chapter 4

The hours passed into days, the days into weeks, and so on and so forth; all coming and going in a hedonistic blur of gluttony and desire. Eric and the "MISSISSIPPI QUEEN" fell into an indulgent routine, with each stuffing larger than the last. Eric correctly inferred his virtual feeder was expanding his belly's capacity, but he hadn't quite pieced together why each gut-busting feast came right before he slept. Eric was on a need-to-know basis. Accordingly, the MISSISISPPI QUEEN saw no need to spell out that going to bed with a 'full tummy' left little opportunity to burn off much of anything. She had done her homework. There was nothing for Eric's metabolism to do but store layer after layer of thick, creamy fat.

Hitting the snooze button on his alarm a second time, Eric groaned lethargically. Eric wasn't tired, necessarily, but he was still suffering from a food coma, as it were. Eric rolled over in discomfort, his belly still painfully distended from the prior night's indulgences courtesy of the MISSISSIPPI QUEEN. Finally mustering the wherewithal to force himself out of bed, the young-professional waddled to the shower.

Eric eyed the bathroom scale with distinct apprehension. Sooner or later, he knew he would have to face and 'get his tubby butt on the scale,' as the MISSISISPPI QUEEN had often beseeched insistently as of late. As Eric's feeder accurately bemused 'all of those yummy treats had to go somewhere.' Be that as it may, there was no deadline to weigh himself, at least that Eric knew of. He decided he could confront the consequences of his sexual and physical appetites some other morning. Procrastination, as it were, had been the easier choice for many mornings of late.

Removing the now snug pair of boxer briefs brought some relief to Eric's swollen middle. Purposefully stepping past the scale, Eric twisted the hot water to its highest setting, hoping the heat might bring some relief. Eric could not help but frown as he glanced down at his portly figure. Where those 'yummy treats' had ended up was apparent. They had gone to Eric's belly, his thighs, and directly to the mounds of pillowy flesh, which wholly obfuscated what little semblance of definition remained on his chest and obliques. Yes, the characteristically lean student Eric had known in college had long since departed. Eric was still unaccustomed to the students replacement staring back in the mirror. It made little difference, though, for this plump doppelganger would soon be replaced by one even fatter than the last.

On an average weekday, Eric would be squeezing himself into well fitted suits for work, or at least well fitted when Eric had purchased them. That morning, however, was not an average day, but rather a "mental health" day of sorts. Eric, historically wary of counselors or psychologists, had found himself eagerly counting the days until that morning. His bloated belly played a significant role, to be sure, yet much of his restless night's sleep stemmed from eagerness for the morrow to come. Dr. Thrace was unlike any doctor he'd met before. Although Eric had not seen her face since their previous session, he often found his mind drifting to her warm, inviting smile. To those incandescent gold locks, which crept down her snow white brow; as if the first glimmers of dawn were peaking over the valley contour, still blanketed in winter.

Eric jerked his head from side-to-side, shaking drops of water lose from his cropped hair and stubble. Emerging onto the bathmat shrouded in a haze of steam, he draped a towel across his waist. Eric did his best to conceal the prominent love handles he'd grown beneath a wrap of Egyptian cotton, but only so much could be done. Eric meticulously touched up his facial hair and dabbed a generous, yet not overpoweringly generous, swab of "Acqua Di Gio" beneath his jawline. He briefly contemplated one of his suits, but realized it would be too much. Not to mention, the lot as a whole were ill-fitting in light of recent...additions to his figure. Instead, Eric opted for a warm, flannel shirt and black denim, for which he'd recently upgraded to a size 38. Not a massive size, perhaps, but quite a bit larger than what Eric was accustomed to.

Eric never took this long getting ready for the dentist, why then did he care so much on this day? The answer, without question, was Dr. Thrace. Beautiful, to be sure, yet far more than her physical traits pervaded Eric's thoughts. Her charm and wit seemed to effortlessly put Eric's insecurities at ease.

Eric knew it was folly to forge a crush on his own psychiatrist. Foolish, though it may be, it was hardly surprising. Dr. Thrace was the only person he'd opened up to about his secret desires. The only woman who'd ever made him feel, if but for a few serene moments, that there was nothing wrong with who he really was.

Well, that wasn't true, the MISSISISPPI QUEEN had done so as well, but it was different. With her it was more primal, more carnal. And, despite numerous interactions, he still had never spoken with her face to face, or even seen her face for that matter. Eric grimaced in guilt and frustration, reflecting upon the situation he'd put himself in, cognizant that neither of those two women were his spouse.

Following an unavoidably trafficked commute, Eric found himself back in the lobby of Dr. Thrace's office. A friendly and chubby male receptionist asked Eric to sign in and assured the Doctor would be out shortly. In the meantime, Eric was free to help himself to coffee and pastries.

"Dr. Thrace brought doughnuts for the office today. She's usually so strict about what she eats!" the receptionist shared.

Eric chuckled to himself, 'Of course, she had.' Whether the pastries were meant for him or not, Eric could not say, but that didn't stop him from hoping. Eric refused cream and sugar, despite the receptionist's insistence. Seated with a maple bar and black coffee in hand, Eric fixated on the ticking hands of a hanging clock nearby, counting down the moments in anticipation. Worried that Dr. Thrace would notice his weight gain, Eric did his best to tug down the front of his shirt in a futile attempt at concealing the bulge across his waistline.

"Eric how are you?" Dr. Thrace greeted, stepping forth from her office. Naturally, she did notice, but that didn't mean Dr. Thrace wasn't pleased by what she saw. "I see you helped yourself to doughnuts."

Eric tried to say it had only been one maple bar, but found his words stumbling out of the gates, his mouth still full of sugar and fried dough. Gulping down hot coffee to compensate, Eric scalded his mouth and coughed, choking any response before it began. 'Great first impression,' Eric bemoaned.

"I'm going to assume that means you liked them," Dr. Thrace judged, the same familiar smile spreading across her face. "Please, come in."