Felt like writing a descriptive piece today, and for some reason the Channel 4 documentary, My Big Fat Fetish, the scene where the girl is drinking milkshake in order to gain weight, and is being filmed for her fans, was playing on my mind. So I wrote about it. I do write a lot of poems about food, so it was fun approaching it from a different angle. It ends quite suddenly, I wasn’t sure where to take it next.
Fat is good, fat is sexy. She’s been building a thick skin between her and the starving world, plush and plump as sausage bursting from its casing. And they want her; they want to dig into her comfort. She’s training her body to balloon, creating a bigger more beautiful her. Gaining the weight takes time, effort, devoting large chunks of the day to eating. It takes want, vast quantities of wanting. Her arms bulk out; waist thickens and bulges, clothes leave their thumbprints in the stretching skin. Pale thighs like large pieces of cod flexing and quivering. Watch me be feed, glut myself. The video camera trained on her, a single empty eye. Her gut flops free of the top her tits nest in. She is aiming for triple chins. Breasts, each one the size of a thousand kilos of flour, each heavy as sugar. The freedom to stuff your face until your cheeks are swollen, raw. The burgeoning flesh releasing you.
She made the concoction herself. Strawberry, her favourite. It is waiting, ready to caress the length of her throat, press past her uvula, chilling her tonsils. Her stomach, a cavity in which the thick white liquid will churn. Her feeder readies the jug and the tube that will lead to her mouths sucking nought. It is going to fill her, stomach’s lining stretch. The ice-smashed gluttonous mix cooling her inner organs. She trusts him; the feeder will hold high the translucent cord, allow the smooth pale liquid to sink into her.
The milkshake begins to flow. The arc of lips flattened to a circle, the blood and adrenaline surging to meet the sugary rush. Tongue flat on the floor of her filled mouth. Laden stomach presses heavily down. Head thrown back, throat exposed. She feels big as a cloud, huge as the moon at her zenith.