The Big 4-0 by Karen Gunning

7/27/2019 The Big 4-0 by Karen Gunning

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The Big 4-0 (final draft)

Look, look at all the balloons bobbing about in the draught from

the window not the old fashioned type, these are the silvery,

rustling helium ones that stay upright on their own, weightless.

Silvery pink, silvery blue, shaped like overstuffed cushions, all with

40 on them. 40! 40 Today! The big 4-0!

Now look around the room. Theres a bit of everything in here, its

a bedroom, and its got a sink and a mirror in it, fair enough, other

bedrooms have those - but do they have microwaves, mini-fridges,

tellies, computers? This is not a hotel room, its a bedroom in an

ordinary house, in a boring cul-de-sac in Reading. Gaynor Beechs

bedroom, in her own house, and she never leaves it.

Have you noticed the photos on Gaynors wall? Surprising that she

keeps them, really. There she is at eight years old, a skinny child in a

sexless padded coat and unflattering socks that dont pull up quite

high enough, dead flat shoes. Pudding basin haircut; Dean calls it

the Joan of Arc photo. Did call it the Joan of Arc photo. Then theres

the picture from that holiday in Clacton the year after, Gaynor

getting ready to catch a ball on the beach, (not that she will, shes

so unco-ordinated there must be a medical name for it.) She got

changed in Uncle Tonys car that day and put her swimming

costume on back to front so it looked like a Victorian strongmans


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leotard, pink nipples on a flat chest showing. Gaynor cant

remember if it was Dad or Uncle Tony who took the photo. It

couldve been either, they were both constantly snapping away at

her. Uncle Tony wouldve loved a daughter, thats what Mum said,

but him and Auntie Sharon only had Lee. Thats why he was always

so keen on you, Gaynor.

There are two tickets on the bedside table, black and sparkly pink.

Theyre for a Big Girls club night in town, but they wont get used

now. Dean had high hopes for this one. Gaynor waved them around

the last time she went on the webcam, promising shed be there for

everyone to see, in the flesh.

You may have noticed there are no birthday cards around, despite

all the 40! balloons. Its because Gaynor is 36 years old, not 40, and

anyway, its not her birthday. No, the balloons were sent last week

from various well-wishers, all men, when Gaynor reached 40 stones

in weight. Dean broadcast the weigh-in live on his website, got over

a thousand hits.

The tellys been on for hours but its just background noise

Gaynors not really watching it. Shes so sick of being looked at

herself, shes not even comfortable doing the same to the people on

TV who wantto be looked at.


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Theres a daytime repeat of an awards ceremony on. An actress is

accepting an award on behalf of an actor who cant be there. Shes

as thin as a famine victim, showing it off in a backless dress . The

tops of her arms are narrower than her elbows, the architecture of

her shoulder joints clearly visible. Shes beaming - all teeth and

sharp cheekbones, skeletal. Shes recently been voted the most

beautiful woman in the world (by readers of The Sun,) but not

according to Dean, who said, Beautiful? Itd be like shagging a

xylophone.

The actress wants to be seen, but to disappear at the same time.

Look, heres Gaynors last-day photo at school, sixteen and with the

world at her feet the male world. Within reason. No man will take

her on as a pilot or an astronaut, but theyll promise her the world.

Shes a knock-out, see; the uniform looks slutty on her, blouse

hardly buttoned, tie loose, hair bleached, lips gleaming. That was

the day she saw Mr (Sleazy) Sleaford the careers advisor, who told

her, Gaynor love, you wont need a career with knockers like that. I

advise you to get yourself preggers while youre still young enough

to get your figure back, then youll get a council flat.

Then there was the photographer, who got through the boys

faster than the speed of light but took ages over the girls. Told

Gaynor to lick her lips because they looked a bit dry. One more

button undone please dear, your collars ruining my line.


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Thats one hell of a big cupboard, for a bedroom. Its got a hospital

store-room quality - it houses all the vaguely medical stuff that goes

along with being 40 stones. The incontinence pads, (more to soak

up the sweat than anything, being fat doesnt actually render you

incontinent.) The huge tubs of Sudocreme for the rashes and the

sores in the folds of flesh, and the lint dressings for when they ooze.

Painkillers for early-onset arthritis. The dry shampoo for when

Gaynors breathing is too bad to bend her head for a hair wash. Talc,

tub upon tub of the stuff, to keep everything as dry as possible. The

top surface of this cupboard is stuffed with food cereals, crisps, pot

noodles, biscuits, all the dry stuff that doesnt need to go in a fridge.

Would you like a Dean of your own? A skinny little bloke who brings

you endless food, sits on the side of your bed feeding you, staring at

your gluttonous mouth like he wishes he was your pink wafer or

something? Worshipful. The more you dribble or burp, the more he

likes it. He likes washing you too oh yes, he loves it when your bulk

becomes so great that you can no longer reach most of yourself to

wash, and he has to hold up your huge swathes of fat to clean the

ulcerating skin underneath. Actual sex? No, forget it, if it didnt kill

him, itd certainly kill you the exertion, the sheer effort.

Men like Dean are content just to fuss around feeding you,

cleaning you, setting up the webcam to share your particular brand


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of beauty with likeminded men.

Ah, youve seen the two wedding photos then. Yes, its unusual for a

woman to display evidence of her marriages to two different men,

but there they are. The first thats the one Gaynor calls Thin-

Wedding, where all the normal people stared at her in awe as she

came down the aisle in her beaded dress, looking like a Hollywood

star, ready to marry Kelvin. The best man, Kelvins own brother

Eddie, he made a move on Gaynor at the reception. She told him

where to go, and he stared at her with murder in his eyes for the

rest of the evening. Creep. Gaynor started insulating herself with

food about two months into married life.

Now heres the Fat-Wedding photo not taken by a professional

photographer this time, but by a bored and resentful Uncle Tony,

who is keener on following the ten year old bridesmaid around with

his camera than photographing the blushing bride. When she got

out of the wedding car, Tony said, Christ, youre huge. Youve

started walking like youve got a broom jambed sideways between

your ankles. No-ones looking at Gaynor with open admiration this

time actually, scratch that, there is a little group of groom Deans

friends there on the sideline, in a huddle. Gaynor can remember

overhearing their conversation that day it wasnt about their hopes

for the couples future, it was a series of boasts about what theyd

done to humiliate fat girls in the past, laced with inconsistent


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Now cast your eyes over the lady herself; Gaynor, the elephant in

the room, so to speak. Shes manoeuvred herself back onto the

corner of the bed, and has got her breath back; shes taking stock

now. Theres a phone nearby, Dean wasnt a monster, but journeys

across the bed have to be planned by women like her. Plus shes got

to dress herself first, and the wardrobe is all of three feet away the

effort required to get one of her gauzy parachute-shaped dresses

down off its hanger is likely to be insurmountable. What do you think

of the mountainous flesh, the mysterious cascading rolls and lumps?

Can you even tell what bits of her body they belong to? Are you

disgusted, turned on, sympathetic?

Imagine for a minute what it must be like, to carry that astonishing

bulk. Hold your arms out to the sides, as wide as theyll go, and feel

your hips theyre as wide as your arm span. Your stomach hangs

down like a great apron, you can feel it on your thighs, your knees.

Now lower your arms you cant, can you? Its that fullness under

your armpits, it feels like youve got cushions under both arms.

Its time for you to get up and play to your audience, while youre

still visualising yourself draped in Gaynors weight. There are men

out there hundreds of them, thousands who are turned on by big

girls. Dean was one, but his days of watching Gaynor pose are gone;

the rest are still alive though, waiting at computer desks or in front

of laptops, many of them with slim wives in another room. They pay

good money just to watch you sit there eating some of them will


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ask you to hold your stomach or your breasts up so they can see the

raw red skin; others prefer you to lie back and open your legs, liking

the fact that they cant open fully. Some of the more extreme ones

ask for the funnel with the red rubber tube stuck in it, they like

watching feeders pour cream or melted ice cream into your gainers

mouth

The last photo on that wall is the one Gaynor used to pretend she

liked best. There she is in the middle, shes about 19 stones in this

one, still mobile, and either side, those hairless, oiled, mahogany-

coloured men are strippers from the club, admiring her. One stands

behind her with his arms around her and his hands over her then-

defined breasts. She looks beautiful by most standards, not just the

niche markets; her hair is in thick, glossy, plum coloured waves, her

lips strong red, her pale shoulders bare. Shes wearing a black and

flesh-pink bustier topped with black feathers. She looks like a

widescreen version of a 1940s starlet.

Why then does Gaynor not like this picture? Easy it represents

failure. There was a brief period of time when her increasing weight

made her invisible - to the blokes at work, to Dad, Uncle Tony,

Kelvin, even to ever-ready Eddie - they all lost interest. It was a

blissful interlude of invisibility.

Then Gaynors new friend Desrine took her to a Big Girls club

night, and the rot set in. She could kick herself now for surrendering


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to the old temptation; surrounded by men again, leaning in too

close, their eyes wandering over her, not listening to a word she

said, she felt powerful again. She danced in the centre of a male

circle, won a Big Beautiful Woman competition the following week.

Met Dean there - allowed herself to be fed for the benefit of her new

public, settled into a routine of being fed, bathed, watched, fed,

bathed, watched. Her bank account was swelling too Dean was no

con-man, whatever else he was. Not much good having loads of

money if you cant go out to spend it though.

Dean was the one who liked the photos on the wall. He told

Gaynor it was because they illustrated her achievement, (by which

he meant her weight gain.) There are hundreds more photographs in

plastic boxes somewhere. Gaynor never sees them but she knows

theyve been sorted and scored. The highest scores are awarded to

the ones that have caught Gaynor at strange angles, revealing oddly

protruding lumps of flesh that look impossible.

Gaynors been daydreaming recently, of looking for a blind

boyfriend. Itd be such a change, if there was a man who liked her

even though he couldnt look at her. She confessed this dream to

Desrine, who said, Yeah, but hed just feel you up instead. Blind

men are probably just as obsessed by womens bodies as ones that

can see.

Ok then, Gaynor had answered. How about a boyfriend that


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couldnt see me ortouch me? Someone who just likes me for my

personality?

Yeah, said Desrine. I think youll find thats called a woman.

The awards ceremony is still on telly. Now an actress in her 70s is on

the podium. She brandishes her award and shouts, This is for all

the invisible actresses over 50 look everyone, we exist! Shes

enjoying the attention, but Gaynors envious of the alleged

invisibility. It gives her hope only fourteen years to go before she

disappears, apparently.

Take a last look around Gaynors bedroom while you can. Itll be too

dark soon. Shes preparing to haul herself up and shut the curtains.

Its an old mark of respect the paramedics wont bat an eyelid

when they come in to collect Deans body, and neither will the fire

crew when they take the window out so they can get Gaynor into a

specially-adapted ambulance of her own. Shell have to sit in an

extra-wide wheelchair, probably in front of the neighbours and the

local press. But for now, shes struggling to her feet so she can close

the curtains, and for a while, no-one will be able to see her at all.


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The Big 4-0 by Karen Gunning