Chapter 2

But as the weeks of the semester went by, Blaire found herself noticing, more and more, the inconveniences of being a short, small-boned woman. She had always been carded at restaurants for alcohol (even though Blaire rarely had the time to drink), but, when she and Brent had gone on a date to see the edgy new superhero movie (the R-rated one), she had visibly bristled at being asked to show her ID.

“Baby, don’t sweat it — it’s no problem!” laughed Brent as they went arm-and-arm into the movie. 

“It’s just…god, I don’t know,” she said, a little huffily. “I get it with the alcohol and all, but…getting carded at a damn movie theater!? It’s a little ridiculous.” 

“Like I said, don’t sweat it, honey,” said Brent, nuzzling her. 

But it was all part of a pattern. Sharon continued to physically intimidate her, and even worse, one of her grad school colleagues, Luke, had started harassing her as well. He had been going the opposite direction in the hall from her one day, and he had stood in her way.

“Hey, so I saw that citation in the article you published in Analytical Biochem the other week,” he said challengingly. “The one where you referenced Julia’s paper on electron transport trains?”

“Yeah, and?” she asked uncertainly, not liking his tone. She was carrying a couple of heavy books and she did not have the time to stand her jabbering with a colleague who, she hated to admit, was clearly in the profession to push a lucrative career. 

“Well, why didn’t you cite my article on the same subject?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips. Luke was 5’10, and positively loomed over her. 

“I read through your article last month,” she said, clutching the books to her chest defensively, “But I didn’t agree with your method.”

“My method?” asked Luke, his voice rising a little.

“Yes, your method,” said Blaire firmly, even though (and she hated that it was happening independently of her will) her voice was shaking a little. “Your research assumes that these anaerobic microorganisms produce oxidases and reductases no matter what, independent of their environment. But there’s no evidence of that. Like, at all.”

Luke just stood there motionless, hands still on his hips, his mouth opened a little. Blaire pressed on, feeling her confidence swell. “Terminal oxidases and reductases are inducible, Luke. They are synthesized by the organism as needed, in response to specific environmental conditions. How can I cite an article that totally ignores that fact just because it happens to be convenient for your research?” 

“Well, Little Miss Publication is at it again,” said Luke unpleasantly. “Why don’t you slow down a bit and focus on your home life, huh? God I feel sorry for whoever married you.” And he pushed past her roughly, causing her to drop her heavy books on the floor. Blaire had stared after him open-mouthed, shocked at his treatment of her, as angry tears formed in her eyes. Later that night, she had cried about it to Brent, more in frustration than anything else. At first, Brent swore that he was going to track down Luke the next day and give him a piece of his own mind, but after Blaire begged him not to, he relented, and focused on comforting her.

“I’m just so sick of feeling like people can just…walk all over me, and…and push me around…just because I’m so small!” she said through her angry tears. 

“Well,” said Brent embracing her close, “You know that you can always depend on me to back you up.”

“I know,” said Blaire appreciatively, sniffing out into the air. “But you can’t be with me every second of the day. I need to be able to take care of myself. I need…”

And here Blaire paused for a few long moments. Brent could feel her mind working. 

“I need to get bigger,” blurted out Blaire. “Yes, that’s it! I need to make myself get bigger.”

“Whaaat, honey?” asked Brent, trying to ignore the excited jolt of electricity that shot through his nether regions. 

“I need to work out,” said Blaire, standing up and turning around to face him. “I know that you love me for who I am and all that, Brent…but…this has become a “me” problem. I’m not happy with how I look. And it’s not unhealthy or anything — it’s not like I hate myself, I hope you understand. I don’t. It’s just that I think it’s time for me to make a change.”

“Uh…well,” said Brent, cocking his head and looking at her in earnest, “Whatever you think is best! I want you to feel comfortable in your own body.” 

“Yes…yes me too,” said Blaire determinedly, nodding. “Screw my insecurities about getting fat and all that nonsense. I’m not gonna get fat — I’m gonna get strong. I’m getting on a workout routine. Starting tomorrow.”

“T-tomorrow?” laughed Brent. His wife’s drive never ceased to amaze him. 

“Yes,” she said simply. “Tomorrow.” 

Blaire was true to her word. The very next day, she embarked on a workout regimen that was specifically designed to increase her body’s strength and bulk. She hired a personal trainer and communicated her ideas to him, and he immediately started her on squats, three days a week, to build up her legs. The trainer also started her on bench press, the rower machine, dips, and pull-ups twice a week, so that she was alternating her upper and lower body workouts and giving her muscles enough time to recover in between. Per her trainer’s advice, she also started taking creatine supplements, and instructed Brent to make her a lot more rich, high-protein food. Generally, Brent had made lighter meals during the week (with the exception of Friday), but now, he was only too happy to make Friday-style meals every day for his growing wife. 

And grow she did. Within a couple months, Blaire had put on 20 pounds to her previously-frail frame. She had not gotten any taller, of course, but her limbs had thickened noticeably. Her thighs had become thick and strong, her butt had sprouted out impressively, and even her arms had attained some undeniable tone and definition. The vigorous physical activity, combined with all the calories she was consuming, also added a layer of feminine pudge onto her frame that had previously been absent. Her small boobs jumped up a size and a half, from an A-cup to a sizable B-cup, and she even grew a bit of a tummy that stuck out a little over the waistline of her jeans when she buttoned them up. But Blaire didn’t care. She was seeing results…immediate results, and her professional life improved dramatically. Luke had stopped bothering her, her students seemed to pay more attention during her lectures, and even Sharon seemed to have backed down.

But perhaps the most noticeable change that accompanied Blaire’s new body was the sudden flowering of her sex life with Brent. It hadn’t been entirely fallow before, but now, things seemed to have kicked up into a higher gear. Whereas before, they may have had sex a few times a month, now they were doing it a few times a week. And the actual sex…well, it was just better. Brent was unable to hide his newfound attraction to Blaire’s body; it was lost on neither of them that he was going longer and harder when they had sex, and that he was more likely to instigate it himself. Something had changed, and it was obvious to both of them what that was. 

“Admit it!” said Blaire to him one night, both of them breathing heavily as he rolled off her after another passionate, sweaty encounter. “You…you like me bigger, don’t you?” 

“I…uh…I…yes,” said Brent. He felt like it was useless to pretend otherwise. And after all, wasn’t it a good thing that he and Blaire now wanted the same thing? 

“And you were always this way?” she asked, still breathing heavily up at the ceiling. 

“Uh…yes,” he said again. “But I’ve always thought you were hot, Blaire.”

“Well,” she said, rolling over and smiling at him, “You better watch out. I think I’m actually getting towards being just as strong as you are, haha.” She knelt in between his outspread legs and flexed her arms for him, laughing. His eyes popped a little as he saw the muscles jump up.

“Holy shit, you really are into my size,” she murmured, seeing his reaction. She lowered her arms, and looked at him coyly. “Would you…would you want me to be taller to?”

Brent looked at her blankly for a moment. 

“Yeah, you totally would,” she said, grinning down at him. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Well, don’t worry about that,” said Brent, reaching up to caress her newly-enlarged breasts. “There’s no way of getting taller.”

“I can wear heels more often,” she said, peering down at him and flashing a toothy grin. “I’ve always wanted to be taller too, you know. And while my genes inhibit me from gaining height — and you can attest to this, Mr. Expert — I can always cheat the system.”

“Haha, whatever you want, dear,” said Brent, feeling a new thrill start to rise in his loins. 

Once more, Blaire followed through in her determination. She began to wear heels all the time. She had started conservatively, with little 2-inch platforms, but after a few weeks, and boosted by her husband’s obvious enthusiasm, she bought a few more pairs, ones that were 5 inches tall. Pretty soon, she had become accustomed to navigating the world as a 5’6 woman. She gained another 5 pounds from her workouts. Now around 130 pounds, she was well and truly gaining on her husband in terms of strength. One night she even challenged him to an armwrestling competition, and nearly beat him. The only reason Brent ultimately won was because his arm was longer. Blaire could do far more dips and pull-ups than he could, and she had even reached a point where she was max-squatting 185 pounds. In two and a half months of work, she had made incredible progress. 

Brent greeted this progress with a bit of an internally confused reaction. On one hand, he was immensely turned on by the fact that his shy, quiet, brilliant wife had decided to turn herself into an impressive weightlifter, with ample feminine curves and bulk to go along with her strength. Her tall heels were just icing on an almost desperately erotic cake for him. On the other hand, though, her rapid progress was taking a bit of a toll on his masculinity. There was no way around it — she was actually approaching him in strength. She was in great shape, and he was still a little overweight, and definitely not in any kind of respectable weightlifting shape. His sexuality contrasted with the social expectations of the bigger, stronger, more dominant male role, and he would have been lying to himself if he said that he didn’t feel a bit of shame or panic at realizing that his wife was eclipsing him. Still, though, he always had his height. No matter what, he would always be 6 feet tall, and she would be 5’1. The culturally-masculine part of Brent’s brain took solace in that fact, at least.