Synopsis: A short look at an immobile woman coming to regret some of the choices she's made.


What's in this story: Weight gain fetish content

“How did I let it get this bad?” I think to myself.


Lately I’ve been wondering just how I let myself go this much. And I think about how I could’ve stopped myself from reaching this point. But these thoughts only cross my mind now, after it’s far too late. Back when I could’ve potentially turned my life around, I only wanted to keep getting bigger. I didn’t think about the consequences. Now I must reap what I’ve sown.


I sit in the living room. There’s not enough space for me anywhere else. In the center of the room lie two king-sized mattresses, because I started to overflow just one. Atop these two mattresses lies me. My mass. My enormity. Confined to this space forever. My hips form my widest point; my gigantic ass spreads out several feet in both directions. It’s probably wider than the average person is tall. Attached to that are my stubby legs. Women who call themselves "thicc" don’t measure as wide around as one of my legs do.


The centerpiece, the true symbol of my gluttony, however, is my belly. It consists of various rolls and flab, piled around randomly in front of me. Well, not just in front of me. Various flabby folds can be found all over my expansive body. I have this sort of spare tire shape that surrounds my whole body. Though it’s bigger than a tire for any vehicle I’ve ever been in. My sagging breasts are strewn about above my belly, and above them, you’ll eventually find my head, swaddled in lard like every other part of me. There might be a neck connecting it to the rest of my body, but you’d never find it under the fat rolls.


I spend my days laying on these mattresses, watching TV and stuffing my face. I’m not really capable of doing much else. My days of walking are long behind me. I’m past the point of no return. As much as I increasingly regret the decisions I’ve made, there’s just no going back now. Sure, I often think about losing weight. But exercise is downright impossible. I don't think I can move any part of my body in a way that might qualify as a workout. Eating healthier is technically an option, but unhealthy foods are so addictive that I truly don't think I could ever give them up. What's easier than all of that is just continuing to eat like I always have.


My boyfriend, who all along the way has enabled my gain, walks in carrying a plate stacked high with taquitos. Two boxes worth. Just one example of the kinds of processed junk food that has led me to reach this size. Even if the conscious part of my brain wanted to say no, the unconscious part of my brain has all the authority. I never had any self-control, that’s how I got here to begin with. And so, the cycle continues; I accept the food and eat my third lunch of the day.