Squeeze Play by T.F. Wright (WG, Personality Change)

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Aug 26, 2006
A man wishes his wife was more of a sports fan. Enjoy, and check out my new web site, which has a story sorter, allowing you to look through my work by searching multiple subject tags (weight gain, personality changes, nerd, romance, ect.)


“He was safe! Safe! Goddamn safe!” shouted Brian as he slammed his beer down on the end table.

“Honey, please, the language,” said Victoria, raising her palms close to her face defensively. Raven-haired with sparkling, eye-shadowed emerald eyes, Victoria’s femininity was only outdone by her retrained sensibilities.

“Sorry,” Brian began begrudgingly, “but that ump’s gotta be goddamn blind!”

“If he’s blind, then why are they letting him play?” asked Victoria. “Shouldn’t they have, you know, one of those ‘special’ leagues for disabled people?”

“I didn’t mean…and besides, the ump doesn’t…argh,” he groaned. “Didn’t they have any baseball in London?”

“Of course not—they have cricket. But I’m not much for that, either…just not a fan of sport, generally. So slow, so repetitive. No sense of drama, you know? Now if you were willing to give the theater another go, we could…”

“Get me another beer!” he grunted in disappointment. His beloved Cleveland Indians had just let St. Louis get a Grand Slam.

“Sure—I’ll get a coaster for you this time, then I’ll check the fridge,” she said, gingerly tip-toeing over there.

Brian rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said, dismissively. She set the coaster down for him. He tried to reach out and grope her slender little butt, but Victoria just swatted his hand away and let out an exasperated-sounding, high-pitched chuckle.

“Microwave that sausage in the fridge, would ya?” he asked. “But smell it first, make sure it’s still good.”

Victoria wrinkled her nose up a little at the thought of smelling something unusual, and then crinkled her eyes at the thought of sausage.

“Did you see that CDC report I sent you on the dangers of red meat and colon cancer?” she asked.

“Yeah, I saw it. They’ll pry the sausage out of my cold, dead fingers!”

“That’s precisely what I’m afraid of,” she replied, and she left the sausage right where it was. “I’m enjoying some celery. I’m happy to share, if you’d like.”

“No way,” Brian said brusquely. Victoria’s vegan raw-food diet kept her exceedingly thin, without many curves to speak of. He’d heard that many women, upon getting married, stop dieting as strictly. But much to Brian’s dismay, Victoria hadn’t budged an inch, and neither had her curves.

“Does beer cause colon cancer, too? When’s that gettin’ here?”

“Brian, looks like you drank the last one. If you’d like, you can try a glass of this Petit Bordeaux I picked out yesterday…”

Brian shook his head as he extricated himself from his favorite easy chair. “I’m going out!”


“I watched the first half of this game at home,” Brian, unprompted, explained to the bartender. “But my wife, well…doesn’t care for it. Probably because she’s English.”

“Well, it might not be just that. There are plenty of American women who don’t consider themselves baseball aficionados…” asked the bartender. He had a shock of frizzy, silver hair, with a distinctive glint in his otherwise faded grey eyes.

“She says she prefers plays and such,” Brian interrupted. “She dragged me to ‘My Fair Lady’ last week. Can you believe that?”

“A real snooze-fest, I take it?”

“Oh yeah— but there was one song that stuck with me. ‘Why can’t a woman be more like a man?’ Well, why not, you know?” Brian asked.

“Not quite sure what you’re getting at…”

“We say men and women are meant for each other—but you know, men are from Mars and women are from Venus. Take my wife and me. We don’t have the same taste in food, in entertainment, in manners, in anything!”

“So you’d want a woman who’s more like a man, then?” the bartender asked. The question was unusual enough for a few heads to turn in Brian’s direction.

“Hey, listen, I’m not gay or anything,” Brian asserted. “I just, you know, wish we were more on the same page. You feel me, right?”

“Of course, of course,” said the bartender. “That can be arranged,” he added in a low voice, a little grin on his face.

“Huh?” asked Brian.

“I said, would you like another beer? On the house, on account of your troubles, my friend.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks.” Brian said. It certainly wasn’t what he’d heard the first time, but he wasn’t going to say no to a free beer. He put it out of his mind, and didn’t give the conversation further thought.


“Alright, Victoria, going out,” Brian said, putting on his jacket. After the debacle last night, he certainly wasn’t going to risk watching even part of a game with Victoria around.

“Out? Where?”

“Not to the store, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Brian snapped.

“No, just curious,” she called out.

“Well, if you must know, to watch the game at the bar,” he said. “Figured since you’ve got such a problem with baseball…”

“Brian, just because we don’t share the same interests doesn’t mean I have a problem with baseball,” she countered.

Brian begged to differ. His adulation of the game made any differing opinion a sign of disrespect. “Well…I like the bar food,” he threw in. “We don’t have any good snacks here.”

“Really? I got some Polish sausage at the market today…”

“You serious?” Brian, said, practically throwing off the jacket and heading towards his favorite chair. “Why the change of heart?”

“I know you left in a huff last week, and I just wanted to try to make it up to you,” said Victoria.


“Cleveland’s crushing it!” said Brian. “You’re my good luck charm, sweetheart!”

“Awww, much obliged,” Victoria said. But when Brian turned around in his chair to glance at her, he noticed she wasn’t looking at him, or at the TV screen, but instead at his plate, which had just a single bite of sausage left. She had a bowl of celery sticks in front of her, her usual snack, but she hadn’t touched them.

“You still hungry?” Brian asked. “Wanna try a bite?” He knew full well his vegan wife would refuse.

“Well, if it’s going to go to waste otherwise, alright,” she rationalized, heading over and grabbing the last little morsel. Brian’s jaw dropped—was she really going to try meat?

“Oh, wow! That’s…that’s…bloody brilliant! I know why you were so out of sorts when I forgot to pick them up!”

“Heh, you like ‘em, eh?” said Brian, smirking with satisfaction.

“Hell yes! Let me go heat up another!” she said, hopping up to her feet. Brian’s gaze followed her as she made her way to the microwave. Her walk seemed a little different, like she had a little extra oomph to her hips.

“So…” Victoria said, as she waited for the microwave. “How exactly does this game work?”


“Oh, let’s get some of these loaded potato skins! And some chips, salsa, bean dip, sour cream, guacamole…this is gonna be a great game day!” said Victory excitedly. “Hey, Brian, what kind of wine do you think goes with chips and dip?”

Brian was a little perplexed at how eager she was to join in his love of sports and of decent food. But why the sudden change of heart?

“Beer is usually the preferred drink of fans,” Brian said, trying to mimic her affected English accent.

“Haha, that’s pretty good!” Both the hearty sound of her laugh and the fact that she appreciated his joke were also totally out of character for Victoria.

As she bent over to pick up some jalapeños, Brian could see that her ass was a little rounder and fuller than usual. He recognized that she was wearing her “fat jeans,” an oversized pair which Victoria only wore when she was feeling bloated, but now they looked tight on her, showing off her improved caboose.

Brian moved next to her to get a closer look, and when she stood up, he caught her reflection off the mirrored lenses of the little tray of sunglasses at the end of the aisle.

“Hey, Victoria, you wearing a new shade of lipstick today?” Brian asked. Normally Brian didn’t pay this much attention to his wife’s fashion choices, but the bizarreness of recent events kept him on especially high alert.

“Nah, going all-natural for a change,” she explained. So that’s why her lips looked different. Victoria—or, at least, the Victoria he was used to— always wore makeup, even to bed. She had a plastic cover on her pillowcase to prevent smudges. Going ‘all natural’ was just so…not her!


“Want me to help in the kitchen?” said Brian, once they got home.

“No, no, no, you just sit on the sofa and relax,” she said. “The game’s almost on, and I don’t want you to miss a second of it!”

“Great, thanks!” said Brian.

By the time Victoria sat down, it was already the bottom of the third inning. Cleveland was down one against Boston. But the moment she took a seat, Cleveland hit a double.

“So, that’s good, right?” Victoria asked.

“Yeah, that’s good!” Brian said, before doing a double take. When had she found the time to change into a Cleveland Indians tee shirt? Did she even own a Cleveland Indians tee shirt?

“Open wide…” said Victoria, interrupting his train of thought with a loaded potato skin.

“Wow, these are fantastic!” said Brian. “Homer! Yes!”

“I’ll get us some beers to celebrate!” she said, running back into the kitchen.

“Let’s chug!” Brian said as soon as the cans were opened.

“Chug?” Victoria asked.

“You know…drink the beer real fast all at once,” Brian explained, rolling his eyes.

“Oh…right…” Victoria said. “Chug, chug, chug!”

They both tilted their head backwards using the exact same motion and started gulping the stuff down.

“Done!” Brian said, smashing the empty can on the end table before letting out a loud, proud belch. A moment later, he glanced back at his wife nervously. She’d been so nice to him today, perhaps, Brian thought, he shouldn’t push things too far.

“Sorry about that,” Brian said sheepishly.

“Quite all ri—” Victoria began, before letting out a loud burp of her own.

“Woah there,” Brian teased. “Better out than in, right?”

The moment of embarrassment lasted only a moment before the TV intervened again.

“Another home run! Woo!” Brian said, jumping up and throwing his arms in the air.

“Woo!” Victoria said, hopping up out of her seat, too. As she raised her arms, her T-shirt rode up on her just slightly. Brian could see a tiny little roll of fat sticking out over her jeans. Beer bellies didn’t happen that fast, did they?

The euphoria of the game—and the unique pleasure of finally getting to actually enjoy it with his wife—pushed the uncomfortable questions out of Brian’s mind, at least for the moment.

“What else did you make?” said Brian, as he finished off the second-to-last potato skin.

“We’ve got…” Victoria started, before she deftly scooped up the last potato skin herself and then shoved the whole thing down in one big bite. It left a little smear of melted cheese on her chin. “…burritos!”

“Great!” said Brian. “You’ve got a little cheese there,” he said, pointing to her chin.

“Oh, where?” she said, dabbing the wrong side.

“I’ll get it,” he said. Brian leaned in and licked it off. Her chin felt a little softer than he remembered. But he certainly didn’t mind the feeling of soft, warm flesh against his lips. Victoria leaned down and gave him a little smooch on the lips.

“I’ll go get the main course,” she said afterwards.

Brian had expected her to walk back with a tray of individual toppings and tortillas so that both of them could make their own. That would allow for customization, but it might be distracting and could cause them to miss a moment of the game if they were glancing downwards…

Victoria had the tray, but instead the tray contained two colossal burritos, each as large and as long as his arm, wrapped using multiple tortillas.

“Damn, girl, good job,” Brian said. “This is like…a Brontosaur's leg or something!”

“Glad you approve,” said Victoria.

Brian lifted the mammoth burrito and took a huge bite. Tears welled up in his eyes from the spiciness of the peppers inside.

“Another beer,” Brian gasped.

“Take one from the cooler,” Victoria said, pulling it closer. Cooler? When did they have a cooler? He didn’t remember buying it at the store with her…

Brian’s desperate longing for more beer to soothe his scorched tongue meant he was drinking that beer before asking where it came from.

Despite its spiciness, though, the burrito was heaven in a tortilla. Brian kept on eating. But before he’d even finished half of it, Brian started to feel full. Did Victoria really think he could finish two of these massive things?

“You gonna eat that?” Victoria said with her mouth full as she pointed towards the other half of his burrito.

“You…you finished the whole thing already?” Brian said, his jaw slack with shock.

“Yeah, and?” Victoria said, shrugging her shoulders a little. In doing so, Brian could see the indentations of modest breasts against her shirt. But Victoria was always flat chested. Was this beer goggles in overdrive, Brian wondered? Or was she really changing?

“Ok, we’ve got one on third,” said Victoria. “What should they do?”

“Hoping they go for a squeeze play,” said Brian.

“Oh, sounds fun, what’s that?”

“It’s where the batter hits a short bunt, probably gets out, but gives the runner on third a chance to run home,” he explained.

“Hmm…so sacrifice one thing for the sake of something better?” asked Victoria. Even in his tipsy state, Brian could recognize something about those words that sounded symbolic.

Brian looked at Victoria. What was she losing? Her makeup, her fashion sense, her femininity, her slender figure…

And what was she gaining? A love of baseball. Better taste in food. Some sexy curves. And, of course, a closer relationship with her husband. Everything he’d wanted, right?

A fantastic trade, in Brian’s book.

“Woah, they did it! Just like you said!” exclaimed Victoria, pointing at the screen.

“A squeeze play, nice!” said Brian.

“Wanna squeeze play with me?” Victoria asked. Just in case he didn’t grasp the meaning, she got up, sauntered over to Brian and placed his hands on her growing breasts. It was obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Victoria usually declined any of his advances outside the bedroom, and was a cold fish even then, so this was a real treat!

Not many things could distract such an ardent fan like Brian from a baseball game, but this was one of them. He squeezed both of her breasts eagerly for a moment, enjoying their soft, spongy texture. He hadn’t bothered to wipe off his hands before he lustily fondled her. As a result, her shirt was now smeared with the wet slurry that issued forth from the bottom of his overstuffed burrito.

But his wife, who’d been an OCD neatnik just a few days ago, merely giggled. Then she lay down across Brian’s lap. Brian was surprised at how heavy she felt. She leaned across him to grab what remained of his burrito and started stuffing herself.

“Mmph,” she said, as she struggled to undo the button on her jeans with just one hand.

“I got it,” said Brian, helping her poor, beleaguered tummy break free. Watching it jump out was a sight to behold—a little, white, proud dome suddenly leaping to attention. And with each bite of the burrito, her tummy grew larger and larger.

Brian had always liked a girl with a little meat on her bones. Watching her hedonistic gorging cause her doughy belly rise like bread in the oven was deliciously erotic.

The chair groaned a little as Victoria’s weight increased. As her arms strained to pick up the last few sautéed onions that had fallen out of the burrito, Brian could see them growing thicker and huskier. When she licked and smacked her lips after slucking them down, Brian could see her lips growing thicker and her cheeks getting rounder.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Victoria asked Brian. “You’re barely paying attention to the game.”

“I’m just…admiring how beautiful you are,” said Brian, thankful that he could evade the true intent of the question without having to actually lie to her.

“Aww, you’re such a sweetie,” she said. She put her arm around the back of his neck and grunted a little as she struggled to pull herself up again. The posture bent her body forwards and accentuated her tummy, making it look even larger than it was.

“You feeling a little randy, Brian?” she said, obviously feeling his erection digging into her plumper thigh.

“Maybe a little,” he confessed.

“Is that a common thing? Men getting aroused by baseball, that is?” Victoria teased.

“It’s only common when you’re around,” said Brian.

“I’d say let’s take this to the bedroom,” said Victoria, “But I don’t want you to miss any of the game.”

“Well, I mean…I love baseball, but I don’t think I love it—” Brian began, but Victoria silenced him by putting her finger across his lips.

“Shh…just listen to yourself, Brian. I don’t want to make you choose between two things you love,” she cooed. Slowly, she pulled off her tee shirt. She didn’t do it slowly just to be sexy—Victoria was having a hard time getting her too-big body through the arm sleeves and neck hole—but the unintentional snail’s pace of it all made her disrobing more tantalizing than the most perfectly practiced striptease.

She threw the tee shirt behind her and it landed on the windowsill behind the TV. The image of the Cleveland Indians was visible, but so were the stains she’d racked up with her messy meal.

Next, she stood up and shimmied her legs, trying to escape her jeans. Easier said than done, of course—after the amount of weight she’d put on tonight, her fat pants looked like skinny jeans. Finally, with a series of determined tugs, she managed to get them off, revealing the beautiful, wide flare of her new hips.

“That was an ordeal,” she said with a sigh. “Now, where were we? Oh…I remember,” she added slyly, straddling him on the sofa, before helping him out of his own jeans.

Victoria’s softer, creamy thighs gently rubbed against his while they slowly ground together. With each motion forwards, Brian could feel his wife’s bust rubbing against his nose. Meanwhile, in the background, Cleveland just kept hitting run after run. Brian hooted and hollered in approval.


“Morning, baby,” said Brian when he woke up the next day. “I had the craziest dream last night…”

“What was that, dear?” said Victoria as she pulled herself up out of bed.

“Oh, fuck!” Brian said, as he looked up at her. It was real! Somehow, his wife had put on tons of weight in just a day. And she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all!

“What’s wrong?” she asked, stroking his face affectionately. Even her eyes looked different—were they brown instead of green now?

“I…it’s…I dunno,” Brian sputtered, his groggy mind struggling to explain what was going on without sounding like he was going crazy. “Something weird has been going on, that’s all.”

“Weird? What’s weird?” she asked, before yawning absentmindedly and scratching under her chin and her underarm.

“Well, you enjoyed a baseball game with me last night, right?”

“Sure,” she said with a little shrug. “What of it?”

“Well…I thought you hated baseball,” Brian deadpanned.

“So? I’m trying new things. Didn’t you want me to give baseball another go?” she asked.

“Well, yeah,” Brian said. He hadn’t expected such an ordinary explanation for such a sudden, dramatic, and inexplicable change. “What about eating meat?”

“I tried a bite and I was hooked. You eat meat every day, so you must know what I’m talking about,” she deflected.

“Huh…” Brian said. That seemed perfectly logical, too! The only thing that she couldn’t explain away was her sudden weight gain, but knew bringing that up was asking for trouble.

“Do you…you know…” he began slowly. “Do you think you look any different than usual?”

“Hmm…” Victoria said, glancing down at her plump little belly and giving it a good shake. “Maybe I put on a pound or two recently. But I didn’t hear you complaining about it last night!”

That was true. Brian was more attracted to her now than he’d ever been.

“There’s one downside, though,” said Victoria as she struggled mightily to pull on a frilly white blouse. “None of these clothes fit right!”

She sucked her stomach in and then yanked it on, but as soon as she exhaled, her belly flopped out of the bottom and her breasts managed to cause a seam to tear near the top.

“Then we’ll get you some new clothes! We could go to Bryant Avenue or Dress Emporium, or—” Brian began.

“Nah,” she said quickly, “I can just pick up some more tee shirts and sweats at Wal-Mart. I heard they’re having a sale on chicken pot pies, so we'll get some of those while we’re there. I’ll borrow your clothes while we’re out, if that’s ok,” she said. She then reached into his side of the closet without waiting for a reply, and put on one of Brian’s shirts and a pair of his jeans. He was surprised to find they fit perfectly. That didn’t make sense; he was at least 6 inches taller than her, wasn’t he?

“Hey, pretty comfy,” she said, walking up to him. Brian stood up and realized he and his wife were suddenly at eye level.

She leaned in and gave him a little peck on the cheek, before reaching behind him and giving his ass a little playful squeeze. “Alright, hun, let’s go to Wal-Mart,” she said.

“Alright,” Brian said with a shrug, surprised that she didn’t jump at the chance to go get some expensive, designer clothes. At least they’d save on some cash, right?


Brian couldn’t have been more wrong. Sure, Victoria had saved some cash by buying oversized, plaid, blue-and-red flannel shirts, stretchy blue-and-red yoga pants and sweat pants, and a sensible pair of boots now that her tiny sandals were no match for her growing feet. She also bought an 8 pack of Cleveland Indians baseball caps, “just in case,” whatever that meant. But the savings from the clothes was more than wiped out by the snacks that they got.

Pot pies turned out to be just the tip of the iceberg. Victoria had splurged, adding in stuff that she would have scolded him for buying until just recently: pork rinds, honey roasted peanuts, cheese-stuffed pretzels, spicy pickles, and nearly a dozen bear claws.

“Don’t worry, I’ll save you one,” she said, pointing to the bear claws. Then she let out a big, belly-shaking guffaw.

“Anything else you wanna eat?” Brian asked.

“Let’s stop by the soaps and deodorants,” she said. “Ugh…I hate the fact that it’s all pink and princess-y. Like they think every woman is stuck being a six year old,” she said, surveying the options, which had names like ‘Sweetly Soft,’ and ‘Delicate Delight.’

“Isn’t this what you buy?” Brian said, pointing to a pink tube labelled ‘Flower Power.’

“I…I guess…” said Victoria, struggling to square her memory of buying it with her current aversion to everything it stood for. “Maybe it’s time to switch it up, though, right? Let’s see what they have on the other side,” she said, turning towards the men’s section. “Primal, Dragon’s Claw, Elder Spice…oh, wait! Brian, you gotta smell this!”

With one hand, she reached around Brian’s face and covered his eyes. With the other, she pressed the stick under his nose.

“That smells kinda like…the aftershave I wore in college,” Brian said.

“Glad you like it! Wolf’s Bite it is!” she said, tossing it into the cart. Brian opened his mouth to object, but he didn’t know what to say. The smell wasn’t bad, per se—actually, it was pretty pleasant and brought back some good memories. But there was something about his wife smelling like his old aftershave that just felt…unorthodox, to say the least.

Brian’s shoulders slumped forwards a little as he continued to struggle with the dilemma.

“Getting tired? Let me push the cart for ya,” said Victoria.

“No, I’m…” Brian began, but when he wouldn’t budge, she gave him what she intended to be a gentle shove out of the way. Brian was caught off guard by the force of her impact and had to steady himself to avoid falling backwards against the shelves.

“Ready to go, Victoria?” he asked.

“Could you not call me that?” Victoria asked, narrowing her eyes as she frowned. “Sounds so frumpy and old, ya know?”

“What do you want to be called?” Brian asked, fearful of what the answer might be.

“How about…Vicky?” she asked.

“Sure,” Brian grumbled. Was anything else going to change today, he wondered?


“I have a good feeling about playing the Cubs today,” said Brian. “After the last one, I think this has gotta be a walk in the park! No pun intended,” he added with a sly wink.

“They’re much better than Boston, by any metric. So we’re the underdogs, no question about it,” said Vicky.

“Wha, really?” Brian asked, scratching his head. How could his wife really challenge his baseball intuition, especially since just a few weeks ago, she knew next to nothing about the game?

“Yeah, but that’s just your opinion,” Brian countered, feeling a little smug.

“It’s not just mine, it’s Nate Silver’s,” said Vicky. “I read on his blog that Cleveland’s got the ninth best Elo rating. Cubs are third, Boston is 16th.” Vicky said.

Brian’s jaw dropped. It wasn’t just her opinion! It was a well-informed opinion! Hearing that she could back up her claim with a qualified authority only made Brian angrier: it meant he really had been wrong. And, of course, it meant that Cleveland would have a substantially tougher time this time around.

“Nate Silver is the guy who created the…” Vicky began.

“I know who Nate Silver is!” Brian said, feeling condescended to. “Let’s just…get ready to watch the game, okay?”

“Sure,” said Vicky, walking over to his favorite chair and flopping her fat ass into it.

“Hey, is that a joke?” Brian said, trying to contain the frustration in his voice.

“Is what a joke?” Vicky said, stretching her flabby limbs a little and adjusting the reclining gear of the chair so she could lean further back.

“That’s…my chair!” Brian whined.

“Hey, you snooze you lose,” Vicky said nonchalantly. “Hey, while you’re up, think you could get some beers chilled, get the pretzels from the pantry, and heat up a few bear claws in the toaster oven?”

“But…but…” Brian blubbered.

“Hey, I made the snacks last time. Get to it or you’ll miss the first pitch,” she said, snapping her fingers. Of course, Brian knew there was no reason for him to feel angry—he shouldn’t have a monopoly on the good chair, or on not making snacks. But once again, the salience of her point only made his situation more difficult to endure. Not only did his pride and manhood feel as if they were under siege, he also knew he had no grounds to complain about it.


Active Member
Aug 26, 2006

“Booooooo!” Vicky shouted when the Cubs got another run. “Fuck this!” she complained, reaching her fist into the jar of pickles. Her wrist had grown wider as her arms grew thicker and fatter, and it got stuck as she tried to extricate herself from the jar. She had to shake her hand back and forth to finally get free, which had the effect of spraying the carpet with spicy pickle juice.

“Hey, watch it!” Brian said.

“Pff, whatever,” she said, noisily chomping on the pickle before letting out a belch. Is this how Victoria felt, Brian wondered, whenever he didn’t use a coaster?

Brian watched with a worried fascination as Vicky gorged her way through the mountain of snacks they’d bought. With each bite, she became larger and messier in some way. When she ate the cheese pretzels, the definition between her chin and her neck melted a little, and her lips and mouth gained a few orange smears, as though they were a kind of replacement for the makeup she no longer wore.

When she dipped into the big carton of honey roasted peanuts with her wet fingers, some of the sugar melted, leaving her increasingly bloated, stubby fingers sticky. The pork rinds caused her ass to bloat, stretching the seams of the oversized yoga pants she’d just bought, as well as causing a little trail of crumbs to fall down her neck and land around her flannel shirt. A few fell onto the fabric and into the pockets, but most fell into her increasingly prominent cleavage.

Bear claw after bear claw went down the hatch, and as she devoured each one in a flurry of big bites and lip smacking, Vicky’s big tummy grew larger and larger. The tiny potbelly which Brian had adored had now swollen into a vast gut, much bigger even than his own stomach. It pushed outside the confines of her shirt, sitting proudly and widely across her waist, which was itself awash in thick, heavy love handles.

“I couldn’t have another bite…” Vicky began. Brian wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or disappointed. “So…I’ll just have one more beer,” she concluded with a drunken grin.

When she finished the last can of beer, she smashed it against her forehead. The motion caused a few more buttons to pop off, landing noisily around the room. Now she only had a single button left – it was between her big belly and her massively buxom breasts.

“Hey, we’re fighting back from behind!” Vicky said, when Cleveland finally got their first run, at the bottom of the ninth. “This ball game ain’t over yet!”

“Great!” said Brian, reaching down from his position behind the chair and fondling her breasts. They felt very warm and much softer than he expected in his hands.

“That’s nice,” she said, a wide grin breaking out across her chubby, snack-stained cheeks.

She wasn’t wearing a bra, so it was easy for Brian to gain access to her nipples and start playfully flicking at them. “Yes, yes, yes!” she shouted as Cleveland made another run and Brian twisted and pulled at a nipple at the same time.

“Strike three! That’s the game, folks!” said the announcer.

“Ah, no, no, no!” she screamed, stomping her foot and seemingly causing the entire house to shake. A little picture frame toppled from the mantle and shattered as it hit the floor.

Brian ran over to clean up the broken class. He examined the picture as he did so – it was one taken of Brian and Victoria, on the day they’d met. The two were as different as night and day back then, but opposites attract, right?

“Sorry about the game,” Brian said, as he sauntered back towards his wife. “But, hey, doesn’t mean the rest of the night has to be a bust…” he said, reaching back towards her breasts.

“Sorry, Brian, not in the mood anymore,” she said glumly as she crossed her arms.

“Because of the game?” he asked.

“They were one run away from extra innings! Maybe you didn’t notice, but I did!” she said angrily. “I almost smashed my head against the wall! There’s just no justice in the world to bring hope into the hearts of millions of fans in Cleveland and then snatch it away like that! Did you know that no sports team in Cleveland has won a national championship of any kind in fifty years? We’re due for some wins!” she ranted, her words slurred from the beer.

“We’re overdue?” Brian asked. “Come on, Victoria, er…Vicky. You’re a transplant!”

“So!? Weren’t you the one that wanted me to get more into baseball?” she replied.

That was true. He just never expected her to really do it.


“Was gonna watch this game at home, but can’t really watch baseball in front of my wife,” Brian said to the bartender.

“Really?” the bartender asked, looking surprised. “What’s the problem now?”

“She’s just…not been herself lately, hard to explain,” Brian said. He hadn’t had much luck explaining what had happened when he’d broached the subject with his wife, so Brian certainly wasn’t expecting to have much luck conversing about it with a virtual stranger.

“Try me,” said the bartender. “This one’s on the house,” he said, sliding him another beer.

“Alright,” Brian budged. “She’s just been acting really strange. She used to spend hours getting ready, always trying to look dolled up. Now, she just wears whatever, and her diet's gone to hell.”

“Ah, so your wife got fat on ya, huh?” the bartender asked. “And I take it larger ladies aren’t exactly on your menu?”

“Well, actually…” Brian began, but then trailed off. How was he supposed to admit that he actually enjoyed that part of the change?

“Watching the games when Cleveland wins is fun, but during the last game…” Brian started, hoping to change the subject.

“Ugh, that was a terrible game!” agreed the bartender. “I nearly smashed my head against the wall at that almost-comeback!”

“That’s what she did!” Brian exclaimed. “She just got so angry…and she’d been drinking, so that accentuated it…”

“I’m not sure why you’re so concerned, isn’t all of this what you wanted?” asked the bartender.

“What I wanted? I’m not even the man of my own house anymore! Let alone going to a bar with her. It’d be downright embarrassing, being shown up by her. Why on Earth would you think I wanted this to happen to her?”

“Weren’t you the one who said ‘why can’t a woman be more like a man?” the bartender reminded Brian. “You told me you wanted your wife and you to have more in common, so…”

“So…you did something?” Brian asked. “You messed with my wife!?”

“Speak of the Devil,” said the bartender, pointing towards the door, as Vicky walked in. Brian wanted to continue his conversation with the bartender, but he couldn’t say anything while she was around…

“Brian, that you?” said Vicky. “Thank God I found you, we almost missed the game! Against the Yankees, no less! Can’t miss that!”

“I’m gonna watch the game here,” Brian said. “This is a sports bar,” he explained. “I’ll see you at…”

“Sure, we could watch here,” said Vicky. “But first we gotta play this cute little game over here!” she said pointing towards a grip test machine.

'Will you be a famous baseball player?' the machine said, in brightly-lit letters.

“Oh, brother,” Brian groaned.

“Come on, it looks fun!” she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a few quarters. Why was she keeping money in her pocket, Brian wondered – where was her purse?

If he was going to do something, Brian thought, he’d do it right. He grabbed the grip machine and squeezed with all of his might, trying to channel some of his frustration with what had happened to his marriage into the machine.

'Cold Fish!' the machine read—the lowest possible level—before making a “Wah-ah-ah,” noise.

“Cold Fish!?” Brian exclaimed. “That doesn’t even make any sense!”

“Move over and let me try,” she said, shoving another quarter in and biting her thick lip as she gripped the machine.

The lights shot all the way up. “Babe Ruth!” it read, and then played a MIDI version of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”

“Alright, you’ve had your fun, let’s go…” Brian said meekly. If she could leave quickly, maybe they could avoid an incident…

“Woo-hoo! This place rocks!” she shouted, pulling up a barstool between Brian’s seat and the three other patrons at the bar. Her big butt didn’t quite fit on the stool, and a little lip of excess fat hung over the edge.

“Vicky,” Brian began, “I don’t think that you heard—”

“Play ball!” she shouted up at the screen, as the game began. “Oh, come on, that was a strike! That ump’s blind!” she shouted, and the guys seated at the bar nodded in agreement.

Brian rolled his eyes a little and quietly sipped at his beer. Of course, he agreed with Vicky, but he was too proud to say so out loud. Would she notice if he crept out of the bar and tried to find another one, Brian wondered?

As Brian started to head for the exit, the bar doors creaked, and in walked a man with slicked back hair and thick black sunglasses.

“Hey, get me a Whiskey Sour,” he said. “With a yuuuge amount of sour,” he said. From the sound of his accent, he was obviously a New Yorker.

“Yeah, yeah, good one!” he shouted while clapping, when the Yankee pitcher struck out Cleveland’s first batter. “Let’s teach these mooks a lesson!”

“Hey, buddy…” the bartender began in a soft voice. “In case you forgot which city you’re in, this happens to be…”

“Pathetic, pathetic!” the man from New York interrupted—the next batter got a strike.

Brian was about to make a second attempt at escaping from the bar, but then his wife stood up. “Hey, buddy, we don’t take kindly to disrespecting the Cleveland Indians around here.”

“You’ve got a lousy team with a racist mascot,” he said, turning away from her and sucking down his drink. The pinched features on his face grew even more twisted and ugly in the process.

In a split second, Vicky wound up her arm for a punch and then flattened the guy. He tumbled from his barstool and fell to the floor.

“You…you hit me! I’m calling the cops!” he said, touching the little trickle of blood coming from his nose.

“Yeah, and if you do, I’ll say you grabbed my tits. I got some witnesses that’ll back up my story,” said Vicky. All the other guys at the bar raised their hands in the affirmative.

“You crazy bitch! I’m outta here,” he said, hobbling away. As soon as he left, the entire bar burst into raucous cheering and applause.

“Alright, I gotta piss like a racehorse,” she said, strutting her way towards the restroom.

“Is that the wife you’re always in here complaining about?” said one of the guys, as soon as she left.

“She’s a knockout – literally!”

“She’s a keeper in my book!”

“Are those tits real?”

“I…uh…thanks?” Brian asked, feeling a little stunned. He thought he’d have to feel ashamed of being with a woman like her. He never expected the guys at the bar to actually approve of the new Vicky.

“What is it, exactly, that’s got you so upset about her, anyway?” asked the bartender.

“I…um…I don’t know,” Brian said sheepishly. He couldn’t think of a single thing.


Cleveland dominated the game against the Yankees, winning by five runs. Neither Vicky nor Brian paid for their drinks all night, as the rest of the patrons bought their rounds on account of Vicky having provided ‘good luck’ for the Indians.

In the meantime, they’d both loaded up on bar food. Vicky consumed basket after basket of crispy onion rings, drowning each of them in a vat of ranch. Most of the onion rings made it into her mouth but some splattered on the floor, the bar, her shirt, and her double chin, which looked like it was in danger of tripling. Vicky’s dainty nose looked like it was broadening, too, taking on a more porcine look.

When they ran out of onions, Vicky switched to fries, which she grabbed by the handful instead of individually, as had been her custom. She squeezed the ketchup bottle hard enough to empty it completely, causing it to produce a wet sound similar to flatulence.

“What’s that sound like, huh, guys?” she asked, to universal laughs. Even Brian chuckled a little. Why fight it, he thought?

Each time Cleveland got a run, Vicky smashed her fist down on the bar in approval, causing multiple patron’s beers to spill. But they took it in stride – even when she was making a mess, she was still the life of the bar.

As Vicky rattled off baseball statistics that Brian had never even heard of and waved her hands around for dramatic emphasis, she caused the flab on her arms to jiggle and her heavy, bra-less breasts to sway and knock against each other. Everyone, especially Brian, was spellbound.

They took a taxi home – and, when they arrived, the driver told him that the bartender had covered their fare. He also said the bartender had left a note for Brian inside an envelope. Inside was a scrap of paper with just two words: “You’re Welcome.”


“What a night,” said Brian, as he and his wife staggered into bed. “I can’t think of how that could have gone better!”

“I can think of one thing,” said Vicky, pulling her clothes off, revealing just how much she’d changed. The delicate frame that she’d once possessed no longer existed. Instead, Vicky was a big powerhouse of a woman, someone Brian might have assumed was a softball player. Her arms and legs were both wider and longer than his, and as she leaned closer to him, he could tell that she was at least 2 or 3 inches taller as well.

As Brian felt her sloppy kisses decorate his forehead, he felt his pathetic worries about being ‘the man’ slowly melt away. Now, instead of feeling embarrassed by her, Brian only felt embarrassed that he’d resisted this for so long.

Brian soon disrobed as well. But when Brian leaned in to kiss her, she pushed him down on the bed instead. Then she turned around and leaned over him, placing her wide, cellulite-pocked thighs on either side of him, before gradually lowering her crotch to his face while her big, soft belly weighed down on his neck and chest.

Brian cautiously lapped at her, but his enthusiasm increased when she leaned down and began to lick his cock, eagerly swirling her mouth around him. Then she leaned against him, taking him all the way inside her throat.

The massiveness of Vicky’s thighs and ass meant that Brian could barely breathe, but that only enhanced the intensity of his orgasm when he finally shot his load. Vicky gulped it down eagerly. She let out a few deep groans as she came too, then gingerly rolled off of him.

Brian snuggled himself against the softness of her flabby shoulder, while his hands massaged her large, sweaty belly. Meanwhile, Vicky cradled his head in her large, hugely husky arms, while her fingers splayed through his hair. The flesh that brushed against his cheek was softer, warmer, and more giving than any pillow.

Brian drifted off to sleep with a big smile on his wet lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy. Vicky felt the same way.

The End


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