You made me into a fat boy.
You saw me and my affinity for tasty food and delicious desserts; you noticed my non-existent resistance and my slightly softening belly, and you decided to make it bigger. You spoiled me with treats, giving me pleading eyes when sharing sweets with me; you cooked enormous meals and I couldn't say no to the amount of love you poured into them. You sneaked chocolate bars into my pockets and provided me with every opportunity to snack.
Slowly, you transformed me. Grew my belly from a little paunch to a full blown gut. You gave me side rolls that started digging into my elbows, and elbows that got buried in fat. You fattened my face and cushioned it with a double chin. You grew my thighs and made them chafe.
You made me slower, more lethargic, sweaty, panting. These days, you can hardly see me without a treat in hand. My couch or my bed is my most natural environment, and every jiggly waddle leaves me red in the face.
You made me into a fat boy, like a prize, special, just for you. And then you claimed me. Now, I'm moving in with you, and I have a feeling you are going to make me even fatter.