BBW It's Just Bloating (XWG, sci fi, sexual content)

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[Author's Note: It's Just Bloating is a multi-part erotic XWG, stuffing, and sci-fi story featuring a gluttonous woman, May, and her friends all grappling with the impact of thier changing bodies and world that keeps on getting fatter. It takes place against the backdrop of a new investment fund, Lipid, which gradually comes to take on a larger and larger role in pushing the world to ever-greater obesity. Where will it stop? How will the world be reshaped? Tune in to find out!
It primarily features a diverse cast of queer women but will intersect with other identities as well.
If none of that is your bag, then please move along; otherwise, enjoy!]



It's Just Bloating
by generic725


Gulp. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.


May tilted her can of Coke a little more vertically as her throat opened a little wider to finish off its last dregs. After a little shake to make sure she’d gotten the very last drop out, she plunked it down on the table, satisfied, as she held her now-rumbling tummy for a moment.


“You know you shouldn’t drink that much soda.”


May’s best friend Macey looked on with a disapproving eyebrow as May cradled her round little belly and visibly stifled a belch. Even with this mild act of propriety, Macey could still hear the deep rumble in her friend’s diaphragm as the camouflaged “urrrp” rattled through her ribcage.


May and Macey had been friends for almost two decades now. High-school study partners turned into college roommates and now two single gals living and working together to manage the excruciatingly high rent in San Francisco.


The pair had always made an interesting sight: May was a towering, pale string-bean of a woman, just brushing against six-feet tall, with an evenly proportioned, sinewy frame. Her mixed ancestry, white on her mother's side and Taiwanese on her father's, always gave her skin a clear, dewey complexion that was her stand-out feature (besides her height) on an otherwise unremarkable body. She had modest B-Cup breasts that sat on a flat (though now distended) stomach, widening out into thin but still somehow substantial hips and long legs that then narrowed into delicate ankles.


Macey on the other hand was a chubby 5’1, with voluptuous breasts that, due to her size, looked impressive in both relative and absolute terms. Underneath her eye-catching bust, however, her body rounded out into fit-to-burst curves; a plump belly that she’d grown in tenth grade and never been able to shake and a behind that swelled out in two extremely well-rounded globes that shimmied and shook noticeably as she moved. And whereas May was tall, pale, with mousy dirty-blond hair, Macey’s mixed Ashkenazi-Puerto Rican roots gave her ruddy brown skin, vibrant freckles, and a curly explosion of thick black hair that only added to an external perception of sensuousness.


But whereas Macey had always struggled with her weight and, a general air of body positivity aside, managed her food and drink intake carefully. May, long a “skinny fat” girl with no physical fitness to speak of but a seemingly invincible metabolism, was her general foil in all things food and fitness; her irresponsibly lackadaisical approach to her health and weight never ceased to inflame the skinny-fat dynamic of their friendship.


Decades of little pokes and prods from Macey to be more respectful and conscientious landed on deaf ears with May. Naivete and obviousness combined to make her a minor but frequent source of frustration to her best friend, especially in moments like this.


May stifled another burp and looked with wide, unassuming eyes at her friend.


“What? Why?”


Macey pinched the bridge of her nose.


“Come on, dude, that **** is toxic. I hate policing others’ bodies and eating, but I just think that stuff is so bad for you. Practically anything is better than that stuff.”


She looked at May’s belly again, still rumbling and a little distended


May smiled and replied: “I know, I know, but it’s just such a release. I take pretty good care of myself overall!”


While her eyes moved over the half-eaten bag of chips on their coffee table, she decided internally that grabbing a few would attract too much unwanted attention in this moment.


Macey rolled her eyes and thought of the number of times she’d seen her friend sneak “just a little snack” over the weekend alone. A muffin after a full English breakfast on Saturday, a venti chocolate frappuccino after their friend Ashley’s lusciously catered wedding shower on Sunday, and now her third can of Coke today alone, and they were still waiting for their takeout to arrive. And then there were her activity levels: the “skinny fat” phrase, while hardly kind, readily applied to her lanky friend. Despite her size, she had cellulite-ridden, cottage cheese ass and thighs because of her utter lack of muscles and definition, and was overall inclined to either work (which was her preference), or sit and eat, or play videogames, given the opportunity.


The tricky thing was, it wasn't terribly hard for her to justify. As two single thirty-something women in San Francisco, their social world was trending inwards; friends were getting married and the dating scene increasingly felt like some particularly cruel version of the Truman Show. So, they spent a lot more time at home, both for their (thankfully remote) jobs as senior investment analysts at the he California Public Employees Retirement System (colloquially known as “CalPERS”). Outside of that, they were more or less content to stay home.


For Macey, this time at home was mostly welcome. Despite an ability to conjure a vivacious presence at a social interaction when called upon, she was, for all intents and purposes, a quiet, private nerd. Outside of her intellectually stimulating work in investment, where she was proud both to be a woman of colour in the field, and generally good at the ins and outs of impact-oriented venture capital, she liked her life fundamentally simple. Her focuses were primarily books, crafts, and gentle videogames and she was, with only occasional begrudgement, happy to let May occupy some of her space so long as most of their time was of a “parallel play” nature.


In contrast, May was fundamentally companionable and constantly sought intimate time with her close friends. Bubbly but still quite shy, Macey provided a helpful social anchor, as she had for most of her adult life. While she was undoubtedly attractive to many, she was still the ‘wrong’ type of skinny to have ever been fully taken in as one of the beautiful people that might have set her on an entirely different life path. A warm, happy person by nature, May’s somewhat goofy and naive persona sometimes overshadowed her sharp, mathematical mind. While the basics of diet and exercise continuously eluded her, her “quant” status in the investment world and corresponding ability to chart a dividend curve and crunch the believability and risk profile of a term-sheet were nigh unparalleled in their office at CalPERS. She and Macey regularly traded commendations from the senior leadership for their insight and value to the team. And yet, domain excellence aside, she had insufficient care or now-how to recognise that there would be consequences to her irresponsible lifestyle.


Having tried to honour her friend’s warning for too long, he lanky lush finally couldn’t resist and snaked a hand into the chip bag.


At that moment, something broke inside Macey.


Decades of trying to steward not only her own weight, but obliquely trying to help a friend who, despite all her genetic luck, seemed dead-set on squandering it on a lifestyle that would eventually catch up to her.


The chubby woman’s shoulders sank -- her heavy bust resting more pronouncedly on her belly as her back hunched over -- as she watched her friend’s attention wander back to her snack from the conversation, smiling one last time warmly before totally ignoring the advice given to her.


Fine. If she wants to really let herself go, I’m done trying to baby her.


She pressed the full chip bag to her friend and turned back to her phone.


Before she got fully wrapped back up in the saucey fan fiction she was reading, she heard one final subdued rumble from her friend -- between crunches -- and shook her head.
 
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“Hey Em! Do we have any Tums?”


May’s shouts echoed through the house and forced her roommate to pause a particularly productive Animal Crossing session. She had Tom Nook over a barrel, but, with a grunt, decided that she’d walk over and help her roommate.


As she walked over to the bathroom, Macey slowly took in the curious pose her roommate had struck amidst the chaos she was creating.


May was standing hunched over, rifling through the bathroom cupboards, a menagerie of the girls’ creams, medications, and beauty implements laying across the sink’s small counter. As the lanky near-Amazon turned around to face her friend, it became clear that she had been bent over the sink in such a way as to unintentionally hide her visibly distended stomach. The way she has been standing had positioned it so as to almost entirely fill their small basin sink.


Fully extracted from her confining situation, she scratched her bulbous belly and looked at at Macey with hopeful eyes.


Macey lost focus as she looked on in disbelief: May had grown. Quite a bit, in fact.


Whereas once her friend’s figure had been defined mostly by her height and wide, bony hips, her centre of gravity had shifted somewhat. It was impossible to say why she hadn’t noticed until now, but it was really clear now that May’s once insurmountable metabolism had finally failed her. She was getting chubby.


Her belly was strikingly round and tight. She didn’t look like some cheerleader who puffed up; her gravid stomach had more of the look of a beer-loving football dad who had seen one too many Superbowls. She knew that Macey had always been on the lighter side, only weighing a little more than her, despite her height, but she was sure now she’d surpassed her -- undoubtedly careening past that most terrifying of milestones: two-hundred pounds.


It took a few moments for Macey to take all this in, and then extend her gaze to look at the rest of her friend’s body. Beyond her belly, there were far fewer changes. Her hips had added some noticable cushion to them, and, when she turned, her butt clearly stuck out , but otherwise May looked more like she’d just won a big eating contest (entirely possible, in fact) than someone who had recently put on weight. Her arms were still quite thin, with still-delicate fingers, her face looked completely untouched, and


May waved her hand exploratorily in front of her friend: “Hey, you okay?”


“Yeah, yeah, sorry, my eyes were just adjusting to the light.”


In fairness, their offensively bright LED bathroom lights were a mild irritation, but the transformation of May from a lazy string-bean to an oddly proportioned pseudo-pregnant lady was far more arresting.


Returning to reality somewhat, Macey considered If she even had an answer to the question -- looking off thoughtfully to imply that she was considering the request when in reality trying desperately not to stare.


“Are you sure we're out? I bought some last time I went to the drug store last week."


May leaned against the doorway, as if standing this long was already tiring her.


“Yeah, I used the last of them after the Chinese we had on Tuesday.


Macey recalled back to that episode with some consternation:


That day had seemed to go on forever, May embroiled in a disagreement about the scope of research she was about to conduct on technology companies and Macey fighting HR to ensure that work from home rules were respected and not seen as a drain on company productivity. Sitting in the living room, their two small desks on either side of the couch, they both slammed their laptops closed at almost exactly the same time and looked at one another with tired eyes.


As the stress slowly escaped from the room like air from a cheap bike tire, a smile crossed May’s face:


“Let’s get some Chinese food -- I think we both need to unwind.”


Too tired to put up a fuss that they’d already ordered out all weekend, and Friday through Tuesday the week before, she simply let it slide. She remembered looking down at her own belly in concern, thankful, especially aftering seeing May’s full growth, that it had not borne the brunt of those calories the way she had.


May, as she often did, had taken charge of the ordering. She listed dishes and numbers to "confirm" the order with her friend so quickly it was almost as if she spoke Mandarin herself.


She called up Mama Ji’s, a local favourite for many in the Bay Aarea, and proceeded to laugh with the host, whom she knew by name, about gossip and dating stories while intermittently added details of the order. The conversation was so rapid and erratic that the smaller, considerably less hungry of the two parties was not in a position to protest that she would not be able to eat a third, let alone half, of the food just ordered.


A deep rumble of hunger emanented from the larger of the two women, now groaning as she stood from her desk,. She stretched and pushed out her belly enough to bump her laptop.



Macey chided herself in the present for not recognising just how large May had gotten earlier.


May then tromped somewhat ponderously towards the fridge. In almost an instant, she had a creamsicle halfway down her throat while she stuffed another one under her arm.


She fell back into the couch with another groan, their cute-but-not-invincible neo-modernist piece groaning lightly from the sudden influx of weight. The tension that had clouded her moments ago dissipated entirely as the brunette happily sucked away the last remanents of her first popsicle before it had even had a chance to meaningfully defrost. The second victim was consideraby gooier, having been caught in the pressure-cooker of her armpit for more than a minute, but this only allowed May to suck it back more fluidly, a python-like detachment to the shape and consistency enabling her to do so with little thought.


She closed her eyes for a moment and Macey could tell that she was immensely pleased with herself.


Trying to distract herself from yet another display of unbridled gluttony from her roommate, Macey walked over and began to boot up the Nintendo Switch the girls shared. The playful sounds calmed her as she settled herself into her own butt groove on the couch. She grabbed her weebish Card Captor Sakura-decorated controller, and then passed the more muted blue and red one to her friend.


The girls played some Animal Crossing together somewhat passively, adjusting little details inside the homes they’d built for their animal friends, and trying small and creative ways to annoy or otherwise defy Tom Nook. It was an absorbing, low-stakes way of playing together that involved little thinking or communication, exactly the kind of thing that suited Macey, and just enough socialization for May.


It surprised them both when, a few minutes later, May’s phone bleeted out that their food had arrived.


Though it took her another grunt, she got up rather spryly and ran to the door.


She returned with three hefty white, bio-plastic bags, each filled right to the tie at the top.


With a bizarre mixture of self-awareness and naivete, May quickly offered a defense that they would both “eat what they could” of this veritable feast and save the rest for later. Macey sincerely doubted much would be left after her human-vacuum of a friend was finished.


And indeed, the second the bags were unpacked and a minor buffet was laid out across their living room table, a now-familiar process began of May’s unrestrained gluttony being set free.


May, ever the maximalist, had ordered from almost every category on Mama Ji’s menu: she had a range of items from the deep fried menu, including fried pot stickers, crispy springrolls, and a series of meat-alternative balls. She had a few steamed Shanghai vegetarian buns, as well as two containers of chive “pancakes,” and, finally, as a true entre, a chicken wonton soup for her, and vegetarian chow mein for Macey.


Not even bothering with individual plates, May wielded her chopsticks like a sniper rifle and took rapid fire shots into each container, bringing buns, rolls, and clumps of rice and veggies to her mouth in quick succession. Her character languished on the screen, staring blankly at the ocean, as its master chomped and swallowed loudly, occasionally stifling a burp and frequently swigging from her cartoonishly sweet boba.


Though she’d been around it for years, Macey was still blown away by the sheer speed and intensity of May’s appetite. She could devour anything in sight with barely a thought, and, after grabbing her own modest plate, she watched their table slowly empty like a stop motion video -- each time she looked back another container was empty.


Eyes now starting to glaze somewhat, probably only fifteen or twenty minutes after starting, the bloated brunette had propped a final container of spring rolls on her stomach and was using the final few pancakes to wrap around them and in order to finish them more efficiently.


Having slowed down somewhat now and returned to a more recongisably human form, May began to casually chat again to her roommate, licking her fingers between bites in order to better make contact with her phone, while noting details from her perusal of Reddit and Instagram. Investment details of interest, a little celebrity gossip, nothing that seemed to indicate she had just devoured a meal fit for a family of three.


Absent-mindedly, her fingers hit the bottom of the container and May looked down with disappointment to see the last food vessel now empty. Twisting her lips to one side in gentle indignation, she bent over with some difficulty and put the container on the table. A veritable graveyard of a feast stood in front of her, but she remained completely unphased.


Macey finished her meal a few minutes later, having only eaten part of her her chow mein and a single xao lin bun. As she did, May hoisted herself up and began to collect the containers and bring them to the recycling. From the kitchen she called out that she was going to lay down for a little bit, and, quickly as she’d destroyed this meal, she was gone.



Lost in her reverie of just how much her friend could eat, Macey was only snapped back to the here and now of their bathroom upon realizing that May was pointing to two empty bottles on the counter.


“Wait, where did that one come from? I thought you were talking about the ones in the kitchen.”


“Oh, no, those are gone, too.”


The culprit for the disappearing antacids was clear. May’s stomach grumbled audibly as she scratched it again, oblivious as always to how a greasy feast one night and a day-long grazing spree the next could possibly upset her stomach.


“Well, I don’t have any more now. I can pick some more up next time,” Macey tried to offer helpfully.


“Yeah, that’d be great. My stomach’s been a bit upset lately. Maybe it’s stress from work or something”


While indeed work at the pension had indeed increased in intensity lately, May’s strange combination of naivete and being a financial savant always hung in tension. Gluttony above all else was the driver of much of her world these days, ignorant as she was, or wanted to be, of that fact.


Her gut once again rumbled disapprovingly.


Having fully given up on helping her friend’s diet and wellness, Macey could only smile.


“I’m sure it’s just bloating.”


The only affirmation she got was a nod and a muffled rumble that sounded suspiciously like a belch.
 
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May felt fidgety. The chair at the doctor’s office wasn’t quite fitting right and she was not happy with how much it was squashing her sides. The more it felt like she was trapped, the more she wanted to move, and the more her skin rubbed irritatingly against the arm-rests and demanded release.

If she thought about it carefully – which she mostly preferred not to – she would have recognised that this was now a common occurrence. For the most part, she was content to ignore it so long as her work-from-home schedule enabled her to avoid having to move too much, or get dressed in anything other than a bathrobe.

But as she shimmed for the fifth time in as many minutes, she had to admit that her belly, which rounded outwardly in a fashion that uncomfortably resembled pregnancy, was really becoming an issue. In the past few months, May’s food intake had skyrocketed, and, struggling under the literal weight of her appetite, her metabolism had finally broken. Perhaps shattered was more accurate.

When the nurse called her into the doctor’s office, and she carefully unwedged herself from the chair, the full extent of her body’s changes became apparent to anyone who was watching.

Even in the time since her thirty-first birthday last year, the shape of May’s body had reoriented itself dramatically from her lanky-but-hippy default. Her breasts, much to her chagrin, had grown modestly, still mostly fitting into her tighter B-Cup bras. If anything, the tightness she felt in that garment was mostly due to an increasing band size rather than a substantial growth of her breasts in and of themselves. Her back had a gradually evolving texture to it, as small rolls or creases formed whenever she moved or leaned in almost any direction. The mashing together of skin and lipidinous tissue had begun to create the impression of a soft washboard of fatty ridges, particularly underneath her bra straps and where the haunches of her lower back evolved into her ever-plusher ass.

Never her most prominent feature, despite her hips, May’s growth had reshaped this part of her body considerably. She now had two globular buttcheeks that protruded out proudly, expressing an almost unnatural pertness even as the bottom portion of each cheek curved into heavier and heavier thighs that were widening out in all directions. The familiar “thwoosh” of her thighs spreading out every time she sat was starting to feel more and more like molasses or syrup slowly spreading out over a surface from a heavy pour. Given the number of pancakes she ate, that was hardly an unrfair metaphor, either. Her white, far too small “athletic’ shorts were not only being devoured by her ass, but her thighs -- despite a general lack of movement -- had also already eaten through the inner fabric completely and, if you could spread her legs, you could see the angry red skin that was chafing between them.

Perhaps one saving grace that was her thick, cottage cheese-inspired cellulite-ridden thighs still tapered into comparably delicate ankles -- but the same could not be said for her belly.

Seemingly against the laws of human anatomy and physics alike, May was an absurdly belly-heavy gal now. Unending snacking and frequent binges had stretched and stretched her stomach into becoming not only her most impressive (and hard-working) internal organ, but indeed had created an external spectacle that was impossible to miss. The curvature of her belly was exactly like that of a pregnant woman’s, and, while extremely firm, it still had a certain jiggle and movement to it that quickly made you realize that she was not with child. It’s size had increased so much that it was starting to push the boundaries of what kind of pregnant she was -- a very healthy set of twins was probably the best guess for most at this point.

As May’s belly entered the office a second or two before the rest of her, her physician’s face gawked momentarily. Doctor Cristobel Yasis had not seen May for over a year since she’d put in her IUD, and the woman she’d known was a far-cry from this bloated creature slinking into view.

Collecting herself, she smiled at May and they began the usual pleasantries and basic questions. May’s cushy insurance (the benefits of working for a decent employer) actually afforded her an annual physical, so, the appointment was to be wide-ranging -- stethoscope, blood-tests, the whole works.

As they worked through the basic questions and tests, both Cristobel’s (bi-)curiosity and her profession required her to start to ask the hard questions.

“How’s your diet been lately?”

Cristobel’s eyes focused directly into May’s as she asked, careful not to stare at her client’s body that made the question moot.

“Oh, you know, it’s okay. I’m probably snacking a little too much, but I try to stay active.”

Memories of grunting while getting off the couch earlier swirled in her mind as she desperately tried to find a moment of actual, prolonged physical exertion in the past year. You could almost hear the tumbleweeds blowing through her mind as she failed to recount a single example. She began to sweat a little.

“OK. What kind of activities are you involved in?”

Cristobel had to hold back a bemused smile as her chubby client struggled to form a believable story about the “walks” and “yoga” she was doing. Somehow she doubted May was doing much of any of that.

“I know these are usually sensitive topics, May, but as your physician, please know that I’m not here to judge you.”

May’s expression grew a little more dire.

“Can you please take off your clothes now so we can complete the physical?”

Abject horror now crossed the chubby brunette’s face as she froze in place.

“Are you sure that’s absolutely necessary?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is. I’d like to do a quick visual inspection for any skin irritations and do a quick breast exam.”

The next two minutes featured the laborious work of May removing her clothing, stripping down to her over-taxed bra and panties, her belly now bulging out in all its glory. Cristobel was shocked how much larger it looked without her simple tank top to cover it. Her constricting shorts, as well, removed the only constraint that was keeping her soft, squishy thighs from filling up even more space, their gelatinous structurelessness jiggling occasionally as she stumbled and adjusted herself.

Standing nearly naked now, the newfound immensity of May was fully on display.

Trying to hide the hunger in her eyes, Cristobel expertly inspected her patient’s modest breasts, noting the red marks and inflamed skin along the band of her bra. Thankfully, there was nothing to be concerned about there.

As she did a series of other small checks, looking at May’s skin for any concerning irritations or otherwise, she finally came to her belly. She knew she needed to feel it. The medical reasons for doing so faded into the back of her mind as she lightly poked and prodded prodigious hips and inched her way towards the main event. What started as professional, evalutory touch slowly became increasingly hands-on and intimate. She pushed inwards from just above May’s bellybutton and felt the strange mixture of firmness and give that enabled this belly to maintain its gravid shape and dominate the figure of her patient so totally. Pushing inwards now more strongly, she could feel that, while the external layer of visceral fat helped keep the belly in its globular shape, the internal fat was almost like some kind of cream-filled egg. When you pressed in, or shook it, if you dared, you could see that this belly - despite appearances to the contrary - was simply big and fat.

As she began to heft the belly now, decorum slipping a little more, her face grew red as she spoke in as tight a doctor-ese as she could:

“May, I think we can both be honest with one another in noting that you’ve put on a significant amount of weight.”

She continued to squeeze as she spoke, entirely disassociated from the words she was saying as she continued her hands-y motions. May continued to stand as still as a soldier during a military inspection.

“Your belly has obviously grown considerably, and, what’s more, most of what’s here is what we call ‘visceral fat,’ meaning that it rests in this solid, bulky kind of way in the belly.”

Words were really failing her now as she tried desperately not to simply lose herself and take a big, greedy squeeze of the whole thing. In all of her career, she’d never felt so profoundly corrupted by seeing one of her patients and she struggled to maintain control in the face of this hypnotic appendage of her patient.

“It can be, uh, associated with cardiovascular disease and other health problems.”

She knew she had to cut her losses before something went really off the rails. As she slowly made to pull herself away, however, she took one last outlandishly large squeeze of the underside of the belly and closed her eyes so deeply that she had to blink herself back into the moment, trying desperately to make it look like she had been a moment of deep thought.

“I definitely…” She paused again, unintentionally, trying still to collect herself. If it weren’t for her dark caramel skin, Cristobel’s face would have read like an open book on arousal. But she just barely managed to come back to her sentence:

“I definitely recommend you look at reducing your caloric intake. If you are a fan of soda or other highly processed or sugary foods, I recommend you cut them out altogether if you can.”

She was regaining her sanity now as she stepped back and considered her patient’s fullnessonce again:

From head to toe, May was covered in a thin sheen of dewey sweat, likely from the exertion of removing her clothes and the nervousness of getting a semi-perverted patdown from her doctor.

The words seemed to ring in May’s ears as she slowly put on her clothes, inching her shorts up her thighs that seemed to run away from clothing with something approaching consciousness. A shimmy or two shook her belly heartily and it had to have been divine intervention that kept her from simply bursting into flames in that very moment. Studiously avoiding her doctor’s eyes as she awkwardly stretched her shirt over her arms - which were only minimally more pudgy -- her red tank top came down smoothly over her bust, and then valiantly began the fool’s errand of making its way over as much of her belly as it could manage. Due to some cosmic cruelty, the shirt, which had mostly fit before (from a certain, denialist point of view), she could see in the mirror now still left a good six inches of exposed pale white flesh after the shirt’s hemline.

The appointment ended with forcibly polite goodbyes and -- she thought, but could barely remember -- a half-hearted promise to eat more healthfully to her doctor.

Belly swinging wantonly side-to-side as she left, May hurried out of the office without even bothering to book her next appointment. She was convinced that Doctor Yasis had lost her train of thought out of sheer disgust at her body, comments to the contrary merely an attempt at professional placaction.

As soon as her wide, swaying ass left the her office, Cristobel immediately closed the door and sat down on her small stool, struggling to catch her breath as all of the pent-up emotion in her body could finally surge forward explosively. She closed her eyes and leaned her back against the wall, hand against her breast, desperately trying to ground herself after nearly sexually assaulting on one of her patients.

Thoughts of consequences, however, quickly turned back to the memory of holding May’s belly in her hands - the feeling of that final squeeze visiting back upon her and sending a shiver down her spine. She looked at her computer and saw she had a rare reprieve of 10 minutes before her next appointment. Seemingly infected with her patient’s sensuous disregard for propriety and control, she locked the door and went to the cupboard for lubricants used in vaginal exams.

This isn’t strictly off-label, I guess, she thought as she squirted some in her hands and rubbed them together.

And before she plunged her fingers into herself, she briefly wondered how hard it was for May to masturbate with that big belly. Contemplating that thought meant she had time for two near-cataclysmic orgasms before her next client was ready.
 
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In the weeks and months that followed, the anxiety over her rising weight had the exact opposite effect on May’s eating habits than the vague intentions of change she had made after seeing Dr Yasis. Instead of scaling back her caloric intake, she did two related things:

Firstly, she poured herself into her work. CalPERS’ Chief Investment Officer was starting a new plan to expand the pension plan’s investment in US-based advanced technology opportunities, especially aerospace and robotics, and had asked May to lead a sector-wide study to understand the space better. As one of the largest public pension plans in the world, this meant May was in a unique position to ask for almost anything of the funds and companies that her team might wish to invest in. This was both intellectually stimulating and a significant time-sink, meaning she had less and less time, and interest, to do much else than work and rest from home.

Very much relatedly, the second thing that May did was eat more. A lot more.

Late-night research reviews and early-morning company interviews from Europe threw off her circadian rhythm and meant that she nearly always had an excuse to grab a snack or stuff herself relentlessly. As the mind-numbing stream of numbers, technology overviews, and investment précis flowed into her inbox, soda, chips, candy, and pretty much everything else flowed through her mouth and down into her ever-expanding waistline.

Four months of backbreaking work later, May received a promotion for her diligence and “exemplary” investment plan for the fund that the CIO would “implement word for word.”

The promotion afforded the bloated new investment manager a few unique privileges that she was more than happy to take advantage of: a more flexible work schedule, given her unique needs to engage with international partners, and the right to continue to work fully remotely. Her team of fifteen analysts would have to call or video-chat her for their meetings. Coming from the quant side of the business, both May and her team were quite happy to embrace a no-pressure culture of cameras being off and working primarily via the internal messaging system.

Despite her preference to ignore her looks and focus on her work and pastimes, even May had to begrudgingly admit that this non-visual work culture also afforded her the helpful privilege of being able to wearing whatever she wanted at any given time.

This privilege was, in practical terms, also something of a necessity.

As she pulled her head up from the release of the investment plan and being onboarded as a new manager and considered the prospect of engaging with the outside world again, May had to take stock of the changes her body had undergone over the past few months:

Standing in the bathroom one morning, gigantic stomach fully obscuring the scale, May grimaced and, in a voice that cracked a little with anxiety, asked Macey for help reading the numbers somewhere below.

Her belly had grown so large and wide that it was impossible for her to see anything below it. Frustratingly, her breasts had only grown modestly. Despite the rapid expansion of most other parts of her body, if anything her boobs looked smaller in comparison to the rest of her, even while they’d gone up a full cup-size and pressed unhappily against the short-hemmed sports bra that she’d taken to wearing around the house most days. Slightly more generous C-cups still were outshone by her growing band-size, with her increasingly lumpy rolls of back-fat mashing to create an angry-looking red aura of skin irritation where the back straps were stretched to new limits almost every day.

Beneath her perpetually disappointing breasts, ungainly and shapeless rolls under her arms flowed from above a still-(comparably) narrow waist into heavy-set haunches and love handles. They now formed an innertube-like ring of fat that began at the “small” of her back and then rounded out into her growing ass cheeks. Both of her rounded buttocks were increasingly meaty and seemed to add more dimples and cellulite every day.

Her thighs made a mockery of the string-bean she had once been. Even at her boniest, May had always had somewhat out-of-proportion hips to her size, but this was very obviously the fundamental shape of her body and not a sign of fattness. Now, however, May’s hips had grown and grown outwards to mask any hint of the bones that had once been one of her defining features. In the place of a bony obtrusion, heavy saddlebags now hung -- and indeed they did hang -- from each hip at acute angles. From the back May still had a strangely narrow waist, if you ignored where he belly bulged outward from the front of love handles. A small rib-cage and wider bones provided the scaffolding for a tranche the saddlebags. They ran out from just above her hips and then flared out into wide, mushy parabolas on either side, tapered off through her narrow lower thighs and thin-ish calves.

Finally, and from any angle, May’s belly truly dominated, one might even say conquered, her form. It had now grown so large that no only could she no longer see her feet, but no longer see all parts of her belly. It’s rounded horizon was so large that angles below the widest point of her belly on all sides were completely invisible to her. In some ways that was perhaps for the best, because the ever-increasing number of white and red stretchmarks that splayed dendritically across all of the lower areas of her belly.

When Macey finally made it into the room, having extracted herself from a particularly smutty Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure fic , she was, yet again, struck by the vastness of her roommate.

How the **** does she keep gaining weight like this? Doesn’t she see just how huge she is getting?

Although she didn’t think of the tums incident as the “beginning” of this weight gain, she could reflect vaguely back to that time last year and again was washed over just by how much she had grown -- and how quickly.

It was abundantly clear to Macey, and, she suspected even May, that their unique lifestyles created a glide path for this kind of change; remote work, comparably high incomes, and rather narrow, inward-looking social lives all created little outside feedback on her friend’s changes and, therefore, effectively no pressure for her to change.

And it wasn’t only her body changing now: there was some sort of bizarre inverse relationship to her weight gain and her productivity at work. In some strange way, her endless justifications around “brain food” might have been true. Her physical lethargy only seemed to grow more pronounced over time, bringing larger and larger piles of snacks to her desk to avoid having to make multiple trips (perversely, this led to a vicious cycle of needing ever-larger snack hauls). And yet she worked longer hours, and, occasional food naps aside, seemed more engaged and focused than ever.

These perverse forces at work only confused her friend, but, true to her original intention, she refrained from intervention.

Macey walked around the edge of May’s bulbous hips and ducked around the edge of her bulging belly to see, with some craning, the number flashing on the scale. She looked, looked again, grimaced, and then stood up to face her friend.

“Three-hundred and thirty-six pounds.”

May’s face sank and a pause settled in that was nine months pregnant with triplets.

“That…. That can’t be right.”

Macey, simultaneously shocked and unmoved by her friend’s predicament, tried not to shake her head too visibly.

“I double-checked before I read it out.”

“It can’t be right,” May protested, “You go on and see if it works for you.”

Rolling her eyes, Macey silently motioned for her lumbering friend to move, and quickly jumped onto the scale herself.

While her breasts were large enough to obscure some of her vision, it only took a slightly craning of her neck to see familiar numbers staring back up at her: 172.

She stepped on and off twice, and got the same result within a pound or two.

She looked back at her friend gravely: “It seems pretty accurate to me.”

What little colour remained in May’s face drained quickly. Memories of every recent binge and moment of over-indulgence washed across her mind, the guilt and shame of each instance weighing her down almost as much as her fluff.

“I can’t believe it. Last year I was almost half this weight.”

Lost in her spiral was also the fact that last year, as her weight finally really started to take off, she’d still been five or possibly ten pounds heavier than her friend. Now was nearly double.

It took every muscle in her body and every spiritual iota of her being, for Macey not to scream “I told you so!” at the top of her lungs at her friend. Maybe it was the utter shock and horror on May’s face, or the disbelief that ventured on delusion, but in that moment the friend formerly known as “the chubby one” lost even more sympathy for the naive chubster in front of her. A decade of May’s thick-headed inability to recognise the forthcoming disaster of her diet (or lack thereof) sapped her friend of any willingness to help.

Macey debated for a moment what she would say next -- and later came to question just how much of an inflection point this might have been for what May became -- but settled, with some moral consternation, on something… less than helpful.

“I’m sure some of it’s just bloating. You had a big meal today and you have been working a lot. Maybe you’re retaining some water or something.”

She concluded her statement with what she hoped was a warm, if somewhat distant, supportive-looking face.

The comment seemed to soothe May somewhat, who began, following her friend’s lead, generating a list of other excuses that, while not entirely explaining away her obvious weight gain, at least softened the blow.

Sagely, she concluded her soliloquy with another vague recognition of the need to “eat better” and “be more active.”

Unintentionally pushing her friend against the wall as she lumbered out of the bathroom, May’s obliviousness continued and cemented her roommate’s indifference to helping her any further.
 
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Lipid - Part 1
As before, any vague intention by May to “do better” quickly fell by the wayside. In no small part, this was because there was a strong, and growing, inverse correlation between her productivity and the healthiness of her food and the serving-size appropriateness thereof. As the new advanced manufacturing strategy for CalPERS gathered steam and May collected further responsibilities to research and develop further, sub-sector related strategies, her appetite only increased.

Another eight months flew by and May had been redirected into the healthcare file. Any coworker commentary on the irony of this posting was strangled in the crib for two reasons: firstly, because her immense weight gain remained an effective secret to almost everyone on staff, and, secondly, because of her incredible performance at her job. The outputs of her advanced manufacturing work paid early and strong returns for the fund, and afforded her yet more trust - and responsibility - from the senior executives.

Her next project, however, brought her to a topic that was frighteningly close to home: the healthcare implications, and investment opportunities, of obesity.

May, having grown more and more complacent with her ever-growing size, looked at the statistics and research in the field with personal experience that provided some novel insights.

Having sworn off the scale after an interlude a few months after her last weigh-in, showing another thirty-poun gain, she knew, at least abstractly, that she was continuing to get larger. However, she continued to show less than zero interest in changing any of her behaviours. Her bras grew tighter, she traded up two sizes in her chair (“just to be extra comfy”) and carried on eating to her heart’s content.

Her body was finally starting to adjust to the fact that she was truly fat. While her belly remained an outlandishly large part of her body, it had finally woken up to the fact that it was made of fat, not some bizarre gravity-defiying human rubber. While the top rounded out from the bottom of her breasts with a spectacularly smooth curve that still suggested (an outlandishly large) pregnancy, it now extended so far out from her torso that it indeed succumbed to gravity, and fluffier, looser fat had begun to hang towards the floor. It was as if, slightly below her belly button, the visceral fat of the top of her belly was melting at the bottom. It was extending far enough now that, despite her height, the entirety of her genitals were hidden if you stared at her head-on.

Much to her chagrin, her body’s betrayal felt particularly cruel in this context. As if being absurdly belly-heavy wasn’t bad enough, her mons venus had now decided it wanted to join the party. From the fluffier “lighter” parts of her belly that obscured everything below them, a whole new biome of her body was developing.

Her public mound now had grown to obscure more and more of the entrance to her vulva, joining the bottom of her belly in a pantomime of the larger appendage’s shape. It created many strange feelings, particularly when she was trying to masturbate, as it made it harder (than her belly made it already) to reach inside of herself.

The only solution to that particular problem -- particularly since she had little interest in, and, she suspected, few opportunities to, date -- was to purchase a considerably larger wand, with an extender that allowed her to reach particularly hard-to-get-to spots.

Perhaps the only main upside to the continuing onslaught of pounds was that her breasts had finally decided that they wanted to join the party. They had now rounded out into almost-impressive honeydew-sized orbs that necessitated several bra upgrades. Comfortably into DD territory, she breathed a sigh of relief that between her expanded bust and wide hips, she’d passed through the Bear-like territory she’d inhabited for a few months with her huge belly and thick thighs, but few other curves.

Maybe it was the shift in her body type towards something more recognisably feminine that changed her attitude somewhat, but the more she dug into the research, the more her interest in, understanding of -- and, crucially, respect for -- fat shifted.

She poured over the recent scientific and cultural literature, seeing herself more and more in the evolution of society towards fatness. And indeed, while her shape was somewhat peculiar, her trajectory was hardly novel. A 2017 report put it as starkly as one could:

Since 1991 the prevalence of obesity has increased by 65% in men, and 25% in women. It was estimated that in 2010, England contained 6.6 million obese men (33% of the population) and 5.9 million obese women (28% of the population). The proportion of men predicted to be obese was greater than the proportion of women. It has been estimated that on current trends, by 2050, 60% of males and 50% of females will be obese.

Interestingly, back then, obesity still had a fairly clear class separation. Back in 2017, research had shown that:

Adults working in unskilled manual professions are over 4 times more likely to be classified as morbidly obese compared with those in professional employment, with women showing a larger difference than men. It is estimated that by 2050, 15% of females belonging to [highly professionalized and wealthy classes] and 62% for the females belonging to [lower-income, less-skilled households] will be obese. However, the predicted difference is lower for male adults, 52% of males belonging to[highly professionalized and wealthy classes] will be obese compared with 60% of [lower-income, less-skilled] males.

Roughly a decade and a half later, post the global pandemic and, interestingly, the increasing prevalence of highly processed meat alternatives and other lab grown foods, this gap had closed dramatically. More and more, despite the sophistication of the diet industry and various “health” products bought and sold with ludicrously high margins, people of all incomes and education levels were simply getting fatter and fatter.

And that’s where May got a simple idea that took her healthcare investment scan a few steps further: instead of trying to fight fat, why not profit from it?

Her premise was simple: no matter what the health data said, people continued to get fatter and more sedentary. The ease of modern living, particularly as investments to fight climate change and build an overall more sustainable society layered on top of one another, had made the world a more and more comfortable place to live. And comfort, through the wide availability of low-cost, high-calorie food, was increasingly translating into weight gain.

Most importantly to her, the economics could not be ignored: in 2021, the World Obesity Federation had estimated that the average national cost of obesity was in the range of 2% of gross domestic product in many countries but projected that by 2060, that number would be more than double in high-obesity countries such as Brazil and Mexico. In India, where the number had originally been projected to double from less than 1% of GDP in 2021 to 2.75% by 2060, rates had already jumped to 1.9% and represented potential economic losses of $450 billion dollars per year.

This meant while exact numbers were tricky, that investing in obesity-related technologies and services represented a multi-trillion market globally.

The best part was, particularly from the perspective of the epicentre of global obesity, American productivity and economic output would only improve as a result of investments that mitigated the impacts of obesity. From the view of a pension fund that tried to improve American economic outcomes at the same time as it generated stable returns for California’s former public servants, a win-win like this was an opportunity too good to pass up.

With an entire team behind her, including consulting doctors and technologies, the contours of an investment approach started to develop. An effective investment strategy would focus simultaneously on addressing areas of consumer discomfort related to obesity and then reducing the impacts related to productivity, efficacy, and economic output.

This meant focusing on reducing either reducing or eliminating some of the major health challenges of obesity, such as high blood pressure, diabetes, cholesterol, various heart disease challenges, bone,] and joint problems, sleep apnea, and general mobility issues. Each of these areas would form the basis of an area to invest in, eventually supporting companies that focused on producing technologies, services, and infrastructure that fat people would pay for to address the challenges they faced.

The idea here was to forgo the classical strategy of investing in pathways to reduce people's weight, and rather assume that they were going to get fatter -- and that technologies and services would be needed to support them as they did. It flipped the script on decades of prior investing behaviours and left behind that favourite American pastime of moralizing about fat people, and instead adopted the most evolved and enjoyable of American traditions: making money.

There was also a clear cultural dimension to this work, as well. As Americans (and the world) got fatter, the cultural perception of fat was shifting. The fascination with “thickness” in the late 2010s and 2020s had evolved into something, well, wider. The National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance had shifted both its mandate and its name from “acceptance” to liberation just after the US became a majority-obese country. NAAFL, as it became known, became an increasingly important political constituency, cutting across political dividing lines in peculiar ways.

A strong majority of the United States’ largest people still lived in Southern and Republican-controlled states, despite the spread of obesity to every corner of the country. And yet the Democratic party’s late 2020’s pivot towards a more explicitly leftist stance, and a longstanding connection with America’s fattest demographics, Black and Indigenous peoples, made them a contender in many of these races. The struggle to “get out the fat vote” became a core pillar of any successful candidate’s pathway to victory.

This created fertile ground for both policy shifts and a cultural movement that was increasingly looking toward what it could do to make their country more fat-friendly. Or, put another way, a spectacular environment to invest in.

As May became more and more embroiled in her strategy development, her appetite and weight gain only increased in intensity and she began to personally experience in real-time what the needs of her eventual customers would be.

With every added pound, it seemed like new shifts or requirements for her life were required.

The first and most obvious challenge was heat. Swaddled in hundreds of pounds of extra adipose, May’s previous challenge of staying warm had been completely reversed. Now she struggled to stay at an even moderately comfortable temperature in the comfort of her own home. Even a few shifts of her body, particularly the bits that rubbed against one another, generated even more heat.

The only solution she really seemed to have at this point, further adding to her weight gain trajectory, was simply to move less with less on. It worked well to a point, but despite her best efforts to avoid it more and more, she still occasionally had to go out.
 
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Lipid - Part 2


Which led to the second challenge: as May had gotten fatter, both moving and sitting presented new challenges. While she hadn’t weighed herself in months, she knew she was well over three-hundred and fifty pounds now. That didn’t necessarily present a problem in and of itself, especially given her tall frame, but still being so belly- and bottom-heavy meant that her mobility was already seeing some limitations and she simply had less energy to walk or move than she used to.

And when she went to sit down somewhere, even in fatter-than-ever America, a lot of furniture simply wasn’t designed for people of her size.

With a growing salary, May was able to overcome some of this. She ordered Uber XL’s as a rule. She got groceries and food delivered to the house constantly, and gradually furniture in the house was swapped for things more suited to her growing body.

And yet, as each time before, the more she struggled personally with her weight, the more her enthusiasm for her work grew. And after some high-level briefings with senior staff one day, May began to consider a somewhat audacious idea:

if CalPERS was going to pull this off, they were going to need a more nimble mechanism that would allow them to make investments quickly. Additionally, there was still some reputational risk to consider when it came to profiting from the over-stuffed average American who needed help with obesity-related illnesses and mobility challenges.

There was an obvious solution for May: start a fund specifically focused on fat-friendly products and services, signing CalPERS as a foundational (and perhaps silent) funding partner, along with other investors.

Uncharacteristically, May actually took a week off work to fully delve into this idea further. Characteristically, however, she mowed her way through snacks, meals, “treats,” and other little assists throughout the entire process. If anything, having a new, engaging challenge only increased her appetite.

Each day she funneled ever-larger quantities of calories down her throat. There were moments when Macey could only look on with genuine shock as she watched May devour entire family-sized meals -- whole lasagnas, an effective cart of dim sum, and more. She could navigate excel and documents with one hand while shoveling things into her mouth.

A little rearrangement of the apartment for May’s comfort, too, meant that she was able to work in her room’s own office now, giving her ample opportunity to eat with even less grace than she exhibited around her friend.

One day, though, a little under a month after the initial idea, she was ready. Sitting awkwardly on the couch with her laptop resting on her belly and breasts, now mostly unable to get it closer enough to the table (or her “lap” for that matter) to work, she called Macey into the living room about her idea.

Covered in Cheetos dust, with messy, unwashed hair, the formerly lanky, formerly chubby, and now objectively fat May was not exactly the paragon of professionalism that would have suggested her work was worth taking seriously.

But as her roommate plodded down the hallway and saw the first slide of a deck on their TV (that May had taken to using as part of her office more and more of late), there was an energy about her longtime friend that felt different. Even with her somewhat slobbish appearance and general attitude of lethargy, there was an energy that sparked and crackled around her as she busily typed away at her laptop Snacking sporadically while she worked, it was only after Macey cleared her throat that to alert her friend she was there, that she was snapped out of her rhythm of working and eating. Gears turned and she shifted from whatever she was doing into a warm smile.

“Okay! Thanks for coming.”

Macey looked at her quizically.

“I wanted to show you something I’ve been working on. Do you mind?”

Unsure but curious, she sat down.

“Yeah, I guess. You really have been deep in… whatever it is you’ve been up to.”

May smiled even larger.

“I know, I know! And I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit reclusive about it. I just… I think I’ve got something really cool here and I wanted to pursue it to the fullest.”

After months of obsessive work where at times Macey had begun to feel like she was losing her friend, this sudden re-emergence and awareness was a welcome change.

“Well, I’m glad you’re coming up for air finally! What’ve you been working on so furiously?”

Turning like a showman opening up his circus, May gestured to the screen and flashed up the title slide. In classic pitch-deck fashion, it was simply a single word in a crisp sans serif font, on a warm green background: Lipid.

“What’s the most pressing, expensive problem in America, Em?”

Despite her rather comically exaggerated body type and the general state of disarray of her appearance, May’s presentation voice and energy were calm, crisp, and professional.

“I don’t know, climate change?”

“Not a bad guess,” she said somewhat officiously, “but with current federal and local policy pathways, we’re on track to limit global warming to about two degrees celsius.”

She paused, stifling a burp for a moment, and then continued:

“More importantly, many of the societal trends we would want to see in place -- falling battery prices, conversion of vehicles, and development of local manufacturing -- are already well underway.”

Her audience of one shrugged.

“I’m not sure then.”

The slide advanced to an image of one young woman standing next to another.

The difference between the two was striking. The one on the left was a brown-skinned, slightly chubby young woman with dark black hair who appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties.

The one on the right had a similar skin tone but was vastly larger. Where the image on the left had comfortably large breasts that sat above a small, rounded little belly, the woman on the right had a wide, hanging gut that extended down to fully cover her groin. Cantaloupe-sized breasts extended perkily from her chest, framing a doughy décolletage that ran up into a wide-set neck, an impressive double chin, and a moon-shaped face. The body types could not have been more different, and yet the eyes were identical.

As the realization dawned on Macey, her presenter re-entered:

“This is a before and after photo of one of TikTok’s most famous content creators, ‘MegaMadelline.’ These images are two years apart, and showcase her gain of almost two-hundred and fifty pounds in that time.”

Macey let out a small whistle.

Next slide.

A series of charts showed hockey-stick graphs with headings like, “Obesity Rates of American Men by Age,” all neatly arrayed in a grid.

“America, and the world, for that matter, continue to get fatter every year. MegaMadelline is only one example of how increasing food availability and the growing convenience of everyday life, especially because of work-from-home policies, automation, and changes in city-planning, are making it harder and harder for anyone to stay thin.”

Another slide flashed.

“In 2008, scientists from the American Obesity Treatment Association published in Nature modeled that, based on trends at that time, by 2030, 86.3% adults will be overweight or obese; and 51.1%, obese.”

Next slide.

“We ended up crossing those estimates two years earlier than expected, and the pace of weight gain in this country, and around the world, has only increased since then.”

Another slide flashed a list of medical conditions and other, related challenges associated with being overweight or obese.

And then another showing dollar figures associated with this to American healthcare costs.

Next came a series of complex actuarial equations and financial models showing the level and types of investment needed to respond to this; hundreds of billions of dollars in new healthcare technologies and services, and, in the aggregate, trillions of dollars to retrofit buildings and vehicles to suit the needs of this larger and larger population.

May’s excitement reached a crescendo:

“All of this work represents the single largest investment opportunity since reconstruction after World War Two!”

Another slide transition, this time flashing another grid, this one of photographs of technologies, inventors, and a panoply of fat to very fat people all smiling and using various pieces of equipment.

“However, to really take advantage of this opportunity, investors need to be able to move quickly and draw on specialized, in-house expertise around bariatric medicine and other obesity-related issues.”

A slide that was markedly different flashed now. A simple light blue background highlighted the word from the first slide again.

“I give you, Lipid, the world’s first purpose-built venture capital fund focused entirely on obesity-related technologies and services.”

May now dove into details around investment approaches and funding structures, highlighting how CALPers and a variety of other public sector pension plans, with both an interest in return on investment, and, having a higher share of obese beneficiaries than another type of fund, could massively benefit from a new vehicle like this.

The presentation closed with a bevy of enthusiastic graphs that talked about long-term profit projections and the overall potential of this approach. And like a conductor bringing a Mahler piece to a conclusion, she waved her hands with a flourish and a wide smile.

“What do you think?!,” she concluded, as Macey realized she was now breathing somewhat heavily, apparently the excitement of her information somewhat exceeding her lung’s capacity to release it.

“I have to admit, I’m impressed.” And she was, in a sense.

I also can’t believe you got this fat and decided to turn it into an investment opportunity, rather than lose some fucking weight.

But she didn’t say that.

“I’m glad, because I’m actually not done yet.”

“Oh?”

Another slide came up on the TV, this one showing both of their faces inserted into little circles, with one line of text beneath each of their heads.

May Khoe, Chief Investment Officer
Macey Abelman-Martinez, Chief Operational Officer


“May, what the hell is this?”

A devious smile crossed the mega-belly babe’s face.

“Our future.”
 
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May’s outsize reputation at the pension fund created some unique opportunities for her. Few other people would have been able to bring this kind of crazy idea to senior leaders and even gotten the time of day, but with her strong successes from the advanced manufacturing play, she had the ear of some senior people.


Three weeks after an initial presentation to the investment committee (remotely, of course), she had approval to take a leave from CalPERS and begin the process of assembling a team to form the fund.


Macey, despite her reservations, was intrigued enough in the opportunity and, truth be told, eager to work with her friend more once again that she decided to take the role as COO.


The combination of the detailed plans that May had develoepd and Macey’s organizational skill meant that they’d filed their corporate documents a month after they received permission to get started and brought on their team onboard.


May was allowed to poach a few of her analysts from the fund on a two-year secondment, and then did some other hiring to bring in outside expertise, both professional and lived.


The most important hire that they needed was a good chief of staff. Macey was well equipped to handle operations at a strategic level, but she’d need a right-hand to help her carry that out the variety of both the hum drum tasks, like organizing internal meetings, and the strategic ones, like arranging meetings with partners.


A quiet resume search through contacts at NAAFL and other, friendly organizations landed them a range of great resumes, but there was one clear winner.


Her name was Nasha Ikande. She was a second generation Nigerian-American and that alone had meaningful relevance to the work they were going to do. Nigeria was already known as a fat country in the early 20th Century, but had rapidly grown not only to build a significant amount of wealth, successfully pivoting off oil and gas into more sustainable modes of prosperity, but vastly increased overall societal plenty -- and the waistlines of practically every citizen along the way.


Her parents’ arrival in America had only accelerated a predisposition towards fatness after that.


Very tall like her parents at 6”2, Nasha was very fat. It was impossible to guess how much she weighed over the Zoom interview, but when they met her a few weeks at a cafe after hiring her, both May and Macey were taken aback at the sheer size of her. A rippling double-belly, not dissimilar in size to her boss’, dominated the front of her form, a wide strip of almost obsidian-dark skin peaking through the already-stretched buttons of a surprisingly tasteful (and immensely large) linen body-suit. Unlike her boss, however, Nasha was fat in a way that was more traditionally feminine, with a strangely hourglass figure, despite her size. She had massive breasts each easily the size of her head that always puffed slightly above whatever thin barrier a collar tried to form for her, and a proportionally massive ass that she generally needed two chairs to support. She had ripplingly jiggling thighs that moved penduously with each slow, shuffling waddle she made -- an effort she seemed to try to keep to a minimum.


Beyond her size, she also had a beautiful face, with alluring dark brown eyes, a beautiful gap-toothed smile, and lustrous nappy hair that reached outward from her head in all directions.


Her resume was impressive -- Purdue graduate with honours in business, a stint at Bain Capital, and some personal work on democratizing investment with inner city communities. However, it was her politics that really made her shine. Nasha was on the board of NAAFL and well connected in D.C. with both Democratic and Republican fat activists in both parties. She was even friends with Jaunita Munez, widely believed to be the fattest member of Congress in history and a champion of fat rights across the nation.


She brought both the political savvy and “doer” ethos that was critical to their effort.


As a sign of respect, May even started going on camera with her when they discussed their work together.


While they weren’t in a position to staff up massively in their initial run, beyond Nasha, May and Macey knew they’d need a range of other roles. Luckily, from her original team at CalPERS, May was able to bring some strong analysts without having to go to market.


May had always prided herself on running an all women investment analysis team, and the vision of Lipid as a women-led fund somehow felt right, or at least was another plus when speaking to investors, so, while not explicit, a female ethos permeated the fund and implicitly defined their other candidates:


There was Amanda Liao, a longtime quant like May, cut in many ways from the same cloth: she was often perceived as a little ditzy on first meeting with her warm, bubbly demeanor, but savagely effective with numbers when given a concrete task.


She’d worked with May for the past few years and had been one of the first to raise her hand when the ask had gone out to join the Lipid team. And Amanda, despite sometimes jokingly referring to herself as a “coconut” for her absorption of US culture, she still hadn’t assimilated enough into American life over her two decades in California to fully buy into the wild consumption and get meaningfully fat. She was easily the smallest member of the team, standing at a meagre five foot nothing, and likely a hundred pounds soaking wet. It was sometimes joked that Amanda would be their “token thin” and that they’d have to keep her away from clients - despite her ditzy persona, Amanda was insightful enough to make sure she partook of the snacks regularly and learned the fat liberation lexicon quickly enough. She was a go-getter, and that seemed to apply to the Lipid culture, too.


Next was Bex MacLaren-Maldonado, the only non-binary member of May’s old team and more in the mold of a traditional quant:


Painfully shy and quiet, they were happy to squirl themselves away (with a steady supply of snacks, of course) to do their work and avoid human interaction as much as possible. Like Macey, they were a bit of a weeb but never in a loud way. Also somewhat like Macey, and cruelly at odds with their gender presentation, Bex had a wildly traditional feminine figure. Of a similar height to Macey, they had a spectacularly hourglass figure -- however rarely seen it actually was -- with breasts that bulged out of every conceivable outfit and restriction they could throw at it. Binders and sports bras were no match for their titanic, I-cup bazongas and anyone who had the unique privilege to look in their closet could see the graveyard of their past efforts to hide their figure.


While Bex likely had the money to consider some kind of reduction, even losing such a spectacular pair of breasts could not have change how easy it was to read them as female: in addition to immense, shapely breasts, Bex’s waist, even with a sizable belly, tapered in with Rubenesque precision. It created the perfect contrast between their shapely top and their irresponsibly curvy bottom. Bex was a booty-heavy beauty, with buttcheeks that sashayed with even the smallest move of their ample hips. Hidden away for the most part in the comfort of their home, Bex’s highly desired figure rarely had to interact with anyone who might misgender them and that, even in a women-run fund, was their preference.


Finally, the last part of their time to join initially was their communications manager. While she hadn’t been on either May or Macey’s team, Azin Mirza was a communications professional par excellence and came highly recommended from CalPERS public engagement team. Every part the smooth-talking comms manager archetype, Azin was also whip smart and knew how to defuse a tense situation, digital or in-person, within moments.

Part of her ability to lower conflict levels was the fact that she looked like she could finish just about any fight: as tall as May, but built in almost the opposite form. A dedicated bodybuilder (rarer and rarer these days), Azin had rippling musculature that intimidated anyone until her warm, upbeat voice defrayed any concerns. Bulging biceps extended out from shoulders and traps that practically pulsed with unused strength. They in turn were supported by a sculpted back and thick, powerful legs that could squat as much (or more) than some of the team members weighed.


And to some of the team members, particularly Nasha and Macey, it was immediately apparent why Azin had raised her hand so quickly to join Lipid: she was an unabashed pervert for fattness. It only took one in-person meeting where Azin stared longingly at Nasha until it got uncomfortable for Macey to clock this and then had a discrete conversation with her new coworker afterwards. Keep it chill, and it wil all be fine.


And so with a somewhat ragtag team, Lipid was ready to start the hard work: finding investors.


CalPERS had indeed agreed to serve as a silent foundational partner. It was decided that at least for now that the pension would initially stay quiet about its investment, both to protect the success of the fund, and mitigate some reputational concerns. The American political and social climate at home was still too muddy with regards to how it felt about being a country increasingly defined (though not yet led) by its obese majority. A savvy investor, however, would see the leadership of former pension employees as a likely sign of implicit endorsement of the fund’s mission, a significant advantage in building out the fund’s stakeholders.


Within the initial Lipid master plan, there was already a draft list of potential investors. These ranged from high net-worth individuals, to other, larger funds like CalPERS who wanted to get a slice of the action. Naturally, all of these funds had some sort of relationship to obesity.


Top of her list of potential investors was the Indigenous-run fund, S7ílhen (which apparently translated from the Squamish language to “Food”), from Canada. Developed by a series of First Nations groups across British Columbia, the fund was focused on impact investments that would generate strong returns, but also bring tangible benefits to First Nations groups that were increasingly significant economic players within Canada.


With some of the highest obesity rates in the country, comparable to Black people in the US, there was a razor-clear alignment -- all that was needed was the right approach.


May had done her homework and knew that a personal touch on this one was needed.


Shockingly, the ever-fatter investor was prepared to leave her home to win over this client. With some measurement assistance from Macey, she was able to custom-order some both some maternity-inspired clothes to deal with her incredible belly and otherwise clean herself up for public presentation for the first time in well-over two years.


A few weeks after initial Zoom conversations and establishment of some interest, May was sitting in a thankfully armless office chair in a beautiful Vancouver boardroom that looked out over the mountains and ocean.


The room was filled with ten or so staff from the fund, headed by an imposing matriarch who introduced herself as Ta7talíya (“Ta - Guh/ - Taalee - Yah”) and led the fund’s investment team. Unsurprisingly, she was a large woman, with subdued tan skin, sharp dark eyebrows, and a striking, bright smile when she laughed - which was often.


The middle-aged Indigenous woman was the fattest person at the table, other than Nasha, sitting in the same large chair without arm-rests. Despite a simple black frock-dress, Ta7talíya’s belly bulged out and formed a number of creases as she sat. Her impressive bust formed a thick shelf of fat that rose dangerously close to her moon-shaped face when sitting. She had incredibly silky black hair that cascaded all the way down her back and shimmered lightly when it caught the light in the right way. She had stood only to shake each of the Lipid team members hands, and quickly settled back into her creaking chair, her saddle-bags notably hanging off either side of the chair as May had shuffled her way over to the open seat next to her.


The initial round of pleasantries was lubricated with a spectacular spread of local delicacies, including a fascinating “West Coast Cob Salad” which was generously layered with candided salmon and other local seafood. May felt like she had no choice but to go back for seconds, and, between exchanges with her hosts, continued to nibble at a nearby plate until it was completely empty. Several of the representatives around the table smiled approvingly as she did so.


As the conversation died down, May, Macey, and Nasha, settled into presentation mode.


May opened with a joke about asking if she could stay “comfortable” during the presentation and run things from her seat. Gesturing to her belly which, despite running parallel to it still bulged noticeably against the broad cedar table. Everyone chuckled and let her begin.


She opened with slides that positioned the human story of the rise in obesity. She referenced the racial inequalities for Black, Indigenous, and Latin people across the continent, long reviled for having larger waistlines than their white neighbours. The time was now, she emphasized, to start to rebalance that system.


The faces around the table were mostly impassive, but here and there she could see the beginnings of a thoughtful smile here and there.


The case she laid out was clear: the fund was going to not only invest in obesity-assisting technologies, services, and procedures, but, in the longer-term, it was going to focus on deploying them in the communities that needed them most. Buildings would be retrofitted to be more comfortable for the growing population; new infrastructure would be built to ease mobility; and health care systems would partner with the companies in the fund’s “family” to deploy new equipment.


With their own First Nations healthcare system crystalizing across Canada, both reserves and urban Indigenous health facilities would benefit from the deployment of the technologies, while the S7ílhen fund would receive a healthy profit.


The proposed arranagement both generous and transparent; no rug-pulls and the intention to function not just as a venture capital fund forever, but to expand gradually into a significant “family” of funds working on everything from R&D to infrastructure management.


Throughout the presentation May repeatedly had to pause and catch her breath, her own weight continuing to limit her productivity and basic movement through the world. Even with the air conditioning in the room, as she passed the mid-point of her deck, sweat was beginning to bead down her forehead, her upper lip beginning to glisten and, unseen to everyone else, the buffet of rolls across her back began to turn into a steamy waterfall. Trying to avoid shifting too much, even a mild gesticulation of her hands caused her belly to jiggle and, as she neared the end, more and more of the flabbiest edges of the behemoth edged towards the middle of the table. By the very end, a good six inches of her most pliant fat -- the heavier, viscous core still a tight ball beneath -- was resting on the heavy cedar table.


When she finished, all eyes on the room turned to Ta7talíya. The woman had continued to snack throughout the presentation and, seemingly like May herself, each bite reflected deeper and deeper engagement, rather than lethargy.


The temperature in the room continued to rise -- as if the collective weight of all present, likely well above two thousand pounds, was itself generating heat. May wiped a little of the sweat from her upper lift and thanking Nasha silently for her recommendation of a sport-related makeup that didn’t run when moist.


Finally, after a breathless few seconds, wherein Ta7talíya finished chewing a final morsel, she spoke:


“I haven’t seen a presentation that was that clear and honest in a long time.”


She closed her lips suddenly and her already puffy cheeks expanded a little more.


Come on…. Come on… May thought hopefully.


A palpable tension hung in the air, May’s upper lip again starting to glisten with sweat and the back of the chair now began to stick against her totally soaked-through dress.

“Based on all of this, I think we have a lot more to talk about,” she said, her big smile opening up across her round face.


Other smiles cascaded around the room and Ta7talíya gave another hearty belly laugh, her enormous bust shaking so much that what was supposed to be a modest neckline became lower and lower and a deep tranche of cleavage opened up for the whole room to see.


Macey, effectively there for emotional support, involuntarily raised her eyebrows at the sight - the sheer breadth of the woman impressive on its own, but it was clear that she and May had a rapport. This boded well for the investment opportunity, which was great on its own, but she also paused to reflect on how her once somewhat ditzy savant of a roommate was now, quite literally, at the board room table making deals.


The presentation opened up another two days of deeper review, the staff from both funds openly sharing details and working through preferred approaches and specific targets. The mood remained buoyant throughout, no doubt assisted by the endless quantities of local delicacies.
 
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The final day of work ended with an invitation -- uniquely provided, it seemed -- for the Lipid team to come to the crown jewel of the Squamish Nation’s impressive real estate empire, the Iy̓ál̓mexw development. It was a sprawling master-planned neighbourhood of glitzy towers and parks that was one-hundred percent Indigenous owned, and one of the reasons they and their allied Nations were able to build such a large investment fund. Seven generations investing was their fundamental principle and something that, with their population’s continuingly increasing obesity, made Lipid such an attractive play.


The whole Lipid team, feasted and socialized with their hosts over the entire weekend, May and Ta7talíya frequently seeming to compete for who could stuff themselves more at the nearly endless series of meals, snacks, tea-times, and other food-related interludes.


May left with the stiches on yet another custom-ordered dress stretching beyond repair and promising to come back and visit later that year to update them on her work to close the other needed investment partners.


The next few months were a flurry of much of the same, with the team slowly reaching out to potential investors for the fund, vetting their interest, and lining up meetings and presentations.


On the hit list after S7ílhen was a range of other of other funds in what the team was euphemistically calling “high potential markets,” or, in other words, places where people were already fat and getting fatter.


It was almost as simple as pulling up Our World in Data and searching countries by obesity rank. Almost. Lipid went a few steps further, however, by looking at jurisdictions and communities which were fat for starters, but then segemented by those with significant pools of capital that were also looking for a community impact and, ideally, where there was a government prerogative to address their obesity “crisis.” In any perception of crisis, May and team saw opportunity.


A perfect fit in that model were the Mexican retirement funds administrators, the Administradoras de Fondos para el Retiro (AFOREs), a group of over twenty private sector funds that managed over two-hundred billion dollars for one of the fattest workforces in the world. Since 2020s Mexico and the US were neck-and neck for the title of the most obese countries in the world and that race was still being hard-fought over a decade later.


The AFOREs representatives weren’t hard to get together and in fact, despite Lipid’s protestations, a team was more than happy to come up to San Francisco to speak in person.


And what a team: fifteen of the twenty funds sent reps, and when they all filed into the luxurious meeting space that the Lipid team had acquired for exactly this purpose, it seemed like each Mexican investor was larger than the last.


The procession started with several beefy dark-skinned men who represented the construction and logistics sectors. They had that curious mixture of fat and muscle of men who have worked hard at some point, but have let their bodies go to pasture as they get older. A smattering of other sectors had reps large and small, most of them on the shorter side, each unintentionally dominated by Nasha as she held the door for them.


The final few representatives to wobble in were by far the largest, the biggest of whom introduced herself as Consuella Maria de la Cruz, chief strategy officer for Mexico’s largest private nurses superannuity. Like many of her colleagues, she had that same cheerful brown skin that glistened in the light (her sweaty forehead and upper lip definitely helped there, but weren’t the only source) and projected a gregarious, welcoming presence.


The defining feature of this woman was far and away her width; despite the fact that the double-doors of the glassed-in boardroom had both been opened, she still carefully navigated her fantastically large derierre at an angle to avoid catching either of her saddlebags on the way in. Her breasts somehow managed to maintain an overall roundness but extended as far as three-feet side to side across what was theoretically her rib-cage. They were held in place with what must have been mithril or another magical material but also had the added advantage of resting atop a slab belly that started out perfectly spherical on top and, like an artist losing interest in a portrait, gradually slumped into a gigantic, uneven hang that brushed her knees with every step. Overall, she was the spitting image of the American fat liberation pioneer, the TV chef Brandy MacIntyre, just with black hair and darker skin - a fact she likely wasn’t ignorant to.


Consuella was the last to lumber into the room and was thankful to see the armless chairs that the Lipid team had custom-ordered on the train back from Vancouver.


The assembled reps took their seats around the large table. While the room had been specifically designed to host a decent number of fat, and even super-fat folks, the AFOREs team represented a step-change in difficulty. Most of them were so wide that their hips still grazed one another wherever they sat, and Consuella was effectively granted her own corner of the table due to her incredible width.


The conversation moved briskly, the fund managers having read up on the Lipid offerings and stated their interest. This wasn’t going to be a conversatio that closed anything, but from the jump, it sounded like it would get pretty damn close.


The Mexican delegation fundamentally appreciated Lipid’s focus on local wealth building and community support. As Mexico had gotten fatter and wealthier -- strangely, the two feeling more and more interrelated over time -- the need for a wide-scale retrofitting of the country’s infrastructure and services to adapt to its obese majority was long-overdue. Nurses, Consquella was quick to point out, were seeing this first hand, both as caregivers and as those in need of assistance. Like the US, Mexican nurses were among the fattest professions out in the workforce.


Just like it had with the other investors, the plan made sense in its unfolding. Initially a few bespoke technologies and treatments to assist with obesity, and then a wider roll-out that focused on creating fat-friendly buildings, infrastructure, and communities. Mexico’s rate of urban development had only scaled up in light of climate change and increased prosperity in the late 2020s, so, before things went too much further, now was the chance to set out a new paradigm that integrated the needs of the obese from the jump, and then work backwards to address existing assets as time went on.


The pitch made sense, the revenue projections and sharing were generous, and, despite some hang-ups on the lack of specificity on the chosen technologies, on day two of the review, the Lipid team started to feel more and more confident.


After four days of intense meetings, expansive because of the sheer number of funders at play, the conversations concluded as they had with the Squamish: we want in.


These meetings concluded with a seemingly endless feast, this time on a rooftop in the Castro district with a notable Mexican-American family that were friends of Bex’s. (They, however, naturally declined the invitation to attend). Consuella and the entire gang ate their way through some home-cooked fare, as well as a few cheeky fusion dishes that were popular with the gringos in SF. Macey would never be sure if it was the third margarita, or if she actually saw May stuff a taco inside of a burrito and eat both in two bites, but regardless, with the team of gluttons at the trough, some truly impressive calories were put away by all.


With the Squamish interested, the AFOREs all but confirmed, the Lipid team turned their attention to the still-fattest group in the United States, African Americans.
 
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The potential investor here stood apart from the pensions and sovereign wealth funds that they’d dealt with to date. While the US Government had never quite figured out how to provide reparations to the ancestors of slaves, under the Warnock administration there was a tremendous amount of effort put into closing the racial wealth gap. One of the mechanisms that helped was the creation of the Black Community Investment Constellation, a network of Black-owned funds that used a generous supply of “leased” T-Bills from the Fed to catalyse local investing in African American communities across the whole US. The system had really founded its feet in the last few years and was poised for its next growth phase, presaging a clear alignment to Lipid.


Every investor required a slightly different approach and the Investment Constellation was no different. Coming from San Francisco gave Lipid some baggage from the jump, even with the team’s strong pedigree. The Constellation was extremely particular about who they invested with and they were clear that anyone who wanted to work with them came to their turf, on their terms.


Lipid was only to happy to oblige and bought three cabins on the Amtrak highspeed Sunset Unlimited route from San Diego to San Antonio, and then the Heartland Flyer to Tulsa, Oklahoma, the once and forever Black Wall Street.


Traveling by train as a fat person provided a few unique advantages over flying: no standing in security lines, access to a personal bathroom, and a half-decent commissary. With May’s titanic belly, any confined space was now becoming a problem, so, she had a cabin where she could sleep, eat, and work for the two-day trip to Tulsa. While she had the space, the steady supply of snacks and meals she required unintentionally turned Macey into her errand-girl for a good deal of their travel time. The restaurant staff came to know her by name by dinner-time on the first day and were cracking jokes and wishing her well by the time she left. May, ever the bottomless stomach’ed workaholic, barely even batted an eye the entire time; simply ingesting food like it was her job and working away diligently while she did.


Tulsa had grown and changed a lot over the years: the second largest city in Oklahoma, as the African American community had collectivized more and more of their wealth creation, and, as remote work and housing prices caused a reshuffling of the American population, Tulsa had exploded. It was now an unabashed capital of Black culture in the US and an emergent financial hub, building on the ashes of the original Black Wall Street.


Not least of the benefits of this renaissance was the food. The culinary scene in the city had exploded, with Bon Appetite calling it the “new capital of American culinary culture” in 2029. From Southern-style barbeque, to innumerable style jerked meats, and every type of fusion in between, the humid August air practically dripped with flavour itself.


As the team left the train for their cab to the hotel, despite a steady stream of food over the trip, May insisted on ordering a “small” menagerie of local delicacies to their hotel room while they prepared for their presentation tomorrow.


Several hours later a warzone of food wrappers and empty containers littered the floor of May’s hotel room, her and Nasha both holding their bellies as everyone closed their laptops for the evening. Macey left unphased, the sheer gluttony of her two co-workers now an accepted regularity, as much as it still left a small part of her uneasy.


The next day, the team wobbled their way out into the world after another hearty breakfast. The trip was relatively quick, and only gave May and Nasha a few moments to cool the sweat they had accumulated between the front door of the hotel and the cab.


The Constellation’s HQ was only a few minutes away, located on Greenwood Avenue and Archer Street, the centre of “BWS” as the locals affectionately named the neighbourhood. The building was strikingly elegant, sleek contemporary lines guiding your eyes up a vertical facade that was covered in Aninkra symbols and other Pan-African identifiers of wealth and success.


Inside, the building bustled with Black people of all shapes and sizes, though the overall trend was to the heavier side. A young secretary warmly led the group upstairs to one of their main boardrooms, her breathtakingly curvy backside swaying side to side with each long, graceful step that she took.


As the group sat down at the table, a variety of small snacks were laid out on the table, and Macey was gracious enough to offer her two obese co-workers a coffee from the espresso machine in the corner. May asked for hers with a mixture of caramel and cane sugar, while Nasha opted for a mint sweetener that left Macey grimacing at the smell.


Everyone settled in at the table for a few minutes, making idle chatter, until the solid cherrywood door to the room opened again and, with a huff, a large man in a bowtie and suit walked in, patting his head with a napkin. Heavily built with a large gut and sturdy legs, he looked every part the fatcat banker that might have once defrauded his communities - Now he was their fatcat banker, May thought to herself.


He huffed again an introduced himself as Damian, one of the “joint representatives” of the Constellation’s funds.


Following behind him was a less rotund woman, though inarguably more eye-catching. Just shorter than May, the woman who introduced herself as Angelica, was, in a word, stunning. Long braids ran down almost to her waist, which was miraculously sinched, given the size of her breasts and hips. Her truly absurd hourglass figure somehow managed to wobble and jiggle gracefully, a simply bodycon dress hugging every curve and roll that she unabashedly put on display.


The shelf that her breasts made up nearly rested fully on the table as she sat, a large folio pushed notably ahead of her so that she could actually read the bottom of the her page.


Macey silently thanked the powers that be that Azin was not here to harass or otherwise oggle the woman, but she noted that even Nasha’s eyebrows raised, though it was unclear if this was appreciation or envy. The largest person at the rable, she had already nabbed a small collection of wrapped goodies from the centre of the table and was preparing to work through them as their hosts had arrived - Macey could have sworn she saw her swallow an entire dingdong whole as they entered, lest she start speaking with her mouth full.


Damian and Angelica listened to May’s pitch statefully. They drew liberally from the snacks on the table - mostly pre-wrapped candies and small cakes - but generally stayed focused on what she was saying, occasionally taking notes or asking clarifying questions.


The team knew that this fund was one one with some of the greatest potential, at least in the United States, but, so far, no one knew which direction they were going. They were praying that favourable word from CALPers or AFOREs might help, but the Constellation remained tight-lipped and simply asked for the full team to come and present in Tulsa.


While she had a rash of successes under her belt, this reserved attitude really began to eat at May. She was confident that their pitch would make sense to Damian and Angelica, their primary interlocutors over the past few months. The various funds of the Constellation were active in Black communities across the country and many were still in the process of rebuilding social infrastructure that, in many cases, had been destroyed, damaged, or never built since the time of the second Great Migration. In many cases, these communities had existed at the economic margins of society - the people there had (and many continued to) live on fast food diets and have little to no access to the social and cultural amenities of wealthier and whiter neighbourhoods. With these constraints, these were some of the fattest communities in the United States.


Cities like Jackson, Mississipi, or Memphis, Tennessee, were phenomenally fat, distinctively poor, and overwhelmingly Black. The Constellation was bringing in grocery stores, daycares, and other services that governments had failed to, all through various mechanisms of community ownership. For exhausted and often hopeless communities, this was a godsend in every way possible. But even with these critical investments, communities where still grappling with how to manage overwhelmingly obese populations that, despite decades of work to encourage weight loss, had never broken out of a cycle of obese poverty.


Lipid felt that they could change that. Fat bodies, with the right help, could be just as, if not more, productive than thin ones. Bariatric chairs, proper air conditioning, mobility assists, and various medical interventions could all play a massive role.


May was careful not to hit these points over the heads of people who already knew them well, but having studied the ins and outs of American obesity so thoroughly now, it was impossible for her not to become more and more animated as she laid out the possibilities.


Unlike even a few months ago, merely her gesticulations and speaking faster were now enough to raise her fattended body’s temperature to a boiling point. Sweat began to bead down from her forehead and the thin linen blouse she was wearing, tastefully long and shapeless, began to cling to her skin. The air conditioning was just audible in the background, pumping more and more cool air into the room, but emphasising just how large and over-heated the lead investor could get.


As she neared the end of her presentation, the full contours of her breasts and the top of her belly were now visible as she sweat through everything. Her breathing was starting to become more ragged as she still continued to increase her emphasis and projection, but this only exacerbated her overheating, sweaty demeanour.


May was starting to feel dizzy now, and as she concluded, black spots appeared in her vision. She gripped the table, her wet-skinned belly was suddenly cut in half as her fat struggled to displace itself to make room for this sudden intrusion. The combination of the heat and the sudden positional change were too much for her and May’s head lolled and her eyes fell back to look at the ceiling.


Most of those assembled at the table were not in a position to move quickly, so, Macey was the first up to check on May. Her friend was radiating a frightening amount of heat, so, she quickly tore open her blouse to let some heat escape. Pools of sweat had gathered between her breasts and now began to trickle down her bely more freely. Next, Macey grabbed one of the Gatorades on the table, blessedly still cool, and brought it to her friend’s lips, nursing her like a wounded animal.


The first few sips of the sugary drink actually seemed to help way more than the cooling off had, and after a good minute of lapping the drink slowly, her eyes seemed to return into focus and she could hold the bottle herself. She slugged it back suddenly and motioned for another from the middle of the table.


After a few minutes of being fawned over, May fully came back to herself and apologized profusely to her hosts.


“This is completely unprofessional, I am so, so sorry. I think it was a combination of the heat and I was having a sugar low.”


Carefully neglected in this story, consciously for once, by May, was the fact she’d effectively already had two breakfasts before she even left the hotel, forgetting the cookies and coffees that the girls had eaten on their way to the office.


May, after months of bullishly putting every part of herself into Lipid, finally had to take stock of just how much her body had changed and how fat she had become. If missing food for two hours was enough to cause her to faint - that was a sign of something that needed her attention. To what end, she was undecided, but clearly she needed a period of reflection.


Angelica and Damian were more than happy to accept May’s apologies and became, somewhat unexpectedly, rather effusive about how good it had been and their eagerness to continue the conversation.


It was decided they would all break for lunch and return in the afternoon to continue the discussions. Damian had to excuse himself for a prior engagement, but Angelica was more than happy to tag along with the girls.


At a local BBQ joint that blessedly had oversized bench-seats and “healthy” portion sizes, Angelica built rapport with the group very quickly. Macey observed that Nasha’s eye was more appreciative than lustful, and that the two Black women chatted away happily about families and personal stories.


Angelica ate considerably less than Nasha, but there was a hint of competition as the larger woman occasionally swallowed huge chunks of meat from her ribs in a single gulp and seemed to taunt her to go farther. Her ludicrous curves drew stares from the servers, but otherwise she seemed relatively uncaring about how her body was viewed.


May was pensive, rather mechanically consuming a full wrack of ribs and a jug of sweat tea on her own. She engaged with Angelica formally, laughing at her jokes when appropriate, or adding small comments to the conversation building out between her, Macey, and Nasha, but otherwise was more withdrawn than she would normally be.


Fully loaded up with food after a sprawling two-hour gluttony fest that they all agreed would be branded as a “working lunch,” they all returned to Greenwood Avenue and began presentations and discussions anew. Begging a reprieve, May handed the presentation reins over to Macey and was there more in a supporting role thereafter.


They stayed in Tulsa for two more days, the conversations proving more favourable each day, Angelica and Damian returned each time more open and eager, and, thankfully for everyone, with more snacks and drinks for the table. Stifled belches and stuffed tummies abounded as they worked through the finer points of a potential agreement.


At the end of the third day, everyone’s buttons felt tighter and May’s semi-fugue state seemed to have dissipated somewhat. As they said goodbye, Angelica’s curves seemed almost angry to be contained, another tight bodycon dress looking frighteningly thin and seethrough. Given his size, any change in Damian was harder to see, but it was likely he had a few more strained buttons, as well.


They hadn’t fully closed with the Constellation, in the end, the pitch was strong but they needed more time to evaluate. They promised follow up in the next few months as their analysts worked through materials that Lipid would send to them.


The whole trainride home, May was withdrawn and thoughtful, her appetite even subsiding somewhat (relative to her insatiable baseline).


Only one question ran through her mind as she got closer to her home base: what am I becoming?
 

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