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10/25/01 [9:22 p.m.] So why aren't I pissed about this? Hard to be mad when all you've been doing - all that's been done to you - has been more enjoyable than anything you've experienced before. I signed on for this, so I might as well see where it takes me. Can't see it going too much farther, anyway. . .
10/25/01 Reading through my bloggery wasn't that painful, after all. I had to stop in the middle of my first week, though, since Tripper returned from the back in time to receive a major delivery: a catered dinner from the sushi bar. Box after box of sushi servings. Tripper had the delivery boy line the boxes on the top of my desk, the snack counter and two wheeled carts with several shelves on 'em. He filled every available space and then some. After the young boy left - betraying not a whit of surprise by the mountainous woman who was prime recipient of his delivery - Jack opened the first box and pulled out a salmon roll. "Didn't order any of their California rolls," he said, holding it between a thumb and forefinger. "Know you don't like seaweed." "You've been reading my log from the beginning?" I asked, eyes on the delectable nugget in his hand. I realized how convenient sushi was for this type of thing, and I almost didn't want to ask if it meant distracting him from his offering. But sometimes curiosity can be stronger than even my considerable hunger. "Does that bother you?" Tripper asked. He moved in close, leaning into my billowing side, then slipped the morsel between my lips. "How'd you find it?" I asked, savoring the taste of sushi on my tongue. "You had an email address on your job app. So when it became obvious you were the right woman for the job, I went lookin' to see if you were anyplace else on the web," he told me with a smile. "Once you started writing about how much you were into your job, I became a regular reader." He pulled out two more pieces of salmon and gave them both to me. I nodded at his offering and made quick work of it. Then I asked the big question. "You did this to me, didn't you?" I asked. "With some kind of 'fat magic'?" Not entirely, Tripper answered. "Like I said, you had to be the right woman for it all to work. You were right in ways that I hadn't even expected!" I had more questions, of course. But for the moment I was willing to put 'em on hold. There were too many unopened boxes waiting for me. . .
10/25/01 Still here, gang!
10/25/01 Just a quick note. I'd write more, but my mind's still reeling from the implications. Received an email at work about fifteen minutes ago that had Ample Stuffing's name on it. When I opened it, I read the following:
A.S. Tripper is Ample Stuffer! Perhaps I should've seen it - the bad spelling's what threw me off. Dropping the tube from keg four, I started up my chair and headed for Tripper's office. He wasn't in it, but he'd left the door open. Once I wheeled inside and saw the computer was on, I hit the space bar to bring the monitor back up. Saw a camera image of my workstation, with a small graph in the lower right hand corner indicating "Current Weight." Don't know how he's been doing it (perhaps a scale within the floor tiling?), but Tripper's been charting me ever since I started working in the office. My current weight - never even noticed when I'd passed the half-ton milestone - is 1092 pounds. A stab of dismay coursed through me. More distressing than the unbelievable figure before me was the sudden realization that Tripper's been reading this web log from the beginning. What did I write about him? What did I write about us? Quickly, I turned my chair around and headed back to my desk. I'm gonna review the last three-and-a-half weeks of Purchess Blog now: if it's still up this evening, you'll know I wasn't too humiliated by the experience. . .
10/25/01 Tripper arrived with ten bags from Burger King. He offered to feed 'em to me and after lazing all morning with a tube in my mouth, I took him up on it Hiking onto my desk, he quickly disrobed a double meat Whopper and held it before my mouth. I tilted my head back slightly, the folds in the back of my neck bulging against the seat back, and took one big bite than another, heedless of the juices that drip onto my chins. Some of it was a show for Tripper's benefit, but there's also a part of that got off on being totally out of control. Before I knew it, I'd finished his first offering and was eagerly devouring his second. Went through nine bags of burgers and fries. And by the time I was done, I was relieved no one had walked in on us - it would've been like someone taking a picture of your face during an especially frantic bout of sex. Only ones who know how to look good in that situation are pros who aren't really getting into it. When we finished, I fell further into my seat, letting my arching belly rise and lifting my dress from my skin so the office coolness could hit it. Tripper retrieved two more kegs then went to work on clean up. I did a quick survey of my face with my compact. A few dabs of catsup on my right jowl, a slight shiny drop on my leading chin. Got 'em all with a wet napkin. Tripper bent over to kiss me, but he had to wait 'til I'd taken a few good swigs on my tube. As we kissed, I knew that we'd just done something together more profoundly binding than sex. An act of pure gluttony without any pretense: no need to act like either of us was doing this as part of some bogus job assignment, just a man feeding a woman. I'm looking forward to dinner.
10/25/01 Another quiet morning. Tripper left the office early, and I've been holding down the fort. The time's gone quickly, though. Just sitting here, my pump steadily going, I settle into myself for long periods. I feel my body:
It's taking me longer to write these posts. So if they seem a bit more disjointed than they used to be, rest assured it's not because I'm being distracted by work.
10/25/01 So I'm sittin' on the job, back in my comfy motorchair with a fresh keg by my side (who needs coffee?) and some tasty pastries to go with it. Driving to work was a drag. Even with the seat moved back all the way, my forefront presses into the wheel, and it's difficult to grip now. (Never did get one of those extenders, though I suspect I need more than one now.) Wonder if Tripper has a spare bedroom in that apartment that he'd like to rent? Our dinner date was definitely a down/up affair. Restaurant de nuit was a combo coffeehouse/world beat bistro. The kinda place you take your vegan friends to without worrying that they'll start quoting Smiths lyrics in the middle of the meal. Hard to say which was more insubstantial: the chairs (hadda put two together just to provide enough butt room!) or the food portions (if I'd known they were so picayune, I would've tripled my order). Service was snail-paced, and when I finished off our bread basket, no one replenished it. In short, the only thing that made the dinner bearable was being out with Tripper. The wait staff was sub-par; more than one table stared at me like they'd never seen a fat chick on a date before. Don't think I've ever gotten such looks at Sinorak's. What does it say when I'm made to feel more welcome at a simple Midwestern smorgasbord than a spot aiming for bohemian sophistication? But boss-man was wonderful. Once he realized how paltry our servings were (one vegetarian burrito and a scoop of refried beans do not a meal make!), he pulled out a cell phone and called a nearby pizza parlor. We picked up a trio of family-sized thin crusts and drove to a hill on the edge of town. From it, you could see the lights of every restaurant edging the city. We sat in the crisp October air, holding hands and eating (well, Tripper held my hand; I ate!) and when I finish my last slice, he leaned across my looming front and kissed me. Tripper is a damn good kisser. He said a few nice things, too. But - you know what? - all I can really remember is the taste of his lips. . .
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