Jumbo Lovin'

"Hey, where's the buffet?!" cries the Mandy Moore of P-town, otherwise known as Her Regal Jettiness, as we saunter into the Scottsdale sports bar known as Buster McNutty's. "You're tellin' me this is a big girls' night and there's no buffet?"

I answer her query by stepping on her big toe and applying 300 pounds of blubber to that cowboy-boot-covered tootsie, resulting in a yelp of pain from the bisexual beeahtch.

"Mind your manners, my skankified sista," I spit. "We're here to partake of a whole different kind of buffet -- a buffet of Big Beautiful Women, or BBWs for short."

In fact, the J-unit and I are rollin' on Buster McNutty's on a Saturday night to check out Club FullFilled, an evening of plus-size pulchritude, tons of fine, round mamas in touch with their sexuality, rippin' loose with dancing, contests, and a lil' romance with their infatuated menfolk -- known in the community as "fat admirers" if their asses happen to be skinny, or as BHMs, "Big Handsome Men," if their waists are as wide as Roosevelt Dam. It's all about "size acceptance," in the verbiage of the BBW community, which is, kidding aside, large all across the U.S. of A. Just type the letters BBW into Google, and you'll feel me. From the East Coast to the West, chasin' chubby chicas is comin' out of the closet, big-time, and Club FullFilled is just a local manifestation of all that sweet weight being on parade.

"One of the reasons the girls feel comfortable here is that they know they're in a place where the men present are interested in them," explains organizer ChristyLee, a gorgeous, auburn-haired chubette with cleavage deeper than Lake Pleasant, who meets us at the door. "They don't have to deal with the whole stigma of going to a bar and being the only BBW there, and not having anyone hit on them because the guys there are looking for a skinny girl. It's also good for guys because there are a lot of them out there who like larger women but would never admit it because it's not socially acceptable."

The weekly event has been up and running since October 2004, when ChristyLee recognized the need for a night like this in Phoenix. Currently, Club FullFilled (online at takes over half the bar, drawing 75 or more persons every Saturday at $5 a head before 10 p.m., and $10 after 10 p.m. ChristyLee's dream is to own her own full-time, plus-size venue, a goal that, considering the ever-expanding size of Americans, might well be in the realm of the possible. The stocky siren tells us she's a relative newbie to the BBW scene, albeit one who now has a sexy calendar of herself in various cheesecake poses which she sells at Club FullFilled.

"I didn't know there was anything like the online groups for BBWs until two years ago," she relates. "I joined some of those, and then went out to a bar for a meet-and-greet for one group. While I was there, these folks I met wanted me to model for them at this big Vegas bash for BBWs, and they ended up paying for me to go out there to be at the fashion show. It was so much fun, and I found out about all these plus-size dance clubs. That's when I decided Phoenix was ready for something like this."

According to ChristyLee, there have been other attempts at BBW nights in the Valley, but none with the staying power of Club FullFilled. Indeed, despite a little wind and rain outside, the club is packed wall-to-wall with flabalicious flesh, the gals outnumbering the fellas 60-40. Some cats in the hizzy are livin' large like Fat Bastard in Goldmember, but most of the men are normal-size to Jack Sprat skinny. As we step up in da club, there's a DJ spinning everything from Southern rock to crunk, and some hefty hotties are shakin' their big bootays out on the dance floor, as a number of other peeps chill at tables and booths nearby. The Jettster and I take advantage of Buster McNutty's drink specials to score some cheap schooners of brew, suck down some suds, and start partying with the plump, pretty thangs on hand. Jett's still got a two-by-four up her butt, so I leave her behind and begin to grind up on this curvaceous-bodacious black lady by the name of Twana. While we groove to 50 Cent's "Just a Lil' Bit," I do an impromptu interview.

"Mmm-mmm, you're finer than the shine on my Impala, Twana. What're you doing out tonight?" I ask, bumpin' to the beat.

"Havin' fun with my girls," smiles Twana, brightly. "That's my little sister Clarissa over there. I came out with her and some of my friends."

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Stephen is a former staff writer and columnist at Phoenix New Times.
Contact: Stephen Lemons