# The Partial Life and Times of a South Texas FA - by Elroy Cohen (~BBW, ~BHM, ~WG)



## elroycohen (Apr 7, 2008)

*~BBW, ~BHM, Memoir, ~~WG - A memoir.​
The Partial Life and Times of a South Texas FA 

by Elroy Cohen
 
 Part I: The Back Story​*

*Growing Up*

For as long as I can remember fat people and people getting fat has been an interest of mine. Even before I was physically attracted to women who ate whatever they wanted and wore the results proudly in the form of round, soft bellies and large, jiggling backsides, I always took notice of overweight people and people who ate with reckless abandon.

In fact I remember at age six following my friends mother around like a little puppy dog when I would play at his house; with hips that were wider than I was tall and legs that were bigger around than I was wide, I would stand mesmerized as she waddled around the house. The best times were out at his pool. I would hastily leave a session of pretend drowning He-Man figures if she rose from sunbathing to go back into the house. I would follow behind in hopes the billowy skirt of her one-piece suit would flip up so I could catch an unobstructed glimpse of her jostling cheeks and watch with glee as they would slap together when she would reach behind with a pudgy set of fingers to dig the suit bottom (which gave her a wedgie every third or fourth step) out from between the flabby behemoths.

She was usually headed to the refrigerator where, upon opening, the booming voice of her husband would call out from his spot in front of the television, Get out of the fridge, woman, youre supposed to be on a diet!

Just getting a snack for the kids, she would reply.

As a dish of cold cuts and cookies got assembled, about a third would never make it to the plate and instead took a detour past her plump lips. Then she would turn to me (she always knew I was there) and hold a fat finger in front of a sly smirk.

I know I was young and confused about what my fascination with my friends mother really was, but as I look back know I always consider her my first crush.

Perhaps because my fascination started so early that was the reason I became immune to the perceived shame or embarrassment that goes along with being a man who is not turned off by people who carry extra weight. Sure I got teased; when my friends would point out an obese man or woman and joke and laugh I would give a comment of admiration and for the next few minutes my friends would look at me like me like I was from another planet. It never really bothered me; even as I got older and the strange looks turned into nasty insults directed toward me, I would simply shrug it off.

It did not take a psychologist to know why - my mother. She was the biggest influence on me since my father abandoned her before I was old enough to remember. Do not misunderstand, it was not exactly like she was a hard-working single mother barely scraping by. No, not at all, actually, because of her well-off parents, who felt sorry for her being all alone with a child, she never had to work a day in her life. They never visited or offered any help other than monetary, mind you, but I am sure in their eyes they were doing a great service. 

Although it was well into the 80s, during my young years my mom continued to act and dress like it was the late 60s. A hippie holdover if there ever was one, she was a philosophy-spouting, book-reading, bra-burning feminist to the extreme. Above all else she loved food. Not that it was a replacement for male companionship, mind you. With alarmingly model-like facial features that needed no makeup and naturally white-blonde hair along with a caramel-colored complexion from the south Texas sun, my mother had no problem getting dates despite her off-center attitude. Being a devout foodie took precedence over men by a long shot, however. She would cancel a date in an instant to stay at home and devour two bags of chocolate chip cookies if the mood struck her. 

It is no exaggeration when I say finished entire bags. In fact, leftovers were nonexistent in our house. If a package of food got opened, be it a bag of candy, a box of cereal or a sleeve of lunchmeat, rest assured my mother would finish it.

As you can imagine, with her as my only role model I soon took on her eating disorder as my own, and by the time I was eight I was about as overweight as a young boy could be. With my spherical shape combined with my mothers ballooning hourglass figure, we were the butt of many a joke at my elementary school. Even the gym teacher took to nicknaming me butterball. It all fell on deaf ears, however, as I was living out something of a dream; becoming the type of person I had admired all my young life. I would fall asleep every night burrowing into my mothers jelly-belly, nuzzling my round cheeks underneath her large soft breasts while rubbing and squeezing my own tub-of-lard. 

As a sharp contrast to my mother, however, who was an extremely sedentary person, I was very active for an obese child, and it was that active nature coupled with my size that led to an accident that changed my life and probably kept me from being a 500-pound adult.

*The Accident and the Aftermath*

I was climbing a tree out in some old field with some friends when a challenge arose about how far out on a limb each of us could go out before we got scared. I was first and to my credit I was not scared, all the way out to the point the branch broke under my weight and I crashed down on top of the rusty chainlink fence that was below. Then I was terrified. The jagged edges of the link punctured my intestine; as a result a small chunk of which had to be removed. It was not nearly as bad as it could have been, although the memory of how I thought I had been cut in half is one that will probably never leave.

Regardless, less than two years later I was again back to climbing trees, although I was doing so at about half the size I had been. The one lingering result of my injury was that my digestive system was much less tolerant of just about everything I ate. Not much was off limits entirely, but quantity had to be severely limited or else I became painfully incapacitated while my shortened and damaged digestive track attempted to take on the meal.

I was depressed for a while, for most of my coveted belly had been lost during the months in the hospital and my post-accident appetite did not appear to be able to replenish it. I took solace in my mothers growing belly while she comforted me during the nights I would wake up spitting blood or just feeling queasy. I think it was during that time my notice and true appreciation, and not just curiosity, for all things fat formed.

While my new diet and active lifestyle had me blossoming into a fairly athletic adolescent, my mother blossomed into something completely different. With me eating less she seemed to pick up the slack and ballooned to immense proportions. Her dating life had cooled off considerably as mom moved from a busty if chubby woman to a fat, but well portioned, one to an obscenely top heavy mass of sweaty blubber. She still got dates and these dates were my first introduction to men who, like me, found overweight women attractive. It was also a rather abrupt introduction to feeders, which is hard to explain, since being introduced to them as they stuff your mother until she cannot lift herself off the couch is a tad disconcerting. It did not bother me too much as Mom always seemed quite tickled by the fact she could turn men on by sitting on her ass and eating what they put in front of her. 

Quite a variety of feeders as well as wannabes tried their hand at dating my mother during my childhood. Some were quite terrible; one was convinced he had the talents of a gourmet chef when in reality it was a miracle he could boil water. Some were rather odd; one local hog farmer always cooked meals that had a bland grainy texture to them. After a few weeks, mom finally figured out he was mixing the same formula of ingredients he used to fatten his hogs into the dishes he made for mom. And some were downright creepy; a long-haired, overly spiritual, tree-hugger type swore he had a way to mix ingredients that could control where women stored fat. 

His goal was to fatten Moms slender-for-her-size face and balance out her top-heavy form by adding fat to her legs. Mom thought he was crazy but kept him around because she found him very attractive. Crazy he might very well have been, but it was hard to deny that after the fourteen-month relationship ended, Moms cheeks swelled to where she looked like her mouth was always stuffed full, three chins sagged down and hid her neck where before had been only one and her formerly stout but solid thighs now had sheets of watery blubber cascading down past her knees. Most likely a coincidence, but I was certainly glad to see that guy leave.

*High School*

While my mom was navigating the dating scene for a massively overweight single mother, I was in the midst of navigating my way through the rigors of high school. I was something of a quiet loner, although my knack for athletics, specifically basketball and baseball, had me being accepted by the cool kids if only on the fringe. I suppose my looks had something to with it as well. Not that I am being conceited, but with my mothers blonde hair and dark complexion I had something of a redneck-surfer thing going which certainly did not seem to be off-putting to the girls.

Regardless of my looks, my first two years of high school I was much more interested in sports than females, but my interest in porky classmates was stronger then ever. Unfortunately, south Texas is the wrong place to be if you are an FA, at least my little corner of it, anyway. I had to look pretty hard to find a bulging belly or a flabby backside to admire. Sure a few teachers, softened by years of sitting at a desk barking orders at kids, certainly qualified as overweight. The science teacher, Mr. Barnum, seemed about five feet wide and could not put his arms flat against his side to save his life. Mrs. Poole appeared to be 12 months pregnant throughout my high school career. 

Maybe the first signs of my noticing the fairer sex in a horny teenager way was when I stopped looking forward to Mrs. Poole wearing the slacks that would always slide just low enough beneath her belly for me to catch a glimpse of her sallow flesh hanging over her belt and began eagerly anticipating her sundresses that were tight enough to see the outline of her bra that dug into her back fat and revealed an overabundance of cleavage. Come to think of it, maybe I was more of an oversexed kid then I thought, because for the life of me I cannot tell you what Mrs. Poole taught.

As far as students were concerned, it was slim pickings for an FA. Even if there had been a plethora of chubby teenagers roaming the halls, it would have been nothing more than eye candy for me. See, even after I began noticing girls as more than people who had to sit to pee, I did not have the ability to ask them out. It was simply that I was not the most assertive young man. That meant approaching girls just to talk to them, much less ask them out, was something that was far out of my capabilities. That also meant my dating life was relegated to the few women who were comfortable enough to do the asking out. Because of the group I hung around with, the ones that did were typically stick-thin cheerleaders that needed a last-minute date to a school function or big party at one of the cool kids house. 

Do not get me wrong, I can appreciate all beauty and the girls that were actually interested in me as more than a body to accompany them someplace I was most certainly affectionate with, to the extent that I would take part in some making out and over-the-clothes groping, but seldom was I motivated to go beyond that. In fact, had it not been for a very overzealous girl at a rival school who all but abducted me into the girls locker room after I dropped 40 points on her school's basketball team, I most likely would have remained a virgin going into college.

*More of Moms Love Life*

College was made possible financially by my basketball playing ability. At 6-2 I was far from an opposing force next to the near seven-footers that often ran on the same court, but my perseverance and work ethic along with a sweet jumpshot was enough to warrant a full scholarship from  a Podunk little division two school up in the Midwest. For that kind of money I was willing to accept residence in a place that seldom got above triple digits temperature wise and often got something called snow. It also meant I was not going to have to be indebted to my grandparents for tuition money.

More concerning to me than leaving the safety of sunshine and barbeque was leaving my mother. Not because her constant binging had left her immobile and unable to care for herself. No, in fact, it was quite the opposite; at 59, even though she had ballooned to somewhere just north of 300 pounds, she was quite capable of moving around, albeit at a slow waddle. No, the disconcerting thing about her current situation was her boyfriend.

Reggie was a slimy weasel if ever there was one. I dont think he ever told us his last name, nor did he ever pay for anything during the time he moved himself in with Mom and I. Middle aged, shriveled and hunched over, he had a very Gollum type look to him. While I could get past the look, I never really got past the way he treated Mom. It became harder to stomach the summer before I left for college, since I was home more often than during the school year. He was a feeder and had a tendency to take a very active role in the meals. It was not unusual for him to stand over her squeezing a bottle of chocolate syrup down her throat until she had to physically push him back so she could get air. His other quirks included name calling and a very annoying habit of roughly slapping various parts of my mothers anatomy when she was not expecting it. 

She assured me it was all part of foreplay, which really did not make me feel any better about things. She did give it back to him, name calling him as often as he did and it was not unusual for her to wake him up from a nap on the couch by collapsing her colossal weight on top of him. So I endured their very public displays of affection, for a while anyway. I tried to get out of the house more and party it up with my friends since it was my last summer at home, but I felt guilty every night I left her alone with Reggie. 
So as the summer went on, my party nights got fewer and farther between. The home stress added to my nervousness about college culminated in one early morning incident that woke me out of a deep sleep and pushed me over the edge.

It was a very odd-sounding whimper coming from my mothers room that awoke me out of a dead sleep, an almost crying sound that was very childlike. In my still half asleep daze I assumed it was Mom being manhandled in some way by Reggie and that was the last straw. I lumbered down the hall and threw open the door with the intention of beating some much needed sense into Reggie, but I learned immediately a very important lesson about bursting into a parents room without announcing yourself first. My mother was in no discomfort whatsoever. In a skimpy little negligee she was standing over a bent over Reggie with a paddle that looked like a gag gift from one of those adult shops you see off the side of the highway. I will spare you too many more details, other than to say Reggie was wearing a long black wig and appeared to be made up to resemble some nightmarish version of Demi Moore. Suffice it to say I realized then and there why Reggie put on such an aggressive act in front of me; he did not want to let on that behind closed doors he was my moms bitch.

I left for college with no worries at all about my mother. In a weird way, I was kind of hoping to myself her and Reggie would become a long term thing.

*College*

With my home life hundreds of miles away, I was free to experience a whole new world at college. I quickly developed something of a compulsion for perfection in school. For basketball I was certainly able to live up to that, but in academics I did not quite posses the brain power to easily reach my own high standards. This self-imposed stress, along with the long hours spent practicing and working out for basketball, pushed dating way down the list of priorities for me. I had not turned into any more of a ladies' man since leaving Texas, so once again I was relegated to admiring from afar or accepting offers for dates from outgoing ladies who asked me. Luckily, in the upper Midwest the ratio of chubby women to thin ones is a polar opposite to what it was down south, so even with my wallflower of a personality I managed to date a few girls who physically fit my ideal of attractive. 

Even better was my introduction to the freshman fifteen. By the end of freshman year, coeds across campus had begun to develop small beer guts and stretch their form-fitting clothes to their very limits. I did not think it appropriate to bring attention to the increased size of the girls I knew or even the ones I dated, but when it came up in conversation I was not subtle about letting them know I found their now size 12 (or whatever) forms much more attractive then their former size 8 (or thereabouts) ones. 

The girls usually played it off like I was just being overly complimentary and assured me they would lose the weight over the summer. Most did not and even more would be happy to meet me for lunches at Pizza Hut and spend weekends drinking until bar time and then heading over to Dennys for an early morning breakfast. But it did not really matter to me, because, as it was with a majority of college romances, most of my relationships were lucky to last a few months, much less through a semester. 

When I did not have the benefit of a curvy young coed to keep my attention, I had an ongoing interesting development with my roommate, Seth. We never really connected as friends, in fact, the only talking done between us was complaining on his part. Apparently, he came from a very controlling family where his parents allowed him to do nothing without their approval. Of course to rebel against this as soon as he could, he chose a college halfway across the country from them and indulged in every off limit activity that was not allowed him back home. Some of these activities were somewhat hard to deal with. A virtual cornucopia of pornography almost always decorated the floor of our dorm room along with little wadded up pieces of tissue. 

He did have one tendency that was quite intriguing to me as a person who appreciates gluttony and weight gain; Seth would gorge on every type of junk food and binge drink every kind of alcoholic beverage he could until he could consume no more. Every night he went out to the bars and every meal was from a fast food restaurant and was always supplemented with enough sugary snacks in between to fend off a town full of trick-or-treaters. 

Im sure it will sound like exaggeration, but by the middle of sophomore year the dirty 32-inch waist jeans he left scattered around the room were gone and in their place were 40-inch ones. He went from a wiry little freshman to a beer-bellied blob in little more than a year and a half.

It was hard not to take advantage of the situation I was in. I felt almost guilty, not because I never revealed my fascination for all things fat to him yet I would admire his large distended belly with all its pink stretch marks when it would peek out from under his t-shirts or how I would marvel at his development of softball size man-boobs that would flop and bounce when he would collapse on his bed after a night of binge drinking. No, the guilt came from the family size packages of Oreos and bulk packages of Pop-Tarts I would buy knowing full well I would not get to eat any of them. The guilt, however, was overshadowed by the visceral thrill I got from seeing empty packages strewn about on the floor mere days, if not hours, after I brought them home.

I have no idea just how big Seth got by the time graduation came about. Somewhere between sophomore and junior year he gave up on pants and settled for XXL sweats. His rapid expansion seemed to go mostly to his belly, which jutted out further than he could reach with his flabby arms. The constant beer drinking also gave him a very bloated face that was all but unrecognizable as the picture on his student ID from freshman year. Excess alcohol also gave him a bulbous set of cone-shaped tits that were very unmasculine and not in the least bit feminine at the same time.

When I was not dating or admiring my glutton of a roommate, I was quite often exploring the various internet outlets for like-minded individuals who enjoyed discussing their obsession with the plus-sized and those who were on their way to becoming plus-sized. Most chat rooms were a little more sexually specific than I, even as a horny college student, preferred, but I did manage to find guys (and a few girls) like me who wished every woman would shop at Lane Bryant and eat without a care of how many calories were in a Whopper.

The group of us kept in touch throughout school, trading incidents from our lives, or about people that we admired, that pertained to our love of fat. None of us had that many real experiences, however, and eventually we degenerated into a game of trading elaborate stories of BBWs and weight gain fiction back and forth. The other guys all seemed to be very good at writing and wrote very beautiful erotic stories. Me, on the other hand, without any writing talent or too many erotic experiences to draw from, ended up being the comic relief. I rewrote blockbuster movies to fit our genre, including a version of Conan the Barbarian with a fat, doughy Conan. I retold the Scream trilogy with a 300-pound heroine. I know it probably sounds odd, but I think it was really good for me to be able to let loose from my near perfection in my schoolwork to write far from perfect nonsensical stories. It also managed to keep me out of the bars some nights.

It all worked out in the end; I graduated with a 3.8 grade point and had no problem finding work. In fact, I had only two weeks to go home and visit Mom before I had to start looking for a place even further up north, damn near closer to Canada than Mexico.

*Back at Home*

My hope of Mom and Reggie making it as a couple did not come to fruition. In fact, the falling out was kind of hard for my mom. At her peak of romantic bliss with Reggie, she had ballooned to a whopping size of well over 350 pounds. The heartbreak combined with some health issues caused her to sink back down closer to 300 pounds by the time I came home.

You would never know she was cutting back, to see her. When I walked in she was plowing through a peanut-butter delight, which was a loaf of bread cut length-ways into four thick pieces. Each one of those pieces was slathered with peanut-butter and sprinkled liberally with Oreo crumbles. The loaf was then slapped back together, pressed down to a thickness that could be bitten into and then toasted in the oven until the outside got crunchy and the inside melted into a sweet, gooey mess.

You had to know my mom in order to know that a meal like that was indeed cutting way back for her.

Mom was grumpy the whole two weeks. She complained constantly and seemed to be very bothered by the fact that most of the weight she lost seemed to come out of her enormous breasts. Not exactly the kind of discussion a son wants to engage in with his mother, but I did have to admit her rack, which used to look like two lumpy laundry bags overstuffed with wet clothes, now resembled empty garbage bags. 

It was another thing you would have to know about Mom to know that complaining was her way of saying everything is fine. So, with a kiss and a restatement of the reassuring comment I had made hundreds of time that visit that her rack was still traffic stopping, I headed off to report for my first day of work.


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## samster (Apr 8, 2008)

Very intersting...thanks for posting!


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## Risible (Apr 8, 2008)

So, is this your memoir, if you don't mind my asking?


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## lifelongpassion (Apr 8, 2008)

I really enjoy your stories. They draw me in and I'm immersed in all the details. Your stories are definitely on my tops list.


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## elroycohen (Apr 8, 2008)

> Originally posted by *samster*
> Very intersting...thanks for posting!



How cool. I'm psyched that you found it interesting. Thanks.



> Originally posted by *lifelongpassion*
> I really enjoy your stories. They draw me in and I'm immersed in all the details. Your stories are definitely on my tops list.



Wow that's high praise indeed. Thank you. Now I'm nervous because there is more to this story that I now have to make sure lives up to that. Oh my.



> Originally posted by *Risible*
> So, is this your memoir, if you don't mind my asking?



Very little of anything I do is fully rooted in reality. At the same time even less of what I do escapes being influenced or inspired in some way by real life events. 

That being said I’ll cop to being a Texan no matter how long it is I’ve been away. I will also own up to the accident as factual if only to share this irony that I failed to put in the story: When I was a tubby little boy I went around shirtless more often then I did not. It didn’t matter if people laughed or were disgusted by my bulging, hanging belly, it didn’t bother me a bit. Granted I was only a kid but you get the point. Now the post accident me won’t take his shirt off to save my life even though build wise I’m what most people would refer to as reasonably fit. This is because of the hideously deep and astoundingly long scars that decorate my stomach from the beltline all the way up to just below my sternum.

I suppose that comes across sounding a little bleak and I don’t mean it to because I’m really not that bummed out about it. I even get a kick out of it when someone keeps their shirt on at the beach, saying they don’t want to gross anybody out with their thickly padded waistline. I won't usually show them what I'm hiding but I'll smirk a little.

ec


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## Risible (Apr 8, 2008)

I'll show you mine if you show me yours.  Scars, that is.

Yep. I got scars. Head-on collision with a drunk driver and subsequent surgery left me with a _couple_. Funny, though, I was never ashamed of them ... I regard them, in fact, as badges of sorts, in that I suffered deeply during that time and they're the visible remnants of that suffering.

And, your shirt? Isn't is kinda smelly after all these years; I mean, if you've never taken it off ...


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## elroycohen (Apr 10, 2008)

> Originally posted by *Risible*
> And, your shirt? Isn't is kinda smelly after all these years; I mean, if you've never taken it off ...



Scars or no scars since the discovery of Fabreeze and spray on wrinkle remover the whole "Changing outfits" just to launder them in a "Washing machine" seems so last century.

ec


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## Risible (Apr 10, 2008)

elroycohen said:


> Scars or no scars since the discovery of Fabreeze and spray on wrinkle remover the whole "Changing outfits" just to launder them in a "Washing machine" seems so last century.
> 
> ec




Okay - eeewww.


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## elroycohen (Apr 15, 2008)

*Sally*

The job was a slam-dunk. Well paying for a job right out of school but hardly challenging. It was nothing more then basic computer programming. That was good for me because I could easily live up to my elevated standards in the ten hours a day I was at the office and go home and not have to obsess about it. That left plenty of time for me to attempt to fill out my life outside of work.

I have always kind of been an electronics nut so after finding a cheap apartment right in the middle of town and furnishing it with the bare minimum, I spent all the money I had on an extravagant home entertainment center and computer.

I know it will sound awfully hypocritical but I also bought a membership to the local gym. I know, why would a kid who was so proud of his belly and got so disappointed when he could no longer gorge himself with his mother run out to the gym voluntarily? Thing is I was always active, which led to school sports so after four years of being run ragged five nights, sometimes even six, by my college basketball coach I found that I needed the outlet for my daily stresses at the gym or I became even more anxious and neurotic then I already was. Make no mistake about it; two hours of leisurely circuit training did not even come close to the hours of running up and down the court so my muscular form of sharp angles morphed into a gangly, slightly softer one rather quickly.

There were plenty of beautiful females to look at when I went to the gym as well. You would be surprised how many were soft enough to catch my eye. 

Just as my own little public service to young FAs out there, however, chubby women that go to the health club generally are not there to be hit on by guys. No need to go into embarrassing detail but rest assured most young ladies who drag themselves to the gym in an effort to keep themselves from growing past a certain size do not appreciate anyone interrupting them as they sweat through thirty minutes on the treadmill to say, Hey, how you doin?

So I definitely had to go somewhere else to try and work on my long neglected romantic side. 

Being somewhat of a metrosexual one of the first things I did in my new town was find a good place to get my hair cut. An upscale salon that catered to the younger set fit the bill and the woman who became my stylist was a definite knockout. Fawn, a bronze beauty with a cascading waterfall of silky brown hair with streaks of blonde. She had a killer smile and Minnie Mouse sounding voice that I found oddly erotic. Fawn was nicely chubby, with a cute potbelly. She had a thing for snacking on Twix bars even while she cut hair. She was about my age and seemed to like me. So of course with my introverted personality I ended up having nothing to do romantically with her and ended up connecting with someone that seemed like a very odd match for me. 

Sally styled hair at the same salon as Fawn and was a loud, overly friendly character of a woman who seemed to be over the top in everything she did or said. She had to be somewhere in the mid forties age wise but to me that did not factor in at all at first. She had a look that was both alluring and shocking all at once. She dressed like she was a teenager from the 80s. Oversized t-shirts belted at the waist with brightly colored leggings seemed to be a favorite outfit for her. She caked on the make-up so thickly she often resembled a mannequin. Regardless, the face she layered in foundation was a cute one and she had to be at least 100 lbs overweight so she instantly caught my eye. Mostly boobs and belly Sally worked on he clients at an angle to allow her short chubby arms to reach past her protruding appendages. A tall woman, Sally carried her weight well and even chose high-heeled sandals over more comfortable orthopedic options. Maybe to show off her shark and sea-horse tattoos that decorated her ankles.

Sally was the type that greeted everyone that walked in the door. She was incredibly touchy feely when she spoke to people but I found she did it in a way that put me at ease and not uncomfortable at all like I felt when most people who I did not know reached out to touch my arm or pat me on the shoulder.

I returned her friendliness with a little flirting, which I was horrible at. Sally picked up on it however and immediately returned with some of her own. By my third visit to the salon Sally and I were an obscene spectacle of double entandres and friendly groping. By that time we had taken the flirting in public as far as we could and a little beyond so we set a neutral place to meet with friends on a Friday night. It took a little work to agree on a place that forty-somethings and twenty-somethings would both enjoy hanging out but after settling on a sports bar I gave her one last touch of the arm, purposely grazing her pendulous breast, and anxiously awaited Friday.

My new friends did not know me very well by that time so almost all of them seem confused why a guy like me would be chasing after a woman like Sally. Most were too confused by the huge age difference to take much notice of the fact that she outweighed me by at least fifty pounds.

The rambunctious atmosphere, dim lighting and lots of alcohol accelerated Sally and my relationship to the point where I had most of her make-up smeared across my neck and face as well as her bra unfastened and pants partially unsnapped by the time she offered to take me back to her apartment. I was not too far into lust to note that between the beers she guzzled and the appetizers she had downed Sally had consumed well over 2,000 calories just in the few hours we were at the bar. This looked like the start of a beautiful relationship, right until we hoped into her bed.

For my part it was an amazing session of lovemaking. Sally was as beautiful and inviting naked with her legs in the air as she was tarted up in eyeliner and heels. She was soft and yielding all over. In fact as forcefully as I hugged and squeezed I could not find a firm spot on her, she was like a living plush toy, stuffed to the brim with down.

So turned on and into the moment was I that I set a new land speed record for my time on top of Sally. Instantly embarrassed and ashamed I must have turned multiple shades of red as soon I grunted on my last big thrust. Luckily Sally was a patient woman and willing to be my guide through the world of properly pleasuring the fairer sex. I was not too bad of a student and by our third session (The Friday night hook-up became a weekly habit) I had the lovely Sally squirming, sweating and arching her back like I had never imagined possible.

My new friends soon got over the fact I was dating an obese older woman when one of the guys ended up hooking-up with one of Sallys friends, who while very slender, might have even been a few years older then Sally.

I was in heaven with Sally although I was far too naïve to realize it was all lust on my end and most likely on Sallys as well. Sure we got along famously when we met for a few hours every week at a bar with drinks in our hands until we went back to her place and ripped off each others clothes. Our small talk consisted of what we were going to do to each other when we were alone. Neither of us had showed any concern for our shallow tryst so things continued on rather swimmingly for a while. I even noticed a rather happy accident of our alcohol fueled Fridays; Sally was stuffing herself with enormous amounts of fried bar food while washing it down with lot of beer. I was not shy about making sure her glass was always full and a plateful of potato skins or onion rings was within her reach and she very much enjoyed being catered to. I looked forward to seeing some of the results of all the high calorie additions to her diet but alas as our relationship lasted barely two months before I learned a very painful lesson I never got to see her already corpulent figure expand.

It all started with a change in hairstyle. She was a stylist so it was not uncommon for her to change dos. She did it twice during our affair. First she went from a head of bright red curls that draped halfway down her back to a wavy shiny black mane that ended just below her shoulder blades. The final look was the killer however; a straight bleached blond bob.

The first I saw of it was as the dimly lit bar so aside from it seeming oddly familiar to me I paid it no mind other then to acknowledge to Sally that I approved. I was unable to put a finger on the nagging familiarity until hours later in her bed as I was cupping one of her melon-sized hooters in two hands and sucking furiously on the nipple. Sallys soft moans alerted me to the fact she was ready so I reached over to the night stand to grab a condom only to find we had gone through another box. I turned on the small table light to find our back-up box. The amber glow of the light splashed across Sallys naked flesh and gave her normally pale complexion a caramel hue. My mind finally put together the pieces; bleached blonde hair, dark skin, me sucking on oversized, lumpy boobs like I was a baby suckling milkIf Sally could have seen past her expansive cleavage she would have no doubt noticed my eyes almost pop out of my head and my mouth form the word "mom". My heart honestly skipped a beat and was helpless to stop a low whimper from escaping my lungs.

Whats taking so long, sugar? Get that thing on and ride me. Sally prodded.

She seemed confused but not too terribly put off by the fact I left rather abruptly that night. By the time morning hit I had already scoped out new salons to get my haircut at and had made arrangements to get my phone number changed. Probably not the classiest way to handle the situation but as soon as I meet someone else who has gone through the same nightmare and handled it in a better way I will let you know.

*Tali*

It was weeks before I could talk to my mom on the phone without picturing Sally naked with her legs spread and a come-hither look on her face. It was even longer before I stopped having nightmares about waking up next to my mother naked and sweating. So needless to say I had not even considered dating again when a friend of mine told me his friends roommate thought I was cute.

Desperate to move past my prior catastrophe I decided to meet her. My friend told me she was intelligent yet fun and because he knew my size preference he told me she had put on a few since college.

Apparently to my friend putting on few means gaining one or two pounds because when I met Tali I saw someone who had some nice curves but at most could be considered a tad plump. My friend assured me she was softer then a few years ago and most likely would plump up more the way she ate. Aside from that she was very attractive. She had a milk chocolate complexion with alluring brown eyes and a full set of lips that seemed to always form a cute little smirk. More importantly to me she was my age and looked nothing like my mother so I was willing to give a shot.

A connection between us was instantly there and just a few minutes after we met we were talking very comfortably. Tali was very intelligent, she had an undergraduate degree in psychology and was going for masters in theology. Two things I knew absolutely nothing about but she had such passion telling me about them and was so cute the way she would giggle after every other sentence it was easy for me to be interested.

Although the connection was there right away the romantic side of our relationship took a little while to develop. Mostly because we did things within our group of friends for a few months and were quite comfortable with that before I finally invited her over to my place to watch a football game and have dinner. Not the most romantic idea I have ever had but it sparked a string of one-on-one activities between us and soon our relationship was to the next level.

My friend had been correct about her diet probably meaning she would gain weight. Tali ate like one of the guys and seemed to take no shame in being able to eat twice as much pizza as me when ate at the buffet for lunch. She did not hold back ordering desserts when she felt like having sweets either. Once we started dating regularly we were eating out three to four times a week and with that and the winter holidays by the time Tali and I made out dating public knowledge to our friends by showing up to New Years Eve party hand in hand she had graduated from barely plump to nicely chubby. Her soft but flat stomach turned into a squishy tummy that stuck out over her belt. Her largest asset, her backside, had swollen from big and round to large enough that only certain cuts of jeans could comfortably fit it. A couple of times she would adjust her pants after a large meal and say, I really need to get a gym membership.

No, I honestly dont think you do. I would answer immediately.

The conversation would usually end there after she would smile sheepishly at me wink. A few times she would blame her voracious appetite on some new version of the pill she was on but mostly she would just let her appetite run wild and bask in all the appreciation I would lavish on her. She was beautiful and we were getting along better then horny newlyweds. I guess horny teenagers would be more like because as much as we kissed and caressed each other Tali always stopped things before they got too intimate. She said she wanted to wait for just the right moment. 

After we had officially become an item I had begun to quite blatantly lavish Tali with an overabundance of rich high-calorie food at every turn. She seemed to be comfortably settling in to being spoiled by me even if it meant larger sizes. When Valentines Day came around I went overboard with huge decadent meals and a seemingly never-ending supply of chocolate candies the entire week leading up to it. She giddily accepted my stomach stretching gifts along with the other goodies I lavished upon her like roses and stuffed animals; I even sprung for an extravagant gold bracelet. I was hopelessly in what I felt was love for Tali.

After a week of rich pastas and juicy steaks along with enough chocolate to put a bus load of diabetics into a coma my lovely Tali was looking awfully bloated when we came home from our romantic dinner on February 14th. Her little black dress was pulled taut across her distended belly, clearly showing her outie of a belly button. Her disproportionately large ass which had stretched the dress to begin with, was now starting to separate seams along the side of the dress. The tight skirt ended on Tali much higher then it was supposed to causing the bottom of her round cheeks to be shown after a few steps of her wobbling on her heels. All night she had been tugging the garment down.

Despite her fullness from the surf and turf dinner followed by a cheesecake dessert she did not hesitate to grab a few handfuls of the M&Ms I had set out in front of the television. Ironically I had not intended for those to be temptation to her. I myself just loved the little chocolate candies. After wolfing down a couple hundred calories of the multi-colored goodies she let out a small belch.

If you keep spoiling me like this youre going to have a lot more Tali to handle. She smirked coyly.

Nothing wrong with that, I smiled back.

She grabbed the bottom her skirt and pulled her dress up over her head leaving only her pink thong that had burrowed itself into ridges of fat just above her hip and a matching push-up bra that squished her C cups into a very impressive display of cleavage. Between the two undergarments was her swollen paunch that she playfully slapped.

You think Im kidding but all this is from you. She paused while her heavy gut bounced rhythmically, What do you think of youre handiwork?

I walked over to her and ran my hands over her fattened belly sliding them around to her soft, very abundant ass and squeezed firmly.

I like it just fine. I gave her gentle kiss on the lips.

She smiled broadly, So you like a little extra, huh?

To answer I simply kissed her again.

Well I think its time I show you what Tali likes. 

Finally, I thought.

My girlfriend went over to a big pink duffle bag she had brought in with her and pulled out a small white piece of cloth. From across the room it almost looked like an adult diaper. Tali sauntered back over to me with and upon closer inspection it looked exactly like anadult diaper.

Put this on, baby. She whispered seductively.

My first thought was there was no way I would put on a diaper for anybody. My manly pride notwithstanding the very prevalent scars from my childhood accident usually had me waiting until the third or fourth time with a lady before removing my shirt prior to the lights going out. Then I thought about how my own little fetish had affected Tali. If she had been dating someone else who expressed displeasure when she overate and started gaining weight she probably would not have large gooey love handles hanging over the waistband of her pants, which had gone up at least two sizes since we had met. I reasoned it was a small thing in comparison to parade around in diapers behind closed doors if that is what got her excited. Little did I now it only going to get worse.

As much I was willing to take part in Talis little game I could not help but loose my erection completely once I saw my diaper wearing reflection in the mirror. I opened my mouth to try and say something witty to break the uncomfortable silence that was Tali admiring my diaper clad body but was unexpectedly met by a light slap on the forehead.

Babys dont talk. They go into the bedroom and wait for mom to come in for feeding time.

My heart sank as I gave up any hope of getting my erection back. It was small consolation that Tali did not even mention my scar. I didnt have much choice but to play along and see where she was going with all this. I went into the bedroom and waited on the bed, only to be given another tap on the head when I was not in the proper fetal position when she came in. Tali sat on the bed and pulled my head into her well padded lap. She pulled down one side of her bra so I could pretend to feed of her nipple.

If I had not just so recently had the unfortunate mother incident with Sally and the fact that my scar was exposed and in full view, slowly fraying my nerves, I might have been able to get into the whole breast feeding thing. As it was I was disturbed and annoyed and it was only going to get weirder.

After feeding on a dry nipple for what seemed like forever (I was popped on the forehead twice for not suckling as a baby would) my head was not so gently guided south where Tali pressed my mouth firmly between her flabby thighs. I was confused at this point if I was still supposed to pretend to be a baby during this very un-baby like activity. She did not once correct my method and using what I had learned from Sally I finished this part of the night in mere minutes.

Tali got up and walked back over to her duffle bag and I was very relieved thinking I would soon be able to remove the diaper and move onto the actual intercourse. No such luck. Tali brought back a few sets of handcuffs and string of golf ball sized beads. Frozen in shock for a second while Tali leaned in and whispered her intentions it was then that I snapped and screamed the last words I ever would to Tali,

I thought I was a little baby?! Why the f**k would you want to do that to a little baby?!

*Time to Regroup*

I took a couple weeks off to go back and visit mom and clear my head. Part of me was really mad at myself for not being able to get past Talis fetish since outside of that she was a perfect match for me. I should have known that going home would not be a good place to think about my problems when mom always had plenty of her own.

She was a mess and while my mom had never really been one for housecleaning and personal grooming the sight I saw when I walked in the house was absolutely horrific. Trash littered the entire living room, only a path from the kitchen to the recliner was cleared and from the look of my mom she had not left that recliner for days.

Wearing only a food crusted, sweat stained t-shirt the majority of the exposed skin seemed to be covered in a greasy film. The phone antennae poked out from under a heavy breast, the same phone she had told me she was fine on just hours prior.

The weight she had lost when I was in college was back on and it had brought friends. She looked fatter then she had ever been, with folds of flesh covering swollen wrists and ankles. Mobility seemed to be noticeably impaired for the first time. Her weathered, overstretched skin looked ready to split apart from the effort of trying to contain hundreds of pounds of blubber.

We did not speak for the first day I was there. Her lying to me over the phone saying there was nothing wrong had a lot to do with it. I cleaned the house and she sat in the same place. We did not have to talk, I knew without asking what was wrong; my mother was experiencing middle age. The young, curvy blonde bombshell that could get any guy she wanted had turned into the overfed, busty single mom who still turned the heads of breast lovers wherever she went. Then she had turned into an obese spectacle that still had guys beating down her door by playing into a fetish fantasy. Now as all the days of excess and frivolity had her unable to stop the inevitable change into a barely mobile empty nester whose own parents are happy to supply money but have not visited in years she sunk into an understandable state of depression. 

Another reason not much was said because I was dreading the thought of bringing up going to the doctors office. I knew she had not gone on her own and with her elevated depression it seemed to be a good time to make a visit. But as much as my mom could withstand a barrage of insults and giggles from a crowd of teenagers as she waddled past them to go into a store she nearly broke down at the thought of having to face the judgmental eye of a doctor.

I now know that should have probably been my first clue that she was not truly happy at her extreme weight but with my fat favoring bias along with the idea that my mother was a strong beautiful woman no matter what the reality I did not see it at the time.

At least I knew enough to get her a check-up.

Get up. Was the first thing I said to her.

Why? She moaned.

Were going to the doctor. I paused to try and brush off some crumbs only to find them stuck to her. After I decontaminate you.

As I bathed my own 400 pound mother I thought with a fair amount of horror that this may be my life. Growing up with my mom had screwed me up so bad I was incapable of having a healthy relationship and was doomed to look after my whale of a mother until she past and I would retreat to a basement somewhere and watch television every night drunk until I passed out.

As self-centered as I was I put my fears of the future aside to help my mother to the hospital and face the music when the doctor pulled me aside. There were no physical ailments other then the obvious depression, for which he referred her to a specialist for. He also brought up the usual lectures that went along with her weight that mom and I had heard for years and I at least had learned to tune out. He also said something new; 393 lbs was heavy enough that mom was unable to properly care for herself without help.

I dreaded the unavoidable conversation the entire drive home but when we got back and she immediately ordered me to go out and get her a bucket of chicken and an angel food cake I decided to get it over with.

Im going to hire a nurse to spend a few hours a week to help you out with things.

I knew it! I knew it! When I saw the look on your face when you were talking to the doc I knew you were gonna try and take away my independence! She grunted.

A younger me might have melted under my mothers angry tone, hell a younger me would have probably left her sit in that chair as long as she wanted but the me that was a little more street wise had an answer.

When I got here you looked like you had been in that chair for a month doing absolutely nothing, so no, mom, I am not going to try and take any of that away from you. I am just going to have somebody here so you can do that without me having to worry about getting a call that they found you days after you died in that damn chair.

That was the end of the conversation. My mom seemed somehow proud of me after that and in turn her mood changed for the better. In fact she did not flop back into her recliner the rest of my visit. She came outside while I grilled out and I even got her to go shopping at one of the more fashionable plus sized store. She was still a t-shirt sporting, flip-flop wearing hippie but at least now the shirts and sandals were not from the 80s.

We did some whirlwind interviewing of in-home nurses before I left and had a lot of good options. I used the term nurse pretty loosely, I guess, as very little of what the person was hired to do was medical, mostly just checking in on mom a few times a week and some general housecleaning.

I may have been a little bias but I ended up hiring the fattest one; a Samoan woman who was almost as tall as me and twice as wide. She was very attractive but all business so after embarrassing myself with a few clumsy attempts at flirting I left to go home and try to get my life in order like I had helped my mom do.

I should add I fully realize that a better son would have identified her real problem was a blatant eating disorder and tried to resolve that issue, but as part of my warped mind I felt that eating was the one thing that made her happy and I was not about to try and take that away from her.


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## Coop (Apr 16, 2008)

....

The fetishism is disturbing.

Is that even allowed in these stories?


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## Raider X (Apr 28, 2008)

EC,

Assuming that some of this story is true, it amazes me that, well, everyone's a bit dysfunctional whether or not people are willing to cop to it or not. I think sometimes parents don't realize the things they say and do around their young children and the lack of sensitivity they have. Especially if their actions emotionally scars their children.


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## Lardibutts (Apr 29, 2008)

Personally I think this is brilliant stuff - going right to the core of our fetish.
It reads rather like a Johnny Cash song. But only the naieve would assume that _everything _he sang was autobiographical.


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## elroycohen (Apr 30, 2008)

> Originally posted by *Coop*
> The fetishism is disturbing.



I initially felt bad about this. Its certainly not my goal to disturb anyone. After I checked into it however this guy used his next posts to recommend his favorite trans-gender story and then to add to a squashing story, so I felt less bad, seeing as how he seems to have recovered from being disturbed just fine.


> Originally posted by *Raider X*
> Assuming that some of this story is true, it amazes me that, well, everyone's a bit dysfunctional whether or not people are willing to cop to it or not. I think sometimes parents don't realize the things they say and do around their young children and the lack of sensitivity they have. Especially if their actions emotionally scars their children.




I no doubt fueled the fires for this thinking by going into detail about one small aspect of this story that correlates to my life. You do make a very good point, however.



> Originally posted by *Lardibutts*
> It reads rather like a Johnny Cash song. But only the naieve would assume that everything he sang was autobiographical.



That ranks right up there with one of my favorite comments about my writing. Thank you.

ec


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## Raider X (Apr 30, 2008)

Whether the story's partially autobiographical or not, you've brought up things to talk about. Now I can't wait for the rest of the story!


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