"Face It. You're Getting Fat"

Fat Tuesday Weeks continues with what I think will likely be the first of three or four small pieces.

Enjoy!

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I’ve gotta say it. You’re getting pretty fat. 

I mean, look at you, girl. You used to be so put together, so tight and toned and sexy. You knew how sexy you were too. I saw you. I saw the way you loved to flaunt your body in those tight skimpy outfits. 

The outfits are still tight, I guess. But that doesn’t look like it’s out of choice. Is it? I didn’t think so. Nah, you’re packing yourself into this dress right now because you’ve been packing in the pounds. 

Just look at this inch I can pinch, this lovely love handle. Your waist used to curve in, not out. Where are the crop tops you used to wear? I bet they’re in the back of your closet, gathering dust while you lie to yourself and tell them you’ll wear them again one day. You wouldn’t be caught dead in them now, not when they’d look like nothing more than sports bras resting atop this great big belly of yours. 

It’s so soft. I love the feel of it, how humiliatingly squishy it is, how squeezing it makes your squirm under my touch. Squirm, but not pull away. You won’t slap my hands away either will you? Because you don’t want to. You know you deserve this. You spent all those years flaunting your body, taunting and tearing down others, and now you’ve earned this humiliating little inspection since you’ve gone and turned yourself into a naughty little piglet. 

You used to have abs. I remember watching you flaunt them. I remember watching you flaunt this gut of yours last week too, accidentally of course. You thought you could still fit into one of your blouses, the one that you didn’t realize had a great big mustard stain on it, and your belly was bulging out between the buttons, flowing out from under the blouse and flopping over the waistband of your stretched out skirt. 

And it’s really stretched out, isn’t it? Damn, girl. You’ve gotten real hefty back here. I can feel it. You used to be so firm, and now its like squeezing two old sponges. You’ve got these fleshy, squishy, saggy bags of fat hanging from where your tight ass cheeks used to be. Ha. Tight ass. Yeah. You used to be one of those alright, but I guess your personality has loosened up a bit too now that you’ve decided to let yourself go. 

You just don’t care anymore do you? That’s why you’ve let yourself get so fat. That’s why your hips are so broad and your belly’s so big and wobbly. It’s why you can’t stick to a diet, and why you don’t bother to get back in the gym you used to frequent. You’ve given up. Given in and gotten fat. You don’t care. 

No. 

That’s not true. 

If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be so embarrassed right now. I can see your chubby cheeks blushing. Oh my, they have gotten chubby. Haven’t they? 

I feel like your face used to be so much slimmer, those cheekbones more prominent. Now your slender face is just like the rest of you, nice and round. Chubby, pinchable cheeks and a delightfully doughy double chin, that’s what you’ve got now. A fat face. A dopey face. You used to look for angelic yet so arrogant. Now you just look fat and pathetic, afraid, like you know all you’ve lost and all you’re still going to lose. 

You can’t help yourself. 

That’s it, isn’t it? It’s not that you don’t care. It’s that you can’t stop. You want to diet. But food is just too tempting, too good, too comforting. You need it. You need delicious calorie heavy junk food. You need the grease. You need to keep yourself stuffed which is why you’re so stuffed into this outfit. 

And the gym? Forget about the gym. You want to go so badly, don’t you? You know the old exercises. You know what you need to do to lose this weight. I bet you know how much time you’d have to spend there, just how much of your cushy life you’d have to rearrange to shift this weight off your overly cushy ass. You could do it. You could go to the gym today and start putting int the work. Get right on the treadmill and start working this gut off. 

But you’re picturing that jiggle, aren’t you?

You can feel the weight of your bouncing belly just by thinking about it. You can feel your thighs slapping together. I bet you can hear the sounds of those thunder thighs too. And not just that. You can hear your own panting, the way you would be struggling to keep any kind of pace. And most importantly?

You can hear the laughter.

You can feel the stares, those judgmental looks you used to give others. You know how people will treat you as your struggle through the most basic of exercises because you used to be that person who made fun of fatties for your. Well, now you’re the fatty, so you’re fair game. And all those people you used to show off in front of? They’d get to revel in your downfall if you ever waddled your fat ass into the gym. So how could you do it? How could you show your fat face there? It’s too humiliating. It would be too painful. 

No. It’s much better to just stay at home and stuff your fat face as your fat ass grows even fatter. Stay glued to the couch, you bloated couch potato, you helpless, weak, fatty. Be what you’ve always made fun of, one of those fat women with no discipline, no control, who eats their feelings and is always making excuses about why they don’t do anything to change their lives and lose the weight. Stay out of the gym. Grow lazier. Grow fatter.

Life’s just easier when you’re a naughty, greedy, fat little piglet, isn’t it?

And that’s exactly what you are, my own little oinker. You’re a pudgy little porker now, a pot bellied pig with a blubber belly, a fat flabby ass and some juicy thunder thighs. Every part of you is fatter. You’ve even got fat arms now. You’ve got some fun, flabby bingo wings. I bet they make you feel so weak and pathetic. They used ot be strong, and now they just flap about uselessly.

Even your breasts are sad. They haven’t grown nearly as much as the rest of you, and they just kinda sag defeatedly toward your gut. They’ve got such weight to them, but they’re just fat and sad. Your spare tire, you big ol’ pot belly, your gelatinous gut, that’s the real showpiece, the real head turner. People need to look at you and wonder if you’re pregnant. How many times have you been offered a congratulations and asked when the baby’s due just this week alone?

But I can feel the difference. Right here. I can feel that fat oozing between my fingers as I squeeze your fat, blubbery belly. It’s far too soft. No, the only baby you’ve ever had inside you is a food baby. But the good news is that’s just going to grow bigger too. As you get fatter, you’re going to get hungrier. You’re going to need even more food to satisfying this greedy pig gut of yours. So your stomach will grow fatter, and when you eat it will swell even larger. And for a while you’ll try to pretend that a lot of your belly is just bloating. But you know it’s fat.

It’s all so much fat.

What’s that?

I can feel it rumbling. I can hear it.

Is my little piggy hungry?

Oh, you must be so ashamed of yourself. It must be so humiliating knowing how obvious it is that you’re a naughty, fat, greedy little piglet. I know you’re just craving food. I know your body is just begging to be stuffed. You want it. You need it. You know it.

That’s right. Nod for me. Show me how much you want it.

I can see that hunger in your eyes, that desperation. You don’t want to be a fatty, but you need it. You need to eat. You can’t help yourself, and that’s why you know you’re going to grow much much fatter now matter how much you hate that idea. You’re judging yourself right now. You know how pathetic you look, the formerly fit girl desperate for food, the slim and sexy vixen who is now nothing but a fat greedy pig, a hungry hog.

You’re practically oinking for it.

That’s how desperate you are ot eat even though you know how fattening your next large, greasy meal will be. You deserve this.

Come on then, piglet. Let’s get you fed.

No.

Let’s get you stuffed.

Let’s get that greedy gut of yours nice and full and satisfied.

And then I think I really will make you oink for me.