Chapter 1

I got The Pang the first time I saw him stand up: hefting himself out of the chair to reveal a soft, substantial belly. He must have weighed 260 then, mostly gut, the kind of guy who looks just chunky from behind but turns into a big fatty when he turns around.

The Pang runs like a tiny lightning strike to my clitoris. Instant arousal. I don't get The Pang that often. To tell the truth, I rarely get The Pang for people I don't already love and desire. But for him, I can feel the muscles in my vagina opening, wetness building. My body is ready for him to enter, and I haven't even spoken to him yet.

His belly is as soft as I imagined it would be, that night. It fills up all the space between us as he huffs and puffs on top of my naked body. He is the fattest man I have ever slept with. It is beyond my fantasies, as for the first time I don't have to fantasize about my partner's body in the act. All those years of imagining thin lovers porking up, wasted. Reality is enough. I didn't know my body could contain this much lust.

I love his double chin and his chubby cheeks. I love the little fat rolls that creep around his sides. I love his thick upper arms and his still slender wrists. I love kissing the slope of his belly from below. I love his soft underbelly, his chunky thighs. His body is perfection, a wonderland I can barely believe I get to play on.

My lust scares him a little. What does that look on your face mean?, he asks. Lust, I want to tell him. That's pure, naked lust. Haven't you ever seen lust before? But I don't say it. It's too much. My lust scares me a little. I want to wake up every morning with my hand on his soft belly. I want his chubby hands on my breasts, his mouth on my nipples. I want to know what he thinks about, what he dreams of, what he desires. I want to know who bullied him in grade school and how he lost his virginity and where he wants to travel. I want to meet his family. I want to watch him stuff himself with spaghetti Bolognese. I want to blow his mind with blow jobs. I want everything all at once. I want real intimacy and it scares me.

It's too much.

I haven't seen him all winter. It's spring now and I'm heading to a barbecue. I meet his car driving away as I pull up and I'm struck by a wave of regret and lust. But I go in and greet everyone, determined to enjoy myself. I'm in mid-conversation when he walks into the room, and I lose the thread of what I'm saying. I can't even hear the woman I'm speaking with, and she has to tap my arm to refocus my attention.

He has gained weight. A lot of weight. 40 pounds at least, maybe 50. He has distracting little moobs now, sitting on top of a great hard ball belly that protrudes out in front of him. He walks differently, his gut forcing his legs apart and his whole body swaying from side to side ponderously as he moves. I want him more than ever.

He sits and his belly spills comfortably onto his lap. I want to lift it up and find what's hiding below. He pulls out a book and rests it on the crest of his belly as he reads, aggressively unsocial. I snag a plate of doughnuts and make my way over to him.

I offer the doughy sugary fried treats to him. He picks out a chocolate one delicately. That's one, he says, I'm keeping track. Keeping track of what?, I ask, things I've given you? He laughs and says, no, sweets, I'm on a diet. Why?, I say, my heart speeding up. He pats the top of his gut and says, gotta get rid of this. But then he reaches for another doughnut. That's two, he says.

I straddle his legs and rest my arms on his giant belly. His body is an erotic work of art. His softness has been replaced by firm, full flesh. Stretchmarks run up the underside of his belly and his hips, like party decorations, a celebration of fatness. A testament to the rapidity of his gain. My only regret is that I didn't help make it happen.

He wants to do it on the couch, but there's a problem. His belly covers too much of his lap for me to sit on his cock. He lies down, but now he takes up too much of the width of the couch for me to get my leg over properly. He is too fat to easily ***. Holy ***. This is the most frustratingly sexy thing that has ever happened to me.