Love Atop The Weighing Scale
You're the one for me, fattyYou're the one I really, really loveAnd I will stayPromise you'll say if I'm in your way...
Patty could swear she heard the weighing scale groaning when she stepped on it that morning.
She looked down and closed her eyes: she was now 60 pounds overweight.
She used to be just overweight, now, she was officially obese, a fact that instantly depressed her. But no one was to blame but her—she’d been eating a lot. The staff at the nearby buffet restaurant were her close friends now because she was there almost every day, and she was too lazy to exercise and going on a diet was out of the question. So, yeah, she’d most likely be this fat until she died.
And this obesity was also most likely the reason her husband, Jimmy, had stopped making to love to her.
No man would be happy making love to an obese woman. Well, there was always the risk of her breaking some of his bones whenever they did the woman on top, or suffocating him whenever she sat on his face.
But Jimmy, despite her body growing horizontally, remained caring and loving, buying her gifts and flowers every now and then even without an occasion, cooking for her when she felt lazy going to the kitchen. Yes, he was still the same Jimmy who loved her dearly, except in bed. Gone were the days when he would ravish her in bed like sex would be outlawed the next day, pounding on her like a mad man. Now, Jimmy preferred reading a book or looking at his phone while lying beside her at night.
She would take a shower before climbing the bed at night, spraying expensive and seductive perfume on her and would go commando but still, Jimmy wouldn’t dare touch her.
Maybe, another woman had been satisfying his needs, one who had a 36-24-36 figure.
One night, she finally and angrily confronted him.
“No, honey, I don’t have a mistress,” Jimmy told her, consoling her while she was crying. “God knows how much I still want to make love with you.”
“Then, why won’t you. I am more than able and willing and I’d be happy with just a missionary.”
Jimmy stared at her, confused. “You don’t know?”
“I don’t know what?”
"Oh, the doctors said you were severely traumatized by it and you're unconsciously blocking the memory."
"Tell me please."
“Three months ago, when you were just fifteen pounds overweight, when every night, you’d scour the streets for a buffet restaurant, you woke up from a nightmare that night and you were feeling very hungry, and I was still sleeping… I was naked and you saw my dick, and you confused it for a hot dog, and you grabbed it and ate it— all of it, leaving just the two raw eggs below… Luckily, the doctors were able to save me… but now…” He paused and wiped his tears. “I don’t have a… you know what… Oh, honey, your hunger knows no bound…”
Patty’s jaw dropped in shock and she started screaming—she screamed and screamed and screamed, images of hot dogs flying away filling her mind—until she blacked out.
And woke up—with Jimmy still shaking her in an attempt to wake her up. “You’re having a nightmare,” he told her.
“I-It was just a dream?” she mumbled and stared at Jimmy’s face down to his crotch. “You mean, you still have your…?”
“Have my what?”
“Just let me see it,” she grabbed his fly and unzipped it, and there it was…
And images of hot dogs flying back to her filled her mind.
The next day, Patty went jogging with Jimmy to shed her excess twenty pounds—and no more buffet for her.
Comments