Chapter 2

It wasn’t until I hit my thirties that my genetics began taking over and my will weakened. It seemed that no matter what I did, I continued to put on weight. And as the jobs stopped coming, my snacking and indulging in all the things I had denied myself took a strong hold. Love handles began to form, a slight belly over my belt, my thighs swelled like sausages in my too tight jeans - a size too small…the too tight waist making my belly jut out especially when I sat…my thighs rubbing together. I grew fatter and fatter. My 28-inch waist became a 36 in no time. Not that I was complaining.

I felt good. I looked damn good. Men still would stop and stare at me as I walked down the street. I got plenty of dates and had a few longer term relationships. The only problem was that I had to change my occupation. Some jobs came in from people who wanted bigger male models (imagine thinking that a size 36 waist would be considered a plus size, but it was in modeling), but those weren’t going to keep me afloat for long. I turned to the college classes I had taken in photography and my connections in the business. I started to work in the fashion industry, just on the other side of the camera. Then I began taking pictures for other magazines – scenic shots for travel and family fun magazines. Things were really going well. But, something was still missing.

I yearned to turn my fantasies into realities. I wanted to be fed. I wanted to fatten for someone. I wanted to find that special someone who would be accepting of me – all of me and of all I wanted to become. I never wanted to deprive myself again.

I began my search on the internet and in chat rooms. I met some really nice, interesting men. Most were interested in encouraging me, and I did gain a bit. But I still longed for a real loving and truly fattening relationship. In a little more time, I answered some personal ads and met another six or seven men who were into feederism in some form or another. It wasn’t a match for me or for them it seemed, but we did have a good time together going out to buffets, movies, and a couple of local food festivals.

Then I found Hank’s personal ad. It read:

Thirty something, masculine, big-bellied New York man looking for my blonde, blue-eyed stud, desirous of putting on some weight for me. He must be clean-cut, disease and drug free between the ages of 25 and 45, average to studdly looks. I enjoy hunting, fishing, photography, and cooking large meals to feed the right man dying to become a big-bellied hunk. Looking to help you reach your full potential in what I hope turns into a long-term relationship if all the conditions are right.

I was intrigued. I decided to take a chance. Hank and I started out communicating by email, instant message, and in chat rooms. Eventually, we progressed to long phone calls and text messaging. Hank lived in upstate New York while I lived in Woodside near Manhattan. One weekend I decided to take a break from the city and take the drive up to meet him.

I drove the two hours upstate. I wish I could say that the weather was lovely, but it wasn’t. It was stormy and dark. I was hoping that this wasn’t a bad omen, but I was eager to finally meet Hank so I drove through the storm.

I reached the diner we had arranged for our first fat-to-fat meeting. I was nervous. I quickly got out of the car and ran to the front door in the torrential downpour. My navy silk shirt was clinging to my body like a second skin. I shook the water that puddle in my loafers, wiped my palms on my blue jeans and went inside.

It was a regular diner with many trucks parked outside. It was unpretentious on the inside…just an average diner which served good, wholesome, down-home cooking. The booths were large and spacious with cushioned seating. The place was a bit crowded. I guess a lot of them had come in to take shelter from the weather.

“We finally meet,” a voice said from the counter. An attractive man in his late thirties walked over and offered to shake my hand. “Hi, you must be Steven.”

“Hello, Hank. Nice to finally stand face-to-face,” I replied with a broad smile.

From many of the photos we exchanged, I guess I was expecting more of a Grizzly Adams type since he was so attracted to the outdoors and he seemed to have a rather large collection of plaid shirts. But, this man was far from it. He was in jeans as well and wore a shirt that I’d seen in the Territory Ahead catalogue or maybe it was something out of LL Bean…not quite sure. He stood a little over six feet tall, had sandy-blonde hair, hazel eyes, a masculine square jaw, short-well kept beard and moustache…and had the beginning of a monster gut. I was instantly enamored with him. He had a slight swagger as he walked – oozed self-assurance. He led me to a table close to the rear. It was a circular booth – the seating going around in a crescent.

He let me slide in first. His hand “accidently” brushed my round belly, and gave me an appreciative look. I think I may have blushed. I moved all the way in to the center of the crescent. Hank slid in to sit beside me. This was a good choice. There was a cozy atmosphere here. I liked it.

Hank explained that he came here often. He said that there were mostly a lot of regulars as well as the truck drivers coming through. The waitress, Susan, poured us a coffee, chatting gaily with Hank. He took the menus from her as she made a few recommendations. We thanked her and perused the specials. I chose a meatloaf with mashed potatoes, brown gravy, and buttermilk biscuits – good comfort food. Hank selected a hearty beef stew with biscuits from the specials.

We warmed to each other immediately. Sometimes meeting someone for the first time can be awkward. But, Hank was a very charismatic speaker. He seemed to have a never ending supply of stories. Besides the story he told about going ice-fishing in Alaska with a couple of buddies, he was an avid fly fisherman and hunter. He also enjoyed reading. His favorites were Chaucer, Shakespeare, Hemingway, and Lustbader. A vision of him sitting in a canoe reading Shakespeare to all the wild creatures came into my head.

I also found out that he was originally from Wisconsin. His dad was a mechanic and his mom was a waitress. He had three younger brothers and an older sister. They were scattered to the wind as he put it – all except one brother had moved out of state to persue their different professions or interests.

Hank was constantly moving from place-to-place. He made his living as a writer – mostly outdoors-type magazines like Field and Stream, Travel, The Great Outdoorsman, Fly Fishing, Hunting, as well as a couple of articles for National Geographic. For extra cash, he also admitted that he dabbled in writing erotic novels - almost always gay and usually there was a feeding scene for some kind snuck in somewhere. He said he delighted in teasing his gainer/feeder/feedee readers by just touching on a display of gorging on large amounts of food in some erotic depiction and then hedging away from it and then revisiting it later in the story.

I told him a little more about myself. I found him almost hypnotic. I felt I could tell him anything and I did. He took it all in – ingested it. Hank told me he would enjoy feeding me, fulfilling both our fantasies. He stopped in mid-sentence.

“Here eat more of your meatloaf…more rolls…you’re a growing boy…” Hank encouraged.

I had barely realized that the meal was served. I guess I was so engrossed in our conversation I had actually forgotten about the food. Imagine that! I knew I had found my feeder . He was a real find.