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I've been stuffing again. Getting fat feels so good...

📸😚

It was actually less profitable per video because how much of my income went towards food and new clothes, also my gaining clips were stolen/leaked more than any other fetish clip I’ve done. I’m sure for girls who have feeders it would be more profitable though! I did make more money while I was gaining only because I was uploading new content at such a high frequency (to help make up for the constant content leaking). I’m sure if I was able to produce as high of a volume of new content now as I did before, I’d probably make that level of income again but I just don’t have the time because of school. I think it’s a combination of factors: 1. How frequently you can upload, 2. How long your clips actually sell before they get leaked which as a gainer was pretty inevitable, and 3. How much of your earnings you actually get to keep after buying hella groceries/delivery weekly and new clothes every other month. I’m perfectly happy making less money and indulging in my fetish for my own happiness and gratification rather than feeling as if I’m putting so much of my personal energy and care into changing my body for a community with a very exploitative and vocal minority. I’ve chatted with other female gainers about it and the lack of respect towards women who gain weight for their kink is a big hurdle that drives away a lot of potential models. It’s not why I stopped, but it definitely deters me from gaining again for any reason other than personal enjoyment - I would never gain again “for the money” because it ends up being more expensive and emotionally draining than it was worth.

Good Morning My Curvage Family!! 🐷🐷🐷 lets face it! ive always been adorably chubby... pics from 2-3 years ago!

Sorry but I’m not gaining again, and I actually never would have made that stuffing video if someone didn’t approach me to film it as a custom project. I stuffed a lot over winter break for my own personal enjoyment off camera, and accidentally gained some weight and thought it was hot so I wanted to share! When you clock into your 9-5 job, do your coworkers go “oh, look who needs money again?” Since i am in school full time, I don’t have the time to make enough money to pay my bills from a regular part time job and I genuinely enjoy making fetish videos so it’s a win/win. I film pretty much whatever people ask me to, within my comfort zone. As far as gaining goes, I initially set my goal to 160 lbs and I never dreamed at first that I’d ever want to be bigger than that but I enjoyed it so much I ended up gaining to a little over 185. I was also a full time student during this time, and taking 3/4 paid stuffing or feeding sessions a week wasn’t enough to keep gaining so I ended up having to spend a LOT of my personal earnings to stay that size let alone gain. Also the process of gaining weight rapidly was so physically draining that I ended up failing 2 classes because I didn’t have the stamina to stay awake in class or even wake up to go some mornings (still digesting 5,000 calories of boost shake..). If I wanted to make more money I would just work more, gaining was more expensive for me than anything and as much as I enjoyed it it doesn’t make sense to do it again with my limited funds and full time class schedule. Ive always been into feederism - even before I was a fetish model and I engage in this kink a LOT for my own pleasure off camera, that’s why most of my recent pictures don’t have videos or anything to go with them. I figured it would be nice to share some of my personal fun, and when someone booked me to shoot a custom stuffing video talking about my holiday weight gain I jumped at the chance of course and it was a blast! I’m still open to shooting stuffing content (and when I do, I’ll share it here!) but I never said anything about putting in the personal time and energy to gain weight all over again, been there and I honestly felt more exploited doing that than I do filming the other random kinks I do that don’t take up all of the time and energy in my non-fetish personal life. People have no idea how much it impacts literally every part of your life (and that’s hot to me) but also impractical for my current lifestyle. This thread was a mess lmao so I hope that clears up some of the speculation!!

Chapter Eight "What did you want to do now?" Eric asked me when we were standing on the sidewalk after the less than pleasant meet up with Charley and Samantha. "While the last scene ruined the mood, I would like to get some dinner. I haven’t had anything to eat all day, except for that little bit of bar food. Maybe I shouldn’t be, but I am starving," I announced, leaving out any mention of the ice cream massacre, which had kept my hunger in check until the middle of the afternoon. Now I really was starving and it felt like the wings and mozzarella had awoken a sleeping giant in my belly. It was audibly grumbling, although the music in the bar had thankfully drowned it out. "Would you be up for Italian," Eric asked me. "I realize that you just got back from Italy, so maybe it would be a disappointment." "I think Italian would be fine. Let’s head to Eataly. I need to pick up supplies so that I can try to duplicate some of the things that I had in Italy," Colette said. We walked the several blocks over to Madison Square Park and walked into Eataly. "What do you feel like," I asked Eric. "If your hungry, let’s go to La Piazza so we can sit down and order off a menu," he suggested. We got a table and sat down. My stomach was really growling. I was sure that Eric could hear it. I really did feel like I was starving. This was the first day in a long time that I had not had a lot to eat, with the obvious exception of the quart of ice cream. But that didn’t have substance and did little to make me feel that I had eaten anything, ignoring that it was a full day of calories. The waiter came and Eric told me to go first. I started with the soup, a salad and a chicken sausage. I also ordered one of their homemade beers. Eric ordered and the waiter left. I was pleased with myself for my restraint. No pasta or heavy Italian food. We talked and continued to catch up about what he had been doing while I was away. I trusted Eric and knew that I didn’t need to worry about him cheating on me, although he is a big flirt. The waiter brought food and we ate and talked. Too quickly, I realized that we were done. Unfortunately, I did not feel like I had really eaten. I realized that, having skipped real food during the day may not have been the best idea. I was still hungry. In fact, having had two beers, I felt hungrier than before with a demanding appetite, but without quite the resolve to control it. Eric asked if I wanted to order dessert. I suggested that we walk around a little bit, unintentionally creating the impression that I was full. The fact was that I just wasn’t ready for dessert yet. As we strolled around the food fair, we came to the pizza area and my mouth started to water. "Did you want to get something to take home?" Eric asked. I turned to him with a look of insecurity. "Would you be willing to sit down again and have something else now?" I asked. Eric smiled and said that would be fine. He admitted that what he had earlier seemed like just appetizers for him, too. We sat down and the waiter came over to us. Eric ordered the Margherita pizza and a beer. I looked at the menu and flipped La Pizza to La Pasta. "I will have the Tagliatelle al Ragu di Manzo," I told the waiter and I ordered a beer for myself. After the waiter left, Eric leaned forward and admitted that he thought he was ordering the pizza for the two of us. I acted as if I hadn’t understood that, although that wasn’t truth. "I guess I am still so used to having more to eat that it is going to take me some time to adjust," I explained. "No explanation is necessary," Eric offered. "Have what you feel like." Ignoring the light meal that I had just finished, he suggested, "You haven’t eaten all day. You have to be hungry." The food came and I started to feel the relief of real substance. The pasta was perfect and the braised shortrib ragu excellent. I cleaned my plate and started feeling much better, although I was getting a buzz from the beer. I realized that Eric had eaten only half of his pizza. "Would you like a piece?" Eric offered, seeing my hungry eyes on his pizza. "No, no, no. I am fine," I answered, but more from the point of not wanting to appear piggy than from feeling too full. I actually thought the pizza looked great, and could probably have polished off all three pieces without any problem or hesitation. "Did you want dessert?" Eric asked. Was he encouraging me to eat more? I should have been satisfied by what I had at La Piazza and then had eaten a full meal at La Pasta. Now Eric was offering me dessert. "Oh, I don’t know," I said with nonchalance. "Let’s walk around and maybe I will get something, if it looks particularly good." I figured that was a rational answer. "I want to buy some things, so we can look while I shop," I suggested. We paid the bill and Eric got the left over pizza to go. I was able to get the cheeses, meats, pasta, and other ingredients that I was going to need to make the lasagna that I planned for Friday night’s dinner. I also picked up some great baguettes. If I had the kitchen, I would have tried making the bread myself, but the secret is in the oven and the small gas stove in the apartment wouldn’t handle baking bread. Before we left Eataly, we walked past La Pasticceria. I was surprised by the selection and how good everything looked. Maybe I hadn’t needed to go to Europe after all. They had a map on the wall that showed where the different pastries came from. Eric suggested that we pick up a few things that HE thought looked good. The combination of the beer and the way that Eric had opened the door unleashed a sudden enthusiasm. "Well, what looks good to you?" I asked Eric. He just shrugged and said he would leave it to me; the professional. I put together an assortment that ended up filling two boxes. I rationalized that I could bring them out to my parents’ house in the Hampton’s on Saturday for dessert. Eric asked to have a few pastries put in a separate bag and the girl at the counter accommodated him gladly. He is so good looking. As we were leaving, we found ourselves in front of the Gelateria. All Eric had to do was tilt his head and smile and I was ready. This place has every thing, I thought. I could have spent half the summer just in this one food center. I got myself a cup with three scoops of a gelato. "Aren’t you getting something?" I asked. "No, honey. I am full," he admitted, which made me a bit self-conscious. But he led me out and we started walking. We decided that it was such a nice evening, we would walk for a while. I started to realize that I actually was a little full from the combination of dinner. One thing I had to admit was that this Spanx body suit did a good job. There was no evident bounce in my belly and I didn’t look the worse for wear. We walked along talking and, without really noticing it, Eric handed me a small pastry. After I had finished that one, again without really noticing, he handed me another. We walked for about 30 minutes and in that time I finished the bag. I didn’t realize that I had eaten six pastries until I noticed that Eric was tossing the empty bag in a trash barrel. Maybe it was the affect of the beer, but I kept the fact that he was feeding me pastries in the back of my mind. We stopped at the grocery before going to the apartment. There wasn’t much in the fridge and we got things that we needed. When Eric wasn’t paying attention, I got a quart of Chunky Monkey. I figured to pull the old switcheroo so that he wouldn’t realize that I had eaten the quart that had been in the freezer earlier in the day. I figured some of his gallantry at making sure that I had enough to eat at dinner was based on my representation that I had gone the entire day without food. As I was helping bag the groceries, I saw that Eric had done a bit of slight of hand himself. There was a big bag of Perugina Dark Chocolate Baci Kisses and a big bag of Lindt Lindor Extra Dark Chocolate Truffles. Puzzled for a moment, my only thought was that I didn’t realize that Eric liked chocolate that much. But I sure do. And, yes, he does know that, too. Chapter Nine We got home after shopping and I helped Colette put things away. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her quickly put a quart of ice cream into the freezer. I didn’t understand why we needed more ice cream until later when I found the empty quart in the garbage. Somehow, while not eating anything during the day, I suspected that quart of Chunky Monkey had found its way into her belly. Without calling any attention to my discovery, but curious, I asked Colette, "Did you have any one over today?" "No. Why?" she asked. "Just wondering if you had to be alone all day, while I was at work," I answered. "I was out and about much of the day," she replied. "I had plenty to keep me busy. We sat down on the couch to watch some television and to cuddle. As we were snuggling, I slipped my hand in under her shirt and pants. I was going for her belly. For a moment I got confused. I couldn’t find my way in. There was something that I couldn’t find my way under. "What are you wearing? I can’t get my hand under your clothes," I asked her. "Oh, that’s my new little friend. I am wearing a body suit. It helps smooth my lines and controls my lumps and bumps," Colette explained. "I bought it today. Do you like it?" "I don’t think I really get what it is doing. Is it like a girdle?" I asked. "No, of course not. It is a body suit. It’s more like a body stocking. I just like the way that it smooths me out. Weren’t you surprised that my muffin top and belly roll had disappeared between this morning and this evening?" she said. "Actually, I just thought you got some clothes that fit right. Can I see you in your body suit?" I asked. "I guess, sure," Colette answered, but still stayed sitting on the coach. I kept staring at her, expecting her to take off her clothes so I could see her this miracle garment. I had seen ads for what I figured this to be on television and was very curious to see how it looked on her and the difference it made. "You mean now?" she asked. "Well, yeah. I guess now would be a good time. Don’t you think," I said getting up to help her up. She stood and I started helping pull off her top. "Easy, big boy. Give me a chance here," Colette said pushing my hands away. She stood up and dropped her pants, stepping out of them while she pulled off her shirt. Then she turned towards me in her slinky body suit. "Wow, that is shimmery. Is it tight? No wonder I couldn’t feel any chub," I commented. "It actually is very comfortable," Colette explained. "I was surprised. Instead of feeling squished, it makes me feel like I am toned. Maybe a little bit synthetically." "What is it made out of?" I asked. "Is it some kind of miracle fabric?" Colette kind of danced around a little bit, showing off her body suit. "Actually, it feels a lot like my Danskin, except it has special stitching that seems to pull me in here and there. It claims it makes me one size smaller." "So your like an 8 in that?" I asked. "I wish. I’m not telling you the sizes that I bought today. Just accept: I am not an 8 in this," she said, sounding a bit discouraged. "You know what I think I would enjoy? Watching you take it off," I said. "Somebody getting in the mood to fool around?" she asked. She started to roll the body suit off, and this had the effect that I was hoping for. As she pulled it down, her flesh seemed to expand like rising dough. She stepped out of the body suit and tossed it aside, standing in front of me stark naked. What a difference. I instantly got hard. That was one miracle fabric. Without the body suit, she looked more than one size bigger. She looked fluffy and her gut much more pronounced. I was sure that the dinner she had just had contributed a bit to her bloat. "Now, there’s the belly that I got to know last night and this morning. How have you been, darling?" I said holding her round belly in my hands, hefting it, and then letting it bounce on its own. "Let’s take a shower," I suggested. I stripped down while the water was warming up and we both got in to the shower. I grabbed the soap and started running it all around her body. With the soap on her skin, she seemed even more malleable. It really made it easy to wobble her belly, ass, and breasts. I turned her around and pressed into her back, holding her by her round belly. If I wasn’t careful, I could have cum right then. I massaged into her thick shoulders while she stood under the hot water. She really started to relax. We got out of the shower and I grabbed the body towel and wrapped her up to dry her off. She was just melting into my hands, with her eyes closed and breathing deep. When she was dry, I pulled her to the bed. I went down on her enough to get her wet, and then got on top of her, sliding myself in so that my stomach pushed into her belly. I think the thing I was enjoying most was how her rounded body pushed back against me without any effort on her part. Her simple mass provided resistance. When she was thin, she needed to be part of the effort. Now, she only needed to lay there and her body did the rest by itself. She arched her back, lifting her belly into me, and I was able to get up on me knees and bang away at her. Each time we hit, ripples would jiggle across her fleshy body. She grabbed my forearms with her hands and I grabbed her forearms with my hands, which made it easy for me to pull her hard into me. We got into a rhythm that had her belly and breasts bouncing with the beat. We kept this up for about a minute and I could feel her body getting very hot, with my body doing the same. I figured that this was some kind of tantric breathing trick: we were breathing together in rhythm until she started pulsing her cunny to the beat, which brought me up and over the edge. I would like to say that we came together, but that sounds too rationale. I don’t know what happened. All I knew is that we ended up completely outside of ourselves in a sweaty tangle. "That was fun," I said when I regained the ability to speak. I rolled off of her and lay next to her, feeling my body cool down. After about 10 minutes, I asked her if we could try something new. She probably thought that I meant some new position or something, but instead I got up from the bed and went to get the truffles that I bought at the store. "What are you going to do with those," she asked. "I just thought, after all of that effort, you might need something to give you some energy," I teased. I unwrapped a truffle and rubbed it on her lips until she opened her mouth and sucked it in. I lay down along side of her, with her still on her back and unwrapped a second, repeating the enticement. She ate that one, too. With the third, I kind of walked it up her belly and across her breasts, slide it up on her neck and then held it under her nose until she snapped it from my fingers. I moved my hand down to her crotch and started to play with those lips, kind of pulling up with two of my fingers so that her labia rubbed against her clit. I fumbled with another truffle and managed to pop that in her mouth as she started rotating her hips in response to my fingering. When I felt her body getting into the pulse, I moved back over her and slid myself into her tight cunny. Then I roled softly onto my side, but with her still on her back so that I was kind of twisted. This made it easy for me to pull my cock against the top of her cunny, as we kept the motion going. In that position, I was able to keep playing with her bouncy breasts. As we kept going, with her eyes closed, she moaned, "More chocolate." I unwrapped another truffle and let her kind of nibble it out of my fingers. Before she could even chew that one, I unwrapped the last truffle and pushed it into her mouth. Her mouth was full of sweet chocolate while I continued to pulse with her body. She started breathing deeper and deeper until she came again, which caused some of the melted chocolate to drip out of her mouth and run down her cheeks. She was trying to do her best to lap it up with her tongue, but some of it started running down her chin. I shifted back on top of her and licked the chocolate off of her face, while I pushed into her chubby body until I came. I felt totally wasted. And I knew she was done. We lay there together for a while. After she had caught her breath, Colette asked in a dreamy voice, "Can I ask you a question? What was with feeding me chocolates?" The question startled me, since I didn’t really have a good answer. I tried to get past it by being vague, "I don’t really know. It just seemed fun. You seemed to like it." I then imitated her deep, sexy voice, "More chocolate." "I’m not complaining, at least I don’t think I am," she continued, "It just seemed a bit different. Popping chocolates into my mouth while we are making love just seems a bit kinky. What made you think of doing that." "It just seemed like a good idea," I tried to say lightly. "And while we’re at it, what about feeding me those pastries as we walked around?" she asked, seeming more awake than I felt. "You may not have noticed, but I have gained a bit of weight and am planning to get rid of it as quick as I can. Feeding me pastries and chocolates doesn’t really fit the program." This conversation brought me fully alert and a little bit nervous. I figured that I needed to somehow explain myself, without giving away maybe what was really lurking behind my actions. I adjusted so that we were both lying on our sides and I could look into her eyes. "I guess there are a couple of things going on. First, of course I noticed that you gained weight; actually a lot of weight in such a short time." I put my finger on her lips to keep her from interrupting. "That was something that happened without my involvement in any way. Agreed?" she nodded "yes". "Okay," I continued, "so I think I have two options. One would be to be all into the ‘how did you get so fat’ kind of attitude, which is not how I feel at all. Believe me." I paused for emphasis, "the second option is that I accept that you have gained the weight and, knowing you to be a strong-willed person, I have to figure you knew what you were doing. I prefer this second option and I guess I figured that it could be fun to play along with you." Colette kind of twisted her mouth like she wasn’t really sure that was a completed answer. "So your saying that, if I am in the mood to eat and be maybe a little bit chubby, you’re not only okay with it: you think that you should encourage me?" "Hey, I guess there are three options: I can be critical of it, ignore, it or support you in it. I didn’t exactly force you to eat anything," I argued. Then I imitated her again, "more chocolate." Colette thought for a moment and seemed to accept my explanation. But I could tell that she was still trying to think it through. "So, I guess it goes that I am lucky that I don’t have one of those boyfriends who hassles their girlfriends for an extra pound or two, and we have never been the types to hold secrets or ignore what’s happening, so I should be glad that you accept me as I am. Is that the way you see it?" I said, "Kind of. Yeah." The mention about secrets did make me a little nervous. "I think you look good and I have no complaint that you are heavier now than you were when you left." "I guess what I am wondering about is the difference between not having a complaint and seeming almost encouraging. I was a little nervous when I got back about how you were going to react to my chub. The thing that keeps coming up to me though is, while you have always been an attentive lover, since I have gotten back you seem to almost be ravaging me," she explained. "Understand. I am not complaining. This could possibly have been the best sex I have ever had. We have always made nice love. But last night, this morning, and just now, it felt more like we were having sex." "Well, remember I didn’t make love or have sex for three months," I noted. "I am sure that has something to do with it. I missed you, laying there in my bed alone night after night," I said, trying to sound forlorn. Colette laughed, "I was alone, too, you know." "Exactly! And now your back and we are making love while we are having sex," I explained, acting like that summarized everything. We lay there for a while. I could tell that Colette was thinking. "Eric? Does my chubbier body somehow excite you?" Colette asked, looking into my eyes in a way that made me feel like maybe there was no escape. She said this seriously, as was waiting for a real answer. "Chubby, skinny, whatever, you are the woman that I love. I think I would enjoy you no matter what," I said with conviction. "Close," offered Colette, "but my question was whether you were somehow turned on by my chubby body. You know, like something about my being bigger is sexier for you. I am remembering the number of times in the past when I was struggling to get skinnier to dance and you almost argued against it, suggesting that you thought I should actually gain some weight. Now, I have gained a bit and you are a sex machine. We’ve made love five times in just about 24 hours. Be honest with me." "I am being honest," I told her. "I am attracted to you. You! And your chubbier body is a lot of fun. Look at it this way: if you needed proof that I mean what I say, accept that we had good sex and I fed you chocolate, which has to mean that I don’t have a problem with the fact that you gained weight." "But, if I am trying to lose weight, the act of feeding me pastries and chocolates is a bit passive aggressive. Don’t you think?" she asked. Okay, if I was going to get out of this without a bigger conversation, I needed to shift the conversation a bit. I paused for affect and then posed her a question, "Don’t get upset, because there is no problem, but if you are really trying to lose weight, what happened to the quart of ice cream? And, is pasta on your diet plan? This had the desired affect in that it forced Colette to address the inconsistencies, instead of probing into why I couldn’t seem to keep my hands off of her fat belly. For a moment, it looked like Colette was going to cry, so I nestled in closer to her and gave her a hug for reinforcement. "What am I going to do," she whimpered. "I feel so fat, but I also feel so hungry. I want to go back to my toned, thin, pre-trip body, but when I was at Eataly, all I could think about was which dish to order. Any thought of dieting seemed a million miles away. I need to figure out how to get rid of all this fat. "First, I think you need a good night’s sleep. We can deal with this tomorrow. The important things at the moment are that you relax, know that I love you, and accept that sometimes things change. I do like your body right now. Maybe it is because it is different. Different can be a turn on or a turn off. For me, right now, this is a turn on, as you can tell," I joked, letting my hardening cock push against her thigh under the covers. That seemed to do the trick. She smiled and confirmed that she was finished for the night. She rolled over and I pushed up against her soft ass, with one arm under her body holding belly fat and my other hand lightly tickling along her arm. The next thing I knew it was morning.

Back from Vacay! 🐷🍹 Here’s *most* of the food and drinks. With icecream & cookies in between all of it 🍦🍪 I was so bloated the entire time!! Time is running out! Have you voted everyday?⏳🏆 https://avn.com/awards/voting/favorite-bbw-performer

https://gfycat.com/SomberBaggyAmericancurl https://gfycat.com/EachEvilDutchshepherddog

Look at that gut!

Season 4 of Catastrophe started two weeks ago, and made an appearance in the latest episode. Amazingly, she's even bigger/wider...

Her ass is too huge

Chapter Ten The next morning I woke up after Eric had already left for work. I guess I needed some sleep. What the fuck was I going to do with myself. I lay in bed recounting the previous days diet and figured out that I probably ate more than 5,000 calories. Not exactly the way to lose weight. One thing I decided: I was going to stay away from the scale at least until I felt like I had made some progress. I was even starting to equivocate on what I needed to drop. The day before, I was figuring 45 pounds. Maybe 40 pounds or even 30 pounds would be more like it. If I was between 140 and 150, I was sure that I would be fine. I dressed in sweats and put on the Today show. I rode for 15 miles, which was more than 30 minutes and supposedly 480 calories. I did some stretches and tried to get back some of my flexibility. One problem encountered was that I couldn’t really lower my head down to my knees with my legs together anymore. It wasn’t as much an issue of flexibility as it was the way that my belly was in the way. I showered and got dressed in new, properly fitting clothes. I fixed myself a breakfast of Special K with skim milk and some fruit. Wasn’t I a good girl. After eating breakfast, I sat down to work on my journal. I was actually getting into the idea of it being more of a story, which would then include my recount of the experience, along with the original intent of keeping track of what I had learned about ingredients, methods, and styles of making pastries. Part of my goal with this trip was to spring board my experience so that, when I was in the advance pastry class that Fall, I would already have a better base and experience to work from. For me, the difference between being a cook and a chef is the art. A cook adds ingredients: a chef makes a composition. Writing my journal, I focused on the sensual. I described the tastes that I had experienced with love bordering on lust. After about an hour of describing French pastries, I started getting hungry. I kept trying to put it out of my head, but my stomach got into the act and actually started growling. Since I had a good breakfast, although nothing compared to what I had been eating on my trip, I kept trying to convince myself that I had the willpower to control my appetite. I made it all the way to the end of reading the description of a particularly succulent eclair that I had eaten at this wonderful patisserie in southern France, to which I attributed Italian influences in the custard filling. I got up to go look at the Italian pastries that we had bought the night before at Eataly. Those were for the weekend, when we were going out to the Hamptons to see my family, the good girl in my head started shouting. Suddenly, the bad girl in my head punched her in the stomach and took over the discussion. "Go ahead and try one or two," the bad girl said, "You’re not even sure that they are any good." I succumbed. My mistake was not simply allowing myself to take one, put it on a plate. retie the box, put the box away, and go sit down at my desk to sample it. Instead, I opened the box, took one and ate it. It was great. Again I had the thought, maybe I could have stayed home. Okay, well that one was okay, but what about this other kind, I rationalized, picking up the second and eating it in two bites, since it was small. Well, that one was okay, but what about this one hiding in the corner? After my fourth, I realized this was stupid standing at the counter eating my way through a couple of pounds of pastries. So, I took the box over to my desk, where I could sit down and continue working, as I nibbled on the pastries. I smirked as I figured that the description of a well balanced diet is pastries in both hands. In much too short a time, the box was empty and my belly had stopped complaining, at least about feeling hungry. Now my belly was protesting a bit about the deluge that it was trying to process. The bad girl was silent, probably lying down somewhere sleeping off a sugar coma. But the good girl was wide awake. "What the fuck are you doing," she was shouting at me. Unfortunately, I had no answer. Why had I just done that? I started berating myself. Yeah, I know, it tasted so good, but I had no need. If I wanted one, why didn’t I just eat one? What was causing me to have no resistance to food. Sitting at the computer, I googled, "being fat." The first thing up was "101 Reasons I Hate Being Fat," followed by "The Stigma of Being Fat," followed by the elegantly titled "Being Fat Sucks." Somehow, I didn’t think I was going to get any answers to my questions from those posts. My problem was not so much an inadequacy of self-loathing but more the why I didn’t seem more committed to returning to the way I ate before my trip and losing the weight I had put on, or at least some of it. Okay, maybe 45 pounds would take too long for it to be the immediate goal. Who wants to decide that they have to be on a diet for something more than 9 months to make up for a small amount of overeating for 3 months. Okay, maybe gaining 53 pounds in 3 months wasn’t a small amount, but still. The math started working in my head: a gain of 53 pounds for a girl weighing 130 was 12 pounds less than a 50% weight increase. That stupid thought was followed by calculating that weight gain averaging between 16 and 20 pounds a month would roughly total something like 227 pounds in one year. I sat there for a moment and thought that unless I corrected my lack of willpower immediately I could end up weighing 227 pounds at the end of the year. Then the mistake in my logic jumped up: no, that would be a 227 pound weight gain in one year on top of being 130 pounds at the start, so I would weigh 357. Sounds like a gun. Let me blow my brains out, I thought. I started looking down the list of posts and then, near the bottom started seeing a shift from the negative to the positive. At the bottom was a post that was titled "Why I Love Being Fat." I opened the site and started reading posts from people giving lists of why they loved being fat. Most were sarcastic, such as "my stomach can serve as a table when I am sitting, giving me someplace convenient to put my plate." One caught my eye, after the previous evening and the questions at the lingere store, "I love it when people come up and ask me when the baby it due or when the say "you look really ...uhm...healthy". While the cynical tone of the posts was logical - don’t we all know that it sucks to be fat in America? - I did see some that seemed sincere. One of those was from someone who made reference to "Dimensions". I surfed over to Dimensions and found an entire site dedicated to the positives of fat people. This site offered an entirely different point of view. I quickly learned the term "FA", or "fat admirer". It turned out that there are guys who don’t mind having fat girlfriends or wives. It actually turned out that there are guys who actually prefer having fat girlfriends or wives. Crazy, It turned out that there are guys whose whole deal was about wanting their girlfriends or wives to be fat. That was not a world that I had encountered before. I had lived in a world of dance and high-style attitudes that made fat a synonym for weak at best and disgusting in many cases. The "fat" of three months ago for me would have been gaining 5 pounds and going to dance class. At 130, I was already too heavy by many standards. At 183, I was ridiculous. But here was a site on which some of the people wouldn’t even be interested in looking at me because I was too thin. I went to one of the Forums called "Plus-size Paysite Board. If these forum were positioned by the number of hits, this one was third out of many. I started opening posts and found enormous women who were actually able to sell subscriptions to their sites so that people could look at their bodies or post messages to them. Suddenly, I felt like a stick. Some of these women were really, really fat; like 400 and 500 pounds fat. And instead of wearing tents to concealed their overflowing bodies, they were dressed in tight clothes, or bathing suits, or underwear, or nothing. It was difficult with a couple of the models, such one who called herself "Boberry" and another going by "Bonnie", to even be able to tell if they were naked because the size of their bellies, thighs, hips, everything made it impossible to tell if they were wearing any bottoms. These women were huge. I thought I should find this revolting. Here were pictures of immense women sitting in front of a table fully loaded with food that is was clear they intended to eat. Boberry didn’t even make an effort to use a table. Her spread was laid out before her in bed. I was struck by how flexible her legs looked, projecting out in a split, but then I realized that it would be tough for her to sit with her legs together. There would be no where for her to put her belly, which was bigger than any I had ever seen, but not even the biggest on the website. Instead of feeling grossed out, I found myself fascinated. She had a site on something called BigCuties. Bonnie was on that site as well. Bonnie declared herself as a gainer and was actively trying to get fatter. She had pictures that showed her progression from barely chubby to over 350 pounds. Boberry said that she was not actively gaining, but also not trying to control her weight. Boberry also had pictures that spanned several years, which showed her going from around 400 pounds to over 600 pounds. How does somebody who is not actively trying to gain end up adding 200 pounds. Bonny was all about her belly, which she had actually named. While Boberry’s belly was very large, it was her thighs, hips, and ass that were remarkable. I learned that "bbw" was short for "big beautiful woman." This was an entire culture that seemed to be operating under the radar. As I looked over her site, I realized that I was looking at only a sampling and to get the real stuff required paying money to join her site, and it wasn’t cheap. I was amazed that there was an entire enterprise by which fat woman could get paid for posting pictures of themselves on-line and that the profit would come from the enticement of gaining more weight. Crazy, I thought to myself. I surfed some more and found other sites that obviously catered to men whose sexual preference was totally fat women. I would have thought of it as one of those really weird fetishes, like loving feet or something, except it seemed so mainstream. I had always realized that different cultures have a different attitude about weight and that black women with big booties seemed highly desirable on some music videos. There was even Sir Mixalot’s "I like big booty" song. I remember watching it and assumed that it would be about making fun of girls with big butts, but instead it actually made fun of skinny girls. I remembered that, at the time, I had actually enjoyed my "black girls booty", which was the result of a decade of dance and not the benefit of genetics. I continued surfing and reading for at least another hour, as the damage of the disappearing box of pastries subsided. Suddenly, there she was again. The bad girl was whispering, "You’re getting hungry. You know there is half a pizza sitting there ready for you. I could be lunch." Maybe it was the influence of looking at woman who were comfortable with their size weighing more than twice as much as me, but the good girl in my head was no where to be found. I ate the pizza and helped flush it down with some diet ice tea. And it was a few minutes after noon. Not crazy. I just had lunch. That was more of a one person pizza anyway and I only had half. It’s not out of line. Maybe not consistent with my original idea of having a yogurt and another piece of fruit for lunch, but it was not ridiculous. Thinking about the weekend, I realized that I needed to confront another dilemma. We would be going to the Hamptons to see my parents and my two sisters, who also were dancers and who always thought of me as the "big" one. There would be the issue of the pool and swimming, which meant getting in a bathing suit. I had a suspicion that my previous years bikinis and strings were not going to do the job, given my new poundage. Perhaps in a kind of denial, I figured I should give it a try anyway. I found my suits and started trying them on. The actual bikinis were a no go simply on the basis that the fabric had little give and I really was that much bigger. They just didn’t fit. My string bikini was also a no go, but for a different reason. Since it fit by how it was tied, it had plenty of ability to adjust to my bigger body. The problem was that I looked ridiculous. That type of suit looked great on me last year when I was all lean muscle. Now, on my 183 pound body it looked obscene. Standing in front of the mirror with it on, I actually thought that a picture of me in this suit posted on Dimensions might get a positive reaction. Maybe not from the people who drooled over Boberry, but there was definitely enough flesh and roundness to qualify, particularly if I posted a picture of me in the same suit from the year before. A lot of the interest on Dimensions and BigCuties seemed to be a changes-over-time-with-weight-gain kind of thing. Of course, that would imply that I am heading up the scales and my intention was to do exactly the opposite. At around 1:00, I got dressed again, put my new work out clothes in a gym bag, and headed out. There was a Zumba class at 3:00, which I figured would be a good start. In the meantime, I needed to see if I could find a swimsuit that would lessen the criticism from my parents and avoid my sisters rolling on the ground laughing. I decided to trust my new fashion friend, the salesgirl at the store from the day before. I got to the store and waited for her to be available. I walked up and smiled, "Remember me from yesterday?" "Sure, did you have a problem with something that you bought?" she responded. "No, everything fits great. That is why I am here. I think you understood yesterday that I have recently put on some weight and I am not used to how to shop, being a bit bigger. I need a swimsuit for this weekend. Any ideas?" I asked. "Sure, sure. Not a problem. What size were you in the body suit?" she asked. I told her and she took me to the swimsuit section. She stepped back and looked me over from top to bottom, paying it seemed a lot of attention to my bottom. "Okay, first give me some history. How much weight did you gain since last summer?" While I was puzzled that this was needed information, I figured she’s the doctor. "I have gained maybe 30 pounds. Last summer I weighed 130 and was in perfect shape. I’m a dancer," I explained. "Okay so 130 last year and you were a dancer and you’ve gained 30 pounds since then. For some reason, I’m not computing. I think something is missing," she challenged. I shrugged, and figured that she needed the real facts. I guessed that she had a pretty good idea anyway. "I weighed 183 yesterday. I still have all my muscles and underneath a new layer of blubber, I have a great body. I am on a diet and I am on my way to a Zumba class." "Don’t you love Zumba!" she asked with excitement. I explained that this was going to be my first class, but that up until the end of May, I was going to ballet classes at lease three times a week. "You danced ballet?" she asked, sounding incredulous that my 183 pounds could stand on point. "Okay, what I am about to tell you only one other person in the world knows," I said with dramatic flair, looking over both shoulder. "If you were to tell anyone, I would be forced to kill you," I continued. "I weighed 130 pounds three months ago." My drama had captured the salesgirl’s imagination, which wasn’t really that tough. "You gained that much weight in that little time and you’re not even pregnant?" she asked with amazement. "What happened to you? Why did that happen?" She sounded nervous, as if her next question would be, is it contagious. I looked around the room again, pretending to confirm that no one was eavesdropping, "I am studying at the Culinary Institute of America, which is called the CIA, and I am concentrating on baking and pastries and I spent three months traveling around France and Italy to learn all that I could first hand by eating pastries," I explained. "Wow, and you did this for the CIA?" she asked, sounding very impressed. "Well, it was a dirty job, but someone had to do it," I said, sounding very official, but trying not to burst out laughing. I shook the girl’s hand and introduced myself as Colette, she introduced herself a Dixie, but said that her friends called her Spike. I didn’t even want to know. "Okay, Spike, your next assignment is to help me find a bathing suit that doesn’t make me look like dough set to rise," I told her. She nodded in the affirmative and steered me to an Eddie Bauer section that included the Miraclesuit - a Fauxkini One-Piece Swimsuit guaranteed to make me look 10 pounds lighter in 10 seconds. I read the ad and it claimed that it slims and firms with a miracle fabric that is three times the support of Lycra spandex, without bulky girdles or lines. This looked like the right suit. I was kind of amazed that there was such an industry dedicated to my problem. "You are right between a 12 and a 14,"Spike explained, but take the 12. "That way you will look like a 10 instead of a 12." I thought that there must be something missing in that logic, but I let it go. "This is the cut that is going to be best for you," she said handing me one of the suits to try on. "The hips are cut really high. With your long legs, you will look thinner, and it is better when you don’t have the suit on your thighs, which can sort of make them look bulgy." Once again, Spike impressed me with her knowledge of handling the female form. I kind of wondered where her first hand understanding of this came from, given her that she was skinny. I took the suit and tried it on. While it kind of made me feel like it was a sausage casing and I was the meat, I was impressed about how it smoothed me out and made me look pretty good. I would still get shit from everyone, since I had still gained all of this weight, but at least I didn’t look like the Pillsbury Dough Girl. I bought two suits and thanked Spike. "No, thank you," she said. I could tell that she had some fantasy running around in her brain with intrigue and the CIA and international adventure. "Stay safe," she offered as I left. I headed off to Zumba. Okay the good news was that I fit right into the group. I wasn’t anywhere near the fattest in the room and maybe was in better shape than many. The bad news was I hadn’t gotten that intense a workout in a long time and I was drenched at the end. But it felt really good. The instructor came up to me at the end and asked if I had taken classes before and I told her no, but that I had always been a dancer, with training in classical ballet. "Well, that shows," she exclaimed. "For your first time, you were moving pretty well. Don’t be surprised though, if you feel it later, we work a lot of muscles differently." I told her that I could tell and already felt it in my legs, although my guess that was less to do with using different muscles than dancing around at 183 pounds. I was all covered up in my workout outfit, but lots of other people were dressed in skimpy tops and low cut bottoms, even some of the girls who probably had me by 20 pounds. I was going to wait until I had dropped 20 before I was ready to display quite that much flesh. After I left the class, based somewhat on the delusion that I had skipped lunch - well, I hadn’t eaten what I had planned for lunch, I stopped into SmoothieKing and got a protein shake. It’s a health drink, right? I got a 40 oz. Cranberrie Cooler. It looked like a good bet: Stay Healthy, low sodium, and only 992 calories! Okay, so maybe I should have gotten the smaller size, but did I mention I was starving? And this way I wouldn’t be too hungry when I ate dinner. Perfect rationalization. I had one more stop to make. I went back to Eataly and bought the same sized box with roughly the same pastries as I had murdered that morning. No need to worry Eric with disappearing desserts. Back home I tossed the old box out in the garbage bin and replaced it with the nice, new box. No harm, no foul. Then I got busy cooking dinner. It had been a long time since I last cooked for Eric. Chapter Eleven When I walked into the apartment, I knew right away that Colette had been cooking. Great aromas hung in the air and my mouth started to water. Colette popped out of the kitchen and gave me a big kiss and huge. I was still getting used to how great she felt in my arms. I freshened up and fixed us each a beer. "So what’s cookin, good lookin?" I flirted. "I made the lasagne that I promised," Colette announced with another big kiss and hug. I could tell that she wasn’t wearing her body suit and used her love handles to pull her in so tight that I could feel her round belly pushing up against me. "Do you need any help," I asked. "Sure, why don’t you serve the lasagna and I will grab the salad and the rolls," she answered. We got things on the table and sat down. Colette looked at her plate and said, "Hey, honey, I think you got the plates mixed up," referring to the size of the serving that I gave her. "I just made them the same. You don’t have to finish it, if it is too much," I said apologetically. She just gave me a kind of skeptical look. "What?" I asked. "It’s fine," she answered as she reached for a baguette. She had warmed the baguettes after cutting a little pocket into them, into which she spread an oil, garlic, and fresh basil. They tasted great. I could tell from Colette’s expression, and her reach for a quick second, that she liked them, too. As we sat talking, I watched as Colette finished off her plate without hesitation or effort. I realized that I had actually given us both large portions. "So, how was Zumba," I asked. "It was great. A lot of fun. And really great exercise. I was surprised about how hard I had to work. The instructor came up to me afterwards and said she could tell that I was a dancer," Colette said with a sense of some pride. "Hon, you’re a great dancer. Why are you surprised that she saw that?" I asked. "Well, it is a totally different way of dancing, but I guess it is still about moving the body," she agreed. We cleared the table and I helped her straighten up in the kitchen. There was still a healthy portion of lasagna left. "What should I do with this?" I asked. "I will wrap it up and save it," she answered. "Can we have some of the pastries for dessert?" I asked. "No. I want to bring those out to my family tomorrow," Colette answered in a way that I knew left no room for negotiation. I remembered the ice cream in the freezer. "How about some ice cream, then?" I suggested. Colette pursed her lips and made a face as she answered, "I am not so sure I should be eating any ice cream. I am already getting nervous about what my family is going to say about the weight that I have put on." She jiggled her round belly for emphasis. "A little ice cream isn’t going to change anything," I coaxed. "Besides, it’s not like you are fat, or something. You’re just not skinny. I think you look really good," I flattered her, taking her in my arms and pulling her up against me. "If your sisters say anything, it is just going to be because they are jealous," I continued. "You are nuts! My sisters are not going to be jealous of my getting fat" Colette said, sounding a little discouraged. "Who is defining you as fat?" I questioned. "Sure, you are heavier than you used to be, but your in good shape. Your just more zaftig. If you haven’t noticed, I am kind of enjoying the fruits of your adventure." I slid my hands down and grabbed her bigger, but still firm dancer’s ass." Colette gave me a funny look and commented, "I am kind of wondering about how much you are enjoying my chubby body. I kind of thought you would be lamenting the loss of your girlfriend with the perfect body and, instead, you seem more than enthusiastic about your girlfriend with the bigger belly, tits, and booty." I smiled and she continued, "Zaftig? Is that somehow related to zeppelin or zeppoli? Are you comparing me to an inflated balloon or to fried dough?" I laughed and explained that "zaftig" refers to having a full rounded body, and that it is never negative, but more like saying "pleasantly plump" with the emphasis on "pleasantly". Colette gave me an even funnier look and asked, "when did you become an expert on the terminology for describing rounded bodied women?" I felt my face flush, but hoped she didn’t notice. "It is just a word that I know. You’re a Barnard graduate. You never heard of the word zaftig?" "Yes, I have heard the word zaftig, but never applied to me. I was joking about zeppelin and zeppoli, but I have to tell you, I do feel like I have blown up and you seem to devour me like I am a sugar donut." I started biting her neck and pinching her chub to tease her, "You sure are sweet!" She started responding to my attention, but I broke the grasp and opened the freezer to get out the ice cream. "First, some Chunky Monkey," I suggested. "If that is what you need to get into the mood," she responded. I served up two good sized bowls full and we went in the living room to watch television, while we had our dessert. After finishing, I put the bowls in the sink and followed Colette into the bedroom. Where we fell onto the bed and had some fun. I had noticed that, after eating, Colette’s belly was more pronounced and I liked the way it pushed against me when we were making love. It was soft on the surface, but had a solid feel underneath and this solidness felt really good right above my crotch. Before, when she was thin, the main contact seemed to be crotch to crotch. Now with her belly, there was a lot more contact. She was convex instead of concave and her strong, lean muscles were padded with the pounds of jiggle chub that encased her body. She had more bounce when she moved, so that the combined effect was a lot more sensation and action. Her breasts, too, had a lot more movement with their increased size, which was very tantalizing. I had noticed that her bigger breasts made it easier for me to reach her nipples with my mouth when I was on top of her, which she seemed to like, too. We only made love once that night, but it went on for a long time and I was totally spent when I came.

I would rather add 50-80 on that frame

KFD was here. Too many ladies and Challengers make it hard for your lawn to grow. 🤷🏼‍♂️

Chapter Six After Eric left for work, I sat down to plan my day. I had a number of things that I had to catch up on, having been away so long. I was already set for several Fall courses at the CIA, but I still needed to fill out some things and send them in. I called my Mom and Dad and confirmed that Eric and I would be heading out to the Hamptons some time that weekend, but I wasn’t sure yet when. I spent some time researching a couple of websites for dance classes. There was no way that I was going back to my regular class in my current condition. I had been with those classes during my entire time in college plus last year. They knew me as a professional; as someone who had actually considered being a ballerina, although, at 5'-8" and not flat chested, I did not have the classic ballerina’s body. Still, I had been all muscle and bone, and had a certain talent. There was just no way that I was going to try to walk back into that class weighing more than 130 pounds. People who take dance seriously do not respect dancers who let themselves blow up into blimps. And a blimp for a dancer is someone who has any meat on their bones at all, even a few pounds. When I was dancing, the other ballerinas were always encouraging me to start smoking so that I could get thinner. No thanks, but imagine if they saw me now. I got out of my silk robe, which wasn’t closing around me anyway when I was sitting, and looked for something to wear. I wanted to exercise. I already knew how my sweats fit me, so that wasn’t an option. I found a pair of Eric’s sweats and but them on. I admit that I was a bit surprised to realize that they, too, were not exactly loose. Eric has always been well muscled and in good shape. And he weighed more than me, although not by much at that point. At 6'-2" and 205, he also was long and lean. He had big shoulders and strong arms, and close to a six pack, although I bit thicker than when he was in college and playing safety for the football team. I guess I had figured that, because he was heavier than me, I would be swimming in his sweats, but they were actually snug around my hips and belly. I got on the exercise bike that we had in the apartment and started to ride. It felt good to be doing something physical. I rode for 30 minutes and paid more attention to the calories burned register than anything else. While I had always noticed that register, it hadn’t been particularly important before I left for Europe. Now I found myself fixated by the calorie counter. In 30 minutes, it said that I had burned 420 calories. Not bad, I thought. I wondered how much thinner I had gotten. What would I weigh then on the scale? Of course, I knew that I had lost maybe 1/8 a pound, and that only if the calculator was accurate, which is too much to expect from one of those machines. I got down on the floor to do some core work and stretches with my exercise balls and bands. For another 30 minutes, I concentrated on isometrics and exercises intended to tighten my ass, hips, and belly. While I was glad to see that, on the bike, my body responded well and the walking around Europe seemed to have kept me in relatively good shape aerobically, using my core muscles was another story. It wasn’t really that my core had gotten weak, but it was much more difficult to move my body around. One of my primary exercises for core had been lying on my back, pushing my lower back into the floor, and then contracting all of the muscles from my knees to my chest, holding the contraction for a count of 12, relaxing, and then repeating. When I did this, I would check my muscles with my hands to make sure that they were in full contraction. Now, trying to check my muscles felt totally different. I had this layer of squishy jelly covering everything. When I would contract, my stomach muscles would push my belly up and out, making it look even bigger. I was glad that I still had those muscles underneath, but amazed by how quickly I had been able to completely conceal them from view and almost touch. When I was done, I had a good sweat going. I was laying their doing my yoga breathing, while I ran some quick math through my brain instead of my mantra. I calculated that, if I exercised every day for an hour and burned 800 calories each time, it would only take me something like 220 days to lose 50 pounds. What!!! How could it take 220 days to work off something that I had put on in only 90 days. When I was done, I sat back down at my computer and search "calories burned". The site that came up allowed me to enter biking (vigorous) 30 minutes, stretching 15 minutes, calisthenics (vigorous) 15 minutes and then print calculate. For a 183 pound woman the answer came back: only 467. WHAT!!! Running the numbers again, although this time using a calculator, I computed that to lose 45 pounds exercising every day at the rate of 467 a day would now take 336 days! Okay, okay, I started to panic, but this is just exercise. Of course, I was forgetting: I would also be dieting at the same time. The computer is such a handy tool. I then searched "calorie weight loss". "Calories Needed for Goal Weight" popped up. Perfect! I entered in the numbers: gender "Female", age "23", height "5'-8", activity level that best matches your lifestyle "Very Active", current weight "183" (I felt safe admitting this. No one sees these, right?), Goal Weight "138": I figured that Eric seemed to be enjoying my extra chub, so I would leave something for him to play with. I left Goal Date blank, after all it offered to have one automatically selected for me. How easy! Then I pressed Calculate and the results popped up. "You need 2,818 calories per day to maintain your current weight and should consume 2,254 calories a day to reach your goal weight of 138 lbs. This is a reasonable weight loss average of 1 lbs per week. You will reach your goal weight in 280 days." Next year! WHAAA! 280 days?? Okay, okay, okay! I figured maybe I needed to enter in a goal date. How about December 1? 90 days to put it on and 90 days to take it off. And I was even giving myself permission for the 8 extra pounds. I clicked the arrow back and entered the new date and pushed calculate again. "Goal date too aggressive. Your goal date has been modified to allow you to lose a maximum of 2 pounds per week," came up in bright, red letters. "You should consume about 1,818 calories a day to reach your goal weight of 138 lbs ." Who were they to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do? How did this make sense. If I could gain 53 pounds in 90 days why would it take me 157 days to lose 45 pounds? Did I mention that I am good at math? I needed to relax. I opened up the drawer where we kept our stash and took out some pot. I figured that I needed to calm myself down or I was going to have a full fledged anxiety attack. I had even been figuring that three months sounded like too long. I was supposed to see my family in less than a week. I toked up and took a couple of deep hits, closed my eyes and let my medicinal yoga drug of choice mellow me out. Opening my eyes, I saw the message on the screen: Janet Jackson inviting me to a Nutrisystem Anniversary Sales Event!. I almost punched the computer, which quickly changed the ad to WeightWatchers with a picture of Jennifer Hudson with a big smile and her hands on her hips, "Believe, because it works!" Fuck you Jennifer, and I gave her the finger. "I didn’t laugh at you when you were a big, fat girl in Dream Girls. Effie White? Effie you, Dream Girl. I pressed the arrow back and now an ad for Medifast came up, with a picture of a big bowl of chocolate ice cream and the question, "Does your diet taste like this?" I decided to try one more website. I clicked on Healthy Weight Forum, which sounded very well mannered. This time I entered in the details, Gender - Female, Weight -183, Height - 5'-8", Age -23, Activity Level - Heavy, I want to lose - 45 lbs, In - 1 week. I pushed "Calculate Calories" and the results popped up: It said I needed to eat negative 10,000 calories a day. Then is said that 10,000 calories lost per day by dieting and exercising was the maximum limit in the calculator. That didn’t get me to 138 pounds. If I ate negative 10,000 calories a day for one week, at the end of the week I would still weigh 163 pounds. Fuck me! I am still not sure why I did what I did next. For some reason, the only thing that seemed reasonable after this research was the picture of the big bowl of chocolate ice cream and the question, "does your diet taste like this?" I would like to say it was the pot, or that I was in some kind of a trance, but I really have no real clue. The next thing that I did was go to the freezer to take a look. No, there was no chocolate ice cream. But there was a quart of Chunky Monkey ice cream with just a few spoonfuls missing. I took it out, grabbed a spoon and spent the next 15 mindless minutes making it disappear. Then I went to take a shower. In the shower, I tried to evaluate what I had just done. Okay, more math. I just worked out for an hour, with the hope that it was worth 800 calories, although the website insists that it was only 688 calories. Then I ate almost four cups of ice cream, which had to have at least 300 calories per half cup, ingesting something like 2,400 calories in 15 minutes. Okay, net? My first steps to lose weight by diet and exercise left me with a net calorie gain of 1,712 calories; close to my total allotment for the day, if I was going to lose 50 pounds in only 157 days. I tried to rationalize that I had skipped breakfast, and if I didn’t eat lunch or dinner, I was doing fine, but I knew that this was going to be trouble. I did skip lunch and spent the rest of the morning and all afternoon taking care of things. I guess, after my morning, I should have thought better of it, but I went shopping for clothes. I literally had nothing that fit, with the exception of an odd, middle eastern dress that I had somehow ended up with, which had an elastic waist and lots of fabric. That would not be what I would wear. Luckily, I found that Eric’s jeans, if I rolled up the bottoms, and one of his sports shirts not tucked in, worked pretty well. His jeans actually felt comfortable on me, which was a pleasant feeling. Great! I can wear 36 waist 34 length jeans, if I roll up the bottoms. Dressed in my boyfriends clothes, I went shopping. In the store, to figure out my size in jeans, I grabbed several pairs in different cuts in sizes 10 and 12. Although I had started out as a loose 8 in June, I knew that I was no where near there anymore. I shouldn’t have bothered with 10s either, since they were a no go from thighs, to ass, to belly. The 12s worked around the thighs and ass, but some cuts were tight around the waist nudging my muffin top up over the waistband. I picked out two pairs of 12s that were manageable, and then found a couple of 14s. I did not like the idea of trying on sized 14 pants, but they actually fit the best and didn’t create a muffin top. I picked out some tops and shirts. Then I went into lingerie. The saleswoman was ready to be very attentive. While I had managed to avoid much discussion with anyone picking out the pants and shirts, the set up in lingerie required conversation. "Do you know your bra size?" I was asked. How does a 23 year old woman say, "I have no idea?" The best I could do was a kind of vague, "I used to be a 34B, but I have put on a few pounds since then." The salesgirl got out her tape, which I looked at as if it was an instrument of torture. "What are you going to do with that?" I asked. "Relax, I do this all day," she answered. "When are you due?" I shot her a look that answered the question and she simply mumbled "Sorry." She measured around my chest under my breasts and then around the top of my breasts. I didn’t like the way that she seemed to obsess about making sure that she found where my back fat bulged the most. "Okay. I get 33" under and 37" over, so adding 5 inches makes you a 38 band and a 4 inch difference puts you in a D cup. Let’s get a 38D and have you try it on for size," the salesgirl suggested. 38D? No wonder Eric was having such a good time last night and this morning, I thought. "I assume you want something with underwire?" the salesgirl more suggested than asked. "My preference is support and comfort. I don’t like underwire" I answered with my pre-Europe trip attitude speaking. I knew that I needed new bras. While I used to go braless much of the time, with the added weight my breasts seemed to do a dance of their own when I was walking, which I didn’t think looked terrific, which had forced me to wear my old bras on my trip. Now I could understand why they were uncomfortable and hadn’t been successful in containing me. I had gone from a 34B to a 38D in three months. I am sure that contributed to the girl mistaking me for being pregnant. "What about a sports bra?" I asked. "That could work, as long as you prefer being held down. If I had your chest, I would go for a wired push up to make the most of your attributes," she suggested. "Maybe when I get a little bit more comfortable with my girls," I smiled in response, adopting the the salegirl’s tone and perspective on what she seemed to think important. "But for now, I’d like a very supportive sports bra. I am a dancer," I explained. "Well, I think you are going to have to get used to your step up in the world. A 34B can wear just about anything, but a 38D really needs underwire for support. Let me bring you a couple to try on," she suggested. She brought me a black, lacy Curvation Side Shaper Underwire Bra and a Fruit of the Loom Extreme Comfort Bra. I went in the changing room and put on the first. I stepped out and she made a couple of adjustments with the straps. The fit seemed right, but I kind of felt like I was sticking out into the room. Maybe right for a different kind of dancer, I thought. Suddenly, I wondered if my comment about being a "dancer" had been misinterpreted. I went back and put on the other bra, which seemed less dramatic and a softer look. I told her I would take four of the Comfort Bras. And then, thinking of Eric, I told her that I would take the one Shaper Bra, too. "Now, what else? Do you need panties?" she asked. "Yes, but I don’t know my size in those either," I answered. "Well, let’s see," she said pulling out the dreaded tape. She measured me around the waist and around the hips. "I think maybe a 6 will do it, although a 7 may be more comfortable, depending on the type." "A 6 or 7?" I said, pleased with such a low number. ""Yes. That’s an XL in Jockey. An XL or XXL in other lines," she explained, dashing any fantasy that I may have had. "You’re probably better with the XL Jocky Bikini," she continued, taking a second look at my ass. "What were my measurement, anyway?" I asked. "Well, your waist was 32" when you were sucking in and then 34" when you let it out. Your hips are a solid 40" to maybe 41". I’m figuring you want bikinis, so that the waist line sits low," she offered. In other words, under my belly, not over it, was the translation. I went over to the Jockey rack and picked out an assortment. The salegirl, who’s boyish slimness was starting to bother me, came over and asked, "Do you want to try a Skinnygirl or Spanx?" I looked at her to try to figure out what the joke was supposed to be. "A Skinnygirl?" I asked. "Sure. They are great at holding you together. I’m guessing you are a 14 and a Skinnygirl would make you a 12," she explained. "Are you talking about a girdle?" I asked. "No," she laughed. "Here, let me get you one and you can check it out." She brought me a Spanx bodysuit with a slimming level of "medium", guaranteed to hold in my belly with a special panel so that I would be a minimum of one dress size smaller. It also guaranteed to be "Undie-tectable". At first, I thought this was silly. I certainly didn’t need this. But then I realized I was thinking three month old thoughts. "Okay, I will try one. Is this my size?" I asked. "It sure is! Need anything else?" she asked. It actually made me feel better that she was giving me a large instead of an extra large. "No. I think that will do it for now," I answered and followed her to the counter. Nope, that is enough humiliation for one day, I thought. Then, looking at the information on the packaging for the bodysuit, I saw that they also made briefs. "What about these ‘Undie-tectable Panties’," I asked. "Sure, we have those, but you may want to check out the ‘Fantastic Firmers Control Panties’ or the ‘Chic Peek Panties’. They are super firmers instead of medium slimmers," the salesgirl offered. My first reaction was to shoot my salesgirl a nasty look. Was I really so big that I needed "super firmers"? Then I thought about it and realized that, one - she knew more about this than I did; two - she really was trying to be helpful; and three - yeah, I probably did need the "super firmers". I asked her for two pairs of the ‘Chic Peek Panties’, with one pair in black and the other in nude. The nice thing about the style of those panties, I thought, was that they had lace and detailing so that when Eric saw me in them he wouldn’t think I was wearing a girdle. If it was going to take me months to control my muffin top, maybe these would help in the meantime. I thanked the salesgirl and even smiled. My guess was that I was going to need to lose the attitude and accept that maybe she was going to be my new best friend, at least until I dropped some of the weight. Chapter Seven I called Colette and confirmed that she would be joining me at 6:00. My plan was to meet up with some friends and then get dinner. Colette explained that she had skipped breakfast and lunch, but had started a new regime to drop the weight that she had put on in Europe. "Hey, you don’t need to worry about this or do it for me," I responded, trying to sound supportive instead of maybe disappointed. Colette and I arrived at the bar at the same time. I have to say she looked really great, if a bit slimmer. Everything she was wearing fit her nicely and there were no lumps or bulges. We hugged and kissed and my hands noticed that the rolls on her back had disappeared, although my fingers still felt soft flesh. We sat down and ordered beers. "So, what did you get done today," I asked. "I’m easing back into things. I got a good work out, at least for a first day. I went clothes shopping, as you can see. And I got signed up for Zumba dancing at the gym," she answered. "Zumba dancing? Not ballet?" "I think I need something more aerobic right now, and I am not going to go back to my regular group until I have lost a bit of this," she explained as she pinched and wiggled a thick roll at her waist. "What do you think of my clothes?" "You look good," I confirmed, "Really, really, really good," as I zeroed in on her breasts with my eyes wide open for emphasis. "You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you," she said, like a school teacher reproving a naughty child. "If you only really knew," I risked. "Eric! Colette?" I heard as we were sitting there flirting. My friends Charley and Samatha joined us. Colette shot me a look that seemed to communicate, "You didn’t tell me we were meeting anyone. I did have to admit that Samantha was probably not the best choice of someone to bring into the mix at the moment, given Colette’s weight gain. They were always competitive with each other, and it was clear that Samantha had envy issued with Colette’s having been tall and thin, while she was shorter and had been a bit thick. To make it worse, it was clear that Samantha had lost weight over the summer. I figured this was going to be interesting. I could see that Colette was checking out Samantha’s streamlined body, with an expression that did not suggest appreciation. Charley and Samantha sat down and joined us. Charley immediately started complaining about his day, which was his normal self obsession. Samantha cut him off and turned to Colette, "So tell us about your trip. Where did you go and what did you do there?" Before Colette could say anything, Samantha turned to Charley and explained, "Colette is at the Culinary Institute of America learning how to be a pastry chef and her parents sent her to France to learn how to make desserts." Colette was about to speak, when Samantha cut her off again, "Where else did you go? You traveled around, right?" Charley turned to Samantha and said, "Maybe if you stop talking, Colette could answer." Samantha pouted and crossed her arms, but stopped talking. Colette waited a beat, to make sure that Samantha would remain silent, and then gave a brief review of her experience. She told Charley and Samantha about the trip and gave them a review of the restaurants that she had been to. As she was recounting her experiences, she started to get excited telling them about some of the desserts that she had tried. I swear she was starting to drool, as she described a particular creme brulee that she had in Paris at L’Imperial. I was impressed with the way that she was able to recount all of the details of the place and dish. Charley asked, "Did you get to eat in all of the restaurants you went to?" "Of course she did," Samantha answered, before Colette could speak. "She had to eat every where she went. That’s way she was there." "That must have been tough work," Charley joked. "Actually, it was, kind of," Colette defended herself. "There was so much to try and my time was limited. Sometimes it felt like I was constantly traveling from place to place and never catching my breath." "But it looks like you did a very good job of it," Samantha said in a very catty way, and with false sympathy added, "It must have been exhausting." As she said this, her eyes took inventory of Colette’s obvious gain. I figured that Colette was glad that she had bought new clothes that fit he properly. If Samantha had seen her the night before, it would have been very embarrassing. Even with the new clothes, I could tell the Colette was not enjoying Samantha. "Well, we are very glad you made it home safe and sound, in one piece," Samantha offered without much sincerity. Charley ordered a couple of appetizers for the table and I was impressed that Colette seemed totally disinterested in the food. She took a couple of wings and one mozzarella stick, but didn’t eat her share. I figured the old Colette was back in control. Colette shifted position in her chair, causing her belly to shift and become a bit more pronounced. Suddenly, Samantha seemed totally obsessed with Colette’s thickened waist and larger breasts. It was actually uncomfortable the way that she was staring at Colette. Colette reached for her beer and Samantha suddenly interrupted, "Hey, I think I know what’s going on! Should you really be drinking that?" Colette looked surprised for a moment, assuming that Samantha was criticizing her for drinking beer with her obvious weight gain when Samantha suddenly said "Charley, congratulate Eric and Colette." And then asked Colette, "When are you due? You must be so excited!" Colette’s expression changed from confusion to anger. She took a deep breath and simply explained to Samantha in a very matter of fact way, "I am not pregnant, thank you very much. I realize that I gained a little weight, but that was inevitable with what I was doing on my trip. It’s not a problem for me and it shouldn’t be for you." Samantha smiled and actually seemed pleased with her mistake. "Oh, don’t worry. I am sure you will lose it quickly now that you are home. How much did you gain anyway?" she asked bluntly. Colette looked shocked. There are some things that you simply don’t ask a woman and how much weight she has gained recently is at the top of the list. I figured I had to come to Colette’s rescue, before I might have to be protecting Samantha from physical harm. Before Colette could answer, if she was even going to, I turned to Samantha and said, "Samantha, I think the question at the moment is how much did you lose. You dropped a ton of weight since the last time we saw you." This snapped Samantha out of her focus on Colette, enjoying at first the acknowledgment that she was thinner, but then realizing it was a bit of a back handed complement. Colette piled on, "Actually, Samantha, I meant to ask the same question. The last time we saw you, you were looking quite the chub. How much did you lose?" Samantha tried to regain control of the discussion and explained, "Actually, I only lost a few pounds. I have just been a lot more active this summer and have been using the new biking lanes that the City has set up. It has made it easy to explore the City on my bike and I guess on that riding has had its effect." Charley joined the conversation, but maybe without thinking his situation through, "Sam, you’ve been working really hard to lose the weight. Why make it sound that like you didn’t accomplish something tough. You’ve lost more than 25 pounds. Remember, at the beginning of the summer, you couldn’t even fit into your swim suit." Samantha didn’t look pleased with Charley’s contribution, "Honey, its not really something that we need to talk about. I only lost a couple of pounds." Samantha gave Charley a sharp look and said, "You’re making it sound like I was intentionally trying to lose the weight." "Samantha, what are you talking about," Charley continued, "Don’t remember how upset you were with the weight you gained over the winter and how none of your clothes fit?" Samantha sat seething, as Charley turned his attention back to Colette, "You really did pork up on your trip, Colette. Does it bother you? I think Samantha would have killed herself, if she had gotten that fat. Eric, you know what fat girls and motor scooters have in common?" At that point, both Samantha and Colette were glaring at him. "They’re both fun to ride, but you don’t want your friends to see you with one." Charley thought that this was the funniest thing that he had ever said and sat their laughing. Actually, I did think it was funny and sadly accurate, but I didn’t dare add to the combustion at the table. Instead, I created an exit strategy, "Colette, we really need to get going if we are going to make it in time." Colette was on her feet right away, politely saying good night, "It was great to see you guys. Good work on losing the weight, Sam. It must have been tough to drop so much. You look like a totally different woman. Maybe I will call you for some pointers. Enjoy the rest of your evening." I took Colette’s arm and we made our departure, before Samantha could manage anything other than, "Sure, give me a call." Out on the street, I tried to lighten things up. "Boy, she’s a piece of work," I said referring to Samantha. "But you thought she looked great without the weight," accused Colette. "No, actually I don’t," I started. "Samantha has never been my type, and her going from a short, chubby girl to a short skinny girl doesn’t do anything for me. If she is happier, that’s great. I don’t think Charley actually cares one way or another. He is much more of the ‘any port in a storm’ kind of boyfriend."

Something definitely seems off.

https://gfycat.com/ThatUnsungHackee

Also idk if y’all remember but the first kind of content (and only kind, for the first couple years) that I made when I started making videos was belly stuffing/expansion stuff and I only created content for free for the first 2 years I was active in the community before I turned 19 and decided to try and make it my job (and I’ve only been a full time sex worker for a year - i worked retail and food service for the 3 years leading up to that). I’m a little offended that you would say I’m “just a fetish model trying a new kink to make money” when I filmed and shared content of this genre for my own sexual pleasure years before I decided to/was old enough to pay my bills with it. Like... that’s just making shit up haha

I managed to control my eating a bit over Christmas and New Year, so I think I slowed down my growth a bit... I still got plumper, but I don't think I blew up too much?? I did break my New Year's resolution on the 1st of January though. Sure, my pants are tighter and there's some more jiggling and bouncing going on around my middle, but... 1. sucking it in 2. relaxed 3. distended

This is a long story which will be posted in several submissions. Chapter One - Prologue Eric hadn’t seen Colette in three long months, not since he dropped her off at the beginning of June to catch her flight to Paris. They had been living together for three years, starting when she was a student at Barnard and he was in getting my masters in architecture. After identifying as a dancer all of the way through college, Colette had finally come to the conclusion that she was not going to make it in ballet. Her attentions had turned to culinary arts and she had spent the year after college taking courses at the Culinary Institute. She left for Paris on a traveling fellowship that she had been awarded at graduation to fulfill her dream of gaining first hand experience with French and Italian pastries. Eric got to the airport in time to park and position himself where Colette would see him when she was coming through customs. He could see her smile all of the way across the terminal. While they had kept in touch with e-mails, he was excited to finally be able to see her again. Almost daily, she would update him about her travels and experiences. Her elegant descriptions of the croissants that she had at breakfast, the profiterole she had at lunch, the biegnet she enjoyed in the afternoon, the tarts she savored at dinner, and the Madeleine she had saved for a treat before going to sleep made him think that she had a future with Bon Appetit, if things didn’t work out with her becoming a pastry chef. She could go into beautiful detail about the flakiness of the crust of a brioche, the balanced sweetness of a pain au chocolat with the filling oozing from its buttery shell, or the crunchy outside and chewy inside of macarons that she had discovered during the day. She elevated her investigation of how eclairs varied from patissereie to patissereie to an art form, puzzling about whether experiments with rum-flavored custards could be preferable to the classic standard. When she reached Florence, her focus changed to cannolis, with descriptions of various cream fillings in the perfect crunchy shell, to boconnotti being the perfect bite sized mouthful, and to la sfogliatella, which were so light when served hot that they were to die for. Her enjoyment of the pastries that were small enough to be consumed in the plural didn’t interfere, though, with her study of various rum cakes. Despite that they were intended to serve several people, Colette found herself finishing one each evening, as she relaxed in her pensione taking notes and keeping a journal of what she had discovered during the day. Although her study was focused on pastries, her e-mails also included detailed descriptions of fabulous meals that she had in Paris, Florence, and everywhere in between. In Italy, she wondered if her real interest was even going to be baked goods in the end, since she had become fascinated with the different pastas and sauces. She had written that she felt she could make a lifetime out of studying the intricacies of balancing the tart acids of tomatoes with a combination of rich cheeses in a perfect manicotti; and then, the challenge of figuring out how spinach manicotti compares to chicken cacciatore manicotti compares to a manicotti made with prosciuto. By the time she was on her way back to Paris for her flight home, she had become obsessed with comparing pot au feu with cassoulet as the perfect provincial food. Each little town had its own character for the dish and she was intrigued by the subtle nuance that a chef could achieve with a delicate touch. She also decided that foie gras was wonderful, if she could ignore the process of gavage, by which the duck or goose was force fed. When she discovered combining the foie gras with a pastry shell, she realized that all of her culinary interests could be engaged by creating the perfect pastry containing pate de foie gras and bacon. She wrote Eric that she would end up feeling so stuffed with the rich food that she empathized with the goose, deciding in the end that, if you were a goose, there couldn’t be a better way to go than effectively being fed to death. In her last e-mail, before boarding the plane, Colette wrote to Eric that she had figured out how to bring him home a sampling of her eating escapade. Since he knew that she would not be allowed to bring baked goods or other foods through customs, he wondered what her gift would be. As Colette wound her way closer to the customs counter, Eric started to get an idea of what she was "bringing". Although she had not mentioned it, he had wondered how she would maintain her lean, dancer’s figure, as she ate her way back and forth between Paris and Florence. When she finally was in the last part of the line, with no one in the line blocking his view, he could see that she was bringing him the results of 90 days of her efforts to make the most of every minute of her culinary experience. Colette finally made her way through and Eric hurried over to help with her bags. The first thing he noticed, after the great big smile that let him know she was glad that he was there to pick her up, was that the jeans she was wearing were struggling to do their job. When she had left, those jeans would have hung loose on her hips, being one size larger than she normally wore. Now, they were as tight as could be without giving up the seams. There was something odd about the way that they were fastened, but it would be hard to confirm that they were even buttoned, since the full muffin top that she had developed rolled over the waistband in the front. She was wearing a t-shirt top that she would have been swimming in when she left, but that was now stretched across her belly, inching up to reveal a band of ballooning paunch. Eric and Colette hugged and kissed and rocked together. With his arms wrapped around her, it was easy to document the difference in her circumference. His hands on her back felt how the bra that she was wearing cut deep into her back fat, forming a generous bulge both above and below the strap. When she finally leaned back so Eric could see her face, the softness around her jaw and the beginnings of a cute double chin were apparent. Colette could sense that Eric was taking inventory on the changes to her body and her expression changed to one of being a bit sheepish. "You may notice that I gained a bit of weight," she said, nursing a smile. He hugged her in close again and calmed any concerns, saying, "I think you look great. I am so glad you are home. I missed you." When she left, at 5'-8" and 130, she was lean and lithe; a bit tall for a dancer, and with long legs that emphasized her slimness. Assuming that she hadn’t been anywhere near a scale during her trip, Eric figured that there was no reason to risk increasing her anxiety by asking her how much weight she had gained. But, judging from her roundness and the way that everything looked thicker, he guessed that she must have added at least 40 pounds in that short time, if not more. Thinking it through, his first thought was that such a rate of gain sounded almost impossible. It would be gaining a pound roughly every two days. But then, doing some quick calculations, assuming 3,500 calories was an extra pound and remembering the long list of treats that she had reported consuming in a single day, he realized that it could be even more. Eric grabbed Colette’s bags and they headed towards the car. As she was walking along, he noticed that her gait had changed and that she was no longer carrying herself like a ballerina. Before heading to Europe, there was a tautness to her stride and the way her body moved. Now there was a jiggle in her belly, a bounce in her breasts, and a wiggle in her ass as her hips swayed back and forth. Although he was trying keep his eyes on her eyes when they were talking, Eric knew that his gaze kept dropping to watch her body in motion. This was obvious to Collete. "I know that this outfit is tight enough to be ludicrous, but these are the loosest clothes I have with me," she explained. "I am going to have to go shopping in the morning." "Don’t worry about it. They’re just a bit snug," Eric replied in an effort to play down any concern. "Well, the way you are looking at my tits and ass, I feel that I may have moved from ludicrous to lewd," she joked. "I guess you were serious when you used to say that you wouldn’t mind if I added some curves." Eric smiled and tried to keep his eyes on her face, but he was having trouble. As she walked, each step was a rhythm of ripples that, if set to music, would have been a syncopated jazz score, instead of the classical ballet music that she once had danced to. Following behind her, as they walked through the doors to the street, he was entranced by the fullness of the ring of flesh above her pants, and how it bounced with each step. The roll formed by her belly continued as a projection over her hips, finally forming generous love handles above her still well formed, although much larger, rear. If forced to describe her though, instead using the word "fat", Eric would have said that she had more of an appearance of having been inflated. He imagined that, if she were to scrape against something sharp, she would ooze a kind of cream filling or sugar syrup. Or maybe foie gras. The body that she had for 23 years was still clearly there. She had just added a layer over it. The extra weight appeared to all be on the outside of her core, as though it was between the real her and her skin. As they walked along, she told him about her trip, people she had met, places she had gone, and things that she had seen. "What about meals that you have eaten," Eric teased. "You’ve been reading my e-mails. You know that I have expanded my experience with food dramatically. You had to expect that I would have put on a pound or two," she answered, sounding a little bit defensive. "Of course," he responded, "I was just joking. So you put on a few pounds. You know I always thought you were too skinny." "But, do you think I am too chubby now?" she asked. "Too chubby for what?" Eric countered. "For you. You know what I mean. Are you disappointed? Does it bother you that I may have gained a little weight?" she continued. "Not at all. I am so glad you are home. I think you look great. I am just making fun of your clothes being so tight," he answered. "I have to admit I was a bit worried," she said softly looking down and cradling her gut, "I am sure that a lot of it will simply fall off, since the excursion has ended. But I do have to admit that I kind of like not feeling like a stick. The men in Italy actually seemed to pay more attention to me with each extra pound." "I am looking forward to paying more attention to you, too," Eric exclaimed, "I want to do a bit of exploring myself. It is all new terrain. It’s my turn to take a trip through new lands." They reached the car and Eric put the bags in the back. Before getting in the car, they hugged again and he continued his exploration with their lips locked, while his hands found her love handles. Eric made a mental note that these could prove very useful later. He opened the door for her and she got in, and then walked around and got in the driver’s side. Sitting next to her, he noticed that her rounded form was even more dramatic when she was sitting. Her belly was a distinctly rounded ball filling her lap with her breasts propped proudly above. If the added weight challenged her previous pertness, the combination of thicker thighs and pronounced belly seemed to be helping her breasts defy the effects of gravity. Feeling a bit awkward, but unable to prevent himself from taking a risk, Eric turned towards Colette and, smiling, asked, "If it is not too weird a question, I am wondering, are your pants actually fastened?" She laughed and hefted her gut so that he could see that they were zipped, but that the button had been replaced by a couple of safety pins linked, struggling to hold the two sides together. "The button popped off this morning as I was getting ready go," she explained. "This was the only thing that I could do, since none of my other pants were a possibility, and I didn’t want to wear my sweats. They look like a second skin. The embarrassing thing was I set off the metal detector at the airport and had to show the officer that it was the safety pins holding my pants closed." Eric reached over and started to caress her belly, which he was surprised felt very pliable and soft. Although she looked inflated, her skin was supple with a kind of gelatinous feel, almost like a water balloon. Clearly bloated from the steady stream of extra calories that she had consumed, her skin had give and was not taut. As he massaged her belly, he started feeling the response growing in his pants. Eric could tell that this was turning her on, as well, and she shifted position to create some room between her thighs and gut. It felt great to be able to touch her and he started looking forward to getting her home so that we could make up for lost time. Eric started the car and turned back to her, asking with a grin, "Are you thinking what I am thinking?" Colette smiled and answered with enthusiasm, "I sure am. Let’s go eat. I am starving. I haven’t had anything since the plane, and you know how skimpy those meals are." While that was not what had been on Eric’s mind, he smiled, as Colette reached across herself to fasten her seat belt, adjusting the strap so it could find its way over her belly, but not squish her breasts. "So, the adventure continues," he thought to himself. Eric pulled out of the parking space and they headed to her favorite steak house. He figured maybe it was time for her to rediscover American cuisine. He also toyed for a moment with the idea of picking up some things on our way home. Doesn’t America have the best ice cream? Did he have ice cream in the freezer? Eric took a deep breath and made a mental note that he should take it easy. He figured that might not be the right time for him to display his inner secrets. Chapter Two - Her Voice Getting ready for the flight in the morning when I was returning from Europe, I realized that I had done some serious damage to the body that I had spent my whole life training to be a dancer; that is until I had left New York in June for a three month field trip to get a first hand understanding of my new passion. I was worried about the kind of a reaction that I was going to get from Eric. As my boyfriend of three years, Eric had always known me to a fanatic about my weight and body. He was aware that I had transitioned from perceiving myself as a dancer with professional aspirations to just being a dancer for fun, but I had never let that difference affect how I maintained my body. While I had always loved being a dancer, the fact was clear by the time that I was graduating from Barnard that I was never going to make it with a serious dance corp. Sure, it was fun performing with amateur groups and I had always enjoyed the rigors of being a dancer, but people who haven’t danced ballet seriously have no idea of how demanding it is physically. But I had loved it. Still, it was clear in college that I would have to find something else that I could pour myself into. I am kind of an obsessive person, but in a good way. At least I hope so. During my senior year in college, although I was graduating with a major in environmental science, I knew that I wanted to do something more creative. I had always liked to cook, which of course was weird, since I was always totally disciplined in what I would let myself eat, but had never really learned how. I could make the occasional special dinner for my boyfriend over a long weekend at home, but trying to do anything in the kitchen where I lived at school was simply not realistic. I had enjoyed helping in the kitchen growing up and both my parents were good cooks, but it was becoming friends with a couple who were opening a restaurant that got me hooked on the idea of becoming a chef. I was aware that wanting to be a creative chef seemed at odds with aspiring to have a body fat ratio of less than 15% and only tolerating 20%, but I was convinced that I would be able to separate the idea of eating from the idea of cooking. I had noticed that many chefs seemed to wear their work, but I also knew some very thin chefs. There was a sensuous component to creating food that seemed to almost be similar to the sensuous component of dance. Both seemed to benefit from the illusion that the result was effortless, with the real art being concealing the complexity. Ballet dancers who looked like they were straining were about as attractive to watch as a chef who seemed overwhelmed with cooking. After graduating, I enrolled in the Culinary Institute of America and quickly discovered that my favorite was baking complicated desserts; pastries in particular. I was awarded a traveling fellowship from the Institute and was able to talk my parents into a graduation present to help me pay for a summer trip to Europe. Like dance, the only way to learn how to cook is to do it, and the only way to get better at it is to see how the masters do it. My summer was a foray into the world of the great pastry chefs. I figured that, by watching talented chefs work and seeing what they create, I would be able to elevate my own skills. I know this sounds dumb, but I actually thought that my experience would be observation and evaluation based on what I heard and what I saw. The first chef I visited in Paris explained that there is just no way to learn about subtle taste other than by eating. I knew it would be a tough job, but somebody had to do it. Okay, maybe not so tough. And certainly delicious. But I am a disciplined person and I was confident that I would be able to control this and keep it scientific. A bite here and a sample there would suffice. During my travels, I kept a careful record of everything that I got to taste. I wrote down every meal and tried to figure out the seasonings, flavorings, and details about how each dish was created. With the fact that I was a student at the CIA, I was able to get friendly with many of the chefs and a few invited me into their kitchens to watch them up close. My enthusiasm for learning encouraged them to show off and I figured that I learned what would normally take years in just the three months of the summer. Each night, I wrote down what I had learned and the intricacies or special tricks that I had been shown. Watching something being made by a master chef and then being able to taste the food gave me a complete understanding of the sensuousness of the art. Again like dance, good cooking has to operate on several levels simultaneously, and I discovered that it was the sensuous qualities of texture and taste that had the most to do with making something special. Don’t get me wrong. I took this experience totally seriously and I really did learn a lot, but it was as visceral as it was intellectual. Within the first week, I figured out that tasting a small piece of something was seldom sufficient to really understand it. Before I knew it, I was no longer tasting. I was eating; a lot. As the days turned into weeks and the first month became the second month turned into the third month, the "record" of what I had tasted documented itself in another way. Slowly at first, and then at an accelerating rate, as I became more "experienced", my body kept a careful accounting of every calorie consumed. By the end of the first month, I figure I had gained maybe 10 pounds. Since I was in great shape when I started, the extra 10 pounds had little consequence. Maybe a bit more here and a bit more there, but not really noticeable. But I found my capacity increasing as each week passed. In the beginning, the richness of the desserts made it difficult for me to finish a full serving of something. After a week or so, that was no longer a problem. During the second month, my rate of gain increased, as it was not only easy for me to finish any serving put in front of me, but I was also able to try a second serving of something slightly different so that I could compare. By the end of the second month, I had probably added another 15 pounds, which were harder to conceal and started to change my shape. The third month had me conditioned to handle multiple servings and still be willing to try something else. I found myself not really feeling full unless I had consumed an obscene quantity, although my focus always remained on the quality of what I was eating. These were not fast food pounds finding their way to my belly. I was enjoying some of the best food in Europe and starting to realize that my time there was winding down. Soon the thought that my escapade would be coming to an end gave me an enthusiasm for trying one more sampling of this followed by maybe a serving of that, only to pave the way for the next dish. I was running out of time and I still had a lot that I wanted to experience while I still could. While I was also seeing the sites and the cities, everything was structured around the bakeries, restaurants, and bistros that I just had to visit. In the last week, the list of places that I had to try required me to ignore the structure of three meals a day, which I had already been punctuating with samplings of mid-morning, mid-afternoon, and late evening snacks. In the last week, I found myself having to arrange for six meals a day just to get close to completing the list that I had brought, which was a compilation of the recommendations from my teachers at the CIA. I would have an early breakfast and then a late breakfast, followed by an early lunch and a late lunch, followed by an early dinner and then a late dinner. I amazed even myself by still being able to hit a couple of patisseries that were rumored to have the best cream puff or maybe an unusual bichon au citron. I had no accurate way to really gauge how fat I was getting, since I had no interest in finding a scale. My only indication was how my clothes were fitting, or I guess no longer fitting. I figured that whatever I gained in the first two months I outdid in the third month. My boyfriend Eric was always hinting that I could gain a few pounds, although my guess that he was hoping that more of the weight would go into my breasts than my belly. My ass and legs were bigger. Everything was bigger. Maybe it was my imagination, but even my feet seemed fatter. What surprised me was that this didn’t freak me out. I was actually enjoying the feel of the extra weight and had discovered that playing with my belly could be part of pleasuring myself. Luckily, I have always preferred loose clothes, so there was room to grow in what I brought with me. I even brought a pair of pants that were a size 10, even though I was a size 8 when I left. I had thought that I might gain a few pounds and, as I said, I preferred loose clothes. Buying any new clothes while I was traveling was not in my budget, and the money I had was focused on my culinary expedition. It was during the last three week that getting dressed started to become a challenge. The last week was very difficult, since it was only the one pair of pants that I could even consider putting on. Nothing had really fit for a while, but by then it had simply becoming impossible to pour myself into any of my outfits, except those pants. Even tricks like lying down on the bed to get my pants buttoned weren’t working well. By the last day, even the one pair of pants proved difficult to get into, let alone fasten. After struggling lying down, sucking in and pulling hard, I had finally gotten the button through the hole and the zipper up, but, as I got ready to leave for the airport, leaning to pick up my bags, the button on my pants gave its last gasp. I had nothing else to wear and so was forced to cobble together a couple of safety pins to hold my pants closed. This was effective, since it actually gave my pants a couple of extra inches in the waist. Still, they felt painted on and the waist cut deep into my gut. I was no longer able to stuff the extra flesh down in my pants and had to find that place under the bulge of my belly where my pants had a chance. I tried to pick a shirt that would hang down to conceal the roll that puffed out over the top of my pants, but my largest "T" kept riding up on my gut. There was nothing else I could do except keep pulling it down. Now, with the experience coming to the end, I had to plan on re-entry to the real world. Most specifically, I needed to prepare myself to the readjustment of having something else to do besides traveling to eat. I was starting to worry about how Eric would react to my changed body, but there was not much I could do about that now. It was time to get back to New York. A quick reminder of the extra weight was when I boarded the plane. I could also tell that the gain was truly significant when I was buckling my seat belt. I don’t think I had ever thought about how small the seats on planes were. It felt like the seats had shrunk, but I knew that it was me that had changed. I found myself thinking that I was glad that I still needed to tighten the belt, and how much do people eat, who need an extension belt. Realizing how quickly I was expanding during the last week - the image of dough proofing in a warm kitchen crossed my mind, I figured that one more week and maybe I wouldn’t fit in the seat. Hell, maybe one more week and the plane wouldn’t have been able to lift off. I knew that I was exaggerating, but everything is relative. Strapped in and being propelled towards New York and Eric, I felt like everything was beyond my control and whatever was going to happen was going to happen. There was nothing that I could do about it then. My thought that it would be a good idea not to eat on the plane lasted all of the way until they started serving dinner. By then, in what had become an unusual three hours without a meal, I was starving. Watching how quickly I cleaned my tray, the nice old lady sitting next to me offered me her entree. She explained that she didn’t like to eat while she was traveling. That reminded me that I, too, had never eaten a meal on a plane before. I realized that all was lost, or maybe gained, when I gladly accepted her offer and polished off her dinner as well. After the plane landed, I made my way to where we had to go through customs. As I entered the hall, I saw Eric and gave him my biggest smile. I thought maybe, at that distance, a big smile would keep his attention above the shoulders. I felt myself breaking into an anxiety sweat. What if he reacted really badly to my burgeoning body? Suddenly, I started feeling wedged in my ridiculously tight clothes. Why hadn’t I broken down and bought something that concealed all of this undulating flesh. I tried to pull my shirt down. I tried to hold my gut in. I tried to do something to control the way that my body seemed to be moving on its own. I was a dancer. I was thin. What the hell had I done to my body. When I finally got to Eric, I was giving my smile everything that I could. "Look up here, Eric. Keep your eyes up here. Don’t look down, or if you do, stop at my tits." I was shouting in my brain. It didn’t work. Eric couldn’t take his eyes off my belly. He seemed transfixed. But he also seemed really glad to see me and when he took me in his arms, it was not with revulsion. If anything, he seemed to be squeezing me tighter than ever before. Or maybe it was just that hugging me now required more of an effort. Although I figured it was the last thing in the world that I should be thinking about, as we made our way to the car, I realized that I was starving again. Eric was so wonderful that he read my mind and suggested as soon we were leaving that we go for dinner. I rationalized that, in reality, my consumption had plummeted sharply on this day of travel. In the time that it had taken me the day before to finish five of six meals, I had only had one breakfast and a meal on the plane. Well, two meals, but they were very small compared to what I had become accustomed. Of course, I was starving, who wouldn’t be. Of course, we should go for dinner. And of course, this extra weight was going to simply fall off of me, now that I was no longer learning by example. I would start taking some dance classes. I would be back to my former form in no time. But first, dinner. I was starving. Chapter Three - His Voice I pulled up to the entry of the restaurant and suggested that Colette hop out, and I would park the car. "Eric, your sport coat, can I borrow it? The way I am dressed, I think this may go over better, if I have something over this outfit," Colette asked. "Sure," I replied, grabbing the jacket from the back seat and handing it to her. After parking, I met Colette back in the entry and we were led to our table. We sat down and both ordered a beer. "Did you sample the French and Italian beers on your trip?" I asked. "No. Most of the time it was cappuccinos or café au lait at the patisseries," she answered. "I did try various wines, but I didn’t want anything that was going to affect my palette," she continued. "It was difficult enough to sense out the seasonings and ingredients." "I guess the French and Italians are not really known for their beers, anyway. They make some that are interesting, but its not as if you were in Germany or the Netherlands. Actually, I think the place that would be interesting to sample beers would be in the Czech Republic, anyway," I said. Colette laughed, "Maybe next time, but that would have to be your trip, not mine. Besides, I wouldn’t want to get a beer belly." She punctuated this last comment with a smile and a long pull on her beer. "No, you wouldn’t want that," I answered, trying to figure out if she was joking. Even in my jacket, her belly was pronounced. Her roundness when seated could easily be confused with her being maybe six months pregnant. Without the jacket, the jelly roll and love handles gave it away as more likely the result of her dedicated commitment to European desserts. While I was still trying to get used to the way she looked, I had to admit that I was getting more and more enthusiastic about when I would get the chance to get up close and personal. I have always appreciated fuller figures and actually felt that it was unfortunate that I was a white bread white guy. I have always enjoyed watching music videos with J-Lo, Beyonce, and others who presented their "jelly" without apology. The whole idea of "booty" intrigued me. In the past, I had encouraged Colette to relax about her dance regimen with the hope that she would add some Beyonce "jelly" to her totally toned hips, ass, and thighs. Colette had always had nice breasts, which she actually complained about, since they disturbed her "line" when dancing ballet. She used to wear a super tight sports bra to squish herself tight when she danced. The size and shape of her breasts had clearly changed with her weight gain and I was eager to feel them in my hands. Actually, I was eager to feel all of her against my body and started thinking about what it would be like with her on top. I started resenting that our first stop was a restaurant instead of our apartment. The waitress came and we ordered. I asked for my regular, the porterhouse. I expected Colette to order her regular, the filet minion, but she surprised me. "I’ll have the same, and can I get that with the steak fries and with a side of onion rings, please," she ordered. "Oh, and can I get a Caesar salad? Thanks," she continued. We started talking about what I had been doing while she was away. I made it clear that, without her around, things had been all work and pretty boring. That made her smile. "Well, I am back and ready to make things fun again," she promised. The waiter brought over a basket of garlic bread and Colette snagged a piece as soon as the basket hit the table. We continued talking about what I had been doing and what she had been doing, with the intersection being we were both glad to be together again. I suggested that trials, such as her being away for three months, are a kind of test to a relationship. There are two alternatives: either "Out of site, out of mind," or "Absence makes the heart grow founder." We were both enjoying that it was apparent that the separation had resulted in the second, not the first for either of us. "With everything that you were doing, I was worried that you didn’t have much time to think about me," I admitted. "Hey, I thought about you all of the time. Didn’t I e-mail you every day and give you a complete history of every detail?" she asked. "Yes, you did, and I appreciated every e-mail. It’s just that you seemed so consumed with your research that it didn’t seem like you had much time to think about anything else," I commented. "I was consumed. That was why I was there and I wanted to make the most out of it," she explained, "but that didn’t mean that you weren’t in my thoughts. Still, I admit that I was glad that I was traveling alone so that I could concentrate on what I was doing. If you had been along, we would have been looking at buildings and seeing sites. All I wanted to do was my research on pastry. I guess I was consumed with consuming." "When you were trying things, was it just a bite of this and a bite of that, or how did you do it," I asked. "Are you kidding? First, it wasn’t easy. Sometimes I needed to have several pieces of the same thing, just to figure out how it had been made. I tried to hit some of the bakeries in the off hours so that I could talk with the chef or people working there. Usually, by the time that I had eaten three pieces of one pastry, they believed what I told them I was doing, and they got very generous with their information and samples," she explained. "In a couple of places, I got to be real friends with the people and they let me come into the kitchens to watch them work up close. There was one pastry chef at Pierre Herme’s in Paris who I got friendly with. He probably makes the best macaroons in the world. You wouldn’t believe how many I got to eat, just sampling all of the different types that he made. The white truffle hazelnut macaroons were amazing. So rich, but so good," she went on. I swear that she started to drool as she was telling the story. As soon as she said that I wouldn’t believe how many she had eaten, I thought of mentioning that I had a pretty good idea that it was a lot, judging from her transformation, but I stopped myself. I was worried that she would take it negatively. Colette reached for her third piece of garlic bread right before they brought her the salad. I had never thought much about the way that she had eaten before her trip, but now I was aware that she had a real enthusiasm for everything that she was putting in her mouth. It was like her taste buds had been energized and each bite released another sensation. We continued talking as we ate dinner and I was impressed with the way that she managed to simply keep eating until every plate in front of her was completely clean, except for the bone from the steak. Maybe it was the conversation that kept her focus, but she didn’t seem aware of how much she had and how quickly she had eaten it. The porterhouse portions at this place are huge. I had to give up with enough steak still on my plate to ask for a doggie bag. Sensing that I was finished, Colette leaned forward and asked, "You’re not going to finish that?" and quickly switched plates before I could even finish suggesting that she could have it. I watched in amazement as she quickly finished the rest of my steak, too. Realizing how this looked, Colette looked a little embarrassed and tried to offer an explanation, "Remember, I have been traveling all day and kind of missed a few meals." I just smiled and said that I was glad that she was enjoying herself. The bus boy cleared the table and the waiter showed up with the dessert menu. Wanting to make sure that she didn’t feel awkward, I encouraged her to find something that she would like. Encouraged, she looked over the menu, exclaiming that there were a couple of things that sounded really good, and totally different from what she had been enjoying in Europe. "I am having a tough time deciding between the molten chocolate lava cake with sugar coated raspberries and the brownie ala mode. They describe the brownie as ‘intoxicating’," she said, licking her lips. "Let’s just get one of each and share," I offered, although I was so full, I doubted that I would be doing much damage on either. The waiter asked if we wanted fresh whipped cream on the brownie, and Colette answered, "Yes! With the ice cream, too. Right?" The waiter smiled and said, "Of course." Then he explained that there is a wait on the lava cake and suggested that he bring the brownie first. We agreed that made sense. Probably sensing which of us was most excited by the dessert, the waiter set the brownie in front of Colette. I actually did get two spoonfuls before it was gone. The waiter then brought the lava cake and I swear it looked like Colette was turned on just by the sight of it. It was huge, gooey and looked like a sin of chocolate. He set it down in front of Colette, who sat back in awe. I could tell that she was feeling full. She had to be. I noticed that she had a few beads of sweat on her forehead. From the exertion of eating? "Do you want to take the first bite?" she asked. "Why? Are you getting too full?" I countered. "No. Not at all. I think my capacity may have increased a bit on my trip," she explained meekly with a smile. "You think?" I asked her, laughing. She looked at me, with an expression combining slight irritation and maybe worry. "What are you suggesting?" She asked. I smiled and reached over to take her hands in mine. "I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just agreeing with you. Before you left for Europe, you would never have been able to handle half of the meal you just finished. I’ve read the e-mails. I know that you have been eating a lot for most of the summer, and I’m just saying that you have definitely increased the amount of food that you can consume in one sitting. And I am not suggesting that there is anything wrong with that." I looked into her eyes and reinforced that I was there with her and had no problem with the fact that she had just devoured twice the amount of food that I could eat. "I am glad that you are home and I think you look great, including being a bit softer around the edges. Actually, I think you look great because you are softer around the edges and around the middle and everywhere in between. You had a great adventure that helped you learn what you need to know to be a real chef and the only way that you could learn some of those lessons was by actually eating the food. Who trusts a skinny chef?" I asked. "I know you are stuffed, but you should really try some of that lava cake. It looks great," I suggested. She looked down for a moment and then raised her face up to mine with a big smile. "Who said I was stuffed?" she asked. Now it was my turn to feel defensive. "I just thought that maybe you were full and feeling overwhelmed by that dessert sitting in front of you. I know I can’t think of taking another bite." I explained. "Oh, silly boy, there is a big difference between being full and not being able to eat another bite," she said with a gleam in her eyes. "I may be full, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do some damage to this mountain of chocolate delight. If you want some, better get it now." I told her that it was all hers and she went to work slowly, but steadily, putting her spoon down only when there was nothing left. It was clear that she loved it and I almost expected her to pick up the plate and lick it clean. "Okay. Now I am finished," she announced, sitting back and covering her mouth with her hand to stifle a burp. She then put her hands on either side of her belly, as if trying to calculate what this meal may have added to its girth. "That’s it. My journey is complete. I am home again and my amazing gastronomical adventure has come to an end. I don’t expect to be hungry for quite some time. Tomorrow, I return to the real world," she said with authority, as if making this statement made it true. We sat for a little while to let what she had ingested settle. I have to admit that I was feeling pretty full, too. We talked about our plans for the next couple of days and when we would be heading out to see her family in the Hamptons over Labor Day weekend. "I have a bunch of things that I have to get done," she said. "I need to get some new clothes, since I can’t get into most of what I have, and what I can get into doesn’t really fit me right now. I don’t need a lot, since I will be back to my old self soon. I am signing up for some dance classes, and I have to admit that, as much as I have enjoyed these weeks of eating, I am not going to mind losing the feeling that I am carrying a food baby in my belly. "I was thinking that you look like you’re several months along," I joked. "Very funny. And how could that be? I haven’t had sex since our last time in June," she questioned me. "I know we haven’t made love in all that time, but no sex?" I asked. "The way that you just finished that cake looked, your expression was one that I am familiar with. It looked like sex to me. I can just imagine what it must have been like in Europe." "At least, not with anyone else," she added. "As I said, it’s a food baby," she laughed, patting her tummy for emphasis. I had paid the check and we got up to leave. I took Colette’s hand to help her up. She took hold and actually pulled on me, which almost pulled me down, instead of her up. I laughed and braced myself to help her up. She actually seemed a bit unstable on her feet, as though she needed to recalibrate her balance. We made our way out to the car and I kept my hand on her arm to steady her. She took off my jacket, as I opened the car door for her. She started to bend down to get in when suddenly the back seam of her jeans split wide open. She turned around quickly and kind of plopped herself down into the seat. She looked up to me and was biting her lip. Even in the dark, I could tell that her face was turning red. "Hey, were on our way home, baby. Don’t worry about it. Those pants are old. I am sure that the stitching was just worn." I got into the car and gave her a big smile. She turned to me and said, "Oh, Eric, I just split my jeans!" It sounded like she was going to cry. I soothed her and said, "Look at the bright side: you made it safely home intact. Better here in the car instead of on the plane or in the restaurant. Right?" "What am I going to do?" she asked. "I feel like I have been in some fantasy and just woke up to find out that I wasn’t dreaming. "Well, first, let’s go home. You take a long bath, and then we get a good night’s sleep," I said calmly. She took a deep breath, blew it out and then reached under her belly to remove the safety pins. Seeing her do this out of the corner of my eye, as I was driving, I said, "Careful you don’t stick yourself." She laughed and imitated a balloon flying around in the car. I laughed, too, glad that she wasn’t losing her sense of humor. With her pants opened up so there was more room for her belly, she adjusted the back of the seat so that she was almost laying down. She closed her eyes and relaxed on the drive home. I noticed that she was massaging the sides of her belly, my guess to loosen its tightness from the meal and help her digestion. After the performance that I had just witnessed, I decided that there was no need to stop at the store to pick up anything. I wasn’t sure how Colette would interpret my buying anything else for her to eat at that point. So far, everything that Colette had eaten was her decision. I hadn’t really encouraged or discouraged her. There were several different thoughts going through my mind and I felt the need to sort them out, before becoming anything but a observer . We finally got home and I helped her into the apartment, before I went back out to get her bags. Colette said she was going to take a shower and then a long soak in the tub. She complained that the showers in Europe are all water savers with no force. She said it would feel good again to feel the real pressure from the shower in our pre-war apartment. I came back up to the apartment and gave her time in the tub. Finally, after about 30 minutes, I knocked on the door. "Come in," she called to me. She had the candles lit and the lights off, soaking in the tub with the music on low. I sat down on the edge of the tub and told her to lean forward so that I could loofa her back. As she sat up, I could see the fullness of her breasts and belly. Gone were the abs that had been apparent before she left. Her collar bones were no longer pronounced. They were there, but now obscured under a thick layer of the softest chub I had ever seen. I noticed that even her upper arms looked plump. I rubbed her back, shoulders and neck. "So, what do you think," she asked. "About what?" I was being evasive and she knew it. "Okay, let’s get to the here and now. You are looking at me now without any clothes on for the first time after I have completely changed my body. I was almost skinny, with clearly articulated muscles when I left, and I don’t look like that anymore. What do you think? I would like to know," she asked. "Don’t make me wait. It’s starting to make me nervous." "Well, first, remember I told you that I always thought that you should gain some weight. So, can’t we just leave it that you have fulfilled my wish?" I proposed. Colette laughed softly, "I think what you had in mind was me putting on about 10 pounds so that my tits and ass would look more like Beyonce’s. I think I passed Beyonce quite a ways back." She sat back into the tub and I did notice that she now filled it pretty well. "Do you actually know how much you gained?" I asked. "No, and I am not getting on a scale right now. Maybe in the morning, but I am not even sure of that. Somehow, until I weigh myself, I can maintain some level of self-denial," she explained. "But maybe you really haven’t gained that much," I suggested. "If you weigh yourself, maybe you will be surprised." She stood up to get out of the tub and I realized, now seeing her in her full splendor, that there would not be any surprise of a low number on the scale. No matter what she would actually weigh, it was not going to be "less". I noticed that her cunny was almost hidden by the combination of belly drop and thigh expansion. It seemed like she was holding water, as if she had soaked up water from the tub and could now simply squeeze herself out, like a sponge. "There’s no rush. No need to check the scale," I confirmed. She wrapped herself in a towel and chuckled, "Don’t think I am ready to see the truth, huh? Well, you’re right. Tomorrow is soon enough. Hmm, so what is there to do now? Think you might want to take this for a ride" she asked with a sexy little grin, squeezing the thick role of her lower belly. There were thoughts flashing through my mind. Some things that maybe I had hinted at in the past, but not ever having really admitted to Colette or anyone else. I considered for a moment making a comment that could tip off my real feelings about her fatter body, but I worried that it would break the mood, and, yes, more than anything else, I wanted to make love to her right then. If Colette had any doubts about my answer to her question, all she needed to do is check my cock. I was doing my best to keep calm and laid back, letting the evening continue without a sense of urgency. I took her hand and led her to the bed. I rubbed her with the towel and then massaged her back, starting at her neck and working my way down over generous wings of chub and her love handles to her ass, and then down each leg. Boy, was she ever fatter. And it felt real good. I worked softly in through the jellied flesh to feel the bones that once had been evident at her hips, but that were now concealed under the bulge of flesh. It was almost like I had to remap where things were. She rolled over onto her back and I went down on her. I noticed right a way that I needed to find a new position. Her belly, perhaps because of that dinner, left no room for my head, which put my neck in an uncomfortable position. I shifted around so that we were almost perpendicular to each other. This way, I was able to lay my cheek against the bulge of her belly and approach her with my tongue from above. In this position, I was able to reach under her thigh with one hand and work her from below and caress her body with my other hand, at the same time I was stroking her with my tongue and nibbling on her "lips" with my lips. This worked great and in a few minutes I could feel the heat building in her body. She broke out in a thin, sweet sweat and started rocking her hips up and down, while she played with her own breasts. Finally, she crescendoed into a series of bucks and moans that left her laying limp on the bed afterwards. "My God, that felt great," she said. "It feels like it has been forever." After she had caught her breath, I swung around on top of her and slowly lowered myself into her. She felt completely different from that last time we had made love, which I was not expecting at all. But instead of being a discouragement, I suddenly felt myself completely overwhelmed with the feeling of pushing into her fat. There was contact everywhere and everything I held onto or touched or pushed up against felt great. Suddenly, and way before I intended, I came in an explosion that caused me actually to lose the perception of color for a moment. Not since I was in high school had the need to cum so overwhelmed me. "So now what do you think?" she asked. All I could do to answer was a kind of deep, animal, guttural moan. We lay there for a few minutes with our sweat swimming together. As soon as I started thinking again, my thoughts turned to what I had just experienced and I found myself ready to go again. This time, I was more in control and we experimented with a number of positions. Again, everything was different. Her center of gravity had shifted and, while she really wasn’t as athletic has she had been in the way that she could move her body, it didn’t matter. Her body was able to move all by itself, without her having to even use her muscles. It kind of felt like I was swimming in her. Finally, I rolled onto my back and she mounted on top of me. Feeling her big belly pushing down on me, her thick thighs encasing me, and being able to play with the erect nipples on her full, bouncy tits was overwhelming. She was clearly having as much fun as I was and got into a rhythm that had her entire body rocking. I grabbed her ass and pulled her as hard into me as I could and she came, which was just too much for me, causing me to cum with her. That was something that had previously been difficult for us to coordinate. Now it felt like we were completely in sync. We both collapsed, and I got to sense her real heft as she lay immobile on top of me like dead weight. While I loved the feeling, I finally had to roll her off of me so that I could catch my breath. "That gave me a sense of what you think of the chubby me," she mumbled into the pillow, sounding very confident. There were thoughts again going through my mind, but again I figured this would not be the time for true confessions. Yes, Colette had gained a lot of weight and was actually teetering between definitions of chubby and fat, but I still wasn’t comfortable letting deep secrets loose. Besides, I was exhausted and decided that, if and when I would out my inner feelings, I would need her complete attention and some time to explain myself, if that was even possible. I worried that admitting that she was fulfilling some fantasy for me would be difficult for her to understand. Guys are supposed to want thin girlfriends, right? Guys are supposed to want girls with small waists and long, lean legs. Just read Cosmo or look at Playboy. Guys may accept a fat girlfriend, because she "has a great personality", but they don’t want their girlfriend to get fat. Right? I had always known that there was probably something wrong with me, because I felt exactly the opposite. My fantasy was about my girlfriend getting fat, and here I was laying in bed with my newly fat girlfriend. If I didn’t figure that she was too exhausted, being next to my fantasy had me ready to go again. We snuggled into one another, until we had both drifted off into the deepest sleep. To be continued...

Chapter Twelve That Friday night was a lot of fun with Eric. We basically did nothing after he got home except eat and make love. He seemed to really be getting into my bigger body and I started wondering if this was some kind of a treat for him. I had quickly realized when I got home from the trip that my fatter body wasn’t turning him off, but now I started wondering if it was turning him on. He had always been a good lover, but since I had returned from Europe, he was even more attentive and energetic. I woke up at around 1:00 in the morning, which was probably because I was still adjusting from jet lag. I tried to fall back asleep, but started thinking about dinner and how Eric had served me such a large portion of lasagna and then really pushed the idea of dessert, serving me what had to be more than three scoops. Now, I guess I have nothing to complain about, since I polished my plate both times, but I was laying there in bed trying to figure out why he would be feeding me more, while I was trying to lose the weight. It wasn’t any real problem, but it made me wonder. My mistake was thinking about the lasagna at all. After about 10 minutes, and not having drifted off to sleep again, it was like that proverbial story. The lasagna started calling me from the refrigerator. "Colette, I am here waiting for you. Colette, come and taste my sweet sauce and cheese. Colette, come eat me." Okay, I know that the lasagna was not calling me. I don’t think I am crazy, although I started wondering. But I realized that I couldn’t fall back asleep thinking of the piece of lasagna sitting in the refrigerator. I finally succumbed to the temptress and snuck out of bed, taking care not to wake Eric, put on my robe and headed for the kitchen. My thought was that one taste would satisfy this craving. Craving! I was having a craving. So much of my life up until then had been about being disciplined. I realized that I had never been driven by cravings before my trip to Europe. That trip had opened up some other part of me and now I could have such a craving for left over lasagna that I couldn’t go back to sleep with out eating some. And I guess the other thing that I was noticing was that food no longer satisfied with a taste. Of course, I ate the whole thing. I was probably even more lasagna than I had eaten at dinner. I started playing that refrain from an old commercial through my head, "I can’t believe I ate the whole thing." With the other voice in my head confirming, "You ate it, Colette." Now consuming that hefty serving of lasagna should have been sufficiently decadent to satisfy my demanding appetite, but suddenly I started wondering about the ice cream. Had Eric served the entire quart, or could there be a little left. Maybe just enough for a taste. I would like to say that, luckily, there was a good serving of ice cream still in the container. Well, maybe I shouldn’t have thought of that as lucky. But I ate it. And guess what? I was feeling really full. I went to pee, hoping that it would lessen the bloated feeling of middle of the night eating on top of a full meal, but it didn’t make any difference. I sat there on the toilet trying to figure out what was wrong with me. This was a whole different attitude towards food and eating than I had ever had. Was this a binge? The thing of it was, although I did feel bloated and full, I didn’t feel bad. I actually felt pretty good. My stomach was sticking out a couple of extra inches filled with the damage that I had just done, but I liked the way that the heft felt in my hands. Holding my belly, and kind of massaging it caused my fingers to wander a bit lower. Sitting there, with my eyes closed and the light off in the dark bathroom, I played with my cunny with one hand and my full belly with the other. As I started to push in with my fingers along my side where my actual stomach was located, I wiggled my fingers hard against my gut and this seemed to send a wave of heat through me and I came. After I caught my breath, I snuck back into bed and slipped silently under the covers. No harm, no foul. And no evidence, except the extra thousand calories that would find their way into my flesh and the fact that the left over lasagna had disappeared and the empty carton of ice cream was then in the garbage. When I woke the next morning, I thought for a moment maybe I had dreamt my midnight rendevous with food. But as soon as I put my hands on my belly, there could be no denial. Eating in the middle of the night seemed to result in am entirely different kind of bloat. I was in bed alone, and when I rolled over on my back, I looked down over my big tits to the distinctive shape of my puffed up belly rounding out the sheet. Good lord! But suddenly, I smelled bacon. And I couldn’t believe it: my mouth started to water. Chapter Thirteen I woke up early and figured to let Colette sleep late. I got up quietly and put on my sweats. I went out for an early morning run. During the week, it was hard to get in a good run, since I had to be at work early. While Colette had been away, I have been able to fit a run in before or after work, but since she got home, I hadn’t had the time. I was back about 45 minutes later, and Colette was still sound asleep. It still wasn’t 8:00 and there was no rush. I sat down at the computer and checked my e-mails. Since Colette was sleeping, I took a risk and went on to a couple of web sites that I liked to visit, but only privately. I was sure that these sites would freak Colette out. From all outward appearances, I was a completely normal, all-American man. But I did have a secret, which I had never shared with anyone. In the summer between 8th grade and my Freshman year in High School, I had my first real girlfriend: well, the kind of girlfriend that you have as an 8th grader. A lot of drama, but no real action, other than some kissing and hugging. Her name was Lucy. She was good looking and had a well-developed figure, for an 8th grader. But Lucy had issues. I didn’t understand them at all at the time, but they ended up somehow imprinting on my brain in a way that seems to have affected me my whole life. Lucy was self-conscious about her body, with larger breasts and more distinctive hips then most girls her age. She could have passed for an 18 year old at 14. She associated her recent development with weight gain. Even though she wasn’t heavy at all, she became obsessed with her weight and with food. Her obsession became the foundation of our relationship. I guess years later, I would have understood her problem as an eating disorder. At the time as an 8th grader, without any context within which to comprehend her actions, I was captivated by her behavior and somehow connected it with my developing sexuality. Maybe if my first girlfriend had red hair, I would have developed an attraction to red heads. Lucy was a binge eater. Because I was involved in athletics and in very good shape, Lucy asked me to help her with her weight problem, which at the time I didn’t realize didn’t yet exist. We developed a routine that she invented with the theory that it would keep her from getting bigger. Remember, she wasn’t at all fat. She just had real breasts and hips and looked like a woman. Lucy was a regular babysitter for a couple of families in town. On the nights when she was babysitting, I would show up after the parents had left and she had put the kids to bed. This gave us a place to be alone and make out. It also gave us a place for her to conduct her routine. Her theory was that she was gaining weight because she craved certain foods and that, if she could get her fill of the foods she was craving, her craving would end. We would arrange that I would bring her something that she was craving and she would eat until she was so full that she didn’t want any more. While she would be doing this and after she was totally sated, we would make out. One night it would be Oreo cookies and milk. I would bring a big pack of Oreos and a gallon of milk and Lucy would consume it all. Another night, it would be ice cream and I would bring a half gallon, and she would eat it all. As her belly would fill, she would undo her pants to give her room, which was thrilling to an 8th grade boy. Often, she would ask me to rub her belly as it got distended from her gorge. We got to the point where she would let me touch her breasts and she would rub my crotch, although fully clothed. We would make out and kind of dry hump, although we really had no idea about what we were doing. But it was totally sexual. Although neither one of us was allowed to date, we would also get together in afternoons and on weekends for quasi-dates, going to a diner or restaurant, where we would both order for appearances, but she would eat all of the food, while I sat and watched. The idea was that this was going to magically cure her appetites obviously didn’t work. Over the course of the summer, as would be expected, she did gain a lot of weight, going from something less than 120 to more than 150 pounds. I admit that I didn’t then and still don’t understand why this was so sexually exciting for me, but it was and still is. Lucy’s parents sent her to a private school, so we didn’t go to high school together. Our boyfriend/girlfriend relationship ended at the end of the summer, although we kept in contact for a couple of years. Her theory did not work and it was clear that she had not been able to innoculate herself from her cravings. The last time I saw Lucy was in passing at a mall during the summer four years later, after graduation. She was still very attractive, with her beautiful face and great hair, but with her shapely body probably over 250 pounds. I still remember the most terrible conflict in my head when I saw her at the mall: I was with friends and was embarrassed when Lucy introduced herself to them as my first girlfriend. She was a fat girl and cool guys didn’t have fat girlfriends. I was not nice to Lucy at that moment. In fact, I was dismissive and mean. At the same time, I was aroused by her round, fat body and desperately trying to conceal my erection. I hated the way that I behaved and have sometimes thought of contacting her to apologize. I wished that I had the confidence and strength to embrace her and acknowledge that I found her beautiful simply the way she was. Most despicably, despite how I treated her in that meeting and my failure to reach out to her afterwards so that she would know how I really felt, I often rekindled that image of her with her thick thighs, big ass, globular belly, generous breasts, fat arms, double chin and round face when masturbating. So, with Colette safely asleep in bed, I surfed the websites of Plump Princess, Big Cutie Brooke, and Juicy Jackie to see their latest updates. After a while, I figured to make breakfast. I went into the kitchen and put together a six egg Spanish omelette, while I cooked bacon. I also noticed the empty ice cream container in the garbage. My memory was that there was still about a third of the quart left when we went to bed. Curious. As I suspected it would, the smell of the bacon woke Colette. When I heard her stirring, I set the food on the table with orange juice and went into the bedroom. Colette was laying under the sheet, which displayed the curves of her generous belly and breasts. "What did you make," she asked me. "I prepared an omelette and some bacon. You’re not the only one who can cook, you know," I answered cheerfully. "Just for yourself, I hope. Look at this thing," Colette complained, putting her hands on her belly and giving it a shake. "No, I made breakfast for the both of us. Get up, sleepy head." "I can’t eat anything, I look like a balloon. What did you call me last night, a dirigible?" she said pouting. "I said you were zaftig, which is a good thing," I explained again. "Do I need to show you again how much I like your body? The only thing is, breakfast will get cold." "I am feeling too fat," she said with annoyance. "I noticed an empty quart of ice cream in the kitchen garbage. Do you think that could have anything to do with how you are feeling," I teased. Colette rolled over on to her face and shouted into the pillow, "Don’t look at me! Your being mean." "Hey, I’m just joking. I think you look good enough to eat." Colette rolled out from under the sheet and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. She actually did look a bit bigger, but I figured that maybe she was just bloated from the night before. "Not right now. I need to pee. And, as much as I don’t want to admit it, that bacon smells great." Colette headed for the bathroom and I headed into the kitchen. After a minute, she joined me at the table. "Are you going to serve me again some gigantic portion, or can I serve myself," she asked. I looked at her for a second to see if she was kidding. "Take whatever you feel like. Did I give put too much on your plate last night? I’m sorry," I apologized. "I’m just being a bitch. I’m worrying about going out to my parents today. What they are going to think?" Colette asked with apprehension. "About what? Their successful, beautiful daughter and her wonderful boyfriend?" I joked. "No. Their formally slim dancer of a daughter who has turned into a cream puff," she said with disappointment, as she served herself a generous portion of the omelette and bacon. "Hey, I told you that you looked good enough to eat," I teased. "Very funny," she mumbled, with her mouth full, as she tucked into breakfast.

Thanks 😃 I really tried to make something credible. i'm glad you like it as much ! Time for a new episode with our favorite Sims 😃 Back to natural hair color and... god her boobs are huge ! This girl really had a thigh gap before ? Melinda's legs are very fat now Another party Melinda is not in the same category as Amandine and Maggie Rita & Melinda Pool with Amandine & Rita, wow She is full of cellulite ! Try a sexy dress Maggie really does not have shyness problems lol High school graduation ceremony Hypnotic dress Yeeeaaaaahh Amazing and sexy girls

At least write a book about your experience (or pitch the idea so that I can write for you and you can retain the rights to the story), then it can be adapted into a film/TV show. That way we can cast an actress to play you, ave her gain the weight and.. well, that's the important stuff.

@Legendary Thunder perhaps look into scraping images from IG. You can get them in higher res, such as here:

(Sighs) Some women and their body-centered inferiority complexes... We're in 2019. If Tess Holliday and her 55-inch bluberry paunch has been welcomed on the cover of some high leveled fashion magazine as an eputone of beauty ideal, that most certainly wouldn't be the end of the world if she've stop to photo-edit her carb-fueled tummy on social medias.

holy shit, i didn't think it'd be that much

Double trouble.

I'm SO eternally grateful that we have SOOO much Mal content now, as someone stated earlier in this thread, let's remember the days when we LITERALLY had to wait for a Mal DVD to drop from a source that i won't name here. I can't complain at all, this woman is a straight up GODDESS. Far as the whole eating out thing, i'm stunned myself, i not only would be eating this Goddess out every chance i could get, i'd bury my tongue so far up her ass, i might have to change my name to Adriano

My wife always wore tiny string bikinis with triangle tops. They looked great. Even when she started to pack on th lbs. as well as being at her heaviest she wore them just in way bigger sizes. Fast forward she still wears bikinis but the bottoms have more material on the sides around the love handles and she tends to have them fluffy type material this to draw attention away from her fattened belly and love handles and the tips are a lot more material....granted she wears a 36DDD or 34E bras. I have told her to wear the string side bottoms which clearly look sexier even if she was 50+ lbs. heavier than she is now..... it she says that is not appropriate at all with her weight. So I know what you mean to a degree.....a tank on top and some small bottoms would look hot on her because it would help hold on her Fat juggs....but I do love to see the strong top bikini squeezing into her back fat and over lapping it. bring the Toni bikini back. But I guess I don’t wear speedos😂

Me too!! I tried so so hard but the plateau felt almost insurmountable and I was so full all the time I felt like I was gonna die lmao, only to stay the same size 😭😭 if I had a feeder like some of the other models on here I may have been able to overcome that hurdle but it’s always just been me motivating myself to gain by myself with a few random strangers cheering me on, but in my personal life as supportive as my partner was of my gain he also was concerned about my health/asthma and at times it felt very isolating - and frustrating when you can’t get your body to do what you want it to!!

The hardest button to button...is on her pants. Great find, I tried to find more and failed. She is a pretty low-key, retired rocker.

hello.... whats up?

Chapter Four I woke up the next morning with Eric still dead to the world. The jet lag factor had me awake at 6:00 AM, even though we had not gotten to sleep until around midnight. After all it was noon in Paris. I slid carefully out of the bed so that he could sleep until the alarm would go off at 7:00. I tip toed into the bathroom and closed the door slowly without making a sound. I sat down on the toilet to pee and was glad that we had thick walls and heavy doors, since I was full of gas. One thing about heavy sugar consumption: it helps fermentation. I emptied myself, which made me feel much better. It felt like I had been carrying around a couple of days of meals. I checked my belly, but my food baby was still there. Even empty I still looked full. The sex the night before had been great, which was a huge relief for me. I was concerned that, as nice as he was to me and as much as I knew he really loved me, seeing me in all my flesh could still have been overwhelming and a turn off for Eric. Throughout our entire three year relationship, I had been the pinnacle of physical fitness. I had some suspicions about thoughts that he seemed to harbor that made me think that he wouldn’t mind if I was a bit curvier, but I also knew that there is a big difference between fantasy and reality. Sure, he had often told me that I should relax about my workouts and keeping myself thin, but that didn’t mean that he really wanted me to change. Yes, he had sometimes bought me treats or urged me to have dessert when I was working hard to drop weight for a performance, but that didn’t mean that he really wanted me to get fat. I knew some things about him that he didn’t know I knew, but they were his secrets, and they didn’t necessarily mean that he was really ready to live out some fantasy. I stood in front of the full length mirror on the door and checked myself out. It had been a while since I had been able to really see the whole me, except in reflections in store windows, which have a lot of distortion. Right? Well, now then standing in front of the mirror I realized that the distortion was in my body, not the windows. I took assessment and I tried to be unemotional, as if I were picking out a beef roast or stewing chicken at the market. First, I determined that I was much bigger everywhere: no surprise, but also a bit of appreciation. Some woman get huge hips and still have small breasts, other woman get huge bellies and no hips. I looked proportional. In fact, I thought I looked somewhat classical; definitely fuller and rounder than Botticelli’s "Birth of Venus". Maybe closer to Ruben’s "The Fall Of Man", but with bigger breasts, or Renoir’s "Bathers", but again with bigger breasts. This idea of bigger breasts seemed to be a definite. Yes, first definite: my breasts were much bigger than they had been at least one, if not two cups. I had been a full "B", but those bras hardly worked anymore and caused a lot of my bosom to puff out of the cup. I would need new bras. I turned my attention to my torso, which really meant a combination of parts that I would not have previously really considered my body as having. Before my trip, I didn’t have a belly, and certainly not a gut. My two hip pointers had been clearly defined before, with a flat surface between. I had always had a waist, but really just as a gentle indent between my previously narrow hips and my ribs. And I used to almost have a four-pack. Now, I had a projecting abdomen - a real belly, with dimension and shape. With such a distinctive belly, my waist was a more pronounced place with a real indentation, although distinctively higher than my belly button, which seemed to punctuate my round belly. Or, I guess the other way to say it was, you could see where my waist was now, since my belly rounded out below it, with gravity pulling it down. My cunny was less visible. It was clearly under my belly. The new body parts were real hips and the roll that kind of bulged above them. Instead of curving smoothly into my waist, there were now these two rounded wings on either side at the top of my hips and the roundness of these wings melted into my belly. As I turned sideways, the connection of my belly into this bulge over my hips could be seen to then turn into honest to God love handles, with a crease in my back fat and everything. Never before did I have anything like that on my body. I could see, as I twisted this way and that, how these rolls didn’t really ever disappear of get stretched out of existence. Turned to the side, I could see how my ass had gotten bigger. I was glad to see that the muscles underneath were still doing a good job of holding it up, but it was definitely bigger. I also noticed how I now had a kind of fold at the bottom of my ass, where it curved into a crease at the top of my thighs. Had I always had a crease there? I guess there must have been, but now it was a real fold. Facing back front again, I took a real look at my legs. Along with my larger breasts and distinct belly, my thighs were completely different now than they had been before. In June, they had been taut muscles that had a clear tapered shape, not only tapering to the knee, but also into my hips. There had been space between my thighs when I was standing with my feet close together. Not anymore. Now it actually felt awkward to stand with my feet together. Not only was there no longer any space, it now felt like I had to squeeze my thighs together to stand like that. I also noticed how my thighs seemed to project out at the top to join in my hips. Not saddle bags, but definitely something that could be grabbed and hung onto. I started paying attention to how, when I moved, my body would kind of sway into position, as though there were a delay between when the structure would start its move until when the outside coating would follow and then catch up. I noticed that I really jiggled now when I moved. I shimmied and I swear it took a moment for my fat to stop wiggling. This was going to make dancing interesting. "I’m sorry, Ms. Colette, everyone else came to a rest, but it took a few moments for your body to stop wobbling," I imagined my dance instructor admonishing me, with her prim English accent. I was glad that my ankles and calves still looked lean. My upper arms were plumper and my shoulders looked rounder, but my arms still looked long and lithe. I decided that I wasn’t quite really even fat. Maybe just voluptuous, or some other category that sounded sexier than plump or chubby. I leaned in closer to the mirror to examine my face. My strong cheekbones and nose helped out a lot. While I could see the extra weight in my cheeks and around my eyes, my face still held itself together well. My jaw line was softer, but still strong. My neck, though, revealed more of the chub factor. If I pulled my jaw in or opened my mouth wide, I definitely had a double chin. My clavicle, which I had always liked, was no longer clear under thin skin. Now, my neck and upper chest looked softer and fleshier. Note to self, maintain a dancer’s stance with your head held high and your neck long. So now, I had taken inventory of my body, but there was one more step, which I knew I was avoiding. At the same time, my curiosity was getting the better of my fears: the dreaded scale. I could see it lurking there in the corner, just waiting to challenge the illusions that I had been nurturing, "A few weeks of exploring the world of French and Italian pastries can’t make that much of a difference. Right? This is all just water weight, that will simply fall off when you return to your normal schedule. You’re just bloated from traveling and the change in your routine. It will just all magically disappear when you get home to New York. Right?" I had been playing these delusions in my head to counter the other voice that was shouting, "Stop eating! You’re going to explode! You are getting as fat as a pig. Keep this up and Eric is going to toss you out on your fat ass when you get home to New York." Well, so far, at least that last fear seemed to have been answered positively. There was no doubt that Eric had enjoyed making love to the bloated ball of blubber the night before. Still, until I had to actually step onto the scale, my official weight, as last recorded the day before I had left three months earlier, was 130, which was actually almost 10 pounds more than I should have been to dance. I could still reside in the fantasy answer to the question, "What do you weigh?" with, "Well, the last time I weighed myself, it was 130." Of course, that was meaningless, particularly if followed by, "But that was three months ago and I have been fed like a goose being prepared for foie gras since." Suddenly, the fear factor switched into overdrive. "You could be over 200 pounds," the nasty voice shouted out in my head. I pulled the scale out of the corner and carefully positioned it on the tile, so that it was stable. I clicked on the button so that "User 1" was selected. Then I took a deep breath, stepped onto the scale, and then let out the breath slowly, as if that would somehow deflate me. The numbers bounced around until they finally settled on one number, which then blinked like a warning light: 183.2! 183.2! 183.2! Then the screen started flashing other information, such as my BMI (27.2), the number of calories that it would take to maintain my weight (2,535), and the difference since the last time I was on the scale (53.4 pounds). But at least I wasn’t over 200 pounds, I tried on for consolation. I looked up and caught my reflection in the mirror. My face was expressing "Oh, my, God!" Okay, so then it was official. The reflection in the mirror showed a big, fat girl standing on a scale who was telling herself that she is a big, fat girl. Where was Colette? Who is this person who obviously ate her. I caught my breath and tried to remind myself that I am exactly who I was before I stepped on the scale. The only difference now was that I actually new that all of the evidence was correct. No miraculous moment of stepping on the scale and seeing something like 138 was going to suddenly deflate the girl in the mirror. This was real. I stepped off the scale and sat on the toilet again. Obviously, I was bloated and the fact that I peed again gave me that moment of "Maybe I weigh less now." I got back on the scale and, yes, I had lost weight. It now blinked 183.1 and then recorded the difference in weight since the last time I was on the scale: 0.1. Maybe if I could pee again 531 times I would be back to 130. I took my silk robe off the hook and wrapped it around me, only to have it, too, join in the fun. "Who is this putting me on," it seemed to say. "This can’t be Colette! I can barely wrap around this girl" It was tight everywhere, including across my shoulders and around my arms. It barely closed in the front. The idea of my food baby came back to mind and I realized, "Yes, you look pregnant. You should. In three months, you gained as much as someone would in nine, with a real baby to show for the effort." I figured this would be a good time to stop having this conversation with myself in my head. I opened the door and Eric stirred awake. "Good morning, sunshine," he called out in his sleepy voice. "Your up and at ‘em early." Then he saw the look on my face and asked, "What’s the matter, pumpkin?" "See! What did I tell you! Pumpkin?" I responded. Then I opened the robe, almost in an accusatory way, as if to show him the damage and said, "Look, I am fat! Did you really need to take me out to dinner last night?" He started laughing, which just started to piss me off, although I did understand that the meal the night before had not been the cause of my new avoirdupois. Chapter Five Colette opened the door to the bathroom, which caused me to open my eyes. It was so great that she was home again. I had totally missed her and was so glad that she was back. She came out of the bathroom wearing her silk bathrobe, which seemed too small to really fit her. She looked concerned and I asked her what was the matter. Okay, given what was running through her head, "Pumpkin" was probably a poor term of affection to use. She opened her robe to show me her generous, voluptuous, gorgeous body with her large breasts, inflated belly, and succulent, thick thighs. If she had paid more attention to the tent formed by the covers, we could have moved past the problem faster. She started rambling through the dilemma, complaining about how fat she had gotten. What was she going to do? What were people going to think of her? It took a bit of soothing, but I finally got her to calm down. "Come back under the covers and we will work it all out," I suggested. She got back into bed and kind of nestled into me. "First, this is not really a problem. You are who you are. So you may have gained a little bit of weight, but it doesn’t make a difference to anything important," I tried to calm her. "Little bit of weight? I gained more than 25 pounds," she stammered. "Really. Well, you look great to me," I commented. "Did you actually weigh yourself?" I asked, trying not to sound too excited. I was thinking that it had to be more than 25 pounds. "Yes," she answered. "And," I followed. "And I gained more than 30 pounds," she answered. I let it rest for a few moments, but I found myself really wanting to know. "How much more than 30 pounds," I asked. "More! What does it matter?" she asked. "Well, it probably doesn’t matter, but the fact that you are not telling me the answer makes me curious. I am assuming that the scale said a number, not simply that you had gained more than 25 or 30 pounds," I continued. "Well, add them together and you are close," she said meekly. "55 pounds!" I said, with too much emphasis. "See. Your freaking out. Your telling me that I am too fat," she said accusingly. "I haven’t said anything like that at all," I countered. "I simply asked what the scale actually said. You could have simply come out of the bathroom and said ‘I gained 55 pounds’ in a nonchalant way, and there wouldn’t be much to it at all." "I weighed 183.1 pounds!" she announced, as if that were some significant fact. "Wow, you are a whale," I tried to joke, but she started trying to push me out of the bed. I noticed that her extra weight did give her a lot more force. I wrestled with her and then started tickling her. She had always been ticklish and I found it even more fun, now that she had so much more jiggle. She started laughing and pleading with me to stop. I stopped and made a suggestion, "If you want to know what I think of your body, reach down below." She reached down and felt my erect cock. She slid her leg over me and guided me inside her. I couldn’t get over how different it felt. She had always felt good, but before it was more like a making love to muscle. Now her extra flesh seemed to make it more decadent. Much more sensuous. It was if her self-indulgence made her sexier. We stayed in that position for a little while, but she found it difficult to keep moving, with so much more to lift. I slid out of her and then positioned her on her back with her legs over me so I could slide up into her. In that position, all she had to do was lay there. Her chub did the moving, wobbling and wiggling as I pulsed in her cunny, hitting against the back of her thighs. I was able to play with her mons and her clit with my hand. As her breathing started to get deeper and faster, I rotated her so that she was spooned into me with my hands holding onto her gut, pulling her into me, while I banged against her round, soft ass. We both came and then laid there for a while trying to catch our breathes. My hands continued exploring the folds, and rolls, and mounds, and squish, as I kissed the back of her neck and nuzzled into her long brown hair. "If I haven’t mentioned it, I am really happy that you are home; and I mean you and all your little friends," I joked as I moved from holding her breasts to grab two rolls hands full of belly fat. "You do seem to be adjusting well," she said with more confidence. My alarm went off and I got up to shower and get ready. After I was dressed, I went to give Colette a kiss before heading to work. She was sitting at the desk working on our computer, starting to organize her files. Her plan was to take all of her notes from her travels and put together a log reflecting everything that she had experienced and learned. I asked her what her plans were for the day and she told me that she was going shopping for some new clothes, sign up for dance classes, maybe get together with some friends, and make sure that she was set for the next level of classes at the CIA, which were scheduled to start after Labor Day. We planned that she would meet me at my office after work and we would grab dinner. I gave her another kiss and headed out. While I was riding the subway to work, I started thinking about if and when it would make sense for me to let Colette in on some of my secrets. I was afraid that she wouldn’t understand and would think that I was either some kind of fetish nut or just deranged. While I had communicated with people on-line who shared my interests, I had never actually admitted my feelings to anyone that I new, let alone someone who I was in love with. Without her weight gain, I could probably have continued to keep my secret separate from our relationship, but now, it was very confusing. How could I expose myself to Colette without her thinking that I must have always wanted her to get fat? What if she somehow turned this around to think that her getting fat was part of some master plan that I had always had for her? I didn’t think that I had anything to do with her weight gain. Sure, I had flirted with her in the past that, if she were to gain some weight, I wouldn’t mind, but now that it had really happened, would she thing that this was some plot? Would she think that I had somehow caused this to happen. Even I was starting to think that maybe I had more to do with it than I was admitting to myself.

I'm getting even fatter...

I can't seem to control my weight the usual way, so I may as well try other methods of restriction.