The Need to Feed

Chapter 1

I’d been so good for months. I was getting in my steps, drinking lots of water, and tracking my meals. But over the last month my motivation had slipped away and I found myself eating ice cream straight from the carton, snacking on chips or indulging in the calorie dense coffee drinks.

Now, walking through the grocery store in my loosest pair of jeans I could feel it. How my thighs were rubbing together more. How my gut surged forward and pressed into my t-shirt. Even the softness of back fat gently rolling over the top of my bra. I should be horrified that I was undoing all the work, but instead I felt the zing of damp pleasure erupt from my loins.

It would happen like this. First, the lessened vigilance about diet sliding into a carefree loss of control over what and how much I ate. And then, once the damage from that slip became palpable, I would have to decide. Was I disgusted by the latest repeat of letting my already generous waistline slip back towards the territory of Class II obesity? Or would the thoughts that have swirled within me for seemingly my entire life take hold?

Today, as I filled my basket with chips, sour cream and onion dip, ice cream, and ingredients for pizza, I was opting for my true self. The one that craved heft and mass, curves and bloat. And soon, I would have 2 full days entirely to myself, with nothing and no one to stop myself from indulging my appetites and desires.

As I drove home, stuffing an impulse purchase Twix bar into my mouth, I whispered to my belly that she would be having the weekend of her dreams. That she would not be denied a single morsel. As I pressed my hand into my gut I yearned for how it would feel tomorrow: stretched, packed, and aching with good food. Few things arouse me like seeing my belly curve dangerously outward, taut and drum-like, begging to be smacked.

At home, I tore into the lemon bar, savoring the dense rich curd as I began to fantasize about the weekend. As I envisioned the McDonald's hash browns and Coke, my hand slid between my legs. Soon I was grinding in rhythm against myself as I imagined an entire Costco pizza, an Indian buffet and Taco Bell. I imagined my heft filling a movie seat, working my way through a bucket of buttery popcorn and a purse full of smuggled snacks, using the reclining seat to give my lungs more room to breathe around my engorged gut. Suddenly I was gasping for air as the pleasure wound itself tight and then released in a series of throbbing spasms.

For the moment, I was satiated but I knew that soon the overwhelming need would rise again. I had the need to feed, and a whole weekend to do nothing but give in to my deepest desires.