By Crazy Horse
Thomas rolled a few drops of Lillet out of the bottle and into the cocktail shaker. He added some cracked ice, swilled the mixture around, and poured in the Plymouth gin. After a good shake he drained the concoction over Spanish olives in the two waiting cocktail shakers. Both Allison and Thomas liked their martinis very cold and very dry. They seemed to make dinner go down easier and taste better. Allison often thought that if a good meal was like sex, then a good martini was the foreplay.
“Where are we going for dinner, again?” Allison asked. She was lounging on the couch in the study, toying with one of Thomas' books.
“Sullivan's,” Thomas handed her the drink, “they're holding a table for us. Eight o'clock.”
Allison ran her fingers through her hair and smiled. She had changed out of her business clothes and into a little slip of a dress. Thomas picked at the material and rubbed it between his fingers. “You'll need a coat.”
Allison sipped at her drink, “That's okay; it's always so damned hot at Sullivan's in the winter. Those poor people act like they'll freeze to death!”
The web site had been running for a month now. The membership was steady and growing. Allison and Thomas were averaging a little over one update per week, enough to keep the membership happy. Friday nights were becoming regular photographing sessions. Thomas was really enjoying taking the pictures and the excitement had added plenty of sparks to the marriage. Allison felt as if she were living every moment of her life with more gusto. She seemed to work more easily, she felt less uptight: she was enjoying herself with greater magnitude.
Sex had become like it was when the duo were young and in college. Thomas would sneak into Allison's dorm room window and make love all night when her roommate went home to visit her parents. In those days sex was exciting, dangerous. The website was bringing it all back! Everything was going well, even food and drinks seemed to taste better.
Allison looked down at the spine of the book she had been tossing about. THE DECAMERON. She opened it to a random page and read aloud: “The young man continuing his resort to the House of Puccio, and observing the widow to be faire, fresh, and prettily formal; he began to consider with himself, what those things might be, wherein she was most wanting; and (if he could) to save another's labor, supply them by his best endeavors.”
“That's enough of that, now,” Thomas said, “let's go to dinner.”
“So, you've seen where I'm most wanting and you plan to supply me by your best endeavors, eh?”
“Well, you're hardly a widow, at least not for a while, I hope. But the least I can do is give you something to chew on. Besides, I'm starving! It's been a long day.”
“It's going to be a long night, too. It's Friday, you know.”
The dinner was quite good, with Caesar salad served at table, and a generous Porterhouse steak and lobster tail. Thomas had wanted dessert so they walked down to the Two Cedars Café for a pair of thick slices of Saint Trope and coffee. It was not long before the two were back at home and in the throws of the latest photo session. With the pictures posted, there was nothing left to do but fall into each other's arms for a night of lovemaking.
It was after ten when Allison finally pulled herself out of bed. Her head was a bit heavy; martinis and a bottle of wine had left their mark. Thomas was already up and making noises in the kitchen. Vague smells of toasting bread and coffee were moving through the house.
Wrapping her robe around her, Allison made her way down to the office. The previous night's photo session must have been good! Several new subscriptions and a feedback box full of comments presented themselves. A handful of missives were always negative or simply vulgar, but most heaped adoration – a fortifying brace from Allison's army of secret lovers.
As Allison scrolled through her fan mail she was suddenly stopped cold. A familiar tagline lay at the bottom of the email box: Britewhite81. Allison thought for a moment that she should delete it. After hesitating she clicked it and read on anyway:
“Dear Ali, The recent update was my favorite so far! You don't ever disappoint. One thing I noticed, though. You need to change your weight on your BIO page. It says you weigh 135. Not possible. You've added a few pounds…I can see those stretch marks at your navel. Now we're talking! All my love, Brite.”
Allison threw open her robe and looked down at her stomach. Pinching her belly, she explored her skin. Oh god! It was true. Hairline stretch marks orbited her navel. Without even closing the robe, Allison clomped into the kitchen and slumped into her chair. Thomas walked over and slipped a large omelet out of the pan and onto her awaiting plate.
“Voila,” he said, “I'll bring toast!”
Allison was hungry, so she ate, but some of the zeal had gone out of her. She looked up at her husband. “Thomas, am I getting fat?”
He carefully laid his fork down and smiled. “Now, dear, you know that there's something in the married man's rulebook that prevents us from answering that question.”
“Be serious. I mean it.”
“All right then,” Thomas folded his hands as if her were about to pray. “Yes, you're positively enormous.”
“Oh god, you're hopeless!”
Allison enjoyed her Saturday, but her mind kept drifting back to the morning's message from Britewhite81. Getting fat. She ate her way through lunch and dinner, hoping that Thomas' good cooking would stay away from her thighs.
After taking a shower Allison stood in front of the mirror, sucking in and pushing out her gut. She grabbed her little hint of flab and toyed with it.
“Playing with the beer belly, huh? What's with you today?”
“Never mind, Thomas. I'm just a little concerned about my weight, that's all. Good night.”
The dream began in the wee hours of the morning, as most truly relevant dreams often do. Allison awoke in her own king size bed, but something was different, strange. She was lying on her back, not her side, as usual, and she was in the center of the bed, not on the right side, where she normally slept. Her eyes misted open and she looked around the room. She lifted her hand to pull back the covers, but it was not hers! Her slim fingers were gone and in their place were fat little stubs. The arm was different as well; it was thick with rubbery flesh, pale in the morning light and sagging. It felt heavy to lift those limbs, like they were tied to sacks of flour. Allison tried to sit up but she could not – something heavy was holding her down. She ripped back the covers, in terror. Spreading out before her was a virtual ocean of flesh – her own body she knew, but alien. Allison's feet appeared to her as tiny stubs poking out from the ends of two mammoth bales of fat. Her legs! Those feet were a yard apart, yet Allison's thighs still rubbed together.
Had it not been for the presence of a navel, Allison would have never been able to recognize her own stomach, for it did not look like a human belly at all. Distended, it swelled up and out, covering her private parts and oozing south toward her knees. Every motion she made in an attempt to sit upright sent tsunamis of fat rippling across it. She reached her hand down toward her belly and gave it a squeeze. It felt like a velvet bag filled with butter! It was a comforting kind of feeling, almost a bit stimulating.
As Allison's hands drifted over her mountain of flesh she began to probe her breasts – the nipple had disappeared from sight, folded under her armpits, hanging at the end of her two distended glands. As she looked around she noticed things – Allison could see her two (or perhaps three) chins creeping out from under her neck. She saw that she was floating on a mound of buttocks, themselves distended and protruding out from under her body. It was all her, and all fat.
Just as Allison began growing comfortable with her new form she realized that something else was wrong. Deep inside her body there was a pain like she had never felt before. It was an angry, gnarling ache. Oh no, she thought – it was hunger. It was a hunger she had never imagined possible – the hunger of a stomach stretched by a daily intake of buckets of food. And she could smell food cooking, somewhere, at that very moment!
Just as the hunger pains were growing absolutely intolerable, the bedroom door opened and Thomas backed his way in. He was pulling a little hotel cart covered with a tablecloth.
“Ah, good morning, sleepy head! Awake right on time. You slept a while last night…I bet you're starving.”
“Uh, uh.” It was true, Allison felt like she was starving.
Thomas pulled off the tablecloth revealing a positively massive meal. It looked like a mountain of scrambled eggs, various meats, tomato slices, juice, milk, coffee, some store bought pastries, toast, and at least two kinds of bagels.
“Now,” Thomas said, loading a few things onto a tray, which he positioned onto Allison's body, “let's have you dig in.”
She began eating like she had never eaten before. It was not really eating, per se, but filling a void, as if an aching chasm had opened within her and she merely needed to close it up with food. It worked, too. As the third plate disappeared Allison's appetite slacked a bit. It took some work to get down the last bits of pastry and juice, but it was worth it, the hunger was finally gone.
Thomas, who had been reading to her from THE SARAGOSSA MANUSCRIPT, put down his book when Allison finished eating and walked over to her. He put his hand on her heavy belly, and softly caressed it. The feeling was delightful. Thomas began to carefully massage her gut, kneading it in both of his hands, slowly, carefully. Allison had not realized how full she actually was – the comforting massage began to ease her distension.
Soon, Thomas drifted his hand lower on her belly, below her navel. He lifted her belly, carefully, moving his hand towards her private areas.
“Ah, you are very moist today, my love. That meal seems to have done its job!”
Thomas was right - Allison was very aroused. Eating that pile of food had been like foreplay. And now Thomas was massaging her slowly again, reaching his probing fingers in ever deeper. She began to softly moan…
Allison awoke from the dream to find herself alone in bed. Thomas was gone and the smell of cooking food really was wafting through the house. Allison pulled back the covers in near panic, but all was as it should have been. The little stretch marks remained on her belly, almost like a friendly smile, it seemed, grinning up at her. But the sea of fat was gone, replaced by the more svelte woman that had been swimming inside of it.
Allison climbed out of bed and pulled on her robe. She sniffed the air and smiled a bit. My god, but she was hungry.