Search the Community

**This story is just something I started writing one day based on something that really happened to me, though I tried to keep it pretty gender neutral in the second person. This is the first story I've posted on here, so I'd appreciate any feedback.** You walk through the store, hunting for *the* thing. You don't know what it is yet, you aren't thinking that clearly, but you'll know it when you see it. And then, staring through the clear, frost-rimmed freezer door, you see it: the family-size lasagna. The bright "FAMILY SIZE" makes you squirm a little in the aisle and, as you put it in your cart, you get a small thrill from the thought that the other customers will think this is for a party or a family and not just you. On the way to the checkout, now that you've found the centerpiece, you notice other things and, as if in an electric haze, you automatically put them into your cart: chips, dip, soda, chocolate, candy, donuts, everything you've been denying yourself for months---everything you've caught yourself daydreaming about. The thought of finally being able to just *eat* tomorrow makes your mouth go dry and your chest tighten. 12:01 AM. It's finally tomorrow. Immediately, as though an alarm had gone off, you jump up and grab the chips and dip, your heart pounding with excitement. The taste immediately transports you back to childhood happiness and half the bag is gone before you fully realize it. You glance at the clock: 12:07 AM. You feel a now familiar tightening and warm electric tingling throughout your body. The only reason the chips aren't gone is because you don't want the pleasure of eating to end so soon. You stiffly stand, put the food away, and go to sleep... You wake up earlier than normal, excited for the long-awaited day to resume. You don't normally eat breakfast anymore because of intermittent fasting or some other bullshit, so just having breakfast feels almost extravagantly naughty. You start with the half box of waffles from the back of your freezer and they're gone in less time than they were in the toaster. Since you never eat breakfast, you have no other breakfast-specific foods, so you return to the chips from earlier and minutes later the bag is just crumbs that you tip into your mouth. It's been maybe 10 minutes, you realize as you look at your phone. You're eating faster out of excitement and body's normal safeguards are only slowly starting to alert you that you're full. As unwelcome as this news is, it gives you time to cook the lasagna, which takes almost an hour and a half(!) to cook. You see the bright "FAMILY SIZE" label again, and your excitement returns, suffusing your body with an almost manic buzzing energy that only grows the more that you think about it. After an eternity, the oven beeps, the lasagna is cooling, and you realize, vaguely shocked, that you're actually hungry again (this from the same person who got full the previous week from two small tacos). You take several servings' worth to start and begin eating, slowly at first because of the molten cheese. Then, only dimly aware of it, you speed up, taking larger bites, not even fully chewing, just trying to get as much food in your mouth as you can before your stomach signals your brain to ruin your fun. The more you eat, the heavier you feel, and the heavier you feel, the more your chest tightens as the tingling begins to take on a hardening insistence. You stop for a moment to catch your breath, your mouth lightly orange-red from grease. The brief pause is long enough for your body to send its signals, and you suddenly become aware of the tightness in the sides of your stomach as it presses lightly against your shirt. This only makes the thought of having just one more piece that much more enticing... After a brief nap and the last of the chips, dip, and soda, you realize that you didn't buy enough food. Going online to buy a pizza, your incipient gluttony seems to guide your hand as you add a large pizza, chicken wings, breadsticks, and a 2-liter soda to your cart. You suddenly become aware of your clothes: all of your nerves seem hyper sensitive and the idea of waiting for anything seems interminable. Luckily, you remember you bought donuts... Thirty-ish minutes later, the doorbell rings. Wiping donut crumbs off your shirt and pants, you hastily rearrange your clothes to hide your obvious excitement to get your food. As soon as the door closes, the urge to eat hits you almost physically. In your excitement, you sit the food partially on your naked lap (when did you have time to take your clothes off?) and time seems to jump: you open the wings box and then there's just a pile of bones and your own sticky fingers, you look over at the pizza and the half-empty box is stained with wing sauce and grease, you go to take a drink and the soda is lighter, only half full; the breadsticks seem to have disappeared. At this point, the eating is less frantic, but the *need* is as insistent than ever. You know you can't possibly finish all of this food, but the fun is just in the eating: feeling the greasy, buttery cheese, the slightly sweet and tangy tomato sauce, the texture of the crust as it passes over your tongue. It is all maddeningly arousing. You realize slowly, as though coming out of a tunnel, your heartbeat thundering in your ears, that Netflix is asking you if you're still watching, but you have no idea what was even on. Done with the pizza for now, you stand to get the last of the donuts and candy, and you feel something you haven't felt in months: the solid heaviness of satiation as everything drops down in your belly. Your belly is pushed out more than it has been in a long, long time, and even the thought of trying to suck it in causes pain to lance through you. It's slightly unpleasant as both you and your body become painfully aware of just how much you've eaten, but there is a warm, wet pleasure with the pain. You know that your next binge is going to come a whole lot sooner...

Chapter 1 It had always been easy for me to be in a good shape. A very good shape. Since high school I was a lot into sports, athletics and rowing built my body in a nice, sculpted way. I used to be even too thin before all the activity put on several pounds of muscles on me, bringing my weight from a scrawny 120 lbs of a teenager to the solid 180 – 190 lbs man when I was in college, with broad shoulders, big pectorals and especially a six pack that more than a few girls appreciated openly. I didn’t need to watch what I ate. My metabolism had always been fast, and all the sports made it even wilder. If it was easy for me to keep my shape, I can’t say the same for my girlfriends. All of them complained of my eating habits rubbing off on them. Not that I was eating junk food, quite the contrary. I was simply eating often and I was always offering to share whenever I was getting something as a snack, on top of sharing similar portions for me and my girlfriends at lunch and dinner.. it just looked unfair to give them less than what I was getting for myself. Of the three girlfriends I had in my 20s, two gained close to 15 pounds in the time they spent with me, and the last one went up nearly 30 pounds in just a couple of years. Not that I minded too much, I actually ended up finding it cute. It was nice to see them developing a bit of curves on their fit bodies, getting soft, even growing a bit of a potbelly for the last one. I liked to see her gradually building a muffin top where her flat stomach used to be. I started seeing it as a sign of being happy, relaxing into a new relationship, letting down the guard a bit. It was definitely a sign of spending a lot of time with me, and having an influence on them. Definitely a sign of my eating habits having an impact on their waistline. I remember the pouts of each of them the day they couldn’t button their favourite jeans anymore or when they stepped on the scales and saw a number bigger than what they were hoping for, or coming back home after meeting a friend that genuinely commented on how “more relaxed” they looked after a year of stable relationship, which was a way to say they could spot the “happy pounds”. Especially I remember appreciating the round belly roll my last girlfriend had put on. You tend not to notice things which are happening gradually in front of your eyes, or at least you underestimate them. But it struck me one night as we were at a party and she was sitting on a sofa sipping a gin tonic with a couple of old friends, they were still all in a pretty good shape except for one, whose belly was bulging a bit too much over her waistband and her love handles were doing the same on her sides. “Wow” I thought looking at her “that’s a chubby girl, verging to fat..” Only an instant later I realised I was watching my own girlfriend. Probably the fact that she was sitting next to her fit friends made her new pounds looks more noticeable than usual. But looking at her big smile and soft tummy made me feel good.. my girl was definitely happy and relaxed. In my 30s little had changed, a part from being probably 10 - 15 pounds lighter, which put me at 170 lbs. I guess I was still very active, just not hitting the gym as much as before. My body was more or less the same, very muscular and sculpted, just a bit smaller. Which wasn’t bad, some girls had said that I was even too muscular before. And I started dating a new girl, Eva, my current girlfriend. She was a couple of years older than me, and she also was pretty active and very lean. I was wondering if she would have put on some weight too. Not that I was giving it too much importance, it was just that coming from my previous experiences I was nearly expecting it to happen sooner or later. I really liked her, I was struck by her determination, if she wanted something she would have gotten it, but at the same time she was very sweet and even maternal. We went along so well since the beginning, and many of our hobbies were the same, like hiking, camping, sea swimming.. I could see her determination at work when I was offering to share a piece of cake or a cookie. If she wasn’t hungry there was no way she was going to say yes. But most of my girls had been like that at the beginning, just to let the guard down slowly and by the time they realised how much my habits had rubbed off on them, they had already the beginning of a muffing top and belly roll spilling over their trousers. Not that I wanting to make them chubby.. It was just a natural consequence of being around me, which I ended up enjoying. Eva seemed to hold better than my previous girlfriends. Six months into dating she still hadn’t given into my habits at all. She got used to them, just she didn’t let them rub on her. She would prepare me something to snack on when I got home from work, or at mid morning or mid afternoon on weekends, but she wouldn’t get any food herself. And at lunch our portions were different. I remembered one of my ex girlfriends one day we had some of her girlfriends around for dinner. I gave everybody the same portion of pasta as I had for me, my girlfriend smiled at the look of her friends, for them it was clearly too much to handle while my girlfriend started eating and made a little joke “you see, I got used to eat as much as him but he is a 6 ft guy, no wonder I have grown this since I met him.” As she patted the little pot belly she had indeed grown. She wasn’t proud of it, but she got quite used to it, and she knew there was no point trying to hide a 30 pounds gain from her friends.. Eva was different. When I fill her dish as much as mine she would just scoop some into my dish, saying it is too much for her. If there were leftovers I used to split them between me and my girlfriend but again Eva was different. Whenever we have leftovers she would come with the pot at the table and ask for my dish to fill it up again, but very rarely she would have any. I guess that comes with her very determined character. But she can be also very sweet and caring. Many times she would say she is going to cook me something nice for dinner, especially if she knows I have a busy day at work. It’s nice to feel looked after, and she is definitely good at that. She is also very social and she likes to have our friends around for dinner. That’s a good excuse to make an extra effort in the kitchen. She is a pretty good cook anyhow, so our friends are always very happy to come. But even with our friends around she still makes me feel special. She is obviously happy to see people enjoying her food, but if there is any second helping she always offers it to me first. I remember her so many times pointing at my empty dish and saying with a mixture of determination and affection something like “Come here honey, there is some more for you”. I still offer her to get some herself rather than thinking just of me but she usually says something like “oh don’t be silly, you need some more, I’m fine.” And she didn’t limit herself to the meals we were having together. She extended her effort to make me have a nice home cooked lunch every day at work too. Every morning she was handling me a lunch box with pasta, or rice, or lasagne, a bit of fruit and a couple of biscuits or a snack. It was nice to feel pampered in such a way, and also it was great to avoid the canteen food, as it was not nearly as good as Eva’s food. That was our routine, but even a year into it I still felt special to her eyes and I was still feeling very lucky to have her in my life and looking after me so fondly. It was nice to get back home and have my girl welcoming me. “How was your day at work honey? Did you enjoy your lunch.. oh you ate it all, good job boy I was afraid I gave you too much.” Her portions were generous indeed but I was happy to show appreciation for all the time and the energy she was spending to take care of me. “I hope you still have some room left, I was thinking of having an early dinner and then watch a movie in bed.. we still have a slice of my mum’s cake we could have it for dessert.. do you like the plan?” I did like the plan. It was not so uncommon for us to have a very relaxed evening like that, but I loved it, there was something so comforting in it, plus there was usually also some action involved, because our sex life was still in full swing, and lying in bed watching a movie usually involved some activity under the covers. Her mum was also a good cook, and her cakes were never disappointing. We got our dessert in bed that night, Eva brought it in on a plate with some cream and only one little fork. “Are we not sharing?” I asked. It was a pretty big slice, it could have been enough for the two of us but she said she was ok “I’ll just have a bite but the rest is all for you hon.”. Again, nothing new. When it was time to turn off the light Eva cuddled up around me “Did you like it?” she asked as she started caressing me slowly “Yes, it was delicious” I answered. She stopped and looked at me perplexed, then she started laughing gently “I was asking about the movie.. were you still thinking of my mum’s cake? Oh, you’re getting such a foodie hon..” She looked genuinely surprised but also amused by our little misunderstanding. I was feeling a bit embarrassed because on second thought it was obvious she was asking about the movie, and nobody had called me a foodie before. That started a period of gentle teasing, just from time to time, nothing major. It could have been her saying something like “Here it is honey, dinner is ready, hope it’s good enough for my foodie”. Or in bed she could say “Did you like it sweetie.. I mean “the movie, not the cake!””. One night she added “..and the cake? Was it better or worse than my mum’s one? Think carefully before you answer this time!” She was obviously playful and she wasn’t really expecting an answer. She was cuddling up around me and she continued “I’m joking, I’m not in a competition with my mum, I know she is super good at cooking..” she had started caressing my tummy at that point which felt quite sensitive, maybe because we were talking about food, maybe because I was still quite full from dinner and the slice of cake Eva baked that time. “Oh Eva, you are an amazing cook too, I can definitely say that!”. She stopped again to look at me and said “Oh you are so sweet.. thank you!” She started caressing me again, on my tummy but quickly she moved down and a big smile appeared on her face “I see you’re pretty happy” she said as she was obviously proud of what was happening in my pants. I smiled back and closed my eyes as she slowly eased down her lean body on myself. We both were very happy!

NUEVA GORDITA: CH 1 Austin, Texas, 1995 Graduation was the finish line as far as I was concerned. We were the type to smoke cigarettes at the south end of the courtyard. It wasn't technically allowed, whatever. I would pay LeeAnn Stevens $1.50 for math homework. High school was over now. It was all over. Now we could all be movie stars and fire fighters... right. Me? I was the girl who would wear a spaghetti strapped tube top and denim cutoffs. I was hot back then, so hot. I would get sent to the office and forced to wear a musty oversized sweatshirt. Funny thing, it might fit now, barely. I was hot shit back then, though. That's why I went out with Mike. That's why we fucked in his 300ZX. I gave him head at 80mph. After graduation, he said, "stay with me, Mari. We can make rent together. I love you." Stupid me jumped right on. While Mike started to make moves at the Jiffy Lube, I joined up with my older sister at Whataburger to pay my part. The first thing Tina told me was, "Don't touch this food, or you will get fat". I then glanced sheepishly at her flabby midsection. "What are you looking at?" said Tina, as she grabbed a generous handful of her stomach that was smaller last year. She was right, though, but I would learn that lesson the hard way. Come to think of it, all of the ladies in my family are fat, some obese even. I had seen pictures in the albums of mom when she was young in Puerto Rico. She was thin and fashionable. Real pretty. Now she must be well over 200 pounds. Never imagined I could be bigger than her. I never really thought about weight. Food was never a big deal for me. I ate to live, where these days it seems I live to eat. Real short, only 5' 2", I only weighed a buck fifteen my senior year of High school. Like everyone at Whataburger, I gained around 20 pounds in my first six months on the job. Instead of rail thin, I was a more average weight for my height after that. I remember that I didn't mind too much since some of it went to my tits. They had always been a tad small for my liking. Mike didn't seem to mind, only he poked my new little tummy one time and asked how I was liking my job. I didn't feel like I was eating more than normal. As far as coworkers went, they were are girls around my age or a little older, fellow burn outs. Our creepo boss favored hiring the more bodacious of each years graduating class. No boys allowed, though. There was Vanessa, a glamorous chicana who liked big hoop earrings and chewing gum. She was a couple inches taller, but probably had a good 40 or so pounds on me. Sassy as hell, she was born to work a drive through. Her fat ass caught most of the flak from the burgers and fries, but her puffy stomach never met a chocolate milkshake it couldn't call a friend. Kathy, a read headed white girl, was the one on the flat top, flipping those delicious greasy cow meat pancakes. She always served a up "few" up for herself on the side. Her sizeable paunch was testament to that. It seemed to be her lifelong goal to work her way quickly up the ladder of whataburger uniform sizes. At what I would have guessed around 250 pounds or so those days, it was sometimes a bit hard to get past her in the cramped kitchen. Last, but not least, (well she probably was the thinnest of us back then) Gloria, a petite ebony princess, always had the finest. She only worked part time, mostly for the free food it was beginning to seem, but her pussy-whipped manlet Dale would give in to her every whim. Even though, she would talk self-consciously about her upward trending weight, she couldn't knock the cheeseburger out of her own hand. The Whataburger on Guadalupe Street, Austin, Texas, February 1996. It had been a long first year at Whataburger. I found it dull and had continued to slowly pack on the pounds. I don't think I really noticed. The rampant overeating of my coworkers and immediate family normalized this behavior and I still felt thin compared to all those fatties. Tina snuck up behind me grabbed my new little love handles. "Oink, oink girl!." I wasn't thrilled with this, "knock it off you fat slut." Tina frowned, "ouch, too far sis!" I'll admit it was harsh of me to snap. What was this new feeling of shame coming over me. I couldn't be fat, not me. "Seriously, how much do you weigh now? I told you to stay away from this crap," quipped Tina as she snagged a chicken nugget out of a customers order before gulping it down. "It's none of your business! Go away! Can't you see I'm busy here?" (I wasn't particularly). "Fine, whatever, girl." Then my fatter sister shuffled away toward the freezer. Tina's prodding got me thinking though, especially when my greasy boss Mr. Rizzoti reminded me that I needed to get an updated physical if I wanted "your damn commie health insurance" (his words) I hadn't weighed myself in ages (subconscious dread much?), but now the scale had me dead in its sights.

[Author’s Note: This was originally posted via my DeviantArt page. Please consider checking out my page for more stories and fetish-related art! This story contains elements of WG, stuffing, and romance. This is a realistic, slow-burn story taking place over multiple parts with a focus on character and relationships, and a lighter focus on fetish subjects. This intro chapter is fairly light on the spicy, fetish-y bits, but there will be more to come in future parts. Read the description below for more details.] Chapter One - Like a Moth to a Flame “Will that be everything?” Des asked, the girl on the other side of the window endlessly distracted by her phone. She absentmindedly pulled out her card while he rolled his eyes, punching in the total and passing the machine over to her. Grabbing a cloth to wipe the sweat collecting on his face from the oily steam of the kitchen behind him, he let out a sigh as he stared out into the student building lobby and saw the endless line of drunken, hungry freshmen, each of them loud, impatient, and increasingly ornery while waiting for their late-night grub. The main pub on campus operated a side kitchen offering most of their menu up until midnight on weekdays, and Des closed down the house three nights a week. He had been working kitchens since high school and needed the money while trying to pay his way through his degree. The machine beeped its approval, and Des didn’t bother asking if the girl wanted her receipt. Ripping off the paper and grabbing the order chit, he spun back around to the deep friers behind, lowering another basket of fries. His coworker and best friend, Jay, was further back grabbing some buns from the walk-in, and their other coworker, Natalie, was busy pulling a steaming plate of melty, cheesy nachos from the oven. Des had no idea how just the three of them managed this volume night in and night out, but the heavy rock blaring over the kitchen speakers definitely kept them awake and swinging. “Here you go,” Des had returned with the girl’s fries, handing them over the counter window. “Next please—ah, shit…” The crash could be heard even over the thundering drum solo. “Come on man…” Des sighed even louder as he saw a guy struggling to stand back up from the floor, having fallen over and knocked over a table bearing an assortment of condiments, utensils, cups, and other supplies. “Hey Jay, can you look after the counter a sec? Some idiot made a mess in the lobby…” Jay gave him the thumbs up and Des hopped around the door out into the lobby to try and clean up the mess. Fighting through the crowd to the area of the mess was difficult enough, but beholding the full mess caused his shoulders to slump again. Shaking his head, he knelt down and began scooping up a bundle of straws into a garbage bag and started grabbing condiment bottles and throwing them up on to the table after lifting it back up again. As he bent down to grab one of the napkin dispensers, he noticed another pair of hands grabbing at some of the items also. Looking up, he saw a gorgeous girl, brunette with cute bangs, average height, wearing a baggy grey hoodie with rolled-up sleeves and some jeans. She had picked up a couple of trays and placed them back on the table, and knelt down again to collect some more items. “Hey, thanks for that,” Des smiled at her. She smiled back, soft and warm. “No worries,” her voice was soft and warm also. Surprisingly deeper and mature sounding despite her stature. It had a fullness to it unlike the squeakiness of most of the girls he saw come by the kitchen. “You get all kinds of idiots in here this time of night, you’d think they’d have the decency to help too, but…” she trailed off with a bit of a knowing laugh. “No kidding,” Des said. It took a few minutes but, before long, they had gotten most of the items sorted and replaced. He gave the table a quick wipe down before turning back to her again. “Thanks so much for your help! Have a good one!” “You too!” she said with another smile, looking right into his eyes. The interaction was brief, but something about her was magnetic and he found himself a bit smitten as he turned to head back to the kitchen. The trio in the kitchen banged out a couple dozen more orders and before they knew it, they were nearing closing time with just a few stragglers left in line. “I’ll be with you in just a moment!” Des called out to the front while he was turned to the side and quickly pulling out a few different appies out of the oven. “Take your time, I know it’s been a crazy night!” the laugh at the end was what set Des off as his eyes quickly turned in the direction of the familiar voice. Sure enough, the same girl that had helped him earlier was now waiting to order at the window. After plating and passing out the appy orders, Des moved back to the till, grabbing a towel to wipe the sour cream and salsa globs off his fingers. “Hey hey! Fancy seeing you again!” his eyes lit up as he looked into hers. God she was pretty. “And thanks again for earlier, meant a lot and reaaallly helped me out, especially all the little condiment packs.” “It was no problem at all,” she waved him off with a smile. “Honestly, I only recently just started coming over to this building for food and I can’t believe the shit you have to put up with, with these guys,” she gestured behind her to the still-raucous crowd of bordering-on-belligerent students in, on, and around the booths in the main lobby. “Ahhh, they’re not too bad…” Des said as he leaned his elbows onto the counter, trying to look like he was playing it cool. “We’re always this busy round this time. When you’ve got that late night craving, this is the best place on campus for some grub, whether it’s for study energy or to absorb some of that extra alcohol in the system. Know what you want yet? Otherwise, feel free to ask me any questions.” “Hmm…” her brows were still furrowed as she scanned the menu on the wall. “I kind of just wanted some tendies and fries but the pulled pork sandwich looked sooo good too… But I was kinda craving the fries also haha...” that laugh again, followed by flutters. “Why not both?” Des smiled, animatedly shrugging his upper body. “Nooo,” she pouted. “I’ve spent too much money on food lately, I need to watch myself. I’ll get the sandwich, please!” “Coming right up,” Des winked at her as he punched in her order and handed her the machine to pay while he spun back into the kitchen. He quickly dropped down another basket of fries while he set about making the sandwich. Fresh brioche buns. Juicy, saucy, fresh batch of pork and slaw to match. After plating up the sandwich, he also boxed up a small order of fries. “Here you go—oh, and these are on the house, as my way of thanks again for earlier,” he winked at her again as he passed over both items of food. “You didn’t have to do that!” she gasped in delight. “Thank you though! I’ll have to make sure to do an extra 20 on the treadmill in the morning though!” she giggled while playfully rubbing her middle through her baggy hoody. “Well, when you’re done you can swing by again for breakfast!” he called out as she picked up her things and began to turn away. “We open at 7:30 and our bacon breakfast sandwich is verry popular.” “Hmm… what about ‘Second Breakfast’?” she stuck out her tongue as she dragged her eyes down from his gaze towards his shirt, a simple black tee but with a Lord of the Rings meme featuring Sean Bean’s blown-up mug. “One does not simply have one breakfast on a weekend!” He teased back at her. She simply laughed as she turned and left. Des turned his attention to the next customer in line immediately after, but for the remainder of the night his mind couldn’t get off of that girl—the prettiest eyes, cheekbones, long and healthy-looking hair… Nevermind how fun and also considerate she obviously was—a little cheesy with the humor too, but endearingly so. Plus, the nerdy streak was a definite turn-on for him. He only wished he could have seen more of what she was working with underneath the layers of comfort clothes. Given the way her eyes looked over the feast he had handed her, she had no problem with her appetite, and probably had a few curves to match beneath that concealing hoodie. Now that was something he wanted to see. Oh well, what were really the chances that he would run into her again anyway? Still, always nice to have a good daydream. * * * “Alright everyone, welcome to Week Five, it is time to go over your term project,” the professor announced over the class of about eighty. Des groaned, hiding in the back of the lecture room, exhausted already from the grind of his class and work schedule. 8 AM classes were miserable—he still wasn’t sure why he made this life choice. Creative Writing was supposed to be a fun elective for him to try and learn some new skills and develop some motivation for the novel he had been chipping away at but kept shelving on the back burner. The professor droned on. Something about a short story, a few thousand words, some other loose guidelines, and they were being paired up with a classmate to do edits of each other’s drafts, with a whole marking scheme for an editing portion also. Great, Des thought, another group project that was going to suck the life and time out of him. “Destin Ashford?” the professor called out and Des snapped out of his distracted trance, raising his hand. The professor had been announcing pairings but he had gotten lost on one of his mobile gacha games. “And Asteria Williams, you’ll be together.” Des’ heart skipped a beat as he looked around for the other raised hand and he locked onto a familiar face down in the second row. Smiling back at him, he swore it was the same girl he saw a couple of weeks ago closer to the start of term. He waved back down and then they both put down their hands and the roll call continued. Everyone started packing up their bags once the professor finished calling out names as class was coming to an end. “Destin, right?” the girl had come up the steps of the aisle and tapped him on the shoulder as he crouched over his bag, stuffing in his laptop. “Hey, yea! You can call me Des for short, though. Asteria, was it?” he reached out to shake her hand. “Aster is fine also,” she smiled, taking his hand. She had soft skin and a firm, warm grip. “Fancy meeting you here, huh?” “Yea, I thought I remembered you wearing a med school hoodie when we ran into each other that one time, so I wouldn’t have figured to see you here in Creative Writing!” Des couldn’t believe his luck. “Ahah, yea, the hoodie belonged to my mom, actually,” she said. Today she was wearing a puffy winter jacket, not much better for his curious eye. Around 5’5 he reckoned, and from her face and general shape she seemed reasonably fit but not tiny. Possibly a current or former athlete. “I’m still a junior, plan is to get into med school. Biology major, for now anyways,” she laughed a bit nervously. “I’ve always had a bit of a creative streak and needed another elective, so figured I’d give this a shot!” “Oh no way, I’m taking it as an elective too!” Des said as he tried to lean back against the desk row and strike a cooler looking pose. “I’m in Economics right now, also in my junior year. Maybe trying to get into journalism school post grad though. I do some freelance media writing work on the side but creative writing is… different, you know? Scratches a different sort of itch, fulfills a different aspiration.” “Yes, it definitely does!” Aster laughed. “I guess you could say kind of as a hobby I’ve been poking away at this idea for a novel since high school and was hoping this class might give me some extra tips and inspiration to get really back at it.” “Oh that’s amazing!” Des said.. “Wow, I’m nervous already about you taking a look over mine when I’m finished! I’ve got a pro on my hands…” “Oh no, I don’t deserve that kind of flattery haha…” Aster blushed at the compliment. “Besides, you actually do real writing, for real money! I should be taking notes from you!” The two laughed and traded a bit more small-talk as the classroom emptied. They walked together through the corridors and back out into the main campus courtyard. “Well, I gotta head over to microbio now, but it was amazing meeting you!” She reached into her bag for her phone. “Should we exchange numbers to text and plan when to get together and work on our stories? Or email too, whichever!” “Text is fine,” Des said quickly as he also grabbed his phone. “Here, you can put your number in and I’ll shoot you a message to add me.” Aster punched in her name and number and then with a warm smile and short wave she was off. Des’ gaze lingered a bit as she walked away. How crazy was it that he would run into this girl like this again. She was smart, funny, seemed to genuinely care about her school and career goals, and they seemed to have some shared passions and aspirations around writing. Even the stress of having to work the closing shift that night couldn’t wipe the inner grin off his face as he made his way home. This was the most excited he had been for a long time. * * * “I prefer the interpretation of something more like, ‘falling star’, or ‘shooting star,’” Aster was staring out the window of their third floor study room, bathed in the warm sepia of the setting winter sun. The twinkle of starlight was peaking at the edge of night, a curtain slowly calling across the sky. “It’s not common, and it’s a very pretty name,” Des said, leaning back in his chair and looking as deeply at Aster as she was the sky. Their books and pens were splayed across the table, empty cups of coffee and snack wrappers pushed to the sides. What was supposed to be a quick session after their classes that day turned into an impromptu hangout as they lost themselves in conversation. “And yours?” Aster turned now to look at Des, her eyes twinkling like her namesake. “Pretty much exactly what you would think by looking at it,” Des shrugged and chuckled. “Guy’s name for ‘Destiny’, or ‘Fate’, or whatever you want to call it.” He was trying to laugh and play it off as silly, but Aster’s gaze remained serious and as she studied him, eyes locked and attentive. “I really like it,” she smiled. “Seems both of our parents were pretty creative… Maybe that sort of infused us, influenced us to be pursuing this—” she bounced the ball of her pen a few times. “Thanks, and yours too,” Des returned the smile. The two sat in silence for a minute or two, trying to return to their work for the dozenth time but failing, each lost in a cacophony of their own thoughts and distractions. “Tell me more about the novel you’re wanting to write,” Des asked, breaking the tension. Aster considered for a few moments, hesitant at first to respond, fidgeting in her seat while trying to find the words. “Well, it’s this kind of sci-fi thing, but set on this distant moon colony. There’s a major famine and drought taking place and this one metropolitan city is on the brink of an uprising against a megacorporation administering the region.” Des caught her eye briefly and she blushed, visibly nervous. “I know, it sounds trope-y and basic on the surface, but it’s going to be very character driven! I especially have these ideas really ingrained in my head, like specific scenes, that I really need to write down…” “So you’re extremely visual, then? With your imagination” Des asked. “Yes! It’s kind of like a movie in my head,” Aster laughed. “Do you visualize or imagine things like that also? When you write…?” “Yea, I do actually!” he laughed again also. The brief tension that had just moments ago hung in the room had evaporated and they launched into yet another side tangent, with Aster gushing about a few choice scenes. Her favorite character and the protagonist was a rugged pilot, Jarad, and there was plenty of imagery around the ashes and dust that coated the colony in storms. Des’ dreamy eyes were glazed over in awe but he drank in every word of his partner’s enthusiastic exposition. Their project long forgotten, they spoke and bonded about a list of topics like childhood friends catching up on missed lives. At some point, Des had gone out for some hot chocolate and a refill on snacks, and they moved their chat from the study desks over to the lounge seats in the library closer together. Night settled, yet the stars danced as their children shone alight. * * * The two of them simply could not stop talking. Texting before, between, even during classes… And when they weren’t glued to their phones they were usually found together at a café on campus or one of the pubs grabbing a drink to work on their project—which of course kept turning into excuses to just chat. Still, they really were diligent students both and were making some real progress just a couple of weeks since receiving their assignment. They found that later-evening was their peak productivity period and had taken a liking to this one late night coffee shop for when it was time to really get things done. “…And then Jarad makes the jump onto the wing of the fighter!” Aster swung the slice of banana loaf she was holding through the air, miming the action. A dusting of crumbs broke off and sprinkled over Des’ arm, resting on the table, both hands wrapped around his cup of coffee while he listened intently. “Oh, that’s going to be such a good way to end his arc,” Des said, eyes wide, piecing together where she was going. The two of them had been at the little downtown coffee shop for a couple of hours talking nonstop. Similar outings had become a regular occurrence the past several weeks. To Des’ surprise, Aster had actually also been tossing around ideas and notes for a story of her own for years. She was really into steampunk or similar vibes and most kinds of post-apocalyptic sci-fi—she amazed him with how much she also seemed to nerd out of over high-fantasy and sci-fi settings, especially anything lore-heavy. They had traded trivia questions and dove deep on plotlines and twists galore from their favorite books and movies, more than once getting into a playful argument over some ‘controversial’ hot takes. “What do you think you’re going to call it?” Des asked, taking another sip of his dark roast, black. She didn’t even blink. “Ashes of Astra IV” the loaf lingered in the air again for purposely over-dramatic effect and they both giggled. “But seriously, I think I’m going to go with that. I think the image fits well too into multiple themes including Jarad’s brother, what happened at the outpost, and of course the executions and the uprising.” “I like it, personally!” Des agreed. “I just wish I could come up with something iconic for Jarad, like you know when certain characters have these iconic lines during their defining, pivotal…” “...last, fatal, moments…?” Des threw in. “I mean, I think I plan to leave the ending a little open ended, for effect,” Aster finally scarfed down the last bite of the loaf. She had actually managed to plow through several rounds of snacks—mostly sugar loaded—since they had arrived, never mind two huge fraps. She was wearing a cute little leather jacket and simple white tee that hugged a generous chest and a bit of softness around her sides and middle. Her thighs were strong and well rounded if packed into her dark blue jeans. She had mentioned one night how she was a big time volleyball player in high school but mostly stuck to rec leagues through college so far, injuring her knee pretty badly the summer before freshman year. She definitely still showed the tone and strength, but witnessing her unapologetic appetite at each of their gatherings left no wonder for Des that she had to be close to picking up a later version of the freshman fifteen. Still, she carried and dressed it extremely well. “My life amounts to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean…” Des started to say. “…yet what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops?” Aster finished. “One of my favorite lines! Haha, of course you would know it!” The way her eyes lit up always sent butterflies through Des’ core. As they had been talking over time there seemed to constantly be these little moments of bonding—like some kind of fate. Shared childhood experiences, family vacation destinations, favorites of everything—food, plays, movies, seasons, superpowers—and so many more things. It was constantly surreal how much they had in common. “Cloud Atlas is quite the underrated story!” Des piped up. “Though, I have to admit, I’ve only read the book and never got around to seeing the movie.” “Oh, well you have to see the movie! We should watch it some time!” “Any excuses to enjoy some buttery popcorn!” Des agreed, his heart racing a little at the prospect of a movie date with Aster. He still had not been able to confirm if she was single, and so far had been way too shy to actually ask her out, though every day he felt himself building that confidence. Little comments like this definitely felt like signals, and made him think it would be soon. “Oh my god, yesss, triple layered!” Aster’s eye’s rolled back into her skull as she let out an exaggerated moan for effect. Her hands went to her middle, looking a bit overstuffed from their extended session. It seemed the more she ate, the better she wrote, and the more ideas seemed to come forth. It was truly a sight to behold, and Des found himself… liking it…? “Ohhh, haha, well I shouldn’t be surprised anymore, but that’s how I’ve always gotten it as well!” Des laughed, another random similarity, of course. “And it’s the worst because you’d always have to emphasize for the staff like, ‘no, extra extra butter, like the full three layers. Of course they’d always warn you that the butter might start dripping out the bottom there’s so much but… if I don’t need new pants after enjoying a proper bag like that, you’re just doing it wrong.” “oof—you’re telling me!” Des caught Aster subtly reaching down to unbutton her jeans—that was definitely hot to him. Huh… Aster got Des to read over a few more passages, as it was his turn to copy edit and give some feedback. To his surprise, however, the barista suddenly popped by to inform them the café was closing, much to his lament. Why did time seem to fly so fast when the two of them were together? “Ugh.. Where did the time go?” Aster spoke aloud their thoughts—of course she was thinking the same sentiments. “Hey! Want to swing by Mario’s on the way back to campus? I’m kind of craving their margherita…” Of course Des was game. He was not about to pass up an opportunity to spend more time with this wicked smart, passionate, and very attractive girl. Moreso, however, he still didn’t know why he found her appetite and curves so attractive and, academic that he was, both of his ‘heads’ agreed that more ‘research’ was in order. * * * It had snowed the night before, so much so that most of the roads were closed. But that wasn’t the reason she was so down, Des reasoned. She normally liked the snow, and they had even gone on a couple of walks on a trail behind the science building that led into the woods on the hill. Even more puzzling was the half-eaten bowl of take-out pasta from the cafeteria, and the unopened candy bar left beside her books. It was a comfy clothes kind of day, as Aster was cuddled inside of some baggy black sweats and a matching hoodie, her hood pulled half over her head as she slumped, almost in full fetal position, in the library sofa. “What’s wrong?” he finally was bold enough to ask. Aster’s eyes didn’t move from the straight stare, even as she lowered her phone and let out a sigh and drew in another deep breath. “My mom is coming to town in a couple of weeks, and my sister too…” Des studied her for a moment as silence lingered following her apparent reluctance to continue. “You don’t seem too excited, everything not good with you and your family?” “Not exactly, no,” she seemed distant, spacey, but had sat up a little in her chair, reaching for her coffee cup. The reluctance continued. “Well, I don’t want to push you or make you uncomfortable, but if you want a third, neutral party to vent to about anything, I’m here for you,” Des said, turning back to his notes, opening the floor while also trying to make Aster comfortable to just be. “Thanks, Des,” Aster broke her trance to look directly at Des for a moment, flashing a soft smile with sad brows. She began fiddling with her pen while staring vaguely out the window. The two sat in silence for several minutes. Des continued typing out some notes but his mind couldn’t move away from Aster. He had never seen her like this, her aura—if he could call it that—was way off, and he was genuinely a bit worried for her. But he elected not to say anything, not to bother her and to just give her space. The crinkling of wrappers drew his gaze up as he saw Aster finally reach for a peanut butter cup. Their eyes met and she flashed him a quick smile. “I feel like I say it a lot lately but… thanks, Des, really,” she said after swallowing the gooey treat. “I really appreciate just being able to ‘be’ around you, if that makes sense? Like we can often get together like this and we can chat for hours on end… BUT… We also have this ability to just hang in silence, and it’s not awkward at all. Like our presence for each other is calming. Soothing.” Des pushed aside his laptop, looking Aster straight in the eyes and flashing her a small smile back. “Thanks,” he said, reaching out for the other peanut butter cup. “The feeling is mutual. And seriously, though, if you need to chat or vent…” Aster laughed a little, sighing deeply. “Yea. And still, really appreciate it.” He turned back to his laptop again but this time her eyes lingered on him for longer. “Hey, do you want to go grab another coffee?” * * * | Hey, I’m at the corner by the market on Southgate Des looked around nervously, then back to his watch, then side-to-side again, scanning. He was cutting it real, real close. Thank god for Aster, who had offered to give him a lift downtown for the interview after his roommate left him hanging and had to cancel at the last minute. Barely a moment after he hit send on the text, a familiar blue corolla hatchback came into view driving up the lane. Stopped at the light, Des hurriedly opened the passenger door and hopped in, throwing his laptop bag in the back seat beside what looked like a fresh Krispy Kreme box. “Hey! Thanks again sooooo so much for giving me a lift, you really bailed me out of a tough spot!” Des threw his seatbelt on and Aster demonstrated her lead foot as they began speeding off of campus proper. “No worries! Any excuse to get away from my family for even just a little bit,” she was munching on a glazed donut in one hand while dodging between lanes to get around traffic with the other. “How did it go last night?” Des asked, concerned. Aster had filled him in that night at the library with loose details about her family dynamics, which were complicated, to say the least. Mom was not particularly motherly or helpful, and dad was fairly absent, and her younger sister was an unappreciative and spoiled-princess type who was largely raised by Aster growing up. They also had an older brother who lived abroad in Singapore doing some kind of tech work. Aster and he were very close growing up but he had grown a bit tired and distant from the family as a whole. “Just lots of talking about random, usual stuff. We didn’t get into anything yet really,” she sighed, shoving the last of the glazed treat into her mouth and sucking her thumb dry of the leftover sugar. Aster had also told Des how her mom and dad were going through a rough time and there was some serious talk of a divorce. “I’m sure she’s going to try and weaponize me next, after hooking in Cassie. That’s what she always does…” “I’m so sorry Aster, it’s a no-win kind of situation,” Des tried to be comforting. “Whatever happens, you know I’m here to chat still.” That same night, Des had opened up to Aster a bit about his upbringing too. Mom and dad split when he was 12, and he ended up moving away with mom, visiting Dad for stints over the holidays and other occasions throughout high school. The two had ended up spending another long night chatting, this time bonding over childhood traumas and family dramas, having some similar personalities and behaviors around the household. “Thanks Des, mean it,” Aster said, eyes still glued to road as she kept up her speed-demon routine with her lead foot and DGAF attitude. “Enough about me though, tell me about this new job!?” Des laughed. “Well, this is an interview, I don’t have it yet! Though the guy I was talking to at the rec center the other day made it sound like I’m a leading candidate. It’s a job as a beat writer for the local minor league baseball team!” “Oh, that’s awesome! I used to go to Raven’s games when I was little!” Aster gushed. “Oh crazy, you know a lot about baseball?” Des perked up. Why was he surprised at this point, though. “Haha yea! I used to play softball too when I was younger, before my parents made me choose between volleyball and softball because they couldn’t pay and also take me to both…” Aster trailed off. “Well if all goes well and I get the gig, you’re going to have to come out to see a game this summer!” Des said, his arms and hands waving through the air in the car excitedly. “Yes! That would be amazing!” Aster agreed. The two got to talking about a few other childhood sports and other activities it turned out they also had in common for the rest of the drive… You were in theater too? No way! … High school Year Book Club, we were so cool haha! … Oh, that’s awesome you were so involved! I used to volunteer for this thing called Relay for Life, a cancer fundraiser… “Des, I’m serious, you have to take one! I’m not letting you out until you take one,” Aster had put on her very-serious face, jamming the open donut box into Des’ face as he scrambled to remove his seatbelt as they pulled over at his stop. “You have to save me from at least one more of these. They were supposed to last until I got back, but I’ll probably stress-eat half of them on the way…” He knew by this point she wasn’t joking. Begrudgingly, he grabbed one from her as he scrambled out of the vehicle. As he leaned in to say thanks and goodbye, he caught one last glimpse of her in her tight teal shirt and black puffy winter vest. She had a cute, matching teal beanie on as well. She still looked athletic, and far from outright chubby, but more and more over time he could definitely notice the softening around her edges and little pooch and love handles forming at her sides. He still didn’t know why he was finding it so attractive, but softer Aster was very appealing to him. Who was he kidding though. Aster was very appealing to him. Extremely smart, mix of nerdy and sporty just like he was, thoughtful and deep but witty and good with banter. They had similar experiences growing up and so many shared irks and likes. That physically she was stunningly beautiful in his books was just the cherry on top. She wished him good luck and smiled with her eyes as she looked deep into his before he pushed the door shut and she drove off. Des felt the extra pep in his step as he made his way towards the building, gnawing at the donut in a hurry with every step. That’s it, he had decided—if all went well today, he was going to finally ask her out. Maybe take her down to the pub on campus for drinks to celebrate, and then make his move there. He shoved down the rest of the donut and strode inside, ready to take on the world.

This is the first part of a longer story in progress. A girl called Linda Ellikopa is caught in a national festival where the aim is to eat whatever and however much you want for seven weeks. The question is how she and her peers will handle this outright permissiveness. I won't post all seven parts of this story here, otherwise I'd just be hoarding forum-space. If you like this chapter, you can find the rest on my DA page -> https://www.deviantart.com/firewarrior121/gallery/ <- alongside similar stories of progressively poorer quality. Enjoy ~~Fat in Seven Weeks: Linda & The National Chub-up~~ ~Chapter 1~ by firewarrior121 / Some Tormented FA One morning a slender, a fit gymnast in Södrahem slipped off her aerobics rail by accident while performing a flip. Slamming to the ground on her back, she rolled around winded on the ground. When she could breathe again, she shouted, ‘Aaaagh… f@ck this,’ went home, flung opened the fridge and proceeded to consume every piece of food. She gave no second nor third thoughts about her figure. Thus began Södrahem’s bi-annual Tjockningfest of 2017; the big Seven Weeks in which the sovereign island-nation of Södrahem indulge in a very certain liberty; the freedom to eat as poorly and as much as you want for a ripping seven weeks. What happens each time makes the rest of the world cast a sidewise glance from afar. ((Some history to read only if you like: Here most people are either Swedish, Spanish, Australian or mixed race, ever since traders from Spain accidentally ran ashore on Södrahem’s south coast in 1799. They were looking for Western Australia to establish trade with Perth. Instead they found a new island. The short story is that the Spaniards were too slow to act. It had been a long time since the Spanish Empire in the 1500’s… One year later, Swedish merchants accidentally ashore as well, but they acted immediately, establishing a trade outpost and fortifying claims on the island. A short, four-year war, fought mostly with half-assed naval missions and angry letters, ended with the Spaniards getting tired and asking for citizenship from the Swedes instead. The island grew, went through some hiccups and eventually reached a standard of living where they got bored of insulting each other and formed a coalition in 1824. After some more hiccups, involving religious disagreements and a nine-month food scarcity, people were able to move on and learn to tolerate each other.)) Currently it was Monday morning, 8th of May, 2017 – not exactly beaming bright, but fresh enough to delight your spirits at the realization that today is the day you finally let go. Cafes and coffee shops were blistering with so much activity they struggled to maintain staffing, as customers came in to eat and drink everything they’ forbidden themselves until now; brain-fogging chocolates, tongue-numbing sugar treats, flavoured chips until you were too full, soft drink until you got a stomach ache, doughnuts until you felt sick, desserts until you grew round. It was not uncommon to wake one morning and find yourself carrying a ** belly. Sometimes even more than that. While Tjockningfest only begun in 1825 as a brief time of indulgence in resistance to government-enforced rations, since then the economy had slowly blossomed. Now in 2017, Tjockningfest had bloomed into an entire holiday season of gluttony– a cultural event just as important as Christmas or Easter. So, if you put on a bit of weight, then so what. That’s the whole cultural fun of it. Tjockningfest ends, you shed the weight, best you can, and move on. But we understand that, for some reason, Linda Ellikopa could never manage to do this. At nineteen years of age, this was her second Tjockning festival since turning seventeen, the age you could participate. While everyone she knew took Seven Weeks to eat whatever their salivating tongues wriggled towards, seventeen-year-old Linda seemed to resent Tjockningfest with the same attitude of an adolescent who turns Christmas into an excuse to criticize “society, man”. For two embattled years, she’d held off the Great National Indulgence, seeing it as nothing but decadence. This year, it looked like things were going to be no different. ‘Aw, come on Lindy-girl,’ her high school friends would plead. ‘Why does it have to be all about limits, here? Smash those limits! Live a little! You’ve only got seven weeks.’ Sure, they’d say that, but after a few weeks they’d appear at the graduation ceremony and Linda would find herself peering at their tummies, wondering if that was a little spill of belly roll she could see there. Then a week later at the graduation party, she’d be finding ways to ignore the way her friends’ hips seemed to be puffed up more than she remembered, their upper thighs looking thicker and their waists swollen. So Linda would eat as strictly as if she were her own prison guard, preferring instead to watch with a contemptuous eye as everyone joked, laughed and ate more than their bodies could cope with. Linda wasn’t the only one. You could say she was part of the ‘prissies’; a minority of people who appeared to prefer breaking out in a sweat over restricting their food intake rather than let go for a few weeks. But we also understand that Linda behaved this way to, among other reasons, keep her head down… She’d been shunted into this corner of obedience by her parents who, crucially, were not Södrahemish. Maria and Terry Ellikoppa moved to Södrahem at the respective ages of 29 and 27– only a year before Linda was born. Mr and Mrs Ellikoppa were outsiders; they were not Swedes, nor were they Spanish. Instead they’d come straight from Britain, nearly as Anglo as they come except for Terry’s Greek mother. So this curious cultural “festival”, in which the whole Island Nation of Södrahem spent seven weeks indulging in as much food as possible until, lo-and-behold, muffin tops peeked out from under shirts, was utterly questionable. But it’s not as if the ordeal was entirely insane to Mr Terry Ellikoppa. He understood it fine, at a grassroots level; the need to just let go once in awhile. It was just… disappointing. A neglectful state of affairs. Hundreds of thousands of people, all failing to say “no” to themselves. A deliberate surrendering of self control. For all anyone knew, that same mentality could leak into other things, other behaviors best left repressed, until anything might be excused. If you weren’t your own master, then who would be? All this fright he felt… it found gravity, it found a center, in his daughter. He looked at her young from sleeping and knew this was where she’d grow up. In a place which allows seven weeks of the year to ignore your better sensibilities. Where would she find her self control if not in that very festival season? He never told her this directly, just gave her subtle cues; silent but obvious silences to any mention of Tjockningfest. At the age of seventeen, Linda became aware of the full scope of the power dynamic at play here, and found herself settling into a daughterly complacency. She’d never indulge in the Tjockningfest. Well, yes, her father did have to apply his paternal pressure, but… After all, it’s never been an evolutionarily natural decision to deny to your impulses. Then again, most parenting is exactly that isn’t it: to force behaviours into shape. *** The year’s Tjockningfestival came, went, and faded away to show up in the nation’s collective memory like a fingerprint on setting clay. While Linda stayed trim, she watched with something between disgust and a kind of envy she wasn’t ready to admit to herself as everyone tore down their barriers, bulldozed through their inhibitions and had fun. Why couldn’t she let go like that? They looked so happy for those seven weeks, eating whatever they wanted to. Some of them came out of Tjockningfest sporting little muffintops and potbellies, but no one cared. Some lost them, some didn’t. Some even let their muffintops keep expanding. Some grew fast, some grew slow. Nobody seemed to worry so much. Except for the prissies, who could barely hide their sneers every time they saw someone still carrying around whatever weight they’d added to their bodies in the last two months. Some prissies were vocal enough to begin blogs, or write in a letter to the editor making an argument that Tjockningfest was unhealthy and morally degraded. Being only a recent voice, with the advent of concern for the ethics of fast food, the prissies had never gained that much attention. People pretended they didn’t exist. If anyone acknowledged what they said at all, it was only by giving a solemn nod of the head, and ‘Oh’ and an ‘Ah’– before shrugging their ‘do I care?’ shoulders and getting on with life. Linda was never so vocal. It was her father who was most against the idea. Her mother let it happen, but especially at family gatherings, you’d hear him passionately discussing his point of view with relatives. Most of them– aunts, uncles, cousins, gandparents –saw him in the same light as a climate change denier and merely acted like they agreed with his opinions. Linda wasn’t blind to this dynamic. She wished he’d either shut up, or they’d stop pretending to agree and actually argue with him. Yet his views still had their effect on her. She’d taken them on, and they stuck. All until she turned twenty. By March of the next year, 2018, now twenty years old, she’d begun university in Södrahem’s capital city of Hestia. This sent her packing 800 kilometers east of home, where she bunked down in student accommodation in the city center, paying her way through the year by working shifts behind a coffee machine at a hardware store. Since Soderhem’s trade workforce was so large at the time, hardware stores were bustling hubs of industry, hi-visibility shirts seething throughout the area. The moment Linda’s barista shift began, it was 100% go-time until she finished, breaks rarely afforded. The stress came swift. At first it was only all the anxiety of a new job, but once she’d learned to operate on her own, the expectations to perform came crashing down on her head, and it was suddenly her fault if anything went wrong. And when things went wrong, the stares she got from angry men up to three times her age felt even more threatening than ever, as if the mere stare of their weathered eyes, unable to stop lingering around her chest, would destroy her in a way no act of sexual assault ever could. As soon as the second semester of university began in June, the work piled up so high it bolstered the severity of her stress as if it had been wedged under her barista stress somehow. Soon enough she found out her hips pushing out into miniature lovehandles when she leaned to the side. This scared the sh1t out of her so bad she starved herself for a month. When she thought about it, she realised that since being away from home, she was out from under her father’s watch, meaning she’d begun to behave the way she felt she needed. And that involved eating whatever steamed in the glass display cases beside the barista machine– pastries, sandwiches, cakes –all at a worker’s discount. But, as everything demanded her attention, she forgot about it and stopped coming down so hard on herself. Her father and mother weren’t here to mold her. Then her boss quit, moved onto another job somewhere overseas, and a new boss appeared. Jennifer was her name, as far as Linda was concerned, she was an angel in comparison. The filthy stress left. She began to feel like an uncaged bird, and nearly went binge-eating again and had to keep stopping herself. By the next year, 2019, she was twenty-one and confident enough to have said goodbye to most of her first-year anxieties. She was near omniscient about where everything was around the university campus, understood the scaffolding of her freedoms, knew what was expected of her, where, how and when. The same went for her shifts at the store. Thing is; at twenty-one, she was also becoming complacent. That is, complacent to the idea that her life was probably going nowhere soon. After the first-year uni student gloss wore off, it became pretty clear to her and her new friends that job prospects have never been that good for post graduates. So instead they splashed their spare money around at hipster cafes and pubs, having conversations and telling stories over cheap lattes and beer. Then Tjockningfest came around again. It would fall on Wednesday, 8th of May, 2019. The month had kicked off with mass anticipation– big food companies stirring up the population to guarantee maximum sales, TV adverts, radio talks, supermarkets displaying signs and banners like billowing flags… People did various things to prepare. One was to fast. This seemed like a delivery of genius to Linda. One sunny midday during a break between lectures, she recommended fasting to her friend Jaimie Bejanaro; an aspiring poet with untapped genius and a poverty of ambition, despite so much spare time and intelligence. ‘Maybe you should fast, just to be sure you don’t over do it?’ Linda suggested. The reaction she got was a, ‘What, are you kidding me?’ from Jaimie, as she blew on a strand of mousey-brown hair tickling her nose. ‘Don’t worry about it so much. Stop clinging. Just let go. You’ll probably find what you were holding onto so bad was never there? It was all fake?’ Linda didn’t want to hear this. The way Jaimie spoke often struck chords of sense, but sometimes it was a sense Linda turned away from. They walked across the city street choked with traffic, a few blocks from where they’d be meeting the rest of the gang. Linda cast her hazel eyes to the ground, watching her canvas-topped shoes scuff the pavement as they walked. She decided she wantd to drop the subject. ‘Nyeh. I guess.’ But Jaimie cast a sidewise glance. ‘What, so you’re really going to just… fast for the entire festival?’ They came up to a bike stand and waited there, watching the oncoming foot traffic for the familiar faces of friends. In a daydream, Linda looked up, and saw a sky mostly obscured by the flanks of dominant corporate towers. ‘It’s not exactly great to have those kinds of eating habits, you know.’ Jaimie waited, staring at Linda, waiting for her to return the gaze. ‘Exactly,’ Linda said, thinking Jaimie meant the habits of overeating. ‘No. Lindy, I mean *fasting*. It’s not a good habit.’ ‘What? Why?’ But before Jaimie could explain, the rest of the uni gang appeared ahead. Baily, a stout little chick with pigtails and pride in being one of the top 10% best Genji players in the world was walking hand-in-hand with Travis, an absolute joker, one of the tallest dudes around, looking slightly stoned. Crimson-haired Patricia, the group bitch was gossipping with Billy, making indignant gestures and no doubt telling a story in which she is whining about someone’s bad glance. There was Theo, the silent-but-wise German exchange student who ironically does not drink, politely tolerating the ramblings of Sebastien, who despite the fact that he can have a good time, believes it’s mathematically certain we all live inside a simulation. Gathering around beers on a table outside Den Gröna Ankan, discussion found itself coming round to Tjockningfest, now only eight days away. ‘So who’s ready for it?’ asked Patricia. Theo nodded and put his hand up. ‘Ja.’ ‘Actually,’ Travis scratched his head, ‘this is going to be the first year I’ve done it.’ ‘Us both,’ added Baily, with a nudge in his side and a smile all affectionate-like. ‘I am,’ Jaimie put in. ‘Here,’ Billy said with a pat of his insubstantial stomach, as if saying farewell to it while he still could. Patricia snorted. ‘Then again, who ever isn’t?’ Amidst shrugs, Jaimie glanced at Linda, but said nothing. Nobody thought to ask the oddly silent girl about her plans. That was fine– she wasn’t about to tell. Hours later only Patricia, Jaimie left and Linda were left. Patricia went off to the girl’s room for a moment, leaving the other two alone. Linda caught Jaimie looking at her as if trying to decide on something. ‘You seriously don’t want to do Tjockningfest, do you?’ she asked. Pressing her lips into a straight line, Linda shrugged. For all the ambiguity in her gesture, she clearly meant “no”. ‘Well if you didn’t resemble such an anglo version of Gal Gadot every day, would you feel better doing Tjockningfest like the rest of us?’ Linda narrowed her eyes. ‘What are you…?’ ‘I’m saying, you sound like you’re worried you’ll lose your figure or something.’ ‘Well–’ ‘Well yeah– you are.’ Jaimie watched her with some kinda smirk of understanding. Though exactly what she understood, Linda had only half an idea. Something about the look struck her the wrong way. ‘Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be worried!’ Jaimie flinched and shrugged. ‘Can you, like, give me any reason why you should be averse to it? Any reason at all, that I won’t just roll my eyes at?’ She had an answer, but it turned sour just as she was about to say it. Now she had to think. Well… that one gave her pause. Looking aside, brows faintly pressed, she sorted through all her reasons and realised that, no, for now she couldn’t say anything that wouldn’t make Jaimie roll her eyes. Was that her fault? Or was it Jaimie’s? Unable to decide, she kept quiet. _________ Week One _________ Too bad for her then, that the 8th of May ticked over while she slept– a fat load of nothing she could do about that. When she woke late morning, she emerged into the living room wearing her silk nightgown to find her roommates already up and watching TV. It was as bad as Christmas; just about every advert was about food. Being the start of Tjockningfest, it was a public holiday, meaning nobody had to go to work. Linda had to attend uni later, but that was all. At the dinner table, which stood across from the two window-facing lounges in the living area, Milo Bergstron sat spooning sugar-loaded cereal into her mouth. ‘Where’s Prairie?’ Linda asked. ‘Getting more food.’ Milo beckoned Linda to sit. ‘Come on, eat up, Tjockningfest is today.’ ‘I’m not hungry.’ Through a mouthful; ‘Yes you are. Come on.’ Standing awkward in her nightgown, she felt the impulse to draw it tighter around herself. But she sat down instead, pretending to be part of the fun. Just as she took a seat at the far end of the table, with the morning light from the window at her back, Sofia Carria, a two-hundred and ninety pound cover model with an Instagram following to match that of Tess Holliday, came in through the front door carrying multiple shopping bags. ‘Girls I’ve got goodies!’ she announced as she waddled out from hallway. She beelined for the kitchen, from where could be heard the sounds of unloaded groceries. Feeling vaguely alienated, Linda watched in silence as Milo scoffed her breakfast; her pale hair held up in a bun, dainty Scandinavian eyebrows working as she spooned more food into her mouth than she could chew. Emerging from the kitchen was Prairie Gardner, a blonde, curtain-fringed homecoming queen with an impressively wide grin and gleeful blue eyes that seemed always to shine with erotic energy. In her arms was a fondue fountain. She brought it to the table, set it down and switched it on. Milo straightened her petite body at the sight and gave Prairie a vigorous thumbs-up. ‘Good idea,’ through a mouthful, and she loaded another spoonful of sugar onto her already unhealthy cereal. ‘Damn.’ Prairie admired her fondue. ‘Feel like I’ve put on a few just looking at it.’ Linda stayed poker-faced as she imagined the implications of the remark– suddenly extra width in Prairie’s hips, the pressure of her butt more visible against the rear of her jeans, maybe her belly sticking forward a bit, breasts gaining a size. ‘Jeez Linda,’ Sofia called, coming out of the kitchen with some blocks of chocolate.She cracked the blocks into lines and arranged them beside the fondue with bowls of strawberries, marshmallows and banana slices. ‘Stop looking so glum. What’s the deal?’ ‘Huh? Nothing.’ ‘You sure?’ Sofia was giving her a certain look. They were all watching her now, concern glaring from their eyes. She imagined them thinking *What’s the matter with Linda? She sad? She anxious? Bad sleep?* ‘No I’m fine,’ she said. ‘What’s going on here, do I look sick or something?’ Milo, with her spoon held up ready to pop into her mouth, said, ‘You just seem a bit off?’ Linda said nothing. They seemed to get it. No more questions were asked. Prairie took a seat before her fondue tower like some shrine, her head tilted to one side, knee bobbing with delight. While Milo spooned yet more sugary cereal into her mouth and kept an eye on the news– talking heads across the room yabbering about local news on low volume. Sofia visited the kitchen to grab some drinks. When she came back they started to eat. Sometime later Linda still hadn’t touched a thing, and now Sofia was standing behind a chair leaning with her hand atop its back, casting glances at her. Prairie was too bodily involved in consuming her fondue to realise. But Milo perceived the dynamic at play. Taking a line of chocolate, she extending her hand across the table. ‘Have some.’ Linda smiled, shook her head. Milo’s small, fair face was deadly blank. ‘Why not…’ ‘Dunno,’ Linda shrugged. ‘Don’t feel like it.’ ‘Surely you do, though. It’s Tjockningfest.’ Linda was getting irritated with all this nagging. ‘No. It’s okay.’ ‘Why not?’ Giving in at the last, Linda went to open her mouth. She wanted to explain herself. But she couldn’t quite do it. ‘I just, I don’t like… I’m just not… I don’t wanna take any risks. That’s all there is to it.’ She looked away to the TV. ‘Risks?’ Sofia giggled. ‘Ah, come on now.’ She put a hand on one of her mammoth hips, giving Linda a skeptical look. ‘What, you’re afraid you’ll put on a few? You’ve got a lo-o-ong way to go before you get anywhere near this.’ Just for emphasis, Sofia did a little hip-twisting dance to show off her over-exaggerated figure, hands rising and falling down her torso, hips and thighs. There was no rebuttal Linda could offer to this. Sofia was easily around three hundred pounds. Sometimes you would hear her breathing when she made any repetitive movements. Strange thing is when you consider she used to be a bulimic anorexic. Whatever body used to be underneath had been consumed in huge globs of fat. Her body parts lunged and wobbled even as she side stepped from one side of the kitchen to the other. Strange thing was, none of her enormous rolls looked sloppy. It was as if they wanted to forget gravity, roaming outwards in smooth, exaggerated shapes of bulbousness. You’d think that underneath all that extra weight was muscle. But all she had to carry around her burden with was the bones and muscles of her once-anorexic frame. ‘Trust me; you’ll be fine.’ Sofia shrugged. ‘You have nothing to worry about.’ Last time Linda checked, her own weight had never exceeded a hundred and twenty-one pounds. ‘Fine,’ she said, slow and careful, after a long time of staring out the window and hoping the topic went away. ‘But I’ll… I’m only having a little bit, okay?’ … The problem, as we understand, is that “a little bit” turned into “heaps”, and left Linda with a heavy discomfort in her stomach. It seemed like there was no way of getting rid of it. The only way to banish the feeling was by letting go of her stomach muscles. All that did– unknown to her since she never once looked down at herself –was release her belly into the balloonish shape it’d wanted to take all this time. Now she stood up and went about her day with the curious sensation of being led everywhere by her tummy. In fact she was. But forget it. She paid no attention. Why? Only because, that night, she devised what she thought was a good plan. Truth was, it was never going to work. We understand this. But it was all she had, and so she believed in it: Since it was Tjockningfest, people would expect her to eat *at least* something. There was nothing she could do about that. So she was going to participate. At the same time, though, she was going to keep a strict eye on her body, and the moment she caught any change in her form, she was going to pull the pin and quit. If anyone asked, she would cite “health concerns” given to her by her doctor. Linda had no doctor. All she had was a complex about eating. *** So Linda let herself be dragged into the Seven Weeks of Tjockningfest, more or less happy to have junk food here and there. Never anything too severe. The moment her body showed any signs, she was out. Problem is, things become relative. Once everyone around you starts consuming so much food that doctors prescribe laxatives and other medicines to alleviate discomfort… when an entire nation’s population overeats every single day, binging until their tummies ache… commuting home from work still bulging from their workplace’s Evening Feast party– it’s fatally easy to find yourself doing the same thing without realising it. You can overeat to a moderate degree, and still be “eating less than everyone else”. Linda wasn’t the first to fall into this trap of relativity. Nor will she be the last. But as we’ll understand, Linda had never consumed so much food per day in her life as she did first week of Tjockningfest. It was too easy to feel relatively safe. While everybody else, each stranger she met, was going about with distended guts, eating their fifth pizza for the day, Linda was only ever on her second. Doesn’t seem like so much in comparison. But when it comes to the scientific realm, eating two pizzas injects more calories in your system then you need. By that stage, you’ve well and truly lost. Linda was never going to admit this to herself. Even as she got ready for uni on Friday morning– after a breakfast of syrupy pancakes, strawberries and cream, then some danish rolls for good measure, causing her stomach to balloon out so bad she could only suck it back into a slight mound –she knew it was only bloating. It would eventually vanish. So long as nobody saw her like this, things were gonna be okay. * Sunday rolled around, marking the end of inaugural week. A celebration was held every Sunday of Tjockningfest, each event based loosely on the types of foods. The event calendar pinned to the nation’s fridges, walls and doors read something like; Week 1: Entree Fest Week 2: Appetizer Fest Week 3: Bakery Fest Week 4: Mains Fest Week 5: Savoury Fest Week 6: Sweets Fest Week 7: Final Fest These happened across multiple venues; theatres, ballrooms, universities, park lawns– just about any public space big enough to cater for crowds of hungry people. Corporation executives felt their groins warming up over the prospect, just secretly, even to themselves. They sent legions of oversized trucks loaded with the most binge-worthy products you could imagine, selling them at discounts low enough to bring wallets out of pockets, but high enough to generate inequality-boosting amounts of profit. Someone was always sponsoring the event, making massive dollars off the hunched backs of underpaid workers and the expanding bellies of Södrahem’s population. Not wanting to look like such a loser, Linda agreed to go along with Jaimie and the others to a local Entree Fest. Tonight’s event was more or less on the roam. Since so many venues were going at once, different crowds found themselves bleeding into one another. Wandering around a park venue east of the city center and browsing all the local cuisine, it didn’t take long before Linda and Jaimie became disoriented in the general throng. By the time night fell, they ended up in some dock-side bar with a view over the ocean, the place crammed with loud music, indigo lights, alcohol and calorie-rich “entree” foods, which were more like junk food disguised as entree dishes wrapped in plastic– some of which had shamefully found its way into the sea, later to clog the propeller of some poor old man’s yacht next morning. Mousy as Jaimie’s hair was, soft and inoffensive, there was no stopping her opportunism for reckless living. Already woozy on food, the moment she strolled in, she was buying up beers and seeing each pint through to the end. Linda could only watch as more drinks were brought to their table, each time feeling more disconnected from herself. She left like she’d woken up all of a sudden, but could not rise from her dream, leaving her mired in a world between worlds As the night drew deeper beyond midnight, a general humidity gathered along the bayside and instilled a note of serenity. The mobs began to calm, yelled a little softer, slowed their drinking, were more content simply to chat and laugh with each other while they watched the void-black sea twinkle with city light. High in sky fireworks bloomed in the shape of chicken legs, dim sims, quiches, chocolate treats and other confectionery. Linda’s upturned eyes took on a glossy, reflective shine, painting upon the orbs of her bronze eyes what bloomed above her. All this was giving her heavy vacation vibes. You know that feeling you get when you’re far away from home, someplace else– who cares where –except for the one, undeniable fact that you’ve left all the shackles of your consequences behind you. Your actions don’t matter here. You’re just a pair of eyes on legs, going here and there, absorbing experiences like some infinite sponge. Before Linda knew it, she was at the bar, ordering tall beer and a platter of thick black brownies just because she felt so free, her tongue salivating, and an emptiness ballooning in her stomach as if to make space for the treasures it sought. Returning to their outdoor spot, a table with four stools by the rails looking over the bay, she found a newcomer sitting in a spare chair. She was chatting and laughing with Jaimie, who looked up as Linda took her seat. They saw the beers and brownies. ‘Ho- ho,’ came Jaimie, ‘What you got!’ Then, turning to the newcomer, said, ‘I want you to meet Valeria, my cousin,’ gesturing to a Spanish girl about their age with a reserved air about her, shadowy eyes and even darker hair, half on the plumper side. Linda tried being less overt about looking Valeria up and down, but why as it so hard?– the girl hid inside a green parka and dark leggings. Well fitting, but unable to make her somewhat thick frame appear slender, not by any measure. Judging by the width of her torso, and the set of her legs, her thighs must have been touching, although she was nowhere near so big as to be the size of Sofia, Linda’s roommate. Valeria was only what you’d call moderately porky. Thick boned. ‘She’s half cousin, but still cousin,’ a tipsy Jaimie went on, swaying with pride. ‘She did last year’s Tjockningfest. Guess what, put forty pounds on from it.’ Valeria seemed to find this funny, though she tried to cover her smile and shut her mouth, but only snorted. ‘Well?’ Jaimie provoked. ‘You did, didn’t you?’ With smiling eyes, Valeria gave an aloof sort of shrug. ‘Eh… e-e-eh… *maybe*?’ A memory of faint worry stabbed Linda through the chest. But it didn’t live for long– she killed the worry, because she wasn’t going to let herself become like Valeria. Not that she was making judgements or anything… The hour turned along on its multi-directional wheels and soon enough, amidst chatting, laughter and sh1t-talking, platters and platters of food were nibbled at. They took turns to bring the food to the table. Each time Linda stood up for hers, she could feel the hug of gravity that little bit more until, returning with a batch of spiced potato fritters, she leaned over the table only to feel the edge barge into the front of her stomach. ‘Last year I watched dad put on, like, twenty,’ Valeria was saying to Jaimie. Before Linda sat down she hoisted her jeans back up her waist. It came to bite her– she scooched up onto her stool, only to find her belt going for a strangehold around her gut. ‘Agh.’ Noticing the way Linda sat back and tugged her belt so suddenly, Valeria and Jaimie stopped to look. Feeling a prickly warmth come into her cheeks, Linda tried to suck in, but she flushed and touched her mouth– a sudden bubble of nausea was threatening to bubble up her throat. We understand that Linda had never been this full. She was getting so little air into her lungs she was beginning to wonder if this is what asthma felt like. Which was the moment Valeria, broke out into a bit of laughter, having experience with Tjockningfest already. Jaimie caught on too, joining with a chuckle of her own. ‘What were you trying to do that for?’ nodding at Linda’s bloated midsection. ‘Look around. Everybody’s got what you’ve got.’ ‘Yeah, look at me,’ added Valeria. Linda watched with an unsure face and an unsettled gut feeling as Jaimie’s cousin leaned back in her stool and rubbed her own tummy– a mound obvious even under all the padding of clothes. Jaimie added her own two cents, or pounds, depending if she’d gained anything already, leaning back with a smirk to massage her own bloated belly. Then, admiring its size, she said, ‘I wonder what the damage is,’ before lifting her shirt to show a small pair of love handles Linda never knew her friend possessed. The sight stunned her. She felt invasive, and invaded at the same time. She didn’t ask to see this. She hated the way her friend’s raw, naked little spills of flesh looked. She wanted to eliminate then, bite them off and discard them. She hated the way she wanted to put her mouth around them in the first place– the way they’d squeeze and slop under her lips and her finger tips. Seeing it made Jaimie and Valeria laugh. The only reason Linda did as well was to camouflage her residual shock, but she did it too late. The recoil had lasted a moment too long. Then Valeria got the idea to copy Jaimie. Unzipping her parka, they saw a purple sweater full as a billowing sail. Underneath was a white tank top. She lifted this last piece. So this is was what a bloated stomach looked like after already becoming soft. Valeria displayed to them an olive-skinned, chub-coated belly with a gaping navel like an eye, and a fraction of hip-chub that there was likely more of peeking out between the sides of her gut and the limits of her waistband. Linda writhed. She wanted to burn it. There was cold fire, fear or something else, in the pit of her pelvis. Suddenly Linda had to endure a brief, horrible vision of dough-textured fat oozing forth from the center of her body, each lump competing for space until they had to rub against each other in uncontrollable rolls of flesh. Valeria covered herself back up. With the rite of initiation over, they looked to Linda, whose heart turned to cement. ‘Your turn,’ Jaimie said. Her heart tried to break its freeze. ‘Oh, but I–’ Jaimie rolled her eyes so far into the back of her head she had to bend over backwards to follow their path. ‘God. Again with these ideas about limits. Don’t make me do this for you. I will intervene.’ Linda knew Jaimie’s surprise authoritarian attitudes only appeared under liquor… if she could fly under the radar this time, she could get away with it until the next. She felt her arms cross over her firm stomach by instinct and she doubled up, looking like some cowering orphan. Jaimie adjusted her shirt and leaned a little towards Linda. ‘Don’t make me.’ ‘No, don’t,’ Linda asked. Hearing herself sounding so much like a little child, she had to hold back a sudden spray of laughter that she had no idea where it came from. She didn’t want it to be seen. They’d think the wrong things about her. Jaimie lunged forward anyway. Between a set of sudden hiccups, ticklish laughter and small cries of shock as laughing made her stomach muscles contract, Jaimie finally pried Linda’s arms away and lifted her clothes. Linda tugged it back down, but a sharp “No!” from Jaimie stopped her in her tracks. Frozen, just like that, vulnerable and confused like she hadn’t been since she heard her parents f*cking each other in their room as a child, Linda waited like a stunned puppy. ‘Now lean back, and be kind enough as to show everyone. We’ve shown ours. Don’t be so rude.’ Giving Jaimie a sardonic, I’ll-get-you-later-for-this kind of stare, which came out more as a pathetic look of submission, Linda slowly leaned back and pulled her shirt up past her ribcage. She was hatefully aware of the night air breezing across her bare skin that should never have been exposed. It belonged under clothes. ‘Fine then,’ she said flatly, hoping she sounded angry. ‘Here it is then. Are you happy?’ Not looking down at herself, she stared at them as they stared at her belly, in whatever shape it might’ve been, however big, round, or pale. Who knew. Who cared. What Jaimie and Valeria saw was a ballooned-shaped stomach, skin tight, navel pressed flat. They nodded with appreciative smirks. ‘Thank you for showing us,’ Jaimie said, then laughed. Linda withdrew. She tossed a half-assed sneer of contempt at Jaimie, then turned aside to brood. The night went on. *