Chapter 2 - the new regime

While hitting the 400 pound milestone was an exciting event, it wasn't all fun and games. Sure, being fed by my sexy feeder, and forced into all kinds of delightful sexual acts was fun, but there were other considerations, too.

I'd been struggling with my size for a little while now. It really started around the time I got to about 350. That was the point when I started to really FEEL the weight, where it really started to impact my day-to-day activities. Simple things, like getting out of bed, going up and down stairs, bending over, picking things up off the floor, washing. Even walking and standing. Don't get me wrong, I was still enjoying my size. But activities in between those fun, sexy moments just required some additional... consideration.

My wife noticed this, and she recognized I had some trepidation about setting a weight gain target that was too high. But even though she was sympathetic, she didn't slow down one bit. She spent the better part of January feeding me with as much passion and energy (and food!) as she ever had. Even though my goal of gaining fifty pounds would have allowed us to relax a bit, take our time and not push so hard - she just ignored that. On a couple of occasions, when she was really testing my limits in stuffing me, I mentioned this to her. She never really responded, except by pointing at the food she'd put in front of me and telling me to "finish it."

There's a funny thing about getting really fat. I never really noticed when I'd gotten so fat that my walk turned into a waddle. It's strange, but it's one of those things that happens without really announcing itself. The first time I really realized it was when my wife's friend Rachel called out to me, "Hey fatty, waddle on over here." And I did. And I realized, oh my gosh, she didn't just say that to tease me - I really am waddling! I made the mistake of mentioning this to her, and she and my wife have teased me about it ever since. It's not like I didn't notice that I was getting fatter, or that my walk was changing - I mean, at 400 pounds you are gonna walk a little differently than at half that weight! But I just thought I was slowing down. No, it was true. I waddled. I liked it, too. It was one of those "arrival" moments as a fat person. Like when you first notice your gut is hanging over your belt, or your butt and hips get stuck in a chair for first time.

A wonderful thing that occurred in the middle of January while I was on the subway. I rode the subway to work almost every day. Watching the reactions of people to me was always a bit of fun, especially when they needed to get around my bulk to pass through the car. Some people look at me with barely contained disgust, I can almost hear their thoughts of, "How did you let yourself GET that fat?!" Or, sometimes their pity, something like, "He'd be attractive if he weren't so fat." Occasionally I'll see someone avoiding making eye contact, or catch them staring in awe. They may not necessarily find my body attractive, but they are curious. Only once, when I caught her staring, did a woman say something complimentary to me. That was kind of nice, people usually aren't that friendly on the subway.

On one particular morning I had to take the subway across town to train a new staff at another office. When the train arrived at the subway station I hauled myself up off the seat and waddled off the train. It was a station that I wasn't very familiar with, but I was lucky in that the exit wasn't too far of a walk. When I got to the exit, I turned my body slightly to try and shimmy through the turnstile to leave. I guess the turnstiles at this station were a little more narrow that the ones I was used to, because I only got about half way through before I found myself stuck! My butt, belly, love-handles and hips had wedged me in. A few people had gathered behind me, somewhat impatient for the big fat guy to get out of the way and stop blocking the exit. I tried to force myself forward, but that didn't work. I couldn't really go backward, I think the turnstile actually only turns one way. So I had to shimmy my blubber back a little, then try to push it forward, kneading my belly fat with each movement to work it around the metal arm of the turnstile so that it could edge forward. This must have taken over a full minute, but I finally managed to get out. I heard someone mutter as they passed by me, "Finally!" And I could read the minds of those people, too, "Oh my god, what a fat slob! How could you let yourself get so fat that you could get stuck that way?"

Getting up from the bed or chairs was tougher. Even rolling over in bed was starting to take a significant effort. My wife decided I would join her at the gym once a week. I wasn't new to the gym, I'd been going there on and off for almost a year. But I guess you could say I had kind of slacked-off, and by the third week of January it had been almost two months since my last visit. My wife, who went to the gym 5-6 times a week, informed me that I would be going at least once a week with her, and she put me on a regimen of weight-lifting, mostly to strengthen my legs and back.

A trainer friend of hers did a couple sessions with the both of us, mostly to make sure I knew what I was doing - my wife didn't need any help. My formerly-fat feeder is actually getting pretty ripped, and was used to working out at a very high, sometimes competitive level. I have to be honest, I am not a big fan of weight lifting. It's kind of boring, not a lot of fun, and seems awkward, especially at my size. I tried to argue that I didn't need to life weights, since every movement is a kind of weight lifting for me! That didn't go over very well, sadly.

I do like being at the gym, however. I like being the big, huge, fatty there. I also like how I can see other fatties there, too, sometimes. Most aren't as big as I am, but I have seen some that were, or were even bigger! Occasionally people will offer unsolicited advice, and most of the time it is useful and helpful. Stuff like watching your form when lifting, or little bits of encouragement. But I especially enjoy it when they offer me tips on losing weight. Lots of people just assume that anyone as fat as I am would want to lose weight - especially if they've come to the gym! I revel in telling them that, no, I am not interested in weight loss - I am exercising for my health, but I actually am quite happy at my current weight. Sometime I feel like revealing that I want to get even fatter, but usually they are already so amazed and confused that I don't push my luck.

On top of the weekly trip to the gym, I swim at a pool twice a week. This is more enjoyable than lifting weights. Additionally, my feeder and I spend an hour or more walking each evening. I credit this activity with my continued good health, and my body's ability to pack on more pounds while maintaining that health. Another thing that helps is that my feeder is a health food nut, so while I eat a LOT of food, most of it (by volume) is pretty healthy. I go off the path now and then (ok, a couple times a week... at least) and eat junk, pizza, and so forth, but other than that I am good. Oh, other than all the beer and desserts... But I digress!

By the end of January I was desperate to do a weigh-in, I was so conditioned by our monthly weigh-ins the previous year. I could hardly stand the suspense, not knowing how much bigger I was... I was hoping I was 410, maybe even 415? My feeder remained adamant: "No weigh-ins until you are FAT ENOUGH."

"How fat do I have to be, to be 'fat enough?'" I asked.

"When I decide you're fat enough," she replied.

So I finished off the first month of the year knowing I was fatter - I could tell based on my clothes getting tighter, for example - but not knowing by how much. Luckily, in the following months I got used to this, and the lack of regular weigh-ins didn't bother me as much. Based on how my feeder was continuing to push my limits, I had a feeling it was going to be a BIG year, and 450 wouldn't really be my final target.