# The Inner Brendan, - a story in four parts



## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Mar 3, 2006)

BHM, Eating, WG

*The Inner Brenden
by Big Beautiful Dreamer*​
Note: This story is a slow-paced, realistic WG one. It is in four parts. Part one is entirely expository (background, buildup, etc.), but it's background necessary to understanding the Brendan who inhabits parts 2 through 4. I hope that it proves to be worth it! 

One final note: The use of the Rhodes Scholar program is only a handy fiction. I do not purport to be an expert on how the program works, and it doesn't figure that prominently in most of the story. I intend no disrespect! 

All the best, BBD

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Brendan Miller smiled as the plane lifted into the sky. After a miserable 25 years, he was free at last. If he never spoke to his mother again, that was fine with him. She'd made his every waking moment horrid. His stomach growled quietly, reminding him (as if he needed reminding) of how it had started.

His earliest memory of his mother was of her teasingly poking his tiny baby tummy, cutely round and full of rice cereal. "No more cereal for you," she'd said. "Don't want Baby getting fat!" He'd been too young, of course, to tell whether her tone was teasing, but she wasn't smiling. She never smiled. His father, of course, said nothing. A silent, compliant, bread-winning cipher, he rarely let loose a dozen words a day, if that.

Brendan was six and sneaking a handful of cookies from the cookie jar when his mother's voice made him jump. "Brendan Miller!" He turned, small hands full of treats. "Put those back." His brown eyes brimmed with tears. Softening a little, she patted him, not on the head, but on the stomach. "Don't want to be a little piggy."

Brendan was 10 and had watched his father hand his plate to Mother for seconds.

Brendan handed his own plate over ... and Mother took it to the sink. "Uh, Mother," he ventured. "Could I have some more chicken?"

"Better not, Brendan," Mother had said. And that was all.

Then there was the day seared into his memory, the day his mother's subtle campaign had come into the open and made his last decade a living hell. She'd opened the bathroom door without knocking to bring in some fresh towels ... and found Brendan without any clothes on, about to get in the shower. Brendan jumped, and his mother's glare bored in on his stomach.

Like most 14-year-olds, Brendan was going through puberty and his body was going through some changes. He had bulked up a little but was still only 5 feet tall. His mother was only 5'2" and his father 5'6", so Brendan knew that the basketball scholarship was a no-hoper. Still, going through puberty without getting any taller invariably means getting a little plumper.

His mother set the towels on the bathroom counter and poked with a perfectly manicured nail at Brendan's slightly softening waistline. Only his mother could have called it fat ... and she did.

"Tsk. Brendan. Fatties don't get the girls, you know." She frowned. "We'll have
to start watching your weight."

We? Whaddya mean we? Brendan soon found out. Mother weighed and measured him, doled out his meager portions, restricted his spending money, informed him coldly that she would pay only if he went to college locally (fortunately, "local" meant "Georgetown," and Brendan was no dummy ... just henpecked), and insisted that he live at home, not only through college but also when he found work at the National Urban League. 

He was now all of 5'6" ... and all of 140 pounds. Perpetually hungry, he drank lots of water to keep his stomach from growling, and lied about all sorts of food allergies to avoid going out to group lunches, embarrassed to admit that he didn't have the bucks. And every day ... every week ... if Brendan so much as raised an eyebrow at the mashed potatoes, Mother would clear her throat. It was almost Pavlovian. 

But now! At last! Brendan's boss had talked him into applying for a Rhodes scholarship ... and, improbably, he had been one of only three dozen or so Americans selected. For two blissful years he would be an ocean away from his now-widowed mother. The stipend even meant he'd have a little money in his pocket. He smiled again, remembering the scene.

"If you leave," Mother had screamed, by then beet-red, "don't come 
back!" 

"Fine," Brendan had snapped. "I won't." 

Sweet words! He'd packed his few belongings, sold his ratty car, and paid cash for two years' worth of a self-storage unit in Bethesda. 

Brendan quickly got over his mild culture shock and found that he was thriving in Enghland. The intellectual atmosphere was challenging, the learning stimulating, the centuries-old campus breathtaking, and the absence from his mother ... priceless. 

He also discovered that the English ate five times a day, or at least four. Breakfast, elevenses (eaten at, oddly enough, 11 a.m.), lunch, tea and sometimes dinner. If no dinner was intended, tea was more substantial. 

What's more, freed from his mother's disapproval, he eventually shook off his built-in guilt and allowed himself to enjoy eating. English cuisine is not known for its delicacy and variety, but it was good, cheap, and benefited from the infusion of other cultures, including Indian and African. 

Hours of study and permission to eat for once, of course, had their effects. By the first Christmas holiday, Brendan had put on 20 pounds. As short as he was, there weren't many places for it to go except his belly, which is where it went. Chips, biscuits, ale and fried fish gave him a steadily thickening waistline and a burgeoning pot belly. 

It would also give him a girlfriend. 

Olivia West-Jones was in one of his classes. It took Brendan a long time to clue that she always managed to sit next to him and shyly greet him. One afternoon, her peaches-and-cream complexion reddening, she spoke to his shoes. "Would you, eh, would you care to come out for, ah, a drink or so?" 

Something in Brendan took over. It was not the shy mama's boy who answered but an Inner Brendan he'd never met. He cupped her chin in his hand and gently raised her pretty face so that her eyes met his. "I would love to," he said firmly.

Years of nagging fell away that evening. Within a week, he had moved into her flat. Within a month they were lovers. And then he felt her cooling, looking at him with bewilderment; once he found her finishing up a cry but she wouldn't tell him what she was sad about.

Brendan had topped off at 165, giving him a modest spare tire and a small paunch that bulged outward just a little under his shirts. Maybe Olivia wanted him to lose weight. He quit drinking and dropped 10 pounds. Apparently, that was a mistake, because now Olivia's behavior was harder to read than ever. 

The old Brendan was used to impossible women. The Inner Brendan, however, brought home roses and a bottle of wine and after dinner led an unprotesting Olivia into the living room.

"What's wrong?" he asked bluntly. "Does this" -- patting the diminished pot -- "bother you?" 

Olivia burst into tears. "Just the opposite," she sobbed. What? Brendan was really confused. "I, erm, I love cuddly teddy bears of guys," she said, sniffling. 

Brendan gave her his handkerchief and she quietly, in a very discreet English way, blew her nose. "I didn't even notice you until you'd been here a while." 

Brendan was not the slowest horse in the shed. "Until I got fat," he said slowly. "You like me fat?"


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## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Mar 3, 2006)

She slowly flushed, a dusky color rising from her neck to her forehead. "Well ... yes." Gathering her courage, she plunged on. "It makes me ... excited ..." the blush blushed. She was edging toward mauve. "...to see guys stuff themselves. There's something about a big tight tummy that gives me the happy shivers." She rose abruptly and fled to the bedroom, sobbing again.

"Olivia! Wait!" Through the locked bedroom door, Brendan said, "I love you. I'll do anything to make you happy." 

The latch clicked open. "Anything?" 

"Anything. Let me in and I'll show you." 

When they were finished, Brendan said, "Take me anywhere and feed me anything. I'm yours to command!" Her eyes sparkling, Olivia led him to a Chinese takeaway, where they got four generously portioned meals for the equivalent of $15. 

Though still full from their earlier dinner, Brendan manfully picked up a fork and sailed into the beef and broccoli. He ate about half of the food piled into the tinfoil takeaway carton before he found himself slowing. His stomach, stuffed to capacity, swelled tightly over his waistband, which was starting to pinch. 

Normally, he would have quit, but something about being this full was making him aroused. Thanks to his mother, hed never before eaten too much, never before been so achingly full, and it was an oddly pleasurable sensation. He slowly stroked his aching and swollen belly, enjoying the unusual sensation. Olivia was watching his every bite, her gaze switching between his mouth and his bulging abdomen as if watching a tennis match. Her eyes sparkled and her face bore an unmistakable invitation.

Hey, he said suddenly. Have you ever thought of getting a little teddy bear-y yourself? Before the sentence was out, she was shaking her head and making a face. 

Cant, she said. She gestured toward her left side. I fell off a horse 10 years ago and hurt my hip and knee. The doctor says Im fine now but I mustnt put on any weight.

Oh, Brendan said, mouth full of rice. He swallowed. But you want me bigger?

Olivia blushed, making Brendan silently vow to cause her to do that more often. Well, yes, she said. Nervously, she got up and refilled his lemonade glass.

Brendan still wasnt sure he understood why Olivia wanted him heavier. All his life, hed been counseled to watch every bite and feel guilty about every swallow. Yet here was the girl whod stolen his heart urging him not just to eat but to get fat! It was strange. At the same time, it was exciting. Certainly shed never given him a second glance until he put on some weight. The Inner Brendan decided he would go along. This was weird, but in an intriguing kind of way.

When Brendan managed to empty the tin, Olivia cheered, applauding prettily. Whisking it away, she uncovered a container of sesame chicken. I dont (hic!) know, Brendan mumbled. Im pretty full. 

Olivia leaned in and kissed him. Please, she murmured. If Brendans mind was hesitant, the rest of him wasnt. Olivia, no dummy, picked up the fork. Renewed, Brendan began to eat.

He slowly made progress on the pan of sesame chicken. About halfway through, though, he was ready to admit defeat. His bulging stomach, stretched far beyond capacity, was tight and sore. Bloated and aching, he chewed and chewed, so full he could not make his throat work; he couldnt swallow. Giving up, he dropped his fork.

He tried to speak but was too short of breath. Sorry, he puffed. No more room (hic!). Without thinking, he leaned back to ease the pressure on his bulging belly, his pants slicing into his midriff. Olivia rose and came around to stand behind him. Starting at his shoulders, she slid her hands down to the sudden shelf of his gut, rounded and taut. Gently, in ever-widening circles, she rubbed his aching belly. Massaging, stroking, occasionally adding a soft kiss on his food-stained cheek, she purred, I bet we can find some more room.

He belched loudly. Mortified, he closed his eyes, waiting for the hot blush to fade. Sorry, he mumbled. Sliding the pan of chicken to one side, she hopped up onto the dining table and looked into his chocolate-brown eyes. Dont be, she murmured. Then, Any more room in there? She poked his hugely distended abdomen with her bare foot.

No (mrp), he confessed, stifling another belch. Sorry.

Stop apologizing, she said. This takes time. She helped him up and guided him to her bedroom. Unprotesting, half asleep, stupefied with food, he let her undress him down to his undershorts and undershirt. He fell heavily into her bed and was instantly asleep. He did not even know or notice that she tiptoed out and slept on the sofa.

The next morning, bleary-eyed, he stumbled forth, a morning woody tenting his shorts. Morning.

Olivia turned from the stove and gave him a long slow gaze that spared nothing. Good morning, my captain. Sleep well?

Great, he said. He rubbed his stomach, still a little swollen from last nights gorge. All that food knocked me out. Go easy on me this morning, OK? He padded over and kissed the back of her neck. I hear what youre saying and I have no problem with that, if you really want be to me all teddy bear-y for you, I will. But lets not try to do it all at once, hey?

You Americans, she scolded teasingly. All your therapy language. I hear you I have no problem with that She twisted around in his loose embrace and popped a slice of bacon into his mouth. All right, theres no real rush. Youre here for the best part of two years, after all. She kissed him quickly. Weve got a whole other day together before weve got to get back to campus. Lets enjoy it.


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## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Mar 3, 2006)

A little bell of guilt dinged in the back of Brendan’s head. “Studying. Got to study.”

“And we will,” she said briskly. “With occasional (mmf) breaks for (mmf) food … Brendan!” Her half-hearted protest was muffled by Brendan’s determination to steal a last kiss before they hit the books.

They really did study. Olivia was determined to take a first in psychology, and Brendan knew the Rhodes was a real opportunity, one that would open a few employment doors back in Washington. As they studied, of course, Olivia fed him. Cookies … a whole panful of Chinese leftovers for lunch … a sandwich and crisps … lemonade, Coke, a beer.

By dinner time, when Olivia set out the remaining pan and a half of Chinese, Brendan was bringing a pretty full tummy to the table. But he set forth anyway. With Olivia encouraging him, periodically massaging his stomach, and turning those kitten eyes on him, Brendan put away the rest of the sesame chicken, all of the egg foo yong, and even managed a stray egg roll. Not without cost, of course. By the time Olivia helped him to his feet, Brendan was one sore puppy. Stretched and aching, his bloated belly bulged hugely over his pants, whose button he had undone ages ago. The zipper slid down as he stretched, but it afforded his swollen gut little relief. Brendan didn’t mind at all, though, because he had a pretty good idea what was coming next.

With Olivia on top, of course, he lay back and allowed her to tickle, massage and stroke his hugely distended midsection. As much as he could reach, he stroked her hair, kissed her and rubbed her smooth back and flat bottom. By the time he entered her, he thought he might explode. The pain of his full stomach combined with the ecstasy of passion as his insides heaved, bringing him and her to simultaneous climax. Wow! Wonder of wonders! Ecsrasy personified! The world ended.

Opening his eyes, a lightheaded Brendan discovered Olivia snuggled beside him, resting her head on his chest and slowly stroking his still-bloated belly. “Good?” she murmured. Brendan’s reply was without words.

The next morning, Olivia’s faithful little alarm clock sounded, waking them both. “Ugh,” Olivia mumbled, as Brendan muttered, “Uhhhh. ...” They mumbled their way through their morning routines, bumping into each other in the tiny bathroom. Brendan’s stomach didn’t hurt anymore, but it was still a little swollen from the weekend. When Olivia went into the kitchen, Brendan stepped onto her scale, as much out of curiosity as anything. The needle stopped at 170. 

Brendan padded into the kitchen. “We’ve gotta run,” he told Olivia, pointing at the clock on the microwave. “But,” he kissed her neck, “I’m up to 170.”

“Hey, that’s great,” she said. “Where were you before?”

“One-sixty-five,” he said, taking the sandwich she’d hastily assembled. “Hurry up, we’ll miss the bus.”

Brendan had thought that after a weekend like that, class would be a distraction and a bore, but he did enjoy his studies and found himself able to pay attention in class. Mindful of their need for scholarship, they both studied separately during the day, meeting up to take the bus back to her flat each evening. 

Eating little herself, Olivia filled Brendan up. Every night and weekend, before, during, and after studying, Brendan ate. And grew.

When he first set foot in England, Brendan had been in the 140- to-145-pound range, short and slight. The weight he’d put on before Christmas that first year had been modest, taking him up to 165. 

Under Olivia’s care, however, he was blossoming. His waistline steadily thickened and his pot belly burgeoned into a substantial gut that entered the room first. By the end of his first academic year, he was up to 200 pounds, which is a lot on a 5’6” person. Most of it was in his belly, but his face had filled out and his sharp jawline softened. His bottom was softer and wider, and his thighs were thickening. His hands and arms were plumper, and of course he was in a whole new wardrobe.

Neither Brendan nor Olivia had much money, but Olivia knew the local secondhand scene and led him into thrift stores and flea markets for larger and larger clothing. The bigger he got, the happier Olivia got. His spare tire filled up and spilled over his waistband; his torso softened into breasts; his belly button disappeared altogether. And Olivia, shy Olivia, had become a firecracker in that tiny bedroom. She still blushed, though, and the Inner Brendan, swelling to fill up the outer Brendan’s frame, was now master of his domain, taking pleasure in making Olivia turn pink often.

The highlight of that first summer was when Olivia asked him to eat his way out of his clothes. “And then once I’m naked,” Brendan had said, leaving the sentence unfinished. Olivia had blushed.

That evening, Brendan put on his snuggest pants and shirt, to give himself a head start. Holding his breath, he slid up the zipper and snapped the snap. He even put on a belt, hoping to break it. He fastened it two notches too tight, enjoying the pressure. Red in the face, he went back to the table, where Olivia was laying out the first of three takeaway pizzas. She poured him a glass of Coke and handed it to him with a kiss. “Good luck,” she said. “Let the feast begin.”

Brendan began eating quickly, hoping that shoveling the food down would help things along. Half a pizza in, he felt the belt creak. Good. He took a huge swallow of Coke and brought up a loud belch. Snap! The belt flew open, its ends whipping away from each other. Olivia blushed. “Round one,” she said, and picked up another slice to hand to him. 

The second half of the pizza went down without further clothing incidents. Brendan was getting full. He laid a hand on his stomach, experimentally. Still some room, but his belly was becoming tight, straining against the snap. 

Another belch, and the snap popped. As Brendan began on the second pizza, each slice swelled his now-aching stomach and slid the zipper down notch by notch. As his midriff distended, his growing waistline pushed against the seams of his pants, straining each thread. He shifted in his chair and felt a small rip. Chugging some more Coke, he belched, popping a few threads and beginning a promising tear in the seat of his pants.


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## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Mar 3, 2006)

He was now, however, dangerously full. Hed emptied the first bottle of Coke and demolished two large pizzas. His belly, aching and sore, sagged onto his lap. With each slow bite, he felt his packed stomach slosh and slop, pushing against the fabric of his shirt and pants. The rip was slowly widening, and the shirt inched upward with every swallow. The T-shirt hed chosen to wear was not only too small but also pretty old, already frayed around the edges and underarms. Under his steadily expanding midsection, those frayed seams were beginning to fray even more. 

Brendan was starting to wonder if this was the brightest idea. It occurred to him he might just make himself sick. But then Olivia, pouring him some Coke out of the second, newly opened bottle, let her gaze linger on Brendans magnificent gut. Sandwiched between his overworked shirt and the opened pants, his swollen and bloated belly gleamed in the dim light. Distended and taut, his waistline spread for what seemed like miles. \

Olivia sensed his discomfort and slipped over to his chair, gently and sensuously massaging his oh so full tummy. Brendan let his head loll back, catching his breath and beginning to feel a little better. 

Catching his breath with some difficulty, he continued to trudge through the third pizza, feeling as though he had found a little more room in his throbbing gut. Olivias steady, gentle pressure coaxed up a gargantuan belch. No longer embarrassed at such behavior in front of his girlfriend, he merely smiled as she patted his tummy like a drum. Chugging Coke and swallowing pizza, Brendan heard as well as felt the last gasp of his pants. But there wasnt that much pizza left. 

He drew as deep a breath as he could manage, hoping to force the issue, but then Olivia, with a flourish, laid a whole chocolate cream pie in front of him. 

Ohgod, Brendan mumbled. (Hic!) Help feed me.

Olivia complied. With half the pie gone, they both heard the loud rip as Brendans pants fell in tatters to the floor. The shirt was still technically on him, but not by much. Completely shredded up the sides, pitifully small flaps of cloth lay along the back and front of his swollen belly. The collar clung snugly to his bulging neck.

Lets finish the pie in bed, Olivia murmured. She helped him up. Bloated and gorged, his center of gravity shifted, he was too full to stand. His overloaded gut ached, sides throbbed, and with every ponderous step he felt his belly slosh and slop. He had a dim idea of what she wanted to do with the rest of the pie Would she really?

She did.

Blushing furiously, Olivia slowly spread the rest of the pie and whipped cream down his distended abdomen, across the swollen circumference of his aching belly, into the depth of his buried belly button, up across his flaccid breasts, everywhere she could go. Brendan lay back and took it. Then Olivia began to lick it off. Brendan, far too full to move, lay like a beached whale on his back, groaning with pain and pleasure, occasionally stroking or licking whenever Olivia got within reach. 

Next she parted his bulging thighs and brought him into her. Rhythmically riding him, she leaned over as far as she could across the landmass of his belly so that he could fondle her breasts, slide his hands down her sides, and lather her with kisses.

She came. He came. Fireworks shot off, stars rained down, the ceiling fell in and it was glorious, the long and triumphant riding of a wave that roared from toes to top of head. 

When the dance across the galaxy was over, Olivia, shaking with emptiness and remembered pleasure, slowly and gently bathed Brendan with a warm washcloth, wiping away any latent stickiness as he fell into a food-induced slumber.

Although Brendan didnt try to eat his way out of his clothes on purpose any more times, he gradually outgrew wardrobe after wardrobe. By fall, the once-slight Brendan Miller, henpecked escapee, was now an impossible to miss presence, the Inner Brendan in charge. Confident, he commanded attention in class, on campus, in a pub, everywhere. Friends who ventured, Put on a few, havent you? would be met with a slow satisfied smile. My girlfriend likes me big, he would say, so clearly fulfilled that there were seldom any follow-up digs. The English didnt seem to have quite the obsession with thinness that Americans did, and there seemed to be a low-level innate respect for a man who could throw his weight around.

By fall, after a summer spent with Olivia, Brendan weighed in at 240. He planned to propose to Olivia as soon as he reached 300.

The second year ticked along amazingly quickly. Olivia made sure their food-packed weekends included enough walking and swimming at the local gym to keep Brendan mobile and maintaining muscle tone. Brendan wrote a paper that, with a few additions and editing by his professor, was published in a peer-reviewed journal. It dawned on him that there was plenty of work for socioeconomists in England, if he could get hired as an immigrant. 

Then it dawned on him that, once he married Olivia  once he married Olivia! Would she have him? She loved every growing inch of him, true  but 
Brendan could hardly wait to get to the flat that evening. 

Olivia wasnt home yet. Good. Sweating with effort, he stripped and went to the bathroom, where he stepped heavily onto the scale. The needle spun round and round like a fortune wheel before settling on 270. Not enough, not enough, yet, but he felt impelled to action.

He surveyed himself in the mirror. A puffy face stared back, pendulous cheeks pouring into a soft double chin that spread into his neck seamlessly. Pouches of fat swelled under his arms, forcing them away from his sides a little. Breasts flabbed, the flesh folding under and descending to a ponderous gut, hanging heavily down over his privates, lapping over the sides and around the back. 

The door closed. Im home! Olivia sang. The scent of pizza, their Friday ritual, came in with her. Naked, Brendan thudded out of the bathroom. Let me throw something on, he said, pecking her cheek. 

Not much, she scolded teasingly.

Pulling on a snug undershirt and boxer shorts, he came back out. Olivia had divided the pizza  seven and a half big slices for him, half a slice and leftover salad for her  and was sliding an apple pie into the oven to warm.
Not even able to articulate his plan, Brendan began to eat quickly and steadily. Swallowing pizza and Coke, he felt his stomach bulge, the shirt straining as his gut distended. 

He was full, stuffed, immobile, weighed to his seat with food. His belly throbbed and sloshed as he shifted heavily in his seat. Hed consumed all of his pizza and two large wedges of pie. He was sweating, so stuffed he was puffing, unable to draw a deep breath. Now or never. 

Olivia, he puffed. Will  (urrrrrp) . Sorry. He paused, tried again. (Hic!) One more try. Olivia (mrp)  will you  will you marry me?

Olivias eyes grew wide and a most becoming blush suffused her face. Knowing that Brendan couldnt get down on one knee if his life depended on it, she jumped up and came around to his chair. Sliding her hands down to his bloated midsection, she kissed his neck. I will, she said. 

Well stay here, Brendan said. (Hic!) I have  (urrp)  no reason to  go back  (hic!)  to America.

As Brendan had guessed, once they married, quietly in a registry office, it was no hardship for him to find work. He got a job with the city of London, and Olivia, with her first in psychology, found work in a new private clinic. 

They honeymooned by moving from Olivias shabby student flat in Oxford to a slightly less shabby flat in London. They spent little on extras, saving most of their money to buy a house  and to feed Brendan. 

On their three-month anniversary, Brendan hit 300 pounds. They celebrated with Chinese takeaway, in honor of the first night Olivia fed him. After dinner, when Brendan had managed to waddle to the sofa and collapse, Olivia snuggled up next to him and whispered two words in his ear. 

Brendans half-closed eyes opened wide. Youre what! he exclaimed. 

Soon, she murmured, your tummy will have company.
(the end!)


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## Observer (Mar 3, 2006)

Editor's note: 

Thanks for the contribution of the new story.

All fouir installmewnts are now combined into one thread. This is done to prevent confusion in the future, when they could be separated and even inverted. 

Expanding font size and paragraph separation will come later as I haven't the time right now. Sorry


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## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Mar 3, 2006)

Thankee, o wondrous Observer. As a reader, I much prefer to read serial stories all-in-one but haven't the know-how. You rule. BBD


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## Big Beautiful Dreamer (Mar 3, 2006)

I also, clearly, goofed by accidentally double posting. I know what a snarking pain that is and will try hard not to do so any more. I'm gone for a week, doing mission work in the Chelsea section of New York, but will check in as able. 
Cheers,
BBD:bow:


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## Observer (Mar 3, 2006)

Merging and editing threads is acrually much more difficult than arranging the elements sequentially to begin with. 

To achieve sequential order simply divide the story up into increments of 15,000 bytes or less, then post each element as a reply to its sequential; predecessor. You will get an error message if you try to post too much.

For larger fonts (like this) simply click o the "Sizes" pull down menu in the input windo. The sample just given was size 3 and is Dimensions standard for stories. Titles are typically size 4. You can convert text from one size to another by highlighting it, then selecting a different font.

*Bold letters*, _as well as italics_ and other effects such as underlining, can be achieved by highlighting and selecting also.

This includes centering.​
One cautionary note: be sure to nest instructions logically or you can get strange results. Starting a font change in the middle of a center command and trying to end it after the center command terminator, for instance. won't work Even though both are the same, two font change sets are needed or the font change must begin outside the center command..


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