swahilimonkfish Posted August 2, 2019 Share Posted August 2, 2019 Not contributed here for a while but I thought this story might shape up to be okay for you guys. Part 1 “Hi, I’m Sally-Anne” “And I’m Madison” “And together we’re Sally-Anne and Madison!” they chimed in unison before the title card drifts down. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-* It was the intro to the Sally-Anne and Madison Show, a short-lived Disney comedy show starring two teenage twin sisters in their final year at school. It wasn’t a success and was cancelled after the first season. But Sweeney loved it. Always had and always would. She loved its cheerful optimism, its unapologetic cheesiness, and its moral underpinning of there being nothing more important than family. As a girl who grew up in foster care, Sweeney really loved this aspect of it the most. Well, maybe not the most. There was one aspect she liked more. One episode to be precise. Episode 5. The episode titled “Burgermania”. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Please dad, please can we go to the new Burger Place, Burgermania” Sally-Anne and Madison chimed in unison. “No Sally-Anne and Madison. Burgers are bad for you. Remember – there’s just one letter difference between patty and fatty” the dad replied. The canned laughter finds this comment amusing. “But Dad...” they whine in unison. “No buts, you two. We’re going to eat quinoa salad instead at this new quinoa bar” the dad says. “Oh no Sally-Anne. I don’t like the sound of that! I don’t trust food that I don’t know how to spell” Madison says. More canned laughter kicks in. “But that rules out most food, Madison” Sally-Anne replies. The canned laughter fades as the shot fades out. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Sweeney laughed too. Those two sisters always seemed so inseparable. All manner of mishaps would happen to them and they always stuck together. They’d turn on each other, betray each other, mock each other and bemoan each other, but they always ended up back together, as sisters and best friends. Because that was what family was. Or, at least, that’s what Sweeney figured. She’d never experienced that, and such a glamorised version of family tugged each and every one of her heart strings. And this was why she was watching it. She was sat down and watching some rusty VHS copy of “Burgermania” that she had found on Ebay after years of scouring every pore of the internet. It wasn’t ideal. It was clunky, the picture quality was poor, and the video faded out about halfway through where the tape had worn out. She’d even had to buy a VHS video-cassette player to accommodate this most prized possession of hers. But it was worth it for this episode. Burgermania. The video flickered on in that old analogue way, and Sweeney settled back in her recliner to watch, in her dingy little flat. Her flat was all her own, empty of clutter and of people. There were no photos on the side, no posters on the wall. Just four cold walls housing the bare essentials. She liked it that way. She didn’t need friends or family, she had Sally-Anne. She had Madison. And she had their adventures at a new burger place called Burgermania. She sat back, unzipped her work pants, and put that cold hand of hers down and into her pants as she continued to watch. Because the other reason, the main reason, why Sweeney cherished this so much was simple. It was her sexual awakening. The episode were Sally-Anne gets fat was the moment that Sweeney realised what it was that she was attracted to. Not genders. Not people even. Weight. Size. Growth. And, apparently, unrealistic looking fat suits worn on unconvincing sets to cringey canned laughter. But Sweeney didn’t mind, she didn’t care one iota. She loved this. It was her psycho-sexual benchmark and she rarely strayed from it. She never told anyone, though there were few people in her life to tell. No family and no real friends, though one of her colleagues at the elementary school that she had started teaching at was always friendly to her. No, this was her dark, depraved little secret and she hid it from everybody. And you couldn’t tell from looking at her that she was home to such thoughts. She was slender as the grown actresses that played the eponymous kids. The kids at the school teased her and called her “Miss Witch”, which was both unwitty and quite hurtful. She was as black and white as a newspaper, with her skin ivory and her hair and clothing always ebony. She was tall, 5ft8, especially in a class of fourth-graders, and she was 111lbs of witch-looking skinniness. She was beautiful too, in a haunted Tim Burton kinda way. Her eyes were listless, but they possessed the ability to enchant. Her breasts were modest, but in a way that felt refined. Her hands were sleek and elegant, though they had a tendency to shake in the cold. She caught the eye of most of the teachers that she worked with, but she only had eyes for two people. And they were fictional. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Sally-Anne, are you sure you wanna do this. After all, if we get caught we’ll get grounded and dad might never talk to us again” Madison says as they sit down at the primary colour inspired burger joint. “Dad never talking to us again. Why, that sounds like a good thing” Sally-Anne replied, to the guffaws of canned laughter. “And besides, these burgers sure do smell good” “Hi, my name is Lucas and I was wondering if I could take you two girls your orders” said some snivelling looking twenty-something actor pretending to be a teen. “Hey Lucas, what would you recommend?” Madison says, curling her hair round her fingers as she fixates on him. “Well, the triple cheese burger patty surprise is pretty good!” he said, in an unnaturally chirpy voice. “Triple cheese burger patty surprise? Gee whizz, that sounds good. But what is the surprise?” Sally-Anne says. “That it’s only a double cheese burger!” said Lucas to the insincere howling of yet more canned laughter. “I gotta be honest, my dad runs this place and he’s always coming up with ways to sell people his burgers aaaand sometimes that involves being loose with the truth” Lucas goes away to take the order. “Hey Sally-Anne, it’s not just these burgers that are hot” Madison says, eyeing Lucas leeringly. “And that’s not the best thing! Have you seen how many calories these burgers contain? Hardly any! We can eat loads and we’ll never get fat!” *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Work was unrelenting, and it clouded every panorama that Sweeney took in. Kids were not sympathetic to her emotional frailty. They would tear her to pieces at every sight of vulnerability, and Sweeney did a poor job of concealing such chinks in her armour. The teaching was draining, and yet left her eternally on edge, her senses heightened and alert, whirring in fear and concern. And even once the kids filed out to be collected by their parents, she couldn’t ever truly exhale. It stuck there, like a lump in her throat, never loosening its grip. Sally-Anne and Madison were they only things that could distract her. She’d been there two years now and still no friends. Even the teacher who was friendly to her changed to a different school in a different district. So, she would come home, sit in her seat, switch on the video and watch her oldest friends while she explored herself. Sally-Anne and Madison always looked out for her. It was an anaemic existence. And Sweeney was an anaemic girl. Weight never crept on because, for it to do that, she would have to eat. She never did. Despite her fascination with the idea, deep-rooted in a childhood episode of television, she never did. She deprived herself of it all. She came home and simply drank water. No food, just water. It could not have helped her mood, her lifelessness, her apathy. But she had caged herself in a world of neurosis and fear, bullied by children a quarter of her age at work and spending time with only fictional characters at home. But the tightness of the cage that she had built for herself was the only comfort she had. She knew all the words to this episode now, off by heart. She could whisper them to herself as she walked down the many blocks she had to cross on her way to class. Each beat taken, each goofy grin, permanently scratched on her brain like on a record. But some words lingered longer in her mind than others. And the line “we can eat loads and we’ll never get fat!” was one of them. It reverberated in her mind, crashing against the sides like a marble on an ice rink. It was a word that could change her mood in an instant, to physically coiled and emotionally cloistered, to something warmer and with faster breath. “We can eat loads and we’ll never get fat”. She could try it. There was no reason not to. To one day, free herself from the shackles she put on herself. To cut loose and find a burger place of her own. An old school American diner with cheerful people, friendly staff and maybe even a laughter track. The thought thrilled her, and she’d return to it often, letting the idea sit in her mouth like unchewed gristle. But she never could. No was always easier than yes. Nothing was always easier than something. Inaction was always easier than action. And so it remained. Just a thought that she could cling to, with those hands slipping icily down past the splayed zipper of her work pants as she began to massage with delicately increasing pace. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Hey girls, how was school?” the dad asked. “Oh, you know. Boring. We had math and I hate math. I mean, who uses math in the real world?” Sally-Anne said to more canned laughter, despite there not being a joke. “Still, Madison met someone...” “A boy? Oh, I don’t like the sound of him already!” the dad said, to the raucous guffaws of the canned laughter. “Yeah, Lucas… he’s perfect. He’s smart, he’s funny and he says I’m pretty” said Madison. “Yeah, pretty annoying!” Sally-Anne says to more canned laughter “Well, where did you meet this young buck?” the dad asked. The two girls looked at each other in panic, before replying. “The sports field!” said one. “The library!” said the other. “Huh?” asked the dad. “Yeah, the sports field… library? Is where I met him” Madison said nervously. “Hmmmm… well, as long as he treats you right, then I guess I’m okay with it” the dad sighed, before rolling his eyes at the camera. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* School was boring. Each minute dragged. Each drift towards the end of her shift required her to claw and claw to get there. Each minute was laced with danger, the threat of a misbehaving child or a sly comment about her looking like a witch. Thin. Pale. Raven-haired. Hollow-eyed. And the evenings knew no more speed. They hunkered in on every ticking moment, dragging their feet like a corpse. But she didn’t mind these so much. The routine may have bored her, the repetition and familiarity, but those tingling sensations during “Burgermania” always felt new. Always sparked something kinetic. Impulses. Sweeney was not a girl driven by impulses but, by god, she was driven by these ones. Tape in, lean back, hands down and feel the warmth. She was lonely, though she denied to herself that she was. She wore her isolation like a closeted badge of pride. She refused to believe that this closed-off world that she had brought upon herself wasn’t what she wanted. She couldn’t stand the idea that she, too, might be as susceptible to the joys of taking risks as any other person. She wouldn’t be Sweeney if she was. And so the monotone continued. And so the metronome ticked. Hours of her day would pass and it would still only be 5 minutes later. Time was playing cruel games with her. They say time flies when you’re enjoying yourself. Well, it draws towards a standstill if its passage is all that you have. Just counting down the hours until you count down some more. This was the life that Sweeney had inflicted upon herself. She even forgot her own birthday. She had gotten up with the same regimented routine that had clasped her days until now. Up at 6:47am. The odd numbers seemed better than something rounded and even. A shower, brisk and brusque, just angled water blades cutting her back with barely even warmth to mitigate them. Then clothes, picked from a rack of near-identikit options, hiding behind the banality of each choice so as not to provoke ill-wanted attention. Then breakfast, a banana, always either unripe or over-ripe and squelching into browned mulch. Then teeth, brushed against a timer for two exact minutes. She would brush her hair, paying care not to look at her face and regret the wear and tear that loneliness had torn upon it. Maybe some foundation would help disguise the scars of apathy. A touch up around the eyes to bring life to their deadness. And then out the door at 7:32am with a simple sandwich and apple for lunch, and a refilled bottle of tap-water to drink as her little concession to the environment. She realised it was her birthday when she wrote the date on the corner of the whiteboard for the kids to see. She swallowed her breath as she digested the realisation, before looking with concern at the fourth-graders to see if they noticed. But their attention was so rarely directed at Miss Witchy. She was half-relieved to have escaped unnoticed, half-frustrated that nobody cared. Nobody ever cared. But the thought had laid its larvae in her mind now, and slowly began hatching over the course of the day. Maybe tonight she would do something different. Something naughty. Suddenly time didn’t feel so unhurried. The minutes ticked by in an unfamiliar fashion. The raucous hubbub of misbehaving children seemed like piercing, less screeching. Her mind was elsewhere. Her mind was on tonight. Tonight she would eat something rebellious. Something indulgent. Something other than just water. And when the day wrapped around to its conclusion, she didn’t linger long. She was never one to socialise much in the staffroom, always polite but never so polite as to let somebody in, but today she was sprightly. Today she had somewhere to go. Today she was going to buy herself a birthday cake. She hurried around the shop with frantic legs, whirring like she was operating on a deadline. But she wasn’t, she was just feeling the pulsing adrenaline that comes from leaving your comfort zone. She was going to buy a birthday cake. There was more choice than she had anticipated, for it was never really a section in the supermarket that had captured much of her time or attention. But here she was flitting between choosing chocolate or traditional. Chocolate sounded naughtier so she went with it. And she stifled her breath as she did. She hurried to the self-checkout as she did and then hurried home, ready to spend some time with the only family that she had. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “So, I was thinking we should go to Burgermania again” Madison said to Sally-Anne as they walked to school. “Oh gee, I wonder why(!)” Sally-Anne said back in return. “Does the reason begin with L and end in Ukas?” “Maaaaybe” Madison said with a smile. “Oh he’s so handsome. And he has remarkably impressive customer relations skills” “Well, I don’t mind skipping class if you wanna try it out, but you’re paying” Sally-Anne bartered. “Oh Sally-Anne, you’re the best sister in the world!” Madison said, as she squeezed Sally-Anne with a hug. “Hey kid, I ain’t doing this for you. I got my own reasons for going. My own cheesy, beefy, brioche bun-ny reasons for going” Sally-Anne said to some laughter. “And is there any reason why I wouldn’t go to Burgermania?” “Your class attendance will suffer?” Madison asked “Another reason why I want to go to Burgermania” Sally-Anne said, to the hoots and roars of the laughter soundtrack. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Sweeney felt strange. Strange in a way that she couldn’t place. As she sat down on her reclining chair and as the loud whirring of the VHS tape in the clunking video player, something about her face felt off. Her left eye wasn’t twitching, because that was something that would happen upon occasion and would often discomfort her. But no, this was different. This was her mouth. It was… smiling? Immediately, the smile crumbled into the sea as guilt washed over her. Unhappy was such an ingrained part of her personality that smiling felt like a betrayal. A betrayal against her very identity. But it was her birthday. She was allowed a guilty smile on her birthday. She looked at the cake that she had placed beside her and the smile snook back onto her face without her even realising it. She was really going to do this. She took one of her small side plates and cut a slice off and put it on it. With her eyes hooked on the weary videotape that was rolling on her television set, she took a bite. She paused as she chewed, wary that she had done something unforgivably wrong and that her guilty conscience would spring into life. But nothing. So she kept chewing and chewing, and then swallowing. Until the slice was gone. She had another sliver, and this one felt naughtier than the first. To have a slice of chocolate cake on your birthday wasn’t abnormal, was it? But to have a second was decadent. But would she dare a third? She could, and soon the thrill of the 90’s comedy show and the thrill of the overindulgence became entangled, and Sweeney knew that she would struggle not to eat the entire cake. In fact, it was only deviancy that kept her from completing it. She reserved two thick slices of it. For tomorrow. For breakfast. That felt so rebellious. So naughty. Not a banana, but two slices of calorific chocolate cake for breakfast. She might accidentally go to class with some still on her face. No, that would never do. Would it? She smiled again at the thought. Once her fingers were finished in her work pants, she pulled up her work blouse and ran them across her stomach. It was still flat, despite the enormity of her consumption, but it was so exhilaratingly tight. She could feel her stomach straining, like a Doberman at the leash, as it provided canopy to its contents. She then brought herself to her feet, and looked at herself in the mirror. Sure enough, her face had chocolate on it, smeared across her face with Jackson Pollock élan. But to see her stomach so taut was the real thrill. Her breathing elevated at the sight of it and soon her hands were slipping back down to elicit quiet gasps. Even after she headed to bed, like a cough she couldn’t shift, she couldn’t get those fizzing chemicals to depart. She felt wired, but not in the same beleaguered and stressed sensitivity. No, this felt like clear air after a lifetime in a smog. She scrunched her eyes shut and pleaded for the thoughts to pass, but they were doggedly lodged there in her head and, with every turn of the pillow, her hands slipped down and her thoughts returned there. “And is there any reason why I wouldn’t go to Burgermania?” It was the line that circled her mind the most. I mean, she had never been to a diner, and long presumed that she never would. She didn’t even query it. This was just how her life was and what it would always be. But. But. But. But it was her birthday. Still. Just about. The clock drifting past 11pm now. If she was ever going to do it, this would be when. This would be her chance. She can do it. “Your class attendance will suffer?” was the show’s counter-argument. And going to a diner to eat a burger at this hour just felt so irresponsible. She was always asleep by midnight. Often, she would be restless if she was still awake by 11.30pm. It would mean she would be tired for work, and she needed every ounce of energy that she could muster to survive the onslaught that those children brought about. No, it was irresponsible. It was not an impulse to act upon, just a thought to fantasise over. Surely just the fantasy was enough. “Another reason why I want to go to Burgermania” was Sally-Anne’s final argument. Who cares about school. If that suffers, well that’s just another reason to do it. And school had been suffocating Sweeney. She spent so much time just wishing for it all to stop. She could do this. Just the once. No harm. And if there is harm, then screw school. She wanted to do something for herself, for once. For her birthday. She took her nightie back off and put on some slacks and a jacket. It was deliberately casual, deliberately low-key. There was a 24-hour diner on the edge of town, not too far from where she actually lived. She could go there and do it. Do it for real. She giggled to herself at the thought, at how much she would normally disapprove of her own actions. She walked down through the cold and lonely streets, averting her gaze from every passer-by. She hugged herself to protect herself from Autumn’s bluster until she got to the diner. It’s neon lights seemed dimmer than she anticipated, and the place didn’t look as invited as her hopes had told her it might. She walked in to find it quiet and darkened inside. The primary colours of the show were not reproduced here. Nor, she quickly found, was the waiting staff as friendly. The rose-tinted world of The Sally-Anne And Madison Show did not mirror the fatigued greys of real life. But despite that, they served her a burger. It was a sweatier and more unkempt beast than the glistening delicacy from the show, but it followed the same format of meat patty sandwiched between cheese, sandwiched between buns. It still tasted like disobedience. And grease. And oil. And it still strained the already wincing stomach as she pushed those morsels down her throat. It tasted good because she knew it was bad. And she didn’t notice that the time was now passed midnight and it was no longer even her birthday. She was too enraptured in the pleasure of her stomach pain. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Hey Lucas!” Madison coos. “Hey Madison. Oh, and hey Sally-Anne” he replied “Hey Puke-as” Sally-Anne says with a roll of the eyes and more laughter. “Back so soon? This place must have made a good impression on you” he said with sing-song cheeriness. “Yeah… something like that” Madison says with a flirty smile. Lucas seems entranced but comes to his senses. “Soooo… what can I get you girls?” “Oh, the same again please. It was so good” Madison said, and Sally-Anne just nods begrudgingly. When Lucas goes, Sally-Anne groans “Oh, you two are so gross! Gee, he’s not even that good looking” Sally-Anne whinges. “Purleaaassee, you’re just jealous” Madison replies “Hey girls, I got your burgers and some chocolate sundaes on the house” he says. “Oh my, sundaes? But today’s only Thursday!” Madison says and they all laugh together. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* 6:47am came quickly the following morning. Immediately, the groggy Sweeney knew she was not as well-slept as normal. She toyed with the idea of the taboo – a further five minutes of sleep, just to charge those batteries a little more so that their charge might last the day. But she had slipped far enough last night. It was wrong of her, and it was to be a temporary aberration. She would not let it happen again. No. She had a routine to follow. A cool shower with angled water slicing into her delicate shoulder blades. And whilst showering, she saw no ill-effects on her body from her previous night’s immoderation. Her blown up stomach now punctured. This was reinforced when she opened up her closet and picked off the rail a familiarly sombre colour scheme and found that it fit no more snugly than before. Then to her breakfast, her banana… Except she wasn’t going to have a banana for breakfast this morning. She had kept some naughtiness to one side for this morning. Two slices of cake. She shouldn’t, should she? I mean, it was no longer her birthday, after all. Her night of indulgence had become her morning of preparation for work. But still, she could, couldn’t she? Nobody would know, nobody would be any the wiser. It would be her little secret. Like all of this was. All of these feelings were. So she did it. She embraced it. These rebellious impulses, these naughty little desires. These two slices of cake. She sat down in her reclining chair for a makeshift treat and ate her makeshift breakfast while her hand slipped back down her work pants for a makeshift orgasm. And every bite was cream and chocolate and caster sugar. She loved every crumb, every bite, and she wished herself a happy birthday as she gently rocked herself to pleasure. Until she realised the time. 7:36am. She normally, nay always, left at 7:32am and she was four minutes late and hadn’t even brushed her hair, hadn’t even applied her make-up. And this was why she couldn’t have nice things. Because it would be offset later down the line. This was why she had a routine. And this was why she needed to stick to it. No indulgences. No naughty treats. No no no. She hurried around her apartment in a frenzy of worry. No time to brush her hair, it would have to do. No time to apply make-up, she would have to go without. She rushed out the door without even checking to see if there was chocolate around her mouth. And there was. Nobody said anything about her appearance. It unnerved Sweeney as much as the opposite. What were the other teachers thinking, but not saying? Did they notice her hair was not as tidy as normal, or that her face had not been beautified? Did they spot that maybe her clothes were not as loose or that a bulge could be detected beneath them? Those last two were unlikely since her frame hid her recent revelry well, but the thought that they might actually perked Sweeney up. The thought that Mr Coolidge might do a double take at her behind as she walked by or that Mrs Tavistock might slyly raise an eyebrow at a newfound bloat above her waistband. Yes, she liked that idea a lot. She would have to think about that when she got home. Beyond her hair and make-up, the other thing that her running late had brought about her forgetting was her lunch. Her regularly made sandwich of simply lettuce, tomato and chicken. Each day, always the same, without variation. But the ingredients were still at home, untouched. Forgotten in the whirlwind of her rush to compensate for her recklessness. And now she was stranded without lunch. The thought crossed her mind that she might sneak out of the school, as some teachers often did, and pull up at the nearby Subway. The thought daunted her. It seemed like sneaking off campus. It felt prohibited. It, of course, wasn’t. The staff were grown-ups, not children, after all. But Sweeney’s arrested development reddened the idea with inappropriateness. She couldn’t do that. Not during the middle of the day. No, the day would pass without Sweeney eating any lunch at all. The day dragged on her empty stomach. The kids were in a bad mood, the lack of sun that the Autumn was bestowing upon them had clearly deprived them of good-temper. Every day, Sweeney felt her nails burning from clinging on to the end of the day. But each day she got there. She got home and sat down in her reclining chair with a sense of purpose and excitement. She didn’t need to wear out the tired tape on the video, she knew just the thoughts that she needed to get to where she wanted to go. Those disapproving looks from others at her unapproved swelling. She thought about if last night wasn’t an exception. That it became a rule. That all of her colleagues looked at the teacher, the one they long disregarded as weird and anti-social, and spied her developments. What if she ate chocolate cake for breakfast every day? What if she went to that diner every day? These thoughts were the paraffin to her flame, and soon she ignited and she smiled as she spasmed. But, she could go to the diner. Couldn’t she? I mean, she survived today unharmed. The lack of sleep didn’t impact her teaching, or draw the attention of consternating eyes from her fellow teachers. She could go again, and nobody would be any the wiser still. Still her little secret. Her disobedient trip to her own Burgermania. The portly woman that served her last time with a gruff tone saw her again and smiled. “Back so soon?” she said, unaware that she was quoting the show that inspired this soiree. Sweeney nodded with an impish smile and ordered the same again. The waitress smiled a bit more genuinely this time, appreciating a return customer and a familiar face in the droning hours of the evening. “And a chocolate sundae, on the house” she offered Sweeney to her great surprise. “It’s nice to see a returning face and you look like you’re partial to chocolate” The waitress indicated to Sweeney’s mouth, where she had spent the whole day oblivious to the brown smudge around her lips from her morning treat. She wiped it off and her mind galloped towards worrying about how she must have looked. But the friendly waitress was hovering over her with a generous offering and Sweeney gave up on her neurosis and instead replied with manners. “Sundae? But today’s only Thursday!” Sweeney said, and the waitress chortled at that one, despite having heard it a fair few times before. Still, Sweeney had her burger and her sundae, the full Burgermania experience. And tomorrow could shove it, because she was going to enjoy today, one calorie at a time. flyer33, Batman76, jwhales and 1 other 1 3 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jd6013 Posted August 2, 2019 Share Posted August 2, 2019 I love this! You nailed the Disney Channel dialogue. Growing up I had several episodes like this I always looked forward to from several shows on Disney Channel and Nickelodeon. Episodes where one of the main characters would suddenly pig out, let themselves go, or even just burp were my absolute favorite of the series. I would have to remember how the episodes started so that when they came on I would immediately know it was THAT episode. I can’t wait to see where this goes, especially the Burgermania episode in the story. bigboy1992, >_< 0_0 and flyer33 3 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted August 2, 2019 Share Posted August 2, 2019 Nice one, captures the loneliness very well Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
swahilimonkfish Posted August 2, 2019 Author Share Posted August 2, 2019 4 hours ago, jd6013 said: I love this! You nailed the Disney Channel dialogue. Growing up I had several episodes like this I always looked forward to from several shows on Disney Channel and Nickelodeon. Episodes where one of the main characters would suddenly pig out, let themselves go, or even just burp were my absolute favorite of the series. I would have to remember how the episodes started so that when they came on I would immediately know it was THAT episode. I can’t wait to see where this goes, especially the Burgermania episode in the story. Yeah, it seemed a weird thing that those shows would have. Just a random WG episode, out of the blue. Like there was a communal fat suit that had to be shared across the studio lots and each show got a week with it. I'm fairly sure it influenced a lot of kids growing up, and that those kids ended up on here 😄 4 hours ago, Batman76 said: Nice one, captures the loneliness very well Thanks Batman, it's nice that I get two comments and one likes the Episode half, and one likes the Sweeney half. It's very rewarding. And I think most people have had bouts of feeling like this to varying degrees for varying periods of time. I found myself relating to her a fair bit >_< 0_0, Batman76 and jd6013 3 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted August 2, 2019 Share Posted August 2, 2019 The weird thing with the WG episodes is that I get nit picky over them. The Kim possible episode was the worst, where it was Ron instead of Kim getting fat from the mcguffin. It would have been way better if it was the opposite, where she ate health food but got hit by the fat ray or whatever it was and started ballooning. >_< 0_0 and swahilimonkfish 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
swahilimonkfish Posted August 2, 2019 Author Share Posted August 2, 2019 2 minutes ago, Batman76 said: The weird thing with the WG episodes is that I get nit picky over them. The Kim possible episode was the worst, where it was Ron instead of Kim getting fat. It would have been way better if it was the opposite. I totally get that. I only have foggy memories from growing up. And, at that age, I was none the wiser and just taken away with it. However, I'm sure if I rewatched the Sabrina episode where she gained weight, I would cringe so much. I remember being especially taken by some cartoon spy trio of girls and some magic cookies, and finding it like manna from the Heavens. I wonder how well that holds up. Maybe I'm more discerning now lol, or maybe I just get to be pickier now we have Curvage and BigCuties and so so much more >_< 0_0 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted August 3, 2019 Share Posted August 3, 2019 P 3 hours ago, swahilimonkfish said: I totally get that. I only have foggy memories from growing up. And, at that age, I was none the wiser and just taken away with it. However, I'm sure if I rewatched the Sabrina episode where she gained weight, I would cringe so much. I remember being especially taken by some cartoon spy trio of girls and some magic cookies, and finding it like manna from the Heavens. I wonder how well that holds up. Maybe I'm more discerning now lol, or maybe I just get to be pickier now we have Curvage and BigCuties and so so much more Oh yeah, totally spies. That show existed to seed fetishes: weight gain, Amazons, cat girls, brain washing, nerdification. swahilimonkfish and >_< 0_0 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
>_< 0_0 Posted August 3, 2019 Share Posted August 3, 2019 3 hours ago, Batman76 said: P Oh yeah, totally spies. That show existed to seed fetishes: weight gain, Amazons, cat girls, brain washing, nerdification. What was with that show? Their "wg" episode is the most recommended by far on YouTube and all the comments are like "this episode stirred strange feelings within me as a child" 😬😆 I'm pretty sure it's what I call the "Pee Wee Herman Effect," where the people making a children's show go crazy with the PC bullshit and the mind-numbing childishness, so they add a few adult easter eggs into the plot as a kind of rebellion against the system 😆 (by the way, Rob Zombie started his career as a camera guy on the Pee Wee Herman show, and went so crazy that he founded White Zombie and so on -- thus, the "Pee Wee Herman Effect") swahilimonkfish and Batman76 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted August 3, 2019 Share Posted August 3, 2019 2 minutes ago, >_< 0_0 said: What was with that show? Their "wg" episode is the most recommended by far on YouTube and all the comments are like "this episode stirred strange feelings within me as a child" 😬😆 I'm pretty sure it's what I call the "Pee Wee Herman Effect," where the people making a children's show go crazy with the PC bullshit and the mind-numbing childishness, so they add a few adult easter eggs into the plot as a kind of rebellion against the system 😆 (by the way, Rob Zombie started his career as a camera guy on the Pee Wee Herman show, and went so crazy that he founded White Zombie and so on -- thus, the "Pee Wee Herman Effect") its kind a like how people will say 'this is corrupting the youth!' and 99% of the time thier wrong, but then you get a show like Totally spies that is absolutely corrupting the youth. xandercroft, >_< 0_0 and swahilimonkfish 1 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
John Smith Posted August 3, 2019 Share Posted August 3, 2019 Totally Spies, Mother of Everything Funny ot Cringey AF on Deviantart. swahilimonkfish, >_< 0_0 and Batman76 2 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dania201 Posted August 3, 2019 Share Posted August 3, 2019 When I saw who was the author, I was excited to read this! I love the interweaving plot lines and the way the writing style brings to life the character’s asperger-esque lenses on her experience. swahilimonkfish 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
swahilimonkfish Posted August 3, 2019 Author Share Posted August 3, 2019 4 hours ago, dania201 said: When I saw who was the author, I was excited to read this! I love the interweaving plot lines and the way the writing style brings to life the character’s asperger-esque lenses on her experience. Thank you so much, as ever, that means a great deal! Especially the comments on the character's voice, that was the bit I worked hardest on. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
swahilimonkfish Posted August 5, 2019 Author Share Posted August 5, 2019 “Oh gee Madison, I don’t know if I like all this sneaking around. It gives me this weird feeling in my stomach and I don’t like it” Sally-Anne said to her sister. “Oh that? That’s called guilt” Madison said cheerily to some fake amusement “Well, whatever it is, it ain’t good Madison. I don’t like it” Sally-Anne whinged. “And what if we get caught? What then? All this sneaking around isn’t good for me Madison. You know I have a weak constitution” “Well, you know what might help with a weak constitution? A burger? And maybe a sundae?” Madison replied, and again there was automated laughter. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* It was an aberration. It was an exception. It was an indulgence and Sweeney didn’t indulge. Life was not for living. Life was for surviving. Happiness is just a peak from which to fall. Happiness is just an accident waiting to happen. Happiness and the cogs of fate will turn against you. Nothing good comes of it. Sweeney was not to indulge again. She couldn’t. She couldn’t bear the guilt. The dishonesty. The sneaking around. She hadn’t the constitution. Sweeney was back on the straight and narrow, in keeping with her build. The routine was king and she was its subject. Alarm was always set for 6:47am. And never a minute later. Upon its ungodly blaring, she would then clad herself in armour of greys and blacks made from the full range of her work attire. Following that, she would have her routine breakfast, a slender banana, blackened with age or whitened with unreadiness. Without fail, each time she would wince in displeasure as she ate it. It tasted like the ass in potassium. Then it was time to brush her teeth. Timer on her phone set, two minutes and counting, then floss, then mouthwash, then rinse. Finally, she would brush her char black hair and use concealer on her face to conceal all the indents and lines that life had inflicted upon her. And then out the door at 7:32am with a sandwich and a drinking bottle filled with water. Day started. Normality resumed. Safety at last. Nobody seemed to notice Sweeney’s rebellion a week back. Everyone looked at her the same way. At first it was a relief, to swerve their Sauron’s stare and slink back into the shadows without their attention. There was nothing more nauseating than the prospect of being noticed. No festering black pit crawling and writhing like maggots at the basin of her stomach. No tintinnabulation of insecurity rattling in her ears. Anonymity was her comfort blanket. But soon, it began to chafe. Sweeney felt short-changed. She had broken past the prison walls of her own neurosis and done something truly out of character, and there was nobody there to congratulate her. No champagne cork popped, now ribbons of bunting running down the streets. She wanted to be proud of herself, but without anyone to know what she’d done, it was as if it never happened in the first place. If a tree falls and there’s nobody around to hear it, did it even make a noise? And the thought dug deeper, paining her to realise that it might as well have all been for nothing. This aberration. This exception. Lost to time in the course of just a week. It was enough to make you dizzy, to know that your life was so without consequence. Cut adrift in the vacuum of space. Nobody knew and nobody cared, and Sweeney was cast adrift alone in a sea of loneliness with just The Sally-Anne And Madison Show for a raft. With just Sally-Anne and Madison for friends. Worse still, but Burgermania wasn’t even sparking like before. Her routine remained. The videotape whirring, Sweeney lying back on her trusty recliner, her cold hand slithering down her trousers and gently caressing. But that was always as far as it got. The electron charges never ignited that chemical chain reaction as she watched the show. “It gives me a weird feeling in my stomach and I don’t like it” drifted past her but she found herself unable to reach out to the words. Her trusty stead was only by her side in name. Burgermania simply didn’t turn her on any more. But she knew what might. Fuck all them teachers who didn’t even notice what she had done. Fuck them all. She couldn’t continue this way. That scorching pain from screeching inertia that had muffled every emotion but fear. She couldn’t have those two days being lost to the ignorance and apathy of the world around her. She needed it to be real. She needed to taste it. To breathe it. And she needed it to feel that spark again. Maybe watching Burgermania wasn’t enough. Maybe she actually had to live it. She lay in bed with this intrusive thought buzzing in her head. Maybe once was not enough. She could go again. Couldn’t she? Nobody held it against her, nobody even noticed. So why couldn’t she, every now and then, treat herself like she did her birthday. It needn’t impact work, she could do it on a Friday. Yeah, a Friday would be good. Something to look forward to, something to aspire towards. Give each dark tunnel of a week a beacon of light at its end. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- “Fourth time this week girls, you obviously like it here” Lucas says “Well, it’s either that or history. And who cares about history? It all happened sooo long ago” Sally-Anne whinges, to laughter. “Plus, there are other reasons” Madison said, and the audience give it an “ooooo” “Well, I got your burgers and free sundaes ready for you” Lucas said with all the gravitas of a mannequin. “Actually, Sally-Anne can have mine too. I’ve got something else I wanna do” Madison leans in and kisses him. “Shall we go somewhere else?” “Sure thing” says a giddy Lucas. “Hey, have at it kiddos. Cos I’m pretty sure I got the best deal here” Sally-Anne says as she tucks into both hers and Madison’s food. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* And so it was. Friday drew upon her like an unsheathed foil and Sweeney was released from the suffocation of work. She could reward herself. Finally. With just a guilty smile for company, she wandered down towards the low hum from the dully-lit signage outside the musky 24-hour diner and treated herself to a greasy burger and a frosty sundae. The waitress, Beatrice, would smile when she came in and Sweeney felt a different warmth to the tingles she was pursuing. The warmth of friendship. And so Sweeney’s routine evolved. Fridays, Sweeney was in love. And while school still scarred her internal organs, ravaging her resolve liked fanged beasts, the glimmer of hope was enough to focus on to get her through the day. The children haunted her, the teachers were all cold. Even the heating in her flat had gone, making her cool showers icy cold. But she had something to hold onto at last. Her weekly sojourn to the diner. Week after week, she would perform her miniature rebellion and sneak off to the diner. What was one more dark secret to clasp to her chest, when she already carried so many? And still nobody noticed. No calls from the principle to discuss her actions. No withering, weathering, wuthering stares from all the other staff who all acted like they belonged, while the nagging sense that Sweeney was an imposter never drifted from the backburner of her thoughts. Somehow, Sweeney had taken a leap into somewhere unknown and uncharted to her, a frontierswoman experiencing things that she had long cordoned off from herself. New muscles formed, fresh from this new exercise. The first delicate tendrils of confidence in herself, the first buds of perspective. No almighty apocalypse had befallen her, no vengeful gods had smote her and no colleagues had said a word. In a very short time, her balance soon accommodated this front-foot stance. And then things evolved some more. “It’s not a Friday Sweeney, I wasn’t expecting you” Beatrice said as Sweeney shuffled in, her posture as crumpled as discarded paper. The diner wasn’t desolate, but it carried a mournful quiet and its own sense of solitude as just a few grizzled no-talkers sat down at their plastic tables. “It’s been a bad week, and I needed a pick-me-up. I wasn’t going to last until Friday. If… that’s okay?” Sweeney said in her notably quiet voice. And she hadn’t been lying about the bad week. Each minuted creaked as the kids swarmed like chaotic wasps around her. She didn’t have the means to maintain their attention, or the force of personality to back it up. They just overran her and it was wearing her down. The light at the end of the tunnel hadn’t seemed so bright this week. Dim and flickering in a dusty smog. Like the sign outside the diner. She needed a helping hand to get her to the end of the week. “Oh, you can come as often as you like Sweeney. It’s nice to have the company” Beatrice told her, and it was. Sweeney enjoyed that bit almost as much as she enjoyed the bit she experienced when she got back home. It wasn’t a proper friendship, but it was informally friendly in a way that felt like friendship to Sweeney’s emotionally impoverished soul. It felt like friendship and she could kid herself that it was. And so Thursday was added to the Friday routine. It was nice to have the company too. It helped being out of the apartment for a bit of time. Her bare grey walls always leaned in oppressively, the emptiness of her place always seemed haunted. She felt restless and alone, trapped in those walls. But on these days, she got to breathe fresh air on her walk, she got company at her destination, and she had the pleasure of returning to her flat with those pyrotechnic feelings sparking inside of her again. This routine suited Sweeney. And yet still nobody at work noticed. Her disobedience was as lost as tears in the rain. The kids still jibed her with Missy Witch and her colleagues still refrained from even noticing that she existed. It all felt like a lifelong walk to the same exact spot. Trapped on a conveyor belt and moving in the opposite direction, going nowhere and not even going there fast. Those hours at work never stopped hollowing her out to a husk, carving out her innards and turning them to gloop, even if the end of the week bore a reward. The clock still ticked slowly and painfully, and each day wrought havoc on her emotional spine. Each day was a marathon, each day was a 26 mile sprint. Sweeney couldn’t remember what it felt like to not be hanging on by a thread. She was nearly inured to it, if it weren’t for the fact that she was barely hanging on by a thread. For week after week, until the pain mounted and nothing changed. Until something did. “Fourth time this week?” Beatrice asked, and Sweeney meekly nodded in the affirmative. Whilst most weeks were tough, inspection week was apocalyptic. It was a grand piano falling everywhere you stepped. It has a noose around your neck, it was a snake around your spine. The children had chosen to misbehave with particular vigour while the inspector observed Sweeney’s panicked floundering as she tried to craft order from chaos. It hadn’t worked, and Sweeney had taken to a familiar balm. And now Sweeney felt the career that she hated being yanked from her rigor mortis grasp. She’d hate that job with passion if she had any passion left, but instead she just felt moored by the familiar drone of its hellscape. “Well, I’m glad you picked these four evenings, cos these are the four evening that I work. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. And it’s nice to have a friendly face when work is tough” Sweeney wrestled a smile to her cracked lips, but the words sliced deep, severing sinew and mutilating muscle. The week was thankfully over, and the looming spectre of inspection had faded, but the absence of a friendly face, at work or at home, scored deep. And the refuge she sought here only buoyed her for so long. Soon the creeping fog of dread would draw towards her once more, her joints would begin their tensed ache, and the circle of hell would loop around once more. “Well, I guess I could pop down those days more often” Sweeney offered, almost pleading for affection or companionship. She felt guilty for asking, she felt guilty for needing help. She felt guilty for trying to find something to ease the pain, because she defined herself by it. Her personality was anchored by the punishing of her world. She smiled to Beatrice again, but the smile was woven from gossamer silk and could snap at any point. Fortunately, the smile from Beatrice told her that she wasn’t far removed from looking for the same. “That would be lovely. Oh, and here’s your burger and sundae, and I got my favourite customer some waffles on the side, on the house. Go on, have at it kiddo!” she said, and Sweeney smiled for the first time that week as she took Beatrice’s advice and had at it. Go on, have at it kiddo indeed. Just another aberration, and each pang of guilt felt good. Just another aberration and Sweeney didn’t mind. Have at it kiddo, indeed she would. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Oh, hey girls. You got back late. Been studying?” the dad asked. “Urrr…. Yeah, sure. Studying” they both say. “Well, I’ve just made dinner so I hope you girls are hungry” Sally-Anne looks at the camera in worry. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- 6:47am. The frivolity was over. Those moonlight excursions relegated to a memory. Pleasure was on hiatus, happiness was taking a sabbatical, and at the base of her spine was The Dread. The Dread was the fetid tar on the bronchioles of her lung. The Dread was the rotten carcass at the pit of her stomach. Another day at work lurking always in the corner of her eye, portentous and malicious. Another day at work looming like a spider on the horizon, and The Dread coagulating and festering with every unhealthy thought. It reminded her that when she would get to work, all staff would get a daily e-mail from the principle, and he would always sign-off with some cringey Churchill quote. “If you’re going through Hell… keep going”. 6:47am and Sweeney was going through Hell. 6:47am and all Sweeney did was keep going. 6:47am and maybe if you’re going through Hell, it’s an indication that you should turn around. 6:52am and Sweeney had pulled back the duvet and let the cruel world in on her. She had shuffled with shoulders hunched from the cold draft of a wheezing apartment towards her shower. She had stood there in that daggered downpour without an ounce of warmth across her calcified body. The beads of water hit so sharp that she feared it might pierce. She washed with lifeless mechanism, trying to wash the remnants of pleasure that had marked the previous night’s body, before stumbling out the shower and into a towel for its embrace. 7:09am and Sweeney’s body was curling up into itself from that bracing throughdraught, while she stood before her closet to pick with soulless shade of dark grey would pair well with the anaesthetised white of her blouse. 7:13am and Sweeney was peeling her breakfast banana. This one was unripe and tasted unsweetened and unfriendly. 7:18am and Sweeney was rescuing her hair by racing a brush harshly through any knots she might have. She’d love to be the kind of woman who curled her hair, but people would look and take notice so Sweeney cowered behind the shelter of just brushing it. 7:22am and she had to apply make-up. And so she had to confront her own reflection. Those late evenings with her, Beatrice and a burger that swam in its own grease had taken a hacksaw to Sweeney’s sleeping habits. She used to always be in bed and asleep by 11:30pm, but now she was rarely even back in her own flat at that hour. Her precious seven hours of revitalisation to brace herself for the impact of the coming day had been peeled away at until less than six hours were remaining. And her face was a graveyard to all the sleep she hadn’t had. Her listless eyes flickering without luminescence now rested upon the plinth of bags beneath them, darkened with weariness and, of course, The Dread. Her lips were dry and chapped, a mouth ulcer scarring the inside of her bottom lip. Sweeney always got mouth ulcers when she was stressed, and Sweeney was always stressed. She got out her make-up compact and began reparations, to hide the visual hangover of her new bad habit. And, with a sigh, a sandwich, a bottle of water and an apple, Sweeney went to work braced for its bombardment. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Wow, I’m so stuffed dad, I couldn’t eat another thing!” Sally-Anne says, leaning back and blowing out her cheeks. “Not even your favourite… pecan pie?” the dad asked. Sally-Anne just looks at the camera again in worry “Well, I guess that stomach of yours is gonna be ‘pecan’ over that waistband” Madison teased her sister. The laughter track found that line particularly amusing. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* But even with all that preparation, the trauma of a bad day could knock Sweeney sideways. And each day was a bad day. There was almost a chilling familiarity to it. Similar beats, similar feelings. And the familiarity just made things worse. The muscle memory of wincing coming to her too easily, the neural pathways carving through her mind made the feelings of pain more readily accessed. Every wound cut deeper, every hurt was sharper. She thought that she would harden over time, but was always left sensitive and raw. It stacked up, a growing mountain of suffering as the nightmarish ruckus of misbehaving children straining at every leash that Sweeney provided ground her down. Sweeney felt like she was eroding. And, after a particularly knifing day, an emotionally bruised Sweeney wandered shell-shocked to her burger-serving sanctuary for a temporary respite the rattling thoughts of negativity that took up more and more of her headspace. “Hey Sweeney, what can I get you?” Beatrice said with a welcoming smile. “Lemme guess, a burger and a chocolate sundae?” “Yes please… oh, um… actually, could I get two burgers and a sundae please?” Sweeney eked out, her voice frail and brittle, as vulnerable as the rest of her. “Oh dear, been a two burgers kinda day?” Beatrice said, with sympathy as Sweeney finally broke down and burst in sobs. It had been ratcheting up and ratcheting up, but eventually Sweeney’s dam had burst and all those poorly bottled emotions came rushing out. “I tell you what? I’m due a break, I’ll grab you that food and I’ll come and sit with you, and you can tell me all about it” Beatrice offered, with mothering compassion. And Sweeney needed no second invitation. She unloaded years of hurt and loneliness on the poor unsuspecting woman, relaying each agony and anguish while meat juices from the patty dripped down her fingers. And Beatrice, to her immense credit, listened without interruption or judgement. She just tilted her head to one side and heard all of Sweeney’s neurotic insecurities bundle out of her mouth while she put food in it. “And that’s why I come here so often. I don’t know if it’s the food or the company, but it’s the only time I can’t hear that voice in my head recycling thoughts ad hominem. It’s the only time my mind quietens” Sweeney confessed, before being interrupted by her spoon clinking against the sundae’s glass to tell her that it was empty. Her surprised expression gave away that she had been so lost in her emotional unburdening that she’d forgotten about how much she was eating. “God, I’m so stuffed, I couldn’t eat another thing!” “Well, I don’t know where you put it girl, you skinny little thing” Beatrice said with wonder, and Sweeney almost recoiled from the compliment. So starved of kind words, Sweeney didn’t even know how much she’d been craving to hear just anything flattering. And to think the thing being praised was her size. And to think the thing being praised was her appetite. And with that realisation, Sweeney realised she had to get home. Quick. She had something she needed to do. Standing in her flat, four grey bare walls to either side of her, she slid her hand down her slacks and thought about what Beatrice had said. Her fingers moved to the rhythm and meter of those words. I don’t know where you put it. Yes, that worked. I don’t know where you put it. I don’t know where you put it. I dunno whereya putit. I dunno whereya putit. Idnowhere yeputit. Idnowhere yeputit. With her hand still down there, she went to her bedroom and grabbed a pillow. Thinking of Beatrice’s words and of Sally-Anne at Burgermania, she put it under her hoodie to create the poorly made illusion of her own weight gain. She looked in the mirror and saw a skinny girl with a cushion under her top, and it reminded her of Sally-Anne so much that it caused a sexual rush. I dunno whereya putit. I dunno whereya putit. Idnowhere yeputit. Idnowhere yeputit. Then another pillow, this time down her slacks. She undid them and stuffed it in, letting it rub up against her. Yes, this worked for her. Squeezing and twisting, she did the button back up and enjoyed the discomfort. She could tighten her legs around the pillow, tensing as her hand went back down. I dunno whereya putit. I dunno whereya putit. Idnowhere yeputit. Idnowhere yeputit. Idaputit Idaputit Idaputit Idaputit. And then Sweeney’s head went back as the rush flooded her. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Hey Madison! Oh, and hey Sally-Anne” Luke says as they walk in again. “Oh cut the smalltalk Lucas. I’ll have the same as usual, but could I also have some fries and maybe some of them cookies, and then you and Madison can go play Pong, but with your tongues” Sally-Anne says deadpan, to the amusement of the canned laughter. “Are… are you sure you should be eating all that Sally-Anne? That sounds like quite a lot and… I don’t know how to say this but… you’re looking a little less like Sally-Anne and a little more like Sally-Flan” Madison asks, as the camera looks at what is clearly just a small cushion hidden under her top. “Oh, pfffttt… have you seen how few calories are in the food here? And this ain’t a belly, silly, I’ve… just been breathing out a lot recently. That’s what it is. My breathed out stomach” Sally-Anne replies and oh how the artificial laughing track howls with laughter at that comment. “If you say so” the other two say. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Sweeney’s rhythm was far more staccato now. The needling pain and wilting malaise still pulsed through her days, blocking up the back of her throat with acrid distaste. But, more and more, Sweeney was experiencing alternative emotions. As potent as The Dread was, and as much as she abhorred every living moment of her employment, it was made easier when the thing that you hated coincided with the thing that you loved. And Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays were now no longer defined by that feeling of her innards sinking through her body as if dragged down by an anchor. They signified, to just as much of a degree, the freedom of waltzing down to that dimly lit diner on the corner of town to experience something approaching happiness. Something resembling friendship. Something nice. There were still lows. Bone-crushing, organ-trashing lows, such as when the principle had a one-to-one with her over the disappointing feedback from the classroom inspector. He seemed cordial and understanding, but it would have hurt no less if he’d have kicked her to the floor and spat on her. It punctured her balloon before it had time to inflate. She could smell his odorous eau de toilette even now, as the guilt hit and hit and hit. But these moments of devastation, where the cold embrace of skull on concrete beckoned, didn’t burn for as long or as deeply. Because there were now also highs. Highs such as realising your dark navy work pants are getting snug. It may have nearly caused her to be late for work but, when she arrived at the school, her facial expression was notably lighter and more aerated. And the entire day had glided by as Sweeney’s mind couldn’t stray from this fixated thoughts. She was gaining weight. Sweeney was. Miss Witchy herself. Actual weight. Somewhere, spread along her tired and thin limbs or across her bony midriff, fat had been deposited. Actual fat. Not fictional, pillow-down-your-trousers fat. The real thing. Her body was changing. Evolving. And it felt so exciting. She bolted home that day and stood in front of the mirror for the inspection that her tight schedule had not permitted earlier. She wanted to see what it would look like, to see how it would compare. And standing there in her work attire in front of the mirror, her first instinct was one of disappointment. Had she been naive, too caught up in the silliness of Burgermania to realise that real life wasn’t so extreme? That was her first thought as she, with her eyes, gave herself a full body scan. She saw the same Sweeney that she always saw, with red around her eyes, and black bags beneath the red. She saw apparitionally pale skin tightly harassing the bone structure of her skull. She saw legs that were lost in her trousers and arms lost in her blouse. The same haunted, haunting image of herself seemed unchanged despite the excitement. Except, looking closer at her waist, Sweeney spotted where the button on her work pants had strained, and how, around the edges, her softer waistline was jabbed by her waistband. Pulling her blouse off, she could more clearly see how, just above it, tender flesh in milky white gently opposing the boundaries imposed by them work pants. She gently ran her finger against this stomach, softened without the outward jut, and suddenly the divide between reality and fiction wasn’t a turn off. It was a turn on. This was real. This was her body. Not camera trickery or carefully placed padding. For real. An actual imprint on her actual body. And suddenly her fetish was real. Not some perversion, lying in abstraction, easy to deny. It was made manifest now. There was no hiding from it, no denial of it. The scales only spoke in black and white, and they said that she was now 124lbs, 13lbs into a world she had never encountered. Real weight. Real numbers. On her real body. This was what she liked and here it was, on her body, with its most un-Sweeney-like softness. 13lbs of softness, 13lbs of burgers and sundaes and late nights. The simple thought of it was a rush that hacked at her breath. Soon, her work pants were off too, the subtle red lines of where they had indented on her hips could be seen, and Sweeney rushed to bring herself to climax. This was how things were going to be. This was real, it was happening and it was what she wanted. Sweeney made a note to herself to order fries with her burger. It’s what Sally-Anne would have wanted. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- “Hey girls, been at the library again? Wowzers, I bet your grades are going to be awe-diddly-awesome this year. What with all the work you two are putting in. I’m proud of you girls” the dad says, giving them a hug. The sound effect “awwww” is deployed. “Wait, you seem a bit softer Sally-Anne? Are you sure you’ve been to the library, you look like you’ve swallowed a bowling ball? Wait, you haven’t been going to that burger place have you?” the dad asked suspiciously, as her fat suit is now increasingly padded. “Haha, this? No, this is… just a thought baby. It’s like a food baby, but when you do so much thinking.” Sally-Anne said as the canned laughter chortles. “Well, I know what will help with two much thinking. The monster truck derby is on. How about it girls, just you two and your old man, some burgers that I picked up from Burgermania and watched a car with big wheels get crushed by a car with bigger wheels?” the dad asked, and the two girls look at each other nervously. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Sweeney stopped cold dead in her tracks. Something awful, something inconceivably terrible had happened. She had caught herself ‘humming’. Why? She was Sweeney – she didn’t hum. She stood in the corners of rooms with her arms tightly by her side and her eyes making contact with as few people as possible, that’s what Sweeney did. But here she was, gliding through her apartment on a weekday evening with a smile and a tune on her lips. She must have let her guard slip at some point, but happiness had wormed its way into her life. It was the burgers. That was the cause. Not the cause of the happiness, but rather the cause of the weight gain that was the cause of the happiness. It might not have had such an effect on someone else, since she was only now eating three meals a day. But given a lifetime of deprivation and denial, the about-turn in her eating habits had left their residue on her. It wasn’t one pair of work pants that were tight on her now, it was all of them. And some had reached the point of being unbearable. She really needed to upgrade her wardrobe but the punishment encasement of her clothes was a pinching reminder of the thing she desired the most. Even now, she could feel the air against her teeth again, which meant only one thing. She was letting slip another smile again. Nobody had noticed yet. Nobody had spotted the overflow that formed around her waist when those work pants fastened into her subtly doughier skin. Nobody had noticed the work blouses that now highlighted her shape instead of hid it. Nobody had noticed the virginal roll when she sat down, or the legs of her work pants tapering so tightly against the legs of her body. Or, at least, nobody had let on that they had noticed, though paranoid insecurity and sexual titillation both wondered if people had and just didn’t show. After all, a 20lbs gain should be hard to overlook on someone, and it wasn’t like the consequences could be discarded as a thought baby, like they were with Sally-Anne. After all, 131lbs didn’t feel like a small number any more. It didn’t feel like the weight of a woman clinging forlornly at the walls to survive. Now she had hips, might she be curvy? Now she had breasts, might she be sexy? Regardless of what others saw, Sweeney saw a sexy woman when she saw herself. And one only getting sexier. Sweeney was in love with the girl in the reflection, and in love with where that girl was going. The future was going to be awe-diddly-awesome. dania201, Batman76, jwhales and 1 other 2 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted August 5, 2019 Share Posted August 5, 2019 Lovely psychology at play xandercroft and swahilimonkfish 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dania201 Posted August 5, 2019 Share Posted August 5, 2019 This story is set up to be really unique. This character is going to have such a frank understanding of what the weight feels like as it comes on. swahilimonkfish and xandercroft 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
swahilimonkfish Posted August 6, 2019 Author Share Posted August 6, 2019 17 hours ago, Batman76 said: Lovely psychology at play Thanks mate, she's an easy head to get inside of. 8 hours ago, dania201 said: This story is set up to be really unique. This character is going to have such a frank understanding of what the weight feels like as it comes on. I'm glad you like it. It's a fun perspective to write for, since it isn't accidental. xandercroft 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
swahilimonkfish Posted August 8, 2019 Author Share Posted August 8, 2019 Part 3 “Thanks Sally-Anne for keeping me and Lucas a secret from dad. If he found out, I’m sure he’d… well you remember how mad he got when they cancelled the monster truck derby?” Madison said, hugging her boyfriend while at Burgermania. “Well, you keep bringing me the food, and I’ll keep keeping the secrets” Sally-Anne says in a clearly exaggerated fat suit that gave her multiple chins and made her arms, legs and stomach too stiff to move from padding. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Sweeney loved that bit of the episode. The moment Sally-Anne committed. Sure, the weight gain was exaggerated and clearly padded, but it was the idea that was most palpable to the thin teacher. The idea. She wasn’t even quite sure what the idea was, or even if it had a name. It lay in abstraction in the back of her mind, always there but never there. She knew what it was that turned her on, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. It was like that cringey art comment of “I couldn’t say what I like, but I know it when I see it”. Maybe it was the greed. It seemed antonymous to the girl so slavishly beholden to abstinence, but the greed of it may be the appeal. The more of it all. Maybe that was why she was eating potato chips, despite having just arrived back from the diner. Despite having just eaten a burger with fries and a sundae. Despite it being gone midnight on a workday. But there was something appealing about the sheer excess of it. She didn’t need to eat, but she wanted to anyway. Or maybe it was the taboo. The naughtiness of sitting in that reclining chair in front of her television, watching an old videotape of a 90’s children’s show, with one hand down where her knickers would be, had she not already discarded them. The naughtiness of knowing she needed to sleep ready for an early start and long day tomorrow, and that she normally would be asleep over an hour ago, but instead she was flying closer and closer to the sun, for the Icarus thrill of it all. To know that she might get caught out. That one of these days, a colleague might comment or a student might make a joke at her expense, or Beatrice might raise the subject. The looming threat of being caught being naughty. Or maybe it was the transformation. The evolution. The shedding of her skin by the adding of a layer. To know where she was, and to know where she is, and to know that the distance between can never be reconciled. Just drifting apart. Two paths diverging. To know there was, just four months ago, 111lbs scattered across the husk of her 5ft8 body, and now there are a further 24lbs deposited thinly life butter across bread. She could knead the bready dough of her stomach with one hand and revel in its transformation while her other hand went to work down below. What would her colleagues say if they saw her now? Something cruel, she hoped. Sweeney was as committed as Sally-Anne now. That was why she, at 1am, decided to go fetch a second pack of potato chips. Her alarm was due to go off in less than six hours and she was eating them anyway. How greedy. How taboo. How transformative. In just a nightie, she lay down and continued watching Burgermania and continued eating her chips. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Sally-Anne, Madison? You’re late! Again!” the teacher said sternly. “Sorry sir. We got caught up in traffic, real bad tailback due to the roadworks on the 42.” Madison reeled off. “Oh fair enough… wait a second! You walk to school!” the teacher realised, and the laughter kicked in. “That’s it. Detention, after class. The pair of you” *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Sweeney didn’t hear the shrieking hark of her alarm clock, its shrill call. While it pulsated in an uncomfortable pitch, Sweeney continued sleeping peacefully and contentedly. This might partly be attributed to tiredness, the insulating comfort of deep sleep, but it was more likely because she hadn’t alit to bed. The rising pitch and volume emanating harshly from her bedroom had not yet traversed across to the slovenly mess in the living area that she was sprawled within. She was stone cold in her reclining chair, with a pillow up the top of her nightie, a hand between her legs, and potato chips in her hair. And it was 6:47am. And it was 6:52am. And it was 6:57am. And her chest rose and fell serenely. And it was 7:01am And it was 7:09am. It was a stroke of good fortune that a car back-fired just outside Sweeney’s apartment not long afterwards. She stood up sharply upon hearing the guttural explosion from beyond yonder window, knowing immediately that something was wrong. The room was too bright, there was too much light coming from between the sliver of the pair of closed curtains. She glanced at her phone and hoped her instincts had been very wrong. The 7:16 that the screen displayed told her that she was very very right. Sweeney was running late. She threw the pillow away and rushed to her wardrobe in hobbled panic. No. No. This was wrong. This couldn’t happen. No. Why did this have to happen? Why had she done this to herself? She grabbed the first pair of work pants that she could get frantic hands on, threw off her nightie, and started getting changed. The pants were immediately a discomfort, just pulling them up over her de-sinewed legs, but once she got to her cherry-shaped butt she realised that trying to surmount these petite globes behind her was futile. Her clothes had been getting tighter and tighter of these past months, contorting around her frame constrictively, and she hadn’t been in denial over that fact. Far from it. She’d been enjoying it. Enjoying the strain of the buttons, the suffocation around her arms, the jostling just to squeeze within them. It made her feel brave, daring and sexy. Feelings that she wasn’t accustomed to. But here, she cursed those exhilarating rushes because her libidinous impulses were going to make her late for work. And so it was all her fault. All her fault. All her fucking fault. She sat on her beg with pants that didn’t go all the way up, and started sobbing. The feelings, the realisations, the guilt. They all hit her like a jackhammer. This had all been her doing. Her habits, her indulgences. She’d flown too close to the sun, and now she was in freefall. What the hell was she thinking? That this was a fictional show and that there wouldn’t be any real world consequences? That this was Burgermania? This was always going to happen. How had she not seen this coming? It was always going to happen. These problems had been growing and growing in the background and rather than confronting them, she watched them with yearning. This was the long overdue comeuppance for her sacrificing her diligence with fetishism. All of her discipline, all of her painstaking martial discipline, thrown away in a superficial instant. Why couldn’t she just have bought the next size up like a normal person? That’s all it would have taken. Or save her debauched nights to a weekend like a normal person. But no. Oh no. Not her. Not Sweeney. And The Dread was back, and she could feel the fur of it in her lungs. She couldn’t keep doing this. This wantonness. This hedonism. Playtime was over. She couldn’t sacrifice everything for her kink. This was the real world, she had real duties, real responsibilities. This was an aberration. It had to be. An exercise in doing the wrong thing. A wake up call to do the right thing. She couldn’t keep doing this. And once more for those thoughts in the back. She couldn’t keep doing this to herself. She changed to her loosest work pants with the resolve never to put herself in this position again. Even these ones, charcoal grey as opposed to the charcoal black she would normally adorn, were flexing every inch of give that the material provided. Her legs swelled within its cloth confines to preclude any pockets of air, and the zipper still felt the strain of the outward gradient that the softly sloping stomach so sumptuously provided. Her pockets, and the great thing about slacks were the pockets, were so inaccessibly tight that she could barely squeeze her hand in them. And then to her buttonless top, a sensible shout given the tendency she had recently to strain them. It vacuum-sealed over the contours of her waist, while a cardigan was thrown over the top to protect her dignity and conceal the vanilla strip of skin where the top and the pants didn’t quite meet. And then she marched out of her apartment, no time to do anything else. No time to brush her hair, though she had a brush at her desk so she’d be able to do it at some point during the day, and not time to fix up her face. No tie to make lunch or eat breakfast. No, she just marched out the door with a breathless flurry. She couldn’t be late, she couldn’t be late, she couldn’t be late. She was late. But not by much. Enough for the principle to ask her to stay behind after class, but not so late that the kids noticed. Out of breath from speed-walking, with her diaphragm and lungs expanding and then contracting heavily, painfully, and her stomach pulsing to that rhythm. Sweating from the pace of her journey, no delicate beads but a broader level of moisture like rising damp smearing her forehead with a gentle glisten. Even her top had the darkened stains of over-exertion, though they were fortunately protected by the swaddling cardigan over the top. The day was long, and haunting, with the spectre of being called to the principle’s office hanging over her like a misbehaving student. How would she excuse her lateness? Over-slept was not enough of an excuse. Staying up late fingering herself most certainly wasn’t an excuse. So the dread that smouldered around her as she scoured her mind for excuses drew to the day down to a crawl. And what would he say of her appearance. She knew he would have noticed. The 25lbs were hard to overlook, taking her scraggly frame to something more substantive. Veiling over it with an over-sized cardigan mitigated it, but he knew what she’d done. He knew. He must do. And this was why it had to end. No more over-indulgence. No more diner. Back on the straight and narrow. Emphasis on the narrow. The fun had to end. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Urgh! I can’t believe I have detention! Detention is so boring” Sally-Anne complained. “I know, I was supposed to be seeing Lucas tonight. I hate being held responsible for my actions… it’s just so unfair!” Madison agreed, and a trickle of automated amusement supported her words. “I can so relate. I have a date of my own!” Sally-Anne said, to the ‘ooooo’ of the audience. “With a little fella I like to call the Burgermania quarter pounder” “Well, let’s skip it then. I mean, sometimes you just gotta stick it to the man!” Madison said, in a way that felt like the writer’s libertarian political opinions seeping into the show. “Alright… Che Guevara!” Sally-Anne said, as if the show’s young audience would know who that was. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* This had to be the last time. Sweeney sat down in Principle Iashvilli’s office, and fidgeted as she waited. He was still out on the forecourt, watching the plague of children scuttle away, but she was in his office like a misbehaving student sent to his office. Sweeney was never very good at hiding her anxiety. She had this weird tick that saw her run her hand aggressively through her hair. She would scrunch her hand into a ball, grabbing clumps of her squid-ink hair. She would feel the roots of it straining, like tight buttons on her blouse, against the pull of her anguished and frustrated hand. She was so angry with herself. All she could do was replay all of yesterday’s decisions, all of the past month’s decisions. Her grip tightened as she went through each time she decided that the path she was on was the right one. This indulgence, this recklessness. Her hand tensing. This had to be the last time. “Ahhh, Sweeney Stallone, sorry for the delay. Don’t worry this is just a quick word” Principle Iashvilli said with a kind smile. Sweeney offered him the most slender upturn of lip as her best approximation of smiling that she could muster whilst caught in her own emotional turbulence. This had to be the last time. “Thanks Georgi” she said, at a volume that couldn’t be heard over a pin dropping. Her head had drooped towards the floor, and the words got lost in the carpet. This had to be the last time “Look, this is not a disciplinary or anything like that. I’m here because I’m concerned for you. Not about your teaching, about your well-being. Since the teaching inspection, you’ve seemed to have taken it a little hard. Which is fine. It shows you care. But, look… you can’t keep this up Sweeney. It’s not the attendance, it’s… this” Georgi pointed at her, curled up into a self-conscious ball and subtly clawing at her own hair. He was calling her out. He was calling her out on all of it. Oh dear god, Sweeney’s thoughts were spiralling. This had to be the last time. This had to be the last time. “You look terrible” This had to be the last time. This had to be the last time. “You look tired. You look panicked. You look sick. Like, you’ve got the flu or something. Your eyes are all puffy, you look pale… more pale than usual. You’ve even put on weight. I mean, we’ve all noticed” And there it was. The meteor impact. This had to be the last time. He mentioned her weight. He said that she looked unwell and then he mentioned her weight. This had to be the last time. He said everyone noticed. Mr Tavistock must have done a double-take as she walked past him in the corridor. Mrs Coolidge must have rolled her eyes at Sweeney’s increased width, and lamented how casually the young dispose of their own beauty. No, this had to be the last time. And yet her legs were tightening. No, stop it. This had to be the last time. But the thought was sparking in her head. Her worries, her doubts, The Dread, they were being drowned out by other thoughts. The same thoughts that got her into this mess. No. No. No. She had to stop it, this had to be the last time. And yet, seeing Georgi Iashvilli look her up and down and decide her weight gain warranted an intervention… the muscles in her neck tightened. “Yeah, I have” she muttered, with shame. And the shame felt flammable. “And I only say this from a health perspective, but you have to look after yourself. Because it’s impacting on your teaching. So, what I propose is a plan of action, okay? I just want you to confirm that you’re going to get back on the straight and narrow. Right? Just come in and attack the day. Because there aren’t an infinite supply of second chances, okay? This has to be the last time” he said, and his kindness sounded rallying, but the words skirted past Sweeney. Her thoughts were elsewhere. She liked this too much. She wanted this too much. Fuck it. Fuck it all. Fuck routine. Fuck discipline. Fuck The Dread. Fuck hating going to school, hating being at school and then hating coming home from school. Fuck doing what other people want. Fuck looking after herself. Fuck being healthy. Fuck the straight and narrow. Sometimes you just gotta stick it to the man. “This has to be the last time” she lied. This was not going to be the last time. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- “I gotta say Sally-Anne, you’re looking kinda… big these days” Madison said to her sister. “What do you mean? You’re just jealous that I have curves” Sally-Anne retorted. “Gee sister, not every curve has to be an outward one!” Madison got the laughter track on that line. “And why would I be jealous? I have a boyfriend” “Well, give me five minutes and so will I” *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Being called out by the school principle, by her boss, really didn’t have the effect on Sweeney that he intended. It didn’t bring about introspection and resolve. It brought about gasoline and then it brought about a match. Sweeney felt intoxicated by the thrill of what he had said to her, and what the other teachers thought of her, and she wanted more of it. More of their judgement, their consternation, their disapproval, their concern. She wanted more. And then she wanted more some more. She walked out of the school at the same speed that she had entered it. But it wasn’t out of fear this time, nor panic, nor concern. It was out of ambition. She figured she had the chance to turn around if she wanted, like Principle Iashvilli had asked. To right her ship. To rectify her situation. And she figured that she had the chance to continue. And she chose the latter. So she wasn’t charging out of school in desperation, but in hope and desire, with a skip in her step and a burning in her loins. And with the intention of buying chocolate cake. That had been the start of it, as much as anything else. Her birthday cake. Slabs of chocolate frosting, chocolate sponge and chocolate sprinkles. It tasted like diabetes. It tasted like tooth decay. It tasted like calories. And it tasted wonderful. She had two slices for breakfast the day that followed that birthday. Not a banana, nor a pear, nor an orange. Nothing as anaemic as fruit for Sweeney. Two slices of chocolate cake. This was who she was now, this was who she wanted to be. The kind of girl who eats two slices of chocolate cake for breakfast. And this change subverted her entire outlook on life. Because the gruelling trudge at work was now sandwiched with the indulgence that energised her. Going to school with chocolate cake in her stomach meant that The Dread never had time to manifest, she was immediately enraptured by the thrill of decadence. Each day would start with decadence, end with decadence and she just had to endure the stifling slog in between. The patience-wearing commotion of a classroom of kids all committed to making her life difficult seemed breezier with cake in her stomach. Another two weeks passed, and the claws of life and work seemed blunted now. Sweeney felt padded. And knowing that her growing was being noticed. It was in there that lay the real thrill. Principle Iashvilli had slipped and revealed that her transformation had not been unnoticed, and now she had something to work towards. Not every top that she wore was appropriately fitting, not every pair of pants could remain done up through the course of a day. She was another 5lbs up since her meeting with the principle, and what must other people think? What most Beatrice think? They had only gotten closer, the more frequently the diner was frequented. Beatrice was a balm of calm and a sprite of light to the anxious Sweeney, always warm and compassionate. Always polite. But was that why she never mentioned it? Was she too polite? Sweeney could imagine Beatrice being the kind of considerate woman beholden to tact. Or was it that the looser fitting clothes that Sweeney encompassed her softer frame, simply disguise it? She needed to find out. After those words from the principle swarming in her brain, she didn’t want, she needed to know what her only friend thought. And so she made the march down to the diner again. Dressed down in clothes fit for little beyond lounging around. Head down as the March wind numbed her facial extremities. And towards that lazy glow of weak neon lighting. She hurried in to escape the late Winter chill and sat at the same booth that she always did, and savoured the warmth of the place upon her numb face. “Beatrice? Can I ask you a question?” Sweeney asked without an iota of confidence. Even with Beatrice, even after all of this time, confidence was made with feeble strands that broke to easily. It was simply the way that Sweeney had been born. Whoever her birth parents were, they donated crappy genes. Sweeney hadn’t changed since her shift at school, it all helped with blurring the lines between work and her life outside of it. Another cardigan draped over her like a poncho, veiling the blouse that was rolling up to reveal her belly button, and draping over the work pants whose zipper could not fasten. It all felt so delightfully perilous, so close to being found out. The danger of being caught. It as a cheap thrill, but Sweeney was grateful just to be thrilled at all. “Sure darling” Beatrice said, with a friendly smile. The diner was hollowed out of custom, just Sweeney and some old bloke at the other end of the joint occupied Beatrice’s time. “I wanted to know… oh, I don’t know how to say this… I’ve been putting on some weight?” Sweeney couldn’t make eye-contact as the words left her mouth. It was the first time she’d ever said the phrase out loud. Gained weight. It tripped over her tongue like when she swore as a kid for the first time, unnatural and clunky. Gained weight. That was what she had been doing, but somehow saying made it feel so much worse than when the idea remained elusively in abstraction in her head. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that...” “Intentionally” Sweeney added, with a gulp. And now there was nowhere to hide. She’d come out of the closet that had been her home for her entire life. There was no do-overs, no mulligans, no rewrites. This was it. The truth was out there. Sweeney Stallone had been gaining weight intentionally. Her darkest shame was now cast into the light. “Oh” Beatrice said, taken a little aback. “Thank God” “Wait… what?” Sweeney had played this conversation in her head a million times, trying to fathom out every possible way that it could play. And at no point had she anticipated that reply from her. “I didn’t want to say anything or hurt your feelings, but I was wondering if I should. If you needed an intervention” Beatrice said with a wince of shame. “An intervention!” Sweeney’s face lit up. And suddenly all that guilt and self-doubt dissipated in a lake of arousal. Was she really intervention-worthy? Beatrice had noticed. Not only had she noticed, she had worried. Each pound had elicited concern as Sweeney’s skeletal frame found itself lost under a tempura batter. That felt so good to know. Her weight gain wasn’t just noticable, it was worrisome. “So, why are doing it?” Beatrice asked, with a confused smile on her face. “Umm...” Sweeney contorted awkwardly at the mention of it. I mean, why was she doing it? It was so confusing. What did other people say in this situation? What was more embarrassing, that she was attracted to bigger girls, or that she was attracted to herself? It all sounded so weird to her all of a sudden. Her vocabulary melted into a puddle and all the words she needed felt lost. This thought had roosted in her brain since childhood, but she still didn’t know how to put it into words. “Because it makes me feel good” “Well, I gotta say Sweeney, you are looking kinda big these days. So congratz?” Beatrice said, not really understanding. But not judging either. Sweeney was like a poor doe in the headlights always, and Beatrice had no intention of scaring her off with judgement. Whatever it was that Sweeney wanted, that was enough for her support. Even this. Whatever it was. “Thanks Beatrice!” Sweeney said with a gulp of air as she gasped with gratitude. Relief trickled through her gently, calming her inflamed nerves. “So, um… could I have a burger and fries, with a sundae please?” “Are you sure that’s all?” Beatrice joked “Oh, um… actually… maybe two burgers?” Sweeney seized upon it like a flock of seagulls on a picnic, obtusely overlooking the humorous intention of Beatrice’s question. To her credit, she just laughed some more at this little girl letting herself go. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Hey handsome” Sally-Anne said to the good-looking young boy by the lockers “Whatever” the boy said, walking off and leaving her. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- Every day now was structured round this sexual thrill. It began with chocolate cake for breakfast, creamy and clotted as she greedily gorged on it on those hurried mornings. It ended with a gorging session at the diner, with burgers that ran wet with grease. And now it also middled with a lunch that had now exceeded her measly sandwich and fruit combination. Now it was a jaunt to Subway. 6 inch? Actually, could you make it a footlong? Bread? Hearty Italian. Filling? Meatball marinara. Or maybe Italian BMT. Oh, and extra cheese. And yes, melted. With all the extras except the olives, because nobody likes olives. For sauce? Ranch dressing and mayo, if that’s alright. Cookies? Don’t mind if I do. 3? Nah, make it 5. Plus Coke, because only Neanderthals opt of Pepsi. It was punctuating her day, intersecting it with a new, additional thrill. Did the teachers notice? Or judge? Or care? Sweeney hoped they did. She hoped they saw her and tutted. What happened to that girl? She used to be so thin, so pretty, so disciplined, they might think as they look through their window to see a newly chubby teacher hurry round the corner to coerce yet further calories into her burgeoning stomach. She’s really letting herself go, they might think. At this rate, she’ll get huge, they might say. And they’d be right. She would end each day in front of the mirror, and pour over each pore for changes. Scrutinise every loosening of skin, every pocket of pudge. She would breathe in and out with a side on view, and pretend it was a before and after photo. It tickled her to know that when she breathed in, she still looked the same scrawny self. She tickled herself when she breathed out, and see her stomach hang over her waistband. “Hey handsome” she said to herself, twirling to see herself fully. To see each protruding element. And by April, each element protruded yet more. Up another 11lbs to 151. The mirror showed her a softer face, a chin less aggressive and cheekbones less pointed. It showed a softer waist, a glacially curved tor that crumpled into a cattle grid of rolls whenever she sat down. It showed in her softer butt, sloshing about where it all once held firm. It showed in her softer legs, where they arrowed down with tactile pliability. It played havoc with her discipline. She found herself less responsive to her alarm and the early hours of the day. She found herself having to sacrifice the vanities of hair care and make-up, though they had never been more needed under the greasy diet that clasped her. She found herself struggling in even her new-bought clothes, the more provocative skirt that didn’t even disguise her knees and the blouse whose bottom buttons strained and whose top three buttons remained undone. And suddenly Sweeney realised she was happy. This was what happiness felt like. At times it felt like bottled pleasure, from concentrate. It felt like orgasms and exhilarations. But there were the times in between, outside the windows of giddiness. They were what told Sweeney that she was happy. She felt… content. A calm contentment with life. The circadian horrors of her job, of her anxiety, of her neurosis, had been gradually ebbing away. Was this what it felt like to be a human? To not have parts of you missing, to not be drowned out by the gremlins in your mind. Is this what everyone else felt as they went about their daily graft, with their shoulders not on fire from the burden they bore? Was this what it felt like to be a human being? Sweeney should have known better. She chastised herself for forgetting The Dread. For not checking the corner of every room for demons. Height, she had always told herself, was just a place to fall from. Happiness just made the pain hurt more. And somewhere along the lines, she had forgotten this mantra, drawn in by the hullabaloo of this game that she was playing. But everything rots in the end. And everything joyful breaks. Sweeney should have known better. She should have seen this coming. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Hey, I don’t know if you heard, but they’re playing that Jurassic Park movie down at the local movie plaza” Sally-Anne comically trying to look flirtatious with a lollipop but eating it too quickly. “Yeah, I might go watch that. I love dinosaurs. Especially ones that stomp their feet…” A musical number starts and everyone in the scene randomly starts singing and dancing along to it, although Sally-Anne is a beat behind them due to her size #Dinosaurs have great big teeth, go stomp, stomp, stomp Dinosaurs have great big feet, go chomp, chomp, chomp Stomp, stomp, stomp and a-chomp, chomp, chomp Stomp, stomp, stomp and a-chomp, chomp, chomp Stomp-a-saurus, stomp, stomp Chomp-a-saurus, chomp, chomp I’m-a-saurus, stomp, stomp You’re-a-saurus, chomp, chomp# “Great, that’s awesome. So what time will you be picking me up?” Sally-Anne asks with a big smile over her face. “What? No? I’m not picking you up. I’m gonna see that dinosaur movie, it sounds awesome. I love dinosaurs. Especially ones that...” the young boy says. “Stomp their feet? Yeah, we heard you the first time. No, you need to pick me up, that’s how dates work” Sally-Anne said, to canned giggles. “A date? With you? I know I said I liked dinosaurs, but I think you may have chomped, chomped, chomped a bit too much” the boy said, walking off as the audience “awwwww”s a crest-fallen Sally-Anne. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Sweeney? Once term wraps up, we need to talk” Mr Iashvilli said to her in a sober tone. And this was how it all came crashing down. He’d given her a lifeline and she’d squandered it. Her hand drifted to the paunch that rested itself on its waistband like a dog might its head on the knee of its owner. He warned her not to gain weight and all she had done since was eat. And this was her reckoning. She may have chomped, chomped, chomped a bit too much. kachenjunga, dania201, jwhales and 1 other 3 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
swahilimonkfish Posted August 10, 2019 Author Share Posted August 10, 2019 This story didn't work out quite as well as I hoped, but I hope it wrapped up well enough Final Chapter “Hey, what’s up sis?” Madison walks in to see her sister crying. “I’m fat” Sally-Anne bawls “Well durrr” Madison said, to mild laughs. Even the canned laughter was struggling to find the show amusing at this point. “I asked some boy out and he said he wouldn’t go out with me cos I’m fat! And look at me, I look like The Hindenburg” Sally-Anne said with pity. “Hey, I’ve got a plan that will fix everything” Madison said *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Pathetic fallacy. That’s the term. When the weather in a story reflects the mood of a story, it’s called pathetic fallacy. Sweeney remembered it from college. She minored in literature. She majored in regret. Pathetic fallacy. And Sweeney could look outside the classroom window and see storm clouds brewing. April showers. Overdue downpours after a seasonal cessation. Portentous billowing of clouds undercoated with menacing dark hues. The sign that the weather was about to turn for the worse. Pathetic fallacy. Because she had been finally found out. After a brief foray into the sunshine of indulgence and relief, there were storm clouds on the horizon of her career. Principal Iashvilli had warned her that she needed to sort herself out, and she reciprocated the kind offer by doing the exact opposite. By diving head first into each unsustainable whim and fancy. Her jam tomorrow attitude of not worrying about the future while she was enjoying the present had caught up to her, along with the eating habits that had brought 40lbs onto her previously withered body. Looking at her now, you would never have guessed just how thin she was and just how recently that was. But it had all come home to roost, regardless of the denial. The idea that she could just enjoy life without repercussions was just embarrassing. Pathetic. A pathetic fallacy. And it wasn’t just upon this front that Sweeney’s world showed signs of crumbling. Back at the flat, the over-watched VHS videotape was showing wear and tear for a while. But now she couldn’t watch the end of it, the tape had simply worn. Her life-force had finally relented to the same passage of time that was blighting Sweeney, and Burgermania’s ending was lost forever. She would still come home and still switch it on and still recline in her chair, and still sit there still. But, without an ending, it all seemed curbed. Stymied. Thwarted. The thrill never reached the point of eruption. Burgermania was broken and her opportunity for relentless sexual gratification was broken with it. Her appetite was about the only thing that wasn’t broken. It was the only thing keeping Sweeney afloat. The current, otherwise, would have swallowed her, and her breaths would have been garbles and her lungs would have been flooded. But the eating buoyed her. The cake in the morning coaxed residual pep from her, the subway at midday elicited a sliver of hope, the burger in the evening provided flickers of warmth, the potato chips at night gave just the hint of contentment. And calories rained down upon her like the rain did from those storm clouds, hammering against the windows and flooding the roads. A diluvial deluge that kept her from drowning. And so the consequences continued their march onto her form. By the end of April, her chin was nearly two and her thighs found companionship in one another, and the scales said 156lbs. By mid-May, her ass jiggled as she walked and her stomach was wider than her chest, and the scales said 161lbs. And by the end of May, she had her meeting with Georgi Iashvilli. She was fat. Look at her, she was like the Hindenburg. Sweeney began crying. Her meeting was this afternoon and this was the image she was going to present. A stomach that sat down when she did, that slipped under the plain white blouse every time her posture deteriorated. Arms as wide as her legs used to be, and legs encumbered with an insulating layer of fat. An ass that needed to be more compact and a face that needed a compact. A face blotchy with spots and hair that looked suitable for nesting. She was given the chance to clean up, and she had only gotten dirtier. But Sweeney had a plan. A plan that will fix everything. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Gee Madison, all this exercise is exhausting, can we have a break to catch our breath” Sally-Anne said. “But Sally-Anne, you haven’t done anything yet, you’ve only just tied your laces” Madison argues and the laughter tracks kicks in. “But my laces were sooo far away” Sally-Anne whined. “No, we’re going to make you thin, and we’re gonna do that by running” Madison insisted and Sally-Anne sulked. “But can’t we do it tomorrow instead? All good problems can be solved by lying or putting them off” Sally-Anne said to canned laughter. “No, we do it now. We’re gonna get you outside the front door for exercise while you still fit!” Madison said and the laughter resumed once more *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Don’t worry, I have a plan” she said, before Principal Iashvilli could have a break to catch his breath. “I’m not sure...” he looked confused, but it was probably just a ruse. He knew. He knew what she was doing. He must have done. She had piled upon herself 50lbs in 9 months. That was an extraordinary amount. Whatever pretence that he concocted, she knew why he wanted to see her. His eyes will have been drawn to the way her stomach began its outward march from below the zipper, causing her pants to swell outwardly too. Or the way that even her shoulders seemed broader with fat. Yes, that’s why he wanted her here. “I’m going to sort it out over Summer. Lose all the weight” she lied gleefully, staring him straight in the eyes as she did. Her plan was simple and stupid and glorious and awful. She had swore to her boss that she would lose the weight by the end of September, and then she intended to do the inverse. For, if she had, as previously noted, found herself 50lbs to the good in three quarter’s of a year, how much car-crash destruction could she muster unto herself in the remaining quarter? To what end? She didn’t know. What would happen when she finally did show up, post-summer? That was a problem for tomorrow. I mean, it’s not like he wouldn’t fire her. Not with immediate effect. They wouldn’t replace her right at the start of term. So, she would still have another year of teaching, no matter what. No, she was sticking to the same idea, that all good problems can be solved by lying or putting them off. “Look Sweeney, I don’t know what’s going on, but my first concern is you. I’m worried” he said, and she braced herself again for his sweeping eyes, taking in her measurements with an intake of breath. She knew he was doing that, even if she couldn’t actually see him doing it. “Like I say, I’ll sort it. Trust me. I don’t… I wouldn’t lie about such a thing” she lied. And the thrill of it compounded the thrill of being caught. Lying about eating. Putting the dish into dishonesty. It was enough to coat Sweeney in a tingle. She left his office with a smile on her lips and the reignition of embers that stoked her libido. Back in her flat, back in her reclining chair, back in front of a videotape that was fraying. Back with one hand satisfying one urge, and back with the other in a packet of potato chips so as to satisfy another. And the thought of all the condescending things Georgi Iashvilli probably thought about her. “You used to be so pretty” he probably thought as she sat down in his office. A fragile beauty before the burgers took their toll. He probably thought nothing of it when it first started. A pound here, a tightening there. Maybe she looked even better in his eyes. But what will he have thought about her now, wielding 50lbs of blubber smeared across her carcass. “I can’t believe what you’ve done to yourself” might be something else he thought about her, as she plunged her hand back in the bag of potato chips and grabbed a smattering of them. A girl afraid of eating in the evenings and barely eating during the day, now reaching for a second packet of potato chips. Sweeney grunted at the thought. He can’t believe what she’s done to herself now, just wait to see what she does to herself after an entire Summer with nothing but this to do. With just Beatrice, Sally-Anne and an insatiable appetite for company. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Where were you, Sally-Anne? You were really close behind and then I just lost you when we went pass that ice cream truck… wait, did you stop running to grab ice cream?” Madison asked sternly to her sister, while the canned laughter hooted. “I mean, I wanted an All-American Softy so bad!” Sally-Anne bleated “You already are an all American softy… softy.” Madison teased, and the fake audience laughed. “Well, plan A didn’t work, you don’t happen to have a plan B do you...” and at this point, the tape cuts out, tired from over-use. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Sweeney got up in a panic, and looked at the videotape. She got a pencil and tried to unspool the tape and start again. But each time, it cut out. Ugly clunking sounds and scratched images as the tape wore out. Without avail, she slammed the broken tape on the floor, unloading all the emotional turbulence that she’d been stocking up on. Her sheer overuse of it had seen it finally suuccumb, and left Sweeney stranded and adrift, in a world without Burgermania. She had watched the show as a re-run as a kid, and had been transfixed. Her foster carers at the time thought nothing of it, oblivious to it being the birth of her deviancy. But it clung like a barnacle in her memory. And for such a long time, finding a copy of this episode had been her white whale. Youtube couldn’t unearth it, and nobody on the internet forums could recall it. It might as well have been a show that never even existed, laid to waste by the passing of zeitgeists. Locating it had been a passion of Sweeney’s that quickly devolved into an obsession that quickly devolved into a fixation, as she tested the very bandwidth of Google to find trace records of this elusive episode of this elusive show. It took ages for her to unearth it, available on eBay as some sort of collector’s item. The high price that the seller enforced and the accommodation of an actual tape player where low barriers for a woman as committed as Sweeney Stallone. It completed her. And now she was left without it. Incomplete. She paced around her apartment in a fluster. Was her heart racing because of the panic, or was it from the sudden uptick in exertion on a long-idling body? Either way, she paced until she was breathless, running her hand through her strained scalp again and digging her nails in. She hoped she’d draw blood. The world could have been tipping on its axis right now, human bodies falling into the sky, and Sweeney would have been oblivious. Her mind was a smog of distress and the dissolution of a videotape that had long been her lighthouse. She only knew one place where she could go. The diner. The only luminescence were from the diner’s quietly humming neon sign outside. She would go there and maybe her friend Beatrice would know what to do. Yeah, Beatrice will know. Maybe she’ll stroke her hair, massage that bloodied scalp and tell her everything will be all right. Yeah, that would be nice. That’s what Sweeney wanted. Just the elderly lady running her hand through Sweeney’s stressed hair, an emollient to her tortured scalp. She didn’t even get changed into something casual. The thought couldn’t get access to her preoccupied mind, there was simply no room at the inn for it. So, she went there in the same short skirt that writhed to handle her figure, the same white blouse whose buttons squealed in exertion, bar the ones left undone to present her cleavage. Her skin wanted to crawl out from the confines of her tight clothing, to squidge out like a child’s artwork when they can’t colour in between the lines. It strangled her insides and starved her internal organs of oxygen, but Sweeney didn’t even notice. All she had on her mind was her broken videotape. “Ummm… sorry, has anyone seen Beatrice? Is she in today?” Sweeney asked nervously, her hand guiltily climbing up towards her head again to acupuncture with her own talons. “Beatrice? Oh, um… I think she left? Changed jobs or retired or something… I don’t know. Is there anything I can help you with?” said the friendly girl at the diner. Whoever she was. But Sweeney didn’t just want help. She wanted Beatrice’s help. Why would her friend leave, without telling her? Not a mention. Sweeney didn’t want the foster care of this new employee, she wanted Beatrice. She was in crisis and she wanted Beatrice. “Are you sure?” Sweeney asked, aware that it was a stupid question, but it was all her logjammed brain could summon. First the videotape and now this. Her two friends, Sally-Anne and Beatrice, both gone now, leaving her all alone? It was dizzying. It was head-spinning. The diner felt like a carousel, the world spinning so fast and her mind so static that the inertia charred across her matter. “Yeah, I mean, I think so. Why? Did you know her or something?” the new girl asked. “Yeah. We were best friends” Sweeney said, and the pendulum of emotions clattered into her, breaching the dam that held back her tears. The new girl just looked at her with concern as Sweeney sobbed, trapped several steps away from her, afraid to move further or nearer to prompt further despair. “Maybe an order will help?” was all she could offer. And in this warren of confusion and despair, maybe an order would help. “Yeah, two burgers, two fries and a sundae please?” she said in a mousey whisper. “To eat in or to go?” “To go, I guess” *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Sweeney would normally be watching Burgermania at this point. But instead, all she had was static. These three months were supposed to be the chance to live untethered to all the emotional flotsam and jetsam that had come to define her. But here she was, back at her apartment and with nowhere to go, bawling and alone. Alone again. Marooned in the middle of a bustling town. Never more lonely than when hemmed in by people. Still, there was always food. So much food. And without the handcuffs of work restricting her movement, there was more food than ever. Each day could be an exercise in outdoing the previous day, and that day would always be followed by the same again. Sometimes it was out of sadness and loss, other times out of lust and yearning. But there was always food, and she was always eating it. No school, no reason to stop. No 6:47am alarm either. No reason to get up at that egregiously early hour. No thrash from her saber at her sleep, interrupting it when it was at its most enticing. And her late awakening could be followed by no shower, not cold nor brusque, and without beads of cold water arrowing venomously to her bodily cage. Then, no clothes, for she had no reason to leave the apartment most days and no desire to leave it on all days. Then breakfast, though no banana or other lifeless and drab fruit offering. Instead, chocolate cake, in whatever quantities she liked, since there was never no reason to not eat more. And then teeth, smeared in cacao and sugar, would see no brushing since there was no person in her life to hide the brown residue between incisors. Nor would her hair see no brush, since no circumstances in her life gave her reason to not lose knots, all ragged and threadbare. And finally no make-up to mitigate the wasteland of misplaced food and mishandled outbreaks, just her face in all of its natural inglory. And this torpid malaise left just one witness to its crime, and that was the fact that she was still gaining. While every other wheel in Sweeney’s life had fallen off, this one just kept on spinning. It only took a couple of weeks in this vacuum of an existence for another 6lbs to charm its way onboard her physique. A week later and another four. Sweeney would morbidly rub her hand across her stretchmarked skin, seeking scant sanctuary in the red lightning bolts on the underside of her stomach. The 173lb price that she was paying was everywhere on her skin. And still she wanted to pay more. But it was all so empty without somebody to share it. Without Beatrice, without Sally-Anne. Just four walls in dystopia grey, and the quiet hum of a well-stocked fridge. With just loneliness for company. Just the sound of her bare feet padding on the carpet floor as she grabs another course. Burgermania was no more, and it broke Sweeney’s heart. “I don’t understand, surely you know the entire story off by heart now?” Beatrice would have asked. She would tilted her head and offered a sympathetic smile as she struggled to grasp the dense forest of psychology by which Sweeney was plagued. Sweeney’s thoughts would have felt lighter and her body would have felt heavier and everything would have felt better, better, better. “Yes, but it’s not the same” Sweeney sulked, replying to her even though she wasn’t there. Nobody understood, nobody could understand. Burgermania was a lung. Burgermania was a lung and now that lung had been removed. It was no wonder Sweeney was left without breath. “Tell me then, tell me how it goes” Beatrice might have then offered, with a motherly hand on Sweeney’s shoulder for comfort. It would have felt nice. It would have felt like security and belonging, of understanding and compassion. The tightness in her shoulders, always scrunched together like she was bracing for an impact that never came, would have gradually relinquished their tightness. It would have been lovely. “So, Sally-Anne and Madison sneak off to the new diner called Burgermania. Madison, she’s only there for the companionship, one of the waiters is a guy called Lucas. But Sally-Anne, she’s only there for the food. And they start skipping school to go to it, and spending more and more time there. And then eventually they get called out on it. But it doesn’t stop them. They just keep going. And then the focus really drifts from Madison and her relationship and onto Sally-Anne more. Lucas, the waiting staff that Madison was so close to just sort of randomly disappears from the plot. And it gets more and more preoccupied with Sally-Anne and her eating and her gaining. And people start noticing and boys start acting differently around her, so she wonders about maybe losing weight” Sweeney regaled, to herself since Beatrice wasn’t there. But it felt good to get those thoughts out into the open even if there was nobody there to listen. Because if a tree falls over and there’s nobody there to hear it, does it even make a noise. Sweeney wanted to exist, Sweeney wanted to make a noise. “And then what, how does it end?” Beatrice would have asked. Because Beatrice always knew what to ask. She would have been wise and thoughtful, bringing in knowledge and understanding of the world and all of its weird and wacky machinations, and coalesced all that knowledge into saying just the right thing. Just the thing Sweeney needed to hear. Just the thing Sweeney wanted to hear. The words that Sweeney herself would have chosen if she had the choice. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “Plan B is just accept who you are and love yourself, regardless of your size. It’s what’s on the inside that counts” Madison said to her sister, sympathetically. “And what’s on the inside is ice cream” Sally-Anne giggles, and the laughter track giggles too, until the credits roll. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* “I mean, it’s kinda cheesy, but I just like that the solution to the problem is to ignore the problem. As long as she’s happy, that’s what matters” Sweeney shrugs to herself in her empty apartment. It didn’t make a lot of sense when uttered out loud, but within the rolling cement mixer of Sweeney’s mind, it felt perfectly logical. Her words echoed quietly across the unadorned walls, re-telling her what she had just said. It was quiet and alone in her flat. “So, you don’t need Burgermania then?” Beatrice might have asked at this point. She might have observed that since Sweeney knew the story off by heart, that it served no purpose. It just regurgitated what Sweeney already knew. After all, how many times does a girl need to watch a show before she knows what happens next. But that wasn’t quite right either. That didn’t do justice to how she felt about it. It wasn’t just the lines of dialogue and the beats of the story. It was the impulse. “You see, I need to see the pictures of Sally-Anne growing. I know it’s only a fat suit, and it doesn’t look real, but it feels real to me. It’s what I… god this feels weird admitting it out loud… it’s what I masturbate to” Sweeney confessed to the empty walls of her apartment. Because this was never just about spiritual attachment and emotional support. It was about what she craved. Those spikes of chemical production, those bursts of endorphins, those firings of synapses. It was the chemical addiction she had to it. And she was without her primary stimulus. “But, you don’t need Sally-Anne? You have the real thing. You are the real thing” Beatrice would have commented, pointing to the fact that Sweeney was having to hoist around a further 62lbs of self with her, everywhere she went. Some of it went on that softly sinking stomach, some of it went on those gelatinous cushions of ass, some of it went on hips that heaved to the side, and some of it went on legs bandaged with fat. She was never as big as Sally-Anne, because that story was fictional. She didn’t waddle like Sally-Anne, she had the mobility that Sally-Anne didn’t, and she could reach her food without her stomach getting in the way like Sally-Anne. But she could still be the Sally-Anne of her personal story. And all she had to do was eat. It was the easiest epiphany in the world, and Beatrice had told it her without even being there. All she had to do was eat chocolate cake for breakfast, staining her fingers with brown icing and staining her stomach with calories. All she had to do was eat Subway for lunch, a footlong always, and with five cookies please. All she had to do was work through packets of potato chips, one after the other in conveyor belt fashion. All she had to do was visit the diner where her best friend used to work, and order her meal. Two burgers, no three burgers, so she could finally outdo even Sally-Anne. Two fries. One sundae. Regardless of the day of the week. And over the summer holiday, she continued to fill the air around her, expand into it like lava oozing into the sea. Habits ingrained and reinforced, and then added to. A lifestyle of decadence and laziness, and an ante that was always being upped. And a parting of the ways between Miss Witchy, the neurotic teacher with crippling anxiety and a tendency to live inside her own head a little too much, and Sweeney Stallone, the libidinous fat fetishist riding the crest of a tsunami of food always and forever, until too much was simply not enough. Was it the cake that brought her 180lbs, and brought a little companion chin to her face? It couldn’t have helped as two slices in the morning gradually morphed into three. And what was three if not an opportunity to have four? She could wake up from her sleep, in the recliner that had brought about her sleep, at an hour more appropriate for lunch, and reach over to the table next to her and know there was a festival of sugar and cocoa and cream just waiting for her. Waiting for her to crumble in her hands as she pours it into her throat, to flake down her chest and to smudge across her face. Was it the Subways that delivered her to 187lbs, and that came at the cost of a second stomach roll? Twelve inches of meatball marinara, on hearty italian, with double cheese and melted, with everything apart from the olives, draped in mayonnaise and ranch was a hallmark of Sweeney’s midday. Even if her midday was later than most. With a large Coke and 5 cookies, because a girl’s gotta eat. The rotating staff probably didn’t realise it was the same girl each day, but if they did, they’d have marvelled at her growth. They would have delighted themselves with the increasing tightness of growing clothes. The delight was all Sweeney’s however, and she ran her hand across herself as she wondered where each bite would be deposited. Was it the potato chips that took her to 192lbs, and altered her posture? The way she lay as she lazed with Leys, the hand instinctively to her back as she pulled herself up to get another packet. The way she shuffled from foot to foot, replacing her elegant steps with a heavy footed heave. The care that she took when she sat back down again, and the way her legs drifted to the side, her feet further apart as she sat without even realising it. Was it the burgers that took her to 199lbs, and brought a little droop to her stomach? Even without Beatrice there to greet her with friendliness and reliability, her quotidian pilgrimage to the dusty diner down the street abated none. And she saw the scathing looks from staff who just saw a fat girl ordering too much, oblivious to the fact that she was once a thin girl, a collection of bones held together by fibrous sinews. They saw her order three burgers and three fries, and they didn’t even suppress the upturned lips of disdain on their faces when they saw it was just for one. The disparagement when the condiments squirted out on her clothes or when the grease dribbled down her fingers. Was it the sundaes that tipped her up to 206lbs, and widened her hips to the fullness of a chair. The booths at the diner felt tight, just as the stools at Subway felt insufficient, just as her recliner felt narrow, just as her bed creaked as she lay on it. She was over 200lbs now and it influenced the way that items interacted with her. Tables would collide with her ass as she walked around the apartment, and worktop counters would push her away from what she needed to grab, pressing against the outward march of her stomach. Showers gave her less room to navigate, just as her body gave her more body to clean. The bigger that she got, the smaller the world felt by comparison. And as the clouds of term time began to gather, 219lbs had already gathered on her. She was plush-sized. Miss Witchy was 106lbs more venerable. And she didn’t need Sally-Anne now. She didn’t need pillows down her top. She didn’t need an imagination or a videotape of a girl doubling in size. She had the real thing. From her existence, all framed around the worship of something fictional, Sweeney Stallone had finally found something real. Herself. Her body. Every billow and roll, every sag and saddlebag. She was Sally-Anne, and her life was finally the Burgermania that she wanted it to be. She was huge, but she didn’t care. Because it was what was on the inside that counted. “And what’s on the inside is ice cream” Sweeney giggled to herself. And if there was a laughter track, it would have laughed too. But the credits wouldn’t roll. Because this wasn’t fiction, and her story wouldn’t just reset after the break. No, Sweeney’s world would continue spinning, away from cameras. For Sweeney, this was real. For Sweeney, this was flesh. For Sweeney had another term time ahead of her to indulge her terrible fancies, to indulge her vertiginous scaling, to indulge her Burgermania. dania201, Batman76, Settling Affairs and 2 others 3 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Batman76 Posted August 10, 2019 Share Posted August 10, 2019 Great that it had an esoteric happy ending, if there's an epilogue I'd love to see her teaching and social life actually improve. swahilimonkfish 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
swahilimonkfish Posted August 10, 2019 Author Share Posted August 10, 2019 3 hours ago, Batman76 said: Great that it had an esoteric happy ending, if there's an epilogue I'd love to see her teaching and social life actually improve. Haha, I did kind of deprive her of those two things, the poor thing. I doubt there'll be an epilogue for this one. As it stands, I've hopefully left a bit of ambiguity if this was actually a happy ending or not, and whether Sweeney's actions are her gaining agency or a cry for help. Plus, it had to end on this exact note really, on a thematic level, essentially choosing her Burgermania fantasy over reality. The story really was about those two strands coalescing. For me anyway, but feel free to add one if you like. Hell, you write well enough Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dania201 Posted August 11, 2019 Share Posted August 11, 2019 I enjoyed this story. Clever interpolation between the real and fictional, the sentence style takes into the character‘s mind, and has this strong sense of believability throughout including the way she eats and the weight gain. Thank you, and can’t wait to see what you write next! swahilimonkfish and John Smith 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
swahilimonkfish Posted August 11, 2019 Author Share Posted August 11, 2019 1 hour ago, dania201 said: I enjoyed this story. Clever interpolation between the real and fictional, the sentence style takes into the character‘s mind, and has this strong sense of believability throughout including the way she eats and the weight gain. Thank you, and can’t wait to see what you write next! Wow, thanks again Dania. A really thoughtful and kind comment, it means a lot to me that you picked up on all I was trying to achieve and even appreciated it. It really helps when people leave comments, especially ones that really show that you get it. So, thank you very much! dania201 and John Smith 1 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
swahilimonkfish Posted October 6, 2019 Author Share Posted October 6, 2019 An epilogue to this story that I promised after it reached a certain number of views on my DA page. Thought it was only fair if I posted it here too Epilogue First day of school, first day of term, first day of teaching, and no alarm went off. No phone light pyrotechnics, no alarm clock blaring, no Siri playing classical music to gently stir the resting soul in her bed. The sun stretched his arms as it got up for the morning, and sprinkled sunshine beyond Sweeney’s blinds. Dogs barked as they went about their first walk of the day. Children nattered, cars drove, horns honked. First day of school and Sweeney was being left to sleep in bed, silently slumbering. For the first time since pre-school, Sweeney wasn’t in formal education. There was a decadent pleasure to wrapping herself up deeper and deeper into her bedsheets. A sweeping indulgence that made her feel royal. And cherished. Precious. To wake when her body wanted her to wake, and not when the Earth had twisted 360 degrees on its axis. Sweeney only answered to Sweeney now. And Sweeney was fast and deep asleep, surrounded by pillows and lost in a sea of comfort. Maybe she wouldn’t get up until midday. Let herself stew in this padded pleasure. A smile wormed its way across her face she thought about it. Sleeping until the afternoon sounded good. It felt soft-shelled and snug, to leave herself deeply embedded in her bed. To drift like delicate snow to the padded warmth of her cocooning. Softly, softly sleeping, hugged by blankets, spooned by bedsheets. Handing in her notice had been the best decision she had ever made. She felt, rather inaccurately, lighter because of it. Like she was now made of candyfloss and wisps of cloud. The thudding stampede of marching work-boots in her head replaced to ballet shoes and gliding. She didn’t have to carry the sky on her shoulders any more, and so the ache of them faded away. No pulsating headache, sounding like a fire alarm inside her very skull. No clenched fist and tightened posture. No gravity pulling at her face. She was free of it at last. She’d gotten a job as an instruction manual copywriter. The most dour job in existence. And the boredom of it thrilled her. It felt like irresponsibility. Like rebellion. Like it didn’t even matter at all. Working her own hours, working from home, working to lazy deadlines set by a management who didn’t really have a clue. She could do three hours of work a day during crunches before settling back down to an hour every other day outside of deadlines. Again, it felt decadent. Again, it felt indulgent. Everything so often did these days. The past year at school had been excruciating. Or had it. Maybe. Sweeney wasn’t sure. It felt like a time ago and she wasn’t so strong with details these days. Why focus on details when you could lounge and luxuriate in your bed? She remembered mainly the looks from her colleagues. Was it Mr Portwhistle who gave her evils every time she walked by? Mr Portcullis? Something like that. And she was sure Miss Lipton gossiped behind her back, though Sweeney was maybe projecting her own desires here. The past year of school and the only thing she could remember from it was the looks. And the gaining. She remembered the first parents evening of that year. Parents acting confused as the students pointed at the fat teacher and called her Miss Witch. Because Miss Witch, with her long, thin fingers and her long, thin figure, didn’t look like that any more. She remembered one of the parents, parents to a ginger kid, a loud one, she didn’t remember his name, just look at her like they had slipped dimensions. She’ll remember the way they looked at her forever. Did they comment on it? She couldn’t remember if she had just retrospectively added the conversation in her head. The querying, first gentle and perplexed, before increasingly annoyed as they saw the irresponsibility of the teacher ballooning defiantly in front of their infuriating children. Maybe they insulted her. Maybe they called her ‘fatty’. Maybe they reached forward and grabbed her stomach and gave it a patronising shake. Maybe they recalled how thin and elegant she had been the last time they had seen her. How much the father actually fancied her. But that he didn’t fancy her any more. How could he. She had, after all,, really let herself go. Of course, she hadn’t let herself go. Not yet. Not really. Sure at 238lbs, there was a lot more of her, double even, with abs lost in padding like Sweeney in a duvet; with hips now borne of potato chips, with an ass once pert now mottled and wattled. Where she could once elegantly stride with long, thin limbs, she now hustled and jiggled slowly and with discomfort. Sure, every XS was now an XXXL. Every bodily feature now redesigned to accommodate storage of fat. Thin arms, like ET, now a storage facility for lipids. Calves the same. Her wrist was even fatter. Imagine being so fat that your body has to resort to storing fat there. But, despite all that, she hadn’t let herself go. Not yet. Not really. The second parent’s evening saw her further along the same train track. Habits that had become rebellions had now become ingrained. Cake for breakfast felt routine Midnight burgers felt routine. Weight gain felt steady. Felt tired. Felt uninspired. She consoled herself in people’s repulsion. Repulsion at how she sat and ate while she taught. Repulsion at how she sweated at the thought of exertion. At how clothes bundled up to wrap around her rolls. It was all she had. That repulsion. Until Sally-Anne and Madison moved in. Then it all changed. Sweeney got up, and decided on breakfast. Her housemates were there, waiting for her. It must have been midday by now, though time was just a construct and who cared about deadlines anyway. “Come on, sleepy head” Sally-Anne said in a sing-song, jaunty tone. “Yeah, and sleepy body!” Madison chimed in, to much canned laughter, including Sweeney’s own. “We served breakfast for all three of us. A chocolate cake each” they sang in unison. “So don’t worry about your eating habits, you’re only eating as much as us” That calmed Sweeney down as she lowered herself onto the sofa and began tucking into her cake. It reassured her to know that her eating wasn’t so bad, else Madison and Sally-Anne wouldn’t be doing it. They always knew what was best for Sweeney, after all. And besides, if they were thin and eating like this, how could Sweeney get too fat? Because it had been a niggling concern of Sweeney’s of late. Sure, it felt freeing to cut loose and indulge. But were there health issues? Weight issues? Sally-Anne and Madison put an end to such worrying. They always knew what to say to calm her down. Every time she thought that that maybe she had gone to far and was careening wildly and out of control, without brakes and hope and with no salvation but her inevitable demise, one of the girls would just stroke her chin and reassure her that she was still thin and beautiful. Once the three cakes had been eaten, Sweeney could get on with her day. And much of that involved just more eating. She didn’t have any hobbies besides eating. Any necessary tasks besides eating. Her calendar was bare but for eating. This month, like the last month, only served one master. The master of scooping up food and sending it mouthwards. With the help of her friends, of course. It was her friends, after all, that encouraged her to leave her teaching post and get this less fulfilling role as instruction manual writer for some small-ish state-wide furniture firm. It was them that stopped her flagging gain and lit a fire under it. It was all thanks to their intervention that Sweeney was up in her flat living her best, most calorific life. Her final meeting at the school was a reprieve. She had to formally explain to Principle Iashvilli and some HR staff member, whose face she couldn’t pick out of a line-up, the reasons for her departure. They took their two seats and she took hers, and they sat down about her reasons for leaving. But they knew. They knew the reason. The looks they gave each other when she stepped in were the reason. The way they winced when she finally placed herself down on her chairs. It was the shock and horror in every glance. The confusion as to every thought. How could this girl, this girl, be the same girl as the pretty young thing from last year. She couldn’t remember what they spoke about, but she remembered her weight at the time. 422lbs. She could only imagine what it must have looked like. To see her, legs wide apart so her heavy gut could sit between her legs. Her reaching down to scratch the crevices between the rolls of her stomach. The box of KFC that she had with her as she conducted the interview. The cake in her hair, the sweat in her brow. She liked to imagine what it must have looked like. It was her favourite thing to do. Sweeney didn’t have time to spend recollecting such frivolous things, however. It was after 1pm, and therefore lunchtime. Cake time and sleeping in time had eaten into lunch time just as Sweeney was about to eat into lunch. She knew who to call. Her latest friend. Despite not being the brightest social butterfly, she had made one friendship that would transcend the ages and echo through the gaping halls of time. She called Papa John’s. There relationship became embedded into the Sweeney routine after Sally-Anne and Madison appeared at her place, but before the others arrived. Sally-Anne, you see, was a huge fan of pizza. Sweeney wouldn’t otherwise, she would have chosen something healthier, but Sally-Anne insisted and who was Sweeney to say no to her knew best friends. So pizza it was, and pizza it will be. Riding high on the crest of a wave of takeout came pizza. One pizza for all of her flatmates, five pizzas in total. The boy who delivered would be the same one that usually delivered it. She couldn’t remember his name but, then again, why would she focus on a name badge if she could smell pizza? He had been delivering since those 422lb days, way back in the past. Before she let herself go. Before she got fat. And with each party pack of pizzas that she had summoned unto her place, he saw a little more of her. For there was always a little more of her to see. And these days, she just left her front door unlocked so he could come in and bring it to her. It was easier for her that way, than the long trek to the front door. This way the handsome young man could place them straight on the table for her friends, so she didn’t have to get up from the sofa that had long-since replaced her reclining chair. He had hair and arms, and he always smiled when he saw her. And he never seemed to judge her for her size, which was a shame but at least he brought pizza. “Hey Sweeney” he said as he welcomed himself in. “Hey” she replied, with a smile on her face. “It’s Mike” he said. Or “It’s Steve”. Or perhaps, “It’s Youssef”. Was he even white? She really should have noticed a detail like that. “I’ve got your pizzas for you” “For me and my friends” she corrected with a cheery smile. “And what’ s inside is ice-cream” “Yes. Your friends” he said, and put the dishes down for each of the five flatmates. “Here’s the money. Keep the change” she said, as she gave him the precise amount required. “Thanks. Hey, Sweeney. I’ve been meaning to ask. Are you seeing someone? Like, in a relationship?” “Kinda. Why?” “Cos, I dunno, I just think you’re kinda pretty. And I like a girl who can eat. So I was wondering if maybe...” “Maybe?” “Well, d’ya fancy hanging out some time? Like, I dunno, a date or something?” Sweeney stopped still at that. The words hung like stalactites. Just him and her, staring at one another, breathing in each other, with those words crystallised in the frost of the air. ‘A’ and ‘date’. Such exotic words. Words that punctured the membrane and reached in and shook Sweeney by the arm. This attractive young specimen with soft facial hair and ruffled hair wanted to go on a date with Sweeney. An actual date. Like they did on the TV. Where would they go? Coffee seemed low-key, a restaurant would be stylish. How about the diner? How cool would that be? She could be the Madison to his Lucas… “I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m having a party with all my friends” she said with a touch of sorrow. How could she forgot the circle of friends when they were all around her, looking on. Her friends. But still… “Hey Sweeney, there’s nobody else in here. I think you’re confused. Maybe the party’s tomorrow” he said, holding her confused cheek. And she looked around at the stark room with glacial tears in her eyes. He said there was nobody there. That she was confused. That maybe the party was tomorrow? Was he right? “No. Sorry. But I can’t. I have friends around” she said, with a shallow smile. And he smiled back sweetly too. “Fine. You’ve a party tonight. But, if you ever do want to go on a date, you ever do feel lonely… let me know. Cos I like you Sweeney. I like you a lot” he said, as he walked away. Whatever his name was. And Sweeney sat down and breathed as deep as she could and waited for her world to stop spinning. And then she started eating. And, as she did, Beatrice ran her hand through Sweeney’s hair with maternal affection. “Don’t worry sweetheart, you’re doing just fine with us” “Am I though? Are you sure?” Sweeney’s voice trembled as the said it. “Oh, of course my dear. You beautiful angel. We’ll always be here to take care of you. And look after you. Now eat up, you’re so terribly skinny” she sweetly hummed with lullaby compassion. “Are you sure I’m skinny? I feel so fat. I’m 704lbs now” Sweeney whimpered with insecurity. And she looked every one of those 704lbs. 700 is a staggering number of pounds to impose upon a woman’s frame. It meant that limbs weighed the same as she used to, smudged with a puffer jacket layer of fat everywhere. It curled up into rolls like paper until a lighter, bundling up in every place her body could find. And her stomach, stretching out beyond the fullness of her reach with burdened weight. “Oh, you are so fat” Principle Iashvilli snarled at her, as he approached her from her other side. “I remember when you joined the school. So a precious dainty little thing. So slender. So sweet. Oh, what a mess you’ve made of yourself. What destruction you have wrought. Everything you held high has come crashing to the basin. Every virtue ravaged. Career ruined. Beauty besmirched. And your social life? The dying embers of a memory that can’t tell real from not. And we’ll abandon you one day. Like everyone else does” “Oh, don’t listen to him, my love” Beatrice countered. “You are beautiful. And so skinny. So eat up my little girl. Eat up for your mommy” And Beatrice let Sweeney rest her weary head on her shoulder as she piled into the pizza. And Principle Iashvilli bit her neck, causing her shoulders to judder. And Sally-Anne and Madison joined in, climbing across the inverted crater of her stomach with lust and fingernails. And between her legs was the pizza delivery guy. Let’s call him Ben. He was there showing his appreciation to her with his tongue, as Sweeney ripped through climax after climax. And she sat there, all alone in her room, surrounded by the five empty pizza boxes that she had launched through, pleasuring herself as the bell rang at school for the end of the lesson. And a smile spread across Sweeney’s face. A genuine one this time. Her white teeth shone out of it as it pulled across her face in true delight. This school year was going to be the first good year in a long time, and she was going to make sure that she enjoyed it. With such good friends around her, Sweeney was happy for the first time in her life. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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