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A Free Hit


swahilimonkfish

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Hey, I'm a long time reader of these forums who has never contributed anything, and thought that I owed it to the community to give something back - a slow-burn weight gain that I've also started posting on deviantart. Hope it's OK,  here's the first chapter. 

A Free Hit

Chapter 1

    If in doubt, talk to Shaun. That was the rule. Got a question, query or reservation, you need to talk to Shaun. Have yourself a query, qualm or concern, then you need to speak to Shaun. If there’s something strange in your neighbourhood, who ya gonna call… Shaun.

    You wouldn’t know it from looking at him – he was a fairly short and rather squat bloke with glasses and daft blond tips to his otherwise dark hair – but Shaun was where all the girls went when in trouble. He had a wisdom, you see. A maturity that comes from being a mature student in a classroom full of 18 year old girls trying to work out how to become women on their own terms. Girls learning this whilst simultaneously trying to keep their grades up during the daytime and whilst downing shots of Sambuca in the nighttime. The first year of university may be the easiest academically but it is the toughest emotionally, and a 25 year old man can come in handy when you need the worldly advice of someone who has slightly more worldly advice for you.

    And even handier, he was gay. Being the one male representative on the Creative Writing course would have been awkward and a little creepy otherwise, but being gay made him approachable to the girls. And he loved feeling important. He felt less like a big brother around them, and more like mother hen – and he was keeping them under his wing and guiding them through life at Brighton University. He even referred to them as “his girls”, reveling in the implied regality.

    So, when Skinny first noticed she had put on weight, she knew exactly who to speak to.


 

    Minnie Charnwood (aka “Skinny Minnie”, aka just “Skinny”) was, unsurprisingly, very skinny. Skinny enough to make high-waisted jeans work. And a skinniness exacerbated by her relatively tall frame. 5ft9 and 118lbs of skinny. Her face was also skinny – lean and angular with eyes piercing with the same sharpness. All framed with jet-black hair that draped over her shoulders and down her back. And her body continued the theme, with a notable lack of width, slinking and snaking downwards slenderly. Too tall to be petite, and too waifishly thin to be curvy, she was skinny - and so she was Skinny.

    She had always been skinny, and had presumed she would always be skinny. She had been Skinny Minnie since she could remember. But then she tried to pull on her oldest pair of high-waisted jeans – ones she had worn since she was practically a child and had no right fitting on an adult – and found it pinching her skin.

    So while she was waiting for always-late Miss Clefton-Brown to eventually turn up to the tutorial she was supposed to be teaching, she got Shaun’s attention by throwing some paper across the table at him.


 

    “Excuse me(!)” Shaun chuckled, chucking the scrunched up paper ball back in her direction. “Don’t you know it’s rude to throw!”

    “I need your advice.” She batted her eyelids coquettishly whilst saying it. It sounded needier than she intended. The paper throw had been intended to keep the conversation light and disguise her insecurity. She didn't want people to know the extent to which those tight jeans hurt her feelings

    “If you think that flirting going to work on me, you haven’t been paying attention to which way I swing, sugar”

    That made Skinny snort with laughter, before gathering herself.

    “No, I’m being serious. I’ve put on some weight and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to get fat” she said, a little more tearfully than she had anticipated, accidentally revealing the bottled-up emotions she had been hoping to suppress.

    It was then that her best friend, Rutherford, interjected.

    “Oh my god, you are not fat! You’re literally the skinniest person in the world”

    She was not ‘literally’ the skinniest person in the world, but Rutherford was never knowingly not hyperbolic. She was American, and Americans are not like the rest of us. They go around having weird names like Rutherford – and on a girl whatsmore – and drinking cold coffee and misspelling the word colour. Rutherford and Skinny Minnie had been friends since the first week of classes. Skinny had complimented how Rutherford’s brightly-coloured glasses brought out her cherubic dimples and next thing you know they were bezzies. Or at least Rutherford had thought so, until she heard her so-called best friend tell Shaun about her weight insecurities without mentioning it to her. Maybe it was because Rutherford was cherubically chubby and that softness was in sharp contrast to her beanpole friend. Rutherford didn’t feel insecure about her weight. She was 5ft5 and 140lbs and she had that golden hair and warm attractive glow you might associate from an American – though not necessarily somebody from Delaware. She had a smile that seemed so naturally liberated and freeing, that the rest of her sparkled when she did so. She had swagger and charm and breasts for days. She had no insecurity about her appearance whatsoever. So, her initial exclusion from the conversation stung a bit.

    Shaun concurred, “yeah, you are really skinny, Skinny. I think that might be where you get your name.”

    “Oh haha. I know, it’s just...” Skinny sighed. “I’m less skinny. I’ve only been at uni for 5 weeks and I’ve gained 5lbs. I don’t want to get fat, I’ve always been skinny. It’s who I am”

    Rutherford listened empathetically. She knew what her friend was saying. It was her identity. It was almost literally her name. It wasn’t arrogance or fat-shaming, Skinny just had wrapped up her lean build into her identity, and she was scared of changing. And as a girl who had gone to great lengths to change how she was perceived by others over the past year – dirty blonde hair colour from a bottle, red frames for her glasses to replace her nerdier old ones from school, moving to another continent to study – she understood how important it was.

    Shaun also listened carefully, but was reaching a different conclusion. And in the seeming absence of Miss Clefton-Brown, Shaun decided it was time to a bit of teaching of his own.


 

    “OK, girls!” He shouted, clapping to demand attention and raising his voice with almost faux-authority. 

    The class of 18 girls all turned to look at him, some attentively, some just managing to divert their gaze from their phones.

    “I’m going to give you the most important piece of life-advice in the world, and you should all hear it.”

    Skinny put her head in her hands. Here we go. This was the problem with asking for advice from Shaun. He loved himself an audience, he did. While the advice was invariably great and inspiring and whatnot, it was almost undoubtedly to your embarrassment. She should have just asked Rutherford, quietly confided in her. But she was too afraid of sounding ungrateful, like she was bleating about being fat to a girl who was less slender than her. Skinny realised all this in an instant and desperately hoped that she hadn’t hurt her feelings.

    “These three years...” Shaun gleefully orated. “They are the best of your life. You wouldn't believe how many friends I have who have done the whole uni thing and they all say it. That these are, by a country mile, the best goddamn years of your life. Because after these three years are the shittest 40 years of your life. 40 years behind a desk. 40 years in an office. 40 years listening to people called Pamela whinge about people not answering their Emails, instead of answering her own fucking Emails!”

    Some of the girls laughed at his Pamela jibe, and it was like nectar to Shaun. He lived for this stuff.

    “But you have three years before you go on the treadmill of life. Three years of freedom. Before you have to face up to the bone-crushing inevitability of adult responsibilty, you have a 3 year respite to do whatever the fuck you want. Be whatever the fuck you want. Experience whatever the fuck you want. So savour it. Enjoy it. Make the most of it. Because after the three years, your life starts. This is just the prelude.”

    He cleared his throat before continuing.

    “So don’t spend your days fretting about your lifestyle habits. Habits don’t count yet. Habits haven't started yet. Habits start for you at 21. At 21 you will establish the habits of a lifetime, and at that point, you best not fuck it up. At 21, you need to eat healthily, exercise regularly and drink responsibly. Because it is those habits that will slowly make you fat. A lifetime of following bad habits. At 21 you need to try to walk to work if you can, instead of drive. At 21, you need to ensure you don’t drink at home, only when you are out with friends. At 21, try to get a job where the girls in the office don’t bring in cake every other day. That kinda thing. At 21, you have all that to look forward to. And I would know.”

    He paused for dramatic effect, reflecting on the 7 horrific years that drove him to University when he, at their age, had insisted it was a giant waste of money for skivers and layabouts. Another deep breath and then went back into it.

    “But, for now, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Because no habits are being formed here. I repeat, there are no habits being formed here. You’re still learning who you are. You all think you know who you are. But you’re still learning. You're still carving out your identity, working out which ways of living suit you best. So live life. To its fullest. Experience things. And enjoy things. And do everything you want to do. Say yes to everything you can. Indulge every whim and every fancy. Because when you reach 21, these are the things you won’t be able to do, and oh. my. god. you will regret not having seized the day..”

    And he careered towards the big finale he had hastily formed in his head.

    “This is a free hit. These entire three years are a free hit. So do whatever you want. And please, never say "no" because you’re fretting over something as minor as your waistline. Your weight can be fixed, at 21. With the correct habits. But for the time being, enjoy your free hit. Make the most of your free hit. And worry about the fallout at 21, when you are going to be worrying about your waistline and healthy habits anyway! Please, I implore you, take full advantage of your free hit!”

    He sat down to a short-lived standing ovation that was very abruptly interrupted by a kerfuffled Miss Clefton-Brown racing into the classroom apologising for being late.

    And Skinny smiled to herself. She had herself a 3-year long free hit

Edited by swahilimonkfish
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A Free Hit - Chapter 2

    Skinny was leaning over her laptop, brow furrowed in the way that it did when she was deep in consideration. Miss Clefton-Brown had set group projects, and fortunately they were able to pick their own groups. And that meant she got to work with her best friend Rutherford. And it also meant she got to work with the Oracle of wisdom himself – Shaun. However, the groups were groups of 4 so they needed another group member. So they had to accommodate an outcast who didn’t belong to one of the other groups. And so it was – and so they were lumbered with some strange, quiet girl called Wiktoria.

    Wiktoria wasn’t really a strange girl, she was just intimidated by her environment. As hard as your first year of university is for most students, put yourselves in the shoes of a Polish girl who has just moved to England for the first time. Her English was good, but was it good enough to study in an English department in England? Could she really do in her second tongue what others were doing in their first? This doubt had left her sheepish and reluctant to join in socially. Her flatmates were all nice, they were polite and accommodating, but they weren’t particularly involving and she had hastily felt isolated from them even if she couldn’t say a bad word about any of them. Her classmates weren’t dissimilar either. She knew all their faces, but very few names. There was plenty of cordial acknowledgement and casual pleasantries but very little in the way of bonding and connecting. And she was beginning to feel alone and a little homesick in the English city of Brighton and Hove.

    This was one of the reasons Wiktoria was both nervous and relieved about having groupwork assignment so early on in the semester. Nervous because she would have to confront all those worries and anxieties and feelings of being ‘other’. And relieved because people were going to have to talk to her. Hopefully she could find someone to hang around with, maybe someone to call friend. She had certainly found that Shaun funny, his speech before the lesson needled against her natural tendency towards reticence, but his confidence made him seem likeable. She didn’t know much about the other two, except that they were English and were, in her mind, much prettier than her.

    Wiktoria wasn’t really a less pretty girl either. She was certainly tall, towering over Skinny even at nearly 6ft tall. She had brown hair in an elfin cut and enchanting emerald eyes. She had a wide mouth that hadn't smiled in a while and a vivacious gaze, on an endearingly oval face, all propped atop a supermodel’s neck, tall and thin. The rest of her was more muscular however, broad-shouldered and powerfully built at 147lbs. She rebelled against her tendency towards orthodox attractiveness with bookish attire. Grey, shapeless cardigans and librarian glasses all sought to obscure her natural vivaciousness. Her body was the result of years of heptathlon training. Lean enough for running events, tall enough for high jump and powerful enough for shot. She had to choose between pursuing heptathlon back in Poland and push to compete nationally, or study at university to become a translator like her dad. She chose the latter because it seemed like the safer option. So to Brighton University to study English and Spanish it was. And now, all she had to do was wait for someone in her group to get in contact with her.


 

    And this is what Skinny was doing. She was taking the initiative and organising the first group meet. She sat at her desk in her flat, leaning back in her chair working out how to phrase it without sounding pushy. Her hand subconsciously drifted towards the pack of chocolate teacakes she had open on her desk, before catching herself and withdrawing it hastily. She shouldn’t really, not a third, that would be greedy.

    She smiled to herself. Yes, it would be greedy. But she had a free hit. So why not? She was being disciplined with her studies, organising her group meet-up. And she had a free hit. So she thrust her hand back into the packet and pulled out another teacake and set about arranging this group get together.

    She had been enjoying Shaun’s advice all day. She liked the idea that this was a celebration of freedom, and that all her worries could be postponed until after her studies. That sounded nice. He made it sound like a hen do, girls getting together and having a good time, and indeed a reckless time, as a final hurrah of freedom before settling down to the dour grown-up stuff that she hoped would remain never nearer than the horizon. Her celebration today had included a McDonalds (McFlurry and all) for lunch with Rutherford, doughnuts whilst writing up her lecture notes during the afternoons, Chinese takeaway with her flatmates as a rare and annoyingly expensive treat. Then she was going to finish off this E-mail like the responsible student she was, and finish off the teacakes with it, and then it was out for a night in the town with the girls. She hoped it would involve cocktails at that nice place near the main nightclub in the town centre. She hoped that it wouldn’t involve kebabs on the way back to the flat like last time, they always seem like such a good idea at the time but nearly always repeat on her.

    Yep, she thought to herself, that will do. Not too pushy. Aaaaand SEND. She smiled to herself. Time to get started on the pre-drinks. She pushed the final two teacakes into her mouth, grabbed her bottle of red and her wine glass, and made her way into the communal living area and join her flatmates.


 

    And BZZZ. Rutherford’s phone vibrated. It was an E-mail from Skinny to her and the rest of her group, about meeting up later in the week to allocate work out for the project. Jeezy-peeps, the deadline wasn’t for over a month. But, Rutherford thought to herself, that was Skinny all over. Well-intentioned but pushy. And there was no two ways about it, the email she sent sounded mighty pushy.

    Rutherford turned her phone back over and got back to watching Youtube clips and Instagram stories. Her heart wasn’t in it, like it normally was. She was clicking on them disinterestedly, moving onto the next one before the last one had got going.

    “Fuck it” she thought. She was going to see if this Wiktoria had a Facebook profile. Facebook wasn’t her favourite of all the social media sites normally (that would be Instagram and their stories), but Facebook stalking was fun. And so to this mysterious Wiktoria girl. She had her full name from the Email and hunted her down. It wasn’t immediately obvious, since it was all in Polish, but she found the girl she was looking for. She scrolled through her pictures, and saw a succession of photos of the lanky girl wielding medals or running races or hurdling hurdles. No friends in the photos, only success and straining sinews. She looked different in these photos, her toothy grin seemed jarring against her sulky disposition in the classroom that they were more familiar with. Poor girl looked so much happier here.

    And leaner too. Lithe even. Although it was hard to tell since she dressed in cardigans that were more like drapes, but she seemed more full now. Not fat, but sturdier perhaps. More physically resilient. But it was the smile that burned into Rutherford’s mind. How could a girl who was once so happy seem so morose now. She was so much prettier when she smiled too.


 

    “Hey girl!” Shaun called out to Skinny in typically loud volume. Skinny winced, it was 9.30am (who’s idea was that, oh wait, it was hers) and she had barely recovered from another wild night out. It had been a couple of days since Shaun’s rousing speech and those over-indulged days – and particularly nights – had given Skinny the mother of all hangovers.

    “Oh my god, you, girl, look rough.” He laughed. “Of course, I mean it in a nice way. I’m just a good friend like that.” Skinny smiled at that. He was irritatingly upbeat when she just wanted to sulk in a dark room. They were waiting inside Starbucks for the first group meet-up. Shaun was rabbiting on about how someone called Lindsay and someone called Luke had split up because someone called Shania overheard someone called Tanya… and Skinny was drinking coffee and hoping for the headache to stop. She was dressed in a branded tee-shirt and yet more high-waisted jeans, and hiding behind glasses that disguised the sheer extent of her grogginess. Fortunately, the tee-shirt was sufficiently loose that nobody could tell that her previous night’s foodbaby was still lingering. Just thinking about it, she changed her posture and rested her arms in front of her stomach to obscure any changes. She didn’t know how long she could persevere with the throbbing headache, it was 9.33am and two groupmembers were already late, and last night’s kebab (third night in a row) was giving her heartburn.

    Finally, Wiktoria arrived. She was desperately apologetic for being late even though Rutherford wasn’t there yet. She had been on the phone to her boyfriend, with whom things were becoming strained. It didn’t help that they hadn’t seen each other in months. It didn’t help that he was acting like a wanker.

    “A wanker!” Shaun burst out laughing. “I can’t believe you even know that word! Oh, I like you already Wiktoria!” It hadn’t dawned on Wiktoria that she had actually said out loud what she was thinking, and accidentally over-shared when usually so rigidly restrained. She wanted to be embarrassed but Shaun’s warmth made it difficult. Even Skinny, who had been a little frosty due to her hangover, perked up at that comment.

    “I’m sorry I’m not being chatty, I overdid it last night. Girls night out and all that” Skinny confessed. “But I like your bag” referring to Wiktoria’s large handbag, her trendiest accessory.

    “Aw thank you Minnie! And if you have hangover, you should have baked treat, it will make your stomach feel better.” She said, before unearthing a smile that she hadn’t wielded in a while. It felt uncomfortable on her, but she was feeling chirpier than she had done in a while.

    “You know what, they might be a good idea! I might get something. Oh, and call me Skinny, everyone calls me Skinny. Because it rhymes with Minnie.” Skinny added warmly.

    “And because you are skinny like a pencil. You are like a beautiful Hollywood star.” Wiktoria added, acknowledging that, despite Skinny’s insecurities about her weight gain, she was still very thin and very pretty. And the sunglasses added to the Audrey Hepburn aesthetic. Skinny blushed, she needed to hear that.

    “OK, so I’m going to get something to eat, and I’ll get Rutherford something for when she finally turns up. What do you guys want? My treat.” Skinny stood up, still gingerly, the sudden movement not ideal for someone in her vulnerable condition.

    “I’ve got a coffee, and I can’t have any food. I’m on a diet I’m sad to say. One of the downsides to being over 21 years old I’m afraid” Shaun added resignedly, but still chirpy. He was clearly still proud of his monologued advice and was pleased he had the opportunity to call back to it.

    “Can I have a big coffee and a… I don’t know what they have for a name” Wiktoria physically represented with her hand the distinctive ever-increasing circles that can only be a cinnamon swirl. “And I can help you pay for it if you like”

    “No, that’s very nice, but I’ll pay.” Skinny was already coming around to the idea of a cinnamon swirl, until she saw that Starbucks did Salted Caramel Hot Choc muffins and decided to get herself both.


 

    When Rutherford deigned to turn up, ten minutes later, the two girls were face-deep in their sugary treats.

    “What sort of time do you call this, madam!” Skinny said, with feigned scorn and a mouthful of muffin. “I got you an iced coffee because you’re a weirdo and a cinnamon whirl because I love you”

    The “I love you” was friendly and blatantly nothing more, but it still hit Rutherford hard. But she recovered and made her apologies for sleeping in, without mentioning that her being overdue was her attempt at being fashionably late. To appear casually cool.

    She looked cool too. Her blond streaky bob wrapped around her friendly face, her form-fitting polo shirt flattering her figure and accentuating her décolletage. Her trousers prowling around her small but not-insubstantial behind. The kind of effortlessly cool look that tends to take time.

    In no time, the quartet were dicing up and delegating tasks for the coming week. But more importantly they were enjoying each other’s company. Skinny and Rutherford were so comfortable together that sometimes the other two felt unnecessary, but Shaun was too loud to let that slide and would re-distribute the conversation towards him. And, out of politeness and burgeoning affection, all three would steer the conversation to the more awkward Wiktoria to keep her from feeling excluded. And they all liked her for different reasons. Skinny bonded with her over her kindness, Shaun over her occasional abruptness, and Rutherford just kept wishing she wouldn’t wear a cardigan so large it could double as a smock.

    Then they all went their own separate ways with a plan of action over the week, and a plan to meet up after their next tutorial with Miss Clefton-Brown.

 

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Apologies for any formatting errors, I'm struggling to remember which version of each chapter is in which format. Please enjoy. Also, there are a couple more chapters of this story on my Deviantart (in my signature) that I haven't gotten around to posting yet. I will post them here soon though

Chapter 3

    Miss Leona Clefton-Brown was having a bad day. First, some jackass on the train spilt coffee down her top. Fortunately it was her gym top and not her work top, so she just had to skip her regular 30 minutes on the cross-trainer. She had been pretty good at going recently so missing one day wasn’t the end of the world.

    Then, her first class overran. Which wouldn’t be the end of the world except that she had back-to-back classes all the way until 1pm. And she hated being late. It was worst for her 12-1pm tutorial. It was only a short lesson at the best of times, and they needed all the time they had. She had just set them their first piece of groupwork and, if last year was anything to go by, she would be inundated by the students asking questions that completely miss the point. That said, there was an American girl in that class that was probably the most excitingly smart student she had worked with in her young lecturing career. Whip-smart and keen to answer in class, Leona saw a bit of herself in her. She wondered if Rutherford was ever late to lessons like she always was.

    The worst thing about Leona’s day was that her work top rode up everytime she wrote on the whiteboard. That was not cool. Despite the frequent gym trips, Leona was somehow fighting a losing battle against her weight. Which meant she would have to do one of her horrifically drastic diets again. That was the cycle Leona found herself in, despite the regular gymtime and the reasonable eating habits. She would just gradually sneak up in weight until her UK size 8s became a little too tight. And then crash diet for a few torturous months, to return to her normal UK size 6 loose. It was gruelling, ghastly and borderline unbearable every time, and she was utterly devastated that she had already gotten to this stage again, so soon after last time.

    And to top it all off, Roman wasn’t talking to her again. His silent treatment annoyed her so much, it seemed so petulant and childish. How were they ever going to take their relationship to the next level – like he wanted – if he was going to act like a school child. She text him again asking if she should grab some bread on the way home from work, but no reply. Fine, she thought to herself, no bread then. Suits me, I’m going to be starving myself anyway.

    She had always considered herself a catch, and that Roman was lucky to get with her. A Doctor of Linguistics, a polyglot, a part-time stand-up comedian and a stunner. The Doctorate was her greatest source of pride, it took the most work. She truly grafted for that, and nobody could ever take it away. The languages thing came from having a dad in the army, so being raised abroad a lot. There were English-speaking schools for kids in the same situation as her, but wherever they went, she made an effort to learn the language, because why not? The stand-up comedy took the most confidence, some days she couldn’t believe that she had it in her. It was also the only time she was known as Dr Clefton-Brown, which served as a way of separating herself from her comedy alter-ego. Her colleagues were always surprised at the idea of Leona doing stand-up as they never considered her to be especially funny. But it isn’t about how often you are funny, but how funny you are when you do joke. And she had some good material accumulated over the few years since she went up on stage as a dare on an open-mic night. And finally her good looks were undeniable. Some snarky professor once rudely suggested it was how she got her PhD, underselling her hard work as men often did. She looked like a painting, with the soft edges associated with sfumato. Everything about her posture and poise seemed pristine. Her often-sober facial expression was always unblemished. Her clothes who always trendy, formal and with a tiny splash of colour to hint at something more alluring. They hung on a body that was curvy in the way that is now trendy. A pert but plentiful derriere, a soft but not protruding midriff and firm-but-manageable breasts. She was the complete package and she felt that Roman should be more accommodating given the extent of his over-achievement by being with her. She had a thought that made her smile – she was practically perfect in every way.  

    Her hair was in a practical but imperfect messy bun when she got to her 12pm tutorial, 5 minutes late as per usual. The class was looking depleted again, as students would often not turn up to the tutorials, due to the fact that they were students – famous for their ability to not attend the things they’ve buried themselves in debt for. Rutherford was there, which was nice though. And she was talking with the rest of her group, which was promising. She braced herself for a busy lesson, and got down to teaching.


 

    Once Miss Clefton-Brown came hurrying in, typically late, everyone stopped talking and got on with the class. Wiktoria sighed, disappointed that the teacher had arrived – the conversation she interrupted was the happiest she had been in ages. She hadn’t planned to sit near the rest of her groupmates for fear of seeming needy, but Shaun signalled her over as soon as they saw her, and conversation flowed again as naturally as it did at Starbucks. She wanted to hang with them outside of class, go on a night out with Skinny maybe since that sounded like fun, judging from the hangover she sported when they last met. But at least they would hang after the lesson. Maybe they would eat first, given the time, and then work later. So more time with her new friends. They were her friends, right? She wasn’t sure. She had only ever met up with them on the pretence of study, never socially. Maybe they didn’t like her, and were just being friendly in a professional way. Wiktoria sighed, worriedly.

    She liked Skinny the most. She was just so friendly and kind. Shaun was fun, and his laugh was infectious. Rutherford was different. She seemed nice enough, but it was just a bit more awkward with her. Everything felt less fluid. Maybe it was her Hollywood manner and accent. There was something cool and enigmatic about her, like a mover star. Wiktoria liked that idea. Rutherford acted like a movie star and Skinny looked like a movie star.

    Skinny didn’t think she looked like a movie star. She was bloated. It was no longer just the childhood jeans that were causing her discomfort, she had begun to notice it in others too. And while everyone else was oblivious to the incremental gain on such a slender girl, Skinny was struggling to practice the “Free hit” philosophy that Shaun had preached. Her weekend was a war in her subconscious between the ideals espoused by Shaun and her own idea of how she was supposed to look. She knew in her heart of hearts that if she heard about anybody else in her situation, she would say they wouldn’t have to worry. Why did she hold herself to a different standard to others. She chickened out on the way to uni and didn’t get breakfast because the voices in her head were telling her to watch her weight. Skinny was having doubts.  

    Rutherford didn’t feel like a movie star either, of that can be no doubt. Her notable confidence was waning, but not down to any worries about her weight. No, Rutherford felt happier than she had ever felt about her appearance. Her problem was she wasn’t as cool as Wiktoria thought. You don’t grow up in America with the same name as a male US President without being bullied. Bullied for her name, bullied for her dorky appearance, bullied for her nerdy behaviour. Rutherford was a book-reader and a film-watcher with braces and cheap glasses and flat brown hair. When everyone was out being themselves, partying and having a good time, Rutherford was busy reading about other people. Elizabeth Bennet, Becky Sharp, Anne from Persuasion. Cool women. She watched Youtube videos of cool vloggers. Saw movies with cool female characters played by cool actresses – classic 50’s films from Hollywood and French New Wave movies. And she lived vicariously through them. But when she came to England, she decided to be a cool person too. Nobody would know how she was back in the States. Nobody would bully her with the sound of those kids taunting “Ruth” running through her head for being deeply uncool. She would be cool, and nobody would be any the wiser. And then this cute Polish girl keeps saying how cool she is, like a movie star, and suddenly she feels self-conscious. Like she is about to be rumbled, like her days her numbered, like her number’s up. Rutherford was rattled.

    Shaun’s pencil case rattled as he shoved it into his satchel. He was loving university. Loving feeling important. And, feeling important, he announced to the rest of the group that, instead of heading straight to the library, they should get a bite to eat first, and he knew just the place. Shaun knew just the place because he was fairly local. His home in Crawley was just over a half hour train ride to Brighton and he’d spent a large portion of his youth in the city. All these inexperienced noobies were strangers to Brighton and Hove but he knew the place like the back of his hand. So he applied that knowledge and had a great idea for somewhere to eat – a nice friendly pub that suited tourists, students and locals alike. It had a beer garden and a decent menu, and it was just 10 minutes away from the main campus. He’d gone there once a few years back on a Christmas work do and the food was great from what he could remember even if the company was soul-destroyingly bad.  

    The remaining trio took his advice, although Skinny seemed less keen than usual. They got there, sat down and perused the specials board before looking for a seat.

    “So this is an authentic British pub, oh my god it is so quaint. It has, like, wooden beams across the ceiling. When was this thing built? Like, 80% of Britain must be older than the US itself. This is why I came to this country. I reckon the Queen has so been here.” Rutherford enthused, babbling with glee.

    “Yeah, ol’ Queenie’s deffo had a few bevvies in ‘ere, in fact I think I saw her passed out in the toilets.” Shaun replied, playing up a Cockney accent and clearly having a joke at Rutherford’s expense. Not that she cared, her façade of cool had made way for the fangirling American from her school days. It was only when she realised everyone was looking at her with raised eyebrows that she calmed down and the surge of self-consciousness came flooding back.

    They looked around and settled on sitting indoors as the wind was picking up a bit. The waitress gave them menus and took their drinks orders. Shaun went for a non-alcoholic drink, much to the surprise of everyone else.

    “I thought you said you could drink if you were out with friends – that was one of your post-21 rules?” Skinny asked, projecting her own insecurity with regards to her newly-developing waist onto him. She had put her faith in his Free Hit philosophy, and it unnerved her that he wasn’t following it.

    Shaun went unusually quiet, and mumbled something about how he couldn’t drink.

    Next was Rutherford who ignored the awkwardness brewing and scrolled down the menu keenly. “Oooo, they do cocktails, classy!”

    The waitress confirmed and recommended “sex on the beach” which thrilled and amused Rutherford, but then she remembered her environment and asked for a pint of beer.

    “Do you mean lager?” Skinny asked, forever having Rutherford’s back. “Because in the UK, beer is...”

    “No, I mean like draught bitter beer stuff, whatever you guys call it. I want the authentic British pub experience.”

    The waitress smiled demurely and sorted her out.

    Rutherford’s order put Wiktoria at ease, who went for a large house white.

    And then the girls turned to Skinny to see which cocktail she would order. “I’ll have the same as Shaun” was the decision that shocked everyone. Shaun overruled her and said she would have a mojito.

    “How come you can avoid alcohol but I can’t?” asked Skinny sharply after the waitress left, annoyed at the double-standard.


 


 


 

Because I’m a recovering alcoholic”


 


 


 

    “What’s your excuse!” he hissed back, angry that they had pressed him into confessing it. He paused, took a deep breath, and apologised. “This is the first night I’ve been out with people with drinks since… y’know… and I’m sorry if I seem a bit on edge but this is a big step for me.”

    “Oh my god Shaun, I had no idea. I didn’t mean to...” Skinny desperately back-tracked, cursing herself for doing that to him.

    “No, it’s OK. It’s part of me, it’s part of who I am now, sugar. I just have to live with it. I’ll tell you guys all about it, but not now if that’s OK?” Everyone solemnly nodded. “But I was telling the truth about it being the habits you form after 21 that define you.”

    “I’m so sorry Shaun, I feel so guilty” Skinny said, resting her hand on his shoulder for support. “I’ve just felt like your advice – it’s a bit scary. I weigh 121 lbs now, which is 8lbs more than I used to. And I’m worried I’ve been overdoing it with the drinking, and partying, and eating.”

    “Hey, I think this calls for another speech, right guys?” Shaun said, cheering up again. Everyone started shaking their heads. “Fine, I’ll just say this. You did it, not because I told you, but because you enjoyed it. As long as it’s fun, keep doing it. My problem was, it stopped being fun and I did it anyway. So enjoy your cocktails and have a good time, because tomorrow’s always a day away. Now, who’s ordering starters?”

    The mood lightened up after this. The pub served traditional pub fare, all with home-made chips, so they ordered straight from the mains. Skinny fancied the ribeye steak (medium) and chips, Wiktoria played it safe with the pub’s signature burger with chips, Rutherford leant into the English grub stereotype with the steak and ale pie with chips and Shaun went for the lamb moussaka because he (weirdly) loves aubergines. The portions were massive, as is the way with these places, and the chips were decadent and everyone was happy. Skinny was on her fourth cocktail by the end of hers and getting progressively merrier, and Rutherford was quoting the Cornetto trilogy because it was the source of her primary understanding of English pub culture.

    “Say ‘You’ve got a moustache’ to me, Skinny”

    “No”

    “Please”

    “Urgh, fine. You’ve got a moustache”

    “Oi knurww” replied Rutherford in a feeble attempt at an English accent.

    Wiktoria didn’t understand the reference but was giggling endlessly. Rutherford was growing on her.

    They then decided to order desserts. Skinny predictably went straight for the Salted Caramel Chocolate Fudge Cake with caramel ice cream, Rutherford decided the most English dessert was Apple and Blackcurrant Pie and custard, Wiktoria had a strawberry cheesecake but wasn’t overly impressed because apparently Polish cheesecakes are different to English cheesecakes (who knew?), and Shaun just had an espresso. One more round of drinks and the group were done. They toasted and decided that they would call themselves the 3 musketeers, and that Shaun was D’Artegnan which he was completely OK with.

    “Fine, we’re all thinking it but I’ll say it. It’s 3pm and I’m five cocktails to the good, shall we maybe postpone our group meetup, and just get properly pissed instead. No offence, Shaun” Skinny said, a little louder than anticipated. Shaun decided he was done for the day and should probably get back anyway, and the three girls decided wandered back to one of their flats. The groupwork meetup was postponed until next week.

    Rutherford had her own flat, but seemed strangely reluctant for them to go back there. But Skinny knew a way to change her mind.

    “Wiktoria, just do what I do.” Skinny then turned to a flustered Rutherford and pulled her doe-eyed expression and said “pleeeaaassseee...”

    Wiktoria joined in, fluttering her eyelashes for good measure. They both found it very amusing, but Rutherford didn’t. She had other feelings.

    She relented awkwardly and said they should probably get some wine from the supermarket on the way. And the three musketeers (sans D’Artegnan) went to Rutherford’s flat.

    The flat was huge, much bigger than any of the other girls could afford. It was messy, but classy with the walls adorned with posters of classic movies, that seemed to appeal to Wiktoria in particular.

    “This one is sooo cool, which film is this?”

    “That one is from Breathless, the Jean-Luc Godard movie, it’s a really cool movie. And this one is 400 Blows by Truffaut which isn’t as cool but I like the movie more.” Rutherford started to perk up at Wiktoria’s sincere enthusiasm.

    A few glasses of wine later, and the mood had mellowed, but was no less pleasant. Skinny tapped her wine glass and said she wanted to make another toast. She was definitely worse for wear at this point.  

    “I just want to say thank you to the three musketeers...” the girls cheered at that point. “...because we are amazing and also because I don’t feel embarrassed about being fatter because you are all so lovely.”

    “Me next” Rutherford jumped in, enjoying the benefit of being drunk enough to be confident but not so drunk to not make sense. “I want to toast to say thank you, because I was scared people wouldn’t like me when they get to know me because I’m not as cool as you think I am. I am a nerd and I like books and old movies, and I hope you guys like me anyway.” This was met with affirmation and awwwws.

    “Me now, I want to make two toasts...” Wiktoria was taking her turn. “Toast one, you, Skinny are not fat. You are very pretty like a Hollywood star, like on one of Rutherford’s amazing posters. I am fat. I used to be thin, and an athlete, but I stopped being an athlete and now I am fat. Look.” She raised her loose cardigan to reveal a swelling torso, bulbous and curving outwards. Rutherford looked up so fast her glasses nearly fell off. “Toast two, you are both amazing friends and people and I was worried I would never have fun like this in England because I was lonely. But you have made me very happy and you are my friends. And toast three, my ex-boyfriend is a wanker!”

All the girls cheered at that, and drunk all the way to the early morning.

 

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Thanks mate, appreciate it, especially given how good your story is at the minute.

Appreciate the compliment, it really does help motivate. Comments like acknowledging the characters and plot strands make toiling over it worthwhile.

Oh, and I'm not sure the story will be big, but the characters sure will be!

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This chapter is a bit different to the rest, filling in some of the backstory and filling out one of the characters. It has more WG thanks to its longer time frame, but I'm not particularly happy with how this one is written

A Free Hit Chapter 3 

3 months earlier

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    Wiktoria had stormed off. She had been hoping for a romantic goodbye from her boyfriend of two years before she flew off to a foreign land to study at university, but Pawel just bit her head off. He was her 42 year old sports coach, but he was also her boyfriend. It was a large age gap and in most environments it would have been taboo with Pawel being rightly condemned as a cradle-snatching creep, but the world of sport is a different world and his authoritative nature was such an allure to the young girl. Sport was what had brought them together, so he was livid that she chose to study languages in a foreign country over heptathlon at home. He had poured years of his life getting her to a standard where she was ready to compete at a national level, and she just spat it back in his face.

    Wiktoria saw it differently. The step-up from Juniors had been steep and knocked her confidence. Going from being the favourite to being the whipping-boy (whipping-girl?) was cruel and unforgiving. In her weaker sports, she would feel embarrassed by the gulf between her and some of her competitors. These days, she would step out onto the track a bag of nerves. A bag of bones too. The nerves had manifested themselves in stark weight-loss, dropping down to 114lbs, which was far too low for a girl of her height. Pawel insisted it would actually improve her performance, but he was thinking with the wrong organ and wilfully neglecting things like her shot-put. Or her health.

    So, on that sour note, she left on a plane for London Heathrow to start afresh in a new country, and then caught the train to Brighton and Hove, a coastal city in Britain, so she would get to be beside the seaside. It turns out that catching the train was actually a more tumultuous experience than she had anticipated. People spoke a lot faster in England than she had expected and prepared for. She figured her English was very good and had always excelled in class, but it was a different proposition in dealing with slang and people talking at full pelt. And those first days were a steep culture shock, not dissimilar to the culture shock of leaving Junior level heptathlon.

    Once she got to her flat, luggage in tow, she soon realised she was the first one there. Fresher’s week wasn’t for two more weeks but she had come over early as part of a settling in period for international students. She had the place to herself, she was free from Pawel and the heptathlon and all that stress, and was instead in an alien place with an intimidating language and all the stress that comes with that. She was terrified. She was alone. She was desperately sad. And finally, she was peckish.


 

Two weeks later
---------------------------------

    Wiktoria was sitting in her room on her own eating some homemade stew when the first few roommates arrived. She had been looking forward to this moment and hoped that this would be the catalyst for change and a reversal of her fortunes. However, it was when she got up and came out to see them that she realised that they had arrived together and seemed to already know each other, and straight-away she felt ‘other’ again. She introduced herself politely and they both seemed like nice girls, but then they went off together without her, and no sooner had she had company, did she find herself alone again. With just her stew for companionship. She walked into the kitchen, now filled with these strangers’ kitchenware and plonked a pizza in the oven. She was still stuck in her flat, without friends. Without an excuse to leave the flat and stare at something other than the same four walls. At least food was keeping her company.


 

One week later
-----------------------------------

    Wiktoria had an unexpected knock on the door. It turns out Pawel had flown all the way from Poland to see her. He had bought her some flowers and some apologies, and ready to tell her – as he often did – that she was always his favourite. Then he saw her in her running top. She hadn’t done any running since she had been in England, her sporting days were very deliberately behind her and even being outdoors was only an occasional and daunting occurrence, but the top fit her and it was too warm for one of her trusty cardigans. Pawel took one look at her and flew into another ugly rage. She had gained all her weight back and some. Her stomach was subtly concave and flexing outwards. The running top left a thin gap at the bottom where it didn’t cover all of her, and a sliver of her pale white stomach could be spotted just above her sweatpants.

    He yelled that she would never be able to do a heptathlon in her condition. She countered by pointing out that she had no intention of doing the heptathlon ever again. He was not her coach anymore, he was only her boyfriend, if he was even that. He said he wanted his girlfriend to be thinner and stormed off, slamming the door. She stood there, stoney still and struggling to digest the rollercoaster of emotions over such a short period of time.

    She had, in fact, weighed herself the previous night and knew that she was up to 129lbs, a gain of 15lbs in 3 weeks. But she didn’t care, and he shouldn’t care either. Just because she wasn’t pretty like the other heptathletes he trained. She went into the kitchen and consoled herself with a microwavable meal of mac and cheese. Forlornly forking the macaroni into her mouth and staring at one of the walls again, one of her flatmates came out.

    “I heard you shouting in Polish with that old guy, was he your dad?” she asked.

    “Who else could he possibly be... my boyfriend?” trying to conceal her snarl.

    “Fair point” the flatmate replied, rationalising that she wouldn’t have a boyfriend that old. After all, that would be creepy and inappropriate.


 

6 weeks later
----------------------------------------

    Wiktoria was getting ready for her first group meeting and she was nervous. She hoped they would like her. Classes hadn’t been the reprieve that she had hoped for, in terms of getting to know people, though they did give her an excuse to leave the flat which was a bonus. She stood in front of the mirror and spent time making sure her mascara looked good, she knew that they were pretty and wanted them to think that she was pretty too.

    She felt pretty fat. Another 18lbs in 6 weeks contributed to an astonishing gain and no shirts or tees fit her now. And she didn’t feel comfortable going out clothes shopping, in the city, on her own, away from her comfort zone. This left her in a pickle. Her stomach didn’t jut out particularly, but she just looked more substantial all over. Her years of weight training had left her with broad shoulders and a surprisingly imposing physique. Her back seemed wider than she remembered it, which was weird to her. And her stomach was more soft than fat, her formerly ripped abdomen was mushed up and squishier. She didn’t like it, but it was part of her rebellion against the heptathlon and athletics in general. And maybe also against her boyfriend and former coach. Just thinking about the heptathlon, the thought of limbering up out there surrounded by seemingly superior competitors, made her feel ill.

    She took another look at herself in a shirt that did her absolutely no favours and decided it wouldn’t matter, she would chuck her over-sized beige cardigan over the top and nobody would be any the wiser. Jeans would be another matter, they strained at the seams over her legs and she couldn’t fasten them up. So she didn’t and trusted her trusty cardigan to conceal her undone top button on her jeans too. She pulled up her top and had a look at her bottom half without the cardy. Aside from the straining of denim, the thickness of her thighs stood out to her. They were solid, meaty pillars of leg without no longer a gap in between. Turning around, her arse was looking plentiful too. It was actually something she could live with, the robustness seemed proud.

    She was just starting to feel good about herself when her phone rang. The caller ID was Pawel. Just the sound of her phone and seeing his name was enough to send her in a tailspin. Her ringtone triggered almost a physical response of discomfort. She cursed to herself in Polish, she had to meet the people she hoped to become friends with in an hour, and she knew the phone call was going to take longer than an hour if she was going to get remotely close to fixing what was broken. She took a deep breath, focused, and picked up her phone to answer it.

    The phone call was actually going fairly diplomatically at first. They each acknowledged that she was never doing sport again, and that they could still see each other as boyfriend and girlfriend. He even trotted out his old line about her being his favourite. But then he asked her if she had lost any weight, turning the conversation to more vindictive territory. When speaking in her natural Polish, Wiktoria is far more confident and aggressive than her meek English-speaking demeanour, and a barrage of Polish expletives tumbled forth from her mouth. Eventually she told him how much she had gained, mainly as a way of saying “fuck you”, but he just took that as an opportunity to really dig into her, retaliating with callous barb after callous barb, knowing exactly which buttons to press to upset her and bring her to tears.

    She hung up the phone call angrily, took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror. Her normally short hair was looking a bit longer, which suited her, but the streaming mascara didn’t. Because of the time, she just wiped it off without reapplying it, resigned herself to not looking pretty, and headed to Starbucks to meet with her group. She was late and apologetic, but it wasn’t her fault really, she explained, she had a phone-call from her boyfriend and he was being a complete “wanker”. This amused Shaun no end, she had barely said hi and just needed somebody to vent her frustrations to, and had just dumped it on her unsuspecting classmates.

    So when Skinny asked if she wanted another to eat, she thought to herself “fuck it” and, through gesturing and mime to cover her lexical gap, asked for a cinnamon whirl.


 

3 days later

(Present day)
----------------------------------------------------

    Ever since that phone-call, Wiktoria was on a mission to indulge. She had previously been eating out of loneliness, but now she was gorging relentlessly out of spite. She hated English cereal for breakfast, so a whole pizza was her go to get-up for when she got up. And her unhealthy eating habits didn’t stop there. She snacked and grazed incessantly, each mouthful with the intention of upsetting Pawel. Cinnamon rolls and similar pastry-based confectionery were the food that filled the lull between meals. She would have a packet of cupcakes or bakewell tarts literally by her bed side and just snack at intervals of boredom. The decadence was in sharp contrast to her previous behaviour but she was shedding her skin and becoming a new woman.
    
    And more woman too. By the time the lesson came around with her groupmates, just three days later, she had impressively contrived to add a further 7lbs to her now stocky frame. The total gain since she landed on HRM's shores now came to a staggering 41lbs of growth. She was now 155lbs, which seemed a big number, albeit mitigated by her extraordinary height. So maybe stocky wasn’t right any more. She was no wider really, just more “outwards”. Her stomach, in particular, looked more convex than ever before, strutting out in front of her now a bit with a graceful curve. Her breasts had too acknowledged the joys of outwards growth and had swollen away from her body more than previously, making them a significant part of her armoury. Her butt was also growing further behind her, in a plumped up cushion kinda way. When put together, these all gave her previously rectangular frame a considerable increase in feminine shape. Compared to her shrivelled and lanky body 10 weeks ago, the extra 41lbs looked extraordinary on her.

    When she looked at it, she didn’t feel extraordinary though but, rather, fat. Especially when trying to find clothes in her wardrobe. Clothes that she still hadn't upgraded due to her increased self-consciousness and her residual anxiety about expressing herself in a bustling English city in a language that she didn't have from birth. Her shirt was in fact her former nightie, as it was the only thing that came close to keeping her decent. Upon that, a grey cardigan this time, as big as the beige one, to conceal all manner of vices once more. The jeans would have to again be untied, and she would just have to both restrain her eating and drinking – should they go out – and never, ever reveal her midriff.

    Then, her phone vibrated. It was Pawel the wanker again. Sending another text, grovelling about wanting to come back. She was his favourite… blah-blah-blah.

    She paused, stopping to think.

    And in capital letters and in English she replied with the following text: FUCK OFF. I AM DUMPING YOU. YOU ARE NOW DUMPED. PAWEL FUCK OFF and put her phone down. And all of a sudden she felt much lighter. She felt like she was maybe starting to get the hang of English and their use of slang. She felt like she was beginning the long and winding road towards cultural assimilation at last.

    The good news was she felt like she could talk to her new friends about Pawel the wanker. She hoped she could anyway. And sure enough, before the teacher arrived, typically late, she got it all off her chest. And they all supported her. Shaun knew exactly what words she needed to hear, Skinny was warm and caring, but it was Rutherford who seemed most invested, she seemed a lot warmer to her today, a lot less aloof and she appreciated it. Rutherford was cool, but she was also warm. Like a chocolate sponge with ice cream. Wiktoria liked her a lot.


 

4 weeks later (in the future - during Study Week)
------------------------------------------

    Wiktoria looked in the mirror.

    “Oh shit, I’m fat”

    Rutherford sidled up besides her, and whilst on her tip toes, started kissing her neck.

    “No, you’re not, you’re beautiful”

 

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Thank you guys for your support on this, not only has it given me the motivation to keep writing this, it's bolstered my confidence too. Posting these is daunting, so it really helps. This chapter has some really fun bits I think, but is definitely more geared towards setting up future stuff. 

Chapter 5  - A Free Hit

    Back to Rutherford’s flat and the girls were just waking up.

    First to stir was Rutherford herself. She groggily turned over in her bed to see a tousle-haired Wiktoria lightly snoring in her face. She wasn’t pulling the most flattering facial expression as her head sunk into the pillow, but there was an elfin spark to her that Rutherford found utterly adorable.

    “Wow, what did I get up to last night” she said to herself, with an impish grin spreading across her face as she ran the ‘what if’ scenarios through her cloudy head. There she was, waking up to see the visage of the gorgeous Wiktoria in her bed next to her. That was when she noticed, stacked behind Wiktoria, Skinny was there in the bed also with her head enmeshed half in a pillow and half in a kebab as can happen when you are completely out for the count.

    “WOW, what did I get up to last night” Rutherford’s face truly lit up at the thought. Then she looked down at herself, half out of the covers and – more pertinently – still dressed in yesterday’s garb. Nothing fun had happened, they had presumably just crashed. Not that she could remember, things last night got messy after they finished with the wine and moved onto shots, so Rutherford shut her eyes again and went back to sleep, dreaming nice what-if and wish fulfilment thoughts.

    Next to wake was Skinny. And then first thing she saw was yesterday’s kebab. She couldn’t not, her face burrowed into it as she came to. Quietly she groaned, frustrated at the lack of willpower that yesterday Skinny had displayed. Does she never learn? She licked off the remnants of it from her face, casually put the last morsel in her mouth and gently traipsed to the bathroom mirror to try and clean her face.

    Once confronted with her reflection, she had to admit it wasn’t a great look that she was sporting. Mayonnaise and kebab meat stains all down one side of her cheek. Her mascara was smudged and panda-like. And the rest of her was ghostly pale as the hangover started to creep up on her. She feebly did her best to wipe her face clean, and drank a glass of water to reduce the impact of the swelling headache that was developing. Then she got back into bed and, without a pause, fell fast asleep.

    Last to wake, but first to get up, was Wiktoria. She found that getting up was a delicate operation as her new best friends were passed out either side of her. But she needed to get out urgently as she had a major problem! She wasn’t wearing her faithful cardigan.

    As a consequence her unbuttoned trousers with the flies agape were on clear display for all and sundry to see. And the embarrassing nightie that still could not conceal her recently-established stomach swell was grossly unflattering. As soon as she had escaped from the bed without disturbing the two coma patients either side of her, she set about rummaging around Rutherford’s room searching for her all-important cardy to spare her further embarrassment.

    The room was in an almighty state, no two ways about it. And each sight triggered memories that Wiktoria had hoped to remain dormant. The empty lager bottle on the floor was from the game of spin-the-bottle truth-or-dare that they had played, where secrets that she couldn’t hope to recall had been ungraciously unfurled. The shot glasses stacked together next to the TV teased memories of watching a movie and doing shots every time the main action hero said something cheesy. The definition of constituted cheesy became more liberal as the night progressed. Speaking of cheesy, the sprawled four cheese pizza boxes stood as a glorious totem to the gluttonous dinner that they had ordered despite the intention of eating something light after the midday meal. But there was no sign of the cardigan.

    It was her rummaging through the drawers in a steadily increasing panic that rewoke Rutherford from her comatose slumber.

    “Hey handsome...” she purred.

    “Oh, um, hey Rutherford, I’m sorry, do you remember where I left my cardigan?” Rutherford squinted in recollection, but nothing sprang forth from her dehydrated mind. Nothing apart from her appreciating the Polish vista before her.

    “Don’t worry about it, if I find it, I’ll bring it in when we next see each other. I’ll clean up after you’ve gone, I’m sure it will turn up soon enough.”

    “No, sorry...” replied a mildly frenzied Wiktoria with her back to an ogling Rutherford as she searched through the drawers. Her recent love-handles in clear display to Rutherford now in her crouched position, spilling out unconcealed by the too-short flowery top that was actually part of Wiktoria’s nighttime ensemble. “It’s just I need it because...” She turned around to reveal her unfitting clothes. Rutherford leaned back and drank it all in. It was an impressive sight.

    “Oh relax, you look very healthy and anyway, we saw it all and more last night” Wiktoria flinched at this. Some more unwelcome memories, this time from earlier on in the night, of pulling up her top and revealing her midriff and announcing she was fat, came tumbling back into her mind. It was then that she saw it, her sartorial comfort blanket of a top scrunched up under Rutherford’s bed near a bottle of vodka. Wiktoria shuddered to think how it got there but gratefully grabbed it and threw it over her head.

    Once she had got in on, she saw the heavily hungover Skinny leaning by the wardrobe with another glass of water in her hands, elegantly slunk and sipping tentatively with the same jacket on from last night somehow. But her elegant poise and glamorous jacket wasn’t the most striking thing about her standing there.

    “Minnie Charnwood darling, you seem to be not wearing anything on your bottom half...” Rutherford pointed out with a wagging finger, deadpan but desperately drinking the image in of her best friend showcasing her striking pins.

    “Oh, I know, you know what, I can’t remember for the life of me why I took off me jeans, I think they were just pinching at the waist or summat.”

    “No, honey, you seem to be wearing NOTHING downstairs. And nicely maintained by the way, have you had guests recently?” Skinny looked down and oh dear god, she didn’t have any underwear on either. She dreaded to think why and fretfully set up surveying the place for her missing undergarment.


 

    The group had recovered from that heady day and night of letting loose and met several times before the next lesson, to make sure they were on top of the groupwork. Shaun seemed to find their anecdotes from the night hilarious, regularly guffawing as another embarrassing truth was shared. And all this work meant that they were ready to take on their next Tutorial with Miss Clefton-Brown at 12.00.

    She was walking through the classroom between the groups to allow the students to show where they had gotten up to so far, and ask any questions. And she was particularly impressed by the thorough work of our three musketeers.

    “But there’s four of you?”

    “I’m D’Artegnan” Shaun piped up, proudly. Miss Clefton-Brown smiled at the team name.

    “Let me guess, this was your idea Rutherford?” she inquired.

    “Um, maybe, yes. I think so. Probably. I mean it sounds like me. We were, at one point, going to be The Beatles but we kept fighting over which one of us was Ringo. Because, like, everyone wants to be Ringo.” Miss Clefton-Brown laughed heartily.

    “Rutherford, would you mind seeing me after class, there's nothing wrong, just something I would like to discuss with you if that's OK with you.” Rutherford assented to the polite invitation but truthfully didn't think anything of it.

    Once the tutorial was over, the tutor sat down and asked Rutherford to pull up a seat. Rutherford did as she was asked and sat down attentively. Miss Clefton-Brown looked distant, distracted, constantly checking her phone, scrolling through the various menus with her well-maintained nails, but, then again, she had been like that all lesson. Something was blatantly playing on Miss Clefton-Brown's mind and Rutherford hoped that it wasn't anything too serious

    “I wanted to ask you if you wanted some personal tutoring?” she said, crisply enunciating every consonant in her crystal English accent.

    “Sorry professor, I didn’t realise I was struggling so much, but if you think that’s what I need, then totally, I'm down for that” said a worried Rutherford.

    “No, no. Not struggling, quite the opposite in fact. You seem to be a really bright and hard-working student, and I feel that you have, with continued application and a continuation of the positive attitude in class and outside of your timetabled lessons, the attributes to attain a First. And you deserve the chance to get it, and I want to help you get there. Also, call me Leona. You are at university, not at school, you can call your tutors by the first name now. We are people, not Sergeant-Majors”

    “Wow, thanks Professor… umm, Leona. That would be, literally, totally amazing. Really cool” Rutherford lit up at the prospect of feeling special.

    “Brilliant, just use the university Intranet to book a weekly half-hour slot and we’ll see what we can do” Leona said politely, but still distractedly glancing at her mobile.

    “Sorry, miss, um, Leona. Are you OK? You keep looking at your phone and frowning” Rutherford asked tenderly, concerned about her tutor and, in her mind, new friend.

    “Sorry, I shoudn’t be doing that. That's very unprofessional of me. It's just that, my boyfriend has walked out on me recently and he won’t tell me why or even talk to me.” She said bitterly, though her voice began to crack and waver at the end. She was clearly hurt, but also clearly trying to disguise that fact. “But, er, don’t worry about that, you just focus on your studies, keep up the good work, and especially with the group coursework. You’re doing very well.”

    “Pshhh, whatever, look if your boyfriend is being a dick, you can talk about it. With me, I mean. Do you want to, like, go grab lunch, it’s lunchtime. Or, of course, you can go on my personal intranet, and book a slot with me later in the week.” Rutherford joked, which made Leona laugh out loud rather heartily. She liked this kid.

    Rutherford, on the other hand, tried to focus on being kind and taking advantage of Leona’s academic generosity, and not just be ogling her tutor’s sashaying hips. Leona was looking lighter than in previous weeks, but less radiant. She figured it was the break-up blues.


 

    They ate at the same pub that Rutherford was introduced to by Shaun. Rutherford had grand aspirations of diving into pints of bitter and of feasting on plates of pie. But Leona was reluctant, and suggested maybe just a salad.

    “I’m on a diet, you see. Well, I say diet, let’s be honest, it’s just re-branded starvation” Leona joked

    “Ba-dum-tshh. Anyways, why are you on a diet? You look hot, even by an American’s standards” Rutherford probed tentatively.

    “Ahhhh, the famously ever-svelte American standards” Leona genially jibed. “No, you’re right, I do look good, hell I look great, certainly out of Roman’s league, he should have been thanking his lucky stars that I even looked at him sideways. I am single now, mind, and want to look my best. No, it’s just that diets are… cheaper than buying new clothes.”

    Rutherford laughed again. She found Leona to be so funny and sharp-witted. She admired her so much, in fact, and was so keen to emulate her. Another cool, swaggering star to strive towards. She didn’t fancy her though, no, that would be inappropriate, fancying the teacher, even though she is really pretty, beautiful even, and so cool and… Fuck! She was doing it again. Rutherford kept finding herself yearning for people that she socialises with. First Skinny, then that cute-as-a-very-tall-button Wiktoria and now even her professor. She needed to get a handle on her lustful desires.

    “Well, Shaun gave us this huge speech before you came in on one lesson...”

    “Yes, on week 6, I wondered was going on when I walked in...”

    “Well, you’re never on time...”

    “Hey! Ok, fair enough, not my fault though, but I’ll allow it”

    “Anyways….” Rutherford proceeded to tell Leona all about it. Leona listened and found the students adorable. It seemed strangely distant to her, she had only stopped being in a form of education last year when she got her PhD, but she felt such a long way past where these students were. They were all scrambling to work out who they were, just like she had, but now that was all so many miles behind her. She missed them days of experimentation and development.

    “That’s really funny. But so true. You should never do anything at the expense of your grades, because you keep them for life, but everything is spot-on. Oh, to be that young again.”

    “Well, if you ever want to feel that young again, you can totally always hang with us. We wouldn’t mind. You’re really cool and fun and it would be really great to hang. We could be the five… oh, the famous five!”

    “The five gold rings!”

    “How about *NSYNC!”

    “Oooh, bagsy Timberlake, cos he’s sexy”

    The waiter asked if they were ready to order, and Rutherford stuck resolutely to her quintessentially British plans of beer and pie.

    “And I’ll have the sala… no, wait, sod this for a game of soldiers, I’ll tell you what, I’ll have the house red, small, and I’ll also have the pie” Leona rapidly pivoted, inspired by the young lady opposite her, and the optimistic joys of youth.

    Rutherford clapped with joy.

    “After the month I’ve had, I think I deserve another Free Hit of my own!” Leona added triumphantly.

    Rutherford then asserted herself and got the conversation back to this mysterious ex “So, are you going to tell us about Roman the dick or not?”

    “Well, the thing you have to bear in mind is that Roman the dick… is a dick” Leona began, and then proceeded to tell Rutherford all about how they met at University in Portugal and bonded over the fact that they both spoke English – Roman was Canadian. When things got serious, Leona decided to pursue her Masters, and had the opportunity at the highly regarded UCL in London. Roman, begrudgingly went with her. He was torn since he was head-over-heels with her and ready to commit, but presumed it would be on his, or at least equal terms. But he had barely graduated and had no real aspirations in life, while Leona had everything coming up Leona. Over time, his ego was gradually being eroded as he ceded ground time and time again to accommodate her success. He refused to move to Brighton and insisted they lived in London and commute, which might have suited Leona who liked the theatre scene in the capital, but she didn’t see why she should be the one to compromise when she was the one succeeding. The true tipping point came, however, when Roman quit his job so he could write and perform music full-time, fancying himself as a soulful troubadour. This irritated Leona no end, Roman hiding from responsibility on one hand, but wanting to discuss marriage and children on the other hand. It wasn’t like he was even any good at music. She could sing better than him, understood musical theory more than him, and could play the piano far better than he could play guitar. He thought he had a divine right to success, regardless of talent or work ethic, just because he was white and male.

    “'I’m covering the rent, paying the bills, and commuting to work, to accommodate your idle wish fulfilment. You think you deserve all this on a silver platter. I earnt this silver platter. Me. I did this, through hard work and, fuck it, brilliance. I am brilliant. And you are deluding yourself if you think you are anything more than a glorified groupie riding on my coattails with delusions of grandeur!’ was the last thing I said to him, and we haven’t spoken since. He’s moved out, and is crashing on his mate’s sofa, ignoring my texts and I’ll be looking for a place to live down here if things stay like this.”

    “Wow, you were that goddamn eloquent when you were angry. That's badass. Normally I just throw shit and shout “Fuck you asshole!” until I feel better.” Rutherford replied, in awe of the woman opposite her.

    “And I don’t miss him, I just, I wanna check he’s OK, because, well, I’d been carrying him, and I just wanted to make sure he landed OK now I’d let go” Leona continued, whilst shovelling pie down her pie hole.

    “You are too good for him. Move forward, don’t look back. You are #lifegoals, and you shouldn’t make time for freeloaders.”

    “Thanks, Rutherford”

    “Except for me, that is. I’m a freeloader… and you should totally make time for me… but I’m a nice freeloader… with great hair” Leona laughed. Rutherford was just like a younger version of herself, and she would always look out for her, like nobody did for her. And she did have great hair.

    “Desserts?” Leona asked, and Rutherford nodded keenly and began singing the praises of Apple and Blackcurrant pie and custard.


 

    The musketeers were gathered around, grilling Rutherford about her liaison with Miss Clefton-Brown.

    “She is soooo damn cool. She can speak loads of languages, like literally half a dozen at least, and she does these stand up comedy sets some evenings and she is just an all-round amazing independent woman.” Rutherford babbled enthusiastically.

    “Oh my god. Get. A. Room. Sugar, are you two banging? Because you're talk about our teacher like you two are banging.” Shaun sassed, partly to wind her up for his own amusement, partly because he felt a touch superseded.

    “Are you sure you really spoke to her, and didn’t just go home and watch series one of Mrs Maisel, y'know, where she leaves her long-term partner and does stand-up comedy because she’s an amazing independent woman.” Skinny continued the pile-on. Rutherford writhed, trying and failing not to look awkward.

    “I think it is very nice, I think you are being a very good friend with her.” Wiktoria contributed, sensing Rutherford’s discomfort.

    “Thanks Wiktoria, at least you have my back. See, that’s why you’re my favourite.” Rutherford said, grateful for Wiktoria’s support.

    “Fuck off, I’m your favourite!” both Skinny and Shaun shouted, not together but in unison, and everyone laughed.

    “So, in a couple of weeks it’s Thanksgiving, do you guys do anything for it over here?” Rutherford asked.

    “No, not really. And I think this year it falls on our study week so I’m probably just going back home with the fam for the week.” Skinny admitted, she hadn’t seen her parents since Fresher’s week and she kinda missed them, though she would never admit that to them.

    “Yeah, same here. Study week, or as I call it, a-chance-to-pick-up-some-extra-hours-at-work-to-stop-me-from-falling-into-spiralling-debt week” Shaun added, revealing to them that he was still working part-time while studying, unlike the rest of them. But before they could quiz him on it, Wiktoria added her tenpenneth.

    “I have no plans on Study Week, so I can be your friend Rutherford. I can pretend to be an American. After all, I am your favourite!” Wiktoria cheekily added. Unbeknownst to the others, that “favourite” line from Rutherford had mixed emotions attached to it. It brought back horrible memories of Pawel the wanker, but it also made her feel close to Rutherford, not just a third wheel but a best friend. She unleashed her biggest smile and pointing it in her direction, melting Rutherford’s heart a little more.

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Sorry this chapter is so dang long, but it does at least incorporate stuffings and WG more than the previous chapters. Two things that I hear are popular around these parts 🤗

A Free Hit

Chapter 6

2 weeks later – preparing for study week

    It was the Friday and tomorrow half of the musketeers would be departing for Study Week, leaving just the two international students to mill about in Brighton. On top of that, the Friday after they were back was the deadline for the group work. This wasn’t that much of a concern mind, given that the work was all but finished and the group were actually feeling pretty darned good about it.

    Shaun had been his usual cheery and unabashedly gossipy self over the past week, however he was dreading the forthcoming week off, as he was working his 40 hour workshift for the first tine since he came to university. And it was a job that Shaun truly didn’t enjoy, though he never went into detail about why. Just as he never followed up about his promised discussion with regards to that shocking confession of alcoholism in the pub all them weeks ago. For a man who enjoyed the minutiae of other people’s lives, he was surprisingly arms-length when it came to himself. He seemed to prefer the light to shine from him onto others, so as to avoid it shining on himself. But nobody held that against him or judged him for it – he was just too nice to be around, too fun and too kind. Plus if you had a question, query or reservation, talk to Shaun. That was the rule.

    Skinny had been revelling merrily over the two weeks, carpe dieming to her heart’s content. But she, like Shaun, was getting a background hum of dread that was getting louder as she got closer to breaking up to go home, and in her case seeing her parents. On one hand, she was really looking forward to seeing them because she missed the desperately. She was ever so close to her parents, they looked out for her intensely, having seen vulnerabilities of Skinny that nobody else had seen. But she also knew that she was going to get quizzed in a big way over her change in appearance over the course of the eight weeks she had spent on the south coast – most specifically with regards to her steady increase in weight.

    And there was no beating about the bush, she had continued to put on weight. And while this was all well and good on a girl as previously slim as she had been, the change was still noticeable, and especially to someone as familiar to her appearance as her parents. She had tried to prepare them for it, by casually bringing up that some of her old jeans didn’t fit her any more and that she had maybe put on a few, but they just dismissed it, reassuring her that it was her merely making a mountain out of a molehill and just generally fussing over nothing. Of course, she wasn’t fussing over nothing at all, she had left her parents in Harrogate – the very posh and upmarket town in Yorkshire – at a measly 113lbs and would be returning a much more womanly 129lbs. And a 16lb gain is absolutely not a trifling amount, although trifling was perhaps one of the causes. And it didn’t help that the weight distribution was being monopolised by her nouveau pot-belly that had formed since her farewell two months ago. It wasn’t too bad standing up, just a little bit outwards when it previously was a decent amount inwards. But sitting down saw her permanent food belly become pronounced. With her preferred high-waisted jeans on, her stomach would swell around the waistband in a fatty pincer movement. And with regular jeans on, the stomach would tentatively rest on the waistband, toying with the idea of making inroads towards her lap. Her parents would inevitably notice her softer physique when they hugged her. It was a hug she had longed for from her parents, but at the same time, she was dreading them wrapping their arms around and noticing new squidge.

    The cause was no great mystery since, until the threat of her parental reuniting, she had finally banished those nagging thoughts condemning her own weight gain and gluttony. No more Shaun pep talks were needed, no more battle of the wills within her self. She had finally come to terms with her own priorities and she had prioritised celebrating these university years with gleeful abandon. She was out and drinking most nights with her flatmates, or in and drinking with Rutherford on the other nights. Waking up with a hangover was becoming routine now. But it was her eating habits that represented this new version of Skinny most. When she wasn’t at lectures or partying, she was in front of her laptop chowing down on chocolate in various forms. Chocolate cake had been yesterday’s upgrade, she simply bought herself an entire chocolate cake and kept it on her desk by her laptop and then munched on it as if she was eating vol-au-vents. Her savoury snacks were all either Pot Noodles or ready meals for one. Because why worry. Her actual meals were a disgraceful array of unhealthy choice. She would balance out the expensive price on takeaway (the hierarchy of preference was Thai, then Indian, then Chinese, then lastly but by no means leastly pizza) in the evenings by saving money during the day by having fast food, which provided good value for money. And that’s not even counting the token late night kebab. She was such a frequent visitor, in fact, that they had learnt her name at the kebab place just down the round, and she could get away with just ordering “the usual”, despite having only lived there 8 weeks.

    Rutherford had been the victim of Skinny’s newfound enthusiasm for partying with her flatmates. Nights in with her had always been fun, and they still were, but they were just happening less often. Sometimes, Skinny would bang on her door at 3am with the plastic container of kebab goodness for a late-night hangout, but that was mainly because Rutherford lived nearer to the city centre than Skinny, who couldn’t be bothered to walk all the way back to hers. On these evenings, they would share the chips and kebabs whilst watching Youtube videos, lying in bed together until they drifted off. These were Rutherford’s favourite nights, despite her being appalled by the calibre of food. She found these nights to be subtly charged, but also eternally comfortable. These were her favourite nights.

    Rutherford had begun to spend some of these nights without her bff, by inviting around Wiktoria. They seemed to be getting much closer, and Rutherford found her endlessly endearing. She could watch her favourite classic films with her, because Wiktoria was endlessly accommodating. And they could have indoor picnics on Rutherford’s bed, because Wiktoria was endlessly hungry. Delightful gourmet feasts with food from market places and delicatessens and artisanal retailers meant that they could dine on cheeses and chutneys and sausage rolls and something called pork pies, and British scones and cakes. Classic British food that they were exploring. They had found they had similar issues with the British breakfast also. Cereal in England was godawful (no Cap’n Crunch – what is this place, Africa?) so Rutherford introduced Wiktoria to pancakes for breakfast, by the stack, with maple syrup and blueberries, while Wiktoria returned the favour by recommending pizza. An actual pizza. As breakfast. And when Shaun told the pair of them about a cooked English breakfast one time, their morning breakfast issues were well and truly no more.

    Finally, the tutoring with Leona was going well too. It was definitely improving her confidence and understanding, and she would use it as a springboard for more external research and reading of her own. But it was Leona’s company that she liked the most. Undeniably attractive, vivacious and confident, Rutherford just wanted to take note on how to act rather than on Linguistics and phonology. They mainly talked shop, but would occasionally lunch, which Leona always enjoyed as it made her feel reinvigorated with youth, and it made Rutherford ever more lustful. Over the two weeks, Leona had ditched the diet and had begun living life anew, and had gained weight accordingly. Her biggest clothes were tight again, and last time that was stimulus for the diet. But not this time, 139lbs on her 5ft6 frame looked luscious to Rutherford, but, more importantly to her, it validated their friendship since it had come from Rutherford’s advice.

    With all these people gaining weight around her, Rutherford had not a chance of avoiding any weight gain herself. She never gave it a seconds thought anyway, figuring she could just style it out with the recent acquisition of a very cute beret. She was never as thin or as tall as the girls around her, and the 14lb gain took her to 154lbs. Her breasts appreciated the hit and grew accordingly, her butt had more about it, and her mini spare tyre now showed when wearing her tightest shirts. She had never held herself to conventional beauty standards after a childhood of being mocked for her appearance so she was blasé about it.

    As was Wiktoria. She had particularly bonded with Rutherford. She liked the other girls, but Rutherford had that American cool that seemed so exotic to Wikoria. And Rutherford’s slight gain did nothing to dampen the illusion. She wanted to spend as much time as she could with her. Most of all, Rutherford imbued Wiktoria with the confidence that she had been lacking. She went out and socialised more often thanks to Rutherford, she felt less self-conscious talking to strangers thanks to Rutherford. But most of all, Rutherford went clothes shopping with Wiktoria, and it was such a relief to her. She’s not sure what she would have done otherwise as the thought of it had previously terrified her. But Rutherford’s presence and lack of judgement made everything seem OK. They erred on the side of caution with clothes sizes, as Rutherford’s non-judgementalism reassured Wiktoria into practicality over pipe dreaming.

    Oh, and boy did Wiktoria need to get new clothes. She had started off at uni sad-eating, moved up to angry-eating but now she was finally happy-eating and it was joyous. But not without it’s consequences. Most notably her weight had now scaled to 161lbs, and it could be seen all over her body. Even with the bigger and baggier clothes, she was no longer a slimline girl. She was not fat, not at her height, but her stomach definitely stuck out further whilst remaining within the broad parameters of conventionally cute.


 

    The four musketeers decided that Starbucks was a fitting place to regroup. Again, Skinny was the first on the scene, as per usual, and sat down with a latte and two of them chocolate salted caramel muffins she enjoyed so much last time. She was decked out in her tight-fitting leather jacket that still concealed any evidence of excess on her, her regular jeans that pinched sufficiently to provide a pooch, and her ever-dependable sunglasses to protect her hangover from the cruel daylight. She put her feet up, and begun eating, drinking and scrolling through her twitter feed, waiting for the remaining musketeers to arrive.

    Wiktoria came next, smartly and fashionably dressed with a clingy jumper that she purchased when she went shopping last with Rutherford. However, on the basis that the clothes were so recently acquired, her jeans shouldn’t have been so tight, given that they were bought in the same splurge, but here they were being more than form-fitting on the young lady. She plonked herself down opposite Skinny with a cheery smile, just as Skinny was finishing her latte. The remnants of the cupcakes had long vanished before Wiktoria’s arrival.

    “You had latte?”

    “Aye, might get myself another as well, it helps with this banging headache I’ve got.”

    “You had latte, and your name is Skinny. So, you had a skinny latte!” Wiktoria beamed, proud of what was her first English pun. Skinny laughed at it, or rather more at how pleased Wiktoria was with herself, but then regretted it immediately as her headache came surging back. Laughing is not always conducive to the after-effects of a good night out.

    “I will get you another latte, and I will have hot chocolate. With cream and marshmallows and the little chocolate stick. Do you want a treat, maybe cinnamon roll like me, or salt caramel cupcake?” Wiktoria asked politely. Skinny felt herself at a crossroads. This time tomorrow she was going to be dealing with her overly anxious parents. She knew exactly how they would be, and what sore points they would bring up, and was dreading dealing with it. Did she really want to fan the flames by indulging the day before?

    “Ah, might as well be hung for lamb as mutton.” Skinny said resignedly, to the bewilderment of Wiktoria opposite her. “Yes please love, can I have one of each?” Skinny realised that the damage was already done, and it was a bit late to be having regrets. Besides, this was her last day of happiness with her friends for a week, and she wanted to enjoy it and not spend it worrying about tomorrow.

    Shaun came in next, and he was looking quite good. Under the radar of his musketeering friends, Shaun’s healthy eating and new-found exercise routines had whittled away any excess of physical self that he possessed, leaving him looking quite trim. Add the fact that the glasses had been replaced by contact lenses, and he looked like a new man. Skinny wolf-whistled as soon as he walked through the door. Just as he sat down, Wiktoria came to the table with drinks and nibbles in tow.

    “Oh wow, you look very good Shaun. Very handsome.” She told him

    “Aww, thanks Sugar. Bet you all wish I was straight now” he joked proudly. Skinny again laughed and then again her hangover regretted it, causing her to visibly flinch.

    “So do you want maybe coffee, maybe cake?”

    “An espresso would be lovely.”

    “Is this because you are now a beautiful man that you don’t want cake?” Wiktoria asked, causing Shaun to giggle. All this flattery was doing him a world of good, and his confidence and self-worth were the best they had been in a long while.

    Eventually, Rutherford sauntered in, flaunting her new beret. It looked great on her and made her feel chic and cosmopolitan. The rest of the attire continued the urbane aesthetic. Her De Stijl inspired top was striking and charming on her, and with the accompanying pinstripe trousers, she was dizzying but it hard to take your eyes off her.

    “Should we be asking you for your autograph, my lady” Shaun said, joking but also paying her a compliment.

    “Oh indubitably, my dear Shaun” replied Rutherford exaggeratedly, thrusting her head back glamorously as she said it.

    Wiktoria had just come back again, this time with Shaun’s espresso. “Wow, very sexy, like from your posters. You are a real moviestar, you should be an actress.”

    “Well… I probably should be an actress with my good looks, but I suppose studying in Britain will suffice. Oh, and your jumper looks really good on you Wiktoria, makes you look cute.” Rutherford replied, trying to reciprocate good manners but accidentally sounding overly flirtatious.

    “What do you want to eat and drink, Mrs Glamorous Movie Star?” asked Wiktoria, showing generous willingness to make yet another trip to the counter for another of her friends. But, she would have happily done it for Rutherford.

    “Because I am feeling very European, with my new, very awesome beret, please can I have a latte and also a pain aux raisin, s’il vous plait?” Rutherford asked with her widest smile.

    “Oui, madame… sorry what is your last name?”

    “I am Madame Rutherford Stones.”

    “I hate to break it to you love, but that surname of yours didn’t sound all that glamorous. I think you should change it, how about Madame Rutherford Bonnington-Smythe?” Skinny asked, enjoying the silliness that was unfolding. And the morning continued in that silly vein, for over an hour, until lunch time drew near.


 

    “Uh, I should not have gone back for them caramel shortbreads. They were gorgeous, but bloody hell I’m bloated.” Skinny whined, resting her hand on her tender stomach, as swollen as it had ever been.

    “Well, that’s a shame, because I was going to suggest we go to that pub that I took you to last time again, to really come full circle for us as a group” Shaun added, mischievously given Skinny’s overfed state.

    “That is a really good idea Shaun, you have lots of very good ideas. It will be a good way to say goodbye for a week.” Wiktoria added, despite herself having made another return trip to the Starbucks counter to get herself two caramel shortbreads as well.

    “Yeah, and I guess walking there should give us the time to digest and recalibrate. Which is good because I’ve been got good by them pains au chocolate. One pain aux raisin and two pains au chocolate, no wonder I’m in pain! Pain, geddit. Because it’s spelt the same as pain, as in pain au choco… oh you know what, forget it guys. I’m too funny for you. Leona would have so laughed at that.”

    “Leona would have so laughed at that” Shaun parroted back to her teasingly. He got a coaster thrown at him for that.

    “Would it be alright Shaun, if we have ourselves a drink in there, or would that be, I dunno, rude? If you don’t want us to, just say the word love. You’re our D’Artagnan remember, and we all have your back.” Skinny asked sympathetically.

    “Thanks Skinny, but it’s fine. Honestly. I’m feeling really good about myself at the minute, and I’ll be absolutely fine. Really. But that is, genuinely, really nice of you, all of you, to know that you’re looking out for me, it really means a lot. You are my girls, and I love you all. So lets go to the pub, and, who knows, maybe there will be a cute waiter to make the journey worthwhile.” Shaun replied, utterly touched by the kindness of the friends he was with.


 

    Unfortunately, the pub was absolutely heaving. This was perhaps unsurprising, given its popularity and also that it was Friday lunchtime. But there was no chance of them getting a seat there. Disappointed, the musketeers trudged off. They had to find somewhere to eat, so they all looked at their resident Brighton expert Shaun for inspiration.

    “Well, if you’re willing to catch a train maybe, I know a place that does a mean Chinese buffet” Shaun suggested, figuring that a meal that involved sharing would suit all, and it would also mean he was near home, making getting back less of a palaver. Plus he had an ulterior motive, he knew one of the staff there.

    The train wasn’t too busy, the journey wasn’t too long, and the camaraderie made the ride an enjoyable experience. Of course, trains meant that a smaller proportion of the people in our group’s vicinity were students than they were used to, and the female triumvirate had to put up leering stares from gammon-faced pigs. But they were all in good spirits by the time they got to Shaun’s home town of Crawley. And their appetites had now found time to be restored.

    Crawley was a shithole. Shaun would often tell them that, and now they were there, they could see where he was coming from. It wasn’t really that bad, it certainly had nicer bits than others, but away from the insulated world and wealth of a university campus it felt a galaxy apart to the intrepid students. It conveniently wasn’t long until they came to the place in question, down a questionable looking back alleyway. However, once they got in, it looked really nice, if not dimly lit.

    The waiter, an oldish chap with dark but thinning hair, recognised Shaun and came in with wide open arms.

    “Shauny boy, I almost didn’t recognise you without your glasses. Looking good my son. You still at Steadman’s”

    “Yeah, unfortunately, but only working part-time these days, thank God, I’m at uni most of the time, studying English.”

    “Good for you boy, sounds like your doin’ alright for youself. Bet your mother's chuffed to bits. And hanging around with all these pretty ladies, you sly dog, get in there my son! I’ll tell you what, you sit in the corner over there and I’ll grab you some menus.” the waiter said, genuinely, before heading to the bar area to grab some menus.

    “So I take it you know the bloke, but not well enough for him to have spotted that you are queer as fuck and will not be ‘getting in there’. Is that about the sum of it?” Skinny quizzed, a little peeved at some ragged looking perv calling her a pretty lady. There were enough creeps on the train, she didn’t need old comb-over here salivating in her environs.

    “Basically, yeah. Spot on. You just missed one thing. He’s also my dad.”


 

    The musketeers just looked at him, mouth agape. They were not expecting that.

    “So when he said ‘my son’, her literally meant you were his son. Not a figure of speech. His actual son.” Rutherford pressed, her eyes lit up at the prospect of all this salacious gossip.

    “It’s a long story, but, yeah, basically. We’re estranged, and I haven’t seen him since my drinking days. He’s not a bad man, just not a very good man either. We never talked much about the personal stuff, he’s a man’s man and all that. He would rather just avoid the subject. And yeah, he does know I’m gay, he just keeps hoping I made a mistake and that I’ll soon realise in a moment of manly lucidity and come back to team hetero.” Shaun quickly gabbled, racing to finish what he had to say before his dad was back in earshot with the menus. And 5 seconds later there he was.

    “Any drinks?” he asked, tentatively.

    “Cordial for me” Shaun replied, putting his dad notably at ease. It was all part of their way of communicating with each other without actually directly saying what they were thinking. His dad never got the hang of talking with his son, it felt awkward and confrontational. But he was relieved to hear him choose cordial, and all he could do was hope that this meant he was sober again, and back to being the boy he raised.

    The rest of the girls ordered a bottle of wine to drink between themselves, there wasn’t a great choice at a place like this. They went for the house white because Wiktoria only drank white wine, unlike the other girls who were less picky when it came to booze.

    The place wasn’t an authentic Chinese buffet by any means. Shaun knew from his dad that the owner was just a white guy from Croydon who, incidentally, was currently being investigated for tax evasion. This was no classy joint, by any means, and it only had a two star hygiene rating. Shaun joked it used to be a three star hygiene rating before his dad started working there. But the food was actually pretty good in an unpretentious and MSG-heavy kinda way.

    The girls were a little apprehensive at first – each of them are a bit snobby in their various different ways – and thought they would just have to put on a brave face for Shaun’s sake. But once they got into the swing of things, they really start to enjoy it, Wiktoria was the most at home, and was happily burying her plate with food on multiple occasions. All the sauces were thick to the point that they were nearly jelly, and the meat plentiful in each dish, but Wiktoria found herself excited to try each foodstuff that was available and insisted on perservering until she had tried some of everything, and a lot of a lot.

    Rutherford found the place distinctly unglamorous. This was not why she came to this country, and not where she liked being. A dingy, grotty, soulless money grab. But Chinese food was Chinese food. And there was always Shaun to think about. And Wiktoria seemed to be having a ball, for that matter, so maybe it was just her being snooty. She found that they did some specials that were actually freshly made, but you had to pay extra. Rutherford figured that these options – a duck dish and a salmon dish – were the best of a bad bunch and coughed up in an attempt to find some dignity. Of the regular choices, she found the prawn balls were her favourite, and also amusing because she could pretend to eat them erotically, which amused her no end.

    Skinny’s first instinct was similar to Rutherford’s. But then, she remembered how often she had eaten McDonalds, or ordered kebabs, and told herself to think of it in those terms. She would choose McDonald’s often because it was so cheap, and this place was cheap too. And the more you ate, the more value for money you got. So Skinny endeavoured to eat as much as she could possibly manage. She treated it almost competitively, her pursuit for value for money meant an utter disregard for moderation. She decided the pork in black bean sauce was her favourite, but honestly, it was all much of a muchness to her, just a blur of tasty gloop.

    Shaun was typically restrained with his eating. He knew that the soups were low-calorie, so this allowed him to make multiple trips like the other girls and not feel left out, but not pig out either. The familiar smell of all the Chinese did make him thirsty for something other than cordial, and it was tempting him something rotten, so he instead chose to eat the warmest food options to distract him. And by the end, he was too busy with his mouth on fire that he didn’t care what he was drinking as long as it was wet, and cordial fit that bill as validly as alcohol.

    “I hope you all paced youselves” Shaun said cheekily, looking at the stuffed girls either side of him, none of whom looked like they could eat another morsel. “Because the desserts are by far the best things this place does.”

    “Fuck” Skinny said. “Fuck, fuckity fuck”. She couldn’t eat another thing. But there was no way that she couldn’t not eat dessert. Not with Skinny’s sweet tooth.

    Dessert was low-maintenance from the restaurant’s persperctive. All of it pre-prepared, most of it cold. But the customers always considered it a highlight. From the make-your-own ice cream sundaes, to the chocolate fondues with an assortment of sweets and marshmallows to dip in, to the piece-de-resistance... the chocolate cake.

    Rutherford was worried that she was coming across as snobbish and a sourpuss, but the desserts all looked so tacky to her. Apart from that chocolate cake. It looked lovingly made. Like a Bake Off showstopper, with excessively thick layers of chocolate cream between soft supple sponge, draped in too much chocolate icing. What could be better? Oh, wait, there was warm custard to go with it? And the warm custard had only just been put out so did not have an icky skin on top? Perfect. She was going to make some inroads into this chocolate cake, ooooh boy was she. The first thing she did was grab two bowls, one in each hand, and then she just headed to the cake.

    Skinny was like a kid in a candy store. In as much as she was full, but she felt compelled to eat regardless. She agreed with Rutherford that the chocolate cake and custard was sublime. But all of it was. They had these quaint little miniature desserts – bakewell slices, cream cakes, toffee sponges – and you could just put as many as you like on your plate, which was a challenge she rose to. She ploughed through it all, gleefully, and just as she had finally made her way to the gluttonous end, the restaurant replaced the now depleted chocolate cake with a freshly made salted caramel cake. “Fuck. Fuck, fuckity fuck” She braced herself, then grabbed two bowls, one in each hand, and went in, and they wouldn't be her last two bowls. Rutherford followed with two bowls of her own.

    Wiktoria, on the other hand, mainly had eyes for the DIY ice cream sundae. You could add anything to it. Jelly beans, chocolate raisins, anything you associate with pick’n’mix could be added to her sundae. You could cover it in a variety of sauces too – strawberry, chocolate, even salted caramel (“Fuck. Fuck, fuckity fuck, that salted caramel cake has nearly killed me, and now you tell me the sundaes also have salted caramel! Well, I guess I’m just going to eat it and explode, but it will have been worth it” were Skinny’s thoughts on the matter). But Wiktoria also liked the little cakes, and would dip them into the sundae, much to the repulsion of Rutherford.

    Shaun, however, spent the time that the girl’s spent englutting, catching up with his dad at the bar, in their own inimitable way.

    “Seagulls are doing alright, aren’t they?” his dad asked, a conversation topic that he felt comfortable on.

    “Yeah, he’s got them playing alright.” Shaun replied. The Seagulls were Brighton & Hove Albion Football Club, and while Shaun couldn’t care less about football, he kept up-to-date with the Bluebirds results as it was always the one thing he and his dad could talk about without awkwardness.

    “Good home record, could beat anyone at home”

    “Yeah, it’s always a good atmosphere there”

    “Yeah, I haven’t seen them play for ages, ticket prices what they are. You’ve got no excuse though, I bet you can get them dirt cheap if you’re at uni, student discount, special offers, that kinda thing.”

    “Yeah, you can actually.” Silence drifted into the conversation, “I mean… I could use my student discount to get you a ticket”

    “I wouldn't go on my own, not any more, I’d feel like a right bellend… but, I mean, if you were to get two tickets, you could come to. I guess. With your discount, I’m thinking.”

    “Yeah, I could do that maybe. I dunno. Maybe. I mean, if you were up for it?”

    “Yeah, I mean, with the discount, and with their home form being so good, I mean, it would be a waste wouldn’t it?”

    “Yeah, it would be, wouldn't it”

    “Well, let me know how much when you check next. Maybe. I dunno. Just drop me a text perhaps. If you still got the number. I’m sure I can scrounge the money, you know me.”

    “Yeah, still got the number.”

    After desserts were finished, it was eventually time to pay and the girls were splitting the bill. It was really reasonably priced, especially if you bear in mind that they eventually had a second bottle of wine. They split the bill evenly, much to Rutherford’s annoyance, since she felt guilty for her optional extras, and Shaun said he would cover the tip, as his way of saying thank you for their company. The tip he left was quite generous, when you remember it was essentially self-service. In fact, it was exactly generous enough to cover the discounted ticket price of a Brighton home game.


 

    The girls said their goodbyes to Shaun. They had always liked him, but mainly for what he did for them. He would help them with advice, with expertise or with humour. But, after today, they felt a deeper kinship with him. They saw some of the real Shaun, and they liked him.

    They caught the train back and each went their separate ways, each nursing food-b**s that felt like food-triplets. Skinny went to pack and get ready for a week away from musketeering, leaving the other two girls at a loose end.

    “We could download a movie maybe, you could round and watch it round my place. Your pick, just don’t choose a horror movie, whatever you do. I’d end up just hiding under the covers, too scary for me” Rutherford suggested.

    “Me too, too scary. When I watch a horror movie, I hide under covers also”

    They then made plans to go back to Rutherford’s flat to watch a couple of movies. Horror movies. And maybe they would hide under the covers together

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Lots going on here; where to start....

I get a real kick out of the English slang in your writing. Rutherford’s spit-on as an American trying to sound “English-English” hehe — and does Skinny have a Scottish accent? I can’t tell being American and all.

It’s absolutely brilliant how you describe their food binging! It’s real tempting to list all the food eaten like some grocery-list (lots of new writers do that). I like how you made the food part of the story, the way they have fun eating it, where they found it, how good it is for being so cheap, even how they met Shaun’s dad! I could never do that; I have a bad habit of eating food before I learn what it’s called hehe

Speaking of Shaun, he gets more interesting as time goes. Learning anything about him just raises even more questions and mystery, like peeling an onion from the inside.

Spectacular character development too. They MUST be real people! It’s like you’ve known them for years before telling us about them, and they’re having such a good time too!

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That comment has actually made my day. Really appreciate it, you seem to have invested in it as much as I have, thank you for that, it is so rewarding.

I'm glad the English slang is OK, I was a bit worried about it being off-putting to people outside of the British Isles so that's a relief! And Skinny is from Yorkshire - same as Sean Bean, so imagine her sounding like the new Doctor Who if it helps. I also worry about Rutherford's dialogue, not being American myself, I don't want it to sound ignorant or stereotypical, but I do want to sound non-British.

The food bingeing scenes are fun, but do actually involve some Googling for different foods, to see what sort of things a place might serve I look online for example menus. They're my favourite scenes because the characters enjoy eating, so I enjoy writing.

Shaun went from being my least to most favourite character after this Chapter, I really like the idea that he starts off as seemingly smugly omniscient, and you learn that he's as complicated and fucked up as anyone. He's not just a one-trick pony any more.

And thanks for the comment about the characters. But, as you are probably finding with your (brilliant) story, they do start to feel like characters in your own head. Having different accents help me in writing them, it helps me hear and see them. But there is still so much more about these characters that I have planned, that I have to get around to exploring!

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Cheers pal. Thanks for the feedback! You're right about it needing more graphic descriptions. I've written the first draft of the next chapter on deviantart, but I need to edit it, and one of the things I will do when I edit is add in some more graphic descriptions for you, ready for when I refine it and post it on here

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Sorry if I've made any mistakes here, I normally have to spend more time proof-reading. And I'm also sorry that it is so goddamn long. Finally - If you have any advice or feedback on where I can improve with this story, please let me know and I'll try to take it on board

Chapter 7A
    
    While Wiktoria had thoroughly enjoyed her day at the buffet, she was sad to know she wouldn’t be seeing Shaun and Skinny for a week. Thank God that Rutherford had also stayed behind in Brighton, otherwise Wiktoria would have been all alone. She knew that she didn’t cope very well with being alone last time, and was so grateful for Rutherford to look after her.

    Between themselves, they had organised for her to go around Rutherford’s flat at around 8pm, to watch two movies. Two horror movies. Wiktoria hated horror movies, but she loved how much she hated horror movies. The emotion that underpinned terror and the emotion that underpinned childish giggling overlapped in Wiktoria’s brain, and she was looking forward to giggling with Rutherford in terror.

    8pm meant that she would have to have something to eat before she went. Her lunch had been dizzyingly filling at the Chinese buffet, but she knew that by 6pm she would be ready to have something to eat. Wiktoria was a good cook. Often her laziness got in the way of her culinary nature, and she fell back into takeaway habits, but she had an undeniably impressive cooking repertoire, thanks to years of cooking her own meals. So she was going to spend the afternoon cooking, and then the evening with her friend watching scary films.

    Since she had so much time to cook, she thought she would actually use the pasta machine that she had brought with her from Poland. If you needed evidence that Wiktoria was partial to cooking, the idea that a university student would take a pasta machine with them to make their own pasta to university is probably it. But she loved to cook. She had her mother’s recipe for lasagna printed off by her side and she eagerly set to work. First she made the pasta dough, from eggs and Italian flour and working it until it was the right texture. Then she wrapped it in cling film and put it in the fridge to rest it for 30-40 minutes. Now she was bored. So she brought out a packet of cupcakes and starting eating them one at a time. She knew it was silly because she was still full from earlier, to the point of discomfort, but eating when bored is just a thing she did these days, and she was bored. Of the eight cupcakes she started with, she had only one cupcake left by the end. She had absent-mindedly made her way through seven of the damn things without it even registering in her mind. Now the kitchen timer was blaring and telling her the 40 minutes were up, she decided leaving just one cupcake on its own was silly, so she pushed the entire thing into her mouth in one go, and with her mouth still full, started cooking again. Next up, was turning the pasta dough into pasta sheets by putting it through her pasta machine. You need lots of semolina whilst doing this to stop it all from sticking to surfaces and together, and then next, incrementally work it flatter and flatter through the machine with each piece of dough. It was fairly time consuming, but the routine of it all was cathartic. And now she had sheets for her lasagna.

    The beef and mushroom lasagna was all done by 5.30pm, and all eaten by 6.00pm. It was a fairly substantial portion, since cooking for one is difficult, and she was feeling the effects of that dense and creamy meal being forced down her gullet and into her expanded stomach. But it was truly delicious and tantalisingly moreish. Her mother would have been proud.

    Now that was being digested, she set about doing herself up nice and pretty. Even though it was just with Rutherford, she wanted to look as pretty as she could in front of her stylish friend. She parted her slightly longer brown hair to the side in way she considered flattering. Then, she went and re-applied a subtle layer of foundation, and took a step back and looked in the mirror. She felt prettier than normal. Her posture felt stronger, as she posed in the mirror, resting her hand on her hips like the models do in the magazines. She had chosen a large striped shirt that she'd had for years, that could have easily suited a formal occasion, although this was countered by it's bagginess suggesting something more casual. Except, hang on a minute, it wasn't as baggy as she remembered. It heaved outwards at her chest, as her newly enlarged breasts swelled and pressed against the buttons. The buttons were also a little strained below the chest, the shirt suddenly looking a bit tight on her as her no-longer-flat stomach spread outwards against the fabric. Her trousers were some new cream summer trousers that didn't extend all the way to the ankle, and were intentionally baggy around the leg. They weren't so baggy around the waist though, her feminine hips wider than previously, her butt bigger, all conspiring against the waistband. In total, she had hoped to look more svelte than she currently was. All that being said, she was glad she was going to be able to veg out in front of a TV with Rutherford knowing she was completely non-judgemental about her appearance. Whenever she felt fat or ugly, Rutherford told her she was beautiful. Nobody had ever said that about her before, and it felt immensely comforting. It was a far leap from how Pawel had ever spoken about her, how he had made her feel. In Wiktoria's mind, Rutherford was the anti-Pawel. Rutherford was the anti-wanker.


 

    Rutherford was wanking. That’s what she was doing to kill time during the afternoon before Wiktoria came around. She had a lot going through her mind, her twisted libido driving her, pushing her, pulling her, contorting her into pursuing sexual highs. She would sit on her desktop chair, with her pinstripe jeans around her knees and her hand down towards her vagina. She would then try to conjure and then hold the image in her mind of Skinny walking towards the salted caramel cake, stuffed to the brim, with two bowls, one in either hand. To hold the image of that petite little stomach just sitting on the waistband of her jeans, curving outwards, straining from excessive binging. Hold that image, that picture of gluttony, and then look at the picture that she had set up on her laptop monitor of Skinny 6 weeks before she came to university, in a croptop, looking scrawny and pick-like. Compare these two images and imagine her swelling to get from one to the other.

    “Crap!” it wasn’t working. She hadn’t been getting as much joy from Skinny, as she had at first. It was strange, she was a carnal delight, an icon of beauty, but Rutherford just couldn’t seem to climax over Skinny any more, to her irritation. She just knew too much about the girl, things nobody else did, and she needed a fresher image.

    No, if it wasn’t working, there was always Plan B. And Plan B was to instead use photos of her friend Wiktoria. She felt guilty about this, it felt like a violation. A violation of trust, a violation of friendship. She was coming around in 5 hours, presumably dressed angelically as a picture of innocence and kindness, that was her vibe after all, and believing Rutherford to be some exalted Hollywood siren, and yet here she was, Facebook stalking her so that she had the ammunition to pleasure herself. But her twisted libido gave her no choice in the matter. It was like the tapeworm in that Irvine Welsh novel, slowly taking over her mind. So she set herself up. First – a photo of a gaunt Wiktoria doing her pre-race stretches before a race, from her Facebook profile. Second – in her mind’s eye, the image of her looking for the cardigan that she needed to wear to hide the fact that her clothes didn’t fit, with her flies wide open and her shirt not reaching all the way down. She was breathing faster now. No, no, even better how about... when she was shopping for clothes and in the changing rooms and the top she was trying on didn’t fit, it was straining uncomfortably over her bloated body, and she asked Rutherford to maybe pass her a size 12 because this size didn’t fit, but it was already the size 12 that she was wearing and she had misjudged the extent of her gain. Breathing even faster. No, no, better still, that lunchtime at the buffet, her dipping a bakewell slice into her ice-cream sundae despite having eaten an inordinate amount all day, with that sexy tight newly-bought sweater not deflecting from her stomach’s bloat, and with the jeans that fit just two weeks ago, yes, two weeks ago, but were now pinching and straining over her firm and chunky lower half. Now look at the gaunt photo, and now back to the mental image. Imagine how much swelling got her from A to B. How many calories she consumed. Imagine the food she put in her mouth to get her there, yes, yes, imagine that, yes, hold that thought and…

    10 minutes later, Rutherford was just having a shower and cleaning up, when the guilt came back. What had she done? Why couldn’t she just be a good friend, like she was trying to be? Why wouldn’t her twisted libido just fuck off?

    Drying herself down, she looked at the time. 5pm. Should she eat now? Probably, something light after her lunch. Her libidinous demons temporarily satiated, she could go back to being a responsible adult and a kind friend. She microwaved a mac’n’cheese ready meal, or, at least, what passed for mac’n’cheese in this gastronomically backwards country. To embellish this anaemic meal for one, she grated more cheese over it, to at least make it worthwhile. The whole point of mac’n’cheese was that you felt guilty about it afterwards, about its creamy decadence, how do you feel guilty about eating this limp version of the dish? She found herself wanting that guilt, so she wondered what else she could add. She could put some fries in the oven maybe? But by the time they would be done, she’d have finished the meal. Maybe she could eat them later, on top of her meal. Is that what she wanted? That guilt. Maybe she could share them with Wiktoria when she came around. Put some of that guilt on her. Is that what she wanted? Wait, this was her twisted libido talking….

    How had this happened? The masturbating was supposed to have solved that problem, how had it woken up so soon? Could she go again, before Wiktoria got here? She was having dark thoughts and impulses, imagining a before and after of her own weight gain, of eating gluttonously and comparing where she was… no, stop it. Banish those thoughts forever. No, she was going to be restrained.

    Being restrained wasn’t going very well, it was 6.45pm and the clock was ticking so slowly. Rutherford had done her make-up and chosen some clothes that screamed laid-back and informal, but were ever-so-slightly sexy and fashionable. And no tights, she wanted her legs, perhaps lightly mottled with cellulite and chunkier than was the fashion but still a part of her body that she was proud of, to be on proud display. And while she would keep them under wraps, she had similar intentions about her breasts. The impressive D-cup breasts pushed upwards by her well-supported bra, all bouncy and buoyant. On top of that, she was rocking a form-fitting plain navy pinafore dressed, which, in turn, went over her form-fitting and devilishly red top. Of course, more clothes than ever were feeling form-fitting on her these days, as her chubby little tummy continued to rail against its constraints in its own wobbly way. But she still looked bookishly trendy and Rutherford was satisfied with her look. She was ready for her friend. She was ready for some platonic friendship, that was right. Yup. To watch a horror film platonically. To be forced under the covers in fear, with her, platonically. Right?

    She couldn’t believe it, she knew she shouldn’t be doing this, but she decided she was going to order pizza for Wiktoria. It was wrong. It was taking advantage of her friend’s accommodating nature, of her social insecurity. But she just wanted to. She just wanted to feed her. To see her fed. She would put the fries in the oven, maybe grab some of those shareable sized bags of potato chips, pop to the shop and grab some wine. Or something stronger? No, she’s not coming for a wild party, but for something chill. What about whiskey? Does she drink whiskey? It’s much stronger than wine but still doesn’t scream I’m trying to get you drunk, it demurs let’s chill and be cool. Yep, Rutherford’s mind was made up, she was going to do this, even though 98% of her didn’t want to. But that 2% of twisted libido somehow ended up with the deciding vote.


 

    Wiktoria rang the doorbell. She had brought ice cream. It was a girly night-in, and Wiktoria knew from watching a whole bunch of Rutherford’s US films, girly nights-in meant ice cream. In this case, two Ben and Jerrys tubs labelled phish food, which she had tried once before and enjoyed for its sugary rush.

    Rutherford answered the door with a big grin on her face. “I see you brought ice cream!” She was, as ever, effortlessly trendy, even dressed down she had a swagger about her. Wiktoria didn’t know how she made it all look so easy. Everything about Rutherford was untroubled. While everyone else was bogged down with neuroses and demons, Rutherford was just her stylishly breezy self. Wiktoria was so jealous.

    “Yes, I brought two ice creams, they are very nice. And two spoons so we can eat the ice creams. I am very looking forward to the movie” she added.

    “Ahem”

    “Oh I see. I should say ‘I am looking forward to the movie... a lot?’”

    “And that’s why you’re my favourite, Wiktoria. Oh, by the way, I’ve got some fries in the oven, and I’ve ordered us each a pizza, so maybe we should have the ice-cream for dessert. So, I hope you’re hungry, I’ll need your help with it all. Oh, and guess what? I bought this fancy bottle of whiskey, I thought we could drink it with the movie, it’s a bit classier. And, honestly Wiktoria, you really didn’t need to bring spoons, I could have provided spoons” Rutherford gabbled, accidentally betraying the fact that she had rehearsed that argument before Wiktoria had arrived.

    The first movie had loads of jump scares, causing the two girls to shriek and squeal, mainly on the back of the sound cues. It went well with the pizzas and the fries, and the whiskey, it felt fun. Wiktoria would giggle a lot whilst cramming pizza in her gob, Rutherford would smile joyfully, whilst trying not to ogle the friend she was sitting in bed with.

    The second movie, however, was The Exorcist. Neither had seen it, and both presumed it would be crap on account of its age and dated visuals. But once the chilling film had begun, they just lay in Rutherford’s bed, scooping ice cream into their mouths, unable to take their eyes of the screen, until their spoons worryingly rapidly scraping the bottom of the tub. They were entranced in fear. It was then that Linda Blair’s character crawled down the stairs on her back like a spider and the two girls shrieked, howled and cuddled each other in reassurance. That devastatingly shocking scene had left Rutherford crying and asking if she could turn it off.

    “I’m sorry, I told you I don’t like horror films.” she said, tears dripping down her nose, and her whole body still shaking with nerves. “I don’t know why but, that girl having that evil inside of her, making her do things, it just creeps me out. I think it’s an agency thing.”

    “It’s OK my friend. I will protect you” Wiktoria said, hugging her tightly and running her fingers through her hair in reassurance.

    “Don’t leave me alone tonight please, Wiktoria” Rutherford said, between teary sniffs.

    She wasn’t manipulating. Right? She was genuinely scared, she said she didn’t like horror films. The idea of a demon inside of you, making you do evil things… that was a terrifying thought. But, she also wanted this so badly, being hugged by Wiktoria, lying with her in bed. It was what she wanted so much. Her powerful size encompassing her, the softness of her midriff against her. As a friend, of course. Nothing more.


 

    This vulnerable side of Rutherford was new to Wiktoria. She had always been a paragon of composure, in Wiktoria’s eyes. She could walk into any room and feel at home in it, but also a little like she owned to. And yet, this feminist icon was a nervous wreck after watching an old movie, and was needing to be comfortingly spooned by her considerably less confident friend. It felt nice, the warmth of her body. The way the back of her ashen bob bristled on the padded collarbones in the V of Wiktoria’s polo shirt. The way their hands slotted together like Tetris pieces.


 

    Rutherford woke up happier than she had ever been. Wiktoria was wrapped around her, breathing on the nape of her neck, emanating heat. And it all felt so good. She gradually shifted her body so she was facing the pillow, but her head twisted to the side, looking at Rutherford’s rubious lips. This shift in body weight allowed Wiktoria’s body to gently lean into her a bit more. Wiktoria’s strong legs now draped across Rutherford’s back. Rutherford was just drifting back to sleep, wishing to bottle this moment forever, when the fire alarm when off.


 

    10 minutes later, and the two girls were standing outside the block of flats, along with hundreds of other students. It was perishingly cold out there, so Wiktoria brought two cardigans with her, and draped one of them over Rutherford’s hunched shoulders.

    “There better be an actual fucking fire, to get us all out here at this hour!” Rutherford chuntered, pacing to keep warm. It was 4:40am, so her grumpiness could perhaps be excused.

    “Maybe it was a ghost that did it?” Wiktoria teased. Rutherford laughed. They hoped they would soon be given the all clear, so that they could go back in and get back to sleep. That was when the fire engine showed up, with it’s blue siren lights bouncing off walls in the otherwise dark and poorly lit accommodation forecourt. Rutherford rationalised that it was probably just some asshole lighting a joint and setting a fire alarm off that way, but reckoned that the fire brigade’s arrival meant they would be out in the cold for a while. With that in mind, she asked Wiktoria whether she would like to go for a walk. She did, so arm in arm the two girls walked.

    They walked along the promenade, street lights and moonlight both cascading over the rippling sea to the side of them. They laughed to each other as drunken braying groups of students stumbled in the opposite direction, clearly having had a really good time.

    “My nose is very cold” Wiktoria said. “Shall we turn back?”

    “Yes, probably. But first, if you want to warm up, we can sit down in there for a bit.” Rutherford replied, pointing to some lights at the end of the street. There weren’t many places open at this hour, especially with seating. But Rutherford knew that Kebabland would be open until 5.30am. So they headed there.

    “How do you know this place?” Wiktoria questioned, curiously.

    “How do you think? Our mutual friend is their best customer”

    “This is where Skinny gets her kebabs! This is very exciting! I would like to eat one, and see why Skinny likes it very much.” Wiktoria buzzed at the thought of it. Rutherford was more keen on the idea of their small amount of indoor seating, but Wiktoria’s enthusiasm for the lamest of things put a smile on her face.

    They walked in, and the intoxicating smell of meat came in. Wiktoria went straight up to the counter to look at the options available on the menu behind. That was when she saw a menu item called Skinny Meal.

    “What is a Skinny Meal?” Wiktoria asked, her interest piqued. It was probably just a healthy option on the board, but it seemed a bit of a coincidence given who frequented here, and felt the need to check and make sure.

    “Ahah, this is our biggest and best meal deal, very big taste, lots of different meats” the Turkish guy behind the counter said with a big grin on his face.

    “So why is it called a Skinny Meal?”

    “Ahah, hey Ahmed. Girl asking why we have meal called Skinny Meal” Ahmed then came into the room with his apron on. An oldish man with a greying beard and a stout physique. He walked straight backed and proud, as if he owned the joint. Funnily enough, he did.

    “Our favourite customer, she is in here nearly every day. Very nice, very pretty girl. Thin but eats like a lion. We made this deal and named it after her. Her name is Skinny. Everybody asks, but why is so much food called the Skinny meal, and we always tell them, because of our favourite customer” Ahmed recited proudly.

    “Oh my god, we know Skinny. She’s like our best friend. We knew she came here but she never mentioned you actually named her meal after her. That is so goddamn crazy. And cool, so cool.” Rutherford exclaimed. She couldn’t believe Skinny had never mentioned this. Why wouldn’t she mention this?

    “Well, me and my friend would both like a Skinny Meal please, because she has gone home for the week, but we will miss her.” Wiktoria asserted.

    The Skinny meal really was inaptly named. A layer of chips, then wrap, then 5 types of meat, then chilli sauce and finally the entire thing coated in melted cheese. It wasn’t cheap to buy, but when you saw the quantity you got for that price, it came to no surprise.

    The girls sat down and started making their way through the meal. No wonder Skinny always had heartburn, if gorging on this was a nightly routine. The meats were spicy, the chilli sauce was hot, the cheese was rich – this meal was not designed with healthy cholesterol levels in mind. But it was tasty and moreish. And just as importantly, it was nice and warm in there and they could sit down. Even the conversation was good. The men behind the counter were friendly and chatty, talking about their mutual friend.

    “She came in, one time, so drunk she couldn’t talk. So I just asked ‘the usual?’ and she just nodded and then fell asleep on the chair you are on now. When she woke up, I had left the box in front of her, and she just started eating it like it was a normal thing. Like she never fell asleep. Just wake up, not even look around, just open the box and eat” Ahmed regaled them with these amusing tales of her embarrassingly drunken antics, and the two girls lapped it up, listening keenly and nodded to themselves as if to say ‘yup, that sounds like Skinny’, being distracted from the volume of food that they are consuming.

    After a goodly while, the two girls finally finished their assault on the Skinny Meal, and bid the proprietor a hearty goodbye. With bloated stomachs, the two girls then made the same return trek that Skinny must have made all the time. The sun hadn’t come up yet, but the night sky was starting to get a bit lighter as they waddled back to Rutherford’s flat. They figured that the fire brigade would have gone by now and they could go back to bed. Well, that was what Rutherford thought.

    “Maybe I will go back to my flat, and sleep in my bed. You should be safe now from the ghosts, it will be light soon.” Wiktoria very reasonably suggested. She had stayed there as a favour for a friend because of the trauma of a scary film. No need for her to stay now.

    “Yeah, but if you go now, who will make you breakfast in bed when you get up.” Wiktoria looked quizzically at her friend. “Look, it’s literally the least I can do. It was really nice what you did for me, and I really like you being there, so I should say thank you by making you breakfast in bed.”

    “You are in bed when you make breakfast?” Wiktoria misunderstood.

    “No, in the morning, I will make breakfast, you just stay in bed and relax, and then I’ll bring the food in to you so you can eat breakfast when you are in bed. Sound good? Only question is… pancakes or cooked English breakfast.” Rutherford said, faking confidence whilst probing hopefully.

    “It does good, but I am very full. Maybe just pancakes.”

    “Pancakes it is.” said Rutherford.

    They got the elevator back up to the flat, since they were too full to climb the stairs, and passed out again on Rutherford’s bed once more.


 

    The next thing Wiktoria knew, she could smell bacon. She grabbed her phone and looked at the time. 1:00pm! Wow, she had really slept in, which was not like Wiktoria at all. Even though she was normally all on her own in her own flat, she still usually woke up between 6:00am and 7:00am. It stemmed from her heptathlon days when she would wake at 5:00am to go for a morning run. She actually didn’t mind her morning runs back in those days, she lived in a nice and rural area of Poland about an hour South of Krakow, where there were a number of trails to go running on, and at that hour it was usually quiet and serene, maybe the occasional dog-walker but that’s it. As it was, she had woken 8 hours later than that, and that was only because she could smell rashers of bacon being fried.

    “Here we go, handsome, I made you both the pancakes and the cooked English breakfast, because you are literally the greatest friend a girl could ask for” Rutherford swung in with a tray piled high with food. Wiktoria sat up in the bed and Rutherford rested the tray on her legs. She then came back in with a tray of her own and sat down next to her.

    “Is this breakfast or dinner, because it is 1pm Rutherford?” Wiktoria asked, still bewildered as to how long she had slept in.

    “Breakfast. You can’t have pancakes for lunch my dearest Wiktoria. No, lunch will have to be at 3-ish, and maybe dinner at 8-ish.”

    “Yes Miss” Wiktoria obeyed teasingly.

    “That is if you wanna stay here for a few more hours? I know you’re probably sick of the sight of me but...”

    “Of course I will stay, you don’t make me sick. What am I going to do? I have no friends here apart from you all week” Wiktoria confessed, revealing that her staying with Rutherford benefited both parties, she wasn’t staying out of kindness, she was staying because she wanted to.

    “Oh darling, you can stay here as much as you like. You can stay here all week if it helps. And please stay for tomorrow because it’s Thanksgiving and I don’t wanna be on my own on Thanksgiving. I’m in the same boat, my best friends aren’t here either. We can be here for each other.” Rutherford consoled Wiktoria, before reaching towards her laptop. “Now, have you ever seen A Streetcar Named Desire?”


 

    The credits rolled for A Streetcar Named Desire, and Rutherford turns to Wiktoria for her verdict on the film. “How great is that movie? How good in Brando? Although I’ve also got On The Waterfront downloaded and he’s even better in that. And how cool is Vivien Leigh in this movie? It’s literally impossible not to fancy her.”

    “Do you fancy women Rutherford?” Wiktoria picked up on Rutherford’s overkeen slip-up. Rutherford panicked, and tried to play it down.

    “I just think Blanche Dubois is soooo cool. Like, c’mon!”

    “Ha, I thought you meant you were a lesbian” Wiktoria exclaimed, sounding more relieved than Rutherford wanted. It was 3pm, and all she wanted to do was make Wiktoria the lunch she had promised. But, if she let that comment pass completely, she would be lying to her friend, as well as ruining any chances with her. If she even had any in the first place.

    “OK, here it goes. No feminist uses the word lesbian Wiktoria. I am literally a modern independent woman, and I will decide if I think somebody is attractive on a case-by-case basis, by my rules and no-one else's, and I will decided regardless of gender, which, y'know, is a spectrum anyway, so...” This was the closest Rutherford had ever come to coming out to anyone, ever. She had practised it in her head, and in her head it always sounded so easy. But doing it out loud,  she found herself gabbling all the thoughts and beliefs that she had heard others articulate better.

    “Do you think I am attractive on a case basis?” Wiktoria cut to the chase.


 

    Crap.


 

    What should she do now?


 

    Crap.


 

    OK, here goes nothing...


 

    “Yes. Of course I do. You’re beautiful.” She then hugged her warmly, as her way of saying that she was her friend, despite just admitting that she fancied her.

    Wiktoria hugged back.


 

    Lunch plans were a case of put anything in the oven anything that wasn’t nailed down. Rutherford, for all of her gourmet tendencies, had never cooked a thing before she had come to university, and had a culinary repertoire that stretched to either boiling, frying, or placing in an oven and setting a timer. Nothing else. So, she was placing in the oven and setting a time for anything she had that could loosely be described as food. Fish fingers, more fries, some sticky BBQ ribs, frozen wontons. It would not go together at all, but her cupboards were running a little dry having fried most of the contents of her kitchen for breakfast. She was an foodee, but she was no cook. She hoped the can of alphabetti spaghetti would bring the whole thing together.

    Wiktoria was in stitches when she was served it. “This is not a dinner! Do you eat like this in America? Why is there Chinese food and fish fingers together? Oh Rutherford, what have you done?”

    “And this is why God invented takeaway” Rutherford jested.

    “For evening dinner, I will make you some food. I am a very good cook. We will watch the movie, then we will go to the shops and buy ingredients and then I will cook any meal from the world.” Wiktoria decided, asserting her culinary expertise and authority. Rutherford was delighted and the reconfirmation that she was staying for dinner again. 24 hours of uninterrupted Wiktoria.

    “Have you ever heard of chicken parmigiana?” asked Rutherford, before taking a bite of her meal. “Oh crap, that is weird tasting! Pass me the whiskey, I’m not sure I can finish this meal without something strong to wash it down.”


 

    Wiktoria had never heard of chicken parmigiana, as it happens. But she knew how to use Google, and she knew how to follow a recipe, so, once she had bought the ingredients, it was no problem. In fact, it was mesmerically delicious even. Rutherford couldn’t stop singing its praises, so Wiktoria couldn’t stop smiling. She wasn’t used to this. Compliments. Praise. Affirmation. As an athlete, it was criticism and perfectionism that drove improvement. As a girlfriend, she always felt like she should be grateful that Pawel was into her because that was how Pawel the wanker made her feel. As a daughter, well, that was a train of thought she had long since sealed up. So this bombardment of effusive celebration of all that was good about Wiktoria was putting her on cloud nine.

    “You definitely made the right call about getting more ice-cream, you cannot watch a Rom-Com without ice-cream. It’s the law.” Rutherford said, as the lay on the bed, troughing on Ben and Jerry’s and watching their third movie of the day – Roman Holiday.

    “I am very clever. Wow, she is so pretty” Wiktoria replied “she is like you when you wear the hat.”

    “My beret? I think I have it around here somewhere, oh here it is, ta-da! Am I as pretty as Audrey Hepburn now?” said Rutherford, with the beret placed stylishly on her head.

    “No, but you are very pretty”

    Rutherford burst into laughter at the honesty of this comment. “You are supposed to lie and say I am as pretty as Audrey Hepburn”

    “Sorry, I will try again. You are even prettier than the lady in the film. She is pretty, but you are the prettiest person.” Wiktoria said with almost believable sincerity.

    “Oh, I love you Wiktoria”

    “I love you too”

    They rested their heads against one another and continued watching the movie, eternally comfortable in each others’ presence. Being in the friend-zone was so difficult.

    “Can I stay the night again friend? So I can help you make a Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, I think you will need help”

    “Of course you can”

    Being in the friend-zone is so very fucking difficult.


 

    Rutherford woke up to the smell of bacon. According to her phone, it was 9.40am? Wait, was she awake at that ungodly hour of the morning. Then Wiktoria walked into the bedroom, in just Rutherford’s dressing gown, with a tray of pancakes and a cooked English breakfast. Ah yes, that must be why.

    “Happy Thanksgiving!”

    The dressing gown was designed for someone 6 inches shorter, namely designed for someone like Rutherford, leaving it desperately short on her more statuesque build. Desperately short. Her long shapely legs were on display right up to her bulkier uppermost thigh. If Wiktoria had to raise her arms for something, Rutherford might just have caught a glimpse of something more than just her legs. And her legs really were shapely. But thick too. There wasn’t much space between her legs either, they seemed drawn together by gravitational force, with an ever-diminishing gap being all that separated them from one another. Just enough for a finger, Rutherford wondered.

    CRAP! That was her twisted libido talking. Oh god, that was the last thing she needed, was that reawakening. She just had to hope it would pass, without incident.

    Wiktoria brought her tray in and they sat together again, eating their breakfasts. Wiktoria’s widening bum was touching Rutherford. Her twisted libido was roaring at this point.

    “Hey, I didn’t hear you get up and have a shower” Rutherford said, trying not to show just how intensely hungry for her friend she was right now, and pointing to Wiktoria’s wet hair. “I might go get one now before I eat this. Yeah, a shower will sort things.”

    “No, stay, eat first. Shower later. The food will be cold. Please” Wiktoria pleaded. She wanted Rutherford to enjoy her breakfast in bed, like she had the day before. Rutherford wanted to have a shower first though, so she could enjoy herself another way. But she would have to persevere though it.

    The breakfast was actually much nicer when Wiktoria did it. No burnt bits of bacon, the egg done as well as you could possibly hope for. The pancakes were light too, and fluffier, easier to consume in large quantities, as they were doing right now. Rutherford focused on this, how wonderful the meal was, so as to keep her mind out of the gutter. Once she pushed the last bite of syrup-coated pancake into her mouth, she darted to the shower, and locked the door behind her. Wiktoria remembered being surprised at just how long she was in the shower, must have really needed to clean.


 

    She used this time to start preparing for the Thanksgiving dinner. It was just for the two of them, so it would be an abridged version of the meal, using only half a turkey (one expert trick she knew was that she could saw in half and freeze the other half). She peeled, boiled and then mashed some potatoes. She grilled some roast veg in the oven, having previously glazed them, as well as making some home-made stuffing and putting that in there too. The gravy was just from granules, and the cauliflower cheese was store bought as this was a speed version. She was going to need a speed version if she was going to get it all done. Lastly, she got the frozen green beans boiling. Once they were done, she would be able to serve up. She had also cheated on dessert, and bought a frozen rhubarb crumble, and some fresh custard because she knew that’s what Rutherford liked.

    She was a whirlwind of action, and organisation. She was darting about the kitchen with effortless ease, despite still being in that barely-covering-her-bum dressing gown. And, thanks to this virtuoso performance in the kitchen, by 2pm, dinner was served. Furthermore, the dinner that was served was colossal. A surfeit of trimmings, an ocean of gravy, a heap of turkey. The United States of America would have been proud.

    Rutherford started crying. It was all too perfect for her. It was the tastiest Thanksgiving meal she had ever had. By far. And she was having it with the best friend she ever had. It was all too much for her. If Wiktoria didn’t know before, now there could be no doubt. Rutherford Stones was no cool hipster chick like from the movies. Rutherford Stones was the kind of girl who would cry because she was enjoying her dinner.

    The plan after the meal was simple. Rutherford would have a post-meal nap. Wiktoria would go back to her flat and grab some clean clothes. There would be then no movie in the evening and no meal in the evening for the two girls. No they had another plans. A game that Rutherford had just invented, but lied to Wiktoria and told her it was an American Thanksgiving tradition.

    “So, you’ve never heard of the traditional Thanksgiving game: Donut Russian Roulette? How strange, I thought everyone would have heard of it.” She lied. But not nastily, she was expecting to be called out. No, it was just a bit of fun.

    You can, in fact, get US donuts in most Britsh supermarkets, they found. Rutherford also bought cream pastries and pastry cakes. And then she established the rules. You take it in turns to roll a dice, and if it’s a double, you eat a donut. If it’s snake eyes, you eat 2. “But the rule is, and this is important, the game doesn’t stop when you’re eating. So you will be eating and rolling at the same time. So you might end up with a backlog if you’re too slow.”

    “And how do you win this game?”

    “You don’t win this game. You just eat.”

    Actually the game didn’t start off great. The first six took ages to roll and they were generally concluding that it was all going to slow. Until it wasn’t.

    “Ha! Another double. Eat a cake!” Wiktoria bellowed, really getting into it.

    “But my mouth is full” Rutherford tried to mumble, but couldn’t, because her mouth was full. Full of two cream cakes thanks to the double one on the previous roll. But rules were rules and she pushed in a third cake.

    By the time the cakes were all gone, it was midnight and the girls weren’t feeling great.

    “Do you want stay over again?”

    Wiktoria nodded, too full to talk.

    They went to Rutherford’s bed and lay in it, waiting for their stomachs to stop hurting.


 

    In fact, Wiktoria stayed overnight a further four nights. They were enjoying each other’s company that much. They played games, saw films, told stories. And they ate. A lot. Oh boy, they ate. They tried a traditional British fish and chips for the first time. And a second time. They would order pizza, for something to eat until their Chinese takeaway was ready to be delivered. Wiktoria would cook meals from Rutherford’s wishlist, and bake cakes from her own wishlist for dessert. And, on top of that, most nights, they would wander to the kebab place and order a Skinny Meal, on the basis that the Ahmed might have been bored without his number one customer.

    For Wiktoria, it was because her guard was down, so comfortable was she with Rutherford. She never had reason to think about anything other than enjoying the moment with her friend. Her mind never left the present moment, to worry about consequences of her eating. She had never been happier, and was wilfully ignoring anything that might have tempered those feelings. She felt appreciated with Rutherford. Cherished even. Loved even.

    Rutherford’s reasons were far more base, but they ensured the week-long barrage of food. And it was having its consequences on both of them, as well it might given the sheer volume of food they merrily scarfed.

    On Wiktoria, some of the damage was mitigated by her enchantingly tall frame, spreading the calorific consequences thinly. Still, spreading the calorific consequences was the only thing that she was doing thinly these day. A further 11lbs can do that to a person, now ratcheting her weight up to a lofty 172lbs. That number would have felt daunting to Wiktoria, had she known what it was. No matter which way you look at it, it is hard to pretend that 172 is a small number. Factor in that less than 4 months ago she was 114lbs, meaning it had flown up by nearly 60lbs or 50% of her previous body weight, and even Rutherford would have been shocked at that climb in weight. The evidence could be seen in her tummy that swerved out respectably, and widened out to. It was now no small thing, but rather a large part her frame, now sticking out as far as her breasts, which were never knowingly underwhelming themselves. With her thigh gap now erased, her gait shifted to something more deliberate, from her previously more graceful way. Her arms weren't fat, but for the first time they weren't thin either, there was a veneer of fat encompassing them that wasn't there before. Her face was unchanged, her chin was still clear-cut and cheekbones visible. Her lengthening hair was a bigger change, in fact, than the weight pile-on, now over her ears and down her cheek, sculpting her features. And these changes were pleasing Rutherford no end.

    For her part, Rutherford was being as bombarded by baked goods as Wiktoria, and had less height to hide it on. So the 13lb gain, lifting her to an unmeasley 152lbs, seemed more significant. In fact, it technically made her overweight, had she checked her BMI. And the thought of being actually overweight would have been dizzying. She was liking the indulgence, the swelling and expanding. She enjoyed knowing that it was bad for her, that it was doing her harm. It was as if there was sadistic pleasure to it all. She had a belly now. A belly that would sit, even when she was standing. And no amount of sartorial savviness and well-placed scarves could distract from it now. Her little thighs were chubbier, leading to her wider hips, swinging out seductively, sat in front a large behind, bloated and soft. She still looked good, radiant even, but the Hollywood actress comparisons seemed a greater stretch than before, something her clothes could probably relate to. 


    But there hedonistic fun was coming to an end. And it was the fact that it was going to be over tomorrow, that had tempered their recent sense of elan.

    They expected to be happier at the thought of Skinny and Shaun returning, and uni starting up again. They presumed that the prospect of catching up with their friends would be worth looking forward to. But they enjoyed their weekend so much, they were gutted it was over. Especially Rutherford, who knew that it was never going to get any better than this.

    “How should we celebrate our last night of just us two before we see Shaun and Skinny tomorrow?”

    Rutherford asked her food-comaed friend. “Donut Russian Roulette?”

    “No, too full. I am too full. Hey, I thought you could only play that game on Thanksgiving?” Wiktoria groaned, recovering from the extraordinary amount of tapas they had eaten at lunch at a nice Spanish eatery just off campus.

    “You know I made that game up, right? Like, there’s no such game as Donut Russian Roulette. I made it up” Rutherford confessed, amused by the naivety of her friend.

    “Why?”

    “Because I thought it would be a fun game”

    “That is very naughty” Wiktoria chastised. “You should have told me the truth, friends don’t lie. Why did you lie to me?” Wiktoria started straining to hold back the tears. She was genuinely upset.

    Rutherford hadn’t expected her friend to take it seriously, she hadn’t. She had underestimated how vulnerable Wiktoria was with trust, and even something as light-heartedly intended as that really shook her. It felt like a betrayal, it felt like Pawel the wanker, it felt like…

    “Hey, hey, hey. I’m sorry. Ok, I’m sorry. I thought you would find it funny. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry” Rutherford pleaded, feeling suddenly aware of what she had done. She had trampled on the fledgling trust of a girl who’s all alone.

    “Yes, you shouldn’t have. It is always wrong to lie” she told Rutherford sternly.

    “I know, I know. And I’m so sorry. So sorry, please let me make it better, please let me make it better!” Rutherford begged, seeing everything fall apart in front of her eyes. Falling from cloud nine to rock bottom with a thump. Wiktoria ignored her pleads.

    “I will get my clothes and go back to my flat”

    Rutherford just stood there, drained of colour. She was in shock and she just didn’t know what to do. It was then that she broke down. She didn’t beg or plead with Wiktoria. She just sat down and bawled. She cried hysterically. The tears from her eyes and the saliva from her braying mouth had drenched the cleavage of her polo shirt, leaving a giant wet stain. And when Wiktoria said goodbye and left, she continued. Her world had burnt to the ground. She went from euphoria to despair in an instance. Based on such a stupid stupid mistake. She was so angry with herself. Replaying the moment when she suggested the game over and over again, getting angrier with herself everytime she heard herself say it. She didn’t deserve Wiktoria. She didn’t deserve anything. Why was she chasing happiness, when would only destroy. It brought back terrible memories, and she found herself in a thought spiral where she was angry at herself for trying to be happy. She didn’t deserve it...


 

    Wait, why was Wiktoria standing in front of her?

    Wiktoria had been standing there for about two minutes, wondering if Rutherford was ever going to look up from her tear-stained pity party. She had initially returned just to pick up her spoons from that first night, but then her heart started to weaken as she could hear Rutherford’s wailing. She walked up to her and she could hear Rutherford talking to herself, really laying into herself. Repeatedly asking why she did it. Between sobs, she could hear her asking why? Why? Why?

    “I forgive you” Wiktoria said, sincerely.

    “No”

    “What?”

    “Don’t forgive me.”

    “Why?”

    “I don’t deserve it. I don’t… you shouldn’t forgive me.” Rutherford babbled, barely comprehensibly.

    “You don’t decide if I forgive you. I decide. I forgive you”

    Rutherford stood up and looked into her eyes. “You should hate me”

    “I don’t hate you. You are my friend. You make me happy” Wiktoria said, as a figurative olive branch.

    “You make me happy too Wiktoria. I love you” Rutherford said, still wheezing and catching her breath from all the crying.

    “I love you too”

    “No, you don’t understand. I actually love you. When you walked out, my world literally ended. Gone. Blackout. There was nothing left for me. I have nothing. Nothing, apart from you. I love you. I love you. And I know you don’t love me in the same way. But I love you and I love you and my world stops spinning without you so I will do anything, anything...”

    “Do you really love me?” Wiktoria started crying now. She was feeling things for the first time in her life. Feeling things like being loved.

    “Are you frickin’ kidding me! You are everything in the world. Everything! You are the kindest, funniest, warmest, greatest and most beautiful person I have ever met, and will ever meet. Please don’t go back to your flat Wiktoria. I need you. I am your shadow, I don’t exist if you’re not there. I need you, otherwise I don’t exist”

    “But I am not special. You are a movie star, and I am not special.” Wiktoria trying to wrap her head around years of low self-esteem and feeling unloved.

    “Wiktoria, let me show you how special you are. Let me give you my most precious thing, something I’ll never get back, ever again.”
    
    “What?”



 


 

    “Let me lose my virginity to you."
    
    (to be continued...)

 

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1 year earlier

    The cherry popped in Rutherford’s mouth. She was snacking on fruit as she usually did, it was the foodstuff that this health-conscious girl was raised after all. She was a thin girl. Not a lithe girl, nor a lean girl, and certainly not a sexy, slinky slim girl. No, underneath the baggy t-shirts was a functional but sub-nourished 104lb girl from Georgetown, Delaware, with glasses designed to hide her face rather than highlight her face, and lank brown hair that looked frayed and uncombed.

    She was perched in front of the desktop PC that she had in her bedroom, looking at the photos posted on Facebook of her only real friend, Shay. While perhaps it was unsurprising given the lack of competition for the title, but Rutherford knew that Shay was the best friends she had ever had, and, she confidently felt, the best friend she would ever have. Rutherford pulled down her slacks to her skinny knees, leaned back in her deskchair and started to masturbate. Shay was the kind of girl people call big-boned. She wasn’t big-boned however, she was fat. Shay was a fat girl. Nothing unusual about that particularly, sometimes people are fat, and so it was with Shay. Shay was fat. But Rutherford didn’t care about Shay’s weight, since she wasn’t a shallow and superficial person like that. No, she just wanted to have sex with her best friend. And masturbating whilst looking at photos of her were the next best thing.

    After she had finished, she cleaned up and popped another cherry in her mouth. Before she had even finished chewing that cherry, she had picked up the phone and her fanciable friend.

    “Hey Shay, it’s me, Ruth… no, what just now? Nothing really man… yeah… hey, I was just wondering if you… no, I understand… well how about… umm, Thursday?… yeah, that would be awesome man… shall we watch a movie… no, I don’t watch old movies… why? Cos they’re boring, durr… how about Hot Fu… fine, we’ll watch your stupid movie… but I want the record to show, Desire is a stupid name for a streetcar.”

    Rutherford had finally gotten around to arranging a sleepover with her friend and she couldn’t have been more excited. Sure, the idea of watching another turgid black and white movie sounded dumb, but sacrifices had to be made and given that Shay loved her crappy old movies, Rutherford was willing to make that sacrifice. She reached this conclusion on the basis that whatever Shay lacked for in film taste, she made up for in being a non-judgemental, loyal and understanding friend, and this would ensure that Rutherford would never have to be alone. She would watch anything with Shay, even old movies. She just had to wait until Thursday. So, in the meantime, she picked up her Kindle and decided to read some modern, edgy, gory, pulpy novel called Filth, just her type of novel. It written by the guy who wrote Trainspotting and it was written in the same strong Scottish dialect as that book, which Rutherford thought was cool as frick. She just loved those British accents, and culture, and would love to visit the country one day. Just for like a long weekend or something, nothing too long, let's face it, it’s not that interesting a place is it?


 

    When Thursday rolled around, Rutherford had made up her mind that she was going to come out as gay to Shay. She had been practising a whole speech about judging attraction on a case-by-case basis, and about not being governed by gender norms. How gender is a spectrum. All that good stuff. She had nothing to be nervous about since she was as prepped as she could ever be. All she had to do was stick to the script and verbally come out to her best friend.

    She didn’t put on any make-up and she wore her most comfortable clothes, which was common practice of Rutherford in a bid to not come across as a try-hard. She felt very strongly that caring about your appearance was uncool, and only uninteresting bimbos ever did that kinda thing. She didn’t need that kind of self-consciousness in her life. No, she was a purist and she wanted people to like her for she was.

    She got on the bus and made her way across town. Not too much longer later, she got off at the bus-stop and walked the familiar route to Shay’s house. It was Shay’s mother who answered the door.

    “Hey, Mrs Kroeger, is Shania in?” She asked, trying to be polite on one hand, trying to come across like she didn’t give a frick on the other hand. Shay was in her room, so Rutherford went up to see her.

    “Hey Ruth, I got us a couple of old movies to watch, we can just, like, watch movies until we fall asleep. I got Streetcar Named Desire, On the Waterfront – which, by the way, is Brando’s best performance, even better than Streetcar – and Roman Holiday. Look at how cool Audrey Hepburn is?”

    “Whatever, not really, she looks stupid. Look, before we watch the movies I wanna tell you something...” and then, speech be damned, Rutherford moved in to kiss her.

    “What the actual fuck Ruth! Oh my god, get the fuck out my room NOW!” Shay bellowed, yanking her head away in disgust and pointing at the door.

    “No, no, I’m sorry, I just...” Rutherford realised she had made a terrible mistake. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. No, this wasn’t supposed to be how it went. This was all wrong.

    “You thought I was gay? Just because everyone knows you’re a lesbian, doesn’t mean I’m a fucking dyke like you!” Shay roared. “I should never have hung out with you, you were always a gay loser, I just hung out with you out of pity! Wait til I tell Dionne about this”

    “Please don’t tell anyone, I’ll do anything! I’ll never talk to you again, I’ll do anything!” Rutherford scrambled in teary desperation. Her world was burning to the ground. It was such a stupid stupid mistake! She should have just been grateful for her lot and not thrown away her only friendship on the lottery ticket of having something more.

    “Too late bitch, you should have thought about that before you tried to sexually assault me! I bet you go to jail for this, you skank!”

    Rutherford ran out of Shay’s house, wailing in despair. She ran for as far she could towards her home. And while her youthful fitness took her some of the distance, she inevitably fell a long way short, leaving her stranded and alone in Georgetown. She just sat down in the middle of the sidewalk in despondency and cried. She sat there and heaved and cried and bawled and mewled for 5 hours without interruption.

    Her parents picked her up, but they didn’t talk to her all the way home. In fact, they didn’t talk to her for weeks. Her mom still washed and ironed her clothes, cooked her dinner, and her dad still dropped her off and picked her up at school, but they never spoke to her. It must have been the case that Shay’s parents had rung and told them what had happened. The Stone’s were a traditional Christian family and they couldn’t believe that their only daughter tried to ‘be a homosexual to another girl’ - the Jesus-hating godless little shit.

    High school was an even worse environment for the young American. High school was hell. Shay was not a cool girl, she had very few friends and was stationed on the lowest rung of the school’s hierarchical ladder, so when she turned her group against ‘Ruth’, Rutherford was ostracised by everyone. She was left utterly detached from anyone. The only interaction was bullying, torment and that cruel fricking song.


 

Ruth the witch

Ruth the bitch

She fucks newts cos she hates dick


 

    And the fact that everyone seemed so proud and amused by such a stupid and inane song made it sting so much worse.


 

Ruth the witch

Ruth the bitch

She fucks newts cos she hates dick


 

    Word got around quickly, and the story got embellished and elaborated upon and gradually drifted further and further from the truth.

Ruth the witch

Ruth the bitch

She fucks newts cos she hates dick


    And the school was such a Christian community that some of the teachers wouldn't intervene and would even let the bullying happen. They weren’t go and step in to save Rutherford from being physically accosted when the real threat to her was self-inflicted against her mortal soul.


 

Ruth the witch

Ruth the bitch

She fucks newts cos she hates dick


 

    That was when Rutherford decided she was going to leave and travel as far away as she could. On the west-coast maybe? Or maybe even a different country? Something had to change.


 

Ruth the witch

Ruth the bitch

She fucks newts cos she hates dick


 

    No, everything had to change.


 

1 year later.

    Rutherford gently placed her lips against Wiktoria’s. She paused, lingering, trying to wrap her head around that this was really happening. She gently placed her hand on Wiktoria’s hip and pull her ever so lightly towards her. Wiktoria carefully put her hand through Rutherford’s hair, running it through gracefully. They paused. And then the pause became longer. Then the pause became awkward. And then they laughed.

    “I’m sorry, that was my fault. It’s just… you’re very tall and I think it’s hurting my neck, could you like maybe lean down a bit more...” Rutherford asked. This felt really stilted and uncomfortable, this was not like the movies at all.

    “Yes, sorry. Shall we try again” Wiktoria said warmly.

    They tried again in slow, sensual movements that never gathered pace, but rather drifted away and petered out. It was weird, it should have been perfect, but it felt like kissing your best friend, not like kissing a lover.

    “Okay, time out!” Rutherford called. “This isn’t working”

    “Sorry, I have never kissed a woman before, it is not like kissing a man. When I would kiss Pawel, he would always know what to do and I would just follow. I cannot follow you because you are waiting to follow. Because you are not a man and I am not a man.” Wiktoria reasoned.

    “I refuse to believe that there is literally anything in the world that can be fixed by men. No, we need another plan” Rutherford reasoned back.

    “Yes, men are shit. We can do this, we are brilliant women” Wiktoria agreed.

    “Maybe, we eat dinner first, maybe that will help. And then try again afterwards.”

    And that was the plan.


 

    Rutherford knew what she needed to do. She needed to invoke her twisted libido so she could take charge, let instinct take over and then trip the light fantastic. And for that she needed Skinny’s help.

    Or more specifically, the help of the Skinny meal. To get the slumbering thing roused, she needed to stuff Wiktoria and herself. Just to get in the right headspace. That twisted, libidinous headspace. And the Skinny meal was the least healthy thing for the job. She needed for them to each have the Kebabland special, and then to top it off with a super-indulgent dessert. Preferably whilst wearing too tight clothes. Now she just had to sell this plan to Wiktoria without admitting this kink. Coming out as gay is one thing, coming out a FA as well is another thing entirely.

    “So, we need the biggest meal we can eat. To make us… um… y’know...” Rutherford was struggling.

    “Like a lion?”

    “Yes, exactly. We need to eat the biggest meal we can, to make us like a lion. And then we can have lion sex. Raw, carnal lion sex”

    “Lion sex sounds very nice. Very sexy.” Wiktoria said, unconvincingly, but trying to make it work.

    “So, Skinny meal first, and then afterwards we literally get a chocolate cake and just we eat all of that... like a lion. And we will put a pizza, no two pizzas in the oven and have them when we get back. Oh, and please can you wear your red dress.”

    “The red dress will not fit me, it was when I was a skinny athlete. I am now big and fat. Wait, how do you know about my red dress? I have never worn it in England.” Wiktoria added, suspiciously.

    “Facebook. From some of your photos on Facebook. Trust me, you will look amaaaazing.” Oh god, had Rutherford done it again. Had she accidentally revealed another dirty, shameful, kinky lie – the Facebook stalking.

    “You look at my photos on Facebook? That’s really nice. You will have to show me your photos” Wiktoria said, actually flattered. “I will try to wear red dress for you, but you must wear the Starbucks clothes, this was the clothes I saw when you became my friend.”

    “The chequered shirt? Really?” Rutherford seemed surprised. The chequered shirt that she wore when they first met at Starbucks, was smart and yet approachable – a real solid member of her closet. She just figured her Audrey Hepburn outift would have been sexier.

    “Yes, I have good memories. You called me handsome when I couldn’t find my jumper.” Wiktoria reminisced fondly, harkening back to when they all woke up in the same bed after that drunken night in Rutherford’s flat.0

    Rutherford thought that was fair enough. Those were good memories for Rutherford too. “Can I wear the beret too?”


 

    An hour later, they were all showered and changed, and walking to Kebabland to bring back a Skinny meal. Once that had been picked up from the charismatic owner, Ahmed, they headed back, buying an entire chocolate gateau on the way, as well as some chocolate cream eclairs. They could then put down all the stuff they were lugging around with them once they got back to the flat and concentrate on the task in hand: gorging. First, it was gorging on the gargantuan Skinny meal, then that was followed by the stuffed crust pizzas that were now cooked, and then onto the chocolate gateau and cream éclairs. It was gruelling work, but eventually the marathon of consumption was completed. They looked at each other to decide what happens next.

    The eating had not been easy going, and Wiktoria did not feel like a lion. She felt like she needed to sleep. A food-coma was what she needed. She was genuinely sweating from her own sheer gluttony and her stomach was screaming in over-satiated agony. This was not a particularly sexy feeling, in her opinion. But Rutherford was another story.

    Wiktoria looked jaw-dropping in the red dress, from where Rutherford was sitting. That little red frock of hers had been a go-to glamour item of Wiktoria's for well over year now, back when she was a good deal lighter. It was a little strapless number that was designed to come in at the waist to provide shape, and leave plenty of room at the top and bottom of the dress to show assets and legs. Well, if it showed plenty back then, it showed even more now. First, Wiktoria’s lavishly rich and plush breasts were spilling over the dress. They were not even remotely contained and far too monstrous for the dress' design. Going down her body brings us to the stomach area where, instead of the dress tapering in as intended, it roared out. With this latest binge still fresh, the belly looked magnificent and proud, strutting forth from her. The butt was too much for the dress and the tightness was making walking difficult for her. And that was also where the dress ended, with all the material used up to cover the additions above, it meant there was none left for below, meaning her underwear was just about visible. From there downwards, surged her hefty legs, wide and heavy. It was a dream come true for Rutherford.

    Wiktoria wasn’t the only one wearing clothes that should have been retired. Rutherford’s semi-casual chequered top had buttons that weren’t designed for this kind of strain. The two buttoned-together parts of the shirt surged away from one another, with the buttons providing last-gasp resistance to the shirt pulling apart. You could see the swollen orb that was Rutherford’s stomach through the button-holes, stretched as they were. You could also see it below the shirt, as it was permanently ridden up, revealing a milky white chunk of pot-belly from the naval down. The trousers didn’t fit either, and were left unbuttoned.

    And as well as ill-fitting, they were also stained. Cake and cream and the chilli sauce from Kebabland were showing up on each set of attire. Rutherford looked at herself, distended and engorged, then at Wiktoria, bursting out of her clothes, and her twisted libido stirred. Rutherford could, with that twisted libido now revving, take charge just as Wiktoria had suggested, and she did to devastating effect.


 

    When Rutherford woke up, there were two things that stood out to her. One, she was now sans virginity. In a food-crazed state, she really did become like a lion. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Sure, since it was her first time, it wasn’t an entirely smooth performance (she ended up bruising her leg against the bed-side desk, for example), but the intensity with which everything was done was electric.

    The second thing that stood out was that Wiktoria was no longer in her bed. She was standing in front of the bedroom mirror, naked.

    “What’s up, handsome?”

    “Oh shit, I’m fat”

    Rutherford sidled up beside her, and whilst on her tip toes, started kissing her crane-like neck.

    “No, you’re not, you’re beautiful.”

    Wiktoria pulled away. The dress not fitting had been a wake up call. Sure, the taboo aspect of wearing such inappropriate attire was titillating. But it was also embarrassing. Humiliating even. She was just standing there, staring at herself naked in the mirror, breasts unsupported and droopier and stomach outward and wider. Tonight was supposed to have been special for Rutherford, it was her first time for her, and yet she ended up with a former athlete in shambolic physical condition. She felt that she had let her lover down, and Rutherford wasn’t sure she had the words to fix this.

    “You’re beautiful Wiktoria. I see you and you are beautiful. You are my movie star, you are my sexy actress. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

    Wiktoria started to cry. “I am so happy and so sad. I am confused.”

    “Same, Wiktoria. Same. Now come back to bed. You’re too beautiful to not be in bed.” Rutherford pleaded.

    “It was so special for me, it was my first time with a woman. You are a beautiful woman. But it wasn’t special for you because I am too fat.” Wiktoria sulked insecurely, genuinely not understanding the extent of the infatuation that Rutherford had for her.

    “When I felt you with me, on me, in me, it was the best thing I have ever felt in my life. For that wonderful time when you were with me, it felt like all there was in the world was pleasure. The rest of the world, the misery, the worry, the despair, the embarrassment were all on mute, and I was in bliss. I was with you and I was in bliss.” Rutherford said.

    That meant so much to the young Pole, to know that she could bring such joy to another person. It felt powerful and it felt liberating, but it also felt terrifying. And she wasn’t willing to let go of all her weight-based insecurities yet. She thought of her first time with Pawel, him tearing at the very same red dress back when it fit, back when she was at her sporting pinnacle, lean and strong. She remembered how angry he had been when he had travelled to Brighton to find out that she had gained weight. How she had let him down. How he said she shamed her mother, and that nobody would ever love her again. Why would this glossy-magazine-starlet-looking woman like her, if nobody would like her when she weighed less?

    “But I am fat, and you are so beautiful...”

    “So, okay, you remember what I was saying about the Facebook photos thing. How I had seen all your old photos, even when you were thinner. Well, I think you are much prettier now, you are literally gorgeous. You are so strong and powerful. You will always be my lion.” Rutherford continued consoling, desperately trying to keep Wiktoria’s morale up. She had just lost her virginity, it was everything she had ever hoped and so much more, but she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if Wiktoria was upset about.

    She had an idea.

    “Come here, let’s look at my laptop in bed...”

    “I don’t want to watch a movie Rutherford...”

    “No, no, this is something different. I Facebook stalked you, and now you feel insecure because you’ve… changed a bit since then. Well, now you can look at some of my old photos, back when I lived in the States. You think you’ve changed in the past year.”

    And in the room lit up by the blue light of her laptop, Rutherford showed her all the old photos that nobody has else could see. She had taken them all down when she started a new life, and for the first time since then, she was taking a painful walk down memory lane. But she was doing it with someone she loved.

    “So, you can see, I’m not naturally blonde. And I didn’t used to straighten my hair, hell, I wouldn’t even comb it! My glasses were awful, just look at them…. Oh, and this was back when I had braces…. Oh my god, I forgot about that black shirt, I once wore it for two weeks without washing it because I loved it so much, which is so fucking stupid because it was literally just a plain black shirt….”

    They felt together again. They now shared something. Rutherford had never done exercise, and Wiktoria had long since given up her morning 5k, but they both shared the fact that they were always running. Running from their past traumas, running forwards away from their past.

    “Wow, you were so skinny then! Like Skinny is!” Wiktoria perked up.

    Rutherford hadn’t expected that comment, though she should have really seen it coming. She had forgotten how skinny she actually was. Easily done given her current physical condition as teetering on tubby. But, she pushed the swell of self-doubt to the back of her mind and focused on emotionally reinvigorating Wiktoria’s confidence levels.

    “Yeah, really skinny. And now look at me, with my jiggly tummy. And yet, I think I look better now. And so do you. Don’t you?”

    Wiktoria relented, and relinquished the self-loathing she was clinging onto out of habit. Rutherford was so much thinner back then, but she was so much prettier now. Like a movie star. Maybe she was like a movie star too. Maybe Pawel was wrong after all.


 

    They got up early and put on some sensible fitting clothes. It was a little bit awkward at first, as they had to work out whether they would have to behave any differently post-coitus, but this concern plateaued out. They complimented each other maybe a little more, Rutherford would check her lover out a little more blatantly, and occasionally, Wiktoria would go for a cheeky kiss, but everything else was the same.

    “Do you in the flat have weighing scales Rutherford?”

    “I think so, but I’m not sure I ever unpacked it. It must be in my bag here, yeah, here it is.” Rutherford said, grabbing it and placing it on the hard kitchen floor.

    “Do you know how much you weigh, my love?” Wiktoria asked.

    “My love? I like that! And no idea, last time I weighed myself, I didn’t even live in this country. I was that skinny dork with the terrible hair!”

    “Me too! I mean I don’t weigh myself, not I have terrible hair”

    So they set the scales and set about weighing themselves. Rutherford went first, since they were her scales it was only fair. 155lbs shone back. She got off the scales very quietly.

    When Wiktoria stepped on, it said 174lbs. Whilst standing on the scales still, she grabbed her phone and converted it into kilos.

    “79 kilos! Oh no, this is bad!” Wiktoria said, shocked and dismayed. She had left this country weighing 52kg, now it was 27kg more. That scared Wiktoria, leaving her not knowing what to do. She needed Rutherford to console her. But Rutherford was silently unpacking her own discovery. A discovery of a 50lb gain in one year. Had her twisted libido habits taken things too far.

    “We are fat Wiktoria, you were right” she said dejectedly. It all suddenly became real to her. This wasn’t a sex game any more. This was her being unrecognisable from her former self.

    Wait a minute. Wasn’t that a good thing?

    “But it’s okay Wiktoria, I’m glad that we’re fat. I used to be really thin and really sad. You used to be really thin and really sad. And now we’re happy and sexy. The change is good. I prefer the new me to the old me, and I literally love this new you. So fuck it, yeah we’re a bit fat. But we’re together, and it’s better to be fat and together than being sad and alone!” Rutherford proclaimed.

    It all made sense to Wiktoria. She wanted to get away from her past, and that’s exactly what she was doing. Just imagine what Pawel would say if he saw her now. The thought actually almost turned her on. It made her feel triumphant. It was an exciting new frontier, and they got to explore it together.

 

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Sorry again for the lack of explicit weight gain in this one, will make up for it in the next couple I promise. Also, apologies for the amount of the Yorkshire slang in Skinny's segment, it's quite strong and non-British people might struggle with some of it... sorry

Chapter 8

    The two girls strolled to Starbucks, confidence restored, to meet Skinny and Shaun. They didn’t hold hands or anything when they were walking, but they just felt comfortable being side-by-side. Like that’s how they had walked everywhere, forever.

    And, surprise surprise, they were the last ones to arrive. Rutherford’s tardiness was already rubbing off on Wiktoria. Wait, rubbing off on Wiktoria? That’s what Rutherford had spent the previous night doing. Rutherford was struggling to conceal her naturally cheesy grin at the thought of it.

    Neither Shaun and Skinny looked up when the two girls came in. Skinny’s eyebrows were typically furrowed, as she was fidgeting with her phone. It was hard to make out from where Wiktoria was, but it looked like she was just messaging her parents. Which was weird, come to think of it, because she didn’t normally communicate with them that often. And she'd have only just seen them. As for Shaun, he was sitting next to the wall and leaning on it, half-asleep. He looked drained, work must have been busy.

    “Hey guys!” Rutherford cheerily chirped, champing at the chance to chat.

    The two grunted in half-acknowledgement.

    “I said... ‘hey guys’!” Rutherford repeated, this time a little bit louder and a little more pantomime. She was in a great mood and she wanted to spread it around.

    “Sorry sugar, was dozing off. Been a long week… for us that have jobs.” Shaun said while stretching to energise himself after his semi-slumber had been interrupted.

    “How did your week at work go, Shaun?” Wiktoria followed up, trying to sound interested.

    “S’Alright s’pose. Nothing much happened really” Shaun said without elaboration.


 


 

------------------------------------------

1 Week Earlier.


 

    Shaun was walking to his office job at Steadman’s and Co with a spring in his step for the first time in years. He had been in constant communication with his dad, making plans to go see Brighton play in the second week of December in a nondescript league game. He had a spring in his step because university hadn't just put him in touch with some great people, it had put him in touch with his sense of self-worth. He had a spring in his step since, while maintaining his sobriety was a constant battle, he felt better equipped to deal with it than he had ever felt before. He was establishing a support network, another layer of safety for him, there to catch him if ever he fell.

    Steadman’s and Co was a company specialising in business-to-business tech support to local and national companies. Shaun found it an interesting job with a strong emphasis on customer interaction (although the customer was usually some crusty old business man who retells racist jokes, and then follows it up with ‘but you probably can’t say that in this day and age.’ because apparently morality, empathy and self-awareness are modern conceits), and problem-solving.

    IT was originally where Stuart’s academic interests lay, but instead of studying it at college or university, he took an apprentice gig at Steadman's 8 years ago. He was not just a keen worker but a likeable and popular guy, and his prospects were buoyed by the portfolio of work that he had done outside of school. He had since worked his way steadily up, proving himself at every level, before graduating to the role of project leader. But then life happened and as such he chose to downsize his role to allow himself to go to university and, more importantly, re-establish his since-depleted feeling of self-worth. The only work he did now was legacy work for some of his old clients, on the weekends.

    But this week, he could give Steadman’s a 40-hour week. And Richard Steadman practically bit his hand off, such was his gratitude. He explained to him that Steadman's were going to be desperately busy this week and needed all hands on deck.

    Which is why he was feverishly working away on the Monday morning, picking up the slack and working on some UI issues that some of their smaller companies were having, while the main team were crunching on delivering their largest project yet. In fact, so busy were they that nobody noticed he wasn’t normally in on a Monday. Nobody noticed, apart from Pamela that is.

    Pamela was the second-in-command at the company and was responsible for managing the project managers themselves. Pamela, and this cannot be stressed enough, was also a bully. She was a bully in a beehive, a Miss Trunchbull impersonator, a caricature of belittling self-aggrandisement. And Shaun was so often her victim of choice. And given that everybody in the office was stressed as it was due to the workload, you could only imagine the righteous fury that Pamela would be wielding over the course of the week.

    It was Pamela that had been the reason he had downsized his hours and gone to university. She was an explosive-tempered cinder block of pyrotechnic rage. Everybody knew it, but Shaun knew it most of all. She had been against his appointment as a member of her team from the start, she was devastated to have been overruled and have him forced on her, and she took it out on him. She felt like she ran the company, Richard Steadman just provided the signatures. She had pulled this company up by its bootstraps for over 30 years, despite Richard’s weak leadership and at the expense of her marriage. But the one time Richard showed any backbone against her was on behalf of Shaun. But he was too meek and kowtowing to confront her on her bullying him, he just buried his head in the sand and said she was just under a bit of strain. Richard may have been Shaun’s ally, but he had been a piss-poor ally.

    They both had buried their head in the sand about Shaun's drinking and some of the performance consequences that came with it. It would have meant that each of them would have had to confront their mistakes, since drinking was his way of coping with the onslaught of bitter condescension of our resident bully. They felt guilty and both responded by doubling down on their mistakes – Pamela was even harsher and more scathing towards him, Richard being even more intentionally obtuse as to how bad things were.

    Pamela was being nice to Shaun this morning, however. She hadn’t seen him in ages – since that Christmas works do in fact when Shaun got blackout drunk in fact – because he was only working weekends and she didn’t. And she had always kidded herself that she actually liked him, and was just being stern but fair. It helped her on mental narrative in which Pamela was not a bully, just a no-nonsense boss who got results. So Pamela was being nice, right up to the moment when she accidentally spilt coffee on him.

    It was her fault, she had tripped over his chair because she was too busy thinking about how far behind they were on the big project, but to avoid admitting it was her mistake to herself, she blamed him. Like she always did. Because that was the other thing about Pamela. Nothing was ever her fault.

    “What the fuck Shaun! Oh, you never pay attention to what you’re doing. Now look, it’s gone everywhere, you idle piece of shit.” She shouted. The rest of the office went deathly silent.

    “I’m sorry Pamela, it’s fine. I’ll wipe it up, and I’ll make you a new one...” Shaun skittishly mumbled. Shaun was a different man around Pamela, compared to anyone else. He was a nervous wreck. She had whittled away at all his confidence and scorched through any backbone. He was now utterly subservient around her. And this pathetic benignity antagonised her all the more, because she could hear how cruel she was being to him and she didn’t like it. If he had stood up to her, she would have felt justified in her relentless rage towards the poor kid. But his whimpering just irritated her more. It made her feel like the monster she was. So she went super-volcanic.

    “Oh, it’s too late for that you stupid… fucking…. cocksucker.” she seethed.

    Now normally Shaun would have gone to the mensroom at this point, locked himself into a cubicle and cried his little heart out. But he had been feeling good about himself. He felt like he had worth. He wasn’t a piece of shit. No, not this time.

    “Did you call me a cocksucker? Did you call me a cocksucker because I’m gay?” he said, with all the calmness and composure he could muster. His heart was going like the clappers, but he felt a cool anger towards her. He was doing the company a favour by being here and he wasn’t going to take it any more.

    Pamela, for her part, just stood there bug-eyed and red-faced. “No… no… don’t you… I’m not… don’t you dare make this about that, you utter shithead? You know damn well...” she snarled through clenched teeth with white-hot anger.

    “Make it about what?”

    “You know what, the fact that you’re a monkey-fucking queer” she snapped vindictively, poisoned by the sheer temerity of him to make it about her behaviour. Everybody else in the office was hushed and watching keenly. If only there had been popcorn.

    “PAMELA!” Richard bellowed, summoning her to his office. “GET IN HERE NOW!” She marched in towards him. Shaun just sat there in a silent stupor, with coffee still dribbling down his leg from the accident. The other members of staff made sure he was okay, he was popular in the office and she really wasn’t. But Shaun was fearing the worst. Pamela would rage, Richard would wilt, Shaun would get fired and he wouldn’t have the money to pay for more Brighton tickets, to see more games with his dad. Shaun didn’t rush to the mensroom this time, he just cried out in the open. It was too much for him. If he wasn’t crying so much, he would have noticed Richard wasn’t wilting at all.

    They were yelling at each other. Oh boy were they. Screeching even. This was the final straw. Homophobic bullying was two steps too far. Richard couldn’t bury his head in the sand any more. Richard himself was happily married to another man, and, at his age, he had seen all kinds of homophobic abuse. He remembered just how devastating it was, how it made him feel, how he promised himself that it wouldn’t ever happen in his company.

    Pamela stormed out the office, silently crying, and started grabbing all her stuff from her desk. Everybody just watched in silence. Then, she walked out, not looking anyone in the eye.

    Nobody knew if she was pushed or if she jumped, all Richard would say was she wouldn’t be coming back. Shaun felt sick. He felt so relieved that the relief actually made him feel a little bit queasy. Maybe this week at work wasn’t going to be as dreadful as he had feared.


 

-------------------------------------------------

        “Okay fair enough” Rutherford reasoned. Not everyone had to have had a busy week like her and Wiktoria had. Honestly, she was grateful that he had come back to report that he had a quiet week, since it gave her more time to announce her new girlfriend.

    “What about you, Skinny?” Wiktoria re-directed towards the still-phone-staring musketeer.

    “Nah, nowt interesting really”


 

------------------------------------------


 

1 week earlier


 

    She wheeled her luggage down the drive of the four bed detached that her parents lived at, and took a deep breath before entering.

    She had not long landed in God’s own country having spent the train journey there fretting about her appearance. Her ever-faithful jacket was just about concealing any damage she had done to her body since she had landed on the South coast, although closer inspection would reveal it wasn’t the natural shape of jacket but rather the soft outward curve of her stomach that you could see. Her face didn’t look too different, she rationalised, as long as she didn’t look downwards, since the bit between the chin and the neck seemed less taut than it used to be. Were her arms thicker? Possibly, though they could hardly have been thinner before. And her legs weren’t quite as toothpick as before, they now looked like regular slim legs and not the bird legs she had previously. Hopefully her parents wouldn’t cause an unnecessary palaver over her minor filling out.

    She pressed the doorbell.

    “Oooo look who it is? Y’alright duck, how was your journey?” Her mum squealed in delight. Her precious little baby was back, from having left home for the first time in her life.

    “Yeah, not too shabby mum. How’s you and dad? Been missing me?” Skinny asked as her mum guided her into the living room. It felt weird being back in the house that she grew up in, even if she had only been gone 8 weeks. On one hand, she felt like a guest, being guided into the living room like she didn’t know where it was, on the other hand, she was expecting it to look more different. Anything really, a sign that time didn’t just freeze while she was gone.

    “Tell you what, d’ya fancy a cuppa, love? Yeah, I’m mashin’ a brew, so I’ll get one going for you, eh Skinny-love? Is it still milk and one sugar? Oh, and take your jacket off love, unless you’re not staying… ha!” Her mum asked, whilst buzzing to the kitchen.

    “It's two sugars now” Skinny called back, removing her leather jacket and leaving herself more exposed. Underneath, she had gone for a dungaree frock on top of a long-sleeved white shirt. It did its best to hide the damage but there was only so much it could do. Skinny was no longer skinny, though neither was Skinny fat, no Skinny was skinny-fat.

    “Is that cos you're now twice as sweet, eh love?” her dad wandered in from the garden, wiping his muddy shoes on the mat and making his way over to greet his daughter.


 

    And then he came in for the hug.


 

    “Hey, I’ll tell you what love, our little girl isn’t so little now, is she?” he commented jokily. “We’re gonna have to stop calling you Skinny at this point, eh love?”

    “Oh no, you haven’t, have ya?” Her mum said, dejectedly, whilst carrying two cups of tea into the living room that they were all gathered in. She then looked at Skinny’s subtly puckered midriff area and started whimpering, fearing the worst.

    “Are you okay love? Is everything alright?” the mum asked, with her her eyes wetter than they were before.

    “Oh, it’s nothing mum, honest. I did try to tell you, but you were all like, don’t worry about it. And you were right, I’ve just been… enjoying meself.” Skinny replied defensively, on the back foot.

    “Yeah, but you said that last time love, back when you were sick, and we thought ‘well if our Skinny says she’s fine, then she’s fine'. But you were lyin’. You weren't fine, you were sick, weren’t you duck.” her dad added solemnly. “Our poor little girl was head-sick.”

    “This is different though. God, why do you always do this? That was depression, this is happiness. This is me pursuing happiness. Why can't you just be happy for me? You know what, I wish I hadn’t bothered coming home!” Skinny shouted, before storming up to her room like she used to do in the bad old days.


 

    Skinny was sobbing on her bed until her pillow was wet, so unbelievably frustrated with her parents. And the daft thing was she hadn’t reacted like this about anything for years. This sort of immature hiding in her bedroom thing was something she thought she had long consigned to the past. It was this place. That was the cause. This fucking time capsule of a house. Throwing a mardy felt like an old habit. She hated this fucking place.

    Her mum crept into the room and sat next to her while Skinny continued crying with her back to her. Her mum’s hand started combing through Skinny’s hair reassuringly. She had been here before and she knew the drill. She knew what to check for.

    “Hey chuck, you ‘ave to look after thissen. That’s all we’re trying to do. At the end of the day, we’re your parents, we’re hard-wired to care. When you hurt, we hurt. And you hurtin’ love.” Her mum’s voice soothed like aloe.

    “But, that's my point, I’m not hurtin’ mum. Honest. I've been feeling reet. Proper good even.”

    “You thought that last time though, didn’t you love? You'd convinced yourself everything was fine and it wasn't, was it? And it broke our heart to see you hurt like that, and we can't go through that again. I don’t if your dad’s ticker could take that again.” Her mum said, still stroking her daughter’s hair affectionately.

    “I don’t know what more you want me to say mum, it's been going good, I’ve made friends, we’ve had laughs, I’ve felt… like a normal student. It’s nowt more complicated that that. I’ve been like everyone else.” Skinny turned around to say this, looking into her mum’s eyes with her tearier pair.

    “Show us your arm then. If you're doing so good, if everything is hunky-dory, and reet as rain, and fine and dandy... if all this is just from a surfeit of scran and nowt more, then you won’t have been harming yourself, and you’ll let us have ourselves a gander. So pull up your sleeve.”

Between sobs, Skinny rolled up her sleeve. The angry red marks of self-harm from her youth had now faded to thin strips that served as a constant reminder. Looking amongst them it was clear that there were no recent inductees.

    “See, I’m fine mum. Nowt new. I’m fine.” She sighed, before quietly compromising. “I tell you what mum, I’ll see Hassan if it gives you peace of mind. But you’ll have to drop it if I do. And tell dad to drop it too. I don't want you blathering on about this every time I go to the biscuit tin. But if it makes you happy, I’ll see Hassan.”

    Hassan was Skinny’s therapist for several years. He was an old man with a severe face but a calm disposition, and he had helped her through the dark days. For that, the family would always be grateful and held him in the highest regard. He may have only treated Skinny, but he was the safety net for the whole family.

    “Attagirl. That’d be smashing. You do that for us, and we’ll let you be, how does that suit you? We’ll give you a wide berth.” replied her mum, reassured by Skinny’s willingness to see her therapist again. “Though we’ll have to give you a wide berth, if you carry on eating like you had been! Oh, and we've moved the biscuit tin to the utility room”

    So nearly everything was the same in the time capsule of a house, but some things had changed.


 

    And things did seem to return to normal after that initial tumult. She felt sufficiently at home to lounge on the sofa with her feet up watching TV and chatting with her family about how they did at last week's county bridge competition. She dutifully visited all the extended family and contended with all of her aunts and uncles thinking they were being discrete while they were judging whether their Skinny was not as skinny as she used to be.

    On Thursday, she had her emergency appointment with Hassan. Here was a man partial to frowning – despite his polite demeanour, he just had Resting Scowl Face – but even his face lit up to see her. Repairing her and helping her repair herself was the greatest achievement in his considerable career. To see little bits of her mend over time, dragging herself up from rock bottom inch by inch, he had absolute admiration for the girl and her capacity to overcome.

They discussed a number of things, stressed some of the coping mechanisms he had shown her two years ago, and reminded her of the importance of making choices that looked after her mental health. She argued her three year sabbatical from calorie-counting was one of those choices. He agreed to disagree. But he did say one thing that unnerved her, mind.

    “Just because you feel happy doesn’t mean you are. We discussed this when we first saw each other. You convince yourself that you’re happy because pride makes it difficult to say that you're sad. But it shouldn’t. Admitting that you're sad takes such strength, and you should have pride in yourself when you do it. I was so proud of you last time you showed that strength, every one was.”

    She wasn’t unhappy, was she? I mean, that was literally the point of her eating up every edible thing south of London, to serve her own happiness. Why was she so disoriented by the point. But the thought rattled in her brain nontheless.

    By the end of the session, they agreed to have fortnightly phone sessions for 6 weeks, just to tide her over until the New Year. When it comes to mental health, it is better safe than sorry. And he had a vested interest in protecting the young girl, who had shown such resilience in conquering such black depression when she was younger.

    So bi-weekly phone calls with her therapist, and regular communication with her parents would hopefully see her through until she went back home for Christmas, they all figured. And with everyone comforted that Skinny was on the right path, she caught the train and left her home, and made the journey back down to Brighton.


 

-------------------------

    Rutherford would normally have found that suspicious, that neither of the other two musketeers had been up to anything, but she had news of her own that she was waiting to share, and she was just grateful for the opportunity. But before she could get her words out, her phone started ringing.

    She looked at the number and excused herself, going back outside to take the call in private.


 

Hey Ruthers”

Hey Leona...”

Sorry for ringing, but…”

No, it’s no problem, just with my coursework group, that’s all. Is this about Roman...”

Yeah, sorry, it’s just that you’ll never guess what he’s done… wait, you’re with your all your coursework group? I thought you would just be with your friend, the Polish girl from our class, that Wiktoria”

Hahaha, ‘that Wiktoria’ is not just my friend any more...”

Umm...”

Yeah, she’s my girlfriend now. I can’t believe it, it’s amazing. She’s sooo amazing Leona. You should tutor her too, you’d love her. She speaks multiple langauges too, she wants to be a linguist when she finishes uni. She is so fucking... um, sorry, fricking amazing.”

Oh”

Oh?”

Sorry, that’s really nice Ruthers, I just didn’t you were… that way inclined”

It’s okay to say gay. Gay isn't a bad word. And queer works with me too, incidentally. But any other term you’ve heard is probably homophobic so don't use it, haha.”

No, I would never… no, good for you”

Anyway, sorry for blurting that out, I’ve just been dying to tell my friends, and… well, I consider you one of my friends, sooooo...”

“Aww thanks Ruthers.”

Anyways, you were saying about Roman?”

“You know what Ruthers, it’s fine, enjoy your time with your friends, my thing can wait until the catch-up, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Honestly. Celebrate, you deserve it.”

I do, don’t I? Anyway, if you’re sure…”


 

    She went back in, and the three musketeers were deep in conversation. Rutherford stopped and paused. Would announcing her relationship make things weird? It seemed to do with Leona just then. No, if Wiktoria was fine with it, she would keep her relationship temporarily under wraps.

    She walked back into Starbucks with that big wide grin on her mouth. She was going to take Miss Clefton-Brown's advice and go celebrate, because she sure as fuck deserved it.

    “I fancy doing something to celebrate… the ummm... the return of the musketeers. Soooo, is anyone familiar with what that Thai place is like near the library because I hear its real good and that the desserts board is to die for”

 

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Hey guys, sorry if the quality of the story has dipped of late, I might have bitten off more than I can chew with this one. Least this chapter features some proper weight gain and some fun descriptions of it. Apologies if you think the phone call at the end of the chapter is hard to keep track of

Chapter 9

    Wiktoria was in her flat on her own, when she read the mass E-mail from Miss Clefton-Brown – the group coursework results were out. The past 4 weeks had been mixed for Wiktoria. In some ways, it had been the best of her life. Rutherford and her seemed like such a good fit. She loved just lying in her bed, snuggled up and watching movies with her. Even if she wasn’t as passionate about the films themselves, she just enjoyed how much Rutherford enjoyed them, and she enjoyed the excuse to hangout with her cuddly belle.

    But it was different when they were out with friends. Rutherford had asked that their relationship remain a secret to Skinny and Shaun. Why? She said it was ‘because she didn’t want to change the group dynamic’, but why not? Wasn’t this a change of the group dynamic that would be for the better? Wasn’t Rutherford proud of being with her, like she was proud of being with Rutherford? Wiktoria wanted to shout about her paramour from the rooftops, but maybe she wasn’t the catch that she considered Rutherford to be.

    There was one further upside of the subterfuge however – secret sex. Sex with Rutherford had been like nothing she had ever experienced before. A considerate lover, unlike the means-to-an-end servicing provided by Pawel the wanker. It was delicate and kind, but dominant and assertive. It was affectionate yet erotic, powerful yet soft. She would swarm and smother with the entireity of her body, but could thrill with just the end of her fingernails. And because all this was a secret, the threat of those sneaky kisses when they were out in the public had the sexual charge of doing something taboo too. The thrill of being caught made her heart race. If a stranger saw her and Rutherford holding hands, they would look at them as if to say – wait, are they lesbians? And it felt so wrong, which made it feel so damn right. The naughtiness of switching sexual orientation, and going against the grain of the years of societal indoctrination from her time in rural South Poland, sent sexual shivers down her sexual spine. What would Pawel the wanker say? That was Wiktoria’s favourite thought. That was where her mind went when at the point of climax. His horror at how much she had changed, how he no longer recognised the type of person she was. Him no longer recognising her, period.

    And it wasn’t that unlikely a fantasy, this bumper edition of Wiktoria was unrecognisable from the girl her caught a plane from Krakow in the late summer. Her hair was almost entirely grown out now, it was practically touching her shoulders now, and it had been recently styled so it looked less like a mullet and been replaced with a stylish wavy asymmetric bob, embellished with red highlights. Beneath this swanky new cut were her facial features, and these hadn’t been exempted from her new look either. Her make-up would be more dramatically applied these days, all under the tutelage of her seductress friend. Her eyes ‘popped’ with stronger black outlines and shapes, her eyebrows more carefully tended and styled for that ‘on fleek’ look, and Diana’s lip was not more smooth and rubious than her own.

    The changes to her face weren’t all made by her hand, however. Well, I suppose technically it was her hand with which she fed herself. Her cheeks were a little plumper since her weight had continued to climb towards the Christmas break. Her checkbones were a little less pronounced now, and her jawline had lessened its severity. In fact, everything just looked more tenderly cushioned, which, when coupled with her new do, changed her facial appearance from elfin to siren. From the clinical cuts of a model’s facade to the smoother and flowing facial features found on catwalks and under stagelights.

    The scintillating softening of Wiktoria could be seen further down too. First, her neck was no longer sinewy and long, but more rounded out now. It was the one change Wiktoria regretted, since it was the one part of her that she had always liked. It was why she was invariably donning an elegant shawl or scarf, or perhaps a mock-neck or turtleneck jumper to offset this perceived deterioration. They stood atop her famously broad shoulders, now so padded that her collarbone was imperceptible, smoothed out as if sanded down by a carpenter for a less harsh look. Next, on this guided tour, we have her breasts, now weighty beasts, seductively encased in lacy and elegant lingerie that catered generously for her DDs. But it was beneath these strident missiles that we could see Wiktoria’s most notable change. Her tummy was stuck on sticking out, no matter her posture now, and by several inches whatsmore, a dome encasing a deluge of delicacies. Even her most stylish cashmere cardigans couldn’t disguise this fully blossomed belly. Bearing the brunt on this additional load was her lower half, her callipygian curves culminating in a stronk, tonk badonkadonk that had spread outwards and backwards without ever losing shape. Her widened hips had spawned widened legs, rustling with friction against one another on the few occasions Wiktoria would find herself moving – exercise still strictly verboten, the thought of which had been meshed together with the nasty lingering aftertaste of her earlier teenage years.

    And it wasn’t just the abandonment of physical exertion (as side from her bed-based exploits with Rutherford, that is) that had seen this surfeit of self surface in Wiktoria. No, it was most notably brought about by the food. There was a tinnitus buzz coming from the back of her brain warning her that the only hobby she had in common with Rutherford was gourmandising. The films they watched, she put up with for the company, and the books were always more Rutherford’s thing than hers. She had tried to get Rutherford into watching Speedway on the TV, something Wiktoria had always enjoyed and seen live many times, but it seemed less like an adrenal rush to the traditionally more leisurely American, and more like an annoying buzz of bee-like movements and bee-lines around her soulless course. Where was the character in that? With one of Wiktoria’s other hobbies from growing up, however, Rutherford was far more accommodating. Wiktoria loved to cook, and the pair of them loved to eat, meaning the hobby of cooking was given a free-pass. So, food was the thing that bound them together, and so they ate endlessly, relentlessly unsustainably and utterly self-destructively. Wiktoria got sexual sparks from the latter aspect, the reckless ruination of her former physique. To see herself turn to mush and bulk out several degrees with pillowy softness delighted her. And food was fun too. As well as the titillation of such intense hedonism, there was the simple fact that food tasted good, was pleasant to eat and thus she enjoyed doing it. What was it that Shaun said that very first time they were put together in the same group?

    “So live life. To its fullest. Experience things. And enjoy things. And do everything you want to do. Say yes to everything you can.”

    That was the motto that she was living by.

    And that was the reason her weight had continue to spiral stratospherically. And had Rutherford not put her scales back away, never to be seen again, she would have seen the numerical consequences. 196lbs was the damage. 22lbs up from last time. Teetering perilously on the knife-edge of 200lbs. A marked leap from her opening gambit of 114lbs, that she landed in England with back in the summer – a vertiginously dizzying climb of 82lbs in total. Of course, when the only way of weighing yourself is by looking in the mirror when dressed better than you ever have been in the past, or by trusting the flattering words of her always-complimenting lover, then Wiktoria would never know, and thus she felt more beautiful than she ever had in her life.

    With one hand busy eating a Britsh jammy doughnut, she used the other hand to access the coursework grades for the groupwork. When she saw the grade, she knew she had to call Rutherford, because she knew her girlfriend would be losing her shit right now at the grade she’d been given.


 

    Rutherford was losing her shit right now, at the grade she’d be given. 51! Is that a fucking joke! That’s nearly a fucking third! Rutherford was aiming for a first, maybe a 2:1, but a shitty 2:2 and a low 2:2 at that. Leona had all but given their work her seal of approval and then she pulls this shit! Leona had been acting like such a bitch recently towards her, but this was the final straw. You can fuck with Rutherford emotionally, you can fuck with her physically, but you do not fuck with her grades!

    She’d noticed Leona’s mood shift when they had their catch-up. It was short, cold and featured no Roman gossiping in the slightest. And to top it all off, she requested that it be the last one, so she could spread her time across all the students evenly and not have one student hogging all the attention. She’d also noticed in class, her increasingly abrupt demeanour, at the class in general but also specifically to their group. Needling comments, sarcastic remarks, all devised to aggravate. Shaun called her out on it once when she was snapping at Wiktoria, apparently he didn’t stand for that kind of thing any more, and she hadn’t seen Shaun in that class since. That should have been the final straw to be honest, her locking horns with Shaun, but Rutherford regretfully didn’t intervene, and now they had been seeing less and less of him as a result of Leona acting like an absolute asshole. She was going to talk to Leona face-to-face and work out what the actual fuck was going on. And nobody was going to talk her out of it.

    It was at that point that Wiktoria rang and started to talk Rutherford out of it. Wiktoria was always so good in these situations, her kindness and warmth defrosted Rutherford’s icy mood and cheered her up. Rutherford sat down on her bed and listened to her girlfriend’s all round niceness trickle down the phone and into our Yank’s ear. While she sat perched on the edge of her bed on the phone, Rutherford’s stomach splayed out in front of in a lipid roll, flooding beneath her top and pushing it up. While most of Rutherford looked the same, her front had taken a hammering from her weight gain. The problem was she was always eating when Wiktoria was eating, and Wiktoria was always eating, Rutherford made sure of that. Furthermore, Rutherford was finding her own weight gain all manner of kinky. It had that glorious bulge of adipose goodness she had come to love, coupled with the illicit thrill of self-sabotage. It meant everytime she had sex, it felt like a threesome, she was having sex with her goddess of girlfriend and also being turned on by herself, leaving her trapped in a never-ending Ouroborous of Epicurean eroticism. And on someone of Rutherford’s shorter stature, the weight gain could not have been more obvious. Her belly was now a big bulbous doughy thing now that seemed to swell omnidirectionally. Her muffintop was handfuls of excess, and her belly was a gut. Her 191lbs put her a smidge off the pace-setter that was Wiktoria, but Wiktoria had half a foot of height to lose it on. 191lbs was up 26lbs from last time she weighed herself, it meant she had gained 86lbs in just over a year, and it meant that on someone with Rutherford’s more regular height, that she was officially clinically obese, and that no amount of sartorial elegance and refinement can mitigate that. Not that she had tried, she was still wearing the same clothes from 30lbs ago, since the person she had been trying to impress was well and truly won over. For some bizarre reason, Wiktoria had barely noticed Rutherford’s gain. Perhaps because her insecurity made her more likely to fixate on her own gain, but also maybe because when she looked at Rutherford, she never really saw anything other than her own mental image of her, the stylish woman that liberated her. Her physical appearance just served as a cypher, in Wiktoria’s eyes, for what she represented.

    Wiktoria had said her piece and had thought she had done enough to dissuade to Georgetown girl, but Rutherford had another idea. She decided to refer it to a third party. Shaun, given how Leona had treated him, deserved a say.


 

    Shaun saw Rutherford’s caller ID and smiled to himself. He knew what this was about. He had been secretly relieved about the grade he had received, because it forced his hand. Shaun had been dialling back his interest in academia, because he had revitalised it elsewhere. First and foremost, he was moving back in with his dad. It would be awkward at first, he knew that, but he didn’t care. After all the strain that Shaun had put on him with his inability to cope with work without booze in his blood, Shaun was grateful to mend ties and spend time with the old man. Also, his dad worked 9-5 most days, and then most evenings at the buffet place, meaning his dad was never going to get in his hair excessively. And Shaun contributing towards the bills and such like would be a huge financial relief to his dad, who never had his head above water for long. Speaking of work, Shaun was enjoying his work at Steadman’s a bit more these days. Scratch that, a lot more these days. He’d always enjoyed the actual work, but the black cloud of a boss had drained him of all positivity. That black cloud had now lifted, leaving his working hours with more sunshine. Is this what happy felt like, because, if so, it was rather nice.

    So Shaun was thinking of ditching uni and going back to work full time. University was his attempt at finding a non-alcoholic solution to his problems at work. And it had. His friends had restored his confidence by looking up to him, and not down on him like she had. He knew it from the way they fawned over his advice. The fact that Rutherford was calling him was Exhibit A. The fact that they had taken his hastily-assembled, poorly-thought-out and cathartic release of advice about having A Free Hit while at uni so keenly, and allowing it to manifest so pronouncedly on their previously dainty figures, was Exhibit B. It was all so flattering. He could never thank them enough. The musketeers were meeting next week for a final goodbye before Christmas, and he was going to give his final goodbyes then.

    He answered the phone to a chuntering Rutherford, all hussing and cussing about her former favourite teacher. He listened patiently and then he extolled some advice, perhaps the last piece of advice that he would ever give them. More than the free hit thing, which was silly really, this is the one piece of advice he wanted them all to take with them.

    “Stand up for yourself. Always stand up for yourself. And don’t let anyone ever put you down. Ever. Don’t let anyone tell you that you are not worth it. Ever. If you look in the mirror and don’t see a gladiator, a champion who has overcome so much, triumphed over such adversity, persevered through such turmoil. If you look in the mirror and don’t see an Amazonian warrior, darling you need to get yourself down to Specsavers and get a new pair of glasses.”


 

    That was all the motivation Rutherford needed. She was going to kick some professorial ass. She was going to head straight down to Miss Clefton-Brown RIGHT THIS INSTANT. After she had double-checked with Skinny, of course.

    Skinny had seen the results and figured it was her own fault. Skinny was having doubts about staying at university herself. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for it. It had been taking its toll. Her shrink had opened her eyes to how much she was struggling emotionally. Granted, she was eating to be happy. But that just meant that she need to eat to be happy. It meant it wasn’t her default state. The eating, the drinking, it was all just her clambering for a state of happiness that was otherwise eluding her.

    So, if eating was the only thing that made her happy, she endeavoured to eat. To plough through food in pursuit of an uptick in mood. Her Skinny Meals, her cakes on the computer desk, the double takeaway days, they were all just brief spikes in pleasure that only emphasised how gloomy she had become the rest of the time. How permanently furrowed her eyebrows always found themselves. Her own Resting Scowl Face. Maybe she was depressed. And she was building up the strength to admit it to herself.

    And while her face grew more severe, her body expanded outwards. Her eating habits had seen her finally forego high-waisted jeans. Her belly and love handles were an enemy of such a denim design. Her skinny shape, tight (thought now less tight) rump and her formerly petite breasts (now regularly sized) only exacerbated her gain elsewhere. Her stomach jutted out as much as her apple-sized cleavage and looked awkward on her otherwise lanky frame. She was built like a tummy on legs. Her 158lbs were a stark contrast to her earlier size, up a further 22lbs, and a total gain of 45lbs. A number that size always going to leave an indent in her figure.

    The upshot of it was Skinny was drifting ever apart from her nickname. Anybody who met her wouldn’t have blinked twice at her build, somewhat slim but with a healthy pot-belly. But they would never have attributed her nickname to the girl that was currently eating a custard tart in her room on her own.

    She heard her phone buzz, while she was eating from the same bag of pastries that spawned the custard tart. With the next pastry, an apple strudel, now between her hungry lips, she answered the phone.


 

Hey Skinny”

Y’alright Rutherford”

Have you seen the grade Leona gave us?”
“Yeah, that Miss Clifton-Brown always was a sour-faced bitch, I’ll tell you that for nowt”

Ha, yeah, that was literally why I was ringing, I was gonna give her a piece of my mind, but I wanted the musketeer’s go ahead.”

Well, I dunno, I mean, maybe I only deserve a low 2:2, too much partying and whatnot. Maybe it was me that brought all your grades down, while you carried by my hungover ass. Maybe you should be taking it on me, love. Maybe it’s all my fault.”

Actually… I think this one’s on me. I think she’s taken it out on me. I told her something and she’s been actually like a real douche ever since”

You told her that you were shagging Wiktoria, did ya?”

Yeah, I let is slip… wait! Hang on a second, you knew?!”

That my best mate was fucking my other best mate. Yeah, I sleuthed it out.”

Oh my god.”

I actually walked in on you”

OH MY GOD”

You were at it like rabbits, and I was drunk and thought I would come over, like I used to when I couldn’t be arsed to walk all the way back. I still have your key, remember. It sobered me up, and I thought I’d leave you to it. Looked like you were enjoying yourselves.”

OH MY FUCKING GOD”

I know”

I’m sorry”

What for?”

I dunno, I guess for...”

For lying to me? For keeping secrets from me? From treated me like some ignorant shit who didn’t deserve what was going on?”

Hang on a minute… you’re pissed at me!”

You’re my best fucking friend, and you don’t even tell me that! [sobs] I feel cut off from everyone, [sobs] like you’ve just chosen to abandon me!”

Oh come on! That’s not fair, I wouldn’t lie. I maybe should have told you, but I didn’t lie”

Yeah, you should have told me!”

But it’s not like you tell me everything, You’re always keeping secrets.”

Like what, this isn’t about that time I asked Shaun for advice, cos I’d gained weight for the first time? Cos, that’s not really like-for-like, is it?”

That’s not the only thing”

[voice raising]The Skinny Meal? Really? That’s what narked you? I told you I ate a meal, but I didn’t tell you it’s name?”

“[Starts to shout] NO, that’s not it!”

[Much louder now, shouting back] Then what is, Rutherford fucking Stones!!! Do tell, what have I been keeping from you that’s on a par with you fucking my other best friend and not thinking to tell me!!!!”


 


 

[Shouted] Oh, I don’t know? Maybe the fact that you used to self-harm!”


 


 

[Silence – building to the sound of repressed sobs]

[Hissed, rising to a shout] Or, just a thought, you could have mentioned how you were once pregnant!!! You were once fucking pregnant!!! Is that on a par????”


 


 

[Between continued sobs] How did you know?”

[Calmer now] I saw the pictures on Facebook”

[Quietly, through tears] I thought I took them all down”

There’s this one of you in this cute red polo shirt and you can see your left arm”

And the pregnancy? Because no-one knows about that. Not even my parents.”

I can see your stomach is swollen, and then a week later gone. It wasn’t a bloat, it was a baby”

It was an abortion”

[Sighs] Why didn’t you tell me? I told you all about Shay, and my parents, and that fucking ‘Ruth the Witch’ song on Week 1. You could have told me this”

I dunno”

It upset me… but more than anything I just felt guilty”

Guilty?”

Yeah, that you didn’t you didn’t think you could tell me. That I wasn’t a good enough friend that you felt like you could. I felt like I did something wrong. So when you kept these little secrets about the Skinny Meal or whatever, it hurt because it reminded me that you couldn’t trust me.”

Oh god, Rutherford. It’s not that. It’s not that at all. Can we talk? Tonight. Sack Wiktoria off for one night, and just chat with me. I don’t want any more secrets. I’m fucking tired of secrets.”

Deal. We’ll do that. First, I’m gonna go kick Leona’s ass, and then I’ll come back and we can talk. All cards on the table, just get it all out. You’re not my girlfriend Skinny, but you’re still my best friend.”


 

    Rutherford hung up. Then she grabbed her coat, put on her boots and marched to see Miss Leona Clifton-Brown. And she meant business.

 

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Not much weight gain, but some reconciliation, and a cool cliff-hanger

Chapter 10

   Rutherford waited outside the class that Leona was teaching in, and began pacing furiously outside. It had been raining outside and Rutherford was now drenched, her hair was dripping at the ends and her jeans felt water-logged. Leona saw her through the window before class was over but her expression gave nothing away, the stone-faced, ice-hearted asshole that Rutherford felt she was. Uh, she made her so angry! Not to just hurt her, but to also hurt her friends as collateral damage. If she had a problem, she should have just taken it straight to the organ-grinder and not involve her musketeer mates in it.

    The class that Leona was teaching was finishing and the student disseminated leisurely out the classroom while Rutherford hovered outside, itching with pent-up frustration and shaking from the cold and the wet. Once they had eventually cleared out of the way, Rutherford took a deep breath, put her head down and went in. She wasn’t just doing this for herself, she reminded herself. She had to prove herself to Wiktoria, rescue Skinny’s deteriorated self-confidence and follow Shaun’s advice. She had to make this count.

    “Leona...”

    “We’re not friends” the lecturer clipped back snippily. This wasn’t going to be easily.

    “Ugh, Miss Clefton-Brown...”

    “Nope, I’m a Doctor of Linguistics, please show some respect” she again replied curtly, without even looking up from the papers she was picking up and putting in her bag. “And I have another class in 10 minutes so you best make it snappy”

    “That’s no problem, Dr Clefton-Brown, I’ll be ‘snappy’. I just came to tell you I was going to file an official complaint against you...” Rutherford blurted out, surprising herself, but goddammit she was livid, and felt she deserved some respect of own. The reply from Leona suggested that she felt otherwise…

    “You fucking what…? How dare you? How. Dare. You. After all I have done, and how you’ve treated me...” Leona was looking up at her now and stared at her with absolute contempt and disdain, but Rutherford held her nerve.

    “You didn’t just punish me with those grades, you punished other people too...” Rutherford made her move for the moral high ground.

    “Piss off! The grades were fair, if you actually read my comments and looked at the marking criteria you would clearly see you fell within the criteria for a low 2:2, and that’s what you got” Leona didn’t flinch once, head still held high and adamant she was right.

    “You know that’s bullshit, and you are too smart to think that I’m too thick to buy it. Ever since I told you I was with Wiktoria...”

    “And you started ignoring my tutelage so you can get your rocks off with some bimbo, you’re grades started to deteriorate. Funny that? It’s almost like studying gets good grades.” Leona again not backing down from her pedestal.

    “You just called my girlfriend a bimbo?” Rutherford saw red at that. “You’re gonna lose your job for that!”

    Rutherford marched off, her mind a jungle of incomplete thoughts and supernova fury. She was going to bury that bitch, if it was the last thing she did. Leona chased after her, panicked and desperate to stop her, suddenly revealing the fear in her face. Rutherford stopped, folded her arms, flared her nostrils and glared at the teacher. Leona looked a little worse for wear, truth be told. She looked gaunt for a start, everything on her face was pallid and weighty. She looked tired. She looked sad. And the rest of her looked malnourished, her formerly pleasantly plush person withered away like she hadn’t eaten in days.

    “Give me one good reason, Leona. After all that, after the grades, and the cold shoulder, after everything, after calling Wiktoria a bimbo, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t formally complain, and leave you unemployed so you can be a Doctor of Fuck All.”

    Leona stood there, digesting. Her eyes were scanning thin air as she tried to work out what to say. She was doing this weird thing with her hand where it was almost like she was scratching her palm, feverishly clawing at the stress rash that was there. Her posture wasn't as purposeful either, like there was a strain on her and it was curving her spine. And all this time spent thinking, she wasn’t saying anything at all. So, Rutherford turned back around and walked off.

    “He’s gone!”

    Rutherford stopped and with her back still to her teacher, tilted her head to the side.

    “He’s gone Ruthers, and I’m all alone!” Leona was riven with rivers of tears suddenly, bursting with floods of water like a corked champagne bottle that had just been sabered. Leona had convinced herself she was holding it all together, that she was in the right and that she was a brilliant independent woman who didn’t need no man, but all of a sudden Leona realised she had lost it all. She had lost her lover, she had lost her friend and soon she will have lost her job. So that’s what she told Rutherford, who, for her part, listened.

    “You should have told me, and certainly not taken it out on me” Rutherford replied calmly, her arms still crossed and her eyes not convinced that her excuse was enough to justify her behaviour.

    “No, I know I shouldn’t. But I tried to get hold of you, because I needed you...”

    “You said, don’t worry about it, it can wait until our catch-up!” Rutherford wasn’t letting her make excuses and get away with it that easily.

    “I know but...”

    “And then when I went to the catch-up and you didn’t say anything! Nothing at all, just solemn sarcasm and belittling, because the only way you feel better about yourself, is by making other people feel worse. Look at it from my perspective and tell me how that looks. Is that what you think fair looks like?” Rutherford held firm.

    “I know, I know and I'm sorry. I really am. Ijust felt everyone was leaving me all at once and I… I guess I lashed out.” Leona’s nose was wet with tears. If you didn’t know better, you would have said she was the one who had been caught in the downpour.

    “You can always talk to me, Leona. I am still your friend. I haven’t left you. You should have just spoken to me, and not punished me for something I didn’t know about.” the American reasoned, her tone getting increasingly more sympathetic. A thought crossed her mind and I made her snicker.  “You know, I thought you were doing this because you fancied me!”

    “No, you’re not my type. You don’t have a phallus, for a start!” Leona joked, but quietly, like she wasn’t sure if she was overstepping the mark.

    “Ha, there’s the Leona we all know and love. Now didn’t you say you had a lesson to get to?”

    “Yeah, but I’m usually late anyway, can we talk a bit more?”


 

    Rutherford and Leona talked it out. Leona explained how she was angry at herself for being upset over someone like Roman who was clearly a twat.

    “Wow, twat! That’s like when Wiktoria called her ex a wanker! You Europeans have such a fun repertoire of curse words, I love it. Back in the states, we would just call a guy like that a dirtbag. Or a douchebag. Some kind of bag, basically” Rutherford teased.

    “Ha, I like that. I might use it for my stand-up” Leona laughed before adding more sincerely “You seem to really like her… it’s nice. I wish I had that.”

    “Yeah, she’s literally the best. Like seriously. She’s just so cute and kind and cool, and I love being with her. Like, I swear the sky gets less cloudy when I’m in her company, or something, which I know sounds crappy and cheesy, but, I dunno, it’s weird. But good weird. Nice weird. I like it.” Rutherford gushed, still head over heels. She then redirected back to Leona and this time towards her newly emaciated frame.  “When did you start starving yourself?”

    “Oh god, is it obvious? No, I've not been eating. Food just doesn't taste right at the minute. I just wanted to punish myself I guess. I felt like I was withering away on the inside, that there was less and less of me, so I stopped eating, and then there was less and less of me. It felt right, like it was what I deserved.”

    “Yeah, I get that. You wouldn’t necessarily know from looking at my pudgy-ass self these days, but I was once somewhere similar. But then I decided to take control, and that included not starving myself and punishing myself and depriving myself because of the actions of other people.” Rutherford admitted.

    “Fuck, the student dispensing the wisdom to the teacher! You really are the best, Ruthers. You know I was actually going to ask you to share a flat with me, here in Brighton, I’m moving down here. But then I found out you were gay and just starting in a relationship, and I didn’t want to cause any trouble...” Leona added tentatively.

    “Really, wow! Umm… two questions I guess. One, how many people do you need? And two, what are you views on the early filmography of Jean-Luc Godard?”


 

    “Wait, I thought you were going to be really angry with her, and now you want us to move in with her?” Wiktoria asked, a little surprised at the dramatic volte-face.

    “Hey, like I explained, she was just grieving a break-up. None of us are thinking straight when bad stuff like that happens, and when they do, they need people who love them around, like you did when this piece of hot ass came along. And anyway, weren’t you the one who tried to talk me out of confronting her?” Rutherford was genuinely mulling the offer over. It was a three bedroom property on the edge of the city, which would have been perfect. Affordable, roomy and just out of the way of the hectic hullabaloo of the bustling city centre. But it did beg the question, would Wiktoria and Rutherford require separate bedrooms or not? She guessed so, but deep down she hoped not.

    “And now you are going to Skinny and you will fix her too?” Wiktoria asked. This matched Wiktoria’s mental image of Rutherford as someone who could fix everything, because she lived on a slightly higher plane to everyone else.

    It also matched Rutherford’s mental image of Rutherford as someone who could fix everything.

    “Yes, one down, one to go”


 

    Rutherford and Skinny were sitting on Skinny’s bed, in her room. The room itself was fastidiously presented, with lots of memorabilia of the Yorkshire life that she had left behind, in picture frames considerately positioned on any desk space going of her parents or old school friends. Desk space not filled with these mementos were filled with a giant half-eaten Victoria Sponge Cake, showered in caster sugar and with streams of sweet red jam and indulgent cream squirting from its side, crumbling away at the side that it had been ravenously clawed from. On the other wall, there was a poster with primary colours, nineties-era pretty people and the F.R.I.E.N.D.S logo adorned the wall over her bed. There was perhaps something deep to be observed about the fact that the American’s wall was decked with European film posters, and the European chosing American TV posters, maybe about the glamour of foreign lands and cultures and the idylls presented there, but damned if the girls could put their finger on it.

    “So I think I might have depression again” Skinny confessed. They had only been talking 15 minutes and they were already at the stage in the conversation where they poured their hearts to one another.

    “Whether you have depression or not, the musketeers will all have your back.” Rutherford reassured. She put her hand warmly on the hunched back of her emotionally scarred friend.

    “Thanks love. But, honestly, you might not need to for much longer. You see, with all this shit going on with me, I’m thinking of dropping out and going back up to Yorkshire. Going back home” Skinny confessed. “It might have been a step too far, coming down here. I’m just not ready for it.” Rutherford looked heart-broken at the prospect of this, but endeavoured to conceal it to her emotionally tender friend.

    “Look, Minnie Charnwood, you could fly halfway around the world and we’d still have your back. But don’t rush into any decision please. For me?” Rutherford asked. She was in a pickle here. She really didn’t want Skinny to go home, for the very selfish reason of wanting to spend more time with her friend. But, she couldn’t try to persuade Skinny. It had obviously had taken a lot of courage just to reach the stage of confronting her problems, and it would be cruel to make it any harder.

    “No I won’t, I promise. I’ve given myself the deadline of the last musketeer meet-up before Christmas at the end of this week though to decide, because I’m going home for Christmas and I want to be able to say goodbye properly if I’m going home for good.” She reasoned through a weak half-smile, her eyes scanning her friend’s face for feedback.

    There was a bit of silence, before Rutherford asked.

    “So, I gotta ask, about this pregnancy? Who knocked you up?”

    “Ha, thanks for putting it so tactfully. Sorry, it’s just that I’ve never spoken to anyone about this, apart from my therapist, that is. And he doesn’t say much, just peers over his glasses and scowls kindly. I call it his Resting Scowl Face.” Skinny began, reaching for a light-hearted tone, but her quivering voice betraying her. “It was no-one in particular. No-one special. I honestly don’t even remember. It was my nineteenth birthday and I’d got particularly rat-arsed...”

    “Sorry to interrupt, but you were nineteen? Wait, how old are you Skinny? I just presumed you were 18 or 19 like the rest of us.”

    “21. I’m 21. I was working during my gap year when I got… y’know, pregnant, and then it all got too much for me, and I thought I had let me parents down, and then the depression and the cutting started, so I decided to postpone coming to uni, until I felt I was ready. Maybe, it was too soon still. Sorry, another secret” Skinny confessed.

    “Hey, I’m not here to judge. I’m here for my friend. Saying that, Shaun is going to be so pissed, he said you had a Free Hit until you were 21, and you already were!” A consoling smile came from the concerned American, and an affectionate hug followed.

    “Oh God, I know. I feel awful. For all of it. For hiding the scars from you, for all of it”

    “Hey, you were a victim. Listen to me, you were a victim. A victim of a cruel mental illness. And you triumphed over it, and got yourself across the other side of the country to study. You should be proud. Your scars aren’t who you are, Minnie Charnwood. They’re where you’ve risen from.” Rutherford proclaimed passionately. As someone who had emotional scars, she couldn’t fully relate but could get some of the way there, and she knew Skinny needed to be reminded of her successes, not her failures.

    “Will you ever forgive me?” Skinny said, with tears in her eyes.

    “Of course” she replied without a seconds thought. “Hey, we’ve all got secrets”

    “I know, but you told me all yours on Week 1, like you said.”


 

    “Not all of them.”


 

    Rutherford paused awkwardly, and her gaze became evasive. Two deep breaths later and she decided she was going to go all in, put it all on the line and tell her biggest secret of all, but she needed to make sure she was OK to do so.

    “Right, this secret, I have never told anybody. Ok, not a therapist, not a vicar, not a friend, not a lover. Wiktoria doesn’t even know. My own girlfriend, who means everything to me and gives my life so much meaning, and I haven't even told her this. I haven't dared. So you cannot tell a soul. You have to promise me that you will never tell a living soul. Because this is soooo embarrassing. It’s not like yours, it’s not dark or sad, it’s just embarrassing, really that's all it is, but you’ve taken a leap of faith and been honest with me, and I want to return the favour” Rutherford then braced herself.


 

    “Have you ever heard of the term FA?”


 

    And so it began, Rutherford unburdened herself after keeping the one secret she thought she would never share. Her heart raced in fear as the words came tumbling from her mouth, but she just kept going, ploughing on, determined to get to the finish line. She explained how it maybe started with Shay, but maybe not because she was in denial about it for so long. She explained what she liked, and how much she liked it. She explained her guilt about Wiktoria’s expanding form and her own. She said it all.

    “Ok, umm… wow” Was the only response Skinny could conjure when confronted with that cacophony of confession.

    “I know right”

    “How long have you...” Skinny probed, curiously. Delicately.

    “Been a fat-fetishising, blubber-loving chubby chaser? Pfft.. fuck knows. A while. Not forever. I don’t know. It sort of snuck up on me. I mean, I liked Shay, and she was, y’know, bigger. But that wasn’t why I liked her. I liked her because I thought she liked me, I thought we had a… I dunno, fuck it, a kinship I guess. But at the same time, she’s not the reason I like it either. I’m not just pining for that duplicitous, back-stabbing, heart-breaking dickheaded whore of a bitch. Fuck no. It’s just that fetishes ain’t so clear cut, I don’t think.” Rutherford, thought, exploring who on ideas on how she ended up where she was.

    “Thanks Rutherford” Skinny said kindly, appreciating that Rutherford’s admission wasn’t an easy one to make.

    “No, it’s nothing. I’m just saying, we’ve all got our own shit. None of us are perfect, but, my god, I think we’ve done as well as can be expected, given the way things turned out.” Rutherford’s advice seemed not just to be supporting her best friend, but herself as well.

    “Wait, so, just a thought… y’know, when I gained all my weight, all this weight...” Skinny asked, gesturing towards the pot-belly that not just rested on her belt, but nosedived a little bit over it. “Were you properly into it?”

    “Yes, oh my god Skinny. I was so into it. That’s the real reason I was angry you asked Shaun over me. I was worried he’d encourage you to lose the weight. You were always so pretty and then you just started growing in front of me. Oh my god, that buffet in Crawley, I would masturbate over the thought of it.” Rutherford’s confessions were coming thick and fast, although maybe we shouldn’t use the phrase ‘coming thick and fast’ given the masturbatory context. But we were now reaching the over-sharing stage of the conversation.

    Skinny laughed. This was the medicine she needed. To not feel like a victim. To not feel patronised. And having someone confess they like fat people can certainly do that.

    “Do you know much I’ve gained since I’ve been here, love? 45lbs. Does that do it for you?”

    It did do it for her. It did it for Rutherford plenty. She felt a shooting sensation lower down and as soon as Skinny said the words. So, she just nodded.

Skinny needed to feel empowered, after feeling so down-trodden and burdened. And seeing that she could cause such a visceral response in her best friend empowered her no end. A crooked smile appeared on her face. “Because I was working it out the other day. If I did all three 3 years at uni, and in half a year I gained 45 lbs...”

    Rutherford’s legs tightened together. “Please stop”

    “That would be 90lbs in 1 year”

    Rutherford twitched and contorted like that girl that terrified her in the Exorcist.

    “Take me up to about 200lbs”

    Rutherford’s whole body started tightening. “Really, please stop”

    “By the end of year 3, I would have gained 270lbs”

    Rutherford was doing her best not to writhe and contort in pleasure and pain.

    “Taking me up to nearly 400lbs”

    “For fuck sake stop it Skinny, I’m seeing Wiktoria!” she yelped, almost desperately.

    Skinny grinned gormlessly at her panting friend, on the cusp of the embarrassing. It made Skinny feel alive, the rush of control in a life that she had felt was spiralling. Maybe she didn’t need to quit uni after all, maybe she needed just something to grip on to. Like her friend’s fetish. So she asked the question.


 

    “Do you want to have sex with me Rutherford? Yes or no?”

 

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A Free Hit - Chapter 11 (SEASON FINALE)

    Rutherford laid back in the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as she was eaten out. Her legs tightened and twisted the sinews in her neck strained, and the pleasure centres in the brain lit up like it was Bonfire Night. She found herself in a state of absolute ecstasy. Rutherford was on the receiving end of the best sex she had ever had.

    The hairs on the back of her neck were still tingling when she got up the following morning, careful not to deserve her sleeping beauty by her side. She tip-toed to the shower to wake herself ready for the day to come, but turned around and took a look at Wiktoria cutely snuggled between the bedsheets first, Orpheus stylee. The pair of them were still ironing out the kinks of kinky sex, since making love to a woman was fairly new to both of them for differing reasons, but it seemed that practice was making perfect. And the sex that they just had felt pretty close to perfect. But now they had to get ready for ‘the final musketeer get-together of the calendar year’.


 

    Or maybe that should be ‘the final calendar get together at all’, since Shaun was preparing himself to break the news that he was dropping university like it was hot. He wanted it to be a celebration, and to leave on high-note, but he was worried he was springing it on them unexpectedly and that it might put a dampener on proceedings. Lord knows Shaun had a lot to celebrate of late.

    First, there was him officially moving back in with his dad. Most grown men of his age wouldn’t celebrate this, and saying it out loud, it did sound like a backwards step. But this was, in fact, a giant leap forward in his relationship with his father. You could never say that they were getting on like a house on fire, his dad wasn’t that kind of open person, but they had found a level and tone of comfort with one another that meant that they were actually enjoying one another’s company.

    Secondly, the most unexpected turn-up at work unexpectedly turned up. A job offer for Pamela’s former position. Shaun had hoped that in her vacancy, he could start picking up more of his hours at Steadman’s again. But this felt like jumping from 1 straight to 3 whilst missing out 2. Out of nowhere, Richard Steadman himself suggested he should apply for the position. And lo, he got a job interview. Shaun had to skip one of Miss Clifton-Brown’s tutorials to attend, but it was the best skive off that he had ever done, since the interview felt like a formality. Richard himself was there, alongside Therese from HR, and they spent half the interview singing Shaun’s praises and rattling off his achievements from the 8 years that he had worked there, and the other half explaining the corporate and financial benefits that would come with this advancement of position. They were pretty staggering financial benefits, it had to be said.

    So all in all, Shaun had probably had the greatest month of his life, but he was going to drop bad news on the rest of his musketeering amigos nonetheless. He had to think of a way he could turn their frowns upside down.


 

    Skinny’s frown had turned upside down of late. And this might have been down to just how close she had managed to get to having sex with her best friend. It was strange really, given that Skinny was a heterosexual woman, and given that Rutherford was not a man, but the sexually charged encounter had given her a new lease of life.

    She should have felt guilty about testing her friend’s resolve like that, and she wasn’t sure Rutherford had entirely forgiven her for that almost Biblical test of temptation. Rutherford hung on, that time, though she grimaced as she declined Skinny’s offer for sex. And that was how they had left things between one another, meaning that the forthcoming meet-up was going to be interesting, that was for sure. And while Rutherford was a little frostier with Skinny for that cruel abuse of friendship by toyingly offering sex, the frostiness concealed a kinetic heat in every exchanged word and glance between the pair. It was as if Skinny had reached inside Rutherford’s doughy stomach and wrapped her red nail-varnished fingers around the American’s twisted libido, and was squeezing really tightly. And just the thought of that power, that agency, that autonomy was an aphrodisiac to the no-longer skinny, no-longer mini Skinny Minnie.


 

    Waking up to a sight like that was an aphrodisiac to Wiktoria. It was the sight of an increasingly flustered Rutherford stomping around her flat in a state of low-key panic, in just her bra and underwear. And that left a lot of Rutherford unclothed. With Rutherford turned side on, Wiktoria got a clear view of the paunched-up Georgetown girl. From this angle, you could see the early stages of development of a double chin. You could see her breasts bulging magnificently to gargantuan proportions, now matching and catching the DD’s Wiktoria had been devilishly donning. Further down was the stomach swelling with the same forward momentum as her prized assets, a globular gut jutted while the strutted in the room. Her backside heaved outwards with wobbly impunity, and her legs thickened like gravy with too much stock. But, despite all the unconventionality of finding that attractive, when Wiktoria looked at her beloved inamorata, she saw Hollywood curves and gushing style. She saw the woman she loved and nothing more.

    “My lovely beautiful princess, what is the matter?” The droopy-eyed Pole asked as she came to.

    “Hey Wicky, you’re awake! I need your help, I have a clothes-fitting problem.”

    “What is your clothes-fitting problem, my delicious girlfriend?”

    “My clothes don’t fit!”

    Cue fits of laughter from her still under-the-covers girlfriend.

    “That is not a big problem. You will just have to be naked! Forever!” Wiktoria loved seeing Rutherford flap. It seemed like a reminder that she human after all, since, Wiktoria’s mind, she seemed transcendentally beautiful and divinely perfect.

    “Haha. But seriously, I think we need to go shopping. Nothing I have fits anymore. Do you think we have time before the meet-up?”

    “I think it is a good idea because I need new jeans also. And of course we have time. If we are late, we are stylish like rock stars.” Wiktoria flung her hair back exaggeratedly.

    Wiktoria had never felt so at home anywhere or at any time in her life. After nearly two decades of searching, she was starting to feel at home. Which was a lovely feeling. The feeling of belonging.


 

    Leona felt like she didn’t belong. Which wasn’t a nice feeling. She had been invited to the musketeer meet-up by Rutherford as an act of kindness. It was a pity invite really, and Leona knew it. But the thing was, she wasn’t really in a place to turn down pity. That’s the thing about finding yourself in a state that is pitiable.

    While her and Rutherford got along famously, her relationship with other musketeers was patchy at best. Ever since she called Wiktoria a bimbo in that argument with Ruthers, she had made an effort to get to know the girl better, and had met the two lovers for coffee a couple of times. And Ruthers was right, she was a genuinely kind and likeable lady, but with a subtly steely spirit that even Rutherford hadn’t picked up on. She liked her a lot, and felt comfortable conversing with her. It also helped because Leona could speak Polish. Not perfectly, but nearly as well as Wiktoria spoke English, and Wiktoria seemed to really enjoy the opportunity to feel completely understood with what she said. So, that made the meet-up less awkward. Meeting up with Shaun, on the other hand, was going to be very awkward as he was most definitely not a fan, and perhaps with good reason. She had reached out to apologise for her earlier behaviour, but was given short shrift. “Once a bully, always a bully” was the curt response. She didn’t really have the moral high ground with which to debate that. And the unknown variable was the girl known as Skinny, who could be quite sullen but had seemed to spark up a bit over the past week and had been very keen to have Leona invited. So maybe Leona wouldn’t be all alone after all.


 

    “So, I’m going to be leaving them all alone, after all, I guess” Shaun said to the mirror before he left. The mirror showed a young man with short hair and a trim physique, a far cry from the gold-tipped hair and Michael Caine glasses and chubby self that he previously had. He looked like a man who deserved a managerial position. Which was how he felt. And who he was.

    He grabbed his coat, observing the blustery conditions and started his walk to the Chinese buffet in Crawley town.


 

    Rutherford and Wiktoria needed to start their walk to the Chinese buffet in Crawley town, if they were going to avoid being downright unfashionably late. But the clothing situation was causing a few issues, and they were having to race around Primani in a Hail Mary bid to rectify. And while Wiktoria was waging war wilfully against some size 16 jeans in a fit of wishful thinking, Rutherford was having her infrequent dose of reality with regards to the weight she had continued to amount. A further 8lbs over the past week had her weighting knocking on the door of a terrifying threshold, it took her up to 199lbs exactly. And Christmas was still on the horizon, Rutherford gulped.

    Still it was gulping that had been the problem. The fiery food frenzy with Wiktoria maybe helped with masturbating, but it didn’t help her master abating. She was always chocker-blocked with chocolate or some other heinous delight, for one reason or another. Most of it was part of her Double D double act with Wicky, since the patterns they had established together were becoming fixed and habitual. What was once an indulgent treat now seemed routine, as if the goalposts had shifted and there was a new normal in town. But now there were additional threats. There was the pair’s lunches with Leona as Rutherford insisted that the other two break the ice (as if standing on the ice wouldn’t have done it in her case). With a royally re-inflating tutor for company, the bad habits were amplified with cream teas and other such middle-class noms. But the worst cause was the small amount of time with that sadistic Skinny. Oh, how she was annoyed that she took Rutherford’s olive leaf last week, and just spat it back out in her face. It was the only thing she wouldn’t swallow however, Skinny was demonically tormenting Rutherford with extravagant bouts of decadence and strived to coax Rutherford into joining in. And with all Rutherford’s will power being used up in staying faithful, it drained when it came to holding back on food. So, no matter who she was with, Rutherford was eating.


 

    It didn’t matter whether or not she was with anyone, Skinny was always eating. This was why she was eating as she walked to the train to Crawley, strolling down the streets of Brighton wielding Wagon Wheels for snacks, and washing it down with her third can of lager of the morning. Skinny was taking control of her life by losing control around food, and there was something about the meeting ground of that seeming contradiction that made her a changed woman. She dreaded to think what her parents think when she went back for Christmas about the change.

    And her weight changed with her, as she ate her fourth wagon wheel and drank her fourth can of lager on the train to Crawley. It had been a diabolical mission to her, where the eating was the means, the objective and the result of all she was aspiring towards. She was in control, and using that control to let herself go, to the tune of a further 13lbs. This took her to 171lbs, making the 113lbs of yore seem miles away, or more accurately 58lbs away in approximately 4 months. From out of absolutely nowhere, and to her sadomasochistic delight, Skinny found her BMI to be officially overweight.

    And you could kind of tell from looking at her. Her body finally acknowledging her weight gain on body parts that weren’t her stomach, making her suit her weight a bit more. Her chunkiness looked quite fashionable now on her, filling her out where necessary and giving her a lately-developed hourglass shape, all of which served as validation for her descent into indulgence. Her trademark leather jacket no longer did her justice, however. It was much too short and wholly unflattering, but she wore it over the top of her figure-hugging and correspondingly swelling green sequin dress, regardless. She placed her hand over her burgeoning bulge of a belly and placed the last of her 8 pack of Wagon Wheels into her northern gob. All in all, she was ready and primed for the midday bash.


 

    Wiktoria was finally ready and primed for the midday bash, and was rushing to Brighton train station alongside her chubby girlfriend. The clothes shopping experience would have been eye-opening had she not still been half-asleep. It was when shopping that she had been disappointed to find she was now a wearer of size 18 trousers now, although they were very stylish trousers – black, sleek and impressively slimming. On top, she wore a glittery jumper that was just the right side of dressing up, caressing her copious curves like Rutherford did. A pretty pearl necklace was the show-stopper though, a family heirloom from mother to daughter that held such an important place in Wiktoria’s heart, just as it dangled above it.

    In summary, the chubby chick was dolled up nicely and looking forward to it. Moreso that Rutherford who still thought the buffet was slumming it. She had opted for an even more glamorous, and considerably more daring, clothing choice. Imagine a ball-gown chopped off at the knee and you have a rough approximation of the swanky stylish sexpot look that Rutherford still knew how to rock, all these pounds later. Because big can be beautiful.

    And so it was with Wiktoria. Big that is. Another 8lbs of cupcakes and takeaways, pastas and cheeses, of pizzas and pancakes, sausage rolls and of quiches, of kebabs and curries and BBQ wings, those were a few of her favourite things. She was now 204lbs of big girl, but also 204lbs of beautiful.


 

    £204 of beautiful clothing draped over Leona as she taxied to Crawley. She had accrued all manner of spectacular clothing items over the course of her young life, and despite again gainfully regaining her weight, they fit her like the gloves she would preferred to have been wearing, given the weather. A nice LBD was what Ruthers had said she was going in, and Leona thought it sounded like a good idea, so Rutherford chose an expensive little black dress that harkened back to the 50’s. That was the aesthetic she was going for, she knew it was one Rutherford liked, or indeed anybody else because she was straight and not into Rutherford or anything. She finished the look off with a large black sequin purse, and matching necklace and earrings. This buffet place better be up-market, because she was dressed to the nines.

    Not to the size nines however, it was a loose size 10 dress as a matter of fact, to give her the room to indulge, her latest tendency that had seen the weight climb back on. But she wasn’t going to worry about that, not when there was a Chinese buffet to assault first.


 

    It was Leona and Shaun who arrived roughly at the same time, which was, in all honesty, awkward as fuck. She was dressed up for far too smartly for a lunchtime binge at a run-down Chinese bbuffet establishment, so Shaun ratcheted up the side-eye. She kept trying to apologise to him for previous behaviour, but he was coldly dismissive, firmly of the belief that a leopard never changes their spots.

    Spot on timing from Skinny however brought a ray of sunshine to their brewing cold war, swaggering in with an atypically jolly demeanour, for the traditionally too-cool-for-school and too-hungover-for-cheer persona that she had spent her first term establishing fairly consistently.

    “Ay up me duckerinos, what’s crackalackin’?” She said whilst over the shoulder of each of the other two, utterly bewildered as to what that sentence actually meant. Wait, was Skinny already shit-faced, at 1pm? The thought sparked worry in Shaun’s recovering alcoholic mind, he had seen this type of behaviour before, on a Christmas dinner no less. Or was he just projecting his own insecurities onto her? He figured it was Christmas after all, and maybe leave the preaching to later, but he would have to keep an eye on her.

    And yes, Skinny had already had a skinful before she had left, and sought to get into the festive spirit by get into some festive spirits back at the flat. And she had no intention of stopping now she had landed in Crawley.

    “A pint of your finest wine, please Mr Waiter!” She said with an impish grin to nobody in particular.

    “Actually, Skinny, it’s a free bar. The place is closing down in January, and my dad said we can just help ourselves and nobody’ll mind.” Shaun mentioned, albeit reluctantly given the prematurely inebriated state of this Northern light of our lives. The owner’s battle with HMRC had ended in disaster and the end was as nigh as Bill for this Chinese eatery. This could have spelt disaster for Shaun’s dad, barely keeping on top of his finances as it was with this job, but Shaun moving back in and sharing the bills meant he no longer needed this evening job. He was being kept financially afloat as his boy buoyed him.

    “Which ones of us prefer their wine red and which ones of us prefer it white, again? I can’t remember so I grabbed both bottles. Oh, and a J2O for you Shaun, cos you’re my bezzie, ‘ere you go lad.” Skinny came traipsing back from behind the bar wielding several bottles of liquid nectar.

    “Well, shall we grab a seat whilst we’re waiting for Late and Later. Ooo, Miss Clefton-Brown I like your purse” Skinny continued, pointing to the purse she had brought with her to match her dress.

    “Aw, thanks Minnie, I believe it is what you kids call ‘dank as fuck’.” Leona replied courteously.

    “We do say, like all the time.” Skinny giggled at the silliness.

    “And, I like your dress, it really suits you.” Leona reciprocated.

    “Aww thanks Miss!” Skinny smiled back.

    “And please don’t call me Miss, please call me Leona!”

    “No problem, Miss. I will definitely do that Miss.” Skinny was, it seems, a happy drunk.

    Shaun stood next to the pair of them, feeling like a third wheel at his own farewell meal, so he drifted off to see his dad and see how he was getting on. Leaving poor Leona with half-cut Skinny, gabbling away excitedly.

    “So Miss, do you fancy Rutherford?” Skinny asked. She was playing with Leona like a cat clawing a ball of string, having far too much fun at the expense of the nervous teacher, who was almost regretting Shaun leaving.

    “Umm.. no, haha. No. Did she say that? Because I explained to her that I don’t, I’m straight, you see. Strait like Bering, haha, no, shit that’s a terrible joke.” Leona was flapping a bit, she felt like Skinny was interrogating her, like she was shining a light in her face as they do in the movies. Skinny, for her part, was doing this intentionally and getting a sneakily malevolent kick out of this low-key tormenting that she was thrusting upon the poor floundering professor.

    “No, love. I know you like her cos it’s blooming obvious you like her. You need to work on your poker face, love, and maybe stop salivating when she’s about.” Skinny teased.

    “No, I’m not… I don’t… I mean, I… she’s y’know… nice, I guess. But not in that way” Leona was now blushing and struggling to make eye contact. “And anyway, her and Wiktoria are happy together, and, y’know, good for them.”

    “Don’t worry Miss, I won’t say. I like her too.” Skinny winked at her.

    “Hey guys, what you all talking about?” Rutherford barged in, having just arrived, with Wiktoria coming in seconds afterwards.

    “Um, nothing.” The pair said in unison, looking never more suspicious.

    “Hmmm… anyway sorry we’re late. Longer walk from the train station than I remember, glad to have a sit down.” Rutherford plonked her generous back-side on the chair opposite the other two girls. Wiktoria sat down far more demurely and gracefully by her side.

    “Dzień dobry, my very good friends. You have wine already, this is good news!” Wiktoria beamed, unwilling to show or admit that the walk had been a strain on her formerly athletic body. Granted, they had walked fast as they were so far behind schedule, but a former heptathlete should not have been so out of puff after walking that minor a distance. Had she not been surrounded by friends, she may have lingered on it, and begun worried whether her extreme avoidance of all things exercise was going to far. But she was with friends, and they already had wine.

    Shaun saw that everyone had arrived and decided to make his way back to his seat. His dad sent him off with a pineapple cordial, as a token gesture of acceptance. Growing up, his dad used to go apeshit at the thought of his son having a Malibu spritz when they went out, as part of his denial with regards to his son’s sexual orientation he insisited the boy have a pint of lager like his dad. Given that his son took his love of lager too far over the decade that followed, his dad’s guilt over his lack of support during his son’s alcoholism, and his lack of support over his sexuality combined into one. This drink was a tip of the hat to his son’s Malibu Spritz days, and an apology for all that had happened since. It may not have involved words – his dad being famously poor at communicating – but the gesture mended Shaun’s broken heart a little.

    And with that pineapple cordial and mended heart, he went off to break the hearts of his friends.

    "So, this is my last ever speech guys. I have known you all for less than half a year, but I already consider you some of my best friends. The most important friends that I have ever, and will ever have. You fixed me. I came to university broken and you fixed me.” A tear started forming in the corner of his left eye as he continued speaking, with the girls rapt with attention.

    "We have come through so much together and grown so much as people together – though you lot have grown more literally than me – and the memories and friendships forged here will last longer than any of us.” Both eyes were welling up now, waterworks forming in the corner of each.

    "You fixed me. And now I am fixed. I was down and out, and now I’m back up on my feet. I feel like I have my future ahead of me, again. And you gave me that” He stopped to blow his nose, his tears now tumbling from him.

    "But, that future, my girls, my precious little chicks, isn’t at university. It never really was. It was more about where I wasn’t than where I was, I came to uni to avoid going to work. But I don’t need to do that anymore. Because you fixed me. You did that. All of you.” He said, looking around the room with pride, until he got to Leona. "Well, most of you anyway”

    "I’m going back to work full-time. I feel like I can now. I know I can. I’ve got a promotion, and I’m going back to work, so I’m… leaving uni. I’m leaving you guys.” He started out-and-out sobbing at this juncture and Wiktoria got up and hugged him, wrapping her large padded frame around the boy in floods of tears, and patting him on the back.

    "So, a toast… to the musketeers! Oh, and Miss Clefton-Brown!” Skinny said, raising a glass that she was already drinking from. And they all chinked their glasses and said cheers.


 

    Skinny was wishing she had brought a dress with a more elasticated middle, since her middle was straining against the green spangles that she was wearing. All the girls had now done several laps of the mains and were reaching that stage of the meal where the could not possibly dream of eating another morsel. She rested her hand on her heaving gut with one hand, as she shovelled chow mein down her gullet. She may have moaned out loud whilst doing so.

    "Wow, I’ll have what she’s having.” Leona joked, before realised she literally was having what Skinny was having, bucket loads of chinese noodles.

    Skinny then washed down the last of her plate with another glass of wine and leaned back in her chair, nearly knocked out by all the food she had eaten. She knew dessert was going to be tough. But she had a speech of her own to give beforehand.

    "Hey, musketeers. My turn for a speech. I want to say that I love you all. You’re all amazing. Especially Rutherford, who is really amazing. Just look at her.” She pointed towards the bloated American in a state of great discomfort, cradling her over-satiated gut. But also discomfort from what Skinny was going to say next, fearing the worst. "She is amazing, and I love her. As a friend. Haha. I love you all. But, I want you all to know… I don’t want to be called Skinny any more. Cos I’m not skinny any more! Please call me my actual name, Minnie. Lovely Miss Clefton-Brown has been doing it, and the rest of you should all follow her lead, she’s a great woman. My name is Minnie!”

    "I hate to break it to you, darling, but you’re not exactly mini either!” Shaun joked.

    "Fuck off Shaun, you lost a vote when you decided to abandon us. Just kidding! Ha! Anyway, as Shaun pointed out, I’ve put on a few. A lot. But I think it looks good, this extra weight. This extra poundage.” Skinny said, not excessively steady on her feet. "Do you agree? Who here thinks I look sexy?”

    Shaun said she looked beautiful and womanly, before comedically adding that she wasn’t his type though and that she should stop flirting with him. Wiktoria followed him and praised her, saying that she had a body like Scarlet Johanssson and should be a sexy movie star. While Wiktoria’s English had come on in leaps and bounds over the past 4 months, it was amusing to note how it deteriorated back to more familiar phrases, the more she drank. And she was drinking like it was a free bar.

    Minnie then looked at Leona, who took this as her cue to extol compliments about her figure, saying women’s bodies should be celebrated at all sizes, and not just according to patriarchally enforced expectations.

    "Thanks Miss!” Minnie said, teasingly. She then turned towards Rutherford, who gulped. Though admittedly that was because she was still eating. "Do you think a bigger woman can be sexy, Ruthers? Do you a girl with curves like these can be attractive?”

    Rutherford saw everybody looking at her. "I dunno, I prefer my women taller” and then hugged her girlfriend while everyone cheered with laughter. Dessert then commenced.


 

    Minnie decided she needed to go to the toilet, unsurprisingly given how much liquid she was intaking, some time between her second and third trip to the desserts. Seeing how unsteady she was on her feet, Leona went with her and helped her keep her fragile footing.

    "Don’t worry Minnie, I’ve got you” she said, guiding her in the women’s toilets.

    "Thanks Miss” Minnie said, impudently. Before going further "Hey Miss, you know how you like Ruthers?”

    "I said, I don’t like her that way, I just admire her” Leona sighed.

    "Were you being honest about women’s bodies of all sizes or were you just being polite?” Minnie leaned in closer to her.

    "We shouldn’t care. We shouldn’t care what other people think. It’s our bodies, and people should stop pretending that our bodies are in the public domain.” Leona bristled at the thought of all the misogynistic abuse she had suffered through her time in academia.

    "The problem I have is when I’m near food, I’m not in control. My therapist thinks lack of control is a symptom of depression. But I think losing control is hot.” She started pushing herself against Leona. "What about you? Do you think losing control can be sexy, Miss?”

    Leona looked into the eyes of a girl that had grown enormously over such a short period of time, but couldn’t work out if this was a cry for help or not. "Are you OK, Minnie?”

    Minnie, however, had no intentions of crying for help. She had intentions of having Leona.

    "Fuck me, Miss!”

    Leona looked shocked, it was all a little sympathetic, this girl was clearly drunk and desperate and lonely.

    "Fuck me like I’m Rutherford. Fuck me like I’m 200lbs of All American girl. Fuck me cos you know it’s wrong. I’m taking control now Miss, so fuck me.” She made her move and started pushing her body against Leona’s, pressing her pelvis, and thanks to the inevitability of her new physique the swolled stomach above it, against the flabbergasted female. "Anyone might walk in. Anyone might walk in and see you fucking a pupil. You’d lose your job, lose everything. Cos you are fucking a student. Isn’t that exciting!”

    And here’s the thing, the thought of getting caught was exciting. It was downright exhilarating. Leona had been dumped months ago by Roman and every man she had met had either been nice or a twat. Nothing naughty. And certainly nothing reproducing the thrill of getting caught shagging a student in the toilets of a sleazy Chinese buffet, because you fancy a different student who is also at the same buffet. She hadn't had sex in months and this suddenly seemed fairly appealing.    

    Minnie twisted the knife now she knew she had Leona where she wanted her. "Fuck me and think of her. Fuck me and think of Rutherford. Think of her cute little smile and those sexy naughty eyes. Fuck me and think of that growing tummy of hers, straining against her stylish clothes. Fuck me Miss, fuck me like I’m American.”


 

    20 minutes later, the two girls came out of the toilets.

    "You guys okay? You were gone for ages and we heard you like falling over I think” Rutherford asked naively.

    "Yeah, I wouldn’t use the first cubicle, the doors, ahem, broken.” Leona said sheepishly, but nobody seemed to pick up on it.

    Shaun decided this would be when he would make his leave. He kept it brief, he’d already made his speech, he just thanked them and promised he’d be able to still see them plenty. And it was true, he only lived 30 minutes down the road. There was no reason why this had to be goodbye.

    They were all rather teary at this point. Wiktoria was crying and hugging and clinging and refusing to let go. Rutherford looked on tenderly at Shaun departing. Leona stood there awkwardly, but genuinely caringly. And Minnie was mysteriously nowhere to be seen.

    "Well, I think maybe we should all call it a day. Um, of course, I have the keys to the house next week and I was wondering...” Leona asked, feeling very self-conscious about earlier.

    "Yes, we will move in next week too. That is very kind Leona, you will be a good friend. Wielkie dzięki Leona.” Wiktoria said sweetly, before epiphanising. "Wow, if Shaun is gone then you can be the new D’Artegnan!”

    "Haha, wow, um, thanks, but I know what you guys had with him was special...”

    "For God’s sake Leona, you’re letting us stay in your house.” Rutherford said, smiling at her strangely blushing tutor.

    "Rutherford, my beautiful sexy girlfriend, we can share one room. I will only sleep in your bed anyway. And then Skinny can move in” Wiktoria said, sexually charged by the thought. And with this sexual energy, she sat on Rutherford’s lap unexpectedly.

    "Oh, wow, this is nice, yeah totally, that would be so cool. Oh, and don’t forget she’s called Minnie now. Talking of which, where is she?”

    It was at the juncture that Skinny arrived carrying the entire an entire chocolate cake and putting it on the table that they were sat on. The guests must have done such a double-take at the sight, and WTF-ed to one another.

    "Look what I got. I used my womanly wiles to get the whole thing. I think Shaun’s dad likes me. I don’t blame him” Skinny said, and then looked at her friends. "Well, eat up then!”

    The four girls set about tearing the cake to pieces like hyenas over scraps. And that was when Rutherford took a real long look at the carnage before her FA eyes.

    First there was her girlfriend, with her rotund rump wriggling all 200lbs of her on the American’s lap whilst feasting on the calorific delicacy put before her. She was being pushed a little further away by her own stomach, itself swollen beyond over-capacity from excess and yet still being filled, she knew she was probably 200lbs now and not shrinking any time soon as she took another slice of cake to her chocolate coated mouth. Then across from her was the beautiful, radiant Leona, dressed like something from a Rutherford dream, swelling to her former weight peak and hesitantly launching another attack on the magnificent cake before them all, and making awkward flirty eye contact with Rutherford. And next to her was Skinny, sorry Minnie since she was no longer skinny, and rounded out thanks to nearly 60lbs being earnt in under 4 months, and feasting like she was famished, but with her hungry lustful eyes transfixed on Rutherford’s. And these were the people she was going to live with for the rest of the year.

    What could possibly go wrong?

    She whispered in the ear of her girlfriend. "Hey, Wicky, maybe we could go and have sex. I hear the door on the second cubicle in the toilets in still working.”

 

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So, I'm well into writing the second season of this story. This installment is only a prologue and isn't vintage WG material, but the forthcoming stuff picks up, promise! And apologies if the Yorkshire dialect is a bit much

Season 2 – Chapter 1 (A Prologue)

Told from the perspective of Skinny Minnie's mum

    I tell you for nowt, we’re really looking forward to seeing our Skinny Minnie again now she’s heading back up here for Christmas. She’s a good egg she is, and the house ain’t half quiet without our baby girl in it, y’know. Me and the husband, our Clive, have been cleaning up all weekend, trying to get the place spick and span ready for her return. Our Clive has even repainted the downstairs doors, ready for her royal highness’ arrival. Although it has to be said, they did need doing, they were looking summat grotty I can tell you. We don’t want our Skinny Minnie coming home to grotty doors, do we? I’d do anything for our little girl, anything for our Skinny Minnie.

    Our Skinny Minnie isn’t so skinny any more though, is she? She’s warned us proper this time though, said she’s been filling out some and having an all-round smashing time down South, painting town red and all that, y’know how kids are these days. Always out drinking and the like. Never thought our girl would be like that, growing up she was always such an angel, but what can you do? You have to move with the times, I was saying to our Clive just that very thing. It’s not like back in our day, these days kids are always partying like there’s a time limit on these things, always in a rush. I said that to him, I did. So, even if our little girl has filled out some, she’s still our little girl and we’ll always love her.

    In fact that sounds like her now coming up the drive. Oh, I do hope she’s been doing alright. You worry as a parent, you know, about these things, you read such awful things in the papers don’t you, about all manner of untoward stuff. Ah - here she is, our little girl. Ey up chuck, I tell her as she walks in. Oooo, look at you, I then say as a follow up, with a big old grin smacked across me face, you weren’t half kidding about the filling out. Still as long as you’re happy Skinny-love, then we’re happy for you. She smiles, but I reckon she’s embarrassed about it, you know how girls are. She’s still a pretty lass, always will be with them eyes, she has her nan’s eyes y’know, but she ain’t half packed some weight on. If you showed me a picture of her from the neck down, I wouldn’t have even recognised her.

    I don’t want to give you all juicy craic, that would be unbecoming, but let’s put it this way, she’s got herself looking like Sally she has. Oh, don’t give me that! You know Sally. Sally! Sally with the hair. Went out with that funny looking chap from the old quarry. Yeah, her. Well let me tell you, she got big after she got married. Happy pounds they called ‘em, but she didn’t look all that happy when he dumped her for getting too fat for his tastes. You have to look after your man, or they’ll do that sort of thing, men can be heartless bastards like that. I was telling our Clive that just the other day as it happens. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, she’s looking all kinds of porky, is our Skinny. Big old hips like me mum used to have, and a right old tummy on her, sticking right out like she’s cooking up a wee one. I won’t say anything more, and I’ll tell our Clive the same – you don’t mention a woman’s weight. Not if you don’t want a clip round the lughole. But I’ll have to keep an eye on it. In case she’s spiraling. Like last time. Last time she got herself a belly, that was when the cutting started. And even when it had gone, and it didn’t half go fast, naturally skinny girl she is, she was still in that bad place. I’ll always remember the look in her eyes when she hit rock-bottom. It’s a look no mother wants to see, I can tell thee.

    Anyway, not one to faff about, she’s gone and dumped her stuff on her bed, and I’ve set about rustling up some sticky toffee pudding for our kid. It was always her favourite, y’see, growing up, and now she’s a growing girl, I thought I’d treat her summat rotten. I do love a bit of baking, especially now I have more time on me hands, switching to part-time and all that. Winding down to retirement, that’s what our Clive calls it – cheeky bugger. So as I were saying, I’ve knocked up a sticky toffee pudding, and I tell you for nowt, it’s looking reet good if I do say so. I reckon I’d get a handshake from that Paul Hollywood bloke from the telly for this. I mean, look at the way that caramel cascades, ooo it’s done me proud. It won’t be as good as the Christmas pudding I’ve been slaving over for her since she left, ready for Christmas day which I’m so looking for to, but I’ll tell you for nowt, it’s still looking pretty good.

    Now she’s back down, she’s proper digging in to that dessert, I can tell you. You’d think she’d not been feedin’, that lass. I’d say I dunno where she puts it, if it weren’t so bloomin’ obvious! She’s all smiles and rainbows though, she’s like a pig in muck with cake, I tell yer, so what can I do when she asks to take another slice up to her room? I’ve not got it in me to say no to my little angel, even if she is scarfin’ like a demon.


 

    She’s been back a couple of days and, I tell you, it hasn’t half made the place feel more lived in. You forget, don’t you, how quiet it is without kids. Until they come back that is, and then it’s music blaring in the middle of the day, when you just fancy maybe sneaking a nap. And it’s not the Christmas songs either, we tried playing Wham’s Last Christmas yesterday but apparently she’s playing something called Whamageddon? Yeah, I dunno what that is either. So, instead, it’s always that modern crap – they don’t make music like the used to, I mean, where’s the tune? My dad always used the rule that if the postman could whistle it, you knew it was proper song. No postman could whistle this rubbish! Not that you see all that many postmen these days, they all work at ungodly hours, and if you do see them they have poxy little headphones in, real rude and unsociable if you ask me.

    Being back, she’s also made the cupboards more empty. Ooo, she hasn’t half got an appetite on her, that young girl. She weren’t like that when she left, it’s them Southerners filling her head with bad habits. Oh, I know, you’re right, it ain’t like she’s soft in t’head or owt, she knows what she doing, she’s just living her life. But, mums worry, it’s what we do. And, yes, we’re all winding up to Christmas round this neck of the woods. Mince pies and prosecco whilst watching The Chase over dinner like we’re living the good life, oooo I can’t be doing with that Bradley Walsh chappy, but our Clive is a bugger quizzes and the like. Been taking our Skinny down pub with him for a pub quiz or two, instead of lugging me down to the local for a change. Bit of me time’s been nice, but they aren’t half rowdy when they get back, sound like they’ve had a right old time and maybe a bit worse for wear. Next morning, our Skinny’s feigning the lurgy but she’s just hungover, so I take it up with me husband and say ‘Clive, what kind of influence on her are you?’ and he’s just says ‘oh Lynn, it’s the girl, mischief courses through her veins it does’, and now I’m all of a tizzy.

    And because I’m now getting mi’sen worked up about it, I think to call Hassan. To calm me nerves and set me straight. Peace of mind an’ all that. He’s a good man, that Hassan, always been good to our family. Good us through the dark days. You can trust a man like that, level-headed and composed. We always send him a Christmas card each year, our little way of saying thank you for him helping our girl. But here’s the thing, he says she’s stopped doing the phone therapy that she promised me she’d do. Apparently she sacked it off after the second one, said she was right as rain and didn’t feel the need. Well, now I am worried. Oh, what do I do now? Do I mention it before Christmas, or wait til after? It can wait, can’t it? It’s nothin’ that can’t keep til the Queen lends us her pearls of wisdom, is it?

    So that’s been me plan. To hold me horses until Boxing Day. But I gotta ask her. I feel like she’s doing things behind our back with this, and I know she’s a grown woman but when you’ve been through what we’ve been through… and she hasn’t been acting like this since the dark days. And I don’t wanna back there. And Clive says I’m getting all worked up over nowt, but I know him and he’s worried too, he’s just better at kidding himself. Oh dear, what’s a little girl doing with herself.

    I tell you what she isn’t doing with herself and that’s starving. Bloody hell that girl can eat. She’s asked for seconds after every meal and, I suppose I shouldn’t keep saying yes but… I’m her mother and I can’t help it when she turns those eyes of hers on me, and just wilt. But, at least we know how she got bigger. That girl has been eating us out of house and home. But when Christmas is behind us, we’ll have the chat. But not before. Before, I’m just gonna enjoy having my only daughter home for Christmas.

    Christmas day and she’s pissed on sherry and asking for thirds. I’m nearly in tears and she just… I’m sorry, it’s just you spend 3 months making a bloody – pardon my French – but a bloody Christmas pudding for your special day with your special girl and… and she gets off her tits on sherry and I’m worried about her. Oh god, I’m worried about her. And now she’s noticed I’m crying, and she’s concerned. And I can’t keep these feelings bottled up, and so I tell her. I tell her about her weight, and the drinking, and the therapy and the mischief coursing through her veins and I tell her it all. And I cry. And I wait for her to cry.

    And I wait.

    And I wait for her to cry.

    And I wait.

    But no. Instead she’s angry. She says I smother her. I stalk her. I should keep me neb out and mind my own bloody business. And I tell her it is my business, she is my only business. And Clive is panicking now, he’s no good with this kind of thing, he’s not the same since the last time she went to the dark place. And she throws the pudding at the wall and says I don’t want her to grow up. That the house is a time capsule. A memorial to the worst moments of her life. A mausoleum, because she might as well be dead to us. And the 3 months to make that pudding for our special day with our special girl slide down the wall. And she grabs her stuff – it’s already packed, she must have already packed – and storms out the house.

    And Clive is having a hard time breathing. The stress is too much. And I’m having a hard time processing. The change is too much. And the Queen hasn’t even said her piece yet, and our Skinny-love has left us. And I worry it’s for good.

    Wham is playing on the radio. Last Christmas I gave you my heart. The very next day, you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special.

 

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Hey guys, this chapter is the start of the fun, it's a faster pace season this one so hope you enjoy.  

Season 2 Chapter 2

  The three-bedroom semi-detached house on Cleffingdon Avenue was a beacon of bright colours, shining like a lighthouse through the misty winter air. Fairy lights worked their winding way across the guttering below the roof, down the drainpipe that runs along the side of the property, and then wrapping itself over the doorway arch festively. Fairy lights set on intermittent, flickering in alternating primary colours with radiant brightness. On the stump of grass were reindeer that were also made of Christmas lights, well, the wirey outline of them standing barely two feet tall next to the porch with a emerald green luminescence. A wreath was hanging on the door underneath the bronze knocker, with its quintessential combo of greens, reds and golds. Twas the season, after all. On 39 Cleffingdon Avenue, twas the season.

    Reaching above the wreath and towards the door knocker came an ivory hand. It rat-a-tatted.


 

    “I’ll get it!” Came a cheery voice from inside, with a Central European lilt.

    “Not if I get there first!” Came a second voice, muffled by presumably food stuff, with an American twang. Two pairs of heavy footsteps came thudding from the back of the house, coupled with out-of-breath panting.

    “I can’t run any more Ruthers! I am not an athlete any more!” The Central European voice declared amusedly between deep gasps for breath, behind the wreathed door. Then the door clunked as the key on the inside twisted to unlock the door. Finally it opened, and the warm light from inside spilt out onto the street and the tall and well-filled silhouette stood in its place.

    “Oh my god, it’s Skinny! Hello Skinny. You are here for Christmas, we have missed our good friend so much.” Wiktoria beamed, before turning back towards the house. “Hey friends, look who is here”. Turning back to the person who knocked on the door, she is confronted with a icy-cheeked girl crying because her whole world is on the precipice of collapsing in on itself. Wiktoria saw the tears and the wilting expression and wrapped her large frame around the girl and squeezed tightly. The other two girls came rushing in, and piled on, hugging her warmly in the cold doorway.


 

    “So, do you want a slice of this chocolate Swiss roll, my good friend Skinny? It is very nice, it is from Marks & Spencers and it is very tasty” Wiktoria said, offering her a plate, knowing that the way to the poor girl’s heart was through her stomach. The shivering girl nodded meekly whilst still sniffling from the exertion of tears that she had brought with her from her hometown of Harrogate.

    “Minnie, please” She said, her voice quieter than normal, and reedier too.

    “Sorry, I forget. You are now my good friend Minnie.” Wiktoria apologised. “Do you want to talk why you are sad, Minnie?” The girl, pushing a second large piece of the soft chocolate roll into her mouth, shook her head forlornly to decline.

    “That is OK Minnie. You can talk only when you want to talk. I will look after you.” Wiktoria nursed tenderly, tilting her head to the side and looking into Minnie’s tired emerald eyes. “Maybe more Swiss roll? Maybe with brandy butter now? And we also have very nice mince pies. Miss Leona likes to spend on money on expensive food, it is very nice.”

    Minnie perked up a little at that, but the emotional wounds still felt tender and sore. The Swiss roll was nice, it was rich and soft and so light that she felt like she could eat it forever. And given her physical capacity for these things, she probably could. But it also reminded her of the Christmas pudding that her mum had laboured over, for months on end, ready for today. The one that Minnie through against the wall before it had even been touched, before storming out of the family home in a red-misted fury that stifled her breathing. It was, of course, not the cake itself that was the tragedy, though it was cruel and unnecessary. No, it was the falling. Falling from a state of joy to a state of despair in such quick time. Lows hurt more when you fall from high. Sadness isn’t devastation if your mood is already low-lying, but Minnie was on cloud nine. How could she not be? It was Christmas day and she was with her family. And then everything came crashing down in an instant, and the fall had left Minnie emotionally bloodied.

    Fortunately Wiktoria was back again with more nourishment, looking at her friend with almost maternal affection. It should have felt patronising but, in her current wounded state, Minnie welcomed it. She handed Minnie a plate of piled high with mince pies and brandy butter, with chocolate Swiss roll and cream, with fruit cake and cheese. Minnie decided her feelings were ones worth eating and so got down to it. Wiktoria delicately ran her long fingers through Minnie’s raven black hair massagingly, just like Minnie’s mum used to. Minnie tried not to shudder at the memory.

    “If you like, I can tell you about our Christmas? But only if it will make you happy. I do not want to make you sad” Wiktoria posed, tilting her head again, inquisitively. She knew full well that the silence wasn’t doing the cold girl any good.

    “Yes please, Wicky. That would be just the ticket, actually.” Minnie said with gossamer fragility.

    “Oh, wow. It has been a very lazy Christmas. Apart from Miss Leona who is very busy. She has lots of coursework to mark I think, but she doesn’t tell us because we are students, and it would be very illegal for her to show us her teacher work. But me and Rutherford have been very lazy.” Wiktoria began, while Minnie ate and listened. “It has been a little bit boring, but we have done lots of eating and also some decorating”

    “Yeah, I saw the lights and things outside, they’re right pretty.” Minnie mustered, trying to latch onto something every time Wiktoria spoke, in a bid to engage.

    “Yes, they are very nice. Makes it feel like Christmas.” Then silence glided into the room. It was hard for Wiktoria to do all the running in a conversation. Firstly, it was against her natural disposition, her more reserved personality was more comfortable responding to conversation topics than forming them. Secondly, in England everything conversational was just a little bit more difficult. So Minnie took it as her time to further the conversation.

    “What have you been eating? You said, you’ve been eating lots.” Minnie asked.

    “Oh, so much food. I will have a very big belly if I eat like this for a year. I like to cook and I have been making very impressive meals. But we also have lots of takeaways too because Leona is so busy and likes to order takeaway, and then she likes to treat everybody. I think she is happy to have friends here.” Wiktoria enthused. Food being a topic of conversation that could spark life into Wiktoria more than any other. “We also had big Christmas dinner today. With big meat and lots of vegetables and gravy. And guess what! We had puddings from Yorkshire!”

    “Yorkshire puddings, yeah.” Minnie nodded, knowing what the girl meant.

    “And we had stuffings and we had… what is the name… cracking?”

    “Crackling?”

    “Yes, crackling. Very strong but very tasty. We have similar food in Poland but this is nice too.” Wiktoria continued, clearly in her absolute element. And Wiktoria’s enthusiasm was slowly rubbing off on Minnie. She felt herself gaining colour in her cheeks, and her shoulders started feeling less heavy. She put the last piece of mince pie into her mouth and licked the cream of her fingers, truly glad to be amongst friends.

    Wiktoria then turned to her friend and whispered conspiratorially “Me and Ruthers have also had one other hobby. We have been having lots of sex.”

    This prompted Minnie to smile sincerely for the first time since lunch and almost launch into a giggle. It felt liberating.

    “Ruthers told me that you saw us have sex before Christmas. I can’t believe I did not notice, but when the sex is very good I close my eyes a lot and I am very happy. When Leona is busy with her secret teacher studies, me and Ruthers just eat and have sex. Lots of food and lots of sex. It is very nice.” Wiktoria said gleefully. And this had been evident on her still blossoming body. The young Pole had continued to fill outwards. Her rump was further layered and her stomach now was being ever-so-slightly vulnerable to the downward pull of gravity. Christmas had clearly been kind to her, to the extent that it left her a gift of an additional 9lbs. This recently deposited weight helped make her 213lbs in total. One more pound and it would be exactly 100lbs from her starting point earlier in the summer.

    “Sex and food are two very nice things love, I can’t blame yer. You’re following Shaun’s words to a T.” Minnie smiled.

    “Yes, he would be very happy, that we are having a free hit. I miss Shaun.” Wiktoria added.

    “Yeah, me too, love. I’ve missed all of yous.” At which point the two girls who hugged each other tenderly. Minnie appreciated that famously wide span of Wiktoria’s arms encompassing her thicker body.

    After that, Wiktoria got up from the sofa with Minnie and headed to the kitchen, taking the empty plate with her.


 

    The other two girls were loitering in the kitchen when Wiktoria came in. Concerned friends that they were, they had been ear-wigging in on the conversation, trying to make sure their friend is alright. When Wiktoria arrived, they had a conflab as to decide what to do next. They desperately wanted to help their long-time musketeering friend, but they were also hesitant to get to involved talking to the girl who seemed to be a walking time-bomb of emotional neuroses; and they were all worried about being caught in her blast radius.

    “Well, you’re the teacher Leona. I dunno, like maybe use some of that worldly experience you have to fix her.” Rutherford suggested to the tutor.

    “Hang on. Why does ‘worldly experience’ sound like a euphemism for old?” Leona riposted. “I’m not that much older than you lot, I’m only 28 myself you know. Please don’t make me sound like an old woman”

    “Whatevz Leona, we don’t have time for your insecurity. We have a woman down.” Rutherford sassed back teasingly.

    “Well, don’t you think that maybe she needs, oh I don’t know, her best friend perhaps. I mean, it’s just a thought, but given the circumstances, maybe a best friend might be just the ticket. But what do I know, I’m only an old woman. Maybe it’s only something best friends used to do back in my day(!)” Leona dug in, half-jokingly but half-hurt.

    “Ugh, fine, I guess. I’ll talk to her then, see if I can cheer her up.” Rutherford reluctantly agreed. She had actually been hoping to avoid this, because she had been hoping to avoid Minnie. Ever since the night of temptation, where the American had revealed her FA secret and then Minnie turned it on her to her own sado-erotic pleasure, Rutherford had been scared of spending time with her. She just didn’t have sufficient conviction in herself, that she could keep her perpetually spiking twisted libido at bay, when Minnie knew exactly what it was that her twisted libido wanted.

    “Before you go in, my lovely girlfriend. Maybe bring some food in with you. It seems to make her happy” Wiktoria suggested wisely. They all agreed, and rustled up a meal from some of the Christmas leftovers, and microwaved it up for formerly skinny girl.


 

    “Hey” Rutherford said as she walked into the room with a plate full of re-heated Christmas dinner. “I thought you might like this”.

    “Hey”

    “So, I was wondering...” Rutherford made an early bid to break the ice. “If you don’t like being called Skinny any more, maybe we should call you Tubs? How would that suit you Tubs?”

    “Haha, you sarky bitch.” Minnie replied, smiling at that. Rutherford’s company was already medicine to her ailing self.

    Then, despite their banter, Rutherford wrapped her arm around the girl and brought her in. Minnie rested her head on Rutherford’s proud décolletage. Rutherford concentrated to ensure she didn’t gasp in pleasure. They hugged for a good minute, before Minnie righted her position so she get eat more easily.

    “This is very nice” she said, with a mouthful.

    “Yeah, my girlfriend made it. Don’t know if you’ve met her. Tall girl, talks funny. She’s a very good cook” Rutherford replied.

    “So, she’s your out-and-out girlfriend is she? Not just shagging then, but actually in a relationship? That’s nice to hear.” Minnie asked. It hadn’t dawned on Rutherford that she wouldn’t know that they were formally couple. All she knew was that they were having sex.

    “Uh-huh, out-and-out girlfriend. Made her gay and everything.” Rutherford said proudly.

    “Yeah, you can do that to people” Minnie said with a malevolent glint in her eye. Rutherford sighed. While it was great to see the spark come back to Minnie, why did it have to be the sexual spark?

    “Look, I’m sorry about your family or whatever. I don’t know what happened, and if you don’t wanna tell me, I’ll understand. But, we promised each other no secrets, and if anyone knows what you’re going through with family shit, it’s me.” Rutherford consoled.

    And that was Minnie’s cue to tell it all. In minute detail. To let go of all these negative thoughts that had wormed into her brain, and get them all off her chest. She explained everything that they did wrong, everything she did wrong, about Wham, about the Christmas Pudding, all of it. And then she added the real bombshell.

    “So, I’m done with them. Completely. I’ve changed me phone number and everything. If they want to get hold of me, tough tits. I’ve had it, I’ve had enough of them. They can go do one.” Minnie admitted.

    “Oh Skinny! Minnie, whatever. Look, I get it. My parents don’t know anything about me any more, I haven’t spoken to them since… I dunno August I guess? They’re paying my education and yet we are not speaking. I get it. I’m a hypocrite. But to change your number? What if it’s an emergency and they need to get hold of you?” Rutherford looked at Minnie worriedly, and saw steely-eyed resolve staring back at her.

    “Then they can get fucked. I’m serious Rutherford. Look at you! Can you honestly tell me that you aren’t happier for having them excised from your life. I want that. I want that freedom and I want that control. I want what you have.” Minnie pleaded, disappointed that Rutherford wasn’t immediately on her side.

    “Fine. I get it. I’ll support you, no matter what, okay? We’re musketeers remember?” Rutherford resigned.

    “Thanks.”

    “So, enough about you, have you any questions for me?” Rutherford cheekily asked.

    “Actually yes, y’see this girlfriend of yours, tall lass who talks funny, has been telling me you two have been doing nothing but eating and having sex. Which surprises me, in all honesty. I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing?” Minnie asked, that diabolical glint in her eye revealing itself once more as she exerted pressure on Rutherford fetish. She shoved a Yorkshire pudding into her mouth and chewed whilst never breaking eye contact and staring intensely at Rutherford, waiting for an answer.

    “Oh, um, I dunno. She exaggerates. But that’s Poles for ya, amirite?” Rutherford hopelessly deflected. She couldn’t disguise how uncomfortable this topic made her feel when Minnie’s emerald green eyes lit up like that with lustful malevolence.

    “How much have you been eating?” Minnie continued, like a shark that could smell blood.

    Rutherford’s defences relented and she confessed the extent of their shared gluttony over the festive period.

    “Honestly… we’ve been doing you proud Minnie. So proud. We have been glutting, well and truly. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t feel like a beached whale. It’s just been incessant, one food stuff after another. Leona buys such nice food, and there are always so many snacks around the house. It’s a calorie death-trap and we are all its prey. So, yeah, all we’ve been doing pretty much is eating and fucking.” Rutherford put her hands up to admit. And this nouveau poundage could be seen all over the portly girl. Her tummy was seismically enhanced, broad and swelling and folding in two at the centre. The strain of her bra indicating that her breasts runneth over her cup. And the padding on her arse made her look like she was sitting on a cushion. The net result of all this was a further 12lbs of fattiness spread about her person. 211lbs was a mighty intimidating number, though she was spared by 2lbs from outweighing her Amazonian glutton of a girlfriend. It didn’t spare her from being over 100lbs heavier than the 104lb girl who had her heart broken back in Georgetown barely a year ago. Another reason she was content having lost contact with her parents. They didn’t know that, weight-wise, there were now two of her.

    “And how has the fucking been, Ruthers?” Said Minnie, whilst crunching on some crackling and leaning in a little closer. Because only to Rutherford could a plumping up girl eating fried meat fat and leaning in could feel seductive.

    “Literally, every bit as incessant and decadent as the eating. I’m not gonna lie, it’s been pretty baller.” Rutherford said, leaning ever so slightly back from the encroaching sexpot and trying to keep the conversation topic as light as she wasn’t. “But, I think that’s you cheered up now. You certainly seem… more like your old self. I’m gonna… y’know what, I think I’m gonna see my girlfriend.”

    The chubby American waddled out hastily and grabbed Wiktoria by the hand, and guided her up to her bedroom. This left Leona and Minnie alone downstairs.


 

    “Are you OK Minnie?” Leona asked tentatively. She felt awkward given that she hadn’t seen her since they had sex in the first cubicle of the Chinese buffet toilets. It wasn’t something she would have been proud of at the best of times, screwing a student is a great way of screwing up your career, and then to do it with someone so emotionally fragile. But this shame was magnified and multiplied manifold because she spent the time picturing Rutherford, and vicarious sex isn’t something to be proud of either. “I brought you some crisps and dip, we have Doritos, Onion Rings, and I bought this really nice sharing pack of…(reading the label) Guiness Rich Beef Chilli crisps. They’re really good by the way, very moreish, which I believe is your favourite food descriptor.”

    Leona sat down hesitantly and put the bags of food down in front of the girl as a peace offering.

    “Thanks Leona”

    Minnie had just about finished her second Christmas dinner of the day, and the time was getting on. But there was something in her head that wanted to push this further. To spite her parents. To titillate Rutherford. She wasn’t sure. But her feasting wasn’t over and she began on the crisps.

    “Look, about that night at the buffet...” Leona began, looking down at her hands when she spoke in either shame or nervousness.

    “What about it?”

    “Look, I know. I know I shouldn’t have done it. I took advantage. You’re a student. You’re a young girl. And, to top it all off, you were drunk. I shouldn’t have done it and I just want to say I’m truly sorry” Leona said, calmly and genuinely.

    “If I remember right, love, it was me that came onto you. And it was nice, as it happens. It made me feel a lot better about mi’sen. I appreciate it Leona” Minnie said open-heartedly, now drifting towards Leona affectionately.

    “Look, if you just want to talk, I’m a good listener. I want you to know that.” Leona added, feeling her adulting duty was just about done here, and wanted to leave before she did anything else.

    “I don’t want to talk, I just want to eat. You should have something to, don’t leave me with all this cos I’ll genuinely finish the lot.” Minnie said, before again resting her head on the bosom of the girl next to her. This time it was whilst drawing chunks of fried potato goodness towards her chewing mouth.

    “Fine, I’ll help out. But I shouldn’t really. As you can see, my clothes no longer fit, which means I must be the heaviest I’ve ever been. Like, ever.” Leona confessed whilst scooping crisps heartily into the hummus dip regardless. And it was true her clothes weren’t really adequate for covering herself up. While it was safe indoors over the festive season, as soon as she would have to start turning up on campus for work, she would need new attire to shield her newer tyre. Ok, maybe spare tyre is pushing it, but the formerly lean teacher now had a pronounced tummy, despite gravitating towards a natural pear shape. Her cushioned tush sprayed out beneath her hips seductively, antagonistically driving itself against the Lycra bottoms she was chilling in. Further up, the aforementioned tummy was poking out under the far too tight Lycra top, her gym get-up disguising her lazy Christmas of no exercise. Everything else about her looked the same, but the previously 145lb girl, who was only a month ago a 122lb girl, was now 154lb girl.

    “I think you look great. Very cute. And you’re with us now, so you’re entitled to another free hit by my reckoning.” Minnie giggled flirtatiously whilst making further inroads into the display of carbohydrate snacks.

    “Oh you’re too kind.” Leona thanked. Then, in strained silence, the two valiantly and diligently made their way through the plethora of potato-based treats that were on display. But they weren’t very far into this banquet when they could hear groaning coming from upstairs, causing the girls to giggle.

    “I take it the walls aren’t very thick!” Minnie giggled, still leaning suggestively on her teacher.

    “Oh god, tell me about it, and those two are at it like rabbits!” Leona giggled back.

    “Must be awkward for you, knowing Rutherford is up there, shagging away” Minnie then said with flickers of menace. All that pent-up sexual frustration from her chat with Rutherford was slipping into the conversation and expressing itself here.

    “No, I… I don’t”

    “If you like, we can have sex down here. They’ll never know. You can have sex with me, listening to the girl you like have sex upstairs. And I can do the same. How does that sound?” Minnie said, with her sexual desires rallying.

    “I can’t… I shouldn’t.” Leona stammered, determined not to end up getting involved with her again.

    “It’s fine, I’ll just put my hands down here and we can listen to Rutherford’s moans, and we can pretend that we’re making them.” Minnie said, slipping her hand under that nebulous tummy and down to her vagina, while the subtle moans from Rutherford upstairs could be heard. With her other hand, Minnie kept eating. And whilst listening to the rhythmic sounds and feeling the cold ivory hand explore her vagina, Leona rocked herself to orgasm. And while Minnie continued eating, Leona undid Minnie’s straining jeans, put her hands behind the pale blue knickers she had on, and returned the favour with her own feminine fingers. And Minnie laid back on the sofa, shovelling food into her mouth with one hand, tending Leona in the other, feeling her distended stomach push out in front of her until she reached the delightful precipice of an orgasm. And then she released all that bound tension and all 180lbs of an over-indulged, hedonistically-fixated and tightly-bloated Minnie found a little slice of euphoria

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I like this installment, hope you do too

Season 2 Chapter 3

    “What shall we do then today, my good-looking girlfriend?” Wiktoria chirped chirpily, while drawing the curtains back and letting the soft winter sun pour into their bedroom, all whilst standing in the buff. Dotted around the bedroom that she was standing in were the customary posters of Rutherford’s favourite bygone movies – there were Hitchcocks, Fellinis, Kazans, Ozus and of course there were Godards. Spread around the floor by her bare feet were pastry wrappers, crisp packets and empty biscuit tins. And all around the desks that Wiktoria had planted her embiggened booty while she stared aspirationally out through the window and towards the horizon over yonder, were medals and miniature trophies of Wiktoria’s junior sporting triumphs, alongside numerous framed photos of a tall, young and very thin Polish heptathlete with elfin hair and an Elvish physique hugging her mother.

    “Ugh, what time is it...” said the previously fast asleep Yank, turning over hazily and glancing at her phone in a half-hearted attempt to garner the time. “7 o’clock in the morning! Oh Wicky, why are you awake at this ungodly hour?”

    “Because I am bored. In Poland I get up even earlier for going on a run. I am an early chicken.” Wiktoria said, whilst picking at some of the left of Pringles from last night absent-mindedly and staring out through the window into the outside, despite having every part of her showing.

    “Early bird and yeah, you’re not kidding. It’s Saturday, which means it’s the weekend, so please come back to bed, it’s been a really long week and I think I need some snuggle-sex” Rutherford pleaded. And she was not wrong, this second semester at university had been a steep incline in difficulty from the first one, and deadlines were flying at the plucky duo left, right and centre. While Christmas and New Year had been a breeze, these first few weeks back had been relentless. Staying on top of the coursework had been such a considerable job that it had even started to impinge on the sex lives a smidgen.

    “Okay, we will have snuggle-sex, but afterwards, you have to promise me we will do something that is not eating and fucking!” Wiktoria compromised. And while the amount of fucking might have decreased a tad, the consumption of food had been diligently maintained. The photos that lay interspersed around the room of Wicky’s formerly trim visage, and the surfeit of trophies also taking up desk space for athletic success and excellence, served as a cruel reminder that the Pole was in less pristine sporting condition than she once was. And while this had previously been a point to prove, an opportunity to distance herself from her victimhood at the hands of Pawel the wanker, the voice at the back of head raising concern at the descent was getting louder.

    “I love the way you say ‘fucking’. It sounds so dirty and sexy when you say it. When I say it, it just so lame. Listen - ‘fucking’. It’s just not the same.” Rutherford tittered.

    “Stop changing the subject, Ruthers, you have to promise we will do something fun today. That is not just eating!” Wiktoria huffed beleagueredly. And the descent into gluttony was showing even on her towering frame, even more so given that she was as naked as the day she was born, with only her increasingly flowing locks to enhance the features of her more rounded face. No tailored tops to flatter her physique, no flowing dresses to throw a veil over her rounded rear. Not even a fashionable bra to distract by pushing up her mammoth mammaries, and cast the stomach underneath into shadow. No, the chubby girl’s chub had nowhere to hide. Her padded arms were now as thick as her legs once were. Her breasts, without support, pointed in the direction of the floor. And, her most recent development, her stomach was following suit. An outwardly curving belly found itself arching generously forwards and down, with her belly button becoming increasingly cavernous. Her butt was no longer honed as tight as a drum through athletic excellence but was soft, supple and silky smooth. And now even her legs were wobbly pegs upon which her perma-stuffed body was perched. “Until you say yes, there will be no fucking. I will not fuck you until you said yes.”

    “Fiiine, you drive a hard bargain ma’am but you have yourself a deal.” Rutherford groaned. “Now, how about that fucking that you promised?”

    And the 228lb girl delicately made her way to the bed, in order to keep her promise.


 

    “What shall we do then today, my good-looking girlfriend?” Wiktoria chirped chirpily, while drawing the curtains back and letting the soft winter sun pour into their bedroom, all whilst standing in the buff. Ignoring the posters on the wall, the photos on the side or the crisp packets and biscuit tins on the floor, Wiktoria gazed contentedly out the window.

    “Oh my god, what time is it…” Rutherford roused. “7 o’clock! Again! What is wrong with you? I’m a student, and it’s a Saturday, I am supposed to be asleep.”

    “No, not this time. You keep tricking with snuggle-sex, but we need to do something. I am getting fat, and I am bored.” A 233lb Wiktoria said, more firmly than last week. Though the fatness on her bodied jiggled less firmly. And the fatness was beginning to concern her. She needed to exorcise her doubts and then exercise her body because this was unsustainable. All these mementos of her previous physical excellence felt more mocking than anything. Her prized photos of her with her mother seemed so alien to the girl that she was now that it made her mother seem even further away than before. Something needed to change. Repeating the same thing over and over again wasn’t healthy. It was like Groundhog Day, but with an emphasis on the hog.

    “Bored of sex? Wide awake at 7am after the things we were doing last night? Am I not satisfying you or something, Wiktoria?” Rutherford asked, a little bit worried. One of the reasons that the American was so drowsy was from the late night exertions and experimentations with her girlfriend. And now the prospect of snuggle-sex was boring to her? Was Rutherford a bad lesbian?

    “No, not bored of sex” Wiktoria reassured as she sat down on the bed heftily, still starkers, her adipose deposits across her tall body fanning out as she did so. Her stomach now rested comfortably on her lap, like it belonged there. And her juicy butt squidged sidewards from the opposing force of the bed’s springs. “I am bored of only sex. Only sex and food.”

    “We could watch a movie?” Rutherford asked hopefully.

    “No, I want to do something different. I am not an athlete, but I don’t want to be like a big whale. I want to have hobbies, but you don’t seem interested in anything apart from food and sex.” Wiktoria replied.

    “But food and sex is soooo goood...”

    “No, Rutherford!” Wiktoria chastised in a cutting tone, like a mother telling off her child.

    “Fine. You said there was some of that Speedracing thing you like this afternoon, we could maybe watch it online together?” Rutherford relented with her curled up face poorly disguising the extent to which this concession was begrudging. She didn’t like the sound of it, nay she could think of few things worse, but, in a relationship, you make sacrifices. And, this was a sacrifice that she would have to make. What was of greater concern to her, was that Wiktoria was maybe going to suggest a hobby that could possibly have involved exercise. So hopefully the olive branch of Speedway would placate her, because the alternative to watching the droning racket of people driving around and around in repetitive circles might just be a return to a lifestyle of fitness and exercise. Rutherford much preferred her current lifestyle of fatness and sexercise, so would have to make this one sacrifice for the greater good - and what was more good than Wiktoria getting greater?

    “Speedway Rutherford Stones, it’s called Speedway. I should not be teaching you English words” Wictoria stated back to her, suspicious that her girlfriend was going to try to weasel out of it, and instead just eat and have sex.

    “Whatever, speedway, speedracing, fast racing. The one with all of them bikes that you seem to like so much. I’ll watch speedway with you this afternoon. I’ll get it on the laptop and we can watch it in bed together. Because I am a brilliant and handsome girlfriend like that”

    “Really Rutherford! Oh, you are my favourite girlfriend! Oh thank you very much!” She launched her plentiful body at the young American, wrapping her wide arm span around the unsuspecting girl who was still under covers.

    “But we’ll need to get snacks. Lots of snacks”

    “Yes, definitely” Wiktoria agreed, squealing with delight.

    “And since you’re all wrapped around me and naked, I seem to recall you owing me some snuggle sex.”

    And the two got down to canoodling and had some serious snuggle-sex.


 

    “What shall we do then today, my good-looking girlfriend?” Wiktoria chirped chirpily, while drawing the curtains back and letting the soft winter sun pour into their bedroom, all whilst standing in the buff. The posters were still on the wall depicting films that only the most cineastic would have actually watched. The photos were still on the desk showing former glories of a one-time athlete. And biscuit tins and crisp packets were still on the floor, though these were new ones.

    “Ughhh, let me guess, 7am” Rutherford groggily grumbled.

    “Yes, and this Saturday we will do something. We will do some exercise, we will go swimming” Wiktoria said assertively.

    “We did something last Saturday? I watched Speedracing with you...” Rutherford contested.

    “No!” Wiktoria snapped back, her sunny mood of earlier suddenly turning overcast. “It is called Speedway, but you wouldn’t know because you didn’t watch! You just ate food and then ate me and didn’t watch the racing”

    “I’m sorry I got distracted, it’s just sooo boring. Where’s the soul? Where’s the romance? Where’s the sound of something other than them fucking buzzing engines? And how could I not get distracted by my hot girlfriend laying in bed with me, I mean look at you?” Rutherford said, getting out of her bed in her nightie and walking up to her inamorata.

    “Stop trying to trick me with sexy stuff!” Wiktoria said, her breathing changing as her girlfriend got close to her, quickening as she eyed the American eye her back.

    “What, like this?” Rutherford said, putting the nails of her chubby fingers along her neck, sliding them down between the gap of her heaving breasts, across the vast expanse of stomach and down to Wiktoria’s clitoris. Her fingers hadn’t even worked their way all the way down her 238lb body before Wiktoria started her initial moan. And while she began working downstairs on her, she started to wrap her mouth around the soft sensual skin of her girlfriend upper torso, and pushing her entire body against the girl.

    “Hey Wicky, next week we’ll do something. I’ll arrange it. I promise. I think you’ll like it. But, in the meantime...”


 

    It was Saturday morning again. But this time it was 6am. And Rutherford was lying in bed wondering what to do about keeping her girlfriend happy. She needed to be a good, kind, compassionate girlfriend and not some scheming hedonist who just wanted to get her rocks off. But her twisted libido was only getting hungrier the more she fed it, with the tingling sensations of making love with a woman growing so fast encouraging her libido rather than placating it. Wiktoria’s 244lb body was just so much… Wiktoria. And Rutherford loved every increasing inch of it. She loved the way it made her look so strong, but also so feminine. She loved the thought of how much she had grown, throwing the shackles off and drifting apart from Summer era Wicky’s 114lb. There was now enough of her for two Summer era Wickys. And that thought brought scintillating sexual feelings to spark across her nervous system.

    But she also had to think of something that she could do with her girlfriend, to keep their relationship strong, and to keep Wiktoria indoors and away from exercise.

    She should have thought of something earlier, like she planned to. Come up with a shared activity that would bond them further. But she had been so busy recently, what with all the eating and having sex. And she looked down at her own body and saw the ramifications of it. The too small nightie that Rutherford had on her did little to disguise the heavy-duty damage she had inflicting on herself, in an attempt to coax further gluttony from her lover and also out of sheer Epicurean desire. Rutherford was the real eater out of the two, always had been, and her titanic tits were the most obvious rewardee of that intense consumption, now accommodating F-cups with these Goliath jugs. But the rest of her had been the beneficiary of their own respective dividend also. Her face was wider, and her cheeks now like that of a hamster’s, cherubically bulging even when not full. Her chin now had a companion chin, even when her head was straight, draping down to her neck like the curtains once Wiktoria had pulled open. Her arms were think and loose, the fatty cushion seemingly no longer gripping as firmly to the bone. Even her fingers were looking more portly.

    Further down was her stomach though, a momentous gut that folded and rippled and spread around her, before cascading over her hips. Her legs were wide to the point of inconvenience and her arse was so substantial that she felt taller when sitting. The weight gain on this girl just didn’t have the height to hide behind, like it did on the Polish porker. While Wiktoria had gone from 213lbs to 242lbs over the past six weeks, the additional 29lbs seemed minor compared to the forcefully accrued 46lbs on Rutherford, taking her up to an eye-watering 257lbs. The American was just enslaved by her libido and gorging with abandon, almost intentionally gaining weight, unlike the entirely reticent Pole. And now she was paying the price by being nearly a stone heavier than an officially obese girl who was half a foot taller. It wasn’t healthy, in fact it was deeply unhealthy. But that thought just stimulated her more, and drove to further desire more sex and more food.

    But it wasn’t just the sex and food that had depleted Rutherford’s time, preventing her from having the time to come up with a solution. It was university too. Her course was so full-on at the moment, so many essays and assignments she was having to juggle. Couple that with the extra-tuition that Leona was providing and she didn’t have time to come up with a plan…. Wait a minute…. That was it. That was the plan. It was 6am on a Saturday morning and Rutherford knew what she had to do. But to do it, would involve sneaking out of bed without disturbing her girlfriend. And it would also waking up her overworked lecturer in the bedroom next door. But it had to be done.

    Rutherford tip-toed as light-footedly as a girl her size could next door to her English teacher and knocked on the door lightly.

    There was no answer.

    Rutherford, at this point, was conscious of disturbing her girlfriend, knowing she would naturally wake in an hour anyway, so wouldn’t be that deeply asleep. Leona, overworked as she always was, would probably be dead to the world. So, with that in mind, she quietly opened the door to wake Leona up. Once the door creaked open, she saw her dreamy teacher dreaming soundly, with all three of her legs sticking out of the bed…

    Wait, hang on a minute, why were there three legs sticking out of Leona’s bed?

    It was at that point that two of these legs pulled themselves back under the covers, only to remove the covers at the top end and reveal the distinctive emerald eyes of Minnie Charnwood staring back at her.

    “What the actual living fuck!” Rutherford exclaimed as quietly as her shock would allow.

    It was at that point that Leona came to, and saw that she and the-artist-formerly-known-as-Skinny had been rumbled post-fumble.

    “Um… I can explain” Leona said skittishly, realising just how bad this was.

    “We will talk about this, ok, later. Because I need you to help me first. But we are talking about this later, don’t think that we’re not!” criticised Rutherford.


 

    “What shall we do then today, my good-looking girlfriend?” Wiktoria chirped chirpily, while drawing the curtains back and letting the soft winter sun pour into their bedroom, all whilst standing in the buff.

    “You’re awake, finally!” chirped Rutherford back.

    “Wait, you are already awake?” Wiktoria looked at her girlfriend perplexed. This was most unlike her.

    “There are two things I need to tell you…” Rutherford began. “First, I have something that we can do together. Something that we actually have in common and will actually enjoy.”

    Wiktoria smiled happily.

    “You know how much I love studying and stuff. And especially being tutored by Leona. And you’re keen to learn languages, that’s why you’re studying English and Spanish. Well, Leona is super good at languages, she’s fluent in, like, six of them or something, so I thought maybe we could learn the language of love together, and have French tutoring from Leona together.” Rutherford grinned widely. She was proud of herself for this one, she knew Wiktoria would love it.

    And love it she did, the big girl jumped up and down in enthusiasm whilst clapping, her enormous breasts bouncing around with similar brio.

    “Wait, what was the second thing? You said there was two things...” Wiktoria suddenly eyed Rutherford suspiciously.

    “Oh, we’re going to have to talk to Leona and Skinny about that when they get up. But, in the meantime, who’s up for some snuggle-sex!”

 

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