Chapter 1 - setting the trap

A Taste for Big Guys

"Good thing my taste in men runs a little larger than the typical female's," I say, reaching under the table and patting you on your newly-acquired belly.

This is the first time I have ever mentioned your recent weight gain. And yes, I've noticed it for a while. You act a little embarrassed, turning a bit red on the top of your ears. So cute. As if a man like you can be cute in any way. I chuckle inside, knowing my words have bothered you.

I know you are uncomfortable, but I like catching you off guard. You always are so stridently over-confident. You always act intimidating toward me. Time for me to turn the tables a little on you, I think to myself, as I let my words echo into the silence.

This is the first time you have come to my apartment. Generally, we just have a quickie at a motel during your lunchtime. Just a few crumbs of your time are all I usually get.

But your wife is away this week visiting a sick aunt, so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to fix you a homecooked meal and have you stay the night with me.

Usually, a meal with you is lunch -- at best, room service if we are at a nice hotel and, at worst, takeout fast food - burgers, fries a milkshake or pizza and beer.

You showed up tonight acting like a real human being -- well, a nice human being. You always act like a real human being -- greedy, sex-crazed and selfish -- just the qualities which keep me in business.

I was taken aback when I opened the door and saw you had a nice bouquet of flowers, a bottle of wine and a chocolate cake for dessert. Usually, you treat me like your trampish whore on the side, so these gifts were surprising.

I didn't know you were bringing cake, but I made plenty of dessert for you anyway. I know what a sweet-tooth you have. I love to cook and bake. I have told you that, but now you are in the midst of discovering my culinary charms.

And I love watching you eat. There's nothing hotter in the whole world than a man given over to gluttony, eating and drinking and savoring life to the fullest. You will only live so long. Might as well enjoy every bite.

My remark about liking "larger" men catches you unawares. And ironically, with your mouth full of pasta. You are in the middle of your second plate-sized helping of my special homemade lasagna, and I've just poured you a third glass of wine.

Your ears pinken with embarrassment. You reach beneath the table to make sure your fine silk shirt is properly tucked in after my belly-pat. I can see from your pained expression, you are trying to suck in that belly you have recently grown.

"Beg pardon?" is all you mutter, your mouth full of greasy sausage and cheese and pasta.

"I said I love seeing a big man eat," I reply with an exaggerated wink.

"I'm not that big," you say in a defensive tone, setting your fork down as if in protest.

"Not yet." You look stunned. I pause to let those two words sink in as you take a nervous sip of wine. "Not yet," I repeat, "but you have gained a little weight recently, haven't you? I'd say at least 25 pounds since we met. It's not going away just because we haven't talked about it," I say, reaching over and grabbing a handful of flabby love handle, then releasing it, but leaving my hand there.

I feel your flesh tightening a bit. I see a small drop of sweat forming on your forehead.

I am enjoying this so much. Your fear. Your embarrassment. Your passive-aggressive anger. You are silent.

"At least 25 pounds, Tubby," I repeat as my hand grabs the fat roll sitting on your waistband.

"I've gained a little, yeah, but not 25 pounds. Don't call me Tubby please. I still fit in my Armani suit pretty well, don't you think?"

"Just barely. A few more bites of lasagna and you wont' fit into it." I smile wickedly. My fingers play against your waistband, testing just how tight it is. "That waistband button is getting quite a workout. At least 25 extra pounds of Charlie in that suit."

"No, not that much. It's more like 10, 12 pounds at the most."

"Want to bet on that?"

I play to your weakness, your pride, your vanity and your natural desire to gamble, to take risks. I've seen how you gamble on horses and sports, and take risks with your marriage and your family. You love the adrenaline of bedding me and who knows how many other mistresses over the years.

I will be your last fling, though. I can guarantee that.

You look a bit taken aback at my offer to wager on your weight.

"When did you start gaining anyway, Charles?" I ask all innocently.

"About six weeks ago, you know, about the time I met y-"

You halt mid-word.

It doesn't need to be said. I can almost hear the gears in that little human brain of yours. It's always amazing what a fine denial system people like you have built to stay in control.

How pained your expression now that you are figuring things out.

(continued)