Chapter 4

"I am so sorry!" I said.

Caty, dripping from head to toe, simply stared in disbelief.

"Oh, Caty," I repeated, "I am so, so sorry. It was the door, and I couldn't see properly. Oh, crap. Crap!"

Even as I babbled, Caty ran one finger across her chocolate spattered face, clearing the milkshake from around her eyes before licking the finger clean.

"I am really, really sorry. Here, come, come, let's get inside and I'll help you clean up. Sorry!"

Caty followed in silence, presumably as mortified as I was. I was trembling, and as I dumped the bags to get my keys out, I almost dropped them. I unlocked the door and kicked it open slightly harder than I'd intended, and dragged our bags in before gesturing to the huge woman that she should follow. My apartment door was slightly narrower than the lift's and as Caty forced her corpulence through, she smeared chocolate milkshake on the frame.

"Oh, Caty," I repeated, closing the door behind her as she stood, dripping in my hallway, "I'm so sorry."

"It's OK, Matthew," she spoke at last, "let's just get me cleaned up and then we can get on with work."

"Uh, yes, of course. Of course. Here's the bathroom," I said, then ran my hand through my hair, "but you'll need something not covered in milkshake to wear and, well, uh-"

"I know Matthew," Caty interrupted my stammering, "you don't have anything in my size."

"Well," I said, grinning nervously, "I do have a few things left over that belonged to my ex."

Caty frowned. "And you think they'll fit me?" A sudden suspicion, nay, curiosity twinkled in her eyes.

"Uh, well, that's just it. I doubt it."

"You doubt it?" Caty laughed.

"Uh, yeah. I mean," I floundered. "Yeah."

"Was she even a big girl?"

"Uh, yeah," I answered cautiously. "She was a big girl, but, well, bu-"

"Not as big as me?" Caty finished for me.

"Yeeeaaah," I replied, dragging out the singular syllable.

"Well, do you think there's anything I can work with?" Caty asked, pinching her soaked blouse and pulling it out, so that it no longer stuck to her breasts.

"There's a pair of pyjamas she left. They were pretty loose fitting, as I recall. I guess you could try those?"

Caty sighed. "I guess I'll have to. Could you bring me a towel as well, then?"

"Uh, yeah, of course. And once again, I'm so, so sorry."

"Yes, Matthew," she said. "I know."



My ex had been a big girl, she really had, but Caty was in a different league. Even as I rifled through the drawers of my bedroom to find the pyjamas, which consisted of a pink vest top with Tweetie Pie printed in the middle and matching loose, stretchy shorts, I could not imagine that they would prove anywhere near to sufficient.

Regardless, I found my largest beach towel and placed everything outside the door of the bathroom, knocking twice to let Caty know I'd delivered them. I then took our things into the living room and began to set up the laptops by the dining table. I didn't know Caty's password, of course, but I could at least assign her a space at the table, replete with her stash of chocolate and a bowl of crisps that I'd found in a cupboard. I'd even found a jar of hot chocolate, and I put the kettle onto boil.

Tapping my foot, wondering what else I could do, I suddenly found myself staring at the chairs ringing my table. There was no way Caty would be comfortable on just one, I realised, if one alone could even support her, so I reshuffled the furniture a tad so that two were placed next to each other, in front of her laptop. It was a bit of a gamble, I realised, but Caty had become annoyed by my previous tip-toeing around the subject of her size, so I figured I'd try a different tact.

"So," I heard Caty's voice from behind me, "those shorts weren't happening, but the crop top sort of works. Even if it's a little tight."

I had just managed to wonder what Caty had meant by crop top when I turned around, and was suddenly in no doubt whatsoever.

"It's a good thing you had these sheets in the airing cupboard, though," she added.

The pyjama top was stretched to breaking point over her chest, presumably pressing her huge breasts together even as Tweetie Pie's face was widened almost beyond recognition. Yet the straining vest stopped far short of Caty's waist, and at least six inches of pale, freckled flesh was visible between the lower hem and where the top of the bedsheets begun wrapping themselves around the huge woman. My eyes followed that peeping band of bared skin, noting how the roll of upper stomach seemed to fold slightly over the top of the sheet, the further around her side it went.

Caty moved into the room, slowly, one hand clasped around the overlap of the tucked sheet.

"Just stay on my left side," Caty instructed, "the sheet doesn't close all the way down."

My mind reeled. The bedsheet was pale green and designed for a two metre long mattress, with extra fabric to spare for folding along the depth, yet here was Caty informing my that the circumference of her hips exceeded that number.

"Uh, OK," I said, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Oh, is that hot chocolate?" Caty asked, her nose wrinkling prettily as she sniffed.

"Uh, yeah," I answered, blinking.

"And two chairs for me," she smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. "You're learning."

I laughed, and a tension I had not realised I was holding onto seemed to dissipate of its own accord.

"But you'll have to help me here," Caty continued, moving toward the chairs. "I need to hold onto the sheet with one hand, so would you move them under me when I'm ready to sit?"

"Uh, of course."

"But stay on my left!" She instructed, as I moved to help.

I did, even though a strong, strong part of me wanted very much to disobey.

"Thanks." Caty said, settling her bulk into my creaking chairs.

My table was not concave so as to accommodate a gut as sprawling as Caty's, yet we made do. Her belly, covered by pale green sheet, was pressed up to the edge, and she had to run her mouse down her expansive side, as she simply could not reach the table and be comfortable at the same time.

I went to the bathroom and found Caty's milkshake-sodden clothes piled in a sort of neat heap on the floor. I gathered the garments, marvelling at the sheer volume of cloth that had gone into making a single blouse and pair of suit trousers, not to mention the black bra with cups that could have almost contained my head. I resisted the urge to peer at the size labels on anything, even though I really, really wanted to, but it would have felt deceitful to do so, especially considering the reason this beautiful woman had stripped in my apartment in the first place. I bundled the clothes into the washer-dryer and set it on a long cycle that would have them cleaned and dried within the next four hours.

I rejoined Caty, approaching from the right. Respectful I might be, but there are limits to my self-restraint. The bedsheet was folded around her waist, but as sitting as she was on those two chairs, it could not encompass her entire form. A widening triangle of flesh was revealed running all down her side, and I was nearly driven mad by the sight of her massive, lightly freckled side bulging and almost concealing the black strap of her panties. I wanted to stop and stare, but I knew I had to continue without making any fuss.

The next couple of hours passed in work, Caty showing me yet more stuff I needed to learn, but, not surprisingly, I was having an even harder time concentrating now than before. Her scent was overwhelming, warm and rich, and mingled now with my own shampoo. Her red hair still glistened in ringlets, slightly moist from the shower, and her bared shoulders and enormous upper arms were covered in a cute smattering of freckles. Her giant, round biceps were exposed, and I noticed that she'd torn the sleeves of the pyjama top so that the hem did not cut into them. Each one was easily larger than my thigh, and the left one was covered in colourful tattoos of various new-school designs, nearly all of them food related. I saw cookies, American style cupcakes and wine gums, boiled sweets in wrappers and multi-coloured ice creams in large waffle cones bedecked with all manner of syrups and sprinkles.

"- so if you just click here," Caty's voice drifted to me, pulling me from my study of her enormous upper arm, "you can export the report to Excel. And then..."

Blinking, I suddenly realised I'd missed some important steps. "Uh, sorry, could you just repeat those last few bits?" I asked.

Caty's plump, slightly red-cheeked face turned toward me. "Weren't you paying attention?" She scolded lightly, though there was a definite twinkle in her blue eyes.

"Uh, not to the system at least," I responded, grinning.

"Ha," she laughed lightly. "I suppose it is getting kind of late. Perhaps we ought to call it a night."

The huge woman leaned forward momentarily to place her wireless mouse on the table, her sheet-covered stomach bulging against the wooden edge as the twin chairs groaned beneath the shifting of her bulk.

"But we're not done," I protested. "I know there's still a lot we need to get done."

"But you're already struggling to keep up, Matthew, and that's totally fine. You've already seen a lot today. I'll just head on home and we'll pick up where we left off in the morning."

"I'm not struggling," I blurted hastily, "I was just admiring your tattoos, and they distracted me is all."

She glanced down at her shoulder and hefted her arm slightly so as to be able to see the collage of images for herself. "Oh, yeah, I almost forget I have them sometimes."

"Do they have any significant meaning?" I asked, hoping I could keep Caty from leaving too soon.

She shrugged, a surprisingly heavy gesture, but then, perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised. "I had a bit of a phase at uni," she started, and then paused, as though thinking better of what she was about to say. "Well, I've grown out of it, let's put it that way."

"Grown out of getting tattoos?" I queried.

Her blue eyed glance was difficult for me to read. "That might be more of a side-effect," she replied softly.

"Ah," I said, though I'd understood nothing.

Caty sighed and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, I got there first. "You're right though, it is getting kind of late, and I've been a terrible host. Look at the time, you must be famished!" I pointedly did not look at the empty white chocolate wrappers, nor the long finished bowl of crisps, but even so, her expression darkened, and I realised my choice of wording had been poor. "I am too, in fact," I continued, "I don't have much in, I wasn't expecting to play host. Should we order in, and then we can crack on while we wait for it to arrive?"

If Caty had suspected me of sarcasm when I'd intimated she might be famished, my suggestion of takeaway seemed to mollify her. Still, she was hesitant. "Hmm, i don't know. It really is getting late, and there won't be many buses before long."

"Don't worry about that," I responded dismissively, "I'll give you a lift home when we're done."

"Oh no," Caty protested at once, "I couldn't possibly put you out like that!"

"Honestly," I replied, "it would be my pleasure. You know, as a thank you."

The big woman laughed. "As a thank you for what? My company having a power cut and the imposition of my presence in your apartment as we try to crowd around my little laptop screen?"

I smiled. "Well, there is that," I started, "but also for being such a welcoming colleague." I paused before adding, "and for not making a big deal out of my soaking you in milkshake..."

She laughed again. "I suppose you do owe me for that."

"Besides," I continued, still grinning, "I think there's still a couple of hours on the washing machine to go."

"Oh," Caty said, "yeah, I hadn't considered that."

The huge woman glanced down, suddenly self-conscious as she studied her massive breasts distorting the yellow bird's face, the 6 inch rim of lovely, freckled flesh and the pale green bed sheet wrapped (mostly) around her giant stomach and bottom. Sheepishly, she tried to pull down the hem of the straining pyjamas top, but only succeeding in squishing her enormous bosom yet more, and I was sure I saw the outline of one nipple pressing against the fabric.

"So," I broke the temporary silence and she looked back at me, "what are you in the mood for?"

She let go of the pyjama top and I saw the natural swell of her breasts return to normal. Her hands slipped down the sides of her colossal gut, lightly patting it so that the bed sheet rippled alluringly, leaving all but nothing to the imagination. She was clearly thinking about what she might want, and at some point she dug her fingers into her side, creating an expansive roll of fat that burgeoned against the pale green covering.

After a few moments, she turned back to me. "Is there a good Indian nearby?"

"Yeah, a really good one actually."

"OK, but I'm buying," she informed me, sternly.

"No, n-" I began to object, but she held up her plump hand to interrupt me.

"This is non-negotiable, Matthew."

I swallowed and nodded. "As my lady commands."

"Oh? Such a gentleman!" She said mockingly, and we laughed.

"Right, you bring up the website and put whatever you want in the basket, and then I'll do the rest," she instructed.

I slid forward in my chair and did as requested before handing the laptop over to Caty. She rested it atop her amazing bosom and scrolled away for a few minutes, clicking every now and then.

"Ah, you'll, uh, you'll need to put in your address." She sounded embarrassed, but I could not understand why.

"OK?" I said, reaching for the laptop.

Caty grabbed my wrist in her soft, warm fingers. "Just, just do me a favour and don't look at the total?"

"Uh," I answered, "I mean, it's going to be pretty hard to miss, it's on the same screen."

She chewed her plump bottom lip. "What if I hold my thumb over that part while you type?"

"Is it really such a big deal?" I asked.

The resultant flush of colour that filled Caty's cheeks were answer enough. "Hey, if it's important, we'll do it your way."

She breathed a sigh of relief, and I smelt the sweet aroma of white chocolate. I had to get close to the huge woman for the logistics to work. She kept her thumb on the bottom right of the screen, the laptop still resting atop her gigantic breasts which, I found, were extremely good at absorbing the slight pressures of my typing. I revelled in our closeness, and took my time typing my address, but all too quickly, I was done.

"Thanks," Caty said, whisking the laptop away from me so that she could finish the order. I noticed she typed her card details in from memory, and within seconds, she clapped the laptop closed and handed it to me.

"Half an hour," she announced, smiling and absently patting the sides of her stomach once again.