chapter 3 - together

It has only been a few months since you finally gave up on walking, yet the transformation that you have undergone in this time has been unbelievable. Having finally let go of the burden of getting out of the bed, you feel that an intoxicating level of laziness has taken over your mind entirely. Tasks you were normally happy to assist with as much as possible - changing positions, lotioning yourself, lifting your rolls for your bed baths - you are refusing to give more than a token effort towards now. The only time you seem willing to move your arms is for your feedings, and this you do with surprising aptitude. You’re revelling in your increasing dependence, and you can feel the effect it’s having on your body - you’re swelling at a dramatic pace. Your days begin with irrepressible hunger which you feel with every aspect of your being. This used to alarm you, concern you even, but now you are beginning to revel in this as well. You are ravening when you’re like this; alive and yearning, heart pounding, and this is typically the most stimulated you will be for the rest of the day. When you do begin to eat everything goes hazy, there is little else that can pierce that veil, and you find yourself quiescent and dim once more, your surroundings meaningless. You live in a cycle of roaring demands for food and the contented torpor of the overstuffed. Carers come and go, moving and cleaning and maintaining your body like little birds on the back of some huge ancient predator - offering assistance to prevent themselves too from becoming prey to your hunger. And sometimes, like today, she is there too.

It is the early afternoon and your carers are finally getting ready to leave. There are four of them now, you notice, and you wonder how long the staff has been bigger. You barely register them most of the time, just feel their hands miles away on the surface of your body. You have been waiting for this moment all day - you long to be alone with Mummy and yet it seems as though each time they come their visits take a little longer. You know it’s due to the fact that you’re helping them less and less whilst requiring more and more, and although that thought excites you most of the time, on days like today the waiting is torture. She has been helping too, and in the moments when you are able to tear your attention away from the deluge of treats she has provided you with, you are able to notice the tension between her and the other women. They disapprove of Mummy, and are quick to remind you of this whenever she is not around.

“She’s such a bad influence on you. I swear you gain weight every time she visits! If she’d just stop bringing you all that food… if you’d just let us draw up a diet plan… maybe we could get you out of bed again.”

It’s not that they don’t mean well, you know this. If anything, despite the uncomfortable embarrassment they spark in you, you enjoy their little comments. Knowing that it is so obvious that you’re adrift on the tidal wave of junk food and hedonism that Mummy has swept into your life is a source of delicious, humiliating excitement. They care about you too, in their own way, but they don’t understand what you need. They couldn’t. Only Mummy can; she alone knows what you need to be happy. Life would be so much easier if everyone was as willing to indulge you as she was. The carers are busy putting away the bags and bags of groceries she has brought you, loudly tutting at each new fattening meal that is revealed, sucking their teeth and rolling their eyes in their objection. Mummy notices your slightly flustered expression as you watch them and grins mischievously at you.

“Is something wrong, Maddie?” she asks lightly, and the senior of the group snorts.

“Oh, nothing at all,” she replies, nettled, “Apart from these ridiculous groceries. He doesn’t need any more temptation, he’s out of control as it is. If you let him keep going the way he’s going you’re going to have to double our staff or we won’t be able to move him.”

“Hear that, pumpkin? You’ve got to get your act together for Maddie or it’s going to take eight people to move you, you little porker,” Mummy calls across the room, her tone as far from reprimanding as it is possible to be, her eyes glinting with good humour. You’re barely capable of formulating a response - a thrill of excitement has overtaken you and the shared expression of pity and disgust on all of the carer’s faces is making you squirm with shameful delight. Do they talk about you like this all the time, as though you’re not in the room? You moan a little, words failing you, and return to loudly shovelling crisps into your face, your snuffling, laboured breathing around each mouthful sounding more porcine by the day. Shaking her head, Maddie and her team take their leave, promising to be back in the morning. As Mummy shuts the door behind them, you can feel the anticipation building in your chest. You are, finally, alone. The bag of crisps sits, forgotten, on top of your belly, where all of your meals are now placed. They seem to rise closer to your face with each passing day.

She crosses the room quickly, her arms spreading wide as though all of the pent up longing in her body is spilling out of her. Your own arms are clumsy in returning the embrace, awkwardly squishing against your chest and the top of your stomach, but it hardly matters - your belly keeps her at such a distance that you’d never be able to reach them around her anyway now. Your fingers have left a smear of grease and crisp crumbs on her dress, which she does not give a second glance. As she presses herself against you her hands are everywhere at once, examining and appraising your soft body, grabbing huge handfuls of fat and squeezing as though checking to see if you are ripe yet. As she shakes your belly, the bag of snacks slides off onto the bed and you find, to your surprise, that you’re not capable of stretching to pick it up. You grunt as you reach for it in vain, and see a spark of cool excitement in Mummy’s eyes at your helplessness. It makes you feel trembly and weak.

“Help me, Mumma,” you whine, and the smile she flashes you in return is sadistically indulgent.

“Let me get that for you, baby boy,” she coos, mounting first the bed and then, with some effort, swinging one long leg over the top of your towering belly. She is sinking into you; you feel your fat rising like proving dough around her curves. Her added weight is almost overwhelming. She picks up the bag of crisps and holds them slightly aloft, watching you reach up just a few centimetres for them before your arms collapse with the effort. You give up so easily now, patheticness a state you are extremely comfortable in.

“I’m still hungry,” you wheeze, the pressure of her body and the exertion of raising your arms making it almost impossible to catch your breath.

“Maddie is right, you know,” Mummy replies, already beginning to push the crisps into your mouth and not even bothering to wait for a response. “You are out of control. You’ve had ten of these today on top of everything else, you greedy boy.”

You flush with excitement. “Mmph - More,” you demand with your mouth full, and she tips the bag up into your open mouth and grins as you gobble them all down loudly. As soon as you’ve swallowed it all your mouth opens almost reflexively to be filled again.

“All gone,” Mummy says, turning the bag upside down to prove to you that she’s not holding out on you. She leans in and kisses your open mouth instead, her tongue slipping inside and claiming yours. You’re so noisy when you kiss now, what with your groaning breaths and your pudgy lips smacking whenever you break apart. Her firm jaw is getting lost in the creases between your chins, and you can feel them rubbing back and forth on her face as she kisses you passionately. Your cheeks are getting redder and redder with the effort of keeping it going - but the continued pressure of Mummy laying on your fat chest is suffocating. She notices this too and pulls away, licking the last salty, greasy traces of crisps off the corner of your mouth as she does. As she stands up again you gasp, trying to catch your breath.

“I… want… MORE,” you repeat, not to be deterred by kisses for too long, and you hear her draw breath excitedly as she considers her next move.

“All these snacks just aren’t substantial enough for a growing boy, are they?” she coos, “How about I make you some dinner?”

You consider this, but waiting for dinner seems intolerable. Your brow furrows - an impressive sight now that your entire head is padded with fat - and you shake your head defiantly. “I need feeding noooooow, Mummy,” you wheedle, in a pleading, whining voice that the old you could never have brought himself to use. If it’s off putting she doesn’t show it, however, in fact her smile only widens. She strides off to the kitchen, returning shortly with a tureen full of milkshake and a long straw. She places the heavy bowl on your belly and tucks the straw into your mouth.

“There. That should tide you over, little piglet,” she says, stroking your hair as she walks away, leaving you sucking contentedly at the straw.