chapter 3: first dinner

After orientation, I entered the dining hall and scootered over to my assigned table.

I had been placed with a group of similarly fresh B level SSBBWs, so we could socialize and get to know one another. The group seemed friendly and boisterous as we squeezed in around our new table, complimenting each other on our fat chins and beautiful back rolls.

In front of each of our seats were little signs, telling the feeders which items we liked from the buffet (based on our pre-sign up food questionnaire answers). Dining room meals were free-for alls -- anyone was allowed to feed you as much as you could handle.

The theme for the 5 p.m. dinner hour was American junk food. Before I knew it, three men appeared in front of me, smiling while holding plates of food. Between them, they had 10 chicken fingers, three triple decker burgers with bacon and cheese, 4 corn dogs, an order of curly fries, onion rings, ranch dressing, cheese sauce, and two milkshakes piled high with whipped cream. I set to work right away, shoving food down my throat and letting them feed me, guzzling my milkshakes. I ate like a starved woman (which, basically I was, having only had the cheese, loaves of bread, and chocolate since breakfast at home). As I ate they goaded me on. "You look so sexy when you chew." "Just one more bight baby, you can do it." "Wow, you look gorgeous covered in cheese."

By the time I finally slowed, it was nearly six p.m. Since I was still far from full, I chatted with my feeders briefly, waiting for the next round of men and the new meal theme at 6. And boy, I was not disappointed. The 6 p.m. theme was Italian food. Before I knew it, four new men arrived at my table, loading it up with three different bowls of pasta, a large pizza with extra meat and cheese, 25 mozzarella sticks, and heaps of tiramisu and ultra-sugary gelato. I dove face first into the pasta, plowing my way through the heavy cream sauces and cheese before moving onto the pizza, leaning back while they took turns shoving folded pieces into my mouth. By the time a scooped the last of the gelato into my mouth I was fit to burst. If I continued marathon eating like this, a minimum of three times a day, there was no question my stomach would be shortly stretched beyond belief. I could barely breathe, and I was ready for a nap. As I scootered out of the dining room, I was handed a card by the host. On the card, it listed the amount of calories I'd eaten, based on what was brought to my table (the obvious assumption being that nothing was left behind.) According to the card, I'd put away 10,238 calories during my meal -- I was completely floored. Clearly, the appetite stimulant we were provided worked. I could barely remember what I'd eaten, but I knew I'd enjoyed it immensely. In fact, I could really get used to living this way.

As I scootered away, I slowly realized that if I kept this up, I would probably reach A level within a year.

It was a goal I was determined to meet.