Jessie's Journal (4/20/2026) (Patreon)

Dear Journal:

It’s official.  Michelle is getting fat!

That seems weird to write, because no one in their right mind would call my sister ‘fat’ yet, but she’s gaining weight…and if she isn’t gaining muscle or getting taller (which she definitely isn’t), it stands to reason she’s “getting fat.”

If the shoe fits, right?  Hopefully, it won’t be long before nothing else will.

I was right about the leftover pizza.  It was gone when I got up Saturday morning.  Mom and Dad probably assume I ate it--and truth be told, I might have had sissy not beaten me to the punch--but that’s ok.  I’m sure that thought was going through sissy’s fat head as she stuffed her face.  That she could eat with impunity, and I’d get the blame.  When it comes to culinary crimes, I’m always the prime suspect.  Usually, for good reason.  The evidence doesn’t just point to me; it hangs from my belly, ass, and thighs.  

I’m fine with sissy exploiting that.  For now.  What she doesn’t realize is that she’s accumulating some clues of her own.

When Michelle came down for breakfast, she was still in her nightgown, an oversized baby-blue sleepshirt emblazoned with “I woke up this cute” in colorfully scripted letters.  Had I eaten the pizza, I probably would have gagged it back up.

She didn’t look all that cute, though.  Her hair was matted, and her face looked puffy.  What interested me most, however, was her sleepshirt.  In addition to a red smudge near the collar that looked suspiciously like tomato sauce, it didn’t fit her like I remembered.  I remember it cascading like a waterfall off her breasts, the only area of notable protrusion, and spilling down to her knees, but now the fabric smoothed around the flare of her hips and only reached mid-thigh.  And though I couldn’t be certain, at certain angles, or when Michelle moved certain ways, I swear I saw the swell of her belly bubbling beneath the nightshirt like a rock threatening the surface of a shallowing stream.

“Good morning,” Mom greeted her cheerfully. 

“Morning,” sis moaned, rubbing her eyes. 

Michelle used to be a morning person, bounding downstairs with the energy and enthusiasm of a Disney princess (which made me jealous and sick in equal measure), but lately she’s been plodding around the house like a hungover zombie.  I don’t think she gets much sleep.  Whenever I get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, her lights are still on.  She’s probably making up for lost bedroom time with boyfriends by texting them from it at all hours. 

Even princesses need beauty sleep, apparently!

I’ll write more later…I’m late for school!

--Jessie