Blame game

Chapter 1 - part 1

(XWG, a very different style then I have used before. just trying something out)

It's cute how you try to blame me.

Really, you could, I did start everything. But as I look at you, struggling to move, pinned to the sofa I remember that I gave you a nudge. You did all the rest of it yourself.

"My metabolism is so fast, I can just eat whatever I want" you had teased when you first moved in, new to the city, about to start a new job "Too bad you have to control yourself, I don't have to worry about that".

I loved watching you eat your words. And eat everything else.

You went to the job a few times, but the company had mismanaged their funds and closed suddenly. You couldn't move out, you had spent most of your funds on the move here and where would you go? Your family wasn't helpful, and you had burned a lot of bridges when you took off.

I let you stay, I insisted on it in fact. We agreed you could take a well deserved vacation. Just for a little while- a summer off. You were so pretty and skinny and smart, you'd make new friends, network, and find a new job quickly. Easy as pie. And while you relaxed you enjoyed another slice and eventually entire tins of pie while you considered those plans. Fresh, hot and full of butter and sugar.

Then it was little changes. Changing out powders in your protein shakes. Adding muscle relaxers and appetite stimulants to everything you drank. You let me prepare everything. You never tried to stop me, never questioned anything, not when your pants started getting snug, when your shirts started to roll up, when that flat stomach started to bend out into a tiny potbelly. No. You didn't even try to stop.

Always excuses. It's that time of the month, just a food baby, clothes must have shrunk, it's nothing, you can work it off tomorrow, no sweat.

But you don't sweat that kind of sweat anymore. No, you sweat when you have to heave yourself up, or when you are in the middle of a binge and you can't get the food from table to mouth fast enough. But it's not sweat that's going to make you any thinner.

Everything, every sign was ignored as you kept eating. You got lazier, I got more active in the kitchen. You didn't look for a job for long. You didn't really have to worry. You were on the sofa, and I worked from home.

I told you the AC was broken so you should turn on the fan, but not exert yourself too much since it wasn't too powerful. And don't bother with the clothes, it's too hot for clothes and it's just us here.

Watching you in just your underwear and bra, watching them fill and strained with the effort to hold your growing form in. Watching that stomach begin to puff out and over the top. I would have to lift that stomach, more of a belly now, to check to see if you wore underwear now. Not that any could fit you.

Not that I'd let you.

Watching your eyes, dilated with the additives I put in your food, with the alcohol I plied you with. Your jaws rarely stopped working.

"It's just a beer, it will cool you off, you don't have anywhere to go today- we can go out later and meet people. Just one."

You didn't get off the sofa so you have no clue that your 'one' glass is filled with the contents from four large cans.

You often crashed on the sofa, sinking into it, the dip in the frame from your body growing with you. Thank goodness I had it reenforced. You slept so sound you never heard me creep in and measure. An few centimeters here and there, but then they soon turned to inches.

Pot belly becomes belly. But you're in a stupor. You could stop yourself, I pulled back several times, but you and your belly expected certain things. You ask me where the food was when I started bringing you normal portions. You sought out junk instead of the vegetables i placed in full view. I gave you a salad once and you snorted and grabbed a bag of cheese to dump on it with thick creamy dressing. You had your chance. It was full steam ahead.

"I'm doing a new food blog, I have to order from these places and review them, help me out?" I pleaded, you agreed. It's take out from everywhere. Huge portions (more then family size) I claim that it's because they want to impress us. I say we can split some and have left overs. At first it's just a large plate for each of us. Then you start getting seconds. Then i start serving you on larger plates and you think you've cut back. So you start getting seconds again. And then thirds. By summers end, I get maybe a plate and you have the rest. There aren't left overs anymore.

I pull back on the additives when you send a button from your shorts flying. They were too small ages ago, in fact you had stopped even trying to button them, but then one day you try and ZING it flies.

Maybe you tried because it was's getting cold and you think you should put on clothes. I apologize for washing and shrinking things again. I suggest we go out.

I lend you a pair of shorts saying they are small on me, and because you are sooooo fit they should be OK. You snicker and agree with me. They barely button, the denim and the zipper has a hard time staying up though the button just manages to close. I say no one will notice. I mean because of the belly hanging over the top, and the large roll that dominates your body since the shirt won't cover it- but you don't seem to realize that. I apologize again saying it's OK since we are going to be in and out of the store. Afterall, you remember your size right?

Your chin is starting to double and I suggest we grab something for the road. You grab a small prepackaged health smoothie (prepackaged.. HA. I dumped out the old one and put my own special mixture in it) and a cookie... and a brownie... and a PB&J that I laced with a sleeping agent.

It's time.

We get into the car, you keep eating.

You babble on about something you saw on TV, your heavy arms lifting the food to your lips. You comment on the odd taste of the sandwich. And then you're out, slumped in your seat, crumbs on your face and in your cleavage.
2 chapters, created StoryListingCard.php 8 years , updated 2 years
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PlumpSoftKitty 7 years
Great work!
GrowingLoveH... 8 years
Oh my. That is so sensual! Delicious! If your writing were pie, I'd never leave the table!