chapter 1

"Look," he says, tugging on the two edges of his suit jacket. "I pulled off the button trying to get this thing to close tonight. I really should do something about this."

He pats the top of his round belly as it sits in his lap. I freeze as I look at him from across the restaurant table.

"You look great," I say, in a rush. "The hottest Valentine I've ever had, that's for sure."

And it's true. The 40 or so pounds he's added to his chunky frame since we started dating only enhance his irresistible combination of solid masculinity and soft vulnerability. He was a big guy when we met and now, now he is gloriously fat. I love touching his sagging breasts, his milky luxurious thighs. I love his round face with his shy dimples, his green eyes, his hair falling over his forehead, his double chin that triples and quadruples when he laughs. I love him. That's been clear to me for some time, but I haven't found the right chance to tell him so. Loving him scares me.

He isn't my first, but I want him to be my last.

"Really?" he says, one hand caressing his bulging gut. "I mean, I'm getting kind of... big."

I can feel heat rising in my cheeks, and other places.

"It's okay," I blurt out. "I like it. I mean, I like that you're big. I like that you're not afraid of pleasure."

He laughs, a low, warm sound, with his head thrown back, and I am undone. Utterly undone. If he asked me, I would kneel to suck his cock right here in the restaurant, press my face into his roll of pubic fat without caring that my red lipstick gets smeared or that we're about to be arrested for performing a lewd act. The other diners would stare at the sight of a fat man getting ravished, his belly resting on my head as I sucked and he moaned...

"You're not like anyone else," he says, shaking his head in chagrin. I watch his jowls wobble dreamily. "Alright. No diets tonight, that's for sure."

He orders a starter of mussels dripping with garlic butter, the spaghetti Bolognese with extra garlic bread and a side Caesar. We have a deal that if one of us eats garlic, so does the other. I order the chicken primavera, and when I'm full, I slide the plate over to him. He polishes it off.

I wish I could say I made him gain that 40 pounds, but the fact is, he'd made himself fat before I met him. He likes to eat. He likes to cook, and then eat what he's made. He'd be gaining all on his own, though I admit that my little ways have probably sped up his gain. I feed him my leftovers, I encourage him to have another bowl of ice cream, I bake him fudgy brownies and cupcakes and éclairs.

Okay, so I probably am responsible for 10 or 15 of those pounds.

We talk and laugh and sip champagne. I spill a little, grinning ruefully at him as he watches it trickle into my ample cleavage.

"I'm always dropping things in there," I say, laughing.

"That's just what happens when you, er, stick out," he says, pointing to a spatter of sauce on his big belly, before pressing his hand down and forcing up a burp. I like the way he's always touching and rubbing and patting his fat bits, as if he is secretly fascinated by his own softness and size.

We split a slice of rich chocolate cheesecake. I love watching him shovel it into his mouth, his eyes closing sensuously as the taste explodes into his mouth.

I'm tipsy and full by the time we push ourselves away from the table, and I can see he's even more full and just as tipsy. He wraps his arms around me, his huge soft belly pressing into my back, as I search for my coat on the cloakroom hangers.

"Come home with me," he whispers, nuzzling my ear and nipping it gently with his teeth.

"Of course," I answer.

I bundle up as he pulls on his winter coat. It doesn't close, either. In fact, the ends of the zipper come nowhere close to meeting, they barely make it around his sides. If there was a winter when this coat fit him, it was long before I met him.

I wrap my arms around him to keep him warm as we wait on the sidewalk for the cab to come. Snow is falling, gently, and the whole world is calm and muffled and beautiful. I look into his gorgeous eyes, with glistening snowflakes caught on his dark lashes, and I kiss him with all the power of my being.

"Hey," he says, "Hey, I love you. You know that, right?"

"I love you, too," I say, and we kiss, until a cab honks its horn beside us.

As soon as we get through his front door, I am pulling off my boots, my coat, my dress in a fury. I can't wait to be pressed against his naked body. His width makes me feel small. Sometimes I linger over his handsome, jiggly body, but not tonight. He unclips my bra and I wriggle out of my thong. I unbutton his shirt as he hastily fumbles to undo his belt.

"I need your fat cock inside me," I say, breathless with desire. I'm still wearing my thigh high stockings as I straddle him on the living room floor. We don't have time to make it upstairs to bed. I need him now.

It's been getting more difficult to find a position that works for us, but I lift up the overhanging swell of his belly and rock my hips into place. He helps hold up his fat gut as I guide his hard, throbbing cock into my slick, wet ***. I cry out as he slides into me, fills me up like no one has before.

"I love you, I love you," I call out, screaming his name as I cum again and again.

He groans and sighs as he comes, too. I collapse onto his flabby chest.

"I love you, too," he mumbles into my hair. "Do you know what we just did?"

"What?"

His hand strokes my hip, as I squeeze his top set of love handles.

"We did it without a condom," he says calmly, as if this is not a big deal.

"Holy shiiiiit!" I say, popping upright like a puppet on strings. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I just, I wanted you so bad, I wasn't thinking, I'll go, plan b-"

He is looking at me. The dimples in his fat cheeks are nowhere to be seen.

"Would it really be so bad?" he says softly.

I stare back at him.

"You're not mad?"

"I could have said something," he says.
"I carry condoms, too, you know. But I just, I had a fleeting thought that... then I'd get to keep you forever, and we'd have... a kid, you know, we'd be... a family."

His voice has gotten very small.

"You want that?" I say, my heart pounding.

He nods, his chins wobbling in agreement. Now he looks scared.

"But that's what I want," I say.

"You do?" he says, and his smile and his dimples appear, like the sun coming out in February.

"Yes," I say. "Yes. Let's go upstairs."

I stand up, and extend a hand to him to help him heft his bulk off the floor. He pauses and taps his paunch.

"You don't mind that I'm... pretty hefty?" he says, naked as he is.

"No," I say, winding my arms around him. "In fact, I hope you're prepared to stay that way. I like a big handsome man."

"You like that I'm fat." He says it flatly, a statement, not a question.

I'm blushing again.

"I think your fat body is very, very sexy, and I am about to drag you upstairs and prove that to you. Again."

His hand is rubbing his distended belly.

"And what if I were to get fatter?"

"Mmmmm," I moan. I can feel myself getting wet. "Then you'd be even sexier."

He is staring at me intently again. I pull back.

"What is it, gorgeous?" I say.

"You like me fat. You'd still find me sexy if I were bigger," he says in an odd, strangled voice.

"Yes," I say, rubbing the back of his neck.

"There's something I need to tell you. I've always wanted to be fatter," he says. "Huge. Gargantuan. But I thought no one would want a disgusting blob..."

"You're not disgusting," I say. "Never. You never could be."

I can feel how tense he is.

"I'm already 370 pounds," he says. "Ten months ago, I was 325. But since I met you, I can't stop, I want you to know the real me. And the real me is massively obese."

"Hello," I say, hugging him. "Nice to meet you. Fatty."

The tension breaks as we laugh.

"If you want me, I'm yours," I say. "In chub and in superchub."

"I do. Want you."

He leans down and kisses me then, and I feel like I'm melting into the softness of his body, surrounded by his bulk. He starts to pull me toward the stairs, his cock stirring and poking out from its nest of pubic fat.

He stops.

"So, you'll marry me, then?" He asks, solemnly, but one dimple is showing, so I know he already knows my answer.

"Hells yes!" I yell, and jump into his plump arms.

"I hope you're prepared for a 400 pound bridegroom," he says, and I whip around to push his cushiony bottom.

"Get upstairs and I'll show you exactly what I think of that idea," I growl, and he waddles upward.

"I love you," he calls out, from the top of the stairwell, and my heart swells like the Grinch's.

"I love you, too... fiancé," I call back, as I dig out a whole box of chocolates to feed my beloved fatty.

This Valentine's day is the best I've ever had.

But they're all going to be good, from now on, because I'm going to get to spend all of them with the most handsome, kindest, funniest, smartest and soon-to-be fattest fat man I know. For as long as we both shall live.