Chapter 2 - i know what is best for you

"I like you too," he said, his eyes a bit glazed from all the food and wine.

"I just have one concern," I said a bit nervously.

"What is it?" he said as I filled his wineglass.

"Well, I have a bit of a confession to make." I paused, a bit scared to go on.

Leonard lifted his eyebrows in curiosity. The room seemed so quiet, as I continued in a voice filled with hesitancy.

"I want to make it clear that this isn't a deal-breaker, but I am a feeder. I get pleasure from fattening up my lover. Have you ever heard of feederism?" He looked dazed and confused, so I continued. "Mmmmm, I would love to feed you, even forcefeed you. It's been a sexual fantasy of mine for a long time, and with your metabolism and appetite, you would be the perfect feedee lover for me. Please, please say you will."

"I am new to all this," he said. "I have never even had sex with a man, so . . ." His voice drifted away as he looked pensive, seriously considering what I had said. Then, he spoke again. "Yes, I will try anything once, and if I don't like it, I will be honest with you."

"Great! Now, how about some dessert?"

That night, we both had the best sex we had ever had. Leonard's ribs and hip and pelvic bones poked me, even bruising me a little with their sharpness. Still, he was an enthusiastic lover, and for a first-timer, he was perfect. He also let me know that he enjoyed my soft, round body, occasionally grabbing my love handles and rubbing my belly with a look of delight on his face.

The next morning, Leonard's eyes peeped open and then widened as I brought in a huge tray of pancakes, drenched in maple syrup and butter.

"Breakfast in bed," I announced, and as he ate the pancakes, moaning with pleasure at how delicious they were, I quizzed him on all his food favorites.

Over the next few weeks, we developed a ritual. Leonard came over on Friday night and quickly changed into a soft silky loose-fitting robe. I then served him an incredible feast until he was ready to burst. We retired to the bedroom, sometimes taking a dessert tray with us so the feeding could continue right up to orgasm.

For the rest of the weekend, Leonard ate five huge meals a day, punctuated by more sex and naps to sleep it off - and also allow all those delicious calories to turn to fat.

After a month, Leonard had developed a hint of a belly, but had only gained five pounds.

"I told you my metabolism is so fast, Hal," he said, notably a bit dissatisfied with his progress.

"Typical for very skinny men," I told him. "Only after months of my cooking will your metabolism slow enough to allow you to fill out some."

Every Monday morning, we monitored Leonard's weight, and I filled it out on a chart in the bathroom.

By the end of the second month, Leonard gained another 10 pounds, and in the third month, another 15 pounds. He now weighed 170 pounds, and he had the beginnings of a potbelly - and I gave it considerable encouragement.

"We've finally got something to work with!" I exclaimed gleefully, poking him in his softening tummy, then grabbing the bit of flab I could get my fingers around. "Now, all I've got to do is keep this belly nice and full!"

And that I did.

I increased Leonard's food intake by 30 percent in the coming weeks, while urging him to cut down on any physical activities. "Absolutely no walking or movement that isn't necessary," I insisted. "We need to slow your metabolism to a crawl for some serious weight gain."

"More than 30 pounds is not serious enough weight gain for you?" asked a confused-looking Leonard as he ate took a large bite of lasagna.

"I know what's best for you," I said, grabbing his belly and pulling him toward the bedroom.

(to be continued)