I’m not joking—this Christmas, my only wish is for you to finally give in. No more chasing that fit, athletic alpha ideal. No more resisting the pull of gluttony. I’ve seen the way you look at me, your hands greedy for my soft rolls, your gaze lingering on every inch of my heavy, overfed body. But it’s not just my body you’re watching, is it? I’ve caught you staring at the food too, eyes hungry, longing to indulge but holding back, living vicariously through me instead. It’s time for that to stop. Please, just imagine it: your belly rounding out, your navel sinking deeper into the plush, pliable fat that spills over your waistband. I’ll feed you, press every bite past your lips, and watch you soften under my hands. Watching you grow heavier and lazier with every passing day will make me dripping wet. All those reasons you love my fat—the plushness, the weight, the sheer decadence of it—I’ll love every bit of it on you. I’m begging you—let it happen, give in, and free the ravenous pig that I’ve always known is inside you.