chapter 1

First, she hits the gym.

She hasn't been in two months. In the changing room she sees all the familiar faces, the tight, smooth muscular bodies outlined in workout gear. She takes a deep breath, removes her coat. No-one else is paying much attention. She sits down to kick off her shoes and her too-tight jeans cut further into her waist. She pops the button with relief. She peels them down her thighs, observing the soft flesh spreading out on to the hard wooden bench.

The tight athletes shorts are harder to pull up on than usual, but they still fit, thank God, even if there's a tightness around the thighs. She stands up. She pulls the waistband up over her belly. It's tighter than she'd like. There's a visible bulge that forms under the waistband, and a small but distinct roll of fat pushing over the top. No matter. It can be hidden under the tank.

She removes her t-shirt - the loosest she has, the only one that still fits comfortably.. and starts to slip on the tank she hasn't worn in those eight weeks. It's more of a struggle to pull it on than she remembers. It's tight over her back and shoulders and squashes her breasts against each other. But it's elastic. It goes on. Success. She pulls the hem down, and picks up her bag, shoves it in the locker at head height. As she does so, she senses the atmosphere change in the room. The chatter dies down a little.

She looks down. Where the tank used to hang almost loose over her near-washboard stomach, instead, it's pulled tight over her rounded belly. And the hem has ridden up, exposing her navel, and a soft, puffy band of white flesh. Nobody's looking at her, but she can sense, now that they're making an effort not to look. She feels the heat in her cheeks. She pulls the hem down, sucking in her stomach. As soon as she lets go, it rides up again. For a moment, she wants to get the hell out of there. But that would spoil the game. She casually runs her fingers over the exposed skin, feeling the unfamiliar give, her belly somehow more sensitive now. The hot, momentary sense of shame turns to something else - a quick pulse of pleasure. Her heart bearts faster. The surreptitious eyes on her confirm what she already knew. There's no way to hide that twenty, twenty five even extra pounds. Not here. She holds her head high, puts her shoulders back and strides out into the gym.

*****

She's tidying up the free weights where some careless user has left them strewn on the floor - just another part of the routine of her fitness side hustle. She checks her watch - she's late. Not like her. Perhaps she's not coming at all. Two months is a long time. She's missed her. But maybe that wasn't reciprocated. Still, it was arranged.

She looks up, and almost drops several kilos of iron on her feet. Her skinny, hardbody friend - the one with the fierce determination, and the washboard abs - the one who always manages one more set of reps than everyone else in her class - sees her and smiles. She looks her up and down. She still doesn't believe what she's seeing. Her friend looks - no other word for it - like she's been poured into her gym attire. The hems of her shorts cut into her soft, white thighs. The material strains over her ass. Her top has ridden up, showing a few inches of naked skin. A little pooch of a belly spills out over the waistband of her shorts, and curves round into distinct love handles at her sides. Her breasts look awkwardly squashed by her top. Her once muscular arms are round and smooth. Her cheeks look fuller (and a little red, she notices) and she has - just maybe, she notices, as she looks down - just the hint of a double chin. But her eyes are sparkling, her skin is glowing, her hair catches the light, she's smiling, she looks soft, and relaxed (for once), and pretty..

She hugs her. She feels unfamiliar and familiar at once. Her fingers dig in to the flesh on her back. She feels the softness of her protruding stomach against her own hard belly. She looks her in the face. 'You're looking good'.

'Rome was great. Work went well. But I got a taste for pasta. And Tiramisu. And Sicilain wine. I might've put on a pound or two'. There's a glint in her eye.

'I'm sure we can do something about that..'

'Shall we start now, then?'

She feels the gym rats' eyes on her again. Not directly, but she can see the sidelong glances, reflected and reflected again in the mirrors that surround them. What are they thinking looking at her? There's judgment there, for sure. Of the loss of control. Of giving in to desires. But maybe there's also envy. Or even lust.

She looks around, spots someone new. Golden hair. A soft, chubby body in workout clothes that are more than a little too tight. Love handles, bulging thighs, bra straps cutting into the flesh of her back. A cute girl who's let herself go, heading back to the gym to try to get back into shape? Suddenly, shocked, she understands she's she's looking at her own reflection. Not just looking at, either, she realises..

'Let's start with crunchess. Get those abs back in shape..'. Her friend's command snaps her back into the moment.

'Ok.'. She's good at this. Fifty at a time without breaking a sweat..

She lies on the mat. Looks down towards her feet. Realises that, even flat on her back, the swell of her belly obscures the top of her shorts. Puts her hands behind her back, and starts the familiar motion. Observes that her belly now forms two distinct, thick rolls as it rides up and over the waistband of her shorts. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven... eight.... nine.... ten. She falls back on her back, winded, her stomach muscles burning. She looks up. Her friend is laughing at her.

She looks down at her friend, gasping on the floor. She waits for the string of curses. She hates to fail. Never gives up. Always has to be the last one standing. Instead, she's giggling. There's a shine of sweat on her forehead. The hint of a a double chin is quite obvious from this angle. She thinks she wants to eat her up, right now. Her hand runs over her the mound of her belly, fingers digging into the soft flesh. She looks up, daring her...

'I've got a bit fat, haven't I?'



'You're just a little out of shape. Two months will do that. Maybe you need to warm up first. Ten minutes on the treadmill. '

She starts to run. She feels her thighs rubbing together. When did that begin? She can't even remember. The last few weeks were a blur of hot summer nights, and wine, and music, and food. She remembers the food. Basil and tomatoes and olive oil and cream and cheese, and bread. It had felt so good, letting herself eat, for once. Not being eternally hungry. Filling her belly until she felt warm, distended, sleepy, full. Her breasts start to bounce uncomfortably as she turns up the pace. Then her belly starts to move by itself too. Her body has its own weird rhythm. Her lungs are burning. She feels the heat in her face, and the sweat dripping from her brow.

She watches the chubby girl her friend has become. She's a little out of puff. Her graceful running form has disappeared. Her breasts are out of control. Her belly has spilled out of her shorts and jiggles a little too. She looks awkward, unbalanced, vulnerable. She struggles on a little more. Then she hits the 'stop' button.

'Enough'..

'T hat's only five minutes.."

"Enough. I'm done..'

'Maybe we should try the rowing machine'...

'I think the problem is I'm hungry.'

'Hungry?'

&a pos;Yes. I want to eat. Can we go and eat?

'Sure. If that's what you want..'

'Italian. I want Italian..'

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