… U Fat Cow..,

Chapter 1

Brad Mercer had spent most of his life untouchable.

At twenty-one, the starting quarterback for the local college team moved through the town like royalty. Girls stared when he walked into bars. Men slapped him on the shoulder and bought him drinks. Coaches praised him. Professors bent deadlines for him. Even his friends-if they really were friends-orbited around his confidence like moons around a planet.

That Friday night, Brad and four teammates cut through the crowded downtown street after a victory party, loud and half drunk beneath the orange glow of streetlights. Music spilled from nearby bars while autumn wind carried the smell of fried food and rain-soaked pavement.

"Three touchdowns," Tyler laughed, punching Brad in the arm. "You're gonna end up in the NFL, man."

Brad grinned arrogantly and walked backward while talking, not bothering to look where he was going.

That was his mistake.

He slammed into something enormous.

The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Brad's feet tangled beneath him and he crashed backward onto the pavement with a painful smack, hands scraping against concrete.

The street erupted in laughter.

"Oh my God!" one of the guys shouted.

"Dude got flattened!"

Brad blinked upward in stunned disbelief.

The woman he had collided with hadn't moved an inch.

She stood towering over him beneath a hanging neon sign, wrapped in layers of deep crimson and black fabric. Gold jewelry glimmered across thick wrists and around her neck. Dark curls spilled beneath a scarf decorated with old coins and charms.

And she was enormous.

Easily three hundred and fifty pounds, maybe more.

Her hips spread massively beneath flowing skirts. Her stomach pressed heavily against embroidered fabric. Thick arms folded across an immense chest as she looked down at him with dark, unreadable eyes.

Yet despite her size, she was beautiful.

Not in the polished, artificial way of the college girls Brad usually chased. This beauty felt older. Stranger. Powerful. Her features were soft but commanding, her lips full, her eyes sharp enough to cut through bone.

But humiliation burned hotter than reason.

His teammates were still laughing.

Brad climbed to his feet, face red with embarrassment.

"What the hell?" he snapped.

The woman remained silent.

Tyler snorted. "Bro got trucked."

Something ugly twisted inside Brad then, the desperate need to reclaim control.

"Well maybe if this fat cow wasn't taking up the whole damn sidewalk-"

The laughter stopped instantly.

The woman's expression changed.

Not anger at first.

Recognition.

Like she had suddenly seen something buried deep beneath his skin.

The wind seemed to still around them.

The coins hanging from her scarf jingled softly though she hadn't moved.

Brad opened his mouth again, ready to throw another insult, but the words died in his throat as the woman stepped closer.

Up close, her perfume smelled like smoke, cinnamon, and something earthy he couldn't place.

Her dark eyes locked onto his.

And suddenly Brad felt exposed.

Not physically.

Worse.

It felt as though invisible fingers were digging through his thoughts, peeling back every secret layer he'd spent years hiding.

His stomach clenched.

No.

No no no.

She couldn't know.

But somehow she did.

The fantasies.

The cravings.

The shameful late-night thoughts he never admitted to anyone.

Images that filled him with equal parts disgust and arousal.

Himself huge.

Massive.

Soft.

Sometime s he imagined struggling to squeeze into desks during class. Other times he imagined his stomach hanging heavily over his waistband while people stared. He imagined waddling instead of walking, growing helplessly larger while secretly loving every second of it.

The fantasies always came with unbearable guilt afterward.

So Brad buried them beneath football, girls, alcohol, and swagger.

No one knew.

No one except this woman.

A slow smile spread across her face.

Not mocking.

Knowing.

Then, in a voice loud enough for everyone on the sidewalk to hear, she declared:

"May you have your heart's desire."

The street seemed to pulse.

Brad felt a strange pressure in his chest, almost like his heartbeat skipped.

His teammates exchanged nervous looks.

"What the hell does that mean?" Tyler muttered.

The woman simply smiled wider.

Gold rings flashed on her fingers as she adjusted her shawl.

"Be careful what lives inside you," she said softly to Brad. "The soul is always hungry for truth."

Then she turned and walked away.

The crowd unconsciously parted for her.

Brad stood frozen.

"Dude..." one of his friends said quietly. "That was freaky."

"Yeah," another laughed nervously. "You probably just got cursed."

Brad forced out a scoff.

"Please. She's just some crazy old woman."

But his voice lacked conviction.

The rest of the night felt wrong after that.

At the bar, drinks tasted strangely sweet. Food smelled impossibly good. Brad devoured two baskets of wings and barely noticed. Even afterward he still felt hungry.

By the time he finally got home near midnight, unease had settled heavily in his stomach.

His apartment was dark and silent except for the hum of the refrigerator.

Brad tossed his keys onto the counter and paused.

The Gypsy woman's words echoed again inside his mind.

"May you have your heart's desire."

He laughed weakly to himself.

"So what, I'm cursed now?"

Still, his skin prickled uneasily.

He headed toward his bedroom while pulling at the waistband of his jeans.

Then he stopped.

His pants felt tighter.

Not dramatically.

Just enough to notice.

Brad frowned.

That was impossible.

He tugged harder at the denim around his thighs and stomach. The fabric definitely felt snugger than it had that morning.

A cold sensation crawled slowly down his spine.

Outside, somewhere far beyond his apartment walls, thunder rumbled softly through the night.

And for the first time in years, Brad felt genuinely afraid.