Chapter 1

I remember exactly what she was wearing when she walked into my tutorial room after the summer holidays: low rise sweatpants, a cropped top, a baseball cap, and about 20lbs more than April.
The mentor-mentee relationship in college was always weird for me. Here I was, a TA, guiding someone a mere few years younger than I was through a process I had barely survived myself. I didn’t feel like an expert, but according to the college pay roll department, I was.
Mia and I met once a week after lecture hall to discuss her research and to strengthen (or often throw out) her arguments. She was a non-descript girl, with dark hair and black eyes, puffy lips and an upturned nose. She had tattoos all over her arms and always wore hooped earrings. I did most of my shopping at Old Navy; we were quite the contrast.
When she strode through the door that fateful September morning, I don’t remember what I said. I remember my heartbeat and the heaviness of my tongue as I stared at her midsection, fully on display. Mia had been hungry this summer, apparently. With each broad, heavy step, her new belly bounced over her waistband. She was not a tall girl, but she was quite flat footed.
Her gut was kissing at the roll of her waistband, almost as if to say, “Any second now, I’m going to spill over.” Those love handles were soft and desperately crying for affection. I had never felt this way before, I could feel my brain splitting in two: I had to remain professional.
When she sat, she made no effort to conceal her bulge. It fell forward into her lap. Most girls would tuck their undesirable flab into her waistband, but instead, she sat there hunched over, letting it occupy as much space as she wanted it to.
Mia had made some incredible developments over the summer on how she wanted to approach her research. I eventually shook off the sweats and dove into the process with her, excitedly finding new ways to subvert previous arguments and carve out her own academic voice. She was very motivated and very specific in her ambitions.
We were talking about survey data analysis when I watched her scratch her tummy and pinch at the new layer of flab just below her belly button. I cleared my throat awkwardly and she looked up. I instantly feigned a sneezing fit, making some bullshit line up about the dust in this building and how I had forgotten about its irritation. Mia seemed to have bought it.
We agreed to meet again in two weeks, as I had a conflict the following week. When she stood up, I swallowed in the sight of her belly folding over the lip of her waistband and the jiggle as she shimmied the pants back up to the proper height. I wondered what was softer: the material of her comfortable clothing or the newfound adipose along the middle of her body.
As she slipped out the door, I memorized how wide her silhouette was in the portal. My heart pounded in tandem with the ceiling fan.
What could possibly come of this?

---

Two weeks later, she marched in with her hands full. Three large textbooks and a massive, brown bag stained with grease along the bottom.
Mia apologized to me about eating during tutorial, but her schedule had become so busy that it was the only time she had for her lunch. I told her it was more than fine, and watched as she unloaded what looked like an entire Indian restaurant from her takeaway bag. I was itching for her to remove the oversized hoodie from her shoulders so I could get a glimpse at her figure. The past two weeks, my imagination had been running wild about her development. I needed an update, I could feel the dragon in my stomach roaring as she rabbled on about her findings. Another part of me swelled as I watched her forklift mounds of rice and curry and yogurt into her awaiting mouth.
By the end of our tutorial, she had finished off her entire order. The room smelled incredible, and I was hazy with pure stupidity and awe. As she rose to leave, she patted her stomach like a drum and thanked me for letting her eat, and apologized knowing it was annoying and disruptive.
This is when I gave in to the dragon: “You can always eat during our sessions, it doesn’t bother me. With your workload, you have to fuel your body and mind.”
She smiled and cleared her garbage and left, and I finally got a glimpse of her backside as she shimmied away. Maybe I was dreaming, but I felt like I could see a lot more of it pressing against the fabric than before.

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The next session, Mia brought me a coffee and pastry as thanks. She herself was loaded up with a club sandwich, salad and fries, and tall pumpkin spiced whipped cream beverage. I knew I had made the right decision in encouraging this behaviour as she produced a Ziploc bag of miniature fudge brownies.
We reviewed her graphics and I told her that her work, as always, was sublime. She challenged me and said compliments won’t improve her argument, to which I whole heartedly agreed and did my best to provide more constructive feedback. For the entire session, I watched as the salad disappeared, then her fries (which she loaded up onto her sandwich as well), and one by one as she scribbled notes, she popped brownies over her plump lips. I lost my train of thought when I spotted the thick stain of chocolate icing along the corners of her mouth.
We broke early, and she told me she would be in the lab until late. I encouraged her to stock up for dinner, and even walked with her towards the food court.
Once again, her body was a mystery to me: underneath her turtleneck and denim jacket, I had no idea what was going on. All I was focusing on was where her double chin met the high neckline of her sweater, puffing it out with a slight squeeze. When we parted, I schemed my way into resolving my curiosity.
It would be winter soon, and the layers would come. I had to see Mia’s body in the light of day before it was too late.

---

Next week, I arrived extra early to do some scouting. I located the thermostat in the tutorial room, and turned it to a tropical temperature. All I had to do was sit and see if it would work.
Mia arrived in the same hoodie as before, but this time, she apologized for her pyjama pants. She had been ill the past few days and only crawled out of bed to meet with me to discuss her clinic findings.
She looked tired and puffy, like her body was fighting a losing battle. I noticed the formation of a jowl where her neck had once been. When she smiled, her jawline had disappeared altogether into one adiposed double chin.
It was fifteen minutes in when Mia remarked on the heat. I told her they always crank it up in October, to prepare for winter. She puffed out her cheeks and lifted up her sweater and I got my prize: there it was, the burden of proof.
Mia had easily gained another ten or fifteen pounds over the last five weeks. Her belly protruded forward and now had a softer, heavier quality to it. Her tits were straining against a spaghetti strap tank top with no bra in sight. Her arms were dimpling where it met her side, and her love handles were spilling out onto her flannel PJs.
She looked incredible. I couldn’t help but stare. Mia was tired and didn’t notice as she barely recalled her findings and developments. After a long discussion, there was a healthy pause while I read through her latest summary. Then, I heard it.
A massive growl from her stomach. She did a half giggle and held her belly and apologized. I asked if she had eaten to which she told me no.
We continued the rest of our tutorial in the food court, where Mia pounded back a double-pattied smash burger, fries, and milkshake. She told me it was good to have her appetite back after her illness.
We were not to see each other for a few weeks as she would be heading out of state to observe one of the industry leading professionals in situation. We agreed to hold Zoom meetings, and I warned her of the temperatures of the Midwest. Secretly, I prayed for their cooking to have some influence on this incredible developing story.
I bid goodbye to Mia as I always did, and as I walked away, I caught her sight in the reflection of the large glass walls of the hallway: she turned around and headed back into the food court, instead of towards her residences.
I was very pleased to see her expansion in full form as she queued up in the Thai food line.

---

By the time the end of November had arrived, I was a mess. My own workload had ramped up and Mia had slipped out of my mind. Our virtual meetings fell through the cracks and it wasn’t until the weekend before Thanksgiving that we agreed to meet once again before the holidays.
I had our usual room and I set the thermostat once again to obnoxiously warm. I was giddy like a child before Christmas.
Then, I heard her footsteps, heavy and plodded. When she puffed in the room, I knew her trip had done her well. Stripping off her winter coat, I was in shock at what I saw.
Mia told me about the family that put her up during her visit, and the generosity of the portions. She grabbed her now bloated, hanging belly with two hands and told me how bad of an influence the Midwest on her figure.
She already had noticed her stress eating habits, and she told me she was living in comfortable clothes.
At one point, she leaned back and stretched, and I saw the red kisses of stretchmarks along the base of her gut. She must be eating nonstop.
After that, I started bringing coffee and cookies for us at each meeting.

It spiralled after then. Every week, Mia was arriving with some form of fast food in her greedy, stressed out hands. She would plow through enough nourishment for the both of us, mindlessly grazing while she crossed things out and Googled with pristine speed. As we trudged closer and closer to the holidays, she grew increasingly wider and wider. Her wardrobe had limited itself to completely soft textures and forgiving fabrics. Elasticated waistbands, baggy cottons, oversized (for now) sweatshirts. Each week, it felt like more and more of her rump and thighs were spilling sideways off the small, tutorial room chair.
It was our last session of the year, and Mia arrived in bubbled, loose form. She put down her travel mug and gingerly sipped from its brim, smacking her lips and shuddering slightly.
“You’re not like, a teacher here, right?” She said a little slowly.
I raised my eyebrows. “What do you mean? I’m not staff, no. I’m technically still a student.”
She glanced over her shoulder and out into the barren, Thursday night hallway. Then, from her bag, she produced a tall dark bottle of Irish cream. “Care for a little Christmas spirit?”
I laughed long and hard and accepted her offer. She poured a generous serving into my Starbucks cup (nearly spilling over the brim) and we fully stopped working. She was happy with her progress and I was burnt out, so we sat and drank in secret for nearly twice our allotted tutorial time.
Before long, my brain had grown warm and squishy and travelled to thoughts of similar description. I watched as Mia drank the last of the boozy beverage straight from the bottle.
“What are you doing now? Should we go hit a pub, celebrate our hard work?”
I couldn’t help but smile. I was very suggestible when drunk. I loved watching Mia pack up. The way she shuffled, the way her new body would sashay from side to side. When she rose, I watched her stifle a burp and bin the bottle. I so desperately wanted her belly to peek out from below her hoodie. Soon, the tiger inside my growled, soon.
We ended up at the campus pub, which was pretty lowkey for a Thursday. In a sweaty booth in the corner, we chatted about life and everything but work. We split a pitcher, then tequila shots, then Mia said she needed to “mop up the mess” with an order of onion rings, deep fried macaroni bites. I watched the grease drip from the deep fried battered treats and onto her top. She didn’t offer me any at all.
“I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t even share with you! Ugh, I hope you don’t think I’m a pig or anything.” She said these words with a low rumble in her voice, and my ears and eyes shot up.
“I’m actually a bit hungry, what do you say we get one more beer for the road and then split a pizza?”
We had two more beers each and were stumbling back home together, singing Oasis at full voice in the middle of the abandoned campus. I ordered two large pizzas and garlic bites, which came with a 2L of Coke.
Mia invited me back to her apartment, as her roommates had all vacated. We ended up sitting on the kitchen floor, and she finally lifted the oversized hoodie up and off her torso: a tank top, no bra, just her heavy breasts resting against the thin fabric. She was tearing into her Hawaiian pie, drunkenly chewing and sloshing without a care for who was watching – even if it was me, her infatuated TA.
“I’m such a stress eater,” she groaned as she rounded the halfway point of her meal. “What do you do when you’re tense?”
I told her I had a bad habit of smoking during stressful times. She dropped her jaw and let out a sly, “Okay, that’s kinda hot though.”
It must have been the beer, maybe the tequila, or maybe my impulses finally let themselves be free, but what I said in response to her changed the course of our relationship forever.
“Yeah, but so is overeating.”
She looked up at me with confusion. I stammered a response quickly, hauling out how “I like a girl who isn’t afraid to eat, it’s relaxing and it can really just make me feel…yknow…safe.”
“Well, I hope you don’t get turned on too much watching me eat this entire pizza right now.” Mia smiled and bit her lip. “I’m just getting so big is the problem, like I can’t stop eating and it’s making me so fat and I know that when I graduate I’m going to have to diet so hard to get back in shape…I just don’t have the time right now to work that into my life.”
“Yeah, I get it.”
Mia sighed a performative sigh. “I guess you’ll just have front row seats to my fattening for the next six months though. Cuz I’ll tell you – “ she lifted a soggy slice to her lips “ – I just love food too much.”
I swallowed hard and so did she, half of the pizza disappearing down her throat and towards her belly.
“How much weight have you put on this year?” I asked her, barely a whisper.
“I dunno,” she hiccuped, “I haven’t weighed myself since before the summer…”
On all fours, Mia crawled across the cold kitchen linoleum and toward my beating hard and throbbing member. She got close enough to me that I could smell the sweet sauce on her breath, and when she kissed me, my hand immediately reached out to the warmth of her hanging belly.
She pulled away and stared into my eyes, the drunken fog clouding her vision. “Are you gonna eat that?”
Looking down at my own personal pizza, I shook my head and spent the next ten minutes feeding her the thick slices as she moaned and groaned. Mia’s belly was stuffed and soft, and I could not stop touching it. I could tell she was in pain at how much she had eaten already, but then she looked up at me with these great doe eyes and whispered into my ear:
“Yknow, I’m heading home for the holidays tomorrow. I can’t leave all this food in my fridge…could you help me, maybe?”
With care and kindness and softness abound, I fed every remaining morsel of Mia’s fridge to her over the course of the next hour: leftover Chinese, perogies, half-gallon of 2% milk, cold cuts, even some steak. We finally consummated our no-longer-working-relationship on that kitchen floor. Mia lay on her back, her big belly taught and sloshing and pinning her to a place of blissful immobility. I had free rein to do what I pleased with her, and I explored every crevasse that my demented imagination had longer for these last few months. I had never received head like I did from Mia – maybe it was because I sprayed whipped cream on my cock, but she sucked it off with a voracity that only exists in chubby girls.
We passed out on her couch together, her heavy body pinned against mine. The next morning, she woke me up with gentle oral and cradled her belly when I came. Like the hungry girl she is, she swallowed it for me.
“Well,” Mia said as I put my shoes on to go, “I guess I’m going to need to get a new advisor, right?”
I smiled weakly. “I guess so.”
“That’s a shame,” she rested her hand on the top of her growing gut, “I was really looking forward to tormenting you the next few months. I just can’t stop myself at this rate…”
I kissed her deeply, slipping my thumb against her belly button. “I’m not sure you’ll find anyone else who let’s you eat during tutorials, Mia.”
“So I guess I’m stuck with you?”
“I guess so. I guess I’ll have to get another chair for the room.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, at the rate your ass is growing, you’re going to need one for each cheek by April.”
Mia blushed a deep crimson of shock. “You think I’m going to get that big that quickly?”
“Oh, no,” I laughed, “I don’t think so. I know I am going to make you that big that quickly.”
That girl went home for the holidays and came back 14lbs heavier. She was disappearing into this new lifestyle, and now, I was going to push her past the point of no return. When I asked her just how big was too big, she just smiles at me and says, “I think I’d like to be double the size of my boyfriend.”
When I tell her that I weigh 182lbs, her eyes light up in challenge.
“Oh my god…there’s still so much more to go.”