I love the idea of these being ‘villain origin stories’. When this fascination truly has me in its grips, I do feel like a villain. Someone described himself as ‘wolfman’. When the fat full moon comes out, we all start howling. I think we all feel a little surprised by ourselves.
My story is kinda long. The tl/dr would be that I’m certain it started in preschool with padding.
I have a clear memory of being in the backseat of my parents station wagon at the drive in. A double feature of Gremlins and Top Gun. I think I was 6? Maybe 7. Depends on if the Drive In was showing first or second run movies. I was laying in the backseat and thinking ‘what if my belly was big enough to fill the foot well of the backseat’. So I shoved a blanket up my shirt and instantly remembered in preschool I used to do this during nap time. (And it aroused me, it wasn’t just for fun and I knew I needed to hide it. At 4.). It was not the last time I’d use padding to get off. By the time I was seven I was already over 100lbs. Imagining myself getting bigger was just my reality.
The following year I met Amber. We were in third grade and we loved playing house. I was always ‘the wife’ and she had these overalls that barely barely fit me. I was gaining weight even faster from insecurity at home (I was eating in secret and hiding food as my parents started dragging me to alanon and therapy type things) and probably had the biggest belly of any 3rd grader you’ve seen. I would put on those overalls and my husband (Amber) would rub my belly and talk about how excited she was to meet the baby. And then we’d kiss (not make out kissing, just a peck). And I was fucking done for. (So maybe also origin story of my bisexuality. )
I’ve always loved my belly and getting fatter. Ive always been attracted to other fat bodies. I’ve always known I should be ashamed of that. I’d like to grow out of that mindset but it’s difficult when we’re told that fat people are gross and not actual people and are just a burden. I come from a very long line of big bellied badass women. Why should I feel shame in my connection to my ancestors and thinking they were gorgeous (and that I am as well?)
My story is kinda long. The tl/dr would be that I’m certain it started in preschool with padding.
I have a clear memory of being in the backseat of my parents station wagon at the drive in. A double feature of Gremlins and Top Gun. I think I was 6? Maybe 7. Depends on if the Drive In was showing first or second run movies. I was laying in the backseat and thinking ‘what if my belly was big enough to fill the foot well of the backseat’. So I shoved a blanket up my shirt and instantly remembered in preschool I used to do this during nap time. (And it aroused me, it wasn’t just for fun and I knew I needed to hide it. At 4.). It was not the last time I’d use padding to get off. By the time I was seven I was already over 100lbs. Imagining myself getting bigger was just my reality.
The following year I met Amber. We were in third grade and we loved playing house. I was always ‘the wife’ and she had these overalls that barely barely fit me. I was gaining weight even faster from insecurity at home (I was eating in secret and hiding food as my parents started dragging me to alanon and therapy type things) and probably had the biggest belly of any 3rd grader you’ve seen. I would put on those overalls and my husband (Amber) would rub my belly and talk about how excited she was to meet the baby. And then we’d kiss (not make out kissing, just a peck). And I was fucking done for. (So maybe also origin story of my bisexuality. )
I’ve always loved my belly and getting fatter. Ive always been attracted to other fat bodies. I’ve always known I should be ashamed of that. I’d like to grow out of that mindset but it’s difficult when we’re told that fat people are gross and not actual people and are just a burden. I come from a very long line of big bellied badass women. Why should I feel shame in my connection to my ancestors and thinking they were gorgeous (and that I am as well?)
1 month