Hey, Big Guy

My new roommate came back from a trip to visit some friends in New Jersey, and I couldn’t help but notice she had put on a little weight while she was away. Liv had been fairly trim when I moved in a few months ago, but as she put down her suitcase and straightened back out, I noticed that there was the beginning of a little belly looming above her waistband.

“Oops!” she said, and tugged her shirt down – but it was too late, I’d seen, and then it was all I could think about. Over the next few weeks, I noticed how she took extra helpings, how she would often come home from work and immediately throw out fast food wrappers, how food would disappear from the kitchen at night and reappear as trash the next morning, how she would bring extra treats home and encourage me to have them, then eat them all, how that little belly had now swollen over her waistband, sometimes pushing so hard against it, it seemed like it was in an angry fight with her shorts.

One day she almost caught me staring – I hadn’t meant to be a creep, but there was something captivating about the curve the top of her belly had taken when she was sitting next to me watching TV. When she almost caught me, I looked away quickly – and I was sure she didn’t notice, but it got me wondering.

Why was I so obsessed with her weight gain? Why did I scroll through photos of her in Instagram, charting the exact moment it had happened? Why, I had to admit to myself, did it make me so horny? And why did it make me so…hungry?

I started a little experiment. I stopped any semblance of calorie counting, an old habit from my teen years. I had never been a big gym-goer, but now I felt like it was time for a complete break – I was suddenly so unmotivated. When Liv brought home treats and offered them to me, I took her up on it (I did notice that she started buying more once we were sharing – what had been two cupcakes as a treat after work now became four, one  pint of Ben & Jerry’s became two once two spoons were involved). One day when Liv wasn’t home, I had the urge to drink a whole 20L of soda, and fell asleep on the couch clutching my belly, which had filled up so much I had to unbutton my pants to let it breathe. When I woke up, I realized Liv was in her room – she must have gotten home while I was passed out on the cough, stroking my huge belly that spilled out over my unzipped pants. For a second I panicked with embarrassment – what would I even say if she brought it up? What if she asked me what I was doing? What if she had noticed I had gotten a little chubby? What if she touched my stomach – oh God. Why was I so turned on at that thought?

Over the next couple of weeks, I tried to keep it under control, but I was also in denial. This wasn’t a fetish, right? I was just experimenting with how I wanted my body to look, which was as normal as a new piercing or tattoo? I tried to cut back on the snacking, and I did a pretty good job, I think. My belly felt a bit more snug in my pants, and I had to rearrange how I wore them a bit, but it’s not like I had to go a size up or anything.

I can’t say the same for Liv, though. She had gone from a little pudgy to chubby, and now, after a few weeks where she was “just really into the new ice cream place down the road,” I caught a glance of her out the corner of my eye one day, her shirt ridden up to expose the whole underside of her belly, and oh my God, this incredibly sexy crease had formed from her belly to her hips. I got so turned on, I couldn’t deny what was happening anymore.

Blushing,  I excused myself to go to my room and I did something I hadn’t done since I was in high school: I logged into Tumblr. There had to be other people fully obsessed with getting fat, right? It could be just me? I quickly found the feedism side of Tumblr and followed every single blog I could think of. There was one in particular that really spoke to me – it was wild how much we had in common. This blogger also had a fat roommate she was obsessed with. It made me feel less alone and less of a creep to read someone else going through what I was going through. The blogger called her roommate “Fat Roommate” and I glanced down at the curve of my own chubby belly and gave it a good shake, surprising myself both by how much there was to grab and how much I wished that I were fat enough to be called “Fat Roommate” by someone.

I scrolled through her posts – “Fat Roommate ate more than her share of my cookies today, no wonder she’s getting so fat,” and “Fat roommate doesn’t notice how she holds her belly while we’re having dinner. It turns me on so much. Fuck….send help” I was getting so turned on, scrolling through these daily accounts of her fat roommate interspersed with her own strategically-private photos of her ever-expanding curves.

Then I got to a post that stopped me in my tracks, dated two months earlier. “Came home today and Chubby Roommate was passed out on the couch, an empty 20L soda bottle on the table, her gut spilling out of her jeans. Oh my God. I can’t stop thinking about the sight of her. Will have to change her name from Chubby Roommate to Fat Roommate from now on. Send help!!”

Wait. I did the math in my head. Two months ago – was that when Liv came home and caught me on the sofa? There was no way this blog belonged to Liv, right? I scrolled through back through the blog for more information, which took me a while because of how long I lingered at each stuffing video (were those her curtains? Could I just barely see the corner of the Green Day poster over her bed?) and heaving belly photos (Is that the same tight, red tank top I’d admired the other day?). The more I scrolled, the more excited I got, and had to take frequent pauses to touch myself – after a while, I convinced myself it couldn’t be Liv. I was still only just a bit chubby – nothing that could ever qualify me as the Fat Roommate…right?

I got up from my bed, which took more effort than I’d like to admit as my belly shifted over me, and examined myself in the mirror. It’s not that I haven’t checked myself out in the last few months, but it had been a while since I’d really appraised the situation I’d gotten myself into. I had cut back! Kinda. I’m not going to lie, I was…bigger. A lot bigger. it was kind of a reckoning for me. My stomach domed out over my gym shorts, the only kind of shorts I still had that would fit over my thighs. The graphic on my shirt – a grinning black cat – was stretched to the point of distortion over my breasts, which strained painfully in the sports bra I had sworn I’d replace every time I put it on lately. I could make out the entire outline of the bottom of my belly through my gym shorts, and when I turned, I was shocked to see several rolls of fat had formed a cushion on my back. I was in shock. I rubbed my hand from the top of my stomach to the bottom of my belly, mesmerized, and gave it a gentle shake.

“Fuck,” I said, “feeling a wave of shame crash over me, followed quickly by a wave of intense, disorienting excitement. “What did i do to myself?”

Maybe it was time to consider that I might be Fat Roommate after all.

I picked up my phone and scrolled back a few months further and found that Chubby Roommate had previously been just plain “roommate,” no capital R.

 “I wonder if my roommate is noticing how much food I’ve been ordering,” “I wonder if my roommate noticed I had to replace all my shorts,” “I think I caught my roommate staring at my belly tonight while we watched TV.”

It was a Chinese food/movie night that put her over the top. “Oh God. My roommate is getting capital-C-Chubby. I can’t stop looking. Send help!!” I did remember a Chinese food night from a few months earlier where I’d overdone it a bit, but that’s pretty common, right? The restaurant had sent three sets of chopsticks, which I guess meant that I ordered three people’s worth of food, but that’s easy to do when online ordering, right? Even if I ate it all in one sitting?

The evidence wasn’t really working out in my favor. I decided to run a little experiment.

The next day, I went to the Burger King drive-thru and, inspired by the chopsticks incident, I ordered food while I pretended to be taking orders from invisible family members in the backseat. I was so embarrassed, which only made it hotter. I ate all of it in the parking lot of our building which, I’ll admit, wasn’t something I thought through very well. I heaved myself up the two floors to our apartment, panting when I entered.

Liv was eating chips on the couch when I walked in. I imagined what a spectacle I was in that moment, heaving my stuffed gut through the front door.

“How’s it going?” she asked, after she had stared for just a second.

“God,” I thought, “If she’s not the blogger, this might actually be humiliating.”

But I had to follow through with the experiment, so I told her I was OK, how was she, made pleasantries for a moment, and then I sheepishly asked her if I could ask a question.

“Sure,” she said, “what’s up?”

“Um, I noticed my clothes are getting a little tight. Do you think I’ve gained a little weight?” I asked her.

“Um,” she said, “Let me look at you.”

She stood up and glanced at me up and down, as though she were taking me in for the first time. “She deserves an Oscar for this performance,” I thought.

“Well, I’ll say that I don’t really remember this being here when you moved in,” she said, and gave my belly a pat. It shook where she put her hand.

“Huh,” I said casually, “Maybe it’s time to hit the gym.”

I turned and went in my bedroom and heard her door nearly two minutes later. Still heaving from my snack and aroused at the thought of Liv’s hand on my gut, I logged on Tumblr and started to refresh, stroking my swollen gut and moaning slightly at my own touch.

I was rewarded quickly with a post – “Holy fuck, Fat Roommate just walked in looking fatter than ever and asked me if I thought she’d gained weight. I don’t know if I can take much more of this. All I think about is feeding her and being fed by her. SEND HELP.”

It was time for part two of my plan.

The next day, I went to her favorite bakery and ordered two dozen donuts, a box of those giant cookies that are more icing than bread, and a large piece of chocolate cake. At home, I set it all out on the coffee table where she could see it and I poured her a giant glass of cold milk to wash it all down. When Liv came home, her eyes went wide at the sight.

“I ordered too much at the bakery” I said to her before she could even put her bag down. “I couldn’t choose and I wanted it all,” I slowly rubbed the bottom of my stomach. “Send help?”

I saw her eyebrow raise at “Send help.” Her eyes fell to where my hand was rubbing along my belly.

“I guess I am feeling pretty hungry,” she said.

“I’ll go one for one with you on the donuts,” I told her, reaching for the first box.

The first box went down easily. When we finished the last one, I made a big show of pulling up my shirt and rubbing my stuffed belly with both hands. I even let out a little moan.

I could see her staring. “You still look hungry,” I said.

“How could you tell?” she asked, as I opened the box of cookies and handed it to her. She took a big bite.

I smiled. “Fat Roommate can just tell these things, you know?”

She looked at me in shock, her mouth full of cookie, She swallowed hard.

“You…know?” she said, in disbelief.

“I know a lot of things,” I told her. “Like that you’re going to eat all of these cookies.”

She nodded.

“Good girl,” I said, and I handed her another, moving close to her on the couch. I could see her stomach expanding under her shirt and I knew from experience that breathing must be a challenge. I put my hand on her belly and she let out a low moan.

“Keep eating,” I said, and she listened. With every cookie, I moved a little lower on her stomach, which grew with every bite. After the fourth cookie, she unbuttoned her pants and pushed my hand a little lower. By the time she finished the cookies, she was really struggling to breathe, just panting and moaning and nodding as I stroked under her belly.

“Now the cake,” I said, handing her the container and a fork.

“I…I can’t” she said, “I’m so full already”

I moved my hand even lower.

“Oh God,” she whimpered as I teased her, running my hand over her underwear, then under it as she shoveled huge pieces of cake in her mouth.

“Now wash it all down” I said, handing her the milk.

She looked at me with a mix of desperation and determination. She chugged the milk. I couldn’t believe that her stomach had any more space in it, but it expanded until it was completely tight all the way around, her pants covered in all directions by her firm gut.

“Good girl,” I said, “you did such a good job.” She had both hands on her belly, rubbing it in disbelief and a look I recognized – obsession. I pushed my fingers into her and started rubbing her clit slowly while she moaned in ecstasy, rubbing her own stomach with one hand and clutching handfuls of mine in the other. When she was about to come, I pushed two fingers inside of her and felt the quivering hurricane of her huge form electrify everything around me. For a little while she lay there making soft noises, either from fullness or pleasure or both, I couldn’t tell.

“Well,” I said to her. “I can’t wait to read about this on Tumblr.”

“Oh God, don’t make me laugh, I’m so full,” she said, breathing heavy. Liv turned to face me, which I could tell took a lot of effort. She teased the sad, defeated waistband of my gym shorts and ran a finger along the line where my belly hung over, and whispered in my ear: