Seeing Less of Nora

A couple of months later and again ready for love and/or sex, Nate remained hell-bent on keeping Deb out of his mind and especially his heart. Given that it was mid-month between Get-Togethers, his best prospect, and the one of greatest interest to him, was getting back with Nora. Even though it wasn’t more than FWB, she was compatible, stable, and reasonable.

He hadn’t seen nor heard from her for a couple of months now. He wasn’t even sure whether she was back yet from whatever was going on with her family emergency. It felt most appropriate to call her, which he did.

“Nate!… How’s it goin’?”

“You probably heard what happened between me and Deb.”

“No. I only just got back about a week ago, and she’s been avoiding me at work. More sullen than ever… can’t even get her into a rant about our crappy jobs.”

“She pummeled my shoulder and chest really hard—bad bruise hard… took weeks to heal. No warning of course.”

“Didja press charges?”

“Nope. Just wanted to be done with her… which I am, totally.”

“Good plan. There still aren’t so many good male FAs around here that we can afford to have anyone breaking them.”

“So, how’s your sexual variety going?”

“Sucks. Totally.”

He noticed her tone of voice move directly to dejected when she answered. “Any interest in another taste of Scarborough?”

“Yes and no.”

“Why no?”

“Sensitive to rejection.”

“Why would I reject you?”

She said nothing, for over a minute.

He could still hear her breathing, so he knew the connection was good. “Nora?”

“Bad shit happened… beyond my control. I’ve been dreading this moment for days, and we’re in the middle of it, so can you please come over soon so we can get it over with?”

“I can come over right now. Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Please just get over here. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Nate pumped up his bicycle tires, hopped on, and bicycled right over, so he could get there sooner than walking.

The first thing which struck him as her front door swung open and he saw her was that she’d dropped back to the size she’d been when he’d first managed to go inside the club, if not a bit smaller. The second thing was that she was smoking a clove cigarette. The third was that her eyes looked like she’d been crying—not something he associated with cool, calm, collected Nora Pyle.

“See?” she said as her greeting, blinking to fight back more tears.

“Yes. Am I allowed to know why?”

“Only if you come in, and—I never thought I’d utter these words in my life—hold me.”

He hugged her and held her hand immediately.

She led them into her dark, well-furnished, historic early 20th. century Spanish-style living room, onto her comfy couch. As she’d requested, he put his arm around her and held her gently against his side, cuddly close.

“My father died, which is why I was gone. No surprise… we’d been expecting it. What none of us—me and my siblings—expected was Mom would go all 3rd. Reich authoritarian on us. Everything he had went to her, of course, so now she’s controlling the family’s small fortune, which isn’t anything noteworthy unless you’re a hedonist childless slacker such as myself, who can live off what would have been my 1/3 share, had Mom predeceased.”

She took a final big drag off her cigarette, then snuffed it out in the ashtray on the nearby end table.

“Mom now has power—lots of it, in the form of the fortune. Power to manipulate her children to live as she wants, which Dad never let her do when we were growing up. She’s never liked that I’m a fierce, freethinking fatty—something she could never be. So she’s written into her will that I get nothing if I’m over 250 pounds from 6 months prior to the time of her death through her death.”

“How will the executor know?”

“Executor’s my older sister Ann, a bitch like Mom. Mom always liked her better, and still does. Ann has always been responsible, in the conventional world view. Did all the righteous things, like go to church, get married, fart out grandchildren—all the bullshit I’d rather die before doing. Ann can guess people’s weights within 5 pounds and nail it every time. She knows.”

She stopped to light up another cigarette and inhale a few puffs.

“Why would it matter now? Is your mom ill?”

“Since birth” she sniped. “It matters now because the eventual inheritance wasn’t enough. Title on this house was in Dad’s name; now it’s Mom’s. Under no circumstances will she sign it over to me or even let me buy it—assuming I had the bucks. Only way I can stay here is if I’m not any fatter than I was at 22—250 pounds, again. I had a choice: I could have chosen to stick to my principles and remain my own person—an independent, adult woman—then lose this house and any hope of an inheritance and scramble to find a shitbag apartment and never spend money on anything fun so I’d have enough to eat and pay utilities and hope that I wouldn’t get canned from my shit job. Or I could sell out to Mom, stay in this house, stress less about money, and maybe someday before I’m too old receive the inheritance and escape this madness. You can see which one I chose.”

“Makes sense. Totally rational, as I’d expect from you.”

She nuzzled into his side, fighting back tears.

He stroked her arm lovingly. “You did what you had to do, and seems to me you made a sensible choice. Is it the loss of autonomy which has you so upset?”

“No one I know wants to be treated like a child–”

“–Except Tara” he interrupted.

“Tell me about that when we’re done with this. No one I know except maybe Tara wants to be treated like a child, so of course the loss of autonomy is a big deal. But the loss of control of my own body is what nearly made me make the other choice. Nate, I’ve never been happier than I was a month or so back, between the time you and I first hooked up and did the stuffing and when Mom and I had our screaming match and she laid down the law. That stuffing expanded my stomach, making it dirt-easy to lust after food and eat a lot of excellence! It felt so fucking awesome to have a much bigger, fatter round ass, bigger, jigglier tits, wider, softer hips. And oh my fucking god the belly and mound! It was like you said: my fatter belly put more pressure on my fatter mound, stimulating it all the time when I’d be sitting at work. I swear I did this: one day at work, I was so aroused that I reached down into my shirt and groped my own belly—how weird is that?! Then I was so much more aroused that I reached into my junk and just touched myself for a second—no rubbing—and got off! Right there in my carrel! And now…”–she started to sniffle–“it’s all gone!

He pulled her into his side, gently, holding her hand and gently squeezing it in an attempt to soothe her.

“My stomach’s shrunk, I’m back at the gym—ugh!, on a new diet, and doing all the good little girl bullshit needed to keep Mom happy and me housed and monied.”

“Well, at least when she dies, you’ll be able to go back to the real you, and get a setpoint kick.”

“When I’m 97! Freakin’ Mom’s healthy as a horse! Other than emotionally, of course. No… it’s over.” She let out a deep, loud, long sigh. “I should’ve made more of an effort to get with you before leaving. You would’ve liked sexing me then, and I would’ve loved you doing it! So… that’s the story.”

“I’m sorry that I’m not wealthy, like my programming brothers and sisters who’ve sold out to the highest bidder. We likely could’ve worked something out for you to maintain your autonomy, including over your body, your sexual freedom and freedom from the bondage of monogamous LTIIRs, and still have some arrangement where it would be worthwhile for me.”

“You’re the kind of man who occasionally makes me re-think long-term options.”

“Don’t rule them out categorically for all time. One never knows the sort of like-minded souls one might meet.”

The mood lightened significantly as Nate related the story of his findings regarding Tara.

They chatted awhile on other subjects, all things of a lighter vein, as they continued to sit close. Each of them knew this was the end of Nate’s fiery passions for her… nothing need be said. The physically intimate conversation made for a gradual, hopefully less painful, disengagement.

The time had come: they held hands and shared hip bumps on the way to the front door.

He turned back to face her in the doorway, suddenly grabbing her and kissing her passionately. “Never let go of your dreams. Our lives follow strange, nonlinear paths. If you ever find yourself headed back to your dreams, or in any other way I again become relevant to you, you know where to find me.” He paused and smiled, giving her a tender kiss this time. “See you next time we’re both at a Get-Together.”