And, then, Lisha watched, somewhat awed by her friend's command of the machine. In what seemed like seconds, the photograph of the two of them was displayed on the screen, and Emma was working on cropping herself out; when she'd finished that step and had finished making tiny adjustments to color and clarity, she rolled her chair back for Lisha to get a better look. "That is so cool!" Lisha said, "and so quick!" "Well -- I don't know how much you know about machines, but -- this is about the fastest thing on the market right now. Y'think Stephen'll notice if I -- mmmm -- borrowed it?" "He might," Lisha answered, putting her hand gently on Emma's bare shoulder. "So, what else can you do with this thing? With this picture, for instance?" "What were you thinking?" "Can you make me look fatter?" "I can make it wider, but then everything gets wider, even your face, and it doesn't look so great." "No," Lisha answered, picking up the photo from the scanner and showing it to Emma. "See how big my stomach is and how wide your hips are? Could you put us together so that I have both a huge belly and huge hips? I want to see what I'd look like." Emma studied the picture again, then started working furiously with the mouse. Lisha stood back in the room, staring at her friend's shiny copper hair, at the gentle roundness of her shoulders, the roll of blubber below her shoulderblades, the bulge of her fat hips and monstrous thighs where they extended far beyond the width of the office chair.

It was about fifteen minutes before Emma seemed to remember that she wasn't alone, saying, "Well, it's not perfect, but -- damn! It would've taken me hours on my machine, just waiting for it to process stuff. What do you think? Lisha came over and looked at a photo of herself as she had never been. "Is it just me, or does this look real?" "Well, right now an expert could probably figure it out, but give me a little while with it and no one could tell that you weren't this gigantic -- 300 pounds, I'd say." Emma worked some more, while Lisha stood at her side, watching the transformations continue on the screen. "Do you think I'll look this way when I get to 300 pounds?" "Why? Are you PLANNING to get that fat?" "A girl's gotta have goals, y'know!"

It was only about two or three minutes later, that Emma said, "Voila! I'd better leave it alone before I get too carried away. So, what do you want to do with this picture?" "We're gonna write an article that goes with it. Y'know: talk about my 'lifelong struggle' with my weight, my 'compulsive binge-ing', my 'parents who were so disgusted' at my obesity that they sent me away, and how 'the pressures of success' have 're-awakened the insatiable appetite of childhood' and threaten to turn me into a 'super-sized ball of blubber.'" "Sounds like you've got it pretty much written already -- just add paper. So, why don't you dictate and I'll type."

The words came easily -- years of keeping up with the tabloids had given her the knowledge of how to precisely imitate their sensationalistic prose. "Now, what?" Emma asked, when she'd hit the save button. "Now we get some 'sources'," Lisha replied. "What the hell was the name of the town the camp was in? Kikapoo or some Indian-thing like that, right?" "Rapapo," Emma answered. Lisha dialed information, saying "Cool!" when she'd hung up, discovering that the camp was still in operation, then dialed the number and handed the phone to Emma. "I don't know what to say," Emma said. "You talk!" "Everybody knows my voice," Lisha replied. "All right, all right," Emma said, grabbing the phone from her friend's hand.

Lisha pressed her face right next to Emma's so that she could hear the conversation. "Camp Lessamee," the woman's voice answered, and both friends practically burst out laughing upon recognizing the voice as belonging to Ms. Brandon, the head counselor. "Hello," Emma said very professionally, "I'd like to speak with someone who could give me some information about a person who attended your camp about ten years ago." "Well, that would be me," the voice said, giving her name, then continuing, "but we're not in the habit of revealing our campers' names." "Not even to someone who'd be so grateful that they'd be inspired to purchase several treadmills and other forms of exercise equipment in return for that information?" Lisha looked at her questioningly, and Emma mouthed, Money talks! "Are you offering to bribe me?" "Let's just say that I could probably get this information elsewhere, but that if you would save me the time and trouble, I would show my appreciation. You run a small camp, ma'am, and I'm sure that new equipment is hard to come by. And the person I'm looking for information about is one of your success stories, so I'm sure the positive publicity wouldn't hurt, either." "How do I know that you'll do what you say? I don't even know who you are!" "Is there a Stear's store near your camp, ma'am?" Emma asked. "Yes -- in the mall." "All right. You wait about fifteen minutes, then call the sporting goods department of the store, and I'll call you back after that. Okay?" "I don't know about this..." "It's just a phone call and you have nothing to lose."

Emma hung up, then found the number for Stear's and ordered about a thousand dollars worth of equipment, charging it to her company card, and asking that it be held for pickup by Camp Lessamee. When she put down the phone, Lisha gave her a polite round of applause, saying, "I would never have thought of that. I'd've just wheedled and begged and gotten annoyed. Where'd you come up with it?" "I don't know -- some detective story or something." "And don't worry, I'll pay you back for that -- or we'll just sell the story for more!" They waited an extra ten minutes before Emma called the camp again; when the phone was answeed, it only took a second for the girls to hear that the woman was overjoyed and very willing to answer any questions.

"Why of course I remember Lisha Goldrock. She was here -- it was the year before I broke my ankle, so -- it must have been the summer of 86. She was going to be a junior in high school -- yes, because she took on some junior counselor duties with the young ones." "How fat was she?" Emma asked, as both her and Lisha began mouthing the reply in unison with Ms. Brandon: "Well, 'fat' is not a term we like to use, because it is SO judgmental. It is a label that conjures up images of laziness and gluttony and greed. We prefer to say that our girls are 'carrying more weight than they should' because those words tell the truth: that they can stop carrying the weight anythime they decide to." They stifled their laughter, Emma saying, "Why, thank you ma'am for enlightening me about that. I'm sure I won't forget it. So.. I guess I'll rephrase my question by asking how much weight Lisha was carrying when she went to your camp?" "Well, we had a flood several years ago and many of my records were lost, so I can't tell you exactly. But she was carrying quite a bit of weight." "I don't need exact numbers, ma'am. Would you say 200 pounds?" "Oh, definitely more than that!" "250? 300? 350?" "Oh, I'm really not certain." "Is it possible that she weighed 300 pounds?" "Many of the girls who come here are carrying that much weight or more, so I guess it is possible, but..." Emma asked her a couple of more questions, than thanked her and hung up.

"That was TOO much!" Lisha said. "You were perfect! Getting her to say that I could've been 300 pounds! Are you sure you don't do this yellow journalism on the side?" "Who are we going to call next?" Emma asked. "I"m having a lot of fun!" "Well, we do need one more quote, but -- let's do it from the kitchen phone, because -- I don't know about you, but -- I'm starting to feel a little room in my tummy, and we just can't have that happen, can we!" "Absolutely not!" Emma replied, standing up and walking over to her friend, then putting her arm around the other's waist for the walk into the kitchen. Lisha put her arm around Emma's waist and couldn't decide which felt more exciting: the feel of her friend's soft love handles cradled against her palm, or Emma's warm hand gently pressing against her own lightly-padded flesh.

They decided to start their next course with bagels and creamcheese and cheddar, but there were no clean knives or plates, so Emma began to wash a few dishes, leaning her fat belly against the edge of the counter; the full breadth of her rippled ass was on display to Lisha, who resisted for as long as she could before crossing the kitchen and pressing her front tightly against her friend's back. "And just what are you doing?" Emma asked. "I'm helping you," Lisha said in between planting soft kisses on the nape of Emma's neck. Emma turned around suddenly, and Lisha was certain she was about to face anger, but instead, they stood belly-to-belly for a moment, Emma smiling and saying, "No... Helping would be drying the dishes or throwing out some of the empty food containers; it doesn't include giving me a tongue-bath!" She playfully pushed Lisha away and began fixing a couple of bagels in assembly-line fashion, handing Lisha the first one completed, and barely finishing the construction of the next before her friend's palte was empty. They went through a half-dozen in no time at all, following that with an entire Black Forest cake.

"Okay," Lisha said, as she finished licking the chocolate icing from her hands, then slapped both hands against the sides of her stomach "my tank is re-filled and I'm ready to go!" Emma walked over and patted her friend's protruding belly, saying, "Yup! That's pretty solidly filled, all right! Does mine pass muster?" She pressed her fat stomach into Lisha's who responded by reaching around and grabbing a couple of handfuls of Emma's massive ass, pulling her close into herself. She waited a second to see how far the other would allow her to go, and receiving no signal to stop, she ran her hands up her friends's soft and sexy back, finally reaching her shoulders and moving their faces together for a kiss.

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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