Another cup of jasmine tea

chapter 7

I didn’t understand what was happening to me. The first thing I thought of when I woke up was food. What was I going to have for my breakfast? It was usually just whatever was left over from the night before, which often was not much.
If I didn’t have anything in, I would buy something on the way to work and eat it while standing up on the train. I used to think it was nice to walk to work every now and again. It took just about the same time as the tube and I got some fresh air into my lungs. The walk took me through the park too, so I got so see some greenery and watch the ducks on the pond as I passed. Now, a few months after starting work, I was not interested in walking. Why walk when I could ride? Why stand when I could sit? I always took the easy option.
When I got to work, Carol would be there waiting for me with my jasmine tea. I think we must have had some jolly good conversations, but I’m damned if I can remember any of them! By the time I put my uniform on, the rest of the staff had already arrived and had started cleaning and getting ready for the day ahead. I was wearing my second uniform since starting work there and even despite the extra elastic panels in the trousers, they were starting to get tight. I did not just had a little bit of extra padding, I was developing a little paunch!
I usually felt quite full after talking to Carol in the morning. It was as if I’d eaten a second breakfast, but I could not remember eating a thing!
I was supposed to help out in the public part of the cafe after getting changed, but I usually found something to do in the kitchen that involved eating yesterday’s cakes instead of throwing them out. I simply could not help myself! They tasted so good!
For the rest of the day, I was supposed to be waiting on the tables and serving meals like all the other staff, but as I said earlier, I was all for taking the easy option these days. That usually involved sitting at the till, ringing the orders through and nipping round the back when there was a lull in customers to steal a scone or two.
I always ate lunch at work. I didn’t feel satisfied unless I’d eaten enough soup, salad, sandwiches, scones, cake and biscuits to feed two or three adults, then I’d continue to sneak more cakes until we closed.
I went home on the tube with at least one carrier bag full of food from the cafe. I would work my way through it from when I got home, have a nap and wake up feeling hungry again, so I’d go and get myself a takeaway and eat that.
I knew I was being greedy. I knew I did not need all of this food. I knew I was piling the weight on and I ought to do something about it. Then again, I liked feeling full. Feeling completely stuffed full was amazing! It made the tight stretched skin over my belly so sensitive. I liked to run my hands over it when it was like that. It turned me on, so I often found myself jerking off. I liked the nauseous feeling that came over me when I’d eaten so much that I could barely breathe.
I couldn’t look myself in the mirror because I didn’t have a mirror big enough. I didn’t have a scale either, so I didn’t know how much weight I had put on.
Carol was generous with my wages. I could afford to buy a scale and a mirror. I could even afford to rent a proper flat too, but I could not be bothered to look.