My Angel

Part 3

When I go to the break room for lunch, to my horror, it's already occupied.

"So you've started a new diet?" the redhead says, stirring her coffee.

The chubby blonde nods eagerly. "You only eat potato skins, raw celery and carob juice for three weeks, then you—"

I clutch my enormous lunch bag to my chest, plump hands plucking at my too-tight shirt. "I can't go in there," I mumble. "They'll see me."

"Why not let them see?" my angel says, tracing circles around the buttons that strain over my soft, melting chest. "Why not show them what true satisfaction looks like?"

I blush and pull my cardigan tighter. "I think I'll just eat lunch in my car..."

I pull back the seat, giving my wide thighs room to spread under my heavy gut. My angel reaches around me, fingers playing over my ever-expanding middle as I stuff burgers, fries, chicken strips, and two thick, creamy milkshakes into my groaning belly. As the milkshake slides down my throat, I can feel it stretching, stretching my belly until I can barely breathe, stretching until every last inch is full, stretching until—

P-P-Pop!

One by one, my straining buttons release their hold, my shirt falling open around my tight drum of a belly. Redness creeps into my face as I swallow the last mouthful, shame and guilt mixing with pride and satisfaction.

I wipe my mouth and turn on the ignition. "I have some time left in my lunch hour. I'll just go home and get a new shirt..."

My angel rubs my distended belly, already bulging and red. "There's also time to run through the drive thru and pick up some dessert."

I lick my lips in anticipation as I put the car into gear.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

I open wide for another bite, humming with joy as the fried chicken sends waves of savoury oil and salt lapping over my tongue. The living room lamp casts a warm glow over my bloated, swollen belly as it rests on the soft cushion of my lap. The telly plays softly in the background as I lean back into my angel's arms. It's amazing and frightening how quickly I've adjusted to this new life, spending every free moment letting my angel fill me to the brim with delicious, fattening foods.

My angel squeezes my thickening form as I chew, hands playing over the juicy thighs that are already straining my new sweatpants, the rolls that are beginning to droop and sag, the heavy chest that has destroyed shirt after shirt. "A work of art," my angel murmurs. "Each body is so different in how it expresses itself." It runs a hand under my shirt, pulling it up to free my beautiful, wobbling blob of a belly.

I shiver deliciously at its touch. I moan softly as its fingers rub my skin, tracing circles over the tight, taut skin. Every touch sends shockwaves of pleasure through my body as I gorge myself.

Red stretch marks score my belly. The fullness is starting to hurt. My skin burns with the pressure of all we've stuffed inside me. But still, I open my mouth for another bite.

My angel shakes its head. "No more, little one," it says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I am here to fulfil you, not to hurt you."

I close my mouth reluctantly and lean back into its arms. I try to watch the movie, but I keep fidgeting and shifting, unable to get fully comfortable.

"What is the matter, little human?"

I shake my head, my double chin wobbling. My mouth feels horribly empty without something to chew. I'm so full, but I... "I want more."

To my surprise, my angel's bubbling laughter fills the room. "Oh yes, I have chosen well," it says, throwing its arms around my bulbous frame. "You were made to be large indeed!"

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

I eat at my desk to avoid the stares in the break room. But the stares follow me, co-workers finding little excuses to pop in, asking for a form I need to sign or asking if I got their email. But I know why they're really here. To get a glimpse of the prize hog, rolls bulging out of my chair, double chin wobbling, belly surging past my thighs, stuffing myself past the point of fullness.

I can't help but notice that a few of them hide growing curves under crisp new clothes, look away so I won't see the gold flashing in their eyes. I lick the crumbs off my fingers, making eye contact with the curly-haired intern. She blushes and runs off, covering her stomach with a file folder.

"They want to be like you," my angel murmurs in my ear. "They've seen heaven, and now they want a bite."

I smile and open my third tupperware container. The smell of spaghetti and meatballs fills the office, making me hum with anticipation. My mouth waters as I twirl the fork, the noodles sliding around under the marinara like fish in an ocean of glass. Sauce looms over the edge of my fork, threatening to spill, but I twirl it away with a practised hand. I won't waste even a single drop.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Steam shimmers up from Ma's stew. The meat bubbles in the pan, surrounded by luscious islands of potatoes and carrots. I refill my bowl, savouring the rich flavour as I chew. My belly stretches just a little bit more, my t-shirt squeaking in protest.

Ma fumes in her seat. Her judgemental eyes have been raking me up and down ever since I arrived at their door for dinner, huffing from the short flight of steps. Not that I'm not giving her plenty to glare over. Since she last saw me, my body has flourished in its metamorphosis. My clothes strain at the seams, my steps transforming into a clumsy waddle, my chest and thighs softening to meaty mounds around my round halo of a belly...

"Haven't you had enough?" she finally spits as I reach for another helping. "Are you actually trying to end up like your father?"

My face flushes as she invokes the old threat. I can't tell her the truth. I can't tell her how much I am in love with my new body, that I've started thrilling at every jiggle and bulge, that stuffing myself with rich, decadent food until I can barely move is the only thing that makes me feel alive. No. She wouldn't understand any of it. So I just push my bowl away, pretending to be full, pretending to be satisfied.

Dad looks at me, a hint of sadness in his eyes. His gaze trails over my thickening curves, and I wonder if he feels a familiar kinship. He opens his mouth. I hope he will say something, will stand up for me for once.

But instead, he says, "Maybe we can go for a walk after dinner?"

I sigh and nod.

"Good," Ma says, picking up the plates. "You need the exercise."




The night air is crisp and refreshing after Ma's icy stare. Our shoes crunch on the gravel trail that zigzags through the park. I huff and puff as I do my best to keep up with Dad. I can't help but smile at how much heavier I am, how much effort it takes for something as mundane as walking. Dad sees my struggle and slows his steps. He remembers what it's like to wheeze and waddle along these old paths.

As we pass a bench, Dad pauses and gestures for me to sit. I do, grateful to take the pressure off my legs. I'm so wide now that I take up half the bench all by myself. Dad doesn't comment on it. He just squeezes his narrow frame into the space that's left, wrapping an arm comfortably around the back of the bench. We sit in pleasant silence, broken only by the occasional cricket chirp or passing car on the distant motorway.

I look at my dad out of the corner of my eye. I've seen the old pictures. Back when he was huge and lumbering and swallowed the frame of every photo. Back when he used to smile. Now he looks so lost in this skeletal frame, so depleted. Like a teddy bear that's had all its stuffing ripped out.

"Dad?" I say, resting a reassuring hand over my rumbling stomach. "Why did you decide to lose all that weight? Was it really for your health, or was it for Ma?"

He kicks at a rock, watching it clatter across the path, chewing on his words before he says them. "Your mother can make things... difficult if she doesn't get her way."

"I remember," I grumble. My plump fists clench protectively over my belly as I think back on a lifetime of dinners left half-eaten, of treats left behind on grocery store shelves. How did he feel watching me grow up hungry? "Do you ever... miss it?"

He looks at me in disbelief, his bushy eyebrows knitting together. Likely no one has ever asked him such a question. Who misses being fat? But then, just for a second... a spark of gold flashes in his eyes.

"You do, don't you?"

He looks away. The gold disappears and his eyes are back to their normal watery grey. "I try not to think about the past much," he says. "I care about now. I care about you." He looks back at me. "Are you happy like... this?"

I run a hand over my big, soft belly. It's warm from the walk and jiggles deliciously at my touch. "I just got tired of being hungry," I say finally.

Dad nods. He gives my belly a hesitant pat. "I'll pack up the leftovers for you when Mother isn't looking."

I smile. "Thanks, Dad."

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

The computer keyboard clacks as I type, the backspace getting liberal use as my fat fingers stumble over the tiny keys.

My belly rumbles, longing to go back to the hedonistic two day-long stuffing that was my weekend. I rub it ruefully, unwrapping a couple king sized candy bars to keep it satisfied for another few moments. The sugary sweet bars melt on my tongue, coating it in silky chocolate. The sugar rush is an instant high.

I fall deeper into the chair, my belly gliding forward until it presses against the desk. The chair groans as my soft bulk settles on it. My massive thighs, soft like marshmallows, squish out under the armrests, my belly cramped and compressed in the chair's iron grip.

As the printer spits out the spreadsheets, I examine the narrow cubicle entry with familiar dread. Once again, I will have to heave myself up, squeeze and shimmy my way through that tiny opening, and wobble all the way down that cramped hall to the boss's office. I never noticed how much standing and walking there was in this sit-down job.

I sigh, tap the papers straight, and lean back in my creaking chair, preparing to stand. I place my meaty hands on the desk, position my feet under me, and heave. I hoist myself onto unsteady feet, panting from the effort. But something is wrong. Beyond the normal exhaustion creeping in from legs grown unused to effort, my stomach and back still feel horribly compressed.

I struggle to turn my fat neck far enough to see. My office chair has stood up with me, glued to my fat ass and thighs by the sheer force of pressure. The arms, stretched and bent far out of shape, cling tightly to my rolls, the wheels sticking out sideways. My heart thrills at the sight. Have I gotten this big already?

Footsteps approach my cubicle. I hurriedly sit back down, the chair gasping as several hundred pounds of flesh crash back down on top of it.

My boss pokes his head through the door of my cubicle. "Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Of course Mr. Anderson! Oh-" I seize my chance to escape the effort of waddling down to his office. "Here are my spreadsheets."

He nods distractedly, tucking the folder under his arm. "Listen... There's no easy way to say this..." He shifts from foot to foot. "We all get stressed out. We all have periods where we're not as... healthy as we'd like to be."

I stare at him, pretending I don't know what he's getting at.

"We're just... worried about you. So... I've taken the liberty of signing you up for Green Haven," he says in a rush.

My mouth goes dry. "The... the fat farm?"

"I wouldn't call it that..." he says.

"That's what it is, isn't it?"

"I just... wouldn't call it that." He hands me the brochure, his feet already edging away. "It's up to you, of course. You have plenty of vacation days already stored up, so..."

My mouth twists, trying to be grateful. I take the brochure and watch him flee.

On the cover, a line of fat people stand with their arms around each other, fake smiles plastered too wide on their faces. If I squint, I can see a faint golden glow hovering behind a few of them. Their angels.

I toss the brochure in the trash. By the end of the day, it's completely buried in candy wrappers.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

I take my vacation days, but Green Haven is the last thing on my mind. Instead, I spend two weeks letting my angel stuff me to my heart's content, groaning in pleasure as I feel myself expanding ever wider, lost in the blissful hedonism of eating, eating, eating...


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