getting bigger and loving it

"So... you actually built a time machine??"

Your nerdy childhood friend Alice rolls her eyes.

"Well, not really," she says. "You can't actually travel in time. But this here," she points to a wardrobe-size contraption blinking with lights and packed with wires, "can alter events from the past. Think of it as a corrector, if you will."

"Wow." You look at the sci-fi dream in awe.

"Of course, the use of this stuff can potentially be dangerous. We can never know how a certain event from the past might have influenced our future. Granted, if you, an ordinary person, turned right instead of left one day a year ago, the probability that it would have altered the fate of the whole world is rather low... but it's never zero."

"Yeah, yeah," you say. "I get it, the butterfly effect and all that. But you can't think that my little life would really have that much of an impact on the world, can you?"

"Well, it's unlikely, and that's why I'm allowing you to use the machine. Once. Remember, whatever you change in your past, might change your life forever. Also, it could be almost impossible to revert."

"Why?"

Alice smiles a bit condescendingly. "Think about it for a minute. You're rewriting your past. Moments after the change is made, you'll forget that there had been a change in the first place. It would have always been your past."

You frown, contemplating the paradox until you feel steam rising from your ears. "Okay, whatever. I'm going to change my life for the better anyway."

Your friend nods. "Enter the new data here." She points at an open laptop.

You get to work. You are getting a chance of altering one life event, and you know exactly what you want. After your parents divorced when you were nine, you stayed with your mom. You want that to change. You hated your childhood, spent with a strict, controlling person who policed every snack brought into the house. It cost you years of therapy and battling a difficult relationship with food.

I wanted to have stayed with my dad, you write.

You press enter.

***

You blink. At first, nothing seems to change. And then suddenly, you feel like your body is inflating. Your previously toned chest gets buried under a layer of flab. Your neck is enveloped in a fatty ring. Your fingers turn chubby. Your legs thicken. Your butt inflates and droops.

New memories fill your brain. Getting to stay with your dad after the divorce. The combination of your dad's guilt about what it had put you through, and his terrible cooking skills, meaning that every other day, he'd get takeout for dinner. Eating fast food a couple times per week. Growing from a thin child into a chubby teenager, and then a fat adult. Habits that you formed deep in childhood never going away: drinking full sugar sodas, never taking the stairs, opting for video games instead of playing basketball. Still visiting your mother from time to time and getting shamed for your figure.

You blink. Your friend Alice is standing before you. You think she was explaining her time machine to you... but you haven't gotten to rewriting your past yet, have you? You scratch your double chin pensively. Absent-mindedly, you think about how your sweatpants are digging into your lower belly. It's probably time to upgrade to 3XL.

"So, what are you going to change?" Alice asks.

You smile, cheeks dimpling. "I had an okay childhood," you say. "Dad was pretty nice. But mom was still such a bitch whenever I visited her. I... I don't want to have those humiliating memories in my head. Like, I get it, Mom, I'm fat. You don't have to be so mean about it."

I wanted my Mom to be nicer to me, you write.

***

Blink, and you're sitting on a mobility scooter.

Your rolls are spilling everywhere. It's your third scooter, and it's getting a bit snug.

You got your first one when you turned eighteen.

Ever since the divorce, both your parents tried to find a way to buy your affection. And they mostly did it with food. Every other day, Dad would order takeout, and every time you visited Mom, she would prepare a spread worthy of a Thanksgiving. It was no wonder then that your weight quickly soared, climbing through "normal", overweight, and reaching obesity when you were only fourteen. And you only got fatter since then. When you started high school, your walk turned into a waddle, and by the time you were seventeen, walking was becoming a bit too hard altogether. You were so grateful for your first scooter. It made things so much easier - unfortunately, it broke after two years. You simply outgrew it.

You look up, painfully craning your neck and feeling your chins bulge into each other. Before you stands your friend Alice. She's pretty fat herself, and no wonder - your parents would let you invite her over and feed her incessantly when she was there. But she's got nothing on your weight, of course. She barely waddles.

"So," she says, munching on a donut, "what do you want to change in your past?"

I got an ask today that I want to share, because it touches on something that has been important to me for a very long time:

“What made you decide to start gaining and getting so big? I’m almost 300 lbs and I’m on the fence if I should just go for it and get bigger. Any advice for a wannabe fat man lol?”

Honestly, for me it goes way back.

I had that fascination from a young age. The idea of becoming a really big, heavy man with a huge belly was always there somewhere in me. It never really went away. If anything, it only got stronger as I got older.

There were also certain impressions early in life that probably shaped that desire more than I realized at the time. Looking back, I think a part of me always knew this was the direction I was drawn to.

So what made me finally go for it?

At some point I stopped asking myself “should I?” and started asking “why am I denying something I clearly want?”

And honestly? I’m glad I did.

If you’re almost 300 lbs and already thinking about it, then I’d say this probably isn’t just some random passing thought. Most guys don’t keep circling around this unless there’s something real there.

My advice? Don’t think of it as some huge dramatic decision. Just allow yourself to explore it. Let yourself enjoy food a bit more. Let your body soften. Let your belly grow and see how it feels.

For every like this post gets, I’ll goon an hour.

For every reblog, I’ll goon for 5 hours, and not talk to a woman for a day.

"So... you actually built a time machine??"

Your nerdy childhood friend Alice rolls her eyes.

"Well, not really," she says. "You can't actually travel in time. But this here," she points to a wardrobe-size contraption blinking with lights and packed with wires, "can alter events from the past. Think of it as a corrector, if you will."

"Wow." You look at the sci-fi dream in awe.

"Of course, the use of this stuff can potentially be dangerous. We can never know how a certain event from the past might have influenced our future. Granted, if you, an ordinary person, turned right instead of left one day a year ago, the probability that it would have altered the fate of the whole world is rather low... but it's never zero."

"Yeah, yeah," you say. "I get it, the butterfly effect and all that. But you can't think that my little life would really have that much of an impact on the world, can you?"

"Well, it's unlikely, and that's why I'm allowing you to use the machine. Once. Remember, whatever you change in your past, might change your life forever. Also, it could be almost impossible to revert."

"Why?"

Alice smiles a bit condescendingly. "Think about it for a minute. You're rewriting your past. Moments after the change is made, you'll forget that there had been a change in the first place. It would have always been your past."

You frown, contemplating the paradox until you feel steam rising from your ears. "Okay, whatever. I'm going to change my life for the better anyway."

Your friend nods. "Enter the new data here." She points at an open laptop.

You get to work. You are getting a chance of altering one life event, and you know exactly what you want. After your parents divorced when you were nine, you stayed with your mom. You want that to change. You hated your childhood, spent with a strict, controlling person who policed every snack brought into the house. It cost you years of therapy and battling a difficult relationship with food.

I wanted to have stayed with my dad, you write.

You press enter.

***

You blink. At first, nothing seems to change. And then suddenly, you feel like your body is inflating. Your previously toned chest gets buried under a layer of flab. Your neck is enveloped in a fatty ring. Your fingers turn chubby. Your legs thicken. Your butt inflates and droops.

New memories fill your brain. Getting to stay with your dad after the divorce. The combination of your dad's guilt about what it had put you through, and his terrible cooking skills, meaning that every other day, he'd get takeout for dinner. Eating fast food a couple times per week. Growing from a thin child into a chubby teenager, and then a fat adult. Habits that you formed deep in childhood never going away: drinking full sugar sodas, never taking the stairs, opting for video games instead of playing basketball. Still visiting your mother from time to time and getting shamed for your figure.

You blink. Your friend Alice is standing before you. You think she was explaining her time machine to you... but you haven't gotten to rewriting your past yet, have you? You scratch your double chin pensively. Absent-mindedly, you think about how your sweatpants are digging into your lower belly. It's probably time to upgrade to 3XL.

"So, what are you going to change?" Alice asks.

You smile, cheeks dimpling. "I had an okay childhood," you say. "Dad was pretty nice. But mom was still such a bitch whenever I visited her. I... I don't want to have those humiliating memories in my head. Like, I get it, Mom, I'm fat. You don't have to be so mean about it."

I wanted my Mom to be nicer to me, you write.

***

Blink, and you're sitting on a mobility scooter.

Your rolls are spilling everywhere. It's your third scooter, and it's getting a bit snug.

You got your first one when you turned eighteen.

Ever since the divorce, both your parents tried to find a way to buy your affection. And they mostly did it with food. Every other day, Dad would order takeout, and every time you visited Mom, she would prepare a spread worthy of a Thanksgiving. It was no wonder then that your weight quickly soared, climbing through "normal", overweight, and reaching obesity when you were only fourteen. And you only got fatter since then. When you started high school, your walk turned into a waddle, and by the time you were seventeen, walking was becoming a bit too hard altogether. You were so grateful for your first scooter. It made things so much easier - unfortunately, it broke after two years. You simply outgrew it.

You look up, painfully craning your neck and feeling your chins bulge into each other. Before you stands your friend Alice. She's pretty fat herself, and no wonder - your parents would let you invite her over and feed her incessantly when she was there. But she's got nothing on your weight, of course. She barely waddles.

"So," she says, munching on a donut, "what do you want to change in your past?"

I can't really pin down what exactly it is that makes a girl being such a slob when she eats sooo hot.

It could be the fact that it's like they're making a show of how little they care about anything other than getting as much food inside of them as quick as possible, not stopping to pick that crumb off her chin or eat that shred of chicken that fell out on her leg a while ago.

It could also be that a girl who is willing to get so messy and have everyone around her be disgusted with her loves the feeling of shamefulness she gets when her family tells her to slow down! or when her boyfriend asks if she's really going to eat all that, considering she just had a whole footlong and two cans of coke an hour ago.

Or maybe it's that she just loves the feeling of the mess! Maybe slathering sauce and butter carelessly on her giant ballooning belly makes her feel closer to her hog roots, rolling around in the mud with a distended gut. I'm sure it feels so good to let go, to turn off all those thoughts of "this'll be horrible to clean" or "i hope nothing gets on the bedsheets" and really submit to the ever-fattening lifestyle you've grown (😉) so accustomed to.