The Fattening Mansion (english)

Chapter 1.1

Prologue
Nina still couldn't sleep. The steady breath of her girlfriend filled the room, exhausted, satisfied. It should have soothed her, but it didn't. It only showed her what she lacked. A voice, deep from within her memory, filled Nina's thoughts: "Sex is the best sleeping pill. But you'll never know that, because you're fat and ugly." Her mother, self-satisfied after returning home from a date. More voices joined hers: "Here comes the hippopotamus!" and "Are you sure the chair can hold you?", accompanied by cruel laughter. The children at her school. Nina wanted to scream, but she knew that would have woken Huelya. So she sat up, very slowly. She watched her breasts and her belly move with her, how the motion of her own body continued as a ripple through her fat. "Just look at yourself," she heard her mother's voice. "Nothing but fat. No discipline. A disgusting, filthy heap of fat that will never find a boyfriend."
Well, she still hadn't found a boyfriend. She had found something better: Huelya. Huelya wasn't simply fatter than herself. Huelya was fat and beautiful. She had never left any doubt about that, not from their very first meeting. She had caught Nina's gaze even before she took the seat next to her in the lecture hall: small and round, with short hair and a boyish smile. She heard her mother's voice again: "Look at her, that fat mannish woman. She can't get a man, so she takes women, women just like herself. If you're not careful, you'll end up like her, Nina." But she had also heard another voice then, perhaps that of the father she had never known. Or, as she had since come to believe, her own. This voice told her that the woman who had just settled breathlessly into the seat beside her was beautiful, and that nothing better could have happened to her than to end up in her arms. Two months after their first meeting, Huelya and Nina were a couple; three months after that, they had had sex for the first time. For what must have been a full hour this evening they had rolled across the too-small bed together, kissing, exploring each other's bodies with their hands, tasting each other. And still Nina couldn't sleep. And still she heard the voices: "She couldn't get a man, so now she's got herself another fat cow."
She looked at the sleeping Huelya: her face, with its long straight nose and the short, fraying hair that gave her that boyish quality. Nina felt warmth spread through her. A happy smile seemed to play at Huelya's lips in her sleep, and Nina traced it with her fingertips: it would never have occurred to Huelya to be unhappy simply because she was fat. "Of course I'm fat," she would say, "of course I'm heavy. Just like my parents, just like my brother. And just like my girlfriend; all of us are exactly right." Nina had said nothing when Huelya said that, but it hadn't eased the ache inside her: not only was it hard for her to think of herself as exactly right - next to Huelya and her brother Cem, she wasn't even particularly fat. Just as she appeared fat and heavy next to almost everyone else in the world, beside these two she appeared almost... slim.
She looked now at their two bodies; Huelya's soft body seemed to flow almost naturally into her own, slimmer one. She studied the two unmatched bellies as they merged into one, the four legs intertwined. Two of them were longer and slimmer than the others. Well, there was nothing she could do about her height.
Carefully, always mindful not to wake her girlfriend, Nina disentangled herself from the embrace. She put on her bra, then her underwear, her trousers and her shirt; finally a light quilted jacket. The small room was cool, but Huelya had asked her not to turn on the heating: heating costs had gone up again. "The Silhouettes have it even worse than us," she had said, "they don't have a layer of fat to keep them warm." Huelya called all those slimmer than herself and Nina "Silhouettes." Nina found it a peculiar word: simultaneously contemptuous and tender. As though she pitied slimmer people, or worried about them. As though they were missing some necessary protection.
Nina sat down at her MacBook. Now that Huelya was asleep, she had the chance to browse her favorite corners of the internet. The part where fat women openly showed themselves to the world and were admired for it. The part where women like herself and Huelya were not pitied, but celebrated and envied. The part devoted to BBWs - Big Beautiful Women. What delighted Nina most was that not all of these women were fat: some wanted to become fat. They were called feedees - people who gained weight deliberately. People who not only recognized the beauty of fat women, but who had resolved, on the strength of that recognition, to become fat themselves. Or fatter, and more beautiful still.
At first she had wanted to show these sites to Huelya; to show her that she was not the only one who appreciated the beauty of fat women. But then she had hesitated: for Huelya, her weight was something given to her at birth. She wasn't religious, but if she had been, she would probably have said that Allah had made her fat. It was not for human beings to decide such things - that was what the true, non-religious Huelya would say as well. Once, the two of them had watched a livestream about a pop star who had lost a great deal of weight, and Huelya had looked away, as though she couldn't bear to see it: "I hope she doesn't fall over soon, poor thing." Nina didn't want Huelya to be sad.
And so Nina had kept her nightly forays into the world of Big Beautiful Women a secret from Huelya. Nina had thought about becoming one of them herself - a feedee, growing rounder and heavier all the time. As beautiful and exciting as that thought was, she sensed that it would arouse Huelya's reluctance. Nina stared at her notebook, then sighed. Huelya might be able to spoil the pleasures of feederism for her in the real world, but she could not limit her imagination. And so she began to write: about women who were freer than herself. Who did not lose weight, who did not care about society's ideals. Women who were not trapped in a degree they secretly hated.
Chapter One: The Chrysalis
Michelle, 16.03.2019
Dear Diary,
today was finally the day. The day I would see my old friends again: Svenja, Corinna and Leonie. The girls who had made school bearable for me, and whom I had never wanted to lose sight of afterwards. And yet two full semesters had passed without us seeing each other. Until we met today. Not in some corner of the boarding school dormitory, but in a café in Ehrenfeld - here in Cologne, where we all study. I arrived first, sipped my coffee and wondered what to expect. Would they all still be the same as before? Perhaps they had changed, or found new friends, I thought. Real friends - not just other outsiders like us.
Svenja was the first to arrive. I recognised her immediately, even though she had changed enormously. And yet somehow not at all. Let me explain... Where her face had once been covered in freckles, it was now like one great freckle, through which small patches of face showed here and there. And so it was with her in general: where she had once been a girl who managed to inject a little individuality into the drab school uniform, she was now individuality incarnate. And she was beautiful, in her own way. Just as she was kind and caring, in her own way.
Corinna was in some sense her opposite: where Svenja tried to escape the levelling pressures of boarding school and the world at large, Corinna tried to conform. She had always done so, but never so much as now - I had the feeling her makeup was a separate entity from her, so perfect was it. And it was strange: although she looked more European than ever, I saw her Chinese heritage more clearly than I ever had before. It was as though her attempts to conceal it had only brought it into relief. Like the long sleeves she used to wear in summer, which only emphasised that something was not right with her arms.
Leonie was Leonie, only more so. She had always been athletic and muscular, but the young woman who appeared at our table, slightly late and more than slightly sweaty, was something beyond that. Just as Svenja seemed to be one great freckle, Leonie seemed to be one single, well-trained muscle.
As I looked at them all, I found myself wondering how I had changed. I ran my hand through my hair instinctively - no longer straightened, but threaded with proud dreadlocks. Then it struck me that I had put on weight: not unintentionally, but it was strange all the same. Thank goodness it doesn't show that much when I blush.
Corinna, 16.03.2019
Michelle has got fat. But that's alright; it suits her. The way Leonie's muscles suit her, or even more so. Certainly more than the rags Svenja's wearing suit her. She said, a designer made them for her after taking colour samples from her hair. I kept my thoughts to myself - Svenja is always so sensitive. Still, I'd rather see her without all that stuff, if only to find out whether she really does have freckles everywhere.
Leonie at least hasn't changed. She's only intensified. Where she was once muscular, she is now a muscle with a little girl attached. Well, it seems to make her happy. Or perhaps it was simply too much effort, building up all those muscles, for her to admit now that she doesn't like them.
But perhaps I'm being sarcastic again. At least they all walked in on their own two feet. Unlike the uninvited guests who arrived after us. So perhaps I should be grateful.
Svenja, 16.03.2019
I had been looking forward to this meeting for months, and I was not disappointed. The girls were still the same, and they were still as hopelessly lost as they had ever been. I felt this more keenly that day than ever before.
Michelle talked the whole time about her studies - ethnology here, Malinowski there. She's apparently found out which African people her birth parents belonged to and is now trying to live according to that people's traditions. Maybe it will truly make her happy; I have my doubts. Though her chances are probably better than Leo's: she seems to have moved into the gym permanently. When she walked in, I thought at first she was a boy - I've never seen such a muscular woman. She talked the whole time about training; apparently there's nothing else left in the world. Or nothing worth living for. And Corinna is now wearing more makeup than clothing. She's a pretty girl, even if she refuses to believe it. But I suppose makeup is better than her old razor blade.
Now, writing this, I understand something I already sensed that day and which shaped everything I did: they were all lost. Just as I was. We had gone to university to find ourselves at last, to finally shake off the shackles of the past. But the shackles had transformed themselves along with us.
So why do we keep fighting them? We will never truly belong to this world - better we create a world of our own. A world where only we and our values matter. A Shangri-La, a Xanadu.
How fortunate that I know where such another world can be found.
Leonie, 16.03.2019
It was actually a lovely day. Actually. The girls were still the same, somehow, even though they had all changed. But once we'd moved past the changes, it was good to see that we were still friends. We could probably have sat there for the rest of the day.
If it hadn't been for those two women. I don't understand how something like that can exist. How you can just let yourself go that way. I'd rather be dead than too fat to walk. But these two weren't only too fat to walk - they actually seemed happy about it. They came rolling in on their motorised vehicles and sat down at a table, then ordered themselves two whole cakes. Just like that, as though stuffing yourself to the gills were the most natural thing in the world.
If they'd at least dressed decently: I could see the rolls of fat stacked up on the back of one of them. I found myself automatically straightening my top. Under their jackets they were dressed almost as skimpily as Svenja - except that Svenja could disappear entirely inside one of their tops, legs and all. It's one thing to be fat, but do they have to flaunt it like that? There are other people in the world, people who have to look at this.
The others must have noticed how I was staring at those two women, because after that they talked about nothing else. Apparently Michelle comes from a people where being overweight was considered attractive? Well, I come from a people where women are considered useless and lazy. Cultural traditions are all very well, but we shouldn't forget that we're living today, not a hundred years ago.
On my way home I ran a detour on purpose. Those two women probably won't lose any weight because of it, but it did me good all the same: I love my muscles. I love that my body is firm and hard and not soft and flabby. And I want it to stay that way.
Michelle, 16.03.2019 (continued)
It would have been a remarkable enough day as it was. After all, we hadn't seen each other for what felt like an eternity. But as it happened, one day's events were not yet exhausted: the two most extraordinary women I had ever seen walked into the café. One was boyish-looking, probably Turkish, with short hair and a strikingly straight nose. The other was brunette and somehow difficult to describe - under other circumstances she might have gone unnoticed. The two were obviously a couple: they laughed at each other constantly and stroked each other's hands; once they kissed as well.
But that wasn't the truly remarkable thing about them: the two were so fat that they didn't walk - perhaps they no longer can. Instead, they used mobility scooters as vast as themselves. But these two were not only fat; they were also beautiful, and I couldn't shake the impression that they were aware of being beautiful and fat - and of how contradictory that is to so many people.
And yet it shouldn't be. As I learned last semester, there are peoples in Africa who consider fat women to be particularly beautiful and desirable. Our professor - who, as I later discovered, comes from one of these peoples herself and consciously gained weight as a young woman in order to draw closer to her forebears - told us about the fattening huts, where young women would go to gain weight in a protected environment. She described how the women in these huts were secluded and would not leave until they had achieved the fullness of body considered desirable. I found myself thinking involuntarily of butterflies breaking from their chrysalises to show the world their beauty.
That same day I rang my adoptive mother - I needed to know which people my birth parents had come from. She didn't know, of course. I don't think it interests her either: it's only Africa, after all; I should be grateful I was adopted by members of the German people. Forgive me for being sarcastic, but she genuinely made me angry: doesn't she understand that I want to know where I come from? That Africa is not, to me, Europe's reeking rubbish heap, but a thriving continent full of treasures?
I don't know which people my parents came from. But I now believe firmly that they came from one of the peoples who practised this - it simply feels so natural, gaining weight. I think it suits me very well, and I fully intend to keep gaining and to become truly fat; like Professor Adaora. I know there are people today who gain weight deliberately: feedees. But they do it to satisfy their sexual desires - that is something different. I am gaining weight to be as my ancestors were, to finally become a true African woman.
The others looked at me strangely when all of this came pouring out of me, but it was necessary: it was as though my mother had spoken through the mouth of my closest friend.

Corinna, 16.03.2019 (continued)
Those two women certainly got the conversation going... They could perform at parties. Who knows, maybe they do: The Fabulous Fat Females - FFF. Hey, that actually sounds almost good. Svenja at any rate seemed to think so. She didn't just devour the two of them with her eyes - she listened to Michelle with absolute enthusiasm as well. Nothing good will come of this - just like that time with Sister Aurelia.
In any case, Svenja and Leonie nearly had a fight. Reunited for half an hour, and already drama. Even for Svenja that has to be a record. I ended up taking their side all the same. At least they have courage. And Leonie shouldn't judge other people just because she has a six-pack.
Svenja then suggested that we should become that fat too. Like the women in Michelle's homeland. I nearly sprayed my coffee across the room. All the same - there's something to the idea: being so fat that I'd need one of those things too, Svenja and Michelle beside me. Let Leo run if that's what makes her happy.

Svenja, 16.03.2019 (continued)
Of course the idea is completely mad. I love it all the same. Or precisely because of that. And it is my idea, after all. Mostly. Michelle had her part in it too. But the actual idea - that's mine. And it's brilliant.
The four of us - we're going to gain weight now. And in a few years, we'll be like those two women. True mountains of fat. Arms as thick as legs. Legs as thick as women. And bellies? There won't be a comparison left for those. We'll be perfect. All right, it'll certainly be hard to walk, and we won't fit in any normal car. And the doctors will probably faint on the spot when they see us. But apart from that, we'll be perfect.
And there will be no shortage of people to witness it. For my part, I want a slave to feed me. Though what am I saying, "slave": he'll get to massage my belly after meals. Surely that's payment enough. And I want to build my own company. My own - not one I've inherited from my father. And in this company, only beautiful fat women will work. But none of them will be as fat as me. Because I'm the boss.
And in the evenings, we'll all ride out together on our scooters to eat. We'll be admired and adored. And perhaps sometimes resented. But we'll know that we made the right decision. That they are just jealous.
That's gonna be great. I just have to convince the others, then we can start. And then we are gonna eat.
Leonie, 17 March 2019

I curse those two women and their blasted weight. I wish I could get my hands on them - I'd whip them into shape until they looked like me. Even if it took thirty years.

That thought is easier than cursing Svenja. Or Corinna. Or Michelle. But Svenja most of all. This madwoman has invited us to her villa for the following day. And at first that was quite something. I mean, the woman has an actual villa. With a garden, a housekeeper, and a Rolls-Royce. You might think she had everything.

And then there she stands, a glass of prosecco in hand, telling us that this will be our fattening hut. That we'll live here until we're large and heavy. And Michelle and Corinna were actually excited. "Then I can finally be like my ancestors" and "I can't wait until I don't fit through the doors anymore." These lunatics are actually looking forward to it.

I don't understand why they agreed. And even less why I agreed.