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The Market Was Fat
by Bill

Dr. Ian Clarke stared at the empty chairs in his waiting room and frowned. Six months into practice after finishing his residency and setting up practice in his home town of New Orleans and he wasn’t seeing enough patients to pay the office overhead. He glanced at his watch and realized it was almost time to meet his wife Elaine for lunch, which chased away the depressing reality for a minute. Minutes later, Elaine walked through the door, and life was wonderful again.

His wife through seven years of medical school and residency was a vision at 5’4” and 300 lbs. He marveled at the engineering of the bra that created nearly a foot of cleavage from her magnificent 52DDD breasts, suspended above a 42 inch waist and 56 inch hips. Accentuated by a curve-hugging deep purple dress that exposed a deeply tanned shelf of bosom, and perched atop 4” black pumps was the body of a goddess. I am a lucky man, he reflected.

Lunch was at the pasta café down the block from Ian’s building, a favorite of Elaine’s. The café specialized in combining various Mediterranean ingredients into delightful entrees. Elaine particularly enjoyed the veal alfredo and quickly decided to experience it again. And for Elaine, a meal was truly an experience. She began by soaking a loaf of french bread in extra virgin olive oil for a full 30 seconds before savoring each bite, washed down with a zesty bordeaux the café carried as a house wine. The sight of her partaking of the creamy meat and pasta was equally inspiring. Each forkful was followed by an almost audible murmur of pleasure as Elaine closed her eyes to swallow. And she virtually glowed as the generous slab of blueberry cheesecake was placed in front of her. As the last bite disappeared, she began to notice Ian had grown silent.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she prompted. Ian’s eyes rose. “I’m sorry, honey, it’s just the office. I’m still not doing enough business. There’s so many doctors in town with established reputations and there just doesn’t seem to be enough patients to go around. I don’t know how much longer I can continue.” Not knowing what to say, Elaine simply held his hand. “We’ll think of something,” she said as she rose to leave. Purposefully maneuvering her expansive chest to pass beneath his nose, she whispered, “If nothing else, you’ll have me.”

Elaine pondered the empty seats of Ian’s office when they returned. A thought crossed her mind. “Ian, watch me and tell me what you think,” she said as she struggled to squeeze her tush between the obviously inadequate arms of the widest chair in the waiting area. “Um, I don’t know, Elaine, what?” he answered with a puzzled look. “Don’t get it, huh? Ok, observe again, Doctor.” With significant tugging and pulling, she extricated her generous bottom from the confines of the chair, and crossed over to the soft, low leather sofa on the opposite wall. She sank into the plush cushions, and then tried to rise, unsuccessfully. Once, twice, a third time, before commenting, “Well, doctor, do you think I can get some help, here?” Ian rushed to assist her. “Now do you understand?” she asked. He still seemed confused. “Look at your office. Your own wife can’t get comfortable in your waiting area. Here you are, in the most food-loving, obese city in the country, and your office is not fat-friendly.” “Doctors’ offices aren’t designed to be fat-friendly!” he protested. “Exactly,” she said emphatically, “There’s your market!” A look of understanding slowly spread across Ian’s face. “Yeah,… yeah, maybe that’s it!… But how do I do that?” “I could provide guidance…if you’ll have me,” Elaine coyly replied.

Elaine took over as office manager the next day, and things rapidly changed. The old furniture was replaced by reinforced wood and leather chairs with widespread or no arms and higher seats. The low sofa was junked. Ads appeared in local BBW publications and weight control salons extolling the friendliness and accessibility of Ian’s office. The staff changed as well. Thin personnel were quietly advised that the office focus was changing, and several resigned. All new hires were immaculately groomed obese women, eager for a chance to work in an environment where size was not a negative. Elaine’s college friend Sandy became the new receptionist. Her beautiful smile and bubbly personality, framed by triple chins, were an immediate hit at the front desk. The new head nurse, Barbara, who filled every inch of her size 24 uniform, and was a true professional with 20 years experience who patients adored. Only extra large gowns were placed in each exam room, and all exam tables were equipped with stools and side rails. Scales were discreetly hidden and used only when absolutely necessary.

Beignets and french pastries were delivered daily, and Elaine noticed with quiet satisfaction that they seemed to be disappearing earlier each morning as the days went by. Lunch was catered daily as well, often from Elaine's favorite pasta café down the street, although the wealth of restaurants in New Orleans provided numerous possibilities. Area restaurateurs began to negotiate with Elaine for the office’ growing catering account, which was being matched, not surprisingly, by the staffs’ growing waistlines. The few thin personnel who had stayed on were ordering larger uniforms, as was pointed out to Elaine by the office purchaser. Elaine herself had made a few trips to her personal shopper for new wardrobe items. Her bosom seemed to get heavier every day, and only custom made bras seemed to provide adequate support anymore. Her belly was sagging inexorably into an apron of fat, which challenged her clothiers to accommodate its growth, while fascinating (and pleasing) Elaine. Even Ian, a former college athlete, was developing a noticeable belly.

Within six months, Ian’s office bustled with patients. Appointments were booked 6 weeks in advance, and billings grew rapidly. Elaine was able to give the staff bonuses, which included dinner at the restaurant of the employee’s choice. Her own choice was a classic Creole establishment in the heart of the city. As they sipped merlot, Ian couldn’t help noticing how beautiful his wife was. Sculpted raven hair was upswept to display her silky brown skin. Her full lips and bulging cheeks exuded sensuality. And her bust…he couldn’t stop staring. Elaine had graduated to 60FFF cups, which, sheathed in a drop dead white bustier, caressed her tawny mountains like like a new snowfall. When seated, her belly extended nearly as far in front of her face as her bust, and brushed the table edge with every breath. Her thighs seemed poured into her leopard-print pants, so snugly were they applied. “Here’s to you, my darling,” said Ian, raising his glass, “Where would I be without you?” “In debt and twenty pounds lighter,” she replied, rimming the edge of her glass with a practiced tongue. Dinner ended early that night, but their passion, their business, and their clothing size continued to grow.