BHM Energetic Expansions ~BHM, ~~WG

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Library Girl
Staff member
Library Mod
Jun 21, 2008
I worked at a company that disorganized for a short period (I got myself out after 16 months). Oddly enough, a Canadian subsidiary of a German company, where I think they dumped germans that nobody could stand back home on us. Something about international subsidiaries, perhaps?

There are 2 approaches to international subsidiaries/offices - either they're a well-used central part of the business - with then delegated employees who are real experts in their field (be it managerial, technical or the country/culture in question). Or they're the outpost somewhere no one understands and where you send people you want to get rid of at headquarters (German even has a compound word for this 'to praise away') respec. it's the end-of-career bonbon.

Nice! :) I'm really looking forward to the next chapter. I know a lot of people enjoy the more "Harlequin romance" type of story, but for me it's what happens outside of and apart from sex that makes for an interesting story -- and you're serving that up in spades!

Thank you very much. As a natural skeptic, I always feel that just relationships can't carry a full, longer story. (That's what makes a lot of even well-written porn boring imo .... it get's pretty repetitive and foreseeable). You need to find out more about the social context, what's going on in the characters lives to form a convincing picture. It makes me happy to know I'm succeeding in that to a certain extent.


Library Girl
Staff member
Library Mod
Jun 21, 2008

“168 kilograms”, the doctor read out to the note taking assistant, letting him gulp. Silvia van der Vaals had insisted they get this independent medical evaluation done as soon as possible to substantiate his case. Today, on September 25th he was out off his job for 40 days and in that short time period had put on 12 kilograms – or 26 US pounds or 10.5 ounces per day. Not that this was necessary or intentional – compulsory was the word. Okay, putting the Alexa-break-up weight -loss back on was 'normal’ - whenever he had lost weight in the past, it had always returned over time, but never so quickly. This was 4 kilograms more than his old high of 164. Looking at his reflection in the door size mirror – which doctor had something so humiliating for most patients right next to the scale? - he could tell he had been overeating. Not necessarily from his body, huge as ever, but from his face which was roundest with that extra puff in his cheeks. He had always had that, from childhood: His face would look swollen until a day after stuffing himself. His critical mother never failed to notice, it had been the tell-tale sign. So even if he sucked in and stood straight, he had never been effectively able to hide secret binges from her.

Now eating was simply - the only thing left to do. A means to fill the void in his life, a consolation, insulation against the paralyzing uncertainty. Because Silvia van der Vaals had been right – his legal contention mainly consisted of waiting, endless, nerve-wrecking waiting. Until this day they had not received a response to filing their lawsuit against FuturePowers.

“BMI 48.6,” the assistant added numbers that had never meant much to him. The weight itself was the issue. “Blood pressure 150/90, heart rate 112…. both too high. Are you maybe a bit excited?”

“Excited?” An odd way of putting it. “I’m more scared of this kind of test… don’t do well in it ….”

“Oh yes – that is what I wanted to say. Sorry, the language. Please try the exercise bike, we will continue the test. This one over there, it’s stronger,” indicating to a much more sizable apparatus at the other end of the long room. Clambering on it, the assistant installing him with all sorts of tubes and wires, he started pedaling away. Gazing into space, he let his favorite bike trails run before his inner eye, imagining he was riding them, adapting his speed and strength to the one simulated by the machine. After a lengthy time period, the machine stopped and the doctor clapped him on the shoulder: “Blood pressure 130/80, heart rate 120 – very good! You’re numbers are better when you’re exercising than when you’re resting. Do you exercise much?”

“I bike every day – this is Holland. Plus I probably do better when I don’t pay attention to being physically tested; don’t feel so self-conscious about it.”

“You’ve always been overweight?” – the entire spiel about his weight history started, asked dozens of times with every new doctor’s appointment over the course of his life. Afterwards, he had to fill out three questionnaires and do 2 on screen tests and then he was free to go.

Friday was ‘pannekoeken’ day at his favorite café: Famished after the necessary fasting for the blood tests, he went to treat himself to their full lunch special. Later he could, since the weather was better than predicted and there was a special cheese sale on, bike out to Gouda and come back by train. It was a lengthy stretch, but it was something to do and buying fresh cheese was at least a goal for the day. By the time he’d get back from that little excursion, it would be dinner time – and lots of delicious cheese to have with salad and pasta.

For this weekend he at least had real plans: He would meet with Alexa and Josephine to edit the pictures and video from ‘Prinsjesdag’ the traditional royal opening of the Dutch parliament’s session period after the summer recess. Alexa had invited him to come, calling the Saturday after his horrific dismissal arrest as he was just eating an entire chocolate chip cheese cake in one sitting. Despite her using all her persuasive powers, he had vehemently declined – feeling as fat, unemployed and inadequate as can be, facing the King, Queen and who knew how many dignitaries was not on his personal agenda. Instead he suggested she take Josephine – with him coming along to take pictures. She had grudgingly agreed to have great fun as she admitted with Josephine’s boundless delight and pride. To ensure the best ‘coverage’ of this monumental event in Josie’s life, Alexa had gotten him a second order press pass, so he was well positioned in the crowds to document their act: The two dressed in style with the matching outfit’s from Carolina’s baptism entering parliament, Josephine curtseying to the Queen and handing her a flower bouquet. Or the story-clip she did for her school class’ Facebook page. Hiding behind his camera, he actually enjoyed it.

After 5 salty and 3 sweet ‘pannekoeken’ he leaned back and fondled his gut. It did look bigger again than a few weeks ago. Keeping it nicely filled in his current state of life’s limbo had turned into an existential urge, so he hadn’t paid much attention to its actual size. Since he didn’t want to get even fatter than he already was, he would have to rein himself in a bit more from now on.
Puffing and pedaling along the ‘bike highway’ towards Gouda he had to acknowledge he really had been ingesting massive amounts lately, even by his standards. His Greece vacation hadn’t managed to take his mind off all his real problems. The warm, comforting fullness of a well-stuffed stomach was the only thing that let him function. Putting something in his mouth, chewing, swallowing, tasting was the best sedative for controlling his nerves from going haywire. An important element in being able to keep up the semblance of normality for his grandmother and Zoë.

To not get more concerned looks and shy intake advice – although they were very gentle and loving about it - he resorted to eating double meals in secret during their trip: In the mornings, he’d get up earlier and go down to the bakery around the corner. Have one of those delicious cold coffee shakes called frappé together with some Greek breakfast goodies like the cinnamon rice pudding, or a sesame bagel with honey or cheese, a baked flap-like piece with fruit or milk pudding filling, or big crunchy cookies with nuts and raisins. To survive the day, he’d buy some ‘pita’ or ‘boureki’ with meat, vegetable or cheese filling to fill out his lunch and stocked that in his mini-fridge. Then he’d have a ‘normal’ hotel breakfast with grandmother and Zoë, afterwards his stomach gutted enough to be numbed against reality. In the afternoon he’d make sure to fit in some extra portions of ice cream or delicious pastry. With dinner he either went for a late night Souvlaki or pizza run afterwards, or had extensive mezé before dinner with Ouzo at one of these men only café-bars full of old Greeks his grandmother refused to frequent.

Pushing this wobbling, bloated orb ahead of himself under the celestial light of a late Aegean summer, resting a hand on its thick, spongy side, let him succeed in enjoying the divine beauty of the scenery and the many fascinating stories his grandmother Elli had to tell. They spent 4 days in Athens, with Zoë joining them on the third day directly from a London business trip. Then they did a mini-cruise to the nearby Saronic gulf islands ending in Nafplion, the first capital of modern independent Greece and one of the most adorable town’s he had ever seen. From there they rented a car and did a tour of the Peloponnese, visiting Byzantine Mistra, the wild south of the Mani and Olympia before setting up base in what was considered Greece’s major sea-side spa, Loutraki near Corinth where his grandparents had married back in 1947.

Driving into Loutraki, he tried to turn the small SUV around right on the spot as they were hailed by a large group of shouting men, marching towards them in the street, waving black flags.

“Oh no, a pro ISIS demonstration! Who would’ve expected that here in a Greek resort!” Zoë looked flustered. “Close the windows, close the doors – Alex, do a u-turn - fast as …”

“No stop Alex – let me look!” his grandmother leaned over to read the placards the demonstrators were swinging.

“Grammy, we need to get out of here. Shit – all those people who warned me of vacationing in Greece during the crisis were right! Alex – let’s get out of here!”

“Alex pull over! Zoë – stop being so childish! I need to talk to the demonstrators. They’re anarchists – as you can see clearly from the black flags. It’s a small, radical union. I want to know what they’re protesting against.” As he stopped at a red traffic light, she quickly got out and headed over. Looking back towards Zoe, they both stared at each other shrugging.

Their grandmother approached the marching group fearlessly, waving her fist. Some of the men stopped, surrounded her – and after some lively gesturing hugged and kissed her, marching off a waving their black flags good-bye. “I knew it – their members of the anarchist union of Casino workers! They’re on strike against pay cuts and mainly the abolishment of early retirement at 55!”

“Who would’ve thought they have Casino anarchist unions? Can you imagine that in Vegas?” he grinned because it sounded absurd.

“But why are you interested in that Grammy? You’re against gambling!” Zoë reasoned.

“Your grandfather was an anarchist too. I’ll tell you more about that when we visit the memorial in Kalavryta!”

They relaxed for three days in Loutraki, visiting only the surrounding sights like the American excavation in Corinth and going to the beach. He had been slightly worried about showing his huge body on the beach, and took care to remain covered as long as his grandmother and Zoë were around. Both were not very keen swimmers, preferred to sit on the café terraces with a drink. That left him enough opportunity to go swimming further off in the deep, dark blue and turquoise water in tranquility. As he went into the water with t-shirt the first early evening, a man called after him in concern, asking whether he was too drunk and maybe shouldn’t go swimming if he had forgotten to take off his shirt. From then on he went topless because he noticed that Greek men – apart from the small segment of junior studs – were everything from very chubby to even fatter than he was. And they all lumbered over the beach, tan bellies hanging out, happily unconcerned. Greeks were very direct, so he did get many comments about his size. Yet they were mostly accompanied by a friendly belly pat, the assumption that he certainly loved excellent Greek food and a new treat he had to taste right then and there. It was a tolerance he could live with.

The drive up the narrow winding mountain road to Kalavryta with the rather wild Greek drivers was a challenge after the flat Netherlands and disciplined Dutch driving. He insisted they stop several times so he could get out, look around to enjoy the archaic beauty of the landscape and take pictures. Kalavryta was a pretty, quiet little town which had lovingly been rebuilt after the massacre and destruction by the Germans on December 13th, 1943. The memorial on a hillside on the outskirts of town was touching in its simplicity: White crosses, grave slabs with the names of the victims and spelled out in white-washed large pebbles on the grass: “NO TO WAR” and “PEACE”.

“This is so tragic,” Zoë hid her emotions behind her sunglasses. “Is there a special reason you wanted to come here Grammy?” linking arms with her.

“Yes – to give you a better idea where you come from. My cousin and your grandfather’s older brother were both killed here on that sunny day in December. It made your grandfather, who was only 15 at the time, run off and join ELAS, the communist people’s liberation army to fight the fascists, the Germans and Italians.” she took his arm. “Alex- that’s why I’m so relieved you didn’t bring your German Countess girlfriend. It’s better if that’s over and done with.”

“Oh – but it was so disappointing that Alexandra couldn’t come! Mom has been raving about what a great Lady, literally she is. I never expected to hear such eulogies about any girl you might bring along Alex,” Zoë protested. He pulled back from both, irritated by their argument.

“Your mother Zoë, often has a naive, non-political, very American view on historic events,” his grandmother resorted to one of her usual lines of argument with her daughter-in-law. “It was the European aristocrats who as relicts of feudalism exploited their peoples, led them into 2 disastrous world wars and supported the rise of fascism. It was a German aristocrat, a Baron from Bavaria who commanded the division that committed the atrocities here in Kalavryta. Are you sure he isn’t somehow related to your Lady Alexandra?”

“I’m not sure – but it's not the point in question! I don’t believe in kin liability! Even Alexa’s father was born after the war. Her mom is American. She works internationally and is the last person on earth who might turn Nazi,” he was hurt, confused and angry, stomped downhill to their rental car.

They drove back in silence until the monastery of Mega Spiléo, where his grandmother wanted to stop and light a candle. It had been one of the centers of the Greek war of independence in 1821 and showed many documents and artifacts from the era. The cave and grotto around which the monastery was built were among the coolest and most peaceful places he had seen so far, so he perched himself on a rock, drank some water and let his gut spill comfortably down between his thighs.

“Here you are my Alex,” his grandmother came and wrapped an arm around him. “Don’t be angry at me – I’m so grateful to you and Zoë for taking me on this trip. I mean well for you – and I fear you’re not happy. What is troubling you? If you pine so much for that girl, try to reconcile with her – and don’t listen to the crazy opinions of your old grandmother.”

For a moment he was tempted to hug her tight and spill the beans, unburden himself – but he couldn’t. “It has nothing to do with Alexa. I don’t know whether it was ever meant to be – you’re right; she comes from a pretty different world than I do. The situation at my job isn’t great, we have constant changes in policy and shareholders, highly stressful…” this was as close as he dared get to the truth before quickly trying to move in another direction. “Grammy – if it's so important for you where we come from … why did it take you until today, over 60 years later to come back?”

“EAM and ELAS, the communist people’s movement and army lost the war. Your grandfather was killed as one of their fighters. It was the end of the dream of a new, modern Greece – the old oppressive cliques took back over. There were massive retaliation’s from the right-wing monarchist government after the civil war. Left-wing families were denied not only public service jobs, pensions but even passports to leave the country. I was lucky to get out to the US pregnant with your father. Kind childless neighbors with family in Maryland claimed I was their daughter to get me a visa. Until the mid 1970’s Greece first had the monarchy, then the dictatorship of the Colonels – no times for someone with my background to return. Plus I was busy establishing a new life in America, raising your father, earning money so he could go to university. When the socialist Pasok won the election in 1981 – well then you and Melina were babies … I was busy again, having grandchildren was the best thing in my life. I wanted to take you to the Athens' Olympics in 2004 – but then I broke my hip. So it somehow never happened. I’m very grateful I could still make it now with you and Zoë.”

“So am I,” he hugged her tight.

“Alex – always remember – be happy by being yourself. Fight for what you believe in, not what society tries to dictate. I don’t approve of this, think this is right,” she took a sizable portion of his belly in her hands grabbing a thick roll of fat, squeezing it. “But if it’s the way you have to protest against social conformity – then do it. If you have a different concept of size, show the world, be proud of yourself and what you stand for, even if they’re ideas the conformist majority rejects. The world needs all sorts of revolutions – and I hope Greece will finally have its.”
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Library Girl
Staff member
Library Mod
Jun 21, 2008
Just as he was tasting a new cheese with sorrel, his phone rang -Katrina: “Hello Alex, where are you? Can you come by the office? Their response arrived and we’ve just finished the translation…”

“ I’m in Gouda, will head back by train. Sure, I can come by on the way …. But I’m in my biking outfit, not business dress…”

“Come as you are – I want to give you the dossier in person – show you where we need more information; or you to refute some of their points. See you soon then.”

Frozen with icy mental dread he on autopilot reached Silvia van der Vaals’ office. Katrina shot him a funny look as she shook his cold, clammy hand and guided him into a secluded meeting room, rushing out again directly and coming back a few minutes later with Silvia van der Vaals herself. They both sat him down, patiently went through the response, finding explanations, alternately giving his hand a soothing pat, downplaying all the hateful lies and twisted realities the text contained. “We need the real facts from you regarding all these allegations we marked here. Like with the travel expenses – I assume you have a logical explanation?”

“Yeah – course I do.” Asking him to list facts meticulously was a straw he could clutch to, that was something he knew how to do and was sure of himself and his stance. “In months when I had several business trips into various countries scheduled, I’d sometimes get a EuRail Global Pass with my US credit card to my US address. Booked from the US, the cost of the pass was mostly only half, often even less than the regular individual train tickets bought here. So book-keeping – I checked with them beforehand – was always fine with the arrangement as it saved money. That I could also use the pass for private trips on the weekends didn’t matter as it didn’t generate extra costs.

“See – I knew you can convincingly disprove all of this nonsense.” Dr. van der Vaals gave him another encouraging smile and pat. “Go home, sit down, and at best till next Wednesday elaborate on all of these points. And Alex – don’t for one second believe that any of this is about the real you.”

Easier said than believed. Despite all the warnings voiced by Silvia van der Vaals and Max, he was unprepared for the onslaught of negativity to downright lies he could read about himself in black-on-white in the files. It went from “refusal to comprehend company policy”, “poor work management and hostile attitude towards his colleagues”, “low and outdated level of technical expertise” over “sabotage of client relations”, “false reporting to superiors”, “abuse of company funds”, “deliberate overeating to fraudulently reach a level of obesity potentially covered by anti-discriminatory jurisdiction” and more.
All the negative assessments of his person, more than he had ever dreamed could be conjured about such a simple, straightforward person as he was, haunted him.

“So what if they write you’re a fat, dishonest, dumb, f***,” Max exasperated after he started on the issue for what must have been the 20th time. “It’s their job to take you down as their legal opponent. Do you think Van der Vaals did anything else with FuturePowers in her claims statement? Get real, forget it – leave it behind you! Work on finding the best next professional perspectives for yourself!”

Despite knowing they were right, he couldn’t shake it off. He felt like a super-fat loser who would be unmasked any second and convicted to whatever sentence Dutch law foresaw. The situation paralyzed him, made it unable to look ahead, think of different professional paths and opportunities and work on them. After the hectic week of disproving all the nasty allegations by FuturePowers one by one in detail-obsessed documentation – he had nothing left to do but wait. What made things worse was that all his friends, business acquaintances and former colleagues were insanely busy and had little to no time. September, October, November in any business, office or school were some of the busiest months of the year, with deadlines to meet, meetings, conferences and fairs to attend, plans for the next calendar year to be developed and more. Over their ears in work – who had time and nerve to listen to the moping of an unemployed, shiftless fatso?

So he withdrew further and further, mostly went out on weekdays during the day when he was least likely to meet anybody. His schedule reduced itself to two meals and one breath of fresh air, accompanied by about 10 newspapers a day, 1-2 books per week and an uncounted number of screen hours, be it with TV, DVD or video games.

The “two” meals formed the actual center of his day: Breakfast was a lengthy affair from about 9:30 – 12:30 during which he became very well informed about what was going on in the world by reading through about 10 different online papers. After that he’d do the odd necessary household chore, make sure the apartment didn’t get as messy as he felt before he became restless from claustrophobic staring at the same limiting walls all day.

So he’d dress to go out, grab his bike to head off to wherever – depending on mood, weather, level of activity. If it was too wet for biking, he’d sometimes take the tram or bus out to one of the beaches to go for a walk. These long walks were best when it got really stormy, when the rough autumn winds came howling in from the North Sea and high waves crashed onto the sand. He loved to brace his broad body against the whipping gales, how the wind sometimes was so strong that it not only made getting ahead difficult but managed to hit his soft flesh so hard that it was a bit compressed. Seeing other, slim people sometimes thrown off their feet by the strength of the wind gave him a bitter, defiant sense of empowerment – no wind was going to throw his 168 kilograms so easily. The combined noise of the thunder of the waves and the roaring of the wind was so loud that it drowned out everything else, including all the unsettling trains of thought in his head.

On his way home from his daily outing, he’d do any necessary shopping before getting started on an early dinner which would stretch from 4:00-10:00 p.m. After some deliberations, Silvia van der Vaals had advised him to stabilize his weight, not necessarily lose much, but show he was making an effort to keep things in check. Well – that definitely was not working appraising the mountain of fat, puffed up grotesquely filling his lap as he was watching a ‘Broadchurch’ re-run on ITV one evening. His double-chin had also inflated further because there was more cushy resistance when he tried to look down. Since it was Friday, his ‘dinner’ had consisted of an entire large roast chicken from the Turkish family deli, a large mixed salad bowl with feta, half a baguette with Flemish paté and a small glass of olives as starter, for dessert the kilogram jar of chocolate-vanilla twirl pudding with 2 oranges and a small bag of caramel speculoos. Oh yeah – and 4 beers….

Never before had he eaten so much, so continuously, not even in the past year and half when he had actively been trying to get fatter. Eating was the only thing that had remained from his former life – food the only friend who hadn’t deserted him. During previous phases in which he had been wrestling with his appetite and hunger, he had sworn every day that he would watch what he ate, try to make small, healthy choices, limit his intake. This personal oath had mostly gotten him half-way through the day, breaking down in the afternoon, or if he was lucky in the evening when he would catch up on some of the saved calories. Now he couldn’t even make that effort. The first thought that came to his mind in the morning was what he could put in his mouth with his coffee. And the last conscious feeling in the evening lying in bed was how good it was to have an overstuffed stomach stretching out to his side, that there was a part of him that was full, satisfied and of heavy substance.

Feeling his body expand over the course of the day and in general as the weeks went by was the only progress he could register at all. Struggling with the ever increasing size and weight of the paunch stretching before him was at least something else than numbness. Thickening fat roles on his sides or between his thighs rubbing and shifting to fit created a certain deviant satisfaction. The fact that he had to fully squeeze through his narrow bathroom doorway gave him naughty tingles.
Since the medical evaluation he hadn’t gotten on the scale – now a day before Halloween he couldn’t button a single dress shirt any more, nor close any pair of pants, it was obvious that he had put on many more useless kilos. He didn’t even have a wearable parka or outdoor jacket anymore – they gaped far too much over gut mountain. Instead he wore an endlessly stretchy fleece sweater under his biking poncho – made to cover half the bike frame, thus fit for a true elephant.

Alexa had invited him to go to some Halloween party with her, Max and Hannah naturally wanted him to come to theirs – but he had declined all claiming he had a cold. Halloween itself proved to be a dreadful day. At 11:20 his stomach was already nicely bloated with breakfast – but he was totally out of food. No more fruit, cereal, bread, cheese, cookies, yoghurt …. a true shopping emergency.
Resting his inflated belly on the handle bar of the shopping chart, he was once more impressed by its size, but also irritated that it already was crying out for lunch so early in the day. Being a Saturday, he wanted to get the tasty seasoned burger beef – or biftek as they called it- at the Turkish deli but it was pouring so badly while he was shopping there, he had to wait. This gave him the chance to have a kebab, a döner, and their 3 different burger variations before he could head back home. Re-stocking his fridge and cupboards in maneuvering around his overloaded stomach carefully, munching through half a bag of chocolate toffees because after the spicy meat a chocolate carving hit him - he was so drowsily overfed and exhausted from shopping, he took an extensive nap.

On waking up, he needed something cool, fresh, a bit sweet with his espresso, so he ate a glass jar of blackberry yoghurt before starting on dinner. Instead of the usual Levantine burgers, he decided to make a Greek-Turkish-American version of spaghetti with meat balls out of the seasoned minced beef. His palate itching for something crunchy, but fresh, not doughy he made himself a typical Dutch carrot-apple salad as starter; the grating movement for the carrots making his upper arm and belly fat shake profoundly, the undulations somehow placating him. The big kilogram pack of Italian spaghetti was still almost half full, so only a little short of a US pound, yet he threw all of it into the boiling water for good measure. After all he had made a lot of sauce.

The first bite of the meatball, dripping thick, herb-laced tomato sauce into the spaghetti, made him roll his eyes and moan in delight. This was his best cooking experiment in a long time – it tasted like home, childhood fulfillment, crying out for ‘more, more, more’. More it was as he steadily tucked into mounds of the dish in a small serving bowl, the thought of creating leftovers to eat in another meal never once crossing his mind. As what must have been a family size portion dwindled, the familiar feeling of his stomach working hard to stretch itself further, find recesses of capacity somewhere hit him – hurtfully pleasant and reassuringly familiar. Finishing off the last forkful, he couldn’t find the energy to get up and put the dirty bowl away. He sat at the table, taking little puffing breaths because his belly was so overstuffed that stomach and fat pressed achingly on his diaphragm limiting his oxygen supply. An attempt to pat this taught balloon pushing him off the table let him yelp because the minor slap was painful as it hit the over-expanded skin and flesh. So he just sat there, giving the flesh masses on the side of his gut careful stokes until his the rhythm of inhaling and exhaling was back to normal, woozy overeating lust spreading through his body.

The doorbell rang. He couldn’t move – he needed to digest, he wasn’t fit to see anybody. The doorbell rang again. He didn’t care who it was, they could try again later. It rang a third time, before he heard the lock being turned, letting him heave himself up frantically and roll towards the door. Was a burglar trying to break in?

“Alex – are you there?” No burglar – it was Alexa, suddenly right in front of him. Her appearance made him do a double take. She looked as non-Countessy as he had never seen her before. Her hair was up in two curly pigtails and her harmonious, symmetric features plastered with sparkly makeup. He knew she was a mini-skirt fan to showcase her great legs, but this swinging skirt-y thing barely went over her backside. On top it was tight and low-cut, giving her an extremely busty lascivious look. In one hand she held a bunch of glittering strips which looked like pompoms. Bottom line – she looked like a cheerleader. The sexiest, most sophisticated cheerleader he had ever seen.

“Umm … hi …. What are you doing here?” It sounded as lame and confused as he felt.

“Alex, are you okay? I was so worried because I couldn’t reach you!”

As the visuals of her unusual attire sunk in, he suddenly became aware of his: He hadn’t shaved in days, so what some men might have called a beard was in the process of growing messily. Stretching between the two of them in the narrow hallway was the enormous obstacle of his belly, sticking out in an unapologetic dome. The meat-ball sauce had unavoidably spattered itself over his polo-shirt, which rode up in a helpless effort to cover his inflated body. To not have the tight waistband cut into him, he had pushed his sweat pants far under this belly, a droop of naked quivering flab well exposed. In sum – he looked like the basket case from a TV fat show.

He followed her eyes over his gut to the dining table full of dirty dishes and the cooking mess in the kitchen beyond it.

“Alex – is everything really okay with you? I couldn’t reach you by phone! I hoped I could convince you to come along for the Halloween party…. What have you been doing?”

“Ummm …. I had an early dinner…,” he couldn’t suppress the burp in time. “Oh – so cheerleader is your Halloween costume. I never thought cheerleading was you style….”

“It isn’t – an American colleague is dressing up as a football player – and for fun I agreed to come along as cheerleader. First I want to make sure everything is fine here with you….”

“I’m fine …,” another belch escaped. “Sorry …. had too much dinner ….” Her hands were on the top of his belly, soothingly rubbing it in circles. A flood of warmth poured through him, loosening some of the cold, hard knot of fear and uncertainty in him, forcing him to close his eyes and bite his lip. “Sorry …. I’m a mess right now …. You’d better leave, enjoy your party…..”

“Party is totally unimportant …How about we have some coffee together … you freshen up a bit while I take care of the kitchen?” Her hands were gentle, but with iron determination not allowing for any objection steered him towards the bathroom. “You’re all scratchy … I’m so used to having you with those adorable smooth, plump baby cheeks…” one finger brushed against his stubble.

Shaking himself so that his stuffed gut wobbled heavily with a throbbing cramp, he stared at his reflection undecided which part of it was worst. So he mechanically started the routine of brushing teeth, shaving the stubble off to then shower and dry himself off thoroughly. In his bedroom, he pulled out freshly washed black sweat pants which fit tightly over his flabby thighs and ass. Tugging them up over the soft blubber of his achingly distended stomach was out of the question. As top he pulled on what he knew was his longest polo-shirt, in a very dark teal Alexa had once bought him. It was long enough, but too tight, squeezing and dissecting his inflated flesh at odd angles. He must look grotesque, he hardly dared face her, but Alexa came in with a coffee in her hand: “May I? Here’s a double espresso macchiato for you…”

“Thank you,” he took it undecidedly while she straightened the bedding, propped up some pillows: “Why don’t you rest a bit here … have this digestive espresso…”

Feeling his eyelids droop in stuffing fatigue, he nodded and rolled himself on the bed against the pillows. Sipping the espresso and having Alexa’s hand gently massage the discomfort in his stomach away, he groaned softly: “I’m so sorry …. I … I … just don’t know what to do now …. All I can do is eat …. I guess …. umm … I… I’ve totally lost control of it….”

“Shhh … it’s okay …. relax…,” she intensified her healing rubs. “We all need some form of comfort in hard times…. and your choice of comfort really is food …..,” he belched. “Sorry …”

“Shh … everything will be fine …. don’t worry…. relax. That was a really good tomato sauce by the way … I tasted the rest in the pot before washing it,” she smiled down on him, rolling a small portion of his fleshy double chin between two fingers. Tension, embarrassment, the physical discomfort of massive overeating all started to slide off, his eyes closing and small snores escaping him.

Resurfacing to the state of full awareness, he brushed at his neck because something was nibbling at it, only to grab a handful of curls. “Hmmmh …. what … hmmmh … Lexa….?”

“Shhh …. can’t resist this juicy, juicy double chin ….. mmmmmh….,” she bit into it, teasingly pulling and licking. At the same time he became aware that his belly was uncovered, his polo was up under his arms and with one hand, Alexa was grabbing, fondling, shaking his fat, the impact of the motion letting the excess flesh weigh down on him more heavily.

“Don’t …. please … don’t… I’m really not in the shape ….,” he swatted at her hands helplessly, still too full, drowsy and to his dismay also aroused to start any coherent action.

“You’re in the most incredible shape ever….,” her eyes glittered down on him menacingly. “You’ve gotten soooo big … it’s …. wow …. soooo sexy! I’ve never had the chance to touch so much fat before …. it feels …. absolutely delicious! So heavy, so dense – but also so soft, so squishy, so erotic ….,” she squeezed the roll extending from one of his moobs with zest, sucking on a nipple. “Feel this… doesn’t this feel just … too good….?” Her lips were slowly digging themselves into his while one hand was doing something with his manhood and the blubbery flesh surrounding which did feel more than sensational.

“Auugggh… please ….. don’t … I can’t…,” he kissed her back but came back up for air. “Don’t you have a party to go to?”

“This is much more my idea of a party …. the biggest, fattest party I’ve ever been to…,” she teased his privates between her thighs and grabbed as much belly fat between her hands and forearms as she could, shaking it with an arousing intensity.
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Dimensions' loiterer
Staff member
Global Moderator
Library Mod
Sep 29, 2005
The great white north, eh?
There are times when a chapter ends and it is torture because you can see what is coming, and don't want to wait for it (be it good or bad).

But this is worse, because things could go a number of different ways, so we are left waiting to see what will happen. (to be clear, by 'worse' I mean more torturous as a reader, which of course overall is a good thing because it means I'm engaged with the story and care about the outcome. But 'worse' as in 'the agony of waiting is worse')


Library Girl
Staff member
Library Mod
Jun 21, 2008

“Thank you, thank you, thank you…,” Josephine slammed into him, her short arms unable to circle more than about one-third of his circumference in a ferocious little hug. “Bringing Alexandra to my birthday is the best present ever!”

“No need to thank me- thank Alexa. Happy 7th birthday Josie,” he picked her up to give her a real hug and avoid any further unflattering sizing up of his middle. Seeing her big sister on his arm prompted Carolina to start clamoring too, pulling herself up by his pants leg. With Josie on one arm and his belly in the way, he couldn’t manage to reach down to pick her up though. So Alexa did that with a smile, letting Carolina rest her head on his shoulder with a satisfied gulp.

“Josephine – you have more guests waiting for your attention,” Hannah reminded her, causing her to slide down off his arm, take Alexa’s hand to pull her away with her.

“Everything okay again in Alex²-Land?” Max asked him quietly.

“Ummm …. humph…. sort of…,” he hoisted Carolina onto his shoulders, with her bouncing happily.

“This ….,” giving his gut a small slap, “has gotten even bigger, if I may say so….. maybe more than you intended….?” Max’s ending sounded very reluctant.

He could feel his face growing hot, but only shrugged and sighed: “Yeah … major unemployment comfort eating….,” It had been a true shock to get back on the scale and it dial up all the way to 182 kilograms, putting him in the 400 pound range. A place where he never had imagined he could end up in. Further shudder-inducing had been letting Alexa assist him in re-assembling a wardrobe fit for appearances in the general and professional public. She had visibly delighted in it, even buying a special, extra-long tape measure – but having to specialty order some items because they no longer were regularly available in any size that fit him had not exactly done anything for his ego. Looking at Max more closely, he noticed that his seemed a similar predicament: The buttons on his shirt were straining, the top one undone and his pants held together by the belt under a soccer ball sized belly, expanding from his always thick side rolls. “You haven’t exactly shrunk either….,” not being able to resist that barb.

Max blushed too, sucked in and futilely tried to smooth his shirt muttering: “Ughugh – Hannah is increasingly on my case. I put on about 25 kilos since she got pregnant with Carolina 2 years ago. Sympathy weight, next new dad – no time weight … and then I started to hang out with you, not exactly conducive to weight loss either….” He winked at him. “At least I don’t have to go on a diet in the upcoming holiday season, am allowed a break until the New Year. So I fear I’ll cross the 140 kg mark over Christmas. Are you planning on coming down with us to Bavaria again? You know we’d all love to have you….”

“Thanks a million for the invitation …. I … um … I’ll probably take you up on it….,” as Hannah joined them with the big platter of appetizers Alexa had made for the grown-ups. “Anything I can do?”

“Play with your goddaughter until it’s time to eat.”

“Shall we head home…?” Alexa’s question let him nod and heave himself up, say good night to Max and Hannah to follow her through the chilly late November drizzle to her car. “Home’ – was it really a home for him, living in her guest studio? Going home together – to what was a roommates with very occasional benefits situation?

If he was truthful though, it was a lot better than what he last had had on his own in his apartment. Living at Alexa’s had given structure, some purpose and a façade of normality back to his life. After she had surprised him on Halloween in his overstuffed state, she had calmly, persistently talked him into moving in to her guest apartment. He had been too clueless and defeated to offer too much resistance – someone taking care of him in any way was a small respite. Alexa in turn had argued that she was so busy with work she could use some help at home – as well as it would save him a lot of money out of his unemployment allowance, which had brought a pretty drastic reduction of his income. Their arrangement was very formal, very official, with a written sub-lease, him paying her a small rent, so he had some legal safeguards to not suddenly be homeless in case the arrangement didn’t work out. Yet it felt odd and undecided, despite the outward appearance of domestic routine.

In the mornings they had breakfast together, then Alexa went to work and he to her neighbor, nice retired teacher Lisbet, who was on crutches after a knee operation and couldn’t walk her dog, a beagle named Woodstock. So he’d head out for an hour with Woodstock before settling at his computer to actually do some work. Write proposals for conference papers he, contact colleagues to maybe find projects where he could do some freelance work. Alexa had carefully nudged him into action with possibilities he had subconsciously been well aware of himself. Then he’d bike to Alexa’s office – 2 x 8 kilometers – to have lunch with her at their cafeteria, sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with colleagues. If she was on a business trip, he’d make lunch and go over to share it with Lisbet. In the afternoons, he’d do the household chores, go shopping or take care of some of errands for Alexa and/or Lisbet followed by another round with Woodstock before dinner. When Alexa came home, they cooked and had dinner together. Afterwards she sometimes worked, or went out to do things like movie or concert or separately to see friends. Or simply stayed at home, watched TV and chatted.

With this busy schedule, he naturally ate much less than he had during his first lonesome weeks of unemployment stuffing. Also – there was something about living in Alexa’s house that inhibited him from spreading the evidence of binges on her home turf. Once again he was in the process of adapting to a bigger, heavier body with a circumference that was beginning to present some rather embarrassing challenges. Like having to look into things like reinforcements for Alexa’s wall-mounted toilettes. Initially he had assumed he would more or less automatically lose some of the newest weight under Alexa’s tutelage and simply by having normal meals again. Being so active with walking the dog and biking to lunch fueled his already insane appetite even more and he struggled to keep it half-way in check. At mealtimes he ate considerable portions to mute his hunger. Coming back in the mornings after his stroll with Woodstock, he badly needed a second breakfast, although only a yogurt and some fruit, to make it to lunch. In the afternoon, a sweet was asked for – and while cooking dinner a few starter bites like vegetable sticks, olives or a slice of prosciutto were necessary to tide him over. So the scale cemented itself at 182 kilograms.

“Good night…,” he didn’t look at Alexa as they reached the front door, where he would turn left to go to the entrance of the small guest studio. “Ehhh … and thank you for coming …. you could see it was the best birthday surprise for Josie…”

“I loved coming …. you know how fond I am of Max, Hannah and the little ones ….,” her hand lightly touched his upper arm. “Do you really want to call it a night ……?” tilting her head invitingly.

“Ummmm….,” her occasional clear overtures left him undecided and insecure. “…. It’s already pretty late …. I have the morning train to Frankfurt tomorrow for the conference….” Although that was a pretty weak reason as it didn’t leave until almost 10 a.m.

“Okaaaay….,” she rubbed the side of his gut with what could have been a disappointed look. “Sleep tight then, have a safe trip …. and a great conference. I’m sure your talk will be a major success.”

Curling up on his side in his bed, the bizarre state of limbo in his personal interactions with Alexa ran through his head again. After a frenzied bout of sex on her upstaging his Halloween binge, she had shown very HR-professional concern about his move into her guest studio, never signaling that this meant their relationship was back on. Living together, she had now and then been pretty obvious about trying to initiate intimacies, but he had given in only three times – of which just one had been the profound sensual gratification he had previously received from their intercourse. His was a schizophrenic situation – when he had the opportunity, he was inhibited and worried about possible effects of his now enormous size and extreme weight. Or that this might be some weird form of pity sex. In turn, if he was sitting across from Alexa at the dinner table, or watching her move through the kitchen, he often had such incredible pangs of throbbing lust he sometimes had to go to the bathroom to take care of that. But he never dared show this, make any advances or simply cuddle her up like he had loved doing while they were a real couple. It was useless agonizing about this anyway; he had better concentrate on his professional perspectives.

Following the slope of his gut to where a big role of fat lopped onto the edge of the lectern made him sigh to himself and take a sip of water to fight the symptoms of panic tightening his throat. “They all only cook with water…,” he kept repeating Alexa’s favorite German HR proverb in the back of his mind. Because it was true: The 2 speakers before him had actually offered rather tepid water. Number one presented only bland, non-information that brought less new insights on the issue than an average newspaper article; in the Q&A there had been three mistakes in his answers. The second was a renowned expert, a Spanish professor, whose English was plain unintelligible. Regardless he was as nervous as can be – since it was a double premiere for him.

Never before – since being a university student – had he spoken publicly on his own ticket, selling only himself and his knowledge. He had always been shielded by a company name, blending into a broader picture of products and colleagues. In this situation, before such a big audience, at a prestigious fair conference, only his knowledge seemed insufficient. People would laugh at his hubris that he as a person might have anything meaningful to say.

Further confidence undermining was that it coincided with his first ever professional appearance as a 400-pounder in suit and tie. Although Alexa had drowned him in positive feedback over his new outfit, he was keenly and uncomfortably aware of the heaviness of his excess weight, wobbling around him with every small move. Of the – incredulous or appalled – stares his size received. Of the practical problems in accommodating his body’s extensive dimensions. Arriving at the auditorium breathing a bit heavily since it had been a 20 minute hike from the entrance, his co-panelists rose from their seats in the front row to greet him. As they sat back down, one glance at the empty seat – a narrow wooden fold-up – told him he would never be able to fit his elephant ass in there; and if he somehow managed, the screw-bar would snap under his weight. So he stepped to the side, remained standing in the aisle, his face flaming.

Their panel moderator, a French Eurocrat and new head of the EU’s Renewable Energy Taskforce, one of these super slim women with an icy-elegance in appearance and demeanor which had always intimidated him, eyed him under eyebrows that reached the ceiling. He gave her an apologetic look, shrank further towards the wall and folded his arms around his belly to hold it in a bit. She summoned an inattentive assistant by an imperious snap of her fingers and with some commanding gesticulation sent him off. After several minutes the assistant returned, huffing, hauling a sturdy armchair to be placed at the side of the row – and the moderator signaled him to sit there. With a grateful nod, he did so. In the break before his speech, the assistant came with another armchair he placed on the edge of the semi-circle set up for the panel-discussion on the dais.

The bell rang, the moderator introduced him with words that zoomed through his ears and he had to start his presentation.

Talking about the issues he knew so well, made him able to concentrate on getting his message across and forget about his physical presence and surroundings. Things improved further in the Q&A session, where he got some very interesting and controversial questions followed by a decent round of applause. Drinking more water afterwards, he went over to the dais to join his co-panelists. Their moderator was upbraiding the assistant for not exchanging all of the flimsy designer chairs with the sturdy arm chairs – pushing him to take care of that. Inwardly he thanked their glacial moderator – despite her obvious disapproval of his size – that she was as professional as she was stylish, making sure all panelists were comfortable and on a level playing field.

He enjoyed the discussion so much, the technical banter, that he was almost disappointed as it was over. Their moderator gave him her card afterwards, telling him to come by for coffee next time he was in Brussels – there might be need for some additional expertise in the EU task force. So did the CEO of a small new German technology supplier, telling him bluntly: “You could be really good – if you didn’t totally fill the stereotype of the hugely fat American. Have you tried exercising – like not driving everywhere by car? Walking instead?”

“I don’t own a car. I live in the Netherlands and mostly bike.” Fortunately that came out automatically despite the unpleasant phantom pain of a figurative punch in the gut. Before he got a response, his counterpart was distracted: “Frau Miller, how nice to meet you here. Jens Kleinschmidt, CEO of EnDiTech, we corresponded … you know… we would love it if you could do a feature about our company…..”

“Aha – yes, I remember Herr Kleinschmidt,” to his utter bafflement it was Abbie who appeared from behind the other speakers. “Hello Alex dear, so good to see you – great speech and discussion by the way,” she gave the side of his gut a small pat and reached up, prompting him to bend down and accept the cheek kiss of greeting. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kleinschmidt’s face contort in disbelief.

“Frau Miller – could I maybe invite you to dinner this evening? So I can tell you more about EnDiTech, make a program for a visit of yours on site?”

“Sorry Herr Kleinschmidt – I already have plans. I have a surprise for Alex here tonight. Be a good boy and meet me at 5:30 in front of the hotel at the fair’s central entrance. Wear warm casual and sturdy shoes. See you then – I have another appointment now.”

“How do you know FinanceWorld’s Abigail Miller so well? She normally only does the most senior features?” Kleinschmidt stared at him in curiosity.

“Umm … longer story …..”


Library Girl
Staff member
Library Mod
Jun 21, 2008
A honk behind him made him turn and see Abbie flashing the headlights of a small SUV, beckoning him to get in the car.
“Thank you for picking me up – and for the surprise invitation,” he tugged at the seat belt to fasten it, fortunately it was long enough. “I feel like the world’s biggest idiot again. I never realized you were the Abigail Miller from FW. I don’t know how many of your articles I’ve read …. Alex never mentioned anything …. I knew you work as a journalist …. guess I missed out on the obvious again….”

Abbie laughed. “Your morosely unwitting naiveté is one of your charms Alex. I kept my maiden name professionally, as my by-line. Abigail Veronica Countess Oeynhausen-Sierstorpff would be a bit long in print, wouldn’t it?”

“This is a great surprise….. how come … why ……. what are ….. you knew I was coming?” his insecure rambling went nowhere as he couldn’t think of how not to sound too impolite in his questioning.

“Alex told me. Naturally – if I find myself stuck in an unattractive city like Frankfurt with one of my boys, I want us to have at least one enjoyable evening. Relax – I think you’ll like my treat.”

Her statement of ‘my boys’ was what reassured him most – whatever she was up to, it couldn’t be that bad. After a stretch on the highway, they took a winding country road to end up in front of a vast medieval stone building, dimly illuminated by a few lights. “Eberbach Abbey. One of the oldest and finest Rhine wineries, founded 1136 by Cistercian monks. We’ll do a wine tasting tour through the abbey and then have dinner over at the restaurant in the old abbey mill. That’s the smile I’ve been wanting to see all day,” she pinched his cheek as she saw him grin.

The tour was indeed spectacular: The gloomy, real fire torch lit, enormous historic building, a glass of a different of the estate’s wines in every major hall was awe inspiring as well as delicious. The bone-chilling cold in the ancient stone structures oddly added to the spooky delight. Seeing Abbie shiver uncontrollably, he automatically wrapped his arms around her to warm her – pulling back after he became aware that this might be too personal a move. “No – leave it. Thank you – this is exactly what I need,” she whispered holding his arms in place, sinking back into his bulk.

The heated restaurant enveloped them afterwards in a cloud of warmth and even he was grateful to see that their first course was a big bowl of steaming creamy soup. “This smells great!”

“It’s the Riesling herb-cream soup. Fritz and the boys’ favorite. Fortunately Alex learned how to make it well from great-aunt Isolde, as I am not much of a cook.”

“She’s made it for me too. I absolutely love it…,” he tasted three spoons full. “This is very good – but Alexa’s is even better. More herb-wine flavor.”

“Which wine would you like to drink?” Abbie smiled at him warmly.

“Umm …. the one we tasted in the dormitory…? Where do I have the list with the names…?”

“No need to look, I know which one that is,” telling the waiter something.

Toasting each other as customary here with the wine, he spread some of the tasty creamy dip offered on a crunchy chunk of dark bread, biting into it with relish.

“Alex – do you love my daughter?”

The question caught him so totally off guard, he accidentally bit the side of his tongue, his eyes watering with pain. So Abbie had an agenda after all. He should’ve known, there was no such thing as a free wine-tasting in life. Lull the big guy into complacency with drink and food – to then tell him to leave your daughter alone.

“Please tell me – do you love Alexandra?” Repeating the question signaled that a serious answer was expected, forcing him for the first time to try and verbalize what he felt for Alexa. With previous girlfriends, it had mostly been a feeling of intense fondness, physical attraction that turned into comfortable familiarity. With Alexa it was different. In hindsight, his annoyance with her while they were still colleagues had been a strong attraction in disguise. Like a protective armor to shield him from what he had seen as a futile crush. No other break-up had left him with such emptiness and agony that turned almost physical. Agreeing to move into her guest studio had mainly been motivated by wanting to have her physically close again, to not be haunted by mental images. Was ‘love’ the word for this seething cocktail of emotions?

“I feel too much for Alexa …. I …. I don’t know how to express it ….,” he finally muttered, pouring down the rest of his wine glass.

“Good. Then finally show her that. Do your part to make the relationship work.”

“What?” This shocked him maybe more than the initial question. “Excuse me … I mean …. What do you mean?”

“Show her how much you love her. Invest in your relationship – put more work into it, to be the man she deserves and needs in her life. And I don’t mean taking out the trash – you’re good at those things. It comes from growing up in a family run by women. Work on abolishing your phobias, so she can count on you being the man by her side – in any given situation.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I have nothing to offer to her … I’m an unemployed super fat-so….”

“Alex – spare me this fake self-deprecating nonsense. Why do you think Alex took you in now?”

He shrugged, not wanting to use the word ‘pity’, anticipating an allergic reaction of Abbie’s to it. “…. I wasn’t honest to her …. about my job ….. she can’t trust me …..”

“There is the issue of your job – yes. I don’t know any details – but I know that working in one company as a couple brings extra pitfalls and possible frictions. What ever happened – it was after Alex had left FuturePowers, and she had nothing to do with your case personally,” she refilled his wine glass and poured more water for both of them. “From writing on the European tech markets, I also know enough about FuturePowers as a company, it’s slightly shady investor structure, their erratic management shifts to have an idea where the blame lies. People familiar with the energy markets also know that. Your showing today was very good – with your qualifications you’ll find another job, probably an even better one.”

The waiter placed a 20” plate before him with a big portion of venison goulash in red wine with caramelized onions, spicy red cabbage and the little home-made button egg noodles. The aromas were mouthwatering, but his perception was taken up by his extensive mass of blubber reaching all the way to the table. “I doubt it. I’ve gotten way too fat for a good job.”

Abbie sighed and wrinkled her brow in exasperation. “I’ll be honest Alex. It won’t make it easier – but it’s not impossible. You should look into the traditional engineering side of the field – they’re less appearance and more qualification fixated. The high-tech and especially venture capital driven sides are flakier as far as that goes. So you and FuturePowers never were the ideal match. What should be much more important for you is that Alex loves you just the way you are – because you’re this big. She will certainly have told you as much. She’s got the classical makings of good aristocratic education in her genes: Discreet, diplomatic and dignified in public – loving, loyal and honest in private,” she winked.
“Plus – I know where’s she’s coming from. I greatly prefer my men big too. The first thing I convinced Fritz of when we started dating is that he please never go on a diet for me. I was so relieved that all my boys inherited his build – it’s a disaster for a man if he is short and slight like me.”

Abbie firmly held down his arm with her hand. “Don’t say what you’re about to say. Sure – you’re on the seriously big side. But please consider that Alex also has the Oeynhausen’s statuesque physique. So it’s logical that she will want and need someone considerably bigger than I do to get the same effect. The two of you in proportion have about the same size disparity Fritz and I do. Eating and weight are very personal things – and they come and go in life. Christian for instance also is a stress and crisis eater, really needs extra fuel to get through any exam – and ends up bigger after it. What’s important is to feel comfortable with yourself, eat fresh, balanced food and make sure you get enough exercise. Everything else will find itself.”

“Do your kids have any idea how lucky they are to have you?” this came out more gruffly than he intended, drawing uncomfortable comparisons to the endless loop of weight talks he had had with his own mother.

“Not always – thank you dear,” Abbie laughed. “But in general I think that they are aware of having drawn a lucky number with our family.”

The ‘our family’ stung subconsciously. “You and Fritz can’t seriously think I’d be an adequate addition to the family, do you?” doing an unflattering mental comparison of himself with Princess Dagmar and charming Christina as the other in-laws.

“What makes you think that? Alex is right – you’re way too negative about yourself,” she frowned. “Have we ever made you feel anything but welcome?” seeing him shake his head, she continued. “Because you are very welcome – you must have noticed that we like including you in all family activities. Actually we would have appreciated if you had been more forthcoming in being Alex’s plus1 at all family functions. The boys and Fritz really like you – more than they’ve ever liked anybody else Alex brought along. And if I had any reservations, we wouldn’t be sitting here. I would’ve simply evaded you at the conference. We don’t believe in negative interventions in our family – we then go for the ‘ignore’ tactic. What I am trying to do here is more of a positive intervention – because we think you have the potential of making Alex happy.”

“But why?” he stopped short. “Sorry … that doesn’t sound too intelligent.”

“Indeed – you could use transferring some of your technical into more emotional intelligence here and there. Maybe you need a bit more back story. One sometimes problematic aspect of aristocratic tradition is the habit of maintaining a positive façade under all circumstances. Even though it often is better and easier to handle personal situations if you understand what’s behind polished outward appearances. My four children fall into two categories when it comes to relationships: Charlie and Christian have always easily found and kept their perfect match. Charlie had several longer term, lovely girlfriends until he settled for Dagmar, even fulfilling high-brow expectations by marrying a blood princess – no matter how crazy defunct her family might be. She’s on the shy, reluctant side, needs a strong partner – but in being like that she brings out the best in Charlie, who is like Fritz. They both need to be needed to be happy. Christian found his true princess Christina in second grade – and they’ve been together ever since. I don’t doubt they’ll marry as soon as they’ve both finished their PhDs.”

He had indeed been shocked to find out sweet, unassuming Dagmar was a ‘real’ princess – with her stuck-up family of which she was the lovely exception confirming his worst prejudices. “Christina’s last name is Wagner isn’t it …. that sounds very normal …. not like nobility….”

“Don’t be so freaked out by those old titles Alex – that’s something you really need to work on. You’re badly aristo-struck, although meeting Alex and our family must have made you realize it means nothing, what matters are the people behind it,” she shook her head in irritation. “In modern terms, Christina is much more of a princess than Dagmar is. Her Wagner is Wagner Automotive, one of Germany’s top suppliers. She and her brother will inherit what probably is over a billion Euro each. But they too are a normal, hard-working family – who take their responsibility for their company, their employees and their region very seriously. Her father is thrilled Christian is studying transport management and can join the company one day. Naturally, our family name helped when they met back in German International School in San Francisco. The Wagner’s were very happy to let Christina play with little Lord Christian. They might not have been so instantly responsive with any random German ex-pat boy, for protective considerations. That’s what it boils down to – the name, the former title still is a door opener, gives you access to people and circles someone with a similar socio-economic background and a normal bourgeois name doesn’t have. But once you’re in that door – you have to make the most of it under your own steam. How about dessert? Or would you like the cheese selection beforehand?”

Out of trained polite reluctance, he shook his head, but Abbie caught his gaze following the cheese cart and he could understand her order some before she also asked for some dessert afterwards.

“Back to my original theme. In contrast, John and Alex have so far not had the knack of finding a partner who really complements them well. John has fallen for all sorts of wicked witches – and Alex always invested more than she got out, or made the wrong investments to start out with. Like in college she seduced – there’s no other word for it – one of her professors, simply because he was the most imposing fat guy on campus. Ignoring that he was 30 years her senior and married with children older than she was. Then she followed some extended family suggestions and tried the aristo-balls crowd- coming up with a nice, but brainless cousin of Dagmar’s and an English Marquis. If it hadn’t been my daughter, I would’ve found the latter quite entertaining. He was what the Brits like to call ‘eccentric’ which is nothing but a euphemism for borderline cases from a psychiatric ward. Then she had a totally social phobic lawyer- who didn’t even dare sit on the same chairs we did. So we were seriously relieved to see you manned up on her birthday, swallowed the bitter pill of the surprise family crowd and behaved like a good host should. Oh – and then there was the cellist who was too lazy and non-talented to finish his music degree. Finally the so-called ‘free-lance’ journalist who had inherited a ranch in Spain and had an alcohol problem. Not to belittle your merits – but you can see the bar is set very low. We’re all very pleased she met you – a nice, regular big guy, academically educated, good professional qualifications, who has normal interests, decent everyday life skills and fits into the family circle. Don’t ruin that for her – or for yourself.”

He took a deep breath, torn on what to say. If Abbie had this talk with him, it was clear that he had so far most likely misread Alexa’s intentions. “Alexa is so wonderful – I always thought she’s someone who could have anyone – up to a president, crown prince or CEO of whatever. Not someone as … umm… average as me. I never imagined….”

“You’re right – she could have. With her looks, qualifications and family history – she’s had people like bankers, MEPs, and the like interested. Only none of them were ever her type. She wants a nice, big, cuddly guy who loves her for her as a person – not a trophy or step on the career ladder. You can be that for her – if you work on getting over of those silly hang-ups of yours that you’re not good enough for her or her circles.”

“What do you expect me to do? I’ve really tried….”

“First of all – suppress your aristo-phobia. If Alex asks you to go somewhere with her, you go. Even if it’s the state dinner for the new US ambassador the Dutch King is hosting – where you as a young professional US expat would’ve been the perfect fit by the way. Much better than causing a mess up in protocol because the DCM thought he had to be the dinner partner of the King’s second cousin. If she thinks you’re good to go, then you are – period. People are much more likely to start thinking odd things about you when you’re a constant no-show than if they actually meet you!”

He sighed and nodded, grateful he could let a morsel of creamy cheese melt in his mouth in lieu of a direct answer.

“Second – the language issue. If you want to stay on in Europe, with Alex – you should get your German up to at least a decent conversational level. Given your personal and professional background, Dutch doesn’t make that much sense. But German would. It’s the number one first language in the EU with 100 million speakers – and I don’t need to tell you how important it is in your technical field, being much more extensive and precise than English in engineering.”

“Yeah – I know…. I’ve tried … several times …. am just not talented … next to Alex I’ll always….”

“That again is not the point. Yes – you’ll most likely never get to where Alex and her brothers are. They’ve been doing the 2 languages since day 1 of their lives. But you can do a lot better than you are after so many years here. Problem is, in the US even with a good education you don’t necessarily learn to learn a foreign language. To make it worthwhile, you have to get to the point of no return linguistically, study for a longer stretch of time, more intensively until you reach a certain level. Otherwise you’ll always lose it again. So do that – let Alex help you. Like do 2 days a week German only at home or the like. And don’t feel stupid while doing it. Sitting there mutely makes you look even more stupid in the long run, in case that’s your main worry.”

Hanging his head, he nodded again. “Sorry – I guess …. well … I didn’t see myself really being able to fit into Alexa’s world …. in many respects. Hannah has already given me the language lecture several times too. I’ll try harder … think about what I can do to make things work. Because … keeping her in my life …. would be like a dream…” his voice faded and he tried to pour more wine, but the bottle was empty. “Do they sell this wine here – this Baiken? Then I would buy a carton to take home for Alexa….”

“But you’re going by train … won’t that be too inconvenient?”

“Nah – I can handle it. I think she’ll really like it.”

“She will – she already knows it and it’s one of her favorites.” Abbie squeezed his hand. “You’re a good boy Alex – take care of those 2 minor issues, and you’ll be an even better one.”

“I’ll try to do my best ma’am.”

“Remember- the correct address is Milady…,” she gave him a wicked grin.


Dimensions' loiterer
Staff member
Global Moderator
Library Mod
Sep 29, 2005
The great white north, eh?
What, two sections done already? *double checks* Hmmm, that wizzed by so fast that I'd have sworn it could only be one, but it was indeed two, and there is no more for now :(

(sorry, it has been a long break, we've had time to work up a large appetite for A&A! Don't mean to sound to literarily gluttonous, but I do hope that life lets you cook up the next sections soon :eat2: )

Xyantha Reborn

- Actually Very Tame!
Jul 23, 2014
What, two sections done already? *double checks* Hmmm, that wizzed by so fast that I'd have sworn it could only be one, but it was indeed two, and there is no more for now :(

(sorry, it has been a long break, we've had time to work up a large appetite for A&A! Don't mean to sound to literarily gluttonous, but I do hope that life lets you cook up the next sections soon :eat2: )

All of this!! :)


Library Girl
Staff member
Library Mod
Jun 21, 2008
[Author's note: A new chapter befitting the season]


The slope of his gut, dinner and beer filled to its usual evening bloat, a light gray marquee of a shirt with pin-stripe grid in a dull blue stretched over it descended outwards and then down. Below it all he could see was the abyss, a free fall over narrow dark wooden ladder steps 10 to 25 straight down. The banister around the narrow black pillar prevented him from seeing the actual bottom of the stairs, where he might hit the floor. Everybody from their small party had already left – and he had no idea how he was going to follow.

Months ago he had first noticed that he could no longer really see his feet, where he was stepping because his perpetually growing belly was monopolizing his field of vision. In normal everyday life that didn’t matter much – anticipating three steps ahead on level surface was easily possible. Here though, in this narrow old Amsterdam Gracht house with a stairway that was more or less a ladder, with narrowed rungs set steeply and far apart, trying to feel his way downward was potentially suicidal. Climbing up these stairs before dinner had been challenging enough: He had to cling to the metal rail on one side, half haul himself up leaning far back for his gut not to get stuck between the rungs. Why on earth had he not realized that if going up was so difficult then getting back down would be borderline impossible?

Descending sideways like the others had done with one hand on the rail was unthinkable; he would have no clue where he was stepping and the stairs overall were so narrow, he would probably get half stuck up here trying to fit his bulk through. Backwards was not much better, his belly threatened to catch between the rungs again – plus he couldn’t see over the fat of his upper arm and tire like side rolls well enough to make out the steps with certainty. Looking down again, another attack of vertigo caught him, as if the weight of his gut was pulling him to crashing downstairs. He tried to hold and lift his belly a bit, pushing it to one side – with the only result of him half losing his balance.

Shuddering, he stepped back – as if to get away from the dangerous brink. With a deep breath and a second assessment of the stairs, he tried to figure out a solution – with no success. A young couple, both as tall and slim as can be, motioned him aside with a hand-wave, “Pardon!” – and nimbly scampered down the stairs.
Next Alexa’s head appeared half-way up the stairs: “Alex where are you? Did you forget something?”

“Umm … no .. hmm … I can’t….”

“You can’t what?”

“Well … I can’t … hmmm …. Don’t know how to …. climb down, can’t see … my gut’s in the way…” he muttered, feeling his cheeks flaming.

“Ohhhh…,” Alexa’s eyes went wide, visible even in the dim light. “You got up alright, didn’t you …. you can come down safely too. Let me help you.”

“No … I … well … don’t think it’ll work…”

“Of course it will – you got up, so we can get you back down again safely too. Backwards is best, better to keep your balance than with the we…. – now turn around. Left hand support yourself against the pillar, grab the ledge,” he shuffled his feet in turning, starting to do he as was told. He had no alternatives – and no real reason not to except an obscure mix of fear and embarrassment. “Can you reach the railing with your right hand… around here…?” she reached up – but his thick love-handle role was in the way. “Okay – one step one handed. Brace yourself, concentrate on keeping your balance, I’ll guide your foot to the first step..,” he could feel her hand trying to span his ankle.

As he started doing so, visions of him crashing down, burying Alexa under him flashed, letting him pull back. “No, I can’t, I’ll hurt you.”

“No, you won’t. You just have to take that first step … then you’ll be fine. In case it’s too deep, get down on your knees and we can try from there, probably easier with less height to overcome.” He stood there undecidedly, further rattled by imagining how enormous his bulk must look from Alexa’s perspective down below. “Alex – please you need to help. You’re making a bigger deal out of it than it actually is.”

With a grunt, shifting, swaying and supporting himself on his arms and hands, he lowered himself to his knees next to the perilous cavity in the floor, yelping in pain as he put his weight on his knee caps on the hard wooden floor. Alexa immediately pulled his foot down and he could sense the wooden step under it. “Now grab the railing and the pillar, put the second foot down, hang on tight to hold yourself and lean backwards.”

Step by step she guided him down backwards this way – and after the initial first two, where he had to hang on in an uncomfortably slanted angle, it actually was no more difficult than going up.

Arriving at the bottom, he was so mortified, he only looked down, did not want to see anybody’s reaction to the disgraceful scene of an enormously fat man trying to go down ladder stairs. Alexa wouldn’t lead him out though, instead leaned in for an almost pornographic kiss, with bruising tongue and all, squeezing his love-handles with relish before she pulled him out of the restaurant. Steering him along, her arm around him, she kept groping his fat side roles and giving his double-chin pretty aggressive pecks until they reached the car.

His mind was blank as she turned on the music, and headed home through Amsterdam and onto the highway south. No thoughts, ideas or even feelings formed fully inside of him, only a dark hole of cringy-ness that engulfed him. Being used to everything being very spacious in the US, he had always wondered how the Dutch weren’t all totally claustrophobic with their small narrow houses, little rooms, limited space. He had already felt outsized at his ‘normal’ weight – now he had the living proof that he had literally outgrown the country with his 400 pounds.

Alexa seemed untroubled by this event – on the contrary. She continued humming to herself, singing along with some songs and whenever her right hand could leave the steering wheel, it would start pinching, rubbing, squeezing, grabbing some part of his fat. Parking the car in the carport, she hopped out and quickly came around to open his door with a flourish and half pull him out. As soon as they entered the house, she pushed him against the door and kissed him wildly again, purring: “You are such a big, big boy…. umm …. so much to love…..”

“Alexa …. uuummph …. no….” he tried to fend her off helplessly, but she had slipped out of half her clothes already, pulled off his parka and got something from the kitchen. His brain-body coordination was so defunct, he had no chance to keep up with her speed as she led him up into the bedroom. She undressed him, taking her time to tactilely inspect every excess pound his body offered, setting off vibrations of flesh at various speeds. Somewhere very far under himself he could feel his manhood respond, but he remained as if paralyzed with humiliation.

“Please Alexa don’t …. I can’t….”

“Shhh …. you’re so fantastically big….. I can’t get enough of you….,” she pushed him so he half stumbled back on the bed and she was half over him, kneading through his belly and suddenly popping something into his mouth. With surprise he noted it was a delicious, slightly crunchy chocolate he let melt before he bit into the crisp. “They didn’t have proper dessert for dinner … let’s take care of that…., kissing him deeply once more before slipping another chocolate between his lips.

The sugar onslaught did nothing to re-activate him, it lulled him further into a comatose indecisiveness. His situation was too surreal: For the first time in his life, he had truly, physically been too fat for something. Yet it also was the first time he was unequivocally sure that this too fat body of his was desired, that someone had sincere erotic lust for it. Alexa was undeniably turned on by his excessive flesh, pleasured herself with its luscious pliability, even fed him – thus willing the consequence of potentially more and more fat encasing him. It was too difficult to mentally process all this in his state of beer, food and embarrassment overload – so he’d have another chocolate and let her mount him to do with him whatever she pleased.

Puffing, he shoved his bike into the shed, gave his belly a pat and belched. It really shouldn’t be this full again. After an extensive brunch with Alexa he had joined Max for Maurice’s debut as bambini league field hockey player, the third Dutch national sport. Hannah was Christmas shopping, Josie at a birthday party, Max wanted to concentrate on Maurice so it was his job to keep Carolina out of mischief on the sidelines. Even if it was sort of ridiculous, the more he interacted with his little goddaughter, the more he adored her. Her delight at discovering the world around her, her boundless energy in learning things, her enthusiasm for being around him – it was impossibly endearing. What had been a – though welcome – surprise was that it was not only a match, but also the team’s Christmas party with an extensive pot-luck barbecue buffet with all sorts of seasonal specialties like spicy brats, Christmas beer, fluffy yeast waffles and the like.

“I can’t believe how much energy you have,” Max awaited him still red-faced and panting as he returned to their bench with Carolina on his shoulder after she had run off again. “You’ve been chasing after her for two hours – no signs of exhaustion. How do you do it? Being heavier than I am.”

“No … Carolina … no more running off,” he planted her on his knee and held her tight. “Now you and Uncle Alex are going to share this very yummy cherry waffle – okay? Here’s your bite…. Isn’t that good…?” before shrugging to Max. “I have neither a car nor a desk-job right now – so a lot of time and necessity to get around by bike and on foot. Also – it’s fun chasing after cutie-pie here…. guess I don’t notice tiring so much…,” he spooned her a cherry.

“We can hopefully use Christmas vacation back home to get outside more together …. It’ll do me good, get into a bit better shape…”

“We’ll definitely need it to balance Julia’s fantastic cooking…,” dumpling visions appearing before his inner eye making his mouth water.

Max laughed and pummeled the side of his belly making it wobble ponderously. “It was indeed unrealistic to assume you would start cutting back during the Christmas season of all times!”

As he entered the house, Alexa called from the kitchen: “Keep out of here! Baking alarm! Your tea is on your desk – go get some work done.”

“Okay, okay …. I’m out of the way…,” he grudgingly went away, trying hard to ignore the tempting aromas emanating from the kitchen.

Sitting down and sipping tea, he suddenly did become aware he was tired – after biking and lumbering around for over four hours. He could use a nap like Carolina before he proof-read.

Rolling onto his side on the study couch, he wrapped a protective arm around the flesh sphere of his belly and started dozing off – yet without his mind really coming to rest. His paper being 99.99% completed was one outward symbol that he had inwardly drawn closure for this year: what had been probably the craziest, most uprooting one of his life. Life in general came to a standstill in the 12 days left till New Year’s – all regular business was suspended in this time period for which he had recently heard the term ‘between the years’. The old one was more or less over, the new one hadn’t yet begun. His would start off with the most serious challenge: Wednesday, January 13th – the preliminary hearing at the mediation section of the labor court in his case against FuturePowers. But as Silvia van der Vaals had said: their paperwork was ready, nothing major was going to happen until January 6th here in Europe anyway. They still had all the time necessary for a final rehearsal in the New Year – until then he should try to enjoy his Christmas holidays and not eat too many goodies.

More surprising, unsettling, nevertheless in the end unburdening had been finally confessing the essence of his situation to his family – forced upon him by an impromptu visit from Zoë. On a very rainy 10 days’ ago he had been out with Woodstock as Lisbet’s knee was giving her too much trouble in the bad weather. Passing Alexa’s door to return him home, he noticed the figure standing in front of it too late encumbered by the hood of his heavy biking poncho.

“Alex- is that really you?” causing him to start in shock and turn around. “Thank God! I’ve been worried sick! We couldn’t reach you, your phone line was dead! And when Grandma’s birthday package returned…. What are you doing here?”

“Umm … I gave up my apartment, moved in with Alexa … about 6 weeks ago….,” he was so baffled by her sudden appearance, he was at a loss of how to proceed. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Richmond?”

“The family decided we need to find out what’s wrong with you! I had a meeting in Dublin yesterday – need to be in London on Monday for the end of year sales conference ….”

“Okaaay. Let me drop off Woodstock next door with Lisbet, then I’ll be right over and we can talk over coffee.” This gave him 3 minutes to think his situation over – with the only conclusion being that he needed to come clean, confess at least that he was out of the job.

“Come in, take off your coat, it’s all wet – I’ll hang it into the shower with my poncho. There’s the guest bathroom, I’ll make us coffee and light a fire to make it a bit cozier.” He went through the motions, bracing himself for the flood of questions, worries, doubts, and unsolicited advice Zoe was sure to inundate him in.

Before accepting the coffee, Zoë pressed herself against him bodily, in vain trying to get her arms around him. “Alex – please be honest with me for once. I could tell back in Greece that something was off, you were hiding something from us. What’s wrong? Why are you home in the middle of a work day? Why did you move in with Alexa? And … and ….. you’ve gotten ….. even … a lot bigger again …. Are you really okay? When I couldn’t find you at your old address – I almost went to the Embassy in panic. Luckily the postman came and gave me your new address after checking my ID that I really am your sister……. Grandma nearly went crazy with worry after your birthday package returned 3 days ago. Please tell me what’s going on!” her eyes looking very wet.

“I’m sorry – I guess … well… somehow I forgot to inform you at home about my change in address. Seems like forwarding mail only works for letters not parcels.” He handed her the coffee and steered them to the sofa, where he sank down heavily. “Truth is – I lost my job. FuturePowers tricked me out of my regular US contract, gave me a me Dutch one which expired September 30th. I’m suing them here in court. Alexa and I got back together over that – she’s helped me so much …. She’s so wonderful, I can’t tell you. Oh – and yeah – I obviously did some rather extreme comfort eating …,” he shook his head slightly, not looking at her and slapped his gut. “But things are back to …. Well, they’re okay, are on a semi-normal track. I’ve been to 2 conferences, done some speeches, I might teach some classes next semester in Rotterdam at a technical college …. Not great – but at least heading into a normal direction …...”

“Oh Alex- why didn’t you tell me that? Even if you don’t want to come home – can’t you trust me that much as your sister?” She looked was truly anguished.

“I’m really sorry Zoë …. I honestly never wanted to hurt you or make you worry …. Somehow I … umm … guess …. never assumed … humph … that you’d think so much about what I’m up to so far away from your daily life….”

“How can I not think of you when I sense something is wrong? You’re my brother, my only one ….I love you no matter what!” She appraised him intensely but instead of hugging him again, stepped back. “Or don’t you care about me … or grandma …. Or the family anymore…?” her voice getting very small in the end.

“Come here …..,” he pulled her into a hug. “I care for you very much. I love you, you’re my sweet little sister. Ummm …. It’s just …. I think I take best care of you when you don’t have to worry about me, can you understand that?”

Zoë nodded. “You mean well – but still…. It’s better if we know what’s going on, can help you…”

“This is something I need to find my own way out of Zoë ….. try and work it out myself. It’s something I simply couldn’t face any discussions about back home …. So that’s also why I didn’t say anything..,” his stomach let out its customary early lunch after long walk demand grumble. “Sorry …. big gut is hungry again. I have an Italian bean minestrone in the fridge…. How about having that with fruit salad, you tell me about your plans…..”

The hot soup filling his belly did its regular calming duty so he only shook his head slowly as Zoë asked carefully: “Regarding plans …. We …. I thought you could maybe come back to London with me… we spend the weekend there together …. And maybe … well …. You even come back for Christmas with me to the US ….. Grandma will pay for your flight? …. And this evening we can maybe go out with Alexa – the two of you show me around town, I’d love to meet her ….”

“Zoë … I know you’re trying to help …. but … well even if I don’t have a job here right now, I do have a life … with plans and commitments. First of all, Alexa is in England for three days, comes back tomorrow afternoon. I promised to babysit the 3 little Bergers tonight, cook dinner with them, it’s Max and Hannah’s 10th anniversary today. Then tomorrow morning I’m taking Lisbet to her orthopedic surgeon for a check-up and adjustment of her knee brace so she doesn’t have to take a cab. And we have plans for the weekend.” He sighed. “I need to talk to Alexa before we decide on anything. Also – I’ll be honest. Christmas home in the US is not happening. Christmas Eve and Day we’ll be in Brussels with Alexa’s brothers and parents – from there we’ll drive down to Bavaria, spend the rest of the holidays with Max & family. I loved it there last year … it’s so …. as Christmassy as you can imagine….” He halted as he saw the hurt in her eyes, hastily getting up, “Let me phone Alexa, talk to her, see what she thinks…..”

On returning, Zoë was still pushing some beans around in her soup bowl, her look full of fearful questioning. “Alexa says hi, is so sorry she can’t be here – you should’ve announced your coming. But she definitely wants to meet you. Her suggestion is you actually come along with us for the weekend. We’re doing a 3-country Christmas market tour on the Dutch-German-Belgian border, have rented an apartment on an apple farm for the weekend. Alexa’s brother John is coming from Cologne, so we’ll be four then. We’ll drive down via Brussels, picking Alexa up from the Eurostar – and dropping you off there again to get to London on Sunday night. Is that a plan?”

He could see Zoë taking a deep breath: “Is that really okay? I know my visit is probably not the most welcome surprise …. I don’t want to be too much of a burden….” Her unease was so palpable he felt sorry for her, knowing how much she disliked and feared family confrontations, in contrast to for instance Melina. So he half-scooped her up, cradled her into his belly, stroking her glossy dark brown hair. “You’re not a burden, it’s good you had the spunk to come and kick me in the ass. I’ve been so wound up here in my own issues ….. I haven’t been fair and honest with you and Grandma, I honestly regret that. I want you to have a wonderful visit here, show you how lovely the region is especially in pre-Christmas season….”

For the next days, he could observe himself, and how he had changed over the past two years in the mirror of Zoë’s expression. How she was in every respect overwhelmed as they entered Max & Hannah’s door: Carolina toddling towards him with outstretched arms calling “Alless, Alless, Alless” at the top of her little voice, clamoring to be picked up. Maurice demanding: “Alex, I want real meatballs with the s’ghetti, not baloney sauce.” Josephine coolly stating as he introduced Zoë: “She really is a very little sister…,” scrutinizing their size difference, making him laugh in spite of himself.

Zoë slowly warmed to the situation as they had fun preparing dinner all 5 together and as they sat down, him feeding an eager Carolina small spoons, she rubbed his shoulders with an adoring smile: “How could I ever have forgotten how awesome you are as a big brother?” Her recoiling in censure though as she caught him finishing all leftovers in the kitchen after bringing the three kids to bed, letting him state defiantly: “I’m still hungry! With the kids I didn’t have the chance to really eat!”

The next morning her sleepy alarm as she stood in the doorway of Alexa’s house: “Where were you? Why are you up so early?”
“It’s 9:30 – I’ve been out with Woodstock, just drove Lisbet back from the doctor’s – now I’m fixing us breakfast before we pack for the weekend…” rubbing her eyes as she tried to follow him.

Settling himself into the car, shifting his blubber into position and adjusting the seat belt around all the fat tires of his middle, her critical mien at his jiggling expanse was obvious. During the drive, she first shyly started questioning him about his job situation, his legal case and also his weight – her countenance altering between inquisitive, concerned and disapproving. Although he could tell how hard she was trying to be considerate, careful and non-judgmental, her probing made him feel cornered and let much of the old hurt of similar discussions with his mother and sisters resurface. As driver, he was trapped, couldn’t physically get out of the situation. After a while, it dawned on him though that coming up with a convincing, neutral story for Zoë and the family was actually a pretty good rehearsal for the interrogation he would have to face in court. Seeing Zoë brighten as he seemingly opened up proved the effectiveness of this strategy.

At Brussels Midi, there was the unveiled curiosity laced with a touch of suspicion as she greeted Alexa, scanning her all over. To be replaced quickly by a star-struck grin, by Alexa’s friendly greeting and interested small talk.

In their weekend rental kitchen, there was morbid fascination in her eyes as she caught the two of them locked in a steamy longing embrace with Alexa’s hands lustily handling his naked flab. Followed by a bought of awkward reluctance as she was introduced to John, who clearly was the most handsome of Alexa’s brothers, but looked haggard and moody. Immediately he pulled Alexa aside with the need to talk; from seeing her roll her eyes and say “nie wieder Sophie bitte” – never again Sophie please – he derived even from a distance that things weren’t going well.

A lot of wine with the Raclette dinner around the cheese toasting device let all features relax over time and at the end, John got Zoë to be positively pink-cheeked and giggly. Driving through the country side the next morning, strolling in picturesque historic towns with festive Christmas decoration her attention was diverted from his person to the novelty of her surroundings – giving her almost Carolina’s expression of delighted wonder at new discoveries. She was so distracted with viewing and also buying that he could go about his usual Christmas market snack-a-thon mostly unobserved, relishing the many zesty tidbits and the warm swelling of his gut in the course of the day. Her eyes were shining brightly as John took her up to a scenic outpost at dusk to see the illumination go on and a trumpet quartet start playing Christmas carols from the city hall balcony.

No more than a flicker of worry crossed her face as he couldn’t keep up with them in climbing the steep hill back to the parking lot, having to stop winded with a heaving belly to catch his breath. “I’m fine, just not used to such an ascent – I live in the flatter than flat lands.” Over dinner, she was engrossed in admiration of how much John could eat that she was oblivious to his intake. Letting Alexa comment later: “It’s good Zoë came along. She succeeded in taking John’s mind off his woes, brought his appetite back – he needs that.”

Something very close to sadness showed as they parted from John at the German-Belgian border – and only loving understanding remained as she hugged him good-bye on the Eurostar platform, letting him note in relief that he had won. The family back home would get a reassuring report on his whereabouts. “Alex, I don’t have to wish you happy holidays – I know you’ll have them here. You’ve found yourself a great place with lovely people – I understand you want to fight for that. Take good care of yourself, do watch this a little more..,” giving him the first belly rub of their life, “and hope to see you again soon.”
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Library Girl
Staff member
Library Mod
Jun 21, 2008

Staring at the print out in front of him, he couldn’t concentrate. The black on white letters danced in front of his eyes, he skipped half lines in reading since he almost knew the text by heart. It didn’t help that the house was filled with the sugary, spicy, fruity, chocolaty, warm smell of Christmas baking, triggering a strong physical eating lust in him. His palate itched, his stomached grumbled and his esophagus started clenching in anticipation. This had always been there – it wasn’t appetite, let alone hunger. More of an intrinsic primal desire to ingest something eatable, give his teeth, tongue, swallowing reflex and stomach something to do, fill them with tasty, pacifying substance. He had had these feeding urges forever, even as a kid – but at home there had always been someone to suppress them for him, prevent him from eating. Later he had partially learned to control himself, not immediately start chowing something down whenever his mind happened to turn to food. In the past 22 months on his expansion project, most of that acquired self-control had evaporated – so it was impossible to remain seated, work and keep his promise to Alexa to not disturb her in the kitchen.

Patting the flesh globe filling the space between himself and the desk, pleasant goose-bumps exploded all over his padded arms and back as his belly flab jiggled, kick-fueling the eating lust pangs even further. Rubbing his gut, he got up, washed his hands in the bathroom on the way down and poked his head in the kitchen, looking at Alexa with begging eyes: “Can’t I be at least a little bit useful here? Wash dishes? Knead dough? My paper is so finished …. and I can’t concentrate with all these heavenly smells…” leaning over and popping a piece of cookie dough in his mouth.

“If you look at me with those puppy dog eyes – how am I supposed to say no?” Alexa gave him a light kiss on the lips. “You can start packing those cookies that have already cooled in the tins over there, put sheets of sandwich paper between the layers….”

Fumbling with thick fingers, the thin paper and dainty butter biscuits, the easiest thing to do was not layer them in the tin, but slip them between his lips and enjoy the delicate taste of butter and orange with a tinge of alcohol and almond.

“Hey … final destination of these is the tin….. not this bottom less pit,” Alexa gave his fingers a playful slap and his belly a semi-punch. “My brothers want some of those too – and you’ll get in serious trouble with Charlie if there aren’t enough left for him.” She continued palpitating his stomach and furrowed her brow in concentration. “You had lunch after brunch …. didn’t you? Because this still is a pretty full tummy … and that can’t be just from these few sneaked cookies….”

Blushing guiltily, he nodded. “The dads from Maurice’s hockey team did a winter Sinter Klaas barbecue…..,” reaching around her to grab an interesting looking freshly glazed dark chocolate cookie and quickly let it disappear in his mouth. “Mmmmh … I remember these from last year – coffee, orange, dark chocolate …. right? “

“Yes – absolutely correct,” she gave him a rueful smile, sighed and massaged the fat masses of his middle. “Sometimes I worry that your mother is right, that I’m not the best girlfriend for you….”

“My mother … right about you?” he could hear the shock in his voice.

“Yes … that in the longer run, it might be better for you to have a girlfriend who is a bit more vigilant about what you eat, tries to exercise some gentle control ….,” despite her words she lovingly fondled his bulk. “But I can’t. I love your abundance too much – and the joy you get out of eating. Seeing your eyes light up when I put a new dish in front of you …. Or how this dimple deepens when your cheeks puff up after a day of feasting. Or how utterly happy and satisfied your look when we sink down on the couch, you pushing out you full stomach dome as if it were the achievement of the day….”

With a remorseful sigh, he wrapped her into an embrace and softly kissed her neck. “Mmmmh – I fear you’re right. I need to work on my self-control again. Somehow ….. hmm …. being this huge, getting even fatter doesn’t shock me enough anymore. I put on 5 more pounds, am 184.5 kilograms now. Holiday treat eating…,”

It was true, he had trouble understanding how almost no outward warnings were currently able to dent his appetite. Under normal circumstances, the embarrassing incident with the stairs would have been a turning point, letting him get a grip on himself and start dieting. But now – the shock, discomfort and at the same time perverse pleasure of being too fat for some aspects of daily life had had no inhibiting effect on his appetite. On the contrary – revoking the experience tended to trigger more eating lust, the urge to stuff his gut to its utmost extension.

“But I promise that in the New Year, when Max goes on his diet – I’ll really try to reduce my eating. Less treats, three meals, more vegetables….”

She kissed him. “You’re right – New Year is a good idea. I don’t want my holiday goodies to go to waste,” letting him wrap his bodies mass tighter around her again.

Fully getting back together had been very simple. On his return from Frankfurt, she had picked him up at the train station. Seeing her standing there, her hair tousled in the December storm, he had drawn her in his arms to kiss her ardently: “I missed you so much, I can’t tell you how much I missed you.”

“I missed you too. Everything is so empty without you….”

That had been all. Sitting down for a glass of the wine he had brought along seamlessly led to intense sofa-sex and him using the studio as office from then on. Yet he tried hard to be as open and honest with her as possible, to make sure no more unspoken odds or miscommunications got in their way. This seemed like another moment for necessary openness with a view to keeping the peace over the holidays.

“Hmm – you know the submission deadline for my conference paper essay is tomorrow. I have tunnel vision on it by now. Can you do me a favor, proof-read it one more time before I hand it in? Then I’m all set for the holidays ….,” Alexa nodded. “Of course I will.”

“Hmmh – life doesn’t end on December 31st … Silvia van der Vaals mailed me ….. the date for my preliminary hearing at the labor court is January 13th ….but we won’t do the prep until the New Year…..,” his intonation descending into an insecure mumble by the end of the sentence. Although they had the tacit agreement to not speak of his case, this was information she needed to know.

“Hmmmh … yes,” she glanced at him from under lowered lashes. “Since we’re talking about New Year’s planning …. I have 2 dates for you too…..,” taking an audible breath. “I got an invite for the royal New Year’s reception on January 15th … so 2 days later …. busy week….”

“Ughugh…,” he swallowed very hard. “Guess that means I need to look into getting myself a tux first thing on Monday…. won’t be that easy …. in my size …. maybe mail order from the US….”

“You mean a tux for coming along to the reception…?” she asked very carefully making him nod and look down. A small smile of wonder crept over her features. “It’s not a black, but a white tie event … you’ll need coat & tails….”

Blending out the undercurrent of panic this information set off, he grumbled: “Humph …. probably need that tailor made…. hope there’s still enough time….”

Alexa lifted his chin and looked him in the eye, trying to gauge his sincerity most likely. There already was the beginning of that ‘happy woman’ sparkle in her expression he knew too well from his grandmother, sister and former girlfriends. She deserved to be happy, after all she was doing for him – and her happiness was his own best ticket to being happier. So he nodded saying as lightly as possible: “No matter what the price tag is- I’ll find someone to make a tailcoat tent on time for me.”

Now she was beaming, which turned into a slightly wicked grin as she reached for a tender kiss. “Don’t worry about that, don’t order anything …. I have a much better solution. We’ll take care of it when we’re down in Bavaria at Max’s,” sliding her hands under his shirt and giving his heavy belly overhang a few mischievous little jounces. “There’s more on the books for the New Year though….. I’ll be gone all of February …. in Berlin …. on assignment to help prepare a major international conference first days of March…. We’ll have to see how we manage a weekend-commute or so … maybe you can come for a few days with me…..

Remembering Abbie’s advice, or more like command, he fought the sense of instant dread, pulled Alexa back in a hug and grumbled into her hair: “Why don’t I come with you for all of February if that’s possible. All I have to do here is wait … and I can do a language immersion course there to maybe finally sound a little less stupid in German while you work….”

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