In & Out (Patreon)

The finalized version of my most recent animation.

The inspiration for this animation is this: Imagine you gathered the nerve to ask someone close something completely out-of-the-question. 

You walk to the beach hut with her, knowing that if you were to say what you wish you could, she would think you're out of your mind. The two of you are so close, something of the sort would be incredibly inappropriate. However, as her soft form shifts with each step, you can't help but cast brief sideways glances and marvel at the collection of softness gathered around her middle, contained only by a small teal towel wrapped around her waist.

Your heart is in your throat, as the words are on the tip of your tongue. You know there's no taking them back once you've enunciated them. The anticipation is exhilarating, yet terrifying. You are so close, yet hesitate at every urge, waiting for a sign - some kind of nudge to push you over the edge. You've been staring at her curves for so long now, you didn't even notice her piercing eyes now returning your gaze. Confused, she inquires, "What's up, sweetie? Are you OK?"

This is it. Your heart is pounding. "Could you do something for me?" you ask rigidly.

"Sure, what is it?" She responds, with a face painted with half-enthusiasm and half-uncertainty.

No turning back now. Another pulse, and the words begin to pour from you.

"Could you push your belly in and out for me?"

Several more pulses follow. You're treading water. You've put the words out into the world - a beacon in uncharted waters with just the faintest flicker of help on the way. Her eyes push deeper, now thoroughly through you. You are paralyzed and fading under the javelins of her stare. Did you stutter? Did the words come out properly? Will she ask for further explanation? Are you ready for that? This is it. You've branded yourself as a sicko. You will never be loved by her the same again - not in this lifetime.

You await her sour response. Her lips part. You anticipate the acid her words will carry, yet rather than words, she merely presents several teeth. Her half-open mouth displays a glimmer of her perfect smile, hinting at trance-like curiosity rather than the expected vitriol. Rather than her words, her hand offers her first response. It glides slowly up towards the towel where she delicately flicks its folds with her thumb. The pulses in your chest become slower as you take in the side of the ends of the towel, softly tumbling across her flesh. Each end settles into one of her palms, as outwardly and arrogantly emerges a golden-brown orb.

You're transfixed at both the sight and the possibility. Your anticipation rises, much akin to the feeling of a finger preparing to turn a soon-to-be-concluded page. You stare across the glowing, smooth mass ahead and into the deep, swirling indent directly at its center. Breath evades you slowly, and just as its absence begins to cause alarm, it slowly creeps back in. Above you, you know those lethal eyes are still targeting you. You hear a voice from their direction.

"Like this?" The voice asks.

The orb begins to contract, collapsing in upon itself, leaving only the smallest bit of pudge billowing from its lowest extremities. It quivers as it reaches its flattest extent. A muted sound of rushing liquids permeates the air. It is not the rhythmic dashing of the waves against the shore though, but rather a sound like a jug being turned on its side. It comes from that precious gut she's so graciously retreating for you. You envision the water bottle she had downed earlier that day as the culprit behind the noise. Another pulse. Two. Each a lifetime.

Another wave, this time directly at you. Her withdrawn flesh begins to fill and her middle bursts forwards, engorging the shape of a perfect sphere even larger than its initial size. The waves crash again, even louder now. Seemingly as soon as they appear, they again retreat. In a staggered pattern, her tummy lurches back and forth, with no indication of stopping. Those eyes that had once impaled look downward, as if to now assess her timing instead of you.

She looks back at you. Her focus on you has not changed, yet her gaze appears differently now than it had before. Instead of seeking answers they now seek... approval? You feel the urge to say something, but do not want to ruin the sacredness of the moment. With every lurch, her body seems to fortify an unspoken statement: that no matter what - no matter who you are to her - she will happily and compliantly share her belly with you.