Starved for Love Read online

  Starved for Love

  By

  Cheri Crystal

  STARVED FOR LOVE

  © 2014 By Cheri Crystal. All rights reserved.

  THIS ELECTRONIC ORIGINAL SHORT STORY CONTAINS EROTIC CONTENT AND ADULT THEMES. READERS MUST BE OVER 18 TO PURCHASE.

  PUBLISH DATE: June 2014, First edition.

  THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUISINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

  SCANNING, UPLOADING AND/OR DISTRIBUTION OF THIS BOOK VIA THE INTERNET, PRINT, AUDIO RECORDINGS OR ANY OTHER MEANS WITHOUT THE PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR/PUBLISHER IS ILLEGAL AND WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW.

  GRAPHIC DESIGN: CHERI CRYSTAL

  FIND CHERI CRYSTAL ON THE WEB AT www.chericrystal.com ,facebook.com/chericrystal, and http://www.amazon.com/Cheri-Crystal/e/B002VG3738

  I’ve had a love-hate relationship with food ever since my weight-obsessed mother put me on a starvation diet at the tender age of ten. It was not her shining maternal moment to restrict the diet of a growing girl on the precipice of puberty, but Mom was petrified I’d be as fat as her mother. To her mind, that was a fate worse than death. It’s true that Grandma was heavy, but she sure could cook. Trying to make my mother happy was exhausting and debilitating. Talk about negative body image and I was the epitome of a warped belief system.

  She had a set of catch phrases that were difficult to ignore. No matter how hard I tried to tune her out, it was like getting kicked all over again remembering her say, “Keep on eating, Lindy, keep on eating,” in a shrill sarcastic tone that to this day triggers my body to go into binge mode. It was mean, bordering on child abuse, for her to speak to me this way, but in her defence, she really didn’t know any better and truly believed that by berating me, she would kick start me into losing weight.

  One spring day nearing the end of my senior year of high school, Mom was cleaning the kitchen, again, while I searched the cabinets for a snack. She didn’t look up right away.

  The assortment of cookies tempted me to no end as I decided which one would best ease a trying day at school. My classmates could be so cruel. I needed to drown my sorrows with milk and cookies—my quick fix of choice.

  Once my selection was made, I tried hard not to crinkle the cellophane packaging, in order to sneak away, but too late, her canine senses caught me red-handed. “What are you doing with those?”

  “Having a snack.”

  “There’s carrot sticks ready for you in the fridge.”

  “I don’t want that.” I ripped open the bag of cookies and ate one to spite her, the chocolate and cream getting stuck in the crevices of my teeth as I crunched.

  “Fine! Eat the whole thing why don’t you, but don’t come crying to me that you’re fat and ugly.”

  I loved my mom, but her ranting bugged her eyes out and pulled the skin on her face so taut, she looked skeletal, and quite scary.

  She was not a good one to preach about beauty, but she insisted anyway. “I make you special meals and buy you all this diet food and you eat Oreos. Really, Lindy, Oreos???”

  “Why do you buy them then?”

  “To teach you the power of restraint. Besides, they’re for your father and brother, not for you. Shame on you!” She wrung out the sponge, swiping at the clean countertops with a vehemence that spoke volumes. My mother was indiscriminate about what suffered in the wake of her wrath. She had even scrubbed off the temperature markings on the oven. I would never be perfect enough for her, so why bother trying.

  I popped another Oreo into my mouth, whole, and nearly gagged when I caught the tail end of her tirade.

  “Well it’s no wonder you’re fat. Look at you with your big belly and thighs as big as tree trunks. You’re embarrassing. Get out of my sight!”

  “Fine! I’m outta here.” Did she really think she was the best role model with her countable ribs, concave stomach and flat ass? She had even bleached her hair the color of a brass doorknob, for crying out loud! In her case, the price of being too thin was looking much older than her forty-two years. I still hated not to please her because I was clearly a glutton for punishment.

  Years of yo-yo dieting: everything from Weight Watchers, Atkins, diet pills, fasts, modified-fasts, the grapefruit diet to joining Overeaters Anonymous, I tried them all, took their toll. Over the course of eight years I had lost and gained hundreds of pounds. By my eighteenth birthday, I doubted I’d live to be twenty. I started each day with good intentions of eating less, exercising more and getting fit once and for all, only to hide behind my girth using it as an excuse to remain totally unlovable, friendless, and never been kissed.

  I’d be a diligent dieter for three days, lose maybe two to six pounds depending on the level of bloat, only to binge on every last ounce of food I could shove in my face. The summer before I was to leave for college, I was so excited to get far away from my mother’s criticisms and anxious about how I would cope on my own, that I lost twenty pounds without trying. The focus of my every waking day, and I even dreamt I ate every fattening thing from the all-you-can-eat-buffet, was spent preoccupied with my weight and getting good grades. At least if I was to be an ugly fat girl, and in the late sixties, early seventies we were an oddity that bore the brunt of every insult imaginable, I had to excel in school or be a total loser, and not in a good way.

  Despite my successes my mother still managed to put a damper on getting a full scholarship. “There’s more to life than studying, Lindy. A decent man is looking for a nice-looking wife, not a fat slob with brains.”

  “Nobody asked for your opinion, Ma, so give it a rest already.”

  “Don’t get fresh. Wait till I tell your father how you speak to me.”

  I snatched the phone off the cradle and shoved it towards her. “Be my guest.”

  “Watch it, Lindy. You might think you’re smart with your scholarship and all, but you’re still a fat girl without a date.”

  Stung, I dropped the phone and ran out of the kitchen, but not before I grabbed an unopened family-sized bag of potato chips and a can of onion dip from the pantry. Hot tears threatened to fall, but I refused to let them. Locking myself in the bathroom, I ripped open the bag and shoved a handful of chips in my mouth. I was sick to death of my reflection. I hadn’t seen my neck in years. I couldn’t see my feet either. I had to get out of my super-sized rut. I threw the bag of chips on the tiled floor and proceeded to stamp on it until the contents inside were pulverized. I dumped the unopened dip in the trash, splashed water on my reddened face, and headed down the stairs before continuing right out the door.

  I had had it. I walked until I lost track of time. Hours had past and I still had no idea where I was headed. I was thirsty, starving and miserable, and in no state to be out after dark in a neighborhood I didn’t know. Had I thought it through I would have been more prepared, but as it turned out, I had on stupid open-toed shoes and I didn’t think to take a light coat. I had only some change and a crumpled dollar bill in my pocket and nothing else. A chill moved along my spine as a motorist drove ever so slowly close to the curb; he rolled down his window and asked me if I was all right.

  “Yes,” I told him. I walked on, not daring to look over at him for fear he’d guess he creeped me out. I would have run but the straps of my sandals dug deep into my feet, I was limping enough as it was.

  “Why don’t you let me give you a lift?” he insisted, not unkindly. He had a grandfatherly face, stark white hair and perfect dentures. He didn’t look that sinister when he smiled.

  He pulled the car over and parked, it was a ‘60s-style Cadillac in min
t condition. I stood there and kept my distance.

  “I’m Frank. Frank Fowler. Is there somewhere I can drop you? I know you don’t live around here or I’d have seen you before.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “You look lost and if you don’t mind my saying so, but you’re not fit enough—”

  “Excuse me, I know I’m a big fat slob, so lay off.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. You look exhausted, is all.”

  “I am, now just leave me alone,” I said, my tongue sharp enough to cut steak without a knife. The thought made my mouth water.

  “Actually, I was portly myself, too much pasta and cannoli, but that’s a long story. Listen, I see you’re hobbling. Come on, it’s late and dark. Soon it’ll be chilly too.”

  I started to walk away when he called out, “Look, I only live up the road. Why don’t you come home with me and have a rest, perhaps something to drink and eat before continuing on your way?”

  I turned back and said, “All right, but first let me see your driver’s license.”

  He produced proof of name and address. Frances Fitzgerald Fowler was sixty-eight years old, had blue eyes, still clear, I might add, and was five-foot-eleven-inches tall. He appeared harmless enough. I was more exhausted than I could ever remember, which outweighed my natural defences, so I got in.

  The second my backside hit the bench seat, a long firm cushion covered in shiny leather, and not the typical bucket seats most new cars sported, I gushed a sigh of relief. It was nice not to squeeze into a seat two sizes too small for a change.

  Frank pulled up into a long driveway and cut the engine. “Give me a sec to alert the Misses, will you?”

  “Sure.” I was happy to stay put. My ankles were four times the normal size and my feet were sore. I might have even dozed off briefly before he came back out to collect me.

  “Come on inside,” he said. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “I didn’t,” I said, then bit my tongue. I hated behaving like a total shit when he was being nicer than my own mother. “Sorry, I’m Lindy.”

  “Hello, Lindy, follow me.” We entered a small hallway. He called out, “Phyllis, Jane, we have a guest.”

  Who the heck was Jane? I found out soon enough. She was Frank and Phyllis’ granddaughter and she was as tough as the barbs on her wristlet. Strong arms folded in front of her chest, muscled thighs beneath camouflage fatigues, booted-feet with legs spread hip-width, she stood as if she was bolted to the floor boards. But the clincher was her laser-sharp stare with ice-blue eyes that could bore holes through flesh and bone. The kind of tough you wouldn’t want to piss off, but wouldn’t mind having as an ally. She was chewing a toothpick, playing it with her tongue. I stared at it with an uncanny interest. Then she moved the wood to the corner of her mouth and said, “Hey, Lindy, what’s happening?”

  When she uncrossed her arms and shoved her hand practically in my face, I stepped back. This Amazon Jane was solid muscle head to toe. She looked more like a Joe than a Jane with her army issue crew cut, short, but still in need of another trim, sleeveless undershirt, and no bra or breasts to speak of. What an unbelievable dimple she had on the left side of her cheek when she smiled. It appeared and vanished in seconds. Had I blinked I would have missed it. My face grew hot as I trained my eyes towards the floor. Her combat boots were unlaced at the ankles.

  I wiped my palm on my pants before I shook her hand. What a tight grip she had too and all the while she peered intently into my eyes. The commanding outfit suggested she was much older than me, but on closer inspection, she couldn’t be a day older than nineteen tops. I mean, her smooth skin over chiselled features significantly softened as she looked me over. At ease, the ice melted and I could see she had the same kind blue eyes as her grandfather. Phyllis cut in front of Jane and took my hand in both of hers. “I made a huge pot of beef stew and would be happy if you joined us for supper.”

  “I really don’t want to be any trouble, ma’am.”

  “Oh go on, Lindy, if you don’t eat it we’ll have leftovers for a week,” Jane said. Grams cooks enough food for an army.”

  I didn’t have to think it over long. I was getting faint from hunger. “Thanks, I don’t mind if I do.”

  After the food was dished up, I dove in. There was no time for manners and the Fowlers did likewise. We ate in silence, Phyllis heaped seconds on my plate before I could protest, not that I would have refused anyway. It was the most delicious beef stew ever, honestly, and at least I was able to eat like a normal person after inhaling the first plateful.

  Jane watched me the whole time, even as Frank and Phyllis cleared the table. I was so self-conscious that I glared back at her. This only amused her further, until I spat, “What’s your problem?” while Frank and Phyllis did the dishes. I had offered to clean up, but they insisted I join Jane in the living room.

  “What’s your story?” Jane asked.

  “None of your business,” I shot back.

  “Hold your fire,” she warned, turning on the TV.

  “What are you a soldier?”

  “Training to be,” she smirked. “How about you?”

  “I’m heading to Michigan State at the end of the summer. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  “That’s why I enlisted.”

  “You live with your grandparents or just visiting?”

  “Live here.”

  “They seem very nice.”

  “They are, but they can smother a girl.”

  “I guess. Frank doesn’t take no for an answer, but now that I’m here, I’m glad I caved.”

  “Where were you headed?”

  “I have no idea. I just had to get out of the house. My mother…let’s just say, I can’t leave for college soon enough.”

  Jane nodded.

  “Whatever is for dessert sure smells yummy,” I said, changing the subject.

  “It’s probably coming out of the oven now. Grams’ baked goods are far out.”

  Frank called from the kitchen, “You girls want homemade cookies?”

  “No thanks,” Jane said. “Boot camp starts before you know it and I need to meet my weight limit.” She turned toward me, but without disgust. “You can, if you want.”

  “I’m fat enough.”

  “So what? It’s just a few extra pounds. Twiggy looks like death if you ask me. A girl all skin and bones is like hugging a skeleton.” She moved closer to me on the couch. The armrest made escape near impossible. I was already taking up most of the cushions. “Besides, you’re pretty. You do know that, don’t you?”

  I was speechless, totally out of my element. I had never received a compliment that didn’t involve a paper I wrote or scholastic achievement award I’d won.

  “Cat got your tongue?” she asked. Her eyes warmed, inviting, enticing and something else I could not place. Where were Frank and Phyllis already?

  Just then, Frank walked into the living room carrying a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. They were bite-sized and as soon as he offered I immediately popped one into my mouth. I just couldn’t resist. He left the plate on the coffee table and retreated to help Phyllis finish up in the kitchen. Jane watched me while the moist cookie and gooey chocolate chip melted on my tongue and murmured something about living vicariously through me.

  I polished off three cookies, chased them with ice-cold milk, and then ate three more. Milk and cookies, a match made in heaven. I caught myself humming while I chewed, it tasted that good.

  Frank and Phyllis eventually joined us in the living room. Frank sat on the recliner and Phyllis on a high-backed chair at the other end of the couch.

  “Thank you, Phyllis. These are absolutely delicious,” I said.

  “You’re welcome, dear.”

  They drank from steaming mugs of coffee, while we concentrated on the show. At the first commercial, Frank placed his mug on the table and asked, “Don’t you have to be somewhere Lindy? Your parents will be very worried
by now.”

  Unbidden tears welled up in my eyes. I kept them in check but spilled my guts instead. “My mother can’t stand the sight of me. She’s been making my life a living hell since I was ten years old. I disgust her. Believe me I’ve tried dieting, but it’s no use. You saw for yourself, I can’t resist anything. I hate it at home—she puts me on these starvation diets and continues to tempt me by stocking up on all my favorite foods. There’s junk food in the pantry, in the fridge and we even have a spare freezer in the garage to store gallons of ice cream. It’s sickening, but I’ve eaten a half gallon of Breyer’s in one sitting, more than once. I get so hungry, I go berserk.”

  Frank sat forward in his seat. “Don’t beat yourself up, Lindy. You ate six small cookies and washed it down with skimmed milk—that’s not bad. The beef stew might have been a bit heavy, but it looks to me like you hadn’t eaten all day and had walked off the calories before you ate them.”

  “My mother would say I blew my diet. She’s relentless. I can’t stand it. I’ll be so good, only to fail because I have no willpower at all. She told me to get out of her sight. So, that’s just what I did.”

  “Does she know where you are?”

  “No.”

  “She’ll be worried sick, my dear,” Phyllis interjected.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Why don’t I take you home? Unless you want to call her, reassure her you’re all right at least?” Frank had an almost pleading look in his eyes. It would bother me to worry him. My mother was another story.

  Phyllis handed me the phone. I dialled home. Mom picked up on the first ring. “Lindy, where are you? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine mom. Don’t get hysterical.”

  “Why did you just leave without telling me where you were going and when you’d be back? Your father is out looking for you. Where are you?”

  “I said I’m fine.”

  Frank took the phone and Jane grasped my hand. I heard him explain who he was and where I was and all that, but with my hand securely in Jane’s, his words didn’t register.

  “Gramps is great with people,” Jane said. “You’ll see.”