I want
I want a meal twice the size of anything I could eat.
I want soft encouraging messages to keep going. I want tummy rubs when my stomach is too full and forks with encouraging bites held up to my lips.
I want a rumbly tummy and slow nauseous burps.
I want a hand gripping that stomach, soothing it softly, and surprising it with pressure.
I want the “Oh no” rush of needing to get sick, and I want encouragement as someone else has a plan.
I want to be lead to a bathroom, or given a bin, or held closer.
I want encouragement whispered into my ears.
I want to feel that meal, the rock in my gut slowly wear away at my stomach until it has no choice but to contract.
I want to loose control and get sick, let my body take over as I heave and retch and force waves and waves of sick out of me.
I want to piss myself a little as it happens.
I want a gentle hand to cup my chin and push a finger back in my throat to get the last of it out.
I want to be told I did a good job.

















