ClosetCC @squeery1 - Tumblr Blog

in sequence

(Just can’t resist. CW: fat, weight gain, degradation, dark)

I place my hands on each of your hips, where they seem to naturally gravitate lately. Gently embracing, a slight force, enough to make an indent where my fingers meet your skin, the shadows tracing my fingertips in the dim light, little hills of fat welling up between them.

“You’re so…” I tense my grip just a little at the next word, “soft, aren’t you…” The force of my hands increases just a touch, I’m pulling you closer, your chest now pressing into mine, increasingly generous mounds bunching up. My fingers pull forward, delicately running against the stretch marks of your last growth spurt, back when my hands got their new natural resting place on you, still angry red against your skin.

I lean in for a kiss. Your face bunches up into mine, warm and soft like the rest of you, the feeling even more intense when so much of your mass is already pressed against me. My hands are now gripping your thick waist for support, waistband increasingly threadbare, digging into your sides more than they used to. I smirk against your lips. I appreciate the evidence of our efforts.

Pulling back slightly, my hands reach forward and down to your burgeoning overhang, resting gently and heavily against the front of your underwear. I give it a tentative heft and drop. You stumble slightly. I chuckle. I do it again.

Faster now, the lift-and-drop giving way into a playful jiggle, the rest of your body meeting the motion of my hand in stumbles, tits wobbling a beat after my hand pulls down on your belly, arm fat starting to join in, off tempo. “Getting so fat…” I push you gently, but firmly down onto the bed.

You’re already breathing heavily. I can’t tell if it’s because of the meal you just ate, or from the effort of waddling back to the room. Your form spreads across the sheets, wide ass spreading outward to make a generous cushion for your backside as your side rolls wobble and spread out, thick overhang smothering so much of your thighs when sitting.

Those stretch marks on your sides have already faded into pale white and migrated to your upper belly, my hands having to fight for space with your cluster of side rolls to reach your love handles. They make room when they need to. It’s so hard to hold them back when they do.

“So much of you to sink into…” My fingers greedily press into your yielding flesh, setting off little oscillations with the slightest movement, side rolls crashing into tit-fat wobbling against arm-fat.

“You’ve made such a fatass out of yourself.” I’m at least as greedy for more of you as you are. I place a hand underneath your double chin, and can’t resist giving it a little pinch as I lead your head up to meet mine. Your wide, wheezing face in full view, I plant a passionate kiss onto it. You let out a little gasp as my lips leave yours.

I pinch your cheeks reflexively before squishing into your chest to push you down to lay back. My hands meet your flesh, then the heavy, memory foam softness gives way for a beat…and then I feel your massive form start to fall backward. You’re too big to resist me pushing you around, after all.

You’re in the position you’re usually in. Laid back, propped up slightly, mounds of lard on full display, hungry and waiting to be fed again. I lean against your mass and don’t even wait for a pleasantry before I push the first sugary pastry past your greedy lips. You moan and grunt through the flaky crust, devouring it too fast to even appreciate, the technique lost on your single minded focus on more, tongue already impatiently licking my fingers before I have a chance to retrieve another donut from the box.

“You’re such a gross piggy, aren’t you.” You snort. I can’t tell if it’s because of my comment, or the promise of more calories. I wipe the hog drool off on a flank of your expanse and retrieve another donut. This time you lean forward, or try to - I can see your chin fat wobble as your mouth pathetically reaches out to meet my hand, desperate to get that sugary taste just a moment sooner, but too burdened with fat to really move with any kind of urgency anymore. As you lay back again, your form stirs.

You’re a fucking mess. A smattering of uneven rolls flanks your sides and makes it different to discern what defines your love-handles versus your tit shelf. I’m already covered with a glistening layer of pig sweat where I’m pressed against you, warm and soft and sweaty - it’s difficult to get close enough without making contact with at least some part of your chest-side-belly flab pile.

You’ve given up clothes now that you’re a whale, and the sheet is usually kicked to the bottom of the bed now that you’re a space heater. Your modesty, such that it is, is maintained by another generous heap of fat, overhang fighting with fat pad fighting with messy unshapely thigh rolls. So much of you can be described as fighting for space with itself.

I dig my hands into your gently heaving spread of gut roughly, giving it a vigorous wobble which elicits another snort-belch out of you somewhere up above. From my perspective, I feel like I can keep sinking in forever - a mountain of soft, useless yielding flesh, heavy scarred with stretch marks from an indulgence that was never held back. The motion causes the bed to creak, setting an avalanche of roll-wobbling across your body. Side rolls into chest mass into arm fat piles into wobbling chin into sagging cheeks. As it finally meets your face, you whine for another. I get off the bed to get more.

Entering the room, the musky, slightly sweet scent of the blob pile is noticeable first. The mass doesn’t register as person whenever my eyes meet it; the idea that comes to mind is thing. Overstuffed mattress. Landmark. Gradually, my eyes make out the details that give it away - slow, pulsating breathing synched with a slow raspy wheezing sound; the sweaty, flesh colored appearance; the dense, lacy streaks of faded and re-torn stretch marks. I can’t even recognize you anymore. I can’t tell if it’s because you’re so utterly ruined, or because you keep getting even fatter and more unrecognizable.

I place a hand gently on a deposit of fat - I’ve given up trying to determine just which buried body part the fat is forced onto - and press my fingertips in gently, feeling it yield and sag against my touch. “Fuck, I can’t believe you’d really do this to yourself…” Some remaining part of you whines through your feeding tube.

“Pile of lard…” I trace my fingers up through the mess of rolls, warm and soft and sweaty and expansive, making my way up to where the tube is strapped up, bulbous cheeks constricting your vision, eyes glossy and vacant. I know your train of thought has long since faded into a monotonous mantra of ‘more’, but I stare into them for a moment, trying to see a flicker of recognition. I lean in, and plant a delicate kiss on your forehead.

ussbbwgifs-deactivated20260601

BubblyBooty

couchqueenie

Feeder told me I got Jennifer Coolidge vibes. 😅

lardchitect

Last Steps

I'm watching you struggle as you try to stand up from your recliner. It's so hot, watching your out of shape body wobble and shake as you exert yourself. Huge rolls of flab quiver as you grunt and moan, struggling to lift your massive bulk. The chair groans beneath you as it bears your incredible weight. The sheer mass of your blubbery body causes everything to creak and sag and sink as you struggle with it.

You've finally made it to the point where you can barely stand up on your own. In fact, you can barely walk at all. Everything just gets so much harder to do when you're so incredibly fat. Getting dressed is a chore. Walking around is almost impossible. Even having sex is difficult, since there's so much of you to try and maneuver around.

And all that gets harder by the day. Day by day, week by week, month by month. Not to mention year after year. You just keep growing and growing and growing, and it's never going to end. Not until you're so fat that you can barely move at all.

Finally, you stand up with an labored gasp. You're struggling for breath as your heavy body tries and fails to cope with the effort of standing. Your huge, heavy belly heaves as you try to catch your breath. Sweat beads on your jiggling flesh.

Your gut hangs low and heavy as you walk, so stuffed that it feels like it's about to burst. You're sweating and panting, struggling to breathe as you waddle along, your enormous flabby ass jiggling and bouncing with every step. Your fat legs rub together, the rolls of lard on your thighs making it even more difficult to walk.

I love this shit. I love seeing you struggle like the fat, bloated pig you are. It's just so hot watching you try to move around with all that extra lard weighing you down. Listening to you moan and cry and complain about how full you are, but then begging me to feed you more anyway. There's nothing like seeing the pure lust and gluttony on your face when I feed you. Seeing how quickly and greedily and sloppily you eat, desperate for more and more and more. It's such a turn on, watching you surrender to hedonism. Seeing how much food can really stimulate you.

I always make sure you have plenty of deliciously fattening food within arm's reach. You don't even have to ask anymore. I constantly refilling your plate or bowl, making sure you don't even have to put in the effort of getting more. I want you to spend every last ounce of energy you have on eating, getting bigger and fatter and lazier.

I keep your belly constantly stuffed to bursting with calorie-rich food. It is constantly distended and painfully bloated, gurgling and groaning as it works to process your constant feasting. Your appetite seems to have no limit and you're always begging me to feed you more and more. You're so insatiable, so ravenous. You can't get enough. I love running my hands over your soft, flabby body. Feeling the sheer mass of it, the pure thickness and heaviness and jiggliness. I love squeezing and pinching and kneading, seeing how soft and flabby and pliable your fat body is. I love seeing how much my touches affect you, how much pleasure and embarrassment and shame and arousal my caresses cause.

I know you love this as much as I do. You can't deny how turned on you get whenever I feed you. How excited you are whenever I tell you to eat more. How wet your pussy gets when you've eaten so much that you can barely breathe. You can't deny how your overburdened heart pounds in your chest whenever you shove something new into your greedy mouth. You can't deny the pleasure you get from feeling your body expand. The pleasure you get from becoming fatter and heavier. I want to see you completely surrender yourself to gluttony and sloth. I want to see you turn yourself into a fat, bloated mess, unable to do anything but sit there and eat and you're so close.

Really, it didn't take long for you to pass the point of no return, did it? The moment you became so morbidly obese that you had trouble breathing and moving around without assistance, the moment when you realized that it would soon be impossible to stop gaining weight… those were the turning points. That was where you gave up trying to control yourself, and gave into the temptation of growing fatter and fatter and fatter. Now you've grown so huge that it's practically impossible to walk anywhere. You need help just getting up off your fat ass to stand up. It's hard to breathe even sitting down. And you're going to continue to grow until you're so obese that you're barely recognizable as a human being anymore.

Your fattened, helpless body is covered in cellulite, stretchmarks, and heavy rolls of fat. Every inch of you is soft and plump and jiggly. Your arms and legs are thick and heavy, covered in flab. Your ass is enormous, a huge, jiggling, wobbly mass. Your hips and thighs are thick and flabby, with deep, sagging creases. Your belly is huge and bulging, a huge, sagging, flabby mound. Your face is round and wide, with a thick, double chin and heavy jowls. You're the very picture of obesity.

The transformation has been so incredible. Seeing your body inexorably become larger and heavier and softer. Seeing the weight pile on and the fat accumulate. Watching the cellulite spread and the stretchmarks multiply. Seeing the rolls and folds sag and grow heavier and larger. It's been a wonderful process.

You stop, leaning against the wall for support, wheezing and gasping for breath. You're so out of shape, so overweight, that even this short walk has left you exhausted. Your huge belly aches and gurgles, stuffed full of food. You feel like you're about to explode. You reach down and rub it, soothing the pain.

Your fat body will never recover from the damage you've caused to yourself, not at this point. There is no point in trying to make yourself better. You are far too heavy and far too fat. No diet or workout program could possibly save you now. Not that you care anymore anyway. All you want is more food, more calories… More fat.

Even if you try to deny it we both know you've always dreamed of being this fat, and now that you are, you just can't stop stuffing yourself with fatty foods. Not that you'd really want to stop. After all, you love it. You love the feeling of being bloated and stuffed after I feed you. You love feeding your growing flesh as your bloated body takes up more and more space.

Making you this fat and out of shape has been a dream come true for me. Watching you turn yourself into a lazy, slovenly, indulgent pig has been the most erotic thing ever. Seeing the way your body has swelled and fattened and grown, how the sheer excess of lard has taken control of you, is incredibly arousing. Seeing your huge, obese, useless body makes me want to caress it and squeeze it and nibble it and lick it. And hearing how out of breath you've gotten as the excess lard strains your decadent physique has been an incredibly sexy sign of my success.

I really love how your body has turned out, its such a perfect example of your gluttonous lifestyle. The way your belly has swelled and grown to absurd proportions, the way your breasts have become massive, soft, sagging sacks of fat hanging off your chest, the way your arms and legs have thickened and become heavy with lard, the way your ass has exploded with size, and the way your face has softened and grown rounder and wider. Every part of your body is soft and flabby, covered in cellulite and stretch marks. Every part of your body is testament to your gluttony, your indulgence.

I love hearing how heavily you breathe and how labored it gets after even minimal exertion, as your poor, obese body has trouble dealing with its own size. Seeing the sweat dripping down your flabby body.

Suddenly, you feel me grabbing you from behind. I wrap my arms around your enormous gut, squeezing and rubbing. Your flab gives way beneath my hands, jiggling and wobbling. You moan in pleasure, as my hands explore your blubbery body.

"You're such a good pig," I whisper in your ear, as my hands move up to your fat tits. I grab hold of them and give them a squeeze, making you squeal.

"Good piggy," I walk over and pat your heavy belly, making you moan. "Getting fat and lazy just the way I like,"

You're out of breath, still panting.

"Look how out of shape you are," I tease, giving the soft folds of your triple chin a pinch. You're a mess, bloated, slovenly, and increasingly helpless. You've been gorging your enormous body non-stop on every fattening and high calorie food I could find for months now and I must say I am very pleased with the results. Your body has gotten so incredibly soft, covered in rolls upon rolls of flab and a real delight to touch.

As long as you keep stuffing food into your belly, I will keep filling it with everything you crave. Every last calorie of delicious food. All I ask in exchange is that you remain my obedient, fat little pet. That you stay here and eat everything I feed you, that you fill up on all the sugary snacks and decadent meals, that you keep growing fatter and softer.

Because I love feeding you, I love fattening you up. But most of all, I love seeing how much you love it. How horny it makes you to get fatter and fatter. How excited you get each time you shove something new into your greedy, plump face. The look on your face when you outgrow some other piece of clothing or furniture. How you're loving every second of your newfound gluttony. You're so eager to grow fatter, you can barely wait to put more food in your mouth. You can't get enough, you need more, you want more, you deserve more. And I will gladly give it all to you… and more.

You're so close to being immobile, and I know how you can't wait for that. What a decadent life it would be. A life in which the only effort you have to expend is eating and drinking. Where your entire existence is pure gluttony. A life where all your energy is focused on getting fatter. Just imagine how hot it will be when you're so fat that you can't even get out of bed. When you can't even move. When you can barely breathe.

lisaloutwo

I look so cute and fat on my bed couch 🥰

floral-mistress-deactivated2025

Bear witness

I get why why people are into mindlessness when it comes to feedism, but what about total lucidity? Like yeah it's hot to see someone gorge on a worrying amount of calories without thinking twice but what about them being painfully aware of what they're doing to themselves. And what if that scares them, that they can't stop. When the fantasy no longer dissolves in the afterglow of a furious goon sesh. When the weight sticks. And lingers. And clings to your body.

"Why are you picking up the fork again? You said at 450 you'd stop."

Tears well up in your eyes. You weren't supposed to let it get this far. Yet you've conditioned yourself to not only want this, but need it at the level of base desire. You flinch a little as I pull up another chair (you looked a little uncomfortable sitting on just two chairs). The tears fall faster. The warmth in your crotch turns to a burning ache as I slide the third chair under your massive rear.

A sniffle. More tears. Your thighs tremble. You know what's coming next.

"It's okay. This is who you are now~"

The thud of the second pot of pasta shakes the table a little. There's a growing dampness on every part of you. Your flushed cheeks are painted with even more tears. Your mouth involuntary waters itself for the second round. Your body sweats with anticipation.

I show you a picture of you from only a year ago.

The wetness between your legs turns to a flood and you swear you might've just came.

You start to sob.

strawberryfatstuff

escape

Imagine being stuck in a cell, with a ginormous feast being placed in front of you every day and only allowed to leave once you can eat it all in one sitting

You wake up, disoriented. you look around, nothing in your dark surroundings but a bed and a table. suddenly, you hear a commotion of people in robes, faces covered, rush to bring something onto the barren table in your cell. They disappear in a flash, all that’s left behind is an absolute banquet. A feast that could overfeed about 30 people at a buffet, piled with junk food. Rich creamy pastas, pizza stacked upon pizza, a plate of burgers piled high enough you wondered how it hadn’t fallen over, and piles upon piles of sugary desserts with the most delicious smells filling the room. You wonder if this was supposed to be your last meal, but your thoughts were cut short, by the greedy rumblings of your belly. You were starving, and decided there was nothing else left to do but dig in.

Almost a year has gone by, but to you it had felt like a lifetime. You would wake, stuff yourself with reckless abandon with no fear of judgement or consequences, and go back to sleep. There was no way to tell how often the meals were being brought to you, in fact the only way to tell that time had passed at all was what it had all been doing to your body. When you had first woken up, you had been reasonably thin, maybe a small potbelly from the occasional lack of willpower from time to time but nothing to worry about. Now however, you had grown immensely. If there had been any chance of holding back in attempt to save your figure it had long since flown out the nonexistent window. Your belly had swelled outward, inflated, and sagged lower, you had noticed any sights of what had been your feet had become less and less frequent. Your legs had become heavy with fat, the fat on your thighs threatening to overlap your knees, and the beginning signs of cankles showing on your calves. Your tits had grown substantially, with rolls forming along the sides making your puffy arms rest a little higher than they had before. However, you had certainly done a number on that buffet, having before only been able to stomach a pizza at most you had started to get creative, wrapping burgers with entire pizzas and shoving them into your rapidly swelling gut with as much force and speed as you could. It was the only pastime you had really, so you made the most of it by constantly testing the bursting point of your greedy gut.

It had been a few years of endless feasting before you had begun to notice your mobility diminishing. You were now able to eat enough to feed a large family before slowing down, but your travel from your bed had begun leaving you winded, and took great deal of effort to take your lumbering waddle over to your meals. Your stomach of course, the culprit. Its rolls had swelled with fat so much it now hung down past your knees, fighting your wobbling thighs for space. your knees and feet had long since been covered by the swell of constant calories you had been shoving in. Your elbows had long since disappeared under the size your upper arms had ballooned to. The next day you had woken up, with the familiar smell of food filling your senses, and attempted to get out of bed. You struggled to gasp for air, trying with feeble attempts to propel yourself with enough momentum to get forward, and more importantly, your meal. Each attempt was rather hindered by amount of gut covering your lap. Suddenly, the masked people reentered into your room, and instead of leaving the food on the table, they pick it up piece by piece and began feeding it to you. One after another they stuffed greasy food straight into your greedy belly. The speed they each filled your mouth was almost too fast to chew, forcing you to swallow bigger bites as quickly as you could. “Please, go a little slower” you tried to call out between bites of food, but only one of them replied, “Too bad, you should have never been as greedy as you were in the first place. Fat fucks like you don’t get a say in this matter.”They continued to stuff your face, and once you had eaten enough to feel sick of your usual feast, you cried for them to stop. They fed you their last handfuls, and quickly as they had came, they left. One lingering long enough to instal what looked like a hose coming out of the ceiling.

The next time you awoke, you expected to to greeted by your usual meal of the table, but you noticed that the table had been removed from your room entirely. The only thing that caught your eye was the hose they had left the day before. Starving, you placed it in your mouth and began to suck out of desperation. You were instant met with what tasted like the blend of greasy food you had been eating for years. you noticed at the corner of your bed they had also left a small device, with words _ out of _ eaten. The lights being too dim to properly read, you cast it out of your brain and begun swallowing. It felt so good, the constant flow of calories filling your overstretched gut. You watch it rise with every gulp you fill it with, greed and lust overpowering you with the desire to fill it as big as possible. There was no way to tell how long you spent swallowing, only the rapid expansion of your body. each time you took a nap you would awake with your belly before you looking visibly larger then it had before.

This continued for what felt like eons, a never ending cycle of consuming and growing. your feet had been consumed completely, your arms stuck at a permanent angle, the fat surrounding your head keeping it in place, and your belly. So large it had grown over your swollen feet, and threatened to cover the rest of the bed. One day, as you swallowed, you heard a beep. You wondered if it had been the strange device that had long since been hidden under the concerningly large rolls swelling out from your massive gut. Just then, you were blinded by a bright light, as the door to your cell cracked with dust and opened, with the masked people watching you from the hallway connected. A familiar voice from among them, “You’re free to to go whenever you want fatty, the doors wide open.” And laughed. They all had begun laughing, shook their heads, and walked away. You paused swallowing to see if you could still escape, and tried to move your feet for the first time in ages. The response you received was a ripple of fat that jiggled your whole body. What had been so great about the outside world away? Your belly growled, it’s lust to be filled overpowering any thought you had remaining. You caress your growing belly, and continue to swallow.

couchqueenie

You're going to get fatter, and there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.

If you had written this to me 2 years ago, I would have completely disagreed. I would have stated, defiantly, that I'm in control of my weight. I can shed fat and build muscle just as easily as I have done the opposite.

But these days, it's scary how accurate this is. 😳

thewanderingfeeder

i love when an ex-skinny girl gets fat. But your delusional skinny girl mind just hasn’t quite caught up with your waistline yet

Although you know you got fat. You spend most of the day still living from the skinny girl mindset.

You consider people in the street Fat, even though they’re smaller than you now…

You bump and stumble into things more now, underestimating how wide you’ve grown…

You expect people you meet to treat you like the skinny girl you’ve always been, but that doesn’t happen anymore…

You feel like you’re a skinny girl in a Fat Suit.

But the truth is, you’re not a skinny girl anymore. You’re a fat girl.

The first impression you make on people is “The fat girl”.

People treat you like the fat friend. Because you are.

You got Fat.

doughgrl

Because a few have asked

A history of my journey as a feedee

2013: I dated a guy who secretly had a kink for fat women. I was a skinny cheerleader and he started to acknowledge this kink soon after we started dating. I was 140-145 at this time.

A few months in after lots of dinner dates, extra fast food trips, and he was a baker for his hobby, I started getting chubby. He always insisted on ordering for me. I took it as him being a gentleman and liking the control in the relationship. And he would show up with food at my house so I would eat it. He baked sweets and treats like every weekend too. We had different lunch periods (high school seniors) and I had mine first, but he would grab me a snack on his and bring it to me. I gained 25 lbs in two months.

A month later I grew out of my first cheerleading uniform and had to get refitted. It was super embarrassing and I was completely embarrassed about my added weight. I confided in him how I felt about it and he felt bad and admitted that he was encouraging me to eat more and it had gotten out of control and he would stop if I wanted to. I was upset at first. But I mean he was my first love and I didn’t want to lose him. So I let him keep doing it. Now that I was aware of it and allowing it he really amped it up. But kept checking in with me and I told him it was fine. I gained 15 more lbs.

At this point I started slowing down and missing practices and not fitting in my second fitted uniform and it was either get kicked off the team or turn in my uniform and “focus on myself” so I turned in my uniform and dove deep into the feederism. I started liking the feeling of being so full and watching my clothes shrink around my belly and get so tight. And I liked the attention my bf gave me when he was feeding me which was ALL the time now.

May 2014: I was about to graduate and I was now 200 lbs. I had gained over 60 lbs in like six months. And I was getting ready to go to college and my bf had discovered another kink which was pregnancy. Which at the time I was not into. I was too young and wanted to go to school, etc. we broke up due to that difference and I have not spoken to him since.

I slowed down on gaining after that and yo-yo-Ed a lot on my weight. But when I got married 6 years later I was 220 lbs. I had to actually let my wedding dress out more from the first fitting to the last fitting a week before my wedding. I was again gaining fast but not on purpose.

2022: I re-entered the feedism community and started to gain on purpose again and by the end of that year I was over 300lbs.

Since then I have been very very rapidly gaining weight and have not stopped. I have had kids and this is the biggest I have ever been including when I was pregnant.

Let me know if you have anymore specific questions feel free to message them to me!

couchqueenie

Out here looking like a stack of pancakes. 🥞

couchqueenie

I feel like I'm a gift wrapped in this lingerie. 🎁☺️

heavy--feels

Just once, you think to yourself. I will buy the heavy cream, make the shake, see how it feels.

You really don't like the acidic feel that the cream leaves in your throat and belly. And it's very hard to just chug it like that. You decide to mix it with melted ice cream in your favourite flavour.

Now, that's completely different. It's actually quite delicious. You don't realize when you finish the cup. 800 calories of cream, plus about 200 of ice cream. A drink of a thousand calories. It takes its time to land heavily in your stomach, bloat it, and leave you feeling lethargic.

Well, that's that, you think. At least I know how it feels.

2 weeks later

Heavy cream catches your eye when you go grocery shopping. The tantalizing 35% of fat hypnotizes you. You remember your experience from 2 weeks ago. What if I did it just one more time, you think.

Somehow, this time the cup is gone even faster.

4 weeks later

Fridays. After a whole week of work, Friday evenings come heavy and drowsy like the full cup of heavy cream you chug just before bed. It actually helps you sleep. It gives you a nice little reprieve after a stressful week. A dreamless, heavy sleep.

Next Friday, repeat.

2 months later

Your pants don't fit like they used to. You find yourself brushing your hands over your belly, which feels creamy like the beverage of your choice. A size up it is. You start craving the Friday feeling of fullness. What if you also did it on Saturdays? After all, what's better than a restful weekend?

3 months later

Fuck, stairs seem to have gotten steeper. Even though you live on the 2nd floor, you stop taking them, opting for the elevator. You take a dislike to jeans in general; the fabric doesn't seem to be stretchy enough. Sweatpants are a far better choice.

You slowly trot back to your apartment. Inside, you unpack your bag. 3 litres of heavy cream. Hopefully, it will last over the weekend.

4 months later

Why do you feel sweaty all the time? It must be the weather. You cut down on almost all walks. You catch yourself on wishing streets had moving sidewalks, like on airports. That would be dreamy...

What's not dreamy, is the fact that your favourite clothing store doesn't have your size, apparently. What bullshit. They must have changed their charts - no way you are 2XL.

You shake your head, then proceed to chug down your daily cup of heavy cream.

6 months later

2 cheeseburgers, and you're still peckish. Even the triple thick milkshake doesn't seem to fill you quite as well as your favourite cream. You know what else is triple thick? Your chin. You keep tugging at the hem of your t-shirt, only to realize that it's your own fat that's squeezing your neck. You look in the mirror, blinking. Is that really you...? You keep recalling words that you've recently heard in reference to yourself. Plus size. Obese. Fatass.

You shake your head. A thought was forming there, but you cast it aside. With a deep grunt, you get up from the chair and waddle to the fridge. The cream is waiting for you.

1 year later

"Can you - huff - slow down a little?"

Your friend stops in the middle of the store isle. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, just - oof - need to - get something - huff - from here."

You can feel your face must be red hot. At the same time, a breeze touches your underbelly. Your belly hang escaped your 4XL shirt again. It's probably time to go up a size, but you like this shirt. You'll retire it when you rip it open.

You rest your fat-laden arms on a trolley. Not for the first time, you think about those clever mobility scooters. Oh, how you wish you had one. Maybe then, your trunk thighs wouldn't rub themselves raw.

You faintly point to the fridge, where the cartons of heavy cream are waiting for you. Your friend reaches there for you hesitantly, taking one carton.

"Huff - more."

Your friend's eyes widen, but they add another one to your basket.

"More."

"How many of these do you drink?"

You shake your head, feeling your cheeks wobble. "Just - huff - I'll tell you when to stop."

One, two, three... ten cartons land in your cart.

"Okay, enough."

Enough. That's a funny word. Not a word you use often these days. As you waddle down the isle, you think to yourself: next time, you'll probably buy eleven cartons.