BBW Backs against the Wall (~BBW ~SEX)

Discussion in 'Recent Additions' started by Gooney87, Dec 1, 2019.

  1. Dec 1, 2019 #1

    Gooney87

    Gooney87

    Gooney87

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    Nina, a young East-German girl goes back to her home town of Berlin, 5 years after West-Berlin was invaded by the German Democratic Republic to look for the family she lost in the chaos of the Wiederanschluß. Along the way she finds way more than she ever barginned for.

    Backs against the Wall

    by Gooney87
    (In 1989 the Berlin Wall fell. But what if the wall fell in the other direction? What if the GDR had grabbed back West-Berlin? This story is about one of my characters, set in that alternate timeline. It's an adaptation of a sequel to a novel I've published, modified to work as a standalone erotic story.)

    Chapter One - Secrets

    The doors of the subway open with a mechanical sigh. Out pour the many travellers riding the Moscow subway daily. From the steamy cars the people move from anywhere to everywhere. Though the station of Borostivkaya lacks the grandeur of some of Stalin’s more opulent ‘palaces of the people’ there is a certain style and elegance in the stark white walls, sparsely decorated with colorful images of the Soviet Union’s mostly fabricated past. Here in Moscow the travellers hardly take any notice of it anymore. They just go about their daily lives under the watchful eye of Lenin and the other great names in communism.

    The station is warm and sticky, despite the early September cold. It makes Nina Müller uncomfortable and sweaty in places one does not desire sweatyness. The young woman is trying to elbow her way through the crowds, her long dark-brown hair tied in a messy knot only mostly covered by her baret. Or rather; it was until this subway ride, where the tight bun has managed to drop a few strands in her face.

    “Verdammte Ratte hier alle!” It’s a good thing that the Soviet Union doesn’t teach German in school, or Nina’s angry muttering might have actually gotten her in trouble with her fellow passengers.

    She eventually manages to find her way out of the labyrinth of underground passages and narrow hallways, and into the fresh cool air of the outside. A few steps up the staircase leading to street level has Nina turn up her collar and hide away in her long brown coat. Father Winter has arrived early in 1994, despite a long and hot summer. Normally Nina doesn’t mind the cold. it’s a great excuse to hide away in long coats and fuzzy sweaters. Every spring she has an ongoing battle with the scales to get her body ready for skimpy summer dresses and revealing tops, so having a valid excuse to wear something that doesn’t require her to suck in her belly just to get it on, or has straps that have to be adjusted just right so that they hold everything in, but at the same time don’t try to saw a way through her shoulders is a godsend. Problems like that simply do not occur in a turtleneck sweater.

    Today her plans were simple.This morning she got up at the same time as Natalya, her bestie and roommate of the cramped apartment they’ve been calling home since that fateful day in 1989. Natalya works in a large hospital near the edge of the city, and is usually up before the crack of dawn. On most mornings Nina stays in bed, but not today. She had breakfast with the Russian girl, gone over the daily papers and more of those suburban things one does in the morning. After Natalya left Nina drug herself under the shower, got dressed, and commenced battle with Moscow public transport to get to the stores in the centre of the city.

    Here in the USSR stores seem to be better stocked than in her own city of Berlin, capital of the German Democratic Republic. Where in the DDR buying something like a loaf of bread meant standing in all kinds of queues for hours on end, here in Moscow things seem to be running a bit more smoothly. Whether that was due to the fact that the communist planned economy just simply worked better than socialism, or the fact that here and there some Moscow party members greased a few palms here and there to keep the populus happy was unclear to Nina, and none of her particular concern. All she knew was that she could get better food at lower prices than back home, and that made her happy.

    Nina enters a small side street about a block away from the sweaty subway station. Here, in this residential street, all is quiet. It’s a Tuesday, so all of the men are away at work, children in school, the women out doing groceries and other chores, and there are but a few cars lining the streets. Excellent, she thinks to herself while looking over her shoulder. The less people see her out and about with her large shopping bag full of illegally grown fruits and vegetables, the better it is for all parties involved.

    The rusty gate squeels while Nina squeezes her body through the narrow opening between the wall and the ‘Do-Not-Enter’-sign. It’s been a little over two years since she found this place, a small patch of uninhabited land in the middle of the large city, surrounded by concrete walls and apartment buildings. She walked past the gate by coincidence and saw someone enter holding a spade and a canvas bag. She decided to follow the woman, and saw her tending to this small patch of dirt, pulling large tomatoes from the ground. Moscow has been filled to the brim, every last bit of soil is in use for either a building, a park commemorating the many great things the USSR allegedly did, or with playgrounds for the young and old. But this little bit of land seemed to be left over in all this planning. Like the city simply forgot about this roughly 10 square meters located between garages from the apartment buildings on one side and the raised concrete wall of the adjacent road on the other side. Located just right for the correct amount of sunlight, and well irrigated from the water drains of the large buildings.

    It started off small. A few seeds quickly grew into some cress. After that came the lettuce and the radishes. The meager harvest went into a colorful salad. But after a heated discussion at the Konsum on weather or not cucumbers existed within the confines of the Soviet Union Nina decided to fully go for this. An old cassette player was traded for some basic gardening implements and some seeds on the black market, and her little vegetable patch was in business.

    Today is the day when the tomatoes and garlic are ready to be harvested. When she visited her patch last time she saw the little plants change color , so she gave them one more week to truly become these wonderful veggies that are so desired by her clientele.

    She never had any issues finding buyers for her products. After she gave her neighbor radishes in exchange for a bag of coffee the word spread out pretty quickly that this German girl could get her hands on these wonderful products, Her little address book quickly filled with restaurant owners, market salesmen and of course people who appreciated the finer arts of cooking and grew tired of the stale products the staterun stores had to offer. Her address book turned into a database of code names, numbers, and assorted prices. Todays harvest is as good as sold before the plants even left the damp earth. The challenge now lies in getting the goods to the center of the large city near the Red Square and the all-seeing eye of the State, unseen and unharmed, where her contacts are waiting with eager eyes and hopefully opened wallets.

    There are several occasions where she got too careless and almost ran into trouble. At a random checkpoint in the subway she had to explain to a young KGB-officer why she had the telltale black lines under her nails from digging in the earth and a massive cauliflower in her shopping bag. In want of a decent excuse she found that opening up the top button on her dress, staring at him with the saddest blue eyes she could muster up and pouting her face worked equally well. And then there was that one time where someone bumped into her in a crowded subway car and squashed a few tomatoes she had carefully concealed on her body, causing a suspicious red stain on a questionable location on her dress. Not the proudest moment of her life. She got more careful after that incident, and modified a wooden box to look like a packet of cereal. In that box she’d carry her goods, and to the casual observer she just had a box of breakfast cereal stuck in with the rest of her shopping.

    She keeps a sharp eye on her surroundings as her hands root through the soil. Though her little garden is situated well away from prying eyes one can never be too careful. After all, someone could have followed her in unseen by her, and there is no guarantee that they are potential gardners like she was all that time ago. Though she has no suspicion of her little patch being in any danger there’s nothing wrong with keeping a clear line of sight at all times. She pulls out some great-looking garlic, and the tomatoes look wonderful. They all get carefully stashed away in her specially-prepared shopping bag after receiving a good cleaning by the German girl. This order is reserved by a local greengrocer from the market, a pleasant man in his late fifties. She’s been dealing with him for a while, and he always gives her a fair price without too much haggling. When she first started out she’d often trade her goods against other hard-to-find articles, but lately she prefers cold hard cash.
     
  2. Dec 1, 2019 #2

    Gooney87

    Gooney87

    Gooney87

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    Every week Natalya provides Nina with a fair bit of Rubbles for the weekly groceries, often with a bit extra to spend on herself. At first she’d buy things that were difficult to get in the DDR. Things like chocolate and other treats, but sometimes she’d splurge on clothing or personal care products. Every other month the two girls would head to the shopping centers to go try on new clothes, a tradition they’ve kept ever since they met in Berlin. Natalya usually found something she fancied, but the well-rounded shapes of Nina made this a difficult task for the young girl. Here in the Soviet Union clothing tends to be tailored towards the average woman, resulting in poor Nina often squirming in and out of tight skirts with seams groaning dangerously, or buttons of blouses hanging on for dear life. She’d sigh, and watch as her smaller-framed friend modelled outfit after outfit.

    Natalya makes a decent living wage, working as a doctor’s assistant in a large hospital. More than enough to support herself and Nina, who doesn’t hold an official job. Though Nina still holds a DDR-passport the USSR cannot provide her with a working visum as she doesn’t live in the country quite legally. Natalya’s dad held a high-ranking position on the Russian embassy in Berlin up until ‘89, and after the two girls moved to Moscow he tried to pull some strings to change Nina’s legal status to ‘registered’, but the Soviet Apparatchik moves slowly, sometimes not at all, or even backwards, so until someone up high takes pity on this twenty-four year-old girl Nina is sorely out of a job.

    At first she felt rather guilty about not being able to help out financially, but after a while the two friends found a way to make it work. Natalya takes care of the breadwinning, but finds herself lacking the time and energy to take care of the household after she comes home from her long shifts. Nina sat at home all day, and therefore had no issues taking up the household by herself. Cooking and cleaning is something she’s been doing ever since her early teenage years, when her mother would work similar long hours and her younger sister was still too young to help out. In later years Nina’s sister Lisa would occasionally help her older sister out around the house, but as soon as she entered her teens she’d be more interested in punk music and boys than cooking and cleaning, so Nina was back to doing it herself.

    Nina gets up slowly and pats the dirt off of her clothing. She rubs her painful left leg. Last week’s cold hasn’t been doing her scars and old wound any favors. With some handkerchiefs and a bottle of water she washes her hands as well as she can, leaving no visible trace of her botanic activities. She cranes her neck to look through the narrow passage onto the street. Nobody out there. Probably everyone’s at work. Good. the market is a few blocks away. Normally she’d grab public transport, but with this decent weather and while she’s in a good mood she figures she might as well walk there. She starts to whistle as she turns onto the street, her mood helped by the prospect of a hot roll and a cup of coffee she’s allowing herself to buy on the way back. A reward for a job well done.

    The marketplace is busy. Above the counters Rubles exchange hands quickly in exchange for State-products sold for State-prices. But below the counter there is a lively free market dealing in everything from fish to car tires. Anyone who knows the first thing about running a household efficiently finds ways to access this trade agreement.

    Nina leans back on her bench in the middle of the square. The warm bun crackles in its paper wrapper as she takes another bite. Instinctively she keeps an eye out on the people around her. In the summer, when there’s no hiding beneath layers of clothing she doesn’t dare to eat something out in public. Everyone seems to have an opinion on this fat girl who openly stuffs her face with food.

    Natalya is thin and lean. She keeps in decent shape by all the walking she does at work. Nina isn’t. Nina has always been a chubby girl, and Natalya takes good care of her flatmate by making sure there’s always something tasty within arm’s reach of the German girl. When they first moved in Nina was plagued by flashbacks to traumatic events in her life. Events that needed to be put away as deep down as she could. And nothing shifts bad memories like a sizable chunk of candy.

    There was a time when she didn’t mind her own body, and couldn’t care less about the number on the scales. But that was in Berlin, with her then-boyfriend. Someone who couldn’t keep his hands off of her body and would play with her curves for hours on end in bed late at night. A summer that seemed endless back then, and is but a mere memory slipping away. A memory like Berlin, and the Plattenbau-flat where she grew up with her mother and sister. A memory to a city living on the edge of war, and then stepped off that ledge.

    But that was then, and this is now. Nina shakes off the thought of her old home as she gets up from the bench in the middle of market square. She throws away her empty coffee cup and paper wrapper in the nearest trash bin and grabs her shopping bag. First order of business, getting her goods into the hands of her customers. The sooner this bag is empty, the better it is, she thinks as she carefully scans her surroundings for any sign of trouble.

    The vegetable stall is busy. People are fighting for a spot near the counter and the related attention of the two salesmen furiously dealing away their fruits and veggies to the many house wifes queued up for a chance to get the best products. Money changes hands at an unbelievable rate. Nina is at the back, shopping bag pressed safely to her side. The older of the two salesmen recognizes her and motions her to come to the other side of the stall.

    “This is the main problem with this Verdammte Stadt. Everywhere you go, you need your elbows in order to get there.” Nina mutters to herself as she pushes her way through the crowds. The salesman sees the young woman struggling and flashes a toothless grin.

    “C’mere girlie, and show me what’s on your list.” he bellows out at a sheer unbelievable volume and in a nearly incomprehensible Russian accent. Once clear of the crowds Nina follows the man to his yellow van, serving as a storage room and backdrop for the stall. The two find a little privacy in the cab of the little yellow GAZ.

    “Fresh off the land! Large cloves of garlic and these succulent tomatoes.” she says as she opens up her bag. Eagerly the man peers in. Here’s where the money is. Supply from Kiev has been difficult the last months and supplies are running out. Plus, once the products make it on the train, past the many checkpoints and with all the good examples held back for ‘inspection’ one can hardly call them ‘fresh’ anymore. Unlike what Nina and a few other unofficial suppliers deliver him. Their products are as fresh as can be, and worth a pretty Ruble for his more discerning clientele.

    “Three-hundred for the tomatoes, and one-hundred for the cloves of garlic” he says, doing quick mental math to calculate his profit margins later this afternoon, when the restaurant owners start shopping for the dinner rush.

    Nina looks the man straight in the eyes and fakes indignation.

    “If you want to pay that to the State-suppliers that’s all fine by me, but don’t expect me to even get out of bed for that.” She closes the bag slightly. Far enough to give a signal, not so far that the goods are out of sight of the buyer.

    The man thinks for a moment, considering his situation. “Last month I paid you three-hundred for the bushel of onions. That was rather generous of me…”

    “Onions keep well. Tomatoes are fragile and go soft quickly. These here are ripe and full of juice, and yours for…. six-hundred Ruble.”

    “For five-fifty I’ll buy your tomatoes and garlic, and maybe then I’ll have enough money left to not accidentally drop information about our little arrangement to the proper authorities.”

    “We have a deal, Sir. As always, you have no idea where you got these.”

    The man moves towards the bag, but Nina slides it just out of reach.

    “Reaching for a lady’s prized possessions before making sure that the credit is settled. Not very gentlemanly.” she says quickly. A short laugh from both eases the tension a bit.
     
  3. Dec 1, 2019 #3

    Gooney87

    Gooney87

    Gooney87

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    With a short wave she walks away from her contacts at the market square. Through the magic of trading and dealing she’s managed to fill her shopping bag with everything on her list without depleting the cash Natalya gave her last night. This is a good system, she thinks to herself. Just a shame that there wasn’t any good bread left over anymore. Guess we’ll have to do without for a week. Fortunately she got a hold of crackers. Those will do in a pinch.

    She looks up at the sky. Dark clouds are gathering over Moscow. Fortunately living in a metropole means you’re never far away from the nearest subway station or tram stop and a dry ride to wherever you need to be. Morning rush hour has long passed so she’s almost certainly going to be able to sit down on the train. All this pacing back and forth is doing a number on her leg. Fortunately she’s got some of that good medicine that Natalya brings her at home. She remembers when she first moved her and could barely make it down a block before needing an injection. Fortunately those days are over.

    Nina happily walks into the street she’s called home for the past five years, her head held high and humming a West-German pop song she remembered from back home. She’s done well, and feeling good about it. She pushes open the heavy wooden doors to the apartment building where Natalya and her have been living since that fateful day. It’s no palace, but considering the conditions of their forced relocation from Berlin about the best one could hope for. Her footsteps echo in the barren concrete hallways, sparsely lit by a few TL-lights. Some habitants have tried to spruce up the place with a colorful doormat or a knitted shade on their door, but overall the lobby could do with some fresh paint regardless.

    On the elevator hangs a small yellow sign saying “сломанный”. Nina sighs and drags her heavy grocery bag towards the concrete stairs leading to the third floor. A few weeks ago the elevator broke. The landlord chased down the problem with all the motivation and gusto a middle-aged Russian man can muster up for something that isn’t soccer or alcohol, and as a result of that effort the elevator is still very much out of order and no-one has any idea when or if it’s going to be fixed.

    “Well, it could have been worse.” Nina says to herself as she lugs herself up the long stairs. A fellow renter carefully makes her way down with a baby carriage. The women nod to one-another in passing. Nina has no idea who the lady is, but she’s seen her around from time to time. The building is filled with people whom she’s never met, all going about their daily lives without even knowing their neighbor’s names. And that’s not a good thing, Nina concludes.

    With a swing the door to the stairwell swings open. Nina falls out, panting and sweating from the climb. “This is no place…” she says breathlessly “...for a fat girl.” Her left leg burns from the extortion, and she leans against a wall for a moment before making her way to her front door.

    “I swear, if someone doesn’t fix the verdammte thing I will.” she says to an empty hallway. Her hand still shakes a bit from the sudden exercise as she sticks the key in the lock and turns it. The door groans open after a swift kick from her good leg and lets the chubby German girl enter.

    The apartment has been furnished economically. After their impromptu move from Germany not a lot of time and attention was spent decorating the roughly thirty-nine square meters the two girls were given. They were glad to be safe and far away from all the chaos and destruction surrounding the Wiederanschluß in Berlin.

    The apartment roughly consists of two sections. In the fron there’s the living room and kitchen, and in the back there are two doors, one leading to the bathroom and the other to a bedroom. The walls were painted a dark green at some point, but over the years more and more bare concrete started showing through. Due to a lack of paint the girls decided to just put posters over the bare patches. It’s not much, but compared to the downtrodden and overpopulated Khrushchyovka on the other side of the city this is a slice of heaven. At the very least they have indoor plumbing that they don’t have to share with anyone.

    An old worn-down couch once serving temporarily as Nina’s bed makes up the living room, along with a small table holding the remains of Natalya’s breakfast. The Russian girl often leaves her dishes out in the mad morning rush to get to work on time. Nina has given up trying to correct her, and picks them up along with the rest during the daily cleaning. An ashtray with a half-smoked cigarette betrays the time pressure Natalya was under this morning. Nina picks up the bud and lights it up.. No sense wasting half a cigarette. With one hand she finds the medicine that Natalya left her for her leg. She stabs the needle in just the right spot and pushes the plunger down. Now all she has to do is wait for the pain to subside, as she takes another draw from the cigarette.

    A similarly worn-but-colorful rug attempts to tie the living room together. A small cabinet holds a black-and-white tv set and a broken radio. She’s been meaning to get the thing mended, but suitable spares are apparently difficult to come by.

    On the other side of the front door is the kitchen. A simple electric cooker on the countertop, along with a small electric oven beneath it are flanked by a sink that’s only mostly functional. Nina is busy putting the groceries in their respective cupboards while still humming a West-German song about balloons. According to her calculations she should have saved enough money to fulfill her goal. A good day indeed.

    Opposite the bathroom is the bedroom. A small room filled with a large clothing cupboard on one end, and a double bed on the other. Unfortunately there wasn’t any room to give both girls their own bed, and after rotating couch-duty they found that it was preferable to share a bed and just deal with any resulting uncomfortable situations. After four years of sleeping in the same bed they’ve mostly put their prudishness behind them anyway.

    Nina opens the bottom of the clothing cupboard and removes the bottom board. After a bit of rummaging around in the hidden space beneath the cupboard her hands find what she was looking for; a small metal box, like the kind babushkas use to store their sewing supplies or sweets. She sits down on the bed happily and opens up the box. A large roll of bills fall out. She dumps the rest on the bed and adds the money she’s earned today to the box. She looks at the rolls of cash inside the box. Enough for at least a year of groceries, or just enough to finally let her wish come true.

    The sound of the key turning the front door lock snaps Nina out of her euphoric state. The thud of Natalya’s knee providing the door with a bit of extra motivation to open echo through the apartment. Quickly Nina gathers the bills on the bed, and tries to stuff it all back in the little box. It doesn’t really fit in there anymore and half of it falls out on the bed.
     
  4. Dec 1, 2019 #4

    Gooney87

    Gooney87

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    “Ninachen! I’m back! Took the rest of the day off!” Frantically Nina picks up all the loose bills and stuffs them back in the box. This is one things she does not want Natalya to see. This will lead to questions. Difficult questions with tough answers.

    “Hey Tasha, how was work?” Nina yells over her shoulder as she tries to open up the closet door with one hand while holding the overstuffed box tightly shut with the other. It almost works. She drops the box on the bed and the lock pops open. All the bills come flying out again. "Scheiße!" Nina curses under her breath as she tries to grab the bills and stuff them anywhere she can, including down her blouse. It’s too late though, the distance from the bedroom to the living room does not give her the time needed.

    ‘Hey Nina, whatcha doing in the bedr….” Natalya falls silent as she enters the bedroom. “Where did all that money come from?” she asks while leaning against the doorpost. Caught. Nina drops her shoulders.

    “I save a bit of money from time to time. Anything I have left over I put in this little box.” Without looking back she points to the metal box on its side on the bed.

    “How can you have any money left over? And how much is it anway? There has to be at least one-hundred thousand Ruble. That’s…. a few months pay for me. How did you…”

    Nina doesn’t know what to say to her roommate. There have been many discussions in the past about Nina’s frugality. The few hundred Ruble Nina was handed for groceries generally covered everything, but Natalya wondered why Nina never gave her back any change. The excuse was always that the prices at the Konsum had changed, or that she used the money to fill a hole left by last week’s price gouging.

    Last summer Natalya asked her why she never spent any money on herself. She’d been walking around in the same patched-up and ever-tightening clothing for a while, and while Natalya liked it when Nina did her hair she always felt a bit guilty watching Nina cut her own hair. She deserved a trip to the hair salon once in a while. “Ninachen,” she’d say “you’re such a pretty thing and you deserve pretty clothes. I’m sure you too can find something at the State-stores in your size.” Often followed by her giving Nina a bit of money and a wink.

    Of course Nina would occasionally browse at the clothing stores in the high streets, sometimes accompanied by Natalya. Sometimes she’d even brave out and buy some items, though rarely what Natalya would bring her. Too much cleavage, or wildly incompatible with her waist was always the excuse not to buy something. Of course there was a grain of truth in that. If one doesn’t fit the Soviet model of how a young girl should be shaped it can be rather difficult to find something age-appropriate. Of course all the while she was stuffing away every cent she didn’t have to spend in that little metal box, and her feelings were put away even further, to a place where she even daren’t go.

    Nina feels Natalya’s eyes burning in her back. Slowly she gets up, still turned away from Natalya. A stack of bills falls out of her cleavage, and Natalya’s eyes follow a bill as it slowly makes its way under the bed.

    “One-hundred and twelve thousand Fivehundred and sixty Ruble, according to my latest count. That is, assuming I can still get to that bill that just flew away.”

    Dead silence.

    “Or enough for a train ticket to Berlin and a set of forged travel permissions on the black market.” Nina slowly turns around, facing Natalya, terrified of the reaction that is bound to follow.

    “Liebchen, you know Berlin isn’t safe, right? That there’s violence and looting everywhere, and people just disappear in that city? There’s a reason that city is in the Exclusion zone…” says Nataly half concerned and half angry. She knew this day would come. She knew Nina would want to go back at some point. But not now. Not yet. Not after all the effort and trouble they went through to get out of that hole while the tanks were rolling through the Karl-Marx-Allee.

    “And still I want to go back. I want my mom and Lisa back. Every day I walk through Moscow wondering what Berlin would look like today. What happened to the beautiful Allees and the wonderful Volksparken where we spent many summers. And every time I postpone this. Every time I say ‘no’ to myself. Not this year. But I’m done denying myself that. I want to go back to my roots. I’m a Deutsche who hasn’t been near her Heimat in five years. Five years!” She can feel herself getting emotional. A few labored breaths hopefully suppress the tears.

    “You know what, Nina? Come, join me in the living room. We’ll have a cup of hot choco and we’ll talk about this silly plan of yours, okay?”

    “No Tasha.” Nina says steadfastly.

    “What do you mean; no?” In all those years of living together Natalya has never seen Nina refuse a sweet delicacy. She has always kept the homesickness at bay with sweets and chocolate and a good conversation. Like that year when Nina couldn’t give Lisa a paper hat on her birthday, or the first Christmas they spent in Moscow. They sat on the couch for hours with a bowl of chocolate and a small candle, improvising a chocolate fondue. But this time the promise of tasty food doesn’t work on her friend, and that frightens Natalya.

    For a moment the two girls lock eyes. Natalya’s green eyes try to find a weakness in Nina’s bright blues. A moment of admission, of surrender, like it always came.

    “No, every time we have an argument you promise me food, and every time I give in, stuff my face with whatever you hand me and before I know it it’s two hours later, you’re hand-feeding me sweets, and I have no idea what the whole thing was about to begin with. And after a few of those I suddenly find myself shopping for a new skirt because the old one mysteriously shrunk in the wash. But not this time. This is important.” Nina fights back the tears. If she starts crying all has been for nothing. She’d cave in to Natalya’s wishes all teary-eyed and blubber her apology. Then Natalya would put an arm around her, kiss her on the forehead, tell her it’s all okay, and tomorrow morning the scale would creep just a bit further towards the stop at the end of the dail. But not this time around. This is her victory.

    With a great theatrical turn the Russian girl stomps out of the bedroom into the living room.

    “Let’s have lunch together. You’re not yourself when you’re hungry. And put your treasure chest away devotchka, before I push you onto the bed and roll you around in all that money.” she says sharply.
     
  5. Dec 1, 2019 #5

    Gooney87

    Gooney87

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    The rest of the afternoon all is quiet around the house. Natalya fell asleep on the couch, tired from her job and all the associated stress. Nina noticed this happening more and more the last few months. She’s been leaving earlier and coming home late. ‘It’s busy’ has always been the excuse for the long and stressful days. With fall slowly turning into winter in Moscow this is understandable. Rickety knees, runny noses, painful muscles and of course burns from the many electric heaters bravely fighting off the draft in the old buildings are the order of the day for her roommate. This all on top of the usual alcohol-induced injuries a city ER has to endure make for interesting stories over dinner. Often Nina would make sure her roommate had all the time and space she needed, and made sure Natalya had a cigarette and a glass of something nice before she even walked in the door in the evenings, while Nina was slaving in the kitchen to get dinner on the table.

    Nina quietly made dinner. She likes cooking, it gives her a sense of pride and purpose. Making something from scratch which up until that point only existed in your mind is a true art. Good food is like music. One must arrange all the elements in the proper way to make something worthwhile, and she’d be rewarded with a good meal and happy table guests.

    Or at least that’s what it was like in the beginning. Nina distracted herself from her woes by cooking (and sampling), and Natalya would get to enjoy the fruits of Nina’s labor. But after a while routine set in. Like tonight. Nina had made a decent vegetable soup with meatballs, and while tasty and good - though Nina concluded it needed a bit less salt the next time - it lacked a certain ingredient; love. Natalya tried to start a conversation a few times by asking Nina what her plans were for the coming week, but Nina just wouldn’t bite.

    There’s not a whole lot of entertainment on Soviet television in the evenings. Despite that they’d often turn the tv on after dinner, if only to provide some background noise. The two girls were huddled up close to one-another on the couch. Nina had wrapped herself in a blanket, and begrudgingly allowed Natalya’s legs under it. Though their electric heater fought a brave battle against the cold air creeping in through the window sills it was still quite chilly in the living room. Or was that the tension between the two girls?

    “Nina, I’m sorry.” Natalya says, breaking the silence that’s been over them the entire evening. “You have your own life and I had no right to question you about that money.” She scoots over to Nina’s side of the couch and puts a hand on Nina’s leg under the warm blanket. “I worry about you Liebchen. You’re hanging on to things that simply aren’t there. I saw that picture of Tom and you in Dresden in your wardrobe the other day, and now you’re seriously making plans to return to the place where we had to smuggle you out five years ago.”

    “Why do you look in my closet?” asks Nina coldly.

    Silence. Natalya stirs her tea with one hand. The sound of the spoon scraping the glass is deafening in the apartment.

    “Have you ever given any consideration to the fact that I might not have wanted to leave Berlin in the first place?” Nina asks, trying to mask any emotion associated with that question.

    “What do you mean? You came to us more dead than alive. We brought you to the safe environment Dad made happen for us. The tanks were already rolling past, remember? And there you were, stuttering and muttering about how you had no idea where you were and how you needed to say goodbye to your daughter. Of course we didn’t leave you behind to be victimized by the fascists rolling past in their Jeeps and tanks. Gods know what their plans were with a pretty young thing like you!”

    Nina sighs. Natalya is probably right. She owes her life to Natalya’s family and their influence with the Apparatchik. Her dad worked his contacts at the embassy to get his family ánd Nina across the border to Russia, and on top of that he got them this apartment.

    “What if they’re still looking for me? What if Lisa went out onto the streets after the dust settled and started searching? She knew about the whole Spiel surrounding my Republikflucht. When I never contacted them from West-Berlin with Tom she had to have known something was up. She isn’t dumb, you know? She knew about the false papers. She knew about Nicole Neumann.”

    “The Nicole Neumann who, according to the West-presse, was shot at Checkpoint Charlie for smuggling drugs? The Nicole Neumann who triggered weeks of protest both on the West- and East side of the border, damn near triggering World War Three? That Nicole? Because as far as I know they buried her somewhere in the West. And on the same date they threw your empty coffin into a hole in Berlin. You don’t exist Liebchen. You got lost a few days before the Wiederanschluß in the whole chaos surrounding that. Just like that Dutch guy who sired your kid.”

    Nina twitched. For years she’s tried to forget about all that. But every time she heard the merry fussing of a baby out in the streets she had to fight the tears. Every time a truck backfired she startled and for a moment found herself back in that little holding cell in East-Berlin. The worst thing about it all is that Natalya is right. Her life from the 9th of November 1989 onwards has been one giant bureaucratic oversight.
     
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  6. Dec 3, 2019 at 2:14 AM #6

    brope09

    brope09

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    This is amazing. Petzold has to be an influence for you? This mimics Phoenix in ways too uncanny to ignore
     
  7. Dec 3, 2019 at 6:27 PM #7

    Gooney87

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    Actually, yes. More specifically, Barbara. Good catch! Also, thank you!
     
  8. Dec 3, 2019 at 6:29 PM #8

    Gooney87

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    Chapter 2 - Contained

    “Nina, sweetheart? Wake up, this is a rescue attempt. Err.. I think.”

    Nina opened her eyes. She hadn’t slept properly in a few days, and everything sort of blended together in one giant mush. Her stomach hurt like hell from where the car’s steering wheel impacted her. Or was it one of the many beatings she got in the interrogation room? She didn’t know anymore. She blinked a few times while her eyes adjusted to the bright and badly functioning fluorescent overhead lights. She could make out Tom’s concerned face, hovering over her body. Slowly a few words formed in her brain. Words that she had repeated over and over the last couple of days.

    “My name is Nicole Neumann, born in Düsseldorf, and I have no idea who this Nicolina is you keep asking about.” It came out robotic and monotonous, like a broken record stuck in a groove. Tom wasn’t the least bit impressed by all of this.

    “Listen sweety, I don’t have much time” he said while nervously looking over his shoulder. “I’ve found a way out of here, but that involves walking. Can you walk?”

    Unsteadily she gets up. Her body feels heavy and unwilling. A large sack filled with jello. Her left leg still burnt with pain, but at least the bleeding had stopped. A few attempts were required to shuffle her weight over her hips and maintain balance. She rubbed her belly in pain and concern. As long as Elizabeth was safe, that was all that ever mattered. She felt dizzy and sick, but supported by Tom’s shoulders she slowly made her way towards the heavy metal door of her cell. Tom carried her with one arm and pushed the door open with the other. In her daze she wondered why hadn’t tried that; simply pushing the door to see if it would budge. Slowly she shuffled across the empty and cold halls of Hohenschönhausen, State Prison and unofficial headquarters of the Ministerium für Staatssicherheit, making her way towards freedom. Or at least any place that isn’t this Stasi-prison in Berlin-Ost, which considering her current situation is just about the same thing.

    “Is it far?” Nina asked weakly. Her leg is searing with pain, and her lower stomach is buzzing in pain and discomfort. Tom shakes his head. The exit should be right around the next corner, he assures her and in no less way himself. All these hallways look alike, and while the cell block numbers are well-indicated there’s no exit-sign anywhere. Which, in all fairness, kind of makes sense for a prison.

    Nina heard voices. Screaming voices upstairs, shouting something about a fire, and alarm bells. She looks up in concern, Tom noticed and assured her.

    “Those are the people upstairs, on ground floor. I think something big happened because it’s one giant clusterfuck up there. That’s how I managed to make my way down her to come get you.” he assured while noticing more and more weight on his arm.

    Nina wonders how he managed to end up here. Was he arrested after the incident at Checkpoint Charlie? Who knows she’s here now? And how did he found out she’s in here? So many questions for her clouded mind to be wondering. The two slowly make their way around another corner where Tom was quite sure the exit would be when suddenly a voice shouts.

    “Halt! Steh’ bleiben!” followed by the sound of a rifle being cocked. Tom and NIna look straight in the face of a group of guards, guns drawn. Nina freezes in terror. Tom stays bolt upright, her tower of strength.

    “Step aside, I am on a diplomatic mission to bring this woman…” Tom says in bad German “... to the consulate for further investigation.”

    “Sure, whatever, you damn dirty fascist. The only place she’s going is back in her cell, and we’ll chuck you back into whatever hell hole you crawled out of.” the largest of the group belts out while pointing his gun straight at Nina’s chest.

    “That would be a gross violation of diplomatic immunity, and punishable by martial law.” Tom proclaims. He’s putting on a brave face, but his voice starts to tremble a bit. “And imagine what it would look like to your superiors, not to mention the Partei if you, some random grunt, would set off an international diplomatic crisis.”

    The guards exchange a few looks with one-another. There is a brief and hushed consultation among the men. A part believes Tom’s story, the rest remain sceptical about the whole thing. They quickly come to a satisfactory conclusion, and the spokesperson of them steps forward. Tom looks him straight in the eyes, convinced of the success of his ploy. The man looks at Tom and NIna, and then slams the butt of his gun into the young Dutchman’s stomach. Tom keels over while coughing. At that moment two others grab Nina by the arms and drag her back into the hallway.

    She screams at the top of her lungs. Anything but returning there and letting the beatings continue! She tries to break free but the men easily overpower the wounded young girl.

    Tom is drug the other way around the corner, coughing and screaming about the repercussions of this action in half-German, half-Dutch. Nina screams his name. Tom shouts back that he’s going to return for her, that this isn’t over. One of the guards tells Nina in no uncertain terms to shut her cakehole, and slaps her with his hand. She can taste blood in her mouth. At the other end of the hallway she can hear a similar struggle taking place.

    Suddenly an unbelievably loud shot echoes through the hallways, followed by some crackling sounds and a loud thud. Something heavy drags on the concrete floor. Nina’s ears ring from the sound as the reality slowly creeps into her brain. For a moment she’s quiet, lets it all settle in. Then the screaming continues, but this time there’s no reply. She cries out at the realisation that her boyfriend just got shot. Her strength diminishes as the tears well up. What’s the use? Tom is dead and she’s destined to be interrogated during the day and abused at night.

    “That’ll teach you, you dirty capitalist slut!” one of the guards shouts as he buttons his pants and makes his way out of her cell. After her escape attempt the amount of abuse seemed to have doubled in retribution. An endless current of questions and physical abuse, interspersed with the occasional sexual deviation by that one guard just to spice things up a bit. She hasn’t slept a wink since. All she can think about is Tom. Why did he have to go and be a hero? Why this?

    Nina lays on her side, completely motionless. Her shirt is torn open and covered in blood stains, leaving her heavy, bruised breasts fully uncovered. Everything hurts. Breathing hurts. Being alive hurts. She can slowly feel her sanity slipping down that large, black drain. The only thing making its way through the mist of hopelessness is the sharp stabs of pain in her belly, white as lightning at at least as painful. With every flash of pain she curls up further, her knees pulled tight to her body. She tries to ignore it, but it’s getting harder and harder. Her tears mix with the blood on the floor. The best thing would be if she simply stopped existing right now, she ponders. Just, absorb into nothingness and fade away. Her thoughts get disrupted by another flash of pain, lower and more intense than the last ones. Her breath rate increases. What if…? She tries to suppress the coming panic attack. She has to stay calm.

    Stay. Calm.

    The pain doesn’t subside, and the floor seems to shift a few degrees sideways. She feels something dripping down the inside of her legs. So much pain that everything turns into one giant ball of pain. She can feel herself slipping away on a breeze of nothingness. Further and further she slips away.

    On the other side of the door, out of Nina’s earshot, a guard gets reminded about the CCTV in operation in these cells. The following punches can be heard at least in the next wing of the barren building.

    (Don't worry. Even though this flashback is quite dark, things will soon look up for poor Nina. She's had quite a trauma in Berlin!)
     
  9. Dec 6, 2019 at 3:16 PM #9

    Gooney87

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    Chapter 3 - Leaving behind

    This should be the place. With a forceful push the two wooden doors swing open in front of Nina. An old, smokey café on the outskirts of Moscow, built in a school building that fell in disuse during one of Moscow’s many mass migrations of citizens. Inside loud rock music plays, and the stench of cigarettes and liquor hangs heavy in the sky. She’s here after a tip she got from one of the market stall salesmen about a few men capable of getting their hands on all sorts of official documents, or decent facsimile thereof. All at a price, of course. She said she wanted a driver’s license, but her true motives lie elsewhere.

    She’s looking for a short, balding man who looks like someone who shouldn’t be here. This is easier said than done in a place like this. One does not simply stand in the middle of the place and shouts out for anyone who is vertically challenged and waxes his head every morning. There are various men walking around here, all varying in size and amount of chest hair flapping proudly in the breeze.

    Someone bumps into her as she’s standing there overseeing the whole situation. Some beer gets spilled on her shirt, and the man tries to apologize and blame the size of her chest for the incident at the same time. Nina sighs. Of course. She plows her way over to the bar, and eases her body down on a bar stool. Without even asking for it a shot glass of vodka appears in front of her. She looks at the bartender, surprised at this swift service. He nods his head to the right, towards an older fat gentlemen in a dusty gray suit at the end of the bar. His white hairs were likely stuck over his bald spot this morning, but by now they’ve given up the fight and stand bolt upright near his right ear. She smiles and raises his glass. Nina follows suit out of politeness, and in one motion downs the drink. Her love isn’t for sale, unlike some women here, but no-one has ever said no to free booze.

    She never cared much for the taste of vodka. She can feel the alcohol burning its way down her esophagus and into her stomach. Light a cigarette, that’ll take care of the bitter aftertaste. She rummages through her purse looking for her lighter with a shaking hand. Where did that thing go? Suddenly a light appears in front of her, ready to ignite the cigarette dangling from her lips. She looks up and sees that the older man has made his way over to her place at the bar. She’s startled by his sudden appearance, but maintains a nonchalant attitude and accepts his help. She takes a drag from her cigarette, inhaling the smoke deep into her longues.

    “Ty chto nemetskaya devushka?” he asks in a low, growly voice. His Russian is groomed and curt.

    “Yeah, I am. How’d you know?” she replies. Another drag from her cigarette.

    “When you’re in the business for as long as I am one tends to grow eyes and ears everywhere. So I gather you’re looking for something, hmm?” He lifts an eyebrow.

    “Yeah, my lighter. Where did the damn thing go? Like it just grew legs and walked out.” she replies while closing her purse.

    “Fortunately there’s plenty of people around willing to help you out with such a things. But let’s be honest, that’s not all you’re looking for, hot cakes.”

    “I’d love to see more of the world. Get out there and explore, y’know? Just too bad there’s so much paper work and red tape and Apparatchik standing in the way.” She puts on her most innocent face. This man is anything but short. Bald is debatable. He smiles and grabs a hand of peanuts from the bar.

    “Well, everything comes at a price, my child. And the wheels of bureaucracy turn best with a bit of grease here and there.” He rubbed his thumb and index finger together. Bits of peanut fall to the floor. They are far from the first. “But, business is best performed mildly intoxicated”. He gestures to the bartender, and two more glasses of vodka appear seemingly out of thin air.

    She takes a long draw from her cigarette. The price was roughly what she’d heard from her sources. A substantial amount, despite the promise of validity the papers come with. This would take a large sum out of her budget. She squeezes her forearms together and puts on the poutiest face she can muster up. Her large breasts billow out of the blouse she’s wearing, helped by the intentionally left undone top buttons. She follows his eyes as they make their predictable path down her face, and straight into her cleavage. Just a moment, brief enough to catch a glimpse but not have it be noticable. Or so he thinks.

    “Y’know what, I’ve got a better idea.” he says. Nina recoils. That wasn’t the intention. Look, but don’t touch. “I’ve got a set of books that need shifting.” Nina looks up, puzzled.

    “Books?” she asks while slowly allowing her cleavage to sag back to their natural plumpness.

    “Yes. Old photo books that some collector in Denmark is willing to pay for out his nose. They need to go the West, but the Russian Trade Federation won’t allow me to openly do business with those fascist bastards. But if you happen to know someone in the DDR who can chuck them over the wall that’d be worth a whole lot more than those Rubles you offer.”

    “I know people in the Netherlands” she bluffs. Technically she’s right, but her intention is to stop going West once she hits Berlin. He doesn’t have to know that though.

    “Interesting…” the man says slowly, pondering his next move.

    With a sharp slam the door shuts behind her, rattling the door frame as she exists. The cold night air stings her face, flush from the warmth inside. Or is it the alcohol? She just spent the rest of the night talking about the West with the man, telling him all about her Dutch once-boyfriend and her little exclusive state-sponsored trip to The Netherlands, regaling her experiences on the other side of the Iron Curtain. The man will have the visum ready in a week, and all she needs to do is to get a suitcase with a few books in them to Berlin, and then onwards into the West. Sounds easy enough.

    Nina is startled by a distant church bell ringing ten times. Natalya’s probably already home, and worried sick about her. With large, albeit slightly unsteady steps she makes her way to the nearest subway station.

    Nina carefully waits in the hallway for her breath to calm down from climbing the stairs. Is it just her or are they getting longer each time? Slowly and quietly she makes her way to the front door. She sticks the key in the lock, and pushes firmly against a very specific spot on the door. The slick spot in the paint suggests this isn’t the first time someone’s used this multi-step process to gain access to their apartment. She tries to be as quietly as possible, but the overall state of the apartment, possibly combined with the alcohol in her system, lead to her making far more noise than she meant. She pulls a pained face as the door opens with a loud groan.

    Inside it’s all quiet, and all the lights are off. Was Natalya even at home? Carefully she leans her body against the wall to take off her shoes. It takes a few attempts to reach her feet, and the shuffling sounds like a thunderclap in the quiet room. A short curse under her breath as she sucks in her belly to remove her shoes. Normally she’d sit down for this, but the chair is old and creaky.

    Suddenly the large shaded lamp next to the couch turns on, flooding the place in light. Nina is startled, and freezes in place.

    “And where were you tonight?” asks a clearly not-amused Natalya.

    Nina jumps at the sound of her friend’s voice. “Mensch! You scared the crap out of me!” She holds a hand to her chest and feels her heart pounding. Fight-or-flight response slowly subsiding. The room rotates a few degrees as the adrenaline wears off. Or it’s the alcohol, also a possibility.

    “I’ve been worried sick all evening! I thought we had agreed to leave each other notes about things like this? That we’d make sure that we were safe?” she says angrily.

    “I’m sorry, I had an appointment and it ran late.”

    “I’m sorry?!” Natalya replies in a mocking tone. “I’m sorry I left without saying a word? I’m sorry I temporarily disappeared from the face of the earth?!” The Russian girl turns red in her face. Her green eyes spew fire. Nina has seen that look before. This is going to be one of those nights. “I sat here the whole damn evening, waiting on you. I came home from work, no Nina. I baked an egg and ate it by myself, no Nina. I’ve been wondering all night where the hell you are, if you’re even alive or laying in some gutter, and you say sorry?!”

    “Did you at least enjoy your egg?” Nina adds sheepisly.

    “Where were you, devotchka? And don’t say you’ve been out drinking while planning your next half-assed adventure because I swear by Lenin’s beard, I’ll start screaming.”

    Nina lowers her eyes. She never liked rubbing Natalya the wrong way. It feels like she owes the Russian girl and her family something, and that she should be grateful for providing her with a roof over her head.
     
  10. Dec 6, 2019 at 3:18 PM #10

    Gooney87

    Gooney87

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    Natalya sees Nina’s submissive reaction and calms down. “Well, the important thing is that you’re here, alive and well. Come, grab something to eat and join me on the couch. You must be hungry.”

    Nina obeys. She’d much rather grab a quick shower, jump in bed, and wait for the world to stop spinning, but the couch and a snack make for a decent alternative to that. She sits down next to Natalya, wielding a slice of cheesecake left over from yesterday’s lunch. Her stomach growls at the sight of the treat.

    Natalya moves over slightly to give her corpulent friend a bit more room on the couch and puts her head on Nina’s lap as the fat German girl starts on the cheesecake. With a free hand Natalya starts rubbing Nina’s belly. Nina sighs as she starts on the slice of cheesecake. They often sit like this on the couch for hours on end, just talking or enjoying the company of one-another. Natalya feels Nina’s soft fat under her dress. When they first started living together she was already quite plump, but look at her now. She stole a glance the other day when Nina stepped on the bathroom scale. She couldn’t see the exact number, but at least it started with a ‘1’. Quite a contrast with her 55kg on a good day.

    Nina calms down. The food does her good. Natalya’s right, she should have left a message at the least. She feels how Natalya plays with her fat belly. She looks down at her Russian friend’s head in her lap, mostly obscured by her breasts. With every breath she takes she feels her shirt tighten its grip on her chest. She’s happy this hasn’t turned into one of those shouting matches, where all the doors in the apartment get slammed at least once, usually ending with both women in opposite corners of the room very much on non-speaking terms.

    “You know what, Liebchen,” Natalya starts “you’re a strange one. But I’m glad to have you around.” She squeezes a belly roll softly. “I just.. I don’t want to lose you. You matter to me. The last few years really flew by, didn’t they? I looked at the calendar the other day and saw that we’ve been living here for almost five years already. Five years….” Nina nods with her mouth full. She’s quite aware of the period separating her from the events in Berlin.

    Moments later Natalya feels Nina slumping down, snoring softly. She gets up carefully, and grabs the empty plate from her friend’s hand. No reaction. She’s fast asleep. She runs her hand through Nina’s long brown hair, moving a few strands out of her face. She’s cute when she sleeps, Natalya thinks to herself. She carefully kisses Nina’s forehead. She smells really nice, a mixture of food and something sweet. “You’re delicious” she says softly. One of these days she should really tell her the truth, and then just let the chips fall where they may.

    The next morning feels like someone turned up the brightness of the sun just a bit too far for Nina. She blinks slowly a few times and buries her head back in her pillow. Not yet. She can’t remember how she got back into bed last night, but considering the fact she’s in an old stretched-out shirt and not her usual PJs suggests that things might not have gone according to plan last night. She moans and gets up reluctantly. Her feet find the floor roughly where iet should be. With a groan she gets out of bed and focuses her attention on the next great challenge for today; making coffee. The curtains can remain shut for now, she concludes.

    The coffee maker merrily spews out the black liquid as Nina’s finishing her second cup of the morning at the breakfast table. She’s sat down on one end of the wooden table in the kitchen with a cigarette from her lips and the local newspaper in her hand. Slowly reality sinks in. So she’s found someone to get her the correct documents, and all she needs to do is smuggle a suitcase across the border to Berlin, and then hand it off to someone. Did she give the guy money already? She can’t remember anymore.

    “Getting drunk in the evening is borrowing happiness from the next morning.” she says to an empty house. She takes another draw from her cigarette as her eyes scan the local newsrag. Nothing noteworthy. The redaction is run by a few local Party members and so the reporting tends to be a little heavy on the over-inflated production numbers and the five-year plans, and light on actual news.

    She heaves herself up out of the chair. Her shirt rides up over her belly. With a sigh she concludes that this thing fit her just fine a few years ago. She arches her back, stretches out and looks down, her view mostly obscured by her heavy and currently unrestrained breasts. Slowly and unsteadily she makes her way towards the bathroom, belly and breasts jiggling with every step.

    The fluorescent light in the middle of the bathroom pings on after a few tries, showering the girl in unflattering light. She looks in the bathroom mirror, and an ash-grey woman stares back. She feels like what she looks like; tired and worn-down. A lot older than the 24 years that she is. She’s noticed she needs more rouge to get at least a close approximation of a healthy color on her cheeks these days, and the bags under her eyes are getting more prominent. Her eyes wander towards the half-smoked cigarette in her hand. That’s at least part of the problem. It all started with one her neighbor gave her when she locked herself out that one time. Then she had another one a few weeks later on Elizabeth’s would-be-first birthday. Then one every time she felt down, and it spiralled out of control from there. Now she’s up to a pack every two days or so. Like she said; a part of the problem.

    With some effort she peels off the worn and faded t-shirt she woke up in this morning. Her large breasts flop against her belly, making a slapping sound. She lurches forward by the sudden shift in weight. She throws the t-shirt aside, and lets her hands follow the contours of her body. She pushes her heaving bosoms together, looking at the cleavage they create. They swing heavily out when she releases them again. She plays with the fat on her belly, jiggling it softly. Waves roll over her fat body. She sighs. She’s never been particularly skinny, but ever since moving here she’s found her solace in food. And that leaves its mark on her young body. She has to bend down ever further if she wants to see where she plants her feet while walking, the shower seems to have shrunk significantly, and shoes with laces have become more effort than they’re worth. She recently had to shop at the maternity section of the Konsum to find underwear that would contain all of her, and all of her pants have worn thin on the inside of the thighs where her legs rub against one another when she walks. Speaking of walking; she’s noticed she’s started walking slower and slower as her gait changed.

    Honestly, she’s always had issues finding suitable underwear, even back in the DDR, but the loneliness here in Moscow seems to have exacerbated the problem. Of course her roommate has noticed the change as well. Sometimes Natalya pokes her belly playfully, and when they’re in bed together late at night she can sometimes mindlessly play with the rolls of fat on her back. A few weeks ago Nina totally caught Natalya looking at her heavy breasts full of admiration when Nina got out of the shower and found her towel missing in action. Was it just her imagination or does Natalya actually kind of... like her weight gain? I mean, she puts on that happy face every time Nina is munching on something, and to her shame, that is quite often.
     
  11. Dec 6, 2019 at 3:18 PM #11

    Gooney87

    Gooney87

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    To be fair, Tom never minded her size much either. But he was a guy and it works differently for guys. He could hardly be pulled away from her breasts, though oddly enough she didn’t get the impression he minded her girth much either.

    From under her dark hair two of the brightest, bluest eyes stare into the world. Those never changed. As a young child she’d often get her way just by staring at people until they got uncomfortable by her icy blue stare and got her what she wanted. Her light skin, dark hair, and those damn eyes were her main weapons in this world. She could melt every man she wanted to.
    Could, or can?
    Would she still be able to get a guy like Tom today? She misses him. He was sweet, and took great care of her. What would he say if he could see her today? Five years older, at least 20 kilos heavier, and damn near crippled by her scars on her left leg. Would he even recognize her at all? So many questions she’ll never have an answer to. Tom hasn’t moved in the last five years, he’s still on some graveyard in The Netherlands she reckons.

    A single tear runs down her cheek. Of course she’s mourned over the death of Tom. But it was such a chaotic time with the move to Moscow with Natalya, she’s hardly had the time to process all of it. Too busy to deal with anything. All that pain from Berlin is still in hear, eating away at her. She would have loved to be there on that funeral, to tell Tom one more time she loves him, how sorry she is, and then let down her elegant black veil and sit quietly in a corner somewhere, bawling her heart out. With a bit of luck it would have rained, so she could stand underneath a stately black umbrella and have all the people wonder who that woman is. She feels so much regret about not being able to be there. Regret that it even happened. Then, why should she be sorry for something he cooked up? The real victim here is her. Along with Elizabeth of course.

    She sighs and grabs a washcloth. The cold water refreshes slightly, but not much. She really needs to sleep a whole lot better than she does. The last couple of weeks have left her tossing and turning trying to fall asleep. Last night she jumped awake by the sound of what she thought was a crying child. She was halfway out of bed,ready to run towards the source of the sound, tell her that everything was going to be fine and that Mutti was here to take care of her when she realized it must have been in her dreams. Or was it outside? It could have been a sign that she’s waited far too long with this, and that Elizabeth needed her now more than ever. After that she tossed and turned, but couldn’t fall asleep again. Now that she thought about it she realizes she hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep ever since moving here. Yes, the bed is nice and soft, far better than the couch, but the heater makes weird noises and Natalya sometimes grabs her right boob and starts playing with it like it’s one of those stress-reliever balls.

    She closes the faucet, extinguishes her cigarette in the wash basin, and grabs her clean underwear from the heater next to her. The thing hasn’t worked right since they moved in, but every morning she dutifully places her clothes for the day on the things, hoping that this will be the day it’ll suddenly start giving off warmth. However, like many days she’s disappointed by the technical condition of the building and finds her clothes cold and quite damp from the humidity in the bathroom.
     

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