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

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Active Member
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.

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