pew pew
I don’t realise you’re at the foot of the stairs, so I’m fucking about with the fabric tape measure I went upstairs to get. You catch me whipping it back and forth and making little “pew pew” noises. When I spot you I freeze mid pew. You smirk and continue walking to the kitchen.
We never talk about the pew pew incident. It still keeps me up at night.
“You can’t help but kneel whenever I’m naked,” you say, teasing. At least you assume I’m kneeling. I certainly disappeared from sight below the shelf of breast flesh.
You feel the tape wrap around the front of your belly, bracketed by my hands, which depress into your so-soft skin. “I know what I like. Hold here.” You clasp the end of the tape to your belly and I place a chaste kiss on your mons pubis before standing to walk the tape around you. With a close eye I check the location on your body then take the reading. “155cm waist. Wow. Then it was… 167 hips?”
You slap your hip, sending jiggles all the way around your circumference. “Lotta me to love.”
“You’re telling me. It’s kinda hard to take my eyes off you. Are you sure you want to do this?”
You give me a crooked smile. “Starting from scratch. It’ll be fun. Think how much I’ll need to eat.”
“Aaaaaand we’re on board. Okay, scales. Stand here, please.”
I lead you by the hands to the precise location of the toughened-glass plate. Your body makes it hard to observe things directly in front, behind, or beneath you. You certainly would struggle to read the scales without help. I duck down again.
“183.2 kilos,” comes the verdict. Another kiss is placed on your mons, lingering, but I come up into view, trailing kisses up the audacious swell of your gut as I go.
You’re distracted by your reflection in a full-length mirror propped against the wall. It’s too narrow to show your full glory but enough to hint. You run your hands up through your long, black hair and allow it to fall in sheets over your shapely shoulders. Black chases the contours of your breasts, losing itself against the black bra that keeps them restrained. Your belly is so large it comes in two parts, the fat above your waist folding and sitting upon the plush fat below your waist. This swells out into awesome thighs, permanently touching in the middle unless you open your legs very wide.
You step off the scales and turn sideways, not taking your eyes off your reflection. “What’s that in old money?”
“Just shy of 29 stone. You’re… formidable.”
I appear in front of you in your reflection. Examining yourself has made you tingle from head to toe. Still never breaking eye contact, you reach to take my face in your hands and guide it to yours. You kiss me deeply, possessively, and I yield to your possession. All of my senses and focus are on you. Most of yours are, too.
Five in the morning. The closed curtains let through a sliver of summer morning light. You have been watching it travel over the ceiling for half an hour, now.
I snore, but that’s nothing to the sounds your gut is producing. A digestive tract used to profoundly filling, regular meals now finds itself being asked to be satisfied with as hearty salad and a small slice of cheesecake.
I’m curled up on my side facing away. If this were a cartoon you’d hallucinate me turning into a steak or something, but instead you hallucinate me turning into a sleeping 90kg human being. You imagine the sensation of being filled by someone of that size, having me slide into your gut, sit beneath the shelves of fat as you churn away my shape and convert me to mush that will fill you from stomach to colon… You get a hunger pang so bad your jaw aches.
God, even just blood. Even just a mouthful of my blood. Your mouth floods with the thought of it. I would give it to you. I couldn’t say no…
A veritable roar from the junction between stomach and intestines jars me awake. I look over and see you looking at me. There is a careful, dangerous moment.
I speak. “Shall I… sleep on the couch?”
It’s all you can do to nod, teeth clenched shut.