aspiring fatass

Also, the sweetness cuts thru the fatty taste of cream, making your shakes a lot easier to take.

Give it a go, see for yourself.

You were the one who told me to try them on.

I already knew they wouldn’t fit.

The shorts were lying on the bed like some cruel little challenge, folded there like they hadn’t watched everything happen. Like they hadn’t seen the takeout boxes, the empty wrappers, the leftover crumbs on my shirt, the way I kept saying I was full and still reached for one more bite.

But you smiled and said, “Put them on.”

So I did.

Or I tried to.

I pulled them up slowly, over my thighs first, and even that felt different. Tighter than I remembered. The fabric caught against the softness of my legs, dragging instead of sliding, forcing me to wiggle my hips just to get them higher.

You were already laughing.

Not mean. Not exactly.

Worse.

Like you knew.

Like you had been waiting for this moment since the first burger. Since the fries. Since the milkshake I drank even though I said I didn’t need it. Since the pizza later, the extra sauce, the dessert I finished because you told me not to waste it. Since all the bites I stopped pretending were accidental.

By the time I got the shorts to my hips, I was breathing a little harder.

My belly was in the way.

Not in a poetic way. Not in some sad little metaphorical way.

Actually in the way.

Heavy, full, warm, pressing forward from everything I had eaten. The waistband sat beneath it, helpless, while I tried to pull both sides together like maybe my body would remember being smaller if I asked nicely enough.

It didn’t.

You stepped closer.

“Button them.”

I looked down at myself, at the gap between the button and the hole, at the soft curve of my stomach spilling over the front like it had no intention of cooperating.

“I can’t,” I said.

You laughed again.

That soft, satisfied laugh that made my face burn.

“Try harder.”

So I did.

I held my breath and sucked in, pushing my fingers into my belly, trying to force the shorts closed. The button got close for one second. Almost. Almost enough to lie.

Then my stomach pushed back out.

The fabric snapped open in my hands.

And you laughed like it was the funniest, sweetest thing you had ever seen.

I should have felt embarrassed.

I did feel embarrassed.

But there was something else underneath it too. Something quiet and dizzying. The realization that you had been watching me change bite by bite, meal by meal, and now the proof was right here between us.

A pair of shorts that used to fit.

A belly too full to hide.