Lately I cannot stop eating!
As you know, I love to eat, I love food, I love being fat, and I love getting fatter.
But that doesn’t mean it’s always easy for me. There is a lot of social pressure against being fat—more than you can possibly realize if you are not fat. Nearly all of my friends have said something about my weight, minus those who are fat themselves and/or have helped me to gain/grow/eat. As my current weight is just north of 300lbs, I get comments in the street about my size, especially if I wear anything through which one could discern my figure. If my shirt doesn’t have long sleeves, I can almost guarantee I’ll get at least one comment about the size of my arms. Family, of course, is always the worst. They have never supported my growth, they fat-shame me constantly, and they regularly post (public!) comments on my Facebook photos suggesting I should try to lose some weight.
With all of those things confronting you constantly, it can be hard to stay comfortable in your own skin, even if you feel like the body you are in is (finally) the one you were meant to be in. I knew my whole life I wanted to be fat; it took me nearly 20 years to get the body I always craved but just as frequently denied myself. I’ve never felt better about myself since I got to be as fat as I am. Still, it can be hard to stay true to yourself when the world around you is telling you you are wrong. (It’s especially hard when you don’t have a partner who encourages your lifestyle and loves you in the body you are in.)
So, despite my love of all things fat, I have my doubts. But recently those doubts have been suppressed under a barrage of treats, candies, cakes, and snacks. I just cannot stop eating!
I think part of it has to do with a recent vacation I was on with some friends. My mom met us as the beach one day. I was wearing a fatkini (inspiration courtesy of the inimitable Loey Lane) that was a high-wasted two-piece. My mother was repulsed that I would venture out in public in such a revealing outfit. She commented, in a brief moment alone, that shouldn’t I cover up a bit better, at least until I’ve lost a bit more weight? In the moment I mostly ignored her, laughing quickly at her comment and inviting my friends back into the conversation, where I knew she, Mom, wouldn’t be so suggestive.
Secretly, internally, I loathed her comment. And that loathing turned to lust: I wanted to be even fatter, and wear even more revealing clothing. I craved, in that moment, to stuff myself with pizza and ice cream. I mourned that I wouldn’t have a night to myself, a night of gluttonous indulgence in whatever my belly desired, for another two nights. I wanted to watch myself grow fatter, my belly hang lower, my thighs jiggle more furiously, just to smite my mother’s expectations. My anger towards her attempted intervention morphed into a desire to grow as fat as possible.
Later that night, after I spent the remaining hours at the beach longing to have my belly stuffed with greasy, fattening pleasures, distracted by my own fat body, my lust growing too great to handle, I lied to my friends. I told them my mother had left her wallet in my purse, and that I would have to run out to where she and my father were staying and drop it off; I would be right back, and did anyone want to come with me? (I learned, when I used to stuff myself as a teenager but before I grew to be an actual fat girl, that, when you are lying to people so that you can sneak out alone to eat fattening treats, it is best to invite others to come along, to shirk suspicion. Sometimes the trick fails and someone joins you. This night, thank the lord, it did not fail.)
Of course, my mother had not left her wallet in my bag. I simply had to eat, to rub my fat belly as it digested enough for three of my friends back at the house, to pull my shirt up over my belly and watch as the flat spilled out over the waist of my pants and took rest upon the top of my thighs. I was practically moaning with desire as I started my car. I stopped at the first fast food place I could find (Wendy’s). I went inside to order, rather than going through the drive through; I get a strange satisfaction watching the face of the person taking my order as they size me up (pun definitely intended) and think to themselves that the reason I am so fat is because of how much food I ordered. My cashier was a young man, probably a few years my junior, and his eyes widened slightly as I ordered two double-patty Baconators, a spicy chicken sandwich, a large fries, a large coke, and a large chocolate frosty. (I took my meal to go and ate in my car; as much satisfaction as I get ordering face to face from the cashier, I’m not yet comfortable stuffing myself in front of others, unless he’s feeding me, of course 😉 ).
I didn’t finish all of it—the Baconators are HUGE—but I did enough damage to satiate my cravings. I imagined myself growing fatter and fatter as I washed the fries down with chocolate frosty. Mmmmm.
The Wendy’s binge, however, only temporarily held me over. The first thing I did after getting back from vacation was stop at Dunkin Donuts and stuff myself with 6 donuts. They went down with comparative ease. Despite the relative enormity of my stomach, my eyes tend to remain larger still; I often purchase 6 donuts, only to find that the last donut and half have to wait until the next morning. Not on that night. I ate my 6 donuts before dinner, still had room for leftovers from the night before, and then ate the remaining ice-cream I had in the fridge.
Like I said above, it can be hard to be as fat as I am and to deal with the social pressures. Often I succumb to them, and after a particularly enormous binge, or a particularly offensive one (like when I have to lie to my friends to stuff myself fat), I tend to lay off the fat bingeing for a bit. Not recently. I have been back from vacation for three days now, and have stuffed myself everyday. The donuts the first night; cheeseburgers and fries and a milkshake for lunch AND dinner the second night; and now, on day three, 5 slices of pizza for lunch and, for dinner: the remaining 3 slices of pizza, two boxes of chicken fingers (totaling 1500 calories) and and ENTIRE Entenmann’s raspberry Danish twist (another 1600 calories).
Even after tonight’s massive fat feast, I am still craving more food. I am already planning my trip to the local doughnut shop (not Dunkin’s…) for a breakfast treat; perhaps lunch has more cheeseburgers in store; and for dinner, only my fat belly really knows the secrets it has in store for me.
I just can’t stop!
Now all I need is someone to feed me and rub my growing belly…