# Eve Enters Paradise - by Swordfish (~BBW, ~SWG, Romance)



## Swordfish (Jan 2, 2010)

_~BBW, ~SWG, Romance_ - After her failed marriage, slim vegetarian Eve gets a new start in life with a waitressing job, a changed diet, a loving step-brother, and a growing midriff bulge. A story in five chapters.



*EVE ENTERS PARADISE
By: Swordfish​*


_And the Lord God said unto the woman, What is this that thou hast done? 
And the woman said, The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat.
- The Book of Genesis, Chapter 3_​

*
CHAPTER ONE: WINTER*

Gingerly, with the London cold creeping into her attic room, Eve began tapping her present, hefting it slightly in her hand, a suspicious look flickering over her face. She could have been a security guard weighing up a suspect package, not someone receiving a late Christmas gift. “If it’s a box of chocolates, I can’t eat it.” 

He groaned inwardly. That routine again. “It’s not chocolates. I know you don’t eat chocolates.”

“Then I simply don’t know . . .” 

The North American vowel sounds entranced Adam, as they always did each time he’d ever encountered his step-sister Eve. They’d grown up on either side of the Atlantic. He’d always lived in London; her childhood had been spent just outside Toronto, where his father, divorced from Adam’s demanding mother, had gone for work and soon started a new life with a Canadian divorcee and her own young daughter Eve. Adam’s father, who believed in the Bible at least as literature, had been immediately tickled by coincidence of the children’s names. Adam himself - relieved that he’d never been called Judas Iscariot - had been tickled too, and had always sensed that Eve was a soul mate during the occasional family visits back and forth. Now 26, she’d had some knocks in her life recently. Following college she’d done her own transatlantic shift, moved from Toronto to London for European excitement and married hastily, only to find the marriage collapsing, leaving her stranded and financially embarrassed. Adam might have taken her in if his flat hadn’t been so tiny. So a friend of a friend with an empty attic had housed her while Eve found her feet. Three months later she was still looking for them. 

“Open it!” 

She beamed her fetching smile and carefully undid the tape, so she could use the paper another time. Inside was a notepad with a Monet water lily painting on the cover. “I thought you could use a notepad. You could draw, or write a journal. Might help you sort your thoughts out, especially if combined with this!” From behind his back he produced a bottle. 

“Bull’s Blood!” she cried. “Well, for a start I could make a list of all the things I hate about Jake.”

“Would that be productive? I want you to look forward, not back.”

She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You’ve always had my interests at heart. I always remember how protective you were when we played on that garden swing.”

That had been their first encounter; they were both seven, when Adam’s father had come on a European visit. Adam’s mother, true to form, had treated everyone frostily, but Adam, not good at making friends, had immediately pounced on Eve as a lifetime pal and a source of wonder. She was pretty; she was Canadian, which seemed very exotic; and she was the first person he knew who had her own pony, Joss. The next time they met, Joss had gone to the pony stables in the sky, and Eve had developed breasts. The time after that, a few years later, she’d reached her maximum height, five foot five, cut her lightly curly auburn hair very short, dyed a patch of it blue, and proudly shown him two newly acquired tattoos. One depicted the serpent from the Garden of Eden, curling round her trim right hip. Another featured the Garden’s apple, the forbidden fruit, just to the left of her belly-button. She’d thought them cute; so did Adam, though not so cute as the sight of her tummy, toned as always (no puppy fat for her), looking almost sun-tanned with her skin’s light honey coloring. She didn’t look much different now that she was 26. The blue hair patch had gone; the rest had grown longer, just above shoulder-length, in a simple cut with an off-centre parting. But the brown eyes still looked mischievous, and her commitment to eating vegetarian, thinking green, and gym work-outs was 150 per cent. She weighed a brisk 115 lbs.

Her devotion to healthy living hadn’t eased her marriage, though Eve herself blamed its derailment principally on Jake’s immaturity and short temper. There was the famous night of the tofu brawl, when Eve had accidentally prepared a meal where every item was white, even including the plates. Jake flew off the handle; the floorboards shook. 

They shook even more when Eve returned early from a trip to find Jake naked in bed with another woman. Accusations flew back and forth. “You never want to have fun. You never eat or drink.” “You act like a jerk. A teenage jerk. Do you know what the word responsibility means?” After more run-ins, they had agreed to separate, though not yet divorce. Jake had disappeared into south London’s suburban jungle; Eve had found her temporary perch with Kaylie, north of the river, in an area once down-at-heel, but now bright with wine bars, tapas bars, chic pubs (Adam worked in one specializing in Belgian beers), restaurants of every flavor. 

“What’s happening on the job front?” They were drinking their wine sitting on the floor by the electric heater. 

The past parade of unfulfilling jobs passed through her head: art gallery attendant, office receptionist, delivering the mail. She’d studied art at college, but what does that fit you for? “I’m looking. I can tell Kaylie wants me out soon. Wants to install her boyfriend, Stratford. It’s Stratford this, Stratford that. Fair enough, it’s her place, but sometimes now she’s just rude to me.” She puckered her mouth. 

“That French bistro off Upper Street needs a waitress. . .” 

“But all their waitresses are French, aren’t they? I couldn’t even pretend to be French. Besides, not my kind of food. Can you see me serving snails and gooey desserts?”

“OK, bad idea. Still, I’m sure the New Year will bring something.” 

She rested her hands on the floor, and stretched out her lissome body. Breasts apart, it could almost have been the body of a boy. Out of sight, beneath her thick winter sweater, the serpent tattoo on her right hip winked across at the apple and licked its tongue. 

***

“A quiet night!” Sandy said, behind the bar at the Beer Emporium. It was four days later.

“So far, yes.” Adam was wiping the glasses with his usual finesse. The shy person inside him appreciated quiet nights, though he’d partly taken the job to break down his barriers and become more socially adept. “Must make more of an effort to come out of his shell”: he still remembered the words of an early teacher’s end-of-the-year report. He was doing better now, though close friends were still few, and sexual intimacies had never gone beyond a few unsatisfactory flings; maybe all those years living with a domineering mother had blunted self-confidence. There had certainly been no steady girlfriends. Since she’d settled in London he got on best with Eve; but then somehow she felt like blood.

And there she was, suddenly in front of him. “I’ve done it!” 

“Done what?”

“Got a job at the Sacré Coeur. Well, a trial run. I saw them this afternoon.”

“That’s great! It didn’t matter about not being French?”

“It didn’t matter about not being French. I have to say, though, I wouldn’t want half the things on the menu. They serve rabbit, for God’s sake. How could anyone eat Bugs Bunny?”

“Elmer Fudd would.”

“I don’t think he’ll come into the Sacré Coeur.”

“I don’t know. You meet strange people in bistros.” He suggested a drink to celebrate: Leffe beer, light, blond, and Belgian.

She paused. Her usual tipple was tonic water. “Not many carbohydrates in that?”

“I don’t expect so. It’s blond, after all.”

“I suppose that does make a difference.” Neither of them was good at science. 

She began the following week, working through lunch and the quiet afternoon, when customers were fewer and the pressure less. It was an unpretentious place, check-patterned cloths on the tables, not very comfortable wooden seats, London theatre posters on the wall, plus the daily specials chalked up on two slates. The only oddity in sight was a battered chair bolted close to the top of a wall, almost on the ceiling; a conversation piece supposedly, close to the heart of the bistro’s owner, Maximilian, though most customers never noticed it. The little kitchen at the back was masterminded by Dmitri (Russian). The roster of serving staff contained the day manager Jimmy (Scottish), Magda (Polish), and Simone (English). 

“The worst thing you can do,” Jimmy told her, “is to drop an order over one of the customers. The next worst thing is snatching away a customer’s plate before they’ve finished eating. For some reason, that’s resented.” Jimmy’s advice made her more nervous, but after a few uncertainties she got into the routine, weaving through the narrow gaps between tables, checking the settings, taking and delivering orders, processing bills, being smiley and polite.

The menu continued to bother her. She bridled at serving hunks of meat, and became flummoxed if anyone asked her to recommend a dessert. “I’m sure they’re all good,” she’d say, half-heartedly. During her lunch break, in the slow hours after three o’clock, she sat down with a selection of vegetables. 

“You must be a vegetarian,” Simone, proudly slim like Eve, said on her first day. “That’s a bit limiting isn’t it?” 

“In this place, yes.” Eve realized that wasn’t the best answer if she wanted to display team spirit. “Not that the other food doesn’t look great.”

“You should try a little. It’s good to know what the customers are ordering.” She looked at Eve’s plate more closely. “You’re not even having Dmitri’s famous roast potatoes!”

“I tend not to have potatoes &#8211; the carbohydrates, you know.” She patted her flat tummy. 

Simone nodded approvingly. “Actually, I’ve found serving food hours on end is a great way to dull your appetite.”

“Ah!” Eve was very relieved.

As Adam suggested, she topped off her shifts by popping into the Beer Emporium, around the corner. Eve started by having tonic water, but Adam soon urged her to have something with more oomph. There were so many Belgian beers she could try. “I’m getting a taste for it,” she said one night. “This is getting dangerous!”

“Rubbish, rubbish, little Eve!” 

She averaged four days a week at the bistro. Mornings and Sundays were usually free. At first her daily gym visits continued. But after the first week, the lure of lying in bed nibbled at her resolve. She began to go every other day; then two days a week; sometimes not at all. In bed she’d read, think, look at the accommodation ads in the local newspaper, or pick up her notepad and draw. 

She was getting on well with her colleagues. She learned how to parry Jimmy’s jokes; she got used to Dmitri’s surly moods when a Russian deep freeze overcame him. She was fascinated by Magda - blonde, chubby. She grilled her about Poland, the social conditions, the politics, but Magda preferred to talk about living in Britain, a country with so many branches of McDonalds. Often they took their breaks together.

“You know,” Eve said one day, spearing her final broccoli stalk, “it’s odd that this is a French bistro, but no-one here is French.”

“But the food is! You have to eat this!” She was deep in a crepe suzette, covered with ice cream and strawberry coulis. 

Eve hovered for a second, then gave in. “Well, I have to admit it looks interesting.” 

Her crepe soon arrived. As Magda advised, she squeezed a lemon over it, and started to explore this unknown world. It was the contrast in temperatures and textures that stunned her: the warm strawberry sauce over the cold vanilla; the warm crepe, perky with lemon juice and sprinkled sugar; everything blending in a perfect ensemble, like a heavenly musical chord. “Oh God,” Eve said, as her first spoonful dissolved inside her mouth. “I’m not used to this, the sugar, the. . .“ For a moment she was lost for words.

“You like?” said Magda, grinning broadly.

She let another mouthful dissolve, then raised her eyebrows. “I like.”

At the end of the day, she dropped by the bar as usual, only to find that Adam had called in sick. He’d caught the winter flu bug, a vicious strain zipping around London. Eve phoned her commiserations, visited the patient the next day, did some shopping for him. He told her to keep her distance; he didn’t want her to be off work too. 

It took almost two weeks to shake the flu off, and when he went back to the bar he still looked a little drawn and pale. Eve, he thought, looked healthier than ever, Leffe in hand, leather jacket unzipped, auburn hair bouncing as she asked how he felt and talked about her day. There was something different about her, he realized. She looked a bit smoother, more filled out in the face. Her slacks, too, seemed a slightly tighter fit than usual. Had she actually put on a little weight?

***

“Stratford doesn’t want to elbow you out, and nor do I,” Kaylie bleated in her thin, squeaky voice. Blonde, slimmish, imprinted with a permanent look of disdain, she looked like someone trying to imitate Scarlett Johannsson and failing. It was some weeks later. “But we think it’s time for us to get together, and it was only temporary you staying here. Could you move out at the end of the month?”

Wrong time; wrong place. Eve was just emerging from her morning shower. Her bathrobe was loose, her hair wet. One thing she looked forward to in any new place: a bathroom on the same floor as her bed; and, please God, if she was sharing, a companion that didn’t accept her on sufferance.

“That’s fine,” Eve said hastily, trying not to drip onto the floor.

“We’re going to turn this into a love nest, Stratford and I!”

“Oh that’s lovely.” She began rubbing her hair vigorously; hoping Kaylie would pick up the hint and let her go.

“You’re not getting a squishy little tummy, are you? You are!” She’d spotted Eve’s bared midriff. “The restaurant food must really be good!”

Swamped by embarrassment, Eve gingerly felt the area around her belly button. “Is it that noticeable?” 

“It’s just a little softer, really.” In case that was too comforting, Kaylie twisted the knife again. “But it is softer.”

“I thought only I could tell I’d put on weight. I knew I shouldn’t have let up on the gym. But I’d better get dressed.” Bounding up the steps to the attic, she added a vague “Thanks,” though it was hard to see what for. 

Sitting on the bed’s edge, Eve returned to her tummy, rubbing a hand round her apple tattoo and the belly-button nearby, feeling the small layer of new flesh moving under her fingers. Then she pinched the serpent tattooed on the right hip, lightly cushioned with its own fat, just like the hip opposite. She had first discovered this modest softening two weeks before, after a day of feeling unusually snug in one of her slacks. She blamed her beer intake more than the bistro bits and pieces; that, plus reduced time at the gym. But knowing the reasons didn’t make the situation better. Eve, famously boyish and trim, had actually put down fat on her tummy and hips &#8211; the possible foundation layer for female curves and, what she feared most, a midriff bulge. 

Soon after she heard the apartment door banged shut: Kaylie had gone off to work. Eve went back to the bathroom, and pulled out Kaylie’s scales, the old kind with a pointing arrow, not the digital display she was used to at the gym. The arrow bobbed over the markings before coming to rest. “God!” she cried out loud. She had put on six pounds. 

She spent the day feeling under a cloud. Buttoning up the black blouse that served as the bistro’s uniform, she was convinced her breasts and her white slip rubbed against her clothes more than before. Serving the meals, she felt Dmitri’s roast potatoes goading her. Every time her customers skipped dessert, she felt relieved; every time they went for ice cream, her heart sank. She ate her vegetarian lunch without pleasure. 

“Not a good day,” she told Adam later as she slammed her handbag on the bar counter. She told him about Kaylie cornering her about moving. 

“You expected it, though.”

“I know, and I’ve looked at some places, but they’ve been so freaky.” 

“If you get in a crunch, I could try and find room.”

“But you have no spare bed!”

“I’d sleep on the sofa.” 

Eve didn’t like the sound of that, but thanked him warmly. Then she hit topic number two. “Adam,” she said, in a shy little voice, “do you think I look different? Different from six weeks ago, say, before I got the job?” She sat upright, presenting herself for inspection.

He didn’t know what to say. He could see the smoother face, the slightly fuller cheeks, but felt awkward about raising the matter even with his best friend. Women, he knew, didn’t appreciate being told they had gained any weight. Slim women especially. So he fished around for something else. “Your clothes, you mean, or your hair?” He looked at her tan leather jacket, her hair’s brunette waves brushing its collar. They were all the same as ever.

Eve’s upright pose slumped. “I’ve put on a little weight recently. I &#8211; I just wondered if it was noticeable.”

He hesitated for a second, then realized he had to be honest. “Well, I thought you might have done, just a bit, in the face. Kind of a healthy glow. It looks good. . .”

“And I thought it was mostly my tummy. So I look fatter in the face too?” 

Adam felt the ground shaking under him. “Not fatter! Just smoother. Really nice, actually.” Really nice? He was surprised he’d said that; but it was true. There was something about Eve carrying a few extra pounds. “Don’t worry, it’s not important.”

“Any gain’s important for a woman. It means you’re not perfect.”

He took another breath, and dived in. “It means you’re human. The original Adam and Eve weren’t perfect for long. Then they got hungry, she ate the apple &#8211; “

“Yes, and put on weight.” Eve thought of her apple tattoo, nestling on its new layer of flesh. Adam thought exactly the same thing. 

“You’re worrying about nothing. You look great!”

“Thanks,” she said sadly. “It’s the beer. I’ve been drinking too much.” 

“And the bistro?”

“I don’t think so. I serve the food, Adam, I don’t eat it. Well, except lunch. . .” Under her clothing, the serpent stretched out on its new bed of fat, and smiled.

End of Chapter One


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## Swordfish (Jan 2, 2010)

*CHAPTER TWO: SPRING*

Eve didnt know where the days went. In between her work shifts, she scoured the accommodation ads, checking out new possibilities, finding them wanting, sorting belongings, wondering if she should downsize. Some furniture she might have to store. But what of her books? The eco-warrior and vegetarian cook books; obviously she would keep those. As for _Freud and the Unconscious _and Solzhenitzyns _Cancer Ward_, maybe the charity shop beckoned. 

Bothered by her little gain, she started to watch her calorie intake and notched up her gym visits. No more Belgian beers. The Stairmaster. The rowing machine. Touching her toes. After a few weeks she saw modest results: a couple of pounds dropped on the scales, a little increased definition to her torso. She was relieved.

Trouble was, the gym tired her out more than before, and if the bistro was busy Eve needed more strength than she needed when she sat in her attic room feeling glum. Her will-power started to waver. The late-night alcohol tiptoed back, along with a general inclination, every day, to eat a little more than before. Simones suggestion that waitressing would curb the appetite wasnt being borne out. Surrounded by food, talking about food with the customers, Eves desires and curiosities only increased. Though she tried not to focus on it, before too long she could feel her body getting softer again, with breasts snug inside her bra, and a fuller tummy that was starting to stretch her panties and rub against the waistbands of her slacks. 

As for her accommodation problem, a week before Stratfords arrival  Kaylie kept twittering about it  Eve had to face facts. She was getting nowhere. Either she had to stop being particular, or she had to bunk down with Adam and continue looking. 

The problem was his lack of a spare bedroom. Eva insisted shed sleep on the pull-out sofa. Adam insisted louder: hed sleep there, and she would take his room. A girl needed her privacy, he said. But there still wasnt much privacy on offer. To use the facilities, Eve had to cross the sitting room and almost get to the outside door, where the small shower and toilet ran alongside the galley kitchen. To make room in his wardrobe for Eves clothes, Adam draped most of his own over the back of a sitting room chair. It immediately gave the place the scruffy look of student bed-sit. His mother, used to the life pristine, would have been horrified.

Ill be out of here in a few weeks, Eve told him, eyeing her cardboard boxes cluttering up the living room. Adam said there was no hurry. But your private life  Id get in the way! She cast her eyes around. There were no personal photos, no pin-ups. 

I dont have a private life! I work, I sleep. 

Eve gave him a tender hug, pressing her softened tummy against his torso. Well, wheres my private life, come to that? Ever since Jake, Ive been living in a void. I was living in one with him, as well. 

_God_, Adam thought, _she looks so nice with those added pounds. Feels nice, too._

They settled into sharing the space. Eve slept in the bed; he decamped to the sofa. Getting washed and dressed took some juggling, but they managed. He noted Eves spicier appetite, and her breakfast preference for bagel with thick smears of cream cheese. He also spotted how often food now came up in her conversation. Living with her, eating with her, he could see that the bistro had sparked in her some significant interior shift. Before, food had been either the enemy or something to endure; now she seemed to be making it her friend. 

The second week in the flat, she asked if Adam had any bathroom scales. He didnt. I should get some, she replied. She did, and found that shed gone up to 125 pounds. Even then she couldnt turn a desire to diet into sustained action. The move away from Kaylies lighthouse beam and niggling remarks had made her more relaxed; she was enjoying life, enjoying her work. She told her unconscious it wasnt the time for a diet. Her unconscious agreed. 

As spring advanced, Adam kept noticing how often she now adjusted her clothes, pulling down her tops, or fiddling with clasps and zips. With the warmer weather, more and more of her flesh emerge from its winter camouflage. One day it was her bare arms, less muscular than he remembered, arms you wanted to squeeze and stroke. Another day, he became transfixed by the way her tight jeans dug into her hips, leaving small bulges of exposed fat on each side  what did they call them, love handles? Newly sensitive to womens weight and its distribution, he began noticing other women, regulars at the bar, with rounded cheeks and soft midriffs. They looked good too, he realized, but nowhere near as good as Eve.

So what exactly was appealing about the new Eve? Adam tried to work it out. She was looking more feminine, more healthy: that was definitely part of it. She was like a plant or fruit, getting more luscious with every ounce. He felt his latent sexual attraction to what he called his kind of sister rising closer to the surface. This embarrassed him. But he couldnt deny her appeal as her extra weight slowly moved beyond subtle hints to become a visible feature of her body. 

The crunch came on a Sunday night as the two of them flopped on the sofa in front of the TV after their plates of spaghetti. Adam knew he should have been gripped by the documentary about Saudi Arabia and the lure of oil  Eve seemed riveted by it, and it was obviously good and relevant. But he found his eyes drifting. After roaming around the room, they came to rest on Eves tattooed midriff, soft and sandy-brown, oozing out in a definite roll in the generous gap that had opened up between the bottom of her red blouse and the start of her blue denim jeans. Her belt buckle was digging into it. 

The fat looked fresh and new, virgin fat, succulent. He wondered how it felt to have the buckles cold metal pressed into her warm flesh. What would she feel if she fingered that bulge? What would he feel if he touched it? Did the fat melt away under the fingers? Was it like dough? 

His reverie was disturbed by a sudden rise in the TV volume. The adverts had begun. The jump in sound must have startled Eva, for she let out a gasp. Without consciously thinking, Adam placed a hand on her right thigh and gave it a comforting pat.

The way they cut into these things with commercials, she said. Its really jolting.

His hand lingered; his fingers started a light drumming. And all for an advert for oil, or some energy-guzzling car! 

Eva let loose her bewitching smile: Youre damn right. Before he know what he was doing, his fingers had moved up from her thigh and were pressing into the midriff fat, lightly tweaking the golden flesh that seemed without end - certainly without bone. Emboldened by Evas lingering smile, he suddenly turned his long-suppressed thoughts into words as his fingers stroked and probed. Mm . . . looks like someones been gaining weight! 

He was looking at her playfully, but his remark made her smile vanish. You dont have to remind me. Im getting teased about it at work. 

He withdrew his hand, hoping he hadnt gone a step too far. Dont worry, it suits you! Lots of women have little tummies. Its just part of their figure.

It wasnt part of my figure before. But it certainly is now. You know Ive put on thirteen pounds since I started at the bistro?

It doesnt matter. You look terrific!

Well thats a comfort, she said, smiling faintly as the adverts ended. Im getting fatter, but Im terrific... 

Conversation stopped as the documentary continued. A new pipeline was being constructed, and it took all of Eves attention. Adam returned his hand to her right thigh, stroking it lightly for a few seconds before coming to rest. Without taking her eyes off the screen, Eve covered his hand with one of her own. Their fingers locked. Their eyes connected. Eve looked wistful, as she if she wanted to apologize to Adam for gaining weight. Adam looked enraptured, and knew that he was in love with her. 

Suddenly, Eve withdrew her hand and shifted her position. I think wed better just watch, she whispered. 

Adam pondered. What was wrong with the pair of them holding hands - unless Eve herself was experiencing emotions beyond the safe kinship of soul mates, or something sanitized and platonic? Had he pushed himself into the open too far? He was left feeling awkward and confused, in no mood to watch a documentary about oil. But he did. Time will sort this out, he eventually thought to himself. 

Later, each in their own beds, both considered the same topics: mutual love, and Eves weight. Not for the first time, Adam told himself that Eve was the only girl in his life he had ever been more than faintly fond of. Half undressed, sitting preparing to clip her nails, Eve thought about Adam - so different from the hard and selfish Jake. He cared for her; he was encouraging, yet when she was moody gave her space. Even good-looking in a fuzzy way, like Brad Pitt seen from a distance. 

As for own body, she wasnt so certain. It wasnt just the change in her appearance; it was the way her body felt. The extra ballast around her middle. Her centre of gravity had changed. Putting nail clippers aside, she swiveled to face the half-length mirror fixed onto a wardrobe panel, and looked hard at the main reason why - the midriff bulge, pierced by a deep crease where her belly-button lay. For the first time she realized that her snake tattoo had grown as well as her flesh. She smeared her fingers along its enlarged body, around its head, watching her belly-button all but disappear as she pushed into the surrounding fat. As for the apple on the other side, it looked almost three-dimensional. Ive really put on weight, she murmured. 

It looked like her thighs had spread, too. She stood up to check, flexing the flesh padding each flank. They were chunkier, definitely. Mirror, mirror on the wardrobe, what do you see? I see a woman no longer slim, she said to herself, I see a woman who should probably diet. 

A woman with a secret too: not a secret to the Sacré Coeur, but shed so far kept it from Adam. She had started to eat meat. After ten years of being a vegetarian, curiosity had won over will-power. First at the bistro she had tasted fish  salmon, succulently pink. Shed imagined shed gag at a fellow creatures flesh in her mouth. But the taste had been so delicate, and sat in the stomach so well. From the recesses of her mind she had pulled out a memory from another TV documentary, about fish having memories that lasted only for five seconds. She clung to that. Besides, she reasoned, fish had no personality, unlike cows. Red meat, shed told herself, would never be possible; but white meat, pink meat  just occasionally? You only had one life. Why fence yourself in? 

The whole thing, gaining weight, eating and drinking, left her confused. Before this year shed known exactly who she was: slim, athletic, vegetarian, and, if she was honest, miserable. But who was she now? Was she still Eve, or was she turning into someone else, one of those other women she saw about town, filling out in their mid 20s, fat starting to hang over their belts? Would her parents, back in Canada, still recognize her? 

She was concerned too about Adam. It was his flat she was staying in, and it was his bed. He should be in his bed, not her. Or at least they should be in it together. Theyd occasionally slept in the same bed as kids. Why shouldnt they share a bed as responsible adults? Besides, hadnt they grown closer than ever living together, sharing thoughts and feelings? She revisited her caution on the sofa watching TV, and changed her mind. Why not? Just because they were kind of family . . . 

Trembling inside a little, she made the suggestion the next day at breakfast. 

Share the bed? he repeated. Not sleeping head to toe?

I dont want to sleep next to a pair of feet. I want to sleep next to you. 

Oh! Well, yes! A big smile radiated, then dipped a little. You think we could?

Of course we could. Were grown up.

Youre thinking, are you, - he didnt know quite how to put it  of more than sleep?

She grinned at his English reserve, and answered in kind. I wouldnt be averse, Adam. I wouldnt be averse. We could try it out, anyway, she said, spreading butter on the next piece of toast. Adam released another smile, and made a mental note to refresh his condom supply. 

And another thing, Eve continued, picking up the strawberry jam (sugar content, 67kg), I want you to know Ive started to eat meat.

Oh! Adam smiled for the third time.

End of Chapter Two


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## Swordfish (Jan 2, 2010)

*CHAPTER THREE: SUMMER*

I cant find anything in this room! Eve cried, scurrying among the clutter at the foot of the bed. Where did we put the hairdryer? Sleeping together had brought one unforeseen consequence: while the living room was tidier, the bedroom was now much messier. Adams mother, passing through London en route for a holiday in the Canary Islands, was due for an imperial visit at 12 oclock, and the time was ticking past 11. Adam looked presentable enough, but Eve hadnt even washed. 

At weekends now they got up later. Adam thought hed be feeling more awkwardness, even guilt, about intimacy with someone who was part of his extended family. But the small amount felt at the start had vanished, swept away by the power of love and Eves softer beauty. He took pleasure in every little curve and crease seen at close quarters: the hint of a double chin as her fattened face lay on the pillow; flesh spilling over her bra straps; a deep crease along the side of her back as she twisted her torso this way or that. There was even something newly erotic about her raising a hand to tidy her hair  always a lyric moment in a woman, but made more beautiful by the new flash of creases across Eves wrist. For fat had crept over Eves hands too. Smoothness, silkiness, roundness, warmth: they were becoming her defining features. 

After warning Adam on their first night that her body was not at its best, Eve herself had come to appreciate the silkier ride that her extra weight provided. The fuller breasts and belly, the rounder thighs  she felt them cushioning and caressing her. And the experience, she found, didnt end in bed. Under its influence, shed begun to feel a new confidence and sensual pleasure in what had become daily sensations  the feel of her body rubbing against tight clothes, the gentle ache of a stomach full of food. Forking or spooning food into her mouth, her mind had started to trace a link between the calories on her plate, the curve of her tummy, and enhanced pleasure in bed. As for her body, which a few weeks ago had been not at its best, past embarrassments had been put to one side. Though not actively wishing to gain more weight, she certainly wanted the pleasures she expected to follow if further flesh happened to arrive. Her body and her appetite quickly obliged: in the month since raising the stakes with Adam shed put on another six pounds. She was now 134 lbs, and starting to look faintly chubby.

Hairdryer found, she began rifling through the wardrobes hangars. What should I wear? What still fits?

Im sorry about this. I didnt want her to come here. The old dragon.

Its OK, we have nothing to hide. She kissed Adam on the cheek as she swept out toward her shower. 

I dont know, Adam called out. Just because were happy about things, it doesnt mean others are. Shes never forgiven my dad for re-marrying. And for us to  you know . . . 

Oh, hush, she shouted. This is the 21st century! The shower started to hiss.

_Maybe its the 21st century_, he thought as he tidied the breakfast debris, _but my mother lives in the 19th_. He sat down to ponder where they should go for lunch. The Sacré Coeur was off limits: Eve was working there that night as it was. The Hungarian place, Bartoks, a few doors away? Hearty peasant food. Maybe Eve would like that. No good thinking about what his mother might like  she disapproved of everything. He took up the Sunday paper, and got lost in the sports section. 

The intercom buzzed. The voice was unmistakable. Its your mother. I know Im early.

Adam groaned, and buzzed her in. Within a few seconds there was Mrs. Marjorie Dawson, divorced, thin, and prim. The shower still hissed in the bathroom. Eves not quite ready yet, he said. 

Im surprised shes still sharing with you. Theres so little room. Is there no place of her own she can rent?

I dont want her to rent. Were getting along really well.

She made a noise suggesting the impossibility of any two people getting along. She sleeps on the sofa, I presume?

Adam had always found lying difficult. I did at first, but it was hurting my back. So we share the bed.

You could feel the chill descend. Oh. But it must be temporary, mustnt it? You cant both live like this.

He quickly changed the subject. I was thinking about a Hungarian restaurant, just nearby. Would that suit? They talked of his work, Eves work. The hiss of the shower stopped. He thought of Eve on the other side of the door, hearing their conversation and cursing Marjorie, the early bird. 

Eventually she emerged, pink and glowing, hair still wet, wrapped in her bath towel. Sorry, she said after dutifully kissing her aunt. Ive been a bit of a slugabed.

No, my fault, Im early. Marjorie eyed her with some curiosity as Eve made another awkward apology and headed toward the bedroom sanctuary. 

Sitting back on the sofa, Marjorie lowered her voice. Eves put on weight! 

Usually Adam liked it when people noticed her chubbier look  thered been recent comments at the Beer Emporium. But with his mother he felt vulnerable, on Eves behalf a much as his own. She is filling out a bit. 

I thought vegetarians never gained weight. Look at Gandhi. Thin as a pencil.

But he kept fasting, mother. And he walked a lot. Anyway, Eves not so strict about being a vegetarian now. 

Thats surprising. Seeing her fatters surprising.

Adam managed to steer the conversation to Marjories holiday. Inside the bedroom, Eves hairdryer started up. Follicles dry, she combed and brushed until her hair had the bounce she wanted. Now for the bigger problem. What to wear? She got out a business suit from her days as an office receptionist. After pulling the trousers over most of her hips, she contemplated her pudgy tummy. Even if she breathed in, she couldnt yank the zip over that. She started fingering the faint burn mark left on her flesh by her tight waistbands. _I need to buy new stuff_, she thought. 

She finally emerged in a slightly formal, figure-hugging black dress, with a relatively low neckline. Adams heart skipped a beat. The signs of fabric strain were everywhere, with her oval belly clearly outlined, numerous creases across her thighs, and breasts barely contained. For the first time he noticed that Eves arms were beginning to fatten up in the upper reaches.

Well! Marjorie said blithely, as Eve sat down. You both look well, I must say! The talk turned awkwardly to what Marjorie used to disparagingly term those Canadians: her former husband, and Eves mother. Heard from them recently? Eve said yes; e-mails, phone calls, they kept in touch. Hows Don, she asked (Adams father). Seemed to be OK. Was he coming over any time soon? No current plans (Marjorie was glad). Heard from Jake? Here, Eves polite tones turned icy: Its best if we dont see each other.

I always thought he was a nice boy. But obviously not. 

Maybe we could make tracks? Adam butted in. We could walk in the park beforehand . . .

As they prepared to leave, Marjorie caught the curve of Eves tummy in profile. She also glimpsed the couple inside the bedroom, locked in a supportive hug. Shes not pregnant, is she? she thought to herself. What is going on?

As soon as they sat down in Bartoks  leather seats, walls the color of ox blood  she brought up the vegetarian question. The menu bristled with meals caught on the hoof. Eve admitted shed expanded her diet, but still tried to avoid food that wore fur. Ive compromised my principles, I suppose. But thereve been definite benefits. My diets more balanced, and I do feel a lot healthier.

Fatter too, it looks like. Her smile was vicious.

Eves good humor dimmed a bit. I know Ive put on some weight. But Im letting it ride at the moment. Im sure things will sort themselves out.

I thought for a moment you might be pregnant. 

Pregnant? She let out a raucous laugh, trying to cover her embarrassment at the thought that Adams condoms werent doing their job. 

I think she looks really good with some extra pounds. You dont want to put her off eating.

Marjorie glinted like the cold winter light as the waiter approached, pad and pencil in hand. She announced her order proudly. I think Ill just have a garden salad. 

Chicken, with sprouts and roast potatoes? said Eve, feeling slightly ashamed. Adam ordered the same.

The topic changed; the food came; they ate. Marjories comment had made Eve feel self-conscious, for the first time in weeks. Was her softer body, tight in her dress, now a little bit too soft? Under the table, Adam placed a consoling hand on her left thigh. It helped a little, but as soon as the course done was done Eve wanted a breather. She excused herself, and snaked through the tables to the rest rooms, bottom jiggling. 

Marjorie pursed her lips. Dear me. She should look in the mirror. I dont want to criticize, but it strikes me shes become very self-indulgent. And so, if you dont mind me saying so, have you.

Me? Adam screeched, like a car suddenly applying its brakes. Do you think Im putting on weight too?

She sipped her water before the next attack, unleashed in a half-whisper. Im getting the distinct impression that you two have become, how shall I say, intimate. You might not be blood relatives, but you cant say its proper, can you? 

It was Adams turn to look unhappy. We know what were doing. Were old enough. 

She took a deep breath, as though she was about to explain something to a maddeningly dense child. Adam, youre co-habiting with the fruit of the loins of your own fathers second wife. You think thats normal? What do you think the family tree would look like if you two got married? Itd be horrible. All covered with fungus.

Youre being absurd, mother. Were not getting married. And I dont appreciate you calling Eve fungus. I know you never liked anything that happened in Canada, or came out of Canada. You dont even like maple syrup.

She scowled. This is no time for levity. 

But shouldnt you be pleased that shes making me happy? And cant you see how happy Eve is? Thats partly why shes gaining weight. Before, with her, it was like it was always raining. Now the sun shines every day.

Thats very nice, Adam, very poetic. But you can cheer her up without  that. Theres lots of other fish in the sea. You must meet many of them working in that pub. She didnt approve of pubs, either. 

I love her! He looked furtively at the other tables, afraid others might be listening.

I know its not her fault that her mother married your father. But cant you see that your teaming up is at least  inconvenient? 

What can I say? Our feelings are our feelings.

She pushed her water away, irritably. Well, so are mine. The whole thing, it  it gives me the shudders.

Adam looked on silently. Not for the first time he wondered how his parents had ever managed to be intimate enough to produce a child. 

When Eve came back shed combed her hair and touched up her make-up, but hadnt rejuvenated her spirits. When the waiter asked about desserts, she was the first to say she didnt want any.

Both of them let out a big sigh of relief when Marjorie whisked herself off after the meal. Shed send them a postcard from the Canaries, she said. They smiled weakly. Then Eve started her bistro shift. It wasnt until the end of the day that a proper post mortem was held. 

What a nice Sunday this has been, she said, finally flopping onto the bed, sour and depressed. There were frown marks between her eyebrows. First I encounter your mother all wet, then I wear a dress that makes me look pregnant, then she puts me off my food, then I have a rotten night at work. A button, she explained, had popped off her blouse when she was yawning in the kitchen and had to be fetched out of the soup. Adam tried hard not to laugh. 

Its not funny, Adam. It means Ive put on too much weight. Look at these boobs. And this belly. And my face. Ive got no cheekbones anymore! Adam told her once again that she was beautiful inside and out, but she wasnt easily mollified. I know you mean it, but youre not the one whos getting the comments and cant fit into any of your clothes. Im lugging 20 more pounds around. That makes a big difference. I know theres been benefits, I know Ive felt good, but Im thinking maybe enough is enough. 

Adam muttered the dreaded word. Not a diet?

Diet. Less food, anyway.

Adams heart sank. He still gave her support, though he couldnt help timidly mentioning another way out of her present crisis. Hed read an article the other day, he said, in his dentists waiting room, about immersion therapy, about people suffering from claustrophobia cured by standing in a wide-open field. 

Aha? she said, skeptically. I can see where this is heading. You want me to put on even more weight, dont you? You and your roving hands. . . At least she was smiling now.

Adam wriggled inside. I enjoy your upholstery, I admit, but Im also thinking of your well-being. You carry it all so well. Some people were meant to be plump. Maybe youre one of them. Maybe its who you are, deep inside.

Who I am deep inside? Whos been talking to you at the Emporium - Sigmund Freud? All I know is todays left me feeling very uncomfortable. Fat and uncomfortable.

Youre not fat, Eve!

I am compared to how I used to be. Your mother couldnt take her eyes off me. Freud can think what he likes, but I think Im big enough already. From tomorrow, less food.

Adam relented with a kiss. Then, since they were dealing with bad news, he put his own on the table, about Marjorie and their activities in bed, and her strong disapproval. 

Eves fighting spirit returned. I hope you told her where to get off. Thats our business.

I told her I love you, and that was that. I guess we agreed to differ.

No-ones going to tell me who I cant sleep with. Especially someone who thought Jake was a nice boy. Im sorry, I know shes your mother, Adam, but - fuck her.

Youre absolutely right. Fuck her.

She paused for a few seconds. Not literally, of course. 

No, no. His voice became extra soothing. Lets go to bed. Things will be better in the morning.

A yawn overtook her, bringing her trainee double chin out of hiding. She shook her head. Not if I still weigh 134 pounds. 

End of Chapter Three


----------



## Swordfish (Jan 2, 2010)

*CHAPTER FOUR: AUTUMN*

Her resolve hadnt wavered overnight. In the morning at breakfast she ate half a bagel. No cream cheese. She came back from the supermarket with green things, low-carb drinks, even the infamous slabs of tofu. Over the next weeks she kept to her good intentions, reverted to lunching on salads, refused any sign of a dessert. At first the scales showed no shift at all, but eventually she saw her hard efforts begin to be rewarded. Two pounds lost in September. Three more in October. A little more wiggle room in her slacks. A shade more definition in her face. But such slow progress, she thought, especially after so much self-denial. It was right what people said: it was easy to put on weight, but not at all easy to lose it. 

Trouble was, the effort was making her exhausted. As nights drew in she looked wan, and felt wan. Her spirits had been up all year, but now they were down, down enough for people to notice, for her to start needless arguments with Adam, for her voice to become a monotone or an impatient bark.

They were sitting on the sofa one Sunday  another night in front of the television, though this time Adam was paying more attention to the screen than Eve. The program about to start was about the history of British televisions coverage of snooker, a subject that tickled Adams fancy, but left Eve high and dry. 

What the hell is snooker anyway? Ive never really known. 

Its like pool. Guys with a cueball, a stick, and a green baize table with holes in the corners.

Wow, she said, releasing her biggest sigh of the day. You really know how to live, dont you?

Adam tried to smile. He looked down at Eves half-exposed midriff, with its snake and apple, oozing out across her waist  all bulkier and softer than they had been in the spring, though smaller than in the summer. It looks like youre making progress. The snake is definitely trimmer. He was trying to cheer her up.

Eve sighed again. Simone said the same kind of thing. And you know what? I didnt feel anything. I didnt feel proud. I didnt feel happy. Im a bit thinner, but Im a zombie. The green baize table loomed into view. At either end stood two beer-bellied gents with flashy waistcoats, flexing their cues. Eve viewed them with a scowl. 

Dieting is hell, she pronounced. You know, it would help if you were gaining weight as well, not just me. Then at least Id be sinning in company. 

Adam turned and looked at her hard. Really?

She shrugged her shoulders, and her eyes glazed. Its just something I said. It just popped out.

I know its something you said. But did you mean it?

I guess. I dont know. God, these green baize men are boring.

Adam sat silently and hatched a thought. He spoke tentatively. Maybe we could have a cooked breakfast in the morning? You know, fried things, sausages, and things?

Eve shifted her head slightly from side to side, weighing up the options. Thatd be OK, she said, with just enough conviction to make Adam feel pleased.

_Hm_, Adam thought. He began to look forward to winter.




*CHAPTER FIVE: SPRING*



Spring took forever to arrive. So much for global warming: the winter months in London proved among the coldest in living memory. Usually snow was a rare visitor in London, never lasting long. This time it came persistently, in droves, starting out looking pretty, but swiftly becoming a nuisance. In the coldest days, as Arctic winds whipped round the streets seeping through every crevice in windows and doors, Eve often thought of the winter before, when she was still marooned in Kaylies attic, huddled round an electric fire. Now any drafts fought a losing battle with Adams central heating. Besides, her body was much more insulated. Insulated with fat.

Eventually the daffodils poked through. Temperatures rose. Buds appeared on trees. And Maximilian, lord of the Sacré Coeur, decided on a spring clean at the bistro. Jimmy hoped this would mean the end of the chair on the wall, which irritated him no end. But the chair stayed. Instead, the Sacré Coeurs owner announced a redesign of the menu cards, and made the staff wear uniform t-shirts. They were being re-branded, he told them. The t-shirts were cotton, colored white except for the blue outline of the Sacré Coeur basilica on the front. 

Dmitri had glowered at the prospect. Jimmy hadnt been too pleased either, though both found some compensation when they realized how the t-shirts instantly emphasized any female anatomy. On Simone, fairly flat-chested, the basilicas dome gave no suggestion of volume. Magda, appreciably curvier, though less than before a diet, filled the dome sufficiently to make the t-shirt ride up and give everyone a regular view of her lingering midriff pudge  a permanent memento of past happy hours eating junk food.

But it was Eve who stirred the most comment. The t-shirt gave her no place to hide, not that she now wanted to. Her late summer diet had crumbled; shed liked her cooked breakfasts, rediscovered fish and chips (an old childhood friend), and had generally made the kind of food choices that helped her regain all the weight shed lost and then add quite a few pounds more. Now that Magdas flesh was in retreat, Eve, at 148 lbs, had visibly become the fatter of the two. Passed the simply chubby stage, she was now chunky, edging towards plump, with a pillow of fat on her belly that stretched the t-shirt impossibly tight except for a sudden oval indentation at the point where her belly-button lay. Her upper arms had become seriously fleshy. Rounded cheeks stood out on a face almost as circular as a full moon. Shed become a full-figured woman, solid, substantial. It was as though shed passed through a second puberty, and was finally, at 27, maturing into an adult.

Jimmy appreciated her tummy the most as she darted between the tables (not such an easy job for her now), standing in profile, taking orders. Shes getting quite the little fattie, isnt she? he muttered to Dmitri; Its a perfect case of quantitative eating. Isnt that the banking term?

Easing, Dmitri said, quantitative easing. Buy I know what you mean. Himself, he focused more on her breasts, which turned the basilica into two large grapefruits bouncing. Simone took in the chest curves too, but concentrated more on Eves midriff - always visible, hanging over whatever tight pants she was wearing. At first it disturbed Simone that someone whod put on weight, then lost some, could backslide and become rounder than ever. Her concerns only faded after Eve gave her six dresses and slacks that she couldnt fit into, including several that Simone had particularly admired. 

Eve had reached her philosophical acceptance of her body by degrees. Adams notion that any extra weight was preordained had lodged in her mind, a source of consolation as she felt the need for another slice of cake or saw the depths of her midriff rolls as she sat on the bed, undressing. Christmas had also helped. There was the seasonal license to indulge. On top of that, there was also the matter of the Christmas presents sent by her mother in Canada: a sweater in what had been her usual size, and a vegetarian cookbook. Eve could have lied to be polite, but in the heat of the moment she spilled the beans in the family phone call on Christmas Day, and found it empowering. Shed been sitting on the sofa with Adam, tummies full, digesting mince pies, chicken, roast potatoes, sprouts, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and Christmas cake. Eve had undone the top button of her slacks. 

Its a lovely color, mom, really well chosen. But Im afraid it doesnt fit me. Ive filled out since last Christmas. You werent to know. The sounds of surprise came down the line from Vancouver.

Nearly 30 pounds, Eve continued. Im kind of chubby. She half-turned to Adam. He smiled and nodded. 

And also, mom, about that vegetarian cookbook? She paused briefly. Ill certainly use it, the recipes look great. But actually Im no longer a vegetarian. Silence. Mom? More silence. Mom? 

Probably collapsed with shock, Adam said.

It had only been a lost connection. When the conversation resumed, Eve explained that shed been feeling bleak before, but with her changed diet, and living with Adam (the degree of intimacy she kept to herself), she felt much happier and healthier. 

And fatter, Adam whispered into her ear.

And fatter, she added.

Her mother seemed to accept it. Well, if youre happy about it, thats what matters most.

A hurdle had been jumped, and once the phone call was done she sat back contemplating the food so pleasurably eaten and her stomachs soft expanse. She turned to Adam. Youd tell me, wouldnt you, if I put on too much?

He said yes, yes of course, though the fact was Adam didnt quite know what too much was, at least where Eve was concerned. All he knew was that he still loved what he saw: the advancing belly; the prominent breasts; the fuller arms, widening her frame in line with a face now much more susceptible to jowls and the sudden flash of a double chin. 

At the same time, he now had his own weight to think about. Wanting to keep Eve company, he had shared in the cooked breakfasts. He had started eating more potatoes, and filling in a spare ten minutes with a chocolate muffin or a slice of cake. By Christmas his tummy had already softened, not enough yet for outside comment, but enough for him to notice in private. Hed felt both pleasure and embarrassment; pleasure at the physical sensation, embarrassment at the thought of spoiling his slim physique even a little and admitting his gain to Eve. But he couldnt keep silent any longer. Actually, he said on the sofa, you might have to keep watch over me, too. Ive put on five pounds myself. Eve pealed with laughter, and congratulated him. 

By the time of spring, five pounds had settled into fifteen, enough to give him the hint of a beer belly. The little belly overhang had been poked at work. I know, I know, he said to his bar chum, Sandy, lifes catching up with me. 

More like youre catching up with your chubby Canadian sister, Sandy said. She gets rounder each time I see her. 

As for Eve, she had one last hurdle to cross. It happened one Wednesday night in May at the bistro. Approaching the new couple at a table by the window, Eve felt a chill creep up her spine. For she recognized a horribly familiar face. Short black hair, cold blue eyes. The handsome but vacant look of a footballer. It was Jake, her husband, her sore point, not seen for over eighteen months since they separated. She dropped the menu in surprise. 

Jake, what are you doing here? This isnt your neck of the woods. The second shock came when she saw the woman he was with. It was Kaylie, her former flat mate with the attic, grinning at her like a malevolent puppy. 

We thought wed surprise you! Kaylie trilled. Eve was confused. Since when did Kaylie and Jake qualify as we? What had happened to the dreamboat Kaylie was always on about  what was his name, Stratford?

Eve, Jake said, nodding his greeting, surprise etched all over his face as he took in her new physique. 

Jake. 

Youre looking  well! He stared up into Eves double chin. 

I am well, Jake, very well. To what do we owe the honor?

Weve come for a meal, and to say hello! Kaylie chipped in. We werent sure where you were living, but I remembered youd got a job here, and just thought  spur of the moment 

Actually, I was thinking its time we arranged a divorce, Jake cut in. Cleaning up old business. All friendly, of course. Id be the guilty party.

Well you are the guilty party, Jake. You wouldnt be pretending.

No, no, I know . . . He found it hard to focus, what with Eve billowing out of the bistro t-shirt, the rounded face under the familiar auburn hair, her midriff fat spilling over, the breasts looking about to pop. 

And you really think this the time and place? Arranging a divorce in a restaurant? When Im working? You still dont know how to behave, do you? She slapped the menus in front of them. Ill be back for your order. Maybe. 

Jake eyed her rounded bottom, swinging from left to right as she walked away, and immediately began whispering. You didnt tell me shed chubbed up!

Kaylie whispered back in his ear. I didnt know shed chubbed up. Shed gained a few pounds by the time she moved out, just a little bit on the belly, but I assumed that was just a blip. Obviously it wasnt.

How could she put on weight eating tofu?

Maybe shes widened her diet. Shes widened everything else. Im just as amazed as you are.

He started musing. She carries it well, though, dont you think? Id never imagined her with curves. Did you notice the snake tattoo on her midriff? Its got enormous! He sounded almost appreciative.

Kaylie narrowed her eyes. For Gods sake, youre not lusting after her? Youve been telling me what a pain she was, Miss Persnickety, this and that.

She was. Im sure she still is. 

Im in your life now. Youve got me!

Thats right. Ive got you. He didnt sound overjoyed. He looked at her and smiled. Compared to Eve, he realized, Kaylie looked so undernourished. 

Eve let off steam at the back of the restaurant. Jimmy offered to take over the table. She said shed keep him in reserve. After another minute she took a deep breath and returned to the fray. 

Well? she said, calmer than before.

Jake pulled his eyes away from her to take in the specials menu, chalked on a slate behind him. Whats that, Espadon Provencale? Any good? Whats espadon?

She sighed heavily. Swordfish, Jake. Its swordfish.

No good for me. I hate swordfish. What do you recommend? You obviously enjoy food more than you did.

Kaylie nodded, with a vicious smile. Youve put on quite a bit of weight, Eve! 30 pounds? 40?

Eve was not going to name the figure. She planted her own dagger instead. What happened to Stratford, by the way? You were so lovey-dovey in the flat. Wasnt he going to move in?

Grimacing, Kaylie tossed her blonde curls about. Oh, didnt work out. We bust up after a month.

Oh dear. Well, things happen, dont they, Jake? He eyed her ruefully. Then the professional waitress kicked in. She took their order, politely. Eventually she served it, politely. They ate. She served coffee. 

By this time the bistro was close to closing. Dealing with payment  no free meals for Jake  Eve lingered. Shed co-operate, shed said, over any divorce. Time for both to untangle themselves, and move on. Better to leave their failed marriage as modest friends, not roaring enemies. Life was too short, even when you were still in your 20s. Kaylie then took herself off to the ladies room, downstairs. 

Sit down for a second, Jake said. He almost sounded tender.

Just for a second. Ive still got to clear up. It was a jolt seeing you two together. Shes not an old flame, is she? One of your women?

He shook his head. Not this one. Met for a drink. I wanted to see if she had news of you after you moved out. Then we clicked. Funny how things work out, isnt it? His eyes paused for thought, trying to find in her face traces of the bone structure he used to know so well. He couldnt. I dont want to harp on about it, Eve, but  youve put on so much weight! You never wanted to eat at all when we were together.

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. Funny how things work out, isnt it? She rubbed a hand over her tummy. Its because of this restaurant, partly. I was as shocked as you at first. But then I thought maybe its time to let go of my old self. And you know what? It was like being released from prison.

Youve still got those tattoos, I see.

The snake and the apple? She glanced down at her midriff. The snakes a lot fatter now.

Regret for the past, and for what hed now lost, suddenly welled up inside him. Well, fatter or not, youre looking good. I did love you, you know, in my way. He stretched a hand out to touch hers. She allowed contact for a single second, then withdrew.

I know you did, Jake, but it wasnt enough. We were both immature. Im very happy with Adam.

Your step-brother? Youre living in sin with your step-brother?

She was going to squawk that it was none of his business, but then decided that it didnt matter, and she wasnt ashamed. Yes, were living in sin. In the Garden of Eden, too. You dont have any objections?

How can I object? he said, eyes wandering a little into the distance as he saw Kaylie starting to clamber back up the stairs. The touch of tenderness about him faded. Eve didnt expect this new liaison to last very long; nor, she could tell, did Jake.

Well arrange lawyers, then? he said, in parting. Eve nodded. They didnt kiss.

Walking back to the flat, and Adam, Eve took slower steps than usual. Any remaining anger had dissipated; she felt, indeed, extraordinarily at peace, not so much with Jake, but with herself. Jakes remark that she was looking good kept spinning round her mind. It wasnt that Eve needed his approval. But it still counted for something. For with the encounter with Jake she felt that the last piece in the puzzle had fallen into place. This was now who she was: no longer slim, but round, well-fed, more than chubby.

And she felt supremely thankful. How kind of her body, she thought, to give her this pillow of flesh on her waist, a comfort zone where her arms could rest snugly if they wished; how kind of her body to pad out her face with the glow of good health; to widen her arms, enlarge her breasts, and develop the start of a double chin to keep the first chin company. For it was good to carry some extra weight. It told the world that you said yes to life, rather than no. Besides, you never knew when youd need it. But need it you would, to cushion falls, to ease any pregnancies, to combat sickness and the frailties of old age, and for all-round comfort and love. How kind of her body to make her feel she was a proper woman, robust and alluring, soft and warm, warm even in winter, with curves at the rear, front and side; how kind of her body to give her the feeling of being stable, centered, rooted to the ground, a woman not easily ignored or knocked aside. 

Was she actually fat? Was that the right term now? In her eyes at least she thought she might be close, but not quite, not yet. Eighteen months before shed been slim, as shed always been. From slim she had become, she now supposed, average, and had initially hated her body for it. But something internal had happened, some mechanism had slipped, and she had allowed herself to get chubby. Now, after losing and gaining again, shed become chubbier still, officially overweight. What would the best description be for her now? Fat? Chubby plus? Pleasantly plump? She decided it didnt much matter. She was who she was, and was happy with that. 

Eve turned the key in the door. 

Sorry Im a bit late, she said, as Adam stood up to meet her embrace. Squeezed into her breasts and plump upper arms, he felt surrounded by her softness. Eve, for her part, sensed his new little belly pleasantly pressing against hers. Ill tell you what happened later. Right now, - her voice shaded into a whisper  its time to enter paradise.

And she took him by the hand, and led him into the bedroom.


_Copyright Swordfish 2010_


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## zachi (Jan 2, 2010)

very good, as usual :bow:


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## Firmcontrol (Jan 3, 2010)

Excellent as always. Great read.


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## strataadvance (Jan 3, 2010)

If there was a "Hall of Fame" for weight-gain fiction writers you would certainly be in the first induction class Swordfish! I read all of your stories without missing a single well-crafted phrase! This is just another Gem .


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## ChubbyDucky (Jan 4, 2010)

I love love LOVE this story. I read the entire saga last night from my blackberry (I suppose the online equivalent of "I couldn't put it down"). So very wonderful. 

-Smiley


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## Tornald (Jan 4, 2010)

Swordfish, thank you very much for this wonderful story.

I have always been a fan of Swordfih´s stories. 
For me they are the best weight-gain-stories at all.


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## Perry White (Jan 10, 2010)

:bow: Excellent. No more can be said. I can only hope it won't take two years for the next masterpiece.


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## will_fatten_you (Jan 16, 2010)

Great work. Wonderful character and plot development.


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## lightgainlover (Jan 18, 2010)

One day, as I sadly thought you had finally left the stage, I planned to read Samirah's story. A few minutes before, I went on this forum and discovered, incredulous, your all new story.
Santa Claus and God do exist!
It was sweet, clever and well written, as always.
THANK YOU!


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## billedmeup (Jan 24, 2010)

I loved it. Another great set of characters, Adam and Eve join Samira, Shannon and her Thanksgiving at home, and the libararian (I've forgotten her name, but I loved that one too...read it two or three times). Maybe you should pull them together and publish a colletion of short stories.


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## Swordfish (Jan 25, 2010)

Thanks, everyone! The librarian was Carly, in the story "Company's Coming" - I should have put her name in the title, as I usually do. As to a book collection of stories - it's a nice idea, though I'm not quite sure who would publish it. On Dimensions at least the stories go straight to their core audience.


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