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Old 11-09-2011, 03:22 PM   #26
Join Date: Dec 2005
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crtwrght_mrk has said some nice things

I have to break out of my typical board silence to say how much I am enjoying your story, you are clearly a talented writer.
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Old 11-09-2011, 08:51 PM   #27
Join Date: Jun 2007
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Tad - thank you very much! When is that skater story going to get finished? Or did i miss it? I loved where that was going!

Bluestreak - thank you very much for the kind words!

crtwght mrk - i am honored to have your first post! Thank you!

This story was my first post and i only did it because of all the great authors and their stories that i have read here over the years.

I am almost finished with a part twelve, i should have it up tomorrow. After that, i'll need some time to bang out some more.
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Old 11-10-2011, 06:56 AM   #28
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TheOwl has said some nice things

Love how she is gradually coming to love the new her, hope she is ready to go home by Christmas.

Looking forward to more.
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Old 11-10-2011, 08:13 AM   #29
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Part Twelve

So we did the Midwestern Thanksgiving. Yes, the turkey was deep-fried out in the garage, thank you. I am not ashamed of my NASCAR-loving, far-Right, gun-collecting Redneck heritage, but once a year is enough to focus on the good times while not getting sucked in.

No one had said even a word as they soaked in her transformation since last Thanksgiving. She had always been the outsider; her beauty, style, and East Coast upbringing building a wall in their minds as well as hers. Suddenly she was one of them. She fit right in with their beer bellies and broad hips.

Leaving the house, I didn’t know if I should be surprised or not that she had decided to wear her daily sweats instead of her traditional dress. Now it seemed like a brilliant diplomatic move. In a dress, she would have been just as different from them as she always had been, and now fat on top of it. Instead, her dress code peace offering met them on their terms, fat and frumpy, but it was still her. She reveled in their sudden attention and warmth, the polite stand-offishness replaced with jocularity and frequent hugs. Also, the sweats were the only thing she had that still fit.

She had insisted that we bring our own case of Blue Moon so she wouldn’t feel like she had to keep asking. The sense of liberty allowed her to power through them in fine fashion and her hunger showed no bounds.

In the new intimacy, they lavished food upon her as well as attention, never letting her plate empty, piling it on despite her half-hearted protests. She kept eating and eating. For my mom and my sister, they delivered the extra portions with a sense of tenderness and caring. My dad and my brother, both half in the bag themselves, treated it like a game. More potatoes, more stuffing, more turkey, even more potatoes, and then they stared at her with schoolboy smiles on their faces as she plowed right through it.

The empty bottles were standing all around her like an army of 12 ounce bodyguards protecting the Queen of Lushes, when finally it was dessert time. Her gorgeous face was flushed, her eyes were glazed, she was very drunk, but she didn’t stop. Over the past hour, she had started complaining about how full she was, even though she still kept eating.

With the prospect of dessert, she was suddenly eager again. She asked for pumpkin first and quickly oohed and aahed her way through the thick wedge of pie. Next was apple, devoured with equal speed and admiration. She didn’t refuse when my brother offered a third piece, this time a slice of red velvet cake, but now she was silent. She moved the fork to her mouth like she was a zombie: slowly, steadily, never stopping. He stared at her in fascination until she finished. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, her hands on her stomach, and let out a big sigh.

My brother and I met at the refrigerator a while later, putting things away.

“Man, I never knew your wife could eat like that!”

“Yeah, she started working from home this year and her appetite has really picked up.”

“Bro, you’d better watch out, she’s really packing it on. You’re going to need to put a lock on that fridge of yours!”

“A lock? You don’t know what I like, I was thinking of buying a second refrigerator!”

“Are you serious? You want her to get fatter?”

“I sure wouldn’t mind.”

“Well, to each his own. You must be happier than a pig in shit, she is getting big. Good thing you are too, ‘cause it doesn’t look like that runaway train is going to be stopping anytime soon! I thought she was going to pop on that last piece of dessert, she was a woman possessed! How about all those beers? Man, she could outdrink me! What happened to all her funny drinks?”

“Yeah, she got on a Blue Moon kick this fall. She loves them.”

“Well, I guess that fits with the program. Should I go see if she wants another piece of pie?”

“She just might if she were awake, but thanks for offering.”

“Hey, I’m here to help a brother out.”

They had put out an air mattress for us since we were staying the night, but I left her on the couch where she had lain sleeping since 8 pm, asleep moments after stumbling there from the table a few steps away. The next morning, Mom fried up a huge breakfast spread of eggs, bacon, toast, pancakes, and hashbrowns. My wife’s hunger sober nearly matched her drunken engorgement of the night before. My brother played the studious enabler. He sat next to her and suavely and gentlemanly kept her plate full. She responded appreciatively, batting her beautiful eyes at him and giving him broad smiles as she lapped up the attention.

We left just before noon, not long after the breakfast marathon had ended. There were tight hugs and warm words all around. They sent the red velvet cake home with us, since she was the only person who had a slice. She was so stuffed from breakfast that she quickly fell asleep in the car and slept the whole four and a half hour car ride home. I woke her when we got home. As she stretched, she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. She looked at the dashboard clock.

“Oh my God, it’s nearly 5 o’clock! I am so hungry. Why don’t we just go right to dinner? I’m starving!”

We didn’t even get out of the car. I backed out of the driveway and we were on our way to the buffet. We had our usual great dinner and on the way out she made her now usual 5-inch soft-serve cone. Back home, we popped in a DVD and snuggled down for the movie. I am not going to complain, but I was like a jack-in-the-box. Just 20 minutes into the movie she asked for a Blue Moon. 20 minutes later, another. A half an hour later, a third. Ten minutes later, she wanted a slice of that red velvet cake calling to her from the kitchen counter. 20 minutes later, a fourth Blue Moon. Ten minutes later, a second slice of cake. I had just finished feeding her the second slice of cake and the credits started rolling. She said the movie was good. I’ll take her word for it.

Back when I first met her and we would take off on a road trip along the Cote D’Azur, we would stop for lunch at some little trattoria and she would be stupid tipsy after a single glass of wine. It was kind of hot because her inhibitions would drop like a rock when she got sauced, but at the same time it was frustrating because she was only ever one glass away from needing help to get back to the car. At five feet and 100 pounds, you really couldn’t expect much different. Her alcohol tolerance improved somewhat with time, perhaps due to her slowly increasing weight. Up until this year it was two drinks tipsy, third drink drunk.

Now she weighed in the neighborhood of double her original weight and it seemed like it took even more for her to get drunk than it did me. The movie was over, she had downed four beers in less than two hours and she didn’t seem tipsy at all. Horny? Oh my god, yes, but tipsy, no.

She stood up and stripped right in front of me while I quickly kicked off my pants. The living room was dark, but the lights in the kitchen behind me were on, it was like she was on stage, my own private burlesque. She pushed the sweatpants over and down her butt, pushed them down her thighs, let them fall once they hit her knees, and then stepped out of them. She pulled the sweatshirt up over her head and threw it aside. Wow, was she getting fat. Her underwear were very tight, making deep creases in her hips, the strained fabric passing underneath her wide flabby belly.

She had to wiggle as she pulled them down, first one side, then the other and then working them around each thigh, bending over into a mass of thick rolls. The lower belly looked like it was making it hard for her to bend far enough, the upper belly pushing her huge round breasts up into her chin. She spun around to let me unhook the bra, her round, wobbly, soft butt in my face as I sat on the sofa. Crescent curves of fat ran away from the center of her back, one to join the breasts and one to join the belly.

She straddled me on the sofa. The last time she was on top was at the cabin. That was more than 20 pounds ago. It was very easy to tell. Everything was bigger. Everything was softer. I could see the hump of her butt spread out behind her, the thighs looking incredibly wide pressed against my sides. Her belly touched mine, just barely, even when she sat up straight. Her boobs lay heavily on her belly, hanging more than they had, but the extra roundness making them seem only larger, not lower.

I always wondered why she didn’t normally want to be on top, but every time she took charge she did. What a pointless question to ask! Which is shinier, a ruby or a sapphire? Which is more beautiful, a rainbow or a sunset? Who cares?

She ran circles in my chest with her fingers as we lay contented. I closed my eyes and fell asleep. She woke me up by biting me and sent me up to bed. She had a four hour nap in the car, she was staying up. In the morning, an empty pint of Haagen-Daas guarded her slumber and another slice had disappeared from the deep red cake.

(Continued in post 32 of this thread)

Last edited by Britt Reid; 11-11-2011 at 04:47 PM.
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Old 11-10-2011, 02:25 PM   #30
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anarcha has said some nice things

Just popping in to say, Damn you're good!
my art is at http://anarcha.deviantart.com/
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Old 11-11-2011, 03:43 PM   #31
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Anarcha, thank you very much!

Part thirteen is ready to go more quickly than i anticipated. It will be up shortly. It is more introspective than descriptive, hopefully it doesn't disappoint.
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Old 11-11-2011, 03:46 PM   #32
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Part Thirteen

You know that old saying about cooking frogs? If you keep raising the temperature slowly, they won’t understand the danger until it is already too hot to jump out. If my formerly 100 pound wife had gone to 200 pounds in a day, she would have surely been swinging from the end of a rope. But her transition to fat didn’t really begin from thin, it began from chubby.

She had already well-acquainted herself with the first 40-odd pounds before leaping into the next 50. She seemed happy, she acted happy, she had told me she was happy, but if that tide ever turned, she might have already let herself go too far. She was intensely aware that I was thrilled. She had known for years that it will thrill me. Somehow she had allowed it to happen. How could there be regret or upset over the results? She made it happen, didn’t she? Of course there could regret and upset, and she had already indicated that, if the circumstances called for it, I was going to be blamed.

Sorry girls, but we need to get the facts out. There are some things that are not allowed to be discussed in even the closest and most intimate marriages. As a matter of fact, the knowing acceptance of what can’t be discussed is often a crucial aspect of what makes it close and intimate. Marriage as a form of psychoanalysis seldom reaps any positive benefits. As long as you don’t question what you can’t question, your marriage will remain a happy and stable environment, right up until that very exact moment when she decides it isn’t. And you will be blamed for having allowed that environment to continue for so long.

Be aware and be prepared that her new reality requires no reference or acknowledgement of her participation in the old reality. The man’s responsibility is total. You should have known, because you knew her so well that it didn’t need to be spoken. Men will now begin rereading this paragraph. Women readers are praising my clear and concise logic.

By this time I was pushing close to five years of experience in being married. I knew how to surf the wave of my woman. As a good surfer, I knew enough that it was unlikely I would totally wipe out, despite this wave-woman being huge and powerful, the ride of a lifetime. However, if you have watched even the very best surfers you know it is difficult to end the ride with true grace.

The whole point of these mental gymnastics is that since the moment she became aware she was gaining weight years ago, she had been displeased. She might have been resigned to it. She might not have been able to do anything about it, but her displeasure and regret over her weight were palpable.

This past year, it had all gone out the window, but was it really gone? Or was it there waiting, as the wave approached the shore? It would be her choice when the current reality ended, crashing into the headlands in a sudden foamy coup of body angst. There would be no trial, there would be no evidence or witnesses; this would be summary justice. I had made her fat. With my enablement, with my lust, with my revealing to her a new level of passion, the burden of responsibility would be mine alone.

I couldn’t shake my brother’s comment about the “runaway train”. It was now mid-December. Something wasn’t right. I had prepared myself to climb down into the valley, but now it was distant and hazy. This was no peak, it was a plateau. It was a mesa. Think back to those days of sneaking downstairs in your pajamas early on a Saturday morning to watch the Roadrunner and that poor, poor coyote. Mesas only ended one way. The cloud at your feet would slowly dissipate, you look back at the edge of the cliff and then down, down into the yawning depths of swirling air, heading for that impact crater that exactly matched the shape of your body.

She had not descended from the peak of the cheesecake. She replaced it with red velvet cake and tore through them with the identical ferocity I had blamed on the boot. She supplied herself with astonishing and consistent quantities of Haagen-Daas that she had once only choked down on occasion to please me.

She was still obviously gaining weight. How could she not, given what she was packing away day after day after day? Please don’t forget that she was so short. Every pound was so impactful, so apparent. Back on Labor Day, you would have most likely picked her out as the fat one. Now there was no doubt, put another fat woman in the room and you would still pick her as the fat one.

Her sweatpants were tight. Standing, she constantly was pulling them up on her butt and they just as constantly slid back down, revealing the tops of the rounded humps of her cheeks. Her thighs were packed into the legs, the fabric that was supposed to be relaxed was stretched. The rounded hanging bulge of her belly pressing into the front of the pants, outlined every millimeter of the way. The sweatshirts were big enough that they still cloaked the otherwise dramatic swelling in her breasts and belly, but her shoulders looked more rounded, her neck thicker, the face ashiver with jowls. Only the arms of the sweatshirt betrayed the expansion underneath, her upper arms so short and fat, the fabric no longer hanging straight but following the curve of her plump arms.

If these things didn’t confirm her as a runaway train, then one thing would. It had now been six weeks since the boot had come off. Every night either I was feeding her, or she was feeding herself, her “reward”. I went down to the bike. I didn’t care if she knew or not, perhaps because I already knew she didn’t care. I turned on the bike, the computer scrolled through the activation screens. User stats – 43 rides totaling 46 miles.

She wasn’t even attempting to fool herself. She had abandoned the bike, but not the reward. She had not been on the bike even once since the boot came off. This runaway train was off the rails. We come full circle. Even if I had wanted to, there was no acceptable way to deviate or alter our happiness, our intimacy, our passion, without destroying it.

If it needed any confirmation, it came on Christmas Eve. We were supposed to have flown out East the day before, but a snowstorm had socked in the East. We were rescheduled to go out the next morning, on Christmas Day. Screw tradition. Do you realize how many people go out to eat on holidays? We arrived at the buffet and it was packed. We waited for a table to open while the staff scrambled, their best customers were being dishonored.

A family finally left and we were quickly led to our place. I followed her, watching that butt. It seemed to have little relation to the sexy, feminine sway. Her thighs now rubbed so much that she waddled, always reaching behind to pull up the sweats. We were led to our old nook, one of the booths at the back, the only spot open. I scanned the restaurant hoping to see someone getting up, but she didn’t bat an eye or show any reaction, she plunged herself into the narrow space between the table and bench. It had just been claustrophobic previously. Now it was under-sized.

She straightened her back as far as she could, she sucked in mightily to little effect. As she slid in her belly rubbed on the table, her arched back holding her breasts just above the surface. Reaching the middle, her breasts dropped down onto the table, her belly pushing out underneath it, her fat squished out to the sides where it met the edge of the table. She reached to the end of the table to grab the napkin-wrapped utensils and started unwrapping. She was totally unfazed that she was almost cartoonishly wedged into the seat. Seeing me still standing, watching her, she flashed me a sly and sexy grin.

“Eye candy later, food now. Hurry up, I’m starving!”

Last edited by Britt Reid; 11-11-2011 at 04:52 PM.
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Old 11-11-2011, 09:15 PM   #33
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tacofive has said some nice things

NKT, I'm really digging this story. I like the realism to it, there a certain sexiness to it, and I can relate the larger story about the marriage dynamic. Even if you didn't write another word it's pretty freaking good, but I hope you'll keep it up. And I look forward to seeing where the wife's gaining journey will go!
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Old 11-13-2011, 12:31 AM   #34
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SammyBoy has said some nice things

You have some great descriptions. Keep up the amazing work.
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Old 11-14-2011, 04:19 PM   #35
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taco five and SammyBoy, thank you very much for the kind words!

Part 14 will be up shortly and i think it is done. The story could go on, but this last segment will have drained the tension and it would be pretty lifeless.
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Old 11-14-2011, 04:51 PM   #36
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Part Fourteen

I awoke in the pre-dawn dark of Christmas morning to put our bags in the car and whip up a pancake breakfast before we had to leave for the airport. Her sleeping form moaned and pulled the blanket further over her head as I flicked on the light. I sweetly urged her to rise and shine and she silently shifted herself into a sitting position. I placed the tray of pancakes on her lap as she mussed with her hair. The silence continued as she tucked into the pancakes.

I sat at the end of the bed, watching her. She poured more syrup after almost each bite until it had created a treacherous pool surrounding the remaining pancakes. Bite after bite disappeared into her waiting mouth with a workman-like sense of efficiency and purpose. She did not pause even for a moment until the pancakes were gone, then set her fork down, leaned back against her pillows, and finally looked at me with a vivid and lively smile that said she was now ready to join the world.

“Thank you so much, honey. There is absolutely no better way to start the day.”

“The pleasure was all mine! Now hurry up and get dressed. We need to be out of here in about a half hour.”

This was going to be no Midwestern Thanksgiving. She had purchased a new dress. Her entire wardrobe had long since been left to gather dust and contemplate their uselessness in the face of their matron’s new plumpness.

I don’t know where she got it, but this dress was sharp. Very conservative, all black, form-fitting without revealing more than the shape of her body, and no sleeves. The fabric was thick, and waist high so that it flowed in a smooth curve over her wide hips. It ended right at the knee, her knees dimpled, suggesting the plumpness that lay above. Her calves began with proportionate thickness received from the knee, but tapered down to slim ankles that retained a daintiness that the rest of her body had so long abandoned. A pair of black closed-toe sling-back two inch heels completed the package.

She looked stunning. The dress flattered rather than accentuated, but there was no hiding the reality that she had become a large woman. It probably takes a fat admirer to see this, but the shape of a woman’s body really doesn’t change. She still had that same trim, thin, but curvy body that she did on the beaches of Southern Europe, it was just exponentially larger in every direction except up. The last time I had seen her dressed to the nines, she was 145 pounds. I knew she had to be substantially more than the 196 she reported when the boot came off, but who knew by how much?

Her face was so round and her double chin now creased into her neck. How many of those men who had yearned after her in the past would now express no more interest than mentioning her pretty face? Her bare arms did the honor of announcing to the world that she wasn’t trying to hide anything despite the slimming intentions of the thick black fabric. She hadn’t seen sun since Labor Day weekend, but those fat arms still had a healthy bronze glow. The back of her arms were smoothly rounded like lumps of dough and just beginning to dimple over where they met the elbow. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she twirled as she modeled it for me. She actually blushed as I gushed over her beauty and the outfit. What woman doesn’t love dressing up and looking good?

Also new was a long puffy down coat. The high collar framed her face in a cute way, but in achieving its goal of warmth it could do nothing but envelope her. She looked enormous in it, round like a ball. I dropped her off at the ticketing level to save her a longer walk and went to park the car. Soon we were shuffling onto the plane at about the same time she would normally be getting up.

She had reached the limits of comfortable maneuverability in the aisleway. After removing the unyielding poofiness of her coat, she just fit down the aisle, with me following behind with our two carry-ons. We had a window and a center seat. She raised the arm between our seats, shuffled in and plopped herself into the window seat while I fought her coat into the overhead bin.

I kept my coat on. It was nowhere near as bulky as hers and we had already used more than our fair share of the space above. Seated, there was a quick realization that the seat arm between us would remain up. Her leg and hip pressed into me, despite her efforts to push herself towards the window as much as she could.

I knew she was heading to face her demons of a sort. Her breakdown had revealed that the impression of her family was important to her and that the reception to her dramatic change was likely to be negative and judgmental. I was prepared for her to seek out liquid courage as we approached her rendezvous with scorn. Yet we had passed by the many bars lining the concourse with nary a glance in their direction. When the flight attendant came along seeking drink orders and selling snack boxes, she ignored the possibility of libations, but bought us two snack boxes. I was impressed and proud of her. She was going in to battle cold sober. She wasn’t going to start from a position of weakness, she would face her trial with clear eyes, shoulders back, hands on fat hips.

We had reached altitude. We eased our seats back and the snack boxes were delivered. I moved to open my snack box.

“Get your greedy little hands off my snack box!”

A little puzzled, I paused, staring at the open box in front of her, her hands already quickly freeing cookies from their package. She coolly bestowed her wisdom upon me.

“You have a fat wife. Your job is to pretend it’s for you, but actually save it for me. Sometimes you surprise me.”

“Oh. Sure. Then I’ll just get it ready for you.”

“That’s a good boy.”

I’m sure she would rather have been drinking. She was nervous. She released her nervousness against the two snack boxes and she had plundered them in an instant. Whether she was hungry or not, she wanted to eat and she wasn’t finished yet. She poked her fingers through the boxes, making certain she had not missed some morsel. I smiled as I reached into my coat pocket. After parking the car, I had passed some vending machines and somehow had the prescience to purchase a danish. I pulled it out and placed it on the lowered tray table resting directly on her legs, not quite level. She gave a little squeal of delight and a quick kiss on my cheek, her eyes shining.

“You’re further along in your lessons than I thought! Oh, thank you honey!”

She inhaled it in a moment and turned back to me.

“Please tell me you have another one.”

“Sorry honey, I only got one.”

“Well, maybe you are showing promise, but you really need to take it up a notch!”

She smiled sweetly up at me. She hooked my arm and leaned her head against my shoulder. I whispered dramatically into her ear.

“I will remember this failure always! It rends my soul to see your cravings unsatisfied!”

She giggled and squeezed me tighter.

She waited at baggage claim while I went to get the rental car, she didn’t want to walk. It was nearly two o’clock by the time she was unconsciously squeezing my hand in a death grip as we strolled up to the columned entrance of the white, two-story monument to upper middle class success that was her parent’s house.

It was true that her parents had never been anything but nice to me, but that nicety was part and parcel of a joint persona that was just a little too nice, just a little too formal, just a little too disciplined to be perceived as genuine. This sense of decorum pervaded every aspect of their lives to the point that it made the thought of them having sex almost creepy.

Her mother was petite and quite thin. The height perhaps, but it was not from her that my wife inherited those curves. My wife was the middle of three sisters. The older sister was suitably married, 30, and had my wife’s nose but without the beautiful face to surround it. In form she was a mirror of their mother, just with a big nose. The younger sister was 22, a senior in college, with a serious boyfriend who panted after her photocopy of my wife’s former body. She shared my wife’s beautiful face, but missed out on the nose; she was merely beautiful.

The melodious chimes of the doorbell still echoed in the air as a voice announcing our arrival to others within approached the door, her mother’s. My wife was absolutely crushing my hand with a strength born of fear. The door opened. Her mother’s voice was unwavering, her smile undimmed, as she welcomed us in with warm holiday cheer. Her eyes failed her. Her eyes betrayed an intense shock as she gazed upon her beautiful daughter’s chubby, moon-like face perched atop the collar of what was quickly perceived to only one coat, though it looked like twelve.

If my wife registered that shock, she didn’t show it. She was all smiles and hugs as the family gathered to greet us in the front hall. Her coat was removed and hung. The sense of decorum was pervasive, the shocked eyes uniform. Her sisters lavished kind words upon her outfit. As she did for me, she spun for them, displaying every part of her body that had fattened so dramatically since last year. Their attention focused on the dress to shield them from the terror of what lay underneath, to shield them from the terror of addressing it.

We immediately proceeded to the dining room for Christmas dinner. Only the most benign and useless topics were broached in conversation. The laughter was light-hearted and frequent. However, under this calm appearance on the surface, a covert war raged in the depths. On the plane, my wife’s hunger may have been driven by fear, but now she had positioned it as her primary tactic and tool of war.

She ate with the rectitude and propriety that her upbringing demanded, but she used quantity as her shock and awe. Her gustatory assault served as a statement that she was no glutton, that her fatness was not the result of some reckless abandon, but willful purpose. She could feel them staring at the many dozens of pounds she had layered upon her body, and each morsel that passed her lips served notice that she was in control and fully aware of their source. She marked her territory and advanced her armies in the form of carbohydrates, starches, bites, and extra helpings.

Her mother, reeling under the guise of feigned ignorance, did her best to utilize her defenses. The first time she declared startled surprise when my wife asked for the potatoes to be passed, it seemed a devastating volley across the front lines as if to say “I never would have possibly thought that you could possibly need MORE food”.

But its continued deployment under my wife’s relentless requests rendered them false and comical. Hardly more subtle were Mother’s attempts to keep dishes at more than arm’s length away, forcing my wife to ask that they be passed. My wife refused shame just as she refused to be full.

After two glasses of wine, my wife requested a soda, needing her wits about her for the battle. Her mother suggested bringing her a diet soda, with just the barest hint of emphasis on the word “diet”. My wife looked her in the eye and stridently replied that she preferred non-diet, with just the barest hint of emphasis on the word “non”.

I had stayed out of it. I made none of the food suggestions or offerings that would have normally accompanied any meal with my wife. She had decided to take the path of defiance. Despite her threats of blaming it on me, she had accepted the burden. I was so silently proud of her that I followed the subtle exchanges like the greatest fan watching their team in the Super Bowl or World Series, wanting to cheer at her successes, wincing at her setbacks.

It was amazing even for me to watch her eat this much so consciously. The last two times I had seen her eat herself silly she had been drunk. The only time before that, the end of that dreadful diet. This was different. To her this was work, and she took work seriously. As a last ditch effort to end my wife’s stuffing, Mother started clearing dishes off the table. Twice my wife made the bold stand to ask that she bring something back, but in the end she was mortal. I am sure that by this point she wasn’t feeling well. As plates were cleared, she gripped my hand under the table, seeking sensory sympathy.

Mother was not one to give up easily. She made a blanket statement that based on how full she was, she was certain no one could have any room left for dessert. You got it, with just the barest hint of emphasis on the words “no one”.

My wife came roaring right back, declaring that, on the contrary, dessert sounded wonderful as she desperately clutched at my hand under the table. Dessert was served, dessert was purposefully eaten, conversation had dwindled, and a truce spontaneously arose.

After dinner, we men were hustled off to the den for brandies and deep discussion of sports, weather, and the economy. The women took over the kitchen. I silently wished her luck. Just Mother and sisters, this was family. The time for decorum was done, the gloves could come off, and the battle rejoined with fresh and pointed intensity. I could hear the hubbub of the women’s voices coming from the direction of the kitchen, but it was too far away to catch any of the content.

Her father politely guided us in genteel and inane conversation and we all did our best to ignore the rising and falling tumult in the kitchen. Only once did we pause as Mother’s voice rose into an undignified shriek out of the indistinct murmurs, “but you’re only 27!”.

She quickly checked herself and her voice returned to the opacity supplied by the intervening walls and space.

I looked around at the faces of these three men, standing with expensive drinks and staring into a crackling fire. Nobody met my gaze. Did they feel sorry for me? Only 27 and so suddenly fat. Did the thought that I was intensely thrilled with my obese wife even occur to them?

I had only met the boyfriend the year before, what did he think? He must see the parallels between my wife’s body and his girlfriend’s. Last year he could chalk up their differences to four years and marriage. Then my wife’s 40 pound advantage was only a chubby voluptuousness that, based on most men’s reactions at the time, he would hardly find displeasing. Was he suddenly scared for the future? Would he find a way to politely mention to his girlfriend not to reach the same destiny as her sister?

My sister-in-law’s husband was a despondent type and rarely smiled. Was he suddenly pleased with himself that the hot sister had gotten fat, and now his mediocre wife seemed much less mediocre in comparison? As for her father he was much too good of a lawyer to reveal anything but neutrality. He loved his daughter dearly, her personality was most like his, but he lived with Mother for the other 362 days a year and her peace and well-being were equally worthy goals.

Eventually it was the return of voices that made me realize it had been some time since we had heard any voices coming from the kitchen. Where had they gone? Where had they taken their battle? Shortly thereafter they entered the den as a group, displaying nothing but love and affection, with trays of cookies and egg nog. My wife beamed at me and eagerly rushed to cuddle against me.

Apparently the battle was not over, but had moved on to a new phase, and new tactics were being deployed. My wife asked me to fetch her some cookies, but she said it in a voice a little too loud to think the words were intended only for me. As I pushed my arms into the couch to lift myself up she passed me the slightest whisper under her breath, even I barely caught it.

“Don’t be shy.”

As always, I didn’t know what she was doing or why, but I would comply. I took my time selecting what I knew would be her favorites. I could feel Mother’s eyes upon the plate, watching and hoping that each cookie I carefully selected would be the last. I piled it shamelessly high, the cookies were nearly falling off the pile. I poured her a tall glass of egg nog and returned to the couch. Enough time had passed since dinner that some of my wife’s marvelous hunger had returned. I could tell that she really was enjoying the treats, but she went out of her way to advertise her pleasure.

The carols had been in heavy rotation for a while and the fire had died low. The wife’s cookie plate was empty, and a refill of egg nog had been drained. It was time for the boyfriend to leave. Who knows what happened at her apartment on campus, but welcomed though he was, he was not welcome to pass the night in this temple to decorum. They spent some time alone at the front door saying their loving good-byes. She returned to the den to say good night and then went upstairs.

We waited a polite while longer, then my wife squeezed my hand and announced our good night. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned on the last step to face me, almost looking me in the eyes. She put her flabby arms around my neck and whispered to me.

“I need you tonight. I am going to take a shower and when I come out, you had better be ready.”

I nodded in acceptance of her commands and she took my hand and pulled me up the stairs.

Our bedroom was large, like every room in the house, and it had a private bath. Straight ahead as we entered was the king-size bed, flanked on either side by tall windows. On the left, a massive armoire and bureau of drawers. On the right wall, the door to the bath and a long row of slatted sliding closet doors. She went into the bath and started her shower. I prepared to meet her demands. I sat on the edge of the bed in my underwear. Somehow being nude and alone doesn’t feel right when it’s not your house.

The door to the bath opened and the steam rolled out onto the ceiling. She emerged with her hair wrapped in a towel and a towel around her body. Cinched above her breasts, the towel split into a V as it reached her belly. It hung soft and tantalizing in the gap. I was starting to get hard already. She noticed and raised a finger to point at my underwear.

“What’s with those? I need to see your reaction.”

I stripped off the undies as I sat on the edge of the bed and she dropped the towel onto the floor and spun around. My erection instantly raged and she smirked.

“You like what you see, don’t you?”

I nodded wordlessly.

“You know they think I’m hideously fat, but you don’t mind at all, do you?”

I shook my head, stunned and silent.

“You would love it if I got even fatter, wouldn’t you?”

Whoa! I don’t think I had ever been so turned on in my life. She was speaking the unspoken, teasing me with it, throwing it in my face. I could barely speak and words tumbled out of my mouth unsmoothly.

“You can do whatever you want, honey. You are so beautiful, but I told you before I will support whatever you want to do.”

She took a step towards me, leaning in, putting her hands on the bulging soft hips, her eyes drilling me with an uncharacteristic intensity.

“I didn’t ask if I had your permission. I asked if you would LOVE it!”


“You would love even more of this?”

She grabbed her belly and shook it, its softness yielding in her hands. She spread her legs and rubbed her hands vigorously against each thigh and they undulated wildly. She turned and slapped her hands against her wide ass, shaking it, the dimpled blubber quivered and rolled. She lifted her breasts and plopped them back onto her belly. I was beside myself, I could feel my heartbeat through my dick, my mouth was dry, I could barely gasp the words.

“Oh yes!”

“You didn’t say ‘please’.”


“You know they weighed me, don’t you? They dragged the whale upstairs to shame her on the scale. Do you know how much I weigh now?

I shook my head. I had lost the ability to speak.

“I weigh 218 pounds. My BMI is 43. That’s really, really fat. But you just can’t get enough of your wife sitting at home stuffing her face all day long, can you? Then you come home and you help her eat all evening at the buffet, and finally you feed her yourself before fucking her brains out every night, don’t you? You don’t want that to stop, do you?”

I shook my head in long, slow sweeps.

“I want you to take me now, and I want tonight to show me how desperately you want me to keep doing exactly what I have been doing. Do you understand? Come get me!

As she said this, she was slowly walking by me, that ass wallowing from side to side with vicious shakes. I turned and watched as she heaved herself up onto the bed. She squealed as I leapt onto her. She lay passively on the bed and let me do whatever I wanted, moved at my command, moaning to the feel of my hands, my tongue, my lips.

I held back absolutely as long as I could, making sure that she got exactly what she wanted. She was biting on a pillow as she rocked in climax, her belly rolling back and forth in waves, her legs spread wide to allow room between her fat, jiggling thighs. Later, as she lay back against the bed, her arms spread wide, she waited until her breathing calmed before speaking.

“You convinced me. Now you get your reward. I want ice cream. Go downstairs and bring me whatever they have.”

I threw on my jeans freestyle and headed downstairs, only too happy to comply. When I returned she had gotten under the covers, her mouth open as I approached, waiting to be filled with a spoon. I had found two opened pints of Haagen-Daas, her parents were no less sticklers for the good stuff than she was. One was coffee and mostly full. The other was vanilla and half-gone. I fed her all of it. There was no “I am so stuffed. I can’t take another bite”.

She looked at me with a mild grimace. “That was it, huh?”

“I can go get more!”

“Shut up, it’s Christmas night. I know you would and I might even want you to, but I’m not going to let you go.”

“Are you worried about what they would say?”

“Nope. The family is no longer a problem. Everything will be fine from now on. I just want you to stay here with me.”

We snuggled down inside the blankets and I rubbed her belly. She looked up at me.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?”

“Oh yeah, of course. I figured you would tell me at some point.”

“Yeah right! You got sex and fattened up your wife a little more, a bomb could go off and you wouldn’t care. It’s just that I need to tell you and I have to start by asking your forgiveness.”

“All right, that sounds spooky and forbidding, what are you talking about?”

“I suppose you could hear all the shouting and arguing when we were in the kitchen, right?”

“I could tell there was a ruckus, but I couldn’t make out anything except that your Mom said you were only 27.”

“Oh yes, she said 27 is way too young to be this fat!”

She patted her belly and hips.

“Did she really pat your belly?”

“No stupid, she only pointed. I just knew you would like the dramatic effect.”

“I did. Please continue.”

She hit me in the chest.

“You would have been so proud of me. They tried every trick in the book: my health, my looks, finding clothes. But in the end, they focused on you.”

“On me? They knew I wanted to make you fat?”

“Just the opposite. They tried to convince me that I would lose you, that I would ruin my marriage, that I would end up fat, unhappy, and alone.”

“So you dropped the bombshell and blew them right out of the water, huh?”

“I tried, but they wouldn’t believe me. They thought it was impossible that you could actually want me like this. They thought I was deluding myself, that you were just being loyal.”

“So what did you say?”

“Well, we agreed to make a deal. If I could prove that you were absolutely head-over-heels with the fat me, they would never say another word about it for the rest of their lives.”

“So how did you do it?”

“We just did.”

“You’re losing me, I don’t understand.”

“My little sister was in the closet the whole time.”

“WHAT!?! NOW, like right now!?!”

“She left when you went down to get the ice cream.”

“Oh no, please, please, please tell me this is an incredibly cruel joke.”

“Sorry, I didn’t think there was any other way to make them think I didn’t put you up to it. Sorry, honey, please don’t be mad. You did great!”

“Did great!?! She saw everything!?! She was already there when you were in the shower?”


“She saw you?... She saw me?... She saw… us? THE WHOLE TIME!?!”


“Oh my, this is so embarrassing! How am I ever going to look her in the eye?”

“Please honey, you’re blowing this way out of proportion. She’s a college senior and she’s pretty freaky. I don’t think she saw anything that she hasn’t seen or done before. Besides, you have nothing to be ashamed of. She was impressed with you, honey!”

“Impressed!?! What did she say?”

“Well, it was about your dick mostly, but she also mentioned your gutsy play in the sack.”

“I’m dying here and you are goofing off! What did she really say?”

“Honey, in all seriousness, as soon as you left, she ran over and hugged me and said it was unbelievably hot. She said I was so lucky and I must be so happy with you. Then I shooed her off before you got back.”

“So now she is going to relay every detail to your Mother. I will never be able to come to this house again!”

“No she won’t! You think Mom wants to hear about this? She just made Sis promise to tell the truth and tell her yes or no, and she agreed to abide by it.”

“Oh my word! I think I’ll go get that ice cream anyway, I need to clear my head.”

“Honey, nothing’s open, it’s Christmas night. Won’t you stay with me? I’m so sorry. I thought guys dreamed about stuff like this! Will it make you feel better to bring me up some cookies and a glass of egg nog?”

She always knew exactly how to console me.

[THE ORIGINAL END - but then the author decided to continue it in post 42 of this thread!]

Last edited by Britt Reid; 07-31-2012 at 08:02 PM.
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Old 11-14-2011, 09:43 PM   #37
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Default Perfect!

A beginning.Middle. And a Glorious End. All in a very reasonable time frame. A terrific story that I could read and enjoy to its conclusion! Thank You. And Bravo!
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Old 11-15-2011, 11:20 PM   #38
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Fantastic story. I do hope you have other ones brewing. Thanks again.
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Old 11-16-2011, 07:45 AM   #39
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Very nice.
Don't call me chief!
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Old 11-16-2011, 01:18 PM   #40
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A beautiful girl gets fat and then fatter, philosophical musings and then more fattening and then voyeurism? And thwn fattening everafter? WOW!

Great story and a fun read, thanks!
Seeing beauty in big women since 1968
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Old 11-16-2011, 03:05 PM   #41
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Thanks everyone. It is great to hear the positive feedback. Thanks to Perry White and Britt Reid for the formatting and editing help. Glad you enjoyed it!
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Old 07-30-2012, 09:01 PM   #42
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Author's note: Well, I got the itch and decided to keep it going. Every end is a new beginning, right? I hope you enjoy it, there will be more coming.


We returned home a couple of days later. Somehow the relief was palpable. She had faced her family. She had won their acquiescence, if not their support. We had a quiet and moderately fancy New Year’s Eve meal. She wore her black dress again and again I gushed. Again she blushed. During dinner, she mentioned that she probably needed to start buying more clothes to rebuild her wardrobe. I tried to give her my theory that women’s bodies don’t really change when they gain weight, the same basic figure just becomes exaggerated. She set down her fork and starred at me blankly.

“You can’t possibly be serious. If that were even remotely true, I think a lot more guys would be chasing after bigger women.”

“Think back to when you were still working in the office. I’m sorry honey, but you weren’t exactly a skinny-minnie and guys would line up outside your office door just for the opportunity to be fired by you!”

“Well, you might have a point if we are only talking chubby. But I think both you and I can agree that I have moved somewhat beyond that.”

She flashed me her sly, sexy grin and stuffed a succulent slice of prime rib into her mouth.

“Honey, you have never been more gorgeous than you are right now.”

“A sample of one, a guy who likes fat, irrelevant.”

“Do you need more than one?”

“Touché. Now do you want to keep discussing your deluded philosophy or do you want to pass me that dessert menu?”

The first day back at work after New Year’s, my phone rang in the middle of the day. It was her. The economy was changing again. Her new company had been acquired by a large technology firm. She would need to fly out to the West Coast the next week to interview for a new position in the giant new company. When I got home that night we sat down and reviewed our options.

The local economy that had once been endowed with a vibrant manufacturing sector was struggling. Job prospects here seemed worrisome if not outright dismal. We agreed that it was at least worth pursuing this new opportunity, though neither of us were ready to vocalize what would happen if she would be asked to move West. Would I be able to find a job out West too? Could we sell our house in this down market? How long might we be apart?

That next week was dominated by unusual silence and apprehension. We didn’t discuss the situation again, but we took solace in each other and spent a lot of time in silent snuggle. And she ate for comfort as well. I am normally a very sound sleeper, so I can’t know for certain that this had never happened before, but I awoke in the night and she wasn’t there. I padded downstairs to the lighted kitchen. There she sat at the table, starring despondently into a freshly-finished carton of ice cream before looking up at me.

“If you dare get horny right now, I swear I’ll smash your face in.”

Wordlessly I moved around the table to stand behind her and started rubbing her shoulders. We stayed like this for some time in silence until she reached her hand up and wiped her eyes. She was crying.

“They are going to ask me to move.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I talked to one of the gals at the home office and they were asking her about some of the projects I managed. Detailed questions. This isn’t the little ol’ world of publishing anymore. They have a 90 acre campus in San Jose with its own library and skateboard ramp. They’re not going to let me manage their projects from freaking hillbilly land.”

“If you know you’re going to get an offer, that’s fantastic! You should be relieved.”

She waved her hands vaguely at the room around her. “This is us. This is all we’ve ever had. This is all we’ve ever known. I’m scared and I don’t want to be without you.”

“When we got back from that year abroad, and you had no idea whether or not our relationship was going to go any further, were you scared then?"

“I was terrified. I think I’ve always loved you more than you love me.”

“Whoa. That’s totally unfair and totally not true. How in the world would you possibly get that idea? Did I hesitate even for a moment to make you my wife? Have I ever done anything or given you even the slightest hint that you, us, right here, right now, isn’t the very best thing that could have possibly happened in my life? You survived that time apart then and we will survive it again if we need to. I am in love with, and married to, my best friend. Everything that you think and feel about me in your life, is exactly how I feel about you. We are way stronger than this, and frankly my dear, you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking anything else.”

I had moved around her chair and was kneeling next to her, holding her hands in her lap. As I finished, she looked up at me and smiled, her tears suddenly veering in their course down her pudgy cheeks.

“I’m sorry I woke you, but I’m glad you did. You didn’t wake up last night.”

“You should have woken me up and we could have talked about this earlier and you could already be feeling better. Come on, it’s almost 3. Let’s get back to bed.”

“I know this is stupid, and I’m still going to smash your face in if you get horny… but will you make me pancakes?”

I put my hands on her cheeks and turned her head towards me, kissed her on the forehead, and looked straight into her eyes.

“Of course I’ll make you pancakes.”

I sat next to her watching the pancakes disappear. She seemed to be in bliss and her face was so beautiful. Finished, she sat back, put her hands on her belly and breathed a sigh of contentment. We rose and she gave me a delicious maple-infused kiss. I led her back upstairs and she was asleep within minutes, but pressed against me like the world was going to end.

(Continued in post 44 of this thread)

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Old 07-31-2012, 08:29 AM   #43
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always a favorite...thanks for continuing...
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Old 07-31-2012, 01:32 PM   #44
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She put a brave face on her departure. There were no more tears after that night. I dropped her off at the airport early on Monday morning. We stood outside of the security area, her arms wrapped around me and her head pressed against my chest. I could feel her belly press around me as well. I put my hands into the back pockets of her sweatpants rather than right on her butt in deference to the throngs of people passing by us going into security. She looked up at me.

“I think there is actually a meal on this flight. That’s getting to be a rare treat.”

“Well, just in case, I brought you some emergency supplements…”

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out two vending machine danishes and slid them into her purse. She smirked and gave me a squeeze.

“And just when I thought I was going to have to manage my stress-eating all on my own this time. How thoughtful of you.”

“Oh come on, you’re probably going to be interviewed by a 22-year old guy with bad acne and a pocket protector. You have nothing to worry about… at least compared to your mother. You are going to knock them dead.”

With a last squeeze and a kiss she moved into the security line. Those sexy round hips swayed with relaxed motion as the line slowly moved forward until I could no longer see her. I dawdled through the rest of the morning at work, thinking of her. She called me when she arrived. She would have just enough time to get her rental car, get to the hotel, change clothes, and get to the interview. She would call me when she was back at the hotel.

When was the last time I walked into an empty house? I’m not talking about when she was out shopping, or at the dentist, or running an errand. I’m talking about how the thud of my laptop bag on the floor somehow sounded more hollow, more echo-y, as if the house itself knew that she wasn’t there and wouldn’t be back soon. I turned on some music while I changed out of my work clothes, but as soon as I was changed I turned it off again.

Normally, after I got home I would clean up all her wrappers, plates, and utensils scattered around her home-office sofa. I turned on the TV and stared at the empty, clean sofa. I turned off the TV. When was the last time we were apart? Apart for multiple days? I had to think. The sun had already set on this early January evening, but I didn’t turn on the lights. I stood in the shadowy darkness of the living room, staring out at the dim gloom and patches of snow outside on the brown grass.

Finally I remembered. It was when she came to live with me while I was still at University, before we were married. I hadn’t been away from her in all that time? How could I not have ever noticed that before? I felt frozen. I felt like I couldn’t move or take another breath until the phone rang and I could hear her voice. Did I always feel this way? Had our marriage, had she, always been this special? Isn’t every marriage like this?

We had always been close and intimate, sure, but those first few years had started to feel… normal… routine. This past year everything came alive. Great sex should be important to any marriage. There’s nothing wrong with lusting after your spouse, right? Do I love her more just because she gained weight?

Thoughts tumbled through my mind as I stared out of the dark room into the pale winter landscape. She was absolutely sexier, yes. She made my blood boil. But right now, lust can’t explain why I feel like a seven-year old boy who has lost his mommy. Lust can’t explain why I can’t even picture her body right now, but I can see her eyes, I can hear her voice. Lust can’t explain why I am paralyzed until the phone rings. The phone rang.

I jumped, startled out of my daze. How long had I been standing here? I glanced at the clock as I picked up the phone – 8:30. I’d been standing at the window for hours.


“Hey yourself.”

“Well??? Come on, I’m dying here! What happened? How did it go?”

“I guess it went pretty well. They offered me the job.”

I swallowed hard and did my best to sound bright and positive. I know she wants this. I know she wants to feel me behind her.

“I hope you said yes!”

“I did! I wanted to be able to talk it over with you, but they wanted an answer right away. They want me to start immediately.”

“Like next week?”

“Like tomorrow! This place is huge and dynamic, but they are a mess! My title will be Features Coordinator. I will be a direct link between the executives and operations, making sure that the content deadlines and content roll-outs between different departments come out in a cohesive fashion.”

I could hear the excitement in her voice. She was always extremely serious about work. I felt like the floor had just disappeared from under my feet. I sat down on the sofa - her spot on the sofa. Would I rather she was happy and excited, or sad and lonely? Don’t bring her down. Don’t give her doubts. Don’t tell her you feel like you’re going to die if you don’t see her in the next 10 minutes. Lie. Lie. Lie. Big. Fat. Cheerful. Lies.

“This is awesome! So how about the pay? Corner office? Car?”

“Come on! This is Silicon Valley, not Wall Street. I think they pretty much knew they had me over a barrel, it’s a decent bump, and yes a nice office. They are going to move me to an extended stay hotel and they are going to cover it.”

“Honey, you are going to love it! I can hear the excitement in your voice! You are going to be able to throw yourself into this thing and rock their world!”

“I am so glad to hear you say that! This is going to be so much easier if I can just work and not worry about melting into a pool of tears at the end of the day.”

“Honey, I told you. We are way stronger than this. This is the new us, and it’s going to be great!”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too! Don’t waste your time missing me, I‘m sure you’ve got a ton of stuff to do.”

“I have a huge pile of forms and paperwork to go through tonight, but first I’m going to go get some dinner. I’m starving! I haven’t had anything since your treats on the plane. I think my stomach grumbled during the interview, but that’s okay because I’m fat, right?”

“If you’re lucky, he’s like me and that’s what got you the job!”

“Ha ha, very funny. I’ll call you when I get everything done in a few hours.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy. You get yourself a nice dinner, get your stuff done and get to bed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. Good night.”

“Good night, babe.”

I hung up the phone and cried.

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Old 07-31-2012, 04:42 PM   #45
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I shipped the rest of the few clothes that still fit and her various sundries out to her via FedEx. She seemed to be managing the transition well and was certainly throwing herself into her new tasks. She wouldn’t start until 9, but wasn’t leaving until after 7. With the time change that meant we were typically having our daily conversation while she was in the car on her way from work to dinner so it wouldn’t be too late for me. As a consequence, we didn’t linger on the phone.

She was upbeat. The job obviously suited her tenacious nature. I searched for clues to her new life without trying to seem like I was prying, jealous, or lonely. She mentioned the salad bar in the cafeteria. Everyone there eats salads, she said. She mentioned the fitness center on campus. Everyone there works out, she said – even nerds apparently. So after a couple of weeks I had driven myself to distraction with the thought that she was moving all day, too busy to eat, grabbing a salad, and then working out on top of it. It was her life, after all. It was her body. Last year when she ate herself into a butterball, she hadn’t done it for me. She loved that I loved it, but that wasn’t why she did it. She just… did it. She could melt back into her old self just as easily given the right circumstances.

I thought back to when she got that boot off her ankle last Fall – how I had prepared myself that she would come to her senses and stop the feeding fantasy that had sent our passion off the charts. I had prepared, but it didn’t happen. But that was working at home, in Ohio, during the Holidays; not sunny California, surrounded by health nuts, fitness freaks, in a fast-paced work environment.

Why do men have to be so visual? Why does it have to matter to me if she is fat or if she is thin, or getting fatter, or getting thinner? I love her, don’t I? I don’t know why it matters, but for better or for worse, it sure the hell matters!

I did my best to distract myself. Though praying that she wasn’t following my example, I started working out. I joined a bicycling club. Yeah, yeah, I bought those tight, tight shorts, but no, I did not shave my legs. I lifted weights. For the first few weeks I was so sore and tired that it was actually hard to miss her at bedtime, I was out like a light.

I wanted to go visit her for Valentine’s Day, but she begged me off. She was still too new, still too busy, getting settled and all that. We wouldn’t have any time together, she’s even working on Saturdays. It wouldn’t be worth the plane ticket, she said. As the days passed on into February, I decided just to send her a big box of expensive chocolates. She called as soon as she got them. Why did I do it? Why such a big box? She thanked me of course, but let it be known that she would share it with the guys.

By March I was in the best shape of my life, pouring my angst and worry and loneliness into the bike pedals, into the weights. I asked to come see her in March. Again she said not yet. She hadn’t earned any vacation yet, and besides, her little sister was coming to see her at the end of March for her Spring Break. Grrr. I pushed the pedals just that much harder. I pushed the weights just that much harder.

I had already put the house up for sale. I think this apart-thing was affecting me a whole heck of a lot more that it was her. She was loving her job, she was living her job, she was great at her job. I was not going to choose a middle-management job at a rubber grommet company over her. I would find something in California. I’d BETTER find something in California. That is, IF we could sell the house. You know the drill – no equity, no buyers, no market. We hadn’t even had a single showing until I dropped the price.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon at the end of March. Sunny and warm, I don’t care what we would have done, but if she were here we would have done something, anything… together. I picked up the phone and gave her a call. She answered. Right away, I can hear her little sister in the background asking if it was me. My wife’s voice catches in surprise as her sister snatches the phone away.

“You need to tell her to stop eating! She is getting sooo fat!”

They are fighting for the phone now, as my wife gets it back her sister shouts out a parting shot. “DID YOU KNOW SHE CAN EAT AN ENTIRE PIZZA? –Ouch! What was that for?”

“Hi, honey.”

“Hey, what was all that about?”

“Guess who arrived last night? She still can’t get over how wonderfully. voluptuous. your. wife. is.” I can hear her punching her sister in rhythm with her words and her sister’s muffled yelps of pain. “We’ve been doing not a small amount of drinking and I think her brain-mouth connection is currently in the full-on position. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it, heck, I’m jealous, knock a couple back for me!”

“Oh, I’ll do that and more.” In the background I can hear her sister shout out. “AND THEN SHE WANTS TO GO OUT FOR RIBS!”

“Would you just SHUT UP!” I think she is kicking her now.

“Well, I better let you guys get going before I have a legal obligation to report a murder. You guys have a great time. I’ll talk to you later. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. Bye!” I hear shouting start even before the phone clicks off.

I stare at the phone in disbelief, my mind still processing what I just heard. Well, well, well! Salads and work outs? I don’t think so. Her sister didn’t make those comments because she was just as fat as she was at Christmas. It only makes sense if she was fatter! From the sounds of it – a lot fatter! My silly stupid grin was splitting my face. I am walking on the moon. Someone has NOT put the fork down!

(Continued in post 52 of page 3 of this thread)

Last edited by Britt Reid; 08-05-2012 at 04:17 PM.
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Old 08-01-2012, 09:47 PM   #46
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Blargface123 has said some nice things

So glad to see this being continued. This is absolutely my favorite story here. You're a wonderful writer.
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Old 08-02-2012, 11:51 AM   #47
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Default Very nice work....

great character development and plot around the weight gain. I look forward to much more.
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Old 08-02-2012, 12:30 PM   #48
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Tad has ascended what used to be the highest level.Tad has ascended what used to be the highest level.Tad has ascended what used to be the highest level.Tad has ascended what used to be the highest level.Tad has ascended what used to be the highest level.Tad has ascended what used to be the highest level.Tad has ascended what used to be the highest level.Tad has ascended what used to be the highest level.Tad has ascended what used to be the highest level.Tad has ascended what used to be the highest level.Tad has ascended what used to be the highest level.

Lovely job of finding a way to right a worthy sequel to this story. I've really enjoyed it this far, looking forward to seeing where you take it next.
Criticism is so often nothing more than the eye garrulously denouncing the shape of the peephole that gives access to hidden treasure.
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Old 08-02-2012, 03:17 PM   #49
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Markt, Bface, and Burton - thank you very much for the kind words. I can only hope that the sequel lives up to the original!

Tad - thank you. I am still hoping that Crows & Butterflies gets updated sometime! How about it? That is one of my favorites.

Britt Reid - thanks for the formatting, your breaks make a lot more sense than mine did.

Look for another installment this weekend.
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Old 08-02-2012, 09:38 PM   #50
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Default Fabulous Chapter

That was a stunning piece of writing. I kind of wondered all along why she didn't want him to come out. And the mention of salads and gyms was a terrific touch. I can't wait to see what comes next. And I kind of wish the sister would stay there with her too and get fattened up as well. I'm really interested to see how big she has gotten. When you revived this I went back to the beginning and realized why this is an all-time favorite story. I just saw that I commented back when you "finished" it the first time. Bravo!
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