Getting to know Aubrey was, in many ways, like cooking a piece of toast.
Reserved and somewhat plain, like white bread from the sleeve, she never stood out very much unless she was paired with someone else that provided more flavor to the setting. Getting to know her individually wasn’t impossible, but it involved putting her out of her comfort zone and applying a little heat. For those who knew how to let her adjust slowly to the high temperatures posed by socialization and the inevitable lulls of small-talk, it was a long process that ultimately resulted in a better experience for everyone involved.
Anyone who tried to rush this delicate procedure of easing her into the fire, either by overstepping the boundaries with which Aubrey felt comfortable talking about or by rushing into a sense of familiarity before the time was right, would wind up with a cold and uncooked Aubrey for the rest of the night or a burnt and scorned one who would pop out and retreat to the safety of her room.
For literally all of her life, her mother and sister had always been experts at coaxing out the latter response.
“What, what did I say?”
“Jesus Christ mama, what did you expect when you started talking like that?”
Stomping up the stairs, leaving the living room and her squabbling relations behind her, Aubrey rushed furiously to the relative safety of her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She could still hear them discussing her—rather what they’d done wrong this time, and with that ever present and heavy emphasis on the this time—through the walls and floor that separated them. She’d always been able to hear them growing up, but somehow she didn’t think that they’d care even if they knew.
Imagine, a grown woman having no other outlet from her belligerent family than being able to storm up to her bedroom and locking the door behind her before throwing herself on her bed and screaming into the pillow.
She felt so stupid doing all of this, but it was just how it had always been—especially whenever her mother brought up her weight…
***
“You still haven’t told them?”
Aubrey shrunk into her shoulders and piddled around aimlessly on her plate. The Crepe Factory’s pancakes became horrendously soggy and inedible after only a few moments of inactivity, but Aubrey’s eyes had been much bigger than her stomach even before she stood in the face of such a question.
“Come on Aubrey, don’t do that.” Cara’s fork clinked against the plate, “I didn’t mean anything by it. I know that it’s got to be a weird thing to talk about, but…”
“But?”
“But, I mean, come on—” Cara’s couldn’t help but chuckle, “Your mom was fine with you and Riley both being gay. What’re the odds that she’ll have a problem with the fact that you want to get fat?”
Aubrey choked on her coffee at the sound of the words out loud. Hearing them come out of Cara like that, in public, where people could actually hear her, was enough to make Aubrey’s spine tingle in a mixture of revulsion and excitement.
“What the fuck, Aubrey.”
“What the fuck you!” Aubrey hacked, “You think you could have said that a little louder?!”
“You’re… literally the only one talking loudly right now.”
Aubrey ducked away from prying eyes as attention slowly turned towards their table. There weren’t many people who were in the restaurant, given its odd hours and niche appeal, but those that were couldn’t help but stare at the pair of rowdy lesbians making a scene behind the Pottery Barn partition that separated the halves of their conservative restaurant.
She made a conscious effort to correct her volume.
“Anyway, who gives a shit if your mom doesn’t approve of…” Cara wisely paused here to rethink her choice of verbiage, “…what you want… I mean it’s your body, right?”
“Ugh, it’s not…” Aubrey’s chest swelled with her deep bracing breath before letting it out in a sad sigh, “It’s not that simple, okay? I live with her.”
“So? What’s she gonna do if you start…” another pause, “…you know, just doing it?”
In a brief instant, Aubrey saw herself doing just that. Giving in to her desires and expanding before her own eyes. Eating enormous meals and sleeping late into the day, stuffing herself in front of the mirror, holding her rounding belly as it began to sag heavily into her open palms. Her ass widening, her breasts drooping over a gut that was squishy to the touch. Pressing down on her cushion of a tummy as she slowly fingered herself to—
“I-I can’t.” Aubrey squinched her eyes shut, “She’d… you know… she’d bitch at me about it, a-and then it’d come out and it’d be so weird and I just don’t think that I’m ready for—”
“Okay, jeez, slow down.” Cara held up her hands, “You’re not ready. That’s okay. Nobody’s making you do anything, I promise.”
Aubrey took another deep, melancholic sigh.
“But at the end of the day, you know… It is your body.” Cara clicked her tongue and wagged her finger playfully, “She put in like, what, nine months to making it? You’ve put in almost twenty-six more years than she has in making you you, Bree.
In the face of Cara’s unwavering support, Aubrey would always waffle. A small appreciative smile bloomed onto her face as she reached across the table to grip the back of her friend’s hand.
“Thanks, Cara.” Aubrey’s smile showed some teeth, “It’s nice to hear that once in a while.”
“No sweat, love.” Cara brought Aubrey’s hands to her lips for a platonic kiss on the knuckle, “We’re doin’ heckin’ big body positivity vibes in this mf’ing house.”
“You’re so fucking weird.”
“What do you say we get out of this place and get on to the main attraction?” Cara reached behind her chair to pull her wallet out of her backpack, “The antique store opens in like fifteen minutes, and I really need your help picking out something good.” | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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