Chapter 2 - spring

April

-

I’m sweating when we get home from breakfast and not just from the flights of stairs. Heather couldn’t keep her hands off my lap on the ride home. She’s practically begging for me as I close the door. I turn around and she pushes herself into me. I hold her. Our lips touch, our breasts, our bulging stomachs.

Heather bites my neck as she undoes the buckle of my belt. I moan in satisfaction, first from her hot breath and then from the relief as my belly surges forward, free from the tight band around it. One of her hands caresses my food baby, her fingernails tickling the underside of its curve and slowly they descend to the button of my jeans, undoing it and forcing another sigh from me. The edges of her fingers drift below the hem of my pants and she strokes me.



“You were so hungry at breakfast… You stuffed yourself silly… Now it’s time for dessert.” A challenge.


Heather is beautiful; she’s soft and rounded, like a ripened fruit on a vine waiting to be plucked and bitten into for a mouth of sweet syrup. After our meals, her potbelly is taunt but never tough, her skin plush to the touch. I would love her no matter her form, but the way she feels against my body makes me lose myself in lustful bliss.

The sex is amazing, as it always has been. I’ve noticed something new recently though. Her hands cling to me more, or maybe, there’s more of me to be clung to. As she lays over me and moans, our stomachs touch, now both rounded and soft. The skin around my navel, pale and malleable, blushes pink. In the moment, it is nothing but ecstasy, a mix between a sexual release and a full stomach.

Heather drifts into sleep, but I sit up at the edge of the bed and look down. My breasts are larger. My thighs spread and press together over the silk sheets, like a pair of pillows tied together. On top of them, my belly pooches out into a noticeable curve, spilling over my tight panties. I press a finger against it and the new pudge gives way. I’m becoming more like Heather and I worry. She is beautiful. Will I be?

May

-

It was only when my “goal shorts” tore that it cemented what had happened to me. When Heather moved in with me, we’d gotten rid of my fitness scale. Since I’d quit the gym it was only taking up space and Heather was against the idea of weighing one’s self for their image. That meant I no longer could fret quantifiably about my body and with our nights in of sweatshirts and sleep shorts, I thought about fitting into things less and less.


My day job meant Heather did shopping and cooking, and she made meals like the way she’d want them: hearty and large. A month ago I’d find myself pushing to finish them out of love, but now I went for seconds every night. Heather made my heart full. I chased that feeling now in all aspects of life, especially my stomach.


Snacks and sweets too became vital part of my diet as it had been for Heather. Every night we watched a show, we’d also go through a bowl of “something salty and something sweet,” a reward after a long day’s work. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it though. Every moment I spent with her was fantastic and every bite I took made me happier.


That is, until, the sickening rip of my shorts awoke me to the new reality of my plumped body. I looked in the mirror, shell shocked at the work of the past 5 months. My arms stretched the sleeves of my tee shirt, jiggling as I tried to push the button of my shorts together. My breasts bulged from my bra, riding my shirt over my belly. A muffin top squeezed its way over the denim and my potbelly refused to be contained, bursting forth and tearing my waistband in twain.


I’d noticed issues with my wardrobe for a while now, but this generally happened only after a stuffing to the brim after a meal. I’d peel myself out of my clothes and Heather would laugh, giving me an elbow in the gut (I had a gut now?) and told me I looked uncomfortable in them so I must have eaten well. I laughed with her, it was only her way of joking, but today we hadn’t even had breakfast yet. That wasn’t true, I thought to myself, remembering the pastry I’d eaten an hour before, but it was only a small snack to get myself through before we made it to the pancake house. That justification seemed such an easy connection to make in the moment, but now I realized how strange that was to me. Or perhaps, it wasn’t strange anymore. This is who I was now, who I’d become being around Heather. Though I hadn’t seen it before, I was… chubby.

I took a handful of pale fat and watched in disbelief as the jiggle vibrated across my body, all the way up to a burgeoning new chin. I touched the ring of fat around my face and blushed. Something stirred in me. I was… embarrassed. Or perhaps excited. I don’t know how I felt. I knew how I looked though. I ate like Heather and I became like Heather: rounded and softened.

June

-

I’d met a friend at breakfast and we’d gone back to her place when we were finished. Funnily enough, I’d recommended the pecan pancakes to her, like Heather did for me. I had to help her finish though.



“I wasn’t going to say anything, but yes, I have noticed,” my friend said a bit sheepishly after I asked her if she thought my weight gain was strange. I wasn’t able to stop myself. Since my incident with the shorts, I’d only ballooned.

“Heather and I, we’re always eating out, or she’s always cooking something, and we have snacks in the house-“ I began, listing reasons or perhaps just excuses.



My friend stopped me. “You don’t have to justify yourself or anything. Lots of people put on weight in a relationship you know. It shows you’re comfortable.”

“What if I don’t want to be like this though? I can’t stop. I don’t know how.”


My friend paused. She looked me in the eye. “You seem so much happier. I haven’t seen you like this… well ever. Are you happy?”


“Yes,” I admitted. “I love Heather so much. I love the way we live, the way she treats me. I feel wonderful every day.” I bit my lip. “How do I know… how do I know she’s happy with my change?”

“You have to ask.”



I was in our room wearing a tee that had become a crop top that had become… something else. My belly curved out as I sweated on the bed. After coming home from breakfast, I was holding myself over until lunch with a bag of chocolates. I often kept something to eat nearby, only pausing when I slept.


I’d scrolled back to my first photos with Heather. She and I stood together, grinning at the camera like it was an old friend. She was short and plump, I tall and lean. I flipped forward a few weeks. Heather stayed about the same, but I’d lost the tone in my muscles. A few weeks more and you could see a pudgy midsection. Going to our most recent photo together… we were at breakfast, each with a stack of pancakes. My cheeks were full and rounded, though we hadn’t even started yet. My chins were rounded in a smile and my stomach looked bigger empty now than it had ever been full a year ago. I was taller than Heather, our faces and hair different, but now my body had grown to look like hers. The girl in the photo was heavy, someone who clearly indulged without restrained, and fit into work out clothes in a long time. Somehow, she was me.


“I’m home!” Heather called out. I sat up and looked down at my belly and frowned. I threw on the biggest hoodie I had, thankful that it still covered my widening stomach. I almost made it out the door before going back for another chocolate.