chapter 3

Betty sighed, and looked down at her big belly as she took a drag from her cigarette.

"Oh, Betty, Betty, Betty..." She pouted.

Betty knew one thing that would never fail to comfort her: FOOD. Panting as she waddled out of the bedroom, her entire house shook with each thunderous step to the kitchen. Betty had spared no expense in designing her kitchen, outfitting it with two refrigerator/freezer combos, two deep fryers, double-stacked ovens, and four stove tops. Betty justified the extravagant setup by carrying on her mother's tradition of throwing massive barbecue parties every month or so, inviting the whole Big Betty's staff and all her family and friends over for food, drinks, and fun.

Sitting in the middle of Betty's expansive kitchen was a rolling chair exactly like the one she had in her office. While it seemed out of place in a kitchen, its purpose was made immediately clear as she plopped her fat ass down into it and rolled over to her freezer. Grunting as she reached for the top shelf, she pulled two frozen meat lover's pizzas out, making sure to pull gingerly as not to dislodge one of the several gallons of ice cream, bags of chicken fingers, French fries, tacos, and other fattening, frozen, processed, junk food.

Betty rolled lazily over to the counter and set the pizzas down, reaching underneath into a cabinet for two cooking trays. Her belly growled hungrily as she tore open the cardboard boxes and put each frozen pizza on a cooking tray. The oven opened with a shrill CREAK, and she slid the first pizza inside it. The other oven, stacked on top of the first, was just out of Betty's reach while she was sitting down. Standing up was an absolute no-no, and so she rolled over back to the counter and got her grabbing stick, a three foot long stick with a handle on one end and a "pincher" on the end, not unlike a retractable claw. Betty used the stick to grab the handle of the oven, pulling it down and loading the second pizza inside it, all while keeping her fat ass firmly planted in her chair.

After grabbing a family sized bag of potato chips and a fresh jar of dip from the fridge, along with a two liter of Coke and a cup of ice, Betty rolled off into the living room, stopping just as the linoleum floor of her kitchen ended and the carpet of her living room began. If she could, she would've kept rolling, but rolling over the carpet required more effort than just waddling over herself, and she slowly started rocking back and forth, grunting as she heaved herself to her feet. She made a mad waddle over to the best seat in the house: her bariatric armchair.

An 82" LED HDTV hung on the wall of Betty's living room, with a small entertainment center sitting below it, housing a cable box and a top of the line soundbar. A glass coffee table sat in front of a full-sized sofa, with Betty's favorite chair sitting just off to the side of that. The "chair" looked more like a mini-love seat, and like all the other furniture in Betty's house, she'd ordered it from a bariatric specialty retailer. Though all of her furniture was nice, Betty's armchair was her favorite thing, and besides her bed, was where she spent most of her time. A folding TV dinner table sat next to the chair, where she put the chips and dip, and a cupholder in the armrest held her drink. She grunted as she shifted her bulk to one side, pulling the remote control out from under her blubber, and reclining the chair to her liking. She liked to lay back, but not too far, as at her size, she could suffocate under her own weight if she wasn't careful.

"Ahhhh..." She moaned, slipping her shoes off as she laid back.

Being alone allowed Betty to be shamelessly gluttonous, and prioritize food and comfort over social graces and societal expectations. She quickly grew tired of reaching over to the table to get more chips and dip, and put the lid back on the dip for a moment, testing out different spots on her belly where it could sit without tipping over. Once she'd found a balance, she took the lid off again, and rested the bag and dip on her belly, using it as a tray as she ravenously dipped handfuls of chips at a time into the jar of dip. Her fingertips were coated with the stuff as she shoveled it into her mouth, crumbs spilling down into her vast cleavage as she munched them all up. Making quick work of the chips and dip, she hit the bottom of the jar as she reached the bottom of the bag.

DING!

Other than the doorbell alerting her that her takeout had arrived, the "ding" of the oven was Betty's favorite sound. She cocked her head back and dumped the remaining crumbs in the bag of chips down her greedy throat, and crumpled the bag in her hands, grunting as she lifted herself to her feet and waddled to the chair, rolling over to the oven and pulling the pizzas out. Saliva pooled in her mouth as she ran the circular pizza cutter through each pie, the molten cheese sticking to the cutter, tinged orange from the greasy meats. Betty licked some of the cheese off the cutter before putting it in the sink. She put each pizza onto a plate, and put one of the cooking trays away. Before she could put the other one back, though, she paused.

GRRRROOOOOOOOOOOO... Her belly growled.

"You've had a tough night, sugar. Treat yourself!" A voice in her head said.

Betty sighed and rolled back over to the freezer, opening it up and pulling out a family sized bag of Tyson buffalo chicken strips out. Ripping open the ziplock top, she dumped the strips out onto the cooking tray, filling it and piling it with the red tenders. After sliding the tray into the oven and setting the timer, she quickly turned towards the pizzas, and grabbed one with each hand. After resting the pizzas on her TV tray, she waddled back to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of Bacardi out of the liquor cabinet. Fixing herself a stiff drink, she sat back and enjoyed her first course.

Never one to wait for her food to cool, Betty winced and moaned, quickly reaching for her rum and Coke to cool the fiery burn of the cheese, pepperoni, sausage, and hamburger. A chunk of ground beef tumbled down her double chin and into her cleavage, and she scooped it up with her fat fingers and ate it. There, her plate of food resting on her big belly, a cold drink in hand, surfing the channels, Betty was in heaven. Food was her reprieve from the stress of her everyday life, it helped her forget about the only real problem in her life: her weight.

Washing down each pizza with a stiff rum and coke, Betty was quickly tipsy, and poured herself another drink after piling two plates high with chicken strips. Drunk Betty could put away even more food than sober Betty, and she smothered each buffalo strip in blue cheese dressing before stuffing it into her mouth, the spiciness stinging her lips and flooding her brain with dopamine. Her eyes glazed over, orange smeared around her mouth, she wanted for nothing.

Well, almost nothing...

Betty stumbled a bit as she waddled back to the kitchen. She nearly tripped as she plopped her fat ass back into the rolling chair. The kitchen shook as she rolled forward.

"Oooooooof! Hahahahaha, oh my goodness..." She giggled drunkenly.

"Mmmmmm, Mama's hungry..." She moaned as she opened the fridge. Rooting through its contents, she pulled out a few pound bags of pastrami and American cheese, along with some mustard, and put them on the counter. Huffing and puffing as she rolled to the bulky rolls on the other counter, she cut four of them in half, piling each sandwich with tons of meat until all three pounds had been distributed between the four of them. A few slices of cheese on each one topped them off, and she nuked them for a few minutes. After drizzling some mustard on them, they were ready, and she fixed another drink to wash them down with.

Betty normally wouldn't drink like this, at least alone, but she hadn't let loose in a while, and she was feeling down. Collapsing into her armchair, she put her drink in the cup holder and rested her plate of four comically large sandwiches on her belly.

"Mmmmmm..." She moaned as she sunk her teeth into the warm meat, flavor exploding on her taste buds and sending her to nirvana. Meat, mustard, and cheese fell into her cleavage, leaving smears of mustard and grease on her tits after she picked up each chunk and shoveled it into her mouth.

Channel surfing, she noticed Shallow Hal was on. She remembered the movie from her high school years, and thought it was sweet, if not a bit misguided in its message. She'd caught it at the end, when Hal confronted Rosemary before she was set to leave for the Peace Corps, in her true 300+ pound form. Betty's eyes welled up as Hal professed his love for her and they kissed.

Betty sighed. She was drunk, lonely, and horny. Yellow was smeared around her lips from eating so sloppily, and she wiped it all off with a napkin, in her drunken haze forgetting about the stains on her enormous breasts. Rubbing her eyes, she finished off her drink, very drunk but not quite drunk enough to sleep. All her feelings bubbled deep from within her, and she channeled them all into hunger. She poured herself a night cap and waddled back into the living room, a gallon of chocolate ice cream tucked under her flabby bingo wing.