Lisha said, "Well, it wasn't for lack of trying! Remember all of our contests? Eating contests? We used to go and buy something cheap and filling from the grocery store --" " -- like the Pop-Fresh Cinnamon Buns!" "I remember! We'd come home from school and bake like three or four tubes of them -- two or three dozen buns -- and we'd line 'em up --" "-- I used to get my father's stopwatch and we'd time ourselves to see who could eat one bun faster." "Right! And then we'd do all kinds of other contests, like race to see how many buns each of us could eat in two minutes, until all the food was gone." "And we were always arguing about who was faster and who could eat more --" " -- and whose belly was bigger, and who weighed more. We reveled so much in being fat! It seems kind of... innocent..."

"How about when I got a job at Burger Prince," Lisha asked. "I think that all I did for the first couple of weeks I was there was industrial espionage -- finding out how I could manage to get vast quantities of food out of the restaurant and into our bellies!" "And they never knew -- probably still don't know -- that you loved being on the garbage detail because you'd always be putting the fifteen-minute expired food in the cooler you kept out by the dumpster." "And then you'd pick me up after work and we'd sit in the bed of your step-dad's pickup by the beach and eat dozens of burgers, then take turns massaging each other's tummies."

"Then, when I got the job at the Dairy King -- it was like someone allowed us into heaven early," Emma said. "Until you got fired. I wonder what Mr. Murphy thought when he came in at two in the morning and found the two of us in our bras and panties laying under the spigots of the soft-serve machines." "I must've eaten a gallon of strawberry before he came in -- I was planning on continuing until either the tank was empty or my stomach sprang a leak. And you were egging me on -- saying that there was no way I could eat that much and that even if I did, I wouldn't be as fat as you." "I still can't believe he never told my parents or my aunt," Emma said. "What do you mean?" "His wife was best friends with my aunt -- that's how I got the night manager job." "Oh my god! I forgot all about that! If he'd told your parents..." "Yeah -- Bob would've beat the shit out of me -- not like he needed another excuse or anything. But he would've gotten all biblical, preaching about the 'sin of gluttony' and hitting me with that stick over my bare ass. My mom went to his funeral last year -- even though they'd been divorced for nine years. When I heard he was dead, I went and celebrated and sent an extra hundred dollars to the Children's Defense Fund."

That turn of conversation sobered them up for a few moments; they sipped at their drinks, neither saying a word, and going over the scores of forgotten or hidden memories, their mood enhanced by the hypnotic rhythms of the breaking surf. Lisha broke the silence, saying, "Did you think, at the time, that all of our gorging was weird? I know I didn't. It was fun and natural, and just so easy. And yet... I've still never told anyone about it. I guess I know now that it was unusual -- to say the least. But, back then... Were we so far out of the mainstream that we didn't ever realize it? Or is it really not that strange?" "Maybe we missed that lesson -- the one where they tell you that 'Fat' is a synonym for 'Evil'" "Or maybe we just got to that state later than everyone else. We weren't always the only two in our little binge parties. Remember seventh grade? Remember Selena? And Rachel? And Robert?" "And what about Kristin and Jennifer and Elisa and Judy? Remember the time my grandfather brought over like ten bushels of apples that someone had given him and we made -- what? two dozen apple pies. Then we had everyone over after school and we ate every single last slice and all walked around with our shirts pulled up, arguing over whose belly was biggest? Everyone thought it was fun and normal and natural."

"You know what I find abnormal and un-natural? When I go out with some Hollywood people and we'll go to the hottest new restaurant where the chef is revered as a genius. We'll talk about the dishes on the menu, excitedly reading them out loud around the table. But when the waiter comes over, everyone orders a salad or something ridiculously light -- me included -- making lame excuses like, 'I had a big lunch' or 'I've got to lose three pounds for my bathing suit in the next scene' or 'Next time I come here, I'm really gonna bring my appetite!' And when we leave there, I have about a second's worth of pride in my self-control, then I spend the rest of the night kicking myself for being such an idiot and missing out on an opportunity to indulge and enjoy!"

Lisha was very agitated and stood up, walking over to the west railing, and looking out at the long stretch of deserted beach. The soft and silky aged cedar wood felt great as it pressed against her still-full belly, reminding her of the enormous quantity of food she'd consumed last night and of the touch of Elinor's hand... She turned around and faced her friend, taking advantage of Emma's closed eyes to drink in all of her loveliness.

Stray strands of her silky red hair fluttered in the soft sea breeze, caressing the prominent cheekbones, her tiny bejeweled ears and brushing gently against the plump curve of her chin and neck and shoulders. Her boobs, even after acceding to gravity's demands, still rose proudly above her chest, their creaminess divided by a deep and dark cleavage which swallowed up the silver lariat necklace she wore, and their tips capped with large brownish pink areolae and nipples that were at attention, as if they knew they were being observed. Further down, her belly bulged upwards before flowing southward towards her thighs, her fathomless navel an almond-shaped island in a vast sea of white flesh, cradled by stretchmarks. Her curly red pubic hair was so sparse and fine, that the crack between her meaty vaginal lips was easily seen, almost beckoning. Her thighs bulged together, cellulite ripples texturing the smooth surface of down-covered skin.

Lisha was surprised at the power of the thought that appeared unbidden in the fore of her consciousness; she couldn't control the words as they escaped softly from her lips: "I want you..."

"What?" Emma asked, obviously unaware of Lisha's declaration because she didn't even open her eyes. Lisha recovered quickly, saying, "I want you to tell me that I'm being totally crazy. Or that I'm not being totally crazy. I want you to tell me that all the things that have been going through my mind for the past couple of weeks are not evidence of some mental instability or looming crack-up." "I can't tell you that, Lisha, because I don't know for sure myself. Either all the people in the world who are on diets are fucked up, or people like you -- and me, in some ways -- ought to be locked up. I was suicidal about my weight right before I made that decision you were talking about before. I hated myself, I berated myself and I made sure that everyone around me thought I was worthless, too. After I signed myself in to the hospital, I spent days upon days thinking about my weight 'problem,' deconstructing and analyzing and digging for the root. And I decided at one point that the problem wasn't me. That it keeps coming back to that Puritan thing -- deny yourself now and you'll get your reward later. Everything in our society is based on that. But try that line on any little kid and they'll be smart enough to ask you, 'Well, what if there is no later?' Only -- we're supposed to be too smart at this age to ask that question."

"So, you decided to stop dieting," Lisha concluded. "No -- more than that," Emma continued. "I decided to take that little Puritan voice out of my head and stop denying my true self and my true desires. It was a struggle at first -- for a long time -- but I'm happy right now. I do what I want and people want me for what I am." I want you, Lisha thought again, this time keeping the words from finding their voice, and saying instead, "So what do you think I should do?" "You should do what you want to do -- and that's all. What do you want to do?"

Lisha thought for a second, took a deep breath, then smiled and said, "Okay: what I want to do is eat lunch! I want to eat a massive, humongous lunch! What do you say?" Emma laughed, too, saying, "Either you're being totally flippant or totally truthful, but -- either way -- I'm game!" "Well, that's good, because you're going to have to go into town and get us lunch, since I can't really be seen around here. Paparazzi are like cockroaches in New York City: give 'em a crumb and pretty soon, they're everywhere!" Emma agreed and stood up immediately to go throw on some clothes; Lisha's hands were trembling as she exerted mighty efforts in restraining herself from running her hands all over her friend's ripe body as she encased herself in clothing and then was gone.

Lisha stood in the entrance foyer of the house, staring at herself in the many mirrors. I'm getting fat, she thought, and the freedom of my desires feels wonderful both in body and spirit. And I'm lusting after my best friend and the repression of THAT desire feels like a knife in my belly. But... I felt this once before, she thought, and it became a disaster. She remembered the kisses first and how soft they were, and how soft Emma's skin had been against her own; a man's skin could never feel that smooth and silky. She remembered Emma's hands and her mouth and how she touched all the places that Lisha wanted touched in just the way she'd always dreamed someone would touch her someday. She remembered the newness of giving back everything she'd received and how that felt just as good as the getting. She remembered how peaceful her thoughts were as she fell asleep that night nestled sweetly in Emma's warm embrace, feeling as if she were embarking on some journey into a wonderful, undiscovered world. And she remembered how she woke up the next morning in an unbearable panic, fleeing from Emma's apartment while Emma still lay sleeping; she blew off their date for that evening without even a phone call, leaving Emma to discover her betrayal as she watched Lisha on 'Hollywood 2Nite' locked in a deep kiss with some unimportant young TV stud.

How could I have been so incredibly stupid, Lisha thought, to let her go -- to hurt her terribly -- with such detachment? The answer was obvious to her now: she'd been blinded by the same conformist reasons that had let her believe that she'd been virtuous all these years by denying herself her favorite pleasures. No more, she thought, hearing Emma asking her -- only a little while before -- 'What DO you want?' She realized -- suddenly and joyfully -- that what she wanted in her heart was the same as what she'd wanted on that magical night just a few years ago, and the same thing she wanted in her belly for most of her life. She did a happy little drum-roll on her round little belly, delighting in the solid slapping sound her palms made on the blubbery skin, then practically skipped through the house with no particular destination in mind.

She found herself in the computer room where she'd left the machine running since yesterday. The screensaver had blanked the screen, and when she moved the mouse, it came to life, displaying the collage of tabloid photos of her weight gain. She got a little charge out of thinking how they'd react if they saw her now -- or when they saw her after a couple of months of unbridled appetite. She leaned back in the chair, massaging her tummy, then her pussy, writing the tabloid story in her head about her sojourn at Camp Lessamee, and exciting herself to violent climax. She sat, exhausted in the chair, with a plan forming in her mind...

If you've got any comments or criticisms, you can post them on the WeightBoard or e-mail me at: melaniebel@aol.com.

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