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Old 04-14-2008, 05:16 AM   #1
Wondering Where You Are
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Default Invitations - By Jimbob (~BHM, ~BBW, Force-Feeding, ~XWG)

~BHM, ~BBW, Force-Feeding, ~XWG – A twentysomething young man is struck with desire for a young voluptuous woman – but they can only be together if he agrees to swap his role with her, from the ‘thin’ one to the ‘fat’ one! Thus begins a story of invitations…


By Jimbob

[Author's Note: I’m trying to experiment here in creating a story that isn’t pinned down to a certain time, or even a certain person, one that the reader could almost picture themselves in.


Wayyy back in the summer of ____ I woke up, sat up in bed and scratched the back of my skull – and at that moment my life changed forever.

I have no idea what it was specifically – a dream I’d had and forgotten, the bashing my head had gotten the day before when going through an old cupboard, or even simply the strange stripped-away feeling of clarity that comes from awaking early. But I suddenly felt…empty.

It was hard to describe. I had the odd sensation of something having gotten into me and scraped me open from the inside out. I was like a rigid frame of skin, stumbling about at a slow, measured pace and hardly feeling anything I touched. And something – I couldn’t put my finger on what – but something very very simple was somewhere lurking that could help me out.

The morning went smoothly on, apart from that. Slide out of bed; realize it’s the weekend; crawl back in; sleep a few more hours; slide out again; feel the same way despite the extra sleep; begin tidying around the kitchen.

The Kitchen! Now it all came flooding back…


My poor ankles began to ache at the memory of the alcohol-inspired hustling and strutting around that smokehouse of a club I’d been dragged to by one of my so-called friends. By the looks of it, my initial reaction of sobering distaste hadn’t been snobbish. Truly, the people who frequented that dump were either losers or too drunk to notice how horrible it was, as I became. Pretty soon, I was hammered and giving in to primeval male impulses – desperate to impress a chick I wouldn’t have wanted to be seen dead next to ten minutes before.

Long story short – I ended up taking one of these girls who I could barely see in the drunken night-time haze on the short walk back home. Don’t think I’m an alcoholic – I’d probably only had so much to try and cope with being there and not deserting my friends – but I can become very suggestible when drunk.

What I became very suggestible to, on the other hand, was something odd. This mystery woman – one I could hardly recall the look of – must have only been a tad less drunk than I was. Instead of cruising after any romantic intent, or even just wanting to crash at my place, she offered to cook me dinner. Being drunk, it probably seemed a good idea – and now I realized that lining the stomach is a reliable method of avoiding a hangover – but it seems mighty strange, doesn’t it?

Even stranger: I knew this girl was drunk. I knew I was drunk. Certainly she shouldn’t have been handling dangerous utensils, let alone using them to prepare a meal for two. But what she made – a couple of omelettes made from my spare leftovers – was fantastic! It hit all the right spots, it had this sort of creamy, tangy, salty…the mere thought of it, the recollection had me drooling like a psychologist’s German shepherd. No doubt, the girl had talent.

As I looked over my oddly spotless kitchen, I recalled how we had eaten in a silence broken only by a couple of grunts and my compliments on her food – and then she’d thanked me politely for having her over, and left. A little too politely, an inner voice in me suddenly piped up, for someone that intoxicated. I gave a mental shrug and took it for granted. At least it was good. I wish I’d remembered her name…she sounded like someone I’d love to know as a friend.

And, as I stood there wondering this, the doorbell – a shrill, horrible rattle that I had meant to replace when I bought the apartment, but never got around to – clanged into the back of my head. Yikes…maybe my hangover wasn’t completely gotten rid of. I stumbled over to the doorway, calling out my apologies and more properly tying up my bathrobe, and clicked back the deadlock, throwing the white door – I’ve never been too cautious, even living in New York.

It was her. The girl from last night.


How do I describe her? Certainly, she looked completely different from the vague blur my brain had previously shoved in front of my recollected visions of last night. For one thing, she looked a far cry from the typical club-goer, dressed in an interesting pair of denim overalls, tight (but not too tight) leather jacket, boots; her mass of brown curly hair was tied up in a sort of exploded ponytail around the back of her head.

For another thing? She was a whole lot bigger. While before I had only guessed at how she could have become such a wonderful cook, now I was able to partially guess that practice had something to do with it. Her beautiful face – beaming and positive, with a complexion that accentuated the faint brown of her skin – was framed by a healthy wodge of chins, leading down to a rounded figure that may once have had a touch of hourglass in its origins. Her body seemed mostly composed of her ponderous bosom and belly, which stretched out all around and led the wandering eye to her lovely rear. Her limbs were just as thick as the rest of her, tapering out to big, supportive feet and sausage-like fingers. All in all, she looked to be from around 350-410 pounds of gorgeousness.

I was barely able to take the whole of this in as well as allowing my pained cranium to fill in the necessary holes RE: last night’s escapades, when she looked at me with a smile betraying nothing but sincerity. Well? she asked. Are You Or Aren’t You Letting Me In?

I wanted to say Gladly!, but instead I merely stammered nervously, grinned disarmingly and stepped back. She waddle-walked past me, her body moving in places that were not good for a young man to be focused on in the middle of the morning. She slid onto my small TV couch, taking up a large part of it. I followed after putting the kettle on quickly.

Well, she said as I seated myself on a chair in front of her, I Can’t Tell You How Embarrassed I Am, Mister…Mister – she suddenly put her head into a hand, giggling quietly. Man, I Must Have Been Hammered – I Can’t Even Remember Your Name! she laughed.

I smiled back, hoping to hide the feeling of bliss that came with that rippling laugh. Don't Worry, I'm Just As Guilty. I made the necessary introduction as I held out my hand for her to shake.
She took it, smiling still but with a gentleness as if she was expecting it to explode if mishandled.

Bliss, she replied. Bliss Acuna. If You Want To Laugh, Please Do So And Get It Over With.

Not At All, It’s Wonderful. It Suits You.

Yeah…It’s Actually Just A Nickname That Stuck. My Real Name’s Supposed To Be Britney, But…Well…I’m Not The ‘Britney’ Type, You Know What I’m Sayin’? I nodded, quickly. Anyway…Back On Topic. I Am So, So Sorry For What I Did Last Night.


She smirked. You Know.

I smiled back, shaking my head. Nope. No Clue Here. Was It… I raised my eyebrows, ’Compromising’?

That made her giggle, like a schoolgirl. I calmed my inner self down in time to hear her reply No, Nothing Of That Kind, Groucho. I Meant The Making You A Meal. I Mean, The Sheer Audacity…

But I was already feigning realization, and having had a large number of seemingly fruitless teenaged summers in acting class, did it quite convincingly. Ohhh…right! That! Oh,Yeah. Wow, How Could I Forget That?

She was still smiling, seeing through my façade, but with a tinge of hope. What, You Liked It? You Really Liked It?

I sat back. I Take It There’s A Reason You’re Named Bliss. And I Take It That My Tastebuds Managed To Deduce That Reason Last Night, Alcohol Or No Alcohol. You, My Friend, Have A Gift.

Gosh…You Really Think So?

Honey, I Know So! Man, If We Weren’t Just Strangers, I’d Want You To Move In And Cook For Me Every Day!

You Mean It? Really? She had a tiny spark dancing in her cool blue eyes.

Really Really.

There was a slight awkward pause as we gazed into each other’s eyes. A, dare I say it, meaningful pause.

…You Eaten Breakfast Yet? she asked. One look was all it took to deduce the answer. She got up, seemingly without difficulty, and I went to set up my table for two.


The rest of that day I spent in a sort of warm, fuzzy haze as I built upon the foundations of a solid friendship with the attractive Miss Bliss. We discovered mutual loves in all fields, from our art fascinations to our taste in music. We spent the day talking, walking around the city, doing this and that. For lunch, she took me to a restaurant that she apparently had complete control of.

It turned out that she had been cooking professionally since age thirteen, when her surprising gift had been snapped up by her Father – a cheerful Spanish cook who had emigrated to America seeking fame and fortune. Along the way, he found June Avery, who shared with him a wonderful marriage until her tragic death in childbirth. His restaurant – which, upon retiring, he had handed down to his ‘miraculous’ daughter – was famous across the city for its lovingly-prepared cuisine, made to keep up with the tastes of the day for food that both tasted wonderful and gave the eater no ethical/nutritional crises of faith.

Bliss was not only a cook – and a successful one at that, already planning for the opening of a chain of similar eateries within a few years – but an artist, continually concocting new and dangerous experiments every chance that she got, and testing the large majority of them on herself, just to be safe. You Sly Devil, my inward voice taunted as she told me. All That ‘You Really LIKE It?’ Routine, Just To Get Me Interested. She was an even more convincing actor than me. Scary.


This day of days finally spun to a close in the evening, when we sat together in her own spacious, beautifully-furnished living space and enjoyed a beautiful casserole – one which she guaranteed no-one on Earth, save for myself and her, had ever had the likes of – coupled with a fine wine that rolled across the tongue with a beautiful nobility.

So… I said, sitting across from her as she forked the last mouthful on her plate, …Answer Me One Question.


Last Night – What In The World Was A Girl As Rich And Beautiful As You Are Doing In A Place Like That?

That caught her off-guard. She shrugged, nervously, sending a ripple through her wonderful body, but I was still a tad intrigued. I mentally filed it away for later as I sipped the last of her wonderful wine.

Oh, Well…I mean, I Guess Sometimes You Get A Certain Itch, Right? An Itch To Go Somewhere, Somewhere Specific… She trailed away as I looked back at her, smiling.

I placed my wine coolly down, and strode down the length of the table towards her. I pulled up another chair, and took one of her hands in my own, trying to put as much earnest as I could into my voice.

This Morning…The Morning After We Met…I Felt As If Something Had Been Scraped Out Of Me And Tossed To The Wind.

This Is Wonderful Dinner Conversation, she smiled awkwardly.

Let Me Finish. This Morning, I Was So Empty…Until The Moment That You Came Back To Me. The Moment That You Came Into My Apartment. Bliss Acuna, You Are The Most Wonderful, Remarkable Woman I Have Ever Met.

Now her smile was confident, suave. Speech Aside…Your Point Is?

No more words. I placed my hand behind those beautiful golden-brown curls and pushed her forward. She lingered for a second, hovering in uncertainty, then we pushed forward and our lips met. Oh, the touch of those beautiful lips! It was like being connected to the very soul of a person, fused with their very essence into one being, composed of passion and desire.

And then…she pulled away.

I can’t tell you how that felt. The best metaphor would be to simply say that I was in Heaven, and then the lights were turned off. I stared, shell-shocked, as she held up her hands defensively, head down, eyes closed as if shamed.

Bliss… I’m Sorry…Was I Too –

NO! No, It’s Not You. I’m So Sorry, It Really Isn’t You, It’s Me. I Just…I Want To, But, But I…I’m So Sorry, I Shouldn’t Have – She suddenly got up. All the shy nervousness seemed to shrug off her shoulders like a loose cloak, and she had the aloof authority of a Warrior Queen. I Think You Have To Go Now.

But, But If You Want To Talk – I began, but she waved it away.

I’m Sorry, But No. I Don’t Want To Hurt You Or Get You Into Something You Don’t Want To Be In. I Shouldn’t Have Encouraged You… She looked back at me for a fraction of a second, and I was able to detect a slight dampness as she did. I’d Like To Be Alone Now.

Imperious, but still shaky with sadness, she strode to her own bedroom, leaving me sitting there, puzzled and more than a little sorrowful. What Did I Do? I kept thinking. What, What, WHAT DID I –

Suddenly, I clutched at my chest. The hollow feeling had returned, built up with a vengeance. I gasped as I pushed myself upwards, forcing movement into my limbs. It was like something was inside me now, something eating away at my muscles!

I staggered home, weary, distressed, and by now silently sobbing to myself; and having closed the door behind me, I took no pains in quickly making it to bed, clothes and all, and instantly falling asleep before I could feel even more sorry for myself.

(Continued in post 6 of this thread)

Last edited by Observer; 12-12-2008 at 08:40 AM.
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Old 04-14-2008, 02:56 PM   #2
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It's a pretty good story so far, mate. I think with a few more parts, it will be a nice bit of work.
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Old 04-14-2008, 03:33 PM   #3
Wondering Where You Are
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I thank you. More coming up, probably within the week.
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Old 04-14-2008, 05:49 PM   #4
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mikael has said some nice things

Good start. I'm excited for more
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Old 04-14-2008, 05:57 PM   #5
Wondering Where You Are
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You won't be disappointed.

Naw, I take that back...I'm awful at making crazy promises.
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Old 04-15-2008, 02:27 AM   #6
Wondering Where You Are
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So, what can I say? Summer carried on, flying right by. I woke up the next day, wondering how my life could have changed so dramatically in just the space of a day, and made myself a less-than-satisfactory breakfast, and went to work.

Months passed, and life didn’t get any better. Nor, in fact, did it get any worse. I still had my job, which paid well, my friends, who detected nothing out of the ordinary, and my health, which I was thankful for. Yet even as time went on, the incident remained fresh in my mind, as if it were yesterday. It wasn’t just due to the memory.

Oh, yes, the hollowness was still there, an itch that sometimes penetrated the hollow of my bones only and sometimes – oddly enough, when I was alone – spasmed over my entire body, once sending me unconscious. But with it came a few other strange, disquieting effects.

First of all, I became dissatisfied with a huge percentage of what I put into my mouth. It wasn’t voluntary; my tongue and brain just seemed to be working together against me in an attempt to convince me that nothing was as good as it really could be, as it really should be. I found myself almost not tasting anything at all.

And then there were the suppressions. I no longer felt driven, physically or emotionally. I got on with my work diligently and mostly in silence, each task merely occupying the time until the next; and, horror of horrors, any and all romantic feelings I previously had were gone seemingly forever. I looked at women, gorgeous women, one or two even at the same level she had been…and nothing happened. I looked upon them merely as people; they could be made friends with, but nothing else could come of that relationship. Many evenings I would spend sitting on the couch, in front of a movie or book, trying to fill in the time.

You can imagine how living like that felt over the next few months. My friends, though obviously concerned, simply presumed I was finally letting the stress take me and didn’t challenge me over it; I myself seemed too busy to take any notice, or if I did, to particularly care. I had some deep-rooted feeling that I should visit a doctor or psychiatrist, but I didn’t really feel that I had to. And even though it did do things to me, it didn’t particularly get in the way of work. It just…itched.

And after a month or so of this torturous life as some sort of manic-depressive human ant, I was sitting in front of the TV, watching some crappy sitcom or other, when the phone rang. I shuffled over to pick it up, desperately blocking out my discomfort.

It was at this point that my life changed for the second time that year.


Across the electronic surface danced the recognizable sound of my name and I knew it was her. The effect on me was equivalent to that of the effect on a wanderer in a snowstorm seeing the glint of a roaring fire in the distance.

Bliss? I managed to get out. It was almost a sob.

The Very Same. Her voice had buried in it a sigh and a whisper that only one who was listening very carefully could have detected.

Uh… I Mean… I stammered. How’ve Things Been Going For You? I admit it wasn’t the best of opening conversational gambits, but whatever got the ball rolling.

Listen, she said, her tone immediately hardening, Let’s Not Pretend You Don’t Know What I’m Calling About. I…I’d Like To See You.

You’d Like To Meet With Me, Or…

We Need To Talk. I Couldn’t Live With Myself Without Explaining To You What Happened When You … Approached Me.

Okay…Do You Want To Meet Tomorrow? I secretly hoped that she’d want to meet today, now, even at this late time – both my own curiosity and my unquenched longing for her pulled at the back of my mind, but I shoved them behind my politeness and courtesy for now. I was just glad of the invitation; glad it was her calling me, and not the other way around.

Okay… she said, and I detected her deep intake of breath. Come Over To My Work And Have Some Lunch. I’ll Be Off Work At 1:30. I’ll Meet You ‘Round The Back.

That…That’ll Be Great, I replied, disguising my inner enthusiasm and happiness. Certainly I was beginning to leap upon that ‘Couldn’t Live With Myself’ statement…I’ll See You Then. Take Care.

You Take Care Too.

Too fast, my heart shoved my brain out of the way for control of the voicebox & tongue. I Love You, I blurted out.

A deep pause entered the conversation.

A friend of mine, a crazy friend back at college, once publicly stated the theory that you could classify as many types of silence as you could types of sound, from the lull of a nerve-wracking examination to the hush at lights out on death row. Suddenly, his words seemed to come to life, and I finally understood what he meant. This moment…I’d never felt anything quite like it. It seemed to go on for longer than I could remember.

Another sigh of hers broke it elegantly.

I Know. And That…That Might Be Our Problem.

There was a click, a buzz, and a flat tone.

I tossed and turned until One in the morning.


And the next day, at 1:30 precisely, I took a stroll down to Bliss’ restaurant, and was met by a demure Italian-American waitress who could have stepped out of a picture book to a lone table near the back. As she guided me to the table, I noticed how thin and yet curvy she was, and also a foot smaller.

As I ate a small but exquisite beef sandwich already prepared for my arrival, I recalled the conversation Bliss had had with me on this very subject when we first entered here. Apparently, her father had possessed something of a slightly overbearing personality after her mother’s death; his meticulous obsession with getting everything correct, one which had added to his cooking skills, only increased now that he was working to support his child, with a tragedy behind him.

This obsession soon spread to the extent that he believed things would only be done right if he surrounded himself and his work with employees he saw as "below" him: this criterion could be simply filled by being thinner, shorter or even just slower than himself. If he knew what you were good or bad at, he could use that aspect of you to its fullest degree. The minute his daughter was able to walk, talk and do what she was told he had her helping him in the kitchen; the day that she had become both taller and, ahem, wider than he was, he had on the spot decided to throw in the towel and retire happily.

Bliss herself had kept this tradition, partially out of tradition, and partially – as she informed me herself – because of a psychological problem of her own, though one she did not directly tell me of. I was already able to guess; it was obvious that her father, despite being beloved by her and many others, was the only authority figure in her life and, being as large a man as she described, a veritable giant from the perspective of a young child. By growing larger than him, she was effectively proving to both him and herself that she could measure up to him – proven by his handing her the reins – and by continuing his tradition of hiring "small" people, she was giving in to her inferiority complex, feeling comfortable only with people she could look down to.


I ate slowly, relishing the meal which in itself seemed to be a sheer wonder, and had paid and made my way to the chilly, windy spot behind the kitchen. After waiting five minutes, I turned briefly to rub my gloveless hands together – it was indeed a particularly cold and windy day – and when I turned around again, there she was.

Months since our last meeting had not changed her all that dramatically, but I was able to detect a small increase in size. I guessed that she had maybe put on five to eight pounds. And, of course, she wore it incredibly well. Dressed in a beautiful designer black coat buttoned over her chef’s outfit to keep away the cold, she was just wiping a pair of small, steam-clouded glasses against her red-and-black scarf as she stepped towards me. Her hair was done up in a sensible bun for work.

She quickly pocketed her glasses – I guessed that she must use them primarily for inspecting food and writing down orders. Again, my friend’s words echoed across the years as we shared a brief private silence, unaffected by the noises of the streets and the kitchen softly reverberating in the background as we smiled awkward and wistful smiles at one another.

Enjoy Your Lunch? she asked, not unkindly. She seemed quite tense, as if one word out of place would have her bolting out of there fast as she could go. I nodded fervently.

Yes, It Was…Well, Excellent. I Couldn’t Have Expected Less Than Excellence.

I Made Up The Recipe For The Sauce Just This Morning. She looked down. I...Wanted To Have Something Special Prepared.

That surprised me. It really had a genuine tone of affection to it…but there was something about the way she looked down. Have You Had Lunch? I hazarded, wanting to prolong the arrival of that silence.

Oh, No. I Usually Just Have Things Here And There As The Meals Are Prepared…Or Sometimes I Bring Something Packed.

Hey, That’s Cool.

There came some more silence. We looked away…met each other’s eyes…looked away again…met again. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

Fine. I Guess We’ll Have To Get This Over With. She beckoned for me to come closer, her voice dropping slightly.

Listen, Bliss, If There’s Anything I Can Do, I’ll –

Her beautiful big hand against my chest stopped me. Just Stay Quiet, she whispered, And I Might Be Able To Finish. I’ve Never Had This Conversation Before.

I obediently stayed dumb.

She looked deep at me, her cool blue eyes tinged with regret. When We First Met…At That Party…I Noticed You Before Either Of Us Got Drunk. And – I Liked You Immediately. I Thought You Were Open-Minded. And When We Talked…You Seemed To Like Me As Much, Which Doesn’t Often Happen When I Visit That Place. I shrugged.

And Then, The Day After…When We Spent The Day Together, When We Came To My Apartment…It All Felt As If It Were Building Up To Something…Up To When You…You Know. Kissed Me. And I Pulled Away.

And now her stare became intense, and where once sparks danced now clouds gathered on the horizon. The Reason That I Pulled Away…Is That I Can’t Be With You. I Want To Be – I So Want To Be – But…But There’s Too Much At Stake If We Were To Ever Be Truly Happy.

But Why? I couldn’t help blurting out. You Have A Wonderful Family, A Great Business, And There’s Nothing About You I Can’t Love! Bliss – Bliss, Listen To Me! She had begun to turn away, and I grabbed at her arm, pulling her back. I pulled her – not roughly, but so that we could really look eye to eye.

Looking into her anxious, saddened face, I truly realized how much bigger she was compared to me – how easily she could simply swat me aside. I spoke slowly and quietly, emphasizing the nature of my words. Since You’ve Been Gone, I began, My Life Is Empty. I Still Have A Job, And An Apartment, And Friends…But Without You, All My Drives Are Gone. I Don’t Want To Drink, I Don’t Want To Go To Parties – It’s An Effort To Get Out Of Bed In The Morning, Knowing I Won’t See You.

Bliss, I’ll Love You Until The Day I Die, And If It Means Us Being Together, Even For Just The Rest Of Today, I’ll Do Anything On Earth.

She seemed to be almost pleading with me. I nodded, firmly, releasing my grip, and she looked down again, closing her eyes to try and mask a tear.

I… She started, and wiped her eyes, I Have This…Thing. This Mental Compulsion. She looked at me again, directly this time, so that the brightness in the blue of her eyes was piercing. I Couldn’t – I Wouldn’t Be Comfortable With A Man, With Someone Sharing My Space…Unless… Her beautiful giantess’ body quivered with a small sob. Unless…

I reached out to brush away another tear from her cheek with the tip of my finger. Unless? I pressed on, speaking softly.

She leant down, and whispered a statement that was framed with a silence whose name I would never know.

Unless He Was As Big As I Am.


I looked back at her. She looked back at me, in all seriousness. Her hands were wringing together as she agonized over my reaction.

What…What Do You Mean, By ‘As –

As Fat, Alright? What, You Wanted A Reaction Out Of Me? Or Do You Just Need It Spelled Out In Single Syllables? Her anger flared like the wrath of a storm god from beneath her tears, and I was briefly afraid…but she subsided. Ooh God…I’m So Sorry…I’ve Just Never, Never Told Anyone About This Before…

I patted her shoulder gently. How Long Have You Felt This Way?

She sniffed, blew her nose. Ever Since…Since I Started Noticing Guys, When I Was In College. I Mean, I Didn’t Find Out About It Directly, Not Until My First Few Boyfriends…I’ve Always Been Pretty Chubby…And, I Didn’t Tell Any Of Them…

Because You Thought They’d Leave You. That They’d Be Disgusted.

She nodded, glumly.

I turned away, my hand to my forehead, and punched the bridge of my nose. You’re Not Angry? she asked.

No, No…Just Confused. Very Confused, I replied. This Is A Lot To Take In.

I’m So Sorry, she began, but I held up my hand. There’s No Need To Be. You Can’t Help Being What You Are.

She looked down at me with a sad, wistful smile. No. No, None Of Us Can. She held my hand in both of hers, covering my long, tiny fingers in the great cushions of her hand. So…Where Do We Go From Here?

I’m Not Sure, I replied, returning her smile with one quite similar. As I Said, It’s A Lot To Take In. I Think…I Think It Would Be Best If I Went Back To My Apartment, And You Went Back To Work, And We Talk Again Tomorrow When I’ve Had Time To Think.

She looked slightly happier, almost exultant that we’d managed to get to this stage at all. I Think…I Think That Would Be Preferable, She smiled, drawing away from me. So…Same Time Again, Tomorrow?

Yes, I replied, But Not The Same Place. Come Up To My Apartment, And We’ll Talk There.

That’s Fine. That’s Perfect. She seemed more at peace now, an inner demon finally wrestled to a standstill. She turned, and began to approach the door to her kitchen once more…when I put my hand on her shoulder. For the second time, the words blurted out before I could stop them…

I Do Love You, Bliss Acuna.

And I…I Love You Too.

She pulled me close.

Once, in my college years, I came across a dusty old tome that claimed to have tracked romance and courtship through long-forgotten centuries. A certain paragraph mentions that there have been several famous kisses across time hailed as the best examples on Earth.

Despite it being merely one to part with…despite it being only a brief, fleeting embrace…I have reason to believe that this was among them.


To Be Continued…

Last edited by Risible; 04-15-2008 at 02:37 PM.
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Old 04-16-2008, 03:08 AM   #7
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It was evening.

The entire rest of my day, I’d been unable to do anything but sit and think. Food, Books, TV – all of them were just hindrances and distractions to my heated internal debate.

And now, I found myself holed up in, of all places, my bathroom – perhaps the quietest part of the entire building – and still hadn’t come up with any properly solid answer.

The huge mirror fixed permanently to the wall facing the shower didn’t help. Try arguing with yourself in your head while looking at yourself in the mirror and you train of thought starts to stray in places. I began to wonder how things had gotten this way.

What possible reason could Bliss, bless her, have for this mental compulsion? Did I dare question it? It must…and here the psychologist in me began to speak up again…it must have some root in her childhood. There, my thoughts grabbed at the nearest likely theory, and it all seemed to fall into place.

Bliss had grown up a child dwarfed by her Father, and had taken in hand his obvious desire to have others ‘under’ him for control. But a lover isn’t someone you control…it’s someone you share life with. Wasn’t it Freud who said that the influence of the Father is what shapes a child’s expectations of the perfect male? It was easy to use that to make the next logical leap – that by never letting her fully assume control until she had reached his girth, her Father had written an unspoken, unconscious rule; that a person wouldn’t truly deserve her love unless he was willing to grow to the same size as her.

But I also sensed there was more to it than that. Freud also said that the young female child would always be seeking a replacement for her Father in a potential lover. Could her subconscious mind therefore be looking for a man to become so big, so big that he was bigger than her? That he towered over her and could tell her what to around the house as easily as her Father had around the kitchen?

Despite its being true, I waved this thought away quickly in respect of its application towards myself. Despite my obvious affection for her curvy form, any person significantly larger than her would find themselves the victim of immobility and endless health problems. While this may have been good for some…it wasn’t really for me.

I looked deeply at myself in the mirror, sitting on the edge of the tub. What was for me, though? I’d always liked curvier women, myself…but then again, there was that question I’d never asked, perhaps because I was too afraid: Why? Where did my preferences come from? That, at least, was easier to deduce.


Unlike Bliss, my childhood had been thankfully overseen by two loving parents, and blessed with siblings and affection. My folks weren’t exactly perfect, sure – but then again, there weren’t any problems we had that didn’t sort themselves out eventually. And I was the eldest, so I must have got a slightly cushier number than my siblings.

But being the eldest, I was also there to witness my Mother’s pregnancy with them. That must be it! To think what my Father’s obvious affection towards my Mother during her time with my sister – and then the twins – would have done to my small, impressionable subconscious! Was it possible that my obsession with curvature and voluptuousness was formed from Dad’s toning-down of his devotion when my siblings were delivered, my Mother no longer had a swollen stomach, and she could take care of herself? Sure, I knew that I wasn’t into fat girls only – but it was a bit scary to think that there was a grain of truth in this idea…

 I came back to myself in front of the mirror. So. What Do We Know So Far? Bliss Is A Big Girl. You Like Big Girls. Bliss Wants You To Become A Big Guy. Bliss Likes Big Guys. The Only Question Remains…

…Do You Want To Be A Big Guy?

That one, that was a real dilemma. On The One Hand, I thought, It Would Seem A Bit Hypocritical To Like Your Women Fat, But Not Want To Be Fat. On The Other…We Are What We Are, Right? I Am What I Am, And What That Is Might Not Like Being Fat. We Can’t Help How We’re Wired – Some People Drink Pepsi, Some People Drink Coke…

I pinched my brow. When your thoughts start to receded into lyrics of a song that you can’t even remember the name of, you know you need to take a breather. I closed my eyes, straightened my back…and cleared my thoughts, letting all the worry ooze out through my deep breaths. Then, slowly, tentatively, I pulled off my shirt to have a long, contemplative look at myself.


I stood up. The guy in the mirror followed suit. I had to look at this guy from every perspective, every angle, every facet. Leave nothing out. Take mental pictures, so to speak. I traced his torso, his back, his – though I say it myself – rather good-looking face. I stripped off the rest of my clothing and took in the sights more readily, silently thanking the former tenant of the apartment for his choice in mirrors.

So, what was left? Well…now that I’d taken mental pictures, developed them in my head…time to distort them. Moving in closer, I inflated my cheeks with air briefly. I cupped my hands over my waist – not too much to cup, but I tried – traced the lines of my body, and tried to imagine them bigger. I closed my eyes, and tried to open ‘the eye of the mind’, tried to take this guy out of the mirror and force him to pack on the pounds, force him to become truly titanic. And…I came up with something. Did I like what I saw?

The hollow, empty feeling crept into my bones and rattled them as I embraced the inevitable answer: No. No, I couldn’t see this new, distorted guy as being truly me. In a tormented, depressed rage I punched at the wall and the mirror, bruising my fist but making a bigger dent in my soul. I could not believe it. I promised, dammit! I promised her that I would do anything – and meant it – but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t do this. Like it or not, I couldn’t be comfortable as a big man…or, at least, a man bigger than – bigger than…

In a cold moment of groundbreaking genius, suddenly all of the pieces fell together and a beautiful pattern came into being. Taking care not to rush myself in case I lost it, I recalled the image of that distorted guy, that version of me as a big man, and distorted him in a slightly different way. Then, I took an image of my darling Bliss, and did the same thing, only more so. Finally, I took a subconscious step back and had a good, long look at this couple. A good…long look…taking care to inspect every facet.

The verdict from the inside of my imagination came so fast that I had to quickly pull my pants back on out of self-modesty. I ran straight back out into the main foyer of the apartment, grinning and whooping and stomping up and down, giving not a hoot for the sensibilities of the neighbours. I’d DONE it! Genius brain that I was, Psychology Graduate I’d been, I’d searched and processed and queried, and come up with the perfect answer. I knew how to do it.

I knew how I could become bigger than Bliss Acuna.


The next day, I awoke at 7:00 and walked through life with my hollow feeling almost completely gone, ignored in favour of a sort of happy, strange daze. I think that I could easily have described my state as a mixture of happiness that I’d found an answer, and a kind of wistful attitude of ‘farewell’ towards all and sundry. It was like I knew that I was to be executed the next day, and I was saying goodbye to the world. But that was partially true: a part of me, an aspect of my soul would be dying today. Today would be my last day on Earth as a thin man.

I walked tentatively, swinging out my limbs and making sure to move as fast as I could; I looked at myself in the mirror, felt my cheekbones, looked down at my feet. I dressed up in my best clothes, from a formal tuxedo to beachwear, just to experience them and their size for the last time. Finally, I dressed myself in a small but not tight t-shirt and some old shorts, went out and blew a huge amount of money on every kind of food or ingredient that I knew I liked, and then others I’d never tried, and then many more I was willing to give a second chance. I was barely able to fit the whole damn lot in my car, and it wasn’t until 9:00 that I’d packed it all away in my kitchen!

I called in to work sick, saying I’d broken my ankle; my boss, who happened to have been an old college friend, accepted my request to work from home at the computer. And so, after starving myself with a very small breakfast, a sort of appetizer to what would be coming, I worked with feverish expectation from 9:30 until precisely 1:30, where, just as I closed my laptop, work done for the day, I heard a knock at the door.


I opened up, and in swept the glorious Bliss, in the same pair of overalls she’d worn at our first (ahem, sober) meeting, minus the leather jacket; her hair was loose and light over her shoulders. She strode in and delicately sat down upon one of my stronger wooden chairs at the kitchen table.

She turned back to me as I closed the door and strode towards the kettle to prepare coffee, and I detected a hunger in her eyes, the hunger of one who has waited far too long for an answer.

…So? she enquired as I silently put down the coffee. You’ve Reached A Decision?

I took the time to sit back, sip at my coffee, and smile contentedly as I enjoyed the warmth it sent through me. Ooh, that felt good…but not as good as I was about to feel. Oh, You Better Believe I Have, Baby, I said.

Her grin was as the sunset; uplifting and perfect and different from the last one I’d seen in every way. I’m Listening.

I leaned close. Bliss, What You’re Asking Of Me…The Sacrifice You Want Me To Make…I Am Willing To Make It. Perfectly Willing And Ready. But – and I held my hand up before she could excitedly reply – There Is…A Snag. To Wit, A Catch.

Her grin faded as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by concern. Oh…It’s…It’s Not Gonna Be Painful, Is It?

Only If You Want It To Be, I replied. You See, Bliss – I Am Perfectly Willing To Make A Change If It Means I Get You For The Rest Of My Life. But If You Want To Get Me For The Rest Of Your Life…You Have To Make A Change Also.

If I Have To Get As Big As You Are Now, Bliss…
My voice went to a hushed whisper, the same as hers from before…

...You Have To Get As Small As I Am.


I looked back at her, watched the stunning power of the statement steal across her face as she reacted. At first, her jaw began to drop and her beautiful auburn skin went a shade paler as she mentally processed what I’d said, then she stopped herself and turned to the side, still staring at me but with eyes narrowed, as if expecting to be told she was on candid camera. I sat back, still smiling, and took another long sip of my coffee. When I looked up again, she seemed to have accepted that I was serious.

…You’re Not B.S.ing Me? she asked. What – What You Just Said…That’s Really Your Heart’s Desire? You’re Not Just Saying That To…I Don’t Know, To Please Me?

I shook my head, still smiling. It Took A Lot Of Soul-Searching, But Here We Are. It’s What I Want. She looked at me with a trifle of concern, biting on her lower lip. Are You Mad? I asked, with a small touch of concern myself.

So…You’d Be The ‘Fat’ One…And I’d Be The ‘Thin’ One. Now she grinned, a tad impishly. Jack Spratt And His Wife, Reversed.

If That’s What Floats Your Boat. I Mean, I’ve Had A Whole 24 Hours To Think About This…Do You Want That Amount Of Time Too?

She looked straight at me, then, focusing on my face deeply. I gazed into her electric eyes, and they looked me up and down, entertaining some sort of imaginary me, one not too far from the one I had seen the night before, I guessed. Myself, I was already able to imagine the thinner Bliss in much better detail now that the genuine article was in front of me…able to envision her cheekbones become sharper, her body a smaller and lither figure against my soon-to-be-massive own…

I realized that she had pushed her coffee mug out of the way, and in a flurry of movement she grabbed my face and we were passionately kissing. As our lips moved back and forth, I opened my eyes a fraction and saw her own cheeks stained with tears, tears of joy and relief…and…

Bliss? I pulled away. She looked at me with a carefree, passionate smile, as if ready to rip her clothes off and pull me onto the table there and then. Or maybe my imagination was a bit too overactive.

Yeah, Little Man? (Well, maybe not too overactive.)

I Want You…To…To…

She gazed at me in a silent but happy puzzlement, bordering on confusion. I smiled inwardly at the powerful, leaderlike woman’s brief conversion to a confused, eager personality. Like a Kitten. But then, Kittens do grow into Cats…

To What?

I smiled – a devil-may-care grin, not as wide as I hoped it would be in months to come – and strode over to the recliner in the TV room, where she followed. I made a great show of pulling on my belt a notch tighter, and sitting back in the reinforced, electric-operated chair in the most comfortable position possible.

Feed me, I said, flipping on the TV, Until I Can’t Get Up. This Is What You Want. This Is What I Want Too. This Is Me, Inviting You To Put As Much Food Into My Body As You Can. Until I’m – Temporarily, I Hope – Immobile. I patted my waist for emphasis, and smoothed down my hair.

The kitten-persona melted as suddenly as it appeared, chased by a multitude of additional expressions – suspicion, disbelief, acceptance, joy, excitement, and finally…seductive zeal.

She knelt beside me as I sat back on the very, very comfy chair, so that our heads were level. I remember looking deep into those wonderful blue eyes, remember feeling lost in that brown hair, and can’t remember who started the next kiss.

She pulled away, struck by a sudden thought.

Say That Again.


‘I Want You To Feed Me’. Say It Again.

I smiled at her, and in full earnest, whispered Stuff Me Until I Can’t Move.

She made a little sound, something akin to a mew, to express her boundless joy, and pulled me forward. I enjoyed one of my last-ever kisses on this world as a thin man with a fat woman. Now, I was locked in the cocoon…ready to begin the transformation.

As the second rerun episode of Heroes began, she came bearing a nice light starter – a spread of caramelized onions of a similar consistency to hummus, on ‘biscotti’, small biscuits not unlike dry bread – and with them, some strong rope from one of my cupboards. With this, she fastened my ankles to each other, and added some extra coils of rope to the armchair’s armrests, though my own arms were as yet unbound. This was done in silence, without question; I understood her still-present fears of being duped, or of any second thoughts I might have. My arms were still free to move around – for now – but I wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry!

Finally, she gave me another kiss, this one sweet and sticky. She pulled away, and we shared yet another longing glance.

You Really Ready For This? she asked. As a reply, I wiped a small stain from the corner of her amused grin, and tasted it.

You’ve Been Having Some On The Side, I said. A Deal Is A Deal, Big Girl…

She grinned even more, and handed me the plate. You Eat Them, Then. I Have To Watch My Figure. The very idea sent a rippling giggle through her frame as she turned about and quickly waltzed back to the kitchen to inform her staff that she wouldn’t be coming back for the rest of the day…and prepare the next few courses. I chomped down on the small mountain of biscotti, and tried to focus on the plot of the TV show.

The feeding had begun.

(Continued in post 12 of this thread)

Last edited by Observer; 12-12-2008 at 08:52 AM.
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Old 04-16-2008, 01:17 PM   #8
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So fat it looks good.

Just keep it up and you'll be fine.
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Old 04-16-2008, 01:30 PM   #9
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td0057 has said some nice things
Smile Story so Far

Fantastic story!! You've set it up beautifully, and I can use my imagination to look into the future and see what happens next. You've matched so many of my fantasies. I can see the story with the characters reversed as well, and I would still love it. Thanks, and I can't wait to see the next installment.

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Old 04-17-2008, 01:37 PM   #10
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Cool story
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Old 04-17-2008, 02:13 PM   #11
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Thanks one and all; expect the next chapter in a day or two, when I've written a very heavily descriptive feeding scene...
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Old 04-18-2008, 06:41 AM   #12
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I managed to munch down the plate of biscotti quite quickly, but busy Bliss in the kitchen was still fast enough to prepare me the next course, a simple but eloquent compromise: a large pile of slices of cheese on toast, sizzling on a gigantic plate with pieces of red pepper sizzling in their centers. A single bite was enough to lead me onto more, most especially due to the unique and piping hot taste sensation.

Uhrm, Honey, Could You Possibly –

Way Ahead Of You, Mister Polite. A long cool glass fizzing with alcohol – an Italian import named ‘Birra Moretti’. Its smoothness down my throat, along with the taste, served as a stark contrast to the light snacks I’d had so far.

As the episode drew to a close and I licked my fingers – Bliss herself had taken one or two slices – I hesitantly asked what the next course was. She gave me a Five-Hundred-Dollar Grin, and assured me it was just on its way; in anticipation of my potential answer, she had already had a special meal cooking at the Restaurant, and once she had given her staff the go-ahead, many more would be prepared, ready to be delivered to the address she would text them. Until then, we just had to sit tight.


Heroes drew to a close, and the Television began an episode of M*A*S*H – a program I’d heard of but not seen, but one she’d been familiar with since age 12 and adored. We laughed uproariously at the irony of the episode when it was revealed in a subplot that two characters were tormenting another by swapping his trousers with those of a smaller man, making him believe he’d gained weight. As we watched, I was becoming rather conscious of my stomach, which despite having only been fed a little was already protruding one or two centimeters…it gurgled ravenously, and I suppressed a belch.

When the ad break came between episodes, we began a rather in-depth conversation on the accuracy of war portrayal in TV, when the doorbell rang. Bliss shuffled over to get it, clapping her hands together eagerly when she saw who it was. I felt momentarily relieved that I couldn’t be seen from the perspective of the doorway, as it would be somewhat hard to explain my current position to a surprise visiting friend or family member… With my legs tied like this, I felt almost like a helpless grub.

Bliss had by now flung open the door and was in the middle of a lively, energetic conversation with whoever it was, which I couldn’t pick up at all from my position. I did, however, detect the sound of what appeared to be several carts being wheeled inside, and many warm but unfamiliar smells, odors that sang of true artistic pride in their creation, scents that seemed to clamber into the very hollow of the body and rock the soul to sleep. I found my mouth watering as it had the day after we met, and quickly corrected myself.

My beautiful feeder quickly finished her talk, and closed the door to the energetic sounds of Good Luck! from several male and female voices. Then, the sounds of wheels being moved began, getting closer…closer…trundling across the hallway…moving around the corner…and then they were in sight. Even now, I still recall that mass of dining carts, stocked high with all manner of treats and delights; and each one seemed to be a work of art in itself, from the roasted chicken elegantly decorated with golden-brown honey sauce, to the fine rice drenched in a beautiful hand-made curry sauce, to the roasted loin of pork covered in almost a forest floor of herbs and leaves arranged to bring out its flavor.


I was hardly able to take it all in, but it seemed to be far more than I had expected to take. I said so to Bliss.

Don’t Sweat It, Little Man. That nickname was starting to become a habit. She uncovered a basket of prawns, each one fat as a chicken drumstick, pulled the head off one, and began to slowly, seductively pull its shell off.

You Don’t Have To Eat It All. We’ll See How Much You Can Get Filled Up Before You’re Too Full To Move…Then We’ll Save The Rest For Tomorrow, Or Sooner Than That…Midnight Snack Maybe…And Start Again. And Then We’ll Do It Again, And Again…Until You’re Big Enough. She drummed a finger across my chest. And By Enough, I Mean, For Me.

What About My Work?

Broken Ankle, Remember? You Can Work From Home…And By The Time You’re “Healed”, You’ll Be Too Big To Go Back And You Can File A Disability Form And Stay Home Forever. So Quit Your Bellyachin’…She shoved the prawn headfirst into my mouth…For Now. Obediently, I chewed it down. The grilling had only served to improve it. Bliss herself…she was really in control now, wasn’t she?

Every so often, I’d turn from watching the endless stream of different TV Programs to gaze at Bliss’ marvelous form and face. Sitting next to me, feeding me, she was possessed of all the attention of a proud and affectionate mother, but also the obsession of an artist. There was a steely glint in her eye; once or twice, she almost forgot to let me breathe in-between mouthfuls, and I saw a look of great worry briefly alight upon her features, as if she was afraid I would collapse at any minute.


When she had finished spooning me the last scraping from a pot of creamy potato slices, she abruptly halted the feeding process. By now, I was heavily but not painfully stuffed, my breathing shallow due to the gigantic heap of mass I had absorbed – I gave up counting after my first three courses – and my now sizeable gut bursting through my trousers. Planting upon me a tender kiss, she shifted her hands upon it – her palms, to my chagrin, were almost able to cover its surface – and began to press into it, moving it up and down in a sensuous massage. I groaned in protest, Oor, urgh, what’re you doing?

She turned around, still smiling calmly and turning her eyes to the floor, and picked up a small bottle of warm sweet-scented oil from the tray. In Japan, she said, smoothing some between her hands, There Are Farms Where A Farmhand Has To Look After A Single Cow All By Himself. And Every Day, When The Cow Has Eaten, He Cleans It And Gives It A Massage.

The transition from uncomfortable bloat to relaxed massage was sudden but peaceful. Hmm…I Suppose There’s A Very Good Reason For That? I replied hazily.

But Of Course. The Cow Has Such An Anatomy That, By Massaging It Day By Day, The Farmhand Is Essentially Spreading Its Fat Cells Into Tiny Deposits Around Its Body, Making It Healthier…And Each Slice Of Its Meat, When It’s Slaughtered, Is Covered In Tiny White Fat Spots, Like Marble. Delicious, Apparently.

This little anecdote was beginning to form connotations in my mind. Bliss…I’m Not A Cow, I said, propping myself up on my elbows. Oh, but those big hands were smooth!

She shrugged, and we shared another kiss. Then It Won’t Work The Way A Cow Does. But At The Very Least, It’ll Make You Healthier.

I couldn’t argue with that. I sat back on the recliner, smiling at this heavenly treatment, and as I did, a small switch seemed to be thrown in the centre of this body of mine, the one being tossed and turned. Instantly, my mouth flew open as if on springs, and I gave a short but memorable belch. I clapped my hands to my mouth out of inherent courtesy, mumbling an indecipherable apology. Bliss, unperturbed, giggled at my modesty.

Amateur, she scoffed, raising her hand and straightening her back. Clearing her throat, she seemed to summon up at will one of the loudest belches I’d heard outside of a drunken rave, and it went on for far longer, too…

You Ate About An Eighth Of What I Did… I whispered, breathless. She tossed her hair back, smiling smugly.

It Takes Practice. Now, Turn Over And I’ll Just Give You A Quick Rub On The Other Side…Then It’s Back To The Feasting!

I rolled onto my stomach compliantly, not wanting to wait for this woman to get her hands on me. She pulled down my pants and briefs with care, and began smoothing me down even more sensuously, moving with the silent, graceful care of a sculptor. Then, after an age of smoothing-down, I was turned over again to see how much more I could take. I was spooned the first mouthful of stunning spiced crabmeat as I changed the channel and moved on to the opening scenes of The 39 Steps.


Richard Hanney ran for his life across the screen in black and white as she finally moved on to a rich course of desserts, beginning with a relatively small stack of rich blueberry pancakes, oozing with full flavor. I reflected on how my current position was hedonism in the extreme, my every sense stimulated to its full degree – my sight full of the well-made antique film and the anticipation of glorious years of eating, my hearing full of appreciative and caring words from a beautiful woman, my skin in the deep comfort of the chair and touched by hers, and of course, my smell and taste barely able to keep up with the continuing rushes moving backwards and forwards.

By the time we’d gotten to the piping-hot apple pie and ice-cream – she rewarded herself with a semi-generous bowl, it being her first day of self-denial – chewing was beginning to become a strenuous task. I finished off my second bowl, inwardly astounded at how much I’d eaten as Lucky Number Slevin swam into view on the screen, which now seemed quite far away. Oog…I began, belching a little more. Think ‘M ‘Bout Ready To Throw In The Towel Now.

My eyes swiveled in her direction. She still had her spoon in her mouth, sucking on it like a lollipop, and she had one eyebrow raised, a tad sarcastically. The spoon came out with a wet popping sound. Lift Up Your Ar, she said quietly. I obeyed, moving it up despite the small discomfort of shifting myself in any way. She shook her head. Not Even Close. A Deal Is A Deal, You Know. Turn Yourself Over. She reached for the oil again. We’ll Take Another Little Break, And Then Carry On. Either You Don’t Move, Or I Don’t Stay. Her large hands once more smoothed over me, briefly pausing to caress the surface of my buttocks in a playful, teasing way. Poor Baby.

Poor Baby.


The massage ended, leaving my skin almost as smooth as milk, and she turned to wheel out the carts back towards my kitchen, leaving only one, upon which was a single glass plate covered in a metal dish, oddly alone over the heater keeping its contents warm. This she placed right next to me, turning the volume down on the TV and pulling off the cover with a flourish. Beneath was a work of art never before seen in the world, almost indescribable in its beauty; a delicate chocolate cake consisting of all three types of chocolate, marbled and dressed with miniature icing sculptures so as to represent some sort of miniscule skating rink. She would later explain to me that she had been saving it for a special occasion, having made it for a customer a few days before I learned her ‘secret’, only for the customer to annoyingly change their mind.

You’ve Read Roald Dahl’s Matilda, Right?

Nope. Saw The Film, Though.

Oh, You Poor Thing, Deprived Like That. Still, They Kept In The Scene I’m Thinking About.

I knew which one she was thinking about…the one in which a young, greedy boy is forced by his tyrannical headmistress, ‘The Trunchbull’ to devour an enormous chocolate cake as punishment for stealing a slice of her own private cake.

You’re Not Going To Smash The Plate Over My Head If I Eat It All? I inquired innocently.

It Was Passed Down From My Great-Grandparents. So Probably Not.

She seated herself besides me, and motioned that I should button up my pants. I did so, and she lowered the warm plate graciously onto my lap.

Show How Much You Love Me, she said, And Eat That All By Yourself. I doubted that she would really see this as proof of her love, but with the added heft of today’s fare, it would be a challenge…

She turned up the volume. I grabbed a knife, and dug in.


Fifteen more minutes had passed, and by pure coincidence I’d managed to get a quarter of the cake down. I felt guilty over destroying such a wonderful piece of art, but at the same time gratified that I’d been chosen as the destroyer; and it settled all the more pleasingly in my swollen belly, almost like a warm, living creature. Chewing, however, was becoming sticky and difficult.


Ten more minutes, and the jagged edge of the cake seemed to show it to be completely cut halfway. I settled back to breathe, and looked at Bliss; she focused completely on the movie, and I guessed she wouldn’t give me a sideways glance until it was all gone. I timidly asked for some liquid, and she handed me a milkshake without looking up. I felt sure that the thing must be stuffed with protein powder, but the liquid helped give me some relief. Three more deep breaths, then back to the cake. I could do this.


Half an hour later. As Morgan Freeman and Ben Kingsley suffocated beneath plastic, I had slowed to such a degree that only another quarter had been properly devoured. I felt as if oozing cake, almost like it was pouring out of my ears; hardly a lump of the stuff would have slipped down my throat than another would be quickly shoved in. My arms too were aching from the continual backwards-forwards movement, but I kept on. Anything so that it could be over. Anything.

She’s Pretty Cute In This, Bliss said vacantly, not looking at me.


Lucy Liu. She’s A Bit Like Whatshername in Pulp Fiction. In Fact, This Whole Thing Is Just Like Pulp Fiction.

Umff – Y’u Thnk? I sat back, indicated that I needed liquid refreshment. She put the shake to my lips again, smiling a little at how feeble I was becoming, and a little of it dribbled down my chin. I gulped, breathed, sat forwards again. My stomach groaned in protest. I felt almost exploding pressure around the whole compressed area.


And finally the closing credits began, and I was insensible to anything but the last few crumbs of cake. I knew it was hurting me, perhaps even killing me, but it was too good to waste, too good even to let anyone else have it. I sucked up the crumbs, licked the icing off the plate, stuffed my fingers in my mouth. The world was just a blur getting in the way of the taste sensation.

Out of nowhere, a female shape in the blur came into focus, holding up the last of the shake. I gulped it down, burping uncontrollably and breathing as if pierced through the side with a spear. Then, I licked away the last droplets and collapsed, tears welling up from the pain and triumph.

Bliss quickly switched off the TV, and looked at me with a new pride and admiration. Well, My Little Piglet…You Do Have Some Dedication, After All. I Hope I Can Prove Myself As Faithful To You. She jiggled my stomach a little, an action so painful I had to restrain myself from crying out. Ooo Gosh, Almost Forgot! Lift Up Your Arm.

No, no frickin’ way. Even if I had been willing to brave the pain and struggle, I still wasn’t sure my limbs would want to obey me. She poked and prodded me a couple of times, pulled at my arms, jiggled my stomach even more violently. All I could do was look at her, belch a little, and shrug when it was over. Her grin went from ear to ear.


She was quite strong in herself, and able to turn me around as if I was paralyzed for the final massage, sensuous, relaxing and above all pain-relieving. I must have fallen asleep to her movements as she did my front, and as I did I heard her cooing a soft lullaby, the words indecipherable but the basic idea – a bond of love between two – was written all over her face and her wonderful, sleek voice as I slipped out of consciousness.


The next morning, I awoke slowly and carefully, moving as if sudden shock would cause my skeleton to collapse. Looking at the clock, I saw that I’d slept in until 1:00, which by my estimates had given me 12 hours to chemically digest everything that I’d eaten last night. It was later than I’d ever slept.

Last night…God, did that really happen? It seemed so much like a perfect dream! The beautiful, adoring woman, the tons of food, the hedonistic lying around while being stuffed…did that really happen? Was it all a dream? I panicked, looking downwards. Nope. My gut, though spared for a night’s length, was still distended and hanging over the waistband of my PJ’s. Furthermore, I was in my PJ’s. Someone must have changed me. I turned, and saw a faint but not unnoticeable indent on the left side of my double bed, one that looked almost curled around my own indent.

I smiled and stepped towards my bathroom, going through my usual morning routine; wash face, check to see if I need a shave, gargle some mouthwash…I looked downwards. Next to the gigantic mirror, a glass digital scale had been freshly installed. Not wanting to beat around the bush, I stepped on immediately. The meter glowed, and settled upon 114 lbs. 5 Pounds in one night! God, that could almost be a record…that is, if it were any ordinary night.

I opened the door to step into the kitchen, and the smell of frying bashed me in the head like a billy club. Stunned but not overpowered, I moved closer towards the source and met a beautiful woman in a beautiful sunny dress beginning a platter of breakfast. She didn’t notice me until I collapsed upon her in a hug from behind.

Hey, You.

Hey Yourself, I replied. I’m Guessing That Big Pan Of Scrambled Eggs Is Mine, And The Little One Is Yours.

Correct Answer, You Win A Bonus. She turned too fast for me to react, and grabbed me for a killer passionate kiss. I Went Shopping While You Slept, she said, pulling away, And Made Some New Purchases. They’re Draped Across The Sofa.

I went back to the sitting room, glancing for a second at the soggy and stained recliner. There, I found on one side, a pair of purple jeans, several shirts and a leather jacket in exactly my size but obviously female; on the other side, some white male shirts that looked like tent material and another pair of jeans, these ones looking like they were made for a clown. Beneath both piles were a matching pair of denim overalls, made in the respective sizes.

I’m Not Sure What Message You’re Trying To Send Me Here, I joked as I stepped back towards the kitchen table. She was just setting down our respective meals. Of Course You Don’t. Perhaps Some Hot Cocoa Will Improve Your Cognitive Abilities.

Could Be. I smiled and swigged the cup as she took a sip of orange juice. Instead of sitting down, I moved to her side of the table and got down on one knee to look into her eyes. I gave her a touch of mock cluelessness.

Bliss…My Memory Is A Little Hazy. Last Night…Did You Stuff Me Until I Couldn’t Move?

Uh-Huh. So’s Mine – Did It Make You Happier Than You’ve Ever Been Before?


I leant forward for a kiss. She stopped me. What Do You Have To Say?

Bliss…Will You Be My Feeder?

Thought You’d Never Ask.

The Breakfast was the best I’d tasted. That is, until the very next day.

(Continued in post 14 of this thread)

Last edited by Observer; 12-12-2008 at 08:55 AM.
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Old 04-21-2008, 01:19 PM   #13
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Thanks for the update! Great so far! Can't wait for the next installment.

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Old 05-03-2008, 01:50 AM   #14
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And months passed by.

It’s very, very easy to just say ‘and months passed by’ and expect the reader to cram three or four months worth of love, life, and delicious gourmet meals three times daily (and then some) into a single sentence, but that’s basically what happened.

Ah, I suppose that a little more detail wouldn’t go amiss. Did I feel good, you ask. No, I did not – I felt Blissful, in more than one sense of the word. Days were sheer Heaven, a steady transition from writing, signing, bending over the laptop (though I had no doubt that after its stubby keys became too small from me, a rapid transition to a bigger, desk-based machine would not go amiss) to regularly scheduled mealtimes.

Those mealtimes! Each session was something akin to becoming a well-pampered pet. I’d simply rest in the chair, nestled backwards and engaged in watching TV, reading, even just having a conversation with her as more and more food went into me at the same rate as a baby bird fed by its mother, though not to the temporary immobility it had reached before…followed always by sensuous, form-sculpting massage.

This routine worked for a week or two, but Bliss’ always welcome presence was beginning to be missed by her many dedicated patrons, and she hated to disappoint – not to mention that spending her days turning up to my place for feedings wasn’t exactly helping her own metamorphosis! Pretty soon, we had a new system worked out: I’d continue to snack during the day and fix myself my own non-professional meals, and one meal out of every day – the difference relying on her availability – would be conducted by Bliss herself, followed of course by an extra-long massage session to make it up.

A sense of dedication had taken over my lover as our program continued; however, she was not one to begin on the extreme level that some others did. Not for her the rationing out of miniscule portions, nor the obsessive calorie-counting; instead, she worked upon her own cookery experiences to deduce what a healthy portion would be if she wished to lose weight but not starve herself, and researched on exercise regimens that would not do her serious harm while challenging her capabilities.


By the first month, changes had indeed occurred. Exactly a month since that first, glorious session, I ambled bleary-eyed into the bathroom, absent-mindedly scratching my lower back. I had denied myself the idea of comparison unless I reached a certain milestone, and this was the first; now to see how we had done. As a special precaution, I’d made sure to cover the mirror with a sheet and buy a small handmirror for such matters as shaving. Tentatively, I stepped upon the digital scale, averting my eyes from looking downward; looking directly at my body would give me too much of a clue. 114 Pounds, that first night…and now…the digital meter glowed and flickered, as if unable to make a solid decision, until the voice chimed in a split second before the readout itself:

235 lbs.

I blinked. Poked at my ear with a podgy finger. Leaned forward. Over a sizeable and ponderous orb, the unmistakable red lines stubbornly continued to read: 235 lbs.

Slightly shaking, a kid on Christmas morning, I went to pull back the sheet off the mirror. The man before me, I’d seen a month and a day ago, in my head. His hair was slightly longer and more just-woke-up unkempt, some stubble on him, but there was no mistaking it: this was me…the better me. The bigger and better me.

From the hair downwards was a round, surprisingly rosy-cheeked face, the lips not yet quite pursed as in the very large. Set in it were those wonderfully expressive eyes cooed over for decades by overly expressive aunts (Quite Big Ones, Too – Another Thing To Think About), slightly covered by swollen eyelids. A pudgy nose led down to a grin that had gotten wide by centimeters, and that down to a generous double chin.

Where once had been a not-so-bad washboard stomach, now there was no denying it: I’d sprouted a pair of those delightful lardy lumps immortalized in the slang-word lexicon as ‘Moobs’. The guy in the mirror, who had all this time been shifting from foot to foot, gleefully taking in every angle possible, cupped them in his hands. They felt wonderful when shaken, less hanging-out and more like piles of fat resting on the top of the torso. Quickly, while they had their chance, the arms were pushed out for inspection; the sausageistic fingers curved to the now slightly overhanging arm and the new ‘elbow cleavage’.

And then there was the belly. Ah, the belly! Sweet softened roundness, cool orb that I felt my fingers lovingly stroke. Here was one of the greatest successes of Bliss’ painstaking sculpt-work, a true state-of-the-art tummy. It seemed divided into two; a (relatively) small shelf in support of my new chest packages, and the main round sphere of it that seemed to centre my gravity and led into a gentle overhang above my white briefs. There was no sense beating around the bush; I pawed at it, curved an arm underneath and let go, satisfied immensely with the resounding gurgles and jiggling backlashes. Underneath, I began to grow aroused. The thought made me giggle, but it was plausible – how much else had grown?

I turned my thoughts to the other area of focus, and swerved 360 degrees. I placed a hand on each cheek, pushing away the now large-seeming white briefs, and jiggled them a little too. I knew that my entire body, not less my behind, were nowhere near the measure of a true BHM; but the mere sensation that came from my hands being dwarfed by these massive buttocks, of my plump feet flattened on the cool marble tiles and my thickened thighs almost but not quite touching as I shuffled back out, was sunshine on the brain. I couldn’t believe the sheer joy of it.

I realized that the day was Saturday, and most of what I needed done was finished last night before a sensuous course of roast suckling pig and ciabatta bread. Seeing no reason to get formally dressed, I pulled on a new, blue t-shirt Bliss had procured for me the week before. It fit like a glove, at a shade almost transparent, not quite covering my gut and gathering around my enlarged tits. Pulling the waistband of my briefs to cover my stomach – modesty can be the cruelest of correctors – I reflected upon the wisdom of possibly procuring a bra in the near future, a thought so sobering that I immediately went to fix breakfast and take my mind off it.


During my third fried egg-bacon-tomato-toasted-sandwich, the phone rang hurriedly, and I was a little surprised to see who it was on the readout: my old secretary, calling from her cell phone.

Martha? I said, a little glad to be talking to someone from the office rather than using e-mail. It’s Been An Age Since We Last Spoke! What’s The Occasion?

Not A Momentous One, was the somber reply. Huh. Felt strange, the plump and jolly girl’s voice so serious. You’ve Been Gone For Over A Month, And I Draw The Line At A Month. Surely You Could At Least Use Crutches By Now!

I desperately racked my brains for a solution. Well, Um, No Can Do, Sorry. Doctor’s Are A Bit Confused – I’m Not Dying Or Anything, But It’s Definitely Still In The Wheelchair Department!

Oh. I detected the note of depression there. That’s Not The Best News, Is It. In Fact, It’s Not What I Was Hoping For At All.

Huh? Why?

Well…To Be Honest, I Miss You. You Were Always So Funny In The Office. I hastily reminded her of my having joined the ranks of the living undead some time ago, but she shook it off. No, I Meant...You Know...Before. Everything Seemed A Little Lighter Then. Now? I Literally Keep Track Of The Hours Until I Get Home.

Martha… I struggled to articulate properly. I Don’t Think We’ll Be Able To Go Back To The Way Things Were. I quickly took a bite out of my sandwich, hating to see it wasted if it got cold.

But Why Not?

Mrggll – Well, For One Thing…All This Inactivity Is Making An Effect On My Waistline. I’ve Definitely Gotten Bigger By A Few Inches…You Probably Wouldn’t Recognize Me.

Oh, Who Gives A Damn? Was the shocking response. You Know, I Think I Might Have Scored A Little On The Poundage As Well. Stress And All That. That Doesn’t Mean I’m Giving Up.

I hesitated. Did she really react the way I think she did? Had to be sure…I took another bite, and chewed thoughtfully before speaking again.

Uh, Martha…Just To Get Off The Subject A Little… She made no indication of wishing anything different. Okay, So Now I Know, And You Know, That We’re Both…Well…


Bigger Than Most, And, Well…
I hesitated again.

Well What?

Well, Just Between Us…Do You Enjoy It?

An awkward, awkward silence. The idea that I’d overdone it began to steal over me. I was about to press the button to hang up abruptly, when she breathed out and replied.

…This’ll Sound Weird…

No, Really. Tell Me.

You Ever Heard Of The Concept Of A, Um…‘Big Beautiful Woman’?

Five minutes later, I took a deep breath and wiped a tear from my eye, still grinning madly. Come Over To My Place After Work, was my cryptic answer when I picked up the phone again. You’ll Genuinely Be Surprised.


And, actually, she was. And so was I. I opened the door to a young woman whose body had not so much changed as flowed into a different shape. When I’d hired her, it had been on the basis of her status as a skinny waif with short, bright blonde hair, but with a vibrant, friendly personality – someone I could work with and be friends with, but not feel attracted towards. Now, she seemed to have put on about 75 pounds, and wearing office clothing one size too small so that a clear muffin top erupted over her pants; the basic shape of her shirt, the top buttons undone, made it look as if made for a child. Her face was slightly rounder, and some freckles had begun – and I saw now that the blonde coloring of her hair had faded, returning to its natural red.

We ogled each other’s bold changes in size and shape (I’d pulled on some jeans, so outsized that it’d taken ten minutes just to do up the button), rudely refusing to communicate and remaining open-mouthed. Finally, I shifted a step back and cleared the way for her; she shuffled inwards, her eyes never once straying from my ponderous belly. Taking another measure of her, I noticed her freckles, now uncovered by makeup, and the extra inches of hair. So THIS Is What She Looks Like When I’m Not Around, I mused. In this form, she seemed infinitely more honest and open than before.

She rested quickly on a seat at the kitchen table, and I followed, rubbing the back of my head bashfully and grinning. Her mouth still hadn’t closed. So… I began, Guess You’re Gonna Be A Little Mad At Me For This Lying…

She shook her plump head, briefly sending her second chin flying. Just Three Questions: How, When, And Why?

I smiled, sat back, and let all of it pour out. After all this secrecy, it felt good to put my faith and trust in an old friend, one that could definitely keep my secret. She said nothing other than a few questions on small specific details. Finally, I reached the point where she’d made the phonecall, and wrapped it all up. I looked quizzically at her. She was in a state of quasi-shock smothered in amazement and awe.


I Know.

What You Just Described…That’s My Idea Of Heaven. I Mean, Not With You, Obviously – No Offence, But I’m Not Sure We’re Compatible – But Just The Idea Of Feeding A Guy Until He Got…
her voice trailed off. But My Fantasy Differs, I’d Want To Get Big As Well.

Which Reminds Me – How Exactly Did You Reach Your Own New State? I enquired, as politely as I dared, taking care to ignore that remark about compatibility. She shrugged, noncommittally.

Shawn Left Me Six Weeks Ago. Since Then, I Haven’t Had Very Much Luck With Guys, And I Guess I Just Ballooned Out Of, I Dunno, Frustration. She grinned a little self-consciously. I’ve Always Been A Big Eater. And Then There Was The Fact That No-One Was Around The Office Who Gave A Damn About My Appearance – I Mean, You Were Gone, And Most Of The Other Guys Are Married Or Gay. And There’s Only One Gay Girl, And She’s Told Me I Turn Her Off.

I inquired. Evidently, things had changed a lot since I’d been gone!

Janine. I Guess Everyone Seems To Have Lightened Up On Appearances Since You Left. You Were Always Such A…Presence.

I was dumbfounded. I’d never suspected that my co-workers and people under me were so timid about my opinions, and said so. I Never Really Struck Myself As Someone Who Cared About Appearances.

Aha. Never Struck Yourself. And Besides, You Obviously Weren’t Looking Hard Enough. Up Until You Went All ‘Zombified’ That Time, You’d Be Talking To Someone Every Other Morning About How Their Hair Was, Or If You Looked Too Tall, Or Some Other Meaningless Little Thing. It Got Old, You Know?

I Swear, This Is All News To Me. It’s Like I’m Hearing About Someone From A Parallel Universe.

She smiled back at me, a little cheerful. Well, It’s Over Now. I Mean, If You’re Never Planning On Going Back Again…Suppose We Can Let Bygones Be Bygones? I smiled as well, and we shared a look of understanding. I got up quickly to get us some coffee – and besides, all this time I’d been itching for some chocolate biscuits holed up in a jar behind one of my ever-flowing cupboards.

Uh, If You Don’t Mind Me Asking, I said as I put down the jar and our cups, Why Exactly Did Shawn Leave You? You Seemed So Happy Together.

In answer, she said nothing, merely undid her belt and pawed her belly, jiggling it and shaking it about as if concentrated on a work of fine art. You Think This Is Bad? she added as she turned back to me, doing up her belt again. It Was About A Week Before He Left That I Realized I’m A Feeder. By The Time Shawn Up And Left Me, His Hips Were Brushing The Doorway. Poor Sap…I’m Seriously Doubting Any And All Chances Of Him Getting That Marathon Done.

Say That Again.

she replied, sipping her coffee tentatively while sneaking three biscuits from the jar. I didn’t notice, being all to desperate to hear her repeat herself.

Please Repeat The Information On What You Found Out You Were.

Oh, You Mean A Feeder? It’s No Big Deal, I Just Like Getting Guys Fat, Just Like Your –
she trailed off as the devious grin that had been forming since she first told me grew ever wider on my cherubic face.

Don’t Go Away. In Fact, Have More Biscuits. I took two more myself – I was always a sucker for the dark chocolate kind. I’ll Be Right Back.

I waddled over to the phone and quickly got to Bliss’ own cell phone. She always stepped outside to answer, no matter who it was, no matter what the situation.

Hey There Baby-Love, You Missing Me That Badly?

Hi, Honey! How’s Your Day Been?

Not Bad. We’ve Been Moving Almost Like Clockwork, It’s Really Fantastic. How ‘Bout Yours?

I quickly and excitedly rattled off the news about our new milestone and my experience with the scale & mirror. She responded equally as enthusiastic, almost like a proud parent congratulating their infant child on a first painting.

That’s Amazing! I Mean, How Much Is That In One Month? Lemme Just Work It Out…One Hundred…And Twenty-One. I looked down at my belly, pleased, and shook it slightly. My pants button bust immediately.

121 Pounds In A Month, Bliss. You Should Be Proud.

I Know…But Also…
She hesitated. I Feel Almost As If I Could Have Done More, You Know? As If You Could Have Gotten A Better Deal If I Was There More Often.

I grinned like a Cheshire Cat and the grin was present in my voice. That’s Where The Other Good Thing That Happened Today Comes In. I filled her in on Martha and recent events at the office, which she had a good giggle at. Then I told her my plan for Martha & Us in off-the-top-of-my-head detail. We debated the finer points and smaller detail such as rent and accommodation before she finally gave it her seal of approval.

It Works For Me. Give It A Bit More Thought, And If It Works For You Too…Go For It! I’m Right Behind You.

I Love You.

Don’t I Know It. See You In A Couple Of Hours.
I heard a kissing sound being blown into the handset.


I walked – ah, who’m I kidding? – waddled back to the Kitchen table, where Martha was just pouring another cup and licking the chocolate off her fingers. I Left Some For You – she began, only to trail off as I pulled off my jeans and sat on the chair backwards, the backrest facing her. This way, she’d be paying full attention to everything I said as well as my new stomach.

I explained the terms of the potential new agreement between her, me, and Bliss. Over the next weekend, Martha would come by to observe and learn our eating/massage regimen, obtaining a recipe book specially from Bliss herself and making sure to know the exact massage patterns and oils required. Following that, she would quit her job, move into the apartment and become the temporary feeding replacement for Bliss, filling in for her while she took care of the restaurant.

She’d get paid a hefty sum for this, and once I’d reached my ideal weight – and, if she had one, her own – I’d be able to find her a new job fitting for her high skills and pull the correct strings to see she got it, and Bliss would do her best with her friendly relationship with patrons of the restaurant to search for an FA customer who wasn’t too shy about getting big himself.

None of this would be enforced, of course; it was all her own choice, and she could always back out whenever she wanted. Nor was it exactly implying that she would have to join our relationship; she herself ascertained this with the question, It’s Not One Of Those…Polygamy Sort Of Arrangements, Is It?

I answered in the amused negative: All I’m Doing Is Inviting You To Join Our…Family. I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly way. She stared at me in thought or a fraction of a second, then quickly and painlessly gulped down the last swig of coffee before grabbing a final chocolate biscuit as well. Then, she smiled, her bright brown eyes glowing inside. I knew what her answer would be.


Things from that point on went extremely smooth. That very evening Bliss came home to find me and my secretary spooning down creamy portions of ice-cream sundaes in front of the glow of the TV screen while in-between unpacking boxes, the strain of the first one having been too much for us. She quickly used the always-ready supply of ingredients to make her own and settled down next to us.

Martha actually made her formal introductions at the dinner table later in the evening, and immediately fit into the place as if she had grown up there all her life. She informed us both that she admired us greatly for our shared goals, and that she’d be dedicating herself completely to helping us – an announcement that raised a joyous toast between the three of us.

The next morning, I awoke to the smell of frying and an empty place on the bed. Shuffling into the kitchen in my briefs and a t-shirt two sizes too small, I found the gals sharing a small breakfast – one of Bliss’ amazing fry-ups for Martha, a simple serving of scrambled eggs on toast for the artist herself – while sharing a mid-morning endless chat. I smiled, sitting down to help myself to the large stack of already-prepared fare and joined in sparsely to the conversation.

Before my lover left, she left with my new temping feeder a gigantic handwritten volume of meticulously detailed instructions which only she and a select few others – such as her Father and the most trusted members of her staff – had ever had a chance to look into, the recipes used by others being watered-down copies.

After leaving a short menu with Martha, she left the two of us to wile away an hour or two studying the stunning art and scrupulous care applied first in the sloping hand of her father, and later added to and expanded upon in her own spidery writing. Bliss had sometimes in private moments talked wistfully about getting it published, but deciding that it wouldn’t be wise; I saw why now. This was a family secret, almost a new tradition for future generations to embrace.

When we had finished, I got immediately to work, as did Martha. In-between my first operation of the day and a transaction with a Chinese client, I’d managed to double my usual before-lunchtime intake, pleased to be taking a nice serving of enchiladas with some unusual spices and sauces I couldn’t quite put a name to. In a few hours, we both sat down to a beautifully-composed serving of corned beef hash.

I asked Martha whether her small experience so far was having any effect, and she glowed with pleasure. It’s Heavenly. I Mean, You Imagine A Sort Of Perfect Fantasy Life Where You Get To Fulfill Your Secret Desires And Do What You Want, But Then You Push It Aside And Get On With Your Real Life…And Now This Is My Real Life, And I Can’t Get Enough Of It! she took another serving, suppressing a small belch but not quite hiding the audible quality of it. *Urp* - And To Think, Once This Is Over, It’ll Get Even Better…

She poked my ponderous belly even as its load was beginning to swell it. I responded with a light slap to her own orb, one which pushed past her white shirt and unceremoniously opened her jeans. Oh, Baby…You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet, I replied, grinning.

You’re Awful, she laughed back, taking another mouthful of hash and then just letting go of all pretense, burping loud and unceremoniously. We both giggled and finished the whole thing.


It would be cliché to say that the weeks passed like minutes. But they did. It’s probably happened to you, so you’ll know what it’s like. All that time, the faithful Martha kept at my side like a diet coach, constantly reminding me of what foods I needed at which time and devotedly making sure that I did as little activity as was possible, even going so far as to suggest I get voice recognition software to save on typing energy. Despite being thankful for her diligence and concern, I kindly refrained – a day made mostly of inactivity was enough, but not doing anything at all would send me crazy!

And, true to her word, Martha never even seemed to consider propositioning me sexually – in fact, despite her obsession with making sure I gained as much weight as possible, it was almost as if I was the one guy in the world she couldn’t find attractive! Strange, I know…but it happened. Bliss, of course, despite being at work more often was also attentive to ‘The Mission’ as Martha called it, and spent quite a bit of time with both of us. Some days we’d go out to see a movie and spend time at a restaurant we’d never been to, some days we’d simply sit in, snacking on something simple like stacks of pancakes and reading on the couch and sofas.

I’d begun to notice increasingly obvious changes in the physiques of my two female friends, changes that both interested me and in some places aroused me. Obviously the sedentary lifestyle was getting to Martha as well – whereas before the added mass merely seemed to soften and widen her frame, now it was settling in her nether regions and strengthening her out into a widened pear shape. Some days would occur in which, like me, she wore nothing but underwear and a t-shirt – but quite often one two sizes too big, covering her body but leaving her free and unconfined by tight jeans or waistlines and billowing like a tent; she could always find castoffs of Bliss’.

Bliss herself had obstinately stuck to her regime, and it had begun to show in many ways. Just as Martha’s form had originally softened and blurred when I first saw her after all those months, so had my lover’s seemed to sharpen. She’d gone two sizes smaller some time after my first Month, and then three more some time after that. Now, she was still pleasantly chubby, around the area of 280-300 lbs, and her clothes becoming considerably looser. Her dark skin had become slightly darker when not so spread-around and her figure had begun to draw into itself; she was starting to take on an hourglass shape, the weight seeming to vanish most prominently from her waist and neck area and more slowly in her chest and rear. Not that I was complaining.

As for me, I’d grown to the neighborhood of 265-280 pounds, almost reaching the point where I would be Bliss’ equal in weight and size, and 300 was a milestone so close I could almost literally taste it. Day by day the small instances where I’d have to get up – say, to visit the toilet – would result in a fixed waddle, coupled with the rubbing-together of my inner thighs. I’d come to a point where I was inside for so much of the time that merely my (more often than not) outsize t-shirts and briefs were the norm for clothing. I didn’t want to consider a Homer Simpson-style Muumuu quite yet.

All in all, our mutual lifestyles had crossed over in the most delightful ways, becoming huge successes; on some days I’d wonder, over a nice plate of chicken wings, what the title of our life would be if it was a sitcom. ‘You And Me And Bliss’? ‘Our Mutual Paths’? ‘Invitations’?

I shrugged off the idle thought and finished up as Martha returned to the room with the massage oil. Whatever my life become, it had certainly become wonderful. And things could only get better from here…


In the middle of the massage, the phone rang violently, startling both me and Martha out of our relaxation. Martha patted me lightly on the rump, jokingly said Don’t Go Away! and waddled over to get it. I heard the machine being taken off the hook and Martha answering in the light tone she’d always used over the phone, a leftover trait from her secretarying days. Then, she waddled back to me, phone in hand, took up the oil in the other hand and gave the phone to me, wordlessly and expressionlessly. I held it up to my head and listened tentatively. Then I panicked slightly.


Continued in post 20 of this thread…

Last edited by Observer; 12-12-2008 at 09:02 AM.
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Old 05-16-2008, 02:59 PM   #15
Wondering Where You Are
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JimBob can now be the recipient of "two cans" jokesJimBob can now be the recipient of "two cans" jokesJimBob can now be the recipient of "two cans" jokes

Sigh. I'd post the usual drek about comment's being appreciated, but I probably won't get any...
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Old 05-16-2008, 03:11 PM   #16
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Really like the story so far. It will be interesting to see how the family reacts. Keep up the good work.
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Old 05-18-2008, 08:58 PM   #17
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I can't speak for anyone else, but I was simply waiting in awe for another update.

That and the site keeps crashing....

But good work, can't wait for the clash of the relatives.
Six packs should be in coolers. ;)

FFA: Doesn't always stand for Future Farmers of America. :D
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Old 05-18-2008, 09:06 PM   #18
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Old 05-20-2008, 08:29 AM   #19
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I'm really looking forward to more of this
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Old 05-28-2008, 04:37 AM   #20
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So, now we skip ahead a bit.

Weeks after that abrupt phone call, I was making my first trip in weeks across the long trek back home. My parents out of the city that never sleeps, not particularly admiring folks over there for their lifestyle, which bears a similar description; they bought and restored an old farmhouse in Kansas to its former glory, and resided there peacefully. The downside was that we held long-distance communication…and that any changes would seem strongly abrupt.

My mother had been eager to catch up with my life and everything that had been going on, for a singular reason – I’d stopped e-mailing. My accursed memory had been so focused on maintaining my concentration between working and, well, eating, that I’d neglected to keep up with the bi-weekly bulletin on my general wellbeing that her motherly instinct craved like a starving vulture. But don’t go getting any bad impression, just because she’s eager.

Once she’d managed to tease my having a new and serious relationship out of me, immediately we were invited into welcoming Bliss ‘into the family’, an offer which I steadfastly declined despite all threats, passive-aggressive maneuvers, and bribes, up until she mentioned those special chocolate brownies she loved making for me when I was eleven.

So, now, three weeks after her invitation – the only time that I had bluffed that my schedule was free, so that I’d have time to break the news, prepare, and try to find some way to avoid it – I was on the road from the airport, crammed into my relatively small hired motor vehicle, next to the woman of my dreams, dreading the reaction we’d get when we finally made our way into the gates of my old homestead. I still wasn’t sure we’d be able to actually tell them what had happened between us without them gagging and/or laughing. It didn’t help that they had some reason for not meeting us at the airport.

I was sweating like a prize hog, not only from fear and anticipation but also the added heat; I had initially required a false beard and sunglasses, should anyone out of the office on a Sunday recognize me even in my shiny new 280-pound wrapper. The disguise was off, but I still retained the large sweater from the disguise, and the sunlight was terrible on my brow, made even worse by my anxious expression. The gradually ‘shortening’ seatbelt just seemed to make it worse.

Sitting across from me, Bliss was acutely better off. This came partially from the large, ornate Japanese fan she waved in front of her ever-sunny face, and in a larger part due to her loss in mass over the last few weeks. We had, with great trepidation, reached the point where by a small margin, I was larger than her. This didn’t reach a particularly huge fanfare; it would still be a long, long road before we both got to those significantly high and low numbers where it really mattered. As it was, we were both in the neighbourhood of 280, near the same size; dress us in clothes that obscured our distinguishing features and you could have taken us for the same person.

I made the turning, bringing us ever closer to the lion’s mouth, and felt an involuntary grimace…followed by a soft hand on my soft arm. I shared a calming glance with my large, beautiful lover.

Relax, she intoned. It Can’t Be That Bad. They Made You, Remember? And I Fell In Love With You. So There Must Be Something About The Two Of Them That I’ll Like!

It’s Not You I’m Worried About,
I sighed in reply. I Worry Because…Because I’m Afraid. I Don’t Think They’ll Accept You.

She looked back at me, concerned; I kept my eyes on the road. You, You Really Think That? She asked, innocent-eyed.

I Dread It, But It’s A Possibility. It’s Likely They May Even Disown Me For Doing This To Myself.

That’s Horrible!

I smiled inwardly. Bliss’ childhood may have been troubled, but it was never judgmental; her father always consciously accepted people for who they were, a task that could come in degrees of ease and difficulty for the proprietor, manager and head chef of a large restaurant in the Big Apple. My folks, though…they were nice. I’m not saying they weren’t nice. But sometimes, an idea about certain people would form…and it’d stick there in their heads. I recalled wearily that it would take a long night of debating to ever sort out that sort of problem back when my siblings and I were teens.

She stayed silent for a while after that, finally waking up again to enquire…You Think We Should Have Brought Martha?

What Would Be The Point? If They Accept This – Which I Highly Doubt – It’ll Look Weird, And If They Don’t, Can You Imagine Trying To Explain? ‘Oh, And This Is The Woman Who Stuffs Me Full Of Food When The One I Love Is At Work’.
I put my head on my elbow, rested against the car door, as we briefly halted for traffic. Besides, She Deserves A Day Or Three Spent At Home, Parked On The Couch With Plenty Of Snacks.

Don’t We All.
My wonderful girlfriend smiled, and silently eased her left hand into my right, clasping it gently as if it would explode at the slightest touch. We’ll Get Through This, Baby.

I looked back at her. Her smile was enough to make me hope so.

We drew up some time later, near to a house set in the far-far away area from the city, a beautiful inherited countryhouse way down in the middle of an obscure area of the South. The motorway was just as dusty as the house itself; and the dirt path, one that would lead to a long and beautiful golden crop by now, was covered in plump free-range chickens.

I pulled myself out of the damnable rented mini – at this point, it was achievable one buttock at a time, a condition which I could not help noticing was arousing to the extreme in Bliss – and turned to shout We’re Here! at the top of my voice.

As I strode around to the car boot, peeling off my sweater, the doors swung slowly open, creaking gently…and a gaunt figure stood in silhouette there.


From out of the shadows, the figure stepped, a basket covered in a checkered red-and-white blanket under his arm. I recognized my father immediately, and he me. He looked at me closely, squinting and turning his head like a vulture.

As he took in the obvious changes, I squinted at the change in him. Time had obviously taken its toll on the ex-cop – his old wounds, bare in the overalls he wore over a short white t-shirt, were almost unrecognizably closed up, and a grey streak rippled through his hair like the wind in the barley. Mom had forced him to give up smoking years ago, and now he merely chewed upon pumpkin seeds – but he lacked even those, now. He looked…bedraggled, almost, as if dragged through a hedge; he squinted a bit too much as well.

Bliss, who had also had some challenge in removing herself from the frame of that mini, dusted herself off, adjusted her dress, and smiled, shuffling away from the car towards him. Ah, You Must Be Mister –

He held up a hand, commanding, inquiring, the sort of gesture drilled into him by an over-aggressive sergeant decades ago. His hand swiveled until the index finger stabbed out, pointing at her, and simultaneously his head, owl-like, swiveled towards mine.

You…With Her? He asked, whispering even in the deep baritone I knew so well. I could read nothing from his expression.

Um, Yes…I Mean, What Do You Mean, ‘With’ –

Are You Hers?
he said, more forcefully and louder; there could be no mistaking the meaning. I nodded, solemnly. A brief glance at her saw a frozen smile.

He looked at us both, scoped out my new frame and the face behind hers. Then he turned, weary, the cloth briefly falling away from the basket he carried.

Just Great…Just Damned Great, he muttered, loudly enough for me to hear, a little out of character as I remembered him. I glanced at Bliss, she at me; we shared our puzzlement as he continued, Two More.

Confused at this rather cryptic grumble, we hurried after him as he stalked back towards the house. Bliss bent down briefly to pick up the cloth that Dad had dropped, and I noticed that the basket was crammed full of what seemed to be piping-hot, freshly-baked bread. My mouth watered unconsciously.

Uh, Dad? What Did You Mean By – another gesture of his silenced me as his hand came up again, though he slowed not his pace, nor turned around.

You Might As Well Come And See. No Use Me Telling You…I’ll Show Ya.

With that cryptic message, he stalked into the house through its (wide-open?) double-doors, into the shade, obscure in the noonday sun. Bliss and I stopped short, and looked at each other.

They…Usually Like This? She asked, tentative.

Not To My Knowledge. Usually, He’s Quite Nice To My Girlfriends…Still, No Turning Back Now. I clasped her hand as she had mine in the car. Over The Threshold…

Hands still held, Bliss and I made the short wal – waddle up the stairs…preparing to encounter my Mom.


The last time I had seen my mother’s whole body had been roughly three years, after my younger brother’s wedding; I noticed that brother of mine, Guy, sitting at one end of our old round oaken table in a white two-piece suit – always the professional, our Guy – with his nice young wife, a model named Chantal who brought home the bacon as much as he did from their mutual photography projects. When I’d last seen Mom, she had lost most of her post-pregnancy weight a half-decade before, and had deftly avoided any gain since then. After that, we’d communicated primarily through phone and email, webcams having never quite caught on between us. I’d hoped she’d be prepared for our changes…never dreamed of preparing myself for a change in her.

Simply put, the woman sat before me was not my Mother as I once had known her. This new person was an elephantine mass of humanity, a true and honest Super-Sized Big (And You Had To Admit It) Beautiful Woman. Dominating one end of the table as if there to single-handedly prove that making it round did not equalize those who sat at it, she was positioned across three chairs, two of which looked to have been modified with an axe, their armrests chopped and sanded away. Her gigantic body oozed out everywhere, her forearms thick as my sister-in-law Chantal’s waist, her heap of tied-up mouse-brown hair – even that had grown more, unchecked – crowning a warm face framed by multiple swollen chins; she wore a massive dress seemingly stitched from three identical dresses, a light blue with red cherry patterns. After all, light colours absorb less heat.

She was probably as much woman – correction, as much large woman as you could get into one skin without having to legally declare them two large women, and seemed eager to get bigger. Beneath her miniscule wire-framed spectacles, her eager mouth was chomping down on a hunk of southern cornbread, the kind immortalized as the best in the globe by the great Mark Twain, her swollen eyelids wrinkling with pleasure. A deep, soft gurgling emanated from…somewhere in her body, and she unselfconsciously patted first her belly, sending a five-minute tremble in the fold hanging from underneath her dress, and then her even huger rear, which rumbled and shook even more beneath the cool blue fabric. The choir of wooden chairs beneath it creaked in resigned accompaniment.

My sheer awe and shock at seeing the woman who had lovingly brought me up from a baby changed from near-model size to what could almost be called a creature of fantasy had briefly dislocated my jaw; I turned around, taking some time to straighten it with my hands, and turned to Bliss. True to her ever-polite form, she was smiling only a little, her eyes bright and friendly. We both seemed to be awaiting some spark of recognition, as if waiting for answer from some divine fertility Goddess.

Dad, who’d somehow lagged behind, looked soberly at us two, then turned to the woman who now dwarfed his once-statuesque bearing, gingerly offering up the basket onto the already ample-laden table with a warm smile, getting only a small grunt of recognition in return. He turned to us, his smile briefly drained, and his face said it all: First Her. Now You. We All Know Whose Side Of The Family This Is Coming From.

Upon looking at our confused-but-hopeful faces, he rolled his eyes heavenward and strolled tentatively – straw hat now respectfully in hands – towards his constantly quivering mass of a wife. He moved quite slowly, allowing us to move equally slowly to take a seat each; Guy and Chantal, seemingly desensitized to the coming spectacle, smiled at us and gestured to watch the performance. They reminded me of the audience at an Amphitheatre in films about Ancient Roman Gladiators.

Dad had managed to reach his wife’s ear, and bending forward between her ponderous chins and her mouth, he patted her on the shoulder. We could just detect over her chomping, the words…

Honey…The Boy An’ –

Mmmphll Mmrrgl!

We watched as if in the middle of a wildlife documentary as a pudgy, sausage-fingered hand briefly detached itself from the epic quest for the next chicken leg, two eyes turned from the cornbread they had been singularly focused on, and an arm with all the thickness and weight of a small dog shoved at my Father’s face. The weight was too much for even a man of his strength, and he fell, arms careening comically behind him, onto the wooden floor. She returned to her chomping, licking her fingers of corn kernels and dipping the chicken leg lightly in a displayed tub of homemade salsa as he rose up again. The message was, once more, almost delivered; but now her mouth was not as occupied.

The voice, though now trapped in a thick southern drawl, itself imprisoned within a throat held inside great jowls of blubber, was nevertheless unmistakable to one who had heard it most of their waking lives. It seemed not too different, though, from the instantly-familiar tone that had traveled to me across the phonelines; I idly pondered on the possibility of her maintaining two distinct personalities, half-listening as she spoke to my Father, seemingly deciding not to waste her time in elaborating on the obvious:

Not Now, Richard…Ah’m Refuelin’.

And she fell back to eating with the great gusto anyone would expect from seeing her. I briefly turned to look at Guy and Chantal; the one was tapping his fingers on the table with expectation, the other sleepily laying her smiling head on his shoulder. Dad seemed exasperated; I got the feeling this was not the first time he had to interrupt the woman he loved from her never-ending journey to the discovery of her new, improved self.

But Sweetheart…The Boy An’ His Gal…You Called Them, Rem –

Once again, the arm, this time without even looking. Once again, for the lady he’d fallen in love with and the kid he raised, he picked himself up from the wooden floor, solemnly dusted himself down, and stood the ground that was his. He’d faced worse, most of it from people he didn’t love, for many periods of his life.

Listen – If You Don’t Stop Your Damn Chomping Just One Minute, I Won’t Be Surprised If You Finish That Meal Less One Son!

That did it. He stepped out of her reach – it seemed quite obvious, I wonder to this day why he hadn’t ever tried that before – as she focused her full attention on him now, briefly wiping her great jowls. She looked slightly bothered, but not at all angry or annoyed.

What In The Sam Hell Are You Talkin’ – and then her eyes swiveled as if on strings towards the vicinity of me and my gal. She called my name as if calling out to the lord almighty – and my family is mostly very devout – and her face broke into a sunshine more golden than the corn crop of that year. Breaking away, she supported her head with her right hand, in a way that almost made them seem to melt into each other.

Why, Ah Had No Idea You Were Here, Baby Boy! she exclaimed, her chins bobbing up and down with her smile. I believed her, I really did. Looking at her now, I felt quite sure she’d probably be unaware of any stimulus other than touch and taste in a minute or so. Well, What’re You Waitin’ For? Come And Dig In, Y’all!

Without standing on ceremony, she did so herself, grabbing at one of the now-cooled bread rolls from the basket and returning to her previous state, an almost Jekyll-And-Hyde transformation taking place in front of our very eyes and confirming my vague suppositions from earlier. Dad, who had taken the chance to head for the fridge, walked in with a cool beer in his left hand and a dreamy, faraway smile on his face. Getting over the dread of his massive wife’s interrupted wrath had seemingly relieved his bad mood. He sat down across from us, nodded politely at Guy and Chantal, and spoke as if his wife wasn’t even there.

You Might As Well Do As She Says. It’ll Be Gone, Else, And She’ll Be Too Tightly Packed To Talk To Either Of Ya. These Two Skini-Minis – he indicated my brother and his wife with a thumb – Already Took What They Wanted. No Offence.

None Taken, smiled Guy, who seemed so enthralled by the spectacle of our Mother, just as Bliss was, that he took no notice of the obvious changes in me and the size of my new girlfriend. Bliss – who by now had pulled on a napkin and was tucking into a rack of ribs – kept her eyes continually on my Mother’s massive frame; to Guy, she was like a photography project, to Bliss, a work of art. Seeing that I would get no witty chit-chat out of the jet-lagged, comatose Chantal, I leaned across the table to grab at what was left of a nice-looking pie, turning my face to Dad.


He handed me a beer of my own, seemingly out of nowhere, which I quickly swigged. With my current mass, it wouldn’t even affect my balance; still, I swigged down half the bottle, and that seemed to relax the situation a little. I decided to get the question out of the way as soon as possible.

The Reason I’m…Eyebrow Shuffle, Tummy Pat…‘Like This’ Is Because, As You See, I’ve Found The One True Love Of My Life. I jerked a thumb at the inattentive Bliss. I then looked at the titanic mass of wobbling woman who, it now seemed nigh-impossible to believe, had once given birth to me and remained perfectly healthy a long time afterwards. What’s Your Excuse?

He looked at me, smiled, and leant back, resting his feet on a non-greasy spot of the tablecloth. Long Story, he chuckled, quietly and a tad wistfully.

I Have Some Time.

So You Do.


When me and the rest of the kids had finally and agreeably moved out, my parents had become part of that lucky minority whose marriages reinvent themselves after the children. They remained passionately in love, and after making the decision to get away from it all in the till-recently unused house inherited long since from my deceased grandparents, lived the quiet and peaceful life that they had meant to.

Then…something happened.

What? I asked, taking a slice of cold ham and some bread.

Damned If I Know, Boy. It Was Sorta Like…Ya Know You’re Supposed To Have Some Sort Of Mid-Life Crisis? It Was Sort Of, Like She Avoided Having One So Long That It Built Up And Built Up And Then Jumped On Her By Surprise. He grinned, awkwardly. Sorry I Can’t Describe It Better.

No, No, You’re Doing Fine. What Next?

What Next indeed. According to him, one day Mom had gotten home from the reading club she had started with some of the local housewives of recent, and with her came what seemed to be a bottomless hunger. While he worked on the crops and other self-sustaining farm work that kept him occupied in his retirement years, she quickly and quietly cleaned out the entire refrigerator, an old ‘Walk-In’ model they’d gotten off Ebay. By the time the sun went in, he returned to find her with a rip in the seat of her pants, asleep on her distended stomach, lazily lying on a half-collapsed deck-chair and surrounded by dispensed wrappers and cartons.

This Was How Long Ago?

Seven Months The Tuesday After Next, he replied. Damned If They Ain’t Been Busy Months Since Then, Boy…Lucky I Seem To Pick Up Farming Better As I Go Along. ‘Tween The Food We Grow For Ourselves…The Food We Sell…And Our Other Little Scrapings…I Can Just About Support Her And Me From Week To Week.

And You Never Thought Of Calling Any Of Us? It’s Not Like Guy And I Are That Bad-Off…

He obstinately shook his head. Charities Are For Folks Who Can’t Get Any Food At All. We’re Fine As We Are, Boy…We’ll Stay Fine.

Not wanting to start our little reunion on a bad footing, I quickly switched topics. So What Were Your ‘Other Little Scrapings’?

Oh, You Know…This And That…

The ‘Scrapings’ included many pet projects of both or either parent that only served to demonstrate the ingenuity of each. With the continued widening of her girth, Mom’s creativity had stretched as well; she began compiling her own recipes that experimented with local traditional dishes, as well as pulling in ideas from outside and integrating them in a new way. Dad himself was glad of odd-jobs in the tightly-knit community, such as fixing the local school’s roof or helping install a new drainage system for the nearby church; and with book club meetings becoming more and more frequent, soon enough of a mini-business from selling old books or trading them for other books had emerged on the side. Then, of course, there were also events such as farmer’s markets or festivals where well-prepared food would be in constant demand, and they were never lacking in their diligence towards that department.

I was seriously impressed with the rather swift integration of my city-type parents into country society, and said so, but my Father waved it aside.

Ah, It Wasn’t Too Dramatic. I Guess The Knack Was Really In The Blood, What With Your Ma’s Folks Having Lived Here…This House Was Theirs, Now It’s Hers. And It Looks Like That’s Not The Only Thing They Seem To Have Handed Down, he added in a knowing tone. I briefly recalled my Mother’s Mother, a plump and cuddly woman who had once or twice before her tragic demise in her sleep alluded to being much bigger in the distant past.

Guess It Runs In The Family, I laughed, letting out my belt a little for more room.

So I Noticed. Sorry If I Seemed A Tad Harsh Earlier – Only, I’m Not Too Happy To Disturb Her When She’s In The Middle Of A ‘Session’.

It’s Perfectly Fine. I’m Just Happy The Both Of You Aren’t Too Much Against…You Know…
I made a sweeping gesture over my whole body, one that extended to Bliss’ as well, My New Developments.

He shrugged. Your Life, Your Body. We’ve Always Believed In That. I’m Guessing You Got A Long Story As Well?

I nodded back. I Think I’ll Wait Until After We’ve Eaten To Tell It. I’d Like Mom To Hear, And I Think Bliss Would Like To Tell A Bit Of It Too.

Bliss, Huh? Pretty Name,
He said, looking over at her. She had seemingly, without taking her eyes off the hypnotic presence of my mother, constructed a small sandwich out of salsa, salad and the meat off a chicken leg, which she was now daintily chomping. As usual, The Mission came first.

I smiled. You Wouldn’t Believe How Many Ways That Applies.

Looking At You, I Can Guess One Or Two Of Them, He replied. That got a good laugh between us, and we sat back in the sun, a light that now seemed refreshing within the old country house, and enjoyed a well-prepared, very solid meal.


To Be Continued (In The Very Next Post, Page 2)

Last edited by Risible; 06-03-2008 at 08:44 AM.
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Old 05-28-2008, 04:37 AM   #21
Wondering Where You Are
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Hours later, in the spacious living room, I’d managed to finish telling the story so far with Bliss at my side, filling in the gaps with her version of events. Mom – peacefully taking up a large sofa, attentive and eager to listen now that her gorging was done – took a deep breath and briefly fanned herself as she absorbed the information, making small burps occasionally. Dad nodded, sagely, not making any judgments as he had promised, and Guy shrugged his shoulders in an amicable ‘To Each His Own’ way. Chantal had gone off to their shared guest-room for a few hours.

…And One Morning, I Got Up, And…You Called. I looked up and into my Mother’s eyes, both of which seemed pretty far away by now. And You Invited Us Here. And Here…We Are.

Mom’s mind seemed to be having an inner debate – and let’s face it, she was large enough that there could have been two people debating in there, albeit one of them being quite short – over this new status quo. I could see her brow wrinkling a bit, a window to the Mom of my past – the one who had always managed to make peace when her kids squabbled, the one who had always warned us to watch what we ate and got plenty of exercise. I don’t mean to imply that I wanted that version of her back, but still…for a moment I was a little wistful.

Thankfully, she interrupted this. So…You Wanna Get, Uh, ‘Big’. I nodded. And She – she nodded at Bliss, who waved and gave us a wacky grin as if on TV – Wants to get ‘Small’.

That’s About The Long And The Short Of It. It’s…Well, It’s Sort Of –
she waved me into silence.


Yes, Honey?

These Kids Are Doin’ Something They Want To Do, Right? Makin’ Their Own Choices In Life?

That’s How I See It.

So, You Got Any Hangups ‘Bout That?

Can’t Say I Do.

She nodded, sagely, adjusting her spectacles. Neither Do I. You, Guy? My brother shook his head, smiling a little. Heck, I’m Not His Mother. Nor Hers.

She focused on me again, and leant forward as much as she dared do so. Boy…I’d Probably Expect You To Think I’d Go Nuts About The ‘New You’, So To Speak…But Ya Didn’t Really Keep Thinkin’ That After Ya Saw… She patted her stomach again, …The New Me?

Not Really,
I admitted, grinning bashfully. She laughed, stifling a burp.

Then What’re You Worryin’ About? It’s Your Body, Boy! I Wouldn’t Expect You To Tell Me To Do Somethin’ ‘Bout The Way I Am – Why would You Two Think Any Different About Li’l Ol’ Me? Way I See It – And here she braved the odds, reaching all the way down to give me a light, affectionate slap on the chubby cheek – My Little Baby Boy Grew Up When He Went To The Big City, Didn’t He?

I laughed, rubbing my face tenderly, and she roared with joy back. I felt relieved! It was like a huge curtain had been lifted and the stage laid bare in my soul. This new development, with Bliss…this was a moment where it felt as if we were truly meant to be together. I stood up, walked around the couch she was sitting on, and hugged as much of her upper body as our mutually enlarged physiques could allow.

Thanks, Mom…This Means A Lot, Coming From You.

She just glowed, and turned away to Bliss. Well Done, Missy.

I’m Sorry? Bliss asked, smiling back with a little bewilderment.

You Taken Care Of Him Good. I Wouldn’t Ask More Of Anybody.

We shared that warm, familial moment for a couple more minutes before she eventually hefted her bulk up, grunting a bit, and headed back towards the kitchen. I noticed her wiping at her face a little with one podgy hand.

Dunno ‘Bout You Guys, But I Could Sure Go For Some Coffee Right Now…

She lumbered away, followed by Dad, and they came back with two trays, containing a pot of coffee, cups, and two large bags of donuts. The one bag was placed on the coffee table with the pot and cups. To ask who the other bag was for…would have been stupid.


After a long, long night of catching up, talking, laughing, generally just having a nice time with the family, Bliss and I lay in the Guest Bedroom situated in the refurnished former barn, a stone’s throw to the east of the main house. Climbing the small stairs from the bathroom area of that cosy little hut, she had clambered onto the reinforced bed, and shared a moment of quiet contemplation with me, staring up at the ceiling in the half-light, silent except for her humming a beautiful little tune I could never remember the name of.

At last, she turned to me, smiling a little coyly. So, she said in a half-whisper.

So, I replied at the same volume, not taking my eyes off the ceiling.

I Love Your Mother.

Aha. I Knew There Was Something Going On This Evening.

She’s A Wonderful Person. Really…Inspirational.

You Say That Because You’re Afraid She’ll Eat You.

You Say That About Your Own Mom?

‘Cause You Know It’s True.

She giggled, impishly, and placed a chubby arm around my chubby middle. I didn’t look yet.

Honestly…You Were Really Expecting This To Turn Out Worse, Weren’t You? I nodded, a little. And It Went Perfect. I nodded again, and added, But It Won’t Always Be So Easy, Bliss.

I Know. I’m Just Sayin’, You Know…I’m Glad It’s Gone Perfect So Far.
Her arm was moving now, slowly, gently, an artist’s love for her creation.

I Love You, she said suddenly.

I Love You Too.

We Don’t Say It As Much As We Should.

Maybe That’s ‘Cause We Know It Already.

She smirked. Maybe.

We stayed in that position for at least five more minutes before, and now she was humming “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds”, for some reason. I suddenly realized a possible reason, just as she began to talk again.

Honey –

How Did You Know My Mom’s Name Was Lucy?
I interrupted, not redirecting my gaze still. I detected a shrug.

Lucky Guess. Anyway…You Know I Said Your Mom Was Inspirational?


I Didn’t Just Mean Her Cooking Talents.
Her hand suddenly grabbed at the flesh of my belly, squeezed hard enough for it to hurt, and let go. Then she simply rested her hand on it and shook it up and down, jiggling the pain away.

Now, I turned my head. You’d Get Me That Fat? She nodded her head, playfully. There really was an impish, flirtatious spark in her eyes now, her hand still there, still jiggling at me. Even If I Didn’t Want That? Even If You Had To Force-Feed Me?

And Martha.


Me And Martha Would Have To Force-Feed You. And She’d Love It…Would It Come To That?

I Really Don’t Know. But Would You?

We shared a moment of utter seriousness. A ‘Hanging-On-A-Thread’ Moment, so to speak. Then, she relaxed again, smiling.

…No, No I Wouldn’t. I Couldn’t Do That, Not To Someone I Loved As Much As You…

I Love You Too, You Know. I’ll Love You ‘Til…‘Til Those Stars Over Us Turn Dark.

Thank-Ye-Kindly, Bubba,
she playfully replied, pulling at my cheek the way Mom had and briefly imitating her mode of speech. Hee…You Know What?

I was glad we were changing track. She glided her hand to cup my face lovingly.

I Might Not Do It…But The Very Thought Of It… She winked. By this time, I knew that wink. …Is Getting To Me…

In one swift movement, I jumped as if trying to get on top of her. She squealed, I laughed, and we began.


In the middle of it, she pulled away – no mean feat, considering our proportions at the time – and cupped my pudgy face in both hands now, her own chins wobbling a little awkwardly from her shortness of breath. She whispered my name.

…Yes? I replied, nervous.

Don’t…Ever…Leave Me.

I pushed towards her, and kissed her again, adding on a hug for good measure. She held on like a woman drowning.

We finished some time after, and slept like angels.


We stayed for a short time more with my parents and family; Guy’s twin brother Jim, a single stockbroker in ‘Frisco, wasn’t able to turn up for quite some time due to his horrible schedule. My sister Debbie, however, turned up with her own extended entourage, heavily pregnant with her own set of triplets, her five-year-old daughter and her wonderfully resilient hubby who she had met on a study trip to Mexico.

Oddly enough, Debs seemed totally unphased by Mom’s transformation, despite having not seen Mom for even longer than I had; but I suppose that being a mother herself might have something to do with it. The whole group of us shared another few weeks together talking, enjoying the sun, and enjoying an onslaught of marvelous food from any number of people who could fit into the gigantic kitchen at one time. At certain points, it seemed a new unwritten law was that there should always be at least two people in there, and at least one preparing something edible.

At last, amongst tears, a new recipe book for Bliss and continued joking promises to e-mail with whole comparative shots of our bodies at every milestone, we boarded our plane back to the Big Apple. The journey home was swift and pleasant, and surprisingly for the airline free of any weight-related problems, and we got home with smiles on our faces and growls in our bellies. Instinct apart, though, I made sure we kept faith with The Mission; the instant we got in the door, we completely bypassed even looking at anything else before getting to the bathroom to be weighed. I weighed in at 291 lbs, eleven pounds heavier than when I had left; Bliss herself had shed nine pounds, a development that made her do a little girlish twirl on the spot. Thank You, Mom…

The Mission criteria fulfilled, we went to check up with our lodger. The door to the sitting room slightly jammed, we managed to force it open to find the floor clogged with wrappers, plastic bottles, plastic containers, cans, and some odd smells…in the centre of the tornado site, balanced tentatively on the recliner and sheltering by the light of the TV set, was a cocoon of blankets resting on a pillow and making odd gurgles and burps. I had a gut feeling that we wouldn’t find crack it open to find some sort of gigantic insect.

Bliss got there before me, reaching instantly and instinctively towards a spot she knew would be tender and slapping it heavily. The side of the cocoon we couldn’t see shifted slightly, and it rolled over, revealing Martha, a huge bag of mixed chocolate bars cradled like a baby in one hand, the chocolate being suckled off a Snickers in the other. She looked visibly larger since we’d left, even with the added wrapping; even my Mom’s cooking couldn’t beat weeks of inactivity and feeding.

Martha's eyes, closed and peaceful, took five seconds to snap open and stare at us, almost unrecognizing. Then, Snickers still sucked at in her mouth, she offered the bag to us, a warm and inviting expression printed all over her.

I looked at Bliss, and she at me. When a large enough cab could not be found, we’d had to drag our large bodies, as well as our luggage, all the way from the airport. We gave a mutual shrug that seemed to stretch across our whole bodies, we sat down, Bliss clearing a spot on the couch and I finding a clear patch of the floor. I picked up an unopened beer can and let out my belt a little, easing my straining jeans; my black t-shirt was pinching and pulling and I slid it off, throwing it somewhere in the distance. Neither of them noticed, unless an unladylike belch from Martha counted.

Clearing up could come later…right now was grub time.


To Be Continued…

Last edited by Observer; 12-12-2008 at 02:52 PM.
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Old 05-28-2008, 04:43 AM   #22
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JimBob can now be the recipient of "two cans" jokesJimBob can now be the recipient of "two cans" jokesJimBob can now be the recipient of "two cans" jokes

Stay Tuned for a bit of Soap-Opera next chapter, and a chapter that starts off with some extremely graphic description...
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Old 05-28-2008, 07:42 AM   #23
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JimBob can now be the recipient of "two cans" jokesJimBob can now be the recipient of "two cans" jokesJimBob can now be the recipient of "two cans" jokes

And might I add that comments - whether good or bad - are, as always, very welcome.
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Old 05-28-2008, 08:38 PM   #24
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Bring on the soap opera!
Six packs should be in coolers. ;)

FFA: Doesn't always stand for Future Farmers of America. :D
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Old 06-12-2008, 04:38 AM   #25
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JimBob can now be the recipient of "two cans" jokesJimBob can now be the recipient of "two cans" jokesJimBob can now be the recipient of "two cans" jokes

No? Nothing more?
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