(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.
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.
Your fridge saw your partner smile as they closed the door.
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