# My College Story by Anonymous1111 (~BBB, Eating, MWG )



## Observer (Apr 28, 2008)

_~BBW, Eating, MWG_ &#8211; a college Senior relates the story of her love affair with food

*My College Story
By Anonymous1111
(Courtesy of Fantasy Feeder)​*
*Chapter 1: The Be(lly)ginning*

My story begins with my fourth year at college on the west coast. I won’t get too specific, but I will say that the typical lifestyle in my area isn’t very comfortable for people like me. I’m not huge or anything. I just really love to eat and I don’t see the reason why I should suppress that desire like the rest of the skinny blondes around here. 

I don’t know if suppressing that desire is even possible for me come to think of it. I’ve tried to diet many times in the past few years. It usually ends very badly for me, or I guess… you could say they end well depending on how you look at it. In either case, they end in severe binge eating for a few days, usually putting on more weight than I lost, if I lost any at all. 

Anyway, before college, I was always very fit. I played a sport every season of every year since elementary school. My mother watched every bite of food I took, and I was still getting taller up until freshman year in college. I was always a late bloomer. 

Halfway through last year, my freshman year in the dorms, my growth spurt stopped at a whopping 5’5’’. I also got cut from my school’s soccer team, which meant the end of my sports career. I can’t say my eating had anything directly to do with it, but I’d gained the full freshman 15 by this time, maybe even 20. I certainly wasn’t ready to stop indulging how I’d wanted to for so many years, but hadn’t been able to because of my mother’s strict rules. 

The cafeteria on the campus in my building is deadly for calorie counters. They have five food categories: the “grill”, the Italian counter, the salad bar, the dessert area, and the hot food area. At the “grill”, nothing was actually grilled. It’s all deep fried. They have cheeseburgers, bacon cheeseburgers, hot dogs, fries, onion rings, fried chicken, everything my mother had never let me eat. 

At the Italian counter, the pizza selection is phenomenal. You can ask for any sort of toppings you want, sausage, ham, a large variety of cheeses, vegetables, barbeque chicken, even deep fried shrimp. You can order it deep dish, stuffed crust, or just regular. They also have lasagna, spaghetti, pesto pasta, ravioli, fettuccine Alfredo, anything you can imagine. 

I don’t like to remember the salad bar. It’s not too exciting. That’s where I ate when I was on my diets these past three years.. The vegetables in the cafeteria were absolutely disgusting, always wilted or almost rotten, or that’s what I always told my mother anyway. 

The dessert area is probably my favorite part of the whole cafeteria. Every day there is pastries, donuts, cheesecake, carrot cake, ice cream sundaes, milkshakes, cookies, drumsticks, any sort of sweet thing you could imagine is there at some time during the year. 

Everyday they also have a different special in the hot food area just in case you get tired of the other fattening foods. The specials are usually some sort of barbeque or steak dish with potatoes or potato salad. There is also macaroni and cheese, sushi, Chinese food, and Indian entrées periodically. Fountain sodas, milkshakes, and slurpees are also available every day of the week. 

The part about the whole cafeteria that affected me the most I think was that you can eat as much as you want, just as long as you stay inside the cafeteria while you do it. 

Anyway, I’d never had to have any self restraint with regard to food before. My mother controlled what I ate throughout my life and there was never too much fattening food around, so I had no idea how to diet. In the back of my mind, I knew I’d gain weight when I stuffed that extra piece of cheesecake in my mouth or ordered that extra milkshake every night after dinner, but I went for the short term satisfaction every time. 

The first 20 pounds I’d gained by winter break of freshman year didn’t really bother me too much. Because I’d lost so much muscle mass, my clothes didn’t actually feel that tight. My breasts grew a few sizes bigger. I loved that part of it and attributed it to maturing as a woman, mostly for my mother’s benefit. I started wearing a lot of sports bras because I didn’t have a lot of extra money to go buy new bras and my regular ones were just too tight. My thighs and butt didn’t get bigger necessarily, just flabbier. My stomach, however, had gone from a perfectly flat beach babe washboard to a pronounced mound of jiggling fat, a good sized potbelly. My shirts showed a little more belly after that and my pants rode a little lower and tighter.
Truth be told, I liked it!

*Chapter 2: Winter Break - Mom Hates my Expanding Horizons*

I hardly noticed anything different about my body other than my increase in breast size until I went home for winter break and saw my mother. Her probing eyes found my growing belly and pinched it the second I walked in the front door. 

I remember it like it was yesterday. She ridiculed me in front of the whole family, regretting watching me so closely in high school and wishing she’d taught me some will power. She worked against herself once again, making me feel fat and disgusting and… oddly enough, hungry. Overeating had become a sort of refuge for me at college. I was frequently nervous, stressed, and lonely freshman year, having not made too many friends. 

On campus the cafeteria had come to be my second home. Whenever I was nervous before a big test or anything, I would go stuff my face and forget about whatever was making me nervous for about twenty minutes. It would always make me feel better. Sometimes I’d take my computer and my books to the cafeteria and sit in there for hours, continuously eating and studying. 

Lots of kids do that, but few eat as continuously as I did and few focus mostly on the dessert table. I have a terrible sweet tooth. A trip to the cafeteria was always something to do when I was bored and alone in my dorm room. My roommate was a skinny blonde varsity cheerleader that had plenty of friends and never really stayed in the room. 

There were always people at the caf, even though I didn’t know many of them usually. Most psychiatrists would probably diagnose my use of the cafeteria as some sort of eating disorder, but I think a lot of college students can identify with my feelings. Why do you think the freshman 15 is so common? I just wish my mother could understand that…

When my mother poked my expanding tummy in front of the whole family, I was already prepared. I went went straight to my bedroom and pulled the tub of red vines I had brought from school out of my suitcase and started shoving them in my mouth. I’m not sure if it was out of embarrassment or guilt or both, but it seemed to make me feel better. It was as if I was saying, “Take that, Mom! I’ll eat whatever I want right under your nose!” 

I came to consider her attempts to make me skinny insults, attempts at controlling me, reasons to rebel. I’d make it a point to get caught eating whatever fatty food I could find when my Mom came home from work. I’d make nachos, milkshakes, cookies, and frozen meals and sit on the couch to gorge myself pretty much daily, just to throw it in my mother&#8216;s face… and because it tasted really, really good. 

The 8 days worth of Chanukah dinner parties at friends’ houses and feasts on Christmas Eve and Christmas day at my aunt’s house didn’t help either. At big dinner parties like that, my mother couldn’t watch over me because she was always socializing with the other parents. 

I relished the freedom and gorged incessantly. I can’t remember a single dinner party that winter break that I didn’t feel absolutely sick after. There were always plates and plates of appetizers, a buffet style dinner, and of course, loads of extra dessert. I’d usually spend the last half hour of the dinner party in an empty room of the house laying on my side on a bed or sofa, rubbing my belly and burping, trying to digest enough to interact comfortably with the rest of the guests. 

It’d get to the point where standing up made me sweat because of how uncomfortably full my growing belly was. Various comments about my increasing weight and gluttonous eating habits obviously circulated around the dinner parties. I, of course, heard a lot of them although nobody ever said it to my face… except for my mother. 

Hearing comments of that sort just made me eat more. They also made me wear baggier clothes. I’d wear chunky sweaters and billowing shirts to hide my growing midsection. This gave my mother the idea that I was ashamed of my weight gain and she toned down her criticism a little bit. This didn’t curb my eating though. 

Eating at those parties replaced the awkward social interactions with all the kids from high school that I’d been forced to be friends with since kindergarten because my mother was friends with their parents. I had always been the least popular child at the parties and had always felt uncomfortable and self-conscious at the gatherings. I kept myself busy by continuously eating and standing by the buffet tables, only leaving time for brief encounters with the other kids.

*Chapter 3: Finally Back to School &#8211; but never to the gym again!*

By the time I got back to college from Winter Break, I’d gained another ten pounds in only 3 weeks. Everybody at school had gained a little weight over break though so nobody really said anything. We’d all been used to eating the greasy dining hall food and tasty home cooked meals were guaranteed to put a few extra pounds on even the skinny blondes. 

My roommates and I decided that we should all get back in shape after we got back from break, so we went to the gym. While getting ready to go, I pulled on the little shorts I used to wear to the gym before the college 15... plus another 20. They were red “booty shorts” that said AHS soccer on the butt. The ten extra holiday pounds didn’t help me get into my workout shorts at all. Most of the winter break weight had gone straight to my ass and thighs, with a little resting around my belly button. 

I pulled on the red shorts, having to put in a little more effort than usual to get them over my plump hip region. I remember them feeling a little snug, but being amazed at the image I saw in the mirror. From the front, the shorts sat above my flabby thighs. My inner thighs touched before my shorts came between them. They looked like some sort of strange bathing suit bottom. The back was even more appalling. The C’s in soccer and the H in AHS were stretched ridiculously sideways and the seam down the middle looked like if I bent over, it would rip. The cloth barely covered the bottom of my growing butt. 

I was in a little bit of denial and I didn’t really have any more athletic shorts cute enough to wear to the school gym, so I took off the red shorts, struggled into some black spandex and then put the booty shorts back on. The spandex looked like it was choking my thighs. It made my ass and upper thighs look smaller, but fat bulged out at the bottom and it made my stomach much more pronounced, overflowing out of the tight waistband. 

That was the first time I really noticed my muffin top. I threw on a white wife beater and was getting ready to head out the door, but I realized that my shirt kept riding up my pot belly. I attributed this to the fact that it was new and it shrunk in the dryer. That was a common excuse for me because I hadn’t done my own laundry in high school and didn’t really know how, so I attributed most of my clothes “shrinking” to the dryer. I changed into a baggier white T-shirt that only showed a tiny bit of my jiggly tummy. I took one more look in the mirror and decided that I looked fine, definitely not like I’d gained 30 pounds. I mean, the red shorts still fit fine, 30 pounds really isn’t that much, right?

My friends gave my outfit a few funny looks, but I was oblivious and they didn’t say anything about it. We walked the half mile to the gym and by the time we got there, I was already sweating. My usual routine was running a slow mile on the treadmill, getting off to stretch, and then running a fast mile. I’d usually do some light lifting and heavy ab work after that, but this time was very different. I got on the treadmill and entered my usual speed, but it felt a lot faster than ever before. I was struggling to keep up with my slow mile pace and had to bring it down a few notches. 

My T-shirt wouldn’t cover my bouncing belly when I ran and my spandex was riding higher and higher on my bulky thighs the longer I ran. Everything was jiggling and bouncing like I’d never felt before. I loved the bouncing sensation, but I felt self-conscious about all the new movement on my behind and in my exposed gut. 

I went about a quarter of a mile before I was too winded to keep going. I stopped the treadmill, practically drenched in sweat, and decided to stretch and then start up again at a really slow pace so I wouldn’t look too pathetic. As I bent over to touch my toes, I heard a loud ripping sound and felt my red shorts get looser. I immediately sprinted to the bathroom and hid in a stall for about ten minutes before deciding to take off the ripped red shorts and walk home as inconspicuously as possible in my spandex. 

Lots of girls just wore spandex to the gym. Granted they were usually thin volleyball players, but I wasn’t too far off I didn’t think. I put my hair down and my sunglasses on so people wouldn’t recognize me as the girl that just split her pants. Before going to my dorm room, I spent about a half hour in the cafeteria, eating away my sorrows. 

Spandex is a horrible thing to wear when you really want to eat. I ate a few slices of stuffed crust pepperoni pizza, a large curly fries, a chocolate milkshake, and two pieces of cheesecake. The tightness of the spandex made me feel a little sick, just because of the intense pressure on my underbelly, not to mention I was a little self-conscious about wearing it. By the time I left the caf, my shirt showed all the way to my belly button and I looked like I might be pregnant. 

It was then I think that I first realized that I had a problem, an addiction. I knew that that stuffed full feeling was my first resort for coping with any sort of negative feelings and I felt okay with the idea. I just loved that feeling of being stuffed to the brim. It was a defiant rebellion to the anorexic society of today and I considered myself a rebel. I was also motivated by the wonderful taste of all the fattening foods available at the cafeteria and the satisfaction I felt at eating whatever I wanted. 

I rationalized myself into being comfortable with this. At least it wasn’t alcohol or drugs and at least it didn’t compromise my ability to function at school and in social situations. 

By the time my roommates got back from the gym, I’d decided that I was never going again. I never wanted to relive that experience, or even think about it again.

*Chapter 4: Loving the Cafeteria*

My body really started changing after that. I was having serious self esteem issues with all the changes that were happening, but my negative feelings about my blossoming body just made me spend more time in the cafeteria. 

Some weeks were worse than others, but I was gaining at least a few pounds every week and my eating capacity was increasing exponentially. It took more and more to fill me up, but I would go to any lengths to get that full feeling. My stomach seemed to be learning how to expand to fit more fattening food, making me look unquestionably pregnant after many of my cafeteria visits. 

I remember one particular visit from that time period very well. It was during finals week of winter quarter. Obviously, finals week is a very stressful time and it requires a lot of comfort food. It was Wednesday of finals week and I’d spent most of the week in the cafeteria. I usually went to eat in sweatpants and baggy T-shirts because I was still very ashamed of my huge appetite and didn&#8216;t like other people seeing my gut after I stuffed myself, but this time I had gone in jeans and a wife beater because I’d just come from a very stressful final exam. 

I was still wearing the same jeans as I had fall quarter, but they looked very different on me than they had then. They were extremely tight, but they were stretch jeans, so they accommodated my increasing girth in the lower half of my body relatively easily. They made the fat on my lower back bulge over the top of them and they rode low beneath my burgeoning paunch. My expanding love handles were also very visible above the tight waistband. 

They honestly looked completely ridiculous, looking back on it, but I really didn&#8216;t have the money to buy a bunch of new clothes every month. It was a losing battle to try to keep up with my rapidly increasing weight with fitting clothes so I just wore my clothes until they gave out and then switched to sweats. The white wife beater was an extra long one that covered my bouncy new belly, but it was still pretty tight and a little see through, as all wife beaters are. 

The slight imprint of my deepening belly button and my now D cup breasts struggling to get out of my C cup bra were completely visible. Anyway, I thought that I’d just failed my calculus final and I couldn’t wait long enough to take the time to go back to my room to slip into some serious eating clothes. I thought my wife beater was long enough to cover my stomach even after I ate my fill from the dessert area, so I chowed down with abandon. 

I don’t even remember how much I ate, but I know it was a lot. I hit every area of the cafeteria except the salad bar once without any problems. I was full, but I knew I had ample room left in my stomach, maybe not in my shirt though. My extra long wife beater was riding up embarrassingly, showing the pink imprints on my bulging belly from sitting in my tight jeans while the food going down my throat pressed the skin on my flabby underbelly harder and harder against the waistband of my jeans. 

There weren’t too many people in the cafeteria because everyone was out taking their finals, so I just let it all hang out. I was too stressed about school to care about what my peers thought about my body. The wife beater was still a good inch and a half below my belly button. I hardly felt uncovered at all, so I decided to take a few more trips to the buffet. I got a plate full of fries from the grill, a milkshake, and went back for seconds to the dessert table like I did every time I ate. I absolutely love dipping my fries in a chocolate milkshake; the combination of sweet and salty is my weakness. 
When I sat down, I could feel the food in my belly press against my pants forcibly. I stood up again, pulling my jeans down a little farther in the front to put less pressure on my full gut. I pulled the plate I’d gotten from the dessert table to me and dug in, not realizing that a few girls I’d met once or twice before were sitting at a table next to mine. 

I polished off two pieces of cheesecake and a danish pretty easily, forgetting that I had all those fries and the milkshake left. I leaned back in my seat, absentmindedly sliding a sticky hand under my beater and caressing my taut belly skin. I was very full, but when my eyes fell on the fries and milkshake, I just couldn’t resist. I could no longer sit forward because of the pressure my pants put on the bottom of my full belly. 

I sat back, hand still rubbing my gut, leisurely taking fries one by one and dipping them in my milkshake. After the fries were gone, I sat sipping my milkshake and burping under my breath for about ten minutes before I set the empty cup down and tried to stand up. Not anticipating the weight of my sagging paunch, I got about halfway up before my legs gave out and I plopped heavily back in my chair. 

Along with the slap of my widening rump on the plastic seat and the sloshing sounds of the milkshake and pounds of food in my full belly, I heard an odd popping noise and then a loud, zippp! The button on my jeans had finally given out under the pressure of my heavy midsection. The zipper had unzipped fully once the button popped off and my swollen gut had surged out onto my lap. 

I sighed with relief and relished my belly’s newfound freedom for a moment before hearing the snickering from the nearby table of girls. I blushed with embarrassment and threw a napkin over my stomach and hoped they were only laughing at my failed attempt at standing. My beater was now a good inch above my belly button and there was no hope of getting it to cover my pink belly, let alone my undone pants. 

I contemplated my options: staying in the cafeteria until I digested enough for my shirt to cover my stomach and zipper again, just walk back to my room with my pants undone and my belly hanging out, or tie the front of my pants together with a napkin so that they didn’t fall down and walk back holding my notebook in front of my open zipper. I decided on the third option and tied a napkin to the two front belt loops on my tired jeans, held one hand over a notebook, pressing it into my inflated belly, and used the other hand to hoist my heavy upper body out of the chair. 

I waddled as fast as I could, which was actually very slowly, out of the cafeteria, right past the giggling table of skinny girls in athletic clothing, hiccupping and burping embarrassingly as I passed. When I got home, I immediately stripped out of my tight clothing and took a long nap to forget about the embarrassing day, waking up later with my hands cupped on my squishy belly and a renewed feeling of hunger deep in my expanded gut.


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## Observer (Apr 28, 2008)

*Chapter 5: Cheers to new friends - Sarah and Jenny introduce me to beer.*

By spring break, I had outgrown all my jeans because most of the fat on my body went straight to my ass, thighs, and hips. The elastics on all my underwear had worn out and as you could guess, I had very few pairs of underwear that wouldn’t be classified as thongs. I decided not to go home for Spring break, trying to put off seeing my mother as long as possible. I’d probably gained another 15 pounds, well probably 20 after finals week, during winter quarter. 

I went to Rosarito, Mexico with a few girls in my dorm for a few days that spring break. It was very odd that they invited me on the trip because I really didn’t know them too well, but I quickly realized the common theme. We were the fat girls of the dorm, comfortable around each other because we were all overweight and could compete with each other. 

The other two girls had come to college chubby and had both gained quite a bit of weight as well, but didn’t spend nearly as much time in the cafeteria as I did, which I didn’t quite understand. That spring break I made a discovery that ended up expanding my waistline considerably over the next year… beer. I had never been a big drinker, but I wasn’t opposed to it. My circles of friends had just never been too into alcohol, but these girls drank beer like it was water… or milkshakes. 

We would order huge meals of tacos, enchiladas, guacamole, salsa, flan, horchata, any delicious Mexican concoction you could think up, and always ordered a few pitchers of beer with it. The other two had different weight distributions than I did. They both had big gluttonous bellies as opposed to my pear shaped figure. That should have given me a clue as to the effects of beer on the female body. 

I’m sure many of you are familiar with the concept of a “beer belly.” Lots of people think that a beer belly is just water retention caused by a lot of beer, but others say that drinking beer makes your belly the easiest place to deposit fat from food and beer. I am a prime example of the second hypothesis. When my belly was empty like it was in the morning before I went to breakfast, it looked surprisingly flat. It was definitely not thin or muscular, but it wasn’t huge like my hips and ass were. That spring break though, the effects of the beer showed up immediately. All the fattening Mexican food and beer calories seemed to go straight to my belly. 

I started to hang out with the girls, Sarah and Jenny, more and more. One of our favorite pastimes was buying two forties each, getting three bags full of fries from the cafeteria, and renting a movie. I never had to worry about how pregnant I looked or how many buttons I popped or how tight my clothes were in front of them because they were having the same problems. 

It was good for my social life, but very bad for my waistline. We’d always eat together in the cafeteria and I would completely stuff myself every time just because I knew that they wouldn’t think I was disgusting and that they would understand wanting that packed full feeling in my gut. With all this newfound confidence and beer, soon my belly was rivaling my ass. I was becoming obese. 

By the end of first week of Spring quarter, I had gained another 15 pounds in just two weeks. My new beer calorie intake seemed to be a very fattening one. Almost all of the weight went straight to my growing beer gut, making my biggest shirts struggle to contain the bottom of it. Sarah and Jenny walked around with their guts hanging out all the time. I never knew how they did it. They had so much confidence with such grossly fat bodies. I admired them greatly and they helped me a lot with my own self image. 

As they grew out of their jeans and fashionable plus size shirts, they started handing them down to me. They definitely ate fatty foods and drank a lot, but neither of them had the same addiction to stuffing myself that I did. As a result, I was approaching their weights very rapidly. Soon their hand me downs were too small and I had no clothes to wear anymore. I had a dilemma… get a job to buy new clothes or deal with people staring at me all the time.

Halfway through Spring quarter after a particularly fattening week, I discovered my first stretch mark. Sarah and Jenny had plenty of stretch marks on the bottoms of their hanging beer guts, but my soft pink skin was still unmarked until that day. The stretch mark appeared on my left love handle and was hardly noticeable, but I absolutely freaked out when I found it. 

I researched prevention methods for stretch marks relentlessly until I settled on the lotion method. I ordered some lotion off the Internet normally used by pregnant women and started rubbing it all over my big belly after every trip to the cafeteria. My belly rubs felt amazing and I still use the method to this day. 

Feeling the food slosh around in my full belly as I knead my soft fat and caress the crevices between my rolls is extremely erotic for me now and is something I doubt I will ever stop. Sometimes I would feel like I needed a belly rub so badly that I could hardly wait to get back to my room. I would hurry in, lock the door, undo my pants if they hadn’t already been undone in the cafeteria, roll up my shirt, and rub so fast that I’d get sweaty and out of breath. This is when I really started to discover my fetish. I had gained over 60 lbs since the school year started and I was starting to accept that I’d never convert my new 190 lb figure into the fit 135 lb athlete’s body of my high school days… I needed to find a man that would love my fat.

*Chapter 6 Old Clothes=New Job*

A week or two after finding my very first stretch mark and accepting my big new body, I woke up to the smells of bacon wafting through my dorm window from the cafeteria a few floors below. My stomach grumbled loudly as my mouth watered and I slowly opened my eyes to see the neon red numbers of my alarm clock reading 8:08 am. 

I didn’t know why I was so famished this morning because I'd eaten a rather large midnight snack the night before when I was studying, but my stomach felt like it was about to eat itself if I didn’t get something in there soon. After I hoisted myself out of my tiny twin bed, I strolled over to my closet to pull out my only pair of jeans that still fit. 

I usually wore stretch leggings, but I'd been noticing lately that they were becoming a little transparent on my rump because of how much they were forced to stretch. I had always hated jeans. They are just so unforgiving. That morning I started putting on my clothes as usual, but when I tried to button my pants, I ran into some difficulty. 

I knew this day would come like it had so many times before, but I had no idea it was coming so soon for this particular pair of pants. I must have gained at least ten pounds since the last time I'd put them on, which couldn't have been more than two weeks before. I simply could not get them to button no matter how hard I tried. Maybe I was just bloated from all the greasy food I'd shoveled down the night before? I'd eaten a huge bucket of popcorn chicken from KFC, four or five buttery biscuits, and a large cole slaw, but I was starving at the moment. In the back of my guilty conscience, I knew that my belly was nowhere near full enough to be bloated. 

The last straw came when I was laying on my bed on my back, sucking in my soft stomach as much as I could, pushing all my belly fat up with one hand and trying to pull the button toward its hole with the other. I pulled and pulled until my whole belly was damp with sweat, heaving up and down as I tried to recover my breath. I finally gave up and decided there was no way the pants were going to button. Although I was starting to accept the fact that I was fat and I wasn't going to be skinny any time soon, I was still pretty ashamed of my lack of will power when it came to eating. I still got really embarrassed when people noticed that I’d grown, which was kind of a lot lately.

I felt a pang of guilt (or was it hunger?) deep in my belly as I started to evaluate my options. I couldn't wear my leggings again. They were just obscene at that point and I didn't have any bigger pants... I could get the zipper on my jeans about halfway up, but I didn't know if I had a shirt long enough to cover my undone trousers. I rummaged frantically through my dresser, getting hungrier and hungrier as I searched. Most of the shirts I owned hardly covered my belly button, let alone even reached the waistband of my pants. Finally I found an old soccer T-shirt I used to wear to bed and tried it on. It was pretty tight around my midsection and breasts, but it was definitely long enough to cover my distressed fly. 

The next step was finding a way to keep that zipper zipped halfway and keep my pants from falling down... I found a sturdy hair tie and cut it open, tying one end through the button hole and looping the other around the button. It worked wonderfully! Jeans actually weren't too constricting this way. It wasn't half bad!

I quickly grabbed my purse and headed out the door. It was official... I needed a job. I couldn't ask my mother for money to buy new clothes, I was fast approaching Sarah and Jenny's girth which meant no more hand-me-downs, and I literally didn't have a single pair of pants to wear. So I went job-hunting that day... after a BIG breakfast in the cafeteria and a nice belly rub of course 

*Chapter 7 - The new job*

Long story short, I found a job! My search hadn't taken me very long and the job advertisement sounded perfect. It said that there was a uniform provided... which I definitely needed because I didn't have any clothing that fit well enough to be work-appropriate, and it also said you could do your homework on the job. I would basically be answering phones in an on campus study lounge and selling pencils and notebooks etc. The lounge was right near my dorm room and I knew for a fact that this job would be cake... mmm cake.

The application could be completed online and the job description said that applicants would work one shift and either be hired or turned down. Before my first shift, I nervously shoveled down a hearty lunch in the cafeteria and went to the bathroom to make sure my undone pants weren't visible below my tight shirt... which seemed to be growing tighter and tighter by the day. 

The shirt covered all the exposed flesh and you couldn't tell my pants were being held on with a flimsy hair tie, but I did look rather ridiculous. The pants and the shirt were ridiculously tight and my flabby lovehandles bulged over the waistband of my stretching jeans and the fat rolls developing on my back struggled over and under my tight sports bra. My regular bras had all split or were just too uncomfortable to get on over my expanding breasts and girth. 

When I showed up at the study lounge, I could smell donuts and there was nobody to be found. I walked behind the desk and sat down, thinking that maybe I was being tested. There was an open box of donuts sitting behind the counter with a note on it that said "Employees Only." Although I wasn't yet an employee, I assumed that meant me. I plopped down in the comfy office chair and grabbed a jelly donut. I was pretty full, but as you know, my will power when it comes to sweets is quite pathetic. The door behind the desk suddenly swung open and a thin 40 year old man walked out. I was mortified and immediately put down the pastry and wiped my hands on my jeans. 

He looked me up and down, seeming to focus for an extra second on my rotund midsection, making me put my hand on my soft underbelly to make sure my open fly wasn't visible. He smiled warmly at me and said,"Oh I'm glad you like the snacks! I'm Chuck, technically your boss, but I don't like people to think of me like that. I better just tell you now... Congratulations you're hired!" 

I was taken aback, but very happy. He spent a few minutes explaining that everything we sold there and everything in the back room and at the desk was free for me. There was a fridge in the back and a microwave and he'd leave snacks in there most days that I could help myself to. One requirement was that food didn't sit around for too long because he didn't like wasting it and having it go bad. So as a rule, every closing shift, whoever was working would either need to eat the rest of the food or take it all home. I thought this was a little strange, but I of course didn't mind at all. How could I turn down free food?

As time went on, I realized that Chuck was definitely an FA. All the employees were gaining weight pretty quickly from all the fattening snacks he left around. He would leave dozens of donuts, all sorts of candy, soda (never diet), twinkies, hohos, brownies, cheesecake, anything you could imagine that was sweet and fatty. I would often get so full that I fell asleep behind the desk and he didn't care at all. In fact, I think he loved seeing me snoring in my chair, distended belly poking out of my shrinking shirts and hands cupped under it, relishing the stuffed feeling and dreaming about more sweet treats. 

I grew out of my uniform so quickly that I hardly had time to weigh myself  In fact, since I got that job, I think I've grown out of four or five uniforms. Although my relationship had never turned sexual with Chuck mainly because of our age difference, he keeps me full at all times. I work the closing shift three times a week and rarely take any food home. I'm now 270 lbs and still working at the study lounge. Most of the other employees have quit because they've just gotten too flabby for their liking, but I couldn't bare to leave all that wonderful food and relaxing time to stuff myself without feeling shame. Chuck sometimes gives me belly rubs when I've overeaten far too much and he doesn't mind at all when I unbutton my tightening pants to let my belly free. 

The End! 
I hope you liked it


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## mollycoddles (Apr 28, 2008)

I liked this one a lot! I'm only sorry that it ended so suddenly, it felt like it was going to get even more interesting. I love these self-actualization sort of stories ^__^

Also, very good descriptions of the young lady's growing body. That's always a plus!


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## The Id (Apr 28, 2008)

Really enjoyed this one. Honestly, early on, it sounded like my university and I thought to myself, "Now why didn't I ever spend more time in the dining hall searching out a girl like this?" The story felt fresh and original, until part 7 where it seemed to fall into the "your boss is an FA" device, which I've never been too huge a fan of, unless the rest of the story is so stellar that it makes up for it. I thought the examination of psychology here (being lonely, being stressed, wanting to rebel all as simultaneous reasons that spur the WG process) was really really good and found the story highly realistic. Well done.


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## zonker (May 20, 2008)

I like this one too for the same reasons expressed. I hope she writes some more....


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## Still a Skye fan (May 27, 2008)

Nicely done tale. I would've ended it differently (It seemed to wrap up too quickly) but otherwise it was very enjoyable.


Dennis


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