You take a break from your dinner to survey your vastness in the mirror. You think you did well this month. You can hardly wait until your monthly weigh-in. It’s only a week away. Will you meet the goal? You’re sure you will. It was only five pounds this month. Your feeder has pushed you harder before. You will probably exceed the goal. The question is by how much.

It’s amazing how just five pounds here and ten pounds there can add up over time—especially when you keep exceeding the goals. What a whale you have become! Every day it gets harder to heave your obese body out of bed. You long for the day when it’s no longer possible without aid. Never mind your feeder’s small monthly goals. This is your own goal. 

You’re lucky how well fed your feeder keeps you and how well you are rewarded for meeting and exceeding each goal set for you. You have fast food many times a week—any time you want it, you receive it. The amount you can eat has increased so much since you first started gaining. Your original portion sizes are almost laughable now.

Speaking of which, you reach for a fry from the fast food bag on the vanity and dip it into the ketchup. Must finish your dinner like a good pig, after all. Not that you’d dream of letting any of it go to waste, anyway, not now. You didn’t get this huge by wasting food. You’re actually not sure if you’d be able to let any of it go uneaten. It’s been a long time since you were able to stop eating what was in front of you. There are moments that losing such total control of your appetite gives you a glimmer of worry, but the doubt always passes as you get excited and aroused thinking how much closer you get to your goal with every bite. 

Giving in to your inner gluttonous pig and becoming a blob incapable of getting out of bed and doing anything but eating and eating and eating and keeping your stomach stuffed to capacity is your dream come true. Every time you think of it, you feel flushed and aroused. You touch your belly apron. That’s much easier to reach these days than anything beneath it. You’d have to lose weight to pleasure yourself properly—and that’s never going to happen. You couldn’t lose an ounce even if you wanted to try. You’ve become far too addicted to being stuffed and to seeing the number on the scale go up, up, up.

You have no limit.

The last fry disappears in your mouth. You wish you had more.

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