke?"

Damon's eyes lit up. "The green kind. But I'm dry at the moment."

With surprising dexterity for someone so full, Emily reached into her cleavage and extracted a perfectly rolled joint from between her breasts. The guys' eyes widened, both at the location of the stash and its contents.

"I never leave home without supplies," she explained, offering it to Damon with a wink.

Tyler burst out laughing. "Did you just pull that out of your—"

"Boob sweat joint," Jake finished for him, already reaching for it. "Classy."

"Hey, beggars can't be choosers," Emily retorted, enjoying their reaction.

Damon produced a lighter, and soon all six of them were passing the joint in the relative privacy of their table, blowing smoke toward the ocean breeze. The weed hit Emily pleasantly, softening the edges of her food coma and melting away any lingering self-consciousness about her exposed body.

As the afternoon stretched on, they settled into a comfortable rhythm. Emily discovered that Damon was a serious enthusiast—he could talk endlessly about strains and growing techniques. He was also a chef at one of Miami's upscale restaurants, which explained his appreciation for Emily's hearty appetite.

"I love cooking for people who actually eat," he told her, his eyes slightly red from the weed. "Nothing worse than slaving over a perfect dish just to have some model push it around her plate."

Emily extracted another joint from her cleavage, earning another round of amused reactions from the guys. "Well, you'd never have that problem with me."

The sun began its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. More joints were smoked, more drinks were consumed, and Emily found herself increasingly comfortable in Damon's company. Unlike Jason's slick confidence, Damon had a laid-back authenticity that put her at ease.

They moved closer to the shoreline to watch the sunset, sprawling on beach towels as the sky darkened. Emily, still too full to move much, lay on her back with her head propped on her beach bag, watching the changing colors through half-lidded eyes. Damon sat beside her, occasionally offering commentary on the quality of the sunset compared to others he'd seen around the world.

As darkness fell, the party transformed. Powerful floodlights illuminated the beach in colorful patterns, and the music shifted from daytime house beats to a harder, more insistent rhythm. People who had been relaxing or swimming earlier were now dancing, their movements becoming less inhibited as the night deepened.

Carmen appeared with fresh drinks—something blue and potent-smelling. "Time to kick it up a notch," she declared, dropping onto the sand beside them.

After another hour of drinking and dancing (the latter mostly observed by Emily, who claimed her "food baby" made movement impossible), Carmen pulled Lucia and Emily aside. Checking that they weren't being watched, she produced a small plastic baggie containing white powder.

"Anyone interested?" she asked casually, as if offering mints.

"Is that...?" Emily began, her heart racing with a combination of anxiety and excitement.

"Cocaine," Carmen confirmed. "Just a little pick-me-up."

Emily had seen cocaine in movies but had never been offered it in real life. Her mind raced through reasons to say no—it was dangerous, addictive, illegal. Yet the memory of the euphoria from the MDMA last night, combined with her current pleasant buzz from weed and alcohol, made those concerns seem distant and theoretical.

"I'll try it," she heard herself say.

Carmen looked surprised but pleased. She led them to a more secluded spot behind a lifeguard stand, where she expertly prepared three lines on the reflective surface of her compact mirror.

"Just sniff hard through this," she instructed, handing Emily a rolled-up bill.

Emily's hands trembled slightly as she positioned the bill at one end of the powdery line. Taking a deep breath, she pressed one nostril closed and inhaled sharply through the other.

The effect was almost instantaneous. A numbing sensation spread through her nose and down the back of her throat, followed quickly by a surge of energy unlike anything she'd experienced before. Her heart raced, her mind suddenly crystal clear despite the alcohol and weed in her system.

"Holy shit," she gasped, rubbing her nose.

"Right?" Carmen grinned, taking her turn with practiced ease.

Within minutes, Emily felt invincible. The heaviness from her massive meal disappeared, replaced by restless energy. She couldn't sit still, couldn't stop talking. Words poured out of her at twice their normal speed, her thoughts jumping from topic to topic with dizzying rapidity.

"I need to move, I need to talk to people," she announced, already standing and brushing sand from her thighs.

For the next hour, Emily became the life of the party. She introduced herself to strangers, complimented their outfits, shared her life story with anyone who would listen. Her usual social anxiety was completely obliterated, replaced by an overwhelming confidence and desire for connection.

At one point, she found herself in conversation with three women in their thirties who, as it turned out, ran successful feeder content accounts similar to Emily's.

"You're just starting out?" one of them, a statuesque blonde who introduced herself as Destiny, asked. "Honey, I've been doing this for ten years. Bought my house in cash."

Emily listened with rapt attention as they shared tips about engagement, subscription tiers, and content strategies. In her cocaine-enhanced state, every suggestion seemed revolutionary, every connection vital.

"We should collab sometime," Emily insisted, already planning elaborate scenarios in her mind. "My followers would love you guys."

After exchanging social media handles and promises to stay in touch, Emily felt the unmistakable crash beginning—her energy flagging, anxiety creeping in at the edges of her consciousness. She sought out Carmen, who was dancing with Tyler.

"I'm crashing," she whispered urgently.

Carmen nodded in understanding. "Let's find the guys. Damon might have more."

Damon didn't have cocaine, but Jake did. Soon they were huddled behind the same lifeguard stand, Emily taking a larger line this time to combat the impending crash. The second wave hit even harder than the first, sending her into another round of manic socialization.

By midnight, Emily had met half the party, danced despite her size, and gone through most of Carmen's supply plus a significant portion of Jake's. She was in the middle of an impassioned speech about the politics of weight discrimination to a group of fascinated strangers when flashing lights appeared at the edges of the beach.

"Cops!" someone shouted, and the crowd began to disperse with practiced efficiency.

Panic shot through Emily's cocaine-addled system. Getting arrested on a drug charge would destroy her online career, disappoint her parents even further, and potentially land her in serious legal trouble. She grabbed her beach bag, threw her sundress over her bikini, and searched frantically for Carmen and Lucia.

She found them already with the guys, calmly gathering their belongings. Unlike the chaotic scramble of other partygoers, they moved with purpose toward a less visible exit point.

"Act natural," Jake advised as they approached the street. "They're just shutting it down for noise, not doing searches."

True to his word, the police seemed focused on dispersing the crowd rather than making arrests. They made it to the sidewalk without incident, six adrenaline-fueled friends now faced with an interrupted evening.

"Curves?" Carmen suggested, already checking the time on her phone. "We can still catch the late crowd."

The unanimous agreement led them to another rideshare, piling in with limbs tangled and spirits high despite the party's abrupt end. Emily found herself squished between Damon and the door, his arm casually draped behind her shoulders. The cocaine was still coursing through her system, making every touch feel significant, every glance loaded with meaning.

At Curves, the line was shorter than on Friday night but still substantial. The group bypassed it entirely thanks to Tyler, who apparently knew the doorman. Inside, the club was packed with familiar faces from the beach party, the vibe already established and electric.

They secured a small table in a corner, and rounds of drinks appeared with impressive speed. Emily's head was spinning from the combination of substances, but she felt fantastic—uninhibited, desirable, alive with possibilities.

"I think we should roll," Carmen announced after their second round of drinks. She pulled out a small bag containing several pills with smiley face imprints. "Who's in?"

Emily didn't hesitate this time. "Me. But don't we need to wait longer since we just did it Friday night?"

Carmen nodded approvingly at Emily's caution. "Good thinking. We'll need a bit more than last time since our tolerance will be higher. Maybe one and a half each?"

Emily turned to Damon, who was watching this exchange with curious eyes. "Have you ever rolled before?"

He shook his head. "First time for everything, right?"

"Oh my god, you're going to love it," Emily gushed, suddenly feeling like an experienced guide despite having tried MDMA exactly once before. "It's important to start with the right dose though. Since you're bigger than me, but it's your first time, I'd say one pill should be perfect."

She continued talking authoritatively about hydration, body temperature regulation, and jaw clenching—all information she'd gleaned from her brief experience and Carmen's comments.

"You sound like you've been doing this for years," Damon remarked, clearly impressed.

Emily preened under his admiration, not bothering to correct his assumption. "I just know my substances," she said with a confidence born of cocaine and ignorance.

They took their pills—a full one for Damon, one and a half for Emily, and varying amounts for the others based on Carmen's recommendations. Emily washed hers down with water, remembering the bitter taste from before and preparing herself for the wait.

This time, Emily recognized the coming signs—a slight nausea, followed by tingling fingers and toes, then spreading warmth. But the intensity caught her off guard. Whether due to the increased dosage, the combination with alcohol and cocaine, or the shortened interval since her last use, the MDMA hit her system like a freight train.

One moment she was sitting next to Damon, discussing their favorite foods; the next, she was engulfed in a tidal wave of sensation. Her vision blurred at the edges, contracting to a tunnel that rhythmically expanded and contracted with the music. Her jaw clenched involuntarily, her teeth grinding together as waves of pleasure washed over her skin.

"Oh fuck," she gasped, gripping Damon's arm for stability.

He turned to her, his pupils already massively dilated, and Emily realized he was experiencing the same rapid onset. They stared at each other in mutual recognition of the chemical journey they'd just embarked on together.

"I feel..." Damon struggled to find words, his hands moving instinctively to touch her face. "Everything is so..."

"I know," Emily nodded emphatically, understanding perfectly the inexpressible intensity he was trying to describe.

For what might have been minutes or hours—time had become an abstract concept—they sat locked in mutual wonder, touching each other's faces, arms, hands with reverent fascination. Emily found herself confessing childhood secrets, insecurities, dreams she'd never articulated even to herself. Damon matched her vulnerability, sharing his past struggles with depression, his passion for cooking, his disillusionment with dating in the age of apps.

"You're so beautiful," he told her repeatedly, his fingers tracing the contours of her face with trembling precision. "So perfectly, exactly you."

Emily believed him completely in that moment. The drug stripped away her usual self-criticism, allowing her to see herself through his adoring eyes. Her size, her rolls, her double chin—all became perfect expressions of her unique being rather than flaws to be disguised.

At some point, they made it to the dance floor. Despite her usual aversion to physical exertion, Emily found herself moving with unexpected grace, her body responding to the music as if it were a direct extension of the sound waves. Damon moved with her, their bodies finding natural harmonies despite never having danced together before.

Carmen appeared periodically, her own eyes wide and jaw working overtime, to check on them or offer water. During one such visit, she pressed something into Emily's hand—another half pill.

"Keep it going," she shouted over the music.

Without hesitation, Emily swallowed it, then offered a piece to Damon who accepted with equal enthusiasm. The second dose sent them even deeper, conversation becoming increasingly difficult as they succumbed to pure sensation.

Their dancing became more intimate, hands exploring with increasing boldness. Emily felt simultaneously hypersensitive and numb, aware of every touch yet detached from her physical form. When Damon kissed her—softly at first, then with growing intensity—she felt it not just on her lips but throughout her entire body, as if each cell were individually responding.

"I love you," she heard herself say, the words bubbling up from some untapped reservoir of emotion. In that moment, she meant it completely, with a conviction that transcended their brief acquaintance.

"I love you too," Damon replied with equal sincerity, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made the rest of the club disappear.

Later—much later, though exactly when was impossible to determine—Carmen found them again, this time with another offering: a small mirror with lines of cocaine.

"Mix and match," she giggled, her own face contorted in the unmistakable expression of someone deep in a roll.

Emily, still peaking on MDMA, hesitated only briefly before bending to snort a line. The combination hit her central nervous system like a lightning strike. For several terrifying, exhilarating seconds, she lost all connection to reality. The music, the club, even Damon beside her—all dissolved into pure sensation, too intense to be processed by her conscious mind.

When awareness returned, she found herself seated, Damon holding her steady, concern visible even through his drug-altered features.

"Are you okay?" he asked, repeating the question as if he'd been asking for some time.

Emily couldn't answer immediately. Her jaw had locked into a rigid grimace, her facial muscles spasming beyond her control. She could only nod, tears streaming down her face—not from sadness but from the sheer neurochemical overload.

For the next half hour, they remained in that spot, Emily clinging to Damon like a life raft, repeating variations of "I love you so much" and "You understand me" with the profound conviction only possible under the influence of MDMA. Damon, equally affected though he had taken less, responded with matching intensity, stroking her hair and face with trembling hands.

The rest of the night blurred into a montage of dancing, touching, more substances offered and accepted without question, and increasingly incoherent conversations that felt earth-shatteringly significant in the moment.

At some point, Emily dimly registered Carmen checking her phone and announcing with surprise, "It's almost six! They're closing soon."

The news was inconceivable—they had just arrived, hadn't they? Yet the crowd had thinned considerably, the bartenders were making last call announcements, and security was gently ushering lingering dancers toward the exit.

"I'm not ready," Emily protested, still riding the combined waves of MDMA and cocaine, still needing the music, the lights, the press of bodies to maintain the magical state she'd been inhabiting.

As they stumbled out into the predawn light, Emily blinked in confusion. The world outside seemed harsh, too real after hours in the club's artificial environment. She clung to Damon, suddenly aware of her disheveled appearance—makeup smeared, hair wild, dress askew.

In the chaos of the closing rush, they somehow lost track of the others. Only Carmen, Damon, and Emily ended up together on the sidewalk, looking around in bleary confusion for their friends.

"Where's Lucia?" Emily asked, a note of worry penetrating her drug haze.

Carmen shrugged, checking her phone. "She texted... she left with Tyler and Jake. They got an Uber."

Emily nodded, processing this information slowly. "Should we go home too?"

The thought filled her with unexpected sadness. Going back meant facing reality—Max's disapproval, the end of this magical night, the inevitable crash that would follow these extraordinary highs.

As if sensing her reluctance, a man approached their small group—well-dressed, older than them but with the unmistakable energy of someone who wasn't ready for the night to end either.

"You guys look like you're still going strong," he observed with an approving smile. "Some friends and I have a place just down the street. The party's continuing there if you're interested."

Carmen and Emily exchanged glances, a wordless communication passing between them. They were both still flying high, neither ready to descend back to earth. Damon looked between them, clearly willing to follow Emily's lead.

"What kind of party?" Carmen asked, a hint of caution in her voice despite her altered state.

The man smiled reassuringly. "Good music, good people, good times. Nothing sketchy, I promise. I own three clubs in South Beach—this is just where the real night owls go after hours."

Emily felt Damon's arm around her waist, solid and secure. With him beside her, Carmen's experienced presence, and the chemical courage still coursing through her veins, the decision seemed obvious.

"Lead the way," she said.