Fat Chance Ch 01

This story is about a cheating wife and an unusual punishment by a desperate husband. Although the subject matter is cheating, adultery, cuckoldery, pornography and more, there is no actual sex in this story, so if you want something to top up your wank bank, pass this one on by. I wrote this story purely for my own amusement, but, somebody else might like it, so I'm sharing it. Hey, I'm that kind of person.

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Ok, I admit it, I was fat and a slob. I'd always carried a few extra pounds, ever since I left school, anyway. But I'd never considered myself a slob until my wife called me that twelve months ago.

She must have called me much worse than that just six months ago and, I guess, I could have called her a few names myself, only by then the fight had gone out of me and I had got out of town, a long way out of town.

If I am honest, and I am sitting here in the dark by myself tapping this missive into my laptop computer, so I guess if there is any time for me to be truthful, this the time.

So, Jerry Cox, that's me by the way, was and always will be a fat slob. There you are, I've said it, accepted it, and moving on gracefully from there. And that's not the only moving on I have done, which is why I'm documenting my sorry tale, so that others might read and weep, or even learn by my experiences.

I first met my wife Maisie at school but we weren't exactly childhood sweethearts. We didn't start to date until a couple of years later, by which time I was halfway through my car mechanics apprenticeship (yes, they used to have proper apprenticeships in those days), and she was two-thirds of her way through college, taking qualifications in banking and insurance. She was a lot smarter than I was, while I felt I was better off working with my hands rather than my brain. Horses for courses, you could say.

I was already what I would describe as 'comfortably chunky' and Maisie was maybe twenty pounds overweight when we started going out together. We enjoyed typical teenage diets, burgers, chips and beer. I was short and stumpy, about five-six, and always ugly. That was embedded in my genes, my father was an ugly son-of-a-bitch and particularly nasty with it, I never knew my grandfather, but I guess my father had to get his looks and nature from somewhere.

I always thought I'd missed my father's nasty gene, as I was usually so easy going, but now I know it was hiding in there somewhere all along and it has really come home to roost in the last few months. I surpassed myself, in fact. I even out-nastied my father, though I'm not proud of what I did, or what I am still doing, I can tell you. It is something I am learning to live with.

My excuse is that I was provoked. Oh boy, provoked with knobs on, I was.

My mother, though, she was an angel, and she needed to be one, to put up with my violent, womanising father. My mother must be where I got my patience and loyalty genes from.

So, in summary, on the surface at least, I was ugly but sweet natured. And I was happy for a long time.

Perhaps that natural cheerfulness made me more attractive for a limited period of time. I was certainly unusually trusting when it came to the love of my life, and that was my downfall.

Maisie was only about five-three, quite broad-hipped but with a waspish waist and a rack that was absolutely to die for. While I was easy-going and laid back, she was driven to succeed, but she was lively with it and brim full of life. Although she wasn't classically beautiful, she was sexy, vivacious. I found her attractive, when we met up again in my late teens, and I fell for like a ton of bricks. As I say, she was a tad overweight at the time I reacquainted with her but she could carry it. Her skin was pale and translucent, she had shoulder-length thick brown hair with a reddish hint, dark hazel eyes and even white teeth. She was pretty and when she smiled she was simply lovely, well, I always thought so.

Although I was also packing a few pounds at that time I was still active playing football at the weekends and training one or two evenings a week. We enjoyed hiking long distances at the weekend, while we were teenagers, but I liked my beer too much and my waistline was slowly losing a one-sided battle. In all honestly, I didn't put up much of a fight.

I had only been out with three or four girls before we started going steady and I think that Maisie only had one serious boyfriend before she latched onto me. I thought we made the perfect couple. But damn it, what do I know?

I was never ambitious. A comfortable home, a passionate squeeze to come home to or go out with, regular meals and sufficient beer money in my pocket, was all I ever wanted from life. So, for as long as I could remember, life was good, meeting all my expectations. My job, repairing cars at first, progressing later to trucks, was not physically demanding and I enjoyed the work at a small but long-established family firm. I think Trimblett & Son started out doing up bicycles when Queen Vic was on the throne. I wasn't looking for promotion and responsibility at work, I preferred an easy life.

Maisie, however, was extremely ambitious and prepared to work hard to climb her way up the greasy pole. They say opposites attract, don't they? Well, I believed it for a while.

We married at the registry office, rather than have the whole white wedding thing most girls desire, and I loved Maisie all the more for that concession. Boy, was I blinkered, I never had a clue. We accepted the money both our parents had saved to spend on the wedding, and used it on the deposit for our house. The building society took one look at us and decided we would probably start a family sooner rather than later, so only offered me a fifteen-year mortgage. He was wrong about the family, as it happens, but it meant that we'd owned the place lock, stock and barrel now for about two years.

As soon as Maisie left college, she started at our local branch of National Provincial Bank as a clerk. Someone must've made an adverse remark at work because, all of a sudden, she became a little self-conscious about her appearance and started jogging in the evenings several times a week. I joined her in the jogging at first, although we always ended up at the pub afterwards; she would drink sparkling water, with me swallowing a couple or three pints of best bitter. Later, she joined a gym instead of jogging on the road and I decided early doors that I just don't do gyms. I went back to light football training with the boys once a week and rolled home late after a bellyful of beer in the pub afterwards. My play at darts was ten times better than my passing and tackling, which wasn't surprising.

So Maisie became svelte-like in her early twenties and I got fatter. She started taking more pride in her appearance, having her hair done more regularly and spending an increasing amount on smart clothes and killer high heels for work. At the same time I grew my hair long, stopped shaving under my nose and developed a dart-player's beer belly.

We never had the blessing of children as it happened and, with hindsight, that turned out to be a good thing. Maisie was climbing the promotion ladder at work and wanted to put off starting a family until she had reached as far as she could go. She never really stopped reaching.

Me, I was happy to go along with anything she wanted, she really had me bent around her little finger. I enjoyed an easy-going life, too. See, you knew that already, you've come to know me so well in such a short space of time! Besides, my brother and two sisters made up for my laziness in the parental stakes by expanding the Cox gene pool, presenting me with nine nieces and nephews between them.

Maisie's brother Colin also did his bit for the Goddards family tree, marrying twice and having two boys with his first wife and a boy and twin daughters with the second, so Maisie's genes were also more than covered descendants-wise. Mind you, Christmas and birthdays began to cost us a small fortune. As the only childless couple in the family, by default we became everybody's favourite uncle and aunt and we had to maintain our generosity to the tykes at an expected high level. Good job that Maisie rapidly achieved promotion after promotion, becoming branch manager about three years or so ago and now seriously in the running, she told me every time I moaned about her evening workload, for a regional post.

I hadn't completely stood still in my job. As I said before, I soon moved on from car servicing to trucks but about eight years ago I was asked to help out the front desk after the company had introduced computers and the old hands in the office were simply not up to the task of using them. I managed to get everything up and running and sort out the service diary and invoicing. It was almost idiot-proof; how was I to know that all the guys and girls in the office were complete idiots?

Soon I was asked to move over to the office permanently, to deal with the customer service and bookings. As well as ordering parts and materials I had to do the staffing rotas and holiday schedules. Without being asked, I started producing graphs showing turnover, stock levels, production times and, it turned out, the boss absolutely loved it. There was no-one else who was more interested in working the computer than I was, so I asked the company if they would pay for an evening HTML course, which they agreed to. Once I knew what I was doing, I created a website for the company. I got a nice little extra bonus for that.

Maisie and I were living our lives very much together back at the beginning. We enjoyed our weekend hikes, although we fitted them around my football matches during the winter months. Eventually we found we were returning to the same stretch of coastal cliffside for our walks and got used to the cafes and pubs in that locality.

So, we decided to try and buy a holiday home there. We couldn't afford anything like a flat, of course and, while continuing to look, we put off committing to purchase anything for years. However, with the website bonus I had received, we managed a downpayment to secure a mobile home on a large caravan campsite. The site boasted a clubhouse with cheap booze and provided weekend entertainment during the holiday season. Once we had the mobile home, we started going down every weekend during the season, plus bank holidays and annual holidays, so my football training and playing with the lads soon got knocked on the head.

For work, Maisie was groomed to classy perfection during the week but she dressed down to swimwear and flip-flops for the weekends. I had grown my hair so long that I had to tie it into a pony tail and my moustache turned into a full thick ginger beard as I packed up shaving altogether. I wore the same casual gear at work, weekends and home. She was right, of course, I was turning into a fat slob.

After pushing 18 years of marriage, we had settled into a routine on the domestic front.

Outside the home though, I naturally moved over to truck sales in addition to managing the service office and had to be measured up for a suit, I couldn't buy one straight off the peg, they didn't stock my size.

Maisie took on more responsibility at work and had to work late a couple of nights a week, go on residential courses and, once she became branch manager three years ago, had to attend regional quarterly meetings at weekends.

When that occurred, I started to go down to the caravan on my own, with Maisie sometimes joining me on Sunday. We became a two-car household, she had a smart company BMW, while I had a succession of old bangers. They were mostly vans or pick-up trucks that I bought cheap and kept running by working on them in the shop in my own time.

Because of the extra bank workload, Maisie's visits to the gym became less regular and she started to put on a bit of weight, not too much at first, but she was becoming quite concerned about it. I still thought she looked lovely but my opinion seemed to carry less weight, the longer I continued carrying more weight myself.

About the time she was promoted to branch manager, the current recession was in full swing, truck sales dropped off alarmingly and my boss's comfortable old-established family business was taken over and immediately closed down by a huge multinational, who had built a cavernous steel and glass showroom on the outskirts of the town. Some staff were moved to the other facility but I wasn't one of them. Fat and in my late thirties, I was considered too old and not sleek enough for the slick new company.

I couldn't get anything career-wise immediately, so did a lot of odd jobs and buying old bangers, doing them up to keep going, and found myself spending more time at home on the computer applying for jobs and consuming loads of sweet tea, biscuits and toast with lashings of marmalade.

Eventually I managed to get a job in a backstreet garage doing repairs and slightly dodgy MOTs on any vehicle that came looking for a budget job. They also sold a small number of cheap cars and vans from a plot behind the main building. My work on trucks gave me a slight edge over other applicants, so I got the job at just over half of what my previous salary had been. It wasn't much of a company, hell, they didn't even have a website; I remedied that before the end of my first week.

Meanwhile, things at home became strained. At the beginning and end of each day, Maisie would find me hunched over the computer or lounging in my comfortable old lounger. Although I prepared all the evening meals, I was hopeless at the rest of the housekeeping and she became resentful, which made her snappy. Being the slob I am, I didn't even notice the change in atmosphere. She complained about my snoring, which my weight didn't help. She insisted she needed her beauty sleep to concentrate at work, so I was relegated to the lounger at night. I hoped it was a temporary arrangement, but it became permanent. That's when we stopped having sex. I was complacent about it at first but we did have some heated arguments about the subject, and we had never had any of those before.

Although I did try every fad diet in the book, I stuck at none of them for more than a few days and my weight continued to balloon. It was a shock when I checked my weight on the bathroom scales just after the Christmas before last and oops! the needle went off the scale!

Maisie thought she could do with tightening up again and losing what she had indulged in up to and including Christmas - we both enjoy a good drink, my poison is beer and Maisie's partial to a bottle or two of white wine. So Maisie signed up for the gym, attending a couple of nights a week and started going to slimming classes on a Monday evening. Add those commitments to her pair of late nights at the bank and, damn it, I hardly ever saw her.

I could see immediately that the gym work and dieting was working for her. Maisie must have lost six pounds in her first three weeks, so I decided I would sign up for the slimming class and, maybe, consider the gym once I had trimmed down a bit. Honestly, at over 20 stone I don't think I could have jogged more than 30 seconds to save my life. When it was good and dark one evening, I tried a 15-minute jog around the estate. After only about 100 metres, I was reduced to walking and it took me half an hour for the round trip. I didn't bother again.

For some reason Maisie didn't seem that keen for me to go along to slimming classes with her. I thought she would be delighted that I was doing something positive about losing weight.

To be frank, I didn't feel very confident going to the meetings on my own, as I assumed they'd all be ladies. I was ushered into an upstairs room with all the other beginners, about half a dozen of us. I looked around at the other newbies. All bar me were rather large ladies, trying to lose weight after a indulgent Christmas or three. For the first hour of that initial meeting we were given a lowdown on how food balancing worked, filling up on fat-free food and avoiding carbs and sugars. It all looked pretty straight forward, I thought it should be easy enough to stick to.

When I joined my wife and the rest of the main group, I was in for a surprise. Although there were more women than men, they have always seemed more image-conscious than the male of the species, almost a quarter of the members were men, so I didn't feel too out of place. The village hall was crowded and Maisie had reserved an empty seat next to her for me. On the other side of her was a 30-year-old giant, he must've been six foot six and looked pretty lean to me, with not an ounce of fat on him.

I later found out the tall man was a 'Target Weight Member', which meant he had reached his optimum weight some time before and was regularly attending to keep his weight in balance. In every former fat person there was an even fatter person trying to take over, I was told.

Sitting next to me on my other side was a young woman who was almost as fat as me, she beamed beautifully as I squeezed past her. Between the two of us there wasn't enough room for a cigarette paper.

In contrast to the fat woman's warm smile, Maisie just rolled her eyes skyward as I clumsily made my way to the chair, stepping on at least three feet on the way. It is very difficult placing your feet safely when you can't see them properly because your fat gut is in the way. Even the Adonis next to Maisie seemed to sneer in my direction, but maybe that was how the faces of thin people normally look. By default I usually had a smile on my face, I was overweight but I was by inclination a happy fat person.

I fully endorsed the dieting regimen and, as I was always home from work first, I did the weekday cooking, and immediately embraced all the new slimming recipes. I loved preparing fresh soups using lean meat, and pasta dishes, fat-free fries and yoghourt, with added fresh fruit for afters. I was soon stacking the fridge with salads and fruit for snacking.

The next week at weigh-in, I lost seventeen pounds and felt absolutely great. Maisie lost her usual one pound and looked utterly miserable.

Maybe it is me, or perhaps it applies to all red-blooded males, but I don't believe that ugly women exist. It is all about how you perceive your image, opposed to how other people see you. Young girls or old women, they all have their charms and graces no matter how fat or thin they think they are.

Weigh-in Monday evenings at the village hall were a revelation to me. All the guys and girls present, wore their lightest and skimpiest clothes for the weigh-in and, as soon as I was weighed, I determinedly steered Maisie and I into a position where we had the best viewpoint of the weigh-in. Among the usual older and middle-aged women that you would expect to see, there were lots of young college girls aiming to get in trim for their summer holidays or weddings or prom dances. Many looked to me as though they didn't need to diet at all. It turns out that a girl's appearance is in the eye of the beholder and I beheld and admired every curve, trying my damnedest not to appear too pervie. Not sure if I managed it, if I am honest. I wasn't getting any sex at home and so I may well have been stacking up fuel for the wank bank.

Being a natural smiley person, who enjoyed getting on with everybody, every single babe got a smile and word or two of encouragement or commiseration from me and I got smiling responses and the odd whoop of delight back in return. There were high fives, too, and even the odd cuddle. I loved it! Mondays soon became my favourite day, the rest of the week just went downhill from there.

Perhaps it was because I was missing the regular sex, but for me every one of those girls, women, ladies, whatever they thought of themselves, they were merely at marginally different stages of gorgeousness. I tried to appear as casually observant as possible, as I witnessed each beauty gracefully slip off their outer clothes and shoes, elegantly alight the scales and react positively or otherwise to the results. I openly applauded and gave encouragement or commiseration as appropriate to justify my fascinated close observance of the proceedings.