Brownwood: Tommy Boy Ch. 01

"Tommy..." she whimpered.

I felt my rage begin to ebb. In its place was a dark weariness, a premonition of days to come.

"Just get out, Leah," I growled. "Unless there's some other way you'd like to hurt me?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she and Susie quickly left.

Moments later the apartment was filled with an eerie silence and the nasty smell of piss. I thought it was ironically appropriate, since the whole scene mimicked my now dead marriage.

Leah came and got her things and moved in with Susie. I found out it was going to cost too much to break the lease so I ended up moving into a different apartment in the same complex for some extra fees.

At first, I was going to get the nastiest, most vicious divorce attorney I could afford and try to make Leah's life as miserable as mine was. However, as I considered my options, I recognized I had very little to work with. There weren't a lot of ways to legally hurt her. We'd only been married five years and had no children and no property. I couldn't really smear her reputation since our friends and the people she worked with either already knew, or would soon know she was a slut.

It might've been different if she still loved me or wanted to try and salvage the marriage, but she didn't. She'd already moved on. All that was really left was to launch a long and costly legal battle in hopes of harassing her.

Should I have gone for blood? Maybe. To be honest, I'm not sure now, and I certainly wasn't sure back then. In the end, I didn't. My boss helped focus me.

Maria asked me what I wanted: to get on with my life as quickly as possible, or revenge. She told me if I was going for blood, I needed to do so with my eyes wide open and the nastier the divorce, the more bitter and angry I would likely become. There was some unspoken correlation between the amount of revenge and the time needed to heal from all this mess.

When I told her I really didn't know, she set me up with Delphina Featherstone, a good divorce attorney with Rossi and Associates. She was tough, but not vicious.

The divorce went through as smoothly as one would expect with it not being contested. The few times Leah and I met face-to-face were painful and surprisingly, not only just for me. Leah looked guilty and lost through most of those meetings, stating frequently that she only wanted to get it over with.

In the end, I gave her most of our savings in lieu of an extended alimony so we wouldn't need to have any more contact than was necessary. Several months after filing, we were divorced and my dreams of growing old with Leah were dead.

Even though we had very little contact during the divorce, Brownwood isn't that big a city, so I saw her on occasion. Those times we ran into each other we made sure not to talk, and usually one of us would leave after a short time.

After the divorce, I saw her at the City Lights in the company of Rob Sutherland, a shift supervisor from the battery plant. I figured that was the "Rob" Susie had referred to months earlier. It would mean the "Marcus" was probably Marcus Dixon. It made sense since I'd seen and talked to both of them several times over the years.

Sutherland was a local hero, since he was Joe All-American at Brownwood High School several years back. Unfortunately, high school was over, but I'm not sure this guy knew it. He still had his good looks and seemed to be in decent shape. He also seemed arrogant and thought himself a lady's man.

Dixon was a more grown-up version of Sutherland in most ways. He'd played defensive end down at State U before ending up in Brownwood a decade ago, but was still in great shape. He was a big black guy, who was as arrogant as Sutherland, but had the ripped physique to back it up. Rumor had it he thought of himself as the answer to every woman's Big Black Cock fantasy.

I initially considered paying each of them a visit, but by then it wasn't worth it. First, I didn't have proof, and trying to verify every guy my slut of a wife had slept with could've been a monumental task if she was following in Susie's footsteps. She'd wounded my pride when she'd willingly cheated on me, but she was the one who'd given up on our marriage. Whether she'd slept with those two, or dozens like them, chasing down every guy she'd cheated on me with would've been a waste of time.

If I was being totally honest, at the time I probably could've taken Sutherland in a fair fight, but certainly not Dixon. Marcus Dixon would've kicked my ass. To win that fight, I would've had to jump him from behind or use some kind of equalizer. It could've resulted in a little jail time. Any jail time would certainly cost me my job. No, Leah sure as hell wasn't worth it!

After my epiphany at the City Lights, I didn't go out much. My life consisted mainly of work, sleep, work, over eat and be depressed, then back to work. Not surprisingly, I ballooned from three hundred and five pounds to over three-forty-five.

****

Spring 2014 - Brownwood

After about a year of wallowing in my self-pity, I finally pulled my head out of my ass and began to rebuild my life. I took a long hard look at myself and didn't like what I saw.

I got rid of the bad beard, began eating better, and joined a gym. Of course, it was kind of hit or miss with the workouts and fast foods were still on my daily menu. It was obvious I was going to need some help dropping the weight. That had led me to Angie Myles, the owner of MS Fit, Main Street Fitness. She'd set me up with a dietician and an exercise regimen.

Since Angie was a magnet for most male's attention, it didn't take long to find out the basic information about her. It was well known she'd been a stripper besides a fitness Nazi. She was referred to by most people around Brownwood as THE Ms. Fit, but behind her back, most guys at the gym called her Miss TOS, Tits On a Stick. I did say that the first thing you noticed about Angie was her very large tatas, didn't I?

Besides her appearance, she was a divorcee in her late twenties with a four year-old daughter. She'd started MS Fit with her husband, Eric, who was some Adonis-like bodybuilder. He ended up running off with the widowed trophy wife of a Brownwood blue blood. He left Angie the gym, a newly purchased home and not much else.

Anyone who'd been around Angie knew she was a very unique, borderline bipolar type of individual. It was immediately obvious she was passionate, if not obsessive, with her pursuit for fitness. Around other women she was very intense, but still warm and supportive.

With men, she was very Jekyll and Hyde. She flirted and teased when in a group of guys but put a wall up when there was only one or two guys. I didn't doubt it was because of the divorce and the fact she was probably hit on a dozen times every day.

When it came to the gym and fitness, she was all business and completely professional. Having Angie as a trainer was like having a stripper for a drill instructor. It was certainly very different from my coaches back in college.

It was this dangerous vision of loveliness with fangs that I was currently looking up the crotch of and having my Willie Johnson betray me. It didn't take her but a second to deflate the situation.

"Really, Tommy Boy? What the hell am I going to have to wear? A parka? If you spent half as much effort watching what you eat as you do staring at my tits, you'd have lost more than five pounds these past few weeks.

I knew she was right... well, partially right.

We'd been working together for the past several weeks and I was still finding it difficult not to stare at her. Unfortunately, we hadn't gotten the results Angie or I had wanted. Of course, when I confessed to her I'd been making midnight runs through the McDonald's drive-through, I thought she was going to take my head off!

"Dammit, Tommy Boy!" she barked getting ready to lecture me.

"And you're wrong, Angie..." I said, interrupting.

She stood with her hands on her hips trying to bore a hole in my forehead with her glare.

"Angie, you're right about my lack of dedication, but you're wrong about me staring at your enormous breasts. I'm not a tit man. I'm struggling not to stare at your beautiful face... and your incredible ass!"

She stood frozen for a moment. I wasn't sure if she was going to laugh, slap me, or simply kick me in the nuts. Thankfully I noticed the edges of her mouth fighting to curl upwards.

"Well, we're done for today. Look, Tommy Boy, we've got to find something that'll motivate you to really lose the weight. I want you to come up with a suggestion by the time we meet again. Okay?"

I nodded.

"Okay, I'll see you Friday," she said as she turned away and bent over to gather her things. She froze abruptly then began to speak very slowly.

"Tommy Boy?"

"Yeah?" I said sheepishly giving up any intentions of not staring.

"Stop."

"Sorry, Angie, but I'm divorced, not dead."

She stood up and put her bag over her shoulder.

"Well then, don't make it so obvious. You're drooling."

"All right," I said, grinning. "I'll try to do better."

"Good!" she said, trying to sound gruff.

As she walked away, I did notice her trying to hide a tiny smirk.

Over the next couple nights I did think about it. Well, to be more honest, I thought about Angie in various stages of undress to be exact. I alternated between hot and cold showers.

When we met for my session she focused on the workout. After busting my ass for most of the hour, she finally followed up on my assignment.

"Well?"

"Well... what?" I stammered, since I was out of breath.

"Have you figured out what would motivate you enough to lose the weight?"

I stared at her longer than I meant to as I caught my breath.

"Maybe," I said as I felt a smile start to spread across my face.

It took a second to figure out what I was thinking. When she did, she crossed her arms trying to give off that disgusted look girls seem to be ingrained with. Unfortunately all it did for Angie was boost her already impressive bust line. My smile spread until my face began to hurt.

"Really, Tommy Boy? I mean... really?"

"Sorry, Angie, but you asked."

The look on her face morphed into something I couldn't read at first. Then I recognized it as... hurt.

"Do you think I'm a whore, Tommy Boy?" she said it calmly, but I could see the disappointment in her face.

"No!"

I knew I was standing at the edge of the abyss. I figured I could play this off as a joke, act like I was only teasing and take her harsh rebuff. That would be the easiest and safest action. But it wouldn't deal with the disappointment I could see growing in her eyes. To counter it I'd need to explain myself and that would be dangerous. It would require exposing my inner thoughts to her.

Shit! I thought. The abyss is calling!

"No, Angie," I said softly. "What I see is an unbelievably attractive woman that someone like me could never hope to get close to without some kind of incentive. That incentive could be money, or a favor, but it could also be out of guilt or some act of mercy. Whatever the source, there has to be a reason a woman so far out of my league, like you, would spend time with someone like me.

Angie started to say something, but I cut her off.

"No, you wanted to know, so let me finish."

As I pulled my thoughts together I noticed the look on her face had changed. Gone was the disappointed hurt and in its place was a softer questioning look. I decided then to jump off into the abyss.

Geronimo!

"If I was still married and my wife would've asked me that question I would've told her... sex. I would've asked her for different sexual favor for each targeted weight. Maybe a full make out session at ten pounds, a surprise blow job at twenty, a sensual strip tease at thirty, a naked picnic in the middle of nowhere at forty, a little light bondage at fifty, sex on the fifty yard line of Crusader Stadium at sixty, anal sex at seventy, and finally an evening of her acting like my own personal slut at eighty."

Angie stared silently. I thought maybe I'd stunned her so I continued.

"That's what I would've suggested to my wife had she not decided to give her body away freely to other guys. So would I alter that request if I was to ask you? Of course! Instead of those rewards I'd replace them with sensual massages, long hot showers together, and nights of heavy petting. However, the ultimate reward would still be spending the night in your bed with you.

"Angie, I'm not completely stupid. I know the ogre never ends up with the beautiful princess unless it's a fairytale or a Disney movie. However, you asked me to identify the most powerful thing that could motivate me and the answer is... you."

When I was finished, I sat there and prepared for her response. I wasn't sure whether she would fillet me with her words or physically beat the shit out of me. What I prayed for was she wouldn't laugh and make me feel more foolish than I already did.

She was quiet for several seconds before she gave a small snort and smile.

"Well, that's got to be one of the most unusual pick-up lines I've ever received."

She started gathering her things again but making sure to face me.

"You might be on to something, though. I'll need to think on it for a while. And NO, you're not going to get to grab my ass or play with my tits if you drop a certain amount of weight. And it'll be a cold day in hell before I ever sleep with you just so you'll get off your ass and lose the weight!"

Even though she barked out the last part of her response, there was still a small smile on her face.

"By the way," she said with questioning stare. "Why stop at eighty pounds?"

"That would put me at two hundred and sixty pounds. That's twenty pounds lower than my playing weight seven years ago when I was in good shape. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to make it to two-fifty."

"Uh-huh," she said staring me in the eyes. "Alright, let me play around with these ideas for a bit."

I smiled.

"Not that way, you perv!" She snorted a laugh.

"Men!" she huffed as she walked away, "do they ever think of anything else?"

I was pretty sure that was a rhetorical question, so I stood silently and grinned.

****

Angie didn't mention our conversation for a couple of weeks and I didn't press the issue. I figured maybe she'd thought about it more and decided it was a bad idea. Needless to say, I was surprised when she told me she had a proposal and we needed to talk after my workout.

"Listen, Tommy Boy, even though your idea seemed like some porn fantasy, it had some good points to it. What I'd propose is something more like this. Reaching the ultimate goal would entitle you to taking me out on a very elegant, very expensive date. If we're looking at eighty pounds then let's target eight months."

"Damn that's aggressive," I replied.

"Yes, but not as bad as it sounds since you're starting off with a good twenty or thirty pounds that can be taken care of by simply changing your diet. You can count on McDonald's NOT being on it!"

I groaned.

"Besides," she continued, "when you make weight it'll be in time for the Christmas Ball at the Hawthorne Hotel."

She paused, waiting on me to catch up with her reasoning. The Christmas Ball was the most formal gala event in Brownwood. It was a black tie affair, which was both expensive and extravagant. I would need a tux, and Angie... damn there it was... and Angie would need a formal evening dress. She would go all out to be the belle of the ball and I'd be her escort.

I looked at Angie and saw a sparkle in her eyes. She smiled warmly when she realized I'd finally figured it out. I would be going to the ball with one of the hottest women in Brownwood!

"All right," I said calmly. "Taking a beautiful woman to the ball is pretty good motivation. Not as good as sex but... pretty damn good."

"You wish!" she said, laughing. "Now, in order for this to happen, we need to set sub goals. I take it you're not a ballroom dancer?"

"I used to dance a bit, but no, I can't waltz worth a damn."

"Well then, the first level is to start dance lessons. They have lessens at the Hawthorne Hotel on Wednesdays. We'll start those when you reach thirty pounds."

"Thirty?" I yelped. "What happened to twenty?"

"You can reach twenty simply by putting down the Big Macs and McRibs. I want to see you work for it, Tommy Boy. If you're going to be stepping on my toes, I want it to be worth it."

She stepped next to me so close I could feel the heat of her breath.

"Besides," she whispered so no one else could accidentally over hear, "I think an extra ten pounds might be worth getting to hold me. Even if it's only while we learn to dance together."

"Of course," she said grinning evilly as she leaned back, enhancing her already impressive breasts, "it's not like I'll be able to keep from pressing these into you while we dance."

She stared into my eyes. We both knew she wasn't playing fair. It didn't matter; I folded like a house of cards.

"All right," I sighed, "you win. At thirty, we start dance lessons. Next?"

"At sixty pounds," she said calmly, "you need to take me out for dinner."

"Really?" I said, perking up.

"Relax, lover boy" she said, smirking. "It's just a date, nothing else, so we'll be more comfortable around each other during the Christmas Ball."

I admit I had a difficult time removing the smile on my face as I thought about taking Angie Myles out on a date. Angie smirked as she watched my reaction.

"Tommy Boy," she said sternly, "remember... no sex. And one more thing. I reserve the right to alter this agreement."

That took the smile off my face, much to her surprise.

"That's fine, Angie," I said flatly, "as long as you don't jerk me around like some fool. I don't care how damn beautiful you are, I won't put up with that shit. My bitch of an ex-wife did that to me, and I won't go through that again. Understand?"

She studied me intently before nodding.

"Okay, I understand."

After our talk, I found myself really starting to get serious about losing the weight. Angie's little motivation was working better than even I'd believed it would when I first suggested it. I expected it would help motivate me for a little while but it was only going to be a jump start. Instead, now I was thinking about holding a particular gorgeous woman in my arms and started seriously watching what I ate.

It didn't take long for the regulars at the gym to notice and start asking questions. When I was first approached, I gave some basic song-and-dance about wanting to date again. However, one of my lifting buddies, Brandon Kerr, could tell there was something more to it.

Brandon was a nice looking, well-built black guy in his mid-twenties, and when he wasn't working at City Hall, seemed to live at the gym. He was nice enough to spot me when I started lifting again and we'd worked out together since. He'd quickly become a good friend. The thing about Brandon you noticed immediately was that besides his friendly personality and the fact he fancied himself a player, is that the dude never shuts up!

"So, who is she?" Brandon asked while I was struggling with a squat.

"What?" I grunted.

"I said, who is she?" he said, smiling like a Cheshire Cat.

"Man, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Cut the bullshit, Tommy Boy. Ain't no dude ever hit the weights like that unless he's in training or chasing pussy, and brother, you ain't in training."

I laughed.

"Hey, how do you know? I heard they were holding auditions for Chippendale dancers at the Kandy Kane!"

"Oh, hell no!" He snorted. "Now I'll have to purge that mental picture!"