chapter 1 (pt.2)

It wasn't until the third or fourth session that the husband and wife reached a breakthrough. It was then, as Eric mustered all of his courage, that he finally revealed his fetish to his wife. Stephanie's initial reaction wasn't positive or negative, but rather one of sincere bewilderment. How could the gym rat she'd known for years get off to becoming fat?

Stephanie's confusion quickly thawed into concern and alarm. In her mind, Stephanie had learned of a medical condition that afflicted her husband. This fetish was a mental illness and a threat to their marriage. Stephanie wanted a cure and she wanted it now. Eric had been silent up until this point, dreading just such a response, but the cat was now out of the bag.

"How can we combat my Husband's condition?" Stephanie inquired frantically of the Counselor, which led Eric to groan audibly.

"Ma'am, you have to understand, I'm a counselor, not a psychologist. I help people sort through marital issues, breakdowns in communication, and things of that nature. I don't have the training or the expertise to diagnose or treat mental health disorders," the Counselor replied.

Eric hated every time he heard words like "condition" or "disorder." Not only did the two talk as if he wasn't there, they spoke as if he belonged in a padded room somewhere. It wouldn't occur to them to diagnose a man who preferred larger breasts, or even something like a foot fetish, with a mental illness. How was Eric's sexuality any different?

"Well, then. I don't understand what we're paying you for. If you're not going to treat my husband..." Stephanie started with a distinct tone of indignance.

"Jesus, babe! Give the guy a break. The two professions aren't the same, they're apples and oranges!" Eric interjected, with his own poor choice of words.

"If you ate more fruit, instead of all that junk, we wouldn't even be having this convers..."

"Everyone hold on!" the Counselor cut in. "I personally may not have the expertise, but I do know someone who could help. There's a psychotherapist and clinical psychiatrist I've worked with in the past. Dr. Thrace is well respected and has actually written extensively on the psychology of sexual fetishes. Your husband's...situation would very likely fall within Dr. Thrace's area of expertise. I'm sure if I made the referral, you'd be offered a consultation."

This settled Stephanie down for the moment. Stephanie tilted her head towards Eric and raised her finely plucked eyebrows, as if to ask what he thought. Were it completely up to him, Eric would have had no desire to allow some shrink to scrupulously dissect his thoughts and feelings. But in that instant, Eric would have gone along with just about anything if it got him out of that counseling session from hell, and so he nodded his head up and down. Stephanie, in her mind reassuringly, placed her hand on Eric's flabby right thigh, as if to promise him that everything would be okay.

"It's settled. Let me make a few phone calls and we can go from there," said the counselor as he exited the room.

It took months to secure a consultation, as Dr. Thrace's services were, apparently, in high demand and anything but cheap, but eventually the appointment came. Lying back on the couch, Eric gazed down at the pot belly, which lay before him. Despite Stephanie's poking and prodding, despite her diets and fitness routines, Eric's weight had continued to climb. He patted his stomach, almost in disbelief at how it had gotten this big so quickly, sending a distinct wobble throughout his midsection. Any semblance of muscle tone seemed long gone.

Hearing the door creak open, Eric's attention snapped back to the present. Eric jerked up from the couch and moved his hands back down to his sides.

"You must be Eric," Dr. Thrace pronounced with a warm smile that seemed somehow familiar.

Dr. Thrace was...well...SHE wasn't what Eric expected.