World of Change -by Maxout (~BBW (Multiple), Fantasy, Imagery, Eating, ~SWG)

Discussion in 'Fantasy/Science Fiction Archive' started by maxoutfa, Dec 27, 2008.

  1. Dec 27, 2008 #1

    maxoutfa

    maxoutfa

    maxoutfa

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    ~BBW (Multiple), Fantasy, Imagery, Eating, ~SWG - a change of mindset helps trigger entry into an entirely different reality

    A World of Change
    by Maxout


    She was standing in the center of a small windowless room, its white walls reflecting the harsh light emanating from two banks of overhead fluorescents, buzzing softly like electric bees. Other than the overhead lighting the room was austere, void of any trappings hinting at either the rooms’ purpose or its owner.

    White on white: nothingness. The only break in the otherwise featureless room was two wooden doors, one to her left and the other opposite, to her right. From the door on her left she heard faint voices and laughter, as if there were some kind of party going on in the room on the other side of the door.

    Curious, she turned toward the joyful sounds and began walking towards the door. As she got closer it seemed as if invisible hands were pressing on her shoulders, pushing her back away from the door. The closer she got the firmer the resistance until each step became a struggle. Five feet from the door she grunted and strained for another step, her chest heaving with the exertion. The step completed she paused to marshal her energy as the happy sounds from behind the door grew louder, a siren song, egging her on.

    Steeling herself she raised her right leg and attempted to take another step, but the resistance increased. She lowered her shoulders for more leverage but the pressure became suffocating and unbearable. Panting heavily she finally admitted defeat and took a step back towards the middle of the room, and with that step the pressure vanished.

    She shrugged and turned her attention to the other door; identical to the first, only no sound emanated from beyond it. Curious again she gingerly stepped towards it, not wanting to encounter the force field effect again.

    Two steps, three, then four, and no force field presence. She took the last three steps and then slowly reached her hand towards the ornate brass knob, feeling its coolness as her fingers curled around it. She hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath and then turned the knob. Half expecting it to be locked, she was surprised when it turned easily in her hand. She heard the click of a lock release as the door swung outwards away from her.

    Standing at the threshold she looked out into total blackness, a black so total, so empty and endless that she felt a sense of vertigo. She felt neither hot nor cold, felt no sensation at all except for an unexplainable dread that was gnawing at the pit of her stomach. She knew it was an unreasonable fear, for there was, literally, nothing out there; but fearing that emptiness she stumbled back from the doorway, the door abruptly slamming shut in her face.

    She shivered as she wrapped her arms tightly across her chest, as if assuring herself that she was all still there, when she heard the murmuring and laughter coming from beyond the first door. Confused and confounded, not knowing what to do, she still found herself drawn to the first door and was then amazed to feel her feet moving in that direction, as if they possessed a mind of their own.

    With each step she anticipated the return of the force field, but after several steps she felt only a slight pressure. This time the going was much easier as she stepped ever closer to the sounds of joy and happiness. She felt only the slightest nudge trying to drive her back as her hand reached out and touched the knob. She began to turn and …


    “It’s 7:05 and time for the Silver City Gym Traffic Report. Silver City Gym, building a better body for a better you.”

    Erica groaned, snaked her arm out and fumbled for the clock radio’s off switch. Finally quieting the offending beast, she lay amidst the sheets in the dim pale light and tried to get her head together to face another day, but all she could focus on was “Silver City Gym, building a better body for a better you”.

    “Assholes”, she swore. There was such an empty promise implied by that statement: get a fit and toned body and poof; all your worries were over. Lose that ten pounds and you will instantly become attractive, and not only that, but you’ll find that everyone will love you and, by golly, you’ll even find yourself being kinder to animals or perhaps doing charity work. Yes indeed, a better person, smarter, more loving and compassionate, just by simply working your abs five days a week. Amazing!

    Erica waved a middle finger salute in the general direction of the radio. Nope, she wasn’t buying into that crap. Not any more. That whole mentality was for John and his kind, the oh so perfects of the world who somehow managed to control the minds of the rest of us, always making us believe that we were inadequate while at the same time giving us that empty hope: yes, you too can be one of us, the movers and shakers, the powerful and sexy. All you needed was a good bod and some dental work and voila, you were now a member of that in crowd, those who didn’t have to remind everyone else that they were the trendsetters and above caring about what anyone other than their peers said or thought.

    Ah yes, but they forgot to tell you that the club has more layers than a wedding cake and no matter how hard you try you will never be able to reach the inner circles.

    So it was with John; she was never quite good enough. She thought that she was blessed when he first descended from the heavens for a lark. He was so cool, so erudite and handsome. She believed him so out of her league, always perfectly dressed, born with a silver tongue that could talk its way out of, or into anything.

    She couldn’t believe it when he turned his attention towards her. She considered herself so totally beneath his notice. Erica had always thought herself fat and frumpy, hated her thighs and the little round pooch of a tummy that no diet or exercise could remove.

    In truth, at five foot four and 132 pounds when she met John, she was hardly what anyone would consider fat, except for those fashion designers who only thought their clothes hung right on anorexics. No, Erica was in the same boat as at least fifty percent of the population who would otherwise be considered normal, healthy and even sexy if it weren’t for those perverse “never too rich or too thin” types.

    And she had tried so hard, wanted so much to be en vogue, be what those sellers of thousand dollar dresses considered glamorous. She wanted her breastbone to show, wanted her head to appear too big for her body, the Audrey Hepburn chic. She wanted to be perfect so that she would somehow feel worthy of John. He was so cool and it was effortless, while she tried so hard, doted on him, hung on his every word as if it came straight from God’s mouth, while all the while she exercised and dieted with religious fervor.

    She read that long hair was out this year, so she chopped off her beautiful long wavy tresses. She devoured every Vogue and Harper’s cover to cover in an attempt to look and dress smart. All for John, to make John happy.

    And it worked! For four months he stuck around, taking her to parties and all the trendy nightspots. She was on cloud nine just being around him, being seen with him and feeling that maybe, just maybe, she really did belong. Still, her enjoyment was reduced to those simple feelings as she dared not sample any of the haute cuisine or indulge in more than one beverage, less she lose control and say the wrong thing, or god forbid, gain an ounce.

    But even though she was on her very best behavior it soon became apparent that it wasn’t good enough for dear John. The digs were subtle enough at first, the demeaning little remarks about how Erica had somehow failed to understand the complexities of being “one of us”. She took it in stride, consenting to being the butt of their jokes; anything, as long as John was happy.

    Of course, given tacit Carte Blance; John’s remarks became more acidic and cutting, never failing to point out her shortcomings.

    She remembered one night when she was wearing a clingy black dress that she had bought the week before as a surprise. She had dieted and exercised her way down to 125 pounds and while the damned tummy was still in evidence, she deemed it small enough of a protrusion to slip past the dreaded fat police. John thought otherwise. He waited until the appropriate moment, when he had an attentive audience so that Erica could experience his rapier wit to the fullest.

    As she returned from the bathroom, feeling happy and yes, even sexy, John expressed his opinion in a voice loud enough for all his friends to hear and even catch the ear of those in the surrounding tables, “You know Erica, some women were made to wear that dress, and some shouldn’t even try. Can you guess which category you fall into?”

    It was clear by his inflection just which category he thought she belonged to. Erica could just feel all the eyes on her as the color rose to her cheeks and she could sense all the tight little smirks that proclaimed that she was just a wanna be who would never really make the grade.

    She cried herself to sleep that night and spiraled down into a state of depression, her sense of inadequacy and self-loathing reaching new levels. She managed to deceive herself that she was in love with John and was lucky to have him. It wasn’t his fault that he was cruel, no; it was her fault for not measuring up to his standards. If only she could make herself prettier, if only the right words would come to her lips so they will start laughing with her instead of at her.

    As she sunk deeper and deeper into her despondency she found it harder and harder to face John’s friends. She wanted to be with him, but couldn’t take the feeling of being under a microscope whenever the crowd got together. When John called to ask her out the next weekend she begged him to spend a quite evening with her instead. He got all huffy, saying that it wasn’t his idea of a good time and slammed the phone down.

    Erica’s fragile ego was tottering on the brink, her fear of rejection and fear of losing such a prize catch making her so agitated and uneasy that she turned to the only comfort she could rely on. She called in for some Chinese take out and then, on her way home, stopped at a convenience store for a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia.

    There was a small voice, way in the back of her mind, chastising her for her weakness, but there was something stronger compelling her, demanding that she do at least this small luxury for herself. It was as if her whole sense of being depended on it.

    She finished off both the Chinese and the Cherry Garcia that night and the next night she succumbed to another pint. It was as if she was in some form of pitched battle for her soul. She knew that the ice cream was a sin and that if she gained any weight at all John might leave her for good, but she couldn’t help herself – or maybe she was. Maybe this was her subconscious’s way of fighting back.

    She needed to take a stand, fight for herself, tell John and the rest of his ilk that she was a person, she had value and screw them for their prejudice. Every bite of the creamy confection became an act of defiance. She was so torn and confused, on one hand fearing to lose him, while on the other her subconscious mind was sabotaging her, hoping upon hope to drive the beast away.

    By the following Friday she had found the seven pounds she had lost. Back at 132 she was feeling ugly and obese but felt she had no choice but to accompany John for a night out. It just wouldn’t do for her to refuse him two weeks in a row.

    She dressed in the most non-revealing clothes she could find and prayed that she be let off with a minimal amount of derision. No such luck. When John arrived to pick her up the first words out of his mouth were “Hey Ricky, what’d ya do, stay home and stuff your face all week? Ya look like a cow; hey, you’re not preggers are ya? At least not by me anyway.”

    She stood on the precipice; the next step either saves her or loses her forever. Be a good little mouse, keep your mouth shut, apologize for offending John and then take your medicine of ridicule the rest of the night. Say goodbye to Erica and hello to the vacant woman, a hollow shell who sacrificed the last shred of her self respect at the alter of sick conformity.

    But that one last molecule of self-respect made its voice heard and as Erica slammed the door on John’s face she yelled “if I was pregnant with your child I’d have already visited the clinic by now!”

    It was a heroic stand, but it took everything she had to do it. Her psyche was in such a delicate state that, even though she had finally stood up for herself, even though she knew deep down that she had done the right thing and had in the process saved herself, the specter of her failed relationship haunted her.

    She shook her head in recollection. It had been five weeks ago and while she knew she was healing, and in truth now felt happier than she had in ages, the wound was still a bit sensitive to the touch. She was getting better, but there were still relapses, times when she felt miserable and lonely.

    Like last night. It had not been one of her better nights. She had made a big pot of spaghetti with a creamy meat sauce, figuring on leftovers for at least a couple of nights, but as she sat down to eat she started feeling excessively lonely and insecure. The next thing she knew the pot was empty and her stomach bulged over the waistband of her panties. She felt disgusted but knew that there was still a pint of New York Super Fudge Chunk in the freezer.

    Incredibly, even though she was stuffed, she could hear Ben & Jerry calling to her: a siren song too sweet to ignore. Maybe just a spoonful or two, she convinced herself. Ah, but it tasted so good, was so cool and smooth as it slid down her throat. Maybe one more bite, to get one of those white chocolate chunks, she nodded. Just that and I’ll put the container back in the freezer.

    But that bite led to another and then a search for a spoonful with a nut in it, and then another with a chocolate chunk and then… she was scraping the sides of the carton with her spoon, scooping up the last of the melted cream.

    Her belly felt huge as she struggled to her feet and waddled into the bedroom, stopping just long enough to wash her face before falling heavily into bed.

    That was a mere eight hours ago, yet she wondered if she had dreamed it. No, she recalled the real dream – the one with the white room and the two doors. Still, she raised the sheets and gazed at her body, inspecting last night’s damage. She pressed a hand into her belly and watched it sink into the fleshy expanse. It gurgled back at her and she couldn’t believe that she felt hungry.

    “Greedy beast”, she said to her belly; “well, maybe a small omelet; after all, you don’t want Mary Ellen hearing your stomach gurgling. No, we don’t want to give her anything else to complain about, do we??

    Mary Ellen was her supervisor, a real witch, who seemed to only find happiness at other people’s expense. Erica realized that Mary Ellen was the female equivalent of John, only with her there wasn’t the emotional attachment. Mary Ellen was always complaining about her work; it was either too sloppy or too slow, and even when everything was perfect, well Mary Ellen wanted it in duplicate or triplicate.

    Still, to Erica’s credit she was able to shrug her off, even her persistent attacks on the way she dressed, wore her makeup, whatever. Lately Mary had turned her attention to Erica’s advancing weight, pointing out that her ass was getting wide and saying that she hoped that the chairs in the conference room were up to the challenge. As if Erica was some totally obese cow. She knew she had been putting on weight and in truth didn’t know how much, but she was a far cry from being able to break a chair with her bulk.

    She looked at the clock: 7:25! Yikes, she’d better get a move on! She rolled on her side and then thrust her legs off the edge of the bed and down to the floor. She rose to her feet, her puffy belly jiggling with the motion. She padded off to the bathroom for a quick shower, noticing as she soaped her body how soft and spongy it felt. She swore that her breasts had swollen as well, as the washing action made them sway and bounce with a rhythm all their own.

    Stepping from the shower she toweled off and before she finished tying the towel about her chest she caught a glimpse of a plump butterball in the mirror; her tummy round and bulging and her thighs thick and rubbing together. Normally such a vision would have thrown her into a panic, but today, well she just shrugged. What did she expect? She’d been eating like a horse for over a month now, of course she’d look a tad Rubenesque.

    She shrugged again, the motion of her shoulders sending a wave across her bosom. She readjusted her towel and then stepped in from of the mirror to blow dry her hair; the back and forth motion causing the underside of her arm to jiggle.

    Judging her hair sufficiently dry, she then repositioned herself closer to the mirror to apply her makeup. As she carefully applied her mascara she glanced sideways and down whereupon a chrome object in the corner caught her eye. The scale. She hadn’t gotten near the thing since she was dieting down to 125. Dare she?

    She argued that she shouldn’t put an end to a perfectly good morning but then her curiosity again got the better of her so she stepped towards the scale, dropped her towel to the floor and stepped on. She had to bend over slightly to peer past her pendulous breasts and then take both hands to push her bulbous belly inwards to see the LED readout. The red numbers reported 147 pounds. It was no wonder that the waistbands on even her loosest skirts were cutting into her spongy middle.

    She was outgrowing all of her clothes, but instead of a feeling of horror and depression, Erica felt a certain giddiness, as if a chance for a new wardrobe would cleanse away the last trappings of John.

    She hummed to herself as she prepared a two-egg omelet, toast with marmalade and an ample helping of bacon, savoring the heavenly smell and salivating over the expectant flavor.

    She took the time to enjoy every delicious morsel and then only after the last bite did she quickly dress in what had once been her loosest fitting skirt and raced for her car, promising herself that this weekend she would go shopping for some clothes a bit more forgiving.

    As she drove towards her office she glanced at the car’s clock, which she always kept at ten minutes fast. Doing a quick mental calculation she decided that she had enough time to stop at Doug’s Donuts, thinking that a treat for the rest of the girls would be worth the risk of Mary Ellen’s ire if she were to show up even a minute late.

    She turned off the main thoroughfare and headed towards Doug’s. As she pulled into the driveway of the strip mall she was amazed: the place was packed! Fortunately a car was just pulling out so she was able to get a parking spot and, taking this for a good omen, decided to brave the crowd packed into the tiny shop.

    She smiled at her good fortune as the line moved rapidly. It seemed that everyone was on their best behavior, just taking a mixed dozen of whatever, instead of the usual fussiness “oh, I’ll have one custard, no, make that two; and what are those, maple bars? Ok, one of those; now, how many is that”. But none of that today. It seemed any donut was good enough for today.

    Erica smiled and repeated the litany “one dozen mixed; whatever’s easy”.

    The man behind the counter threw in a couple extra and winked at her, saying “thanks for making it easy.”

    Erica smiled; it was indeed a fine morning.

    As she traversed the last couple of miles to work, Erica began feeling naughty so she reached over to the passenger side and opened the donut box. She reached in, not caring what she came out with, and keeping her eyes on the road brought a cream filled éclair to her mouth. She took a bite and sighed over the little taste of sugary heaven.

    The last bite disappeared as she pulled into the underground garage. Damn, she only had two minutes to park, walk to the elevator and ride to the twelfth floor. She’d never make it! She could just hear Mary Ellen now, “You’re late! What’s the matter, couldn’t drag your fat ass out of bed? This lack of punctuality is just another indication of your overall sloppiness, a sloppiness that unfortunately manifests itself in your work. You’re going to have to put in some serious overtime to make up for this, otherwise I’ll have to talk to Mr. Jonah about you again.”

    Erica actually smiled at her little mental scenario; it seemed that nothing was going to ruin her mood on this wonderful morning.

    She was still smiling when she departed the elevator and walked through the glass office doors, box of donuts under her arm. She was surprised to see Mary Ellen leaning against the reception desk talking to Jane, the receptionist. She was surprised because normally Mary Ellen didn’t associate with underlings, especially the menial types like receptionists. Erica was even more befuddled because Mary Ellen, the ultra professional woman, was joyfully taking a big bite out of an old fashioned glazed donut. Mary Ellen never ate in public and Erica wasn’t even sure that she ever ate at all, so the visage of her licking the sugar off her fingers while giggling over some form of girl talk was especially shocking.

    And then, to step even further into the Twilight Zone, Mary Ellen turned, saw Erica and instead of beginning her verbal tongue-lashing, smiled a warm smile and simply said, “Ooh, you brought donuts, how sweet of you. Funny, I decided to bring some in too; I guess great minds think alike. Open up, let’s see what kind you’ve got!”

    Dumbfounded, Erica complied and Mary Ellen cooed, “ooh, a cinnamon twist! May I?”

    Of course she had already snared the twist, but Erica wasn’t going to deny her boss, or point out that the twist had come just after the glazed. No, she simply smiled and presented the box to Jane who, also going in for seconds, chose a devil’s food chocolate covered with sprinkles.

    Feeling the sense of camaraderie and wanting to be one of the girls, Erica grabbed a glazed for herself and the three gossiped and gobbled. Finally Mary Ellen looked up at the clock and said “goodness, 9:30 already. I suppose we’d better get back on the treadmill. Erica, how are you coming on the Rockwell report? Need more time?”

    Assuring her that the report should still be out by the end of the day, Erica received a big hug and a pat on the back for being such a trooper.

    Back at her desk Erica tried to shake off her feelings of disbelief. That last exchange, in fact the whole morning, from the moment that she walked through the company doors, was so unlike her boss, but Erica sure wasn’t going to start complaining if Mary Ellen decided to turn over a new leaf.

    ****************************
     
  2. Dec 27, 2008 #2

    maxoutfa

    maxoutfa

    maxoutfa

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    The rest of the morning shot by without event, as Erica was too absorbed in the Rockwell books to take notice of the little inner office circus that was going on around her. One by one, all the girls were sneaking away from their desks, taking an often-circuitous route that nonetheless ended up at the donut boxes. There were no exceptions. Cindy, who was a bit chunky and had a definite sweet tooth came as no surprise, nor was Donna, who at well over 200 pounds was the biggest girl in the office by far, but even Gina and Suzy, two anorexic waifs, couldn’t resist the temptation, even though the large cream filled bars each grabbed contained more calories than they consumed in a week.

    Her head buried in the stack of reports, Erica didn’t hear Mary Ellen’s approach, and so she jumped when Mary Ellen began speaking to her, saying, “I think you need a break from those books. Why don’t we go downstairs and see what the special is at Café Miramar?”

    Erica wasn’t sure she was hearing right; Mary Ellen was asking her to lunch? That had never happened before. She weighted the consequences of falling further behind on her work with not wanting to break this bizarre but welcome mood her boss was in. Her tummy gurgled and she realized that she was famished. Decision made simple, let her tummy lead her around; at least it knew what it wanted.

    Erica smiled, used her yellow marking pen as a bookmark, and followed Mary Ellen to the elevator. On the way they passed the little coffee room and Erica, with a sideways glance noticed that both boxes of donuts were empty. It gave her a slight feeling of disappointment as, even thought they were just heading out for lunch, Erica was hoping to grab a donut on their way back so she had something to munch on come late afternoon.

    Getting off on the ground floor they walked across the atrium to the fern covered, brass and glass eatery, which, while always busy during lunch, was buzzing with activity. Erica’s luck was holding however and they procured the last table for two. Following the hostess to the back corner Erica couldn’t help but notice that in front of every woman, a hearty platter sat where you would usually only find a small salad. In fact, she didn’t see any lettuce anywhere.

    They were seated and Mary Ellen smiled and commented about the noise in the place, but not in an unpleasant way. More of a “goodness, everyone sure seems to be enjoying themselves today” kind of observation.

    Erica nodded and Mary Ellen continued, “I hope you’re not going to be a prude, because I hate to drink alone, what do you say to a pina colada?”

    “I dunno, come here often?” Erica joked and they both burst out laughing.

    Their waiter appeared and two pina coladas were ordered along with two specials: shrimp Creole, served with corn bread.

    The two plates arrived covered with brown rice swimming in a tomato cream sauce with red pepper. Also in hearty supply were large gulf prawns and thick slices of andoule sausage. Spicy but to die for. Both girls needed a second drink to help wash down the fiery hot fare, so were not only stuffed by the end of the meal, but pleasantly relaxed and feeling a slight buzz from the alcohol.

    Just as Mary Ellen was slurping up the last of her drink, her cell phone went off and Mary exclaimed “oh good, I hope this who I think it is” and answered the phone.

    After a brief exchange, ending in Mary Ellen thanking whoever it was on the other line, she snapped her cell phone shut and beamed over to Erica, “good news. That was Tim, the CFO over at Rockwell. I called him earlier and asked if it would break his heart if your report were a day late. He just called to say that there was no problem at all, and in fact the delay would give him a chance to take in a ballgame this afternoon. Bottom line is he is thanking us for being a day late. Isn’t he a dear?”

    Erica couldn’t believe her ears. First, Rockwell, and Tim in particular, had always been sticklers over deadlines. And far more outlandish was that Mary Ellen would have made the call, especially when there was still an excellent chance that the report would still make it out the door on time.

    Erica looked cautiously around the room for the hidden camera as this all had to be some kind of elaborate joke. She was broken from her reverie by Mary Ellen’s hand patting her arm as she suggested with a conspiratorial wink that, since she’d just bought them an extra day, then surely they had time to savor some of that chocolate cheesecake and a mocha.

    Erica just went with the flow, the feeling of warmth and well being welling up within her. This was indeed a perfect day, and it wasn’t even her birthday.

    It was almost two o’clock when the two girls finally struggled from their seats. Erica feeling wide and heavy, happily sated, her belly stretched taught like the skin of a drum. She stole a look over to Mary Ellen and was taken back to see that she seemed to have grown from a size four to a size seven since this morning. Her formerly perfectly flat stomach was now swelling out, threatening to burst the buttons on her suit skirt and the bottom of the jacket no longer hung straight but spread outwards like curtains at a movie theatre. Mary Ellen seemed oblivious, patting her belly and exclaiming, “that was delicious.” Erica had to agree, yes indeed it was.

    Back at her desk Erica found it hard to concentrate on the dull numbers on the pages in front of her; she was in that delightful space, feeling wonderfully tired and fuzzy and yet exhilarated from the delightful meal and the overall feeling of contentment. Still, she made some headway and by day’s end figured that she should be able to easily put the report to bed by midday tomorrow at the latest.

    As she drove home she began to notice the flow of traffic and thought that maybe she was hallucinating or that her good mood was altering her perceptions. She began to concentrate more and soon she couldn’t deny it; the traffic was moving in almost unison; a waltz being performed by 3 and 4 thousand pound autos and SUVs that was almost beautiful to behold. There was none of the usual posturing, no cutting off or defending your little fiefdom of blacktop with your life. No, everyone was courteous and paying attention, actually driving and enjoying the drive instead of ranting on his or her cell phones. Merging at on and off ramps was poetry, and therefore no slowdowns, no slamming of brakes and blaring of horns. It was the least stressful drive in traffic Erica had ever experienced.

    When she arrived home she immediately escaped from her all too confining clothes, not thinking that she could stand another minute of the skirt’s waistband cutting into her belly, and put on her satin robe, reveling in its cool smooth texture. As she gently cinched the belt she noticed that there was precious little material left overlapping. She studied her reflection in the mirror, her heavy breasts gathering the material just above the protruding shelf of her belly. She looked fat, felt fat, but couldn’t care less. It was as if something or someone had reached in and removed all the taboos and negative feelings about becoming, well, more than just a bit chunky. She didn’t want to dwell on her fatness, or her lack of concern over it, so she made herself a Long Island Iced Tea, called for a large pizza with extra cheese, and went out to sit on the small balcony overlooking the grove of Alders across the street.

    **********

    She awoke the next morning feeling refreshed from a good night’s sleep and very hungry, even though the remnants of the large pizza still stuffed her tummy. She ate a large breakfast and then braved the closet trying to find something to wear. She first tackled her bra. She loosened the straps and still her fleshy breasts overflowed her cups. “Ha, who needs a wonder bra” she laughed to herself. Boy, with these straps she was going to bounce like crazy, so she hoped she wasn’t going to receive too many wolf calls. She found her loosest fitting blouse and then came the moment of truth: a skirt. Not the one with the pleats; she was stretching the material so much that the pleats were almost smooth. Not the short black one; no that was pushing the envelope even on a good day, exposing just a bit too much of her thick heavy thighs. Hmm she thought, but the waistband, if she remembered correctly, was stretchy and a bit larger than some of her other skirts, so why not try it on?

    She pulled it off its hanger, stepped into it and began pulling it up her legs, her belly forming beautiful rolls as she bent to the task. Up past her thighs it went and then she struggled to get the skirt up over her wide, spongy hips. Having accomplished that feat she paused for a moment and then held her breath and sucked in her wobbly tummy as she worked the skirt’s zipper. It quickly completed the first half of the trek, but then the going slowed to a crawl before making a complete stop about an inch away from the top. She took a quick half breath and sucked in her belly as hard as she could as in one motion she pulled the zipper the rest of the way. Success. She quickly engaged the button on the stretch waistband, securing the entire operation. She gave out a sigh of relief and relaxed her belly muscles. The waistband gave way and then held tight, pushing a roll of flab up and over the top of it. Well, at least it didn’t burst.

    She looked in the mirror at her huge thighs and the round ribbon of fat sagging over the stretch waistband and gave silent thanks that Saturday and a new wardrobe was only two days away. She decided she looked like one of those hippy women drawn by Crumb, so she gave herself a peace sign and burst out laughing, the roll over her waistband bobbing up and down.

    As she drove to work she marveled that the same cohesiveness to the driving patterns remained. She wondered how long it could last and then chastised herself for being a doubter. Sure, why couldn’t this be the start of a new and wonderful age of cooperation? She didn’t know the impetus that had caused this seeming change in human nature, but she was sure thankful for it.

    She stopped for donuts again and was surprised to see that all the prices had been slashed in half. When she asked the clerk why he just shrugged and said that it was volume. They usually ended up throwing away a substantial number of unsold donuts at the end of the day, but yesterday they had sold out every crumb they had.

    Erica gratefully accepted this lessening on the strain to her pocketbook and hummed a mindless melody the rest of the way to work; of course the humming was interrupted by bites of a rich cream éclair.

    When she stepped into the reception area she was surprised to see what appeared to be the entire female work staff all gathered around and looking into box after box of donuts. It seemed that more than half the girls had brought a box, even Gina and Suzy had gotten into the act, racing around offering the contents of their boxes to everyone. Most of the girls ate one or two while standing around gossiping and then took another one or two back to their desks for later. Still there were at least two dozen left by the time everyone was seated and hard at work, just enough to entice those who felt that they just had to have another before lunch.

    A bunch of the girls invited Erica along for lunch at an old style 50’s soda fountain, featuring ultra thick milkshakes served in a blender, and juicy hamburgers, cooked in butter, that must have weighed two pounds each.

    They all laughed and giggled through their meal, feeding each other golden brown French fries and slurping each other’s milkshakes. By the end they all felt too full to move, but somehow managed to struggle to their feet and waddle back to work, their bellies protruding like they were eight months pregnant.

    ************************

    Erica kept half expecting for the other shoe to drop, but every day was the same, day after day, week after week, the bubble never burst. The overall mood everywhere was one of happiness and contentment.

    After a month Erica had gained over twenty pounds and was in danger of outgrowing her new wardrobe. Fortunately she had bought intelligently and figured that if she continued to do so she could keep replacing her clothes as she outgrew them. This line of reasoning seemed perfectly natural to her and it never crossed her mind that maybe she should curtail her constant eating and keep to her current size 14.

    She noticed that during this month of bliss some of the girls were gaining faster than others. Donna, already 220 plus seemed to have hardly gained at all, while most of the girls were like her, having put on a good twenty pounds. Suzy was in this class, having gone from ultra skinny to something that pre the day of reckoning would have been termed normal. Gina, her sister in anorexia was a different story. After the first week her collarbone had been buried and her cheekbones filled out. Seemingly overnight she went from totally flat chested to abundant and by the end of the month her belly had caught up with her large chest and her hips had doubled their girth, causing her to constantly bump into things in the office. After one such episode, where Gina’s wide hips had knocked over a moveable bulletin board she started laughing so much she almost wept. Finally, after gasping for air, she pulled herself up next to Erica and confided, “I know this may seem crazy, but I’ve gained over 50 pounds”. This still made her smaller than Erica, but not by much.

    As the days became months and the good feelings continued to blossom with everyone’s advancing waistlines, Erica came to the realization that everyone seemed to be seeking their own plateau. She herself noticed that, although she was still eating constantly (at least a dozen donuts all by herself, plus three and sometimes four square meals), once she crested 210 the rapidity of her weight gain slowed to a trickle. She was lucky if she gained a single pound over the course of a month. But she was comfortable with herself and this weight; 46-inch hips and a 38-inch waist seemed as natural as could be.

    And others? They seemed to be natural at whatever weight they happened to be at when the rapid gain stopped. Suzy seemed to mirror Erica, and since she was smaller to begin with, stopped gaining just shy of 200, while Gina, who had exploded that first month, continued her astounding growth all the way to 375 pounds. It sometimes amazed Erica to see this gargantuan woman, her massive chest sitting on top of her huge belly that bulged outwards and then succumbed to gravity to dangle loosely just above her knees, and then recollect the 95 pound waif that she was less than a year ago. But the dimples on Gina’s fat cheeks when she smiled, which was all the time, said it all. She was happy with who she was and how she looked; just like everyone else, happy with their lot in life.

    Erica sensed the transformation within everyone and wondered, but not too hard, if everyone else fully appreciated what had happened; noticed how everyone was now so happy even though there wasn’t a single person around who wasn’t covered with a layer of fat.

    She was walking down the street pondering just this question when she saw a handbill tacked to a fence announcing the opening of a new bar and nightclub featuring the best tasting bar food on the planet. She was intrigued, always looking for something new to titillate her taste buds, so she rounded up some of the girls and made a date for Friday night.

    She parked a couple of blocks away and as she walked towards the street number she had a sense of familiarity. Wait a minute; this was the same street as that club that John used to love to go to. How funny that there’s a new bar concentrating on foodstuffs in the same area. John and his crew would have been aghast.

    As she got closer she could see a line forming outside the door. Hmm, trendy for the eating class, she mused, but then chastised herself for thinking that things were the same as in the old days. No, this wasn’t a see and be seen type of proposition, just people out for a good time and wanting to partake of some of that great chow.

    She caught up to the back of the line and easily struck up a conversation with the group in front of her. They had heard that the buffalo wings were to die for, and their stuffed calzone was a borderline masterpiece.

    As Erica kept up her end of the conversation she looked over the shoulder of the girl next to her and saw the darkened shell of John’s old hideaway. The windows were boarded over and a for lease sign was plastered across the doorway. It looked to have been closed for some time. Poor John, she wondered how he was coping, it sure must be hard on him to have his whole power structure so easily rent asunder. She wondered if he could stand actually having to be nice to people. She hoped so, for his sake.

    Late that night, stuffed on Calzone, buffalo wings and nachos she lay on her side, watching her belly flab pool on the cover sheet as she drifted off into a contented, blissful sleep.

    She found herself standing again in that same white room as a year ago. She heard the voices coming again from her left so she put her hands on her wide, pliant hips and turned towards the door. She walked right up to it, put her hand on the knob and turned. The door opened to a well lighted room full of full figured people, all making merry, laughing and talking while they held drinks in one hand and plates of food in the other. They all turned towards her and gave words of welcome. Feeling at home, Erica was filled with a sense of oneness that could only be described as love as she walked into the room to begin her life.
     
  3. Dec 27, 2008 #3

    Dhomberger

    Dhomberger

    Dhomberger

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    what a wonderful story, thanks for sharing.
     
  4. Dec 27, 2008 #4

    maxoutfa

    maxoutfa

    maxoutfa

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    my pleasure - and thanks for enjoying it (and commenting :D)
     

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