Both, ~~WG, Erotica, Eating - A man who develops a love of overeating meets a like-minded woman.
It had been a few months and it was starting to show. I had been going out to lunch alone. Eating. Really, really eating. And then it got interesting.
It started innocently enough. One day last fall, I had skipped breakfast, so I was starving. I went out to the corner for a quick slice of pizza. Strains of “Happy Birthday” came from the kitchen as I left. I had the slice, went back to the counter for a second, and then a third before I knew what hit me. I still felt hungry, so I stopped next door for a donut and a coffee to take back to my desk. When I got back, someone had realized I missed the celebration and left about a quarter of the thickly-iced birthday cake on my desk. I popped open my coffee, and ate the cake and the donut. Happy hour with colleagues led to beer, wings and another four slices of pizza. Later, I made a call to the diner for a gyro, fries, a shake and a baklava to tuck me in for the night. Burp. Groan. Rub. Stretched and swollen…but sated?
The next morning I was starving. I had a granola bar at home, to no effect, so I stopped for a coffee and two chocolate croissants for the drive. Arriving at the office, my nose told me someone was toasting a bagel, so I went to the kitchen and fixed myself one with butter, chatting with a colleague, only to find that as our conversation ended, so had my bagel, so I grabbed another two from the bag on the counter and headed to my desk. I went to a meeting at ten: donuts; two French crullers and a jelly. A client meeting for lunch: a beer battered shrimp appetizer and an 18 oz New York strip. Arriving back at the office, I find lunch had been brought in for other clients, and a platter of sandwiches remained in the kitchen—I grabbed two halves of roast beef and swiss, some chips (2 bags) and a twenty ounce coke and went back to my office to prepare some paper work. Five o’clock, a drink and a nosh, back home again for a diner-delivered dinner of a gyro, double fries and a shake. While the items and the circumstance varied a bit, a daily pattern established itself.
After about three months, I had jumped from 203 to 258, with about half of that in the last month, possibly because of all the Halloween candy around the office. Needless to say, I felt, and looked, plush. My appetite was maddening—I found that when casual encounters with food in the course of my day didn’t present themselves, I was seeking them out: staying topped off had become an obsession, and my intake was on a constant upswing.
The week of that last weigh-in, after several breakfasts throughout the morning, I hit the pizza early, around a quarter to eleven. In the near empty pizzeria waiting for the first pie to come out, I bumped into a very attractive woman waiting on a pie. Stunning: 5’7”, blonde, blue eyes, mouth like a bow, long limbed, curvy in a tight dress. I smiled, took my three slices, double order of garlic knots and large coke, and sat down where I could see the counter. From this vantage, I could see a little roll that formed at her hip when she shifted her weight, and a little bit of a bulge beneath her bra through her tight, white dress. As she turned with her pizza, I looked away not to be caught staring at her perfect round bottom.
“Mind if I join you?” I looked up to see the blonde standing before me, pizza balanced on one hand, left hand on her hip, “I want a slice before I head back to my office”. I nodded her to the chair opposite me with my mouthful of much of my second slice.
“Thanks. I’m starving,” she said, popping open the lid of the pie and rubbing her belly with the other hand “I can’t seem to make it to noon before my stomach tells me it’s lunchtime, and lately, breakfast is barely finished when that happens—it’s like I’ve a tapeworm or something! I’d think it was the case if my clothes weren’t getting so tight—it took me forever to get this thing zipped this morning” she said in one breath while, all in one motion, gracefully sitting in her tight skirt and grabbing a slice “listen to me—telling you about how fat my gorging is making me without even telling you my name—I’m Christine” she said between bites, of which it took about four before she was done with the slice and on to her second “and look at me” she said in a moment of realization “I’m onto my second slice , you must think me a crazy pig.”
I demurred—“crazy maybe, likeably so, but hardly fat and with an intriguingly similar dilemma. I’m Bob, pleased to meet you Christine.”
“Similar dilemma? Have you been bingeing too?”
“No,” I said “bingeing would mean that there was an occasional break in the action. My appetite opened up about three months, fifty pounds and several inches on my waist ago, and I don’t know why. ”
“Fifty pounds? Really? I thought I’d seen you before a few months ago, maybe around Labor Day, but you were thinner then—well, aren’t you just trussed up plump in time for Thanksgiving! For me, it’s been about a month since the chasm opened, and a seventeen pound net as of this morning. But I was skinny when it all started- only about 113, and like I said, I don’t know why or how, but I like it so far, and I say, if it feels good, don’t stop till you get enough” and with that she patted her tummy and moved to her third slice.
I was on auto-pilot, having mowed through my three slices and my garlic knots, and when Christine saw my empty plate, she nudged the box of her pie and nodded to me “help yourself, Bob—Charlie,” she shouted to the counterman over her shoulder “in about an hour, put in another pie for me, a Sicilian this time, and send it up” she turned back to me “after our little snack here, would you join me for lunch?” With that we both reached for our fourth slices, and our hands brushed as we pulled them from the box.
“What did you have in mind?”
“We could go back to my office and order in— it would be so much fun, I’m a freelance designer, and I rent the space as a studio, but I rarely get visitors and the days can be so boring! There’s a great Chinese place in my building, we can order and they’ll have it ready and on the way by the time we get our coats off upstairs. We can discuss or “similar dilemma” over fried dumplings and moo shu pork.” Fifth slices.
Holy cow-here I am, gorging myself silly when the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met walks in, tells me that she is just seventeen pounds into fulfilling a long-held fantasy, and invites me up to her private office for a second lunch and presumably a rather large afternoon snack, to discuss the two of us getting fatter! “Sure, that sounds fun” I replied, the pressure of my waistband now having ample competition from my fly. Luckily I had about three minutes to gather myself while we each had one of the last two slices.
We moved upstairs to her office after ordering enough Chinese food for the population of a small village. Sure enough, the deliveryman was right behind us, who I paid and sent on his way. We spread it out on a large worktable, sharpened our chopsticks, and dove in. The food was delectable— spicy, sweet, tangy, crispy, pungent, savory-we joked, laughed, fed each other, and before I knew it, the two shopping bags of food were gone, and the buzzer rang.
“That must be the Sicilian” she said, jumping up, her dress hiking up to accommodate her stuffed belly, clearly larger than I’d noticed earlier in the pizzeria, giving me a better view of delicious thighs that, while yet to touch one another, showed a subtle softness over their long length.
“I can barely breathe in this- come here and help me” she said, putting down the pizza and turning while reaching over her shoulder for the zipper, arching her back and thrusting her breasts and belly out into sumptuous space. I heaved myself from my seat to obey.
She shimmied out of her dress—all perfection beneath, in a bikini bra and a pair of boy-shorts panties, with a gravid arch to her lower belly that pushed the panties down. She turned again to face me, stepping closer with a devilish look in her eye “now that you’re my partner in crime, let’s see what we’re working with”.
She reached under my belly, undid my belt and the hook on my pants, and began unbuttoning my shirt “50 pounds, hmmn— that’s a good start,” as she squeezed my belly with both hands and then ran them front to back across the roll to my burgeoning love handles and lifting my entire belly with her forearms “but you didn’t start out skinny, did you, and you’ve still PLENTY of room in there right now! C’mon now, dig in!”
I was completely flustered: my pants around my ankles, a beautiful woman squeezing the new flab on my overly sensitive mid-section; it was barely 1PM, and I’d eaten enough for two days at my current bingeing level already, and this sweet siren was demanding more. Who was I to disagree?
“I need to call my office”. I dialed the receptionist at my office made a lame excuse about something I ate at lunch and needing to be out the rest of the day. She informed me I’d miss so-and-so’s birthday cake. “Save me some”, I said, “I’m sure I’ll want it in the morning”. I hung up, and we proceeded to devour the Sicilian pie, thick crusted and oozing double cheese, seven slices for me and five for Christine, who at this point was seated on what was left of my lap.
“I’m pretty sure we found each other in that pizzeria for a reason,” she said, as she fed me my seventh slice. “We both reached a fork in the road, so to speak, and now, for the time being at least, we owe it to kismet to take the journey together. Whadaya say—let’s see how we do over the next three months together, and then—who knows?”
“To the future,” I said, toasting with my last crust of pizza.
“Okay then, let’s remember this moment-touch me, look at me, remember what I feel like now, burn into your memory where I was at the start so you never forget it when we’ve gotten wherever we end up” she took my hands, placed one on her breast and the other on her thigh; she put one of her hands in my crotch, and the other on my left love handle, and started to rub both. I started exploring—each swell, each little fold, each softness, and each bony protrusion that yet remained on her still relatively slim figure. We kissed for the first time, and I held her face with both hands, stroking her cheekbones with my thumbs, feeling the line of her jaw with my pinkies. Memory: saved. She did the same, exploring me all over, squeezing and pinching, biting and sucking through an erotic inventory, at the end of which she could have told you plenty.
“My, my, so much to remember already” she said coming up for air “let’s lay down on the couch- me first, you on top”. Christine lay down on the couch, stretching languidly, her arms over her head, her breasts full, nipples pointed straight up, the fullness of her belly pushing it into a small mound, her hips curving out seductively, her legs long and still lean “I want to remember you on top of me- in three months, it may no longer be an option.”
Three months-the thought flashed through my mind-she was doing calculations based on what I’d told her earlier-50 pounds-she’s expecting me to be at least 300 pounds when our “trial” period closes, isn’t she? Probably hoping for more. She said what, 17 pounds in a month? About the same for her then… she spread her legs a bit, I kneeled between; she grabbed my love handles and pulled me on top of her. She guided me into her wet, still slim treasure box. Heaven.
We went at it for two hours, every which way imaginable. From behind, her bottom bounced slightly with the rhythm of our play, my belly resting on it slightly as I reached forward to caress her belly: only the tiniest handful to squeeze there, and only a slight softness as I ran my hand back along her waist. Her nipples dangled just beyond, and I took one and started to roll it between my fingers, making her moan. She arched her back and we rolled over; once on top, she rode like a rodeo star, one hand grasping at my belly, my hips bucking up and down as she did her best Urban Cowboy “soon I’ll be able to hug your belly with both arms without leaning over” she said. Whoa! Clearly she had her sights set well above the fifty pound mark!
“But will you be able to reach past your own?” I asked.
“Touché! No, probably not, not if we stay true to our destiny” she replied, a quick shot of realization flashed in her eyes for a change; we continued for a while longer, having defined together the terms of the engagement, so to speak.
Finally sated and now on the floor: “You hungry? I’m hungry- what’s the time? Look-its 4:30-one more thing before we put ourselves back together and go eat somewhere. In my top drawer- there’s a tape measure, a pad and paper; in the side drawer next to it- a digital camera. Oh, and there’s a scale in the bathroom-let’s get some starting data”, she draped the tape around my belly “46 inches”; my chest “48 inches”; my hips “39 inches- you have really no ass do you?”; my neck “17 inches”; “up on the scale-263 pounds.”
“Ack- that’s actually 60 pounds in three months."
“Really?” she said, beaming “so much the better! Now me”
“First my chest: that was 34 B a month ago- now it’s 35, maybe a D; waist- 24 last month, 30 this month…”
“You’re sticking it out”
“Okay, I’ll be realistic with our mutual fantasy- 26 1/2 inches, still up though. Hips 35 up from 33, damn, I thought I’d done better, that’s where I feel the most difference.”
“There’s junk in your trunk, but it’s no badonkadonk yet.”
“Soon come,” she said grabbing her tush. “Let’s go eat. Steak? Whaddaya say?”
“Since this is a special occasion, certainly.”
“Honey, this is training- I told you my dad invented Post-It’s right? You’ll never dine poorly again, or at least for the next three months.”
And so it was. From dinner at Luger’s that November 10 to February 10, we dined continuously. I moved in with Christine by the second week (she had an elevator in a building by the park), donating all my clothes to goodwill, as none were worth saving. That night, the Friday before Thanksgiving, we checked our progress: I’d put on another 20- in under two weeks! 283. Wow. Impressive I thought. Straight to my belly for the most part: I could feel it bounce when I walked, feel it sway if I turned my body even slightly. It sat right out in front of me, where I could see it and not much else beyond its horizon—which was too bad, because Christine was a sight to behold—top to bottom. She’d matched me, and it spread all over her like a thick coat of soft paint. Christine was plush—soft all over, especially her ass and thighs, which were then for the first time reaching out towards one another and touching, starting what would be an inexorable march towards her knees. Her breasts had swelled too, and there was for the first time a love handle dividing hip from torso. Lovemaking was fun: I let her know, maybe a little early when I look back on what it has since become- how much her booty had grown-calling out for her to “back that thing up”, as she did a bounce dance any dancehall queen would be proud of; from behind, my belly no longer “rested” on her butt, but sat closer to the small of her back; with her riding on top, I could just barely see her thighs beyond my belly, though her belly was now perched atop my own, squishing flat and then rounding down with the pressure of each thrust. Yeehah!
She planned out the rest of the week as an onslaught: she booked each meal in the finest circumstances, and we walked down to the next restaurant and did it again, seven times a day, two entrees at each place. We snacked at the best bistros, and wound-down the evenings at home with late night deliveries. On Tuesday, beautiful and unseasonably warm, we spread a blanket in Madison Square Park early, and paid several kids to wait on line repeatedly at the Shake Shack so they could keep bringing us fresh hot burgers and fries and shakes. That Wednesday, she surprised me and ordered an entire spit of gyro meat from Astoria, and we carved our own, drowned them in gallons of tzatziki and gorged mountains of meat and fried pita. That night, from her window overlooking Central Park West, we watched them inflate the balloons for the parade the next morning as we inflated ourselves with the two trays of baklava that followed the gyro-fest. Early on Thanksgiving morning the caters arrived for the “feast for 15”: she had a 25 pound turkey, a ten pound ham and an oil drum-worth each of stuffing and mashed potatoes, and a truckload of candied sweet potatoes, four pumpkin and four pecan pies. She dressed as an Indian princess, and got me a pilgrim hat, and we gorged, over and over again, finishing everything early the next morning (at which point, she informed me that the “feast for 15” the caterer mentioned referred to weight she anticipate we’d each gain that day).
We woke late on Friday famished. She insisted that we weigh and measure- so that we could buy each other the correct sizes on black Friday. I was astounded: In five days, she’d put on 22 pounds, I another 25! I stood so she could measure me, and caught myself in the mirror –egad! I was enormous, or so I thought at the time.
She called out my numbers “Let’s see, waist: 61- that’s five feet around big boy! Chest 54”-holy cow; hips-44- you really don’t get any ass do you? My goodness Bob, you are sooooo fat already! 308! I am sooooo happy” she said as she squeezed, kissed, caressed and prodded my belly and what hung beneath, until my arousal had grown to match what I realized was fear.
Three months nothing! I’d rocketed splat up against the fifty pound boundary I’d set in my mind, in- gulp-under three weeks, a hundred pounds since Labor Day, the latter half with a girl that clearly had something different in mind than most people’s idea of a “holiday gain”, and the means to accomplish it. I was in trouble. But she was right by my side, all 172 pounds of curvaceous delectability.
She stood, looking at herself in the mirror with a sly grin on her face, her hands running up and down her body, rubbing the folds along what had been her rib cage between her fingers, squeezing her love handles, hefting her belly, which now drooped down even when naked. She cupped and lifted her fantastic breasts, double the size of just a few weeks ago. She turned to see her round bottom in the mirror, now half-again the size burned into my memory, and, giggling, gave a little jump to watch it jiggle. She bent down, causing her belly to fold over and her breasts to hang, and ran her hands down her legs, grabbing the two handfuls of fat at the top of her inner thighs, which now touched down to midway between her knees and the heaven on top. She had blossomed— and it showed in her smile and the twinkle in her eye.
“Amazing” she said, looking up at me in the mirror, standing behind her. She smiled wide “I never imagined I could be so beautiful”.
“Just 28 shopping days ‘til Christmas” I said, thinking I’d get in the spirit of the season “and I know what I want from Santa- whaddaya say” I pulled her tight from behind , squeezed her breast with one hand and lifting her belly with the other “just one pound a day gets me a two hundred pound girlfriend”?
Here I thought I was upping the ante, but she was ready to see my bet and raise it, considerably. “Hmmmm, interesting: I’m shopping from the same catalog it seems” she turned in my arms, stepped back a step, grabbed the waistband of my boxers and used her arms to lift my love handles while my belly found a perch on top of hers “but I want the 350 pound boyfriend- an affordable luxury at only one and a half pounds a day- I’m up for it if you are!”
The thought flashed quickly in my mind-42 pounds- ten and a half each week, for four weeks—she’s doubling my own anticipated three month goal already, with a ton of time before the Valentine’s Day deadline. “Bring on the cookies and egg nog- I’ll do my best… ”
“C’mon sweetie... nothing worse than waking up Christmas morning and not finding what you asked for under the tree”
“Christine, really? How are we possibly going to get there? We’ve been constantly eating already, if we do anymore our teeth will wear out.”
She switched to her Yoda voice “There is no try, only do my portly padwan, you have much to learn.” Switching back, she ran her hands over my sides seductively “and, so you don’t feel like I’m pushing you further than I’d push myself, I’ll declare that my Christmas Present to you is to be a 220 pound girlfriend, but let’s boogie” she said, lifting and dropping my belly, watching it bounce and wobble intently “it’s already late afternoon, I’ve got a sink hole in my belly that needs filling, I’m horny as hell, we’ve no clothes that fit: so here’s the plan- I’ll take a pair of your old jeans and an old sweatshirt, and go get us some clothes to wear now and some to grow into- I figure two sizes a week for four weeks each. I’ll grab an appropriate snack along the way, a couple or six burgers or something. You call for a pizza or two for yourself to hold you over while you call the market and get a feast together we can feed one another tonight while doing other things- a sexy photo shoot, maybe- that will get us to our daily goal.”
“Really? I’m intrigued, for sure Christine, but what on earth could we eat that will get us that fat so quickly?”
“Silly, do the math: we’re close to that rate as it is already, so we just need to make a few simple adjustments to make one and a half pounds a minimum daily gain instead of some daunting benchmark: first, from now on, everything gets either soaked in or topped with melted butter, so order at least twenty pounds of it to start; second, soft drinks contain too much of one thing- water-let’s try to replace as much water in our diet as possible with half-and-half—get a few gallons of that too; finally, when it comes to dessert, everything tastes better with chocolate syrup, and a quart of that each day is enough to add an extra pound all by itself. My guess is that, if we each simply add three simple ingredients each day: a pound of butter, a quart of half and half, and a quart of chocolate syrup, that’s about 7500-8000 extra calories a day— we’ll look like Mr. and Mrs. Claus in no time.”
“So we’ve been at about a pound a day for five weeks, more, actually, and now we’re going to add the equivalent of two pounds of fat to our diet every day on top of what we’ve already been eating? Jeez Christine, your ass is going to be soooo big…” I grabbed her up again, reaching around and squeezing both cheeks of her derriere.
“...don’t forget the holiday cookies, a couple of dozen of those each day, and hugs like this are going to be a lot more interesting. Kiss me”
We fell on the bed and went at it- from behind, I could see little more than the top of her head beyond my belly; with her on top, her large breasts now sat and bounced atop my belly, and she could actually lean into my belly for balance “still can’t hug your gut yet from this position, but that’ll probably be a stocking stuffer too.” I got on top and tried missionary, but after the finagling around my belly to get inside, I hadn’t the arm strength for more than a minute or so and collapsed on top of her, making her squeal- she noted that for the first time, she couldn’t get her arms out from under my belly, so I lay there for a while, her breasts squished up in my face, with her panting for air excitedly.
So we went about our plan- she went shopping, I focused on getting dinner together. While I was waiting for the delivery, I flipped on the TV, and The Simpsons “King Sized Homer” episode was on. I realized that by the end of dinner, maybe the next day or at the latest, midday the following, I’d be where Homer ends up-314, and rocketing past what even the writers for a zany cartoon considered incredible. I was worried by how much Christine’s diet plan matched Homer’s, too…and the devilish gleam in her eye when she eyed at my girth. What were we doing…and then the doorbell rang with my two extra-large double sausage and pepperoni pizzas. So, like so many times before, my self-reflection ended when my appetite kicked in.
And for the next 28 days:
There arose from the kitchen such a clang and a clatter
our neighbors would call to see what was the matter
Like leaves on the wild hurricane the delivery men came
so often again that we knew them by name
“first Chinese, then Indian, and pizza galore,
then gyros and cheesefries- we need more to gore”
My pants and her panties—they came and they went,
outsized time and again by appetites hell-bent.
The scale needle for both of us kept up its spin to the right,
as the weight piled on headlong ‘til Christmas Night.
“Okay sunshine, rise and shine, time to open our presents” she called to me from the bathroom. I looked up groggily to see her walk from the bathroom holding the scale. Absolute beauty-the sunlight dappled her long blonde hair, cascading over her shoulder and rested on-I woke up a bit further- holy shit, she was HUGE- a nearly horizontal shelf of huge breasts that preceded her by at least a foot and a half. Her belly arched out between, propping up those magnificent jugs and continuing out a few inches beyond before curving over to hang over her privates and come to rest on now truly fat thighs that met at the knees. Scanning back up from there, I marveled at the flare of her now wide hips, on top of which a thick love handle rested, and on top of that, two rolls of back fat creasing her sides. She spun to put the scale in front of the mirror, and bending over I saw just how wide she had become as compared to just a few months ago- each butt cheek was at least equal of that perfect round ass I stared at in the pizzeria, and each thick, smooth thigh outweighed both of her legs from that time.
I sprang awake, in one sense at least. Getting up from bed was another matter. I slipped off the pillow for a second and lost sight of her entirely, obscured by my own immensity. I swung my legs from the bed and lunged forward into space, finally standing.
“Oh my God, Bob-you’ve outdone yourself!” she said looking straight at my gut, her hands reaching out and squeezing handfuls of fat. I swear she drooled.
My God, between her hands on me, the pressure of my gut on my erection, the sight of her body, the memory of what it was and the realization of the immense change, I was near to losing it. Play it cool Bob.
“Merry Christmas Baby” I said, leaning in for a kiss.
“Is that your best Elvis?” she said, still running her hands all over me squeezing handfuls of flab everywhere.
“Fat Elvis. So, let’s get started- hop up there and let’s see how good Santa’s been to me.”
“He like you a lot, Bob” she said, with the slightest perceptible flicker of doubt and fear in her voice. And she either was swaying from the step-up, or she actually swooned there for a minute. I steadied her by her elbow.
“Well that’s obvious, but how much does he like me?” I said, unable to peer around her to the dial between her feet while trying to reach under my own belly to hold my morning glory. This whole process was making my head explode.
“Well, let’s see- he brought about three times what you asked for- 253 ½ -I gained 82 ½ pounds since Thanksgiving- almost three pounds a day.”
“No way! That much? My God Christine, how did we…”
“Why, you remember-we ate ‘round the clock, buttered everything, dipped it all in chocolate, and then washed it down with a glass of cream- that’s how- why do you keep stepping back?”
“So that I can see your hips, my belly is in the way”
“Hmmn, that makes sense-it is a big belly, luv. Jump up on the scale, let’s see my gift”
“Drum roll please. Okay, I can’t see it, help me out”
She got down in my shadow, her greatly increased girth completely eclipsed from my vantage “hey now, look who’s at attention-stand down a minute soldier. Holy Jeez, Bob—it’s either broken, or you’re 398 pounds!”
“90 pounds? Impossible! Baby elephants don’t grow that much in month.”
“And they don’t tend to microwave three pounds of butter and drink it with a straw, either” she said, lifting my belly with both hands from underneath and letting it drop on her head. Repeatedly.
“One, I only did that for a week, and I didn’t drink it, I only softened it, mixed in plenty of brown sugar and cocoa, and dipped pretzels in it.”
“A Costco sized jug of pretzel rods, and a gallon of cream at each sitting-show me an elephant with those eating habits.”
“You’re looking at him”
“Well part of him, anyway—step back again honey, your sides are beyond my periphery vision.”
I stepped back and fell on the bed, and she jumped on top of me. We sunk into each other, and spread. Wide.
“What next?” I asked.
“Well in my family, we have a big feast on Twelfth Night- January 6. You know-On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…”
“Twenty thouousand kilo-calorieeeees”
“I see you get the idea” she said.
“’Nuff said. Hey, just seven weeks left in our trial period you know-what then? I was thinking...”
“Just enough time to prepare a wedding”
“Good idea. I accept.” I said, kissing her.
“What will our guests get the couple that already has everything?”
“More food.”
“Shut up and kiss me again.”
)Continued in post 8 of his thread)
It Started Innocently Enough
By upto236
By upto236
It had been a few months and it was starting to show. I had been going out to lunch alone. Eating. Really, really eating. And then it got interesting.
It started innocently enough. One day last fall, I had skipped breakfast, so I was starving. I went out to the corner for a quick slice of pizza. Strains of “Happy Birthday” came from the kitchen as I left. I had the slice, went back to the counter for a second, and then a third before I knew what hit me. I still felt hungry, so I stopped next door for a donut and a coffee to take back to my desk. When I got back, someone had realized I missed the celebration and left about a quarter of the thickly-iced birthday cake on my desk. I popped open my coffee, and ate the cake and the donut. Happy hour with colleagues led to beer, wings and another four slices of pizza. Later, I made a call to the diner for a gyro, fries, a shake and a baklava to tuck me in for the night. Burp. Groan. Rub. Stretched and swollen…but sated?
The next morning I was starving. I had a granola bar at home, to no effect, so I stopped for a coffee and two chocolate croissants for the drive. Arriving at the office, my nose told me someone was toasting a bagel, so I went to the kitchen and fixed myself one with butter, chatting with a colleague, only to find that as our conversation ended, so had my bagel, so I grabbed another two from the bag on the counter and headed to my desk. I went to a meeting at ten: donuts; two French crullers and a jelly. A client meeting for lunch: a beer battered shrimp appetizer and an 18 oz New York strip. Arriving back at the office, I find lunch had been brought in for other clients, and a platter of sandwiches remained in the kitchen—I grabbed two halves of roast beef and swiss, some chips (2 bags) and a twenty ounce coke and went back to my office to prepare some paper work. Five o’clock, a drink and a nosh, back home again for a diner-delivered dinner of a gyro, double fries and a shake. While the items and the circumstance varied a bit, a daily pattern established itself.
After about three months, I had jumped from 203 to 258, with about half of that in the last month, possibly because of all the Halloween candy around the office. Needless to say, I felt, and looked, plush. My appetite was maddening—I found that when casual encounters with food in the course of my day didn’t present themselves, I was seeking them out: staying topped off had become an obsession, and my intake was on a constant upswing.
The week of that last weigh-in, after several breakfasts throughout the morning, I hit the pizza early, around a quarter to eleven. In the near empty pizzeria waiting for the first pie to come out, I bumped into a very attractive woman waiting on a pie. Stunning: 5’7”, blonde, blue eyes, mouth like a bow, long limbed, curvy in a tight dress. I smiled, took my three slices, double order of garlic knots and large coke, and sat down where I could see the counter. From this vantage, I could see a little roll that formed at her hip when she shifted her weight, and a little bit of a bulge beneath her bra through her tight, white dress. As she turned with her pizza, I looked away not to be caught staring at her perfect round bottom.
“Mind if I join you?” I looked up to see the blonde standing before me, pizza balanced on one hand, left hand on her hip, “I want a slice before I head back to my office”. I nodded her to the chair opposite me with my mouthful of much of my second slice.
“Thanks. I’m starving,” she said, popping open the lid of the pie and rubbing her belly with the other hand “I can’t seem to make it to noon before my stomach tells me it’s lunchtime, and lately, breakfast is barely finished when that happens—it’s like I’ve a tapeworm or something! I’d think it was the case if my clothes weren’t getting so tight—it took me forever to get this thing zipped this morning” she said in one breath while, all in one motion, gracefully sitting in her tight skirt and grabbing a slice “listen to me—telling you about how fat my gorging is making me without even telling you my name—I’m Christine” she said between bites, of which it took about four before she was done with the slice and on to her second “and look at me” she said in a moment of realization “I’m onto my second slice , you must think me a crazy pig.”
I demurred—“crazy maybe, likeably so, but hardly fat and with an intriguingly similar dilemma. I’m Bob, pleased to meet you Christine.”
“Similar dilemma? Have you been bingeing too?”
“No,” I said “bingeing would mean that there was an occasional break in the action. My appetite opened up about three months, fifty pounds and several inches on my waist ago, and I don’t know why. ”
“Fifty pounds? Really? I thought I’d seen you before a few months ago, maybe around Labor Day, but you were thinner then—well, aren’t you just trussed up plump in time for Thanksgiving! For me, it’s been about a month since the chasm opened, and a seventeen pound net as of this morning. But I was skinny when it all started- only about 113, and like I said, I don’t know why or how, but I like it so far, and I say, if it feels good, don’t stop till you get enough” and with that she patted her tummy and moved to her third slice.
I was on auto-pilot, having mowed through my three slices and my garlic knots, and when Christine saw my empty plate, she nudged the box of her pie and nodded to me “help yourself, Bob—Charlie,” she shouted to the counterman over her shoulder “in about an hour, put in another pie for me, a Sicilian this time, and send it up” she turned back to me “after our little snack here, would you join me for lunch?” With that we both reached for our fourth slices, and our hands brushed as we pulled them from the box.
“What did you have in mind?”
“We could go back to my office and order in— it would be so much fun, I’m a freelance designer, and I rent the space as a studio, but I rarely get visitors and the days can be so boring! There’s a great Chinese place in my building, we can order and they’ll have it ready and on the way by the time we get our coats off upstairs. We can discuss or “similar dilemma” over fried dumplings and moo shu pork.” Fifth slices.
Holy cow-here I am, gorging myself silly when the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met walks in, tells me that she is just seventeen pounds into fulfilling a long-held fantasy, and invites me up to her private office for a second lunch and presumably a rather large afternoon snack, to discuss the two of us getting fatter! “Sure, that sounds fun” I replied, the pressure of my waistband now having ample competition from my fly. Luckily I had about three minutes to gather myself while we each had one of the last two slices.
We moved upstairs to her office after ordering enough Chinese food for the population of a small village. Sure enough, the deliveryman was right behind us, who I paid and sent on his way. We spread it out on a large worktable, sharpened our chopsticks, and dove in. The food was delectable— spicy, sweet, tangy, crispy, pungent, savory-we joked, laughed, fed each other, and before I knew it, the two shopping bags of food were gone, and the buzzer rang.
“That must be the Sicilian” she said, jumping up, her dress hiking up to accommodate her stuffed belly, clearly larger than I’d noticed earlier in the pizzeria, giving me a better view of delicious thighs that, while yet to touch one another, showed a subtle softness over their long length.
“I can barely breathe in this- come here and help me” she said, putting down the pizza and turning while reaching over her shoulder for the zipper, arching her back and thrusting her breasts and belly out into sumptuous space. I heaved myself from my seat to obey.
She shimmied out of her dress—all perfection beneath, in a bikini bra and a pair of boy-shorts panties, with a gravid arch to her lower belly that pushed the panties down. She turned again to face me, stepping closer with a devilish look in her eye “now that you’re my partner in crime, let’s see what we’re working with”.
She reached under my belly, undid my belt and the hook on my pants, and began unbuttoning my shirt “50 pounds, hmmn— that’s a good start,” as she squeezed my belly with both hands and then ran them front to back across the roll to my burgeoning love handles and lifting my entire belly with her forearms “but you didn’t start out skinny, did you, and you’ve still PLENTY of room in there right now! C’mon now, dig in!”
I was completely flustered: my pants around my ankles, a beautiful woman squeezing the new flab on my overly sensitive mid-section; it was barely 1PM, and I’d eaten enough for two days at my current bingeing level already, and this sweet siren was demanding more. Who was I to disagree?
“I need to call my office”. I dialed the receptionist at my office made a lame excuse about something I ate at lunch and needing to be out the rest of the day. She informed me I’d miss so-and-so’s birthday cake. “Save me some”, I said, “I’m sure I’ll want it in the morning”. I hung up, and we proceeded to devour the Sicilian pie, thick crusted and oozing double cheese, seven slices for me and five for Christine, who at this point was seated on what was left of my lap.
“I’m pretty sure we found each other in that pizzeria for a reason,” she said, as she fed me my seventh slice. “We both reached a fork in the road, so to speak, and now, for the time being at least, we owe it to kismet to take the journey together. Whadaya say—let’s see how we do over the next three months together, and then—who knows?”
“To the future,” I said, toasting with my last crust of pizza.
“Okay then, let’s remember this moment-touch me, look at me, remember what I feel like now, burn into your memory where I was at the start so you never forget it when we’ve gotten wherever we end up” she took my hands, placed one on her breast and the other on her thigh; she put one of her hands in my crotch, and the other on my left love handle, and started to rub both. I started exploring—each swell, each little fold, each softness, and each bony protrusion that yet remained on her still relatively slim figure. We kissed for the first time, and I held her face with both hands, stroking her cheekbones with my thumbs, feeling the line of her jaw with my pinkies. Memory: saved. She did the same, exploring me all over, squeezing and pinching, biting and sucking through an erotic inventory, at the end of which she could have told you plenty.
“My, my, so much to remember already” she said coming up for air “let’s lay down on the couch- me first, you on top”. Christine lay down on the couch, stretching languidly, her arms over her head, her breasts full, nipples pointed straight up, the fullness of her belly pushing it into a small mound, her hips curving out seductively, her legs long and still lean “I want to remember you on top of me- in three months, it may no longer be an option.”
Three months-the thought flashed through my mind-she was doing calculations based on what I’d told her earlier-50 pounds-she’s expecting me to be at least 300 pounds when our “trial” period closes, isn’t she? Probably hoping for more. She said what, 17 pounds in a month? About the same for her then… she spread her legs a bit, I kneeled between; she grabbed my love handles and pulled me on top of her. She guided me into her wet, still slim treasure box. Heaven.
We went at it for two hours, every which way imaginable. From behind, her bottom bounced slightly with the rhythm of our play, my belly resting on it slightly as I reached forward to caress her belly: only the tiniest handful to squeeze there, and only a slight softness as I ran my hand back along her waist. Her nipples dangled just beyond, and I took one and started to roll it between my fingers, making her moan. She arched her back and we rolled over; once on top, she rode like a rodeo star, one hand grasping at my belly, my hips bucking up and down as she did her best Urban Cowboy “soon I’ll be able to hug your belly with both arms without leaning over” she said. Whoa! Clearly she had her sights set well above the fifty pound mark!
“But will you be able to reach past your own?” I asked.
“Touché! No, probably not, not if we stay true to our destiny” she replied, a quick shot of realization flashed in her eyes for a change; we continued for a while longer, having defined together the terms of the engagement, so to speak.
Finally sated and now on the floor: “You hungry? I’m hungry- what’s the time? Look-its 4:30-one more thing before we put ourselves back together and go eat somewhere. In my top drawer- there’s a tape measure, a pad and paper; in the side drawer next to it- a digital camera. Oh, and there’s a scale in the bathroom-let’s get some starting data”, she draped the tape around my belly “46 inches”; my chest “48 inches”; my hips “39 inches- you have really no ass do you?”; my neck “17 inches”; “up on the scale-263 pounds.”
“Ack- that’s actually 60 pounds in three months."
“Really?” she said, beaming “so much the better! Now me”
“First my chest: that was 34 B a month ago- now it’s 35, maybe a D; waist- 24 last month, 30 this month…”
“You’re sticking it out”
“Okay, I’ll be realistic with our mutual fantasy- 26 1/2 inches, still up though. Hips 35 up from 33, damn, I thought I’d done better, that’s where I feel the most difference.”
“There’s junk in your trunk, but it’s no badonkadonk yet.”
“Soon come,” she said grabbing her tush. “Let’s go eat. Steak? Whaddaya say?”
“Since this is a special occasion, certainly.”
“Honey, this is training- I told you my dad invented Post-It’s right? You’ll never dine poorly again, or at least for the next three months.”
And so it was. From dinner at Luger’s that November 10 to February 10, we dined continuously. I moved in with Christine by the second week (she had an elevator in a building by the park), donating all my clothes to goodwill, as none were worth saving. That night, the Friday before Thanksgiving, we checked our progress: I’d put on another 20- in under two weeks! 283. Wow. Impressive I thought. Straight to my belly for the most part: I could feel it bounce when I walked, feel it sway if I turned my body even slightly. It sat right out in front of me, where I could see it and not much else beyond its horizon—which was too bad, because Christine was a sight to behold—top to bottom. She’d matched me, and it spread all over her like a thick coat of soft paint. Christine was plush—soft all over, especially her ass and thighs, which were then for the first time reaching out towards one another and touching, starting what would be an inexorable march towards her knees. Her breasts had swelled too, and there was for the first time a love handle dividing hip from torso. Lovemaking was fun: I let her know, maybe a little early when I look back on what it has since become- how much her booty had grown-calling out for her to “back that thing up”, as she did a bounce dance any dancehall queen would be proud of; from behind, my belly no longer “rested” on her butt, but sat closer to the small of her back; with her riding on top, I could just barely see her thighs beyond my belly, though her belly was now perched atop my own, squishing flat and then rounding down with the pressure of each thrust. Yeehah!
She planned out the rest of the week as an onslaught: she booked each meal in the finest circumstances, and we walked down to the next restaurant and did it again, seven times a day, two entrees at each place. We snacked at the best bistros, and wound-down the evenings at home with late night deliveries. On Tuesday, beautiful and unseasonably warm, we spread a blanket in Madison Square Park early, and paid several kids to wait on line repeatedly at the Shake Shack so they could keep bringing us fresh hot burgers and fries and shakes. That Wednesday, she surprised me and ordered an entire spit of gyro meat from Astoria, and we carved our own, drowned them in gallons of tzatziki and gorged mountains of meat and fried pita. That night, from her window overlooking Central Park West, we watched them inflate the balloons for the parade the next morning as we inflated ourselves with the two trays of baklava that followed the gyro-fest. Early on Thanksgiving morning the caters arrived for the “feast for 15”: she had a 25 pound turkey, a ten pound ham and an oil drum-worth each of stuffing and mashed potatoes, and a truckload of candied sweet potatoes, four pumpkin and four pecan pies. She dressed as an Indian princess, and got me a pilgrim hat, and we gorged, over and over again, finishing everything early the next morning (at which point, she informed me that the “feast for 15” the caterer mentioned referred to weight she anticipate we’d each gain that day).
We woke late on Friday famished. She insisted that we weigh and measure- so that we could buy each other the correct sizes on black Friday. I was astounded: In five days, she’d put on 22 pounds, I another 25! I stood so she could measure me, and caught myself in the mirror –egad! I was enormous, or so I thought at the time.
She called out my numbers “Let’s see, waist: 61- that’s five feet around big boy! Chest 54”-holy cow; hips-44- you really don’t get any ass do you? My goodness Bob, you are sooooo fat already! 308! I am sooooo happy” she said as she squeezed, kissed, caressed and prodded my belly and what hung beneath, until my arousal had grown to match what I realized was fear.
Three months nothing! I’d rocketed splat up against the fifty pound boundary I’d set in my mind, in- gulp-under three weeks, a hundred pounds since Labor Day, the latter half with a girl that clearly had something different in mind than most people’s idea of a “holiday gain”, and the means to accomplish it. I was in trouble. But she was right by my side, all 172 pounds of curvaceous delectability.
She stood, looking at herself in the mirror with a sly grin on her face, her hands running up and down her body, rubbing the folds along what had been her rib cage between her fingers, squeezing her love handles, hefting her belly, which now drooped down even when naked. She cupped and lifted her fantastic breasts, double the size of just a few weeks ago. She turned to see her round bottom in the mirror, now half-again the size burned into my memory, and, giggling, gave a little jump to watch it jiggle. She bent down, causing her belly to fold over and her breasts to hang, and ran her hands down her legs, grabbing the two handfuls of fat at the top of her inner thighs, which now touched down to midway between her knees and the heaven on top. She had blossomed— and it showed in her smile and the twinkle in her eye.
“Amazing” she said, looking up at me in the mirror, standing behind her. She smiled wide “I never imagined I could be so beautiful”.
“Just 28 shopping days ‘til Christmas” I said, thinking I’d get in the spirit of the season “and I know what I want from Santa- whaddaya say” I pulled her tight from behind , squeezed her breast with one hand and lifting her belly with the other “just one pound a day gets me a two hundred pound girlfriend”?
Here I thought I was upping the ante, but she was ready to see my bet and raise it, considerably. “Hmmmm, interesting: I’m shopping from the same catalog it seems” she turned in my arms, stepped back a step, grabbed the waistband of my boxers and used her arms to lift my love handles while my belly found a perch on top of hers “but I want the 350 pound boyfriend- an affordable luxury at only one and a half pounds a day- I’m up for it if you are!”
The thought flashed quickly in my mind-42 pounds- ten and a half each week, for four weeks—she’s doubling my own anticipated three month goal already, with a ton of time before the Valentine’s Day deadline. “Bring on the cookies and egg nog- I’ll do my best… ”
“C’mon sweetie... nothing worse than waking up Christmas morning and not finding what you asked for under the tree”
“Christine, really? How are we possibly going to get there? We’ve been constantly eating already, if we do anymore our teeth will wear out.”
She switched to her Yoda voice “There is no try, only do my portly padwan, you have much to learn.” Switching back, she ran her hands over my sides seductively “and, so you don’t feel like I’m pushing you further than I’d push myself, I’ll declare that my Christmas Present to you is to be a 220 pound girlfriend, but let’s boogie” she said, lifting and dropping my belly, watching it bounce and wobble intently “it’s already late afternoon, I’ve got a sink hole in my belly that needs filling, I’m horny as hell, we’ve no clothes that fit: so here’s the plan- I’ll take a pair of your old jeans and an old sweatshirt, and go get us some clothes to wear now and some to grow into- I figure two sizes a week for four weeks each. I’ll grab an appropriate snack along the way, a couple or six burgers or something. You call for a pizza or two for yourself to hold you over while you call the market and get a feast together we can feed one another tonight while doing other things- a sexy photo shoot, maybe- that will get us to our daily goal.”
“Really? I’m intrigued, for sure Christine, but what on earth could we eat that will get us that fat so quickly?”
“Silly, do the math: we’re close to that rate as it is already, so we just need to make a few simple adjustments to make one and a half pounds a minimum daily gain instead of some daunting benchmark: first, from now on, everything gets either soaked in or topped with melted butter, so order at least twenty pounds of it to start; second, soft drinks contain too much of one thing- water-let’s try to replace as much water in our diet as possible with half-and-half—get a few gallons of that too; finally, when it comes to dessert, everything tastes better with chocolate syrup, and a quart of that each day is enough to add an extra pound all by itself. My guess is that, if we each simply add three simple ingredients each day: a pound of butter, a quart of half and half, and a quart of chocolate syrup, that’s about 7500-8000 extra calories a day— we’ll look like Mr. and Mrs. Claus in no time.”
“So we’ve been at about a pound a day for five weeks, more, actually, and now we’re going to add the equivalent of two pounds of fat to our diet every day on top of what we’ve already been eating? Jeez Christine, your ass is going to be soooo big…” I grabbed her up again, reaching around and squeezing both cheeks of her derriere.
“...don’t forget the holiday cookies, a couple of dozen of those each day, and hugs like this are going to be a lot more interesting. Kiss me”
We fell on the bed and went at it- from behind, I could see little more than the top of her head beyond my belly; with her on top, her large breasts now sat and bounced atop my belly, and she could actually lean into my belly for balance “still can’t hug your gut yet from this position, but that’ll probably be a stocking stuffer too.” I got on top and tried missionary, but after the finagling around my belly to get inside, I hadn’t the arm strength for more than a minute or so and collapsed on top of her, making her squeal- she noted that for the first time, she couldn’t get her arms out from under my belly, so I lay there for a while, her breasts squished up in my face, with her panting for air excitedly.
So we went about our plan- she went shopping, I focused on getting dinner together. While I was waiting for the delivery, I flipped on the TV, and The Simpsons “King Sized Homer” episode was on. I realized that by the end of dinner, maybe the next day or at the latest, midday the following, I’d be where Homer ends up-314, and rocketing past what even the writers for a zany cartoon considered incredible. I was worried by how much Christine’s diet plan matched Homer’s, too…and the devilish gleam in her eye when she eyed at my girth. What were we doing…and then the doorbell rang with my two extra-large double sausage and pepperoni pizzas. So, like so many times before, my self-reflection ended when my appetite kicked in.
And for the next 28 days:
There arose from the kitchen such a clang and a clatter
our neighbors would call to see what was the matter
Like leaves on the wild hurricane the delivery men came
so often again that we knew them by name
“first Chinese, then Indian, and pizza galore,
then gyros and cheesefries- we need more to gore”
My pants and her panties—they came and they went,
outsized time and again by appetites hell-bent.
The scale needle for both of us kept up its spin to the right,
as the weight piled on headlong ‘til Christmas Night.
“Okay sunshine, rise and shine, time to open our presents” she called to me from the bathroom. I looked up groggily to see her walk from the bathroom holding the scale. Absolute beauty-the sunlight dappled her long blonde hair, cascading over her shoulder and rested on-I woke up a bit further- holy shit, she was HUGE- a nearly horizontal shelf of huge breasts that preceded her by at least a foot and a half. Her belly arched out between, propping up those magnificent jugs and continuing out a few inches beyond before curving over to hang over her privates and come to rest on now truly fat thighs that met at the knees. Scanning back up from there, I marveled at the flare of her now wide hips, on top of which a thick love handle rested, and on top of that, two rolls of back fat creasing her sides. She spun to put the scale in front of the mirror, and bending over I saw just how wide she had become as compared to just a few months ago- each butt cheek was at least equal of that perfect round ass I stared at in the pizzeria, and each thick, smooth thigh outweighed both of her legs from that time.
I sprang awake, in one sense at least. Getting up from bed was another matter. I slipped off the pillow for a second and lost sight of her entirely, obscured by my own immensity. I swung my legs from the bed and lunged forward into space, finally standing.
“Oh my God, Bob-you’ve outdone yourself!” she said looking straight at my gut, her hands reaching out and squeezing handfuls of fat. I swear she drooled.
My God, between her hands on me, the pressure of my gut on my erection, the sight of her body, the memory of what it was and the realization of the immense change, I was near to losing it. Play it cool Bob.
“Merry Christmas Baby” I said, leaning in for a kiss.
“Is that your best Elvis?” she said, still running her hands all over me squeezing handfuls of flab everywhere.
“Fat Elvis. So, let’s get started- hop up there and let’s see how good Santa’s been to me.”
“He like you a lot, Bob” she said, with the slightest perceptible flicker of doubt and fear in her voice. And she either was swaying from the step-up, or she actually swooned there for a minute. I steadied her by her elbow.
“Well that’s obvious, but how much does he like me?” I said, unable to peer around her to the dial between her feet while trying to reach under my own belly to hold my morning glory. This whole process was making my head explode.
“Well, let’s see- he brought about three times what you asked for- 253 ½ -I gained 82 ½ pounds since Thanksgiving- almost three pounds a day.”
“No way! That much? My God Christine, how did we…”
“Why, you remember-we ate ‘round the clock, buttered everything, dipped it all in chocolate, and then washed it down with a glass of cream- that’s how- why do you keep stepping back?”
“So that I can see your hips, my belly is in the way”
“Hmmn, that makes sense-it is a big belly, luv. Jump up on the scale, let’s see my gift”
“Drum roll please. Okay, I can’t see it, help me out”
She got down in my shadow, her greatly increased girth completely eclipsed from my vantage “hey now, look who’s at attention-stand down a minute soldier. Holy Jeez, Bob—it’s either broken, or you’re 398 pounds!”
“90 pounds? Impossible! Baby elephants don’t grow that much in month.”
“And they don’t tend to microwave three pounds of butter and drink it with a straw, either” she said, lifting my belly with both hands from underneath and letting it drop on her head. Repeatedly.
“One, I only did that for a week, and I didn’t drink it, I only softened it, mixed in plenty of brown sugar and cocoa, and dipped pretzels in it.”
“A Costco sized jug of pretzel rods, and a gallon of cream at each sitting-show me an elephant with those eating habits.”
“You’re looking at him”
“Well part of him, anyway—step back again honey, your sides are beyond my periphery vision.”
I stepped back and fell on the bed, and she jumped on top of me. We sunk into each other, and spread. Wide.
“What next?” I asked.
“Well in my family, we have a big feast on Twelfth Night- January 6. You know-On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…”
“Twenty thouousand kilo-calorieeeees”
“I see you get the idea” she said.
“’Nuff said. Hey, just seven weeks left in our trial period you know-what then? I was thinking...”
“Just enough time to prepare a wedding”
“Good idea. I accept.” I said, kissing her.
“What will our guests get the couple that already has everything?”
“More food.”
“Shut up and kiss me again.”
)Continued in post 8 of his thread)
