Chapter One: A Chance Encounter
Damn Humidity!
Gloria Straus tugged at the waistband of her Wranglers as she climbed into her dented Ford pickup. They had always been a little tight—the way she, and the majority of the men in town, liked them—but the monsoonal moisture of late Summer had turned them into a damp, sticky wetsuit.
The burger she had just eaten didn’t help either.
Alone in the cab, the attractive brunette inhaled deeply and undid the snap of her Wranglers, freeing herself from their confines. As she pulled away from the remote diner, rain began to thump against the truck’s steel frame like a drunken tap dancer.
Damn F-ing Humidity!
Although the rain vindicated her thoughts, she didn’t quite believe them. It may have been mugginess that caused her clothes to stick to her body, but it wasn’t mugginess that caused her belly to swell into the gap of her undone pants.
It was fat.
Gloria slid a hand off the steering wheel and down to her stomach. She ran her fingers beneath the roll of fat that pooched delicately over her panties. It defied gravity-- like some cliffy overhang one big rock (or cheeseburger in her case) from a full-blown avalanche. She gave it a squeeze and it squished between her fingers like putty.
Gloria sighed. For twenty-eight years she had fought a good fight, but now it seemed she was destined to be yet another of the town’s plumped-up pretties. She knew most of their stories well.
Tonya Green, her best friend in High School and Captain of the Cheerleader squad, had blown up like a balloon after she met her husband Dave. Each one of their five kids rounded-out her hourglass shape a little more, to the point that she was now completely spherical and looked ready to pop. In High School her body was a temple; now it was a pimple.
Eva Marie, another cheerleader, met her Husband, Rick, at a local strip-joint. Rick forced her to quit, got her a “respectable” job (as a receptionist at the auto parts distributorship where Gloria worked), knocked her up…and now spends every evening back at the strip club while Eva, a good fifty pounds heavier, stays home with little Ricky Junior.
Becky Tucker, the Homecoming Queen, didn’t even wait for a man before letting herself go. Mel Jansen hired her out of High School to waitress his diner for the summer thinking it would boost sales. And it did…for about a month. Unfortunately, Becky gained a pound a day that May, and by June sales had swooned. That was ten years ago and Becky still works there…as an unseen fry cook buried deep in the kitchen. Jessica Brunner, class of ’08, is the new head waitress and her uniform is already looking a bit snug.
Gertrude Haskins, Paula Hines, Suzanne Lindy--like dominos the beauties of George Wallace High had all fallen one by one. Now, apparently, it was Gloria’s turn.
KA-BOOM! Thunder snapped Gloria from her thoughts as lightning knifed across the charcoal sky. She was surprised to find her right hand still absent-mindedly fondling the newfound fat around her midsection. Although the wet, winding rural two lane demanded ten-and-two driving, she decided to leave it there. She had traveled the road dozens of times, but her hand was exploring virgin territory.
Gloria was amazed how little it bothered her…which really bothered her. In High School, she could have been voted “Least Likely to get Fat.” She was athletic, fiercely independent, and took pride in her appearance. Not to the point of vanity, like most of the girls in town who used their bodies as bartering chips to be cashed-in to the first man who promised a roof and a warm bed, but rather a simple belief in both being and looking healthy. She played soccer and ran track. She was goal-driven, focused…and more than a little intimidating.
She was one of the guys then and, ten years later, she still was. She loved whipping the boys athletically and academically, and now she took pride in beating them on the less-than-level playing field of small town economics. She was the number one auto part sales person in her territory and, while her dimpled smile and feminine charms didn’t hurt when it came to getting her all-male clientele to sign on the dotted line, it was her willingness to get down and dirty--like loading and delivering parts to a remote body shop on a stormy evening--that afforded her a level of respect and status within the community far above and beyond her more demure and domestic-minded girlfriends.
Not that she had many. She had completely lost touch with her High School friends, who now had their own families and were busy sharing recipes, toddler tips and town gossip with their stay-at-home counterparts. As unappealing as that lifestyle would have been just a few years ago, Gloria now felt a twinge of jealousy. Although she had always felt more comfortable relating with men, she was not a man--a fact she was reminded of on a daily basis. The sexist comments she could handle, she’d been dealing with them all her life and could manipulate them to her advantage, but the petty jealousies, cattiness and exclusion she had dealt with from the girls in High School hadn’t diminished within the “old boys” network. In fact, it had only increased through the years as she became more successful. Male friends and associates who once viewed her as an amusing curiosity, now viewed her as a threat.
This fact was affirmed when Albert Swisher, an infinitely inferior salesman two years her junior, was recently promoted to a supervisory position ahead of her. It was becoming evident she may have pushed the glass ceiling higher, but hadn’t smashed it like she’d expected. Now she was approaching thirty and getting fat. Wonderful.
SHIT! Lightning illuminated an armadillo in the middle of the road. Gloria swerved onto the shoulder to avoid it, but when she cut the wheel back towards the road, the truck fishtailed on the slick blacktop and bounced trailer-first down the incline into the roadside ditch. Now facing backwards, the truck’s headlights spotlighted the armadillo, still prone in the middle of the road, as if it were the star of some small-mammaled variety show.
“Stupid little shit,” Gloria shouted as she opened the door. “I shoulda hit ya’!” The critter simply stared at her for a bemused moment, then waddled off into the shrubs along the opposite side of the road.
Squatting to examine the damage to the truck, Gloria could feel her stomach bunch up between her still unzipped jeans. She quickly stood and zipped them. No wonder the armadillo had such an amused look on its face. It was a good thing there was no traffic.
However, as she surveyed the damage she realized it wasn‘t such a good thing. The truck’s front axel had broken, pushing the tires up into the engine block and bending the frame. Steam shot from the hood, but Gloria didn’t even bother lifting it; she knew she wasn’t going anywhere. To make matters worse, the sky had turned a muddy mixture of brown, black and green. She checked her watch. 5:30. Far too early for it to be so dark.
The only shelter she knew of was a tiny strip mall on the edge of town about a mile back, but the stores there were likely closed. Besides, they were basically tin sheds with decorative façades. She’d be better off in her truck.
CRACK! Just as Gloria was about to climb back into the cab and take her chances, a lightning strike just off the road knocked her face-first into the wet grass. She could hear no thunder--just a dull ringing in her head and a tingling in her extremities as if her entire body had fallen asleep. She tried to move, but couldn’t. For a moment, she feared she might drown paralyzed in the ditch, but the cold rain pelting her face rallied her senses and she was finally able to get to her feet.
As lightning strobed around her, she glimpsed the outline of a structure about 100 yards up the road she hadn’t remembered seeing before. Perhaps a roadside bar had opened since her last time through. Whatever it was, the rapidly rising water, which was now covering her shoes, convinced her that she needed to try for it.
As she trudged up the road against the wind, the building appeared and disappeared in the lightning like a lighthouse’s beacon. It was ridiculous, but the closer Gloria got, the more she feared it might disappear for good. Fortunately, she eventually got close enough to see it without benefit of Mother Nature’s handiwork.
Unlike the makeshift strip malls that had been tornado fodder in the territory for generations, this building was brick and nestled alone amongst the pines. It was about the size of Mel’s Dinner in town, but instead of a windowed frontage, it was completely bricked, save for a white wooden door and a tiny adjacent window. In the window was a piece of cardboard with the word “OPEN” crudely scrawled on it. Gloria was certain the building was new, but it looked as if it could have been there for decades.
The building’s permanence surprised her, but its signage stopped her cold--even in the face of the wicked summer squall. Just above the door, a hand-painted wooden sign read “Weight Watcher” in fat balloon letters. Peering over the writing was a Kilroy-was-here type cartoon character with giant, beady eyes and a nose which dangled down to form the “T” in “Watcher”.
Gloria couldn’t believe it. She wasn’t a spiritual woman, but how could she ignore such an obvious sign? The Man upstairs apparently wasn’t too pleased with her little pity-party from earlier. She was embarrassed by it, too. She’d always been a strong, take charge woman. Maybe this was more than simply a rescue from inclement weather.
“Hello?” A cowbell above the door announced Gloria’s arrival into a brightly-lit, white room. She was apprehensive about entering unexpected, but pleased to be in from the storm. It was amazing how little of it she could hear once inside. It seemed miles away.
The room was cold and austere. Even though the business was new, Gloria expected a reception table and a sofa or two, maybe even a plant and a few motivational posters, but it was completely bare, save for a school desk with a tiny chair in the center of the room and a swing door with a small diamond-shape window along the opposite wall. Hell, there wasn’t even a scale. “Hello? Anyone here?”
A tuft of red hair appeared in the window on the door. Green eyes quickly followed as whomever was on the opposite side tip-toed to glimpse the new arrival. An instant later, both hair and eyes were gone and Gloria was still alone. She began to think the storm was a better choice.
Suddenly, the door on the opposite wall swung open and a small man in overalls emerged. “Why, hello there!” The man hastily wiped his hands on a towel. “Sorry for the delay. I just needed to clean up a bit.”
Gloria’s apprehension vanished the moment she saw him. Although his weathered face suggested a man in his late-fifties, his bright smile and lively gait were of a man half that. He looked like a Leprechaun.
“Your door was open.” Gloria looked around the empty room. “Are you open?”
“We’re always here to help people…” The impish man looked Gloria up and down. “…and you look like you could use my help.”
Gloria placed a hand over her swollen abdomen. “Is it that obvious?”
“I saw you swerve off.” The man handed Gloria his towel. “The roads are treacherous.”
“Oh.” Gloria glanced out the window as she dried herself. She wasn’t quite sure how he had seen the accident through such a small window, much less from the back room and through a downpour. “Yes. Yes, they are. Can I use your phone?”
“Not installed yet. Though I’m not 100% sure I’m going to. Ringing phones distract from what we try to do here.”
“That doesn’t seem good for business.”
“Our business is mouth driven.” The man winked. “Literally.”
Gloria smiled. “Yes, I could see where that would be the case.”
“Melvin Strong,” the man said, extending a hand. “But everyone calls me ‘Doc.’
“Gloria Straus.” Despite his firm handshake, the man was definitely more Melvin than Strong; however, his diminutive stature made ‘Doc’ an appropriate moniker.
“Would you like a flier, Ms. Straus?” Melvin reached into the pocket of his overalls and produced a small stack of brochures. “You might have a friend that could use my services.”
“Actually,” Gloria said, patting her stomach. “I might be interested myself.”
“You?” Melvin seemed genuinely stunned. “Why?”
“I’d like to drop a few pounds before my ten-year reunion.” Gloria lied. She had no more intention of going to her ten-year reunion than taking orders from Albert Swisher.
“You don’t need to lose weight.” Melvin sounded more like he was giving an order than making a polite rebuttal. “But if you THINK you do this program might be just what you need.”
Melvin handed her a homemade brochure circa 1984 Macintosh computer. The logo from the outside sign had been crudely replicated on the front, while the inside featured the program’s requisite bullet-point promises. Gloria was surprised to find none of them actually referenced weight-loss, but rather nebulous platitudes like “broadened horizons,” “gained perspective,” and “becoming a well-rounded person.”
“When do you have your meetings?”
“You’re thinking Weight Watchers,” Melvin said, pointing at the brochure’s logo. “We’re Weight WATCHER.” He puffed out his chest proudly. “That’s me.”
“You mean, you’re not affiliated with Weight Watchers?”
“Ugh, I can’t stand them.” Melvin’s facial expression spoke of real disdain.
“I see,” Gloria said, the disappointment evident in her voice. “Well, thanks for the brochure.”
“Would you like to see some of the people I’ve helped?” Melvin pointed toward the school desk. On it was a beat-up old photo album with the word “memories” scrawled across the cover. “Have a seat.”
Gloria glanced out the window to find the storm still raging. “I think you have a captive audience tonight, Doc,” she said, as she wiggled her way into the tiny desk. The desk may have been a good fit for Melvin, but all it did was make Gloria feel huge. She expected it was by design.
Gloria opened the album. She’d always laughed at diet ads that tried to make the women in “before” pictures look bad through poor lighting, sour expressions and stuck-out tummies; however, the women in Melvin’s pictures looked the epitome of fat and miserable. All were dressed in muumuus or tent dresses and looked pale and unkempt, with no make-up and limp, lifeless hair. Their dour expressions spoke of real suffering, not put-upon fabricated frowns. Conversely, the “after” pictures presented the women several hundred pounds lighter and in make-up and professional attire. The transitions were extreme.
“I’m most proud of her,” Melvin said, pointing at a picture of a statuesque blond woman about Gloria’s age. Her bright eyes, dimpled smile and impossible hourglass figure looked straight from an Al Capp cartoon. Gloria could picture her on the cover of one of those car magazines leaning against one of Walter Steadman’s hotrods.
“Oh my God, she’s gorgeous.” Gloria’s eyes moved to the before picture where the same woman, worthy of Playboy consideration in the after shot, could only be described as grotesque. Her face was completely haloed in fat, which bunched-up and obscured her features and forced her wide blue eyes into a squint. She appeared to be lying in bed, but it was impossible to tell for certain as her body filled every inch and oozed-out over the sides. Gloria couldn’t even be sure which of the dozens of bulges protruding from the oversize floral blanket that tried vainly to cover her was belly, arm or breast. “Are you sure that’s the same woman?”
“I should think so. I worked with her personally for the better part of two-years.”
“Awww, she got married,” Gloria said, noticing the diamond adorning her slender finger in the after shot.
“What?” Melvin leaned in over Gloria’s shoulder. “Ah, yes, well…Many of the women in my program find love.”
Gloria absent-mindedly massaged her own empty ring finger as she examined the rest of the photos. “Where did you find these women, the circus?” Gloria didn’t mean to sound cruel, but the enormity of some of the women was extreme. Although none were as big as Melvin’s pride blonde bombshell, Gloria estimated most to be over 500 pounds.
“They’re the same as you and I. The only thing I look to improve is what’s in their hearts.”
“Cholesterol?”
Melvin closed the book and pulled it away from Gloria. “I don’t appreciate your tone, Ms. Straus. I’d like for you to leave.”
“Now?” Gloria looked out the window--the winds had accelerated to gale force. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. Tell me more about your program.”
Melvin eyed her suspiciously, then pulled another flier from his overalls. “I call this my ‘Recipe for Success,’” he said, handing it to Gloria.
Gloria’s eyes grew wide as she scanned the document. “Is this a joke?”
“Why would you say that?”
“French toast and waffles for breakfast? Pizza for lunch? Chicken fried steak for dinner?”
Melvin took the flier from Gloria and flipped it over. “Don’t forget the between meal snacks.”
Sure enough, the reverse of the document outlined a stringent regimen of pastries, donuts and cookies to be eaten every hour on the hour. Gloria smiled and handed the flier back to Melvin. “I don’t think this diet is for me.”
“Suit yourself,” Melvin said, placing it back in his pocket. “Besides, there are so many good, effective, traditional diets to choose from. How else do you explain all the skinny people in this country?”
Sarcasm aside, he was right. The photos didn’t lie. Perhaps the key to effective weight management was thinking outside the box. Even though Gloria was about 350 pounds short of being a candidate for Doc’s program, she was intrigued…and she certainly didn’t want to be back in the storm. “OK, I’ll bite. How does it work?”
“It’s a bit radical, I admit,” Melvin said, the excitement growing in his voice. “It’s based on a process which helped me to quit smoking twenty-years ago. Instead of quitting cold turkey, which almost never works, I did the opposite—I smoked as much I could, as often as I could for a two-weeks. It was comical—I’d light one cigarette before I was finished with the first. Sometimes I’d smoke two or three cigarettes at the same time. It made me nauseas, upset my stomach, I couldn’t sleep—and that was after only a few days. After a week, I couldn’t even look at a cigarette, but I still kept going. After ten days, I was throwing-up after every single one. That’s when I knew I was never going to smoke again. To this day, I get physically ill when I so much as look at a cigarette. As you can imagine, I’m careful to go into only non-smoking establishments.”
“Interesting concept, but I only want to lose about 15 pounds. I’d probably gain that in the first week.”
“You’re fairly active, right?”
“Yes.”
“Health conscious?”
“I try to be.”
“Sociable?”
“I guess.”
“My dear, you are my ideal client. This approach is PERFECT for you. After ten days pent-up in your apartment gorging on fast food, you’ll never want another bite of junk food in your life. By that time, you’ll be in the right frame of mind for Phase II.”
“What’s Phase two?”
“My dear, leave that to me.”
“Any meetings?”
“No.”
“Exercise sessions?”
Melvin laughed. “Absolutely not.”
“When do I see you again?”
“In ten days.”
“So, your patented diet program consists of me staying inside and eating junk food non-stop for ten-days. How much do I have to pay you for such sagely advice?”
Melvin’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t mock me, Ms. Straus. Or the program. It only works if you’re completely on-board with it.”
“I’m sorry.” Gloria was taken aback by Melvin’s tone, but imagined his passion was a good indicator of the program’s success. “What does your program cost?”
Melvin placed his hand on his chin and looked Gloria up and down. “Since you’d be my first client in this area and have so little to lose, I’d be willing to forgo my usual fees on two conditions?”
“Yes?”
“That you stick to the program for the duration, and that you tell people how happy you are with my services when we’re finished.”
“Any contracts?”
Melvin extended his hand. “Just one.”
“What the hell,” Gloria said, as she shook Melvin’s hand. “I’ll be your Guinea Pig.”
“Wonderful! Welcome aboard Ms. Straus!” Melvin handed Gloria the recipe sheet. “With that,” he said, gesturing towards the window, “I think our business is finished.”
The rain had stopped and the sun peered through the clouds as it began to set. Even better, the flashing lights of a patrol car could be seen alongside Gloria’s abandoned truck.
Melvin placed an arm around Gloria as he walked her towards the door. “Just try and keep what we’re doing between us. I’ve found that outside influences can be…disruptive.”
“Don’t worry about that. I don’t think anyone else would understand.”
“I find that’s often true.” Melvin smiled as the cowbell jingled over Gloria‘s head. “Oh, and don’t cheat. I’ll know if you do.”
Gloria waved good-bye as the door slowly closed behind her, covering Melvin’s still-smiling face. Walking back to her truck, she reflected on the evening’s events and what Melvin had said. He was certainly right about one thing--just thinking about spending the next ten days pent-up in her apartment gorging on fast food was enough to make her nauseous. It was even enough to make her forget the other fleeting thought she had--
How did he know I lived in an apartment?
The Weight Watcher by Maverick (WG)
4 posts
• Page 1 of 1
The Weight Watcher by Maverick (WG)
by buzzy » Mon May 28, 2012 5:16 pm
- buzzy
- Transformation Master
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- Joined: Sat May 26, 2012 6:40 am
Re: The Weight Watcher by Maverick (WG)
by buzzy » Mon May 28, 2012 5:17 pm
Chapter Two: Phase One
EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE, EVERY MOVE YOU MAKE, EVERY BOND YOU BREAK, EVERY STEP YOU TAKE, I’LL BE WATCHING YOU!
Sting’s voice woke Gloria from a deep sleep. She reached out blindly to shut off her alarm--
“Ow! Shit!”
A sharp pain gripped Gloria’s wrist and she bolted upright as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on her head. At least she was awake…
And clothed. Why was she in bed with her clothes on? And why did her wrist hurt? She rubbed it--it was swollen and tender to the touch. She must have sprained it when she’d fallen last night.
Last night. Gloria sat in bed and rubbed her wrist, trying to recall the details of what had happened. It was a foggy swirl of storms, car accidents and police reports. Her head throbbed as if hung over which didn’t help matters.
She leaned over to shut off the music with her healthy hand. 8:30! The alarm should have gone off at 7:30. Either she had slept through the music or the alarm had gotten reset somehow. Either way, she didn’t have time to think about it.
As she stood to get dressed, something crinkled in her back pocket. Pinching her fingers into the tight denim, she retrieved a folded sheet of paper with the heading: “Recipe for Success.”
Melvin! So he hadn’t been just a stress and cheeseburger-induced dream.
Gloria studied the menu and shook her head. What have I gotten myself into? For breakfast it suggested a combination of waffles, pancakes, eggs and biscuits. Not exactly the Breakfast of Champions, she thought. Still, a promise was a promise. Unfortunately, the time on the clock barely allowed for a cup of coffee and a granola bar.
“Sorry Melvin,” Gloria said as she rushed to the bathroom while pulling her shirt over her head. “I’ll eat a big lunch.”
She splashed cold water on her face, but it didn’t perk her up. Normally, she would have zipped around the apartment and been out the door in a flash, but today she could barely bring herself to look at her reflection…and when she did she was sorry.
She had never been one to linger in front of a mirror. While her High School friends would routinely spend thirty minutes or more applying make-up and fixing their hair, Gloria rarely required more than the occasional hair brushing. Her olive skin, which perfectly contrasted her naturally rosy cheeks and lips, was an enigma among the pasty-faced locals. Add to that luxurious, jet black hair, which was thicker, softer and shinier than the manes on Ms. Peabody’s show horses, and clear hazel eyes, which so sharply contrasted her dark features that they appeared illuminated from within, and Gloria was the epitome of natural beauty.
Not today. Today her hair was limp, lifeless and disheveled. Red creases, the result of last night’s face-down slumber, ran across her cheeks and bags sagged beneath her bloodshot eyes. Crow’s feet, likely the result of years squinting under midday sun, had begun to form in the corners of her eyes, and lines across her forehead, which normally only appeared when she furrowed her brow, looked well on their way to becoming permanent.
She was even more alarmed by what she saw further south. The last time she, or anyone else for that matter, had thoroughly inspected her without a shirt on, her body was perfect, but now it missed the mark by about two years and twenty pounds.
Her boobs strained against the confines of her 36C bra and, in an effort to find breathing room, had spilled out and over the cups. The strap dug deep into her skin around her sides and back, causing flesh to bunch up around it like a satin highway running between rolling hills of fat.
Beneath her chest, her belly sloped out and pressed firm against the waistband of her jeans. Although there was no spillage when standing straight, the slightest bend caused fat to roll up and over the front and sides. Gloria twisted her torso like a corkscrew, watching the fat appear and disappear over the edge of her pants like some fleshy hula hoop.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Gloria said as she gave her flab a pinch. Although seeing first-hand how her body had gone to seed was depressing, she wasn‘t discouraged. At least she was doing something about it and, unlike the matronly mothers who made up George Wallace’s class of ’99, she would soon have her figure back. There may have been a little extra sand in her hourglass, but she was still pretty hot…and on her way to becoming even hotter.
It suddenly dawned on Gloria just how long she’d been loitering in front of the mirror, so she hurriedly wrapped her sore wrist, threw on a clean top and rushed out the door--only to find her truck missing. It took her a second to realize that it wasn’t stolen, but in the shop after last night‘s accident.
What is wrong with me? Gloria thought as she banged on her neighbors’ doors hoping to bum a ride. She had been in a daze all morning. She couldn’t even remember exactly how she’d gotten home last night.
By the time Matilda Cavenaugh, a reclusive old lady in apartment forty-six, fed her cats and found her car keys, it was already 9:30. After going ten miles an hour through town, Gloria finally arrived at work a little after 10 AM.
“Catching up on your beauty sleep this morning?” Gloria had tried to breeze past Albert Swisher’s office, but dutifully returned to his doorway when addressed. Albert looked her head to toe. “Maybe you needed another hour.”
“Thanks. If it’s alright with you, I’ll take a truck to finish the McCaskey delivery first thing.”
“Already done.”
“That’s my client, Albert.”
“You weren’t here, so I sent Steve. Sorry Princess, but the show must go on.” Albert stared down at some papers on his desk and pretended to be immersed in work. “How’s your wrist? Hopefully, better than your truck.”
“I’ll manage.”
Albert looked up and smiled. “Tell you what--I’ll manage. You just do what I say, OK?”
“Fuck you, Albert.” Gloria tried to flip him the bird, but the pain in her wrist would only allow her a comical shake of her fist before storming off down the hallway.
Albert laughed. “I was just kidding,” he called after her. “Geesh. You walk like a man; you talk like a man…Too bad you still drive like a woman, am I right?”
Albert’s words faded as Gloria stormed into the reception area. It was empty--save for a box of assorted donuts laying atop a bed of Field and Stream magazines circa 1979. Without thinking, she grabbed a glazed and shoved it in her mouth. She was halfway into her second when she noticed Betty, the office’s secretary, peering at her over horn rimmed glasses and the multiple ferns that adorned her desk.
“I din’ eenie brefast,” Gloria said, her cheeks both bulging and blushing.
“Say no more.” Betty leaned over her desk, as if telling a secret. “I’ve had two myself.”
“Who brought ‘em?”
“Not sure. They were here when I got here. Try a fritter. They’re excellent.”
“Thanks.” Gloria took one back to her office and closed the door. Time to work, she thought as she sat at her desk. She checked her in-box: no messages. She opened her Day-Timer: no appointments.
Gloria pulled some vendor files from her drawer and opened one. She tried to study the invoice on top of the pile, but couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the fritter crumbs that were slowly accumulating atop it.
When she finished eating, she licked her fingers clean and held the invoice over the trash can, shaking off the crumbs but leaving tiny grease spots in their wake. NOW it was time to work.
She checked her wall clock. 10:45. She could get a couple hours in before taking a late lunch. Gloria made a few notes on the paper then re-filed it. She checked the clock again. 10: 47.
This is ridiculous. Gloria stood and stretched, causing her T-shirt to ride up above her belly. As she sat back down, it bunched-up between her stomach, which rolled out over her waistband, and her breasts, which flopped lazily on top of it. She tugged the bottom of her shirt, releasing the fabric…and a number of fritter crumbs which had accumulated there.
As she picked the remaining crumbs from her lap, she could hear Betty talking on the phone. Maybe just one more, Gloria thought as she stood and moved to the door. She slowly opened it and crept down the hall. The gray hair on the back of Betty’s head bobbed over the tops of her plants as she busily took a message.
Gloria thought she’d eaten the final fritter, but there were actually two left. In fact, the whole box seemed more full than she remembered. Nobody will miss one more. Besides, she thought as she grabbed another and scurried back to her office. Doc’s orders.
As she noshed her fourth donut of the morning, she was finally able to get some work done, but by Noon the gurgling of her stomach was once again stealing focus. Despite its audible protests, she forced herself to wait until 2:00, when she knew the lunch rush would be over, before heading off to Mel’s Diner. If she was going to pig-out in public, she wanted to do it as discreetly as possible.
***
“GLORIA, C’MON IN! HAVE A SEAT!”
“Hi Mel.” Gloria waved to Mel as he peered out from the swinging door to the kitchen. He was a big man--a burly ex-army cook covered in tattoos--but as she made her way to a booth under the gaze of every diner, she wished he didn’t have quite such a big voice.
“What can I get for you, sweetie?”
Gloria looked up from her menu to find Jessica Brunner, recent graduate of George Wallace High and its reining Homecoming queen. Blessed with high cheekbones, alabaster skin, bright blue eyes, flowing blonde tresses (which were neatly done up into a bun) and an impossibly bright smile, Jessica looked more like a Hollywood actress playing a role than an actual hash slinger…Although her expanding curves were beginning to suggest one of a 1960s vintage.
“I’m thinking of trying the Chicken-fried steak and eggs with a side of sausage.”
“That’s my favorite!” Jessica rubbed her hand over her belly, drawing attention to the growing gaps between the buttons of her yellow uniform. Pale belly flesh poofed ever-so-slightly through the spaces in its overtaxed fabric. “You must’ve brought your appetite.”
Gloria shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Yes, well, I skipped breakfast and had a busy morning.”
Jessica leaned over the table. Her boobs, which had always been big, were now one threadbare button from corrupting the family-friendly restaurant. “Honey, you don’t have to have an excuse for Mel’s Country-fried steak.” Jessica’s suggestive coo even had Gloria a little turned-on--and more than a little hungry. No wonder Mel had hired her.
Gloria smiled. “You’re right.” She folded the stained and sticky menu and handed it to Jessica. “I’ll take it.”
“FLOP TWO ON A SIDE OF MOO WITH A COUPLE ZEPPELINS IN A FOG!” Jessica’s sultry voice morphed into a shrill shriek as she barked the order back to the kitchen, causing Gloria to cringe and customers to stare.
“Gloria?”
A round face with sanguine cheeks appeared in the narrow order-up window. It was Becky Tucker. For years now, the only view Gloria had of her former classmate was over stacks of pancakes and French Toast.
“Hi Becky.” Gloria waved to her schoolhood friend. Even though she could only see her face, the deepness of her dimples and the jiggle of her jowls indicated she was still gaining weight.
“You brought your appetite today!”
Damn it, can’t a girl pig-out in peace? “Yes, well, Jessica is a good sales woman.”
“And customer. You can’t tell it by looking at her, but she eats like a trucker.”
Jessica turned and placed her hands on her widening hips. “Oh Becky, stop it. I do not.”
“Well,” Becky said, the dimples in her cheeks deepening as she smiled. “Let’s just say she takes advantage of the employee discount.”
“I have to. I’ll be a starving college student soon.”
Gloria glanced at Jessica’s hourglass figure--which was threatening to become an hour-and-a-half-glass. She certainly was no trucker, but the way her uniform struggled against her flesh, she was obviously not starving either. Gloria doubted the homecoming dress she graced on the front page of the Garbor Gazette four short months ago would contain her.
“That’s not until the Fall. A lot can change between now and then. Isn’t that right, Gloria?”
Gloria nodded, though she wasn’t quite sure what Becky was intimating. She already felt guilty for her giant order--was she now supposed to regret not attending college, too? If Becky felt remorse for blimping-out and getting trapped into a career as a fry cook, Gloria wished she would leave her out of it.
“Like what?” Jessica said. A leftover French fry from the table she was bussing dangled like a cigarette from her lips.
Becky just smiled, shrugged her well-padded shoulders, and disappeared to create Gloria’s country-fried concoction.
When her order arrived, so much food was hanging over the edges of the plate that it looked like the food was floating in air. Of course, there was nothing light about the meal--unless you counted the fluffy, cloud-like mashed potatoes.
As Gloria dug-in, she could feel eyes upon her. Becky’s smiling face stared out at her from the kitchen window.
“Womnerful,” Gloria said with her mouth full. And it was--the steak tender and the gravy thick.
“Glad to hear it.” Becky watched Gloria eat for another moment, then returned to her duties.
Even after Becky disappeared into the kitchen, however, Gloria still felt conspicuous. Occasionally, she’d look up from her meal just as another patron would look away, or catch Jessica, who pretended to be busy, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. Even little Billy Cooper, who was passing by the diner on his skateboard, stopped to watch through the glass as she ate--leaving behind a greasy, ghost-like imprint of his fingers, nose and forehead.
Gloria ate faster. Her bites became bigger. She knew she was making even more of a spectacle of herself, but she kept her head down and attacked the overflowing plate with Bulldog-like determination. Before long, the food lost all taste and finishing became the only goal.
By the time she had whittled the steak down to a normal sized portion, she was already painfully full. Her stomach pushed further and further out as she took bite after bite after bite, building up pressure against her waistband. Just as the pinching against Gloria’s tender flesh was becoming unbearable--
POP!
The snap on her jeans gave way and her belly rushed forward like water from a burst dam. It pushed through the flaps, forcing her zipper down several inches before finally settling in her lap.
Blood rushed to Gloria’s face, but she kept her head down and continued to plow through the heaping helping as if nothing had happened. She prayed no one had heard the hail-on-a-tin-roof sound her snap had made, but the silence that enveloped the diner indicated that it had not gone unnoticed. Her heart raced. Her chest tightened. She began to sweat. Residents often joked how Mel’s meals should come with a free cardiogram; now she believed them.
She also felt something she didn’t expect--aroused. Her display of unabashed gluttony in the face of a hushed crowd had triggered a warmth in her loins. As she ate, she became acutely aware of her belly as it tickled the tops of her thighs, and the gentle jiggle of flesh beneath her arms as she hoisted forkful after forkful into her mouth.
Gloria closed her eyes and took a giant bite, savoring the tender and creamy meat in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. She could feel its warmth inside her as it slowly slid past her tongue, down her throat and into her stomach.
“Mmmm.” The sound that escaped Gloria’s lips was more orgasmic spasm than audible approval of a tasty meal, but she no longer cared. The growing wetness between her legs superceded all other emotions.
As she forced another oversized bite of beef into her delicate and overtaxed mouth, a trickle of gravy dripped down her chin and onto her chest. Taking a finger, she followed its trail down her cleavage and, after removing the dollop, placed it in her mouth. As she sucked away the remnants, she squirmed in her seat in an effort to satisfy the tingling between her thighs.
She closed her eyes again and imagined what the 3,000+ calorie meal was doing inside her. She could visualize fat flowing through her body and depositing itself on her arms, belly and chest. She could almost feel her thighs and ass growing and spreading out against the vinyl as she grinded against it.
“MMMMM!” Gloria held the fork in her mouth like a bit to keep from moaning, but as she braced her hands against the table, it slipped from her lips and clattered to the floor.
Gloria opened her eyes. Her empty plate looked as if it had been licked clean by a pack of wild animals. She glanced around the diner--some stared with mouths agape, some shook their heads, and some kept their faces buried in their menus or newspapers pretending to have missed the whole thing, or that orgasmic restaurant displays like the one Gloria just perpetrated were merely a matter of course.
“THREE MORE MOOS,” shouted Jessica, breaking the silence. She smiled and shook her head at Gloria…before taking menus from three of Garber’s Red Hat Society.
***
“How was lunch?” Betty’s voice froze Gloria just as she was about to slip down the hall to her office.
“Fine,” Gloria said without turning around. Just keep walking, she thought.
“I have a message for you.”
Gloria reluctantly returned to Betty’s desk. As she reached across for the slip of paper dangling between Betty’s heavily manicured fingers, her shirt rode up to reveal several inches of bare, bloated belly. Betty tried not to stare, but there was no ignoring the way Gloria’s taut stomach swelled beyond her waistband and forced her low riders so low that Betty blushed.
“You got in a little late this morning,” Betty said with a smile. “Were you ill?”
“A little,” Gloria said, readjusting her top. “I just haven’t been myself today.”
“Say no more. I’ve felt the same way.” Betty winked as the phone began to ring. “Six times.”
Gloria’s brow furrowed. Then she spotted a picture of Betty with her kids: Jay, Kay, Elle, Emma, Enya and Opie.
Oh, no. Gloria began to protest, but Betty was already into a conversation with Linda Whipple, the secretary for the regional offices and Betty’s equal in age and number of Grandchildren. This was going to be a while.
Gloria retreated to her office as Betty and Linda jabbered, but not before noticing that the donut box on the reception table was more full than ever…with three more fritters on top.
What the hell is going on here? Gloria thought as she plopped in her chair. She glanced at the phone message, which was hand-written in Betty’s flowery script:
Keep up the good work! See you for your appointment in ten days. Doc.
It was all starting to make sense. She tried to imagine how Betty was going to incorporate the fact that the company’s number one sales person was pregnant into her conversation with Linda. Gloria couldn‘t help but smile at the irony. She hadn’t even had sex in…in…
She couldn’t remember.
Gloria tapped her pencil and stared at the red light emanating from Betty’s extension. The jovial secretary’s booming voice could usually be heard through the building’s paper thin walls, but all Gloria could hear now was her wall clock ticking like a metronome. Her tapping pencil quickly fell into cadence with the clock and, before long, her head began to throb in time. Her heart raced. Her chest tightened.
Gloria tried to stand, but dizziness forced her back into her seat. The prison bar-like shadows cast through her vertical blinds slowly pin-wheeled as the room began to spin. Using her desk for support, she pulled herself up and staggered into the hall, gulping for oxygen like a strung-up fish. She raced past Betty and through the door to daylight, gasping as fresh air filled her lungs and warm sun bathed her face.
Almost immediately, her heart rate and breathing slowed. As Gloria placed her hands on her knees to recover, she could feel the keys to the company pick-up she’d borrowed for lunch poking painfully through her pocket. Even though she felt better, she couldn’t bring herself to go back inside. At least not today. All she wanted to do was lie down.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Gloria thought as she drove home. Was she having a stroke? A heart attack? She once knew a girl, a complete basket case, who complained of panic attacks. Gloria smiled; the very notion was absurd to her. She’d rather have a heart attack.
“Son of a…” As she pulled into her apartment complex, she found some chucklehead had parked their old white Plymouth in her spot. It was a common occurrence; the uncovered guest parking was inconvenient at best. Normally, it was a guest of the Smith boys, who were known for their wild parties, but it was a little too early for that. Probably just a visitor who figured she would still be at work.
Gloria was about to bite the bullet and pull around to the uncovered lot, but suddenly realized that her bachelorette pad was bereft of anything but milk, cereal and a few overripe bananas. She wasn’t hungry and couldn’t even think about Doc’s program after the lunch experience she’d had, but she also couldn’t fathom leaving again once she got inside. Might as well take the opportunity to stock-up for the week and hope whoever-it-was was gone by the time she got back.
As Gloria turned around to head for the Piggly Wiggly, she noticed that the car in her spot was unmarked…
But failed to notice the set of eyes that peered from the blinds of her bedroom window.
The next morning, Gloria awoke to warm sunlight washing over her body. It was the closest thing she’d had to a bath in days.
She rose sluggishly to shut the blinds. When did I open these? she thought. Ever since she caught Jud Rumley in 112 staring up at her while she undressed a few years ago, she rarely left them open.
She chuckled at the notion of anyone spying on her today. What a grotesque surprise that would be. Nevertheless, it didn’t keep her from lingering at the window. She stretched, feeling the sun’s warmth on her distended belly as it poked between the flaps of her undone pants.
The sun’s rays seemed pretty intense for…9:45! What happened to the alarm? How the hell did she sleep for 14 hours non-stop?
Gloria was halfway to the shower when she remembered the plan she’d formulated the night before. She rotated her wrist; it felt better, but was still sore. She imagined a doctor would caution her against physical labor, an important aspect of her job, for at least the next…nine days?
Although her sprained wrist provided her the perfect excuse to take time off, she hated using it. She prided herself on her toughness and hadn’t taken a sick day in years. The last thing she needed right now was one more indication that she was going soft.
Having to call Albert Swisher was the worst part.
“Aw, poor baby,” Albert said, condescendingly. “Let me know if you need me to kiss it--or any other sensitive areas--for you.”
Asshole, Gloria thought as she hung up the phone. She wanted to march right down and repeat the sentiment to his face. She wanted to kick his ass. She wanted to quit. She wanted…to eat.
Gloria grabbed a box of Little Debbie cakes from one of the grocery sacks. She ripped off its lid, dumped them into a pile, then, one by one, tore off their wrappers and stuffed them in her mouth. As she finished one, another was already on its way in. Then another. And another. She attacked the mountain of chocolate laid before her with the same steely determination she approached all of life’s challenges. It was merely another obstacle to be conquered.
In less than five-minutes, the mountain was gone, replaced by a layer of crinkled cellophane wrappers which flittered like tiny tumbleweeds beneath her ceiling fan. As Gloria sat, rubbing her distended belly and picking flecks of cake from her cleavage, she felt an emotion she didn‘t expect--pride. She was sure that once the chocolate and sugar-induced euphoria wore off, the panic of what those twelve crème-filled cakes would do to her figure would set-in, but for now she was going to enjoy herself.
If I’m going to do this, I may as well do it right, Gloria thought. She slithered her pants off into a heap on the floor and her top quickly followed. Then she grabbed the videos and a bag of Cheetos from the table, several beers from the fridge, and plopped herself in front of the TV.
By the time Dirty Dancing was over, the Cheetos and two beers were gone. Three more beers and a frozen pizza followed with Pretty Woman, and by the time Sleepless in Seattle started, Gloria was enjoying dessert--peanut butter ice cream straight from the carton--and was more than a little tipsy.
Lying alone in her underwear in the middle of the day, watching old movies and eating ice cream directly from the container, Gloria felt liberated…and a bit naughty. Shifting her weight on the sofa, her thighs collided, sending a pleasurable shockwave through her body. She did it again, watching this time as the milky-white flesh of her inner-thighs gently brushed past each other.
Did they always do that? Gloria thought as she repeated the process a third and forth time. She didn’t think so.
Gloria’s attention gradually fell away from the movie and towards her changing body. She watched as her stomach, packed-tight with her recent indulgences, raised up, out and over her underwear with each breath. Unconsciously, she began to eat the ice cream faster, as if testing its limits. Letting the spoon dangle from her mouth, Gloria ran her hands over her belly, gently massaging it as if it were an overtaxed muscle. Cold and wet from holding the ice cream, they were a pleasurable contrast to its warm tenderness.
Her hands slid down the slope of her bloated belly and between her legs, where the touch of cold fingers against warm moisture caused her to gasp. As her tentative massage turned to probing, Gloria wanted nothing more than to have someone, anyone, shovel spoonful after spoonful of ice cream into her mouth as she explored. She wanted to feel the cold cream sliding down her throat; she wanted to feel her stomach as it swelled to capacity and beyond; she wanted to feel the fat between her thighs jiggle as bite after bite after bite flowed down her gullet and converted into soft flab. If only for a moment--this one drunken and decadent moment--she wanted to be huge!
While she pleasured herself with her left hand, she plunged her right into the container beside her. Scooping-up the half-melted desert, she quickly shoveled it in her mouth as drops dribbled down her chin, neck and breasts. Again and again, her hand returned to the container until it finally met resistance at its bottom. Then she greedily sucked the residue from her fingers and rubbed the drippings that had accumulated across her torso. As she brought a sticky breast to her mouth, savoring its sweetness, she imagined herself at 200 pounds, 300 pounds, 400 pounds. She imagined that she was too big for her clothes, too big for her sofa, too big to reach her hands between her legs--
Suddenly, she was rocked by a violent orgasm, causing each and every one of her new pounds to quiver in delight. When the tremors subsided, Gloria collapsed back in her sticky, Cheeto-stained sofa, closed her eyes, and drifted off into a deep sleep.
****
It had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Gloria’s feelings of ecstasy were replaced by agony the following day. Blinding sunlight through her open curtains awoke her to a sticky mess, a ruined sofa and a splitting headache.
Didn’t I close those fucking things? Gloria thought, shielding her eyes. Staggering to her feet, she noticed the whitish residue on the sofa that outlined where she’d lain. It looked like coroner’s chalk marking a deceased, chubby body.
How could I have done that? Gloria thought as she showered the stickiness off of her body, face and hair. A psychologist would have a field day with me.
The more she thought about it; however, the more she realized she didn’t have to be Sigmund Freud to deduce what had happened. She had been given permission to be bad and had taken advantage. Behind closed doors, with nobody watching and nobody knowing, she had given in to excess. It was a one-day escape from small-town life and its intrusions; a one-day vacation from expectation and responsibility. One day of pure, unadulterated debauchery. She needed it and, if the mindless soaping of her still-bloated belly was any indication, she enjoyed it.
But now it was time to pay the piper. In addition to ruining a $500 sofa, she had a hangover and nausea that four Tums hadn’t made a dent in. As Gloria stepped from the shower, she glanced towards the mirror. She was grateful the steam obscured her view--partly because she didn’t want to see the damage the past few days had done to her body, but also because she was afraid her feelings from the previous day would return.
After throwing on a loose fitting silk robe, Gloria made her way into the living room to survey the carnage. Rather than attempt to clean, she simply covered the sofa with an old comforter and set-up another junk food buffet of donuts, cupcakes, chips, salsa, candy and beer on the table in front of the TV. Just the sight of all that food made her queasy, but she’d given her word to stick with the plan and figured her appetite might return as the day wore on.
As Gloria lounged on the sofa flipping channels, she was appalled by the midday programming. Other than the nightly news, she had never been much of a television watcher. It was common for the matronly housewives in town to gossip about the latest happenings on “Days of our Lives” or “As the World Turns,” and she knew Chet Emerson, a local mechanic, had once appeared on Jerry Springer with his four wives, but she'd never had time to pay those types of shows much attention.
Never had she been more grateful. She could practically feel her brain turning to mush as she watched Oprah drone on about marital infidelity, Maury Povich conduct paternity tests on illiterate gangster wannabes, and Tyra Banks interview whiny women with problems caused by everyone but themselves. At least that was better than the soaps, with their bad acting, inane plots, and characters that made the Fathers-to-be on Maury seem responsible.
It didn’t stop her from watching, however…and it didn’t keep her from eating. With every disbelieving shake of her head at the afternoon antics came a bite of donut, handful of M&Ms, or swig of beer. By the time the afternoon news came on, the table was a mess of empty bottles, wrappers, boxes and crumbs.
Over the next few days, Gloria settled into a routine of rolling out of bed, “dressing” in her loose-fitting robe (or not at all), grabbing an armful of junk food from the kitchen, and lazing in front of the TV for hours on end. By the fourth day, the only mystery was whether she would make it to bed at all, or simply fall asleep with the TV on and foodstuffs still clutched in her hands (or even dangling from her mouth).
Sometimes feelings of dread, arousal, or a mix of both would wash over her at odd moments--like when she noticed that there seemed to be less belt to work with when she tied her robe, or the pigsty her normally tidy apartment was becoming--but she quickly quelled those thoughts by popping another beer and focusing on the sensational afternoon misadventures ever-present on the tube.
Just a few more days, Gloria thought as she watched Judge Judy and hoisted a Twinkie to her mouth. This is just part of the program.
However, day six brought a feeling of dread that wasn’t so easy to overcome: She had to leave the house. She knew her food supply was dwindling, but had put it off until her cupboards were bare. Not to mention the movies she’d rented, which were now buried under several layers of trash, were four days late, she hadn’t checked her mail in a week, and the odor emanating from her robe was a constant reminder of her need to do laundry.
The thought of going anywhere other than Doc’s in her present condition caused her heart to race, but as she prepared to bite the bullet and get dressed, a smile crept across her lips. After a quick phone call, Gloria was back on the sofa enjoying the last three beers.
Just as she finished the final one, the doorbell rang. Gloria pulled her robe closed, ran her fingers through her greasy, unkempt hair and staggered to the door. Through the peephole, she spied a lanky kid struggling to hold a half-dozen grocery sacks in his sinewy arms.
“Chip!” Gloria shouted as she flung the door open, very nearly causing the boy to drop his load. “My hero!” She grabbed one of the dangling bags and led him into the kitchen.
“Uh, hi,” Chip said, noticing the state of Gloria and her apartment. “You musta had some party. Where’s your family?”
Gloria shoved the clutter on her table over to one side to clear room. “I have a confession to make, Chip. My family isn’t here. I lied.”
“W-why’d ya do that?”
“I was embarrassed. I didn’t want you to know that all this food was for little ol’ me.”
“For you? All of it? I brought enough food to feed five for a week.”
“I know. Shameful, isn’t it?” Gloria ran her fingers delicately down the silk-covered slope of her stomach. “But my rumbly little tummy just can’t stop.”
“Aren’t you afraid you might get…f-f-fat?”
“Do you think I might?” Gloria’s wide-eyes suggested equal parts hope and concern.
“Well, yeah. If you eat all this. All I brought was junk food. Lots of burgers and hot dogs and pizzas.”
Gloria made a pouty face and pushed her stomach out, causing it to peek between the flaps of her robe. “You don’t think I’m too fat now, do you?”
“W-w-well...n-n-no, but if you ate all this…”
“THEN, I’d be too fat for you?” The thought she might be getting too fat for one of the geekiest boys in town was suddenly the most erotic thought she’d ever had.
“I…I don’t know.” Chip began backing towards the door. “I need to get back to the store.”
“Aw, don’t go. Show me what you brought.”
Chip stopped his retreat, but held his ground. “Uh, nothing special. Just basically what I told you.”
Gloria pointed at one of the bags. “What’s in there?”
“Fritters. I…I know you like them.”
“Mmmm, and what about that one?”
“Just some ice cream. Peanut Butter Crunch.”
“That’s my favorite. How did you know?”
“I kinda keep track.”
“That’s so sweet.” Gloria pulled a spoon from a kitchen drawer and gently ran it across her bottom lip. “May I have some?”
“Sure.” Chip walked to the table, removed the carton from the bag and held it out to her. “You bought it, didn‘t you?”
Gloria knew Chip wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but this was getting ridiculous. She gave the silk tie of her robe a gentle tug, causing it to fall open. “Maybe you could help me?”
“I…I…I…” Chip worked overtime trying not to stare. “I really should be getting back.”
Gloria moved close and held the spoon under his chin. “Just a few bites.”
Chip’s clammy hands trembled as he took the spoon from Gloria. He hastily removed the lid and, after jabbing repeatedly at the rock-hard concoction, shakily brought a spoonful towards Gloria’s open mouth like a drunken conductor in an infant’s Choo-Choo game.
“Mmmmm, that’s cold,” Gloria said as she tried to manage the giant bite. A small blob dribbled from her mouth and fell. Last week, it would have hit the floor, but today it caught her belly and slowly trickled down its slope. “Oops, would you mind getting that, sweetie?”
Gloria gasped as Chip’s ice cold finger touched her warm skin. He slowly followed the milky trail, then brought the remnants towards his mouth.
“Hey, that’s mine!” She grasped his finger and pulled it to her lips, delicately sucking the cream from its tip. “Mmmmm.”
“I…I…I”
Gloria pressed his moist finger against her lips. “Shhhhh.” Then she slowly rested his hand on her right breast. He was too afraid to move it, but its trembling alone was enough to induce a gentle moan from Gloria. She pressed into him, mashing her swollen belly against his skinny one. As she did, she could feel his manhood throbbing prematurely through the denim condom of his jeans.
Chip broke from her embrace with a strength that belied his scrawny physique. “I…I gotta go.”
Gloria smiled as she watched the poor kid race out the door and down the stairs. Apparently, she wasn’t too fat for him just yet.
EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE, EVERY MOVE YOU MAKE, EVERY BOND YOU BREAK, EVERY STEP YOU TAKE, I’LL BE WATCHING YOU!
Sting’s voice woke Gloria from a deep sleep. She reached out blindly to shut off her alarm--
“Ow! Shit!”
A sharp pain gripped Gloria’s wrist and she bolted upright as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on her head. At least she was awake…
And clothed. Why was she in bed with her clothes on? And why did her wrist hurt? She rubbed it--it was swollen and tender to the touch. She must have sprained it when she’d fallen last night.
Last night. Gloria sat in bed and rubbed her wrist, trying to recall the details of what had happened. It was a foggy swirl of storms, car accidents and police reports. Her head throbbed as if hung over which didn’t help matters.
She leaned over to shut off the music with her healthy hand. 8:30! The alarm should have gone off at 7:30. Either she had slept through the music or the alarm had gotten reset somehow. Either way, she didn’t have time to think about it.
As she stood to get dressed, something crinkled in her back pocket. Pinching her fingers into the tight denim, she retrieved a folded sheet of paper with the heading: “Recipe for Success.”
Melvin! So he hadn’t been just a stress and cheeseburger-induced dream.
Gloria studied the menu and shook her head. What have I gotten myself into? For breakfast it suggested a combination of waffles, pancakes, eggs and biscuits. Not exactly the Breakfast of Champions, she thought. Still, a promise was a promise. Unfortunately, the time on the clock barely allowed for a cup of coffee and a granola bar.
“Sorry Melvin,” Gloria said as she rushed to the bathroom while pulling her shirt over her head. “I’ll eat a big lunch.”
She splashed cold water on her face, but it didn’t perk her up. Normally, she would have zipped around the apartment and been out the door in a flash, but today she could barely bring herself to look at her reflection…and when she did she was sorry.
She had never been one to linger in front of a mirror. While her High School friends would routinely spend thirty minutes or more applying make-up and fixing their hair, Gloria rarely required more than the occasional hair brushing. Her olive skin, which perfectly contrasted her naturally rosy cheeks and lips, was an enigma among the pasty-faced locals. Add to that luxurious, jet black hair, which was thicker, softer and shinier than the manes on Ms. Peabody’s show horses, and clear hazel eyes, which so sharply contrasted her dark features that they appeared illuminated from within, and Gloria was the epitome of natural beauty.
Not today. Today her hair was limp, lifeless and disheveled. Red creases, the result of last night’s face-down slumber, ran across her cheeks and bags sagged beneath her bloodshot eyes. Crow’s feet, likely the result of years squinting under midday sun, had begun to form in the corners of her eyes, and lines across her forehead, which normally only appeared when she furrowed her brow, looked well on their way to becoming permanent.
She was even more alarmed by what she saw further south. The last time she, or anyone else for that matter, had thoroughly inspected her without a shirt on, her body was perfect, but now it missed the mark by about two years and twenty pounds.
Her boobs strained against the confines of her 36C bra and, in an effort to find breathing room, had spilled out and over the cups. The strap dug deep into her skin around her sides and back, causing flesh to bunch up around it like a satin highway running between rolling hills of fat.
Beneath her chest, her belly sloped out and pressed firm against the waistband of her jeans. Although there was no spillage when standing straight, the slightest bend caused fat to roll up and over the front and sides. Gloria twisted her torso like a corkscrew, watching the fat appear and disappear over the edge of her pants like some fleshy hula hoop.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Gloria said as she gave her flab a pinch. Although seeing first-hand how her body had gone to seed was depressing, she wasn‘t discouraged. At least she was doing something about it and, unlike the matronly mothers who made up George Wallace’s class of ’99, she would soon have her figure back. There may have been a little extra sand in her hourglass, but she was still pretty hot…and on her way to becoming even hotter.
It suddenly dawned on Gloria just how long she’d been loitering in front of the mirror, so she hurriedly wrapped her sore wrist, threw on a clean top and rushed out the door--only to find her truck missing. It took her a second to realize that it wasn’t stolen, but in the shop after last night‘s accident.
What is wrong with me? Gloria thought as she banged on her neighbors’ doors hoping to bum a ride. She had been in a daze all morning. She couldn’t even remember exactly how she’d gotten home last night.
By the time Matilda Cavenaugh, a reclusive old lady in apartment forty-six, fed her cats and found her car keys, it was already 9:30. After going ten miles an hour through town, Gloria finally arrived at work a little after 10 AM.
“Catching up on your beauty sleep this morning?” Gloria had tried to breeze past Albert Swisher’s office, but dutifully returned to his doorway when addressed. Albert looked her head to toe. “Maybe you needed another hour.”
“Thanks. If it’s alright with you, I’ll take a truck to finish the McCaskey delivery first thing.”
“Already done.”
“That’s my client, Albert.”
“You weren’t here, so I sent Steve. Sorry Princess, but the show must go on.” Albert stared down at some papers on his desk and pretended to be immersed in work. “How’s your wrist? Hopefully, better than your truck.”
“I’ll manage.”
Albert looked up and smiled. “Tell you what--I’ll manage. You just do what I say, OK?”
“Fuck you, Albert.” Gloria tried to flip him the bird, but the pain in her wrist would only allow her a comical shake of her fist before storming off down the hallway.
Albert laughed. “I was just kidding,” he called after her. “Geesh. You walk like a man; you talk like a man…Too bad you still drive like a woman, am I right?”
Albert’s words faded as Gloria stormed into the reception area. It was empty--save for a box of assorted donuts laying atop a bed of Field and Stream magazines circa 1979. Without thinking, she grabbed a glazed and shoved it in her mouth. She was halfway into her second when she noticed Betty, the office’s secretary, peering at her over horn rimmed glasses and the multiple ferns that adorned her desk.
“I din’ eenie brefast,” Gloria said, her cheeks both bulging and blushing.
“Say no more.” Betty leaned over her desk, as if telling a secret. “I’ve had two myself.”
“Who brought ‘em?”
“Not sure. They were here when I got here. Try a fritter. They’re excellent.”
“Thanks.” Gloria took one back to her office and closed the door. Time to work, she thought as she sat at her desk. She checked her in-box: no messages. She opened her Day-Timer: no appointments.
Gloria pulled some vendor files from her drawer and opened one. She tried to study the invoice on top of the pile, but couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the fritter crumbs that were slowly accumulating atop it.
When she finished eating, she licked her fingers clean and held the invoice over the trash can, shaking off the crumbs but leaving tiny grease spots in their wake. NOW it was time to work.
She checked her wall clock. 10:45. She could get a couple hours in before taking a late lunch. Gloria made a few notes on the paper then re-filed it. She checked the clock again. 10: 47.
This is ridiculous. Gloria stood and stretched, causing her T-shirt to ride up above her belly. As she sat back down, it bunched-up between her stomach, which rolled out over her waistband, and her breasts, which flopped lazily on top of it. She tugged the bottom of her shirt, releasing the fabric…and a number of fritter crumbs which had accumulated there.
As she picked the remaining crumbs from her lap, she could hear Betty talking on the phone. Maybe just one more, Gloria thought as she stood and moved to the door. She slowly opened it and crept down the hall. The gray hair on the back of Betty’s head bobbed over the tops of her plants as she busily took a message.
Gloria thought she’d eaten the final fritter, but there were actually two left. In fact, the whole box seemed more full than she remembered. Nobody will miss one more. Besides, she thought as she grabbed another and scurried back to her office. Doc’s orders.
As she noshed her fourth donut of the morning, she was finally able to get some work done, but by Noon the gurgling of her stomach was once again stealing focus. Despite its audible protests, she forced herself to wait until 2:00, when she knew the lunch rush would be over, before heading off to Mel’s Diner. If she was going to pig-out in public, she wanted to do it as discreetly as possible.
***
“GLORIA, C’MON IN! HAVE A SEAT!”
“Hi Mel.” Gloria waved to Mel as he peered out from the swinging door to the kitchen. He was a big man--a burly ex-army cook covered in tattoos--but as she made her way to a booth under the gaze of every diner, she wished he didn’t have quite such a big voice.
“What can I get for you, sweetie?”
Gloria looked up from her menu to find Jessica Brunner, recent graduate of George Wallace High and its reining Homecoming queen. Blessed with high cheekbones, alabaster skin, bright blue eyes, flowing blonde tresses (which were neatly done up into a bun) and an impossibly bright smile, Jessica looked more like a Hollywood actress playing a role than an actual hash slinger…Although her expanding curves were beginning to suggest one of a 1960s vintage.
“I’m thinking of trying the Chicken-fried steak and eggs with a side of sausage.”
“That’s my favorite!” Jessica rubbed her hand over her belly, drawing attention to the growing gaps between the buttons of her yellow uniform. Pale belly flesh poofed ever-so-slightly through the spaces in its overtaxed fabric. “You must’ve brought your appetite.”
Gloria shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Yes, well, I skipped breakfast and had a busy morning.”
Jessica leaned over the table. Her boobs, which had always been big, were now one threadbare button from corrupting the family-friendly restaurant. “Honey, you don’t have to have an excuse for Mel’s Country-fried steak.” Jessica’s suggestive coo even had Gloria a little turned-on--and more than a little hungry. No wonder Mel had hired her.
Gloria smiled. “You’re right.” She folded the stained and sticky menu and handed it to Jessica. “I’ll take it.”
“FLOP TWO ON A SIDE OF MOO WITH A COUPLE ZEPPELINS IN A FOG!” Jessica’s sultry voice morphed into a shrill shriek as she barked the order back to the kitchen, causing Gloria to cringe and customers to stare.
“Gloria?”
A round face with sanguine cheeks appeared in the narrow order-up window. It was Becky Tucker. For years now, the only view Gloria had of her former classmate was over stacks of pancakes and French Toast.
“Hi Becky.” Gloria waved to her schoolhood friend. Even though she could only see her face, the deepness of her dimples and the jiggle of her jowls indicated she was still gaining weight.
“You brought your appetite today!”
Damn it, can’t a girl pig-out in peace? “Yes, well, Jessica is a good sales woman.”
“And customer. You can’t tell it by looking at her, but she eats like a trucker.”
Jessica turned and placed her hands on her widening hips. “Oh Becky, stop it. I do not.”
“Well,” Becky said, the dimples in her cheeks deepening as she smiled. “Let’s just say she takes advantage of the employee discount.”
“I have to. I’ll be a starving college student soon.”
Gloria glanced at Jessica’s hourglass figure--which was threatening to become an hour-and-a-half-glass. She certainly was no trucker, but the way her uniform struggled against her flesh, she was obviously not starving either. Gloria doubted the homecoming dress she graced on the front page of the Garbor Gazette four short months ago would contain her.
“That’s not until the Fall. A lot can change between now and then. Isn’t that right, Gloria?”
Gloria nodded, though she wasn’t quite sure what Becky was intimating. She already felt guilty for her giant order--was she now supposed to regret not attending college, too? If Becky felt remorse for blimping-out and getting trapped into a career as a fry cook, Gloria wished she would leave her out of it.
“Like what?” Jessica said. A leftover French fry from the table she was bussing dangled like a cigarette from her lips.
Becky just smiled, shrugged her well-padded shoulders, and disappeared to create Gloria’s country-fried concoction.
When her order arrived, so much food was hanging over the edges of the plate that it looked like the food was floating in air. Of course, there was nothing light about the meal--unless you counted the fluffy, cloud-like mashed potatoes.
As Gloria dug-in, she could feel eyes upon her. Becky’s smiling face stared out at her from the kitchen window.
“Womnerful,” Gloria said with her mouth full. And it was--the steak tender and the gravy thick.
“Glad to hear it.” Becky watched Gloria eat for another moment, then returned to her duties.
Even after Becky disappeared into the kitchen, however, Gloria still felt conspicuous. Occasionally, she’d look up from her meal just as another patron would look away, or catch Jessica, who pretended to be busy, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. Even little Billy Cooper, who was passing by the diner on his skateboard, stopped to watch through the glass as she ate--leaving behind a greasy, ghost-like imprint of his fingers, nose and forehead.
Gloria ate faster. Her bites became bigger. She knew she was making even more of a spectacle of herself, but she kept her head down and attacked the overflowing plate with Bulldog-like determination. Before long, the food lost all taste and finishing became the only goal.
By the time she had whittled the steak down to a normal sized portion, she was already painfully full. Her stomach pushed further and further out as she took bite after bite after bite, building up pressure against her waistband. Just as the pinching against Gloria’s tender flesh was becoming unbearable--
POP!
The snap on her jeans gave way and her belly rushed forward like water from a burst dam. It pushed through the flaps, forcing her zipper down several inches before finally settling in her lap.
Blood rushed to Gloria’s face, but she kept her head down and continued to plow through the heaping helping as if nothing had happened. She prayed no one had heard the hail-on-a-tin-roof sound her snap had made, but the silence that enveloped the diner indicated that it had not gone unnoticed. Her heart raced. Her chest tightened. She began to sweat. Residents often joked how Mel’s meals should come with a free cardiogram; now she believed them.
She also felt something she didn’t expect--aroused. Her display of unabashed gluttony in the face of a hushed crowd had triggered a warmth in her loins. As she ate, she became acutely aware of her belly as it tickled the tops of her thighs, and the gentle jiggle of flesh beneath her arms as she hoisted forkful after forkful into her mouth.
Gloria closed her eyes and took a giant bite, savoring the tender and creamy meat in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. She could feel its warmth inside her as it slowly slid past her tongue, down her throat and into her stomach.
“Mmmm.” The sound that escaped Gloria’s lips was more orgasmic spasm than audible approval of a tasty meal, but she no longer cared. The growing wetness between her legs superceded all other emotions.
As she forced another oversized bite of beef into her delicate and overtaxed mouth, a trickle of gravy dripped down her chin and onto her chest. Taking a finger, she followed its trail down her cleavage and, after removing the dollop, placed it in her mouth. As she sucked away the remnants, she squirmed in her seat in an effort to satisfy the tingling between her thighs.
She closed her eyes again and imagined what the 3,000+ calorie meal was doing inside her. She could visualize fat flowing through her body and depositing itself on her arms, belly and chest. She could almost feel her thighs and ass growing and spreading out against the vinyl as she grinded against it.
“MMMMM!” Gloria held the fork in her mouth like a bit to keep from moaning, but as she braced her hands against the table, it slipped from her lips and clattered to the floor.
Gloria opened her eyes. Her empty plate looked as if it had been licked clean by a pack of wild animals. She glanced around the diner--some stared with mouths agape, some shook their heads, and some kept their faces buried in their menus or newspapers pretending to have missed the whole thing, or that orgasmic restaurant displays like the one Gloria just perpetrated were merely a matter of course.
“THREE MORE MOOS,” shouted Jessica, breaking the silence. She smiled and shook her head at Gloria…before taking menus from three of Garber’s Red Hat Society.
***
“How was lunch?” Betty’s voice froze Gloria just as she was about to slip down the hall to her office.
“Fine,” Gloria said without turning around. Just keep walking, she thought.
“I have a message for you.”
Gloria reluctantly returned to Betty’s desk. As she reached across for the slip of paper dangling between Betty’s heavily manicured fingers, her shirt rode up to reveal several inches of bare, bloated belly. Betty tried not to stare, but there was no ignoring the way Gloria’s taut stomach swelled beyond her waistband and forced her low riders so low that Betty blushed.
“You got in a little late this morning,” Betty said with a smile. “Were you ill?”
“A little,” Gloria said, readjusting her top. “I just haven’t been myself today.”
“Say no more. I’ve felt the same way.” Betty winked as the phone began to ring. “Six times.”
Gloria’s brow furrowed. Then she spotted a picture of Betty with her kids: Jay, Kay, Elle, Emma, Enya and Opie.
Oh, no. Gloria began to protest, but Betty was already into a conversation with Linda Whipple, the secretary for the regional offices and Betty’s equal in age and number of Grandchildren. This was going to be a while.
Gloria retreated to her office as Betty and Linda jabbered, but not before noticing that the donut box on the reception table was more full than ever…with three more fritters on top.
What the hell is going on here? Gloria thought as she plopped in her chair. She glanced at the phone message, which was hand-written in Betty’s flowery script:
Keep up the good work! See you for your appointment in ten days. Doc.
It was all starting to make sense. She tried to imagine how Betty was going to incorporate the fact that the company’s number one sales person was pregnant into her conversation with Linda. Gloria couldn‘t help but smile at the irony. She hadn’t even had sex in…in…
She couldn’t remember.
Gloria tapped her pencil and stared at the red light emanating from Betty’s extension. The jovial secretary’s booming voice could usually be heard through the building’s paper thin walls, but all Gloria could hear now was her wall clock ticking like a metronome. Her tapping pencil quickly fell into cadence with the clock and, before long, her head began to throb in time. Her heart raced. Her chest tightened.
Gloria tried to stand, but dizziness forced her back into her seat. The prison bar-like shadows cast through her vertical blinds slowly pin-wheeled as the room began to spin. Using her desk for support, she pulled herself up and staggered into the hall, gulping for oxygen like a strung-up fish. She raced past Betty and through the door to daylight, gasping as fresh air filled her lungs and warm sun bathed her face.
Almost immediately, her heart rate and breathing slowed. As Gloria placed her hands on her knees to recover, she could feel the keys to the company pick-up she’d borrowed for lunch poking painfully through her pocket. Even though she felt better, she couldn’t bring herself to go back inside. At least not today. All she wanted to do was lie down.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Gloria thought as she drove home. Was she having a stroke? A heart attack? She once knew a girl, a complete basket case, who complained of panic attacks. Gloria smiled; the very notion was absurd to her. She’d rather have a heart attack.
“Son of a…” As she pulled into her apartment complex, she found some chucklehead had parked their old white Plymouth in her spot. It was a common occurrence; the uncovered guest parking was inconvenient at best. Normally, it was a guest of the Smith boys, who were known for their wild parties, but it was a little too early for that. Probably just a visitor who figured she would still be at work.
Gloria was about to bite the bullet and pull around to the uncovered lot, but suddenly realized that her bachelorette pad was bereft of anything but milk, cereal and a few overripe bananas. She wasn’t hungry and couldn’t even think about Doc’s program after the lunch experience she’d had, but she also couldn’t fathom leaving again once she got inside. Might as well take the opportunity to stock-up for the week and hope whoever-it-was was gone by the time she got back.
As Gloria turned around to head for the Piggly Wiggly, she noticed that the car in her spot was unmarked…
But failed to notice the set of eyes that peered from the blinds of her bedroom window.
The next morning, Gloria awoke to warm sunlight washing over her body. It was the closest thing she’d had to a bath in days.
She rose sluggishly to shut the blinds. When did I open these? she thought. Ever since she caught Jud Rumley in 112 staring up at her while she undressed a few years ago, she rarely left them open.
She chuckled at the notion of anyone spying on her today. What a grotesque surprise that would be. Nevertheless, it didn’t keep her from lingering at the window. She stretched, feeling the sun’s warmth on her distended belly as it poked between the flaps of her undone pants.
The sun’s rays seemed pretty intense for…9:45! What happened to the alarm? How the hell did she sleep for 14 hours non-stop?
Gloria was halfway to the shower when she remembered the plan she’d formulated the night before. She rotated her wrist; it felt better, but was still sore. She imagined a doctor would caution her against physical labor, an important aspect of her job, for at least the next…nine days?
Although her sprained wrist provided her the perfect excuse to take time off, she hated using it. She prided herself on her toughness and hadn’t taken a sick day in years. The last thing she needed right now was one more indication that she was going soft.
Having to call Albert Swisher was the worst part.
“Aw, poor baby,” Albert said, condescendingly. “Let me know if you need me to kiss it--or any other sensitive areas--for you.”
Asshole, Gloria thought as she hung up the phone. She wanted to march right down and repeat the sentiment to his face. She wanted to kick his ass. She wanted to quit. She wanted…to eat.
Gloria grabbed a box of Little Debbie cakes from one of the grocery sacks. She ripped off its lid, dumped them into a pile, then, one by one, tore off their wrappers and stuffed them in her mouth. As she finished one, another was already on its way in. Then another. And another. She attacked the mountain of chocolate laid before her with the same steely determination she approached all of life’s challenges. It was merely another obstacle to be conquered.
In less than five-minutes, the mountain was gone, replaced by a layer of crinkled cellophane wrappers which flittered like tiny tumbleweeds beneath her ceiling fan. As Gloria sat, rubbing her distended belly and picking flecks of cake from her cleavage, she felt an emotion she didn‘t expect--pride. She was sure that once the chocolate and sugar-induced euphoria wore off, the panic of what those twelve crème-filled cakes would do to her figure would set-in, but for now she was going to enjoy herself.
If I’m going to do this, I may as well do it right, Gloria thought. She slithered her pants off into a heap on the floor and her top quickly followed. Then she grabbed the videos and a bag of Cheetos from the table, several beers from the fridge, and plopped herself in front of the TV.
By the time Dirty Dancing was over, the Cheetos and two beers were gone. Three more beers and a frozen pizza followed with Pretty Woman, and by the time Sleepless in Seattle started, Gloria was enjoying dessert--peanut butter ice cream straight from the carton--and was more than a little tipsy.
Lying alone in her underwear in the middle of the day, watching old movies and eating ice cream directly from the container, Gloria felt liberated…and a bit naughty. Shifting her weight on the sofa, her thighs collided, sending a pleasurable shockwave through her body. She did it again, watching this time as the milky-white flesh of her inner-thighs gently brushed past each other.
Did they always do that? Gloria thought as she repeated the process a third and forth time. She didn’t think so.
Gloria’s attention gradually fell away from the movie and towards her changing body. She watched as her stomach, packed-tight with her recent indulgences, raised up, out and over her underwear with each breath. Unconsciously, she began to eat the ice cream faster, as if testing its limits. Letting the spoon dangle from her mouth, Gloria ran her hands over her belly, gently massaging it as if it were an overtaxed muscle. Cold and wet from holding the ice cream, they were a pleasurable contrast to its warm tenderness.
Her hands slid down the slope of her bloated belly and between her legs, where the touch of cold fingers against warm moisture caused her to gasp. As her tentative massage turned to probing, Gloria wanted nothing more than to have someone, anyone, shovel spoonful after spoonful of ice cream into her mouth as she explored. She wanted to feel the cold cream sliding down her throat; she wanted to feel her stomach as it swelled to capacity and beyond; she wanted to feel the fat between her thighs jiggle as bite after bite after bite flowed down her gullet and converted into soft flab. If only for a moment--this one drunken and decadent moment--she wanted to be huge!
While she pleasured herself with her left hand, she plunged her right into the container beside her. Scooping-up the half-melted desert, she quickly shoveled it in her mouth as drops dribbled down her chin, neck and breasts. Again and again, her hand returned to the container until it finally met resistance at its bottom. Then she greedily sucked the residue from her fingers and rubbed the drippings that had accumulated across her torso. As she brought a sticky breast to her mouth, savoring its sweetness, she imagined herself at 200 pounds, 300 pounds, 400 pounds. She imagined that she was too big for her clothes, too big for her sofa, too big to reach her hands between her legs--
Suddenly, she was rocked by a violent orgasm, causing each and every one of her new pounds to quiver in delight. When the tremors subsided, Gloria collapsed back in her sticky, Cheeto-stained sofa, closed her eyes, and drifted off into a deep sleep.
****
It had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Gloria’s feelings of ecstasy were replaced by agony the following day. Blinding sunlight through her open curtains awoke her to a sticky mess, a ruined sofa and a splitting headache.
Didn’t I close those fucking things? Gloria thought, shielding her eyes. Staggering to her feet, she noticed the whitish residue on the sofa that outlined where she’d lain. It looked like coroner’s chalk marking a deceased, chubby body.
How could I have done that? Gloria thought as she showered the stickiness off of her body, face and hair. A psychologist would have a field day with me.
The more she thought about it; however, the more she realized she didn’t have to be Sigmund Freud to deduce what had happened. She had been given permission to be bad and had taken advantage. Behind closed doors, with nobody watching and nobody knowing, she had given in to excess. It was a one-day escape from small-town life and its intrusions; a one-day vacation from expectation and responsibility. One day of pure, unadulterated debauchery. She needed it and, if the mindless soaping of her still-bloated belly was any indication, she enjoyed it.
But now it was time to pay the piper. In addition to ruining a $500 sofa, she had a hangover and nausea that four Tums hadn’t made a dent in. As Gloria stepped from the shower, she glanced towards the mirror. She was grateful the steam obscured her view--partly because she didn’t want to see the damage the past few days had done to her body, but also because she was afraid her feelings from the previous day would return.
After throwing on a loose fitting silk robe, Gloria made her way into the living room to survey the carnage. Rather than attempt to clean, she simply covered the sofa with an old comforter and set-up another junk food buffet of donuts, cupcakes, chips, salsa, candy and beer on the table in front of the TV. Just the sight of all that food made her queasy, but she’d given her word to stick with the plan and figured her appetite might return as the day wore on.
As Gloria lounged on the sofa flipping channels, she was appalled by the midday programming. Other than the nightly news, she had never been much of a television watcher. It was common for the matronly housewives in town to gossip about the latest happenings on “Days of our Lives” or “As the World Turns,” and she knew Chet Emerson, a local mechanic, had once appeared on Jerry Springer with his four wives, but she'd never had time to pay those types of shows much attention.
Never had she been more grateful. She could practically feel her brain turning to mush as she watched Oprah drone on about marital infidelity, Maury Povich conduct paternity tests on illiterate gangster wannabes, and Tyra Banks interview whiny women with problems caused by everyone but themselves. At least that was better than the soaps, with their bad acting, inane plots, and characters that made the Fathers-to-be on Maury seem responsible.
It didn’t stop her from watching, however…and it didn’t keep her from eating. With every disbelieving shake of her head at the afternoon antics came a bite of donut, handful of M&Ms, or swig of beer. By the time the afternoon news came on, the table was a mess of empty bottles, wrappers, boxes and crumbs.
Over the next few days, Gloria settled into a routine of rolling out of bed, “dressing” in her loose-fitting robe (or not at all), grabbing an armful of junk food from the kitchen, and lazing in front of the TV for hours on end. By the fourth day, the only mystery was whether she would make it to bed at all, or simply fall asleep with the TV on and foodstuffs still clutched in her hands (or even dangling from her mouth).
Sometimes feelings of dread, arousal, or a mix of both would wash over her at odd moments--like when she noticed that there seemed to be less belt to work with when she tied her robe, or the pigsty her normally tidy apartment was becoming--but she quickly quelled those thoughts by popping another beer and focusing on the sensational afternoon misadventures ever-present on the tube.
Just a few more days, Gloria thought as she watched Judge Judy and hoisted a Twinkie to her mouth. This is just part of the program.
However, day six brought a feeling of dread that wasn’t so easy to overcome: She had to leave the house. She knew her food supply was dwindling, but had put it off until her cupboards were bare. Not to mention the movies she’d rented, which were now buried under several layers of trash, were four days late, she hadn’t checked her mail in a week, and the odor emanating from her robe was a constant reminder of her need to do laundry.
The thought of going anywhere other than Doc’s in her present condition caused her heart to race, but as she prepared to bite the bullet and get dressed, a smile crept across her lips. After a quick phone call, Gloria was back on the sofa enjoying the last three beers.
Just as she finished the final one, the doorbell rang. Gloria pulled her robe closed, ran her fingers through her greasy, unkempt hair and staggered to the door. Through the peephole, she spied a lanky kid struggling to hold a half-dozen grocery sacks in his sinewy arms.
“Chip!” Gloria shouted as she flung the door open, very nearly causing the boy to drop his load. “My hero!” She grabbed one of the dangling bags and led him into the kitchen.
“Uh, hi,” Chip said, noticing the state of Gloria and her apartment. “You musta had some party. Where’s your family?”
Gloria shoved the clutter on her table over to one side to clear room. “I have a confession to make, Chip. My family isn’t here. I lied.”
“W-why’d ya do that?”
“I was embarrassed. I didn’t want you to know that all this food was for little ol’ me.”
“For you? All of it? I brought enough food to feed five for a week.”
“I know. Shameful, isn’t it?” Gloria ran her fingers delicately down the silk-covered slope of her stomach. “But my rumbly little tummy just can’t stop.”
“Aren’t you afraid you might get…f-f-fat?”
“Do you think I might?” Gloria’s wide-eyes suggested equal parts hope and concern.
“Well, yeah. If you eat all this. All I brought was junk food. Lots of burgers and hot dogs and pizzas.”
Gloria made a pouty face and pushed her stomach out, causing it to peek between the flaps of her robe. “You don’t think I’m too fat now, do you?”
“W-w-well...n-n-no, but if you ate all this…”
“THEN, I’d be too fat for you?” The thought she might be getting too fat for one of the geekiest boys in town was suddenly the most erotic thought she’d ever had.
“I…I don’t know.” Chip began backing towards the door. “I need to get back to the store.”
“Aw, don’t go. Show me what you brought.”
Chip stopped his retreat, but held his ground. “Uh, nothing special. Just basically what I told you.”
Gloria pointed at one of the bags. “What’s in there?”
“Fritters. I…I know you like them.”
“Mmmm, and what about that one?”
“Just some ice cream. Peanut Butter Crunch.”
“That’s my favorite. How did you know?”
“I kinda keep track.”
“That’s so sweet.” Gloria pulled a spoon from a kitchen drawer and gently ran it across her bottom lip. “May I have some?”
“Sure.” Chip walked to the table, removed the carton from the bag and held it out to her. “You bought it, didn‘t you?”
Gloria knew Chip wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but this was getting ridiculous. She gave the silk tie of her robe a gentle tug, causing it to fall open. “Maybe you could help me?”
“I…I…I…” Chip worked overtime trying not to stare. “I really should be getting back.”
Gloria moved close and held the spoon under his chin. “Just a few bites.”
Chip’s clammy hands trembled as he took the spoon from Gloria. He hastily removed the lid and, after jabbing repeatedly at the rock-hard concoction, shakily brought a spoonful towards Gloria’s open mouth like a drunken conductor in an infant’s Choo-Choo game.
“Mmmmm, that’s cold,” Gloria said as she tried to manage the giant bite. A small blob dribbled from her mouth and fell. Last week, it would have hit the floor, but today it caught her belly and slowly trickled down its slope. “Oops, would you mind getting that, sweetie?”
Gloria gasped as Chip’s ice cold finger touched her warm skin. He slowly followed the milky trail, then brought the remnants towards his mouth.
“Hey, that’s mine!” She grasped his finger and pulled it to her lips, delicately sucking the cream from its tip. “Mmmmm.”
“I…I…I”
Gloria pressed his moist finger against her lips. “Shhhhh.” Then she slowly rested his hand on her right breast. He was too afraid to move it, but its trembling alone was enough to induce a gentle moan from Gloria. She pressed into him, mashing her swollen belly against his skinny one. As she did, she could feel his manhood throbbing prematurely through the denim condom of his jeans.
Chip broke from her embrace with a strength that belied his scrawny physique. “I…I gotta go.”
Gloria smiled as she watched the poor kid race out the door and down the stairs. Apparently, she wasn’t too fat for him just yet.
- buzzy
- Transformation Master
- Posts: 135
- Joined: Sat May 26, 2012 6:40 am
Re: The Weight Watcher by Maverick (WG)
by buzzy » Mon May 28, 2012 5:17 pm
****
The next few days were a blur of eating, sleeping and television watching. Formal meals were eschewed in favor of a non-stop stream of junk food and normal sleep patterns were abandoned for a series of post-binge catnaps. And the minute Gloria felt any pangs associated with Doc’s Program, she quickly quelled them with a steady supply of Coors.
Even then, feelings of dread would occasionally penetrate her dulled senses, like when it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t received a single call all week. Not one. No friends. No family. No bill collectors. Nobody. Hell, Albert Swisher hadn’t even called to bug her about when she’d be back to work.
“Fuck ‘em,” Gloria said, hoisting a cupcake to her lips. “Fuck them all.”
One morning, Gloria noticed the date and time in the lower right-hand corner of a news program as she flipped past it. She flipped back and, after a few seconds of rudimentary math--
“Oh shit!” Gloria tried to bolt to her feet, but instead fell back with a groan. As she braced against the arm of the sofa and pushed herself to a standing position, her heart raced with a mixture of excitement, apprehension and exertion. She gave her belly a gentle pat. “Time to say goodbye.”
And time to get dressed, she thought. She was tempted to dress demurely, but if her before picture was going to find a place in Doc’s photo album next to the Barnum and Bailey broads, she might as well flaunt as much flab as possible. Besides, it would be last time she would be so fat--might as well relish in it.
As she walked towards her closet, she literally stumbled over the perfect outfit--the Wrangler jeans she’d worn that fateful stormy night ten days ago. She hadn't moved them, much less washed them, so she held hope they might still fit.
However, Gloria started to feel resistance just above the knee, and by mid-thigh progress had grinded to a halt. She inched up one side at a time, working the skin-tight denim over her thighs like a wetsuit. The real trouble began when they met the fleshy shelf of her ass. She flattened each cheek with her hand, tucking the fat into the waistband as she yanked the jeans upwards, but still couldn’t bring them into position.
She eventually moved the struggle to her bedroom. Lying down, her stomach flattened a bit, but still rounded-out considerably despite being on her back. Time and again she pulled and tugged, causing her belly fat to scrunch up against her bare and bulbous breasts, which wiggled and jiggled with every moan-punctuated thrust.
“C’mon you little shit!” Gloria screamed, pulling the flaps together with all her might.
When she heard the ’snap,’ it surprised her a little. For a moment she just lay there taking shallow breaths, afraid to move. Then, after rocking back and forth like an overturned tortoise, rolled off the bed without undoing her hard work.
Gloria clomped like Frankenstein to the closet. She flipped through hangers until she reached a neon orange tube-top that had long been relegated to the back. Ten-years ago, it was her lucky charm when she really wanted to impress a guy.
Now it’s my yucky charm, Gloria thought as the garment bunched-up above her breasts, which had clearly graduated from the 36 C-cups they were in High School. Every time she yanked down, they would point lazily towards the floor and a healthy roll of fat would blossom over her jeans. She ultimately mashed her boobs against her chest with one hand, while yanking the top over them with the other. It was so tight she felt like someone was sitting on her.
Before heading off, Gloria waddled to the bathroom for a final inspection. Might as well scare myself straight, she thought as she flipped on the light.
Gloria laughed. It wasn’t the reaction she expected, but it was appropriate considering how comical she looked. Her boobs were mashed together so tightly that cleavage nearly reached the base of her neck. That might have been sexy if it weren’t for the folds of fat that bunched-up over the top around her armpits, and the blubbery belly that billowed beneath it.
Pale flesh oozed out of her jeans and formed an apron of fat that circled her waist nearly 360 degrees. Turning sideways to inspect it, Gloria noticed just how much her once-perky posterior had swollen. Even confined by denim it jutted out dramatically, causing the back of her waistband to pucker and afford a clear view of her rising butt crack.
Her toned arms were meatier. Her shoulder blades had disappeared. Her cute little bellybutton now appeared a dark and bottomless hole. Even her sharp facial features seemed softer, and a few pimples, no doubt from her greasy indulgences of the past ten-days, had crept across her olive skin.
Gloria opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled a dusty scale from its enclave with her foot. She took as deep a breath as her outfit would allow, then stepped on--
Her jaw dropped. She got off. Then on again. Then off again. Then on again. She repeated the process four times, each time disbelieving the number that stared her in her blemished face.
168.
The last time she weighed herself was five-years ago and she’d weighed 137, nearly the same as she’d weighed in High School. She imagined at least 15 of the extra pounds were a direct result of Phase One.
Gloria meandered from her apartment and towards her truck. She felt numb. Foggy. As if this was all a dream she’d soon wake up from. She was so preoccupied, she didn’t notice Tad Smith, the younger of the Smith boys, getting out of his car a few spaces away.
“I’d heard Gloria had some family in town,” Tad said as he sauntered over. “I definitely see the resemblance.”
“Hi, Tad. It’s me,” Gloria said, positioning herself behind her truck.
Tad stopped in his tracks. “Oh, sorry Gloria. I…had some sun in my eyes.”
“No problem. Gotta run!” Gloria wanted to run, but the confines of her outfit forced her to move deliberately. I’ve gone from Perfect Ten, to perfect Tin Man, Gloria thought as she painfully inched her way into the cab under Tad’s frozen gaze.
Although she was embarrassed, Gloria managed a smile as she drove off. This was just the type of motivation she needed. Seeing first hand how fat she’d grown--so fat that she wasn’t even recognized for Pete‘s sake--had her chomping at the bit to begin Doc’s Second Phase. Before long, Tad Smith would be joining that Peeping Tom, Jud Rumley, beneath her window sill.
Crap, I’m missing Oprah, Gloria thought as she drove down the lonely rural two-lane towards Doc’s. Though she quickly pushed the thought from her head, it was replaced by one not so easily dismissed--hunger. Her stomach, which had become accustomed to eating non-stop, began to growl in protest of the hour-long fast. Gloria frowned and wrenched her hands on the steering wheel. All she had to do was make it to Doc’s, then she’d be OK.
However, as Gloria continued along the winding road over faceless terrain, she began to doubt her memory of the location. She knew the building was in the middle of nowhere, tucked amongst the pines, but that was all she could recall. As if to add insult to injury, storm clouds were gathering, darkening the midday sky.
Gloria hunched over the wheel as raindrops began to pelt the windshield. Can’t I ever find this place without it storming?
Just as Gloria was about to turn around thinking she‘d gone too far, a light flickered between the trees against the charcoal sky. As she approached, she recognized the familiar brick, so out of place amongst the sheds and siding in town. The light beckoning from the building’s tiny window seemed inordinately bright--like a giant flashlight was pressed against it.
The clanging cowbell once again greeted Gloria as she hurried in from the rain. The room was just as cold and austere as she remembered it. Apparently, Melvin hadn’t spent the last ten-days decorating. In its center, stood Melvin, wearing the exact same overalls and blindingly white smile. A camera dangled from his neck and two champagne flutes were in his hands.
“Congratulations!”
Gloria laughed. “On getting fat?”
“Tsk, you’re far from fat…But you have successfully completed Phase One!”
She did a clumsy pirouette. “How can you tell?”
“I have my ways.” Melvin handed her a glass and they both took a sip. “Now let’s have a look at you.” Gloria stood rigid as Melvin scrutinized her like a drill sergeant might a raw recruit. “You don’t have to suck-in around me, sweetie.”
“Oh, thank God,” Gloria gasped. Her posture immediately slumped and her stomach exploded out of her Wranglers, rounding into a perfect potbelly which settled several inches over her waistband.
“Whoop, there it is!” Melvin’s wide-eyes and goofy face made Gloria laugh, causing her belly to shake like the proverbial bowl of jelly. Melvin reached out and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Uh oh, I can pinch an inch!”
“Stop that!” was all Gloria could muster between fits of laughter. As she placed her hands on her knees to compose herself, the snap of her jeans undid audibly, leading to another round of uncontrollable giggles.
Melvin produced a Weight Watcher brochure from his overalls and waved it in front of Gloria as she remained doubled-over. “Ms. Straus, it occurs to me you may have developed a bit of a weight problem. May I offer you a flier?” She feebly held-up her hand in protest as tears ran down her clubbying cheeks.
By the time Gloria’s hysterics subsided, her face was flush from laughter, embarrassment, and, though she wouldn’t admit to it, a touch of exhaustion. Her stomach burned like she had done 1,000 sit-ups. Not surprising, since the only exercise it had gotten in the last ten days was digesting a non-stop onslaught of junk food.
“On that note,” Melvin said, as he picked-up the camera around his neck. “I think you’re ready to have your picture taken.”
“Ooh, nice camera,” Gloria said, still catching her breath. It was a new instant digital Polaroid. He certainly hadn’t purchased it around here. The local stores wouldn’t have anything that high-tech until 2014.
“Yes, well…” Melvin stammered uncomfortably. “I recently got this through a friend. I used to use an old 35MM, but I find these digital prints to be much more…discreet.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want the guy at Photomat seeing me like this.” Gloria turned sideways and seductively placed one hand on her butt and the other behind her head--then stuck her stomach out as far as it would go. “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. Demille.”
“Perfect!” Melvin began to shoot.
“Is this what you want to see?” Gloria grabbed and pinched the fat around her sides, causing it to muffin-top over the waistband of her unbuttoned jeans. “How ’bout this?” she said, jutting-out her ass.
“Yes!” Melvin circled her like a wolf might a fatted calf, snapping shots from every conceivable angle as Gloria posed. The camera whirred incessantly as it tried to keep up.
“Oh my God, I look huge!” Gloria screamed as she flipped through the finished photos. From certain angles she looked about seven months pregnant. Granted, she was trying to look as fat as possible, but she was still amazed how big she looked in certain pics. She wasn’t trying that hard.
Eventually, she settled on a profile shot--one that not only showcased her belly bulge, but also a fleshy upper arm, a bubble-butt to rival J-Lo, and even the slightest hint of a double-chin. “Burn the rest, please,” she said, handing the others back to Melvin.
“Put it in the album,” Melvin said, gesturing towards the tiny school desk, still the room’s only furnishing, and the ‘Memories’ book atop it. “I have to prepare a few things for Phase II.”
“I gotta be honest with you, Doc,” Gloria said as she took a swig of champagne. “I’m not sure your program is going to work for me. Phase One was a little too much fun.”
Melvin smiled. “I was rather hoping you’d say that.” With that, he disappeared through the double-doors, leaving Gloria alone.
Gloria took a final sip of her drink and slithered her way into the one-piece desk. It had seemingly shrunk from Junior High to grade school size during the past week.
Another couple days of Phase One, and I wouldn’t fit this thing, she thought. She didn’t have much clearance ten-days ago, but the only part of her body that felt physically restricted were her legs which pressed against the bottom of the desk. Now the front edge of its writing surface dug ever-so-slightly into her stomach, and her right hip pressed against the cold metal frame which held it. She felt like a puzzle piece slowly outgrowing its puzzle.
She tried not to think about it and instead focused on placing her photo in Doc’s brag book. Even though her before shot made her look as fat as possible, she felt silly placing it next to Maureen, a rotund redhead on the last page--apparently Doc’s most recent triumph.
And what a triumph she was. Doc had transformed her from a shapeless, asexual lump of flesh to a gorgeous twenty-something, full of energy and spunk, with a decided twinkle in her eye.
How does someone that young let themselves get so fat in the first place? Gloria thought as she examined her before picture. she was particularly struck by Maureen’s meaty upper-arms, which were bigger around than her waist in the after picture. An unfortunate reddish birthmark, which splotched its way across the surface of her left bicep, called even more attention to them.
Conversely, they were tone and even a bit muscular in the after picture. Exercise might not be a part of Doc’s weight loss plan, but it was obvious this girl was lifting some weights on her own. Even better, the unsightly birthmark had shrunken down to the point that it was barely noticeable. In fact, it looked a little like--
A heart. A tiny red Valentine’s Day heart.
Gloria’s own heart began to pound. Its vibrations pulsed through her breasts and into the desk as she pressed against it. She felt light-headed. Dizzy.
She pulled the photo from the album and held it close. She turned it over. The time stamp on the back read: Walgreens 26MAR07.
By the time Gloria removed Maureen’s before shot, the room had begun to spin. Her trembling fingers lingered briefly on the white folds of fat which filled every inch of its frame…then she flipped it over:
Walgreens 12APR08.
The photograph slipped from Gloria’s fingers. She tried to stand, but the desk clung to her hips and both toppled to the floor. As she lay paralyzed, her eyes drifted to the shattered champagne glass next to her.
The last image Gloria registered as darkness consumed her was of Doc, dressed in a surgical mask and scrubs, standing in the doorway holding a scalpel.
Hamburgers.
It wasn’t the cold steel table she was laid upon, the blinding light overhead, the leather straps restraining her wrists, or even the pulsating pain in her head that Gloria first noticed when she awoke.
It was the smell of hamburgers...and it was heavenly.
The Pavlovian pains which erupted in her abdomen subjugated all other concerns. Gloria tugged at her restraints, but the only freedom she sought was to satisfy the burning in her belly. How long had she been out? Days? Weeks? Long enough that thoughts of sustenance superseded safety.
The artificial sun above blinded her, obscuring the room in dark shadows. She had no idea where she was or if she was alone.
“Hello?”
A distant voice in Gloria’s head warned her that she should be quiet. That she shouldn’t tip off that she was awake. That she should try to free herself undetected.
The voice was drowned-out by stabbing hunger pangs.
“HELLO?!?”
Every tug against the leather straps cinched them tighter around her wrists, and pressed the cold and rigid surface of the table deeper into her skin. Her heart raced and her breathing labored. She felt as if she was having one of Jenny Taylor’s panic attacks.
NO! Gloria thought. Suppressing the overwhelming impulse to tear wildly at her shackles, she slowed her assault. As she did, the tension of the straps eased and she felt the familiar pin-pricks of blood returning to her hands and fingers. It gave her an idea.
She pushed her arms further into the tight leather constraints, wriggling her thicker forearms in one centimeter at a time. It took several minutes to push a third the way to her elbow. They were the longest minutes of her life.
Gloria took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and after scrunching her hands and fingers into a contorted position, jerked her arms as hard and as fast as she could. She fully expected the straps to clamp like a vice, making her dire predicament even worse.
But they didn’t. Her forearms slipped out before their grip could tighten and provided enough clearance for her thinner wrists. She panicked briefly as her hands hung-up in the straps, but despite the intense pain and cramping, she was able to wriggle them free.
Gloria sat up on the table. As she did, she realized that her shortness of breath wasn’t the result of a panic attack--but from having her torso squeezed into the button-down sweater top of her High School cheerleading uniform. The last time she had seen it, it had been buried under assorted yearbooks and trophies at the back of her closet.
The uniform was revealing ten-years and forty pounds ago, but now bordered on obscene. Her breasts were mashed together so tightly that cleavage reached the base of her neck. Gloria’s ample chest had tested the sweater’s stretchiness in High School, but now was three threadbare buttons away from conquering it completely. The flesh that bulged through the button’s gaps revealed that whoever had dressed her had neglected a bra.
Gloria threw her legs off the edge of the table and sat blinking. As her eyes adjusted, the outline of a medical stand next to the bed emerged like a ship from fog, slowly revealing its contents: latex gloves; a scalpel dolloped with bits of what appeared to be strawberry jelly; half-dollar diameter syringes with yellow fluid dripping from their tips; and a host of other medieval looking devices.
Her heart raced. What had been done to her? Horrible thoughts of disfigurement flashed briefly in her mind--only to be quickly overwhelmed by those of hamburgers.
Jutting out beneath her sweater, Gloria’s bare belly shook as it grumbled audibly. In High School the sweater had covered all but the narrowest strip of her waist, but now rested lazily atop the crest of her sizeable paunch.
Rising shakily to her feet, Gloria surveyed her surroundings. The austere room was unfamiliar, but the double-doors with diamond-shaped windows along the far wall confirmed her fears--she was still in Doc’s care. Doc, however, was nowhere to be found.
Natural light streamed through the windows. Gloria wanted to run through the doors and to the freedom she knew lay on the other side, but her legs were heavy, as if in a nightmare. She was also distracted by a single irrational thought that pounded her brain like a hammer:
Where are those fucking hamburgers?
Despite the overwhelming urge to rummage through the room searching, Gloria forced her way, step by step, towards the double-doors. Pushing through, she found herself alone in the Weight Watcher reception area. The heavy wooden door to the outside was wide open, allowing brilliant sunshine to stream into the stark white room. It looked like Heaven’s waiting room. Gloria shielded her eyes and staggered towards the light.
That’s when she saw them. Piled neatly on a plate atop the school desk in the center of the room were the Hamburgers. About a dozen. Some with cheese and some without.
Gloria immediately doubled-over in pain and her mouth filled with saliva. She felt as if she hadn’t eaten in months, though the fat that squished between her fingers as she clutched her stomach indicated otherwise.
She grabbed a burger in each hand, intending to run with them from the room, but found herself frozen to the floor, gorging herself, alternating between bites of each burger as if conducting a taste test. Before she knew it, she was sitting at the desk eating hamburgers three and four.
Seconds later, the ethereally lit room dimmed and the wooden door closed with a thud. Gloria looked up to find Melvin, standing alone in the doorway, watching her gluttonous spectacle with a crooked grin.
“It looks like Maslow was right.”
“What?” Gloria said, bits of burger flying from her mouth.
“Maslow.” Melvin walked to the desk and stood beside Gloria as she ate. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot in this backwards hick-town science and psychology take a backseat to God’s will. Let me ask you--was it God’s will that made you stop for a cheeseburger when you were ten-feet from escaping?”
Gloria could muster no anger towards Doc. The only emotion she felt besides insatiable hunger was shame. She couldn’t even bring herself to look in his direction.
Melvin took a marker from his overalls and walked to one of the stark white walls. On it, he drew a large pyramid and divided it into five tiers. In each tier, from bottom to top, he wrote a single word: Food, Safety, Love, Esteem, and Self.
“How can I explain this in a way someone like you would understand?” Melvin wondered aloud. He then added a crude stick stick-figure with the words “you are here” to the Food section. “I have an idea; let’s pretend this is a mall and you’re stuck in the food court.”
“Fuck you,” Gloria muttered between bites. It was the only form of protest she could muster.
Melvin’s expression grew dark. “Pardon me, I forgot I was dealing with Gloria Straus, Queen of the bumpkins. Best of the worst.” He placed his hands on the edges of her desk. “I guarantee you one thing, Ms. Straus,” he said, pushing his scowling face close to Gloria's. “By the time I’m done with you you’ll certainly be the biggest fish in this putrid little pond.”
Gloria could feel her face redden and her muscles tighten. This was her chance. She knew she could take Doc. She had had once cold-cocked Tyler McKenzie, a local dairy farmer, when he leaned across the bar to steal a kiss from her after too many Guinesses. He didn’t regain consciousness until the following day.
“You want to hit me, don’t you?” Melvin said as if reading her mind.
He pushed his face closer, daring her. She could feel his hot breath. She could see the fury in his clear green eyes. She knew his intentions were evil, and knew this might be her last chance to escape.
And yet she did nothing. A single tear streamed down her chubby, burger-filled cheek. It was the first time she’d cried since her Father’s death ten-years earlier.
Melvin’s voice softened. “There, there, no need to fret.” He moved behind Gloria and rubbed her soft shoulders as she ate. “You should be happy. I’ve simplified your life. You’ll never again have to worry about petty concerns like finding a husband, making babies, advancing your career, none of it.”
He removed a small vial from his overalls and placed it on the desk in front of Gloria. At its bottom was a grayish-brown blob the size of a pea. “Thanks to this.”
Gloria’s eyes widened. “What is it?”
“This, my dear, is a piece of your gray matter. I used to chuckle at the term ‘gray matter,’ but it is gray and it definitely matters. This little bit of brain is called your hypothalamus.”
Gloria’s heart joined the burger in her throat. “Put it back!”
“Put it back?” Melvin doubled over in laughter. “My dear, you give me too much credit. This isn’t a finger soaked in ice.”
Melvin took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed a laughter tear from his eye. He then draped it across the palm of his hand and tipped the vial upside down, allowing its contents to ooze onto the cloth. He presented it to Gloria, then mashed it into a tight ball and pocketed it like some macabre magician.
“I’m afraid I’m just like a lot of people in this sick world,” Melvin said, all trace of laughter gone from his voice. “I’m good at making messes, but not so good at cleaning them up.”
Gloria stopped eating and stared blankly at the empty tube.
“The good news is, I’ve gotten more efficient in my mess-making,” Melvin said, his chipper tone returning. “Remove too much or not enough and the results can be...unpleasant. So far, your blood pressure and body temperature have remained constant, and your appetite appears healthy. It seems the procedure was a complete success.”
“Success?” Gloria’s voice was monotone. Her eyes remained locked on the vial.
Melvin walked back to his wall diagram. “From now on, you can concentrate on your physiological needs. You can spend the rest of your days lounging and eating to your heart’s content, completely free from responsibility and societal pressure. You’ll also still enjoy sex...Though I imagine in a few weeks most men won’t care to enjoy it with you.”
Melvin amended his crude stick figure sketch of Gloria with a giant belly and two enormous breasts.
“Fortunately, I’m not most guys.”
Gloria was a million miles away--Her face frozen in a vacant, forlorn expression belied by a dollop of ketchup oozing down her chin.
“I’m going to leave you now to finish your little snack. I need to run to the store before you eat me out of house and home.”
Melvin crossed to the door and swung it open, flooding the room with light. “FYI, I’m going to lock this. It’s such a nice day though, I’m going to leave the window open. However, if you plan to escape, you’d better hurry...I expect those burgers are going right to your hips.”
The door slammed shut as Gloria, unblinking, took another bite of her cheeseburger.
Gloria’s feast continued unabated, as bite after bite filled her gaping maw. As each one slid greasily down her throat and settled inside her, the desk dug deeper into her stomach, slowly dividing it in half at her bellybutton. The upper portion oozed like lava across its surface, threatening to reach the edge of her plate, while the bottom pressed firm against her thighs, pushing them apart. Throughout it all, Gloria sat trance-like, lifting and lowering the burger like a mechanical drinking bird, even as the last of her sweater buttons shot across the desk and rolled onto the floor.
She’d eaten six hamburgers and was still hungry; however, the searing pain in her stomach had become unbearable. The agony clarified her thoughts and, for a brief moment, she was able to concentrate on something other than her next bite.
Gloria moaned as she slid, inch by inch, from the school desk that had once allowed her easy access, but now felt like a razor cutting across her delicate skin. The two segments of her waist became one as she freed herself and fell to the floor, rolling onto her back as her uncovered belly swelled above her like the surface of a milky-white planet--save for a red stretch mark pointing its way up the slope like a neon sign advertising the crater of her bellybutton.
She rubbed her stomach with her hands. Its skin was tender and stretched so tightly she feared it might split. Still, the gentle massage felt good and, after a moment, she was overwhelmed by another feeling she didn’t expect--drowsiness. It came on like a drug.
Gloria fought the temptation to slip into a food-induced coma and staggered to her feet, her equilibrium thrown by the boulder in her belly. She grabbed two more burgers from the stack—ostensibly to provide sustenance for the long trek back to town--and wobbled towards the window.
It was even smaller than she remembered, but was open as Doc had promised. The unseasonably cool breeze which greeted her perked her. Freedom was mere seconds away.
Extending her arms like a chubby Supergirl, she pushed her head, shoulders and arms through. Everything was going well until her breasts caught on the frame. Grimacing, Gloria braced her arms against the outside of the building and pushed through pain and pane until her chest popped through like a cork. Reddened and scratched, her breasts flopped from the tattered remains of her cheerleader sweater and banged naked against the building like wrecking balls.
The victory was short lived, however, as the window tightened like a vice across her swollen abdomen. Drum-tight with food, her stomach offered little give and the pressure against it was unbearable. Already on her tip-toes, and unable to get leverage with her legs, Gloria was faced with a horrible realization: she was stuck. A round peg in a square hole.
“Help!” Gloria screamed, but the rustle of wind through thick elms was the only reply.
As she hung, semi-nude and helpless, her eyes drifted to the hamburgers still gripped, half-crushed, in her hands. She knew she should throw them into the woods; her only chance was to stop eating long enough for the swelling of her abdomen to abate.
Instead, she clutched them like children dangling from a skyscraper. Tears filled her eyes as she brought one to her lips and took a bite. Then another. And another. As the restriction around her waist increased, her breathing labored; her face flushed; the woods spun. Halfway through the second burger, everything went black.
****
The next few days were a blur of eating, sleeping and television watching. Formal meals were eschewed in favor of a non-stop stream of junk food and normal sleep patterns were abandoned for a series of post-binge catnaps. And the minute Gloria felt any pangs associated with Doc’s Program, she quickly quelled them with a steady supply of Coors.
Even then, feelings of dread would occasionally penetrate her dulled senses, like when it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t received a single call all week. Not one. No friends. No family. No bill collectors. Nobody. Hell, Albert Swisher hadn’t even called to bug her about when she’d be back to work.
“Fuck ‘em,” Gloria said, hoisting a cupcake to her lips. “Fuck them all.”
One morning, Gloria noticed the date and time in the lower right-hand corner of a news program as she flipped past it. She flipped back and, after a few seconds of rudimentary math--
“Oh shit!” Gloria tried to bolt to her feet, but instead fell back with a groan. As she braced against the arm of the sofa and pushed herself to a standing position, her heart raced with a mixture of excitement, apprehension and exertion. She gave her belly a gentle pat. “Time to say goodbye.”
And time to get dressed, she thought. She was tempted to dress demurely, but if her before picture was going to find a place in Doc’s photo album next to the Barnum and Bailey broads, she might as well flaunt as much flab as possible. Besides, it would be last time she would be so fat--might as well relish in it.
As she walked towards her closet, she literally stumbled over the perfect outfit--the Wrangler jeans she’d worn that fateful stormy night ten days ago. She hadn't moved them, much less washed them, so she held hope they might still fit.
However, Gloria started to feel resistance just above the knee, and by mid-thigh progress had grinded to a halt. She inched up one side at a time, working the skin-tight denim over her thighs like a wetsuit. The real trouble began when they met the fleshy shelf of her ass. She flattened each cheek with her hand, tucking the fat into the waistband as she yanked the jeans upwards, but still couldn’t bring them into position.
She eventually moved the struggle to her bedroom. Lying down, her stomach flattened a bit, but still rounded-out considerably despite being on her back. Time and again she pulled and tugged, causing her belly fat to scrunch up against her bare and bulbous breasts, which wiggled and jiggled with every moan-punctuated thrust.
“C’mon you little shit!” Gloria screamed, pulling the flaps together with all her might.
When she heard the ’snap,’ it surprised her a little. For a moment she just lay there taking shallow breaths, afraid to move. Then, after rocking back and forth like an overturned tortoise, rolled off the bed without undoing her hard work.
Gloria clomped like Frankenstein to the closet. She flipped through hangers until she reached a neon orange tube-top that had long been relegated to the back. Ten-years ago, it was her lucky charm when she really wanted to impress a guy.
Now it’s my yucky charm, Gloria thought as the garment bunched-up above her breasts, which had clearly graduated from the 36 C-cups they were in High School. Every time she yanked down, they would point lazily towards the floor and a healthy roll of fat would blossom over her jeans. She ultimately mashed her boobs against her chest with one hand, while yanking the top over them with the other. It was so tight she felt like someone was sitting on her.
Before heading off, Gloria waddled to the bathroom for a final inspection. Might as well scare myself straight, she thought as she flipped on the light.
Gloria laughed. It wasn’t the reaction she expected, but it was appropriate considering how comical she looked. Her boobs were mashed together so tightly that cleavage nearly reached the base of her neck. That might have been sexy if it weren’t for the folds of fat that bunched-up over the top around her armpits, and the blubbery belly that billowed beneath it.
Pale flesh oozed out of her jeans and formed an apron of fat that circled her waist nearly 360 degrees. Turning sideways to inspect it, Gloria noticed just how much her once-perky posterior had swollen. Even confined by denim it jutted out dramatically, causing the back of her waistband to pucker and afford a clear view of her rising butt crack.
Her toned arms were meatier. Her shoulder blades had disappeared. Her cute little bellybutton now appeared a dark and bottomless hole. Even her sharp facial features seemed softer, and a few pimples, no doubt from her greasy indulgences of the past ten-days, had crept across her olive skin.
Gloria opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled a dusty scale from its enclave with her foot. She took as deep a breath as her outfit would allow, then stepped on--
Her jaw dropped. She got off. Then on again. Then off again. Then on again. She repeated the process four times, each time disbelieving the number that stared her in her blemished face.
168.
The last time she weighed herself was five-years ago and she’d weighed 137, nearly the same as she’d weighed in High School. She imagined at least 15 of the extra pounds were a direct result of Phase One.
Gloria meandered from her apartment and towards her truck. She felt numb. Foggy. As if this was all a dream she’d soon wake up from. She was so preoccupied, she didn’t notice Tad Smith, the younger of the Smith boys, getting out of his car a few spaces away.
“I’d heard Gloria had some family in town,” Tad said as he sauntered over. “I definitely see the resemblance.”
“Hi, Tad. It’s me,” Gloria said, positioning herself behind her truck.
Tad stopped in his tracks. “Oh, sorry Gloria. I…had some sun in my eyes.”
“No problem. Gotta run!” Gloria wanted to run, but the confines of her outfit forced her to move deliberately. I’ve gone from Perfect Ten, to perfect Tin Man, Gloria thought as she painfully inched her way into the cab under Tad’s frozen gaze.
Although she was embarrassed, Gloria managed a smile as she drove off. This was just the type of motivation she needed. Seeing first hand how fat she’d grown--so fat that she wasn’t even recognized for Pete‘s sake--had her chomping at the bit to begin Doc’s Second Phase. Before long, Tad Smith would be joining that Peeping Tom, Jud Rumley, beneath her window sill.
Crap, I’m missing Oprah, Gloria thought as she drove down the lonely rural two-lane towards Doc’s. Though she quickly pushed the thought from her head, it was replaced by one not so easily dismissed--hunger. Her stomach, which had become accustomed to eating non-stop, began to growl in protest of the hour-long fast. Gloria frowned and wrenched her hands on the steering wheel. All she had to do was make it to Doc’s, then she’d be OK.
However, as Gloria continued along the winding road over faceless terrain, she began to doubt her memory of the location. She knew the building was in the middle of nowhere, tucked amongst the pines, but that was all she could recall. As if to add insult to injury, storm clouds were gathering, darkening the midday sky.
Gloria hunched over the wheel as raindrops began to pelt the windshield. Can’t I ever find this place without it storming?
Just as Gloria was about to turn around thinking she‘d gone too far, a light flickered between the trees against the charcoal sky. As she approached, she recognized the familiar brick, so out of place amongst the sheds and siding in town. The light beckoning from the building’s tiny window seemed inordinately bright--like a giant flashlight was pressed against it.
The clanging cowbell once again greeted Gloria as she hurried in from the rain. The room was just as cold and austere as she remembered it. Apparently, Melvin hadn’t spent the last ten-days decorating. In its center, stood Melvin, wearing the exact same overalls and blindingly white smile. A camera dangled from his neck and two champagne flutes were in his hands.
“Congratulations!”
Gloria laughed. “On getting fat?”
“Tsk, you’re far from fat…But you have successfully completed Phase One!”
She did a clumsy pirouette. “How can you tell?”
“I have my ways.” Melvin handed her a glass and they both took a sip. “Now let’s have a look at you.” Gloria stood rigid as Melvin scrutinized her like a drill sergeant might a raw recruit. “You don’t have to suck-in around me, sweetie.”
“Oh, thank God,” Gloria gasped. Her posture immediately slumped and her stomach exploded out of her Wranglers, rounding into a perfect potbelly which settled several inches over her waistband.
“Whoop, there it is!” Melvin’s wide-eyes and goofy face made Gloria laugh, causing her belly to shake like the proverbial bowl of jelly. Melvin reached out and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Uh oh, I can pinch an inch!”
“Stop that!” was all Gloria could muster between fits of laughter. As she placed her hands on her knees to compose herself, the snap of her jeans undid audibly, leading to another round of uncontrollable giggles.
Melvin produced a Weight Watcher brochure from his overalls and waved it in front of Gloria as she remained doubled-over. “Ms. Straus, it occurs to me you may have developed a bit of a weight problem. May I offer you a flier?” She feebly held-up her hand in protest as tears ran down her clubbying cheeks.
By the time Gloria’s hysterics subsided, her face was flush from laughter, embarrassment, and, though she wouldn’t admit to it, a touch of exhaustion. Her stomach burned like she had done 1,000 sit-ups. Not surprising, since the only exercise it had gotten in the last ten days was digesting a non-stop onslaught of junk food.
“On that note,” Melvin said, as he picked-up the camera around his neck. “I think you’re ready to have your picture taken.”
“Ooh, nice camera,” Gloria said, still catching her breath. It was a new instant digital Polaroid. He certainly hadn’t purchased it around here. The local stores wouldn’t have anything that high-tech until 2014.
“Yes, well…” Melvin stammered uncomfortably. “I recently got this through a friend. I used to use an old 35MM, but I find these digital prints to be much more…discreet.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want the guy at Photomat seeing me like this.” Gloria turned sideways and seductively placed one hand on her butt and the other behind her head--then stuck her stomach out as far as it would go. “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. Demille.”
“Perfect!” Melvin began to shoot.
“Is this what you want to see?” Gloria grabbed and pinched the fat around her sides, causing it to muffin-top over the waistband of her unbuttoned jeans. “How ’bout this?” she said, jutting-out her ass.
“Yes!” Melvin circled her like a wolf might a fatted calf, snapping shots from every conceivable angle as Gloria posed. The camera whirred incessantly as it tried to keep up.
“Oh my God, I look huge!” Gloria screamed as she flipped through the finished photos. From certain angles she looked about seven months pregnant. Granted, she was trying to look as fat as possible, but she was still amazed how big she looked in certain pics. She wasn’t trying that hard.
Eventually, she settled on a profile shot--one that not only showcased her belly bulge, but also a fleshy upper arm, a bubble-butt to rival J-Lo, and even the slightest hint of a double-chin. “Burn the rest, please,” she said, handing the others back to Melvin.
“Put it in the album,” Melvin said, gesturing towards the tiny school desk, still the room’s only furnishing, and the ‘Memories’ book atop it. “I have to prepare a few things for Phase II.”
“I gotta be honest with you, Doc,” Gloria said as she took a swig of champagne. “I’m not sure your program is going to work for me. Phase One was a little too much fun.”
Melvin smiled. “I was rather hoping you’d say that.” With that, he disappeared through the double-doors, leaving Gloria alone.
Gloria took a final sip of her drink and slithered her way into the one-piece desk. It had seemingly shrunk from Junior High to grade school size during the past week.
Another couple days of Phase One, and I wouldn’t fit this thing, she thought. She didn’t have much clearance ten-days ago, but the only part of her body that felt physically restricted were her legs which pressed against the bottom of the desk. Now the front edge of its writing surface dug ever-so-slightly into her stomach, and her right hip pressed against the cold metal frame which held it. She felt like a puzzle piece slowly outgrowing its puzzle.
She tried not to think about it and instead focused on placing her photo in Doc’s brag book. Even though her before shot made her look as fat as possible, she felt silly placing it next to Maureen, a rotund redhead on the last page--apparently Doc’s most recent triumph.
And what a triumph she was. Doc had transformed her from a shapeless, asexual lump of flesh to a gorgeous twenty-something, full of energy and spunk, with a decided twinkle in her eye.
How does someone that young let themselves get so fat in the first place? Gloria thought as she examined her before picture. she was particularly struck by Maureen’s meaty upper-arms, which were bigger around than her waist in the after picture. An unfortunate reddish birthmark, which splotched its way across the surface of her left bicep, called even more attention to them.
Conversely, they were tone and even a bit muscular in the after picture. Exercise might not be a part of Doc’s weight loss plan, but it was obvious this girl was lifting some weights on her own. Even better, the unsightly birthmark had shrunken down to the point that it was barely noticeable. In fact, it looked a little like--
A heart. A tiny red Valentine’s Day heart.
Gloria’s own heart began to pound. Its vibrations pulsed through her breasts and into the desk as she pressed against it. She felt light-headed. Dizzy.
She pulled the photo from the album and held it close. She turned it over. The time stamp on the back read: Walgreens 26MAR07.
By the time Gloria removed Maureen’s before shot, the room had begun to spin. Her trembling fingers lingered briefly on the white folds of fat which filled every inch of its frame…then she flipped it over:
Walgreens 12APR08.
The photograph slipped from Gloria’s fingers. She tried to stand, but the desk clung to her hips and both toppled to the floor. As she lay paralyzed, her eyes drifted to the shattered champagne glass next to her.
The last image Gloria registered as darkness consumed her was of Doc, dressed in a surgical mask and scrubs, standing in the doorway holding a scalpel.
Hamburgers.
It wasn’t the cold steel table she was laid upon, the blinding light overhead, the leather straps restraining her wrists, or even the pulsating pain in her head that Gloria first noticed when she awoke.
It was the smell of hamburgers...and it was heavenly.
The Pavlovian pains which erupted in her abdomen subjugated all other concerns. Gloria tugged at her restraints, but the only freedom she sought was to satisfy the burning in her belly. How long had she been out? Days? Weeks? Long enough that thoughts of sustenance superseded safety.
The artificial sun above blinded her, obscuring the room in dark shadows. She had no idea where she was or if she was alone.
“Hello?”
A distant voice in Gloria’s head warned her that she should be quiet. That she shouldn’t tip off that she was awake. That she should try to free herself undetected.
The voice was drowned-out by stabbing hunger pangs.
“HELLO?!?”
Every tug against the leather straps cinched them tighter around her wrists, and pressed the cold and rigid surface of the table deeper into her skin. Her heart raced and her breathing labored. She felt as if she was having one of Jenny Taylor’s panic attacks.
NO! Gloria thought. Suppressing the overwhelming impulse to tear wildly at her shackles, she slowed her assault. As she did, the tension of the straps eased and she felt the familiar pin-pricks of blood returning to her hands and fingers. It gave her an idea.
She pushed her arms further into the tight leather constraints, wriggling her thicker forearms in one centimeter at a time. It took several minutes to push a third the way to her elbow. They were the longest minutes of her life.
Gloria took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and after scrunching her hands and fingers into a contorted position, jerked her arms as hard and as fast as she could. She fully expected the straps to clamp like a vice, making her dire predicament even worse.
But they didn’t. Her forearms slipped out before their grip could tighten and provided enough clearance for her thinner wrists. She panicked briefly as her hands hung-up in the straps, but despite the intense pain and cramping, she was able to wriggle them free.
Gloria sat up on the table. As she did, she realized that her shortness of breath wasn’t the result of a panic attack--but from having her torso squeezed into the button-down sweater top of her High School cheerleading uniform. The last time she had seen it, it had been buried under assorted yearbooks and trophies at the back of her closet.
The uniform was revealing ten-years and forty pounds ago, but now bordered on obscene. Her breasts were mashed together so tightly that cleavage reached the base of her neck. Gloria’s ample chest had tested the sweater’s stretchiness in High School, but now was three threadbare buttons away from conquering it completely. The flesh that bulged through the button’s gaps revealed that whoever had dressed her had neglected a bra.
Gloria threw her legs off the edge of the table and sat blinking. As her eyes adjusted, the outline of a medical stand next to the bed emerged like a ship from fog, slowly revealing its contents: latex gloves; a scalpel dolloped with bits of what appeared to be strawberry jelly; half-dollar diameter syringes with yellow fluid dripping from their tips; and a host of other medieval looking devices.
Her heart raced. What had been done to her? Horrible thoughts of disfigurement flashed briefly in her mind--only to be quickly overwhelmed by those of hamburgers.
Jutting out beneath her sweater, Gloria’s bare belly shook as it grumbled audibly. In High School the sweater had covered all but the narrowest strip of her waist, but now rested lazily atop the crest of her sizeable paunch.
Rising shakily to her feet, Gloria surveyed her surroundings. The austere room was unfamiliar, but the double-doors with diamond-shaped windows along the far wall confirmed her fears--she was still in Doc’s care. Doc, however, was nowhere to be found.
Natural light streamed through the windows. Gloria wanted to run through the doors and to the freedom she knew lay on the other side, but her legs were heavy, as if in a nightmare. She was also distracted by a single irrational thought that pounded her brain like a hammer:
Where are those fucking hamburgers?
Despite the overwhelming urge to rummage through the room searching, Gloria forced her way, step by step, towards the double-doors. Pushing through, she found herself alone in the Weight Watcher reception area. The heavy wooden door to the outside was wide open, allowing brilliant sunshine to stream into the stark white room. It looked like Heaven’s waiting room. Gloria shielded her eyes and staggered towards the light.
That’s when she saw them. Piled neatly on a plate atop the school desk in the center of the room were the Hamburgers. About a dozen. Some with cheese and some without.
Gloria immediately doubled-over in pain and her mouth filled with saliva. She felt as if she hadn’t eaten in months, though the fat that squished between her fingers as she clutched her stomach indicated otherwise.
She grabbed a burger in each hand, intending to run with them from the room, but found herself frozen to the floor, gorging herself, alternating between bites of each burger as if conducting a taste test. Before she knew it, she was sitting at the desk eating hamburgers three and four.
Seconds later, the ethereally lit room dimmed and the wooden door closed with a thud. Gloria looked up to find Melvin, standing alone in the doorway, watching her gluttonous spectacle with a crooked grin.
“It looks like Maslow was right.”
“What?” Gloria said, bits of burger flying from her mouth.
“Maslow.” Melvin walked to the desk and stood beside Gloria as she ate. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot in this backwards hick-town science and psychology take a backseat to God’s will. Let me ask you--was it God’s will that made you stop for a cheeseburger when you were ten-feet from escaping?”
Gloria could muster no anger towards Doc. The only emotion she felt besides insatiable hunger was shame. She couldn’t even bring herself to look in his direction.
Melvin took a marker from his overalls and walked to one of the stark white walls. On it, he drew a large pyramid and divided it into five tiers. In each tier, from bottom to top, he wrote a single word: Food, Safety, Love, Esteem, and Self.
“How can I explain this in a way someone like you would understand?” Melvin wondered aloud. He then added a crude stick stick-figure with the words “you are here” to the Food section. “I have an idea; let’s pretend this is a mall and you’re stuck in the food court.”
“Fuck you,” Gloria muttered between bites. It was the only form of protest she could muster.
Melvin’s expression grew dark. “Pardon me, I forgot I was dealing with Gloria Straus, Queen of the bumpkins. Best of the worst.” He placed his hands on the edges of her desk. “I guarantee you one thing, Ms. Straus,” he said, pushing his scowling face close to Gloria's. “By the time I’m done with you you’ll certainly be the biggest fish in this putrid little pond.”
Gloria could feel her face redden and her muscles tighten. This was her chance. She knew she could take Doc. She had had once cold-cocked Tyler McKenzie, a local dairy farmer, when he leaned across the bar to steal a kiss from her after too many Guinesses. He didn’t regain consciousness until the following day.
“You want to hit me, don’t you?” Melvin said as if reading her mind.
He pushed his face closer, daring her. She could feel his hot breath. She could see the fury in his clear green eyes. She knew his intentions were evil, and knew this might be her last chance to escape.
And yet she did nothing. A single tear streamed down her chubby, burger-filled cheek. It was the first time she’d cried since her Father’s death ten-years earlier.
Melvin’s voice softened. “There, there, no need to fret.” He moved behind Gloria and rubbed her soft shoulders as she ate. “You should be happy. I’ve simplified your life. You’ll never again have to worry about petty concerns like finding a husband, making babies, advancing your career, none of it.”
He removed a small vial from his overalls and placed it on the desk in front of Gloria. At its bottom was a grayish-brown blob the size of a pea. “Thanks to this.”
Gloria’s eyes widened. “What is it?”
“This, my dear, is a piece of your gray matter. I used to chuckle at the term ‘gray matter,’ but it is gray and it definitely matters. This little bit of brain is called your hypothalamus.”
Gloria’s heart joined the burger in her throat. “Put it back!”
“Put it back?” Melvin doubled over in laughter. “My dear, you give me too much credit. This isn’t a finger soaked in ice.”
Melvin took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed a laughter tear from his eye. He then draped it across the palm of his hand and tipped the vial upside down, allowing its contents to ooze onto the cloth. He presented it to Gloria, then mashed it into a tight ball and pocketed it like some macabre magician.
“I’m afraid I’m just like a lot of people in this sick world,” Melvin said, all trace of laughter gone from his voice. “I’m good at making messes, but not so good at cleaning them up.”
Gloria stopped eating and stared blankly at the empty tube.
“The good news is, I’ve gotten more efficient in my mess-making,” Melvin said, his chipper tone returning. “Remove too much or not enough and the results can be...unpleasant. So far, your blood pressure and body temperature have remained constant, and your appetite appears healthy. It seems the procedure was a complete success.”
“Success?” Gloria’s voice was monotone. Her eyes remained locked on the vial.
Melvin walked back to his wall diagram. “From now on, you can concentrate on your physiological needs. You can spend the rest of your days lounging and eating to your heart’s content, completely free from responsibility and societal pressure. You’ll also still enjoy sex...Though I imagine in a few weeks most men won’t care to enjoy it with you.”
Melvin amended his crude stick figure sketch of Gloria with a giant belly and two enormous breasts.
“Fortunately, I’m not most guys.”
Gloria was a million miles away--Her face frozen in a vacant, forlorn expression belied by a dollop of ketchup oozing down her chin.
“I’m going to leave you now to finish your little snack. I need to run to the store before you eat me out of house and home.”
Melvin crossed to the door and swung it open, flooding the room with light. “FYI, I’m going to lock this. It’s such a nice day though, I’m going to leave the window open. However, if you plan to escape, you’d better hurry...I expect those burgers are going right to your hips.”
The door slammed shut as Gloria, unblinking, took another bite of her cheeseburger.
Gloria’s feast continued unabated, as bite after bite filled her gaping maw. As each one slid greasily down her throat and settled inside her, the desk dug deeper into her stomach, slowly dividing it in half at her bellybutton. The upper portion oozed like lava across its surface, threatening to reach the edge of her plate, while the bottom pressed firm against her thighs, pushing them apart. Throughout it all, Gloria sat trance-like, lifting and lowering the burger like a mechanical drinking bird, even as the last of her sweater buttons shot across the desk and rolled onto the floor.
She’d eaten six hamburgers and was still hungry; however, the searing pain in her stomach had become unbearable. The agony clarified her thoughts and, for a brief moment, she was able to concentrate on something other than her next bite.
Gloria moaned as she slid, inch by inch, from the school desk that had once allowed her easy access, but now felt like a razor cutting across her delicate skin. The two segments of her waist became one as she freed herself and fell to the floor, rolling onto her back as her uncovered belly swelled above her like the surface of a milky-white planet--save for a red stretch mark pointing its way up the slope like a neon sign advertising the crater of her bellybutton.
She rubbed her stomach with her hands. Its skin was tender and stretched so tightly she feared it might split. Still, the gentle massage felt good and, after a moment, she was overwhelmed by another feeling she didn’t expect--drowsiness. It came on like a drug.
Gloria fought the temptation to slip into a food-induced coma and staggered to her feet, her equilibrium thrown by the boulder in her belly. She grabbed two more burgers from the stack—ostensibly to provide sustenance for the long trek back to town--and wobbled towards the window.
It was even smaller than she remembered, but was open as Doc had promised. The unseasonably cool breeze which greeted her perked her. Freedom was mere seconds away.
Extending her arms like a chubby Supergirl, she pushed her head, shoulders and arms through. Everything was going well until her breasts caught on the frame. Grimacing, Gloria braced her arms against the outside of the building and pushed through pain and pane until her chest popped through like a cork. Reddened and scratched, her breasts flopped from the tattered remains of her cheerleader sweater and banged naked against the building like wrecking balls.
The victory was short lived, however, as the window tightened like a vice across her swollen abdomen. Drum-tight with food, her stomach offered little give and the pressure against it was unbearable. Already on her tip-toes, and unable to get leverage with her legs, Gloria was faced with a horrible realization: she was stuck. A round peg in a square hole.
“Help!” Gloria screamed, but the rustle of wind through thick elms was the only reply.
As she hung, semi-nude and helpless, her eyes drifted to the hamburgers still gripped, half-crushed, in her hands. She knew she should throw them into the woods; her only chance was to stop eating long enough for the swelling of her abdomen to abate.
Instead, she clutched them like children dangling from a skyscraper. Tears filled her eyes as she brought one to her lips and took a bite. Then another. And another. As the restriction around her waist increased, her breathing labored; her face flushed; the woods spun. Halfway through the second burger, everything went black.
****
- buzzy
- Transformation Master
- Posts: 135
- Joined: Sat May 26, 2012 6:40 am
Re: The Weight Watcher by Maverick (WG)
by buzzy » Mon May 28, 2012 5:18 pm
“Good morning, sleepy head.”
Gloria’s eyes fluttered open on Doc’s crooked grin. The steel of the surgical table pressed cold against her bare back and the leather straps cut deeply into her arms and legs. She opened her mouth to scream, but all she could muster was a yawn.
“That’s a pleasant side-effect of your little procedure; when you‘re not eating you‘ll likely be sleeping.” Doc stood next to Gloria’s naked body and gently patted her belly, sending fleshy shockwaves across her torso. “You’re like a Pit Bull who’s been neutered. And you know what happens to dogs once they’ve been neutered? They grow fat, lazy and obedient.”
Doc flipped a switch on a crude looking medical device next to the table. It hummed softly, as two piston-like cylinders churned a brownish liquid. He pulled a thick, plastic tube from the machine and affixed a mouthpiece to it. “And to think—when you first came to me, you were worried about getting gussied-up for your reunion.” Doc inserted the device into Gloria’s mouth and, with the press of a second button, the sludge surged into the tube. As it serpentined its way towards her, he crouched down and whispered in her ear—
“You’re welcome.”
The goop was gritty and sickeningly sweet, but Gloria gobbled it greedily. Although the voice in her head screamed to spit it out, the insatiable burning in the pit of her stomach made that impossible. As it flowed into her, Gloria’s eyes drifted upwards. On the ceiling was a large mirror. It was as if she were looking down from Heaven--or maybe up from Hell--as her bloated body lie limp on the operating table. Her distended belly looked like a funhouse effect, but she knew better.
“I have some visitors for you!”
Gloria’s eyes widened as Doc lead in a parade of family, friends and town’s folk. Gertrude Haskins, Herb Naylor, Betty Moore, Linda Whipple and others paraded solemnly past her bed. Some took off their hats as they passed. Some just shook their heads. Some whispered quietly to each other. Gloria strained to hear what they were saying over the whir and hum of the feeding apparatus…
“I told her something like this would happen if she wasn’t careful.”
“She looks horrible.”
“What a shame.”
Why won’t somebody help me? Gloria thought, as she watched the procession. Every time she closed her eyes and opened them again, a new face was by her bed, and the reflection in the mirror was a little bit fatter.
People would gently touch her hand, her arm or, in the case of Chip Turner, her left breast. Albert Swisher chatted on his cell phone and never looked her direction. Even Becky Tucker, who could barely walk, stopped by. Gloria marveled at how fat Becky had become, but then glimpsed herself in the mirror and realized she was probably heavier.
Occasionally, Gloria would feel a twinge of anxiety as her figure was ruined, but the mirror provided a nice buffer. It was as if everything were happening on television. In fact, watching herself grow fatter was her only entertainment. She marveled at how her stomach swelled like a beach ball during feeding sessions, then slowly shrank as the fatty concoction pushed through her system. Then the rest of her body would grow. Some days, her breasts took the brunt, slowly pushing apart and falling to her sides under gravity’s increased control. Other times, her rear was hit hardest, and she could see and feel it spreading out beneath her like a blob of clay being squished against a hard surface. All the while, bright red stretch marks raced across her stomach as if drawn by some ghostly artist.
Eventually, her inner voices of protest faded completely; buried under an avalanche of fat. The whir and hum of the feeding apparatus became soothing to Gloria, and she gobbled its steady stream of brown goop greedily, for it was the only thing that quelled the constant pains in the pit of her stomach.
Her visitors became fewer and less frequent as she grew. Only Chuck Steadman still appeared regularly at her bedside. Although she could no longer see him beyond her girth, she recognized his deep voice and trademark double leg squeeze. Knowing he was there, despite the fact she was now well over 500 pounds, was comforting…almost as comforting as the sweet slop she suckled incessantly.
Until one day, following one of her post-feeding naps, when she heard Chuck laughing and chatting with Doc. Suddenly, she felt an emotion she hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime. One she didn’t think she’d ever feel again.
Anger.
****
“What’s up, Doc?”
“Good to see you again, Mr. Steadman.”
“She’s lookin’ better.”
“She is, isn’t she? I’d like to get a bit more weight on her, though. That’s why I’m here--want to up the dosage on the ol’ feedbag.”
As Doc walked into Gloria’s field of vision, he seemed genuinely surprised to see her. “Well, good morning sunshine!” He smiled and leaned over the bed. “Want to try some solid food?”
Screaming wildly, Gloria shot a fist into Doc’s face. He staggered backwards, clutching his mouth. Gloria bolted upright and looked around for something, anything, to use as a weapon. Adjacent to her bed was a bouquet of flowers.
Where the fuck did these come from? Gloria thought, as she grabbed the vase and hoisted it above her head.
“Gloria, No!” Chuck charged across the room and grabbed Gloria’s arm before she could take aim at Doc’s head.
“Nurse, get a sedative to room 423, STAT!” Doc shouted into an intercom on the wall.
“Let go of me, Steadman!” Gloria socked Chuck in the stomach with her left hand. It was a weak blow, but it caused him to let go of her arm. She quickly brought the vase down on his head, shattering the glass, and sending Chuck to the floor in a heap.
“NURSE!” Doc jumped on the edge of the bed and forced Gloria’s shoulders back into her pillows. As he struggled to maintain leverage with his short stature, a robust nurse charged in with a syringe.
“Come near me, bitch, and I’m shoving that needle in your eye!” Though her top half was pinned, Gloria kicked wildly, stopping the nurse in her tracks. Desperate, the nurse turned to Doc for instructions.
“Just stick it in her leg!” Doc shouted through blood-stained teeth. Despite having his entire weight on top of her, Gloria was wriggling free. “Hurry!”
The nurse inched closer, thrusting the needle forward and catching Gloria’s thigh on a downswing.
Gloria screamed and, with a mighty push, sent Doc crashing to the floor. “It’s going in your eye, bitch!”
“Sweet Mother of Mary!” The nurse dropped the expended syringe and ran for the exit. Gloria lunged for her, but became tangled in a web of attached tubes and wires. Just as she was about to rip them off and give chase, a hand grasped her arm.
“Gloria…don’t.”
Chuck’s voice, like his touch, was firm but unmenacing. A trickle of blood ran between his soft blue eyes. As Gloria watched it drip slowly down the bridge of his nose, all anger fled her body. She collapsed into his arms and began to sob. “PLEASE, don’t let him touch me.”
“Babe, he saved your life.”
Gloria’s wide-eyes met Chuck’s. “But he made me fat.”
“Fat?” Chuck held Gloria close as he laid her back into bed. “These hospital gowns ain’t exactly flattering, but I can assure you you’re far from fat.”
“She’s delusional,” Doc said, as he rose from the floor and wiped the blood from his mouth. “I haven’t had a girl react to me that way since High School.”
Gloria held up her arm to keep Doc at bay--and noticed how thin it was. She placed her hand on her stomach. It was flat! Flatter than it was in High School.
What was going on? Gloria collapsed back into her pillows, exhausted. As she drifted off to sleep, she hoped this pleasant dream would continue.
****
“Please turn that off.” Doc snatched the remote from Chuck’s hand and muted the TV. It was a Jerry Springer rerun: Overweight Housewives and the Rednecks who Love Them. “Do you WANT her to slip back into a coma?”
“It’s OK, Doc.” Gloria sat on the edge of her hospital bed, dressed in street clothes and a bandage on her head. “I wanted to watch it.”
“You?” Doc crossed and sat on the bed next to her. “Maybe we should keep you for a few more days. Just for observation.”
Gloria laughed. “I think I’m OK…Thanks to you.”
Doc grinned impishly and his face turned a shade of his hair. Suddenly, an urgent voice boomed over the intercom:
“DOCTOR STRONG TO O.R., PLEASE. DOCTOR STRONG TO O.R.”
“I’m afraid duty calls.” Doc turned to Chuck. “They’re predicting storms tonight. Keep our little lightning rod out of the elements, will you?”
Chuck fidgeted. “Think maybe I shouldn’t-a brought the Harley?”
Doc shot Chuck a disapproving glance.
“Jus’ kiddin,’ Doc.” Chuck hoisted a bag carrying Gloria’s personals, which included her old cheerleader uniform and other childhood memories fetched to help rouse her. “I brought the Mustang. Put the top up and everything.”
Doc shook his head and gave Gloria a final hug. “Be careful, please.” His hands lingered on her bony back. “And make sure this joker treats you to some solid food.”
“Don’t worry, Doc,” Chuck said. “The next time you see her she’ll have some meat on her bones.”
“I hope so.” Doc winked at Gloria, then disappeared into the hall.
A few minutes later, Gloria was wheeled from her room. Past the small window overlooking thick green pines. Through the stark white, ethereally lit hallways. Past surgery, with its swinging double-doors and diamond windows. Out the sturdy, red brick building and into the cool fall breeze.
The nurse, seeing Gloria shiver, draped a blanket over her shoulders. “I’m sorry I tried to stab a syringe in your eye,” Gloria said, dropping her head.
The nurse smiled broadly. “Honey, I’ve already told that story twelve times. You’ve made me very popular.”
Chuck zipped his Mustang alongside them and jumped out. “I really was tempted to bring the Harley. Figured it might be my only chance to get that ride you promised.”
The nurse helped Gloria into the vehicle and buckled her in. Gloria marveled at how little of it was necessary to restrain her, and how the familiar discomfort as it dug into her midsection was missing.
“Thank you for giving me a ride, Chuck,” Gloria said as they pulled away.
“No problem. Not quite the whirlybird they brought ya’ in on, but it’ll do. There was actually ‘bout twenty folks who wanted to come get ya’, but I was insistent.”
“Were you now?”
“Yup. That and I had the fastest car. Everyone is anxious to see you.”
“There’s not going to be a party or anything, is there?”
“Maybe.”
Chuck braced himself for a verbal assault that never came. Instead, Gloria smiled, settled back into her seat and admired the scenery--the size and disparate architecture of downtown Dallas, the prominent displays of modern art, and the sudden and out-of-place greenery of Daly Plaza.
“Some city, huh?” Chuck said, as if reading her mind. “Y’know, while I been up here, I interviewed with a few companies.”
Gloria’s large hazel eyes focused on Chuck. “Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve been doin’ some online courses and stuff. Tryin’ to better myself. You didn’t think I was going to stay at Burger World forever, did you?”
Of course, she had. Until now, it had never occurred to her that someone else might have dreams bigger than Garber, Texas.
She simply smiled and shook her head.
As they drove, Chuck brought Gloria up to speed on her hometown’s happenings during the months she’d been gone: There’d been a bad grease fire at Mel’s Diner during which, fortunately, no one was hurt (though Becky Tucker and Jessica Brunner both needed oxygen to recover from their sprints from the restaurant). Albert Swisher’s inability to hold the fort while Gloria had been gone hadn’t gone unnoticed by corporate headquarters and, rumor had it, he would be demoted upon her return. And there was a certain beautiful blond Burger World employee who had packed-on 50+ pounds.
All the while, Gloria listened and laughed and, before she knew it, Chuck had pulled his Mustang into Burger World’s parking lot. Gloria looked at him quizzically.
“You’re forgetting my promise to Doc. He told me to have you eat two cheeseburgers and call him in the morning. ‘Phase III of your recovery’ he called it.”
“Mmmm, that sounds good.” And it did. Much better than Gloria expected.
Chuck checked his watch. “Susan should still be on duty. She’s become our best cook since I moved her to the kitchen. She makes a mean burger--I just have to keep her from pickin’ off people’s plates.”
“She’ll lose a finger if she tries that with me.” Gloria opened the car door and was quickly met by Chuck, who helped her from the vehicle. She took his arm and they walked towards the entrance. “Then maybe we can finally take that Harley ride you’ve been promising me.”
“I’VE been promising?”
Gloria laughed and leaned her head against Chuck’s shoulder. Chuck shook his head and opened Burger World’s door, causing the rusty cowbell overhead to jangle as he escorted her inside.
THE END
Gloria’s eyes fluttered open on Doc’s crooked grin. The steel of the surgical table pressed cold against her bare back and the leather straps cut deeply into her arms and legs. She opened her mouth to scream, but all she could muster was a yawn.
“That’s a pleasant side-effect of your little procedure; when you‘re not eating you‘ll likely be sleeping.” Doc stood next to Gloria’s naked body and gently patted her belly, sending fleshy shockwaves across her torso. “You’re like a Pit Bull who’s been neutered. And you know what happens to dogs once they’ve been neutered? They grow fat, lazy and obedient.”
Doc flipped a switch on a crude looking medical device next to the table. It hummed softly, as two piston-like cylinders churned a brownish liquid. He pulled a thick, plastic tube from the machine and affixed a mouthpiece to it. “And to think—when you first came to me, you were worried about getting gussied-up for your reunion.” Doc inserted the device into Gloria’s mouth and, with the press of a second button, the sludge surged into the tube. As it serpentined its way towards her, he crouched down and whispered in her ear—
“You’re welcome.”
The goop was gritty and sickeningly sweet, but Gloria gobbled it greedily. Although the voice in her head screamed to spit it out, the insatiable burning in the pit of her stomach made that impossible. As it flowed into her, Gloria’s eyes drifted upwards. On the ceiling was a large mirror. It was as if she were looking down from Heaven--or maybe up from Hell--as her bloated body lie limp on the operating table. Her distended belly looked like a funhouse effect, but she knew better.
“I have some visitors for you!”
Gloria’s eyes widened as Doc lead in a parade of family, friends and town’s folk. Gertrude Haskins, Herb Naylor, Betty Moore, Linda Whipple and others paraded solemnly past her bed. Some took off their hats as they passed. Some just shook their heads. Some whispered quietly to each other. Gloria strained to hear what they were saying over the whir and hum of the feeding apparatus…
“I told her something like this would happen if she wasn’t careful.”
“She looks horrible.”
“What a shame.”
Why won’t somebody help me? Gloria thought, as she watched the procession. Every time she closed her eyes and opened them again, a new face was by her bed, and the reflection in the mirror was a little bit fatter.
People would gently touch her hand, her arm or, in the case of Chip Turner, her left breast. Albert Swisher chatted on his cell phone and never looked her direction. Even Becky Tucker, who could barely walk, stopped by. Gloria marveled at how fat Becky had become, but then glimpsed herself in the mirror and realized she was probably heavier.
Occasionally, Gloria would feel a twinge of anxiety as her figure was ruined, but the mirror provided a nice buffer. It was as if everything were happening on television. In fact, watching herself grow fatter was her only entertainment. She marveled at how her stomach swelled like a beach ball during feeding sessions, then slowly shrank as the fatty concoction pushed through her system. Then the rest of her body would grow. Some days, her breasts took the brunt, slowly pushing apart and falling to her sides under gravity’s increased control. Other times, her rear was hit hardest, and she could see and feel it spreading out beneath her like a blob of clay being squished against a hard surface. All the while, bright red stretch marks raced across her stomach as if drawn by some ghostly artist.
Eventually, her inner voices of protest faded completely; buried under an avalanche of fat. The whir and hum of the feeding apparatus became soothing to Gloria, and she gobbled its steady stream of brown goop greedily, for it was the only thing that quelled the constant pains in the pit of her stomach.
Her visitors became fewer and less frequent as she grew. Only Chuck Steadman still appeared regularly at her bedside. Although she could no longer see him beyond her girth, she recognized his deep voice and trademark double leg squeeze. Knowing he was there, despite the fact she was now well over 500 pounds, was comforting…almost as comforting as the sweet slop she suckled incessantly.
Until one day, following one of her post-feeding naps, when she heard Chuck laughing and chatting with Doc. Suddenly, she felt an emotion she hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime. One she didn’t think she’d ever feel again.
Anger.
****
“What’s up, Doc?”
“Good to see you again, Mr. Steadman.”
“She’s lookin’ better.”
“She is, isn’t she? I’d like to get a bit more weight on her, though. That’s why I’m here--want to up the dosage on the ol’ feedbag.”
As Doc walked into Gloria’s field of vision, he seemed genuinely surprised to see her. “Well, good morning sunshine!” He smiled and leaned over the bed. “Want to try some solid food?”
Screaming wildly, Gloria shot a fist into Doc’s face. He staggered backwards, clutching his mouth. Gloria bolted upright and looked around for something, anything, to use as a weapon. Adjacent to her bed was a bouquet of flowers.
Where the fuck did these come from? Gloria thought, as she grabbed the vase and hoisted it above her head.
“Gloria, No!” Chuck charged across the room and grabbed Gloria’s arm before she could take aim at Doc’s head.
“Nurse, get a sedative to room 423, STAT!” Doc shouted into an intercom on the wall.
“Let go of me, Steadman!” Gloria socked Chuck in the stomach with her left hand. It was a weak blow, but it caused him to let go of her arm. She quickly brought the vase down on his head, shattering the glass, and sending Chuck to the floor in a heap.
“NURSE!” Doc jumped on the edge of the bed and forced Gloria’s shoulders back into her pillows. As he struggled to maintain leverage with his short stature, a robust nurse charged in with a syringe.
“Come near me, bitch, and I’m shoving that needle in your eye!” Though her top half was pinned, Gloria kicked wildly, stopping the nurse in her tracks. Desperate, the nurse turned to Doc for instructions.
“Just stick it in her leg!” Doc shouted through blood-stained teeth. Despite having his entire weight on top of her, Gloria was wriggling free. “Hurry!”
The nurse inched closer, thrusting the needle forward and catching Gloria’s thigh on a downswing.
Gloria screamed and, with a mighty push, sent Doc crashing to the floor. “It’s going in your eye, bitch!”
“Sweet Mother of Mary!” The nurse dropped the expended syringe and ran for the exit. Gloria lunged for her, but became tangled in a web of attached tubes and wires. Just as she was about to rip them off and give chase, a hand grasped her arm.
“Gloria…don’t.”
Chuck’s voice, like his touch, was firm but unmenacing. A trickle of blood ran between his soft blue eyes. As Gloria watched it drip slowly down the bridge of his nose, all anger fled her body. She collapsed into his arms and began to sob. “PLEASE, don’t let him touch me.”
“Babe, he saved your life.”
Gloria’s wide-eyes met Chuck’s. “But he made me fat.”
“Fat?” Chuck held Gloria close as he laid her back into bed. “These hospital gowns ain’t exactly flattering, but I can assure you you’re far from fat.”
“She’s delusional,” Doc said, as he rose from the floor and wiped the blood from his mouth. “I haven’t had a girl react to me that way since High School.”
Gloria held up her arm to keep Doc at bay--and noticed how thin it was. She placed her hand on her stomach. It was flat! Flatter than it was in High School.
What was going on? Gloria collapsed back into her pillows, exhausted. As she drifted off to sleep, she hoped this pleasant dream would continue.
****
“Please turn that off.” Doc snatched the remote from Chuck’s hand and muted the TV. It was a Jerry Springer rerun: Overweight Housewives and the Rednecks who Love Them. “Do you WANT her to slip back into a coma?”
“It’s OK, Doc.” Gloria sat on the edge of her hospital bed, dressed in street clothes and a bandage on her head. “I wanted to watch it.”
“You?” Doc crossed and sat on the bed next to her. “Maybe we should keep you for a few more days. Just for observation.”
Gloria laughed. “I think I’m OK…Thanks to you.”
Doc grinned impishly and his face turned a shade of his hair. Suddenly, an urgent voice boomed over the intercom:
“DOCTOR STRONG TO O.R., PLEASE. DOCTOR STRONG TO O.R.”
“I’m afraid duty calls.” Doc turned to Chuck. “They’re predicting storms tonight. Keep our little lightning rod out of the elements, will you?”
Chuck fidgeted. “Think maybe I shouldn’t-a brought the Harley?”
Doc shot Chuck a disapproving glance.
“Jus’ kiddin,’ Doc.” Chuck hoisted a bag carrying Gloria’s personals, which included her old cheerleader uniform and other childhood memories fetched to help rouse her. “I brought the Mustang. Put the top up and everything.”
Doc shook his head and gave Gloria a final hug. “Be careful, please.” His hands lingered on her bony back. “And make sure this joker treats you to some solid food.”
“Don’t worry, Doc,” Chuck said. “The next time you see her she’ll have some meat on her bones.”
“I hope so.” Doc winked at Gloria, then disappeared into the hall.
A few minutes later, Gloria was wheeled from her room. Past the small window overlooking thick green pines. Through the stark white, ethereally lit hallways. Past surgery, with its swinging double-doors and diamond windows. Out the sturdy, red brick building and into the cool fall breeze.
The nurse, seeing Gloria shiver, draped a blanket over her shoulders. “I’m sorry I tried to stab a syringe in your eye,” Gloria said, dropping her head.
The nurse smiled broadly. “Honey, I’ve already told that story twelve times. You’ve made me very popular.”
Chuck zipped his Mustang alongside them and jumped out. “I really was tempted to bring the Harley. Figured it might be my only chance to get that ride you promised.”
The nurse helped Gloria into the vehicle and buckled her in. Gloria marveled at how little of it was necessary to restrain her, and how the familiar discomfort as it dug into her midsection was missing.
“Thank you for giving me a ride, Chuck,” Gloria said as they pulled away.
“No problem. Not quite the whirlybird they brought ya’ in on, but it’ll do. There was actually ‘bout twenty folks who wanted to come get ya’, but I was insistent.”
“Were you now?”
“Yup. That and I had the fastest car. Everyone is anxious to see you.”
“There’s not going to be a party or anything, is there?”
“Maybe.”
Chuck braced himself for a verbal assault that never came. Instead, Gloria smiled, settled back into her seat and admired the scenery--the size and disparate architecture of downtown Dallas, the prominent displays of modern art, and the sudden and out-of-place greenery of Daly Plaza.
“Some city, huh?” Chuck said, as if reading her mind. “Y’know, while I been up here, I interviewed with a few companies.”
Gloria’s large hazel eyes focused on Chuck. “Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve been doin’ some online courses and stuff. Tryin’ to better myself. You didn’t think I was going to stay at Burger World forever, did you?”
Of course, she had. Until now, it had never occurred to her that someone else might have dreams bigger than Garber, Texas.
She simply smiled and shook her head.
As they drove, Chuck brought Gloria up to speed on her hometown’s happenings during the months she’d been gone: There’d been a bad grease fire at Mel’s Diner during which, fortunately, no one was hurt (though Becky Tucker and Jessica Brunner both needed oxygen to recover from their sprints from the restaurant). Albert Swisher’s inability to hold the fort while Gloria had been gone hadn’t gone unnoticed by corporate headquarters and, rumor had it, he would be demoted upon her return. And there was a certain beautiful blond Burger World employee who had packed-on 50+ pounds.
All the while, Gloria listened and laughed and, before she knew it, Chuck had pulled his Mustang into Burger World’s parking lot. Gloria looked at him quizzically.
“You’re forgetting my promise to Doc. He told me to have you eat two cheeseburgers and call him in the morning. ‘Phase III of your recovery’ he called it.”
“Mmmm, that sounds good.” And it did. Much better than Gloria expected.
Chuck checked his watch. “Susan should still be on duty. She’s become our best cook since I moved her to the kitchen. She makes a mean burger--I just have to keep her from pickin’ off people’s plates.”
“She’ll lose a finger if she tries that with me.” Gloria opened the car door and was quickly met by Chuck, who helped her from the vehicle. She took his arm and they walked towards the entrance. “Then maybe we can finally take that Harley ride you’ve been promising me.”
“I’VE been promising?”
Gloria laughed and leaned her head against Chuck’s shoulder. Chuck shook his head and opened Burger World’s door, causing the rusty cowbell overhead to jangle as he escorted her inside.
THE END
- buzzy
- Transformation Master
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