You’re lying on the couch on your side with your belly beside you. It’s slightly bulging over the edge of the cushions. When did you get this fat? You slowly rub your belly. It feels hard as a rock beneath a layer of soft fat that’s especially plushy at the bottom. You puff out your cheeks as a burp escapes. It seems like the weight is just piling on these days, faster than you ever thought possible. Your belly just keeps expanding. Then again, you’ve just eaten more than you ever thought possible. You finished half an hour ago, but sitting up still feels like an impossible task, and deep breaths are definitely out of the question. You’re pretty sure the only way you’re going to get off the couch for the next couple of hours is if you are rolled off the edge like the fat ball you are becoming.

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I need you to open up and eat another bite for me. Come on, baby, you can’t give up now. You’re so close to finishing. I know you can do it. Yes, that’s it. Just chew and swallow. Take a sip of soda to wash it down. Ready for the next bite? I don’t care, it’s coming anyway. Open up. The sooner you do this, the sooner it will be over and you can relax.

You don’t want to let this food go to waste, do you? No, I didn’t think so. Just keep going. Open up again. Take the next bite. Only a few more to go. You’re so close. I know you’re so stuffed right now, but being stuffed isn’t something I will allow to get in your way of finishing this meal.

That’s it, you’re nearly there. You can do it. Take a deep breath. Here you go. In it goes. Chew it. Aaaaaaaaaaaaand swallow. Good job. Open up again for me. I’m not going to let you stop until all the food is gone. We can take it as slow as you need, but every bite of this meal is going to be inside your growing belly by the end of the night.

Open up.

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Your eyes were bigger than your stomach–which is saying something, as your stomach is quite big these days. You’ve been making an absolute PIG out of yourself lately, and every bite is showing.

You sure feel like a pig right now. You’re sitting there in nothing but your underwear, which is digging into the soft flesh of your belly. You shift the elastic band beneath your belly, resigned to the fact that it’s probably time to buy a larger size. There are crumbs caught in your chest hairs, which you brush away absently. You feel lethargic and like you might be sick if you eat too much more.

But the rest of the meal is taunting you. Leaving any of it feels like a real shame. You want the satisfaction of knowing that you were able to finish all of it, that you were able to defeat the meal you set out to eat. You want the knowledge that every bite is sitting heavy inside you.

With that thought as fuel, you feel renewed motivation and take another bite. It feels like lead in your stomach when you swallow, but you take yet another bite before you think about the discomfort too much. You’re determined to make the most of this second wind!

After a few minutes, you sit back again. You’ve done it. Every bite is gone. You’ve never been this stuffed in your life. It’s a new record. If you felt like a pig before, now you feel like a whale–a beached whale stranded in your recliner. You cradle your distended stomach in both hands, groaning and taking shallow panting breaths.

Some part of your brain knows you should feel regret for stuffing so much food into yourself, but right now the only regret you have is that your stomach isn’t bigger and can’t hold another bite.

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You look at your body in the mirror. You’re a pretty fit guy, and you know women usually find you attractive. Being a head-turner feels good. You also enjoy feeling fit and strong, and you enjoy various physical hobbies–hiking, jogging, playing some sports.

Despite that, you’ve always harbored a desire to be fat. As a kid, you stuffed pillows under your shirt and pretended you were as big as your bed. You don’t want a pillow, though. You want a hanging, ponderous belly; plump boobs to rival a woman’s; thick thighs that form their own rolls.

Why don’t you do it, then? Letting go would be so easy. You love food, you love feeling full, and some days you really hate working out. Maintaining the discipline is hard, and it’s even harder on the days your brain screams your fat desires at you the loudest. 

The truth is, you are terrified of how easy it would be to let go. Would you be able to stop? Part of you finds the idea of being unable to stop a massive turn-on. The other part wants to know you’d be able to stop.

You’re afraid. Afraid of what your family and friends will say to you and about you once you put on weight. Afraid of the way strangers might look at you. Afraid of lectures from your doctor. Afraid of developing heart disease or knee pain or any other ailment that will be blamed on your weight. Afraid of not being able to get dates anymore, never mind finding someone who will share her life with a fat guy who keeps getting bigger and bigger. Afraid of how much you’ll miss easily being able to do the activities you enjoy now.

When you talk to FFAs online, the choice seems easy for a moment. You want to rush out and eat all the food a fast food restaurant can possibly make you and then some. You want to watch the weight pile on as some cutie who shares your fat dream adores every added inch.

But the truth is those girls aren’t there in person. Maybe if they were or maybe if you could find one in real life, it would be different. Maybe you’d feel less apprehensive about letting go. As long as it’s all online, though, it’s different. It’s so easy for them to push you to eat and gain, but they don’t have to share any of the real life impacts with you. They aren’t going to be there when your mom tells you to cut back because you’re looking heavy. They aren’t going to be there when your doctor tells you that your blood pressure is looking a bit high and can you explain why you’ve put on 50 pounds this past year. They aren’t going to be there when you have to replace your wardrobe yet again. They aren’t going to be there when you are out of breath attempting a hike that used to be so easy for you and you are wondering if you made the right choice getting fat. They aren’t going to be there to squeeze your fat rolls and rub your tummy after you eat too much.

You know you should get fat for yourself and not for someone else–but having someone else makes that choice seem so much easier. Maybe someday you’ll reach the point where you’re ready to make that choice. Maybe someday your metabolism will slow down enough that the choice will be out of your hands as the weight starts to creep on anyway. Maybe this year will be the year you’ll let go. Or maybe not.

Either way, you’ll be ok.

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I’m waiting tables at a steakhouse. It’s a quiet night, and one of my regulars comes in. Same time, same booth, same meal every Saturday night. Just a small steak and some beer to take the edge off, and then another to sip on while idly watching whatever happens to be on the TV across the room.

I’m making some small talk while asking if he would like his usual when the front door slams open and a group of 4 or 5 guys clamor in, one aiming a camera at the biggest, bandana-clad buffoon of the lot. They brush past the hostess and the ringleader loudly declares to no one in particular that he is here to take on the Belly Buster Challenge, rambling on about some sort of YouTube time record for completing it in under an hour.

Casually watching now, my regular and I watch the “influencer” - or whatever he was - tear into the pile of steak with gusto, slow down about ½ way through, and simply give up soon afterwards complaining of how salty the steak was today. His loud crowd now silenced, they all sheepishly leave the restaurant.

As I gather up the plate of remaining steak to toss it, I feel bad having to make the quiet man wait so long for his food–which had still not even made its way to the grill given this abrupt massive set-back–and offer him either a discount on his meal (which would be ready “shortly”), or he could have the rest of this platter on the house given that it was still hot and ready and steak can’t be uncooked.

He mulls it over for a bit and happily accepts. He slowly cuts into the steak and savors it, chewing slowly and happily sampling the various different sauces. The Cowboys game is just starting, and the peaceful mood returns to the restaurant. No need to rush the evening.

As I attend my other tables, I realize that I am acutely aware of how the massive platter of steak is beginning to vanish more and more rapidly. Perhaps it is the increased speed of the soft clinking of his fork and knife, or maybe it is the slow but certain bulge of his belly pressing further and further out against the table each time I walk by. Topping up his pint glass for the 4th time–or was it the 5th–I begin bringing out little dessert samplers for him to taste test as well. These are not requested, but they are well received. And I am oh so very curious about where his limit might actually be.

After finishing the very last bite of steak, he sighs and leans back, stuffed to the brim and absolutely content. It is closing time now, and I am finishing sweeping up. All the other patrons have left and my staff are all heading out the door, anxious to get to a movie on time.

As he begins to slowly get to his feet, I hear the sound of a thread or two snapping before slow lumbering footsteps head my way. Pivoting gracefully, I spin to face him, trying to hide a smile as he sheepishly asks if I have a phone he can borrow to call a cab, as he had much more to drink than he had planned on that night.

Checking my watch, I realize there is very little chance that he will find a ride at this hour, and instead I offer to drive him home, as he lives only a little ways away. But I make the offer on one condition. I have been on my feet all day and haven’t had a chance to eat yet, so I want to sit down for a minute or three and get a quick bite…and maybe some dessert.

Trying to contain my enthusiasm as he squeezes back into the booth, I bring out a smorgasbord of leftovers that would otherwise go to waste. As the conversation flows, I keep his glass topped up and continually suggest that he tries a little bit of the cole slaw, then some of the baked potato, then a rib or two or four, then back for some baked beans, all the while noting how his belly is now pushing onto the table as well as under it, how the old booth creaks when he shifts his weight. When I happily spring to my feet when all the food is gone, briskly bringing the empty dishes to the kitchen, I am overjoyed to hear the labored struggling behind me, knowing full well that in all my years as a waitress, this is the first time someone has truly eaten so much that they physically can’t get out of the booth! Gliding back to the table, I am awestruck by the sight that greets me. Stuck and panting from the exertion, comically distended belly pressed up against the table and forcing his back against the wall, he struggles a little longer to wriggle free before melting back into the booth, gazing imploringly at me for aid.

Perching on the table now, I place one small ice cream sundae before him, pressing it forward gently. “After this, then we can go home. But I’m sure you’ve got room for desserts.”

***

A submission from justkeeprunning at Feabie.

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You catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror at work as you’re returning from lunch. Damn, you’ve gotten fat. When did you start looking this hefty? When did your face start looking so round? You suck in your gut a little, turning to the side. Still huge. Pants are really digging into your stomach too lately. Especially after that lunch you had. You wound up going to two places because you still felt hungry after the first lunch.

Maybe it’s time to cut back, lose a few pounds, get back to where your pants aren’t cutting you in two and you’re eating single lunches like a normal person.

With that in mind, you hit the grocery store after work, armed with a shopping list of sensible options and a firm sense of resolve. You’ll have salad for lunch every day. You’ve listed out several kinds of fresh produce. And that lean protein–chicken breast, some salmon, canned tuna.

You’re going to save a ton of money too, you realize, seeing how your cart is much emptier than usual without the junk food you’ve gotten used to tipping into it.

Everything’s going according to plan until you hit the dairy aisle to pick up the skim milk and see the cooler full of egg nog. Ohhhhh. Egg nog is a weakness of yours.

You stand front of the cooler for a couple of minutes, the resolve you felt upon entering the store wavering. You feel the pinch of your waistband digging into you. Egg nog is not on your list. But it’s a seasonal thing, and you haven’t had any yet this year. Finally, you put a carton into your cart.

You can’t help yourself. You open the carton of egg nog in the car and sip from it as you drive home. You forgot how good it is! After you unload your groceries and put them away, you continue sipping as you prepare your healthy dinner. Your stomach is still growling once you finish. It’s going to take a little adjusting to get used to the smaller and less rich portions again. That’s the worst part about diets, you think.

Since it’s your first night, some egg nog for dessert is probably fine, you decide, so you pour yourself a little more, leaving the carton on the coffee table as you watch TV.

By the time you go to bed, you’re a little shocked to realize you absent-mindedly polished off the entire carton. That’s over 1600 calories you drank this evening.

You stare at your naked body in the mirror. You don’t feel as huge as you did at work.

You might have to hit the grocery store again tomorrow.

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Ah, Thanksgiving. You’ve been looking forward to it for weeks, I know. The way your eyes light up when you talk about your mother’s pumpkin pie, my fluffy mashed potatoes, the smoked turkey your brother does so well each year. The way you absently rub your stomach as you list out the other side dishes and desserts you’re looking forward to. I know you will be disappointed if a single one fails to make an appearance on the table this year–like the way your Aunt Debbie went on a health kick and brought a vegetable platter instead of her green bean casserole five years ago and you still complain about it.

I don’t know what you are going to wear tomorrow. Even your sweat pants seem to be pinching you lately, the way you shift the waistband around. You’ve put on a lot of weight this past year. I’m not sure what the number on the scale is–you never share that with me–but there’s no denying you’ve crossed the line from chubby to fat. Your relatives no longer remark how you must be enjoying home cooking or that you should take it easy and hit the gym. The fat you is the new normal.

I know that tomorrow you are going to do fat boys everywhere proud. You’ll sample everything, more than once, and then get a second wind for dessert. On a day when everyone will be pigging out, you’ll be the biggest pig of all, eating until your belly feels like a lead balloon. You’ll beach yourself on the couch, giving me a glance and asking me to bring you another slice of pie, knowing I’ll bring you two. Every bite will disappear into your fat, overfilled stomach.

What no one but us will know is what happens with all the leftovers after we get home…

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Two bodies are curled up on a king sized mattress. His body takes up the majority of the bed, and his lover drapes over him, enjoying afterglow, her head resting on his chest. She starts massaging and playing with his stomach, adoring all the overhang.

“You remind me of a cute chubby emperor penguin.” She squeals in childish delight.

He pats his hand on her head chuckling at her cuteness, “How so, loverly?”

“Your tummy… It looks like how theirs folds over their feet. So plush and fluffy. And when you hug me from behind, so big and protective. I love how it looks, with you towering over and around me.”

“I probably waddle like them too.”

“And I love it.” She sighs, moving on top of him. “I love it and you.” Kissing him deeply, grabbing his chest. His arms reach around her, his hands massaging her hip bones. His thumbs exploring around, teasing every nerve and hair.

“Mmmmm. Feeling like someone’s ready for a round two.” She moans, barely getting the sentence out as a finger finds its way in.

“If I were a penguin, I think the appropriate answer would be ‘gork’” he laughed, his mouth moving into the nape of her neck.

She breathed in deep, his cologne surprisingly still holding on even through all the physical contact and sweat. His beard tickling all the right spots as he moves down her body.

***

A submission by BakedAlaskan at Feabie.

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This road trip has been a lot of fun. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be so gluttonous. I knew that diner for breakfast was a good idea. A big plate of eggs and bacon and then that stack of pancakes…my god, it must have been a foot high off the plate! How did you find room for all that? I’m even more shocked that you managed to drive the first hundred miles. Normally if I feed you a breakfast like that, you’re fast asleep on the sofa until lunch time.

What’s that baby? Candy? Check the glove compartment. Don’t forget there’s plenty of soda in the cooler. If you can reach it, that is. Your seatbelt looks a bit tight.

Anyway, thinking of lunch, I’m not at all surprised that you had to nap after that. Who takes on a 40oz steak challenge after a breakfast like that? You had to eat all the fries too. That was a total scam. There’s no way anyone’s finished that challenge with the amount of fries they put on your plate. I think they saw the size of you and were worried you were going to win. I don’t mind that we paid full price for it. I mean, you ate all the steak, not to mention the mushrooms and the salad. The salad was pretty good to be fair. I think it must have looked so funny, your huge frame taking up two bench seats while you tuck into over two pounds of meat and your petite partner just picking at a salad. I have to admit I was kinda full from breakfast. I wasn’t hungry again until dinner.

Hm? Oh yeah, your coffee is the one on your side. You can tell because mine’s a skinny latte and yours is the cinnamon latte with cream. They’re so nice, but they’re really fattening. It’s a good thing I don’t mind you being chunky, cuz I think that’s your 4th cup today.

That dinner was amazing, wasn’t it? Ok, the place wasn’t exactly the best service we ever had, but the food was good. Can you believe they tried to put us in a booth? I mean, come on, how rude was that? They can clearly see you’re a man who needs some space. Making you try to squeeze into that tiny gap was never going to work. Don’t they know this is one of the fattest countries in the world? I mean, half their booths wouldn’t fit anyone over 300. It was really nice of that family to switch and let us have their table.

They were still waiting for their food to arrive so it wasn’t a big deal, but I think the wife felt bad watching you struggling. Did you notice her husband was a big guy too? I think he was trying to stop her. He only just got into that booth himself. It all worked out in the end though, thank god, because that cheesecake was amazing. What did you have? The cookie dough wasn’t it? I think that waitress thought we were greedy ordering a sharing sundae too. I wonder if she realised you ate it all yourself.

I don’t mind that I did the driving this afternoon, but we are going to need to stop soon. You’re in no shape to drive, and I’m getting real tired. Coffee? Coffee isn’t going to counteract the food coma you’re slipping into. I can see your eyes dropping every time I look over at you. It’s getting dark too. We should stop at this motel coming up.

What? Oh all right, one more stop. Let’s make this one a drive through, though. I don’t want to have to go through the trouble of helping you out of the car again until we’re at the motel. I hope you’ve got room. I’m going to make sure you’re full this time.

***

A submission

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Ok, so, I’ll admit, maybe the gym wasn’t such a good idea. I really didn’t think it would end this badly or I wouldn’t have dragged you along. It’s just been so long since you’ve had any exercise, and ever since that warning you got from the doctor I’ve been a bit worried about your health.

We should have started a little lighter. It didn’t occur to me that you haven’t even walked further than the driveway for years now. I just didn’t think you were so out of shape. The cross trainer seemed like a nice way to ease you in but, well, you broke that. I sure hope they don’t say anything. I think one of the gym workers noticed that you were on it when it made that big ‘clunk’ noise, and…well, needless to say, I was a little embarrassed when I had to help you off it.

We should have called it there and gone home, but that treadmill said it could take your weight. Or at least, it said maximum 360 pounds. You haven’t gone over that have you? I don’t remember when we last weighed you, now that I think about it. I think you’d have been ok if you just hadn’t twisted your ankle. Once you lost your balance and leaned on the rail, that was it. You were going over and taking out that rail too. I’ve never seen gym equipment bend like that. I think you put that treadmill out of action for good. The thud you made when you hit the floor made my heart thud in my chest, I was so worried. You shook the floor so hard that I heard the stack of weights clinking across the room. It’s a good job those three bodybuilders were around to help you up. I know you were a bit dazed to hear it, but when I thanked them one of he joked that he lifts heavy weights in there all the time. He made me laugh. It was a crazy contrast, all that muscle and all your…um, lovely soft fluff. I think you‘re almost as big as the three of them combined.

If it makes you feel any better, we both got a crazy workout getting back out to the car, let alone to the emergency room. Trying to support you with your bad ankle was exhausting. I almost lost my balance. I thought I was fit but I felt like I was walking on Jupiter with all your weight leaning on me.

The doctor thinks your ankle is going to be ok. She wasn’t sure from the X-ray just how bad it was. I didn’t know you could be too fat for an X-ray to be honest, but she said you have a lot of, um, what did she write, let me check, ‘adipose tissue and fluid build up’ obscuring the X-ray. She was more concerned about your heart rate. I don’t blame her. It’s been elevated, and you’ve been panting for an hour now.

We can go just as soon as she’s found an ankle support that actually fits you. Where do you want to go for dinner? Taco Bell? Wendy’s? We can get both if you like. You earned it today. From now on though, let’s keep the workouts in bed.

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