I like curves on men. A voluptuous, well-nourished body creates the most beautiful curves I can imagine. A round belly that juts out into the world in a delicate curve is so striking and wonderful. But a chubby man’s gut also has a particularly wonderful curve, where the lower belly so soft and round spills over the waistband of his pants. This round lower tummy is most prominently displayed when the paunch hangs out roundly because the shirt rides up - hat a celebration of curves for the eye! But I also like the curve of the belly at the top, where the round bulge sets off the breasts and creates a wonderful semicircle that nicely emphasizes the belly’s fullness. All these curves are so wonderful to observe, naked or in a tight shirt, and I have to really pull myself together not to trace them with my fingers at an inappropriate moment, just as a painter would do with a brush to capture the singular moment. The especially delightful, broad curve of your flared middle matches so lovely the curve of your love handles and is balanced by your round, full bottom, whose curves also add to my pleasure as well. Every roll on your body is a fantastic curve in its own; they all deserve to be celebrated. I can’t get enough of looking at your bulging body and praise every new curve I discover on you. I wanna nourish them, encourage them, create them with you. I admire you as if you were a Baroque painting I created myself - a celebration of the joy of sensuality and gluttony.
I love that moment when your T-shirt suddenly isn’t tight just because you’ve draped it that way - but because it has no other chance than to actually sit so tight. Over the last few months, you’ve enjoyed your meals bigger and bigger, having snacks at hand all of the time, giving in to gluttony, stuffing yourself time and again until your tummy was so bloated you moaned I should rub it to give you some relief—which I love doing! But now it's not just bloat anymore - it's fat that softens your body. Your T-shirt fits snugly now over your belly. You are still able to cover your big round gut if you drag the shirt down, but it’s only a matter of weeks before this won’t help anymore. I love it when you outgrow your clothes. I like this phase of the tight T-shirt, when I can watch your belly move so beautifully - not just when you’re walking, but even when you’re breathing, laughing, talking, or singing. All this waves of life on your jiggly belly fat, your round ball of a tum moving up and down so gently. Oh, I love the soft fullness that’s gathered around your midsection. Sure you're a little sad because it's one of your favorite shirts that won't fit anymore soon, but hey: We'll find a new favorite shirt, and maybe buy it a little bigger this time, just in case you're not done gaining weight yet. After all, your growing love handles have to fit in there too, don't they?
I also see you struggling with your pants. It’s getting harder and harder to button them under your big belly—which is why you always unbutton them with relief as soon as you’re alone or with me. Even though I love to watch how relieved you are when the pressure eases up, and love to grab your freed soft underbelly teasingly: Maybe it’s time to buy more stretchy pants with elastic waistbands to give your hungry belly - and also your sweet round butt - the freedom to live comfortably. You deserve to be comfortable - and you want to keep feasting without holding back, right? Don’t worry, I also like it when you push the elastic waistband all the way down under your belly at home to set your wobbly tummy completely free so I can play with it a bit, I can still stroke and knead your fat fullness. Come on, I’ll get you some snacks and feed them to you—because outgrowing a size can only be the beginning.
It’s suddenly gotten so hot. if you’re one of those guys whose summer clothes have suddenly become a little or much too tight over the course of the year: Go buy some comfortable shorts, but I’d still love to see you in your shirt. In your tight shirt that barely fits over your growing round belly. Or in your shirt that’s still comfortably loose, but has somehow gotten a little short over the last few months. For me, every summer day is more beautiful with a cute belly peek in my sight. When your round belly slips out of your shirt because you’re lifting something over your head, because you’re raising your hand to wave at me, because your belly wiggles so much as you walk past me that your shirt starts to move. Oh boy, don’t blush—I really, really like it. Okay, if you’ll let me, I’d like to run my hand briefly over your fluffy gut, because it’s so soft and round right where it’s peeking out from under your shirt. I’ll have a hard time keeping my fingers to myself, please don’t make me. When you’re sitting across from me and your shirt rides up as you sit, revealing that cute little strip of belly fat, while you’re gesturing animatedly as you tell me about your favorite things—I might get a little distracted, but only because you’re even hotter to me then than before. Here’s to a wonderful fatboy summer!
It’s his first day going in to the office for his new job. It’s a big promotion: he’s got an office just for himself waiting at corporate headquarters, a small team reporting to him, and a hefty raise. It's a big deal for both him and his partner.
He finishes buttoning his company-issued shirt, not loving how he has to let his belly hang over his waistband into the shirt-created hammock, but he’s a bigger guy and this is just how it fits. He loops his belt and tightens it under his belly, pleased enough with his appearance to start the big day.
Out of the bedroom and down the hallway, his lovely girlfriend is anticipating his arrival in the kitchen. The smell of sizzling sausages greets him even before she can.
“Oh you,” he grins, coming up behind her and using his extra height to rest his chin on her head, his belly at her back. “I told you there’s cafeterias there and I can get a discounted breakfast.”
“And lunch,” he adds, noticing his lunchbox, which is waiting for him on the counter and seems to be packed quite full.
“Well it’s just your first day, Mr. Big Shot,” she says. “Wanted to make sure you aren’t going in hungry, just in case you’re too busy to sneak away.” Sausages tumble from the skillet, landing next to the fried eggs and buttered toast. “And it’s just a couple snacks,” she adds, nodding to his lunchbox.
He knows better that to argue once the food is on his plate, and he is hungry, after all. He takes big bites to finish the breakfast off quickly and moves to get himself to work. Thanking her again with a kiss, work bag and lunchbox in hand, he makes his way down the six steps from their front door, turning to wave back at her partway down the driveway, then settles into the car for his commute, knowing she’s off to work shortly after.
The headquarters building is huge, but with a couple friendly directions he finds his office without much trouble. There won’t be any difficulty finding the cafeteria either, he thinks, noticing the unmistakable smell of bacon wafting in from nearby. His is the last office on the corridor before it opens into the large dining room, lines of people queued up for a company-subsidized meal, and this is just one of several that open at all hours of the day. He muses briefly whether it’s a coincidence that a bigger guy got the office closest to all this food, or if it’s some karmic strain placed on his diet in particular.
The first day is always slow, he tells himself, not worrying too much when he’s back on his feet ambling out of his office towards the breakfast line less than an hour later. He knows he’s already eaten, but figures trying the food is necessary before committing to eating here every morning. After a short line he’s got a hefty breakfast burrito with bacon, a large cinnamon roll oozing icing, and coffee in-hand as he returns to his office.
The food is excellent, and though he plans to stop himself before eating an entire second breakfast, the idle bites he takes while scrolling his inbox manage to entirely clear his plate before he realizes how much he’s eaten. His belt feels a little snug around his middle as he sits up to check his phone. His girlfriend is checking on him, sweet and thoughtful as ever. He replies:
Easy start, just had a second breakfast here, can’t make a habit of that!
She’ll be glad he’s not going hungry, and he really doesn’t have any chance of regaining his appetite before his new team comes by at 11:00 and suggests they get an early lunch together. He’s certainly not very hungry after two breakfasts, but in the interest of camaraderie he joins them. A cheeseburger, ample side of fries, chocolate cookie, and large soda later, he’s back at his desk having eaten three complete meals before noon.
Settling into his chair, he’s ready to be a productive employee for the afternoon, avoid eating any more that he already has, and finish out the day.
Except he can’t help that the lovingly-packed lunchbox sitting on his desk is drawing his attention. Pretty soon there’s a lull in his work and a hunger in his belly. He opens it up and finds a lovely, tempting assortment of treats. A bag of chips that he can’t help but tear open to have just a few, then munch away on the whole thing. Then there’s some chocolates. A bagel. Some cookies.
Before he realizes, the lunchbox is empty and his belly is uncomfortably full. He pulls at his belt a little, trying to adjust his bulk beneath the bloat. He decides to take a walk from his desk since he’s reached a good stopping point. Ease his digestion a bit.
But the walk from his office leads him right past the cafeteria where he talks himself into picking up a rather large blueberry muffin that he’s finished off before even making it back to his office. Brushing crumbs from his front as he reaches his chair, plopping down a little more heavily than he means to and wincing at the groan it makes beneath him.
He’s too full to manage any more excursions for the afternoon, more than content to stay stationary in his office for the remaining work hours. It’s an easy drive home, he changes into his joggers and a t-shirt, noticing his still-bloated belly is peeking out from below the latter despite his attempts to tug it back down.
When his girlfriend arrives home, her eyes dart towards his middle and he just knows his belly must be spilling out again.
“Good first day?” she asks.
“Yeah, not very busy. I’ve gotta eat way less or else you’re gonna have to roll me to the office in a few months,” he says with a half-hearted chuckle, some small part of him genuinely worrying he’ll put on a bunch of extra weight with this job if he doesn't manage to keep himself in check more than he did on this first day.
She smiles warmly and starts getting their dinner ready in the kitchen, her mind swimming with thoughts about how he’d look and feel with more than a few extra pounds softening him up.
Dinner is sauced pasta. It’s heavy and filling and though he doesn’t want to ask, he’s very appreciative when she takes his bowl and refills it for him. Garlic bread, the plate resting between them in the couch, disappears between bites of sauce. He’s rolled onto his side by the end of the meal, his belly oozing out in a thick slab onto the couch cushion as he stifles a belch and complains how much he’s overeaten already that day.
But when she brings a package of cookies over for dessert, those complaints seem to melt away and his hand is drifting between his mouth and the next sugary bite. She watches on, marveling at the visible size of his stuffed belly and how he. Just. Keeps. Eating.
She offers him a hand to heave him off the couch, patting his swollen belly affectionately as he grumbles something about not making a habit of eating like this.
Except the habits are already forming.
He winds up ravenously hungry upon arriving at the office if he doesn’t eat something before leaving home. And he usually takes himself for a mid-morning cafeteria meal, telling himself he’ll eat less at lunch if he’s not starving at midday. But he always manages to eat a full lunch anyways. Then he’s grabbing extra snacks or diving into the lunchbox when he’s bored or between tasks, which happens quite often. His dinner portions get bigger, too, and he’s never been one to resist sweets after dinner. All while spending most of his day planted at his desk or on the couch, hardly moving beyond his steps to and from the car and cafeteria.
Inevitably, he starts putting on a few pounds.
He can feel the extra effort it takes to fasten the buttons on his shirt. She can see the extra fullness on his belly and sides and chest. After a few weeks, he moves to the next hole on his belt. A couple weeks after that she suggests he gets a couple new pairs of work pants with some of the extra money coming in and it's unspoken between them that they'll need to be a size up. He sheepishly puts in a request for company-issued shirts in the next size, thinking they look huge until he puts them on and finds they fit rather well.
Every extra bit of space his clothes allow for, his body slowly grows to fill. Within a couple of months, she sees the red indentation lines from the tight squeeze of his pants starting to reappear on his hips when he changes after work. He's too stubborn to admit his home clothes need upsizing too, but his shirts are undoubtedly riding higher and higher up his rounding belly and his joggers are struggling to stretch over his thighs while straining against his ass.
The buttons on his work shirts are pulled taut against his middle, even at the start of the day. He's approaching the last hole of his belt. He's adjusted the seat in his car back further to accommodate the extra space his belly needs.
The inescapable evidence that he's slowly ballooning does get to him sometimes. He'll try to cut back for a day, managing to limit himself to only four meals, but his appetite returns with a vengeance shortly after and he eats himself out of anything approaching a calorie deficit. He feels his office chair slowly sinking lower each week and finds it harder to heave himself back to his feet at the end of the day, but hasn't bothered to find out if the gas lift can manage to hold him any higher with his extra weight.
His next concession to his growing corpulence is his belt. There aren't any holes left that can make it larger. He can squeeze it on at the beginning of the day, but it's pinching him under his belly by his mid-morning meal. When he sits down after lunch, it's uncomfortably tight. When he finally gives in and fumbles under his shirt-clad belly to undo his belt at his desk after lunch the first time, it's a relief to feel the pressure subside as his bulk rolls forward, unrestrained into his lap. Snacking that afternoon comes even more easily, and though he's tempted to just fully undo the button of his pants, he doesn't bother.
Within a couple weeks, he genuinely needs to undo that button when he sits to avoid his pants bursting open entirely. His belly sits firmly in his lap anyways, even if someone comes in to meet with him they won't be able to tell. And he hardly moves from his chair after lunch, so he rationalizes to himself that he can just unbutton until he's digested lunch, then refasten everything into place before he commutes home.
It all works fine until the first time he really can't seem to get them buttoned up again, even with a bit more effort than his usual struggle entails. Then he ends up more flustered than usual when it takes a couple tries to even heave himself out of his office chair, which has sunk to the lowest height and fails to hold up any higher for more than a few minutes if he’s sitting in it. Fortunately his pants are tight enough on his hips that he makes it to his car without them slipping down.
Arriving home, he's ready to curse out pants entirely when he can't seem to get his joggers up over his thighs. He foregoes pants and makes his way to the kitchen in just an ill-fitting shirt and his underwear, rummaging around the cabinets for his pre-dinner snacks, reaching up so his belly is firmly resting as a stack of rolls on the counter. He goes for the chocolate cookies that he's tried to keep from himself on the top shelf, knowing he'll devour the whole package.
His girlfriend comes in and gets a fresh view of him: the stretch marks dappling his sides and middle, the width of his back, the heft of his thighs. Every inch of him full and heavy; all before she's gotten a chance to make her growing guy his dinner. He's snacking right before a meal, but that's become a normal part of the routine over these few months as he's gotten a bit bigger.
A bit bigger, she admits, might be underselling it.
She pretty sure he's buying at least a few extra meals every day at work to have gotten so much heavier so quickly; it's been six months since he got promoted and he's easily put on fifty pounds, which added to his already-bigger frame has made him rather huge. She knows he works hard, she wants him to be happy eating as he pleases, and she certainly doesn't mind how the extra weight looks on him (or feels when he's on her). She allows herself to take in the dimpled hang of his belly, the fullness of his face, the way his chest and sides pull against his shirt to complement his every pound.
She walks up and gives him a peck on his cheek, her hand resting naturally against the side of his belly.
"Long day?" she asks.
"Mmmm, you could say that," he says. He gobbles up another cookie. "Couldn't quite get my pants buttoned after lunch," he admits, his face flushing as if his climbing weight wouldn't have been evident enough without this latest event. "It's been a real workout to button them at all actually. I've gotten too fat for them, I think…"
"We should just get you some new pants, I've been telling you it's silly to try and fight with your clothes like this," she says, leaning on the counter next to him, knowing his uncertainty about his size deserves to be handled with caution and care. "Let's get some dinner in you, then we can order some."
He pops another cookie in his mouth, shrugging. "At this rate, between your cooking and my job, I'm going to end up weighing a thousand pounds," he says, chuckling, as he heads for the couch with his snacks in-hand. They both know if he gets bigger pants, he’s nearly guaranteed to end up filling them out in no time.
She makes him a lovely dinner and he eats a little too much of it. He once again can't help himself at dessert and gratefully accepts her hands on his middle to soothe his aching belly after the meal, groaning as she affectionately feels up every pound that his new job has added to him; her fingers affectionately working across the rolls that his raise has gone into growing.
Soon enough his new pants arrive and she punctures an additional hole in his belt. He knows he’s bigger than ever, but for the first time in weeks nothing he's wearing feels too tight.
And the extra space only seems to give him more of an appetite. He doubles up on cafeteria breakfast, taking the overfilled tray back to his office and pushing his chair in close enough that his belly is pressed against the edge of his desk while he leans in and eats.
The double portion doesn’t even feel like that much when it’s gone, but his chair creaks beneath him like it knows how much he's eaten. He can feel the edges of his butt sagging over the sides of the seat, the arms of the chair more snug against his waist, but he’s not one to worry until something actually becomes a problem.
Eating double helpings, however, seems to bring the next problem on twice as fast. He’s having an impromptu with one of his team members one morning the following week, leaning back and eyeing the clock and deciding if 10:30 is too early for his first lunch, when the usual creak from his chair beneath him rings out as more of a strained groan…
The person across from him doesn’t say anything, but they’ve watched their boss balloon since getting this job so it’s no surprise he’s straining the limits of his office furniture.
“Did you notice if they had the cinnamon rolls out when you walked by?” he asks, trying not to notice the way his team member’s eyes drifted towards his belly before saying they weren’t certain. It’s when he goes to stand up and find that the chair doesn’t let go of his sides that he knows he’s in trouble. He makes it only an inch off the seat, his hips hitching on the arms, before landing back down, hard, his body wobbling within the .
The tearing of a seam comes first, as he feels his bottommost shirt button give way just below his bellybutton. Then there’s a sharp crack as the impact of his weight proves too much for the chair and he’s sent tumbling backwards, landing on his back, still wedged in the seat that’s come completely detached from the base of the chair. He's stunned for a moment, still feeling himself wobbling from the impact of his landing.
The crash is loud enough that others come running in to help, and it does take a couple extra set of hands to get him freed from the clutches of his seat and back onto his feet. He does his best to tuck his belly back in, but that’s mostly a lost cause with the missing button.
He’s treated very apologetically by the people in management who show up next, and he’s assured that a more study, suitable chair for him has been ordered. In the meantime, it’s suggested he works from home for the next couple of weeks until it arrives.
All things considered, he’s quite pleased at the idea of working from home for a bit. He heads to pick up some lunch, having a laugh with a couple coworkers about his bit of furniture drama that morning. After eating his fill (and allowing himself a couple extra sides in light of recent events) he returns to his office to gather his things and sends a picture of the destroyed chair to his girlfriend:
Looks like I’m working from home for a couple weeks. Any chance you put in with your boss for some remote days to join me?
Her response is swift and affirmative, her mind swirling with relief that he’s not hurt and something like pride that he’s managed to outgrow something so sturdy as an office chair.
She can hardly wait to have whole days to spoil him and watch his appetite in action. She's spent months wondering how much eating he gets up to during the day, but now she'll get to spend extra time with him and see first-hand how much he can really put away when he's got hours uninterrupted to indulge.
She can’t help herself from wondering what he might outgrow next if this trend with his weight continues…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This is heavily inspired by @evermore-xxl’s fantasy about her partner gaining (substantial) weight after getting an office job, the many snacks she actually packed her partner for work that did, in fact, leave him straining his clothes, and that very same (fat, non-feedist) partner @cryptidmothmen who recently joined tumblr! Give 'em both a follow if you haven't already!
I’ve never been much into mutual gaining —I wanted my guys to be big, and I wanted to be just a little juicy myself. But now that you’ve got me hooked, I want to experience my perfect chubby girl and boy summer with you. I want to be on the beach with you and just feel happy and content. Bellies out, relaxation in. Pretty boy, feed me ice cream, drink sugary cocktails with whipped cream with me, and let’s grab fries and grilled cheese when we’re in the mood for something hearty. When you walk across the beach and your round belly hangs so wobbly and plump over your swim trunks, I immediately want to dive into the sea with you and press myself tightly against your warm, soft body, knead your fat, and feel happy to have such a wonderfully heavy man. Tell me that I’m your skinny puppy girl and that you think I need a lot more treats so I won’t be so thin. When I stand in front of you in my bikini, hug me from behind, squeeze my soft breasts and knead my round, jiggly belly, and tell me how cute you think it is, especially as it gets rounder and bigger throughout the day because we can’t stop eating. Tell me you think my belly and back rolls are cute when I'm lying next to you reading, and say it so lovingly that I know you mean it and that I am your pretty girl. And don't let my big butt pass you without giving it a little pat or a gentle squeeze. I’ll lovingly rub sunscreen all over your big, soft, round belly, your chubby back, and your broad arms so you don’t get sunburned—you’re already hot enough for me as it is, cutie. In the evening, I want to stroll with you through a city plaza still sizzling with summer heat, in a thin, fluttering summer dress that doesn’t hide the fact that we went out for pizza tonight and enjoyed it so much until the last slice – and also the big portion of Tiramisu afterwards. When we go dancing afterwards in the cozy dance bar, I love to feel and see our soft bodies in motion, enjoying the music and ourselves. We take up space and that is just right. Let me feel and hear from you that I am the most beautiful round and jiggly girly to you. I’ll make sure your sweet delightful round belly is never empty this summer. I want to feel so full and proud all the time, strolling with my well-fed handsome man and enjoying life while you call me your Big Mama. What do you think, how much will we gain until the end of summer?
So, what sounds do you like to fall asleep to? Waves, rain, forest birds?
I prefer the sounds of a soft, stuffed, full belly. The gurgling, growling, and bubbling is so peaceful. They're the most soothing sounds for me. Especially when I am lying on that belly.
I know you like comfortable clothes. Loose, soft T-shirts, cozy sweatshirts, sweatpants with elastic waistbands. You love to eat so much—and I take such good care of you—that your belly keeps growing constantly, as does your whole figure, and the heavier you get, the more important it is to you that your clothes don’t constrict you, that they go along with your stuffings and give you room without pinching or squeezing you. I benefit from this too, because how else could I slip my hand under your shirt or slide it into your waistband to caress your soft fullness, which I love so much, when I bring you new snacks?
But seeing you in formal attire every now and then, in a button-down shirt, is a whole different kind of pleasure. It’s such a delight to watch your gut more than fill out the smooth fabric. What a ball of bliss and abundance. And it’s not just your belly that’s so beautifully accentuated, but also your rounded sides and the love handles—fat is slowly padding you out everywhere. Every extra pound makes your belly stick out more beautifully and makes it swing so wonderfully as you walk. And I love it when your belly and the buttons start to battle it out. We both know who’s going to win, but I love watching you slip into that ever-tighter shirt, stuffing it into your pants beneath your belly and love handles, knowing that nothing about your gluttony can be hidden anymore. Every pound is beautifully wrapped and easy to see for everybody. I love it and can hardly keep my hands off you. Come on, let’s have a hearty lunch, topped off with ice cream and cake, until your buttons pop. Afterwards, I’d love to go shopping with you and show the world how proud I am of my little chubbster who is eating so well for me.
Imagine a cute nerd in college that stresses so much about his grades and making sure he knows everything and studies that he stress eats so much.
At first, the weight isn’t much of issue. He’s always been chubby and one dress size up won’t deter him from the grades he wants. He doesn’t exercise by parking himself in a desk chair and barely moving for the day, poring over texts, so some weight is inevitable. Right?
He doesn’t cook for himself often, because it takes too much time from his studies. His mom sends things to his dorm like new underwear and socks and baked goods and if his weight changes drastically enough to render most of his closet moot he asks her for a size up.
When he revises, he snacks through nearly a whole day’s worth of calories, surely. When he has an upcoming exam or finds something in his notes he’s a bit muddy on, he panics and stuffs his face with takeout. A ton of burgers and fries, a large soda maybe, and some ice cream or something from the bakery down the road to wean him out of his feeding frenzy.
His later classes are always a pain because he ends up waddling there on a stuffed belly after gorging throughout the day as he’s studied.
There’s whispers from his classmates as his ass spreads in his seat, trapping his hips under the arms. Lately he’s had to make a habit of lifting an arm between two seats so he can sit on both, but occasionally he forgets, resulting in an end of lecture struggle.
During lectures he nervously grazes on a bag full of chips and candy bars to help him focus.
He decides to cut back, but when he’s studying the next day and uncovers a section he doesn’t know that well, he panics. He ends up in the closest fast food place shoveling food into his mouth until he can focus on the subject.
When he graduates, he’s over twice the size of what he was when he enrolled. And with a brain like his, he’s bound for a desk job - IT, maybe - where he can eat as much as he wants at his desk and blush when he can’t quite get out of his chair.
I like your tiger stripes. They adorn your sweet, full, round belly, but also your wide hips, your mighty thighs, your growing love handles, and even your round upper arms. They look like mysterious ornaments scattered across you in a wild pattern. You look so vulnerable with them – that moves me, big boy. Your skin shows where you were too greedy, where it couldn’t keep up anymore. You ate so much, over and over again; you stuffed yourself and enjoyed how much your belly swelled up, until it simply gave up trying to keep up with your gluttony. And I enjoyed it very much; I encouraged you, admired you, and cheered you on. But that was hardly necessary. You greedy little chubbster, time and again you wanted more than just to be full; you wanted to feel your bloat which gave you the big belly you desire. Now the tiger stripes will stay with you. At first they’re a warm red, later they‘re pale, but sitting clearly visible on your skin, I can feel them whenever I glide with my hand over your body. To me, they show your devotion: to stuffing yourself, to gaining weight, so you can be as soft and round as you love it and as I love it, too. They also reveal your impatience, which to me is a sign of your passion—the very thing that draws me to you. You’ve given yourself over to indulgence without a care in the world; you love your rolls, you love your stripes, you wear them proudly, and they draw me in like magic. I want to get to know every one of your tiger stripes. I want to trace them with my fingers, stroke them, and caress you where your weight gain has stretched your skin over its capacity and hurt you so sweet. Let’s keep feasting and see what new patterns we can create on your skin together. I want you to be my work of art, one I never tire of admiring.
Fat women are fat because they’re full of joy and whimsy and love and magic and rainbows and fairy dust and sparkles and hopes and dreams and also lots and lots of yummy food
The way you sit there after waking up. Your hair is all messy, tousled from sleep, but still so cute. Your eyes look so loving, even if they’re still pretty sleepy. You’re wearing your white undershirt, which also looks a bit messy as you just threw it over, it’s all wrinkled and just stuffed effortlessly into your gray sweatpants with the wide elastic waistband. It covers your pretty big belly and your hips, which are starting to round out so nicely. They look absolutely stunning in the white fine-ribbed fabric.
They just look good enough to reach into—or to take a bite...
And I want nothing more than to jump right into that lap. I want to sit on your knee, place my hands on your belly, pat it, knead it, lift it and feel its morning softness; I want to trace the deepening line where your budding man-breasts meet your rounded belly top. I want to press a kiss on your big, soft mouth and dip an Oreo cookie into your coffee.
What a wonderful way to start the day
But actually, I want to pull your undershirt up until it sits like a crop top, so I can have a perfect view of your sweet, soft, round, and now quite thicc and heavy belly.
Maybe one look isn’t enough. Maybe we’ll just go back to bed for now, and I’ll show you how much I love your growing body. And then we’ll have breakfast - not that we’re starving here. I wanna keep you wellfed and happy. All day long.
