chapter 3

A month later the hormones had not given up. Neither had my appetite, although I was feeling a little less ungainly thanks to the steady exercise with Christy. That didn't mean my gain had slowed at all, I was still toting around an extra 60 pounds (fine, maybe closer to 65).

I knelt on our bed on my hands and knees. I tried not to look over at the floor length mirrors on our sliding closet doors. The reflection made me feel like I was looking at a funhouse mirror - surely there was no way I had gotten so large.

My back bowed from the weight and my heavy baby gut hung embarrassingly close to the sheets. I looked over my shoulder at Christy and the, ah, "apparatus" she had strapped on around her waist.

"Well?" I asked, trying not to let her see how anxious I was.

"Well, what?" she smirked.

"Are you just going to stand there?" I asked, barely able to keep my voice from shaking.

"What do you want me to do?"

"You know."

"I want to hear you say it."

I gulped and flushed slightly. "I want you to . . . put it in me."

"What was that?"

"Ohh, Christy!" I moaned. "Don't make fun! I'm here all fat and bloated and horny."

"I'm sorry babe," she chuckled. "This is just so hot for me."

"What, looking at my wide ass?"

"Mm-hmm," she replied, biting her lip. "And hearing you beg for it."

She started stroking it and I felt a thrill course down my spine.

"Please baby," I begged hoarsely. "I need you. I need you to . . . put it in me. Please. Come over here and take care of your fat, pregnant wife."

"My pleasure," she purred, quickly moving to the bed.

I felt the bed shift slightly as she climbed on behind me and then she slid inside and I turned to jelly. At one point I found my head turning slightly so I could watch us in the mirror. Never would I have pictured myself in this position, and I mean that both ways.

However, there was no doubt this felt right. Better than right, it felt amazing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eventually, as all pregnancies do, mine came to an end. Fortunately labor wasn't too difficult and I recovered fairly quickly. This was good because as much I had embraced my pregnancy by the end of it, I was eager to get my body back. I took to heart Christy's encouragement that I'd beat her in a 5K a year after the birth.

For better or worse, however, I found I was one of those women who kept much of their increased bust size. As I attempted to get back into my normal training regimen, I found myself battling heavy breasts, a pronounced wobbly pot belly, and thick, flabby thighs. I also found that I had a hard time getting back to my old diet - many times I settled for what was convenient and never really found time to count calories.

As a consequence, when Christy and I lined up for a 5K a little over a year after I gave birth, I was quite confident that I would not beat her. Actually, I wasn't confident I could even jog the whole way at a slow pace. I still carried nearly 30 pounds of extra weight and looked every bit like a new mom who hadn't gotten her body back yet.

"Whaddya say, loser has a kid?" Christy teased as we got ready.

"Fat chance," I scoffed, pulling down at my tight tank top that kept riding up to show off my soft belly and love handles.

"C'mon, it wasn't that bad, was it?"

"It was fine," I said. "And of course totally worth it. But if it's not bad, why don't you do it?"

"Well, I just figured . . ." she trailed off with a mischievous look at her face that told me I wouldn't like what was coming next.

"What?" I growled.

"Well, since you already, um, 'changed' your figure . . . it probably makes more sense for you to keep getting pregnant."

"You lousy little-" my retort was cut off by the starter's pistol.

Christy poked my belly and laughed as she took off, I started off quickly behind her but quickly had to slow down, my heavier form unable to keep up that kind of pace anymore.

Christy kept teasing me about having another while I kept telling her that it would be more fair for her to "ruin" her body as well so I wouldn't be the only fat one. Finally, we reached an agreement.

We would both get pregnant. We staggered it so Christy went two months before me. As soon as she showed positive I wasted no time in plying her with as many calories as possible. It was my mission to make sure she ended up as massive as me.

To her credit, she was a good sport and freely indulged her every craving. By five months in she was wearing maternity clothes and looking every inch a plump mom-to-be.

Of course, she did end up getting the last laugh. My second pregnancy proved to be twins, so even with a two month head start I passed her fairly quickly. My belly stretched out so quickly I could hardly comprehend what was happening.

When Christy finally went into labor after 9 months and nearly 70 pounds, the doctors and nurses at the hospital frequently asked if we were sure that I wasn't actually the one ready to drop. I had crested 200 pounds at that point and stuck out so far in front that I could barely fit behind the wheel of our car.

Since then, walks with strollers have replaced 5K races, which is probably more appropriate for our wider, softer, heavier forms. Most of our running now involves chasing a crawling child, and our meals tend more toward macaroni with cheese than salad with kale.

Once in awhile I still look at myself in the mirror and grab my paunch or saddle bags and swear I'm going to get back into shape. Then Christy presses her equally chubby body against mine and I remember that other things are in fact more important now.

Plus, I kind of miss being pregnant.


FIN