(F)At Peace

“I mean, think of all the other things people can be addicted to” said Shira, before stuffing the day’s latest defects into her mouth.

Eden’s own batch o’ butter, sugar, salt, and of course primarily outstanding chocolate in her mouth gave them both a good minute to contemplate Shira’s point. Four months into eating piles of fine chocolates every working day, like Shira before her, she’d found her balance and rhythm. Eating chocolates was becoming as effortless and natural as breathing, and nearly as frequent at times.

“Tobacco, crack or any other form of cocaine, any of dozens of other legal or illegal drugs, gambling, violence, pedophilia. Compared to any of those, a chocolate or even general food addiction is pretty damn mild, I’d say.”

“You forgot cannabis.”

“I never forget my weed!” Shira grinned, whipping a clear plastic zip-lock bag out of the vicinity of her boob cleavage, waving it around with a smile. “Yes it can be addictive, yes that can be a problem—especially if smoked rather than eaten in edibles, as I personally prefer. But to me that’s food addiction low level: mild and manageable.”

Eden shifted around in her plush chair, her plush posterior, belly, and hips wobbling and sloshing. Her fat was impressively soft for a first-time gain. “So you don’t think that the likelihood that I’ve become addicted to joyously eating on my days off roughly as much in quantity as on workdays other than savory and veggies and anything other than what we have here is a problem?”

“I don’t, but it’s not about me. If you think it’s a problem what you’re doing, by any label—addiction or otherwise—you’ll likely not be happy until you either change your ways, or your outlook, to resolve the problem.”

More chocolates meant another unplanned conversation break.

“Is it evil that part of me hopes they struggle with fixing the Raspberry Truffle line” Eden half-grinned half-smiled, slipping yet another one of those confections between her lips.

“I’m quite partial to the Dark Marzipans, myself” replied Shira immediately prior to eating another.

“Yuck!” she made a very sour face. “I want a rider on my contract whereby whenever I get any sort of marzipan or coconut piece, I get to exchange it with you for ones you don’t like.”

Shira flipped her hair back, deciding she too would shift around in her generous seat on her built-in generous seat for more comfort. “How’s that going to work if there aren’t any I don’t like?” she smiled.

Studying her co-worker’s still-slowly-fattening body, Eden thought, {Yeah, there really isn’t much that’s remotely like food and can go in your mouth that you don’t like. And I admire you for that, and you look great!}

“I like you though, and I may have a filling coming loose, so maybe we’ll work something out to exchange marzipan and coconut items for chews: Butterchew®s, caramels—all that. Well not all, but one-for-one when you get the ones you dislike.”

A few minutes and over half a dozen more chocolates each, Eden brought up a somewhat related topic. “Ever visit any online fat positivity sites?”

“I prefer the fat sex sites myself.”

“I want love with my fat and sex: fatlovesex!”

“Yeah OK. Not as standard a term as fatsex or fatosphere, but sure. Which sites do you like or not like?”

“Well I went to NAAFA, and felt like my social justice warrior cred wasn’t even 1/4 of their minimum. Too depressing and political for this girl.”

“Yeah, they’re important, but I’m not the marching protest flagellate myself because I’m such an awful white person type.”

Another chocolate break, with creams for Eden and coconut for Shira—how fortunate!

“So Curvage has a nice name and layout, but it looked like a big scoreboard rating women like so many trophies or sports cars or whatever, and all about things from a hetero man’s perspective. Now that’s the type of person who gets my goodies going, but the site seemed made for him, not me—unless I wanted to model.”

“You could, you know.”

“Aaaaaghhh!” Eden outright collapsed in her comfy chair. “Gimme a breather, Shira! I’m still getting used to this whole fat thing at all!”

“Sorry! So what other sites did you find?”

“When I was trying to research”—she pointed towards the front office, indicating Wes, not wanting to say his name knowing he sometimes monitored them—“and searched on ‘men who enjoy fattening women’, I found this place Fantasy Feeder. Didn‘t know what to make of the name, but somehow it relieved me that it wasn’t just men fattening women or even anybody fattening anybody else, but also gainers I guess the term is? Those who are so into being fat that they want to make more of themselves. Is that even a real thing?”

“Yes.”

“Are you blushing?”

To Shira’s great relief, a fresh candy drop first for her then for Eden gave her an out to dodge the question.

Even better: once they were done with their latest chocolates and had half a minute to talk, Eden herself tweaked the topic. “So I’m on Fantasy Feeder and I’m reading all this stuff and I don’t know who’s real, who’s not, and which end is up. Reading the message threads about types of fat and ways to gain it different places and whatnot, I kept seeing posts from an account becomingoverweight which seemed to know what he/she/sie/they were talking about, backed with a lot of research citations in some posts. So this person’s suggesting that lots of sugar tends to lead to visceral fat—hard stuff, often abdominal. And we’re doing that, but we’re getting subcutaneous. I know you are without even touching you, watching your wiggly jiggly softness like mine when you move. So how is that that we seem to be defying science?”

“Well I haven’t read those posts, but keep in mind that we have a lot of things besides sugar in these fine confections. Lots of cream, lots of milk, all kinds of chocolate, nuts some of which are fattening. I’m not qualified to know or answer definitively.”

“Well that person and some others did suggest that heavy cream is good for subcutaneous fat and maybe even converting visceral fat, so with the See’s magic, maybe somehow it and the other ingredients override the sugar.”

“You’re forgetting the profoundly powerful secret ingredient.”

“Which?”

“Your genetics! And mine, for me.”

Plunk plunk plunk plink! plink! plunk plunk. There wouldn’t be any more conversation for a few more minutes, at least.

“You’re looking serene” Shira commented to Eden, that same afternoon after some slow chews of Butterchews.

“I was doing some more reading over lunch, online. I’ve reached a turning point.”

“Oh? Of what sort?”

She gently caressed her curvy surfaces through her clothes, “I’m now at peace being a fat woman. I’ve arrived.”

Shira’s face slowly broke into a huge grin. “Congratulations.”