Chapter 1

I’ve never been one to believe in fate or destiny. I never really imagined that anything in life was truly meant to be. Things happen, we make choices, we deal with the consequences of those choices.

At this particular moment in my life, however, I truly felt as though I knew exactly what I needed to do—and who I was doing it for.

Ever since I’d met my boyfriend Corwin, he made it known that he was very attracted to my size. You see, I’ve always been on the heavier side, ever since I was very young. While others around me would say things like, “Diana, you need to control your appetite. You’ll never meet a nice guy if you keep getting fatter,” Corwin would always say things like, “Have another piece of chicken, Diana. Another pork chop, another beer, another slice of pie—you could never be too fat for me.”

At first I thought he was just kidding around, and I found his accepting attitude about my weight to be charmingly refreshing. After a few weeks though, I could see that he was completely serious about wanting me to gain weight for him and get bigger. Honestly, I was a bit afraid. I really didn’t know what to make of it.

My mind began to come around to the idea when I noticed how differently he looked at me compared to anyone else. There was a light in his eyes whenever I reached for seconds, or when I let myself relax into the fullness of a good meal. It wasn’t the kind of patronizing indulgence I had seen from men before, the sort of smirk that said they were amused but not truly interested. No, Corwin’s gaze carried a kind of reverence, as though my body in all its heaviness was something sacred to him.
The first time he placed his hand on my hip, he lingered there, his thumb brushing against the curve with a tenderness that sent a thrill straight to my chest. “You don’t know how beautiful you are,” he whispered, and in that moment I believed him. For years I had trained myself to hide—looser clothing, polite refusals at dessert trays, self-deprecating jokes to ease my discomfort—but with Corwin, all of that began to feel unnecessary.
Still, there were nights when the voices of others returned. Betty’s words, sharp as the click of her heels in the hallway at the facility, telling me that I deserved better than a man who might be “using” me. Yet, every time I weighed her warnings against Corwin’s quiet encouragement, his warmth won out. There was something intoxicating about being wanted so completely.
It was Benicio, of all people, who surprised me by noticing the change in me first. One night during our rounds, he offered me a cup of vending machine cocoa and said with a sideways grin, “You’ve been glowing lately, Diana. New shampoo, or is it something else?” I laughed him off, but the way he said it lingered with me. He wasn’t teasing, not exactly. It was as if he could sense the shift in me, the secret I was slowly embracing.
I knew then that I stood at the edge of a choice. Corwin’s dream of me was clear, and for the first time in my life, I was ready to make it my own.
One night, as I was taking my first dinner break of the evening, I sat at my desk staring at the food delivery app, trying to decide between Italian food or Chinese food. I loved both styles of cuisine equally, and honestly, I could never get enough of either. That’s when a quiet little voice sounded off from somewhere deep in the back of my mind:

“Why don’t you have both?”

My mouth watered as I licked my chops ravenously. The thought of gleefully gulping down heaps of pasta, garlic bread and cannolis alongside lo mein noodles, pork fried rice and crispy egg rolls sounded wickedly indulgent and sinfully satisfying.

“Should I?” I said to myself as my fingers hovered over the touch screen. I decided just to put everything my inner pig desired into my basket, then I’d make up my mind before pulling the trigger.

It was absolutely ridiculous, all of the food I was selecting for myself. Multiple pasta dishes, a large pizza, garlic bread and loads of decadent desserts, followed by Chinese noodles, fried rice, chicken wings, egg rolls and crab Rangoon—all of it packed into my cart. The price kept going up, higher and higher, along with the potential calorie count.

Once I had made my way through the Italian and Chinese menus, I thought to myself, “Why stop there?” So next, I moved onto the burger joint down the street that I knew stayed open late. Their menu had always been a guilty pleasure of mine—thick, greasy patties dripping with cheese, baskets of fries seasoned just right, and milkshakes that could make you weak in the knees. With a few more taps of my finger, I had added a double bacon cheeseburger, chili cheese fries, and a strawberry shake to the growing mountain of food that already threatened to overrun my breakroom desk.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the glowing screen as if it were some kind of altar. The order total looked obscene, the kind of bill meant for a family gathering or a late-night party. Yet there I was, one woman, salivating at the very idea of trying to devour it all myself. My heart raced, my palms damp as though I were about to confess something scandalous. In truth, I was—at least to myself.
Because deep down, I knew what this meant. This was not just an indulgence. This was me making a choice. Every plastic container filled to the brim with food, every clamshell box that would soon arrive heavy with grease, all of it represented a step further into Corwin’s world. A world where my body was not only accepted, but celebrated for its boundless appetite.
Just as I was about to confirm the order, Betty appeared at my desk, clutching a stack of files in her arms. “What are you getting up to in here?” she inquired with a knowing grin, her eyes flicking toward my screen. “Tell me you’re not about to spend your whole paycheck on takeout again.”
I fumbled to lock my phone, cheeks flushing. “It’s just dinner,” I replied, though even to my ears it sounded weak.
Betty raised a brow, dropping the files onto the desk with a soft thud. “Diana, you’ve been different lately. I don’t know what’s going on with you and Corwin, but please—don’t lose yourself just to please him.”
Her words clung to me like static, buzzing against the pulse of my desire. I wanted to brush her off, to laugh and change the subject, but the screen of my phone still burned against my fingertips. The order sat there, waiting for me to claim it.

I knew that Betty was just looking out for me, just as she always had. We’d been friends for years, and she probably knew me better than anyone else in my life. Honestly though, who did she think she was? I’m a grown woman, and if I want to spend my entire paycheck on a single take out order, well that would be my prerogative.

The moment that Betty left the room, I defiantly smashed the order button on the app, and I watched eagerly as my delivery driver rushed from place to place, picking my massive feast for me. When he finally arrived, my eyes couldn’t believe the overwhelming girth of the bags full of greasy, fattening food. “Soon, all of that girth will be a part of me,” I thought to myself as I rubbed my hands together and prepared to feast.

I started with the fettuccine Alfredo, twirling it around my fork and ramming it down my throat like a woman possessed. I was so hungry, and it felt so good to finally eat. From there I moved on to a ziti with arrabbiata sauce and sausage, followed by some lo mein, egg rolls and chicken wings. Before long, I was indiscriminately shoving anything and everything into my face with a reckless abandon.

My belly started getting full, fuller than I think I’d ever been. No longer hungry, my stuffing continued fueled solely by my own greed. I ate and ate, my belly seeming to get fuller and rounder right before my eyes.

After having polished off all the pizza and pasta, most of the Chinese food, and several cheeseburgers, my pace was beginning to slow. My breathing was growing heavy as I struggled to force down the last bits of my repast. It was almost as if I wanted to destroy any and all evidence of my gluttonous behavior by shoving it all inside of me.

When finally I had stuffed every last entrée and every last dessert, I felt a pressure building up inside of me. It was an intense feeling that made me feel like I might explode. Leaning back in my chair, I put both hands on top of my swollen belly, trying to massage the discomfort away.

“Oh God!” I gasped aloud to myself. “I can’t believe what a pig I am. I’m so—hic!—-stuffed!”

Just then, a massive belch escaped from my gullet, echoing throughout the empty break room. No sooner did this happen, that I saw the door open up, and walking into the room was Benicio, the facility’s handsome young custodian, dutifully pushing his mop along the floor. His eyes widened as soon as he took in the sight of me—the table buried under mountains of empty containers, greasy wrappers, and the remains of my gluttonous conquest.

Benicio stopped in the doorway, his hand tightening on the frame. “Wow,” he whispered, the word slipping out before he could catch it. His voice carried no judgment—only the wide-eyed amazement of someone stumbling across something both forbidden and irresistible.

“Did you—did you really eat all of this yourself, Diana?”

“Yup, it was all me,” I shot back quickly, almost too quickly, my hiccup betraying me. “I ate it all myself, every last–hiccup!—bite.”

I knew Benicio enough to know that he wasn’t being judgmental of me. In fact, I’d long suspected that he had a bit of a crush on me. Truth be told, I liked Benicio as well. He was a very sweet guy, and not at all bad looking. If it weren’t for the fact that we were coworkers, and the fact that I was already in a relationship with Corwin—well, who knows what might have been.

“You must think I’m—hic!—an awful pig,” I said to him feigning innocence, knowing deep down the effect that my words, combined with my swollen and bloated state, would likely have on him.

“Not at all,” he said in a near gasp. “You look as lovely as ever, Diana.”

“Oh, Benicio,” I said, my face getting hot and red, “you are too sweet.”

“I just wonder,” he said as he dared to come a bit closer to me, “are you okay? Your belly is looking very full. Do you need me to get you an antacid or anything?”

“I’m fine,” I answered softly, as another thunderous burp escaped from my esophagus and echoed off the breakroom walls, my belly gurgling as if to taunt me. “I suppose this is what I get for—BUUURP!—being such a greedy fatty.”

For a moment, he only swallowed, color rising in his cheeks. Then he pulled a chair forward and sat across from me, not too close, but close enough that I could see the nervous curve of his smile. His eyes—dark, earnest, and much too steady—lingered on mine instead of the bloated swell of my stomach.
“Maybe it’s not my place to say,” he said with a shy shrug, “but, if eating this much makes you happy, you don’t have to beat yourself up about it. You’re allowed to want things for yourself—even if some people don’t understand it.”

“Thank you for saying that, Benicio,” I said to him with a smile. “I really do love to eat, and I love—uurp!—being fat.”

“There is something very beautiful about it,” Benicio said in a near whisper. “It’s almost graceful even, like poetry. It’s as if you’re turning yourself into a living work of art.”

I could see an excitement growing in his eyes. It was a look I had come to know well; it was the same look I’d see in Corwin’s eyes every time he watched me polish off another bowl of ice cream, another slice of pie, or scarf down an entire rotisserie chicken in front of him. I worried I was giving him the wrong idea, and I knew I had to be careful not to let things drift past their boundaries.

“My boyfriend Corwin really likes it too,” I said, and I watched as the excitement in Benicio’s eyes morphed into something more akin to a friendly curiosity.

“Does he?” Benicio asked, trying his best to mask the visible hurt in his eyes with a weary smile on his lips.

“Very much,” I told him. “In fact, it was Corwin that really—hiccup!—awakened this side of me. He made me realize how sexy it can be to get fat for someone.”

“So you’re doing this for him?”

“In part,” I said, doing my best to quell my persistent hiccups. “I’m doing it for me too though. I mean, Corwin introduced the idea of intentional weight gain to me at first, but since then, I’ve—hic!—really come to embrace it as a part of who I am.”

There was a moment of silence, but not an uncomfortable one. I really felt as though Benicio was hearing me and truly understanding where I was coming from. That kind of understanding was something precious and rare, and while I was choosing to keep Benicio at a platonic distance, it felt good to know that there was another person in my life who truly seemed to understand me.