Another Benchmark to Bigness

Welp... It's official.

I waddle now.

Not that I want to waddle, mind you.

There's something... so... so... I don't know. Unflattering about it?

But thanks to my partner, I've just gotten so big, I can no longer help but sway back & forth whenever I go & try to take a step. My whole body swinging from side to side. Like a plump duck. Or maybe goose. Goose would be closer to my demeanor.

Don't get me wrong! I still intend to keep things up, eating the way I have been for them.

I mean, frankly, I've grown to be such a glutton these days, I don't think I could stop all this, even if I wanted. Overindulging? Letting myself get pampered? Spoiled? Yeah I'm not about to give any of that up, are you crazy?

And look, I know these levels of thickness maybe aren't everyone's cup of tea. But I don't care who hears me say it! I enjoy being... pretty fat, okay? At least until... this.

Like sure, I was a little taken back when my partner first blurted out how they liked women big. Completely by accident. And not just big titty goth girlfriend "big," in a way I could've facilitated at the time, but like... rotund.

Not that I was ever a prime example of like "peak fitness" myself. I always ate what I wanted, when I wanted, & I rarely worked out. Though, to be fair, I actually had a somewhat working metabolism back then too. And like I might've been a little curvier than "average," but chubby would've felt a little hyperbolic. Besides, who needs to be the most absolute physically fit when my vibes are just so immaculate?

I'm kidding.

Though I do think something about my jet black hair & tats does kind of carry a bit more than it ought to.

Anyway, I remember that day. That little, surprise lunch date.

I made an offhanded joke about how they were trying to fatten me up, & the way they let it slip. I remember them stammering & turning bright red when I brought it up. And I remember the look on their face, absolutely mortified when I called attention to how embarrassed they seemed.

My partner worried they might've revealed a little too much about them self, potentially giving me the ick. It was early on between us, & while they desperately tried to play it off as a joke, I could tell they weren't really joking.

I don't know. Maybe it was their vulnerability. Or because I found the idea a little intriguing: being able to do something so simple, something I was going to have to do anyway, like eat, to drive them so very wild? Like 'wait, all I have to do is eat more?' Or maybe it was just the fact that I hadn't started chowing down on the lunch they had surprised me with yet, & in that moment I was just super fuckin' hungry.

But, yeah. I decided to humor them.

And so I offered to try to meet their desires. If they wanted to help me, of course.

At that point, I hadn't quite realized what it was that I had done. What I had gotten myself into, creating a monster, the way I did. After lunch that one day, I found my overeager significant other trying their damnedest to bury me in an avalanche of the most appetizing, calorie-rich delights. Each meal, a mountain, as they showered me with all my favorites. Using them against me. Exploiting them to push me to eat all the more. I offered them an inch & they took a mile, just inundating me.

At first, it was all a little disconcerting. They weren't playing. They wanted me FAT. And yeah, while it was a struggle to keep up, I dunno, maybe I just liked all the extra attention, even if it was expressed in such an odd way. So I kept going along with it, even though I knew what was bound to happen. I tried to maintain an upbeat attitude. Let all the pampering & all the calories wash over me. Enjoy it. Maybe not the constantly-feeling-as-though-I-was-ready-to-burst part, passing out on the couch, almost too stuffed to breathe. But over time? The more I ate? The more I started to notice it taking to fill me up. Which was almost kind of a shame, since over time, ending up a stuffed, wheezing mess? They helped make it feel... kinda hot.

And as to be expected, my appetite wasn't the only thing about me that started growing.

I started to notice the changes almost immediately. First with my tummy. Not that I didn't have one to begin with, mind you. But it was only getting puffier, & started to poke out more in things. The way belts & the waistline of jeans seemed to bifurcate it now into two, every-growing bulges.

Then, weirdly, I felt it in my arms. The way certain sleeves fit, or how some of my lacier tops seemed to cling to them as they started to get slightly pillowier. In a nice way. In the same way I noticed my face getting a little rounder, softer.

And while I could feel my ass & hips pulling things tighter & tighter, especially whenever I tried to sit, the first thing I had to go shopping for were bras. Nothing could contain these bad boys! I swear, there were a few meals where I could almost feel them getting bigger, heavier.

That was the most unexpected part for me, if I'm being honest. How much I was really enjoying the way my body has been changing!

Never in a million years would I ever have expected to be so into this. And honestly, at times, I have difficulty trying to express just what it is that I truly adore about it so much.

But the way my curves accentuated? The way I first softened, then started to get squishy? The strange feeling of accomplishment I felt when I realized I had effectively doubled my presence on this planet? Sashaying my wide hips, throwing my weight around? Hell, even the strange stares & second glances I was getting from all those friends, family, & acquaintances that took immediate notice? And the unspoken, confrontational way I tried to convey that not only didn't I care, but there was more weight coming? I don't know what it was, but I LOVED every part! Of all of that!

All while my partners feeding sessions got bigger & more extravagant. It felt as though the more I seemed to commit, the more they would try to go over the top & truly try to indulge me for my efforts. An ever-hastening feedback loop of the most delectable delights, all for lil' ol'... er- all for me.

The cat was out the bag, the horse- er cow, more fittingly, was out the barn. Not only had I become a fat girl, but I was an unabashedly unapologetic fat girl, who reveled in the notion of only getting fatter! And like, okay... on some level, I recognized that all this constant gorging & stuffing my face wasn't sustainable. And yet, with every new inch, bulge, or chin, I found something new about myself to love. To find adorable. And I know my partner did too because they can hardly ever take their hands off me. I never felt sexier in my entire life. Like divine femininity. A goddess...

But this?

This stupid waddle I've developed?

This has been the first thing that has actually left me feeling... weird. Self-conscious. Low key? a little embarrassed. I mean, how can I truly be a goddess if I'm over here wheezing, clumsily teetering around like waterfowl?

There's no denying it.

At this point, I'm only getting rounder & rounder. Heavier too. Not that I'm the least bit deterred. I love the way my body feels! At least until it comes time to take a step...

And t's not like I didn't feel it start to happen. For about a month, I could feel it getting hard to simply stick one leg in front of the other. Too much 'me' in the way. Things just don't want to bend right any more. And trying to bruteforce past it & fight the way my body wants to move? Only led to the worst chafing in my life. Not that I had ever achieved thigh gap, back when that was all the rage, or even at point while I was "skinny." So the next best option became avoiding needing to move in the first place when I could. But then burning less calories only made the side to side motion intensify.

Like, now my thighs have become the circumference of tree trunks. Bumping into the hanging paunch of my belly. There's almost nothing I can do. I can't help it.

I waddle now.

It seemed to become official last Saturday. When my partner called me for my post-breakfast-in-bed, pre-lunch, brunch snack. And I groggily stumbled out to the living room, not trying to fight the way my thick legs naturally wanted to move, causing me to sway from side to side.

I saw their face light up. It was that same shit-eating grin they always get when I do something 'fat.' I thought it was just my general appearance, turning them on. But little did I know, this was one of the only times I wasn't going to appreciate it.

They waited for me to make my way past them, lower myself onto my spot on the couch, & get comfortable before they chimed in.

"Babe!" They fawned, setting a fancy restaurant-quality parfait in front of me. "You waddle now!" They fell fit to inform me, as if I didn't know. Not that I was really thinking about it in that exact moment. Not until they brought it up. But I didn't like attention being drawn to it. And my enthusiasm for the parfait was now suddenly tempered. Even though I was definitely still going to eat it. It was early, & I couldn't think of a better response, so my initial reaction was simply just denial.

"NoOoo." I scoffed defiantly, like a petulant child, trying to think of what kind of excuse I could follow it up with next. "I'm just... sleepy." Which was true. Had I been more awake, I probably could've formulated a better excuse in the moment. "I just woke up."

My partner wasn't buying it. And seemed to be taking some kind of glee in all this.

"Just waking up doesn't make you sway this much,' they pantomimed, mocking me, tilting from side to side in place like some kind of human metronome.

I didn't appreciate it.

"Stop it!" I shouted, winging a throw pillow in their general direction. "It's not funny!" Their giggling was infectious, & I fought the creep of a smile, truly not amused. It belied my embarrassment. "I- I- don't- waddle." I lamented with a pout before collapsing further into the comfy couch. "I'm not a duck!" I said before digging into my parfait. For comfort. Luckily, it was delicious. And so fresh.

"Awww, babe," they swooned, feigning concern but seemingly all the more tickled by my humility. "I think its cute!" Thinking that was some kind of compliment. "Just look at it like it's just another milestone."

I tried to look past them, turning on the TV to resume the show I was watching before bed last night. But they persisted.

"Like when you hit 250. Or 300. Or that time you cleared "The Big One" at that steakhouse!" They pushed. "An accomplishment! Something worth celebrating!"

"I? Do not want- To waddle." I said slowly. Clearly. Gravely. "I? Am not a waddler." I continued trying to look past them, trying to make it clear that I did not want to continue this conversation. Or pay any extra attention to the weird way my flub makes me move now. "Just let me eat, dammit."

But they weren't done.

That's when my partner tried to ratchet up my humiliation. With one last little knife twist, on the way back to the kitchen to clean up.

They had the nerve to say:

"Well, keep eating, & you won't have to worry about waddling at all. We can just get you a scooter."

I know what they were trying to do.

It was abundantly clear. This was them attempting to needle at me. Tease me all the more about looking all the more ridiculous.

"Oh you think waddling is humiliating, just imagine wedging your lard ass into some sort of heavy duty mobility scooter!"

... But honestly...?

The more I think about it?

The more I eat?

The more I grow?

Walking is hella overrated. Especially if I can't do it without look like a complete goober now. And that's before I even get into just how exhausting it is. How it leaves me a big, wheezy, sweaty mess. No thank you!

I'm a goddess, dammit.

And a goddess shouldn't have to even stand, let around teeter around awkwardly like some kind of joke. Some kind of dorky mockery. Not if she doesn't want to.

So the past few weeks? Let's just say I've secretly leaned in. Upped my feedee game. Demanding my partner indulge me even more, if you can imagine. Because let's face it. They're utterly powerless to tell me "no." Especially when it comes to the prospect of a fatter me.

And it's working. The last we looked? I'm already about eight to ten pounds heavier than we planned.

"Why" you might ask?

To ultimately limit just how much time I'll need to spend waddling like some pleb, & make their "joke" an absolute necessity. Gliding to & fro, my fat ass firmly planted, not being utterly exhausted just trying to move? If anything, it's simply just practical.

I mean I already have so many great ideas on how I want to trick out. Even the little basket. Make my carriage truly worthy of a goddess such as myself.

|||

I had the idea to try & tackle a premise of a character that likes being a feedee & gaining weight, but maybe not EVERY aspect of it. I just didn't know what exactly until I was out the other day & noticed a fairly attractive pear-shaped person of the goth persuasion with fairly pronounced waddle. And I started thinking that while I appreciate a good waddle, I could easily imagine someone large, feeling pretty sexy & comfortable with their shape- until it comes time for them to take a step. That they're only self-conscious with how cumbersome & much less graceful they're getting. And I liked the dichotomy of having them being perfectly okay scooting instead, even if the subtext is that while it might be even sillier-looking, they're fine with it because they're getting too lazy to walk anyway.