The melting point

Chapter 1 - my beautiful girl

I. DRESS CODE

It's been another long and rather grueling Friday at work, but I'm riding on an adrenaline rush as I pull into our driveway. I've been planning tonight's surprise all week, and everything seems to be coming together perfectly.

When I walk in the door, there's my beautiful girl lounging on the couch, listening to her iPod and blowing on her freshly polished fingernails to dry them. The table is littered with wrappers from chocolate bars and snack cakes. She gives me a coy smile.

I gently tug out the earbuds and kiss her cheek. "Hey, gorgeous. I missed you today."

"I missed you too, baby ... what's in the bag?"

"Didn't I tell you we're going out for dinner?" I ask innocently.

She raises an eyebrow. "You most certainly did not."

"Oh! Well, we are, and I can't have you going out wearing that, can I?"

She sits up a bit straighter, and we both look down at her silky nightie. It's undeniably snug, with smears of chocolate milkshake around her cleavage, and her soft, saggy belly spilling out below the bottom hem into her lap. It was roomy a few months ago when we bought it, but she's really been packing on the pounds.

"I thought it was your favorite," she pouts.

"Oh, it absolutely is -- but for my eyes only."

Out of the Macy's bag I produce a flowing, sleeveless fuchsia dress. Her eyes light up, and my heart soars.


II. WHITE LIGHTS

It's the first week of December, so it's dark early, and all of the trees downtown are decked in twinkling white lights. My girl loves Christmas. She doesn't know her way around town yet, and doesn't know where we're going anyway, so I cruise slowly and aimlessly while she finishes her cigarette. Last year I didn't give a damn about the lights, but they make her smile, so they have risen immeasurably in my estimation.

We pull up to the restaurant, a 170-year old brick building which was originally a foundry. I hop out of the car and round to her side to open the door, and she blushes adorably.

"The Melting Point..." she reads off the sign. "Eat, drink, and listen closely?"

I nod. "There's a live band tonight."

She towers over me, my beautiful girl, even in her flat strappy sandals, carrying her new dress like a princess. Hand in hand we enter and are seated near the stage. As always, I know I'm the luckiest person in the room.

Of course my fat darling picks up the menu straightaway, but I gently take it from her.

"Won't you let me order for you tonight, love?"

She nibbles her bottom lip nervously. "Well -- I'm terribly hungry."

"When has that ever been a problem?" I reply, and she smiles.


III. THE MELTING POINT

"My lady will have the New York strip steak, the grilled pork chops, and a brisket panini to start... and I'll have the shrimp and red mule grits."

The waitress opens her mouth and begins to speak, takes another look to size us up, then closes her mouth and jots the order down.

I butter roll after roll for my hungry girl until our dinners come out. She isn't much for salads so we're skipping straight to the main courses. We chat amiably and watch as they set up the stage for the band. She looks down at her new dress and runs her fingers over the material of the shoulder straps, apparently enjoying the texture, and then asks me quietly:

"Is this a 6X?"

I'm a bit taken aback. The ill-fitting nightie is a 6X; can't she tell how much larger this is? I bought the next size up for tonight so she wouldn't have to squeeze into anything already in her closet... so she could eat as much as she pleases without feeling constrained.

"It's a 7X, sweetheart. Doesn't it give you a bit more room to breathe?"

"Oh yes. Room to grow," she agrees, a bit half-heartedly. Then, hesitantly: "I'm getting awfully fat, don't you think?"

I reach across the table to take her chubby hand and squeeze it, kiss it. "You're the most beautiful girl in the world, darling, and you'll never be too fat for me," I assure her.

She beams, confirming once again that honesty is the best policy. Right on time, our entrees arrive. Her three platters crowd the table, and she tucks into the brisket. My shrimp and grits are excellent, but I hardly notice that now, because I'm watching my big girl chow down. She shovels the food in, occasionally moaning in appreciation of the flavor, clearing one plate and digging into the next without a pause. She's always been a greedy one, but I've noticed that the heavier she gets, the more it takes to fill her up.

Ninety minutes later, she's finally demolished all three entrees. She leans back and puts her hands on her swollen belly, rubbing it gently, and stifles a little burp. All that food, I think, and it's still not enough. That's the kind of thought that gets me heated. I'm sure she sees it in my eyes. She knows what her gluttony does to me.

"I like the food here," she says with a guilty smile.

"You like the food everywhere," I remind her.

I flag down our waitress and order four slices of key lime pie. I'm feeling a bit wicked. For once, I'd like to see her gorge in public like she does at home -- until she can't get up. The band is still playing, and no one's paying us the least bit of attention. She smiles when her pie arrives, but begins slowing down into the second piece. That's when I move over to sit right beside her, and take the fork in my hand.

I brush her ginger locks aside and lean in towards her ear. "You think you've had enough, baby girl?"

She nods.

"But I think you've got a little more room," I whisper. "I think you're going to put all this pie away for me." I caress her massive belly under the table, then stroke her soft, thick thighs. "Because you can't say no, can you?"

Wordlessly, she opens her mouth and I fill it with a good chunk of key lime pie. She lets me feed her until the pie is gone, even though I know she's long past full. I raise the last bite of pie to her lips and her eyes meet mine.

"No more," she murmurs at last, looking a bit glazed, a bit softened. She's reached her melting point. "Take me home, baby. Take me to bed, please?"

I take care of the check, then stand and offer her my hands. She takes mine in hers and we struggle to get her to her feet. It isn't easy. She has grown incredibly obese, there's no denying it. Her gait as we leave the restaurant is completely changed from the moderate waddle when we came in; she's leaning back, pushing her bloated belly forward, moving ever so slowly.

I'm just pleased she was able to get up. I've never wanted her so badly... I have to get her home in bed, my wanton fat girl, and satisfy her other hungers.