How to Stay Slender Forever - by Jerry Thomas (~FFA, SSBHM, fantasy, magic, ~XWG)

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Apr 22, 2011
Badger State, USA
~FFA, SSBHM, fantasy, magic, ~XWG - A woman in a Massachusetts town finds a formula for staying slim no matter how much she eats - with dramatic consequences for her formerly buff husband.

How to Stay Slender Forever

by Jerry Thomas

“So how do you do it, Sybil?” Cindy looked across the table in amazement as her friend stuffed another forkful of lasagne into her mouth. “I mean you eat as much as you want and you still haven’t gained an ounce since the day you got married.”

“It’s all a matter of portion control,” Sybil replied evasively as she gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows of Luigi’s Ristorante Siciliano towards the gray waves of the Atlantic Ocean. A small lobster boat struggling to make progress against the wind momentarily caught her attention.

“Portion control? You’ve got to be kidding,” Cindy replied incredulously. “What portion control? Every time we come here you load up your plate with the most sinful pasta dishes, not to mention the garlic bread, dessert, and a couple of glasses of wine.”

“I dunno,” Sybil shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across her still lovely face. “Maybe it’s just my metabolism. I can eat and eat and never gain. It’s been like that for years. Ever since I married Bill.”

“I envy you,” Cindy replied bitterly, as she stabbed her fork into the last bit of her chef’s salad. “How is Bill, by the way,” she asked through a mouthful of lettuce. “Is he having any luck with his diet?”

“I’m afraid not. He starves himself and hardly eats anything, but he just can’t keep off the weight. The less he eats, the more he gains, it seems. He’s already up to . . .”

“Yes?” Cindy leaned forward, eager to hear just how fat her friend’s husband had become.

“I really shouldn’t tell you, but . . . he’s over 450 pounds already. The doctor is baffled. He went down to Mass General and they ran all kinds of tests and checked his thyroid to see if it was a glandular problem. But nothing. The doctor says he’s just eating too much, even though Bill and I both know that he eats like a bird.”

“Poor guy,” Cindy said with mock sympathy. She was secretly intrigued watching Bill’s gradual weight gain over the years. He had become the fattest man in town by far. “And he used to be so athletic back in high school. Remember? The star quarterback. The cheerleaders were always chasing after him.”

“Not just the cheerleaders. I had the hots for him too. Big time.”

“At least you finally made the catch,” Cindy said. “I still remember your wedding day. All the women in Salem were jealous, including me. But tell me, does his weight bother you?”

“Not any more. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“But . . .” Cindy took a sip of her ice water, wondering if she should ask the question that was burning on her tongue. “But, how exactly do you two, you know . . .”

“Do it?” Sybil smiled. “Well, let’s just say that the traditional missionary position is a thing of the past. He’d crush me, and he’s gotten so roly poly that I would fall off if I tried to get on top of him. But there’s other ways to skin a cat, if you just use your imagination. There’s something different about making love with a fat boy. In bed he eats like a pig, if you know what I mean.”

They giggled like schoolgirls sharing a naughty secret, looking around to make sure nobody had overheard. “Oh Sybil, you’re so bad! It sounds like more fun than my Steve. He only knows how to do it one way. The same way. Time after time after time. Maybe we should trade, just for the fun of it. I’d love to try something new. I never slept with a fat guy.”

“Not on your life,” Sybil replied, suddenly turning more serious. “I may not be a paragon of virtue, but Bill is mine. Forever. Any woman who even gets close to him had better watch out.” She stared at Cindy with her green cat’s eyes, just to be sure Cindy got the message. “Of course, that doesn’t mean I can’t occasionally play the field myself when the mood strikes me. Sometimes I like a hard muscular stud – for a change, that is. Bill is a big sweetie, but obviously his tiny bit of hardware gets lost among all of that soft stuff.”

* * *

Bill felt uncomfortable in his “pilgrim” costume, which had to be specially tailored to accommodate his immense size. The large square brass belt buckle cut into his overhanging stomach and when he sat down he was always afraid the black material would split at the seams against the pressure of his massive butt. To top it all off, they forced him to wear that ridiculous hat, which caused his head to sweat and made him look like the butterball turkey on the Thanksgiving Day advertisements at Stop & Shop.

But it was a job and he was grateful for that. Times were tough and he had spent nine months looking for work after being cut loose from his position as a software engineer at a fast-growing, and then fast-shrinking, dotcom company in Malden. He almost didn’t get the job because he was so fat. The female director of the Salem Witch Museum, whom he had dated a few times in their high school days, felt sorry for him and hired him as a guide. In spite of his comically outsized appearance in the pilgrim outfit, he had a friendly, out-going personality and related well to the visitors.

Many of the ladies in town still remembered him as a stunningly handsome, muscular jock – a real chick magnet. The kind of guy they fantasized about in their nighttime schoolgirl bedrooms as they quietly slipped their hands down between their thighs. Now they looked at him with pity, trying hard to imagine the sexy hunk hidden under all those layers of flab.

Bill waddled ahead of a small group of visitors as he explained the history of the Salem Witch Trials of 1692. “The townsfolk of that era believed that so-called witches had the power to cast spells,” he explained for the umpteenth time. “They thought they were able to harm their enemies with magical incantations, make people fall hopelessly in love with love potions, or turn human beings into animals like cats or pigs.”

A pair of gothic teenagers in the front wearing glossy black lipstick and black nail polish turned to each other and giggled. “Must’ve turned him into a pig,” one of them whispered. Bill pretended not to hear. He was not overly sensitive and he had gotten used to the well-meaning and not so well-meaning jokes and remarks from the people around him. Even so, it hurt him to think about the man he once was and the misshapen freak he had become now.

It was half past twelve and as often happened to him around lunchtime, he had that curious feeling in his belly as it strained against his belt. He felt full, extremely full, as if he had just eaten a huge carbohydrate-rich meal. And yet, he had only had an apple and some low-fat yogurt. He was trying hard to watch his weight and restrict his calories. He hardly ate anything, but still he continued to gain. 460 goddam pounds! How did I ever let myself get this big?

He envied Sybil. She could eat like a linebacker, but she never put on weight. After twelve years of marriage, she was still as slim as the day he married her. And she was beautiful too, even if her skin had lost some of its youthful freshness. He thought of her slender face and her long, straight, jet black hair – some people said she looked like Cher’s twin sister. She had a passionate, fiery temperament and Bill often wondered if she had a touch of the Gypsy in her.

They had never had children and probably never would. Not now. Not since he had gotten too fat to have sex. It had been almost two years since he had last penetrated her, and even then it had been a clumsy, awkward affair. She had mounted him, but his belly had become so big and round that she struggled to get her pussy close enough to the two inches of his dick that protruded out of the thick mound of crotch fat that held it captive. He had thrust a few times, barely entering her, and then had given up in frustration. So now he was forced to find a workaround, as they used to say when they had a hardware problem in the IT department at work. Now his mouth and tongue were entrusted with the job while little Willie remained in involuntary retirement. He learned to use them skillfully to bring Sybil to a toe-curling climax. Every time -- without fail.

(to be continued)
Apr 22, 2011
Badger State, USA
Sybil took the steaming turkey out of the oven and placed it carefully on the countertop. She nodded to Bill, who stood ready like a surgeon with his upraised electric carving knife. Whirr, whirr, whirr. He gunned it, and even after a whole year lying idle in the kitchen drawer it was in perfect working order. With slow precision he began carving one slice after another. Then he separated the drumsticks, and then the wings. Sybil transferred the pieces of meat to a large serving platter as he worked. She loved Thanksgiving. If any holiday represented the traditional spirit of New England, it was Thanksgiving, she thought. She was big on traditions, even those going way back to the distant centuries of times past.

A romantic candelabra burned in the middle of a table set with her grandmother’s fine china and the good silverware. There were dishes full of sage dressing with walnuts and raisins, cheesy au gratin potatoes, and her homemade cranberry sauce made from scratch, not that slimy jelly that comes out of a can; butter-and-sugar corn, candied yams topped with a layer of melted marshmallows, a boat brimming with creamy gravy, and a glass of white wine for each of them. Not to mention her special pumpkin pie, still warm from the oven.

They sat down across from one another. Bill pulled his chair forward, getting as close to the table as his immense belly would allow him to. Sybil started filling her plate. His mouth watered as he watched her serve herself. She smiled at him, a bit maliciously, he imagined, and then she reached across the table for his plate. She placed two thin slices of white meat on it, no gravy, and gave him a single spoonful of the dressing and a minuscule portion of the cranberry sauce.

“Please, Sybil. Just a little bit more. I’m so hungry,” he pleaded. “Thanksgiving only comes once a year.” Something dark deep inside of her enjoyed seeing him suffer, and she experienced an almost libidinal pleasure in the control she had over him.

“But honey, your diet. Remember? It’s for your own good. The doctor said . . .”

“Yes, yes, I know what he said. But maybe, just this once. After all, it’s a holiday.”

“No,” she said firmly. “You still have the wine. That’s a lot of calories right there.” She gave him a seductive look. “But – if you’re a very, very good boy, you can have a big piece of the pumpkin pie. I’ll even put a dab of whipped cream on top.”

Bill gave up and meekly forked a slice of his turkey. He knew this was the best he was going to get and that further resistance was futile.

After she had finished two heaping platefuls and indulged in every item on the table, Sybil leaned back in her chair and rubbed her tummy. Such delicious food! She felt pleasantly satisfied, but not particularly full. She poured herself another glass of wine.

Bill, on the other hand, felt like he was about to explode. He had eaten so little and yet it was almost as though he had been the one who had shoveled the food into his face, and not Sybil. He loosened his belt to relieve the pressure on his belly. Maybe I have an ulcer, maybe it’s stomach cancer! Why should I feel so bloated and uncomfortable?

“Did you enjoy that, darling?” Sybil asked, her cat’s eyes gleaming with delight.

“I’m positively stuffed,” Bill groaned.

“But surely you still have room for the pie, don’t you?” She knew Bill would never refuse pumpkin pie, stuffed or not.

“Well . . .”

“That’s my big boy! Don’t move, I’ll be back in a second.” He wouldn’t have been able to move even if the house were on fire.

She flitted into the kitchen and came back moments later with a slice that was equal to a quarter of the entire pie, smothered in cream.

“Oh, Sybil, that’s too much. Even for me.”

“Nonsense. You only had two slices of turkey and a tiny bit of dressing and cranberry sauce. I don’t want to starve you, poor baby. You’ll think I’m just a mean old witch.”

She placed the pie in front of him and gave him a kiss on his pudgy cheek. “Enjoy, dear!” She sat down again across from him and leaned forward on her elbows waiting for him to eat.

“Aren’t you having any?” he asked.

“A girl’s got to watch her waistline,” she replied. “You men are lucky, you can eat as much as you like.”

Bill put a bite of pie into his mouth and closed his eyes as he tasted it. It was seductively delicious. A man would do anything for a piece of pie like that.

“It’s so . . . sweet,” he commented, moving the pie around his mouth like a connoisseur tasting a fine wine. “Sweet, but also, I don’t quite know how to describe it . . . salty or spicy, in a pungent sort of way.”

“It’s my secret ingredient.”

“And that would be, what?”

She winked at him and put a finger to her lips. “Silly! If I told you what it was, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it?”

“No, I guess not.” He finished the entire piece and asked for more, in spite of his sense of fullness. He just couldn’t resist. Sybil brought him another slice, even bigger than the one before. He kept eating and before long, the whole pie had taken up residence in his stomach.

He leaned back and puffed out his cheeks, rubbing the huge orb that was his overhanging belly. He regretted that he had lost control and made such a gluttonous pig of himself. But it was just so good. Nobody made pie like Sybil’s.

Sybil helped him up from the table and led him over to the couch. He leaned back against the pillows and soon was snoring loudly. They are so weak, she thought as she watched him sleep. It’s so easy, it should be a crime. Once upon a time, it was.

* * *

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Steve looked at Cindy with a poisonous stare as she put another forkful of leftover stuffing into her mouth. “You ate like a little pig yesterday and now you’re still at it.”

Cindy felt the blood rush to her chubby face as she struggled to control her anger. Why can’t I just eat in peace? Why does he always have to insult me like this?

“You know, after dinner Mother commented about how heavy you’re getting,” he continued, working himself into a fit.

She tried to defend herself. “But, honey, it was Thanksgiving, for God’s sake! And what are we going to do with all these leftovers? Your mother refused to take anything home.” The skinny bitch – of course she wouldn’t want to put anything even mildly fattening on her own table. “Do you want me to just throw everything in the trash? That would be wasteful.”

“Sure, what about all those starving children in Bangladesh,” he replied sarcastically. “Better for you to shovel it all into your own greedy mouth.”

Cindy was close to tears, but she swallowed hard and tried not to cry. Don’t give him the satisfaction. It’s true, she thought, she had gained a few pounds recently, but so what? She wasn’t really fat, just a little bit on the chunky side. Not all that uncommon for a woman just this side of forty. But Steve acted as if she were some kind of circus freak, the fat lady in the sideshow.

“I never wanted a fat wife and now look at what you’re turning into. You should get together with your friend’s husband, Bill. He’s a big fatty too. You two would make a fine pair.” He knew his words would hurt her, but he enjoyed tormenting her, making her feel like a piece of shit. “I’ll take Sybil instead.”

“What makes you think she would have you, you bastard! You think you’re something special. The sexy Salem Stallion. But I’m tired of faking it. You’re just a bore. Nothing but a tedious, unimaginative bore. You’re not nearly as good in bed as you think you are.” She decided to bring out some long knives of her own.

“That’s it, I’m leaving. I’m outta here.” He threw down his napkin and stood up. Suddenly Cindy panicked and wondered if she had gone too far.

“Where are you going?” Again she was on the verge of tears. She thought maybe he meant he was leaving for good.

“Out. I’m going down to the club. Anywhere but here.” He grabbed his cap and jacket and the open pack of cigarettes on the coffee table and stormed out the door. It wasn’t the first time he had rushed out of the house in anger. She was relieved that he was just going out for a drink. But she knew – sooner or later he would leave her and not come back.

(To be continued)
Apr 22, 2011
Badger State, USA
“You’re hardly eating anything, Cindy. What’s wrong?” Strings of red, green, and white lights were hung along the top of the walls at Luigi’s, giving the restaurant a festive look in spite of the raw weather outside. Perry Como was singing a Christmas carol in the background. In the distance beyond the big picture windows, dark storm clouds hovered over the ocean. No boats out there today.

Cindy chewed dejectedly on a breadstick. “Steve’s just such an asshole, that’s all. Lately he’s been harping nonstop because of my weight. He made a big scene about it the day after Thanksgiving. He thinks I’m just a big fat slob. I’m not really that fat, am I Sybil?”

Sybil reached over and patted her hand sympathetically. “Of course not, dear. Just a tiny bit on the chubby side. Pleasingly plump, I would say, if that. You’re still a very attractive woman, even with those few extra pounds. I can’t understand why Steve would make such a big deal out of it.”

“Me neither,” Cindy replied. “Maybe he’s going through a midlife crisis, or something. He’s just been so strange and irritable lately.”

“Sometimes men are like that. It’s male menopause.”

Cindy forced a laugh. “Right. Maybe that’s it. But he hasn’t been the same in bed either. He seems to be losing interest. I’m afraid that our marriage might be in real trouble. Maybe he’s having an affair.”

Sybil sipped her coffee and took a bite from the second order of cannoli that she had asked the waiter to bring her. She could spend the entire afternoon sitting there, watching the sea, and eating Luigi’s marvelous cannoli. And not gain a pound. Thanks to Bill. Bless him, the poor dear.

“If only there were something I could do,” Cindy continued helplessly. “What should I do, Sybil? You seem like a very wise, worldly woman. Can’t you help me?” She picked up her napkin and dabbed at the tear forming in the corner of her eye.

There was a pause as Sybil reflected and considered her answer. “There might be something we could do,” she said hesitantly. “But it would be totally . . . forbidden. – No, I can’t do it. The elders would have my skin if they knew I had shared the ancient secrets with one of the uninitiated.” She seemed to be talking to herself more than to Cindy.

By now Cindy was crying openly. “Fifteen years of marriage!” she blurted out between tears. “I’ve done everything for him. And now he acts like a jerk just because I’ve gained a little weight. It’s not right. I’d like to see him gain a few pounds. Maybe then he would keep his big mouth shut.”

“There, there, don’t cry,” Sybil comforted her. “He’s not worth it. Men – they really are bastards. That’s why we sisters have to defend ourselves. Three hundred years of male oppression are enough. We have to stick together and fight back.”

“Fight back? Fight back, how?” Cindy was confused.

“There are ways,” Sybil replied mysteriously. “Ways that are tried and true. Secret knowledge from the old days. Forbidden knowledge.” Sybil wiped a smudge of cannoli from her lips and closed her eyes while she thought. When she opened them again, they glowed like emeralds with a strange intensity. She had made a decision. “Come over to my place at noon tomorrow,” she instructed Cindy. “Bill will be at work. We’ll be all alone. Then I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

* * *

A cat the color of soot hissed at Cindy as she walked over the threshold of Sybil’s saltbox house. A small brass plate mounted on the brown shake shingles next to the front door mentioned that the house had been built in 1724 and was on the National Register of Historic Places. It was one of the oldest homes in Salem and had been owned by Sybil’s family for generations.

“Mercedes, be a good girl!” The cat immediately retreated and sat down in front of the blazing fireplace, her yellow eyes warily watching the stranger. “She doesn’t like guests,” Sybil explained. “I think she’s paranoid. She’s just so used to me and Bill. She loves to curl up in his lap in the evenings. He’s like a big, warm, soft pillow, I guess.” Sybil chuckled and seemed delighted at the thought of her grossly obese husband.

Cindy smiled, but she was embarrassed at Sybil’s mild putdown of Bill and his weight. “At least he stays home at night,” Cindy replied. “My Steve always goes out and I’m never quite sure where he is. At the club, he says. It would be nice if he would stay at home with me for once.”

Sybil poked at the fire and a few sparks flew up the chimney. “Well, I guess that’s what we’re going to work on,” she said. “Let’s go into the kitchen and have some lunch.”

A large platter with an assortment of dainty finger sandwiches sliced into quarters had already been prepared and was waiting for them in the center of the table. Another plate held a large dish of ranch dressing surrounded by cauliflower, broccoli, carrot sticks, radishes, and black olives.

“Oh, Sybil, you really shouldn’t have gone to the trouble,” Cindy remarked, thinking that this would be the smallest lunch she had ever eaten with Sybil.

“It’s nothing. No trouble at all. I have a pot of tea ready, or we could have a nice glass of Chablis.”

“I think I need a glass of wine,” Cindy said. “Or maybe several.”

After they had finished the sandwiches and most of the vegetables, Sybil served them each a large piece of chocolate cake and poured the tea into a pair of delicate porcelain teacups. “This set has been in my family since before the American Revolution,” Sybil explained. Cindy lifted the cup and saw the word “Meissen” on the bottom, plus some words in a foreign language she didn’t understand.

“Meissen porcelain?” she asked.

“Yes, imported from Germany. Very expensive. My great, great, great grandmother bought it at a little shop in the North End in Boston,” Sybil said. “I’m sure it was well before that little tea party we organized for the British in Boston Harbor. At least, that’s the story that’s been handed down over the years. It’s old, everything in this house is old.”

Cindy felt vaguely ill at ease. “Bill must love this cake,” she said, just to make small talk. She immediately regretted saying it, thinking that Sybil might think she was making an oblique reference to Bill’s size.

“Oh no, he never eats cake. I eat it all the time, but with his weight problem, he isn’t allowed to eat cake. But he sure loves my famous pumpkin pie. I only serve it to him once a year, at Thanksgiving, but that’s enough to last for a whole year.”

“Then how come he’s so . . .?” Cindy wondered out loud.

“Fat?” Sybil smiled mischievously. “How come he’s so outrageously, obscenely fat, is that what you mean?” Sybil threw her head back and laughed with a shrill cackle that Cindy had never heard from her before. “Why, he’s my very own personal fat pig. I made him that way!” Sybil laughed again and had to swallow hard to keep from choking on her last bite of cake. “It’s just so damn funny. His doctor, his brothers and sisters, in fact everybody in town thinks he must stuff himself constantly to get so fat. But he hardly eats anything. They can’t figure out why he’s so huge. But I know why. I know!”

Sybil took a sip of tea and glared at Cindy. Her eyes seemed to be on fire. “You don’t understand, do you, my naive little friend. Well, how could you? These things have been hidden for centuries. This is the secret knowledge that we use to bend the world to our will. To attract lovers, take revenge on our enemies, eliminate competitors, and keep our husbands docile and faithful.”

“Sybil, you’re scaring me,” Cindy said timidly.

“Scaring you? But you were the one who begged for my help. Oh boo hoo, Steve’s such a bastard, what can I do, blah, blah, blah. Well, now I’m going to help you, if you have the stomach for it. How would you like it if Steve were just as fat as Bill? Or even fatter?”

“Why would I want him to be so fat? I just want him to treat me right, love me, and not run around with some little hottie.”

“Run around? Do you think he could run around with anyone if he weighed 500 pounds? Bill can hardly walk, much less run. He can’t even stand up from the couch without me helping him. No, I have no worries at all that he would cheat on me. He’s mine. Nice, fat Bill. Sits at home on his big ass every night and goes to bed by ten. I love him, the big sweetie, and although his life is not perfect, it’s tolerable for him even if he is hugely fat. That’s the way it is, and that’s the way it will stay. He is absolutely, completely in my power.”

Cindy stood up from the kitchen table. “I don’t know, Sybil. Maybe we should just forget about this whole thing.”

Sybil pushed her back down into her chair. “It’s too late. I’ve already told you too much. There’s no turning back.” Sybil quickly poured Cindy a glass of wine. “Here, maybe this will calm your nerves. Now pull yourself together and listen carefully to what I am about to tell you. But be advised . . . if you reveal this knowledge to anyone, if you dare to betray the age-old secrets, there will be serious consequences that you will surely regret.”

Cindy felt a shiver go up her spine. What were these secrets Sybil was hinting at? It made her think of what she had learned in school about the Witch Trials, about those poor innocent women who were condemned as witches for casting spells and other such nonsense. Did such things even exist? Wasn’t all that old stuff just a myth, like in children’s fairy tales?

“Now then, Cindy,” Sybil said, her tone suddenly softening, sounding rather like a mother instructing a somewhat dull-witted daughter. “This is really very simple. Even you can handle it. It’s like a recipe for pumpkin pie or chocolate cake. All you have to do is follow a few easy instructions.”

“You mean we’re going to cook?”

“You could say that. Food and sex are the two ways to a man’s heart, though I honestly think food is the more powerful of the two. Do exactly what I tell you and he will never stray from your side. And as an added benefit, you can eat as much and as often as you like and never gain weight.”

“You mean I could eat like you do at Luigi’s and still stay slender? Unlimited food and no consequences?”

“Ah, my friend, but everything has consequences, even this. Weighty consequences, one could say.”

Again Cindy was confused. “But you just said I could eat as much as I wanted and not gain weight.”

“That’s true, but somebody has to gain weight. Now tell me – what is Steve’s favorite dessert?”

“Oh, I don’t even have to think about that. He’s crazy about the rum fruit cake that I make every Christmas.”

Sybil clapped her hands together in delight. “Rum cake! That’s excellent, Cindy. All you have to do is make it for him as usual this Christmas and make sure you add our special, secret ingredient.”

“Like eye of newt, you mean?” Cindy giggled nervously.

Sybil looked at her sternly. “Don’t be sarcastic, Cindy. But, no, for your information we haven’t used eye of newt for centuries. When’s the last time you saw a newt, anyway? I think they’ve been declared an endangered species.

“Actually,” Sybil continued, “the secret ingredient is . . .” She hesitated for a moment. “Remember, Cindy, I will warn you one last time – you must keep this knowledge to yourself, or bad things will happen to you.”

“I will, Sybil, I promise. Cross my heart.”

“Okay, then. The secret ingredient is any fluid from your own body. Menstrual blood seems to be the most effective, but you could also use urine, saliva, even breast milk, if you have it, that is.”

“Ewww, menstrual blood! That’s gross!” Cindy said.

“Don’t act like a child, Cindy. This is serious business. Just make sure you take a small amount of fluid, a few ounces is sufficient, mix it into the dough, and then bake the rum cake as you normally would. I do it at every year at Thanksgiving with Bill’s pumpkin pie. He loves it and I encourage him to eat as much as he likes. The spell lasts for a whole year.”

“Spell?” Cindy’s eyes widened.

“Oh, for crying out loud.” Sybil was beginning to regret that she had initiated a naive and maybe not so bright creature like Cindy into the secrets of the dark arts. “Of course it’s a spell. What the hell do you think we’re talking about here?”

“You mean, you’re really a . . . witch? Just like here in Salem during the witch trials?”

Sybil sighed in frustration. “Cindy, please, you disappoint me. The term ‘witch’ is a highly offensive, pejorative term, similar to an ethnic slur, for example. We consider ourselves to be pagans, modern-day pagans, not witches.” Sybil was now certain she had made a mistake by offering to help Cindy, but what was done, was done. A word once spoken can never be retrieved. “Go home, Cindy. Bake Steve’s Christmas rum cakes, put lots of love into them and a little bit of you-know-what, and as soon as he eats them, I guarantee that you will begin to see some very interesting changes.”

Sybil escorted Cindy to the front door as Mercedes raised her back and hissed a final warning. Cindy walked unsteadily down the narrow flagstone path to the sidewalk. What on earth have I gotten myself into? Soon she was smiling to herself, however. I wonder what he will look like – so fat?

(To be continued)


Active Member
May 6, 2007
Truly amazing set-up.

The inevitability of what is about to happen to Steve is just so delicious. I can see him smugly thinking "Oh its just a couple pounds... nothing a little cutting back and some exercise won't solve." Then the pounds keep creeping on anyway.

Having Sybil get punished for her actions sounds awfully tempting too!

Great work.


Well-Known Member
Jul 18, 2008
ohh fave part of that chap.

"“Run around? Do you think he could run around with anyone if he weighed 500 pounds? Bill can hardly walk, much less run. He can’t even stand up from the couch without me helping him. No, I have no worries at all that he would cheat on me. He’s mine. Nice, fat Bill. Sits at home on his big ass every night and goes to bed by ten."

And now Steve is on board.. Let the fattening begin! :eat1:
Apr 22, 2011
Badger State, USA
Sybil dug into her second helping of chicken alfredo, deftly twirling the cheesy pasta around her fork. It was one of her favorite dishes at Luigi’s, and since she was such a good customer, the waiters usually brought her seconds without charging extra.

“Would you like another glass of wine, signora?” the white-coated waiter asked deferentially. She discretely observed the buttons of his shirt straining under the pressure of his well-fed belly, complemented nicely by his chubby baby face and a cute double chin. He was always very shy and she surmised that perhaps he was lacking in self-confidence because of his weight. Just the kind of man she would love to take under her wing and fatten even more. She always left him a good tip and of all the waiters at Luigi’s, she liked him the best.

“Yes, please, Guido. That would be nice.” She glanced out the window at the leaden November sky. It had been almost a year since she had sat at this very table with Cindy. This time it was Judy, a friend from the North Shore Ladies’ Civic Club, who sat across the table from her picking dejectedly at her salad.

“You’re incredible, Sybil,” she whined. “How can you eat like that and still stay slender? I diet all the time and I can never lose.”

“I guess it’s just my metabolism,” Sybil replied. “I’ve always been like that.”

“How’s Bill, by the way? I haven’t seen him for ages. Has he had any luck with his weight program?”

“I’m afraid not,” Sybil said. “He’s still as heavy as always. He hardly eats anything, but you wouldn’t know it to look at him.”

“Too bad. He’s such a nice guy. I bet he doesn’t chase after every skirt in town like my Robert.”

“No, he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that. I have no worries about him at all. I keep him safely under lock and key and he has no desire to roam. He’s just a hopeless couch potato.”

The two women laughed. “And isn’t it amazing about Steve Corwin? He was always so fit and athletic and then all of a sudden he starts gaining all that weight. He must weigh over 400 pounds by now. I feel sorry for poor Cindy, being married to such a fat, unattractive pig. Everybody in town is talking about him, laughing at him. If he keeps it up, soon he’ll be even bigger than your Bill, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Yes, that’s quite possible,” Sybil said coldly, in a voice completely lacking in sympathy. “Sometimes men like him get what they deserve. He was fooling around. At least, that’s what Cindy told me.”

Judy shook her head. “It’s a shame. And then he lost his job at the dealership on top of it. He had been one of their best salesmen, always wooing the ladies to buy a new car. They say he made heaps of money in sales commissions. But now, who would want to buy a car from such a fat slob? I sure wouldn’t. All he could find was a minimum-wage job at Dunkin’ Donuts. Imagine that – a fat guy like him working at a donut shop. Definitely an occupational hazard in his case.”

Sybil nodded, but the bored expression on her face made it clear that she was indifferent to the fate of Steve, Cindy, or anyone else for that matter. She raised her wine glass to the light, examining what appeared to be a tiny piece of cork floating in the pale liquid. “I should really ask Guido for another,” she said.

Judy ate a few more bites of salad and then put down her fork abruptly. She leaned forward across the table. “Sybil,” she said quietly. “Not to change the subject, but Robert’s turning into a real problem and I’m getting sick and tired of his philandering. What could I do to keep him from, you know, pursuing other women? I’m not absolutely sure, but I think he’s having an affair with his secretary. He always comes home late from the office.” She took a swallow of ice water. “Maybe you could give me some advice? Should I change my hair, or get some clothing like the younger women wear? You know – like one of those push-up bras or a low-cut sweater that shows off my cleavage?”

Sybil looked out the window and gazed at the ocean without speaking. Then she turned her attention back to her lunch companion. “I think I can help you. But only if you can keep a secret.”

(To be continued)
Apr 22, 2011
Badger State, USA
Sybil sat thinking about all of her women friends that she had so graciously helped, even at the risk to herself. First Cindy, then Judy, then Pauline, Samantha, Mary Ann, and most recently Janina. Six unhappy marriages close to foundering on the rocks, magically rescued and transformed into stable, loving households. Six arrogant, previously fit husbands now well on their way towards the upper limits of obesity. Too bad for them, of course, but there was always a price to pay if one wanted to achieve positive results. No pain, no gain, one might say. She was glad that her Bill was still the heaviest man of them all, having recently hit 525 pounds and still the leader of the pack, as it were. But the others were rapidly catching up and closing the gap. She had enjoyed observing them going about town day by day, seeing how their trim bodies dressed in neatly tailored suits were gradually replaced by fat bellies and butts squeezed into tight-fitting sweatpants and sloppy oversized t-shirts. It was fun seeing how they all abandoned their fitness routines after a time, their power walks and proud jogging turned into a slow lumbering waddle down the sidewalks of Salem, as they huffed and puffed from the exertion of moving all that weight, their hips and buttocks swaying, their fleshy arms swinging back and forth at their sides.

But no good deed goes unpunished, she sighed softly to herself, uncomfortable from sitting motionless for so long. She was just too good-hearted, she thought, sooner or later her trespass of the ancient rules would have consequences and the elders would take revenge. She really should have known better and been more cautious. And she was certain that at least one of her friends was the blabbermouth, unable to keep the secret despite all of her warnings. Men all over town were gaining tons of weight, even ones she hardly knew. One day the local shopper carried an article with the headline “Fast Food to Blame for Obesity Spike?” But she knew the real reason. Things were getting out of control.

Worst of all, she felt like she was losing Bill. The change in his behavior had started even before her tragic mishap. He was becoming more and more assertive in spite of his weight. And he had spoken enthusiastically about the new director at the Salem Witch Museum, a woman named Sabrina Carter.

“She has a Ph.D. in American history from Princeton and she worked at the Smithsonian in Washington,” he gushed one cool September evening as they sat together by the fireplace. “She has big plans for the Museum. She wants to renovate some of the exhibits and make it all more interactive for the visitors. And based on my years of experience as a guide, she wants me to advise and help her!”

“Is she attractive?” Sybil asked.

“Well . . . yes, kind of,” Bill hesitated. “Actually, Sybil, she looks a lot like you, though a bit younger and somewhat shorter. Petite. Her husband passed away. She showed me a photo of him, and he was a really big guy.”

“Like you?” Sybil asked.

“Mmm, yes, actually a lot like me,” Bill admitted.

After that, Sybil noticed that Bill was coming home late from work more and more frequently. “Had to help Sabrina with a new display,” he would mumble evasively as he squeezed his wide frame through the back door into the kitchen.

Sybil was still wondering what she should do to get Bill back on the straight and narrow when she decided she needed a girl’s night out to let off some steam. Time to go hunting, she said to herself, as she rummaged through her closet looking for the sexiest outfit she could find. She finally decided on a cherry-red dress, cut very low in front, and lipstick in a color to match.

The forecast called for falling temperatures and hazardous conditions, but Sybil decided it was worth the risk to drive to a bar in a neighboring town where she had had impressive success with the local hunks in the past. “Gone out” was all she wrote on the note she left for Bill on the dining room table.

A light drizzle was falling later that night as she followed the car of her chosen lover back to his apartment. Straining to see the road ahead, she gripped the steering wheel as the drizzle froze upon contact with the pavement of the two-lane highway. At first, she couldn’t comprehend why the red taillights in front of her suddenly swerved towards the shoulder. It wasn’t until she saw the headlights of the oncoming truck sliding across the centerline a moment later that she realized her life was going to change forever.

(To be continued)
Apr 22, 2011
Badger State, USA
Bill shaved, changed into a clean shirt, and splashed a generous portion of Old Spice onto his face and neck. For such a big man, he looks quite handsome, Sybil had to admit to herself, as she maneuvered her wheelchair into the doorway of the bathroom, her useless legs covered by a plaid blanket. “Sabrina wants to discuss some new ideas she has in mind for the Museum,” Bill explained. “We’re having dinner at Luigi’s. You don’t mind, do you, dear?”

Bill was on his way out the door before she was able to open her mouth to reply. Sybil thought he moved surprisingly fast for a man of his size. She had a brief mental vision of the star quarterback he once had been.

She was still awake, sitting in the dark by the flickering light of the dying fire, when he came back after eleven. “Oh, you’re still up?” he asked in embarrassment. “It’s so late already.”

“Yes, it’s late indeed,” she said. “And if I’m not mistaken, Luigi’s closes at ten.”

Bill shifted his 500 plus pounds from one foot to the other, but Sybil cut him off as he began to stammer an explanation. “I understand – you don’t have to lie to me. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

At breakfast next morning, Bill wheeled Sybil to the table and gave her a weak, guilty smile. “I brought you something,” he said, as he busied himself setting the table. He opened the fridge and took out a pumpkin pie. “Since you haven’t been able to make your famous pie since your accident, Sabrina baked one for you, for Thanksgiving. She said it was her own special recipe. Wasn’t that nice of her?”

Sybil’s face had a look of resignation. “I’ll eat it now,” she said. Bill cut the pie into slices and Sybil ate each one with her hands, grunting loudly and shoving the pie greedily into her mouth until it was all gone. She patted her full belly and then reached down and touched her hips. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she had the distinct impression that her hips were pressing more snugly against the sides of the wheelchair.

News item: The Massachusetts Department of Public Health today released a study reporting an alarming increase in obesity throughout the Commonwealth. “We are very concerned by this epidemic,” Commissioner Paul Crowder said in a press release. “We are seeing significant growth in the number of obese adults, particularly among the male population. Other states along the East Coast are starting to report similar findings,” he said. According to Crowder, the rate of obesity among women had actually declined. “It seems to be almost exclusively a male problem. We are completely baffled.”

- Boston Herald, October 25, 1998

Apr 22, 2011
Badger State, USA
Actually, I intended this to be the end of the story. Of course, I could continue, for example by describing how a paralyzed Sybil gains weight while sitting inactive in her wheelchair, how Bill's relationship with his new boss develops now that he is free of Sybil's spell, how the so-called obesity epidemic conquers New England, then the US, and then the entire World (bwaaah!), and so on, but it just seemed like too much and would take away from the story so far. I like short stories to remain fairly short and sometimes there's no other way to end them aside from just . . . ending them, in this case on what I perceived to be a somewhat sinister or mysterious note. But I do realize that this is not always popular with readers, who may sometimes feel like they have been left hanging.

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