chapter 2

"I wanted to apologise for the terrible experience you had last night," I sad hurriedly. "I brought you something."

She held the diminutive treat in the palm of her hand and looked at it with rapt, greedy wonder. When she took a bite she closed her eyes and uttered the most full-bodied "Mmmm" that I have ever heard. Her eyes opened, languid pools of molten chocolate gazing at me from under dark lashes. "Perfection."

I realised that I was staring at her. I suppose I was enraptured by her even then.

"I'm sorry about all those terrible things I wrote," Katy said at last.

"It's OK. You were right."

"My predecessor was known for her acid tongue and my editor is constantly on my case for being too nice," she said. "I was so determined to write a bad review that I didn't say anything positive. I mean, I'm sure even Michel Roux's soufflés sink sometimes and I didn't even say anything about that amazing chocolate sorbet. It was like chocolate ice cream's evil twin - so dark and bitter. Or those beautiful handcrafted petit fours. What was in those chocolates? That unfathomable flavour. It wasn't quite orange..."

"Bergamot."
"Right! So very clever"

Her eyes shone with enthusiasm as she spoke about her passion and I realised then just how lovely she was. Her face was gorgeous, round and in every way perfect with just the faint promise of a double chin.

"Maybe I could take you out for dinner to make it up to you," she said. "There's this wonderful little Italian place around the corner from my flat called Mimi's. Everything is so fresh and delicious, you wouldn't believe how good it is."

"So long as you're not going to annihilate that place too," I said.

I had intended it to be a joke but she looked genuinely upset.

"No! No, it's not for a review. It would be a -" Date. The word hung in the air, thick and heavy as molasses.

At dinner I discovered that Katy's personality was just as big and generous as the curves of her body. She was smart and eloquent but she wasn't self-obsessed or keen to dominate the conversation. She asked me questions as if she really wanted to know all about me and had a way of listening so intently that I felt like I was the only person who mattered in the world.

I had always had a thing for bigger women and Katy was certainly not the biggest girl I had dated, not back then anyway. I guessed her to be around 170 lbs and at 5'6 she was only plump, not yet fat but there was still something irresistibly intriguing about her. I find the way most girls are frightened to eat and sweat over every extra pound so boring. I was used to dating fat girls who were ashamed to indulge their appetites in public and wanted to hide their bodies away from scornful eyes. I was thrilled when Katy, after much wide eyed deliberation, ordered two starters and three main courses. All the heaviest and most fattening things on the menu: focaccia soaked in olive oil; courgette flowers stuffed with rich ricotta cheese and deep fried; baked ziti loaded with bubbling melted cheese; carbonara dripping with creamy sauce and a huge porchetta with a thick layer of golden fat.

"Everything always looks so good that I can never pick just one," she said "But it's all for us to share, of course."

"What if you don't have space for dessert?" I teased.

"Are you kidding?" She laughed. "I always have space for dessert. That's the best part!"

I noticed that once again her clothes were too small for her. Her dress showed off more of the soft expanse of her pale, creamy thighs than was really decent, the fabric clung with unsympathetic tightness to the curve of her belly and her breasts threatened to overspill from her bra every time she leaned a little too far forward. I found myself wondering just how recently she had gained weight and couldn't resist gently probing her to find out.

"How long have you worked as a food critic?" I asked.

"Oh, only three months. It was kind of a dream come true when I landed this job after so much shitty freelance journalism but I'm not sure I'm very good at it. Like I said, my editor constantly wants me to be more critical, give harsher reviews. He says I can't possibly like everything." She sighed. "But I suppose that's my problem: I love food too much. I just love to eat."

She gave her belly, now bulging out a little further than before, a little pat but I saw no self-consciousness in the gesture. Even then I sensed she had a certain piggish pride in her gluttony and I swear she smiled when she saw how intently my eyes followed her hand as it stroked her belly.

It was true, Katy certainly did love to eat and I could only sit back and watch with awe as she gorged herself. She seemed to wallow in pleasure: gratefully, gloriously as she stuffed her face full of every fattening delight on the table. She ate with shameless abandon and as she ate the material of her dress hugged her full belly even tighter, the faint outline of her belly button now visible. The seams on her sides seemed to strain so much that I began to wonder how many mouthfuls they were away from bursting.

When she had eaten the final morsel she uttered a moan that was almost sexual in its intensity and leaned back a little in her seat, breathing heavily and trying to relieve some of the pressure in her overstuffed belly.

I could only smile at the porcine princess before me. "So what's for dessert?"

She looked surprised and then a naughty little smile spread over her full, red lips. "The tiramisu is to die for but we should order it to go."