This story was written before, but takes place after Thrill Prequel
A deafening crowd made it difficult
for Charlotte to hear the stage manager; something about an interview.
"You've got that interview with Rolling Stone," Jeff, the middle-aged
production guru yelled in her ear.
"Now?" Charlotte yelled back.
"Yeah," Jeff yelled. "In the media room, next to the band's dressing
"Do I have time to take a quick shower?"
"Go to it, but hurry up, you don't want to give the impression that
you're an impossible diva, do you? Or maybe you do," he winked at
"Wow, my first feature interview with Rolling Stone," Charlotte thought
to herself as she slinked into her small personal room for a quick
shower. As she stripped off her clothes she mused about what kind of
questions she would be asked, and what she would say to them. She had
already heard the same old questions before...
"What's it like to be the only female in the band?"
"What was your childhood in Wyoming like?"
"Is it true you're into fat guys?"
That old question; Charlotte's preference for chubby men was a
well-kept personal secret until her band, Soft Thrill, had their huge
hit last fall and thrust her persona into a media spotlight of both
worship and gossip. It was amazing to her how one comment could create
such a stir.
She had been dating a musician named Ethan for some time. He was in
another local band that would often open for Soft Thrill in their
Denver home base. Their relationship was already rocky, but when her
career took off nationally, tensions between them mounted further and
their relationship suffered an ending as a result.
Ethan, tired of being badgered about what caused the breakup, and still
feeling bitter, told a member of the local press, "I wasn't fat enough
for her." When further pressed, he expounded, "Charlie [his nickname
for Charlotte] likes fat guys and I lost weight while we were together."
The comment caused Charlotte a lot of pain because she felt like she
had risked some tension "coming out" to Ethan about her preference for
bigger men. She never told him he had to stay fat for her, but they
often argued about his weight anyway. She tried to reassure him that
his body was sexy, but he resented her words, feeling like she was
trying to keep him fat. In one of the last horrible arguments he called
her a freak for her preference and she angrily responded that she could
never be with someone who hated himself so much.
Despite the fact that Ethan called Charlotte to apologize for saying
something personal like that to the press, it was still picked up by a
few online gossip sites. And after she was seen out on several
occasions with Scott Moore, the 335 pound Bronco's left guard,
nicknamed "The Tank," the item became bigger tabloid fodder.
While not a serious relationship and more of a physical attraction, the
camera caught her hand hanging on to one of his prominent love handles,
which fueled the chubby chasing speculation. The headlines in the rags
read, "Beauty and the Tank," "Chubby Chasing Charlie," "Scott Gives
Char That Gut Feeling," "Charlotte's Soft Thrill, " going on and on.
She had no idea that her flirtation with Scott would blow the doors
open wider to her private desires.
Charlotte threw on a silky, red midriff enhancing split sleeve top with
a comfortable yet sexy pair of cropped jeans. She whipped on a little
light makeup and rolled her hair up into a French twist. Still glowing
from her onstage workout, the Rolling Stone interviewer was stunned by
her natural beauty.
"Nice to meet you Ms. Collier, I'm Seth Nolan from Rolling Stone."
"It's nice to meet you too Mr. Nolan, but please call me Charlotte,"
she shook his hand.
"And call me Seth," he laughed.
She took visual inventory of Seth. He was tall, handsome but rather
lanky. She immediately mused why Rolling Stone didn't send one of their
chubbier writers. She figured they might try to test her, perhaps. She
wouldn't put it past anyone at this point.
He began the interview with all of the obligatory music bits, and
gradually he began to focus on her life before stardom, and then her
link with Scott.
"Scott and I are good friends, but with our schedules there hasn't been
any time to really BE a couple like the media has been speculating
"Well, speaking of the media, you haven't really commented on the
assumptions that your relationship with Scott has something to do with
your alleged attraction to fat men..."
Charlotte laughed, "You make it sound like some kind of crime is being
committed, 'alleged attraction,' that's comical!" She giggled more. "Am
I under oath?"
Seth turned a little red, realizing the way he phrased the question was
a little over the top. "Okay, fair enough, but I can't just pretend
there hasn't been a lot of press speculation about the topic. So how
about instead of talking to the issue directly, you tell me how you
feel about the gossip."
"First of all, I think you're using the term "press" rather loosely."
They both laughed. "But I just have to say it's all rather funny.
Imagine, people being this concerned about what a total stranger wants
regarding a common physical feature on her partner," Charlotte
Seth scratched his head and continued pressing her on the media
fascination with Charlotte and fat guys. "You mean 'fat' being the
common physical feature?" he asked.
Charlotte responded, "Let me turn the tables a bit and ask you, off the
record as you like, is there a certain physical feature on women you
like? Or men, I don't want to assume your sexuality..."
"I'm hetero, go on," Seth responded.
"Okay, so maybe you like big breasts? Or red hair? Or long legs?"
"I'd have to say those all sound good, but yeah, I'm a sucker for red
hair," he smiled.
"Alright, then can I assume you want to jump in the sack with every
redhead that you meet? Regardless of any other physical feature or
"Um, well, not quite every redhead," Seth reasoned.
"Well then, we understand each other a little better now," Charlotte
triumphantly laughed. "Let's talk about the music again, shall we?"
"Agreed," Seth smiled.
Two weeks and a photo shoot later, the Rolling Stone article
and sexy cover shot came out a week later, creating more buzz about her
Scott called her from training camp, "Charlotte, I need to know
something, did you only like me because I'm fat?"
"What?" Charlotte just couldn't seem to avoid the topic.
"And now that I've lost a little weight at camp, do I have no chance
with you?" Scott joked about his recent twenty pound reduction.
She was relieved he was only teasing her. "Oh Scott, you know the
press, anything to sell papers..."
"Oh, so you never admitted you like fat guys?" Scott prodded further.
"Well, I didn't deny it," Charlotte giggled. "But I'm sorry they
brought you up in the article, I tried to avoid the topic..."
"Oh well, you know what they say, there's no such thing as bad press,"
Scott sighed. He was pretty good-natured about his large size, after
all, it was his job to be a fat football player. Charlotte loved his
huge appetite and enormous, strong yet soft body, but they just didn't
have enough in common to keep a relationship going.
After a few weeks the media buzz on Charlotte and fat guys seemed to
die down. She was in tour mode and had little time to think about men
and relationships, except to admire the occasional sexy fat guy who
might briefly pass through her day.
She was continually amazed at how the clamor over her fat attraction
had impacted her daily interactions. More fat men flirted with her in
those few weeks than had ever before. Shirtless chubby guys were
showing up in her audiences, a couple of roadies were jokingly having a
weight gain contest asking her to judge it, and even the softly rotund
photographer from Vanity Fair jiggled his belly with a wink for her at
a photo shoot.
Charlotte realized a dream the night of the Grammys, when Soft Thrill
won Song of the Year for their mega hit, "To Damage You." She wrote the
lyrics after her split with Ethan, and felt vindicated that the pain
she went through with him had a silver lining.
After the ceremonies, she went to an after-party thrown by Spin
Magazine. While talking to an editor, neo-punk king Rob Rimbaud walked
right up to her and just stood there, staring into her eyes. Rob was
the scandalously beautiful singer and bass guitar player for the
ultra-popular punk band, The Mutes. Charlotte let out an embarrassed
laugh and tilted her head, "Um, Hi?"
He just kept looking at her for a few moments, then a smile warmed over
him. He seemed both out of it and yet very lucid, looking intensely
into her eyes. The editor interrupted, "I'll catch up with you later,
She half heard him, "Okay," and her eyes returned to Rob's. Warm
feelings washed over her. His face was so open and kind. She had never
seen him with this serene look in any videos or pictures. He was
usually so sullen, quiet and brooding.
Rob was the heartthrob of punk. He had large, dark, soulful eyes, high,
striking cheekbones and pretty-boy good looks. He was also razor thin,
like many rock and roll superstars strive to be, cut from that same
emaciated rebel mold. Charlotte couldn't figure out this odd ethereal
moment they were having, surely she wasn't attracted to a super-skinny
Finally he spoke, saying the oddest thing, "You do have a prism inside
of you," his gaze continued.
"I do?" she felt his eyes penetrating hers further. "Was that a pick up
line or something?" she thought to herself.
All of a sudden he seemed to regain his composure, "I'm glad you won
the award," he offered, referring to her Grammy win earlier that
evening, "the song is beautiful. I really feel the hurt in your voice."
"Thank you," she only offered, still not knowing what to say. Was he
high? Drunk? Strung out? She felt his continued focus on her strongly,
but it was like he was searching her eyes for her approval rather than
trying to seduce her.
Just then, his manager interrupted them, "Sorry, Ms. Collier, Mr.
Rimbaud has another engagement," and he started to guide Rob away from
Rob paused; looking at her, "I hope..." he stopped again, looked down,
for the first time taking his gaze from her eyes, and then his gaze
darted right back up to hers. His manager patted his shoulder and he
just stuttered, "I gotta..." and gestured toward the door.
In an instant he was gone, and Charlotte was dumbfounded. It was the
most inexplicable, intense, non-meeting she had ever experienced.
Jason, Soft Thrill's drummer came up behind Charlotte and asked, "Was
that Rob Rimbaud chatting you up? Did he get your digits?" he teased.
"No, he didn't ask for them," she played it down, but the look on her
face was still preoccupied with his eerie charm.
A couple of weeks later, she had almost stopped thinking about her
strange encounter with Rob when she got a call from her assistant,
Lori. "Did you hear?" Rob Rimbaud collapsed in a hotel lobby in Vegas.
The Palms, I think. Some reports say that he had been looking pretty
anemic at Ghostbar earlier in the day. I guess his manager has him in
Lori trailed off and chattered away about other gossip, but Charlotte
was thrown by this news. She thought he acted a little bizarre the
night of the Grammys, but she didn't think he was on the verge of
collapse. Maybe his peculiar behavior was a cry for help, she wondered.
She had Lori track down his address at the rehabilitation facility and
wrote him a short letter:
I hope this note finds you feeling healthy. I'm sending this to let you
know that I wished we could have talked more. I feel like we have an
unfinished conversation hanging out there. I'm here if you ever want to
She mailed it thinking she must be mad. He probably was just playing a
little mind game with her, and will get a big laugh from it. She tried
to put it out of her mind, once and for all, but she couldn't shake the
underlying feeling that she needed to be there for him in some way.
After a few more days, she received a letter, postmarked from Utah.
Your letter brought an enormous smile to my face. I haven't had much
contact with the "regular" world lately, and the regular world has put
me at a distance as well, except for the tabloid circus lurking around
here, hoping to catch a glimpse of the addict. I think you can
appreciate the sting of the paparazzi.
It's entirely possible you think that our bizarre meeting was a result
of my downward spiral, but in actuality, those were the most coherent
moments I've experienced in a while. I'd like more of those.
Charlotte was elated that the connection she felt wasn't just her own
imagination. Although she wondered what he meant by "I think you can
appreciate the sting of the paparazzi." Had he followed her fat drama
in the papers? She turned red thinking about it. She wasn't sure what
his intentions were, and not even sure of her own. She decided to write
I am relieved you don't think I'm overstepping boundaries by caring
about you. I feel like I could talk to you all day long but not one
word comes to mind right now. You could contact me when you are in
Malibu? I am staying here for a few months while we record.
Charlotte heard nothing more, feeling insecure that her letters to him
were awkward. But then a month later, she got a call from her
assistant, Lori. "Rob Rimbaud just called your manager looking for you.
Do you want his number?"
Charlotte's heart jumped in her throat, "Yeah, sure," she tried to be
"So is this the start of something new?" Lori teased.
"Um, no," Charlotte thought quickly, wanting to diffuse any more gossip
mills, "we just discussed a collaboration project and I guess he might
be in town."
"Oh, too bad," Lori said, "he's so damn sexy. I'd love to get to know
Charlotte waited a day and then nervously picked up the phone to call
him. "Why am I nervous?" She thought to herself, "it's not like he's my
type. He's just weird and trying to put me off balance. I can handle
him," she got tough with herself. "Besides, it's not like he can stare
right through me over the phone."
Rob answered on the other end, "Hi Rob, this is Charlotte Collier."
"Oh, um, Hi!" He sounded happy and much more relaxed than when she
first met him. "So, what are you doing this afternoon?" He asked.
Her heart pounded, he officially had her off balance again. "Uh,
nothing really," she blurted, unable to come up with a reason to put
him off until she regained her courage.
Just then she realized he was probably in need of an honest friend. "Do
you want to come over to my place? I'm renting a house on the beach
here in Malibu and the weather is so beautiful today. I was just going
to hang out and enjoy it if you want to join me, that is," she caught
"That's the best offer I've had in a long time," He agreed and she gave
him directions. He was keeping himself low key at a motel in Santa
Monica, and told her he'd be there in a couple of hours.
When he arrived, she opened the door and found a different Rob than the
one she had first met two months earlier. He took off his hat and
sunglasses disguise and smiled warmly. He was now more chubby than
chiseled, his hair was lighter and he had some color on his face. She
concluded that this was the best celebrity disguise she could have
hoped for. She thought he looked incredible.
Without thinking, she hugged him right away, and he hugged back. He
felt warm and comfortable. Charlotte never thought she'd think of Rob
Rimbaud as warm or comfortable.
"Make yourself at home. Can I get you a drink? I have beer, wine," she
stopped, remembering he had just gone through rehab. "Er, uh sorry,"
she trailed off.
"No, it's okay, I don't have a booze problem. Never was a big fan of
the stuff," he put her at ease. "I'll drink anything, soda, water..."
"Lemonade?" He nodded. Charlotte poured them two glasses while Rob
admired her from behind. She was wearing short denim cut-offs that
revealed her strong but petite legs, and a lemon yellow tank top that
exposed her delicate shoulders and graceful arms. Her multi-toned hair
brushed along her back with a relaxed wave.
She showed him to the third level deck where they could sit, enjoy the
ocean air and talk. As she followed him she noticed his new, small bits
of love handle where bones had stuck out before, and felt a surge of
delight wash over her.
They sat for a few moments in silence, although it wasn't
uncomfortable. Then Rob spoke, "Do you think it's weird? Me coming
here, when I barely know you?"
"Um, I guess maybe a little, but for some reason I feel like we've
known each other longer. Does that sound even more weird?"
"You know," he continued, "when you sent me that letter in rehab, I was
totally beside myself. I almost thought it was a fake. Like, why on
earth would Charlotte Collier care about me?"
"Why not?" she offered, "maybe I'm just a big fan of yours," she smiled.
He smirked, "okay, sure, why not." Then he smiled, "I am certainly a
big fan of yours."
Charlotte blushed. They were quiet a moment longer, then Rob opened the
discussion up into rough terrain. "So, how much am I going to get
crucified when the pictures of post-rehab Rob come out?"
Charlotte didn't know what to say. She couldn't play dumb. He looked
quite a bit different than he did a couple of months ago. "Fuck them,"
was all she could muster.
"Fuck is right," he sighed.
"Do you want to talk about the rehab thing?" She offered, "I mean, I
understand if you want to keep it to yourself, it's pretty personal..."
"No, I mean, Yeah, it's pretty personal, but you seem like the only
person that might..." he paused, "might not judge me too harshly."
"Why would anyone do that? People do rehab all the time. There's
millions of recovering alcoholics and addicts. It's nothing to be
ashamed of," Charlotte reasoned.
"I got through rehab using a web of lies, though. I'll probably screw
this recovery thing up because I wasn't honest about myself or my
addiction," he confessed.
"I don't know a lot about recovery Rob, but it seems to me that being
honest with yourself is part of the process, right?"
"Well, honest with myself, sure. But I wasn't honest with my
counselors. I told them what they wanted to hear. I made up stories
about who I am. I've been doing it for years now," he grumbled.
"Just playing devil's advocate for a moment... does what you tell the
counselors matter as much as what you know in your heart is true?"
Charlotte suggested, "I'm asking as someone very ignorant about
therapy, does saying it out loud make your healing more permanent?"
"I really don't know," he chuckled, "I think going through withdrawal
from meth makes for a much more lasting impression."
"I didn't even know what you were in rehab for," she blurted.
"I just told them I used it to keep going, you know, the grind of
touring, recording, everyone wanting a piece of me. They bought the
whole story," he almost seemed satisfied.
Charlotte thought for a moment. Was it her place to ask him to open up?
She wasn't a trained professional, but she blurted again, "So what's
the real story?"
"The real story... oh God, do I go there?" Then he looked her in the
eyes. "Well, if I were going to tell anyone, you would be the one."
Charlotte was utterly confused at this point, "Why me?"
He stopped, "Okay, so I know I sound like a creep when I ask you this,
but I have to know if what the tabloids said about you was true."
Charlotte knew what he was talking about. It was the fat guy thing. A
wave of embarrassment washed over her. "Why, do you think it puts us on
equal ground in the secrets department or something?" She was slightly
"No, I didn't mean to piss you off," he smiled, "so I take it that it's
true?" He pushed her. "I mean, I'm baring my soul to you."
Charlotte realized that their new friendship was not one-sided. She
figured that she was fine with the truth, no matter what Rob thought.
"Yep, I dig fat guys, and I'm not going to apologize for it," she
crossed her arms in front of her.
"See? I knew you were special," he smiled. "So then what I'm about to
tell you, can you keep it between us? I just don't think I can deal
with any more of a microscope on me than there already is right now."
"Yeah, of course Rob," Charlotte reassured him.
"When I was a kid, I always dreamed about being a big time rock star. I
practiced constantly. I learned guitar, piano, drums, all of it. I
started writing songs when I was 12. It was the only thing that
mattered to me," he started. "My parents bought me everything I wanted,
every instrument I wanted, but they weren't around. I know I've told
everyone that my dad was in the Army and I grew up in Germany, but
that's not true. It just seemed like a convenient way to keep people
from checking into my background too much."
Charlotte was totally sucked in, she didn't expect this line of
revelation at all.
"My dad is a CEO of a major corporation and lives in Switzerland now.
When he was promoted and was asked to move over there, he sent me to
boarding school... well, many boarding schools. And I just got myself
kicked out of all of them. Eventually I just lived alone at our house
in Connecticut and never went to school. I fell right off the radar,
you know? I wasn't expected to be anywhere."
"What about your Mom?" Charlotte was stunned.
"My mother? She would leave for months at a time. She had pill
addictions, mental illness issues... she was so out of it when she was
even around. I have no idea where she is now," he coldly responded.
"Anyway," he continued, "since as far back as I can remember, I've
lived in my own world. "The only person I even really remember from
childhood who was always there for me was my nanny, Francesca. She was
really good to me. But she also gave me candy, cookies, cakes, whatever
I wanted, whenever I wanted it. That was when I started getting
chubby," the truth kept pouring out of him.
"And I just kept getting fatter. Francesca went back to Ecuador when I
was 13, and I was heartbroken. She was the only parent figure I ever
knew. After she left, my father would just send me all over the place
and I would just get into trouble so I could get back home to
Connecticut and play music," Rob was really letting it all come out.
"Finally, when I was about 16, my father stopped trying. I stayed by
myself, with a generous allowance, just composing music and eating. I
got really, really heavy, but I wrote some really excellent music too,"
he laughed. "'Burn Slowly?' Huge hit for us. I wrote that on a
cheeseburger and fries rampage when I was 17."
Charlotte was beyond intrigued and secretly turned on. She could hardly
imagine Rob as a fat kid. Until now, she had seen him as reed thin.
"Rob, I had no idea..." was all she could say.
"No one does, no one. My dad doesn't even know who I am. He probably
thinks I'm 400 pounds and bumming around the country in a van or
something. He has no clue that I'm a rock star." He continued his
story, "So I just kept working on my music, and I knew I was good. I
mean I just knew it, you know?"
Charlotte nodded; she knew musicianship. She had felt the rush when
writing really good songs, the kind that made lightning bolts go off in
"So I finally, when I was 19 and still doing nothing with my days, I
got the courage to try out for a local band that needed a new bass
player. I've always been the master of bass, I was perfect for them in
terms of style. I could play every one of their songs by ear. I knew
knocked their socks off. But they told me I didn't have the 'right
look.' Yeah, of course, I was 350 pounds. I didn't fit in. I was
350 pounds? Charlotte thought to herself, He WAS big. Amazing.
Rob continued, "After the audition, the band's manager called me back
to come in and meet with him at his club. I agreed to see him, thinking
he wanted to hear me again, reconsider, or maybe he thought I could
play in another band he was managing. I really got my hopes up."
"So he sits me down in his office, and he says, 'Kid, you are real
talented, I haven't seen a gun like you in a long time. But you'll
never get anywhere with that body. For your future, you've got to drop
the weight.' And he goes into a drawer in his desk, pulls out a baggie
with a few pills, and tells me, 'try these. Drop at least a hundred and
then we should talk.'"
"I was desperate, Charlotte. I never wanted to do drugs, I never wanted
to get high. I just wanted to be successful in music, so I gave in. I
hated the way I felt on the amphetamines, but they totally killed my
appetite dead. For the first time in my life, I didn't care about food.
Or sleeping, or anything. But music. I wrote about a hundred songs in a
couple of months, staying alive on speed and forcing myself to eat
crackers. It was insane."
Charlotte realized her jaw was literally dropped open. She was
astounded by Rob's admissions.
"I lost about a hundred pounds in a matter of months, and decided to
leave town. I moved to Chicago for a few more months, writing, checking
out the scene, losing more weight, changing my name. It was there I
found meth. And I thought it was the greatest thing, because I could
keep losing weight. And I felt indestructible. I had all the confidence
I needed to get noticed. It gives you this feeling of invincibility.
It's horrible stuff," he shook his head.
"When my weight dropped under 200, I moved out to Seattle, changed my
name again, and started looking for other musicians. No lie, I had them
knocking down my door, because I was really good, but I also suddenly
looked acceptable. On my 21st birthday, I was a fucking skinny ass punk
king. We formed The Mutes and it all took off from there."
"I tried to quit the speed and meth so many times. I was honestly more
addicted to being thin than the high. I'd get clean for a few days and
start to eat everything. It was frightening. So I just stayed on the
stuff. The Palms incident wasn't the first time I collapsed. I just
forgot what it felt like to be happy and feel good. Each day became
'how well can I cope today,' and I got really, really angry."
The words continued to pour out of him. "I was such an asshole. I'd use
women and treat them horribly. I hated them for loving my thin, phony
body. Knowing they would have never looked at me as a 350 pound
recluse." It was clear he had waited years to unleash the truth, to
confront his isolation and abandonment. "I always found it ironic that
I was considered 'the hot one' in the band," he smirked, "knowing that
deep down, I was the fat one."
Charlotte tried to disarm him, "I'll bet you were really beautiful when
you were bigger too, you just never saw it because no one was around to
help you see it."
Rob smiled, "I actually believe you. I mean, I actually believe you
think that." His anger melted.
"God," he shook his head, "I was such a jerk, I would even come on to
the chubby girl in a crowd of groupies just to spite the thin bimbo
types that thought they were entitled to have me."
"I'll bet some of those chubby girls walked away with very happy
memories," Charlotte giggled, "I don't think anyone expects a rock
star, in town for one night, to stick around for them."
Rob laughed, "It's a pretty fucked up life, isn't it?"
Charlotte just smiled, "It doesn't have to be."
They just looked at each other for a few moments while the sun warmed
Charlotte was still trying to process Rob's story, "How have you kept
this all a secret? I mean, it's a pretty shocking story, you're so
famous..." Charlotte reasoned.
"Yeah, it's pretty amazing. I thought for sure that my past would have
caught up with me by now, and maybe it has," he rubbed his new belly
pooch. "But back then, I was never in school, I didn't have friends, or
a job, my family wasn't around... It was like I didn't exist. If I
hadn't been so goddamn fat, I would have disappeared into thin air. And
I guess I kind of did anyway. I just became a new person with a new
identity and left no trace of my former self."
"They told me that getting off the stuff might cause weight gain,
because of how my metabolism has been totally destroyed. But with my
history, I have no idea what to expect."
"If it's any consolation, you look so much healthier than when I met
you a couple of months ago." Charlotte insisted.
"I bet you say that to all the fat guys," Rob smirked.
"No, you're not even close to fat, and you know it."
"I'm what they call, 'tabloid fat,'" he reasoned, "Fat enough for it to
make the papers."
"I think it's a matter of deciding what is important to you, your image
or your health," Charlotte reasoned.
"Yeah, I guess by going to rehab, I've kind of made that choice," he
They continued to talk, each feeling finally free to talk about things
they had both withheld for a long time. As afternoon turned to evening,
they sat out on the deck with some take out Thai. Rob ate voraciously.
"I missed food a lot," he smiled, eating a mouthful of Panang beef.
She smiled back, falling deeper for Rob and his newly liberated body.
"You should stay here," she blurted.
Rob almost choked on his dinner from the surprise at her direct
sounding offer, "What?"
"I mean, it's nice here, and away from the media static, you know?" She
explained. "You could use a break."
Rob's cocked sideways, and he gave her a knowing smile, "Well, I could
use the time away. We're on a complete hiatus. I really don't know what
to do with myself."
Inside, the settled on the couch, Rob's belly looking a bit more
noticeable after dinner. He pulled out his wallet, and handed her a
picture of a very good-looking young fat guy, "this was me," he
She studied the picture. He was gorgeous, enormously chubby, and
wearing a very, very large black T shirt with 'The Pixies' emblazoned
across his broad chest. "Oh, the Pixies, you would have been my hero
back when I was in college," she giggled. "You were a very good looking
guy," and she meant it. He was definitely crush-worthy. Still, she was
shocked at his size. Even after he told her his story, she couldn't get
over his change.
"I've always kept that picture in my wallet, as the only reminder I
have of who I used to be. If anyone sees it, I just tell people it's my
cousin who died in a car accident."
She handed him back the picture and looked at him intently. "You ARE
this gorgeous fat guy, the famous skinny punk and this amazing man
sitting right here with me. They're all you, Rob. They're all
wonderful," and she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.
He turned a shade of pink, "This feels weird," he admitted.
"What feels weird?" She asked.
"Being here with you, totally open, no pretenses, no rock star facade,
no meth, no handlers, no grandeur," he explained, "and feeling fat," he
laughed and pinched his belly.
Charlotte grabbed his hand from his belly and kissed his lips. He
kissed back. Hard.
Rob whispered, "I waited so long to feel this, something real," he
admitted. "I had a dream about you, before we met, you wore crystals
and had bright colors haloed around you. And I felt it all over again
that night I met you after the Grammy's," he explained.
Charlotte smiled, "I saw the little prism inside of you too."
With each kiss their bodies became intertwined, giving way to a
watershed of passionate lovemaking.
In the morning, Charlotte woke up in Rob's arms listening to the waves
crash on the shore. The sun was streaming in through the blinds,
decorating Rob's shirtless, newly thick body. She looked up at him as
he slept, and looked back down at his body. She noticed little silvery
scars running around his softened tummy and belly button and traced
them with her fingers. She had seen stretch mark scars before, but
never on a belly so modest in size.
He woke up to the tickle of her fingers, "I used to go to great lengths
to hide those," he smiled at her. "You never saw me on stage with my
shirt off," he smiled at her.
"They're so faint, I can't imagine anyone would have even noticed," she
"You found them right away," he countered, still smiling.
"I'm different than other girls," she giggled.
Rob pulled her up to his chest, "yes, you are," and kissed Charlotte
The papers would write endlessly about their relationship, but
together, Charlotte and Rob wrote music that told an enduring tale of
finding love and acceptance.
More of Charlotte's backstory is told in Thrill Prequel
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