Chapter 3 - day one, part two

The continuous stares and little comments made me hyper aware of my pudgy frame all morning. It was hard to concentrate on anything, having to constantly worry about the way I was standing, or sitting, or bending, just trying desperately to keep my pudge from escaping from my clothing.

Things I had done a thousand times now created a different physical sensation. The barstool behind my computer was no longer wider than my ass. I know that is the case for many people, but this was the first time I ever felt my body hang over the side of something. It felt weird to feel the edge of the seat pressing into my ass. It felt weird to have to smash my thighs together to fit on the stool at all, and even weirder when they themselves were too fat to get any closer together. I even had to sit a little further back from the desk, I discovered, if I didn't want the sensation of even more furniture pushing into my belly.

The first time I began to get up from my desk, I felt my hands instinctively reach behind me, looking for something to use for stability so I could heave myself up. I didn't used to need to hold onto something just to stand up, did I? When did that happen? How did I not notice? I ended up leaning forward and putting most of my weight on my desk while I stood, but I made a mental note to try and find a different chair.

To reach the coffee pot, I had to let a little bit of my belly rest on the counter. I ruled out using the water cooler when I realized the required bend pushed my ass out in a way that threatened the back seam of my pants. The radio I kept clipped to my hip kept getting knocked off by my arms, because apparently they always touch now.

At home in sweatpants, everything seemed the same. My body was just a little softer, a little more sensitive to my touch. Back in the real world, I was quickly realizing that the extra softness actually made everything I did feel different. Embarrassing and shameful, yes, but secretly just a little arousing too.

**

My next public humiliation didn't come for another hour or two, after a memo was distributed announcing open enrollment for our health insurance. The new options looked very appealing, but when I said as much, the woman beside me turned to me with a troubled look.

"This plan looks great and everything, but you they make you do a full physical exam first," she warned. I was genuinely confused.

"I don't think they can hold a broken leg against me!

My reply made her look uncomfortable. "Probably not.. but they do measure a lot of other things.."

Jeffrey, a tall and extremely girthy "bear," chimed in from behind us. "Yeah, it's bullshit! If your BMI is over 30, they automatically consider you high risk for being obese!

Jeff came up and leaned closer to me, lowering his voice. "Just lie about your height, you will be okay!"

I was actually stunned (though I probably shouldn't have been?) Did he really think that I looked OBESE?? I mean sure, I slid out of the "healthy," margin a while ago.. but it's mostly because of my boobs, right? I've gotten a little chubby, but OBESE? I don't think I even replied, too caught up in wondering if other people thought I looked OBESE too.

I soon got my answer. Carly is a very sweet girl, from what I've heard, but I don't know her well. She works downstairs, and always eats lunch at the same table with her same group of friends. They all happen to be, errr.. of a similar generous size? Not just chunky, or normal American overweight, but really, really big. I couldn't help but notice Carly around- her exaggerated curves turn everyone's head. Even as a straight girl, it was hard to tear your eyes away from her luscious body. Her group of friends were equally obese, but didn't have the good fortune Carly did in where all of those extra pounds landed.

When Carly approached me with an invitation to sit with her at lunch, though, it totally caught me off guard. I couldn't exactly say "no," without being rude, so I agreed to join them. Going through line with them, the portion the cafeteria worker dumped on my tray had to be three times the typical serving. I felt like I was in a high school nightmare. I could feel the winks and smirks my coworkers exchanged
as I carried my heaping pile of pasta across the staff cafe and sat down at what was, essentially, the fat girls table.

I must have absentmindedly matched their pace of eating, because I was shocked to find my plate empty after fifteen minutes. Desperately full and more than a little bloated, I decided to slip out back and spend my remaining 15 minutes having a cigarette. Gold ol' Jeffrey must have had a similar thought, and was already seated on the bench in the parking garage. I plopped down beside him, and he offered me his lighter with a knowing smile.

"Gotta love pasta day, right?"

I nodded in agreement and passed him back his lighter. "Surprisingly good, really."

Jeff chuckled in amusement, then jabbed a playful elbow to my waist. "It's good to see I'm not the only one who threw back a few too many six packs this summer!"

I didn't have time to process what he was saying right away, too panicked about how my body would respond to such a poke. Instinctively, my hands flew to my midsection, just in case his elbow caused any part of my lap to jiggle.

Jeff, it seemed, entirely misread my reaction. He must have seen my hands squeezing my overstuffed belly, and interpreted it as me lightheartedly commiserating. "And these shirts," he continued, "do nothing to hide a proper beer belly, am I right?"

With the same good humored laugh, he mimicked my pose and clutched his own expansive belly in the exact same place that I was still holding my own. He continued talking, and what he was implying finally began to sink in for me.

"I put on 57 well-earned pounds myself this summer," he went on, giving his gut a good jiggle for emphasis. I studied his shape now and noticed that he did look bigger, but on a man that size it starts to be hard to tell. I was willing to bet that it had been many years since he could fool any insurance company into classifying him as simply "overweight." He mostly just looked softer, and puffier, like he was intensely bloated. The place on his gut where his uniform ended and a white undershirt took over duty, however, indicated that his beer belly theory was likely on pointe.

"Seems like about 50 pounds of 'em set up shop right here," he joked, and tugged his undershirt down a little further. "You're a lucky one, you're body has taken a mind to spread it over all over ya! Sure would be easier to be just to have yer whole body sport all that fat evenly, I reckon."

These words stung and resonated in my mind. Jeff continued on rambling, giving me tips on how to stretch our uniform tops without getting holes in the collar. I wasn't listening anymore, though in retrospect, he probably had some valuable tips.

I felt like I was in the twilight zone, everything felt so surreal. It was like I walked into work this morning and was immediately part of an entirely different group of people- like I had fucking transferred from Sales to Accounting or something. I expected people to gawk and poke fun, maybe give me some catty advise. I expected people to laugh behind my back... and I'm sure that they are. I wasn't prepared to have this little bit of extra weight instantaneously cause everyone to immediately assign me a role in the department of the lazy and weak-willed.

I left the conversation with Jeff feeling more like a hopeless fatty than I ever have in my life. The second half of my shift was to be out on the floor, so I made my way to the bathroom to change. I was all too eager to take off what had proved to be a terribly unflattering outfit.