Andrea was eager to try on her new sweatpants, readily anticipating long mornings spent lounging in their soft, elastic grip. She'd saved up a little bit of money, and had decided to take the semester off. No work, no school, no nothing. The college senior was just taking a few months to hopefully gather herself and organize everything so that she'd be prepared for her last semester as a student.
Andrea did try to gather herself at first, but soon found that it was far easier to relax all days of the week, work out on her own time, and wear things like sweatpants all day. The newest set she'd bought were from a brand she'd never heard of, "Erosia." She'd thought that she'd heard the name somewhere before, but couldn't put her finger on it. Not that it really mattered, anyways. After all, as long as the pants fit like they did in the store, she didn't care who made them.
(Shift from third to first person)
I don't know why, but I really, really, wanted to try those pants on. I couldn't explain it, not even if you were to ask me today. They seemed to just have this, sort of, vibe. They were ready for me to slip into, and far be it from me to say no to a demanding pair of pants.
I rushed up the stairs to my apartment, where I lived alone. The one bedroom, one bathroom was easy to manage, and felt more cozy than cramped. I had a single vanity mirror that I kept in the corner of the room, just so I could admire myself in new outfits. I know, I know, I'm vain.
Once again as I looked in the mirror, I was happy with the reflection that smiled back. She was a raven-haired, green-eyed, girl with a flat tummy, decent breasts, and a small but firm butt to boot. When I was taking that break from school, I had plenty of time to work out. I pulled my shoulder-length hair into a tight ponytail, admiring its shimmering ebony color. For whatever reason, those sweatpants just made me feel good about myself.
I figured I wasn't going to work out anymore that night, so I turned in early. There really wasn't any reason to stay up late now that I had no schoolwork to finish or job to go to. Life was good.
Over the course of that night, I remember having a lot of trouble sleeping. My tummy felt like it had this sort of warm glow inside of it. Like I had swallowed a coal that had only recently cooled down. It was burning, but it didn't feel right. I tossed and turned, and eventually the feeling passed. I was finally able to get to sleep, but it was a lot later than I had planned.
When I awoke the next day I felt bigger. Physically bigger. Like there was more of me today than there was yesterday. I know its sounds crazy, but it's true. I looked in my vanity mirror, and everything seemed normal. My butt was a little bit tighter against the fabric of the sweatpants, and it seemed that my hips may have flared slightly as well, but honestly, it could've been a trick of the light. That sort of thing was impossible, right?
I made myself a glass of orange juice and ate a leftover muffin for breakfast. Normally I would've gone straight into my workout from here, but for whatever reason, I wasn't feeling it that day. Maybe it was the whole "I really just want to lie around in sweatpants and watch on-demand movies" plague that's been gripping America recently. But whatever the case, working out just didn't seem right.
Once noon rolled around, I noticed that the sweatpants were starting to stick to my thighs like a wet tissue. I peeled them off and tossed them on the floor of my laundry room. I still felt a little gross, though, and decided to take a shower. As i was taking off my clothes, I noticed that my panties felt a little tighter than usual. I looked in the bathroom mirror at my bottom, and sure enough, they were pulled tight. "Weird," I commented. Could missing one workout really make my but fatter? It was still small and tight, but if I really forced it, it also had a slight jiggle to it. Really weird.
After I showered, I poured myself a glass of red wine. I usually don't drink often, but I enjoyed the bitter taste of a good wine, and never went to far. I brought the glass with me to the couch, where I intended to sip it throughout the next movie on my marathon. However, when I brought the cup to my lips, I couldn't do it. It was as if every instinct inside of me was screaming against it. I put the glass down on my glass coffee table. It seemed so foreign now, so threatening. Whatever the case, I wasn't drinking anymore alcohol for a while.
I spent the next few hours lounging gratuitously, only ever getting up to fix myself a snack. For some reason, I'd been craving foods I normally don't even enjoy. I'd always made a point to avoid sweets, but I found myself rooting through every nook and cranny of the apartment to find meager amounts of chocolate. Even saying it now, it sounds so delicious. I had never cared for it before, but now here I was sucking the lid of the chocolate syrup bottle like a baby does to his mother's nipple.
When I was finally able to pull the bottle from my lips, I felt so pleased, so satisfied. The bottle itself was noticeably lighter, and I have to admit, I was also a little embarrassed. I swallowed a lot of that crap, and frankly, I was starting to feel a little bloated. I grabbed a napkin to wipe some of the gooey substance from my lips, and as the papery material passed over my mouth, I was shocked to feel how much larger my lips felt.
I looked closely at the little mirror I had sitting on the bookcase beside the sofa. Sure enough, my lips were significantly plumper. They had been full before, but now they looked to be set in a sort of pout. It was something that closely mirrored the likes of Angelina Jolie, and they sat proudly on my face. I ran my finger over the soft pillows of flesh, to test their authenticity. I couldn't help but realize how much better they made me look. This was a mouth that could be kissed, or perhaps even wrapped around....No. What was I thinking?! I didn't even have a boyfriend, and now here I am fantasizing about sucking strangers' dicks? Something definitely wasn't right.
At this point I should've gone to the doctor's, or gone to a friend, or just looked for any sort of help. My body was physically changing, apparently. My hips were now definitely wider, my butt had lost a good deal of its tone, and even my breasts seemed to strain against my once loose fitting T-shirt. But instead of doing what any normal human being would've done, something inside of me told me all of these changes were normal. Everything was going to be fine. There's no need to worry. This happens to everyone. This is a woman in her truest form...
My eyes popped open as the world suddenly snapped into clarity. I was lying face up on the floor beside my sofa. The little mirror I had used to examine my new, fat, lips was laying beside my head. My own reflection startled me.
My face had changed. My once dominant cheekbones were now hidden under a soft, thin layer of fat. This isn't to say that I looked like I was overweight, or even really that fat, but it was obvious that I'd put on just a little weight. My green eyes had change as well, becoming a deep brown. They looked slightly more mature, and had lost some of the mysterious charm that I'd loved about my green eyes.
But the really distressing part was my hair. Once shoulder length and jet black, it now was now dirty blonde and long. I sat up, noticing the change in weight as it fought gravity to rise with my head. I pushed myself to my feet, feeling much, much heavier than usual. My hair was down below my butt, completely changed from its original form. I wanted to scream and shout and fight whatever was happening to me, but I just couldn't find the willpower. I realized how ridiculous I must've looked in nothing but a t-shirt and panties, but that's when something else dawned on me.
I was wearing the sweatpants again.
I couldn't believe it. I had passed out without sweatpants, or any pants for that matter. But here they were, somehow back on my legs, like I did it in my sleep. I don't know. I wanted to tear them off, but for whatever reason they just felt sooooo good. To take them off would be nothing short of committing a crime to comfort. My head was feeling murky, and if I hadn't of noticed my belly, I might've passed out again.
But then I saw my belly.
And this time, I screamed.
It fell freely over the seam of my pants. Love handles sat juicily over my now wide berthing hips. My ass, once tight and round and small, was now a large, child-bearing mass of juicy, swaying, goodness that I absolutely hated. Even my C cup breasts had easily expanded to double d's, maybe even E's. I must have also taken my shirt off while I was passed out and changing all of my clohtes around, because I was compeltely topless.
I rushed (or perhaps waddled furiously) to the vanity mirror in my room. I looked like I was six months pregnant, and living off of a diet of chocolate kisses and soft drinks. I had a very slight double chin that perfectly accented my round face, plump lips, and button nose. I was by no means obese, I really wasn't even that chubby for a pregnant woman, but I had obviously put on about twenty pounds. Even my feet looked plump. Combined with my long hair and foreign eyes, the girl that looked in the mirror that morning was gone. Andrea was gone.
It's been about a week. I've been nine months pregnant for several days now. I'm starting to realize, I don't think I'm ever going to give birth. These sweatpants, though. They did something to me. It had to have been them. There's no other explanation. For the most part the changes stopped at six months. My breasts did grow to a size F, and are constantly leaking little jets of milk. And my thighs are a little meatier as well, but in a good way. I did a thourough check for signs of cellulite, cottage cheese, the works, but I was clean. I still looked good, I suppose. But I don't feel like me anymore.
It's been about two more days. I keep calling myself Ann in my head now. I guess I'm really sort of thinking differently altogether now. I know all sorts of things about babies, and nurturing, and nursing now, but I've also forgotten a lot of things to. I can't even begin to tell you how I performed my old job, and I was only a receptionist. I don't really no much of anything outside the realm of babies and pregnancy and basic human life. I eat more chocolate than I knew existed. Most of the clothes in my closet have become maternity robes and shirts, but I'm always in the same sweatpants. Ann. It does have a nice ring to it, doesn't it?