>>7904(Here's a little vignette inspired by this cartoon.)
“Please honey… no more.”
She stifled a belch with her pudgy fist, that made her bounce in her chair. With her enormous ass packed into stretch jeans it was like sitting on a pair of yoga balls. (Which was the closest she ever got to yoga these days.)
“Here,” Scott said, and served her three more pancakes straight from the griddle.
“I said no,” she insisted, but without much conviction. “I’ve already had, what, five?”
But she knew it was too late; she was already smearing the short stack with butter while he pushed the syrup bottle towards her.
“Okay, but this is the last batch, right?” she said, then licked her lips as she drowned her plate with sticky-sweet goodness.
“I’ve only got a little bit left,” he insisted, then shuffled back to the kitchen.
“Scott — seriously — you see how fat I am…”
She muted herself with the first bite, a buttery sweet, carb-loaded chunk of pure ecstasy. This batch was even better than the first. Her son was turning into quite the chef — unfortunately. His little hobby wasn’t the only reason she’d blown up over the past couple of years, but it was a big one. Why the hell did she teach him how to cook in the first place? What was she thinking? It was like giving matches to a pyromaniac.
Even before Scott could talk he’d try to make her eat. She’d push her plate away and he’d push it back, like it was a game. Then he’d mime bringing a fork to his mouth. She was embarrassed to tell everyone that his first word wasn’t just “mommy” but “mommy EAT,” and he’d say it all the time.
It was funny now how huge she felt at the time, desperate not to be the “fat mom” at the playground. She had competition then, but now she was the fattest mom in town by a fair margin. The other parents whispered and hid their smirks as she waddled by, huffing and puffing, feeling her massive ass bouncing behind her, her jiggling back fat and bingo wings, the loud rasp of her thunder thighs rubbing together. It was so embarrassing!
The worst was parent-teacher conferences, where all the other parents were there. That was where she discovered she couldn’t fit into the desks anymore, so she had to stand for two hours while five of Scott’s teachers and the principal did their spiel. Or rather, she leaned against the wall. A few of the other parents offered her their seat but then not every desk was full — couldn’t they figure it out? She didn’t know what she was going to do this year, maybe bring her own stool…
Three bites later she looked toward the kitchen, made sure Scott wasn’t looking, then leaned back and undid the top button of her jeans. She sighed with relief as the top roll of her belly spilled out over the waistband. She wished she could unzip them as well but her top wasn’t long enough to cover it. It used to be, but that was at least a year and sixty pounds ago.
Her tummy was smaller than her rear end but that wasn’t saying much. It bulged out over her fat thighs, squeezed by the tight denim in an uncomfortable way. They were 34s, the largest size they carried at Lush, the plus sized store at the mall. Who’d ever think she’d out grow them? Thankfully she still had her trusty black double-knit stretch pants, size 5X. Her “fat” pants that she now supposed were just… her pants.
Two more bites, the stack two-thirds gone and she was really getting full. But she could hear Scott working away, the spatula clanking against the griddle, the sizzling butter, and the anticipation had her excited like she’d just started. Anyway she didn't want to let him down — what kind of mom would do that?
“Oh god, really?” she groaned, leaning back as he stacked three more on her plate.
“Yeah, that’s the last of the batter,” he promised, as she smeared on even more butter than last batch. Had she really used up half a bottle of syrup? Yes she had, and she emptied half the balance onto her plate in turn, til the pancakes were practically floating in it.
“Good?” he asked, hovering as she filled her face with yet another forkful.
“Mmm, yeth!” she insisted. It was really poor manners to talk with her mouth full but oh well.
“Sorry I didn’t say so,” she added, after she’d swallowed. “I love all your cooking — can’t you tell?”
She looked down at her balloon-like belly and huge thighs to indicate just how much she’d enjoyed it.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to fatten me up on purpose!” she giggled, and carved out another sweet, sticky, fattening forkful.
