fat camp made me fatter

Fit check!

(After all, you deserve it. CW: Greed, selfish weight gain, encouragement.)

You indulge once in a while, when you can.

It’s not always feasible with food prices the way they are, but it’s fun to get a little extra, another side here and there, maybe some extra fries or something. Occasionally, your partner will even be nice enough to let you finish their food when they’re not as hungry. You’d never ask for it, but it feels good to have that little bit more.

You don’t like to admit this, but you occasionally like to stop on the way home for an extra snack before dinner. You know you don’t really need it, but something about sneaking in a few extra calories from a value menu burger or some sides to munch on before you get home just feels good to do. And it’s not like you do it that often, really, so there’s not really a problem. What’s the harm in getting a little more once in a while?

It isn’t really like you, but lately you’ve been waking up in the middle of the night, carefully getting out of bed, and then sneaking to the kitchen to raid the fridge. Sometimes it’s some leftovers your partner was saving (not usually all of it, but just enough to sate you), sometimes it’s taking a few gulps of the heavy cream you have on hand for recipes. You don’t know what’s gotten into you, you’ve just been so hungry, like you can never get enough. Even after those post work drive-thru runs have been getting more frequent, and they’ve ballooned slightly from a value burger into a small extra meal.

Still, it’s not like it’s a big deal anyway, you just get a little hungrier than you used to, and it’s okay to eat more when you’re hungry, isn’t it?

You swear you haven’t been doing it all the time, but you’ve been ordering extra food with nearly every takeout meal lately. It’s usually an extra appetizer or some extra sides to share with your partner. It might be the portions shrinking, but you can never seem to really get full. You do end up finishing most of it off, but it’s not like your partner seems to mind much anyway, and the whole point of it is to have a bit more for you.

You’re not sure when it started happening, but you’ve started taking food off your partner’s plate without asking. Sure, they were willing to give it to you before, and you’re sure that they don’t mind now, but it’s like a switch flipped in your brain. They want to see you happy, so naturally you should just take it if you’re really hungry, shouldn’t you? If you need more than they do, you shouldn’t feel guilty about taking it.

That’s why you get an extra dinner on the way home now. You’ve just made yourself used to it. Right as you’re heading out, it’s like your belly rumbles for that extra little snack. It’s never anything big, just a few sandwiches, some fries, and a large soda to wash it down, but that extra little bit of calories helps you really make it to dinner when you’re ready for more.

You’ve come to expect your partner to make that real dinner for you when you get home, too. They must have told you that they like to cook anyway, and a nice home cooked meal always sits nice and warm in your belly. So what if you get a little demanding? You’re just hungry, I’m sure they understand you need more than that paltry little snack on the way home.

It’s a good thing your partner leaves leftovers in the fridge for you to snack on when you get peckish late at night and lumber over to the fridge. Sure, sometimes they complain about not having something to eat for lunch the next day, but I’m sure they appreciate you finishing up their food nonetheless. It’s not like they want it to go bad, right? Besides, you need it more.

You always need an extra entree when you get takeout now. The portions are just so fucking small now, it’s like they want you to order more. You need that much just to not go hungry so often. You’ve even been ordering extra for your partner too, since you’re sure they’re feeling it too, even if it ends up in the fridge for you to eat later, or even more conveniently, is just unceremoniously slid over to you mid-dinner, you’re sure they must eat it sometimes, so it’s good to have more on hand, without even having to ask.

You’ve come to expect being the food disposal at friend gatherings. Your friends are so nice, letting you finish their extra food, and it’s just kind of you to take it off their hands. To be fair, they sometimes only give it up begrudgingly after you ask, and maybe you steal some bites before they actually tell you that you can have it at times, but they were slowing down and about to hand it off anyway, weren’t they? After all, you hate wasting food, and it’s better off going to someone who will appreciate it, someone like you who needs a bit more than everyone else.

It’s occurring to you that everyone loves making sure you have enough to eat. Your partner has stopped protesting you taking off their plate, so you’ve started eating theirs first so they don’t waste any food or let it get cold before it goes to you.

With all those big orders you bark into a drive-thru speaker, sometimes they get it wrong, and they let you keep all the food they made wrong while they remake it, especially when you get halfway through the order before you realize their mistake.

Even friends know to have plenty of food around to entice you to hang out with them, but that’s just what’s expected to be a good host. So what if you make a bit of a mess? It’s a small price to offer your company. And if their furniture breaks underneath you, that’s their problem for buying shitty chairs, right?

(Your growing relationship with your favorite food preservation appliance. Contains: weight gain, feeding.)

For a long time, you had only tried it once.

It was late, a while back, when you were still living with your parents. You always glanced at it curiously, pushed thoughtlessly into the back of the fridge. The night rendered the fridge light harsh and blue, and your eyes squinted a little. Picking up the carton by the edge of your outstretched fingertips, its heft felt surprising to you in the moment.

You turned the carton around to read the nutrition information. 50 calories per tablespoon. Your mind started spinning with the napkin math implications. Unscrewing the cap, you put the spout to your lips and drank a gulp. Rich, so rich, with only a mild lactic sweetness. The fat coated your tongue and lingered, butter on your lips. Your ears got hot and you tipped it back again before you could even think otherwise.

The heat from your ears migrated to your face. You didn’t want to leave the carton noticeably empty. Against your worse judgement, you hastily screwed the cap back on and shoved it back into its forgotten corner.

You will eventually learn that months later, the remainder of the carton of heavy cream would end up in the trash can, expired.

—

It was years later, living on your own. You were just settling in, and you hadn’t had your newfound privacy and space for very long. An old thought re-entered your mind. Your eyes blinked awake, sometime past 1AM. Making your way through the darkness to the kitchen, you stood in front of the fridge for a moment. The fridge door squeaked open in a way that couldn’t help but make you wince a little, alone in your empty apartment, old neurons still firing.

You assessed the contents…leftovers, some snacks you had picked up, takeout containers…you popped open the container with some leftover pizza and shoved a slice in your mouth cold. The cheese was muted by the chill, sauce rendered dry from its tenure in the fridge, pepperoni tasting more like cold cuts. Still, there was something that felt like heat in your chest when you acted so decisively, taking that first bite. The slice was gone before you had another thought, along with its sibling.

Dropping the empty carton on the floor for later, you grabbed a package of deli meat, hastily ripping open the container and greedily pulling out a mound of shaved ham. It hit almost refreshingly, slightly juicy and salty. You couldn’t stop yourself. You didn’t need to anymore.

Gulps of milk straight from the carton, a half a sandwich, and a few sticks of string cheese later, you finally closed the fridge door…and opened the freezer. Immediately, your eyes had set onto your nightcap: a carton of ice cream. You practically ripped open the container, feeling around in the dark of your drawers for a spoon, seeing the pit that was the bowl you had eaten the night before, and started spooning it into your mouth.

The first few spoonfuls met with some resistance, your metal spoon scraping against the frozen dairy. It was bracing cold, and rich. You got a hint of the flavor that had graced your tongue all those years ago, but rounded out with a decadent sweetness, a boozy vanilla adding a touch of complexity.

As you held the carton in your hands, the job got easier, the edges of the mound folding into ribbony rivers of melted confection, your spoon scooping greedy helpings with relative ease now. You ate mechanically, each bite registering less and less, settling into a rhythm. Finally, you surprised yourself when you felt the bottom of the paper carton meet your spoon with a soft tap, the only remainder being the small pool of white liquid that settled.

You tipped the carton up to your mouth and finished the rest.

—

Soon enough, the ritual you snuck out of bed for had turned into a borderline habit, the once treat settling into a rhythm of extra calories to end your day. You had finally started putting on weight, real weight, and you needed to show it off. What better way than to replicate the show you gave your fridge so often?

You set the tripod holding your phone down a few paces away from the fridge and hit record. Then, you slid a chair over from the dining room, and planted it in front of the fridge. Settling yourself down, you heard a light creak as your ass-fat made contact with the seat. You were so eager for signs of your progress like that back then.

From the camera’s lens, your body looked grainy in the ambient light, and then, a flash bang of blueish glow emerged from the door of the fridge, pouring out in streaks. Your camera’s eye adjusted to the harsh light, your belly coated in the glow, darkness pooling where your thighs met your belly.

Time in front of the fridge, just like this, had grown your body since you started your ritual. Your belly had blossomed and folded over your waistband in a gentle curve, the roundness pressing against your thicker thighs. Above, your chest had started cresting downward from gravity, the slight crease tracing a dark line where it met your belly curve. Your greedy hands looked a little more plump, and you could no longer hide the burgeoning double chin looking prominent when you sat down.

You had loved every inch, and you would give yourself far more to appreciate in time.

The camera watched as your pudgy fingers reached out, only slightly leaning forward to grip the container of cream. Resting backward again, your belly settled with a gentle wobble as you eagerly unscrewed the cap and began drinking straight from the bottle, rich and creamy.

You had gotten so excited, your ears burning again, that you could barely taste it, your throat chugging it like it were water. You got into the role - soft grunts muffled by butterfat were picked up by the mic, dribbles of cream sinking down the edges of your mouth, over your bulging double chin, down your thick neck, over your fatter chest, down your wider belly curve, into your deeper belly button.

Your throat made a bubbling gllk sound as you reached the bottom of the container faster than you had anticipated, a gulp from your throat coming up relatively empty. You let out a big sigh, body working a little harder from the pile of calories you had just gulped down, your belly expanding and contracting with every breath, almost bigger every intake.

You needed to show off for the camera more often.

—

It had been a while, and your body had grown to match the time spent gorging. Your eyes blinked awake, your bigger stomach letting out a barely perceptible growl. Your partner had finally started staying over, which was wonderful for your relationship but terrible for your former fridge habits. You couldn’t stand it, you had to eat something.

Shifting and sliding off the mattress with as much grace as your now large, cumbersome body could muster, your head was spinning. Your partner didn’t seem to mind the weight, even appreciated that you were a big eater, but…this. This had to have been different, you thought. This is too much, isn’t it. Your heavy, plodding footfalls attempting a tiptoe, you made your way back to the fridge.

The door squeaked open in a way that should have made you wince, but you could barely believe you were even doing this. Am I THIS far gone? I can’t even hold back from stuffing my face at 2AM when my partner is staying over? I’m fucked. I’m fucked. I’m-

Your running guilt tally went quiet when you saw the leftover cheesecake. You couldn’t even stop yourself, popping open the container with a POP, you grabbed a slice with your hand and ate it like a chicken leg. A few crumbs from the graham cracker crust fell onto your shelf of chest-fat, where it slowly rolled downward over the curve of your large belly.

From the fridge’s perspective, you had really blown up. In the harsh cold light, your curves were rendered in stark detail - your chest had long since flopped over to rest on your large gut, the light struggling to reach around your sides that had collapsed into rolls under each tit. Your belly stuck out noticeably from you now, arcing outward before falling in a cascade that flopped over and rested onto your underwear.

Your fingers had plumped into thick, sausage-like digits gripping onto the shrinking wedge of cheesecake, the thickening following up your forearms and into your now fat arms squishing into your sides. Your face had to carry some of your indulgence, too - fat cheeks matched your even bigger double chin that, from the view of your fridge, had completely rendered your neck invisible. Even your thighs - the parts that weren’t obscured by your overhang - had become large and plump, your body growing into something at least as heavy and decadent as the cheesecake you had shoved into your mouth.

As heavy and decedent as the next piece that followed, too.

There was a prominent section missing now, only a couple pieces left, and your fat cheeks went crimson, even in the blue-tone light that had still made your eyes squint. Fuck fuck I’m fucked I’m fucked I’m-

“You going to finish it?” The voice hit you icy cold and sharp.

“I…uh…I…” You stammered unconvincingly.

“Here. Let me help you.” Your partner slid in front of you, the smaller body casting a shadow nestled into your much larger one, as they grabbed another slice and gently pressed it to your lips. “That’s right, open up, fatass.” Their other hand traced a love handle gently, warm against your skin.

You complied.

—

The fridge opened with a creak, but the body standing in front was much smaller than it had gotten accustomed to. Eyes scanned over the contents, then grabbed a two liter and a couple of prepared sandwiches. “Will two do as a snack until I make lunch?” The fridge heard the voice call out to the other room.

Your fridge had gotten used to being more filled than before, the contents of prepped meals and snacked piled into neat stacks to make best use of the space. Your fridge had also stopped seeing you sneak food in so much, especially as you had gotten bigger, and heavier, and more dependent, and less mobile.

From the other room, you cried out “Maybe something else too?” followed closely by a loud belch.

(posting some recent vignettes I posted over on my Bluesky. CW: weight gain, out of shape, encouragement)

steps

Slow.

That’s the word going through your mind as you make your way down the hallway, pudgy hand bracing against the wall for support. It had happened in stages, the way this trek took more and more energy, more specific actions, the task slowing to a crawl.

Now, in your present state, you’re focused on distributing your weight from one side of you to the other so you could take another shaky step forward, even with the wall for comfort. (There is a part of you that wondered when the drywall might someday simply give way under all the weight.)

Your movements feel uncoordinated, as they often did now, which is understandable given how often you wake up at your new heaviest weight. You’ve since stopped being freaked out about how much you were gasping for breath, because it makes a certain type of sense when performing such heavy lifting.

Another step, and alarm bells start going off. Your sides start cramping from the heaving breaths you’ve been taking since the beginning of your short trek, and you start getting light headed, losing the battle of trying to keep above water with your massive body’s oxygen requirements.

“I…help…” You whisper, quieter than the wheezing you were already making, drowning out from the soft PLAP of your unsteady footfalls. Suddenly, a relief, some of your weight taken off the heels of your feet, as your feeder’s hands sink into your front.

“Gotcha, big fella. You’re that hungry, huh?”

reunion

You make your way to the door and give it the ‘knock-knock, knock’ rhythm you used to give when you would visit, though it’s been a while since you’ve hung out. You hear a barely audible ‘…minute!’ from the other side, and wait just long enough to wonder whether to knock again before the lock clicks.

The door slowly swings open and your friend slowly shuffles back to make room for you to enter. you realize they don’t have the room to stand behind the door anymore, what with all of the them that’s in the way now. Making your way inside, your eyes adjusting to the dim room, you see their shape.

Even after they’ve stumbled back, you can still feel their body heat emanating from them. “Hey…huff it’s…good to see you.” Now inside, you can hear their heavy wheezing from over the sound of a loud fan buzzing in the other room. Their fat chest heaves up and down from the effort of waddling.

“Good to…see you too.” Their sheet sized tank top is stretched across their fat chest, big tits gently oscillating from breathing, hanging over a wide, deep plunging belly, the bottom of which is visible poking through the bottom of their shirt. They’re backed up and leaning on the wall for support.

Your mind is spinning. How the fuck? It’s been a while since you’ve moved farther away, but has it really been THAT long? They always were a big eater, but the thought of how they could get this fat baffles you. The thought of how they could get this fat makes your breathing short.

Your eyes pour over their frame, up and down, lost in overstimulating details - the forming arm rolls in their exposed ‘biceps’, the unrecognizably double chin adorned face, the basketball shorts stretched taut and translucent, even their feet looking pudgy and overstuffed.

It’s a long pause and your brain notices that you’ve haven’t said anything, and before you can even filter it out you blurt out a “What happened?” They look up at you with the slightest hint of a smirk, and with a boastful pride in their breathy voice, they finally respond. “I got fatter.”

changes

You wake up late again, your throat dry from snoring. You should be used to it, but there’s a part of you that still thinks it’s wrong, that it’s temporary. You quiet those thoughts with wondering what you’ll have for breakfast. You have a couple boxes of waffles you can easily put away.

You waddle past your running shoes, caked with a layer of dust. You don’t bother with anything you can’t slip on anymore, since trying to tie laces isn’t tenable with your gut in the way. You think about how uncoordinated you feel as your love handles accidentally brush against the door frame.

You check your phone, mouthful of waffle, and see messages about going hiking from your friends, chuckling to yourself at the thought of you climbing a mountain now. You resolve to catch up with them at dinner, and suggest some places with sturdy benches and expansive menus almost automatically.

As you finish the last butter soaked, syrup dripping bite, you’re already thinking about lunch, maybe ordering something in? Your brain hasn’t even fully shaken off the fog of sleep and you’re already forming an order in your head, neurons once used for calorie counting reformed for lavish meals.

You catch yourself being a fat fucking cliche and it excites you, that you’ve so thoroughly transformed yourself that you can barely notice, that those deliberate choices you made when you first started gaining crystallized into habit and reflex, made form on your heavy, plodding body.

You look up after washing your face and take in the details, noticing the way your chin casts a shade forming your double chin even when you look forward, the way your chest is sagging into your gut, the way your arms squish into your sides clumsily, the way your overhang obscures your waistband.

It’s not about the destination.

Oh, you. I’m so jealous of you because you get to experience yourself growing fat from being ‘normal.‘ 

I’ve always been a bit chubby, but you used to be just like everyone else. Everyone can fucking tell you got fat, and keep getting fatter. For me? It’s not a big deal for a fat guy to keep growing. But you used to be ‘regular,’ even ‘thin.’ Everyone who knew you will always look at you as 'that guy I knew who fucking pigged out and got massive.' 

They’ll see pictures of you when you were younger and ask 'remember when you could see your toes?’ And they’ll laugh at what a fatboy you’ve gorged and created. 

But they won’t even understand how much you want it. How much you want to make the biggest body you can fatten yourself into. 

I wonder if you can notice the difference, of people who knew your thin, conventionally attractive body and think you might one day starve yourself back into it, and people who only knew you when you were a fatass, and believe that’s all you ever were. (After all, someone as fat and out of shape as you had to have started early.) 

Then again, even the people that knew you as that thin person start to lose hope when they see how much of a glutton you’re becoming. 

You sure you want to do this, tubby? Give yourself to a life of chubby chasers, because no one else will want to fuck an ass as fat as yours? Love handles so wide that only the most dedicated of fat lovers will want to grab? A fat, chubby face, the handsome features rounded and blurred in an excess of chins, cheeks, everything. 

don’t notice the way you struggle a bit more to button up your jeans before work.

don’t notice the way your shirt feels a lot tighter, how it’s practically become a second skin for you.

don’t notice the way you breathe heavier just walking from your house to your car, sitting in the front seat for a moment just to catch your breath.

don’t notice the way you had to move your seat back this morning, too, because the steering wheel has started to press uncomfortably into your stomach and thighs.

don’t notice the way your first meal of the day has more calories than you should be eating for half the day.

don’t notice the way you stop and get donuts on the way to work more frequently now, so you have something to snack on during work.

don’t notice the way your co-workers are staring more and more often at you, the way your clothes cling to your body, every new pound on full display.

don’t notice the way your shirt has started to roll up while you eat, exposing that soft underbelly for the world to see.

don’t notice the way you eat three times as much as your friends do when you all go out, ordering more and more and finishing off their plates for them, too.

maybe you don’t notice how fat you’re getting, but you’re going to notice soon.

you’ll notice when you try to pull your old favorite jeans on, and they get stuck on your thighs. you’ll fight and pull and try to get them on, but even if you manage to slide them up your legs, they’ll never button across that belly.

you’ll notice when all of your shirts have suddenly become crop tops, sliding up to rest above the top of your belly.

you’ll notice when you get out of breath just walking from your bedroom to the kitchen to stuff your face even more. how a simple few steps make you have to pause.

you’ll notice when the seatbelt cuts into your belly and chest when you move too far in your seat, when it’s a struggle to fit yourself in behind the steering wheel.

you’ll notice when your breakfast order comes out and there’s enough plates to feed a family of 4, and the waitress asks if you’re sure you can finish all that.

(you know you can, you’ve done it before.)

you’ll notice when your two, three, four donuts a day becomes 7, 8, 9, a dozen a day, until the workers know your name and order by heart.

you’ll notice when your co-workers start to whisper when you walk by, asking what happened to you, how could you let yourself go like that?

you’ll notice when your clothes are tight before you even eat, but they become unbearable once you’ve shoved all that food into your face. when you have to unbutton your jeans mid meal, as to not risk losing a button.

you’ll notice when your friends start asking if you need that 3rd, 4th, 5th plate, if you really need dessert after all that food. when they say hey, we’re going to the gym after lunch, do you want to come?