I fell asleep on that thought, and when I woke up, I could see by the time clock that it was after one in the afternoon. Maybe it was my imagination, but when I stood up, I felt a little rumble of hunger from deep inside me. I also felt like my thighs were rubbing together more than they had the night before and that the thickest part of my belly seemed to have sunk so that it was right over my furry triangle. After spending a long time in the bathroom, I was ready for another day of chowing on my mastodon.

It was Thanksgiving, so I decided that I would have some turkey -- after a visit to the bakery for another eighth of the wonderful sheet cake, which seemed to quell the gurgling in my tummy. "An appetizer," I told myself. "A tiny little snack -- comparatively speaking!" Heading back to the deli, I realized that I probably shouldn't eat any of the meats and cheeses I'd left out and open over night. There were still plenty of unopened ones in the refrigerator, though, so I went to find another turkey breast, digging it out and unwrapping it, then placing it on the slicer. Turning the slicer on, I started moving the carriage across the blade, letting the paper-thin slices of meat fall into my wait-ing hand, which quickly transferred them to my hungry mouth. The big hunk of white meat got steadily smaller, and I imagined that turkey, the months he'd spent fattening up, just so he'd be able to fatten me up. "I hope you enjoyed it as much as I am," I said to the piece of meat. "I just wonder who's going to eat me!"

Which made me think of Joellen and the wonderful weekend we'd just shared and the way she'd been so excited when she first got to see my expanded ass after several months away. She'd rubbed her face all over my cheeks, kissing every square inch of my meaty butt, massaging it and caressing it and insisting that I sit on her face so she could feel all its weight while she drove me crazy with her tongue. She'd spanked me, too, playing a little game we'd created after discovering that there seemed to be some strange direct connection in my pleasure center between blood rush-ing to my ass after being smacked and the engorgement of my clitoris before orgasm. She enjoyed it, too, telling me that the little power thing really got her going, as did watching the complex rippling and shaking of my big butt as she made contact.

Nearly half of the chunk of turkey was in my belly by then, and deciding it was time for some variety, I set off to find something new. I didn't have to go far before I came to the pre-packaged deli section. I spent some time there with slices of orange cheese, spoonfuls of taboule and hummus, slices of turkey pepperoni, calamata olives, string cheese, chunks of feta cheese. I left no package unopened and continued my trailblazing into the next aisle.

This one was a lot of fun because it held the candy! I pretended I had trick-or-treated myself to the most generous people in the world as I poured chocolate buttons and kisses and licorice niblets and jellies and gummies of all shapes and sizes and flavors into my upturned mouth. I lifted the hem of my t-shirt and turned it into a pouch, filled it up with brittle and toffees and candy-bars and sweet-n-tarts, then pulled it up over my head, catching lots of goodies in my mouth and send-ing the rest of it scattering across the floor. I pulled the elastic bottoms of my sweat pants up over my knees until they formed an airtight seal around my chunky thighs, then I started filling the pants with even more candy, feeling it sliding and melting all over my hot skin, and filling out my clothes even more than my stuffed belly already was. When all the candy was in my pants, I laid down on the floor and rolled around, listening to it cracking and crunching and squashing between my soft flesh and the hard floor. Then I stood up and pulled the pants off, letting loose a cascade of candy on the tile and peeling the sticky remnants from my thighs and butt.

Across from the candy were the salad dressings which I really had no interest in, except to break as many of the paper tamper seals as I could. But, along with the dressings were the jars of mayonnaise, and I couldn't resist opening jar after jar and taking a fingerful from each of the fatty, creamy stuff, imagining that it was the same stuff the blubber on my butt was made of. I imagined Joellen spreading mayonnaise all over my ass -- jars and jars of it -- and as quickly as she applied it, that's how quickly my butt grew, spreading wider and wider and inflating higher and higher. The bigger I grew, the more excited we both became, until suddenly the flesh exploded and we were both covered in a sweet and creamy shower. We were falling together and sliding all over one an-other, lubricated in tasty yellow custard...

I rubbed a little smear of mayo on my belly before continuing down the aisle, opening every jar and can I came across, many without even tasting their contents. The diet drinks were on my right and I popped open the tops of several dozen Nutrocals, draining two of them into my mouth and letting out an extra-loud belch that seemed to echo across the store. "So -- do you think that everything else I'm eating constitutes a 'sensible meal'?" I asked myself, reading the directions on the can, which informed me that one can should replace breakfast and one lunch, and when com-bined with a 'sensible' meal for dinner, weight loss would ensue. I took both hands and shook my belly just then, listening to the liquid sloshing around, and saying, "Yes, indeedy, I think I'm getting thinner already!"

The rice cakes were on my right and I opened up a couple of packages of them onto the floor, playing some hockey with them, aiming towards the candy pile at the other end of the aisle. The chocolate ones, however, I munched on, although I decided they needed something. Luckily, the honey and the jam and the peanut butter were right across from me, so I opened up a couple of honey bears and jam-jars and peanut butter containers and started dousing my chocolate rice cakes with a combination of all three sweet things, making a total mess of myself and the floor, but man-aging to eat quite a number of them before deciding that I'd completed that aisle. By now, I was feeling as full as I had the previous night right before that "shift" occurred. I was pretty light-headed, but I wasn't certain whether that was from being too full or whether it was a monster sugar rush from all the candy and goodies. Whatever it was, I decided I should probably take a break for a little bit, maybe stretch my legs.

When I stood up, I could feel just how enormous my belly had become. There were no mir-rors in the store, but I didn't need a mirror to tell me that my stomach was swollen so big that I could no longer see my feet. "Doesn't matter," I said, "I have funny looking feet anyway -- and now I have a good excuse not to paint my toenails!" Lifting the shirt, I could see that the incredibly taut skin over my stomach was somewhat dry, except for the place where I'd smeared the mayo on my-self. "Dry skin is an indication that I'm not getting enough fat in my diet," I decided, and I started to turn around to find some more mayo when I realized that the next aisle contained the baking sup-plies, and therefore, all the fats I would need.

First, however, came the canned fruit. Pineapples and peaches and applesauce and pears. But my favorite was definitely the cranberry sauce -- and how appropriate, since it was Thanksgiv-ing. I opened the can of the jelled fruit and saw how well it had filled the can, taking on its shape in all its indentations and started thinking about all the food in my belly and how it was forming itself to the shape of my insides. Turning the can upside-down into my hand, I was left holding a cylin-der-shaped mold of ruby-colored delicacy. It jiggled and wobbled sensually, swaying gently with each tiny motion, the way Luanne's belly moved...

Transferring the mold from one hand to another like it was some kind of hot potato, I began thinking of my mother, incessantly telling me not to play with my food. And why shouldn't I? Food is fun, I thought, and it should appeal to many more senses than just the sense of taste. We should smell our food and touch our food and listen to its noises; we should feel our food on our tongues and our cheeks and our breasts if we so desire. We should mold it and sculpt it and mash it all to-gether if we want; we should lick it or nibble it or wait till it turns to soup. We should put it in our mouths and squish it between our teeth until it turns to juice. Then, as if I were demonstrating my statements to myself, I took the cylinder of cranberry sauce, leaned my head back, opened my mouth and shoved the whole thing in as fast as I could. Some of it wound up on my cheeks and dripped down to my shoulders, but most of it fit into my face, bulging my cheeks and causing me to swallow repeatedly, tasting its sweet bitterness and feeling its soft goo-iness sliding down the back of my throat into my waiting tummy. I had two more cans of cranberry sauce before moving on to the pre-packaged puddings.

Next came the chocolate syrups in their squirt-top bottles; for these, I decided to lay down on the floor and hold them over my head, squirting a mouthful from each into my greedy mouth. Of course, plenty of it got on my cheeks, reminding me of some fun times with Ari's "squirt gun" back in high school. One of the bottles made it down between my legs and I thought about filling myself up with chocolate from that end, too, but stopped myself, saying, "This is taking playing with your food too far!" I squirted some more in my mouth, thinking, if men squirted chocolate, I doubt I'd have ever gotten off my knees or off my back long enough to have discovered Luanne! That stopped me, because I meant Joellen... What was going on here with this confusion of names? What did it mean? Was I just obsessing about her magnificent body, or was I finding myself falling for a married woman?

I didn't have long to think about it, because at that moment, I saw my next target: the cans of frosting. These, I'd had plenty of experiences with. In fact, if you'd entered my bedroom at any time during my adolescence, you would've been sure to find at least one shop-lifted can of chocolate frosting somewhere in my room -- most likely under the bed, within easy reach. I started popping tops instantly, dipping my index finger into can after can and sucking off all the creamy sweetness, feeling it melt into sugary ecstasy on my tongue. Next to the frosting were the sprinkles and spar-kles and tubes of cake decoration; knowing they didn't taste that good, I decided to use them for their intended purpose of decoration and set out to covering my swollen belly with messages of "Happy Birthday", "This Space For Rent" and "Wide Load." The sprinkles, of course went in my mouth, followed closely by chocolate chips, peanut butter chips and butterscotch chips.

The oil was right there and I remembered that I'd wanted to moisturize my dried-out belly, so I spread some corn oil on my stomach and watched the blue icing smear and dissolve into my skin; I thought I looked like Violet Beauregarde in the Willy Wonka movie -- a great big bulging blueberry, just bursting with fat and sugar! And then I noticed that that was exactly where I was: oil to the left of me, sugar to the right. So, I decided that I'd make the oils and the sugars meet right there in the middle. I opened up a one-pound can of vegetable shortening and a one-pound box of sugar, mixed them together in a large plastic storage container and began chowing down, figuring it should taste like frosting. Unfortunately, it tasted like vegetable shortening with sugar, and while it might have done wonders for my expanding waistline, it just didn't cut it as far as my tastebuds were concerned.

So, I turned the corner into the next aisle. On my right were the canned vegetables -- not ex-actly something designed to make me want to continue my feeding frenzy. But the left side of the aisle -- cookies, crackers and snacks as far as the eye could see -- now that was a different story! I started tearing into packages, determined to have at least one cookie or cracker from every con-tainer. It was a daunting assignment, but I pursued it with a vengeance, ripping and tearing and shoving food into my mouth faster than I could swallow. My cheeks were stretched to their limits, my stomach was complaining loudly and my head was buzzing mightily from my massive intake of sugar; suddenly, I tried to swallow and realized that there was no moisture in my throat. "Got milk?" I tried to say out loud and started laughing, spraying pieces and crumbs of unswallowed snacks halfway across the aisle.

There was no way my belly was going to allow me to sit down on the cart, so I kneeled on the seat instead and got myself over to the dairy section just in time to avoid the hiccups. I started pouring a quart of chocolate milk into my parched mouth and felt it slide down my throat, filling in the spaces between all the other food inside me. When I'd gulped down about half of it, I knew that I'd reached my limit; suddenly, a band of sweat broke out on my forehead, some sparkles started in my peripheral vision and I began to feel a little bit of quivering in the muscles of my thighs.

And, then it happened again: that strange feeling that something was moving, stretching, shifting, rearranging deep inside my body. It was kind of spooky, and although I had been hoping it would happen again, I still was taken by surprise, staying totally frozen for a couple of moments af-ter the feeling passed. Slowly and gingerly, I took another sip from the carton of chocolate milk, feeling it make its cold way down and into my suddenly expanded stomach; I drained the rest of it, then grabbed another quart for the road and headed back to the cookie aisle, looking forward to filling up my new-found space with as many cookies as I could manage.

If you've got any comments or criticisms, you can post them on the WeightBoard or e-mail me at: melaniebel@aol.com.

And don't forget to visit my website at http://members.aol.com/melaniebel