The Past Comes Calling

Another year had passed. It was now two years since Tara Pelvig saved John Mercer’s life, going home with him and changing both their lives forever, for the better. It was also roughly 1 1/2 years since Barb joined them to make things a 3-way, again changing all their lives for the better.

Strangers seeing Tara for the first time never ceased to gape, more from how fat she was than her third leg, though both. She figured she must be the happiest 743 pound woman who’d ever lived, or at least one of the top 5. Inconveniences such as not fitting places and having trouble finding seating able to hold her when out and about she considered minor issues compared to the joy of living in her body every moment. Clothes were beyond inconvenient, yet with John and Barb helping out (and John and Tara helping Barb with her very large clothing), the situation remained manageable. 743 pounds was not that bad across 3 legs and two pelvises, allowing Tara to continue to enjoy full mobility with no significant issues.

Tara and John remained inseparable, both of them delighted with always being together, or at worst apart for a few minutes doing different things at work, or with one of them using the bathroom or similar. No matter how rare that might be, it was their reality. Their joy reflected fully at work, with Model Magicians doing extremely well. Employee morale remained high, with the flat, minimal hierarchy and high autonomy of individuals and groups helping. Tara’s huge body did sometimes distract some employees from their work. Kind soul that she was, she occasionally let a few of them feel what parts of her extremely fat body felt like—always with John present—to defuse the mystery and become less distracting.

Barb Bloom hadn’t bloomed as much with fat, currently around 712 pounds. Had she been the same height as Tara, proportionally she would have been much fatter, having only one lower body. Being taller—about halfway in height between Tara’s 1.65 m and John’s 1.81 m—like Tara some of that weight was more bone and muscle and so on, just going up in her case instead of sideways with the extra lower body in Tara’s.

She enjoyed being stared at, having more than enough attitude and moxie to keep potential abusers at a distance. She was on the same page as Tara in terms of getting far more pleasure out of her hugely fat USBBW body than inconvenience. Proud of her huge breasts, for her the view never got boring looking down. She loved her very fat belly, hips, buns, and thighs and all other well-proportioned fat parts of her nearly as much. Many were surprised that she could still reach around herself to do lab work, but she did, doing so well enough to earn promotions in line with colleagues such as Gretchen. Life at Bioteronimo was excellent, as with Model Magicians. In the case of the former company, there were exciting forthcoming patents, related to minor and not-so-minor breakthroughs, some of which directly involved the work Barb and Gretchen (amongst others) had been doing.

What truly had bloomed was Barb’s other-than-sex love for John and Tara, especially John, given that she’d already loved Tara more than she’d realized before Tara was gone with John. The bond was now so deep between each of them that the departure of any one of them would hurt the other two deeply. That’s not to say Barb wanted to be around either of them (and it was in practice always both of them) every moment, the way John did with Tara and Tara did with John. Barb needed time apart, enjoying it during working hours and sometimes additionally by going to the other house where Tara and John currently were not (usually Tara’s owned house with the other two at John’s owned house, though sometimes the opposite), or visiting the Licks or other friends (and usually but not always lovers).

As if life couldn’t be any better, exciting developments over the past year within the poly group made them so.

Lou and Linda Lick continued to be heavily into mutual feedism/fat gain, and Natural Breast Enhancement. They did crazy, dangerous things like intentionally weight loss dieting solely for the setpoint kick and gain-back of softer, jigglier fat. So far no major health issues, quite likely related directly to the joy each of them got from being fat and getting fatter, plus their rock-stable marriage and working lives, with retirement coming soon. The Licks got together with Tara + John + Barb at least once a week for really great fatsex.

Edie decided she liked being a plumper enough to stick with it permanently, getting an especial thrill out of thumbing her nose at society for wanting her to do otherwise. There were plenty of clothes in her size and she and her lovers quite liked the extra boob, hip, and bun flesh, even if they were less excited about her round, soft belly (about which she herself was neutral).

Alain hadn’t had a choice: once she intentionally gained for John’s 61st., she discovered the fat weight wouldn’t come back off. After half-heartedly trying a little bit then giving up, she made peace with being a small BBW, just past plumper. While it further hyperfeminized her already hyperfeminine body, she found it advantageous: even to this day, fewer cretins inappropriately hit on “fat chicks” out in public. The main consideration was that she’d always loved food and loved cooking, and loved it more than ever now. Some in the group privately mourned the loss of her slimmer figure, with the fat contingent (John, Tara, Barb, and the Licks, and to a degree Edie) celebrating.

Sheila found that getting a little fatter was way easier and safer than a boob job to give her the bigger breasts which she craved. Husband Don quickly learned to tolerate and more and more over time embrace her small fat belly, bigger, saggier buns, cheesier thighs, and slightly fatter hips for the benefit of over 3 cup sizes of boob growth. Others in the group also liked the tradeoffs, with the fat contingent loving all of the changes.

The usual outside world factors of politics, crime, failing automobiles/appliances/technology, climate change, extended family issues, work issues for some of them, and so on ensured that no one had a perfect life. Even so, everyone’s love life and certainly sex life was nearly as good as it could get.

61-year-old Jenny Patussi heard little more than her own breathing, in the stark silence of the otherwise-empty house in which she’d grown up. Her father had died about 3 years earlier of cancer. With the recent death of her mother from significant complications of osteoporosis, her older sister Colleen was putting their childhood home on the market. Given what had happened with Jenny’s life, she very much could have benefitted from moving back into this house. Given how Colleen held her largely to blame for their mother’s death, how Jenny herself felt responsible for their mother’s osteoporosis being as severe as it was, and other family issues, negotiating to inherit or otherwise receive the house at even a single penny below market value was not going to happen.

As with most responsible adults, Jenny had decades ago moved a majority of her belongings out of this house, into her adult living space of the time. As with many adults from societies which often get carried away with material possessions and/or have a long chain of inheritance of tangible objects, she hadn’t taken everything.

Being forced to confront so many old memories during this time of grieving was in no way helping Jenny’s outlook on life. Still, there was an impending deadline to have all her possessions out of there and off the property, thus she forced herself onward.

Her childhood bedroom had been converted to a guest bedroom decades ago, soon after she got her first big apartment and moved most of her belongings out. What remained was all in the closets, compressed together to make one tall hanging closet section available for guests. She had not been a part of that consolidation process, thus things were scrambled versus how she’d stored them.

Some things, such as her Pet Rock, did not retain strong feelings and no longer needed to be part of her life. These she was ready to let go of. Other items brought back memories of various degrees of desirability through undesirability. Most of these she no longer needed in her life, others she wasn’t yet sure. A few things she’d forgotten about and some she remembered well brought back strong enough memories of whatever sort that she wanted them to remain in her life.

There it was: an item in this latter category. One she knew she had, and had tended to keep towards the front before things got rearranged. It was a very special box, roughly the size of a shoebox other than being wide enough to hold standard U.S. writing paper lying flat. It held everything related to her first love: her high school sweetheart John Mercer.

Right up on top was the double-wide flocked jewel box. Just as she’d impetuously promised him during their final moments before separating for the remainder of their lives, she had indeed opened it and admired her necklace and their matching rings several times over the decades when she’d been visiting her childhood home, often but not always having a difficult moment in her life, and in all cases wishing to take a moment to remember what had been, ever-longer ago.

Emotions were more powerful than they’d been since that decades-ago day of their youth, when she’d placed the necklace and her ring in this box and he’d added his, unable to speak, pushing the box towards her to tell her she should be the one to keep it. She reverently lifted the box and opened it up. Everything looked as fresh and perfect as the moment they’d been stowed in the box. {That aircraft aluminum alloy is amazing stuff} she thought, studying the wholly untarnished matte finish, non-glinty shiny as the day he slipped her ring on her finger.

She caressed the rings with her fingers, overwrought with memories of everything in her life between then and now. She held the marble in its cage between her thumb and forefinger, impressed with how it too seemed not to have aged a day when she’d aged decades.

Overwhelming feelings welled up within her. Carefully closing the jewel box and taking the entire box with her, she knew what she had to do.

The one other time over the decades Jenny Patussi had been curious enough about the life of John Mercer to make even the most basic inquiry had been around 1999 or 2000. Then-still-new Google had the website of a model making company whose name she’d forgotten as its top result. She vividly remembered being proud of his success and not at all surprised that his adult field of endeavor so closely mirrored his primary avocation in their high school years.

The overwhelming desire to find out what his life was about as they entered their 60s drove her to look him up again, this time on DuckDuckGo since Google had become so Big Brother evil. There it was: Model Magicians. She recognized the name as soon as she saw it again, these many years later.

She tapped up the site and looked around. It was a very modern, appealing site that worked well and looked good on her iPhone. The pictures and videos of the types of work they did and some of the things they’d made with their plastic and metal additive-material fabrication systems blew her away, making her wonder what teenage John Mercer might have made for his fatass girlfriend had he had a 3D printer system way back then, or they’d been high schoolers now.

It took several taps and some careful looking around to find information about the people, rather than the company and what it and its people did. Eventually under History she found a brief mention of John Mercer having founded the company and still being its head and within the last year or so, co-owner rather than sole owner.

The Contact page had several methods of contact, with no further information on who worked there, nor who would receive the results of submitting a web form, emailing the company at the direct email address listed on this page, or phoning the voice phone number during regular business hours (listed on this page). It was Sunday afternoon—definitely outside of regular business hours.

She did quite a bit more research, eventually finding what appeared to be a viable mobile phone number for him, quite different than the company phone number. Anxiety overtook her, wondering whether to call, whether not to call, vacillating back and forth.

She tried to go on with life, attempting to return to clearing things out of the closets. Suddenly everything she saw reminded her of him, whether it truly had any relation to him or not.

She couldn’t stand it any more. She sat down comfortably on the family room couch (where her cell carrier’s reception was good) and called.

Tara side-cuddled with her man, in their (legally his) living room. “Doesn’t it feel good to have the room all cleaned out and the formerly-rotted picture window frame all thoroughly redone?”

“It does. But then I get tired thinking about all the work to redo the front yard irrigation and landscaping and the driveway, much less anything after that!”

“That’s why we stay in the present!” she grinned, throwing her arms around him and pulling them together for a string of kisses.

“That looks like fun” said Barb, who’d just entered the room and decided to squish into the two of them and join in.

The three-way kissing and standing hug/cuddles reminded each of them how much they loved one another and how great it was to all three live together.

“Wouldn’t this be more fun with clothes off?” Barb asked during a breather break. “And taking things further?”

“What are we doing for dinner?” asked Tara.

Before Barb could answer, the generic telephone call ringtone on John’s handheld sounded off.

“I thought you had those go to message.”

“I like to at least look at the number. Not every single person to whom I wish to speak is in my contacts” he replied as he pulled out his device.

He didn’t recognize the number, and let it go to message.

Unlike most times this happened where there was no message or it was very short, the delay before hearing the new voice message alert was unusually long. He decided to play it back.

“Hi. I hope this is the number for John Mercer. This is Jenny Patussi, calling you out of the blue after all these years—decades! I know this might not be a good time—are messages like this ever at a good time?—and that you’re probably doing things with your family, maybe resting or making dinner or… I donno… just rambling. Anyway, I’m… really thinking a lot about you these days, wondering what your life’s been about, and what you’re all about now. Mine has been an adventure that doesn’t belong on anyone’s voice message storage. So… I’d really love it if we could talk, maybe get together in-person and catch up. At the moment I find myself with an extremely open schedule, so with maybe a couple hour’s notice I can get with you any day, time, and place you specify. It would be so wonderful to see you again, I have no words.” She went on to recite her contact information, in every flavor she had, thanking him for listening, apologizing for the length of the message, then finally urging him yet again to please reach out and contact her.

Tara and Barb heard it all, standing right there with John.

Tara’s hug became more akin to a death grip, between what she perceived as an imminent threat to the stable 3-way love they shared, and John’s unstable protective field: not quite absent and not solidly covering all of her. Weakening then strengthening randomly.

Barb didn’t so much notice what John’s protective love field was doing as what Tara was doing. “Settle down, Kitten.”

“She’s his first girlfriend! With that long, romantic love story he still remembers vividly!”

“That was 43 years ago!” John protested.

It didn’t seem that Tara’s grip could grow tighter, but it did. “Yes, and you still remember it like it was yesterday!”

Barb clamped her hands atop Tara’s. “She’s. Thin.”

“We don’t know that!” Eyes wide, Tara was on the verge of hyperventilating.

John belatedly cranked up his protective love field, as he hugged Tara back more snugly. “I have plenty of love with you two, not even counting our poly group!”

“You know how you get with fatasses, especially BBW pears! You can’t help yourself!”

“Tara!” Barb softly yelled, feeling the need to gently shake her favorite female lover, “She runs a health and fitness operation for permanent weight loss through permanent exercise and dietary changes! She’s an expert at not being fat, because she didn’t like it. That’s the foundation of her whole adult life, the way modeling is with John! On what planet would she suddenly be fat again?!”

“This one! Or why else would she be calling?!”

“Some people sometimes like to catch up with people who were important to them in their past. When both of them were younger, different people. He doesn’t have to meet her alone; you’re going to be right there if or when they meet up.”

Only at this point did Tara begin to calm down.

Barb noticed, and went with that line of reasoning. “You will be embedded into him, with at least one of your butts on his lap and at the same time cuddled into his side, the way you two spend nearly every waking sitting moment at home and to my amazement never seem to get tired of. Let’s say she’s gotten a little thick, maybe even into the BBW range—which I very, very highly doubt. If she has, she sure ain’t gonna be in the 700 Pound Club! You’ll outweigh her by double at least, John loves you more than anything or anyone including himself, you are the only living woman with two full sets of genitals, and a significant percentage of your 743 pounds will be pinning him down as you sit at least one of your butts in his lap. No one can compete with that! Alright?”

Tara now felt both Barb’s and John’s loving force fields, and their comforting hugs. Realizing Barb was correct, she slowly let her concerns go, finally relaxing enough to dial down her death grip of John to normal hug level.

With nothing scheduled other than making and consuming dinner, Barb urged John (and indirectly Tara) that calling Jenny back same day sooner than later would get things over with that much faster, without waiting and wondering (and Tara being anxious). Having felt an internal pull to call back, John was happy to oblige, and Tara was still wound down enough to be OK with it. He got comfortable on the couch, Tara latched onto him, and Barb headed to the kitchen to get dinner going.

“Hello?!” a breathless, excited voice answered.

“Hello Jenny. It’s John Mercer, returning your call.”

“Thank you so much, John! It’s… been a very long time.”

“Most of an adult life, by my reckoning.”

Jenny’s nervous flirtatious feminine titter did nothing to enamor her to Tara, who was hearing everything John said and most of what she said.

“What perchance has you reaching out this particular late afternoon-becoming-evening?”

“Mom died recently, Colleen inherited the house and is going to sell it, thus I need to get my stuff which is still here out.”

“Very sorry to hear about your mom! What happened?”

“Fatal complications of advanced osteoporosis” she sighed.

“I hope she didn’t suffer long.”

“Any suffering is too long. Though in the greater scheme of things, no, it wasn’t protracted.”

“I take it from Colleen inheriting the house that your father’s out of the picture?”

“Dad died right about 3 years ago from esophageal cancer.”

“How did that happen?! He never smoked, that I knew of.”

“He had a severe acid reflux problem which went unresolved for too long.”

“I’m truly sorry, Jenny!”

“Thanks” she sighed. She needed more than just words. “So anyway, to answer your question, I was cleaning out the closets in my old bedroom this afternoon, and came upon the box with our love letters and the double-wide jewel box with the necklace and rings you made. Which, by the way, look exactly the way they did when I closed that box on… our final day.” Her most recent sigh was hitched with emotion.

John was getting emotional himself, instinctively cuddling more into Tara.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve opened it since that day! I kept it near the front of the closet for easy access, and I most definitely did open it up and remember, the way I said I would! I’ve had a good life—mostly—so far, yet in every life there are rough spots… trials and tribulations. Most of the times I looked into that box at the jewelry you made were times like that. Other times I just happened to be at my parents’, and wanted to remember… you and me back then, and our amazing adolescent love affair.”

“What sort of time was today?”

It felt like his hand somehow stretched through the phone, touching her chest over her heart… maybe going all the way in to touch her soul. “May I come over please?” she weakly whimpered. “It would mean everything to see you again—alive!”

Daggers shot through Tara, both from the thought of Jenny Patussi so badly wanting to get together in person with John, and from her all-too-vivid memories of the day almost exactly two years ago when without her door-busting kick and quick action, no one ever again would have been able to see John Mercer alive.

“Let me check with the two women in my life, starting with the one right here cuddled into me who saved my life, literally within under a minute of my blowing my brains out.”

“No! How?! What?!”

“That and much more we may soon be able to discuss in person. How about we end this for the moment and I call you right back once I’ve asked them?”

“Two women in your life?”

“By great fortune, yes. The three of us are polyamorous.”

Shocked that he’d share that, Tara elbowed him hard. It would’ve hurt if her elbow hadn’t been padded with fat.

“Polyfidelotous actually, I’ve been corrected. Call you right back in a couple of minutes, OK?”

“Please! I’m… not in a good way, and… it would be better for me to be around people tonight. Caring… at least one of whom knows me.”

“I promise I’ll call back. Keep your phone charged and in a strong signal area, and we’ll be fine. Bye for now.”

“No” Tara answered before he even directly asked.

“Why not?”

“She’s your first girlfriend!”

“Yes, and that was 43 years ago. As I recall your first was Artie. You’d want to check with Barb, but I personally wouldn’t have any issues with you and Artie getting together, especially with me along too.”

“That was one fuck versus a year and a half torrid romance with hundreds of fucks and lovingly handmade jewelry!”

Hearing the commotion, Barb wandered out just in time to hear John calmly reply, “A year and one quarter, and I’m not sure we made it to hundreds of fucks, especially depending whether one’s counting just P.I.V. intercourse as a fuck, or more general sex. Should we instead be discussing how many exes you have who may want to catch up with you, versus my precious few?”

“We should catch moi, your ultra-busty dinner maker, up with what in the world is causing all this brouhaha.”

“She’s gunning to come over!” Tara ranted.

“She’s outgunned” Barb snort-laughed, holding up her chest cannons from beneath (having her hands disappear from visibility).

“I don’t want to meet her!”

“What if I want to meet her?! I think it would be a blast to see what she looks like now, and blow her mind with just how opposite we are to what she dedicated her life to make possible for herself and others.”

“I would like to get together with her” said John. “She sounds to be in some sort of crisis at the moment, possibly related to grieving the loss of her mother very recently. Tonight is good for me and for her. I am totally open to where that happens—here, the other house, her house–”

“–Oh no! Not even!–” Tara interrupted.

“–a restaurant” he blasted on, getting annoyed. “You two name it, she and I can do it. I’d love to have you both present, but certainly anyone who doesn’t want to meet her can opt out and let me and if applicable the other of us go through with it.”

“Here with all of us so Barb and I can keep you two apart!”

John couldn’t help chuckling at Tara’s hyperbole. “What’s your vote, Barb?”

“Here, with popcorn. Because unless someone who doesn’t wear panties gets hers out of the big bunch they’re in, there might be more romantic drama than binge watching 27 soap operas.” She poked Tara then pulled her into a hug, in an attempt to settle her down.

John joined in, between the two of them assuring Tara that nothing bad could possibly happen on their home turf with all 3 of them together. He called Jenny back, inviting her over, giving her all the needed contact information to get there.

“I’m gonna go ahead and serve” said Barb. “Maybe her car broke down, or she changed her mind.”

An hour and 10 minutes after Jenny got the all-clear to come visit, she still wasn’t there.

“I think she would’ve called if something like that happened” replied John.

{My amazing energy powers are keeping her away} Tara irrationally and haughtily thought.

This of course was the moment the doorbell rang.

John trucked right over, his heart racing.

Tara, who’d freshened up and dressed in one of her nicer, sexy-for-public outfits, followed close behind, with Barb (also changed into a nice, sexy outfit) a few steps back on John’s right.

He opened the door, and there she was.

“Hello John.”

He couldn’t believe his eyes! Average-build heath and fitness expert Jenny Patussi (per her website photo) was wearing the large BBW-sized white cotton tie-dye above-knee dress she’d received that one special Christmas they were a couple, and filling it out! Not only was she fat again, she was fatter than John had ever seen her!

Tara was incensed! One could almost see the steam shooting out her ears. She shot a serious death glare at Barb literally behind John’s back.

Barb struggled not to smirk, shooting a “You’d better behave!” stare back at Tara, putting on a show of eating a kernel of imaginary popcorn.

“Welcome, Jenny. Come on in!”

She looked around as she did, very on-edge with the surly mega-pear glaring at her from behind John on her right, hoping John and the friendlier-looking USBBW with the giant breasts that she could see behind him to her left would keep the peace.

“Hug, please?” she asked, soon as John closed the front door and they were almost hugging as it was.

Without consulting with anyone, John opened his arms welcomingly. Jenny went straight in for the hug, the years melting away as they embraced deeply.

Tara panicked, rushing in to side hug both of them.

“The amazing woman who appears to be cuddling both of us literally saved my life, and makes every moment of living worthwhile. I’d like you to meet my True Love and life partner, Tara Pelvig.”

“Thank you for hugging me, Tara. I was very afraid, from the look you gave me a minute or so ago.”

“He’s mine!”

“I know. And I’m not here to change that. Being honest, I had fantasies that John would be alone, lonely, and struggling like me, and that he’d put the necklace back on my neck and the ring on my finger and his ring on his and we’d magically pick up from where we left off. It was delusional thinking at best, and obviously not remotely related to his and your reality. His love for you is obvious. I can’t compete with you, and I’d never try.”

“Why? You’re beautiful, you’re fat again, and you were his first love!”

“Do you really think I’m beautiful? I’ve always felt so plain.”

“No, that’s me. I’m the plain one.”

“No, I don’t think so. From what I’m seeing you’re attractive head to toe. And looking at your three legs, I get the strong sense that you have something no other woman has.”

Tara couldn’t help it: she lifted her skirt and belly for the win.

“Can’t compete. Somebody hold me.” Jenny weakly stated.

Even Tara became concerned with how rapidly the life force seemed to be draining out of Jenny. She joined John, renewing her embrace.

Barb squished in to the embrace from the other side. “Hi Jenny. I’m Barb Bloom, John and Tara’s other True Love and life partner.”

“Hello Barb. Thank you for being at least neutral to me upon my arrival. I’m fragile, and I don’t mean anyone harm. A woman in deep need, reaching out the only way I know how.”

“As long as you don’t attempt to steal John away from Tara or myself to have him exclusively, there is no problem.”

“The sadness I feel at not being able to do that on account of John not being alone is deep. But I’m not an idiot. The love he has for each of you fills the room. At best I can only hope for the leftovers, enough to keep me going… help me survive.”

“I welcome you here.”

“As do I” John added.

Tara startled all of them by admitting aloud, “I fear you, like a jackal. John and I both will be utterly destroyed if anyone interferes with our eternal love.”

The three of them could feel Jenny’s life force contracting. She wilted in their arms. “I mean no harm. My needs brought me here, to the only place I know where I can get them fulfilled.”

“There are thousands of male FAs without anyone, dreaming of someone like you!”

“It’s not that simple!”

“Ladies” Barb interrupted, “My fellow women of size: let us all, with John, please sit down and share an honest, non-contentious conversation. I at least am feeling some of Jenny’s world of hurt. Even as a stranger to her, I care enough about her to want to let her explain what’s happening in her world which brought her here. Don’t you, Tara?”

She didn’t answer.

“My past with Jenny was essential to making me who I am, and I care deeply about her well-being” answered John.

“You sit over there” Tara directed Jenny, pointing out a small couch opposite the one where the rest of them usually sat. “I’ll be sitting in his lap, my giant life-affirming asses owning him!”

“I apologize for Tara’s behavior” Barb whispered into Jenny’s ear. “She’s not normally this irrationally possessive.”

“Thank you for letting me be here” Jenny whispered back. “I truly am in crisis.”

John almost lost it seeing Jenny’s big, round, bouncing buns as she took her seat. Small compared to Tara’s and Barb’s, their newness and the fact that they were Jenny’s made them compelling. His protective love force field engulfed both Tara and Jenny, not truly covering Barb, who in the moment was out in the kitchen anyway.

Jenny was distracted by Barb’s massive body bouncing and wobbling all sorts of directions at once as she returned from the kitchen.

“Would you like some home-fried chicken?”

“Yes please. It all looks delicious!”

“Would you like to have the whole platter?”

“Uuunnnggh!” Tara cried out, squirming.

“You stop it, Tara! I made a double batch. There’s a whole other platter for us.” She turned back to their guest, “Sorry, Jenny. I’m the chef tonight, I made this, and I’m offering it to you if you want it.”

Blushing brightly and drooling slightly, Jenny replied, “Yes please.”

Barb handed over the platter with a smile, rushing back to the kitchen.

Within a minute, she was bouncing back, delivering the second platter to Tara, claiming one wing piece for herself before sitting next to Tara on the right, who was centered atop John, nearly making him invisible other than his feet and head.

With no one else making a move to do so, Barb got the conversation started. “Roughly a year and a half ago, on Thanksgiving, I met John for the first time. He shared with Tara and myself his and your love story, going into extreme detail and describing things with deep passion, as though they’d wrapped up a month prior. It was a beautiful love story that moved all three of us deeply.”

Jenny looked at each of the three of them with wonder, dwelling on John.

“At that time, I looked you up online, finding your Forever Fit website. You appeared to be average-sized, happy with your life, happy having a career helping fat women find health and fitness, usually reducing their size, from what I recall reading back then. Obviously things are different now, at least for you. Obviously you’re under no obligation to share anything you don’t want to share. I’m very confident that I speak for all of us when I ask: what happened? How did you get from there to the person seated before us?”

Jenny took a deep, somewhat noisy breath, licking her fingers. “That picture and what you read were accurate for several decades of my life, from roughly college through the start of my 50s. I was happy in my life and my body, in a career helping others find health and peace with themselves through self-improvement. Mostly happy in my life. Focused as I was on my career, friendships, and activities of life, I had little interest in romance and sex. When I was interested, the men I found disappointed me. Most of them were good men—decent people. They and I did our best, and the sex sometimes rose to pleasant, but never the sort of fireworks I felt with John.”

Tara moved his hands to her hips, holding them there. She was in no mood to share her prized lover with anyone at the moment. He squeezed them repeatedly, subtly, to ensure she knew he got the message (and for the more fundamental reason of living to be able to have the joy of squeezing her there!).

“Didn’t feel attracted to women, so didn’t try getting intimate with them. Affectionate, romantic love wasn’t worth the time to me. I was busy, and had many friends with whom I could share most of the sorts of things I figured lovers share. Everything else was great! No fat hate directed at me, no one ignoring me like I was invisible or too hideous to be acknowledged, able to fit just about anywhere, every possible type of clothing in my size, no worries about destroying furniture, decent medical care with no bullshit—all the thin privileges were mine—and there for people I was helping who stuck with the program!

“Things seemed good through my 20s and 30s. The pinnacle of this period was when my mother signed on to my program, right around when I hit 40. John will remember that she’d gotten fat again along with me after an ill-advised fat camp we attended in when he and I were in high school.”

“♫ Go you chicken fat, goooooo! ♫” Barb sang.

“Daaaaaaahh!” Jenny cried out at the refreshed memory.

Barb felt the need to heft herself up to go over and touch Jenny’s hand as a gesture of friendship. “My parents had that record, and the bad judgement to make me listen to it once when they wanted to motivate me to exercise. As I shared with Tara and John, it worked: first chance I got, I turned that little record into a flying disc.”

Jenny high-pitch laughed.

“Got a lot of exercise flinging it for disc golf with friends, scratching the bejesus out of it until it would never play again. Didn’t mean to interrupt; just wanted to share.”

“No problem; great story. The point I was making was that Mom wasn’t at all interested in what I was doing for the first couple of decades I was doing it. She remained fat and gradually getting fatter, more or less to the point where I am right now. I was thrilled when she told me she was signing on with me and my program on my 40th. birthday, swayed by the many success stories—the majority of my clients by far at that time—and tired of all the hassles and problems of being significantly fat.”

“What did your father think?” asked John.

Jenny sighed, looking down, then back up at him. “He wanted Mom to be happy. He stuffed his FA feelings so that she could follow her dreams, knowing well that each of our opinions of our own body trumps anyone else’s hundreds of times. Mom did well, and he truly was happy that she was happy, and supported her without undermining what she and I were doing.

“Trouble was on the horizon by the time I reached my mid-40s, but I didn’t see it. New sign-ons started to taper off. I had no idea at the time why. The fitness business is always cyclical and has plenty of ups and downs, so it took awhile to notice the consistent decline without the usual recovery. Follow-ups were part of what made Forever Fit successful: I didn’t escort people to the door for a forever-goodbye when they were done with the active in-person part of the program. I followed up with each client, ensuring that they found a way to work exercise and the forever diet into their ongoing lives. Success and compliance did of course vary all over the map, and not everyone wanted to be followed up upon once they left at-class attendance. Most clients appreciated the caring of them and their ongoing success, responding positively to follow-ups.

“One upsetting aspect of the follow-ups was learning how many women were suffering from osteoporosis. At first I saw no connection whatsoever to those diagnoses and my program. Indeed, it took until just about 6 years ago for the numbers to become so overwhelming and obviously atypical for the greater population that I suspected a problem. But back a decade and a half ago in my 40s, it seemed like nothing other than a sad coincidence for a few participants.

“The follow-up told me nothing about the decline in new enrollment. About 81% of clients reported being extremely satisfied with the program and their outcome, which is an amazingly good, high number.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“10% were satisfied, 4% were neither satisfied nor dissatisfied, 3% were dissatisfied, and 2% were extremely dissatisfied. Those last three categories, adding up to about 9%, made me very unhappy, but I was doing all I knew how to do, and the few who left any constructive feedback were unhappy about things beyond my and the program’s control. Further, these percentages were similar a decade earlier, when attendance was higher.

“I had to slice and dice the enrollment data all sorts of ways until I finally spotted the pattern: fewer younger people were signing on. Now I knew from just looking around that there wasn’t suddenly a shortage of fat 20-somethings, so the question became: why? What changed? Once again it took me a long time to figure it out, but finally I did: being fat and getting fatter had become cool! Young women who in former years would’ve been likely to sign up were instead more likely to be fat web models, often gainers, making money rather than paying me or anyone else. There was absolutely no way for me to adjust my business model for this unanticipated change, so all I could do was stay the course, fine-tune the program to be the very best that it could be, bring my A game every day, and hope that ongoing societal fat hate would be sufficient to drive enough women to my door until it came time to retire.

“The change bothered me for a long time. I didn’t understand it at all, because I couldn’t relate to it from my personal experience. I kept seeing more and more women, mostly in their 20s and younger though some older, just letting their fat bellies stick out and bounce around inside their clothes without the slightest attempt to hide them nor suck them in. Just like it was no problem whatsoever, which I gather for most of them, it wasn’t.

“Menopause was my trigger for a mid-life crisis, right around my mid-to-late 40s. So many of my friends were married or otherwise hooked up with someone ongoing, the majority of them having had children. I gravitated more towards other friends living the happy single life I thought I was living. It came as a harsh shock that those amongst them who, like me, had an active libido were having as many dates or hookups as they wanted, and at that point I had precisely zero. We—these sexually active single friends and I—went over my appearance, demeanor, tactics, and so on. Unlike what John remembers in first semester senior year of high school, I wasn’t being a B, nor arrogant. I was more plain-looking and had smaller breasts than my peers, who at worst had only one of those two attributes.”

“It’s always like that!” Tara complained, startling herself as much as the rest of them with her sudden empathy for the situation Jenny described.

Jenny needed to eat another piece of chicken to stuff down her upset seeing John kiss and cuddle Tara so she’d feel better, when she so badly needed someone to comfort her!

Finished with the chicken and again having licked the tasty coating off her fingers, Jenny continued, “The girls helped me change up my street wardrobe and gave me a makeover to dial down the plain. This plus guiding me to superior options for finding single men got me the action I sought. Not a lot—I was busy and had a full life—but what I wanted and needed. Other than, once again, no fireworks. Mostly, and the exception was the start of where the wheels started coming loose with my life.

“In my 40s, looking 35 if that, armed with all these then-new mostly Internet-based ways of getting with people for sex and love, I was seeking new experiences. Tall men. Short men. Dark men. Foreign men. Artistic types. Different yes, none of them magical, for me. I couldn’t help thinking about John, leading me to try scientific types who were good with their hands: engineers, technicians. Easier for me to relate to most of them, but again, no sex magic.

“Then one night when I really wanted cuddles, a fat dude around my age responded to my Craigslist post, with a well-written message explaining how he was made for cuddling and we could or could not take things further as I wished. His picture simultaneously repelled and intrigued me. I held him off for last place. Other than him it was a night of slim pickin’s, and as mentioned I quite wanted someone.

“We agreed to meet up at a safe, public space: a high-end coffee shop which had overstuffed chairs and a couple of couches. He was even fatter in person than he looked in the picture he sent—SSBHM—which, in person, fascinated me more than reviled me. He was also a total sweetheart and gentleman, with sincere, loving eyes. Bought me a latte and himself a cappuccino, and we hightailed it to one of the couches which had just opened up, so we could get the cuddling going. He was really warm and soft—truly built for cuddling. Memories flooded back of when I’d been built like that, and how comfortable it was many times living inside, as well as for John when he and I cuddled. Now here I was experiencing it on the opposite side, enjoying the warm softness without having to carry around the fat and deal with all the issues. We spoke of many things, as people on something date-like tend to do. He was friendly, urbane, intelligent—really great guy in many ways.

“Time flew by; the remnants of our coffees were cold. Things were going great between us. I wanted more, and felt safe taking him home. Picking up where we left off with clothes-on sitting-up cuddling kept us in a shared comfort zone, easing the transition. Over a moderate amount of time—not too fast, not too slow—each of us dialed up the flirt. Hands wandered. Passions rose. STI discussion. Lots of kissing. We both wanted sex, so things moved that direction.

“His confidence diminished as we took our clothes off. He shared that some women had been upset or disappointed when they saw his genitals, and how if that was the case with me we could call things off or do whatever we agreed that he could manage that would please and satisfy me. As I mentioned, he was supersized. I’d seen plenty of fat mounds on women clients over the years, mostly through clothing but not always. Until that point, I had never seen a man’s fat mound or fat pad. His was huge! Being a man, his penis was in there. On him when I first saw him, just the head stuck out—no visible shaft at all. And it had become one with his scrotum, encasing his balls in fat. I was fascinated, and very excited! As he relaxed and saw my signs of arousal, it grew bigger and started growing out of its cushion. He was getting frustrated and upset that the condom didn’t have enough shaft to hold onto even when he was hard—which he became less as this happened. I went over the STI stuff again with him, deemed him acceptably safe, and explained that I was no longer fertile, so we could go bareback. This got us both really excited again. When we discussed positions he told me that cowgirl worked really well with his build, keeping his substantial weight off me, giving better penetration, and giving me a lot more control over the fucking.

“It was amazing! Easily the best I’d had since you, John. Truly shook up my world: why was I attracted to someone fat?! He stayed overnight, and I thought for sure I had a new boyfriend, or was well on my way. Well, turns out he was fine with getting together now and then for cuddles and optionally for fucks, but didn’t want to commit beyond that. Threw me well off-course, given all the noise he’d made the night before regarding how long it had been since he’d been with anyone. I thanked him for his candor and we parted amicably, with ‘Maybe someday again, but don’t wait for me’ status.

“Just like the Creedence song, someday never came. I moved on, getting few responses for men with really big fat pads, and not liking the rest of the man for those who had them. Tried one other dude with a decent mound but situated above his down-low genitals. Didn’t feel the magic. Better results with one or two other fat men when I asked for SSBHM in general without any mention of mounds: good for conversation and cuddling, but still no magic in sex land.

“Dating was getting to be too much work for too little return. I dialed it back, rather than totally stopping it, not that it would have taken much more dialing back to reach full stop. Problem was as I got into my 50s, my sex drive went up, not down. Business was still on the decline in terms of enrollment, so I needed to pour everything into that, going all-out to keep everyone I had and ensuring everyone got good results and thus Forever Fit got good cred.

“More pressure at work, a higher sex drive, and no outlet other than solo was a bad combination. Found myself subconsciously staring more and more at clients’ crotches, looking for fat mounds. Stopped whenever it broke through to consciousness, wondering what the heck I was thinking and what sort of help I needed.

“Then the lawsuits started, about 6 years ago: osteoporosis due to woefully insufficient calcium and proteins on the Forever Fit diet. I freaked! Took a long, long time to find an MD expert witness willing to represent my side, holding that the plaintiffs failed to follow the exercise part of my program once leaving active participation at the clinic. Would’ve been screwed even getting an attorney, had it not been for a successful client who was delighted with the program and had no osteoporosis issues being one and being willing to represent me pro bono.

“Forever Fit had always been a one-woman company. With all the distractions and time sink of the legal wrangling, I was stretched far too thin, at my breaking point. The lawsuits got consolidated, which helped in terms of time, but became a big winner-take-all. We fought hard, but the jury sided with the plaintiffs. Even with malpractice insurance covering a lot of the payout, it nearly broke me financially, and did break me spiritually. This was about 2 years ago that this finally came to trial and got resolved.” She paused to eat a chicken breast, visibly enjoying it significantly.

After the chicken breast and a round of tea delivered by Barb, Jenny continued her story, “Forever Fit’s rep was badly dented, leading to an even bigger drop-off of new clients. I had no idea what to do to turn things around, still too far away in both age and especially savings to be able to retire with any financial security. I became numb, carrying on as always, helping those still with me.

“Life wasn’t done whacking me around yet. Started getting severe migraines. For whatever reason they put me on Prednisone. Bye bye relatively thin Jenny!” She seemed nearly at the point of tears, taking a time out for another, smaller piece of chicken.

“If I thought it was difficult to get people into my program before, no longer looking the part of success was a deal-killer. Only a few who were already in the program dropped out because I plumped up, but it nearly ended new clients signing on. Even after the course of Prednisone was over, the damage was done: my out-of-control drug-induced stress-enhanced appetite refused to be dialed back.

“Two of the last clients were a mother-daughter duo, of whom I’d had countless pairings over the years. The problem with Reece Divens was that she didn’t get along with her mother, thus there was no teamwork. Kay Divens did fine; her daughter did not. Reece needed a lot more work, thus she was at the clinic all hours, often when it was only me and her. One of those evenings when it was just the two of us, she wasn’t even trying, and I’d had a bad week, I lost it: I grabbed her fat belly and shook it, yelling ‘Is this what you want to be carrying around the rest of your life?! This big ham flam flab slab?!’ Her eyes got all fluttery and her breathing shallow and excited. While I was struggling to recover from what I’d just done, in a super-breathy voice she said, ‘Tell me more what a fat pig I am, Ms. Patussi! Tell me how everyone’s going to laugh and point at me as my ham flam flab slab gets bigger and bigger!’.

“I could not believe what I was hearing! I said, ‘Are you serious, Reece?! Do you really want to be this fat?!’

‘Yes!’

‘And have people fat-shame you?!’

‘Yes please! Pretty pretty please?’

“Now, given that Reece was 21, my life was hell, I was horny, and she had one of the fatter muffs I’d seen to that point on any person, I made probably the poorest decision of my adult life. With a wry smile I reached down lower, grabbing her mound through her workout pants and undies, shaking it as I had her belly and saying, ‘You grow this thing any fatter, and people will be able to see it from outer space!’. Reece came suddenly, exclaiming ‘Keep going! Keep going!’

“Against any shard of common sense, I did, leaning in closer and grabbing both of her widely-spaced hips. “I’m surprised you’re not out on some construction site or in some factory, being used to measure wide doorways.’

“‘Auuumm!’ she came again.

“I went behind her and grabbed her huge buns, ‘Are these attached? Or are you storing beachballs in your pants?’

‘Haaaannnngg!’

“I ran my fingers down the fat slopes on her back. ‘Nice that your back fat forms these built-in drainage channels, for all the sweat that drips down when you exercise heavily. Such as, oh say, waddling your obese form from the couch to the kitchen.’

‘Hnnnngggg!’

‘Why is it that you have thighs growing out of your–… oh wait, those are upper arms as fat as thighs!’

‘Nnnnnaaaggh!’

‘Sorry hun, that’s all I’ve got. I’ve never done this before. No one’s ever asked me to.’

“She hugged me, saying, ‘It was Awesome, Ms. Patussi! Now what can I do for you?’

‘For?’

‘To get you off.’

“In for a dime, in for a dollar: I told her how I actually was fascinated with her fat muff, and how I kind of knew what it was like when I’d been fat as a teenager, but mine was never anywhere near as fat as hers. She never knew I’d ever been fat before my then-current drug-induced plumping up, which I’d explained to all my clients so they wouldn’t think I was slipping or failing. She got all excited, so I took her into the office and dug out some old film photo prints I had, mainly from prom night, actually.” She looked straight at John with a smile during that last observation. “Reece saw you and thinks you’re cute.”

Tara’s eyes grew wide. She re-tightened her arms around her man.

“Now there’s a young woman you’d do well to keep away from John, Tara. Wish I’d been that wise. I wasn’t, at all. Suddenly it was like Reece and I were best friends. She pulled her pants down, happily letting me explore her mound. My touch got her worked up again, which got me worked up, which allowed her to get off again and me to let go of a whole lot of over-long pent-up tension.

“She noticed the pent-up aspect. We discussed how long it had been for me, and some of the factors involved regarding why it had been so long. She asked me if I’d ever done it with a woman, which I hadn’t, other than what we’d just done. She promised that she’d actually try a little harder to follow the program to make me happy, re-iterating that she honestly didn’t want to lose any weight at all, and was only there because her mother was making her go. She begged me to please schedule more of these one-on-one after-hours sessions, so she and I could have more good times and I could get the release I needed and wasn’t getting.

“In for a dollar, in for ten: I did just that. Wednesday evenings became Reece’s and my playtime. Going against nearly every instinct I had, she trained me to fat-shame her more and better. What quickly became different as early as our second time together was that while my statements and tone were those of fat-shaming, my touch was on the range of playful to reverent, instead of anger-driven as the first time. Both of us appreciated the irony, with my reverent touches turning on Reece even more. I was tapering off the Prednisone as instructed by my doctor, but my appetite didn’t go away, and I got a little fatter. One evening Reece turned the tables, gently fat-shaming me, with caresses which were obviously reverential and backed by deep desire. I still didn’t truly get the whole joy of shaming thing, but in that first shocking instant of realization of what she’d just said along with her touch on my fattening hips which was anything but negative, I experienced a burst of passion, and how it could be a turn-on.

“Our touch became more and more sensual, then sexual, that same evening. Passions burned bright. Our clothes came off. She flattered me regarding my body and my appearance, seeming genuinely shocked that I was months away from age 60 rather than possibly pushing 45. She kept me relaxed and focused on sexual passions, gently leading me into my first sex with a woman. It was magical, in the same way that sex with Jess, the man with the giant fat pad, had been—and nearly every time you and I shared sex as teenagers, John!”

Already cuddled close and still sitting centered atop his lap, Tara tilted her head back to make smiling eye contact.

Barb silently reviewed in her mind lovers over the course of her life. She’d had the fortune of many who rose to or near the level of sexual magic, and had to agree that John Mercer was definitely one of the best she’d had.

Jenny continued her saga, “At that point in the arc of my life, I was out of control. Clients continued to dwindle. I had no plan for recovery. I was struggling with my own body image, once again at the border of plumper and BBW. I told myself then that it was all due to the drugs, but in brutally honest hindsight, I’d rediscovered the joys of food… and was starting to rediscover the joys of being fat. More literally for me, discovering for the first time some of the joys of being fat. Reece played a significant part in this, gently encouraging me to stay fat and get fatter for my own pleasure, the way she was. We spent a lot of time when we were together discussing life as a fat woman back in the mid-late 1970s when John and I were in high school versus modern times. She was shocked at how bad things were back then, having read some people’s reports about fat hate and especially the near-wholesale lack of support for fat people outside of NAAFA during that decade, but not having it driven home and become real until I—her mature lover who lived through it—made the same points and was right there for back-and-forth discussion. I felt a deep longing and sense of loss when she went into detail about how even though fat hate and discrimination remained significant, serious problems, things were so much better now in terms of visible appreciation of fat people as whole people with whole lives, who were as skilled and attractive and sexually adept as anyone else, and arguably more so in some ways. She could tell how wistful I was, and how much a part of me wanted to live through the good parts of this current era directly, rather than vicariously through her. She assured me that it wasn’t too late, and that perhaps the effects of the Prednisone and decline in enrollment related to her generation and even older generations deciding that being fat wasn’t bad, and indeed could be an excellent lifestyle were Gaia’s ways of urging me to take a new direction in my life.

“As if I hadn’t already irrecoverably messed up my life, I took things further. Reece and I continued our trysts, but my near-end-of-50s stronger than ever libido plus fears of getting older and losing interest in sex drove me to try others. Neither Reece nor I had ever discussed being exclusive with one another, so I figured it was OK. Having sampled women and found magic, I sought another. One of the few things I managed to do correctly was provide the gentlest hints of flirt with the ever-fewer clients to whom I felt an attraction. One of them, Carrie, picked up on this and responded favorably. Carrie was one of my classic success stories: she’d shed well over 150 pounds, pretty close to halving her weight, going from almost supersized to prime-spot average-healthy. She was thrilled, thought everything of me—even with my fat gain which I told her and she believed was solely from the meds and would go away, and thought that my sudden hints of attraction to her were directly related to her success at fat loss. Both very excited, we scheduled an evening together alone at the facility, the way Reece and I did things. She was somewhere on the polysexual-pansexual spectrum, attracted to certain individuals regardless of their birth gender, current gender presentation, and so on. Well… there was no magic, at least not for me. She seemed way into me in a way I just wasn’t feeling for her once our clothes were off and we got into things. She felt horrible, like somehow she’d failed me, or was still unattractive. I felt really horrible, not only being a bad date, but undermining the success of a client!

“Right in the middle of that one date-gone-wrong with Carrie, I realized what it was: I’d become a Fat Admirer. I was attracted to fat, on both cisgender men and women, and quite possibly beyond.”

She paused and ate another piece of chicken, to let this sink in.

“Explaining that brand-new literally in-the-moment realization to Carrie was one of the hardest things I’ve yet had to do in my life. She became very confused around the dichotomy of how I could feel that way and run the business I was running, and what truly was an optimal way for her body to be. I had to work hard to reassure her that her success and what Forever Fit had always been about was supported by society and nearly every MD of every stripe and specialty, and that my sudden realization and desires might well be yet another side-effect of the medication, likely requiring me to undertake some mental health work to straighten things out. I assured her that people not having mental health issues as I seemed to currently suddenly be suffering would be thrilled to experience her new slim body, and that everything about her future was bright. We got our clothes back on and she consoled me for awhile, doing her best to cheer me up that this apparent phase I was going through would resolve sooner than later, and that she’d be sharing her smashing success with any woman she knew well enough to have intimately personal discussions who had a weight problem, doing her part to ensure new clients would be coming my way.

“The situation with Carrie worked out OK, yet did nothing to help me out of my and my business’s tailspin. I was horny, I was still getting slightly fatter, Reece and I were carrying on. The world had changed, and my program had not. For sure after the lawsuits I’d modified the diet to include more calcium-loaded veggies with preparation instructions which would maximize the calcium, and many more lean proteins. Additionally I’d added very visible disclaimers in the ongoing lifestyle maintenance section making it clear that osteoporosis was a problem for many women whether or not they’d participated in Forever Fit, and that all bets were off for avoiding those issues if the client failed to keep up with ongoing weight-bearing exercise, as during the time they worked with me at the clinic. Between the reputation damage issue and the societal changes with more women choosing to remain fat issue and my still having no idea how I could possibly modify Forever Fit to bring in more clients, the changes hardly mattered.

“Then came the final death knell to life as I knew it, and especially Forever Fit. Reece and I had a falling out. The excitement of newness had worn off, and we had no substance in our IIR to have anything left. I thought we could just wind things down and go back to client-counselor relations, but oh no. She blamed me for our faltering passions, specifically for not letting myself go all the way back into fatness the way she ‘knew I needed to do’. I railed against her insolence, reminding her of the nature of the business I ran, and the need to keep up appearances. She yelled back that Forever Fit was a joke and everyone knew it and no one of her generation wanted anything to do with it nor any similar program, having moved on to body acceptance from antiquated concepts of working so hard to change one’s body to suit lamestream society’s whims.

“Whether or not any of Reece’s points had or have merit, I soon discovered she had no integrity, and neither did her mother. She listed her age as 21 when she signed, up, with her mother listing 41. After our argument, she went running to her mother, weaving a tall tale of how I’d seduced her and was forcing her to attend the after-hours Wednesday sessions where we had sex against her will, and—get this—I was forcing her to eat fattening treats, to stay fatter and have to stay in the program longer!

“Within a few hours the police came knocking, questioning me then arresting me for sexually assaulting a minor! Turns out that Reece was actually seventeen years old, and her mother was 45! Obviously her mother’s age was and is irrelevant, other than proof that the woman lies, as does her daughter. Forever Fit was open to any adult 18 and up, and any adolescent 12 years of age or older accompanied by a parent or legal guardian as a fitness partner and signing the contract on behalf of the child. No reason for Reece to have lied!

“Beyond being shattered at the lies and accusations resulting therefrom, in no way had I recovered hardly at all from the last round of lawsuits related to the osteoporosis claims. I accepted a plea bargain to register as a sex offender, avoid all contact with Reece and her mother—that part was easy!—and cease working with anyone under the age of 18, regardless of whether a parent or guardian was right there with them or not. Mother-daughter teams were nearly half of my remaining client base! Some were both adults—so they said, but others the daughter was underage. That was it for Forever Fit: I closed the business, helping the precious few still with me make the transition, providing a few refunds where necessary, though most people did pay-as-you-go rather than up-front payments.

“That was about 10 months ago. Since then I’ve been an unemployed wreck, living off my meager savings and what I could make selling equipment and furnishings from Forever Fit, plus garage sale pocket change selling clothes I’m too fat to fit into, and whatever other miscellaneous bric-a-brac can keep me off the streets awhile longer.

“And then, just in this past month, my nominally fit and slender mother started snapping bones like overloaded toothpicks. Severe osteoporosis, not diagnosed until she was already so deep into a cascade of fractures that there was no hope. There… wasn’t anything left, in terms of strong bone structure. She had no remaining quality of life. We barely got hospice set up for her when she died.

“So there you have it! Jenny Patussi, former successful health and fitness entrepreneur who became a fat unemployed sex offender with no future and rapidly facing homelessness who unintentionally killed her own mother and who knows how many others via being misinformed regarding dietary needs of the human body! Yay me!” Her eyes filled with water, “So that’s why… I needed somebody to talk to tonight. Someone who knows me and believes in me, who might withhold judgement until hearing my side of things.”

Tara couldn’t stay threatened-defensive towards someone who seemed like a genuinely nice, kind person in such a world of hurt. To John and Barb’s surprise, she got up off John, and walked over to Jenny. Jenny joined the two of them not knowing what to think when Tara set aside the near-empty platter of now-cold home-fried chicken, claiming her hand. “Come” she said softly.

In a river of tears, Jenny stood up, allowing Tara to lead her over to John, who stood up to share another hug with his troubled first girlfriend. Tara gently guided him back down to seated on the couch, thereafter guiding Jenny to sit sideways in his lap, the way she initially had all those decades ago that very first time. She eased herself down to John’s left, gently cuddled into his left side and more than that into Jenny’s huge globular buns. She gently and affectionately caressed each of them, to let them know things were OK.

Barb felt moved to bring out another round of tea, taking an intimate seat to John’s right. She added her own friendly caresses of Jenny, her expression exuding compassion and caring.

Peaceful, wordless, caring love continued for quite some time. Jenny’s sobbing wound down in about 10 minutes, peacefully quiet for a couple of minutes before crying swelled back up, then back down. The three residents had all kinds of time and plenty of ongoing love to give to their grieving guest, along with their usual love of and for each other.

After about half an hour, Jenny and thus the group found tranquility. All still cuddled together in the same positions, gentle shy smiles broke forth.

“‘Thank you’ does not even begin to convey my profound gratitude at being accepted amongst you tonight” said Jenny, breaking the extended verbal silence.

“I’m sorry, but you got fucked over by those osteoporosis lawsuits and that lying cunt who framed you and ruined you for her own selfish ends” Barb ranted. “The osteoporosis issues are sad, and tragic in terms of your mother, but if you were doing your level best and didn’t know, I don’t see how you’re in any way culpable.”

“You’re very kind, Barb. All three of you are.” She reached into her surprisingly (to John especially) full chests, pulling out her handheld. In a few moments, she had the picture she wanted to share. “This is Reece Divens, liar. Stay very, very far away from her! This is her mother Kay, either blind to her daughter’s flagrant lies, or complicit with them and a liar herself. Whichever way, stay away from her as well.”

What John hadn’t noticed when she pulled her device out, he did when she put it away: she couldn’t help smiling, of necessity feeling her breasts during the process. She’d been small-breasted like Tara in their youth, despite her mother tending towards busty once she fattened. Currently Jenny’s breasts appeared to be a little smaller than her mother’s at the peak John had seen them, which was vastly larger than he’d ever seen on Jenny.

Jenny smiled and blushed, having noticed him noticing. With tears for now over and Tara showing no signs of being on the warpath towards her, passions between her and her first boyfriend swelled.

The other two noticed. Barb decided to say something. “I realize this is not the time to ask you about future plans, or where your life is headed. Be that as it may, is it safe for me to ask where you are in terms of your own body, Jenny? Specifically: fatness versus the so-called average body in which you lived for so many years until recently?”

“I can’t go back, Barb, for several reasons. One is that the Prednisone changed me permanently. That alone probably wouldn’t be much, but it would take a herculean heroic sustained effort to get back into the average-sized body I had, rather than a minimum of chubby or plump. It was never easy nor automatic to maintain that body, which was the crux of my Forever Fit program: diet and exercise for life.

“Another is that between the great tastes of foods I’ve denied myself for decades and an increased appetite which again would take considerable effort to reduce, I’m at least somewhat of a foodie now. I don’t have enough decades left of life to want to deny myself.”

“Have you been checked for osteoporosis?” asked John.

“Yes, and no, it’s not an issue for me. I attribute that to ongoing extensive routine daily weight-bearing exercise until these last couple of years with the meds and the fattening, and since that time knowing well how critical a good diet is to maintaining bone density. Obviously I’m genetically at risk, but if I keep moving around and exercising reasonably as I can, keep the diet as good as possible, and continue to refrain from smoking and excessive alcohol consumption, I should be OK.

“Probably the most significant issue keeping me from even trying to move back to not being fat is resenting feeling left out of the societal changes whereby being a fat woman is now a desirable thing to be. You have no idea how much I want to get into some sort of age erasing machine and suddenly be, oh say, 22 right about now, thriving in this new environment where BBW are ever-more desired as people and as objects of beauty and sexuality. Young, desirable, able to start over. I feel cheated, so I’m inclined to do what I can: be the least-worst beautiful and sexy BBW I can be at my advanced age.”

“61 is not that advanced an age” said Tara.

“So says the 31-year-old!”

“Add a decade and three years.”

“Whether I look old or young to you or whatever, for the record Tara and I are the same age” Barb shared. “We were in the same grade level in school.”

“You’ve known each other a long time!”

“Friends since 5th. grade, out of touch for decades. It’s a long story I’d love to share, but right now I want to stay with you and your story.”

“If John told you our love story in great detail, between that and what I just shared, there isn’t a whole lot more.”

“I meant about you and your body, right now and going forward. You just finished making clear that there’s no going back. What I’d like to know—if you’re comfortable sharing—is how you feel about that. Does being a beautiful and sexy BBW—which you are—feel like what you want to be? Or something circumstances have forced upon you, as with your former career?”

“I want to enjoy being fat, very much so! But all these years later, I still have trouble. One reason I rushed back here to John was that I’ve never felt truly worthwhile, beautiful, and sexy as a fat woman other than when he and I were lovers.”

“Not even with Reece?” he asked.

“She was getting there with sexy, less so with beautiful, and not really addressing worthwhile. So no.”

“What about Tara’s good point regarding there being thousands upon thousands of FAs—all genders—out there seeking a good BBW such as you’ve again become?”

“I never stopped loving you, John. The time of our youth was especially awful to live as a fat person, and I knew well that each of us needed to go to different universities to finish growing up and learning, to become the adults we needed to become. I have no regrets about breaking things off with you when I did, because that’s what needed to happen for both of us to have our best lives. I have no regrets about how I lived my life up until maybe my 40s or 50s, where I wish I’d picked up on the growing trend of BBW respect and admiration, and wish I’d made even the slightest effort to stay current on medical developments or consulted with an MD who stayed current and had been able to correct the flaws in my diet protocol.”

She turned to face Tara, then Barb, “I’m not here to wreck anyone’s home or love life. Thankfully each of you are far too awesome and what John has always lusted after for me to do so if I wanted to. I’m here because I’m desperate. I’m here because I foresee no future for myself. I’m here because I don’t know how to love myself and my fat body without John loving me and it. If you hadn’t let me come over tonight, I might have reached the breaking point and done something very rash that might have ended my life.”

“Oh no” Tara insisted, clamping her hand on Jenny’s forearm, sternly staring at her. “No one in this room or otherwise a part of my close life is going to take theirs!” She let go of Jenny, surprising everyone by unbuttoning John’s shirt and pulling it wide open. She surprised them further when she claimed Jenny’s right hand and moved it onto John’s now-exposed chest, just above his barely-soft belly.

Jenny became flustered, passion exploding through her. “I’m… confused.”

“Live in the moment, Jenny, and listen carefully. Two years ago almost to this day, the man you’re currently touching—your first boyfriend—was within seconds of blowing his brains out with a handgun, in his office. Feel the love… let it flow. Because he almost wasn’t with us. At that point I’d worked with him a decade give or take, in the outer office as office manager. He and his company had been going downhill a long time, and I didn’t know why. I did know that it was extremely unusual for him to lock his inner office door, and that the few times he did, he’d at least respond to my emails or text messages when I had an urgent question or something he needed to know. He wasn’t doing that, and I heard choking sounds. That was his Plan A: a so-called deliverance cocktail, that failed to deliver him when his body hurled it back out.

“Yes: lean into him. And me, because without me, he wouldn’t be here at all, and it’s unlikely the rest of us would be gathered together. I used my massive USBBW weight and the convenience of my third leg to rush and ram his office door, smashing the strike plate out of the door frame, forcing the door open. He stared at me in shock, holding a gun to his temple. Instinctively I charged him, knocking the gun out of his hand. Fortunately it didn’t fire.”

“John… why?” Jenny asked, some new tears rolling out of her eyes.

“I had no one to love. My lust for fatasses never went away, and if anything kept getting stronger as I aged. No one to even touch! And Tara right there—the dream woman of my life, both in terms of her body and her mind… and everything else about her as far as I knew. Two asses fattening, by all signs contented in her body and her life, and totally out of reach as my employee and direct report.”

“I knew John liked looking at my rear view, but had no idea the depth and breadth of his desire for me, nor how desperate he was. We can tell you the rest of this story in a little while or some other time, but we’re at the point I want to make: given what happened, I am extremely sensitive to anyone threatening suicide, or similar high levels of self-harm. I understand that we each have a right to dominion over our own bodies and from that many extrapolate the option for each of us to end our own lives, but I personally have issues with that. None of us in this room are shits like Reece, and even Reece Divens deserves to live. All of us absolutely deserve to live, and in my opinion need to live. I don’t have answers for you for how you can get your life back together. I do know that if you truly feel you can’t go on without John’s love, we all have to work with that at a minimum, until the time comes where you can go on without it.

“My need for John’s love and his for mine is at least as deep as yours. All of us have to take things one moment at a time—not even one day at a time, for now. Love him, Jenny. Love her, John. Just both know that for not even one fraction of a second is it OK for him to stop loving me, or Barb.”

“Actually I can handle a few seconds here and there, maybe longer. But much over a few hours without his love would be bad.”

Tara continued speaking to Jenny, primarily. “Whether you feel any affection or anything else towards me and/or Barb is less critical. I feel a whole lot different about you having heard your story versus when you first arrived. Chances are basically zero that you’ll be spending time alone with John in any context, and absolute zero that you and he can resume being a monogamous couple. If you can continue to handle my intimate presence the way you have so far, we all have more options in terms of what you may be able to do with him, to get your needs met without blocking ours.”

“I’m overwhelmed with your kindness, Tara. If I could get past my fear of you from when I first came here tonight, I could be very comfortable being intimate with you, with or without John.”

“Are you still attracted to women sexually or romantically?” asked Barb.

“Fat women it seems so. Anyone of any gender with a huge mound, definitely. I don’t know how nor why I became an FA, but it’s happened. And at least in the case of John, my ongoing love for him continues, as he is.”

“Is there any more for dinner?” Tara asked Barb.

“There’s all kinds of things, mostly waiting on hold until we’re ready to eat.”

“I submit that we’re ready. Would you care to join us for the rest of a late dinner, Jenny?”

“Oh, I couldn’t! I’ll eat you out of house and home!”

Tara moved Jenny’s hand to her belly, then patted Jenny’s. “We don’t skimp on portions, honey. I know well what I’m likely getting us into with my invitation to you. Join us… accept your appetite. We won’t leave you hungry, and you won’t leave us food-deprived.”

“What may I do to help?”

“You three stay there, or do whatever else you agree upon” Barb replied. “I’ve got everything all ready to go, with bits of more cooking, then serving.”

By the time Barb returned with some freshly-steamed organic broccoli, all three of Jenny, John, and Tara were smiling. Tara and John were caressing Jenny’s big butt and fat hips through her lovely tie-dyed dress, with John’s right hand additionally caressing and squeezing his first girlfriend’s belly. Jenny alternated between various parts of John, and what she could reach of Tara.

“We eating here, I take it?” Barb asked.

“Might as well” responded Tara. “No sense pulling any of us apart when we all have intimacy needs.”

She handed off the broccoli bowl with pot holder to the combination of Jenny and John. “We certainly all do have intimacy needs. I’ll be addressing mine later.”

“Eat your dinner, John” Tara chided. “You’ll be able to squeeze, caress, and otherwise play with Jenny’s and my hips later.”

The seating had changed. Jenny sat as cuddly-close as possible to John’s left on the couch, her soft, fat right hip riding up slightly upon him. Tara’s Furry left side was in John’s lap and her fat left hip pressing slightly into the side of Jenny’s fat belly and right hip, Tara’s right butt seated next to John on his right as usual. Barb sat intimately close to Jenny on Jenny’s left.

“How do I know I’ll have a chance to explore any of Jenny later, when we’re taking things one moment at a time?”

“Because the main impediment to you and Jenny taking things as long and far as you might want is me, and unless she’s lying about not being here to claim you monogamously or has some sort of breakdown that drives her that direction, the love I’m feeling between the two of you and I believe maybe myself as well isn’t going to diminish all that quickly. So in this moment please eat your dinner with the rest of us and enjoy three of the most beautiful and sexy fatasses in the world—four if you count my two separately—including your very first-ever girlfriend being here with you loving you.”

“And vice-versa.”

“Bump that protective love field up so we can all feel it” she teased, giving him a momentary tickle.

“Another impediment would be fluid sharing and STI status, related to our poly group” said Barb.

“What?” asked Jenny.

Tara leaned forward, to make eye contact with Barb, “Did you really need to make things more complicated before their time, Pillow?! Here we’re having a nice, intimate, loving dinner with the four of us, finally at a calm point where we can all enjoy the meal and each other’s company and digest well, and you need to bring up complications which are not relevant at this time, nor possibly soon?!” She pulled back, giving Jenny’s arm a friendly squeeze, “I’m sorry for raising my voice while talking across you, Jenny. I guess I’m so attuned to at least a couple of us being fragile and wanting all of us to continue getting along well, I’m getting overprotective.”

“Jenny has already said as much that if you and I weren’t in the picture and it was just her and John with no conflicting love in John’s life that he would’ve already put that necklace back on her and they’d be wearing their rings. Given their vibrant sex life at a time when I was barely experimenting and certainly had no clearance whatsoever from my parents to have sex, plus how she’s shared that her and John’s long-ago sexcapades remain top-of-chart toe-curlers, plus the sexual tension I sense between them, I don’t think it’s much of an extrapolation if any to predict that unless you stop them, they’re going to be sharing sex. Ergo I raised a relevant and valid point.”

“I don’t want my deep, unfulfilled needs to cause trouble!” the woman under discussion declared.

“Let’s all please keep having dinner and enjoying the cuddles and caresses” Tara urged. “Unless Jenny has to leave, we’re likely to have a late night, with plenty of time to discuss things in an open forum. Please for now let’s enjoy the sexual tensions and touches, but keep the conversation to non-sexual or less-sexual topics. Sensual is different and OK, so talking about how delicious Barb’s bacon cheese quiche is I would consider non-contentious.”

“It really is a great quiche” said Jenny.

“Guess it’s a good thing there’s another” Barb smiled.

“There is?!”

“On-deck and ready, waiting for you and/or any of us to be ready to enjoy it.”

Tara, Barb, and even John learned things about the lives of Jenny’s parents and much-older sister. Once she learned that Tara considered non-sexual discussion of her unique body to be non-contentious, Jenny had all kinds of questions for her. She also wanted to hear more about Tara and Barb’s childhood friendship, with each of Tara and Barb temporarily tabling discussion of how they re-met each other as adults.

It was a long, filling, tasty meal, currently in its extended dessert phase. Jenny couldn’t get enough of the creamy and decadent chocolate pudding, getting more aroused than she thought she should be getting when Barb explained how much there was, and that if Jenny and the rest of them managed to finish that and Jenny wanted more, it wouldn’t take terribly long to assemble another batch.

Tensions rose as dessert wound down, each of them wondering what would happen next.

“How are you doing, Jenny?” asked Tara.

“Brimming with gratitude for the kindness and hospitality the three of you have shared with me today. Comfortably full from one of the best dinners I’ve had in my life. Being honest, having trouble staying one moment at a time, so full of need and so unsure what’s possible, both now tonight and going forward.”

“It’s late, and we are at a point where we need to start discussing what’s going to happen tonight. I urge us all not to get carried away farther into the future than absolutely necessary. The possibilities are many, and some of them may delight you, as well as John and quite likely Barb and myself. I’m still coming to terms with what life might be like with you as John’s girlfriend again, along with myself and Barb as his True Loves.”

“What’s the difference between a girlfriend and a true love, as you define the terms?”

“We use capital T True and capital L Love for what others call living together like a marriage without being married. Romantic and sexual cohabitation. Life partners in all ways other than a marriage license or church sanction. There are already the two of us and I’m not saying you might not someday be True Love number 3 at least for John, if not also Barb and/or myself, if mutual intimate feelings between us run strong enough.”

“I’m delighted and overwhelmed, unsure how someone heading to homelessness whose life savings were eaten by lawsuits and more recently the demise of her only career can possibly qualify.”

“I have ideas and no answers, and that’s the old proverb of putting the cart before the horse. Am I correct that you would like to share love and sex with John, including but not necessarily limited to kissing, nude intimacy, possibly P.I.V. intercourse and/or licking?”

“As many of those things as possible would heal me more than you know. You all would be saving a life. And, again being honest, I’m more than a little curious to explore either or both of you, should you feel attracted to me in that way.”

Tara looked down, sighing deeply. “What do you need to not harm yourself?”

“Hope, including immediate or very soon help with feeling validated as every letter of BBW, via touch and admiration I can feel more than words, but those too.”

“All these cuddles and caresses we’ve been sharing aren’t doing it for you?”

“They’re a great start, and I do very much appreciate being here with all three of you. I’m finding comfort being near you and Barb, both when in contact and merely being three quite fat women together, the two of you with your long history of self-acceptance. I’m both sexually hungry and needing sexual validation in addition. I find myself running hotter rather than cooler as the relentless passage of time dumps me into my 60s. Your apparently stable threesome love fascinates me, and makes me more than a little envious. My fantasy would be to somehow magically be accepted amongst you, and all share a consensual sex orgy together.”

“You’re into me and Barb sexually enough for that?”

“You for sure, based upon your having two mounds, likely very succulently fat. On the presumption that Barb’s may not be drastically smaller than yours, that alone would have me wanting her.”

“Bigger” Barb grinned.

Jenny’s face flushed. “Then, unlike John, I’m quite into boobs—my own, now that I finally have some, and others’. On that basis, Barb’s body is a treasure trove adventure.”

“What about me?” asked John.

“I told you I never stopped loving you. As long as there haven’t been major changes to your equipment or their operation, it’s not even a question I want to have a lot of sex with you.”

“Vasectomy some years ago and some snow down below, otherwise should be as you remember them.”

“I’m well past fertile, so the vasectomy is neutral to me. Even talking about this with the three of you is getting me very excited—and hopeful!”

“Stay with the hope, moderate the excitement” Tara advised. “Here’s where we need to get into what Barb mentioned earlier tonight: the poly group. All three of us have large sexual appetites—four, if we include you, but this is about the three of us who already live here. Being built for great sex and able to take two different people at the same time, whether for penetration or licking or whatever else one may wish to do with a woman’s genitals, plus having had a strong sex drive my entire adult life, I’ve had quite the sex life. Most friends have been lovers, and vice-versa. In my early 30s, myself and some lovers at the time hooked up with a polyfidelity group. Know what that is?”

“No.”

“Sharing open consensual sex and often other forms of love with a finite, limited group of vetted people, each of whom restricts such activities to people within the group. Group monogamy is a misnomer, but it conveys the correct idea. There’s currently about 20 of us, freely sharing sex and love with each other in the group when pairs or triples or other combinations of us have the time and inclination and all consent to whatever specifics we want to get into. Polyamory is similar, but without the hard restriction to stay within a known group.

“Barb and I met up as adults when by happy coincidence, another member of the group who worked with her brought her into the group. There’s a whole vetting process, including everyone currently in the group attending a clothes-on no sex meet-and-greet, to evaluate personality and compatibility along with sexual allure. Once a person clears that, they need to take a comprehensive STI set of tests, which needs to come back clean. Then they’re in the group, but on probation for half a year, and everyone forever has to behave well with others and generally not be an asshole or other form of trouble.

“Once Barb was introduced to the group, her and my friendship blossomed anew. We felt a strong sexual draw towards each other, and became lovers. This was before I had any idea how much John wanted me, and I merely worked with him. So, Barb and I lived together as lovers, and were part of the group, neither of us having sex with anyone outside the group.

“Then stuff happened with John. I fell madly in love with him, far beyond anything I could have imagined, and very fast. And here’s the key point: he and I shared fluids. That automatically removed me from being able to get intimate with anyone in the group, including Barb, since John had not been STI vetted. For awhile it didn’t much matter to me, because I didn’t want to be with anyone other than John, and Barb and I were estranged.

“Then Barb was ready to meet John. It happened, love and sex happened, and now Barb was effectively out of the group, at least as an active participant. The group really wanted us back–”

“–Wanted you back” Barb interrupted.

“Wanted us back. But whichever way, since I was not going to let go of John, what that meant was that John needed to at a minimum pass the group’s STI requirement and maintain strict fidelity with me and Barb, even if he was not going to participate in the group or was not accepted. What actually happened is that Barb and I nominated him to join the group, he was accepted, then all three of us needed the full bank of STI tests—his as an initial set, ours to re-prove that we were still clean, since we’d strayed.

“All three of us remain active in that poly group, which means none of us can share fluids or otherwise do things raising STI risks with anyone outside the group. What this means for us tonight is one of a couple of options. One is that if you join any of us doing sexy intimate things, there cannot be any fluid sharing. Meaning that no matter how lost to passion you become and how much you want to suck face with John, that can’t happen. Same with him licking you. Same with him pronging you without protection. Same with any of those things with Barb or myself. Another option, if you can handle it, is for nothing to happen tonight, and for you to get the bank of group-required STI tests and their results as soon as you can. Assuming you clear that and assuming the three of us can trust you to maintain total sexual fidelity with us only, then any of the three of us can share any consensual sex we wish.”

“What about me and the group?”

“It’s too soon for me to think of nominating you, when I’m just getting to know you. John could, but I would advise against it unless and until Barb and I are on board. If all three of us nominate you together, while that doesn’t guarantee acceptance, it’s a potently powerful indicator that not just one or two members but three existing members all feel strongly that you’d be good for and in the group. Again, this is a far future Maybe, which you’re welcome to consider, but I urge you not to get wrapped up into when you have your work cut out for you ensuring I trust you not to steal John away, and that the four of us might be able to get along as me, John, and Barb have been doing. Every added person tends to destabilize a loving group, so all of us have our work cut out for us if that’s what we truly want.

“Back to the here and now, how would you like to proceed, Jenny? Take off tonight with some great memories and dreams of the immediate future and stay temporarily celibate and get STI tests so there are no limits? Or get into things tonight and hold yourself back from fluid-sharing activities?”

Jenny needed several minutes to think about it. It wasn’t in any way an easy decision.

“It crushes me to say this, given how desperate I am for physical love as soon as possible, but I’m going to have to go with leaving you amazing people and getting the STI tests. Given how sexually open John and I were in high school and my powerful memories of that time, it would be too easy for me to get carried away and kiss him out of instinct, momentarily forgetting the passage of decades and the fluid sharing prohibition.”

“Your candor is appreciated” said Tara.

“Don’t be crushed” John tenderly added, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Think of it as the very start of a new beginning, not an end.”

Jenny let out a deep sigh. “I hesitate to ask, not wanting any misunderstanding or in any way to harm possibilities. It would mean a lot to me to repurpose the rings John made for us, for short-term use to help me keep going. I would like to reset their meaning and symbolism as follows: my wearing mine is a symbol of my commitment to you three, and the poly group: no STI activities with anyone—easy, as there’s no one currently in my life—and the promise that I’ll be able to come back to you amazing people once the tests are passed for the love I desperately need. I will ask, but will not require, that John wear his, to complete the circle of promises between the four of us. Is this or something close even remotely possible?”

The three residents looked between one another, saying things with their eyes instead of their mouths.

“As long as you’re 100% clear that the rings in no way symbolize any sort of renewed monogamy between you and John, I have no problem with it” said Tara.

“Nor do I” said Barb.

“It would be my honor” was John’s response.

“I’m not here for monogamy” Jenny clarified. “That got wiped off the table the moment I realized that John was thankfully not living the truly single-without-anyone life I’ve recently been stuck with. If we had rings for you two and you deigned to wear them, that would be great, and possibly more accurate. Maybe it’s a stupid sentimental request, but those are amazing rings, and it would be nice to have them out of the box, even if only temporarily during this transition. Oh—what happens if any of my STI tests come back with issues?”

“That would be bad” replied Tara. “The upshot would be case-by-case.” She put her hands on Jenny’s shoulders, “If that happens, come talk to us before even thinking about doing anything rash! And just don’t think about doing anything fatally rash, ever!”

“OK. So what’s the final word on the rings?”

“Go ahead.”

“You have them?” Barb wondered.

Unsurprisingly, Jenny pulled the double-wide jewelry box out from beneath her breasts, with a half-grin. She opened the box for everyone to see, especially Tara and Barb.

“Damn!” Barb exclaimed, looking up wide-eyed towards John. “You made those yourself, in high school?!”

“Well I made them at home, but yes, it was during my high school years. I’m not even sure that that particular alloy is available any longer.”

Tara was favorably impressed, but not especially surprised, knowing well of John’s fabrication talents. She was more interested in the necklace, which she reached in and picked up, causing Jenny to gasp as though there’d been a violation. Hearing the gasp she set it right back down, apologizing. “Sorry! It’s very beautiful.”

“Everything I’ve ever seen John make has been.”

“Ready for the ring symbolizing commitment to a new life of some sort amongst us?” John asked with a smile.

“Very ready!”

It felt almost like the first time, when near-senior citizen John Mercer slipped the ring he’d made so many decades ago onto the finger of near-senior citizen former classmate and first girlfriend Jenny Patussi. Her left ring finger was close enough in size to what it had been back then that the ring fit decently well.

“May I please?” she asked, regarding his ring.

“Yes” he smiled.

She had a huge loving smile as she slipped his ring onto his left ring finger. Having not changed much if at all in terms of hand size, the ring fit just fine.

He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing the ring and nearly making her cry with passionate loving emotion—hardly different from the ring presentation in adolescence. She reciprocated.

“Why couldn’t we have had first loves like this?” Barb asked Tara.

“The path of our lives was different. Never forget for a moment, Jenny: it’s not just John any more. It’s him, me, and Barb—always.”

“Or at least John and Tara, if I’m taking a break, which for me does happen even if it never does with these two.”

Jenny closed the jewelry box, putting it back where it had been. Deep hugs were shared all around, then with an equally deep breath, she turned towards the front door and started to leave.

Standing in the doorway, she turned back to say, “Thank you for allowing me to be here tonight, and everything that transpired. You all have saved a life. Goodnight!”

Barb squished into Tara soon after Jenny departed, putting her arm around her. “I’m proud of you for bagging the raging jealousy and being so open to new possibilities.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

John squished into Tara’s other side, adding his arm. “But you did it! I’m profoundly impressed!” he punctuated with a kiss.

“Now you: every time you think about her, even for a moment, you must include me in your thoughts.”

“It’s a rare moment that my thoughts don’t include you.”

“Good! Keep it that way. It’s especially important for dreams.”

“Aw come on, Tara!” Barb ranted. “People can’t control their dreams like that! I’ll bet you tomorrow night’s dinner that you have on occasion dreamt of Lou or Linda Lick without including John.”

“We’ll never know” John said. “Until such a time as something can sense and record our raw dreams and turn them into things waking humans can comprehend, dreams remain a private world. Any of us can say anything about them. We might not even remember them as they happened.”

“I’ll know if you’re thinking about her” Tara confidently stated.

“How?”

“You’ll be mindlessly fondling your ring, the way you are right now.”

John’s instant cessation of touching the ring and blush and Barb’s then Tara’s ensuing loud laughter appeared to prove Tara’s point.