(this is part one in a series. If you don't read it from the beginning, it's not going to read as well. part two -- part three -- part four -- part five -- part six ... please read these in order.)



I�ve been putting this off all day long. I�ve put it off so long, in fact, that it�s now tomorrow. And it has been tomorrow for an hour and a half, almost. But, there�s something in me that won�t allow me to go to bed until I�ve transcribed this entry and posted it. And I hate that.

As a preface, all of you who have been reading me for a while already know what I consider my biggest problem to be. You also probably know WHY it is a problem. After all, there are really only two or three reasons people are fat, right? Either they have a severe and as-yet-undiscovered swelling problem or they eat too much of the wrong kinds of foods. It�s really that simple, isn�t it?

Well, you may have noticed that I almost never discuss my opinions on my own fat other than to say I don�t like it. I rarely give honest reasons for my being so completely overweight. My typical reasons are emotional or psychological. I have often said, even, that I don�t eat that much. This is true, IF you count only prepared, sit-down meals.

Damn, I really don�t want to do this.

Anyway, I�m going to transcribe this entry exactly as I wrote it last night. At first it�s got nothing to do with my �problem�. At least, that�s the way it would appear. But trust me, if you can hang on for the long and somewhat circuitous route this entry takes, the beginning does apply to the end.

Like usual, when I begin a grand purging of my inner-most demons, the path is not straight. And, I was writing this from midnight to four am, so� it�s not necessarily a prize-winning essay.

I suggest taking a potty break and getting something to drink. Adjust your position so that you�re comfy. This one is going to be at least two parts. *smiles*

So, without further ado:

Saturday, April 5th, 2003 11:24pm

I really felt the need to write smut tonight. The need was so strong that I grabbed a notebook and set up the area by my bed so that I could write and smoke in comfort. Unfortunately, that small voice inside of me kept saying, �You know better.� So, I tried telling myself that I was going to write a sexual letter to my future husband, whomever he may be.

This is what I wrote:

Temptation pulled at her lower lip, drawing it outward at first, then slowly pulling it back in until it was captured between her teeth. Saliva fell into over-time production as her mind, her self-control, warred with her hunger.

With a jerk so forceful it was nearly physical, she forced her attention from that which beckoned to her. The call was quiet, a sibilant hiss of seduction. It followed her, haunted her, hunted her. She found herself looking once more. She found herself taking a step forward, then another, and another.

She turned her back, closing her eyes. Quiet, patient laughter rang within her mind: A sound that said it was only a matter of time before she gave in � just moments � minutes � seconds.

Slowly she straightened her shoulders. She raised her head. She breathed deeply.

She turned again, a smile in her eyes. As his steps brought him closer, she felt a boldness within her. What did it matter if others thought she had no control? Wasn�t this her life? Couldn�t she make her own choices?

The voice brushed velvet soft against her ears and she smiled in reaction. �See anything you like?�

A slow chuckle rose from her throat as she nodded. She had the power now, and she knew it. Nothing could break her. Nothing could control her. Nothing could make her move if she didn�t want to.

�Yes. I�d like one of those please.�

She pointed downward, smiling with a hint of challenge.

�The frosted, chocolate Bizmark?� He drawled.

�No, the onion bagel.�

She won. Temptation lost. And the clerk remained oblivious.