September 15, 20XX

I woke up, stretching meekly as I prepared for another Saturday alone. Often it was just Cynthia and I hanging out, in a mostly empty home. Parenting gurus said that you shouldn’t make your child your friend, but, typically, as we walked, watched television, did chores, and ate together… that was pretty much our relationship. We even still slept in the same room, despite how large the house was. Containing four bedrooms, the blocky home could be somewhat creepy alone.

Originally, when she was seven, she bound into my room, scared of the dark. Things just never changed after that moment.

Today, the covers were tossed roughly to the side, a sign that she was already downstairs. I could hear the sizzling of bacon as I showered and dressed. Soon, in a pair of morning slippers, I walked downstairs to see Cynthia cooking, sun shining through the window.

A plate was already prepared for me, several strips of bacon next to some pancakes. Cynthia hummed quietly as she kept adding to her outright mound of food. Dozens of pancakes accompanied what appeared to be a rack of bacon. All sitting in a pan, outright unable to merely fit on a plate.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” I replied, almost stunned at the mound of food. “And I didn’t think you were one to eat bacon.” My daughter wasn’t exactly vegan… but she didn’t really eat much meat. She seemed to have guilt about ever eating it… but…

"What? I'm not religious... I'm allowed to eat bacon..."

"I just mean... you've hardly ever eaten meat at all..." I sighed.

“Maybe I have a taste for meat now? I think it’s wrong to feel too much guilt about it… I know what you’re thinking.” Cynthia responded casually. “I just… I’ve always been a bit of a carnivore. But you know, I don’t think I need to hold back anymore…” my daughter shrugged, as she carried the rack to the living room.

“Wait! You need to eat in here!” I replied. But she acted like she didn’t hear me as she marched into the living room.

“You can eat in here too, you know!” Cynthia replied finally, as she plopped herself on the couch. A mound of sticky syrup covered the pancakes. She was going to ruin the couch if she did that, so I marched into the room to say something.

“What.” She had an uncharacteristically surly voice as she looked at me. “I need my coffee. And I need to eat. In case you haven’t noticed…” her stomach growled, as if on demand, “I’m still going through my growth spurt. And even for me, this is a lot of food. I don’t want to sit in the kitchen for an hour. Ok?”

“But…”

“You don’t work. You don’t go to school. You can clean the couch if I spill something,” she barked, causing me to step back.”

“C…Cynthia…” I replied, a bit of shaking in my voice.

“I… I’m sorry… I just need my coffee…” Cynthia replied, picking up a large, heavy, mug. She normally kept herself to one cup, black, just like my husband. But the liquid looked slightly… pink… as if it was mixed with some creamer. She stirred it lazily a little, before sipping from the cup.

“I didn’t know you to be such a coffee fiend…” I remarked bluntly, trying to change the topic. Cynthia smiled as she took a bit of the mug.

“I like some strong coffee…” Cynthia sighed, before taking a long, slow sip, setting the cup on the table next to the couch. “I need it to get going…” She stared at me from the side. “You’re allowed to eat in here too, you know?” The couch sagged under her weight, her youthful face looking at me. Green eyes narrowed, a pink tongue slithering in and out, hungrily examining the food beneath her. Without even thinking, I did what she said, taking my plate from the other room. Compromising a little, Cynthia carried a fold up table. She laid it out in front of her, the large tray taking up most of the room. Gingerly, I laid my plate next to hers.

“You’re allowed to get your own table, you know?” Cynthia snorted. But her arm wrapped around my stomach as I sat down next to her. Cynthia’s stomach rumbled again, an irritated sort of sound. “You’re sitting right next to me… it’s like when I was little… but opposite.” The couch, Cynthia sinking into it, caused me to sink into her body. Her slim, still somewhat-immature hips caused me to press into her center of gravity.

“Wow… you’re really plowing through that.” I remarked bluntly. Almost inevitably, she ate greedily and messily, in between sips of her coffee.

“Yeah mom…” She rolled her eyes. Cynthia smiled as she flicked on the TV with one hand, while pressing me into her side with the other. I looked down at her midriff, where a significant portion of her stomach was exposed. She felt warm, body heat radiating out of her. I could also smell a faint scent of her sweat. I turned slightly red as some of it flowed down, threatening to stick me to her.

“This feels kind of awkward…” I rolled my eyes, my voice taking on an embarrassed high pitch. But for some reason, I was smiling too.

“Yeah… it is… you know, you got this shirt for me, just a couple of months ago. But I’m already starting to just… swell out of it…”

“Swell out?”

“You know… things are just… TIGHT.” She emphazied the word, the T hissing out of her. “In general… they just feel tight… but when I have coffee like this… good… coffee… I feel, really… really… loose… but I have a lot of energy too… but then things get tight again… and… I bet if I wore this shirt a few days, I could burst right out of it, you know? With my growth spurt and all… it’s not stopping.”

I wasn’t paying attention to the TV at all. I watched Cynthia as she ate, shoving pancakes with her bare fingers into her mouth. Crumbs fell onto me, splattering my face. I had to rub my eye a little, as one fell right in.

“Hehe…” Cynthia giggled, as she pressed me into her. “You have a bit of syrup in your hair too. You’ll have to clean that out…” She really was huge. It felt weird, being pressed against my fourteen year old daughter like this. Weird.

“Why don’t you relax a little… I’ve been hanging out with people more at school… since he died… a few years back… you haven’t worked… I mean… your shoulders…are just… so… stiff…” A warm feeling spread throughout my body as her hands wrapped around my shoulders. With the skills of a professional, she begun to knead my shoulders and my back, my bones creaking as she took out years of tension.

“Where did you learn to do that…” I sighed, as I sunk into the couch… into her. But Cynthia just kept kneading my tired muscles.

“You only work three days a week… but it’s all physical. You used to do a real job… and it pays good for what it is… fifteen an hour… supplementing the inheritance, I guess. But you don’t really look built for lifting boxes.”

“Hmm…” I had developed some muscles from my little side job. But I suppose I was pretty thin. But I felt like warm, comfy putty in my daughter’s hands.

“I’m a little over 5’10 now,” she cooed affectionately. “Maaabbbyyyee 5’11. I’ll need the card tonight. To go clothes shopping. It’s getting more difficult to find anything that fits… I mean…” She stopped massaging my back for a moment, as she took a huge breath.

“Cynthia, what are you?”

*POP*

A small flash of metal nearly hit the ceiling as her size 34 jeans button exploded. She wasn’t in the least bit fat… just… big… at least compared to me.

“Whoops! That feels better though!” Cynthia chirped. “I’ve been making a lot more… friends at school. So I’ll probably be hanging out with them more… but Saturdays… will always be ours, ok. I wanna hang out just with you! Even if our relationship changes!”

“Changes?” I remarked, unsteadily. For some reason, that single word felt ominous.

“It’s already changing… I think. But in a good way!” She chirped, before looking down at me. “I… I’m changing. And, to tell the truth… I like it… and…” I couldn’t help but stare at her pants. Didn’t I just buy them a couple of weeks ago? They were… skin tight on her. Little relief had been provided from the button popping off. She was nearly a foot taller than me now. Even with both of us sitting down, my head rested near her armpit. I found myself yawning, having not had any coffee today. I stared down her stomach, looking awkwardly at where Cynthia’s button had popped off. A slight, musky, sweet smell wafted up towards me, and I saw a single drop at the base of one of her fine hairs. Most of her crotch was still shielded from view, the result of her struggling pants.

“You’re staring at my pubes, mommy.”

“You aren’t wearing any panties. It’s indecent.”

“I am… the butt’s just kind of swallowing them up, you know. But still… I just turned fourteen, and…”

“I… uh… ah… I mean… you’ve just grown so much!”

“It’s fine… and you’ll see… later… I guess. You’re probably not ready yet. You’re intelligent like me, mom. Even if you don’t think so.  You know what I mean.”

I did. And yet my conscious brain denied it. As my daughter cradled me to her side, like I was her child. As she resumed, eating, a little pitter patter of messy crumbs fell down my face.

I didn’t pay much attention to the Television.