GraphicWriter

What's in this? A two part story about a girl being scolded for being a shameful fatty at the buffet, and the results of that kismet encounter PART ONE: “Wow. You are a terrible fatty.” Marina flinched. Behind her in the buffet line stood a tallish blond girl in a dark grey tank and a jean jacket. She was plump, a doughy, soft looking gut rolling over tight sweats that strained hard around her sausage legs, but nowhere near as fat as Marina. “I- excuse me?” “We’re at the fucking Golden Corale, and what have you got? Cottage cheese and a salad?” The girl scoffed. “Fucking, like, tragic.” “I’m just trying to lose weight! I’m sorry, do I know you?” The girl, plate loaded with fries, cake, fried chicken and a mountain of potato salad, slapped a pancake on top of all the disordered grease, then reached for syrup to drown it in. “No. But I know you.” Marina flinched again. “What? How? Are you like-” she got her voice down to a low, terrified whisper. “A stalker?” The pudgy brunette

It was probably around 5 years ago when I still fit in a 5XL shirt. I know, that size already sounds like some ginormous fatty's comically big size that would fit two regular people inside, but at that time, I was probably two thirds of how heavy I am now. Looking at the maximum size of my usual plus sized clothing shop, I noticed that it went up to 10XL. I asked myself: how big would you have to be to need a size that large? How much food would it take? It was even hard to imagine back then, despite me already being morbidly obese at the low 400s. Five years pass. My belly gets bigger and bigger, stretch marks form in an angry crimson red to fade to a color paler than my already pale skin. My arms encircled in fat grow larger than a pig's leg. My wrists puckered, my thighs grew rolls of their own, my moobs rolled further down my sack of a belly, all while I continued to glut myself further and further. A few months ago, I went back to the few plus sized websites I go on often.