chapter 1- the gesture

You’ve always loved accessorising, your favourite being the ‘Alice band’ – a headband to sit upon your head just above your bangs to give you a neat look of finesse. Not the old kind of metal ones, but the fine strand of ribbon kind. Sometimes even with a dainty bow that is subtly playful, just like you. It’s no wonder I love to pamper and spoil you, and seeing you enjoy yourself.

I found out from some of your good friends shortly after we started dating that you had a weakness for desserts. They advised me that if I ever needed to make anything up to you, I should put a fragrant berry pie into the oven. That it made you think of fond memories and feel loved, and you wouldn’t protest if seconds were placed in front of you. I didn’t need to make anything up to you, but treating you and indulging you would be wonderful, because you deserved it. And it certainly wouldn’t hurt if it added more to your slender but definite hourglass figure.

You had some work emails to briefly attend to after a filling evening meal that we had made together. I made my move and put the pie, store bought and blueberry, into the oven. I made sure the oven was set to fan forced so that the scents would waft through the house to tempt you. The moment you had finished you seemed to have floated into the kitchen. You looked up at me inquisitively with those big eyes.

“I thought I could surprise you to say thank you for a lovely dinner,” I explained, just as the timer went off, making us both laugh.

“Perfectly timed, too!” You looked enraptured.

It would have been a large serving for one, but was a reasonably size for sharing, which is what I originally had in mind. I took in out of the oven with our silliest oven mitts, placed it on a board in front of you and handed you a spoon. You looked overjoyed, your eyes wide and lit up.

“Is this all for me?” you gasped.

Well, how could I say no to that? Of course it was. You looked at the pie in excited awe. As you put the first spoonful into your mouth, you let out a sensual moan involuntarily. I watched you repeat this, mesmerised, as you devoured the whole thing. I only paused to grab you a cheeky extra glass of wine to complement it. I saw your body gradually relax as you savoured both, letting out an extra moan when you were done and leaned back in your chair.

I noticed that your usually rather flat stomach was bulging out, with your hands rested on it, patting it gently, your eyes closed in contentment. Your guard was down completely, and there was something so intimate about you letting me see you like this, in response to a loving gesture I had made. I reached out to caress your protruding tummy, too.

Suddenly you sat bolt upright, covering your midsection with your arms. I looked at you with confused alarm.

“I can’t let you see me looking so fat!”

“You’ve never been fat a day in your life,” I laughed.

You blushed and let me lean in to passionately kiss you. As we kissed, you let me rub your belly eventually.

“This isn’t even fat; this was just me filling you with love,” I whispered gently, “it’ll be gone by the morning anyway”.

“True,” you reluctantly admitted, staring off in thought for a minute. “Have you ever wondered that?”

“Wondered what?”

“What it would be like to be fat?” you asked very seriously, but still miles away.

“I think,” I said stifling a giggle and scooping you into my arms and carrying you to our bed, “that you would be the sexiest fatty there ever was!”