chapter 1

I'd flown my lover in to accompany me at the writers' conference, which was being held in Paris this year, in late June - very nice. It would inevitably be overrun by slim and *stylish* euro trash, hungry and mean, sharp edges poking out all over like skeletons.

I knew i wouldn’t be able to last five whole days without my fat man. I could barely get through 48 hours without having access to his body - the images of his big round belly, his love handles bulging out over his too tight belt, his malleable breasts merging into the soft rolls of fat under his arms [a delicacy we had discovered recently], inescapable.

These snapshots flashed across my mind all day, every day. I felt cursed with this obsession on one hand, but grateful on the other as i had found my ultimate object of desire, and one who welcomed my attention, my touch, my appreciation of his gorgeous yet socially unacceptable obesity, his huge appetite, his giant belly barely covered by his tight shirts that inevitably rode up, exposing that most erotic of gardens-the delicious underbelly. I loved to lie on the floor at home and look up it while he was standing over me, the wide band of fat hovering over the waistband of his pants, begging to be held.

I felt utterly fulfilled with him, indulging my deepest desires - getting lost in the soft folds of his flesh, spoiling him rotten, catering to his every desire. He in turn was kind, appreciative and acknowledged all the little things i did for him. We knew we had one up on everyone else. How fortunate for us that my dna happened to produce a petite woman, just naturally small, who loved being physically active, being outdoors, among other things like cooking, entertaining and allowing people to experience joy

... And also loved big men -- men with huge round bellies about to burst - stuffed beyond what they thought themselves capable of, cocks hard and trapped underneath; those in awe of their own massive girth, taking every opportunity to rub their shamelessly engorged guts, pat them gently, and rest their folded hands on the firm shelf, the crescent crowning this glorious sight.

On the second evening i headed back to the hotel, excited, jet lagged and a little tipsy from the wine and cheese party. As always, at these events, i gleaned the best and biggest pieces of the richest and most expensive cheeses to take back to him, an offering at the altar. He'd texted to confirm he'd arrived and checked into my ridiculously huge suite (by European standards), decadent with its heavy velvet curtains, tall gothic windows and stunning views of the city.

He'd most certainly overindulged on the plane. This was a holiday after all. And the man had been so *good* [by his doctor's standards] losing (quite literally a 'loss') nearly a hundred pounds and keeping it off for over a year now. He was much healthier and i think happier overall. But we both missed his formerly overblown, juicy, morbidly obese body. His rolls of thick fat were a guilty pleasure for both of us. Our fingers never tired of exploring the deep folds and marveling at his cascading flesh. We both indulged in his body relentlessly, together, and also in our own ways. But ultimately he had to pay the price for our mutual desire; we agreed that he could lose quite a bit of weight and still be *fat*. If he got down to 300 or 290 it would be so much better for every aspect of his health.

After him being a super hot 370-380, sometimes tipping the scales at 400... I thought it would probably be less of a turn on, him slimming down to around 300 ... but as it happened, even at just shy of 300, he was still pretty fat... and really, by any *normal* standards, obese. 'Obese' ... such a lovely, suggestive word ~

I hurried down the hall to my suite, unlocking the door quietly, as i thought he might be sleeping. And indeed he was, having showered and rummaged around in his suitcase he'd ended up taking a nap on the bed and was out cold. It was early summer (thankfully, as these old buildings were always terribly cold, even at this time of year) and he'd fallen asleep in his boxers and t-shirt, which in the process of getting comfortable and the involuntary movement after falling asleep, was gathered up underneath his full breasts, leaving his round, naked belly completely exposed and spilling out seductively as he lay in a fetal position, hand resting on the side of our prized possession, fingers spread out over the mass.

What a lovely opportunity for me to drink in his sensual curves, his chubby thighs and thick, muscular butt. My hands explored every luscious inch of soft folds of flesh ... cupping his heavy breasts, sucking as much of the unique, malleable fat into my mouth as was possible

... He moaned and woke up, groggy, his hands automatically reached down to his naked belly, running over the round expanse that spilled across the bed, firm, engorged. He reached behind my head and drew it gently down so it pressed into the widest part of his surprisingly large stomach, my tongue finding its way into his deep navel, my face pressed into the fat surrounding it, my hands found his love handles and squeezed them tenderly - we always treated his body gently, with reverence, his fat was relished and celebrated by us both, his body a temple we both worshipped.

I brought out my wonderful selection of cheese from the party. Slowly, i started to feed it to him, allowing him to savor each succulent piece. We both rubbed and caressed his belly as he devoured the large chunks of pure fat. His belly, already full, expanded even more, stretching beyond its new, limited capacity. We both admired it, supporting its weight in our hands.