#stuffing wg

The moment where you decide if you should stop, or keep pushing.

Every meal you have you eat just a little beyond totally full, but now you have to choose if you're done eating for the night, or if you're going to gorge yourself yet again.

You briefly entertain the idea of taking it easy; giving your belly a break. Years of doing this has stretched it a lot, but your day of eating has still filled it up. You could fall asleep and not feel hunger pains til about 5am.

But that's not enough for you. Settling for 'comfortably stuffed' didn't make you this size.

You make your choice. You take a bite. And another one. You heave your body up to get more snacks, knowing you won't be able to get up again tonight. You plop your haul within arm's reach and settle back into the indented couch.

You can start out by eating mindlessly. Just grabbing whatever is near by and shoving it in your mouth while you watch tv. This keeps you satiated for about half an hour, until the real fun starts.

Now you can feel your belly really start to complain. You take a brief pause from snacking to rub it, working out burps and trying to make room. Then you deliberately switch up the flavour profile, and make every bite intentional.

Flavours give you euphoria. Everything melts away if food tastes good enough, including your building stomach ache. When you switch flavour profiles, every new taste keeps you on your toes, focusing only on every incoming bite.

By now your breathing gets shallow, your lungs losing space to your growing gut. Inhaling too deeply makes your stomach cramp up, so you avoid it.

You start to moan around your bites of food, trying to keep your momentum up. You don't register any of the noises spilling from your mouth; the gasps, moans, snorts, burps, or shakey hiccups. Eating takes all your focus now.

Every bite is intentional. You think through the action of lifting the food to your mouth, chewing til it's paste, swallowing, and rubbing your belly through the oncoming ache. Switching up flavours isn't doing much for your appetite anymore, you're close to hitting a wall.

Your gut bows out from your frame, red and shining, new stretchmarks licking between your spread out folds. There's no way your shirt could be pulled down even past your belly button now, scrunched up on top of the dome underneath your flabby chest. You've stuffed your belly so tightly that there is no way for it to sit in your lap without forcing your thighs apart. You can feel the bottom of your belly hang brushing against the front of the couch.

That's new.

And suddenly all of this is worth it. The massive food bills, the hours spent glutting yourself at home when you could have been learning new skills or hanging out with friends, the growing pile of clothes that are getting comically small, the sleepless nights cradling your overburdened belly worried that rolling the wrong way would undo all your hard work. These new sensations, these new discoveries that come with every pound, these new ways to grow and feel, that's why you do this.

Pity Party

Holiday season. Christmas, once again, and once again, you were alone.

Every year before you had worked retail, so you couldn't take time to fly back to your family. This year you had a real desk job that had 2 weeks break over the holidays! When you called your mom to coordinate Christmas, she informed you they assumed you couldn't make it, and booked a sold out (and let's be real, too expensive for you) cruise that was non-refundable. But you'll do something with them next year, okay?

That sucked, but at least you had your partner. Until two days ago. They had decided you were getting too fat, even though you had met on Feabie. You know, to get fat. They actively worked to make you this fat. You had noticed they started pulling away after you said you couldn't shop for clothes in normal retail stores anymore, they just didn't have your sizes. That fucker only wanted your fat body for sexual pleasure, but was ashamed to be seen with you.

You lost 190lbs of dead weight that day, but felt a different kind of heaviness on your chest.

So, completely alone, and with office job money to spend, you decided to let loose for the few days over Christmas. You had enough weed and booze for a college house party, and a list of all restaurants that were delivering on Christmas. You also stocked the freezer with easy meals like pizza and lasagne, and horded snacks for when you just got peckish.

Eve of Christmas Eve

You dropped the last of your snacks within arms' reach in the living room and checked the wait time on your delivery. 20 minutes. You crack open a beer and drink deeply, carbonation fizzling in your gut. The malty taste starts to trigger something in you, and after a quick pause to burp, you quickly chug down the rest. The feeling of beer bloating up your big empty stomach before a night of binging always got you going. And this was going to be more than just a night of binging.

Your joint rolling has gotten better, but the condensation from the second beer can on your fingers makes it harder. Finally the edge is sealed and you can light up. Your personal blend of death star and girl scout cookies has an herbal but sweet tinge to it, and it fills your lungs and quickly clouds your brain. The second beer certainly helps with that.

Your food arrives, and you're feeling good. So what it takes you extra effort to haul your ass off the couch to get to the door? So what you haven't been able to do up your pants at all for the past week? So what if you had gotten too fat for your feeder, someone who said they got off to this? You would get off to this, but that would be a long time from now.

Tonight is an order from a pizza place. There's an extra large pizza, a full order of loaded cheesy bread, a double order of cauliflower bites, and it looks like they sent two lava cakes even though you only ordered one.

After getting settled back on your worn couch, you choose your mindless tv. Now the high is taking over, and you just want the comfort of a dumb Christmas movie. You quickly choose and then turn to your feast.

Beer and pizza is one of your favourite combos. The greasy slices pair perfectly with the calorie-filled alcohol. The alcohol fuels your haze which just makes you want more.

You let your brain turn off entirely and get to work. After a few swigs that empty half of beer number three, you stack two pieces together and dig in. You found you can trick your brain into thinking you've eaten less than you actually have this way. You can also eat faster, which means you can shovel more in before your gut starts to signal how full you are.

Your gluttonous trance takes over, and you mindlessly glut out on your pizza, pausing to take another drink, drag, or bite of cheesybread or cauliflower. Your pizza sandwich technique means you eat half the pizza in 15 minutes, along with a quarter of the cheesy bread, and you're well into beer number four. You don't feel full yet, but you do feel heavy. All of that food sits in your belly, and your belly sits on your plush thighs, slowly pushing your knees apart.

As you get higher, you're reduced to your desires and your pleasures. You get distracted by the flashy family comedy, your laughs interrupted by surprised boozy pizza belches. You rub your gut, pudgy fingers sinking into your inches of flab. The flavours of everything explode on your tongue, and you just need more. Every bite is nearly orgasmic and not so slowly, but surely, your gut stretches to accommodate your massive meal. Your upper belly juts out, soon sticking out past your flabby chest and fat-laden lower belly. Gurgles and churns echo louder than your tv, more and more sloppy belches falling from your mouth. At some point your shirt comes off to give you easier access to your belly, and so you rub and jostle it, trying to ease the aching organ while also getting riled up.

You slow your frantic gorging, instead slowly snacking on everything, switching up flavours to trick yourself into eating more. Forty-five minutes later all that remains is two pieces of cheesy bread, five cauliflower bites, and one piece of pizza. The last bite of lava cake feels like cement in your mouth, but you swallow it down and chase it with another swig of beer. You feel your skin stretch with every gulp, the itching sending shivers up your spine. Once beer number 6 is empty your hand just lets go, and the can falls down your body into the pile of cans and pizza boxes from tonight, leaving a trail of sticky booze down your belly.

Your head falls back and you pant through the burps and moans. You don't remember the last time you were this stuffed. Every breath feels like a gamble, your stomach actually creaking with every movement.

You wish they were here, your feeder. Well, ex-feeder. They would have lit the bong for you, rubbed your gut as you faded in and out of conciousness, and then started stuffing you once they thought you had room.

Fuck them, I can do this myself. You were too fat for them now? You were just getting started.

You grab the bong from the seat beside you and lit up. You take a few more shallow hits, your lungs just out of room to expand for a deep inhale. After a few minutes the more intense aches ease and your eyes get heavy, but you are determined to stay awake. At the very least, you're going to finish the pizza and cheesy bread.

There are more beers on the coffee table, but you physically cannot lean forward to get them. You're completely pinned down by the mass in your gut, compounding on your rapidly climbing weight that your body hadn't gotten used to yet. 112lbs in one year was a lot to take on. So you'll have to finish this dry. Not that you weren't fucking trashed by now, but having a sip between items usually helped.

The first piece of cheesybread goes down quickly, your last hit somehow spurring the munchies again, despite your current state. Your stomach starts to protest though, and the last piece is completed by little nibbles. A dangerous burp works its way up so you take another break, trying to gingerly massage your belly. Everything is swimming, and your arm feels like its being controlled by a puppet string, uncoordinated and foreign. You feel your stomach move under your hand as if a baby is kicking, but it's just the absurd amount of food and booze you've forced inside your body, churning away.

You casually eat the cauliflower bites, trying to focus on the end of the movie rather than your body fighting back against every swallow. You can barely understand what's being said on the tv, your pulse in your ears and in your crotch, and yet new levels of intoxication washing over you. You try to grab the last piece of pizza to get this over with, but your marionette arm just won't cooperate. You miss the slice twice entirely, your swaying vision making coordination incredibly hard. The third time you grab it awkwardly, hand half on the crust and half in the sauce, but you call this a success and bring it to your slack jaw.

Every bite feels like you have to remember how to chew, jaw sore, gut viscerally protesting, weed and booze zapping all of your focus, every part of your body is working against you.

Finally, bite after agonizing bite, the credits roll, and the entire pizza is gone. Everything is gone, into your overtaxed stomach. You can only moan now, too stuffed, high, and drunk to form a coherent thought. You rest your hads on top of your shelf of a gut, unable to figure out how to make your arms move to rub your belly without jostling it. Every breath sends another flash of cramps over your middle, your lungs just putting that much extra pressure on your abused organ. Fuck, you've really overdone it now. There is no way you could move even if your life depended on it.

--------------------------

"Hic-urrp! Ohhh..."

It wasn't even 1pm and it sounded like Shavon had eaten themself to a drunk stomach ache already.

This wasn't quite an everyday thing since summer started, but pretty close. Mornings started with a hair of the dog drink and a blunt or bong rip, left conveniently within reach by Millie. Then she'd bring out some sort of breakfast, and that would set the precedent for the day.

"Mil-hic-lie! CannI have anothr drink please?" Millie smirked and flushed just a little. That pig doesn't know how to stop.

She set what she was cooking to low and grabbed a 6 pack from the fridge.

Shavon's face split into a dumb smile as Millie cracked a can open for them. "Thaaanks, Millie. You'rr the best-hic!" They took several large gulps, letting out a raucous burp when coming up for air. More burps followed as Millie rubbed along their stretchmarked gut, feeling it work away at everything inside.

"Are you hungry now, or can you wait for what I'm cooking?"

Shavon was lost in the belly rub, barely able to register that they needed to respond.

"Huh? Hic! Oh, I cn wait. I'm kinda -Urrap-hic- ugh full. Hic!"

"Okay, hon," Millie patted their gut and watched the outer layer of fat ripple, unperturbed by the stuffed mass beneath it. For now, at least. "I'm gonna leave a joint here in case you want it. Call me if you need help lighting it."

Shavon nodded, their dull eyes floating back to the tv, their hands absent-mindedly caressing their belly, feeling absolutely in hog heaven.

Unfortunately Millie had to work this evening, but it didn't mean she couldn't influence Shavon's habits while away. She had taken to making big batches of foods like casseroles and crockpot dishes. Most of the time there would be enough left for her to get a meal or two out of it. But when it was one of Shavon's favourites, like tonight's mac and cheese, Millie didn't expect any leftovers.

She knew the way she cooked was devious, maybe unethical or immoral, but if Shavon enjoyed it and she enjoyed it, what was the harm?

The sauce started out with a load of butter, and the liquid was pure heavy cream with just a little pasta water. The amount of cheese that got grated in made the whole sauce stretch and string like a cartoon pizza. And then there was added shredded cheese on top, broiled to turn crispy and golden.

She was busy thinking about what all these calories would do to her ballooning roommate when she heard a thud by the door.

Shavon was leaning heavily on the doorframe, somehow still swaying. Their gut was so rounded out from gorging all morning, but it still hung lower and lower every day. Their eyes tried to scan the kitchen, but Millie could see that Shavon couldn't.

"What're you doing up, Chevy? If you want something, let me bring it to you." She popped the dish in the oven and approached Shavon, wanting to be within arm's reach in case they went down. It would be a lot easier to stop them from hitting the floor rather than getting their 315lb mass off of it.

"I wan...I want.. uh..." they looked around the kitchen confused, trying to place why they got out of their cozy spot on the tiny recliner. "Urrp. I thinkk I wan food," they giggled and swayed a little more. Millie could smell the joint on Shavon's breath and skin.

"Munchies hitting you hard?" Shavon nodded a little too enthusiastically, all of their fat jiggling in the aftershock.

"Well, the mac and cheese won't be done until I have to leave for work-" the face Shavon wore could only be described as devastated, "but why don't I get you set up with some snacks until then?"

Their face screwed into a thoughtful look, and then nodded approvingly. Millie helped them turn around and gently led the lumbering mass back to the abused recliner. If she didn't have to work she would have guided them to the couch, where there was enough space for Millie to sit and help...

She cracked open another beer and handed it over, Shavon drinking it automatically,  guzzling as much as they could before letting out a monstrous belch.

No wonder they can barely walk, that's the fourth beer from the six pack. Drunk pig.

Millie made a few trips back and forth from the kitchen, bringing a big bowl of ice cream, a box of cookies, 2 different kinds of chips, and a coke with vodka (which was maybe two thirds coke...)

"Yyure -urrrrp- thhe beshs Millie." She didn't know if Shavon was barely intelligible due to inebriation or the two cookies shoved in their mouth. They were cute either way.

"I'll bring you dinner before I leave for work." Millie ruffled Shavon's hair, almost making them purr.

And with that, she left to take a cold shower before work.

---------------------------

You evef wake ykurself up vy burping? Happend to me all the tkme now. How long have I been passsed out for? Urrrp.

Whee the fuck is my phone? Oh, haha ut 's under my bellu. I losd a lit o things there now .

5:16pm. And a message drom Millie.

Dinner's in the oven on warm. Your bong is in the drying rack. Refilled the fridge, too. Have a good night;* xx

Mmm Millie's mac abf cheese. I been smelling it sunce thus afternkon. Just gotta grt yp to gfab it. One, two. Hnnnbg. Whoa, i,m up, and barely even stumbled! And not because i'm drunk. Thus is barely tipsy. But my gut has been gfowing do fsst, i havent fugured out my nfw centre of gravity yrt. Urp.

Millie says I'm starting to eaddle, but i don'f thjbk so. All my fat judt sways a lot more, and my beelly kinda grts in the way of my thighs. I just have to adjezt my gait a lil to make walkbg easiet.

Okay. Things I've remembered to do: turn of warming on oven. Use oveb mitts to get this dish out. Not bute into it right away even thoufh it smells irresistble because it's gonna br way too hot still. Grab a cozy sk i can put the tray on my stomaxh when i'm back in thr living room. Move the case of ales to thr living room, and geab cutlry. What am I nissing? Og right, the bong. Aww she even left fower in the grjnder for me. I just gotta fill it eith waterbefogre setting it up

Ahhh. I dn't realose how tired I am intil I sit down now. This gut is getting heavy, and standing maked my knees and back kinda sore. Sitting eases that.

Si does weed. Fee deep tokes and wverything is so relaxdd. It's alfeady hitting when I crack the first can.

I'm staving. Legit, I can hesr my belly grumbling. Not for long...

Ugh thid is seriously the best mac and cheerse. I din't know whst she does to it, but it's so cresmu and smooth, and rich and garlicy, sith a perfectly toSted bread crumv crustong on top. O know this pan is huge, but i hope she doesn't wsnt wnough leftoveds for a full meal.

Ressstong ot on mu belly means itXs super close to my mouth, so it,s easy to shovel right in. I'm enjoying the flavour too, I swer! So much that I judt need more of it right now. I just need more.

Fhvk. The tray feeks so fucking heavg. It's lighter now. Because mkst of the stuff is crammed un my gut. Im sk fuvking full, the trag us adding sk mych pressure. But i dont wanns move it, thered only like a 6th kf it left. I judt gott Urrrp! Ooooh rest a bjt.

Braaap! Hic-urp! Dowwsnt help havung 6? 7? Beerrs in my gut, tajing ul space. I mean, ig goes ggiod with the mac and cheese, and bser makds ne hungry. Urrp Mosf thhbngs make ne hungrh.

Weed. Weed will help. Unph f i can reach the sfupid bonb. Dont wanna spill the trayz and my gut is starting to get n the wau. Buuuuurraap! Mmm the presssure reaaalu helped pish that one out. Ok lihyt up and then buiiiig unhale.

Yeahhh thats it. This reclinner id so comgy i coukd mekt rught into it. Crack another beed for the ckttonmouth  and for the effecf its gonba have . Im still so stuffed, but noe i just need tk eat

Unnnggh braap. Jusf keep shovellig it in. Barely has a tastd now, im not even chewing. Jusr wallow forkfil after dorkful dosn. My bdlly us gettging itchy. Soon i finish the fray i can deak with that, but im so close, cant stop now.

Fuck. Fu-urrrp ohhh. I fodtgot to vdeathe i think. Im panting luke a dog. Im completely rund, better put thd tray diwn befjde ot slips off. Fuck eveth breatb is makinf ny ght bob up and doen rjght kn my lap

Oh my god belky rubf fdsl heavenkt right nkw. Its ao tight. I shoved a wbole casserkle tray of pssta and chesse saucd into my mkhth. Theres like, no giveto mu upper belly ehe  i press- urrrrrp! Burrrrp! Urrrap! Yh i needfed thast. Burks helo.

Means beer will hell? Chug, chug, chug mmm nopr the pressure ud back and wordr yhan befo- braaaaaap! Hic-buurp! Hic-urp! Urrrrrp hats helpful. Mmmm brerrrp ffffuck.

Ibdontbthink j can stag wake mhch linger. Igs so hkt tk be thid fuked up and rjoubnd, but i cant keeo mh eyes open   beshdes i cang even eeach wirhb all this dyiffed in me .... i dunno if u can reach at allk any mire.

I also wanna add I do not celebrate July 1st. I'm privileged to live where I do, but the holiday is rooted in colonialism, wh1te supremacy, and g3noc1de. Look up the LandBack movement for more information.

That being said, sometimes there are familial or societal obligations to do activities, so I hope any feedists took advantage just like Shavon did.

--------------

I haven't celebrated July 1st since moving out of my folks' home. To be fair, they didn't really celebrate either, it was more an excuse to throw a massive barbeque and drink until the next day. Wonder where I get it from, heh.

When Millie suggested we host something I was kind of confused, cuz she certainly doesn't care about the holiday, but looking at her menu and guest list, I'm pretty sure she's just gonna make it another drunken stoner food fest.

I can't wait.

----------------------------

Millie wasn't sure if she liked planning events or hosting them more. Every detail was taken care of, from music, to games, to guest list, to drinks, and of course food. Shavon had kindly offered to help, but between their current ability to focus and Millie's need for control, there wasn't much they could do.

Millie decided to test a few recipes before the day, and Shavon was an excellent taste tester. Well, mostly. They didn't give a ton of verbal feedback, but Millie took their laboured grunts and swelling stomach as a good sign.

It was a smaller affair, with Ollie and Jaslyn invited, as well as a few friends from university and Millie's work. In this neighbourhood, people tended to party in their yards until they wandered up and down the street, briefly joining neighbours' parties for food or fireworks.

Millie prepped and cleaned the day of, but the hardest past was keeping Shavon away form the food. She had bought them their own snaks to keep them busy until the party, but naturally they were drawn to the kitchen by all the enticing smells.

Homemade cupcakes were iced red and white (much better than the dry store-bought crap that supermarkets pushed every year), veggies were cut up and paired with a homemade ranch, a charcuterie was laid out with meats, cheeses, crackers, chutneys, and a stuffed mushroom cream cheese dip. Later, Millie would deepfry the mozzarella sticks she bribed the chef at her work for, and throw the hamburgers and hotdogs on the grill Ollie was supposed to bring.

Drinks were stocked in the fridge, and backups were around just in case. She wasn't worried about overstock, as it wouldn't last long in this house.

Ollie and Jas were in charge of bringing joints, rolling them beforehand. All Millie had to do was get herself prettied up, and try to find something semi-modest for Shavon to wear. It seemed like they were swelling daily now, and their summer clothes from last year were hanging on by threads at best.

In the end, their stomach barely hung out from the bottom of their tank top, and that belly overhang hid the fact that their shorts were held closed with a hair elastic.

"Millie," Shavon asked, setting up their folding chair outside. "How long should I stay outside and socialize?"

"As long as you want, hon. But you'll probably want to stay out until I finish with the grill." Millie shamelessly patted Shavon's belly, their cheeks reddening as jiggles rippled over all their excess fat. "And you should come back out for fireworks."

Shavon nodded and reached for a beer Millie was loading into the cooler, but was quickly swatted away.

"Nuh uh, these are for tonight. No pregaming."

Shavon looked dejected for approximately 10 seconds before she broke.

"Not too much pregaming," and handed them a beer.

-------------------------------------

This is the most sober I've been in days. I get why Millie is making me pace myself (for now), but it's taking a lot of effort to not mindlessly chug beer after beer. I can do thst later tonight.

It's nice to see everyone. It's hard to keep up with friends as an adult. The weather is perfect. The food all smells amazing.

I do my duty of mingling, but as soon as the first round of hotdogs and hamburgers hit the table I basically dive for a plate. I'm so hungry.

Again, I try to pace myself, and I think I'm doing a pretty good job! Until Ollie waves me over. He pulls a home rolled joint out of an old preroll case and presses it into my palm.

"I know when we pass one around later it's not gonna do shit for you, so I made you your own." He takes one for himself and lights up, doing the same for mine when it's in my mouth.

"You're the fucking best, Ollie." A few drags in and I already feel more relaxed.

He lets out a big puff of smoke. "I know."

That joint is exactly what I needed. My body is relaxed, my mood is light, and I'm so fucking hungry again. It's like the two hotdogs, one hamburger, corncob, and mountain of potato salad I devoured a little while ago didn't even exist.

Ollie does an over-exaggerated bow.

"Your buffet awaits, my dude."

I think O'm stuck in my chair. I wanted to be inside by now but zi lost track of time and drinks and the dood people kept bringung me.

"Oh, you have to try this!"

"It's my great aunt's recipe, she only shared it on her deathbed."

"You look like you're wasting away. Let me bring you another plate, hon." Thst was Milllie who lookwd like she knew exactly whst she was doing. And I'm not lne for saying no.

I don't feel very drunk, just kinda pleasantly tipsy. My head is liht and floaty, but god my gut feels heavy. I jusg ste plate after plate. I can feel the breeze on my belly hang meaning my shirt is becoming useless. I'm trying to be polite and quiet but the gas keeps rmbling around. If I try to get upit would judt shake up my belly and there's no way ao could keep everything kn. I judt gotts gently massage it, until I've figested enough to get up.

Oh no. Millie's giving me thst look again. She sways over to me and leans down, her voice sending shivers diwn my neck

"You look like you could use a break. Why don't you head inside for a bit. Your chair's set up just for you."

I find myself nodding and rock enough to get up. The chair clmes with my ass, but Mills catches it and pulls jt off before amyuone notices. I wonder if I'll get too wide to sit in it befor I get heavy enoughto break it. I fon't knoe which is hottet.

Milliie's a fucking gem. There's a case of beers on the usual sude table, making them right in arm's reach, and she pulled over the other table and loaded ut eith snacks. Devild eggs   mozza sticks  another burger,  and cupcakes, al the things shekept ne from eati g all week. Most gursts have already started wandering the street,most likely ending up at thr Davis' hkuse with thekr fitepit in the backyard. That's a little bit too dar for me yo go... not that I'm super heavy yet, but I sure don't moce much. I've lost myscle mass since school ended for sure.

I said not that heavy yet. I kno it's coming, but zi never thought like thst before. It's inevitable. Even if I wanted to stop,which I don't, I don't think zmillie would want thst, and she looks so damn cute ehen she's hsppy. And so sexy when she gets that look in her eye. Thst look is ususll the last thing i remember of the njght.

The recliner has been getting louder, bjt it's noy dead yet. The creaks are kind of a thrill. Will my fat ass break jt this time?

Finally alome, I can crack a beeer and drink it hoe I like it. All kn one go.

Uuuuuurp.

I know  was beached luke a second ago, but another beer and a half makes all that food look real good. Ain't no one around, I can be myself in peace. Timevtovfinslly pig out.

Ohhhhhh. Hic! Uuuura-hic!

I ate way tio fasst. Hic! I'm so ffucjing stuffed abd blogated my gut us judt hic! bouncing as one solix thing, des't even feel like ny overhang is jiggging.

And I shill can't hekp myself.beven though I've given mysekf a stomach ache hic hich is hard to di when i'm this higb ans drunk, my hsnd is stull grabbing the last mosxarells syick.

Mmmmm hic

Ixm a fuckinbpig. Tryna drinkbdrom this can way yoo long before z hic owwww rrealise it's enpty. Timd for a bew one.

I coumd also really gi for anither joint, make my tymmy feek a lirrle better. Hic oof. Og shit it's also grtting dark out, means it's tine for fireworks.

Things are swaying but just chz I gitta rocn back and fith to get up. And noe knly swsying cuz it takes me a feww steps to catch my balance. And I dob't need to catch it cuz I'm drunk but cuz my belly's so bug and bloated evergthing us thrown off. I'm niy thst drunk. Hic. Better brng the beer.

The first explosion gies off when I stel outside. Like I thought nlst fuests are gone. It's just Jaz and ger girl of the week, few of Millie's coworjers, and of course, Millie.

She's leaning on the railing, looking just goddamn perfdct. Heer hair looks like it's shimmeru purple, but it's prolly just the reds w the light from the fiework.

One setp, two setps hic thank god thid railing iff string. She noticess me and puts an arm on mt back and hekps me down

Sometimes I get too logd when I'm dr-tipppsy so I try to wisper, "I maae it for fireworks."

"Somehkw her hanc on my back tirned inro a sideways hug, but her face is so cloge yomycheek and I xan smell ger fruity vodka drinks kn her breath.

"What was that, hon?"

It's nog the drink making ny face red, it's her being so damn close. And perfecttt.

"I hic made ig for da fireworks!" No one elsdr can hear me over the explosikns.

"You did, thank you. You did very good." Now my tits are pfessed right under hersz and her hands are on my bsck, reaching for an embrace but I don"tthibk either of us knrw I was tiio fat for thst. Hic.

"Even though you're a sloshed pig," she pressedcc intomy fat

"Urrrrp s-sorry hic!" Why the fhuck is my voide so mousy, whsg is sje doing to m3? What's she's doijg is getting even closer, anf it's like zi fee her words on my lips instead of heat then.

"A sloshed pig who would rather be inside finishing that case of beer, you waddled out here for me."

"Yeah i uhh hic-" did zi whimperr? Djd z moan? Thefe,xs barely anu space between us

And then there's none.