Becoming poor and menial

The descent of a fashion-conscious middle-class woman into shabby poverty, all at the behest of another woman, fifteen years her junior.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Porking out

Today, before taking the underground (what Americans like my Mistress call a subway), I had to empty out my Matthew Williamson bag (what Americans like my Mistress call a purse). By the tube, there is a Sainsbury’s – I went in and bought three chocolate doughnuts, and a couple of Kit-kats. Then, without wrapping up the doughnuts, and not taking any napkins, I had to drop what I’d bought into my precious £320 bag. The chocolate smeared the lining – bad enough, you might think – but there was even worse to come. Taking the tube and finding a seat, I had to take out one of the doughnuts – and then – as my Mistress put it out last night – ‘pork out’ on it. When I’d finished the first one, I had to take out a second. Already, I was feeling full, but despite the bloated feeling in my stomach, and the faint feeling of nausea, I had to start on the second. Already I could feel myself reddening at the thought of the third doughnut still to come, and the two kitkats – and also feeling almost violated – as though the food was the index of an alien presence that was taking me over – entering me – transforming me. All this year – even since New Year, in fact – I’ve been really trying to get my weight down – running – watching my diet – and I’ve finally got myself down to the high 130’s – it varies – but generally around 138/9 – but now, just today, I’m eating something like 500 extra calories – which means that probably I’ll be ballooning out again – and not just to my original size, but right out. I’ll become fat – really FAT – my stomach will become really soft and flabby and bulge out over the waistline of my knickers – I’ll get double chins – I’ll become FAT. And people will look at me in my second hand clothes and flabby condition and just see… what? Someone who’s NOT me – but it will be me. Just like one person looked at me today, on the tube opposite me, watching as I ate three chocolate doughnuts in a row, and then two chocolate bars, PORKING OUT.

I still feel bloated as I sit here 8 hours later. I’m being fattened – like a pig. A ‘piggy’ – with a piggy lunch box – and I lack the moral and emotional strength to resist it. I need this treatment, this awful humiliation. What’s wrong with me? How far will I end up letting myself be taken?


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