Chapter 3 - first comes love, then comes marriage...

Greg stopped working out about 2 weeks into his new diet. He stood at 6'5" and was built like a tank. He was about 190 lbs of muscle and looked like a model, even though he definitely didn't act like it. We were both nerds and it's what I loved most about him. I was 5'3" and 120. I also went to the gym but recently with everything going on, less so. He used to go religiously every other day and would be there for a couple of hours before coming home to try and fatten me up. Now that the tables were turned and I was working on him he decided to really let himself go.

He still did most to all of the cooking but I did all of the feedings. He made more and more food as the weeks went by and that helped me to shovel more and more food into his mouth. I was eating too but not exactly stuffing myself to the extremes that I was doing to him. He loved pasta dishes and often made lasagna or large pots of spaghetti and meat sauce. I loved to bake on the weekends when I had the time and so the number of pastries in our house grew. Not that it mattered because Greg had developed a huge sweet tooth and would snack on them throughout the day. We both drank a lot more soda and he drank more beer too and after a few months, everything started to catch up with us.

We had fallen quickly into a routine. He would get fed, I would get turned on, I'd rub his belly until we could make love, then we'd fall asleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. Greg was like a machine. One night, I woke up around 2 AM, ran to the bathroom, and threw up. Greg, who had woken up and snuck downstairs for a snack, ran (or should I say tried to) up to the bathroom to check on me. I looked up at him as he stood in the doorway. I was still kneeling by the toilet but it was like I was seeing him for the first time. His belly had really rounded out, his abs covered in a layer of fat, his thighs had lost a lot of their definition. His arms looked bigger and squishier and from down here I could see his double chin had become more pronounced.

"Have you weighed yourself recently?" I asked, forgetting that I had just thrown up.

"I think I could ask you the same thing," he said with a slight grin.

He was right. I had grown tired and lazy in the last few weeks and didn't want to do much more than eat, sleep, and make love. I felt my thighs growing out and noticed that my clothes were growing tighter, especially around my belly. Nausea hit me again and I threw up in the toilet again. I was shaking from the effort and felt Greg's large hand rubbing my back gently.

"There, there. It's alright. I'm going to get you some water ok?"

I just nodded. I felt awful like when you get the flu. My body ached and I was now shivering. Greg returned with a glass of water and I sipped it slowly.

"It must have been something I ate. I feel horrible."

"Yeah, maybe you had a little too much to eat and that made your stomach upset."

I just nodded. Greg helped me to bed and brought me something to settle my stomach. After a little while, I felt better and managed to doze off. The next morning, I called into work and didn't get out of bed all day, except to go vomit. Greg worked from home and made me some chicken soup and fed me soda crackers and ginger ale.

"I'm 215 now by the way," he mentioned casually as I nibbled on more crackers. I just nodded and tried to go back to sleep.

The next morning I still wasn't feeling right so Greg took me to the doctor.