Woke up feeling ravenous, Tripper spooning up against my broad back.

Fortunately, Mister Considerate had left a fresh keg by my side of the bed in case I woke, you know, a wee bit peckish. Every time I think I've reached the bounds of gluttony, I discover I still have farther to go.

If Tripper's not just blowing smoke, this capacity's been within me all along: it just took a little magic to bring it out. But if that's true, why would anyone be given this capacity? Perhaps it doesn't matter; perhaps it all just is. I dunno. For now, the only course for me is to post this, then turn up my pump.

10/29/01
[9:57 p.m.]

Gonna make this quick 'cause I'm typing one-handed. Main course is done, and we're getting into dessert: Tripper's on the other side of the bed, and that's all you need to know.

10/29/01
[5:00 p.m.]

Back in our apartment again. Tripper and the boys have really been working hard. The front living area has been fleshed out with his home entertainment center. Jack's moved into a bedroom on the opposite side of our shared bath (though if I have anything to say about it, he won't be sleeping there tonight!) For dinner, we're having catered French for eight: a replay of our night out only twice the size. Too bad Beau doesn't do deliveries.

Spent the rest of my afternoon evaluating my motorchair, incidentally. One thing I suggested was an adjustable back that'd keep a growing girl from feeling like her rear was pushing her out of her chair. I've also noticed that as my forefront apron has grown, its underside comes up against the cold metal bracing. Think they need to beef the motor up, too.

Next up: a report on the company's new liquid nutrient. Will need to do a bit more "research" on this 'un, of course.

10/29/01
[2:51 p.m.]

Tripper's moved in this afternoon. Seems to own much less stuff than me, though, male-like, he's a big home entertainment center nut. Lots of CDs and DVDs - and not just guy stuff, either. It occurs to me that we haven't talked about much of our likes and dislikes outside the gustatory arena. Of course, we'll have plenty of opportunity to really get to know each other now.

Bea stopped by to deliver lunch from D.Q. Great seeing the girl, though I found myself wanting to encourage her to eat three or four of my sandwiches: she looks so frail! Watched her take me in when she came through the door: it's clear that whatever magic has been worked on me extends to whoever I meet so they accept me at whatever size I am. Wonder how she sees me? Do her eyes take in the belly that puffs out in front of me, draping within inches of my feet? Does she see the multiple rolls in my upper arms, the chins that have added so many inches to the lower part of my face? Does she notice each quiver as I placidly chew my lunch? Does she hear the little gasps between my words?

No way of asking her, so instead I let her chatter as I chowed. She'd brought two coolers full of ice cream treats, and I had 'em all for dessert. A nice li'l lunch.

When she left to go into work, I started up a keg. Tripper's given me access to his directory, so I've been checking myself out on the scale. After lunch, it puts my weight at 1327 pounds. I asked Tripper if this extreme gain rate would continue indefinitely, and he said no. Everyone, it seems, has a set point - even when "majicke" is involved.

That may be. But I suspect I'm still quite not near reaching that point. From this morning, I know this: the thought of spending more than fifteen awake minutes without eating is depressing. Now that Tripper's moved in, he's promised me I won't need to worry about this.

I believe him.

10/29/01
[10:25 a.m.]

Whew!

Took a lot longer to get here than I expected. Who'd have thought that a trek of maybe a hundred feet took so much time and energy? The big hurdles are getting from bed to chair and from chair to shower. Easing my bod off its support for even a fraction of a second is more than a little scary.

Dressing gobbled quite a few minutes, too. Outgrew the last of my freebie undies days ago, and panties are just too much work to get into, anyhow. The bedroom closet has a nice selection of slips and sleeveless dresses - all w./ AS tags, of course - so this and a pair of sandals constitutes my work wardrobe. Still, it took time to ease my dress down under my perched posterior.

My motorchair doesn't reach the speed it once could, but I suppose just lugging my 1200-plus-pound self across the room is a noteworthy feat. Sitting upright, I need to extend the chair's footrests out to the side as far as they will go; my belly nearly touches my ankles and forces my lower legs apart to the max. As I ride, I have to work to hold myself against the chair's back. The jostling of my mountainous belly keeps threatening to dislodge my center of gravity and send me spilling forward.

Another sign of how much fatter I've grown: when I got to my workstation, I realized I could no longer bend down to turn on my CPU. Had to press the button with my foot, a task that took several minutes since it involved leaning to the side in my chair, pressing to lift my forefront off my right leg and then raising that leg high enough to push the button with my foot. As I watched my monitor finally blink into life, I realized that I hadn't eaten breakfast - and Tripper hadn't set any snacks in the work area!

Next half hour was an eternity: there were no kegs in the room, and I just knew that if I took the long wheel into the back that Tripper'd show up. So I sat at my keyboard and futilely tried to concentrate on my work proposal. After ten minutes, I gave up and began hitting local restaurant websites to ogle the jpgs.

Was just about to give up and head back to the storage room when Tripper finally arrived. He, thankfully, had stopped at a nearby bakery. Tore open the first box and had a long john in my mouth so quickly you'd have thought I was fellating it. Didn't say a word to my boss until I'd scarfed down my first half dozen pastries, but from the way he was watching me, I knew he didn't mind my rudeness.

Once I'd salved that initial burst of hunger, I was able to slow down enough to talk about my Home Mystery Shopper proposal. Tripper pulled up a chair beside me, ready to hand me a new box once I'd pushed the first empty one off my paunch. He nodded and said, "That's the direction we've been seeing this job go ourselves." We'd pretty much exhausted all the area restaurants interested in our services, he explained. Time to branch out.

Plus, he noted, "the company itself has an ongoing need for women and men willing to try out its products. Our client base has a lot of money, but they don't want to spend it on anything that won't give them satisfaction. You can write and you can critique - Ample Stuffing'll always need your services."

Ample Stuffing? I asked, wiping a trace of chocolate from a corner of my mouth.

"The company goes by more than one name," Tripper admitted. "Care to have some jelly donuts?"

10/29/01
[6:08 a.m.]

A wonderful weekend.

Tripper came over on Saturday, offering to "fix me a homecooked meal." He must've grilled ten pounds of burgers that afternoon and rotissed three chickens for dinner.

By suppertime, both my slip and dress were uncomfortably snug. Didn't have the energy to get up, so I simply upped the speed on my food pump and guzzled like a madwoman. When I'd wiped it out, I simply took a deep breath and listened to the seams rip. Then I peeled my clothes off my body.

"Need some new clothes?" Tripper asked as he entered the room with my first roasted chicken.

Wasn't necessary, I told him. Unless he was expecting company.

"Not in the least," he said, grinning happily and setting both the bird and a large bowl of potatoes mashed with sour cream on a pair of TV trays. The chicken looked so crisp and juicy - and picked apart so easily - that I finished the first 'un in the time it takes most folks to complete a simple two-piece K.F.C. And Tripper had three more waiting for me.

Sunday, boss-man stopped by with some pizzas. Spent the afternoon and evening on my home computer, with a pile of pizza cartons within reach.

Passed out Sunday night in my bed after gorging myself on more slabs of 'za than even the credulous feeding fantasy fan'd find believable. Woke up in the middle of the night by my lonesome, hungry for the fifteen-pound box of caramels that Tripper'd left by my keyboard. Clearly, something in this place has got my already prodigious appetite working overtime. Though I could barely move my overstuffed torso, I was still able to stretch an arm, grab the candy and rest the open package on my swelling paunch. Made quick work of the entire selection. . .

What does all this mean for my place at Ample Services, I wonder? Is this the end of my Mystery Shopping? It doesn't need to be. If I've grown too wide to fit through the doors of most restaurants (let alone sit in the limited space most eateries provide for their patrons), there remains a need for customer evaluation of mail order and delivery services. I know I've written about this in passing, but now I'd say it's in my best interests to work up something more concrete.

I'd better return to the office today. Me behind the desk should be first thing Tripper sees this morning!