Chapter 1. Completed short story

It’s a sunny morning. You’re sitting on the porch, enjoying the company of your steaming coffee mug and a dozen donuts. You used to take your coffee black, but a few months ago you discovered cream and now you can’t live without it. You started out with half-and-half, but out of curiosity you substituted that with heavy cream one day and never looked back. You eat your donuts slowly, savouring every bite. You slurp the cream nestled in the interior greedily, not caring about the crumbs flying every which way when you tear into the heavenly fluffy exterior surrounding it. Each of your donuts has a different glaze, each with its own happy colour and unique flavour. You lose yourself in a sugar high-fuelled ecstasy, sweet sticky glaze on your lips and notes of strawberry, chocolate, hazelnut, pistachio, and coffee playing on your taste buds.

Once you’ve washed down all twelve donuts with several generous mugs of cream-with-just-a-splash-of-espresso and licked your fingers and plate clean with satisfaction, you come back into your own body enough to realize you’re uncomfortable. Fuck, it’s hot out. Your back is damp with sweat, your forehead is slick with it too. Gross. With no more donuts to distract you, your mood quickly sours and you flee inside. How is it March already? And so unseasonably warm, at that? You’re wearing a bulky fleece-lined hoodie and dark jeans, no wonder you’re practically cooking like an egg in this heat. So you lumber up the stairs to your closet, determined to change into something more weather-appropriate. You find yourself panting by the time you reach the top. It’s so hot you can barely stand it. Did you always have so many stairs? Were they always so steep? Are you out of shape? You push the last thought out of your mind. Nah, you don’t need exercise. The stairs are just out to get you.

In the walk-in closet, you fetch the storage boxes with your spring and summer wardrobe and carry them back out into the bedroom, setting them by the full-length mirror. What should you wear? You look yourself over in the mirror. Why does your face look so sweaty and red?! Even your hair is wet! Disgusting. This is all the fault of the stupid hot sun and the stupid hot temperature outside. Global warming is the culprit for sure. You think your face looks a bit rounder than it used to, with fuller cheeks. But no, it just looks like that because you grew a beard. Wait, is that a double chin? No, you just look different with the beard, that’s all. You continue to appraise your body. You think you look pretty good, but…huh. That’s weird. You could have sworn when you bought this hoodie at the beginning of last winter, it was hugely over-sized. Now, it has more of a slim-fit look. It is quite form-fitting, hugging your chest and arms tightly and clinging to your stomach. You turn to look at your side profile. Were you always so round, with such a bulging curve to your belly? No, this can’t be a new development. You would have noticed if you were gaining weight. Your gaze continues lower and what you see next brings a flaming rush of embarrassment to your cheeks. You were sitting on the porch in front of the whole neighbourhood, and your fly was fully down this whole time? No wonder your jeans are fitting more loosely and comfortably than normal! You used to wear a belt with them, but lately you’ve been finding them to fit quite snug. The legs of the jeans are also tight, showing off your thick legs and calves. Quick turn around and look back to take a peek – you smile when you see how good your ass is looking too. Large and juicy, your jeans riding up in the crack and straining in their weak attempt to contain you. You like how it gives you a nice lift. Yeah, you’re definitely in the best shape of your life right now.

Okay, enough admiring yourself in the mirror. You bend over to open the first box of clothes – was it always such a struggle to bend over? You feel so inflexible, your donut and cream filled belly is in the way. Ugh, you hate bending over – and select an outfit at random. Button-up shirt and shorts? Why not. You take off your hoodie, relieved to feel a bit of coolness on your bare skin from the working ceiling fan. You step into the shorts first, only to discover a minor hiccup: they won’t come up past your thighs. What? You couldn’t have gotten that much more muscular, you didn’t spend a minute at the gym this winter. These must have shrunk in the wash. You dig through your clothes, eventually finding a pair of jean shorts in the largest size you have. With some strategic wriggling, hopping, pulling, shimmying, and sucking in, you get them up to your waist. Or what’s left of it, anyways. There is no way buttoning these up is going to be something that is ever going to happen. You look back at your reflection. You’re completely soaked in sweat now from that exertion. Beads of sweat down your red face, streaks of sweat down your chest and belly as it heaves while you catch your breath. Wow. This is the first time you’ve properly looked at your body in months. You cup your moobs in your hands. The skin is so soft against your palms, the feeling of the fat so squishy and friendly in your hands. They’re stress-relieving to hold, press, jiggle, and play with.

You caress your belly, then hold it at the bottom. It’s taut from this morning, making you look like a heavily pregnant woman. You have love handles spilling over the waistband of your hilariously tight shorts, and when you turn around to check, you find rolls on your back. You take a minute to play with your love handles, pulling and squeezing them. Then you bounce your belly up and down, enjoying how your earlier feast feels packed in there. You realize you should probably be ashamed of yourself. That you should diet or start taking fitness classes. But you don’t want to do those things. And damn, you still look hot. So you put on the button-up shirt, deciding to leave it unbuttoned over your bare chest and belly as a fashion statement. Ha, as if! You wish, fatty. No, you leave it unbuttoned because you’ve grown into quite the porker and this shirt isn’t going to button up over your fat belly even if you got on your knees and begged it to.

Fuck it. You whip out your phone and in a few swipes, order an extra-large everything-on-it pizza delivery to your door with a 2L soda add-on. All that spring cleaning of your closet has gotten you to build up an appetite.

You answer the door with a dashing smile and a big tip, flashing the blushing delivery man with your massive gut. Let him stare, he’s either jealous or turned on and you don’t mind either option. You rip into the pizza like the glutton you are right at the door, folding each hot cheesy slice in half to hold all the toppings in there and gobbling them up in massive bites. You keep one hand on your belly as you gorge yourself, feeling it swell and tighten. You take breaks only to guzzle on the soda, enjoying how it expands and inflates your stomach further. With a wet smack of your lips, the last slice vanishes down your gullet. You’ve gotten crumbs all over your chest and huge belly, you nasty pig. You’re unbothered by it, giving your belly a loving rub and thinking about what to have for dessert. Mmm, there’s ice cream in the freezer.

You waddle to the kitchen to fetch a tub of ice cream and a spoon, then waddle to your couch and settle into the cushions heavily. You’re pretty full, but there’s always room for dessert. You recline back to try to give your bulging belly as much room as possible, then you begin. You attack the tub of ice cream in a frenzy, shoveling it down your throat while moaning like a starving animal. It’s cold, it’s sweet, it’s creamy. It’s filling you up with yummy, fattening calories. As you work through the tub, you watch your belly grow further right before your eyes. It’s painfully full, skin stretched and tight. You set the empty tub aside and rub your belly with one sticky hand while prying your cock out of your small shorts with the other with some difficulty. You’re so hard, and already dripping. It doesn’t take long to come. Fuck. You’re a fat, slovenly pig…and you love it.

It’s an easy decision to donate all your old spring and summer clothes. You’re never going to wear them again, there’s no point being in denial about that. At the donation box you feel as if you are showing off how fat and out of control you are to the world, with your distended belly extending well past the flaps of your open shirt and bursting out of your tiny shorts with the fly undone all the way to try and ease how they are suffocating you. It’s out there for everyone to see. As you deposit your old clothes, an older and much larger man lurches over in his own uncomfortably tight clothing.

“We’re in the same boat, kid,” he reassures you with a warm smile. He gives you a wink and his awe-inspiring belly a slap, leaving it wobbling. You nod and grin and get back in your car. Your seat is adjusted over a foot more backwards than it used to be, but the cramped driver’s seat is already starting to feel too tight again.

On the way to your final destination, you stop at a fast food joint for another snack. You’re snacking a lot these days, and you’re especially feeling the need to stress-eat today after finding out you’ve got no clothes for the coming months. You order three greasy burgers, a bucket of fries, several helpings of chicken nuggets with three different flavours of sauces to try. And a blueberry milkshake – extra large. You just can’t help yourself, it’s no wonder you’ve let yourself go so badly. You scarf the hot food down furiously right there in the parking lot. Sauces and grease dripping down into your beard, crumbs flying everywhere, dipping sauce all over your cheeks and fingers. Stuffing yourself relentlessly, filling yourself up more than you ever thought you could. You keep a protective hand on your belly, feeling how rigid it is. You eat until you’re hard as a rock. Both your belly and the appendage below it. Girls like guys with rock-hard abs, isn’t that what they say? This isn’t so much different: you’ve got a very firm and hard belly too once you’ve taken the time to eat a proper meal, you’re just as sexy as they are.

You demonstrate a commendable amount of self-control by waiting until you start the car to sip on the milkshake. After all, you need something to keep yourself busy as you drive.
You continue to test your stomach’s limits on the road, sipping at the milkshake slowly and feeling the thick liquid settle heavily in your protesting gut. You put the window down a bit, letting the breeze cool your sweaty face. When you pull into the parking lot, you manage to snag a spot as close to the mall entrance as possible. This year, you’ll make sure to stock up on clothes you can grow into.

***

Dearest reader, you round little macaron,

Thank you for reading "Spring Cleaning"! If you are enjoying my writing, give my profile a follow to be updated when I release new content.

I dare you to drop a like and comment your favourite moment or give me an idea for what I should write my next short story about 😉

Happy reading! 💋

Xx

~Passing For Vanilla 🤫