The Doctors Surgery
Isla stepped into the clinic feeling the familiar tug of self-consciousness as her soft thighs brushed together beneath her skirt. At 24, she’d always carried a little extra weight, but over the past year something had shifted. Her once-flat stomach had rounded into a noticeable belly that pushed against her tops, and her hips had widened enough that her favorite jeans no longer zipped. She told herself it was just a phase, stress eating from her new job, nothing serious. But standing in the waiting room, she couldn’t help smoothing her shirt over the gentle swell of her midsection.
The nurse who called her back was slim and athletic, the kind of woman who looked like she ran marathons for fun. She smiled politely as she led Isla to the scale. “Just step on for me, shoes off.”
Isla’s cheeks warmed. She slipped off her flats and stepped onto the digital scale, trying not to look down. The nurse tapped the screen, jotting something on the chart without comment, but Isla felt the woman’s gaze linger for a fraction too long on the way her belly softly overhung the waistband of her skirt. She didn’t see the number, but the silence felt heavy.
In the exam room, Isla sat on the crinkly paper, legs swinging slightly. When the door opened, Dr. Ryan Carter walked in, and her breath caught. He was younger than most doctors she’d seen—maybe early thirties—with sharp cheekbones, dark hair styled just-so, and a tailored white coat that somehow made him look more like a model than a physician. His eyes, a clear hazel, met hers with an easy confidence that made her stomach flutter.
“Isla, good to see you again.” His voice was warm, low. He flipped through her chart, then set it aside and smiled. “Let’s get started.”
The exam began innocently enough—blood pressure, heart, lungs. But when he moved to her abdomen, his hands were deliberate. He pressed gently along her sides, then lower, his palms sliding over the soft curve of her belly. His fingers sank slightly into the plush flesh, and Isla felt heat rush through her. No doctor had ever lingered like this. He lifted the lower part of her stomach, letting it settle back with a soft jiggle that made her want to disappear into the table.
“You’ve put on some weight since your last visit,” he said, tone calm but direct. “About eighty pounds in under a year. You’re sitting right around two-seventy-five now.”
Isla blinked, the number hitting her like ice water. “Two… seventy-five?” She’d guessed maybe 230, tops. Forty-five pounds heavier than she’d thought. Her mouth went dry.
Dr. Carter’s brow lifted slightly. “You seem surprised.”
“I—I thought I was lighter. Are you sure?”
He gave a small, reassuring smile. “Let’s double-check.” He gestured to the scale in the corner of his office. “Step on for me.”
Isla’s heart pounded. She slid off the table, feeling every extra pound as she moved. Her belly swayed gently with each step, thighs rubbing, hips rolling in a slow, heavy waddle she couldn’t hide. The soft underside of her stomach brushed the waistband of her skirt with every motion, reminding her how far it now protruded.
She stepped onto the scale. The digital numbers flashed, then settled.
Dr. Carter let out a soft chuckle—low, almost appreciative. “Looks like we were a little off. Two-seventy-eight.”
Isla’s face burned crimson. She stood frozen, the cool metal under her bare feet contrasting with the heat flooding her body. Two-seventy-eight. The number echoed in her mind, both mortifying and strangely thrilling.
While she was still on the scale, Dr. Carter stepped closer. His hand returned to her belly, fingers pressing gently into the lowest, softest part—the deep overhang that rested heaviest over her skirt. The flesh yielded easily under his touch, warm and plush. “You’re carrying most of this gain right here,” he murmured, voice quieter now. His thumb traced a slow circle just above her pubic bone. “A lot of fat depositing around your abdomen. Are you sure everything’s okay? Nothing worrying you?”
Isla could barely speak. The combination of humiliation and the intimate press of his fingers sent a shiver straight between her legs. “I… I’ve just been eating more, I guess.”
He nodded, eyes flicking down to where his hand still rested. “Any rapid gain is concerning, but especially when it’s central like this. Visceral fat—the kind that wraps around your organs—carries higher risks.” His tone was professional, but his touch lingered a second longer than strictly necessary before he withdrew.
He handed her a printed diet sheet. “Let’s aim to drop fifty pounds to start. Cut portions, more movement. We’ll check in again in three months.”
Isla nodded numbly, folding the sheet into her purse. She dressed quickly, feeling his gaze on her as she tugged her shirt down over her belly. When she left the room, she didn’t see him move to the window, watching as she walked across the parking lot—her wide hips swaying, belly bouncing softly with each step, the fabric of her skirt stretched tight across her backside.
In the car, the diet sheet sat untouched on the passenger seat. Her mind replayed his hands on her stomach, the way he’d chuckled at the number, the warmth in his voice when he’d said “two-seventy-eight.” A restless heat pooled low in her belly.
She pulled into the McDonald’s drive-thru almost on autopilot.
“Four double cheeseburgers,” she told the speaker, voice steady. “And a large chocolate milkshake.”
The bags were warm in her lap as she parked in the far corner of the lot. She unwrapped the first burger, took a big bite, and let out a slow breath as the rich, greasy flavors filled her mouth. Another bite, then another, washing it down with thick, cold shakes of milkshake. By the time she finished the fourth burger, her stomach felt tight and heavy, the soft dome of her belly pressing firmly against the steering wheel.
She leaned back, one hand resting on the warm swell beneath her shirt, fingers sinking into the plush fat. A small, secret smile curved her lips.
Fifty pounds to lose? Maybe. But right now, she felt fuller, softer, sexier than she had in months—and she wasn’t quite ready to give that up.
