Wide Spread Pandemic

By AnnaLee

I wake up once again in the early evening, finding my chest as flat as ever. Estradiol and Spironolactone pills have barely made a dent on my body over these last ten months in lockdown. Every evening/morning/afternoon when I wake up, I scroll twitter, seeing women who claimed to have grown a cup in a month. Who I see with hips that provide me with incredible envy. Who’s cheeks have filled out with a cherubic adorableness.

In the mirror, my cheeks are covered in thousands of reminders of the hair that I haven’t been able to burn off yet. My chest can more accurately be described as “moobs” rather than breasts. Even my stomach is a reminder of the decade of damage the wrong puberty did to me.

Today is day 317 of seeing a mirror I wish to murder.

Coincidentally, it’s day 316 since the lockdowns for the “obesity pandemic” began. Just my luck I would be one of the able to hide in a cocoon, just to see no difference when I finally emerge.

I sit down at my computer when sitting on the toilet, contemplating my barely-touched epilator, becomes boring for the 317th day in a row. I once again continue my ritual of scrolling twitter, intentionally inflicting Dysphoria on myself. It’s a technique I use to make sure I will never leave this apartment. Watching each day’s videos of other people swelling up with fat and water. Becoming morbidly obese.

Watching the men inspires the most acute dread. Their bellies extend taut and firm. Their chests dwarfed by their arms and legs. Half-ton sized caricatures of masculinity. The idea of being morphed and shaped into something undeniably male just makes me want to sob. Almost as much as the men in these videos, agonizing over the misfortune of standing or touching the wrong person.

The women, well, they inspire envy. Through the miracle of being born with the right body, they get everything I wish I had. Hips, breasts, thighs, and I could even tolerate a belly if it meant I could be an venus-esque figure. Just to look the way outside as I felt inside.

Knowing my luck, catching the damn thing wouldn’t make a difference.

When the dread turns to despair, I open Discord as escape. Memes. Obligatory morning hellos we exchange to try and feel connected. Memes. Somebody’s celebrating an HRT-versarry. Memes. Video about a victim. Talk about the assholes prolonging the pandemic. Somebody’s friend got affected. Somebody’s trans femme gf got affected. Somebody’s trans femme gf has a video posted of her swelling up on twitter.

Might as well watch. Find more fuel to stay safer inside this cocoon.

A click on the video, and see a raven-haired waif standing. A beanpole, just about as curve-less than me. But she’s got the body of a model, so she gets a pass compared to me. With my bulky and wide frame, and a gut.

She’s anxious. Tensed up. Wearing barely anything. Makes sense, ripping out of clothes that are 300lbs too small for you can be a painful experience. She looks down at her body, and I see… her biting her lip?

Is… she excited to turn into a giant fat blob? A masculine blob?

The pit in my stomach turns into a vortex that I wish I could disappear into. The idea of any trans woman wanting to look more masculine makes my skin not even crawl, but feel like it’s tearing from my skin. I want to look away, but I have to. I have to stay strong.

I hate being strong.

I first start to see it occurring on her stomach. A muffin top beginning to swell up above her panties. I have seen enough videos to know how these love handles spread frontwards, almost inflating the belly.

I go numb when I see her panties get tighter around her waist.


The expanding bulge in her panties might be the culprit, actually. She’s just fucking turned on by this.

It makes me furious seeing this… well… this person. With a perfectly feminine body, throwing it away. I would kill to look like her, look like all of the popular selfies I see every day.

And yet.

I see the panties begin to dig in tighter, around her rapidly softening hips.

Sitting below a slowly growing and flabby stomach.

And her bra is straining against her chest.

She’s fattening up like a woman???

I inspect the footage further. Her legs are swelling up too, her thigh gap is rapidly closing as he bulge begins to be covered up by a drooping belly apron. Her expression progressed from lip biting to ecstasy. Her arms are feeling her belly up, jigging it, pressing into the newfound softness. Squealing as she does, looking up at the camera; or whomever was holding it. Eyes brighter than the sun peeking at dawn.

She didn’t want to look like a man. She wanted to look like a fat woman…

She gets to look like a fat woman.

And I… could look like that too.

Inspecting every possible part of her, I watch for signs of imperfection. Chest to small, belly too big, hips not wide enough, cheeks too angular…

Yet her bra eventually snaps, as she gasps in shock and awe at what her body is doing. Her chest sloshes as it’s released from their cups. They’re too heavy, and her chest is too fat now.

Her belly grows, it’s easily covering her crotch, yet it still remains soft and flabby. Accumulating downwards instead of out.

The hips keep growing, with obvious signs of discomfort as her panties continue to dig in deeper into her. The one holding the camera whispers, “turn around, show us what’s going on back there!” To which the model obliges.

Her hips are impossible to miss now, pounds of love handles have accumulated. Giving her a size that nobody could mistake for “manly”. While her butt will look huge in any and every pair of jeans she’ll wear.

She gives a wiggle and a bend over to show off her new asset. When the panties she wears spontaneously disappear. Finally separated, and trapped between her thighs. She looks back at the camera agape, I can’t help but notice chubby cheeks and a double chin appeared as she turned around.

The woman tries to step around, but her body has become incredibly large. The woman who started, barely creeping past 100lbs is easily above 500. Each clumsy step inspires giggles as her entire body sloshes and jiggles. She has the joy of a woman who was denied this body her entire life, and suddenly having it wrapped and enveloping her.

The video stops as she takes another step, holding out her hands, with tears in her eyes. Clearly going in for a hug with her overwhelmed emotions.

And I sit there. Thinking. “What if I was holding that camera?”

For many times the duration of the video, I sit, staring at the last frame. Frozen in place. If… a trans woman can look much more feminine catching that virus; would it do the same for me.

I visualize myself. Shaped much like her. Breasts dangling and hanging off my chest. An ass and hips so wide they hang off the side of a hair. Arms pudgy, and legs awkwardly huge.

With each part, I find my breathing harder, my bulge growing larger too. It feels… euphoric.

I need to get fatter.