1. Lying in Wait
2. The Taste of the Wider World
3. Taking measurements
4. At the swimming pool
5. Fatsuit
6. Christmas Eve I
7. Christmas Eve II

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5
9
14
20
23
27

8. The Frog
9. Lynn Home Alone
10. Gourmet Weeks
11. Fat Thursday
12. Dream Figure
13. Post Scriptum

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35
40
44
49
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1. Lying in Wait
On a beautiful October day in the last year of the millennium, I was strolling through downtown
Frankfurt, as always with a book in my hand. Just then, a young woman ran into me at some speed.
The bags she had been holding flew past me, but I stayed on my feet. Nothing knocks me over easily,
because I’m six feet two inches tall and quite heavy (almost 400 pounds), and while the woman was
certainly six feet tall too, she was as skinny as a rail. She didn’t bounce back, but held on to me. Her
eyes widened and she stammered, “Oh wow.”
I pulled away from her and said, “Not so fast.”
She blushed and replied, “Uh... yeah, I mean... Sorry.”
I bent down to pick up her groceries when she blurted out, “I want to get as fat as you!” That made
me laugh. “You can’t be serious!” I pressed the shopping bags into her hands and took a closer look at
her. She was wearing a pale red tie-dyed shirt, overalls (!), and sandals. Her dark blonde hair was tied
back in a ponytail that reached almost to her butt. A relic from the hippie era—the only thing missing
were flowers in her hair. Under her shirt, she wore a tight sports bra, which still couldn’t quite hide the
fact that she had a considerable bust. She was really still very young, maybe seventeen. “Well, a few
extra pounds wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Can you help me gain weight?”
“Just eat more,” I told her, opened my book again, and kept walking.
There was a fast-food restaurant around the corner, and I suddenly felt hungry. I ordered ten small
burgers, and when I turned around to find a seat, I noticed she was standing behind me and asking the
cashier, “Please, the same as the gentleman in front of me.”
I shook my head and thought to myself: She seems to be really serious about this—but it’ll take a
bit of practice to polish off that much. I ate my burgers, but instead of continuing to read, I couldn’t
help but watch her at the next table. She ate the first burger with amazement, as if she’d never eaten
anything like it before. She practically devoured the second and third, but by the fourth she slowed
down noticeably, and I saw sweat breaking out on her forehead. Still, she bravely reached for the fifth,
but before she could take a bite, I shouted, “Wait, stop!”
She looked over at me in surprise, and I continued, “Don’t just keep eating until you have to throw
up. Only what stays down makes you fat!” She gave me a relieved smile.
“To stretch your stomach, you should always eat just a few more bites than it can actually hold. And
then have a drink afterward.”
She thanked me effusively for the tip, which was really quite obvious. I had to shake my head again
and left.
*
I had almost forgotten about that amazing encounter when I visited the restaurant again two months
later. It was Saturday, December 16, and downtown was understandably packed. Still, I had been at
the Christmas market looking for a gift (without success) and was pretty annoyed—and hungry. As I
stood in the long line, wondering what I wanted to eat, my gaze wandered over the other guests. One
face looked familiar, but from where?
She was a chubby, pimply teenager sitting in front of a tray completely overflowing with
half-empty boxes, stuffing her face with determination—I can’t put it any other way. It took me a
moment to recognize the skinny girl from back then in her, but her green-brown speckled eyes and the
countless freckles on her face left no doubt. Even though she was dressed a bit more normally this
time—black jeans with a stretch waistband and a tight-fitting sleeveless sweater in a bold purple. She
now wore her hair shorter and loose. A thick, light-colored winter jacket was still hanging on the chair
behind her.
“Hello? What would you like?”
“What? Oh, right, um, just a moment.” I tried to focus on the menu board. She must have gained at
least twenty pounds! I tried to figure out how long it had been since we last met. In just two months?
2

“There are other people waiting!” the cashier urged. I had completely forgotten which special I’d
actually wanted to get, and in the end I just took my usual ten small burgers.
I looked to see if the girl had noticed me in the meantime, but she was focused on shoveling more
fries with mayo into her mouth. I couldn’t hold back and walked over to her table.
“Is this seat still free?”
She looked up, and her face lit up. “Sure,” she mumbled through her fries, then quickly washed
them down with a big gulp of Coke. “Don’t I look great?” she cheered, jumping up and spinning
around in front of me three hundred and sixty degrees, “and now I can handle five large fries, three
extra-large burgers, and a liter of Coke to go with them!”
I now looked her over closely. Yes, she had gained weight, mainly in her arms and legs. Her
stomach still looked flat, except for the grotesquely bulging belly. She had an unhealthy complexion
and was sweating quite heavily. Her gaze seemed unfocused and slightly glassy. And she had
developed some pretty bad acne.
“Have you been here a lot lately?”
“Sure, every day. I’ve been waiting for you, you know?”
“Well, I’m not in Frankfurt that often. And certainly not just to eat burgers.”
“Why not?”
“Because that would be gross—who wants to eat the same thing all the time?”
“I thought you had to. How else are you supposed to get fat? I eat here for breakfast, lunch, and
dinner!”
“Wow! I hope you’re not serious.”
That clearly threw her off balance. Her gaze wavered. “But I have gained weight, every day!”
“But you don’t look particularly happy doing that. And your health has definitely suffered too. So
much so that you can already tell just by looking at you. Why do you want to gain weight in the first
place?”
“I was... I... what business is it of yours?” Oops. I’d obviously hit a nerve.
“Do you still want me to help you?—because I’m definitely not going to do that if this is going to
turn into some kind of slow-motion suicide. So?”
“No. I just think... oh, it’s hard to explain. I was pretty isolated, and when I came here to Frankfurt,
there were all these people who... well, they just look so great. And then I was lurking around a
corner, and when I grabbed you, then...”
“Wait, are you saying you were lying in wait for me?”
“Well, not you specifically, just some fat guy.”
I sank back into my chair. “Wow. I’ve never heard anything like that before.” And I really hadn’t.
Does something like that really exist? I had to pull myself together.
“And stop with that stupid ‘you’—it makes me feel totally old.” And I wasn’t even thirty yet! Not
for another three months...
“Okay. Anyway, at that point, I just wanted to be fat.”
“Well, that doesn’t happen overnight.”
“That’s why I’m here. I’m eating as much as I can, really.”
“Do you like what you’re eating here?”
“The first time was amazing—I’d never eaten anything like it before. Back then...”
“Wait a second—you’re trying to tell me you’d never eaten a hamburger until two months ago?” I’d
thought that back then, but how could that be?
“Uh, I already told you, I was isolated.” A thought occurred to me: “Amish?”
“What?”
“Are you Amish?”
“Ah. I’ve heard of them. The ones who live completely without technology, like in the Middle
Ages?”
“Exactly. Who else has never eaten a hamburger?”
“Well, you’re not entirely wrong—I mean, of course, you’re not. But for us, it was actually mainly
about food. And everyone also kept a close eye on what we watched on TV. If we were even allowed
3

to watch TV at all.”
“So definitely something religious.”
“Sort of.” She became very taciturn on that subject. I let it go for the time being.
“So you said hamburgers were amazing. Then why don’t you have any on your tray today?”
She shrugged sheepishly.
“I got bored of them. So I started trying all kinds of things on the menu here. After all, I’m sure it
all makes you fat!”
“Absolutely. But that’s still way too one-sided. And the burgers here are by far the healthiest
option. That’s not really an answer to my question, though.”
“Well—I’m pretty sick of them. But what else am I supposed to eat?” Her voice sounded defiant
and trembled slightly.
“In any case, you should first figure out what you really like. And as you’ve already noticed, don’t
eat the same thing too often, so it never gets boring.”
“Okay, that sounds good.” Hope began to shine in her eyes.
“But I’m warning you, getting fat on a healthy diet isn’t cheap.”
“Money isn’t an issue.”
“Really?” I couldn’t hide the disbelief in my voice. What a bizarre claim. Where did this girl come
from? “All right. Besides, you should do some exercise.”
“Exercise? What kind of exercise?” Her mistrust and resistance were unmistakable.
“Swimming is good. And as much strength training as possible at a gym.”
“What’s the point of that? Doesn’t that make you thinner?” Still very skeptical.
“No, that’s how you build muscle. If you gain weight, it shouldn’t all be fat—how else are you going
to support your weight?”
“Well, I guess if you look at it that way...”
Well, she didn’t sound particularly convinced, but at least I’d gotten her to think about it. That
meant she probably wouldn’t die from the effects of her diet in the next few weeks, at least. I’d had
enough of this bizarre conversation, and besides, I’d finished my burgers by then. So I stood up and
said goodbye: “Well then, good luck with your plan.” I dug my book, a piece of paper, and a pen out
of my bag and wrote two product names on it for her. “Oh, and if money’s no object, you should get
these skin creams—for your face, and for your belly, so you don’t get stretch marks. But don’t let
anyone try to sell you some other junk.”
I pressed the piece of paper into her hand, opened my book, and turned toward the exit.
“Hey, wait a minute!”
“Yeah?”
“Shouldn’t we meet up again? I mean... maybe I’ll need some help now and then. How am I
supposed to figure out what I really like?”
She’s really going for it—I’m impressed. I wouldn’t have dared to ask myself that so quickly.
“Just try everything.”
“And what exactly?”
“Start with any restaurant. It doesn’t matter which one, but it’s best to try a different one every day.
And if you go back to the same one, don’t order the same thing you did the first time.”
“Don’t you want to go out to eat with me?”
Was I really doing the right thing by meeting up with her? But her longing gaze held me captive.
What harm could it do? Besides, she was the one who invited me, so it probably wasn’t statutory rape.
And I was never really averse to a good meal.
“Have you ever been to a Chinese restaurant?”
“No.”
“Great, then we could meet at the Zoo-Passage, for example. Do you know where that is?” She
thought for a moment. “Yes, I think I can find it. Tomorrow night?”
When I made the suggestion, I was actually thinking more along the lines of “sometime” —
definitely not so soon. On the other hand... I did have plans for Sunday, but I admired her directness.
So when would I be free?
4

“No, I can’t do that. But maybe Monday?”
“Okay. What time?”
“They’re not open at noon yet. And I can’t be there until six at the earliest anyway.”
“Great! See you Monday at six!” She threw her arms around my neck and held me just a little
longer than was proper.
On the way home, I tried to read, but I couldn’t. My thoughts were racing through my head. I’m into
fat women. In general, I think every woman should try to reach a BMI of around 50 at some point in
her life. And she—damn, I don’t even know her name—was still miles away from that. Given her
height, she was probably around 22 or so. I tried to picture her weighing more than double her current
weight. She’d definitely look super hot. On the other hand, with her current diet, she’d probably never
get there before she had to be hospitalized. It was always better to gain weight slowly but steadily. I
found the idea of fattening someone up kind of perverse. Or at least inappropriate. But that wasn’t my
intention anyway—after all, she wanted to gain weight herself, whether I helped her or not. This way,
I could at least make sure she got fat in a healthy way.
Was that even possible? I’d thought about it quite a few times before and was convinced that being
overweight in and of itself wasn’t a problem at all. It’s only a poor diet that makes you sick. And now
I’d actually have the chance to observe a woman gaining weight firsthand? To help her achieve her
perfect dream figure without the usual side effects? Fantastic. No, there was no way I could pass that
up! Besides, I might have finally found a test subject for my design in her... she would definitely be
interested. I should definitely start turning my idea into a real product—this could become the ideal
training concept. I should have all the necessary materials by now. The only thing missing was the
measurements...
My mind wandered. Did she really have the nerve to go through with her plan? I hardly knew her at
all. And so little of what she’d said made sense. Money doesn’t matter. Isolated. She must have been in
some kind of cult, but had somehow managed to escape. But then why did she have money? Had she
just taken it? Or did she know something and had blackmailed someone? Was she perhaps being
followed? But she was totally laid-back, going to the same restaurant every day in plain sight—she
couldn’t really be in danger, could she? And she was probably not even of legal age yet. Where were
her parents? Probably in the cult. Or did she have a guardian? But surely they wouldn’t let her be fed
such a one-sided diet. For months! It just didn’t make any sense.

2. The Taste of the Wider World
I got off the subway and checked my watch. Darn, it was only twenty past five. If you catch all your
connections, public transportation is surprisingly fast. It was unusually warm and dry for December,
which is why I wasn’t wearing a coat over my jacket. Lost in my reading, I strolled up the stairs—and
was greeted at the top with a stormy hug, something I suppose I should slowly get used to. Apparently,
she had also arrived way too early.
“Ugh—my books are already suffering from this!”

5

“Sorry.”
“Hmm. Before we go any further: What’s your
name, anyway?” She replied very quietly,
“Dietlind.”
That didn’t sound like she was particularly happy with the name. “And what would you
like to be called?”
“At school, everyone called me Didi.” It didn’t sound like that was her first choice either,
but it would have to do for now.
“Okay, Didi. My name is Bartholomäus, but everyone just calls me Bart.”
“Beard,” she repeated slowly, as if savoring the word on her tongue, all the while studying
me. I really do have a beard—though it’s only an inch long and not on my upper lip; I just
can’t stand that. The beard does a pretty good job of hiding my double chin. My hair is
mouse-blonde and shoulder-length, and I wear it down, parted in the middle. I have green
eyes and a somewhat broad, blunt nose. My eyebrows would have grown together into one if
I didn’t always shave a bit out in the middle. I have no idea what else she might have read
from my facial features before she realized she was staring and quickly looked away. “Cool
that you’re here this early, too. Then we won’t have to wait long!”
“Well, unfortunately we will—the place doesn’t open until six.”
“Oh.”
I took a closer look at her. She was wearing the same clothes as on Saturday, though she’d
tied her winter jacket around her waist. Either this meeting wasn’t a big deal to her, or she
really didn’t care at all about her wardrobe. Well, maybe she just doesn’t have anything else
that fits her anymore. Although, she is rich, after all. Can’t she just buy new clothes
whenever she wants? I just can’t figure her out. I didn’t notice any perfume either
(thankfully); she had just showered, but wasn’t wearing any makeup—which wasn’t such a
good idea given her blemished skin—and she hadn’t paid any special attention to her hair
either. At least she’d apparently gotten the skin creams I’d recommended, because her
pimples seemed to have subsided a bit. And she was brimming with self-confidence.
Compared to her, I was practically dressed to the nines—I’d put on an ironed shirt and my
good shoes, my beard was freshly trimmed, and I’d even used aftershave (unlike usual).
“Um—there’s a supermarket down here in the arcade. Maybe we could go shopping first
to kill some time. Do you need anything?”
“What’s there?” Seriously? Her naivety was sometimes hard to believe.
“In the supermarket? Well, mostly groceries, but also all kinds of little things.”
Once inside the store, we naturally headed straight for the produce section, and she
grimaced as if she’d bitten into a lemon.
“What are we doing here?”
I played it safe at first: “Don’t you like fruit? Don’t worry. We’ll get to more interesting
sections soon.”
“Most of all, I can’t stand the sight of vegetables anymore.”
“Do you even know everything that’s available here?”
“Of course. Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Physalis, pineapples, papayas, kumquats...”
“Huh?”
“Well, all kinds of delicious fruits. Look.” I showed her the ones I’d mentioned.
“Okay, that looks interesting—I guess we had less variety than I thought...”
“Well, there aren’t any restrictions anymore, are there? You should at least try everything
before you walk right past it. That’s the golden rule anyway: never turn something down
before you’ve even tried it. After that, you can always say it wasn’t any good.”
She then grabbed one of at least twenty different fruits and put them in her shopping cart
until I stopped her.
6

“Uh—but remember, you’ll have to eat them all before they go bad. And they taste best fresh
anyway. You can try other varieties next time you shop.”
“Yeah, okay, you’re probably right. What else is there?”
It turned into a long shopping trip—especially when it came to non-perishable items like candy and
snacks, she couldn’t resist picking up a package of almost everything. I had to explain a lot of things to
her and describe the flavors. By the time we’d finally seen everything, there were three overflowing
carts lined up at the checkout, and it was already 7:30.
“Great. And how are we supposed to lug all this stuff around now? We were supposed to go out to
eat!”
“No problem.” She spoke briefly with the cashier again. It took a moment, then two guys came and
wheeled the carts away.
“I’ll have the items delivered to my house.”
Now it was my turn to stare in disbelief. “They do that here?” She looked at me, confused. Money
clearly didn’t matter at all.
“Anyway. Let’s go upstairs; we’re already way too late.”
The restaurant was pretty crowded now in the late evening, though not as bad as on the weekend, so
we managed to get a corner table for two. I ordered a large pot of green tea and had the waiter explain
how the buffet worked and what kinds of things were available.
“What should we start with?” I asked her.
“With whatever you like best!”
“Well—those are pretty exotic things. Are you sure?”
“Sure!”
“Hmm—do you like spicy food too?”
“Absolutely! My mom hated it when I used so much pepper.”
“Did you have to scrimp?!” That couldn’t possibly be true!
“Nonsense, but she used to say, ‘You can’t taste the good food anymore if it’s over-seasoned.’
Everything she made was always bland.”
“How sad. But there are two other types of heat that are completely different from pepper—and
plenty of other spices. What do you know about them?”
“A few. Borage, garlic, coltsfoot, thyme, rosemary, sage, oregano, horseradish, paprika, ...”
“And what about ingredients from further away? Saffron, chili, turmeric, ginger, cardamom,
wasabi, ...”
“Not all of them.”
“Then you’ll get to try some new things here. By the way, wasabi is similar to horseradish.” That
reminded me: “What about fish?”
“I’ve never tried it. It’s the same as meat, right?”
“Not at all. So you’ve been vegetarians?”
“Well, actually, Thulians.”
“That doesn’t ring a bell. Were you allowed to eat eggs? Or milk?”
“No way!”
“Gummy bears?”
“What is... oh wait, you already explained that earlier. No, we never had candy. Fruit, at most.”
“What a crazy club. I would’ve run away after two days.”
“How? And where? I didn’t know anything else.”
“So how did you escape?”
“Dad came to pick me up. Let’s finally get something to eat—I’m hungry!”
“Okay, wait here. I’ll bring something.”
I grabbed two pairs of chopsticks and started by piling a generous serving of rice onto two large
plates, then loaded one with “sweet and sour pork” and “crispy duck,” and the other with “Thai
chicken curry” and “beef with green beans and chili peppers.”
“Here—let’s start with this. If you don’t like something, you can leave it for me.”
7

Then it occurred to me that soup might have been a better way to start, so I went to get some. By
the time I returned with a glass noodle soup and a Peking soup, the first two plates were already half
empty, even though she was using chopsticks. She was shoveling it in like a pro.
“Hey, you seem to be enjoying it.”
“You bet! This is all so awesome!”
I explained to her what she had just eaten. Whenever I mentioned an ingredient she recognized, she
furrowed her brow and then admitted, “I never would have thought carrots could taste this good.”
I smiled and said, “Try the soups first. I’ll go get us the next round in the meantime.”
I brought out a dish with various mushrooms, one with squid in black beans, and—so it wasn’t all
rice—noodles with shrimp, as well as grilled salmon with broccoli and fried potatoes.
“How did you actually learn to eat so well with chopsticks?”
“Eating with your fingers is barbaric!”
“That’s putting it a bit strongly, but yes.” I thought of the burger joint. She hadn’t minded it there.
Or had she deliberately betrayed her mother’s ideals? “Most people here, though, prefer a knife and
fork.”
“My mother would never have given us knives to eat with—and why should she? But what’s a
fork?”
I slumped down into my seat, completely flabbergasted. Could it really be that a nearly grown-up
person in Germany didn’t know what a fork was? “You w…”—but then it occurred to me that,
although I spoke English quite well, I’d only learned what a spoon was last month. Words like that just
don’t appear in any technical manual, nor in technical discussions—you only learn them when you
encounter the objects themselves, usually as a small child. And if you grow up using chopsticks, where
are you supposed to learn what a fork is?
“Yeah, uh, hold on.” The easiest thing to do was probably to show her one. I grabbed one from the
buffet, along with a knife.
She looked at the fork with fascination.
“It looks dangerous,” she finally said.
“Hardly, at least compared to the knife.”
She laughed. “True enough.” Then she continued her feast—with chopsticks.
“No, try using a knife and fork. You’ll have to be able to do that in other restaurants; they don’t
have chopsticks there.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“Oh no. Really, I’m not.”
“Really? Okay, I’ll give it a try.”
I showed her how to hold the cutlery, then let her experiment for a while. In the meantime, I
prepared a plate with a large piece of meat that I had cooked on the grill. After all, the knife needed
to be put to use at some point. And I finally got something for myself, too, because up until then she
had literally left nothing for me.
When she was done with the meat, I asked innocently, “Still hungry?” She licked her lips. “Hmm,
what else is there?”
I did a quick mental calculation of what she’d eaten: five full plates and two bowls of soup.
Unbelievable. She must have stuck to the stomach-stretching exercises I’d suggested for her over the
past few months with absolute consistency to be able to eat that much already. In any case, she’d eaten
slowly enough for the main course. “Um, how about dessert?”
“Yeah, great!”
So I brought out cake, cream puffs, fruit salad, and ice cream, baked bananas, and sesame balls.
And once again, I barely got any of it until she finally admitted, exhausted, that she’d had enough. As I
ate the leftovers, I took a closer look at her. She was sweating and out of breath, as if she’d just run a
marathon, and was holding her stomach. Since we were sitting at a corner table, I had a good view of
her profile. Her breasts were truly astonishingly large, especially now that her stomach was pushing
them up even more. I hadn’t really noticed that from the front. And her stomach had probably only
seemed so flat because it was completely overshadowed by her bust. Or maybe it just looked different
8

now because she was so stuffed. I imagined how her stomach would fill the entire space down to her
knees, and at the thought, my pants became noticeably too tight in the crotch. At some point, I noticed
that she was watching me just as intently as I was watching her. I blushed.
“Sorry for staring at you like that, but you’re really pretty. If you stick to your plan, you’re going to
be a real beauty!”
Now she was blushing too. To lighten the mood, I waved over a waiter.
“We’d like to pay now.” I was already reaching into my pocket for money when she placed her
platinum credit card on the table and said, “We’ll split it.”
Once the waiter had left, I said, “Okay, thanks. That was a really nice evening.”
“We definitely have to do this again.”
“Well, maybe next time we should meet up to work out—so we can at least turn some of this,” I
held my belly in my hand, “into muscle.”
“Ugh, do we really have to?” So much for all the convincing I’d done the day before yesterday.
“If you want to still be able to run in a year, yes.”
“Fine. And where?”
“Hmm. Let’s meet at the Titus-Therme. It’s in Nordweststadt. Do you think you can find it?”
“Sure thing.”
“And do you have a swimsuit?”
“Yeah? I should have one...”
“I mean, one that actually fits you.”
“Uh…”
“Okay, then we’ll buy one there.” I stood up and made a move to leave. “Is Friday okay for you,
around two?”
“Hey, don’t just walk off!” She stood up too, wrapped her arms around my neck, and pouted. “I
don’t want to be alone yet. Would you maybe like to come over to my place?”
The way she looked up at me, I just couldn't say no to her.
“How far is it?”
“Westend.”
“Is there a subway station nearby?” I didn’t feel like walking far at all.
“Yeah, sure. Westend station, Lindenstraße 39—if you want the exact details: 18th floor, on the
right.”

3. Taking measurements
Didi had snuggled up to me the whole ride and been exploring my stomach, which made me feel
pretty embarrassed. Luckily, it wasn’t far, and apart from us, the train was almost empty. Anyone who
could have seen us was sitting further ahead, facing the direction of travel. Had it really been a good
idea to come with her? But my curiosity about how such an unusual girl might live had won out. The
clock on the platform showed just before eleven when we got off.
The building even had a doorman, and he immediately helped us load the five large boxes of groceries
into the elevator, along with a bunch of mail. However, he didn’t ask who I was, which, in my opinion,
made him seem a bit unprofessional. Who just lets complete strangers into a minor’s apartment like
that? Especially at this hour? It certainly wasn’t old-school. That didn’t apply to the whole building,
though—quite the opposite. It was a very modern and rather exclusive high-rise, and the doorman was
a young snob.
The elevator could only be activated with a key, and the 18th floor was apparently the top floor. Even
so, the ride took no more than twenty seconds. From the hallway, there were only three doors, one of
them leading to the stairwell, although the floor plan looked as if there could have been six doors
leading off here. On the lower floors, that was undoubtedly the case. As expected, the apartment was
correspondingly huge and offered a fantastic view past the skyline across the entire city all the way to
9

the Taunus Mountains.
I carried the boxes into the kitchen, and she began packing everything into the cabinets at an
astonishing speed. Except for a box of chocolates and a bag of candied ginger, which I snatched up.
“Before you go any further into the apartment, please take off your shoes.” She, of course, had
done that right away while I was still busy with the boxes.
“Okay, very civilized.” Now I noticed the shoe rack in the hallway, too. So I did as I was told and
put my shoes there, next to a whole bunch of others. I hung up my trench coat and left my bag on the
coat rack as well.
“Do you live here all by yourself?”
“No, this is Dad’s apartment. But he’s away on a business trip.”
While she was still busy unpacking, I went into the living room. It was huge, but furnished in an
extremely impersonal way. In the middle was a large plasma TV, a sofa set, a glass coffee table, and
bland prints on the walls; to the right was a bar, a poker table, and six chairs; on the other side was
half a gym. Everything looked brand-new or unused (or both). No books, no knick-knacks, not even a
TV guide. I put the candy on the coffee table and went back to the kitchen. “Is he often like this?”
“Pretty much always. Since I’ve been here, he’s only been home three times.”
“Wow. What about next week? It’s Christmas!”
“He promised he’d be there. We’ll see…”
“And what have you been doing all this time?”
“I’d only been in Frankfurt for a few days when I met you. After that, I explored the city—I rode
practically every bus and tram line from start to finish—the subway and commuter rail too, of course.
I watched the people and ate as much as I could. There are really a lot of those burger joints.”
“Yeah, hard to believe.” I helped her with the last few things she wasn’t sure where to put. “And
how long has your father been living here?”
“Uh—I have no idea. But I think the house was only rented out starting this year; in any case, the
years 1999–2000 are carved into a corner above the entrance.”
“Oh, that’s right. The new millennium starts in two weeks!”
Didi grinned at me. “Finally, someone who got it right!”
I grinned back. “I pay attention to details like that. I am an engineer, after all.”
“Oh, really? And what do you build?”
“We make suits.”
“Huh? Suits are usually made by tailors, not engineers.”
“Ah, no, not ordinary suits, but very specialized ones. Things like diving suits and spacesuits, or
truly one-of-a-kind suits for extremely unusual environments. For example, we once designed a suit
for Antarctica. Or one with cooling and armor for an extremely deep mine.”
“Wow. Aren’t those completely different things?”
“On the one hand, yes, but on the other hand, there’s always a person inside such a suit, and they
always have the same needs: they have to be able to breathe, it shouldn’t be too hot or too cold, the
humidity can’t get too high, visibility must always be good, and during long missions, they need to be
able to relieve themselves—oh, sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
By then we had sat down in the living room, and I had opened the chocolates.
“Well, I don’t want to bore you with too many details. Would you like one of these?”
She should actually still be pretty full, but you can always have sweets. So she took one and popped
it into her mouth.
“Wow, that’s sweet!”
“Yeah, right? The dessert from earlier doesn’t even compare.”
“Mmpf. It sticks to your whole mouth,” she mumbled.
I looked at the list of flavors printed on the inside of the box lid. Ah, she must have picked one with
a caramel filling.
“Yeah, you’re supposed to suck on those slowly and let them melt on your tongue—don’t chew
them.”
10

“Warn me next time.”
“Sure thing.” I pointed to the three pieces of exercise equipment. “Have you tried those yet?”
“Nope. As long as I don’t have to, I can do without exercise.”
“Those look pretty good.” I got up and walked over to the recumbent bike. “You’re really lucky to
have something like this at home. I always have to drive all the way to the gym to work out. And even
there, they don’t have equipment as great as this. Can I give it a try?”
“I’m sure Dad won’t mind.”
The bike had a fairly wide seat and looked very sturdy. If only I had enough space in my apartment
for something like that. I sat down on it and adjusted the seat to the right position. There was a gear
lever of sorts, which I set to the middle. Then I tried pedaling. It was one of those modern machines
where the handlebars move back and forth with the pedaling motion, so that your whole body gets
moving. Even at this gear, I could already feel significant resistance. After three revolutions, the
computer in the center console turned on, and I played around a bit with the many programs.
“Wow, real high-tech.”
She had gotten up in the meantime and was coming over.
“You’re really doing this to yourself on purpose?”
“Sure. Unlike jogging, at least you don’t ruin your knees with a thing like this. And with that cool
seat, you don’t ruin your back or your butt either.” I pedaled harder. “I don’t do it for too long, but you
have to warm up before you start strength training. And a bike like this is perfect for that—in my
opinion.”
When she stayed silent for a while, I looked up at her and noticed that she was watching, as if
hypnotized, as my belly swayed from right to left and back with every turn. She blushed and tried to
change the subject.
“Why do you have to warm up?”
“Hehe, you’re going to have to eat a lot more before you get a belly like that.” She managed to blush
even more, and I relented.
“Well, with cold muscles, it’s easy to get injured during a workout. Strains and stuff.” I was warm
enough now and stood up from the seat. “Come on, give it a try. Then I’ll show you how to use the
other machines, too.”
Reluctantly, she sat down, and I helped her adjust the bike to her height. I also selected a lower
gear.
“I’m still way too full for something like this.”
“Nonsense. A little exercise stimulates digestion; you’ll see, after this workout you’ll definitely have
enough room in your stomach to have another bite.”
While she was pedaling, I took a look at the other two machines. One was a rowing machine that
also allowed you to pull and lift weights; the other consisted of two padded columns that you could
push together or apart, using either your arms or your legs. All in all, you could use them to work out
almost every major muscle group. Pretty ingenious designs that surely replaced eight machines at the
gym. Plus, they used real weights, not springs. Classy, classy. In addition to the three machines, there
was a shelf containing extra 1kg to 10kg plates, as well as three barbells (one long and two short) onto
which these could be screwed.

11

It took quite a while before I had shown Didi all the possible uses of the machines and let her try them
out. After that, we were both pretty exhausted.
“Phew. And that wasn’t even a full workout.”
“Really?”
“We don’t want you to be so sore tomorrow that you can’t move.”
“I’m really hot. And you were right—I’m hungry again!”
“No problem, you’ve got supplies here now.” We went into the kitchen.
“Before a real workout, you should wear lighter clothes—we’ll provide those for you on Saturday,
too. Also, you should start by doing all the exercises with very light weights but repeat them more
often. At least twenty times each. And if you can manage it, do two sets. But don’t work out more than
every other day. Your body needs time to process these new experiences.”
“Okay.”
“Alright, then peel two potatoes for me and chop them up pretty small.”
Meanwhile, I chopped an onion and sautéed it in a pot. Then I added the washed potatoes, salt, and
water, and let it all simmer.
“Now we just need the two cans of lentils we bought.”
I grabbed the jar of Frankfurter sausages—I’d seen her put it in the fridge—and sliced the
sausages. Then I added them to the potatoes along with the lentils and seasoned the whole thing with a
little pepper and two spoonfuls of vinegar.
“This is a pretty simple recipe and much healthier than fries. After all, lentils have a lot of protein.”
She ate heartily for a while and then said, “Actually, not bad at all.” But soon she put her spoon
down.
“Phew. I can’t eat another bite, no matter how hard I try.”
I hadn’t eaten as much as she had in a long time, so I was actually glad there was a little more left
for me and finished off the pot.
“Now that you’re stuffed, we should measure you. After all, you don’t want to buy clothes that won’t
fit you anymore after you’ve eaten.”
“Good idea!”
“Do you have a measuring tape?”
“Uh—I don’t know. There might be one around here somewhere...” I fumbled around in my left
pants pocket.
“Oh, never mind, I have one with me.”
I pulled out my little emergency kit, which, in just twenty cubic centimeters, contained a pair of
earplugs, a headache pill, a USB drive, a condom, a hair tie, a tube of cold sore cream, a needle and
thread, and even a measuring tape. Didi eyed this hodgepodge suspiciously.
“Well, this is just my version of a Swiss Army knife.”
“Interesting.”
“Mmhf. I don’t even want to know what’s in women’s handbags.”
“What do you need a hair tie for?”
“I used to have really long hair. But even now, it’s still long enough to keep my hair out of my face
when I need to. Plus, I can tuck it neatly in with the rest so nothing rattles. That really gets on my
nerves otherwise.”
“Your hair is still pretty long.”
“But it’s not long enough for a proper ponytail yet. You used to have much longer hair, too.”
“Yeah, it was too impractical for me. Besides, I needed a change.”
“Let me guess: in your cult, you had to wear your hair long.”
“Nope, it was just Mom who wanted it that way. Doesn’t really matter anyway.”
I let it go and unrolled the measuring tape.
“It’s only five feet long, but that should be enough—except for your height. You probably know that
by heart anyway, right?”
“One eighty-one.”
“Okay, then let’s start with the inseam. Here, hold this end between your legs.” I took the tape in the
12

middle and bent down to the floor.
“Exactly 75 centimeters. Pretty short legs for your height.”
I straightened up again and saw her shrug her shoulders in response to my question. I stood behind
her. “Next up is the chest circumference.”
She slipped her end of the ribbon under her left arm while I held mine in my right hand. “Ready?”
She shifted back and forth a little. “Yes.”
“Okay—111 cm. Impressive.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Now the underbust... 89 cm. Alright, now we’re at the belly—fully expanded... 110 cm. Oh wow.”
“Really, only? It feels like at least two meters.”
“Hehe. That’s deceiving. Now the waist... 92 cm. And then the hips... 103 cm.”
“We’re not done yet.”
“Yep.” I handed her one end back to the front. “But for the thighs, we have to wrap it around
again.” She passed her end back to me through her legs.
“72 cm.”
“Cool. As thick as my waist was just two months ago.”
“Yeah, you’ve really put on some weight. I thought so yesterday at the burger joint. Now, last but
not least, your upper arms... 33 cm.”
“There’s one measurement left.”
“Why, which one? Shoe size?”
“41. No, of course, your weight!”
“Of course.” I slapped my forehead. “But I don’t need my tape measure for that.” I started rolling it
up tightly again. “But you have a scale here, don’t you?”
“Sure. And I even know where it is.”
She led me into a bathroom that would have been big enough to serve as a living room. It had a
whirlpool tub, a rain shower, and a scale like the ones I’d only ever seen in gyms—with the display at
the top of a pole and metal handles to hold onto.
“Wow. Can you also measure electrical conductivity with that thing?” She seemed a little
disappointed that I knew what it was.
“Exactly. And it uses that to calculate the percentage of muscle and fat in your body weight.”
“Do you weigh yourself often?”
“Not really. The last time was when I moved in here and wanted to try out the scale. After I
decided to gain weight, I wanted to make it more exciting.”
“Hmm—but you’re nowhere near as fat as I am. Are you sure you want to weigh yourself today?”
“Absolutely. Two months were exciting enough. It was starting to get really hard to resist the
temptation.”
“What did you weigh back then?”
“107.6 lbs, 33% muscle, 8% fat.”
“Well then, let’s see what’s changed since then.”
She pulled her socks off her feet and stepped barefoot onto the machine. It took a while before it
finally beeped.
“159,1 kg, 23% muscle, 37% fat,” she read aloud, her eyes growing wider and wider.
“Oh no. No wonder your skin looks so bad.”
“All teenagers have pimples,” she blurted out, her lower lip trembling. I raised my hands and tried to
calm her down: “Of course. Sorry.”

13

But that just made her even more upset. After all, she wasn’t stupid and knew that I was actually right.
“If you start exercising now and eat healthier...”
“Oh, just leave me alone!” she shouted.
“Uh—it’s already pretty late anyway,” I began, backing toward the front door. “I guess I’d better go
now.”
I didn't put my shoes on until after I had closed the door behind me and hurried down a flight of
stairs.
*
I could have slapped myself. What an idiot. I must have told myself that a thousand times over the
past two days. Okay, she really was ruining her health with that “burger-only” diet. She’d basically just
gained fat and hadn’t built a single gram of muscle. But did I really have to say that to her face? Of
course not. Her liver was working at its absolute limit, which also explained her yellowish complexion.
I should have kept my mouth shut, you idiot. 51 lbs in two months. That it was even possible to gain
weight that fast. Even if I hadn’t said anything, she’d already figured it out. I should have said
something positive. But what could I have said? She could see for herself how stupid what she’d done
was. Maybe I should have talked her out of weighing herself. Especially on that scale. I should have
told her she needed to wait a little longer. But could I have managed that? She was so determined...
but I should have at least tried. I’m such an idiot. At least now I had the data to continue working on
my project. Which, of course, would be completely pointless if she doesn’t want anything to do with
me anymore.
But I kept working on it anyway. If only to distract myself from my self-reproach. And I was
making good progress on my pointless project. Should I even go to our agreed-upon meeting place?
She probably wouldn’t show up there anyway. I should have called her to apologize. By then I knew
her name was Dietlind Schiller, and I’d given her my full name too. But I didn’t have her number at
all. And there were Schillers a dime a dozen, if her father was even listed in the phone book. And I
didn’t know his first name either. I’m such a total idiot.

4. At the swimming pool
Finally, it was Friday. Finally, it was two o’clock. And I was cold. It was snowing. Hooray.
Of course I had driven to the Nordwestzentrum. How could I not have? And of course I had
arrived too early. If she showed up even for a second, I didn’t want to miss her at any cost. So here I
was, standing in the snow, with a bag full of swim gear.
For half an hour.
For three-quarters of an hour—she must have been running late.
For a whole hour. What was the point of waiting here any longer? But I stayed.
Just as I was about to give up after an hour and a half, she suddenly came running up. As usual, she
ran right into me without slowing down and then clung tightly to me.
“Sorry, the subway just stopped in the middle of the track because of some kind of malfunction. It
took quite a while before it finally started moving again.”
“Glad you decided to come after all...” I almost called her Didi again, which she actually really
hated. But I’d come up with something better in the meantime... “What do you think of Lynn?”
“Huh? Who the hell is Lynn? Is that name supposed to mean anything to me? And how did you
even come up with that?”
“Um…” My throat suddenly went dry, and I had to clear my throat. “What I meant to say is: What
do you think about me calling you ‘Lynn’? I mean, it doesn’t sound like you really prefer ‘Didi’ over
‘Dietlind’.”
“You noticed that?”
“Well, you said, ‘Everyone calls me Didi.’ To me, that meant you didn’t choose that name yourself.
Probably some little kid called you that, and it just stuck.”
14

“Wow. That’s almost like reading minds.”
“Oh, come on. It was the same for me. I used to be called ‘Bamus.’”
“Ha, ha ha ha...”
“Yeah, exactly. And just because of that... uh... because of our neighbor’s son, who was three at the
time. I didn’t get rid of that name until high school.”
“And how?” She sounded extremely interested now.
“Hmm. The Simpsons came to German TV in the mid-’80s. The boy’s name was ‘Bart,’ and I
immediately thought: That would be a cool short form for ‘Bartholomäus.’ But I didn’t dare suggest a
new nickname for myself.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“In high school, though, I had a whole bunch of new teachers and classmates. So I just introduced
myself as ‘Bart.’ Boom, it was that simple.”
“And that worked?”
“Yeah. Nobody knew the other name, and aside from little kids, nobody would ever have thought
of it, but I was surprised myself at how well it worked. – So, what do you think of Lynn now?”
“Lynn. At least no one thinks of Dieter Hallervorden when they hear that. Or Dietlind, for that
matter...”
“Even though it’s in there. And you don’t want everyone to immediately think of ‘Dietlind,’ do
you?”
“Thanks.” She threw her arms around my neck again.
I held her tight, but still couldn’t resist asking, “For what?”
“Well, for finally having a decent name! Lynn.” I grinned. That was a Bull’s-eye.
“Did you actually use the exercise equipment at all this week?”
“Oh yeah. On Tuesday, I worked out until I almost fell off the bench. I did all the exercises you
showed me. On Wednesday, everything hurt so much that I couldn’t even get out of bed. I tried again
yesterday, but my muscles were burning so badly halfway through the exercises that I gave up. Are
you sure this is actually working?”
“I am. You just can’t overdo it right away. It’s like eating—you have to build up slowly. Like I
explained to you: First, set all the weights so that the exercises are really easy, then do as many reps as
possible so your muscles can get used to being constantly challenged.” My teeth were chattering from
the cold. “Come on, let’s finally go to the sports store—hopefully it’ll at least be warm there.”
Lynn first looked for workout clothes—she probably didn’t want to go through that sweater incident
again. What she picked out was an aerobics leotard, the kind that was all the rage in the eighties. That
they even still existed... but I didn’t say anything about it, except that she might want to go up a size.
She smiled, delighted to have gotten this far, and disappeared into a changing room with it. She must
have looked great in it, but when she came back, she was already dressed again.
The selection of swimwear wasn’t very large, as was typical for the season, but at least they had
something there. Lynn looked indecisively at the floral swimsuits, which would have gone well with a
cap adorned with plastic flowers.
“What kind of swim trunks do you actually have?” she finally asked.

15

I pulled my dark blue Speedo briefs out of my bag, which looked way too tight for my figure. The
look she gave me then seemed somehow... lustful.
“You know what? I’m not getting a one-piece at all. I want a bikini!”
She grabbed a lilac-colored one in the same size as the leotard, made of just as little fabric as my
swimsuit. Maybe even less. She didn’t bother trying it on.
“Cool color,” was all I said. I’d warmed up a bit by then and looked around. They didn’t just have
clothes here, but also sports equipment—even for the water. Pool noodles, beach balls, swim
belts—and foam dumbbells, too. I thought those were interesting.
“That would be perfect for you,” I said to Lynn, holding out a dumbbell to her.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” She sounded more irritated than dismissive.
“Oh, they’re great workout tools underwater. Look, you can attach them to both your hands and
your feet.”
“And what’s the point of that?”
“You need a lot more strength to move around in the water with them. And that automatically
works out your muscles.”
“Okay, fine by me.” She headed to the register with her swimsuit, bikini, and dumbbells.
“Anything else?”
“Maybe some goggles?” I thought of something else. “Otherwise my eyes start to burn after five
minutes. But that’s up to you.”
“Yeah, I feel the same way. But that’s why I already have one. And I’m sure it’ll still fit.” She paid,
and we left the store.
The snow had stopped by then, and the sun was shining. Everything was already starting to thaw. Well,
I guess that’s it for snow in Frankfurt again. We walked over to the thermal baths, and she bought two
four-hour passes.
“You do realize we’re here to work out, right?” I asked her.
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, I’d say that after an hour and a half, you’ll be so exhausted that you’ll be glad to leave...”
“Nonsense. Besides, I don’t want to have to rush. After all, we still have to get changed.”
“I’m just saying.” I’d forgotten again that money didn’t matter to her. It must be nice not to have to
waste a single thought on it. We went to the locker rooms, where she said, “See you after the shower,”
and disappeared into a stall.
When I walked into the pool, I looked around for Lynn, but I must have been quicker to get
changed and showered. So I put on my goggles first—a bright green pair whose lenses didn’t fog up as
quickly thanks to a splash of dish soap. When I looked up again, Lynn was standing three meters away
from me, giving me a very approving look.
As I mentioned before, I’m 192 cm tall, but I have relatively short legs and a long torso, which
means my 180 kilos are well distributed throughout my body. My belly covers most of my swim
trunks and sticks out at least thirty centimeters; on the sides, the fat just hangs over a little. My chest
could probably fill an A-cup bra, but luckily bras aren’t common for men. Under the fat on my arms
and legs, there’s enough muscle that they still look firm and hardly jiggle. Still, the layer of fat all over
my body is thick enough that no muscles, veins, or even bones protrude anywhere. I’m not overly hairy
and I’m blond. I also have freckles on my arms (and on my face, though there are so many there that
they’ve blended into a slightly darker complexion), which is why the hair is barely noticeable when I’m
dry. When wet, however, they look darker and lie flat, making them clearly visible. Besides my
forearms, I also have a lot of hair around my nipples and navel, as well as on my legs. Only a few
strands on my back, shoulder blades, and also on my hands and feet. My thighs press tightly together,
which has completely rubbed away the hair on my lower back. In comparison

16

Compared to most other fair-skinned people here at the pool, my skin looks even paler, even though
I’m not an albino. Aside from my hair, my skin is smooth and soft—I have no scars and no skin
abnormalities like warts, moles, psoriasis, scabs, or even pimples, let alone tattoos or piercings. I’d tied
my hair back at the nape of my neck with a hair tie because I hate it when my hair sticks to my neck
when it’s wet or flutters in front of my eyes while diving.
She obviously liked what she saw, because she smiled and looked very pleased. She, too, was just
as fair-skinned and freckled as I was, though she had a light tan, especially on her arms and lower legs.
The fat was distributed quite evenly across her body as well. Her arms and legs jiggled with every
movement, though, especially her bare buttocks. Her stomach, on the other hand, looked firm and
bulged noticeably forward, which perfectly accentuated the lilac-colored triangle beneath it. Now, not
so stuffed, it had a nice round shape, though it was covered by a few strikingly bright red stretch
marks. Above that sat a pair of breasts that the very skimpy bikini couldn’t really cover, let alone hold
in place. Here, too, there were some stretch marks on the sides, as well as on her upper arms and the
sides of her thighs. Hopefully, the skin cream would prevent further damage here in the future. The
yellowish tinge to her skin, indicative of acute liver problems, had disappeared, and the acne on her
face had almost cleared up. However, there were still quite a few pimples on her décolletage, stomach,
and back, even though it didn’t look as though any new ones had appeared recently. She had
wonderfully plump calves, presumably because she walked a great deal. And she moved with great
grace for a woman who had only been carrying her weight around for such a short time, which surely
also came from all the walking and which I found extremely attractive. But it was clear to see that she
would urgently need more muscle if she wanted to gain even more weight. Fortunately, my project was
almost finished, and I had decided that I should give it to her for Christmas. That would help her a lot
with this problem.
When other people started turning to look at us, I realized we’d been staring at each other for quite
a while, and I quickly looked away. “Okay, let’s start training.” In three quick steps, I reached the edge
of the nearest pool and dove in, arms first. It was the wave pool, but the waves weren’t running at the
moment. So it was pretty empty. Plus, we were at the deep end. The water started a good half meter
below the edge of the pool, and when I surfaced and turned toward Lynn, she was still standing there,
hesitating to jump in too.
“Come on, get in.”
“It says here you’re not supposed to jump off the edge of the pool.”
“Don’t be such a wimp.”
“How cold is it?”
“You’ll find out once you’re in. When you jump, it happens so fast that the temperature won’t
bother you at all.”
First she tossed me the dumbbells she’d been holding, then she pinched her nose and stepped over
the edge.
When she came back up, she glared at me. “It’s not cold at all!”
“Did I say that? But you’re right, it’s way too warm here for lap swimming. But since we have to
warm up first anyway, this is the perfect spot. Warming up is even more important in the water,
because otherwise you can easily get cramps—and that’s how more than a few good swimmers have
drowned. The great thing about this pool is that it gets shallower toward the front. So we can choose
how deep we want it to be to do our exercises best. Great that you remembered the dumbbells.”
“That’s why it took me so long. I forgot them at first and had to go back to get them.”
I swam a short distance into the shallower water, just past the line marking the “swimmers only”
zone. As I sat up to check the water depth, Lynn wrapped her left arm around me from behind and
pulled herself close. With her right hand, she slowly ran her fingers down my

17

stomach. But she didn’t stop; instead, she reached down between my legs. I spun around and broke
free from her.
“Young lady, let’s get one thing straight! I’m definitely not going to get involved with you.
Especially not here in public. I could be your da... no, not quite, but the age difference between us is
just too big. I don’t want to get in trouble with the law. Besides, you’re way too skinny for me. So
either this stays a purely professional relationship, or we have to end it completely. It’s up to you.”
Under no circumstances should she realize how much her touch had aroused me.
Lynn looked at me, completely bewildered. Apparently, she’d just interpreted our exchange
completely differently—and she wasn’t actually wrong about that. I could see what I’d said slowly
sinking in. First, her lower lip trembled slightly until she bit it. Disappointment flashed in her eyes,
briefly turning to anger, until she deliberately closed her eyes and pulled herself together.
“All right,” she replied calmly, “purely professional.” Had I been too harsh? But I’d had to convince
not only her, but also myself, of what I’d said.
“Fine. You want to get even bigger? But you already weigh too much for your muscles and your
heart. So do something!” I motioned for her to turn onto her back and hold onto a metal bar at the
edge of the pool with her hands. “Now kick underwater as if you were riding a bike.” I did the same
thing two meters further on, at the next bar. She really gave it her all. Good, I thought, let your anger
out. That can only help both of us. We switched directions and kicked for a while longer. Then I tied
the dumbbells to her feet and we kicked for a third round. Warmed up like that, we then began with
gymnastics. After half an hour, Lynn’s face was already pretty red and she was out of breath, but she
didn’t let up. Before I could even signal to her that it was enough, the waves came.
When the water started moving, she was completely baffled. “What’s going on?”
“Well, the waves are starting. That’s why this place is called a wave pool, after all.”
She hadn’t expected that, and she wasn’t familiar with it at all. I showed her how to let the waves
wash her back to the “beach” and how to use the troughs to get back into the deeper water. We
romped around, and finally her mood lightened a bit. But all too soon, the fun was over again.
“Oh, okay, and now we’re switching to the swimming pool.” Like most of the others who had come
here specifically for the waves, we left the pool via the “beach” and walked to a glass door in the
corner of the hall. Behind it was another, smaller, and significantly cooler hall with just one narrow,
long pool. Besides us, there was only one person in the water, swimming laps undeterred.
“What swimming strokes do you know?”
“Well, all of them. Breaststroke, backstroke, butterfly, and freestyle. But I’m pretty bad at
butterfly.”
“Okay, then let’s start with that. Maybe I can teach you a thing or two.”
We jumped off the diving boards, but this time she was gasping for air when she came back up.
“Man, it’s really cold right now!”
“You just have to keep moving, and you’ll warm up.”
Fifteen minutes later, Lynn was completely out of breath again, but I was reasonably satisfied with
her form. We certainly weren’t cold anymore, but after a few minutes’ break, she’d recovered
somewhat and signaled to me that we could continue.
“Great! Then let’s swim a 200-meter medley.” She didn’t quite manage that, though.
“Enough. I can’t take it anymore.”
“Okay, then let’s go soak in the hot tub for ten minutes to relax our muscles a bit.”
“Oh, yes!” She sounded as if she’d worked off every last bit of her anger.
In the pool, I said to her, “I’ll be with my family for two weeks over Christmas. If you’re still
interested, we can meet again on January 5th at the earliest.”

18

“Of course I’m still interested. I’m sure I’ll need your help more often. But the fifth doesn’t work for
me. That’s Dad’s birthday.”
“Hmm. How about the following week?”
“I have to go back to school starting on the ninth.” I see. Interesting. And what about the last two
months? Wasn’t there school then?
“Well, then let’s go on the seventh. I know a place there that you’ll definitely like.”
“Chinese again?”
“No, classic German. With game and stuff.”
“Sounds exciting. Where?”
“On Oberschweinstiege. The restaurant is actually called that.”
“Ah, I think I know where that is.” Her tour of visiting every public transit stop had clearly paid
off.
“Great, then I don’t need to explain it at length. By the way, we should get out of here now; staying
in the hot tub too long isn’t healthy.”
She groaned. “Will you carry me?”
I had to laugh. “I told you, two hours would’ve been plenty.”
“Great. Thanks. Are all my bones going to hurt like this every day now?”
“Well, two months of lazing around and stuffing yourself does come at a price. But no, it’ll get
better soon.”
“Mmpf. Hey, there’s a restaurant here. We could spend the rest of our paid time there and cool off
again afterward.”
“Well, the ‘restaurants’ at swimming pools are usually just fancy fast-food joints. Do you really
want to go there?”
“As hungry as I am right now? Yeah, let’s give it a try!”
No sooner said than done. Besides fries, they also had sausages with potato salad on the menu,
which is what I went for. After weighing the options, Lynn joined me. The salad wasn’t half bad,
though it was way too small for the price. But that didn’t matter. We just ordered another serving.
“A classic Christmas Eve meal,” I joked.
“We always had fruit salad. The best meal of the year. This can’t hold a candle to that.”
“That was the best? Well, then you must have had a really lousy diet otherwise.”
“You don’t want to know the details.”
“Hmm. I meant that the real feasts are only served on the holidays. On Christmas Eve, we’re
supposed to have simple, humble food. Just like in the stable in Bethlehem. Besides, potato salad with
sausages can be really delicious—if you have the right recipe.”
“And what would that be?”
I looked at her questioningly. “Can you even cook?”
“Well, I’ve had to do it quite often. At least I’m pretty good at chopping vegetables. And I’m sure I
could make that lentil soup from Monday again. But I don’t exactly enjoy cooking. Luckily, I can have
someone serve me now.”
“If you ever feel like it, it’s actually pretty easy.” I shared my recipe with her. “You’ll see—now that
you’re finally getting to eat delicious food, you’ll definitely want to try making the best dishes yourself.
Try not to think of cooking as just a PAL.”
“PAL?”
“Other people’s problem. Sorry, that’s from one of my favorite books. What I meant to say is:
Cooking is an art and can be a lot of fun—just because you learned it from a jerk doesn’t mean you
should despise it in general.”
We splashed around in the water for a while longer—which gave me a chance to show her the
various other pools—and then left the spa. At the exit, we said goodbye with the classic “Merry
Christmas and Happy New Year,” and Lynn gave me a hug, though this time it was a bit more
reserved.

19

5. Fatsuit
Two weeks later, happy to have arrived in the new millennium—which I was able to celebrate in
peace, since most of humanity hadn’t realized it had only just begun—I got off the tram. Naturally,
with a book in hand, I was walking along the forest path toward the inn when I was tackled from the
side. It was Lynn, of course, but this time she had enough momentum that, combined with her
momentum, it was enough to knock us both over. Luckily, the snow from the past few weeks had piled
up at the edge of the path and hadn’t quite melted away yet, so we landed on relatively soft ground.
My book, however, flew into a puddle and was completely soaked with mud within seconds. I
struggled to get back up, but refrained from picking up the book.
“Great.”
“Sorry.” Lynn was still struggling to get back on her feet. It wasn’t quite that easy with her new
figure. She looked like she weighed well over a hundred kilos by now.
“Get down on your knees first,” I said, offering her my hand.
“Thanks.” With my advice and my hand to steady her, she managed to get up. We brushed the
snow off our clothes first, then looked at each other for a long time.
“You’ve got twigs in your beard, Bart.”
“Heh, heh. You’ve probably always wanted to say that, haven’t you?” I asked, running my hand over
my face.
She grinned at me. She looked really good today, actually. There was no sign of acne anymore. She
was wearing a thick winter jacket that made her look incredibly voluptuous, paired with knee-high
boots. She had only leggings on her legs, which really showed off her wide thighs. She’d clearly
dressed perfectly for her new figure. I always found it very challenging to find boots with a wide shaft,
and I was happy whenever I managed to find any at all. But she really needed them now.
“Happy New Year. You look great. And you seem to have liked my Christmas present.”
She blushed slightly—which suited her well—and glanced to the side, where she noticed my book
in the dirt. “I’ll buy you a new one,” she promised.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. It was pretty bad anyway.”
“Why do you read bad books?” she teased.
“I couldn’t have known that beforehand. I didn’t have any other book with me, and you’ve got to do
something on the tram.”
“Have you ever tried looking out the window?” she pressed.
“Admittedly, that might work sometimes on the streetcar. But by the time you’re on the subway, it’s
a lost cause.”
“You’re good.”
“What?”
“Wordplay. You’re really good at that.”
“You’re not bad yourself. I had to pull out all the stops.” She grinned again. “Come on, let’s go
inside. I’m starting to get cold.”
I thought that was unlikely, but I agreed with her. It was still a bit of a walk to the inn, so I picked
up the pace. When we were finally inside, she gasped, “Wow, phew, how do you even do that? Ugh.
You weigh, like, at least half as much again as I do.”
“Workout. You’ll make it there, too. How long have you been wearing that suit?”
“All day.” If she got up at eight this morning, I quickly calculated, that would make it seven hours
now.
“Impressive. And the days before that?”
“At first just two hours, then half an hour longer every day. So yesterday was nine hours. Now I
train in the suit, too. It’s just a shame you can’t swim in it.”
We had arrived at our table in the meantime, and the waiter was just handing us the menu.

20

“But today was especially exhausting. I’m pretty worn out.”
“What have you been up to?”
“This is only the second time I’ve been out in a suit—the first time was last year—and I took a look
around downtown and bought a few things. You were absolutely right. People react completely
differently now. Especially the women. Many of them are practically green with envy, often the very
ones who are a bit on the heavy side themselves. And kids like to point at me, and then their parents
give them a tap on the knuckles.” She laughed. “I really enjoyed the day, but walking around for so
long is really exhausting.”
I found her interpretation of those glances fascinating. I’d experienced it differently in the past, but
then again, she looked so stunning—maybe people really were looking at her with admiration.
“Oh, as a reward, you’ll get a proper meal now. I recommend the roast venison. It’s usually hunted
the same day.”
“Yes, that’s delicious. But today I want the meat platter. With the ravenous appetite I have right
now, I need a heartier meal.”
We ordered, and the waiter gave us a strange look when we asked for the roast venison in addition
to the meat platter.
“See, that was another jealous look,” Lynn said.
“Hmm. If you say so. So you’ve been here before?”
“Yes, this time I made a point of trying out the place before coming here with you. And since I’m
eating out twice a day right now—I prefer to have breakfast at home—that wasn’t a problem. I know a
lot of restaurants by now.”
“Great. And what does the scale say about that?”
“I’ve gained ten pounds, and my body fat percentage has dropped by five percent.”
“You look like you’ve gained a hundred pounds.”
“You’re such a joker.”
“Hmm. It sounds like my gift didn’t manage to talk you out of your crazy plan.”
“If that was your intention—which I doubt—you couldn’t have started off on a worse note. I love
my new figure and can’t wait to actually get that fat.”
“Does anything about the suit actually bother you?”
“No, it’s perfect. Except maybe for the fact that you can’t turn on the cooling until all the zippers
are zipped up—it gets pretty warm in there before that. But still, it’s the best gift I’ve ever received.
Where on earth did you get it?”
“I told you I work for a company that makes special suits.”
“Sure, but I never would have thought of something like that. So it’s from them?”
“Sort of. The idea was mine. But I didn’t have the courage to suggest a design like that. And I didn’t
know anyone who would have been willing to try something like that. Still, I finished the design on my
own—in my spare time, of course—and bought all the necessary materials over time. When I met you
and heard about your plan, I knew you’d be the perfect tester.”
“You mean no one has ever tried on a suit like this before me?”
“Well—there are fat suits out there, but I’d classify those more as novelty items. Your suit is a
prototype that I designed and sewed myself based on your measurements.”
“Really? I mean, it all looked so professional—like you could buy one ready-made somewhere. It
even came with an instruction manual in twelve languages...”
“Well, we have the materials and the machines to make it. The suit isn’t that different from our
other models. Almost every element of it is something we’ve used before. Besides, almost every piece
we produce is custom-made anyway—both in terms of the wearer’s figure and the specific features
they want. And I’ve known your measurements and preferences ever since we visited you…”
“Oh, that’s why you just happened to have a measuring tape in your pocket!”

21

“No, I always have that with me. It’s part of the job. Besides, I hadn’t even planned on coming with
you. And as for the user manual, it consists of pre-written text blocks for every built-in function. It’s
then automatically compiled in all the desired languages with a standard introduction and all the
necessary phrases.”
“Fantastic. Just like in Wonderland.”
Our food arrived, and the meat platter was indeed impressive. Tons of meat, though not game, but
beef and pork. There were plenty of “exotic” cuts, like kidneys, tripe, and sweetbreads, but of course
also steak, medallions, bacon, and pork chops. It was served with chestnuts, wild mushrooms, and
bread dumplings. The whole thing was, of course, meant for two. Would she really be able to finish it
all?
“Enjoy your meal.”
“While we were eating, I remarked with my mouth full, ‘But you should have realized that the suit
was made especially for you by the time you saw the designer’s name, at the very latest.’”
She opened her eyes wide in surprise, but then narrowed them a moment later.
“Ugh. Yeah, I should have figured that out. Lynn 2000. I was somehow thinking in a completely
different direction. Sorry. Will the suit still fit if I actually gain ninety pounds now?”
“Well, ‘custom-made’ means that if your measurements change, it just won’t fit perfectly anymore.
The material is stretchy, but eventually the cooling tubes will get too short, which will cause them to
cut into your skin or tear in various places. Plus, the outer shape will get unnaturally distorted. I could
make a few more adjustments to compensate for that, but I figure that by the time you weigh
twohundred pounds, you won’t be able to get it on properly anymore.”
“Damn. So what do I do then?”
“Well, by then you’ll be in great shape and won’t need the suit anymore.”
“But I want to gain even more weight. Don’t I need to build more muscle for that?”
“Uh—I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Well then... I guess I’ll have to make you a new suit. I
can make it a little heavier, too. How about 110 pounds?”
“Well, if that’s the case, let’s just make it 130. And it has to be more adjustable. I don’t want to
have to keep changing it all the time!”
I had to swallow hard. “How big do you plan to get that you’d have to keep changing suits? The next
one should fit you at least until you weigh 300—with the suit on, you’d easily be heavier than I am.”
“Yeah, but I want to reach your weight without a suit. Does that mean I won’t have a suit to train in
anymore?”
“Oh. Sure,” I stammered. A few beads of sweat appeared on my forehead. “That makes sense.”
“Besides, if I weigh 400 but already know what 530 would feel like thanks to the suit, maybe I’ll get
the urge for more?”
My imagination ran wild for a moment as I tried to picture that. But eventually I shook my head.
“No, you shouldn’t do that to yourself. Sure, there are women who still look good even then, but
they’re pretty rare. The problems, on the other hand, become more frequent and worse, especially as
you get older. And honestly, after a certain point, gaining more weight only brings disadvantages, not
new advantages.””
I was practically done with my meal, but Lynn had already taken the last bite on her fork. “Maybe.
But who knows? I can only tell you when I’m ready.” Just like that, she was gone too. Amazing. I
really couldn’t keep up with her anymore. It probably wouldn’t be long before she was ready...
“You’re really something else.” But in my head, I’d already started thinking about how I could design
a more elastic suit. I shook the thought off. “Oh, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for
ages: What kind of school are you actually going to the day after tomorrow?”
“Grr. I wanted to go to high school. But my middle school diploma from Neu-Thule isn’t
recognized. Plus, I didn’t attend vocational school while I was training. I was supposed to be a forester.
There wasn’t much choice where I’m from, so that was the best option. But since I left there, I don’t
want to continue with that anyway.”
“Why? Surely they need foresters for the city forest here in Frankfurt, too.”
“Maybe, but I never saw my future there anyway. Besides, Dad says that without a high school
22

diploma, life would be unnecessarily hard. So I’m going to make up for it. To do that, I have to spend
six months in one of those ‘prep classes for high school.’ Basically, that means I have to take the exams
for my middle school diploma all over again.”
“Yeah, that’s a bummer. But be glad you can even do that. Plus, maybe you can catch up on some
of what you missed in your cult village. Trust me, gaps like that wouldn’t go over well in high school.”
She looked at me, slightly taken aback. “Is it that obvious?”
“It’s gotten better. But at first, I really thought you were from the moon. Though that’s also a big
part of your charm.”
“Well, I’m working on it.” She waved the waiter over. “We’d like to see the dessert menu.” We both
decided on the apple strudel.
“Oh, could we meet up at my place again next time? Dad would love to meet you.”
“Sure, why not. I’m really looking forward to it, too. Did you tell him about your plan?”
“Well, um—let’s just say he figured it out.”
“Well, it’s hard to hide the fact that you’ve gained so much weight. But does he know your goal?”
“Yeah, when he pressed me, I told him everything.”
“And? It seems like you want to keep going anyway.”
“Sure. He doesn’t mind.”
“Really?” I couldn’t imagine any parents who wouldn’t have an issue with a goal like that. On the
other hand, there were various oddities in her family. I was really curious to see what kind of guy he’d
be. “So when should I come over? You said your dad’s never home.”
“Not anymore. He wants to pay more attention to me now. At least he has been doing that for the
past week.”
“Well, that’s been going on for the whole millennium! New Year’s resolutions or what?”
“Yeah, probably. Or maybe he wants to keep me from falling into bad company. Who knows?”
“Oh, really? Should I take that personally? I hope he doesn’t think your plan was my idea!”
“Don’t worry. When I say I told him everything, I really mean it.”
We were done, so I called the waiter. This time, I picked up the tab. It felt strange to pay with the
new bills, even though the exchange rate here was still straightforward. I wonder how the Italians were
handling it?
“Great. So I can come whenever I want?” I continued our conversation.
“Hmm. How about Sunday?”
I thought for a moment. “I’d have to leave by eight at the latest. But I could come as early as one.”
“Okay, great, then we can cook something together.”
“You cook? You must have had a few very intense weeks of studying…”
“So—you cook and I watch. Is that better?” I grinned. “But I’ve actually cooked before. Using your
potato salad recipe, no less.”
“At least. Then you know your way around the kitchen by now and can peel potatoes.”
She stuck her tongue out at me.
“I’ll tell you all about my weeks of intensive learning…”

6. Christmas Eve I
Everything was ready. Lynn was working out on the recumbent bike in the living room, watching TV
and sipping a protein shake, when the doorbell rang. On a Sunday. Christmas Eve. Who could that be?
Dad hadn’t forgotten his key, had he?
Since she was still alone, she had no choice but to get up and open the door. Outside, the doorman
was standing next to a hand truck with a large box on it—big enough to hold an old tube TV.
“Hello, Ms. Schiller. I have a delivery here from a Mr. Kryzko. He says you should have it brought
to your room. But I’d also be happy to put it somewhere else in your apartment.”
She thought for a moment whether the package shouldn’t rather be placed under the Christmas
tree. On the other hand, it looked really heavy, and Bart surely had his reasons for his
recommendation.
23

“Yes, please, bring it in.” She led the way while the doorman laboriously set his cart in motion. I
should have tidied up, she thought, and then, oh well. “Just put it in front of the desk.”
She gave him a five-mark tip, which happened to be lying on the desk, and escorted him out of the
apartment. “Merry Christmas.”
What could be in the box? A Christmas present, of course, but what kind? And they hadn't even
agreed on anything like that. She hadn't sent Bart anything and was feeling really lousy about it.
Before she’d even made it back to her room, she heard a key in the door. Dad was finally home!
She’d almost given up hope of seeing him—after all, it was already 5:30. And she’d gone out of her
way to decorate the apartment and even prepared something to eat: potato salad with little sausages.
The recipe Bart had given her at the pool was the only one she could think of—and it was simple
enough that she felt confident she could pull it off.
She turned around immediately, and as soon as the door was open wide enough, she threw her arms
around Bertram.
“You made it after all!”
“Of course I did—I promised you I would.” He set his bag down, lifted Lynn up, and held her a
little way away from him so he could look at her. As he did, he noticed her skeptical expression.
“Hey, am I that unreliable?”
“I don’t know. I don’t see you often enough to say.” He set her down and picked up his bag again.
“Yeah, sorry. It’ll be better next year. I just wasn’t prepared for you to move in with me.” He
walked past her into the apartment.
“Did you rearrange things?”
“Come on.” She closed the door. “It looked like a model apartment in here.”
“Cool. There’s even a Christmas tree.” He turned back to her.
“I’m really sorry, but you know how often I’m here. And before Andreas died, it wasn’t at all clear
whether I’d be living here for much longer.” He smiled at her. “But I’m glad you’ve finally made
yourself at home! The last two times I was here, you hadn’t touched practically anything, let alone
rearranged anything.”
He looked her up and down. A tight top and leggings didn’t hide much of her figure.
“You look great, Didi. When I picked you up, I thought you might be starving to death. But it
seems you’ve recovered from Andreas’s diet in the meantime.”
“Thanks, Dad. But please don’t call me Didi anymore.” She pulled him into the living room, where
the poker table had already been set as a dining table. Real candles were burning on the tree, on the
table, and on some of the furniture. Otherwise, the room was lit only by a few strings of lights and the
TV playing in the background.
“Oh, you’re even using the exercise equipment. I should do that more often, too.” He turned back
to her. “So, you’ve had enough of Andreas’ silly nickname for you. Fine. And what should I call you,
then? By your full name?”

24

“No. Call me ‘Lynn.’ It sounds more grown-up but not so old-fashioned.”
He laughed. “All right, then, Lynn. I actually think it sounds American. Your mother would have
hated it.” He sat down at the table and poured them some of the wine that was already open there. “To
you, Lynn. Hmm, since when have you been drinking wine?”
She picked up the protein shake that was still sitting next to the recumbent bike and clinked glasses
with him.
“That’s mainly for you.”
She took a closer look at her father. He looked funny, with his long beard and short red curls, his
expensive casual suit, and underneath it a T-shirt printed with Einstein’s equations of relativity (not
just E=mc²). Now that he was sitting down, you could see it clearly, since his jacket had shifted away
from his belly to the sides. He wasn’t fat, but he had the typical beer belly—round and firm.
“Come on, sit down next to me.” He rummaged through his leather bag and pulled out a very small
package. “Of course, I have something for you for Christmas, too.”
She took it and placed it under the tree, where another, much larger package was already sitting.
“Thanks, Dad, but we’re eating first.”
“Oh, right, did you make potato salad?”
She answered the unspoken question that hung in the air: “The sausages are still on the stove. I’ll
bring them right away.” With that, she disappeared into the kitchen.
Bertram looked around. Apart from the Christmas decorations, she hadn’t changed much at all.
Still, the living room felt much cozier. The bland pictures on the walls had been replaced by a few Meat
Loaf posters, and here and there were a few books and magazines lying around. The TV was now
positioned all the way to the right in front of the panoramic window, rather than across from the sofa.
Instead, the recumbent bike was now positioned so that you could see both the window and the TV
from there. A gentle darkness had settled over the dreary panorama of Frankfurt, broken up by a
colorful sea of lights. Nothing could be seen of the Taunus in the background. Some commercials
were flickering across the screen, and he turned the TV off.
Lynn came out of the kitchen with a bowl full of sausages.
“Frankfurters and potato salad. What gave you that idea?”
“That’s a traditional Christmas Eve dish here, Bart… uh, I’ve heard.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. I guess I haven’t lived in the area long enough. Have you met someone
from around here?” Of course, her slip of the tongue hadn’t escaped his notice.
“Well, sort of, but not as a boyfriend or anything... um... you know what I mean...,” she
stammered,
“More like... um... a coach. Yeah, exactly.”
“Ah, I see. What kind of training do you do?”
“Oh—swimming, fitness, cooking, stuff like that.”
“All right. So I’m your guinea pig now, huh?” He’d piled his plate high and was just shoveling the
first forkful into his mouth. “Mmm. Damn good.”
"That was easy," she thought, grinning at her father.
“Yeah, his name is Bartholomäus, and he knows some really delicious recipes.”
“Swimming and cooking. Pretty wild combo. How did you come up with that?”
“Well, actually, he’s more like my… nutritionist. And besides cooking, that also includes fitness.”
Phew, that was pretty close to the truth. Is that enough for him now?
“Good idea. Really excellent. I’m sorry I didn’t suggest that to you. Andrea could have really used
some nutritional counseling, too—if she’d let me.”
Tears suddenly welled up in Lynn’s eyes.
“How could you have left me with her?”
“I had no choice!” He came around the table to take her in his arms. “She had custody—I wasn’t
even allowed to see you.”
Lynn snuggled up to him and began to cry. After a while, she managed to say:
“It was all so terrible. We were told such absurd lies, and most people actually believed them. But
when I once found a newspaper in the woods—someone must have left it behind—nothing in it fit
25

with what we’d been taught. When I asked about it at school, I was told it was all just propaganda and
made up. But from then on, I kept an eye out for old newspapers and found them quite often—all
kinds of different ones. Still, what I read in them painted a much more consistent picture of the world
than what we’d been told. “No one could ever construct such a sophisticated web of lies. It simply had
to be the truth.”
“Why didn’t you run away from Neu-Thule?”
“Where would I have gone? I didn’t know anyone on the outside. Most of the time we were kept
busy—always under supervision. I rarely even had a chance to go into the woods to look for
newspapers. Not really until I started my training.”
“What if you’d joined the police?”
Lynn looked at him with wide eyes. “Seriously? You would have joined the police? The enemy?”
Bertram was taken aback at first, but then he realized that this had been part of the doctrine—after
all, he used to think that way himself. And since it was hardly ever discussed in mainstream
newspapers, Lynn probably hadn’t yet realized it was yet another lie.
“You’re right. I probably wouldn’t be.”
“Besides, I wouldn’t have known what to say to them. I mean, we weren’t being abused or anything.
Saying ‘Everyone’s lying to me’ probably wouldn’t have helped much.”
“I’m so sorry. I should have tried to get you out of there much sooner. I never thought they’d
completely lose it like that.”
He held her close for a long time, until she finally said, “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, and I’ll be there for you from now on.”
They sat down again and continued eating. Bertram picked up where they’d left off:
“Anyway, it’s great that you cooked for us. And got a tree and decorated the apartment. That you’re
here at all. You give me a sense of family that I haven’t had in a long time.”
“How could you live like that? So—impersonal.”
“I didn’t really live anywhere at all. I just worked.”
“Is it really that important to make so much money?”
“Oh, come on, that’s not what it’s about at all. But my work is important. It makes a difference.
And it’s urgently necessary for some things to change. Someone has to start.”
“Now you sound just like Mom.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, she always said that we have to save the world. That we shouldn’t kill animals, fly, or drive
cars. And that someone has to start somewhere.”
“She’s right about that much. It’s not for nothing that I once loved Andrea. But she’s drawn
completely the wrong conclusions from it. Reducing traffic doesn’t mean that no one is allowed to
travel anymore and that all peoples have to be neatly separated. That’s nonsense. Instead, goods should
be produced and sold locally. Abolishing factory farming doesn’t mean we all have to become vegans.
What’s wrong with insects or yeast or lab-grown meat? And of course we should release fewer
chemicals into the environment. But for heaven’s sake, that’s no reason to stop consuming essential
minerals and die as a result.” He swallowed hard. “And not every technology was invented solely to
oppress us. I’ve made a few inventions myself that help save energy or produce clean electricity. But
the fact that I got rich from them, she saw as a betrayal of our ideals. Why? I just don’t understand it.”
Now tears welled up in his eyes, and he buried his face in his hands.
Lynn was shocked. She would have to take another look at her mother’s ideas—which she had
completely dismissed over the past few months—and reevaluate them. Once she had composed
herself, she walked around the table to comfort Bertram in turn.
Once he had calmed down, his gaze eventually fell on the bowl full of potato salad.
“That’s quite a serving you’ve made there. For two people, I mean.”
“I’m really hungry, though. Do you want some more?” His plate was still half full.

26

“Sure. It’s really good. Nice and crispy with the onions and pickles. And plenty of mayonnaise on it. I
hate it when the potatoes are so dry.”
After her fourth plate, Lynn said, “I’ve had enough; the rest is for later.” Bertram, who had kept up
with her, said, “You sure can eat.”
“Thanks. You too. Shall we open the presents now?”
“Sure. It’s about time.”
He reached for the larger package, and she took the small box. Of course, she opened that one
faster. Probably a ring. Or a brooch, she thought. But in fact, the box contained only a pair of keys.
“A car?”
“A small one. All-electric. The perfect vehicle for the city. And you can drive it with the scooter
license you already have. Well, isn’t that something?”
“Awesome. Thanks, Dad.” She threw her arms around his neck again. “Now open yours!” There was
a rustling sound as he turned the package while opening it.
“Hmm, sounds like a lot of parts.”
“Yeah, a lot.” She grinned.
“Ah, a puzzle. A ship on the high seas. Not easy. Lots of water and lots of sky. Wait a
minute—you’ve covered up the number of pieces with an 874. Why the odd number? Is something
missing?”
“Heh, heh. Think hard!”
“Hmm.” He sat down and examined the box closely. “It says 1,000 on the bottom. So it should be
25 by 40 pieces. If something’s missing...” He did a quick calculation. “Oh no! Did you take out the
border pieces? Exactly 126 pieces are missing—40 at the top and bottom, 23 on the right and left.”
“Exactly.”
“How mean! Where am I supposed to start?”
“Well, with the ship! Come on, let’s give it a try.”
“Phew. Whatever you say. Is the coffee table big enough for that?”
“It should be. But we probably won’t have much room around it to sort through everything.”
“Then let’s get started!” Bertram plopped down in the middle of the sofa.
“Wait, I’ll come over to you. Working overhead is too much of a hassle for me. Besides, I’d prefer
it to be a little brighter.”
She turned on the main light. Then she remembered the Christmas cookies, which she piled
generously into a large bowl and placed between them. They were busy for the next four hours, but
they actually finished the puzzle—and emptied the bowl.
Bertram leaned back and sighed, “Man, I’m exhausted.”
Lynn glanced at the clock and stood up. “Eleven-thirty. Yeah, I think I’ll go to bed. But I didn’t
actually find it that much harder.”
“You’re right, the rim is probably overrated.”
“It was definitely a great Christmas Eve, Dad.”
“Yes, it was.” He heaved himself off the sofa and hugged her. “Sleep well.” He went into his
bedroom without looking back—and without stopping by the bathroom.

7. Christmas Eve II
She wasn’t actually that tired yet. She grabbed the leftovers from dinner that were still on the table and
took them to her room. As she sat on the bed eating, her gaze fell once again on the huge box. It was
still Christmas Eve—time for a second gift-giving! She finished eating quickly and then tried to push
the box aside to get a better view of the desk, but it wouldn’t budge an inch. So she opened it right
there. On top was a letter:
Hi Lynn, Merry Christmas!
I hope you had the box brought to your room.
You were so eager to know what it feels like to be as heavy as I am. That’s why I built you something
27

that will give you a very realistic sense of what it’s like to weigh 265 lbs. Then you can decide whether
you really want to stick to your plan to gain another hundred kilos. If so, you’ll soon realize why I
recommended that you build more muscle. But my gift will certainly help you get stronger exactly where
you need to be to stay mobile with that kind of weight. Especially if you use it for sports. I hope you
have a great time over the holidays.
See you later, Bart
P.S.: You should get some clothes a few sizes bigger.
“What the hell,” she thought. What on earth could it be? She still had no idea. Underneath the letter
was another piece of cardboard that completely covered whatever was beneath it. She moved it aside,
and a thick instruction manual came into view, resting on something skin-colored. She touched it and
almost thought she was holding real human remains in her hand. Shuddering, she stepped back. She
realized she was still holding the instruction manual and glanced at it. There, in large letters, it read:
“KosmoTex™ Lynn 2000 Fat Suit.”
Okay, no body parts. That was a completely absurd thought anyway. Still, it took her a moment to
calm her heart down. But what the hell was a fat suit? It sounded pretty cool, at least. But had he
suggested the name Lynn because that’s what this thing was called? How sick is that? She opened the
instruction manual.
KosmoTex™ Lynn 2000 Fat Suit

Wow, in twelve languages? ... Well, at least English is one of them. Lynn turned to page 15. She quickly
skimmed the four densely printed pages of text. “The suit mimics the figure (and weight) of a person
who is actually much heavier.” So this now is a fat suit. Totally awesome. Unfortunately, not suitable
for swimming. Well, you can’t have everything. Everything was described in great detail, especially
how to put it on. But would she be able to manage that on her own? She tried to lift the suit out of the
box. Luckily, it wasn’t shrink-wrapped like the instructions said—Bart must have already unpacked it.
Still, it was so heavy that she was pulling it out more than lifting it. Hoisting the top part onto the desk
was a real feat of strength. Phew, done.
There were a few smaller items under the suit. Hmm, I don’t see any energy gel packs. Hopefully
Bart has already used those. What is that? She took an item out of the box. It was an equilateral triangle
with sides about 20 cm long, maybe 5 cm thick in the middle, thinner at the edges. It felt like a piece
of meat or bacon. A strip was missing from the center to one corner. The whole thing was covered on
one side by a damn realistic-looking skin that extended about 3 cm beyond the edges. Around the
center, the skin was loosely covered with reddish, curly hair that looked strikingly like her pubic hair.
She thought for a moment. Oh, she thought, this must be the mysterious pubic pad. Should I really try
this? She reread the relevant section of the instruction manual. If so, then before putting on the suit. But
I’d have to shave first. She didn’t have much pubic hair yet, but it would certainly be all the more
painful if something tugged at it. Still, it tempted her greatly.
She made up her mind quickly. All right, then. I’ll have to borrow Dad’s razor. She tiptoed into the
bathroom and looked for the wet razor and shaving cream. She was about to leave when it occurred to
her that a new blade might not be a bad idea either. She found the package, but her hand suddenly
trembled so badly that she dropped it as she reached for it. The sound seemed unnaturally loud to her,
and she listened for a while to see if Bertram had heard anything. Apparently not. She scurried back
to her room with her loot and locked the door. Only then did she realize that she’d better shave in the
28

bathroom, too. It wasn’t called a wet razor for nothing. Frustrated, she sat down on the bed for the
moment. If she turned on the water now, she was sure to wake Bertram. Oh well, it’ll probably work
out fine, she told herself encouragingly. She undressed and took a bath towel out of the closet. She
spread it out on the bed before sitting on it and trying to see her genitals. To do so, she had to contort
herself quite a bit, which she didn’t recall having to do before. Only then did she realize what a huge
belly she’d put on over the last few months. She stroked it and cradled it in her hands. Her belly was so
wonderfully soft. When she stuck a finger in her navel to test how deep it was already, the touch sent a
tingle through her pussy, and she could feel her vagina getting wet. Shave first, she told herself sternly.
She took some shaving cream and spread it through her pubic hair. Would that be enough? Just to
be safe, she added a little more. Now she could barely make out where her labia began. Never mind, I
should be careful anyway. She took the old blade out of the razor—it was indeed already chipped and
rusty, and short stubble was still stuck to it. Ugh, she thought in disgust, where do I put this now? For
lack of a better idea, she simply placed it next to her on the bath towel. Carefully, she inserted a new
blade. And here we go. She started at the very edge and moved the razor toward the center, but stopped
before the spot where she suspected her labia began. The razor had left a clean, hair-free strip, but was
now itself thickly covered with foam and hair. Probably too much foam after all. How do I get this off
without water? For better or worse, she cleaned the razor on the bath towel as best she could. She
continued like this for a while, until she had completely shaved off the foam.
"It wasn't that hard after all," she thought, until she noticed blood seeping from small cuts in the
delicate skin of her mons pubis. Besides, she hadn't managed to remove some of the hair, especially the
strands right next to her labia. Great—should I have been more aggressive or more careful? Annoyed,
she stood up and wanted to wipe the remaining lather from her legs with the bath towel, but she’d
forgotten the old razor blade still hanging in the towel, which now cut into her hip. “Ouch!” Oops, she
thought, holding one hand over her mouth and the other over her crotch. The bath towel fell to the
floor, scattering its load of hair and lather across the carpet. Damn it. She bit her lower lip to hold
back both the words on the tip of her tongue and the tears welling up in her eyes. And yet everything
had started out so well. She took a band-aid out of her desk drawer and applied it to the cut, which
was now starting to burn like hell. Then she applied some skin cream to her pubic area to soothe the
skin, which was now also irritated and slightly reddened. Then she disposed of the razor blade and
gave the carpet a quick clean. She threw the bath towel in the laundry, and that was enough for today.
Exhausted, she flopped onto the bed and, surprisingly, fell asleep immediately.
She woke up the next morning to the sound of Bertram cursing from the bathroom.
“Where’s that stupid razor when you need it?”
Just what she needed. Of all times, did he have to shave this morning? But then she had an idea: she
packed the razor, a set of blades, and shaving cream into a small box, which she hid behind her back.
Then she went into the bathroom to “help” her father. She opened a small cabinet and pretended to
take the box out of it. Then she handed it to him. “Here you go.” And she went back to her room.
Bertram called after her, “How’s he supposed to get in there?”
“You’re never there, so I moved him out of the way.”
“Hmph. Well, whatever. Thanks.” Phew, that went well.
When he was done shaving, Bertram called out, “Since you’re awake anyway, will you have
breakfast with me?” He went into the kitchen. “Wow, the fridge is really well-stocked.”
“We did have three holidays coming up, after all.” Lynn threw on a bathrobe and went from her
room to the bathroom. “All right, if you set the table, I’ll have breakfast with you—I’ll just take a
quick shower.”
“Sure thing.” He was still clattering around in the kitchen when she came out of the bathroom with
wet hair and sat down at the table. Bertram came into the room with a large tray piled high with
dishes, cutlery, bread, butter, and jams.
“Watch out, get out of the way!” He managed to balance the whole thing safely to the table and set
it down.
“Why don’t you go twice?”
29

“I’ll have to anyway.” He spread the stuff out on the table and then loaded the leftovers from last
night onto the tray.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Tea. And maybe a glass of orange juice.”
“Coming right up.”
Dad is obviously trying to make up for everything he’s missed over the past few months in a single
weekend, she thought. Or he’s planning something I won’t like. She suddenly felt a lump in her throat.
“Why are you up so early, anyway?”
He came back with the teapot and the bottles, along with several other ingredients on the tray, and
sat down for the moment. He looked embarrassed.
“Well, you know, I’m afraid I have to leave again. But don’t worry! I’ll be back by Friday at the
latest, and I’ll stay for the time being. So we can definitely celebrate New Year’s Eve together.” Once
again, she had to bite her lower lip to keep it from trembling. It really shouldn’t have come as a
surprise. As soon as she felt up to it, she reached for the teapot and poured herself some tea. Steam
rose as she blew on it, obscuring the moisture
in the corners of her eyes.
“I’m really sorry, but it’s just going to take a little while for me to reschedule everything. I can’t just
let people down.”
“It’s okay.” Her voice sounded firmer than she felt. “When do you have to leave?”
“The train doesn’t leave until just after one. So I still have a few hours.”
“Well then, let’s just finish breakfast in peace.”
“That’s my girl.” He reached over.
Maybe a few more days on my own wouldn't be so bad after all. It's not like I don't have anything to
do. Speaking of which. She looked at her father.
“How do you actually manage to shave thoroughly without cutting yourself?”
“Teh. If I knew that, I probably wouldn’t have a beard.” He lifted his head so she could see his
neck, which he had just shaved. It was covered in little red dots.
Now it was his turn to size her up. He was about to ask why I wanted to know. She couldn’t stand
his gaze and blushed. But he didn’t ask.
“Luckily, it’s not that difficult down there—you can shave underwater. It doesn’t irritate the skin as
much.”
Her face was glowing like never before in her life.
“Well, you’re certainly not the first young woman to use her father’s razor for that. There’s nothing
wrong with that at all.”
She wanted to sink into the ground with embarrassment. How could I have been so stupid as to ask
that question? It was obvious he’d figure out right away what was going on.
“Now pull yourself together, okay?” For a while, they continued eating in tense silence.
“So, what’s your nutritionist like?”
The question was the last straw. She jumped up.
“I’m not involved with him, okay?” He’s not interested in me. I’m too young. And too skinny.
“Just wait a minute!”
“Just leave me alone!” She slammed her bedroom door behind her and threw herself onto the bed.
She covered her ears with her pillow.
Bertram shook his head. What did I do wrong? He’d lost his appetite now, too, and started clearing
the table. Oh well, it’s just puberty. Besides, we barely know each other. We’ll get used to each other
eventually. He tidied up neatly and wiped everything down, then turned on the dishwasher, even though
it was only half full. The hour and a half he had left before he had to leave suddenly seemed incredibly
long. What was he supposed to do with all that time? He got dressed, checked again to make sure he
had everything important with him, even watered the plants—something the property management
usually took care of—and made his bed, which he normally always left unmade. There was still time.
Lynn hadn’t shown up, and loud music could be heard coming from her room. Rammstein.
Finally, he gave up. He wrote her a note and left it on the living room table.
30

“I love you.” Then he left, even though it was way too early.
Actually, Lynn was more annoyed with herself than with her father. He saw right through her, as if
she were made of glass. He was just too smart—even smarter than Bart. And even before that, she
could hardly hide anything from him. Once her thoughts had progressed that far, she wondered why
she wanted to hide anything at all. Sure, in New Thule, that had always been absolutely necessary. But
Dad didn’t mean her any harm. She just had to learn to trust him more. Could she do that? So far,
unlike her mother, he had never let her down. He was just never there. She decided to give it a try, if
he really did take better care of her in the future.
And Bart? Okay, he’d rejected her. But could she blame him for thinking she was too young? The
age difference was pretty big. And she didn’t want him to be breaking the law, either. She just had to
hold out for three more months—which, to her, felt like an eternity. Besides, she couldn’t really blame
him for thinking she was too thin. She knew she was too thin herself! But she did want to gain weight.
Didn’t he believe she could do it? Weren’t the twenty pounds she’d already gained proof enough?
She just had to be more patient. Maybe everything would turn out all right...
That brought her back to that Christmas present. What was it supposed to be—a test? And what
did she have to do to pass it? She went back to the desk. I can do this.
After that, she tried on the suit—which actually weighed an incredible forty kilos—properly and
worked out in it. And even though everything hurt, she worked out again on Tuesday morning. She
had reserved a table for herself and Dad for a proper Christmas dinner on Tuesday evening. Now,
unfortunately, she would probably have to go there alone...

8. The Frog
On the way to the restaurant, her calves suddenly felt like they were on fire. But I’m not even wearing
the suit anymore, she thought. But apparently she had pushed herself so hard that her muscles were no
longer willing to bear even her actual weight. It wasn’t very far, but why should she torture herself? So
she took three steps back and took the elevator to the underground garage. After all, her new vehicle
was parked there, one she hadn’t even looked at yet. No idea which parking spot belonged to Dad’s
apartment. She’d never been down here before, either. Luckily, the garage was better lit than she’d
expected. She looked around for a single-seater vehicle. At the moment, there were only a few cars
here at all—many of the residents were probably away for the holidays. Among the rest, she saw only
one, uh, object that didn’t look like an ordinary car. A bright green thing with a sleek shape but
grotesquely stretched-out front wheels and just one wheel in the back that looked more like a frog in
mid-leap. Oh no, I bet that’s it. It certainly looked futuristic enough to please her dad. She walked over,
and sure enough, her key fit.
The door—there was only one on the right side—was made entirely of Plexiglas and opened
upward. On the left, there was a window instead, which could apparently be rolled down normally.
Inside, there was a sort of reclining seat, with a shelf behind it for a bag. Not exactly a lot of storage
space. The whole thing was very aerodynamic, with an elongated windshield. She wriggled inside,
which was surprisingly easy. The seat was made of hard plastic, but not as uncomfortable as it had
looked. And it was wide enough that she would definitely still fit in it next year. She pulled a special
lever to close the door after searching for the mechanism for a while. Luckily, she’d gotten a license
for agricultural and forestry vehicles (including small motorcycles)—each one looked different, so no
design could surprise her anymore. She felt like she was in a soapbox car with a roof. Where’s the
engine, anyway? she wondered. Not up front, anyway, because her feet almost reached the very front.
Oh well, I’ll figure it out.
She turned the ignition, but apart from a row of lights coming on, nothing happened. Not a sound.
Hmm, the handlebars really do look like those on a moped, so let’s just give it a try. She twisted the
throttle and the vehicle actually started rolling—still completely silent. Pretty cool, she thought, and
tried to find the exit. After the third dead end, she found the right way. Luckily, the barrier opened
automatically, because she would have been too far to the right in her lane to reach a
31

terminal—especially since she was sitting so low. I’ll have to remember that on the way back. Once she
was on the road, she opened the throttle further, and the speedometer needle literally jumped to 50
km/h. Hallelujah, what acceleration. I think I’ll call this device here “Frog”. The color, shape, and
behavior certainly fit the name. She drove around the area for quite a while until she could get her
bearings. The perspective was so different—and what would have been a manageable distance on foot
turned out to be a real hassle by car. There were one-way streets and detours everywhere, and near her
destination she had to drive two extra laps before she found a parking spot. Plus, getting out of the
Frog was significantly harder than getting in. She still hadn’t figured out where the engine was hidden.
In any case, no noise had come from the back. She’d only heard the tires. But that didn’t matter much
to her right now. Now she just wanted to eat something.
She was a little late, but her table was still free. No wonder—she’d ordered a whole goose with kale
and dumplings for herself and Dad, and it had been specially prepared. She decided not to tell the
waiter that she was alone.
“You can go ahead and serve it; my father should be here any minute.”
Let’s see how much of this I can manage. Even half a goose was a generous portion, but she had no
trouble with that.
At some point, the waiter asked, “Did your date stand you up?”
Quite an impertinent question. “Seems so,” she grumbled, “but don’t worry, if there’s anything left
over, you can pack it up for me.” Stupid guy. Just you wait, there won’t be anything left here.
Furious, she piled her plate high for the third time. And then a fourth time. In the end, though, she
had to give up. She just couldn’t manage the last bit. Still, she was quite pleased with her stomach’s
capacity.
“Would you like dessert?” the waiter asked smugly.
She glared at him. “Yes, please. I’d like the mixed ice cream.” Ice cream is always a good choice.
After that, she was so full that she got a stomachache. Why did he have to provoke her like that?
She went back to her frog and, as soon as she sat down, remained there for a while, exhausted. Her
curiosity about how the engine worked began to stir again. She looked around and finally found a
manual in the side compartment under the window. A nice read for tomorrow.
Back home, she lay down in bed but couldn’t sleep. Her stomach wouldn’t stop growling, and the
stretching exercises she’d gotten into the habit of doing lately to get her digestion going after
overeating were out of the question today. Her muscles were already aching all over anyway. So she
sat down in the TV chair and flipped through the manual. Lots of short technical sections, not really
suitable for reading. But at least she found a section on the motors. There were three of them, and they
were actually built right into the wheels. Hub motors that also recovered energy when braking. As a
result, the car used so little electricity that the battery lasted for a hundred kilometers. Oh dear, how
do I recharge it?
She’d driven no more than fifteen kilometers today, despite all the detours, so that shouldn’t be a
problem. She kept scrolling until she found out there was a charging cable that let you charge the car
from a standard outlet. That would take about six hours. Okay, so there just had to be a socket in the
underground garage. She hadn’t checked for one, but she doubted it. Electricity was expensive, after
all, and down there it was hard to tell who was using it. That’s kind of completely pointless. Are there
such things as electric charging stations? But who can just stand there for six hours? She absolutely had
to ask Dad how he’d actually planned this. Well, he wants to be back on Friday, and tomorrow is
Wednesday. I don’t really plan on driving around much, so it should last until then. She put the manual
away and instead flipped through the TV channels listlessly until she suddenly had to go to the
bathroom. After that, the nausea was gone, and she could finally go to sleep.
The next morning, she was wide awake. She quickly freshened up and then took the subway to the
Zeil. She had two fish sandwiches for breakfast and then went in search of plus-size clothing. She
wasn’t quite sure what might fit, so she bought several items in multiple sizes. Jackets, pants, blouses,
underwear—her bags were starting to get really heavy. In a shoe store, she asked for boots with a wide
shaft, but unfortunately without success. However, they at least recommended a specialty store that
32

supposedly carried such items. Of course, not in Frankfurt. So she jotted down the address and first
took her purchases home. Then she would probably have to drive to Usingen. Where was that,
anyway? After consulting her road atlas for a while and figuring out a route, she went to her
Frosch—Usingen was just too difficult to reach by public transit—and set off. Luckily, it was close
enough that the battery charge should last for the round trip. But she’d better not get too lost. She
stopped at a bakery she passed and picked up a couple of schnitzel sandwiches and two pastries, which
she ate during the drive. The store wasn’t that easy to find, but after asking for directions twice, she
finally made it—even though both times she had to answer a bunch of follow-up questions about what
kind of vehicle she was driving. The selection at the shoe store was actually pretty good. She bought a
stylish pair “for a friend.” The saleswoman found it odd that she wasn’t buying the shoes for herself but
having someone else try them on, but she didn’t care. On the way back, she ate a large bag of trail mix
that she’d packed as emergency rations.
By the time she finally got home, it was already dark. Since she was there anyway, she looked
around the underground parking garage for an outlet. As she’d feared, she couldn’t find one. But there
was a suspicious-looking plastic box on the wall, right in front of her parking spot. A thick cable led
into it, and it looked as if it had been installed there only recently. But it was locked, and none of her
keys fit. Well, she hadn’t expected that either, but she had to try anyway. All right, that means no more
trips with the Frog for the time being.
All the snacks she’d had throughout the day hadn’t been nearly enough, and she was hungry again.
So it was time to finally go out for a proper meal. For better or worse, it had to be somewhere within
walking distance. And of course, she was determined to show off her suit today! Putting on the suit
with all the extras wasn’t a problem anymore, but it took time. Mainly because she still had to try on
all the new clothes first, which was much more time-consuming and quite sweaty in the suit. She
realized she’d shopped too conservatively. Only the largest items she’d picked out fit, and not even
some of the tops. And almost nothing was too big. Never mind, the rest will surely fit soon enough
without the suit, she thought to herself. She sorted everything by actual size into her closet. I’ve been
wondering all along why anyone would need such a huge closet. I guess now I know. When she was
finally done trying things on, she decided to go to ‘My Sushi’. It was close enough that she could walk
there, and she’d hardly find a parking spot closer than this apartment anyway. Without the suit, though,
the walk had seemed much shorter. To make matters worse, it even started to snow. Or rather, flurry.
But Dad had warned her that city folks see snow so rarely that even a single flake could cause total
traffic chaos. She was therefore glad she’d decided to look for a restaurant as close by as possible. Not
to mention her frog’s battery level. Unfortunately, she didn’t encounter any other pedestrians, so she
couldn’t gauge their reactions to her new outfit.
That changed the moment she walked into the restaurant. The waiter, who was supposed to show
her to her seat, gave her a dismissive look—she probably wouldn’t be able to surprise him with the
amount of food she planned to devour. She wasn’t quite sure yet if she liked that. The seats around the
conveyor belt were very close together, and for the first time, she found it difficult to get into her chair
without disturbing other guests. That was more to her liking. In the future, she certainly wouldn’t be
overlooked so easily. She had been out for sushi before, at the “Sushi Circle” near Südbahnhof, and so
she thought she knew what to expect. But most of what was moving along the conveyor belt here was
still completely unfamiliar to her. Fantastic. She’d been worried she wouldn’t get to try anything new
today. She wondered how long it would take her to try everything at least once. She couldn’t fathom
how she’d managed to eat the same thing three times a day for two months. All the things she’d
missed out on. Nothing but fries! She had to shake her head to push the thought out of her mind.
As she ate, she watched the other guests. Quite a few of them seemed to have never eaten sushi
before, or at least not the kind served here. Even so, some appeared dissatisfied with the vast selection
and ordered additional varieties from the chefs standing in the middle of the conveyor belt, who were
constantly restocking it with more plates. She also took a closer look at the menu, which lay on the
table in front of each guest as a placemat. Everything visible on the conveyor belt was also listed on
the menu. She found this very helpful for identifying the different types of fish, but especially for
recognizing which items were desserts. She had already made a few mistakes in that regard. And
33

indeed, the menu also included items she hadn’t seen on the conveyor belt yet. There were actually 60
different plates. Would she be able to try everything? She tried to estimate how much others were
eating. Since most of them were piling their plates into a stack, that wasn’t too difficult. Many left
when their stack was about 10 to 15 plates high. The hungrier ones managed 20 to 25. The highest
stack (actually two) had 42 plates. The man sitting at that table, however, was also quite burly. Okay,
so that was the benchmark. After all, she wanted to do her new figure justice.
She only made it to 39, but that was okay, because the 21 plates she was still missing were varieties
she’d already tried at Sushi Circle. And she got a lot of admiring glances, so it couldn’t have been that
little. In any case, she was stuffed to the brim.
The walk home turned into a real slippery slope, because the snow had mostly melted on the warm
ground, and now that it had started snowing again, it had frozen into a thin layer of ice. At one point,
she took a pretty nasty fall on her back, but the suit cushioned the impact well. Still, she worried the
rest of the way home that it might have been damaged. So, once back home, she took it off
immediately and checked it. Fortunately, she couldn’t see any damage. Relieved, she went to bed.
Thursday. Another day that started with sore muscles. She really didn’t feel like getting out of bed at
all, let alone working out. So she just reached for the book on her nightstand—the one she’d been
meaning to start for ages—and read. It wasn’t until early afternoon that she had to go to the bathroom,
and afterward she was absolutely starving. She didn’t feel like cooking, and she certainly didn’t want to
leave the house. So she ordered something. While she waited for it, she ate a whole bag of mandarins
and kept reading. She only got up again to receive the delivery: a 40-centimeter pizza and a large
portion of tortellini with cream sauce. The book had long since completely captivated her, so she
couldn’t stop until she’d finished it. That was around half past one. By then she’d long since polished
off both dishes before it occurred to her that she still had the rest of the goose in the fridge. After that
was gone, she’d later also tucked into a can of pea stew and was therefore still stuffed to the gills.
She had just turned off the light when she heard a noise coming from the front door. It sounded as
if someone were trying to quietly pick the lock. A burglar? She grabbed the bronze Buddha figurine
that served as a paperweight on her desk and went into the hallway. There was still a rattling at the
door until the bolt snapped back with a distinct clang. She stood behind the door and raised the
figurine with both arms. The rattling continued, and she heard a muffled curse. “Damn key.”
“Dad?” She lowered her arms.
“Oh, sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He turned on the light and looked at her in surprise.
“What are you doing with that paperweight?”
“Well, who’s sneaking into an apartment in the dark?”
“Like I said, I didn’t mean to wake you. Did you think I was a burglar or something?”
“What do you think?”
“And you wanted to hit him with the figurine?”
“Well… yeah.”
“Not a particularly good idea. What would you have done if you’d hit him?” Now that it was light
out, he had no trouble getting the key out of the lock.
“That would clearly have been self-defense.”
“Maybe. But you’d still have to live with it. And what if you hadn’t hit him? Or at least not properly?
Or what if he hadn’t been alone?”
“Uh... I haven’t really thought about that yet.”
“Hmm. But you really should. We’re well insured. You’d be better off just hiding and hoping they
don’t find you and leave once they’ve got what they want. If they hurt you, no one can make up for
that. Besides, we’re in a secure building here. It would be extremely unlikely for anyone to break
in—especially on the top floor!”
“Okay, okay. Don’t get so worked up.”
“What if you’d hit me with that figure?”
She turned pale. “Yeah, I’m sorry. That really wasn’t a good idea. I just didn’t expect you until
tomorrow. Who else could it have been?”
34

“Why?” he asked, feigning innocence. “It’s already Friday.”
“Yeah, yeah. In the middle of the night.”
“I wanted to get here earlier, but the train was almost three hours late—some kind of damage to
the overhead wires.”
“Funny, that happened to me last week too. Apparently overhead wires can’t handle three flakes of
snow.” They both had to laugh.
“Anyway, it’s great to have you back.” She hugged him.
“Yeah, finally. By the way, you should look out the window more often. There’s definitely more than
three flakes.”
“Really? Well, I’m doubly glad I wasn’t driving the Frog.”
“Frosch? Oh, you’re talking about your car!”
“Oh, uh, right. By the way, how did you actually think I was supposed to charge it? I can hardly run
an extension cord from the 18th floor down to the underground parking garage, can I?”
“What? I had a power outlet installed in the parking lot just for that.”
“Yeah, I figured as much, but it’s locked.”
“Of course.”
“And I don’t have a key!”
Bertram slapped his forehead. “Sorry. I completely forgot.” He went into his office—a place she’d
never seen him before—and opened one desk drawer after another. “Wait, I’ll have it in a second—ah,
here.”
“Thanks. It wasn’t that urgent anyway.”
“How do you like the car, anyway?”
“Flashy, but cool. Let’s talk about it tomorrow, okay? It’s already pretty late.”
“All right. Sleep well.”

9. Lynn Home Alone
Of course, Lynn didn’t recount all of this word for word; rather, I pieced it together from what she had
told me on the way home from Oberschweinstiege and what we discussed the following week at her
father’s house.
But what really happened in the time between Bertram’s departure and the lonely Christmas
dinner? Lynn didn’t tell me that until much later. However, I don’t want to withhold it from the
interested reader:
She went back to her desk. I can do this. But where should she start? Should she tackle the seat cushion
again? Or should she just ignore it and get right to work on the suit?
Her crotch still felt so sore that she decided to put the crotch pad aside for now. What else was in
the box? Cleaning spray, a charger, adhesive cream, and—oh yes, the double chin and cheek pads. I
might as well give those a try. After all, she didn’t have any problems with annoying facial hair. She
stood in front of the mirror and experimented a bit. The piece covered quite a bit more than she would
have expected for the chin. Once she figured out exactly how to position it, she coated it with adhesive
cream and stuck it to her face. Smooth it out and wait... then the cheek pads—those were easy to
attach. Wow, what a moon face, she thought. Is that really me? She felt around and jiggled her face. It
fit perfectly. Would I really have to gain just 40 kg to look like this? That seemed somehow unlikely to
her. On the other hand, she hoped so. She looked so cute. Once she’d had her fill of looking at herself,
she saw no reason to keep those pads on any longer. So she tried to figure out how to take them off
again. How did that work again? She fiddled with the edge and actually managed to peel off a piece of
skin, then pulled on it. She felt something crumble underneath, and suddenly she could easily peel off
the rest. That was really easy. In the mirror, she saw that most of the adhesive cream hadn’t come off.
She ran her finger over her chin. It felt rough and dry, and flakes of adhesive cream crumbled off. She
rubbed a little, and most of it came off that way, even in other places, but it didn’t come off cleanly.
Oh well, it does say something about soap and water. She went into the bathroom, and with those
35

tools, everything was quickly removed. The remaining cream in her room turned into a gray powder
when she tried to touch it, but it vacuumed up fairly well. Note: Remove the upholstery over the sink.
But now, really, on to the suit! She took off the bathrobe she was still wearing and sat down naked
at the desk—she could finally put the empty box away. She thought it would feel strange to slip into
the suit, but the fabric was almost like a sock. Smooth and elastic and pleasant against the skin. She
needed a little pull to get her foot through the bottom opening. The zipper was sandwiched between
the inner fabric and the padding. This made the zipper difficult to grip, but you couldn’t feel any seam
on the inside, and only a thin line was visible from the outside. The calves were incredibly thick. How
was she supposed to get into a pair of boots with those? But they felt good, really nice and plump and
firm. So, on to the next part. Now came the forearms. Start with the right one, she was advised.
Zipping up the forearm was easy, but hooking the one on the upper arm was a challenge. The padding
here was very thick but extra soft, which made it difficult to grasp both ends with her left hand at the
same time. Then the same on the left. She immediately understood why she was supposed to put on
this side later, because her right arm now felt really clunky and heavy, which her right hand’s greater
dexterity easily compensated for. Handicapped as she was on the left side, she would never have
managed to hook the zipper. She managed it in the end, though, but she was already panting quite a
bit by the time she was finally done, and took a moment’s break.
And now, lift it up. It sounded trivial, but it felt like she was lifting two crates of soda at once and
trying to push them around in front of her. At forty kilos, there was quite a bit of belly there. Lifting it
around felt great, but it was very exhausting. By the time she was finally halfway satisfied, her legs
were shaking. She fumbled with both hands at the back of her neck to hook the zipper. Once she’d
managed that, her legs carried her

36

No more. She sank into her chair and tried to catch her breath. She managed to zip it up a little bit
even while sitting, but then she had no choice but to stand up again. Never in her life had she had to
concentrate so hard and take a running start just to stand up. Is it really always like this for overweight
people? How crazy. Standing up, she could jiggle it forward and then pull it down a little bit at the
back. It was a whole new experience for her to realize just how far the distance from her neck to her
tailbone could be. At the end of it, she had to sit down again. Now that the weight was better
distributed, however, she didn’t feel quite as weighed down anymore. Since the zippers on her upper
arms were already hooked in, she could now close them while sitting, which was refreshingly easy. Her
arms were wonderfully flabby and were pushed up by the rolls of fat on her sides. She could have
easily forgotten to hook them in. What’s left to do now? Oh yes, the breasts. She had hoped to be able
to handle that while sitting, but no chance. Her belly was enormous, and her breasts were practically
being pressed into her face by it. What a pair of boobs! To adjust them, she unfortunately had to stand
up again. Fiddling with her breasts gave her a fascinating sensation. Her nipples became hard almost
immediately. Surprisingly, that made positioning them easier. Afterward, she stood with her legs wide
apart so she could slide the crotch piece between her legs, but that wasn’t enough. She also had to
half-squat until she got it through. There was a wide gap between her legs, stretching from her
tailbone to her lower abdomen. So going to the bathroom wouldn’t be a problem. Why is it so hot in
here? She felt so dizzy she could barely stand up. When the crotch pieces were finally in place and she
could zip down the last two zippers, she was already seeing stars. Done! Or was there something else?
Her thoughts felt kind of fuzzy and foggy, and she plopped down into her chair, which let out an
unhealthy squeak... Oh yeah! The cooling system! How does that work again? She fumbled around her
back with her left hand. It felt very nicely flabby, but the switch had to be there somewhere. Oh, right,
it’s on the right! With her thick arms, that side was out of reach for her left hand. After switching
hands, her index finger found its target, and with a cacophony of clicks, the fan sprang to life. A cold
shiver ran down her spine.
Slowly, her thoughts began to clear again. That was close. She’d almost fainted. Maybe it had taken
her a little too long to put on the suit after all. Sweat was pouring down her armpits, her breasts, and
her crotch, and she began to shiver. Was there any way to adjust the cooling system? She couldn’t find
anything about it in the manual. But after a while, once she had stopped sweating, she felt better again.
Finally, she managed to stand up and walk over to the mirror to look at herself.
The woman staring back at her from the mirror was beautiful. She’d always loved dressing up with
pillows under her shirt and imagining she was really fat—but this was something else entirely. The
proportions of her breasts to her stomach and buttocks perfectly matched her preferences—not too
much butt, but plenty of chest and stomach, and neither stubby legs nor stilts, but well-proportioned
limbs. Her genitals, however, were practically invisible between her wide thighs and the slightly
sagging belly, and her face, as expected, looked far too gaunt. She slid both hands under her belly and
lifted it, expecting to feel a tingling in her pussy like yesterday. But nothing happened. To her hands,
the belly felt almost real and wonderfully heavy, but it wasn’t her belly after all—it was just a suit. She
was a little disappointed. Besides, just standing here alone was making her sweat again. Yes, to carry
around this weight, I definitely need more muscles. I’d better start training right away. After all, you’re
not supposed to wear the suit for more than two hours at the beginning. She went into the living room,
where the Christmas decorations suddenly seemed completely out of place. She started taking down
the string lights, but after the second one, she couldn’t lift her arms anymore. Her muscles were
burning, and her legs were trembling again. Two hours suddenly seemed far too long, and she didn’t
even dare to think about exercising anymore. Despite that, she forced herself to at least keep tidying
up. It went slowly and with breaks, and by the time she had finished taking down the decorations, she
was at the end of her strength. The clock confirmed, however, that she had indeed taken nearly two
hours.

37

She dragged herself into her room and immediately began taking off the suit. At first, she planned to
leave the cooling system on while doing so, but then she couldn’t open the zippers—the cooling switch
locked the suit shut at the same time. That’s why she’d heard that clicking sound from all sides when she
turned it on earlier. So I hadn’t just imagined it after all. She’d have to get through taking it off without
the cooling system. Just to be safe, she went over the instructions one more time so she could do it as
quickly as possible afterward. But she needn’t have worried, because she got out of the suit much
faster and more easily than she’d feared. In the opposite direction, the zippers opened almost on their
own. Still, she was so exhausted afterward that she nearly fell asleep standing up. She barely managed
the three steps to the bed and collapsed.
When she woke up, it was already dark, and every part of her body ached. Her whole body was one
big, excruciating muscle ache, but she was as hungry as a wolf. So she grabbed all the leftover
Christmas cookies from the kitchen and dragged herself over to the TV with them. Once she’d stuffed
every last crumb into her mouth, she lay back down in bed and reflected on the experience of wearing
the fat suit. Sure, it had been exhausting, but also incredibly fascinating. She loved the weight, and she
looked so great in it. She wanted to try it again right away, but this time with all the extras. She started
to put on the pubic pad—and that’s as far as she got. Just like last night, she felt a tingling in her pussy
again as she lifted her (real) belly to position the pad. But this time, the tingling intensified as she
placed the pad around her vulva. She just thought, unlike with men, a slight erection doesn’t help me
adjust it. It was incredibly hard for her to stay still for a minute until the adhesive cream set. When she
was finally able to start masturbating, she noticed how much deeper and tighter her vulva had become
because of the pad, which turned her on indescribably. She quickly reached orgasm, and at the
thought of what wonderful surprises a more voluptuous body might still hold for her, she was able to
sustain it for a long time. Exhausted, satisfied, and stuffed, she fell asleep again.
When she woke up again, it was still dark, but she desperately needed to use the bathroom. Afterward,
she felt an unpleasant emptiness in her stomach and wolfed down a bag of chips before she could even
think about what else to eat. She decided on a can of hot dogs, after which her hunger shifted further
down. She ate an entire liter-sized container of walnut ice cream while masturbating. As she drifted
off to sleep, happy, she briefly realized she was still wearing the shampoo cap.
The next morning, she was already totally turned on again. As she was in the middle of pleasuring
herself once more, she wondered if it was because of the cushion. What would it be like if she put on
the whole outfit? The thought sent a real surge of excitement through her pussy. Afterward, she had to
go to the bathroom urgently, but then she immediately started getting dressed. It went much faster this
time, mainly because she now knew the quirks of the zippers, but also because she took less time to
admire the individual pieces. She definitely didn’t want to overheat again. Still, she worked up quite a
sweat. She just didn’t have the strength yet to lug all that weight around so frantically. She had to catch
her breath for a while before she could continue with the cheek pads and double chin. Finally, she was
ready to step in front of the mirror again.
Wow, she looked hot. Everything looked so real. She reached between her legs. With the padding,
her pubic mound was now more visible again. The extra padding pushed her lower abdomen and
thighs out a bit, making them look even thicker. Slowly, she stroked upward across her belly, felt the
breeze around her navel, and finally reached her breasts. They were now so large that she could no
longer cup them with one hand each. As she passed over the areolas, she felt how hard her nipples had
become, and the tingling in her pussy was back too, stronger than ever before. She realized why there
wasn’t just a slit under her breasts for sweat to escape, but why the entire center had been left open.
The feeling of authenticity that she had missed so much on her stomach was preserved this way.
Brilliant. She was already so wet again that she

38

She threw herself onto the bed—which protested with a dangerous creak—and another round of
masturbation began. She rolled onto her knees, which was surprisingly difficult and required
considerable effort from both arms. Her stomach was still resting on the sheet, jiggling provocatively.
Getting her thick arm past it to reach her genitals required quite a bit of pushing and squeezing, which
made her even hornier. She had to lean forward so far that her face was pressed into her breasts,
which felt strange. With real breasts, it would certainly be quite sensual, but this way it was rather
strange. All the movements had also set her butt in motion, and it wobbled from side to side. This
sensation transferred very well to her real buttocks underneath, which she found incredibly erotic. Her
thighs clamped tightly around the hand between her legs and rubbed against it with every movement.
All that jiggling and wobbling everywhere heightened her libido so much that it was almost
unbearable, and brought her to the strongest and longest orgasm of her life so far. Afterward, she was
so out of breath that she thought she was going to suffocate. It took ten minutes for her pulse to
normalize enough for her to sit up.
She suddenly felt terribly exposed. Technically, most of her body was covered by the suit, but not
the crucial parts. The only problem was that she didn’t have any underwear she could fit under the suit,
let alone outerwear. And she wouldn’t be able to go shopping again until tomorrow. But wait, no! She
still had her pillow pajamas. Those would definitely fit. If you thought about it, they were kind of like a
fat suit, too. Just not as professional. Well, more of a makeshift improvisation. She took them out of the
closet and put them on. She felt hardly any less naked in them, but at least she could go to the door if
someone came by.
Even as a little girl, she had always loved stuffing her pillow into her pajamas and pretending to be
fat. She’d been fascinated by the idea ever since she’d been to someone’s wedding when she was four.
There had been this round, soft woman who’d picked her up. She wanted to be like that, too. Mom
was horrified when she demonstrated this to her and forbade her from doing it, claiming it would ruin
the pajamas. That didn’t stop her, though. She simply learned that it was better to hide the things that
mattered to her from Mom rather than show them off. Of course, Mom noticed it eventually anyway,
and from then on she had to sleep in a T-shirt and underwear. They were all so tight that, try as she
might, no more pillows would fit underneath. At eleven, she stole one of Dad’s old pajamas; back then,
she could even fit three pillows in there—two in front and one in back. When she posed in front of the
mirror wearing them, she always felt a tingling sensation between her legs. So she would sit down on
her “ergonomic” chair—a strange contraption without a backrest, but with a sort of saddle that
pressed uncomfortably. However, when she slid back and forth on it whenever she felt that tingling
sensation, after a while a fabulous shiver would overcome her, shaking her entire body. She’d figured
out at twelve that she could use her fingers instead of the chair. She’d only learned this year that this is
called masturbation, and that the shiver is called an orgasm. But it had never worked without her
pillow pajamas—until yesterday. She reached her hands into the padding at her hips and squeezed it.
She had something better now.
She glanced at the clock. A little more exercise wouldn’t hurt. And she hadn’t reserved the table for
Christmas dinner until six o’clock. She decided to start by having a proper breakfast, with plenty of
fruit, yogurt, and granola. Since she was still far from full, she then made herself scrambled eggs with
bacon—or at least she tried to. The bacon burned pretty badly, and the eggs tasted like nothing. She
ate it all anyway, washed it down with orange juice, and made herself a few cheese sandwiches. After
that, she was ready to clean up her room—and, most importantly, get the shaving cream and the
leftover hair gel out of the carpet. Luckily, the living room was already done. Two and a half hours
later, everything was in order and the fullness from breakfast had long since faded. She was so
exhausted that she could barely lift an arm. After half an hour in the TV chair, she finally managed to
muster the energy to take off the suit. She didn’t want to miss her dinner, after all. So she first
removed the double chin in the bathroom, where she washed it off right away. When she went to put it
away again, she discovered another letter from Bart at the bottom of the box:

39

Now that you’ve probably tried on the suit, I can only advise you: Go out in it! If you put clothes over
it, no one will notice that you’re not (yet) really that big. And walking around is the best workout.
Believe me, even climbing one flight of stairs will feel like a pretty intense workout. Plus, this is a great
way to test whether people treat you differently than when you’re not wearing the suit. Maybe then
you’ll reconsider whether this is really what you want. Oh, and don’t stray too far from home. You might
suddenly feel totally wiped out, and then the walk home will be really tough. We’ll see each other next
week. I’m curious to see what you decide.
Bart
All right. She’d probably have to go shopping tomorrow. She took off the suit, and then it was time to
remove the pad, no matter how good it felt. After all, you’re not supposed to wear it for more than 24
hours at a time. Just to be safe, she sat down on the edge of the bathtub and reluctantly peeled off a
corner. Then she pulled. She tried gently, but it seemed to be caught on some hairs. So she gave it a
yank. Three, two, one... she couldn’t suppress a scream of shock. The pain came only afterward. The
skin under the pad felt spongy and softened, like fingertips after two hours in the bathtub. And all the
hair around her labia was now gone. Instead, it burned and was red—even a few drops of blood seeped
out again. She applied some skin cream and vowed that she’d have a professional do her next shave.
She took a shower, washed the pad, and put it away. Then it was already time to get dressed and
walk to the restaurant.
*
I hope I haven’t disappointed anyone. In any case, I’m glad she finally decided to tell me about this
part of her Christmas celebration, because I found it very inspiring. Furthermore, the results of this
first test helped me a great deal in significantly improving the second version of my suit. And I was
absolutely delighted that the aphrodisiac in the adhesive cream had worked so well.

10. Gourmet Weeks
Finally, the weekend arrived at Lynn and Bertram’s place. We had planned to cook a delicious meal.
Her father was to take care of the appetizer, I was to handle the main course, and Lynn was to handle
dessert. And by “take care of,” we meant choosing the recipe, getting the ingredients, and being
responsible for the seasoning—of course, we wanted to handle the preparation together, as long as we
didn’t get in each other’s way. And we didn’t have much to worry about, since the kitchen is
fortunately so large that three people can easily work in it at the same time.
Lynn had dressed up especially for the occasion—that is to say, she was wearing her fat suit. Other
than that, she was wearing only black faux-leather leggings and a pretty tight long-sleeved sweatshirt
with “crumple zone” written in big letters down the middle. Just practical clothes for cooking, as she
later explained. At Oberschweinstiege, I’d only ever seen her in winter clothes—a loose-fitting knit
sweater and boots. When she opened the door for me in this outfit, I couldn’t help but stare at her with
my mouth hanging open. She looked so fantastic—the difference between 110 and 265 pounds is
simply enormous. I couldn’t help but get an erection—and was more grateful than ever that my figure
could almost perfectly conceal it. Still, I blushed at the thought, though hopefully Lynn didn’t notice,
since she embraced me passionately once more. This time, I held her tight until I felt the heat in my
face subside. Meanwhile, I tried to distract her.
“Does the cooling work even with clothes this tight?”
“Uh—yeah, it does. Apparently the shirt’s breathable enough,” she said after a moment’s thought.
“Are you guys coming, or what?” someone called from the kitchen. Phew, saved.
“Right away,” Lynn replied, letting go of me. “We’re on our way.”
After that, I didn’t have a chance to think about my feelings for Lynn for quite some time. Cooking
together went really well. Lynn’s father, Bertram, is really likable. He turned fifty-three last week, is
an inch shorter than his daughter, and weighs about the same as she does in a suit, though he has the
40

build of an Irish dockworker. He’s stocky with weather-beaten skin, red curls that are thinning at the
back of his head, and a long beard that’s already streaked with gray. Of course, a small beer belly was
also a must. He’s a scientist, though, with a doctorate in “Environmental and Hygiene Engineering”
(which is why Lynn jokingly calls him
“Dr. Müll”) and apparently holds several patents on his own inventions, which he markets himself
as an entrepreneur. He seems to be making really good money from it. As a cook, he’s not much better
than Lynn, but under my guidance, we still worked together pretty well. Right after I arrived, he sized
me up and then challenged me to a round of arm-wrestling. It went back and forth for quite a while,
but eventually I managed to pin him down. After that, he drew me into a conversation about brain
teasers and puzzles, which we both clearly enjoy, and we found a good foundation for a relaxed
atmosphere.
Bertram had decided on bouillabaisse as the starter—probably his favorite dish and one of the few
recipes he claims to have mastered reasonably well. He’d gone out of his way to get the fish fresh from
the Kleinmarkthalle. For the main course, I prepared a giant roulade, a recipe my mother had found
many years ago in a special issue of Brigitte magazine—one of my favorite dishes. It’s stuffed with a
mixture of parsley, ground pork, and bananas, seasoned with curry, and rolled in bacon. It’s served
with spaetzle and a cream sauce enriched with parsley, peas, and pureed soup vegetables. For dessert,
Lynn made a rather exotic fruit salad using all kinds of fruits she’d only discovered in the past two
weeks, served with vanilla pudding.
After dinner, I told Bertram how I’d met Lynn, and they told me about their Christmas party.
“After I then on Friday morning...”
“Very early in the morning,” Lynn interjected.
“...back home,” Bertram continued undeterred, “we were out and about a lot over the next few
days. Lynn loves nothing more than swimming and going out to eat all the time. So we went to
different swimming pools and to a ton of restaurants.”
“Where exactly?”
“Well, at the Brentanobad, the Rebstockbad, the Panoramabad in Bornheim, and when we ran out
of nearby options, we went to Kelsterbach, Bad Vilbel, and Höchst. Oh yeah, and the Monte Mare in
Offenbach and the Bad Heusenstamm. Hmm—yeah, I think that’s all of them.”
“Oh, right, thanks. But I was more interested in the restaurants,” I said.
“Oh,” Lynn chimed in, “I’d better start from the very beginning. After you told me that I don’t have
to eat just burgers if I want to gain weight, I was still unsure what I’d actually like. Besides, I didn’t
really dare to go into a restaurant alone. So I started by trying the things sold at train stations—kebab,
fish sandwiches, pretzel sticks, pastries from the bakery, grilled chicken, garlic baguettes, hot Leberkäs
from the butcher… the selection is surprisingly vast once you start looking around.”
“You walked past all those places for two months without ever getting anything?” I couldn’t believe
it.
“Yeah, once she sets her mind on something, she’s incredibly determined,” Bertram told me. “She
gets that from her mother.” Not just that, I thought to myself.
“May I go on? – Thanks. There was so much more at the Christmas market—potato pancakes with
applesauce, pickled kidneys, gingerbread, mini pork knuckles, crêpes, currywurst, and who knows
what else.”
“Wow. I’ve never managed to walk through the Christmas market without buying something. At
least a bag of gingerbread.”
“Oh, come on, that was easy—I would’ve had to wait in line for at least ten minutes everywhere
just for some random stuff I’d never heard of.” Yeah, right, I thought to myself. Once I had my
“permission,” waiting in long lines was suddenly no longer a problem. “That got me by until our
meeting at the Shangri-La without having to repeat myself. And I stuffed myself just as full as I would
have at the burger joint, because everything was so delicious. Until we met at the Titus-Therme, I
mostly stuck to all the stuff we’d bought at the Zoopassage. Especially for breakfast. I really liked not
having to leave the apartment for that. I only ate out twice: once at Sushi Circle at Südbahnhof and
41

once at the Vietnamese place by the Eschersheimer Turm.”
“You really didn’t have anything here for breakfast?”
“Besides coffee and crispbread, I never had anything in the house,” Bertram said, “it would’ve all
just gone bad anyway. Besides, I’d given Lynn a debit card, so she could get whatever she wanted.”
“I did, actually. I just didn’t think to stock up on it here. In Neu-Thule, we always ate at the
community center, too—we didn’t even have a fridge at home.” I could only stare from one to the
other with my mouth hanging open.
“Well, anyway, after swimming, I got braver.” Or more determined, I thought to myself. “In the
evening I went out for Spanish food, and on Saturday for Italian at lunchtime and Ethiopian in the
evening...”
“Oh yeah, at Lalibela? That’s pretty good.”
“Exactly—you know your way around pretty well. Why didn’t you give me a list of good
restaurants, anyway?”
“Um, our evening at your place ended pretty hectically...”
“Oh, that’s right.” She blushed. “Sorry again about that.”
“Huh? Did I miss something?” Bertram asked.
“No, no. Never mind,” we dismissed it in unison. Bertram raised an eyebrow but said nothing
more. I assume he questioned Lynn about it more thoroughly later.
“So, on Sunday morning I went out for Australian food. And of course, German food on Tuesday
night and Japanese food on Wednesday night, as I already mentioned.”
“Well, and on Friday we had Turkish food for lunch and Indian food for dinner at Manitou,”
Bertram continued. “On Saturday, we had French food before swimming and later at
Schlund—German. And on New Year’s Eve, we had Persian food for lunch. In the evening, we went
to a party at the Römer.”
“Yeah, Dad really dragged me along to his party friends’ party!”
“Would you have preferred to stay home alone?” he asked.
“Of course not. But couldn’t we have gone somewhere else?”
“I don’t know my way around Frankfurt. Even you probably know better than I do by now where
the action is here.”
“Ah, I see, you guys probably need a few more tips from me,” I chimed in.
“Mmpf. Unlike at Dad’s birthday, there were at least a lot of young people there,” Lynn said, “but
most of them looked more like the Thulians.”
“Admittedly, they’re pretty common among us eco-freaks. But you’ve met a few more appealing
classmates at school now.”
“Oh, really?” I asked, interested.
“We’ll get to that in a minute,” Lynn reassured me. Then she went on to list all the places they’d
eaten at after New Year’s Eve. The list was truly impressive.
"...and yesterday we had Turkish food for lunch and then Yugoslavian food at Monte Mare, in Old
Dubrovnik."
“Wow. Twenty-six restaurants in three weeks. You really are supporting her,” I said to Bertram.
“Well, you can see how pointless it is to try to stop her from doing anything.”
“But that’s different from actively participating.”
He shook his head. “To be honest, I liked the idea from the start. It’s just that, given Andreas’s
bizarre diet, I’d long since given up hope that Didi would ever develop a decent figure.” He glanced
briefly at his daughter. “But luckily, Andreas’s Didi doesn’t exist anymore. That only really dawned on
me when she told me about her plan.” He patted me on the shoulder in appreciation, without taking
his eyes off her. “And the suit you built for her is truly an impressive piece of engineering.”
I smiled, flattered, and turned back to Lynn. “If you keep this up, you’ll have tried every restaurant
in Frankfurt by your birthday.”
“Oh, that’ll take even longer. And most of them have so much on the menu that I probably won’t
have to eat the same thing again for years.”
“You seem to be placing a lot of importance on that now. Considering that you had the same thing
42

every day for two months...”
“Don’t remind me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat french fries again.”
“I don’t understand how you even got that idea. I certainly didn’t suggest you always go to the same
restaurant.”
“Ah, but there were always more overweight people there than anywhere else, and way more of
them. I was sure that must be the place where you can get really fat the fastest. And you ate there too.”
“Sure. Every now and then. But it’s not healthy to eat such an unbalanced diet.”
“Yeah, I know that now, too.”
“And as you can see, you can still lose weight at a remarkable pace even with plenty of variety.”
“I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. And now that I’m back in school, I barely have time to eat.”
“Don’t you have a cafeteria or something?”
“Well—did I mention that I can’t stand the sight of french fries anymore?”
“What school do you go to?”
“Bettina’s School.”
“That’s just around the corner. You should know the restaurants in the area by now.”
“But I don’t really want to make a big deal out of the fact that we’re rich. And no one else goes to a
restaurant during break.”
“Since it’s so close, you could just go home during your break. Maybe Bertram would like to cook,
or you could order something.”
“Uh, I have to work,” he said. “It was already hard enough to organize everything so I can mostly
work from home.”
“Okay, but getting something delivered or quickly defrosting something shouldn’t be a problem.”
Lynn and Bertram looked at each other. Apparently, they hadn't thought of that yet.
“Don’t you have a freezer or something?”
“No idea,” Lynn said, and Bertram added, “We should have one…”
“Hey, this is a super-expensive, fully furnished penthouse apartment—of course you have one! But
apparently you’ve never used it.” I shook my head in despair. “Where did you actually put the ice
cream we bought?”
“There’s this little compartment in the fridge; it barely fit in there.”
“That can’t possibly be all of it.” That feeling of “They don’t live in the same world as I do” crept
up on me again. I looked around and then started opening all the cabinet doors in the kitchen, one by
one. No wonder Lynn had been able to put everything away so quickly during my first visit. Many of
the cabinets were still completely empty. Finally, I found the freezer. It wasn’t even turned on. “And
why don’t you use it?”
“In Neu-Thule, we had a community center with a food storage area—we almost always had
everything that was available, fresh. Mom was against technology, especially when it came to food.”
“And on that point, I completely agree with Andrea. Traditional preservation methods are generally
preferable.”
“Uh—no.” I made a soothing gesture toward Bertram, who was about to object. “I mean, boiling
down or pickling isn’t harmful, but it does change the taste and texture. That might be intentional, but
it certainly isn’t always, is it? The same goes for dehydrating or drying. And a ‘traditional’ method like
curing isn’t healthy at all. Even worse is adding sugar, like in jam. Granted, most ‘modern’ preservatives
aren’t much better, but at least they don’t alter the taste as much. Freezing, however, is by far the
gentlest method of all—it doesn’t change the ingredients and has little to no effect on the texture of
most foods.”
“We had a raised bed,” Lynn interjected.
“Sure, that’s great, but who in the city has the space for that?”
“But refrigerators are power guzzlers, and on top of that, they’re responsible for the hole in the ozone
layer,” Bertram argued heatedly.
“Yeah, that used to be the case. But newer refrigerators don’t use that much electricity anymore,
and they don’t contain CFCs either.” I looked at the energy label and pointed to it. “Here: Efficiency
Class A+. You guys are really still stuck in the eighties a bit too much! Besides,” I turned to Lynn, “do
43

you really think anything you ate at that burger joint wasn’t frozen beforehand?”
I could see the gears turning behind Lynn’s forehead. No, they really don’t live in the same world as
I do.
“All right, I get it. It just never occurred to me.”
“Well, then. You should still think about what you put in the freezer, of course—freezing fries
doesn’t make them any healthier than they were before.”
“I’ll find something. At least now I can have a proper meal for lunch again. Thanks!”
“And aside from that, how’s school going?”
“The teachers are okay so far—we haven’t covered much material yet, after just one week. As for
the students—I would’ve thought that wearing a suit would definitely make me the heaviest in the
class. But I was way off! I’d guess one of the boys and two of the girls weigh more than I do, so I’m only
the fourth heaviest out of 23 in total. And some of the others aren’t as skinny as my former classmates
either, even though there’s a pretty big gap between me and the rest. Without the suit, I’d probably be
in almost the same spot. Or, well, two other boys would probably beat me by a hair.”
“So, what do you think of that?”
“Great! I told you, I’ve got some catching up to do. At least I get along pretty well with my two
‘rivals.’” As she said the last word, she raised both hands and made air quotes.
“Is this some kind of competition? Do they want to get even fatter too?”
“No, probably not. That’s why I put it in quotes. But even if they don’t know anything about it, I
still want to catch up to them.”
“How much do you think you still need to gain to do that?”
“One of them, Marion, is older and probably weighs around 310.”
“Already older? I thought you guys were preparing for your high school graduation exams…”
“Sure, but most of them are giving it a second try, and some already have an apprenticeship. At
least the heaviest one, Beatrix, is younger than me. She looks amazing, has an almost spherical
figure—though that’s also because she’s so short. She says she’s always been overweight; there’s
nothing she can do about it. I’m definitely still 90 lbs away from her.”
“Well, you can tell me at Carnival how far behind you still are.”
“What? Why? We’ll definitely meet up again before then!”
“I’m afraid I have to go to Greenland for the next few weeks. We’re testing our new Arctic diving
suit in the pack ice.”
“But what am I supposed to do all that time?”
“Well, the same thing you’ve been doing the last few weeks—going out to eat, working out,
meeting new people, and cramming for the AP exams.”
“But you said you’d help me!”
“I did—just now, with the freezer. But for the next few weeks, the suit will have to be help enough
for you. And maybe your chubby classmates can give you a few tips, too.”
“Damn it. Why does this always happen so suddenly? Same old crap as with Dad.” She buried her
head in her arms, which were folded on the table.
“Yeah, I was surprised too that I have to go. Otherwise, I would have told you sooner.”
“Pointless,” said Bertram, “she’s not listening to you anymore anyway. Maybe you should just call
her when you get there.”
As I turned back to look at her one last time on my way out, she looked incredibly cute, sitting
there at the table with her arms crossed and a pout on her face. In that position, her breasts hung over
the edge of the table and her belly almost reached her knees. The sight turned me on so much again
that I had to force myself to look away. Maybe it really was better not to see her for a few weeks.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

11. Fat Thursday
Today is Thursday, February 22, and I’m finally back in Germany.
The weather off the coast of Greenland was terrible at the start of my trip, and I got pretty seasick
44

during the crossing. But once we arrived, that didn’t matter much anymore, since the tests and
presentations were supposed to take place underwater. As soon as I’d recovered, I wanted to get in
touch with Lynn. There wasn’t a phone in sight, nor any usable data connection—the radio was needed
for other things besides private conversations—but I could always write her a good old-fashioned
letter:
Sorry again for letting you know so late; I only found out two days before our cooking night that I was
supposed to come along to the tests as a development engineer—that’s not normally part of my job.
Unfortunately, someone got sick , and besides me, no one else was familiar enough with the system.
But I’ll try to check in with you more often. And if you have any questions or run into any difficulties,
feel free to write to me; I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. After all, we get mail here twice a week.
How's school going? Are you getting really bored, or is there still something new to learn every now and
then?
Best regards, Bart
It was a good thing I wasn’t near her, because whenever I remembered how she looked at our last
meeting, I immediately got a hard-on. I can’t imagine I would have been able to keep my hands off her
until her birthday. I’d already used up almost my entire supply of tissues.
The tests went well; in some areas, they even slightly exceeded our expectations. Besides, this new
model contains components that I only realized there would also be useful for the design of the second
fat suit.
First, there is the thermal insulation, which could also be reversed to create an improved cooling
system. It could dissipate heat across the entire surface using a thermally conductive gel, which is
significantly more efficient. It also contains fewer rigid components, making the structure more flexible
and better able to conform to the body’s shape.
We are also testing a new, improved outer shell here that exhibits adhesive properties which
generate less water resistance. It also wets more easily, which should allow for a significantly improved
imitation of human skin. And sweat can thus be directed to the outer shell in many areas, rather than
just under the chest, in the crotch, under the arms, and behind the knees as before, resulting in a more
natural distribution. It is possible to adjust the cooling so that you don’t sweat as much, but during
physical exertion, that will certainly seem unnatural. So I’ll design it so that, depending on the
situation, you can optimize the setting for either a discreet appearance or good comfort.
In any case, there’s no longer any need to suck in or blow out air, so the suit should now work
underwater as well. I really should have realized how important that is, given that swimming is such a
crucial part of the training. And of course, you’ll be able to turn on the cooling system before the suit is
completely zipped up—which should eliminate the risk of circulatory collapse while putting it on. I’m
so glad that nothing happened to Lynn during her first fitting despite this serious design flaw!
With the new cooling Technology, Lynn’s desired heavier suit weight (130 lbs) is now feasible, as
well as a lighter (50 lbs) Version, which previously would have resulted in Hard Edges protruding. And
the suit will also be more stretchy, so that it maintains ist fit across a wider weight range—110–180
lbs +50, 150–240 lbs +90, or 210–310 kg +130.
In my next letter to Lynn, however, I didn’t mention any of this, since I naturally wanted to surprise
her again with this new version.
Lynn wrote back to me:
Don’t worry, I was just so disappointed at first. But I’ve since become friends with Marion and
Beatrix—you know, the classmates I told you about. Beatrix is only sixteen and pretty short, but she
weighs a whopping 350 lbs. She told me she’s been on diets many times, but so far she’s gained even more
weight after each one. Marion is twenty-six and 5’9”. She was with a guy for three years, but broke up
with him six months ago after she had to go to the hospital because of him. Since then, she’s lost weight
from over 440 lbs to around 310 lbs now. She’s jealous of Beatrix and me, but she’s constantly getting
on our nerves about how we could get sick too. To calm her down, I went to the doctor and had my
45

blood tested. He confirmed, though, that my levels are absolutely ideal. We do a lot together, so it’s a bit
annoying that I can’t go swimming in a wetsuit. So far, the two of them haven’t asked me about it yet,
but I’d really love to. After all, I’ve already invited them over to our place and managed to convince
them to try out the exercise equipment.
The school material is a piece of cake. There’s a ton of it, but nothing I didn’t already cover last year.
Except for history and civics—I really have to buckle down for those.
It’s unbelievable what kind of crap the Thulies have been spreading. Luckily, for the other subjects, I
don’t have to do much more than pay a little attention to get back into the swing of things. Come back
safe and sound!
Lynn
After the first, relatively hectic week, I didn’t have much to do, so I had plenty of time to work on this
improved suit—I call it “Lynn 2001.” And I had time to see a bit of Greenland. Just the usual stuff you
can see in the dark—the sun is a rare sight here in February. But we were able to see the Aurora
Borealis on several nights, and we visited a glacier cave. It wasn’t until almost the very end of our stay
that I was needed again for the client presentations, though by then I was already nearly finished with
the new concept. At least the presentations went well, since we’d gotten everything up and running and
the weather had improved in the meantime.
Lynn has written to me several times to report on her progress—most recently that she has reached
206.6 lbs—33 lbs More than when I left—and her muscle mass is now higher than it was at the very
beginning (36%), while her body fat percentage is still 32%. She now wears the suit almost all day. As
hoped, this has really helped massively with muscle building. Brilliant. So her muscles now make up
25% of her weight with the suit on (300 lbs). At Christmas, it was still 25% without the suit—so it
practically doesn’t hinder her at all anymore, while her overall strength is significantly higher. She also
writes:
I’m so happy you’re coming back soon. I’ve gained quite a bit of weight and have caught up to Marion
now, but only because she lost five kilos during the same time. I have to constantly fend off the advances
of the boys in my class—but they’re all so disgustingly skinny. Except for one, Thomas, who obviously
isn’t the least bit interested in me. And the suit is starting to pinch everywhere. I hope you can get it
altered again.
Also, we’re supposed to have swimming lessons in April. Do you think you can do something by then
so I can fit into the suit?
I miss you, Lynn
Is she trying to make me jealous? When we’re not even together yet? But I’m afraid it’s working. I’m
so curious to see what she looks like now, and I can’t wait to see her again. At least we’re done with
the debriefing, and next week I have Carnival break. Exhausted from the trip home, I got off the
S-Bahn. I live in Hofheim im Taunus, pretty close to the station, so I set off on foot, pulling my trolley
behind me, on my way home. There was a lot going on here in the center, and just as I was about to
reach my front door, I ran into a crowd of well-drunk, costumed women who grabbed me, surrounded
me, and then cut off my tie! I hadn’t even thought about this miserable Carnival ritual anymore—I
don’t usually wear a tie at all. But since I’d just come from work, and all the bosses were there at the
meeting... oh well. I’d just gotten caught this time. So I took it in stride, made a patronizing gesture,
and bowed to the victorious carnival-goer in the bandit costume, who was proudly holding her trophy
aloft. Then I walked the last few meters and opened the front door, but the bandit followed me and
grabbed my arm. She said, “Oh no, this time you’re not just going to leave me standing here. Come
on, show me your apartment!”
That’s when I recognized Lynn. She’d actually been lying in wait for me again. I couldn’t help but
laugh. Once I’d composed myself a bit, I said, “Sure, come on in! I live on the third floor, right under
the roof.”
Lynn bounded up the stairs and waited impatiently for me at the top. With her current figure, it was
46

quite a sight to behold. The whole stairwell shook.
“Careful! You don’t weigh just under a hundred pounds anymore, but almost three hundred, and
the house is two hundred years old!”
Once she reached the top, she took off her boots and placed them with the other shoes in the
hallway. I dragged myself up the stairs with my trolley at a much slower pace—watching her bend
over from below turned me on so much that I could barely concentrate on putting one foot in front of
the other. All too soon, I was up there too and let her in. It was cold in the apartment.
“Here you go. Wait, let me turn up the heat first.”
I left the trolley where it was and took off my shoes while Lynn peeked into every room—which
was easy, since there are only two and a half rooms and all the doors are open, except for the one to
the bathroom. My bedroom is dominated by a large wardrobe; apart from that, it contains only my
very large mattress and an old wooden chair that I use as a clothes rack. A movie poster for “The
Abyss” hangs above the mattress, and next to it lies a stack of books. In my living room, there’s an old
tube TV, a coffee table, and a three-seater sofa, as well as a bookshelf on every available wall. Most of
them are well-stocked, and in many places, books are already stacked in a second row. The last room
is a study-plus-kitchen combination that counts as only half a room. I’d say it’s really just a very large
kitchen if I didn’t use a good portion of the countertops as workbenches. It’s reasonably tidy, though
tools and work materials are scattered everywhere. In the middle stands a piano stool on casters. It’s
obvious at first glance that this is where I spend most of my time. All the rooms have sloping ceilings,
and the floor is made of old floorboards. I don’t own any rugs.
“So, how do you like my apartment?”
I started by turning up the heat in the kitchen and living room, and when I went to turn up the heat
in the bedroom, Lynn was already standing in the middle of it, in the process of taking off her disguise.
Her hat and poncho were already lying on the chair, and she was just pulling the cartridge
belts—which she’d worn crossed over her chest like sashes—over her head. Slowly.
“Nice and cozy. So, how do you like me?”
“You look fantastic.” And absolutely irresistible. It was still three weeks until her 18th birthday, but
I didn’t care about that at that moment. My penis was so aroused by now that it probably wouldn’t go
down at all today.
I noticed she was swaying slightly, and her pupils looked unnaturally large.
“How drunk are you?”
She had now reached her sweater.
“Not even a tiny bit,” she said, speaking slowly and clearly.
“But you took something.”
“Yup. Psilocybin.” She tossed her sweater onto the pile of clothes on the chair with a flourish and
laughed. Then she let her pants slide down. With a big step, she left the pants behind and walked
toward me—now wearing only underwear—to hug me.
I held her at arm’s length and asked, “Do you really want to do this?” even though I could barely
hold myself back.
“Oh yes. It’s now or never!” Instead of the hug I’d prevented, she deftly unbuttoned my pants,
which she could just barely reach.
“Fine, then. But take off the suit.”
“Why? But I’m way too skinny.” She slipped off her T-shirt and unhooked her bra while I pulled
the rest of my tie off my collar and struggled with my shirt buttons.
“That’s nonsense. And I never meant it that way.”
She finally stood naked in front of me; without the suit, she looked like a bodybuilder with a
paunch.
But the potential, I thought, as I was still trying to get rid of my underwear.
“But back then at the pool...”
“I just wanted to hide how hot I thought you were. And you’ve really filled out since then—and
gotten rid of your acne, too.”
She was speechless and stared at me with her mouth hanging open.
47

I had just managed to pull my underwear over my erection and lifted my stomach so she couldn’t
miss it.
“You see, I’m really into you. No need to freeze in awe.” She snorted, and I continued: “The suit
doesn’t fit anymore. You can’t help but notice how tight it is everywhere. I want to know just how big
you really are now. Besides, I want to feel your real skin. Don’t you?”
“I believed you.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you. Oh, I want to feel your skin, too. All twohundred pounds of it!”
She unlocked the fastener and began to unzip it all the way down with practiced precision. It was
unmistakable that the suit had stretched into a thin layer over her stomach. Without it, her belly looked
hardly any smaller. The difference was more noticeable on her arms and legs. Here, her training had
built strong muscles and allowed for hardly any fat deposits, which is why they had only gotten slightly
thicker.
“Lie down!” she ordered me as she continued to slide the suit off her calves.
I threw myself onto the mattress on my back, causing my fat to jiggle violently and my folds to slap
against each other. She squatted over me and moved back and forth slightly until her vagina was
positioned directly over my glans. The contact nearly sent me over the edge. Then she slowly slid down
my shaft until her entire weight settled comfortably on top of me. The feeling was so incredibly hot
that I came immediately. She moaned.
“Sorry. But don’t worry, I can keep going even after I come,” I assured her.
And I did, but her moan had nothing to do with disappointment. She had come immediately
herself—and it was still going on. Her eyes were rolled back, and her rhythmic movements had turned
into ecstatic jerks, as if she were having an epileptic seizure. She probably hadn’t even heard me.
I ran my hands up from both sides over her love handles to her narrow waist, which curved forward
into her belly and then down into her apron. When I reached the middle, I cradled it in my hands. It
sloshed against my belly, causing the parts of our bodies that hadn’t already been set in motion by the
movements of her pelvis to jiggle violently. We kept going like this for what felt like an eternity,
exploring every crease and every crevice of each other with our fingers, until I finally came a second
time and her orgasm subsided.
She gave me a blissful smile, and I said to her, “No, you’re not too thin anymore.”
“Are you sure? The 330 pounds with suit feel really good, too.”
“Whatever you want, but it’s not necessary.”
She pouted, and I had to laugh.
“Your birthday’s coming up soon. Until then…” I got up and carried her suit into the study, which
had warmed up a bit by then. Which was good, because I hadn’t bothered to get dressed beforehand. I
took a strip of synthetic leather out of a cabinet and threaded it into my sewing machine. Then I sewed
a half-zipper onto both long sides. Lynn had stood behind me, hugged me, and was looking over my
shoulder with fascination. I cut the strip to exactly the length of the spine of her suit.
“There, that goes in the middle at the back. That should stop it from being so tight across your
stomach and chest in the front. That way, you can wear the suit for a while longer.”
“Hmph. I still can’t go swimming with this on.”
“True enough. Until I find a solution, you’ll have to be patient for a while longer. Come on, let’s go
take a shower!”
She looked down at herself. Semen was running down her thighs.
“Good idea, but you should wipe down your chair first.” As I did so, I noticed, “You’re still wearing
the shampoo pad.”
“Well, I’d have had to wash up first to take it off. There wasn’t time for that. Besides, despite my
weight gain, I still don’t have a proper fupa.”
I was surprised she knew that technical term. It refers to the Fat Upper Pubic Area—the roll of fat
around the pubic region—and was still pretty new. Apparently, she’d done a lot of research on the fat
fetish.
“It’ll come, don’t worry.”
48

She removed the cushion and said, “Until then, I think this is a very useful substitute!” We realized
that the shower was completely unsuitable for two people of our size.
But that wasn’t a problem, since my small bathroom, luxuriously enough, also had a bathtub. It
didn’t hold much more than two buckets of water besides us, but that’s enough.

12. Dream Figure
Lynn had to go back to school on Friday, so she went to bed early. I, on the other hand, was able to
sleep in—which is why, of course, I woke up promptly at 5:30. So I made us breakfast. A real feast:
toast with fried eggs, bacon, and beans, along with orange juice and black tea. It took a while, but the
smell must have woken Lynn up, because she was already standing in the kitchen doorway before six,
just as I was about to load the plates onto a tray (which was now unnecessary). So we had breakfast
and chatted while we ate.
“What was it actually like during the time between our first two meetings?”
“Oh. After you left, I decided I could handle a fifth burger. After that, I felt incredibly stuffed. That
was a whole new experience for me. A little uncomfortable at first, but kind of awesome too. A
wonderful defiance of my mom’s ideals. I would have liked to keep eating, but thanks to your advice, I
didn’t—which wasn’t easy at all. Instead, I packed up the other half and continued my public transit
expedition. The feeling of fullness didn’t last long. After just half an hour, I ate the next burger and
washed it down with plenty of Coke, just to feel that perversely stuffed again. I could literally feel my
mother turning in her grave, you know?”
“Uh, I like to push my stomach to its limits every now and then, too. But I don’t have to prove
anything to anyone.”
“Yeah—well, I did back then. Plus, it got hotter and less uncomfortable every time. Two hours
later, I’d polished off everything. I had to think of you. The idea that I could one day shove that
amount—which took me four hours today—into myself just like you do, on the fly, totally turned me
on. On the way home, I picked up another ten burgers for later and had some fun in my room with my
pillow-pajamas. I must have fallen asleep after that, because the next thing I remember is that it was
the middle of the night and I was starving. I still only managed five—and then took the biggest shit of
my life.”
“I can imagine. By the way, stuffing yourself again the morning after a binge is the most effective
way to stretch your stomach.”
“Sounds logical, but I had no idea back then. Eating just felt right.”
“Good intuition.”
“Thanks. From then on, I went to those shops every day, whenever I spotted a new one on my
route. But I also went quite often to the one where we first met.”
“Oh, you’d already met me before—with a bang.”
“Hmm. Then it must have been the one I ran after you into back then.”
I had to grin. “But how did you manage to walk past all the other snack shops? I just don’t get it.”
“I didn’t pay attention—besides, I was pretty stuffed all the time. You probably wouldn’t have been
looking for other food sources either.”
“Hmm. You’re not entirely wrong there. And you really were full the whole time?”
“Pretty much. I was so excited. Finally, I could eat as much as I wanted. And no one gave me a
hard time about it—or even tried to stop me. And the results were visible pretty soon. My cheekbones,
collarbones, and hipbones weren’t sticking out as much anymore, and I could already feel the first little
rolls of fat on my sides.”
“Well, the first changes come very quickly when you’re as skinny as you were back then.”
“After just two weeks, I had to buy new clothes for the first time—later than strictly necessary, with
a full stomach. It was time anyway, since I couldn’t stand the clothes the Thulians had given me
anymore.”
“They were indeed quite anachronistic.”
“Really? Well, that wasn’t what bothered me about it, anyway. Unfortunately, I also started
breaking out in pimples everywhere. And my workouts were getting harder and harder. In December,
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I was sweating all the time, even though it had gotten much colder. My clothes were already too small
again. That alone made it worth it. When we met for the second time, I had just bought the purple
sweater—in XL.”
“Wow. From XS to XL in two months?”
“Cool, huh?”
“Unbelievable. But you’ve kept up the same pace ever since. Even with my training program.”
“Don’t forget the suit! It really helped me a ton. Seeing in the mirror what you could look like in
just a few months is just an unbeatably great motivation.”
“Which is something I really wouldn’t have thought when I built your Christmas present. I expected
you’d barely be able to take three steps in that thing and would therefore give up on your plan to get so
fat and immobile.”
She grinned at me and jiggled her belly.
“You’re still underestimating my determination. By a long shot.”
“Nah, that was two months ago. I’ve learned my lesson since then. By the way, I actually have an
idea for how you can finally go swimming with your friends.”
“Really? What is it?”
“You haven’t been going to school in thick clothes much lately, have you?”
“Ha ha. The suit doesn’t really breathe well anymore. And it’s already way too warm.”
“Exactly. And at ninety-four kilos, those extra forty are much less noticeable than the twenty-two
you gained between our first meetings when you weighed fifty kilos. You’ve already gained more than
half the weight of the suit. So if you go to school without the suit and wear thick winter clothes
instead, probably no one will notice—except that you might have lost a little weight.”
“But I’ve never lost weight since we’ve known each other. Why would I have done that now?”
“Because you were sick! Just stay home for another week after the break, and then tell everyone
you had a stomach virus and couldn’t eat practically anything.”
“Ugh.”
“That’s not really what you’re supposed to do. Quite the opposite: over these two weeks, we’re
going to push for maximum weight gain to close the gap to your supposed weight as much as
possible.”
“That sounds better. Now I just have to convince Dad that I want to skip school for a week.”
“Oh, you’ll manage just fine. With your underestimated determination...”
“All right. How much do you think I can gain in two weeks?”
“If you don’t do anything else, and eat nothing but high-calorie food porridge—”
“Seriously?”
“—and given the size of your stomach, I’d guess six hundred grams every day?”
“Wow—so you mean I can put on eighteen pounds by my birthday?”
“Better count on sixteen.”
“Then I’d left onederland for sure! How awesome!”
“Do your friends know exactly how much you weigh?”
“The last time we compared, I said 275. That was a few weeks ago.”
“Then you would have lost 44 lbs in those two weeks. It must have been a really bad infection.”
She laughed. “Nonsense, I’m just saying I weigh 253 now—22 lbs is realistic, and you can easily
misjudge by ten or twenty pounds.”
“That works out well. And if you really do spend two weeks in bed, you’ll look convincingly pale
and weak when you meet up again.”
Lynn looked at me a little skeptically.
“Don’t worry, it won’t be as bad as when you started with the fries.”
“All right, let’s do it that way.”
So Lynn set off and coughed all over everyone at school. Meanwhile, I got some mast
juice—basically the most calorie-dense drink there is that’s actually still liquid. I also got a canister
with a base mount, an IV stand like the ones they have by the beds in hospitals, and a medical tube.
Then I drove over to Bertram’s and explained to him where Lynn had spent the night and what we had
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planned for the next two weeks.
At first he was annoyed by the idea, but he realized that missing a week wouldn’t really set Lynn
back—on the contrary, she’d have more time to focus fully on history and GM. And the fact that she
could finally go swimming with her friends seemed to him a thoroughly worthwhile goal. So when she
came home, it was easy for Lynn to get Bertram’s signature on the excuse note.
Since Bertram had to work, Lynn and I spent a lot of time together in her room over the following
weeks—just the two of us. She made sure her stomach was constantly full by sucking more mast juice
into her mouth through the tube at the slightest hint of space in her stomach. I used massage to ensure
there was space in her stomach again as often as possible, and that the canister never ran empty.
In the morning, when Lynn ate a big breakfast after waking up to get that full feeling back, I played
with her pussy so she’d come at the same time as she took the last bite that would still fit in. Then
she’d drink her fattening juice until she couldn’t take any more of that either, and I tried to hold off
her orgasm until that moment. I caressed her whenever she ate or drank anything. The whole thing
worked better and better each time.
Starting on March 5, I had to go back to work, so Lynn had to manage the time she skipped on her
own. But as we saw from her Christmas episode, she had no problem with that. Her arms and legs
were visibly gaining in girth. After the first week, her powerful muscles had finally disappeared under
a thick layer of fat.
Finally, Monday, March 12, arrived—the day Lynn had to go back to school. But first came the
moment on the scale. We had, of course, noticed that she had gained a lot of weight, but now we
wanted to know exactly how much.
“232.4 lbs, 30% muscle (32 kg), 42% fat (97 lbs),” Lynn read the display. “Wow.”
“That’s 26 pounds more. Absolutely insane. How on earth did you do that?”
“You’re still underestimating my determination—and apparently the size of my stomach, too.”
“Hmm. You should just say it’s 255. That’s only 22 too many, and you’d have lost just twenty. That
sounds really plausible.”
“Yep,” said Lynn as she pulled her jacket over her thick sweater, “that sounds good. See you later.”
As soon as Lynn had left, I took Bertram aside.
“My birthday present for her is ready. Will you help me carry it into the apartment? It’s pretty
heavy.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“You’ll see the day after tomorrow.”
We drove down to the garage, where I unlocked my rented van. Inside, secured tightly with straps,
was a box just like the one he was supposed to throw away after Christmas. The one that had held
Lynn’s suit. Only a little bigger.
“Don’t tell me you made another suit like that.”
“I did.” I sighed. “It was too easy to guess, wasn’t it?”
“But why?”
“For one thing, it’s custom-made for her current figure. And with this new version, she can even go
swimming! Plus...”
“Wow! Okay, that’s exactly what she wanted.”
“Besides,” I repeated as I undid the straps, “this one now weighs 60 kilos.”
“What?!” Bertram groaned as he tried to lift the box.
“Forget it. Here, without the carrying straps, even the two of us can’t manage it.”
*
For the next two evenings, Lynn came home late and exhausted. She had spent the whole afternoon
swimming with her friends, and afterward they had gone out to eat together and talked for a long time.
And because I was getting a little jealous, she did the same thing with me the next day. At school,
hardly anyone had noticed her dramatic change. Only two incorrigible students had congratulated her
on losing weight.
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Then came the 14th, her eighteenth birthday.
Proudly, I presented her with my gift, the Lynn 2001 fat suit.
And she said—somewhat sheepishly: “Oh, you know, maybe you’re right and I shouldn’t gain any
more weight. At least not too much.”
Both Bertram and I were left speechless. Finally, Bertram managed to say:
“That must have been expensive.”
“Really? Is that all you can think of? You’re rolling in money!”
I’d used those few seconds to shake off my confusion and remarked:
“Good decision. But don’t throw it away just yet. I’m not rolling in money, and it really wasn’t
cheap. But most of all, I put an endless amount of work into it. And it’s still an excellent training tool.
You’re definitely going to need it.”
“Oh, Bart.” She jumped toward me with a swing and threw her arms around my neck. “I was really
worried you’d be mad at me now. But I love you so much!”
I held her tight and said, “Why should I? As long as I have you, everything’s fine. Besides, you
already have the perfect figure.”

13. Post Scriptum
All the work and money I’d put into the suit were finally going to pay off. Because I had the design
patented and, contrary to
expectations, it turned out
that it was enough people
who wanted to buy a
copy—despite the price
of €9,990, which wasn’t
exactly a bargain.
Lynn graduated from
high school and gained
even
more
weight,
reaching her target weight
of 300 lbs. We then both
got jobs in Bertrams
enterprise, and shortly
after that we got married.
Of course, Lynn wore the
suit from time to time—to remind herself that 450 lbs really was too much, and to work off the extra
pounds whenever she found herself heading in that direction again. Especially after her children were
born.
And so we all lived happily ever after—at least until I wrote this.

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