Product Description
Date (relative): Age 26
Location: Apartment desk, post-shower
Current Body Snapshot: 5’9”, 360+lbs; belly huge and heavy, pooling onto thighs; limbs thick but undefined; voice deeper, breath slower
Memory Flashback
The fan was on full blast, but sweat still collected in the folds behind my knees. I’d just showered—stood there, hands on the wall, belly pressing into the tile, panting a little as the water tried and failed to cool me down.
Now I’m back at the desk. No shirt. Just a pair of stretched-out gym shorts low on my hips, waistband folded over by the pressure of my gut. It sits on my thighs like it’s claiming territory—soft and warm and heavy as a sandbag.
My browser’s still open to the thread I posted last night. Cropped photo—just chest, gut, thighs. No face. I figured maybe I’d get a couple likes.
There are thirty-seven comments.
“That gut is gorgeous.”
“Would kill to fall asleep under that belly.”
“How are you real?”
I scroll. I try not to feel anything. But I do. Not pride exactly. Not disgust either. Just heat. Arousal. Something deeper I haven’t learned how to name.
Emotional Reflections
I always thought I’d slim down after college. Thought once the job locked in, I’d fall into some version of balance—gym after work, chicken breast dinners, casual weekends.
But the office drained everything out of me. Meetings. Deadlines. The weight didn’t stop. And eventually I stopped pretending I was going to turn it around. I wasn’t cutting anymore. I wasn’t tracking. I wasn’t fixing it.
I was growing. And people were watching.
I started making audios because I couldn’t handle being seen. Not in photos. Not in mirrors. Not like this. But I could speak. Whisper scripts. Indulgent praise. Slow, soft affirmations into a cheap mic. At first it felt like roleplay—like maybe someone out there would get off to it, and that would be enough. Just one person hearing me, wanting me.
But somewhere in the middle of escaping my job, of growing past the point I thought I’d ever let myself go, I realized I was recording what I needed to hear. I was building worlds where weight was worshiped, where softness meant safety, where someone always stayed after. Where the growing didn’t ruin you—it gave you value.
Maybe I was still that kid, trying to give others the shelter I never felt.
But then the comments came in. “Your voice made me feel safe.”
“I didn’t know I could like my body until now.”
And I didn’t know what to do with that. Because I still hadn’t allowed myself to like mine. Not really. I just liked that someone else did.
Physical Sensations
My belly shifts when I lean forward—rolls compressing, pushing against the desk edge. My breathing slows when I speak too long, especially if I’m full. My ass spreads wide across the seat, creeping over both sides. The chair creaks if I shift too fast.
When I walk, my thighs rub high and hot, tails dragging behind me like anchors. Most days I feel like I’m moving through glue. But at night, when the mic’s live and no one’s looking, I feel something else—massive, yes. But grounded. Present. Like all this weight might finally mean something.
Self-Talk & Lessons
I didn’t build this body like the last one. I didn’t count, cut, or plan.
But somehow, it still became something people want.
And maybe—maybe—I’m allowed to want it too.
Foreshadowing
I don’t show my face in the videos yet. Not even the cropped clips. I tell myself it’s about mystery. Anonymity. Control.
But the truth is, I’m still not sure what I’ll see when I look straight at the lens.
Still, every upload is a crack in the wall. Every moan, every whisper, every comment is a little less silence than before.
You Might Also Like …
