Betty Bollingbrooke

[swahilimonkfish]

The night is darkest right before the dawn, but I assure you, the dawn is coming

Chapter 18

 

Betty was used to waking up with a hangover now. However she wasn’t used to waking up a bra in her mouth. This was, by all accounts, an atypical occurrence.

And what a bra it was too, with cups large enough to use as plant pots, draped across her body. More atypically still, was the fact that it was the only item of clothing on her body. This was a particularly atypical revelation. In fact, at the absolute height of atypicality, was the fact that, besides the G-cup bra that Betty had now tossed to one side, the only thing at all covering Betty was Wiktoria’s fleshy right leg.

Oh.

Shit.

It appeared that the night had merely been a gateway drug to even more physical engagement with one another, culminating, it seemed from Betty’s perspective at least, in full-on canoodling with one another. Betty was never sure what counted as what base, but she had an inkling that she got to each one and got herself a home run. She had slept with her best friend’s girlfriend. She had done that to Leona. She can’t remember how or even exactly what, but she did and that was that. She had done that to her best friend. Betty lay there, weighed down by the anchoring leg of Wiktoria, and she began to cry.

“Hey, do not cry” Wiktoria said, waking up.

“But I think we’ve had sex Wicky” Betty said, her eyes welling up and her face crinkling like a crisp packet.

“I do not remember having sex? And if you do not remember having sex, then how can you be sad? You do not remember the sex that is making you sad. I think we didn’t have sex” Wiktoria said, deluding herself.

Betty was shocked at what she just heard. Wiktoria was clearly in denial, there was no mistaking it. Absolutely ostriching around with her head in the sand, wishing herself innocent and then believing it. But, then again, maybe denial wasn’t such a bad idea, Betty thought, as she pulled herself up. She looked at the drinks laden table and grabbed the tequila bottle from it and started drinking straight from the bottle. How much would she have to guzzle down before she was too drunk too care again?

“Hey, stop it Betty!” Wiktoria wrestled the bottle off of her, accidentally pouring it over her when she grappled it back. Betty looked at her friend, also naked and, in her case, there was a lot more of her to be naked, with bafflement. Wiktoria responded by climbing on Betty to pin her down. Her arms were on Betty’s arms, and her legs were on Betty’s legs, and her belly pressed weightily against Betty, stymieing her breath and warming her down below. The additional height of Wiktoria left Betty trying to raise her head to get them out of Wiktoria’s wobbling breasts, hanging down on her like punchbags. Once she got out, she saw Wiktoria’s eyes lock onto hers. Her long hair dangled into Betty’s face, getting into her eyes. And then the face drew closer to her and, as it did, Wiktoria’s stomach pressed heavier and heavier against Betty until it the pain was nearly unbearable. It was made bearable by the locking of Wiktoria’s lips. It lifted the pain as Betty lifted to a plane were angels played harps and everything was luscious. But it wasn’t, she was still breaking up her two best friends.

“You do not worry Betty, we do not have sex.” Wiktoria said as she lowered herself towards Betty’s vagina and ate her out again. Betty tilted her head back her head back in pleasure but furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “See, we do not have sex.”

Betty was so confused about Wiktoria’s response when she got up afterwards to make her fabled breakfast – the Wicky meal? - and seemed resolute that they had neither kissed or engaged in any sexual activity. She was standing naked in Betty’s kitchen, a mass of flesh on full display and she seemed adamant that nothing untoward had happened, with denial so deep it could give a person whiplash.

“I will make you a big breakfast, and I will have a small breakfast because I am an athlete” Wiktoria said, adding to Betty’s confusion. Had she banged her head or something?

“You’re an athlete?” Betty asked.

“Yes, I am a sexy athlete with a beautiful body” Wiktoria said, waddling around naked and heating the frying pan.

Oh God, Wiktoria was broken.

Betty had broken Wiktoria.

Betty reached for the tequila again, to placate her worry this time, dousing her concerns with foggy alcohol. She grabbed a cigarette and hoped it would calm her nerves, but her hand shook while she smoked it. None of it worked. None of it helped. Wiktoria was no longer functioning. She needed switching off and on again.

But that could wait until after breakfast because Wiktoria was frying her cholesterol-filled out in the kitchen. Betty watched with worry as the fat Pole jiggled about from one part of the small kitchen to the other, her breasts swinging around like branches in the breeze and her bare stomach resting on top of each work counter that she encountered. Maybe some another cigarette would help, another glass of tequila.

“A small breakfast for me and a big breakfast for you” Wiktoria said as she walked over to Betty and put the food on the table. It was a feast for the ages. The kind of thing that would get Henry VIII to say ‘maybe ease up there a little folks, that meal looks somewhat hefty’. It was the usual, as much as that famously grand meal could ever be described as ‘usual’, but with battered Mars bars thrown in for good measure, now they were back in stock.

“Small breakfast?” Betty asked, scared and concerned as Wiktoria began eating a breakfast that was exactly the same size as hers, with food piled higher than James Franco.

“Yes, I have a sexy body like a Hollywood movie star so I have to eat thin food” she said, ravaging and savaging the portion she’d been lavishing.

Betty ate her meal, but her heart wasn’t in it. She tucked into the food on the platter and munched away but her eyes rarely left Wiktoria and her bizarre behaviour. The Pole must have just reached maximum guilt and hidden behind a delusional defence mechanism. Which means it was all Betty’s fault. She’d destroyed her friend, broken her sanity, twisted it and spat it out, before stamping on it for good measure. She shoved some black pudding into her mouth in distress, and then a croissant, and chewed as she fretted. And eventually it was gone, and it was replaced by the salty tears that Betty was spilling as she saw the damage she had wrought on young Wiktoria.

“Why are you crying?” Wiktoria asked, almost psychologically toying with her with innocence.

“Because I have broken you” Betty replied, unable to put into words what she was witnessing.

“No, I am not broken. I am thin...”

“Shut up and stop saying that” Betty squealed in panic.

“And beautiful...”

“Just stop...”

“like a Hollywood...”

And then the flat side of Betty’s hand struck the nearest cheek of Betty in a sharp slap. Wiktoria looked at Betty with a flicker of confusion, then anger, before wilting into tears. She burst into tears volcanically, while wrapping her arms around Betty’s naked body in a hug, and resting her teary head on Betty’s shoulder.

“What have I done Betty?” she sobbed now the illusion that she had built for herself shattered.

“Hey, hey, shhhh, it’s okay Wicky, it’s okay” Betty patted her like a newborn, whilst allowing tears of her own to flow.

“No it’s not. Leona is going to leave me” Wiktoria bawled, her guilt coming to the fore fully now. And Betty had done this. She’d allowed this. And now Leona was getting the Tim 2 treatment and Wiktoria was sinking into heartbreak. No, this wouldn’t stand.

“Not if you don’t tell her about this. How about you get some clothes on, do yourself up really nice and pretty, like a Hollywood movie star, and forget this ever happened. For her and for you.” Betty said, advocating lying to hide past mistakes, which was an outlook she had never taken before. But then again, she had never been so entangled in such a mess before. She’d been cheated on before, and knew how much it hurt and here she was as the home-wrecker. So she defied her flaking principles and advocated straight-up lying to her best friend. And Wiktoria agreed. She looked into Betty’s innocent eyes and didn’t notice the self-interest that flickered in the corner of them, and then she agreed to keep the past 12 hours a secret from the woman she loves. And as a wisp of breeze exited the room, Betty wondered if it was her morals.

 

Wiktoria got up slowly, and as gingerly as a Scot, she got changed. She found her knickers, somehow flung towards the dark side of the room. Betty knew she shouldn’t watch, not after all that had happened today, so she began looking for her own clothes. But she kept stealing glances to see Wiktoria squeeze her legs through the holes, to wiggle and wriggle to get them up and on, and then at the panoramic vista that was her arse, still only barely covered by thin and tired fabric. Betty couldn’t find her own underwear, though if she’d have looked up she’d have seen them hanging from her light fitting in parallel with the ones in her bedroom, so eschewed tradition and let off some steam by going commando.

She did find her jeggings and could employ the long lithe crutches to hook them towards her whilst not leaving her trusty sofa, a sofa so familiar to her arse that the cushion moulded around it. Wiktoria was, at this point, putting on her own trousers and hoiking them up brutally to get them past her mushroom-clouded legs, and over her an arse every bit as rounded as a sheep might be by a sheepdog. She tugged with futility to get them done up, breathing in to no noticeable effect and dragging the waistband across the desert of flesh that stood between button and hole, all to no avail. She eventually sighed deeply, allowed her blubbery flesh to pour out again and resigned to leaving it unfastened. And Betty observed all of this ignominy as she toiled with her own jeggings. The good news was that the material was elastic, the bad news was that it was ripping. The bit that was supposed to cover her un-underweared arse was just flapping now and the meeting the one along the leg. Betty should have cared about this, but she found it idly amusing to see her bear bare bare bum. Might need a long term solution though, since she was off to the GPs later that day to check how her foot was healing and hopefully remove the bandages. Maybe even wangle an extension to her sick-note. And she didn’t fancy rocking up at the medical unit and parading her arse about to the nurses and doctors. Her arse was probably her worst feature, and that was an accolade these days.

Wiktoria took this time to grab her bra to finally contain the rampant breasts that were free-flowing on her fatty form. She tied the clasp with some difficulty given that the centre of her back was so far away these days and there was so much more of her to circumnavigate, but she succeeded in the end. Betty, however, didn’t see the point in a bra. There was nothing to support and nothing to push up, and any bra that dug into her just looked like a pair of eye-patches over her chest. They paled into insignificance in comparison to the two-peak mountain range that Wiktoria was sporting and their deflation deflated her.

So, she instead looked for her fabled polo shirt, now creased and crinkled as well as stiff from the food stuffs that had been poured over it by a demented Minnie. It still didn’t fit her, now more so than ever. Betty hadn’t realised that weight gain would widen her shoulders and chest with emplumpened cushion, her formerly frail physique could have benefited from that earlier mayhaps, but she could feel the tension in the shirt across her shoulders as she mushed her sausage arms through their respective holes. The rest of the top still refused to budge beyond the bijou bulges of her breasts, and came nowhere close to conquering her colossal corpulence beneath. But Betty wasn’t the only one taxed by the task of taking her tight top on, Wiktoria was railing against the feeble limitations of her own. A giant jiggling juggernaut of jelly that Betty could not take her eyes off, she pulled her blouse around her and attempted to wrangle the buttons and holes together. The tightness of the top may have not helped, but neither did the chubbiness of her fingers that diminished her dexterity. One by one, she hooked each button through, caging her leonine stomach. And eventually, she found herself all done up at the front and only the minor issue of a bit of flesh swinging below the lower edge of the shirt.

“I think I will go now Betty, but thank you for keeping my secret” Wiktoria said hoarsely, with guilt eating away at her larynx.

“Don’t tell her Wicky, you and Leona are too good together.” Betty said with an elusive gaze and sheepishness of her own.

“I won’t” Wiktoria said barely audibly. “And, keep eating Betty. Eat as much as you can. Because… it might get taken away from you. You might have to stop. So eat so much food until you do”

“I will” Betty replied, barely audibly herself, as she watched the Pole

And she did, by hobbling to the kitchen to eat her guilt away some more.

 

Betty was in a food coma as opposed to the more traditional drink coma when Leona came in for lunch. She was lying on her settee asleep, with her hands resting on her melon-shaped stomach as it rose and fell in keeping with her snoring, and her chair decorated with confectionery confetti. There were all manner of sweet wrappers and chocolate bar wrappers and muffin wrappers and mini-cake wrappers, enough to form a blanket over a portion of Betty. She had taken Wiktoria’s advice to heart. And to stomach.

Leona made no witticism or barb at the performance art that Betty’s binge-induced snoring undoubtedly was. Her mood was palpable as soon as the air around her entered the property. Betty woke up sharpish and feared the worst.

“She put on weight Betz” Leona said, storming around the flat picking up the wrapper collage on the floor. “5 fucking pounds. In 5 days. At this rate, one more week and she’s 500lbs Betz. One more week and my girlfriend is a quarter ton”

“Just give her time, she might just need a bit of time to come around to the idea” Betty said, still worried that Wiktoria had already confessed about last night’s coming together between the pair. The keeping it a secret from her best friend felt crappy, but telling her would be worse, right?

“Yeah, maybe. Still, it just feels like a snub. Like she’s choosing cake over me. Which is pretty damning isn’t it?” Leona said, her anger easing. “Anyway, talking of eating, I’ve brought you the usual”

“I’m not really sure I should” Betty said, her guilt manifesting in unusual ways. “I’ve been eating quite well myself of late.”

“I hate to break it to you Betz but you’ve been eating quite well for 6 months straight now. One lunch isn’t gonna make a huge difference in the grand scheme of things is it?” Leona reasoned, foiling Betty’s flaky attempt at returning to the straight and narrow. Well, maybe not narrow any more. She handed Betty over the goods and sat on the floor with a bottle of water and a leafy salad for company.

“You’re eating here?” Betty asked between chews. Clearly her doubts about the amount she was eating weren’t weighing as heavily on her mind as they were her body.

“Yes Betz, I’ve had to take the afternoon off to take you to the docs to get you foot fixed. Don’t tell me you’d forgotten” Leona sighed at the dopiness of the gorgeous gorger on the sofa.

“No” Betty lied, a tendency that she was finding easier and easier, much to her worry. However she lied badly and Leona saw right through it.

“So, after your lunch, you’re probably not going to have time to properly fix yourself up, for a venture outside for the first time in a week. It will have to be a rush job, I’m thinking a large jacket, a flowy skirt, some sunglasses and a hat to hide that anemone on your head you call hair, sound fair?” Leona said, taking charge.

“Sounds fair, apart from the anenome… amenone… calling my hair a sea creature” Betty wasn’t that drunk for a change, not sober definitely, but not as drunk as she had been the past couple of days. But even a stone cold sober Betty couldn’t say that tongue-twister of a word. Which reminded her, there was still an unopened bottle of wine under the table with her name on it. Leona took a glass for herself, it had clearly been a stressful few days for her.

By the time Betty had finished her Ronald McDonald sponsored food marathon, the bottle had been finished and Leona was working on the tequila. Apparently drowning your problems in alcohol was a universal solution. Betty was trying to limit her alcohol intake because she couldn’t afford to turn up at the doctor’s surgery absolutely pie-eyed. She followed her meal by scoffing strong mints to hide the boozy breath that she had fermented, and hoped that the relative novelty of using crutches might excuse any balance issues as the second glass of tequila went down. Oh sod it, there was barely any left in the bottle now so she might as well finish it. She poured the last sliver down her neck from the bottle, well it was actually a decent amount but the bottle shape was deceptive, and then let out and unexpected burp. Burping? Well that was new.

Betty had to hurry for her appointment after the meal turned into an unexpected drinking session. She grabbed her largest jacket, only to find it unflatteringly tight around her bulging midriff. The way she navigated around with her crutches kept causing it to slightly reveal the bottom ridge of her tummy. But it did a far better job of covering her than the polo shirt beneath. She also grabbed the largest skirt she owned, a beautiful size 16 thing that nearly reach her ankles, though it wasn’t as loose as she had expected. But, again, the main point was that it covered what was beneath. Which, in her lower half’s case, was torn jeggings. She coerced her sticky hair into a bun (after all, Betty did love sticky buns), and then shoved a cap over the top to disguise its state. And then she threw on large aviators to mask as much of her dishevelled face as she could. And then the two girls got into a taxi, with Betty in the front seat and Leona dominating the back seat.

Getting from the taxi in the car-park of the medical practice to the practice itself proved a more difficult job than Betty had expected. Her crutch control wasn’t very good since she had barely done any practice, and stepping outside seemed to slap her with the drunkenness that she had been building towards. Still, people looked at her with concern at an injured girl doing her best, not with disdain at a car-crash runaway train of self-destruction. It was also surprisingly hard work, it required upper body strength that was never really Betty’s forte, and certainly wasn’t now when the only reps she did involved a fork. And she wasn’t the only one perspiring by the time she’d gotten to the waiting area. Leona was frazzled too, she really wasn’t much of a walker these days and it was hot outside for the time of year. She placed her ocean-wide ass on a couple of chairs and Betty sat next to her as she waited for her name to appear on the screen.

She was called soon enough and was entering the room of a tired-looking nurse with a jaded smile. She peeled away the bandages and inspected the wound beneath, ensuring that everything was healing. She spotted that the bandages had, at no point, been removed to clean the wound, but figured that the girl opposite her with the charming smile had just cleaned the rest of herself in, perhaps, a bath, and left just the bandaged foot out of the water.

“Anything else you want to ask, or any concerns you might have?” the nurse asked by rote after she had given the thumbs-up to Betty’s recovery.

“You couldn’t by any chance extend my sicknote?” Betty asked, flashing those pearly whites of hers again.

“I don’t see any need, you should be able to walk fine on it. Does your walk require a lot of walking because I guess you could aggravate the wounds...” the nurse said, thoroughly unconvinced.

“Yes...” Betty lied again. “I’m a shelf-stacker in a supermarket. Crazy amount of walking you have to do for that kind of job”

The nurse eyed her suspiciously but really didn’t fancy the hassle of confronting the blatant lie. So she just took the path of least resistance and obliged with another week off for the now-slovenly professor. Betty flashed that smiled of hers once more and walked gingerly out of the office.

 

“All good?” Leona said, spotting Betty could walk, although her leg had wasted a little (with muscle, not fat) and wasn’t as strong as before after even just a week.

“All good” Betty smiled, hoping to make a quick getaway before people notice that she’s drunk as a skunk. But before she could, she heard her least favourite word, followed by her least favourite phrase.

“Betty? Betty, is that you?”

Dr Parminder Chopra was Betty’s GP, and Betty was a frequent frequenter of the medical establishment back in her running days, with niggles and whatnot. Despite the incognito fashion choices, Parminder recognised Betty’s fairly notorious smile. Even without the corresponding eyes, hidden behind stylish aviator sunglasses, it was clearly her. Even with an extra 50% of mass, it was clearly her.

“Betty isn’t it?” the GP said with a friendly but formal tone. “I haven’t seen you since the day after the marathon, back in… April was it?”

“Yes, it was April I think” Betty said, suddenly immensely self-conscious.

“We haven’t seen each other for a while, how about a check-up?” the doctor said, with a calm demeanour.

“No, it’s fine, I’m sure I...” Betty began evasive manoeuvres.

“No, I insist. I’ve got a cancellation next Friday, so how about then? I’ll book you in” Dr Parminder said quite forcefully.

“You don’t have to do that” Betty squirmed.

“Look, Betty. Don’t make me say it. You’re a smart girl, you know why I’m asking. I won’t judge, I’m just here to look after your health, okay? You’ve clearly… well, since the race you’ve… anyway, there are things I want to check with you, and maybe send for some tests to make sure your thyroid is working okay. There is no shame, no judgement. I just need to check that you’re healthy. Is that alright?” Dr Parminder had a fiduciary duty to care for Betty, even if she didn’t want it.

“Okay, I guess” Betty just looked down as she said it, avoiding eye contact like a scolded child. She couldn’t look at the pretty doctor, irritatingly pretty and thin as she was. Parminder was 5ft1 and built like a 99lb hummingbird. Her hair was slicked back tightly for a professional appearance, and her bony face was similar to how Betty’s used to be before it was lacquered in lard. It was harsher than Betty’s though, with an unsmiling face and low eyebrows, but she was adhering all the beauty conventions that the Western world could throw at her.

Betty slunk off dejectedly after essentially being called out on her weight gain, shamed for it for the first time really. She had managed to trick the nurse into having one more week of rampant drinking, but soon that was coming to an end. And then, presumably, the doctor’s appointment would mean that the eating would be coming to an end. A sadness filled her stomach, though there was a lot of stomach for the sadness to fill. Parminder watched Betty limp off sullenly in shock. She had never seen anything like it in her life. Sure, sometimes athletes take their foot off the gas after a landmark race. But this was extraordinary, and the sheepish look told her it was probably not caused my medical issues. That chubby girl had created herself with alacrity.

 

Once the two girls got back, they sat in surprising quiet. There was an awkwardness in the air and Betty couldn’t put her finger on it. It had been there since Leona’s arrival, and she wondered if she was still upset about Wiktoria, so she broached the subject.

“Hey Leona, you okay? Don’t worry about Wiktoria, I’m sure she’ll come around.” Betty said, trying to break the ice with the weighty polar bear opposite her.

“Why? Did she say anything yesterday or this morning about it?” Leona probed.

“No, I’m just sure she will” Betty got defensive, she didn’t want to talk about what happened yesterday and that morning with Wiktoria.

“So, what did you two get up to?” Leona asked and Betty suddenly realised an inquisition was coming. Either Leona knew or Leona suspected. Betty just hoped it was the latter, and that she could lie her way out of it.

“Nothing much really, I drank a bit.” Betty said, wanting to scratch an itch on her stomach that popped up from nowhere, but didn’t want to provoke disdain.

“You drank a bit?” Leona parroted back to her with a rising inflection.

“Yeah, I mean, I have a free pass until I have to go back to work, right? So why not?” Betty tried to subdue her nerves.

“Why not? Well, all sorts of things can happen between people when they’re drunk, that’s why not” and Leona began to grab her stuff ready to leave. “Well, if you’re up and about, I guess you don’t need me here.”

“Wait Leona...” Betty’s voice trembled. The larger teacher paused. “I’m sorry.”

“For fucking my girlfriend or for lying to your best friend about it?” Leona said, and then waddled off. Betty didn’t have an answer for that.

[butterboy]

Betty's transformation is so much more grounded and believable in this version. 

[swahilimonkfish]

5 hours ago, butterboy said:

Betty's transformation is so much more grounded and believable in this version. 

Thanks as ever for your kind comments, it's been really reassuring to know the occasional person likes this story lol. The grounded transformation was what I was aiming for so I'm glad you've mentioned that

[swahilimonkfish]

A bit of light at the end of the tunnel. Oh, and I like the doctor's flashback as a way of intersplicing the heavy drama with some actual numbered weight gain pay-off

Chapter 19

 

It had been a horrible second week off work. Betty had, at first, tried to contact any of the musketeers since they were essentially the entirety of her social circle, but not a single one of them had answered. Wiktoria had presumably grassed to Leona as soon as she had left, and Leona had let her have a McDonald’s, and took her to the GP, all while sitting on so much resentment. Wiktoria was clearly not a fan of Betty’s tactics of deceit and duplicity, and seemed to be ignoring her for that reason. Minnie was also not responding, though she had previously expressed anger at Betty for the sexual liaisons between the two of them, so she was probably not over-enamoured that Betty had down the same to another girl. And even Rutherford was not answering her messages, and Betty hadn’t seen her since she started gaining weight.

So she took it badly and doubled down on all the destructive behaviour that put her in this perilous problem. Alcohol was a liquid, and liquids are a solution, so Betty had doused her stomach with a steady stream of alcohol that was more resembling the Nile these days. She was eating like there was no tomorrow too, and perhaps hoping that there was no tomorrow also. She had brought her bodkin downstairs and been running its sharp blade against the vein in her forearm, pressing so harshly that it even caused blood, but fortunately just a light drop. She was lying in squalor, refusing to wash or tidy. And she was even smoking more than ever, about 5 a day now, since the only person who hadn’t abandoned her was the sister who had just abandoned her.

Zara and her would talk on the phone late at night, and they would exchange pity parties. To be fair, Zara had a lot of cause for pity, their mum had really had it in for her ever since she got back. The reason was obvious, to discredit her as jealous or bitter if she ever told their dad about the affair. So she was doing her Aunt Lydia impersonation, leaving Zara to feel like Offred. And Betty also had a reason to self-pity. She had driven everyone away and her abandonment was deserved. She had no moral highground, she couldn’t lie to herself enough to believe this was anything other than her just desserts. So Betty decided to face the music and pay the piper. So, a week and one day after Leona last spoke to her, she knocked on the door of the Musketeer residence.

This wasn’t her idea though.

She had been summoned by the girls.

 

She rang the doorbell nervously, shifting as she stood. She wasn’t particularly comfortable outside, every car that drove past could see her arse where the jeggings that she was still in had ripped and she could hear the mocking derision of sarcastic cat-callers from boy racers flying by, but she didn’t particularly want to be inside either.

Minnie opened the door with a frosty facial expression and invited her in to the lounge where Leona and Wiktoria also were. Betty sat on the fourth available sofa without saying a word, just looking up and glancing at each girl in the eye before flickering her eyesight away. Leona and Wiktoria were glaring at her in return, their eyes fixed like they had seen the devil and challenged him to a blinking contest.

“Okay, so here’s what’s crackalackin’. I’ve invited Betty over her for a reason, and not just a pile-on.” Minnie started, addressing the room. “This, my love, is an intervention”

“An interv...” Betty stammered.

“An inter-fucking-vention?” Leona raged. “This lying bitch tried to ruin my relationship after being my best friend for over two years! I’d do anything for her, I was doing anything for her. I was there when she needed me and she returns the favour like she’s motherfucking Brutus?”

“I’m so sorry Leona, I should never have...” Betty quivered.

“Oi, belt it, the pair of yous. This is an intervention. Anyone with half a brain can see Betty’s not acting herself. I like to think I know a thing or two about what she’s going through and I needed an intervention and Rutherford came through with one. And I want to extend the same courtesy to Betty” Minnie said, commanding the conversation.

“Oh, bugger off!” Leona snarled, flapping her hand at her.

“Yes, I agree with Leona, fuck off” Wiktoria chimed in bitterly.

“I hate to break it to you love, but Wicky, you ain’t got no moral high ground here. And Leona, I’m not sure you do after what you said to Betty in McDonald’s” Minnie kept trying to retain order without the aid of a gavel or John Bercow.

“What conversation?” Wiktoria asked, looking around at Leona confused.

“Nothing, it’s nothing...” Leona dismissed, but without her cocksure confidence.

“She said she fancied Betty” Minnie said, tired of the secrets and the lies. She’d been there, done that and bought the too-small t-shirt.

The phasers behind Wiktoria’s eyes were switched from stun to kill. All that guilt that she’d been heaving about and Leona had attempted to get with Betty also. At least Wiktoria had the decency to be drunk when she did it.

“So you’ve all fucked up is what I’m trying to say. None of thee will be chuffed as monkeys with how you’ve been behaving. But Betty is having a Minnie breakdown and you’ve been blaming her when you should have been supporting her” Minnie lambasted.

“Am I?” Betty asked, not convinced.

“Yes, you are doing a me. That’s not a good thing, trust me, I’d know. I am me.” Minnie said.

“Okay, look I’m so sorry for all of you. I’ve messed up with each and every one of you. I could make excuses but honestly, it’s my fault and I know it. But Minnie, I’m not bottoming out. This behaviour, this hasn’t been a call for help. It’s been a liberation.” Betty took the stage now, showing some honesty for a change. “I was sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. And that’s where I was. But, until last week, I’ve never felt happier. All those things that I did that were wrong. I actually enjoyed them. I’ve enjoyed every debauched minute of it and it is scary to admit that but I want to be the girl Minnie no longer is”

The girls just sat in silence.

“But there are consequences Betz. Your health, your friendships...” Leona was open-mouthed at the outburst. Betty really was sounding like Minnie.

“My health is fine...” Betty said, reflexing towards guilt again.

“Then what did your GP say when you went for your check-up yesterday?”

 

Yesterday, 11.20am GP’s appointments

 

Betty was in the same jacket and skirt combination over the top that she visited the medical practice the week in before. The jacket was struggling no less with containing her stomach, leaving the buttons taut and the denim material insufficient to hide that thin crescent of moon white skin beneath. The skirt was long, flowing and hid all manner of vices beneath it, but around the waist it was closer to being too tight than too loose. This was supposed be size 16 and pleasantly fitting around the hips and arse upon which it was hoisted. Her hair, as unwashed as the masses, was tied in a tight bun, meaning that the dark strains of hair with the occasional white companions no longer shaped her more rounded face. She also wasn’t wearing her sunglasses this time and the circles around her eyes were no longer obscured.

Dr Parminder Chopra looked considerably better put together. That sharp slicked back hair, her deeply sunk eyes, her royally red lipstick all resting atop her pixie person. She was dressed very formally in a suit, shirt and black trousers, and her facial expression was no less serious.

“Right, Miss Bollingbrooke, how are you feeling today?”

The answer was grumpy, lonely and some strange hungover/still drunk combination.

“Fine thanks”

“Good. And any healthy problems or concerns?”

The answer was possibly the frequency with which she was experiencing heartburn and acid reflux, or the lethargy that made leaving the sofa such a drag, or the headaches that she kept experiencing that turned her back to the liqueur cabinet. The answer could also be the neck ache she was experiencing from sleeping on the sofa, the itchiness of an unwashed scalp and the rashes on her unremoved clothes.

“No, none thanks”

“Again, good to hear. So, before we take some measurements to check your fit and healthy, any lifestyle changes recently? Drinking more, exercising less, eating less healthily?” The doctor probed.

Well, she hadn’t been sober in two weeks, it had been a constant train of inebriation that she hid her emotions behind. She had also not done any exercise since the marathon, but now she rarely left the sofa. She didn’t even bother climbing the stairs to bed any more. She’d only ventured outside three times in the past fortnight, to visit the doctor’s twice and the hospital once and none of them were out of choice. As for eating less healthily? Did not eating any fruit or vegetable for half a year count? How about a calorie intake that never dipped below 15000, a tenfold increase on her RDA. Were battered Mars bars to scoop up ice-cream unhealthy? Or yesterday’s entire pizza as a midday snack, did that meet the ‘unhealthy’ criterion?

“No, not really”

“Any changes in your home life or work life? Personal stuff, changes in character, that kind of thing?” the doctor continued.

Well, of course she had regained and then lost her sister, fucked and then lost all her friends. She had gone from being the most diligent and conscientious professor at the university to one who sacked off doing any prep for her classes, one who cajoled a medical professional into extending a sicknote so as to skive of work, and she gave a blowjob to one of her students in the loos at Starbucks.

“No, same as ever”

“And how many units of alcohol have you been consuming per week, approximate figure?” the doctor worked through her checklist of questions, filling them out.

Well, it would be hard for Betty to know the answer to that question, she was an English teacher not a maths teacher, but undoubtedly high. The limit should be 14 units a week, but Betty passed that comfortably each day. After all, a bottle of wine was 10 units and she was never not drinking at least one of those, topped up usually with stronger and more exotic drinks until the floor started shifting. In fact Betty was drunk now, partly from the night before, partly from the vodka she’d been having along with her breakfast.

“I don’t really drink”

“Good to hear. And how about smoking?”

Well, she never used to, and this was something discordant about the image of Betty sat on the toilet puffing away on a fag. But she was smoking 5 a day despite only being introduced two weeks ago.

“No, never smoked in my life”

“Well, that’s all good. Now, do you want to pop on the scales for me and we’ll take your weight?” the doctor said with icy professionalism.

Of course the answer to her rhetorical question was no, she didn’t want to. But she had to oblige and stand on scales for the first time in half a month. The day of the clothes shopping trip, where she found herself in a trio’s tryst with Minnie and Leona, was the last time she weighed herself. She was 161lbs and officially overweight. She should have weighed herself in the intervening time, but she used her injury as an excuse to put off confronting the new number. 20 days later and how much damage could she possibly have done? She stepped on to find out.

“Okay, so that’s… 173lbs. Um, okay, that’s quite concerning Betty. Firstly, that puts you as overweight for your height, with a BMI of 27.8. So technically you are closer to being obese than you are to being at a healthy weight. Of course, your healthy lifestyle, not drinking, smoking and doing lots of exercise will help but we would recommend you look to lose some weight, maybe 9lbs as a starting point” the doctor said, taken aback briefly. So Betty had gained 12lbs in just over two weeks, she was closer to obese than healthy, and the only extenuating circumstance was that she didn’t drink or smoke. Which she did. The former – heavily. “More concerning is the rate of gain. Now, I’m going to book a hospital appointment to have your thyroid checked, because it says here in this chart you were 108lbs last time we saw you, six moths ago. So that’s obviously a 65lbs gain, which, in such a short period of time is a bit concerning. Does this seem plausible, I appreciate that post-marathon, you might want to take it easy a bit but do you think this is something you’ve brought about the lifestyle choices or...”

“Well, I have been a bit… more indulgent I guess. Yeah, it could be through lifestyle choices I guess” Betty conceded, not wanting to have her thyroid tested.

“This is a serious question Miss Bollingbrooke. This is a serious healthy issue possibly, so stop evading answering the question and tell me… is your weight gain down to changes in your lifestyle?” the doctor stared fiercely. Betty couldn’t tell what she was thinking but she couldn’t tell what. It was disappointment? Anger? Frustration? Worry?

“Yes, it is down to lifestyle choices” Betty’s words tailed off at the end.

“Okay, so take this leaflet, it will give you all sort of advice with healthy eating options, and here is a “couch to 5k” leaflet to get you back into exercise...” Dr Parminder passed her the respective leaflets.

“No offence Doctor but I ran a marathon six months ago. I don’t need ‘couch to 5k’” Betty dismissed as politely as she could muster.

“No offence Miss Bollingbrooke, but I don’t think you realise how far away you are from that girl now. You’re lugging around a four and a half stone and you were out of breath last week just using your crutches to get to the nurse’s office...” Dr Parminder sighed deeply, before loosening the stern grip on her facial expression. “Look, Betty… you’re more than just a patient to me. I’ve seen you so much since you first came down here away from your family, I care about you. But you have to look after yourself, because if it isn’t your thyroid then the concern might be with your mental health. I’m going to book you in for another check-up in three months, and please please please look after yourself Betty. Otherwise I’ll have to refer back to a therapist and I know how much that made you feel uncomfortable last time”

Betty just nodded sheepishly and trudged out of the doctor’s office.

 

Today

 

“See Betz, that’s exactly my point! We’re worried about you” Leona stressed, her anger submerging in a coat of concern. “Look, we know you’re a good girl at heart Betty...”

“You keep saying I’m a good person. Everyone thinks I’m a good person. But am I? Or have I just been insecure? Am I just needy? Do I just want people to like me and I do whatever that takes. That’s not kindness, that’s socially Machiavellian. Sure, I’m friendly and bouncy and always say the politest things. But I lie to people to protect their feelings. I let Leona believe she was 250lbs when she was 400lbs, and that nearly ruined her relationship. I nearly ruined her relationship again by having sex with her girlfriend. I nearly ruined Minnie’s relationship by having sex with her. I lead people on and I do anything to fulfil my needs. I feel guilty about Zara, not because I think I’m to blame. I feel guilty for not feeling guilty. I’m not a good person. I’m bad. I’m a bad person and I’m finally getting around to embracing that fact. Being bad. Being the bad girl my parents tried to beat out of me. Be bad Betty Bollingbrooke, be oh so bad.” Betty monologued, to the shock of everyone.

“But what about everyone else left in your wake Betty? What about everyone else?” Leona retorted. Betty didn’t have an answer for that.

The words had come as a bit of a surprise. Because here was the rub of the green, she wanted the indulgence but she didn’t want to be alone. She’d loved having Zara to share it with, and she loved it when the girls came over to share it with, but she’d pushed them all away with her habits. She just wanted someone to self-immolate with. She wanted to have her cake and eat it, and that’s what she told them.

 

“I want to show you something Betty” Minnie said stoically, taking her upstairs and into Rutherford’s room. Betty followed sheepishly in both senses of the word up the apples and pears and towards the far bedroom. Minnie slowly opened the door and showed Betty a vision for the ages.

 

“Hey Betty, long time no see” the American girl lying in bed said between mouthfuls of pecan pie and cream from the queue of bowls laid out beside her.

“Hey Ruthers” Betty said, taking in the image.

 

 

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 

 

An hour later, Betty pulled up her jeggings and came out of the room, still in a trance. Her brain saw pliable pink flesh wherever her eyes settled now, the teacher’s mind had been truly blown. Minnie put down the phone to a former one-night stand when she saw Betty leave the room.

“Look love, I’m not gonna lie, that were for her as much as it were for you. I cheated on her with you, and another girl actually one time, and I wanted to make it up to her. But, do you really want to head in that direction Betty love? Really? Sure, I’m sure you like the kinkiness of it, but can you really manage a career in that condition? I mean, she’s a big girl these days, isn’t she?” Minnie looked and listened to the dumbstruck teacher.

“She’s not small” Betty managed to get out, still reeling.

“So, is that what you want?” Minnie asked with understanding.

“Maybe? I love it when I’m in company. When I was with you, with Zara, with Leona, the feasting felt freeing. But I can’t do it on my own without being cheered on, I don’t think...” Betty confronted the harsh reality of her situation. “I’m sorry for what I did with you, what I’ve done with everyone. I’ll stop, okay? I can’t do this to any of you and I can’t do it without any of you so I guess I’ll stop.”

It made sense, it’s just that she didn’t want it to. She wanted any excuse she could muster to continue behaving in the irresponsible and amoral way that she had gradually become accustomed to, but enough was enough. She was hurting her friends, her career and her health. Without a feeder, there was no point being a feedee.

Because that’s what she wanted. To gorge and be gorged. To unleash every bad instinct, indulge every bad habit and turn every dial up to twelve because only eleven was for cowards. She wanted the tingle that came with knowing the harm she was doing to herself. She wanted the thrill of the disconnect between where she had come from and where she was going. She didn’t just want these things, she yearned for them. Betty and vice were star-crossed lovers, deeply besotted but fated to be apart.

“So, what’s your plan?” Minnie asked, heartened and disheartened in equal measure.

“I’ll stop drinking after tomorrow. I’m back at university so I’ll ditch the drinking for then. Then, next Sunday, I’ll finish stage 3 of the Skinny meal challenge and be done with the darned thing. And after that, it’s back to vegetables and jogging and water and yoga” Betty said, failing to disguise the disappointment on her face.

“Stage 3, so that’s one in the morning, one midday and one in the evening?” Betty clarified with the buttery girl.

“Yeah, and then done. I have a horrible feeling it’ll be a doddle. I have a horrible feeling it will be a walk in the park. Probably easier than a walk in the park for me, according to my GP.” Betty confirmed before addressing the fact that she had only not finished the Skinny meal diet by technicality and had in fact surpassed the calorie count often.

“Well, it sounds like to me that you have a week-long Free Hit for food, and a 36 hour long Free Hit for drink” Minnie suggested with the ministerial composure and sobriety fading into her more familiar maniacal smile.

“Why, what did you have in mind?” Betty grinned. If this really was the end of the road, she was going to need to have the blowout to end all blowouts.

“Well, I just let my girlfriend have sex with you and I didn’t even watch. The least she can do is let me have 36 hours and see how far I can push the envelope with you” Minnie’s head tilted as her eyes lit up with feverish imagination. “And I can do quite a bit in 36 hours.”

Betty gulped. She believed Minnie when she said that.

 

[butterboy]

Great update as always. Looking forward to the 36 hour Free Hit Minnie-thon coming up.

[swahilimonkfish]

17 minutes ago, butterboy said:

Great update as always. Looking forward to the 36 hour Free Hit Minnie-thon coming up.

Minnie-thon is a great name for it, wish I'd thought of that!

[swahilimonkfish]

Really long chapter, sorry about that, but we finally get a look at the elephant in the room. Let's look at the enormous Rutherford

Chapter 20

 

6 months ago

 

“Do you want to have sex with me Minnie? Yes or no?”

She did, oh boy did she. Rutherford smiled at her that sweet American smile and Minnie wanted to twist it and contort it into over-indulged discomfort. She wanted to fuck her, and feel every flabby fold. But she wanted to feed her more, and they were sitting in a room with enough food for a 5 person feast, and she wanted to pour every single crumb of it down the American’s gullet. Rutherford said she could take it. She said she could handle it. Everything Minnie would throw her way, Rutherford would eat. She was 5ft4 and 420lbs of yankee enormity and Minnie saw that as a starting point and not a finishing line. She had been giving permission to do her worst and Minnie’s worst was something spectacular.

Rutherford leaned back against the wall, with her legs vacated wide apart to allow for her stomach to sit. Minnie was leaning over her seductively, with her belly pressing against the American’s as if to keep the two of them apart. She pried open Rutherford’s grinning mouth with hearty slices of steak pie, with the sauce dripping down her front; huge burgers the size of Rutherford’s head, filled with every burger filling known to woman; servings of moussaka with thick creamy bechemel sauce. Rutherford smiled as she was stuffed, almost idly amused at easy the deluge of delicacies was to her. She hadn’t gotten to the size she was by eating puny amounts of food, she needed more. So Minnie stepped it up a notch, pouring fries down her throat like they were water down a drain; another burger, soaking in fatty juices from the beef patty; more steak pie with rich shortcrust pastry. Surely now Rutherford was flagging, but still the grin remained. Maybe desserts were in order, and then the bell rang.

 

An American girl with red hair and cute freckles came in. She had an actual red bow in her hair like she was a Minnie Mouse tribute act, right down to the black spotted polka dot dress that flattered her flowing form. She walked into the living room and burst into laughter at the sight before her.

“Oh my god Ruth, you are so frickin’ fat. I looove it” she said, waving her hand camply. “When I saw your photo and you were like, a bit chubby or whatever, I was like, oh my god Ruth isn’t a stick any more. I might be skinnier than her, which is sooo cute. Don’t I look cute?” she said, twirling around in her dress. “And who’s the girl with the green eyes?”

“Ahem, alright love, I’m Minnie and I’m Ruthers’ girlfriend and feeder, okay. Now who the fuck are you?” Minnie said sternly, interrupted mid serving of fried onion rings to her corpulent girlfriend.

“My name is Shay and I was like, her bff or whatever. Aaaanyway, that shit sounds so cray-cray. Like, is a feeder what it sounds like, cos damn girl if it is, no wonder you got so big. Like, I literally cannot believe how big you are” Shay said, waggling her shoulders subconsciously as she spoke.

“Wait, Shay the bitch? That Shay? Nearly ruined Ruthers’ life so she moved to another continent, that Shay? Well dear, in that case, how abouts you turn your measly arse around and fuck right off back to Yankiedoodlesville” Minnie seethed protectively.

“Yankiedoodle… whatever. Anyway we chill now, right Ruth?” Shay said with a sway of her feminine hips.

“Umm, like I guess Shay. And you look good but did you really catch a flight all the way here just to see if I’d put on a few?” Rutherford felt awkward, the coming together of a current and an ex girlfriend was never an easy one. Especially since there was the unmistakable vibe of Shay coming to collect what she believed was rigthfully hers.

“A – I think it’s like a little more than ‘putting on a few’. B – No, I’m here cos I missed you. Like we were like bffs and yeah, I guess I screwed up, but hey, I was young and I didn’t know what I was doing. And C – Now I’m here, you really gonna choose the fat girl with the ‘king of the north’ voice or get back with your original crush, except nooow, I’m like so much hotter.” Shay was shameless in her pursuit. Which would have been kinda hot for Rutherford had she not made such an emotional commitment to Minnie just minutes before.

“Excuse me love, this fat girl with the whatever-you-called-it accent is what Rutherford wants. You know why love? I’ll tell you why, you dickhead, because maybe fat is where it’s at, you stupid bitch!” Minnie was standing up now and ready to go toe-to-toe with the girl.

“Hey hey hey, I really dig you fighting over me but I’m with Minnie now, sorry Shay. You had the chance to have aaaaall this and you instead ruined my fucking life. So yeah, well done on losing all that weight, shame I’m an FA” Rutherford backed her girlfriend.

“What’s an FA?” Shay said, bewildered. She had this reclamation all planned out and it was turning to shit before her very eyes.

“Fat Admirer. I dig fat girls. Which is why I dig myself. So you can either watch a master at work or you can fuck the fuck off” Rutherford sassed.

Shay started crying. How had it gone so wrong. Why hadn’t Ruth told her that she was that way inclined? And how had Rutherford gotten so big so quickly. She wanted to go. To run off and cry. But she needed to stay. She needed to stay and see this.

And Minnie and Rutherford put on a show that would change the way Shay saw the world forever.

 

Shay, it turned out, was not a particularly nice girl. Rutherford liked that about her. The put-downs, the passive-aggression, the fiery temper were all aphrodisiacs to the ever-porking 420lb girl. Minnie wasn’t so convinced. Leona and Wiktoria had eloped to Europe for the Summer and left the three of them to stew in one another’s company. Minnie and Shay never held back on the side-eye and sneers when they were alone together, but when Rutherford was in the room, their eyes never left her.

Shay could watch but she couldn’t touch. That was the rule. She could watch as Minnie got to the task of blitzing Rutherford with calories. Life was a constant all-you-can-eat buffet, and Rutherford can eat a lot. It was disorganised at first, just a continuous mad dash to placate an unending appetite, but soon Minnie managed to get a handle on it, and systemised it. And she had Shay employed as a PA, doing the time-consuming jobs and leaving Minnie to the heavy-lifting. So to speak.

Shay didn’t mind. She was enraptured. For so long she had spied Rutherford’s gangly thin body with resentment and envy, so to see her like this was the ego-rush to end all ego-rushes. It was enchanting to watch this nerdy, skinny girl trap herself further and further in her own fat.

Rutherford loved it too, she felt like a queen being waited on hand and foot as she lounged around and ate the entirety of everything always. With two girls running around after her, trying to appease her appetite and satiate her stomach. It was everything she never knew she’d always wanted, as she looked down and marvelled at how much of her there was.

In fact, the only one who had reservations about the whole set-up was Minnie. The nastiness of Shay wasn’t the problem, her bitter tongue and disparaging demeanour was fine for her, since she could be caustic should circumstance call for it. No, it was the jealousy of possibly sharing her lover. Sure, there was plenty of Rutherford to go around, and the depravity of the situation that the three had found themselves in was a rush, but she evil-eyed Shay had gate-crashed the food party without an invite. Typhoon Minnie was about to take a second victim.

The other issue Minnie was combating was not being able to eat so much food herself. It is not easy to diet at the best of times, but it’s even more difficult when every direction you turn your head, there’s delectables. Minnie was trying to get this part of her under control, so she just poured more and more food onto Rutherford’s plate to take the edge off her urges, and maybe just a little more food onto Shay’s plate while she was at it.

 

By June, Rutherford’s weight gain was clear for to see for the fetishistically inclined, though a layman might have struggled to notice the difference between the varying shades of cosmically huge. Rutherford noticed it the most. Showers might have been no fun in her state but baths were no longer feasible. Sometimes it was easier just to sit next to the shower and wash herself with a wet cloth. That way, she could ensure she got between each ribbon of fat. She also noticed it getting about. Foot ache and back ache were banes to the bulging goddess, and stairs were getting harder to climb. She would find herself out of breath at the top, and with friction burns to her hip where the narrowness of the stairs forced her to constantly brush against it.

Minnie noticed it too and began future-proofing. They bought, on credit card at 0% APR, a reinforced bed so that Rutherford could never find herself too big to lie down in bed. It was a necessary accommodation since lying in bed was becoming a more regular occurrence now wandering about had become more difficult. But she mainly noticed in awe, at the majesty of her work. Her hand had done this and it was a spectacle. Rutherford would become an eighth wonder of the world by the time she had finished with her.

 

Early July, and Wiktoria was lying in bed being stuffed again. Minnie had fine-tuned her technique by now, she served up plates of food and left them on a long table they’d moved up there, and just allow her to plough through them while the next session was prepared. It was invariably sweet and always gloopy, this time it was caramel sponge cake with Rutherford’s favourite… British custard.

While she was taking one bowl after another – and they were pasta bowls not dessert bowls – Minnie did the other thing that she had fine-tuned over the years. Sexually stimulating Rutherford just by clawing at her flab. Her cold sharp fingers caressing crevices and creases of Rutherford’s nude form like talons. Each clawing elicited a gasp from the undressed girl, often while Rutherford had her mouth full, because Rutherford often had her mouth full. She’d hover over her her like Mr Blubber Lover, and attack her expanding gut like a vulture on a carcass. And she was provoking euphoric sighs from her prey, as she dug in between the peaks and valleys of her rolls, when Shay walked in again. That wench!

“Sorry for interrupting but she’s nearly finished with the caramel sponge cakes and I’d thought the fat bitch would need sustenance” she said, swaying into the room with her Joan Holloway hips. Rutherford still had three bowls to go, but she was guzzling greedily and topping her up was not a bad shout.

Minnie had been thwarted in her attempts to penalise Shay for her existence with expansion thanks to the workload that Rutherford’s feasting imposed upon her. Shay was fixated on being better than Rutherford, and making Rutherford worse to heighten her fragile self-worth, and so maintained diligent eating and exercise habits when she could. Minnie felt herself warm with envy in her presence, this interloper wanting to be the one who looks down on Rutherford, and for such cruel reasons. Minnie’s malevolence was much more humane.

“Anyway, it is like totally like my turn to be feeding her today. You carry on doing the whatever… scratchy thing, but you promised me this turn” Shay asserted, scrunching her long red hair up as if to get down to business. And this was true, Rutherford had supported Shay’s request and Minnie relinquished. She felt like she was relinquishing little bits of her massive girlfriend every day. She had 25 minutes with her all to herself at the relationship’s birth and then Shay came in and they’ve been sharing her ever since.

Shay picked up one of the bowls and one of the desserts spoons and sat on the bed next to a beached looking Rutherford to feed her further. Minnie, in a vain attempt to outshine her rival, dove under the bedsheets and began crawling up Rutherford’s saggy legs. Shay shovelled in her first laden ladle of sugar-rush goodness in the mouth of Rutherford, who opened as wide as her chubby cheeks allowed. She smiled as she chewed, even though her tongue had numbed to the sweetness after so much of it in succession. But that wasn’t while she smiled. She smiled because the girl she fancied for years growing up was fulfilling her fantasy of filling her full. They say that your first crush is the deepest, and Rutherford’s first crush was scooping unnourishment down her blubbery neck. 1-0 to Shay.

Then Rutherford really started smiling, because Minnie had now climbed the padded pillows of leg and made her way to the danger zone. Her eyes erupted in elysium as Minnie circled Rutherford’s drain. Minnie was stealing Shay’s thunder the only way she knew how. 1-1

Shay wasn’t giving up so easily, however. This was her moment and she intended to carpe the fuck out of that diem. She tilted the bowl now and poured the vanilla custard down Rutherford’s open mouth, scraping the custard down with the spoon to expedite the process. 2-1

Minnie’s arms then reached up from beneath the duvet and, with her claws angled, raked her fingers down Rutherford’s ocean of stomach, causing spasms of pleasure to ripple through it. Rutherford started bashing her arms involuntarily against the mattress as her body didn’t know how to digest all these waves of pleasure that were swarming through her like a plague of locusts. Her tongue lolloped about spasmodically in delirious delight. 2-2

Shay instinctively responded to Minnie’s advance by feeding her more fiercely. She got her hands involved now, and scooped it up and began squashing it against her open mouth, ramming the sticky crumbs in. Rutherford was almost gasping, grasping for air as the cake clogged her throat, unable to swallow faster than Shay instinctively mushed myriads of it into her face. Floury flotsam fell from her face and flowered over her chest and breasts that heaved as she strained for oxygen. More and more mess was made as the devil in Minnie seemed to possess Shay also, driving her to drive dregs to the gaping gob of the grinning American. Rutherford’s fat legs twisted and lifted, crushing Minnie in delightful ways between walls of whalelike weight. 3-2

Between sharp gasps of air that she was grabbing before being submerged in substantial substance once more, she uttered instruction for Shay to smear it over her. Just pour all those wasted calories over the swimming pool of fat that was her upper half. One bowl thrust at Rutherford’s face to eat and another to pour over like lemon drizzle on a cake. Minnie could feel all the sickly sticky caramel drip down into her hair from above while she worked her girlfriend, finding she strangely liked it and made a mental note for later. But she didn’t like it as much the blissed out American above her as she ripped into a climax like nothing she had ever felt before, a rogalian scathefire scorching all through her writhing body before drifting away on a breeze. She thought it was all over. It was now. 4-2

The three girls just rested in silence after that, gathering their breath and their thoughts. All of them sitting on a buzz that none of them had ever experienced before. A rampant sexual supernova blistering through their very fabric with breath-snatching pleasure scarring their soul. Finally Rutherford chimed.

“You guys, what you did there. I want that. I want that again and again for forever. Every hour of every day of every month of every year forever. I want that. That experience, that chemical overflow. I want that and you’ll need to work together to do it. I don’t care how, but you need to keep doing that to me until the day I die” Rutherford announced firmly, scraping the fallout of the food falling out onto chest, before putting it back in her mouth. It wasn’t like she needed the calories, not after that, but you can’t just leave sticky caramel sponge cake within an arm reach of Rutherford and expect her to refrain from anything other than refraining from restraint.

And Minnie and Shay came to an unspoken agreement wherein they would alternate between the two roles that they employed today. Minnie would have to swallow her pride while her girlfriend swallowed everything she offered, while Shay swallowed the juices from the soaked vagina of Rutherford’s hedonistic pipe dream made so much flesh. It was your quintessential feedee/feeder relationship, except Rutherford was both simultaneously both, with one of the girls feeding her and the other feeding on her, like Schroedinger’s fat.

 

Minnie would skulk about the house in the few spare moments that weren’t spent attending to the woman mountain that was Rutherford. She loved everything that Rutherford did, and everything that Rutherford touched turned to orgasmic gold. Everything she touched was perfect, except for Shay. Shay hung around like a stench, poisoning the good thing that the two Musketeers with her viral venom. Pissing on Minnie’s parade.

She had to admit that the sex was pretty good. Scratch that – as she liked to do – the sex was earth-tremblingly tremendous. She could feel a flickering flame of lust ready to cannonball through her just by thinking of it. Rutherford’s orgasms were infectious and all parties couldn’t help get caught riding the cresting wave of Rutherford’s chemical Tambora. And the consequences were telling on the grinning American as if her eating habits weren’t already. Her body grew and grew to accommodate the blitzkrieg of food that she was being born with, achieving and having thrust upon her, hyperinflating with unbridled freedom. Every inch of her was now a compartment of fat for storage; every grain of skin stretched thin to allow for the lipids taking residence; every sense was tingling with the over-capacity within. July was barely upon them and the irresponsibility of dive down the rabbit hole of insatiability was catching up with her.

For a start, she never went outside any more. She could go outside if she wanted to, as she was wont to say, she just never wanted to when all she wanted was served to her on a series of platters. Now it was getting to the stage where even downstairs felt as close to her as her hometown of Georgetown, Delaware, and was visited every bit as frequently. I mean, why bother? Why go down when the food always came up. Her fatty fate felt as inescapable now as her room did, she had surmounted the crested hill and now she was free-wheeling down to God knows where. And Minnie just wished it was all her own handiwork. But there was another name on the credits now, the name of that bitch Shay.

And yesterday, Minnie had finished her sulk and skulk around the house in a stir-crazy cabin-fevered pent-up pacing, and entered the bedroom of her beloved when she saw Shay being a woman for all seasons to Rutherford, screwing her and feeding her. No collaboration required, the duopolising Minnie had been pushed to side by a monopolising Shay. She saw Rutherford signal to join in, pile on and feed and fuck and screw and serve and plate and plunder and dish and do her. But Minnie drifted out the room to leave the two star-spangled stars to bang.

She left the house and her mind was drifting to the places that it shouldn’t. The mischief in her veins was itching and she needed to find a way to scratch it. She felt the pull of the dark gravity that she had been pulling away from for so long. After all, what were bandwagons for if not for falling off?

It was late apparently. Minnie had lost track of time a little over the course of the internalised weeks, only venturing outside for regular raids to gather goods on shops that sold scrumptiousness. But now she was out in the warm midsummer night air without intention to drive her. She just could feel the graceful breeze glide over her shell-shocked shell, hear the Southern accents of pissed up students, smell the saline smell whipped up off the sea. She wandered towards the nightlife area of the city, prowling with no good on her mind. And then she saw the form her mischief would take as she saw oldest and best friend across the street from her. Kebabland was doing a roaring trade.

She crossed over to the shop and to throw herself off the edge of control. She was going to do bad all by herself, and she was going to do it by eating her namesake. How long had it been since she had eaten a Skinny meal? Since she went off the deep end and ate her feelings from a cardboard takeaway box to the smell of pungent kebab meat? It suddenly felt too long.

Ahmed beamed when he saw his favourite walk into his joint with all the downbeat trepidation of an alcoholic walking into a bar. She sat at one of the chairs and just raised and lowered her eyebrows to confirm her eponymous order. It sat before her with nostalgic aromas whisping up her nostrils. She braced her self for the trip down memory lane and began harming herself with calories for the first time in three months. Each mouthful activated memories of familiar downward spirals, each one reaffirming the muscle memory of self-destruction. She had been so good of late, weight had been falling off of her and she had hoped that the worst of it was over now. But then Shay goes and commandeers her girlfriend and suddenly her only friend is a kebab place.

Sitting there glumly punishing herself with overeating, Minnie noticed a girl was looking at her. She might have been quite the sight to any onlooker, she hadn’t changed her clothes since the feeding/fucking sessions with her girlfriend earlier in the day, she was still over 250lbs (though she didn’t know by how much, they really needed to get a decent scale), and she was tucking into a meal so sprawling that you could get lost in it.

“What do you want love? Enjoying the show?” Minnie growled, her mood as black as obsidian.

“Yeah, I am” replied the tall elegant blonde. “Minnie Charnwood isn’t it?”

“Ummm… yeah? Wait, you were in my creative writing class?” Minnie rose up from the food to see the most beautiful woman that she’d ever seen, with big eyes, a wide smile and a 6ft1 body without an ounce of fat on her, like a caricature of how Wiktoria used to be built.

“Yeah, and you were really thin back then. What happened?” the blonde girl tilted her head in curiosity.

“Have a wild stab. I’m eating the biggest meal on the south coast, and it’s literally named after me” Minnie wasn’t enjoying being distracted from her food but there was something about the way that girl looked at her that kept her attention undivided.

“You’ve really let yourself go” the blonde suggested.

“No shit Sherlock” Minnie snarled. You don’t get to grow to the size she was without being fat-shamed. But you never get used to it.

“No, I think it’s, okay this is weird, I think it’s kinda cute” the blonde said. Now Minnie recognised what was in her eyes that drew Minnie in. The girl wasn’t looking at her, she was ogling her. It was lust. This transcendentally beautiful woman, who looked every bit a supermodel, was coming on to her fat ass.

“Look, love. I appreciate the compliment, I do. But I’m a fuck up and tonight I intend on fully fucking up. Fucking up so hard it cannot be unfucked. So, instead of flirting with me and running your finger through your hair, how about you take run and take cover. Because I am a fuck up and you don’t want to get caught in the blast” Minnie said, trying to protect the young girl from the radius of her self-destruction.

“I want to get caught in your blast” and the blonde girl made her move and drew towards Minnie’s lips. “Come back to my place, take that with you. I want to make you explode.”

Minnie woke up the following morning in some body else’s bed for the first time in a long time. Not since the bad old days had she arisen to unfamiliar wallpaper and unfamiliar bedding, but here she was, in the bedroom of some statuesque bimbo. But the wallpaper and bedding, garishly and girlishly pink as if she was harbouring unicorns and barbie dolls in here, were covered in food. It was as if somebody put a lifetime of calories into a blender and then forgot to put the lid on. There was literally kebab meat hanging from the ceiling. The walls looked ripe for blood splatter analysis, congealing and coagulating with carbohydrates and calories. Minnie remembered what had happened vividly. The shoe had been on the other foot. She’d been Minnied. This girl, this elegant gazelle of femininity had summoned the kind of depravity on Minnie, that Minnie had been summoning on Rutherford.

She got up hurriedly and began to assemble her clothes. She had intended to self-harm through food but, by being with another woman, she had harmed more than herself. She’d hurt Rutherford, and not in a good way. She put on her knickers and her jeans in a mild panic, frantically scouring the place to find her t-shirt, only to find it had been sabotaged.

“Oh yeah, I ripped the bottom half of the shirt so you can now where it as a belly shirt” the blonde said as she walked into the room with a tray of food. “Now get back in your bed Minnie, it’s breakfast time.”

Minnie obliged and got back into bed, as a tray of waffles stacked as high as the blonde’s balance would allow was sat in front of her. Minnie shouldn’t, she knew this, and she thought this as she did. She marched her way through the food while asking the blonde girl what was actually going on.

“So, you a what? Chubby chaser?” Minnie enquired.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I just loved the way you and your presentation group suddenly let themselves go. Like you were setting fire to all that was good about yourself. I have no idea why that was hot, but it was so hot to me” the blonde explained, feeling a little awkward. “I stalked you guys on Facebook religiously, all of you, Rutherford, Miss Clefton-Brown, that Polish girl. I was like a fangirl. I am like a fangirl.”

“Wow, a musketeer fangirl? That’s a first. Right, so who was your favourite?” Minnie was amused by this.

“Oh, it changed throughout. You were my first, but then that Polish girl got hot, oh and then you again. Then Rutherford came from nowhere and she was my favourite. Miss Clefton-Brown was a late bloomer but fuck me did she bloom. At the minute it’s probably the Polish girl again, but I haven’t seen a post from Rutherford for a while, I hope she’s huge” the blonde gushed, waving her hands about in excitement. “Oh shit, have I overshared? Was that creepy?”

“Yes on both counts, but weird set sail a long while ago love. And yes, Rutherford’s huge. I’ve got a feeling she ain’t gonna be going to many lectures next year so you might have to take my word for it. But Rutherford is fucking massive”

“Can… can I see her?” the blonde asked, almost salivating at the suggestion.

“Haha, no way Jose. In fact, I should be getting back to her. We can’t do this again, sorry. I’m in a relationship with her now” Minnie said, looking at her watch for the time.

“Wait, are you doing it on purpose? Are you… like me? Only you do it for real?” the blonde asked curiously.

“Yes, I’m a feeder. Rutherford’s a feedee. Shay, who’s a new girl, she’s a skinny bitch, she’s a feedee. Leona and Wiktoria aren’t feedees, I just think they’re foodies I guess. And even Betty Bollingbrooke is making a late admission into the weight gain club apparently” Minnie said, checking that was everyone.

“Miss Bollingbrooke’s putting on weight? But she’s so pretty. Oh my god that sounds so hot” the blonde’s radiant face lit up several lux.

“Very much a work in progress, don’t get your hopes up, she won’t follow through. Anyway, what about you? You’re a beanpole” Minnie redirected the conversation.

“I can’t, I’m literally a model and I need the job and the money. Besides, I like getting my kicks vicariously, if you know what I mean?”

“Ohhhh, I know what you mean” Minnie said, before rising from the bed once more now the waffles had been troughed. “So, I’m gonna go now, but this was a one-off I’m afraid, love. But it was nice to meet you and I wish you all the best in future endeavours etcetera etcetera. Oh and by the way, what’s your name?”

“Ebba Blomqvist”

 

Minnie felt guilty after that night. And Minnie traditionally didn’t handle guilt well. Her response was initially predictable, like a husband that cheats on her wife and so buys her flowers from the nearest petrol station as an unexpected gift, Minnie came home that day with boxes of food from their favourite bakery, but one that they rarely visited because it was slightly out of town. But this didn’t help, while Rutherford voraciously enslaved herself to the caloric contents, she did so with such gratitude that it only magnified her guilt. The last thing that Minnie wanted was for Rutherford to be grateful for the gift that was to veil her guilt. Her next response over the days that followed was a more virtuous still, in that she let Shay have more solo fucking and feeding sessions with the big American. It was the only thing she could do to keep the wolf of self-loathing from the door was to magnanimously relinquish the reins of the relationship a little more to the red-headed compatriot of Rutherford.

This worked, for a bit. But seeing Shay take further and further liberties with regards to her solo play with Rutherford started causing the same jealousy and pain that lead to Minnie’s fling in the first place. It was the loss of control that she felt, that oh-so-familiar feeling of watching your life slide out of view, that was driving the resentment. The relationship with Rutherford was all about exerting control and dominance over her, but slowly and surely Shay was whittling away at that like a beaver.

So, Minnie then found herself pushed to asking the blond girl that she met at Kebabland for a rematch, best of three, that sort of thing. She did all the naughty things that she was trying not to do. Engaging in the loss of control she was trying to stifle. The blonde with the modelling career had for a delicious sex partner, her long limbs and lithe legs gangled over her like a two-legged spider. It was a challenge at first to feel dominated by a girl who was so clearly fawning over her subject, but her immaculate beauty helped. Here was a girl Minnie felt so considerably worse than, after so long being the alpha in her main relationship, that the blonde could overpower her with a whisper. And then would come the post-coital shame. And then would come the gifts to alleviate the guilt. And then would come Rutherford’s gratitude. And then would come Minnie loosening the ties on her relationship. And then would come the frustration. And then she would ring Ebba once more. And so the cycle would continue.

 

And it was slowing her weight loss but at least she was still losing weight. Regular gym sessions replaced the regular fun sessions with her girlfriend, since they had been taken over by Shay, and she was slower working through the backlog of fat that she had managed to accumulate in such a remarkably short period of time. By August, she was wearing clothes she hadn’t worn since February. By August she was feeling freer in her own fatty body to move around a bit more. By August she was finally feeling the forgotten sensation of progress.

Even better was that Shay was no longer losing weight. She had shrunk down to 133lbs at her pinnacle, like quaintly cute in her fashionably outdated spotted pinafore and always a ghastly ribbon in her red hair. But she was now restored to the weight that she arrived at, 140lbs, and it was melting away her grating confidence thankfully. And this came about from the calorific contagion that was Rutherford, always at the epicentre of all things heavy. And she wasn’t changing course any time soon.

The summer had been either very kind or very cruel to Rutherford, depending on your views on humongousness. The seismically sized girl had given up any pretence of being anything other than a facilitator of her own sexual and gastronomic pleasure. Her life was now entirely based around these two stimuli and she just tumbled further and further into hedonistic oblivion, never stopping to consider whether each intersection she passes was the last one on the road. And with a devil on each shoulder, in the form of Shay and Minnie, even if there was another one, there seemed very little chance of her taking it.

The summer had also been very unkind to their bank accounts, Rutherford’s habits were not cheap and students aren’t noted for being minted. Overdrafts were extended and re-extended, credit cards were taken out. Rutherford was as up to her eyeballs in debt as she was in chocolate fudge cake, but while the chocolate fudge cake went down, the debt went up. Fortunately August was here now, and only one more month before the SLC deposited handsome student loans in the bank accounts of this frenzied feeding family of friends and foes.

And the Leona and Wiktoria came home from their jaunt in September and everything had to change. Minnie had to leave the model, Ebba, whose sexual invitations were being accepted by Minnie at a nearly weekly rate. She had to close the door on those indiscretions, and around Shay she had to swallow her pride and bite her tongue. Shay would have to change to, she could no longer strut about the place like she owned the joint. This was Leona’s house and they were all her guests, and she could kick any of them out should she so wish. Plus another 5lbs added to her pleasantly plump frame added a dash of humility to her matriarchal vibe. The only one that wouldn’t change would be Rutherford, and that was because she couldn’t. She should be adopting a dress code, rather than resting in her birthday suit as she had been doing, but getting clothes that fit her would be a challenge without going to a teepee and tent store. She should be leaving her room and going downstairs more to socialise more, but her reticence about the necessity of it disguised a deep-rooted insecurity that maybe it might be getting embarrassingly difficult and she didn’t dare show herself up. She should be toning down her sex life since the sound of flapping skin and quiet groans were not a neighbourly sound to make, but she was now addicted to the release of endorphins and couldn’t imagine just a morning without orgasm any more. And she should be curbing her eating habits, and not take up all the room in the kitchen and pantry, but maybe the junction that she had passed last was the last junction, and now she couldn’t turn around if she wanted to. Rutherford, it seems, was addicted to being Rutherford.

The day before the two girls landed, Minnie met up with Ebba for a ‘talk’, and anyone fluent in euphemism knows that a ‘talk’ is never a good thing. Ebba answered the door to her with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the connotations of ‘talk’, dressed in clingy leather that made her look like if Catwoman played Basketball.

“Sorry love, but it’s not that kind of talk” Minnie said sympathetically as the wide smile fell like the Autumn’s leaves were. “I keep saying I can’t do this any more and I really can’t”

“But I love you”

 

“What?” Minnie responded in shock.

“I said I love you” Ebba repeated with tears in her eyes.

“Bollocks do you. Absolute bollocks. You don’t love me, fuck I can’t even get you to cum since I’ve been losing the weight. You just like the idea of me. You like what I represent.” Minnie understood the girl before her, even if she didn’t.

“But I do, I really do!” she whimpered, her heart crumpling.

“Name one thing you like about me then, love. Not, I like how you make me feel or that kind of bullshit. Proper, ‘I think you’re a nice person’ or ‘you support me’ or ‘you understand me and listen to me’. No that thing that you love, is what I stand for. What I am a substitute for. What I represent.”

“And what do you represent?” Ebba cried in frustration at being told what her own feelings were.

“Your fetish. I’m your entry into your fetish. You’ve been dragged into a feeling you don’t understand, and then you got to share a bed with the woman who started those feelings. It’s those feelings that you’re in love with, not me” Minnie said with sympathy. The words hit quite close to home. Maybe Rutherford didn’t love her.

“So what do I do now? Is there a club? An app? Do I need to download Timbr onto my Samsung?” Ebba was lost in a sea of her own feelings.

“Well, term starts in a couple of weeks, and you have Betty for pragmatics. Maybe you could ask for some tutoring from her. From what Ahmed has been telling me, she might be becoming your cup of tea” Minnie stroked Ebba’s Hollywood hair.

 

Leona and Wiktoria’s arrival was always going to be a bumpy day, but thankfully the pair of them had continued to grow in similar veins to how they had before they left. It appeared Leona had been widening her horizons as well as broadening them, while Wiktoria was now comfortably quadruple the girl that landed not much over a year. And this lessened their shock at seeing Rutherford for the first time in four months. A little.

Mothefucking shitbollocks were the words that came out of Leona’s mouth upon her unveiling, and it was after some awkward pleasantries that the two excused themselves. And the first thing that they did after they left the room was set up a crisis meeting between the two of them and the two feeders that had brought her to this state.

Shay didn’t back down. She may have had her confidence dented know that she was 150lbs and apparently climbing, filling out her red and white spotted summer dress rather too well, but she was still an arsehole. Wiktoria countered with concerns of her health and her studies. After all, she wasn’t going to be able to attend class at that size, and when that happened, she would have to go back home to the US and…

“Motherfucker, that was your plan all along!” Minnie raged. “You want her all for yourself and this was how you were setting about it. Oh I knew I hated you for a reason.”

“It doesn’t matter what yinz think, Rutherford is like the deciding vote and, like, we all know how she’ll vote. Literally nobody seemed to care about the first 300lbs, but now this is too far. Like how random is that. She was off the deep end ages ago and now yinz have to deal with it.” Shay hissed at the shocked audience. Minnie always knew she was an arsehole.

Everything went back to a passable impression of normal after that, except everybody ‘coincidentally’ was never in the same room as Shay after that. But the feeding continued because, as Shay rightly pointed out, it was still what Rutherford wanted.

 

Another month later and Betty was having a bit of a to-do emotionally. She’d been screwing her friends and drinking herself into a constant state of disorientation. She was where Minnie had spent half of her first year, and she knew she needed to help.

It didn’t go very well at first. Betty seemed to be making the same mistakes that the other girls all made, too arrogant to believe that this wasn’t what she wanted. The more they persuaded her this was a bad call, the more she resisted. So, if this was the path she wanted to take, Minnie saw it was only right to show her where it lead. Time for Betty to be reintroduced to Rutherford.

Now Rutherford was well aware that Rutherford was going to be big. She had last seen her in class around March, where she was less than 300lbs. However this was still double the girl she had first met in the October previous so she was used to being shocked. She had also heard the whispers, and had seen who was doing the whispering. When women the size of Wiktoria and Leona say she’s massive, Betty knew she would have to reassess her idea of how dimensions worked.

 

“Hey Betty, long time no see” the American girl lying in bed said between mouthfuls of pecan pie and cream from the queue of bowls laid out beside her.

“Hey Ruthers” Betty said, taking in the image. And the image was not of a woman but an ocean of fat drowning a woman.

“Impressed? You’re looking at 657lbs of all-American excess baby!” The American chimed with sexually charged pride.

The gained 240lbs that she had melted into was everywhere Betty looked. It was in her face, with her skull barely visible beneath the duvet of decadence that was her fat. It was in her arms, now heavy for her to lift, like there were dumbbells attached to either end of them. Her shoulders were wider than a linebacker’s. Her breasts, and they were on full display, along with the rest of her, were nearly the length of her arms. But they rested on the real masterpiece, her stomach. Lying down as she was, it sort of sank on her into the ocean image that you couldn’t shake when looking at her, and pinned her to the bed. When she sat up, you got a greater understanding of its volume, where it stuck out so far in front of her that it made her legs look short. And fat too, her legs were fat too, so fat that they didn’t look like they were hiding femurs and tibias at all. They looked like sacks of flesh with yoghurt poured into them. Even her feet were fat.

“Can I touch it? Can I touch her Minnie?” Betty asked in awe. It was like the moment in Jurassic Park when the John Williams theme kicks in, just a spectacle of rousing wonder.

“Of course, our relationship is fairly open. You can do more than touch her if you like love” Minnie said, phrasing it like this to appease her adulterous guilt.

“Yeah Betz, grab this and see where it takes you. Feed me, ask me questions, any of it?” Rutherford beamed.

“What does it feel like?” Betty asked nervously while rubbing her hand along the stomach gently causing chills that were electrifying.

“Amazing. Like I own and don’t own my own destiny. Everything feels heavier and harder, and it all just reminds you how far you come. Like, I literally don’t think I could jump if I wanted to. I mean, I don’t. But if I ever did. That is such an awesome feeling. I love how alien my body is as it grows in front of me, like discovering bits of me that are new and I didn’t notice I had. I have a fold in what Minnie calls my bingo wing, and I don’t remember a fold there before and it’s so cute and I love it” Rutherford revelled in celebrating herself.

“Okay, next question. Is it scary?” Betty asked, now massaging the belly, rolling it in the base of her palm like she was kneading bread.

“Uhh, kinda yeah. Sometimes. I don’t think about it too much because, it’s literally non-stop heaven for me. Just a train of happy and sexy feelings without interruption. I mean, maybe I could be scared. But life is for living, and life not living like this, is not a life being lived.” Rutherford contemplated.

Minnie excused herself at this point, having got the information she was looking for. She picked up her phone and rang Ebba. Forget tutorials, Minnie needed a feeder, and Ebba needed a feedee, and Minnie was going to play sneaky match-maker.

“Okay, what about health stuff. Do you suffer from any?” back in the room, Betty enquired.

“Well, I dunno. Obviously getting about’s hard, but I still think I’m a good 150-200lbs off actual immobility. I’m just lazy. Apart from that… walking gives me back ache, shoulder ache, foot ache I guess. Occasionally I get bed sores, but not really. Anything else… no, I can’t think of any.” Rutherford pondered.

“Wait, immobility?” Betty shuddered at the sound of that, but couldn’t decide if it was with fear or pleasure.

“Yeah, it might be a thing down the line, but like I say, I’m so lazy I’ll probably prefer it” Rutherford shrugged dismissively.

“Okay, does it affect how much you enjoy food?” Betty had reams of questions but feared making this an interrogation so began to let her hand slip lower on Rutherford’s body.

“Define enjoy? Like, I can’t taste sugar for shit now. I’m literally like, I guess it’s nice. But it’s a different kind of pleasure. A lower pleasure” Rutherford said, lowering her voice as she said it, as Betty’s hand found what it was looking for between the American’s legs.

“Any regrets?”

“None”

“Lonely?”

“I’m surrounded by feeders who love me. If not then maybe, but I am. Now, lower those leggings and let me do you at the same time” Rutherfood cooed as she plundered her former teacher. “All this talk about me, I haven’t mentioned how pretty you are. You look so much better, so much more plentiful, come on Betty, join the club”

 

[butterboy]

Now Rutherford was well aware that Rutherford was going to be big. 

Typo: Should the first Rutherford it be Betty?

Very realistic(?) - not sure if that's the right word - chapter. Looks like this is when Betty makes her big decision. Thanks for the update!

[swahilimonkfish]

Just now, butterboy said:

Now Rutherford was well aware that Rutherford was going to be big. 

Typo: Should the first Rutherford it be Betty?

 Very realistic(?) - not sure if that's the right word - chapter. Looks like this is when Betty makes her big decision. Thanks for the update!

Well spotted again, I need to spend a bit more care proofreading my stuff!

And thanks for your support again, glad you like it

[dania201]

It’s like Rutherford doesn’t fully understand how fat she is becoming. If she has to get on a plane back to the States, for example, it’s going to be quite an eye-opening experience!😯♥️😯

[swahilimonkfish]

Just now, dania201 said:

It’s like Rutherford doesn’t fully understand how fat she is becoming. If she has to get on a plane back to the States, for example, it’s going to be quite an eye-opening experience!😯♥️😯

This sounds like a good idea for a future chapter... it might have to be a cargo plane if she's not careful though!

[Big chief]

Can’t wait to see what Betty’s decision is. Looks like she’ll either go fully in one direction or completely the opposite direction. You done a great job of building up the story for this big choice. 

[swahilimonkfish]

2 hours ago, Big chief said:

Can’t wait to see what Betty’s decision is. Looks like she’ll either go fully in one direction or completely the opposite direction. You done a great job of building up the story for this big choice. 

Cheers Chief, it really is an inflection point for her!

[swahilimonkfish]

Two-parter because it's too long for one post. Still writing the other part, will post when I'm done. Hope you enjoy, it's quite decadent

Chapter 20 – The 36 Hours

(part 1 of 2)

Betty stood at the bottom of the stairs, facing Wiktoria and Leona trying to speak, but try as she might, the words congealed in her mouth. They thickened in her throat and blocked all of her airway. The words that Betty needed to say suffocated her. But, as the two girls downstairs looked up expectantly at the teacher, she knew she owed them more than just an apology. She owed it to them to put this whole charade to bed. She owed it to them to be a better Betty.

“I’m going to stop drinking from Monday” she said, pushing the words out of her mouth like coagulated vomit that was stuck in her craw. “And after next Sunday, in a week’s time, I’m stopping gaining. I’m eating healthy again, I’m exercising again – my GP gave me this “couch to 5k” leaflet and I think I might need it to get back up and… well, running. If you want any alcohol, come round Monday afternoon and grab it because I’m going sober. It’s still technically Stoptober, so I guess I should start stopping...”

The girls looked at her, and let their faces slide into smiles. They were getting their Betty back.

“Why did you change your opinion?” Wiktoria asked. “You said you love getting fat?”

“I love getting fat Wicky, I really do. But I hate getting lonely more. I can’t keep damaging the few good friendships I have, not for anything. If eating means company, and company means regrets, then I just have to stop eating.”

“But not right away love” Minnie’s voice rumbled down the stairs she was walking down. “We have ourselves 36 hours where anything goes. And I want to make sure anything goes. I want you to say goodbye in style love. To eat, to drink, to fuck, whatever it takes. Go out with a bang. You have 36 hours until Sunday becomes Monday, let’s see what bad we can do in that time eh?”

Betty allowed herself a shallow smile at that. One final hurrah, before a lifetime of consequence. A free hit.

“I will help” Wiktoria rose to her feet, not without difficulty, as if she was claiming she was Spartacus.

“Really Wicky? Oh fuck it then, I guess I’ll help too. I’ll try to destroy my best friend for 36 hours, on the condition that this is the last bout of destruction she ever sees” Leona wasn’t so easily hooked in, but peer-pressure prevailed.

“Well, last bout of getting plastered she will ever see. She still has a week of over-eating but I guess the point remains” Minnie felt compelled to clarify.

 

The plan was for them all to do this at Betty’s house, for a bunch of reasons. Firstly, she was in possession of more alcohol than a Bargain Booze at her place, which was handy. Secondly, and perhaps most pertinently, Shay wouldn’t be there. Shay was left in charge of Rutherford for 36 straight hours, and while would be getting drunk on gin, Shay would be getting drunk on power.

Minnie’s worry wasn’t about how much damage she could do in this time, after all this was Minnie we’re talking about here, but how to up it one step higher. The limits of one-upmanship were hard to cross given all that she had done before, screwed her lover, poured condiments all over her while she was in a drink coma, tied her to her bed and left her hours without explanation, left her to piss herself in her bed, fucked her in a cubicle with her best friend trapped in it too, contributed to Minnie eating four Skinny meals in one day and not even knowing. It was quite a lot that she had inflicted in her infrequent forays towards Betty, and the pressure to somehow surpass all of this was weighing on her mind. How could she make that feel like a precursor to the main event? What was more dementedly fucked up than all of that?

“Maybe I could waterboard her? Y’know tie her up, gag her and waterboard her? But with piss instead of water?” Minnie asked out loud, chasing feedback.

“What the fuck is wrong with you Minnie?!?!” Leona exclaimed. “Just give her some cake and some wine like a normal person”

“No, this has to be special. Maybe an orgy? Or how about we make a sex tape?” Minnie was spitballing ideas like she was a Pornhub dropdown menu.

“I have never made a sex tape before” Wiktoria said. “Leona, can we make a sex tape? When we are skinny and even more beautiful?”

“God give me strength” was the only answer Leona could muster.

The two taxis arrived and the conversation continued in the individual vehicles, much to the bemusement of the cabbies. Wiktoria monopolised the back seat while Betty sat in the front next to the driver, and in the other cab, it was Leona’s sprawling arse on the back seat and the skinnier Minnie in the front passenger seat. And in each, the debate raged. Minnie was adamant that calories weren’t enough, this was her last chance at being truly awful and she had no choice to seize it, whilst Leona railed against it like she was Henry Fonda in 12 Angry Men. In the other cab, the debate wasn’t so partisan. Wiktoria and Betty were erring on the side of something nastier than just a glorified picnic, but lacked the unhinged psychosis of Minnie to conjure any possible idea.

By the time the taxis dropped them off at Betty’s place, the argument was still going.

“Maybe we do cosplay role-playing? Or maybe we shave her hair off, bonkers Britney style? Or get a tattoo on her tit of her own face?” Minnie continued, almost jiggling with excitement of all the fun she could inflict.

“How about we start with the regular shit, and if some crazy shit takes your fancy then we’ll oblige?” an exasperated Leona acceded, having heard these sorts of ideas all the way across Brighton. Everybody concurred for the time being and they made their way into Betty’s living room to let the games begin.

 

“You sit there love, and don’t move a muscle, okay? You know how Ruthers was just lying about and we were going to her? Yeah, we’ll do that, reet?” Minnie kept taking control, it was just in her nature. Sharing Betty with two other women was harder than what she was doing with Rutherford. At least with Rutherford it was only one girl, and at least with Rutherford, there was a lot of her to share.

And here was the opening ceremony. 6 months ago for girls sat around in a flat waiting for an old friend called Shaun to come around, and while they waited, the recreated a Chinese buffet experience that they had enjoyed together previously. It was a landmark day that marked the end of the termtime, and the start of their respective relationships with one another. The meal that it was a throwback to was also a landmark since it was when Leona invited the other Musketeers to live with her, as well as the time she first had sex with Minnie. So, what better landmark to serve the event than following this formula. It involved multiple phone calls to multiple takeaway establishments to get the meals they required, plus Wiktoria was going to have to grab some cakes from the nearest convenience shop just around the corner.

While she was sorting all of that out, Minnie began on the refreshments and nibbles. Nibbles came in the form of triple-chocolate muffins and mini cheesecakes, which she alternated feeding Betty with refreshments. And these came in tall glasses of G&T where the split between gin and tonic was nearly 50/50. And Betty didn’t have to move a finger, all of it was delivered straight to her mouth. Sure, the crumbs of the muffin flaked down her top, the soft cheese of the cheesecake circled her lips and the G&T would splash all over her as she gulped, but it sure beat moving.

And while those two were busy, Leona was left to her own accord. And while it may have been Minnie who had styled herself as the plan-thinker for this 36 hour bash, Leona was the one who had actually come up with the best idea. So she was off arranging that, and using Betty’s phone to do so.

The Chinese food slowly filtered in and a busy and sweating Wiktoria was plating up for Betty. Of all the girls in the room, Betty was the only one not trying to lose weight, and the other three girls were willing to sacrifice their portion size to bolster Betty’s. Betty finished off her last two muffins, the final mini cheesecake and downed the latest G&T, and was ready to start indulging herself. The plates began stacking up on the table and Betty commenced the eating exercise that she was presented with.

The other girls dibbed in and out, eating bits and pieces in frustrated restraint, but Betty had no requirement to hold back and so she didn’t. The prawn balls were a delight, the prawn toast was delish, the barbecue and the honey spare ribs were a messy delight, the crispy chilli beef, the pork and cashew in satay, the duck in black bean sauce, the chow mein, the fu yung, the beef rendang, the Szechuan chicken, the chicken skewers, the sweet and sour pork, the Cantonese style chicken wings, the Penang spicy special, the chips with curry sauce, the chips with BBQ sauce, the deep fried crispy squid, the banana fritters, the lemon chicken, the shrimp fried rice and the many complimentary prawn crackers that came with so many extraordinarily large orders – it was all so sticky and messy and delicious.

And after that deluge came dessert. The famed chocolate cake that tipped Rutherford over the deep end, never seeming to diminish no matter how many slices she took, in addition to a miscellany of sundaes with chocolate and sweet and sauce toppings to keep things breezy. And the rest came courtesy of their old friend Mr Kipling. Bakewell tarts, apple pie, angel slices, Viennese whirls, and Betty ransacked the lot voraciously. The other girls even let her have the cake to herself. She was like Mr Creosote from Monty Python; going to go out with a bang.

 

There were 32 hours left now, and Betty was stuffed like she hadn’t felt in a while. Stuffed like she wouldn’t be able to for a while. Finishing the cake had caused pangs of pain and pangs of pleasure, and it was the pangs of pleasure that she was aching to act upon. But she couldn’t do anything to sate the squeeze downstairs with her friends around, not after last time. Not while she was still sober. Because she was still sober, somehow or other, she steady drip drip of alcohol had not yet become the deluge required to threaten her threshold, since it seemed to take a fair bit more these days than it used to just a month or so ago. There was only one thing for it, Betty concluded. She needed to go to the toilet.

She ignored the jibes about breaking the seal, she walked to the toilet, locked the door, pulled down her trousers and began turning the screw, stimulating all of her sensors down their to get the thrill she needed. She lit a cigarette while she was in there and smoked as she fumbled where her knickers should be. She kept looking down at the stomach in the way, the fleshy mound that sat on her warming lap with barely any polo shirt for company. It all looked so foreign on her, still, after all these weeks, months even. She still looked down every time and expected to see flatness where there now was a swell. And after all she put in it, she hoped she’d swollen it more. Going out with a bang. Going out with bang.

She came out of the toilet feeling better about things, and sat down to see the girls in heated discussion over what she should be made to eat next. It was nice to feel like the centre of attention, and she basked in it a little as she made her way back to her sofa.

“So, Skinny meal around 8pm we’re thinking, so what shall we get you before then? Come on, time is of the essence Betz, what’s your poison?” Leona was showing signs of getting into this. Leona, of all the girls, was the one must resistant to the fetish. She never had the same urges as Minnie and Betty and never intended to, but she was enjoying the team-building exercise aspect of it. She always was competitive.

“I dunno, that was a big dinner, I’m kinda full” she said with the shadow of resignation gliding over her face.

“Exactly love, only kinda full. We need to get you fully full, and get you to stay like that for summat along the lines of 32 more hours. So come on Betty, do us your worst.” Minnie encouraged.

“I don’t know. What’s bad for you?” Betty wasn’t an expert at these things. She didn’t have the varied diet of a Rutherford, she just ate Skinny meals and McDona… “Ooo, got it. McDonald’s. That can’t be healthy, right?”

“Eh, McDonald’s as a snack now. Now we’re talking love. I’ll sort that out for you, I’ll make a trip. It’s a 20 minute walk each way but some of us are watching what we eat, isn’t that right love. So, I’ll leave you in the hands of my two lovely associates” and Minnie gestured the two other girls to fill up her glass and then twitched her finger weirdly. Apparently that meant whipped cream.

Wiktoria took control of the gin and tonics and Leona the cream, and they alternated pouring these items down her neck while Betty just opened her mouth and let it happen to her. It got everywhere, Betty was getting messier and messier as she allowed 900lbs worth of women feed her and water her in bulk. The steady succession of it was taking its toll after 10 minutes, and Minnie promised 40, and that was without the prospect of queueing when she got there.

By the time Minnie returned with bags in hand, she saw a Betty that was suffering the consequences of leaving her with her captors. She was drenched with alcohol and sticky with cream. Betty was looking dazed now, the alcohol spinning her head and the whipped cream spinning her stomach. The sight of all that food that Minnie was carrying terrified her. The fact that she had ordered for all five of them, but only intended for Betty to eat panicked her. But hey, she only had 31 hours to go. She could do this.

She was still eating by 7pm, though it was at a snail’s pace now. Her jaw felt heavy and her stomach felt heavy and everything just felt so heavy. She was slowing down to a standstill and she needed a pick-me-up. She’d had three covert cigarettes on the toilet and over two thirds of a bottle of gin and was still struggling. Each of the girls had tried cheering her on but nobody can exceed 100% of what they are capable of, regardless of what the idioms say. She still had two McFlurrys, a chocolate milkshake, a large Big Mac and two egg McMuffins (thanks for that last one Wiktoria). And they were ordering a Skinny meal in an hour? Maybe Betty was not going to make the 29 hours that remained.

Then there was a gentle tap on the door and all Betty could think of was that she hoped to God that this wasn’t the Skinny meal being delivered early because then she might have to puke. It wasn’t thankfully, as became apparently when Leona showed a burst of speed that nobody had witnessed in a while to get up and answer it. She opened the door and let Betty’s sister Zara into the house.#

“Oh my god, Z!” Betty wailed with excitement, flapping her hands about in pure unadulterated joy and the wholly unexpected surprise. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“You’re friend Leona here said something about 36 hours and I thought to myself I could spare that without setting off alarms back at the ‘rents place. Something about cutting back on the drinking and the smoking after today?”

“Just drinking love, Betty doesn’t smoke” Minnie corrected, before introducing yourself. “Minnie by the way”

“Wow, you’re the Minnie. Woah, you look sweeter than Betty made you sound. And yeah, she does smoke I’m afraid” Zara said, admiring the emerald-eyed girl with the malevolent smile.

“Wait, what… do you smoke Betz?” Minnie asked, a little perturbed.

“Ummm… yeah, occasionally. It brings me closer to my… Minnie?” Betty began to explain but Minnie was gone. Leona was still looking at her expectantly, wanted her to continue the story. “I’m sorry Leona, I knew you’d be angry. But, it’s something me and my sister share. It’s our little secret, well, not a secret I suppose. But, something between us. I have a smoke and I can feel her near me again.”

Betty first looked at Zara warmly, pleased to see her sister again. She hadn’t lost all the weight she had gained in the week she was there, but there was clear evidence of her trying. Her tops fit her seductively and not constrictively again, showing off her curvy figure. Then Betty braced herself before daring to look at Leona to gauge her angry response. And staring back at her was… a smiling friend?

“That’s so sweet Betz, that’s lovely. To have that kind of connection with them is something special, and I’m happy that you have it with someone. I’m proud of you” Leona said, surprising Betty.

“You… you’re proud of me? For smoking?” Betty was not expecting that response.

“Well, not for that specifically, but for having a connection. For keeping her in your life even when you are so many miles apart. I know how difficult family is as a topic for you and I’m proud. You’ve really grown Betz. And I mean that in every way possible” Leona extolled to the dumbstruck teacher. “Now, talking of growing, Zara can you get her mojo going, she’s not evven able to finish her meal. And I’ll go and talk Minnie round.”

The sisters looked at each other and cried a little, as Zara sat down next to her sister, the only girl there slim enough to get on the sofa with her. And, with that fresh burst of companionship, Betty relaunched herself at the remaining McDonald’s and did her sister proud.

 

Minnie came in half an hour later, looking every bit like the mardy bum from the Arctic Monkeys. Her face was demonic in its darkness, her eyes roaring with rage. She sat down on the floor next to the others from her flat and said nothing. She just poisoned the air with her attitude.

“For god sake Minnie, just spit it out okay?” Betty said with the strength of having a sister next to her.

“I just can’t believe you stabbed me in the back like that. After all I’ve done for you, all I’ve arranged, and then you do this...” she decried.

“It’s just smoking Minnie, I do so much worse to my body all the time. Literally look what I’m doing now. If the food won’t kill me before Monday, the alcohol probably will” Betty didn’t back down. Not like she used to. No, Betty was feeling fierce.

“It’s the betrayal...”

“Betrayal? It was between me and my sister. Why can’t you respect that” Betty’s voice was doing something it wasn’t used to doing. Betty’s voice was rising.

“It’s… oh for fuck sake Betty. We had a pact. And you just went your own way” Minnie was knuckling down for a fight. Her temper had been frayed for a while now, Shay picking at it over time, and now she was antsing for handbags at dawn.

“Not everything is about you Minnie. I know you have to be the centre of attention, but this is about my sister. My wonderful sister. Who I love with all my heart.” Betty started crying as she began singing her sister’s praises. Minnie was quiet, her pale skin burning red with frustration.

“You don’t understand. This, everything we do, it’s… smoking’s addictive Betz. Do you not get that? You lose control and you crave nicotine and its… it’s not like the other stuff we do… it’s addictive. It’s just… you shouldn’t do that okay” Minnie’s voice cracked near the end.

“Minnie… you’re kidding yourself if you believe that it’s the only thing I’m addicted to. I masturbate all the time these days, I eat all the time these days, I drink all the time these days. I’m addicted to inactivity. I’m addicted to sugar. I’m addicted to screwing things up. I’m addicted to pushing my friends away. I’m addicted to ruining my career, my prospects, my bank balance. I get that you’re worried, and I’m flattered, but we’re having this final Free Hit because I’m stopping these bad habits Minnie, and I’m stopping these bad habits because I’m circling the drain. I’m circling the drain. Odds are, unless I get myself together, it won’t be some poxy cigarettes that kills me. It’ll be one of the things you’ve been pouring down my neck.” Betty dug her heels in rousingly.

Minnie sat and stewed for a bit, before realising she was right. How could she hold that against her on the grounds of her health, given what she was doing to Rutherford. It was so hypocritical of her and she didn’t know why but they seemed so out of bounds to her. Which was laughable really, as Betty rightly pointed out. And fiercely pointed out. Minnie liked that. She liked that burst of fire from the oh-so-tepid teacher. The flowers and unicorns of yore were gone. The unicorns had fled the paddock, the flowers had died. Betty was 180 degrees away from the girl that she used to be and that cheered Minnie up.

“How many do you smoke then love?” Minnie asked, calmer now.

“Only 5 a day. Not gonna kill me, that many” Betty replied, also a little less animated.

“How about you ratchet it up a bit then. Come on, 10 a day from now on? It’s like I always say, you might as well be hung for lamb as mutton” Minnie said, changing her tune, and taking control of the bad habit too.

“Wow, Minnie you sound so old at times. That saying died out in the seventies I think. But thanks Minnie, I’m sorry I upset you with it. I’ll… yeah, I’ll go up to ten for you.” Betty sounded grateful that everyone in the room was her friend again. It was important to her that everyone was. Zara passed her a cigarette from her packet and Betty endeavoured to make good on her word.

 

It was 9pm, with only 27 hours to go, when Remus arrived with the Skinny meal and the flock of women invited him into the harem. Wiktoria and Leona had been quietly being affectionate in the corner of the room as there own drinking had started to take hold and their inhibitions loosened their grip. Betty had been incentivised by the arrival of her sister to demolish the McDonald’s but had only been able to have a one hour food sabbatical before the engine started roaring again and she was down to down the dish. She was stone-cold drunk and bloated beyond the comprehension of a mortal, and with another cigarette in her mouth to appease Minnie. Minnie for her part, was patrolling like a circus ringleader and coaxing misbehaviour out of anyone she could, whilst precariously maintaining her own food, drink and sex sobriety. And Zara was the one who opened the door to the madhouse, already tipsy from helping Betty finish off the bottle of gin.

“Hey handsome, long time no fuck” she said keenly to a similarly gleeful Remus.

“Yes, we… um… wait, what’s going on in here?” Remus said, gathering his balance and walking into the house to see a parade of drunken women, 80% of whom he’d already had sex with, just Leona to go.

“Umm… girl’s night in. My sister’s the one cradling her stomach from over-consumption. But, you can always have me if you like” Zara said with kittenlike allure.

“No, he’s my booty call, I get first dibs. But he can screw anyone else in this room, as long as I can watch. Apart from my sister, you can take that elsewhere you dirty pig” Betty giggled.

Remus walked over to her and tried to be disgusted. I mean, why wouldn’t he be disgusted. When he first fell for her, she used to hope from one foot to the other in excitement at the delivery, and it was so cute. Her hair was short, shaped and adorable. Her body could twist at the hip with provocative ease. Her ballerina legs, her bedroom eyes and manic pixie dream girl charisma. None of that remained. Betty looked like she couldn’t hop from one foot to the other if she wanted to, she’d gone from light on her feet to heavy on her arse. Her hair was long, uncared for and slovenly, with streaks of grey running through her pristine dark brown. Her body now mulched out at the hip with putty-like adiposity. Her ballerina legs were now lunar textured sausages. Her bedroom eyes hung on bags of exhaustion. Her endearing charm was now reckless endangerment. She had travelled so far downwards in such a short time, but he was disappointed to admit he had followed her down every step of the way and was no less enamoured with her than on that first day. He gently started kissing her.

She, at first, tried to pull her jeggings down, but she simply couldn’t. They were now a fixture and fitting on her body and so tightly fitting on her body that she couldn’t get them off, so he could get her off. So hankering for him was she that, in sexually charged desperation, she just ripped a large hole in the front from the fraying fabric, and he just stuck his hardened dick right through. All the other girls stopped what they were doing and watched and he gently built up momentum from gentle eased thrusts into something more rickshaw. Every girl apart from Zara, who took the opportunity to excuse herself and have a smoke in the back garden. Whether it was the audience or what, but he didn’t last very long. But that was okay because three other, much larger women were closing in on him, wanting a piece of the action. And as he did the rounds, getting perverse thrills from the ever-increasing size of the participants, Betty laid back like Jabba the Hutt and watched with pleasure.

Remus didn’t leave until an hour later, and, with the exception of Zara who was deemed off-limits so Betty didn’t have to avert her gaze and her hearing, there wasn’t an inch of the women unexplored in that time. Minnie was revelling in the orchestration more than the actual penetration, while Leona and Wiktoria saw it as an olive branch between the two of them to share special moments with one another. And Remus didn’t mind either way. He didn’t mind one iota.

Betty had eaten her Skinny meal by the time they had finished, with 25 ½ hours to go, and despite her grimace, took the invitation to eat half of another. This still, marginally, left her at under three Skinny meals per day, so she hadn’t crossed that threshold which held such significance in her mind. It was painful work but this was her final splurge so why not. Going out with a bang and all that. This left 1 ½ Skinny meals to be shared amongst four girls, which felt remarkably restrained bearing in mind the place that three of them had come from. They ate their meal very serenely, while Betty opened a bottle of wine to ensure she was taking advantage of her final chance to drink.

24 hours to go and Betty and Wiktoria were asleep, Zara and Minnie were chatting, and Betty was writhing in agony from the band on the near shredded jeggings that were more a memento of historical record than functioning clothing that provided cover to her dignity. Minnie, frustrated by Betty’s twitching and twisting in her seat, pulled out a Stanley knife from her handbag(!) and tore along the side so that the jeggings fell off, allowing Betty’s legs, hips and arse to fill the space that their weight had intended them to.

23 hours to go, 1 am in the morning and Betty and Minnie were the only ones left awake. Betty was downing the last of the bottle of wine and finding it very hard to keep her eyes open. It was only Minnie’s roaming tongue that kept her awake. Shorn of her jeggings, Betty’s bottom half was fully naked, and Minnie took that as an invitation to pleasure the drunk teacher. Betty just lay there with a fag hanging out of her mouth and a smile plastered on her face.

21 hours to go, and Betty kept dozing on and off, and Minnie kept striving to keep her awake. With a finite and rapidly depleting amount of time available, she didn’t want it wasted by her being asleep. So she did the sensible thing and ordered another Skinny meal. Betty, not really with it and slurring her words, was protesting quite adamantly that she couldn’t have another one because that would be three in one day. Minnie eventually explained to her that it was currently tomorrow so this only counted as her first of the day. Eventually Betty concurred. When it arrived, Minnie leant into her very close and began feeding her again, while using her long-nailed cold hand to ‘walk’ along her stomach. Every mouthful elicited groans of pleasure and pain as those nails dug deeper and deeper into her flesh and Betty’s legs got tighter and tighter with enjoyment.

19 hours to go and all the girls were asleep now. Minnie was half-straddling both sisters on the sofa, with a leg on both, as she snored in their ears.

17 hours to go, and Wiktoria was, unsurprisingly, the first person to depart from the land of the nod. She got up as quietly as her heft would allow, so as not to disturb her plump paramour, and glid across the linoleum floor of the kitchen to rustle up some grub. She hummed quietly to herself as she got the ball rolling in there by prepping any food that needed prepping. The last days had been hard for the poor Polish girl and she hadn’t really had time to come to terms with all that had happened. Leona had been more relieved that Wiktoria told her than angry with her for doing it, but there was still an undercurrent of anger with her that made every interaction more tense and uncomfortable. Out of guilt, Wiktoria was fully committing to the diet, trying to shed enough pounds to earn Leona’s forgiveness. She wasn’t enjoying it, quite the opposite in fact, but the last week would have been unpleasant either way, so she may as well stave off some pounds and starve off some pounds in the meantime. Hopefully Leona would slip in her diet and give up, thus giving permission for her to discard her own. Leona had never shown this tenacious side of her character before, and she hoped that this determination was just a phase and that they could get back to celebrating themselves and their sizes, via the medium of food.

The medium of food was what eventually caused the other girls to awaken. They were so deeply sleeping that they could have slept through an alarm, a thunderstorm, anything. Anything apart from the smell of food. The smell of bacon it was, that briney scent wafting through the air that brought each one of the girls up to their feet. Apart from Betty, who still woke up but didn’t get up to her feet. Instead she stretched, put a cigarette in her mouth and reached for a lighter. She had to be a ten-a-day smoker after all, for Minnie.

Zara got up groggily too, but with a big smile on her face. Coming up to Brighton was a big gamble for her, even if it was for such a short time. But her parents had been relentlessly oppressive and punishing for ‘abandoning the family just like her sister did’. And that was the worst punishment for her, not the barbs aimed at her, but the ones levelled at her sister. The snarky snarly criticism pointed pointedly at Betty for having the temerity to rise above her circumstances. She admired her sister so much for doing this though, while they pettily bitched about her. She never had her sister pegged as the type to take the gamble required, but she showed such strength of character by walking out on Tim 3 and the parents and Zara could only be proud of her.

So, as a thank you, she joined Wiktoria in the kitchen, but with the intention of putting her cocktail-making skills to the test once more. One of the things that had kept her motivated in the bleak environs of her parents was the prospect of showing off this cocktail that she had found online. It was called Alexander’s Sister, but Zara’s Sister would have been a better name. Maybe by upping the quantity of it, she could rename it? It was two parts heavy cream, two parts green crème de menthe and three parts gin, and then garnished with nutmeg, making it a very boozy cocktail and not a slimming one either. But Betty was worth it. There was until midnight today to get Betty as fat and plastered as possible, and a combination of 50% proof crème de menthe, 40% proof gin and heavy cream served both of those goals as well as possible. But, just to be sure, she served it in a half-filled brandy glass and not a cocktail glass as advised.

Betty sipped merrily away at it while Wiktoria began to plate up the food. She was enjoying the good vibes in her house at the moment as everybody seemed in spirits as good as the ones in her drink. She enjoyed sleeping with her sister by her side, it felt safe and secure and familiar. She also enjoyed sleeping with Minnie on her lap, but for very different reasons. She enjoyed the weight of her blocking the circulation to her legs, she enjoyed the softness of her so she didn’t poke or jab with boniness, she enjoyed the warmth that the presence of a larger girl brings. She wasn’t as large as she used to be however, she had continued chipping away out her weight and was now down to 187lbs and it looked so good on her. Rutherford was a lucky girl, Betty figured, in so so so many ways.

Only 187lbs, wow, that wasn’t too far off what Betty weighed. The doctor’s verdict of 172lbs was a damning one, but it was so tantalisingly close to where Minnie was at. Imagine being bigger than Minnie? Wow, that was a head-spinning thought. Back in April, they were over 200lbs apart, but they had been converging frantically since then and were nearly at the point of coalescence. It was such a shame that this was Betty’s last week and she would never reach that seemingly significant threshold. To have come so close from so far apart, and not to make it was such a shame, but Betty was going to commit to her word and return to her healthy lifestyle of yore in one week’s time.

Wait, one week’s time? She still had a week left. Maybe this wasn’t such a lost cause after all.

“Minnie, quick question… how much weight do you think you can lose in a week? If you really went at it full-blooded? If you gave it everything that you’ve got, what weight do you think you could get down to by next Sunday night?” Betty probed, with the idea gestating in her mind.

“I dunno love, if I really pushed missen, maybe down to 182… 181, that kinda thing. Why do you ask, chuck?” Minnie replied, her curiosity piqued.

“Because I weigh 172lbs and I can still eat like I want for a week. And I was wondering how much a person can gain in a week, and how much a person can lose. Because I want to weigh more than you Minnie. I just want to know what it feels like to weigh more than a Musketeer. I want to weigh more than a Musketeer and we’re 15lbs apart with a week to go” Betty said, sipping her drink whilst looking over the rim of her glass and eyeing Minnie for her response.

“That, love, sounds like a plan. I’m up for it if you are. I’ll lose like Billy-o, you gain like Billy-o, and we’ll meet in the middle for a weight rendezvous around the 180lb mark. How does that grab you?” Minnie said, that famed crooked grin lighting up her gothic face.

“That sounds amazing Minnie. It sounds amazing” Betty smiled, absent-mindedly rubbing her stomach in anticipation.

“I’ll not have brekkie then, I’ll head off for a run and maybe grab a bite when I’m back. I can do 5k these days you know. Did the ‘couch to 5k’, it really works.” Minnie smiled, buzzing at the thought of Betty’s suggestion.

“My GP gave me the leaflet for that, apparently I need it if I want to run that far, these days. It seems the times, they are a-changing Minnie. And we have one more week of a-changing to go” Betty said, as Wiktoria started bringing over the plates of food for Betty to eat.

 

Gulping at air and wincing in pain, Minnie bent over double with her hands on her knees in exhaustion. 27 minutes according to her Fitbit, meaning three 9-minute miles, which was a PB for her. She smiled with a sense of achievement, knowing another PB had been set. She was getting fitter and stronger with each run. It felt such a palpable way of taking control for the girl with control issues. She was her own dictator and she was submitting to her own iron-fisted rule. She was getting back in shape. Maybe, soon, she could reconnect with her parents.

She walked into the house and saw what she had hoped to see. The other girls were eating leisurely, broadly dieting but only really mitigating their gluttony. And then there was Betty, galvanised and monomaniacal in her pursuit of wantonness. The three girls were sharing Wiktoria’s famed breakfast platter of calories, while Betty was eating her own portion single-handedly. Minnie wiped baubles of sweat from her forehead with the bottom of her sweaty t-shirt and came in to greet the girls.

“Reet loves, I’m off upstairs to have missen a shower, but Betz? You’re doing great love, I’m proud of you” Minnie said, ruffling the teachers sticky hair while she smiled and ate. She had seven pounds (no, not the Will Smith film) to gain, and she had seven days to do it. A pound a day was possible though, she’d seen Leona do it for half a year and Rutherford exceed it for over a year. Oh Rutherford, that was a thought, that was an image. It refocused Betty and she back eating with more dedication.

Not that she wasn’t already eating with dedication, as she shoves some fried egg into her mouth, followed by some scrambled egg, followed by some omelette to truly get her egg fix. Somewhere, a chicken’s family tree just ended. It was a never-ending smorgasbord that she was tasked with ending, so she lunged at it at full throttle, ravaging and savaging at will. The spam was swallowed with élan, the fried potatoes were swallowed with cheese. The toast, thick with butter and then thicker still with peanut butter, stickily clawed at the craw of her mouth. The brioche mopped up the beans, and the sausages worked well with the chips. The croissants? Well she could work some of that excess cheese and ham into them. The muffins? Well, they’d already been eating when she made her first pass of the sweet stuff, along with the cream cakes and the pains aux raisins. The second wave had followed such meaty stuff as thick rashers of bacon, greasy hash browns and dense black pudding, so the donuts and the doughnuts, the deep-fried Mars bars and the pains au chocolat finished Betty off nicely. All she needed now was the sharp acidity of some orange juice to cut through the clack. She figured that her thick boozy cocktail was the next best thing and downed it.

With a full stomach and a messy face, with a poorly fitted shirt and nothing beneath, Betty raised her second cocktail in the air to make a toast.

“A toast to sisters. To biological sisters. To work sisters. To outside of work sisters. To Alexander’s sister. And to the sisterhood in general. Cheers!”

And the glasses of water clinked with Betty’s denser and stronger drink in agreement and celebration. They were 36 hour party people and they were having a ball.

 

14 hours to go now, and Betty was still winded from her earlier intake of food, making the grazing on chocolate that she was doing all the more difficult. It was a good job Betty was tenacious otherwise that last KitKat Chunky might not have been finished. She wasn’t winded from drinking yet though, but glasses number three and four were making her head a wonderful shade of fuzzy. She could smoke too, with her sister actually by her side this time, in person and not just in spirit. It made her feel all warm inside, though that might have been the alcohol.

Zara was in great spirits too, though the spirits she was drinking at 10am on a Sunday – something that would annoy her church-going parents no end – were Long Island Iced Teas and they were getting her to a similar state on insobriety as her sister. They sat on the sofa together, drinking and smoking and having a laugh. Betty, for all her virtues as a sister, had always been too virtuous a sister to get drunk with Zara. They had never drunk together or smoked together, until Betty came to Brighton. Now Zara wasn’t weighed down with Betty’s overabundance of scruples, they could have a genuine laugh and giggle whilst sipping away until the floor started moving.

Leona was also in a great mood. Because, while it was considerably less than what she would normally eat, she had been treated to a third of what Betty had for breakfast and suddenly she was reinvigorated with energy. She hadn’t noticed how much her mood had sunk over the past two weeks, and hadn’t realised the extent of her relationship problems were being caused by being hangry. It was not the epiphany she wanted to come to, but the one she had reached irregardless. She could curb her eating, stymie it a little, maybe suppress the worst of her cravings, but she was ultimately dependent on food to keep her morale up. And she couldn’t risk her relationship with Wiktoria again off the back of starvation-induced grumpiness. The unfortunate epiphany was that her diet was over. But fortunately she was sufficiently well-fed that this thought hadn’t ruined her mood.

Wiktoria was jubilant also off the back of Leona’s revelation. Sure, she conceded, she couldn’t keep gaining at the rate of last year. But she had now been let off the hook with trying to lose weight. She had been given permission to maintain it, allow it to be a lofty plateau. Not to grossly overindulge but not to fast either. Just a happy medium. The Goldilocks diet. Not too much, not too little, just right. So Wiktoria and Leona decided to try these Long Island Iced Teas that Zara had rustled up, and before long they were tipsy too.

And this left Minnie to observe the wreckage around her, in the eye of a storm of gluttony and immoderation. Cows to the left of her, porkers to the right, here she was, stuck in the middle with restraint. And it made her so goddamn happy. Another source of joy was also her main source of discipline; the prospect of actually weighing less than Betty Bollingbrooke. If you had told her this last October, she would have found that suspicious, and she was only 118lbs back then. But even next to her, Betty seemed tiny. And then the gain started and soon enough the Free Hit was in full swing. By the start of November she was 136lbs and had a little bump under her breasts, but Betty stayed elfin. By mid-December she was 171lbs and her Skinny nickname was kicking the kerb. It was crazy to think that this was what Betty weighed now. January saw her rise to 212lbs, and she was nearly double Betty’s weight at this point. Two Bettys or one Minnie. To think, after being that far apart, they were closing in on one another once more. And she wasn’t finished yet, because March saw 243lbs on her rounded body compared to Betty’s 108. But that 135lb difference had now condensed into just 15lbs, and while a large part of that was credit to Minnie getting her shit together, physically though not emotionally, a large part of it was the radical transformation. To actually weigh less than her after being so far apart so recently by the time next week was over, would be the cherry on the many cakes that Betty had clearly been eating.

Speaking of which, Minnie looked down at her calorie counter app. Had she included Betty’s last few drinks?

 

 

[swahilimonkfish]

Chapter 20

Part 2 of 2

 

13 hours to go and everybody was fully drunk now. Well, everyone but Minnie, sitting smugly and stone-cold sober in the corner and watching everything unfold before her. Spin the bottle was underway, only the rules were now cocked in Betty’s favour. Whoever the bottle landed on would get to choose a dare for Betty. If it landed on her, she got to choose a dare for everyone else. Simple enough. Messy enough.

First spin landed on Leona. Possibly because she was the widest.

“Eat a cake” she shrugged indifferently as she suggested, as if it wasn’t a big deal

So, sure enough, Minnie went into the kitchen and brought out a lemon pound cake with thick icing. That Kubrick smile furnished her face once more as she approached Betty ready to feed the girl slice after filling slice while the game went on.

The next spin landed on Leona again.

“Oh come on! I’m shit of thinking of these! Ummm… kiss Minnie I guess” Leona put her arms up as if to concede, before reaching over for some liquid refreshment to provide future inspiration.

The two girls needed no second invitation. Betty put down the slice that she was eating and turned to Minnie. Minnie grabbed the slice that Betty had put down, and put it in her own mouth. She then began kissing Betty passionately and, with crumbs going tumbling down the pair of them, the cake ended up back with Betty. Betty reluctantly pulled away from the minute long madness of bilabial intensity and swallowed the cake now in her mouth with pride. Then Minnie went back to feeding her while the bottle span again.

Wiktoria this time.

“Finish the drinks of everybody!” she giggled, proud of her imagination.

And sure enough, everybody passed the full, empty or half-empty glasses and gave them to Betty to down. The heavy drinker and heavy girl made light work of it and rushed back to the cake, trying to eat it as quickly as possible because it was slowing the game down. Fortunately, the next spin landed on her.

“Everybody take off all of their clothes!” she slurred, raising her hand to stress the imperative. “Oh no, Z, you don’t have to”

“No love, you said every girl. So, get naked Zara, sister’s orders” Minnie intervened, eyeing her sister’s body. The warm hues of skin that had seen more sun than the other homebody girls combined. Her stomach was hard and flat, but not thin. In fact, nothing about Zara was particularly thin. She looked quite powerful and shapely. Minnie yearned to ruin her shape. To turn her sturdy thighs into something softer and less cared for. To blubber that flat stomach. To loosen the tightness of her arms. The only part of her that didn’t need to grow were her breasts, already handsomely swollen on her chest and with gravity-defying vim.

Minnie then took off her clothes, and the consequences of her weight loss were clear, she looked less swollen. In fact, she looked great, her arms looked like arms again, her thighs didn’t rub all the way to the knee any more, her belly drooped more than it used to when it was bigger, but it fitted the rest of her frame more proportionally now. Then came Leona, squeezing out of her dress to reveal her more modest weight loss. She, in all honesty, still looked the same as before despite the excruciation of her meal deprivation. She still didn’t so much sit on the floor as span across it. She still was riddled with cellulite like bulletholes at a shooting gallery. She was still massive.

As was Wiktoria, who took her clothes off last. She had previously been distracted by admiring the various female forms. It wasn’t lust, apart from in the case of Leona who was in her good books again, it was admiration of the diverse array of women in a diverse array of shapes, and how they were all beautiful in spite of and because of their sizes. Wiktoria was impressively colossal herself, in height, width, depth and possibly along the z-axis too. Just in every which way that was possible, Wiktoria was magnificent in all of her surplus, almost pulling objects towards her due to the immensity of her mass. 5Ft11, nearly 500lbs, and as stunning as she was 350lbs ago, but in a scaled-up and powerful kinda way now.

All this dawdling with stripping had simply given Betty time to eat more of the cake laid out before her. This interlude of nudity distracted them sufficiently that she could chomp away at a goodly third of the cake without the pressure of the spinning bottle. Just a final third to go and she was rid of the blasted thing.

But they were spinning the bottle again, and again it landed on Leona.

“Oh, this is a fix. Why can’t it land on Minnie, she’s good at this weird shit.” Leona bellowed loudly, her voice carried by the alcohol that she had been busily imbibing. “Ummm.. how about… I don’t know, um, what freaky shit would Minnie say? How about you try on some of your old clothes? I know that is something Minnie is into, I was there in the changing rooms.”

Minnie smiled and winked at Leona conspiratorially, jokingly. She then darted as fast as a girl her size can dart, up the stairs to grab various clothing choices. Some recent stuff going back to her size 0 days.

The size 0 stuff was a non-starter, much to the hilarity of the drunken musketeers. She couldn’t fit her leg through the trousers or her arms through the shirts. And in fact, most of her clothes were. Betty had left her polo shirt on from earlier, it was the only piece of clothing being worn in the room, and tried to pull shirts over the top. Size 10 ripped just getting the second arm through. Size 12 couldn’t even consider buttoning. Even size 14 was not fitting/

At this point, a less drunk Betty would have started worrying. She cried at the thought of buying size 16, convinced to herself that she would never get close to wearing it. And now she was finding out it was the only thing that had a chance of fitting. She had worn size 10 five weeks ago on her first day back at University and now 14 was not even reaching the buttons. Granted, the size 10s were too small back then, and she was buoyed by the aid of Spanx underneath to nip and tuck in all that her tucking in had caused. And granted, she was bloated at the minute, wearing a polo shirt underneath, and sitting down causing her stomach to concentrate on outward projection. But still… size 16 would have terrified a more switched on Betty Bollingbrooke.

She put the blouse on that she expected to find herself in tomorrow. The arms went in fine, and it wrapped around her waist okay. She did the top buttons without too much difficulty, the slight indent of her breasts not causing an obstacle. Further down got harder, and she could sense her stomach pushing against the two sides of her blouse as she pulled it together. But the more buttons that she did up, the easier it was to do the other buttons and eventually it was on. It looked tight though, the blouse look stressed as it pincered around her bulbous body. The blouse also didn’t conceal all of her stomach, resources used elsewhere meant that semaphore signs would be enough to cause the top to ride up to her belly button. To cause size 16 to ride up. This made Betty giggle as she looked down in dizzy amusement at the haunted skin beneath.

“You know love, I’ve got a smashin’ idea for your bottom half. How about you wear my jeans? Let’s see how close you are to me.” Minnie said, big beaming smile shining on her face.

They fit really well as it turned out. Maybe not as form-fitting as they were designed, but they weren’t going to be falling down any time soon and if you asked a layman if her jeans fit her, they would answer in the affirmative. Minnie’s size 18’s were not like clown trousers but without the suspenders on her, they fit like regular jeans. Maybe, if you were being picky, you would say that they were a bit long, but, in all honesty, Betty was nearly as big as Minnie.

Betty refused to get changed out of these clothes and the games continued. Another spin, another dare. This time it landed on Zara.

“Smoke two at a time. Like this” and Zara demonstrated what she meant, lighting two cigarettes, putting both in her mouth and puffing simultaneously. “I bet you’ll cough”

Betty did cough as well, she coughed plenty. It was too much for her and she had to give up immediately. It made her feel nauseous as she inhaled and was hit by a wave too high for her to surf.

So another spin, Minnie this time. Leona smiled. Betty winced.

“Kiss your sister like you kissed me”

“Woaaahhh, Minnie. We have a strictly no-incest policy in the Bollingbrooke household. Ever since Great-Auntie Claire and...” Zara panicked. Surely even Minnie wouldn’t go as far as this.

“Oh come on, it’s only a smooch” Minnie said, turning the screw.

“Well then why don’t you kiss me then if you’re so intent on me being ‘smooched’?” Zara said, shifting from submissive to dominant with the flick of her wrist.

Minnie smiled again and her eyes burst in flame at the prospect of Zara’s firm skin. So much potential. She had Betty’s face, maybe a bit harsher, a bit more aggressive, but she had a body of so much potential. She wanted to get her domineering hands on her, and the best place to start was her lips.

While Minnie and Zara were making out, and exploring one another, Betty took the opportunity to finish her cake and Wicky span the bottle, without a flicker of consideration for Minnie’s behaviour. Just another day at the office for the demented student in all honesty.

12 hours to go, and the game of spin the bottle had placidly petered out due to the inebriation of the majority of its participants. The only sober one was Minnie, and while she was sober on alcohol, she was drunk on Bollingbrooke. She was sitting on Betty’s knee and fiercely making out with her, all while her left hand explored Zara’s flesh. She would look deep into Betty’s eyes and talk to Zara about how much she wanted her. She would then turn over and start kissing Zara but leave her right-hand behind on Betty to crawl around with incy wincy relish. And then back again to the other. And then back again. And again, a girl spoilt for choice.

“Hey love, do you know how many calories your sister Betty has had over the past 24 hours?” she said to Zara, whilst staring deeply at Betty.

“How much?” Zara said with eyes wide closed, as she enjoyed Minnie’s hand finally reaching towards her well-maintained downstairs.

“Over a months-worth” Minnie smiled as she liked the cheek of the subject of the conversation.

“Wait, what?” Betty said, suddenly sitting bolt upright in alarm.

“Yes love. You know when I said I was counting calories earlier. It was yours I was counting. You have eaten enough and drunk enough to last you until December. You’re never going to be able to quit eating like this, eh love. You’re too far gone now Betz. That’s more than Rutherford, and she’s… spectacular. And the thing is, you have 12 hours left. Oh, I’m gonna do some much damage in them twelve hours. I’m going to kill you with food, my love. I’m going to murder you with calories.” Minnie whispered, redirecting all her energies and limbs towards Betty know and prowling over her like a wild cat.

Zara watched as Minnie feasted on Betty like Betty had feasted on food. She watched as Minnie pounced on her like a cat on a mouse, and toyed with her the same. She watched with jealousy as Betty dominated Minnie’s attention, as Minnie poured her sadistic madness all over the girl. As she hissed and scratched like she was feral, as she twisted and contorted like she was being exorcised. Minnie was control of her sexual victim and all Zara could do was watch.

In the meantime, away from the abandoned threesome that Minnie was trying to surreptitiously engineer with two sisters that became a voyeurised twosome, Leona and Wiktoria were throwing all of their relationship contentment at one another like particles in the hadron collider. The alcohol had dimmed their sense of modesty, as had the fact that there wasn’t a lot that anybody in the room hadn’t seen of one another, so they barrelled into one another in a way that started handsy, middled as fingery and ended as tonguey. They were just content so celebrate the form of one another as is and they celebrated by fucking one another in the same room as the other three girls without a stitch to preserve the façade of dignity.

Zara drifted outside for a fag, mildly embittered to have been usurped by the heavier girl. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for her sister, my god she was so happy for her. It was just that Zara, thanks to her deeply Christian family and upbringing, had never had sex with a woman before. She was far more comfortable with the same sex as the other, but her parents hanging over her doing their Sword of Damocles impersonation meant that she never had the chance.

Still, time was a-ticking and she couldn’t spend all day stewing on the lack of female sexual gratification that her life had permitted her. Even if everyone else n the room was girl-on-girling merrily away. All she could do was order pizza and hope for sloppy seconds.

 

11 hours to go and four 14-inch deep dish Meatzza Pizzas arrived at the Epicurean residence. The place was like a Botticelli wet dream, with heavy and naked women strutting their sizeable stuff and proudly parading their plenty, but this courier didn’t seem quite so enthralled when a naked Leona answered a door that she filled. Each to their own, I guess.

Two pizzas for Betty, two for the other four girl, which seemed about fair. The pizzas were not light-weight affairs, but the girls were not light in weight either. And while Minnie was now dieting intensely in a bid to be slimmer than Betty, the other three girls had no such aspirations any more and could unleash utter hell on the meat feast before them. Betty, on the other hand, was having to do the same heavy lifting as the other four girls combined. And while she had no doubts that she would finish these meals with aplomb, she was in deep denial about just how full she was from the previous 24-hours and its cumulative effect on her. But half a pizza in and the meat sweats started, and once the first pizza was dispensed with, Betty was feeling worse for wear.

Annoyingly, no amount of smoking and drinking helped create a hole in her stomach for the food to go. She was pouring Long Island Iced Teas down her neck like a marathon runner might drink water, with all of the coordination of a runner on the move whatsmore. She was getting to the tricky stage some place past drunk where her motor functions began to switch off one by one, like watching a power-cut across a city at night. But still her stomach’s satiety persisted. Minnie attempted to intervene, feeding her forcibly and without forgiveness, but every girl has her limits, even Betty. No matter what Minnie did and where Minnie licked or how gently she massaged, Betty was just treading in treacle trying to make progress on that second pizza. She had found her glass ceiling. She had hit the wall in her food marathon.

The last time she truly hit the wall was in her actual marathon, back April. She hit it at mile 19. It hadn’t reared its ugly head in her practice runs building up to the 26 mile juggernaut upon which she was embarking; she was always dead on her feet at the end but she was never just sapped like this mid-race. She felt like a car without petrol, and she was just having to push the car manually up a hill. Up to that point, she had obviously been buoyed by the race environment, with all her fellow runners acting as motivation to push on harder and faster than she had done in practice and the crowd corralling and cajoling her into a sharper pace than her trained rhythm. Her splits showed that she had been consistently over-exerting herself through that initial two-thirds and eschewing her pre-planned pace. She was caught up in the race-time environment and festival feel and had briefly thought herself invincible. She ran and pictured herself absolutely crushing her PB and feeling truly unstoppable. And that was when she hit the wall.

It’s a strange experience to explain. You presume you can just apply grit and determination to overcome it in a mind-over-matter kinda way, but your body stops responding to your mind’s instructions. Betty was zombiefied and coming to a crawl. Her mind had fogged over with exhaustion and her legs were starting to wobble. She was a ship cut adrift and the engine was no longer working. And that was when she saw Leona. Leona wasn’t at the race, she must have just hallucinated her, but, for a brief second or two, Betty could have sworn she’d seen her zaftig best friend to pull her shit together. She was a blubbery oasis amongst a desert of people and suddenly Betty snapped out of it, and she was verbally slapping her across the face. Her brain rebooted and she found the fabled second wind. Her legs started responding to her mind again and she could get her body moving. The momentum of maintaining movement was far easier than trying to kickstart from a near-stationary position, and suddenly she could finish the race. She twisted her face in pain and found enough energy to push through the desert and back onto the streets of her race. Her heart was pumping blood to all of her flailing limbs, her tight posture now run ragged with ill-discipline, but her mind was focused on the finish line. Those final mile felt like mini-marathons of their own, each one seeming further apart than the last one but slowly the ticked by as she closed towards that hallowed 26.1mile mark. She even mustered enough energy for a final kick, and surged through the last mile, overtaking a few of the runners that had overtaken her earlier. Betty had done it, she had run her marathon.

“Leona...” the drunk teacher slurred, trying to conjure her colleague’s attention. “Slap me”

“I beg your pardon” Leona said quizzically.

“Can you slap me across my face please? I need it” Betty said, wobbling in her seat from her inebriation.

A gentle, tentative slap clipped the delicate side of Betty’s face, but she was still lost in the fog of food.

“Harder Leona. Really slap me”

A proper clip this time, with Leona’s flabby hand and Betty’s softened cheek coming together with the sound of a wet fish being slapped onto a work surface. But still everything was hazy.

“Harder! Slap me harder”

And the inside of Leona’s hand splattered against Betty, spinning her face to the side with jerk motion. Suddenly, Betty felt the side of her face go numb, which meant that her face must have been unnumbed before hand. Her brain sparked into life and a grimace appeared across her previously angelic face. She was going to finish this goddamn cake, even if it was going to kill her.

Her mind was now homing in on the finishing line. Each slice felt like a mini-pizza of its own, and each one seemed bigger than the last one. But, slowly, each slice ticked by as she closed in on that hallowed 24 slice mark. Betty even conjured enough ugly grit to to kick on while eating the last two slices, pouring the final one into her mouth in one go and chewing it in situ. She even ended up over-taking the girls, who still hadn’t finished their pizza between them. Betty had done it, she had run her marathon.

 

9 hours to go and all of the girls were taking a well-earned breather again. They were all sozzled and stuffed, with drink sloshing about in a stomach otherwise clogged with pizza dough and its many meaty toppings. Betty, despite being the worst for wear of the quintuple, was constantly being topped up with beverages as if the other girls were watering a plant. Just a steady stream of methanolated moonshine sprinkled down her throat as if by watering can. This was her final hoorah and what was the point of a final hoorah if you a too sober to not remember it?

Wiktoria was asleep, snoring loudly. Leona smiled at the other girls to remind them that she had to sleep next to this noise every night. Leona wasn’t surprised that she was asleep, none of the girls had slept well during the night, and Wiktoria had also gotten very drunk herself. It was not a sign of Wiktoria that Leona had seen much of, to be honest, but drunk Wiktoria was far more willing to let her hair down and have fun. Her back was less straight and her behaviour less uptight. Leona always liked Wicky for her seriousness, when you’re dating one of your own students and they are ten years your junior, it helps if they have that maturity, but my god was drunk Wicky fun. Getting naked, having sex, playing around with the girls. It felt like some of the safety belts had been removed so that she wasn’t so restricted but still perfectly safe. Maybe, Leona thought, they could have miniature parties like this of their own. Just the two of them and some of those fancy cocktails that Zara could rustle up.

Speaking of Zara, Betty’s sister had been a little quiet for the past hour as she listened to Minnie do wonderful things to her sister. She tried not to listen but the quiet groans of pleasure from her sister were insufferable after her near miss with Minnie. It was just rubbing salt into the wound to catch out of the corner of her eye, Betty scrunch up her face in pleasure and those cold fangs of Minnie digging into Betty’s mounds of flesh. She ran her own fingers down her waist ruefully, explored the firm contours of her own body. The mass hysteria of getting hysterical over mass must have been spreading to her, because Zara felt inadequate next to her sister for the first time. Her sister was lying there, like a cross between a Sultan and a Buddha, and getting licked out, while her gym rat of a sister was getting the attention of nobody. She was going to have to catch a train back to Cambridgeshire at some point this evening, and she was going to go back unfulfilled. Which lead her to dream to dare.

“Minnie, sorry to interrupt you and everything, but do you think I should get fat?” Zara asked with heavy shoulders. Minnie’s head popped up from between Betty’s fatty legs.

“Do I ever? That sounds like a bloody marvellous idea, love. Why? You feeling left out?” Minnie said with a smile that could entrap many a sailor.

“Yeah, I guess. It feels like you guys live on a different plane to the rest of us, who have to work so hard to be thin so that we can remain attractive. You guys just get fatter and fatter, and somehow it just… works for you. How come?” Zara had an externalised perspective that the other girls lacked, and it did look quite weird from her unbiased viewpoint.

“Well, you raise some good points there love” Minnie removed herself fully from Betty and stood naked in front of Zara. “The way I see it is, everyone’s fucked up. Everyone’s crazy. Everyone is doo-fucking-lally. Everyone loves weird shit. I mean, it’s always different weird shit, but it’s always weird shit. This here, this that’s going on in a world is some weird shit, but it’s no less weird than the rest of the shit in the world. We just happen to have overlapping taste when it comes to weird shit.”

“So, it’s just a coincidence that you’re all fat-loving lesbians?” Zara probed, perilously close to throwing all her chips in with this bat-shit crazy cult of chubby-chasers.

“Haha, kinda I guess. I mean, I like to think I moulded some of them. Just as Rutherford thinks she moulded me. Our kinks are all wildly different. For me it was about losing control. For Betty it was about destroying her old perfect self. For Leona, it was about not being judged for her beauty but by her achievement, like it was empowering. For Wicky, her interests just drifted from things that kept her thin to things that made her fat. For Remus, it’s about doing anything to please Betty. For Shay, it’s about appearing better than her best friend out of petty jealousy. For Rutherford, well, she’s just your run-of-the-mill fat fetishist. All different, but all the same.” Minnie mused, thinking about the issue deeply for the first time.

“But, I mean, that’s weird right?” Zara said, watching the large curves of Minnie in front of her like a cinema screen.

“I guess, it all stemmed from bloke called Shaun. There is this one turn of phrase right, and it’s like a fucking babadook or whatever. You say it and it just haunts you, and it eats away until next thing you know, you’re eating away too. Like fatty hypnosis. He said, and I remember it so clearly, he said that we have ‘A Free Hit’. That was it. The idea that, for the time being, we could do whatever the fuck we fancied and there’d be no consequences. Consequences are for later. It’s like with these 36 hours, except spread over our time at university. Just that phrase, it did a number on me and I’m trying to recover as best I can.” Minnie sighed in recollection.

“Can you say it to me? I want what she’s having” Zara said, misquoting When Harry Met Sally as she gestured to her sister.

“I mean, I’ll happily fuck you and feed you, but I’m not sure I want to inflict another person with his speech. It really does fuck with your reality” Minnie said, nervously.

“Say it to me!” Zara demanded.

“Fine… I’ll do it as best I can from memory. It goes a little like this…

These years are the best years of your life. You’ll grow old and look back on these years and realise what you never noticed at the time. That these are the best goddamn years of your life. Because, you’ll have to settle down and age will catch up and next thing you know, it’s the forty years of your life that follow. So enjoy the freedom of youth. The irresponsibility of youth. You have one glorious window to do whatever the fuck you want, experience whatever the fuck you want, be whoever the fuck you want and fuck whoever the fuck you want. So savour it. Enjoy it. Because after that, your life starts. This is just the prelude. So don’t spend your days busting your arse at the gym. Life’s too short. Seize the day. Don’t be in the situation where you regret you didn’t take that chance and seize the day. Because what you have here Zara Bollingbrooke… is a free hit. This doesn’t count. Today doesn’t count. Tomorrow doesn’t count. There will come a time when your behaviour counts, when your habits and actions count. But that’s a long way off and this is the meantime. So live life. Experience things. Enjoy things. Say yes to everything you can. Indulge every whim and fancy. You have a free hit Zara, take full advantage” Minnie soliloquised.

And with that rousing conclusion, Zara pulled Minnie towards her.

“Well, in that case, fuck me. Feed me and fuck me” Zara purred.

And as Minnie went down on Betty’s sister, Zara purred some more. She was joining the club. The hedonist’s club. The debauchery club. The whatever, whenever, whoever club. She had a free hit and the first item on her agenda was being fucked by Minnie.

 

8 hours to go, and Leona and Minnie had their two plants to take care of. Leona had to feed and water a Betty that was essentially punchdrunk on actual alcohol, while Minnie had a Zara to tend to. Zara’s back teeth were forced in front of her front teeth as she gurned in pleasure while Minnie turned the screw with every sexual trick she had acquired over the past few years. They ran their hands through the other’s respective hair, frothing it up, as they pleasured one another. No anatomy was unused as they explored the canvas of skin on each other. No nerve ending not fizzing with energy. No groan left ungroaned. No euphoria left unexperienced.

7 hours to go and Wiktoria was awake. The first thing that she did was solve the problem of too little takeaway being ordered by getting on the blower and giving the goodly gentleman of Kebabland their bidaily order of Skinny meals. Again, like with the pizzas, the orders was two meals for the pizza. However, unlike with the pizzas, Betty was only able to eat one. She was capped at less than three of the meals a day until next Sunday, and she was also really struggling to summon up any hunger. Fortunately, Wiktoria had a solution to that. Whipped cream. Surely eating whipped cream straight from the bottle alleviates the issue of bloating. Right guys?

She was also smoking plenty, despite being so rat-arsed that she could barely keep the cigarette in her mouth or hold it in her uncoordinated hands. It was her fourteenth of the day, which was eight more than her previous best, and it made Minnie proud. She may have been apprehensive about this new habit of Betty’s at first, but no she had pushed her to smoke more and more than ever, it felt like just an extension of the ruination of Betty that Minnie was getting off on. Zara was also proud of her sister’s smoking. It just seemed so un-Betty-like. Still. To see her goody-two-shoes sister act so natural with a fag between her fingers was such a delightfully jarring image, and to know it was out of sisterly camaraderie was all the better.

The meals arrived, but it wasn’t Remus delivering. The chavvy fuckwit who delivered it seemed strangely disinterested in Minnie’s offer of a sixsome, and left the three meals without an erection. Minnie simply presumed he must have been gay. It was the only thing that could explain it.

The girls settled down to eat their meals. Betty ate slowly, being hindered by not being fed this time but rather having to exert all of that effort to bring her own fork to her own mouth. This was because Minnie was feeding Zara instead, though she was sitting on Betty’s knee as she did it. It did diminish that burning desire to impress the raven-haired maven on her knee, but she was mainly doing this for herself. It’s her party and she’ll dine if she wants to. Dine if she wants to. Dine if she wants to. It’s her party and she will dine if she likes.

Time chugged onwards and so did the girls. The steady marching pace drifting into a crawl as they scrambled towards their respective finish lines. Betty, fortunately, could pull upon all of her wherewithal when attacking the dish since she was a veteran of this particular course and thus knew all of the short cuts. She knew which foods to eat when for maximum efficiency, she knew the optimum pace to tackle it, she knew every step of the way as she plodded towards her dining denouement. It was a clinic more than anything else. A clinic in professionalism as she slew the beast before her like she had so many before that. She exhaled deeply and stuck her hands up in the air in drunken victory.

In fact it was drunken victors all round, as the other girls lounged about in satisfaction. With the exception of Minnie who was fastidiously side-stepping such destructively indulgent behaviour, every girl was as pissed as a fart and as stuffed as a taxidermist’s wall piece. They were all heavy-set and lightweight, and drinking wine straight from the bottle. Zara was the one most accustomed to the overdrinking and least prepared for the over-eating, but fortunately Minnie was helping her every step of the way as she channelled the girls around her and gorged. Wiktoria was staggering around the living room, still without her clothes, in a discombobulated bid at dancing. Leona just sat down and watched the disoriented show.

5 hours to go and Zara made her goodbyes as the clock shuffled forwards and her responsibilities shuffled nearer.

“I’ll be back at some point but I need to go” she said, handling the alcohol far better than most.

“Be back before Christmas” Leona instructed. “Because we love you. You are like a naughty Betty. Except Betty is now naughtier than you”

“I’ll be back before Christmas. I promise” Zara replied, flattered by her popularity. She hadn’t let her hair down and had fun like this with a group of girls in years.

“Promise?” Leona asked, holding to account.

“Yes Leona, I promise”

“Pinky promise?”

“I’m going now Leona, everyone, OK? It’s been great though, and I’ll see you shortly” Zara said before departing.

“Wait, I’ll walk you to the train station” Betty shouted, getting some clothes on of her own and chasing her out of the door, leaving the other girls to fend for themselves.

 

3 hours to go and Betty walked back in. Her goodbye with Zara had gotten a little affectionate, and the expression of said affection was the cause of her delay. In Betty’s hands, the girl was like fresh meat for her to get her teeth into. And so she did. She got her teeth stuck into all of her, plundering into her warm, fresh skin with leonine hunger. And then she feasted on her, and feasted on her, and feasted on her until her thirst was quenched and her hunger sated. And then she went back to see what state the girls had left the flat in.

And it was quite a state. Leona was asleep on the floor, everything displayed enticingly in a starfish position, and Wiktoria was shovelling chocolate and booze down the throat of a barely-conscious Betty that was so far past her limit that it should have been a medical concern. Wiktoria was wobbling as she stood and fed her fat friend, who was so dazed on everything that she had consumed that her eyes were as glazed over as the iced buns that she was eating.

Minnie walked up behind the oblivious Wiktoria and began massaging the large Pole’s arse. She had never been with Wiktoria. In fact, Wiktoria was the only one in the flat that Minnie had never been with. She admired her physical condition so much even if the pair of them were not that close socially. She loved the scale of Wicky. Her height, as she was one of the few girls that could tower over Minnie’s 5ft9 shape. Her weight, she was only second to Rutherford in the weight stakes. Minnie loved the power behind her weight, the broadness of her shoulders and the plushness of that arse. Her hormones were clearly soaring from her tie with Zara and the past 33 hours in general because she desperately wanted to cross the line with Wiktoria. Wiktoria who was quietly groaning as Minnie massaged away. Wiktoria who was sufficiently drunk to be willing to submit to the over-powering sexual tornado that was Minnie. Wiktoria, whose girlfriend lay comatose just a few feet away, palpably near. It was then that Minnie realised that she had to go home and see Rutherford. Her urges were spiralling out of control again and she needed to go back to base.

She ran her fingers through the Pole’s hair as she whispered in her ear.

“You keep feeding and watering our plant Wicky love, reet up until midnight. Then you have to stop watering her, okay? Just feeding her after midnight. She’s back at work tomorrow, eh love, so be kind and make sure she turns up in a fit state. You got that love?” Minnie whispered, poised to start licking her ear but showing all the restraint that she possessed.

“I will doing, do you be go now?” the drunk Pole stumbled across the English language with all the precision of an elephant in a tutu.

“Yes love, I have my own girl to fatten up” and with that parting comment she was gone. But before she left, she left a note. She had been counting calories and wanted Betty to know the final total. “Add yours to the list Wicky when the clock hits twelve and our princess turns into a pumpkin.”

 

2 hours to go and Wiktoria was still awake thanks to her mid-afternoon nap. She had been adding to Minnie’s calorie count as she poured booze and food down the near-comatose girl’s neck. The figure at the bottom was chilling. She had been, on average over the past 36 hours, consuming as more calories per hour than she should be consuming in a day. And she had been doing that 36 times consecutively. Betty could now not eat for a month and a half and still only break even. The consumption had crossed into the territory of downright cruelty, and Wiktoria was goose-stepping her to the showerblock of her own excess. Betty was in no fit state to give her consent for the cavalcade of calories casually thrown at her any more, and if there was a responsible adult in the room, there would have been an intervention. But the room contained no such person and Wiktoria continued plodded along and gorging her with emotional distance of playing with a doll.

 

1 hour to go, and Leona woke to see the state of Betty.

“Stop Wicky!”

Wiktoria turned around to see why Leona had shouted so sharply, and nearly fell over in doing so.

“Stop doing that to her, she’s had enough” Leona said, stepping in and stopping the madness.

“But she is one hour more?” Wiktoria asked with slurred affectation.

“She’s got to go to work in 9 hours, let her be. Come on, we’ll stay over here tonight and sleep in her bed. And we’ll make sure she gets to work tomorrow. But you cannot put her in a worse state than she is in. It’s just fucking evil” Leona hissed and yanked her girlfriend’s arm away from Betty.

Betty lay on the sofa none the wiser. She was well and truly out of it, and was snoring within minutes. And that was the end of the 36 hours. Ending not with a bang but with a whimper.

[butterboy]

I'm going to be sad that this will be the last update in a while. The chapter is as great as I thought it would be.

[swahilimonkfish]

2 hours ago, butterboy said:

I'm going to be sad that this will be the last update in a while. The chapter is as great as I thought it would be.

Cheers for the ongoing encouragement. Sorry for the pause, but I do really need to write some Spaghetti stuff. But rest assured I can rarely stay away from Betty for long. I've promised myself I'd leave her before and I keep coming back to her for more

[swahilimonkfish]

Chapter 22

 

The crass chorus of an alarm stirred Leona from her deep slumber. Alcohol can have that effect on a person. The grog had left her groggy, and the sunlight darting in between the blinds made her feel a vampiric loathing of the sunlight. It was early morning though, and Leona had to put these concerns to one side and check how Betty was faring.

Or not faring, it was fair to say. She was just a pile of human rubble, doubled over on a sofa with alcohol still running through her veins where blood should be, and her newly chubby hand slipping down herself where her dignity should be. Somehow, this slumbering beast, this human natural disaster had to stop arousing herself and start rousing herself, and somehow stumble into the arms of employment within the next couple of hours. Betty’s great detox starts here. If only she’d wake up.

“Wicky, I think this may be a two-woman job” Leona said, rubbing her similarly out-of-it girlfriend. Nothing. Not a flicker of recognition. Both girls had travelled so far deep into the cavernous wilderness of inebriation that Leona was alone in the flat, with just a clicking clock for company. Two hours to go and both her and Betty would have to be at work. And neither of them were looking in any fit state in their current predicament.

The only thing that Leona could do at this stage was prepare herself, so there was one less person in a dishevelled state to deal with. She walked with heavy feet to the bathroom to fix herself up. To rescue any remnants of personal pride after what had simply been the most ludicrously self-destructive night of her life. And that was saying something given that she was 250lbs heavier than she was last year. Standing in front of a scarred mirror, a mirror that had seen all manner of atrocity of late, she punished it once more by stripping all her old clothes off to get showered and changed.

That mirror returned the favour by presenting Leona with a most unflattering reflection. Was this what feminism looked like? She could remember her heyday, well, it was only a year ago. And in that heyday, everything about her looked graceful. Her curves glided in Rubenesque parabolae with the soft sensuous delicacy of a soft sensuous delicacy. Fast forward 12 months and she just felt that she looked ungainly puffy in every direction. When her arms moved, they left a chemtrail of wobble behind them. Her breasts, once effeminate and ladylike, slumped to the sides as a result of a year of a globular stomach redirecting them. Her stomach itself slunk low, heavy with excess and cake and gravity. Her legs, so puffy that the began to fold over other bits of leg. And, with a subtle twist in front of the mirror, a reveal of her largest body part, an arse large enough to be considered a frontier. Ships had sailed over smaller expanses.

She couldn’t control all of that, but she could at least fix the fixables. A shower would be a good start. Free her hair of the nest of calories that had somehow become entangled in there. Lose the layered lacquer of lard that had encrusted her, covering a face that was drowning in its own neck. Showering was pleasant, the warmth was the massage her tired body needed. But it was also hard work. There wasn’t much room to turn and there was lots more of her to wash. Bits that were hidden surreptitiously under other bits. And once washed, her hair fixed, her make-up adorned, she could clothe. She could rap her breasts in a hammock and call it a bra. She could pull up a tablecloth and call it underwear. And she put on a dress with so much material, it could be mistaken for a muumuu. This was not the Homeric odyssey she had hoped to reproduce back when she was younger.

Now, for the next bit. And the next bit was Betty. But she couldn’t carry that girl up to her bathroom and shower her. She struggled to carry herself around, let alone another person too. She needed Wicky’s help and there was only one way in which to earn it. She needed to cook breakfast.

Leona didn’t do breakfast. Leona didn’t do cooking in general. She had the world’s fattest cook for a girlfriend, so the only time she ever entered a kitchen was for seconds or for cuddles. And maybe for a second cuddle. But she decided to give it a go. For Betty. For Wicky. For herself. After all, how hard could it be? It’s just cooking, isn’t it?

 

Within five minutes, Wicky was awoken by the sound of a smoke alarm.

“What? What is that big noise?”

She focused her groggy eyes on the sight of her morbidly obese girlfriend trying to waft at the smoke alarm with a cloth to get the smoke to leave and the blaring to stop.

“Sorry, I may have forgotten to turn over the sausages a little. Or put the heat up too high. Sorry” Leona panted as the noise quietened again.

“Why are you cooking? You cannot cook!” Wicky yelled, somewhere between offended and panicked.

“Because? Because I need your help. Betty needs your help. She needs to be ready for work in less than two hours and I need to shower her, clothe her and sober her up as much as possible, and I need your help to do it. But I can’t just ask you. Look, I know things haven’t been great between us, and I know it’s my fault. I should never have said you should lose weight. Food is a large part of who you are, literally and figuratively. And I mean the word figuratively, literally and figuratively. So, I couldn’t just ask for your help. I needed to make it up to you first. So, I thought I’d try to cook one of your famous breakfasts” Leona explained, taking a sigh afterwards, relieved to get it all off her wide chest.

“You do not mind because I am fat?”

“Well, that would be a little bit hypocritical, wouldn’t it? You’re still beautiful and wonderful and powerful, and I still love you” Leona said, clasping her girlfriend’s hands.

“Even though I am 500lbs? That is very fat. You do not want me to diet?”

“No. No diets. For either of us. It only brought us only bitterness. When we were out in France, all we did was eat and all we were was happy. It was wonderful. We need to live more like that. And 500lbs isn’t so big. You’re 7 inches taller than Rutherford and 150lbs lighter. You’re practically wasting away” she said, and kissed her girlfriend.

“Like a sexy Hollywood movie star?”

“Yes. Like a sexy Hollywood movie star”

“Well, I shall cook breakfast then and it will be the biggest breakfast ever. And you will make Betty sober with coffee and cigarettes and fingers” Wicky hugged her girlfriend as best as a woman of her size can hug a woman of Leona’s size.

“Wait, fingers?”

“Yes. You think Betty is pretty and she needs to wake up. I do not mind because I love you. Betty needs you to be like Minnie to wake her up”

 

While Wiktoria hustled about in the kitchen, still without clothes, Leona was confronted with a Betty so out of it even the smoke alarm didn’t wake her. Betty needed coffee and, according to Wicky, cigarettes, to sober her up. But Betty needed to wake up first and that was proving less easy than expected. Words didn’t affect her, nor did a harder-than-intended slap across the face. So Leona closed her eyes and did what Wicky had permitted her.

It was strange doing it sober. Or, soberish. It was stranger doing it with her girlfriend cooking in the shared space behind her and sometimes stopping to watch. But it was also something she wanted. Even though Betty looked more like a Jackson Pollock painting than the pristine Miss Perfect of yore, there was something insatiably addictive about the perma-crisised girl. Gentle rubs from sympathetic fingers in delicate places elicited gentle noises from Betty, the first piece of proof that a human lay in that ramshackle shell.

“Hey, sleepy-head” Leona smiled as the glazed over eyes of Betty made some semblance of focus towards her colleague. No noise came from her, but recognition was enough. Now to phase 2: coffee and cigarettes.

Leona had to pour the coffee into Betty’s mouth, the girl still struggling to summon the motor skills to do so herself. It was the same with the cigarette, with Leona lighting it and placing it in Betty’s slightly open mouth and hoping Betty had the cognitive function to take it from there. They seemed to help. The fog in front of her eyes began to dissipate a smidge, her pupils moved more freely and slowly, her body caught up too. By the time the fourth coffee and fifth cigarette, she was able to serve herself. And this was when breakfast was finally ready.

Each person had a tray of food balanced on their knee. And, on that tray of food was all the breakfast items you could possibly list if brain-storming it for an hour. But it was not variety that held the source of its quantity. No, Wicky had upped its ante in the anterior direction, turning her normal four sausages to five, her normal three rashers of bacon to four. Just one more of each unit added to the already bewildering and bewitching spread. If the normal breakfast was the Skinny Meal of breakfasts, then this was the Fatty Meal of breakfasts. All served with a side-portion of cholesterol and regret.

Betty ate in silence but with discipline. She was not in awe of the food before her, but falling back on the newly-established muscle memory of gastronomic confrontation. Taking every platter as a challenge. No mouthful too much. It was a soulless and functional approach, steady and metronomic. But, slowly, power was being restored to the main generator of Betty’s mind and functions were returning like a power cut in reverse. And, once the tray had emptied, like a stadium after the final whistle, Betty uttered her first words.

 

“I think I pissed myself”

Leona burst into laughter as she heard it. Some first words those were.

“Well, you did drink a lot of coffee this morning. And a lot of alcohol last night” Leona said with a sympathetic smile.

“Do not worry Betty. When Leona cleans you, I will clean your flat. You must be ready for big work day in less than one hour” Wiktoria told her, and Betty nodded with a shallow smile and put another cigarette in her mouth. She fumbled discordantly for her lighter so Leona did it for her, fearing that the young teacher might singe off her own eyebrows. She was still not steady.

Betty threw a lazy arm over Leona, who helped her off the sofa. Betty’s legs were Bambi legs, like she was walking on the world’s shortest stilts. No coordination, no balance, no direction. But just enough strength to be guided up the bathroom as Wicky commenced cleaning the ruins of devastation that her lounge had been destroyed into.

Leona sat Betty down on the lowered toilet seat and gave her a once over. She looked unmistakably like a mess. Like degradation come to life. Her skin was constantly stained and sticky with all manner of residue from all manner of sources and sauces. The fallen angel’s formerly haloed face now sunken and sullen with the wear and tear of existing a little too intensely, and her girlish jawline now squidged up with podgy pudge. Her naked body looked artificially bloated, sticking out fiercely with the unnatural discomfort of newfound weight. Little ripples of puckering around the side of her stomach had formed and the minor accordion concertinaing on her back. While the bulk of her bulk stuck out enough to sit a little in her lap.

Leona helped her into the shower, and helped clean Betty, who still stood dumb-struck while lighting cigarette after cigarette due to the previous one getting damp. It was Leona that washed out the legacy of the most hedonistic night since the passing of Epicure. It was Leona that scrubbed off the mildew and residue from Betty’s face between her drags. It was Leona that found herself getting increasingly splashed by the shower’s warm water all over her expansive work dress, rubbing a sponge over Betty’s inflated body. Over her breasts, still minor and low maintenance. Over her stomach, taut with torte and the firmness of an insecure man’s handshake. Over her arse, cushiony and inviting. Down her legs, thick, dense and deeply unstable. And then back up her legs again. One more time for good luck.

Half an hour later, Betty staggered down the stairs, an arm still over Leona but now just for support She looked a world away from just half an hour ago. Her midriff had been whittled away by the ferocious clamping of shapewear to a gentle slope. Then a flowy flowery blouse that hung loose that too often felt tight, frilly over her arms and baggy over her stomach. Beneath it, you would have no idea how big or small she was, and a lifetime of leanness had bought her some benefit of doubt. They also flowed over the clasp of her work trousers, trousers that hid her growth with a little less success, but the pervading suspicion would be that Betty was simply curvy in all the right places, rather than predominantly in the wrong places. But these choices, along with sensitive make-up decision making from Leona in full maternal concern mode meant she looked far more than simply passable. She looked rather good.

“Wow, you look very good now Betty. Very pretty” Wiktoria smiled, still toiling away with a bin-liner, disinfectant and rubber gloves.

“Better than I feel. I am still very drunk” Betty smiled lithely.

“Well, you’ve just got to get through the day, and you can always blame any balance issues on your bad foot” Leona suggested with a friendly smile of her own, before turning her attention to Wicky. “Hey, you okay Wicky? You had a lot to drink yourself last night. And you don’t look too good?”

“I am just very exhausted. I do not think I will go to my lessons today. They are not very important ones...” Wiktoria explained, wiping the sweat off her brow with her arm.

“Hey! One of those unimportant lessons is my Research Methods class!” Leona laughed.

“I think instead I will just clean the house and eat maybe lots of pizza”

“Oh, you eat as much pizza as you like. Keep your energy levels up. Your dieting days are done with” Leona walked over and kissed her girlfriend again. “And thanks.”

“Yes, thank you Wicky, Leona. Both of you. I would have been fucked without you two” Betty sheepishly smiled too.

“Being fucked seems to be your default state Betz. But no more drinking from now on, isn’t that right?” Leona mothered.

“Fiiiine. No more alcohol. No more sex with close friends and their loved ones. No more self-destruction. And my diet starts in one week’s time. I know, I know. I’ll be a good girl. Or, at least, I’ll be a less bad girl” Betty smiled and put in yet another cigarette into her mouth. She then walked over to the kitchen, grabbed one last cupcake and then walked out with Leona to catch the taxi to work.

Betty was back in business.

 

[swahilimonkfish]

Chapter 23 - Bigger, always bigger

 

Wobbling feet, one foot clambering forward in front of the other. This was far more difficult than she imagined. But duty called and the journey had to be made, unstably or otherwise. She placed another foot forward, aspiring towards elegance but making do with just upright. A few more Bambi steps to go. She just had to concert all of her energies and redirect all power to stabilisers, and hope that she could make the journey without toppling over. A supportive arm helped, but she didn’t want to lean into it to much. Rutherford had to prove she could do it by herself.

“I’m nearly there” she said, Pisa-ing against a buckling Shay.

“Come on, you fat fuck. You wait there, and I’ll get the scales out” Shay ordered, while Rutherford tilted her mass against the towel rail to provide relief and aid to her swollen feet.

“You know, this bathroom could really do with some snacks. Like a tub of Pringles or something. Just to nibble on, you know?” Rutherford mused, watching her fellow compatriot rummage around for the scales.

“Urgh! Gross! Like, have none of yinz ever even heard of hygiene?” Shay spat out.

“Hygiene? Yeah, isn’t it that song by The Beatles?”

“What? No, it’s like cleanness or whatever” Shay said, with a confused scowl that did not befit her dainty attire.

“It was a joke. Sounds a bit like Hey Jude? Hygiene? God, my humour is wasted on you skinny bitches” Rutherford sighed, with a smug smirk. It had been incredibly important to her that, as she exploded in weight, she never let go of her outlook on life. While her body ballooned and metamorphosed into something vast and expansive, rippling through air particles with blubbery scale, she needed to be the same silly, goofy, laidback soul she always was. Laidback in the figurative and literal sense.

“I don’t get it. Aren’t those Beatle people like really old or whatever, now?” Shay said, who, for all her cineastical tendencies, never really appreciated music that wasn’t by Britney. But, to balance out this character flaw, she did find the scales again and had set them up for Ruthers to stand on them.

“So, what we thinking? Bigger or the same?” Rutherford asked.

“Bigger. Always bigger” Shay said, determinedly.

“I dunno. I worry I’ve begun to plateau. There’s a lot more of me to fill these days. And walking to the bathroom is cardio now, so I’m doing cardio for the first time in years. I think it’ll be about the 657lbs mark again” Rutherford pondered, genuinely struggling to even identify growth on herself now. Was that fold near her armpit new, or was it just a trick of the light? There was just so much more of her to keep track of these days. “Well… moment of truth”

She stepped on and heard the mechanics of it clunk, before audibly spitting out its answer.

“You are kidding me?” Shay raged as the number 661lbs was called out. “Just four pounds?”

“Hey, that’s still progress. I feared no-gress.” Rutherford reasoned.

“Yeah, but it’s slowing. You’re so lazy Ruthers. You’re so lazy that you’re even too lazy to gain weight” Shay grumbled.

“Hey, less of the lazy! I’m an athlete you know. Like a purebred greyhound. Or a pure bread one anyway. But this… this has been hard work. I know I make lounging around and eating all I could possibly want without ever lifting a finger… look easy. But it actually takes… I’m just kidding, I’m a fucking lazy ass” Rutherford explained with a big grin on her face. But Shay continued to seethe.

“What would you do if I took of photo of you now...” she began.

“I’d find that really hot” Rutherford interrupted, surreptitiously sneaking a smack of her own lips as the thought flitted through her head.

“No! If I took a photo of you now, and sent it to your parents? Would you be so smug then” Shay said, strutting aggressively. She'd been really petulant since she outed herself as trying to feed Rutherford to oblivion. No facade, no illusion to maintain. She could exert all of her pent up frustrations of Rutherford Stones. Though Rutherford '47' Stones would be a better name, since that is what she now weighed.

“I’d… probably still find that really hot. Like, can we do that please? I don't have their number any more but... like, I could pose. Like grab my belly or whatever”

“But… wouldn’t you be embarrassed? Ashamed?” Shay queried, perplexed.

“Oh yeah. So fucking humiliated”

“B… but… god, you’re such a bitch at times Rutherford. You can walk back to bed yourself. And I’m gonna feed you so fucking much, you’re gonna wish you weren’t fucking born” she stormed off, bitterly.

“That sounds really hot. But I’m not sure about the walking back bit… Shay…? Like, physically? I might… Shay? Shay?”

 

 

The following morning, Rutherford woke up to feel Minnie back in bed with her. A reassuring grapple from behind from the sleeping girl, remnants of last night’s attempt at being big spoon to a much bigger girl. Rutherford smiled to know that her two favourite girls were by her side. She’d missed Minnie recently. There was always that nagging doubt whenever Minnie got distant, that she was cheating on her with someone or with many people. Would that be hypocritical? Given that she had two girlfriends? The second of which was her old best friend, her first ever girl crush and also her worst enemy? But Minnie was here, where she was supposed to be. By her enlarged and engorged side.

“Open wide” were Shay’s first words as she woke up next to Rutherford.

“Mouth or legs?” Rutherford giggled.

“Yes” was the one word reply, and it was enough to send shivers and quivers across the ripples of flesh that had amounted themselves upon her once bijou body. And Shay had looked after Rutherford plenty while Minnie had gone. Satisfying her every need. Both of them.

“What we eating this morning?” Rutherford could barely contain her excitement, in the same way that clothes could barely contain Rutherford.

“Pizzas. Folded in half so you can eat them quicker” Shay said, reaching over to the stacked boxes she had ordered and prepared the night before. And Rutherford was impressed. Without Minnie to share the load, Shay had really stepped up her feeding game the past couple of days, and it didn’t go unnoticed. With the endless requirement of everything to be prepped for Rutherford’s ceaseless gullet, Shay was finding very little time to sleep. To get pizzas ordered in time for Rutherford to wake up to them, meant Shay couldn’t order them until she was asleep. That was also when she did the washing, the cleaning, the re-ordering of food. Even with Minnie, it was a heavy workload, but without her it was near unsustainable. Each of the past two nights had seen Shay sleep a mere two hours. 

“Folded pizzas! Cool, I love calzones!”

“No, they’re not calzones! They’re folded pizzas!” Shay shouted, waking up Minnie on the other side of the bed. And, beyond anything else, the lack of sleep must have been affecting Shay’s mood. For months, there had been a degree of subterfuge with Shay’s intentions, but the lack of sleep had lead to repeated losses of temper and the gradual revelation of her Machiavellian schemings. Shay’s schemings. Simply put, Shay’s mask could not withstand the current lack of sleep that she’d been having. She was frustrated to find her nemesis enjoyed the revenge so much. Like Homer being fed donuts by Satan.

Because none of this was as a result of altruism or benevolence on Shay’s part. It was vengeance, it was anger, it was cruelty. To punish her dweebish friend, to control her, to dominate her. To have her at her own mercy. To supersede her. Rutherford knew this was the reason too. But, the thing was, she simply didn’t mind. She liked the nastiness that Shay brought with her, the venom of her feederism. Minnie was the compassionate one, though that said a lot about the skewed expectations of their environment that Minnie could ever be considered compassionate. And Shay brought a malevolence that brought balance to Rutherford’s deeply imbalanced diet of lovers.

“Hey, you’re awake Minnie! Oh, I’ve missed you” Rutherford sort of rolled towards her best friend and lover for a hug, but found such things more effort than it was worth. Instead, Minnie climbed over Rutherford and did the hugging. “Wow, sentiment. This is new. You okay?”

Minnie ignored the jealous Shay seething predictably in the corner and answered “just sick and tired of hanging around skinny bitches, not like you love. A real woman with a proper appetite. Oh, and Shay’s made you calzones!”

“They’re folded pizzas”

“Yeah love, I know what calzones are” Minnie said, and she got down to the business of feeding her girlfriend.

 

Minnie watched as Shay fed Rutherford like it was a spectator sport. She leant back and observed, tactically scrutinising the offence and defence of the two sexually sparring partners. It was only fair to let Shay have her moment with Rutherford. She had been doing a grand job of facilitating the gastronomic carpet-bombing of Rutherford while Minnie was exploring the rest of her social circle with rather indulgent vim, and Minnie had to concede that. But, she did feel minor pangs of jealousy as Shay furtled through Rutherford like an Iberian pig rooting for truffles, while Rutherford allowed her inner pig to rise to the fore through appetite.

“Love, could I join in? Right sure that game your playing can be multiplayer” she asked, with an unusual lack of assertion.

Shay pulled up at this point, and smiled.

“Sorry love, but I’m not sure this bed can handle it” Shay sassed, and Minnie tightened her fist as she heard it.

“You saying I’m fat? Cos, I’m actually shedding weight like cats shed hair” Minnie affronted back.

“No, I’m saying Rutherford is. I worked it out last night. She’s 661lbs. Well, you’re about 200...”

“I’m down to 187 actually” she parried.

“And the maximum weight limit is 1000lbs so not all three of us can get on it” Shay replied, and watched Minnie wilt as the words hit through.

Rutherford was too fat for threesomes? What a cruel twist in the stomach that was to Minnie. Immediately, her brain raced to work arounds, contorting logic and circumstance to somehow contrive a solution. I mean, they could buy a new bed… but with what money? They had many thousands less that a penny to their name, after food bills soared like they were shares in Amazon. Was this how it was now? No double-spoons. No two on one double-team mauling. Shay was a conniving bitch but she was also right. And they realistically could not afford to break the bed that the poor American was spilt out onto and left to curdle.

There was nothing left for it for Minnie. Raison d'etre extinguished, she said she’d see them later and grabbed her running kit, and decided to get some air in her lungs. She might be feeling redundant around Rutherford, replaced by the sadistic fervour of Shay, but she could at least do right by Betty. And the best way to do that was to get in shape, and give Betty the sensation of knowing that she was the fatter of the two. And maybe Minnie could lose enough weight to be allowed back on the bed again.

She pulled up her running tights, noting that the weight loss had left her less taut than she had ever been before. Her legs felt diminished, despite the strengthening they had been undergoing. It wasn’t comical or embarrassing, like those weight losses you read about it in papers or whatever where skin folds droop down flaccidly. But it was also deeply unsatisfying to feel like all of her hard work and self-control, and the net result was feeling like a punctured football.

Maybe she deserved this. Maybe this was what comeuppance felt like. Because everything, absolutely everything was on her. She started this weight gain ball rolling, and now look at the extent to which everyone had gotten themselves all caught up in it. If she hadn’t asked Shaun all that time ago about gaining 5lbs, Wiktoria would be an athlete still. Leona would be Aphrodite-ing down the corridors of Brighton Uni. The paragon of virtue that is Betty wouldn’t be a smoking, drinking and weight gaining hot mess, pining for a rock bottom to feel the rush of going splat. And Rutherford wouldn’t be beached in a bed while her evil ex blurs the line between love and hate. This all started with Minnie 'Skinny' Charnwood.

And what a bitch Shay was. Why did Rutherford even go along with it? Well, what option did everyone's favourite puddle of lard have? Minnie had abandoned her, time and time again, wandering and lusting independently. With Ebba, with Betty, with Wicky and Leona. No. No, Rutherford started it, Minnie insisted in her own internal argument. She invited the ex to stay. Made it kinky. Rutherford was the one who pushed Minnie away, not vice versa. But what did it matter? Shay had won, and was winning all over Rutherford right now. Because of a stupid 1000lbs limit on the bed…

But, if Shay thought Rutherford was 660lbs, and Minnie was 180lbs… for the limit to be breached, Shay would have to be 160? Had she really piled on that much since she had come to the UK? The girl so merrily flaunting her 120-something pound body, inflating in parallel with everyone else. Well, there was a sliver of good news this bleak day. Minnie went for a run, but she went with a smile on her face.

 

 

“Help, Minnie! Heeeelp!” Rutherford yelled out.

“What’s up love?” she rushed through to Rutherford’s room, with worry etched on her face. Her breathing elevated as she bundled herself in to see her enlarged beloved.

“I’m fat” Rutherford smiled, and Minnie burst out laughing.

“You arsehole. I thought it was something serious!” Minnie smiled, throwing a pillow at her already pillowy girlfriend.

“I’m seriously fat?” Rutherford suggested, with a shrug of her shoulders, widened by blubber.

“Oh, ha ha. What’s up then, love? And where’s Shay?” Minnie noticed the absence of the malignant lingerer.

“Oh, on the crapper. Having a crap. Which I guess is where it gets its name, maybe? I don't know, but I think she is from judging how long she’s been in there” Rutherford said with a shit-eating grin.

“Fuck, the en-suite bathroom? Must she? That's the only one you use” Minnie said with distaste. “Anyway, how can I help you? You hungry? I can get you something, or indeed many things to eat”.

“Honestly, I’m good. I'm actually full. She did it. Shay did it. For the first time ever, I’m actually stuffed. Like, I couldn’t eat another thing. She’s been going beserk this past week, after I only gained 4lbs last week. It’s been unbelievable. Like nothing any human has ever eaten before. And I’m actually full. Like, genuinely not able to eat another thing. Not even a waffer thin mint”.

“Not even a waffer thin mint?” Minnie smiled, mocking up a vague approximation of a French accent.

“You know Python? Yes girl, love it. Gotta love British comedy. But yeah, not even a waffer thin mint” Rutherford said, almost heavy-heartedly.

Minnie sighed at the thought. Seeing Rutherford like that, actually defeated by the prospect of more food. She never thought she’d see the day. She sat on the bed with sunken shoulders and began to regret things once more when…

“Minnie! Earth to Minnie! Why aren’t you feeding me?” Rutherford said, snapping her chubby hands together in a clap.

“B… because you just said...”

“That I couldn’t eat another thing? Yeah, that’s usually about the time you keep things up a gear”

“But you sounded genuine. Like you really meant it” Minnie still sounded a little lost and not quite with it.

“We always mean it. And you always feed us anyway. What’s up with you lately? Look, I’ll try it again… I couldn’t eat another thing. Like, nothing” Rutherford smiled at her Yorkshire girlfriend and nodded to encourage her into action. “Hurry, grab something before Shay gets back. It’s your turn on the bed.”

Minnie scarpered. Rushing downstairs, she stretched her legs out and pulled upon her recently acquired athleticism. Into the kitchen, she scoured for all the devilish delicacies she could get her hands on. And there was the latest shopping bag from Shay’s trip to Morrisons. Just sitting there. It would be rude to take it. Wouldn’t it? But Shay was a bitch and besides, Minnie once stole money that caused Rutherford and Wiktoria to break up, so this was no great crime. And then she saw one more item, and took that up with her.

Hurrying up, Minnie saw that the coast was clear and jumped onto the bed, before wincing as the frame creaked upon her landing.

“You made it. Good, cos I’m starving” Rutherford smiled.

“I thought you said you had never been so full in your life?”

“Are those two things supposed to be mutually exclusive or something? Now come, Minnie, feed me til I burst” she said, flapping her arms about it excitement.

“Well, this might help with that, love” Minnie said, pulling out a chocolate mint After-8.

“Is that...”

“A waffer thin mint? Well, it's the closest I could find”

“Can we save that for the end. I wanna see if I actually do explode. That would be so hot. I've never exploded before” Rutherford beamed, eyes lit up with joy.

Shay then walked out, and the open window in the en suite told both the girls that they were right about what she was doing in there. Shay sneered to see them laughing at her like that, and came to take over the feeding session.

“Actually love, this bed only takes 1000lbs, so you might wanna back off. But, you could make yourself useful and stock up. I’m using the last of that stuff you bought” Minnie smiled superficially at Shay, before her and Rutherford erupted into giggles. Shay needed no second invitation to flounce over, and left the room wordlessly.

“She’s always so angry” Rutherford smiled.

“So why do you like her then? Like, more than me?” Minnie said, guiltily looking at her friend.

“Oh, can we do the sexy feeding stuff first? Do the real talk later?” Rutherford pleaded, her eyes on the bag of food. Minnie stayed silent. “Okay, fine. We can talk about the elephant in the room. Or, the other elephant in the room because heyoo, I am like well and truly elephantine now”.

“I’m sorry. It’s needy but… I think I might be jealous. I think I have been for a while. And I just don’t get it love. Like, she’s horrible to you. She’s a horrible person” Minnie said, looking down at the duvet with guilt.

“Honestly, that’s why I like her. She’s horrible, and that is sooo good in a feeder. Like, she genuinely has my worst interests at heart and… so do I. It’s kinda hot” Rutherford smiled, rubbing Minnie’s back reassuringly.

“But I love you” Minnie said, before wincing at how pathetic that sounded.

“Oh Minnie! I love you too. And I’ll always love you. But… that’s kinda the problem. You don’t feed me like you used to. And I’m not complaining. It’s because you’ve got your shit together, which is a good thing. And it’s because you love me, which is a good thing. But, like earlier, when I said I couldn’t eat another thing and you took me at my word. I like a feeder who doesn’t. Who feeds me anyway”.

“Oh” Minnie replied, focusing half her energy on Rutherford’s words, and half her energy on not crying. “Do you want me to leave then?”

“What!?! Fuck no! Fuck you for even thinking that! I love you Minnie. And sure, that’s not helpful when you want an unhealthy relationship. But I’m also a person, as well as a libido on legs, only I’m rarely on legs these days. The thing with Shay is she’s using me… and I’m using her. But it’s you I love and you I wanna be in an actual relationship with. Our relationship, well it’s become healthy. Like you have. And that’s good. But, sometimes, I just wanna bit of bad. Okay?” Rutherford said, rubbing Minnie’s back.

“That sounds… fair. So, we’re still a couple?”

“Oh Minnie. I’m a couple, all by myself. Together, I guess that makes us a few. Now, prove me wrong and fuck me and feed me with all the hate in the world please” Rutherford smiled, and Minnie recovered a mindset that she hadn’t really delved into on Rutherford for a while.

 

Lying in bed together, the two of them chatted. Rutherford had been stuffed to the point of testing her gag reflex, and was now receiving a stomach massage from Minnie that had a lot of ground to cover. The groans of pleasure and pain made the Yorkshire lass’ job easier though. With every hectare of flesh that Minnie could dig her palms into was met with an almost orgasmic groan of relief from the large girl.

“You know, I did the maths...”

“Math, singular” Rutherford corrected, with a big smile on her face still.

“Maths, and I think Shay must be about 160”

“Ooooh, nice. I can’t wait for her to fall into our abyss truly. Hey, 160? How much do you weigh these days? You might be overtaking her?” Rutherford pondered.

“Aye, good point. I need to weigh missen today anyway. It’s Sunday, so the last day of Betty’s weight gain, before she has to rein it in. And she wanted to weigh more than me before that started, just to know what it felt like” Minnie remembered, having kinda forgotten about that pledge that she’d made.

“How had Betty been doing this week? After… all that went before?” Rutherford asked, before another groan pulsed out of her.

“Dunno really, I saw her on Tuesday and she looked fine. Good, really. But not since then. Dunno if… well, I had something planned for her tonight and I don’t know how it’s gone” Minnie said.

“Well, how about we do a weigh-in. The both of us. Cos I sure as hell better have gained more than the measly four pounds from last week. I’ve eaten so much that I’m outta breath. And you need to see how much you weigh. Plus, we can close the en suite window while we’re in there” Rutherford again smiled, her optimism seemingly never abating.

Slowly, Minnie guided her to the scales.

“I mentioned to Shay last week, we should have Pringles in here. And then she was all like ‘hygiene’ so I guess that’s a no” Rutherford grumbles.

“Hygiene? Wasn’t that a Beatles track?” Minnie joked, and, for a beautiful second, Rutherford realised that she wanted to marry Minnie. But she didn’t mention that thought. She just kept it to herself so she could savour stepping on the scales.

They creaked, heavy and wearily. Poor things, bombarded by the weight of an entire Rutherford crushing down on it. They did their duty though, mechanically enunciating the number 666lbs.

“Yes! I did it. Oh my god, that’s the most I’ve gained in one week in ages. Since the good old days. Oh, I’d jump with joy but I honestly think I’d fall through and end up downstairs” Rutherford said with a squeal of joy.

“Don’t you think the 666 is a bit ominous, love” Minnie said, always superstitious.

“Oh girl, I don’t need scales to tell me I’m going to hell after all this is over. The only question mark is over whether I will fit” Rutherford continued to giddy, unperturbed and thrilled at the 14lb gain in just one week. “Anyway, what about you? You’ve been running like… I dunno, someone who runs a lot. Betty? She used to, apparently. Well, like that anyway. How thin you feeling?”

“One way to find out”

She stepped on and smiled to hear a mechanical voice tell her what she could see with her eyes, being slender enough to do that, unlike her more logic-defyingly large American girlfriend. She read and heard the number 172lbs.

“Well, if Betty only gained two pounds this week, she’ll be heavier than me. So, that’ll help her out. But, hopefully, she’ll overshoot horribly. And, even more hopefully, she’ll not stop over-eating at all. Glut herself to oblivion” Minnie grinned almost as widely as Rutherford.

“Betty’s lucky. You don’t love her like you love me, so you still have that evil streak when talking about her” Rutherford noted before she began the waddle back to bed. “She’s a lucky girl, because I know you’ll fuck her up so bad. So good and yet so bad.”

[swahilimonkfish]

Chapter 24

 

 

Betty did not enjoy her first day back after giving up drinking and self-destruction. Her hangover thrummed, testing the inner lining of her skull. And nobody was sympathetic to her plight; a position ensured by the fact that she couldn’t tell anyone about just how messy the weekend previous had actually been. She couldn’t exactly ask her students to mumble amongst themselves a little quieter because a head was on fire, as a consequence of indulging so gratuitously that she wasn’t convinced there even was a Sunday.

Grease was the only counter-measure for such suffering, and it was also the one remaining vice that she was permitted. For one week only, like a shitty comedy performer. She had salvaged as much solace in eating as she could take without tipping beyond atypical into downright unprofessional. She snacked during lessons, despite it being unwrittenly verboten. She snacked between lessons despite it being distinctly greedy. Just to get herself through to lunch.

“How are you faring, Betty Bollingbrooke?” Leona said with a smile. No sympathy to be found here either, in spite of Betty’s vain hopes.

“Well, you know that lady went down Niagara Falls in a barrel? Yeah, a fair bit worse than that. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have that chest-buster from Alien burst out my skull and there are bits of my body that just ache for no reason” Betty sulked, still dashing a dashing smile as she did it.

“Well, this might be our last Monday at McDonald’s together, so let’s enjoy it, shall we?” Leona said, not giving into the mollycoddling that Betty was clearly fishing for.

“Last Monday? Are you dieting again?” Betty looked worried.

“No, dipshit. You are, remember? I’m not dieting ever again, not after all the drama it caused with me and Wicky. Even if I get fat” Leona proudly stated.

“If you get fat? Like that would ever happen” Betty chanced a sneaky fat joke, enjoying the opportunity to be less tentative about such subjects.

“Exactly. I’ll never get beyond mildly portly” Leona continued the joke. “And speaking of which, what we ordering? Double quarter pounder with cheese? And why is that such a mouthful to say, and not a mouthful to eat? Why not just call it a half pounder, instead of a double quarter pounder?”

“Is that from your old stand-up routine?” Betty asked, her eyes making her sound genuine.

“No. My stand up routine was actually funny, I’ll have you know” Leona stabbed back. “So, what you going for?”

“The Grand Big Mac picture looks nice. Maybe a couple of them. One with bacon, one without. Chicken nuggets share box. Three fries. Mozzarella dippers. Three triple chocolate cookies. The Flake and the Malteasers McFlurry. Strawberry milkshake. And maybe a Millionaire’s donut, whatever that is. What about you?” Betty asked without really hearing herself.

“Bloody hell, Betz! Peckish are you? Fine, you’ve twisted my arm. I’ll order the same, you save this seat and I’ll try to remember our order” Leona waddled to the counter to place the order while Betty began chewing her thoughtlessly. The truth was that she wasn’t peckish. Far from it. And she tricked her mind into justifying its actions by saying it helped with the hangover, but it wouldn’t have taken a great deal of scrutiny to uncover the sheer volume of bullshit that this justification was. Betty wanted to do all those deviant and devilish things that she had been forbidden from dabbling in, and gluttony was the only vice that she had left. So it needed to carry her through, at least until she could go home where she was free from prying eyes. Or was that last addendum the kind of thought she should really be thinking, after all she had gone through of late.

 

After enjoying a hearty meal with Leona for company, Betty found herself with a lighter load for company over the course of the afternoon. She had tutorial hours, where students were permitted to drop into the lecturer’s office and regale to them all that had betided them. Brighton University prided itself on such a rigorous belief in student/lecturer interaction outside of formal teaching time and ensured that each day had a number of opportunities wherein a student could exercise this right. Not in the English Language department, where department head and all-round pervert Lionel Stewart had informally enforced an attitude where teachers could use these breaks between lectures to catch up on marking or do a bit of departmentally-supported research. Students could book to see teachers, but none could see a teacher unannounced. And all this to say, if the doodlepoll timetable said no students had reserved a meet with Betty, then she had the whole of Monday afternoon off. Which, given her fragile state, was just the ticket.

Free time may have been what Betty wanted, but it was deeply not what Betty needed. This was a young woman who was giving up a lot of debauched behaviour today, going cold turkey on booze and bonking, and aiming reaffirm devotion to her teaching duties and healthier life choices. But the devil had plans to make work for her idle hands, and left the teacher drawn towards, with insidious beckoning, the vices she had sworn off just the weekend before.

She couldn’t go home. Wiktoria was there, rescuing Betty’s place from a nuclear reactor explosion of debris caused by her big weekend blow-out. And she couldn’t stay in the university, with a prowling Lionel padding his paws along the corridors. Rutherford’s place was out of bounds, so soon after the ultimatum/intervention of a few days back. And anywhere too near the university saw her run the risk of being rumbled. And in Betty’s small and insular world, that left only one remaining salvation. Betty decided to soberly reacquaint herself with her good from Ahmed and his esteemed establishment Kebabland.

It was strange walking into Kebabland with the scales fallen from her eyes. She remembered as she retraced her steps, the feeling of walking into the joint with steely resolve, intent on confounding her body type and attempting to eat an entire Skinny Meal. The hearty man with the well-tended beard behind the counter always smiled at her as she came in, fully aware of her weird intention and grateful for the costly custom. Since those early days, Betty’s memories of the kebab place became blurrier and blurrier with drink, rarely attending the place without some degree of insobriety repurposed as fuel. So to walk there and see Ahmed smiling like the olden days was weirdly nostalgic.

“Betty! My favourite customer!” he said in his loud, booming voice.

“Oh, I bet you say that to all your customers” Betty feigned mock modesty.

“I do. It is true. But, for you Betty, I mean it. What can I serve you today? How many Skinny meals?” he said, literally rubbing his hands together as he said it.

“Well, Ahmed, I’ve just a very large lunch actually… so just the one will do” she said, without any real hunger driving her decision-making, just the urge to do something unhealthy.

“One day, I should have to make a Betty meal for you. Like a Skinny meal, but less skinny, if you know what I mean” He said, as he began preparing it for her.

“I’m sorry Ahmed, but that’s one of the reasons I’m here. This is my last week of being unhealthy. After this week, I have to rein it in. Sorry, but it’s for the best, apparently” she sighed.

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that. Now, I am biased, but I don’t think it is for the best” Ahmed said, in full salesmanship mode, but also trying to flatter a girl who may have been insecure.

“Honestly? And don’t tell a soul that I told you this… me neither. I mean, it is. But… I don’t know. Like, in my brain, I know I can’t keep eating like this. It’s unsustainable and unhealthy. And destructive. I just wish I minded more. I wish the thought of it being destructive was more of a deterrent. Does that make any sense?” Betty sighed, looking up at the jovial man.

“No. I have no clue what you were going on about there. Ha! But relax Betty, next week is next week. Now, I am going to make your Skinny meal a Betty meal. Just for you. Upgrade, on the house. To tempt you to staying” Ahmed said, and Betty mustered a smile in return. It made no logical sense for her to agree to this. But Betty, feeling stifled at the prospect of future responsibility, was scratching an itch she knew she shouldn’t have.

“And what is a Betty meal?” she said, a giddy rush of youthful energy pulsing through her at the flattery of it all.

“Well, I am a businessman, not an artist, so it will be the same, only more” Ahmed shrugged, handing her a Skinny meal sized box that felt a decent chunk heavier to carry when Betty reached over to take it to her table. “25% more.”

Betty opened the box to see the same riffraff of gelatinous meats strewn in, just more condensely packed this time. Butchered meat drizzled in cauldron hot sauce, mushed to a sticky pulpy goo by the decadent layerings of melted cheese. It smelt of ‘are you sure you want to do this?’ and it looked like a food plane crash. But Betty jumped in with the enthusiasm of a puppy.

“25% more? On a 5500 calorie meal? That’s 7700 calories if GCSE maths has served me right. Fuck! That’s… a lot. What the fuck am I even doing here Betty? What the fuck is wrong with me?” she exclaimed, to herself but out loud, before regaining her bearings. “Thanks Ahmed. This… looks heavy-duty”.

He smiled, confident that Betty could eat it, given the prowess in this department she had shown over recent times. Betty wasn’t so sure. It was blood-curdlingly fattening. But, she had her training. She had her process and her breathing exercises and her waymarking system. She had seven months of gruelling gruel-eating training and had developed something of an expertise when it came to spectacular levels of indulgence.

It began with the fast attack. This was a fundamental aspect of this sort of task. It takes time for your stomach to get the message relayed to your brain that it is full. So the faster you eat, the more can be consumed before the warning flares are sent to the grey matter upstairs. But pace alone would be insufficient when confronted with the gelatinous spread packed in front of her. She had to be more systematic, more methodical than that. And here, Betty fell back on her trustworthy clock system.

The clock system was an evolution of her earlier approach, and it saw her eat food in ‘slices’ similar to that of a pizza. They roughly correlated to a clock face, and she would ensure that she had finished one hour of the clock face before moving onto the second one. It meant that she had a firm grip on how she was progressing in relation to the steady increase of fullness, and could gauge things accordingly. Finally, her most recent acquisition to the system was her propensity for chain smoking when she was struggling. It gave her time to recalibrate and control the rhythm of her diaphragm. The clock method, the breathing techniques, the drive, the cigarettes, the speed. These were the weapons she was going to wield against the formidable beast on the table, in her bid to conquer it. Well, that and the fact that she was just an absolute glutton at this point, addicted to the feeling of impossible excess. That would come in handy too.

She’d eaten the first ‘hour’ of food with little thought, other then the guilty enjoyment of personified calorie covered in soggy cheese. The second ‘hour’ went by in a similar manner, just routine consumption in record times. However, it was when the third ‘hour’ of food hit her stomach that she began to feel the effects of eating essentially non-stop all day, on the back of the biggest binge in history over the weekend. The fourth ‘hour’ reaffirmed the nagging feeling that this would not be the plain sailing that Betty was hoping for, and the fifth brought to her attention the constrictive qualities of the slimming undergarments that she was wearing from work. It was the half point when she felt the struggle in the deepness of her breaths. It felt like the food was just sticking like wallpaper paste down her throat, clogging it up and slowing her down.

The seventh hour was the one that saw her having to take emergency measures to continue. Already, between each ‘hour’, she had obliterated a cigarette in a bid for something approaching composure. And this had seen her exhaust her list of acceptable vices. Leaving only the unacceptable ones. And what she really needed was alcohol. Any liquid would do, truthfully. It helped with the eating, turning it from something turgid into something that slips down with a little more ease. But eating and drinking, say, water, didn’t go hand-in-hand, in Betty’s mind, like eating and drinking booze.

However, she couldn’t. She had promised not to drink again. She had gone 27 years without anything approaching an alcohol dependency, she surely didn’t need to drink again. Certainly not just one day after swearing off it for good. On the other hand, there was an off-license next door and she knew that Ahmed wouldn’t tell anyone that she had barely gotten upon the wagon before she had fallen off it. She could, you know. She could probably get away with it.

And so, five minutes later, she returned to Kebabland with a bottle of white in her hand, with a screwcap so she could open it and drink it without the need for accessory or even a glass. And the liquid made the chewing a lot easier. The wine itself could glide itself down her throat with such ease, and it even lubricated the stodge of what Ahmed had served her. The seventh, eighth and ninth ‘hour’ disappeared in rather rapid fashion after that. Tenth came next and the only hold-up was her trouser button reaching a screeching level of pain that had to be relieved. She undid the button and felt her stomach ooze out into the vacuum it had been prevented from entering by one forlorn fastening. The eleventh ‘hour’ was a challenge. She could swear she could feel food in her lungs, and she could certainly taste it on her breath. But she didn’t spend years of her life, maximising her ability to draw on determination and reserves by running marathon upon marathon, without having the drive to finish off her meal.

Once the final ‘hour’ was dealt with, Betty just moved the box to one side and planted her forehead on the table in exhaustion. Her breathing was slow and steady as it gathered herself, and her cheeks were flush with crimson. She’d overdone it. And then she’d overdone it some more. And then, just at the very last, she overdid it all over again.

“You look like you could do with a massage” a voice came from behind her.

“Oh thanks Remus, that… wait, Remus? What are you doing here?” she suddenly turned around, her cheeks now red with embarrassment as opposed to exertion.

“Just admiring the view. Oh, and arriving at the place where I work. I do work here, remember. Remus, your friendly neighbourhood delivery guy?” Remus smiled, looking at Betty in profile.

“Yeah, shit. Of course. I meant, not shit, umm… darn? I guess. I’m… yeah, trying to swear less, be more like the old Betty… and doing a fucking shitty job of it, as you can tell” Betty stammered, looking at the attractive man in the unflattering uniform.

“That sounds fun. So, what Betty do we have today, anyway? You look like a halfway house between weekend Betty and weekday Betty, half made up, half letting it all hang out. I can dig it” he said, rubbing her shoulders with his hands. Her head instinctively tilted affectionately against him, before self-awareness yanked her head back to its upright position, afraid of getting too comfortable.

“Actually, this is just weekday Betty. All trussed up. Just, I need more trussing these days. Even super smartly dressed Betty is looking a bit worse for wear these days” Betty said, ripe with self-consciousness. Recent keeping up appearances had played a few tricks on Betty’s mind of late. The idea that she could let herself go so intensely at the weekend and recover and recuperate into her usual attractive self for work gave her a false sense of imperviability. That every downward spiral was recoverable with foundation and Spanx. It brought her tumbling back to Earth that even these tricks of the trade were wearing thin.

“Well, you did warn me this would happen” he smiled. “Look, are you doing anything? Like now? Cos, after the weekend...”

“What? What happened at the weekend?” Betty said, obliviously.

“Ummm… nothing” Remus back-tracked, not keen to recount him fucking each of her friends. “Anyway, you’re looking kinda cute and I was wondering if we could back to your place and...”

“Thanks for the compliment. You’re very sweet. But, it’s… wow, it’s only 2:30pm, so I can’t go back to my place until 6-ish at the earliest. My friend is there and she will have a go at me for bunking off work when I’m supposed to be reformed now” Betty sighed. “Anyway, don’t you have a job? Isn’t that why you were here?”

“Yeah, but Ahmed lets me come and go as I please. Well, as you please, to be honest. I just say what you want and he’ll endorse it. You are that good a customer” he smiled, and leant in for a kiss. It felt weird to experience something resembling genuine emotion with someone, but he kissed so tenderly.

“How about your place then?” she smiled.

“Really? Oh my god, that would be amazing! Sure, I mean, that’s so dope” he said, his smile lighting up as he jumped up with excitement.

 

His place was a tired, poky apartment out on the outskirts of Brighton, where a lot of the dock-workers still work and live. It was one of those old apartment buildings that were all erected in the seventies and looked like concrete carbuncles. Once inside, the place was still small, but at least well cared for. All the dishes were away and the carpet looked hoovered. Which made the place feel far more inviting then her place often did these days.

“Drink?” he asked, opening his fridge.

“I shouldn’t. Part of my being-good routine. But, fuck it, it’s a Monday. Go on then, but you can’t tell anyone” she said, looking around his place for clues about what kind of person he was. A picture of him and his mum in a frame seemed reassuringly quaint. Perfectly in keeping with his wholesome undercurrents.

“Well, if you drink anything like you eat, I thought you’d probably call a six-pack cutting back” he said, dropping six cans of Carling in front of her, connected by that annoying plastic binding.

“Ha! True. Although, to be fair, it’s been a while since I had a six pack” she laughed, referring to her gut.

“Wait, did you actually once have an actual six-pack then? I mean, I know you’ve gained a bit but...”

“Oh Remus, you little thing. You have no idea. I was cut. Properly shredded. Wait, I’ve got my phone, let me Google the picture… yeah, so the BBC took this photo of me back in… April, I think. Part of their ‘get fit’ campaign. It was me crossing the line of the London Marathon. Have a look” she said, passing her phone over with the image.

“You ran a marathon as recently as April… holy fuck, you were skinny! And how hot? I mean, obviously you are still hot, it’s just...” Remus trailed off, embarrassed. Betty just laughed, and her legs twinged a little.

“Fuck you!” she continued to belly-laugh. “But seriously, it’s been a filling half a year, and I do fear I’ve lost a little of my lustre. I weighed 106lbs back then.”

“And 6 months later?”

“173lbs as of last Friday’s doctor’s appointment. They were quite alarmed” Betty giggled guiltily.

“Wow! Does that not worry you? Like, I know it’s a thing with you, for whatever reason, but...”

“Yeah. Sometimes. Often. No, always. It always worries me. Just, sometimes, I don’t mind the worry. Sometimes, I quite like the worry. And, after this week, I’ve got to give up eating, as well as drinking, fucking and swearing from last week…”

“Which is going well so far?”

“Very fucking well” Betty laughed meekly. “And, I’m really worried. Worried that I’ve crossed the point of no return. Worried that maybe I haven’t. Worried that I can’t recover from this. Worried that I can”.

“Well, I’m not really good at wisdom and that kinda thing, but I still think you look cute” Remus smiled, and got an embarrassed smile flashed back at him.

“Sorry, this sounds gross but do you mind if I take my top off. It’s suffocating me, like I’m almost feeling claustrophobic in all this” Betty asked, nervously.

“Yes, I mind if the cute girl takes off her top. I hate it when cute girls take off their clothes” Remus retorted with more sarcasm that a huge gap made up of Russian emperors. A tsar chasm.

“You say that now, but I am honestly a lot better looking clothed” she smiled, as she undid the buttons of her work blouse and then removed her slimming undergarments to leave her top only clothed by a bra digging into the fleshiness of her sides. Below, her stomach flopped out now it had been given license to roam, sitting over the undone button of her work trousers and right into her lap.

“If you think that, then you have no idea of how the male brain works Betty” he smiled, fairly confident that he believed what he said.

“Oh, sorry to ask another favour, but is it okay if I smoke in here?” she said, tentatively. Again fearing she was crossing boundaries.

“Don’t say sorry so much. Of course you can. I have them air freshener things anyway so it’s no bother. And I’d offer you something to eat, but from what I heard about the Betty Meal, I think you’re probably good on that front” he joked as she lit yet another up.

“What were you going to offer?” she asked, with a big goofy grin. “Cos, I know it’s impossible, but I could eat still. If it was the right food”.

“Cheesecake. My mum made a cheesecake for me when she cleaned up my flat yesterday. And I’m actually a part-time vegan so I’m trying to offload it onto someone” Remus said, getting back up again and getting Betty the dish and a fork. Betty watched, between swigs and drags.

“Fuck. Well, I guess it would be rude not too. To preserve your vegan-ness, that is” she said, laughing her high-pitched laugh once again. She watched him bring it to her eagerly, and dug in just as keenly.

“I’d say, I have no idea where you put it all, but I actually do” he said, looking at her stomach, swollen as ever.

“Ha! That’s fair” Betty giggled. “So, serious talk. How fat do you think I’ll get before you lose interest?”

“I thought you were dieting after this week?”

“Oh. I mean, yeah, of course. Of course. But… hypothetically then” she said, scooping his mum’s homemade strawberry cheesecake into her mouth.

“The funny thing is… 30 to 40lbs ago. Or, it should have been. But, I can’t help but like you Betty. I’ve tried but I can’t.”

“Am I the exception to your rule?” she said, with flirtatious élan.

“You are the exception to every rule I’ve ever known. Now, I don’t want to be forward but...”

“Can we fuck after I’ve finished this cheesecake and these cans? Please?”

“Okay, that was far more forward than I was ever gonna be” Remus laughed.

“Do you mind?”

“You really don’t understand the male mind, do you?”

 

It was four hours later than Betty realised that she might have overdone it. It so many senses. Overdone it with time, it was 6:30pm and Wiktoria would have been waiting for her to return. Overdone it with food, having spent the afternoon alternating between eating and scrambling over Remus. And overdone it with drink, for a girl who was supposed to be abstaining from here on in, she seemed remarkably drunk.

She was wearing an old shirt of Remus’, that was supposed to hang over her like it did him, but instead wrapped itself around her waist most unflatteringly. She was denied the luxury of choice by her inability to get her clothes back on, with all her overabundance getting in the way. It also did a poor job of hiding the undone button of her trousers, wrapped around the flailing ties like a vacuum pack. That, plus the messiness that she had found from dabbling in too much cheesecake and later muffins, meant she was looking like weekend Betty all over again.

This worried her. Wiktoria was her home’s sentry guard and would immediately suspect that Betty had let herself go within 24 hours of her supposedly pulling it back in. She was going to have to walk through the door and door her best impression of a sober girl who was not still freefalling, and hope Wiktoria wouldn’t notice. She kissed her transport/boyfriend/courier and said goodbye, before bracing herself to face Wicky’s potential wrath.

She quickly lit another cigarette, hoping that the bombardment of nicotine and tar would at least cover the smell of alcohol on her breath. And then she tried to imitate a sober and regular walk, without appearing to be doing so self-consciously. I walked into my place and was relieved to have any self-consciousness wither away immediately. Wiktoria had blitzed Betty’s place into a state of cleanliness it hadn’t seen since Betty had started letting her hair down. Everything was as spick and even as span as she could have envisaged it. And, on the two sofas in her property, were Wicky and Leona sitting and chatting chirpily.

“Here she is. The prodigal Betty returns” Leona said, contemplating getting up to greet her friend but deciding remaining sitting down was more her jam.

“Hey! Oh my god, this place is amazing. Thank you so much Wicky!” Betty said, gushing effusively at all that they had done.

“Thank you Betty. It is a very big pleasure” Wiktoria replied, courteously.

“Well, she has received payment in kind, haven’t you Wicky. She, very nobly, decided to rid you of temptation by drinking all the booze you had lying around the place. And, I’ve been trying to help and… little secret, we’re both rather pissed right now” Leona giggled, and Wicky joined in. Leona was sitting down with a glass of what looked like coke but probably contained a supplement of vodka, sprawling sideways with her lazy bulk.

“That’s very kind of you” Betty smiled, relieved that their suspicion was redirected towards themselves. Even if she was hoping there’d be some leftovers.

“Yes, I am too very drunk, and this is why I have not cooked you a big dinner Betty. I am very sorry but I am too drunk” Wiktoria apologised, and Betty batted it off right away. “You should have some drink too Betty.”

“Nooo… Wiktoria, we are drinking everything to protect Betty, so she can stay sober” Leona argued, shuffling in her seat as she did so.

“Fine, but I like you more when you are not grumpy” Wicky argued, and Betty offered her most innocent smile to Leona to win her over.

“Fine. But only if she orders food. I am starving”

“Well, let me tell you two about something amazing. It’s called the Betty Meal and Ahmed has designed it especially for me” Betty giggled, as she told the rapt girls all about it. They hunkered closer, gasping and ‘ooo’-ing at all the good bits. Both of the guests let their hands drift down to their stomachs at the sound of all that egregious excess. They were drunk, they were greedy, they had rid themselves of their own dieting shackles, and they felt the newfound cleanliness that they had brought to proceedings warranted an indulgence. They decided to order in.

Betty finished her glass of coke, watching her friends with a little envy as their sloshiness hid itself poorly. She didn’t envy being drunk, since she pretty much was herself, but she couldn’t help but begrudge the blatancy of their inebriation. So when Wiktoria began looking down at her phone to find the app with which to order, Betty got up to and walked with her.

“You know, Wicky, would it be alright if… I...” Betty opened her mouth and didn’t know how to phrase it. How to request a stronger drink without dredging up all the shame in the world. She flashed forward to herself uttering any available combination of words and could not find a single one that didn’t feel shameful. That sounded like she was a little too drawn to it. And that was when it hit her. That maybe it was a bad idea. If it sounded bad to say the words out loud, that was a clear indicator that it was a bad call. She didn’t need to drink, she just wanted to. She loved the sense of everything deteriorating. But she had to be sensible. She’d promised the girls and she shouldn’t seek to betray them one day in.

“First… I need to ask you something Betty. Do you want a sneaky naughty drink? I can put vodka in your drink. But it has to be a very massive secret. You cannot tell Leona. But I think you deserve it. And I want show you I forgive you” Wiktoria said in a conspiratorial whisper, before breaking out into a friendly smile and hug. And how could Betty say no to that?

“Thank you” Betty smiled, and set this up in her mind as a lie to keep between just her and Wicky.

And, as the drinks flowed, the conversations did too. Betty smiled with only a little jealousy as she saw Wicky and Leona happily together once more. They laughed and joked and quaffed and consumed. There voices got louder as their inhibitions dropped lower and, all the time, they threw affectionate glances at one another, like they were newly-flirts.

“The good thing is, next to Rutherford, we’ll always be thin” Leona toasted as the conversation, as it ever did, returned to their own gluttony.

“We should feed Rutherford more. Make her bigger, so we will be smaller” Wiktoria laughed.

“That is completely illogical and irresponsible. That is drunk thinking Wicky… and I love it. We should do that. Let Shay and Minnie have a week of her, and then chip in. I mean, I’m 250lbs lighter than her… if we can make that 300lbs, then how can anybody call me fat?” Leona replied, merrily.

“That is very good logic, do you not think, Betty?” Wiktoria turned the conversation around to Betty, who contemplated intervening at what was a desperately selfish and unwise idea. That would be the kind thing to do. The old Betty, at this point, would tactfully promote the empathetic argument. About agency, and support. But Betty was really struggling to find this old self, lost in the rubble of her disregard for anything.

“Yeah, cool. I think it’s a really smart idea” she said, and drank her latest vodka and coke.

And this marked the ringing of the doorbell. A courier, one that wouldn’t be Remus, would be carrying their extensive order. As mentioned before, gluttony and greed had gotten the better of them and they had both ordered two Betty Meals. That, coupled with Betty’s one eponymous order, and the chap would be weighed down quite considerably with their late-night binge regalia.

“Could you get that Wicky? Please?” Leona begged with a facetious batting of her own eyelids.

“Of course” Wiktoria said with a smile and heaved herself back up. “But I am 100lbs heavier than you, so I do think it is very unfair”.

As Wiktoria walked to the door, Leona whispered acutely at Betty.

“Do you want me to make that drink of yours more interesting?”

Betty looked confused.

“I could put some Jack Daniels in it. Make it a JD and coke for you. I know you’re supposed to be sober now, but I feel guilty seeing you drink just coke while we’re getting pissed. And besides, I wanna say I forgive you for the other stuff. So, I’ll keep topping you up Betz. It can be our little secret” Leona said, spilling a healthy portion of liquor into Betty’s already spiked drink, before settling back on the sofa to appear innocent to her girlfriend.

And Wicky came back with the meals, and they spent their evening eating and drinking some more.

 

 

A routine was hesitantly established that Monday onwards. Wicky and Leona agreed not to be the tee-total gestapo, as long as Betty wasn’t drinking to excess. Each of them, separately and independently, conspired to enable this bad habit of hers, but keep it between just the two of them, so the promise remained officially intact. It was their little secret. Their guilty little secret. Each time.

However, it was guiltier a secret for Betty than the other two, since she had set up similar promises with Ahmed and Remus independently. It was stacking up very quickly, a series of conspirators with their own separate affiliation, and she had to somehow keep each of these lies from the others. So she, through careful navigations of the truth, managed to start drinking at Kebabland, continue drinking at Remus’, get drunk at her own place with Wicky and Leona for company, and then continue a little on her own after they had gone. She hated the tangled web of lies that it involved, and she hated the gnawing sense of guilt. But she was finding letting go of her self-destructive habits a little harder than she imagined. The old Betty should have been drawing closer, but she was drifting ever further away.

Betty’s eating didn’t let up over the course of the week either. Quite the contrary. She doubled down on it with the wilfully ignorant belief that she was compensating for other good behaviours that she was reneging on also. The Bettification of the Skinny Meal made meal time a little more challenging once more, while snacking became a vector upon which she could continue to push herself. She was well aware that this wasn’t the healthy turning over of a new leaf that she had sworn to, but, as much as she minded and fretted about this, she also felt buoyed by her own anxiety over the issue. She wasn’t doing this blind, she was rubbernecking at her own carcrash. She discovered that she could turn on and off the self-denial like a faucet. To aid kink and self-preservation accordingly.

The first consequence of this was probably the thing that tipped her in favour of continuation. Lionel had finally stopped creeping her out with inappropriate leers and comments. Even with all the mitigation that she could muster, in the form of slimwear and clothing choices and stronger make-up, his eye had wandered away from her at last. Leona had been over the moon when Lionel was curt with her, rather than lasciviously prying at Betty in his typical manner. Betty was still pretty, but she was testing the definition a little more these days, getting on the upper end of the traditional depiction of curvy. But despite Leona’s celebration, and despite this being the reason Betty began gaining, she seemed rather downbeat about this.

It was hard to justify. She certainly didn’t miss his behaviour, despicable as it was. But she also struggled with the snub of it. And her mind traced back to the fear that she shared with Remus about going both too far and also not far enough. To feel worthless because of his actions, and somehow feel guilty for being responsible for this. It made no sense, but why should sense have a say in the matter? Somehow, this ended up feeling like the worst of both worlds rather than the best that it should have been.

It didn’t help that students were gossiping about it too. Interest in her had waned in just the eight weeks since term began. She had gone from fire-hot to smouldering to cold ashes, it felt. As recent as the beginning of this term, she’d been rounding up lustful glances from libidinous teenage boys like Babe rounding up sheep. But even the almost limitless horniness of young men has its limits. She stood up there at the podium, clothing suffocating her innards to project respectability, make-up expertly massaged, hair as shiny and alive as it has ever been, and they still drew vicious gossip about her explosion of weight. She was officially chunky in the eyes of the gossip-wagon and it was a perception that she would struggle to unhitch herself from. No amount of clothing throttling could stop her stomach from beyond the miniature mounds of her breasts. No amount of contouring could restore her suitably softened jaw. This wasn’t the first time that Betty had eschewed the traditional depiction of attraction, as anybody who had had the mesmeric misfortune of throwing an askant gander in her direction would testify. But this was the first time she couldn’t fix it. This was the first time it had become beyond redemption.

The one light that Betty clung to was Sunday. It was the day that the obesity diet ended and she could right her ship. Part of her was convinced, fist-pumpingly adamant, that this was something she wanted. This was the same girl who had cultivated and curated a sightly slight self of dainty, waifish delight. But a different part of her brain had a heavy heart about her leaving behind her heavy body. And, as Sunday drew upon Betty and eventually eventually happened, she had to resign herself to its end.

She decided to end it the same way it began. With a trip to Kebabland. Sure it was a Betty Meal nowadays, not the measly Skinny Meal of yore. But the symmetry was there still for it to feel like coming full circle for the full and rounded girl. In fact, she concluded, she was going to go out with a bang. One final day, yup another one, of full-on indulgence just to climb over the ridge.

And this is why we find her in Kebabland dressed in clothes that don’t fit, drunk out of her mind and seeing if she can finish her Betty Meal despite having eaten more today than any day previous. It was why she was wearing jeggings that harked back to the days when it was the only clothing item that fit, squishing her legs into their unforgiving material with malevolent bon viveur. It was why she was wearing an old t-shirt that could only serve as a crop top to the far more portly girl, letting her gut surge out with pale white skin.

She chewed away contentedly as the hour drew towards midnight, before spotting her phone light up. It was Minnie keeping her promise. The message let Betty know that Minnie was down to 173lbs now. They had promised one another to pass each other’s weights like ships in the night, while they still could. While they were still sailing in opposing directions. So, even though this was the end, the end of the fun, the end of the darkness, the end of the happiness and the end of the drowning. Despite all of that, she had finally reached a checkpoint that felt like a true landmark. Betty had finally overtaken Minnie in weight

Betty messaged back her weight, to let her know that she finally weighed more than the green-eyed devil that Minnie once was.

 

Oops

I may have overdone it then

weighed myself before I came out

 

And then she paused, trying to summon the energy up to show the amount of self-consciousness she knew the situation warranted. She could tell the truth, and get one final kick. One last hurrah of heft. A swansong of swelling. Or she could lie. Mitigate the damage. Yeah, she liked that second idea.

Would this be progress? Acknowledging that weight gain was not something that she wanted. Was this the healthy call. Normal people would be tempted to lie about this. To underplay it. Pretend that the damage wasn’t as bad as reality suggests. People who want to lose weight round down, don’t they? Maybe lying was the healthiest call. Maybe it was a sign that she wanted all of this to end.

Or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe she was enchanted by the dishonesty. The disillusioning illusion of it all. Maybe she was struggling to let go. Wondering if she could just lie her problems away once more. Like she was with the drinking. Countering lies with further lies. Drowning in lies just as she was drowning in everything else. Maybe she could use lying as a means to continue. Deceive her friends, tell them she’d stopped, when she was continuing chasing her dragon.

But any lie would be short-lived. No deception could be maintained, no mirage could withstand reality. As with the students, finally coming to terms with what Betty had realised all along, it was hard to pretend you are prettier than you are. No. She would lie. But it would be for the right reasons. Today would mark the last day of it. Tomorrow was a clean bill of health. Her slate would be wiped, her tabula would be rasa-ed. Breathe it in Betty. Your last cholesterol-laden breaths. The next ones will taste like the olden days.

 

 

I got to 175lbs!!

I weight 3 more pounds than you

 

 

 

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was that. Betty smiled as she put her phone back in her handbag. She didn’t really register the number. Not the one she gave, but the actual one. The real one that her real scales told her before she left for Kebabland for the last time ever. She didn’t really give it its due. Didn’t let the thoughts trickle down. Didn’t really digest that the past 10 days had seen another 13lbs land like raindrops on her frame. Didn’t really dawn on her that there was now an additional 85lbs of fat just sitting on her like beachbums on deckchairs. Didn’t really register with her that she was officially no longer the skinny one of the group. Didn’t really hit her that, if she took her own BMI, she’d have the unpleasant awakening of finding herself officially obese. Not overweight. No. At her height, she was officially, undisputedly out-and-out obese. No, she was three sheets to the wind and lost in a world of heated kebab meat. It was called a number because she could no longer feel its pain. And the number was 191. Betty Bollingbrooke was 191lbs.

And she was lost in this world when she heard a voice behind her:

“Oh my god Miss, is that you?”

 

[swahilimonkfish]

Chapter 25

 

 

Ebba waited in the pub sulkily. It was 11pm and Betty was still not there. She reached for her phone again, figuring that if a message was worth triple-checking, it was worth checking a fourth time. She knew what it said. She could almost memorise it word for word. But she wanted to check again. Just in case. Just in case she had misread a vital detail. It was definitely Sunday, wasn’t it? And the name of the place was Kebabland? And it was definitely the ocean of serene charm that was Betty Bollingbrooke who would be staggering in this direction for her final blow-out. This was what Minnie had promised her.

And she had been right about everything else that she had promised. Betty had been gaining weight. Ebba could remember the taste of saline that slunk down her sulky cheek when Minnie broke up with her. Her dream girl explaining that she was just a mirage. Minnie explained, sympathetically and calmly, that Ebba didn’t really like Minnie. She liked what Minnie represented. Minnie then explained that, if you want Minnie doing that self-destructive Minnie thing, then it would be best to point her eyes elsewhere. Minnie was cleaning up these days. And if Ebba still had that itch, the one that Minnie stood for but no longer represented… well, there was a new queen of self-destruction in town.

And then Minnie promised that the new queen of self-destruction and weight gain and hedonism and wildness was none other than Betty Bollingbrooke. Miss Bollingbrooke having taught Ebba Sociolinguistics in first year. Miss Bollingbrooke with the Zooey Deschanel fringe and the sugar and spice and all things nice smile. All cheekbones and blushing. Fragile arms brushing away hair self-consciously. Girlish giggles and a waist you could get your hands around. This teacher, this caricature of innocence and cuteness, this butter-wouldn’t-melt-even-if-she-deigned-to-touch-butter teacher, was the one that Minnie marked as next for a fall.

Ebba didn’t believe it at first. Or at second. Third, fourth and fifth. It was just a lazy fob off. A lie to mend a broken heart. And then she attended her Pragmatics class and Ebba saw that maybe there were kernels of truth hidden in there. Betty still had an aura of angelic about her. But there was a bit more weight behind those featherweight steps of hers. And curves. Miss Betty Bollingbrooke was showcasing curves. Wiggle room in the hips and jiggle room on her behind. The curves found in the works of Rubens, now painted on the formerly girlish woman. Had Miss Bollingbrooke made her first tentative steps to the dark side? And would subsequent steps follow?

They lunched together for ‘tutorials’. Tutorials that she wouldn’t have attended if she didn’t get to see more of Betty and also see more of Betty. Ebba would flatter Betty’s figure in the same way that her clothes did. She would push cookies and nibbles towards her like a best friend or worst enemy. And Ebba saw that what Minnie had sworn was true. Miss Betty Bollingbrooke was a little more snips and snails and puppy dog tails than she ever thought possible. And those bony shoulders padded themselves and her spider-thin legs grew layers.

And this was who brought Ebba here. This was what brought Ebba here. The prospect of seeing Miss Betty Bollingbrooke in all of her inglory. The tensions was gnawing at the blonde girl. The thought of what to see Betty with her hair down looked like. This past week had been the best yet. The first one since her injury, and the one where even the most cloud-visioned caveman could spot the innovations on her form. To have once been so sterilisingly thin to something resembling seductive and, further still, to downright chunky. It was impossible to ignore. She was taking the first steps towards Wiktoria and Minnie and Rutherford and Miss Leona Clefton-Brown in all of their pools of lethargy and large glory. To Miss Betty Bollingbrooke of all people.

While she was sitting at the window, eyeing passers-by in hope to spy her teacher, Ebba’s temper flared a distant smidge. Somebody else was in there, eating her meal and sitting where Ebba had hoped Betty would sit. Some fat thing, terribly dressed, with lifeless hair and wobbly balance. If only this chunker would leave and ensure that the delicate Betty wouldn’t scare away.

Nervously, Ebba planned her notes. They had been sent by Minnie at her most mischievous. Every power play in the Minnie textbook, every debauchery and debasement. All of her darkest ploys and plots, that Ebba had scrawled down for revision. Which words to say, which buttons to press, which anxieties to needle. It was a masterpiece of Iago-esque deception and manipulation of honest, honest Betty. Follow these instructions and Betty will ruin herself for you. Ebba had revised for Betty’s class before, but never for Betty. But she recounted every step off by heart, and then rechecked her notes to ensure that she wasn’t missing a beat. She would have to be ready for when Betty arrived.

Still no sign of her though. And it was drawing towards midnight. And the horrifically chunky girl was still sitting in Betty’s seat and eating Betty’s meal, potentially scurrying her away. Instead, to kill the remaining minutes, Ebba saw to seeing to herself. Not that Ebba ever needed effort placed upon her own appearance. This was a woman who had literally scored modelling contracts on her study days so as to supplement her income. She had the kind of lanky, scrawny and tall frame that clothes enjoyed draping down. At 6ft1, she stood over most. At 119lbs, she weighed under most. Her hair was a soulful blonde, somehow both clean and muddy. Her eyes were crystalline, like the underside of the Arctic ice. Her actual clothes, a designer dress with a cute matching handbag, let her long legs steal and limelight going. Surely Betty was going to be no match for her. With all of Minnie’s dastardly advice and all of her own leggy beauty, this pudgy angel would surely, surely going to wilt in her heady shade and be hers.

A text came through from Minnie:

 

She’s there now

She’s just text me to say she’s nearly done

Look for the 175lbs girl lol

Sounds like you shouldn’t be able to miss her, love

 

She was already there? Ebba meerkated up to look to see if she was there, but nobody new had entered since she last looked. Could it be the wrong place? Could there be two Kebablands in Brighton? Ebba scoured the walkways outside the shop and could see nobody Betty-like nearby. Just that fat girl from earlier…

Wait.

No.

Surely not.

Ebba looked again, and tried to focus on the face. Through two panes of glass and across a street in Wintery darkness as midnight drew in, she squinted to see if the girl in Kebabland could possibly, somehow, possibly be…

It was. It was Miss Betty Bollingbrooke. If you ignore everything else and focus on the face, and it’s there. The eyes are the same, though they seem to drift more. As if swimming in interminable currents. The lips are the same, slender like shoelaces, without lipstick to embolden them. The eyebrows are the same, though there severity seems a little less directional now. It was her. This… mess of a human woman was the Betty Bollingbrooke. Ebba scrambled back for her phone and sent a text back, before putting her phone in her handbag, ready to meet her hero once more.

 

Omg she’s an angel

 

Through the cold early winter evening, Ebba strode out. She walked Roman road straight to the woman she’d been building up to, all her life. Betty Bollingbrooke was her Moby Dick. She didn’t realise it until Minnie said near the start of the academic year, but she was. And she was going to get her whale.

Time to delve into the Minnie playbook and read her lines and catch her very big fish.

 

“Oh my god Miss, is that you?”

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 

 

Betty’s first instinct wasn’t a clever one. It was the simplest one of them all. She didn’t respond. There was nobody else in the joint but Betty. And Betty was worth an ‘oh my god’ at this stage. And any student would refer to her as ‘Miss’. In fact, it had been a series of consecutive, back-to-back and successive miracles that no student hadn’t happen to happen upon her yet before. And yet, Betty’s first instinct was to close her eyes and hope beyond hope that the question “oh my god, is that you Miss?” was intended for somebody else.

It wasn’t. The owner of said voice was now pulling up a chair and looking dead at Betty. There was no place to hide. No sanctuary or solace to be found here. She’d been rumbled. The game was up. The very last night too, but Betty had been finally caught out by one of her own students. She looked up in horror to find out which one it was.

Ebba. Of all the ones, it had to be Ebba. Sickeningly attractive, like her body was crafted solely for the purpose of unflattering comparison. A wire puppet of somehow elegant gangle sat beneath glossy features and Scandi charm. She had met with this girl before. They had tutorials in Starbucks and chatted and been friendly. But this was not Starbucks and this was not how Betty wanted to be seen.

“Hey” Betty smiled the strongest smile that her weak mouth muscles could muster, heavy from the oh-fuck of it all.

“You teach me pragmatics this year” Ebba clarified. As if clarification was needed. As if Ebba wasn’t etched on the back walls of the memory banks of every individual who had the luxury of indulging to witness such a striking being.

“Yup. That I do” Betty said, not really knowing where to go from here. There was no route planner or Satnav to fall back on at this point. She was lost and in the wilderness here.

Aphrodite just looked at her with cattish glee.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it’s you. Wait til I get a photo of this. My friends are gonna shriek when they see this” Ebba said, switching her cameraphone of selfie mode and aiming it directly at the impossibly unflattering poise and pose of Betty. Four short, sharp flashes came next, with Ebba swinging around from one angle to the next, seeking undignified justice of the sight with which she had been presented.

The camera flashes died down, and Ebba looked at her phone with satisfaction. Her grin was irrepressible, unstiflable, infallible, as the reflection from her phone’s screen allowed a blueish glow to highlight her feature. Once satisfied, Ebba swung her giraffe legs around to get off the chair and sauntered triumphantly towards the door.

Betty had no choice but to cry now. There were just no other emotions left in her but sheer despair. For so long, she had pined for, toyed with and jostled playfully at the idea of her delicate house of cards all falling down. But this was it, for real. Not role-played. Not dabbled in. This was the feeling of her universe collapsing backwards unto itself. She thought of herself, looking as she did, on the last day of term. And then she thought of the photos that Ebba had just taken. And tears were impossible to prevent. Like a waterfall. Belinda Falls.

Ebba stiffened her jaw at the sound of the crying, a little piece of her twinging with the pain of it. But she couldn’t let it show in her stride, and her march towards the exit continued unabated, with the kompramat in tow.

“Please don’t do it Ebba! Please don’t show them that!” Betty sobbed, her famously joyful face contorting into anguish as the universe pulled a little further away from her.

“Please!” she continued, in a way that might be considered undignified, had dignity not been long-lost and long-departed.

“Wait!” she further wailed, desperation weakening the voice, turning it to intermittent.

“I’ll do anything!” she yelled, her eyes replaying every possible scenario in her head and only getting the same ‘oh shit, this is too bad to fathom’ error.

“I’ll give you a first!”

And Ebba stopped, right in the doorway.

 

The leonine brunette sat opposite her Pragmatics lecturer with a slyly satisfied grin scribbled on her face.

“A first?”

“Yeah. A first” her voice was weak. Hoarse from bawling. “I’ll give you a first. You won’t have to attend any lectures or workshops, nothing. Just keep it a secret and I’ll keep it a secret, and you’ll end this year with a first, without having to lift a finger. I promise.” It was desperate and wholly unethical, and the one-time unimpeachable teacher was compromising on every remaining moral that she had.

“Really? In every module this year?” Ebba asked, her eyes like headlights with the idea. This was not in the Minnie playbook. They were teetering on veering off course. But Ebba didn’t mind. This was new and this was thrilling. And this was all her own now.

Betty, on the other hand, was less thrilled. When making the offer, a final throw of the dice that had no statistical hope of rescuing the situation, she had only meant a first in the Pragmatics module. One module, Betty could fix. She could write the assignments herself, and then mark it as flatteringly as one might expect it to be marked, given how well Betty could write them. But all of them? This felt like borrowing from a loanshark to pay off another loanshark. This felt unsustainable. A downward spiral. But Betty was in no position to barter and, with every ounce of begrudgement she could dredge, committed to doing Ebba’s other assignments too. For all of her other modules. Until the year was out.

“Thanks Teach!” Ebba said, her youthful way of shaking on the deal. And she rose to leave the establishment once more. And, once more, she paused before she departed through the front doors. “Just one question… why are you like this? You’re normally so pretty and you used to be so thin?”

Betty’s waterworks charged up once more, unable to withstand that home truth.

“I mean, I’m not being funny, but I can’t believe it. I used to think you were so pretty, but I’m not being funny but you’re fat now, and you look embarrassing. I’d be embarrassed. Aren’t you embarrassed?”

Betty nodded, tears still in her eyes, dripping down her nose. She was embarrassed. She was ashamed of what she had so commitedly done to herself. She was ashamed of who she had become. How little backbone she had employed when fighting off all of this. Every excuse that she had made, every faux-justification to push on in this ultimately utterly futile direction. All of it, weak-willed. All of it, disappointing. Because that’s what she was. Disappointed with herself. She had let herself down. She had let down the 27 years preceding this one, and all of the hard work that involved. Because Ebba was right. Betty really was so pretty once. But that was so many pounds ago and now that wench was dead. I mean, just look at the state of her.

And here it came. The tsunami. Betty just unloaded every single detail that had lead up to this point. Searingly auto-biographical and unrelentingly honest, just allowed it all to fall out of her like an exhaled breath. Of bad influences and bad habits and bad impulses. Of greed, of lust, of avarice and of sloth. And of Lionel. The seed from which this whole tree sprung. She explained Lionel. Most of all, she explained Lionel. She explained how terrifying sleazy Lionel was and how she would do anything to make him stop, and how ‘anything’ included eating herself into an unrecognisable state of blubber. This wasn’t the victory that Ebba was hoping for. This was something more tragic, more lonely. She felt a little guilty for all of this.

“But why don’t you just report him?” Ebba asked, bewildered but showing tentative sympathy.

“Because he has been a lecturer for 30 years. Because he has published a dozen books. Because he was an outside bet for an MBE in the coming new year’s honours list. Some second year lecturer doesn’t stand a chance against him. No professional can touch him, no matter how much he touches us, because he is more important to the university than us.” Betty and Leona had had this conversation themselves, and they knew it always ended with this conclusion. He was an unmovable object and an unstoppable force. Atrophied to the roof of the building by the fossilisation of patriarchal bias.

“But why is he so important? Surely all that matters is that students come? That’s where there money comes from?” Ebba asked, shocked to see one man wield so much power over so many colleagues.

“Because his name and his lustre is what brings students to Brighton. They come for him,”

“But if a student complained, say, instead of a teacher, then the university would listen then. Because a student complaint would put off prospective students?” Ebba followed up, now showing signs of being clearly invested.

“Yeah, I guess. But I dunno, I think it’s just the teachers he creeps over. But if you know one, then yeah, I guess it would force the uni to act.” Betty acknowledged.

“Well, I ask because… because he’s exactly the same with me. And I didn’t… I didn’t know it was others too otherwise I would have said something but... and it’s been really bad the past few weeks. I think you’ve outgrown him and he’s focusing all his creepy energy on me.” Ebba confessed and Betty’s eyes bulged at the admission. The poor girl had suffered the same abuse. Betty wrapped a chilli stained and chubby arm around the impeccably presented student in consolation. Normally Ebba would repel such a gesture as the chilli would ruin her dress, but a rare moment of vulnerability descended on her after this confession and she just appreciated the warmth and support. Ebba herself began to cry, and her pristine make-up began to run.

“I’ll get him teach, I’ll report him and I’ll get him kicked out. And then you can go back to normal and stop looking, and smelling, like shit.” Ebba said with immutable resolve. “I’m gonna kick his fucking arse.”

Betty’s relief spread across her face and loosened her tightened shoulders. It cut through the Gordian knot of tension that had balled up in her stomach. Betty’s trademark in Kebabland was her pre-meal inhale, but this time she exhaled. And all her dread came out with that exhale of breath.

“So, let’s make a deal teach? You’ll give me a first and I won’t tell anyone about… this.” She said, gesturing at the teacher in her unkempt state. “And I’ll kick Lionel in the scrote by reporting him, but you’ll need to do something else for me”

“Anything Ebba. Anything”

And now, after a heartfelt detour, Ebba was back on script.

“I want you to take me out for a meal. For a date” Ebba said, and suddenly her nerves showed. Like Betty showing Ebba something she hoped nobody would ever see, Ebba revealed an aspect of her that nobody knew about. This regal queen of gallant beauty shrunk in her seat a little as her dominance melted into anxiety. “But not somewhere nice. No, here. And I want you to dress like you are. I want you dirty and depraved. Next Sunday. And bring your appetite. Umm… please.”

Betty was shocked, she had not seen it coming. And the date sounded horrifically distressing, utterly humiliating and not something Betty wanted. But Betty did not have the leverage to negotiate, and had to accept her fate. And besides, Ebba was astonishingly beautiful, even if a bit cold and surprisingly perverse. No, this might not be so bad. Something that started off horrifically might actually find some good come of it.

“Are you sure?” were the trembling words, quivering on the end of Betty’s lips.

“Yeah. I know you’re supposed to be losing weight from today” Ebba said, cupping Betty’s transfixed head. “But one more week won’t hurt of indulgence won’t hurt”.

“But I promised my friends...” weakly muttered, losing faith in itself as it reached her tongue.

“And one more lie won’t hurt” Ebba reassured. “One more of anything never hurts”.

[swahilimonkfish]

Chapter 26

 

 

With her hair up in a ponytail, Betty’s face had never looked so round. Hair pulled back sharply meant there was no optical illusion to distract the eye from the oval her face. There were cheekbones under there, sanded down to smoothness by the past 8 months of liberation. Her jawline was once a cliff-face; a sheer drop down into the waters of her sinewy neck. But now the boundaries were fuzzier, and everything felt a little more connected to the other parts of her face. The hair itself was getting subtly streakier with grey. Time was catching up on her. Grey on a 27 year old was of no grave concern, it was perfectly natural and inoffensive. But what Betty might have been worried about, had Betty been worrying, was the directionality of it all. The trajectory. A 27 year old looking 35 would fall within the broad parameters of normality, with some puddling beneath the eyes and some whittling away of her youthful bone structure at the cheeks, had she not looked a slip of a 19 year old thing just 1 year before. This solitary past one year of her life had wrought 16 of them upon her face, and it was that, the trajectory, that might have been alarming.

Normally, Betty would fear judgement in presenting herself at work like this. Just one more flicker to the uninitiated into what the real Betty Bollingbrooke looked like now. But this Monday morning, she didn’t mind. She didn’t care if Lionel’s eyes threw daggers at her, he was on the way out. His game was up, his number called. He could pare Betty’s existence down to just her physical output all he wanted, but Betty would just turn and smile back at him, knowing that he had run out of road.

Betty had similar faith in her choices when it came to outfitting herself. After an entire term of cloaking her physique in self-squishing Spanx, she decided to away with it. And go confine-free. With its compression, her body shape was undeniably apple-ing. It was clear to see when her hands were down her side, that her sides were no longer the convex indents of times gone by. Instead, her arms sat a little wider as the width of her person and the soft, sensuous outward swerve of her handles pushed them to rest out there.

Indeed, if there was an issue, it was that all this meant that her final size of clothing, the 16’s that she had purchased as a last gasp concession to a future that terrified her, were barely fitting her at all now. Her skirt was fine, except clasping it meant slipping it under her bundling stomach to do so. The material had stretch, but not so much to hug her at waist height. Her blouse was fine at trapping her body’s newfound habit of billowing beyond herself, except the bottom button on it should have been lower on her person. Combined, these two offences left an issue in the strait between the two of pale skin. With her hands down by her side as they were, it was no crisis. But a nervous lift of one arm to fiddle with the fringe she’d yanked sharply back on her head would see her stomach scoop itself out into the public, in the heath between where her blouse ended and her skirt began.

Again, this would have sent Betty into palpitations any other Monday. The complexity of her inner conflict would be laid bare as surges of erotic obsession from her downstairs and neurotic anxiety from her upstairs would battle out for agency over Betty’s decision making process. But these wars had been paused in a temporary and unstable truce. Because Betty didn’t worry what most of her students would think. She wouldn’t feel that jolt of shock as they took in her actual shape. Round. That shape being round. But there was only one student whose opinion Betty cared about, and Ebba had endorsed indulgence for one more week. One more secret. One more lie.

And with that, Betty checked the time to determine whether she could order breakfast before work. One more Betty meal wouldn’t hurt either.

 

Walking around Brighton Uni felt a little different this time. Weirdly enough, it felt lighter. She felt relieved to be herself, for one day. To let it all hang out, so to speak. Today was the last day she was allowed to admit aloud that she was fat. She could admit it to Lionel for the first time, and wipe that egregiously smug smirk off his smug smirking face. His days were finally numbered, even if day 0 would presumably be a long way away. She was liberated, unshackled and unburdened by his salacious judgement, free to be and to be fat.

Except, there was Leona and Wicky. She had all but pinky promised herself a life of virtue and abstinence from heretofore and onwards. If she looked beyond burgeoningly bulging today, that was fine. That was a consequence of her final hurrah. But, from today onwards, she was expected to be dieting. Trimming down. A new week, a new her. And all that jazz. She wouldn’t be able to flaunt her weight, since that would become exhibit A in the case against her flouting her diet. She had masqueraded as thinner for so long so as to keep up appearances, but now she would have to masquerade as thinner just to placate her closest friends.

And all of this left today. The day after one lie finished and before the next lie started. Today, Betty could strut around at her own size and there was nothing nobody could could goddamn do about it. One chance to fully revel in her form.

You see, the speed at which everything had happened had left Betty with very little time to acclimatise and adjust. She would wake up most mornings and, for a brief few seconds, think she was the skinny marathon running pixie of nine months ago. Then her headache would remind her of her drinking, her cough would remind her of her smoking and her stomach would remind her of her eating. The inertia of it pulling her back as she heaved herself of her bed. The chafing between the thighs when irritated flesh met irritated flesh. It all felt so new, so novel still. Every glance of a reflection still required a double-take. It was still thrilling and breath-taking, and it was still horrifying and nauseating. But Remus didn’t seem to mind, and Ebba seemed to like it. Two extraordinarily handsome people who were once in her league but now comfortably out of it, all doting on her with lustful infatuation. Remus loving her in spite of her figure. Ebba loving her because of it. Remus loving her because of who she was. Ebba loving her because of who she will become.

 

She turned heads while walking down corridors, but for different reasons than the old reasons. The double-takes were not of lust but of surprise. The rumours of her dramatic weight gain corroborated by the sight of her. The vision of nearly 200lbs on a 5ft6 girl was unmistakably hard to mistake. There were no two ways about it. Betty was formally changing the ‘t’s in her name to ‘l’s.

The first word spoken about it, however, was at lunch. With Leona.

“I’m having what I had last week, what about you Betz? The same?” Leona said, grabbing the McDonald’s tray and looking at her friend. A paranoid person might think this was a test, it was Leona gauging whether Betty had already become untethered to her bandwagon. And that paranoid person would have been right.

“I can’t, I’m afraid. Diet, and all that. Just a Grand Big Mac, fries, McFlurry and a milkshake for me” Betty said, limply. Yet again, Betty of nine months ago would have baulked at such an amount ordered still, with its 1700 calories being a decent step over her RDA, in just one meal, even if she wasn’t dieting. But, when held up against recent times, it felt like a crash-diet. A cigarette might help.

“Wow, I’m impressed. You’ll plateau out in no time” Leona stated, aiming for affection but forgetting to completely drop the acid.

“Plateau? I’m hoping to shed some. I’m feeling a little large today” Betty said, feigning self-consciousness because she simply couldn’t help herself. That meeting last night with Ebba had sparked something in Betty’s libido and it was firing up again.

“Yeah, you do look big today Betz, gotta say” Leona said, despite being more than twice as big. “I remember when I got back from France and saw you for the first time, and I thought you looked big then. It looked weird on you then, like it was almost fake. It still looks weird on you now, but it doesn’t look fake. It looks like your body is adapting to it. Like it’s settling in. To stay.”

“To stay?” Betty almost batted her eyelids. She was trying to behave like old Betty, though she didn’t know whether this was to convince Leona of her rehabilitation or something more manipulative.

“Yeah. I did warn you. It’s hard to turn a vehicle around that has as much momentum behind it as you” Leona said, sympathetically.

“Do you think I’ll gain weight before I lose then?” Betty asked, stirring her milkshake innocently. “Cos, I’m worryingly close to 180” she added with sharp dishonesty, intentionally undervaluing her weight by 15 or so pounds. The guilt cut a little deep, but she was getting used to that particular pain. Learning to understand it. Love it even. Plus, another cigarette could numb her a little. She opened her packet and found only one more left in there, which a thinking girl might have been surprised at, since she bought the 20-pack on her way to work this morning.

“Maybe, but the important thing is that you’re taking this seriously again. You’ll come good in the long run. And speaking of which, maybe long runs might help. Have you thought about couch to 5k, like your GP said?”

“5k? Am I really going to have to start from as low as just 5 kilometres? I dunno, maybe” Betty blushed. She still had it in her mind that she could run further than that.

“Well, be patient. We’re all supporting you” Leona said, and Betty smiled away her guilt, before biting into her burger. But, with her eyes on a later prize.

 

The later prize came an hour later, after Leona had made her heavy march back to University, and Betty was free from her imposed shackles once more. There was no hesitation, no contemplation or self-reflection. She didn’t weigh up and pros or cons. She waited until Leona had crossed the road and ventured out of sight, and then she ordered her Uber to Kebabland.

Twenty minutes later, Betty put her two recently purchased bottles of wine on her preferred table and placed her two recently acquired cheeks down on her preferred seat, as Ahmed prepared her eponymous meal. She pulled out a cigarette from her recently bought packet, and began sending a message on her phone. To Ebba.

 

Just want to check you are alright and good for Sunday still

 

Smiley face? Really? Betty scrolled up on her phone to see the four other unanswered messages that she had already sent Ebba. She contemplated spiralling at the thought of this. Had Betty completely misread the situation? Ebba was a student, and she was far too good looking for a girl like Betty whatsmore. Maybe all this time with Minnie had left Betty looking for signs that weren’t there, treating everything as a kink. Maybe Ebba was just trying to be empathetic. A friend. Supportive to her distress. Maybe just a good Samaritan. But Betty had leapt to the interpretation that they were going to have a sexually charged date in which Betty’s weight gain was a perk.

She was destroying herself on a hunch. Sabotaging friendships and betraying trusts on an inkling. The idea that Ebba could be a surrogate Minnie was immature, but Betty had over-commitedly jumped to this conclusion, and was now lying to everyone in response. Maybe Betty just wanted the excuse. Maybe Ebba hadn’t given off those signs and Betty just found them anyway because she wanted them. She wanted justification to give in a little more, and looked for it where it wasn’t. The truth was, Betty would have cared more, had there not just been food placed in front of her.

“And you won’t tell anyone about me eating this Ahmed? It has to be our little secret” Betty said, and the proprietor just smiled in deference as Betty went about adding 20 units of alcohol and 7700 calories to her diet and sobriety.

Betty was one bottle of wine, 7 hours of Betty meal and 8 cigarettes into her midday snack when Remus finally wandered in.

“So how’s the diet going?” he asked, daring himself a kiss on her cheeks between her mouthfuls, as if they were an established couple. She had her mouth too full to protest.

“Hey handsome, you starting or finishing a shift?” Betty asked, between chews.

“Finished a shift. Thought we could have the afternoon at my place again” he proposed, always worried he was crossing a line.

“Depends. Has your mum left you cheesecake?”

“No, but I bought one for you. Just in case” he said, blushing. “I mean, if that’s what you want?”

“Fuck yeah, we have a deal. I will make a feeder of you yet Remus” Betty smiled, before pausing. “But, seriously, would you be okay if I kept gaining weight? Because… well, I dunno. I might stop after this week. But, it depends how some things go. But at what point would you mind?”

Remus puffed his cheeks out in thought, and sat down. “As long as you’re still Betty, I guess”

“Well, I’ve not been Betty for a long time. I mean, look at me Remus. Really, look at me. This, this isn’t the girl you fancied any more. She’s been taken out to pasture, and been replaced with this cow. I mean, just look at this. These aren’t curves. They’re bulges. They’re pockets of fat. Look at this face...”

“Why are you being like this Betty?” he asked, a little angrily. “You know I like you, okay?”

“But, I mean, why? Like, is it the memory? The idea that the fossils of who you liked is buried under all this? Why?” Betty pressed.

“I don’t know, okay? I have no fucking clue? I just no my heart races when I’m near you. Okay? I just feel different near you. The thought of you. The anticipation of you. I set my clock to you, I mark my calendar to you. When I get out of bed, I get out easily, because I’m hoping to see you. So stop trying to protect me like I’m some little boy. I’m a grown man and I know when I love someone” the words burst out of him like water mains, and his chest continued heaving after the words were gone.

“I’m going on a date. On Sunday. With someone. Maybe. I don’t… I really wish you hadn’t said the ‘l’ word. I don’t want you to become too invested in me. I warned you not to. I just...” Betty sighed, tearfully. She would have sounded more sympathetic without the intermittent chewing.

“A date?” Remus sounded crestfallen.

“Maybe. I may have misread the signs. But I have to tell you the truth. I’m lying to everyone else. But you’re innocent in all this. You deserve better...”

“Stop saying that...”

“And maybe it’s nothing. But I feel like we’ve been getting more and more real. And you haven’t signed up for the weird stuff. This girl, Ebba, I think… hope that she doesn’t mind it. But you… you put up with it. And that’s… that’s just not something sustainable” Betty looked at him tenderly as he crumpled into his seat.

“You don’t like me?”

“No, Remus. I do. But you don’t like me” Betty said, her heart-aching from over-indulgence and from sadness.

“Bollocks. I do. Please stop telling me what I do and do not like. I like you. I love you. Okay? You’re not a mirage. You’re… you’re Betty. Cute and depraved and makes no excuses for being who she is. Kind to others and cruel to herself. Betty. That’s who Betty is, from what I can see. And I kinda love her for it.”

Betty began to wilt a little, herself, while Remus continued.

“How about a little try-before-you-buy? Go on your date. Do what you like. And I’ll wait. I’ll be your bit on the side. Another reason to lie to people. And if you really want to spend 100% of this time with this person, then dump me. Throw me in the trash. But… if you only wanna spend 90% of your time with this person, then please… spend the remaining 10% with me. Because that’ll be enough for me. I can get by on that.”

“That sounds like I’m cheating on her. Or you. Or… I’m not even sure” Betty scowled with tears still in her eyes.

“Cheating on someone? Sounds like one for the Betty bucket list. Sounds like your kind of vice” Remus smiled again, hoping he’d got the mood music right on the conversation. Betty exhaled deeply.

“Fine. Okay. I’ll keep on seeing you. But it better be a big fucking cheesecake” she said, before smiling and laughing.

 

On Tuesday, Betty had stopped being the centre of gossip. The sharp beam of limelight had focused elsewhere, instead diverting itself to the elder statesman of the department. Roger heard shouting from Lionel’s office, accusation and confrontation. Melissa swears blind that she saw Lionel being physically escorted off the university grounds. Nadiya is convinced she heard the words “suspended without pay pending investigation”.

Leona stood in front of Betty with a big smile on her face, and Betty knew. An eruption of glee sparked across Betty’s face like fireworks and she launched into a wild hug of her best friend. The hug was tight, fiercely vice-gripping her with delight. With relief. With hope. With trauma. Betty pushed her face into Leona’s plush shoulders without relinquish her bind, and the waterworks began to flow.

“Look, I love you Betz and I’m so glad for you. For us really. And fuck that guy and all the rest. But… could you let go. You’re not as light as you used to be” Leona eked out.

“Oh sorry, I kinda lost myself there” Betty said, her wet face sparkling with teary happiness.

“I don’t blame you. It’s over Betz. It’s all over” Leona said, and hugged her back, crying a little herself this time.

“I heard it was a student” Betty said as she fell into Leona’s arms. She didn’t hear such a rumour at all. But she knew. She knew it was Ebba.

“Good. I mean, it’s not good for the… but still. Just glad it’s over. And you know what this means?” Leona said, her face as soft with compassion as it was soft with fat. “You can go back to being the old Betty without the worries”.

“Yeah, we can” Betty smiled back.

“No. No, I tried dieting and it didn’t work for me. But you, Betty, you were never cut out for this. And you can go back. Back to being the real you. And not have to worry about… anything any more. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Leona asked with rising inflection that opened itself to interpretations of doubt.

“No. Yeah, I mean. Definitely. Really glad. Truly” Betty lied while meeting Leona’s affectionate look.

“Good, because I’d been feeling so guilty about all of this. It was my fault, my idea for you to… I’m just glad that I didn’t cause any lasting harm. Thanks Betty. I sometimes worry I don’t deserve you as a friend” Leona said, while stroking her friend’s hair.

“You do, Leona. You do so much” Betty said with affection.

“Oh, I know I do. I sometimes worry, but I don’t worry know. I know I’m awesome enough to be your friend” Leona laughed, and Betty laughed with her. It was nice to see Leona confident. It was just a shame that it came with a side serving of accidental guilting. “I tell you what. Let’s celebrate! How do Krispy Kremes sound?”

“But I’m on a diet?” Betty asked weakly, hoping to be overriden.

“A few doughnuts to celebrate our psychological abuser being finally held to account I think is okay” and Betty’s face burst into smiles once again.

 

“Wow, hungry?” Leona smiled at her friend loading the last bite of the latest doughnut into her mouth. It was chocolate and sprinkled, but Betty didn’t let the flavours last long in her tongue before her automated swallowing action took hold.

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t eat much breakfast. Just salmon on wilted spinach” Betty said sheepishly, looking at how she’d gotten through a 12 pack all by herself in the time Leona had only eaten half a dozen. And Leona was noted eater of foods. And the breakfast thing was a lie. Now, in the old days, it would have been truthful. It was one of her favourite breakfasts and, on heavy training days, she would always opt for the spinach’s slow energy release. But that was a different time. This morning, she had continued her habit of a Betty meal for breakfast.

And if we’re reminiscing, it should be noted that there was also a time when Betty set herself a target of three Minnie meals in one day. She set it as a moon shot. As the epitome of ambition, knowing that, should she be approaching that, she was crossing a threshold. It was the final bus-stop and the last chance to get off, and she had sworn to herself that she would stop when she got there. However, hindsight would wryly observe at this interlude that she didn’t stop when she got there. Lacking the definitive point when it happened, she had now drifted to a place where she was eating three turbo-charged Skinny meals (in the form of her own Betty meals), plus the world’s largest McDonald’s order, plus heavy snacking, plus twice as much wine as she should be drinking in a week, in a day. And she was doing it on the regular.

“Don’t worry yourself. You deserve it. We all do. Let’s think of today as something of a… free hit, perhaps?” Leona smiled as she said it, enjoying acknowledging it.

“Well, after this next twelve pack, do you fancy getting a Betty meal? That feels like a very free hit thing to do” Betty smiled naughtily, feeling her knees press against each other. Leona just smiled. Today was a good day.

 

Wednesday followed Tuesday, as it often does, and Betty was feeling worse for wear. Having a free hit on a school night can have ramifications, and Betty could feel and name every one of those ramifications as she stepped into the lift to the top floor of her building for her second lecture of the day. The pounding of regrets against her head felt like the drums from the deep. Regret could be tasted on her tongue, in the ache of her shoulders, and the heaviness of her steps. Although, her heaviness perhaps also contributed to that.

At least, the glare of daylight was diluted by the wraparound shades that she was wearing. She was not really the sunglasses type of girl but, if she did, they’d always been dainty things to perch on the end of her dainty nose on her dainty face, atop a dainty body. These days, something chunkier and wider felt more appropriate on her. Even if appropriate wasn’t the word that sprang to mind when seeing a lecturer teach whilst still wearing them. It made things hurt less and, besides, who was going to reprimand her? Lionel?

The rest of her appearance tested the definition of appropriate also, made bedraggled by her disgruntlement with the earliness of the morning. Make-up was made a luxury item she could ill afford after sleeping through her alarm. Brushing her hair the same. Her clothes, yesterday’s size 16’s with the creases from yesterday’s exertions and the tightness from a half-year of wolfing down and pigging out. The reflection from the mirror in the elevator was rudely representative of her appearance, and she gave herself sneering side-eye in disgust at how she looked. Then, to spite the reflection further, she reached into her handbag and grabbed some flapjack and began eating.

“Wait, hold the lift for us” shouted a girl as she scampered towards the closing doors. Betty obliged, and bought enough time for the girl to get on. It was some final year student that she’d taught two years ago, but couldn’t remember her name.

“There you go” Betty smiled, regretting biting such a large chunk of flapjack now.

“Thanks, Miss… Betty? Oh my god, you taught us first year, it’s...” the girl said, introducing her name to Betty, who didn’t really listen. She was too busy chewing syrupy oats.

“Yeah, I remember. Good to see you. How’s the dissertation going?” Betty asked, talking another bite. She spotted the girl trying to steal glances at Betty’s newly physique and comprehend, and worked to conceal a smile.

“Uhh… oh, the dissertation. Yeah, good. I guess. Umm… this is my stop” the girl said, awkwardly, rushing off at the first floor, despite that being the engineering floor. Betty smiled to herself, enjoying how ashamed she should be feeling right now, and how awkward she made that poor girl. What did she think, barely able to recognise her after just over a year? Shock? Confusion? Horror? Or just pregnancy? Oh god, Betty smirked guiltily, maybe the girl thought Betty was pregnant. And the thought of being mistaken for being heavily pregnant encouraged Betty to throw the last bite of flapjack in her mouth and pull out and start on another one.

Just as the doors hushed to close, thin ebony fingers kept the ajar. Betty sighed, thinking all these people getting on and off would make her late. She should have just taken the stairs. But, then again, the stairs seemed less enticing than they used to.

“Sorry love, just wanna go up… oh, Betty” the dark-haired girl said that got on, her green eyes scanning the teacher with rather less abashedness.

“Minnie” Betty greeted, her head looking down now in awkwardness. Of all the people to want to get on at this floor, it had to be her.

Minnie sat next to her, and Betty could sense, though not see since she had averted her eyes, Minnie approving how much width Betty was taking up these days. Standing next to her in the lift, the pair of them took much of the width of it. And Minnie was looking increasingly slender these days. This happened instead of talking, just Betty hoping for the number of her floor to arrive sooner than ever.

That didn’t happen however, because, between the second and third floor, Minnie pushed the emergency stop button. Betty’s eyes widened at the sharp, metallic clunking of grinding gears.

Through the elevator emergency intercom, a male voice spoke through:

“Excuse me, your lift seems to have stopped. Somebody appears to have activated the emergency stop?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I just want to take a moment” Minnie replied, giggling.

“No, you can’t do that, I’m afraid. This lift is for everyone’s usage and abusing the system...”

“Look here, love. I’ll deal with the consequences some other time, okay? But I’m having a private moment with a lecturer I used to fuck, so how about you quit your whittering Brian, and stop sounding like such a virgin” Minnie spat back.

The intercom system went quiet at this point.

“Don’t worry about it Betz. Brian won’t grass. One of the perks of being thin again is that he’ll do anything for me” Minnie said, rubbing her hands down her side once more. She did that a lot these days. “I’m sure you remember what that’s like. I bet that’s how he was with you last year.”

“Ahhh, a fat joke?” Betty laughed.

“I wouldn’t call you that. Even though… gotta say Betz, you’re looking kinda husky these days. How’s the diet going?” Minnie said, leaning towards Betty. Betty winced a little as she did, as the hairs on their arms touched. As she felt her breath on her face.

“Good. Quite well. Had… well, a cheat day yesterday, because of Lionel...” Betty stammered as Minnie finally made contact, rubbing Betty’s arms with her cold finger.

“Ah yes, Lionel. He’s gone now. No reason not to diet all this away. Is there?” Minnie teased with husky breaths, drawing closer to her as if she were encroaching on her prey.

“Please, there are cameras in here” Betty objected.

“Yeah, but Brian likes to watch. Now, you said this diet is going okay but, you seem to be eating flapjack...” Minnie said, finally letting her arms wrap around Betty and going in for a kiss. Minnie was always an excellent kisser, passionate and aggressive without being clumsy. The trick was in her grip, her sharp nails around the neck tightly bound like talons. Minnie felt herself sucked in, before pulling away for breath.

“Yeah, baby steps, I guess. But, I’m losing weight and that’s the important thing, right?” Betty said, innocently. Cynically. Lying. To herself and to Minnie.

“How much have you lost then, love” Betty felt her breath trapped as Minnie’s famously cold hands slithered snakily down the silhouette of her form. Her stomach muscles, or what was left of them, tensed as Minnie got closer and closer

“Are you though? You don’t look lighter?”

“I am. Lost 2lbs so far” Betty lied with a taut chest. Minnie slithered her tongue slowly down her cheek.

“Are you lying, Betty Bollingbrooke?” Minnie seeped.

“No. 1 or 2lbs” Betty tried to hold firm, every muscle in her body on edge as Minnie marshalled it lasciviously.

“1 or 2lbs? The numbers are dropping. It’s either two pounds or it’s not. If you’re bartering with the truth, then it isn’t the truth. So let’s try again, shall we love? How’s the diet going?” The Yorkshire accent melting like warm butter in Betty’s ear.

“Fine. Good. I’ve lost one or two pounds” Betty said obstinately, stubbornly, digging her heels in, refusing to budge. Minnie pulled back as she said it, at first in shock. Then, when her eyes scanned Betty’s body up and down and up again, a crooked smile broke out.

“Ooo, we’re playing it like that, are we? I like it. This… this is fun, Betz. So you’re telling me this girl is about 170lbs?”

“Yeah” Betty said, a quiver in the tail-end revealing her dishonesty.

“Cos I still think you’re lying to me” Betty made her move then, a sharp thrust of her arms took them down her stomach, which flinched when they felt her touch. Then, gradually, they spider-crawled down to the button at the top of her work trousers.

“I wouldn’t do that” Betty gulped.

“What about the drinking? You quit that like you promised?” Minnie said, looking up at Betty’s sunglasses. Betty pulled them off and put them in her handbag, which she dropped onto the floor. Minnie looked at her eyes, spilt red ink of bloodshot through them and wincing at the light.

“Yeah, clean for nearly two weeks now” Betty said with a squint. Then an eruction of involuntary air gasped itself out as Minnie’s cold hands finally undid the button on Betty’s trousers, and felt her stomach sink down again into the space left behind.

“Bullshit. What about the smoking?”

“I quit” Betty ramped up the lies to the point of almost farce, challenging Minnie in this Mexican stand-off to break the impasse. Minnie needed no second invitation. Her cold hands slipped under the slight overhand that Betty presented, and slowly shifted to the right spot, and began to coax stifled murmurs.

“You know what I think, love?” Minnie said, teeth gnashed tensely as she grappled with the teacher. “I think you’re more. And that you’re lying to protect the narrowing peninsula of remaining dignity you have left. I think you’re not 170lbs and I think you’re not even 175… I’m gonna guess… 180?”

Betty’s mumble was incoherent, but it told her that she wasn’t there yet. So to speak.

“185?” Minnie said, with another sparked smile. Again no confirmation, but Betty’s muscles tightened.

“Fucking hell… 190?” And Betty nodded fiercely, whimpering.

“191. I said 175 but it was 191. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice” Betty could scarcely enunciate.

“I think, my love, that you woefully underestimate just how fucking fat you’ve gotten. Like, just fucking hell, Betz” Minnie made no effort to portray her glee elsehow.

“But I can lose weight. I can… get back” Betty stammered, puppyishly whimpering.

“Fuck off. You’ve gone. Toppled. You can’t. It’s too late. If you could, you’d have started by now, cos you have no excuse not to. But you’ve been looking for excuses, haven’t you? Fabricating them, when they’re not there, haven’t you?” Minnie said, before pausing with thought and no little concern. “You’re okay though, aren’t you?”

“Yeah?”

“Because, when I reached 190, that was it. I got my matchbox out and scorched every bridge behind me. I delved into an abyss. I thought I had no shot of redemption so I stopped looking for one. So I wanna check you’re okay” Minnie asked, showing something resembling concern.

“I’m fine. Honest. I’m… who cares? I don’t, why do you?” Betty said, shocking herself with that abrupt admission. And Minnie stepped back, shocked. At Betty. At herself. She remembered back to what Rutherford said. About how lucky Betty was that Minnie didn’t care about her. That Minnie would let the girl be ruined, and not stop to care. Not like she did more and more with Ruthers. Minnie cared about Rutherford. So why was she concerned about Betty, about whom she didn’t care? Betty, who had the luxury of not being cared about and nothing to stop her leaning back and falling. Minnie gnashed her teeth once more, resolve restored, and went in for the kill.

“When does your next lesson start, love?”

“About a minute ago”

“Well, you’re gonna have to apologise when you arrive, cos you’re gonna be late Betty Bollingbrooke. Now, how many flapjacks have you got left?”

“Just two”

“Well, don’t worry, I have a pack of six doughnuts”

“Wait, you just keep six doughnuts on your person at any one time?” Betty said, with a cocked eyebrow.

“Quit the sass, fatty. Now, what about alcohol? Cos you clearly still drink” Minnie seemed laser-like in her focus.

“My waterbottle is actually gin and tonic” Betty winced as she conceded it. Minnie’s face lit up in joy. That felt like a red flag. And Minnie loved red flags.

“And cigarettes?”

“I have a couple of packs in there”

“So how much do you smoke? More than a pack a day?” Minnie could barely believe what she was hearing, in the best possible way.

“The past few days, more than two” Betty let the truths tumble out, like a burst dam.

“Oh… we’re gonna have some fun. And you are gonna miss your next lesson, I’m afraid Betz”

 

And she did. She missed the entire two hour session. The students had fortunately been notified. Brian from security sent an email saying that Betty had been held up and couldn’t make it. And then he settled back down in front of his monitors, with his headphones in, and enjoyed the show. It wasn’t his usual bag, there was a disturbing unorthodoxy about the whole thing that felt more deviant than he could understand. But, besides the eating and the strangest of sextalk, it was quite a good show. They paired well, with Minnie’s ferocious animalism and Betty’s gasping submissive tendencies. And sure, both of them had seen better days. Brian could remember when Minnie started, for example. In the high-waisted jeans, with them glimmering eyes. There was no denying it, even after her monumental weight loss, she was a good 55lbs heavier than her peak. And Betty had seen better days. She was going the way of Leona. But in a darker, more destructive way. All that beautiful, tight skin, puffing up uglily. Nothing firm, everything with give. But it was quite a show that Minnie put on for him still. She always did.

And the class that followed had no idea what mill Betty had been put through. Though, the clues were there. The broken sunglasses, discarded in her handbag. The messy hair, wild and mangled. The puffy face with a Saturn ring of cream and sugar around the mouth. The hastily put on blouse, with buttons not done all the way down to her cleavage, and a shirt ridden up at the bottom, making it a glorified boob-tube. The trousers, with their buttons undone and the flaps of them spread-eagled under the sinking stomach. It was in the missing sock on one foot. It was the cigarette that was in her mouth, inappropriately being smoked in a lecture theatre. A grievous offence committed by the cheerleading of alcoholic confidence, as the hair of the dog de-sobered her rapidly. It was the way she slumped in her chair with exhaustion and panting breath as she read the slides out lifelessly. Those were the clues. And they may not have known what was going on, but they knew enough to file complaints after the lesson.

 

Betty finally saw Ebba on Thursday. She was a hard girl to find but a harder girl to miss. Despite her grace and elegance, there was something instinctively arched about her back, permanently hiding her height behind the slightest of stoops. But she still rose above the majority of the canopy, her Dusty Springfield dusty blonde hair a distinctive sight even amongst all the fashion faux-pas and glow-pas of university style.

Alas, Betty saw her, but from the wrong end of a corridor. That was the thing about the St. Stephen’s Building. It’s irritantly corridor-centric shape. As long and thin as Ebba was, and the poor, portly teacher was placed at the long, thin, tired-looking corridor’s opposing end. Immediately, Betty saw and hustled towards the white rabbit of Ebba. Throngs of students lined the corridors, and Betty immediately got to wiggling her way through. The students, so blissfully in their own world as ever, would sit down or lean against the walls of the place and chat without a thought outside of the phatic conversation that they were having. Their first notice of Betty and her attempts to slalom between them would be the subtle brushing of her softened derrière as she passed. They would turn and see her and, as can happen when a teacher eats themselves to the point of being unrecognisable, not recognise her. They would get the rear-view perspective of a wide-ish woman in ill-fitting clothes and puckered flesh sausage-squeezed out to the sides round her waist, and an arse with globular shape and rhythmic bounce.

And then they’d see, as the corridor cleared in front of her, this well-proportioned lass break out into a run to chase after her model love interest. Well, perhaps run flatters to the point of deception. Perhaps canter would be more apropos. Heck, make it simply a trot. The teacher may have aspired to run, but she simply perspired to jog after the object of her affection. And doing so, she was confronted with hurtful truths. Truths such as the sound made as her dainty feet clunked onto the floor with all the grace of a grand piano mashing itself against the sidewalk. Truths such as the sensation of her body responding to the forces of exertion as she prevailed to travail, with all the sloshiness of an egg-and-spoon race but with a jug of gravy. Just so much more sway and lag and drag as she pounded the floor to get to the closing elevator doors that housed Ebba.

Ebba saw the doors stop and Betty flop inside, red-cheeked and panting.

“Are… are you okay teach?” Ebba asked, touched with concern.

“Y… yeah. Just… lemme… get my breath… back”

“I mean, you look like you’re about to pass out?”

“It’s… I’m fine. I can… it was only 100m” Betty justified, glad they were the only two in there. She could feel cold beads of sweat dripping down her forehead and could hear the drumbeat of her cresting and collapsing breaths.

“40 metres, teach” Ebba clarified with a flinch of enjoyment.

“Fuck! Was it? You sure? Fuck! Shit, I mean… just fuck. I can’t have gotten that unfit. How?” she asked, pulling out a cigarette without any self-awareness.

Then, she slammed the emergency stop button on the lift to pull the thing to a metallic close. Fairly immediately, a familiar voice barked through the intercom.

“You appear to have performed an emergency stop...”

“Oh, fuck off Brian. After yesterday, you’re really gonna start with that shit” Betty chuntered with fire for words.

“Oh. Well… you still shouldn’t smoke in these things… if you could put that cigarette...”

But his protestation was cut short by Betty’s pointed middle finger directed straight at the camera in the corner of the lift. And that was the last time she heard of Brian.

“So, Ebba… we still on for Sunday cos you haven’t responded to my texts and...” Betty redirected her attentions to Ebba, and her voice lost all its previous strident confidence as she looked up at Ebba, swan-diving down to not much more than a whimper.

“Yeah, about that...” Ebba said, looking at her nails.

“Oh. Okay then” Betty said, swallowing her emotions with a hearty gulp.

“Look, I think maybe it’s not a good idea...” Ebba said quietly.

“Maybe. I mean, if you… I guess” Betty shrugged, and suddenly began remembering all that she had wrought upon herself this past week, and now the realisation of how futile it was all about to become.

“It’s just that...”

“No, I understand” Betty closed her eyes in regret as it all dawned on her.

“I asked you to continue putting on weight. And you haven’t” Ebba shrugged.

“Wait, what? But I have?” Betty suddenly scowled back.

“Not really. It’s all a bit pathetic really”

“I mean, I’ve been eating three Betty meals a day. And a McDonald’s. And a whole cheesecake, come to think of it. And snacking constantly at work. And drinking. I mean, I’ve tried” Betty pleaded.

“Is that all?”

“Is that… is that all? Are you kidding? Are you fucking kidding me? Is that all? I’ve… that’s an inhuman amount for a one off, and I’ve been doing it non-stop. I’ve… these are size 16s I’m wearing and they don’t even pretend to fit. I was a size 0 at the end of last year...”

And it was at that point in the rant that Ebba’s poker face showed a chink of weakness, a quiet flex of the muscles around her mouth to reveal a quickly hidden half-smile as Betty rattled off her decline. Betty spotted it immediately and recognised the game and its rules. So she continued.

“I mean, I just ran… no, jogged… 40 metres down a corridor and I swear to god I feel sick. I’ve never been… and I ran a marathon back in April. Fast too. My thighs actually chafe, like they’re actually sore from just that. And I must be getting close to 200lbs, I’m sure of it...”

Ebba’s eyes could not contain themselves at that point, leaping out of her eyes in cartoonish fashion at the mention of 200. Betty, for her part, had cottoned on to the fact that such a number was on the horizon a ways back, but only when she saw Ebba’s reaction that the enormity of it hit her. 200lbs. Her, Betty Bollingbrooke, at 200lbs. At that point, she didn’t blame Ebba’s eyes for boggling.

But she did take the moment to press herself against Ebba and lean in for a kiss. Ebba immediately pushed her away and wagged her finger with chastisement at the surprised Betty.

“Nuh-huh-uh. No touching, Betty. I want you hungry for my touch come Sunday” Ebba insisted curtly.

“Oh. So there’s gonna be a date on Sunday after all?” Betty said, amaused.

“Well, maybe. If you pull your act together. But I expect more than this...” Ebba gestured at the bloated teacher. And Betty settled into a rhythm and embarked on a hands-free sexual experience with Ebba in the lift as she explained each and every one of her physical changes since she walked into Kebabish that time way back in early May, vowing that this time it would be different.

 

And, despite the play-teasing being just that, silly and playful, Betty took it as instruction to double down yet further on her gluttony. To almost Rutherford levels. To really make a show for Ebba. To commit as fully to her as Betty did to everything.

Leona was quietly judgemental at the size of Betty’s portions at McDonald’s that day, going back up to similar scales as her friend. She didn’t say anything, but made a mental note of it. And Remus, for his part, was somewhat surprised when he heard his girlfriend suggest a third Betty meal in the afternoon as well as the now customary cheesecake. Though, at this point, surprise just slid off him like grease off a greased surface.

Friday followed this same pattern, with her lifting her game to these near uncharted levels of feasting oblivion. She could feel it with each breath she took feeling like it needed more coercion than the last, squeezing it out like a wrung sponge. But she kept pushing, now accustomed to the feelings and requirements of her own physical limitations tumbling and being left in the dust. Further and further she burrowed, leaving herself and all else in her wake.

Saturday took a little more subterfuge. Leona and Wicky would usually visit on a Saturday, and sneaking in calories against these eagle-eyed sentry guards would take craft and deceit. Fortunately, Betty knew they were coming and had squeezed in a second Betty meal by lunch, so when they came round for lunch, their proposed measly portions were almost welcomed. Still, further manipulation and cunning were required, so she upped her dishonesty and betrayal game accordingly with the blatant mistruth of claiming that she was going ‘out for a walk’. It seemed like a believable lie, the kind so pathetic that it must contain kernels of truth. Betty confessing that her idea of exercise was walking would be so humiliating that Leona and Wiktoria wouldn’t even think that the truth was worse than that. And, instead, she walked round the corner and then Ubered to Ahmed for a third time.

The pay-off came later, after her return, when Leona and Wiktoria claimed she’d earnt a Betty meal as a reward for her diligence. Betty weakly declined, hoping to be over-riden, and then had a hard job hiding her smile when she was. And the weekend continued in this vein, with lies and greed its hallmark as the hours bled into one another and her date with Ebba drew close. And Betty stood in front of her wardrobe, stark naked, looking for something to wear. And knowing, full well, that nothing did.

[swahilimonkfish]

Been neglecting this story, what with everything going on. But here's a short chapter for you, just to show I haven't forgotten about this story.

Chapter 27

 

 

“Do you want to buy anything?” Ahmed said with a smile to the tall, blonde girl. It had been showing all the hallmarks of a busy shift by Sunday standards, and the sight of his favourite and dearest cash cow at made it a particularly fruitful start.

“Ummm… I guess I should. Do you have a bottle of water?” Ebba ran her hand through her auric tresses, flashing a naughty smile at him.

“Water? I guess. Let me check. People don’t normally order water at Kebabland!” Ahmed laughed, before rummaging through the fridge behind the cans of pop to meet the Swede’s order. “Ah. Here we are. That will be… let’s call it a quid”.

Ebba grabbed the water and sat down at the table opposite her date. Her date. To Ebba, those words felt rather intimidating. Like dried toast at the back of the throat, irritating. To Betty it sounded mischievous and exciting.

Ahmed observed the two girls sitting across from one another. It was all a little weird, but it was hard not to get attached to Betty Bollingbrooke. She was always disarmingly endearing, no matter how hard she tried not to be. And it was strange to see her flirting with someone so prototypically attractive, so successfully. Especially since, as far as he knew, she was going out with one of his Deliveroo-ers. But, as ever, it was weirdly endearing.

“If you’re hungry, you can have a bite of mine. It’s nice. If you like carbs. It’s really carb-y” Betty smiled while chewing giraffe-like on clumps of molten cheese.

“No. Thanks. Appreciate the offer but… some of us have got to maintain our figures” Ebba said with a spurt of dominance that sat uncomfortable on her. The words felt like they were parroted, not her own.

“Same” Betty smiled, dissolving the tension that Ebba was trying to ratchet up, before diving back down into her meal and troughing.

“Like your outfit by the way. Please tell me that used to fit you” Ebba said, looking at Betty’s clothing choices. Because, if they once did, then they surely didn’t any more. Clothes disintegrating on her body, splitting under the pressure of the swelling mass within. A flowery blouse, but the flowers mapped out each bulge with cartographic insistence. A plaid skirt that was not keen on having to encircle so much stomach. Navy leggings stretched so thin they could give Ebba a run for her money.

“This? No, this didn’t fit. It was much too large” Betty laughed, enjoying the bout of jousting. Her mouth still going with food. “Funny thing is, I actually borrowed it from Leona on the day before I started term. Can you believe it? Size 10. And it was actually too big but I figured I might grow into it if I didn’t keep my eating in check. Two months later and ta-da! Mission accomplished!”

At this point, Betty leant back and allowed Ebba a look at her prize. And quiet words slipped out of Ebba’s mouth unguarded.

“Can I touch you?”

Betty laughed heartily, before cocking her head sideways, enticingly.

“I’d love that, Ebba. But not in a public place. I don’t want to make a fool of myself. I have dignity you know” Betty teased, knowing full well that dignity and herself were no longer acquainted.

“How… have people responded? About your gain? I mean… do you get teased?” Ebba said, in hushed tones, as if confiding.

“You’d love me to say ‘yes’, wouldn’t you?” Betty said, watching the blonde girl blush. “You know, you need to work on this whole ‘being the alpha’ thing. I’m not your teacher here you know? This is a date. Treat me accordingly please?”

“Sorry” Ebba conceded, before realising that ‘sorry’ was about the last response that Betty was hoping for.

“But, to answer the question, not much teasing. Like, obviously people have said stuff. But when your social circle errs on the elephantine, it does prevent scrutiny a little. That said, I remember my sister seeing me in the first time in years. Her eyes popped out of her head like some Hanna-Barbara cartoon. It was glorious. Me, her eternally mousish, eternally skinny Bel, bloating up like I was fugu” Betty laughed.

“Bel?”

“Oh yeah, what she calls me. Always called me. My full name’s Belinda so...”

“Your name’s not Betty?” Ebba was enjoying the insight into this real Betty, having only seen her on a pedestal in her mind previously, but still unnerved to realise that some fundamental preconceptions of her could be so wrong.

“Oh, and my neighbour! Oh, you’ll like this story Ebba. She was so nice to me, but she thought I was my own sister! Right? I had gained so much weight that I was literally unrecognisable to her. She figured I was a relative, cos I looked like her in the face.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?” Ebba probed, wriggling in her seat.

“What? Gaining weight? Pfft, that ship has sailed”

“No, being unrecognisable?” Ebba asked.

“Oh. I mean, sometimes. Like, for the most part, no. It’s easy to move on from the past when you’re not keen on the past. Old Betty wasn’t someone who loved herself very much. But… sometimes. I mean, I do worry what I am becoming. God, this is nice. To actually talk openly about this stuff. This isn’t as kinky as I was expecting, but… this is nice too. I like this” Betty smiled, another mouthful pushed in between her already chubby cheeks.

“And what are you becoming?”

“Insatiable” Betty said, with a crooked smile. Ebba flinched as she said it.

“Betty… can we… if you finish that, I mean… could we… not for sex… just, like,… my flat’s only round the corner and...”
“Oh, you dearest thing! Of course. And if you don’t want to have sex, that’s fine. There’s no pressure. But, it’s not if I finish this, it’s when. And I’ll hurry up if you like” Betty said, hurrying up. “Gotta ask though. You seem to be acting differently this time. Like, I’m not judging and it’s fine to be nervous. Normal, even. But you were sooo confident the last time’s we’ve spoken. How come? Do you have split personalities, like Ed Norton in that movie?”

“Hulk?”

“No, the other one”

“Fight Club?”

“No, the other one. Man, he really plays that sort of character often. Primal Fear! That’s the movie I’m thinking of”

“Oh. Never seen it” Ebba said, without confidence.

“Well, what’s going on then?” Betty asked, still stuffing herself.

“It’s just, I dunno, I keep thinking I’ll say something aggressive and hot and… I just don’t. I’m sorry. I’m trying, I’ll try… bitch?”

“First up, no to ‘bitch’. This ain’t Breaking Bad and I am no fan of misogynistic slurs. Two, try something fatty related. Like… pig. Or something” Betty suggested helpfully.

“Can we start this over? It’s really not gone to plan” Ebba asked, nervously.

“Yeah. I’m just wrapping up here. So how about we go around yours, we get to know each other a bit, chat a bit, and you can start to assert some authority there. In more comfortable surroundings. How does that sound?” Betty said, pushing the now-empty box away from her in victory.

“Hot. It sounds hot.”

 

Ebba’s place was a house-share with someone from her netball team, but currently empty as next week was reading week, allowing them to go back home. And this left the place to Ebba and Betty.

“It’s… cosy?”

“It’s a shithole. You can say it. I spend to much on clothes to afford a nice place” Ebba smiled as she walked to the fridge. Betty sat herself down on the double-seater, leaving the single-seater to Ebba. “Drink? Maybe something to eat”

“Drink sounds good. But, as for food, I’ve eaten more food today than any day in my life and, believe me, that’s saying something.” Betty said, eyeing the bland, soulless, student accommodation décor.

“So, is that a no?”

“No. Of course not. More food please. Come on girl, I thought you were a feeder” Betty said, before flinching at the thought of crossing a line.

“A feeder?”

“Yeah, apparently it’s a...” Betty said ruefully.

“No. I know what one is. But, if I’m a feeder, then I guess I’m going to have to live up to my reputation” Ebba said, wintering a smile. “Now, these are called Havreflarn. They are Swedish and I made them myself. They are like cookies, with oats and toffee and chocolate. They are very tasty but quite fattening. I made a tray or two. For you.”

“Wow, have I been tricked? This feels like you planned for this” Betty said, without relinquishing her gormless, gormful grin. Ebba waltzed over with her fabled leggy strides, with cookies in one hand and vodka in the other. “Vodka? I thought it would be wine?”

“We’re going to play ‘never have I ever’? You know the game?” Ebba said, putting everything down.

“I mean, yeah. I was a student too, once. But, sorry, can I smoke in here?” Betty asked, looking in her handbag.

“Depends. Are they bad for you?” Ebba smirked.

“Yeeeah...”

“Then of course you can” Ebba smiled with a cruel Iagoan flick of the lips. “I’ll go first. So, rules are, if you have done the thing said, you drink a shot and eat a cookie. And if I have done the thing, you take a shot and eat a cookie”.

“Well, thank fuck I’ve not got work tomorrow. Thank fuck for reading week” Betty sighed, as she braced herself for the onslaught.

“Okay, here we go… never have I ever… slept with a student” Ebba said, and grinned mercilessly.

Betty threw back the shot of vodka and then ate the cookie.

“Wow, these are really good. For real. And why are you looking at me like that?” Betty asked, with her mouth full.

“Just thinking how incredible you are” Ebba smiled. “Incredible-y fat! Ha! Now, I have had sex with a student too. So one more shot and one more cookie”.

“Okay, my turn… never have I ever… had sex in the changing rooms of a clothes store” Betty said, before downing another one, and turning to a second Swedish cookie. This time, Ebba couldn't join in.

The game continued at this pace, with each of them revealing all the myriad shames that they had brought upon themselves. That said, it was definitely an uneven spread, with Betty drawing upon a vast reservoir of shameful and irresponsible behaviour from recent times. Never have I ever had ketchup squirted all over me in bed. Never have I ever gone to work drunk. Never have I ever had sex with a delivery guy. Never have I ever had sex with a colleague. Never have I ever been eaten out while eating in. Just a precarious Jenga tower of debauched deeds. Never have I ever gone to the hospital drunk and half-naked. Never have I ever had sex with my best friends girlfriend. More shame, more drink, more cookies, as the revelations poured out. Never have I ever masturbated while thinking about you, Ebba. Never have I ever masturbated whilst eating myself into a stupor, and thinking about you Ebba. About all the things you’d do to me Ebba.

And it was then that the game stopped, and a different game started.

“And what game’s this?” Betty slurred, not getting up out of suspicion that she might fall over if she tried.

“A little game I like to call ‘fucking my teacher’” Ebba said.

“That sounds like a fun game” Betty smirked at her blonde romancer.

 

[swahilimonkfish]

Chapter 28

 

 

Her head felt ironed onto the pillow. Her eyes felt sealed closed. She was awake, but every part of her body was telling her that asleep was a better condition to be in. It didn’t help that the pillow has so soft, her head just sunk into it. It was blissful, mushy, warm and contenting. Hoovering up all those little feelings of relaxed bliss. She could stay here forever. Here, in Ebba’s bed. Next to her beautiful, tall girlfriend looking every bit as varnished as Betty felt imperfect. Which couldn’t be better. And now she could lie here forever.

“Come on, up you get sleepy head. It’s morning time” Ebba hoarsely whispered.

“But I’m comfortable. It’s so comfortable here. Let me sleep here Ebba. It’s shaped just for me” Betty groaned as Ebba pulled the covers back and let the cold rush in.

“No, it’s morning time and you have a job to attend” Ebba said, hands on hips and looking at her bloated girlfriend shrivelling up into a foetal position to retain warmth.

“But it’s reading week” Betty’s voice dragging like a teenager.

“No, reading week is finished. Work time for you, uni time for me” Ebba slipped off her nightie and let Betty ogle her new girlfriend. Everything about her looked sleek and extended, as if photoshopped live and in front of her. And she hadn’t got used to the image yet, the novelty hadn’t worn off. This oasis of stunning fawning over the clumped up teacher.

“I’ve been round here for a week? Already? Where did the time go? It feels like we met at Kebabland just yesterday” Betty scrambled for her cigarettes as Ebba scoured through her walk-in wardrobe for today’s ensemble.

“Well you have spent a lot of this week in a food coma, and a lot of it blackout drunk” Ebba reasoned, watching Betty reach out for the half-quaffed bottle of gin on the floor by the bed and took a grimace-invoking swig from it.

“Yeah, how much did we drink last night?”
“Me? Nothing. I don’t drink. My body is a temple” Ebba said, as she climbed onto the bed and towards Betty, now in a cute halter neck and mini skirt combo. She crawled up towards a smirking Betty and started kissing her.

“If your body is the temple, how come it’s mine that being worshipped at?” Betty laughed as Ebba’s kissing slipped down into something more sensuous and bodily.

“You’re right” Ebba said, pulling back to the frustration of Betty. “No more being worshipped for you. My roommate is back today, you have classes in a couple of hours, and your breakfast is being delivered.”

“Breakfast? Lemme guess… does it rhyme with… what rhymes with Kebabland? Flebabland?” Betty said, before giggling.

“Look… um… you know, now this week is over… are we a couple still?” Ebba asked nervously.

“Oh. Ummm… it’s… do you want us to be an official couple?” Betty suddenly sat up straight, choking on her swig of her gin.

“Is it okay if we keep this quiet? I don’t want my friends to think...” Ebba said, nervously.

“Think what? That you’re dating a heifer?”

“No!”

“That the woman you’re seeing is 8 years older than you and is so big she could be mistaken for being pregnant?”

“No...” Ebba seemed less defensive this time.

“So you don’t think I look pregnant?”

“I mean… maybe a little. But only 4 months or so” Ebba smiled crookedly now. Each time, it felt like she had to re-learn that it was okay to tease. Each time she was nervous about Betty’s feelings and it was Betty who had to instigate it. But, each time, once Betty did, she was drawn in.

“Maybe last week I was… but I must have added an extra month of gestation over the past week?” Betty said, exploring her midriff with her hands. And, with the duvet pulled back and having not got a stitch to wear, there was nowhere for her physique to hide. Lying back and on an empty stomach, she didn’t look too engorged. Her middle still pooled softly to either side of her but gravity hid its natural outward tendency, though did nothing about the tiger stripes that marked her expansion. Above were her breasts, no longer as averse to growth as the rest of her body now, bulking up to handfuls. Her arms were thicker than she remembered in the olden days, as thick as her legs were in those olden days, and they leant her a broader, pudgier look. As for her legs, they’d bulked up and mottled themselves with cellulite substantially, with her hips expanding accordingly. For a girl so apple-shaped, she was impressively bottom-heavy.

Her face hadn’t an exemption notice to the carnage that had befallen the rest of her. Her cherubic cheeks replacing the mesh of skull it once was, her sharpened chin now the glacial glide of a ski slope with softening. Her hair was now parted, her fringe no more, as a result of not having it cut for the past six months or so. And the longer it got, the faster it seemed to accumulate grease, and now it splattered like roadkill next to the pillow.

“Oooo, I should get that” Ebba beamed as she got the text to tell her that their delivery was there. Breakfast. And with that, Betty knew what was coming

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

“You should eat two Betty meals” Ebba had said to her, earlier in the week.

“No. Nope. No chance. Not even Leona could do that” Betty refuted as Ebba coiled seductively around her bloated teacher like a snake.

“Leona? Is she the benchmark?” Ebba said, rubbing her forehead down Betty’s neck.

“I mean, she is massive. About three times the size of me” Betty said, though her thoughts were elsewhere as she felt the Swede’s breath on her neck.

“Twice. She’s only twice the size of you now. Cos you’re a fat girl too now” Ebba said, letting her tongue flicker out adder-like along Betty’s pale skin, before retracted it.

“Am I actually...” Betty paused as sexual reflexes took over briefly. “Am I actually fat now? Like, not chubby, not curvy. Out and out fat.” The words sounded strong. Dangerous. Wonderful.

“You’re officially obese, Teach” Ebba smirked as she drew her nails down Betty’s body. A Minnie move if ever there was one. “I think fat undersells you. Notably fat fits better, I think. People must see you, strangers on the street, just look at you and think to themselves, ‘god, she’s fat. What must she eat all day?’ And they’ll have no idea.”

Betty closed her eyes at these words, and felt shoots of muscular tightness. “Fine, I’ll do it. Two Betty meals.”

“Great to hear, Teach. And I’ll be your personal trainer. And we’ll see if you can do it by Monday”.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

And so, here she was. Betty sat up for the meal, feeling her naked stomach richly swell out as she did so. She heard Ebba pay the courier downstairs, as she caught her breaths between drags of her cigarette. It wasn’t like when she used to run, she hadn’t been maintaining her breathing exercises regimen. Instead, she spluttered into coughing, like trying to start on old car engine without flooding it. The coughing was a relatively new phenomenon and could easily be just a tickle as anything indicating she should smoke less. That said, she stubbed the cigarette out and numbed her throat with some hearty gulps from the bottle of gin.

Poor Ebba came up the stairs barely able to see where she was going, the two boxes stacked atop one another obscuring her view and struggling to squeeze through the narrow door frame. Eventually, she dropped them on the bed, ready for Betty to start.

“Are you ready for this, Teach?” Ebba asked, but Betty wasn’t listening. She was starting. Charging at the meal, like it was a matador. This. this was where she was strong. Maybe her breathing regimen had gone to pot, along with quite a lot else. But put a surfeit of gelatinous Kebabland gastro-nightmare and Betty was a pro like no other. The Tiger Woods of Betty meals. The Michael Phelps. The Simone Giles. The Eliud Kipchoge.

Ebba just sat back and watched her go. She should have been preparing for her day ahead, but Hurricane Betty was in motion and there was little else to be done but spectate. And spectate she did. As Betty troughed and glutted with barrelling abandon. Losing herself in this familiar excursion to stomach-cradling bloatedness. Frequency pushing it to rigmarole. She might not have done the famed 10000 to qualify for expertise, but she was clearly well versed in this domain.

Betty’s training over the past week hadn’t exactly been rigorous, however. It hadn’t been binging boot camp. Ebba didn’t really take it seriously enough. Not like when Betty was training solo during the Summer break. Her libido just didn’t allow her the discipline to stick to anything like rotas or approach things systematically. It was all impulse and whim-sating. But, it all stacked up and what Ebba lacked in discipline, she made up for in enthusiasm.

Over the course of the week, Betty had pushed herself to new extremes as the two girls tried to work out the full extent of their feelings towards their fetish and each other. Each day was an experiment, testing the boundaries to find out what worked and didn’t between them. And, it turns out, more worked. More. More everything. Betty loved more and Ebba loved Betty’s love of more. Every indulgence ratcheted up to Spinal Tap 11. There was sex and there was eating in quantities that surpassed even Betty’s norms. They quickly found themselves caught in an echo chamber of their own enabling tendencies. Betty enabling Ebba to enable Betty and so on. It lead to a hedonistic Monday that was only the lowpoint in the hockeystick uptick of exponential growth of indulgence. And, by Sunday, they were both drunk on each other and the things that they were doing.

Betty pushed the first container to one side in triumph, but without hesitancy or pause. Straight away, she continued onto the second one.

Ebba had suspicions that Betty would be able to do it. Suspicions cultivated over their long week together. Betty’s weekend was spent barely sufficiently ebriated to cotton on, but Ebba was pushing five of these meals at her over the course of a day. It was a challenge and it was a game and it was foreplay and habit and curiosity and greed. But, most of all, it was just Betty doing her Betty thing and it was this as much as the lack of sobriety that meant that Betty didn’t realise how much she was eating per day. Though, put a gun to her head and she’d have hazarded that the answer was lots.

 

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 

 

“What day is it?” Betty had asked, earlier in the week.

“Pfft, who cares about days?” Ebba batted away dismissively. “When there is food to eat?”

“Do I have to eat more? All it feels like we’ve done this week is drink and eat and fuck and eat and smoke and eat and then drink and eat some more” Betty grumbled, scratching her stomach absent-mindedly as she spoke

“Oh, sorry. Do you want a day off?” Ebba flinched as she was asked it. But Betty couldn’t keep her face straight any longer.

“I’m kidding! Please feed me, I’m wasting away” Betty beamed a smile.

 

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 

 

Betty slowly pushed the second box away from her and let out an accidental and semi-stifled burp. It should have been with triumph, but there was honestly too much exhaustion rippling through her to muster such vim. Instead, the second Betty meal was eaten without any verbal acknowledgement from Betty, besides the puffed cheeks and wetted brow that such exertion had brought upon her. Ebba was not so lost for words, however.

“Oh my god, that was… it was… you are… amazing!” Ebba said, eyes widened cartoonishly as her girlfriend winced from overdoing it by even her own standards.

“Shower...” was all Betty could mumble before the sleepiness from indulgence and all those lazy habits she’d been cultivating caught up with her and she fell back asleep.

“No, come on… wake up Teach. You have work, I have my flatmate coming back so no more sleepy time. Come on” Ebba said, gentle shaking her shoulder to rouse her.

“Buuut I don’t want to” Betty grunted with Kevin and Perry resistance, flinging a pillow at her girlfriend in protest. It stopped well short of her.

“Please Teach, for me” Ebba said with a level of unplayful sincerity that Betty didn’t recognise too much.

“Sorry, yeah. I’ll… I’ll get up. You’ll have to give me a hand. There’s more of me to get up these days” Betty resigned, offering her hands so that she could be hoiked to her feet. Ebba stood back and looked at Betty again as she stood up, naked and unsteady on her feet. Standing up did Betty’s body none of the favours that lying down did. Her stomach, scorched with exertion, heaved out from the rest of her and allowed itself to succumb to the tantalising embrace of gravity, to the point wherein her crotch was disguised by its hang-down. Betty no longer looked like a skinny girl, no even a distant relative of one. She wielded her body in a way that implied that she had only ever been this way. Fat pooled in places around the ribbing along the side of her stomach in a way that suggested that it was a constituent part of Betty. No onlooker or observer would hazard even a hopeful guess that this girl had ever experienced thinness before. Let alone, just six months ago. And it settled on her like it belonged there. Like it had its claws in her. And, in so many ways, it did. Curvy had been kicked to the kerb. Betty Bollingbrooke was big.

“Looking good”

“I’m not sure good is the word I’d have used to describe me. More like the anthropomorphic personification of too much yes and not enough no” Betty said, yawning and thrusting her arms in the air as she did.

“Okay, you look terrible. But I guess you’re just lucky that your girlfriend has a ‘terrible’ kink” Ebba smiled, leaned down to her girlfriend and kissed her gently on the lips. “Now grab a shower and get yourself presentable. Well, more presentable”

Betty semi-waddled to the bathroom with an air of reluctance.

“And if you are good Teach, I might reward you” Ebba said back, trying to cajole the woman 7 years her senior as if she was a pre-schooler.

“With sex?” Betty perked up, turning around with a smile on her face. The side-on view presented the best perspective for evaluating the extent to which her stomach had taken the strain of a lot of the incoming calories over the past six months, angling out defiantly.

“Even better. With food. I’ll do you some breakfast” Ebba winked.

“Please no. I actually don’t think I could eat any more. Not after that” Betty weakly pointed at the two empty Betty boxes on the floor.

“Yeah, but you’ve said that before. And I’ve always been able to coax some more into my growing girl”

“Yeah, but this is different. This is actual maximum capacity. This is Betty’s true limit” Betty pleaded.

“You’ve actually said that before too”

Betty looked at her girlfriend strangely, not remembering that.

 

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 

 

“No. This is different. I literally can’t. Literally” Betty had begged on the Friday, cradling her engorged stomach like a newborn.

“I thought you were my eating machine” Ebba said, stroking Betty’s knotty hair. It hit right in drunken Betty’s ego. “You’re not going to let me down are you?”

“Please” Betty implored, more out of desperation than anticipation. She haphazardly poured herself another shot, spilling some on the bedside table as she did so, trying to numb the pain with everyone’s favourite anaesthetic.

“One more. You can manage one more donut. Just one more” Ebba teased with a tender caress of her lover.

“You always say that though. You always say ‘just one more’. And then, when I have one more, you say it again. You always say it” Betty protested, but without the strength to truly put her foot down. She wanted to be overriden.

“And I’m always right” Ebba said, squeezing one more Dunkin Donut into her beleaguered mouth.

 

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 

 

Once Betty was showered, she felt better. It declogged some of her pores and removed some of the foggy grogginess that seemed to permanently linger around her these days. Less pleasant was brushing her hair. It brought back painful memories of childhood, of her mum yanking a brush through Belinda’s cotty mess as a young child. And despite currently being in a similar state of discomfort as the brush raged against incessant knottiness like Hercules against Hydra, Betty was a long way from being that little girl any more. Indeed, Betty was a long way from many of her previous incarnations.

Betty put her hair up in a scrunchy as she walked out the bathroom, still bloated from earlier. Her hair hadn’t been cut during the past six months – indeed none of her bodily hair had – and the cute and well-maintained bob of a bygone time now tended towards a horse’s tail that rode down her back. Remedying this was on Betty’s to-do list. But Betty and to-doing weren’t currently on the best of terms.

“Breakfast will probably be fifteen minutes Teach. So sit down, make yourself comfortable” Ebba said, carrying a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes. She poured the wine into a glass and through the cigs next to it. Betty delicately poured the wine into a glass, smelt its bouquet and tasted it, swilling it around in her mouth before swallowing. Content that she liked it, she necked the glass. She then picked up her cigarettes and lit one, before pausing and looking nervously at Ebba.

“I should probably cut back on these” she said with resignation.

“Yeah, good one. Betty cutting back on something. I’d like to see that” Ebba inadvertently snorted in amusement.

“You make everything seem so inevitable. The eating, the drinking. Like I’m a lost cause. Just a firework that’s been set off and you’re just watching and waiting for me to explode” Betty reflected, sober enough to think straight but still drunk enough from last night to philosophise.

“Well, if the cap fits… and not much else fits on you, Teach” Ebba teased, spitting out her tongue and disarming Betty’s introspection.

“But what about the smoking. I know you like me eating. And don’t mind me drinking. But smoking? That’s not your fetish, is it? Doesn’t it worry you or put you off or whatever?” Betty mused still, dragging on her cigarette and attempting and failing to blow smoke rings.

“Maybe I don’t like it, like I like you eating. But you do lots of other things that I like, and I feel very special to have you. And this is something you like and do. You like it because it’s self-destructive or whatever” Ebba shrugged sincerely.

“No, it’s cos it reminds me of my sister” Betty explained.

“No. That is a lie you’re telling yourself. Because every time we fucked, which was a lot, you smoked afterwards. Now, unless you are a Lannister, sex and thinking about your sister does not go together. It is just more self-destruction for you Teach, trust me. I know you. I know how your brain works. You like the impurity of it. You’ve spent too much time hanging around teenagers at work and you’ve developed a test for rebelling. And I’m okay with at. I like that you like that.” Ebba smiled, pouring Betty another glass of wine.

“Oh” Betty said, processing that information.

“Anyway, enjoy your wine, your smoking. Do all your bad habits. I’ll be back in ten. Oh, and I bought you some clothes, so you’ll have something to wear for work” Ebba said, pointing at her dresser.

“Really? Wow! Thanks, I’ll… pay you as soon as I can. You didn’t have to do that” Betty blushed.

“You deserve it. And I did have to do it, there is no way you can fit in size 16s any more” Ebba said. “Size 20s should be okay, I hope. You’ll like the style too”

“20? I think 18 would have been okay” Betty said. Thought. Wanted. Hoped. But Ebba just laughed and walked back downstairs. “Hang on… when did you even buy these?”

 

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 

 

“Hey, sorry if this isn’t a good time, but I need your advice” Ebba had said down the phone yesterday, while looking at her passed out drunk girlfriend snoring blissfully.

“Frettle not ye fretlocks, love. It’s actually a crackin’ time, I’ll tell ye for nowt. You’re talkin’ to the soon-to-be new Mrs Stones” Minnie replied, unable to contain the giddiness in her voice.

“Wait, you’re getting married?” Ebba exclaimed, before worrying that she’d wake her girlfriend so hushing her voice again. “Oh my god, congratz babe! I’m so happy for you”

“Yeah, we’ll catch up some time in the week and I’ll tell you all about it. I can’t believe it, it’s unreal. But, that’s for later. What’s up missy? What’s crackalackin’?”

“Oh. Yeah. I… I ordered her clothes” Ebba admitted. “Her current ones are not gonna fit, so I waited til she was passed out, which she does often, and ordered some online. Size 20”.

“Size 20? Nice. Sounds like you’ve been doin’ reet. Following the Minnie guidelines to the letter” Minnie sounded genuinely impressed.

“Yeah, but is that a bit much? I mean, we’re barely together. And I’m buying her clothes. Am I doing it again. Over-committing. Like with you. Fixating or whatever.” Ebba asked, nervously.

“Yeah, probs. But don’t fret, Betz won’t mind. Well, she will. She’ll feel guilty as fuck. But, she likes feeling guilty. She likes to loathe herself. Her kink is self-loathing and self-destruction” Minnie said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Why do you think she smokes? She says it’s because of her sister, but is it bollocks. It’s just another form of self-destruction. She’s rebelling. Against herself. Her internalised ideals. But don’t worry about it, love. You get a girl getting fat out of the deal, so just roll with it” Minnie elaborated. “Now I gotta go, I have a fiancée to fatten. But you keep scratching her self-destruction itch and you’ll get a heifer out of her in no time.”

 

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 

 

Ebba came back up to see Betty wearing the clothes that she’d been bought. The high-waisted skirt presented her waistline unfavourably, but it was otherwise a flattering outlook. The cardigan was loose and stylish when unbuttoned, and its length veiled over the larger contours of her waist and arse. The skirt went down below her knee, shielding her chunked up thighs from being judged. The colours worked, off-set each other nicely. Everything worked but the size.

“It’s so fucking tight” Betty smiled a big childish smile while looking down at where the skirt fastened.

“Glad I didn’t choose size 18 now?” Ebba smiled.

“Yeah. It’s been a fucking productive week by the looks of it. I’m huge. Can we weigh me after the meal. Just curious to find out what a girl who should be wearing size 22 weighs. I hope I’m up to 209lbs” Betty asked.

“Sure. Why 209?”

“Cos then I’ll be 100lbs heavier than when I started six months ago. Can you believe it? 100lbs. If that doesn’t sound like a cry for help, I don’t know what does” Betty beamed. “Anyway, what’s for breakfast?”

“Well, you told me about something Wiktoria used to do you for breakfast. You described it as the Skinny meal of breakfasts...” Ebba lied. Betty had told her no such thing. This was another tidbit that Minnie had parted with while educating Ebba. A mythical meal of mish-mashed moreishness. A cooked breakfast that somehow incorporated blocks of cheese and spam and chips. Then there was the peanut butter and toast. Followed by the pain au chocolat, the pain au raisin and the two croissants, coupled with buttery brioche for those with a French fancy. Finally, a muffin, two cream cakes and a donut.

“There’s no way I’m gonna eat all that Ebba. Sorry. But I’m still reeling from them two Betty meals. I’m...” Betty closed her eyes and realised. “I’m gonna end up eating all this aren’t I?”

 

Betty waddled to her Uber ride in a huge degree of discomfort, and Ebba strode effortlessly alongside her. The contrast between the two of them was remarkable. Betty was hunched over with bloating, cradling herself to ease the pain. The brunette looked like her waters had broken. Besides her was Ebba, tall and straight-spined, with a lengthy gait and a Hollywood smile, blonde hair glistening like a L’Oreal commercial and a waist so thin she could hula-hoop a donut.

“So, my 214lb girlfriend, have a nice day at work” Ebba smiled.

“I can’t fucking believe it. 214lbs is a proper number isn’t it? I’m about double what I used to be. I’m going through red flags like I’m downhill skiing. I should be scared, shouldn’t I?” Betty said, unable to hide her pride.

“Yes. A normal, healthy well-adjusted person would. But you, Teach, are not healthy. In so many ways” Ebba cooed. “And I’ll see you at the weekend.”

“The weekend?” Betty’s face fell. “You don’t want to see me earlier?”
“No” Ebba said. “Just at the weekend. At your place, so my flatmate doesn’t see you.”

“Oh. Okay, sure. Yeah, weekend is good too” Betty collected herself. “But I don’t think I’ll be a size 20 by then, any more!”

“You better not be” and Ebba watched Betty struggle to get into the car without straining her painful midriff. The University was only down the road, but Betty was in no fit state to walk. Which was just the way she liked it.

And she did like it. There was no use hiding it, it couldn’t be concealed. And there was no fun in the shame of it, she was too proud to feel shame. Betty Bollingbrooke had most resoundingly fallen off a wagon she’d never really clambered back onto, and she never wanted to be anything other than off the wagon ever again. Her mind was made up. This was Betty. For better or for worse. Well, probably just for worse. But this was it, she had a wonderful girlfriend, a doting boyfriend, a good job, a wonderful sister and a great group of enabling friends. And if any one of them friends didn’t want to deal with this Betty, well that sounded like a them problem.

When Betty got to work, she went straight into Leona’s office as fast as she could snail-pacedly crawl.

“I’ve got something to tell you Leona. And it’s important and kinda a big deal”

“And I have something to tell you Betz” Leona replied.

“Oh. Do you wanna go first?”

“No Betz, you do yours first” Leona said, with a smile.

“Oh. Okay. Sure. Fine. Ummm… so...” Betty stammered, the wind snatched from her sails.

“Just spit it out Betz”

“I’m gonna continue getting fat. I never stopped. And I know it caused challenges between us in the past, but I have a girlfriend now and… I also have a boyfriend… and the important thing is I don’t want it to come between us. But I also want to continue drinking and eating and self-destructing. And I love you Leona. You’re my best friend. But if I have to choose between you and being myself, I’m gonna choose myself. So if you have an issue with this, you gotta say”

And Betty took a deep pause, and stared deep into Leona’s blue eyes. She scanned her face for anything, any microexpression that revealed anger or betrayal or fury. She saw nothing.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Why would I mind?” Leona said dismissively. And Betty stood agog. This was not the response she expected. This was not how she had it in her mind. Didn’t Leona realise she had just put it all out on the line? This was her big moment. A week of building to this point. Cumulating. Each day standing on the shoulders of the previous day for just over six months. Betty wasn’t just ignoring the red flags of her ballooning weight, but waving white flags to embrace it. She was careering, careening, swerving into any and every ditch. A breathless freefall. Head-spinning, vertiginous freefall. This was Betty deciding who she was, who she’ll be, consequences be damned. And Leona just swatted it away with a rolled up newspaper of dismissal.

“Look Betz, you gotta hear my news…” Leona continued, not really investing in Betty’s proclamation. “Minnie and Rutherford… they’re getting married”.

“They’re… getting married?”

“Yeah. So you can eat whatever the fuck you want, drink whatever the fuck you want. I know I will. This is a time for celebration and I intend to let my hair down. Fuck McDonalds, let’s have wine and Betty meals. Because Betz… we’re gonna be bridesmaids!”

 

[swahilimonkfish]

Chapter 29

 

 

One week earlier

 

 

“Rutherford”

“I can’t believe I get a full week of being filled to the gills. Like, yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it’s technically reading week or whatever. But the only thing this whale is gonna be reading is her scales as her weight is going up, ya feel me? And I know you feel me. Geddit? As in, you literally feel me” Rutherford babbled.

“Rutherford, love”

“Like, it’s gonna be so good. I’m gonna balloon. Nah, fuck ballooning. I’m gonna Zeppelin. Yeah. I’m not gonna be some basic ballooning bitch. Balloons are tiny. I want scale. I want enormity. I want to be so big, I’m only known as OMFG. Not Rutherford, or Ruthers. No, just OMFG. Cos that’s all anybody says when they see me. O. M. F. G.”

“Rutherford!”

“Like -”

“RUTHERFORD!” Minnie yelled, frustrated in a way that she rarely was. Rutherford just looked up, her face draped in shock.

“What? What is it? What’s… what’s that envelope in your hand?” Rutherford asked, squirming with nerves.

“It’s the university. I’m sorry love but you’ve been kicked off the course” Minnie tilted her head in sympathy as she said it.

“What?” Rutherford sat upright in her bed as Minnie delivered the news. So did Shay, who was also in the room just reading a book and snacking from the queued pile of Rutherford food. Rutherford’s face dropped. Shay’s face lit up.

“Love, did… have you been getting letters warning you about your attendance? Emails? Cos it says here you have” Minnie asked, with concern but also a murmuration of parental frustration.

“Yeah, but like, everybody does. It’s just hot air. Like, they’ve not actually kicked me off the course, have they?” Rutherford asked, suddenly scared, her eyes scanning in their sockets as she tried to map out the extent of the consequences.

“Since you’re attendance has continued below out expected threshold – at 0% - and you have not made any attempt to improve, or respond to any of the correspondence sent to your student email account, your registered mobile phone number or through to your registered address, we have no alternative but to terminate your education with Brighton University from this point on. All loan fees will have to be repaid and your student visa will be terminated as a consequence. Please note that, should you wish to challenge findings… blah, blah, blah… we are deeply disappointed given the impressive grades from your first year and glowing teacher reviews from… blah, blah, blah… Finally, please note your parents have been informed. Yours sincerely… Dickhead Mcfuckface” Minnie read.

“Is his name really Dickhead Mcfuckface?” Rutherford asked, but it was between heavy, chest thrusting tears, as she finally found something she couldn’t digest. The reality of her situation.

“No love. Look, I’m just gonna leave you a minute, okay? But, I’ll be just in the corridor. So if you want something, just shout. Alright?” Minnie said, before gesturing to Shay to leave the room.

“I’ll think I’ll stay” Shay smiled.

“No, love. You’re gonna shift your arse out of this room, or I’m gonna turn your fucking face into a fucking Picasso picture. Capiche?” Minnie said, her green eyes flickering with a red rub fury. And Shay sulkily slumped out of the room to leave Rutherford on her own, with just her thoughts, her food and her tears.

 

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 

 

“Just stop smiling, you weirdly sadistic fuck. I mean, what kinda childhood leaves someone so arse about tit in the empathy department.” Leona grumbled at Shay, who hummed as she snacked on a bag of salted peanuts. They’d all had a day to digest the news, and all the girls bar the borderline bed-bound Rutherford were downstairs and looking at each other, hoping for answers.

“Jeez, whatever. Like I totally didn’t tell yinz that this was gonna happen. She’s gonna be deported or reported or whatever it is when you are forced back home, and her parents are gonna freak the frick out when they see her. They will think she’s literally eaten the devil. They will exercise her and exorcise her. And karma is gonna get its bitch on” Shay bragged, strutting around the room like a peacock during mating season.

“Why does not she stay here anyway? She can be here. And not at the university?” Wiktoria asked.

“Because of her visa, love” Minnie explained. “She’s on a student visa. She’s American, remember? It’s why she talks daft and it’s why she thinks football is a sport that’s played predominantly with your hands, and it’s why, when her visa is removed, she’s ineligible to stay without a replacement work visa”.

“Oh, this is not good” Wiktoria wilted, wandering over to the kitchen.

“Wicky love, are you cooking right now? Like, I love you feeding people as much as the next sexual deviant, but is this really the time?” Minnie asked, watching Wiktoria pull out pans and ingredients from the cupboard.

“I am pissed off. Cooking keeps me calm” Wiktoria explained.

“Argh, this is all so fucked up. Fucking red tape bollocks. Where the fuck is Betty?” Leona raged, messaging her friend again. She hadn’t heard from her since reading week had started and they really needed the full gang back together if they were gonna fix this.

“She not answer her phone? Maybe is she having a big party with handsome Remus. Because Lionel is sacked?” Wicky suggested, cracking some eggs in a bowl.

“No. I asked him and he said she might be with some other girl maybe?” Leona sighed, putting her phone back down in exasperation.

“Ahhh, about that” Minnie winced.

“Minnie? What are you not telling us? What have you done?” Leona asked, her voice crackling with frayed temper.

“Nowt really. Just introduced her to a friend” Minnie squirmed.

“Which friend?”

“You know that one that I… with her… when me and Ruthers hit that rough patch?” Minnie mumbled, looking down at the floor.

“The girl you cheated on Rutherford with? That girl? The fucked up fangirl who fetishises fattened up females? That girl? And you’ve introduced her to Betz? My best mate? Who’s trying to quit over-indulging?” Leona’s voice was rising steadily.

“To be fair love, she wasn’t trying to quit over-indulging very hard” Minnie quietly countered.

“Look, I’m not angry. With you. With her. I’m just… we could really do with her right now and… I’m just annoyed with what’s happened. Rutherford, for all her elephantine tendencies, she’s a good girl. And… you ever wonder what would have happened if that Shaun lad never opened his mouth and said the words ‘free hit’. Would we be thin? Would we be friends? Would we be here anyway, worrying about how many jumbos the jet will have to be to take Rutherford back to the one place she doesn’t want to go?” Leona sighed.

“I guess it’s all my fault then” Minnie said, quietly. Guiltily.

“No, I wanna take some of the blame guys. I literally engineered this. This is my master plan. You don’t need a guilty conscience. This is all on me” Shay argued.

“Wow, that was almost… kind of you? Are you okay Shay?” Leona asked.

“Yeah, it must be the joy of ruining Rutherford’s life that made me do that. Just a temporary aberration, order will be restored and I’ll continue to be the monster yinz know and hate” Shay smirked, opening another bag of peanuts.

“What about you, Shay? What are you gonna do? You gonna stay here or go back and taunt her back in the States? And how come you have a visa to stay here actually, come to think of it?” Leona asked, and all the other girls turned around and looked too.

“Not gonna tell you” Shay smiled.

“Yes. Tell us. Please Shay” Wiktoria pleaded.

“There is absolutely no reason for me to do that” Shay pranced around the room with a flaunty cavort.

“We’ll make it worth your while” Leona asked.

“There is nothing you could give me. Nothing I want more than this” Shay gloated, and the room fell silent.

The girls looked around at each other for inspiration, and then down at the floor in defeat. And they were defeated. This was the end of the road. No way back. Rutherford was upstairs, crying her thready heart out, and the other girls slumped around helplessly while Shay barely held back from a victory dance. And then Minnie looked up with a glint in her green eyes. And an old relic returned to her face, a crooked smile, twisted like an old man’s walking cane, wrapping itself round the side of her mouth.

“I’ve got something you want more than that” Minnie said.

“What?” Shay asked, a little intimidated by the venom in Minnie’s eyes.

“You hate her, don’t you? That’s what this has all been about. You hate her. She came onto you when you were kids, 17 or whatever. And they bullied her summat rotten for it. Some homophobic, Bible-bashing, red-hat-wearing backwater, and they tormented her. The kids, but the teachers too. The parents. Even her parents. But then she left. Free from it all. But you stayed” Minnie said, standing up. “They didn’t just bully her, did they? They bullied you too. They bullied her for being gay; they bullied you for being gay. And it wasn’t even your fault. And you couldn’t even escape. Not like she did. You were trapped, weren’t you? Trapped in it all. Everybody looking at you and thinking you’re some closeted queer. No wonder you were angry. No wonder you wanted to ruin her life. And no wonder you wanted to do it with kindness”.

“Nothing kind about it” Shay protested.

“Sure there is. You could have done anything. Punished her anyhow. But you chose to give her owt she wanted, to such an extent that it cost her. You over-indulged her. What kind of Hannibal Lecter wannabe would do what you did otherwise? You eat her out, you feed her, you wait on her hand and foot? And you call that vengeance? Love, it’s love. You love her. You always did. And you fancied the fuck out of her, all along. Your best mate. And she had to ruin it by acting on how you’d been feeling and repressing all along, and ruined it. You love her, and you hate her, in earth-shattering quantities. And that’s why you’re here doing this” Minnie continued.

“That’s crap, that is. But whatever, see if I care”

“So, why don’t you have your cake and eat it? Stop this childhood penal bollocks and cut to the chase. You want what’s worst for her, and you want to pleasure her? There’s only one way to do that” Minnie said, licking her lips as she spoke.

“What?” Shay stammered.

“More of the same” Minnie smirked.

“Really? That’s your great offer? Screw you” Shay spat back.

“She’s started getting bed-sores. You know cos you help me treat them. Irritated skin in her folds too. And she’s soooo close to immobility. And you’re gonna let that all go to waste. Let her parents… how did you put it… ‘exercise her and exorcise her’? Fix her? You’ll never get fixed, but she will. Is that what you want? Them to undo all this? Or?” Minnie leant in, keen to seal the deal. “Shall we tip her over to immobility. Cross the irredeemable threshold. Feed her til she has health problems. Feed her til she needs a Cpap machine. Feed her until all that’s left of her is her size. Not her fashion sense or her love of films or her intelligence or her sense of humour. Really tip her over the edge. Until she’s not Rutherford or Ruth or Ruthers at all. Until all she is and all people see when they look at her is OMFG. There’s nothing so cruel that her parents can do that you can’t do worse. Kill her with kindness. Death by chocolate. Here lies Rutherford Stones – OMFG”.

Shay stopped chewing peanuts and sat down.

“I don’t know what you guys call it, but over in the States, we call it a green card marriage” Shay sighed, resigning herself to giving up on her plan right at the finish line. Ensnared by Minnie’s temptation. “Just some online rando, a few hundred bucks and whatever. That’s how I get to stay here. There’s some crappy test and you have to have lived here for a couple of years, but the website sorted all that for me for another couple of K. I told you this plan took some doing. It was long-haul. It was a good plan, right?”

“Yeah, I guess it weren’t too shabby. But I think we might do it a bit more legit. You’ve given me an idea Shay. I think I’m gonna marry Rutherford Stones.”

 

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

 

All the girls were in Rutherford’s room for the first time in ages. They’d grabbed all the chairs they had and planted them around the bed and its engorged centrepiece.

“I do” Rutherford giggled, wiggling her feet in excitement.

“I didn’t get you a ring because… well we’re drowning in debt as it is, paying off your loan and we’ll need money for the wedding. Also, they don’t do wedding bands in your size. You have very fat fingers, don’t you know?” Minnie teased her fiancée.

“All the better for eating with” Rutherford smiled. “Wait… we’re not doing a church are we?”

“You don’t want a church wedding?” Minnie sounded surprised.

“Well, it’s just a lot of walking and… I dunno, I’m just not that into walking” Rutherford shrugged.

“Fair dos, love. Maybe best if we just hit up the registry office, celebrate in our own way. Probably best since I dunno how we’d find a dress that fitted you. Unless anyone knows a spare cotton factory! Yeah, we’ll celebrate the old fashioned way. Get you downstairs for a change, nice change of scenery, and feed you. All of us, this time. Everything you ever wanted. 48 hours. Like we did for Betty, but this time for you” Minnie mused.

Rutherford smiled and held back joyous tears.

“Hey, what about our waistlines? Don’t we get a say in this?” Leona asked with her hand raised like she was at a school assembly..

“What about your waistlines? I thought you’d given up on diets for good?” Minnie asked, quizzically.

“Yeah, we have. But there’s a line between not dieting and doing that 48 hour party people thing. Look, I’m only 200lbs less than Rutherford...”

“Only 200lbs? Girl, there’s no such thing as only 200lbs. You’re fine. As long as I’m around, you’re gonna look skinny” Rutherford reassured.

“Thanks. I guess. But...”

“No ‘buts’. And anyway, you’re probably more than 200lbs lighter these days. You know I’m up to 681lbs, right?”

“Fuck”

“I know right?”

“Is that all?” Leona couldn’t hide the disappointment.

“Hey, what do you mean ‘Is that all?’. That’s a crazy amou… oh, I see what’s going on here. Go on then, how much do you weigh?”

“I’m up to 491lbs these days Ruthers. I mean… that’s scary close to 500. When Wicky reached that, I nearly lost the plot. And she’s 7 inches taller than me and… if I keep going at this rate… I’m 6 to 9 months away from being your size” Leona confessed.

It was at this point that all the girls took their time to have a proper look at Leona. With all the Minnie and Rutherford drama, and with Rutherford realigning previous definitions of normal, they hadn’t really noticed how big Leona was. And she always wore it so well. Her make-up was regal, her dress sense as flattering as it can be on a woman her size. Maybe they should have noticed when she shuffled to her size to get through the doorframe. Maybe they should have realised when Leona opted for a fourth chair beneath where most of her weight went. But Leona was not just fat any more. She was following the same path that Rutherford had charted. The ‘free hit’ lineage.

“Six to nine months? Oh my god, that is so hot. I love that you measure yourself not in kilos or pounds, but months until you’re my size. But, trust me, it’ll plateau. It’ll slow down, your weight gain. It has for me and you’ve seen how I eat. Honestly, you have nothing to worry about. Keep seizing the day. YOLO diem and all that. Honestly Leona” Rutherford would have patted Leona on the back as she said that, but she was peeling the muffin case off of a muffin.

“What about me?” Wiktoria asked, but more with curiosity than trepidation. She still carried herself with confidence.

“Well, you’re tall. It’s fine. Like, how much do you even weigh?”

“I don’t know” Wiktoria shrugged. It hadn’t really crossed her mind.

“When was the last time you weighed yourself?”

“The diet. I reached 500. That was second week of term, so… 6 weeks ago?” Wiktoria did the maths.

“Let’s do a sweepstake. How about it? We’re all kith around here so no harm in it. Leona, you go first? How much do you think your girlfriend weights?” Minnie asked, turning it all into a game, as ever.

“I dunno, 515 or so?” Leona shrugged.

“Oh, lay off it. Only 15lbs in 6 week. Nobody can gain that little in this household. Shay, you have a go?”

“Who cares? 525Lbs. She looks fat” Shay tried to appear disinterested, but was flattered at the inclusion.

“Ruthers?”

“520, she looks loads skinnier than me” Rutherford gleaned Wicky’s figure whilst judging like it was sweets in a jar at a fair.

“And you Wicky? What do you think?”

“510lbs maybe. I’ve been good” Wiktoria lied.

“Fuck, I can just tell from looking at you that youse are all underestimating summat chronic. I’m gonna guess 54… 9. Yeah, 549lbs” Minnie decided, plumping for a plump figure to describe a plump figure.

Wiktoria got the scales out and took a deep breath, before wincing as she stepped on. The automated voice told everyone in the room who much they’d been underestimating.

554lbs.

“Oh my god, I’m so jealous. I can’t believe you’re still outpacing a pound a day at your size. It’s just not fair. I want your metabolism” Rutherford bleated.

“I am… really fat” Wiktoria wilted.

“Yeah” Shay sniped. “If you’re gaining at that rate, nearly 100 days away from being Rutherford sized. And she’s nearly immobile”

“Oh, lay off it. All of you” Leona yelled. “She’s gorgeous. A stylish Hollywood star. And yeah, she’s not light. But she’s also tall. I bet she’s healthier than me”

And Leona made a good point. Wiktoria carried it well. But there was such a lot to carry well, even on her frame and with her broad shoulders. In fact, it seems counter-intuitive, but the immensity of her scale somehow drowned out her weight. She looked fat, undoubtedly. Huge even. But not Earth-tremblingly so, her adipose baggage spread across her with as much uniformity as can be afforded when in that quantity. Her stomach still had drag to it, as it hung like a hot dog’s tongue over her waistband. But it didn’t swallow her body as it might on a different build.

“It is okay. I am confident and happy, and I am never dieting. It is fine” Wiktoria proudly stated, before glancing insecurely at her girlfriend. “It is fine?”

“Yes Wicky, you look great and I will never pressure you into slimming. At any weight” Leona reassured.

“Even 600lbs?”

“Oh Wicky, you’ll probably get there by the time new year rolls around. So of course not”

“700lbs?”

“I reckon… end of the academic year”

“800lbs?”

“Probably by the time you graduate. As long as you plateau like Rutherford says”

“And you won’t make me diet? Even at 800lbs. Even at 120lbs more than Rutherford is now?” Wiktoria stared intently at her girlfriend. “You will still find me sexy?”

“So very, very sexy” Leona said, leaning in across their respecting stomachly protrusions for a smooch. “I reckon we’ll be the fattest couple in the whole world”.

“Oh my god, guys. That actually reminds me…” Rutherford interrupted, flapping her flappy arms about. “Did you guys know I’m the fattest woman in the UK? Seriously, Google it and it’ll say it’s some 672lb light-ass who has lost the weight anyway. I mean, UK’s standards are kinda low. Back home, I’m barely overweight. But yeah, over here, I’m a record-breaker. And you two are probably a record-breaking couple already. All we need is to get Betty over here and get her to fulfil her potential and I reckon our house will be the fattest place in the world”.

“Fuck off” Leona laughed. “Betty’s small-fry compared to us, bless her. She’s about Minnie’s size”.

“Oh love, you have no idea, do you? Betty’s a 200lb girl these days. None of us were that size this early on in the academic year, last year” Minnie commented smugly.

“Fuck” Leona replied.

“We should totally get her to join the club. She could do great things. Oh my god, you all should help her out. I mean, between you and this new girlfriend she’s got...” Rutherford suggested, licking her lips at the thought.

“You mean fatten her up. Even more than she’s doing herself? Inflict our issues on her?” Leona argued.

“Hey, they’re not issues. We’re record-breakers, remember? Given time, I reckon she could be a record breaker too. That’s all” Rutherford said with a cheeky grin. “C’mon, she’d like it, her girlfriend would like it, I’d love it. Everyone’s a winner when everyone’s a sinner. Let’s promote her to the big leagues.”

The girls sat around and looked at each other and shrugged. They could have said no. Defied how they were defined. Spared Betty their way of life. But to do so would be to accept responsibility, guilt for how things have gone. They had to take pride in their size, because the only other option was shame. So they all decided, unofficially, that being fat was a good thing. Because then, they were something to be proud of. And, if being fat is good, then why not invite Betty to the cause. Betty Bollingbrooke, marathon runner. Let’s see what damage they could do to her, if they tried. If everyone, including herself, ganged up on Betty.

“What about me?” Shay said sheepishly.

“What about you?” Minnie sneered.

“Am I just gonna be ignored? I mean, I’m not saying I’m a record-breaker or whatever, I don’t wanna get like fat or whatever. But can’t I join in the fun? You talk about everyone in this house and just pretend I’m not here. It was my idea for you two to get married?” Shay argued, weakly.

“Yeah, but you also tried to ruin her life” Minnie glared.

“I guess… but I do so much for Ruth. Tell her, Ruth. Tell her. Tell her how much I help you?” Shay turned to her oldest friend, worst enemy, deepest crush.

“It’s Ruthers. Not Ruth” Rutherford snarled back, and Shay slumped. “But… I guess… I mean, your hateful vibe has been kinda hot. And you’ve been kinda gaining just by osmosis”.

“I have not” Shay said defensively. But it was true. She’d come over in the best shape of her life. In a Minnie mouse dress and with a bow in her hair. Freckles and a red dress and looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. And now, it was starting to look like maybe a little too much butter had been melting in her mouth. And now she’d been resorting to wearing Rutherford’s old clothes. Albeit, clothes from last year, well before she went supersonic. But still… she look puffier than she started.

“Fine. She can be an official musketeer, I guess. For you Ruthers, though. And if she tries any over her basic Kylo Ren bullshit, I’ll strangle her with the straps of her dungarees. But, for now, welcome to the club. Now, I’m thinking, we might need your feeding skills on Betty”.