Chapter 1

Looking into her closet, Clara was struggling to find an outfit she deemed acceptable. She had a tendency to leave things like this for the last second, but in fairness, don’t we all? Being the nervy college grad without a job, Clara wanted to put her best foot forward. It was an interview, and for a nice position too, but the woman on the phone seemed so nonchalant about the whole thing, as if she could show up wearing yoga pants and it wouldn’t matter.

She looked down at her oversized New York Knicks sweatshirt and Lululemon yoga pants. Maybe she should go like this.

“They’d sure have a story to tell, later.” she joked aloud.

Naturally, leisurewear wasn't an option. And yet, after hours of digging through blouses, dresses, and more, the perfect outfit had yet to appear. How the hell did people do things like this, the 22-year-old thought to herself.

Reaching up to scour the top shelf in her closet, she silently hoped that her miracle outfit would magically appear, along with a fairy godmother to tell her the perfect interview advice. Alas, that was not her reality. As Clara closed her closet door and slumped over to her bed dejected, she felt the little jiggle in her hips that had grown more prominent lately.

At 5’8”, Clara’s weight distributed itself fairly even. After graduating high school, she weighed roughly 130 pounds, give or take. Her wavy auburn brown hair went well with her sharp facial features. While she was more pear-shaped than hourglass, she wasn’t exactly lacking in the bust department, with modest C-cups. Her ass had a little healthy jiggle to it, enough to catch the eyes of horny high school boys. Of course, college has a way of changing you.

For Clara, the freshman 15 was more like 25 (maybe 30), but hey, she was still hot! Plus, the extra cushion made the sex waayy better. Bad habits have a way of piling up though. With more difficult classes, a bad breakup, and more partying, at the end of her sophomore year, she was the heaviest she had ever been: 193.

She remembered that moment so vividly; She had to suck in her belly to read the scale. Examining herself in the mirror, she truly didn’t recognize herself. Her whole face was round, with puffy cheeks and double chin that would quiver as she chewed every morsel of food. Her tendency for fast food after a night of partying had left its mark, with greasy, acne-riddled skin. She never had breakouts before he started wolfing down 3am Big Macs.

Her boobs exploded to F-cups and, defying gravity, maintained relative perkiness that Clara could still be proud of. With the right angles and lighting, her selfies could make her look like quite the fox. Of course, Tinder dates who took the bait accused her of catfishing. The one brave soldier who ended up taking her to the bedroom had difficulty navigating all her fat, and ended up having to politely ask Clara to lift her belly so he could enter her. While the orgasm was nice, the embarrassment haunted her.

The beer belly she grew was definite proof of her nights out partying. Of course, was it a little deceptive to call it a “beer belly?” She did stuff herself with plenty of junk too. It hung over her panties, and whenever she sat down, it filled up her lap, providing additional plush (as if she needed it). As her belly expanded, her belly button retreated deeper and deeper. Stretch marks were pervasive, battle scars in her war to determine whether Domino’s or Papa Johns had the best XL pepperoni and sausage pizza.

Of course, when things went pear-shaped for Clara, it really went pear-shaped. Her ass was a genuine shelf, jutting out and bouncing vigorously with each step (waddle) she took on her way to class. Her hips had also flared out ready to challenge any unprepared doorway, a definite upgrade over the “child-bearing hips” she had in high school. Tree-trunk thighs gave her the worst chafe of her life, and slowed her movements down considerably, prompting her to spend even more time on her fat ass, chewing away on whatever junk she could find as she binged her latest streaming obsession. She might not have been able to see it, but cellulite had begun to creep up on her ass and upper thighs, a bonafide sign of a fatty.

Looking at the pig in the mirror, bearing it all, with tears streaming down her face in grave realization of what she had done to her body, Clara vowed to change. This wasn’t her.

Starting that summer, Clara buckled down, and with exercise, diet, a personal trainer, and a little help from her genetic lottery, Clara graduated not only with a 3.4 GPA and a bachelor’s in business administration, but at a reasonable trim 136 pounds, back to her former beauty. She cried tears of joy when she saw her graduation photos, and recognized herself once again.

That was eight months ago, and while her resume wasn’t lacking, the companies and positions she was interested in weren’t interested in her. You know the drill: stress eating, procrastinating exercise, mental gymnastics, etc. Now, sitting on her bed pondering the best outfit, Clara weighed in at 145 pounds. She wasn’t fat! She didn’t even consider herself chubby, not really. Granted, “chubby” was probably a sliding scale, but she wasn’t. Definitely not! She had worked so hard to lose all that weight, she couldn’t be chubby again, not ever. Lifting up her shirt as if to inspect the new pounds herself, she admired her tits, perky as ever. Her tummy wasn’t a pooch yet, but if she didn’t find the time to exercise, well…

Clara shook her head, trying to put those thoughts aside. Right now, she needed to find an outfit.