You know you should be working, but the only thing you can think about is the feeling of your fat belly pressing tightly against your work blouse. "No, I need to focus," you tell yourself. You adjust in your chair, determined to get back to work, but instead you feel your pudgy rolls slide over each other, and your soft belly spill over your waistband, and you nearly moan out loud. You look down and see your round, protruding belly sitting on your lap, wide gaps forming in between the buttons on your blouse. You can't help yourself. You look around the office to make sure no one is looking, cautiously untuck your shirt, and slide your hand underneath, your cheeks starting to flush as you sink your hand into your soft belly. You knead your pudgy rolls in secret, feeling them sink in and bounce back underneath your fingers, so excited that you can barely breath, trying to act like nothing is wrong. But the excitement is unbearable. You need more. You get up, hurry to the bathroom, lock the door, and start furiously unbuttoning your blouse. You undo the last button, your hanging gut now spilling out unrestrained. You place one hand underneath and start to shake it's heft up and down, your entire body jiggling with each wave. The feeling is ecstatic. You didn't realize that getting fat would be so unbearably distracting. Each little feeling of your belly pressing against your clothes, spilling over your waistband, and jiggling when you walk, drives you crazy. You can't tune it out. It's like someone constantly teasing you, constantly reminding you of what you're doing to yourself. But you are so obsessed with your own body, such a glutton for your own fat, that you don't mind. You like being reminded.
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