Chapter 3

I forgot to turn on the hood vent when I was frying the bacon, so it took me a minute to realize that Lis had hit the vape pen and was passing it to me. I took a small hit and passed it back to her, holding it in until I felt my lungs start to ache, then blowing the cloud up the vent. I flipped a pancake.

“Starting early today?” I felt like a drummer, watching the pancakes on the stove, the bacon threatening to burn, the stack of finished pancakes demanding pats of butter, and my stoned sister hanging out behind me.

“It’s Sunday — we got high last Sunday morning.” She was right, now that I thought about it. Maybe my chubby tummy (and hot ass—) was from getting the munchies so often lately. As if we shared a psychic bond she put her arms around my waist, hands exploring my middle, her squishiness melting into my back. Her fingers squeezed, prodded, cascaded, and bubbled over my belly. The weed was starting to hit me, and my skin was electric. I pressed my thighs together.

“Hey, I have hot grease here! Stop!” I was trying to sound chill, but I meant it. The hands slipped away like smoke up the hood.

With a low voice she whispered in my ear, “Give me baconnnnnnn—”.

“Okay I will! Just…go…do something else!” We both laughed and she wiggled out of the kitchen and sat at the table. I made sure that the pancakes were set and then put 3 strips of bacon on a small plate, not bothering to drain the grease.

I stopped and took a deep breath, then touched my stomach. Touched it the way she had touched it. It wasn’t quite the same as before, but (… oh there it is…) I exhaled and let my belly relax. The babyfat bulge was alive, swelling with softness, seeping between my fingers. My headspace let me luxuriate in the split-second thought that I’d let myself get soft (because it didn’t just happen, I’d let it happen) and all of a sudden I just wanted to get under my covers and explore. My nipples were getting hard and I wanted to pinch them fully awake, run my fingers over my hip bones, be alone with myself and my big ol’ fat body.

Then I smelled burning and spun around to see a ruined pancake. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lis take a bite of bacon and I could have sworn I saw her give me a look that said, ‘I saw that’. That pancake went in the trash.

All in all, though, breakfast was a vibe. Bacon could have been a little less crispy, but it wasn’t burned. Pancakes were amazing, and they should have been since I used half a stick of butter to make the tops slick and salty. Real maple syrup. One, two, three, four, five big pancakes each. Blackberries on the side because I always give Lis a fruit or veg with her meals. I’d been doing that since forever.

Our plates were clean and after the pancakes and the slice of pizza I could barely move. Under the table I kept running my hand over my belly, my thighs, squeezing the fat on my hips.

***

“So, are you going first?”

Lis chewed while she talked, popping the last few blackberries in her mouth. Her breakfast baby was plain to see as her t-shirt rode up, revealing just the barest shadow of her belly button. I looked down at my own breakfast baby. Five pancakes were too many, I had been a pig. My breath suddenly caught in my throat again and I felt the tingle move from my chest to my belly to my legs.

“Why am I going first?” I said breathlessly, looking back at Lis.

“I dunno, I thought you wanted to show me.” She started taking off her pajama bottoms. Peeling them off was more accurate, shimmying her hips slowly side to side as the skintight gray flannel bottoms rolled over each perfect thigh. If I could put a measuring tape on her thighs she’d have inches on me, and my fat thighs were one of my least favorite features. Hers were perfectly shaped, though – a pure hourglass plumping in the middle where her pale - almost pink - chub met the pale purple of her panties. No thigh gap, no hip dips, all butter. They quivered when she kicked the last leg off and stepped down.

I stared for about a second too long – ‘I saw that’ – and then wiggled my own pajama bottoms over my hips. I had to pull my panties back up, covering up the faint red line from the waistband, then kicked them off. I put my toes on the cold, white enamel.

Ch-Chonk. The sound of compressing springs and sighing metal.

Somehow Lis had snuck up behind me and was peeking around to read the scale. She poked my breakfast baby from the side. I looked down at the numbers, the needle quivering with Lis’ poke, my own belly quivering to the beat.

I stepped back down, flushed but — never mind.

“Okay your turn.” Lis took my place at in front of the scale, and I slapped her butt gently to get back for my belly poke. But I have the worst reflexes and it was the most awkward thing ever. I hit her half with the side of my hand, getting none of the satisfying pat I had hoped for.

Ch-CHONK. Was there an echo? I thought I heard an echo.

Lis sucked in her tummy and put her arm across her bust, bending forward slightly. I didn’t sneak a peek like she did with me, but I had an idea of what the results were.

“Oops.” She stepped off the scale, belly bouncing, stoned and embarrassed. “I guess I got bigger than I thought.” Her eyes were red, but I couldn’t tell if she was about to cry, or just stoned.

I saw her embarrassment and instantly felt my protective instinct kick in. “Oh Lis, don’t be upset! Honestly, if I looked half as amazing as you, I’d—” I was stumbling over my words, not really sure what to say. “I mean, if I looked like you, I’d probably show off my boobs every time I go out.”

Lis cracked a smile, then laughed. “You couldn’t, they’d fire you at the bank.”

I laughed with her, “Okay, true. I couldn’t do that. Well, at least you’d get tired of me walking around full bimbo at home, showing them off.” I gave her a little side to side shake, which – being braless – was probably a little more jiggle than I intended. But it got a laugh. I’m a whore for making people laugh when they’re upset.

I got back out of my head. “So, anyways. If you wanted to diet or anything, I—” What would I do? What did I want? Before breakfast I was ready to be a team, get back in shape, fit in the clothes in the back of my closet. But now I was stoned and full. “I don’t know? I’d diet with you?”

I looked her in the face and shrugged. She shrugged back. We turned and faced the full-length mirror against the way.

She slowly put her arm behind my back, her cool little fingers hooking into the flesh at my waist, middle finger sinking into the fold living right at the softest part. She rubbed it back and forth in between my little rolls, the slick of my morning skin-oils calling her finger into the creamiest crevice, her nail gently making an etching on my waist.

I put my arm around her and suddenly we were hip-to-hip, and I felt our chub kiss and spread. I squeezed her muffin top (what a squishy little muffin!) and in the mirror she smiled, and we pressed closer. She was taller than me now. I hadn’t realized it. Not by a lot, just, like, a hair. I smiled and we suddenly matched, her lavender-gray blending with my blonde-tan as it all fell over our shoulders, cool blue eyes twinkling like chips of ice in the sunlight.

Then it was over. She sniffed her armpit and declared that she needed a shower. I could have told her that. I gave her one last squeeze and walked out, peeking out of the corner of my eye at her bare back as she peeled her top off. I closed the door and slunk down the hall, listening to the muffled sound of the shower through my bedroom wall.