Chapter 1 - a glutton awakes

Daniel licked Alfredo sauce from his fingers as he reached out for his first piece of cake. It was supper, his fourth meal of the day after breakfast, brunch, and lunch. Supper started every day around 4:30, after his 4:20 toke had time to fire up his appetite. He smiled to himself as he thought about those numbers – 420, 430 – because they always made him think about those weights - 420 - and what it was like to hit those weights - 430, 440...all those numbers ago...450--

He laughed to himself as he settled the cake on his spreading belly. God, he used to think they were so huge, those numbers. He remembered being in college, still conflicted about his desires, hitting 275 and having his head flood with a riot of emotions. Daniel’s brain spent most days, in fact, trying to sort through those emotions: the excitement of getting fatter; the anxiety of the social stigma; the joy in having gotten so big and jiggly; the fear of health problems; the alternating shame and exhilaration of stepping outside the norm. There was a lot about this fat obsession that worried him - but the things that thrilled him were stronger. Stronger, deeper, and more immense. “I’m too thin,” he’d think. “That’s the problem. This is clearly important to me, and I haven’t let myself appreciate it. If I want to find out what this is about, I need to accept it, allow it, even embrace it. Maybe then I’ll be satisfied, and I can finally let go of all this fat stuff and be normal.” He could feel the logic straining, could hear the structural beams of his argument groaning under the weight of his vision, but the solution seemed so clear. “If I weighed 300 pounds, then I’d REALLY be fat, and then I’d know for sure.” Somehow those twenty-five pounds would change him; they would make him a Real Fatso. And once there he could take a look around, enjoy the scenery, get it all out of his system, and he could be thin or whatever. It just felt right. 300. It also felt awesome. So he ate and ate with a mission and a smile. His belly would stretch with double breakfasts, stay full as he capped it off with snacks throughout the day, then really get glutted before bed. People remarked that he seemed happier; they’d ask if that was a new haircut, or tell him that color really suits him, sometimes even ask if he’d lost weight! Something about him looked great to them (even if their brains refused to process the reality of his growing body), and he had to admit he felt great. He actually felt calmer. He wasn’t even thinking about the scale as 300 came and went; next time he checked his weight he was 310 pounds. “I did it,” he said as he stared at himself in the mirror. “Wow, I’m fat.” He stroked his love handles, found the start of his belly crease and followed it around front as it deepened under his thick hang of fat. “Okay, you’re here. You’re fat. Satisfied?” But Daniel was pretty tall, and not even the extra 10 pounds beyond his goal had made him feel all that much bigger. “Satisfied,” he thought as he hefted his belly, “Well sure, I mean... I’m pretty fat.” He stared some more, satisfaction waning. Yeah, he was kinda fat. But he wasn’t really FAT fat.

That was a feeling he would come to know well as the years passed: not really FAT fat. He knew it well because it would return over and over as he grew from one milestone weight to another. That internal negotiation would fire itself back up every time, though deep down Daniel knew that whatever part of him kept talking about leaving fatness behind was simply never going to win out. There was still a trace of earnestness when he agreed to let himself get to 325 and by the time he’d hit it, 350 already felt like a done deal. Once at 350, he thought about another twenty-five pounds, and it seemed like nothing at all; he didn’t seriously believe he would stop at 375 anyway. And when he contemplated 400 pounds, staring at his grand flabby stomach, he didn’t think twice. Keep gaining to 400? Absolutely.

Then that day came, as it always did, when Daniel’s goal became reality and his new biggest number stared back at him from the scale. Four hundred pounds; the number actually gave him pause. Now this was a weight. He looked himself over in his new, wide, full-length mirror; every inch. He could feel his perceptions shift, his image of his own body adjust. Four hundred had always been such a fantasy weight. Years ago his favorite weight gain stories usually ended with a guy hitting 400, all of his fat dreams fulfilled. 400 sounded so vast back then; any more weight was just way too obese to realistically contemplate. Four hundred pounds was most definitely FAT fat. So now here he was. 400 pounds - actually 403 - and he loved it. Undeniably fat, and looking for more. He felt the sides of his belly, soft and deep, his love handles wobbling, his belly hanging in a light sway. It wouldn’t be long before he was so fat he outweighed the biggest fantasies of his youth. He chuckled, and his belly bounced. He looked at himself and smiled, as if recognizing an old friend. “Hey, fat man,” he said warmly. The whatever-it-was that kept telling him fat was a phase was finally, totally gone. Died starved for attention. He felt the last of his inhibitions disappear like a lifting fog. His body felt more comfortable than ever, more like a home than he ever thought possible. Deep inside his belly something opened, like a channel from himself to the world. And a hunger arose, a great, gluttonous hunger. Here he was, heart and soul, body and spirit; flesh and fat – abundant, glorious fat; and here was his hunger. His belly beamed happily back at him, full of love, desire, and appetite. “Wow,” he thought. “Let’s eat!”

He was ravenous. On a good feed he could eat steadily for thirty or forty minutes before he needed a breather. He once binged non-stop for an hour and a half, completely incapacitating himself in the process. Took him another hour to move, and he was off food for the rest of the day - except for the glass of cold heavy cream he insisted on himself before bed. But that was before today; today Daniel took his foot off the brakes. Today an hour of eating was the bare minimum required; he wanted to eat all afternoon long. Start at a pub for an appetizer platter, maybe a burger, nachos, have a few beers to relax and open things up, head to a buffet and settle in for a few full courses and some soft serve, then hit a Cheesecake Factory for a real dessert course, hot coffee, maybe a new appetizer. Man, he loved appetizers. Then grab a shake from Coldstone or Baskin Robbins (or both), and roll on home. This was going to be good. He lumbered to his closet, throwing in a few steps of full waddle for a cheap thrill, then got into his loosest knockaround pants and pulled on a roomy shirt. He grabbed a short-sleeve Hawaiian print to add a little color, and left it unbuttoned to stay casual-cool; also because it wouldn’t button. Then he grabbed his keys and strutted and swayed toward the door, humming brightly.

“Little did I know,” Daniel thought to himself as he finished the last bite of cake. He set the empty plate on top of the other empty plates on the cart next to him, then sat back and sucked on a milkshake as he contemplated what to eat next. “Little did I know what that day would bring.” His free hand roamed the soft rolls and bulges of his immense belly as he thought about his wife Julianne. Julianne who adored that belly; Julianne whom he met on that same miraculous day. My angel at the buffet, he had joked to her; and she had been flattered. Every day since just felt like another miracle.

Daniel finished the milkshake with a sudden slurp. He focused again on the cart beside him, still loaded with food. “What a spread,” he thought, “She really knows how to pile it on.” He smiled, then reached out for a chicken pot pie.