chapter 2

That first week she kept me pleasantly stuffed, a concept that had been foreign to me prior to this. There was, admittedly, something primally satisfying in having a full stomach. Erotic, even.

I knew I was in trouble when I started to look forward to the next meal. I told myself that everything was fine since the scale hadn't budged, but even then I think I knew that I was starting to lie to myself.

After a week of nice homecooked meals that ended with me loosening my clothes with a light moan and praising Lindsey's skills in the kitchen, I came home one day to a note saying that she was stopping on the way home to pick up dinner.

I was rather shocked when she showed up with a pair of bulging bags of fast food.

"Alright, time for the next step," she announced, spreading out a selection of burgers and several cartons on fries. To drink, she handed me a huge cup of regular cola.

"I can't eat all this," I said.

"Oh, I know. You just need to eat until you can't anymore. This week is all about getting your body acclimated to really greasy, salty foods. Now chow down!"

This kind of eating was a whole different kind of beast. In some ways, it was easier to put a lot of it down. However, once it started catching up to me I really started regretting this.

I ended each meal feeling uncomfortably bloated, often burping softly for an hour or more afterward to relieve the pressure. All the salt and fat made me feel swollen and sluggish during my week-long fast food binge.

After that she transitioned me into a routine of constantly eating throughout the day, never feeling painfully full but always keeping my stomach topped off.

The fourth week was a combo of all of them - big meals with lots of snacking in between, plus the occasional gut-busting calorie bomb from a local fast food joint.

After the month was over, I was having trouble buttoning my jeans. I took stock in the mirror, looking closely for changes. My stomach was still somewhat flat, but looked disturbingly soft. The waistband of my panties dug in slightly now on my hips, causing a half inch or so of soft flesh to spill over the top. My thighs were an inch or so closer to meeting, they still looked rather trim but the musculature was harder to see. My breasts filled out my bra a touch more, but certainly not enough for me to think about going up a cup size yet.

I pinched and prodded my new flesh, still rather confused about how I actually felt. Sure, every external voice had always told me that this was a bad thing, but I still didn't know how I felt about this.

On the first day after my month of feeding, Lindsey made me a big, hearty breakfast.

I ate it all.

I very carefully did not think about it while I ate, helping myself to more and more until I was pleasantly stuffed. I kept not thinking about it afterward as I enjoyed the warm glow of a full belly and was rewarded with a kiss on the forehead from my girlfriend.

And so it went, not thinking about it as I continued to indulge. I did start working out again after taking a short sabbatical, but if anything that just spurred on my appetite even more. As my clothes continued to grow snug, I began to upgrade my wardrobe to accommodate my gradually expanding form.

As summer ended and autumn began, I embraced the chunky sweaters that did a nice job of hiding my thickening waistline. I was beginning to learn little tips and tricks to hide my expanding figure. Except from Lindsey, of course. While I didn't necessarily flaunt my gain around her, her obvious enjoyment of it allowed me to just be comfortable, occasionally slouching around the apartment in a pair of too-snug yoga pants and a t-shirt that fit 20 pounds ago.

One morning in early November I did suffer a mini-freakout. The room was dark and I blearily grabbed a pair of jeans from the drawer, not realizing it was one from my skinnier days. It snagged halfway up my thighs and wouldn't budge another inch. Being rather out of it, it took me several moments to realize what had happened.

"Have I gained that much?" I whispered out loud to myself.

With much trepidation, after peeling off the too-tight denim, I walked into the bathroom and pulled out the scale.

171.

Holy hell, I had gained over 30 pounds.

Later that day I told Lindsey that I needed to lose weight. She just laughed, poked my belly, and said it was silly to try that just when the holidays were beginning.

I ended that day by gorging on half a Boston Cream Pie in bed while Lindsey rubbed my stomach and other points of interest further south. Needless to say, my desire to lose weight led nowhere.

When Thanksgiving rolled around, we celebrated it with her family. They all greeted me very warmly, obviously quite accepting of Lindsey's orientation. I found myself thinking a number of my family members could learn a very valuable lesson from her kin.

Anyway, I had been in a bit of denial about my continued weight gain and was still squeezing into jeans that were a size too small. My sweater also did little to hide my now prominent pot belly.

Apparently Lindsey's preference for chubby girls was also widely known and accepted by her family as more than a few of them patted my belly or made reference to my weight.

"Ooh, you're a rather skinny one," said her Aunt Marilyn. "I expect she's working on fixing that, isn't she now?"

"Yup, we're making great progress," Lindsey said, wrapping her arm around my waist and grabbing my love handle. "Brittany really has great potential, she was a total stick when we first met."