# Fat Fresher's Syndrome by Non Serviam (~BBW, ~BHM, , Eating, Romance, Intrigue, ~MWG)



## Non Serviam (May 28, 2008)

_~BBW, ~BHM, , Eating, Romance, Intrigue ~MWG _ - Saskia comes to university and adjusts to life there

[*Author's Note:* This is by way of being a sort of sequel to my earlier story, "A Visit of Discovery", but it works on its own as well, so - enjoy! I have taken the liberty of putting WG and Intrigue up there because the plot will thicken along with our heroine.]

*Fat Fresher's Syndrome*
*By Non Serviam*​
*CHAPTER I*

_The reader meets me, and also Natalie, unfortunately 
&#8211; I meet my roommate 
&#8211; I meet a boy, and help him out of a jam 
&#8211; I learn that it’s a small world after all 
&#8211; Simone de Beauvoir does not approve_​
“Uh, look at this,” said Natalie. 

I looked up from where I sat opposite her on the train. She was reading a glossy magazine, and it being September, the theme, splashed in pink across yellow, was, &#8216;Going On Up: Are U Ready For Uni?’ 

“It says that when people go to uni, there’s a really big risk of gaining weight. They call it Fat Fresher’s Syndrome.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of that,” I said. “You know, like in American sitcoms where they talk about &#8216;the freshman fifteen’. I don’t know if it really happens, though.”

“I think if I put on fifteen pounds,” said Natalie, “I’ll probably kill myself.”

There wasn’t much danger of that, to be perfectly honest. Natalie was thin as a rake, and had been ever since we’d met, on the first day of school. She’d been Miss Perfect &#8211; lovely little skirts and dresses, blonde hair, blue eyes, unhealthy obsession with the colour pink, the lot. As we grew up and parallel research on the part of both boys and girls revealed that the other gender was not, in fact, toxic, they began to grow more and more interested in her. 

I wasn’t quite so blessed, being short and, while not fat, as I matured I found that my weight had a tendency to gather in my hips and rear, with a little left over for a soft belly, but none to spare for where it might actually have done me some good. Which left me, naturally, to take up the role of “the smart one”, and did so quite well, if I do say so myself. When Natalie began to slip to Bs and then, in some subjects, to Cs and below, I managed to maintain straight As.

I thought, therefore, that I might have managed to get rid of Natalie when I got accepted to Kentigern, but the very day my letter arrived she bounded up to me at school, screaming, “I got in! I got in! Oh, isn’t this great, Saskia &#8211; we can go together!”


So, on our first say we arrived at Kentigern Station and took the shuttlebus to the university. We were dragging our suitcases through the campus, as were hundred of other students. I took out my map and consulted it. “Hmm… I’m in Rutherford Hall, that’s just up there. Where are you?”

Natalie consulted her letter. 

“Aw, I’m in West. That’s all the way down there.” 

She pointed. 

“Oh, well. See you later!” 

She distributed her customary air kisses and wandered off, taking a record twelve seconds to find a muscular guy to take her bags. I could hear her giggle through the noise of the rest of the crowd.

Having found my room on the second floor, I was about to put my key in the lock when a plump hand reached over from the opposite direction and using its own key, opened the door. I looked up. 

“Hi!” said the hand’s owner. “I’m Julie.”

I was momentarily taken aback. Only momentarily, mind you. I’ve nothing against fat people. I’m not exactly a stick myself. But Julie was very big, and she didn’t try to hide it. She wore a pink halter top, which despite is voluminous size was still tight enough to showcase her every bulge. It also showed off a smooth expanse of back fat and was unable to contain the large stomach that forced down her jeans waistband &#8211; and they were under strain enough as it was. They never had village fetes when I was growing up, so I didn’t try to guess her weight, I just said, “Hi, Julie. My name’s Saskia.”

The room was not large, and with both of us inside it seemed even smaller. We started to unpack, but kept getting in each other’s way. There was one wardrobe with a flimsy partition down the middle. Julie crammed her side full of fashionable-looking plus-size clothes and unpacked the rest of her things on the bed, scattering them all about the room. A laptop computer on the desk, photos on her bedside table and books on the shelves &#8211; a lot of them. She saw me looking and held up her hands.

“I know, I know, I’m a geek. But I’m doing philosophy here. I think a lot. Not many people really know. Oh, what time is it?” She put her hand to her stomach, which gave a loud rumble. 

“I’m starving. It’s nearly two and I haven’t eaten since lunch. Come on, let’s go and find somewhere.”

So it was that I met my new roommate. Julie and I were going to be good friends, I knew, especially when I managed to get through my whole first day without seeing Natasha once. Classes started the day after, though; no slacking. I was in the fast-track Maths program &#8211; I know, I know &#8211; but I was also taking Physics and, for what I imagined would be some light relief, Film Studies. The best thing about this class was that the lecture theatre was exactly like a cinema, except with a podium to one side of the screen.

I’d thought it would be nice to eat breakfast with Julie, but once I’d begun this I didn’t want to leave without her. As a result, I was almost late for my very first Film Studies lecture. I entered, panting, to see that the room was almost full &#8211; clearly, plenty of other people had had the same idea as me &#8211; and that the only seat left was in the back row, next to this guy. The first thing I noticed was that he was sitting across two seats, having lifted the armrest of one to allow him to do so, and he needed the room. I could barely take my eyes off him as I sat down.

I should have mentioned before that I have a thing for fat guys. It’s kind of heavily buried most of the time. I mean, it’s ridiculous, but skinny or muscular guys, while I can recognise that they’re attractive, just don’t really do it for me. And him &#8211; the sheer size of his belly put the laughing buddha to shame, as did the size of his smile as he turned his chubby face towards me and said, “Morning. I’m Howie.”

“Saskia,” I managed to breathe eventually. “Are you, uh &#8211; um &#8211; are you, uh &#8211; m?” He looked at me, puzzled, but just then the lecture started and everyone else was taking notes. But I knew he wouldn’t be able to leave without going past me. I’d get to talk to him again. I hardly took any notes that lecture, I just kept stealing glances at the mass of Howie that was sat next to me. I was going to fail this class for sure, and it had only just started.

By the end of the fifty-five minutes I was twitching like a maniac. I took a long time putting my things away as Howie did the same and then tried to get up, without a great degree of success. Eventually he said, “Uh &#8211; Saskia? Could you give me a hand?”

Wordlessly, my heart pounding, I held out an arm, which Howie pulled on so hard I almost fell over. Steadying myself against the seat in front, I eventually managed to help him totter to a standing position. 

He looked at me sheepishly. “Thanks.” 

I turned away, red-faced. I had never been so turned on in all my life. I had to go to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face to recover, and, of course, by that time he had gone.

Julie and I were eating dinner in the cafeteria. Her tray was weighed down with two large platefuls of lasagne and a massive bowl of chips. Other people at our table were staring, but she didn’t care. I feared for her jeans &#8211; what had they ever done to deserve such treatment. 

She must have noticed me staring at her open-mouthed because she said, “Oh, I’m so sorry Saskia. I’ve just been stuffing my face and completely ignoring you.” 

She put another overloaded forkful into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and said, “How was your day?”

“Well,” I said as the fork flew back to the plate and up again, “I went to my first maths lecture, which was pretty interesting. And I had a film studies class, and &#8211;“ I stopped short, but Julie had noticed. 

She nodded, her cheeks full of lasagne but her eyes saying, “Go on…” 

“Well, there was this guy,” I blushed, “sitting next to me. He, I don’t know, I thought he was quite &#8211;“

Julie giggled. I thought she was going to choke but clearly she had the best-developed swallowing and gag reflexes of anyone I’d ever met. “Oh? And what’s his name?”

I eyed Julie’s massively distended stomach, which was pushing up against the bottom of her breasts. And I remembered the photo of her boyfriend. If anyone was going to understand this, it was going to be her. Besides, she’d probably never met him. “His name’s Howie.”

This time she did almost choke, on a chip (she’d finished both portions of lasagne before I was even halfway through my salad), but she coughed it back up onto her plate and took a sip from her milkshake, saying, “You don’t mean Howie MacLeod?”

“Uh… I don’t know,” I said nervously.

“Oh, you’d know. Brown hair. Big smile. About the size of a Volkswagen Beetle?” she said, unconsciously rubbing her bulging stomach.

“Oh. Yeah, that’s him.” I went even redder as Julie beamed.

“I know him too! I went to school with him. That’s how I met Roy &#8211; they’re cousins. He’s such a sweetheart, but I don’t know how far you’ll get. He’s a bit shy with girls sometimes. Don’t really know why.” 

She ate the last chip and said, “I’m going up to get some dessert."

I must have loooked totally bewuildered or something. 

"D’you want me to fetch you something?” she asked, looking at my half-finished salad. “You don’t have much of an appetite. Don’t worry, I’ll get you some real food. You won’t be able to resist this.”

She came back with six plates, three for each of us &#8211; sticky-toffee pudding, chocolate sponge cake with ice cream, and half a jam roly-poly. 

I looked at her. 

“How?” was all I could say. 

She smiled guiltily. 

“That guy on the end,” she said, waving at one of the cafeteria workers, a tall, thin young man, probably an older student strapped for cash, who waved back, blushing. “I think he’s got a thing for me. All I have to do is say,” (she pouted and leaned forward, exposing even more of her already abundant cleavage) “’Oh! I’m so hungry, I don’t think just one of these little portions is going to fill me up.’ Simone de Beauvoir might not have approved, but I’m just being empowered.”

As she’d been explaining, I had, almost without noticing, taken a forkful of the sticky-toffee pudding, and another. And another. Howie was shy, I mused as I munched absently. That might work to my advantage, if it meant no-one else would be chasing after him. 

_"But,"_ I thought as I polished off that pudding and moved onto the sponge cake, _"who are these people, that delight and luxuriate in their fatness?"_

I thought that Julie was probably the nicest person I had ever met, and that fact that her chair creaked every time she moved didn’t detract from that in the least. I had almost kept pace with her, and she was just finishing her double vanilla milkshake as I ate the last bite of my massive portion of roly-poly, and looked down at my stomach. The feeling of satiety and warmth I had momentarily experienced curdled instantly into worry, and it remained in the pit of my stomach all evening, and some hours into the night, until finally I fell asleep.

_Story continued in post 4_


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## Phoenix (May 28, 2008)

Wonderful post. I'm glad to see you don't shy away from big words, dumbing it down sometimes simply won't do. Can't wait for the next installment. BTW, I couldn't help but wonder, what does Saskia look like? It seems like a non-anglo name. Great work, keep it up.


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## Tad (May 28, 2008)

Great first part! I'm looking forward to more


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## Non Serviam (May 29, 2008)

*Chapter II &#8211; The briefest diet in history is broken &#8211; Natalie is unkind -**I embarrass myself in front of Howie &#8211; We picnic in the park &#8211; I overindulge *​
Two weeks into my first term and I had come both to look forward to and to dread film studies classes. I’d try to sit near Howie, so that when he inevitably got wedged into the chair, I could be the one to help pull him out, which was my thrill for the day, hauling on his big, meaty paw. In the third week, I threw caution to the wind and blurted out, as we were leaving the lecture theatre, “I know your cousin’s girlfriend.” He looked at me and smiled that huge smile that seemed as big as the world.

“Really? You know Julie? Well, that’s excellent. Isn’t she a great girl?”

“Um, yeah, she’s my roommate.”

“Oh, even better. I had no idea.” We waited, not making eye contact, and he said, “Well. See you.”

After that embarrassing episode, I said nothing else to him all week, but on Friday Julie and I were brunching in the cafeteria. The fact that our meal cards only entitled us to three meals a day didn’t bother her one bit; she was going to get the skinny guy on the end fired if she wasn’t careful, and there were one or two male diners with a soft spot for fat girls who were going very hungry indeed, all for a smile and a wiggle. She alternated between a plate of food left over from the breakfast serving (“Why does nobody ever want fried bread? It’s gorgeous”) and another packed with chips and two burgers that hadn’t officially been served for lunch yet. She had Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason on the table in front of her and would occasionally take a pencil from behind her ear and underline something or scribble in the margin, all while continuing to stuff herself with the other hand. People never sat on either side of Julie at meals &#8211; her ferociously working elbows were too unpredictable.

“So,” she said, spearing a fried tomato, “how would you like to come to a picnic tomorrow?”

“Uh &#8211; sure,” I said. “Who’s going to be there?”

“Well, Roy, obviously,” she began. Julie spent most of her spare time with Roy, but I had never had a real conversation with him, exchanging only a few words when he came to pick her up to go out in the evenings, while I sat at home and wrestled with equations. He was attractive; I could see the family resemblance; he had a smile a bit like Howie’s only on a smaller scale, though he carried his fat a little differently. “And Howie and Ishbel are coming too,” Julie continued.

“Ishbel?”

“Oh, didn’t you know about her? She’s Howie’s twin sister.” An image of a female Howie flashed into my mind before Julie said offhandedly, “She’s not that like him, though &#8211; a lot less lazy, thinner than me. “I think they’ve invited a couple of other people too. We’re going to take Howie’s car, and Roy’s roommate has one too. I have to go out later and get some food for it, actually &#8211; could you come and help me carry the bags?”

My help, and that of a second-year student Julie fluttered her eyes at the checkout counter, was needed to haul the massive amount of food back to our room. The next day, after lunch and brunch, we loaded it all into the boot of a car driven by Danny, an American student and Roy’s roommate. He was thin and energetic, the kind of driver who drummed on the dashboard when we were stopped at traffic lights, even when there was no music playing, and like to overtake people. Though being in a car with him at the wheel was slightly scary and he was much too skinny, I liked him instinctively. Roy was sitting in the back when they arrived and Julie clambered in next to him, and they sat entwined in the back seat while Danny and I chatted in the front.

When we got to the picnic spot, a quiet, grassy place by the loch, there were already four people there and had started eating out of a massive hamper. Howie was the only one I recognised, though he was too busy eating to notice us; I guessed that the girl who waved as we approached was Ishbel, as she looked quite like him; she wore short, tight cutoffs and had curved, tanned thighs and a bulging belly that made her look pregnant dominated her figure. She was only “thinner” than Julie because it would be hard to be otherwise. She smiled at me and introduced me around. I got only a nod of acknowledgement from Howie, whose mechanical arm movements from hamper to mouth and back again suggested he was well into his stride. Picnics were not an amateur sport for this family.

The other two people were guys, one thin, one fat. I’d have quite liked the look of the fat one, actually, if Howie hadn’t been sitting next to him. They lived in St Grimble’s, the same residence as Howie, who had invited them, while Ishbel was in Mosswood, with people she charitably described as “skinny bitches”, as she ate a large trifle with a serving spoon. 

We added our massive haul to the picnic food, and everyone dug in. It made an interesting change being the thinnest girl there. Ishbel and Julie were putting food away at some rate, as were Roy and the other fat boy, Jon, while Danny and the other thin boy, whose name was Michael, ate slower, chatting and joking easily. Everyone else, in short, had an eating partner. I had ended up, with a little nudging from Julie, sitting by Howie. 

Conversation came second to food for all the others, except Danny and Michael, but for Howie it wasn’t even an option. He ate like a starving man, although not messily. I felt myself growing incredibly flustered as he ate, before my eyes, a whole roast chicken piece by piece. To stop my gawking becoming so obvious and to distract myself from what wasn’t far off being a lifelong, deeply buried fantasy coming true right in front of my eyes, I ate too. I ate much too much, in fact &#8211; you would, being Howie’s eating partner &#8211; and ended the picnic lying on my back, my stomach poking out between my jeans and t-shirt. The others were packing up as I lay there, groaning. Julie came up to me and said, “Come on, Saskia &#8211; we’ll be late for dinner back at the residence.”

“Nooo…” I moaned. “Can’t eat… can’t move…” With some effort, Julie helped me up with her jiggling arms and, laughing, waddled with me back to the car. 

It was embarrassing, such an overindulgence, and didn’t go unpunished, either. Standing in front of the mirror, I frowned at my reflection. Black hair, brown eyes &#8211; no complaints. I could have wished for eyebrows that weren’t quite so thick, a less intense look, because when these are coupled with a round face on a short body they just look ridiculous. I’d never been thin. I’d never even approached it. My Polish mother was always so scared of her children going hungry she used to give us dumplings and stew and the stodgiest, highest-carb foods she could cook up. I, unlike my sisters, could never turn her down, and it was hard to turn Julie down either. Looking at my pudgy stomach and the twin globes of my bum in the mirror the next morning, I thought: Right. I’m going on a diet.

Julie put her head round the bathroom door. I’d seen her naked, not out of choice, mind you, so it was fine for her to see me. “Come on, Saskia &#8211; we’ll miss breakfast.” 

Just a bowl of muesli, I told myself, right up until I got to the end of the counter and heard Julie say sweetly, “… and four slices of French toast. Oh, and the same for my friend here.” She winked. It smelled delicious. I was off the wagon.

That Monday I ran into Natalie for the first time since we’d arrived, having managed to avoid her quite successfully. She grabbed me in the quad and said, “Saskia! So great to see you!” I was even dragged for coffee, where I was interrogated about what I’d been doing and why hadn’t I called her. Obviously she was far too busy to call me, but I might have found the time &#8211; what else did I have to do? She told me about her roommate, whose clothes she liked to borrow, and her boyfriend, who had already been cajoled into buying her a necklace on which he’d probably spent more than half his student loan.

“There’s one downside of living at West Hall,” she said, making a face. “There’s these people, you’ve probably seen one of them around you can’t exactly miss them. Right, well, one of the people on the floor below me is this fat guy, right?” Self-consciously I moved my seat closer to the table to hide my soft belly. “He is so big, I thought even when I saw him that it was, like, disgusting. And he always has his girlfriend hanging around, and it’s like, why can they never go to her place? Because, Saskia, she shows so much flesh it’s not even funny,” she said in a low voice, tugging her crop-top down towards her navel. “She thinks she’s, like, sexy but she’s so fat. And there are these other people I see them hanging around with sometimes &#8211; this girl who’s kind of like her, not as fat but still so gross, and then the other guy &#8211; oh, he’s so huge, it’s disgusting, if people get that fat they should be put down, don’t you?”

I had realised some way through her inarticulate rant who she was talking about and the anger had been building in me ever since. My heart thumping, the next time she stopped to draw breath I butted in. “Actually, Natalie, I know those people you’re talking about, and they’re really nice.” Her mouth dropped open. “You shouldn’t judge them on what they look like.”

Natalie looked at me with disdain. “Well, now you mention it, Saskia, you’re looking a bit chubby yourself. I think maybe, like, your new &#8216;friends’ are rubbing off on you.” I reddened, but stood up.

“Better them than you.” I turned and walked out the door.

_Story continued in post 8_


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## Phoenix (May 29, 2008)

Still great Non Serviam, keep it coming! =D


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## Lardibutts (May 30, 2008)

Very enjoyable. Can I please put in a request: that Natalie ends up a convert?


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## Still a Skye fan (May 30, 2008)

Great job! I look forward to more.


Dennis


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## Non Serviam (May 31, 2008)

*Chapter III - I pluck up the courage &#8211; Dinner at Valentine’s&#8211; A social misunderstanding &#8211; I consider myself warned*​
A couple of weeks later I woke up to realise that this was now my sixth week at Kentigern. A third of the semester had already gone, and still I had said nothing to Howie, despite thinking of him almost constantly. It was time for decisive action.

Every class it got harder to pull him out of the seats, and much more fun for me &#8211; he must still be gaining weight, I thought, and maybe it was that which pushed me to say, “Uh &#8211; Howie?”

He turned, smiling, and I said, “Uh &#8211; would you like to go and maybe get something to eat tonight? I mean, I’m having dinner with Julie in the residence at five, but we could maybe go somewhere else at seven?”

“Cool,” he said. “I haven’t tried many restaurants in town, but how about Valentine’s on Harvey Street?” I had never heard of the place, but knew roughly where the street was, so said, “Sure. See you then.”

Observant readers will have noticed I no longer had any compunction about eating two consecutive dinners. Hanging around with Julie, it was easier and more fun just to eat when she ate &#8211; that, combined with an article I had read about children whose mothers had wider hips being more intelligent, made me worry less about putting on weight, although in the morning battle with my jeans I did occasionally think, Careful, Saskia. I hadn’t even seen Natalie since I left her in the coffee shop, so there was no-one left to make me feel embarrassed about my shape.

That evening, I walked to Harvey Street to see Howie’s car parked outside. In the restaurant, waiting to be served was Howie; standing talking to him was Ishbel. My eyes narrowed. Inside, Howie said, “Oh, hi, Saskia. You remember Ish, don’t you? I said she could come along &#8211; you know, the more the merrier.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile as my heart filled with lead and sank into my shoes. “The more the merrier.” We were seated. It was a busy night for Valentine’s, which was an all-you-can-eat place. We were sat at a table next to two incredibly portly guys dressed in tight, slightly offbeat clothes. They could have been stereotypical art students, except that they didn’t fit the usual starving-artist profile &#8211; one wasn’t too far off approaching Howie’s girth, and, like him, sat across two chairs as he ate, one for each buttock. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him looking me and Ishbel up and down, and going back to his food.

I was so depressed by the fact that Howie had either totally misinterpreted my intentions or interpreted them just fine and had wanted nothing to do with me that he had brought his sister. But she was pleasant enough and jabbered away, doing most of the talking as Howie and I ate.

In film studies class he was a distraction. At a picnic he was very much in his element. But at an all-you-can-eat buffet restaurant, Howie was magnificent. When he saw that he was about to finish a plate of food he would haul himself from his chairs and waddle over, finishing the last plate just as he reached the counter where he would restock it so not a single second of eating time was lost. I was gone, and made the mistake of trying to eat my arousal in the form of pasta and an hour of dessert. But at half-past eight, Howie stopped eating.

“I’m tired,” he said, stretching his huge, flabby arms and returning them to his massive belly. “I think I’ll go back to the residence. Ish, do you want to take the car?”

“No, no,” she said. “Your need is greater. Saskia and I will manage. I think I have room for another round of ice cream, at least.” So Howie left and Ishbel and I ate well past nine. I couldn’t face going back to the residence, so she and I made our ponderous way, nursing vast, swollen stomachs, back to the university on foot. Ishbel’s residence was on the near side of campus, whereas Rutherford Hall, where I stayed, was on the other, so she invited me up.

“I’ve got this soothing digestive tea,” she said. “I get it from a little shop on Wilson Street. Really helps after a big dinner.” Her roommate was out; I sat on the absent girl’s bed as Ishbel boiled the small kettle and chatted away. She filled two cups with a greenish liquid that smelled of sharply of pears, and each sip sent a soothing wave through my tight tummy. She sat down next to me, and when we had finished, and our cups were laid on the floor, we continued chatting for a few minutes until she went quiet all of a sudden. I looked at, and she looked up at me, and all of a sudden she leaned forward and kissed me full on the mouth.

I was so startled that for a second I had no idea what had happened. I jumped up. “What’s the matter?” said Ishbel. “I thought you liked me.”

“I do,” I replied, “but not like that!” Her face fell, and I said, “I’m sorry, Ishbel, I didn’t mean to give you that impression.”

“You kept glancing at me during dinner,” she said softly, which was true, but I had been doing it to distract myself from Howie. “I thought… oh, no.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said desperately &#8211; she looked on the verge of tears. I sat back down next to her and tried to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she flinched away.

“It’s my fault,” she said, getting slowly to her feet and gathering up the tea things. “I was just &#8211; it’s so silly. I’m not really used to this. I don’t know how it works. It’s kind of new to me.” I stood up too &#8211; it seemed time to leave. As I went out into the hallway, Ishbel said, “Don’t tell anyone about this, will you? Nobody knows, not even Howie &#8211; I haven’t told them.”

“I won’t say a word,” I said, embarrassed, and before I could do anything about it Ishbel kissed me swiftly and hotly on the cheek and closed the door without another look.

Compared with the warm, embarrassed space of Ishbel’s little room, the cool, open air of the campus at evening was a welcome change. Rutherford Hall was up on a hill above the main square, and I could reach it by taking a shortcut up the steps behind the library. It was dark there, and as I was about to pass the end of the building a voice said, “You.”

I looked around instinctively, and saw a girl emerge from behind a concrete pillar. She had thick, dark hair and a buxom figure, wearing a striped blouse to show this off with a black pencil skirt into which she had stuffed herself like a sausage. She also had an intent look on her face.

“You went to dinner with Howard MacLeod tonight,” she said, her voice quiet but menacing. “That was not a good move. He’s spoken for.”

“Oh?” I said, trying to keep my near-terror out of my voice. “I didn’t know. He didn’t mention.”

“Don’t get smart,” she snapped. “Stay away from him for now, okay?” She moved closer, and I could see her dark, blazing eyes.

I blurted, “Okay,” turned and walked round the corner, then bolted as fast as I could back to Rutherford Hall. When I got up to the room, I had a killer stitch and could barely breathe. Julie was lying on her side on her bed, holding Wittgenstein’s _Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus_ open beside her with one hand and feeding herself chocolate chip cookies mechanically with the other. She looked at me as I came in, and said, “Good night?”

“No, actually,” I said. “Howie brought his sister to Valentine’s.” Julie winced.

“Yikes. I’m so sorry, Saskia. Maybe he just misunderstood. How _was_ Valentine’s, anyway? Roy and I were there last week.”

“It was good,” I said, grinning reluctantly as I sat down to catch my breath. “So good I had to have some of Ishbel’s digestive tea.” I eyed the cookies hungrily, which Julie saw and grinned, holding the plate out to me.

“The one downside of that stuff is that after a while it makes you peckish all over again," she told me. I took four, and had a glass of milk from the mini-fridge Julie had installed on the desk &#8211; usually it was hard to close the door.

“And then, on the way back across campus, some girl ambushed me and told me Howie was 'spoken for'.” 

Julie sat up, jiggling. “What? Who?”

“I don’t know,” I said, reaching for the cookies again. “I’d never seen her before.”

“Did she have kind of short dark hair? Big boobs?” Julie asked urgently.

“Yeah,” I said, glancing at Julie’s own well-filled scoop-neck top.

“Oh, no.” Julie put a hand to her head. “Renée. Roy and I fixed Howie up with her during the summer. He rejected her, and she took it pretty badly.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry you had to run into her, Saskia, she’s a Level Five Crazy Bitch. I’ll have to warn Howie.”

Together we finished the cookies, of which there were several packets under Julie’s bed, and the milk, and went to sleep. I had been right to be worried, then &#8211; there were rivals for Howie, and if there was one Level Five Crazy Bitch out there, there might be others too. I lay back in the dark, and hoped I wasn’t becoming one myself.

_Story continued in post 10_


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## Phoenix (Jun 2, 2008)

Still strong Non Serviam, can't wait for the next installment. =D


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## Non Serviam (Jun 4, 2008)

*Chapter IV: Jeansgate; I lose the war &#8211; Julie takes me shopping -We meet Heath and Milo &#8211; An interest is expressed in me &#8211; Ishbel has a new friend, and absent ones are discussed &#8211; I meet Roy, and note his progress with interest*​
As I have already said, every morning I fought a protracted battle with my jeans, and while every day I eventually won the battle, I was losing the war. On the first day of the eighth week of term, I yanked them on and I had managed, just, to button them up, when I noticed a rogue sock on the floor. I leaned down to pick it up and heard the most horrible noise &#8211; pieces of denim, and the severely tested thread that held them together, parting company thanks to the pressure of my enormous ass. Julie came out of the bathroom, towelling off some part of her immense naked pinkness, saw my green underpants through the chasm in the seat of my trousers, and giggled.

“Oh, Saskia,” she said when she saw my dismayed face. “It happens to the best of us. Borrow something of mine and we’ll go shopping.”

Julie’s smallest jeans were both too long and too wide for me, but our proportions were different and I managed to find a skirt that didn’t look _too_ ridiculous. I’ve never liked wearing skirts, but it was only temporary. We bought some pairs of jeans in the next size up, and in the size above that. I tried to tell her I wouldn’t need them, but she ignored me and told me how stylish they were. Also against my wishes, we bought a pair of sweatpants &#8211; “better safe than sorry”, were Julie’s exact words. I didn’t quite need new tops, because they still stretched over my stomach and while my breasts had filled out a little, I hadn’t gone up a bra size, which I’d once thought might be the one advantage of putting on weight. I now realised, of course, that it was so much more than that. All the evidence &#8211; Julie on one end of the spectrum, Natalie on the other &#8211; suggested that fatter equalled happier, but I still didn’t want to think about getting any bigger.

Though they were new, baggy my jeans were not, so I didn’t think it was a fantastic idea when Julie suggested we stop off at Valentine’s the scene of my previous humiliation, for lunch. The time I had been there with Howie was all but forgotten; since then I had managed to invite him out for coffee once, but he was either still oblivious or still playing politely along to avoid breaking my heart, because I’d still got further with his sister than with him.

As we were loading our plates at Valentine’s, Julie nudged me and said, “That’s weird. That’s three times now I’ve seen those two guys in here.” I looked over and recognised the two art-student-looking guys I’d seen with Howie and Ishbel.

“Yeah, I saw them here too,” I said. “They must be regulars.” It wasn’t hard to imagine, either; they tested the limits of even their generous clothes.

I didn’t think much more of it, as I was too busy trying to bury my sorrows in pork chops, but as we were leaving (“Oh no! Dinner’s started back at the residence”) they were getting ready to go too, and the big one caught Julie’s eye. “Why don’t you go over and talk to him?” she said.

Would I never learn? I thought &#8211; I was in no condition to talk to anyone, as I was liable to throw up any minute with the amount I’d eaten. But Julie pushed me over towards him and I said, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said, rising from his seats. “I’m Heath. What’s your name?”

“Saskia,” I said, and, out of nervousness, “and this is Julie.”

“This is Milo,” said Heath, gesturing to his friend, a shy, dorky-looking type. Julie nodded at Milo and moved round to say Hello, while I tried to chat to Heath. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good-looking &#8211; he just wasn’t Howie. As we walked out of the restaurant and down the street, Heath said to me, very casually, “Could I have your number, Saskia? Maybe you’d like to go out sometime.”

“Um &#8211; yeah,” I said, and wrote it in green biro on the back of his sausage-fingered hand, then added, “Call me,” but regretted it, because I sounded to myself like someone on TV. But he just smiled and said he would, and at the end of the street we parted. As they walked off in the direction of the art school, Julie dug me in the ribs.

“Nice one, Saskia! See? There are other guys than Howie, you know, you don’t want to get hung up.” 


One day, we were lunching with Ishbel and her new girlfriend Kathleen, a skinny redheaded second-year. She’d been screwing up the nerve for ages and had come out to Howie over lunch, and according to her his immediate response had been, “Cool. Pass the ketchup, would you?” Our new favourite place to eat was the campus sports centre, where the restaurant served huge portions for people who had just finished exercising. We, of course, had done nothing of the kind, but they served us huge portions anyway.

I don’t know what sort of set-up Ishbel and Kathleen had going, but there seemed to be a pattern that whenever someone spent an amount of time around one of these mad, wonderful people, they would inevitably start to eat more. The last time I’d seen Danny the American he’d been sporting an extra stone or so, and I had learned in the meantime that when Roy first came to Howie and Ishbel’s house that summer, about four months before I’d met him, he had been thin as well. And as for me &#8211; the last time I’d passed her in the main square, Natalie pretended not to know me, which suited me just fine. I eyed Kathleen’s small frame, and wondered idly where the changes would manifest themselves.

“Howie tells me Renée the Insane Tart is hanging around again,” said Ishbel to Julie, who nodded.

“Yeah, Saskia ran into her a couple of weeks ago,” she confirmed. “And then I saw her in that pizza place in town when I went with Roy. She’s put on a bit, you know.”

“Haven’t we all?” said Ishbel. “Oh, speaking of which &#8211; we went to Edinburgh shopping last weekend and I can into Cora.” Julie made a face, and Ishbel said, “Oh, be nice. She’s really enjoying her course, put on about two stone, got a boyfriend &#8211; I’m telling you, she’s nothing like she used to be.”

I asked Julie about this later, as we were walking back from the library. “Who’s Cora? I take it you and she don’t get on.”

“You take it right,” said Julie grimly. “She used to live in Aberfetney and she went to our school until her parents sent her away to boarding school because she got too out of hand. Apart from anything else, she was a huge slut, I was glad to see the back of her. Then, this summer, she came back, and Ishbel told me she was trying to make a move on Roy when we were first going out. Howie used to have a crush on her, goodness knows why &#8211;“

I hated her already, and said so. Julie laughed. “Thankfully she didn’t get into Kentigern, or we’d all have to put up with her. Have you had any more bother from Renée, by the way?”

“I haven’t seen her,” I said truthfully. “I’ll tell you what did happen, though &#8211; Howie asked me out.”

“He never!” Julie squealed. “Oh, that’s so good!”

“I’ve got a problem, though,” I said, biting my lip. “Heath already asked me out, too.”

“So?” said Julie blankly. “What’s the problem?” she looked at my serious face, and burst out laughing. “Oh, come on, Saskia, you can go on first dates with two guys. It’s not like it’s bigamy or anything. I thought you liked Howie better, anyway.”

“Oh, I do,” I said, “but I thought I’d give it a go with Heath too. It’d be rude just to leave him hanging.”

“Very true,” Julie smiled. “So what are you going to wear?”

We chatted about possible outfits from my now-limited wardrobe until we got to the library, where Julie and I parted and I went in to research for my film studies paper. I’d hoped we might be asked to work with a partner, but no &#8211; it was to be entirely our own work. I spent a few hours at a table making detailed notes from a book on Akira Kurosawa, then, feeling I’d done enough for one afternoon, went to put it back. 

Standing on a step-stool was a large young man; it took me a moment to realise it was Roy, partly because he was shelving books far above my head and partly because he had put on weight since I’d last seen him. And it wasn’t the gentle progression, the inevitable accumulation of a pound here, a pound there that people like Julie and Howie underwent. The first time I’d met Roy, he’d been what I’d have called overweight, but now… 

Reminding myself he was Julie’s boyfriend, I wrenched my eyes up and said, “Hi, Roy. Do you work here?”

He looked down, and I noticed his face had grown fuller too. He must have put on about three stone, at least, I thought. “Oh, hi, Saskia,” he said, climbing down. “Yes, I do, just a few hours a week. In fact I’m off just now &#8211; let me get my bag and I’ll walk up to Rutherford with you, I’m taking Julie out.”

On the way back, Roy and I caught up &#8211; we talked about classes, and when I mentioned film studies about Howie. “I’ve never met anyone quite like him,” I said, trying not to blush.

“You’re telling me,” Roy said. “It’s because of him that I’ve got this,” he said, slapping his belly, making me go even redder. “And I’ll tell you something, Saskia, it’s not stopped growing now I’m not living in their house. There’s something about these people, I don’t know what it is, but once you learn how they live you just don’t care any more, you know?”

“Yes,” I said, “I think I know exactly what you mean. But doesn’t it bother you what other people think?”

Roy considered this, and shook his head slowly. “N-o &#8211; well, my parents weren’t thrilled, but I don’t live with them any more, so… besides that no-one really minds. Except the occasional idiot, I suppose. There’s this girl in my residence who always makes a big show of how disgusting it is whenever she sees me and Julie together, and she always scowls at me and Danny across the cafeteria.”

“Ah,” I said. “Is she maybe tall, blonde, blue eyes, very skinny?”

“Yeah. Know the type, do you?”

“Well, yes,” I replied, “but I think that girl’s Natalie Harrison. She went to school with me.”

“Lucky you,” said Roy dryly. “And I mean, it’s not like she’s attractive &#8211; she’s skin and bones. What’s attractive about that? Next time you talk to her, tell her she’d be a lot happier with about thirty extra kilos on her.”

_Story continued in post 13_


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## lorax504 (Jul 2, 2008)

i hope there is more.


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## Paquito (Jul 2, 2008)

I'm glad that you decided to continue this story
Great so far, keep it up!


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## Non Serviam (Jul 13, 2008)

[*Author's Note*: Hello, all... sorry... it's been a while. I've been away and I'm going away again to a place with no electricity and ergo no Saskia. Anyway, muchos gracias for the support and comments and glad you're all reading it. Here's chapter five.]

*Chapter V - *_I dont give Heath what he wants  Howie and I go to the movies  A challenger presents herself  I am left at the door  Julie is indiscreet_


Heath met me at Penelopes, a little place where he knew the proprietress, and I think he imagined this was impressive. Heath parked himself across two chairs and I sat opposite him, and we were served by Penelope herself, a large-bottomed woman with a French accent who brought massive plates post-haste. 

As we tucked in, all I could think was, Howie would never have pulled a stunt like this. Howie wouldnt keep winking at her every time she brought us more food, either. Hed just be munching his way through his dinner, and though Heath ate quickly and efficiently and didnt make a mess, it wasnt the same as Howie  watching him eat was a beautiful thing, and an education too.

Dessert was a pair of enormous chocolate fudge sundaes, one of my favourites. Mine was so good I could have drowned in it, and yet all I could think as I scooped from that divine layer where the whipped cream met the ice cream was, I wish Howie was here, eating one across from me. Howie made little noises as he ate. I didnt imagine anyone else noticed, but I did  just little moans of appreciation, grunts of joy at different tastes and textures. I wanted him, not this guy, who, nice as he was, kept talking about all the girls he knew and had clearly slept with, even if he didnt say as much.

Penelopes was in the trendy part of town above the river  across the bridge was the art school, and beyond that it was quite some way to the university campus. If it had been Valentines I might have walked back, but I didnt fancy such a distance after a huge meal, so I let Heath walk with me as far as the bus stop and didnt kiss him good night. 

Thanks, I said as I got on the number 14. I went and sat on top and watched him waddle off, his hands in his pockets, back to the art school. I didnt imagine he got turned down very often. Oh, well. It would probably do him some good.


I hadnt been nervous before I went out with Heath, but before my date with Howie I was positively vibrating. Julie helped me pick out an outfit  nothing too out of the ordinary; we were only going to the cinema  and put on just the right amount of makeup. I was so nervous I hardly ate anything in the cafeteria beforehand, then when I realised I had to leave in half an hour I stuffed myself full of dessert and felt even sicker.

Howie and I met on the main square and walked out of the campus to the cinema down the street, which was a favourite of the students. When I greeted him with an awkward hug which barely spanned the front of his considerable breadth, he said gruffly, This is for you, and handed me a large paper bag containing two cheeseburgers, a portion of fries, and half a dozen chocolate bars. Oh, thanks, Howie, I said, and we shared the food  I need hardly say that most of it was gone before we entered the cinema. 

Howie made a complicated order from the food counter at the cinema which I didnt follow and the sixteen-year-old on the till certainly didnt, but with Howies guidance he managed. I helped load it all into Howies arms, then he said, Dont you want anything, Saskia?

In the cinema there were in the back rows a few double-width seats  loveseats, put there for obvious purposes. Howie occupied one all for himself, and I sat in the normal-width one next to him but felt oddly thrilled that my hips brushed against the armrests on both sides as I sat down.

It took Howie half an hour to finish his food and start feeling around for some of mine; since I had balanced it in my lap, I let him. Once every last morsel was gone, he put his arm around me, and I thought, as I sat there, its flabby warmth weighing down on me, that I had never in my life been quite so content. He laughed from the very middle of himself, one of the great laughs of our time, at what was happening on screen; the vibrations made me tingle. At the romantic parts he drew me closer, but didnt move to kiss me, and I suppose I was happy with that. Just knowing that the immense power and security of his warmth was there was enough.

And then, all too suddenly for my liking, it was over. The credits rolled, Howie got, not quite unaided, to his feet, and we walked out of the darkness into the foyer. I waited while Howie went to the loo, and was just examining a poster for an upcoming sci-fi epic when someone tapped me hard prodded me, even  on the shoulder. I turned around, a little annoyed, and found myself brow to brow with Renée. Well, Im quite short, as I said, so we werent quite brow to brow, and I didnt recognise her at first in the light and because, as Julie had said, she had put on a bit of weight. She was spilling from the neck of her top and from the gap between it and her tight black trousers that clung to her curves for dear life and protested when she moved suddenly.

What part of Hes mine didnt you understand? she hissed. I told you to back off, and you just ignored me. Well, Im going to make you regret it. And then, without warning, she grabbed both my shoulders and threw me to the ground. She jumped at me, fingernails scrabbling; she tried to pull at my hair, but I got out of the way; Id put on some of the jeans Id told Julie I wouldnt need and they fit perfectly and gave me a lot more manoeuvrability than Renées trousers gave her. But she backed me up against a cardboard cut-out of Vin Diesel and I honestly thought I was done for, when suddenly she was wrenched off me, and the expanse of Howie came between us.

What are you doing? he bellowed. Everyone, I mean everyone was looking at us. Even people in the street outside had stopped to see what was going on. How dare you?

Howie, Renée pleaded, pouting through smudged lipstick. I did it for you. She was trying to 

Renée! said Howie fiercely. Renee, you must understand me when I tell you that I will never feel that way about you! I have tried to make that clear, but I must tell you once and for all to leave me alone! Dont bother me, dont bother my sister, dont bother Julie or Roy and dont ever bother Saskia. Got it?

For a while she stood stock still. Eventually she nodded mutely, and left without a word.


Howie walked me back to Rutherford hall, which given that even if we avoided the steps and took the long way round, we had to tackle a gentle slope and for someone of Howies mobility it was extraordinarily kind, above and beyond the call of duty. At the front door, he leaned against the pillar for support and said, Well. I enjoyed myself tonight, Saskia, I really did. Sorry about all that with Renée.

Its not your fault, I said, trying to move closer to him, but his belly blocked me at first and then, as I looked up, his expression.

Look, he said gently. I really like you, Saskia. I honestly had fun tonight. But Im afraid  Im afraid we can never be more than friends.

My head span. But 

Im sorry, he said, standing up straight, really, I am. Look, I have to go. Ill see you in class, okay?

But  why? I tried to say, but I couldnt get the words out. I watched him go, and once he was out of sight, slid down the pillar and sat that the foot of it, staring at my feet, paralysed and unable even to cry.


After some time  five minutes to five hours, I have no idea  I got to my feet and walked numbly upstairs. No Howie, no anything. I felt an emptiness right to the very core of my being and I could think of nothing  except, maybe, trying to cancel it out with food. Julie would have some, and then maybe we could go to a late-night fast-food place. The door to our room was locked, so I used my key. I opened the door and saw that Julie was not alone.

At first I thought it was Roy she was entwined with, but no, it was someone bigger. I gasped; they turned. It was Heath.

They jumped apart, both jiggling and half-falling from the bed. Heath caught himself on the wall and mumbled, Ill  call  bye, and, not looking either of us in the eye, left. Julie just knelt there on the floor, looking up at me.

We sat in silence for some time. Eventually I opened the minifridge, but they had eaten most of the food. There was half a block of cheese, which I ate, and washed it down with a pint of milk. Once there was no longer anything consumable in the room, I sighed and said, Youd better tell me what happened, I suppose.

I didnt mean for this to happen, she said in a small voice. Please, Saskia. Im begging you. Dont tell Roy. This would destroy him.

For a moment I thought that that seemed a bit dramatic for a kiss. But then I noticed that Julie was wearing pyjamas. I noticed the rumpled bedclothes. Her top, jeans, bra, pants strewn across the room. I looked at the clock  it was half past one in the morning. I had sat out there for three hours. I understood  and I understood that I couldnt tell Roy. Poor, devoted Roy. It really would have destroyed him.


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## Non Serviam (Jul 29, 2008)

*Chapter VI: Zoology 105: The Importance of Meat on the Bones - Julie's clothes fit too well - Julie has a dilemma - Ishbel and Kathleen plan an excursion - **history repeats itself  look who isnt coming to dinner
* 
​ 
I shoved my books into my bag just as the lecturer was summing up. I was eager to get out of class, not just because I was bored, but because I didnt want 

I thought that was a really interesting class, didnt you, Saskia?

Hi, Vincent, I said weakly. I looked askance at his nervously grinning face. Oh, I would have hated him so much less if he had worn glasses. If he had stumbled a little. Something. But no, he was perfect  thin, clear-skinned, perfect eyesight, perfectly proportioned, everything  without being even remotely attractive. He was much skinnier than anyone I fancied, but by Zoology 105 standards he was positively bodybuilder standard  in general, he was just average, flawless and boring.

I had taken up this class after the Christmas break instead of progressing to Film Studies 102. It had involved some fairly hefty reading on animal biology over the holidays, but I had managed to hit the ground running. The plan had been to avoid Howie and avoid distractions  well, it had worked. I was the fattest in the class by a considerable margin. They were all either weedy vegetarians or eager sportspeople, Vincent falling somewhere between the two, and they eyed my poundage with a sort of disgusted pity mixed with wariness  as though my uncontrollable hunger might get the better of me at any moment and I pounced. Not that I hadnt thought about it during some of those longer lectures. 
So I had made few new friends since Christmas. There had been some awkwardness with Julie, but when she returned from Aberfetney in January all the frost melted instantly.

We had come up to the room on the first day back and Julie had hugged me hello, but without her usual bounce. I drew back and looked into her face, which had a sort of crooked smile. I wondered if she thought I might be still judging her for what happened with Heath, but then I realised. She was wearing one of her favourite tops, the pink one she wore when it was ice-cream day in the cafeteria and she wanted to make sure that a big scoop was what was on the mind of the poor serving boy, along with some jeans. Both fit her perfectly.

Wait a minute. Julies clothes never fit perfectly, they were always at least two sizes too small. She cultivated this look. Julie are you okay? I said.

She looked down and bit her lip. Ive just lost a bit of weight, thats all. Probably best, you know, fat pig like me

You went on a diet? I said, alarmed.

No, I  Ive just been so stressed recently, I dont know  She dropped onto the side of the bed and put her head in her hands, and began to cry.

A couple of days before Christmas, Julie had gone round to Howie and Ishbels house, where Roy was staying. She knew he was the only one there, the others having gone out to lunch, so she had lifted the latch and let herself in, hoping to surprise him. In the living room, however, she had found him half-naked and spread out on the couch, his swollen belly cradled by a girl who was feeding him slice after slice of rich chocolate cake.

I was aghast  but aware of the irony. Who was she? I asked.

Cora, Julie said bitterly. I think Ive mentioned her before. Friend of Ishbels. Really bad attitude. Shes tried to call me over the break, but I havent seen him since She looked at me, her lip quivering, and then broke down into sobs again. Oh, Saskia, I dont know what to do! I miss Roy so much, but I cant believe he would and should I tell him what happened with Heath? Would that make us even? But I should have told him straight away, shouldnt I? Oh, I hate this! I wish none of this had ever happened! Tell me what to do, Saskia.

I did try to calm her down, but to be honest I was as stumped as she was. At length I advised that honesty was probably the best policy, and she sighed and sniffed and told me I was probably right, but she didnt know how to do break it to him. Now, two weeks into term, she had finally plucked up the courage to meet Roy for lunch at Valentines, and he had agreed to go. She had a late class and we wouldnt see each other until dinner.

I had lunch with Ishbel and Kathleen, who were getting increasingly serious lately. I was surprised that Kathleen hadnt put on much weight  admittedly it was always hard to tell through her loose-fitting jumpers  but it was Ishbel where I had seen the biggest change. She was starting to get to the point where she could have given even Julie a run for her money, and I could see Kathleen gently encouraging her as she ate. I had decided not to share Julies indiscretion with them and hoped Roys wouldnt come up in the conversation, but it seemed that there was a more pressing issue to discuss.

Theres a new café opened up in town, Kathleen told me. We ate a lot of lunches together and though she was initially shy, it turned out we had a lot in common. Like me, she was a science geek, a Biochemistry major, and we were both what you might call chubby chasers  even if our prey belonged to different genders. Apparently, Kathleen said, this new place, The Golden Roll, was attracting the student population because it offered inexpensive but delicious (and fattening-sounding) cuisine. But none of us had ever been; it was quite a way from the campus.

Well, we should make a trip out there one day, I suggested brightly. 

Ishbel nodded, her mouth full, and Kathleen said, How about Friday? We could go for lunch. Ooh, Saskia, try some of this pecan pie. We were in the sports centre again and the slice was a quarter of a large pie, a major carb source for the athlete just of the treadmill I was already stuffed  but Kathleen had a very persuasive manner in these situations

Even though shed only offered me a forkful, I found myself gobbling down the entire plateful. As I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my stomach, the stress on certain points of my jeans increased. I felt a sudden realease of pressure accompanied by a chorus of ripping sounds. When I stood up, I saw that not only had I once again ripped the seat of my trousers, but I had actually persuaded the button to part company with the denim it was attached to as well.



Over Christmas, my mother, bless her, didnt say anything about my size, though I knew she must have noticed it. My sisters had been less charitable, but got bored of teasing me after a while; my dad had barely noticed. Hed just said gruffly, You working hard? When I satisfied him that I was, he went back to the paper. So under eyes that were less approving than tolerant, I kept up my usual eating habits with a slight festive boost; I kept drinking Ishbels digestive tea, which I now knew where to buy for myself, and between that and sheer experience the stomach aches ceased really to bother me  my body stopped protesting when I really overdid it and just told me to relax and enjoy myself.

And it seemed I had seen the effects now. I tried to pull down my jumper to conceal my burst button and keep my bag over the rip in the seat of my jeans, but I was sure as I went back to Rutherford to change that people were looking at me. I was red as a beetroot after shuffling through a corridor full of guys who were sitting on the floor talking and who would clearly be able to see what I had done to myself. Julie would just have bounced through, maybe with a Hi, boys and a big smile  at least, before Christmas she would have. I just hoped after today things would be okay with Roy again and shed be back to her old self.

Back in the room, I wriggled out of my jeans and surveyed the damage. My thighs now rubbed together when I walked, and Id gotten used to the sensation without actually realising what it entailed. I had what they called a heavy pear shape, which meant most of the weight was in my ass. It was enormous! I yanked my pants out from between my rounding buttocks and craned to see it all, even in the mirror. How had it got so huge without my noticing? Above the waist I had grown more tummy and my breasts were bigger too, so there were some benefits. But how could I even think like that?

I snapped out of my astonished reverie when I spotted the clock in the mirror  dinner was served in ten minutes. I waddled  and it was now a waddle, unmistakably  over to the wardrobe and took out my sweatpants, the ones I had sworn I would never have to wear. I found I was only really comfortable with the waistband resting under my developing potbelly, but this left the bottom of a fleshy stomach roll poking out. Terrific. Well, there wasnt much I could do about it, so I went down to dinner.

I looked around for Julie for a while but if I didnt go now there wouldnt be much less. I smiled nicely at the cafeteria workers and, my tray piled high with delicious-smelling fried chicken and chips, went to find a seat. Unable to locate Julie, I sat with some people I knew from my Physics classes, but saved her a seat. 

As the physicists left, I saw other people I knew coming in, and by making sure there was always someone at the table and going up time and time again for extra helpings so I wouldnt be hurried along, I managed to save both my seat and Julies for the whole time dinner was being served, five to seven, and watched the whole population of Rutherford Hall come and go.

When they were closing the cafeteria and there was still no sign of her, I began to worry that things with Roy had gone so terribly that she had gone straight to the room and was crying her eyes out. When I got there, however, I was empty. I tried her mobile phone  no answer. I didnt want to try Roys in case shed chickened out and stood him up. 

So I stayed in all evening like a worried mother, drank digestive tea and worked my way through our snack reserves. It was after midnight before I fell asleep.


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## Non Serviam (Jul 31, 2008)

*Chapter VII - **Julies appetite comes back - **I am (almost) over Howie**  we find our new favourite lunch place* 
The next day when I woke up, Julie was asleep, fully clothed, on top of the covers, with a contented smile on her face. She looked as though shed eaten well, too  spaghetti sauce stains on her tight top  so I let her sleep and went down for breakfast.

I had barely finished loading my plate, however, when she came up behind me in the queue and said, Why did you leave without me? I might have missed breakfast.

Youve got your appetite back, then, I said, relieved. She giggled happily.

Oh, Saskia, you were so right! I told him what happened and we realised that we both love each other too much to let stupid mistakes keep us apart. And he agreed that Cora is a bitch and Im much hotter than she is, and that Heath is a sleazebag and Roys much hotter than he is. And now  well. Everythings back to normal, basically. We sat down, and she began to eat at the fantastic speed that I realised I had missed seeing. It really was impressive.

Have you heard about this new café in town? Julie said through some crispy bacon. Its called the Golden Roll, its supposed to be great. I cant believe we havent been there yet.

I was going to go with Ishbel and Kathleen on Friday. You and Roy should come too. Hey, I added casually, invite Roys friend Danny, I havent seen him in a while.

On the rebound at last, I see, Julie winked at me. Good to hear.

Well, I havent seen Howie since before Christmas, I said. Its about time I moved on. Its just silly to stay hung up on him. 

Silly it may have been, but I wasnt as over Howie as I might have liked to be. And I couldnt avoid seeing him altogether. Id spotted his bulk, which wasnt easy to miss, as he lumbered sedately across the quadrangle. He looked even bigger than before, which was depressing  couldnt he stop growing while I wasnt there to see it?  and though he was often with a group of friends he never had once specific girl. He might not have been someone like Natalies type, but I was sure it wasnt just Renée and I who would have looked twice at him.

Id seen Natalie too, and wed even had a brief conversation in a queue at the library the day before term ended, when everyone was hurrying either to return books and avoid fines or get out long-loan books to study over the holidays. It had been a perfunctory exchange with no warmth, but at least we could be civil. I was glad about that. She seemed to be wearing less make-up these days, she dressed differently, and looked tired  were her studies getting to her? I hadnt seen her since.

Friday came around and Julie, Roy, Ishbel, Kathleen and I got on the shuttlebus to the south side of town, where the Golden Roll was. I recognised more than a few faces from the university there; the area was quite a popular one with students and some of those who had off-campus flats had them here. The café was a small but friendly place; there was only one table big enough for five, but it was vacant, and the waitress led us there with a smile.

The menu was chalked up on a big board on the wall.

Its a shame Danny couldnt come, I said to Roy, ignoring Julies smug grin. I had been thinking a bit more about Danny  hed been cute and I knew he was getting bigger  maybe, like Kathleen, I needed a bit of a project.

Yeah, Roy mused, hes been acting a bit weird lately, to be honest. Coming in and out at strange hours, and I know his grades are getting bad I think he might have a girlfriend he hasnt told me about. I tried to stop my face from falling; Julie noticed and changed the subject.

I looked around at the other diners. Most of them were students or at least quite young; most were overweight, except for a thin couple at the table next to us who sat looking almost furtive and having a conversation in low voices. They may have been deciding what to eat, and seeing the size of the portions and the structure of the menu, I could see why. It was almost designed for those who wanted to stuff themselves senseless, because although you could have individual dishes, it made more sense to pay a smaller price for any five of them. But they were only slightly smaller than an ordinary meal, piled high and so delicious they had to be bad for you. 

I started with a plate of noodles in some sort of delicious sauce, followed by a chicken curry and then something called a triple pizza, which turned out to be three good-sized deep-pan pizzas of different flavours stacked on top of each other, after which I had pumpkin pie and a chocolate fudge sundae to finish. I had just managed to polish off the last of this when Julie called the waitress back over, I thought to ask for the bill. Obviously I should have known better: the waitress was barely fazed when Julie started to order her next five courses.

We got through fifteen in all before we left, barely able to breathe. They served the digestive tea Ishbel had introduced me to, but even after a several cups of that each we were still feeling decidedly full. Back on the bus, Roy and Julie didnt even try to cram both their masses into two seats; they took a pair each, just sat back and rubbed their swollen bellies. I sat in front of Julie but behind Kathleen and Ishbel. Kathleen had showed some restraint and had spaced out her five courses, but shed done more than nibble from other peoples plates and although she gave most of her attention to a moaning Ishbel I saw her put her hand on her own stomach and stifle more than one belch on the way back to campus. 

Imagine eating there every day! Julie said to me later. She had had her hair up in a ponytail, as she usually did for serious eating, but let it down now, bouncing it several times on both shoulders in a way that made her body jiggle  although, as ever, this didnt take a lot, and since she had got back with Roy she was looking more like her old self than ever. I had no doubt that Julie would qualify as obese, but it didnt seem like the right word for her. She was huge, but she could move as nimbly as anyone else I knew, even if some of her outlying regions took a little longer for her to stop moving.

If only I could have been certain that I would look that good no matter how fat I got, I thought, I wouldn't have minded. As it was, it could have been worse; my skin stayed mostly quite smooth for now as the bulges increased, although I had been shocked to discover that I did have one or two very slight stretch marks. I got some cream for them and tried not to think any more about it. If only Natalie could see me now, I thought, smiling, as I struggled into a pair of pyjamas Julie had given me when she'd "grown out of them" last semester, and got under the covers with my book. What would she think?

​


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## Risible (Jul 31, 2008)

Entertaining as always, Non Serviam! Very engaging writing.


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## Non Serviam (Aug 7, 2008)

*CHAPTER VIII: I read the newspaper, and no longer feel hungry - Julie restores my appetite &#8211; I learn that thin is in &#8211; we brunch*

 The next morning, our appetites had more or less returned. I came down to breakfast a little late &#8211; I’d told Julie to go on while I wrestled my way into my jeans, which I’d more or less given up on in favour of more forgiving legwear, but I was overdue a visit to the laundry room &#8211; to see that Julie had started without me and was sitting munching at our usual table.

When I sat down, she pushed something at me and said, “Look at this rubbish!”

It was that week’s edition of the student newspaper, The Kentigern Kestrel, which came out every Saturday. It was cheaply printed and had a pretty low circulation, with a reputation for being astoundingly dull and full of misprints. This week, however, the article on the cover was accompanied by a picture of the five of us eating at The Golden Roll the day before, and the unfortunate moment when I was attempting to take a bit out of a very large slice of triple pizza. I winced, and though I knew I wouldn’t like it, my eyes were dragged to the article:


_*FAT FRESHERS SYNDROME STRIKES KENTIGERN*

The old addage about the Freshers’ Fiften was proven right yeasterday at new and “tredny” southside resaraunt “The Gloden Role”. At the establishment, that serves meals in a formatte encouraging patrons to eat five coarses at a time, various Kentigern University students were observed to be taking advantage of this “excellent” deal.
“Oh yes, we get a lot of students in here,” said chubby waitress and employe at aforementioned eatery Tracy Spink. Ms Spink admited to the Kestrel yesterday that she willingfully serves students a great deal of food at a single siting. “At the &#8216;Golden Roll’ we always encourage our customers to treat themselves,” she said. “Everyone deserves to relax and indulge once in a while.”
One group of frist-year students [pictured] were doing more than that; the Kestrel’s two hleth correspondants observed them order no less than fifteen coruses before thye virtually “rolled” themselves from the “Roll”. Does this not highlight, one wnodres, the current obsesity problem faceing this country at present? What knid of example are Kentigern students setting for other members of the populacion? Furthermoare…_

I stopped reading after that, pushed the paper aside and stared down at my breakfast. The two “hleth correspondants” must have been the skinny couple across from us &#8211; that was the only way they could have got a picture from that angle. Suddenly the pile of greasy fried food in front of me looked a lot less appetising. Julie must have guessed what I was thinking.

“Don’t pay any attention to any of that stuff,” she said firmly. “You don’t need the people who write for that shitstained rag to tell you how to live your life.” I didn’t say anything, just toyed with my bacon, so she reached out a hand and laid it on my wrist. I looked up.

“I’ve had to deal with people like them before,” she said. “Life is for living and food is for eating. Why be thin? You could die tomorrow! If you don’t enjoy it now, you never will. Now eat up, or we’ll be late for brunch with the others.

I wasn’t so sure I wanted to go back to the Golden Roll, which was where our brunch was to be that day, but I supposed I knew deep down that Julie was right. It had been delicious. We met Roy and his large friend Michael, who took us in his car. We weren’t able to park, on the same street as the Roll, however, and so we approached it on foot. We were in for a surprise.

When we came round the corner, the door to the café seemed besieged by a group of people, but they weren’t trying to get inside. There were a few people who looked like regular customers inside, but no-one else. The waitress, who I assumed was Tracy Spink, was standing by the counter and trying not to look out of the window at the crowd outside. They were mostly students, skinny ones &#8211; a few I even recognised from Zoology 105. One near us wore a badge saying THIN IS IN; another carried a sign saying END OBESITY NOW. When they saw the four of us, they moved over as a group &#8211; there must have been twelve or so &#8211; and tried to give leaflets.

“Your size is a choice!” an almost skeletal girl said to Roy, handing him a leaflet that said DIET OR DIE, as others surrounded us with similar slogans.

“Yes,” Roy told her, pushing past, “I know it’s a choice. I made it. Look, can you move, please? We’ve just trying to get some brunch.”

Eventually, we managed to beat a path to the Roll. When we got in, everyone looked round at us &#8211; we’d obviously been recognised from the photo. Tracy came over smiling awkwardly.

“Look, I’m sorry about all this,” she said. “They shouldn’t have got you involved. We’ve had them here before.”

“Who on earth are they?” Julie asked.

Tracy sighed. “They’re a student society that’s against obesity. They lobby to try and get bills introduced that ban health treatment for overweight people, get fast-food restaurants and all-you-can-eat buffets shut down, that kind of thing. It’s their idea of a good time. Ironic, really, because the one thing most of them could do with is a few big dinners.” She smiled. “So, what will it be?”

We weren’t exactly keen to leave while the Anorexia Brigade was outside, so we ended up staying and grazing more or less all day. Tracy was happy to keep supplying us with food and to put it on our tab, so it was after six before we bade our goodbyes. They had all gone home at about four, presumably once they realised that no-one actually cared, but something told me this might not be the last we saw of them.

_Story continued in post 19_


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## almarcus911 (Nov 14, 2008)

I read all three of your stories in one sitting, and I have to say...you're awesome! I loved how you combined your two earlier stories with this sequel. I was just reading and I was like 'Omg! O.O I know these two guys!' 

I admire the amount of detail you put into your writing, ensuring that the end result is a long chapter. I like how you make the plot past a simple gaining story, where your characters experience many of the realities of the world. Such as the Anti-Obesity Group, Roy and Julie's relationship problem, and Saskia's rejection by Howie- which I would still like to know the reason behind.

Anyways, I hope you update soon. I normally don't comment much on people's stories, but reading your work and seeing only a spattering of comments made me think that maybe you've stop writing from the lack of encouragement. And seeing this story left unfinished would be a shame. 

:bow:


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## Non Serviam (Jan 28, 2009)

_[Yikes. Long hiatus, I know, so sorry to those of you who were following this - here are two chapters though anyway which more or less round off this story. Expect my next very very soon. Thanks for reading!]_

 *Chapter IX: I am surrounded &#8211; I don’t smell &#8211; Vincent surprises me &#8211; Vincent makes a move*

 Things really did gather momentum for the protest group &#8211; they didn’t have an official name, but Roy called them the Skeleton Army. They were, without exception, clearly underweight, and tried to avoid touching anyone who looked like they might be carrying a few surplus pounds. 

Their leaders were the couple we’d seen in the Golden Roll that first day; they were Kerry Thornton, an angular-jawed girl in big sunglasses and a chunky watch, and her boyfriend Jamie Drew, who had a little rat’s face, slicked-back hair and skinny jeans that were actually quite baggy on him. They more or less ran the Kestrel &#8211; just as well no-one really read it.

They even got support for their drive to “combat obesity” from the university; they put posters up and tried to found a weight-loss group which to my knowledge never had a single meeting. But it meant we no longer felt welcome in the sports centre café with its big portions.

"Its just as well we have The Roll now, really," Julie said brightly one day. I didn’t point out that this was slightly circular, just nodded in agreement.

I did feel slightly conflicted about the group. I mean, maybe there were health risks to being fat, I didn’t know the real details, but Roy and Julie and even Howie seemed fine. Besides, like Julie said. "Why live your life to make it last as long as possible? Why not enjoy it while it lasted &#8211; what was the point in feeling worse for longer?"

It wasn’t always easy to keep such an optimistic attitude. I had been getting hostile looks from some of the other members of my zoology class &#8211; there were at least half a dozen who were also members of the Skeleton Army. One day, about a month after the article was published in the Kestrel, they came up to me after class.

“Saskia,” said Georgina, the girl who’d told Roy his “size was a choice”, “we need to have a word, yeah?”

“O-kay,” I said. There’s nothing quite like six underfed students crowding you; it’s like being thrown into a prison made out of matchsticks.

Georgina sighed. “This isn’t easy for me, but… we think you should leave the class.”

“What?”

“You can still make up the credits for something else, Saskia, you’re a smart girl, they’ll make special allowances. I just don’t think that people on the Zoology degree programme, like, people who are serious about their subject, about biology and about health, should have to be around someone who… isn’t. I mean, like, well…”

I blinked, and stammered, “Sorry, sorry &#8211; are you asking me to leave the class… because I’m overweight?” 

All right, I may have been a bit more than just overweight at this point, something Georgina’s roving eyes didn’t fail to register.

“Look, I don’t want to have to get unpleasant about this,” she said. 

_"Too late," _I thought. 

“Are you going to leave or aren’t you?”

“No!” I almost shouted. I don’t know why I was so shocked. They’d had it in for me since I’d first started the class, but still…

“All right.” Georgina sighed. “I didn’t want to do this, but…” 

She rummaged in the big bag on her shoulder that looked as though it was going to cause her spare frame to topple over at any minute and pulled out some papers which she started to hand out to the other members of her group. 

“This,” she said, showing it to me, “is an official complaint form. If you don’t leave the class, we will all file these &#8211; anonymously, of course &#8211; complaining that you’re distracting us from our work.” 

I made a grab for the form, and managed to pull it out of her bony grip. It was already filled out, and I read:

_…Saskia has struggled with a weight problem and we see her health as being damaged. She never seems to engage with the class and can be seen to be eating in lectures and falling asleep. She sweats a lot and her smell distracts other people from classwork…_

Georgina grabbed the form back, and said, “Obviously with all the awareness being raised about, like, the obesity problem, you can see why this would cause concern is six different people from the same class submitted forms &#8211; and there are other people who are bothered by it as well, I’m sure.”

I felt tears welling up. I felt as though I’d never been more conscious of my body. And even there under those six pairs of eyes I felt a momentary shudder of self-disgust. Where had all this roundness, this excess flesh, where did it all come from? And how could I have let it comfort me? I looked at the floor and said in a small voice, “I don’t smell, Georgina.”

She sighed again. “Look, Saskia, I’m trying to help you. Maybe if you lose some weight you could take the class again next year. It’s not one of your core subjects, anyway. You do maths, right? Stick to classes where it doesn’t matter how you look &#8211;“

“Leave her alone,” said a firm voice. I turned round to see Vincent standing behind me, looking nervous but defiant.

“This isn’t, like, any of your business, Vincent,” said Georgina.

“It’s none of yours either if Saskia’s in this class,” he said. 

“She’s never done you any harm. You know she doesn’t smell and she gets higher grades than any of us, and she wasn’t even in the class last semester. You’re just jealous of her,” he said, jutting out his weak chin.

Georgina exchanged looks with the others. 

“Come on,” she muttered. “Obviously we, like, aren’t going to get anywhere with this.” 

They trooped out, shooting me dirty looks as they did so.

I looked over at Vincent. 

“Thanks,” I said gruffly, blinking rapidly to stop the tears from coming.

“Do you mind if I walk you back to your halls?” said Vincent shyly.

“No, yeah, that’d be great,” I said, not looking at him. Well feel into step on the way out of the building. 

I didn’t feel like talking; he made a couple of jokes, one about Georgina, which I laughed at for the sake of it, not because it was particularly funny. I was thinking about how horribly they had acted, but also a little about how good Vincent had been. It had been harsh of me, I reflected, to say he was boring. He was a decent guy. He wasn’t going to mess me around. He kept shooting nervous glances in my direction and when we got to Rutherford and I said, “Well &#8211; bye.” 

I thought I knew what was coming. Vincent took a deep breath.

“Saskia,” he said, “just a thought. I mean, there’s this film on, I don’t know if you’ve seen it already, it looks like it might be quite good, I mean, not good, I never really like contemporary cinema, at least not the mainstream stuff, I sort of prefer independent films to be honest, but this one I think might be quite funny, or, I don’t know if maybe you want to go, I mean with me maybe?”

I looked at him, properly. He was still thin; he was still boring; he was still kind of flawless-looking. I could do a lot worse, I thought. It wasn’t exciting. There were no fireworks. Nothing like Howie, but maybe that would be for the best. I was about to nod yes, but then I heard myself say, “I’m sorry, Vincent. You’re a really nice guy, but…”

“Oh!” He _really_ hadn’t expected to be turned down by a fat girl, it seemed. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Saskia &#8211; I just thought &#8211;“ 

I tried to stop him with more consoling words, but he disappeared at speed; I was unable to follow.


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## Non Serviam (Jan 28, 2009)

*Chapter X: Julie has wardrobe issues &#8211; Great Big Trousers &#8211; Trouble at the Golden Roll &#8211; Deus ex Howie &#8211; I take the plunge*

Whenever I sat up in bed, I had started to feel the uncomfortable push of my stomach fat folding in on itself and forming two thick rolls. I pulled up my pajama top and kneaded it pensively. It had been more than a month since Vincent had asked me out &#8211; he was carefully avoiding me now. Needless to say, no-one else looked twice at a fat lump like me. 

Julie opened the shower room door and came out towelling her hair &#8211; with everything else on view, as usual. 

“Do you think I should get my hair cut?” she asked, looking at herself in the mirror. “It’s a bit long, but I don’t know, I like it that way. Maybe I’ll ask Roy. And what to wear!” 

On average, Julie tore a pair of jeans every week, broke a bra every couple of days and went through pants faster than most people went through meals, but somehow she always managed to have enough sexy, stylish plus-size clothes. But not today.

“Where are my pink trackie trousers?” she asked when I emerged from the shower. She had managed to cram herself into a white lacy bra and some green underpants; the room was strewn with ripped, burst or discarded garments.

“I don’t know. Wait &#8211; didn’t you break the elastic on those last Monday when we went to the seafood place?”

“Oops, you’re right,” Julie said. “Well, I can’t get any of my jeans past my bum, let alone button them. You can have that black skirt by the way, that’s never going on again. I have literally nothing to wear!”

I helped her sort through everything again, but she was right. 

“Maybe I could go out and get something for you,” I said. “Do we know anyone you could borrow from?”

Julie shook her head. “Not here. The closest person is Ishbel, she might have something. Oh, but I couldn’t ask you to go all the way across to Mosswood…”

“Well, if I don’t, you can’t leave the room. It won’t take long, I’ll be right back.”

*​
No I won’t, I thought, as I half-jogged, clutching my stitch, across the almost-empty campus. People with any sense were at breakfast or sleeping; most of the population of Mosswood, which was a self-catered block, belonged to the latter category. What must Ishbel’s food bill look like? I wondered as I passed the self-catering kitchen on her floor. I knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I put my ear to it, but couldn’t hear anything. She might be asleep, I thought; I tried the door.

“Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry!” I slammed the door behind me and leaned against the wall, blushing furiously. Wasn’t Ishbel’s roommate ever there? I just stood there, breathing heavily, trying to recover from the run over there and climbing four flights of stairs, until the door opened and Kathleen put her head round it.

“Hi, Saskia,” she said, with a slightly sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”

“No, no, it was my fault,” I said, glowing scarlet. “I should have, uh, well. Sorry. Um. Actally, I was wondering if Julie could borrow some of Ishbel’s clothes? She doesn’t have anything to fit her. Julie I mean.”

“Oh, sure,” said Kathleen, opening the door all the way and wrapping her hastily-donned dressing gown around her. “Come on in.”

Ishbel was sitting up in bed, the covers pulled up to her neck, plump hands clutching the top. 

“Morning, Saskia,” she said cheerfully, trying to suppress a giggle. 

I smiled an embarrassed smile back while Kathleen said to Ishbel, “Do you think Julie could borrow the Great Big Trousers?”

“I don’t see why not,” Ishbel agreed. “Take one of the big t-shirts too, Saskia; she won’t look her usual supercool self, but it should do for now.”

“Okay. Thanks, guys. I’ll just leave you to &#8211; I’ll just leave. Bye.”

*​

When I got back, Julie was on her laptop. “I’ve chosen some things from the online shop I like… hey, do you want to choose something?”

“Oh, I’m okay, thanks,” I said. “I can’t really afford new clothes at the moment.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Julie, “my dad pays the credit card bill.” 

She caught my eye. “I know, I’m spoiled, but I’m a good person really. Come on, order something.” 

With some cajoling I chose two tops and a pair of jeans, then said, “I got these from Ishbel and Kathleen…” and handed them to her.

“Oh, awesome, Great Big Trousers! Ishbel got these from a maternity shop, did you know? They’re for great big dinners.” She sat on the edge of the bed and began pulling them on. 

“No bother! So Kathleen was there too? Oh, they’re so cute together. D’you think she’d spent the night?”

“I’d say that was a distinct possibility,” I said, starting to go red again. Julie noticed. Of course Julie noticed, and she gasped.

“Did you…” she giggled, “were they…?”

“Yeah,” I said, laughing a little too. “Shall we go to breakfast?”

Later that morning, we had to go into town for some more clothes &#8211; there were limited plus-size selections at some of the other shops, which Julie usually regarded with disdain. But as she said, “Desperate measurements call for desperate measures.” 

Then she laughed so hard we had to ask the shop assistant for a glass of water.

Shopping, as anyone who has ever spent a day doing it with Julie will know, is hungry work, so we decided to repair to the Golden Roll for lunch before going back to campus for our afternoon classes. When we got there, however, we saw someone we recognised.

“Danny!” Julie squealed. “I didn’t know you came here!”

Roy’s increasingly plump roommate looked up from his plate, and gave Julie and I one-armed hugs from where he was sitting in his booth. 

“Who’s your friend?” Julie asked, referring to the girl who sat opposite him looking out of the window. She had a triple pizza in front of her and seemed almost to be covering her face with her long, blonde hair. She looked familiar &#8211; maybe because that was how I had looked within a few months of meeting Julie, how Roy had probably once looked &#8211; she couldn’t fairly be described fat, but I could see in her discreetly stuffed tummy the shape of things to come. Then she turned her head slightly and I realised the real reason why she was familiar.

“Natalie?” She looked up.

“Oh, hi, Saskia…” she looked humiliated, but Julie was already getting Danny to budge up so that she could sit next to him, and I slid in beside Natalie.

“So…” I searched for something to say. “So… how have you been getting on?”

She scanned my face to see if I was making fun of her, but seeing only open awkwardness, she visibly relaxed. 

“Oh, you know… fine…” 

Julie and Danny were involved in an animated conversation, so she continued, “…just getting on with stuff.”

There was a long pause. 

“So…” I said again. “You and Danny, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Natalie, almost smiling. 

“He’s great.” She paused even longer this time, then eventually blurted out, “Saskia, I’m sorry I said those things about you, and about Roy and everyone. Danny’s just made me realise that it doesn’t matter if you’re thin… there are more important things in life.”

Something in the street outside caught my eye. 

“Tell that to them,” I said. Natalie looked round to see the Skeleton Army arriving again, with their leaflets and their signs, blocking the door so that the just-arriving lunchtime rush couldn’t get in. I saw Tracy fling down her little notebook and pencil on the table next to us and wrench the door open.

“What is your problem?” she shouted. “Go away or I’m calling the police!”

“This is a peaceful demonstration!” said one of them, and another &#8211; I think it was Georgina &#8211; said, “We’re trying to help these people! It’s for their own good.” 

She pushed past Tracy and into the restaurant. “You don’t have to be obese!” she shouted. “With good diet and exercise, one day you could all be thin!” 

She pointed at Natalie and a couple of other people around the room. “You should all leave now!” she told them, “get out while you still can! Do you want to end up like them?” 

The whole crowd of them started pushing and shoving; we were all getting up and out of our seats now too in case everything kicked off. Tracy tried to close the door on them but someone had wedged a boot in it.

Georgina, now almost trapped inside but for the booted foot that was being slowly crushed by Tracy and one of the other waitresses’ pushing on it, desperately tried to pull their arms away from the door. Tracy pushed her back, and Georgina threw herself at her. Tracy was a well-built woman but the sheer surprise of ninety-something pounds of student was enough to knock her onto her well-padded backside. Things could have got really ugly had not a booming voice from outside said, “JUST WHAT DO ALL OF YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?”

The Skeleton Army scattered like insects before Howie’s advancing bulk. He shoved open the door with one meaty hand, pulled Georgina off Tracy and set her down on a nearby chair. He then bent slightly, as far as was feasible, and helped Tracy to her feet. I remembered the cinema, when he’d saved me from Renée &#8211; he always seemed to arrive just in time, didn’t he? I wasn’t complaining.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” he asked Georgina. “Get out. And don’t bother people any more, do you hear?”

“Are you threatening me?” said a shaken Georgina as she got to her feet, her voice only quavering slightly.

“No,” Howie rumbled. “I am asking you as one civilised person to another. Have some respect!”

Georgina edged towards the door. 

“Respect them? Respect what? Their right to gorge themselves?”

“Yes,” said Howie flatly. “I’m glad we understand one another.”

Georgina pulled the door open with both of her stick-thin arms, looked Howie up and down and opened her mouth &#8211; but she was lost for words. She stumbled out into the street.

*​
“Howie,” I said on the way home, “what you did back there &#8211; you were amazing.”

He smiled modestly, but said nothing. We had eaten a long celebratory dinner, and Tracy had told Howie he could come back any time &#8211; his sheer size had probably made any offer to eat for free seem over-generous, but she refused to let him pay for the multiple platefuls he had consumed before we left. Danny had taken Natalie and Julie back in his car which, like most cars, was a bit too small for Howie these days unless he sat in the back, so the two of us had decided to walk (at the leisurely pace walking with Howie demanded) back to campus. We were passing the grassy square outside the biology building &#8211; I remembered Vincent’s question. If he’d had that much courage, what was wrong with me?

“Howie,” I said suddenly. 

He stopped, and turned to look at me, some of his outlying regions taking a while to come to rest. “I really &#8211; look, I know you don’t feel the same way, but I really like you. Is there some reason why &#8211; why &#8211; something about me? Something I’ve done?” 

I couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth, but I had to know.

“Of course not, Saskia,” said Howie, and heaved a sigh. “The reason I said what I said. Well. I mean. You’ve been very kind to me. But I just didn’t think it was right that you should…”

“Should what?” I prompted.

“Well, waste yourself on someone like… I mean, as much as we may get on really well… I know you could never be… _attracted_ to someone like me. Who could? I mean, look at me! And I wouldn’t want you to get into a relationship &#8211; just because you feel sorry for me…”

I blinked. What was this about? Some kind of weird false modesty? Way too exaggerated, though, and not Howie’s style at all. He turned away.

“But Howie, you know that’s not true,” I said. “What about Renée? She fought me for you in a cinema!”

Howie furrowed his brows. 

“She’s a mental case though, Saskia,” he said. “Who else would want someone &#8211;“ he cradled his belly “&#8211; like this?”

“Julie! Think of how she feels about Roy! And Kathleen about Ishbel?” There were fat people all around him crazy about each other” Couldn’t he see it?

“Yes, but it isn’t the same &#8211;“ he began but I interrupted him.

“And Julie told me how she knew loads of girls who had a thing for you back in Aberfetney. You must know how… that you’re…”

“Julie was just being nice!” Howie said impatiently. “Obviously! I’m not stupid, I don’t need her pity and I don’t need yours.” 

He made to waddle off, but I grabbed his arm.

“Howie,” I said, “the first time I met you I thought I was going to fail Film Studies. When I helped you out of your chair I had to go to the bathroom to recover. I think about you all the time. I’ve never felt this way about anyone…” 

My eyes drifted over his belly, my face was burning, but I’d come this far. 

“You do things to me, Howie MacLeod, I can’t tell you &#8211;“ I looked up at him, and then, without thinking, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him with such ferocity, almost a year of pent-up energy knocking him over onto the grass. His well-padded backside absorbed the blow, his arms were around me, and there was no fall that could have made me feel any less safe as I lay there on his stomach, looking into his eyes.

“Saskia,” said Howie.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to come back to my room tonight?”

“I think I would, Howie.”

“Okay. Could you help me up, please?”


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## Lardibutts (Jan 29, 2009)

Great stuff! Delighted to see these last two posts - well worth waiting for.
The Skeleton Army is a brilliant Idea! We need to read a lot more about the size wars. Georgina deserves to receive her just desserts.


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