Chapter 1 - my starts how did i get into stuffingMy name is Vanesa. I'm a 19 year old girl from Spain. I'm blonde, with green eyes. I'm generally happy with my body, and I always have been.
This story starts two years ago, when I was 17. I live, of course, with my parents. Both of them worked in different cities from the one we live in, so I spent quite a while home alone.
I was laying on the couch, watching TV. There was a cartoon show called Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends. I was terribly bored, so I decided to revive my childhood a little bit by watching those cartoons.
I don't remember much of the episode, but I do remember something involving one of the female characters and her craving for her grandma's cookies. She was like crazy for eating those, completely obsessed with them. I dont know why, but that piqued my curiosity. How could she swallow that inmense quantity of cookies and milk? Of course, you will think "That's just cartoons". Yes, I know, but I was bored as hell. So I thought "Wonder If I could do that".
I don't know what led me to try, but, for some reason, I was pretty excited about it. Of course I worried a bit about all carbohydrates and fats that I would be consuming in a while, but, as we say in Spain, once a year does not hurt.
So I prepared a real feast for myself. At least, it was a real feast for me in those times. It consisted of a milk cartoon and a box of twenty biscuits.
I started ingesting them with no hurry, just one by one, and serving me a glass of milk to quench thirst. Meanwhile I kept watching TV, Foster had already finished.
I have never been a girl who eats a lot (not even know, except my stuffing session), so in no time I started to get sick of milk and cookies. "Nope, I can't", I said. Not even the whole box of biscuits, and just two glasses of milk, and I felt like I was about to burst.
Honestly, I felt disappointed. I didn't know why at the time, but I was hoping to eat all that, just like the girl from the show. "It's just that I ate a while ago", I thought, though it had been a while since I had lunch. So I did not really give up. I had lost the battle, but not the war.
My rematch came a few days later. I had marked that date in the calendar, because I would be alone all day. In other words, I had to prepare my three meals by myself, and no one would be watching me.
To make sure I would be hungry enough to eat all the food I would prepare, I skip my breakfast and my lunch. My initial plan was to eat nothing until the dinner, but I just couldn't stand the hunger, and at 5 PM I already had everything ready.
My "huge" meal consisted on toast with jam, a bowl of soup, a chicken breast, a yogurt and two apples, plus half a liter of milk and a bottle of 250 cl of water. Not a big deal, you'll think. Well, for me it was a great deal. I started eating with my TV on, but not paying attention at all. I was completely focused on my meal. At first I was sure that I would make it. I hadn't eaten anything all day, and I was starving. The toast and the first apple went down easily, and then came the turn of the bowl of soup. It was not a small bowl, and, by the time I had finished it, my hunger had almost disappeared. The little hungry I was, was just because the food had not settled completely in my stomach. But I was just thinking about the challenge I had set to myself, and giving up was not an option. I pushed the plate and reached the chicken breast, starting to eat it. When I had eaten half of the breast, I started to feel really full, and not hungry at all. I let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the coach, thinking for a moment that there was no need to continue, it was just a nonsense that I had occurred, and keep with it was not binding.
Luckily for my pride, I distracted myself from that thought noticing that I was really thirsty. I reached the milk (I always prefer milk to water), and took a few thoughtless gulps. I just rest there with the carton of milk in my hand, and my feet on the table, watching TV and taking gulps of milk on and off. Slowly, I got to finish the milk. I spent some time psyching up, and then stared at the apple that was left. It was ridiculous that I could not eat a single apple. But, if I had reached there, I could finish that. I didn't know why, but something was pushing me to continue. I tried to reach that apple, when I felt a slight pain in my abdomen while leaning forward. I looked down, and then I noticed:
- Oh, my God! - I sweared, maybe with one word more.
I don't know why, but I did not even realise what that overloaded meal would suppose. It just didnt went through my head, and there it was. My shirt was pulled up, revealing my stuffed belly underneath. Me, who had always been the proud owner of a flat, perfect belly, looked like a newly pregnant woman.
I instantly get up of the coach, maybe to quickly for my poor belly, which complained with a bit more of pain. I went quickly to my room, with my hand on my belly, like fearing it would fell to the floor, and looked myself at mirror.
"I'm bloated as hell", I thought." What do I do know?". My mother could not see me like that, what she would think? I tried to suck in my belly, but it was hard, and I felt a bit of pain while doing it. I could not stay like that in front of my mother. I just hoped that my potbelly went down quickly enough. Luckily, mother would not see me until the night, so my belly had a lot of time to get back to normal.
I just sat on the coach, nervously patting and slapping my belly. I poked it a bit. It was hard, and it hurt a bit. But, somehow, I liked that, I felt it tight, so I tried to relieve that pressure by rubbing it insistently. It felt nice, actually. I straightened up on my seat, and took a good look at my belly. A silly thought came to my mind. Would it jiggle if I shook it? I tried, but, of course, it hardly worked. It was hard like a stone, so I leaned back again, rubbing it with my feet on the table.
I cleaned all that mess quickly, clearing the evidences of my crime. When my parents arrived home, my belly had already went down, though I did not eat nothing for the rest of the day.
It had been funny, after all. While moaning because of the pain, I promised myself that I would not be doing that once more. But, feeling normal again, I changed my mind. Could I beat my own record? I could not wait for the next time, yet I did not understand my own feeling really well. Surely, I would need to try again. Maybe that would set things clear.
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