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Piers Anthony

The December Special Guest Writer is Piers Anthony

You can visit Piers at: http://www.hipiers.com/

Piers Anthony

CRUISINE TO DIE FOR
by Piers Anthony

Cliff stood at the entrance to the Solid Citizen Retreat, colloquially known as the local Fat Farm. He was morbidly obese, destined to die soon of sheer body fatigue unless he got the weight off in a hurry. But he lacked the willpower to diet; his appetite for food simply overwhelmed him, though he die of it. So he was here, his last chance.

He nerved himself and pushed open the door. There was an anteroom with a desk and several stout seats. Time to wait, it seemed.

A woman followed him in. She was a dishwater blonde, so fat she had to use a walker to stand and get around. She might once have been attractive, but that was three hundred pounds ago. Not that he was anyone to pass judgment.

No one was at the front desk at the moment, so they were alone. Here at least was someone who would not condemn him with disgusted looks. A fellow traveler, as it were. “Hello,” Cliff wheezed. “I suspect we’re both here for the same reason. I’m Cliff.”

“Doctor’s orders,” she wheezed back. “I’m Verona.”

“It feels like being sentenced to prison.”

“It does. But they say the cuisine is to die for.”

“But we’re here to be starved,” he protested. “They can’t serve rich food.”

“My doctor says I’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“Mine says I won’t live long if I don’t do this.”

Verona laughed weakly. “Maybe death will be the pleasant surprise.”

Cliff felt talkative, now that he was with someone who would understand. “I need a surprise. I love to eat and I have absolutely no willpower in that respect. I’m addicted to rich food.”

“Ditto here,” Verona agreed. “Also no money to pay for really effective treatment. But my doctor found a deal.”

“Mine too. An experimental food I can try free if I’m willing to gamble.” He laughed. “It’s no gamble for me; I’ll die if it don't shed these pounds.”

“Yes. It seems too good to be true. There must be a catch.”

“There must be,” he agreed.

A svelte young woman came to the desk and sat behind it. “Ah, both of you are here,” she said. “I’ll tackle you together. You would be Cliff and Verona, to be treated without charge. I’m Ada. I’m a former patient; I lost 239 pounds without effort. Now I work here; this guarantees me further treatments without charge if I need them. As you can see, I’m in good shape.”

They could indeed see. “What’s the catch?” Cliff asked.

“We have a new experimental cuisine, X23, a variant of the regular Nocal, that has not yet been tested on people. Animals have done well on it, but there isn’t always a perfect correlation. There could be side effects. You will need to sign a waver.”

“Nocal?” Cliff asked.

“That’s the trade name for a versatile filler too complicated to pronounce. It is phenomenally malleable. It looks, smells, feels, and tastes exactly like real food, and it has water, vitamins and minerals, but no calories. No food energy. You might as well try to subsist on vitamin pills. You will lose weight rapidly.”

“How does this X23 variant taste?” Verona asked.

“Same as the standard fare. Same complete lack of food value. Merely a different formula. It's all taste, no calories. You will have to take a daily dose of nutritive drink to be sure your bodies have the minimal elements they need to survive. You will have to quit when you reach your target weights. There will be daily weighings. Otherwise it’s like a wonderful vacation. Here are the wavers; read and sign, and we’ll be on our way.” She handed each of them a paper.

Cliff quickly perused his. It was a standard release form. The treatment was a gamble, but one he was quite ready to take. He signed. So did Verona.

Ada put the forms away. “This way for the opening tour.”

They followed her into what appeared to be a vacation resort: swimming pool, tennis courts, shuffleboard, a golf course, and an elaborate garden with scattered pavilions occupied by tourists of varying sizes. They had beverages, and some were playing cards or anagrams. Children were playing exuberantly in the juvenile section. There were also small restaurants scattered throughout. Every person wore the loose institution uniform, except for a few who were nude. “You can tell who’s been here longest,” Ada explained. “They’re the thinnest.”

And it was the thinnest who were naked. They were showing off their newly fit bodies. Cliff couldn’t help looking, especially at the young women.

“It certainly looks too good to be true,” Verona murmured to him. “I’m nervous.”

“I’m sure we can leave at any time if we don’t like it.”

“And return to what?”

There was the question. They had nowhere else to go.

“And here are your suites,” Ada said, stopping before a duplex with the numbers 131 and 132. She handed each of them a large key. “You need no money here; your key is your pass to anything you want. There are uniforms; you don't have to use them, but you will be losing weight so rapidly that your regular clothing won’t fit. The uniforms are designed as one size fits all—all your sizes. The keys are also phones; call me if you have any problems at all.” She walked away, leaving them standing there, bemused.

“That's it?” Cliff asked.

“It looks like heaven,” Verona said. “It makes me nervous.” She took a shallow breath. “I—I feel I know you, Cliff, if only because we’re in the same situation: strangers in paradise. May I—stay with you until I get my bearings?”

“Welcome,” he said. “I feel the same. Come into my abode.” He used his key to unlock the door and ushered her in.

Inside was a very nice apartment with all the usual elements, including a closet filled with the all-purpose uniforms and swim suits. They plumped down in two easy chairs.

“I am not at all sure I’d care to swim,” Verona said. “It’s not the water, but my appearance.”

“I know what you mean. I’d look like a blimp with or without a suit.”

She laughed uncomfortably. “You noticed the suits.”

“I’m fat, not dead. I noticed the bare girls.”

“If I looked like that, maybe I would go naked too.”

“I would look. Maybe I’d join you, if I were similarly lean.”

She blushed. “Let’s do it, when we are.”

“It’s a date.” In fact it was an agreement to do more than look. They both wanted so much to be physically appealing again.

They talked, getting to know each other. They were compatible.

“I’m getting hungry,” Verona said. “Suppose I go to my apartment and change into—the uniform—and we could sample one of their restaurants?”

“Excellent. Shall we say in fifteen minutes?”

She heaved herself to her feet, took firm hold of her walker, and went to her unit, while he quickly showered and changed. He was immensely reassured to have company in this dubious adventure. Could they really lose weight while feasting, not fasting? Or would the food taste like barren fluff?

They rejoined outside, and walked to the closest restaurant. It was completely pleasant, with soft music in the background and a table with wide enough clearance and broad enough chairs, by no coincidence. There was a broad plate glass window with a view of the playing children. The barely-clothed waitress with the name tag Hilda was almost insufferably cute. “Your diet has been keyed in,” she said. “Literally.”

So those all-purpose keys were tracking them. Well, this was a community with a purpose.

“Miss Hilda,” Verona said. “Are you by chance a former patient?”

“I am,” the girl agreed. “All the employees are. We like it here, and we get free use of the accommodations.”

“And sometimes you go naked?” Cliff asked.

“We do. It encourages the prospects, giving them an indication of what they can achieve. There is nothing fake about the program.” She flashed a smile. “When you’ve been otherwise, you really appreciate a slender body, and sometimes you just have to show it off completely.”

Cliff exchanged a glance with Verona. Oh, to have such a body again!

The menu was loaded with rich entrees. They ordered the richest, and soon it was delivered.

“It looks great,” Verona said. “It smells great. But does it taste great? I know what Ada said, but I’m almost afraid to try it.”

“We’ll try together,” Cliff said, poising a forkful. “One. Two. Three.”

They put their utensils in their mouths. The food was delicious.

“Oh, my,” Verona said. “They’re right: it is to die for.”

The wine was just as good, as was dessert. They ate with gusto, and were soon pleasantly full.

“But will we actually lose weight?” Cliff asked.

“It’s supposed to have no calories,” she reminded him.

“I guess we'll find out soon enough.”

They returned to their apartments. Verona joined him to watch evening TV, selecting a movie they both enjoyed. Then she went to her own unit. “See you in the morning for breakfast?” Verona asked hesitantly.

“Of course.”

Cliff showered again, and used the toilet. It would be a day or so before the new food got through the system; he was curious how it would be.

The TV came on. “Please weigh yourself and take the supplement now,” Ada said from the screen, eying his elephantine torso.

Oh. No privacy, either. Cliff stepped on the bathroom scale, naked. He had not lost anything. Well, it was really too early to tell. Then he went to the unit’s refrigerator and got the nutritive shake. It tasted neutral, not nearly as good as the restaurant food. But if the food really had no food value, this was necessary.

He slept well, pooped again in the morning, dressed in the uniform, and went out to meet Verona.

“I haven’t lost any,” she said.

“Me neither. But let’s give it time.”

“Maybe we should eat a Spartan breakfast.”

“No, let’s feast. I want to see whether this program works without willpower, the way it’s supposed to.”

“That makes sense,” she agreed, evidently relieved.

They went to the same restaurant, as it was the most convenient. A different waitress was there, just as chic, just as courteous, but somehow she did not seem as authentic as Hilda. First impressions counted for a lot.

They had waffles with loads of syrup, fried eggs, toast with marmalade, and fruit juice and milk, all of them delicious. “This sure tastes real to me,” Cliff said.

“Yes.”

After breakfast they walked around the premises. They played a game of shuffleboard, complete duffers, but it was fun. They met others and mixed in without awkwardness. It was pleasant. Everyone here understood about being portly. The day passed similarly, with dialogue and diversion. And plenty of food.

That night at shake time, after a voluminous defecation Cliff discovered he had lost almost a pound. That impressed him. Because he should have gained at least a pound with all that he had eaten. It appeared that it was going through him without staying, as it was supposed to.

Then it seemed as if a month had passed in an instant. Cliff and Verona were both down thirty pounds despite eating hugely, and she had given up the walker. The program was definitely working.

They continued, seeing others get down to their basic weight and depart, while some elected to remain and work for the company, liking the environment. If there was a catch, it had not yet manifested.

As their weight decreased, they exercised more, participating in the assorted physical activities the colony offered. It was a joyful time. There was just one problem: the evening nutrition shake was becoming unpleasant. It got so they had to choke it down and fight to keep it down. But they managed.

Their friendship matured. Now when the day ended, they kissed, chastely.

When they were each down to about 150 pounds, concluding the evening TV movie, Cliff broached a somewhat delicate matter. “You are becoming attractive to me. Physically, I mean; you always were so in your personality.”

She was pleased. “Would you like to see more of me, physically?”

“Yes.” Would she do it?

She took off her shirt, baring her breasts to him. Then she removed the rest. She was still solid, but not in a bad way. In fact she was one fine figure of a woman. “You want more?”

Cliff tried to mask his eagerness. “Yes, if you’re amenable.”

“You know what they say: the man desires the woman; the woman desires the desire of the man. I haven't been physically attractive in a long time. I’m amenable.”

They moved onto the bed. “Oh, Verona,” he breathed. “I think I am coming to love you.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” she said, clasping him close. “It’s amazing what a physical change can do.”

“When the program is done, and we're at our ideal sizes, let's remain together.”

“Are you proposing to me?”

Was he? He realized it was true. “Yes.”

“Oh, Cliff, I accept!”

Their weight loss continued. They finally did go swimming nude, not caring that others were watching. They had their ideal bodies and didn’t mind showing them off.

Then in another seeming eye-blink Ada was on the TV. “You have reached your ideal weight. It is time for you to graduate. Our doctor will verify that you are in good health.”

“We’ll go together,” Verona said. “We don’t need the program anymore; we have each other.”

“But what about when we get off the magic diet? We’ll get fat again.”

“They must have an answer for that. There are too many graduates around who are maintaining their slenderness.”

“We do,” Ada answered from the TV. “You may remain here for a time, returning to normal food, so that we know you are able to live independently. If you start to gain weight, you can supplement with Nocal for part of your diet to reduce your intake. That’s what attracts the rest of us: the ease of upkeep. You may assist in the maintenance of the colony, helping others adjust.”

“We’ll do it,” Cliff agreed gladly. “You have regular food available?”

“The service personnel cafeteria provides it.”

“Good enough!”

But when they tried to eat the real food, there was a problem. The stuff was nauseating. “This is worse than the nutrition shake,” Verona said, grimacing.

Ada showed up in person. “Uh-oh.”

It did not take long to verify the catch: while the regular formula could be eaten and left, the new X23 formula was addictive. It was all they could eat with comfort.

“We'll put you on regular Nocal,” Ada said. “In time that should replace the X23 in your systems, and eliminate the addiction. Then you will be able to transition to normal food. We certainly won’t be using that variant anymore.”

But when they tried regular Nocal, nausea surged. The addiction would not accept any substitute. The only thing they could eat was X23.

“Intravenous feeding,” Ada said. “We will get you fed.”

But when they tried that, the site of the infusion radiated pain and swelled up. Regular food had become poisonous to the body, throughout.

Ada winced. “We do have good liability insurance,” she said.

Cliff looked at Verona, appalled. Now they knew that the cuisine to die for was literal.

Piers Anthony was born in Oxford, England, in 1934. His family was doing relief work in Spain during the Spanish Civil War, so Piers spent a year in Spain. The new fascist government expelled the family from Spain, and Piers had his 6th birthday on the ship to America. He was not a great student, taking 3 years and 5 schools to make it through first grade because of his trouble learning to read. Yet in due course he became a writer, making his first story sale in 1962 and going on to have 21 novels on the New York Times bestseller list. Today he lives with his wife on their tree farm in backwoods Florida. He is still writing stories and novels. To date he has had over 170 books published.

Five Portraits

Aliiena

One and Wonder

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

five portraits Aliena One and Wonder