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As he cuts into the sirloin, sharp blade digging into the tenderly-seared flesh, Darrel nods in satisfaction. It’s perfectly seasoned, a rich brown on the outside and luscious crimson in the middle. He doesn’t usually cook steak rare… but lately, Ellie’s been on a kick.
“Don’t gotta stare at me,” he rumbles, not looking up from his work. “Keep peekin’ over my shoulder like that, I’ll knock you over.”
It’s a fair warning. The amount of times he’s bumped into Ellie, or she’s tripped, or dropped something, or cut herself (there’s a reason she’s not allowed to handle the sharp knives)… Darrel loves his girl, but she’s a hazard in the kitchen.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, sheepish. Her ballet flats click against the linoleum, a telltale sign of her presence, as she shuffles away. Darrel glances up as she plops into a kitchen chair with an inelegant huff. She’s been huffing and puffing a lot these days. “You’re gettin’ out of shape,” he teased, squeezing the soft rolls of flesh at her sides. Ellie had laughed, trying to squirm away… but then Darrel pressed her down into the mattress, and all self-consciousness melted away.
She’s always been… a bigger girl. Curves in all the right places, filling out her dresses, teasing him with cardigans that barely button over her chest. Compared to the preppy dolls in town, with their crisp beehive hairdos and outfits straight out of a Vogue shoot, Ellie’s refreshingly simple. She wears her golden hair long, trailing down her back in a Brigitte Bardot style. She likes softer makeup: rosy blush, classic lipstick, eyeshadow to accentuate the robin-shell blue of her eyes. Some days, she doesn’t wear makeup at all… and Darrel loves her even more for it. His girl is a natural beauty.
The trouble is, she’s grown past curvy lately. Ellie doesn’t even wear her cardigans anymore, because there’s no chance of them fitting. She’s bought new dresses — baggy things, not at all stylish, that conceal her pretty figure. Whenever Darrel reaches for her, she pulls away, unable to meet his gaze. He doesn’t understand it; it’s not like she has the plague. She’s just… putting on weight.
In the last few months, she’s… well, he hates using the word, but she really has ballooned. Weight has dripped onto her like a rich frosting, coating her steadily until she’s no longer quite the girl he remembers. Her face has grown rounder, softness collecting in her cheeks and under her chin; her gait is progressively getting heavier, as if she’s carrying a massive load around.
All he wants is to touch her. Especially her plush hips or soft belly — which have always been his favorite places — but every time he tries, his girl flinches like he’s stung her.
Hell, they hardly have sex anymore. “I ain’t got the time, honey,” is Ellie’s go-to reply. It’s not like she’s doing anything around the house, though. What the hell has her so busy that she can’t spare ten minutes in the bedroom with him?
Nowadays, she takes more naps than ever. When she’s not sleeping, he usually finds her in the kitchen. “Do we have any bologna?” she’ll ask, batting those long, doe-eyed lashes. Or, “Are we all out of those cherry tomatoes? How ‘bout real ones? Yeah, I’ll just— I’ll bite a tomato. If we got one.”
Darrel doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.
“Tomatoes are chic right now,” Ellie retorts defensively. “Modern Beauty says they’re good for your complexion! Keep up, honey.”
So, fine. What the hell. He bought a jar of cherry tomatoes, and watched in horror as his girlfriend ate every single one. No hesitation. She just plunged her hand in there, like fishing for goddamn gold — shoveled them in her mouth, and —
The image sticks with him, that’s for sure.
“Maybe,” his brother Pete muses, “she’s been replaced. By an alien. Y’know, they got all weird cravings, and they can act like us but they can’t quite pull it off. I saw this Twilight Zone episode…”
Pete reads too many comic books. He watches too many stupid movies. He’s convinced that, when they finally land a man on the moon, the poor bastard’s going to be eaten by space goblins. Darrel is not about to listen to Pete. “Sure,” he snorts, continuing to fuss with the TV antenna. It’s full of static, and he likes to catch Kronkite every night…
“Maybe she’s pregnant.” His sister Brenda doesn’t even look up from her homework.
Darrel goes stone-still. His face takes on a curious blank expression, like a TV frozen on a single frame.
Pregnant. Ellie. His good girl… a well-behaved librarian from a respectable family, who always acts so demure in public. Ellie won’t even wear pants because she’s worried how folks will see her — whether they’ll judge, or think she’s loose. A lady covers herself up, she recites, a maxim pulled straight from her Momma’s mouth. Ellie is a lady, no doubt about that.
Pregnant and unmarried? Not her. Not Ellenore Larkin, who never steps a toe out-of-line. Her family belongs to a goddamn country club. Girls like that don’t end up pregnant.
“That ain’t possible,” Darrel mutters. “She wouldn’t— I mean, we’ve always been safe. Real safe.”
“Wearin’ your rubbers like a good boy?” Pete quips. When Darrel lunges to smack him, his brother scampers out of reach like a frisky squirrel. Coward.
“It can happen any time,” Barbara continues, scribbling a sum on her algebra homework. “Forget to be careful once…” Her lips curl up, the ghost of a smirk. “Remember your truck?”
“Ah, hell.” Darrel’s head thuds against his hands. The truck had been a one-time thing. They’d just been so riled up. He’d got into a scuffle after work, and Ellie was pissed when he came home with a busted eye. The argument had been so brutal, Darrel was bracing himself for another pounding… but that’s never been Ellie’s style. She just threw the first aid bandages at his head and stormed out of the house.
He caught up to her in the driveway, and that’s when things did get physical. Darrel doesn’t remember how they went from arguing to kissing… how his hands ended up in Ellie’s hair, or how she tore the shirt off his back. Somehow they landed in his truck. Ellie pressed him down in the sleek backseat and lowered herself on top of him. There was so little room; Darrel’s long legs were scrunched up, while Ellie kept hitting her head on the roof of the cab. In the moment, though, none of it mattered.
Funny — the consequences never do, ‘til it’s too late.
“She’s not pregnant,” Darrel says again… and this is the hope he holds onto. Clings, really, like he’s shipwrecked and hiding from sharks in the water. A… shark baby. With razor-sharp teeth, and diapers…
Nope. Absolutely not. She’s not pregnant!
He really wants to believe it.
Yet as the weeks go by… well. He’s hopeful, not delusional.
She’s so damn hungry all the time. Whenever she’s at his house, she’s munching on chips, sneaking cookies, reheating plates of leftovers. Ellie never says anything about her increased appetite… just keeps her distance, like she’s hoping he won’t notice. In the aftermath of a big meal, she’s always left sprawled on the couch in a sluggish haze. Sometimes, her fingers will caress her belly. She’ll never rub it in front of him — that wouldn’t be ladylike at all — but those tiny slip-ups tease him into half-madness. Darrel can’t take his eyes off of her.
His hungry, overstuffed, steadily-softening girlfriend. Goddamn. Even Dear Abby couldn’t come up with advice for this situation.
Just once, he catches her with her guards down. After a particularly large meal — roast chicken, asparagus fried in butter and garlic, baked potatoes the size of footballs — Ellie sprawls out on the couch, breathing low and unsteady. She ate so much, she could barely walk the distance from the kitchen to the living room. Now she melts into the couch cushions, pinned down by the heft of her belly.
She doesn’t realize how much it’s swelling out. Usually her oversized dresses hide it… but she’s wearing one of her old ones tonight. The pretty dress with yellow flowers… too tight around her middle, too curvy at her hips. It used to fit so well — but not anymore. Now, at last, Darrel can see.
Ellie’s gotten huge. Her breasts are swollen against her dress, barely contained by the sunshiney busom. Her stomach is a round globe, heavy as a bowling ball; half of that’s probably from the big meal, but the other half… Christ, he can’t blame that on the roast chicken. One of her hands run over her belly languidly; it rises and falls with every breath. When Ellie exhales a sigh, a low belch slips out. Hastily, she covers her mouth. “‘Scuse me,” she mutters, not opening her eyes.
Darrel doesn’t know what to do. Cautiously, he settles down on the couch beside her.
“You got some good appetite, honey.”
“I always have,” Ellie agrees. This is the girl who could eat a whole pizza on her own, or a big cheesecake. Even before their rendezvous in the car… her appetite was one of the things Darrel loved about her.
They’ve done this before — Ellie, swollen and breathing heavy, while Darrel lies beside her. He knows just what she needs, just how to take care of her.
Gently, he lays a blanket over her, hiding her gravid tummy from view. Ellie sighs, snuggling up on the couch. Darrel runs a hand through her golden hair, making her shiver in delight.
“How does it feel?” he asks softly, right in her ear.
Ellie gives a little whine. She’s slipping into that stupor, the kind that always follows a large meal. Her eyes are glassy; she hiccups every few minutes, but doesn’t seem to mind.
“C’mon,” Darrel murmurs. His hand rests on her hip — not her stomach. Yet he feels so goddamn close…
“Oh, it’s so much,” she whines, squeezing her eyes shut. “Too much to bear. I gotta… ooh, I can’t. Those last potatoes, I shoulda…”
She cuts herself off with a massive aaaAAURP! Frozen in her stupor, Ellie gives a shaky exhale, stroking her belly tenderly… then a moan. She needed that.
“So big,” Darrel murmurs. His thumb strokes her hip, up and down in a familiar gesture. “You’re all… soft.”
Ellie beams. “Mmm. Well, thank you. I do try.”
A loud gurgle emanates from her stomach. Ellie cringes, then adjusts her posture to appear perfectly casual.
For God’s sake, this girl. Darrel isn’t fooled for a moment. Now that he’s finally close to his Ellie — for the first time in weeks, close enough to feel the softness of her arms, the plushness of her hips, the beginning of a double chin. She’s so changed. It’s been months of eating and sleeping, of avoiding getting close to him… but now her guards are down, and he sees the truth. She’s getting fatter every day. Or, he should say, bigger — because whatever’s inside of her just keeps growing.
His hand makes a bold sweep over her stomach. Beneath the layer of plush chub, he feels the solidness — something they can’t blame on dinner. A rumble resounds in his throat.. and Ellie goes tense. As though suddenly remembering where they are. What he’s feeling.
“Darlin’,” Darrel drawls, his voice downright casual. “You got anything to tell me?”
Ellie blinks up at him, all soft doe eyes and barely repressed panic. She opens her mouth… then closes it again, stricken.
“It’s alright,” he murmurs… then, in a softer voice, as his hand trails over her stomach, “It’s okay.”
Ellie takes a deep breath. “I… ain’t been feeling well lately.”
Hmm. He wonders why. “You been takin’ care of yourself? Gettin’ lots of rest?”
“Of course,” she says at once. “I’ve taken days off from the library. And… it’s my last semester of school, y’know, so I been workin’ hard… but when I’m not writin’ essays, I’m probably in bed.”
“Your favorite place,” Darrel teases, and a flush colors his girlfriend’s cheeks. Lord knows Ellie has a lazy streak. She’s the polar reverse of him, who can’t stand to sit around for more than an hour. Opposites attract, clearly.
“And… and…” She cuts herself off with a moan as Darrel presses into her stomach. His big, skilled hands, used to repairing car motors, now work out the cramps in his girlfriend’s overstuffed belly. He likes dispelling the pain before it even gets a chance to form — saving Ellie that discomfort, because he can. No one else is allowed to soothe her like this. Only Darrel.
“Oh,” she whines, squirming beneath him. “That feels good, honey. So nice…” For a moment, she just lays there, breathing hard. When she finally cracks an eye open, her expression is gentle. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
Darrel smirks. “Call it a natural talent.”
“You’re a strange one,” Ellie sums up — and he can see the amusement in her eyes, the fond tolerance. Is she looking at him and thinking, I’m having a baby with this man? The thought strikes him like a lightning bolt of unease. He needs to be good enough for her— for the family they’re building together.
He loves her more than he’s ever loved anyone. Sweet Ellie, who dances around the house to music when she’s supposed to be cleaning… who thinks the Beatles are better than the Stones (incorrect)… who spilled blue nail polish on his bedsheets, who put daisy stickers on his alarm clock (“so you think of me each morning!”), who’s slow to make friends but so damn loyal once she’s yours…
Yeah. He’d raise a baby with this girl, any day. A kid with her blonde curls, her smile, her spirit… and maybe some tiny piece of Darrel in there, too. Athleticism, maybe. Ellie won’t run unless something’s chasing her.
He strokes his thumb over the curve of her belly again. Something rumbles deep inside, and Darrel catches his breath. Could that be—
“Oooh,” Ellie moans, squirming beneath him. “Too much chicken.”
Right. Of course it is.
“Ellie,” he tries again, and his girl blinks up at him. She’s breathing shallowly, whimpering whenever he massages her just right. Her hair is spread out beneath her; her chest heaves with each rumble of her tummy; she’s still got grease staining her mouth. Christ, she’s the prettiest sight he’s ever seen.
Gently, Darrel reaches up and wipes her face clean with his sleeve. Ellie remains very still… for once, letting him look after her. It’s a nice change — he hasn’t realized how much he missed this.
“You been pullin’ away from me,” he finally says, voice low and intent. “Keepin’ your guards up… puttin’ distance between us, even while you complain about aches, ‘n eat me outta house and home. And… look, if there’s a reason, that’s fine. But you gotta tell me, darlin’. Whatever it is. You know I won’t be mad, I… I’ll only love you more.”
As she stares up at him, his girlfriend appears frozen. Ellie swallows hard — her only movement — and the rumble travels all the way down to her stomach. It heaves, protesting its overfed condition… and deep inside, Darrel swears he feels a kick.
His own breath catches. Ellie’s face crumples, like she’s one tiny gentleness away from crying.
“I think,” she admits, “we need t’ have a conversation.”
A wave of relief rushes over him. He tilts his head, looking down at her. “You feelin’ up to it now, or—“
A deep, bassy belch answers his question. Ellie whimpers, trying to cover her mouth; Darrel can’t help snorting.
“It ain’t funny!”
“I’m not la—“ She smacks his chest without pity, and he changes tactics. “Fine, I am. But… how ‘bout we hold off on that talk? Tomorrow’s a new day.” After all, the baby isn’t going anywhere. Not for another few months, he hopes. “I can make you a big breakfast, and we’ll talk about… whatever’s on your mind.”
Ellie pouts up at him, her long lashes fluttering. Her fingers scratch lazily at the fabric of his t-shirt. “I’d like that,” she murmurs. “I’ve had a lot to worry about lately.”
Darrel sighs, and presses a kiss onto the crown of her head. She doesn’t have to worry about a thing. So long as he’s around… he’ll handle every hard thing. She won’t have to lift a finger — not for food, for pillows, for the damn TV remote. Once she’s so heavy, she can only waddle… he’ll follow her around, holding up her belly. Spoiling this girl senseless will be his pleasure.
Her stomach gives another bassy grumble; she flinches, pressing up into Darrel’s hand. He can take the hint, at least. With a low, soothing hum, he continues his massage, stroking circles into her overfed gut. When he pinches a roll of fat at her hip — all the better to hold her close — Ellie gasps. His touch turns gentle, the way you’d soothe an anxious stallion.
“That’s it, Ellie-girl,” he soothes. “Prettiest gal I ever seen…”
And the prettiest momma, too. Her stomach gives a deep gurgle, beginning to digest its massive meal. What does it matter when she’ll be stuffing her face again tomorrow? Hell, in two hours, she’ll be batting her eyes and keening for dessert.
Good thing they’ve got a cheesecake in the fridge. It’s enough to feed a whole household, but… his Ellie‘s eating for two.