Every morning, before he leaves for work, my husband Caleb pulls a bottle of kiwi-and-strawberry-flavoured Smart Water from the fridge. Chock-full of vitamins, minerals, and other additives to keep his health up and improve cognitive performance, he survives on it rather than proper food. Of course, he eats. Breakfast and dinner only, though, and not much of either. Instead, he fills himself up on low-calorie Smart Water, giving him just enough energy to get through the day.
It's no wonder why he's so damn skinny.
I don't know how he does it. Before I fell pregnant with our twins, Rowan and Liam, I was skinny myself. But I'd fought for that skinny body - raised by big eaters, I'd had a near-insatiable appetite of my own. Suffering hunger pangs to keep my calories down, and horrible cravings as I denied myself all of my favourite unhealthy snacks, I worked out religiously to earn a body that most girls would die for. Announcing the pregnancy, everyone said that now I had an excuse to eat too much and gain some weight. So I took that opportunity for every penny it was worth.
At five-foot-five and 110-lbs, even the smallest weight gain was noticeable. As soon as those cravings hit at the three-month mark, I went all-in and devoured every sugary, sweet, delicious thing in sight. In just six months I ballooned to 145-lb, and by the time my twins were born (each weighing over seven-pound themselves) I was 183-lb. Two years later, I never managed to gain all of my self-control back. Though now I've shrunk down to 163-lb, I know I'll never be as slim as my pre-motherhood self.
It doesn't matter. I find time to work out three times a week, and am lucky to be blessed with curves in the best places. I'm healthy, happy, and confident, and Caleb is as attracted to me now as he's ever been. Maybe even more so. In regards to myself and my size, I've absolutely nothing to complain about. Instead, my complaints revolve around Caleb.
I'm not jealous. I promise you, I'm not. But being so skinny from simply not eating enough is too unhealthy. At six-foot-one, he's only 134-lb. It worries me to the core, the idea of him getting sick. Not only for my sake, but our sons look up to him. They're starting to mimic him, as nearly all young boys mimic their fathers. Caleb needs to be a healthy role model for them, and to do that, he needs to gain some weight.
There is, however, one other aspect to this. As Caleb seems to prefer me with a little more volume, so too do I prefer guys with a little more meat on their bones. And I'm not necessarily talking muscle. Blame it on the family I grew up in, but all the men I was raised around were, well, round. Big boys with even bigger appetites, who weren't satisfied until their bellies were swollen with a night's feast. It was always the job of my mother, aunties, and older female cousins - all of whom were big themselves - to cook elaborate meals that were more than enough to feed an army. With Caleb eating so scarcely, and our boys being still so young, I felt a tad useless.
Now, it's reached the point where enough is enough. Talking to Caleb - calmly and rationally, mind you - has not worked, and I know arguing with him is always pointless. So, all morning, I've been scouring the internet for the best appetite stimulants. Something just to kick start his appetite enough to cover up those jagged bones. Finally I came across something called "Loviva". It's a white tablet that dissolves when immersed in liquid. Most of the reviews are four or five stars, praising the effects of it. It was somewhat expensive, but it's not like we're struggling for money. Reasoning that it was mainly for health benefits, I paid for a four-week trial pack.
It would take approximately one week to arrive.
***
This past week has been horrible. Ever an impatient person, I absolutely hate waiting for things. It frustrates me, and seeing as I can't vent to Caleb as usually do, I take that frustration out on a pint of ice cream each night in front of the TV. Shovelling it into my mouth, I fight to keep my mind on the show's story line, and not on the pills that are due to arrive.
Caleb, who sits on his side of the dual-seated couch, looks over at me as the commercials begin. His thick eyebrows pull together in a frown. Surprisingly, he's quite cute when he frowns. His tanned skin, light brown hair, and shining blue eyes are a blessing from his father, while the small dimples in the corners of his mouth are his mother's. He's gorgeous without even trying. Add in his near-perfect personality (except for his intense stubbornness), and he's almost too good to be true.
"Meredith," he begins. "Are you okay."
I look over at him, the spoon still hanging from my mouth. He stifles a smile, and so do I. "Yep," I lie. "Why do you ask?"
"You've gone through an awful lot of ice cream the past few days." He scoots over on the couch, wraps one arm around my shoulders, and pinches my stomach with the other hand.
"Hey!" I say, reflexively flinching away.
"Sorry," he says, and he means it. He's not being cruel, and I really don't mind when he does it. Anyway, if these new tablets work, I'll be able to get some payback. "Really, though, are you okay?"
"Just peachy!" I assure him, before shoving another mouthful of strawberry ice cream into my mouth. My belly's already full, and putting more food in it only causes it to bloat like I'm pregnant all over again. I like the feeling, though. It reminds me of my childhood.
***
The Loviva finally arrived today. I readied Caleb's work "lunch" - which really consists of a flavoured Smart Water - mango, this morning - and a nut bar just in case. While he's still in the shower, I twist the cap off the Smart Water and drop a tablet into it. It fizzes and dissolves completely. It's supposed to leave no taste, and the flavour of the drink should cover it up anyway. Putting the cap back on, I prepare breakfast for all of my boys.
Caleb nibbles a measly portion of bacon and eggs. The twins have more than he does. I wolf down my oversized plate and follow it with a piece of toast, belly overfull already. Caleb rubs it a little, before slipping his arms around my waist. We kiss, long and slow, and finally he breaks it off and says goodbye. Taking his nut bar and Smart Water with him.
For the rest of the day, I take care of the boys, clean the house, work my way through three loads of laundry, and clean the house a second time. After waking from their naps, the boys see an ad for a nearby take-away joint and demand it for lunch. Seeing as I very rarely let them have junk food, I decide one meal wouldn't hurt. As we sit in the noisy restaurant and the boys enjoy their nuggets and chips, I push my way through a duo of burgers and large fries, and act as a rubbish bin for the boys' left over chips. Afterwards we go to the grocery store, to buy things for dinner, and then we head home.
At half-past-five, Caleb arrives home from work. He doesn't look any different from normal, yet instead of rushing to the boys and joining them in their game of cars like usual, he heads straight for the kitchen. I watch him as he scans the pantry, before drawing out a box of half a dozen cinnamon donuts. He chomps his way through the first, before drawing out a second.
"Hungry?" I ask him, sliding my arms around his waist. His stomach doesn't look any different, but it feels slightly swollen. I look up at him, smiling.
"Yeah," he says, his mouth full. "Been starving all day, actually."
"Save some room for dinner, then," I tell him.
He laughs. "Trust me, Mer, the way I'm going you won't have to worry about me not having room."
Finally he goes on to play with the boys as usual, but takes the last four donuts and devours them in minutes. He sits a little awkwardly, leaning backwards. I know he prefers his pants on the tighter side, so he doesn't have to worry about wearing a belt. Surely, with so much more food in his stomach already, that can't be very comfortable.
Dinner time. I always do three-course meals, though the courses are small due to Caleb's lack of appetite. Tonight, however, I went a little bigger than normal, in the hopes the Loviva had worked. Seems I made the right decision. Pumpkin soup for starters. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, peas, and carrots for the main. Blueberry pie for dessert. Caleb wolfs down his soup and side of bread - which he got out of the pantry for himself and no one else. Though I fill his plate to the brim with the main course, it disappears in the blink of an eye. As I'm still working through my own large plate, feeling my stomach begin to press against my jeans, Caleb helps himself to the left overs. As he finishes, he sits back in his chair, a hand on his rounding belly.
"Man, that was good," he says. He burps loudly, and Rowan and Liam laugh.
"Still got room for dessert?" I ask, clearing away the plates.
"Hold on," he says, before unbuttoning his black trousers. "That's better. Now hit me."
I laugh and serve myself and the twins smaller slices, and simply hand Caleb the rest. He tells me at first that he won't eat it all, but pretty soon he shovels it in. All but licking the crumbs off of the plate.
Around nine o'clock, after devouring a whole packet of chocolate biscuits, and eating most of my now daily pint of ice cream himself, the stimulant begins to wear off. Instead of returning to the kitchen for another excessive snack, he is now happy to recline on the couch, pants still unbuttoned, bloated tummy peeking out from beneath his work shirt. Before I know what I'm doing, I move in closer to him and snuggle up, a hand resting on the mound.
"Careful," he says. He sounds uncomfortable. "Any pressure and I'll explode."
"What on earth happened to you today?" I say, trying to hide the smile on my face.
"Dunno," he said. "I was just so damn hungry. Maybe my body's trying to make up for lost time," he adds with a laugh.
"Wouldn't surprise me."
"Yeah, me either."
***
It takes a week. Exactly seven days. Each morning, I slip a Loviva pill into his Smart Water. Each night, the poor man comes home absolutely ravenous. He scoffs down half the pantry before I've even served up dinner. Dinner - which is becoming increasingly bigger every night - is now three-courses with a second helping of each. And every night, until nine o'clock exactly, Caleb continues to chomp and chew his way through all of our food, like the very hungry caterpillar. Then, he sits on the couch, pants unbuttoned, rubbing his distended belly like the men in my family always do.
Then, on the eighth day, as Caleb is getting ready for work, he calls out to me. "Meredith!"
Leaving Rowan and Liam in the living room, I head to our en suite. Caleb stands in the bathroom, shirt buttoned, pants up around his waist. It takes me a second to realise the problem - he can't get them done up. "Suck your stomach in," I tell him. He does, and pulls tightly on each side of his pants. The waistband digs in to his softened flesh, creating small love handles. The button gets so close to the hole, but inevitably falls short.
"Damn it!" Caleb curses. He looks at me. "I've eaten way too much this week, haven't I?"
"You couldn't have eaten that much," I tell him. Of course he could have, but I can't let on. Instead, I tell him to step on the scale. Maybe he's just bloated. "Or maybe I put your pants in the dryer by mistake."
But as he steps on the scales, we both know that's not true. "What the hell? Ten pounds in a week! Is that even possible?"
Apparently, it is.
"Why don't you just take the day off?" I suggest. "We can sort it out, and hopefully it'll be back to normal by tomorrow."
Caleb nods in agreement. Slipping off his trousers, I notice his legs are noticeably bigger, and his larger bum jiggles as he moves. As he unbuttons his shirt, I see his tanned stomach is no longer caved in, and peaks out slightly over his underwear. His chest is the smallest bit fuller, and his arms no longer look like twigs. Caleb eyes himself in the mirror. "Maybe something's wrong with me?"
"Could always take you to the doctors?" I say. They won't find anything wrong with him, so what's the harm?
"Yeah, sounds like a good idea."
I make Caleb his breakfast, and slip a tablet in his Smart Water while his back is turned. It works almost immediately, as he devours the large plate of pancakes and syrup and asks for more. While I cook the second batch, he chews on the croissants I bought yesterday. One, two, three go down, followed by a fourth just as I serve up his pancakes. Despite his obvious frustration at himself earlier, he now doesn't seem to mind that he's eating so much. Perhaps he doesn't even realise it.
Throughout the day, I get to see how much he really eats. Holy cow. He stuffs himself full at breakfast, and it's no more than half an hour before he's after his next snack. He snacks and snacks until lunch time rolls around. I make ham and salad sandwiches - healthy yet filling. He manages half a dozen, but then decides to add just two more to his total. Shortly after, he's back in the fridge, digging out a tub of yogurt. I look at him, a single eyebrow raised.
"There's two days until we have to throw it out, and it's not even opened," he says. "Better make use of it."
And with that, he chugs it. Doesn't even both with a spoon, just gulps it straight down.
More food. Chips. Biscuits. Donuts. Lollies. It's a never-ending waterfall of food streaming down his throat. As the day wears on, his belly inflates like a balloon, peeking out from beneath his loose t-shirt and protruding like a balcony over his sweatpants. It's smooth and round like a ball, and watching it bounce as he walks quickly back to the kitchen gives me an unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, feeling. I like this side of Caleb. I need to keep seeing it.
As Caleb busies himself with food, I head out with the boys to the shopping centre. I pick up larger pairs of work trousers and a couple of bigger shirts for my husband, knowing he will definitely need this size quite soon. Also, I make a doctor's appointment for him, just to put his mind at ease that nothing is medically wrong with him.
I pick up take-away on the way home, deciding it would be easier than cooking yet another gigantic meal for dinner.
Fries. Three burgers. Countless nuggets. A chocolate milkshake. A pint of ice cream. A dozen donuts. Finally it reaches nine o'clock, and Caleb's done for the day. He sits back on his side of the couch, stomach severely swollen, rubbing it gently. Quite groans escape his lips.
"You okay?" I ask him.
"So full," he moans. "God, it didn't even feel like I ate that much."
Really? Wow. Loviva's a hell of a drug, then. Knowing what it's like to feel way too stuffed, I lean over and begin to rub his stomach for him. At first he protests, but soon relaxes as he realises how good it feels. A few burps escape his lips, and I laugh.
"You're such a pig," I joke, a broad smile on my face.
"Yeah, a pot-bellied pig," he says, pointing to his gut. He reciprocates my laugh. "What's happening to me?"
"I made a doctor's appointment," I tell him. "Wednesday. We'll figure it out then."
That night, Caleb and I retire to bed early. I manage to coax him into a little intimacy, though at first he complains his gut will only get in the way. And it does, a little bit. Between it and my own pudge, it's difficult to get close enough to one another. We laugh it off, and finally find a position that works. That night was one of the best we've had together in a long time.
***
Another week goes by. Caleb speaks to his doctor, who runs tests, but they all come back perfectly healthy. He is given the advice to just control himself, and Lord knows he tried to. But the Loviva overcame even Caleb's stubbornness, and started eating more than ever.
Getting on the scales again one morning - sixteen days after I started giving him his tablets - Caleb had hit 160-lb. It was showing everywhere. His arms were well padded, his chest a definite A cup. A thickening muffin top slipped over his pants, resting on rounding hims and a widening backside. His thighs became like tree-trunks, and he was quickly losing all sense of an ankle. A second chin began to wobble as he spoke and chewed.
His belly, of course, was bigger than everything else. Though that was mostly due to it being constantly crammed to bursting of every morsel of food we had in the house. It was soft and rounded, bigger at the bottom than it was at the top. It was strange when I realised Caleb actually had a pear-shaped body. Being so skinny, I thought he was just the one size straight up and down. In an effort to make the lower half of his stomach look smaller, he kept it tucked into his pants. But it only made them tighter, and come the weekend, we were searching for larger clothing yet again.
This time, however, it wasn't just for Caleb. I, too, had gained some weight. With all the extra food I had to buy, it was difficult not to indulge in extras here and there. Weighing in at 169-lb, it wasn't too big of an increase, but enough to make me go up a dress size. It hit me that, in less than a week, Caleb would once again weigh more than me. It had been such a long time that the idea was difficult to imagine. But as we sat in the food court and he polished off a serving that would satisfy a family of four, it became much easier.
At eight o'clock that night, after the boys had been put to bed, we sat cuddling on the couch. I felt Caleb shift beneath me, getting ready to haul his fattened frame up and head back to the kitchen. Before he got a chance to, I asked him, "Hungry?" and he nodded eagerly. Quickly, I rushed into the kitchen and pulled out a few boxes, each containing a dozen decorated cupcakes. I brought them back to the couch, and Caleb reached around his belly for the first box.
I pushed him back into the seat. "Allow me," I said seductively. He sat back and ate greedily as I lifted cupcake after cupcake to his mouth. He didn't seem to notice just how much he was eating. Nor did he pay any heed to the added inflation of his gut. I watched it as I fed him, becoming bigger and rounder, forcing its way out from underneath his t-shirt. He shifted after a while, leaning back even further to make room. The bigger, lower half of his stomach was overly bloated too, and becoming more difficult keep hidden in his tightening pants. I handed him one of the final boxes of cupcakes, and pulled his hard, heavy stomach out of his sweatpants to give it more space. As I did so, I straddled his broadening lap and began rubbing his tummy. Caleb moaned with pleasure.
He ate. And he kept eating. The final cupcake disappeared just as nine o'clock rolled around. Caleb sat in a daze for a few moments, his stomach sickly distended, heaving the boulder up and down with every gasping breath. It was as though he'd spent the last hour eating instead of breathing. Maybe he had.
Finally, he came out of his haze. Looking down, as though seeing himself for the first time, he groaned loudly. I continued to rub his belly, hoping to relieve the pressure, and therefore his frustration. "Jesus Christ!" he cursed. "Why didn't you stop me?"
"I tried," I lied. "But you just wouldn't stop."
With such a heavy ball attached to him, it was a struggle to get Caleb out of the chair. We managed it together, and headed to the bedroom. Hesitant at first, Caleb gave in to the promise of passion and - with a few alterations to our positions - we had a wonderful night. Caleb fell asleep immediately after, giant stomach rising and falling with every even breath.
***
Three weeks had passed, and I'd been giving Caleb Loviva every morning. At the beginning of the fourth week, Caleb stepped on the scales. 237-lb. Wow. Stepping off, he headed down to the kitchen, where his pre-prepared Smart Water water for him. He gulped it greedily, and immediately began stuffing in every crumb of food in sight. Despite having to go grocery shopping every afternoon, Caleb still wasn't getting enough. He would waddle out to the car, hips swaying heavily with every thudding step, and squeeze himself behind the steering wheel. He'd be out for hours hitting up every fast food joint within a ten-mile radius, and come home so swollen he very nearly got stuck in the driver's seat.
Dinner was a colossal feast that would overfeed an army of hundred men. But it was never enough to satiate Caleb. He didn't bother trying to keep a conversation, just ate and ate and ate until nine o'clock came around. You could literally watch him grow bigger. Everything was more than triple the size it once had been. Fatter and fatter Caleb was becoming, outgrowing all of his clothes and quickly filling out the new ones I bought. The bigger he got, the harder it was for him to move around. Eventually, he fixed it so he could work from home, and hardly ever had to leave the couch.
That final week, I went through the last of my trial order of Loviva. The day of the second-last tablet, Caleb broke the wooden kitchen chair, and we had dinner in the family room instead. The couch was a lot stronger, after all. He sat on his side of the couch - thighs already encroaching on my side - and no longer ate distinguishable courses. It was literally a constant stream of food going down his throat. If he wasn't asleep, in the bathroom, or swigging from a carton of chocolate milk, he was eating. And that was it.
I don't know how he fit it all in. Or how his stomach could augment to a size big enough to make room. Somehow it did, though it left Caleb unable to move from the couch until the next morning.
At last, I gave him the final dose. He had his last day of monstrous feeding, and then at nine o'clock we sat together on the couch to watch TV. I rubbed his belly, but when the commercials came on, he pushed my hands away.
"You did this to me," he said quietly.
"Huh?" I ask. My heart begins to race. He's knows, I tell myself. Oh God, he'll hate me.
"I found those...what were they? Loviva or something?"
Crap. I nod, seeing no point in hiding it anymore.
"Why would you do this?" he asks, his voice rising. "Look at me! I'm freaking massive!"
I give him an honest answer. "I didn't think it would work so well!"
"And you also didn't think to stop when you realised how fat I was getting?"
"Well..."
I see the puzzle pieces fall into place behind his eyes. "Oh, for God's sake!" Somehow - maybe it's the adrenaline of his anger - Caleb hauls himself off the couch with a grunt and waddles slowly into the bedroom. The floorboards creak in warning beneath his weight.
Around midnight, I sit on the couch eating a pint of ice cream. I feel guilty. Horribly guilty. I didn't mean for this to happen, but at the same time, I really did. Caleb looks sexier than ever at his current weight. I wish he could see it from my point of view. I understand why he's mad, and I really don't blame him. I just wish it was different.
Stuffing ice cream into my gob, I promise myself and Caleb that I won't buy the Loviva again.
***
(CALEB'S POV)
I can't believe Meredith did this. Actually, scratch that. Yes I can. I've met her family, seen the way they stuff themselves full at every family gathering. I've always wondered what it must be like to have such a swollen stomach. Guess I've found out. And I don't know if I like it all that much. Then again, I am much bigger than any of her family members. Christ, what do I even weigh now?
Getting off the bed is difficult. My stomach is so painfully packed full that the weight drags me down. Still, I manage it. Everything jiggles wildly as I swing my elephantine hips forwards. I'll be surprised if I don't break the Goddamn scale.
Thankfully, it's digital. So after stepping on, I have time to step off and read the number before it disappears. 402-lb. A gain of 268-lb in just four weeks. No wonder it's so difficult to move. Looking at myself in the mirror, I study each bulging roll of fresh adipose that has made its home on my body. Stretchmarks decorate my tanned skin. A muffin top hangs down over my pants, which hardly fit anymore. My thighs are bigger than my torso ever used to be. My chest is easily a C-cup, arms like obese pythons, neck hidden amongst the extra padding. Turning to view myself side on, I see how much my rear end sticks out. Almost - but not quite - as much as my heavily inflated gut, which at any moment mind burst open. I'll never get back to my skinny self after this. Never.
I return to bed and lay down, but am unable to sleep. The pain in my stomach, combined with guilt after yelling at Meredith, keep my mind busy. Eventually, just after midnight, I struggle out of bed and waddled to the family room. She sits there, in all her curvaceous glory, eating ice cream. At least she's stuffing her own face this time.
I sit down beside her. "I'm still mad at you," I say, but there's a playful note in my voice that even I didn't expect.
She looks at me, eyes wet. "Then what do you want?" She's hurt. I hate the sound of voice when she's hurt. It's worse knowing that my anger hurt her.
I don't really know why I came out here. Suddenly a reason hits me, and feels true, so I tell her. "I'm hungry and I don't know how to cook."
"Eat some chips then."
"I want pancakes."
She looks at me, and picks up on where I'm going with this. "You can make those yourself," she says, beginning to smile.
I grin. "No I can't," I persist, even though I can. "You have to do it for me."
"I thought you were done eating?"
I consider this. "Make me pancakes. Then we'll talk."
After pancakes, Meredith explains everything. As she talks, I start really thinking about the weight gain, and suddenly it doesn't seem like such a bad thing. I mean, it's already happened. I may as well enjoy it, right?
"I'll make you a deal," I say, after a long period of silence. "No more of this Loviva crap. But, seeing as my appetite has already increased ten-fold, and I'll never be able to be skinny again, and I'm actually kind of starting to like being this size, I stay this way."
Her eyes light up, just like they did when we got married. Just like they did when the twins were born. It's true happiness, and it's addictive. It floods into my own heart, and I know this is the right decision. But my deal isn't over yet.
"Also," I add. "I need to get my revenge."
She looks at me, genuinely confused. "Huh?"
"You force fed me," I say. "So now it's my turn to feed you."
***
(Meredith's POV)
He looks at me, a mixture of evil and innocence on his face. It scares me, more than it should. I agree to his terms - all of them - and do what he says when he tells me to wait on the couch. He disappears out the front door, and returns half an hour later with a ton of food. Oh my God.
He sits on the couch and begins to feed me. Burgers, fries, pizza, donuts. Everything he could get his hands on, obviously. I sit back in my pyjamas, wishing the waistband was elastic as my stomach bloats outwards. My top, which was already tight, slides up as my tummy gets bigger. In no time at all, I'm full to bursting and begging for Caleb to stop.
I look like I did when I was pregnant with the boys and three days overdue. Big and swollen and struggling to move, like a beached whale. He feeds me fast, so I don't have time to protest. Trying to fit everything into me in the shortest amount of time possible. The feast dwindles, and eventually the stream of food stops coming.
I can't move. Caleb sits beside me, rubbing my belly like I did for him. I moan and groan and burp and hiccough, skin sizzling with a warm pain as it stretches to make room for everything. I look at him, finding it difficult to focus my eyes.
"I'm sorry," I tell him.
He smiles. "Don't worry," he says. "We're even."