Chapter 3

Sophie unlocked the front door and slipped into the darkened dining room, heart pounding in her ears. “What have I done?” She ran her fingers through her hair nervously. “’Meet me at the restaurant,’ what the hell was that? Ugh!” She had no idea what she intended to do if he actually showed up. “Okay, just…breathe,” she told herself, kneading her temples. “Honestly…he probably won’t even come. Right? I mean….” She sighed. He had been really uncomfortable with her touching his stomach. Maybe he would be too embarrassed…Her heart clenched. That was the LAST thing she had wanted. This fetish was completely against her nature. She was empathetic to a fault, constantly playing mother hen, looking out for everyone. And yet, she got off on humiliation. If a fat man popped a button, broke a chair, got stuck somewhere, struggled to do pushups….It drove her wild. If he was self-conscious about his weight, she longed for someone to make a joke at his expense, someone to comment on how fat he was. She could never deliver that blow herself, of course. It was too cruel, too brutal. It broke her heart every time, but it got the juices flowing.

A knock on the door made her jump. She whirled around in a blind panic. “Just breathe…breathe….” She forced herself to walk calmly to the door, trying to piece together what she was going to say but coming up dry. She took a deep breath and opened the door, praying it was a customer, her father, the Pope…anyone but Adam.

No such luck.

“Adam…hey-” Before she could invite him in, his lips were on hers. His hands moved to her waist then around to her lower back and he crushed her against him, pressing his belly sharply into her. An electric shock shot through entire body. Heart racing, head swimming, she leaned even deeper into the kiss, taking his head in her hands, running her fingers through his thick dark hair. He moaned gently and all but carried her to the closest booth, laying her down on the bench. His kisses were deep, passionate, unrelenting. He supported himself arms-length above her, knees on the end of the booth, one hand next to her neck, bent at the elbow. With the other, he brushed her hair behind her ears. She shivered under his gentle touch, the perfect contrast to his almost fierce kisses, but the longing to feel his weight engulfing her was almost unbearable. She put her hands on his waist and tried to pull him down on top of her, but he refused. “I’m too heavy,” he panted, shaking his head.

“No,” she breathed. “No… Please….” She pulled down on him again, but again he refused. He broke from the kiss, taking her hands from his sides, and sat up on his knees, still panting. The moment had passed.

Sophie lay back and tugged on her hair, breathing deeply, eyes closed in frustration. She was near to tears, the fetish and her maternal instincts warring violently within her. On the one hand, it broke her heart that he was so self-conscious; it was clear that he was absolutely mortified by her attention to his girth. But on the other, his humiliation turned her on like nothing else ever had, and she was developing a whole new understanding of the phrase “blue balled.” She turned and pressed her face into the back of the booth.

Adam stood up for a moment; his knees were killing him. “Sophie?” His voice was a little timid, but there was something else there. Embarrassment? Anger? She swallowed hard and forced herself to sit up, for the moment avoiding looking at Adam. He sat down on the very edge of the booth, giving her as much space as possible. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“What are you so ashamed of?” she asked at last. She tried to meet his eyes, but he avoided her gaze. “Adam…” She reached out to him, but he brushed her hand away. There was a war waging within Adam as well. What he wanted to ask her was why the obsession with humiliating him? Why did she insist on acknowledging how fat he was every time they met? But he couldn’t bring himself to form the words. As angry as he was with her, his own self-loathing far surpassed it. This was his own fault. He knew he should never have come. He wanted nothing more than to leave and never look back, to never see Sophie’s beautiful face again, but he didn’t have the strength to stand up. His eyes welled with tears and he laid his head down on his arms, hating himself even more for being so weak. “Yeah, that’s it fatass, cry about it,” the voice in his head sneered. This breakdown had been months in the making.