Chapter 1 - The Wedding

I remember when we first met, in high school. He was about 300 then. 400 when we got married.

I still remember the week before our wedding. He came into our bedroom, cheeks flushed. His suit wouldn’t button- his suit pants, his dress shirt straining.

“Babe, I think we should talk.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, trying my hardest to not draw attention to the elephant in the room.

He’d always been self conscious of his body. I never knew how to tell how much I loved his body without seeming like a total pervert. I tried to show him, by kissing him, rubbing his growing body, by loving him.

“I don’t know if we should get married.”

*no*, I thought.

I felt my heart dropping in my chest. I don’t know where the feeling came from more- the idea of not being with him, or the idea that he hated himself that much.

“Baby,” I said breathlessly. “Why?” I already knew the answer.

“I’m too big.”

I looked at him to see he’s defeated.
I don't know what I can say, but the words fall out of my mouth anyway.

“Baby, I’m here,” I said as I pulled his face close to mine. So I can look into those eyes. So he could see mine. So he could see the love behind mine. I placed my hand on the tenderest part of his belly, the first part of his belly I ever touched, and I began to trace gentle circles around his belly button.

“Let’s get married,” I whispered.
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That’s where it started, I think as I stir in our bed.

I don’t feel him there with me, so I know to perk up my ears. And I can hear him in the kitchen.

I slip out of bed in my silk nightgown. I stand in the door way for a while, just watching him. He doesn’t know I’m there.

And there he is, sitting on one of our dining chairs, dimly lit by the refrigerator light, ravenously eating whatever he can find in the fridge and pantry.

A part of me marveling at the huge man in front of me, part of me feels bad for him.

He’s a whimpering, bloated mess, burping between hiccups, rubbing his bloated belly with his free hand to relieve the pressure for more.

“Baby, I’m here,” I say, while I approach him from behind.

“Go back *uuurp* to *hic* sleep, baby, I’m fine.”

I squat down next to him.

“Let me take care of you,” I whisper, rubbing his gut.

He lets me.

“Let’s go back to bed, honey, so you can stretch out and I can rub you.”

He hesitates. I don’t know if whether he’s ashamed or he’s too full to get up. Maybe both.

“We can cuddle and watch a movie until we fall asleep,” I say trying to convince him.

He pauses.

“Baby, I… *uuurp* think I’m too full... to get up”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I keep doing this,”

I kiss his cheek.

“Come on, baby, I’ll help you.”

“I don't want to *hic* fall and hurt you,”

“You won’t baby, let’s go.”

I get him up but he can mostly get there on his own, holding onto walls and furniture.

We lay down, and he pulls me close.

So warm and so soft.

“I love you, baby.”