A Mythic in Texas

I sat on the familiar couch, the one where I had pigged out on numerous times, and looked down at my large belly resting heavily in my lap. My large hips spread out across the cushions, taking up more space than they ever had before.

"I pushed him away," I said, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.

"What do you mean?" Bethany asked, pausing as she sat down next to me.

"Look at me," I muttered. I reached down and grabbed the lower part of my belly, the largest fold, the one that had grown the most from weeks of endless indulgence. "I'm huge now!"

"Liz, you can't blame yourself for him cheating on you," Bethany said firmly, her voice dropping its usual seductive edge, replaced by pure, protective concern.

"Why not?" I said, tears finally welling up in my eyes and blurring my vision. "Each pound I gained, the further he drifted away from me. It's like the bigger I got, the less room there was for him in our life. I did this to myself."

The raw grief of the betrayal finally broke through the confidence I had been faking in the mall. For weeks, I had used the food, the weight gain, and Bethany's praise as a shield against Ben's disapproval. But seeing him buy that tiny skirt had cracked the armor wide open.

I was physically a completely different woman than the girl he had met, and the realization that my expansion had gone hand-in-hand with the death of my marriage felt like a crushing weight in my chest.

Bethany slid closer, her hands moving to cover mine where they were still gripping the heavy fold of my stomach. "Liz, look at me," she insisted softly.

"Why? You like me getting fat!" I cried, the defensive sting in my voice sharp enough to cut through the quiet room. I didn't pull my hands away, but my fingers dug deeper into my own fat, the stark reality of my softness suddenly feeling like an indictment.

"He cheated on you, and you are hurt," she replied, her voice remaining steady, anchored by an unwavering calm that made the frantic beating of my heart slow down just a fraction. "You are hurt, but he has been hurting you about your weight longer than I've been feeding you."

I froze, the tears hot against my cheeks as her words sank in.

"Ben didn't start pulling away because you grew, Liz," Bethany continued, her thumbs gently stroking the backs of my hands, forcing my fingers to relax their tight, punishing grip on my waist. "He was already pulling away when you were starving yourself to please him. He didn't look at that mannequin because you're fat; he looked at it because he wanted someone he could control. And you aren't controllable anymore."

I looked down at our hands, overlapping on the wide, soft expanse of my lap. The fabric of my leggings was strained tight beneath her palms, a physical testament to how much I had changed in such a short time.

"I didn't make you do anything you didn't want to do," Bethany murmured, leaning in until her forehead gently rested against my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck. "I just gave you the space to stop fighting your own body. Don't let his make you regret finally being happy."

The heavy ache in my chest didn't vanish, but the sharp edges of the guilt began to blur. Looking at the sheer volume of my midsection, I realized she was right. Ben's affection had always been conditional on my size. I hadn't pushed him away by gaining weight; I had simply stopped trying to shrink myself to keep a man who had been looking for an escape from our marriage.

As Bethany lifted her head and looked me in the eyes, we shared a deep, heavy pause. For weeks, she had been watching me grow while building me up, actually listening to me, and never dismissing me.

She didn't look at my expanding shape with the clinical disgust the way Ben did; she looked at it with absolute reverence.

As we stared at each other, the lingering static of the mall confrontation faded entirely. Something felt entirely right, a natural conclusion to the way our lives had become so intimately intertwined. We leaned into one another, the space between us vanishing, and began kissing.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle offering of comfort that quickly deepened into something thick with shared desire. I sank back against the couch pillows, my heavy frame shifting beneath the weight of our sudden closeness. Bethany's hands slid from my fingers, moving up to frame my face before tracking slowly down my neck, her palms warm against my skin as our breaths mingled.

Being embraced like this-not in spite of my size, but because of it-sent a powerful wave through my body. For the first time, I wasn't trying to hold my stomach in or position my body to look smaller. I let my massive belly relax completely against her, feeling the soft, heavy pressure of my midsection pushing against her hip as the kiss grew hungrier, erasing every last trace of the man who had made me feel unwanted.

As we continued kissing, I felt her hand slowly drift to the bottom of my shirt, her fingers brushing against the hem before reaching underneath. The contrast of her cool hand against the burning heat of my skin made me gasp softly into her mouth, opening up the kiss even further.

She pressed her palm firmly into my large, round belly, her fingers spreading wide to map out the incredible volume I had gained. The touch wasn't just comforting anymore-it was intensely, deeply sensual. She began to rub slow, heavy circles across the taut expanse, her palm tracking the smooth, solid roundness of my stomach where it rested heavily in my lap.

Every deliberate stroke of her hand sent a thick pulse over me. I leaned into the touch, completely letting go of any lingering instinct to tense up or hide. Instead, I pushed forward, letting the full, heavy weight of my belly press directly into her hand, offering up my size to her touch.

You feel incredible, Liz," Bethany murmured against my lips, her breath hitching slightly as she broke the kiss for just a fraction of a second to look down. Her hand continued its slow, hypnotic rhythm, gently kneading the soft padding of my waist before sliding lower, tracing the heavy, unrestricted curves where my belly completely overflowed the lowered waistband of my leggings. "So thick. So soft. I want to keep filling you up until you're completely bursting."

The fabric was incredibly soft as I slid it down my body, the material gliding over my skin until my belly quickly claimed its ample share of the space. As the rest of the vibrant red dress settled, the fabric instantly felt the heavy, unmistakable presence of my wide hips and my massive, dimpled backside.

I turned around to look at myself in the full-length mirror of the dressing room. I looked as if I had been poured directly into the dress Bethany had picked out for me, every single ounce of my growing body completely filling out the fabric until there wasn't a single loose fold left.

The material clung desperately to the heavy, rounded shape of my belly, highlighting the dramatic shelf where my midsection overflowed, and tightly gripped the soft expanse of my love handles.

If this would have been just a short time ago I would be deeply embarrassed. I could see the old me I would have spent my time frantically tugging at the hem, trying to hide behind a cardigan, or wishing I could shrink myself to fit the garment.

If this would have been just a short time ago I would be deeply embarrassed. I could see the old me I would have spent my time frantically tugging at the hem, trying to hide behind a cardigan, or wishing I could shrink myself to fit the garment.

But standing and looking at the sheer volume of my body beautifully showcasing the bright red fabric, I didn't want to hide at all. For the first time in a plus-size department, I felt incredibly sexy, powerful, and deeply confident. The dress wasn't trying to compress me or pretend I was smaller; it was acting as a bold canvas for the new, heavy silhouette I was actively building.

I smoothed my palms down over the snug, warm curvature of my stomach, completely enamored with the solid density of my shape.

"Oh, wow," a voice purred from the doorway.

I looked up to see Bethany leaning against the dressing room frame, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her lips as her eyes took in every single inch of the tightly packed fabric.

"I never thought I would wear something like this," I said, my voice trailing off as I stared at my reflection. "Even at my own wedding, I did everything to hide my curves-and I've only gotten fatter since then."

"And we are just getting started," Bethany replied with a wicked, delighted grin. She stepped fully into the dressing room, her hand reaching out to give a warm, gentle pat to the tightly stretched dome of my belly. The fabric pulsed slightly under her touch, a vibrant reminder of how much space I was now demanding. "Let's check out and get some dinner."

The word dinner sent an immediate, familiar ripple of anticipation through my core. My stomach, already tightly packed into the red fabric, gave a soft, heavy rumble beneath Bethany's hand, as if it were eagerly agreeing to the plan. I wasn't just buying a dress to fit my current size; I was wearing a garment that was destined to be stretched out and discarded in the future as I continued to bloom.

As we checked out and walked out of the store, my heart skipped a beat. Just a few yards ahead in the mall concourse, I saw him-my husband, Ben. He was drifting into a boutique, a high-end clothing store that sold the exact kind of structured, tiny garments I used to punish myself trying to fit into. It was a store filled with sizes that I knew, with absolute certainty, would no longer even clear the heavy fullness of my thighs, let alone close over my large body.

I watched as he stared at a mannequin wearing a pencil-thin black skirt, the exact kind of garment he would consider sexy. I had tried to wear similar things in the past, struggling to squeeze into even their largest available sizes back when I was just his slightly chubby girlfriend. But as I watched him reach down and grab one from the display table next to the mannequin, a sudden, cold realization washed over me.

The skirt wasn't for me.

Even from a distance, I could see the tag as he flipped it over. It was sizes smaller than I had ever been, even in my smallest days before I started this journey. It was a tiny, restrictive sliver of fabric meant for a completely different kind of body-the kind of body he had spent years wishing I had.

The cold realization hit me all at once. The late nights at work. The radio silence when he had accidentally texted me using the word "babe." The message hadn't been meant for me. It was for whoever he was buying that skimpy skirt for.

I grabbed Bethany's arm, the sudden force of my grip making the soft flesh of my hand press firmly against her sleeve, and led her back into the shelter of the plus-size store.

"What is it?" she asked, her brow furrowing with immediate concern.

I pointed across the concourse toward the open entryway of the boutique. "That's my husband buying a skirt over there."

"You wouldn't fit into anything from there-" she began, her voice factual and protective, before she suddenly paused. She also realized it now.

The silence between us stretched for a second, punctuated only by the upbeat pop music playing over the store's speakers. Ben was standing at the cash register now, completely oblivious, pulling out his wallet to pay for a fantasy while his fat wife stood in the store across from him.

I should have known it was coming. I heard a heavy, judgmental sigh from the doorway behind me.

He saw it.

He stood there watching the desperate struggle between my large hips and butt as I tried to stuff them inside my dark work slacks. He watched silently as I squatted down, bracing myself and hoping against hope to stretch the fabric out just enough that I could manage to force the button together.

But it wasn't happening. My belly had decided it would not relent.

Over the last couple of weeks, I had been hanging out with Bethany more and more—almost on a nightly basis. Every single evening followed the same intoxicating pattern: my large belly being filled to the absolute brim with whatever heavy dish and rich dessert she had curated for the night. Now, the effects of those countless extra calories were clearer than ever. There was no hiding it, no squeezing into my old life, and no denying the scale anymore.

I was officially too fat for my pants.

The fabric across my thighs was pulled so far it looked ready to tear, and my widened hips completely overflowed the waistband. When I stood up from the squat, the zipper gave a pathetic, strained whine, leaving a massive, gaping V of bare, soft flesh right at my midsection. My stomach, thick and heavily rounded from weeks of unchecked indulgence, proudly took up the space, refusing to be compressed.

"Liz, I don't think those fit anymore," he said in his familiarly cold tone.

I finally gave up and allowed the pants to slowly work their way down my chunky thighs and my calves before pooling at my feet. "It certainly appears that way."

"I know this is a sensitive topic for us, but you know how I feel."

"Trust me, you've made it pretty clear."

"And yet, you look bigger than ever."

"People gain weight, Ben. I've steadily gotten fatter. Once again, you've made it known."

"It's clearly out of hand," he replied, walking closer to me as I moved toward the drawers, trying to find something that would fit so I could just get to work and avoid his disdain.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Because you are getting huge, Liz."

"Huge, huh? How long have you thought that I was too fat for you?" I snapped.

"Because you are gaining weight faster than ever!" he shouted back. "How much do you weigh these days?"

"I don't know the exact number. I haven't stepped on the scale in almost a month."

"Well, that doesn't surprise me. Maybe if you did, you would realize why your pants don't fit!"

"Oh? Then let's find out together, then." I marched toward the bathroom, wearing only my bra and panties. With each step closer to the scale, I felt my anger burn hotter, making me more defiant and ready to finally stand up for myself. "Let's see how much Ben's fat wife weighs now."

"Yeah, let's see it then."

I stood before it for a split second, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The last time I stood here the numbers had read 228 pounds. I knew I had grown significantly. I could feel it in the way my clothes split, the way my breasts rested on the shelf of my stomach, and the way my body now commanded space in every room.

As I stepped on, I watched the numbers flash across the digital screen, quickly climbing past 215—the weight Ben had initially panicked about, the milestone where this entire nightmare had started.

His eyes widened, his jaw going slightly slack as the digital ticker blew right past the 228 mark, the highest number I had been familiar with. But it didn't stop there. It steadily kept climbing, pushing past 235 before finally slowing down.

When the final number locked into place with a sharp beep, my own eyes widened in sheer disbelief.

238 pounds. A ten pound gain since I had last checked.

The nightly rituals with Bethany, the family-sized bowls of rich pasta, the mountains of hot fudge sundaes, the absolute surrender to my own unchecked appetite—it hadn't just changed the way my clothes fit. It had fundamentally altered my entire body. I had added nearly twenty pounds of pure, soft padding to my frame in a matter of weeks, and the visual proof was sitting right there on my lap and hips.

Ben let out a breath that sounded like he had been punched in the ribs. He stepped back, looking at me as if he were staring at a complete stranger.

"Two hundred and thirty-eight," he whispered, his voice shaking with a mix of horror and profound confusion. "Liz... you’ve gained over twenty pounds since we last checked. How is that even physically possible? What are you doing to yourself?"

I looked up from the scale, my heart hammering a fierce, hot rhythm against my chest. Seeing the genuine shock and defeat on his face didn't crush me. It felt like a victory. The numbers on the scale weren't a badge of shame anymore; they were the boundary lines of my freedom.

"I'm eating, Ben," I said, my voice remarkably steady as I stepped off the glass, letting my heavy, 238-pound frame settle naturally into its full, soft curves right in front of him. "I'm eating exactly what I want." "And becoming a whale while you're at it," he growled.

"I feel like you've always seen me as a whale," I remarked, walking back into the bedroom to search for something—anything—that would actually fit my body.

He followed close behind me, his eyes undoubtedly tracking the changes that a month of unchecked indulgence had brought. He was probably seeing the way my thick thighs now rubbed together more than ever, the friction a constant, heavy reminder of my rapid growth with every step I took. He watched the way my backside—the one he used to playfully slap back when I was smaller and more compliant—moved heavily with each step, its expanded surface now completely covered in the soft divots and dimples of my true, natural weight.

My fingers dug past the clothes from my old life until I found a pair of stretchy, solid black leggings and an oversized, flowing sweater I hadn't worn since the previous winter.

Ben stood by the edge of the bed, his arms tightly crossed as he watched me pull the leggings up. Even the stretchy fabric groaned slightly as it traveled over the thick curve of my calves and the heavy fullness of my thighs, clinging desperately to my skin. When I pulled the waistband up, it had to stretch to its absolute limit to accommodate the prominent, rounded shelf of my stomach

"I am letting myself go," I agreed, pulling the large sweater over my head. The fabric, which used to hang loosely around my frame, now draped snugly over my thick love handles and the heavy protrusion of my belly, completely filling out the material. I smoothed the tunic down over my curves, locking eyes with him through the vanity mirror. "And it is the best damn feeling in the world, babe."

The word babe had caught him by surprise.

His face turned a deep, furious red, the veins in his neck tightening as my words hit home. He had never actually answered my question that day; he had simply walked away, choosing to leave me to stew and simmer in my own hurt feelings rather than face the reality of his shallow standards.

"You know what, Liz? I don't have time for this," he snapped, his voice tight with an agitation he couldn't hide. He snatched his keys off the dresser with a sharp, aggressive motion, eager to escape the bedroom and the undeniable reality of my presence.

"Of course you don't," I replied, my voice remarkably calm and entirely unbothered as I watched him in the mirror.

In the past, his sudden departures would have sent me into a tailspin of anxiety, leaving me trapped in a cycle of guilt over my changing shape. But today, looking at the solid, heavy silhouette of my 238-pound frame fully occupying my clothes, his anger felt small and entirely powerless. The thick fabric of my sweater was stretched taut across the wide expanse of my midsection, anchored firmly by my love handles and the proud, forward push of my stomach.

As I looked at the large bowl sitting on the coffee table, I could almost feel my pants getting tighter just from the sight of it. It seemed I was fully joining in on Bethany's ritual now. We had already had a heavy lunch of Chinese food earlier in the day, but now my sights were locked entirely on the glistening mound of Carbonara.

"I ordered a family size," Bethany remarked, grabbing a small bowl filled lightly with what I guessed was her own modest dinner. "Probably the closest thing to authentic Italian in this area."

As I took the first bite, I was completely surprised by how rich it was—the heavy cream, egg yolk, and savory pancetta coating my tongue. Bethany smiled, catching the immediate expression of pure enjoyment on my face as I quickly leaned in for another large bite.

"I have to say, I was surprised you agreed to another one of these so quickly," Bethany said, her eyes tracking the rhythmic movement of my fork.

"It does seem like you know all the good spots," I replied between bites, my voice thick with satisfaction.

"If you only knew," she giggled, her gaze dropping to how my straining pink blouse was pressing tightly against the edge of the cushions. "I have something else for you tonight, too."

"What's that?"

"You'll have to finish your meal first," she teased, taking a tiny, deliberate bite from her own small dish. "Let's just call it a challenge, I suppose."

Something in that spark of a challenge lit a fire under me, and I took another massive, glistening bite of the pasta. My curiosity was thoroughly piqued by whatever else she had in store for me, turning each forkful into a deliberate, frantic race. It was a thrill that deeply satisfied the strange, intoxicating feelings I was developing toward my own rounding frame.

"I've always been a bigger girl, so clearly I can eat," I said, continuing to dig ruthlessly into the family-sized portion. My pants were already signaling the internal battle against all that rich pasta, the stiff waistband cutting a harsh line into my midsection. Bethany gazed down, her eyes tracking the visible tightening of my clothes with absolute fascination.

"So, you were always bigger?"

I nodded, swallowing another heavy mouthful. "Even when I first got with Ben, I was considered on the chubby side of things. It's been a lifelong cycle. I would gain a few pounds, panic and try to diet, drop some weight, and then inevitably gain it all back plus a little extra."

"Have you ever wondered how big you could get if you just—"

"Let go?" I interrupted, finishing her sentence for her.

The words hung in the warm air between us, heavy and loaded. I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth, staring at the sheer volume of rich Carbonara still left in the bowl. It was a question I had never, in my entire life, permitted myself to voice or even privately ponder. The lifelong societal pressure to shrink, to apologize for my size, and to hide my appetite was suddenly colliding with the pure, unrestricted reality of my current situation.

"Yeah," Bethany murmured, her voice dropping to a low, intense register as she leaned closer. "What if you just stopped fighting your body? What if you just let it do what it clearly wants to do?"

I looked down at myself. My pink blouse was already strained to its absolute limit, the gaps between the buttons yawning open to show the tight, pale skin of my overstuffed stomach. The Chinese food from lunch was already tightly packed inside me, and now this massive influx of heavy cream, cheese, and pasta was actively pushing my boundaries even further.

Instead of panic, a deeply visceral wave of heat rushed through me. The idea of total surrender—of giving up the endless, exhausting war against the scale and just letting my body balloon into whatever massive shape it desired—felt incredibly liberating. And with Bethany watching my belly expand in real-time, treating my gluttony like an art form, the temptation to completely unloose the reins was overwhelming.

"I... I think about it," I confessed, my voice a breathless whisper as I deliberately loaded up another huge, heavy forkful of pasta. "More than I should."

"Then finish the bowl, Liz," Bethany purred, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. "Show me how much room a goddess really has."

Her words settled deep in my mind, echoing alongside the steady rhythm of my fork. I continued to eat, enjoying every rich, savory bite, but the question kept spinning. What would happen if I fully let go? What would Ben think when he finally looked at me and realized his control was completely broken?

"God, these pants are feeling super tight right now," I breathed out, looking down at my midsection. My belly was pressed hard against the stiff khaki fabric, practically begging to be released from the restriction.

She noticed, too. Her eyes flared with immediate interest as she tracked the strain. "Do you want me to help?" she asked, leaning forward to look closely at the fierce war between my expanding fat and the stubborn fabric.

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I just gave a little nod, my eyes dropping to the large dish of pasta, which was now almost entirely empty. I had managed to pack away nearly the entire family-sized portion, and the sheer volume of it was making itself known.

"We have to get you ready for your dessert," she purred again.

She reached out, her fingers deftly catching the metal button of my pants. With a gentle pop, she unbuttoned them, slowly guiding the zipper down. The moment the tracks parted, it was like a dam breaking. An absolute avalanche of my soft, heavy belly poured outward, completely liberated from the fabric, and settled heavily into my lap.

As the warm water of the shower sprayed down onto me, the heat against my skin instantly pulled me right back to last night—to the memory of Bethany’s soft hand rubbing over the taut skin and heavy roundness of my belly.

My mind swirled with the sudden, desperate urge to feel that touch again. It was a sensation of pure, unadulterated admiration, a staggering contrast to the cold contempt that had been waiting for me when I was at home.

Standing beneath the steam, I looked down through the falling water. My body felt profoundly different this morning. I felt completely swollen, as if every single empty space inside my stomach had been packed tight, leaving absolutely no gaps left within me—just a dense, heavy mass of food and settling calories.

As I lathered my body, the slippery soap made me acutely aware of every single inch of my changing shape. I could feel every new divot and dimple on my large bottom, the flesh spreading wider and heavier down my thighs. I pressed a hand against the front of my stomach, feeling the firm, stretched tightness from last night's massive influx of deep-dish pizza and rich ice cream.

I rinsed myself and ran my hands down my body, washing the soap away, I felt a little extra girth to my frame—a soft, unmistakable jiggle that followed my every movement.

Finishing up, I stepped out of the shower and wiped the condensation from the glass, staring at my naked reflection in the cleared mirror. My breasts were looking just a little fuller, heavy and soft, but it was my midsection that truly held my sight.

My gaze was broken when I heard Ben's voice, "Liz."

He stood at the doorway of our bathroom, catching a glimpse of my side profile. In the reflection of the glass, I could see exactly what he saw: the heavy, unmistakable curve of my large backside sticking out, and the prominent, rounded way my belly protruded forward, completely solid and distended from the night before.

"Yes?"

The heavy silence in the room broke my trance. Panic and that old, familiar defensiveness instantly flared up inside me. I quickly grabbed my large bath towel from the rack and wrapped it tightly around myself, tucking the edge in over my chest to hide the soft jiggle of my body from his eyes.

His judgmental stare lingered. He tried to hide the disdain for his fat wife, but I could still hear it and feel it. "I'm going to be late again tonight."

"Oh, I see."

"Yeah, they've been asking a lot lately, I know," he responded. "But a lot of reports to catch up on."

I looked down and realized that my belly was starting to poke out from the bottom edge of the towel. Even the largest bath sheet we owned couldn't fully hide my expanding figure anymore; the plush fabric simply couldn't track the widening curve of my hips and the solid, forward push of my stomach at the same time.

A distinct, soft crescent of my underbelly escaped into the cool air of the bathroom, completely exposed to his gaze.

"Okay, well, I might hang out with a friend tonight," I responded. "You remember Bethany from my work, right?"

He nodded. "Oh yeah, I met her at your company's holiday party."

"Yea, we started getting lunch together while at work and I might just do a little girls night with her tonight."

He grinned a bit. "Well, she seems like she is active, so maybe that would be a good influence on you."

If Ben had only known how stuffed I felt from all that I had last night, the fact that she had spoon-fed me a container of ice cream, as she doted on my body and rubbed the growing belly currently escaping the towel.

"Certainly seems like it," I smiled.

"Well, have fun, but I have to run," Ben responded.

Once he was gone, the heavy silence of the bathroom returned, leaving me alone with the echo of his words. I dropped the towel and finished drying myself off, the cool air brushing against my skin.

Every single article of clothing I put on felt incredibly tight, a stark physical testament to the calories I had eagerly surrendered to the night before. I pulled up my underwear and my work pants, only to feel the stiff waistband digging deeply into my hips and my bloated, overstuffed belly. The fabric offered no give, forcing my flesh to spill out over the top in a soft, heavy roll.

Finally, I reached for my pink blouse. As I pulled it over my shoulders and began to fasten the buttons, the material screamed for mercy. The fabric stretched precariously across the wide expanse of my round belly and love handles. The buttons of the top were starting to strain.

I looked at myself in the mirror, completely packed into my own wardrobe. My body was an undeniable presence now, bursting at the seams, and as I smoothed my hands over the strained pink fabric, the tight constrictions of my clothes didn't bring a single wave of regret—only the lingering thought of having Bethany feed me again.

I didn't want to hide my size anymore. I wanted to see how far it could go. I wanted to feel that complete surrender again, sitting on her sofa, letting her handle the burden of my appetite while I simply grew.

I was greeted by the sight of a posh coffee table dominated by a large pizza box. Inside was a deep-dish pizza with a heavy crust and a melty, gooey layer of cheese covered in toppings. It felt like a grand presentation as Bethany guided me over to the couch.

She could still see the faint streak of a tear that had lightly smudged my makeup. "What's wrong?" she asked softly.

"I confronted him over the phone before I headed over here."

"And I take it it didn't go well?"

I shook my head. "He was incredibly evasive during the whole conversation."

"Let's forget about him tonight," she replied. She continued to guide me toward the cheesy, greasy, heavy-crusted feast awaiting on the table, and we both sat down on her light blue sofa.

I watched Bethany grab a piece of the pizza and slowly start to eat it while she fiddled with the remote. I sat there for a minute, unsure of what to do. "What are we watching?" I asked awkwardly.

"I don't know, what sounds good to you?"

"I'm open to anything, honestly," I replied. "I don't even know anymore."

"How about we start off with some trash TV?" she suggested, flipping the channel to a reality show. "But please, help yourself."

She motioned toward the pizza. I grabbed a slice and took a bite; it was honestly one of the best pizzas I had ever tasted. "Oh my god, where did you get this from?"

"Just this little place down the street from me called Maroni's. I used to frequent it a lot."

"Oh?" I said, taking another large bite. The heavy crust burst with flavor, and the cheese was perfectly melted alongside the toppings. I was definitely going to have to remember this place.

"Yeah, I used to order from there a lot for occasions just like this," she continued. "Pretty good, huh?"

Before I knew it, I had already reached the crust and kept right on eating. Bethany gave a light smile. As I finished the crust from the first slice, she reached down, grabbed another thick slice, and handed it right to me.

"So, I'm not the first person you've done this with, I assume?" I inquired, feeling my teeth sink into the second slice. Bethany hadn't even finished her first one yet; it seemed she was just slowly chipping away at it.

"I've done this before," she grinned. "It used to be almost a ritual for me at one time."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she replied. She was now nearing the end of her first piece, and I realized I was already nearing the end of my second. She noticed it, too.

"So, you like fat people, or did I misunderstand that?"

"No, no. I do have a preference for larger bodies."

"Why?" I questioned, having reached the end of my slice and instinctively biting into the crust.

Her grin grew wider as she finally finished her piece. I watched her reach into the box and grab two more. She picked another large, heavy slice for me and selected one of the smaller ones for herself.

"Do you want the exact reason?" she asked, taking a small bite while I took another large one.

I nodded. "Yeah, of course."

"Nothing is more exciting to me than having a big body pressed against me, honestly. I love feeling a big belly touching me in an embrace, almost swallowing up my frame with its size compared to my own."

"I see. So, have you always been like this?"

"Since I can remember. I just enjoy a much fuller figure on both sexes."

I looked down, the slices from the large pizza slowly disappearing as I chewed. I could feel my belly was satisfied and starting to get genuinely full, but I continued to munch away at the slice of pizza, finishing it quickly anyway. My hands were slick with grease as Bethany gazed at my body, her eyes locked on how my straining black blouse was struggling against my middle.

"Here, have another," she purred, lifting the next heavy piece from the box and handing it to me.

I noticed that only a single slice remained in the box after this one. I reached out and took it, biting into it almost entirely without control. It was a dizzying feeling. For months, every single bite had been laced with guilt, weighed down by the fear of Ben’s disapproval. But here, under Bethany’s heavy, admiring gaze, the shame was melting away into something completely different. I was enjoying being gluttonous. I was enjoying eating with absolute, unchecked inhibition.

"You can have that last one too, I am so full," she grinned again. "Let me get you desert, Liz."

Her eyes steadily watched me devour the pizza quickly and ferociously before she stood up with a seductive smile and disappeared into the kitchen. I felt completely unleashed again as I finished the piece and immediately reached for the very last slice. I ate frantically, the heavy dough disappearing to the rhythmic, airy hiss of what sounded like a whipped cream can dispensing from the other room.

As the final heavy bite touched my mouth, I felt nothing but absolute bliss. My body felt completely full and stuffed to the brim.

Bethany walked back into the living room and sat down with a massive bowl of ice cream. She had crafted an enormous sundae, buried under heavy ribbons of hot fudge and towering mounds of whipped cream. I felt completely massive and bloated after finishing that last slice, my checkered pants straining so tightly against my skin that the fabric felt ready to give way.

"Ready for dessert, Liz?"

"I am feeling so full right now," I said, a little grin cracking through my hesitation.

Bethany sat right next to me, scooting her body incredibly close to mine until I could feel the sleek, toned contrast of her frame pressed right against my side. She dug her spoon deep into the bowl, bringing up a large, heavy bite of ice cream.

"Well, let me help you," she teased.

She motioned the spoon toward my mouth. Even with how completely stuffed I already felt, I couldn't help but part my lips. I closed my mouth around the spoon, letting the rich, creamy goodness of the ice cream and whipped cream hit my taste buds, instantly followed by the heavenly warmth of the hot fudge.

"What do you think?" she murmured.

"Huh?"

"How do you feel, I guess?" Bethany asked. Her eyes locked entirely into mine as she scooped up another generous spoonful and slowly placed it in my mouth. My body pulsed with a strange, intoxicating sensation—one I couldn't quite put my finger on—as I swallowed the heavy treat.

"It feels really nice, actually," I remarked, my voice a little breathless. "I know I'm full, but... I want more."

"Good," Bethany smirked.

She fed me another rich serving before setting the heavy bowl down on the coffee table. I watched as her hand slowly motioned for another bite, while her other hand came down to rest on my lower thigh.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I chuckled, a nervous but thrilled sound escaping my throat. "Letting you feed me like I'm a child."

"Then how about we try this?"

I watched, mesmerized, as her hand slid up my thigh and worked its way to the bottom hem of my black blouse. My heart began to pulse even faster against my ribs. I watched her fingers catch the fabric directly over my largest, softest roll of fat. With a slow, deliberate movement, she pulled the shirt upward, exposing the soft expanse of my underbelly.

She gently touched the bare skin, her fingers playfully grabbing and weighing the heavy fullness of it. I felt her soft palms running across the warm flesh, passing right over the faint, silver-pink paths of my new stretch marks. Just as the cool metal of the spoon touched the back of my tongue with another bite of rich chocolate and cream, I looked down to see her hand rubbing my belly sensually.

She had texted me the address to her place. As I sat in my car in the parking lot at work, I was conflicted. Should I head home? Should I resolve myself to eating the flavorless salads Ben provided while being tempted yet again to order DoorDash in secret? Or should I go to Bethany’s apartment, where she had promised me dinner and dessert?

She had already bought my lunch—another Southwest burger, onion rings, and a large, creamy milkshake. I was certain every single calorie was finding its way around my body, settling into the heavier parts like my belly and butt. Yet, I was still conflicted about whether I truly wanted this or not.

My phone began to ring. I looked down to see my husband’s face on the caller ID. I answered with a tentative, "Hello?"

"Hey, Liz," he answered. "How are you doing?"

"All things considered, I guess I’m okay," I responded, my voice tight. "So, are we going to talk about it?"

"I’m not really in a place where I can talk about it right now," he replied, his tone dismissive. "I’m still at work, and it looks like I’m going to have to work late again."

"How convenient for you, Ben," I lashed out. The fight had been hanging in the air for two days, and I still hadn't received a real explanation for that text where he’d called me "babe."

"Liz, you know how I feel. I just want what’s best for you."

"What’s best for me?" I shouted, thankful I was inside my car and the parking lot was relatively empty.

"I'm just concerned," he whispered. "But I can't talk about this right now."

"When then?"

"We will talk about it, I promise, but I can't do this right now."

My face felt hot from anger, as I blurted out, "Is this really about me, or is it concern for yourself?"

"Wait, what?"

"Do you actually have concern for my weight, or am I just an embarrassment to you?"

"Liz... I just want—"

"A skinny wife, right?" I snapped. "You don't want a fat wife being with you when you are around all your friends."

"They are your friends, too," he responded, his voice no longer whispering. He was now speaking sternly to me.

"Are they? I don't even talk to any of them outside of you. When was the last time one of these supposed friends we share gave me a call?"

"I wouldn't know," he responded.

"Exactly. The only connection I have to them is you, Ben," I hissed. "And let's be honest, I am the odd person out in the little wives' club."

"No, you aren't," Ben returned. "I don't get how you would be in the first place?"

"Because I am clearly the fat friend. I've always been the fat friend, and now I'm just the even fatter friend, Ben!"

He didn't respond. We just sat in silence as I could feel the tears starting to roll down my face. I looked down at my large belly, my fat thighs, and my wide hips taking up so much space in the sedan.

"Are you going to say anything?" I sobbed.

"What is there to say, Liz?" he responded coldly. "You know how I feel about it, personally."

"Yeah, you made that very clear the other night."

"Liz, I seriously cannot do this right now. Seriously."

"Fine. How late will you be then?"

"Pretty late. You shouldn't wait up for me," he answered as I wiped away more tears. I felt a deep sadness and a burning anger at the same time. "But I really need to go. We can talk about all of this later."

"Bye," I said, hanging up the phone as I gripped my steering wheel tightly. As I started the ignition, I realized I had made up my mind. I wasn't completely without conflict, but the idea of being looked at not as a cow in the house, but as a "goddess"—as Bethany had put it—sounded far more enticing.

I punched in her address and started to head that way. I could only imagine what was in store for me; she had said that it would be her treat once again, and considering what had transpired between my husband and me, I could use some comfort food and movies, just as Bethany had promised.

I dialed her number, and as Bethany answered, she sounded almost eager. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Liz. I'm on my way."

"Oh, good! I was thinking of something easy for this little experiment," Bethany remarked.

"Go on, I'm listening," I replied, wondering what she had planned. My belly gave a slight growl in anticipation, a physical response that seemed to agree with the direction I was heading.

"I was thinking of a basic pizza as we watch a movie, and some ice cream for dessert. I know it's pretty simple, but I know it’s safe."

"That sounds fine to me," I replied. I had always been a sucker for both of those foods, and I had the inkling she had noticed that, too.

"Alright, well, my maps say I am about 30 minutes away," I replied. "So, I guess I will see you then?"

The two of us sat across from each other as the server dropped the waters off at the table. Bethany was observing me—something I had noticed, too. I was struck by how close my belly was to the table, nearly pressing against the edge, while my wide hips and large butt spread out across the booth itself.

"So, you were enjoying just watching me eat?"

She nodded. "And you seemed to enjoy eating all of it. I could see it on your face. I was actually surprised by your reaction today, honestly."

"Yeah, I’ve been going through some stuff since that day," I replied, my mind flashing back to Ben telling me I had become "too big" and that my weight was a "problem."

"So, one day you are literally stuffing your face without a care in the world, and the next you're insecure?"

I nodded. "I had an argument with my husband. It’s thrown me off of everything."

"I don't want to pry, but can I ask what happened?" Bethany inquired as she opened the menu. I hesitated, but I desperately wanted to get this off my chest.

"We were... being, you know," I answered sheepishly.

"Being what?"

"Intimate," I replied. I had never really had other women to talk about sex with; the "friends" I had were all connected to my husband's social circle. I hadn't exactly been a social butterfly before we got together.

"You were having sex, right?"

I nodded. "It was going well. Honestly, it had been a minute since we’d done anything like that."

"Why?" she asked, her eyebrow arched in surprise.

"We just don't have sex that much. I’ve figured out it has everything to do with my weight."

"He doesn't like it?" Bethany pried, her face still wearing a look of shock. "You look like an absolute goddess in my eyes."

Goddess? I blushed. It was strange seeing someone I knew—especially from work—look at me the way I actually wanted to feel.

"It’s embarrassing, but I had this vision of him grabbing onto me. I wanted to be on top, his hands gripping my love handles, maybe even holding my belly as I rode him."

"That sounds pretty damn hot to me, Liz."

"Well, he didn't think so," I lamented. "We stopped immediately. I already knew the answer, but I just... I wanted to hear it from him."

"Liz, I'm sorry," Bethany sighed. "You mentioned you guys were not regularly having sex. How long had it been?"

I tried to recollect. It had been few and far between, an awkward subject between my husband and me for the last year. I nodded, mentally counting the times we had actually been naked together.

"I'm pretty sure it had been six months before that night," I mumbled, both from a weird sense of shame and my own shock at realizing our bed had been used for nothing but sleeping. Our sex life was on life support.

"And was this always the norm?"

"When I was younger and less hefty, we used to have sex frequently," I answered. "It was when I graduated to the plus-size category that our intimacy went off a cliff."

"Such a terrible thing to waste," she commented.

"So when did you notice I was gaining?" I asked.

"About two weeks ago, I noticed your pants were looking a bit snug around your butt, which I quite enjoyed," she smiled. "Then I noticed you were starting to snack a lot more, and you were coming back with much larger lunches than normal."

"I was mad, so I started to eat more heavily."

"Why exactly?"

"We have this stupid vacation planned," I grumbled. "It's with all of our friends—and I use the term 'friends' loosely because they are his friends and their wives."

"Okay, so that led to what? Just spite eating?"

"I mean, he had been pressuring me to lose weight for a while, but once we bought the plane tickets, he really started coming down on me about it."

"But you gained weight instead?"

I nodded. "The first day I started overeating was the day he forced me on a scale and then shamed me about the weight I had gained over the last couple of years."

"Umm, that sounds awful, Liz," Bethany frowned. "I suppose the pressure didn't end there?"

I shook my head. "No, he's been passive-aggressively buying me salads."

"And what was your response to that?"

"I kept ordering DoorDash and eating the greasiest things possible, truthfully," I said, as I gently patted my belly as it rested in my lap. Its two big folds punished the fabric of my top.

Bethany bit her lip a little, her eyes widening as she asked, "I want to know something."

"What?"

"How did it feel—stuffing your face and watching yourself grow?"

"Well, I did it out of anger... but."

"But you liked it, didn't you?"

There was a part of me that liked it, actually. The fact of my body growing, my belly becoming softer, my ass getting even larger, and the idea of getting to do that while actually enjoying food.

"I was starting to," I replied. "Then the sex thing happened."

"So where do you go from here?" Bethany asked. "If you like it, why stop?"

"Because my husband will resent me more."

"But you also resent him as well, or you wouldn't have been stuffing yourself silly."

"I mean, you aren't wrong," I replied, as I finally opened the menu.

"So are you going to stop intentionally getting fatter?"

"I don't know, I am sort of torn, to be honest."

""Well, let me order you a big lunch for now," Bethany said. "Then tonight, you come over to my place for some movies and a fun dinner?"

"I don't know, Bethany."

"Just this once," she insisted. "And if you feel weird after tonight, we'll never talk about it again."