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I have to tell you about this awesome experience I had just the other night in a McDonald’s of all places. So, my boyfriend and I had just gotten out of the cinema after a late showing, sure I’d had snacks while we were watching the film – large popcorn and Coke with a bag of Maltesers, but I was hungry by the time I got out and my man wouldn’t deny his princess. So, we headed to the only place local that was still open – McDonald's. I got a quarter pounder with cheese meal, large of course with a chocolate shake and a side of Mozzarella dippers. Delicious at any time. My guy jokes that he doesn’t know where I put it after eating in the cinema not even an hour ago, my answer is always the same. “You know exactly where I put it” I reply, rubbing my tum as I slurped on my shake This brings a smile to his face as he motions to my cup. “Are you gonna see if you won anything?” he asked before stuffing the last of his fries into his mouth. Ah yes Monopoly at McDonald’s, such a great time of the year. I peeled the little tab off my cup but was out of luck. “You get anything?” I asked my fella as I got to work on feeling the one off of my fries carton. “Nah, you?” “Boom, free McFlurry!” “Lucky you, do you want it now?” he asked, knowing the answer already. “Well, yeah I was gonna get you to get me a pudding anyway” “Of course you were” he laughed as he got to his feet “Oh, and get me this too!” “What?! You got another one?!” “Yup, free shake off my dippers!” “Lucky cow, chocolate again?” “You know it” I smiled. I finished my original shake before he got back with my dessert and second shake, sitting down he quipped “Your dessert your highness.” “Thank you squire” I laughed before shovelling a spoonful of Crème Egg McFlurry into my mouth. “Hey, you’ve got tabs on these ones too” he remarked as he snagged a sip of my shake “wouldn’t it be funny if you won again?” “Funny? Or brilliant?” I asked grabbing my shake back. I enjoyed my ice-cream and shake but was beginning to feel a little full. It didn’t stop me from peeling the tabs off of my new items though. “No way!” “You’ve got to be kidding me?” asked my guy incredulously. “Free chicken legend and free fries!” I beamed showing him the winning stickers “You want them now?” he asked expectantly “Noo” I replied “I’m getting kinda full” “You know what’d be hot?” he asked, switching seats to sit right next to me “If you kept eating whatever you won” he grabbed my soft belly to emphasize his point. I looked him in the eye, his arousal at what he had suggested was obvious. I quickly scanned the restaurant and noted that there was an old guy in the corner minding his business, other than that we were the only patrons. “Okay” I replied, grabbing his crotch “but only if you feed me” Watching him walk to the counter with a boner was funny but it’s sweet to see that he’s as turned on by my gaining as I am. When he returned, he spared no time in emptying my fries into the chicken legend box and grabbing the burger. “Open wide” he laughed as he bought the burger up to my waiting lips. He dutifully fed me the burger and fries, slowly rubbing my stuffed tummy as I ate. My heavy breathing due to the increasing fullness in my stomach was matched by his enjoyment at my delicious predicament. Bite after bite I allowed more and more of my winnings to be shoved down my gullet. “Could you imagine if you ate like this every day?” he whispered into my ear “you’d be bloody massive.” Damn, he knows how to push my buttons. Finally, I was finished with my fast food feast. “I’m going to need you to help me walk out of here” I gasped as I got to my feet. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked as he nodded at the heaped trash on our table. “No more, I’m stuffed” I groaned, clutching my belly. “It’s okay, I’ll peel them for you” he smiled “That’s not what I meant and you know it!” I laughed. I watched on with trepidation as he peeled off the tabs on my burger and fries boxes. “Nothing on this one” I allowed myself to breathe momentarily but then he pulled off the second one “You couldn’t make it up! Another free McFlurry!” “Oh God” I groaned “Can we at least take it to go?” “Yeah, but you are eating it, you promised!” I took a seat as he went and got yet another free food item for me to gorge on, poking at my stuffed belly I wondered how on earth I’d manage to down this frozen treat. As he returned, he quipped “I guess I should peel this one off here to save me having to come back and get you more free stuff eh?” “Don’t even tease me” I managed to get out “I’m definitely not teasing” he replied as he started peeling the tab. Suddenly he took on a gobsmacked expression as he looked down at the sticker. “What? What is it?” I asked him but he simply handed me the sticker and there it was - WINNER - £10,000 I couldn’t believe it, I screamed as I hugged him, instantly regretting it as my distended belly mashed into his. He held me tight before speaking calmly and clearly in my ear. “Do you have any idea how fat you’re going to be once you get done eating 10K’s worth of fast food?” He had to hold me up as my knees went weak.

Hey, This is my first go at this. It's a series of short stories that are all set on an island after a plane crash lands. The plane was heading from London to LA and was carrying the contestants of a BBW beauty pageant and their significant others and fans and a few members of staff. . . The main characters are a young married couple. The wife has known that the husband was into Feederism for quite some time and after an accidental gain of a few lbs and seeing her husbands reaction she decided to become a feedee for a short time. She took a plus size modelling contract in London and it was through her modelling agency that she was sponsored to enter a light weight category of the beauty pageant. She has got really into Feederism and enjoys the whole experience but for the last couple of months she has tried to maintain her weight and not gain any more. You will meet other characters in the stories but for now that's all you need to know. ;-) . . Part 1 will be posted ASAP.

My name, Reader? Oh, let’s see here … how about Clarice? That’s a nice name, isn’t it? It’s from a movie, apparently, one that the writer of this story particularly likes. So yeah, let’s go with that, let's say that my name is Clarice. And, now that I’ve introduced myself, let’s move on to my appearance. I mean, you need to know what I look like, right? After all, there are so many choices we could make here. I could be tall–all elegant and statuesque, with long, lean legs and a graceful, gazelle-like body–or, I could be short–a cute, petite little thing with a lithe build and a bouncy personality. The options are, if not endless, then at least numerous. But, we need to get this story going, and you need to know what I look like right away, so that you can appreciate as my appearance changes over the course of it. For simplicity's sake, let’s say that I’m a fairly ordinary-looking young woman. I mean, I’m pretty, of course, but not in a supermodel kind of a way. My face is a little too round for that, and, while I’m not that short, I’m nowhere near tall enough. Still, I’m a good-looking girl, if I do say so myself. I have big, beautiful, brown eyes, soft, kissable lips, and a mane of tousled, raven hair that hangs past my pale, porcelain shoulders. And, needless to say, I’m thin. Well, mostly, anyway. I might be carrying a few extra pounds here and there—mainly on my hips and thighs—but my waist is still tapered and tight and my boobs are perky and firm, if, perhaps, a little smaller than I’d like. I’m a beautiful, carefree young woman with a physique that, I don’t mind saying, has turned quite a few heads in its time. But, we both know I won’t stay that way. I mean, that’s why you’re reading this, right? You want me to lose my looks. You want to watch as my once beautiful body turns into a wobbling mass of blubber, as my boobs swell and start to sag, as my flat stomach spreads into a dangling apron, as my tight, shapely buttocks loosen into square slabs of lard, huge, rippling things, covered in soft dents of cellulite. You want to rob me of my figure. And because you want it, that is what’s going to happen, whether I like it or not. Now, since you know what my name is and what I look like, let’s get on to the biggest question of them all: who am I? This is another one that could have an untold number of answers. I mean, where do you even start with this one? How do you go about encapsulating your entire identity in just a sentence or two? Oh Reader, there are so many things I could tell you. I could talk your head off for hours about my favorite book, or how I spend my evenings, but that’s not what you’re here for, that’s not what this story is about. So, let’s get on to the question that really matters here: Who am I to you? Oh yes, Reader, you’re a character in this story just as much as I am. I mean, obviously. Why wouldn’t you be? After all, everything that happens here, to me, will happen because you want it to. So, then, what kind of a relationship do we have? Well, since we need to get this story going, let’s keep things simple between us. Let's just say that I’m your girlfriend and leave it at that. Oh yes, Reader, aren’t you the lucky one. Of all the people in this world that I could’ve gone for, I chose you. I’m not sure I know why myself. There’s just something about you, something I can’t quite put my finger on. I don’t know what it is, but I think you do. You’ve been looking for a girl like me for a long time. And, now that you’ve finally found me, you understand me better than I understand myself. You’ve studied me, and you know that, no matter how I try to hide it, there’s a fat girl inside of me, just waiting to eat her way out. I mean, of course there is, you wouldn’t be spending your time on me otherwise, would you? You can tell from the shape of my body, and from the way my whole face lights up at those rare times when I allow myself a treat. That’s really why I’ve fallen for you, I think. Because, deep down, I’m exactly the sort of weak-willed fatty that you’ve always been looking for. And, because, you’re only too willing to treat me as such, to pamper me and spoil me, to ply me with all that food I won’t even let myself admit that I love, all while letting me be every bit as lazy and useless as I really am. We’ve been dating for a while now, you and I. How we met isn’t really that important, but I’ve been living with you for more than a year now. I’ve even taken you home to see my family once, over the holidays. They took to you right away. And, for your part, I’m sure you were only too happy with what you saw. My dad’s been out of the picture for a long time now. My mother and older sister are the only family I have, and, well, they aren’t exactly a slight and dainty pair of girls. With mom, there’s really no nice way to say it. She’s a huge ball of a woman, with a ripe, round moon of a face, a pair of doughy, drooping, oversized love handles, and a huge, hanging belly. I’ve spent most of my life watching her eat her way from one dress size to another. These days, she’s got to be at least 300 pounds. My sister isn’t quite that big, but she’s not far behind. Last I heard, she was somewhere around 230. But, in my family, we don’t talk about that stuff much. After all, what you refuse to know can’t hurt you. She’s a year older than me, and she’s never been thin—not for as long as I can remember, anyway. She’s spent her whole life as the fat girl, the one with the big belly and the chubby face that people either laugh at or ignore. That’s probably why she’s a bit shy most of the time. I’m ashamed to admit it, but when I was younger—back in middle school, mostly—I used to tease her a lot as well. Over the years, I’ve heard people call her and mom all sorts of things behind their backs and, sometimes, even to their faces. That’s why I’ve always tried so hard not to let myself go. No matter how much I love to eat, I don’t want to end up like them. I don’t want to be the sort of big, greedy pig that people laugh at and make fun of. But, with you around, it’s not like I have much of a choice anymore. You know only too well that, with a bit of effort, you can get me way bigger than either of them will ever be. I’ve already put on more than a few pounds since I met you. My face has started to soften, and I’ve grown just the tiniest hint of a gut. I don’t really think that much about all these new inches I’ve added to my body, though. I mean, it’s natural to put on a bit of weight once you’re in a steady relationship, right? You, on the other hand, rarely think about anything else. You love each and every new pound I’ve put on, but I’m not nearly big enough for you yet. You want me to gain faster, you want to see me struggle to squeeze into my clothes until, finally, I’m forced to go up first one size and then another. And, you know just how to get me there. You’ve been living with me long enough now to have learned of all my little weaknesses, all those foods I just can’t say no to. It’s only too easy for you to surround me with temptation 24/7, knowing full well that, no matter how I try to resist, I’ll always give in soon enough. Especially now that you’ve got me hanging around the house all day, with nothing to do but eat. The thing is, you see, Reader, that before I met you, I never really knew what I wanted to do with my life. I mean, I knew what I was supposed to do, get an education, a job, a man, all that boring normal stuff. But, somehow, that never seemed enough for me. This might make me sound kind of lazy and spoiled, but it always seemed so dull to spend your life just working and studying all the time. My friends usually roll their eyes at me and say that I have my head in the clouds when I talk about stuff like that. And, I guess maybe I do, but I’ve just always wanted something different, you know? Even if I’m not sure what. I think that’s another reason why I like you so much. You never laugh at me when I say stuff like that. You always listen to me, and you can be so sweet about it too. In fact, when I first told you about all this, about how I wasn’t enjoying school and how I felt like, maybe, I needed to find my own direction in life, you were the one to suggest that I take some time off. At first, I was hesitant, but you made it sound like it’d be no big deal. And, in the end, as you were only too aware, it was what I really wanted deep down. Even though I knew it might be a bad idea, and even though my friends tried to warn me off, it just felt so right. I figured if I took some time off, I’d be able to grow into myself, to find out what I really wanted out of life. But, that wasn’t what ended up happening. Yeah, I know. Shocking, right? These last many months, I’ve done nothing but waste my days away on endless Netflix binges. I’ve grown plenty, but more in body than in mind. My boobs, which used to be perky and firm, have started to rest on my belly, which has started to rest on my lap. So, yeah, I might have put on just a little bit of weight. I mean, of course I have. I just sit around in my PJs all day, with nothing to do but eat. If I didn’t have my TV, and all those snacks you keep buying me, I think I might just lose my mind. Luckily, you don’t seem to care that your once spirited and enthusiastic girlfriend has turned into a lazy couch-potato, a tubster who just sits around and eats all day. I mean, why would you? You’re not reading this to see me go on adventures, or struggle to build a life for myself. No, as far as you’re concerned, any time I don’t spend sat on my ass stuffing my face is time wasted. You want me just like this, and, though you’re not ready to be entirely honest about it yet, you don’t mind showing it. If it wasn’t for you, if you hadn’t been so loving and kind, I’d probably have realized what’s happening to me a long time ago. You’ve got such a way of putting me at ease. You love to play with all my little rolls, with the plush and luscious softness of my growing body. Whenever I ask you if you think I’m, maybe, getting a bit chunky, you’re only too quick to assure me that I look just fine the way I am. You make me feel like getting just a bit bigger might not be the end of the world after all. Still, from time to time I can’t help but wonder, you know? Sometimes, I’ll catch a glimpse of myself in a window, or something like that, and it’ll take me a while to realize who I’m even looking at. But, I guess, probably, I’m just catching myself from a bad angle, is all. By the time you’ve had me living with you for a couple of years, I’m nothing like the slim girl I was when I first moved in. I’ve gotten so blissfully lazy and fat, my mind and body both turned to mush by my constant grazing and never-ending TV binges. Oh, you just love to look at me, and to play with all my 200-plus-pounds of delicious fatness. You love every inch you’ve put on me, from my squishy second chin to my sagging gut, from my wide, flabby arms to my broad blubbery backside and my jiggly, cottage cheese thighs. You’re only too happy with how I’m growing, even if I’m less than thrilled myself. I mean, don’t get me wrong here. I love the way you spoil me, the way you keep me lazy, happy, and full. I wouldn’t want it to stop for anything in the world. But, well, I know I’ve gotten fat. I mean, of course I do. I’m the one who has to lug all this weight around. After a while, it gets kind of hard *not* to notice. And, to be honest, though I prefer not to think about it, I’m starting to get a bit worried. I just feel so heavy and tired all the time, you know? My thighs are starting to rub and chafe when I walk, and it takes so little to get me all sweaty and out of breath. It’s like I’m not even in control of my own body anymore. I just don’t feel good about myself in the way I used to. I mean, you know how much pride I’ve always taken in my appearance. Before I met you, I used to love posing in front of the mirror wearing all sort of cute clothes. But now, well, now I can hardly even stand the sight of my own reflection. My face has gotten so round and fleshy that I don’t even look like myself anymore. Sure, my features are the same, but all the familiar contours that they used to sit among are just gone, lost under a pair of ripe cheeks and a swollen second chin. My boobs still look good, though, so long as you squeeze them into a tight-enough bra. So, I guess that’s something. But, next to my huge, dangling belly, which sticks out so much further than my chest and fills out the front of my jeans in a way no stomach ever should, they don’t really stand out. Hell, it’s getting hard to find any cute clothes that fit me anymore. But then, I guess that’s fine by you. So long as I spend my days sitting on my ass and stuffing my face like I’m supposed to, I don’t really need anything all that special to wear. And anyway, it’s not like I really even go outside that much anymore. I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I last saw any of my old friends. I guess we’ve all kind of drifted apart, maybe we just don’t have that much in common, these days. While I’ve been sitting here, turning myself into a human dumpster, they’ve all moved on with their lives, getting jobs and doing all sorts of exciting things. Even if we ignore the fact that I don’t want them to see me like this, I don’t think I really have that much to talk about with them anymore. It’s not like anything exciting ever happens in my life. So yeah, at this point, I don’t really even have a social life. Which is just the way you like it. After all, I’ve got all the friends I need right here at home. I’ve got you, and all my lovely little treats. Anything else would just be a distraction. If I ever get lonely, I can just grab another tub of ice cream to cheer myself up. If it wasn’t for you, I’d have gone on a diet and lost all these pounds ages ago. Or, so I like to tell myself. The thing is, you make it so easy for me to just keep eating. You’re alway spoiling me, making me feel so comfy and safe, like my sloppy, slobbish lifestyle is really no big deal. Still, much as I might want them to, I know things can’t go on like this forever. I’ve already gained so much weight. Further or later, this is gonna have to stop. I’ve tried to talk to you about my weight, to ask if you think that, maybe, I’m starting to get a bit *too* fat. But, you’re always quick to reassure me that I’m just fine the way I am, to tell me, jokingly, that you’d love me even if I was a huge whale of a woman. A thought that I, if I’m honest, find less than reassuring. Still, it’s enough to keep me eating, and, for now, that’ll just have to do. It’s not yet time for you to tell me about your true intentions. If you tried to explain it all now, I just wouldn’t understand. I wouldn’t be able to see how all the things you’re doing to me are really for my own good. You know that, no matter what I may think, I’m better off like this, as a sloppy, hungry fatty with no life outside of food. I wasn’t born to be the kind of girl that all the guys want and all the other girls envy, nor was I born to spend my time accomplishing great things. No, I was always meant for this, for a mediocre and uneventful life of constant idleness and never-ending gluttony. The sooner I accept it and embrace my true nature, the happier I’ll be. So, though I might not understand it yet, you’re really doing me a favor by taking my figure away, by reducing me to the life of passive overconsumption that I was always meant for. Sadly, though, good deeds like yours rarely get the appreciation they deserve. And, much though you might try, you can’t keep me cooped up in here forever. Not yet, anyway. As the holidays roll around, and the two of us head off to visit my family, the time has finally come for me to set foot outside for the first time in many months. Needless to say, my mother and sister, who still remember me as a slight and tiny thing, are more than a little surprised to find that I’ve grown to almost twice my size. They don’t really say much about it, but you can tell just from the looks on their faces when I waddle through the door. The last time they saw me, I’d put on a couple of pounds, sure, but I was still, by far, the thinnest girl in the family. Now, not so much. They soon get over their initial shock, though, and give me a warm welcome, even if my sister can’t help but to tease me a bit about my weight. “Looks like you’re finally catching up with the rest of us,” she says, giving my belly a pat once the two of us have hugged and said our hellos. “Oh please,” I roll my eyes. “It’s not like I’m *that* big.” Though, deep down, I know I am. After that, neither mom nor sis really mention my weight much. You know, stones in glass houses, and all that. We spend our days sitting around eating, talking and watching TV, while you help out with the cooking and dote on all three of us. Mom and sis both seem to really enjoy having you around. It’s almost scary how easy it is for you to get them to like you. All it takes are a few lame jokes, a couple of nice meals, and some innocent flirting. I guess, in the end, they’re every bit the hungry, lazy fatties that I am. And, if there’s one thing you know, it’s how to make hungry, lazy fatties happy. Over the next few weeks, I eat as much as I ever have in my life. Just like at home, I spend my days on the couch, being plied with all sorts of fattening foods. Not just by you now, but by mom as well. How lucky for you that my family is so eager to, unwittingly, help out with all your little plans. By New Year’s, I’m struggling to squeeze into my pants, which were already getting tight by the time I came here. Even my largest, and comfiest pair, my old fat pants, are getting to the point where they can hardly hold me. One evening, as I sit down after having been filled with a particularly huge meal, the button on them goes flying off, leaving me wide-eyed and embarrassed as I sit there with my belly hanging out. That evening, my sister gently suggests that, if I want to, I can borrow a pair of her pants while I’m here. I eagerly agree, and that’s when the truth hits me. No matter how I wiggle, I can’t get her jeans all the way up over my butt. No matter how I pull and tug, I can’t even get the button to close. “Um,” I say, blushing as I turn towards her, “you wouldn’t happen to have something a little bigger lying around?” She looks just as surprised as I am. “No,” she shakes her head, “those are the biggest pair I have.” This can’t be happening. There’s no way I’m fatter than my sister. But then, why can’t I get these damn things on? Once I’ve managed to peel her pants off again, my sister drags me over to the bathroom to find out just how much heavier I’ve gotten. As I stand myself on it, the bathroom scale climbs to a hefty 253. My sister, by comparison, is a skinny 236. “Well, well,” she giggles, playfully pinching one of my love handles, “I guess you’re not the thinnest girl in the family anymore.” I stare down at the scale without a word. This can’t be right. It just can’t be. “We’ll just see about that,” I say, smiling and trying to play the whole thing off as though it’s no big deal. “By the time I see you again next year, I’ll have you eating those words.” “Oh, sure you will,” she smirks, clearly not believing me one bit. I can’t believe how blind I’ve been. How could I have let myself go like this? How could I not have realized that I’d gotten this fat? I’ve been sitting around, stuffing my face and not caring about the consequences for almost two years now, and look what it’s done to me! Well, enough is enough. From now on, I’m going to have to make some changes. From now on, things are going to be different around here. Once the holidays are over and the two of us are back home, I tell you, in no uncertain terms, that I’m going on a diet. That I’m going to lose all this weight and get back to my old, slim self. You don’t seem to take me all that seriously. Though you aren’t mean about it, you make it pretty clear that you don’t think I can do it, and that trying would just be a waste of time. The way you see it, all a diet would do is wear me out and make me miserable. And really, why would I want that when I can just sit around and eat and be happy? After all, you think I’m beautiful just the way I am, you’d love me even if I was a huge whale of a woman. And, since I’m lucky enough to have a man who doesn’t mind me being a hopeless, lazy pig, I might as well take advantage of it. It’s a tempting thought, I can’t deny, but my mind is made up. No matter how much I enjoy it, I can’t continue to live like this. I’ve put on so much weight already. If this goes on, I don’t even want to think about how fat I’ll get. I’m tired of not feeling good about myself, of never finding any cute clothes that fit, of the constant shame that comes with living in this blubbery body. I’m tired of all this weight bearing down on me, of my rolls shifting and brushing against each other with every move I make. And, more than anything, I’m tired of feeling like I’m not in control of my own life anymore. No matter how much I might want to spend my days filling up my old spot on your couch, I just can’t. If I don’t put a stop to this now, I know I never will. I keep on insisting and, finally, you agree to help me. You still think it’s a waste of time, but, if it’s what I really want then, of course, you’ll support me. In fact, I’m surprised at just how supportive you seem. You make so many helpful suggestions and come up with so many good ideas. Soon, we’ve put together a whole plan to help me burn off all this weight. It never occurs to me that you might be setting me up to fail. I love you too much to even consider that you’d do something like that. But you, of course, know that it’s really for my own good. You know what kind of a girl I am, after all. And, more importantly, you know what kind of a story this is. There’s no way any of my attempts to lose weight will ever work, and the sooner I realize that, the happier I’ll be. Much as you’ve predicted, it’s not long before my diet hits its first snag. Not even a day, in fact. The thing is, Reader, that when you’ve been lazy for as long as I have, it isn’t easy to start exercising all of a sudden. But then, I guess you know that already. That’s why you’ve really invited me to go running in the park with you, after all. You aren’t trying to help me lose weight, you just want to see how out of shape you’ve gotten me. And, once we’ve started running, I don’t disappoint. It isn’t long before I start to lose my breath, before the moderate pace you’ve set for us has me huffing and puffing. I can still remember, if only vaguely, that I used to enjoy running once, but, right now, I can’t for the life of me recall what that was like. Now, it just makes my body hurt. My feet are sore and my knees ache something fierce. My shirt keeps sliding up and my slightly too tight sweatpants keep slipping down, putting my jiggling belly on display for all to see. Each slow and awkward step I take sets a quake running through my blubbery body, sending all my rolls and folds bouncing up and down as rivers of sweat run along them. I feel terrible. And, to make everything worse, everybody else I see here is so slim and fit. They seem to run without even the slightest effort, while I lumber along, breathing heavily as I clutch my aching sides. We’ve hardly even been at it for twenty minutes by the time I’m forced to stop. I’m just not built for this sort of thing anymore. You smile surreptitiously as I stand here, hunched over, groaning and gasping for breath, my naked belly dangling in front of me, my worn slacks hugging every dent of my cellulite-riddled ass. After a few moments, you take mercy on me. Putting your hand gently on my back, your fingers sinking into my doughy, sweat-soaked rolls of flab, you guide me to the nearest bench, where I sit myself down, letting out a desperate sigh of relief as I take my weight off my poor, aching ankles. Though I dare not look up, I’m only too aware that we’re being stared at. I know only too well what a spectacle I’ve made of myself. Once you’ve got me off my feet, you give my pillowy shoulder a reassuring pat and tell me to sit tight. Then, you head off, leaving me here with my mouth hanging sluggishly open, my overly ample chest rising and falling as I draw one groaning breath after another. A few minutes later, you turn up again, carrying a cone filled with three scoops of ice cream—cookie dough, mint-chocolate-chip, and strawberry, you know me so well. “A little something to help restore your strength,” you say, “just this once.” I know I should turn it down. There are way more calories in those three scoops than all my running has managed to burn off. If I eat it, my diet will be a complete failure right out of the gate. But, it looks so good, and I feel so tired. I need something to cheer me up. As far as my diet goes, I can always start over again tomorrow. While I greedily fill my mouth with one bite of ice cream after another, the two of us have a talk, and I agree that it might be good for me to start a little slower with this whole exercise thing. For now, having a short walk now and then might be enough. Even if, as you know perfectly well, it won’t help one bit in burning off all this blubber. I’d like to say that my diet continues without a hitch from here on. But, we both know that wouldn’t be true. In fact, it’s just a few weeks before it all goes seriously wrong. I’m just so hungry all the time. You’ve been great about making me all sorts of light and healthy meals, but all that low-calorie, sugar-free stuff just doesn’t fill me up like my old favorites used to. Before I went on this diet, food was my greatest pleasure, the only exciting thing I had in my humdrum life. But, all these salads and carrot sticks you’ve got me eating just don’t give me the same rush that my cookies and chips used to. They just make me feel so empty, like everything is so dreary and dull. It’s not long before I start to crave all my old, guilty pleasures again. You’ve been expecting this, of course. And, you’re only too ready to take advantage of my unbearable appetite. Though you’re subtle about it, you go out of your way to tempt me, filling our home up with all those sugary treats you know I just can’t go without, and, sometimes, even eating stuff like pizza right in front of me, while I’m forced to sit here chewing on my rabbit food, as you call it. Is it any wonder that I start to sneak a little snack from time to time—that, within a few weeks, I’m secretly stuffing my face at every chance I can find? I feel terrible about it, of course. You’ve worked so hard to help me, and here I am, gorging like a greedy pig. I feel so hopeless, so weak and pathetic, but I just can’t seem to stop. When I eat, all my worries just fade away. Sure, by the time I’m done I might feel a little guilty, but that only drives me to glut myself more. A month into my diet, you make me step on our scale—which seems, mysteriously, to have turned up again, after having been missing since just after I moved in—to see how many pounds I’ve lost. I know I haven’t exactly been doing perfectly, but I’m still shocked to find that all my secret little snacks have put a whole four pounds on me over the past month. You try to cheer me up, telling me that, since I’ve been doing everything right so far, you’re sure it’s just a matter of time before all this weight starts melting off my figure. But, of course, that only makes me feel worse. As the second month of my diet wears on, you start to tempt me more and more, until you’ve got me taking one cheat day after another on top of all my secret binges. At the end of it, I’m crushed to find that I’ve put on another six pounds. I feel so out of control. I’ve worked so hard, and yet I just keep getting fatter. You waste no time using my despair against me, turning my little cheat days into week-long feasts. By the end of the third month, when you remind me that it’s time for me to step on the scale again, it takes me a while to remember what you’re even talking about. The display finally settles on a whopping 276 pounds, and I just can’t believe what I’m seeing. There’s no way I could have put on more than ten pounds just over the past month, is there? Have I really been eating that much? Am I really that much of a pig? Standing here, looking at those unbelievable numbers, I just can’t help myself. I start to cry, big fat tears rolling down my big fat cheeks. How could I have let things get this bad? You’re only too quick to comfort me, sitting me down in my old spot on the couch with at tub of ice cream in my lap. As I stuff my face, a stream of my melting dessert dribbles down my chin and mixes with my tears as I bare my heart to you, telling you all about how weak and hopeless I feel, about how I’ve been cheating on my diet and binging behind your back. You listen without judgment, and, for a long time, we just sit there and talk as I eat. By the end of the night, you’ve convinced me to give up on my diet for good. After all, food is what makes me happy. If I try to deny myself, I’ll only end up miserable. And anyway, you love me just the way I am. You love every doughy, drooping inch of my blubbery body. So, even if I had the willpower to lose all this weight, which I don’t, why would I ever want to when I’ve got a partner who’s only too happy to let me sit on my ballooning backside and eat to my heart’s content, a partner who would love me even if I was a huge whale of a woman. This time around, those words sound a lot better than they did before. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to just let myself go? To just sit back and eat as you coddle and care for me. I mean, dieting clearly isn’t for me, and since I can’t keep my figure under control, I might as well just give up on it altogether. That way, I’ll never have to worry about it ever again. Sure, it might not be the healthiest way to live, but it beats feeling bad whenever you happen to have a little too much to eat. It’s not like I was ever going to be a model, or anything like that, anyway, so why should I care if I get a little fat? Having a few extra curves on you is hardly the end of the world, is it now? Next morning, you wake me up with a huge breakfast, bigger than any meal I’ve ever seen. As I take in the sheer amount of food you’ve made me, a huge stack of pancakes drowning in syrup and cream, a plateful of scrambled eggs, and a whole package of bacon dripping with grease, you explain that, what with all that’s happened, I deserve to be spoiled a bit more than usual today. From then until nighttime, you hardly let me leave my bed. You do everything for me, keeping me constantly surrounded with all those irresistible foods that I’ve spent the last three months trying so hard to resist, while I just sit here and eat. Soon, I’ve lost myself completely to my appetite. I can’t believe I could ever even have considered giving all of this up. You watch, smiling fondly, as I gorge like I never have before, eating mindlessly like the greedy pig you always knew me to be. You’ve enjoyed seeing me struggle against my inevitable fate, but you’re glad that that part of our story is over now, especially since that means that we can finally get on to the really good bits.