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  1. roxxy is use to read something while she eats breakfast, in this oportunity she wants u to join her, little by little she gets horny about everything, food and she imagine she is living everything that is happening in the story, its about a party, roxxys so thrill about stuff her face in public, full and horny she has issues to deal with 🤫😈👅 enjoy, kisses...
    $5.99
  2. Chapter 11 "My friend's running late...umm, she's still in the duty free," Olivia explained to the airport staff. "Am I okay to board?" With unwarranted instinct, the airport staff member gave her elevator eyes. "Uhh. Yeah," the skinny guy garbled. "No sweat, enjoy your flight." "I mean - am I okay to board with her ticket? Hers and mine?" He gave her a perplexed look. "She's a total drama queen," said Olivia. "She's always late. She's the one who'll come running up with four bags in each arm, like ten seconds before boarding closes - I thought it'd be help if I could speed up the process...you know?" "You're sure she's okay with this?" "A hundred percent," said Olivia. "She'll thank me. And you...err...thank you..." She bustled by his desk, one passport, two tickets in hand. Feeling his eyes on her ass, Olivia dropped her wheel bag and let it roll behind her. She spied her reflection in the clear glass of the corridor stretching to the airplane bays. Her ensemble consisted of a stretchy white t-shirt and an old, fleecy purple zipper jacket. Her ripped black jeans were new - the widest she could find. A scraggly, homemade scarf shrouded her newly jostling cleavage, while a branded pink raincoat, slung over the shoulder, tactically covered the roll of uncovered flesh peeking from her beltline behind her. A dark pair of shades completed the look, complimented by a thick set of headphones in matching colours. If she was going to survive the next twenty-four hours, Olivia needed to block out the world. Don't get flustered, and don't get upset she told herself. Everything will be fine, so long as you don't cause a scene. Olivia neared the final turn. Her legs were beginning to burn again. She hadn't walked so far in so long. The comfort break she'd taken in the lounge had been worth it, but it had left her with little time. She pushed on through the tunnel, stretching her waddling strides. An air hostess was waiting to greet her, her eyes lingering wide. Her own eyes widened in turn. The woman looked as if she'd been cut from a magazine. She waved a greeting, her nails trimmed and painted, gave a frozen smile and a staccated hello. Olivia lumbered to a stop, and showed her the tickets. "12C, on the left. Middle, by the emergency exit doors. 13C, directly behind." "Behind?" said Olivia, surprised. "I thought they were together?" "No Ma'am. You have two seats on separate rows, if you look at our diagram..." Olivia tuned out. She felt the sweat. She felt cold. How could she have made such a stupid mistake? She wound back her mind to the night she'd made the booking and tried to get a clear picture - naked, slovenly, cloven from her designer makeup, covered in crumbs from comfort food, drunk on a rising stack of cans of beer to steel her for the moment her parents saw her in her shocking, eye-bulging, pitiful new state... "...as you can see coloured in green -" "Uhh. It's my friend's seat. We need to sit next to each other!" Olivia stammered. The hostess paused. Olivia earned her second puzzled look. "She has...she has needs. You might be wondering where she is...she's - with the staff in the departure lounge. They're helping. Are you able - could you swap some people around? I'll - hey, I'll give her a call..." Olivia mumbled and coughed. She produced her phone, and instinctively turned the volume as low as it would go. "Ohh....Madison, hi, how are you?" she called. Olivia cast her glances left and right, hiding the black screen under her hair. She noted everyone had found their seats. She was last to board, and the plane was nearly full. "Oh...I see. Yeah, yeah, I understand. So you're..." Suddenly she felt her fingers tingle. The screen lit up. A chopped recording of Taylor Swift filled the monotone air. Olivia exchanged the hostess' befuddled complexion. She was first to break away, turning to the passengers. She made the ill-awaited announcement. The student thumbed the call button, quickly. "Olivia." "I mean - sorry...hi Maeve, how are you?" The big girl scrunched her brow. "Maeve? Seriously? What is it - " She lowered her voice to a whisper "- why are you calling me?" "Listen - I know what's happening," said Maeve. "You don't have a disease." Olivia glanced around the plane. The hostess had her arms raised, conducting her fellow ushers like an orchestra. The grumble of the passengers made for uncomfortable music. A horde soon clogged the aisle as families struggled to reset their carry-on luggage. Olivia looked over the other shoulder. She double checked. No-one was listening to her. "No, you listen. There's something seriously, genetically wrong with me. If you're going to preach that I'm fat because I've been overeating, thanks for stating the obvious. But it doesn't matter what I do. I've tried diets, I've tried the gym, I've tried to dance again, I've tried starving myself, I've prayed - nothing is working!" "Olivia - I know why..." "You study English. Since when were you a doctor?" "No...I'm not but - please trust me. I...figured out what it is. Whenever you get mad, you gain weight." "I'm pretty sure I'm mad because I've been gaining weight." "That's - there, you're halfway to understanding. It's a self-propelling cycle." "Are you trying to sell me your book or something?" muttered Olivia. "What's your point?" "It isn't natural and it isn't something this holistic wellness ranch place is going to fix..." "It's a hospital," Olivia insisted. "Unlike you, they're professionals." "It's a curse," Maeve blurted out. Olivia lifted her phone from her ear and stared. She tittered in disbelief. "A curse? Really?" "Yeah, we'll call it that." said Maeve. Olivia laughed. "Okay, two points. One, there isn't a 'we'. Two, curses aren't real. There's always an logical explanation!" "Please, listen to mine - okay, maybe curse isn't quite the right word, but I can tell you what is is if you - " "Freak." Olivia cut her off. She pocketed the phone in a huff. She was done. The last overheard locker clattered shut. She surveyed the scene around her. The hostess was encouraging the last few holdouts to sit. She gave her a tap on the shoulder. The lady flinched as if she were shocked. Olivia mimicked the reaction. "Oh...err. Sorry!" The lady raised her eyebrows, regained her smile and straightened her crispy jacket. Olivia's mind raced to her shirt. A flick of the wrist and she corrected where it had ridden up suddenly over her stomach, cotton gripping her bothersome fresh flesh. "Yes ma'am?" "My friend - I just called her, she's not coming with me," she declared. The hostess batted her eyes. A simultaneous groan echoed from the rows around her. "Just you then," she exclaimed. "That's no problem. Your seats are free. Please be seated." She took two deft paces backward and showed Olivia to her row. Olivia followed on, wincing as she felt the bite of the button under her jelly roll. She considered the warmth of the air, her slight sweat and the cabin pressure, struggling to turn her head facts she couldn't add up. The dull pain blinkered her thoughts. She jabbed a thumb through her waistband, easing the ache as her jeans pinched her with every step. A woman in her eighties slept gently by the window, a doily-like cover on her eyes. Olivia thanked the hostess, clacked open the locker, and in a quick movement clandestinely produced the seatbelt extender from the top pocket of her bag as she pretended to wrestle the zipper shut. Palming the strap as she closed the locker, Olivia brought down her arms and shuffled into her spot. She gave a grunt of discomfort. It was tighter than she'd predicted. Twisting round, the student lowered both armrests as much as she could. She quietly clamped the extender to the male end of the regular harness, and brought it across her round, turgid tummy. Her t-shirt was riding up; she corrected it. Olivia scooted her butt further but found she had reached her limit. Her stomach pressed on her cramped thighs and her boobs were up to her chin. Olivia sighed. This would just have to do. She clicked the extended seatbelt shut. She peered over her sunglasses. The hostess was still standing over her. "Ma'am, I'm afraid we can't get ready to fly just yet." she said, between demeanour of cheer and despotism. "Our procedures require our cabin crew to have access to the aisle at all times." The hostess clasped her hands. Olivia felt stung. She took the hint with a puff of baited warm breath and a lowly whispered curse. She had just sat down, and she felt drained. The student took stock of herself - a hefty love handle, her ass, the side of her thick, wobbling thigh; all had bust the unwritten limits of her right armrest, and were bulging off the precipice of her seat. Rolling her eyes, she lifted the armrest on her left and tenuously adjusted her position. Her tummy grumbled. Olivia winced. She rested her bottom between the seats, and leant back on the plastic divides. She nudged and budged her body, trying to make herself comfortable. "Our apologies, our regulations state that won't be a viable option - we need you to be seated and to be wearing a seatbelt prior to take-off." "Ugghh, okay. Middle seat it is." Olivia made sure to lock eyes with her powder-puffed oppressor as she slid jauntily across the row. She seized the leftmost armrest for leverage and pushed with her legs. Her jeans lifted from the seat, tearing like Velcro and her fingers tingled with static. Suspended for the briefest moment, Olivia swung her bottom deeper into her gaudy, plastic confines. She heard a sudden squeak. Her heavy hip bounced and buffered into her window seat neighbour. Olivia threw her head around, her face paling. "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry!" she cried, mortified. "I didn't see you!" She lurched to the right, or rather she tried to. Olivia winced as cramp wrapped round her calf, strangled by her jeans. Digging in through the pain she inched herself away a little more. She flipped her hair, fighting her body into position. "You're on my leg," the elderly lady croaked. "Shit - I mean, sorry!" Olivia chastised herself for cursing. She fumbled and shoved her weighty waist rightward, until she felt the familiar sensation of hard plastic pressing her coccyx. She was wedged in the space between seats again. Olivia looked up to the air hostess in desperation. The slender woman extended her manicured fingers. Her arm brushed the dishevelled girl's heaving chest, a palm softly placing itself on her distressed fellow passenger's shoulder. "We're so sorry!" she said, palpably emotional. "We have an upgrade we can offer you. Are you able to follow me to business class? Are you hurt?" She raised her eyebrows once, twice quickly in Olivia's direction. "Excuse us!" she hissed. Olivia whimpered. She swayed herself into motion. She half stood, half rolled her way from her seat, planting a chubby leg back in the aisle. She hauled the rest of herself out into the cooler air. The hostess zipped down into the space she occupied, a comforting arm stretching around the valued guest's shoulder. "I'm...err...I'm just gonna go to the restroom..." The student twisted away from the awkward scene and barrelled for the toilet. She opened her eyes to the rest of the flight. She swore she heard a sharp, collective intake of breath as she sighed, holding her head low. Olivia swung her legs, mumbling apology after apology as her hips brushed by. Some apologised back. A row of boys shifted to the side, a few comically far, earning a laugh from their friends. The older women tutted. The younger stared with pity. The worst was the rearward rows, and the squat, bryl-creemed businessmen in the premium economy seats. There was one who pretended not to see her, or hear her after she pleaded excuses. Groaning, she trundled by, his shoulder brushing the sides of her belly, soft fat slipping past a cheap, crinkled suit. Olivia winced. She could have sworn she felt him smirking. The door couldn't have come quickly enough. By time she pressed up against the handle her spirits were shot. She rattled the door, stepped through, twisted and closed it tight behind her. Olivia was in darkness. There was minimal space to move. She fished her phone out from her vice-like pocket. She couldn't see a light switch. She couldn't sit. She could barely turn around, but with a grunt and a thrust, she did so. She was alone. She locked the door. The former dancer began to seethe. Hot and waxy tears ran down her cheeks. She covered her mouth, determined not to let anyone hear her. She wished the plane would just take off, with her in the shadows. She wished she was invisible. She wished everyone else was every bit as uncomfortable as she was. She wished she was slim, fit, graceful again most of all. She heard voices outside, simple chatter, kids cajoling each other, broken in segments by the obnoxious blare of the businessmen on the last row. "We're running ten minutes late," His partner swore. "Au contraire," said a third man. "I'm confident we'll arrive ten minutes early, after the crew force her off..." "Throw her down the slide," someone laughed. "She'd roll to China." Olivia's temper flared. Her brow boiled to volcanic proportions. Her fists were clenched tight. Her chest grew warm, her breaths grew furious and ragged. Didn't they know who she was? Didn't they know the girl she used to be? How dare they? How could they? How could everyone see, but nobody know? Suddenly the pressure welled up in her midsection. Olivia choked. Her cheeks flushed in agony. Before she could seize her stomach the noise hit her eardrums. No longer in pain, she felt under her belly. She found one edge of her jeans, then the other, split by a gaping zipper. There was no button there. It had gone. Olivia's fingers curled at the feeling of soft flesh, sticking out in front of her, hanging in half an inch of space where there'd been nothing at all. Olivia's mouth hung open. She hadn't moved her feet. But her gut was now pushing against the door. Shell-shocked, she took out her phone. "Maeve, it's me. I believe you." she breathed, the moment she heard her pick up. She wiggled and nudged. The door rattled. Olivia peered through the millimetre slit left in the wall by the hinges. Someone was waiting for her. "I'm glad. Where are you now?" Maeve replied. Olivia bit her lip. "A runway. About to burst out of an airplane toilet...oh god, I must weigh a tonne by now. How come I didn't notice it before?" "You weren't meant to notice, the weight gain happened to you overnight because I delayed it, I mean - the curse was delayed..." "YOU DID THIS?" screamed Olivia. "I'm really sorry!" Maeve wailed. "I can fix this! I didn't want it to be like this, I swear! The curse - the...thing, I think I'm losing control over it, I just wanted you to know so you can stop..." There was silence on the line. "Ugghhhhh" Olivia moaned. "Ohhhhhhhhh!" Her bottom pressed harder on the sink. Olivia leant forward. Her belly flattened along the width of the door. She gasped. Her breasts were beginning to brush the signage. Her shirt pulled tight across her shoulders. Olivia heard a stitch split. "Please," Maeve pleaded. "Please don't get mad! Just do something to get out of there!" The student staggered. A rumble emanated from the soles of her feet. She shivered as the buzz crept through her tendons. The plane had ignited its engines. Her burst of growth had pinned her in place. Olivia's blood ran cold. "You can't go," Maeve urged. "Get off the plane!" "I - I can't get out," Olivia whimpered. "I'm about to fly!" "The thing - the thing I used to do this to you. It's called -" The line howled with hiss of static. " - from a book I read but then I lost it, I don't know where it is!" "What did you say?" said Olivia. "I can't hear you!" "Please - don't shout! Don't -" Kkkkrrrrhhh....krrrrhhhhhhh…. "Maeve, it's okay, I'm not mad - tell me what it is, tell me what to do!" Kkkkrrrrhhh…. "- livia, we're being watched. You've got to keep quiet!" "Just tell me. Hurry, I think I can - hhgggnnnhh....heerrrrnnggghh!" Olivia pounded the door and tried to unstick herself. "We need to stay together!" shouted Maeve. Olivia heard a rumble from deep down below. The tinny lights shivered and buzzed. The plane was shifting its gears. "You need to stay here!" Olivia fumbled for the latch, palms sweating. She pushed her left hand past her heaving stomach. She drew a breath. Her fingers slid on the steely bolt piece. "Tell me." whispered Olivia. "Maeve, tell me what's going on." "I used a - krrrrcchhh - device. It's c - krrrrcchhh - Penultimator!" The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog THE QUICK BROWN FOX JUMPS OVER THE LAZY DOG " - . The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog Aaaaand that wraps it up for the night! Any and all comments, critiques and criticisms worth your time will be given mine. Leave a like, I hope to see you again for the final chapter! Shift, exclamation point. I sighed as I checked the time. 1:52 am. I clicked the post button and switched tabs to a piano cover of Yesterday. My eyes were straining and I dimmed the screen. The music helped ease the ache. I switched tabs again to an article I'd skimmed past a couple hours before on rising cat ownership. I read it until the song stopped, glugged some water and closed the page, then the curtains. I was ready for bed. Down below, I heard someone open the front door. I lived alone. I stopped breathing. I turned in my chair, my mouth opening slowly. Two wet footsteps struck the tiles of the porch. I wasn't imagining the noise. A rustle of material and a thud echoed down the hallway as someone discarded a soaked raincoat on my shoe rack. Click The hallway light was on. Click I switched my bedroom light off. I dimmed my laptop to black. I scrabbled for my phone as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I stepped away from where the light was seeping through under the door, into the shadows by the wardrobe. Thud....thud...thud.... Serial killer. Do I shout out? I stuck a hand in the door. I gripped my old hockey stick. Thud....thud.. The footsteps were closing towards me. I unlocked my phone, and entered three digits. Creak... The figure had reached the stairs. It was coming for me. Creeeaaakk…. The footsteps grew slower, louder. I had nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run - but back down the stairs, audibly groaning as someone ascended. "Hello?" "Ughhh...hey! I finally found you...." The voice was a stranger's. But it was young. Feminine. Loud and accented. "Are you looking for me?" I said, balking. "Geez, didn't you see me waving at your window?" she gasped, then huffed. "Of course you didn't. You were on your computer." She paused for breath. My mind hung on the inflections. Far as I could tell, she wasn't from England. "Phew....so I tried the front door, your doorbell doesn't work, but you left it open - so..." She flicked on the stairway light. "Sorry - do I know you?" I asked her. "Yeah...kinda...phew - look, we'll get to that later. Second door on the left's your room, right?" "Err, yeah. Wait, I'll get the door." Heart still pumping, I returned the hockey stick to the wardrobe. I found some slippers and threw on a hoodie. The pyjama bottoms would have to do. I tossed an empty can of Coke in the bin. I pocketed my phone, switched the light back on, and opened the door. There was a girl in ripped jeans, a thin purple zipper jacket and a white t-shirt, leaning with her hands on the balustrade, a loose scarf dangling over the edge. She pushed back her soaking blonde hair over her shoulder and looked me dead in the eyes. I tried my best not to peel mine away. I couldn't overstate the obvious. She was fat. She was immense. Her every move exaggerated her mass. As she approached my doorway her rolling stomach hung out from under her shirt, drooping over the crumpled zipper of her straining, buttonless jeans, puffing out her shirt into a taut band around and between her belly roll, supported by faint, silvery vertical lines. I couldn't afford to peer down any more as she drew closer. My mind built a picture of her stretchmarks as speech marks, flanking her round belly button. A similar noise escaped from my mouth. She stopped, inches away from me. Her plump lips tightened. "Can I come in?" My eyes were on the doorframe. I was dumbstruck. "Uhh...huh, I dunno," she said, mocking my voice. "Can you?" I'd gone mute. She groaned. She motioned for me to move out the way. I did. She stepped forward, and true to my inklings, the hinge side gave her hips a firm press. For a second she was held, but she was heavy, and she bouldered through. She smoothed a hand down the redness on her side, then rolled her shoulders. Her jacket, like the soft, chunky arms it wrapped around, looked purely vestigial. She clearly couldn't close the zipper across her body. The girl closed the door. She occupied the centre of my room, vast and fat, coughing soft and rapid breaths. "Hey. First of all...fuck you, this is all your fault. Second of all, don't talk unless I tell you. Don't make me angry. Third of all, I'm exhausted. Can I sit down?" "Uhh...sure?" "Thanks. That walk couldn't have been worse. Why do you have to live up a hill?" She deposited herself on my lounge chair. I heard a wheeze of air escaping leather. "I'm so unfit. I haven't been to the gym since I split my leggings trying to run on a treadmill, it was - how d'you put it - humiliating, watching my butt wobble in the pristine glass." I simply stared. She was giving me a queer look. "Am I ringing any bells here?" "I...err...I don't think we've met before..." "No, we haven't." the girl said, shrugging. "But you definitely know me. You know everything about me. You know more about me than I do." I found my own chair, by the laptop. "I'm lost." I admitted to her. "Who are you, exactly?" "I'm Olivia Johnson. Remember me? I'm the straight-A student college star dancer you wrote about and thought - wow, wonder how I can wreck her life? I know! Destroy her figure with some rapid, uncontrollable college weight gain." I blanched. "Yeah. I remember you. And clearly I must be dreaming." Olivia smirked. She lifted her shirt to just underneath her breasts. "No, this isn't real. You're from one of my stories," I told her. "Nooo" she said, mocking my voice again. "All of this...is very, very real." She drifted closer. Her belly was stretched, round, plush with armfuls of quivering fat. "Feel it," she offered. "Give it a rub. Don't you want to?" "This is a dream!" I repeated. But I wasn't waking up. "Touch..." she cooed, pursing her lips. "Feel me. You don't have to hide it here. I know what you really want." Closer and closer she came. She put a shoe on my chair's rolling wheel. I felt my hand travelling upward, to protect myself. But then I stretched out a finger... No sooner had my fingertip poked her stomach than she had seized my wrist with claw-like nails. She slapped me across the face. I felt a burning sensation. "That's for making me get fat. Totally what my plotline needed. Aspiring dancer, star of the family, super fit, starts college and balloons into a separate ZIP code. Thanks." "Nightmare," I decided. "Holy shit. I'm having a lucid nightmare." "I'm real, you dumb asshole! The story you wrote about me was true!" "But...but how is this happening? I didn't write a part where you come alive and travel all the way to my house and break in to confront me! Look...here, let me show you!" I grabbed the mouse, swivelled it and brought up the document on my laptop. The title flashed up in bold. Olivia's New Moves. I scrolled down. Chapter 11. "Look, I haven't even finished the whole thing. You... you're on the plane to your home state. You've left your last lecture that day, it's the end of term. You wanted to go to a health facility for summer, Maeve called you, you got stuck in a toilet. You're trying to get off the plane - how did you get here?" "It's that stupid device," said Olivia. "The Penultimator, it's a thing that transfers fiction to the real world? It is real. The college, the classes, my family, stupid Maeve, all that fricking food - you don't know how, but you created all of it. I got off the plane. I did a search to find out what Maeve told me in the toilet and I found your story online. My story. Word for word, exactly what happened to me. I tracked your username, found your accounts elsewhere, found out where you lived, skimmed your address off a data hosting company and then found you." "Wow," I mumbled. I curled my toes. "Where do I start....err, didn't know it was that easy. I should change my passwords...hang on a minute." I scrolled. The words ended where I thought I'd left them. My sign off. Shift key, exclamation point. "I didn't write any of that last part. The train, the walking. In fact I literally just wrote the plane sequence. How could any of what you just said have happened?" "You haven't written it, but you're going to." "That doesn't make any sense." "It does. Think about it. Nobody writes in the present tense. Everything you've written about me happens in the past. You're going to write how eventually I flew over here, how I boarded a train, how I walked a mile from the station in the pouring rain and found you in the past tense. Like everything else, got it?" "Got it. I think..." Olivia glowered at me, indignant. She tapped her watch. "And?" "Oh...right, I'm guessing you want me to rewrite what happened? The whole...weight gain thing?" Olivia patted her stomach, eyes on me. "You're driving me crazy. I'm literally getting heavier as we speak. What do you think I want?" "Sorry" I mumbled. "I could just delete everything? That's if, you know...you're okay with being wiped from history, maybe." "Try it," she shrugged. "Maybe it's my time. Maybe I had it alright in my little existence as someone's fantasy." Wincing, I clicked my documents and sent the whole folder to the recycle bin. I returned to the internet and ventured to the forum where I'd made the last post. One like, one comment. Not bad for seven minutes. I found the edit button. I highlighted the text. I hit backspace, running page after page away. I found Chapter 1. Olivia's New Moves. She was in my room. She was still there. She was still - I quickly glanced over my shoulder - fat. The text glowed blue. My finger balanced on the button. I closed my eyes. Gone. I scrolled up, and scrolled down. No more fiction. But she was still there. "Errm. Are you feeling anything?" I asked her. "I feel fat," said Olivia. "Just like you wanted, right?" "Didn't work then," I murmured. "Unless..." "Unless what?" "I can figure why. I put it all online. I can't eliminate the possibility that someone copied and pasted them. Maybe for a collection? There's no way I could get it back." "Someone's collection. You're flattering yourself...but shit, you're probably right." Olivia sighed. "You'll have to write an ending with me getting skinny again. Sorry to put you through the torture." Somehow, I had to smile. "I'm not that bad, am I?" "Let's see." Olivia folded her arms. I turned back to the screen. I fished Chapter 11 out of the recycling bin, opened it and scrolled until the page was blank. I began typing. Olivia decided she wanted to lose weight. She walked to the gym. "Walked?" said Olivia. "Seriously? You're letting me walk? I'm walking now? Dude, I waddle. That's how you've moved me since Chapter Eight - she squeezed herself from the booth and waddled to the restroom. Because I'm so swollen from all the plates of food I stuffed myself with at the buffet, remember? That's how I get from A to B when I leave my room, increasingly rarely these days..." She seized a thick roll of her belly. "Hmm. I wonder why?" She gave it a furious shake. "Point taken." I said, bleeding a little on the inside. Like I'd imagined, it took Olivia's fat more than a moment to settle. "Weird. I never saw the point." she said, still jiggling as I turned in my chair to the laptop. "Why was I in bed all morning? Was I tired because I'm fat? Was I lazy because I'm fat? Maybe I was too embarrassed to go downstairs to the real world...because I'm fat? You left it pretty ambiguous. Guess you've got a few different tastes to please, huh? More fool me thinking there's only one fricking track in the world of your fetish." I reddened. "It...could be worse?" I said with a shrug. "No shit," Olivia muttered. "I trawled through a lot of stories after I found mine. Lot of heavy reading. You didn't feed me to a giantess, I guess. Also, am I supposed to thank you for not making me immobile? That seems to happen a lot." My eyes dashed to my edit history. "Yeah. Totally." I mumbled, the colour of my cheeks draining as the first thoughts were struck down by one more harrowing. "Err...are any of the other stories real too?" "Who knows?" the softened dancer replied. "Maybe they are real, to the good writers." She rolled her eyes. "That's...hey, that's not an insult," I said, cheerily. "Oh yeah? I hate you," she blurted. "Your stories like, really suck." "Owch?" "Not done." She eased my hand off the mouse, scrolled up and highlighted the sentence she wanted. "A hefty love handle, her ass, the side of her thick, wobbling thigh; all had bust the unwritten limits of her right armrest, and were bulging off the precipice of her seat. Who the hell do you think you are? Do you get off on Shakespeare too?" "Again..." I shrugged. "Wouldn't call that an insult." "Urgghh! You're the worst! Stop flattering yourself, you fucking narcissist!" I kicked myself from the desk and rolled away. "Give it a go yourself," I suggested. "You're better than me, clearly. Prove your point." "If I could write my own story - " Olivia grumbled " - would I really be standing in your bedroom. I already tried, it didn't work. You're the one with the power to change this." "Look, I don't know how I did it." I said. "You mentioned the Penultimator - that's just a word on a page, to me. I thought I made it up. I don't know what it is. I wouldn't know where to find one. If we could just stop arguing for like, one minute, maybe we can come to some sort of agreement? Then I can go to bed, wake up and it'll be like it was all a dream. No sod that, we're too far gone. A bad trip on acid." I breathed in. "If I'm going to write something that's - if not good, at the very least, plausible - I need to get a feel of what it's really like for you. What was it like, being in my story? Was I controlling you? Did you feel like some sort of puppet?" "No," Olivia said, calmly. "It wasn't. Not in a sense you were directing every movement. I had plenty of freedom between chapters, just not when I was around junk food, clearly. I think you used the phrase eating machine? And seriously, why did you keep making me hungry at midnight? It was so annoying! I had to get up, squeeze into my forlorn pyjamas, somehow not wake my parents while I plodded down the stairs to cram my face and go back to bed on a full stomach! No wonder I slept late so much!" I was about to warn her not get mad again but, as if on cue, she yawned. "You have a place to stay tonight somewhere, right?" I said. "No," Olivia said again with a shrug. "You haven't written one for me." "I'll put you somewhere nice. If I wake up and you still exist we can think about this tomorrow." I flicked on the bedside light and tapped on the keyboard. And after her detour to the bedroom, Olivia grew sleepy. She left through the open door, descended the stairs and was promptly whisked away for a night at the London Ritz I hit enter to post. I spun in my seat. My muse was still standing there, incredulous. She shook her head. "Nope. Not happening." said Olivia. "Maybe it'll work when you go down the stairs," I said. "Maybe there's a footman and a limousine?" "It didn't work. I can't leave through the open door. It's closed, you idiot." "Oh." I muttered. "Sorry...I must be tired too." "Screw it. Get some sleep, you'll write better in the morning. I think I can handle one more night of morbid obesity." I rubbed my eyes. "Fine." I closed my laptop, stood up, opened my wardrobe and fished out my sleeping bag from between the hiking boots at the bottom. I took my laptop in one hand and the bag under my arm as I approached the door. "Where are you going?" said Olivia. "Living room couch." I mumbled. "But this is your bedroom." "And that's your bed for the night. Enjoy." "I can't take your bed from you." "You're not going to fit on the couch. No offence." For the first time that night, she laughed genuinely. "Oh, because I'm huge? Can't let anyone forget it, can we?" She slapped a hand on her plump rear end. "Aren't you a little afraid I might break your bed into splinters? Because I'm so overweight?" She plopped herself down hard on the mattress and the springs squealed. Her boobs were bouncing. But nothing yielded. The bed held firm. "It wasn't made out of plywood, like yours," I said. "Pretty comfortable too. Goodnight!" "Hey, wait," she shouted. "You're making me feel guilty" I found myself grinning. "I wrote a sense of guilt for you?" "I guess so... your writing's awful by the way - I mean, you can stay up here, if you like. It's your place. I don't want you to feel like I've crashed everything." "Wow, Olivia. Thanks, but I'd rather not feel the bruises in the morning. It's an old floor." "I mean in bed, idiot," she whispered under her breath. "Stay with me. I know you're having a rough ride with your stories coming alive at your doorstep but I don't know what the hell's up with me either. It's something bigger than me, if that's even possible. I don't what it is. I just don't want to be alone. I'm always alone. Please?" My feet were rooted. My stance was awkward. "...I can do that." I said. "Woohoo. Get in bed." she replied, deadpan. "Err...let me go brush my teeth." I hopped out of the room to the first door on the left, the bathroom. The first thing I did was splashed cold water in my face. I stared at myself in the mirror. Still real. I could tell as I could hear my bed creaking, with the sound of Olivia slowly stripping her damp clothes off her body. I hung on the last two words. I splashed some more cold water. I took my time with my teeth. I wanted her to be comfortable. I wanted her to believe I was the opposite of everything I'd done. Returning to my room, I shuffled to what was now my side. Her clothes were strewn all over the floor. The t-shirt was pulled out of proportion, and on the verge of ripping. I opened the duvet. Her pillowy form was under the sheets, softly stirring, naked but for her knickers, or panties as she'd have called them. Her breasts had tumbled to each side of her frame, braless. I breathed out. Shit. I hadn't given her a bra that fit since Chapter Eight. I left my side of the sheets tucked in. I lay down over the top, and pulled the duvet to my chin. I stared up at the ceiling. Olivia flicked her eyes at me. She looked me up and down. She saw what I'd done. "Ughh!" she mock-groaned, with a giggle. "Such a virgin." I was too tired to press a case for the defence. She threw the duvet over both our heads, and bucked her hips until she faced the bedside table. She loosened the sheet, kicking her legs free, shoving the edge under her back then rolling over the top. Olivia stuck out a hand and switched the lamp off. Then, breathing a little less softly, she rested. I faced the wall. I uncurled my legs, and rose my head in consternation as gravity drew them to the other side of the bed. My unexpected guest was tanking the mattress from the edge, creating a wallowing depression. Her form unmoving, Olivia was sucking me in, and she knew it. I relented. I rolled from one shoulder to another, facing her side. Now there were centimetres between us. She felt my breath on her shoulder. She softly cranked it up. I let it touch my chest, breathed in, breathed out and closed the gap. She let me push her dark golden hair a little away from my eyes. "Is this...is this really okay with you?" I repeated, whispering in her ear. She took my hand. She purred as she placed it delicately on her plush, yielding waist. "Mhmmphh. Night Campbell." I sighed, then I yawned. "Mhmmm. That's not my name..." I heard no reply. In seconds, the biggest little spoon in the world and I were asleep. If she snored I didn't hear her. I remembered only my dreams. They were never like my stories. I saw a dog, equally sleepy, lazing lonely on a plane, unmoving as a lithe fox swept from the hazy shadows, unflinching as it leapt over its back, again and again. A drooping pair of eyes, and a flash of brown.
  3. ‘They are of the People, and return again to mix with the People, having no more durable preeminence than the different Grains of Sand in an Hourglass…’ - Benjamin Franklin, letter to George Whatley, May 23, 1785. Madison fingered her belly, adjusted her glasses and skimmed the front page of the Boston Herald. Her face beamed back, glowing and resplendent, though she scowled at the sight of the tiniest roll that had appeared under her chin in the picture of her shaking a pig farmer’s hand. The headline was ‘THE BIG V’ – BOSTON MAYORAL RACE HEATS UP AT EASTERN STATES EXPOSITION. The rest of the words were unimportant to her. She was keenly aware that in this election, image was everything. It could make or break her victory. Her opponent, Moira Dixon, was the hardened heir of a Boston Brahmin, himself the scion of a longstanding political dynasty, with a string of distinguished ancestors moulding and shaping their power base in New England ever since the end of the Civil War. Madison lacked such a pedigree – though her senator father could offer her a trove of political connections, his home state was California. She grew up on the West Coast, not the East. As such, despite a decade spent first at MIT and then around various local councils she still felt that she was struggling to convince people she belonged. Her bronzed skin, long blonde locks and undeniably sensual hourglass figure were the traits of a pin-up girl, not a politician. Madison knew she had to work not just to promote her vision, but to promote an image that would not be a detriment to her chances. Thus her campaign team made clear she was Madison, rather than Maddie. She was not ‘in her twenties’; she was twenty-eight years old. She was mature, she was driven, and she was the future of the city. But for people to believe in her, sacrifices unfortunately had to be made. She swapped her prescription contact lenses back for her bifocals, which she’d not worn since high school, but which her campaign manager Isabella insisted encapsulated an authoritative look. Before her first rally Madison had relented to having the waves straightened out of her golden hair, an inch (but no more) taken off the ends and the colour itself dyed to a sharp jet black. Changes, again not voluntary ones, were also being forced upon the body she’d honed through years of swimming and diving. Amidst the hustle and bustle of campaigning, Madison was proud, even a little bit surprised, that she’d kept herself under one hundred and thirty pounds. The social gormandizing – drinking in Irish pubs, a barbecue at the NAACP meet, pizza at several Italian-American restaurants – was pushing her closer and closer, she knew, but her campaign manager Isabella was keeping her fighting fit with a string of carefully chosen appointments at Boston’s basketball arenas, ballparks and football stadiums, where she’d inevitably be called upon to get in the game. It had taken time, practice and a select few cuss words, but Madison had surprised her team by sinking a free throw on her first attempt at TD Gardens in front of eighteen thousand people. The cheer she got had been the highlight of a long, dragging start to the year. The late night snacking was a little bothersome. But it was the late nights themselves that were taking their toll. Backstage, Lillian dabbed the little bags under Madison’s eyes with eye cream and concealer. “You’re a lifesaver.” Madison mumbled. She tried to glance one more time at the additions Isabella had made to her stump speech. “Keep looking at me,” said Lillian, pressing a finger on the side of her temple. “There. Just a little more. Perfect, you’re done.” She returned the makeup to her handy carry case. “And no, I don’t save lives. For you I barely have to. You’re beautiful. Remember that when you’re out there.” “Thanks. Urghh…how long do I have?” “You’re on in one.” said Scott, her pollster and math man. “One hour?” said Madison, smiling sweetly. She warmed at the thought of a nap when all of this was over. “Fifty seconds and counting” said Isabella. “Now Madison, focus. Those questions are going to be coming thick and fast this time next week, from all corners. This right here is going to be a breeze, but don’t let your guard down. Who are you?” “Umm…Madison Greene…” “I said who are you?” “Madison Greene!” she said with a little more vigour. “What do you want?” Food…Sleep... “A better future for Boston!” “Fantastic. Now where are you?” Madison blinked. “Umm….err…” She tried to peer out of the window. Isabella put a palm to her face. “The harbor. It’s called the harbor.” “I knew that!” Madison protested. “I just thought it had a special name or something, like…” “Boston Harbor?” offered Scott. “Yeah. I mean…no…” “And what happened in Boston Harbor two hundred and forty two years ago?” asked Lillian. Madison groaned again. Her personal stylist slash makeup artist had majored in History and rarely let her forget it. “Something important?” “Hell yeah, something important. It begins with a B. B…Buh-” Buh…Bubbunut Doughnuts. Oh god yes. “On in twenty.” said Scott. Madison suddenly stopped daydreaming. “- Boston…” Lillian drew out. “Boston…” Madison murmured. “Boston T…T…” “…twerking?” Lillian gave her a puzzled look. The she nearly doubled over laughing. “Are you serious? The Boston Twerking Party?” “Oh…oh right. I get it now.” said Madison. “That thing where the patriots…” “…got together and threw their asses out into the harbour. Okay, get that image out of your head.” said Isabella sharply. “You’re on now. Ready?” “Ready.” Isabella lifted the curtain and Madison strode out into the bracing air of the bay. A healthy crowd had formed around the stage set up next to the USS Constitution, and they applauded warmly as she strode to the veiled object on the table in the centre. The President of the Boston Nautical Heritage Society, a seventy year-old man dressed in full colonial naval regalia, shook her hand and took to the microphone, offered his greetings and thanks to the crowd and to Madison. “And without further ado, I’ll unveil what you’ve all come here to see!” he shouted. He hobbled over to the table and with a flourished whipped away the veil. Beneath it was an hourglass, vast and gleaming. A mound of shining sand, glittering like a mountain of gold, lay at the bottom chamber while the sun’s rays dazzled out of the top. The frame was beautifully carved mahogany - the ocean waves were cut into the grooves, where angels and mermaids linked hands. “After last year’s unfortunate incident, I hope you’re all as glad as I am to see the Franklin Hourglass again.” the president said to more applause. “Over the past nine months, our experts at the society, with help from the Sandwich Glass Museum and the late Folger Meadows, one of Boston’s last traditional whittlers, have painstakingly restored this prized artefact to its former glory.” His wrinkly hands lifted the hourglass up. “It gives me great pleasure to present this masterpiece in Mister Meadow’s memory to Madison Greene, so that she may have the honour of returning to the captain’s quarters of the USS Constitution, the very place Benjamin Franklin intended it to occupy when he created it two hundred and twenty six years ago.” Madison held out her hands and he passed it over. Her foot shot forward in her high-heeled shoes – it was a lot heavier than she’d thought. She gripped it by the side, with a hand on the top and bottom to manage the weight, then smiled at the crowd though inside her lungs were straining. She let the hourglass rest on the table a moment before she spoke. “Thank you Mister President. And thank you the citizens of Boston, for joining me on this lovely day to return this beautiful hourglass to its home aboard the – oh SHIT!” Madison’s mouth hung open as she saw the hourglass teeter on the edge the table. Having laid it on its side, she hadn’t seen it slowly roll away whilst she was speaking. She made a lunging grab for it but it tumbled off the edge, bounced, then fell off the stage. She dashed to the front, just in time to see it roll to the end of the harbour. She cringed as a splosh echoed across an audience that had fallen deathly silent. “Uhhh…” Madison mumbled. The eyes of the crowd were turning back to her once the antique had sunk to the ocean floor. The Boston Nautical Heritage president looked utterly shell-shocked. She snatched a pleading glance at Isabella backstage, behind the curtain. Her campaign manager held out her hands and mouthed ‘Don’t…move…’. She said some other things but Madison couldn’t read her lips. All she knew was that the worst thing she could do at this point was run away. Madison looked at the crowd. She had to say something. “Well, maybe I’m not the best person to handle Boston’s past…” she exclaimed to a slight titter. “But does the past always have to matter? I’m sure we as freedom-loving people don’t want to forever be trapped by the past and the mistakes we might have made. Maybe you put an odd pair of socks on this morning. Maybe you parked your car too close to an intersection when you came here. Maybe you just dropped a priceless hourglass into the ocean…” Some people started laughing. Madison smiled. “But, it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to. You don’t have to be confined by your past, and neither should this city. It’s time we started looking forward. It’s time we started looking to the future. It’s time we started looking for a better future for Boston!” She raised a triumphant hand, and to her amazement, the audience began to applaud. She left the stage, more than happy to leave the still stunned president to handle the rest of the ceremony. “I don’t know how you pulled that off, but you did.” Isabella whispered as she descended the stairs. “Good job. Now let’s get in the car and get out of here” She eyed the audience. “Before they ask us about paying for salvage.” When they made it back to the downtown campaign office, the team agreed a good rest was in all of their best interests. They took the rest of the afternoon off, scheduling to meet up again the next morning. “Somebody please tell me my chances didn’t sink with that hourglass yesterday…” Madison said the moment she walked in. The memory still made her feel sick to her stomach – her stomach itself had given her no end of trouble in groaning and rumbling. “Nothing’s unsalvageable.” said Isabella, skimming through another edition of the Boston Herald. “How’s the social media?” “Well, the older generation think you’re a clutz, especially the WASPs” said Scott. “But there’s not many of them on Facebook. And on the plus side. the eighteen to twenty five demographic is finding it hilarious.” He showed her a picture on Facebook that had been doing the rounds on the rest of the internet – already it had accrued over 135k of likes. It was Nathaniel Currer’s old-timey painting of the Boston Tea Party, albeit with her image photoshopped in between the men dressed as Native Americans, holding a hand out while the Franklin Hourglass fell beneath her into the water. ‘Oh Shit!’ was the caption. “It isn’t important,” said Isabella. “The papers are having a field day, but you’re still closing the gap on Moira. That’s what matters. We’re going to build on that ahead of the debate, starting at the creamery tomorrow.” Madison licked her lips. Finally, now came the event she’d been looking forward to the most. “You’ve been taking it ok, right?” Lillian asked her. “Yeah” Madison shrugged. “Why?” “You’re looking a little…fed up.” “What?” said Madison, her hand nervously covering her tummy. “Literally or figuratively?” Lillian stared at her again. “Both, I guess. Have you been eating okay?” “Yeah…I’ve just been feeling a little bloated. That’s all.” Madison put her hand to her stomach again. Strangely, it was curving out. She was perplexed to find that even after skipping her usual morning frappuccino, the bloatedness did not subside. She pursued an answer at the office restroom, where she found an old spring scale by the cleaning supplies. She took off her heels and stepped on. Her eyebrows rose. She was one hundred and forty-nine pounds. She stepped on again. The arrow pointed to the same place, a dash just shy of 150. She gave herself a puzzled look in the mirror. She could no longer see her ribs, nor feel them as she smoothed a hand down her side. Her face was a little rounder, her waist a little wider, her breasts a tad bigger than she remembered. Where did all that come from? I weighed myself a month ago. I was one twenty-nine, wasn’t I? She wondered if she had been kidding herself all this time. Had she really been seeing a four as the middle number, rather than a two? Madison wiggled her hips. Clearly she’d lost her youthful metabolism. She made a silent resolution to start watching what she ate. “Stating at the creamery tomorrow,” she told herself in the mirror. “Or maybe later…” She’d allow herself an ice cream. She had to, of course, to make it look like she was enjoying her time there. One ice cream couldn’t do her any harm. It wouldn’t take her to one-hundred and fifty pounds. “Wouldn’t that be a disaster?” Madison grimaced, thinking about the press. She found the paper and checked the latest political reports, casting a keen eye over Moira. She smiled when she remembered where her opponent would be tomorrow – not at the creamery, but at a waste treatment plant. She was glad to have Isabella on her team. No matter what happened, she’d always pick the long straws. The thought made her crave a sundae. So she had one. Just a little one. The creamery ice cream, in fact, did not take her to one-hundred and fifty pounds. She learned she had passed that point, and then some, long before she even arrived at the creamery. “No, I’m not ok,” she said to Lillian before she could ask. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Madison glared at herself in her hand mirror while they stood by her car. She looked chubby. Primped, poised, and chubby. “It’s fine,” her stylist said. She felt a sharp tug down her shoulders as she tried to pull down the hem of her jacket. “Nothing I can’t fix.” Madison got Isabella on the phone and told her she was going to be later than she’d thought. She’d lost fifteen minutes already that morning, taking a lot more time than she was used to squeezing herself into her skirt. She bust a bra trying to secure the button, and her eventual success left her curiously disappointed when she found her jacket wouldn’t cover up a jelly roll of hers that hung over the edge. Lillian worked tirelessly to tie a matching coloured girdle under her shirt and jacket, around the areas of exposed flesh that stuck out at the bottom. “This is ridiculous.” Madison said, to no-one in particular. “You’re just having a fat day. It happens to everybody.” “Not like this. There’s a difference between having a fat day and waking up fat.” “You’re not fat.” “I’m one hundred and seventy pounds. I gained twenty pounds in less than a day. And that’s on top of the twenty pounds I think I gained before the last time I saw you. I literally got huge overnight. I went to bed and woke up with these...” Madison cupped her soft, fleshy, bigger boobs. “And this.” She gripped the nascent thickness on her sides. “Love handles, Lillian. You don’t get love handles from being bloated.” “Just hold your hands up a mo…” Madison grunted as Lillian pulled the strings tight. She felt her boobs mushroom out the top of the girdle. She tied them together at the back then offered Madison her jacket. She grit her teeth in discomfort as she twisted to put it over her shoulders. She brushed her hair over her back then looked at herself again in the hand mirror. Her slim figure had returned – she was her normal self again, save for the slight slither of fat beneath her chin. “Seriously, you’re a lifesaver” Madison told her stylist. “I wouldn’t recommend bending” Lillian said quietly. “And be careful when you sit down. The strings might snap.” “That’s fine. I can still eat, right? This thing won’t burst off?” “Yeah. A small ice cream won’t hurt.” “Great” she sighed. The taste would help take her mind off the painful pressure on her ribs, and her steady, yet sudden and wildly speedy weight gain. At least for a little while. A whiff of rich milk drifted to her nose. Her taste buds titillated. “All done?” Madison asked Lillian. “Oooh!” Lillian tightened the last string. “Yeah, all done.” Madison checked her handbag and the two of them walked together through the creamery car park. The smell of sweet ices grew and grew. Madison widened her strides. Suddenly, she heard a giant scratch. She felt a light breeze, and the gentle easing of pressure. Her hands zipped to her derriere. “We’re leaving” said Madison, mortified. “I’m getting out of here before anyone sees me.” “But they’re expecting you” said Lillian. “I can fix it, I’ve got safety pins…” Madison ignored her as she shimmied back to her car. The tear on the seat of her skirt rippled and grew. “Please!” Lillian shouted “The show has to go on!” Madison bustled in and started the ignition. She reversed out of her spot and wound down the window. “Tell them I’m sick or something. Tell them anything. Tell them I’m sorry. But don’t tell them what just happened.” She wound the window back up and sped away, cringing. Her tummy brushed the bottom of the steering wheel as she reached the freeway. What’s happening to me? she wondered, desperately. The next day at 2:00pm, after a very light lunch, Madison reluctantly turned to the campaign office after receiving Isabella’s thirtieth text message. Her campaign manager was uncharacteristically ruffled. She rattled off her questions as soon as her candidate opened the door. “Why didn’t you show yesterday? We’ve been calling you all morning, where have you been? What have you been doing?” “Growing…” said Madison. Her voice was low, and strained, like the stitches on her shirt. Ovals of pale, soft fat peeked out between each button, from the bottom of her shirt up to her breasts, where she’d had to leave them undone. Her boobs overflowed from the tops of their cups. Her campaign manager was visibly shocked. “Do you wanna hear the latest poll figures?” said Scott, cheerfully trying to break the silence. He forced a smile when Madison looked his way. “Scott, none of that bullshit matters now,” she huffed. “Do you have idea how much I weigh?” “Err…it’s not a big deal…” “Two hundred pounds. It is a big deal.” Madison muttered as she slumped on her chair. She had been unable to cram herself back into her girdle than morning – thus every pound showed. The chair groaned in complaint as she twisted around to face Isabella. “You remember how I made a sugary drinks tax a cornerstone of my health policy?” Isabella numbly nodded. Madison let her fingers trace the creases in the thick rolls of fat that formed around her middle as she sat. Her shirt buttons stretched. “How am I supposed to lecture people on the obesity crisis, looking like this?” Her voice drew quieter as she gripped her pot belly tightly. “I am the obesity crisis. Either we find a way to work around this, or I can’t keep campaigning.” There was more silence. Isabella broke it this time. “Maybe it doesn’t feel good, but it’s a little late to change your platform now. You’ve gotta keep fighting. You’ve got to remember being a mayor is not about what you look like. It’s about what you do, and what you say.” “But I’ll never get to be the mayor looking like this. They’ll say I’m lazy, that I can’t control myself.” Madison insisted. “I’ve got to lose this weight.” She got out of her chair and left the office in a hurry, leaving her team to the rest of the work. She drove back to her house, pinged off the super tight buttons of her shirt and pants then changed into some stretchy leggings and a vest. She found her long forgotten exercise bike in a cupboard, brushed off the dust and cobwebs and set it up in front of her television. Madison worked out forty minutes on, twenty minutes off for the rest of the day, right up till ten pm. Her belly bunched up and slapped her thighs as they rotated. Sweat poured off her chubbier cheeks. To keep her going she drank only water, and ate just some leftover celery from the fridge and the apples and pears in her fruit bowl. When they ran out, she ate nothing at all. By ten her legs felt like jelly. She staggered off the bike to her bathroom and showered. The burst of cool water made her calves seize up. She had to roll off the side of her bathtub to get out, and crawl to her bedroom. She was too weak to even step on a scale. She collapsed into her bed and nursed out the cramping knots in her muscles. Madison’s belly woke her up the next morning with an unsatisfied rumble. She ignored it, changed from her pyjamas into a fresh pair of leggings and a vest and got back on her bike. She found herself tiring more easily, and put it down to her lack of food and her efforts yesterday. She’d noticed her belly had stopped slapping her thighs – by the afternoon it was rubbing along the top, itching her as it sweated even as she leaned back to give her chubby rolls more fresh air. After working herself to the point of crumbling again, Madison eased herself off the bike. She took another long shower, dried herself, then found her scale. She dropped her towel and stepped on. “Five pounds,” she told herself. “At least five pounds…come on…” She tensed up as the reading flickered. She tensed up even more at the figure it came up with. She was two hundred and thirty pounds. “That’s impossible!” she screamed. She kicked her scale back into the cabinet. “I’ve done nothing but work out, all day! How am I bigger?!” Her legs were giving way, and her stomach was roaring for food. Teeth bared, she gave in to what her body was craving. She cleared out her cupboard, fridge and freezer of what she wanted, piled her living room table with cookies, potato chips, chocolate and ice cream, then dropped on the couch, turned on the TV, and stuffed herself relentlessly. When her snacks were gone she pulled her clothes back on and ordered pizza. She ate and ate, till her stomach was as painfully tight as her leggings. “What the hell?” she shouted through a mouthful of food, when they started to split down the outside of her thigh. She swore viciously and ripped the tear open herself, dumbstruck by the vast expanse of doughy fat, wobbling freely. She found herself a giant Hershey bar donated a while ago by a kindly supporter, and ate late into the night.
  4. “Honey, do these pants make me look fat?” Beth gave her boyfriend a twirl as she showed off a pair of cute purple leggings. “No.” Ryan said with a smile, though he felt like he’d said it a million times. His girlfriend was the epitome of slenderness as always – tight and skinny in the middle, with limbs made sinewy from long hours swinging kettlebells in the gym. Beth pouted. “Really - you’re in perfect shape.” he insisted. They’d been together for three years, and rather than getting comfortable, if anything Beth had only gotten thinner. She’d never been remotely big, even when they’d met, but it seemed each weekend when they spent their nights together in Ryan’s apartment he’d have a little less of her to cuddle up with. He hated waking up at seven in the morning, rolling over in bed to find his girlfriend no longer there – that she’d gone off for a swim or a five-mile run, and would have gone back to her place after. He hated watching her pore miserably over salads when they went for meals out, then skipping dessert no matter what the occasion. Sure, she looked fantastic. But it seemed no amount of complimenting would ever make her feel that way. Ryan desperately wanted her to be happy. But how could she be, listening to the niggling voice in her head that told her joy and contentment always lay in the next size down? That was why he put his plan into action. Seeing Beth happy on the inside was the most important thing. So that when he told her he loved her, she would finally believe him. His planning was meticulous. He purchased a paper shredder, a set of little magnets and a bigger refrigerator, set up a standing order with a grocery and made contact with a friend of a friend from college, a pharmacist going by the name of Dr. Pihl (for ‘trademark purposes’, he’d said in a rush). His bank balance was going to suffer, but Ryan knew in time, it would be worth it. It all began with one slice of carrot cake. “Carrot cake?” “Yeah, thought you might like to try some. It’s delicious.” “But it’s cake.” “I know. But carrots are one of your five a day,” said Ryan cheerfully. “Though you’d have to eat that slice and the other half.” Beth put down her women’s health magazine and smoothed back the tresses of her long blonde hair. She reached forward from the sofa and sniffed the cream cheese icing. She gave it a tiny tentative lick. “The idea is, you put it in your mouth,” said Ryan slowly. “Then you bite it, chew and swallow.” “Shut up,” Beth groaned, as she got up to fetch a bowl and spoon. “And before you ask, no – I don’t need you to spoonfeed it to me.” “You’re not gonna make a mess? You don’t need me to clean you up later?” he cooed. Beth picked up a pillow and threw it at his head. He laughed as he darted behind the door and let it hit the wall. Beth smiled as plopped the cake slice in the bowl and took a little spoonful. The taste hit her like a train – it was sweet and delightful. She gobbled down the rest mechanically, and licked at the remnants of the icing left in the bowl. “I think I’ll go to the gym later.” she said, passing Ryan by while she returned the bowl to the kitchen. “Maybe run home. Could you run a bath for me?” “Sure sweetie.” She changed into a running vest and shorts upstairs and kissed her boyfriend goodbye. When she came back down the stairs she found the carrot cake on the table by the door. “No. I shouldn’t.” Beth turned her eyes away and shut the door behind her. But the cake was waiting when she came back, tired and sweaty. Sighing after she took a shower, she relented. She left her boyfriend’s apartment for work the next morning. Ryan was pleasantly surprised to discover that half the cake had left with her. Ultimately Ryan managed to tempt his girlfriend into enjoying carrot cake at the end of every dinner they shared together. The colour had come back to Beth’s cheeks, and they flushed every time he brought it to the table. Slowly, ounce by ounce, spoonful by spoonful, he’d been increasing the portions of her mains too. He made sure though, through careful re-arrangement on the plates, that her meal always looked smaller than his own. Day by day, she’d finished a little more each time. Beth came back to hers one day with a huge shopping haul. She passed it off as just some extra workout clothes and a couple pairs of jeans when Ryan, who’d stopped over the previous night, had asked what she’d got. In truth, her size fours had been pinching her a little too much around the waist during her workouts. The sixes and eights were only temporary, she told herself, as she quietly threw the receipts in the trash before her boyfriend could get a look in. Him not knowing quite how much she’d spent was a bonus, too. Later, before he left, Ryan secretly retrieved the receipts from the bottom of the trash can. The next day after work he visited every store that they listed, and with a little help from the shop assistants rebought all the clothes his girlfriend had purchased the day before – only in sizes ten, twelve and sixteen respectively. He hung them all on a pipe in a dark space in his attic – he knew his girlfriend hated the spiders that skulked up there, so there was no chance they’d be discovered. To be doubly safe, he put all the new receipts through his paper shredder. The rest was just a waiting game. “Huh. Still a hundred and ten.” Beth got off the scale and accepted Ryan’s offer of a piece of Swiss roll. Ryan allowed himself a coy smile. His handiwork was slowly paying off; he had fixed magnets to the base of the scale so that they’d give a skewed reading. It’d taken an hour’s worth of trial and error but eventually he’d managed to rig it in such a way that it showed a weight ten pounds less than the correct figure. From there it was merely a case of adding the right number of magnets – he could make it go all the way up to forty pounds out. In truth, there really wasn’t a great deal of difference in his girlfriend’s weight. It was Beth’s appearance that had altered a little more. Skipping a couple gym afternoons each week had caused her to lose some muscle mass, while extended post morning workout brunches at Ryan’s and carrot cake desserts had replaced much of that and more with fat. Her face was a little fuller as a result, and biceps that once stood out starkly now fought for room with a newly-acquired smoothness of fat. Another month saw love handles sprout from her sides. Ryan knew it was time to make another move. While she was at work, he snuck into her wardrobe and swiped her size six outfits. He replaced them with the eights, and hung the sixes in his attic, but not before he’d cut the labels out of each and carefully sown them back on. Beth continued for two months unawares, until they too started to get tight. Then Ryan made the switch again. A month after that, as they cuddled on the sofa for a film night, Ryan reached a hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder and was pleased to be met with a smooth curve. She afforded him many more places for his head to rest on – gone were the jabby bones of her chest and hips, swallowed by a layer of softly rising fat. In the half-light his eyes fell to her stomach, and he noticed the little new tyre that mushroomed over her shorts. Ryan kissed her forehead. “You’re gorgeous” he whispered in her ear. “I think you mean enormous,” Beth retorted. She raised her legs and flung herself off the couch. “Look at this pudge. I’m cutting out the cake. And I’m only eating carbs once a week from now on. After a spinning session.” “Sweetie, you don’t have to do that.” “Ryan – I’m getting fat. You won’t want to see me if I’m fat. I should have started this ages ago.” Ryan felt his spirits sink. It wasn’t working. Beth’s body was fighting back. Her urge to punish herself on the track or in the pool was still strong as ever. He needed something to take it away, and to that end, he contacted his friend of a friend. “You’ve got Hiberplex. They’re the most effective on the market,” said Pihl, examining the sachet of appetite stimulants. “But they’re also a hundred bucks for a pack of four plus dispensing fees…” “Errr…what are the most effective not on the market?” Ryan asked jokingly. He wiped his brow. It was a summer’s day and yet Pihl’s store was centrally heated. “Trophopin.” the pharmacist said, to Ryan’s surprise. “It got discontinued after beta testing. Its effects were a little more…lasting, shall we say? Dangerous, perhaps…no, definitely.” “What?” said Ryan, laughing. “You mean it nearly starved people?” “Oh no. It just eats your energy away, literally. You wouldn’t just feel hungrier before a meal – you’d feel hungry all day long.” “Fine by me.” Ryan shrugged. The pharmacist gave him a funny look. He eyed Ryan’s sturdy six-foot frame. “You sure don’t look like you’re starving.” said Pihl. “Oh no, they’re not for me…I was looking for something for my girlfriend…if that’s…I don’t know.” “Hey, I don’t mind. I didn’t build my business on asking questions. Or answering any for that matter. So, she doesn’t like her food?” “No. She loves food – she just hates her body. She’ll eat half a cookie and go spend an afternoon thrashing herself in the gym to work it off. I want to show her she doesn’t have to.” “I’m no love coach, but couldn’t you just tell her?” “She won’t hear it. But if she were to face her fears getting bigger, curvier, and then realise I still love her just as much, she might stop hating on herself.” “Huh. Sounds like it could work, I guess.” Dr. Pihl exclaimed. “You want Trophopin then? Speed up the process?” Ryan raised an eyebrow. “You mean you’ve got it?” “Sure. Just cause it’s not on the shelf doesn’t mean it isn’t here”. Pihl winked. He fumbled in the cupboards beneath his desk and eventually produced a little pink bottle. “But between you and me, it’s not here. Here you go.” Ryan took the tiny bottle. “It’s a liquid?” “Yeah. Two doses in her coffee and alakazam. But absolutely positively don’t even think about going any further than two – the side effects include chronic fatigue, amongst other things. Delacroiss Pharma pulled it way before they found them all – weight gain was definitely another. Not sure of the rest...” Ryan eagerly slipped thirty dollars out of his wallet and signed a waiver. He left the backstreet pharmacy, barely able to purse his lips back over his smile. It was going to be perfect. Beth wasn’t sure whether to go for a mocha or just a latte from her home coffee maker. She knew the added chocolate wouldn’t do her figure favours in the long run, but the extra sugar might perk her up, because for the last two weeks she’d felt more and more like a sloth. Or a maybe a snail; over weeks and months she felt herself carrying around a lot more weight than she was used to. The effects of her excessive eating were growing clearer; her strength was faltering – her firm muscles had fast disappeared beneath new, bouncy fat. It piled on most heavily around her stomach. Where she’d once had a set of washboard abs she now packed a soft paunch that hung over her underwear. It swung left and right on her mid-afternoon jogs, which were becoming less and less frequent as her tiredness grew and grew. She was content just to sit and read, or watch TV, while her boyfriend cooked and offered her meals and cups of frothy coffee. At hers, it was a different story. She needed to muster up strength just to do the most basic housekeeping – sorting the laundry, taking out the trash, vacuuming; it all left her exhausted. She mustered it in the kitchen, in the form of profiteroles, chocolate cake and whipped cream. Sometimes all three at once – for some reason her appetite had been going crazy. Three hours later, after a breakfast that rolled into a brunch, Beth plunged into the swimming pool, soon feeling herself rise back up to the surface. She kicked her legs into gear as she tried to finish her twenty lengths – a much depleted target she’d set for herself optimistically after her morning mocha. Two lengths down, she needed a break. Catching her breath, she tried to see how long she could hold it under the water. Her lungs gave out after just twenty seconds, and she rose to the surface gasping. Her best had been over a minute. “Not good.” she mumbled to herself. She drowsily breast-stroked for a quarter hour more, covering another six lengths. Her lungs burned and she grit her teeth as cramp began to course up her thigh. Beaten, she paddled weakly back to where she could stand up, then hobbled over to the poolside. Beth eased out her tense muscles, then lay back and let herself float lazily back down the pool. Her breasts and belly broke the surface, tight in her one-piece swimsuit. She liked the feeling of weightlessness in the water. Because on dry land, it was a very different kettle of fish. A little while later, after her hunger had returned, Beth gripped the metal bars of the pool steps and heaved. Her ass rose out of the water, rivulets dripping from her glistening, wobbling curves. She huffed as she climbed the steps, and grimaced as she felt fat slap against fat. Her hip brushed the bars as she struggled through, nearly filling the space between them. Between her thighs she felt the slick water drip away, and the unfamiliar noxious rubbing return. She widened her gait again, resulting in a slight waddle as she headed off to the changing rooms. Getting changed again had become a nuisance. There was so much more of herself to dry – droplets snuck into all of her rolls of flab, around all her bulges and curves. Her stretchy leggings clung to her damp thighs as she tried to pull them up. Her fat stomach jiggled and sloshed as she danced awkwardly, thrusting herself up and down, pushing wet hair out of her eyes, then thrusting again. Her weightier boobs were making her back sore. “What’s wrong with me?” she said to herself. It was like somebody else had forced their way into her body, stealing all her energy, telling her to covet chocolate and cake and cream. Carrying an extra person around would certainly explain her new weight. Beth knew something was up when the springs on her bed started moaning as she rolled about at night, and had been stunned at the payscale at the gym when she discovered she weighed two hundred and twenty-two pounds. That was fat. That was really fat. She half considered going to see a doctor, but she was too afraid of what he might say. What if there was nothing wrong with her? Her boyfriend still hadn’t though. Each day she’d slipped into her size eights and tens, which somehow miraculously still fit her, and would ask him how she looked. His reply was always the same. Beautiful. “Never ‘slim’ though,” she muttered. “Never ‘fit’.” The way she was going, ‘never slim and never fit’ were looking to be her future. She couldn’t resist the lure of Ryan’s cooking, or fight the urge to nap rather than go running. It felt pointless to try. She had no more skinny days left. Just fat days, one after the other – days filled with napping and snacking, leggings and hoodies to cover up her bulging form. Beth was starting to stretch her boyfriend’s hoodies out, to her immense embarrassment. “It won’t be like this forever,” she told herself. “I’ll diet and exercise. This time next year, I’ll be different.” she promised. “I will be me again.” But after she ordered three bags of Reeses’ Pieces from the vending machine on the way out, the thought soon died away. “Honey, did we leave any cake last night?” “No.” said Ryan from his laptop. “You ate it all, remember?” “Oh.” said Beth. “Is there any more? I asked you to get another yesterday.” “I did. It’s in the cupboard.” There was a pause. “I’m hungry. Could you bring it over? And…you know…” Another pause. “Yeah. Just give it a minute…I’ll be right over.” Ryan finished what he was doing on his files and closed his laptop. He went to the kitchen and pulled the chocolate cake out from the back of the top shelf. He found a plate, a knife and spoon, and walked into the living room. Beth lay on the couch watching a romance, a cosy sheet over her body. She smiled and nudged herself to the side to try and make room for him. “Nnnghh…ooooh, you’ve kept me waiting. Heh. Come sit with me?” “It’s ok,” said Ryan. He pulled up a wooden chair. “I think it’ll be easier from here.” “Oh. Alright.” said Beth. She sat up straight. Beneath the sheet her belly creased into rolls. While he turned to lower the television volume she pulled it up and let it billow over her again, shrouding her wide, wobbly waist. Ryan cut the cake up into small slices. Beth felt herself grow warmer as he closed in with a cold, silvery spoonful. She opened her lips. The cake was gooey and rich. She chewed slowly, but eagerly. She swallowed and took another succulent piece. She knew this wasn’t right. She could feel the steady stream of helpings of vanilla ice cream, chocolate mousse and more cake adding to the inches on her hips. The stretched, squishy new inches. She had another bite. Her office colleagues had said nothing, but she knew they were snickering. They were laughing at the changes life had brought them. At least they didn’t bitch about her anymore –they didn’t have to. Their jealousy was gone. They were content to settle their gossip on the daily morning show – Beth Sanders, breathless, lumbering up the stairs late after stopping off for takeout someplace in the early hours. They’d compliment her outfit – always something new, since nothing lasted long at the front of her wardrobe – then leave her to go towel her sweat. Then in hushed, awestruck voices they’d discuss the latest developments. Was she packing more in the rear? Did it balance up her front now – her bulging, jiggling belly? Was the fitness freak chafing? Waddling? They were just some of the reasons Beth was reluctant to go out with her boyfriend. She hadn’t enjoyed a proper date with him in months. She was too embarrassed at how far she’d let herself go, and she was afraid that Ryan would be too. There were skinny girls in the outside world. Fit girls. A night in town was just inviting the chance for his eyes to skip from her to theirs. She locked her gaze with her boyfriend on her next mouthful. A quarter of the cake was gone. Beth was painfully aware of herself. How each bite was making her bigger, and bigger. She forced a chocolatey smile. “Mmmphh. More.” Beth leaned closer with the next mouthful. The sheet slipped off her chest. Her breasts looked voluminous and round in her patterned black bra. Ryan’s eyes widened. “Ooops.” she exclaimed. She stretched out and took his left hand, letting it rest on her bosom. She twitched her fingers to prompt him to squeeze. He smiled. She giggled. His other hand came around and flicked off her bra strap. Beth felt her assets fall into his hand. They jostled for space, huge and heavy. Her left boob slipped from his fingers. He threw her bra aside and palmed it in his right hand. Beth’s surging weight had at least left her with two things she could be happy with. She knew Ryan loved her boobs. Beth smiled again. She kinda loved them too. She sighed as she let him fondle her, then brought his fingers away. She guided them back to the cake, and coaxed him it picking up a slice. Beth pulled Ryan close by his collar. She opened her mouth and sunk her tongue into the slice. Her eyes found their sparkle. “I love you.” she said, her sultry voice muffled in thick cake. “I love you too.” said Ryan. His hands left her breasts. They rolled down her chest again, Ryan’s hand with them. She giggled nervously. She felt his thumb trace the line of her panties. He tugged softly. Then a little harder. He slipped his fingers under the tight waistband and pulled. Beth froze as she felt his knuckles press into her love handle. This was too much. She couldn’t let him feel her fully naked. She cringed as she remembered the last time at her place – when she’d rolled on top of him and felt a breeze in her hair from the air that had been forced from her boyfriend’s lungs. She realised she was smothering him in fat. She’d apologised. She had tried to roll off, but found herself wobbling atop her blob of a stomach. She apologised again. “Don’t” Ryan had said. His voice was croaky. “You’re amazing.” He helped push her onto her back. She flopped on the mattress beside him. The bedsprings crunched. She lay mortified as her boyfriend pushed her thighs apart to feel her. She remembered how she’d jiggled, from her thighs to her chubby cheeks. “Enough.” she said, snapping back to reality. She guided his hand away, and rustled the sheet back over himself. “I feel tired. Maybe we could finish this cake tomorrow?” She looked over his shoulder to the muted romance on the television screen. “Yeah, sweetie,” said Ryan, sighing. He returned the chair to the table. “Sure.” He thought he’d followed the instructions clearly. A dose was one drop, and Pihl had said two doses in her coffee, no more. Ryan had put them in Beth’s morning coffee every day. At first he’d been met with a hidden happiness watching the expansive changes in her form, but it stopped when he checked the readings on his rigged scale over her shoulder and realised her weight had crossed one hundred and seventy-five pounds. A quick search online confirmed his inklings – Beth was plenty. More than plenty. Sensing he’d overshot the mark, Ryan felt a twinge when he checked a BMI calculator, and realised his gym bunny girlfriend was now twenty pounds overweight. He cut out the Trophopin accordingly. Beth by now had curves galore. Sexy as she’d become, Ryan knew it was time to take the focus off her body. It was time to focus on loving her for who she was. But within a week his girlfriend’s weight has eclipsed his own. She continued to eat to excess. Even without the stimulant she wasn’t curbing her portion sizes. Ryan was sure there’d be a sticking point. He was sure her old instincts would kick in again – she’d see she was getting chubby and go on a crash diet. Then he could say she didn’t have to. He’d say she was more beautiful than ever. The crash never happened. Her strong, toned arms and legs had slipped into softness and roundness as her curves quickly turned into rolls. The real kicker came when Ryan returned from work and found his girlfriend back on his couch, home early. She was surrounded by bags of fast food. She hadn’t changed from her work outfit. Her soft blue eyes looked reddened and raw. He asked her what she’d been doing. Beth’s tears fell anew as she admitted she’d ripped her shirt at a quarterly review. Everyone heard her split her seams. She’d run out of the room, unwilling to look anyone in the eye. She left the building and took refuge in a greasy spoon. Her boss phoned and asked her back. Kindly as he was, she insisted on no. She sunk lower and lower as they discussed what had happened in the boardroom – and earlier. Eventually, she took the offer of a sick leave. A few couple weeks of stressless rest, and a chance, her boss had hinted, to try and establish some control. “They think I can’t stop.” Beth sobbed. “And they’re right. I can’t stop. I just can’t stop eating!” Ryan stood alarmed and helpless as she shoved an arm past him for another box of fries. She stuffed hungrily, angrily. Beneath her strained shirt her stomach bulged. Half the box disappeared in moments. She rocked on her big bottom, reaching for more. “So hungry. So so hungry.” Beth thrust a fistful of salty fries into her mouth. Her cheeks swelled. The tear in her shirt grew a little wider as she stretched for a glass of soda. “Fat.” she snarled. “Fucking fat.” She seized a handful of belly that poked through the rip and jiggled it furiously. “Why am I so fucking fat?” Ryan couldn’t coax her away from more junk – not on that day, and not for weeks. Even when her sadness had subsided – even when her appetite slowly clambered down from the angry crest it reached the day she’d lost regular employment, her meal choices still cultivated comfort over effort. Through pizza, fries, chips and chocolate Beth was still consuming thousands of calories more than she should. She’d given up with the scale but for Ryan it was plain to see. She was getting fatter and fatter. Ryan reached Dr. Pihl for answers. He flung open the door. His pharmacy as ever, was balmy, stuffy, and empty. “You look mightily pissed.” said Pihl. “Too right,” said Ryan. “My girlfriend was skinny and unhappy. All your stupid cure-all’s done is make her huge and unhappy.” “Hey – like I said, I’m not a love coach. Happy’s your job, mister.” “Huge. I’m talking about huge.” said Ryan. “She’s so wide and round. She keeps bumping into things with how big she’s gotten. It’s a shock to her. It’s a shock to both of us. I never expected she’d get like this.” “Alright. Back to the pharmaceutical side. How much Trophopin did you give her? Was it two doses, like I said?” “Yeah. Two drops in her morning coffee. I remember. I gave that to her every time. Not a millilitre more.” “What do you mean every time?” Pihl raised an eyebrow over his glasses. “Every other day for about a month.” “Jesus – I didn’t mean every day! It’s supposed to be one time only!” Pihl seized clumps of his dark hair. The two of them paled to white. “Shit.” said Ryan. “Yeah, no shit,” said Pihl. His hands returned to his desk. “I hope you love your girl dearly. You’re going to be seeing a lot more of her.” “Is there an antidote?” “To what, Trophopin? No, for heaven’s sake. It’s a stimulant, not a poison.” “Is there anything else?” “For what? To stop it working?” “To stop her ballooning.” said Ryan. “I don’t think you understand. She’s over three-hundred. Fifteen more pounds and I think she’ll have tripled herself. And she’ll gain those fifteen pounds. Her eating…her gaining – it’s unstoppable.” “It will stop, eventually,” said Pihl. “You haven’t still been giving her the doses, all the better for both of you. Naturally, the effects will wear off. She’ll be herself again.” “But she’ll still be so overweight.” said Ryan. “She won’t get her old body back the way she is. She doesn’t go to the gym any more. She eats to comfort herself. Her confidence is in pieces.” “Maybe that’s what you need to cure.” said Pihl. “I think I’ve done my part. It’s time you do what you set out to. Do you care that she’s fat?” “Yes.” Ryan said. “No – I mean really. Do you really care what size your girlfriend is?” Pihl stressed. “I…well…no. No. I don’t care.” “And do you love her?” “Of course.” “Then prove it.” said Pihl. “Happiness isn’t something you can buy. It’s not a gym membership. It’s not junk food. Heck, it’s not even in one of the packets on my specials shelf. Those things will only make you happy when you’re using them. Sure, you can just keeping using them – but too much of anything makes you sick. You got me?” Ryan nodded. “You’ve gotta do something that will make her happy forever. Not get her flowers or a handbag or a fancy car. You’ve got to make a memory. Because that’s what sticks in the heart for as long as you both shall live…unless you try Claslateen Zero. That stuff wipes your head clean, I swear. I’m running a two for one.” “Damn Pihl, till that part you were really on a roll. But I get you. I think I know what I’ve got to do.” said Ryan. “Pleasure to be of service.” said Pihl. “Have a nice day.” Ryan chuckled as he opened the door. It was nine at night, and pitch black outside. “You’re not really a pharmacist, are you?” he said. “Heck no. I studied history and philosophy.” “Really? Which college?” “Oh, I never finished my degree. You see, I found Claslateen Zero – coincidentally that was round about the time I got this gig. At least…I think…” Ryan left the doctor to reminisce. He drove back to his apartment. He had a plan. It was Beth and Ryan’s five-year anniversary, and they’d both agreed on a meal at Augustus’ Buffet, an upmarket all-you-can-eat out of town. Down the corridor at her place Beth had watched her boyfriend don a tux from the bathroom mirror, as she applied her lipstick. She watched him spray himself with cologne, and realised she’d never seen him do that before. What if he’s going to propose? she wondered. More sinister thoughts soon bounded round her mind. “What if he’s bought a ring…” she mumbled to herself. “…and given it to the waiters to put on a lobster or something… he gets on one knee, pops the question, the whole place is watching, and then I can’t even put it on, because my fingers are too fat…” She shuddered at the thought. She cast a brief glance over at Ryan again from the mirror. For months it seemed he’d taken no notice as she’d piled on the pounds. Dieting and exercising had gone out the window. She was too tired to anything but sit, and eat, and grow before his eyes. How could he be so blind? Knowing him, he’d have bought her a ring at size two and a half. The kind she could have shown off in her skinny days. What am I thinking? He’s just being polite. He must think I’m a blimp. As if he’d propose to me now…now I’m like this. She cast her sad eyes down to her body; warm, soft, hulking and massive. She watched her considerable bosom heave as she breathed softly, then decided she didn’t want to stare at herself any longer. She waddled to the wardrobe in her room and dug out the dress she’d ordered for the occasion online – it was a deep sensual red. It brushed her knees where it should have trailed her ankles – half a foot or so above it hugged her hips and chest tightly. She gave it a tug. It just about fit. She tried to raise a smile as she joined her boyfriend in his car. She had some reason to be happy – she’d gotten her job back. A good word from Ryan had allowed her to switch firms and get a role in his office. She was in the company of people who’d never known her as skinny, fit – just enormously plump. She didn’t have to suffer the shame of returning to her old job having gained considerably more weight. But it was her weight that still weighed on her. An hour later, Beth grunted as she tried to unpick the folds of material out from her rolls of fat, using the mirror in the buffet’s restroom. She hated the way it made her stomach bunch up when she sat down. She lifted her blonde hair and let it fall over her shoulders, letting her double chin slip back under the shadow of its tresses. Once she was finally satisfied that she looked somewhat presentable again, she joined her boyfriend outside. Beth bit her lip nervously when she saw their names on the table Ryan had booked. They had been seated inside a booth. “Go on, honey.” said Ryan. Beth looked at him nervously, then cautiously made her move. She held her breath and squeezed herself in, grunting as she pressed down on the cushiony leather with her fattened fingers, shifting her butt inches at a time around the table. Her three-hundred and fifty pound figure wobbled gaily, and the restaurant furniture creaked in protest. She brought herself right around to the back and breathed out again. Her breasts sunk down to the top of the table. She mumbled a curse as she felt the pressure on her upper belly. “You say something?” Ryan asked. “Nothing,” Beth said quickly as she eyed the waiter. “Let’s get drinks.” Ryan ordered a gin and tonic, and Beth a strong red wine. She’d need it. “It’s kinda busy tonight.” Ryan noted as he watched his girlfriend gulp down half the glass. There were other couples in booths, and plenty of families, with a lot of kids running round between the waiter’s feet. “Maybe it’d be easier if you stay here and I get food for the both of us?” “Sure” said Beth, huffing. The table was making her breaths short. “What would you like?” “Anything. Anything would be good.” she said. She looked mildly jealous as she watched her boyfriend slip smoothly out of the booth and walk in the direction of the build-your-burger bar. She wanted to build her own burgers. But at least Ryan’s idea would spare her from getting up and down all the time. She tucked in to a huge triple stacked burger with fries when Ryan came back, himself with just a lowly single cheeseburger. She asked for pizza next, and together they shared a twenty-four inch cheesy meaty feast – she barely noticed she’d munched up nine slices to her boyfriend’s three. Just as she was starting to fill up she asked Ryan for a plateful of succulent cuts of steak. Then kebabs – each bite chewy and rich. Beth’s eyes had glazed over as she methodically poked the last two bites of popcorn chicken into her mouth. She had never felt so stuffed. Her belly was drum tight “That was…heh…that was awesome.” she smiled. It had been so good. The myriad of flavours coursing through her mouth. For a time all her worries had felt half a world away. “Dessert?” Ryan offered. “Err…yeah…one sec…” Beth had her eyes on the ice cream maker. She tried to breathe in, but found she was stuffed so full that she simply couldn’t. Instead she rolled onto her side, and edged her way along from beneath the table. Her back pressed against the seat as she squeezed out her legs. She tried to sit up, awkwardly, using her flabby arms to assist her ascent. Then she tried to stand up. “Ooof” she muttered, as her hips made contact with the table again. “Ooooooff” she said, as she pushed a little harder, and found the pressure had increased. “Ngghhh….nghh…oh!” “Beth? What’s wrong?” Beth felt a warm sweat appear on her brow. Her voice was shaky. “I’m…I’m stuck, Ryan.” Her body was jammed sideways between the table and the seating. Her feet didn’t quite reach the floor. She was sat at too awkward an angle to pull herself up. Ryan grabbed hold of her arms and gave her a short firm tug. She didn’t budge. He wrapped his arms around her chest and tried to lift her. It was a futile effort. She was simply too heavy for him. He saw Beth’s face was plastered with sweat and worry when he let go. “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Stay here.” Beth threw him an angry look. “Yeah, it’s not like I’m going anywhere soon.” “Sorry…err…just wait a moment.” He went to the rotisserie, then the all day breakfast bar, and came back with three little packets of butter and a steak knife. “It’d be easiest if I open up your dress at the sides,” he whispered. “The butter’s a lubricant. You’re okay with me doing this, right?” “Sure.” Beth nodded. Her double chin creased up. “Just do it quickly…please…” Ryan knelt down and stroked the serrated edge along the red material. An inch wide tear appeared, and Beth’s eyes widened as it slowly grew in size. She felt coolness on her side as a love handle, freed from its cotton confines, morphed out onto the table. She stared as Ryan looked over his shoulder, picked the foil off the square of butter and quietly slathered it over her soft, exposed fat. “Ok, err…now the other side.” he whispered. His girlfriend was far too tightly pressed to the back of the seat for him to make another incision in her dress. “Err…bear with me here.” He unwrapped two more squares of butter and let them melt a little in his palm. He looked over his shoulder again then got down on one knee, and pretended to fiddle with the straps on her shoe. When he was confident no-one was looking, Ryan slipped his buttery hand underneath her dress. He shifted his fingers over the outside of her leg, past her enormous butt, and just before the tightness made him lose the circulation in his hand he smoothed the butter over the other side. “Ok,” he said, quickly withdrawing his forearm. “I’m gonna wash my hands. Then I’ll pull you out of here, and we’ll go. Are you okay?” “Yeah,” she mumbled, not looking him in the eye. “I’m fine.” She felt a lump in her throat as she watched Ryan walk to the restroom. Beth closed her eyes. How had she gotten so fat…so helpless? She was becoming dependent on others for everything – her boyfriend most of all. He’d helped zip up her dress when she couldn’t do it herself. He’d helped get the seatbelt over her stomach for the drive to the buffet. And now, he was going to help squeeze her out of the tight mess she’d gotten herself stuck into. A waiter dodged past her chubby legs, sticking out into the aisle. He gave her a brief glance. She smiled, and he headed back to the kitchen. He’s coming back for our plates… she realised. He’s going to see me wedged in here. No more help, she resolved to herself. She had to take back control. She tensed up the little muscle she had left in her arms and scowled as she saw nothing but more jiggling fat. She still felt she had some strength left inside though. Maybe that would be enough. Either way, she had to do this. She readied herself mentally, then gripped the edge of the table with one hand, and the top of the leather seat with the other. She scrunched up her face and heaved. Nothing. She slumped back down, took a deep breath and kicked her wobbling body back into motion. She felt the butter seep into her skin as she inched a little upward. Her feet found the floor again, and she pushed. The gap became impossibly tight, but she was moving. Her butt pressed up against the edges. Just a couple inches more... By the sink, drying his hands with a paper towel, Ryan turned his head to the door. He had heard an almighty crash come from the dining room. “Hey…” Ryan rubbed Beth’s shoulder as he drove home. “Don’t worry. Nobody got upset. The staff apologised more than anything. They even offered us another buffet, on the house.” Beth sniffled. Yeah, like I can ever go back… Her soft sobs had ceased, but the humiliation still felt painfully raw. So too did the marks on her hips, where the table had pushed into her yielding flesh. Her dress had split completely down the side, but her near-nakedness was not plain to see. Over the top she was now wearing a dessert platter, meant for the family of four whose table she’d crashed headlong into after popping out from her booth. The flimsy wood had smashed, and a whole host of cakes, fudges, creams and sauces had careened all over her. She lay there, paralysed by shock, and pinned by her heavy, quivering fat. It took Ryan and two more waiters to pull her back to her feet. Beth had wanted the ground to swallow her up. She felt weak and numb as Ryan put an arm around her and led her back to the car. Beth licked a smidgeon of cream off her cheek, wallowing in self pity. They drove for half an hour in silence before she could finally pluck up the courage to say something. “I’m…so sorry.” “Don’t be” Ryan said soothingly. “You did nothing wrong.” “I ruined our meal together…and somebody else’s…and I fucking broke a table, Ryan.” She lowered her head. “You must think I’m a pig…or something…” “No” said Ryan “You’re not. You’re beautiful.” “But – I’ve gotten so big. I’m fat, aren’t I?” “Yes.” Expecting a steady stream of the same-old sweet nothings, Beth hesitated. “You…you think so?” “Yes. I think you’re fat. And I think you’re beautiful. You know you can be both, right?” Beth’s mind spun. Her lips quivered. This was supposed to be her worst fear come true. And yet, it felt strangely lovely. “You think I’m beautiful?” she asked, as if for the first time. “Yes.” “Do you love me?” “I do.” Beth smiled. Her grin was even wider than the one she’d worn in her time at the buffet. “We’re here, by the way.” said Ryan. Beth only registered then that he’d parked the car and turned off the ignition. Ryan got out first, then led his girlfriend – still splattered with food – through a woodland. The air was cool and her dress was torn, but Beth still had the heat of shame amidst the warmth of her many layers of fat to keep the coldness away. She closed her eyes and waddled softly into the breeze, letting the wind rustle her hair as they approached an old oak tree. She saw a carving in the wood – a love heart, surrounding the letters B and R – and realised she was at the park. They’d had their first date there, and many more since. “Why are we here?” asked Beth, perplexed. She stroked a finger over her belly and licked up a slither of chocolate fudge. “To cheer you up, maybe?” Ryan smiled. “I was going to save this till after dessert, but, hey…” He took her hand as he got down on one knee. He produced a little box from his inside pocket. Beth gasped as he flicked it open. A diamond ring glittered in the moonlight. “Bethany Sanders” said Ryan, softly. “Will you marry me?” Beth couldn’t find words to say. She felt fresh tears mush up over her chubby cheeks. She guided a wobbly hand to the ring box, and slipped it over her ring finger. It was a golden band, size eleven. And it fit her perfectly.
  5. The alarm clankered off the bedside shelf and smacked the floor, still ringing. Jenny groaned. She slid a leg from the duvet and fumbled for it with her toes. Eventually, she nudged the off switch, and lay on the bed in peaceful quiet a little more. It didn’t change anything. She was awake, though not willingly so, and it was past seven am on a sunny Saturday morning. Her Freshman year of college was over, and her summer had just begun. So too, had the start of her lousy summer job. “This sucks.” Jenny said, to the reflection in her bedroom mirror. She brushed her tousled hair away from her eyes. Pouting back at her was a skinny redhead on the cusp of her twenties. “This sucks so hard…” She gazed pitifully at the cheer outfit hung over the mirror’s corner. She’d gotten through tryouts three months before – the first time she’d ever made it onto a cheerleading squad. It was three months more till summer camp – three months of hard grind so she could pay her way to get there. Out of sheer longing she slipped off her pyjama pants and eased the silky red, white and blue number over her body. The smiley sequin-eyed dolphin in the centre billowed. Over last Christmas she had banished the pesky five pounds from her belly and thighs, finally cementing her transition from a somewhat chubby little girl to a slender and sexy young woman. She smiled as she brushed her hands across the loose half inch of material along her side, then frowned as she found another half inch running across her chest. Losing a cup size had been a bummer, but it was no big deal. She had finally dropped down to two pounds within her goal of weighing one hundred and twenty. She’d never think herself perfect, she knew, but in her eyes that was pretty damn close. She turned and put her alarm clock back on the shelf, then paled when she saw it read 7:50. How long had she snoozed for? She hurriedly stripped off her cheerleading outfit and threw it at the mirror. The shoulder strap caught the corner, then it teetered over and struck the floor with a smash, shedding a sprinkly cloud of glass over the rug. “Shit,” she muttered. “There goes my first paycheck.” She didn’t have time to sweep up the thousand broken pieces. Instead Jenny found a place for her cheer outfit to hang at the back of her wardrobe, and threw on a dark blouse, her favourite jeans and blue Converse. She took the stairs down two at a time, shouted a hasty goodbye to her mother, then burst through the door and made a run for the bus stop. She had seen an advertisement for her new workplace on the bus she caught, just on time. It was an ice cream parlour called Toni’s, they were newly opened and they were in need of new waitresses. She thought she’d be in contention with hundreds of other cash-strapped teens for a job at somewhere so central, but to her surprise she’d been the first to call, and the first to get hired. She made it there ten minutes late. The building looked small on the outside, with its pink tinted windows obscuring the vast interior. Jenny looked around in wonderment. The setup was like a sushi bar, but for bowls of ice cream – a conveyor belt stretched to a kitchen and back, spanning the length the room. To the side one could buy choc-ices, ice-cream sandwiches and cream sodas. Everything was pristine, and eerily quiet, though Jenny quickly remembered they didn’t open till noon. “Jenny, right?” The redhead spun to face a kindly old lady in sharp red heels. “That’s me” she smiled. “Toni Delacroiss. I’m so glad to meet you. I hope you had a safe journey here?” “Yeah, I got a little stuck in traffic…” In truth she’d gotten off at an earlier stop to hit a café. There she heartily made up for the breakfast she’d missed. She ran a hand through her hair and down over her face, quickly checking she hadn’t left any lingering crumbs from the delicious deluxe blueberry muffin for her new manager to see. It had been so good she’d stopped a few moments more to enter their number into her phone. The place was called Beauregarde’s, and as it turned out, they did deliveries. She took a quick tour of the place and got a brief on her duties. It was pretty simple – all she had to do was go round and collect empty bowls every ten minutes or so. The conveyer belt did all the serving for her. Pretty soon she knew all she needed to know, and it was only half eight. Still three and a half hours till opening. “You might be wondering why I asked you here early,” Toni smiled. “It’s because I need somebody I can trust. I’m new to this town, this state, this whole country. I had to move on outta the old country last year, and honestly I’ve barely shared a word with anybody since.” Jenny raised an eyebrow as she heard the words, and picked up the flecks of a southern Italian upbringing in her boss’ voice. Is this a place a front? she wondered. She’d read enough crime novels to get her spidey senses tingling. Seriously? Is this lady from the Mafia? “What I’m asking is if you’ll help me test some of my latest produce,” Toni smiled. “I’m paying you to eat ice cream, basically.” “Oh…” said Jenny, a little loudly. “So that’s a yes?” “Yeah yeah. Sure!” she nodded. Jenny was all up for the idea. Who’d turn down free ice cream? Or ice cream you got paid to eat, even? Maybe this job won’t suck so hard after all. As well as waitressing, Jenny arrived at nine every weekday and Saturday morning to sample Toni’s latest ice cream flavours. She served them three scoops each in a bowl, and there were usually five or six to get through. Toni was full of ideas for new flavours and combinations, as she puzzled her way to selecting which to promote in her advertisements. In Jenny’s mind, the Treble Napoleone Supremo was a massive hit. Testing flavour after flavour in Toni’s company had let Jenny get to know her a little better. She was half Italian, half French, and she’d owned ice cream parlours all over Europe before switching to the States. “I got tired of all the red tape,” she said, when Jenny asked her about the move. “They’re not so nitpicky about GMO over here.” “Genetically modified ice cream?” said Jenny, a little bemused. “No, no, dear. It’s the milk. It comes from my own little herd of cows from out of town. They’re such darlings. They make twenty times more than your regular Holstein-Friesian. And it’s twenty times as tasty – more myristics and oleics, you see.” Toni talked a lot of science, and Jenny smiled a lot and pretended to understand. It had never been her favourite class but learning a little more about her food was interesting enough. The chocolate sauce was sourced from Venezuela, the cones from Belgium, the sprinkles from England. All of it tasted exquisitely good. Better yet, Jenny got to take a carton of her favourite of the week home with her. It made an excellent dessert after every dinner. Midway through another shift of taste testing Jenny got a call. It was Hayley, her best friend. “Up for practice?” she asked. “No…gotta finish work…” Her bank balance had slipped out of four figures even before the last semester, and she desperately needed the money for California. “I don’t get why you guy are going there,” said Hayley. She was a cheerleader too, but they went to different colleges. “There’s coaches, beaches, gym halls all in Florida, right?” “I know…” said Jenny. But Costa Mesa, CA was where her newfound friends were going to be, and having worked so hard to get into the cheer squad, she didn’t want to risk alienating herself by missing out on their annual summer camp. It would mean three whole months of work to pay her way to get there, but it’d be worth it. Especially with it being so delicious. Jenny agreed to do a practice the following week. Then she licked her lips and tucked into another bowl. Two weeks passed, and Jenny woke up again one Saturday morning to find herself every bit as lethargic as before, if not more so. Coupled with her morning malaise was her discovery that putting on her size eight jeans was getting more than a little finicky. The two halves of the button simply would not meet. “Come on…fit…” Jenny mumbled. “I wore you last week. Why can’t you just do as I say?” A finger’s width of flesh spilled out from her sides with each determined pull. She paid it no notice. “Stupid pants.” She finally breathed out. Her bellybutton peeked out again, but her eyes were scanning the creases along the legs. They had been washed recently. Which meant they could easily have been shrunk. Jenny made a mental note to tell her mom to switch washing powder, then slipped out of her size eights and into a spare set of tens. They felt a little snug, but were otherwise ok. Another two weeks changed the scenario. Her mother had switched washing powders, but now it was her size tens that were giving her trouble. She put that down to poor stitching – they barely looked bigger than her eights anyway. Her size twelves, the largest she had, awaited her in the back of her wardrobe by the cheer outfit. Two weeks more and even they were testing her patience. Her quest for appropriate pants finally brought her to Hayley’s door, after she’d offered to lend her some sixteens belonging to her older sister. She’d insisted on putting Jenny on the scale first though, out of curiosity. “One hundred and seventy-seven pounds. Whoah.” Hayley whistled. “That’s not fat,” said Jenny, shrugging. Her softer shoulders wiggled just a little. “That’s not like, two hundred.” “It’s getting close.” Hayley said in a low voice. “What are they putting in the ice-cream you’re eating?” “All natural ingredients…” said Jenny, quietly. I mean, the cows may or may not have been grown in a test tube, but they’re cows. They’re still natural, right? she thought to herself. “Aren’t you worried?” said Hayley. “It’s been a month and a half and you’ve put on like, forty pounds.” “It’s more like fifty,” said Jenny, in a low voice. “But I don’t wanna focus on it.” She stepped off the scale. “I can lose weight at Costa Mesa. That’s what summer camp is all about. Training. So I can be in tip-top shape for nationals.” “I don’t get it.” said Hayley. “Last year you were fretting about getting under one-thirty. Now you’re fifty pounds up and it’s like it doesn’t even bother you.” “It doesn’t,” Jenny replied, truthfully. “I know a couple girls my weight on the cheer squad.” “Yeah, the girls who are six foot plus. Not five foot six.” “Shut up. My weight’s just a number. Getting to one-thirty was my goal last summer. My goal this summer is getting to camp. That’s all that matters.” “You can’t just ignore what’s going on around you,” said Hayley, her eyes skimming Jenny’s rounded hips. “Tunnel vision is never a good thing.” “Says who?” Jenny grinned. “There’s a light at the end of this tunnel, and I’m gonna make it there.” “Yeah” Hayley mumbled quietly as they packed up. “Not unless you get stuck there along the way…” Jenny worked overtime at Toni’s through to the end of the month, and was rewarded with a tasty paycheck on the weekend. She had accepted Hayley’s invite to her mother’s fiftieth at an Italian restaurant in the centre of town, and as a treat to herself she clandestinely ordered a big bottle of succulent rosé wine from over the bar. At midnight they’d eloped for a night out, hitting a string of bars, before crashing back at Hayley’s, snacking on potato chips right through to the morning. That had been a month ago, and while they’d spoken on the phone they hadn’t seen each other since. Besides Toni and her mother, Jenny hadn’t seen much of anyone else at all. But what she had been seeing was a lot more of herself. Still half asleep, Jenny staggered down the stairs to breakfast. She grimaced as they creaked with every heavy footfall. She made a fleeting effort to tug her shirt down from under her jiggling breasts, then groaned as it rolled up again to expose her bulging waistline. She used her other hand to steady herself along the balustrade. The tug and pull of her newfound weight was a foreign feeling to her – no longer could she glide gracefully, but only awkwardly waddle as her fattened frame shifted from side to side. Her belly carried her downwards, quite literally leading her to the kitchen, and preceding her as she waddled through the doorway. Jenny’s mother looked on with concern as her chubby daughter rifled through the breakfast cupboard. Her occasional comments about her eating habits were proving ineffective. Since taking up her job her appetite had grown threefold. She didn’t even wait to find a bowl, spoon and some milk before tucking into her chocolatey cereal, seizing fistfuls straight from the box and cramming them into her mouth. With her cheeks filled up with crispy goodness she found a bowl and poured herself a colossal portion, on which she poured a whole pint and a half of full-fat milk. She ate messily – flecks of milk stained her pyjama shirt. When she finished her first bowl and poured another, her mother was moved to say something. “Jennifer, how’s cheer practice going?” “Great.” she mumbled as she slurped up the chocolatey milk. “Hayley came by yesterday when you were out working” she said. “She wondered where you were. I said you’d be free today. How about you go practice at the gym together” Jenny grunted. Cheering wasn’t her idea of fun at this time in the morning, and especially not on an increasingly full stomach. “I’ll call her.” she said. Her mom gave her a soft smile. Eventually, after finishing her breakfast, nipping out for a muffin, eating an extended lunch and letting it all digest, Jenny got her on the phone. She packed her cheer outfit and a chocolate bar and got on the bus to a gym just two blocks from Toni’s. She found Hayley browsing a magazine inside. Hayley failed to recognise her friend at first. She’d known Jenny since her chubby junior school days, but she’d never seen her so round. Hayley quickly glanced down at her feet and took her in from her toe to the top of her head. Her widened thighs touched from her knees up, even though her knees themselves weren’t touching. Her waist was lost under a ring of wobbling fat, merging with her equally voluminous hips. Her newly developed boobs rested on her paunch of a stomach, gently rising and falling as she breathed. Chubby cheeks framed plump, luscious lips, which parted into a puzzled smile. Hayley though back to the girl Jenny had been. The nascent muscles she had worked so hard to forge had melted away beneath a soft layer of fat. She had surpassed two hundred, easily. “Yeah…” she stuttered. “Hey. Let’s err…let’s go inside”. They found the changing rooms and Jenny locked the plastic door of a booth. She peeled off her home clothes there and produced her cheerleading outfit. She picked off the specks of dust then lifted it over her head. She was surprised - but allowed herself a little smile - when it jammed along her bosom. Over the last month she had suddenly found herself blessed with a burgeoning rack – it had made getting into her bras a pain, but she wasn’t complaining. Her satisfaction simmered down though when she found the tightness heightened as she pulled the outfit further and further down her body. Her breathing grew shallow as she pressed in her paunch, trying to slip the sequin-eyed dolphin over the top. She felt the pressure along her ribs. Her fingers slipped as she wrenched down harder. The outfit was still stuck annoyingly above her belly button. Frustrated, she crouched down and pinned the edges of the skirt down with the balls of her feet. She grunted as she slowly stood up. Her outfit, pinned down, slowly shuddered over her jiggling belly. She bit her lip as she felt it clench around her hips. She pulled it down at the back so it covered up her ass, then stood up. She heard the unmistakeable sound of a seam splitting. She gave her outfit a quick check, then found the source of the noise. She fingered the little tear, the size of a quarter, just beneath her left breast. She lowered her arm to cover it, then unlocked her booth and made for the door. No sooner had she put one foot in front of the other than the outfit tore with a giant scratch. “Shit!” Jenny spun in panic. Soft, supple fat burst through a tear that stretched down her side, exposing her from her hip to her shoulder. She clamped a hand over the cleaved material before it could explode off her, and hurriedly shuffled back into the changing rooms before Hayley could see. There she pulled off the outfit and brushed her hair out of her eyes and inspected the catastrophic damage. She nearly cried. Half the stitching had ripped, and the seams on the other side had been tested to the max. The dolphin in the middle had been stretched out of its proportions. The slender sea creature now looked, in Jenny’s eyes, kind of fat. She put her clothes back on, grunting as even though she’d come to the gym in leggings, her belly was getting in the way of her bending down. What’s happening to me? She pulled the pants over her sides, still red and angry where the cheer outfit had pressed them most. She wondered there and then that she might have overdone the eating that day. Clearly, she was a little bloated. She made another mental note to skip her ice cream dessert that night, and maybe the muffin the next morning. In the meantime she was sure a little practice would soon get her back to normal. “Let’s start with some stretching.” said Hayley after Jenny tied up her hair and joined her outside. They did their forearms and shoulders first, which were fairly easy, then got to work on the legs. Jenny felt her butt and hips pool along the floor as she lay down and lifted a thickening thigh into the air. “Hnnnghh….hhnnghhh…” She struggled to reach her toes – just like before, rolls of fat bunched up around her midsection. Hayley saw her straining and helped her by pushing her foot downwards. Hayley stared spellbound as the fat creased up on Jenny’s middle, as she finally tapped her toe with a chubby finger. They went on to cat and camel stretches. Jenny rolled back onto her knees, stretched out her arms then turned crimson as she passed a little gas. She quickly kneeled up and pressed on her ass. Another fart escaped, muffled by the floor. I’m definitely too bloated… Jenny thought to herself. Hayley, her face down, pretended not to hear anything. She led the way when they practiced jumps. They went through hurdlers, spread eagles and T’s before she caught sight of Jenny gasping, and decided it’d be better to ask her what she wanted to do. “Cartwheels.” she said, resolutely. Jenny was sick of jumping. She’d worn herself out practicing low Herkies, and had no desire to add to the burn in her thighs. “Ok,” Hayley agreed. “I’ll go first.” She readied herself, then skipped, jumped and executed a perfect tumble, landing each arm and leg silently, with poise and grace. She raised her arms in a finished position. It was Jenny’s turn. She took a deep breath, then jumped and turned, catching herself with her left arm, then her right. She spun one hundred and eighty degrees, and suddenly got a faceful of her own boobs as they flopped in their bra to her chin. Knocked off balance, her elbow buckled. Her face hit the floor first with her breasts, then the rest of her body tumbled after with a heavy thud. Her butt jiggled and shook upon impact. “Ughh…” Jenny moaned. “Owww…” The pressure on her belly left her winded. She gasped for breath as she squirmed, nursing the pain in her knee. “Are you ok?” Hayley asked worriedly. She dashed over to her friend and grabbed her arm. Jenny rolled onto her back. Her belly had escaped the confines of her stretchy top, wobbling over her waistband. Hayley pulled against her wrist then juddered forward as her strength failed her. Jenny was a little heftier than she’d thought. “You’re too hea - …sweaty…” she stuttered, saving herself. “Here, let me get a better grip.” Hayley took hold of both of Jenny’s arms and with a grunt from both of them she got her back to her feet. Jenny groaned as she briefly set her weight on her knee. Hayley offered her a shoulder and Jenny lifted a pudgy arm on top. “It’s not broken, is it?” said Hayley. “No…I think it’s just bruised…” Jenny huffed. Kinda like my pride she thought to herself. How had she screwed up something so simple so badly? “We’ll try again tomorrow, ok?” Hayley said, trying to sound cheerful. “I might need some time to recover.” said Jenny. She knew her knee would still hurt the next morning, and she had no desire to be sent sprawling on the floor again. “Maybe the day after?” “Maybe next week.” Jenny had a double shift at Toni’s that day. That meant double the dollars. And crucially, double the ice cream. “Um…ok. Sure. Are you ok getting home?” “Yeah yeah. I’m fine.” They said their goodbyes and Hayley left the gym room. Jenny hobbled out, but not before setting her sights on a vending machine. She stocked up on enough chocolate to satiate her for the bus ride home. The day had felt long, the stairs to her room were doubly hard with just one good knee and despite the lingering sugar buzz, Jenny napped through to dinner the moment she cosied up in her bed. Jenny used her bruised knee as an excuse to partake in no real movement whatsoever. The next morning it had swollen to twice its size. She stayed cooped up in bed for a whole week, and after a phone call to Toni, arranged for her ice cream to be delivered to her door. Her mother brought up the rest of her meals, and the occasional box of Beauregarde muffins on request. Seeing her daughter hurt had soothed her attitude towards her rising weight. Once the swelling had gone down Jenny became a little more mobile, just enough in her mind to trek from her bedroom to the kitchen and back. When the bruising had vanished completely she made a return to work. She had to ask for a larger uniform first though – a week of virtual immobility followed by a week of reclusiveness had rendered another skirt useless. A new work outfit was shipped to her house, and Jenny was pleased to see that her hips no longer creamed over the beltline. Her other clothes were another story. Having bought a whole new wardrobe at the start of summer, Jenny could not budget for anything new if she wanted to get to summer camp too. Thus after rolling out of bed on her days off, Jenny would stubbornly shift her fat into the old clothes. Each week the ordeal was taking her longer. What had started as few minor adjustments to sooth slight pangs of tightness became an awkward shuffle over jiggling boobs and thighs. Then it became an unwanted workout – sucking her belly in, pushing it out whilst bouncing, squeezing, straining and cursing until finally, the routine turned into a full-blown wrestling match, pitting her sprawling, softening figure against relentlessly unforgiving clothing. Dabbing the sweat off her chubby face, Jenny peered over her breasts and pressed down her belly to get a better look at one of her increasingly few and far between victories from her bathroom. After a long fight her jeans button had burst off, leaving her waist to splay out the zipper. Her voluminous hips were keeping them up – keeping them taut and tight. Elsewhere her bra had snapped at the back. Only the pressure of the overfull cups against her painfully tight T-shirt was holding it in place. “Well…two out of four…ain’t bad.” she huffed with a shrug. Her shirt rolled up from her thick waist to expose the shadow of her panty line. She’d lost sight of it as soon as she’d finished pulling it up her thighs, when she let go with a snap and watched it disappear between her rolls of fat. What was she saying? It had taken her the better part of an hour just to get to this state, and not just because the clothes were too small. Months of unchecked weight gain had drained her stamina to almost nothing. Every bounce, every bend, every squeeze had pushed her further into exhaustion, so much so that midway through she’d stopped just to hit the pillows and rest, gulping air in greedily. Even now her cheeks were red, her brow was sweaty and her breathing was still ridiculously heavy. She bit her lip as her eyes caught sight of the scale. Something was wrong and she couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to know. Her belly bunched up against her as she bent over and laid the scale on the bathroom floor. She took a deep breath and stepped on. Another ten pounds…she resolved. Maybe twelve… She realised she couldn’t see it. Her breasts and belly filled up the view of her feet. She shuffled and shifted her boobs apart, then sucked in her belly. Then she titled her head down, pressing her double chin on her chest. At last, she could see. The needle was teetering on two hundred and fifty-five pounds. Jenny whimpered and let go of her fat, reburying the hard truth between her chubby feet. It was still there, though. She had piled nearly seventy more pounds on to an already voluptuous frame. In one summer, she had doubled her size. There was no denying now that she’d gotten huge. “How did I let this happen…” she whispered. The thought of summer camp, once a hive of excitement, now filled her with fear. How could she perform looking like this? She thought of the cheer outfit she’d have to wear, a size goodness-knows-what, the sequins popping off as she hopped and twirled. How could she perform like this? She thought of the pyramid, of a dozen hands pressing into the squishy fat on her butt and sides as half a dozen girls struggled to raise her weighty body. She thought of collapsing onto the bleachers, feeling them creak as she gasped for breath, while the other girls gossiped, giggled and pointed at her overflowing bulk. Jenny shook her head and let her long red hair tumble back into her eyes. She didn’t want to see any more of herself. She felt nervous and scared. But more than that, she still felt hungry. “Fuck it” she mumbled. “Just…fuck it…” She was a fat girl now, and there was no going back – not in this summer. She kicked the scale away and waddled into the kitchen for another snack. She ignored her mom’s protests that it was nearly time for lunch, and soon she was back on her bed, stuffing her face with bacon and cheese. The day of reckoning came sooner than Jenny would have liked. She was spared a journey to California on the plane because her mother had offered to drive her there, all the way across the country. She pictured the tight squeeze through the aisle, the awkwardness of having maybe to ask for a seatbelt extender, the even greater awkwardness of having someone sit next to her and being unable to avoid spilling out onto their lap, and hastily agreed. With the money she saved, she’d finally managed to buy herself some bigger clothes. She packed them into the trunk of car, and herself in the front seat, with a little wiggling. The car was no more comfortable than the plane would have been. It was an old model Chrysler, and the seatbelt was cutting into her. Every so often she would feel her mom’s hand brush her side as she adjusted the stick-shift, and earn a stern tut. “It’s not my fault…” Jenny groaned. She couldn’t press any more of herself against the passenger door. The Arizona sun was hotting up the metal, and heating up her body in turn. Even with the air con on full blast, her heavy curves were warm and sweaty. Her auburn bangs were matted to her brow. The shower she’d had at the motel en route had felt like nirvana, even more so than the huge barbecue meal she’d amassed for herself at a local steakhouse at dinner time. But both felt like they were ages ago. She was damp, she was uncomfortable, and even though she’d done nothing but sit in the car all day, she was tired. Of course, she was hungry too. Her body wobbled as the car veered off the highway onto a dirt track. She was closing in on Costa Mesa. Her humiliation was just heartbeats away. She weighed as much as any two of them put together, and probably more. Her mother made her get back on the scale three days before the journey and told her, as she had no chance of seeing herself, that the reading was two hundred and eighty-eight pounds. “The diet starts right now.” she declared. Jenny was too numb with shock to protest. Her mother left her standing there, rooted to the spot with embarrassment. She smoothed a reluctant hand across a belly bigger than a basketball, and pinched at her doughy love handles. They filled up her palms and more. Eventually, the standing left her back aching and she sat down, and a little while later she quietly recovered some ice cream to spend her afternoon with. There was no way she could lose all ten stones plus of her added bulk in that time, so she saw no point in trying to start shedding even a little part of it. Even if she cut her weight gain back by half, her friends’ shock would be all the same. Jenny decided her diet could start once she’d passed the camp sign – till then she could splurge to stave off the thought of the moment. She’d since packed another seven pounds on to her overburdened body, though by now she’d gotten so big she could barely notice a difference. Saying goodbye to Toni had added at least five of those pounds. She had never bothered to inquire about the ice-cream, though she quickly sussed the funky milk had definitely swallowed up her metabolism. As a parting gift she’d been left with the month’s remaining stock – a whole crate’s worth of mouth-watering dairy goodness. To save it melting away, she’d had to stuff herself with it practically all in one go. When it inevitably sunk into liquid, Jenny took a glass and drank it up. Over two days she had gotten through half – the rest she managed to cram into the freezer for later. She pushed one last double bar of sticky, melted chocolate halfway into her mouth as she saw the shadow of a sign loom in the distance. She pushed it the full way in, chewed and swallowed. The glint on the sun flashed behind the wooden board as the car trundled underneath. Jenny stared at the multi-coloured lettering. It read ‘Wellspring La Jolla’. “Huh?” She gulped down the rest of her snack. “Mom, this isn’t Costa Mesa.” “I know honey. This is a different sort of camp.” “Where are we?” “Don’t worry,” her mom said, blankly. “You’ll feel right at home with your new friends, I’m sure.” They drove through a tunnel cut into the mountainside, and Jenny whipped out her phone. In the darkness realised the truth. Anger and denial coursed through her first. “Fat camp?!” “It’s for your own good, sweetie,” he mother said immediately. “You’re to stay here for one month, I’ll be in touch. And if you think about leaving, remember they’ve already debited your bank account, so you might as well stay. I gave them your details yesterday.” “Mom!” “Jennifer…please…” “I can’t believe this. How could you do this to me?” Her rage was tempered by sheer humiliation. Not even four months ago she was a cheerleader, sleek, fit and beautiful, on the road to grace and glory. And then summer happened – muffins, takeout, chocolate, Toni and whatever the hell she was putting into that deliciously addictive ice cream… And then split seams, and burst buttons, and stretchy tops, and huffing and puffing and growing…and growing... And now, fat camp. “Jennifer, how you could do this to yourself? Haven’t you looked in the mirror lately?” Jenny hadn’t looked in a mirror since the first day of summer, all those months ago. As the car neared the tunnel’s end she miserably pulled down the visor to shield her eyes from the light. Then she slowly flicked open the little mirror on the inside. She tried to look defiant, but the girl who looked back at her simply looked overindulgent. But it was her, and she knew she had to accept it. She looked at the mirror, then her body, fattened up beyond her imagination. Then she looked at the chocolate wrappers screwed up in her hand. Finally, she looked at her mother. And as the car cruised out into the sunlight she smiled as she set her new goal.
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