Chapter 1 - Blindsided

Diabetes. The doctor’s word rang in his ear. Time seemed to stand still. Had it finally happened? Had he finally eaten himself to diabetes? He knew he’s been feeling unwell for the last couple of months, but with everything else going on in his life he had just put it down to a long cold, but had been getting increasingly concerned. Now, at least, he had an explanation, although he wasn’t sure how to process it. But wait. Type. It could be adult onset Type 1. Maybe it wasn’t caused by his addiction to food, his longing to gain weight. He snapped back to the room.

“Do you know what type?” He asked.

The doctor looked at the letter on the computer. “It would seem that you don’t have the antibodies associated with Type 1, so the diagnosis is of Type 2 diabetes. For now, I believe a prescription of Metformin will help you manage the condition.” The doctor replied matter of factly. She wasn’t judging. He was grateful for that right now.

“So, how long would I have had this for? What causes it?” Ignorance. Feigning ignorance. Exactly why he chose that route, he wasn’t sure. Maybe he was genuinely in denial about his diet and size, or maybe it was too hard for him to admit that he had a fetish for weight gain and an erotic fixation on the helplessness that accompanying health issues brings.

“There can be many causes when it comes to diabetes.” She was saying it as if she had said it a hundred times before. “Genetics, for one, can play a significant role in the development of diabetes. Then there’s environmental factors and medications that can increase the likelihood of developing the condition. Of course,” she paused, looking at the screen, “in your case a contributing factor will almost certainly be your weight, especially given your age. You’re just over 160 KG, and with your height your BMI is 41, which would classify you as stage 2 obesity, or morbid obesity, by itself. But now, when we factor in the diabetes, we really need to try and get your weight to a more manageable level.”

He felt a lump form in his throat. It felt like he was now at one of life’s great crossroads. What should he do? Should he try to lose weight, but in the process lose his very sexual being, his entire sexuality, his identity? Or should he embrace it, should he continue on his path of gluttony knowing that this wake up call is just the beginning, but that he’s helpless to resist? His mind was moving at a million miles an hour. He felt dizzy. She noticed.

“It’s okay. I understand it’s a lot to take in.” She said, with a gentle, comforting smile. “What I can do is book you in with the diabetes team here for a chat, and set you up with a dietician to help you with your food choices. How does that sound?”

He nodded. He just wanted to get out of there.

“Alright. Take it easy. I’ll send a note to reception and they’ll send you appointment confirmations when they’ve had a look. Naturally if you need to reschedule, let us know. You can pick up your prescription later today.”

“Thank you.”

He got up, heart racing in his chest. He walked to his car, and sat inside, his heart still racing more than normal.

Closing his eyes, he attempted to quell the oncoming panic. A couple of minutes of deep breaths later, and he was able to think more clearly. He drove home, and decided to have a shower to clear his head. As he stripped off, he looked at himself in the mirror.

There he was. 160 KG of obesity. 352 lbs of blubber. The silvery trails of old stretch marks and the red lines of new scarring the mass that was his belly, spreading up his sides and under his moobs, moobs that would put be big enough for a bra if not for the stomach below. Arms and legs that are more flab than muscle, softened by disuse. Society would tell him to be repulsed by what he was looking at. But he wasn’t. He loved who he was. He loved that every inch of his morbidly obese body represented a lifetime of hedonistic gluttony. He loved how he was built for pleasure. He loved how he jiggled as he stepped out of his underwear, how his manhood was slowly being eroded away by a soft pubic area. He loved the creases and rolls, how his body squished and scrunched as he contorted to take his socks off. Could he really see himself losing weight? Could he deny himself? As he stepped into the shower, he felt the water wash over him, and the figurative fog that had had him so confused earlier was lifted. He knew who he was. He was a feedee. He was fat. He was obese. And he loved it. And so, the decision was made. He would grow. He would get treatment for his diabetes, and any other health issues that came along down the line, but he would only pay lip service to the diet and weight loss plans. He simply couldn’t deny himself the completeness that his gluttony afforded. A life without that pleasure would be a life not worth living.

That evening, he decided to go and pick up the prescription. On the way back, he decided that today had been a tough day, and he needed a reward. Some fried chicken, soda, and ice cream sounded good.