Chapter 5 - chance and circumstance

I entered the demolition business. Well, figuratively anyway. Around our first anniversary, I began a concerted effort to knock down whatever impediments stood in the way of my sweet Delilah's transformation.

I recognized that it would be impossible, as well as undesirable, to force such a change on Delilah. After all, my goal was to help her recognize and fulfill the potential for happiness that I recognized on our honeymoon. Of course, in my view, the progression was natural and logical: 1) spoil Delilah and treat her like a princess, 2) teach her to overindulge and take more pleasure in food and 3) watch her grow large, full-figured, and content. However, I understood that my vision was antithetical to nearly everything that Delilah knew.

After all, as she would later explain to me: "Most girls don't dream of getting fat."

Fair enough.

Still, I gave Delilah every opportunity, every excuse, to indulge herself whenever possible. At times, I engaged in subtle behaviors, such as leaving the candy dish freshly stocked with her favorites. At other times, I was more direct.

"This last piece of chicken has your name on it," I coaxed.

Delilah groaned in response. "But I've already eaten so much..."

"Oh please. Besides, you'd look better with few extra pounds - skinny girl," I teased as I foisted the last piece of chicken onto her plate.

Delilah huffed and half-heartedly protested, but began to nibble on the extra helping.

In retrospect, one of the factors that played a role in Delilah's weight gain, or lack thereof, over time, was pure chance and circumstance. For instance, I rejoiced when she secured a modeling shoot for a well-known department store. But as much as employment improved her mood, it brought with it all body image pressures one might expect in a profession based on vanity.

"Woohoo! Down to 113 - that's two pounds lighter than my wedding weight!" Delilah exclaimed after weeks of dieting and stubbornly resisting my usual tactics.

I tried to hide my disappointment, but failed miserably. "That's...uh, great, honey," I muttered.

"Gee, don't get too excited, Brian," Delilah replied as she grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. She took a bite and between mouthfuls she garbled the words, "It's all clean living from here on out...or at least 'til the end of the ad series."

"Well, I'll have cookies and cakes waiting for you when you finish then!" I joked.

Delilah laughed, but I could tell it was more out politeness than anything. It was three months beyond our first anniversary and as far as I knew, she still had no idea of my preference to watch her blossom into a larger woman.

One month later, chance and circumstance struck again, this time creating a reversal of fortunes. I was promoted to Associate Editor while Delilah learned that the modeling agency declined to extend her contract. The months that followed were bittersweet. As much as Delilah was glad about my success, I could tell that she was devastated about her own career. She again slipped back into her old habits of moping around the house, napping during the day, and generally being unmotivated. As her weight crept upwards, she essentially abandoned sex.

"I'm too tired," and "I feel disgusting," were her go-to excuses.

Even though Delilah's libido crashed, I found myself becoming more engrossed in my fantasies. I withdrew even further into my mind and cultivated my fetish through the warehouse of curiosities that is the internet. Throughout much of second year of marriage, I pleasured myself while looking at the myriad of pictures and stories of other women gaining weight. Masturbation brought about a much-needed release, though, ultimately, I felt unsatisfied. I wanted the real thing. I wanted Delilah to let herself go.

It was just so difficult for me to confess my secret desires. I feared rejection and condemnation just as much as I expected Delilah would fear my request for her transform her mind and body. As my online foray and her depression continued, we predictably drifted further apart. I began to question whether it would ever be possible for us to right the ship.

Fate had a way of forcing out the truth.

I heard the floorboards creak, alerting me to the fact that someone was slowly descending down the stairs. A panic seized me and my heart raced even faster than it had been. I moved lightning fast, slamming my laptop shut but it was too late. After all, there was no hiding the fact that my dick was still in my hand.

"What are you doing?" Delilah questioned sharply.
I looked away, unable to meet her scornful gaze. It was dark but there was no doubt that she knew what I was doing. The questioning was just a formality.

"Nothing..." I muttered.

"Brian...this is why we've been so distant. You can't make love to me and do this..." Delilah said sorrowfully. She was more disappointed than angry and her voice carried a sense of longing - longing for what our relationship had been prior to the last few months.

"You've been an ice queen though. You don't talk to me. You bristle every time I touch you,"

"I know. I-I feel...depressed."

As Delilah spoke her eyes began to well up and it wasn't long before small tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

"I'm trying though. I'm trying to act differently. Let me see what makes you so happy - maybe I could do that," Delilah said desperately.

She reached for my computer and I could feel myself tense up. I initially pulled the device away, but quickly abandoned the plan, realizing that it would be of no use - Delilah would find out anyway. Moreover, she needed to find out. I needed her to find out.

She opened the laptop and saw the before/after collage of a young blonde woman. On the left stood a woman, smiling and casually dressed, who posed to showcase her side profile. She was of average build and height, with most of her weight concentrated in her lower half, and she seemed to flaunt her small midriff. The caption read: January - 128 pounds. On the right stood a woman, who, only upon close inspection could be identified as the same individual on the left. Wearing the same broad smile, the woman showed off a large, rounded sphere of a belly that spilled over her waistband. Her torso was notable for several fleshy rolls while her backside looked like she smuggled a small basketball into her pants. The caption read: December - 175 pounds. The woman had apparently gained quite a large amount of weight.

Delilah looked puzzled. "What is this...?"

"I can ex..."

"You like fat chicks?"

"No, it's not quite that. I...I...like when women gain weight."

The statement seemed to hang in the air for eternity. I felt a strange, simultaneous mixture of relief and anxiety. The truth was finally revealed.

"Do...do you want me to gain weight?" Delilah asked sheepishly.

I swallowed heavily, the lump in my throat was sharp and painful.

"I think about it a lot. I think about you just letting go and eating a lot more. I wonder what it would be like if you were...bigger,"

"You didn't answer my question," Delilah pressed.

"Yes. A part of me really wants you to gain weight,"

"I see," she said, with a strange tone of indifference. "That's why you've been pushing me to eat more, leaving little snacks and treats about too, hmm?"

I stayed silent. Delilah wasn't a fool.

"Brian, I already eat whatever I want. And I'm so lazy, my God. You know, that's all going to catch up with me at some point."

I didn't know what to say. What was she suggesting? Truly, Delilah left me speechless.

"C'mon, put that away", she said, gesturing to my exposed member. "Let's go upstairs and put this all behind us."

I followed suit and we went to bed in an eerie silence. I couldn't help but reflect on Delilah's enigmatic words though. She didn't condemn my fantasy. In fact, a part of her seemed to be genuinely curious about my interests, without committing to them. Her need was clear though: time

Delilah needed time. Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets.