I’m blowing up like a balloon and I can’t help but be excited and turned on by my ever growing size. I’m filling up on pizzas and burgers, stuffing down sweets and other fattening snacks. I already don’t fit into the jeans I bought just three weeks ago. My belly is stuffed into them. I have to lay down and suck it in while attempting to wobble all of my blubber into the waistband and button the jeans. I’ve ordered things x4 larger because I don’t see myself stopping anytime soon. I’m really starting to struggle to get out of lower cars. I have to heave myself up. I groan as my stomach collides with my blubber filled thighs. My double chin wobbles slightly. My arms are starting to puff out of the sleeves of my tees and my stomach is starting to buldge out of the bottom. They used to be so good at disguising my stretch marked filled love handles, but now they highlight just how swollen I look.
The woman from HR told me that there was a little too much of me inside that uniform and how many sizes larger did she need to order the company uniform for me? That’s a good question. Just how much fatter do I imagine myself getting? I’m thinking at least 650 pounds.