full and fluffie bellies,,

2000 calories down the hatch.

What about you getting weak and out of shape? 

Your Journey Out of Shape

You used to be active as a kid. Loved to explore outside and run around with friends. Even try sports, if just to have fun and meet new people.

You weren’t always a slave to your stomach, like you are now. Life happened to you, and you don’t explore outside anymore or run around or play sports. You spend most of your time in chairs and in bed. You know you overeat to numb unpleasant emotions, but you don’t really try to stop yourself. You never have. 

Despite how active you were as a child, you grew quite plump in your pre-teen years. Plump enough to cause insecurities to kick in and strengthen your urge to eat your feelings. Then, as a teenager, you got distressingly chubby distressingly fast, unable to keep your weight down no matter what silly, immaturely researched diets you tried. 

If you weren’t overweight by the time you entered college, you definitely stepped over that line then. Your body filled up soft and overweight so easily you barely even noticed, swamped in schoolwork as you were. You wore comfy, large clothes all the time, and grew into them a little more everyday. You liked to stay in your dorm alone or with friends, and you never so much as thought of the gym. Busy and distracted, you softened out and out, wider and heavier. Only when you drove home to visit family did you feel fat, knowing your weight gain was on everyone’s mind. Only when you tried on old outfits you hadn’t brought to college did you realize how damn big you’d grown.

I want to go to a restaurant and barely fit in a booth because the table squishes my belly, and have to pretend I don’t care how noticeable it is.

I want to have to stiffle a grunt whenever I stand up, so as to not look like I’m struggling.

I want to have to avoid laying down on the ground because my heavy gut might pin me down, and simply trying to get up would make me look helpless.

I want to have to make my friends wait when we go out to eat because I ordered enough to fill myself up, and it’s just that damn much!

I want to sit on a three person couch and make it impossible for more than one other person to sit next to me.

I want to have to make others wait for me before we go out as I struggle to get my shoes on.

I want to have to make everyone go to the mall so I can Maybe find clothing that fits me.

I want to go to the fair and have to sit out every once in awhile because I won’t fit in the rides.

The ones who have lived difficult or chaotic lives, and finally get a chance to be normal when they fall in love and settle down

But of course their s/o cooks them plenty of good meals and bakes lots of tasty treats, so they start getting nice and soft

It wasn’t like this before. You swear as you pull up your pants. They clung to your thighs and creaked as you filled them out much more than you used to. They were a struggle to wrangle into and you were panting by the time they reached your waist. A quick look in the mirror let you know it wasn’t your pants that had shrunk.

Your belly poured between the flaps of fabric, assuring that it would be a tight squeeze at best if you tried to button them up. Your determination proceeds you though. You won’t lose to a piece or cloth. You suck in your stomach, feeling it wobble slightly as if to spite you. You pull the flaps of fabric together, grunting before you have to exhale and catch your breath. Round two. Suck in. Tug, tug. Tug harder. But again the clasp doesnt meet. You pant softly, putting a hand on your belly. It was soft and warm to the touch. It’s a wonder how you didn’t notice sooner. This wouldn’t work standing up.

You got onto your bed and laid flat on your back, sucking in your belly as much as you could, hoping gravity would help flatten your tummy enough to button these damn pants up. After some struggling and swearing, you finally got them to button. And boy were they TIGHT. You hadn’t even sat up yet and you could feel the waistband cut relentlessly into your belly. You reached down and tried to pull up the zipper too. It took some elbow grease but it zipped after some less than gentler persuasion. You laid there for a moment, panting. As if this was the most exercise you had gotten in a while. 

Sitting up, you can see how you’ve changed. Your belly sat on the waistband, bulging over it, giving you a puffy muffin top. The pants creaked menacingly as you sat more upright. In the mirror, you could catch a glimpse of the obscene way your fat bubbled out of your clothes before the button of your pants snapped off, the zipper breaking and your belly, no longer contained poured forward. It sat in your lap, taunting you. You pant softly. All that work for nothing… You got up and leaned down to pick up a shirt, hearing a rip. You groan softly, feeling your ass and yup. You just blew out the seat of your pants. You sigh, pulling on the shirt. It came down to your belly button but not any further. Whenever you try to pull it down but it pops back up.