Synopsis: A dreary stay in the hospital is brightened by a visit from a loved one.


What's in this story: Weight gain fetish content, very mild healthplay.

You don’t know what you've got ‘til it’s gone. I learned that the hard way. God, I’m so hungry. And yet, when I look at the clock, it’s only been 20 minutes since I last ate. Maybe part of the pain comes from knowing I still have a few hours to go until I get another morsel of food. And even when I do get food, it’s not going to be anything good. My calorie intake is being restricted, which means every meal I get is tiny and flavorless.


I’m not used to this at all. I’m used to eating whatever I want, whenever I want. And whatever I want includes anything and everything, while whenever I want means pretty much all day, every day. I’d usually start my day with a box or two of donuts. I don’t know how many calories are in a meal like that, but I’m pretty sure it’s more than what I’m getting in an entire day here. It’s basically torture! I get three small meals a day, mostly salads and other vegetable-laden crap. Maybe some grilled chicken if I’m really lucky. But nothing to satisfy my sweet tooth. My girlfriend Clara is an amazing baker. She would make chocolate cakes and cookies and brownies galore every day. And I get nothing like that here. My body and brain cry out in agony, begging for some sugar. Craving something, anything even remotely sweet.


I’ve tried complaining to the doctors, but they just don’t get it. They say I’m "morbidly obese," and it’s "a miracle I didn’t end up here sooner." Whatever, I know it’s my diet that brought me here. I don’t need to be lectured. I just want to be happy. And it’s not like I’m that fat. I’m, like, 500 pounds! That’s not that big! Okay, maybe it’s more like 600. Well… the doctors said I was 647, but I don’t believe them anyway.


I can only kind of remember the incident that brought me here in the first place. One moment, Clara was stuffing me full of food. She always makes these gigantic feasts for me when she gets home from work. I graze all day, but none of that compares to what I eat for dinner. She had made an Italian feast probably fit for five or six people, and she was straddling my chest, shoveling literal handfuls of pasta and meatballs down my throat as fast as I could take it. I was in heaven, enjoying the pure bliss of the taste and the oh-so-rare feeling of fullness in my belly, when all of a sudden… nothing. I just blacked out.


Clara later told me it took her a couple minutes to even realize I’d stopped chewing. She called 911, but they must not have understood the situation. Apparently, they had to call in another ambulance with a special stretcher, and it took several EMTs to get me loaded up. When I finally came to, I was in a hospital bed, and Clara was by my side. I told her how hungry I was, but all she had to offer was a single candy bar. It was a far cry from the epic feasts she normally prepares for me, but in that moment, it was perhaps the most delectable thing that ever hit my taste buds. It did little to satiate my hunger, but it made me feel a lot better. It’s been a couple days since I’ve seen Clara, but I think she’s coming by again today. I hope she brings food.


In the meantime, I sit immobilized in the hospital bed, trying not to think about my intense hunger. I look over my colossal body. My legs are as wide around as tree trunks. They’re flattened against the bed under their own sheer weight, causing them to spread out and appear even larger. My belly is huge, that goes without saying. And very round, too. It appears softer than usual, probably because it hasn’t been this empty in months. Usually, it remains at least somewhat taut with all the food I fill it with. My arms sit uselessly at my side. I reach my stubby appendages out in front of me, but they can’t even reach the end of my belly. They can barely reach enough to fondle my sagging, flabby tits underneath the hospital gown.


I hear a knock at the door, taking me out of my trance-like fixation on my own body. In walks a doctor and my beloved Clara. Her long, dark hair is tied up in a bun, and I can tell by the smile on her beautiful face that she’s as happy to see me as I am to see her. I don’t immediately see any food, just a gigantic water bottle in Clara’s hands. However, she’s wearing a backpack, and I can faintly smell the delicious scent of fast food. I think I know what she’s up to. The doctor says something to me, but I’m not listening. The anticipation is almost too much to bear. I’ve been trapped here for God knows how long, and I’m finally going to get some relief!


Once the coast is clear, Clara hands me the water bottle. Turns out it’s not actually filled with water, but with soda! Sweet, delicious, syrupy soda. However, the main attraction comes when Clara removes her backpack and unzips it. The aroma becomes even more powerful as my suspicions are confirmed. My mouth waters at the sight of burger after burger and box after box of French fries piled into the backpack. I stretch out a lard-swaddled arm while Clara unwraps a burger. She places it in my hand, and in an instant, I bring it to my face, shoving and cramming it into my mouth.


Clara continues diligently unwrapping all the cheeseburgers while I continue shoving them down my gullet. My strategy is not unlike that of competitive eaters – compressing and cramming as much as I can fit in my mouth, then using a drink to help wash it all down. Of course, I’m taking swigs of sugary soda instead of just water. Once Clara finishes unwrapping the dozen or so burgers she’d brought, she starts feeding me herself. Which is good, because it’s a lot of work moving my arms that much, and I’m starting to get tired. The frenetic pace of the feeding only gets faster with Clara at the helm. Along with the burgers, she throws in a handful of French fries every once in a while, to vary the taste. She knows what I like best. Of course, flavor is secondary right now to the primal desire to satisfy my voracious hunger.


It’s not long before I devour every last crumb. Perhaps instinctually, Clara is already rubbing my belly, helping me digest the first real meal I’ve had since getting here. After a few minutes, however, she tells me that she has a surprise for me. Digging into her backpack, underneath all the trash my feast generated, she pulls out a container with a slice of her homemade chocolate cake. She knows my sweet tooth better than anyone, and her chocolate cake is the sweetest, richest, tastiest food I’ve ever eaten. I excitedly reach out to grab it, but she pushes my arms away. She wants to feed it to me herself.


Whereas the burgers and fries got packed into me as quickly as possible, Clara takes her time with the chocolate cake. This time, it really is all about the flavor. She starts by simply holding it out below my nose, allowing me to take in the aroma. I open wide, hoping to get a big, chocolatey bite. But Clara knows what she’s doing, and she starts with a small forkful. I’m used to getting an entire cake, but all she has is one slice, so she’s forcing me to pace myself and enjoy every bite for what it is. The small bite enters my mouth, and I immediately let out a moan of pleasure. The sensation of the saccharine flavor on my tongue after going sugar-free for at least a week is almost too much to bear. Needing an outlet for this ecstasy, I pull Clara in towards my face and give her a kiss on the lips. She reciprocates, enjoying every moment before pulling away to feed me the next bite, a bigger one this time.


We continue like this until the slice of cake is no more. The pleasure built up so much that I was about to beg Clara to lift up my gown and finish me off. But we’re then rudely interrupted by a doctor knocking at the door. Clara quickly throws the empty container in her bag and zips it up, hopefully hiding any evidence of my little feast. The doctor enters and informs us that visiting hours are almost over, so we need to say our goodbyes. Clara gives me a peck on the cheek before leaving, her lips sinking into the softness of my face. She promises to return tomorrow, and I fall asleep that night with a full belly and my mind at ease for the first time in a while.


When I awaken the next morning, I’m back to my regular, hungry self. I notice some grease stains on my gown and some chocolate crumbs around my face. Guess we didn’t hide the evidence quite as well as I thought. I lap up the chocolate crumbs, but of course they do little to soothe my growling belly. All I get for breakfast is a small bowl of oats with some fruit and stuff. It, too, cannot quell my hunger. I find myself back in a position I know all too well: counting down the minutes to my next meal and wondering when Clara will show up.


The hours might as well have been centuries, but eventually, I hear a knock on the door. A doctor walked in first, followed by Clara. I can feel my face light up, but it quickly dims a bit as I notice she’s no longer carrying a backpack, nor does she have a bottle of sugary-sweet nectar for me to guzzle. Sure, I’m ecstatic to see her, but I really want some more of what we did yesterday. However, my smile quickly returns when the doctor informs us that I’m being released! He tells us he doesn’t know how I didn’t manage to lose any weight, while Clara and I exchange a knowing glance with one another. I receive another lecture about proper diet and exercise and all that. In one ear and out the other. After that comes the only important takeaway – my condition has stabilized, and they’ve determined I can go home.


With great effort, Clara and a handful of doctors are able to get me out of the extra-large hospital bed. I can walk alright on my own; it’s getting up that’s hard. A quick (well, quick by my standards) change of clothes, and Clara and I are on our way out of the hospital. It’s a long walk through the parking garage to get to our van. Clara opens the door for me, and I’m greeted with a beautiful sight. An enormous, two-tier chocolate cake sits in a container on the far end of the rear bench seat.


She baked it last night to make up for only bringing one slice yesterday. Overjoyed, I wrap my stubby arms around her and give her a big bear hug. With her assistance, I clamber into the back seat and get to work. During the drive home, we stop at all kinds of fast food restaurants. The greasy junk counterbalances the delicious sweetness of the chocolate cake. All the while, Clara tells me about the epic feasts she’s planning to cook for me. From the way she describes it, it sounds like they’re only going to be getting bigger. Which is good because I need to make up for all the calories I lost in the hospital!


I don’t know if this kind of health scare will ever happen again, and frankly, I don’t care. We know how to beat the system now. My time in the hospital may have been miserable, but if I’m ever so unfortunate as to end up in the hospital again, I’m sure Clara will visit every day and keep bringing me ever-increasing amounts of food to stuff my face with. Nothing can ever stop us now.