Part One.
Bert Case was a loser. He was fat and had small feet. The top of his head came to a soft round point that was thick with skin and glistened like an uncooked ham. His bald, nude scalp was pasty white and draped over his face and neck like a veil. His eyes were slightly sunken in but they darted and shot around like a squirrels. Sitting above his bloated nose was a fluffy tan mustache that accumulated both beads of sweat and crumbs of all sort. Beneath his mouth-hole was a chin a nonexistent chin that was flanked by a pair of ruddy, milky white cheeks that flushed periodically for seemingly no reason. His neck was a set of soft curling lumps that continued down around his shoulders and to his belly which jut past his waist band like a straining grocery bag. The entirety of his upper torso was repulsive to look at and whose girth could not be properly imagined, like the idea of infinity. What used to be his waist had turned into a large bloated mass of fatty tissue that bulged beneath his gut and above his groin. This pooch jut from his body like a large tick and jostled whenever he stood up too fast or went up and down the stairs. Beneath this obtrusion the wad of flesh curved dramatically to a point that disappeared into the cavity that was his impotent groin. It was at this point where Bert Cases’ body began to change. Like most front-heavy people Bert Case has no ass, instead his lower back seemed to drop straight down to the back of his knees, leaving a void that should otherwise be full. His thighs were strangely thin and his calves might even be called shapely. His legs stuck out beneath him like thin toothpicks, and his small, compact feet were roughly the size of a small dictionary. Standing closer to five feet than six feet and with a diameter rivaling his height, Bert Case was without a friend, acquaintance or next of kin. He had no prospects or anything on the horizon. He was a loser in every sense of the word - but today was different.
Lucy Cardwell was a sixteen years old and a virgin and today was the most important day of her life. She descended the stairs like a proper lady; her posture poised, her left hand passing daintily down the thick oak banister, and her right arm supporting her purse which was tucked primly to her belly. Her steps were proper but fluid, and there was not a moment where her hair or bosoms bounced, in fact if it were not for the slight flutter of her dress she might have been thought to be on an escalator. The dress she wore might have been considered antique on anyone else but she wore it with such confidence and her movements were so exactingly perfect that it was foolish to deny the perfect union between the woman to the dress - it was elegance. Her hair was done-up in a sort of bun that sat low on the back of her head. A pair of matching barrettes sat above the bun and two drapes of hair fell on either shoulder. Her forehead came down gently to her brow and formed a small elongated oval that formed a frame for her face. Inside the oval everything was small: the eyes, nose, lips and chin. Their petiteness did not take away from their homeliness however, and she had a glow beneath her porcelain skin that seemed to radiate her grace. Her neck was thin, almost bird-like and her skin spread out to her shoulders and down her arms like a paintbrush. The dress prevented any cleavage but even beneath the thick lacey cloth her plump breasts could be seen. They were not large was still apparent and this curve was accentuated by her then waist and wide hips. While the top half of the dress was tight and revealed her figure quite well, the bottom half ballooned beneath here like something from Alice in Wonderland. Though covered by the large pluming dress, her legs carried the form of her upper half. Her thighs were not muscley but toned, and her calves and ankles had the proper ratio of bone to flesh. Even her dainty feet were neither too small nor too long but perfectly proportioned. Lucy Cardwell was a doll, and as she reached the last step and turned to enter the foyer, she paused to make sure everything was in its right place. When everything was where is should be she took a step forward and set a plastic smile on her face; she did not know what to expect, but she knew she was ready.
The bed Bert Case slept in was not small, merely too small for him. It sat in the corner of the small bedroom and he had to push off the wall in order to gain enough momentum to roll out of bed. Like most fat people, Bart Case slept on his back, and when he rolled from the bed his legs swung around and with a grunt they plopped on the floor. Sometimes this took more than one try whenever the roll was not strong enough or his bulk could not be flipped over, but on this morning Bert Case rolled and landed both small feet on the floor successfully. This simple move flushed his face and a pair of soft wheezes escaped lips before the straining springs of the mattress filled the room as he hoisted himself to his feet. It was seven in morning and the light coming through the window was already bright. Bert waddled to the opposite side of the room to his closet; his arms dangled to the sides like they were in a cast. After considerable effort and at least fifteen full minutes, Bert was off his bed and dressed in his normal attire: brown slacks, light blue dress shirt and a navy blazer. Their was enough material used in the jacket to serve as a large blanket for a child or small lady, but Bert Case filled every inch of that blazer. Rotating like a warped vinyl, Bert Case spun around to face his bed and begin the arduous task of applying his shows to his feet. Bert wore size nine-and-a-half black faux leather walking shoes that were fastened with two thin Velcro straps. In order to save time, and more importantly energy, Bert employed a trash picker-upper so he could maneuver each shoe in place without having to bend down. Using this long device Bert was able to grip the show strongly enough for his foot to wiggle in with little resistance. The dexterity of the picker-upper allowed Bert to fasten each strap snuggly, and the whole operation, from the time Bert Case rolled off his bed to the time the last Velcro strap was fastened, typically took about forty minutes. But on this particular day Bert Case was in a hurry, and after only thirty-two minutes he was walking to the elevator at the end of the hall. Bert Case had never taken the stairs since moving into the high-rise apartment complex, and he never rode with strangers. Sometimes he would loiter for over an hour waiting for the elevator to clear up just so he could rise alone. Bert lived on the top floor and to avoid having to stop for other tenants he learned a trick used by police officers and other law enforcement officials. When pressing the button for his floor, Bert would hold it down and simultaneously hold the button for closing the door. This trick enabled Bert to avoid stopping unnecessarily and thus avoid other tenants. When other tenants watched the elevator pass them by they assumed they had pressed the wrong direction or that the elevator was just like the rest of the hotel; old and troublesome. It was before eight in the morning and Bert Case entered the elevator after having only wait four minutes. Bert's sweaty left thumb was pressed on the Lobby button and his right thumb was mashed on the Closed button. The Lobby button was so low that by the end of the ride Bert's wrist, shoulder, and his entire left side would inevitably begin to cramp, and this time was no different. When the elevator door finally dinged open Bert Case exhaled heartily as his removed his fingers from the buttons, and with noticeable effort he swayed his weight backward slightly and began to shuffle forward out of the elevator. The elevator opened at the base of the stairs just inside the foyer, and Bert Case walked outjust in time.
