Chapter 11


After my feast of the night before, I didn't believe that I would ever be hungry again until Andy placed the food in front of me that bright Sunday morning. We sat on the deck of his beutiful beachfront house; the sun was making its lazy morning climb, the gulls were circling some of the fishing boats which dotted the ocean, the waves were crashing into the stone jetty and there wasn't another human in sight. I felt like I'd entered into a strange and parallel dimension where gorgeous male models fed and bedded chubby young nobodies. The aroma of the coffee had a sort of solidity as it tickled its way through my nose and down my throat, awakening my appetite. My belly was still full, but nevertheless, I plowed through the pancakes and the eggs and sausage. Andy sat next to me, his arm around my shoulder, caressing my back through the soft terrycloth of his robe.

Something rubbed against my leg just as I finished the last bite and I looked down over my belly to see a large, jet black cat by my feet. Its green eyes met mine and she blinked, purred, rubbed her face against my calf, then jumped up into my lap and laid down. Andy seemed surprised, "This is very odd. She's normally so stand-offish." I petted the silky black fur and she rewarded me with another head rub, then rolled over to reveal a big, fat belly. "What's her name?" I asked. "Dezzy," he said, "short for Desdemona. Normally, I just call her Fatso." "Are you going to call me that, too?" He smiled a wicked smile, "Only if you beg me to." I laughed, "Don't hold your breath on that one, boy-o." The cat was starting to slide off my lap, so I picked her up to rearrange her and realized just how heavy she really was. "God, she really IS fat," I said. "Just what do you feed her?"

As if insulted by my question, Dezzy stood up and walked off of me onto Andy's lap, where she settled down into a quick nap. "I can't take any responsiblity for this one's weight," he said. "She's done it completely by herself. I feed her one cup of a low-fat dry food once daily, but I think she eats flocks of seagulls and families of rats as between-meals snacks!" I glanced at him for a second while he was looking down and stroking the sleeping cat, wondering if I should ask what I was about to. My mouth started speaking before my mind had finished considering. "So, you don't take responsibility for making the cat fat -- but who HAVE you made fat?"

He looked right into me for a second, eyes meeting my challenge; it felt good for a change -- sexual --, meeting someone who didn't back down. "Vix," he said. "As I'm sure she told you. Afterwards, she said she hated me for it, but I didn't believe her. She was so happy -- like I imagine she must've been when she made her first movies. When I was with her, it was like we were both kids in some more innocent time. I pampered her like she was the Queen of Sheba, annointed her body with oils, bathed her, fed her, massaged her, waited on her hand and foot.

"Her appetite was legendary and she reveled in the freedom and approval I gave her to do as she liked. We danced for her exercise and she got stronger and her happiness made her even stronger. And then, I was in Paris when she went for her doctor's appointment and she didn't phone when I knew she should be home. She didn't answer when I rung her the next morning and I knew something was wrong. I flew back that evening and when I got to her house, she was stinking drunk, passed out on her bed. I made her comfortable, slept, fixed her breakfast and brought it to her. She was awake already and drinking, but not yet drunk. She smashed the tray out of my hands, said the most hurtful things she could, and ordered me out of her life. I didn't see her again until last night."

He was staring out at the ocean, to where a sailboarder was defining the boundary between sky and sea. I touched his shoulder, and ever so slightly I could feel him leaning into my caress. "I'm sorry I asked," I said quietly. He smiled a sad smile, "No," he said, "it's okay. My tastes, my habits, my ideas of beauty -- they're somewhat odd and often need explanation. Do I scare you?"

"Yes," I said, entranced by his question, a million images flashing through my brain. "Like a rollercoaster or a great ghost story, or -- that heart-stopping thrill I get when I lose myself completely in sex. " I pulled him closer to me and we kissed, tongues entwining like our arms, lips so firmly pressed together no sound or breath could hope to escape. His hands convinced the robe to slide off of my shoulders and my breasts were free in the hot morning sun. His fingers savored my tender flesh, sore and more sensitive from the previous night's embraces. I could smell the clean fragrance of his hair and taste the slight saltiness of the ocean air on his neck. His lips brushed my ear and every fine hair on my body took notice and rose up to attention. His hot breath moved like a dragon's fire through the hollow of my throat, the shallow skin of my breastbone, the plump softness of my bosom, firing up my nipples -- the only hard part of me. He sucked my breasts so greedily I wished I had milk to feed him.

I felt, rather than watched, as he untied the belt of my robe and his hands began fondling the softly padded skin of my back and my sides and my hips. I leaned backwards, unconcerned with falling until my head rested against the frame of the door and my belly stood out in all its swollen glory. His lips made trails on my stomach, maps of their travels, wet impressions that turned into quenching cool tracks as the breeze brushed by them. In a moment, he was on his knees on the deck, tasting his way through my soft pubic hairs, then lower and deeper to where my pussy was already salivating in anticipation. His tongue was circling my labia, brushing my clitoris, around and around, slowly and steadily giving me the delicious dizzys; my back was arching further and further until I felt like a child hanging upside down on a schoolyard merry-go-round, watching the world spin by faster and faster, the blood rushing to my head until all I could see were stars and explosions, warps in space and time; he was rocketing through my consciousness and leaving me fulfilled and drifting somewhere in the cosmos.

I think I passed out for a moment, because I don't remember sitting up or putting on my robe -- but suddenly, Andy and I were sitting in the sand at the water's edge, the remnants of a wave's power tickling our toes. An urge took me, and I stood up, throwing off my robe and dove naked into the chilly water. I felt cleansed and refreshed, soft and natural, like Venus emerging from the ocean which had given birth to her. Andy watched me walking toward him and -- for probably the first time in my life -- I felt proud and totally comfortable in my body. My breasts felt full and proper, the swell of my belly was a confident swell, my thighs slid against one another as thighs should and my rear end kept its own jiggly beat in contretemp to the rhythm of my stride. I walked up to him and shook my head at him, amazed at the amount of water my hair held. He was dripping as he stood up and enveloped me in his robe and his embrace, all in one smooth movement.

He kissed me again, deep and long, and whispered, "You seemed just like someone..." With his arm around my shoulder, we started up the beach and I was intrigued by his last semi-statement. My romantic imagination fired itself up and played out scenes of tragic farewells, deathbed confessions of everlasting loves, thwarted and unspoken passions. We walked into the kitchen and though I was dying to hear the end of that thought, I was also savoring the anticipation, knowing that a good story is like bread which always tastes better when you've waited and smelled it while it was baking. He fixed a cup of coffee for each of us and the warmth of that first sip spread through my chilled and over-stimulated body in an almost-sexual manner.

We sat at the kitchen table and he said, "Walking out of the water like that -- you seemed like someone I knew. Like someone I loved -- the first girl I loved." The kitchen was wrapped in that mid-morning shadiness -- cool yet bright -- particular to beach cottages. The ceiling fan spun silently, augmenting the fading breeze from the ocean. He sipped his coffee and continued, "When I was 13, my mother finished medical school and began her residency training. She wasn't home very much, so she felt that she needed someone to look after the cleaning of the house and the feeding of the family. An agency sent us a girl of about 18 -- she was from one of the Polynesian islands, with a nearly-unpronounceable name. Her English was limited, but she told us she liked to be called Missy and that she wanted to work very hard. She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. She had honey-brown skin and jet-black hair, almond-shaped with irises so dark, I couldn't see her pupils. Her nose was wide and flat and her lips were as ripe and full and fleshy as a tropical fruit. I could barely breathe when my mother introduced us and I shook her soft, strong hand. She was my height at the time -- maybe 1.5 meters -- and when I looked into her eyes, she stole my soul.

"Her room was directly below mine and I will never forget that first morning after she came to stay with us. Just before dawn, I heard a slight noise -- a creaking of boards and a rustling of bushes. I peeked out of my window which overlooked the terrace and the short beach to the ocean 20 meters away. She was walking into the lightening sky, across the terrace, wearing just a thin cotton shift, and heading straight down the beach. When she reached the water's edge, she took off the garment and dove right in. Time stopped and I watched the arc of her dive for all eternity, the smoothness and stregth of her back, her round soft bum, the crack between her cheeks, and the way -- just before she became completely submerged -- her legs spread slightly apart and in the sun's first light, I believed I saw the pinkness of her womanhood. She swam out for a minute, then turned around and walked up out of the surf -- the way you did today -- proud and comfortable in her body. Her breasts, with their brown areolae, were large and soft and bounced with her steps, her navel was sunk deeply into the soft bulge of her well-fed belly, and the water formed a golden halo of sunlight behind her shoulders. I shivered and shook as she passed from my sight, quivering in delicious pleasure.

"I looked down and discovered why -- my hands had found entertainment during the show, and I was horrified to see the mess I'd made. I was confused and unsure -- I'd woken up some nights in a sticky puddle, but... I was sure there was something wrong with me, but it'd felt so wonderful. I ran into the shower and was ready for school long before anyone else in the house was awake. I told Zake all about it -- even the messy details, which he seemed to know something about, or at least he made me feel like it was normal. He stayed over that night and many other nights waking up with the first morning light to watch Missy take her dawn constitutional.

He paused to sip some of his coffee, then looked at me, although he still seemed faraway. "One thing we noticed quickly about Missy was her appetite. She told us that her family ate well, but their diet was very boring. She became an avid reader of cookbooks and a connoisseur of candy. She ate with the family and at dinner time, she would never go away without having at least seconds -- sometimes thirds. On her days off, Zake and I often followed her around after school as she wandered into town, stopping at the ice cream shop and the bakery and the candy store.

"She gained weight slowly at first and -- whether she intended to or not -- she hid it well from everyone except me, who noticed every gorgeous new curve and bulge during her morning libation. By the time my mother noticed, Missy'd been with us for more than six months and had gained well over 30 pounds. Her belly had become soft and round... like yours." I was so entranced by his soft voice and the pace of his story that when I felt his gentle caress on my belly, I thought at first that I was imagining it -- then the chill ran up my spine. "Her breasts had become more plump and more full, her behind seemed wider every day and her thighs couldn't help but swish softly as she walked.

"My mother ordered her on a diet, immediately, and began to chide her for taking too much on her plate at dinner. But my mother was away most of the day, and Missy still made her trips to the town. When my mother met Missy and a boxed cake on a park bench one afternoon, Missy's pay was deposited directly into a bank account for which my mother held the passbook. Missy was despondent and joyless. She did her duties and hid in her room, even forgoing her morning bathing several days in a row. So, Zake and I hatched a plan -- we pooled all of our allowance money, took odd jobs, nicked some cash here and there and became the Underground Food Railroad for our poor, deprived Island Goddess.

"Business was good and we were able to daily deliver a stream of cakes and cookies and candies and chocolates to Missy's delighted hands. We would sit in her room as she devoured whatever we brought her so there was never any trace of the black market goodies. She would eat nude on her bed, and let us touch her and ogle her newfound fullness. I phtotgraphed her each morning with my new camera, developing the pictures and sharing them with Zake, then burning them lest anyone should find them. Missy seemed to gain weight daily, sprouting rolls and folds and bulges almost overnight. Her belly began to droop, her hips and thighs rolled as she walked, and her breasts became larger and plumper. She and I became closer, too -- she allowed me to kiss her full, fat breasts and tickle her pussy which hid below the fold of her belly. My mother was mystified at Missy's continual weight gain, and I remember her shrieking at Missy one day about how 250 pounds was too much weight for even a man to carry.

"It all ended quickly one terrible day. Zake and I had buggered out of school early and were in town gathering the feast for our daily worship, when we suddenly heard my mother's voice behind us, ordering us to put down the packages and get into the car. She'd sized up the situation very quickly, assuming we'd been trading food for sex -- didn't we wish! -- and told us that Missy was going to leave us immediately. We drove home in silence, not even giving a second thought to why my father's car was in the drive, then, grabbing the two of us by the ears, she marched us into Missy's room, where Missy and my father -- very naked and very busy -- were having a mid-afternoon romp. My mother forgot about us instantly and we were frozen. I have flashes -- like still photos -- Zake's eyes opened impossibly wide as Missy ran to hide behind him; Missy's fat brown body cowering in the corner of the room as my mother grabbed a lamp from the dresser; my father, his dick still at attention, grabbing my mother's arm; my mother swinging the lamp into my father's jaw; the bulb exploding like a strobe, leaving this strange tableau stuck in my head forever.

"My mother sent Missy away and then moved out. My father -- who'd betrayed me with the woman I'd loved and caused her misery -- didn't stop my mother from dismissing Missy, and laughed at me when I told him he was honor-bound to marry the girl; I don't think we ever talked again. When I was 18 and old enough for a passport without my father's permission, I emigrated to the States." He smiled a weak, exhausted smile, put his arm around my shoulder, and said, "The rest is history."

We didn't talk much as we got dressed, him in navy linen shorts and a black t-shirt, me in the clothes from last night. He drove me home, clearly drained, and we made small talk... about Zake and Mara and Vix. When we pulled up to my house, he shut the engine for a moment, and looked right into me. "Melanie," he said, "I don't know why, but I never told that story to anyone before." It sounded like a line to me, but then he continued, "And I don't know why I told it to you, except that you reminded me of her -- something... Innocence -- not exactly. Joyfulness... that's part of it. A self-containment... yes, that, too. Self-assuredness... definitely." I laughed sarcastically, "Sorry, that doesn't sound like you're talking about me. I'm insecure and confused and indecisive and..." He put his warm, strong hand under my chin and said, "Maybe you are today -- right now -- but..." He kissed me and I felt something strange -- an exchange of energy, so when we separated, his melancholy seemed as if it had slipped away.

"I'm going to Paris tonight," he said, smiling. "Would you like to come with me?" I was surprised that he asked and surprised at how quickly I answered "no." He wasn't daunted, saying, "All right. On Friday, I'm going to Miami until Sunday. Come with me there." I almost said just "no" again, but instead, I told him my first lie, "I can't. Jess and I were supposed to go to Florida this summer and I couldn't possibly do this to her." "Bring her," he said. "You'll both be my guests. I have meetings during the day and you can keep each other company. I have a suite in a small hotel with three bedrooms. Please." "Okay," I said. "It'll be fun. I'll make sure its okay with Jess."

This time when he kissed me, it felt as if I'd been kissing him for a hundred thousand years...