Chapter 3

Mother was furious of course, the three tiered coffee masterpiece had taken her nearly all morning to complete and there I stood with an hours labour smeared across my face. I got lucky though, sent to my room with a mere scolding. Facing the wrath of my father would have been much worse. I think that was the first moment thought that I realised that when it came to food I wanted EVERYTHING. Though admittedly nothing could induce me to eat my mothers pork chops. Quite frankly my shoe would have tasted better the chops were so over cooked.

It was not until my teen years that I finally began to explore food and all that it had to offer; my mothers cooking, though not on friendly terms with the smoke alarm, left much to be desired. So it was not until college that I had a wider range of food and experiences available.

Lost in thought it took me a moment to realise I was in fact chewing on an empty spoon, my bowl sat on my lap empty again. Sighing I plonked the bowl and spoon on the table in front of me next to the now half empty box of cereal. I made my way over to the fridge, thighs rubbing together through the thin material of my pyjama bottoms.

If I had to chose one downside of being the way I am, that would be it. One summer when I was a bit smaller, and my thighs had not quite become content with staying together, I decided to go for a walk in the hills behind my house but had forgotten about the 50p sized hole on the crotch of my jeans. By the time I returned home the exposed skin was red raw from chafing. Thankfully it is not such a problem anymore.

Claiming the milk from the fridge door I eyed the contents critically and began to mentally compile tomorrows shopping list.

• Milk – blue top

• West Country Butter salted

• Cheese- Brie, Cheddar, Shropshire Blue

• Chocolate- anything and everything couldn’t believe I was running low!

• Eggs

• Bacon

• Sausages – Lincolnshire

My stomach rumbled at me for a bacon sandwich or three but I knew better than to start frying things at 1am. One frying pan fire had been enough! Instead I shut the fridge door and headed back to the sofa to pour myself more cereal.

God I love a good fry up, with bacon, hash browns, beans that escape around the plate and big flat fried eggs with their runny sunshine yolks. Finish it with a big dollop of ketchup and I’d be in high heaven. I think the fastest record for clearing my plate was a little under three minutes. I’d been swimming (about the only form of proper exercise I can manage, I’m incredibly buoyant) and was sat in my favourite café with my then other half. I was so hungry I damn near started contemplating eating the plate. I just remember the look on my then other half’s face as I wiped my face (less a chin or two in those days) with a serviette. It was a look that said something along the lines of ‘would you like another 3? And then I’d very much like to do you on the table surrounded by the empty plates’. Thank goodness we were in public, I’m not sure the waitresses would ever have recovered from the shock!

A man that appreciated a boisterous appetite and full figure was a new find for me and it took me several disconcerting months to get used to having my stomach cradled and fondled with every hug.

Sighing I looked down at the cereal bowl balanced evenly on my paunch and could not help but give the flesh a poke that set off small chocolate hoop tidal waves.

Before those hugs, no man had ever bothered to go that far south, far too preoccupied with my ‘little blessings’. But no sooner had I gotten used to this new style of hug than I realised how much I actually enjoyed it. Knowing that someone found, what had up until then been my least favourite body part, really rather sexy was such a revelation to my pubescent self. I realised I did not have to be ashamed of my naturally curvy looks, but that I could revel in them.

Living large was simply sensuous, the hot lather of soap spreading over my curves in the shower, slicking the bubbles into hidden crevices, heating me from the outside in.