Chapter 2 - food sex & fat - the thrill is gone - epilogue

V. FOOD, SEX, AND FAT: A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS

The next three months brought many changes, and they were among the happiest of my life. I honestly think Allen would agree. I didn't take him along shopping so he wouldn't see the grocery bills, and I stocked the pantry full of his favorites, things like Little Debbies, macaroni and cheese, chocolate milk mix, crackers and peanut butter. I made sure we were always stocked up on Dr. Pepper sodas and Tums, which were his answers to heartburn. I doubled the size of my nightly cooking and left him large containers of leftovers to for his lunches.

The first change was his caloric intake; it probably tripled from his normal diet. He was eating a big lunch and a lot of junk food while I was gone, and still managed to eat a hefty supper each night. His newly enhanced enjoyment of sweet and rich foods was evidenced by little moans of satisfaction. For the first time since I'd known him, he was eating food the way I did: as if it was satisfying not just his body but his soul.

(I'm not forcing him to gain. I'm just buying what he is eating. I'm just making it available.)

The second change was our sex life. Each night after watching him wolf down those hefty suppers, I'd take him straight to the bedroom. Where -- there is just no delicate way to put it -- I would jump his bones with abandon. Next I'd watch TV for an hour or two, Seinfeld and South Park, while he dozed off. Then I would wake him up again, serving snacks and chocolate milk, and jump on him again. Usually after that we'd both go to sleep for the night. So aside from the sex, we grew increasingly sedentary. Allen told me he was delighted with our new sexual regimen more than once; he said I was treating him like a king.

(Any man would've compromised something for that kind of sex. It was sublime.)

The third change was his body. Within a couple of weeks the results were showing; a plumpness, some chub that had never been there before. I was infatuated with it. And pretty soon we had to go shopping again for some size 34s. Actually, only I went shopping. I just saw the need, bought some clothes, and laid them out on the dresser. I didn't mention it. He started wearing them and didn't mention it. As I went through laundry, I weeded out the 32s and got rid of them, and didn't mention it. He was raised in a family where silence is golden, and if you don't talk about it maybe it isn't happening. I could play that game.

(He can ignore his belly and I can worship it and we'll cancel each other out.)

In my fantasies, I would tell you that his appetite grew exponentially as weeks went by and that he was soon eating five helpings of spaghetti each night. Exaggeration is the bread and butter of feeder stories, isn't it? But that isn't what happened; his appetite increased once and then stayed steady. His weight gain was steady too. I constantly assured him that I loved his new look, that he looked big and strong and handsome to me, and backed it up with passionate sex. He would sometimes complain, "I'm getting fat" or "You're making me fat," and I'd smile and agree, and he would drop it. For the most part we didn't talk about it. Maybe he didn't want to know. He was obviously enjoying the food and sex as much as I was, and was conflicted only about the weight gain. And then one day those three factors came crashing together.

I had just left him sleeping in bed one morning and was driving to work when he called my cell phone, sounding apologetic. He asked how much we had in checking and could he go shopping? Of course, I answered, and asked what he needed. An awkward pause. "You know those new clothes you got me last week?" I considered playing dumb but decided it was pointless. "34s are too small now. I guess I need a 36."

My blood pressure skyrocketed, my mouth went dry, and I almost drove that car up on the sidewalk. He was gaining so fast! I guess this kind of thing happens to men all the time; they are just walking around minding their own business when some random female flashes her cleavage and they suddenly have an erection. It doesn't typically happen to us girls that way, but remembering that moment, I think I know how it must feel: instant lust coupled with guilt for being inappropriate.

"Honey, that had to be three or four weeks ago. And it's no big deal --"

"It was ten days ago, Marie. I'm starting to look pregnant."

"That's ridiculous. You are the most handsome man I know. When I get home we'll prove it ... but that reminds me, I have to stop on the way home for some more Trojans. We ran out over the weekend."

Cue the laugh track, because as any savvy audience can guess, I am already knocked up. We ran out of condoms and I couldn't keep my pants on, and now we're having a baby.


VI. THE THRILL IS GONE

Allen had monthly follow-up visits at the clinic, and after three months of that medication resulted in him gaining 60 pounds, from 170 to 230, they switched it to something else. His appetite returned to normal almost immediately and his weight gain stopped. But by then my focus had returned to my own appetite, since I was eating for two.

Allen kept that magnificent gut for several years, much to his dismay and my delight. It was round and high and smooth; it never really developed a belly hang (until recently; see Epilogue). He came to understand that I preferred him that way, and he had realized how much I enjoyed feeding him, but we never addressed how deeply that fetish affected my sex drive.

Unfortunately he never came to appreciate the extra weight for himself. Nor did he ever succeed in shedding it, because that would have required exercise or healthy eating.

I certainly enjoyed the experience of pregnancy. Food cravings and binge eating, heaviness and limited mobility, as well as nursing after our daughter was born... lovely stuff.

Allen and I vowed to stay together to raise her. We were back to our previous standard of vanilla sex, good quality and plenty of it... but the earthquakes and lightning bolts were over, for me at least. I tried to interest him in feeding me to no avail. More than once, I placed his hand on my belly, and it would migrate either north or south. I believe you either get this fetish or you don't, and he didn't.

I think when we married, I may have realized that I was cheating myself out of part of the sexual experience due to my unfulfilled kink. It never occurred to me that I was cheating him out of something too, a partner with normal sexual appetites.

We had a few good years before we fell apart again. Hearts were broken once more when we split up about five years ago, when the child was four. That wound is still fresh and I do not wish to revisit it; it is irrelevant to this account. It was not an issue of his mental illness, or my fetish, and certainly not our awesome kid, so I would like to leave it at that.


EPILOGUE

I'm feeling a bit monsterish. I wonder if Nabokov felt this dirty, this quilty, after writing Lolita. Only he wasn't Humbert Humbert, while I am indeed Marie.

Why am I even writing about this now, when it is well in the past? Today I am just beginning to see a feeder. For the first time in my life it seems possible that my own long-standing fantasies may be fulfilled. I have learned a lot of things in the last few years, one of which is the healing power of confession. Since I might finally have found the type of relationship I was made for, I want to go into it with a clear conscience. Also, I believe that information is power and shared experience is valuable. Maybe it will help someone else.

What is the moral of my story? I don't pretend to know. Maybe, to thine own self be true; that is, if you're kinky, don't marry straight. The heart you hurt may or may not be your own.

Even before I'd posted three chapters of my story here, there were judgmental comments, and I'm okay with that. There are many things in the past that I have done wrong, but I cannot regret them; all those stepping stones is what it took for me to get where I am today. Besides, our daughter is a gift of those wild days; I could never regret her and I know her father doesn't either.

Finally, I want to remind you that even the courts recognize that crimes of passion deserve a degree of leniency. I assure you that my actions were performed in the throes of passion. Walk a mile in my shoes, and then you really might know what it's like.

I called Allen today and we talked, mainly about our daughter's activities. He mentioned his weight gain, that he is up to 260 now and is uncomfortable with it. His belly gets in the way and hurts his ribs when he is tying his boots. I said if I were there I would tie his boots every morning, and he either didn't hear me or chose not to acknowledge it. Like me at 230, he is currently the heaviest he's ever been. He's done the last 30 pounds on his own though. You may be sure that it will turn me on like wildfire next time I see him, but our time together is done. He told me he ran into an old high school friend of ours, Spence Cooper, who was pushing 300 pounds when we last saw him ... says now he's pushing 700 and can barely walk anymore. Allen says he doesn't want to turn out like Spence, but he doesn't see his weight gain slowing down anytime soon either. I know that feeling!

(I will not, I will not, I will not look you up, Spence Cooper. I don't want to be a repeat offender.)