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This is a long story which will be posted in several submissions.

Chapter One - Prologue

Eric hadn’t seen Colette in three long months, not since he dropped her off at the beginning of June to catch her flight to Paris. They had been living together for three years, starting when she was a student at Barnard and he was in getting my masters in architecture. After identifying as a dancer all of the way through college, Colette had finally come to the conclusion that she was not going to make it in ballet. Her attentions had turned to culinary arts and she had spent the year after college taking courses at the Culinary Institute. She left for Paris on a traveling fellowship that she had been awarded at graduation to fulfill her dream of gaining first hand experience with French and Italian pastries.

Eric got to the airport in time to park and position himself where Colette would see him when she was coming through customs. He could see her smile all of the way across the terminal. While they had kept in touch with e-mails, he was excited to finally be able to see her again.

Almost daily, she would update him about her travels and experiences. Her elegant descriptions of the croissants that she had at breakfast, the profiterole she had at lunch, the biegnet she enjoyed in the afternoon, the tarts she savored at dinner, and the Madeleine she had saved for a treat before going to sleep made him think that she had a future with Bon Appetit, if things didn’t work out with her becoming a pastry chef. She could go into beautiful detail about the flakiness of the crust of a brioche, the balanced sweetness of a pain au chocolat with the filling oozing from its buttery shell, or the crunchy outside and chewy inside of macarons that she had discovered during the day. She elevated her investigation of how eclairs varied from patissereie to patissereie to an art form, puzzling about whether experiments with rum-flavored custards could be preferable to the classic standard.

When she reached Florence, her focus changed to cannolis, with descriptions of various cream fillings in the perfect crunchy shell, to boconnotti being the perfect bite sized mouthful, and to la sfogliatella, which were so light when served hot that they were to die for. Her enjoyment of the pastries that were small enough to be consumed in the plural didn’t interfere, though, with her study of various rum cakes. Despite that they were intended to serve several people, Colette found herself finishing one each evening, as she relaxed in her pensione taking notes and keeping a journal of what she had discovered during the day.

Although her study was focused on pastries, her e-mails also included detailed descriptions of fabulous meals that she had in Paris, Florence, and everywhere in between. In Italy, she wondered if her real interest was even going to be baked goods in the end, since she had become fascinated with the different pastas and sauces. She had written that she felt she could make a lifetime out of studying the intricacies of balancing the tart acids of tomatoes with a combination of rich cheeses in a perfect manicotti; and then, the challenge of figuring out how spinach manicotti compares to chicken cacciatore manicotti compares to a manicotti made with prosciuto.

By the time she was on her way back to Paris for her flight home, she had become obsessed with comparing pot au feu with cassoulet as the perfect provincial food. Each little town had its own character for the dish and she was intrigued by the subtle nuance that a chef could achieve with a delicate touch. She also decided that foie gras was wonderful, if she could ignore the process of gavage, by which the duck or goose was force fed. When she discovered combining the foie gras with a pastry shell, she realized that all of her culinary interests could be engaged by creating the perfect pastry containing pate de foie gras and bacon. She wrote Eric that she would end up feeling so stuffed with the rich food that she empathized with the goose, deciding in the end that, if you were a goose, there couldn’t be a better way to go than effectively being fed to death.

In her last e-mail, before boarding the plane, Colette wrote to Eric that she had figured out how to bring him home a sampling of her eating escapade. Since he knew that she would not be allowed to bring baked goods or other foods through customs, he wondered what her gift would be.

As Colette wound her way closer to the customs counter, Eric started to get an idea of what she was "bringing". Although she had not mentioned it, he had wondered how she would maintain her lean, dancer’s figure, as she ate her way back and forth between Paris and Florence. When she finally was in the last part of the line, with no one in the line blocking his view, he could see that she was bringing him the results of 90 days of her efforts to make the most of every minute of her culinary experience.

Colette finally made her way through and Eric hurried over to help with her bags. The first thing he noticed, after the great big smile that let him know she was glad that he was there to pick her up, was that the jeans she was wearing were struggling to do their job. When she had left, those jeans would have hung loose on her hips, being one size larger than she normally wore. Now, they were as tight as could be without giving up the seams. There was something odd about the way that they were fastened, but it would be hard to confirm that they were even buttoned, since the full muffin top that she had developed rolled over the waistband in the front.

She was wearing a t-shirt top that she would have been swimming in when she left, but that was now stretched across her belly, inching up to reveal a band of ballooning paunch. Eric and Colette hugged and kissed and rocked together. With his arms wrapped around her, it was easy to document the difference in her circumference. His hands on her back felt how the bra that she was wearing cut deep into her back fat, forming a generous bulge both above and below the strap. When she finally leaned back so Eric could see her face, the softness around her jaw and the beginnings of a cute double chin were apparent.

Colette could sense that Eric was taking inventory on the changes to her body and her expression changed to one of being a bit sheepish. "You may notice that I gained a bit of weight," she said, nursing a smile. He hugged her in close again and calmed any concerns, saying, "I think you look great. I am so glad you are home. I missed you."

When she left, at 5'-8" and 130, she was lean and lithe; a bit tall for a dancer, and with long legs that emphasized her slimness. Assuming that she hadn’t been anywhere near a scale during her trip, Eric figured that there was no reason to risk increasing her anxiety by asking her how much weight she had gained. But, judging from her roundness and the way that everything looked thicker, he guessed that she must have added at least 40 pounds in that short time, if not more. Thinking it through, his first thought was that such a rate of gain sounded almost impossible. It would be gaining a pound roughly every two days. But then, doing some quick calculations, assuming 3,500 calories was an extra pound and remembering the long list of treats that she had reported consuming in a single day, he realized that it could be even more.

Eric grabbed Colette’s bags and they headed towards the car. As she was walking along, he noticed that her gait had changed and that she was no longer carrying herself like a ballerina. Before heading to Europe, there was a tautness to her stride and the way her body moved. Now there was a jiggle in her belly, a bounce in her breasts, and a wiggle in her ass as her hips swayed back and forth. Although he was trying keep his eyes on her eyes when they were talking, Eric knew that his gaze kept dropping to watch her body in motion. This was obvious to Collete.

"I know that this outfit is tight enough to be ludicrous, but these are the loosest clothes I have with me," she explained. "I am going to have to go shopping in the morning."

"Don’t worry about it. They’re just a bit snug," Eric replied in an effort to play down any concern.

"Well, the way you are looking at my tits and ass, I feel that I may have moved from ludicrous to lewd," she joked. "I guess you were serious when you used to say that you wouldn’t mind if I added some curves."

Eric smiled and tried to keep his eyes on her face, but he was having trouble. As she walked, each step was a rhythm of ripples that, if set to music, would have been a syncopated jazz score, instead of the classical ballet music that she once had danced to. Following behind her, as they walked through the doors to the street, he was entranced by the fullness of the ring of flesh above her pants, and how it bounced with each step. The roll formed by her belly continued as a projection over her hips, finally forming generous love handles above her still well formed, although much larger, rear. If forced to describe her though, instead using the word "fat", Eric would have said that she had more of an appearance of having been inflated. He imagined that, if she were to scrape against something sharp, she would ooze a kind of cream filling or sugar syrup. Or maybe foie gras.

The body that she had for 23 years was still clearly there. She had just added a layer over it. The extra weight appeared to all be on the outside of her core, as though it was between the real her and her skin. As they walked along, she told him about her trip, people she had met, places she had gone, and things that she had seen. "What about meals that you have eaten," Eric teased.

"You’ve been reading my e-mails. You know that I have expanded my experience with food dramatically. You had to expect that I would have put on a pound or two," she answered, sounding a little bit defensive.

"Of course," he responded, "I was just joking. So you put on a few pounds. You know I always thought you were too skinny."

"But, do you think I am too chubby now?" she asked.

"Too chubby for what?" Eric countered.

"For you. You know what I mean. Are you disappointed? Does it bother you that I may have gained a little weight?" she continued.

"Not at all. I am so glad you are home. I think you look great. I am just making fun of your clothes being so tight," he answered.

"I have to admit I was a bit worried," she said softly looking down and cradling her gut, "I am sure that a lot of it will simply fall off, since the excursion has ended. But I do have to admit that I kind of like not feeling like a stick. The men in Italy actually seemed to pay more attention to me with each extra pound."

"I am looking forward to paying more attention to you, too," Eric exclaimed, "I want to do a bit of exploring myself. It is all new terrain. It’s my turn to take a trip through new lands."

They reached the car and Eric put the bags in the back. Before getting in the car, they hugged again and he continued his exploration with their lips locked, while his hands found her love handles. Eric made a mental note that these could prove very useful later. He opened the door for her and she got in, and then walked around and got in the driver’s side. Sitting next to her, he noticed that her rounded form was even more dramatic when she was sitting. Her belly was a distinctly rounded ball filling her lap with her breasts propped proudly above. If the added weight challenged her previous pertness, the combination of thicker thighs and pronounced belly seemed to be helping her breasts defy the effects of gravity.

Feeling a bit awkward, but unable to prevent himself from taking a risk, Eric turned towards Colette and, smiling, asked, "If it is not too weird a question, I am wondering, are your pants actually fastened?"

She laughed and hefted her gut so that he could see that they were zipped, but that the button had been replaced by a couple of safety pins linked, struggling to hold the two sides together. "The button popped off this morning as I was getting ready go," she explained. "This was the only thing that I could do, since none of my other pants were a possibility, and I didn’t want to wear my sweats. They look like a second skin. The embarrassing thing was I set off the metal detector at the airport and had to show the officer that it was the safety pins holding my pants closed."

Eric reached over and started to caress her belly, which he was surprised felt very pliable and soft. Although she looked inflated, her skin was supple with a kind of gelatinous feel, almost like a water balloon. Clearly bloated from the steady stream of extra calories that she had consumed, her skin had give and was not taut. As he massaged her belly, he started feeling the response growing in his pants. Eric could tell that this was turning her on, as well, and she shifted position to create some room between her thighs and gut. It felt great to be able to touch her and he started looking forward to getting her home so that we could make up for lost time.

Eric started the car and turned back to her, asking with a grin, "Are you thinking what I am thinking?"

Colette smiled and answered with enthusiasm, "I sure am. Let’s go eat. I am starving. I haven’t had anything since the plane, and you know how skimpy those meals are."

While that was not what had been on Eric’s mind, he smiled, as Colette reached across herself to fasten her seat belt, adjusting the strap so it could find its way over her belly, but not squish her breasts. "So, the adventure continues," he thought to himself.

Eric pulled out of the parking space and they headed to her favorite steak house. He figured maybe it was time for her to rediscover American cuisine. He also toyed for a moment with the idea of picking up some things on our way home. Doesn’t America have the best ice cream? Did he have ice cream in the freezer? Eric took a deep breath and made a mental note that he should take it easy. He figured that might not be the right time for him to display his inner secrets.

Chapter Two - Her Voice

Getting ready for the flight in the morning when I was returning from Europe, I realized that I had done some serious damage to the body that I had spent my whole life training to be a dancer; that is until I had left New York in June for a three month field trip to get a first hand understanding of my new passion. I was worried about the kind of a reaction that I was going to get from Eric. As my boyfriend of three years, Eric had always known me to a fanatic about my weight and body. He was aware that I had transitioned from perceiving myself as a dancer with professional aspirations to just being a dancer for fun, but I had never let that difference affect how I maintained my body.

While I had always loved being a dancer, the fact was clear by the time that I was graduating from Barnard that I was never going to make it with a serious dance corp. Sure, it was fun performing with amateur groups and I had always enjoyed the rigors of being a dancer, but people who haven’t danced ballet seriously have no idea of how demanding it is physically. But I had loved it. Still, it was clear in college that I would have to find something else that I could pour myself into. I am kind of an obsessive person, but in a good way. At least I hope so.

During my senior year in college, although I was graduating with a major in environmental science, I knew that I wanted to do something more creative. I had always liked to cook, which of course was weird, since I was always totally disciplined in what I would let myself eat, but had never really learned how. I could make the occasional special dinner for my boyfriend over a long weekend at home, but trying to do anything in the kitchen where I lived at school was simply not realistic. I had enjoyed helping in the kitchen growing up and both my parents were good cooks, but it was becoming friends with a couple who were opening a restaurant that got me hooked on the idea of becoming a chef.

I was aware that wanting to be a creative chef seemed at odds with aspiring to have a body fat ratio of less than 15% and only tolerating 20%, but I was convinced that I would be able to separate the idea of eating from the idea of cooking. I had noticed that many chefs seemed to wear their work, but I also knew some very thin chefs. There was a sensuous component to creating food that seemed to almost be similar to the sensuous component of dance. Both seemed to benefit from the illusion that the result was effortless, with the real art being concealing the complexity. Ballet dancers who looked like they were straining were about as attractive to watch as a chef who seemed overwhelmed with cooking.

After graduating, I enrolled in the Culinary Institute of America and quickly discovered that my favorite was baking complicated desserts; pastries in particular. I was awarded a traveling fellowship from the Institute and was able to talk my parents into a graduation present to help me pay for a summer trip to Europe. Like dance, the only way to learn how to cook is to do it, and the only way to get better at it is to see how the masters do it. My summer was a foray into the world of the great pastry chefs. I figured that, by watching talented chefs work and seeing what they create, I would be able to elevate my own skills.

I know this sounds dumb, but I actually thought that my experience would be observation and evaluation based on what I heard and what I saw. The first chef I visited in Paris explained that there is just no way to learn about subtle taste other than by eating. I knew it would be a tough job, but somebody had to do it. Okay, maybe not so tough. And certainly delicious. But I am a disciplined person and I was confident that I would be able to control this and keep it scientific. A bite here and a sample there would suffice.

During my travels, I kept a careful record of everything that I got to taste. I wrote down every meal and tried to figure out the seasonings, flavorings, and details about how each dish was created. With the fact that I was a student at the CIA, I was able to get friendly with many of the chefs and a few invited me into their kitchens to watch them up close.

My enthusiasm for learning encouraged them to show off and I figured that I learned what would normally take years in just the three months of the summer. Each night, I wrote down what I had learned and the intricacies or special tricks that I had been shown. Watching something being made by a master chef and then being able to taste the food gave me a complete understanding of the sensuousness of the art. Again like dance, good cooking has to operate on several levels simultaneously, and I discovered that it was the sensuous qualities of texture and taste that had the most to do with making something special.

Don’t get me wrong. I took this experience totally seriously and I really did learn a lot, but it was as visceral as it was intellectual. Within the first week, I figured out that tasting a small piece of something was seldom sufficient to really understand it. Before I knew it, I was no longer tasting. I was eating; a lot.

As the days turned into weeks and the first month became the second month turned into the third month, the "record" of what I had tasted documented itself in another way. Slowly at first, and then at an accelerating rate, as I became more "experienced", my body kept a careful accounting of every calorie consumed. By the end of the first month, I figure I had gained maybe 10 pounds. Since I was in great shape when I started, the extra 10 pounds had little consequence. Maybe a bit more here and a bit more there, but not really noticeable. But I found my capacity increasing as each week passed. In the beginning, the richness of the desserts made it difficult for me to finish a full serving of something. After a week or so, that was no longer a problem.

During the second month, my rate of gain increased, as it was not only easy for me to finish any serving put in front of me, but I was also able to try a second serving of something slightly different so that I could compare. By the end of the second month, I had probably added another 15 pounds, which were harder to conceal and started to change my shape.

The third month had me conditioned to handle multiple servings and still be willing to try something else. I found myself not really feeling full unless I had consumed an obscene quantity, although my focus always remained on the quality of what I was eating. These were not fast food pounds finding their way to my belly. I was enjoying some of the best food in Europe and starting to realize that my time there was winding down.

Soon the thought that my escapade would be coming to an end gave me an enthusiasm for trying one more sampling of this followed by maybe a serving of that, only to pave the way for the next dish. I was running out of time and I still had a lot that I wanted to experience while I still could. While I was also seeing the sites and the cities, everything was structured around the bakeries, restaurants, and bistros that I just had to visit.

In the last week, the list of places that I had to try required me to ignore the structure of three meals a day, which I had already been punctuating with samplings of mid-morning, mid-afternoon, and late evening snacks. In the last week, I found myself having to arrange for six meals a day just to get close to completing the list that I had brought, which was a compilation of the recommendations from my teachers at the CIA. I would have an early breakfast and then a late breakfast, followed by an early lunch and a late lunch, followed by an early dinner and then a late dinner. I amazed even myself by still being able to hit a couple of patisseries that were rumored to have the best cream puff or maybe an unusual bichon au citron.

I had no accurate way to really gauge how fat I was getting, since I had no interest in finding a scale. My only indication was how my clothes were fitting, or I guess no longer fitting. I figured that whatever I gained in the first two months I outdid in the third month. My boyfriend Eric was always hinting that I could gain a few pounds, although my guess that he was hoping that more of the weight would go into my breasts than my belly. My ass and legs were bigger. Everything was bigger. Maybe it was my imagination, but even my feet seemed fatter. What surprised me was that this didn’t freak me out. I was actually enjoying the feel of the extra weight and had discovered that playing with my belly could be part of pleasuring myself.

Luckily, I have always preferred loose clothes, so there was room to grow in what I brought with me. I even brought a pair of pants that were a size 10, even though I was a size 8 when I left. I had thought that I might gain a few pounds and, as I said, I preferred loose clothes. Buying any new clothes while I was traveling was not in my budget, and the money I had was focused on my culinary expedition. It was during the last three week that getting dressed started to become a challenge. The last week was very difficult, since it was only the one pair of pants that I could even consider putting on. Nothing had really fit for a while, but by then it had simply becoming impossible to pour myself into any of my outfits, except those pants. Even tricks like lying down on the bed to get my pants buttoned weren’t working well.

By the last day, even the one pair of pants proved difficult to get into, let alone fasten. After struggling lying down, sucking in and pulling hard, I had finally gotten the button through the hole and the zipper up, but, as I got ready to leave for the airport, leaning to pick up my bags, the button on my pants gave its last gasp. I had nothing else to wear and so was forced to cobble together a couple of safety pins to hold my pants closed. This was effective, since it actually gave my pants a couple of extra inches in the waist. Still, they felt painted on and the waist cut deep into my gut. I was no longer able to stuff the extra flesh down in my pants and had to find that place under the bulge of my belly where my pants had a chance. I tried to pick a shirt that would hang down to conceal the roll that puffed out over the top of my pants, but my largest "T" kept riding up on my gut. There was nothing else I could do except keep pulling it down.

Now, with the experience coming to the end, I had to plan on re-entry to the real world. Most specifically, I needed to prepare myself to the readjustment of having something else to do besides traveling to eat. I was starting to worry about how Eric would react to my changed body, but there was not much I could do about that now. It was time to get back to New York.

A quick reminder of the extra weight was when I boarded the plane. I could also tell that the gain was truly significant when I was buckling my seat belt. I don’t think I had ever thought about how small the seats on planes were. It felt like the seats had shrunk, but I knew that it was me that had changed. I found myself thinking that I was glad that I still needed to tighten the belt, and how much do people eat, who need an extension belt.

Realizing how quickly I was expanding during the last week - the image of dough proofing in a warm kitchen crossed my mind, I figured that one more week and maybe I wouldn’t fit in the seat. Hell, maybe one more week and the plane wouldn’t have been able to lift off. I knew that I was exaggerating, but everything is relative. Strapped in and being propelled towards New York and Eric, I felt like everything was beyond my control and whatever was going to happen was going to happen. There was nothing that I could do about it then.

My thought that it would be a good idea not to eat on the plane lasted all of the way until they started serving dinner. By then, in what had become an unusual three hours without a meal, I was starving. Watching how quickly I cleaned my tray, the nice old lady sitting next to me offered me her entree. She explained that she didn’t like to eat while she was traveling. That reminded me that I, too, had never eaten a meal on a plane before. I realized that all was lost, or maybe gained, when I gladly accepted her offer and polished off her dinner as well.

After the plane landed, I made my way to where we had to go through customs. As I entered the hall, I saw Eric and gave him my biggest smile. I thought maybe, at that distance, a big smile would keep his attention above the shoulders. I felt myself breaking into an anxiety sweat. What if he reacted really badly to my burgeoning body? Suddenly, I started feeling wedged in my ridiculously tight clothes. Why hadn’t I broken down and bought something that concealed all of this undulating flesh. I tried to pull my shirt down. I tried to hold my gut in. I tried to do something to control the way that my body seemed to be moving on its own. I was a dancer. I was thin. What the hell had I done to my body.

When I finally got to Eric, I was giving my smile everything that I could. "Look up here, Eric. Keep your eyes up here. Don’t look down, or if you do, stop at my tits." I was shouting in my brain. It didn’t work. Eric couldn’t take his eyes off my belly. He seemed transfixed. But he also seemed really glad to see me and when he took me in his arms, it was not with revulsion. If anything, he seemed to be squeezing me tighter than ever before. Or maybe it was just that hugging me now required more of an effort.

Although I figured it was the last thing in the world that I should be thinking about, as we made our way to the car, I realized that I was starving again. Eric was so wonderful that he read my mind and suggested as soon we were leaving that we go for dinner. I rationalized that, in reality, my consumption had plummeted sharply on this day of travel. In the time that it had taken me the day before to finish five of six meals, I had only had one breakfast and a meal on the plane. Well, two meals, but they were very small compared to what I had become accustomed. Of course, I was starving, who wouldn’t be. Of course, we should go for dinner. And of course, this extra weight was going to simply fall off of me, now that I was no longer learning by example. I would start taking some dance classes. I would be back to my former form in no time. But first, dinner. I was starving.

Chapter Three - His Voice

I pulled up to the entry of the restaurant and suggested that Colette hop out, and I would park the car. "Eric, your sport coat, can I borrow it? The way I am dressed, I think this may go over better, if I have something over this outfit," Colette asked. "Sure," I replied, grabbing the jacket from the back seat and handing it to her.

After parking, I met Colette back in the entry and we were led to our table. We sat down and both ordered a beer. "Did you sample the French and Italian beers on your trip?" I asked.

"No. Most of the time it was cappuccinos or café au lait at the patisseries," she answered. "I did try various wines, but I didn’t want anything that was going to affect my palette," she continued. "It was difficult enough to sense out the seasonings and ingredients."

"I guess the French and Italians are not really known for their beers, anyway. They make some that are interesting, but its not as if you were in Germany or the Netherlands. Actually, I think the place that would be interesting to sample beers would be in the Czech Republic, anyway," I said.

Colette laughed, "Maybe next time, but that would have to be your trip, not mine. Besides, I wouldn’t want to get a beer belly." She punctuated this last comment with a smile and a long pull on her beer.

"No, you wouldn’t want that," I answered, trying to figure out if she was joking. Even in my jacket, her belly was pronounced. Her roundness when seated could easily be confused with her being maybe six months pregnant. Without the jacket, the jelly roll and love handles gave it away as more likely the result of her dedicated commitment to European desserts.

While I was still trying to get used to the way she looked, I had to admit that I was getting more and more enthusiastic about when I would get the chance to get up close and personal. I have always appreciated fuller figures and actually felt that it was unfortunate that I was a white bread white guy. I have always enjoyed watching music videos with J-Lo, Beyonce, and others who presented their "jelly" without apology. The whole idea of "booty" intrigued me. In the past, I had encouraged Colette to relax about her dance regimen with the hope that she would add some Beyonce "jelly" to her totally toned hips, ass, and thighs.

Colette had always had nice breasts, which she actually complained about, since they disturbed her "line" when dancing ballet. She used to wear a super tight sports bra to squish herself tight when she danced. The size and shape of her breasts had clearly changed with her weight gain and I was eager to feel them in my hands. Actually, I was eager to feel all of her against my body and started thinking about what it would be like with her on top. I started resenting that our first stop was a restaurant instead of our apartment.

The waitress came and we ordered. I asked for my regular, the porterhouse. I expected Colette to order her regular, the filet minion, but she surprised me. "I’ll have the same, and can I get that with the steak fries and with a side of onion rings, please," she ordered. "Oh, and can I get a Caesar salad? Thanks," she continued.

We started talking about what I had been doing while she was away. I made it clear that, without her around, things had been all work and pretty boring. That made her smile. "Well, I am back and ready to make things fun again," she promised.

The waiter brought over a basket of garlic bread and Colette snagged a piece as soon as the basket hit the table. We continued talking about what I had been doing and what she had been doing, with the intersection being we were both glad to be together again. I suggested that trials, such as her being away for three months, are a kind of test to a relationship. There are two alternatives: either "Out of site, out of mind," or "Absence makes the heart grow founder." We were both enjoying that it was apparent that the separation had resulted in the second, not the first for either of us.

"With everything that you were doing, I was worried that you didn’t have much time to think about me," I admitted.

"Hey, I thought about you all of the time. Didn’t I e-mail you every day and give you a complete history of every detail?" she asked.

"Yes, you did, and I appreciated every e-mail. It’s just that you seemed so consumed with your research that it didn’t seem like you had much time to think about anything else," I commented.

"I was consumed. That was why I was there and I wanted to make the most out of it," she explained, "but that didn’t mean that you weren’t in my thoughts. Still, I admit that I was glad that I was traveling alone so that I could concentrate on what I was doing. If you had been along, we would have been looking at buildings and seeing sites. All I wanted to do was my research on pastry. I guess I was consumed with consuming."

"When you were trying things, was it just a bite of this and a bite of that, or how did you do it," I asked.

"Are you kidding? First, it wasn’t easy. Sometimes I needed to have several pieces of the same thing, just to figure out how it had been made. I tried to hit some of the bakeries in the off hours so that I could talk with the chef or people working there. Usually, by the time that I had eaten three pieces of one pastry, they believed what I told them I was doing, and they got very generous with their information and samples," she explained. "In a couple of places, I got to be real friends with the people and they let me come into the kitchens to watch them work up close. There was one pastry chef at Pierre Herme’s in Paris who I got friendly with. He probably makes the best macaroons in the world. You wouldn’t believe how many I got to eat, just sampling all of the different types that he made. The white truffle hazelnut macaroons were amazing. So rich, but so good," she went on.

I swear that she started to drool as she was telling the story. As soon as she said that I wouldn’t believe how many she had eaten, I thought of mentioning that I had a pretty good idea that it was a lot, judging from her transformation, but I stopped myself. I was worried that she would take it negatively.

Colette reached for her third piece of garlic bread right before they brought her the salad. I had never thought much about the way that she had eaten before her trip, but now I was aware that she had a real enthusiasm for everything that she was putting in her mouth. It was like her taste buds had been energized and each bite released another sensation.

We continued talking as we ate dinner and I was impressed with the way that she managed to simply keep eating until every plate in front of her was completely clean, except for the bone from the steak. Maybe it was the conversation that kept her focus, but she didn’t seem aware of how much she had and how quickly she had eaten it. The porterhouse portions at this place are huge. I had to give up with enough steak still on my plate to ask for a doggie bag. Sensing that I was finished, Colette leaned forward and asked, "You’re not going to finish that?" and quickly switched plates before I could even finish suggesting that she could have it. I watched in amazement as she quickly finished the rest of my steak, too.

Realizing how this looked, Colette looked a little embarrassed and tried to offer an explanation, "Remember, I have been traveling all day and kind of missed a few meals." I just smiled and said that I was glad that she was enjoying herself.

The bus boy cleared the table and the waiter showed up with the dessert menu. Wanting to make sure that she didn’t feel awkward, I encouraged her to find something that she would like. Encouraged, she looked over the menu, exclaiming that there were a couple of things that sounded really good, and totally different from what she had been enjoying in Europe. "I am having a tough time deciding between the molten chocolate lava cake with sugar coated raspberries and the brownie ala mode. They describe the brownie as ‘intoxicating’," she said, licking her lips.

"Let’s just get one of each and share," I offered, although I was so full, I doubted that I would be doing much damage on either.

The waiter asked if we wanted fresh whipped cream on the brownie, and Colette answered, "Yes! With the ice cream, too. Right?" The waiter smiled and said, "Of course." Then he explained that there is a wait on the lava cake and suggested that he bring the brownie first. We agreed that made sense.

Probably sensing which of us was most excited by the dessert, the waiter set the brownie in front of Colette. I actually did get two spoonfuls before it was gone. The waiter then brought the lava cake and I swear it looked like Colette was turned on just by the sight of it. It was huge, gooey and looked like a sin of chocolate. He set it down in front of Colette, who sat back in awe. I could tell that she was feeling full. She had to be. I noticed that she had a few beads of sweat on her forehead. From the exertion of eating? "Do you want to take the first bite?" she asked.

"Why? Are you getting too full?" I countered.

"No. Not at all. I think my capacity may have increased a bit on my trip," she explained meekly with a smile.

"You think?" I asked her, laughing.

She looked at me, with an expression combining slight irritation and maybe worry. "What are you suggesting?" She asked.

I smiled and reached over to take her hands in mine. "I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just agreeing with you. Before you left for Europe, you would never have been able to handle half of the meal you just finished. I’ve read the e-mails. I know that you have been eating a lot for most of the summer, and I’m just saying that you have definitely increased the amount of food that you can consume in one sitting. And I am not suggesting that there is anything wrong with that." I looked into her eyes and reinforced that I was there with her and had no problem with the fact that she had just devoured twice the amount of food that I could eat.

"I am glad that you are home and I think you look great, including being a bit softer around the edges. Actually, I think you look great because you are softer around the edges and around the middle and everywhere in between. You had a great adventure that helped you learn what you need to know to be a real chef and the only way that you could learn some of those lessons was by actually eating the food. Who trusts a skinny chef?" I asked.

"I know you are stuffed, but you should really try some of that lava cake. It looks great," I suggested.

She looked down for a moment and then raised her face up to mine with a big smile. "Who said I was stuffed?" she asked.

Now it was my turn to feel defensive. "I just thought that maybe you were full and feeling overwhelmed by that dessert sitting in front of you. I know I can’t think of taking another bite." I explained.

"Oh, silly boy, there is a big difference between being full and not being able to eat another bite," she said with a gleam in her eyes. "I may be full, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do some damage to this mountain of chocolate delight. If you want some, better get it now."

I told her that it was all hers and she went to work slowly, but steadily, putting her spoon down only when there was nothing left. It was clear that she loved it and I almost expected her to pick up the plate and lick it clean. "Okay. Now I am finished," she announced, sitting back and covering her mouth with her hand to stifle a burp. She then put her hands on either side of her belly, as if trying to calculate what this meal may have added to its girth. "That’s it. My journey is complete. I am home again and my amazing gastronomical adventure has come to an end. I don’t expect to be hungry for quite some time. Tomorrow, I return to the real world," she said with authority, as if making this statement made it true.

We sat for a little while to let what she had ingested settle. I have to admit that I was feeling pretty full, too. We talked about our plans for the next couple of days and when we would be heading out to see her family in the Hamptons over Labor Day weekend.

"I have a bunch of things that I have to get done," she said. "I need to get some new clothes, since I can’t get into most of what I have, and what I can get into doesn’t really fit me right now. I don’t need a lot, since I will be back to my old self soon. I am signing up for some dance classes, and I have to admit that, as much as I have enjoyed these weeks of eating, I am not going to mind losing the feeling that I am carrying a food baby in my belly.

"I was thinking that you look like you’re several months along," I joked.

"Very funny. And how could that be? I haven’t had sex since our last time in June," she questioned me.

"I know we haven’t made love in all that time, but no sex?" I asked. "The way that you just finished that cake looked, your expression was one that I am familiar with. It looked like sex to me. I can just imagine what it must have been like in Europe."

"At least, not with anyone else," she added. "As I said, it’s a food baby," she laughed, patting her tummy for emphasis.

I had paid the check and we got up to leave. I took Colette’s hand to help her up. She took hold and actually pulled on me, which almost pulled me down, instead of her up. I laughed and braced myself to help her up. She actually seemed a bit unstable on her feet, as though she needed to recalibrate her balance.

We made our way out to the car and I kept my hand on her arm to steady her. She took off my jacket, as I opened the car door for her. She started to bend down to get in when suddenly the back seam of her jeans split wide open. She turned around quickly and kind of plopped herself down into the seat. She looked up to me and was biting her lip. Even in the dark, I could tell that her face was turning red. "Hey, were on our way home, baby. Don’t worry about it. Those pants are old. I am sure that the stitching was just worn."

I got into the car and gave her a big smile. She turned to me and said, "Oh, Eric, I just split my jeans!" It sounded like she was going to cry.

I soothed her and said, "Look at the bright side: you made it safely home intact. Better here in the car instead of on the plane or in the restaurant. Right?"

"What am I going to do?" she asked. "I feel like I have been in some fantasy and just woke up to find out that I wasn’t dreaming.

"Well, first, let’s go home. You take a long bath, and then we get a good night’s sleep," I said calmly.

She took a deep breath, blew it out and then reached under her belly to remove the safety pins. Seeing her do this out of the corner of my eye, as I was driving, I said, "Careful you don’t stick yourself."

She laughed and imitated a balloon flying around in the car. I laughed, too, glad that she wasn’t losing her sense of humor.

With her pants opened up so there was more room for her belly, she adjusted the back of the seat so that she was almost laying down. She closed her eyes and relaxed on the drive home. I noticed that she was massaging the sides of her belly, my guess to loosen its tightness from the meal and help her digestion.

After the performance that I had just witnessed, I decided that there was no need to stop at the store to pick up anything. I wasn’t sure how Colette would interpret my buying anything else for her to eat at that point. So far, everything that Colette had eaten was her decision. I hadn’t really encouraged or discouraged her. There were several different thoughts going through my mind and I felt the need to sort them out, before becoming anything but a observer .

We finally got home and I helped her into the apartment, before I went back out to get her bags. Colette said she was going to take a shower and then a long soak in the tub. She complained that the showers in Europe are all water savers with no force. She said it would feel good again to feel the real pressure from the shower in our pre-war apartment.

I came back up to the apartment and gave her time in the tub. Finally, after about 30 minutes, I knocked on the door. "Come in," she called to me. She had the candles lit and the lights off, soaking in the tub with the music on low. I sat down on the edge of the tub and told her to lean forward so that I could loofa her back. As she sat up, I could see the fullness of her breasts and belly. Gone were the abs that had been apparent before she left. Her collar bones were no longer pronounced. They were there, but now obscured under a thick layer of the softest chub I had ever seen. I noticed that even her upper arms looked plump. I rubbed her back, shoulders and neck.

"So, what do you think," she asked.

"About what?" I was being evasive and she knew it.

"Okay, let’s get to the here and now. You are looking at me now without any clothes on for the first time after I have completely changed my body. I was almost skinny, with clearly articulated muscles when I left, and I don’t look like that anymore. What do you think? I would like to know," she asked. "Don’t make me wait. It’s starting to make me nervous."

"Well, first, remember I told you that I always thought that you should gain some weight. So, can’t we just leave it that you have fulfilled my wish?" I proposed.

Colette laughed softly, "I think what you had in mind was me putting on about 10 pounds so that my tits and ass would look more like Beyonce’s. I think I passed Beyonce quite a ways back."

She sat back into the tub and I did notice that she now filled it pretty well. "Do you actually know how much you gained?" I asked.

"No, and I am not getting on a scale right now. Maybe in the morning, but I am not even sure of that. Somehow, until I weigh myself, I can maintain some level of self-denial," she explained.

"But maybe you really haven’t gained that much," I suggested. "If you weigh yourself, maybe you will be surprised."

She stood up to get out of the tub and I realized, now seeing her in her full splendor, that there would not be any surprise of a low number on the scale. No matter what she would actually weigh, it was not going to be "less". I noticed that her cunny was almost hidden by the combination of belly drop and thigh expansion. It seemed like she was holding water, as if she had soaked up water from the tub and could now simply squeeze herself out, like a sponge.

"There’s no rush. No need to check the scale," I confirmed.

She wrapped herself in a towel and chuckled, "Don’t think I am ready to see the truth, huh? Well, you’re right. Tomorrow is soon enough. Hmm, so what is there to do now? Think you might want to take this for a ride" she asked with a sexy little grin, squeezing the thick role of her lower belly.

There were thoughts flashing through my mind. Some things that maybe I had hinted at in the past, but not ever having really admitted to Colette or anyone else. I considered for a moment making a comment that could tip off my real feelings about her fatter body, but I worried that it would break the mood, and, yes, more than anything else, I wanted to make love to her right then. If Colette had any doubts about my answer to her question, all she needed to do is check my cock. I was doing my best to keep calm and laid back, letting the evening continue without a sense of urgency.

I took her hand and led her to the bed. I rubbed her with the towel and then massaged her back, starting at her neck and working my way down over generous wings of chub and her love handles to her ass, and then down each leg. Boy, was she ever fatter. And it felt real good. I worked softly in through the jellied flesh to feel the bones that once had been evident at her hips, but that were now concealed under the bulge of flesh. It was almost like I had to remap where things were.

She rolled over onto her back and I went down on her. I noticed right a way that I needed to find a new position. Her belly, perhaps because of that dinner, left no room for my head, which put my neck in an uncomfortable position. I shifted around so that we were almost perpendicular to each other. This way, I was able to lay my cheek against the bulge of her belly and approach her with my tongue from above. In this position, I was able to reach under her thigh with one hand and work her from below and caress her body with my other hand, at the same time I was stroking her with my tongue and nibbling on her "lips" with my lips. This worked great and in a few minutes I could feel the heat building in her body. She broke out in a thin, sweet sweat and started rocking her hips up and down, while she played with her own breasts. Finally, she crescendoed into a series of bucks and moans that left her laying limp on the bed afterwards.

"My God, that felt great," she said. "It feels like it has been forever."

After she had caught her breath, I swung around on top of her and slowly lowered myself into her. She felt completely different from that last time we had made love, which I was not expecting at all. But instead of being a discouragement, I suddenly felt myself completely overwhelmed with the feeling of pushing into her fat. There was contact everywhere and everything I held onto or touched or pushed up against felt great. Suddenly, and way before I intended, I came in an explosion that caused me actually to lose the perception of color for a moment. Not since I was in high school had the need to cum so overwhelmed me.

"So now what do you think?" she asked.

All I could do to answer was a kind of deep, animal, guttural moan. We lay there for a few minutes with our sweat swimming together. As soon as I started thinking again, my thoughts turned to what I had just experienced and I found myself ready to go again. This time, I was more in control and we experimented with a number of positions. Again, everything was different. Her center of gravity had shifted and, while she really wasn’t as athletic has she had been in the way that she could move her body, it didn’t matter. Her body was able to move all by itself, without her having to even use her muscles. It kind of felt like I was swimming in her.

Finally, I rolled onto my back and she mounted on top of me. Feeling her big belly pushing down on me, her thick thighs encasing me, and being able to play with the erect nipples on her full, bouncy tits was overwhelming. She was clearly having as much fun as I was and got into a rhythm that had her entire body rocking. I grabbed her ass and pulled her as hard into me as I could and she came, which was just too much for me, causing me to cum with her. That was something that had previously been difficult for us to coordinate. Now it felt like we were completely in sync.

We both collapsed, and I got to sense her real heft as she lay immobile on top of me like dead weight. While I loved the feeling, I finally had to roll her off of me so that I could catch my breath. "That gave me a sense of what you think of the chubby me," she mumbled into the pillow, sounding very confident.

There were thoughts again going through my mind, but again I figured this would not be the time for true confessions. Yes, Colette had gained a lot of weight and was actually teetering between definitions of chubby and fat, but I still wasn’t comfortable letting deep secrets loose. Besides, I was exhausted and decided that, if and when I would out my inner feelings, I would need her complete attention and some time to explain myself, if that was even possible.

I worried that admitting that she was fulfilling some fantasy for me would be difficult for her to understand. Guys are supposed to want thin girlfriends, right? Guys are supposed to want girls with small waists and long, lean legs. Just read Cosmo or look at Playboy. Guys may accept a fat girlfriend, because she "has a great personality", but they don’t want their girlfriend to get fat. Right? I had always known that there was probably something wrong with me, because I felt exactly the opposite. My fantasy was about my girlfriend getting fat, and here I was laying in bed with my newly fat girlfriend. If I didn’t figure that she was too exhausted, being next to my fantasy had me ready to go again.

We snuggled into one another, until we had both drifted off into the deepest sleep.

To be continued...

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Chapter Four

I woke up the next morning with Eric still dead to the world. The jet lag factor had me awake at 6:00 AM, even though we had not gotten to sleep until around midnight. After all it was noon in Paris.

I slid carefully out of the bed so that he could sleep until the alarm would go off at 7:00. I tip toed into the bathroom and closed the door slowly without making a sound. I sat down on the toilet to pee and was glad that we had thick walls and heavy doors, since I was full of gas. One thing about heavy sugar consumption: it helps fermentation. I emptied myself, which made me feel much better. It felt like I had been carrying around a couple of days of meals. I checked my belly, but my food baby was still there. Even empty I still looked full.

The sex the night before had been great, which was a huge relief for me. I was concerned that, as nice as he was to me and as much as I knew he really loved me, seeing me in all my flesh could still have been overwhelming and a turn off for Eric. Throughout our entire three year relationship, I had been the pinnacle of physical fitness. I had some suspicions about thoughts that he seemed to harbor that made me think that he wouldn’t mind if I was a bit curvier, but I also knew that there is a big difference between fantasy and reality.

Sure, he had often told me that I should relax about my workouts and keeping myself thin, but that didn’t mean that he really wanted me to change. Yes, he had sometimes bought me treats or urged me to have dessert when I was working hard to drop weight for a performance, but that didn’t mean that he really wanted me to get fat. I knew some things about him that he didn’t know I knew, but they were his secrets, and they didn’t necessarily mean that he was really ready to live out some fantasy.

I stood in front of the full length mirror on the door and checked myself out. It had been a while since I had been able to really see the whole me, except in reflections in store windows, which have a lot of distortion. Right? Well, now then standing in front of the mirror I realized that the distortion was in my body, not the windows. I took assessment and I tried to be unemotional, as if I were picking out a beef roast or stewing chicken at the market. First, I determined that I was much bigger everywhere: no surprise, but also a bit of appreciation. Some woman get huge hips and still have small breasts, other woman get huge bellies and no hips. I looked proportional. In fact, I thought I looked somewhat classical; definitely fuller and rounder than Botticelli’s "Birth of Venus". Maybe closer to Ruben’s "The Fall Of Man", but with bigger breasts, or Renoir’s "Bathers", but again with bigger breasts. This idea of bigger breasts seemed to be a definite. Yes, first definite: my breasts were much bigger than they had been at least one, if not two cups. I had been a full "B", but those bras hardly worked anymore and caused a lot of my bosom to puff out of the cup. I would need new bras.

I turned my attention to my torso, which really meant a combination of parts that I would not have previously really considered my body as having. Before my trip, I didn’t have a belly, and certainly not a gut. My two hip pointers had been clearly defined before, with a flat surface between. I had always had a waist, but really just as a gentle indent between my previously narrow hips and my ribs. And I used to almost have a four-pack. Now, I had a projecting abdomen - a real belly, with dimension and shape. With such a distinctive belly, my waist was a more pronounced place with a real indentation, although distinctively higher than my belly button, which seemed to punctuate my round belly. Or, I guess the other way to say it was, you could see where my waist was now, since my belly rounded out below it, with gravity pulling it down. My cunny was less visible. It was clearly under my belly.

The new body parts were real hips and the roll that kind of bulged above them. Instead of curving smoothly into my waist, there were now these two rounded wings on either side at the top of my hips and the roundness of these wings melted into my belly. As I turned sideways, the connection of my belly into this bulge over my hips could be seen to then turn into honest to God love handles, with a crease in my back fat and everything. Never before did I have anything like that on my body. I could see, as I twisted this way and that, how these rolls didn’t really ever disappear of get stretched out of existence.

Turned to the side, I could see how my ass had gotten bigger. I was glad to see that the muscles underneath were still doing a good job of holding it up, but it was definitely bigger. I also noticed how I now had a kind of fold at the bottom of my ass, where it curved into a crease at the top of my thighs. Had I always had a crease there? I guess there must have been, but now it was a real fold.

Facing back front again, I took a real look at my legs. Along with my larger breasts and distinct belly, my thighs were completely different now than they had been before. In June, they had been taut muscles that had a clear tapered shape, not only tapering to the knee, but also into my hips. There had been space between my thighs when I was standing with my feet close together. Not anymore. Now it actually felt awkward to stand with my feet together. Not only was there no longer any space, it now felt like I had to squeeze my thighs together to stand like that. I also noticed how my thighs seemed to project out at the top to join in my hips. Not saddle bags, but definitely something that could be grabbed and hung onto.

I started paying attention to how, when I moved, my body would kind of sway into position, as though there were a delay between when the structure would start its move until when the outside coating would follow and then catch up. I noticed that I really jiggled now when I moved. I shimmied and I swear it took a moment for my fat to stop wiggling. This was going to make dancing interesting. "I’m sorry, Ms. Colette, everyone else came to a rest, but it took a few moments for your body to stop wobbling," I imagined my dance instructor admonishing me, with her prim English accent.

I was glad that my ankles and calves still looked lean. My upper arms were plumper and my shoulders looked rounder, but my arms still looked long and lithe. I decided that I wasn’t quite really even fat. Maybe just voluptuous, or some other category that sounded sexier than plump or chubby. I leaned in closer to the mirror to examine my face. My strong cheekbones and nose helped out a lot. While I could see the extra weight in my cheeks and around my eyes, my face still held itself together well. My jaw line was softer, but still strong. My neck, though, revealed more of the chub factor. If I pulled my jaw in or opened my mouth wide, I definitely had a double chin. My clavicle, which I had always liked, was no longer clear under thin skin. Now, my neck and upper chest looked softer and fleshier. Note to self, maintain a dancer’s stance with your head held high and your neck long.

So now, I had taken inventory of my body, but there was one more step, which I knew I was avoiding. At the same time, my curiosity was getting the better of my fears: the dreaded scale. I could see it lurking there in the corner, just waiting to challenge the illusions that I had been nurturing, "A few weeks of exploring the world of French and Italian pastries can’t make that much of a difference. Right? This is all just water weight, that will simply fall off when you return to your normal schedule. You’re just bloated from traveling and the change in your routine. It will just all magically disappear when you get home to New York. Right?" I had been playing these delusions in my head to counter the other voice that was shouting, "Stop eating! You’re going to explode! You are getting as fat as a pig. Keep this up and Eric is going to toss you out on your fat ass when you get home to New York."

Well, so far, at least that last fear seemed to have been answered positively. There was no doubt that Eric had enjoyed making love to the bloated ball of blubber the night before. Still, until I had to actually step onto the scale, my official weight, as last recorded the day before I had left three months earlier, was 130, which was actually almost 10 pounds more than I should have been to dance. I could still reside in the fantasy answer to the question, "What do you weigh?" with, "Well, the last time I weighed myself, it was 130." Of course, that was meaningless, particularly if followed by, "But that was three months ago and I have been fed like a goose being prepared for foie gras since."

Suddenly, the fear factor switched into overdrive. "You could be over 200 pounds," the nasty voice shouted out in my head. I pulled the scale out of the corner and carefully positioned it on the tile, so that it was stable. I clicked on the button so that "User 1" was selected. Then I took a deep breath, stepped onto the scale, and then let out the breath slowly, as if that would somehow deflate me. The numbers bounced around until they finally settled on one number, which then blinked like a warning light: 183.2! 183.2! 183.2! Then the screen started flashing other information, such as my BMI (27.2), the number of calories that it would take to maintain my weight (2,535), and the difference since the last time I was on the scale (53.4 pounds). But at least I wasn’t over 200 pounds, I tried on for consolation.

I looked up and caught my reflection in the mirror. My face was expressing "Oh, my, God!" Okay, so then it was official. The reflection in the mirror showed a big, fat girl standing on a scale who was telling herself that she is a big, fat girl. Where was Colette? Who is this person who obviously ate her. I caught my breath and tried to remind myself that I am exactly who I was before I stepped on the scale. The only difference now was that I actually new that all of the evidence was correct. No miraculous moment of stepping on the scale and seeing something like 138 was going to suddenly deflate the girl in the mirror. This was real.

I stepped off the scale and sat on the toilet again. Obviously, I was bloated and the fact that I peed again gave me that moment of "Maybe I weigh less now." I got back on the scale and, yes, I had lost weight. It now blinked 183.1 and then recorded the difference in weight since the last time I was on the scale: 0.1. Maybe if I could pee again 531 times I would be back to 130.

I took my silk robe off the hook and wrapped it around me, only to have it, too, join in the fun. "Who is this putting me on," it seemed to say. "This can’t be Colette! I can barely wrap around this girl" It was tight everywhere, including across my shoulders and around my arms. It barely closed in the front. The idea of my food baby came back to mind and I realized, "Yes, you look pregnant. You should. In three months, you gained as much as someone would in nine, with a real baby to show for the effort." I figured this would be a good time to stop having this conversation with myself in my head.

I opened the door and Eric stirred awake. "Good morning, sunshine," he called out in his sleepy voice. "Your up and at ‘em early." Then he saw the look on my face and asked, "What’s the matter, pumpkin?"

"See! What did I tell you! Pumpkin?" I responded. Then I opened the robe, almost in an accusatory way, as if to show him the damage and said, "Look, I am fat! Did you really need to take me out to dinner last night?" He started laughing, which just started to piss me off, although I did understand that the meal the night before had not been the cause of my new avoirdupois.

Chapter Five

Colette opened the door to the bathroom, which caused me to open my eyes. It was so great that she was home again. I had totally missed her and was so glad that she was back. She came out of the bathroom wearing her silk bathrobe, which seemed too small to really fit her. She looked concerned and I asked her what was the matter. Okay, given what was running through her head, "Pumpkin" was probably a poor term of affection to use.

She opened her robe to show me her generous, voluptuous, gorgeous body with her large breasts, inflated belly, and succulent, thick thighs. If she had paid more attention to the tent formed by the covers, we could have moved past the problem faster. She started rambling through the dilemma, complaining about how fat she had gotten. What was she going to do? What were people going to think of her?

It took a bit of soothing, but I finally got her to calm down. "Come back under the covers and we will work it all out," I suggested. She got back into bed and kind of nestled into me. "First, this is not really a problem. You are who you are. So you may have gained a little bit of weight, but it doesn’t make a difference to anything important," I tried to calm her.

"Little bit of weight? I gained more than 25 pounds," she stammered.

"Really. Well, you look great to me," I commented. "Did you actually weigh yourself?" I asked, trying not to sound too excited. I was thinking that it had to be more than 25 pounds.

"Yes," she answered.

"And," I followed.

"And I gained more than 30 pounds," she answered.

I let it rest for a few moments, but I found myself really wanting to know. "How much more than 30 pounds," I asked.

"More! What does it matter?" she asked.

"Well, it probably doesn’t matter, but the fact that you are not telling me the answer makes me curious. I am assuming that the scale said a number, not simply that you had gained more than 25 or 30 pounds," I continued.

"Well, add them together and you are close," she said meekly.

"55 pounds!" I said, with too much emphasis.

"See. Your freaking out. Your telling me that I am too fat," she said accusingly.

"I haven’t said anything like that at all," I countered. "I simply asked what the scale actually said. You could have simply come out of the bathroom and said ‘I gained 55 pounds’ in a nonchalant way, and there wouldn’t be much to it at all."

"I weighed 183.1 pounds!" she announced, as if that were some significant fact.

"Wow, you are a whale," I tried to joke, but she started trying to push me out of the bed. I noticed that her extra weight did give her a lot more force.

I wrestled with her and then started tickling her. She had always been ticklish and I found it even more fun, now that she had so much more jiggle. She started laughing and pleading with me to stop. I stopped and made a suggestion, "If you want to know what I think of your body, reach down below."

She reached down and felt my erect cock. She slid her leg over me and guided me inside her. I couldn’t get over how different it felt. She had always felt good, but before it was more like a making love to muscle. Now her extra flesh seemed to make it more decadent. Much more sensuous. It was if her self-indulgence made her sexier.

We stayed in that position for a little while, but she found it difficult to keep moving, with so much more to lift. I slid out of her and then positioned her on her back with her legs over me so I could slide up into her. In that position, all she had to do was lay there. Her chub did the moving, wobbling and wiggling as I pulsed in her cunny, hitting against the back of her thighs. I was able to play with her mons and her clit with my hand. As her breathing started to get deeper and faster, I rotated her so that she was spooned into me with my hands holding onto her gut, pulling her into me, while I banged against her round, soft ass. We both came and then laid there for a while trying to catch our breathes. My hands continued exploring the folds, and rolls, and mounds, and squish, as I kissed the back of her neck and nuzzled into her long brown hair.

"If I haven’t mentioned it, I am really happy that you are home; and I mean you and all your little friends," I joked as I moved from holding her breasts to grab two rolls hands full of belly fat.

"You do seem to be adjusting well," she said with more confidence.

My alarm went off and I got up to shower and get ready. After I was dressed, I went to give Colette a kiss before heading to work. She was sitting at the desk working on our computer, starting to organize her files. Her plan was to take all of her notes from her travels and put together a log reflecting everything that she had experienced and learned. I asked her what her plans were for the day and she told me that she was going shopping for some new clothes, sign up for dance classes, maybe get together with some friends, and make sure that she was set for the next level of classes at the CIA, which were scheduled to start after Labor Day. We planned that she would meet me at my office after work and we would grab dinner. I gave her another kiss and headed out.

While I was riding the subway to work, I started thinking about if and when it would make sense for me to let Colette in on some of my secrets. I was afraid that she wouldn’t understand and would think that I was either some kind of fetish nut or just deranged. While I had communicated with people on-line who shared my interests, I had never actually admitted my feelings to anyone that I new, let alone someone who I was in love with. Without her weight gain, I could probably have continued to keep my secret separate from our relationship, but now, it was very confusing. How could I expose myself to Colette without her thinking that I must have always wanted her to get fat? What if she somehow turned this around to think that her getting fat was part of some master plan that I had always had for her?

I didn’t think that I had anything to do with her weight gain. Sure, I had flirted with her in the past that, if she were to gain some weight, I wouldn’t mind, but now that it had really happened, would she thing that this was some plot? Would she think that I had somehow caused this to happen. Even I was starting to think that maybe I had more to do with it than I was admitting to myself.

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Chapter Six

After Eric left for work, I sat down to plan my day. I had a number of things that I had to catch up on, having been away so long. I was already set for several Fall courses at the CIA, but I still needed to fill out some things and send them in. I called my Mom and Dad and confirmed that Eric and I would be heading out to the Hamptons some time that weekend, but I wasn’t sure yet when.

I spent some time researching a couple of websites for dance classes. There was no way that I was going back to my regular class in my current condition. I had been with those classes during my entire time in college plus last year. They knew me as a professional; as someone who had actually considered being a ballerina, although, at 5'-8" and not flat chested, I did not have the classic ballerina’s body. Still, I had been all muscle and bone, and had a certain talent. There was just no way that I was going to try to walk back into that class weighing more than 130 pounds. People who take dance seriously do not respect dancers who let themselves blow up into blimps. And a blimp for a dancer is someone who has any meat on their bones at all, even a few pounds. When I was dancing, the other ballerinas were always encouraging me to start smoking so that I could get thinner. No thanks, but imagine if they saw me now.

I got out of my silk robe, which wasn’t closing around me anyway when I was sitting, and looked for something to wear. I wanted to exercise. I already knew how my sweats fit me, so that wasn’t an option. I found a pair of Eric’s sweats and but them on. I admit that I was a bit surprised to realize that they, too, were not exactly loose. Eric has always been well muscled and in good shape. And he weighed more than me, although not by much at that point. At 6'-2" and 205, he also was long and lean. He had big shoulders and strong arms, and close to a six pack, although I bit thicker than when he was in college and playing safety for the football team. I guess I had figured that, because he was heavier than me, I would be swimming in his sweats, but they were actually snug around my hips and belly.

I got on the exercise bike that we had in the apartment and started to ride. It felt good to be doing something physical. I rode for 30 minutes and paid more attention to the calories burned register than anything else. While I had always noticed that register, it hadn’t been particularly important before I left for Europe. Now I found myself fixated by the calorie counter. In 30 minutes, it said that I had burned 420 calories. Not bad, I thought. I wondered how much thinner I had gotten. What would I weigh then on the scale? Of course, I knew that I had lost maybe 1/8 a pound, and that only if the calculator was accurate, which is too much to expect from one of those machines.

I got down on the floor to do some core work and stretches with my exercise balls and bands. For another 30 minutes, I concentrated on isometrics and exercises intended to tighten my ass, hips, and belly. While I was glad to see that, on the bike, my body responded well and the walking around Europe seemed to have kept me in relatively good shape aerobically, using my core muscles was another story. It wasn’t really that my core had gotten weak, but it was much more difficult to move my body around. One of my primary exercises for core had been lying on my back, pushing my lower back into the floor, and then contracting all of the muscles from my knees to my chest, holding the contraction for a count of 12, relaxing, and then repeating. When I did this, I would check my muscles with my hands to make sure that they were in full contraction. Now, trying to check my muscles felt totally different. I had this layer of squishy jelly covering everything. When I would contract, my stomach muscles would push my belly up and out, making it look even bigger. I was glad that I still had those muscles underneath, but amazed by how quickly I had been able to completely conceal them from view and almost touch.

When I was done, I had a good sweat going. I was laying their doing my yoga breathing, while I ran some quick math through my brain instead of my mantra. I calculated that, if I exercised every day for an hour and burned 800 calories each time, it would only take me something like 220 days to lose 50 pounds. What!!! How could it take 220 days to work off something that I had put on in only 90 days.

When I was done, I sat back down at my computer and search "calories burned". The site that came up allowed me to enter biking (vigorous) 30 minutes, stretching 15 minutes, calisthenics (vigorous) 15 minutes and then print calculate. For a 183 pound woman the answer came back: only 467. WHAT!!!

Running the numbers again, although this time using a calculator, I computed that to lose 45 pounds exercising every day at the rate of 467 a day would now take 336 days! Okay, okay, I started to panic, but this is just exercise. Of course, I was forgetting: I would also be dieting at the same time. The computer is such a handy tool. I then searched "calorie weight loss". "Calories Needed for Goal Weight" popped up. Perfect! I entered in the numbers: gender "Female", age "23", height "5'-8", activity level that best matches your lifestyle "Very Active", current weight "183" (I felt safe admitting this. No one sees these, right?), Goal Weight "138": I figured that Eric seemed to be enjoying my extra chub, so I would leave something for him to play with. I left Goal Date blank, after all it offered to have one automatically selected for me. How easy! Then I pressed Calculate and the results popped up. "You need 2,818 calories per day to maintain your current weight and should consume 2,254 calories a day to reach your goal weight of 138 lbs. This is a reasonable weight loss average of 1 lbs per week. You will reach your goal weight in 280 days." Next year! WHAAA! 280 days??

Okay, okay, okay! I figured maybe I needed to enter in a goal date. How about December 1? 90 days to put it on and 90 days to take it off. And I was even giving myself permission for the 8 extra pounds. I clicked the arrow back and entered the new date and pushed calculate again. "Goal date too aggressive. Your goal date has been modified to allow you to lose a maximum of 2 pounds per week," came up in bright, red letters. "You should consume about 1,818 calories a day to reach your goal weight of 138 lbs ." Who were they to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do? How did this make sense. If I could gain 53 pounds in 90 days why would it take me 157 days to lose 45 pounds? Did I mention that I am good at math?

I needed to relax. I opened up the drawer where we kept our stash and took out some pot. I figured that I needed to calm myself down or I was going to have a full fledged anxiety attack. I had even been figuring that three months sounded like too long. I was supposed to see my family in less than a week. I toked up and took a couple of deep hits, closed my eyes and let my medicinal yoga drug of choice mellow me out. Opening my eyes, I saw the message on the screen: Janet Jackson inviting me to a Nutrisystem Anniversary Sales Event!. I almost punched the computer, which quickly changed the ad to WeightWatchers with a picture of Jennifer Hudson with a big smile and her hands on her hips, "Believe, because it works!" Fuck you Jennifer, and I gave her the finger. "I didn’t laugh at you when you were a big, fat girl in Dream Girls. Effie White? Effie you, Dream Girl.

I pressed the arrow back and now an ad for Medifast came up, with a picture of a big bowl of chocolate ice cream and the question, "Does your diet taste like this?"

I decided to try one more website. I clicked on Healthy Weight Forum, which sounded very well mannered. This time I entered in the details, Gender - Female, Weight -183, Height - 5'-8", Age -23, Activity Level - Heavy, I want to lose - 45 lbs, In - 1 week. I pushed "Calculate Calories" and the results popped up: It said I needed to eat negative 10,000 calories a day. Then is said that 10,000 calories lost per day by dieting and exercising was the maximum limit in the calculator. That didn’t get me to 138 pounds. If I ate negative 10,000 calories a day for one week, at the end of the week I would still weigh 163 pounds. Fuck me!

I am still not sure why I did what I did next. For some reason, the only thing that seemed reasonable after this research was the picture of the big bowl of chocolate ice cream and the question, "does your diet taste like this?" I would like to say it was the pot, or that I was in some kind of a trance, but I really have no real clue. The next thing that I did was go to the freezer to take a look. No, there was no chocolate ice cream. But there was a quart of Chunky Monkey ice cream with just a few spoonfuls missing. I took it out, grabbed a spoon and spent the next 15 mindless minutes making it disappear. Then I went to take a shower.

In the shower, I tried to evaluate what I had just done. Okay, more math. I just worked out for an hour, with the hope that it was worth 800 calories, although the website insists that it was only 688 calories. Then I ate almost four cups of ice cream, which had to have at least 300 calories per half cup, ingesting something like 2,400 calories in 15 minutes. Okay, net? My first steps to lose weight by diet and exercise left me with a net calorie gain of 1,712 calories; close to my total allotment for the day, if I was going to lose 50 pounds in only 157 days. I tried to rationalize that I had skipped breakfast, and if I didn’t eat lunch or dinner, I was doing fine, but I knew that this was going to be trouble.

I did skip lunch and spent the rest of the morning and all afternoon taking care of things. I guess, after my morning, I should have thought better of it, but I went shopping for clothes. I literally had nothing that fit, with the exception of an odd, middle eastern dress that I had somehow ended up with, which had an elastic waist and lots of fabric. That would not be what I would wear. Luckily, I found that Eric’s jeans, if I rolled up the bottoms, and one of his sports shirts not tucked in, worked pretty well. His jeans actually felt comfortable on me, which was a pleasant feeling. Great! I can wear 36 waist 34 length jeans, if I roll up the bottoms. Dressed in my boyfriends clothes, I went shopping.

In the store, to figure out my size in jeans, I grabbed several pairs in different cuts in sizes 10 and 12. Although I had started out as a loose 8 in June, I knew that I was no where near there anymore. I shouldn’t have bothered with 10s either, since they were a no go from thighs, to ass, to belly. The 12s worked around the thighs and ass, but some cuts were tight around the waist nudging my muffin top up over the waistband. I picked out two pairs of 12s that were manageable, and then found a couple of 14s. I did not like the idea of trying on sized 14 pants, but they actually fit the best and didn’t create a muffin top.

I picked out some tops and shirts. Then I went into lingerie. The saleswoman was ready to be very attentive. While I had managed to avoid much discussion with anyone picking out the pants and shirts, the set up in lingerie required conversation. "Do you know your bra size?" I was asked. How does a 23 year old woman say, "I have no idea?" The best I could do was a kind of vague, "I used to be a 34B, but I have put on a few pounds since then."

The salesgirl got out her tape, which I looked at as if it was an instrument of torture. "What are you going to do with that?" I asked.

"Relax, I do this all day," she answered. "When are you due?"

I shot her a look that answered the question and she simply mumbled "Sorry." She measured around my chest under my breasts and then around the top of my breasts. I didn’t like the way that she seemed to obsess about making sure that she found where my back fat bulged the most. "Okay. I get 33" under and 37" over, so adding 5 inches makes you a 38 band and a 4 inch difference puts you in a D cup. Let’s get a 38D and have you try it on for size," the salesgirl suggested.

38D? No wonder Eric was having such a good time last night and this morning, I thought.

"I assume you want something with underwire?" the salesgirl more suggested than asked.

"My preference is support and comfort. I don’t like underwire" I answered with my pre-Europe trip attitude speaking.

I knew that I needed new bras. While I used to go braless much of the time, with the added weight my breasts seemed to do a dance of their own when I was walking, which I didn’t think looked terrific, which had forced me to wear my old bras on my trip. Now I could understand why they were uncomfortable and hadn’t been successful in containing me. I had gone from a 34B to a 38D in three months. I am sure that contributed to the girl mistaking me for being pregnant. "What about a sports bra?" I asked.

"That could work, as long as you prefer being held down. If I had your chest, I would go for a wired push up to make the most of your attributes," she suggested.

"Maybe when I get a little bit more comfortable with my girls," I smiled in response, adopting the the salegirl’s tone and perspective on what she seemed to think important. "But for now, I’d like a very supportive sports bra. I am a dancer," I explained.

"Well, I think you are going to have to get used to your step up in the world. A 34B can wear just about anything, but a 38D really needs underwire for support. Let me bring you a couple to try on," she suggested.

She brought me a black, lacy Curvation Side Shaper Underwire Bra and a Fruit of the Loom Extreme Comfort Bra. I went in the changing room and put on the first. I stepped out and she made a couple of adjustments with the straps. The fit seemed right, but I kind of felt like I was sticking out into the room. Maybe right for a different kind of dancer, I thought. Suddenly, I wondered if my comment about being a "dancer" had been misinterpreted. I went back and put on the other bra, which seemed less dramatic and a softer look. I told her I would take four of the Comfort Bras. And then, thinking of Eric, I told her that I would take the one Shaper Bra, too.

"Now, what else? Do you need panties?" she asked.

"Yes, but I don’t know my size in those either," I answered.

"Well, let’s see," she said pulling out the dreaded tape. She measured me around the waist and around the hips. "I think maybe a 6 will do it, although a 7 may be more comfortable, depending on the type."

"A 6 or 7?" I said, pleased with such a low number.

""Yes. That’s an XL in Jockey. An XL or XXL in other lines," she explained, dashing any fantasy that I may have had. "You’re probably better with the XL Jocky Bikini," she continued, taking a second look at my ass.

"What were my measurement, anyway?" I asked.

"Well, your waist was 32" when you were sucking in and then 34" when you let it out. Your hips are a solid 40" to maybe 41". I’m figuring you want bikinis, so that the waist line sits low," she offered. In other words, under my belly, not over it, was the translation.

I went over to the Jockey rack and picked out an assortment. The salegirl, who’s boyish slimness was starting to bother me, came over and asked, "Do you want to try a Skinnygirl or Spanx?"

I looked at her to try to figure out what the joke was supposed to be. "A Skinnygirl?" I asked.

"Sure. They are great at holding you together. I’m guessing you are a 14 and a Skinnygirl would make you a 12," she explained.

"Are you talking about a girdle?" I asked.

"No," she laughed. "Here, let me get you one and you can check it out."

She brought me a Spanx bodysuit with a slimming level of "medium", guaranteed to hold in my belly with a special panel so that I would be a minimum of one dress size smaller. It also guaranteed to be "Undie-tectable". At first, I thought this was silly. I certainly didn’t need this. But then I realized I was thinking three month old thoughts. "Okay, I will try one. Is this my size?" I asked.

"It sure is! Need anything else?" she asked. It actually made me feel better that she was giving me a large instead of an extra large.

"No. I think that will do it for now," I answered and followed her to the counter. Nope, that is enough humiliation for one day, I thought. Then, looking at the information on the packaging for the bodysuit, I saw that they also made briefs. "What about these ‘Undie-tectable Panties’," I asked.

"Sure, we have those, but you may want to check out the ‘Fantastic Firmers Control Panties’ or the ‘Chic Peek Panties’. They are super firmers instead of medium slimmers," the salesgirl offered.

My first reaction was to shoot my salesgirl a nasty look. Was I really so big that I needed "super firmers"? Then I thought about it and realized that, one - she knew more about this than I did; two - she really was trying to be helpful; and three - yeah, I probably did need the "super firmers". I asked her for two pairs of the ‘Chic Peek Panties’, with one pair in black and the other in nude. The nice thing about the style of those panties, I thought, was that they had lace and detailing so that when Eric saw me in them he wouldn’t think I was wearing a girdle. If it was going to take me months to control my muffin top, maybe these would help in the meantime.

I thanked the salesgirl and even smiled. My guess was that I was going to need to lose the attitude and accept that maybe she was going to be my new best friend, at least until I dropped some of the weight.

Chapter Seven

I called Colette and confirmed that she would be joining me at 6:00. My plan was to meet up with some friends and then get dinner. Colette explained that she had skipped breakfast and lunch, but had started a new regime to drop the weight that she had put on in Europe. "Hey, you don’t need to worry about this or do it for me," I responded, trying to sound supportive instead of maybe disappointed.

Colette and I arrived at the bar at the same time. I have to say she looked really great, if a bit slimmer. Everything she was wearing fit her nicely and there were no lumps or bulges. We hugged and kissed and my hands noticed that the rolls on her back had disappeared, although my fingers still felt soft flesh.

We sat down and ordered beers. "So, what did you get done today," I asked.

"I’m easing back into things. I got a good work out, at least for a first day. I went clothes shopping, as you can see. And I got signed up for Zumba dancing at the gym," she answered.

"Zumba dancing? Not ballet?"

"I think I need something more aerobic right now, and I am not going to go back to my regular group until I have lost a bit of this," she explained as she pinched and wiggled a thick roll at her waist. "What do you think of my clothes?"

"You look good," I confirmed, "Really, really, really good," as I zeroed in on her breasts with my eyes wide open for emphasis.

"You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you," she said, like a school teacher reproving a naughty child.

"If you only really knew," I risked.

"Eric! Colette?" I heard as we were sitting there flirting. My friends Charley and Samatha joined us. Colette shot me a look that seemed to communicate, "You didn’t tell me we were meeting anyone.

I did have to admit that Samantha was probably not the best choice of someone to bring into the mix at the moment, given Colette’s weight gain. They were always competitive with each other, and it was clear that Samantha had envy issued with Colette’s having been tall and thin, while she was shorter and had been a bit thick. To make it worse, it was clear that Samantha had lost weight over the summer. I figured this was going to be interesting.

I could see that Colette was checking out Samantha’s streamlined body, with an expression that did not suggest appreciation. Charley and Samantha sat down and joined us. Charley immediately started complaining about his day, which was his normal self obsession. Samantha cut him off and turned to Colette, "So tell us about your trip. Where did you go and what did you do there?"

Before Colette could say anything, Samantha turned to Charley and explained, "Colette is at the Culinary Institute of America learning how to be a pastry chef and her parents sent her to France to learn how to make desserts."

Colette was about to speak, when Samantha cut her off again, "Where else did you go? You traveled around, right?"

Charley turned to Samantha and said, "Maybe if you stop talking, Colette could answer." Samantha pouted and crossed her arms, but stopped talking.

Colette waited a beat, to make sure that Samantha would remain silent, and then gave a brief review of her experience. She told Charley and Samantha about the trip and gave them a review of the restaurants that she had been to. As she was recounting her experiences, she started to get excited telling them about some of the desserts that she had tried. I swear she was starting to drool, as she described a particular creme brulee that she had in Paris at L’Imperial. I was impressed with the way that she was able to recount all of the details of the place and dish.

Charley asked, "Did you get to eat in all of the restaurants you went to?"

"Of course she did," Samantha answered, before Colette could speak. "She had to eat every where she went. That’s way she was there."

"That must have been tough work," Charley joked.

"Actually, it was, kind of," Colette defended herself. "There was so much to try and my time was limited. Sometimes it felt like I was constantly traveling from place to place and never catching my breath."

"But it looks like you did a very good job of it," Samantha said in a very catty way, and with false sympathy added, "It must have been exhausting." As she said this, her eyes took inventory of Colette’s obvious gain.

I figured that Colette was glad that she had bought new clothes that fit he properly. If Samantha had seen her the night before, it would have been very embarrassing. Even with the new clothes, I could tell the Colette was not enjoying Samantha.

"Well, we are very glad you made it home safe and sound, in one piece," Samantha offered without much sincerity.

Charley ordered a couple of appetizers for the table and I was impressed that Colette seemed totally disinterested in the food. She took a couple of wings and one mozzarella stick, but didn’t eat her share. I figured the old Colette was back in control.

Colette shifted position in her chair, causing her belly to shift and become a bit more pronounced. Suddenly, Samantha seemed totally obsessed with Colette’s thickened waist and larger breasts. It was actually uncomfortable the way that she was staring at Colette.

Colette reached for her beer and Samantha suddenly interrupted, "Hey, I think I know what’s going on! Should you really be drinking that?"

Colette looked surprised for a moment, assuming that Samantha was criticizing her for drinking beer with her obvious weight gain when Samantha suddenly said "Charley, congratulate Eric and Colette." And then asked Colette, "When are you due? You must be so excited!"

Colette’s expression changed from confusion to anger. She took a deep breath and simply explained to Samantha in a very matter of fact way, "I am not pregnant, thank you very much. I realize that I gained a little weight, but that was inevitable with what I was doing on my trip. It’s not a problem for me and it shouldn’t be for you."

Samantha smiled and actually seemed pleased with her mistake. "Oh, don’t worry. I am sure you will lose it quickly now that you are home. How much did you gain anyway?" she asked bluntly.

Colette looked shocked. There are some things that you simply don’t ask a woman and how much weight she has gained recently is at the top of the list.

I figured I had to come to Colette’s rescue, before I might have to be protecting Samantha from physical harm. Before Colette could answer, if she was even going to, I turned to Samantha and said, "Samantha, I think the question at the moment is how much did you lose. You dropped a ton of weight since the last time we saw you." This snapped Samantha out of her focus on Colette, enjoying at first the acknowledgment that she was thinner, but then realizing it was a bit of a back handed complement.

Colette piled on, "Actually, Samantha, I meant to ask the same question. The last time we saw you, you were looking quite the chub. How much did you lose?"

Samantha tried to regain control of the discussion and explained, "Actually, I only lost a few pounds. I have just been a lot more active this summer and have been using the new biking lanes that the City has set up. It has made it easy to explore the City on my bike and I guess on that riding has had its effect."

Charley joined the conversation, but maybe without thinking his situation through, "Sam, you’ve been working really hard to lose the weight. Why make it sound that like you didn’t accomplish something tough. You’ve lost more than 25 pounds. Remember, at the beginning of the summer, you couldn’t even fit into your swim suit."

Samantha didn’t look pleased with Charley’s contribution, "Honey, its not really something that we need to talk about. I only lost a couple of pounds." Samantha gave Charley a sharp look and said, "You’re making it sound like I was intentionally trying to lose the weight."

"Samantha, what are you talking about," Charley continued, "Don’t remember how upset you were with the weight you gained over the winter and how none of your clothes fit?"

Samantha sat seething, as Charley turned his attention back to Colette, "You really did pork up on your trip, Colette. Does it bother you? I think Samantha would have killed herself, if she had gotten that fat. Eric, you know what fat girls and motor scooters have in common?" At that point, both Samantha and Colette were glaring at him. "They’re both fun to ride, but you don’t want your friends to see you with one." Charley thought that this was the funniest thing that he had ever said and sat their laughing.

Actually, I did think it was funny and sadly accurate, but I didn’t dare add to the combustion at the table. Instead, I created an exit strategy, "Colette, we really need to get going if we are going to make it in time."

Colette was on her feet right away, politely saying good night, "It was great to see you guys. Good work on losing the weight, Sam. It must have been tough to drop so much. You look like a totally different woman. Maybe I will call you for some pointers. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

I took Colette’s arm and we made our departure, before Samantha could manage anything other than, "Sure, give me a call." Out on the street, I tried to lighten things up. "Boy, she’s a piece of work," I said referring to Samantha.

"But you thought she looked great without the weight," accused Colette.

"No, actually I don’t," I started. "Samantha has never been my type, and her going from a short, chubby girl to a short skinny girl doesn’t do anything for me. If she is happier, that’s great. I don’t think Charley actually cares one way or another. He is much more of the ‘any port in a storm’ kind of boyfriend."

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Chapter Eight

"What did you want to do now?" Eric asked me when we were standing on the sidewalk after the less than pleasant meet up with Charley and Samantha.

"While the last scene ruined the mood, I would like to get some dinner. I haven’t had anything to eat all day, except for that little bit of bar food. Maybe I shouldn’t be, but I am starving," I announced, leaving out any mention of the ice cream massacre, which had kept my hunger in check until the middle of the afternoon. Now I really was starving and it felt like the wings and mozzarella had awoken a sleeping giant in my belly. It was audibly grumbling, although the music in the bar had thankfully drowned it out.

"Would you be up for Italian," Eric asked me. "I realize that you just got back from Italy, so maybe it would be a disappointment."

"I think Italian would be fine. Let’s head to Eataly. I need to pick up supplies so that I can try to duplicate some of the things that I had in Italy," Colette said.

We walked the several blocks over to Madison Square Park and walked into Eataly. "What do you feel like," I asked Eric.

"If your hungry, let’s go to La Piazza so we can sit down and order off a menu," he suggested.

We got a table and sat down. My stomach was really growling. I was sure that Eric could hear it. I really did feel like I was starving. This was the first day in a long time that I had not had a lot to eat, with the obvious exception of the quart of ice cream. But that didn’t have substance and did little to make me feel that I had eaten anything, ignoring that it was a full day of calories.

The waiter came and Eric told me to go first. I started with the soup, a salad and a chicken sausage. I also ordered one of their homemade beers. Eric ordered and the waiter left. I was pleased with myself for my restraint. No pasta or heavy Italian food.

We talked and continued to catch up about what he had been doing while I was away. I trusted Eric and knew that I didn’t need to worry about him cheating on me, although he is a big flirt. The waiter brought food and we ate and talked. Too quickly, I realized that we were done. Unfortunately, I did not feel like I had really eaten. I realized that, having skipped real food during the day may not have been the best idea. I was still hungry. In fact, having had two beers, I felt hungrier than before with a demanding appetite, but without quite the resolve to control it.

Eric asked if I wanted to order dessert. I suggested that we walk around a little bit, unintentionally creating the impression that I was full. The fact was that I just wasn’t ready for dessert yet. As we strolled around the food fair, we came to the pizza area and my mouth started to water.

"Did you want to get something to take home?" Eric asked.

I turned to him with a look of insecurity. "Would you be willing to sit down again and have something else now?" I asked. Eric smiled and said that would be fine. He admitted that what he had earlier seemed like just appetizers for him, too. We sat down and the waiter came over to us.

Eric ordered the Margherita pizza and a beer. I looked at the menu and flipped La Pizza to La Pasta. "I will have the Tagliatelle al Ragu di Manzo," I told the waiter and I ordered a beer for myself.

After the waiter left, Eric leaned forward and admitted that he thought he was ordering the pizza for the two of us. I acted as if I hadn’t understood that, although that wasn’t truth. "I guess I am still so used to having more to eat that it is going to take me some time to adjust," I explained.

"No explanation is necessary," Eric offered. "Have what you feel like." Ignoring the light meal that I had just finished, he suggested, "You haven’t eaten all day. You have to be hungry."

The food came and I started to feel the relief of real substance. The pasta was perfect and the braised shortrib ragu excellent. I cleaned my plate and started feeling much better, although I was getting a buzz from the beer. I realized that Eric had eaten only half of his pizza. "Would you like a piece?" Eric offered, seeing my hungry eyes on his pizza.

"No, no, no. I am fine," I answered, but more from the point of not wanting to appear piggy than from feeling too full. I actually thought the pizza looked great, and could probably have polished off all three pieces without any problem or hesitation.

"Did you want dessert?" Eric asked.

Was he encouraging me to eat more? I should have been satisfied by what I had at La Piazza and then had eaten a full meal at La Pasta. Now Eric was offering me dessert. "Oh, I don’t know," I said with nonchalance. "Let’s walk around and maybe I will get something, if it looks particularly good." I figured that was a rational answer. "I want to buy some things, so we can look while I shop," I suggested. We paid the bill and Eric got the left over pizza to go.

I was able to get the cheeses, meats, pasta, and other ingredients that I was going to need to make the lasagna that I planned for Friday night’s dinner. I also picked up some great baguettes. If I had the kitchen, I would have tried making the bread myself, but the secret is in the oven and the small gas stove in the apartment wouldn’t handle baking bread.

Before we left Eataly, we walked past La Pasticceria. I was surprised by the selection and how good everything looked. Maybe I hadn’t needed to go to Europe after all. They had a map on the wall that showed where the different pastries came from. Eric suggested that we pick up a few things that HE thought looked good. The combination of the beer and the way that Eric had opened the door unleashed a sudden enthusiasm. "Well, what looks good to you?" I asked Eric. He just shrugged and said he would leave it to me; the professional.

I put together an assortment that ended up filling two boxes. I rationalized that I could bring them out to my parents’ house in the Hampton’s on Saturday for dessert. Eric asked to have a few pastries put in a separate bag and the girl at the counter accommodated him gladly. He is so good looking.

As we were leaving, we found ourselves in front of the Gelateria. All Eric had to do was tilt his head and smile and I was ready. This place has every thing, I thought. I could have spent half the summer just in this one food center. I got myself a cup with three scoops of a gelato. "Aren’t you getting something?" I asked.

"No, honey. I am full," he admitted, which made me a bit self-conscious. But he led me out and we started walking. We decided that it was such a nice evening, we would walk for a while. I started to realize that I actually was a little full from the combination of dinner. One thing I had to admit was that this Spanx body suit did a good job. There was no evident bounce in my belly and I didn’t look the worse for wear. We walked along talking and, without really noticing it, Eric handed me a small pastry. After I had finished that one, again without really noticing, he handed me another. We walked for about 30 minutes and in that time I finished the bag. I didn’t realize that I had eaten six pastries until I noticed that Eric was tossing the empty bag in a trash barrel. Maybe it was the affect of the beer, but I kept the fact that he was feeding me pastries in the back of my mind.

We stopped at the grocery before going to the apartment. There wasn’t much in the fridge and we got things that we needed. When Eric wasn’t paying attention, I got a quart of Chunky Monkey. I figured to pull the old switcheroo so that he wouldn’t realize that I had eaten the quart that had been in the freezer earlier in the day. I figured some of his gallantry at making sure that I had enough to eat at dinner was based on my representation that I had gone the entire day without food.

As I was helping bag the groceries, I saw that Eric had done a bit of slight of hand himself. There was a big bag of Perugina Dark Chocolate Baci Kisses and a big bag of Lindt Lindor Extra Dark Chocolate Truffles. Puzzled for a moment, my only thought was that I didn’t realize that Eric liked chocolate that much. But I sure do. And, yes, he does know that, too.

Chapter Nine

We got home after shopping and I helped Colette put things away. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her quickly put a quart of ice cream into the freezer. I didn’t understand why we needed more ice cream until later when I found the empty quart in the garbage. Somehow, while not eating anything during the day, I suspected that quart of Chunky Monkey had found its way into her belly. Without calling any attention to my discovery, but curious, I asked Colette, "Did you have any one over today?"

"No. Why?" she asked.

"Just wondering if you had to be alone all day, while I was at work," I answered.

"I was out and about much of the day," she replied. "I had plenty to keep me busy.

We sat down on the couch to watch some television and to cuddle. As we were snuggling, I slipped my hand in under her shirt and pants. I was going for her belly. For a moment I got confused. I couldn’t find my way in. There was something that I couldn’t find my way under.

"What are you wearing? I can’t get my hand under your clothes," I asked her.

"Oh, that’s my new little friend. I am wearing a body suit. It helps smooth my lines and controls my lumps and bumps," Colette explained. "I bought it today. Do you like it?"

"I don’t think I really get what it is doing. Is it like a girdle?" I asked.

"No, of course not. It is a body suit. It’s more like a body stocking. I just like the way that it smooths me out. Weren’t you surprised that my muffin top and belly roll had disappeared between this morning and this evening?" she said.

"Actually, I just thought you got some clothes that fit right. Can I see you in your body suit?" I asked.

"I guess, sure," Colette answered, but still stayed sitting on the coach.

I kept staring at her, expecting her to take off her clothes so I could see her this miracle garment. I had seen ads for what I figured this to be on television and was very curious to see how it looked on her and the difference it made.

"You mean now?" she asked.

"Well, yeah. I guess now would be a good time. Don’t you think," I said getting up to help her up. She stood and I started helping pull off her top.

"Easy, big boy. Give me a chance here," Colette said pushing my hands away. She stood up and dropped her pants, stepping out of them while she pulled off her shirt. Then she turned towards me in her slinky body suit.

"Wow, that is shimmery. Is it tight? No wonder I couldn’t feel any chub," I commented.

"It actually is very comfortable," Colette explained. "I was surprised. Instead of feeling squished, it makes me feel like I am toned. Maybe a little bit synthetically."

"What is it made out of?" I asked. "Is it some kind of miracle fabric?"

Colette kind of danced around a little bit, showing off her body suit. "Actually, it feels a lot like my Danskin, except it has special stitching that seems to pull me in here and there. It claims it makes me one size smaller."

"So your like an 8 in that?" I asked.

"I wish. I’m not telling you the sizes that I bought today. Just accept: I am not an 8 in this," she said, sounding a bit discouraged.

"You know what I think I would enjoy? Watching you take it off," I said.

"Somebody getting in the mood to fool around?" she asked.

She started to roll the body suit off, and this had the effect that I was hoping for. As she pulled it down, her flesh seemed to expand like rising dough. She stepped out of the body suit and tossed it aside, standing in front of me stark naked. What a difference. I instantly got hard. That was one miracle fabric. Without the body suit, she looked more than one size bigger. She looked fluffy and her gut much more pronounced. I was sure that the dinner she had just had contributed a bit to her bloat.

"Now, there’s the belly that I got to know last night and this morning. How have you been, darling?" I said holding her round belly in my hands, hefting it, and then letting it bounce on its own.

"Let’s take a shower," I suggested.

I stripped down while the water was warming up and we both got in to the shower. I grabbed the soap and started running it all around her body. With the soap on her skin, she seemed even more malleable. It really made it easy to wobble her belly, ass, and breasts. I turned her around and pressed into her back, holding her by her round belly. If I wasn’t careful, I could have cum right then.

I massaged into her thick shoulders while she stood under the hot water. She really started to relax. We got out of the shower and I grabbed the body towel and wrapped her up to dry her off. She was just melting into my hands, with her eyes closed and breathing deep. When she was dry, I pulled her to the bed. I went down on her enough to get her wet, and then got on top of her, sliding myself in so that my stomach pushed into her belly.

I think the thing I was enjoying most was how her rounded body pushed back against me without any effort on her part. Her simple mass provided resistance. When she was thin, she needed to be part of the effort. Now, she only needed to lay there and her body did the rest by itself. She arched her back, lifting her belly into me, and I was able to get up on me knees and bang away at her. Each time we hit, ripples would jiggle across her fleshy body. She grabbed my forearms with her hands and I grabbed her forearms with my hands, which made it easy for me to pull her hard into me. We got into a rhythm that had her belly and breasts bouncing with the beat. We kept this up for about a minute and I could feel her body getting very hot, with my body doing the same. I figured that this was some kind of tantric breathing trick: we were breathing together in rhythm until she started pulsing her cunny to the beat, which brought me up and over the edge. I would like to say that we came together, but that sounds too rationale. I don’t know what happened. All I knew is that we ended up completely outside of ourselves in a sweaty tangle.

"That was fun," I said when I regained the ability to speak. I rolled off of her and lay next to her, feeling my body cool down. After about 10 minutes, I asked her if we could try something new. She probably thought that I meant some new position or something, but instead I got up from the bed and went to get the truffles that I bought at the store.

"What are you going to do with those," she asked.

"I just thought, after all of that effort, you might need something to give you some energy," I teased. I unwrapped a truffle and rubbed it on her lips until she opened her mouth and sucked it in. I lay down along side of her, with her still on her back and unwrapped a second, repeating the enticement. She ate that one, too. With the third, I kind of walked it up her belly and across her breasts, slide it up on her neck and then held it under her nose until she snapped it from my fingers.

I moved my hand down to her crotch and started to play with those lips, kind of pulling up with two of my fingers so that her labia rubbed against her clit. I fumbled with another truffle and managed to pop that in her mouth as she started rotating her hips in response to my fingering. When I felt her body getting into the pulse, I moved back over her and slid myself into her tight cunny. Then I roled softly onto my side, but with her still on her back so that I was kind of twisted. This made it easy for me to pull my cock against the top of her cunny, as we kept the motion going. In that position, I was able to keep playing with her bouncy breasts.

As we kept going, with her eyes closed, she moaned, "More chocolate."

I unwrapped another truffle and let her kind of nibble it out of my fingers. Before she could even chew that one, I unwrapped the last truffle and pushed it into her mouth. Her mouth was full of sweet chocolate while I continued to pulse with her body. She started breathing deeper and deeper until she came again, which caused some of the melted chocolate to drip out of her mouth and run down her cheeks. She was trying to do her best to lap it up with her tongue, but some of it started running down her chin. I shifted back on top of her and licked the chocolate off of her face, while I pushed into her chubby body until I came. I felt totally wasted. And I knew she was done.

We lay there together for a while. After she had caught her breath, Colette asked in a dreamy voice, "Can I ask you a question? What was with feeding me chocolates?"

The question startled me, since I didn’t really have a good answer. I tried to get past it by being vague, "I don’t really know. It just seemed fun. You seemed to like it." I then imitated her deep, sexy voice, "More chocolate."

"I’m not complaining, at least I don’t think I am," she continued, "It just seemed a bit different. Popping chocolates into my mouth while we are making love just seems a bit kinky. What made you think of doing that."

"It just seemed like a good idea," I tried to say lightly.

"And while we’re at it, what about feeding me those pastries as we walked around?" she asked, seeming more awake than I felt. "You may not have noticed, but I have gained a bit of weight and am planning to get rid of it as quick as I can. Feeding me pastries and chocolates doesn’t really fit the program."

This conversation brought me fully alert and a little bit nervous. I figured that I needed to somehow explain myself, without giving away maybe what was really lurking behind my actions. I adjusted so that we were both lying on our sides and I could look into her eyes. "I guess there are a couple of things going on. First, of course I noticed that you gained weight; actually a lot of weight in such a short time." I put my finger on her lips to keep her from interrupting. "That was something that happened without my involvement in any way. Agreed?" she nodded "yes".

"Okay," I continued, "so I think I have two options. One would be to be all into the ‘how did you get so fat’ kind of attitude, which is not how I feel at all. Believe me." I paused for emphasis, "the second option is that I accept that you have gained the weight and, knowing you to be a strong-willed person, I have to figure you knew what you were doing. I prefer this second option and I guess I figured that it could be fun to play along with you."

Colette kind of twisted her mouth like she wasn’t really sure that was a completed answer. "So your saying that, if I am in the mood to eat and be maybe a little bit chubby, you’re not only okay with it: you think that you should encourage me?"

"Hey, I guess there are three options: I can be critical of it, ignore, it or support you in it. I didn’t exactly force you to eat anything," I argued. Then I imitated her again, "more chocolate."

Colette thought for a moment and seemed to accept my explanation. But I could tell that she was still trying to think it through. "So, I guess it goes that I am lucky that I don’t have one of those boyfriends who hassles their girlfriends for an extra pound or two, and we have never been the types to hold secrets or ignore what’s happening, so I should be glad that you accept me as I am. Is that the way you see it?"

I said, "Kind of. Yeah." The mention about secrets did make me a little nervous. "I think you look good and I have no complaint that you are heavier now than you were when you left."

"I guess what I am wondering about is the difference between not having a complaint and seeming almost encouraging. I was a little nervous when I got back about how you were going to react to my chub. The thing that keeps coming up to me though is, while you have always been an attentive lover, since I have gotten back you seem to almost be ravaging me," she explained. "Understand. I am not complaining. This could possibly have been the best sex I have ever had. We have always made nice love. But last night, this morning, and just now, it felt more like we were having sex."

"Well, remember I didn’t make love or have sex for three months," I noted. "I am sure that has something to do with it. I missed you, laying there in my bed alone night after night," I said, trying to sound forlorn.

Colette laughed, "I was alone, too, you know."

"Exactly! And now your back and we are making love while we are having sex," I explained, acting like that summarized everything.

We lay there for a while. I could tell that Colette was thinking. "Eric? Does my chubbier body somehow excite you?" Colette asked, looking into my eyes in a way that made me feel like maybe there was no escape. She said this seriously, as was waiting for a real answer.

"Chubby, skinny, whatever, you are the woman that I love. I think I would enjoy you no matter what," I said with conviction.

"Close," offered Colette, "but my question was whether you were somehow turned on by my chubby body. You know, like something about my being bigger is sexier for you. I am remembering the number of times in the past when I was struggling to get skinnier to dance and you almost argued against it, suggesting that you thought I should actually gain some weight. Now, I have gained a bit and you are a sex machine. We’ve made love five times in just about 24 hours. Be honest with me."

"I am being honest," I told her. "I am attracted to you. You! And your chubbier body is a lot of fun. Look at it this way: if you needed proof that I mean what I say, accept that we had good sex and I fed you chocolate, which has to mean that I don’t have a problem with the fact that you gained weight."

"But, if I am trying to lose weight, the act of feeding me pastries and chocolates is a bit passive aggressive. Don’t you think?" she asked.

Okay, if I was going to get out of this without a bigger conversation, I needed to shift the conversation a bit. I paused for affect and then posed her a question, "Don’t get upset, because there is no problem, but if you are really trying to lose weight, what happened to the quart of ice cream? And, is pasta on your diet plan?

This had the desired affect in that it forced Colette to address the inconsistencies, instead of probing into why I couldn’t seem to keep my hands off of her fat belly. For a moment, it looked like Colette was going to cry, so I nestled in closer to her and gave her a hug for reinforcement.

"What am I going to do," she whimpered. "I feel so fat, but I also feel so hungry. I want to go back to my toned, thin, pre-trip body, but when I was at Eataly, all I could think about was which dish to order. Any thought of dieting seemed a million miles away. I need to figure out how to get rid of all this fat.

"First, I think you need a good night’s sleep. We can deal with this tomorrow. The important things at the moment are that you relax, know that I love you, and accept that sometimes things change. I do like your body right now. Maybe it is because it is different. Different can be a turn on or a turn off. For me, right now, this is a turn on, as you can tell," I joked, letting my hardening cock push against her thigh under the covers.

That seemed to do the trick. She smiled and confirmed that she was finished for the night. She rolled over and I pushed up against her soft ass, with one arm under her body holding belly fat and my other hand lightly tickling along her arm. The next thing I knew it was morning.

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Chapter Ten

The next morning I woke up after Eric had already left for work. I guess I needed some sleep. What the fuck was I going to do with myself. I lay in bed recounting the previous days diet and figured out that I probably ate more than 5,000 calories. Not exactly the way to lose weight. One thing I decided: I was going to stay away from the scale at least until I felt like I had made some progress. I was even starting to equivocate on what I needed to drop. The day before, I was figuring 45 pounds. Maybe 40 pounds or even 30 pounds would be more like it. If I was between 140 and 150, I was sure that I would be fine.

I dressed in sweats and put on the Today show. I rode for 15 miles, which was more than 30 minutes and supposedly 480 calories. I did some stretches and tried to get back some of my flexibility. One problem encountered was that I couldn’t really lower my head down to my knees with my legs together anymore. It wasn’t as much an issue of flexibility as it was the way that my belly was in the way.

I showered and got dressed in new, properly fitting clothes. I fixed myself a breakfast of Special K with skim milk and some fruit. Wasn’t I a good girl.

After eating breakfast, I sat down to work on my journal. I was actually getting into the idea of it being more of a story, which would then include my recount of the experience, along with the original intent of keeping track of what I had learned about ingredients, methods, and styles of making pastries. Part of my goal with this trip was to spring board my experience so that, when I was in the advance pastry class that Fall, I would already have a better base and experience to work from. For me, the difference between being a cook and a chef is the art. A cook adds ingredients: a chef makes a composition. Writing my journal, I focused on the sensual. I described the tastes that I had experienced with love bordering on lust. After about an hour of describing French pastries, I started getting hungry. I kept trying to put it out of my head, but my stomach got into the act and actually started growling. Since I had a good breakfast, although nothing compared to what I had been eating on my trip, I kept trying to convince myself that I had the willpower to control my appetite. I made it all the way to the end of reading the description of a particularly succulent eclair that I had eaten at this wonderful patisserie in southern France, to which I attributed Italian influences in the custard filling.

I got up to go look at the Italian pastries that we had bought the night before at Eataly. Those were for the weekend, when we were going out to the Hamptons to see my family, the good girl in my head started shouting. Suddenly, the bad girl in my head punched her in the stomach and took over the discussion. "Go ahead and try one or two," the bad girl said, "You’re not even sure that they are any good."

I succumbed. My mistake was not simply allowing myself to take one, put it on a plate. retie the box, put the box away, and go sit down at my desk to sample it. Instead, I opened the box, took one and ate it. It was great. Again I had the thought, maybe I could have stayed home. Okay, well that one was okay, but what about this other kind, I rationalized, picking up the second and eating it in two bites, since it was small. Well, that one was okay, but what about this one hiding in the corner? After my fourth, I realized this was stupid standing at the counter eating my way through a couple of pounds of pastries. So, I took the box over to my desk, where I could sit down and continue working, as I nibbled on the pastries. I smirked as I figured that the description of a well balanced diet is pastries in both hands.

In much too short a time, the box was empty and my belly had stopped complaining, at least about feeling hungry. Now my belly was protesting a bit about the deluge that it was trying to process. The bad girl was silent, probably lying down somewhere sleeping off a sugar coma. But the good girl was wide awake. "What the fuck are you doing," she was shouting at me.

Unfortunately, I had no answer. Why had I just done that? I started berating myself. Yeah, I know, it tasted so good, but I had no need. If I wanted one, why didn’t I just eat one? What was causing me to have no resistance to food.

Sitting at the computer, I googled, "being fat." The first thing up was "101 Reasons I Hate Being Fat," followed by "The Stigma of Being Fat," followed by the elegantly titled "Being Fat Sucks." Somehow, I didn’t think I was going to get any answers to my questions from those posts. My problem was not so much an inadequacy of self-loathing but more the why I didn’t seem more committed to returning to the way I ate before my trip and losing the weight I had put on, or at least some of it.

Okay, maybe 45 pounds would take too long for it to be the immediate goal. Who wants to decide that they have to be on a diet for something more than 9 months to make up for a small amount of overeating for 3 months. Okay, maybe gaining 53 pounds in 3 months wasn’t a small amount, but still. The math started working in my head: a gain of 53 pounds for a girl weighing 130 was 12 pounds less than a 50% weight increase. That stupid thought was followed by calculating that weight gain averaging between 16 and 20 pounds a month would roughly total something like 227 pounds in one year. I sat there for a moment and thought that unless I corrected my lack of willpower immediately I could end up weighing 227 pounds at the end of the year. Then the mistake in my logic jumped up: no, that would be a 227 pound weight gain in one year on top of being 130 pounds at the start, so I would weigh 357. Sounds like a gun. Let me blow my brains out, I thought.

I started looking down the list of posts and then, near the bottom started seeing a shift from the negative to the positive. At the bottom was a post that was titled "Why I Love Being Fat." I opened the site and started reading posts from people giving lists of why they loved being fat. Most were sarcastic, such as "my stomach can serve as a table when I am sitting, giving me someplace convenient to put my plate." One caught my eye, after the previous evening and the questions at the lingere store, "I love it when people come up and ask me when the baby it due or when the say "you look really ...uhm...healthy".

While the cynical tone of the posts was logical - don’t we all know that it sucks to be fat in America? - I did see some that seemed sincere. One of those was from someone who made reference to "Dimensions". I surfed over to Dimensions and found an entire site dedicated to the positives of fat people. This site offered an entirely different point of view. I quickly learned the term "FA", or "fat admirer". It turned out that there are guys who don’t mind having fat girlfriends or wives. It actually turned out that there are guys who actually prefer having fat girlfriends or wives. Crazy, It turned out that there are guys whose whole deal was about wanting their girlfriends or wives to be fat.

That was not a world that I had encountered before. I had lived in a world of dance and high-style attitudes that made fat a synonym for weak at best and disgusting in many cases. The "fat" of three months ago for me would have been gaining 5 pounds and going to dance class. At 130, I was already too heavy by many standards. At 183, I was ridiculous. But here was a site on which some of the people wouldn’t even be interested in looking at me because I was too thin.

I went to one of the Forums called "Plus-size Paysite Board. If these forum were positioned by the number of hits, this one was third out of many. I started opening posts and found enormous women who were actually able to sell subscriptions to their sites so that people could look at their bodies or post messages to them. Suddenly, I felt like a stick. Some of these women were really, really fat; like 400 and 500 pounds fat. And instead of wearing tents to concealed their overflowing bodies, they were dressed in tight clothes, or bathing suits, or underwear, or nothing. It was difficult with a couple of the models, such one who called herself "Boberry" and another going by "Bonnie", to even be able to tell if they were naked because the size of their bellies, thighs, hips, everything made it impossible to tell if they were wearing any bottoms. These women were huge.

I thought I should find this revolting. Here were pictures of immense women sitting in front of a table fully loaded with food that is was clear they intended to eat. Boberry didn’t even make an effort to use a table. Her spread was laid out before her in bed. I was struck by how flexible her legs looked, projecting out in a split, but then I realized that it would be tough for her to sit with her legs together. There would be no where for her to put her belly, which was bigger than any I had ever seen, but not even the biggest on the website. Instead of feeling grossed out, I found myself fascinated. She had a site on something called BigCuties. Bonnie was on that site as well. Bonnie declared herself as a gainer and was actively trying to get fatter. She had pictures that showed her progression from barely chubby to over 350 pounds. Boberry said that she was not actively gaining, but also not trying to control her weight. Boberry also had pictures that spanned several years, which showed her going from around 400 pounds to over 600 pounds. How does somebody who is not actively trying to gain end up adding 200 pounds. Bonny was all about her belly, which she had actually named. While Boberry’s belly was very large, it was her thighs, hips, and ass that were remarkable.

I learned that "bbw" was short for "big beautiful woman." This was an entire culture that seemed to be operating under the radar. As I looked over her site, I realized that I was looking at only a sampling and to get the real stuff required paying money to join her site, and it wasn’t cheap. I was amazed that there was an entire enterprise by which fat woman could get paid for posting pictures of themselves on-line and that the profit would come from the enticement of gaining more weight. Crazy, I thought to myself.

I surfed some more and found other sites that obviously catered to men whose sexual preference was totally fat women. I would have thought of it as one of those really weird fetishes, like loving feet or something, except it seemed so mainstream. I had always realized that different cultures have a different attitude about weight and that black women with big booties seemed highly desirable on some music videos. There was even Sir Mixalot’s "I like big booty" song. I remember watching it and assumed that it would be about making fun of girls with big butts, but instead it actually made fun of skinny girls. I remembered that, at the time, I had actually enjoyed my "black girls booty", which was the result of a decade of dance and not the benefit of genetics.

I continued surfing and reading for at least another hour, as the damage of the disappearing box of pastries subsided. Suddenly, there she was again. The bad girl was whispering, "You’re getting hungry. You know there is half a pizza sitting there ready for you. I could be lunch." Maybe it was the influence of looking at woman who were comfortable with their size weighing more than twice as much as me, but the good girl in my head was no where to be found. I ate the pizza and helped flush it down with some diet ice tea. And it was a few minutes after noon. Not crazy. I just had lunch. That was more of a one person pizza anyway and I only had half. It’s not out of line. Maybe not consistent with my original idea of having a yogurt and another piece of fruit for lunch, but it was not ridiculous.

Thinking about the weekend, I realized that I needed to confront another dilemma. We would be going to the Hamptons to see my parents and my two sisters, who also were dancers and who always thought of me as the "big" one. There would be the issue of the pool and swimming, which meant getting in a bathing suit. I had a suspicion that my previous years bikinis and strings were not going to do the job, given my new poundage. Perhaps in a kind of denial, I figured I should give it a try anyway. I found my suits and started trying them on. The actual bikinis were a no go simply on the basis that the fabric had little give and I really was that much bigger. They just didn’t fit.

My string bikini was also a no go, but for a different reason. Since it fit by how it was tied, it had plenty of ability to adjust to my bigger body. The problem was that I looked ridiculous. That type of suit looked great on me last year when I was all lean muscle. Now, on my 183 pound body it looked obscene. Standing in front of the mirror with it on, I actually thought that a picture of me in this suit posted on Dimensions might get a positive reaction. Maybe not from the people who drooled over Boberry, but there was definitely enough flesh and roundness to qualify, particularly if I posted a picture of me in the same suit from the year before. A lot of the interest on Dimensions and BigCuties seemed to be a changes-over-time-with-weight-gain kind of thing. Of course, that would imply that I am heading up the scales and my intention was to do exactly the opposite.

At around 1:00, I got dressed again, put my new work out clothes in a gym bag, and headed out. There was a Zumba class at 3:00, which I figured would be a good start. In the meantime, I needed to see if I could find a swimsuit that would lessen the criticism from my parents and avoid my sisters rolling on the ground laughing.

I decided to trust my new fashion friend, the salesgirl at the store from the day before. I got to the store and waited for her to be available. I walked up and smiled, "Remember me from yesterday?"

"Sure, did you have a problem with something that you bought?" she responded.

"No, everything fits great. That is why I am here. I think you understood yesterday that I have recently put on some weight and I am not used to how to shop, being a bit bigger. I need a swimsuit for this weekend. Any ideas?" I asked.

"Sure, sure. Not a problem. What size were you in the body suit?" she asked.

I told her and she took me to the swimsuit section. She stepped back and looked me over from top to bottom, paying it seemed a lot of attention to my bottom. "Okay, first give me some history. How much weight did you gain since last summer?"

While I was puzzled that this was needed information, I figured she’s the doctor. "I have gained maybe 30 pounds. Last summer I weighed 130 and was in perfect shape. I’m a dancer," I explained.

"Okay so 130 last year and you were a dancer and you’ve gained 30 pounds since then. For some reason, I’m not computing. I think something is missing," she challenged.

I shrugged, and figured that she needed the real facts. I guessed that she had a pretty good idea anyway. "I weighed 183 yesterday. I still have all my muscles and underneath a new layer of blubber, I have a great body. I am on a diet and I am on my way to a Zumba class."

"Don’t you love Zumba!" she asked with excitement.

I explained that this was going to be my first class, but that up until the end of May, I was going to ballet classes at lease three times a week. "You danced ballet?" she asked, sounding incredulous that my 183 pounds could stand on point.

"Okay, what I am about to tell you only one other person in the world knows," I said with dramatic flair, looking over both shoulder. "If you were to tell anyone, I would be forced to kill you," I continued. "I weighed 130 pounds three months ago."

My drama had captured the salesgirl’s imagination, which wasn’t really that tough. "You gained that much weight in that little time and you’re not even pregnant?" she asked with amazement. "What happened to you? Why did that happen?" She sounded nervous, as if her next question would be, is it contagious.

I looked around the room again, pretending to confirm that no one was eavesdropping, "I am studying at the Culinary Institute of America, which is called the CIA, and I am concentrating on baking and pastries and I spent three months traveling around France and Italy to learn all that I could first hand by eating pastries," I explained.

"Wow, and you did this for the CIA?" she asked, sounding very impressed.

"Well, it was a dirty job, but someone had to do it," I said, sounding very official, but trying not to burst out laughing. I shook the girl’s hand and introduced myself as Colette, she introduced herself a Dixie, but said that her friends called her Spike. I didn’t even want to know.

"Okay, Spike, your next assignment is to help me find a bathing suit that doesn’t make me look like dough set to rise," I told her. She nodded in the affirmative and steered me to an Eddie Bauer section that included the Miraclesuit - a Fauxkini One-Piece Swimsuit guaranteed to make me look 10 pounds lighter in 10 seconds. I read the ad and it claimed that it slims and firms with a miracle fabric that is three times the support of Lycra spandex, without bulky girdles or lines. This looked like the right suit. I was kind of amazed that there was such an industry dedicated to my problem.

"You are right between a 12 and a 14,"Spike explained, but take the 12. "That way you will look like a 10 instead of a 12." I thought that there must be something missing in that logic, but I let it go. "This is the cut that is going to be best for you," she said handing me one of the suits to try on. "The hips are cut really high. With your long legs, you will look thinner, and it is better when you don’t have the suit on your thighs, which can sort of make them look bulgy."

Once again, Spike impressed me with her knowledge of handling the female form. I kind of wondered where her first hand understanding of this came from, given her that she was skinny. I took the suit and tried it on. While it kind of made me feel like it was a sausage casing and I was the meat, I was impressed about how it smoothed me out and made me look pretty good. I would still get shit from everyone, since I had still gained all of this weight, but at least I didn’t look like the Pillsbury Dough Girl.

I bought two suits and thanked Spike. "No, thank you," she said. I could tell that she had some fantasy running around in her brain with intrigue and the CIA and international adventure. "Stay safe," she offered as I left.

I headed off to Zumba. Okay the good news was that I fit right into the group. I wasn’t anywhere near the fattest in the room and maybe was in better shape than many. The bad news was I hadn’t gotten that intense a workout in a long time and I was drenched at the end. But it felt really good. The instructor came up to me at the end and asked if I had taken classes before and I told her no, but that I had always been a dancer, with training in classical ballet. "Well, that shows," she exclaimed. "For your first time, you were moving pretty well. Don’t be surprised though, if you feel it later, we work a lot of muscles differently."

I told her that I could tell and already felt it in my legs, although my guess that was less to do with using different muscles than dancing around at 183 pounds. I was all covered up in my workout outfit, but lots of other people were dressed in skimpy tops and low cut bottoms, even some of the girls who probably had me by 20 pounds. I was going to wait until I had dropped 20 before I was ready to display quite that much flesh.

After I left the class, based somewhat on the delusion that I had skipped lunch - well, I hadn’t eaten what I had planned for lunch, I stopped into SmoothieKing and got a protein shake. It’s a health drink, right? I got a 40 oz. Cranberrie Cooler. It looked like a good bet: Stay Healthy, low sodium, and only 992 calories! Okay, so maybe I should have gotten the smaller size, but did I mention I was starving? And this way I wouldn’t be too hungry when I ate dinner. Perfect rationalization.

I had one more stop to make. I went back to Eataly and bought the same sized box with roughly the same pastries as I had murdered that morning. No need to worry Eric with disappearing desserts. Back home I tossed the old box out in the garbage bin and replaced it with the nice, new box. No harm, no foul. Then I got busy cooking dinner. It had been a long time since I last cooked for Eric.

Chapter Eleven

When I walked into the apartment, I knew right away that Colette had been cooking. Great aromas hung in the air and my mouth started to water. Colette popped out of the kitchen and gave me a big kiss and huge. I was still getting used to how great she felt in my arms. I freshened up and fixed us each a beer.

"So what’s cookin, good lookin?" I flirted.

"I made the lasagne that I promised," Colette announced with another big kiss and hug. I could tell that she wasn’t wearing her body suit and used her love handles to pull her in so tight that I could feel her round belly pushing up against me.

"Do you need any help," I asked.

"Sure, why don’t you serve the lasagna and I will grab the salad and the rolls," she answered.

We got things on the table and sat down. Colette looked at her plate and said, "Hey, honey, I think you got the plates mixed up," referring to the size of the serving that I gave her.

"I just made them the same. You don’t have to finish it, if it is too much," I said apologetically. She just gave me a kind of skeptical look. "What?" I asked.

"It’s fine," she answered as she reached for a baguette. She had warmed the baguettes after cutting a little pocket into them, into which she spread an oil, garlic, and fresh basil. They tasted great. I could tell from Colette’s expression, and her reach for a quick second, that she liked them, too.

As we sat talking, I watched as Colette finished off her plate without hesitation or effort. I realized that I had actually given us both large portions. "So, how was Zumba," I asked.

"It was great. A lot of fun. And really great exercise. I was surprised about how hard I had to work. The instructor came up to me afterwards and said she could tell that I was a dancer," Colette said with a sense of some pride.

"Hon, you’re a great dancer. Why are you surprised that she saw that?" I asked.

"Well, it is a totally different way of dancing, but I guess it is still about moving the body," she agreed.

We cleared the table and I helped her straighten up in the kitchen. There was still a healthy portion of lasagna left. "What should I do with this?" I asked.

"I will wrap it up and save it," she answered.

"Can we have some of the pastries for dessert?" I asked.

"No. I want to bring those out to my family tomorrow," Colette answered in a way that I knew left no room for negotiation.

I remembered the ice cream in the freezer. "How about some ice cream, then?" I suggested.

Colette pursed her lips and made a face as she answered, "I am not so sure I should be eating any ice cream. I am already getting nervous about what my family is going to say about the weight that I have put on." She jiggled her round belly for emphasis.

"A little ice cream isn’t going to change anything," I coaxed. "Besides, it’s not like you are fat, or something. You’re just not skinny. I think you look really good," I flattered her, taking her in my arms and pulling her up against me. "If your sisters say anything, it is just going to be because they are jealous," I continued.

"You are nuts! My sisters are not going to be jealous of my getting fat" Colette said, sounding a little discouraged.

"Who is defining you as fat?" I questioned. "Sure, you are heavier than you used to be, but your in good shape. Your just more zaftig. If you haven’t noticed, I am kind of enjoying the fruits of your adventure." I slid my hands down and grabbed her bigger, but still firm dancer’s ass."

Colette gave me a funny look and commented, "I am kind of wondering about how much you are enjoying my chubby body. I kind of thought you would be lamenting the loss of your girlfriend with the perfect body and, instead, you seem more than enthusiastic about your girlfriend with the bigger belly, tits, and booty."

I smiled and she continued, "Zaftig? Is that somehow related to zeppelin or zeppoli? Are you comparing me to an inflated balloon or to fried dough?"

I laughed and explained that "zaftig" refers to having a full rounded body, and that it is never negative, but more like saying "pleasantly plump" with the emphasis on "pleasantly".

Colette gave me an even funnier look and asked, "when did you become an expert on the terminology for describing rounded bodied women?"

I felt my face flush, but hoped she didn’t notice. "It is just a word that I know. You’re a Barnard graduate. You never heard of the word zaftig?"

"Yes, I have heard the word zaftig, but never applied to me. I was joking about zeppelin and zeppoli, but I have to tell you, I do feel like I have blown up and you seem to devour me like I am a sugar donut."

I started biting her neck and pinching her chub to tease her, "You sure are sweet!"

She started responding to my attention, but I broke the grasp and opened the freezer to get out the ice cream. "First, some Chunky Monkey," I suggested.

"If that is what you need to get into the mood," she responded.

I served up two good sized bowls full and we went in the living room to watch television, while we had our dessert. After finishing, I put the bowls in the sink and followed Colette into the bedroom. Where we fell onto the bed and had some fun.

I had noticed that, after eating, Colette’s belly was more pronounced and I liked the way it pushed against me when we were making love. It was soft on the surface, but had a solid feel underneath and this solidness felt really good right above my crotch. Before, when she was thin, the main contact seemed to be crotch to crotch. Now with her belly, there was a lot more contact. She was convex instead of concave and her strong, lean muscles were padded with the pounds of jiggle chub that encased her body. She had more bounce when she moved, so that the combined effect was a lot more sensation and action. Her breasts, too, had a lot more movement with their increased size, which was very tantalizing. I had noticed that her bigger breasts made it easier for me to reach her nipples with my mouth when I was on top of her, which she seemed to like, too.

We only made love once that night, but it went on for a long time and I was totally spent when I came.

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Chapter Twelve

That Friday night was a lot of fun with Eric. We basically did nothing after he got home except eat and make love. He seemed to really be getting into my bigger body and I started wondering if this was some kind of a treat for him. I had quickly realized when I got home from the trip that my fatter body wasn’t turning him off, but now I started wondering if it was turning him on. He had always been a good lover, but since I had returned from Europe, he was even more attentive and energetic.

I woke up at around 1:00 in the morning, which was probably because I was still adjusting from jet lag. I tried to fall back asleep, but started thinking about dinner and how Eric had served me such a large portion of lasagna and then really pushed the idea of dessert, serving me what had to be more than three scoops. Now, I guess I have nothing to complain about, since I polished my plate both times, but I was laying there in bed trying to figure out why he would be feeding me more, while I was trying to lose the weight. It wasn’t any real problem, but it made me wonder.

My mistake was thinking about the lasagna at all. After about 10 minutes, and not having drifted off to sleep again, it was like that proverbial story. The lasagna started calling me from the refrigerator. "Colette, I am here waiting for you. Colette, come and taste my sweet sauce and cheese. Colette, come eat me." Okay, I know that the lasagna was not calling me. I don’t think I am crazy, although I started wondering. But I realized that I couldn’t fall back asleep thinking of the piece of lasagna sitting in the refrigerator. I finally succumbed to the temptress and snuck out of bed, taking care not to wake Eric, put on my robe and headed for the kitchen. My thought was that one taste would satisfy this craving. Craving! I was having a craving. So much of my life up until then had been about being disciplined. I realized that I had never been driven by cravings before my trip to Europe. That trip had opened up some other part of me and now I could have such a craving for left over lasagna that I couldn’t go back to sleep with out eating some.

And I guess the other thing that I was noticing was that food no longer satisfied with a taste. Of course, I ate the whole thing. I was probably even more lasagna than I had eaten at dinner. I started playing that refrain from an old commercial through my head, "I can’t believe I ate the whole thing." With the other voice in my head confirming, "You ate it, Colette." Now consuming that hefty serving of lasagna should have been sufficiently decadent to satisfy my demanding appetite, but suddenly I started wondering about the ice cream. Had Eric served the entire quart, or could there be a little left. Maybe just enough for a taste.

I would like to say that, luckily, there was a good serving of ice cream still in the container. Well, maybe I shouldn’t have thought of that as lucky. But I ate it. And guess what? I was feeling really full. I went to pee, hoping that it would lessen the bloated feeling of middle of the night eating on top of a full meal, but it didn’t make any difference. I sat there on the toilet trying to figure out what was wrong with me. This was a whole different attitude towards food and eating than I had ever had. Was this a binge?

The thing of it was, although I did feel bloated and full, I didn’t feel bad. I actually felt pretty good. My stomach was sticking out a couple of extra inches filled with the damage that I had just done, but I liked the way that the heft felt in my hands. Holding my belly, and kind of massaging it caused my fingers to wander a bit lower. Sitting there, with my eyes closed and the light off in the dark bathroom, I played with my cunny with one hand and my full belly with the other. As I started to push in with my fingers along my side where my actual stomach was located, I wiggled my fingers hard against my gut and this seemed to send a wave of heat through me and I came.

After I caught my breath, I snuck back into bed and slipped silently under the covers. No harm, no foul. And no evidence, except the extra thousand calories that would find their way into my flesh and the fact that the left over lasagna had disappeared and the empty carton of ice cream was then in the garbage.

When I woke the next morning, I thought for a moment maybe I had dreamt my midnight rendevous with food. But as soon as I put my hands on my belly, there could be no denial. Eating in the middle of the night seemed to result in am entirely different kind of bloat. I was in bed alone, and when I rolled over on my back, I looked down over my big tits to the distinctive shape of my puffed up belly rounding out the sheet. Good lord!

But suddenly, I smelled bacon. And I couldn’t believe it: my mouth started to water.

Chapter Thirteen

I woke up early and figured to let Colette sleep late. I got up quietly and put on my sweats. I went out for an early morning run. During the week, it was hard to get in a good run, since I had to be at work early. While Colette had been away, I have been able to fit a run in before or after work, but since she got home, I hadn’t had the time.

I was back about 45 minutes later, and Colette was still sound asleep. It still wasn’t 8:00 and there was no rush. I sat down at the computer and checked my e-mails. Since Colette was sleeping, I took a risk and went on to a couple of web sites that I liked to visit, but only privately. I was sure that these sites would freak Colette out. From all outward appearances, I was a completely normal, all-American man. But I did have a secret, which I had never shared with anyone.

In the summer between 8th grade and my Freshman year in High School, I had my first real girlfriend: well, the kind of girlfriend that you have as an 8th grader. A lot of drama, but no real action, other than some kissing and hugging. Her name was Lucy. She was good looking and had a well-developed figure, for an 8th grader. But Lucy had issues. I didn’t understand them at all at the time, but they ended up somehow imprinting on my brain in a way that seems to have affected me my whole life.

Lucy was self-conscious about her body, with larger breasts and more distinctive hips then most girls her age. She could have passed for an 18 year old at 14. She associated her recent development with weight gain. Even though she wasn’t heavy at all, she became obsessed with her weight and with food. Her obsession became the foundation of our relationship. I guess years later, I would have understood her problem as an eating disorder. At the time as an 8th grader, without any context within which to comprehend her actions, I was captivated by her behavior and somehow connected it with my developing sexuality. Maybe if my first girlfriend had red hair, I would have developed an attraction to red heads. Lucy was a binge eater.

Because I was involved in athletics and in very good shape, Lucy asked me to help her with her weight problem, which at the time I didn’t realize didn’t yet exist. We developed a routine that she invented with the theory that it would keep her from getting bigger. Remember, she wasn’t at all fat. She just had real breasts and hips and looked like a woman.

Lucy was a regular babysitter for a couple of families in town. On the nights when she was babysitting, I would show up after the parents had left and she had put the kids to bed. This gave us a place to be alone and make out. It also gave us a place for her to conduct her routine. Her theory was that she was gaining weight because she craved certain foods and that, if she could get her fill of the foods she was craving, her craving would end. We would arrange that I would bring her something that she was craving and she would eat until she was so full that she didn’t want any more. While she would be doing this and after she was totally sated, we would make out.

One night it would be Oreo cookies and milk. I would bring a big pack of Oreos and a gallon of milk and Lucy would consume it all. Another night, it would be ice cream and I would bring a half gallon, and she would eat it all. As her belly would fill, she would undo her pants to give her room, which was thrilling to an 8th grade boy. Often, she would ask me to rub her belly as it got distended from her gorge. We got to the point where she would let me touch her breasts and she would rub my crotch, although fully clothed. We would make out and kind of dry hump, although we really had no idea about what we were doing. But it was totally sexual.

Although neither one of us was allowed to date, we would also get together in afternoons and on weekends for quasi-dates, going to a diner or restaurant, where we would both order for appearances, but she would eat all of the food, while I sat and watched. The idea was that this was going to magically cure her appetites obviously didn’t work. Over the course of the summer, as would be expected, she did gain a lot of weight, going from something less than 120 to more than 150 pounds. I admit that I didn’t then and still don’t understand why this was so sexually exciting for me, but it was and still is.

Lucy’s parents sent her to a private school, so we didn’t go to high school together. Our boyfriend/girlfriend relationship ended at the end of the summer, although we kept in contact for a couple of years. Her theory did not work and it was clear that she had not been able to innoculate herself from her cravings. The last time I saw Lucy was in passing at a mall during the summer four years later, after graduation. She was still very attractive, with her beautiful face and great hair, but with her shapely body probably over 250 pounds. I still remember the most terrible conflict in my head when I saw her at the mall: I was with friends and was embarrassed when Lucy introduced herself to them as my first girlfriend. She was a fat girl and cool guys didn’t have fat girlfriends.

I was not nice to Lucy at that moment. In fact, I was dismissive and mean. At the same time, I was aroused by her round, fat body and desperately trying to conceal my erection. I hated the way that I behaved and have sometimes thought of contacting her to apologize. I wished that I had the confidence and strength to embrace her and acknowledge that I found her beautiful simply the way she was. Most despicably, despite how I treated her in that meeting and my failure to reach out to her afterwards so that she would know how I really felt, I often rekindled that image of her with her thick thighs, big ass, globular belly, generous breasts, fat arms, double chin and round face when masturbating.

So, with Colette safely asleep in bed, I surfed the websites of Plump Princess, Big Cutie Brooke, and Juicy Jackie to see their latest updates. After a while, I figured to make breakfast. I went into the kitchen and put together a six egg Spanish omelette, while I cooked bacon. I also noticed the empty ice cream container in the garbage. My memory was that there was still about a third of the quart left when we went to bed. Curious.

As I suspected it would, the smell of the bacon woke Colette. When I heard her stirring, I set the food on the table with orange juice and went into the bedroom. Colette was laying under the sheet, which displayed the curves of her generous belly and breasts.

"What did you make," she asked me.

"I prepared an omelette and some bacon. You’re not the only one who can cook, you know," I answered cheerfully.

"Just for yourself, I hope. Look at this thing," Colette complained, putting her hands on her belly and giving it a shake.

"No, I made breakfast for the both of us. Get up, sleepy head."

"I can’t eat anything, I look like a balloon. What did you call me last night, a dirigible?" she said pouting.

"I said you were zaftig, which is a good thing," I explained again. "Do I need to show you again how much I like your body? The only thing is, breakfast will get cold."

"I am feeling too fat," she said with annoyance.

"I noticed an empty quart of ice cream in the kitchen garbage. Do you think that could have anything to do with how you are feeling," I teased.

Colette rolled over on to her face and shouted into the pillow, "Don’t look at me! Your being mean."

"Hey, I’m just joking. I think you look good enough to eat."

Colette rolled out from under the sheet and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. She actually did look a bit bigger, but I figured that maybe she was just bloated from the night before. "Not right now. I need to pee. And, as much as I don’t want to admit it, that bacon smells great."

Colette headed for the bathroom and I headed into the kitchen. After a minute, she joined me at the table. "Are you going to serve me again some gigantic portion, or can I serve myself," she asked.

I looked at her for a second to see if she was kidding. "Take whatever you feel like. Did I give put too much on your plate last night? I’m sorry," I apologized.

"I’m just being a bitch. I’m worrying about going out to my parents today. What they are going to think?" Colette asked with apprehension.

"About what? Their successful, beautiful daughter and her wonderful boyfriend?" I joked.

"No. Their formally slim dancer of a daughter who has turned into a cream puff," she said with disappointment, as she served herself a generous portion of the omelette and bacon.

"Hey, I told you that you looked good enough to eat," I teased.

"Very funny," she mumbled, with her mouth full, as she tucked into breakfast.

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Chapter Fourteen

After breakfast, Eric said he was going to take a shower and I sat down at the computer. I decided to start a food journal to keep track of what I was putting into my mouth. My hope was that having to keep a record would get me back under control. I listed out what I could remember that I had eaten the day before and estimated that it had been another 5,000 plus calorie day. Not exactly the way to lose weight. I figured that the breakfast that I had just eaten was probably close to 900 calories: not terrible, provided that I controlled myself the rest of the day.

I did a little more research on dieting and looked at a site that claimed to have Jillian from The Biggest Loser as an advisor. As a 183 pound very active female, it said I needed 13 calories a day per pound to maintain my weight, maybe 15 calories, if I kept up a good exercise routine. So I figured something around 2560 calories a day for maintenance. The weight loss site suggested a diet averaging 2,050 calories a day. Jillian’s recommendation was that, if I could do that, I would lose a pound every week. Joy oh joy, I diet for a year and I am only about five pounds heavier than when I started the summer. Actually, that was assuming that I was still 183. With the past couple of days of indulgence, I thought that was unlikely. I also started thinking that, if I could get down to maybe 140 or 145 pounds, it would be good enough.

Eric still hadn’t started his shower, so I offered to join him. We enjoyed water sports. I turned on the water and got it warm and we both got in. Eric soaped me up and started massaging my slippery skin. He seemed to be concentrating on my flubberiness, wiggling this, jiggling that, and taking hold of my belly with both hands to form a distinct, generous roll, which he then kind of wobbled up and down. This actually felt good, but also a bit weird. It was as if he were demonstrating how fat I really was. "Are you having a good time," I asked.

"The best," he answered, as he squatted down so that his head was even with my waist and started to rotate each of my fat thighs with both hands. Then he stood back up and pushed himself up against my big tush, with his hands back on my lower belly, pulling me against him. I could feel his hard cock up between my legs. I adjusted myself so that I could slip him into my cunny, hoping that the soap was rinsed off so it wouldn’t irritate me. I put my hands against the wall so that I could keep my balance and push back against his thrusts. This didn’t take long. In less than a minute, Eric came with a moan and a shudder. I was worried that he was going to collapse, but stayed standing, if a bit dependent on the wall behind him.

"I so love your body," he said. "That felt great."

I turned around and started soaping Eric up and rubbing him with the loofa. I washed his crotch with just my hand, gently stroking his lingering erection. "So the fact that I am not in the best of shape doesn’t distract you?" I asked.

"Well, maybe it’s all relative," he answered with his eyes closed. "You may not be as thin as you were several months ago, but that doesn’t mean you’re not in good shape. I happen to think you are in very good shape, just more about round instead of flat." He reached up and started fondling my breasts, as if for emphasis.

"I appreciate your loyalty," I said.

"You know," Eric continued, sounded a bit more serious than the moment demanded, "you make is sound like I am compromising or doing you some favor for loving you as you are. First, when people are in love, small things like whether they gain a few pounds shouldn’t make any difference. What if I got a beer belly? Would you love me less?"

"No. Of course not, but guys can do that without as much drama. Woman are judged more harshly. Wait until we get to my parents. You don’t think they are going to be critical of this?" I complained, wiggling my ass for emphasis.

"I’m not done," Eric said moving on. "Second, you seem to be assuming that, if I were in charge of your body, I would exchange the you now for the you then. Don’t get me wrong, I loved your body then. But you have to believe that I love your body now."

Several thoughts started running through my brain simultaneously. I almost felt like I had not been listening for the past couple of days, and certainly hadn’t been paying attention to Eric’s obvious enthusiasm for the big, beautiful Colette. For three years, whenever I would comment with conceit and confidence about how thin I was, his response had consistently been, "Oh, I think you could stand to gain a few pounds." I had always interpreted that comment as meaning that I was so perfectly lean that, even with a few more pounds, I would still be perfect.

We got out of the shower and dried each other with our towels. As I tousled his hair, I decided to risk a question, "You almost sound like you are an FA." Eric kind of snapped to attention, but looked puzzled.

"An FA? What is an FA?" he asked innocently.

"An FA is a fat admirer; someone who prefers people who are fatter," I answered, trying to read his expression.

"Like a guy who likes girls with bigger breasts?" he asked, as if trying to sound unsure of what I meant.

It seemed like he was concealing something, so I pressed on, "Well, sure, bigger breasts, but also bigger asses and bellies."

"If your asking me if I like your body right now, then I guess I am a fat admirer, although I really don’t think that you are fat. You’re just not as thin as you were before. You have to admit, you were as lean as you could be before, while being very strong."

"Well, okay, yeah maybe enjoying my body right now, but there are guys who like girls who are much bigger," I explained, still trying to get clear on how much what I was talking about could be something he already knew.

"You shouldn’t be that surprised that I love your body right now. Think of the women who distract me: Beyonce, J-lo, your friend Nancy," he answered, referring to a friend of mine from school with a great body, if a bit bigger than Cosmo would approve.

"Nancy! That bitch! I always thought that you seemed to spend a bit too long with your eyes on her," I said with mock anger. "You know, she is probably even fatter than I am right now. She can get away with it because of her huge tits. You guys are all the same: when a girl has big tits, you don’t bother looking anywhere else," I said sarcastically.

"Are you trying to trap me into something? All I am saying is that Nancy is bigger than fashion tries to dictate, but that doesn’t mean that she isn’t good looking. And I notice a lot more about Nancy than her tits. She is attractive, even if the rest of you woman would criticize the size of her ass. Part of her being attractive is that she is confident in her looks, regardless of what a bunch of men, who are probably gay, in the fashion industry think women should look like. And I think you are forgetting that I complained when both J-Lo and Eva Mendes seemed to slim their butts as they became more successful to meet Hollywood standards. And Beyonce: she completely changed her look from when she actually sang a song about her ‘jelly’, challenging men to even be able to handle it," Eric presented like a lawyer making his case.

I was impressed with how much Eric seemed to have thought this through. Nancy was bigger than a typical fashion model, but smaller than the models that I had seen on BigCuties. "Do you think I am a BBW?" I asked, curious to know whether he had heard that term. Maybe to avoid answering the question, Eric took me in his arms and gave me a big, deep, long soulful kiss. Maybe he figured that, as long as his tongue was in my mouth, I couldn’t ask him any more questions and he wouldn’t have to give any answers. I decided to drop the interrogation, at least for the moment.

We got dressed and packed up our things for the drive out to my parents. I put on the panties with the control top, which seemed particularly necessary that morning, given the way that my lower belly was pooching out, and dressed in my new clothes. Looking at myself in the mirror, I did like the way that I looked. With my posture, the properly fitting clothes, and the magical panties, I may have looked bigger than I used to be, but I looked good. I packed both of my new swimsuits, although I was still skeptical that I was going to put myself that much on display.

We left at around 11:30, which on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend meant that we would be able to avoid the worst of the beach holiday traffic.

Chapter Fifteen

We were headed out to Colette’s parents place, and although it was a beautiful day, she seemed overcast. We chatted in the car about the classes that she was going to be taking, about my work, about our friends, and about something stupid that Russ Limbaugh had recently said. Talk about your big, fat idiots.

As we approached exit 40 on the LIE, which is almost half way to the house, Colette asked if we could stop. She needed to use the restroom. We pulled off the expressway and stopped at the Dunkin Donuts, which seemed like the best option for a restroom. After using the restroom, Colette came out and explained that she does not want to arrive at her parents’ hungry. Even though it had only been maybe three hours since she ate breakfast, it was almost 1:00 and I could understand her not wanting her first thoughts when she arrived at their house to be getting something to eat.

We walked up to the counter to order and the girl at the register was huge, with her shirt tucked into slacks so tight that the top of her pants disappeared into the fold created by the upper and lower globes of her belly. Her lower belly stretched her pants tight, while her upper belly stretched her shirt tight. She was very pretty and cheerful with a great smile. But very, very fat. I looked at Colette, who was looking at the girl with an expression of total shock. I went ahead and ordered a lemonade coolatta for myself and then looked back to Colette. "A small orange coolatta," was all she ordered.

"I thought you were going to get something to eat?" I asked.

Collete just shook her head no and said under her breath, "I’ll wait."

When we got in the car, I asked her, "Why didn’t you get something to eat?"

"Did you see how fat that girl was?" Colette answered. I tried to discern whether it was awe or fear in her voice.

"No. I didn’t notice," I joked.

"Not funny at all," said Colette. "How could she let herself get so fat? I don’t think she should be working in a Dunkin Donuts. She has to be negative for sales."

"Unless girls feel more comfortable ordering donuts from her, being able to relax in the fact that they are much thinner than she is," I suggested.

"I wouldn’t go out in public, if I was that fat," admitted Colette. "And I certainly wouldn’t work in a donut store. Just the association has to be embarrassing."

"Maybe she was skinny when she started, but just loves her work," I teased. "Maybe she can’t resist trying the donuts and has blown up before she even realized what was happening."

"That’s too scary," Colette said, clearly making a personal connection with how easy it would be to gain weight if a person was surrounded by donuts all day. Or pastries.

"But what if she is the happiest girl in the world," I continued. "Maybe she has a boyfriend who loves her and treats her good and can’t wait to get home each night to bury himself in her luscious rolls and folds.

"That would make him a fat admirer, or an FA," Colette said looking straight ahead. "I asked you about that this morning," Colette explained.

I just shook my head, yes, that now I understood. I was pretty sure that then was not the time to acknowledge that I sometimes fantasized about women that size.

We pulled up to the house and I could tell that everyone else was already there by the number of cars in the driveway. While I started grabbing things out of the back of the car, Colette sat still in her seat, procrastinating for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and said, "Okay, let the fun begin," as she got out of the car. We brought our things in and set them down, looking for people. We walked through the house and found everyone either swimming in the pool or sitting around it on the deck.

As we walk outside, her mom was the first to greet us. She gave each of us a big hug, and there was just a hint of surprise as she wrapped her arms around Colette. It took a few moments before Liz and Emma, Colette’s sisters, came over to say hello. As they approached, I could see them zeroing in on her added dimension. Liz gave Emma a kind of "WTF!" look, but didn’t say anything. Colette’s dad came over and gave her a hug and asked how our drive out had been. I said that it had been uneventful.

"Why don’t you guy’s get your suits on and join us in the pool," Colette’s dad suggested.

Colette responded, "We will soon. Let us get our bearings first." I knew that she was apprehensive about getting into her bathing suit, but so far, so good. No one fainted or even commented, with the exception of a few raised eyebrows.

We sat around for a while talking with everyone. They wanted all of the details about Colette’s trip to Europe. I noticed that she kept her descriptions to the places she went and the things that she saw, but didn’t mention the primary reason that she had gone there. There was no mention of pastries, restaurants, or eating escapades. Dressed in her new clothes, with her well engineered panties, she looked streamlined, although larger. But since she was bigger all over in clothes that were not tight, it was not quite as dramatic as when she got off of the plane in pants a couple of sizes too small, being held together with safety pins.

After we were there for about an hour, Colette’s mom started asking Emma about lunch. She had arranged for platters of hero sandwiches cut into quarters from the Eastport deli. Emma agreed to go pick it up, before everyone starved to death. "Colette, come with me to help," Emma asked. "You can fill me in with more detail about your trip."


Chapter Sixteen

Eric and I made it out to my parents house. I was getting really nervous about how they were going to react to my weight gain over the summer. I had to face it. There was no way for me to conceal that I had gained a lot in a short time, other than to try to dress in a way that minimized the drama.

My whole family was very well behaved when they first saw me, although I could tell that they all noticed the change. No one screamed or fainted, for which I was grateful. But I could tell that they all were surprised.

After we were there for a while, my mom asked Emma to go to town to pick up lunch. I agreed to go along to help her bring it back. Liz called out, "Me, too! Me, too!" It was as I was getting ready to go that I remembered that Eric and I had forgotten the two boxes of pastries at our apartment. I decided not to mention it.

As soon as the three of us got into the car, Emma exploded with questions. "Colette! What the fuck happened to you in Europe? You’re enormous!"

"So nice of you to notice," I responded sarcastically.

"No. I mean, what the fuck happened? Are you okay? Is there something wrong? You’re enormous," she repeated. "Enormous!"

"Emma, get a grip," I tried to slow her down. "I am not that big. I still fit in your car and the pavement doesn’t crack when I walk on it." I was trying to be funny and underplay the idea that this was a big deal, but Emma wouldn’t let it go.

Coming to my aid, Liz turned to Emma and said, "I can’t believe how rude you are being. You haven’t seen your sister for almost four months and the first thing you do is question her about her weight." Liz shook her head in disapproval and then turned to me and said, "So how the fuck did you get so fat?" The two of them thought that this was hysterical and were laughing so hard I was worried that Emma was going to run off the road. But I sat there in silence.

After a few moments, they were able to collect themselves and they could see that I was not sharing their amusement.

After she had caught her breath, Liz got more serious, "Colette, you left the epitome of perfect condition and in just a couple of months you have completely changed your body. You have never even been able to pinch an inch and now it looks like I could grab a hand full. Who are you and what have you done to me sister?"

Emma blurted out, "Maybe she ate her," which caused them both to burst out laughing again. I just tried to ignore the both of them, but I could feel my face getting flushing red with embarrasement. I was not accustomed to being the focus of jokes, particularly by my sisters.

We got to the German Deli and they had everything ready to go. We paid and loaded the car. Then we headed over to the Beverage Barn to pick up a couple of cases of local craft beers. As we were driving home, Emma decided to drop the nonsense and apologized for being a wise-ass, and asked me a serious question, "Sis, what is going on really? I’m sorry for what I said before. But you have to admit, it is a shock to us. You’re our leader. We both became dancers because you were a dancer. I used to even resent you for you perfect butt. I’ve always thought that mine is too big. Are you okay?"

"I’m actually fine, although I am freaked out a little bit. While I was in Europe, I was just trying to make the most of it. Mom and dad spent a lot to give me that vacation and the whole idea was for me to really learn first hand what French and Italian cooking is all about. I know I overdid it with the eating, but that was the way I figured I would learn the most. Maybe I tried to learn too much too fast. But it really was great." I continued to tell them about my whole trip, but left out the dirty details, like bursting out of my clothes.

"What about Eric? How is he dealing with the new you?" Liz asked, sounding like her assumption was that this was going to be a big problem.

"He’s actually great with it. Obviously, he was a bit surprised, but the first thing that he wanted to do when I got back was take me out to dinner. My extra pounds haven’t pushed him away. In fact, he has been rabid since I got home, though I am sure that is just making up for lost time," I offered.

"I think my boyfriend would kick me to the curb if I gained 10 pounds," Emma pouted. "He is always saying stupid things like, ‘once on the lips, forever on the hips.’ I swear, sometimes he makes me too nervous to put anything in my mouth."

Liz responded quickly, "That’s because he is a jerk. I don’t think he really even likes you. He just seems to like the idea that he has you as his girlfriend. I mean, he didn’t even come out for the weekend. What’s his deal?"

I was glad that the focus had shifted off of my roundness and we were talking about Emma’s miserable boyfriend, which then moved on to when Liz was going to get a boyfriend. Finally, I was able to retake control, "The one thing that I am totally confident in is that Eric loves me whether I am thin or fat. I think he is actually getting off on fucking me with my chubby tummy. I catch him kind of trying to bang me in ways to increase the jiggle of my wiggle."

Emma and Liz both agreed that I was so lucky. When we were almost safely home, Liz returned to the questions, "Colette, so, what do you weigh now? I mean I know it isn’t any of my business, but I really am curious."

"When I got home, I weighed myself and was around 165 pounds, but that was four days ago," I lied. I figured that sounded fat enough, and I liked the implication that I had probably lost some weight since my trip ended and I wasn’t stuffing myself in Europe anymore. Emma and Liz both looked skeptical. "What?" I asked.

"I weigh almost 150," Emma admitted. "You know, that’s how come I have a big butt. I am kind of surprised that you are only about 15 pounds more than me. I would have thought more. But maybe its just that you are bloated.

"I wouldn’t have a clue," Liz announced proudly, at 125 pounds you both sound like blimps to me," she said sounding superior.

"Well, its easy for you to be a stick," Emma shot back, defending both of us, "You just don’t have our tits."

"Maybe I don’t have your tits, but I don’t have your butts either," she laughed as we pulled into the driveway.

We grabbed all of the bags and carried them into the kitchen. I signaled to Eric and sent him out to the car for the beer. Then Emma, Liz and I got busy laying everything out on the dining table. There were two large platters with tons of sandwiches cut into manageable pieces; turkey with swiss, Italian combos, which the deli calls Belly Busters, and a bunch of other options. There was also potato salad, cole slaw, macaroni salad, and several bags of chips. We poured the chips into big bowls, put out paper plates and paper napkins, and then headed out to the pool to let everyone know that lunch was served.

I made a point of not taking anything right away. I didn’t want to look like the most important thing to me was food. I waited until everyone had served themselves, and Eric actually suggested that I get myself something to eat. That way I was able to make it look totally unimportant. In reality, I was starving and thinking that this act would have been easier, if I hadn’t freaked out about the fat girl at the Dunkin Donuts and had eaten something then. I picked two pieces of sandwich and some salads and got a beer. By the time I was finished, people were drifting away to other things and I was able to slip back in and get another three pieces of sandwich, which I then ate in the kitchen, where I was alone. I actually had this feeling for a moment that I simply wanted to stand there over the sandwiches eating until either they were gone, or I was totally full. I walked back out to the pool and sat down next to Eric, who was finishing his beer.

"I’m going to get myself another beer, you want one?" he asked.

"Sure," I answered.

Eric went into the house and got us both a beer and fixed another plate of sandwiches, which he set down next to us. "You can have some of that, if you want," he offered.

Maybe it was the beer, but I thought that was so sweet. It made me feel that I was right when I described his comfort with my body to my sisters in the car. I picked up one of the pieces and ate it. A few minutes later, I had another piece. Okay, now I was starting to get full. "Do you want that last piece?" Eric asked.

"No. You have it," I answered without emotion, giving the appearance of self-control, while realizing that I certainly didn’t need it, if I was going to be wedging myself into one of my swimsuits in a little while. I was confident in the magic panels that Spike had sold me on, but I didn’t think there was a good reason to tempt fate. Besides, having actually eaten the equivalent of almost two hero sandwiches, when in the Spring I would have had trouble finishing one sandwich on just a roll, I continued to be surprised by my ability to eat for reasons other than hunger.

I stretched out on a chez lounge in the warm sun to let my belly digest. This idea that I would eat past the point of being hungry was relatively new to me, since I had justified the eating on my trip as more induced by necessity than necessarily by desire. Now, I found myself at a simple afternoon lunch eating more than twice what I "needed" simply because I had gotten used to eating more.

For a moment, as I lay there letting the food settle, I started wondering about the different levels of eating. Obviously, the first level was eating out of necessity, to avoid starvation, which was clearly not my immediate problem. The second level would then be eating until no longer feeling physical hunger, kind of like eating to meet the physical need, with the idea that, when no longer hungry, you stop eating, regardless of whether or not there is more food on your plate.

The third level seemed to be eating to feel satisfied, which is where I figured most people were at in our overabundant culture. At the third level, you ate until you had what you wanted, which could mean the full range between dieting, careful eating, finishing what’s on your plate, or supersizing your meal. This was no longer hunger driven, but could be the affect of portion expectations and habit. I started to wonder how the habit of eating more or less could become simply routine, something that someone was simply accustomed to and did without thinking about it. If I had gotten used to eating a larger quantity of food, did my belly now expect a larger quantity of food before some bell would ring in my head to let me know that I was satisfied. Do stomachs actually stretch, and if so, did it take more food to fill the cavity now than before, when I would have registered that I was no longer hungry or even full after my second piece of sandwich?

Then I started wondering about a fourth level of eating, which perhaps had more to do with desire and cravings, whether sensual or visceral, but little about physical hunger. This would be the level where eating was driven by something totally unrelated to real physical hunger or actual need. I already knew enough about stress eating, and people eating because they are bored, or eating because they were unhappy. Hey, I had read my fair share of Cosmos. While I had never had a problem with that kind of eating, I certainly had times in the past when I craved something or maybe ate all of something simply because it tasted so good. Even before I left for Europe, I could be enticed by something that tasted good, even if I wasn’t hungry, but it had always been something so easy to control and I had always stayed slim without much effort.

But now I found myself in the world of this fourth level of eating, which was something totally different for me. It was more a matter of desires with no apparent logic. While I was traveling in Europe, I had my excuse for overeating. Now that I was home, I was still eating at close to that same level, despite an almost desperate sense that I needed to get myself under control. I realized that I could now eat not only past the point of hunger and need but past even the point of feeling full, to a point of being overstuffed before I could find that sense of being satisfied. Laying outside in the sun, I kept thinking of that plate of sandwiches still sitting in the kitchen. It started making me angry that I couldn’t indulge myself and simply eat to the point of being totally full. I felt like that argument was starting in my head again, but out here at my parents, with my sisters and others around, there was no way I was going to embarrass myself with a feeding frenzy. I already felt too self-conscious and fat.

And then, as I lay there starting to get to warm in the sun, I started wondering if there was some fifth level of eating, where the idea of the feeling more than full actually becomes the intent? It was as if I was craving the sensation of being stuffed. And, if stomachs did stretch with repeated overeating, did that sense of wanting to feel more than full create a complex dynamic? The image of the girl at the Dunkin Donuts popped into my mind and I shuddered.

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Chapter Seventeen

After lunch, Colette and I stayed sitting in the shade near the pool. I was a little bit surprised that during lunch she ate several sandwiches. I knew that she was trying to keep a low profile eating in front of everyone, but after having only a couple of pieces, I offered her another and she actually ate two. I figured maybe I was worrying more about her being uncomfortable about her body in front of her family than necessary.

"Would you like to go for a swim?" I asked.

"Sure," Colette answered sitting up and squinting at me in the bright sunlight. "Let’s change in the house.

I followed Colette into the house and up to our bedroom. We were on the second floor above a wing of the house, which had its own staircase. This provided us with a bit of privacy.

Once in the room, I sidled up to Colette and started getting amorous. She was trying to open her bag, but I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her in close and tight, so that I could nuzzle the back of her neck with my lips. I started running my hands up and down her body, concentrating on her belly, her breasts, and her love handles. I could feel the temperature of her skin getting warmer, and I licked softly behind her ear.

I helped her wiggle out of her shirt and slip out of her bra, letting her breasts hang free. I massaged her breasts and played with her nipples, which started to get erect. Holding one breast in each hand, I could feel their heft. She felt so much more generous. Then I slid my hands down to her pants and unbuttoned them, which fell to the floor with a wiggle of her hips. Then I started on her super tight panties. The flesh of her belly and hips kind of billowed out, as I peeled her panties down over her ass. The contrast between how firm she felt with the panties on and how her flesh felt like jello without them was dramatic. It was as if the air had been squeezed out of her by the compression of the spandex, and she was now able to reinflate. Holding her from the back, I cradled her bloated belly in my hands and slowly wobbled it. It had such great substance.

Colette pivoted in my arms and leaned into me, pressing her lush body up against mine, which caused her to stifle a burp.. "Let’s take a swim first," she suggested. "I’ll feel sexier with a little exercise. Lunch still feels like it is sitting in my gut."

With her facing me, I was able to fondle her ass with my hands. Still somewhat pronounced by good muscles, there was more to grab and the shape had changed with more meat around the top of her ass and hips, which helped form her love handles. She didn’t actually have much of a crease formed by her back fat, but more of a roll that formed where her hips tried to blend into her waist. It felt like her hips and waist were competing for space and the result was the roll of fat on her sides.

I agreed that we would swim first. I was feeling hot and sweaty and figured that the swim would feel good. I stripped out of my clothes and pulled on my swim trunks. Then I sat on the bed watching Colette put on her new swimsuit. Like the spandex panties, her suit was some sort of miracle material, which was designed to make her look thinner. I’d seen ads for those kinds of things on television, but had always figured them to be a gimmick. Now, watching it in action, I was amazed at how well it worked. She had to push and tuck her body into position, but as the suit was stretched over her ass and belly, it seemed to pull her in, eliminating the bulges. The lumps and bumps of flesh became streamlined and her love handles simply disappeared.

"Wow, that is impressive," I said convincingly.

With it on, she twisted and turned trying out how it felt. "It doesn’t feel bad. I mean, I can feel it squishing me, but it’s not uncomfortable. In fact, I like the way it supports me," she confirmed. "How do I look?"

"You look great, but that should be no surprise," I complemented her.

"I mean, do I dare walk out in from of people? Do I look passable, or do I still look like a balloon?" she searched for assurance.

"Honestly? Your bigger than you used to be, but you look great. If people hadn’t seen you before, they wouldn’t have a second thought. You’re a great looking woman with a beautiful body." I answered.

"But these people know what I used to look like. You should have heard my sisters in the car. They were relentless," she sounded discouraged.

"Well, you are here and you have every right to be yourself and take a swim. What they think shouldn’t really be your problem. It’s not as if there is something that you can do at the moment to change the situation. You have your magic suit, which does a very good job of making you look slimmer. I think you should just go with it," I said, trying to build her confidence.

"I was so worried about how I would look in this suit, I didn’t eat much at lunch," she tried to suggest.

I gave her a look that I wasn’t really buying that. As far as I could tell, both from having watched her eat two of my pieces of sandwich, after finishing the food on her own plate, and seeing the way that her belly projected forward with her food baby, it didn’t seem as if she had suffered at lunch.

"Don’t give me that look. You have no idea. I am so hungry these days, I could have eaten a lot more. It’s as if there is this big, hollow tank in my belly that just doesn’t feel full with a normal serving," she complained.

I thought twice before saying that she does have a big hollow tank for a belly and that I could easily imagine it taking a lot more food to fill that thing, since it didn’t seem like that would help the moment. "You should eat what you feel like," I encouraged. "I think the worst thing that a person can do is work up a case of feeling deprived."

"Trust me, I should not be eating what I feel like right now," she stated with strange conviction. "I don’t seem to have any normal bounds and eating what I feel like could turn into an embarrassing display. I don’t need my family watching me stuff my fat face. It’s already weird being like this in front of them. I feel embarrassed just eating. I can just imagine the reaction, if I were to sit myself down at the table inside and finish the equivalent of three or four hero sandwiches and several pints of salad. Sitting there with my big, bloated belly hanging between my blubbery thighs. Not the image I want them to see.

"I think you are a little crazy at the moment," I suggested with care in my voice. "First, your imagination is getting the better of you. There is no way that you could have finished all of that food, or even made much of a dent in it. I’m concerned that you’re worried about something that just isn’t a problem."

"You don’t know," Colette cried with tears forming in her eyes. "I have been eating a lot more than you know. You’re already criticizing me for eating the four pieces of sandwich that you saw me eat. What if I told you I had three more pieces hiding in the kitchen? Sure, maybe you are right, that I couldn’t have actually eaten the other 12 pieces that were left, but what worries me is that, if it wasn’t for other people being around, I probably would have tried. I just feel so hungry all of the time. You don’t know."

I went over to her and held her. "Stop crying. There is nothing for you to be worried about. This is just some kind of adjustment that you’re going though. You are fine." I continued to hold her, trying to reassure her, although the thought that she had actually eaten more in the kitchen was surprising. I had eaten four pieces and had felt full. She had almost eaten twice as much as me and was claiming that she would have been willing to keep going, if it weren’t for the risk of embarrassment. "This is the end of the summer. We have two more days after today before you are back at your classes at the CIA. You will be back into your normal groove soon enough. Why don’t you just relax and enjoy yourself.

Colette stopped crying, but still sounded very unsure of herself, "But what if I can’t get back into my groove? What if this ‘adjustment’, as you described it is permanent? What if this is how I am now?" She sounded really worried.

"You are who you are, which is not something that changes overnight. Somehow, your trip to Europe unleashed some appetite that maybe you had denied before. Maybe you are just experimenting. For so long, you perceived yourself as a dancer, but you have always been so much more than that. Although you got your degree in environmental science, you are currently pursuing your fascination with cooking. You are training to be a pastry chef. I think it would almost be weird if the change from being a dancer to being a pastry chef didn’t also change your approach to your body. It doesn’t have to be anything dramatic, but obviously no longer having to obsess about keeping yourself light while you are immersed in good things to eat, I mean it is pretty understandable that there could be some change in your figure." I presented this as a logical series of facts.

"Oh, I don’t know," Colette continued, "It would be one thing if I had put on 5 or maybe even 10 pounds, but I have gained over 50 pounds and, instead of that helping me keep my mouth shut, I seem to think about food all of the time."

As I continued to hold her, Colette confessed to some secret eating. "That first day home? I ate almost an entire quart of ice cream. You didn’t notice because I was able to replace it. Then the next day I ate a whole box of those pastries that we bought at Eataly," she continued.

"You must have dreamt that," I said soothingly. "The two boxes are still in our apartment. I had them ready to go before we left, but we forgot them."

"Trust me. I ate that whole box and then went back to replace it so that you wouldn’t know," she explained.

That actually was a bit shocking, but I continued to be supportive. "The only thing that bothers me about that is that you think you need to hide it from me. You don’t have to hide anything from me," I told her.

"I don’t want you to think that you have this big fat girlfriend who is out of control, stuffing food into her face as she inflates before your eyes. There is no way you could love that," she said with conviction.

"I love you," I answered. "I don’t love you because you are some type. I love you for who you are. There is no need for there to be secrets between us. If you are on some eating jag, then I might as well know. It can’t be good for you to be trying to sneak behind my back to eat a cookie."

"A cookie I don’t mind eating in front of you. It is the thought of cleaning out a girl scout’s full order of cookies that I am worried about. I just feel so gross when I am stuffing food in my mouth," she explained.

"I don’t think that is how you feel at all," I suggested. "Maybe afterwards you think that, but when you are eating, I doubt that you have that thought in your mind."

"You’re right. When I am eating a full quart of ice cream, all I am thinking is ‘this tastes great’, but afterwards, I think of myself as a pig," she said with the tears reappearing.

"Well, that’s the problem and the solution," I offered. "You need to unify those two thoughts into one. Enjoy what you are eating and think about how you are going to feel afterwards before eating," I said, sounding very logical.

"Oh, you are such a deductive thinker," she said sarcastically. "The perfect little solution."

"Well then, how about this," I continued, "How about you don’t hide what you are eating from me?" I suggested. "If we are in this together, there is at least one person who you are not hiding from and who can be in your thoughts like, ‘do I really want to eat that?’ Maybe that will help you feel more relaxed," I suggested with some confidence.

"We will see," she responded. "I did hate the idea that I was cheating on you somehow by sneaking around behind your back. I do like that we can be open with each other. We were talking in the car about how Emma’s boyfriend criticizes her for even an extra ounce."

"Emma’s boyfriend is gay," I laughed. "His problem is that she has a woman’s body."

"I don’t think you should be criticizing anyone for being gay," Colette said seriously.

I explained that I am not criticizing him and I certainly have no problem with people who are gay. My freshman year room mate was gay and we are still great friends. "I’m serious. I really think that her boyfriend may be gay, or at least bi," I explained. "It just seems like he is kind of nasty towards women.

"That would make him a misogynist, not gay," Colette explained. "Just because a guy is attracted to other guys doesn’t make him anti-female. Emma’s boyfriend is just a certified jerk." I agreed. She was right.

"So you don’t have any problem with all of this?" Colette asked gesturing to her rounded body.

"No problem at all. You have to be kidding. If you haven’t noticed, you totally turn me on. I love your body," I said with enthusiasm.

"But, am I at the top of some limit? Would you like it better if I could drop 30 pounds? What if it takes me a year to get back down to a reasonable weight?" she probed.

"You’re not listening to me," I told her. "I like your body right now. With the extra weight. I am totally turned on by you. You don’t need to lose one pound to make me happy." I thought this sounded very reasonable.

"But just don’t gain another pound, right," she said, trying to confirm boundaries.

I figured that I needed to be very careful with how I answered this. There were no secrets between us, right?

"What I am saying is that I love your body thin, fat, and in between. If you gained a pound...If you gained 20 pounds, I doubt that it would change how I feel about you," I offered. "If you gain or lose weight is something that has to do with how you feel and what you want to do. I am there with you, in whichever direction you are headed. I suspect that things will change over the next 80 years and I am in love with you for the long haul," I explained. "Why don’t we take it as it goes and lose the risk of any tension between us, except for the tension that is making it so hard for me to keep my hands off of you," I laughed.

She seemed calmed down and we got ready to head down to the pool. In the back of my mind, though, I was having some real challenges with the thought she had put out there that had her gaining more weight. While I wanted her to be happy, and doubted that continuing the current trend was going to make her happy, it did play into those secret thoughts that I had successfully hidden from everyone.

Chapter Eighteen

I got into my suit, with its magic panels. While it did do a good job of slimming my lines and synching me in. My thicker thighs, wider hips, bigger ass, bigger breasts, and round belly were still very much in evidence. Why did I need to eat so much at lunch. It was still sitting right in my belly and bloating me rounder.

Eric was being so good to me. I realized how lucky I was to have a guy who was really just as much in love with me fat as when I was slim. He was being very supportive and I really needed that.

We went down to the pool, and I was glad that everyone seemed to be somewhere else, so that I wasn’t on display. Still, as I walked across the deck. I had a towel wrapped loosely around my waist, with the hope that it would prevent anyone from being able to see how big I really was. Probably a dumb idea, since it just added more dimension. Usually it took me a couple of tries to commit to diving in to the water; testing with my toe, stepping in with both feet, and then easing in until I was up to my waist before dropping down to be fully immersed. This time, I walked right across the deck, dropped the towel and dove in. I figured being in the water was the best way to conceal myself.

As if I needed a reminder that my body had changed, I was surprised by how much more buoyant I felt in the water. I had never really been able to float before. Now, the extra fat made me feel like an inflatable, able to bob on the top of the water.

I floated around in the water for a while, which actually felt really good. Feeling lighter again, I realized how much the extra weight affected the way that my legs felt. The fact that I had become the equivalent of a water balloon was also evident in the water. I could push my hands towards my belly under the water and make my belly wobble simply with the water pressure.

A little while later, Emma came out and sat by the pool. I stayed in the water as long as I could, hoping that Emma would leave, but she was there for the duration. Finally, I had to brave it and get out from under cover of the water. Emma watched me climb out of the pool. Unfortunately, I hadn’t exited near my towel and had to walk around the pool to get it. I could feel her eyes riveted on me and I could feel myself blushing. Why was I so embarrassed? I picked up my towel and wrapped it around me. As I walked past her, before getting to the house, she wisecracked, "I think you may have soaked up some of the pool. You’re a water balloon," she laughed. "Look at that belly!"

"Better watch it, or I will sit on you," I threatened.

"You’d squash me like a grape," Emma continued laughing.

I just continued walking, feeling her eyes watch my big butt bounce, as I retreated towards the house. My suit may have been doing a good job holding me in, but it did not conceal my newly rounded form. I could imagine what she would think, if she saw me naked. The suit was holding my belly in by at least two or three inches and it took a lot of the jiggle out of my walk.

I got to my room and stripped out of my suit. Like before getting out of my Spanx, the transition from being held in to now hanging out in my full glory seemed to dramatize my fluffiness. It almost felt like, after being constrained by the fabric, my flesh now expanded like dough rising. I wondered if this girdle-like clothing had some physics like factor causing some equal and opposite reaction: squished in a couple of inches caused me to expand out a couple of inches. I knew it had to be my imagination, but it just seemed like I was even blubberier than before, just because I had worn the suit.

I took a quick shower, dried off and changed back into my clothes. I pulled my miracle panties on and "poof", my round belly was instantly pulled back into a more acceptable profile. Imagine what could be done with a corset. Eric came into the room and asked me what we should do for the rest of the afternoon. I suggested that we take a bike ride into town. I figured the exercise would do me good.

Eric showered and changed and we got out the bikes and headed off. Town is about a three mile ride from my parents and the terrain is flat and easy. We rode at a comfortable pace, but even without pushing it, I was surprised at the extra effort it took to move me down the road. We got into town at around 5:00, which is a fun time on Labor Day weekend in the Hamptons. Town was jambed with people. We stopped into Magic’s Pub and walked through to the Artful Dodger, which is a fun place provided that you don’t mind that the septic system, the bay and the floor all seam to be at about the same elevation. We each had a couple of beers, which tasted great after the bike ride.

They had a band and we ended up dancing and having another beer, which was starting to give me a buzz. I was glad to have a boyfriend in a serious relationship. Labor Day weekend is a crazy time for hook ups and desperation. On Memorial Day weekend, all of the girls that come out to the Hamptons are looking for husbands or at least serious relationships. By the Fourth of July, those expectations have dropped to finding a guy for a fun relationship for the summer. By Labor Day weekend, any girl who hasn’t achieved either of the first two desires becomes desperate for a fling so don’t feel that they wasted the summer. There is nothing less attractive than semi-sober girls competing with one another to try to attract guys to have sex with them. I wondered if guys go through the same thing, but I figured that guys are always doing that and this must be the weekend of revenge, when they are the ones that get to pick and choose.

After we left the Dodger, I realized that I was starving. A bit embarrassed to be hungry, but with the lower inhibitions that come with several beers, I turned to Eric and suggested that we go across the street for a slice of pizza.

"Are you sure?" he questioned. "It’s after 6:00 and we should be having dinner at around 7:30 at your parents."

His tone wasn’t judgmental at all, but it wouldn’t have made a difference, even if it was. I was already crossing the street and the simple mention of pizza had started my stomach growling. Eric caught up to me and I explained my objective, "I figure that if I have a slice now, I won’t make a pig of myself in front of my family. It’s taking me longer than I thought it would to get my appetite back to normal. One more beer and I think I would risk losing all control."

"Hey, no problem," was Eric’s response, with a very nice smile.

There was a line, which means that you have to slowly move along past the displays of pastries. Did I mention that this isn’t really a pizza shop, but a bakery that happens to make the best pizza. Trays of macaroons and eclairs and cookies and elephant’s ears were starting to dance and call out to me, "Eat me, Colette! Eat me!" By the time I got to the counter, I figured I was exhibiting great self-control by ordering only two slices of pizza.

Eric had found a table and came up with two waters as I was getting the two slices. I paid and headed to the table. "I’m not really hungry," Eric let me know, assuming the second slice was for him. Great cover! Thanks, Darling.

"Oh, I thought you might be so I got one for each of us," I lied.

"You should have both, if your really hungry. They’re not that big," Eric offered as justification. Not that big? Certainly not that small either, but both disappeared quickly without effort. It was amazing to me how easy it was for me then to simply scarf down food that several months earlier would have been a challenge. Back then, two slices of pizza would have been a meal. Now it was what I ate between lunch and dinner to keep my appetite at bay. Even after finishing the pizza, the pastries were still chanting, "Colette, Colette." It took a lot of self-control to exit without the temptations breaking down my reserves.

We hopped on our bikes and headed back to my family’s place. As I was peddling, I had the distinct sensation of my belly being a round object that simultaneously pushed down, while being jostled by my legs going up and down. How did Jessica Simpson describe it when she was pregnant? "It felt like a bowling ball pushing down on my hoohah!" We were back at the house in plenty of time to have that next beer before dinner. And then another.

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Chapter Nineteen

When Colette and I were in town that Saturday afternoon, I had a great time dancing with her. I could tell that she was a little tipsy from a couple of beers, but she is such a fun person to dance with. She really knows how to move her body and, even though she was much bigger than she had been, she still had great moves.

After dancing, she was hungry, which I was starting to realize was her constant state, almost regardless of when she had eaten last or was anticipating eating next. She had two slices of pizza, which wasn’t particularly dramatic, except when figuring that she would be having dinner in less that two hours and had enjoyed a decent lunch not that long before. When we were in the bakery, she almost seemed to be salivating, looking at all the pastries. I was going to suggest that she get something, but I didn’t want to seem absurd: kind of like, here Colette, have some dessert with your pizza for your in between meals meal. I was worried how she would take it. I did enjoy watching her eat the pizza and appreciated that she was relaxed eating in front of me. It was getting harder for me to not start outing myself as someone who actually got turned on by watching her stuff her chubby belly.

After we made it back to the house, everyone was hanging out drinking beers. One thing I noticed was that the extra weight on Colette seemed to have increased her tolerance. She had a couple of beers in the short time before dinner. We had a great barbeque that everyone was fixing something for. We ended up with burgers, plus really good chicken, as well as hot Italian sausages that came from the butcher in East Quogue. There was a ton of food and I was surprised to see how comfortable Colette now seemed to be eating in front of her family. The anxiety that she had earlier in the day, seemed to have evaporated; maybe washed away by the five or six beers that she had in less than three hours.

Without making it too obvious, I paid attention as Colette ate a couple of burgers, had chicken, and a good serving of the sausage, as well as filling her plate with some pasta that her mom made. She also had a couple of ears of corn and another big plate of salad. Maybe it was because everyone was eating and drinking and we were at the table talking for a while that no one really noticed how much Colette had eaten. With people starting to finish up and drift away, I watched as she kind of looked around and snagged another burger when she thought no one was looking. I was pretty amazed by what she had consumed. The intent of quelling her appetite with the pizza in town had obviously not worked at all and she continued picking at things and having another little piece of this and some more of that. Finally, people started clearing the table and she sat back in her chair with a contented smile on her face. So that she could stay seated, I got up to help clear the table.

I picked up my plate and asked Colette if she was finished. She took a deep breath and replied softly, "Oh yeah." As I picked up her plate, she smiled up at me and was kind of dreamily rubbing her sides, with her eyes half closed. I could tell she was buzzed from both the beer and the food. Even though her shirt was loose and billowy, I could tell that her belly was bloated from the feast.

I came back from the kitchen and brought her another beer. "Sure I need that?" she asked, as she took it from my hand.

"You’re relaxing. Enjoy yourself," I suggested.

"I think I may be ‘relaxing’ just a bit too much," she admitted. "I’m glad no one noticed me gorging myself at dinner. My sisters could have had a field day. I just don’t understand why I am always so hungry."

"What?" she asked, as I smiled in response to her admission.

"Well, I kind of could tell that your appetite wasn’t ruined by the pizza in town," I joked.

"Oh, God. I forgot about the pizza. What is wrong with me? I’m just a bottomless pit," Colette complained.

"Well, at least you’re full now," I confirmed.

Colette sat there looking down at her belly, but didn’t say anything.

"You are full, right?" I asked.

Colette hesitated, but finally looked up and said, "My belly is full, but it’s not like I couldn’t still eat something." She said this meekly.

"Are you still hungry?" I asked, somewhat incredulously, thinking about the amount that she had eaten at dinner.

"I guess ‘hungry’ is a relative term," she answered. "Of course I am not hungry. I mean, if I think about it for a moment, I’m actually stuffed, but my appetite seems driven by something else."

"Your sisters were talking about going into town. What do you feel like doing?" I asked.

"I guess we could go into town. Let’s take our car, though. I don’t want to be trapped by them and have to hang out all night," she answered.

I took her hand and helped her to her feet. Standing, she took a moment to balance herself, stretching her belly forward. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"I feel fine, as long as totally bloated is a good feeling," she responded cradling her distended belly in her hands. "I need to use the bathroom, then I’ll be ready to go."

Colette went up to our room and I hung with her sisters.

Emma asked, "Where’s Colette?"

"She’s upstairs getting ready. We’re heading into town," I answered.

"My God! Did you see how much your girlfriend ate at dinner?" Emma laughed.

I just smiled.

"What’s happened to her? She used to be such a food Nazi. I used to feel uptight about eating in front of her with my fat ass. Now she’s the little piggy. I know this is stupid, but I feel so much better about myself now that she’s porked out." Emma continued, with a strange enthusiasm.

The reality was that Emma’s butt was probably the same size as Colette’s, but I knew there was no reason to point that out. I figured it was better for Colette to leave Emma feeling superior. Less need for being nasty.

Emma wanted to keep talking about this. "How many hamburgers did she eat? It must of been like five. She was eating the whole time we were at the table. I was tempted to move things her way just to see how much she would eat."

"Emma, I think your getting carried away. She maybe had two burgers," I lied. "She was just eating slower than everyone else," I suggested.

"Sure," Emma laughed sarcastically. "That’s why her stomach is a beach ball and she was sitting there at the end like a beached whale. How do you feel about this? It must be bothering you that she has gotten fat."

"Actually, I think she looks great. I don’t care if she’s gained a little weight. I always thought that she was too much the hard body before, but I knew that’s how she wanted to be for dancing," I explained.

"Gained a little weight?" Emma questioned. "She’s a tub. Are you in denial?"

"The way I look at it, she’s got a great body and I’m fine with the fact that she has changed a little bit. I’m not one of those guys who’s vision of female beauty is dictated by the fashion industry. She’s strong and in great shape, with or without a bit of a belly. Actually, I think her belly is kind of sexy and the gain has not done any damage to her tits."

"Oh, typical guy," Emma joked, "As long as she has big tits, who cares about the rest."

"Sorry, darling," I continued, "I’m into the whole package, but yes I do like the fact that she’s filled out over the summer."

"We’ll see how you feel in a couple of months, if she doesn’t snap out of it. With the way that she ate at dinner, she’ll be dragging her ass in a couple of months," Emma said derisively.

"I doubt it," I said confidently, as Colette walked into the room.

"What are we talking about?" asked Colette.

"Your tubby belly," Emma joked, poking Colette and laughing like the Pillsbury dough boy.

"What about my belly?" Colette asked, turning to me, looking a bit too serious.

"Your sister is just being stupid. She thinks that you have gained a few pounds and she’s obsessing that she thinks she saw you eat more than her at dinner tonight. So she’s trying to make the case that your ass is as big as her’s now," I explained, putting Emma on the defense.

"Are we talking about my belly or my ass?" Colette questioned defiantly.

"Actually, we were talking about your tits and how your boyfriend likes them bigger," Emma laughed, thinking that she was being just so clever.

Colette decided to ignore her silly sister. "Are we ready to go?" she asked me.

"Ready and willing, gorgeous," I answered, taking her in my arms and giving her a big kiss.

"The secret is having a real man," Colette said to Emma as we walked out the door.

In the car and driving into town, Colette turned to me and asked, "All kidding aside, are you pissed off about my fat?

Stop being defensive," I scolded. "You know how I feel. And you know I am not the type that either changes their way of thinking easily or is affected by nonsense from people like your sister. Both of your sisters would be happier and healthier if they stopped worrying so much about their weight."

"They don’t have boyfriends who love them in spite of their weight," Colette said with appreciation.

"I don’t love you in spite of your weight," I clarified. "I just love you. I loved you before when you were too skinny and I love you now that you have a more rounded, sexy body."

Colette sat quietly for a few minutes and then turned to me and asked a bit too directly, "The way you just said that would suggest that you prefer the fatter me than the way I was before. Is that right?"

"I’m trying to be politically correct here and make the case that it is the woman that I love, not any particular piece of her. But if you really want to know, I am not disappointed in any way that you have some extra curve to your body at the moment. I actually find it very sexy. You may have noticed that when we make love," I explained.

"But what if I don’t lose this weight? What if your lean girlfriend is a bit of a butterball? How does that work?" Colette probed.

"What has to work? I don’t get it. Try to pay attention: I think you look real good right now, big belly and all. The only thing that you could do wrong is get obsessed about losing it and turn into one of those bitchy women who is always complaining about their body. It is insulting to a guy when a woman tries to convince him that the object of his desire is somehow not perfect," I answered her, realizing that I was being a bit too intense.

Colette hesitated for a moment, but then asked, "And what if I not only didn’t lose this food baby, but actually gained a pound or two."

I felt cornered, but managed to maintain my composure and secret, "If you gained a pound or two or ten, I don’t really care, as long as you are healthy and we have the kind of great sex that we have both been enjoying since you got back from Europe. I think you should start thinking about the fact that I have never seen you like sex more. Maybe there is some connection between not starving yourself to maintain an unnaturally thin body and having a bigger appetite for sex. Not just making love, but real sex."

She reached over and confirmed that her suspicions were correct, feeling my hard on. "Just talking about this is turning you on," she exclaimed.

"Oh how surprising. Talking about my girlfriend’s sexy body is turning me on," I said sarcastically.

"I’m just wondering," is all that she said.

"Actually, I think it is the way that your belly and breasts are jiggling like jello on springs on this bumpy road that is turning me on," I smiled.

Colette turned to me, smiled, and let out a long, deep, and convincing burp. "And, yes, even that turns me on," I laughed.

Chapter Twenty

Eric and I headed into town after dinner with vague plans to meet up with Emma and Liz. In the car we had an interesting conversation about my weight. I knew that Eric was accepting about the fact that I had put on fat, but I was a bit surprised that he wasn’t a little bit critical of me stuffing my face. He was aware of how much I had eaten, including totally unnecessary snacks, yet he continued to be totally supportive. I started wondering if there was a chance that he actually liked me better fatter. Was it possible that he was actually one of those guys who was not grossed out by fat girls. I even tried to gross him out by letting out a burp that could win a contest and he claimed that he found even my burping sexy.

We walked around for a while, but I was done drinking beer for the night, so we were really just hanging out. Emma and Liz decided to stay at one of the bars flirting with the idea of everyone being on the make, although I was pretty sure that they were smart enough not to hook up with someone. The scene at the bars was like the feeding frenzy when bluefish trap the schools of bait fish against the shore and jetties. While the blues are busy with the bait fish, the fishermen on the shore are busy reeling in one fish after another. Not the environment to get caught in.

At around midnight, I figured we might as well had for home. The talk in the car had gotten me feeling horny and I wanted to make sure that we were both awake enough to take advantage of the mood. I suggested to Eric that we think about packing it in for the night.

"Actually, I was thinking about getting some ice cream. Did you feel like anything?" he asked.

The thoughts that I had in the car came back into focus. I decided to test him a little bit. "Oh, I don’t know if I should. I did eat too much at dinner," I sighed.

"But you didn’t have any dessert," he said authoritatively. "What about a little ice cream?"

"If you think it’s a good idea, I wouldn’t turn it down. Why don’t you go in and get us both something. I’ll wait out here," I tested.

"Actually, why don’t you pick something up at the bakery across the street, while I get us ice cream. We forgot to bring the box of pastries from the city. You could pick up something for the house for breakfast," he suggested.

For some reason, this whole thing seemed kind of naughty. He went into the ice cream store and I went into the bakery. I picked out a collection of croissant and some Danish pastries. I got the two boxes and carried them out, meeting Eric just as he was coming out of the ice cream store. He had a cone and a giant shake. I reached for the cone, but he handed me the shake instead.

"Let’s get in the car before anyone sees me. This has got to be a little bit funny. This chubby girl walking down the street with her belly poking out carrying two boxes of pastries and a giant shake," I said, feeling embarrassed as I realized that this is exactly how I looked.

We got in the car and Eric commented, "When are you going to stop worrying so much about how you think things look to other people. Half the people on the street are fatter than you and few have anywhere near your sexy body. Do you really think that people would pay attention to you and think that there is something wrong?"

I wouldn’t be surprised if a couple of teenagers made mooing sounds behind me," I admitted.

I sat there staring at him cynically and continued, "Yes, I really do think people would think that it looks silly, this girl with a huge belly standing on Main Street at midnight with boxes of pastries and the biggest shake I have ever seen. Want to explain yourself? What is this? The glutton special?" It was like a double shake. Totally unnecessary and totally inappropriate. But totally appreciated, in a kind of perverse way that I was still trying to figure out. Given the alternative, I was impressed that Eric’s choice was to get me something generous instead of emphasizing the fact that the last thing that I needed at that point in the day was more calories. But still, what was the deal?

Eric blushed, trying to come up with an explanation. This wasn’t having a little ice cream. He had selected the biggest, most calorie laden choice maybe a step or two past obscene. "What’s wrong? You thought that getting me one of those seven scoop banana split things with several different sauces piled high with whipped cream, nuts and a cherry would be over the top?" I asked sarcastically.

"Is that what you wanted?" Eric asked before he could catch himself.

"NO! Are you crazy?" I responded astounded. "This is bad enough. This shake has to be thousands of calories and more fat than recommended for an entire day. Not exactly the thing that I need at the moment."

"Well, I wasn’t sure what to get. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Its chocolate chocolate chip, which you like," he answered, trying to sound logical. "Just have what you want. You don’t have to finish it."

Of course, the whole time he is saying this, my mouth is on the straw sucking down the shake. By the time we pulled in the driveway, the shake was gone and my belly felt like someone had decided to store a watermelon in it. I was glad that my parents had gone to bed and my sisters were still out. I felt like I was waddling when I walked. I figured that this must be what it feels like to be in the last trimester. Actually thinking about it, I realized that my weight gain of more than 50 pounds was really the equivalent of full term; particularly with that day’s lunch, afternoon’s pizza, the evening’s dinner, and ridiculously huge shake all still sitting in there.

Eric followed me in, carrying the boxes of pastries, and we were quiet to not disturb anyone. "Do you want to take a midnight swim?" Eric asked.

"I’m afraid I would just sink to the bottom and drown," I answered as we snuck through the house. We made it to our bedroom safe and sound. But then what to do. The thought of laying down on my belly on the bed sounded painful. But the thought of laying down on my back on the bed also sounded uncomfortable. I ended up laying on my side, with my belly feeling like it was something separate from me that I was cuddling up to. Eric started to lay down next to me, but I told him to be careful. "If you push on me wrong, I am liable to explode," I warned him.

"Come on. Get out of your things and lets go down for a swim. We’ll stay in the shallow end. I bet it will make you feel better," he suggested.

I stood up and took off my clothes. Removing the spandex panties was a real relief, although my belly then seemed to be an orb expanding into the room. "I am not putting on my bathing suit," I told Eric. Rubbing my gut, I was impressed with how solid it felt. Earlier in the day, the chub was fluffy. Now, it felt like my skin was stretched tight. "I can’t imagine anything that would put pressure on this being a good idea"

"Your sisters won’t be home for hours and your parents are asleep. Let’s go skinny dip," he suggested.

"Okay, but be very quiet. It would be awkward enough to be caught in the raw, but with this body, I would be totally embarrassed," I explained.

We wrapped in towels and snuck back through the house, out the back, and to the pool. The water felt warmer than the air and we oozed ourselves in. Eric was right. It did feel really good to be in the water. I felt weightless. Well, maybe not weightless, but not ponderous. This must be why hippos like to sit in the river, I thought.

Eric hovered around me, rubbing, touching and caressing me as I kind of half floated and have bobbed in the shallow end with my feet on the bottom and my knees bent. He got behind me and wrapped his arms around me, alternating between fondling my breasts, lightly wobbling my belly, and massaging my pubis and inner thighs. He was aroused, but I told him that I wasn’t ready to make love.

We floated there for a little while until I started feeling like I was going to zone out. The only thing preventing me from drifting off was the way that Eric was playing with my cunny. I was starting to get aroused, although I couldn’t image how I could make love without putting pressure on my belly. "We better get back up to the bedroom, or I’m going to fall asleep here," I whispered sounding groggy.

Eric helped my out of the pool. Feeling the weight rest back on me as I climbed out of the water was dramatic. I felt completely sodden. Maybe my sister had been right and I was soaking up the water from the pool like a sponge. We snuck back into our room. I was glad again that our room was away from everyone else. Eric helped dry me off, since I really felt like I couldn’t bend or twist comfortably. He started working my cunny again, which felt great, but I was still trying to figure out how this could work.

"I can’t imagine you on top of me or me on top of you," I admitted.

"I can handle you on top," Eric said with confidence.

"You don’t understand," I explained. "There’s not going to be any room between my belly and you. Any movement is going to cause pressure, which is not going to feel very good right now. Did you see the size of the shake that you forced me to drink?"

"I did," he laughed, "It was impressive! Heroic! You should be in Ripley’s."

He led me over to the end of the bed and told me to spread my legs, lean forward, and hold on to the end board. Then he got some lubricant and tickled my cunny with it, finishing by putting the rest on himself. Then he pushed up against my ass and slid himself into me smoothly and gently. He started by pulling my hips back against him so that he was able to work himself into a rhythm without me having to do much. I figured he could tell that I was really starting to get into it, as my body broke into a sweat. I was able to focus in on how he was pushing into me, with my belly and boobs hanging free. As I built towards orgasm, he moved his hands to below my belly, almost leaning onto my back and pulled my skin tight.

Instead of feeling bad, his pulling in on my round gut actually felt oddly good, as if it was increasing the pressure in my cunny. Though it made no sense, for some reason that pressure felt really good. It was counterintuitive: feeling totally stuffed, it felt good to have the weight of my belly pulled down into my crotch. Also counterintuitive, instead of being a round piggy making me feel awkward, I was getting off on feeling so guttural and probably sounding a bit like a hog, grunting with each breath. Eric pushed harder, laid more on my back and grabbed onto my bosoms, with my nipples between his fingers. Finally, I started letting a low moan overwhelm me as I started to cum. That overwhelmed Eric and he exploded into me. His legs kind of gave out, but my legs were strong enough to support us both as we kind of rocked from side to side.

Finally, Eric stood and kind of staggered back from me. He was totally zoned out and spent. Somehow, we moved around to the side and collapsed on the bed. I felt great, despite still being totally full. I felt so round that it didn’t seem to matter which way was up or how I was laying, since I was just a round ball. The next thing I knew, it was around 3:00 in the morning and I had to seriously pee. Sitting on the toilet, my belly was sitting square in my lap, bigger than ever. Alone, by myself, sitting there in the cool night, it was very clear that I had not lost any weight since returning from Europe and probably had continued to gain. But for some reason, it wasn’t bothering me. Even standing up, there was a crease from hip to hip, with my belly was lapping onto my fupa across my pelvis. It felt like it had kind of shifted. I wondered if that was just because I had so much food in me, or whether it was something new to my figure. I remember this being the first time that I actually thought of myself having a fupa. The fat over my pubis had thickened and this really changed my cunny. Not is a bad way, but just different.

The next morning, I didn’t wake up until around 10:00. The smell of breakfast cooking brought me out of my semi-toper, but I quickly realized that I had no appetite. My stomach still felt stuffed from the night before. Nothing had actually moved through my system and I felt both bloated and constipated. I figured that was maybe the result of the beer. Eric was already up so I stayed in bed for a while exploring my body. Lying down, my abdomen curved from my breasts to the crease at my thighs, with a bit of a bump right below my belly button, which was remarkably deep.

I slid to the edge of the bed and let my legs drop over the edge, which helped pull me into a sitting position. That changed my contours dramatically, with gravity redistributing my volume so that my lower belly became more pronounced. Standing allowed that volume to push out and down, recreating the crease across my pubis that I had discovered the night before. My lower belly was actually hanging as a distinct round bulge. This helped me look fat instead of pregnant. I stumbled into the bathroom and plopped down on the toilet, but nothing came out except pee and air. Still, that did help me feel a little bit less like a balloon.

Since I didn’t feel hungry at all, I decided to take a shower and get dressed. I did not put on my restrictive panties to avoid constriction. Unfortunately, my size 12 jeans now created a muffin top, so I changed into my 14s. To make sure that no one knew the size of those pants, I had cut out the inside tag with that disturbing number on it. I put on a loose shirt to avoid a display of my bloated belly and headed downstairs where I met up with Eric sitting with Emma and Liz, finishing breakfast.

"Thanks for the Danish," Liz offered. "Have one."

"No thanks," I answered simply, walking out to the pool where my dad and mom were sitting.

"Did you have breakfast?" my dad asked.

"No. I’m not feeling very hungry this morning. I figured its late and I’ll just wait for lunch," I explained.

We hung out for the rest of the morning. I wasn’t in a wedging myself into my swimsuit frame of mind, so I was basically just vegging out in the sun. My mom asked me if I wanted to walk to town with her and I said yes. As we walked along, she asked me questions about Europe and the whole trip. We started talking about me starting classes again the next week and whether I was ready to back to school. I knew that at some point she would get around to it and she finally asked me about my weight.

"I noticed that you put on some pounds on the trip," she began, sounding very matter of fact, as if she was pointing out that the sun seemed to be setting a bit earlier now that summer was ending.

I waited for her to continue, but she left it to me whether I wanted to discuss it. "Yes, I actually gained a lot of weight on the trip. I was pretty surprised when I got home how big I was. Somehow, while I was traveling, it seemed unimportant. I guess I was a bit in denial."

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"I feel good, although I am careful when I am walking on sidewalks, sitting down on furniture, or trying to turn around in a crowded room," I joked.

"How is Eric handling it. He must have been pretty surprised when he first saw you when you got back," she continued.

"He doesn’t seem to have a problem with it, although I suspect that he is trying to be nice."

"He’s a good guy and your father and I both like him. It’s nice that he isn’t hassling you to drop the weight. I even saw him give you something to eat yesterday. I wish your sister’s boyfriend wasn’t such a jerk. He has Emma terrified of gaining an ounce and she’s always had a tendency to be thick. Sometimes it seems that she can add to her bottom by walking past cookies on a plate," my mom lamented. "You were always the athletic one, Liz was always the skinny one, and Emma was always the one that seemed to verge towards chubby."

"I guess your going to have to redefine us. Now I get to be the fat one," I sighed.

"Oh, your so dramatic. With your discipline, you’ll be back to your old self in now time," my mom stated confidently.

"We’ll see. I seem to have this appetite that doesn’t want to go away. I keep trying to go back to my old regime, but I don’t remember being so hungry so often, so soon after eating," I explained. "I am hoping that it settles down soon. Maybe when I am back in classes at the CIA."

"I don’t know how you can control your appetite when you are at a culinary institute with food all around you," she commented.

"It’s different. That’s work and we are cooking, not eating. After I have been slaving over some pastry dish, the last thing that I am thinking about is eating it. I’m usually stressing about how the master chef is going to assess it," I explained.

"But don’t you get to try it afterwards?" she asked.

"Sometimes we do, but most of the time, what we make is offered in their restaurant."

We kept walking and talking and I was glad that my mom wasn’t freaked out about my weight. She had never really had to think about her weight and is one of those people who seems to just be naturally thin. I figured it was all of the walking that she did.

When we got into town, we looked in some of the shops. She asked me if I needed any clothes for the Fall and I took her up on her offer. We went into a cute little boutique that was new that summer and I started looking at a couple of nice dresses. In my denial mode, I was looking in the 8's. The salesgirl came over and asked if she could help me and whether I was shopping for someone. I explained that, no, I was just looking for myself. She was very pleasant, but suggested that I might have a problem with the dresses that I was looking at, since they only carried up to a size 12 in most of the lines, although they did have a few things that came in a 14. I told her that I was a size 12. She accepted my statement, but looked a bit skeptical. She showed me where the 12's were and I picked one out to try on.

I took the dress into the dressing room and tried to put it one. The dress had a fitted waist and it became clear that, while I might be able to wedge into it, it would not be comfortable. I brought it back out and told my mom that I didn’t really like the cut.

"You should try something that has a looser fit," she suggested trying to be helpful and a bit more realistic. "Make sure that you get something that you like now, but that will also work after you’ve lost the weight.

I found a peasant dress that had an elastic band under the bust line, but that fell loose over my belly and hips. It was nice and I was able to fit in the size 12 without drama. I looked around for some other things, but they carried very little above a size 12. Perhaps being practical about me needing to have things to wear during the Fall, until I achieved my miraculous deflation, my mom suggested that I get some more of the peasant dresses in different colors. I realized that it was a good idea and picked out three additional dresses.

We left the store and my mom asked me if I was interested in lunch. I explained that I wasn’t really hungry and figured I could wait until we got back to the house. I was thirsty and we stopped into the bakery, but just to pick up some waters for the walk home. I was hoping that the walking and water would get my system moving, since I was still feeling clogged.

We got back to the house just as the weather was starting to shift. Clouds were rolling in and the forecast was for rain in the late afternoon. It was already after 1:00 and I started thinking that it could make sense to head back early. While Monday was Labor Day, Eric and I had figured to have a day to ourselves before I started back into classes on Wednesday. I looked around, but couldn’t find Eric. My dad told me that he had gone out on the boat with Emma and Liz. I was just as glad that they had gone without me. Bouncing on waves would not have been that great a feeling, given that my guts felt congested. I grabbed a coke and went up to stretch out for a while.

I must have dozed off. I woke up about an hour later with the feeling that my system was starting up again; with some urgency. I went into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet. After dispelling a remarkable amount of gas, I voided myself. It was a dramatic feeling; as if I had removed a couple of bricks from my bowels. I felt a lot better. It was so dramatic, it seemed as if I should have been half the size. Looking at myself in the mirror confirmed that there was no real change to my profile and my hips, belly, and breasts were still those of a fat girl. I cradled my belly in my hands, gave it a shake, and introduced myself to the girl in the mirror, "Hello, fat girl."

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Chapter Twenty One

Before lunch, Colette left to walk into town with her mom. Since I was somewhat adrift, Liz and Emma invited me to go out on the boat with them. We fixed sandwiches and packed some beers in the cooler and drove down to the marina where they kept the boat, which is a Boston Whaler. If it had been calmer, it could have been fun to go water skiing. As it was, we simply headed out into the Bay and headed over towards Moriches Inlet.

We anchored off on of the sandy islands near the inlet and Liz stripped down to her bikini and dove in to the water. Emma and I thought that looked like a good idea and followed. We spashed around for a while and then swam to the beach. Watching Liz and Emma walk out of the water reminded me of the big change that Colette had gone through. Liz had always been the skinny one. Emma had been the one who needed to watch her weight, tending towards a big ass. Colette had been the dancer. Now she had become the fat one.

Walking behind the two girls, it was easy to tell them apart. While they were the same height and similar in basic build, Emma really did have a big butt. I realized that, even with her weight gain, Colette’s butt wasn’t bigger than Emma’s. But both girls had taut bodies and no belly or chub. Colette’s breasts also equaled the two girls put together.

We sat in the sun drying off, feeling the warm wind that was keeping the water choppy. I asked the girls if they were ready to return to school. Liz was enthusiastic, but Emma expressed resistance. It was clear that she was not looking forward to the end of the summer. She didn’t live with her boyfriend, but he was a student with her and she would be going back to his world. It wasn’t my business, so I had always stayed out of it, but it was clear that he didn’t really treat her right. It sounded like he was always criticizing her and, when he had come to family functions, my impression of him was that he was an immature and insensitive. He seemed to always be trying to make himself seem cool, too often at Emma’s expense. He didn’t appreciate that she is a beautiful woman, wide hips, big butt and all. That was just the way that she was built and she kept herself in very good shape.

I sometimes wondered if Emma would be happier if she relaxed a little bit about her constant diet and gave up the struggle to keep herself too thin. In the effort to control her ass, she dieted to an extreme, keeping the rest of her body too thin. I guess I also sometimes wondered how she would fill out, if she gave up the diet. If the rest of her body caught up to her ass, she would have a generous figure.

Liz started questioning Emma about her apprehension over going back to school. Emma made it clear that it wasn’t school that she was worried about, It was Johnny, her boyfriend. She was feeling really good about herself and was apprehensive about seeing him. The way that she spoke made it clear that she was fully aware of the way that his attitude affected her.

"Can I ask a question?" Liz posed. "Why are you with that guy?"

"Well, I guess the dumb answer is because he is my boyfriend," Emma answered.

"But if he doesn’t make you feel good about yourself, what is the point?" Liz continued.

"We have had good times. He’s not awful," Emma defended herself.

"All I ever hear about is that he doesn’t like this or that about you. That you have to do this of that to make him happy. And that, in the end, you seem to always feel like you have failed. What does he do for you? Do you have your own this’s and that’s?" Liz was really pushing her point.

I waded in, but carefully. I didn’t want it to seem like we were ganging up on Emma. "Emma, you’re a great girl and drop dead gorgeous. I have to believe that you could have your pick of guys at school. What is it about Johnny that keeps you with him?"

Emma thought for a minute and answered, "I guess I am scared to change things. He and I have been together for the two years I have been at school. Everyone knows us as Emma and Johnny, or maybe Johnny and Emma. We met in the first month that I got there."

"That doesn’t answer my question," I pushed softly. "What is it about him that you like? Whenever I see you together, it always seems that he is either ignoring you, criticizing you, or making fun of you."

"It’s not that bad. You’re exaggerating," Emma answered, trying to insert a tone of conviction in her voice. "Actually, it kind of is. I see it the same as Eric. Johnny seems to think that he is free to say nasty things to you in front of us, and it pisses me off."

"What was the deal in June when we were all out here before Colette left for Europe? All I remember was Johnny ranking on you that you better not gain any weight over the summer while you were apart. What’s his obsession?" I asked.

"He’s just really body conscious," Emma answered. "I mean, he’s like in perfect shape. He works out five days a week. Have you seen his abs?"

"I think he a narcissist," Liz proclaimed. "It’s not like he is an athlete. He works out so that he can look like that. I also have news for you. There is an expiration date stamped on those abs. Johnny is Italian. I’ve seen a lot of Italian guys start out like they are carved in marble when they are young, but you don’t see many Italian men that look like that when they get older. They either turn into little skinny guys and look like they are falling apart or big bloated guys who look like are going to pop. Johnny is going to be the big bloated guy before he is 30."

The way that Liz made this prediction revealed a lot of anger towards Johnny. I figured that I would try to balance her position so that Emma wouldn’t be too defensive. "On of the things that I find amusing is how people in their teens and young 20s seem to have an attitude that they will always be young and perfect. The real world shows us that isn’t the way that it really is. People can still be good looking when they get older, but age affects everyone." I could tell that both Emma and Liz were really paying attention. "I think what Liz is trying to say is that Johnny is writing checks with his attitude that he is not going to be able to cash. The idea that he criticizes you for the way that you look is just stupid. You are a beautiful woman and you should be with someone who understands that and appreciates you."

Emma looked like she was going to start to cry. I wasn’t aware of how this must have been affecting her. It became clear in our discussion about how abusive her boyfriend was towards her, particularly about her body and the size of her ass.

"Johnny is always telling me that no one could love me if I didn’t keep myself thin. I’ve got this butt that seems to have a mind of its own and it doesn’t want to cooperate. I work out hard to keep toned and I am always careful about what I eat, but I think this is as small as it gets. It’s just the way I’m built. It’s not fair. How did my sisters get the little butt genes?"

"I don’t know if you have noticed, but Colette’s butt isn’t so small anymore," Liz laughed.

"But your’s is and Colette’s was until she gained 500 pounds in Europe," Emma responded, letting a smile break through.

I sat there not saying anything for a few minutes just listening to the two of them talk. I knew that questions were going to come to me eventually, but I didn’t want to be the one instigating a discussion about Colette. Emma seemed to be building up a resolve about her relationship with Johnny and the fact that he really was a bad guy, regardless of his perfect abs.

Liz was pushing Emma to actually make a decision to break up with Johnny when she got back to school and turned to me for support. "Eric, give us the guy’s perspective."

"I already said what I thought," I explained. "Johnny doesn’t deserve a girl like Emma. She needs to be with someone who loves her for who she is."

"In spite of my big butt," Emma decreed.

"Actually, not in spite of it, but just happy with it," I explained.

"Or maybe even because of it," Liz offered.

"No guy is going to be attracted to a girl because she has a fat ass," Emma said cynically.

"Actually, there are a lot of guys who do like girls with big butts. What about that song years ago that was exactly about that?" Liz pointed out.

"That was just sarcastic," Emma said. "It was a joke song."

Liz disagreed, "You’ve just bought into a whole bunch of nonsense. Lots of guys look for girls who are bigger. Think of the fixation on girls with big tits. There are guys who have the same obsession with big butts."

"No guys that I have met," Emma answered.

"You’ve said it yourself," I explained. "You’ve been with Johnny the whole time that you’ve been in school. He’s so possessive I can easily understand guys not wanting to talk you up when he is around. Think about yesterday at the bar. You didn’t notice a group of guys drooling over you?"

"They were looking at Liz," Emma said unconvincingly.

"Yeah, right. It looked to me that you had your own little cheering section when you were dancing. All three of you are great dancers," I proclaimed.

"Okay. I’m not saying that I have made any decision about Johnny, but I am ready to tell him to lighten up on the criticism," Emma agreed.

"What about you?" Liz asked looking at me.

"What about me?"

"How do you feel about your girlfriend becoming the Pillsbury dough girl over the summer?"

"I don’t know what your talking about," I said smiling, at which they both broke up laughing. "I’m going to pull the boat in to the shore so that we can have lunch," I suggested to interrupt the discussion.

I swam out, pulled up the anchor, and swam the boat into the beach. We took out the cooler and set up a little picnic.

As we were eating, Emma returned to the question. "You haven’t answered us. How are you dealing with how fat Colette has gotten? I appreciate that you are no Johnny, but you had to be pretty surprised. I know we both were. I never would have thought that she would let herself go like that. She has always been the most disciplined of the three of us."

"I’m not sure what you want me to say. Yes, I noticed that she gained some weight, which I think would have been impossible not to do, given what she was there for," I answered. "It’s not any kind of a problem for us, though."

"Sure, as long as she loses it quickly," Emma laughed.

"Actually, that is up to her," I made it clear. "As far as I am concerned, she is beautiful, and not in spite of her weight."

"Your serious," Liz asked, looking hard into my eyes for signs that I was just being politically correct. "You would be okay with her, if she decided that she wasn’t going to lose the weight anytime soon?"

"I want her to be healthy and happy," I answered. "I actually think that girls do damage to themselves by trying to stay too thin. As we were saying earlier, things change as people change. I love Colette with the belly and without the belly."

"Or maybe you just like her humongous jugs," Liz said laughing, causing me to blush.

"See! He’s starting to blush. It is her breasts?" Emma taunted.

"No, it is not any one part of her body. And certainly, not her breasts," I corrected them. "I do find it a bit weird to be talking about my girlfriend’s body with her two sisters. Maybe I can have a conversation about it with your mom and dad when we get back to the house," I said sarcastically

"We’re just asking how you - a typical guy - feels about your girlfriend - our sister - getting fat. You just told Emma how you agreed with me that Johnny is an idiot for how he fixates on the size of her ass. Where are you about Colette’s European adventure and the impact that it has had on her figure?" Liz asked. "I believe you when you say that it doesn’t make you love her less, but what does it do to your desire for her. I am talking sex here, if you are confused."

Now I was really getting flushed, and there wasn’t anything that I could do about it. Carefully, I answered, "I think this is a bit personal, but I will tell you that I think Colette looks great right now. I have no complaints about her body and I am not suggesting that she needs to lose weight. That is up to her. And we have a great sex life."

"Are there any more like you back home?" Emma asked. "A guy that doesn’t care that his girlfriend who had the perfect figure is now a chub. You almost make it sound as if you like her body."

"It’s just different. It is still Colette. I love her," I declared.

"Aw, that’s so sweet," exclaimed Emma.

"I’m not so sure," Liz said with a kind of inquisitive tone. "He said he thinks she looks great right now. I think I would have expected a bit more ‘her weight doesn’t matter to me’ attitude. He said she looks great. I wonder," Liz let this linger for a moment.

"Wonder what? If he’s sincere? I buy it. I think Eric is a real guy and I want to find one just like him who will accept my ass just as it is," Emma said. "Its from Bridget Jones. He likes her just the way she is."

"No. That’s not what I am wondering," explained Liz. "What if that meant you’d be looking for a guy who likes you because you have a big butt and who wouldn’t mind it if was bigger." She said this in a way that revealed she had something in mind. "Eric, do you think you could be an FA?"

"What’s an FA?" I asked, trying to sound like I had never heard the term before.

"A guy who is attracted to woman who are fat," Liz answered like a detective following a clue.

"That’s crazy," answered Emma. "Like Eric has been with Colette for a couple of years waiting for her to go to Europe to get fat. Doesn’t make any sense. How do you know about these fat people likers?"

"You know my roommate, Susan?" Liz asked Emma.

"Yes, she is a big girl. Bigger than the new Colette. People think of you as the number 10 with you being the 1 and she being the 0," Emma chuckled.

"Ever wonder why she never talks about dieting or losing weight and always seems willing to have another slice?" Liz continued.

"I figured because she just loves to eat," Emma answered stating what she assumed to be the obvious.

"You like to eat, but you diet all of the time and freak out if you think you gained a pound. And that’s in part due to Johnny being afraid of you getting fat. Probably because he wouldn’t want you on his arm if you were. It would ruin his image," Liz explained. "What if Johnny felt the opposite way? What if he liked you fatter?"

"Like that would happen," Emma answered with sarcasm.

"Susan’s boyfriend is a fat admirer - an FA. He loves to watch her eat. She actually has to be careful to avoid eating when she is not with him to avoid turning into a total blimp," Liz continued.

"She is a blimp," Emma said, with a tone that sounded like she didn’t get it.

"No. If she gave in to her boyfriend’s fantasy, she could be twice that size. She’d be like 400 pounds. She and I talk about it. Her boyfriend is even willing to talk about it in front of me. It is a match made in heaven for her, provided that she can control the situation and not lose control to him. He jokes about wanting her to get so fat he would have to wait on her."

"So I have a boyfriend who hates fat and Susan has a boyfriend who loves fat. They both sound nuts," Emma commented, still puzzled by Liz’s point.

"I am just wondering if our friend here Eric could have some of that FA tendency," Liz posed.

"You know I am sitting here, right?" I said to Liz. surprised that she would be talking like this in front of me.

"Well, for our sister’s sake, I hope he has a little bit of that tendency, because she sure did get fat," Emma said, with both of them cracking up with laughter.

Liz zeroed in on me again. "So, Eric? Any chance that you are a closet FA?"

"Sure," I answered trying to sound completely insincere. "I am a fat admirer and I have been secretly waiting for Colette to gain weight. How do you get from my thinking that she’s a good looking woman regardless of her size to where I am a feeder who wants her to get fatter?" I asked.

Suddenly, there was a flicker in Liz’s eyes like she had really discovered something, but she dropped it just as quickly. "Enough talk about my fat sister. I’m going to have another sandwich," Liz announced.

I sat there realizing that I had used the word "feeder". I wondered how much Liz really knew about fat admirers and whether that flicker was her somehow seeing inside me to something that no one else in the world knew. I was grateful that she had dropped it, but I got a sense that the discussion was not finished.

We cleaned up and got everything back into the boat. We decided to take a ride out to the inlet and then headed back for home. I pretended that none of that discussion had unnerved me, but I could sense that there had been a connection between Liz and me that was maybe embarrassing to her as well; like she had learned a secret that she didn’t need to know.

As we rode back on the choppy water, I tried to keep my eyes off of Emma’s round butt bouncing with the boat. If she did ever relax her obsession with staying slim, she could have a great looking body. Maybe even as nice as Colette’s.

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Man, I wish I hadn't discovered this story until the next chapter was released. A terrible cliffhanger since we still don't know just how much she can handle. Can wait to find out


Edit: dang there were chapters posted loool. Gotta catch up now


Edit2: incredible. Loving this story, can't wait for the next part! 

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Chapter Twenty Two

I was hanging at the pool waiting for Eric to get back with my sisters from their boat ride. With my gut finally emptied out, I found the box of pastries left over from the morning and scarfed down the three remaining Danish and a buttery croissant . Then I changed into my swimsuit and went for a quick swim. The sky was starting to get grey and I could tell that a storm was rolling in.

It just started to drizzle when my sisters and Eric pulled into the driveway. It was around 3:00 and I wanted to get on the road to make sure we wouldn’t be fighting traffic on the ride home. The trick was to hit the gap between the people who would be rushing off the beach with the rain starting and the people who would be hitting the road going out for the evening. I figured if we left by 4:00, the traffic wouldn’t be bad.

The three of them came around the corner and dove into the pool to rinse off from the bay. I told Eric that we should be hitting the road and he agreed. The two of us grabbed towels and headed to our room. We stripped out of our suits and dried off.

"Did you have fun with my sisters?" I asked.

"Sure, they were a good time. But all they wanted to talk about was their perfect sister," he answered.

"Oh, I am sure. I can imagine what they were saying about me."

"No, really. They think you are great," Eric said sincerely.

"Maybe great as in massive, huge, immense," I pouted.

Eric pivoted and wrapped his arms around me, pushing himself against my blubbery belly, while his hands grabbed back chub as handles. He gave me a hard, long, deep kiss that just shut me up and made my knees weak. Then he guided me to the bed, where I fell back with him on top of me. He worked his hands over my rolls and folds and massaged under the layer of fat, where he found my muscles. He jiggled his hand around my belly kind of tickling me, but more vibrating what felt like trigger points. I started gushing wet in my cunny, as if he had found some secret switch.

I could feel a heat building in my body and flushing across my chest, up my neck and onto my face. Sensing that I was totally aroused, he slid himself into me and positioned himself so that he could bounce against my belly. Then he repositioned me so that he had more leverage with my legs bent and my knees together, with my ankles crossed. He was holding himself up by laying himself against my calves, with his chest on my knees, pushing my legs towards my head and lifting my ass off of the bed.. In this position, his hands were free to manipulate my breasts and belly, which in that position seemed to be occupying all available space. I felt squished, but it felt good, like the extra pressure was magnifying sensations.

Eric started to slow down his thrusts, but concentrate on how he was moving into me. Then he lifted off of my legs and took my ankles in his hands, straightening my legs wide apart into the air. He was still on his knees in this position, giving him lots of leverage to bang against me. Each thrust created a small earthquake across my body, with my belly and breasts in constant motion. He couldn’t see it, but I am sure he could feel how my ass bounced each time his strong body hit against it..I felt like a huge jello mold, wobbling all over the place. The way Eric was moving seemed to emphasize my jiggle.

I don’t want to make it sound like he was being violent, but his motion was very aggressive. While this felt great to me, I felt like I was a bit of a passenger and Eric was doing all of the driving. He started breathing in beat to his movements and started pounding my crotch with his crotch full thrust in an accelerating rhythm. I had no idea where his mind was at. He seemed so focused in to his own head with his eyes closed. While I was enjoying this, there was no way I was close to cumming. I just concentrated on Eric’s animalistic passion. He reached down to the sides of my torso and grabbed two hands full of chub to control my body, pulling himself harder into me. Finally, he exploded in an orgasm that left him totally zoned out, as if in a trance.

We lay there for a little while, with him just collapsed on top of me. Slowly, he came back to the present. "Did that feel good to you?" he asked.

"It felt great, but where did you go?" I asked.

"I don’t know. Somehow, I just felt like some force took me over. Your body is just amazing," he complemented.

"So it was me you were fucking. I thought maybe you were fantasizing about somebody else, or maybe even me before I got fat," I said trying to make it clear in my tone that I wasn’t criticizing him or complaining. I figured that maybe his intensity was based on thoughts of the lean me of last Spring.

"No. Not at all. I was fantasizing about the you that is right here with me. I think I am still surprised by the fact that your body is real. You need to understand that I really like your body right now. You totally turn me on," he explained.

I wondered if he was trying to tell me that he liked the big, bloated body more than when I was in great shape. I didn’t want to embarrass him, but that seemed to be what he was saying and I had to ask, "Are you saying that my fat is turning you on?"

"Whatever it is, your body feels great to me right now. I am not saying that it wasn’t great before, but I think I do find you sexier," he admitted.

"I guess that is obvious," I said, still trying to understand exactly where he was at with this. "But the way you just made love to me seemed to include you squishing me and emphasizing the way that my extra chub seems to move independently from the body that I remember inside."

"I love the way that you are so soft and round. And I love how there is an extra density to you that seems to live between your skin and your muscles. And I love how your roundness is kind of extra, as if it is a fat suit that you have put on. And I love the feel of your fat in my hands," he described, as he started getting hard again.

"Okay, moment of truth. If I could take a pill to be back to where I was before I left for Europe, would you want me to take it?"

"I would hide the pill, at least for the moment," he admitted. "But this should really be up to you. Would you want to take the pill?"

"Well, first they haven’t invented that pill yet, so its not really a choice. I have mixed thoughts. On one hand, I feel like I am in somebody else’s body. This all feels kind of alien to me. This isn’t a fat suit that I can take off. In fact, I think I am a little freaked out that I haven’t been able to really shrink my appetite the way that I thought I would be able to. I knew that I got big in Europe, but I somehow had some kind of fantasy that the weight would evaporate when I arrived home. When that obviously didn’t happen, I figured that I could simply start to work out and diet and lose the weight in a short period of time" I explained. Eric was listening carefully to what I was saying.

Since I had his attention, I continued, "Two problems: Number one, there is no way that this fat disappears quickly. I have researched diet plans and they all seem to suggest that it will take me three times as long to lose the weight as it took for me to gain it. Number two, I seem to be hungry all of the time and, so far, I have not been able to even cut back to a diet that would stop me from gaining. Today was the first time that I was able to not eat, but that was because I felt uncomfortably constipated and bloated. But then I was able to finally clean myself out, my appetite returned. While everyone was gone, I probably ate a full diet days worth of calories in pastries. If I thought that would carry me until tomorrow, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, but my bet is that I will feel hungry very soon."

Eric held me close while I spoke and then gave me the assurance that I guess I needed, "Why don’t we just take it as it comes and let you adjust. You just got back several days ago and this has been a different week than our normal routine. The important thing is that you don’t start beating yourself up about something that is not a problem. I don’t want this to be about me and what I want you to do. You need to relax and figure out what you want to do," he said with kindness.

"But I guess I need to know how you really feel about it, too," I continued. "The way that you said that sounds like you will love me even if I don’t lose the weight quickly. I know I should appreciate your loving me in spite of the weight I have gained, and I do appreciate how you have treated me. It would have been awful if you were disgusted or even just disappointed. But you seem to have skipped past acceptance and are way into enjoyment. And you just said that, if there was a pill that would cause me to instantly lose 50 pounds, you would hide it."

"I think we are getting too deep into this," Eric suggested. "If you decide to lose the weight, I’m not going to sabotage or try to prevent you from succeeding. I want you to be happy. But, if you decide not to lose the weight right now, I will enjoy you just as you are. Your body is different. You were so toned before, I couldn’t pinch an inch. Now, I can grab you by the hand full. It is different, but I like it. A lot," he admitted.

"I think I got a couple of hands full here," I said as I wobbled my round, jiggly belly.

"And maybe a hand full here and here," Eric added, taking hold of my thigh with one hand and my ass with the other.

"What about here," I joked cradling my more generous breasts. I saw that Eric was fully hard again, and he started to lean in to kiss me, but I wanted to get on the road and also figured that we could have some fun when we got home. I jumped out of bed explaining that we needed to get ready and get home before the roads got crowded.

I showered and got dressed, putting our bags together so Eric could carry them down when he had finished. I didn’t wear any control tops and made sure everything was loose. I was trying to avoid thinking about why, but I suspect that I had naughty thoughts. Denial can be so powerful.

When I came down to the kitchen, Liz was there. She was getting herself a beer and asked me if she could fix one for me. I said sure. We walked outside together and sat near the pool. No one else was around.

"I have a question for you, but I don’t want you to get mad or freaked out," Liz started. "It seems clear that Eric doesn’t mind that you have gained weight. We were talking about a lot of things and he was pretty convincing that he doesn’t have a problem with how big you have gotten."

"And you’re telling me this because?" I asked, puzzled by where she was going with this and why she wanted to go there.

"It’s just that I am wondering if he could be an FA," she said, as if she was unraveling a mystery.

"Which is?" I feigned ignorance.

"A guy who likes fat girls," Liz explained. "A fat admirer. An FA!"

"The only problem with that theory is that I just got fat and we have been together for a couple of years," I said, explaining the obvious.

"So maybe he is a closet FA!" Liz exclaimed.

"What prompts you to this theory?" I asked.

"It’s just that he is so comfortable with you eating and drinking beer despite the size of that thing," she said pointing at my round belly. "And then today, when we were talking, there was just something about the way that he was discussing it that made me think he could be an FA."

"What did he say?" I asked.

"It wasn’t really anything specific. It was just that he seemed so comfortable with the idea of you being big and actually was kind of suggesting that Emma should get rid of Johnny, if he can’t accept her for who she is, so she could enjoy having a fat ass," Liz said.

"I think we should leave it that Johnny is an insecure dope who thinks of a girlfriend as arm candy and Eric is a great guy who loves me just the way I am," I said with some self-satisfaction. "Why are you so into this? What makes you an expert?"

"I’m not an expert, but having Susan be my room mate, I have learned a lot. Her boyfriend is an FA and they are into a feeder/feedee relationship." Liz continued, sounding very technical.

‘Go on. Explain feeder/feedee," I asked.

"Well in a way its kind of gross. Charley likes fat girls and was attracted to Susan because she was fat. He explains it like it is the same as a guy who is attracted to blonds with big tits or brunettes with a J-Lo ass, or even to a skinny girl like me because I am skinny. Although, the way he makes it sound, only gay guys who are attracted to boys would find me attractive," Liz said with a tone of dejection.

"That doesn’t sound gross," I said.

"That’s not the weird part. Charley likes to watch Susan eat and wants her to continue to get bigger. The way they talk, Charley will only be satisfied when he has to pull her around on a cart, after she has gotten too fat to walk," Liz explained.

"How does Susan feel about this," I asked.

"She’s fine with it, although she tries to avoid gaining too much. She kind of has it worked out that Charley can feed her, but she doesn’t eat much when they are not together. That way, she is kind of dieting most of the time, alternating with stuff fests with Charley. She acts like she has it under control, but in the two years since they met, she has gained a lot. She has gone from like 220 pounds when they met to just under 300 at the beginning of the summer. Her plan was to lose about 40 pounds over the summer, but not so that she can get thinner. It is just so that when she is back to school with Charley, she will be able eat more. She’s trying to avoid going past 300 pounds, but only because she is afraid that once she gets that big, it will be harder for her to have dramatic gains and keep him excited. Kind of like gaining 75 pounds is a 33% weight gain for a 225 pounder but only a 10% weight gain for someone who weighs 750 pounds," Liz noted.

"She would need a cart, if she weighed 750," I agreed. "Isn’t she concerned about her health?"

"Actually, she works out to keep herself strong and does a lot of cardio including swimming and the stationary bike. She was doing the elliptical, but she kept throwing them out of balance and the gym asked her to stop using them. She went to the doctor last Spring and he took her blood pressure three times, because he didn’t believe that she could be 120 over 60. Her triglycerides are very high, though, probably because Charley feeds her a lot of ice cream. One of their favorite things is to go to the ice cream parlor for a giant shake before they go to bed. Something about ingesting a lot of fat calories before sleeping."

"They do this in front of you?" I asked.

"They aren’t embarrassed about it at all. They will eat in front of me and even will do their routine at the student center using the meal plan. I am sure that the University never considered feeders and feedees in calculating the cost of meal plans. The two of them will go through the line and overflow two trays with food, which Susan will sit there eating, while Charlie brings her additional plates. Sometimes, she gets so full that she has to sit there for a while after she is finished eating before she can stand up and walk. Every one is used to it, although some people really don’t approve. There is one group of girls who see it as a form of abuse, although it is hard to make the case, since it is a choice that Susan is making," Liz explained. "On the weekends, Charley will sometimes show up with a couple of pizzas for Susan. They have taken pictures of her eating and showing off her belly and there is some website that she has posted to."

"I think I have seen one of those websites," I admitted, which caused Liz to do a double take.

"You go to websites that feature fat girls? Why?" asked Liz in amazement.

"I didn’t really seek those site out. I was just surfing diets and being fat and a site called Dimensions came up. It has all kinds of blogs and information about people who want to be fat. Some of the pages have people who are trying to be fatter. Some of those girls are huge, but they seem happy," I explained.

"What about Eric? Does he know about those sites? Have you looked at them together," Liz asked.

"No! In fact, I’m not ready to even think about discussing this with him. There is no way that he is an FA. I am just lucky that the guy who I love, loves me fat or thin, I got a question for you, though. How come you’re so fascinated about all of this. It sounds like you have researched it yourself. I don’t think your much of a candidate. I think you could clean out an ice cream store and not gain a pound," I said.

Liz kind of looked dejected when I paid her what I thought she would take as a complement. "Everyone focuses on being thin, but that’s just because it is hard for many people to be. I like my body and I’m not complaining, but sometimes I do wish that I could get meatier," she admitted.

"Meatier? That sounds like a goal for a farm animal. Am I meatier?" I asked her.

"Sure. You’re a little porker who could feed a family for a month," she said laughing.

"I’m so glad that you’re amused," I said sarcastically.

"I’m just teasing you, but I am serious that I do sometimes wish that I could have more curves. We have always teased Emma about her butt, but there are times when I envy her. No one would mistake her for a boy," Liz explained.

"You have a great body," I complemented Liz. "When did you start feeling so insecure about it? Don’t forget, until recently, our bodies were pretty similar."

"Yeah, but you had bigger breasts and wider hips and a distinctive butt. You were just a woman’s body in great shape with very little fat. All of the curves were still there. Now that you added fat, you just look more like an earth mother," explained Liz.

"I’m not so sure that there is really that much difference between the three of us, in terms of genes. Maybe this is part of the problem. We tend to exaggerate the differences, as though they are a big deal," I said. "Do a few pounds really make that big a difference?" I asked.

"Yes, actually, a huge difference," Liz responded, poking fun at me as she pushed her fingers deep into my belly fat. "My god your chubby!"she exclaimed.

"I’m just saying that the three of us have more similarities than differences and there is that great line that Julia Roberts has in ‘Eat, Pray, Love.’ ‘In all your times with a man, when you stripped down, did he ever leave? No, of course not. He’s just feeling lucky that he’s with a naked woman.’ Or something like that," I said. "There are a lot of guys who are looking for a woman with your body. Aren’t you - wasn’t I - the ideal female figure; tall and thin?"

"All I know is that I haven’t had the boyfriends that the two of you have had," Liz pouted again.

"Well, I you just need to find a guy like Emma’s Johnny," I joked. "He wouldn’t have to complain about your getting too fat."

"That is the last guy in the world I would want to be with. I can’t believe that Emma goes out with him. I really can’t believe that she lets herself be bossed around by him and takes his criticisms seriously," she said.

"I agree that he is awful. She needs to be with someone who appreciates her," I commented.

"Hey, we’re talking about me. I need someone who appreciates me," Liz exclaimed. "You’re lucky. You have a boyfriend who seems to like you both thin and fat. And isn’t that what we started talking about. I think Eric could be an FA!"

"I gotta tell you, I was nervous when I got home. I figured Eric would accept me, but there was a moment at the airport when he first saw me when I swear his jaw dropped. For a few minutes, I was worried that he was just going to run for the hills. Luckily, he seems okay with it. He has actually been super turned on lately, but I figure that is more the result of missing me for almost three months. But I can’t see him as someone who prefers fat girls. That just wouldn’t make any sense, since I used to be almost as thin as you," I said.

"When his jaw dropped, are you sure it was because he was shocked like negative? Or could he have been shocked like positive?" Liz asked.

I thought for a moment, trying to remember the moment, "I think shocked that my clothes were holding together. I was wearing pants that had fit me 50 pounds lighter. I looked like I was going to pop."

"And you say he has been like really turned on lately," Liz said, as if she were Sherlock Holmes.

"I still don’t get your fixation on this whole fat admirer, feeder, feedee thing. You seem kind of weirdly fascinated by it," I said.

"I guess it is just because I am thin that the idea of getting fat is kind of exciting. But you are right. It doesn’t seem to matter what I eat. I never gain a pound. Maybe some thin girls envy fat girls the way some fat girls envy thin girls."

"I promise that I will keep you posted, if Eric displays any FA tendencies," I joked. "My plan is to get back to my old routine and lose at least some of this chub. I swear, sometimes I do feel like a porker."

"But do you ever like feeling bigger? I guess that is one of the things that I am wondering," Liz said.

"I’m not answering any more questions. If you want to see what it feels like, I bet you could put on some weight. I also used to think that I could eat anything and not gain. I was able to prove that wrong," I explained, as Eric walked out on the deck.

"What are you two talking about?" Eric asked. I almost thought that there was a twinge of concern in his voice.

"Nothing that’s your business," I answered.

We said our goodbyes, grabbed our stuff, and we were on the road heading for home. As we were riding along, I was thinking how odd it was that these issues about fat and thin had never been something that I had ever really discussed with my sisters until I got fat. I realized that we each have our own issues, and maybe even demons.

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Chapter Twenty Three

When we were driving back from Colette’s family’s house in the Hamptons, I started thinking about the conversation with her sisters. When I had walked out on the deck and found Liz and Colette sitting together, I had this feeling that they were talking about me, which made me a little nervous. I was still thinking about how it had felt like Liz had picked up on something when we were talking earlier. She seemed to know a lot about fat admirers for someone who had the thin body that our culture glorifies as perfect. I attributed that to her room mate being in a relationship with a feeder. While I had read about all of that, I really didn’t know anyone who actually did it. I wondered if Liz had said anything to Colette.

Colette and I started talking about the plans for the week and how she would be returning to the CIA to start classes on Wednesday and what I was doing at work and what we would do the next day, which was Labor Day. After we had been driving for about 45 minutes, Colette asked if we could stop at Exit 40 so she could use the bathroom at the Dunkin Donuts. I pulled off the Expressway, circled around to the store and parked in front.

I figured I would get a coolatta and ordered while Colette was using the bathroom. When she came out I asked her if she wanted anything. The girl behind the counter was the same big girl who had served us on the way out the day before. I thought Colette could still be weirded out by her, but she walked up to the counter and ordered. "Two Boston creme donuts and two powdered custard filled donuts and a large vanilla bean coolatta," she said with a smile to the girl.

"Is that it?" the girl asked, also smiling.

"Actually, I will also have two of the apple filled cinnamon donuts, thank you," she added.

Everyone was smiling except me. While I had no problem with what Colette had ordered, I was in shock, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

"You don’t mind if I get a little something, do you," Colette asked, sounding totally innocent. "I didn’t have any breakfast or lunch today, since I was still feeling full from that shake you bought me last night. I’m feeling hungry and I figure we are still a couple of hours from dinner."

"No. I don’t mind at all. Get whatever you feel like," I answered feeling a bit confused. A donut or a bagel could be an appetite killer to bridge to dinner. Six donuts was something else.

The girl behind the counter had overheard our conversation, as she filled the bag. "I always make sure that I eat a good meal before I come here. Otherwise, I don’t know how many donuts I would eat," she commented. "This is a tricky place, when you’re feeling hungry." Looking at how her body totally stressed her clothes, I suspected that she had a tendency to succumb to the temptation of racks of donuts.

Nonplused by the conversation, Colette asked the girl in a very matter of fact way, "Are you allowed to eat the donuts while you are working?"

The girl answered in an equally matter of fact way, "No, thank goodness. We’re not allowed to eat anything when we are working. We have to wait for our breaks. But they let us take home almost as much as we want at the end of our shift, as long as we pick from the racks that are going to be tossed anyway. I thought I would get tired of donuts, but I have been working here for almost a year and I still love them. It helps that they have so many different types," she giggled.

"It must be tempting," Colette said. "I’d be afraid that I would get fat working here."

I couldn’t believe that Colette was having this conversation with the 300 pound girl behind the counter. It was just too blatant. Given the conversations during the day, I thought maybe I was being tested. For some reason, I was the one feeling embarrassed.

Maybe it was the fact that Colette had her own distinct belly, but the girl seemed very relaxed talking about the donuts and her weight. "My parents were getting mad at me because I was gaining a lot of weight working here. They told me that I wasn’t allowed to bring donuts home from work anymore. So now I hide them in my car and take them over to my boyfriend’s house to eat them," she giggled again.

"Sounds like a lot of fun. I guess he approves of your donut diet?" Colette asked with flagrant disregard for this being none of her business.

"Donut diet! That’s so cute!" the girl laughed. "Yeah, he thinks its fun to watch me eat my donuts. I think it turns him on."

At this point, I felt like that was more information than I needed to hear, although I was very intrigued. I couldn’t tell whether Colette was playing some game for me, or was just in some strange mood. Something had definitely changed from the day before, when Colette felt so uncomfortable in front of this girl that she had decided not to order anything. But there was absolutely no way that I was going to touch this subject with either of them. I just stood there with as much of a blank expression that I could.

Colette's next response, though, floored me. "I know what you mean," she said taking the bag from the girl and smiling at me. I said nothing and just nodded thank you to the girl, holding the door open for Colette with her bag of donuts in one hand and her huge drink in the other. Colette had been planning to drive the rest of the way home, but she asked me to drive so that she could eat her donuts.

"I thought maybe you got two of each so that we could share," I said. I mean that would be a reasonable assumption, right?

"Hey! These are for me," Colette said, holding the bag tight to her chest. "If you wanted some, you should have gotten some for yourself."

While I knew that Colette was joking, she also sounded like I would have to really beg to get one of her six donuts. "Are you really that hungry?" I asked. "I don’t think I have ever seen you eat six donuts, or even two donuts before. I was assuming that we would be getting dinner in a couple of hours."

"Are you saying that I shouldn’t eat six donuts?" she asked coyly. "Are you afraid that I will get fat?"

This was definitely some game she was playing and I wasn’t sure how I should be responding. I felt like Collete was backing me into some logic corner.

"Denise’s boyfriend gets turned on when he watches her eat donuts," Colette flirted.

"Who the hell is Denise?" I asked.

"The girl at the Dunkin Donuts. At least that was the name on her name tag. You probably didn’t notice is, since it was hard to see on her. It was kind of around the curve of her big tits that were pushed apart by her huge belly. You probably couldn’t see it from your side," Colette noted with a crazy amount of detail.

"You forget to mention the width of her hips, her humongous ass, and how thick her thighs were," I countered.

"What about the way that she seemed to have two bellies with one above the waist band of her pants and the other below the waist band?" Colette continued, as though providing a matter of fact description of something.

I laughed, because I didn’t know what else to do or say. Whatever this game was, Colette seemed to be having a good time. She stopped talking for a minute as she began to eat the first of her donuts. Although I was driving and had to keep my eyes on the road, she had pivoted herself so that she was sitting facing me while she ate. The first donut disappeared quickly followed by the second. She paused to drink some of her coolatta before starting on the third. After finishing that donut, she seemed to slow down. It had been 20 minutes since we left the Dunkin Donuts before she had finished the fourth donut and took a break.

"What’s the matter? Getting full?" I asked.

"No. Not at all. I’m just pacing myself," was her reply.

The fifth donut went slowly. After that one had disappeared, she changed the way that she was sitting so that she was facing forward. She adjusted the seat back so that it was more inclined.

"I think someone is getting full," I teased. Colette just sat quietly drinking her coolatta. Finally, when we were within a couple of minutes of home, she pulled out the sixth donut and eyed it before taking a bite. "That’s not going to eat itself," I joked.

"I thought maybe I was being selfish, not giving you one," she answered.

"Oh, that’s okay. I’m not hungry at all. Please, go ahead," I suggested, not letting her off the hook.

"I was thinking maybe I would save it for later," she tried.

"Oh, that’s silly. You should eat it now so you have some time to get your appetite back before dinner," I recommended. I was glad that my cock was in a kind of awkward position in my pants, so that it wasn’t too obvious that I was getting hard watching her eat. I had to concentrate not to adjust myself, although it would have felt great. If I let myself react to what she was doing, I would have pulled myself out and masturbated to her eating. As crazy as it was that she was gorging like this in front of me, I still wasn’t sure what she was trying to do.

"You should eat that last donut now, while it is fresh," I continued.

"Okay, but only because you want me to," she countered. She took a deep breath, as if to make room in her gut, and diligently ate the sixth donut. Even knowing that she had skipped both breakfast and lunch, I figured six filled donuts eaten within about 30 minutes was a lot. When she was finished, she leaned back with her eyes closed and kind of arched her back, as if trying to make room in her belly.

"Were those good?" I asked.

"They tasted great, but I think they are sitting in a lump of dough in my stomach and I am kind of zoning out on the sugar," she answered.

"So I guess your not hungry right now and we don’t need to pick up anything on the way home," I joked.

"Not right now," she confirmed.

"Don’t worry, honey. Dinner will be soon," I said, getting into her game.

"Do you have any idea how many calories I just ate?" she asked.

"All of them?" I answered.

"Funny. No. I figure I just consumed about a whole days worth of calories in 30 minutes in one sitting. If I have it right, that had to be more than 2,500 calories and a ton of sugar," she said, as if assessing the damage.

"Different people have different needs. Maybe that was a full day of calories for you, but it was probably just a snack for Denise," I said sounding like an expert. "Actually, there were probably as many calories in the iced coffee as in all of the donuts."

"Not quite, but a lot. Are you saying I should have asked for whipped cream on the iced coffee?" she asked sarcastically.

"Well, if your hungry in 15 minutes, that’s probably why," I laughed.

"Oh, God! I am feeling really full," she announced, massaging her gut as if she was trying to get it to loosen up. " Don’t expect me to be hungry in 15 minutes. I probably won’t feel like eating for, oh, I don’t know, a half an hour."

I laughed, which made her start laughing, but she stopped suddenly, exclaiming, "Don’t make me laugh! I can feel the sugar in my stomach causing the yeast to ferment. I may just explode in a minute or two," she hiccuped and then burped.

I pulled up in front of our apartment and got out to get our things. I carried most of it into the building, while Colette stayed sitting in the car. I came back to get the rest and opened the door to help Colette get out. Her belly was rounded out by the attack of the donuts and she seemed to be having a tough time feeling comfortable.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I’m okay. I just feel as if I will split open like an overripe watermelon," she responded.

"Here. Grab my hands," I offered. Colette looked like she really was really trying to avoid leaning forwards. She rotated her legs around to the street and slid herself towards me so that I could pull her upright with both hands, without her having to bend in the middle. As she did this, her stomach must have contracted, which caused her to let out an incredibly loud, long burp. She was totally embarrassed, and blushed. "Hey, I bet that made you feel better," I offered.

"I’m just glad it came out of that end," she admitted. "I feel like a gas bag."

On her feet, Colette walked slowly towards the building, as I picked up the rest of our things. "I feel like I’ve been drugged," she complained.

"You’re probably in a sugar coma," I suggested. "Let’s get you upstairs so you can relax."

In the apartment, she took off her pants and shirt and collapsed onto the bed. Laying on her stomach or her back were equally uncomfortable, so she curled up on her side. I put things away and then came over and sat down next to her. I rubbed her back and started to slide my hand down to her waist. "Don’t touch my stomach," she warned. "It actually hurts."

"I’ll fix you some hot green tea," I consoled her.

I left her on the bed and put the water on to boil. Sitting on the counter were the boxes of pastries that we had forgotten to take out with us. I was pretty sure that she would not appreciate me offering her any right then. I fixed her tea and brought it into her. She had fallen asleep and was snoring softly.

I took the opportunity to log on to my computer and check out some of my favorite websites. Not surprising, given the events of the weekend, I checked in on Dimensions. I posted a question asking how many donuts had people consumed in one sitting. While I was impressed with Colette having downed six filled donuts, I was willing to bet that some on the site had done multiples of that. I searched for a couple of posts where I remember people finishing a full dozen, although it is not always clear how long it took them.

I also checked out one of the forums on Dimensions that deals with people in feeder/feedee relationships. This was by no means the first time I had gone there but it was the first time since suspecting that my girlfriend was willing to flirt with the experience and discovering that her sister seemed to have a fascination with it.

I then went to another site that I enjoyed; Curvage. Curvage is very pro fat, weight gain, and beauty. There are models on Curvage who post videos that you can buy, which feature them doing all kinds of things from eating, exercising, walking, and even having sex. The thing about Curvage is that it focuses on a more artistic side of the feeder/feedee world. While some of the models who post on Curvage can get a bit raunchy, it is relatively tasteful and avoids the raw side of porn sites. I checked out what was happening with one of my favorite models, who calls herself Goddess Shar. When Shar started posting, she probably weighed around 130 pounds, but she gained weight, returning to the more generous figure that she had before she started dating an exercise and diet obsessed boyfriend. She explained that she had gotten thin for him and, after they broke up, had returned to where she was when she started dating him, which was at maybe 160 pounds. But now she had crossed 200 pounds and, while the weight gain up to then seemed to be simply her appetite, she had committed to actively trying to gain. I couldn’t help notice several intriguing similarities between Colette and Shar.

I heard Colette moving around and I went in to see how she was feeling.

"My tea is cold," she pouted.

"Let me warm it in the microwave," I offered.

I brought the warmed tea back to her and she was sitting on the edge of the bed inspecting her belly, which was sitting in her lap.

"I don’t know what to think of this," she commented, forming a thick role of fat around her waist with her hands.

"What is the question?" I asked, handing her the tea.

"I am thinking that I should be grossing myself out, but I am kind of fascinated at the same time. This is a new experience for me. I never had this kind of fat to play with before and it is somehow beguiling," she explained.

"Do you know the real meaning of the word ‘beguiling’?" I asked. "People often use it as if it means intriguing or enchanting."


"Well, it actually means deceptive, like describing a woman who looked beguiling in makeup and proper lighting, but later finding out that without the makeup and lighting, she doesn’t look as great," I explained.

"Well, maybe this is beguiling. I am really a lean, muscular woman with no gut, but in this lighting I appear to be a tub," she suggested.

"Um, I don’t think so," I responded.

"So, I am a tub?" she asked, daring me to agree.

"This is kind of like that trick question, "do these jeans make me look fat?" I joked. "No its your ass and big belly that make you look fat."

"Very funny. I am really perplexed. I would think that I should be hiding myself from you and not letting you see my fat, but I am comfortable sitting here with all of this hanging out in full view," she said, gesturing with her hands how every part of her body had become round. She picked up her tea and finished it. "I feel dehydrated."

"Your system is probably just out of wack from all of the sugar. What you really need is protein," I suggested.

"Oh, what a great solution. After eating so much sugar, I better eat something else to balance may system. That sounds like trying to cut my own hair and correct one side being longer than the other. Eventually, I end up with a crew cut," she suggested.

"Well, it is about 6:00 and we will want dinner. I know that you are still probably not feeling hungry, but we will want to get something. I was thinking Chinese take out," I recommended. "We could get a chicken dish and a beef dish."

"Something spicy," she said. "I think something hot would cut through the sugar."

"Sounds like a plan," I confirmed. I will figure to go out and pick something up so we can eat at around 8:00."

"And maybe get like a garlic broccoli," she suggested. I didn’t dare comment that it sounded like her appetite was returning. I softly pushed her to lie down on her front and I gave her a back rub. "That feels really good," she said, with her voice muffled by the pillow. "You are so good with your hands.

I worked down from her neck, across her shoulders, along the sides of her ribs, and down to her waist. Then I went back up to her neck and worked down her spine to her ass. I was impressed with how meaty she felt. It was one thing to have a big belly, but her fat was well distributed over her body. I was able to form distinct rolls just about any where. Pushing my hands up along her ribs formed two wings of back fat.

I changed position so that I could work on her ass and legs. So much soft chub. I worked her thighs down to her knees, rotating the muscles underneath the soft layer of blubber. The top of her thighs were particularly thicker. Even her calves had more dimension. Only her ankles and feet seemed spared by her gain.

"Roll over on your back," I directed her.

I positioned the pillow under her neck so that her face was tilted up and I started to work on her hips. I was impressed with how thick she had gotten. I worked down the front of her thighs, feeling her still strong and defined muscles under the soft layer of fat that concealed her articulation. Moving to her breasts, I was delicate handling what were now generous mounds. While no where near as dramatic as the increase in her belly, her breasts had gotten substantially bigger and had a different feel.

Then my hands started to work her abdomen. I was careful not to push down on her belly, which was still distended with the donuts. I pushed my thumbs along her muscles underneath and then reached with my outstretched fingers to grab everything within grasp. This formed a thick roll of the softest, squishiest blubber I had ever felt. Working towards her sides with my hands, I could feel how her fat was evenly distributed everywhere on her torso.

Finally, I got to her crotch. I was so impressed with how much thicker and softer the flesh was on her venus mound. Even the shape of her cunny had changed, with her labia thicker and the fat on her thighs kind of pushing everything together. I started to work around to her clit and got a nice little rhythm going with my thumb and two fingers popping her clit in and out between her cunny lips.

I could tell that she was enjoying this and I kept going with the rhythm, to which she added a gentle pulse of her hips. With my other hand, I started to do the same kind of motion on her erect nipples. I used her breathing as a metronome and, as she started to pant a little bit faster, I kept pace. I could feel that she was contracting the muscles in her cunny and pushing back against my hand. Suddenly, she convulsed with her thigh muscles snapping shut on my hand and all of her stomach muscles contracting, curling her body forward. She held that tension for a few moments, letting out a low groan. Then she just collapsed back onto the bed.

"How did that feel," I asked unnecessarily.

"Lalalala, gagagaga, nananana," was all she said, with her eyes closed, a big smile, and a little rivulet of sweat running down under her breasts.

"Why don’t you take a shower and relax and I will go get dinner. Any special requests?" I asked.

"Get whatever you feel like. I know it makes no sense, but I think I am getting my appetite back. That little exercise seems to have moved thinks in my system. Just make sure that there is nothing doughy. No egg rolls, noodles, or dumplings," she pleaded.

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Chapter Twenty Four

After Eric left, I got up and went into the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, I let out a ridiculous amount of gas. I worried that I could maybe set off the carbon monoxide detector. I was glad that this hadn’t happened when I came or even while Eric was still in the apartment. I figured that I had already assaulted Eric’s sensibilities with my behavior. With the gas out of me, I was definitely feeling better. I took a shower and let the water pound on the back of my neck. With my eyes closed, I used my hands to take inventory on my body. I was feeling so fat, but for some reason, I really didn’t care. It actually was feeling good to play with my round belly and the loose chub that was everywhere to grab.

I was a bit concerned that I could consume so many donuts, cum, and fart, and then be getting my appetite back in less than two hours. What would it take to stop me from eating? My boyfriend was out getting us dinner and I was starting to look forward to it. My worry was that I didn’t want to stop eating. I should have been disgusted with myself, but instead this was somehow turning me on.

I got out of the shower and dried off. Looking at myself in the mirror, I smiled at my reflection and said, "Hello, fatso, to the girl in the mirror. I started thinking about how Eric had responded to my little performance with the donuts. While he hadn’t acted grossed out, he also didn’t seem to be getting turned on. After the way he had made love to me earlier and the conversation I had with my sister Liz, I was kind of flirting with the idea that maybe Eric actually could have a predisposition towards the chubbier me. He had certainly been enjoying himself with my body. I don’t know what I expected, but I thought maybe he would be visibly turned on. At one point, I thought maybe he was getting a hard on, but he didn’t seem to be reacting to it.

I dressed in my loosest panties and one of Eric’s large t-shirts. No bra, nothing tight, nothing confining. I sat down at the computer and went to Dimensions. Before I had surfed through the forums that had people posting pictures of themselves or blogging discussions about fat and weight related thoughts. This time I checked out the Library, which had an assortment of different files ranging from Recent Additions to Weight Fiction General to Erotica Archive. I opened a couple of stories and read them. The quality bounced around, with some very amateurish and others very well written. Several dealt with guys helping girls pursue their fantasies to eat and get fatter. I found a couple very intriguing and I was surprised by how interested I was in reading descriptions of women getting bigger and bigger. I finally closed the files, since I could feel myself getting overwhelmed by the whole idea of being fed.

I knew that I was going to have to get this under control if I didn’t want to get fatter, but I also found myself wondering what it would be like to actually have Eric trying to feed me. Would I enjoy it? Would it turn my on? Or would it freak me out? I also realized that there was no guarantee that Eric would be interested. Would he go along with it? Or would it gross him out. I knew that I was lucky that he had not been turned off by my getting fat, and I was confident that he was enjoying my bigger body, but did that mean that he would accept the idea of me eating to the point of being totally stuffed and would he be willing to participate. I guess I was wondering, if I wanted to try being a feedee, would Eric be willing to be my feeder.

I hadn’t really thought out what I was trying to do with the donuts in the car, but I definitely was looking for some reaction from him, which he hadn’t really given. He seemed fine with it and even encouraged me to finish the six donuts, but that didn’t mean that he would be willing to go along with feeding me. I also realized that, if I didn’t want to get fatter, and actually intended to diet down to maybe 150 to 160, I would not be headed in the right direction by experimenting with gorging. I was already doing enough damage without really making an effort. If I could eat 5,000 calories a day, while thinking I was trying to control myself, what could I do if I really tried to stuff myself and eat as much as possible. I did some quick math and figured out that 5,000 calories a day, even if I kept up a serious exercise program so that I was burning 15 calories per pound, it would still have me end up weighing over 330 pounds.

I was finding all of this very confusing and I felt conflicted.

Eric got home with a nice big bag of Chinese food. He opened the bag and arranged the various containers on the counter. He had bought four dishes; spicy shredded beef with shredded carrots and celery, crispy sesame chicken, sweet and sour pork, and broccoli with garlic sauce, plus a container of fried rice. Each dish was actually enough to satisfy at least two people eating normally. For just two people, there was a lot more food than necessary. "I wasn’t sure what you would feel like, so I got a couple of different things," he explained.

I eyed the food and gave it a moment’s thought. Maybe it was reading the stories on Dimensions, but I was flirting with a bold gesture.

"Does anything look good?" Eric asked, sounding like he was concerned that maybe he hadn’t picked the right things. "What do you feel like?"

I thought of telling him that I felt like an inflatable balloon and would love to expand to my fullest extent, but I wasn’t sure that he would get it or think it funny. Finally, I decided to take a chance. "I think I know what I feel like."

"What can I fix you?" he asked.

"You asked me what I feel like," I answered. "I feel like I am an inflatable balloon and I am wondering how much of that I could fit into my round belly."

"You have to stop worrying about your weight. It’s really not a problem. Just chill about it," he suggested.

"No. You don’t understand. I am not complaining. I am saying this in a positive way. I am wondering how much of that food it would take to fill me up," I said, wincing a little bit, with the thought that maybe admitting to this would push Eric away. "I mean I know that I already pigged out today with the donuts and I probably shouldn’t eat another thing for a week. And I won’t, if it is going to bother you," I promised.

After a brief pause, which was making me nervous, Eric answered, "It won’t bother me at all. I’m just a little surprised. You weren’t feeling that great earlier and I thought maybe you wouldn’t even be hungry for dinner."

"So that is why you bought enough food for at least four people?" I asked him. "And I wasn’t feeling that bad when you left, if you remember. I was feeling like you had played my strings like a harp," I said with appreciation.

Eric was still hesitating. It seemed like he was mulling my suggestion over in his mind and trying to figure out how to address it. Finally, he questioned me, "I am not sure what you are really saying. I picked up dinner, which I was hoping that you would feel up to eating, but understanding that maybe you weren’t feeling hungry. Now you are suggesting something different. You are saying that you are a balloon and you now want to see how much you would need to eat to feel totally full."

"I’m not really sure what I am thinking," I admitted. "But it sounds like you heard me. I just seem to have this idea of wanting to eat. A lot. And it’s not because I am really hungry. While I’m not suffering from the donuts anymore, I could also easily skip dinner. But what I am thinking has nothing to do with my ‘appetite’ at the moment. At least not a normal physical appetite. I just have some fascination about wanting to eat a lot of food, which you have conveniently provided."

Eric still wasn’t giving me any clues to what he was thinking with his expression. He looked like he was studying a problem with the design of a building, trying to find a solution. "O k a y," he started slowly, as if weighing his words carefully, "you are thinking that you would like to try to eat a lot. Do you have any particularly plan for this?

"Plan?" I asked. I should have known that he would be analytical about this.

"Sure. Is the idea that ‘I would like to eat a lot’ very open ended? Is it a desire to eat? To see what happens if you eat a lot? To get bigger? To get fatter? What is the parti for what you want to do?" he continued.

"I am not a building or a regional planning study," I answered, a bit perplexed by how analytical he could be sometimes. "I don’t have a plan. I have more of a feeling. I know it makes no sense, but I am not trying to make sense out of it. Is this freaking you out?"

"No. This doesn’t freak me out. We are past that," he said, which made me feel very nervous. Seeing my expression, he quickly corrected what he had said. "I don’t mean that I am already past being freaked out. I am not freaked out at all. I am saying that there has already been a change from ‘then’ to now. You left for Europe being lean and you returned not so lean."

"Fat is the word," I interrupted. "Really fat. Very fat. With the risk that I will get fatter if I keep eating like this."

"Whatever," he continued. "Since you have gotten home, I have seen you eat in ways that you never ate before. I was trying to remember if I even every saw you eat two donuts before, let alone six. And the way you ate them was like nothing I have ever seen you do before. You had an intensity and commitment to eating those donuts. It was as if you were determined and had to get it done."

"I agree that it could have seemed like that, but just understand, I didn’t have anything planned out and hadn’t even thought about what I was going to do until I was at the Dunkin Donuts with your little friend Denise. In fact, I probably would have only bought four, had she not asked me what else I wanted. I know it makes no sense, but it was kind of like I was being challenged. And then she got all personal talking about how she eats donuts with her boyfriend, because she can’t eat them in from of her parents. I was thinking that I couldn’t even work in a Dunkin Donuts if I was that fat, but then it dawned on me that I have classes at the CIA starting in two days to perfect my abilities to make pastries and I will be walking into class with a totally different body than I had last Spring. I guess there are a whole lot of thoughts about food and eating that are swirling around in the background of my brain. If you are looking for me to have some plan, I’m sorry. I have no plan," I admitted.

"But you started this conversation with what seems now to have been a clear intention," Eric pointed out, taking hold of my hands and showing me affection, to help me understand that he wasn’t getting weirded out. At least, not yet. Being the analytical designer of plans, Eric continued to ask me a series of questions, which I answered as if this all made some kind of sense.

"Is this an idea that is just for the right now, this dinner, or is it a bigger idea?" he asked.

"I’m not sure. For the moment, it is all right now and only this moment. I’m not sure that I even understand where this goes in an hour," I answered.

"Here’s the deal, though," he continued, "you need to have enough of a commitment to what you are trying to do so that you are not disappointed later."

"In other words, am I going to hate myself if I pig out on dinner," I tried paraphrasing what I thought he meant.

"I think it is more complicated," he noted. "Yes, that would be one possibility. Another would be that you ate a lot, but not enough and would later feel like you failed in some goal. If you know what your goal is, then you can work towards it and at least have a way of judging how close you are able to get with it."

"Well, since I am not hating myself for the donuts, for the last week of eating too much, or even for turning into a blimp in Europe, I don’t think there is a risk that I will hate myself for pigging out at dinner tonight. But I am not sure how to set any goal. It is not like I want to eat until I explode," I answered, suddenly realizing that what I meant to be the obvious sounded more like I was really setting boundaries. Yes, I was sure that I didn’t want to explode. But how close to exploding did I want to get?

Eric continued with his questions, still holding me so that I could feel confident that he was not judging me in any mean way. "Good, you don’t want to explode. I wouldn’t want you to explode. It could make quite a mess. Now, with that determined, do you have a better idea of what you do want to do?"

"I think I just want to eat dinner with the ‘goal’, as you say it, only being to see what it feels like to be totally full. Think Monty Python’s the Meaning of Life. I will turn down the incredibly thin wafer, though, so as not to explode," I laughed.

"I want some more ground rules, if you will. I have no problem with this at all and realize that you are experimenting with something that you don’t really understand. That is fine. What I suggest is that we set some parameters. First, what is my roll in this?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked in return.

"Well, am I eating dinner with you? Am I paying attention to how much you are eating, or does this not involve me?" he asked.

"Again, realizing that I haven’t thought any of this through, yes, you are involved. In fact, I think you are feeding me. I don’t mean to tell you how to feel, but in this fantasy, if it is a fantasy, you are encouraging me," I explained.

"What are the limits?" he asked. "Encouraging you could range from me saying, ‘go ahead have another bite’, in a casual way; to me being your coach, ‘come on, you can do it’; to being in charge, like ‘you have to eat this before you are allowed to leave the table’. And when does this end? Is it tonight’s dinner or does it last longer."

I was amazed by the way he was able to organize his thoughts so quickly. I thought for a moment and focused my fantasy so that it could become a reality. "It ends when we go to bed tomorrow night and it is more like the first version. You are encouraging me. I don’t really think you are the coach type and I certainly am not interested in you forcing me to eat. I want to see what I can do."

"But I am feeding you, correct?" he asked for confirmation.

"Yes. You are feeding me. Is that okay with you? I really don’t want this to be something that you are uncomfortable with," I offered.

"I find this interesting and I will not judge. I will feed you, but as your servant, not master," he explained. "I am sure that you will not be able to keep eating from now until we go to bed tomorrow night, but I understand that you are including tomorrow in this experiment."

"One other thing," he started, as if remembering something, "if you are doing this to ‘cure’ your appetite, in other words, trying to eat so much that you will never want to eat again, I have reasons to think that won’t work. Again, I don’t want you to be disappointed."

I guess I could kind of understand that thought, but I assured Eric that I was not trying to cure my appetite by feeding it once and for all. "No. This fantasy has more to do with seeing what happens if I just eat as much as I can. I will admit, there were moments in Europe when I certainly hit that point, but it wasn’t as if I was trying to and I guess I really wasn’t paying attention to that thought. I was more in some kind of a dream and the whole experience had such clear intentions with a plane flight home at the end that I didn’t really think about what I was doing to my body. I know this sounds dumb, but I really didn’t confront what I had done until I was home, and I guess I am still trying to get it figured out."

"So, I think we have an understanding. Why don’t you sit down at the table and I will serve you dinner," Eric suggested.

I sat down and the first thing he did was get me a beer. "I think some of this is going to be seasoned hot, so the beer will help," he suggested. Then he fixed me a very normal looking plate of shredded beef on rice with some of the broccoli. When I looked a bit confused, he explained, "Don’t worry. I will fix you another plate, if you can finish that one. I am not going to put a daunting amount of food in front of you all at once. You just eat what you feel like and I will continue to fix you plates as long as you feel like eating. If this were an S&M kind of thing, we would have some secret safe word," he explained.

"How about ‘green’ means ‘go’ and ‘red’ means ‘stop’," I said more as a statement than a question.

"And ‘yellow’ means ‘caution’," he laughed. It was good to hear him laugh. It gave me confidence. I was surprised by how he really seemed to be into doing this. I don’t know how I would have handled it, if Eric had objected.

Eric sat down at the table with me, with just a beer. "Aren’t you going to eat?" I asked.

"I think you will be eating for a while," he answered with confidence. "Let’s see how it goes. I don’t want to eat some of this food and then not have enough to fill you up. I didn’t really buy that much."

The first plate disappeared in a couple of minutes. "You are not in a race," Eric warned. "You should eat slow and pace yourself." I was impressed with how he seemed to be such an authority on the protocols of feeding.

As soon as the first plate was gone, there was a second one in front of me. Eric has clearly gone to the two plate plan, so that I would not be sitting without food in front of me, although he continued to encourage me to eat slowly. The second plate was the crispy sesame chicken on rice, also with some of the broccoli. I was pleased with the food selection. It was spicy and had no similarity to the sugary dough that I had ingested earlier in the day.

As I finished the second plate, a plate of the sweet and sour pork with the fried rice appeared. Eating slowly was a good idea. I could feel my belly filling, but it wasn’t an assault. I had a second beer, which was also helping. "If you feel like burping, burp," Eric suggested. "You want to get the air out so that it doesn’t work its way into your system."

"Are you afraid that I will offend you?" I asked smiling.

"No. Having air in your system will make you feel full too soon and you’ll get uncomfortable," he explained. Such an expert suddenly, I thought.

After the third plate, I could feel myself getting full. Instead of putting a fourth plate in front of me, Eric suggested that I get up and walk around for a minute. He actually got me to stretch and move around a little bit. Again, such a good idea.

Sitting again, I had a fourth plate, which now was a mix of the different dishes. Even though I had been going slow, it took a little bit longer for me to finish the fourth plate of food. I sat back and let out a long burp.

"Now, didn’t that help?" Eric asked.

"Yes, another plate please, and I will need another beer," I requested.

The burp helped and the fifth plate went faster. I burped again. Eric eased me back in my chair and massaged my shoulders. I felt like I was a fighter and he was my trainer, working on me between rounds. He reached down and gently massaged my belly, which was really sticking out, probably bigger than ever I assumed. It was counterintuitive, since I would have assumed playing with my belly would have been painful, but it felt really good to have a belly rub. Suddenly, there was a loud gurgle in my stomach. I sat for a moment wondering if someone actually could explode, although I figured I couldn’t really have eaten that much. Eric let me rest for a little while before preparing a sixth plate. By then I was eating methodically and had kind of lost track of time. I looked over at the clock and realized that I had been eating for more than two hours. Eric got me a fourth beer and another plate of food.

"I need to pee before I can eat or drink anything else," I announced. I went to stand up and could actually feel the food in my belly weighing me down. Eric helped me stand up and led me to the bathroom. I sat down on the toilet and peed. Squeezing my gut also caused me to expel gas, which I assumed had to be left over from the donuts, since I figured the Chinese food couldn’t have gotten there that fast. I figured that all of the food coming down was pushing everything else along. I was surprised that I had been so candid in front of Eric, but he seemed to just accept this as a natural affect of my experiment.

My belly had expanded to the point of being impressive. I lifted my shirt so that Eric could see. "Still a long way to go," he pointed out, demonstrating by pinching my flab that the skin on my belly wasn’t tight yet.

He led me back to the table and I sat down. This last plate took a while, since it almost seemed like I had to let the food move from my stomach to my guts before I could put any more in. Before I had finished the sixth plate, Eric had fixed a seventh. "I have good news and I have bad new," he announced. "The good news is that this is the end of the Chinese food. The bad new is that this is the end of the Chinese food."

Before I got to the last of the Chinese food, I got the hiccups. It actually hurt when my diaphragm contracted. There just was very little room. I sat back and tried to massage. Eric got me another beer, which I guess was my fifth. I was getting high, but it was kind of hard to tell, since all of my focus was on eating. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" I asked, gesturing at the new bottle of beer. I’ve got the hiccups," which was punctuated by a hiccup.

"Just take a couple of deep breaths. They’ll go away," he promised.

Taking a deep breath was not actually a functional suggestion. I was starting to feel very full, and it felt like my swollen stomach and guts were pushing up into my chest. The hiccups subsided and I realized that I was sweating. I figured it was probably a reaction to the spices in the food. Eric started to encourage me, gently suggesting that I just focus on one fork full at a time, with the promise that there wasn’t that much left on the plate.

"I will try, but I don’t want to sit forward. My belly needs the room," I explained. The way I was sitting, laying back in my chair, was the only quasi comfortable position.

"That is why I am here," Eric offered. He slid my chair back a couple of inches, so that my belly wasn’t at risk of rising up into the table, and moved his chair along side me. Then he took my plate, took a fork full, and brought to my lips. "Here you go," he said softly, as I opened my mouth and accepted it. I kept my eyes closed and he simply let me know when to open. We were really operating as feeder and feedee. Within a couple of minutes, my plate was clean. He handed me the beer, which I used to help move the food down into my belly. When I lowered the beer down, he took it and put it on the table for me.

I sat there stretched out, leaning back in my chair, holding my swollen belly in my hands. I realized that the rice was probably reacting with the beer and expanding inside my stomach. Eric cleared the table and cleaned up the evidence. I just sat there in a semi-toper.

He came back and asked how I was feeling. I realized that I was actually drunk on both the beer and the food. "I think I am doing okay," I said optimistically, "but I think I need a glass of water instead of any more beer. If I pass out, there is no way that you will be able to carry me into the bedroom. I think I may weigh around 500 pounds."

"There’s no way that you are a pound over 400," he joked,, "and I could probably just roll you into the other room."

"Very funny. I feel huge and totally round," I agreed. I opened my eyes and lifted my head so that I could try to focus.

"I think you need some green tea. It will help with your digestion. The warmth will help calm what is happening in your belly," Eric recommended.

I pulled up my shirt so that Eric could check that belly. To say that I looked bloated was an understatement. Everything in my belly was percolating and swelling and I really did look inflated. He reached over and tried to delicately pinch the skin on my waist. While he could still get some skin, it really was getting stretched tight. Given how blubbery I had been, I realized that I had to be absolutely huge.

"Careful," I warned him. "Any sharp object, pressure, or quick movement could cause this thing to explode."

"You’re probably not really that full," he commented. If I had been able to move, I would have challenged him, but it was even an effort to talk. I imagined myself jumping up and saying, ‘Not that full? Are you crazy? Look at this belly!’. As it was, I was pinned down in my chair with the combination of being drunk on beer and sodden with high sodium food.

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Chapter Twenty Five

Colette had done an amazing job consuming every bit of the Chinese food that I had bought. I was actually surprised. I assumed that she would give in before the containers were empty. I was actually figuring that I could get my dinner out of it. In addition to the dishes, she had finished the white rice and the brown rice that came with the meals, plus the pork fried rice. She had to have eaten almost two pounds of rice.

To finish, she had needed me to feed her the last plate, which I really enjoyed. With her eyes closed and heading towards a stupor, she didn’t notice that I had a raging hard on. When she pulled up her shirt and I saw her gut stretched tight and almost shiny with sweat, it would have taken only a couple of strokes for me to cum. She was so round. I tried to pinch the skin on her belly, but it was no longer soft and squishy.

I left her sitting in the chair and went to fix her some green tea. I figured it would help make her feel more comfortable. I brought the tea back in and handed it to her, warning her that it was hot. I sat with her as she waited about a minute and then took a couple of small sips. She smiled and agreed that it was a good idea. After she had finished the cup, she asked me for another, but wanted me to help her up first.

"What do you want to do?" I asked.

"I need to pee again," she answered.

I took the cup from her and positioned myself to help pull her up out of the chair. With her distended gut, she really couldn’t use her stomach muscles comfortably and I really had to pull her to her feet. Standing, it took her a few moments to get stable. I figured that she was feeling unsteady from the five beers, which was more than I had ever seen her drink in one sitting. The saltiness of the food had made it the perfect beverage, but now she had to deal with the alcohol, as well as the fact that it was causing the rice to swell in her guts.

When she had gotten her bearings, I led her to the toilet. Or I should say, I led her belly, since it was sticking out dramatically. She definitely could have passed for at least six months pregnant. She stood over the toilet and I held her hands to help her lower her self to the seat. She peed and let our more gas. I pulled her back up and led her back into the living room.

"What do you think would be your most comfortable position?" I asked.

"Well, not sitting or lying down. I know if will sound weird, but may help me lower myself down to the floor with my knees on a pillow, then bring in my exercise ball," she said.

"You want to exercise?" I asked incredulously, but I went and got it for her. Handing it to her, I understood her plan. She leaned forward on it, resting her chest on the ball, which supported her, but let her belly hang free. She kind of rocked back and forth, which I imagined was helping move the food through her system. I got the changer and turned on the television for her, then I went to the kitchen to fix her another cup of tea.

When I came back she was moaning softly. "Are you feeling okay?" I asked. I was a little bit nervous. I was enjoying myself, but I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. At least, not unreasonably uncomfortable. I did realize that there was no way that she could have eaten all of that food and not been uncomfortable.

"I’m fine," Colette answered. "It just feels good to moan. Do me a favor. Can you get me my laptop?"

I brought her laptop in and set it up in front of her. The exercise ball was proving very effective. It enabled her to support herself with her weight on her knees and chest, which left her hands free.

She started surfing for information on the calories in Chinese food. This may not be a good idea, I thought to myself. I sat down next to her and started rubbing her hips and her ass. I started to venture down to her belly, which was hanging free in the position she was in, but as soon as I started to touch it, she grunted in the negative. "Not yet," was all she said. The momentary touch simply revealed that her gut was swollen hard. There was no squish to it at all. And it seemed to have sides. Her belly was projecting so far in front of her hip bones that it actually had sides She was also very sweaty, which I figured was a result of all of the spices. I tried to imagine the quantity of spices that she must have ingested.

She found a site for Panda Express. The restaurant that we got the take out from is a local place. She started clicking, cutting and pasting; forming a list of what she had eaten. "Okay. I think I have some numbers here," she announced.

I really couldn’t figure out why she was doing this, but I figured I would go along. "So, what’s the verdict?

"I have to interpolate a little bit, since they don’t list sesame chicken or the broccoli, but if the numbers here are close, I think I just ate around 2,800 calories and more than 3,000 grams of sodium. That’s going to leave a mark."

"That doesn’t sound quite right. Are you sure," I asked.

"Well, that’s what Panda has listed on their calorie chart. Do you think it sounds high or low?" she asked.

"Very low," I answered. "What are the quantities that they are listing?"

"They are listing servings, which seem to figure around 5 ounces each," she explained. "I am figuring maybe 400 calories for each meal plus the rice so like 7 times 400."

"Ah! That’s the error," I proclaimed with authority. "Each one of those dishes had to be at least two full servings and maybe closer to three: three times 5 ounces. I think those are pint containers which are two cups, which means 16 ounces."

"Fuck! You have to be right. So I just ate like 7,500 calories and 9,000 grams of sodium?" she exclaimed.

"Sounds closer. Maybe a little bit more, since those charts probably figure low." I explained.

"I’m feeling really thirsty. Can you get me another green tea, but in a bigger glass?" she asked.

As I exited the room, she rocked back on her heels and let out more gas. "Sorry," she called, sounding embarrassed.

"Don’t worry about it. It’s to be expected," I answered. I fixed her a 20 ounce glass of green tea, which she almost gulped down when I brought it back to her. The sodium was really having its effect.

While I had been out of the room, she had gone to a different site. She had looked up the question, "Can Eating Too Much Cause Your Stomach to Explode." "Well, what’s the answer?" I asked.

"As much as I ate, it doesn’t sound like I am close to exploding, although it sure feels like I am expanding. My gut just feels like it is totally stretched," she pointed out.

"That’s good. I mean that you are not going to explode. Do you think you can change position yet?" I asked.

"What do you have in mind?" she asked with a tinge of anxiety.

I got up to fix her another large glass of green tea and, while it was warming up, I went into the bedroom and got her coconut butter. "Good idea," she said when I came back with both. Slowly, she rolled to her side and then rolled over on her back, which left her belly sticking up into the air defying gravity. She looked huge.

I pulled her shirt up and gently started rubbing her belly with the coconut butter. "This will help you avoid stretch marks," I explained.

"Yes, I know how that works. Did you notice that I already have some faint stretch marks on my sides?" she asked sheepishly.

"Not really," I assured her, ignoring the fact that they actually continued under her belly, with a couple that were angry red.

"That feels very good, like your loosening things up, but careful not to wobble me too much," she directed. After I had done a good job lubricating her skin, I helped her roll back onto her side so that she could drink the green tea. I put a pillow under her belly so that it was supported without putting strain on her. We lay there for a while watching television. Even with the sound from the television, I could hear her stomach gurgling and making some very strange sounds. Some were similar to the noise of pulling a nail out of a board.

"Do you realize that today I ate more than 10,000 calories?" she asked. "Do you have any idea how much I would weigh if I ate 10,000 calories every day?"

I shook my head, no, but corrected her saying, "I am guessing more than 12,000."

"I am sticking with 10,000. If I stayed active, which would be a trick, given that laying down at the moment is somewhat of an effort, 15 calories a day would support one pound of weight." She paused for a moment running the numbers in her head. "I would weigh 666 pounds. If my level of activity dropped to 10 calories per pound, I would weigh 1,000 pounds."

The way that she said this was very matter of fact. "Is that your intention?" I asked.

"No! I’m just a bit amazed at what I have just done is all," she answered.

"I think it is more complicated than you are making it sound," I explained. "For one thing, you are just doing a bit of an experiment. I doubt that you could keep this up for long. It is also completely contrary to your personality. Why don’t you try to avoid thinking this stuff through too much or assuming that there need to be extremes. Go with how you are feeling."

"And your okay with this? I mean, your being great, but I worry a little bit about what you are actually thinking. I mean, this tonight was pretty absurd," she said apologizing.

I thought for a few minutes, pretending that I was watching the television. As much as I would love this to be the time for my one big, true confession, I realized that it could just confuse her. I wanted to be supportive and let this be just about her. But, maybe I was willing to play a little bit. "I’m in control of this, remember? I am feeding you, so any conversation about whether or not I accept your appetite is extraneous. In fact, I am just giving you a breather."

"Why? What do you have in mind?" she quizzed me, looking a bit insecure.

"Let’s give your belly a little while longer to settle. It will then have had a chance to process the Chinese food so we can top you off with something that will help you sleep," I instructed.

"I need something cold to drink, and not beer," Colette asked. "I would get it myself, but I seem to have a problem moving very far at the moment. I think I have discovered gravity."

"No problem," I said as I headed back to the kitchen. I fixed her a diet Coke. I realized that diet was not the concept at that moment, but it is what we had, and I actually figured that it would be more refreshing for her than something with sugar. I brought it back to Colette.

Before Colette accepted the drink she asked me to help her up. "I need to get to a different position. It is hard to drink lying down."

We rolled her back onto her knees and she used the exercise ball as an object to push herself to her feet. She staggered over to our big overstuffed chair and plopped herself down. She still needed to lean back with her legs spread to give her belly space. I handed her the drink and she gulped it down. "I can’t believe how thirsty I am."

"It’s the sodium," I explained.

As she sat gently massaging her big belly, she suddenly erupted in another loud burp, followed by a second. "I am such a pig," she complained.

"Don’t be silly," I commanded. "You’re simply guttural."

"That’s me. All gut," she agreed. She thumped her hard stomach and it resonated.

I dropped down to my knees between her legs and started playing with her body. I reached around to where the fat was still soft. I manipulated her flesh with my fingers and reached up to her ribs on her back and massaged into the muscles, which felt tight. Then I moved to her front and played with her breasts. "There is a lot more to you than just your gut," I assured her.

"Well, there is certainly a lot more of me," she confirmed.

I moved my hands to her belly and massaged lightly moving my hands in a circular motion. As I pushed in gently, she burped again. "Are you feeling better," I asked.

"I guess. It’s all kind of relative. I don’t feel bad, but I am totally stuffed and bloated," she explained.

"I think you are ready for dessert," I announced.

She looked pensive for a moment, but then simply said, "What the hell, but be kind."

I went into the kitchen and fixed her a bowl of ice cream. I also fixed myself a sandwich. I brought both in, along with a can of whipped cream. "The sandwich is for me," I explained.

"I’m sorry. I’m such the piggy you didn’t get any of the dinner," she said accepting the bowl of ice cream. I had used a large bowl and had given her half the quart of ice cream. "You think you gave me enough?"

"I think you will be surprised. The ice cream will be liquid in your belly. It can just fill in the nooks and crannys," I suggested. "Eat at the pace that feels comfortable." Then I gave the can a generous spurt to top the ice cream with whipped cream.

She started with the first bite, which she admitted tasted good, as it cut the taste of the Chinese food. "I can’t believe that I can still eat," she admitted. I gave the bowl of ice cream another spurt of whipped cream. Then she tilted her head back and opened her mouth wide and I filled it with whipped creme. She continued eating methodically and in a little while, the bowl was almost empty. I gave it one more spurt of whipped cream and she finished it. "Ta da," she gurgled, with a soft burp, showing me the empty bowl.

"Oh, I’m sorry," I said. "That shouldn’t have happened." I accepted the empty bowl and got up to refill it. I filled her mouth again with whipped cream first.

"Yellow!" she called out as I headed into the kitchen.

I fixed her the other half of the quart of ice cream and emptied the can of whipped cream on top of it. I figured that, if she was going to do this, we might as well go all the way. The last thing that I wanted was her to wake up the next morning thinking that she could have handled more. I was striving for a sense of completeness, although I realized that our agreement included feeding her the next day. I figured that, with this eating escapade, there was the chance that she would throw in the towel and call off the next day. I thought, maybe Lucy had been right, and we just never went far enough to "cure" her appetite.

Colette accepted the bowl and spoon and started back in on the ice cream, very slowly. A minute would go by between bites. Her stomach was make all kinds of noises. Before she could finish the ice cream, she asked me for another glass of diet Coke, which I fixed her.

"Where do you think all of this liquid is going?" she asked, realizing that she had finished drinking several glasses of green tea and Coke, but not had to pee again.

I explained that her body was probably trying to off-set all of the salt in the food. A few minutes went by with her just sitting and holding the bowl, but not taking a bite. The bowl was still half full. "Do you need some help?" I asked.

"I think the sugar is kicking back in and I am feeling very sleepy. I thought sugar was supposed to give you energy," she said.

"I think it is being processed differently at the moment," I explained. "Here, let me do my job." I took the bowl and, standing over her, slowly, but steadily, fed her the remaining ice cream and whipped cream. I gave her a spoonful and then waited until she opened her mouth again for the next one.

As I was standing in front of her, it was hard for me to conceal my hard on. At first she had her eyes closed and didn’t notice, but then she opened her eyes she smiled. "Aha! Evidence! This turns you on," she exclaimed. She reached up and started jiggling my junk the way that I had been shaking the can of whipped cream, but I told her to hold off. We continued until the bowl was empty.

She looked up at me with her eyes glazed and simply said, "Red."

I could easily understand why. "That’s good, cause I am out of ice cream," I admitted. "In case you are wondering, that was topping you off with maybe another 3,500 calories."

"My God! That is probably another pound gained all by itself," she commented, sounding groggy.

I carried the things into the kitchen, cleaned up, and got her another glass of diet Coke. When I came back in, she was sleeping. Or maybe passed out. It was hard to tell. She really looked so totally bloated. Her belly was a shiny globe pushing her shirt up. With the way that she was sitting in the chair leaning back with her head tucked into her chest she was snoring.

I figured to let her stay seated, instead of trying to move her to the bed, since that was about as comfortable as she was going to get. I lay down on the couch next to her and started watching television, but kind of drifted off to sleep myself, wondering what the next day would bring.

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Loving this story. I love how they are discovering feedism in their own natural way, but still preserving a touch of the darker bits that make it interesting. 

The habits of binge eating and the secret eating—you nailed it that those definitely pile on weight faster than you realize. 

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