chapter 2

And so the seasons since their wedding passed, as they invariably would, and Amy and James were now approaching their first wedding anniversary. It had been a year not without its difficulties, but the young couple had remained happy, and the settled nature of married life began to suit them both well.

Amy still worked at the gym, but her management position now meant that she led fewer fitness classes than she would like, although her managerial role offered her the chance to conduct her own 'one-to-one' sessions with some of her gym's wealthier, and perhaps as a consequence, fattest, of clients. Amy's almost daily workouts had ensured that her body remained in great shape. It was as trim and toned as it ever was, and a walking advertisement for her gym's services.

James was no longer a visiting professor at the town's University anymore. He was now the Head of the Department of Social Sciences, having gained a recent promotion. It was a permanent position which attracted a much better pay check, and much to Amy's secret delight, the longer hours spent sedentary behind a desk, coupled with the numerous social engagements he had to attend in order to help raise college funds, had inevitably started to take their toll on her young husband's waist. To her prying eyes it seemed that the promotion wasn't the only thing he had gained that year.

'Poor baby,' thought Amy as she pulled into the driveway after an otherwise grey and dull Friday-night commute. She knew James had been quite the athlete from the pictures she'd seen of his younger days, but now his physique was softening rapidly - becoming noticeably huskier than when the couple had first met. And whilst there was no doubt that she could still fit into her wedding dress as easily as the day they wed, she wasn't so sure she could say the same for James and his suit.

Amy clicked a button to lock the car before slipping her key into the front door of their home. Disappointingly the kitchen was empty tonight. She dropped her kit bag by the washer, almost religiously, as she always did. James it seems was upstairs, most likely in the shower reasoned Amy, judging by the sounds the boiler made. She figured it was slightly odd for James to shower on a Friday night, but then she suddenly remembered that the pair were due to attend a fund-raiser that evening; a black tie gala. Amy decided to fix herself a quick sandwich to keep her going after her Friday evening workout, and only ventured upstairs when she heard the boiler fall silent, which indicated that the shower was free.

As luck would have it, Amy happened to walk in on James getting dressed. He hadn't sensed her presence, and so she leant against the bedroom door and watched eagerly with increasing glee at the sight of James's clear predicament. He was seemingly fighting a losing battle with the button on the black pants that completed his dinner jacket ensemble. Amy's eyes were drawn to his subtle attempts to inhale as he swayed from side to side, bending at the knee as he tried to fasten the unwilling button beneath his belly - the button now clearly posing a greater challenge than it once had. Her stomach began to flutter. This is what she had always wanted to see; a little more meat on his bones. Finally, it was happening.

And then all of a sudden, Amy suddenly felt a slight pang of guilt at her recent attempts to keep the fridge constantly stocked with the foods that she knew he couldn't say not to. However that guilt quickly succumbed to joy at the now visible sign that it had clearly had an effect. She began plotting what her reaction might be to this situation. She quickly figured a direct approach would be best. It was the one she favoured with her clients at the gym - and she loved to see the response it provoked; the flurry of endless excuses that followed to mask the simple fact that they ate too much and moved too little. Watching her clients squirm at the sound of a few home truths being dealt their way was one of the best non-pecuniary benefits of Amy's job. She wondered what her own husband's excuses might be for his bloated waistline. She dived right in.

'You've put on weight,' she announced bluntly from her vantage point, as she stood in the doorway leaning against the door frame, her arms crossed.

'Oh, ... hi babe,' replied James, looking slightly perplexed as he looked down at his bloated abdomen and considered that his wife's suggestion could perhaps at least be one explanation as to why his pants were now uncomfortably tight.

'I didn't see you there," James added. "Maybe ... It's only few pounds though'.

He sucked in his stomach further as he became fully aware of his wife's judgemental gaze.

'Really, you think?' asked Amy dryly.

She noticed that the conversation was drawing some colour into James's cheeks.

'Perfect,' she thought, sensing that she may have at last put a little dent in her husband's seemingly limitless ego. It was a subtle and deviant ploy, perhaps, to chip away at his confidence like this, but it was a tactic she knew from her own experience at the gym would always prompt a reaction. Usually in the form of a few extra pounds the next time her clients sought her services. The extra pounds that would be often brought on by the comfort eating that was bound to ensue after someone had dared to say what, perhaps until that point, colleagues, friends and family hadn't.

'It looks like more than a few to me. Perhaps you should join me on my morning run tomorrow?' Amy suggested constructively.

'Sure thing,' replied James, 'sounds like a plan'. The relief upon his face at the change of subject was clear.

'And maybe lay off the buffet tonight,' added Amy, as she walked out of the bedroom wearing a delightfully devious smirk as she caught a glimpse in the wardrobe mirror of her husband finally exhaling and examining his new emerging belly with his hands the instant her back was turned.

*********

The fundraiser had gone without incident and Amy was now driving them both home. The clock on the dashboard read half eleven. Amy, calorie conscious as ever, had offered to be the designated driver for that evening, and James was therefore a few, if not more than a few, glasses of wine shy of his usual sober self. He was now sat in the passenger seat, and had unbuttoned his pants with a laboured sigh as soon as he had sat down. He had clearly failed to heed his wife's warnings about the buffet. And Amy hadn't missed a trick. She counted that he'd made at least three passes of the buffet - wolfing down a lot more than he should. She now increasingly sensed that the alcohol in his system had lowered his resolve even further, and so she deliberately decided to put temptation in his path.

'How about a pizza?' she proffered, adding, 'I didn't have a chance to grab a plate from the buffet. You know how I talk too much with your colleagues' wives'.

James appeared uneasy, his buttoned shirt under some strain. He figured that his wife's hunger served her right for talking too much.

'Hmmm, I don't know Amy, he pondered drunkenly, whilst fighting some hiccups.

'Oh come on now!,' pleaded Amy. 'It'll be just like old times when we first used to hang out on Friday's at my flat. Do you remember that?'

She knew her husband would give in - she could almost sense it. And out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of him running his hand over his belly, as if trying to calculate if his current hunger pang was real or alcohol induced.

A smile broke across James's face. 'Oh hell then, ... sure! ... Why not! ... Just like old times, right?'.

'Right,' replied Amy happily with a nod.

'And perhaps we could do what we used to do back then after pizza too,' added James as he winked at his wife suggestively.

'Hey buster!! ... I'm only promising pizza at this point!' laughed Amy, jabbing his arm playfully.

'I think all that wine went to your head ... Casanova!'.

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