Three Hundred

Chapter 1

Evan had lost three pounds.

184.6.

He remained on the scale for another few seconds before stepping off, moving it away from the wall, and trying again. The same number appeared. Three pounds in two weeks was decent progress, especially considering how many times he had started and stopped this particular diet already.

He should have been happy.

Instead, Evan stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror and looked at his stomach.

There was a slight curve to it when he relaxed. Not enough that most people would call him fat, but enough that his body no longer looked the way Evan thought it was supposed to look. His waist was softer, his stomach protruded a little over his underwear, and there was enough flesh below his navel that he could grab it with one hand.

Evan did.

He squeezed the softness between his fingers and frowned at his reflection.

Part of him hated it. That was the part responsible for the calorie tracker on his phone, the scale in the bathroom, and the plain hard-boiled eggs he would be eating for breakfast instead of the pancakes he actually wanted.

The other part of him liked the feeling in his hand.

That was the problem.

Evan turned sideways and pushed his stomach outward. The small belly became more obvious. He rubbed it once, then imagined it larger.

The thought came easily.

Twenty more pounds would probably give him a real belly. At fifty, his face would start changing and his thighs might rub together. He'd definitely have to replace all his clothes.

Evan liked imagining that more than he wanted to admit.

The fantasy rarely stopped at fifty pounds either.

Three hundred.

That was the number that always came back.

At three hundred pounds, there would be no pretending he had merely let himself go a little. He would be fat, astonishingly fat. His stomach would have actual weight to it, enough to rest across his thighs when he sat. His face would be round, his arms thick, his legs heavy. He imagined standing in front of a mirror and trying to suck in, only to discover that it barely changed anything at all.

Evan grabbed his stomach with both hands.

There wasn't enough. The disappointment came first, then embarrassment.

He let go quickly. This was why losing weight had become so frustrating.

Evan genuinely wanted to be thinner. He wanted his old jawline back and wanted to stop thinking about whether his shirts clung to his stomach. He liked the idea of weighing 165 again, and he told himself that if he could just forget all of this fetish that he could be happy at 165.

Unfortunately, there was another version of himself that wanted exactly the opposite.

That side wanted to eat.

It wanted Evan to stop treating every meal as a calorie math problem. It wanted him to order dessert because he wanted dessert, then eat something else two hours later if he was hungry again. It wanted him to step on the scale, see the bigger number, and be satisfied instead of immediately downloading another dieting app.

Sometimes Evan imagined becoming a feedee for real.

He would give himself permission to gain ten pounds.

Just ten. Then twenty. At two hundred, his clothes would start tightening. Instead of panicking, Evan imagined buying larger ones. He would eat more deliberately after that, curious about every new change. The first real belly. A real double chin. The first time his thighs touched.

Abandoning the diets, he would simply keep going. Evan stared at his reflection until the fantasy became uncomfortable.

"No." He shook his head, dropped his small stomach from his hand, and pulled himself from the mirror.

Breakfast was two eggs. Evan entered everything into his calorie tracker before eating, then stared at the remaining calories for the day.

Dieting always seemed to make the feedee part of him louder.

The moment food became restricted, Evan began imagining the opposite. He pictured replacing the eggs with a plate covered in pancakes, bacon and hash browns. He would finish everything, go back for seconds, and perhaps be hungry again before lunch.


Evan closed the app. He was trying to lose weight. That was his decision. It did not matter that another part of him was disappointed every time the scale went down.

By ten-thirty that night, Evan was standing in front of his freezer staring at a box of cinnamon rolls.

He wasn't hungry. Dinner had been only a few hours earlier, but hunger had very little to do with it. He craved the taste and, more importantly, craved to eat with reckless abandon.

Evan closed the freezer and returned to the couch. Fifteen minutes later, he was back.

One cinnamon roll went into the microwave. While he waited, the fantasy returned. If he were actually gaining, one would be almost pointless. Two would be better. Three would be better than two.

Evan frowned at himself.

"One." He scolded himself. Two would ruin his diet.

He ate it at the kitchen table. When he finished, his stomach felt pleasantly full and Evan rested a hand over it.

Almost immediately, the thought came again. Eat another. Not because he was hungry, but because he wanted to feel his stomach swell with fullness and calories.

He sat there arguing with himself for several minutes. The desire only grew and began to drown out all the reasons he started dieting. He got up and heated another.

The second cinnamon roll tasted better and joined the first to make his stomach feel pleasantly overfull and stretched. He rubbed it while he ate, imagining more beneath his hand.

190 pounds.

200.

220.

250.

His mind supplied the numbers one after another until it arrived at the familiar destination.

300.

Evan imagined deliberately eating his way there. He pictured watching the scale climb and knowing that every pound was intentional. He pictured his clothes getting tighter and tighter until he burst out of them. He imagined his appetite growing with each passing week. He thought of his stomach expanding until he had a proper gut, no longer able to suck it in.

The fantasy sent a rush through him. Then Evan noticed the empty plate. The two rolls were 900 calories. His diet was blown for the day.

He sat there feeling simultaneously satisfied and disgusted with himself.

The following morning, he skipped breakfast.