~BBW, ~MWG - Emma’s dieting has unforeseen implications for her best friend Jo.
It all started with my best friend Emma’s diet. Emma had, since I first met her when we were both five and just started school, always been a bit chubby. In the last few years before she went on her diet she had passed the line from being a little chubby into borderline fat.
It was probably inevitable that it was going to happen, having been doing a degree in catering management. It was not all about cooking but if you were not at least proficient in the art, how could you expect to run a restaurant some day. So Emma had been doing plenty of practising and self assessment on what she produced and it had had the obvious effect on her waistline.
Then there was Nick. I had never liked him, there was something odd about him that I could not quite put my finger on, but I was always civil enough because he was Emma’s boyfriend. They had been going out for two and half years when he finally decided to finish with her.
Now there was no need for him to be nasty to her when they broke up, but then that was Nick. He launched into a tirade about all the things that were wrong with Emma but particularly about what a “pig” she had turned into. It’s odd, considering the fact that during the time they were going out he had himself started to support a rather large beer belly.
Well, to say Emma did not take it well would be an understatement; it was around a week before she finally stopped crying, I had no idea someone could possibly keep it up for so long. When she was finally back, at least partially, in the land of the living, we had a chat.
She told me things were going to have to change. She needed to lose weight and would I help her. I told her of course I would, but she did not need to. However, she was not going to change her mind I could tell, so I chose to quickly give up, at least for now.
She opted to increase the trips she made to the gym from her usual two a week up to four or five depending on her work schedule that week. Exercise was never much of a problem for Emma though, as she freely admitted she quite liked her trips to the gym. She did not really ever go hell for leather at it, but during a trip she could quite easily sweat away some unwanted pounds.
The problem was always going to be food; she loved to cook and loved to eat and the idea of rice cakes and other such delicacies did not hold much appeal. But she was adamant she wanted to lose weight and she knew from past experience exercise alone would not do it.
So I soon noticed that Emma’s tactic was not going to be eating the usual diet foods but to instead just cut back on the amounts that she ate. This would have been fine, but the surplus food that she made at dinner seemed to be finding its way onto my plate.
How, though, could I say anything, when Emma still looked like she could break down and cry again at any minute. So I just ploughed through the additional food without protest; well, Emma sure is a really good cook and I quite enjoyed the extra grub.
I have never worried about my weight, but maybe that is just because I have had always been thin, without really putting in any effort at all. I played netball for the school team and was quite good, if I do say so myself. But since I left school around three years ago, I gave it up and really wasn't doing any exercise at all apart from my ten minute walk to and from work each day.
I have just always been blessed with a decent metabolism and make sure I do not overindulge too often. My weight on the occasional time I had checked it since I passed through puberty had been somewhere between one hundred and ten and one hundred and fifteen pounds without fail.
At my work they have a bi-annual physical for all the employees; I had already noticed some of my clothes had gotten a little tight in the six weeks since Emma had started her diet. When we got to the weigh-in, though, and it settled on one hundred and twenty one it still came as a bit of a shock. I was still at the lower end of what is considered ideal for someone who is five foot seven, but I still felt a little disoriented by the new number.
Around the same time Emma was starting to feel a little disillusioned herself, with all the effort she had been putting into losing weight she had only managed to drop five pounds. The thing was, she was not doing one of those fad diets, where you lose a load of weight the first couple of weeks, then get usually get annoyed by the fact you cannot eat anything you like and normally give up and put it all back on.
She was just exercising a bit more and eating a bit less and it was never going to change to dramatically. I tried to convince her if she wanted to lose weight in the long term she was doing the right thing; she did not seem convinced but she did not have a better idea, so she decided to stick with it for now.
It was about five weeks after I got weighed, when I was getting ready to go out for a few drinks on a Friday night, it became obvious, if it had not already, that I had been continuing to put on weight. I could not get any of my jeans to fasten around my enlarged waist and in the end had to settle for an old skirt I had tucked away in one of my cupboards.
This was much harder to take than the number on the scale; a number is just a number, but this was a waste of perfectly good clothes. I did enjoy the trip around town the following day to look for new things to wear but it still grated that there were some things I’d got hardly any use out of that no longer fit.
Since she had finished her degree about six months before, Emma had found a job as assistant manager at a bar in town. It was not ideally what she wanted, but it was giving her some management experience and during the days on the weekend the bar opened and served lunches along with drinks.
The two day shifts were generally one to avoid for most of the management, but Emma saw it as more of what she wanted to do so normally volunteered to work at least one of the two shifts. It was generally rather quiet during this time as no one really expected the place to be open; this gave Emma time to disappear into the kitchen and experiment and she was already very proud of two dishes she had had added to the menu.
Well, one Saturday as I had been wandering around town mainly window shopping I called on Emma as I went past. It was, as she frequently mentioned, empty apart from one of the staff behind the bar; just then Emma came out from the back.
“Oh, hi, Jo, what good timing, take a seat over there and, Michael, get the girl a drink would you, I’ll be back in a minute.”
With that she disappeared back from where she came a moment before, and Michael fixed me up with a glass of white wine. A couple of minutes later Emma reappeared with a tray with a couple of plates on it and placed it on the table in front of me.
“My latest creations,” she said pointing at the plates she moved in front of me. “And you're just in time to let me know what you think of them, but make sure you're honest.”
There was to be no worries there, as the lasagne was probably the best I had ever tasted; she had made some sort of twist to it so that I could not fathom what made it so much better than the run of the mill ones you get. That, however, was nothing compared to the second plate; on it was a slice of chocolate cake that was simply divine and I could not help myself - in next to no time I was looking down at a cleared plate.
It was strange to think with food like this how this place could be empty. So I after heaping much praise on Em’s offerings I left with a bloated but very satisfied feeling in my stomach.
When a few days later Emma suggested I should pop by more often on the weekends to stop her from overindulging I knew I should say no. I knew I was putting on weight and this would only make matters worse, but the look in Emma’s face, and the memories of the treats from the other day, and how could I?
So it quickly became a regular occurrence for me to happen upon the bar around lunch time, eager to find what new dish may emerge from the kitchen. There I would stay at my table in the corner for a couple of hours, with a glass or three of wine; sometimes it would be one new dish, another it could be three.
Not always were they perfect, her attempts at a curry dish proved particularly difficult and one day she spent most the afternoon bringing me out revised versions. It still was not great, but it was much improved from the first attempt when she brought out her sixth plate. I had not eaten much of some plates, but after six I was stuffed and called it a day, leaving Emma to think what change to make for a future week.
About four months after Emma had started her diet she had lost, at a slow but steady rate and was much more cheerful about it.
“Look at this,” she said as she came bouncing into the lounge of our flat. “I had these jeans before I started going out with Nick and look, look they fit again.”
I’d say in the time since the breakup she had lost about twenty pounds and the jeans did fit, if albeit a little snugly. I would have put her weight now at somewhere between one hundred sixty and one hundred seventy pounds.
I on the other hand had not been faring as well, I could see the starting of my stomach bunching up as I sat down. Worst some of the clothes I had brought only a few weeks before already seemed to be not as loose fitting as they had been when I brought them. Tight by no means, but I just noticed there was less additional space.
Now I had never been a breakfast person before, I generally would only ever get up at the last possible moment to get ready for work and if anything would just grab a quick slice of toast on the way out the door. The office where I worked introduced a breakfast menu into there canteen around a couple of months before this time.
I had not given it any serious thought, as breakfast was not something that I had partaken in. That was until Keeley started working with me, to say Keeley was voluptuous would probably be to understate it somewhat. For several days she had been pestering me to join her, as she did not want to go down alone, and I finally gave in. The first day I had a bowl of corn flakes and a slice of toast, Keeley on the other hand went for sausage, bacon, eggs and beans.
Now I’m not saying there was anything wrong with my choice but to see the way she dug into hers did leave me a little envious. Even so I knew a similar choice to hers would do nothing to help my waistline, so I stuck to the same choice for the next few days. On the Friday though I decided to indulge myself a little, once a week would not hurt would it. It was delicious and that then became what I did for the next few weeks, cereal four days and fry up on the fifth.
Only it did not last, I started coming up with excuses to myself why I deserved one on possibly a Tuesday one week or a Thursday the next and before I knew it the exception was not having the fry-up, rather than not having the cereal. It was so easy when I had Keeley opposite me doing the same thing everyday without seemingly a second's thought.
After around ten weeks of breakfasts on top of everything else, my clothes for a second time were becoming a struggle. To say I was annoyed would have been an understatement, I like to keep up reasonably with fashion but to change my wardrobe after around four months was too much. It had to be done however as my skirts and trousers were very restricting and my breasts were falling out of my bras.
Changing room mirrors give you a perceptive on your body that the mirror in our bathroom fails too. While out to find new clothes several stores had mirrors showing my body from every different angle and I could not help but see how it had changed in recent months.
Now I had never been particularly well toned as I really didn’t do much exercise, but now I was starting to look squishy rather than smooth. My bum had started to stick out noticeably, as did my stomach which could be shaken, if only slightly. I had clearly passed the threshold from being thin to slightly chubby and it made my figure seem somehow alien to me.
On the way out of shopping centre I spotted one of the weighing scales they usually have stashed away somewhere in these places and it just seemed right to fine a number to go with the picture in the mirrors. So I put my twenty pence in and the electronic read out flashed back 148, that was at least thirty pounds since Emma started her diet, but then with the way I had been putting the food away it did make sense.
To Emma clearly being able to fit into her old jeans was some sort of turning point. She was happy about that but also I think as well just finally over Nick, she had started to chat up men again while we were out and generally had her smile back. The jeans were though a short lived success, she wore those and a few other thing a few times but then stopped and slipped back into some of her newer clothes.
I noticed that when she made the evening meals she had stopped giving herself such a small portion, although that had not meant she gave me less, if anything she gave me more, as on some level convincing herself that she was having less than me so it must still be alright. Anyway by the time I was buying myself my second set of clothes Emma must have put back on five to ten of the twenty she had lost.
During one of my trips to Emma’s work on the weekend, Michael as he was often the person working the day shift with her. Now I had not given much thought how as a spectacle our afternoons may appear for someone else but I was to become acutely aware.
It had in recent weeks been doing better for custom and was beginning to attract a small crowd of regulars, but not this day as the heavens had opened early and showed no sign of stopping. So on entering the bar I spotted I was the only customer, although it is probably the wrong term as I hardly ever paid for anything.
So after I dried off a bit I poked my head in to the kitchen to say hi to Em and then sat at what had become my normal table in the corner, which was bourn out by the fact Michael had already left me a large glass of wine at the table. Fifteen minutes passed as I chatted with Michael about the rain and other such interesting topics, until Emma wandered out with a plate of moussaka.
It was not one of her best dishes, something was not quite right with the Aubergines, but it was certainly hitting the spot, I did however about a third of the way through have to unbutton the top of my jeans. No, I did not already need a third set of clothes I just had been making do on weekends with some of the older clothes that I could still squeeze into.
Well when soon afterwards Michael came over to top up my now nearly empty wine glass his eyes drifted to the inch of flesh around my middle where my t-shirt didn’t meet my jeans and the triangular section of my knickers that was on display from my unfastened jeans. I did not notice him looking at first as I was still focused on my meal, when I did he seemed to squirm a little and when his head moved back up he did not make eye contact.
I could not tell if he was embarrassed for being caught looking, embarrassed for me for being in that position, whether he was disgusted, indifferent or you never know excited when he looked. Well anyway for the rest of the afternoon he did not seem capable of looking me straight at me or stringing a complete sentence together.
It got me thinking during the following week about whether he found the fattening me attractive or not. I decided to put it to the test the next time I went for a meal, I spent ages choosing the ideal outfit and getting ready to go out.
I settled on one of my favourite old t-shirts, which had a deep v neck so to show off plenty of cleavage and got not even close any longer to covering my softening tummy. I decided to pair it off with a skirt that used to be an ever present when I went out on the town, but had been confined to the back of my wardrobe after about the first ten pounds I’d put on. Wearing it now it looked about to burst off me, which was part of the look I was after.
I am sure as he first set eyes on me as I entered the bar I must have made quite a sight. I could feel his eyes follow me from behind the bar as I made my way down to my usual table in the far corner. Once he came to my table to pour my wine, I could see in those eyes a look of lust and could tell my ensemble had the desired effect.
I proceeded to make an even bigger pig of myself than I normally do on these weekend afternoons, and even though Emma’s Swordfish dish was pretty much spot on first time, I convinced her to give me four plates complaining that the seasoning and sauce was not quite right, before I was happy.
By this time I was starting to feel well stuffed and my skirt had long since been undone again. I did however manage to get it back done up before I moved my way across the restaurant to the kitchen to have a quick peek at what pudding Emma was conjuring, and to my delight it was a chocolate gateau.
After she said it would be at least twenty minutes before it was finished I went to the bar to collect another glass of wine from Michael and have a bit of a flirt with him at the bar. If he had any doubt I was interested before he certainly did not now and I likewise could tell he was too and we were both playing the game, using plenty of innuendo, as we filled the time.
Back at the table as Em brought out the desert I had no choice but to immediately undo my skirt again. The gateau was devilishly delicious and every mouthful of the huge chunk gave me a sinful satisfaction. There was no way I was going to leave even any of it on my plate and if I had not been out I’d have probably licked the plate clean.
When I was ready to leave, I again went to tighten my skirt but this time I could not get the button to quite reach the slit. So in the end I had to leave it undone, although thankfully it was tight enough to mean it was not I any real danger of falling down.
On the way out I went and thanked Emma for the meal and then wandered across to Michael, who finally got around to asking me out for a date, and we agreed to meet at another bar in town later that evening after he had finished work. It gave me time to go home and have a quick nap, while all the food I’d eaten settled and then get ready to go out. I decided to replace the skirt that still was not going to fasten with a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt and then I was off.
We had a few drinks and a bit of a chat in the bar, we went to but it was really we both knew it, little more than a precursor to sex and soon we were back at his place. I proved to be a fabulous night, as we went at into the wee small hours of the night. God what a great body and what stamina he had.
It was never really going to be a long term thing with Michael and indeed we had four dates, and some fine nights in the bedroom, but it just was not going anywhere and we called it a day.
Michael was only nineteen to my twenty six, I had not thought it would have been an issue but he was just a little immature. My time going out with Michael was certainly fun, and at least showed me that even carrying a few extra pounds, I could still be sexy.
I was not eating any more food but as the weeks went by I was continuing to gain weight and for a time I could not figure out why? Of course it was obvious and I eventually twigged, with the breakfasts at work, the weekend feasts at the bar and Emma’s meals on an evening I was eating a lot of additional food already.
In fact I was eating more than Emma ever did on top of the fact I was doing hardly any exercise, therefore even if my metabolism and my genes may have some effect, with the quantities I was putting away it may take some time but eventually I was bound to be as big if not bigger than Emma.
If I did not want to get that way I was going to have to cut at least one, if not more of my new indulgences and soon. The thing was when I thought about it I really did not want too and anyway was beginning to like the way I was looking, even if I was a bit chubby.
Dieting Effect
by the Owl
by the Owl
It all started with my best friend Emma’s diet. Emma had, since I first met her when we were both five and just started school, always been a bit chubby. In the last few years before she went on her diet she had passed the line from being a little chubby into borderline fat.
It was probably inevitable that it was going to happen, having been doing a degree in catering management. It was not all about cooking but if you were not at least proficient in the art, how could you expect to run a restaurant some day. So Emma had been doing plenty of practising and self assessment on what she produced and it had had the obvious effect on her waistline.
Then there was Nick. I had never liked him, there was something odd about him that I could not quite put my finger on, but I was always civil enough because he was Emma’s boyfriend. They had been going out for two and half years when he finally decided to finish with her.
Now there was no need for him to be nasty to her when they broke up, but then that was Nick. He launched into a tirade about all the things that were wrong with Emma but particularly about what a “pig” she had turned into. It’s odd, considering the fact that during the time they were going out he had himself started to support a rather large beer belly.
Well, to say Emma did not take it well would be an understatement; it was around a week before she finally stopped crying, I had no idea someone could possibly keep it up for so long. When she was finally back, at least partially, in the land of the living, we had a chat.
She told me things were going to have to change. She needed to lose weight and would I help her. I told her of course I would, but she did not need to. However, she was not going to change her mind I could tell, so I chose to quickly give up, at least for now.
She opted to increase the trips she made to the gym from her usual two a week up to four or five depending on her work schedule that week. Exercise was never much of a problem for Emma though, as she freely admitted she quite liked her trips to the gym. She did not really ever go hell for leather at it, but during a trip she could quite easily sweat away some unwanted pounds.
The problem was always going to be food; she loved to cook and loved to eat and the idea of rice cakes and other such delicacies did not hold much appeal. But she was adamant she wanted to lose weight and she knew from past experience exercise alone would not do it.
So I soon noticed that Emma’s tactic was not going to be eating the usual diet foods but to instead just cut back on the amounts that she ate. This would have been fine, but the surplus food that she made at dinner seemed to be finding its way onto my plate.
How, though, could I say anything, when Emma still looked like she could break down and cry again at any minute. So I just ploughed through the additional food without protest; well, Emma sure is a really good cook and I quite enjoyed the extra grub.
I have never worried about my weight, but maybe that is just because I have had always been thin, without really putting in any effort at all. I played netball for the school team and was quite good, if I do say so myself. But since I left school around three years ago, I gave it up and really wasn't doing any exercise at all apart from my ten minute walk to and from work each day.
I have just always been blessed with a decent metabolism and make sure I do not overindulge too often. My weight on the occasional time I had checked it since I passed through puberty had been somewhere between one hundred and ten and one hundred and fifteen pounds without fail.
At my work they have a bi-annual physical for all the employees; I had already noticed some of my clothes had gotten a little tight in the six weeks since Emma had started her diet. When we got to the weigh-in, though, and it settled on one hundred and twenty one it still came as a bit of a shock. I was still at the lower end of what is considered ideal for someone who is five foot seven, but I still felt a little disoriented by the new number.
Around the same time Emma was starting to feel a little disillusioned herself, with all the effort she had been putting into losing weight she had only managed to drop five pounds. The thing was, she was not doing one of those fad diets, where you lose a load of weight the first couple of weeks, then get usually get annoyed by the fact you cannot eat anything you like and normally give up and put it all back on.
She was just exercising a bit more and eating a bit less and it was never going to change to dramatically. I tried to convince her if she wanted to lose weight in the long term she was doing the right thing; she did not seem convinced but she did not have a better idea, so she decided to stick with it for now.
It was about five weeks after I got weighed, when I was getting ready to go out for a few drinks on a Friday night, it became obvious, if it had not already, that I had been continuing to put on weight. I could not get any of my jeans to fasten around my enlarged waist and in the end had to settle for an old skirt I had tucked away in one of my cupboards.
This was much harder to take than the number on the scale; a number is just a number, but this was a waste of perfectly good clothes. I did enjoy the trip around town the following day to look for new things to wear but it still grated that there were some things I’d got hardly any use out of that no longer fit.
Since she had finished her degree about six months before, Emma had found a job as assistant manager at a bar in town. It was not ideally what she wanted, but it was giving her some management experience and during the days on the weekend the bar opened and served lunches along with drinks.
The two day shifts were generally one to avoid for most of the management, but Emma saw it as more of what she wanted to do so normally volunteered to work at least one of the two shifts. It was generally rather quiet during this time as no one really expected the place to be open; this gave Emma time to disappear into the kitchen and experiment and she was already very proud of two dishes she had had added to the menu.
Well, one Saturday as I had been wandering around town mainly window shopping I called on Emma as I went past. It was, as she frequently mentioned, empty apart from one of the staff behind the bar; just then Emma came out from the back.
“Oh, hi, Jo, what good timing, take a seat over there and, Michael, get the girl a drink would you, I’ll be back in a minute.”
With that she disappeared back from where she came a moment before, and Michael fixed me up with a glass of white wine. A couple of minutes later Emma reappeared with a tray with a couple of plates on it and placed it on the table in front of me.
“My latest creations,” she said pointing at the plates she moved in front of me. “And you're just in time to let me know what you think of them, but make sure you're honest.”
There was to be no worries there, as the lasagne was probably the best I had ever tasted; she had made some sort of twist to it so that I could not fathom what made it so much better than the run of the mill ones you get. That, however, was nothing compared to the second plate; on it was a slice of chocolate cake that was simply divine and I could not help myself - in next to no time I was looking down at a cleared plate.
It was strange to think with food like this how this place could be empty. So I after heaping much praise on Em’s offerings I left with a bloated but very satisfied feeling in my stomach.
When a few days later Emma suggested I should pop by more often on the weekends to stop her from overindulging I knew I should say no. I knew I was putting on weight and this would only make matters worse, but the look in Emma’s face, and the memories of the treats from the other day, and how could I?
So it quickly became a regular occurrence for me to happen upon the bar around lunch time, eager to find what new dish may emerge from the kitchen. There I would stay at my table in the corner for a couple of hours, with a glass or three of wine; sometimes it would be one new dish, another it could be three.
Not always were they perfect, her attempts at a curry dish proved particularly difficult and one day she spent most the afternoon bringing me out revised versions. It still was not great, but it was much improved from the first attempt when she brought out her sixth plate. I had not eaten much of some plates, but after six I was stuffed and called it a day, leaving Emma to think what change to make for a future week.
About four months after Emma had started her diet she had lost, at a slow but steady rate and was much more cheerful about it.
“Look at this,” she said as she came bouncing into the lounge of our flat. “I had these jeans before I started going out with Nick and look, look they fit again.”
I’d say in the time since the breakup she had lost about twenty pounds and the jeans did fit, if albeit a little snugly. I would have put her weight now at somewhere between one hundred sixty and one hundred seventy pounds.
I on the other hand had not been faring as well, I could see the starting of my stomach bunching up as I sat down. Worst some of the clothes I had brought only a few weeks before already seemed to be not as loose fitting as they had been when I brought them. Tight by no means, but I just noticed there was less additional space.
Now I had never been a breakfast person before, I generally would only ever get up at the last possible moment to get ready for work and if anything would just grab a quick slice of toast on the way out the door. The office where I worked introduced a breakfast menu into there canteen around a couple of months before this time.
I had not given it any serious thought, as breakfast was not something that I had partaken in. That was until Keeley started working with me, to say Keeley was voluptuous would probably be to understate it somewhat. For several days she had been pestering me to join her, as she did not want to go down alone, and I finally gave in. The first day I had a bowl of corn flakes and a slice of toast, Keeley on the other hand went for sausage, bacon, eggs and beans.
Now I’m not saying there was anything wrong with my choice but to see the way she dug into hers did leave me a little envious. Even so I knew a similar choice to hers would do nothing to help my waistline, so I stuck to the same choice for the next few days. On the Friday though I decided to indulge myself a little, once a week would not hurt would it. It was delicious and that then became what I did for the next few weeks, cereal four days and fry up on the fifth.
Only it did not last, I started coming up with excuses to myself why I deserved one on possibly a Tuesday one week or a Thursday the next and before I knew it the exception was not having the fry-up, rather than not having the cereal. It was so easy when I had Keeley opposite me doing the same thing everyday without seemingly a second's thought.
After around ten weeks of breakfasts on top of everything else, my clothes for a second time were becoming a struggle. To say I was annoyed would have been an understatement, I like to keep up reasonably with fashion but to change my wardrobe after around four months was too much. It had to be done however as my skirts and trousers were very restricting and my breasts were falling out of my bras.
Changing room mirrors give you a perceptive on your body that the mirror in our bathroom fails too. While out to find new clothes several stores had mirrors showing my body from every different angle and I could not help but see how it had changed in recent months.
Now I had never been particularly well toned as I really didn’t do much exercise, but now I was starting to look squishy rather than smooth. My bum had started to stick out noticeably, as did my stomach which could be shaken, if only slightly. I had clearly passed the threshold from being thin to slightly chubby and it made my figure seem somehow alien to me.
On the way out of shopping centre I spotted one of the weighing scales they usually have stashed away somewhere in these places and it just seemed right to fine a number to go with the picture in the mirrors. So I put my twenty pence in and the electronic read out flashed back 148, that was at least thirty pounds since Emma started her diet, but then with the way I had been putting the food away it did make sense.
To Emma clearly being able to fit into her old jeans was some sort of turning point. She was happy about that but also I think as well just finally over Nick, she had started to chat up men again while we were out and generally had her smile back. The jeans were though a short lived success, she wore those and a few other thing a few times but then stopped and slipped back into some of her newer clothes.
I noticed that when she made the evening meals she had stopped giving herself such a small portion, although that had not meant she gave me less, if anything she gave me more, as on some level convincing herself that she was having less than me so it must still be alright. Anyway by the time I was buying myself my second set of clothes Emma must have put back on five to ten of the twenty she had lost.
During one of my trips to Emma’s work on the weekend, Michael as he was often the person working the day shift with her. Now I had not given much thought how as a spectacle our afternoons may appear for someone else but I was to become acutely aware.
It had in recent weeks been doing better for custom and was beginning to attract a small crowd of regulars, but not this day as the heavens had opened early and showed no sign of stopping. So on entering the bar I spotted I was the only customer, although it is probably the wrong term as I hardly ever paid for anything.
So after I dried off a bit I poked my head in to the kitchen to say hi to Em and then sat at what had become my normal table in the corner, which was bourn out by the fact Michael had already left me a large glass of wine at the table. Fifteen minutes passed as I chatted with Michael about the rain and other such interesting topics, until Emma wandered out with a plate of moussaka.
It was not one of her best dishes, something was not quite right with the Aubergines, but it was certainly hitting the spot, I did however about a third of the way through have to unbutton the top of my jeans. No, I did not already need a third set of clothes I just had been making do on weekends with some of the older clothes that I could still squeeze into.
Well when soon afterwards Michael came over to top up my now nearly empty wine glass his eyes drifted to the inch of flesh around my middle where my t-shirt didn’t meet my jeans and the triangular section of my knickers that was on display from my unfastened jeans. I did not notice him looking at first as I was still focused on my meal, when I did he seemed to squirm a little and when his head moved back up he did not make eye contact.
I could not tell if he was embarrassed for being caught looking, embarrassed for me for being in that position, whether he was disgusted, indifferent or you never know excited when he looked. Well anyway for the rest of the afternoon he did not seem capable of looking me straight at me or stringing a complete sentence together.
It got me thinking during the following week about whether he found the fattening me attractive or not. I decided to put it to the test the next time I went for a meal, I spent ages choosing the ideal outfit and getting ready to go out.
I settled on one of my favourite old t-shirts, which had a deep v neck so to show off plenty of cleavage and got not even close any longer to covering my softening tummy. I decided to pair it off with a skirt that used to be an ever present when I went out on the town, but had been confined to the back of my wardrobe after about the first ten pounds I’d put on. Wearing it now it looked about to burst off me, which was part of the look I was after.
I am sure as he first set eyes on me as I entered the bar I must have made quite a sight. I could feel his eyes follow me from behind the bar as I made my way down to my usual table in the far corner. Once he came to my table to pour my wine, I could see in those eyes a look of lust and could tell my ensemble had the desired effect.
I proceeded to make an even bigger pig of myself than I normally do on these weekend afternoons, and even though Emma’s Swordfish dish was pretty much spot on first time, I convinced her to give me four plates complaining that the seasoning and sauce was not quite right, before I was happy.
By this time I was starting to feel well stuffed and my skirt had long since been undone again. I did however manage to get it back done up before I moved my way across the restaurant to the kitchen to have a quick peek at what pudding Emma was conjuring, and to my delight it was a chocolate gateau.
After she said it would be at least twenty minutes before it was finished I went to the bar to collect another glass of wine from Michael and have a bit of a flirt with him at the bar. If he had any doubt I was interested before he certainly did not now and I likewise could tell he was too and we were both playing the game, using plenty of innuendo, as we filled the time.
Back at the table as Em brought out the desert I had no choice but to immediately undo my skirt again. The gateau was devilishly delicious and every mouthful of the huge chunk gave me a sinful satisfaction. There was no way I was going to leave even any of it on my plate and if I had not been out I’d have probably licked the plate clean.
When I was ready to leave, I again went to tighten my skirt but this time I could not get the button to quite reach the slit. So in the end I had to leave it undone, although thankfully it was tight enough to mean it was not I any real danger of falling down.
On the way out I went and thanked Emma for the meal and then wandered across to Michael, who finally got around to asking me out for a date, and we agreed to meet at another bar in town later that evening after he had finished work. It gave me time to go home and have a quick nap, while all the food I’d eaten settled and then get ready to go out. I decided to replace the skirt that still was not going to fasten with a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt and then I was off.
We had a few drinks and a bit of a chat in the bar, we went to but it was really we both knew it, little more than a precursor to sex and soon we were back at his place. I proved to be a fabulous night, as we went at into the wee small hours of the night. God what a great body and what stamina he had.
It was never really going to be a long term thing with Michael and indeed we had four dates, and some fine nights in the bedroom, but it just was not going anywhere and we called it a day.
Michael was only nineteen to my twenty six, I had not thought it would have been an issue but he was just a little immature. My time going out with Michael was certainly fun, and at least showed me that even carrying a few extra pounds, I could still be sexy.
I was not eating any more food but as the weeks went by I was continuing to gain weight and for a time I could not figure out why? Of course it was obvious and I eventually twigged, with the breakfasts at work, the weekend feasts at the bar and Emma’s meals on an evening I was eating a lot of additional food already.
In fact I was eating more than Emma ever did on top of the fact I was doing hardly any exercise, therefore even if my metabolism and my genes may have some effect, with the quantities I was putting away it may take some time but eventually I was bound to be as big if not bigger than Emma.
If I did not want to get that way I was going to have to cut at least one, if not more of my new indulgences and soon. The thing was when I thought about it I really did not want too and anyway was beginning to like the way I was looking, even if I was a bit chubby.
