chapter 13

A month later, as he was going into work, Martin overheard his name from the photocopier room. He stopped in the hall to listen. Naomi, Fran and several of the other office ladies were talking about him.

"Martin's getting really big," Naomi was saying. "He's really putting on weight. Have you noticed?"

"Oh yes, that's what an office job can do to you!" one of the other ladies remarked. "And he simply can't resist your cakes, Fran. No wonder his belly is getting so big!"

"I'm shocked he hasn't broken his chair yet!" Naomi giggled.

"Oh now, there's nothing wrong with a boy with a healthy appetite," tittered Fran, in her usual kind, mothering way.

"Morning guys."

Martin entered the room, and Fran smiled warmly; the others exchanged glances, stealing looks at Martin's ever-growing waistline, the buttons of his shirt pulled tight across his girth.

He had passed 150kg and his belly seemed to be constantly expanding outward, now drooping obviously over his waistband, wobbling and swaying whenever he moved. His thick thighs rubbed together, and he had developed a definite waddle in recent weeks. He was developing fat rolls on his back. When sitting, his belly sat firmly on his thighs even when it was empty, gradually encroaching over his lap; and a definite double-chin had formed beneath his jawline. He was irrefutably obese now, and his appetite was more insatiable than ever.

"Don't you mind them, dear," Fran said kindly, when the other ladies had left the room. "I'm so grateful for someone that appreciates my cooking!"

"I definitely do; thank you so much, Fran," said Martin, feeling slightly better. "It's what I look forward to most every day at work."

Fran beamed. "Oh good. It makes me so happy to hear that! My, it's good to see where all my treats are going!" She gave his heavy, firm gut a motherly pat.
Fran offered him a caramel slice, and he took three, stuffing the first whole into his mouth as he waddled to his desk.

His chair groaned under his weight as he sat down; Naomi really was right, the poor chair didn't look like it would hold up much longer. The armrests were now touching his sides; if he didn't stop gaining, they would soon be digging into his fat. The swivel chair groaned in protest as Martin leant back and slid his hands under his belly, feeling its firmness from the huge breakfast he had wolfed down that morning before heading to work. He was now so used to the warm weight of his gut on his thighs that it felt odd to imagine life without it; he needed to lean as far back as possible just to lift it.

"You OK?" Naomi asked, looking almost shocked.
"Oh... yeah," grunted Martin. "Just -just trying to get confortable."

"Yeah? Looks like it must be getting difficult..." Naomi pulled a face as she turned back to her computer.

Martin felt embarrassed, though not as embarrassed as he would have expected before he had started gaining. The reactions of casual acquaintances like Naomi didn't mean much to him now; he had learned to assign more value to the people he loved. No matter how acquaintances looked at him now, it would do nothing to stymy his appetite. He felt out of control, insatiable. He needed more food.

*

For lunch, Martin went to Mort's restaurant, knowing that Mort would have saved the leftovers from last night with him in mind. He had even given Martin a key to the backdoor so that Martin could sneak in on his lunch break or after work and gorge to his heart's content.

When he slipped through the back door, he was not disappointed. He found a huge pot of creamy carbonarra and almost a full lemon marangie pie when he looked inside the walk-in freezer.
After heating up the pasta, he sat down and started to stuff himself, desperate to feel the heaviness of the pasta in his insatiable belly.
He was almost finished the bowl (which must have contained at least five ordinary portions) when the back door opened behind him. He turned, expecting to see Mort--but it was Diego.

"Oh... hi Diego," said Martin, blushing.

Diego stared with his mouth comically agape at the huge, almost empty bowl in Martin's hands, and Martin's full, round belly, against which the buttons of his XXL work shirt were straining fit to burst.

"Oh my God," Diego said. "Meaning no offense, but chu have problem. You get so fat, Marty! I never see anything like this!"

"Yeah... I know I've put on a bit of weight," Martin murmured.

"A bit! Are chu blind? Look at your belly! Chu huge, Marty." Diego slapped Martin's tight belly almost painfully. "Chu looking bigger every time I seeing chu! Chu keeping gong like this, soon chu not fitting through the door! I don't know why Morty putting up with dis!" Shaking his head, he bustled out into the main restaurant.

Feeling painfully embarrassed, Martin put the rest of the pie in a take away bag. He ate it sitting in his car, stung by Diego's words, but finding comfort in the delicious, fattening food. When he finished the pie, he was feeling painfully full. Breathing shallowly, he rubbed either side of his gut, which was notw pressing against the base of the steering wheel. The base of his shirt had come untucked. He tried to tuck it back in, but it was useless.
As he didn't have time to go home and get changed, he had to reappear at work with his gut hanging out, wobbling obscenely over his waistband.