An intervention failed

chapter 2: the "fun" begins

In the room off the entrance door, an old man, in his 40s, bald, looked up, and smile.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” He dropped his saw and came over to the three. Phoebe was still struggling in Henry and Tom’s grasp, but she was starting to get tired.

“We saw this pig, waddling down the street. Thought she might be a good catch for dinner!” Henry said, slapping Phoebe’s exposed belly, and the three men watched, transfixed as her belly shook for several seconds.

“Please, let me go,” Phoebe begged.

Sid took the bottom of Phoebe’s third chin and gave it a wobble. He chuckled. “Not yet, we’re just starting to have fun.” With that, he lifted Phoebe’s shirt up pass her bra, exposing her two watermelon breasts, obviously outgrowing the bra, and resting on her huge stomach.

“How much do you think this porker weighs, boys?” Sid asked, slapping Phoebe’s pale gut, watching it jiggle again.”

“300lbs!” chirped Tom

“400,” Henry said. Phoebe cried harder, in denial with how much she weighed. She could not be pass 300 lbs, but with all her mindless eating and growing out of her clothes each week, should didn’t know what her true weight was.

Sid took his screwdriver from his pouch, and hovered it over Phoebe’s navel, wide and stretched. “Tom, there’s a scale upstairs. Go and get it.”

Tom went upstairs, while Henry took Phoebe’s other arm, and held them both behind her back.

“Tell me Jelly belly, how did you get so big?” Sid asked, poking her in the stomach with his screwdriver.

“I-I had broken up with my boyfriend. I was sad, and food was comfort.” Phoebe said in between sobs.

“So one breakup and you balloon into a Macy Day blimp?” Sid said, clucking his tongue, and poking her belly for emphasis. Tom comes back down with a scale.

“Alright Shamu the whale, time to get on,” Tom places the scale half a metre away and walks towards her, grabbing her whole belly and jiggling it. “I bet this belly weighs a hundred pound in itself!”

Henry laughs. “Lets see!” He walks to the scale, picks it up and takes it to Phoebe. Tom and Sid lifts her huge apron belly, and place it on top of the scale.

252 lbs. All three guys laugh, and Phoebe bows her head, ashamed. Henry puts the scale back where it was and directs the blimp to get on.

Phoebe, by now is tired of standing. But she does what Henry asks her, and she groans waddling to the scale, whimpering.

She is slow, and the guys laugh. “Should have put the scale closer to the whale,” Henry says. “It’ll be midnight by the time she gets on!”

“Nonsense,” Sid says, pushing the scale closer to Phoebe. “Here you go, you obese blimp. Step on.”

Phoebe steps one, one foot on and then the next. It takes so much effort, as she holds onto the sides of her gut, trying to get her legs to go on. She moans with effort.

The scale groans and after a couple silent seconds, everyone hears a crack. The scale had broke.

Sid goes towards Phoebe, lifts up her belly apron and whistles.

“How about that,” he says, patting Phoebe’s gut. “This obese blob of fat breaks the scale! It’s a 330lb capacity and you broke it!”

The two younger guys howl with laughter, and Sid jabs his index finger in Phoebe’s navel. She squeals. “You’re a real blimp. The female version of Jabba the Hutt!” Phoebe reddens, as she realizes it’s true. When she was 10 years old, watching Star Wars, her father had referenced to her, who was 20 lbs overweight.

“You better be careful, Tubs. You don’t want to look like Jabba the Hutt,” her dad said, poking her in the belly and comparing her to the obese alien. From then on, Phoebe had dieted, watched her weight, stayed active. It was not until when her boyfriend of 5 years had broken up, that things went south.

“Boys, lets take this whale on a field trip. There’s a truck scale about a 15 minutes drive from here. She can ride in the van.” Sid said. He makes his way to the garage, where the van was park, but stopped. “Hold on,” he told Tom and Henry. “ I have an idea.” Sid walks out to the van, grabs some road hazard cones, a Flagger’s orange flag, and some tape. He set up the cones between the van and where the boys and Phoebe were standing. During this time, Henry had taken off Phoebe’s bra, and was playing with her breasts, bouncing each one and twisting her nipples.

Sid walks up to Phoebe, and sticks the flag inside her navel, and tapes it on for good measure.

“Alrigh boys,” Sid said, backing up to admire his work. “This is a construction zone, hahaha. Let’s make sure this ball of fat makes it through in one peace. She’s a hazard.”

The guys laugh.
“Beep beep. Beep beep” Tom said throughout walking Phoebe to the van, with Henry.

It was a sight, seeing this blubber of fat, with a flag in her belly, making her way between the cones, to the van. She could barely fit through the white van’s sliding door. She was that fat and wide. Sid had to go to the other side, take out the seats, and then grab her belly and pulled, while the guys pushed. She finally squeezed in, and she tried to move, to sit. The flag on her belly nearly hit Sid. “Whoa, careful there, piggy. Your belly is a hazard and could knock someone out!”

It was a slow wide because of Phoebe’s weight. Henry drove, with Tom by his side in the front passenger seat.
Behind them, Phoebe was lying on her back with Sid by her side. He played with her belly and breasts and saying insults to her. Phoebe cried, not believing this was happening to her. She wished she had listened to her parents. It seems like such a distant memory.

What seemed like hours, the van finally arrived at the truck yard.

Tom opened the sliding door, took the flag off Phoebe stomach, and he and Sid rolled Phoebe out of the van.

Phoebe landed on the ground on her belly, which cushioned the fall. She felt her whole body shake though.

“Earthquake!” Henry said, and all three guys laughed. “Get up, tubby.” Sid commanded. All three guys watched and then laughed as they saw Phoebe struggle, rocking back and forth, side to side. She usually had the assistance of her bed rail to get her up, but not right now.

After 10 minutes of insults and seeing Phoebe not making any progress, all three guys rolled her to the scale with exaggerated grunts.

Henry and Tom brought up the panting and sweaty Phoebe to a stand, in front of the industrial scale, while Sid opened the office, and turned on the scale.

“Alrighty Blimp-belly. Step on up,” Sid spoke, using the outside speaker.

“Good luck Tubby,” Henry smirked, giving Phoebe’s belly one last smack. By now her belly was pink from the friction of the concrete ground, and some dirt and pebbles stayed on her belly apron.

Phoebe stepped on and watched in horror as the numbers popped up. 552 lbs.

The guys’ mouths dropped open, and then they laughed, slapping Phoebe’s gut and hurling insults at her.

“Waddle-Belly”

“Jabba the Hutt 2!”

“Blubber-chins!”

“Blubbe r-gut!”

“Buddha Belly!”

Cars passing by honked at what they saw: an obese human figure, too fat and needing an industrial scale to be weighed.

Sid had come out by then, took a black marker from his pocket and wrote largely, 552 on Phoebe’s hanging belly. He then patted her belly and said, “Alright boys. It’s been a fun night. I’m going to drop you each off home and take this prized hog home with me. You two can come and visit Jabba there anytime.”