THE GRAND PIG

You groan, tired and helpless, pushing yourself upright with both hands while your belly sloshes around unpredictably — a completely separate entity from you. You’re already winded. We haven’t even started the day.

“Good morning fatass” I coo, leaning in to kiss your sweat-damp temple. “Enjoy being able to get out of bed while you still can. It shouldn’t be long now.”

You shoot me a look, half blushing, half flushed from the movement, and try to get to your feet. The swaying of your body with the slightest movement is unavoidable now. You don’t walk at all; you waddle. You don’t step; you haul. All that lard packed tight onto your thighs, slapping and jostling against itself, belly dragging you downward like an anchor of pure fat.

I trail behind you as you lumber toward the bathroom, and I can’t stop smiling. The way every inch of you bounces and sways. The slow, rhythmic harmony of your belly chafing on your thighs and the floorboards creaking is hypnotic. And when you finally pull yourself into the shower and plop down onto the shower chair, you let out a huff that can only be interpreted as a sigh of relief. Because we both know you barely made it. 

When you come out, you use your gut to ground the towel in place around your waist, and you sit on the edge of the toilet. I hand you your socks and wait. Watch. You try to lift your leg to cross your ankle over your knee, but your belly presses up into your chest. You have to lean back to breathe multiple times, and I can’t hide the fact that your immense struggle at the simple task of putting on socks is making me squirm with pleasure. You roll them half on and you’re left red-faced and gasping. I can see the sweat pooling at your collarbone.

“You ever think about how permanent this is?” I say as I pinch a lump of your triple chin between my fingers. “How this isn’t weight you can ever lose? It’s your whole life now. You’re never getting smaller. There’s no ‘bouncing back.’ Your body is ruined, baby. Completely useless except to me. And all because you're such a hopeless, impotent glutton.

For the most part, I think there's minimal "worry" for those under 300lbs. It's a reasonable weight range. You're obese, but no one views you as being in a hazardous place. Sure, no marathons are happening. On the other hand, you haven't really given up too much. You can do and participate in almost everything that people generally decide is worth doing. You keep up. People don't look at someone who is 280lbs and think they are on a crash course to disaster.

Alarms go off in the 300s. Warning signs, limits, moments of "this has gone too far" begin to show up. Being unable to fit in booths. Needing two tickets on a plane. Now you NEED to sit periodically. You are in many ways going to be the biggest person in the lives of those around you.

The worry begins. You let it go this far. People know you need a little special handling. It's a point where you get viewed as a little... out of control. It may be shocking to see someone in the 200lb range add another 50lbs. It's less shocking for someone in the 300lb range to do that. You're labeled. You're observed. You need to figure out your habits soon.

Going any deeper creates an odd panic. Being 400lbs marks you as a concern. Gaining another 50lbs isn't a shock, it's a fear. They are watching you slide into dangerous territory with some sort of expectation. Your eating habits go beyond comprehension. People know how to talk about eating better and exercise with someone in their 200s... not so much someone who is 450lbs and anchors themselves to the couch in such a... heavy... way.

This is the last point where people think you can be pulled out of this lifestyle. It's hard to be any bigger unless you decide to give up. It's hard to get to 400lbs.

That's why being over 500lbs puts you into a state of inevitability. Truly incompatible with the lives of those around you. No one gains to 500lbs slowly... it's bursts of binge eating. Treating activity with a phobic mentality. You get that big? You're only going to keep getting bigger.

You're now a lost cause. Sliding towards a bad ending.

Being able to walk 50ft or 25ft before turning into a wheezing, panicked mess is trivial. It's hard to take away from your quality of life when it's so encumbered. The fear of more weight softens. You've already narrowed everything down to laying in bed, struggling to the bathroom, and fighting your body to do the simplest things. Who cares if you gain 10lbs. 20lbs. 80lbs. Your way of living isn't any more alienating to others. Your ability to interact with the world doesn't get any worse.

So why should I treat you carefully when the scale clicks past 600lbs? What left is there for me to bargain with? The difference between barely being able to leave bed with or without help? Does it matter anymore? I'm supposed to think you deserve to be deprived of another plate of food if it makes you happy? Why be too big to fit in a car if you can't even be satisfied with how much you eat?

Just a heads up for folks that this account is posting genAI and trying to pretend like they're not

This is the second time I've seen this post, the original had a botched hand holding the smaller woman's waist giving away the genAI, looks like they got caught and have posted an edited version to obfuscate