chapter 4 (pt. 2)

Eric had indeed enjoyed the doughnut, but he liked what he saw of Dr. Thrace even more. This time around, Eric was more cautious. Eric did his best not to be caught looking at her legs, but the tight fitting skirt made it no easy task.

Seated across from Dr. Thrace, there were countless words on the tip of Eric's tongue. He wanted to bring Dr. Thrace up to speed on all he had experienced since he last sprawled across this sofa. About how his manhood had practically been throbbing between his legs when he'd seen doughnuts waiting for him. But as life had drilled into Eric, so far as fetish was concerned, desire and reality were seldom in line. All Eric could muster was idle banter interspersed with awkward shuffling and tugs at his shirt, still trying to hide his weight.

Dr. Thrace was never one for small talk, and decided she'd feigned ignorance long enough. "You seem uncomfortable Eric, is something the matter?"

"Uncomfortable?" Eric pretended. "Not at all. The couch is quite cozy."

"Is it?" Dr. Thrace rhetorically questioned. "I would never have guessed my own couch, which I specifically selected to make my patients comfortable, was in fact comfortable." Placing her hand beneath her chin, in a mock position of intense contemplation "I'm going to have to look into this further."

Eric played along, the icy shell beginning to thaw. "I think a committee needs to be formed to get to the bottom of this."

"Well Eric, you're the one paying my bill. If you'd like to sit down and discuss my office's furniture ensemble, you're welcome to do so." Dr. Thrace took a pregnant pause as she leaned towards Eric, ensuring she'd captured her patient's undivided attention, before giving a deliberate poke to his gut. "But it would be far more productive if we discussed this tummy your sporting today, wouldn't you agree?"

Eric's face turned beet red and, simultaneously, he felt that same kick between his legs that he'd experienced at the sight of Dr.Thrace's doughnuts. 'Fuck! Of course she'd noticed. How could she not,' Eric reasoned. "I...may have gained a few."

"How much?"

"Honestly, I've been to chicken to look. I know it's gonna be bad."

Dr. Thrace couldn't help but smirk at that last comment. "You've been eating well than, I take it?"

"That's an understatement."

Dr. Thrace giggled knowingly. "Is it now?"

"It is. I seem to remember you telling me to 'smoke the whole pack.'" Eric reflected. "I just took your advice to heart, Doctor."

'I can certainly see that,' Dr. Thrace thought to herself, knowing better than to speak her observation aloud or put all her cards on the table. "And how has that been going for you?"

No longer tongue-tied, the ruminations and feelings Eric so carefully kept locked away poured outwards.

"It's been incredible, but such a guilty pleasure. Sexually, with the exception of maybe once years before, I've never experienced anything like it. Sex, even with someone I find very attractive, it not even a contest. The fetish is...so much more intense. Every time I'm finished stuffing my face, or at least momentarily sated, I look down and I see more of me then was there before. I know I should stop, but I don't want to. The more ashamed I feel, the farther I want to take it."

Dr. Thrace nodded along, meticulously taking notes as Eric spoke. "You feel shame because your body is losing definition? Growing fat?"

"Hmmm...more embarrassed about that. I worked hard for years to lose weight and keep it off. My body was something I took pride in and was often complimented on." Eric articulated. "Nothing personal, Doctor, but you're treatment only seems to have made the fetish worse."

Eric's observation bore merit. Nevertheless, Dr. Thrace consciously disregarded his observation. "I take it your wife does not approve of this development."

"God no. Things have been very tense as of late. She still can't seem to understand it." Eric acquiesced, a noticeably troubled tone seeping into his demeanor.

"A pity..." Dr. Thrace replied, her voice trailing off under her breath as she continued to jot notes onto her yellow legal pad.

"What's a pity?"

Dr. Thrace paused to find the correct words or, more accurately, diplomatic words."It's a pity she couldn't be more supportive during this process. We're in a very delicate phase of your therapy. Hostility encourages repression. Repression will only lead your fetish to return stronger, and with reckless abandon."

Dr. Thrace's words rang true, albeit her intentions were hardly sincere.

"But if I don't repress it, I'll get fat," Eric reasoned.

"Could you stop? Would you want to?" Dr. Thrace asked in an ostensibly nonchalant inflection, but secretly longing for her patient to answer no.

"I...I don't know."

"I see." Dr. Thrace acknowledged with conspicuous irritation as she took further notes. Dr. Thrace took another approach, curious as to her subject's response. "Eric, you previously used the word 'ashamed,' but disagreed that gaining weight was the cause, saying that was merely 'embarrassing.' Is there something else you're ashamed of? Are you exploring these fantasies of yours alone? Do you have a feeder?"

Once again, Dr. Thrace had read Eric like a book. Eric contemplated revealing the MISSISSIPPI QUEEN to his therapist. After all, any communication between the two would fall within patient-doctor privilege. Neither ethically nor legally could Dr. Thrace reveal what Eric had done to his wife or anyone. Still, Eric hesitated. Was it shame that led Eric to conceal his deeds? To a degree. In this case, it was something more. It wasn't that Eric didn't want to tell his doctor about what he'd done with his online feeder; he didn't want to tell Doctor Thrace. He didn't want her to think less of him, and so, as what seemed to be becoming a habit, Eric lied.

"No. Just me."

"I see," the same tinge of frustration flaring in Dr. Thrace's voice. "Well, we're a few minutes early, but I think that will suffice for today."