Good morning. I hope you slept well. You looked really peaceful this morning so I decided not to wake you up before I left. These midnight feedings really seem to be helping your sleep, I’ve noticed. Beauty rest has a whole new meaning when you wake up fatter every time, doesn’t it?
Anyways, I just wanted to leave you this message to let you know that I might be back a little late tonight. But don’t worry, I made sure that you’ll have everything you need for the day. The pantry and the fridge are full of your favorites, baked goods and some joints are on the counter, I pre-packed a few bowls for you too, if that’s what you’re feeling, and of course you have my card on the delivery app for anything else you might want.
I have to admit, the way you’ve been giving yourself to this lifestyle has made it really hard to focus at work lately. When I think about what a perfect, lazy pig you are at home while I earn all the income to enable you…it just drives me crazy, you know that? Nothing else feels as good as enabling you, indulging your wildest fantasies of being a complete hedonist, watching your body fatten up and concede to the excessiveness of it all… It almost makes me want to stay home and tend to you all day. I know I can’t, but….fuck, you have no idea how badly I want to.
I want you to be extra greedy for me today, okay? Don’t deny yourself a single thing. Even if you’re full, eat more. Keep your high going all day and really indulge. I’ll be putting in some deliveries for you throughout the day when I get the chance. And I expect to come home to empty wrappers and containers all over, with your big, pretty belly hanging out of your shirt for me to grab and admire. I’ll have dessert to feed you too, don’t worry.
I plan on doubling your weight by the end of the year, and I’m going to do everything I can to get you there. There’s no such thing as too big for me, I’ll take care of every need, every desire, even if you get too fat to heft yourself around. All that matters is that you live your best, most pleasurable life, and I’ll handle everything else.
Alright, I should probably get going. I’ll need some time on the drive to work to clear my mind from this. I’ll see you tonight, piggy.
Hey, there's no need to look so worried! You're growing into such a handsome boy. And I would never lie to you, would I?
Jogging bottoms suit you so well! Think how much more comfortable you are without a belt digging into that soft belly. It means you can squeeze a few more mouthfuls in without it hurting so you don't have to waste anything.
Yes, that is another new deep red stretch mark on your side, I'm surprised you could even see it with how rounded your belly is. I guess it isn't too round, then, is it?
Cutie, if they can't get you a uniform that fits, its their problem, not yours. So what if your belly is hanging out while you're working?
No, gorgeous, people are only staring because they're jealous of how beautiful you are. I know you're clumsy but no one in staring at the grease and sauce trailing down your chin and onto your shirt.
I don't know why your knees and hips hurt so much lately, but I think if you take it easy and stay at home you'll recover quicker. I'll be sure to keep bringing you nourishing food, handsome.
Don't be silly, your tummy is gurgling like that because you've not had enough, not because you've had too much. It will stop hurting when you've had your desserts, I'm sure of it.
Sweetheart, you don't have to choose between takeaways, don't worry! We can get them all, I know you'll fit it all in with my help, won't you?
Don't look so concerned, its perfectly normal to have a pounding heart after finishing your third helping of breakfast. Now, you ready for your fourth?
Darling, I'm obviously not feeding you enough, with you so tired from a minute's walk. Let's get you back in bed, okay? I'm upping your portions, get more energy in you for all you do.
Listen, its normal for a growing boy to have pains in his legs. Yes gorgeous, its normal to be unable to move them too. You don't need to move at all, what would you need to move for, I'm here.
You gasp and wheeze real adorable when I bring you more of your favourite, and it seems to get more desperate every time. Is food really that breathtaking to you?
It's okay if you can't speak cutie, I know exactly what each noise you can manage means. I love you that much. And a burp like that means you're ready for another of my special cakes, right? What did I just say? You don't need to use up precious energy to speak, just open that pretty mouth to eat, you hear me?
I know you miss them so I've brought your friends to visit. They're gonna be so shocked at your glow up. Aw, I love it when all you can do is drool and grunt like that, I know that means you're starving! You've got to look your best so have another tray of pasta, you look stunning when you're eating, darling.
Hush now, there's no need to sound so worried! You'll die such a handsome blob, I'll make sure of it. Now if you stop groaning and clutching your chest, just open your mouth, I'll be able give you your last portion. And yes, I promise it's your very last portion. I would never lie to you, would I?
You don't ever get used to being fat. It doesn't ever become your new normal. You might learn to accept it or learn to deal with it, but it never fades into the background.
You can buy new clothes to alleviate the strain around your waist, but you can't escape the weight.
You will feel it when you wake up. You'll go to sit up and realize, oh yeah, I'm too heavy to do that without using my hands to push myself up. You'll go to stand up out of the bed and realize your feet still ache from yesterday. You begin to take a step towards the shower and you feel every bit of you begin to jiggle and bounce.
For some reason, just walking from your bed to the shower, you are waddling. You're trying to be light on your feet but you are failing. Every step is awkward now. The fat on your thighs prevents your legs from smoothly passing by each other, causing each leg to slide a bit more outwards in your gait than they did yesterday. The bouncing fat, every pound of it, messes up the natural rhythm of your walk.
You stand in the shower for only a few minutes and your lower back is starting to get warm. It's not the hot water. It's your massive belly pulling it down. You realize you need to hurry up and get out of the shower so you can have a seat because you aren't sure how long you can stand anymore. You contemplate ordering a shower chair.
You huff and puff as you put on socks and shoes, the laces nearly impossible to reach. This happened once before, you lost the ability to tie your shoes, but you adapted. When you could no longer bend over at the waist and tie them, you realized you could just sit down and put a foot up on a knee and you could still reach your shoes. But that is getting to be quite difficult now with your growing belly. You're struggling to reach your laces at all, even with your foot on your knee. You've got to exhale and hold your breath through the whole process. You wonder how you're going to tie your shoes a year from now, but you don't worry about that. You're hungry.
Out of breath from putting on shoes, you waddle to your car and struggle to slide your heavy frame into the seat. The car seems to be shrinking. The steering wheel closer. The door and the center console are getting snug on your hips. Where is the other end of the seat belt anyways? You question as you pull it to it's maximum length. You lift your belly to allow the belt to slide underneath, as it wouldn't make it all the way around. You breath a sigh of relief! Finally you are seated again and you can catch your breath.
You start heading to your favorite fast food restaurant and on the way you feel every bump in the road, magnified by the rolling waves of your own obesity. You feel your tits resting on your belly. Your belly resting on your thighs. Your thighs spreading into the sides of the car. But most of all, you are hungry! All of that struggle to get to the car and you've worked up quite an appetite.
Every bit of you feels fat, bloated, soft, encumbering. You assumed that, after a while, you would get used to being bigger. You were wrong. You will be reminded of what a fat whale you've become every second of every day from here on out.
Your train of thought is broken by the drive thru window opening. "How many sets of utensils do you need?"
a short story about a moment in time between a feeder and her feedee, written by request.
Tapping my foot in the line for the bakery, I lean sideways to see how many people are still between me and the register. Too many, I determine, and I sigh with impatience. I’m eager to get home today; eager to get home to you.
After what feels like an hour, I finally make it to the front of the line and rattle off my order with ease, adding on a few extras that catch my eye behind the glass display.
“You must be having another party,” a familiar employee observes, bagging up all my confections. “I guess you’re popular.”
“Something like that.” I grin and swipe my card. “You know how it is.” I chuckle and the cashier nods, as if she knows exactly what I’m talking about. She doesn’t, of course, but I smile back at her anyway as I gather up my bags. “Take care,” I say, and hurry out of the shop.
I roll down the windows as I drive, the air fresh and full of the coming spring. I breathe deep through my nose, the familiar flutter in my chest ramping up as I near the house. It’s been over a year now but I still get butterflies when I think of you waiting for me at home. I try not to get carried away fantasizing about what you might’ve gotten up to while I was at work and instead focus on what I’m going to do with all of these baked goods. My heart only beats faster.
“Hey handsome,” I call as I fumble my way through the door. Placing all the packages on the kitchen counter, I frown when I don’t hear any response. Another beat gives me my answer as I hear a soft snore coming from the bedroom. I pick through all my bags and settle on a box of assorted pastries before taking them to the bedroom. I push the door open and my breath catches when I see you sprawled out, fast asleep.
It’s almost comical - the way the light from the open window illuminates your decadent body. I’m grateful for your penchant for wearing little to nothing these days because I have a unobstructed view of all the progress we’ve made over the past year and change.
I don’t wake you, not yet. I want to take my time, soak in the fruits of our labor. I tiptoe over to the nightstand and place the box of pastries next to you for when I do ultimately wake you up. My gaze first settles on your face, trying to imagine the jawline you had when we decided to make you a stay at home feedee. It’s not the most dramatic change but maybe the one you had the most trouble accepting. You always had pride in your sharp looks, angular jawline, strong nose, intense eyes. I always argue that this is the hottest version of you - fuller cheeks, the crest of a double chin that hides behind your beard, the soft contentment evident in your eyes after 15 months of your permanent vacation.
Good food and little stress can put years back on a life, I think.
My fingertips brush your cheek and I can’t help myself. I move around the other side of the bed and gently ease myself behind you, wrapping my arm over your waist and pressing myself close. You shift even closer, responding to my touch. I sink my fingers into your plush hips, a definite highlight of your gain. Aside from indulging your every desire, seeing where the weight has settled on your body has been a favorite part of watching you get fatter. You seemed to delight in all the added inches to your hips and ass, checking yourself out in every reflective surface around the house. None of your pants fit anymore and it wasn’t your gut that got in the way - thankfully you barely have a need to wear more than just a pair of boxers and too small t shirt if you’re trying to be modest. I almost reach down to grab at your ass but think better of it. I’m not ready for you to wake up just yet.
I trail my hand down your thigh and then back up to your waist, saving my favorite parts for last. I squeeze a handful of your chest, gently circling your nipple and chuckling softly as you start to stir. Your chest has softened up so deliciously, resting on your belly while sitting up and adding extra curves to your voluptuous silhouette. You always tease me for my obsession with it and even now I resist the urge to use my mouth.
You mumble something and turn back towards me just enough for better access to the piéce de résistance - your heavy, round gut. I gingerly press into the upper swell of it, testing to see how greedy you’ve been for me all day. It’s taught and I grin, pleased with you. You shift further onto your back, clearly enjoying my touch and now only half asleep.
I reach further down and press my hand into the softest part of you. You were so proud when your belly finally started to hang properly over your waistband and after that it was like all bets were off. No more brakes, just constant food, beer, weed, sex, anything you wanted. You let me push you as far as I wanted in return and it’s paid off.
I grab your belly hang and jostle your gut, a smug grin when I see your body responding to my practiced hands. You turn your head to look at me under heavy eyelids. In that moment I think you could ask anything of me and I’d find a way to give it to you.
“Hi,” I mumur, fingers now brushing the hair from your face. “Nice nap?”
You smile and nod, still shaking off the weight of your sleep. I kiss your cheek and swing my leg to straddle you. My own soft body rests perfectly on yours and I think I could look at you like this forever, soft and pliant and still a little sleepy, grinning up at me with such adoration it makes my heart swell.
“I have a surprise for you,” I say, unable to keep my hands to myself. “It’s on the nightstand, I think you can reach it.”
You somehow manage to bring the box onto the bed with one hand, flipping it open and looking inside.
“A surprise?” You chuckle. “This is the third time this week you’ve been to the bakery.”
“Okay but isn’t that still surprising?” I pick a pecan braid out of the box and take a bite, some of the glaze crumbling into your belly. “Plus, the cashier thought I was having a party. I didn’t want to tell her these were all for my greedy partner who spends his days lazing around the house and eating everything in sight.” You roll your eyes at me but your body doesn’t deny that you like my teasing. “But if you think about it, feeding you all of this is more fun than some boring party.”
I hold the pastry to your lips and you take a bite. In three more bites it’s gone, and I dangle my fingers in front of your mouth so you can suck the rest of the frosting from them. We don’t waste food, after all.
“I can tell you’re still full from what you ate today,” I say. “But why don’t I let you have a couple more of these and then get ready for dinner? There’s more in the kitchen. I’ll leave you to it.”
I climb off of you and head towards the door. I look back at you on the bed, sifting through the box with renewed interest despite still being full.
Over 500 days just like this one, and I’m still not bored. I shiver thinking what you’ll look like in another 500 and make my way to the kitchen to make you dinner.
Tw: Fat shaming, toxic masculinity, gaining as femininity
I can’t believe you still try to act like the big, muscly tough guy you used to be several hundred pounds ago. I mean, come on, who do you think you’re fooling? You’re about as intimidating as a baby elephant. Sure, the deep voice and the sleeve tattoos probably probably made you look pretty tough when you were in shape and 200lbs of muscle; but baby, those days are long gone. There’s a ton of fat packed onto whatever’s left of your physique under there. Those tattoos have gotten stretched and folded over your fat rolls so much that I can barely tell what they are anymore. And I just can’t take the deep voice seriously when it comes out so husky in between the labored wheezing that passes for breathing with you. Nobody’s gonna be shaking in their boots when you’re out of breath just from sitting on the couch, are they?
And even when you do get up, you don’t exactly look like the picture of health and fitness. A slow waddle is your typical pace, all your fat shifting from side to side with each intended step, your body clearly having to fight against it to keep moving forward. And all your indulgence has left you with a wide, bottom-heavy, pear-shaped physique more reminiscent of a well-fed housewife than a strong, buff gymbro. Nobody’s going to be mistaking you for one anyway, though, since your lazy ass can’t help but get red-faced and exhausted after just a couple minutes of walking around. You talk a big game about your glory days and everything you could do if you put some time into conditioning. But let’s face it: you’re about as out of shape as someone can be, and those wide hips and thunder thighs don’t scream athletic or manly.
I know it must be hard for you, though, since that’s still the guy you are in your head. The big, beer-drinking, meat-eating, football-watching manly man. Well, you missed the part where all that beer had a ton of calories, all that meat had a ton of fat, and all that football left your fattening ass planted on the couch all weekend, every weekend. I totally thought you were going to say something eventually about not needing me to bring you so much to drink and so many snacks, but nope, you never seemed to notice that you’d worked yourself up to eating an entire party’s worth of food all on your own between Saturday morning and Sunday night. And it’s not like I was going to stop you, was I?
I’d have thought your bros teasing you about how fat you were getting would be enough for you to at least start thinking about it, too. They may not be the cut jocks they were when you were younger, but aside from a couple with dadbods, they’re all in reasonably good shape. But not you. And you let them pat and rub your belly to put you in your place every time they come over to watch the game, take their jokes about how the blobby flab inflating your arms is all muscle, let them snicker at you for finishing off the food they leave behind to keep to their diets. You think you’re still just one of the boys, when really you’re more like their fat, chubby mascot.
So here you sit, munching on nachos swimming in beef queso, eyes glued to the third match of the day. Love handles bulging over the waistband of your athletic shorts, overtaxed by the titanic rump, bulging hips, and bloated thighs anchoring you to your seat. Tits flopping across your beer belly as you shout at the refs on tv. Chubby, shapeless arms wobbling with your gestures as you criticize guys in peak physical condition, lecturing about how they should be playing when thirty seconds of that level of activity would leave you panting on the ground. And me, just smiling and nodding and agreeing, knowing those 2,500 calories of goo are going to be blowing you up even more by tomorrow.
This can’t last forever, of course. Eventually, you’ll wind up so fat, heavy, and hard to move that you won’t be able to ignore how far you’ve fallen. You’ll have to confront the (at least) quarter-ton body you’ve grown, and consider how blubbery you were when it stopped being manly. Spoiler alert: you passed that point a looooong way back. You’ll face the fact that there’s nothing masculine about a guy whose manhood is buried in several inches of soft, yielding lard. That there’s nothing macho about a guy who has to move fat out of the way so he can reach for the remote or his next meal. That nobody envies a former athlete who’s so bloated and heavy he can barely make it to the mailbox and back. That you’ve eaten yourself out of everything you used to know about yourself.
But don’t worry; I’ll still pretend you’re my manly man, and you’ll eat that up too so you don’t have to pay attention to the last of your fitness slipping away. I’ll tell you that you look so big and strong, while you’re shoveling those pork rinds into your mouth. I’ll giggle that you seem so tough and stoic, while you’re planted on the couch, huge fat rolls flowing in all directions. I’ll whisper that you’re still so fit and athletic, after you come back huffing and puffing from hauling your big back from the next room. I’ll say all the things you want to hear. Just keep eating for me, baby. I want my tough guy to be big, and strong… and big.
making you needier. more depraved. more pathetic. more shameless. more lustful— endlessly lustful. for my touch, and for food. i’m making you hungrier. until you’re starving. until it’s never enough. until it consumes you entirely. until you look in the mirror and don’t recognize the person pig looking back.
My relationship with doctors has been bad most of my life. Ever since I was a teenager, they only ever did the same thing: complain about my weight. It didn’t matter what was actually wrong with me, the answer was always to lose weight. All they ever saw was the gut in front of me and the way my thighs rubbed together as I walked.
My interactions with doctors only got worse once I started talking to Ray. Ray was the first person who liked me bigger. He didn’t just tolerate my body or look past it, he actually thought my fat body was beautiful and sexy. Ray looked at every curve with desire in his eyes.
“Most doctors are just disgusted with fat people. I’d rather take you out and let you have all the food you want,” Ray said after a particularly trying annual physical. He, in fact, took me to a fast food joint and bought combo after combo until the table was covered in greasy wrappers.
I was briefly embarrassed to pig out like that in public, but it was beat out by the joy of getting to my heart’s content. Ray would spoil me like that all the time until my binges were the new normal for my meals. Naturally I was blowing up fatter and fatter and my doctor would get upset. Every time the doctor criticized me for getting heavier, Ray would come behind them and turn my world upside down.
“I think you look so much better and sexier now that you’re bigger.”
“If you have accidents and rip your pants or blow a button, that’s just because designers can't handle as much man as I can.”
“I like the fact that your breathing is harder. It means I can always hear when you’re around me.”
He always follows up his compliments with food and sex. Afterwards I’m so happy that it doesn’t matter what the doctors tell me. I just want to keep growing for Ray and enjoying all the food I want. I fully adopted his worldview. After all, if he can find me attractive and make me happy, then that’s the way I should want to see things too. It all worked together until the doctor’s visit from hell.
That morning, I woke up late. I rushed out the house and put on the first things I could find. It was only looking at myself in the reflection of the office doors that I realized that the clothes were painted on. I was so sure I had counted the Xs on the tag right, but all my clothes fit a little tight at the time. I had no idea just how bad the situation was until I saw what everyone else saw. There we giant oval gaps between the buttons that exposed my flesh.
I lowered myself into one of the chairs inside, confident that I hadn’t outgrown it yet- even if it had been a while since I had been for a visit. Every inch of movement from me elicited loud protests from the chair. When the assistant called my name, I tried pulling myself out of the chair with no success. I was stuck. I tried a second time and pushed as hard as I could and it wasn’t enough. The arms pulled me right back into the seat. Next thing I knew, the world was a blur of colors as I fell to the ground. The shock reverberated through me and I felt every inch of flab hanging through my body. Faces filled with fear, disgust, pity, and concern stared at me from every angle. The assistant cleared his throat and I realized that I was free from the arms. I summoned all the strength I could and pushed myself up off the floor.
The assistant leads me to the scale. Having been thoroughly humbled in the waiting rooms, I wasn’t as afraid of the number anymore. I stepped up and watched the numbers blink through numbers at a blistering speed. I barely had time to see the numbers shoot up past the three hundreds. I thought it might pause as I reached 400, but it started slowing down much further than that. The numbers finally rolled to a stop and the attendant called it out.
“Four hundred and eighty-five pounds. Step this way.” The assistant led me to a room and took my vitals.
After a few tense moments alone, the doctor came in with his face mashed up. “Let’s make this quick. No need for either of us to waste our time having long drawn-out conversations.” My doctor then was a beautiful sculpture of a man with flawless copper skin and glossy black hair. Even wearing his white coat and layers of dress clothes, you could still see ripples of his muscular chest, abs, legs, and ass. It kept me coming even when I knew I didn’t really want to hear him run his mouth like this. He flipped through my charts and recoiled as he saw the numbers. “So you’re 485- just over seventy pounds gained since the last time you had the nerve to waddle those jiggling massive legs into my office. I don’t have to tell you, tubbo, that you’re morbidly obese. But just for scale, you are carrying so much excess weight that if we measured it separately, I would have to give the same speech because it would also be an off the charts level of morbid obesity. If you lost half your body weight, you would still be considered obese. So it’s not at all surprising that your blood pressure is high or that you’re experiencing knee and back pain. Last time you were here you did some blood tests but never came back for the results. You were pre-diabetic and had high cholesterol. Something tells me that didn’t change at all. Long story short, I’m going to say: if you live to see the end of this decade, it is only by God’s good grace. I’m going to let you free so you can go clothes shopping. I was handed these on my way in to see you. I’m guessing they found these cleaning up the debris from the chair you destroyed.”
He had three buttons from my shirt in his hand. I looked down and realized they ripped up the holes on the bottom of my shirt leaving my belly to hang out freely on my lap.
“Did you not even notice? I guess you do have more body to keep track of than the average person. I’m done here. See you next time, if you’re lucky. Fat ass.” The doctor walked away and I was sure that I was done.”
When Ray came home and I was crying into a gallon-size tub of ice cream with a spoon in my hand, he was gentle with me. He handed me the chocolate syrup. “Don’t let his scaremongering get to you. You knew your body better than anyone else. Do what makes you happy.” He handed me the bag of M&Ms he bought as a surprise. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to see him again. You can see a different doctor. You can even choose not to see a doctor if you don’t want to. There’s no law that you have to get a physical every year.”
And so I didn’t. For years I didn’t. I avoided doctors with all my strength and let Ray take care of me. Ray made life comfortable for me. He gave me all the food I craved and more. He comforted me when I would freak out about not fitting in certain spaces or outgrowing a size or two. He promised me that every extra pound only made him love me more. He didn’t mind when it got too hard to tie my shoes or take the stairs, walk for long periods of time. He just made it so I never worried about those things again. Ray tied my shoes, fetched the elevator, and drove me to the door of my destination.
It was three and a half years later before Ray suggested going to the doctor again. Issues were starting to pop up with my body and became recurring guests. Ray wanted answers.
“You were the one who told me I didn't have to go back to a doctor if I didn’t want to. You know it’s a nightmare experience for me.”
“Well what if it wasn’t such a nightmare this time? I know a doctor who will be safe to talk to. He’s an old friend of mine. I’ll even go with you.”
“Okay,” I relented. He obviously had this all planned out in his head. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “But only if you come with me.”
Ray gave me a warm smile and squeezed my hand.
The next morning, we were pulling up to the offices and I was still really nervous. They had a driveway so Ray leaves me at the door to check in while he parks the car some distance away. I notice a few differences from the moment I walk in. The chairs here are the widest I’ve ever seen. When I take a seat I actually have space to move around in between the arms. The employees smiled at me. An intoxicatingly delicious smell wafted through the air. After giving my information, I take a seat across from a mammoth man snacking on a platter of cookies. We exchange smiles. He looks so comfortable here, even though I can tell just from a quick glance that he’s much bigger than I am. Meanwhile I felt like I was falling into a trap. Just a little something to eat would help with the anxiety. Ray usually carries something for me to eat, but I couldn’t wait until he makes his way back from parking the car. I looked back at that platter.
“Excuse me, where did you get those cookies?”
“Usually everyone gets these when they sign in. I’m guessing yours should be out in a moment.They’re really good and help calm down your nerves while you’re waiting. ”
“Thank you, I’m guessing you’ve been here before?”
“Without a doubt,” he says, finishing off a cookie in one bite. “I’ve been seeing Dr. Duncan for a few years now. He’s the best doctors I’ve ever had. I’ve never had a doctor who was able to help me with my goals like him. It shouldn’t be too long before I reach my goal weight at this rate. At sizes like ours, it’s hard to find doctors who will listen to you, much less support you gaining weight. Look, those must be yours.” A medical assistant came out with a tray full of my favorite cookies- double chocolate chip.
“Thank you,” I tell her before quickly stuffing one in my face.
“You’re welcome. They should call your name soon; the doctor has been waiting for you all day.” The assistant walked away.
“Well you must be pretty special, huh?” the guy next to me says. “Wonder what Doc knows about you.”
“I don’t know. My boyfriend is really good friends with him; he made the appointment.”
“Oh!” the man’s eyebrows shot up.
“Yeah, we agreed it was time to find a fat-friendly doctor. My boyfriend likes me big. He says all the time that he wishes I would just keep growing bigger and more beautiful for him.”
“Now it’s coming together,” he muttered. He set his tray to the side and grabbed at his belly. Flab dripped from his pudgy fingers and all around his arms. “I can’t say I disagree with your boyfriend though. I love being fat. I think being fat is one of the best things to ever happen to me. I love the attention guys give me for being fat. It makes me feel so sexy to need clothes so big I lose count of the Xs on my tag and need special furniture. Why wouldn’t anyone want more? Dr. Duncan feels the same way too. He always knows exactly what to do to help a guy keep growing. I wasn’t even half the size I am when I started coming to Dr. Duncan.”
Ray walked up to me and I caught him up on everything about the man next to me. Ray said, “I told you that one day you would find more people like me. This is a guy who clearly knows how to take care of himself.” The two of them shared a laugh.
The assistant called for me. Ray collected my leftover cookies. The man in the waiting room waved goodbye. I was led to the scale and stepped up. The screen lit up and started to blink its way up. In the years since I last went to the doctor’s, I haven’t had a lot of chances to weigh myself. Even my extra strength scale couldn’t weigh me anymore. I didn’t particularly mind; after spending so much time worrying about that number, I didn’t care anymore. On the other hand, I knew I had been growing all this time. Ray treated me all the time and it was getting too hard to do any of the things that used to keep me active. Every door frame and pair of pants that used to be roomy was suddenly a tight squeeze. I wasn’t surprised at all to see the scale speed past my old weight of 485. The scale cruised past the 500s and deep into the 600s.
“Six hundred and fifty-five pounds,” the assistant said with a smile. “Just shy of a big metric milestone. You’ll be at 300 kilograms before you know it. Let’s do a few other checks before Dr. Duncan gets here.” And so they checked all of the usual suspects: my blood pressure, my blood sugar, my heart rate, then led us into a room.
Dr. Duncan was extremely excited the moment he stepped in. He gave Ray a big hug. Dr. Duncan shook my hand and gave me a warm smile.
“It’s such a pleasure to get to meet you. I’ve had the chance to meet a couple of Ray’s exes while they were dating, but he’s never talked about a guy the way he’s talked about you.”
“Ray really is the sweetest. He’s taken such good care of me.” I told him.
“I can see that. He’s been taking very good care of you,” Dr. Duncan said. He puts down my charts and starts to trace my body with my hands. Feeling his warm fingers go up and down with every undulation of my body, I took stock of just how enormous I was for the first time in a long time. Ray didn’t ever want me to worry about my weight or feel bad about all the things that I couldn’t do. But I was aware right then. I noticed how deep he pressed just to still be far removed from my pulse or my bones or my muscles. I noticed how everywhere he touched he found supple soft flab. I noticed how his hand looked like a boat lost in an ocean of fat as it crossed over my thighs and belly. “Ray, you’re a very lucky man.This is a real fat boy. He’s about 75 percent fat and the way you talk about him, he’s nowhere near done.”
“How’s he doing inside?”
“No surprises. The medication they had him on for high blood pressure and high cholesterol is struggling but it’s just shy of the normal range. The cholesterol is struggling more, but that’s just because there’s so much saturated fat coming in and so many fat cells to be made. It all make sense considering he’s constantly eating from a diet high in processed, sugary and salty foods, and I imagine you’re adding some extra butter, salt, sugar, and full-fat cream to that stuff-”
“To be fair,” Ray added, “he does some of that himself unprompted. Babe, tell him what you usually like to order for pizza.”
“I get an extra-large pepperoni pizza (sometimes two if I’m hungry) with a stuffed crust and I always ask for extra garlic sauce because the little cups aren't enough to pour all over the pizza. Sometimes I’ll get a side of the garlic knots, but I always want cinnamon sticks. The frosting glaze they give you to dunk them in is to die for. Don’t tell anybody but sometimes when I’m done I’ll just gulp down whatever's left over and lick the cup until it’s all gone. God, now I want some. Can we get some afterwards? Wait, what were we talking about before?”
When my mind came back to earth, Ray and Dr. Duncan were adjusting their hard-ons. Wet spots had appeared on their pants. Dr. Duncan quipped, “Don’t just stand there, Ray. Order the food, it needs to be ready as soon as we’re done here.” He grabbed a cookie and stuffed a bite in my mouth. He handed me a cookie and said, “This does remind me though, you are officially a diabetic now. Seems like we have overloaded your body with sugar. Standard practice industry is a course of medications including this one that the world is obsessed with using as a weight loss drug. Of course, it is also standard practice to combine that with diet and exercise and completely reverse your diabetes. And there’s the problem really.”
My ears perked up at that word. “What do you mean problem?” I asked. Ray handed me another cookie to nervously munch on while Dr. Duncan explained.
“Well not a problem so much as a hurdle for me. It’s safe to say exercise is out of the question. Basic tasks are leaving you fatigued, you’re sweating and overwhelmed from very short walks, not to mention that Ray is not going to let you burn more calories than absolutely necessary. I know it’s a lot of work for you to push those thighs past each other while you waddle, but that’s not exercise. Diet is also out. You are constantly craving foods high in processed carbs and adding even more carbs and sugar to it. Every activity you do is just a framing device for you to stuff your face even more. Ray will always give you all the treats he thinks you deserve and a whole lot more.” Dr. Duncan paused to look at Ray who gave him a big grin. “That leaves us with medication. Traditional guidance says to prescribe will force you to lose weight and turn you into a shell of yourself; that doesn’t work for my patients, including you. No, with these prescriptions I’ll write for you and some insulin, we’ll get your body to completely diverge every calorie of sugar into fresh fat. Diabetes is one of the best things that can happen to you.”
I gulped. My voice shook a little as I asked, “How can it be one of the best things that happen to me? Diabetes is dangerous. What if I-”
“Babe, he’s a doctor; he knows what he’s doing,” Ray assured me. He rubbed my belly and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“I really do. From the perspective of folks like Ray and I, diabetes is an accomplishment. It’s a direct reflection of all the sweet treats we give you and the affection we show you. It’s a sign you’re doing a good job keeping your body as beautiful and sexy as we like. This medication will help keep you feeling good. I’ll have my secretary send it over so it can be ready before you notice it’s gone. In the meantime, why don’t we get you that pizza?”
Once I got on insulin, the weight started to pile on at an unbelievable rate. The clothes I wore to my first appointment with Dr. Duncan are already too small. Every time I turn around, I find new stretchmarks and folds. And if I didn’t find them, Ray would. He had a big celebration when my BMI crossed 100. He told everyone how lucky he was to have four times as much boyfriend to love. Ray brought out a whole separate cake for me with an insulin pen on the tray. Ray was more hands on than ever, and I appreciated the attention. He had always done the small things like tying my shoes because it had been nearly a decade since I could reach around to do that. But now that it was getting far too tiresome for me to stand for long periods, Ray did all the housework. Ray would trace my freshly formed dimples of cellulite with kisses.
The truth was I knew my body wasn’t keeping up with me. Ray told every little thing to Dr. Duncan, who was always enthusiastic to hear the details. We had to make a few visits to him, but he was a great help as I navigated the symptoms. He would adjust and add prescriptions until I felt better. Whenever we left his office, Dr. Duncan always encouraged me to make a stop somewhere for a treat. It didn’t matter if the news was good or bad, if I wanted to celebrate or console myself- all doctor's visits ended at a restaurant.
My next physical really forced me to reckon with all the changes that had happened since my first visit to Dr. Duncan’s office. Now when I walk in from the driveway, the bench in between sets of doors is a necessary stop. My legs ache from the distance. The ponderous steps of my waddle shaking the hundreds of pounds of flab that hang off my frame. It’s so much easier for me to get out of breath, for my heart to start racing, for me to start sweating. But it’s going to be a while before Ray can get back from the parking lot and I have to get myself signed in. So I heaved myself off the bench with a loud grunt and waddled through the lobby. The titanic sized patients who awaited their turns aren’t so much larger than me now, some of them are actually smaller. I sign in and take a seat.
The arms of the chair now squeeze my sides when my belly and thighs spread out. I try to adjust myself but there’s no better place for the arms to go than in between my love handles. Before I knew it, my cookies were out and ready for it. For a brief second, I question scarfing down the two dozen. I was about to make thousands disappear in my stomach when I’m outgrowing one of the only places designed for people bigger than the usual fat crowd. Every crumb would reappear on my hips, moobs, and double chin. What would happen if I manage to be too big even for Dr. Duncan?
Wait, that was impossible. Dr. Duncan was always thinking about patients getting fatter. I was fine. I ate a cookie and my nerves started to calm down.
“Excuse me,” a man waiting nearby said. It was almost scary seeing a younger reflection staring back at me. He was fat, but he was the size I was back when I was graduating high school. Everywhere else he was probably the biggest guy in the room, but here he looked fairly normal, even with a belly the size of a yoga ball. “I hate to interrupt a guy when he’s eating, but I want a little inside knowledge before my appointment. Do you like Dr. Duncan?”
“Oh yeah.” I told him as I stuffed another cookie in my mouth. Dr. Duncan is a very kind and attentive doctor. He’s especially nice to big guys. Most doctors would probably nag you for a five, ten, twenty, a hundred pounds of weight gain in a year, but Dr. Duncan won’t. You're in good hands with him."
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