Fiji
Well-Known Member
Memorial Day
by Fiji
by Fiji
I wake abruptly from a deep sleep, feeling a vague sense of disappointment that my pleasant dream has been cut short yet unable to quite remember what had made it so pleasant. Striving mightily to remember, I sense I am sporting a full-on erection and reach under my substantial belly just to confirm. Feeling the evidence firsthand, I mutter to myself, "yep, that must have been some dream!"
As the cobwebs begin to dissipate, the image is recreated in my mind of a larger me ... a much larger me ... if that is even possible. That must have been it! Then another image, this time of my new bride Kate, fondling my belly ... only it is a belly that feels at least a couple of hundred pounds heavier than my current one, so heavy I can barely move. And Kate commending me about how "perfect" I am at that weight and encouraging me to become "even more perfect." As the dream slowly begins to come back to me, I feel my erection intensify even more ... that is until I roll over, not without some difficulty, and take a look at the digital clock on the nightstand.
It reads 8:17 and I mutter, "shit," knowing that I should have been up at least an hour ago to get ready for work. But as I struggle to get up, a welcome wave of serenity washes over me, as I realize it is Memorial Day -- no work today! My mind then wanders back to that erection raging deep underneath all my fat, that is until my sense of smell kicks in and I realize that Kate must be cooking up something great in the kitchen! She is an amazing cook and our comfortable home in the Buckhead section of Atlanta is always awash in the delectable aromas of Southern home cooking, something I'd never really known until I moved in with her eight months ago, leaving behind my lifetime home in the Washington suburbs and a lot of bad memories.
Completely naked, as that is the way I sleep now, it being so much more comfortable, I shuffle over to the master bath, my belly wobbling crazily with each step. Before relieving myself, however, I take a detour to the scale, a new bariatric model that Kate gave me as a wedding present, and discover that I've gained a few pounds since last week. That has been the consistent trend since I moved in with Kate. Already meeting the definition of morbid obesity when I moved in, I've now put on another 120 pounds, all testament to Kate's incredible cooking and her encouragement of me, in that incredibly sexy high-brow Southern accent of hers, to "finish it all," not that I really need the encouragement as my appetite just seems to be endless now ...
Pulling on a pair of underwear and an old, too-tight t-shirt that doesn't begin to cover the big bottom roll of my double belly, I exit the bedroom and let my nose lead me toward the tantalizing aromas emanating from the kitchen. The house, which Kate had originally shared with her late first husband, is all on one level, a huge plus for big fatty like me, and it takes me less than thirty seconds to reach the kitchen. I spy Kate at the sink, her back to me, and it is a truly spectacular sight. No lightweight herself, she is naked except for an apron tied in the back, and her amazing derriere beckons me toward her, like a siren's song luring a sailor to the rocks.
Moving as stealthily as I can, I am tempted to snag a piece of bacon, or six, from the couple of dozen sitting on the granite counter, but for once I exhibit some self-control around food and instead proceed directly to that delectable cellulite-dimpled derriere of Kate's. As I get within reach of my inviting target, I give one of her massive orbs a playful slap, then the other, watching them sway gracefully from side-to-side. Of course, that startles Kate so much that she drops the serving dish that she is washing in the sink, causing it to break. Pivoting around, she gives me a look of extreme disdain, then gives my imposing lower belly a big slap with her rubber gloved hand. Finally a big smile comes to her face, then a fit of laughter, as she sees all that jiggling of fat that results from her little slap. I ask, "am I forgiven?" And she responds, "how could I be mad at my big fat sexy husband?"
"Are you hungry?," she asks.
"Have you ever known me NOT to be hungry?"
Grasping my bottom roll with both hands, she responds, "the evidence would suggest otherwise counselor!" I laugh and say, "the defense will stipulate to that fact if the prosecution will feed me some breakfast."
"You'll have to wait for me to finish everything, but I've got a coffee cake sitting on the table and you can start on that ... just leave some for me, OK?"
"Sure babe."
"I mean it," she says, "don't eat all the coffee cake!"
"Would I do that?"
"Yes you would -- no food is safe around you!"
18 Months Earlier
Glenda, my wife of several years, is away for the afternoon, as she seems to be a lot nowadays. So much so that it really makes me wonder sometimes just what she is doing. Maybe she's having a torrid affair, I think momentarily, then dismiss the idea with a little laugh ... not Glenda!
But today it gives me some private time to engage in my recently acquired guilty pleasure of Fantasy Feeder. After years of occasionally surfing the site, my acquisition of a new i-Pad with a built-in camera finally convinced me it was time to dive in a bit deeper and boy have I dove in. Not only have I posted a few pics of my big 245-pound double belly, but also several weightgain fiction stories to boot.
I wasn't sure what to expect when I started, particularly whether my belly would stack up with some of the other huge male bellies I had seen on Fantasy Feeder. Or whether my stories would even attract any readers. Quite to my surprise, the pics received a lot of likes and even generated some fan mail. And the stories really took off, getting thousands of views in seemingly no time at all. And more likes and comments and encouragement to write more.
As I open up my iPad to see what's new, I find a message from a fan in Atlanta and look up her profile to find she is about the same age as me, just a couple of years younger, and perhaps just a little shy as her profile information is kind of skimpy and she has posted no pics of herself. Turns out she really likes my newest story as my female character is physically and temperamentally a lot like her -- "brunette (my favorite) with great eyes and a cute little pug nose and pudgy dimpled cheeks ... and a wonderful smile and a killer laugh." My story revolves around a divorced fat man of 325 pounds who goes to Vegas and meets the woman of his dreams, a pear-shaped 440-pound beauty. They make a quick and very torrid connection and the rest is history, they live happily ever after.
I quickly type out a response to her message, thanking her for liking my story and maybe engaging in a little extra banter intended to find out a little more about her. Seemingly seconds later she responds to my response, indicating that my story is perfect, "really stirring her fantasies," except that in her mind she would be the 325 pounder and the man would be the 440 pounder, not the other way around. Seems she REALLY likes super fat men and being kind of turned on by that idea, I quickly bang out another response. An hour, and ten more back and forth exchanges, later I feel like I really know this woman and am pretty intrigued. I let her know I'm happily married, and she lets me know she is a widow and bemoans the fact that all the nice guys (presumably me included) seem to be married or gay! I assure her that someone as witty and smart as her will find the right guy.
But in the back of my mind, I muse about what might be if I wasn't married and could meet this seemingly great woman in person. Then I snap back to reality and tell myself it can't possibly happen ... but the thought still creeps back into my mind, "what if?"
