"Hey, Tony! It's your turn to take out the trash, so get moving!" Emily, my wife, told me as I played video games on the couch.

"Don't want to," I told her. "You do it."

"I've been doing it for a month now, Tony! It's your turn!" she exclaimed, thrusting a stinking black bin bag in my face. I moved to get away from the smell. For the love of God, that bin bag had flies orbiting around it like the Earth orbiting the Sun! (Only you don't expect that the earth will make an annoying buzzing noise or occasionally land on something.)

"Nope. Still don't want to," I said.

"Seriously, Tony? I'm the one earning the money that pays the bills, the least you could do is help with the chores," Emily ordered. "My money is paying for your food!"

"Emily, you know I'm not your maid; I'm your husband!" I argued. "I hate cleaning and I love food, that's just who I am. Hey, maybe getting fat would be nice because then I could have all the food I wanted!"

When I said this, I knew that it was the wrong thing to say. My darling wife looked like steam was about to come out of her ears. She clenched her fists, her face turned red . . . and then she calmed down and returned to normal. Her eyes, however, had an odd gleam to them that I just couldn't place. It seemed like she had had a great idea, or she was creating an evil scheme. But she'd never try to hurt me. I'm her husband, for God's sake!

"You think getting fat would be nice, huh?" she whispered in my ear. "So be it."


That day, she prepared a really big lunch for me of chips and sausages. She even got out a deluxe pizza from the freezer and had me eat it all. I was stuffed to the gills, so I asked for a drink to ease the bloated feeling. Emily arrived with a huge glass of chocolate milkshake and forced it to my lips. I drank every drop of it. I ended up passing out after the huge meal. I just couldn't take any more.

I woke up the next day starving. The huge lunch I had the night before had stretched out my stomach that was now painfully empty. I was about to get up, but then Emily walked in. "Wait here, baby, I'll get you your breakfast."

She made me a huge stack of pancakes coated in honey and butter, and there were grilled cheese sandwiches waiting for me once I was done. I didn't want to eat so much food at once, and I told her so.

"But you love to eat," she told me. "Surely, you can manage a little more." And I agreed. How hard could it be?

It turned out that the answer was very hard. I had to hold my hand to my mouth so I didn't throw up everything I'd just eaten. I would end up having serious stomach pain after every meal, and would simply lie there. It wasn't like I would eventually have to go to work or anything. I worked from home as a webpage designer, but Emily's office job paid the bills. With meals this big, I was beginning to dread dinner. Life was one big meal with breaks in between (that didn't last very long).

I soon began to gain weight, and freaked out about it. I'd always been a rather skinny guy, and now I had a round gut, an ass that seemed to widen every day and arms that looked like flabby tree trunks. I told Emily that I wanted to stop eating so much unhealthy foods and go back to normal sized meals, and she agreed . . . on one condition.

"You have to show me that you can resist temptation," she negotiated. "Tony, you talk about getting back to a healthy lifestyle but I don't think you mean it. If you can prove you can resist, I'll stop. If you can't, then I will feed you whatever I want to feed you, no matter what you say. Agreed?"

I hesitated. The risk was high, but the rewards would be worth it if I succeeded. "Agreed."


And so the trial began. Emily wasn't going to go easy on me, and left out a greasy grilled cheese sandwich on the kitchen counter. It smelled delicious, but I had to resist. Sighing, I made myself a bowl of health cereal which tasted bland and left a bad taste in my mouth. But it would be worth it so long as I could resist.

Lunch wasn't for another four hours, but plenty of snacks were left for me until then. Bags of chips, sweets, popcorn, cookies, soda, all my favourites waiting for me to eat them. It was hard, but I steered myself away from the pile of junk food and had an apple and a glass of water to hold me over.

Lunch itself was really hard. There was a salad on my left and a huge plate of spaghetti on my right. If I wanted this to stop, then the choice I had to make was obvious. I took the salad to the table and started to eat. It wasn't too bad, but it just didn't fill me up. My stomach growled like a wild animal. I needed more food . . . and that's when I saw the spaghetti as if for the first time.

It looked perfect, dripping with sauce and piled high with meatballs and . . . What was I thinking? I had to prove that I had the willpower to get my life back on track! I couldn't allow myself to eat that plate of spaghetti, no matter how tasty it looked!

Maybe just one forkful, a pleading voice in my head whispered. Just one. That'll be enough.

I thought about it for a second. Doing this would be breaking my end of the deal. But I was so hungry, and one bite wouldn't do me any harm. And it wasn't like she'd ever know about it.

I took a fork, stuck it into the spaghetti mountain, twirled it and ate it. That was amazing, like a weight off my shoulders . . . and I wanted more. I ate like my life was dependent on finishing that plate, and every bite I took seemed better than the last. I had eaten about half the plate when I heard Emily's voice.

"I knew it," she growled, staring at me with disgust. "I knew you wouldn't be able to make it through the whole day. But going behind my back? That's what surprised me. Well, if you're going to have spaghetti, you might as well have all of it! Now take the plate over to the table and don't get up until you've eaten everything! There are going to be some changes around here, mark my words."


Emily was right. After that fateful day, I was fed constantly and more than ever. Now, she had to put my meals on multiple plates and give me goals to reach before I could be given time to digest my meal and sleep the stomach pain off. And if I didn't reach my goal, I would be punished by eating all the food I could stomach in one go and more. Then she'd give me a tube with a funnel on the end of it and pour weight gain shakes down it until she knows I can't take any more. I had no way of stopping this, since I was tied to the bed with heavy-duty ropes and some of my old belts that didn't fit me anymore.

I've been tied to the bed for a while now. I don't remember the date she locked me here, but I don't think it will stop any time soon. Emily put adult diapers on me so I wouldn't have to get up to go to the toilet, and I'm sure she's got a bunch of food delivery services on speed dial since they always get here really fast, and every time they arrive, they have loads of food and I have to eat it all before Emily even thinks about giving me a break.

Because I've been eating all the food she gives me, I've become enormously fat. None of my clothes fit me anymore and I have to wear a nightgown that's more like a tent. Emily has to loosen the belts holding me down, but I'm not sure why, since I've probably become immobile since then. I go on my computer a lot these days (when my hands aren't tied) but it's still really boring since Emily's at work most of the day. I make sure to eat the food she leaves out for me, since there's only so much I can do on my laptop before I get bored and eating helps the time go by a little bit faster so I don't go mad with boredom. But the fact that I basically asked for this amount of utter helplessness and dependency is something I can't ignore. It's embarrassing and she loves to taunt me with it, holding up my clothes to show me how fat I am now.

I once said getting fat would be nice because I could have all the food I wanted. Well, I got all the food I wanted . . . and all the food I didn't want, too. The only thing I want now is to make this nightmare stop.