Overindulgence

Chapter 1 - whale watching

"This is it, this is what you've become."

My inner thoughts sound conflicted. While there is disappointment attempting to dominate the overall tone, I also feel some sense of pride.

My reflection is a surprise to me. I had been clearing my room of takeaway wrappers and bottles of beer, deciding it was finally time for some spring cleaning, when I noticed I'd cleared my free standing, floor length mirror. It had been so long since I'd actually looked at my own reflection - and wow.

Perhaps the most noticeable difference was that my frame didn't actually fit into the width of the mirror, the bulges of fat over the rim of my boxers stretched out further than I could see without shifting to the side. When I did I could see clearly the stripes of stretch marks from my skin desparately trying to cope with all the blubber I'd accumulated. As I turned from side to side to get a better look at my muffin top, I could see this wasn't the only change I'd missed happening to me. My belly was pale, bulging, hanging off of my frame, looking at though I'd swallowed a bunch of balloons. I moved the beer bottles into my other hand, freeing up my fingers to give a grasp of fat from my overhang pooling over my boxers. It was soft, and lifting the bulk of it with one hand was substantionally heavier than I expected. I let go, the belly dropping and causing my whole body to jiggle and ripple.

I placed a hand over my stomach. Though I hadn't eaten yet, I was clearly still gassy from the night before. Friday nights were always ripe with overindulgence, and this time had been no exception. My head still felt fuzzy from the six pack I'd taken to bed for whatever reason, though I could remember sucking down slice after slice of the large meat feast pizza, grease dribbling down my chin and onto my shirt from the bucket of fried chicken I'd inhaled.

I looked down at my tank top now, a mosaic of different grease stains and food spillage. Despite being an XL, the clothing was doing a pathetic job at covering any of the fat rolls that had somehow snuck up on me.

I peeled it off, tossing it into the pile of clothes I'd made to take to the washer later. When I turned to the mirror once again, my stomach lurched and I felt a throb in my boxers. Unrestrained from the tank top I'd removed, the heft of my chest caught me by surprise. Each nipple clung to a pillow of fat, my chest looking ample enough to fit inside a bra. I lifted my hand to fondle one, witnessing the drooping of soft tissue under my arm, another fat roll that had eluded me.

After looking over the sheer bulk of my frame, I viewed the stranger's face in the reflection. Cheeks puffy and wide, I had lines on my face I'd never seen before. From the way I was squinting it looked like my head was resting on a cushion, the greasy fat double chin unmistakeably sticking out from under my beard. I shook my head in disbelief, and my entire face seemed to shake to a different rythmn, swaying and shaking like it had been shocked to experience such turbulance.

I was aghast, even my fingers and my feet looked fat, attached to calves that seemed basically skeletal next to my thunderous thighs. Something unusual caught my attention though - peeking out between fat folds and sheer obesity, I could see an unmistakeable bulge in my boxers. Despite the shock of seeing this whale in the mirror, I was undoubtably and apparently immensely aroused by it.

The months of lockdown working from home and slobbing around the house had made its mark. I had lived for a year now without having to venture outside for any reason other than collecting food deliveries and the mail. Life had crept up on me as I remained focused on my work - a desk job I could perform remotely. Stress filled targets to meet and late nights meant I spent quite a lot of time stress eating, going through about 5 bottles of soda a day and eating takeout every day - sometimes even twice a day. I'd been living in tshirts and underwear, answering the door most days with my dressing gown. I got an overwhelming urge all of a sudden to try on some old clothes to see how they fitted.

Needless to say, it didn't go well. No matter how much I rolled back and forth on the bed, huge belly sloshing back and forth as I rolled around, I could not pull the jeans up over my butt. The fabric strained around each thigh, hugging the skin as tight as it could manage, pushing all fat that couldn't be contained out of the top of my jeans like a tube of toothpaste. I stood there, looking at the fat hog I'd become, unable to wear even my favourite, comfiest pair of jeans. I collapsed back on the bed, hearing the metal creak and groan from the weight I'd dropped on it.

From here on I guess I had two choices.
One, to start dieting and try to exercise as much as possible.
Two, embrace the fatty I was and continue as I'd been going.

As if in response, my stomach answered with a disatisfied empty gurgle. It wanted fed, it wanted food inside it at all times. It wanted MORE. Instinctively I went onto the food delivery app that had been my life for the past year. Thirty percent off breakfast food? Well... perhaps the diet could wait a little longer.