Hot night at home

Chapter 1 - hot night at home


Camy's call from upstairs made me perk up and sulk at the same time. I knew what she wanted - help downstairs - and I was only too happy to oblige, but maybe not quite as happy as in the first couple months of our marriage. Why? Well, put it this way: may dad always told me to marry a girl 40 pounds lighter than how you want her.

I should've listened.

Camy was already chunky when we started dating, but she wasn't too big to let her hitch rides around the house. It was fun for both of us. Marrying and moving in with a well-to-do FA on top of her already being unable to walk, however, resulted in the last 5 months of her life spend predominantly napping, lazing, and being fed. I could still lift her, but I wondered for how long if she kept up.

She held her arms out to me as soon as I walked into the room.

"Carry me to the kitchen?" she asked sweetly, the picture of innocent charm.

"Sure, sweetheart." I reached under her arms and she wrapped hers around me as I did the same. I grunted a long, loud grunt as I heaved her off the bed, which in turn squealed and groaned its relief. I had to take a quick step back to widen my stance and keep balance as she wrapped what little of her thighs she could around me - her legs were, of course, too short for wrapping to begin with and the added chub impeded them even more.

"Whatcha cookin', honey?" I asked as we departed. She held her bulky body close, pressing her oh-so-squeezable belly and boobs to my torso and eclipsing it.

"I'm craving fried chicken again," she replied. My brain twinged the same way as it did when she called me; my feeder tendencies were overjoyed to think of another nice pile of crispy chicken settling on her thighs, but my arms were already trembling and we were just barely at the top of the stairs.

"Mmm-uhh, weh," was my very conflicted response.

"What?" she chortled.

"I said 'what kind of salad?'"

"I dunno, I wasn't even thinking salad. Coleslaw, maybe?"

My mind was hardly put at ease. I embarked the stairs and Camy bounced up and down, exaggerating my grip on her in an excuse to rub up against me. I was in absolutely no universe prepared to stop her jiggling her wonderfully soft self against me to her heart's content, but it was all I could do to stop my hands from slipping.

"Someone's playful tonight!" I sputtered as she practically ground herself on me.

"Mmm-mm-mm hmm-mm-mm" she giggled, jostling her voice along with her weighty body. Her head was tucked against my neck, but I could see her devilish grin; she knew exactly what she was doing. Well, she knew about the friction - I wasn't sure if she knew just how much of her there was to piggyback around nowadays.

Thankfully the kitchen was not far from the bottom of the stairs. I plopped her in a stool and tried my best to hide my lungs heaving as she looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to push her over to the stove.

"Honey pie..." I panted, "Why not just... use you wheelchair?"

"No!" she snapped. "It's bad enough using it when my baby's at work."

I heaved a sigh, but I smiled. Helping her was a pleasure, after all (and maybe I took a little in watching her struggle sometimes too), and her weight only superficially clouded that. So, the high-backed stool screeched its way across the tile as I inched my wife from the bar to the stovetop and started assembling the ingredients she needed. A bowl of egg, a bowl of flour, and a bowl of crushed saltines appeared and disappeared, leaving in their wake a plate of ready-to-cook chicken fingers and a pair of growling stomachs.

"I'll take it from here, baby," she said. I pulled her tight for a kiss before going back to what I was doing before the fiasco that was carrying my lovely wife across out house: building a model car.

I also had some time to reflect on how I got myself into this crazy, wonderfully perilous marriage. When we first met, Camy was a secretary at a sheet metal shop. My father had sent me there to help him build a workshop; after passing the CEO position of his scrap wood business on to me, he needed something to do with his retirement. I was infatuated with her before I saw her wheel out from behind her desk, and was no less after. Her body was perfect (calves being overrated anyway), her eyes bright, and her wit was snappy. A series of "unexplained" returns and claims led to us seeing a lot of of each other and, before long, a date was set up. What surprised me, though, is that it was her that asked; while I was still working my courage up she slipped a note to me across her desk and saved my dad at least a few more plates of aluminum going mysteriously faulty.

Our first date was lighting in a bottle. I'll never forget the way she watched as I forked up her last piece of tortellini and allowed her to bite it off my fork - and I'd bet shell always remember the surprise that was surely painted all over me as she took my last meatball and popped that in her mouth right after. After that we -

"Oh - AAH!"

I leaped out of my seat. Camy was screaming for my help! I booked it towards the kitchen, but my foot tangled in my chair and I was tripped to the floor. My forehead bounced off the carpet and I thrashed myself free of the chair before lumbering back onto my path, head throbbing and eyes streaming.

Camy was reaching for me and screaming and leaning away from the stove, where I noted stupidly that a fire was building. I rushed to her and plucked her, knocking her chair over and stumbling backward away from the danger. My balance failed me and I ended up on my back, with Camy following swiftly. She landed on me in a crash that rocked the kitchen, and I was just about ready to admit defeat for today when she climbed off and grabbed me by my collar.

"Joel, the fire!"


I rubbed my head and lumbered to the sink, where we kept an extinguisher. I pulled the pin and blasted it haphazardly at the stove, trying to get my eyes to focus properly. Once the stove was effectively ruined I tossed the extinguisher aside and flopped down next to Camy, who had pulled herself up against the sink as far away from the stove as she could. She clamped her arms around me as soon as she could reach, and I returned it whole-heartedly. My whole body ached. We were both trembling with adrenaline.

"Chinese?" she wavered.

"Sounds magical," I stammered back.


Chinese food doesn't last long with Camy around. I took my fair share and she took the rest, citing her need for comfort food to calm her nerves after tonight. I wasn't going to argue - watching her enjoy all that food calmed me down as well as the food did her. It was of course not till after the meal that I realized just how much of a mistake I'd made: when I stood up, nursing my goose egg, she threw her arms toward me and smiled.

"To the couch, p - hic - please!" she trilled. "I'm sooo full, I'd probably need you to carry me even if I had legs."

She definitely weighed more than earlier, and there was no doubt in my mind it was all headed to her already overfed middle. Every step towards the living room filled me more and more with dread over the trip back up to bed, but on the other hand...

"I'm gonna need someone to rub this food baby away," she whispered into my ear. A twitchy smile emerged on my face.

"Sweetie," I replied, "What would you think about moving our bed down here?"
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