Weight Room Title Bar

Six Months
by fa12345

Melissa Briggs had always believed that snooping was wrong. But if she had to sort the mail for her whole department, she was going to take the chance to learn more about her coworkers. Today's mail was a goldmine-a lingerie catalog for one of the (male, married) editors, a discreetly wrapped bill from a dating service for the new girl in accounts payable, and-she nearly missed it-a package from a well-known publisher for Steven Moore.

Steven Moore! She nearly salivated at the opportunity to learn more about the nearly-reclusive associate editor. He was unbelievably handsome (and single!), and the cubicle-dwellers often wondered how such a nice guy, a real rising-star type, could go home alone every night. There was speculation that he was gay, or maybe just sexless, but Melissa fervently hoped neither of these were true. She frankly adored Steven, from his wavy brown hair to his wingtip shoes. He had a real grace and style about him, an old-world kind of charm. Plus (she grinned to herself), he always brought donuts on Fridays. And she always ate them-her voluptuous figure (verging on plump) was testament to that.

Melissa sighed, thinking of how out-of-reach Steven was. He'd never ask her out, although she tried everything she could think of-starvation diets, fearsome girdles, head-to-toe dark clothing, even makeup contouring to hide any hint of a double chin. She did everything possible to keep Steven from seeing her few extra pounds (175 on a 5' 5" frame). But it was no good, their relationship never went beyond a hi-how-are-you in the halls. Steven was a mystery-he rushed home from work every day to his bachelor pad, and by his own admission, never went out. What could he be doing all alone at home? Maybe there was a lover no one knew of. Perhaps the package in Melissa's hands held some answer.

She tore into the package, pulling out a thick packet of paper. On top was a post-it note: "Steve-Where's the novel you promised me? No more short stories!--Jay."

Melissa's curiosity was piqued. The packet was a manuscript of some sort. Aha! Steven wrote fiction! Well, it made sense-being the associate editor of an industrial trade magazine couldn't be very fulfilling for him. She looked at the typed pages, and decided to take them home to peruse. Steven wouldn't miss it one more day, and maybe it would give her some insight into the workings of his mind.

That night, Melissa sat down with the manuscript, a big glass of milk, and a bag of Oreos. And she began to read. Anyone watching her would have been extremely amused, because as she read, her eyes grew wide. Her jaw dropped. She gasped softly.

Because, you see, Melissa had never encountered an FA story before, and Steven Moore wrote the best FA stories in the business. Melissa read on, simultaneously appalled and aroused. As she read scene after scene of women gorging themselves, she began to mechanically cram Oreos into her mouth. She found she couldn't put down the manuscript, and knew she wouldn't get up from the sofa until she was done.

The first story was called "The Freshman 15," and it was about a girl named Maggie, whose mother had limited her food intake until the girl went to college. Seduced by the all-you-can-eat cafeteria at college, away from her mother's influence, Maggie began to eat. Three enormous meals each day, plus a mammoth binge at night. Needless to say, she gained a lot of weight quite rapidly. The story ended with her taking a plane home for Thanksgiving, having put on a hundred and twenty pounds through her summer and fall terms. "As she asked the flight attendant for a seatbelt extender, Maggie felt a strange wave of calm break over her. Once her mother saw all 270 pounds of her clump into the terminal, she would know there was no controlling Maggie."

Melissa reached for another cookie, only to realize she had finished the entire bag. She started on the next story, which was even more scintillating. It was about a scientist, Scott, who put his girlfriend Gwen in this virtual-reality suit and mask for a year, then fed her a constant intravenous drip of weight-gain formula. The best thing about this story was that the girlfriend had no idea she was gaining weight, even though she went from 210 pounds to 428 pounds. And to Melissa's shock, there were some incredible sex scenes.

Melissa finished the story of Scott and Melissa with an unfamiliar throbbing between her legs. She was wickedly aroused, and would be more so by the next story. It was a sort of futuristic spy story with a 560-pound heroine, Ryce. She was a corpulent martial-arts master who always "got her man," in both senses. The descriptions of Ryce's martial-arts battles were nothing short of erotica-it was clear that Steven had a real knowledge of the female form.

After finishing this third-and last-story, Melissa sat back, feeling shell-shocked and strangely bereft. She was sorry to have to finish the stories, because they were so well-written she could have kept reading all night.

She thought hard about what she'd read, and a thought occurred to her in a wave of euphoria: Steven liked fat women! Well, hallelujah! She realized she'd been going about things entirely backward-she didn't have to deprive herself to get Steven Moore at all! Melissa let out a whoop of joy, and ran upstairs. She pulled an armful of girdles from her drawer and threw them in the trash. Her "Contouring Foundation" went in on top of them. She chose a clingy pastel dress to wear the next day-no reason for head-to-toe black clothes now! She looked in her refrigerator and found a jumbo frozen pizza, which she proceeded to cook and almost completely eat. As she finished, her tiny, pixieish roommate Trini came home from work.

Trini entered, tired to the bone but always more than happy to see Melissa. Amazingly, Melissa was sitting in front of the TV, picking at the remains of a nearly-demolished frozen pizza. She wore stretch pants and a short t-shirt, with clearly no girdle or bra underneath. The t-shirt was pulling up over Melissa's belly, distended from the pizza. Trini, who had always had stronger feelings for Melissa than she would have liked, was so turned on she couldn't speak for a moment.

"Cat got your tongue?" said Melissa, smiling. Her stomach hurt from eating a whole bag of Oreos and almost an entire pizza, but what did it matter? She wasn't dieting anymore! She was going to ask Steven Moore out tomorrow!

"Diet's over! Yaaaaaaaaaaay!" said Trini, springing into action. Her tiredness was forgotten at the notion of another post-diet pigout with Melissa. "Shall I make us some sundaes?"

Melissa groaned. "I don't think I could eat another thing-I just demolished all our cookies and almost this whole pizza, too."

"Wow, what's the occasion?" said Trini, sitting down next to Melissa so that she could better admire her little potbelly.

Melissa explained about Steven and his book. She pointed out a few key passages for Trini to read. Trini's breathing quickened as she read one of the best scenes from "The Freshman Fifteen," and she looked up at Melissa. "Is this guy for real?" she said, marveling that someone shared her taste in women-although she'd never thought as large as Steven Moore.

"He's not only for real, he's gorgeous. And I'm asking him out tomorrow," said Melissa, excited as a puppy.

"Will you tell him you read the book?" asked Trini, looking at Melissa's breasts and thinking that Steven Moore was about the luckiest man alive.

"I can't, but I imagine he'll let me read it later if we start going out," said Melissa.

Trini, despite her slight heartache, wanted nothing more than to see Melissa happy. She started to think through the best way for Melissa to ask Steven out, when a thought occurred to her.

"Hey, Missy?" Trini was unsure how to say it. "Um-are you sure you're, well, fat enough for this guy?"

"Trini, I'm a whale! You know that!" Melissa laughed self-consciously. "And finally it's going to work to my advantage. It's like a dream!"

Trini wasn't convinced. She tried again. "Um, Missy, you said the thinnest girl in those stories was 270 pounds and gaining, right?"

"Right," said Melissa.

"You're probably-what, 170 soaking wet?" asked Trini.

"I wish, I'm 175," said Melissa glumly.

"Still, hardly a 'whale'. Maybe we should feed you up a little," suggested Trini.

Melissa was stunned. All her life, she'd been obsessed with her fat-thighs too big, too much cellulite, stomach not flat enough, face too round. Angrily she turned on Trini. "Are you trying to sabotage me? I weigh 175, but that's pretty fat, right? I mean, those were fictional stories. There aren't really people out there who weigh 560 pounds, are there?" She began to wonder. "On second thought, make me that sundae."

The next day, she put on her pastel-pink dress with just a thong underneath, not even pantyhose. Her little belly protruded tellingly, and she was amazed at how much bigger she looked. Without a girdle, her butt jiggled ever-so-slightly as she walked to work. She was amazed at her coworkers' reactions. "Wow, you look different," said her boss, looking not altogether pleased. Some just stared. One of her fellow marketing reps actually took her aside and whispered, "Are you pregnant?"

Melissa was about to go home and change clothes, embarrassed by the attention. But she still had to take Steven his mail. She touched up her makeup and hair, spritzed on some perfume, and went to his office. "Hi," she said, laying down the pile of mail with his manuscript in his in-tray.

Steven saw the big publisher's envelope right away. Excited, he grabbed it and began to tear it open. But then he realized Melissa was still standing there. He smiled up at her. "I'm sorry, Melissa, was there something else?"

Melissa was thrown. He hadn't even noticed her dress, her unbound buxom figure. He was just being polite. "Ah-well, no. I mean yes! Um, do you want to go to lunch?"

"Oh, wouldn't that be nice! I wish I could, but I have a meeting with Mary over lunch," said Steven, his eyes straying back to the envelope in his hand.

Ah. The old "meeting-with-the-editor." Melissa was crushed. But she brightly replied, "Okay, then! Have a good meeting!" She turned and, with her last bit of dignity, walked back to her own office.

Steven watched her go, noticing what a nice rear end she had. She was too thin for him, but she was going to make some guy really happy one day. Oh sure, she had potential to gain, but he'd never seen her eat more than salad. Too bad. He turned his thoughts back to the envelope in his hand, hoping it was good news from his publisher, which it wasn't. Devastated, Steven wondered what to do next. He realized there was no choice.

Later that day, Melissa's friend Judy stopped by her office. "Hey, did you hear? Steven Moore's taking a six-month leave of absence, can you believe it?"

Melissa was stunned. "Really? Where'd you hear that? Do you know why?"

"Apparently he wants to write a book! He won't say what it's about, but that's what he told Mary at a lunch meeting today," Judy said, excited to have the scoop on the office's most eligible bachelor.

Melissa went home that night, glad that Trini was there. She had to talk.

"Hey, how did it go?" asked Trini, eager for news.

"He turned me down, but Trini, I think I've got a plan," said Melissa, eyes shining. "I'll need your help."

"Shoot!" said Trini. Like she could ever say no to Melissa.

"It turns out that Steven's taking a six-month leave of absence to write a book, and I got to thinking about what you said last night. And so I did a little research, and it turns out there's a whole subculture of men who love really, really fat women. Turns out there are 560-pound women, and lots bigger. Steven is a "fat admirer," so I think I should take this time while he's gone to get fat. Really fat."

"How much weight do you want to gain?" said Trini, getting more excited by the second.

Melissa shrugged, grinning. "Well, enough to give him ideas. I mean, how much could I gain in six months? Not too much. I bet he wants a fat girl, but one with room to grow, too. So will you help me?"

Trini looked Melissa square in the eye and said, "I will do anything in my power to help you." Melissa never knew how much fun an unfettered eating spree could be. At last, after years of trying to keep her figure in check, she ate absolutely anything she liked, whenever she wanted to. And for the first few weeks, it worked like a charm. She busted the seams right out of a pair of size-14 slacks at the end of her second week of gaining (by which time she was up to 193 pounds). Upon going to a plus-sized store, she struggled like crazy with a size 16, only to realize that she had jumped two sizes in two weeks! She went ahead and bought 20s, just to be on the safe side, and even those were snug by the time three more weeks had gone by. But after a while, she hit a plateau.

"Trini, I only put on two pounds this week!" cried Melissa in dismay from the bathroom. Trini came in to look at the scale and did a double-take at Melissa clutching a too-small towel around her burgeoning hips.

"Wow, look at the size of your arse! We're gonna need some bigger towels, huh?" said Trini, noticing how Melissa's dimpled cheeks poked out from below the towel's hem.

Melissa twisted to see her widening rear in the mirror--it was getting like two basketballs back there. "Wow, it's looking good-but Trini, I'm slowing down! I'll never get his attention this way!"

Actually, she was getting attention already. Melissa had put on 36 pounds so far, and her coworkers were definitely starting to talk. She had to be pregnant, they whispered outside her closed office door as she ate her colossal lunches. Melissa heard the rumors, and decided it was easier to just let them think she was "eating for two" at the moment. They'd know soon enough that she was becoming such a lard mountain on purpose.

Trini's voice broke into her thoughts. "How about you take the day off? Work from home today, and we'll have sort of an 'eating marathon'. Feed you up, how about it?" She grinned conspiratorially.

"Let's do it!" said Melissa, her rounder face breaking into a sunny smile. So Trini went to the grocery store to stock up.

The rest of the day was like a haze. Melissa called in sick, then sat down to a tall stack of buttery pancakes, half a dozen eggs, a mountain of bacon, fruit with real whipped cream, a box of donut holes, and a milkshake. About halfway through the donut holes, she pushed her chair back and took a deep breath.

*POP*! The button of her jeans went flying and ricocheted against the table legs. Melissa laughed, "Good start, huh? Looks like I'm into a size 22!" She unzipped the jeans and dug back in. After breakfast, she walked over to the sofa, feeling the food slosh inside her. She watched TV for a few hours, by which time she thought she was probably ready to eat again.

Melissa changed into a pair of men's sweatpants and a t-shirt, and tucked into a deep dish meat-and-extra-cheese pizza, plus a gigantic salad slathered with blue cheese dressing, and some buffalo wings. She had never eaten so much fattening food at one time before, but it was so delicious that stopping wasn't even an option.

Melissa was grateful that she had stretched her stomach in the past week as she forced slice after slice of the rich, cheesy pizza down her gullet. After eating more than three quarters of the pizza, the entire salad, and most of the buffalo wings, she had to lay down and read for a while. She drifted off to sleep on the sofa, looking as pregnant as her co-workers believed her to be.

That night, Trini made her a steak dinner with all the trimmings, plus-the final decadent touch-the richest pecan pie Melissa had ever tasted, topped with ice cream. After two pieces, Melissa thought she might explode. She sat completely still until her queasiness went away, and then ate a final piece, as Trini applauded.

"Let's weigh you now, just to see, huh?" said Trini, excited as a little girl. She knew most of the gain would just be the weight of undigested food, but the thrill of seeing a big number tempted them both.

Melissa walked gingerly to the scale, rubbing her belly. She stepped on and was astounded to see the number: 221. Nine pounds in one day. She smiled in disbelief, and Trini whooped.

"Nine pounds! Yaaaaaaaay! Steven Moore's not gonna know what hit him!" she cried, jumping up and down. Melissa could only look on in disbelief. She'd gained 45 pounds in a little over two months-sure, she'd lose some tomorrow, but her capacity for putting on weight just plain astounded her. Finally, something she was great at!

After the eating marathon, Melissa redoubled her gaining efforts like an athlete. She had a little less than four months until Steven was back, and she wanted to make the most of it. She took up sedentary hobbies, like reading, needlepoint, writing, crossword puzzles, and watching movies (mostly at home-as she entered the 250-pound range, movie theater seats got to be a tight squeeze). She got Trini to start packing snacks for her at work, and bringing her gigantic lunches right to the office. She practiced positive thinking for when the stares and whispers of her dumbfounded coworkers got to be too much. She photocopied a picture of Steven and put it up all over her house, along with some quotes in praise of fat women from his stories. That way, she remembered her goal at all times.

And, most of all, Melissa ate. A LOT. At every meal, she ate until she strained the bounds of her stomach. Toward the beginning of the sixth month, she began to feel as if her life was nothing but chew, swallow, chew, swallow. Stuff, stuff, stuff. But it paid off-by the beginning of that sixth month, Melissa had put on an astounding 108 pounds to weigh in at 283. When she passed the 100-pound-gain mark, Trini had baked her a sheet cake, and cheered as Melissa plunged in, face first, and ate the whole thing. As she sat back, straining the stitches of her size 24 dress, icing on her chins, breasts, and queen-sized belly, she was gloriously triumphant.

Melissa had reached the 100-pound mark very quickly, but she realized the need to really go for broke in this last month. So she took the classic diet rules and turned them around. She drank less water, and more juice and sugary beverages. She ate her biggest meals late at night. She skipped meals occasionally to make herself hungrier and slow down her metabolism. And it worked-the numbers on the scale got higher, her clothes got tighter, and there was a huge butt-print in the couch as testament to Melissa's hard work.

Speaking of work, things were coming to a head at the office. Her performance was just as good as always (Melissa was a whiz-kid at marketing), but she'd packed on the pounds so fast nobody knew what to think. One day, her boss came into her office.

"Hey, Missy!" she said, unsure of how to broach the subject.

"Hey, Susan!" said Melissa. She smiled cheerily, and stifled a belch induced by a mid-morning cheesecake. "Anything I can do for you?"

Susan closed Melissa's door, and pulled up a chair to Melissa's desk. She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Uh, Missy, are you pregnant?"

Color flooded Melissa's pudgy face and dripped down her chins. "Nope, not pregnant!" She couldn't believe the staff still thought she was having a baby.

Susan was mortified. "Oh, god, I am sorry, Missy. Seriously. It's just that, you know-" she made a vague gesture toward Melissa's bulk.

Melissa wondered if she should let Susan dangle, pretend not to know what she was talking about. Nah, why be rude? She kept smiling. "Yep, I went off my diet for good. No more starving for me!" To make her point, she grabbed a candy bar out of her desk and took a bite.

"Oh," said Susan in a very small voice. "Okay." She was frankly stunned, but what else could she say? Melissa's work was still great, and it wasn't like she was morbidly obese yet. "I'm going to McDonald's, do you want some lunch?"

"Yeah, that would be great!" said Melissa, grabbing her purse. "I'll take Extra Value Meals one and four, okay?"

Susan laughed. Surely nobody could eat that much. Susan herself could hardly get through one Extra Value Meal. She joked back. "Want me to supersize those? What about dessert?"

To Susan's amazement, Melissa took another bite of her candy bar and said, "Oh, yeah! Supersize! I almost forgot. And don't worry about dessert-Trini's bringing me some brownies later."

Susan just stared as Melissa counted out enough money for the fat-laden meal and started to get up. She grabbed the arms of her chair and grunted, her spreading hips caught in the narrow seat. "I'm always getting stuck in this chair," she said, breathing hard. Finally she popped out of the chair like a cork from a bottle.

"Do you want a bigger one?" asked Susan. "One without armrests?"

"Yes!" said Melissa. "I'd love that." She was glad Susan understood. She hoped the rest of her co-workers would be as accommodating.

Later that day, Melissa got an e-mail about the company's holiday party, coming up in two weeks. As she scanned the invite, her eyes picked out the magic word: BUFFET. All right! All-you-can-eat on the company's dime! As she came to the guest list, she was surprised to see the name "Steven Moore," and called Trini in a panic. "Trini! He's going to be at the company holiday party, what am I gonna do? I'm not ready!"

"Oh, you're ready, all right," said Trini. "Tonight, we'll think up a plan of action, all right? Leave it to me!"

That night, they planned everything she would do at the party, right down to the smallest detail. Where she would sit, what she would eat, how she would get his attention. Something occurred to Melissa. "What will I wear?"

Trini looked her over. The trick was to take the thin-dressing tips from magazines and use them to reverse advantage. "Okay, how does this work for you? We'll put you in stretchy white dress slacks. For the top, a fuzzy white twinset with horizontal silver stripes. Flat shoes, of course." She began to sketch a design.

"Trini, you are a genius!" Melissa exclaimed. "Are you going to make this outfit?"

Trini looked up and grinned. "You don't live with the best seamstress in town for nothing, girl! Besides, I can't wait to get a tape measure around those hips!"

When the big day of the party came, Melissa stepped on the scale for the first time in two weeks. She'd been stuffing her face almost constantly from nerves, and the dress slacks Trini had made were going to be a tight squeeze. She looked absentmindedly at the scale's dial, then did a double take.


She screamed. "TRINI, COME HERE!" Trini pounded up the stairs, thinking that at last Melissa had gotten stuck in the bathtub. But when she got into the bathroom, she found Melissa dancing around in obvious delight. Trini laughed.

"What is it?" She watched as Melissa stepped onto the scale and, once again, the needle flew around the dial to rest at 303. "OH MY GOD, MISSY! We didn't even see it coming!" Trini wrapped her arms as far around Melissa's waist as they would go. "Still think you're not enough woman for Steven?"

Melissa was so excited she'd nearly forgotten that Steven would see her for the first time in six months today. Last time he saw her, 175 pounds. And now, in six months and two weeks, she'd put on 128 pounds to weigh 303. Boy, would he be surprised!

The party was at a popular buffet restaurant near the magazine's office. The editors had arranged for them to have the whole place just for the party. Melissa and Trini had decided she should show up late, to make a real appearance.

Steven sat, somewhat dejectedly, at the editors' table. His six-month leave had produced very little in terms of sellable work. His publisher was riding him unmercifully, and he had the worst case of writers' block ever. What he needed was a muse, but he had no idea how to meet the sort of woman he really wanted. Where do fleshy goddess types hang out? He wondered.

"So, Steven, will you talk to her?" said Mary. He snapped back to attention, as the editors stared at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry-to whom?" he said, embarrassed to be caught woolgathering.

Mary smiled indulgently. "To Melissa Briggs in marketing. We think maybe she would be more comfortable working from home, because of-you know-"

What had happened to Melissa Briggs? "I actually don't know-what happened with her?"

"Oh, god, that's right!" laughed Mike, one of the other editors. "He hasn't seen the woman in six months-he has no idea!"

Steven was starting to worry. "What are you talking about?" He'd always liked Melissa, such a nice, funny, bright woman. And pretty, too, if thin.

Mary flushed. "Ah, well, um-you see, Steve-"

And then, with the best timing of her entire life, in waddled Melissa, all 303 radiant pounds of her.

"Oh my god," Steve muttered under his breath. Her beauty was blinding. Her long, dark curls glistened around her round, multiply-chinned face. Her silver and white sweater made her look like the moon rising. Her pants were stretched to the bursting point, he could clearly see the stitches. When could she have gotten so fat? She had to weigh 300 pounds! He salivated as he watched her walk, breasts bobbing, stomach jiggling. She smiled at him and came over to say hello. He quickly grabbed a napkin to cover his hard-on.

She leaned down to him, revealing her deep cleavage. "Hi, Steven! It's so nice to see you again! I hope your leave of absence was productive!" she smiled at the editors. "Hi everyone, didn't mean to interrupt anything, I'll be off now. Happy holidays!" She walked away, and Steven could have screamed over the mesmerizing jiggle of her ass. It was as if waves of fat squashed through each cheek in turn. Her too-small panties cut deeply into the soft lard, making lines under her far-too-tight white pants. Oh, she was beautiful. All Steven could do was look after her, openmouthed.

He turned back to the editors, who were all grinning at him like children playing a joke. They all burst into giggles at the stunned stare on his face. "Now you see what we mean!" said Mike.

"She put on that much weight in six months?" Steven shook his head in disbelief. "Is she pregnant?"

Mary shook her head. "Nope, Susan asked her, and all she said was that she 'went off her diet'. She's been eating like crazy-I keep wondering if it's glandular, but she claims to be healthy as a horse, no pun intended. But if she keeps gaining like this, she's going to be sort of a liability in the office. So can you talk to her?"

Could he! "Oh, yeah, definitely. No problem." He gazed at Melissa's giant rear as she bent over the buffet, piling her plate high.

Steven tried to sit still and sip his drink, but the thought of her sitting wedged in one of the booths was too much for him. When it looked like she had finished the mountain of food on her plate, he walked over to where she was sitting. He smiled into her liquid dark eyes. "Would you mind if I joined you?" he said, hoping his erection had faded to some degree.

"I would like nothing more," she said, looking up coyly from under her lashes, "But would you mind getting me a little something from the buffet first?"

God, what a woman, he thought. "It would be my pleasure. What can I get you?"

"A little something from the buffet" turned out to be two plates' worth of fettucine alfredo, mashed potatoes, roast beef, lasagna, and fried chicken. Before he'd even set both plates down, she'd grabbed a drumstick and started in. What a woman. He watched her expertly wind up a giant bite of fettucine alfredo and put it in her mouth, licking the creamy sauce from her lips. "Mmmmmm, thank you," she moaned appreciatively.

"So, how are things in marketing?" he asked, marveling at the gracefulness of her hands as she pulled the skin off a second drumstick and gulped it down.

She swallowed. "Great, actually. We're getting tons of advertising for the next issue of the magazine. But I swear my office is getting smaller-I'm always knocking things over these days, it seems," she giggled, looking down at herself. "Well, I guess it's not the office getting smaller so much as-"

"What if you worked from home?" he said, glad for the opening.

She frowned. Was he trying to get her out of the office? "I don't know," she said hesitantly, "It wouldn't be the same, I mean, I'd miss seeing certain people every day." She said the last with a meaningful look, hoping he'd take the hint.

He stared at her, his heart beating wildly. Could she really mean what he thought she did? "I bet they would miss you, too," he said, with equal meaning. "But they'd want to know you were comfortable in your working environment. Plus, you could still see each other-" he cleared his throat, "Outside the office."

She nearly choked. He was asking her out!

He smiled. "Looks like you've cleaned your plates, can I get you something else?" he asked.

What? She looked down and sure enough, she'd finished every morsel on both plates. She couldn't remember eating a thing. "You know, let's both go up-then we can get four plates!"

He could have cried, he was so happy. He helped her slide sideways out of the booth, and walked behind her all the way to the buffet. He hoped her pants weren't as tight as they looked, the seams strained with every jostling step, and they pulled into horizontal wrinkles under her belly. But they put every wobbling inch of her rear on display for him, too. He went to the dessert bar and filled up two plates with sweets, while she got more entrees. Back at the table, she tucked in even more hungrily than before.

"You're very beautiful, you know," he said softly.

She looked at him with glowing eyes. At last, it was happening. She went to take his hand, accidentally knocking her fork off the table. Without thinking, she bent over to get it, and with a great tearing *RRRRRRRRRRRIP* and a mighty *POP*, two things happened: the seat of her pants gave up the struggle and tore wide open, and the button flew off her waistband.

She sat up. "Oh, god."

He knew instantly what had happened. "Do you have a coat with you?" he asked.

Her eyes were wide. "I do, but it's in the coatroom."

"Tell you what," he said matter-of-factly. "I can't see a thing from over here, and you've got to be more comfortable now. So keep on eating, and I'll make as many trips to the buffet as you want, and whenever you're done, I'll get your coat and take you home. How about it?"

Her radiant smile again. "That would be perfect, Steven." She shoveled chocolate cake into her mouth with renewed vigor. They talked and she ate, and when she finished all four plates, Melissa sent him up once more. More talking and eating, plus a serious game of footsie under the table ensued.

Melissa was ready to have him take her home-she'd chased Trini out for the night, hoping Steven would come in with her. Needless to say, he did. That night was the beginning of the rest of their life together.

Three years later, they were more than happily married. Steven was having a press conference for his first book, considered by many to be "the first great American FA novel." Melissa was a stay-at-home mom to Steven Junior-and after putting on 100 pounds post-marriage and more than that during her pregnancy, she was also the muse of which Steven had always dreamed. At the press conference, a rookie reporter called out the tired old question, "Where do you get your inspiration?"

Steven smiled knowingly. "I was hoping you'd ask. Meet my wife, Melissa." She lumbered onto the podium, hoping it was sturdy. She wore a long red dress. It was made of silk so thin that it clearly defined the knee-length sweep of her belly apron, and the wobbling posterior that had so entranced Steven to begin with. She waved to the reporters, and her huge triceps flapped back and forth. At 627 pounds, she was nearly spherical, and hundreds of cameras flashed, trying to take in her vastness.

"Mrs. Moore, are you going to sit down and answer some questions?" shouted a reporter.

She turned around laboriously and waggled her rump, like two jelly-filled beachballs, at them. "Do you think I can sit on one of these flimsy folding chairs?" she asked, and laughter rippled through the auditorium. "I'm just here for moral support." She kissed her handsome husband, waved again, turned a slow circle for the photographers, and waddled out into the night air.

Melissa had gotten so used to being stared at, she didn't even mind the gawkers as she made her way to the car. She drove to Trini's house, where Trini's live-in lover Marcia answered the door. "Melissa! How are you? How was the press conference?"

"I'm great, and the press conference was a riot. Steven is amazing with reporters. How are you doing? You look fatter!" she said, patting Marcia on her big bottom.

Marcia grinned conspiratorially. "I hit the big 3-5-0 today!" she said, radiantly happy.

"God, Marcia, that's so great! Trini must be a basket case! I remember how we freaked out when I hit 300 pounds," said Melissa. All of a sudden, a small figure came flying from the hallway and threw his little arms as far around Melissa's thigh as they would go.

"Mommymommymommymommy!" shouted Steven Junior.

Her sweet baby. Melissa reached down and mussed his hair affectionately. "Hi, sweetie! Did you have a good day?"

"Yes, Aunt Trini and Aunt Marcy and me went to the park, and now we're gonna have cake!" as he talked, the little boy played with the soft, new fat at the bottom of her belly absentmindedly.

Marcia blushed. "You don't mind, do you? Trini made cake to celebrate-and get me to 400 that much faster!"

Melissa's belly shook like the proverbial "bowlful of jelly" as she threw her head back and laughed. "Marcia, have I ever-EVER-turned down cake? The only thing I'm worried about is if you'll have enough!"

At that moment Trini stepped into the hallway, slim as ever, almost boyish with her new, short haircut. "Hey, I'm no fool. I made three-one for you, one for 'Aunt Marcy', and one for Stevie and I."

Melissa sat down at the table, Trini's antique chair squeaking in protest beneath her. She picked up a piece cake and smiled at Trini across the table.

"So what's next for you, Missy?" asked Trini, grinning back.

Melissa licked a blob of icing off her finger. "Not sure...Steven's got a new eating machine, so we'll probably get me up to at least 650 and start Steven's new book."

Marcia stopped eating and looked at Melissa, wide-eyed. "Wow, 650..."

Melissa laughed, and grabbed one of her belly rolls. "I know, can you believe this? Will it ever stop?"

The three women looked at each other over the table, realizing that it probably would not.