The Art of Abundance

Chapter 1 – Waking up

The weekend began slowly. Arthur lay half-asleep in the large family home, in a room filled with heavy chairs, a solid desk, and a stack of cookbooks he never really read. Morning light crept through the curtains, softly illuminating his round, blonde face, still radiating sleepy calm. But the most striking feature was his belly. Broad and soft, an impressive wave of flesh stretched across the bed, deforming every mattress fiber under its weight. With each small movement, the bed creaked; the springs protested, squeaked, and shifted slightly, a gentle warning that his size did not go unnoticed.

His eyes flickered half-open as the door cracked and his mother entered. She was a woman who never seemed small, always full of energy, with a smile that could nearly light up the entire house. In the golden morning light, she seemed larger than life, a living source of warmth and care. “Good morning, darling,” she said, her voice full of affection and playful teasing. “I’ve already made your breakfast. And believe me, you’ll need it.”

Arthur turned slowly, a movement that dragged, as if his own body resisted him. His belly plopped heavily into the sheets, a wave of soft fat spreading over the mattress and pressing lightly against the blankets. It was a slowed movement; his muscles didn’t work as they once had, each kilo seeming to set its own pace, each breath bringing a slight wobble to his balance. He had to push himself up with his arms, but even that felt heavy; his hands dug deeply into the mattress, fingers sinking into the springs as he lifted himself. It was not a smooth movement, not an easy start to the day, but a slow awakening of a body too big, too heavy, too present to glide effortlessly through the morning.

He let his legs slide off the bed slowly. His thighs were wide, the muscles beneath the soft fat heavy and slow, each movement bringing a subtle, rolling effect to his belly. His soft belly rolled slightly over the edge of the bed, a living mass dancing with gravity as his hips tilted. His skin glistened slightly, lightly covered with a fine layer of sweat from the first morning warmth, and he felt gravity pressing the soft flesh gently to the floor as he placed his feet on the cold tiles. It was an awakening of physical awareness, a confrontation with the sheer size of his own body: the belly tipping forward with each step, the flanks pressing softly against his thighs, the ribs barely distinguishable beneath the fat that draped over him like a protective mantle.

He pulled on a loose pair of sweatpants, the only garment offering him some freedom that morning. The elastic waist stretched over his wide hips and belly but offered little real support; instead, it exposed his bulk in motion. As he descended the stairs, he noticed how his belly moved softly, each small step a slow, rocking rhythm transferring his weight to the floor. His hands glided lightly over his belly as he balanced, the skin soft and warm under his fingers, the contours of the mass almost hypnotic in their slow, wave-like motion. His chest rose and fell with each breath, heavy and rhythmic, as if he could feel his own heartbeat through the soft flesh pressing against his ribs.

The staircase to the dining room seemed short, but each step was a challenge for a body of his size. His thighs pressed heavily together, the muscles tense beneath the softness of fat, while his belly tilted lightly against the railing. Sometimes he had to pause, a hand on the banister, deep breaths moving chest and belly, aware of the weight in each step. Upon reaching the ground floor, he felt his body fully present: the soft folds of his belly spreading along his sides, the round upper arms swinging lightly against his torso, and the soft, rolling mass accentuating every movement.

In the dining room, a mountain of food stood ready, enough to feed a small family. The table creaked lightly under the enormous stacks: egg dishes with extra toppings, piles of bacon glistening in the morning light, thick slices of cheese, and pancakes covered in syrup and sugar, looking like a luxurious feast gone overboard. His mother stood beside him, laughing, her eyes sparkling with pleasure and anticipation, as she handed him a massive mug of chocolate milk. The cup was huge and the thick, sweet drink steamed in the cold morning light. “No half measures today, right?” he asked, holding the mug firmly and almost ritually guiding it to his lips.

Arthur glanced at the breakfast. His eyes traveled over the plates, each stack of food a mountain, both a challenge and an invitation. He sat down at the table, his belly pressing heavily against the edge of the chair, chest leaning slightly forward to make room. With each movement, he felt the soft weight of his belly on his thighs, the flesh brushing lightly against the table edge. His arms rested on the tabletop, thick and heavy, skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat forming in the morning warmth. The size of his belly, the soft overhanging fat, the round shapes of chest and shoulders, all together gave him a physical presence impossible to ignore.

His mother slid a plate closer, the stack of eggs glistening with butter, the bacon crisp and golden. She laughed as she set the plate down, her eyes sparkling with pleasure and anticipation. “Go ahead, darling. You’ll need it,” she said. Arthur took a deep breath, chest heavy and rhythmic, belly slowly rolling with each inhale. He stabbed a fork into the eggs, feeling the weight of the food pieces in his hand, their presence almost as impressive as his own.

With the first bite, he felt the food fill his stomach, his soft belly pressing lightly against the edge of the table. He took a sip of chocolate milk, feeling the thick, sweet liquid glide down his throat, and smiled as he remembered that one evening a few days ago: working at the Bacon Factory, sending the buttons of his work polo flying, and watching the crowd go wild.

He was fully aware of his size. Every movement, every gesture, every bite emphasized his physical reality: a man large, heavy, and imposing, whose belly and chest defined him in everything he did. The morning was still young, yet he already felt fully present, every fiber of his body participating in the ritual of eating, moving, and existing as a man bigger than many things around him.