lankypanky
New Member
~BBW, Stuffing, ~~WG
Sandrad been very careful. Very careful. If she hadnt gotten lazy, she might never have gotten caught which meant she might have quite happily purged herself to death before her twenty-first birthday.
Sandra, as a Normal Redblooded American, did not want to be Fat. Shed tried not eating, but she just loved food too much, and had to conclude fairly quickly that she absolutely couldnt be anorexic in any reality that included nachos. Soft, lazy, and innately averse to physical activity, Sandra concluded relatively quickly that the only other way to maintain any kind of sensible weight was if she started purging. So purge she did.
It didnt start out well thrusting fingers down her throat took what seemed like forever, standing hunched and gagging endlessly over toilets while her stomach refused to give up her heavy-carb favorites. It was hard to disguise a ten-minute puking session in the ladies room as anything but, well, what it was. Then she discovered ipecac, the substance she quickly started thinking of as my little friend. Cheap only a couple of dollars and readily available at any pharmacist. Saunter up to the counter, smile sweetly, explain that your little cousin was visiting for the weekend and you were just so worried about any accidental poison ingestion, and bang, youve got yourself a few doses of a powerful emetic.
She didnt need it all the time, just for those nacho/pizza/etc binge evenings, and she was smart enough to spread her purchasing around. Hitting different pharmacies at different times, checking to see who was on duty, using it only when shed had so much she felt bloated, and explaining to her friends that she just didnt feel well when she had to rush to the bathroom. Certainly none of them thought that Sandras amazingly convincing episodes of nausea (and, to be honest, diarrhea) could be self-inflicted. So she went on her merry way, digging up her fictional cousin, eating all she wanted, ending many a night feeling drained and lethargic, hugging the toilet in gratitude. And it was so good, she started doing it a little more. And a little more. And a little more. Until she was starting to run out of new places to go and
I know what youre doing, he said.
Im sorry? Sandra said, startled. Shed run out of ipecac syrup two days before and hadnt dared eat much since then. She was low on blood sugar, feeling a little out of it, and had simply picked a random Walgreens, out of weariness, to hit up for her next fix so she could gorge on fried chicken.
I know what youre doing to your body, repeated the man behind the counter.
Sandra looked through two layers of glass the window between the two of them and the glasses he wore into two wide green eyes, and she was afraid of the pity she thought she saw there.
Look, I dont have to give this stuff to you, the man continued. Its up to my discretion. And I know your name. He held up her debit card; shed been short on cash. But Im going to make you a deal. If you will meet me, tonight at eight, at the restaurant next door, and have dinner with me, I will bring a bottle of ipecac for you. If you wont, I call my boss over here, you get reported, banned from buying any ipecac anywhere in town, possibly hospitalized, and, well . . .
Sandra knew what well, meant. Everyone would know. About her little friend. About her little problem.
What do you want? she said. She was sweating. If she could just get out of this one, just get away from here, shed remember to never come back. Shed been dumb, shed gone to the same place too often. She wouldnt make that mistake again.
I just want to talk, he said mildly.
She looked him up and down. Normal-looking guy; shortish, brown-haired, snub nose, sort of rabbity-looking. He wanted to meet in a public place. Fair enough. If things got hairy, she could always run.
And . . . she wanted that syrup. Badly. She would kill for spaghetti & meatballs just now. But she wasnt willing to absorb all the calories eating it would entail.
Deal, she said. Eight oclock. Sandra held her hand out for the debit card and he pressed it into her palm. She slung her bag on a jutting hip and strode away without bothering to put her card away, hoping she looked confident. Cool.
If shed looked behind her, she would have been surprised at his posture looking wistful, one hand pressed flat against the glass, as though he were caged, as though he wanted her to rescue him.
At ten minutes after eight no sense being on time for a blackmailer Sandra crept more meekly into the Mexican restaurant next door. The overly chipper hostess shuffled menus at her hopefully: How many, miss?
Im meeting . . . er . . . there may be someone waiting . . . Shit! Sandra didnt know his name.
Hey! Hey, Sandra! Over here! Of course. He knew hers. Sandra gave the hostess a grim smile and stalked over to the tiny booth where her pharmaceutical helper had staked a claim. He was smiling warmly. She was nervous and on edge, but couldnt resist an appraising glance as she sat. Yes, he wasnt a terribly sexy guy. Borderline pudgy. Now that he wasnt working, he was dressed in casual-sloppy style denim and plaid with eyes and mouth that were definitely too big for his face. She groaned inwardly as she sat; what did this basement-dwelling geek want with her time?
Sandra, hey. Im glad you made it. He beamed.
Do you have it? She snarled in reply.
His face fell, and his tone became more serious, the voice of a teacher reprimanding a troublesome student. Yes. I have it. But the deal was for dinner.
Show me. She sure wasnt going to sit through this for nothing.
He drew a familiar brown bottle out of his breast pocket, held it up, and quickly returned it to its hiding place.
So what do I have to do to get it?
Well. Lets have dinner first? He beamed at her; she couldnt decide if his smile was engagingly goofy or repulsively nerdy. Sandra narrowed her eyes and began scanning the menu.
Oh, lord, everything looked so good. Cheese and rice and beef and . . . well, hell, she was going to get the ipecac later. She could eat whatever she wanted. It wasnt going to count. And there was no way she was going to pay; this was going to be on his nickel. When the waitress came, Sandra ordered a margarita and the most extravagant thing she could find, an order of seafood fajitas.
Over her margarita, Sandra eyed her dinner partner speculatively. Whats your name? she said. The power balance here was going to have to change.
Chris. He had a dimple on his left cheek when he grinned.
Chris what?
Fair enough, I guess, since I know yours. Its Chris Stuart. I just started the job this year. You know, to be honest, I bet if I was as old as my boss, I wouldnt even have noticed you. He doesnt care any more. But I know what you can use the syrup for. And I know you. I remember you. Ive seen lots of girls like you, but this is the first time I had the evidence to, you know, show what the deal was.
She stared first at her drink, then briefly met his eyes. The deal.
Yeah, you know. The deal. Youre . . . I mean, I dont want to sound creepy or anything, but youre really pretty, Sandra.
She smiled despite herself. Shed worked for that prettiness.
But, I mean, you know.
I dont know. What? she challenged him.
I mean I can see your whole skull. I can see the undersides of your cheekbones and the outlines of your eye sockets and where your head at the back turns into neck and . . . its just not right. Theres too much bone on you.
Are you just going to sit here and insult me? Does that make you happy?
No, listen, no. I want to offer you a deal for the stuff.
Fine. Im listening.
I want to come home with you.
No.
No, listen. Im not going to ask you for sex or hit you or whatever. Call whoever you like, give them my name and a physical description. Play it safe. I'll give you my driver's license, if you want it. Or you can take a picture of me and send it to your parents, say If I end up dead, this is the guy who did it. I dont care. Nothings going to happen. I just want to stay with you all night.
Why?
Because Im going to make sure you dont purge this meal. Just this one meal.
Just this Once
by lankypanky
by lankypanky
Sandrad been very careful. Very careful. If she hadnt gotten lazy, she might never have gotten caught which meant she might have quite happily purged herself to death before her twenty-first birthday.
Sandra, as a Normal Redblooded American, did not want to be Fat. Shed tried not eating, but she just loved food too much, and had to conclude fairly quickly that she absolutely couldnt be anorexic in any reality that included nachos. Soft, lazy, and innately averse to physical activity, Sandra concluded relatively quickly that the only other way to maintain any kind of sensible weight was if she started purging. So purge she did.
It didnt start out well thrusting fingers down her throat took what seemed like forever, standing hunched and gagging endlessly over toilets while her stomach refused to give up her heavy-carb favorites. It was hard to disguise a ten-minute puking session in the ladies room as anything but, well, what it was. Then she discovered ipecac, the substance she quickly started thinking of as my little friend. Cheap only a couple of dollars and readily available at any pharmacist. Saunter up to the counter, smile sweetly, explain that your little cousin was visiting for the weekend and you were just so worried about any accidental poison ingestion, and bang, youve got yourself a few doses of a powerful emetic.
She didnt need it all the time, just for those nacho/pizza/etc binge evenings, and she was smart enough to spread her purchasing around. Hitting different pharmacies at different times, checking to see who was on duty, using it only when shed had so much she felt bloated, and explaining to her friends that she just didnt feel well when she had to rush to the bathroom. Certainly none of them thought that Sandras amazingly convincing episodes of nausea (and, to be honest, diarrhea) could be self-inflicted. So she went on her merry way, digging up her fictional cousin, eating all she wanted, ending many a night feeling drained and lethargic, hugging the toilet in gratitude. And it was so good, she started doing it a little more. And a little more. And a little more. Until she was starting to run out of new places to go and
I know what youre doing, he said.
Im sorry? Sandra said, startled. Shed run out of ipecac syrup two days before and hadnt dared eat much since then. She was low on blood sugar, feeling a little out of it, and had simply picked a random Walgreens, out of weariness, to hit up for her next fix so she could gorge on fried chicken.
I know what youre doing to your body, repeated the man behind the counter.
Sandra looked through two layers of glass the window between the two of them and the glasses he wore into two wide green eyes, and she was afraid of the pity she thought she saw there.
Look, I dont have to give this stuff to you, the man continued. Its up to my discretion. And I know your name. He held up her debit card; shed been short on cash. But Im going to make you a deal. If you will meet me, tonight at eight, at the restaurant next door, and have dinner with me, I will bring a bottle of ipecac for you. If you wont, I call my boss over here, you get reported, banned from buying any ipecac anywhere in town, possibly hospitalized, and, well . . .
Sandra knew what well, meant. Everyone would know. About her little friend. About her little problem.
What do you want? she said. She was sweating. If she could just get out of this one, just get away from here, shed remember to never come back. Shed been dumb, shed gone to the same place too often. She wouldnt make that mistake again.
I just want to talk, he said mildly.
She looked him up and down. Normal-looking guy; shortish, brown-haired, snub nose, sort of rabbity-looking. He wanted to meet in a public place. Fair enough. If things got hairy, she could always run.
And . . . she wanted that syrup. Badly. She would kill for spaghetti & meatballs just now. But she wasnt willing to absorb all the calories eating it would entail.
Deal, she said. Eight oclock. Sandra held her hand out for the debit card and he pressed it into her palm. She slung her bag on a jutting hip and strode away without bothering to put her card away, hoping she looked confident. Cool.
If shed looked behind her, she would have been surprised at his posture looking wistful, one hand pressed flat against the glass, as though he were caged, as though he wanted her to rescue him.
At ten minutes after eight no sense being on time for a blackmailer Sandra crept more meekly into the Mexican restaurant next door. The overly chipper hostess shuffled menus at her hopefully: How many, miss?
Im meeting . . . er . . . there may be someone waiting . . . Shit! Sandra didnt know his name.
Hey! Hey, Sandra! Over here! Of course. He knew hers. Sandra gave the hostess a grim smile and stalked over to the tiny booth where her pharmaceutical helper had staked a claim. He was smiling warmly. She was nervous and on edge, but couldnt resist an appraising glance as she sat. Yes, he wasnt a terribly sexy guy. Borderline pudgy. Now that he wasnt working, he was dressed in casual-sloppy style denim and plaid with eyes and mouth that were definitely too big for his face. She groaned inwardly as she sat; what did this basement-dwelling geek want with her time?
Sandra, hey. Im glad you made it. He beamed.
Do you have it? She snarled in reply.
His face fell, and his tone became more serious, the voice of a teacher reprimanding a troublesome student. Yes. I have it. But the deal was for dinner.
Show me. She sure wasnt going to sit through this for nothing.
He drew a familiar brown bottle out of his breast pocket, held it up, and quickly returned it to its hiding place.
So what do I have to do to get it?
Well. Lets have dinner first? He beamed at her; she couldnt decide if his smile was engagingly goofy or repulsively nerdy. Sandra narrowed her eyes and began scanning the menu.
Oh, lord, everything looked so good. Cheese and rice and beef and . . . well, hell, she was going to get the ipecac later. She could eat whatever she wanted. It wasnt going to count. And there was no way she was going to pay; this was going to be on his nickel. When the waitress came, Sandra ordered a margarita and the most extravagant thing she could find, an order of seafood fajitas.
Over her margarita, Sandra eyed her dinner partner speculatively. Whats your name? she said. The power balance here was going to have to change.
Chris. He had a dimple on his left cheek when he grinned.
Chris what?
Fair enough, I guess, since I know yours. Its Chris Stuart. I just started the job this year. You know, to be honest, I bet if I was as old as my boss, I wouldnt even have noticed you. He doesnt care any more. But I know what you can use the syrup for. And I know you. I remember you. Ive seen lots of girls like you, but this is the first time I had the evidence to, you know, show what the deal was.
She stared first at her drink, then briefly met his eyes. The deal.
Yeah, you know. The deal. Youre . . . I mean, I dont want to sound creepy or anything, but youre really pretty, Sandra.
She smiled despite herself. Shed worked for that prettiness.
But, I mean, you know.
I dont know. What? she challenged him.
I mean I can see your whole skull. I can see the undersides of your cheekbones and the outlines of your eye sockets and where your head at the back turns into neck and . . . its just not right. Theres too much bone on you.
Are you just going to sit here and insult me? Does that make you happy?
No, listen, no. I want to offer you a deal for the stuff.
Fine. Im listening.
I want to come home with you.
No.
No, listen. Im not going to ask you for sex or hit you or whatever. Call whoever you like, give them my name and a physical description. Play it safe. I'll give you my driver's license, if you want it. Or you can take a picture of me and send it to your parents, say If I end up dead, this is the guy who did it. I dont care. Nothings going to happen. I just want to stay with you all night.
Why?
Because Im going to make sure you dont purge this meal. Just this one meal.
