The belly illustrated

Chapter 1 - freedom to mcfatten

It all started with the golden arches.

I had just legally reached the age of majority and gotten my driver's license. For me, that freedom opened up the world of my food fantasies; and at that time, McDonalds was the focus of my attentions. No more begging for a trip to McDs, depending on the goodwill of others. Now I could drive my own car through drive-thrus, load up and eat to my heart's content.

Suddenly I was limited only by my cash flow, which was ample, and my waistbands, which soon were not. There were five McDs within ten miles of my house, and I began to frequent each one of them. Any time was a good time, as they say. In that very first week of having freedom to drive my own car, every spare moment found me feasting: happily scarfing big macs and chicken nuggets and french fries - oh, the pounds of hot, salty, pleasantly greasy french fries. In that first week I packed on ten pounds, all in the belly. At the end of sophomore year, I had been the only girl in my class to pass the 200 pound mark. After a couple of weeks of McDonalds, I was up to 218 pounds. In a way, the new freedom was scary; I wondered what would stop me from eating myself up to the 300s or even 400s. The answer turned out to be: nothing.

On one particularly hot summer day before starting junior year, I had visited three drive-thrus to get my greasy fix. I bought two double-quarter-pounders and a large fry at each one, pulled over into some shade to enjoy them in my air-conditioned car, then headed to the next drive-thru. I was eating - okay, inhaling - burger number five when my cell rang. My best friend, Ramesh.

There is a lot to understand about Ramesh, years of history between us, but I will spare you the details. He is a thoughtful, artistic guy one year younger than me, and currently heavy into neogothic music. We both felt like outcasts and our friendship eased the daily stresses of not fitting in. Somehow we always had a good time together, despite the fact that we had almost nothing in common - well, maybe a sense of humor.

"Come get me now!" he hissed into the phone, skipping all the formalities of Hey, whatcha doing. I could guess that he'd been at it with his mother again. Probably on account of that Twist or Die concert he went to last night. "I'll be there in five," I replied through a mouthful of meat and cheese. Oh well, I thought, I was really too stuffed to attempt burger number six at that moment.

He was waiting for me at the top of his street, clearly desperate to be somewhere else. I knocked all the fast food litter off the passenger seat and onto the floor, and Ramesh jumped in. "Where to?" I asked. "Anywhere, just drive," he answered. We didn't have to talk about the fight he was fleeing; it had all been said before.

"Want a burger?" I offered generously, but only because I knew the answer. Ramesh looked half-starved but seldom had any appetite. Of course, I was the opposite - a very fat girl, growing more overweight, and feeding my face constantly.

"Nah. Marlee, you have trashed this car, chick, since I saw you yesterday. Did you eat all those burgers today?" he asked, kicking at the family of cardboard boxes around his feet. It was a rhetorical question. Ramesh knew my obsession with McDs and anyone could see how much I'd been eating lately. His eyes took in how my bare belly was overflowing the unbuttoned waistband of my pants, but he made no comment. There are some things you just don't point out to your best friend.

"I wish you could've come with me last night - it so rocked, seriously freaking rocked. They came on from the sides of the stage swinging on metal cables, wearing chainmail with flashing lights around the edges..." He went on in detail, and I kind of tuned out. Twist or Die was music I tolerated out of friendship. I could just barely put up with it, but Ramesh was always dead serious about music, so I held my tongue.

Within a few minutes we were cruising through a rather sketchy part of town. "Hey, stop here, stop - I know what we're going to do. We're going to get tattoos," he informed me, like it was some foregone conclusion that I wanted a tattoo. The thought had actually never crossed my mind. We pulled up in front of a beautifully hand-lettered sign, The Ink Artiste's Studio. "I want to get Twist or Die, right here," he said, indicating his upper arm. He hopped out and stood there waiting. "Um, aren't you coming with me?"

I didn't want to. I was sluggish from the burgers and fries; so miserably bloated that I knew my belly couldn't be squeezed back into my unbuttoned pants, and I didn't want to waddle out of my car in that condition. How I wished I could just stay in the car and eat that last burger, and maybe take a nap. I stalled, trying desperately to think up a tactful way to suggest this.

"Marlee. Bring your burger and come on," he said, reading my mind. It felt like an obligation of best-friendship, so I went dutifully.

Anyone can guess what happened next... an hour later I sat next to Ramesh, watching the needle go in and out of his dark skin, and he was telling me I absolutely had to get one too. He described it in such poetic terms; the most exquisite pain, a revitalizing sensation, I think he said. I sat there in a tattoo studio next to my friend, with my sweaty, porky gut hanging out, eating my sixth double-quarter-pounder of that day and it was barely lunchtime... and I knew what symbol I wanted pierced into my skin: the golden arches. A yellow M on a field of red. I told the Ink Artiste and he did not bat an eyelash.

"That's lovely, where do you want it?" he asked. Could there be any doubt? "Here," I said, patting the thickest roll of fat just to the right side of my navel. Ramesh was right about the pain... it was exquisite and completely took my mind away from feeling uncomfortably stuffed.

Much later that night, I lay in bed eating a bag of double-stuff Oreos with a huge mug of milk, thinking about this rash decision I'd made... it was just so thrilling. I adored the food under those golden arches, and I was excited to think about advertising it with my growing belly. It was a better high than any drug I'd tried; I felt I had done something very brave - marking my body as a deliberate glutton, my appetite spelled out for everyone to see.