Chapter 3

“Is there going to be ice cream tonight?” asks Jer sheepishly as he opens the kitchen cupboard to look for a bedtime snack. He puts peanut butter on saltine crackers, about a dozen of them, and crunches on them.

“Go lay down and I’ll bring it to you in a bit,” says Corinne. Twenty minutes later she brings the full container to the bedroom. Jer sits up, his belly spilling over the top of his underwear. Corinne fills up a big spoon and holds it to his lips. He opens his mouth obediently. Five cups of soft maple walnut ice cream disappeared down his gullet. His belly becomes taut and swollen. Corinne puts down the empty container and spoon and moves to rub his belly. Jer burps.

“Oof,” he says. “Ate too much. But it was so good.”

She keeps rubbing. “I noticed you’ve been enjoying my little treats,” she says.

“I just, feel like relaxing,” he says. “Is it too much? I can...”

“I like it when you enjoy yourself, especially what I make for you. You keep relaxing, and if that leads to a little extra-“ she pinches a love handle “-so be it. I don’t mind. Wait. That’s putting it too mildly. I like it. I love that you’re a bit thicker.” She kisses his rounded belly.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I got, well, even a bit heavier?”

“Not at all,” she says, her eyes sparkling. She starts including lower bits into her rubbing.

“Good to know,” he says. “Good to- ah!”

As they spoon afterwards, she languorously strokes his soft side.

“A bit heavier than what?” she ask.

“Mmmm?” he says, his face nestled against her boob.

“What do you weigh now?”

“I, uh,” he blushes. “Not 210 anymore, I think.”

“No,” she answers. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

The scale is pulled out and dusted off. He steps on it. The numbers flicker for a moment.

242.

“Oh, you have been a hungry boy,” she says.

“Is it too much?”

She stares at him. “No. Are you still full?”

“Not as full as earlier,” he admits.

She grabs her phone and dials a number.

“Hi, yes? I’d like to order a large meat lovers pizza, with green peppers and mushrooms.” She gives their address. It’s his favorite kind.

“I’m not actually hungry,” he says. “I don’t need pizza.”

“But do you want pizza?”

He licks his lips. “Yes.”

“You eat as much as you want, and we’ll have the rest for leftovers tomorrow.”

He only manages three slices on top of all the ice cream that evening. But in the morning he finishes off the remaining seven slices.

A new level of gluttony has been unlocked in Jer. He learns that he can tease his wife by stretching and allowing his shirt to lift to reveal a sliver of soft belly. The numbers fly up: 247. 253. 258. 266. 269. 275. 278. 282. 289.

It’s been a year since Corinne bought the ice cream maker. A year and 80 pounds. Jer is now unmistakably a fat guy. His belly folds and hangs. His upper gut is often firm and round, distended with food. But- well, he’s tall. He tells himself he doesn’t look that fat yet. Merely plump. He can gain a bit more. And Corinne hasn’t told him to stop yet.