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Happy Friday to all of my lovely curvage peeps. Just for fun I'm running a 50% sale on my newest video and my Christmas video! It's the weekend! Treat yourself to my big sexy booty!

EXercise???... Well I think that I can try 🙄... again!🤭🐖 A new video tomorrow!! Aaand u are gonna have a surprise but I will talk about that tomorrow 💋💋

Here's the latest:

Only other one i know in H S So this is kinda funny my buddys mom was the Art teacher at our school and its funny because we chilled with this kid like every other day.. So Anyways This week in Art class we had a lot of free period so we could do what we want. So this day was unbelievable hot. She said tomorrow we are going to have a open Mic day meaning we could just play music bring in snacks and auch.. So the class brought in lots of treat to share. So as were all just chatting she was munching away on snacks. Well as the class went on she was grading our music exams well she did her thing. She went to grab some more cookies and 2 of my friends noticed the top button was undone on her khaki pants.. As she walked over to the table of treats she grabbed like 5 cookies a plate of chips and these likelittle sandwiches.. so as the class is coming to an end we take our seats and she is at her desk finishing her 4 th plate of food the bell rings i go up to her and say didyou enjoy the double chocolate cookie my mom made she said yes it isnt evident as she laughs.. Here is the good part Me and my friends were all supposed to go to this kids house that day and he said yo lets chill in the game room so we did at dudes house. Well this lady being the mom of our friend and Art teacher was home so i get there firstbefore my other friends so we can set up game room. Well this is truly unreal what happened. She is in the kitchen making another plate of food as im grabbing chips and stuff for gamenight anyway She goes to sit down at the tabel and lets out this loud burrrrrrrrp i laugh she laughs and i take a seat start chatting with her about our guy art talent or lack of lol... So she digs in and half way through the plate we both hear like something hitting the floor we look around right next to her foot is the button to her pants and she says to me I guess i need new pants lol. I laughing and in my mind like if you were not my friends mom lol.. Well it gets better she finished the plate and gets up no shame in her game she then goes and gets a bowl of ice cream and comes back to sit down now mind you my friend is getting ready for the guys to come by and im just chilling.. Having convo with his mom lol.. She goes to sit down and eat her ice cream and lets out another huge burrrrrrrrp... As she finished that she sits for a few and says the single hottest thing i heard that month lol. I need help to my chair in living room would you mind. I say no i was like close to this fam so i didn't care as we are walking to the living room one last burrrrrrrrp again. The cool part was she was wearing a thong you could see it when clear when her belly was on display. She then said tell (my friend name) i will be napping here so no bass tonight hun as i walked away to answer door for our friends she asked could i grab her the chips for later so she wasn't getting up. She was seen at school by me the next day and said i gained 6 lbs in one day no wonder that button gave out lol.. i laughed so hard and said it happens.. Well that was all i have on her.. If you need a description She is 5'8 Big belly Brunette hair i would say C Boobs and a big butt. I dont see this friend anymore he moved away and his whole family followed him and his wife to i think Az so hope you enjoy the read !

Sorry about the suspense! It was my birthday and I took a break from writing to hang out with this adorable Jamaican girl I met. You understand, don't you? 😉😁 Chapter Thirty-Five Day by day, the intense training continued. Candace and I would finish each day coated in salt from layers of dried sweat from an inhuman training regimen meant to maximize our gainz while taking advantage of a full day for working out. It felt as if the only thing holding us back was the elasticity of our own stomachs. If your stomach can only hold so much food, that’s your limit for growth no matter how many deadlifts and squats you do. Together, we would push each other to eat and I learned that each stomach is special. For example, I couldn’t binge on greasy food, but Candace absolutely loved pizza, so she tended to eat it twice as fast as I could. This would’ve meant that we would eat something else, but I suggested eating it again (for her sake). It was the most I could do before she insisted to go back to cooking our own food. And how Candace could cook! She always experimented by googling strange dishes from all over the world to try her hand at. Fortunately, we had enough variety of ingredients in the pantry to make my eyes water, so we rarely had to cut corners on the baking. I use “we” because she was cooking so much food for the both of us that she had trouble doing it by herself, so I started helping (and snacking on unbaked dough). I started feeling good about my own cooking skills, but I knew I would be completely lost without the directions on a box or Candace’s frantic directions. Seeing Candace struggle to fill her belly to the point of taughtness every night was far more erotic than I realized. At one point, I nearly fed her myself when she couldn’t bring herself to eat any more bites, but at the last second, she pushed the spoon away and insisted she needed to concentrate on not throwing up her gainz. Unfortunately, this seemed logical, so I never tried it again. I did, however, rub her back as we chilled together and watched TV. In the gym, everyone had advice for how I could lift. Eric and Rick were regulars, advising everything from my grip to whether I should max out my reps. Even Benjamin dropped by once to see how I was doing. Hannah tried to chime-in as well once, but when she started talking about how she centred her head on the squat rack, Candace and I laughed so hard that she pouted and stormed-off for a “water break.” Every night, when it came time to sleep, I would sneak glances at her rounded belly. It was almost a perfect dome at this time – the moment of the day when it was fullest. Again and again, I yearned to fondle and massage it, but each time I chickened-out and opted to sort of sidle next to her and wedge myself under her thigh so that I could feel her weight on top of me. Unfortunately, she hated sleeping like this, so I had to be sly and pretend to be asleep when I did my little manoeuvre. Plus, my leg would fall asleep with the pressure, so I could only do it for so long. Maybe – I thought each night – next time I would be brave enough to hold her full belly… “You ready for this?” I asked Candace. She pursed her lips and tugged her sports bra back into place. It was getting hard to find any that were big enough for her twins, and no matter what, they moved like living creatures with each step. They had also grown enough to fill G-cups by now, and supporting them with any kind of bra made them look ginormous. “Why are you asking?” she frowned. “This is literally the easiest thing for us to do all month.” “I mean, you’ve never weighed yourself since I met you,” I shrugged. “Plus, you look kind of upset.” “I’m just sad we can’t work out today,” she waved my concerns away with a flick of her wrist (and a wobble in her chest). “I mean, it makes sense. The contest is tomorrow, so we want to be rested and –” “I know Cody. Let’s just weigh ourselves, okay?” “I’ll go first,” I offered, trying to ease her attitude. With a deep breath, I stepped on the scale. Last time I had done this, it was the first day I had ever met my fiancé. Now that I was weighing myself again, I suddenly felt nervous. There was no reason to be nervous; I knew I’d be over two hundred pounds… right? There’s no way I could be any less… Two hundred twenty-one. Eyes wide, I inhaled with a slight sense of shock. Was I really this big? How much did Arnold Schwarzenegger weigh when he did Pumping Iron? I felt Candace’s fingers spidering their way around my biceps. This was something she did when she was horny. I couldn’t help but smile. “My my,” she cooed. “Someone’s been working out,” she rubbed my arms slowly, but stopped when Eric glanced over at us from the water fountain. “I never imagined I’d be this strong someday,” I said awkwardly. “Well?” Candace leaned over to look at me directly. “How long are you going to stand there? Hook me up.” “Oh, I’ll hook you up,” I said as I stepped down. “Easy terminator. Give a girl some space until she gets to the bedroom, alright?” She called me the Terminator! I swooned with pride as I watched her position herself on the scale. Her hips overhung the contraption from both sides. I reflected on their shape as the scale calculated her size. Each girl had a slightly different set of hips. Some had love handles. Some arched around the butt – or even below it. Candace, however, was godly. Her hips curved long and gloriously, from her knees, past her rounded ass and ended slightly below her well-nourished boobs. The peak of their arch rested proudly above where her pelvis would’ve been if it wasn’t buried so deeply within such sumptuous flesh. I desperately wished to rest my hands on them and give her a heartfelt, quizzical squeeze, but there were too many witnesses around us. She stood still atop that scale; her body blocked my view of the reading. The silence was rather painful. “I’m dying of anticipation,” I said, leaning over her shoulder. She took a deep breath. “I made it.” “Yes!” I hugged her whole-heartedly while trying to glance at the scale. “Um… by how much?” “By enough… why do you ask?” she asked suspiciously. “Like, you aren’t too close to two hundred are you? Hopefully you got a comfortable lead so you don’t accidentally go under tomorrow.” “Oh, it’s a good lead alright,” Candace hastily stepped off the scale as Eric and Rick elbowed each other by the water fountain. In spite of Eric and Rick’s proximity, I tightened my grip around her body and gave her cheek a kiss. “You’re beautiful.” “Thanks…” Candace craned her neck away from me. “No, really,” I insisted, strangely emboldened by the act of weighing ourselves. “You’re amazing. I wish you knew how hot you were.” “It’s okay Cody,” Candace sighed. “I know what you’re doing. It’s okay. I’ll win this contest, no problem. Just you wait.” “Oh, I’ll wait alright,” I grinned. “For tonight. When we go to bed.” “Ugh,” Candace rolled her eyes. “You’re a freak sometimes.” I could tell that she was loosening-up under my barrage of love. “A superfreak. Well… Benjamin said no working-out today. How about we go home early and…” I didn’t have anything more to say, actually. Hopefully she took the bait. “We still have to train Hannah in a few minutes.” “Oh,” I deflated. “I forgot.” “It’s going to be so weird not doing any reps with her… maybe I can sneak a little one in if –” “No, Candace, don’t you dare! I won’t let you! We got to win this thing!” “Ugh. Fine. Pussy.” At last, the day of the contest arrived. The city’s conference centre had been rented out for the event, and the entire parking lot was packed with bodybuilders, their families, their friends, and plenty of onlookers. As a matter of fact, I had to park almost a full city block away and Candace was pissed. “I hate this,” she said as she grabbed my hand softly. “What, the crowds?” “My thighs are brushing together,” she grumbled as her hips swayed step by step. Now that she mentioned it, I glanced down at her ripe lower body and admired her hypnotic, steady gait. I could hear her thighs swishing back and forth against each other. “It’s not uncomfortable, is it?” I asked. “You’re not chafing, are you?” “No, nothing like that. These yoga pants are doing their job. It just feels annoying.” “It doesn’t look annoying,” I bumped hips with her, delighting in how I bounced off her. “Down, boy,” she squeezed my hand a little harder. “There’s people watching.” Speaking of people, Eric spotted us as we began to enter the building. He immediately ran up to us, grinning from ear to ear. “Cody!” he shook my hand. “Candace,” he added with a wink, a hint of caution in his voice as Candace simmered. “What’s up Eric?” I said cordially. “Is that a new tattoo?” “Nah man,” he flexed his arm for emphasis. “Just wearing the tank top for the intimidation factor. Got more tats under here than a hooker can count.” I laughed quickly before Candace could get too pissed at me. “Where’s Rick?” “He’s signing-up over there,” Eric nodded towards a table on the far side of the bustling crowd. “Hey, so first of all, don’t forget to sign-up so you aren’t disqualified. Also, we’re representing our gym out here, so we’re on the same team.” “Hell yeah,” I said politely. However, a red flag began waving in my head. This wasn’t a team event; it was individual effort. What was he trying to pull on me? Eric circled his head nonchalantly, subtly gesturing around the whole room. “So what do you think? These people around us are the ones you got to worry about.” “They look pretty big,” I nodded, slightly intimidated. “That means they’re slow,” Eric swept his hand dramatically. “All slow muscle – all show. We’re going for reps here, not weight.” “But there are different weights,” I said. “Candace, you said so, right?” “No – yes,” Eric stuttered. “Each weight class is doing the same weight for their reps. You and me – and you too Candace – we’re in the mid-weight class. Two hundred to two-hundred fifty pounds, that’s all we got to worry about…” “We get it Eric, thank you,” Candace grumbled. “Come on Cody, let’s sign-up before there’s any more distractions.” “Right,” I said as she started dragging me by the hand. “Uh… thanks for the pro tip, Eric.” “Yeah, I’ll see you two later!” Candace didn’t let go of my hand as she pulled me towards the sign-in desk. “Candace, you don’t have to pull me.” “Trust me on this one,” she tightened her grip and quickened her pace, hips swaying with each wide gait. “Eric’s up to something.” “You always say that,” I noted. “But getting us into the contest was his idea, you know.” “He wanted you in the contest. I already explained this to you. Also, I know him very well. He’s a crafty douchbag. Every time he’s thinking of some prank, he does this thing with his left eyebrow…” “Seriously? Candace, let’s be real. What could he do at this point?” “Trust me Cody. Trust no one else!” “Alright…” Then Candace accidentally bumped into Rick like a beach ball against a volleyball net. “Dammit,” she muttered. “Oh hey girl,” Rick scratched his head in a way that stuck his beefy chest out. “You aren’t cutting the line, are you? It starts behind me.” “Right,” Candace frowned. “Come on Cody…” “Good luck you two!” he grinned. When we finally got in the back of the line, Candace’s whole body was twitching with energy. “You okay Candace?” I asked. “Trust… no one,” she stared at me intensely. I looked into her wild glare, thinking of a way to sooth her worries. What I saw was that inner fire that I had fallen in love with the first day I met her. All the hidden rage and intensity that made her so different from other girls I’d fancied all my life. This sadistic streak – Hulk Candace – was coming out as the contest neared. Faced with this, no words came to me. Instead, I sighed happily and leaned down for a kiss. I felt Candace’s body jump with surprise as I felt for her lips, but a quick breath was all she needed to regain her confidence. Her lips found mine as her arms lifted and wrapped me tightly against her soft chest. I felt her shallow breaths against my chest and could feel her heart pounding in her triceps. When we parted for breath, I felt the entire room watching with admiration and jealousy. “Are you ready for this?” I asked comfortingly, rubbing her arms. “I can’t wait to get this over with,” she huffed. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “You’re stronger than I am – you got this!” “Oh, I’m going to win, don’t worry,” she blinked rapidly with bated breath. “It’s just that I overdid it.” “Honey, I told you, you look amazing.” “No, not that. I took too much pre-workout.” My eyes widened. “You’ve never taken pre-workout – not since I’ve met you.” “I know. I hate it. I prefer natural supplements. But I figured if we’re going to win a contest, one time can’t hurt…” “No wonder you’re so paranoid.” “Cody. I have concerns. Legitimate concerns. One is Rick and Eric. The other is the fact that I can feel my heart beating in my neck.” “It’s okay,” I patted her solid shoulders. “You’re just not used to stimulants. You don’t even drink coffee or soda. Your body’s just accelerated from zero to one hundred real quick,” at this, I leaned in until I was inches from her. “They’ll never know what hit them.” This time, she reached up and kissed me.

Today is the last day to vote for me 🖤 https://avn.com/awards/voting/favorite-bbw-performer

Chapter Fourteen After breakfast, Eric said he was going to take a shower and I sat down at the computer. I decided to start a food journal to keep track of what I was putting into my mouth. My hope was that having to keep a record would get me back under control. I listed out what I could remember that I had eaten the day before and estimated that it had been another 5,000 plus calorie day. Not exactly the way to lose weight. I figured that the breakfast that I had just eaten was probably close to 900 calories: not terrible, provided that I controlled myself the rest of the day. I did a little more research on dieting and looked at a site that claimed to have Jillian from The Biggest Loser as an advisor. As a 183 pound very active female, it said I needed 13 calories a day per pound to maintain my weight, maybe 15 calories, if I kept up a good exercise routine. So I figured something around 2560 calories a day for maintenance. The weight loss site suggested a diet averaging 2,050 calories a day. Jillian’s recommendation was that, if I could do that, I would lose a pound every week. Joy oh joy, I diet for a year and I am only about five pounds heavier than when I started the summer. Actually, that was assuming that I was still 183. With the past couple of days of indulgence, I thought that was unlikely. I also started thinking that, if I could get down to maybe 140 or 145 pounds, it would be good enough. Eric still hadn’t started his shower, so I offered to join him. We enjoyed water sports. I turned on the water and got it warm and we both got in. Eric soaped me up and started massaging my slippery skin. He seemed to be concentrating on my flubberiness, wiggling this, jiggling that, and taking hold of my belly with both hands to form a distinct, generous roll, which he then kind of wobbled up and down. This actually felt good, but also a bit weird. It was as if he were demonstrating how fat I really was. "Are you having a good time," I asked. "The best," he answered, as he squatted down so that his head was even with my waist and started to rotate each of my fat thighs with both hands. Then he stood back up and pushed himself up against my big tush, with his hands back on my lower belly, pulling me against him. I could feel his hard cock up between my legs. I adjusted myself so that I could slip him into my cunny, hoping that the soap was rinsed off so it wouldn’t irritate me. I put my hands against the wall so that I could keep my balance and push back against his thrusts. This didn’t take long. In less than a minute, Eric came with a moan and a shudder. I was worried that he was going to collapse, but stayed standing, if a bit dependent on the wall behind him. "I so love your body," he said. "That felt great." I turned around and started soaping Eric up and rubbing him with the loofa. I washed his crotch with just my hand, gently stroking his lingering erection. "So the fact that I am not in the best of shape doesn’t distract you?" I asked. "Well, maybe it’s all relative," he answered with his eyes closed. "You may not be as thin as you were several months ago, but that doesn’t mean you’re not in good shape. I happen to think you are in very good shape, just more about round instead of flat." He reached up and started fondling my breasts, as if for emphasis. "I appreciate your loyalty," I said. "You know," Eric continued, sounded a bit more serious than the moment demanded, "you make is sound like I am compromising or doing you some favor for loving you as you are. First, when people are in love, small things like whether they gain a few pounds shouldn’t make any difference. What if I got a beer belly? Would you love me less?" "No. Of course not, but guys can do that without as much drama. Woman are judged more harshly. Wait until we get to my parents. You don’t think they are going to be critical of this?" I complained, wiggling my ass for emphasis. "I’m not done," Eric said moving on. "Second, you seem to be assuming that, if I were in charge of your body, I would exchange the you now for the you then. Don’t get me wrong, I loved your body then. But you have to believe that I love your body now." Several thoughts started running through my brain simultaneously. I almost felt like I had not been listening for the past couple of days, and certainly hadn’t been paying attention to Eric’s obvious enthusiasm for the big, beautiful Colette. For three years, whenever I would comment with conceit and confidence about how thin I was, his response had consistently been, "Oh, I think you could stand to gain a few pounds." I had always interpreted that comment as meaning that I was so perfectly lean that, even with a few more pounds, I would still be perfect. We got out of the shower and dried each other with our towels. As I tousled his hair, I decided to risk a question, "You almost sound like you are an FA." Eric kind of snapped to attention, but looked puzzled. "An FA? What is an FA?" he asked innocently. "An FA is a fat admirer; someone who prefers people who are fatter," I answered, trying to read his expression. "Like a guy who likes girls with bigger breasts?" he asked, as if trying to sound unsure of what I meant. It seemed like he was concealing something, so I pressed on, "Well, sure, bigger breasts, but also bigger asses and bellies." "If your asking me if I like your body right now, then I guess I am a fat admirer, although I really don’t think that you are fat. You’re just not as thin as you were before. You have to admit, you were as lean as you could be before, while being very strong." "Well, okay, yeah maybe enjoying my body right now, but there are guys who like girls who are much bigger," I explained, still trying to get clear on how much what I was talking about could be something he already knew. "You shouldn’t be that surprised that I love your body right now. Think of the women who distract me: Beyonce, J-lo, your friend Nancy," he answered, referring to a friend of mine from school with a great body, if a bit bigger than Cosmo would approve. "Nancy! That bitch! I always thought that you seemed to spend a bit too long with your eyes on her," I said with mock anger. "You know, she is probably even fatter than I am right now. She can get away with it because of her huge tits. You guys are all the same: when a girl has big tits, you don’t bother looking anywhere else," I said sarcastically. "Are you trying to trap me into something? All I am saying is that Nancy is bigger than fashion tries to dictate, but that doesn’t mean that she isn’t good looking. And I notice a lot more about Nancy than her tits. She is attractive, even if the rest of you woman would criticize the size of her ass. Part of her being attractive is that she is confident in her looks, regardless of what a bunch of men, who are probably gay, in the fashion industry think women should look like. And I think you are forgetting that I complained when both J-Lo and Eva Mendes seemed to slim their butts as they became more successful to meet Hollywood standards. And Beyonce: she completely changed her look from when she actually sang a song about her ‘jelly’, challenging men to even be able to handle it," Eric presented like a lawyer making his case. I was impressed with how much Eric seemed to have thought this through. Nancy was bigger than a typical fashion model, but smaller than the models that I had seen on BigCuties. "Do you think I am a BBW?" I asked, curious to know whether he had heard that term. Maybe to avoid answering the question, Eric took me in his arms and gave me a big, deep, long soulful kiss. Maybe he figured that, as long as his tongue was in my mouth, I couldn’t ask him any more questions and he wouldn’t have to give any answers. I decided to drop the interrogation, at least for the moment. We got dressed and packed up our things for the drive out to my parents. I put on the panties with the control top, which seemed particularly necessary that morning, given the way that my lower belly was pooching out, and dressed in my new clothes. Looking at myself in the mirror, I did like the way that I looked. With my posture, the properly fitting clothes, and the magical panties, I may have looked bigger than I used to be, but I looked good. I packed both of my new swimsuits, although I was still skeptical that I was going to put myself that much on display. We left at around 11:30, which on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend meant that we would be able to avoid the worst of the beach holiday traffic. Chapter Fifteen We were headed out to Colette’s parents place, and although it was a beautiful day, she seemed overcast. We chatted in the car about the classes that she was going to be taking, about my work, about our friends, and about something stupid that Russ Limbaugh had recently said. Talk about your big, fat idiots. As we approached exit 40 on the LIE, which is almost half way to the house, Colette asked if we could stop. She needed to use the restroom. We pulled off the expressway and stopped at the Dunkin Donuts, which seemed like the best option for a restroom. After using the restroom, Colette came out and explained that she does not want to arrive at her parents’ hungry. Even though it had only been maybe three hours since she ate breakfast, it was almost 1:00 and I could understand her not wanting her first thoughts when she arrived at their house to be getting something to eat. We walked up to the counter to order and the girl at the register was huge, with her shirt tucked into slacks so tight that the top of her pants disappeared into the fold created by the upper and lower globes of her belly. Her lower belly stretched her pants tight, while her upper belly stretched her shirt tight. She was very pretty and cheerful with a great smile. But very, very fat. I looked at Colette, who was looking at the girl with an expression of total shock. I went ahead and ordered a lemonade coolatta for myself and then looked back to Colette. "A small orange coolatta," was all she ordered. "I thought you were going to get something to eat?" I asked. Collete just shook her head no and said under her breath, "I’ll wait." When we got in the car, I asked her, "Why didn’t you get something to eat?" "Did you see how fat that girl was?" Colette answered. I tried to discern whether it was awe or fear in her voice. "No. I didn’t notice," I joked. "Not funny at all," said Colette. "How could she let herself get so fat? I don’t think she should be working in a Dunkin Donuts. She has to be negative for sales." "Unless girls feel more comfortable ordering donuts from her, being able to relax in the fact that they are much thinner than she is," I suggested. "I wouldn’t go out in public, if I was that fat," admitted Colette. "And I certainly wouldn’t work in a donut store. Just the association has to be embarrassing." "Maybe she was skinny when she started, but just loves her work," I teased. "Maybe she can’t resist trying the donuts and has blown up before she even realized what was happening." "That’s too scary," Colette said, clearly making a personal connection with how easy it would be to gain weight if a person was surrounded by donuts all day. Or pastries. "But what if she is the happiest girl in the world," I continued. "Maybe she has a boyfriend who loves her and treats her good and can’t wait to get home each night to bury himself in her luscious rolls and folds. "That would make him a fat admirer, or an FA," Colette said looking straight ahead. "I asked you about that this morning," Colette explained. I just shook my head, yes, that now I understood. I was pretty sure that then was not the time to acknowledge that I sometimes fantasized about women that size. We pulled up to the house and I could tell that everyone else was already there by the number of cars in the driveway. While I started grabbing things out of the back of the car, Colette sat still in her seat, procrastinating for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and said, "Okay, let the fun begin," as she got out of the car. We brought our things in and set them down, looking for people. We walked through the house and found everyone either swimming in the pool or sitting around it on the deck. As we walk outside, her mom was the first to greet us. She gave each of us a big hug, and there was just a hint of surprise as she wrapped her arms around Colette. It took a few moments before Liz and Emma, Colette’s sisters, came over to say hello. As they approached, I could see them zeroing in on her added dimension. Liz gave Emma a kind of "WTF!" look, but didn’t say anything. Colette’s dad came over and gave her a hug and asked how our drive out had been. I said that it had been uneventful. "Why don’t you guy’s get your suits on and join us in the pool," Colette’s dad suggested. Colette responded, "We will soon. Let us get our bearings first." I knew that she was apprehensive about getting into her bathing suit, but so far, so good. No one fainted or even commented, with the exception of a few raised eyebrows. We sat around for a while talking with everyone. They wanted all of the details about Colette’s trip to Europe. I noticed that she kept her descriptions to the places she went and the things that she saw, but didn’t mention the primary reason that she had gone there. There was no mention of pastries, restaurants, or eating escapades. Dressed in her new clothes, with her well engineered panties, she looked streamlined, although larger. But since she was bigger all over in clothes that were not tight, it was not quite as dramatic as when she got off of the plane in pants a couple of sizes too small, being held together with safety pins. After we were there for about an hour, Colette’s mom started asking Emma about lunch. She had arranged for platters of hero sandwiches cut into quarters from the Eastport deli. Emma agreed to go pick it up, before everyone starved to death. "Colette, come with me to help," Emma asked. "You can fill me in with more detail about your trip." Chapter Sixteen Eric and I made it out to my parents house. I was getting really nervous about how they were going to react to my weight gain over the summer. I had to face it. There was no way for me to conceal that I had gained a lot in a short time, other than to try to dress in a way that minimized the drama. My whole family was very well behaved when they first saw me, although I could tell that they all noticed the change. No one screamed or fainted, for which I was grateful. But I could tell that they all were surprised. After we were there for a while, my mom asked Emma to go to town to pick up lunch. I agreed to go along to help her bring it back. Liz called out, "Me, too! Me, too!" It was as I was getting ready to go that I remembered that Eric and I had forgotten the two boxes of pastries at our apartment. I decided not to mention it. As soon as the three of us got into the car, Emma exploded with questions. "Colette! What the fuck happened to you in Europe? You’re enormous!" "So nice of you to notice," I responded sarcastically. "No. I mean, what the fuck happened? Are you okay? Is there something wrong? You’re enormous," she repeated. "Enormous!" "Emma, get a grip," I tried to slow her down. "I am not that big. I still fit in your car and the pavement doesn’t crack when I walk on it." I was trying to be funny and underplay the idea that this was a big deal, but Emma wouldn’t let it go. Coming to my aid, Liz turned to Emma and said, "I can’t believe how rude you are being. You haven’t seen your sister for almost four months and the first thing you do is question her about her weight." Liz shook her head in disapproval and then turned to me and said, "So how the fuck did you get so fat?" The two of them thought that this was hysterical and were laughing so hard I was worried that Emma was going to run off the road. But I sat there in silence. After a few moments, they were able to collect themselves and they could see that I was not sharing their amusement. After she had caught her breath, Liz got more serious, "Colette, you left the epitome of perfect condition and in just a couple of months you have completely changed your body. You have never even been able to pinch an inch and now it looks like I could grab a hand full. Who are you and what have you done to me sister?" Emma blurted out, "Maybe she ate her," which caused them both to burst out laughing again. I just tried to ignore the both of them, but I could feel my face getting flushing red with embarrasement. I was not accustomed to being the focus of jokes, particularly by my sisters. We got to the German Deli and they had everything ready to go. We paid and loaded the car. Then we headed over to the Beverage Barn to pick up a couple of cases of local craft beers. As we were driving home, Emma decided to drop the nonsense and apologized for being a wise-ass, and asked me a serious question, "Sis, what is going on really? I’m sorry for what I said before. But you have to admit, it is a shock to us. You’re our leader. We both became dancers because you were a dancer. I used to even resent you for you perfect butt. I’ve always thought that mine is too big. Are you okay?" "I’m actually fine, although I am freaked out a little bit. While I was in Europe, I was just trying to make the most of it. Mom and dad spent a lot to give me that vacation and the whole idea was for me to really learn first hand what French and Italian cooking is all about. I know I overdid it with the eating, but that was the way I figured I would learn the most. Maybe I tried to learn too much too fast. But it really was great." I continued to tell them about my whole trip, but left out the dirty details, like bursting out of my clothes. "What about Eric? How is he dealing with the new you?" Liz asked, sounding like her assumption was that this was going to be a big problem. "He’s actually great with it. Obviously, he was a bit surprised, but the first thing that he wanted to do when I got back was take me out to dinner. My extra pounds haven’t pushed him away. In fact, he has been rabid since I got home, though I am sure that is just making up for lost time," I offered. "I think my boyfriend would kick me to the curb if I gained 10 pounds," Emma pouted. "He is always saying stupid things like, ‘once on the lips, forever on the hips.’ I swear, sometimes he makes me too nervous to put anything in my mouth." Liz responded quickly, "That’s because he is a jerk. I don’t think he really even likes you. He just seems to like the idea that he has you as his girlfriend. I mean, he didn’t even come out for the weekend. What’s his deal?" I was glad that the focus had shifted off of my roundness and we were talking about Emma’s miserable boyfriend, which then moved on to when Liz was going to get a boyfriend. Finally, I was able to retake control, "The one thing that I am totally confident in is that Eric loves me whether I am thin or fat. I think he is actually getting off on fucking me with my chubby tummy. I catch him kind of trying to bang me in ways to increase the jiggle of my wiggle." Emma and Liz both agreed that I was so lucky. When we were almost safely home, Liz returned to the questions, "Colette, so, what do you weigh now? I mean I know it isn’t any of my business, but I really am curious." "When I got home, I weighed myself and was around 165 pounds, but that was four days ago," I lied. I figured that sounded fat enough, and I liked the implication that I had probably lost some weight since my trip ended and I wasn’t stuffing myself in Europe anymore. Emma and Liz both looked skeptical. "What?" I asked. "I weigh almost 150," Emma admitted. "You know, that’s how come I have a big butt. I am kind of surprised that you are only about 15 pounds more than me. I would have thought more. But maybe its just that you are bloated. "I wouldn’t have a clue," Liz announced proudly, at 125 pounds you both sound like blimps to me," she said sounding superior. "Well, its easy for you to be a stick," Emma shot back, defending both of us, "You just don’t have our tits." "Maybe I don’t have your tits, but I don’t have your butts either," she laughed as we pulled into the driveway. We grabbed all of the bags and carried them into the kitchen. I signaled to Eric and sent him out to the car for the beer. Then Emma, Liz and I got busy laying everything out on the dining table. There were two large platters with tons of sandwiches cut into manageable pieces; turkey with swiss, Italian combos, which the deli calls Belly Busters, and a bunch of other options. There was also potato salad, cole slaw, macaroni salad, and several bags of chips. We poured the chips into big bowls, put out paper plates and paper napkins, and then headed out to the pool to let everyone know that lunch was served. I made a point of not taking anything right away. I didn’t want to look like the most important thing to me was food. I waited until everyone had served themselves, and Eric actually suggested that I get myself something to eat. That way I was able to make it look totally unimportant. In reality, I was starving and thinking that this act would have been easier, if I hadn’t freaked out about the fat girl at the Dunkin Donuts and had eaten something then. I picked two pieces of sandwich and some salads and got a beer. By the time I was finished, people were drifting away to other things and I was able to slip back in and get another three pieces of sandwich, which I then ate in the kitchen, where I was alone. I actually had this feeling for a moment that I simply wanted to stand there over the sandwiches eating until either they were gone, or I was totally full. I walked back out to the pool and sat down next to Eric, who was finishing his beer. "I’m going to get myself another beer, you want one?" he asked. "Sure," I answered. Eric went into the house and got us both a beer and fixed another plate of sandwiches, which he set down next to us. "You can have some of that, if you want," he offered. Maybe it was the beer, but I thought that was so sweet. It made me feel that I was right when I described his comfort with my body to my sisters in the car. I picked up one of the pieces and ate it. A few minutes later, I had another piece. Okay, now I was starting to get full. "Do you want that last piece?" Eric asked. "No. You have it," I answered without emotion, giving the appearance of self-control, while realizing that I certainly didn’t need it, if I was going to be wedging myself into one of my swimsuits in a little while. I was confident in the magic panels that Spike had sold me on, but I didn’t think there was a good reason to tempt fate. Besides, having actually eaten the equivalent of almost two hero sandwiches, when in the Spring I would have had trouble finishing one sandwich on just a roll, I continued to be surprised by my ability to eat for reasons other than hunger. I stretched out on a chez lounge in the warm sun to let my belly digest. This idea that I would eat past the point of being hungry was relatively new to me, since I had justified the eating on my trip as more induced by necessity than necessarily by desire. Now, I found myself at a simple afternoon lunch eating more than twice what I "needed" simply because I had gotten used to eating more. For a moment, as I lay there letting the food settle, I started wondering about the different levels of eating. Obviously, the first level was eating out of necessity, to avoid starvation, which was clearly not my immediate problem. The second level would then be eating until no longer feeling physical hunger, kind of like eating to meet the physical need, with the idea that, when no longer hungry, you stop eating, regardless of whether or not there is more food on your plate. The third level seemed to be eating to feel satisfied, which is where I figured most people were at in our overabundant culture. At the third level, you ate until you had what you wanted, which could mean the full range between dieting, careful eating, finishing what’s on your plate, or supersizing your meal. This was no longer hunger driven, but could be the affect of portion expectations and habit. I started to wonder how the habit of eating more or less could become simply routine, something that someone was simply accustomed to and did without thinking about it. If I had gotten used to eating a larger quantity of food, did my belly now expect a larger quantity of food before some bell would ring in my head to let me know that I was satisfied. Do stomachs actually stretch, and if so, did it take more food to fill the cavity now than before, when I would have registered that I was no longer hungry or even full after my second piece of sandwich? Then I started wondering about a fourth level of eating, which perhaps had more to do with desire and cravings, whether sensual or visceral, but little about physical hunger. This would be the level where eating was driven by something totally unrelated to real physical hunger or actual need. I already knew enough about stress eating, and people eating because they are bored, or eating because they were unhappy. Hey, I had read my fair share of Cosmos. While I had never had a problem with that kind of eating, I certainly had times in the past when I craved something or maybe ate all of something simply because it tasted so good. Even before I left for Europe, I could be enticed by something that tasted good, even if I wasn’t hungry, but it had always been something so easy to control and I had always stayed slim without much effort. But now I found myself in the world of this fourth level of eating, which was something totally different for me. It was more a matter of desires with no apparent logic. While I was traveling in Europe, I had my excuse for overeating. Now that I was home, I was still eating at close to that same level, despite an almost desperate sense that I needed to get myself under control. I realized that I could now eat not only past the point of hunger and need but past even the point of feeling full, to a point of being overstuffed before I could find that sense of being satisfied. Laying outside in the sun, I kept thinking of that plate of sandwiches still sitting in the kitchen. It started making me angry that I couldn’t indulge myself and simply eat to the point of being totally full. I felt like that argument was starting in my head again, but out here at my parents, with my sisters and others around, there was no way I was going to embarrass myself with a feeding frenzy. I already felt too self-conscious and fat. And then, as I lay there starting to get to warm in the sun, I started wondering if there was some fifth level of eating, where the idea of the feeling more than full actually becomes the intent? It was as if I was craving the sensation of being stuffed. And, if stomachs did stretch with repeated overeating, did that sense of wanting to feel more than full create a complex dynamic? The image of the girl at the Dunkin Donuts popped into my mind and I shuddered.

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

I posted one recently in the delectable observations thread about an old teacher who was a big woman (maybe a UK size 20-22) who got pregnant and grew a huge belly which she used to show off in under bump trousers & short tight tops that rode up showing her stretchmarks and the fatty underbelly that she retained below her bump. I also remember an instance where she unbuttoned her really tight grey trousers in class (before she got pregnant). I also remember a trainee music teacher who must have had a recent gain as all her trousers were too tight giving her a delicious muffin top that showed through the clingy jumpers she used to love wearing

Flashpoint #1

lost without spanx...

party belly

You can find hundreds of her pics on the web. I especially like the recent ones, where she's sitting.

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...

Not really sure what you're referring to, but I looked into this and near as I can tell: both of these pictures are from 2013, off of Twitter, so that makes things even more opaque. Though the optimist in this situation could say 'if that's what she looked like five years ago, what does she look like nowadays?' Still, not sure if there are any pics of her from super recent memory.

Chapter Nineteen When Colette and I were in town that Saturday afternoon, I had a great time dancing with her. I could tell that she was a little tipsy from a couple of beers, but she is such a fun person to dance with. She really knows how to move her body and, even though she was much bigger than she had been, she still had great moves. After dancing, she was hungry, which I was starting to realize was her constant state, almost regardless of when she had eaten last or was anticipating eating next. She had two slices of pizza, which wasn’t particularly dramatic, except when figuring that she would be having dinner in less that two hours and had enjoyed a decent lunch not that long before. When we were in the bakery, she almost seemed to be salivating, looking at all the pastries. I was going to suggest that she get something, but I didn’t want to seem absurd: kind of like, here Colette, have some dessert with your pizza for your in between meals meal. I was worried how she would take it. I did enjoy watching her eat the pizza and appreciated that she was relaxed eating in front of me. It was getting harder for me to not start outing myself as someone who actually got turned on by watching her stuff her chubby belly. After we made it back to the house, everyone was hanging out drinking beers. One thing I noticed was that the extra weight on Colette seemed to have increased her tolerance. She had a couple of beers in the short time before dinner. We had a great barbeque that everyone was fixing something for. We ended up with burgers, plus really good chicken, as well as hot Italian sausages that came from the butcher in East Quogue. There was a ton of food and I was surprised to see how comfortable Colette now seemed to be eating in front of her family. The anxiety that she had earlier in the day, seemed to have evaporated; maybe washed away by the five or six beers that she had in less than three hours. Without making it too obvious, I paid attention as Colette ate a couple of burgers, had chicken, and a good serving of the sausage, as well as filling her plate with some pasta that her mom made. She also had a couple of ears of corn and another big plate of salad. Maybe it was because everyone was eating and drinking and we were at the table talking for a while that no one really noticed how much Colette had eaten. With people starting to finish up and drift away, I watched as she kind of looked around and snagged another burger when she thought no one was looking. I was pretty amazed by what she had consumed. The intent of quelling her appetite with the pizza in town had obviously not worked at all and she continued picking at things and having another little piece of this and some more of that. Finally, people started clearing the table and she sat back in her chair with a contented smile on her face. So that she could stay seated, I got up to help clear the table. I picked up my plate and asked Colette if she was finished. She took a deep breath and replied softly, "Oh yeah." As I picked up her plate, she smiled up at me and was kind of dreamily rubbing her sides, with her eyes half closed. I could tell she was buzzed from both the beer and the food. Even though her shirt was loose and billowy, I could tell that her belly was bloated from the feast. I came back from the kitchen and brought her another beer. "Sure I need that?" she asked, as she took it from my hand. "You’re relaxing. Enjoy yourself," I suggested. "I think I may be ‘relaxing’ just a bit too much," she admitted. "I’m glad no one noticed me gorging myself at dinner. My sisters could have had a field day. I just don’t understand why I am always so hungry." "What?" she asked, as I smiled in response to her admission. "Well, I kind of could tell that your appetite wasn’t ruined by the pizza in town," I joked. "Oh, God. I forgot about the pizza. What is wrong with me? I’m just a bottomless pit," Colette complained. "Well, at least you’re full now," I confirmed. Colette sat there looking down at her belly, but didn’t say anything. "You are full, right?" I asked. Colette hesitated, but finally looked up and said, "My belly is full, but it’s not like I couldn’t still eat something." She said this meekly. "Are you still hungry?" I asked, somewhat incredulously, thinking about the amount that she had eaten at dinner. "I guess ‘hungry’ is a relative term," she answered. "Of course I am not hungry. I mean, if I think about it for a moment, I’m actually stuffed, but my appetite seems driven by something else." "Your sisters were talking about going into town. What do you feel like doing?" I asked. "I guess we could go into town. Let’s take our car, though. I don’t want to be trapped by them and have to hang out all night," she answered. I took her hand and helped her to her feet. Standing, she took a moment to balance herself, stretching her belly forward. "Are you okay?" I asked. "I feel fine, as long as totally bloated is a good feeling," she responded cradling her distended belly in her hands. "I need to use the bathroom, then I’ll be ready to go." Colette went up to our room and I hung with her sisters. Emma asked, "Where’s Colette?" "She’s upstairs getting ready. We’re heading into town," I answered. "My God! Did you see how much your girlfriend ate at dinner?" Emma laughed. I just smiled. "What’s happened to her? She used to be such a food Nazi. I used to feel uptight about eating in front of her with my fat ass. Now she’s the little piggy. I know this is stupid, but I feel so much better about myself now that she’s porked out." Emma continued, with a strange enthusiasm. The reality was that Emma’s butt was probably the same size as Colette’s, but I knew there was no reason to point that out. I figured it was better for Colette to leave Emma feeling superior. Less need for being nasty. Emma wanted to keep talking about this. "How many hamburgers did she eat? It must of been like five. She was eating the whole time we were at the table. I was tempted to move things her way just to see how much she would eat." "Emma, I think your getting carried away. She maybe had two burgers," I lied. "She was just eating slower than everyone else," I suggested. "Sure," Emma laughed sarcastically. "That’s why her stomach is a beach ball and she was sitting there at the end like a beached whale. How do you feel about this? It must be bothering you that she has gotten fat." "Actually, I think she looks great. I don’t care if she’s gained a little weight. I always thought that she was too much the hard body before, but I knew that’s how she wanted to be for dancing," I explained. "Gained a little weight?" Emma questioned. "She’s a tub. Are you in denial?" "The way I look at it, she’s got a great body and I’m fine with the fact that she has changed a little bit. I’m not one of those guys who’s vision of female beauty is dictated by the fashion industry. She’s strong and in great shape, with or without a bit of a belly. Actually, I think her belly is kind of sexy and the gain has not done any damage to her tits." "Oh, typical guy," Emma joked, "As long as she has big tits, who cares about the rest." "Sorry, darling," I continued, "I’m into the whole package, but yes I do like the fact that she’s filled out over the summer." "We’ll see how you feel in a couple of months, if she doesn’t snap out of it. With the way that she ate at dinner, she’ll be dragging her ass in a couple of months," Emma said derisively. "I doubt it," I said confidently, as Colette walked into the room. "What are we talking about?" asked Colette. "Your tubby belly," Emma joked, poking Colette and laughing like the Pillsbury dough boy. "What about my belly?" Colette asked, turning to me, looking a bit too serious. "Your sister is just being stupid. She thinks that you have gained a few pounds and she’s obsessing that she thinks she saw you eat more than her at dinner tonight. So she’s trying to make the case that your ass is as big as her’s now," I explained, putting Emma on the defense. "Are we talking about my belly or my ass?" Colette questioned defiantly. "Actually, we were talking about your tits and how your boyfriend likes them bigger," Emma laughed, thinking that she was being just so clever. Colette decided to ignore her silly sister. "Are we ready to go?" she asked me. "Ready and willing, gorgeous," I answered, taking her in my arms and giving her a big kiss. "The secret is having a real man," Colette said to Emma as we walked out the door. In the car and driving into town, Colette turned to me and asked, "All kidding aside, are you pissed off about my fat? Stop being defensive," I scolded. "You know how I feel. And you know I am not the type that either changes their way of thinking easily or is affected by nonsense from people like your sister. Both of your sisters would be happier and healthier if they stopped worrying so much about their weight." "They don’t have boyfriends who love them in spite of their weight," Colette said with appreciation. "I don’t love you in spite of your weight," I clarified. "I just love you. I loved you before when you were too skinny and I love you now that you have a more rounded, sexy body." Colette sat quietly for a few minutes and then turned to me and asked a bit too directly, "The way you just said that would suggest that you prefer the fatter me than the way I was before. Is that right?" "I’m trying to be politically correct here and make the case that it is the woman that I love, not any particular piece of her. But if you really want to know, I am not disappointed in any way that you have some extra curve to your body at the moment. I actually find it very sexy. You may have noticed that when we make love," I explained. "But what if I don’t lose this weight? What if your lean girlfriend is a bit of a butterball? How does that work?" Colette probed. "What has to work? I don’t get it. Try to pay attention: I think you look real good right now, big belly and all. The only thing that you could do wrong is get obsessed about losing it and turn into one of those bitchy women who is always complaining about their body. It is insulting to a guy when a woman tries to convince him that the object of his desire is somehow not perfect," I answered her, realizing that I was being a bit too intense. Colette hesitated for a moment, but then asked, "And what if I not only didn’t lose this food baby, but actually gained a pound or two." I felt cornered, but managed to maintain my composure and secret, "If you gained a pound or two or ten, I don’t really care, as long as you are healthy and we have the kind of great sex that we have both been enjoying since you got back from Europe. I think you should start thinking about the fact that I have never seen you like sex more. Maybe there is some connection between not starving yourself to maintain an unnaturally thin body and having a bigger appetite for sex. Not just making love, but real sex." She reached over and confirmed that her suspicions were correct, feeling my hard on. "Just talking about this is turning you on," she exclaimed. "Oh how surprising. Talking about my girlfriend’s sexy body is turning me on," I said sarcastically. "I’m just wondering," is all that she said. "Actually, I think it is the way that your belly and breasts are jiggling like jello on springs on this bumpy road that is turning me on," I smiled. Colette turned to me, smiled, and let out a long, deep, and convincing burp. "And, yes, even that turns me on," I laughed. Chapter Twenty Eric and I headed into town after dinner with vague plans to meet up with Emma and Liz. In the car we had an interesting conversation about my weight. I knew that Eric was accepting about the fact that I had put on fat, but I was a bit surprised that he wasn’t a little bit critical of me stuffing my face. He was aware of how much I had eaten, including totally unnecessary snacks, yet he continued to be totally supportive. I started wondering if there was a chance that he actually liked me better fatter. Was it possible that he was actually one of those guys who was not grossed out by fat girls. I even tried to gross him out by letting out a burp that could win a contest and he claimed that he found even my burping sexy. We walked around for a while, but I was done drinking beer for the night, so we were really just hanging out. Emma and Liz decided to stay at one of the bars flirting with the idea of everyone being on the make, although I was pretty sure that they were smart enough not to hook up with someone. The scene at the bars was like the feeding frenzy when bluefish trap the schools of bait fish against the shore and jetties. While the blues are busy with the bait fish, the fishermen on the shore are busy reeling in one fish after another. Not the environment to get caught in. At around midnight, I figured we might as well had for home. The talk in the car had gotten me feeling horny and I wanted to make sure that we were both awake enough to take advantage of the mood. I suggested to Eric that we think about packing it in for the night. "Actually, I was thinking about getting some ice cream. Did you feel like anything?" he asked. The thoughts that I had in the car came back into focus. I decided to test him a little bit. "Oh, I don’t know if I should. I did eat too much at dinner," I sighed. "But you didn’t have any dessert," he said authoritatively. "What about a little ice cream?" "If you think it’s a good idea, I wouldn’t turn it down. Why don’t you go in and get us both something. I’ll wait out here," I tested. "Actually, why don’t you pick something up at the bakery across the street, while I get us ice cream. We forgot to bring the box of pastries from the city. You could pick up something for the house for breakfast," he suggested. For some reason, this whole thing seemed kind of naughty. He went into the ice cream store and I went into the bakery. I picked out a collection of croissant and some Danish pastries. I got the two boxes and carried them out, meeting Eric just as he was coming out of the ice cream store. He had a cone and a giant shake. I reached for the cone, but he handed me the shake instead. "Let’s get in the car before anyone sees me. This has got to be a little bit funny. This chubby girl walking down the street with her belly poking out carrying two boxes of pastries and a giant shake," I said, feeling embarrassed as I realized that this is exactly how I looked. We got in the car and Eric commented, "When are you going to stop worrying so much about how you think things look to other people. Half the people on the street are fatter than you and few have anywhere near your sexy body. Do you really think that people would pay attention to you and think that there is something wrong?" I wouldn’t be surprised if a couple of teenagers made mooing sounds behind me," I admitted. I sat there staring at him cynically and continued, "Yes, I really do think people would think that it looks silly, this girl with a huge belly standing on Main Street at midnight with boxes of pastries and the biggest shake I have ever seen. Want to explain yourself? What is this? The glutton special?" It was like a double shake. Totally unnecessary and totally inappropriate. But totally appreciated, in a kind of perverse way that I was still trying to figure out. Given the alternative, I was impressed that Eric’s choice was to get me something generous instead of emphasizing the fact that the last thing that I needed at that point in the day was more calories. But still, what was the deal? Eric blushed, trying to come up with an explanation. This wasn’t having a little ice cream. He had selected the biggest, most calorie laden choice maybe a step or two past obscene. "What’s wrong? You thought that getting me one of those seven scoop banana split things with several different sauces piled high with whipped cream, nuts and a cherry would be over the top?" I asked sarcastically. "Is that what you wanted?" Eric asked before he could catch himself. "NO! Are you crazy?" I responded astounded. "This is bad enough. This shake has to be thousands of calories and more fat than recommended for an entire day. Not exactly the thing that I need at the moment." "Well, I wasn’t sure what to get. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Its chocolate chocolate chip, which you like," he answered, trying to sound logical. "Just have what you want. You don’t have to finish it." Of course, the whole time he is saying this, my mouth is on the straw sucking down the shake. By the time we pulled in the driveway, the shake was gone and my belly felt like someone had decided to store a watermelon in it. I was glad that my parents had gone to bed and my sisters were still out. I felt like I was waddling when I walked. I figured that this must be what it feels like to be in the last trimester. Actually thinking about it, I realized that my weight gain of more than 50 pounds was really the equivalent of full term; particularly with that day’s lunch, afternoon’s pizza, the evening’s dinner, and ridiculously huge shake all still sitting in there. Eric followed me in, carrying the boxes of pastries, and we were quiet to not disturb anyone. "Do you want to take a midnight swim?" Eric asked. "I’m afraid I would just sink to the bottom and drown," I answered as we snuck through the house. We made it to our bedroom safe and sound. But then what to do. The thought of laying down on my belly on the bed sounded painful. But the thought of laying down on my back on the bed also sounded uncomfortable. I ended up laying on my side, with my belly feeling like it was something separate from me that I was cuddling up to. Eric started to lay down next to me, but I told him to be careful. "If you push on me wrong, I am liable to explode," I warned him. "Come on. Get out of your things and lets go down for a swim. We’ll stay in the shallow end. I bet it will make you feel better," he suggested. I stood up and took off my clothes. Removing the spandex panties was a real relief, although my belly then seemed to be an orb expanding into the room. "I am not putting on my bathing suit," I told Eric. Rubbing my gut, I was impressed with how solid it felt. Earlier in the day, the chub was fluffy. Now, it felt like my skin was stretched tight. "I can’t imagine anything that would put pressure on this being a good idea" "Your sisters won’t be home for hours and your parents are asleep. Let’s go skinny dip," he suggested. "Okay, but be very quiet. It would be awkward enough to be caught in the raw, but with this body, I would be totally embarrassed," I explained. We wrapped in towels and snuck back through the house, out the back, and to the pool. The water felt warmer than the air and we oozed ourselves in. Eric was right. It did feel really good to be in the water. I felt weightless. Well, maybe not weightless, but not ponderous. This must be why hippos like to sit in the river, I thought. Eric hovered around me, rubbing, touching and caressing me as I kind of half floated and have bobbed in the shallow end with my feet on the bottom and my knees bent. He got behind me and wrapped his arms around me, alternating between fondling my breasts, lightly wobbling my belly, and massaging my pubis and inner thighs. He was aroused, but I told him that I wasn’t ready to make love. We floated there for a little while until I started feeling like I was going to zone out. The only thing preventing me from drifting off was the way that Eric was playing with my cunny. I was starting to get aroused, although I couldn’t image how I could make love without putting pressure on my belly. "We better get back up to the bedroom, or I’m going to fall asleep here," I whispered sounding groggy. Eric helped my out of the pool. Feeling the weight rest back on me as I climbed out of the water was dramatic. I felt completely sodden. Maybe my sister had been right and I was soaking up the water from the pool like a sponge. We snuck back into our room. I was glad again that our room was away from everyone else. Eric helped dry me off, since I really felt like I couldn’t bend or twist comfortably. He started working my cunny again, which felt great, but I was still trying to figure out how this could work. "I can’t imagine you on top of me or me on top of you," I admitted. "I can handle you on top," Eric said with confidence. "You don’t understand," I explained. "There’s not going to be any room between my belly and you. Any movement is going to cause pressure, which is not going to feel very good right now. Did you see the size of the shake that you forced me to drink?" "I did," he laughed, "It was impressive! Heroic! You should be in Ripley’s." He led me over to the end of the bed and told me to spread my legs, lean forward, and hold on to the end board. Then he got some lubricant and tickled my cunny with it, finishing by putting the rest on himself. Then he pushed up against my ass and slid himself into me smoothly and gently. He started by pulling my hips back against him so that he was able to work himself into a rhythm without me having to do much. I figured he could tell that I was really starting to get into it, as my body broke into a sweat. I was able to focus in on how he was pushing into me, with my belly and boobs hanging free. As I built towards orgasm, he moved his hands to below my belly, almost leaning onto my back and pulled my skin tight. Instead of feeling bad, his pulling in on my round gut actually felt oddly good, as if it was increasing the pressure in my cunny. Though it made no sense, for some reason that pressure felt really good. It was counterintuitive: feeling totally stuffed, it felt good to have the weight of my belly pulled down into my crotch. Also counterintuitive, instead of being a round piggy making me feel awkward, I was getting off on feeling so guttural and probably sounding a bit like a hog, grunting with each breath. Eric pushed harder, laid more on my back and grabbed onto my bosoms, with my nipples between his fingers. Finally, I started letting a low moan overwhelm me as I started to cum. That overwhelmed Eric and he exploded into me. His legs kind of gave out, but my legs were strong enough to support us both as we kind of rocked from side to side. Finally, Eric stood and kind of staggered back from me. He was totally zoned out and spent. Somehow, we moved around to the side and collapsed on the bed. I felt great, despite still being totally full. I felt so round that it didn’t seem to matter which way was up or how I was laying, since I was just a round ball. The next thing I knew, it was around 3:00 in the morning and I had to seriously pee. Sitting on the toilet, my belly was sitting square in my lap, bigger than ever. Alone, by myself, sitting there in the cool night, it was very clear that I had not lost any weight since returning from Europe and probably had continued to gain. But for some reason, it wasn’t bothering me. Even standing up, there was a crease from hip to hip, with my belly was lapping onto my fupa across my pelvis. It felt like it had kind of shifted. I wondered if that was just because I had so much food in me, or whether it was something new to my figure. I remember this being the first time that I actually thought of myself having a fupa. The fat over my pubis had thickened and this really changed my cunny. Not is a bad way, but just different. The next morning, I didn’t wake up until around 10:00. The smell of breakfast cooking brought me out of my semi-toper, but I quickly realized that I had no appetite. My stomach still felt stuffed from the night before. Nothing had actually moved through my system and I felt both bloated and constipated. I figured that was maybe the result of the beer. Eric was already up so I stayed in bed for a while exploring my body. Lying down, my abdomen curved from my breasts to the crease at my thighs, with a bit of a bump right below my belly button, which was remarkably deep. I slid to the edge of the bed and let my legs drop over the edge, which helped pull me into a sitting position. That changed my contours dramatically, with gravity redistributing my volume so that my lower belly became more pronounced. Standing allowed that volume to push out and down, recreating the crease across my pubis that I had discovered the night before. My lower belly was actually hanging as a distinct round bulge. This helped me look fat instead of pregnant. I stumbled into the bathroom and plopped down on the toilet, but nothing came out except pee and air. Still, that did help me feel a little bit less like a balloon. Since I didn’t feel hungry at all, I decided to take a shower and get dressed. I did not put on my restrictive panties to avoid constriction. Unfortunately, my size 12 jeans now created a muffin top, so I changed into my 14s. To make sure that no one knew the size of those pants, I had cut out the inside tag with that disturbing number on it. I put on a loose shirt to avoid a display of my bloated belly and headed downstairs where I met up with Eric sitting with Emma and Liz, finishing breakfast. "Thanks for the Danish," Liz offered. "Have one." "No thanks," I answered simply, walking out to the pool where my dad and mom were sitting. "Did you have breakfast?" my dad asked. "No. I’m not feeling very hungry this morning. I figured its late and I’ll just wait for lunch," I explained. We hung out for the rest of the morning. I wasn’t in a wedging myself into my swimsuit frame of mind, so I was basically just vegging out in the sun. My mom asked me if I wanted to walk to town with her and I said yes. As we walked along, she asked me questions about Europe and the whole trip. We started talking about me starting classes again the next week and whether I was ready to back to school. I knew that at some point she would get around to it and she finally asked me about my weight. "I noticed that you put on some pounds on the trip," she began, sounding very matter of fact, as if she was pointing out that the sun seemed to be setting a bit earlier now that summer was ending. I waited for her to continue, but she left it to me whether I wanted to discuss it. "Yes, I actually gained a lot of weight on the trip. I was pretty surprised when I got home how big I was. Somehow, while I was traveling, it seemed unimportant. I guess I was a bit in denial." "How do you feel?" she asked. "I feel good, although I am careful when I am walking on sidewalks, sitting down on furniture, or trying to turn around in a crowded room," I joked. "How is Eric handling it. He must have been pretty surprised when he first saw you when you got back," she continued. "He doesn’t seem to have a problem with it, although I suspect that he is trying to be nice." "He’s a good guy and your father and I both like him. It’s nice that he isn’t hassling you to drop the weight. I even saw him give you something to eat yesterday. I wish your sister’s boyfriend wasn’t such a jerk. He has Emma terrified of gaining an ounce and she’s always had a tendency to be thick. Sometimes it seems that she can add to her bottom by walking past cookies on a plate," my mom lamented. "You were always the athletic one, Liz was always the skinny one, and Emma was always the one that seemed to verge towards chubby." "I guess your going to have to redefine us. Now I get to be the fat one," I sighed. "Oh, your so dramatic. With your discipline, you’ll be back to your old self in now time," my mom stated confidently. "We’ll see. I seem to have this appetite that doesn’t want to go away. I keep trying to go back to my old regime, but I don’t remember being so hungry so often, so soon after eating," I explained. "I am hoping that it settles down soon. Maybe when I am back in classes at the CIA." "I don’t know how you can control your appetite when you are at a culinary institute with food all around you," she commented. "It’s different. That’s work and we are cooking, not eating. After I have been slaving over some pastry dish, the last thing that I am thinking about is eating it. I’m usually stressing about how the master chef is going to assess it," I explained. "But don’t you get to try it afterwards?" she asked. "Sometimes we do, but most of the time, what we make is offered in their restaurant." We kept walking and talking and I was glad that my mom wasn’t freaked out about my weight. She had never really had to think about her weight and is one of those people who seems to just be naturally thin. I figured it was all of the walking that she did. When we got into town, we looked in some of the shops. She asked me if I needed any clothes for the Fall and I took her up on her offer. We went into a cute little boutique that was new that summer and I started looking at a couple of nice dresses. In my denial mode, I was looking in the 8's. The salesgirl came over and asked if she could help me and whether I was shopping for someone. I explained that, no, I was just looking for myself. She was very pleasant, but suggested that I might have a problem with the dresses that I was looking at, since they only carried up to a size 12 in most of the lines, although they did have a few things that came in a 14. I told her that I was a size 12. She accepted my statement, but looked a bit skeptical. She showed me where the 12's were and I picked one out to try on. I took the dress into the dressing room and tried to put it one. The dress had a fitted waist and it became clear that, while I might be able to wedge into it, it would not be comfortable. I brought it back out and told my mom that I didn’t really like the cut. "You should try something that has a looser fit," she suggested trying to be helpful and a bit more realistic. "Make sure that you get something that you like now, but that will also work after you’ve lost the weight. I found a peasant dress that had an elastic band under the bust line, but that fell loose over my belly and hips. It was nice and I was able to fit in the size 12 without drama. I looked around for some other things, but they carried very little above a size 12. Perhaps being practical about me needing to have things to wear during the Fall, until I achieved my miraculous deflation, my mom suggested that I get some more of the peasant dresses in different colors. I realized that it was a good idea and picked out three additional dresses. We left the store and my mom asked me if I was interested in lunch. I explained that I wasn’t really hungry and figured I could wait until we got back to the house. I was thirsty and we stopped into the bakery, but just to pick up some waters for the walk home. I was hoping that the walking and water would get my system moving, since I was still feeling clogged. We got back to the house just as the weather was starting to shift. Clouds were rolling in and the forecast was for rain in the late afternoon. It was already after 1:00 and I started thinking that it could make sense to head back early. While Monday was Labor Day, Eric and I had figured to have a day to ourselves before I started back into classes on Wednesday. I looked around, but couldn’t find Eric. My dad told me that he had gone out on the boat with Emma and Liz. I was just as glad that they had gone without me. Bouncing on waves would not have been that great a feeling, given that my guts felt congested. I grabbed a coke and went up to stretch out for a while. I must have dozed off. I woke up about an hour later with the feeling that my system was starting up again; with some urgency. I went into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet. After dispelling a remarkable amount of gas, I voided myself. It was a dramatic feeling; as if I had removed a couple of bricks from my bowels. I felt a lot better. It was so dramatic, it seemed as if I should have been half the size. Looking at myself in the mirror confirmed that there was no real change to my profile and my hips, belly, and breasts were still those of a fat girl. I cradled my belly in my hands, gave it a shake, and introduced myself to the girl in the mirror, "Hello, fat girl."

Hopefully tomorrow i get my first date with a feedee, a cute burger bar she likes for 2 or 3 burgers and desert then snack shopping in poundland or shops then back to hers to feed some and maybe lose my virginity at 25

Glad she gave up that diet. Looking softer, sexier and lovelier than ever

Soooo ready for another chapter, spoiled with all these updates

New vid! Come cook with me

That’s a big loss... hope she will be back soon and chubbier...

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It may be late for celebrtaing the gay pride, but ...