empty oven boy

You used to log on Tumblr with your super secret side blog that nobody could EVER know about--because being fat is sooo against everything you ever knew...right?--and you'd indulge.

Watching those cartoons and wondering why you felt so strange... then watching those taboo fat porn clips years later--because fat was so much fucking hotter than anything else?--and you'd stare.

Do you remember your first curiosity? Did you have to rip the pillows out of your shirt when you heard footsteps--because oh my god, why did it feel so RIGHT and so WRONG at the same time?--and you'd pretend.

Remember when it stopped being secret? When you finally decided to dip your toes in--because there was NO WAY you could hide from this anyway--and you'd gained.

The self consciousness that burned your cheeks that began fading more and more--because you can't deny yourself pleasure for long?--and you'd changed.

You know exactly what those words mean. What polite society prevents most people from blurting out: holy fuck you're fucking huge, when did you get so FAT? You must be twice the size. Do you ever put down the fork, fatty? You're a fucking whale!

It's not a kink anymore. It's your life. It's always been your life but now it's really all you are. You don't feel the burning in your cheeks. You feel all the blood rushing south.

But all that comes out is a cautious "... you've changed..."

"Not really," you say with mock sheepishness.

The silence lingers while you rub the gut you’ve overfed out of the bottom of your biggest shirt.

You smile.

Your stomach growls.

"I don't know what happened."

Your shorts get even tighter.

You shift slightly. Your body keeps going.