Chapter 1

Alrighty then, here's another a story about another plain yet attractive young girl who develops a belly just like mosta the shit on this site! No premium on this one, stories should be free. It's gonna be long.

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~~FAT IN SEVEN WEEKS: Linda & The National Chub-up~~

by firewarrior121 / Some Tormented FA





One morning a slender, a fit gymnast in Södrahem slipped off her aerobics rail by accident while performing a flip. Slamming to the ground on her back, she rolled around winded on the ground. When she could breathe again, she shouted, ‘Aaaagh… f@ck this,’ went home, flung opened the fridge and proceeded to consume every piece of food. She gave no second nor third thoughts about her figure.

Thus began Södrahem’s bi-annual Tjockningfest of 2017; the big Seven Weeks in which the sovereign island-nation of Södrahem indulge in a very certain liberty; the freedom to eat as poorly and as much as you want for a ripping seven weeks. What happens each time makes the rest of the world cast a sidewise glance from afar.

((Some history to read only if you like: Here most people are either Swedish, Spanish, Australian or mixed race, ever since traders from Spain accidentally ran ashore on Södrahem’s south coast in 1799. They were looking for Western Australia to establish trade with Perth. Instead they found a new island. The short story is that the Spaniards were too slow to act. It had been a long time since the Spanish Empire in the 1500’s… One year later, Swedish merchants accidentally ashore as well, but they acted immediately, establishing a trade outpost and fortifying claims on the island. A short, four-year war, fought mostly with half-assed naval missions and angry letters, ended with the Spaniards getting tired and asking for citizenship from the Swedes instead. The island grew, went through some hiccups and eventually reached a standard of living where they got bored of insulting each other and formed a coalition in 1824. After some more hiccups, involving religious disagreements and a nine-month food scarcity, people were able to move on and learn to tolerate each other.))

Currently it was Monday morning, 8th of May, 2017 – not exactly beaming bright, but fresh enough to delight your spirits at the realization that today is the day you finally let go. Cafes and coffee shops were blistering with so much activity they struggled to maintain staffing, as customers came in to eat and drink everything they’ forbidden themselves until now; brain-fogging chocolates, tongue-numbing sugar treats, flavoured chips until you were too full, soft drink until you got a stomach ache, doughnuts until you felt sick, desserts until you grew round. It was not uncommon to wake one morning and find yourself carrying a pot belly. Sometimes even more than that.

While Tjockningfest only begun in 1825 as a brief time of indulgence in resistance to government-enforced rations, since then the economy had slowly blossomed. Now in 2017, Tjockningfest had bloomed into an entire holiday season of gluttony– a cultural event just as important as Christmas or Easter. So, if you put on a bit of weight, then so what. That’s the whole cultural fun of it. Tjockningfest ends, you shed the weight, best you can, and move on.

But we understand that, for some reason, Linda Ellikopa could never manage to do this. At nineteen years of age, this was her second Tjockning festival since turning seventeen, the age you could participate. While everyone she knew took Seven Weeks to eat whatever their salivating tongues wriggled towards, seventeen-year-old Linda seemed to resent Tjockningfest with the same attitude of an adolescent who turns Christmas into an excuse to criticize “society, man”. For two embattled years, she’d held off the Great National Indulgence, seeing it as nothing but decadence. This year, it looked like things were going to be no different.

‘Aw, come on Lindy-girl,’ her high school friends would plead. ‘Why does it have to be all about limits, here? Smash those limits! Live a little! You’ve only got seven weeks.’

Sure, they’d say that, but after a few weeks they’d appear at the graduation ceremony and Linda would find herself peering at their tummies, wondering if that was a little spill of belly roll she could see there. Then a week later at the graduation party, she’d be finding ways to ignore the way her friends’ hips seemed to be puffed up more than she remembered, their upper thighs looking thicker and their waists swollen. So Linda would eat as strictly as if she were her own prison guard, preferring instead to watch with a contemptuous eye as everyone joked, laughed and ate more than their bodies could cope with.

Linda wasn’t the only one. You could say she was part of the ‘prissies’; a minority of people who appeared to prefer breaking out in a sweat over restricting their food intake rather than let go for a few weeks. But we also understand that Linda behaved this way to, among other reasons, keep her head down… She’d been shunted into this corner of obedience by her parents who, crucially, were not Södrahemish.

Maria and Terry Ellikoppa moved to Södrahem at the respective ages of 29 and 27– only a year before Linda was born. Mr and Mrs Ellikoppa were outsiders; they were not Swedes, nor were they Spanish. Instead they’d come straight from Britain, nearly as Anglo as they come except for Terry’s Greek mother. So this curious cultural “festival”, in which the whole Island Nation of Södrahem spent seven weeks indulging in as much food as possible until, lo-and-behold, muffin tops peeked out from under shirts, was utterly questionable. But it’s not as if the ordeal was entirely insane to Mr Terry Ellikoppa. He understood it fine, at a grassroots level; the need to just let go once in awhile. It was just… disappointing. A neglectful state of affairs. Hundreds of thousands of people, all failing to say “no” to themselves. A deliberate surrendering of self control. For all anyone knew, that same mentality could leak into other things, other behaviors best left repressed, until anything might be excused. If you weren’t your own master, then who would be?

All this fright he felt… it found gravity, it found a center, in his daughter. He looked at her young from sleeping and knew this was where she’d grow up. In a place which allows seven weeks of the year to ignore your better sensibilities. Where would she find her self control if not in that very festival season? He never told her this directly, just gave her subtle cues; silent but obvious silences to any mention of Tjockningfest. At the age of seventeen, Linda became aware of the full scope of the power dynamic at play here, and found herself settling into a daughterly complacency. She’d never indulge in the Tjockningfest. Well, yes, her father did have to apply his paternal pressure, but… After all, it’s never been an evolutionarily natural decision to deny to your impulses. Then again, most parenting is exactly that isn’t it: to force behaviours into shape.

***

The year’s Tjockningfestival came, went, and faded away to show up in the nation’s collective memory like a fingerprint on setting clay. While Linda stayed trim, she watched with something between disgust and a kind of envy she wasn’t ready to admit to herself as everyone tore down their barriers, bulldozed through their inhibitions and had fun. Why couldn’t she let go like that? They looked so happy for those seven weeks, eating whatever they wanted to. Some of them came out of Tjockningfest sporting little muffintops and potbellies, but no one cared. Some lost them, some didn’t. Some even let their muffintops keep expanding. Some grew fast, some grew slow. Nobody seemed to worry so much. Except for the prissies, who could barely hide their sneers every time they saw someone still carrying around whatever weight they’d added to their bodies in the last two months. Some prissies were vocal enough to begin blogs, or write in a letter to the editor making an argument that Tjockningfest was unhealthy and morally degraded. Being only a recent voice, with the advent of concern for the ethics of fast food, the prissies had never gained that much attention. People pretended they didn’t exist. If anyone acknowledged what they said at all, it was only by giving a solemn nod of the head, and ‘Oh’ and an ‘Ah’– before shrugging their ‘do I care?’ shoulders and getting on with life.

Linda was never so vocal. It was her father who was most against the idea. Her mother let it happen, but especially at family gatherings, you’d hear him passionately discussing his point of view with relatives. Most of them– aunts, uncles, cousins, gandparents –saw him in the same light as a climate change denier and merely acted like they agreed with his opinions. Linda wasn’t blind to this dynamic. She wished he’d either shut up, or they’d stop pretending to agree and actually argue with him. Yet his views still had their effect on her. She’d taken them on, and they stuck. All until she turned twenty.