~BBW (Multiple), Fantasy, Imagery, Eating, ~SWG - a change of mindset helps trigger entry into an entirely different reality
She was standing in the center of a small windowless room, its white walls reflecting the harsh light emanating from two banks of overhead fluorescents, buzzing softly like electric bees. Other than the overhead lighting the room was austere, void of any trappings hinting at either the rooms’ purpose or its owner.
White on white: nothingness. The only break in the otherwise featureless room was two wooden doors, one to her left and the other opposite, to her right. From the door on her left she heard faint voices and laughter, as if there were some kind of party going on in the room on the other side of the door.
Curious, she turned toward the joyful sounds and began walking towards the door. As she got closer it seemed as if invisible hands were pressing on her shoulders, pushing her back away from the door. The closer she got the firmer the resistance until each step became a struggle. Five feet from the door she grunted and strained for another step, her chest heaving with the exertion. The step completed she paused to marshal her energy as the happy sounds from behind the door grew louder, a siren song, egging her on.
Steeling herself she raised her right leg and attempted to take another step, but the resistance increased. She lowered her shoulders for more leverage but the pressure became suffocating and unbearable. Panting heavily she finally admitted defeat and took a step back towards the middle of the room, and with that step the pressure vanished.
She shrugged and turned her attention to the other door; identical to the first, only no sound emanated from beyond it. Curious again she gingerly stepped towards it, not wanting to encounter the force field effect again.
Two steps, three, then four, and no force field presence. She took the last three steps and then slowly reached her hand towards the ornate brass knob, feeling its coolness as her fingers curled around it. She hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath and then turned the knob. Half expecting it to be locked, she was surprised when it turned easily in her hand. She heard the click of a lock release as the door swung outwards away from her.
Standing at the threshold she looked out into total blackness, a black so total, so empty and endless that she felt a sense of vertigo. She felt neither hot nor cold, felt no sensation at all except for an unexplainable dread that was gnawing at the pit of her stomach. She knew it was an unreasonable fear, for there was, literally, nothing out there; but fearing that emptiness she stumbled back from the doorway, the door abruptly slamming shut in her face.
She shivered as she wrapped her arms tightly across her chest, as if assuring herself that she was all still there, when she heard the murmuring and laughter coming from beyond the first door. Confused and confounded, not knowing what to do, she still found herself drawn to the first door and was then amazed to feel her feet moving in that direction, as if they possessed a mind of their own.
With each step she anticipated the return of the force field, but after several steps she felt only a slight pressure. This time the going was much easier as she stepped ever closer to the sounds of joy and happiness. She felt only the slightest nudge trying to drive her back as her hand reached out and touched the knob. She began to turn and …
“It’s 7:05 and time for the Silver City Gym Traffic Report. Silver City Gym, building a better body for a better you.”
Erica groaned, snaked her arm out and fumbled for the clock radio’s off switch. Finally quieting the offending beast, she lay amidst the sheets in the dim pale light and tried to get her head together to face another day, but all she could focus on was “Silver City Gym, building a better body for a better you”.
“Assholes”, she swore. There was such an empty promise implied by that statement: get a fit and toned body and poof; all your worries were over. Lose that ten pounds and you will instantly become attractive, and not only that, but you’ll find that everyone will love you and, by golly, you’ll even find yourself being kinder to animals or perhaps doing charity work. Yes indeed, a better person, smarter, more loving and compassionate, just by simply working your abs five days a week. Amazing!
Erica waved a middle finger salute in the general direction of the radio. Nope, she wasn’t buying into that crap. Not any more. That whole mentality was for John and his kind, the oh so perfects of the world who somehow managed to control the minds of the rest of us, always making us believe that we were inadequate while at the same time giving us that empty hope: yes, you too can be one of us, the movers and shakers, the powerful and sexy. All you needed was a good bod and some dental work and voila, you were now a member of that in crowd, those who didn’t have to remind everyone else that they were the trendsetters and above caring about what anyone other than their peers said or thought.
Ah yes, but they forgot to tell you that the club has more layers than a wedding cake and no matter how hard you try you will never be able to reach the inner circles.
So it was with John; she was never quite good enough. She thought that she was blessed when he first descended from the heavens for a lark. He was so cool, so erudite and handsome. She believed him so out of her league, always perfectly dressed, born with a silver tongue that could talk its way out of, or into anything.
She couldn’t believe it when he turned his attention towards her. She considered herself so totally beneath his notice. Erica had always thought herself fat and frumpy, hated her thighs and the little round pooch of a tummy that no diet or exercise could remove.
In truth, at five foot four and 132 pounds when she met John, she was hardly what anyone would consider fat, except for those fashion designers who only thought their clothes hung right on anorexics. No, Erica was in the same boat as at least fifty percent of the population who would otherwise be considered normal, healthy and even sexy if it weren’t for those perverse “never too rich or too thin” types.
And she had tried so hard, wanted so much to be en vogue, be what those sellers of thousand dollar dresses considered glamorous. She wanted her breastbone to show, wanted her head to appear too big for her body, the Audrey Hepburn chic. She wanted to be perfect so that she would somehow feel worthy of John. He was so cool and it was effortless, while she tried so hard, doted on him, hung on his every word as if it came straight from God’s mouth, while all the while she exercised and dieted with religious fervor.
She read that long hair was out this year, so she chopped off her beautiful long wavy tresses. She devoured every Vogue and Harper’s cover to cover in an attempt to look and dress smart. All for John, to make John happy.
And it worked! For four months he stuck around, taking her to parties and all the trendy nightspots. She was on cloud nine just being around him, being seen with him and feeling that maybe, just maybe, she really did belong. Still, her enjoyment was reduced to those simple feelings as she dared not sample any of the haute cuisine or indulge in more than one beverage, less she lose control and say the wrong thing, or god forbid, gain an ounce.
But even though she was on her very best behavior it soon became apparent that it wasn’t good enough for dear John. The digs were subtle enough at first, the demeaning little remarks about how Erica had somehow failed to understand the complexities of being “one of us”. She took it in stride, consenting to being the butt of their jokes; anything, as long as John was happy.
Of course, given tacit Carte Blance; John’s remarks became more acidic and cutting, never failing to point out her shortcomings.
She remembered one night when she was wearing a clingy black dress that she had bought the week before as a surprise. She had dieted and exercised her way down to 125 pounds and while the damned tummy was still in evidence, she deemed it small enough of a protrusion to slip past the dreaded fat police. John thought otherwise. He waited until the appropriate moment, when he had an attentive audience so that Erica could experience his rapier wit to the fullest.
As she returned from the bathroom, feeling happy and yes, even sexy, John expressed his opinion in a voice loud enough for all his friends to hear and even catch the ear of those in the surrounding tables, “You know Erica, some women were made to wear that dress, and some shouldn’t even try. Can you guess which category you fall into?”
It was clear by his inflection just which category he thought she belonged to. Erica could just feel all the eyes on her as the color rose to her cheeks and she could sense all the tight little smirks that proclaimed that she was just a wanna be who would never really make the grade.
She cried herself to sleep that night and spiraled down into a state of depression, her sense of inadequacy and self-loathing reaching new levels. She managed to deceive herself that she was in love with John and was lucky to have him. It wasn’t his fault that he was cruel, no; it was her fault for not measuring up to his standards. If only she could make herself prettier, if only the right words would come to her lips so they will start laughing with her instead of at her.
As she sunk deeper and deeper into her despondency she found it harder and harder to face John’s friends. She wanted to be with him, but couldn’t take the feeling of being under a microscope whenever the crowd got together. When John called to ask her out the next weekend she begged him to spend a quite evening with her instead. He got all huffy, saying that it wasn’t his idea of a good time and slammed the phone down.
Erica’s fragile ego was tottering on the brink, her fear of rejection and fear of losing such a prize catch making her so agitated and uneasy that she turned to the only comfort she could rely on. She called in for some Chinese take out and then, on her way home, stopped at a convenience store for a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia.
There was a small voice, way in the back of her mind, chastising her for her weakness, but there was something stronger compelling her, demanding that she do at least this small luxury for herself. It was as if her whole sense of being depended on it.
She finished off both the Chinese and the Cherry Garcia that night and the next night she succumbed to another pint. It was as if she was in some form of pitched battle for her soul. She knew that the ice cream was a sin and that if she gained any weight at all John might leave her for good, but she couldn’t help herself – or maybe she was. Maybe this was her subconscious’s way of fighting back.
She needed to take a stand, fight for herself, tell John and the rest of his ilk that she was a person, she had value and screw them for their prejudice. Every bite of the creamy confection became an act of defiance. She was so torn and confused, on one hand fearing to lose him, while on the other her subconscious mind was sabotaging her, hoping upon hope to drive the beast away.
By the following Friday she had found the seven pounds she had lost. Back at 132 she was feeling ugly and obese but felt she had no choice but to accompany John for a night out. It just wouldn’t do for her to refuse him two weeks in a row.
She dressed in the most non-revealing clothes she could find and prayed that she be let off with a minimal amount of derision. No such luck. When John arrived to pick her up the first words out of his mouth were “Hey Ricky, what’d ya do, stay home and stuff your face all week? Ya look like a cow; hey, you’re not preggers are ya? At least not by me anyway.”
She stood on the precipice; the next step either saves her or loses her forever. Be a good little mouse, keep your mouth shut, apologize for offending John and then take your medicine of ridicule the rest of the night. Say goodbye to Erica and hello to the vacant woman, a hollow shell who sacrificed the last shred of her self respect at the alter of sick conformity.
But that one last molecule of self-respect made its voice heard and as Erica slammed the door on John’s face she yelled “if I was pregnant with your child I’d have already visited the clinic by now!”
It was a heroic stand, but it took everything she had to do it. Her psyche was in such a delicate state that, even though she had finally stood up for herself, even though she knew deep down that she had done the right thing and had in the process saved herself, the specter of her failed relationship haunted her.
She shook her head in recollection. It had been five weeks ago and while she knew she was healing, and in truth now felt happier than she had in ages, the wound was still a bit sensitive to the touch. She was getting better, but there were still relapses, times when she felt miserable and lonely.
Like last night. It had not been one of her better nights. She had made a big pot of spaghetti with a creamy meat sauce, figuring on leftovers for at least a couple of nights, but as she sat down to eat she started feeling excessively lonely and insecure. The next thing she knew the pot was empty and her stomach bulged over the waistband of her panties. She felt disgusted but knew that there was still a pint of New York Super Fudge Chunk in the freezer.
Incredibly, even though she was stuffed, she could hear Ben & Jerry calling to her: a siren song too sweet to ignore. Maybe just a spoonful or two, she convinced herself. Ah, but it tasted so good, was so cool and smooth as it slid down her throat. Maybe one more bite, to get one of those white chocolate chunks, she nodded. Just that and I’ll put the container back in the freezer.
But that bite led to another and then a search for a spoonful with a nut in it, and then another with a chocolate chunk and then… she was scraping the sides of the carton with her spoon, scooping up the last of the melted cream.
Her belly felt huge as she struggled to her feet and waddled into the bedroom, stopping just long enough to wash her face before falling heavily into bed.
That was a mere eight hours ago, yet she wondered if she had dreamed it. No, she recalled the real dream – the one with the white room and the two doors. Still, she raised the sheets and gazed at her body, inspecting last night’s damage. She pressed a hand into her belly and watched it sink into the fleshy expanse. It gurgled back at her and she couldn’t believe that she felt hungry.
“Greedy beast”, she said to her belly; “well, maybe a small omelet; after all, you don’t want Mary Ellen hearing your stomach gurgling. No, we don’t want to give her anything else to complain about, do we??
Mary Ellen was her supervisor, a real witch, who seemed to only find happiness at other people’s expense. Erica realized that Mary Ellen was the female equivalent of John, only with her there wasn’t the emotional attachment. Mary Ellen was always complaining about her work; it was either too sloppy or too slow, and even when everything was perfect, well Mary Ellen wanted it in duplicate or triplicate.
Still, to Erica’s credit she was able to shrug her off, even her persistent attacks on the way she dressed, wore her makeup, whatever. Lately Mary had turned her attention to Erica’s advancing weight, pointing out that her ass was getting wide and saying that she hoped that the chairs in the conference room were up to the challenge. As if Erica was some totally obese cow. She knew she had been putting on weight and in truth didn’t know how much, but she was a far cry from being able to break a chair with her bulk.
She looked at the clock: 7:25! Yikes, she’d better get a move on! She rolled on her side and then thrust her legs off the edge of the bed and down to the floor. She rose to her feet, her puffy belly jiggling with the motion. She padded off to the bathroom for a quick shower, noticing as she soaped her body how soft and spongy it felt. She swore that her breasts had swollen as well, as the washing action made them sway and bounce with a rhythm all their own.
Stepping from the shower she toweled off and before she finished tying the towel about her chest she caught a glimpse of a plump butterball in the mirror; her tummy round and bulging and her thighs thick and rubbing together. Normally such a vision would have thrown her into a panic, but today, well she just shrugged. What did she expect? She’d been eating like a horse for over a month now, of course she’d look a tad Rubenesque.
She shrugged again, the motion of her shoulders sending a wave across her bosom. She readjusted her towel and then stepped in from of the mirror to blow dry her hair; the back and forth motion causing the underside of her arm to jiggle.
Judging her hair sufficiently dry, she then repositioned herself closer to the mirror to apply her makeup. As she carefully applied her mascara she glanced sideways and down whereupon a chrome object in the corner caught her eye. The scale. She hadn’t gotten near the thing since she was dieting down to 125. Dare she?
She argued that she shouldn’t put an end to a perfectly good morning but then her curiosity again got the better of her so she stepped towards the scale, dropped her towel to the floor and stepped on. She had to bend over slightly to peer past her pendulous breasts and then take both hands to push her bulbous belly inwards to see the LED readout. The red numbers reported 147 pounds. It was no wonder that the waistbands on even her loosest skirts were cutting into her spongy middle.
She was outgrowing all of her clothes, but instead of a feeling of horror and depression, Erica felt a certain giddiness, as if a chance for a new wardrobe would cleanse away the last trappings of John.
She hummed to herself as she prepared a two-egg omelet, toast with marmalade and an ample helping of bacon, savoring the heavenly smell and salivating over the expectant flavor.
She took the time to enjoy every delicious morsel and then only after the last bite did she quickly dress in what had once been her loosest fitting skirt and raced for her car, promising herself that this weekend she would go shopping for some clothes a bit more forgiving.
As she drove towards her office she glanced at the car’s clock, which she always kept at ten minutes fast. Doing a quick mental calculation she decided that she had enough time to stop at Doug’s Donuts, thinking that a treat for the rest of the girls would be worth the risk of Mary Ellen’s ire if she were to show up even a minute late.
She turned off the main thoroughfare and headed towards Doug’s. As she pulled into the driveway of the strip mall she was amazed: the place was packed! Fortunately a car was just pulling out so she was able to get a parking spot and, taking this for a good omen, decided to brave the crowd packed into the tiny shop.
She smiled at her good fortune as the line moved rapidly. It seemed that everyone was on their best behavior, just taking a mixed dozen of whatever, instead of the usual fussiness “oh, I’ll have one custard, no, make that two; and what are those, maple bars? Ok, one of those; now, how many is that”. But none of that today. It seemed any donut was good enough for today.
Erica smiled and repeated the litany “one dozen mixed; whatever’s easy”.
The man behind the counter threw in a couple extra and winked at her, saying “thanks for making it easy.”
Erica smiled; it was indeed a fine morning.
As she traversed the last couple of miles to work, Erica began feeling naughty so she reached over to the passenger side and opened the donut box. She reached in, not caring what she came out with, and keeping her eyes on the road brought a cream filled éclair to her mouth. She took a bite and sighed over the little taste of sugary heaven.
The last bite disappeared as she pulled into the underground garage. Damn, she only had two minutes to park, walk to the elevator and ride to the twelfth floor. She’d never make it! She could just hear Mary Ellen now, “You’re late! What’s the matter, couldn’t drag your fat ass out of bed? This lack of punctuality is just another indication of your overall sloppiness, a sloppiness that unfortunately manifests itself in your work. You’re going to have to put in some serious overtime to make up for this, otherwise I’ll have to talk to Mr. Jonah about you again.”
Erica actually smiled at her little mental scenario; it seemed that nothing was going to ruin her mood on this wonderful morning.
She was still smiling when she departed the elevator and walked through the glass office doors, box of donuts under her arm. She was surprised to see Mary Ellen leaning against the reception desk talking to Jane, the receptionist. She was surprised because normally Mary Ellen didn’t associate with underlings, especially the menial types like receptionists. Erica was even more befuddled because Mary Ellen, the ultra professional woman, was joyfully taking a big bite out of an old fashioned glazed donut. Mary Ellen never ate in public and Erica wasn’t even sure that she ever ate at all, so the visage of her licking the sugar off her fingers while giggling over some form of girl talk was especially shocking.
And then, to step even further into the Twilight Zone, Mary Ellen turned, saw Erica and instead of beginning her verbal tongue-lashing, smiled a warm smile and simply said, “Ooh, you brought donuts, how sweet of you. Funny, I decided to bring some in too; I guess great minds think alike. Open up, let’s see what kind you’ve got!”
Dumbfounded, Erica complied and Mary Ellen cooed, “ooh, a cinnamon twist! May I?”
Of course she had already snared the twist, but Erica wasn’t going to deny her boss, or point out that the twist had come just after the glazed. No, she simply smiled and presented the box to Jane who, also going in for seconds, chose a devil’s food chocolate covered with sprinkles.
Feeling the sense of camaraderie and wanting to be one of the girls, Erica grabbed a glazed for herself and the three gossiped and gobbled. Finally Mary Ellen looked up at the clock and said “goodness, 9:30 already. I suppose we’d better get back on the treadmill. Erica, how are you coming on the Rockwell report? Need more time?”
Assuring her that the report should still be out by the end of the day, Erica received a big hug and a pat on the back for being such a trooper.
Back at her desk Erica tried to shake off her feelings of disbelief. That last exchange, in fact the whole morning, from the moment that she walked through the company doors, was so unlike her boss, but Erica sure wasn’t going to start complaining if Mary Ellen decided to turn over a new leaf.
****************************
A World of Change
by Maxout
by Maxout
She was standing in the center of a small windowless room, its white walls reflecting the harsh light emanating from two banks of overhead fluorescents, buzzing softly like electric bees. Other than the overhead lighting the room was austere, void of any trappings hinting at either the rooms’ purpose or its owner.
White on white: nothingness. The only break in the otherwise featureless room was two wooden doors, one to her left and the other opposite, to her right. From the door on her left she heard faint voices and laughter, as if there were some kind of party going on in the room on the other side of the door.
Curious, she turned toward the joyful sounds and began walking towards the door. As she got closer it seemed as if invisible hands were pressing on her shoulders, pushing her back away from the door. The closer she got the firmer the resistance until each step became a struggle. Five feet from the door she grunted and strained for another step, her chest heaving with the exertion. The step completed she paused to marshal her energy as the happy sounds from behind the door grew louder, a siren song, egging her on.
Steeling herself she raised her right leg and attempted to take another step, but the resistance increased. She lowered her shoulders for more leverage but the pressure became suffocating and unbearable. Panting heavily she finally admitted defeat and took a step back towards the middle of the room, and with that step the pressure vanished.
She shrugged and turned her attention to the other door; identical to the first, only no sound emanated from beyond it. Curious again she gingerly stepped towards it, not wanting to encounter the force field effect again.
Two steps, three, then four, and no force field presence. She took the last three steps and then slowly reached her hand towards the ornate brass knob, feeling its coolness as her fingers curled around it. She hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath and then turned the knob. Half expecting it to be locked, she was surprised when it turned easily in her hand. She heard the click of a lock release as the door swung outwards away from her.
Standing at the threshold she looked out into total blackness, a black so total, so empty and endless that she felt a sense of vertigo. She felt neither hot nor cold, felt no sensation at all except for an unexplainable dread that was gnawing at the pit of her stomach. She knew it was an unreasonable fear, for there was, literally, nothing out there; but fearing that emptiness she stumbled back from the doorway, the door abruptly slamming shut in her face.
She shivered as she wrapped her arms tightly across her chest, as if assuring herself that she was all still there, when she heard the murmuring and laughter coming from beyond the first door. Confused and confounded, not knowing what to do, she still found herself drawn to the first door and was then amazed to feel her feet moving in that direction, as if they possessed a mind of their own.
With each step she anticipated the return of the force field, but after several steps she felt only a slight pressure. This time the going was much easier as she stepped ever closer to the sounds of joy and happiness. She felt only the slightest nudge trying to drive her back as her hand reached out and touched the knob. She began to turn and …
“It’s 7:05 and time for the Silver City Gym Traffic Report. Silver City Gym, building a better body for a better you.”
Erica groaned, snaked her arm out and fumbled for the clock radio’s off switch. Finally quieting the offending beast, she lay amidst the sheets in the dim pale light and tried to get her head together to face another day, but all she could focus on was “Silver City Gym, building a better body for a better you”.
“Assholes”, she swore. There was such an empty promise implied by that statement: get a fit and toned body and poof; all your worries were over. Lose that ten pounds and you will instantly become attractive, and not only that, but you’ll find that everyone will love you and, by golly, you’ll even find yourself being kinder to animals or perhaps doing charity work. Yes indeed, a better person, smarter, more loving and compassionate, just by simply working your abs five days a week. Amazing!
Erica waved a middle finger salute in the general direction of the radio. Nope, she wasn’t buying into that crap. Not any more. That whole mentality was for John and his kind, the oh so perfects of the world who somehow managed to control the minds of the rest of us, always making us believe that we were inadequate while at the same time giving us that empty hope: yes, you too can be one of us, the movers and shakers, the powerful and sexy. All you needed was a good bod and some dental work and voila, you were now a member of that in crowd, those who didn’t have to remind everyone else that they were the trendsetters and above caring about what anyone other than their peers said or thought.
Ah yes, but they forgot to tell you that the club has more layers than a wedding cake and no matter how hard you try you will never be able to reach the inner circles.
So it was with John; she was never quite good enough. She thought that she was blessed when he first descended from the heavens for a lark. He was so cool, so erudite and handsome. She believed him so out of her league, always perfectly dressed, born with a silver tongue that could talk its way out of, or into anything.
She couldn’t believe it when he turned his attention towards her. She considered herself so totally beneath his notice. Erica had always thought herself fat and frumpy, hated her thighs and the little round pooch of a tummy that no diet or exercise could remove.
In truth, at five foot four and 132 pounds when she met John, she was hardly what anyone would consider fat, except for those fashion designers who only thought their clothes hung right on anorexics. No, Erica was in the same boat as at least fifty percent of the population who would otherwise be considered normal, healthy and even sexy if it weren’t for those perverse “never too rich or too thin” types.
And she had tried so hard, wanted so much to be en vogue, be what those sellers of thousand dollar dresses considered glamorous. She wanted her breastbone to show, wanted her head to appear too big for her body, the Audrey Hepburn chic. She wanted to be perfect so that she would somehow feel worthy of John. He was so cool and it was effortless, while she tried so hard, doted on him, hung on his every word as if it came straight from God’s mouth, while all the while she exercised and dieted with religious fervor.
She read that long hair was out this year, so she chopped off her beautiful long wavy tresses. She devoured every Vogue and Harper’s cover to cover in an attempt to look and dress smart. All for John, to make John happy.
And it worked! For four months he stuck around, taking her to parties and all the trendy nightspots. She was on cloud nine just being around him, being seen with him and feeling that maybe, just maybe, she really did belong. Still, her enjoyment was reduced to those simple feelings as she dared not sample any of the haute cuisine or indulge in more than one beverage, less she lose control and say the wrong thing, or god forbid, gain an ounce.
But even though she was on her very best behavior it soon became apparent that it wasn’t good enough for dear John. The digs were subtle enough at first, the demeaning little remarks about how Erica had somehow failed to understand the complexities of being “one of us”. She took it in stride, consenting to being the butt of their jokes; anything, as long as John was happy.
Of course, given tacit Carte Blance; John’s remarks became more acidic and cutting, never failing to point out her shortcomings.
She remembered one night when she was wearing a clingy black dress that she had bought the week before as a surprise. She had dieted and exercised her way down to 125 pounds and while the damned tummy was still in evidence, she deemed it small enough of a protrusion to slip past the dreaded fat police. John thought otherwise. He waited until the appropriate moment, when he had an attentive audience so that Erica could experience his rapier wit to the fullest.
As she returned from the bathroom, feeling happy and yes, even sexy, John expressed his opinion in a voice loud enough for all his friends to hear and even catch the ear of those in the surrounding tables, “You know Erica, some women were made to wear that dress, and some shouldn’t even try. Can you guess which category you fall into?”
It was clear by his inflection just which category he thought she belonged to. Erica could just feel all the eyes on her as the color rose to her cheeks and she could sense all the tight little smirks that proclaimed that she was just a wanna be who would never really make the grade.
She cried herself to sleep that night and spiraled down into a state of depression, her sense of inadequacy and self-loathing reaching new levels. She managed to deceive herself that she was in love with John and was lucky to have him. It wasn’t his fault that he was cruel, no; it was her fault for not measuring up to his standards. If only she could make herself prettier, if only the right words would come to her lips so they will start laughing with her instead of at her.
As she sunk deeper and deeper into her despondency she found it harder and harder to face John’s friends. She wanted to be with him, but couldn’t take the feeling of being under a microscope whenever the crowd got together. When John called to ask her out the next weekend she begged him to spend a quite evening with her instead. He got all huffy, saying that it wasn’t his idea of a good time and slammed the phone down.
Erica’s fragile ego was tottering on the brink, her fear of rejection and fear of losing such a prize catch making her so agitated and uneasy that she turned to the only comfort she could rely on. She called in for some Chinese take out and then, on her way home, stopped at a convenience store for a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia.
There was a small voice, way in the back of her mind, chastising her for her weakness, but there was something stronger compelling her, demanding that she do at least this small luxury for herself. It was as if her whole sense of being depended on it.
She finished off both the Chinese and the Cherry Garcia that night and the next night she succumbed to another pint. It was as if she was in some form of pitched battle for her soul. She knew that the ice cream was a sin and that if she gained any weight at all John might leave her for good, but she couldn’t help herself – or maybe she was. Maybe this was her subconscious’s way of fighting back.
She needed to take a stand, fight for herself, tell John and the rest of his ilk that she was a person, she had value and screw them for their prejudice. Every bite of the creamy confection became an act of defiance. She was so torn and confused, on one hand fearing to lose him, while on the other her subconscious mind was sabotaging her, hoping upon hope to drive the beast away.
By the following Friday she had found the seven pounds she had lost. Back at 132 she was feeling ugly and obese but felt she had no choice but to accompany John for a night out. It just wouldn’t do for her to refuse him two weeks in a row.
She dressed in the most non-revealing clothes she could find and prayed that she be let off with a minimal amount of derision. No such luck. When John arrived to pick her up the first words out of his mouth were “Hey Ricky, what’d ya do, stay home and stuff your face all week? Ya look like a cow; hey, you’re not preggers are ya? At least not by me anyway.”
She stood on the precipice; the next step either saves her or loses her forever. Be a good little mouse, keep your mouth shut, apologize for offending John and then take your medicine of ridicule the rest of the night. Say goodbye to Erica and hello to the vacant woman, a hollow shell who sacrificed the last shred of her self respect at the alter of sick conformity.
But that one last molecule of self-respect made its voice heard and as Erica slammed the door on John’s face she yelled “if I was pregnant with your child I’d have already visited the clinic by now!”
It was a heroic stand, but it took everything she had to do it. Her psyche was in such a delicate state that, even though she had finally stood up for herself, even though she knew deep down that she had done the right thing and had in the process saved herself, the specter of her failed relationship haunted her.
She shook her head in recollection. It had been five weeks ago and while she knew she was healing, and in truth now felt happier than she had in ages, the wound was still a bit sensitive to the touch. She was getting better, but there were still relapses, times when she felt miserable and lonely.
Like last night. It had not been one of her better nights. She had made a big pot of spaghetti with a creamy meat sauce, figuring on leftovers for at least a couple of nights, but as she sat down to eat she started feeling excessively lonely and insecure. The next thing she knew the pot was empty and her stomach bulged over the waistband of her panties. She felt disgusted but knew that there was still a pint of New York Super Fudge Chunk in the freezer.
Incredibly, even though she was stuffed, she could hear Ben & Jerry calling to her: a siren song too sweet to ignore. Maybe just a spoonful or two, she convinced herself. Ah, but it tasted so good, was so cool and smooth as it slid down her throat. Maybe one more bite, to get one of those white chocolate chunks, she nodded. Just that and I’ll put the container back in the freezer.
But that bite led to another and then a search for a spoonful with a nut in it, and then another with a chocolate chunk and then… she was scraping the sides of the carton with her spoon, scooping up the last of the melted cream.
Her belly felt huge as she struggled to her feet and waddled into the bedroom, stopping just long enough to wash her face before falling heavily into bed.
That was a mere eight hours ago, yet she wondered if she had dreamed it. No, she recalled the real dream – the one with the white room and the two doors. Still, she raised the sheets and gazed at her body, inspecting last night’s damage. She pressed a hand into her belly and watched it sink into the fleshy expanse. It gurgled back at her and she couldn’t believe that she felt hungry.
“Greedy beast”, she said to her belly; “well, maybe a small omelet; after all, you don’t want Mary Ellen hearing your stomach gurgling. No, we don’t want to give her anything else to complain about, do we??
Mary Ellen was her supervisor, a real witch, who seemed to only find happiness at other people’s expense. Erica realized that Mary Ellen was the female equivalent of John, only with her there wasn’t the emotional attachment. Mary Ellen was always complaining about her work; it was either too sloppy or too slow, and even when everything was perfect, well Mary Ellen wanted it in duplicate or triplicate.
Still, to Erica’s credit she was able to shrug her off, even her persistent attacks on the way she dressed, wore her makeup, whatever. Lately Mary had turned her attention to Erica’s advancing weight, pointing out that her ass was getting wide and saying that she hoped that the chairs in the conference room were up to the challenge. As if Erica was some totally obese cow. She knew she had been putting on weight and in truth didn’t know how much, but she was a far cry from being able to break a chair with her bulk.
She looked at the clock: 7:25! Yikes, she’d better get a move on! She rolled on her side and then thrust her legs off the edge of the bed and down to the floor. She rose to her feet, her puffy belly jiggling with the motion. She padded off to the bathroom for a quick shower, noticing as she soaped her body how soft and spongy it felt. She swore that her breasts had swollen as well, as the washing action made them sway and bounce with a rhythm all their own.
Stepping from the shower she toweled off and before she finished tying the towel about her chest she caught a glimpse of a plump butterball in the mirror; her tummy round and bulging and her thighs thick and rubbing together. Normally such a vision would have thrown her into a panic, but today, well she just shrugged. What did she expect? She’d been eating like a horse for over a month now, of course she’d look a tad Rubenesque.
She shrugged again, the motion of her shoulders sending a wave across her bosom. She readjusted her towel and then stepped in from of the mirror to blow dry her hair; the back and forth motion causing the underside of her arm to jiggle.
Judging her hair sufficiently dry, she then repositioned herself closer to the mirror to apply her makeup. As she carefully applied her mascara she glanced sideways and down whereupon a chrome object in the corner caught her eye. The scale. She hadn’t gotten near the thing since she was dieting down to 125. Dare she?
She argued that she shouldn’t put an end to a perfectly good morning but then her curiosity again got the better of her so she stepped towards the scale, dropped her towel to the floor and stepped on. She had to bend over slightly to peer past her pendulous breasts and then take both hands to push her bulbous belly inwards to see the LED readout. The red numbers reported 147 pounds. It was no wonder that the waistbands on even her loosest skirts were cutting into her spongy middle.
She was outgrowing all of her clothes, but instead of a feeling of horror and depression, Erica felt a certain giddiness, as if a chance for a new wardrobe would cleanse away the last trappings of John.
She hummed to herself as she prepared a two-egg omelet, toast with marmalade and an ample helping of bacon, savoring the heavenly smell and salivating over the expectant flavor.
She took the time to enjoy every delicious morsel and then only after the last bite did she quickly dress in what had once been her loosest fitting skirt and raced for her car, promising herself that this weekend she would go shopping for some clothes a bit more forgiving.
As she drove towards her office she glanced at the car’s clock, which she always kept at ten minutes fast. Doing a quick mental calculation she decided that she had enough time to stop at Doug’s Donuts, thinking that a treat for the rest of the girls would be worth the risk of Mary Ellen’s ire if she were to show up even a minute late.
She turned off the main thoroughfare and headed towards Doug’s. As she pulled into the driveway of the strip mall she was amazed: the place was packed! Fortunately a car was just pulling out so she was able to get a parking spot and, taking this for a good omen, decided to brave the crowd packed into the tiny shop.
She smiled at her good fortune as the line moved rapidly. It seemed that everyone was on their best behavior, just taking a mixed dozen of whatever, instead of the usual fussiness “oh, I’ll have one custard, no, make that two; and what are those, maple bars? Ok, one of those; now, how many is that”. But none of that today. It seemed any donut was good enough for today.
Erica smiled and repeated the litany “one dozen mixed; whatever’s easy”.
The man behind the counter threw in a couple extra and winked at her, saying “thanks for making it easy.”
Erica smiled; it was indeed a fine morning.
As she traversed the last couple of miles to work, Erica began feeling naughty so she reached over to the passenger side and opened the donut box. She reached in, not caring what she came out with, and keeping her eyes on the road brought a cream filled éclair to her mouth. She took a bite and sighed over the little taste of sugary heaven.
The last bite disappeared as she pulled into the underground garage. Damn, she only had two minutes to park, walk to the elevator and ride to the twelfth floor. She’d never make it! She could just hear Mary Ellen now, “You’re late! What’s the matter, couldn’t drag your fat ass out of bed? This lack of punctuality is just another indication of your overall sloppiness, a sloppiness that unfortunately manifests itself in your work. You’re going to have to put in some serious overtime to make up for this, otherwise I’ll have to talk to Mr. Jonah about you again.”
Erica actually smiled at her little mental scenario; it seemed that nothing was going to ruin her mood on this wonderful morning.
She was still smiling when she departed the elevator and walked through the glass office doors, box of donuts under her arm. She was surprised to see Mary Ellen leaning against the reception desk talking to Jane, the receptionist. She was surprised because normally Mary Ellen didn’t associate with underlings, especially the menial types like receptionists. Erica was even more befuddled because Mary Ellen, the ultra professional woman, was joyfully taking a big bite out of an old fashioned glazed donut. Mary Ellen never ate in public and Erica wasn’t even sure that she ever ate at all, so the visage of her licking the sugar off her fingers while giggling over some form of girl talk was especially shocking.
And then, to step even further into the Twilight Zone, Mary Ellen turned, saw Erica and instead of beginning her verbal tongue-lashing, smiled a warm smile and simply said, “Ooh, you brought donuts, how sweet of you. Funny, I decided to bring some in too; I guess great minds think alike. Open up, let’s see what kind you’ve got!”
Dumbfounded, Erica complied and Mary Ellen cooed, “ooh, a cinnamon twist! May I?”
Of course she had already snared the twist, but Erica wasn’t going to deny her boss, or point out that the twist had come just after the glazed. No, she simply smiled and presented the box to Jane who, also going in for seconds, chose a devil’s food chocolate covered with sprinkles.
Feeling the sense of camaraderie and wanting to be one of the girls, Erica grabbed a glazed for herself and the three gossiped and gobbled. Finally Mary Ellen looked up at the clock and said “goodness, 9:30 already. I suppose we’d better get back on the treadmill. Erica, how are you coming on the Rockwell report? Need more time?”
Assuring her that the report should still be out by the end of the day, Erica received a big hug and a pat on the back for being such a trooper.
Back at her desk Erica tried to shake off her feelings of disbelief. That last exchange, in fact the whole morning, from the moment that she walked through the company doors, was so unlike her boss, but Erica sure wasn’t going to start complaining if Mary Ellen decided to turn over a new leaf.
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