Chapter 1 - born this way - young love & madness- artificially enhanced appetite - endless hungers

INTRODUCTION

This is the true account of my personal experience as a feeder, fattening up my husband against his wishes. I have done my best to offer this story exactly as it happened, other than changing names, with no exaggeration. You may feel that what I did is morally reprehensible, and I cannot disagree. But I also cannot bring myself to regret even one moment of it. It was the most exciting time of my life; I have never felt more alive or sexually satisfied. Not to mention the child who resulted from this brief but scorching affair, who is today the light of my life.


I. BORN THIS WAY

My name is Marie and I was born with this fetish of feederism. All my life, as far back as I can remember -- maybe age 5, long before I even had a sex drive -- I have had an intense fascination with overeating, fat bellies, and weight gain. It was the subject of pictures that I drew and stories that I wrote and fantasies that I daydreamed. I was always overweight as a child but not remarkably fat, and I always enjoyed overeating whenever I had the chance. In adolescence, this fascination grew into an obsession tied in with sexual desire. I've always been a voracious reader, and I scoured every library I could for information on the subject. I read about compulsive overeaters and massively fat people, but never found anything describing who I was, so I grew up assuming I was a unique sexual deviant.

Around 1994 at age 18, with the advent of the internet, I discovered the BBW subculture, that there was a community that admires large bodies. Shortly after that I discovered the world of feederism, and I was so relieved! Maybe we are deviants, but at least I'm not alone. When I learned about feeders, I knew I wanted to be a feedee. Feeding myself was fun, but somehow I knew that I was born to be fed and fattened by a partner. The internet at that time was a much smaller place, and I became painfully aware of just how rare we are. I thought my chances of finding a feeder were probably about the same as hitting the lottery. So I proceeded to try to ignore my fetish and have a normal life.


II. YOUNG LOVE AND MADNESS

In my early 20's I met and fell in love with a handsome young man. Sexy by all cultural standards, Allen was tall and fit and tanned. He loved me too. He loved me despite my weight; he never mentioned it at all, positive or negative, he just took me as I was. And I took him just as he was, too. I often thought it was ironic that his excellent physique was wasted on a girl who would have preferred a massive beer gut, but we were in love. I kept all this fat-fetish nonsense to myself, inside my head and between my ears, and we got married.

It wasn't long before we had trouble. He began acting irrational, jealous and paranoid; totally unlike the person I'd come to know. Wild accusations and conspiracy theories became his only subjects of conversation. At the time we didn't realize it, but he was developing schizophrenia. I didn't know the reason for the sudden change. I just knew that I could not live with it. So I left him and we divorced.

A few years later, I ran into him again. It was as if his life had stopped when I left him. He'd been living in his parent's basement, never leaving, never seeing friends or talking to anyone, for all that time. His speech patterns were bizarre, what I later found is referred to as "word salad." I studied his behavior and realized he was mentally ill, and arranged for him to get help. So then he began taking medication and getting better, and moved into his own apartment provided through disability services. Soon the personality of the man I'd married reemerged. We fell in love again and I moved in. And this is where it started.


III. ARTIFICIALLY ENHANCED APPETITE

"They said one of these pills could cause weight gain," Allen told me as we left the clinic. Oh, how I smiled. "That wouldn't bother me a bit, I've always said you could use some more meat on those bones," I told him. But I didn't hold out much hope, because Allen had always been lean and active with a high metabolism. We just happened to be going grocery shopping next, and I encouraged him to pick out plenty of his favorite snacks. He was amused; I was aroused. But there was no sudden change in appetite, and after a few days I think we both forgot about it.

Around this time Allen got a sum of money, and we went shopping for clothes. All those years in the basement had left him with quite a depleted wardrobe. I went with him, and he chose some size 30 jeans. When he came out of the changing room I couldn't help but giggle. "Definitely too tight," I told him, and he didn't like to hear it. "But this is what I've always worn. Since high school." Well, it had been a few years since high school. We left with size 32s, and he was clearly not happy about it. This was my first indication that he did not embrace the prospect of gaining any weight.

A few days later, maybe one week after starting the medication, I came home from work to a strange sight. Allen was asleep on the couch, and it looked like he had dumped the trashcan out onto the living room floor -- there was litter everywhere. When I went to clean it up, I found that the mess was not from the trashcan. It was wrappers and packages from a respectable binge of junk food. I looked back to the couch where he lay with his fly unbuttoned, sleeping with one hand on his flat little abdomen, and put two and two together. The sexual thrill that coursed through my body was like a lightning strike.


IV. ENDLESS HUNGERS

I cleaned up the evidence while he slept and started making dinner, my mind going a mile a minute. A bit of junk food was nothing unusual, but a binge like this was definitely out of character. I thought about the pills and their side effects. I thought about his distressed reaction to the size 32 jeans. But then I thought of Allen with a heavy round belly, soft double chin, wider thighs, maybe even some love handles for me to hold onto ... and lust took over.

Oddly enough, for a fat girl, I have always hated cooking -- until that moment, when its purpose was suddenly redefined. I started fixing one of his favorites, spaghetti with meatballs. I cooked twice as much as usual, with an excitement worthy of foreplay. I would not force him in any way, I promised myself; I will just make his favorite foods available. In quantity. Like any good wife does. Good intentions and rationalizations, I now realize.

Most of the dinners that followed have become blurred memories over the years, but that first one stands out pretty well. He woke up and walked into the kitchen, buttoning his fly. He kissed my cheek and did a double take at when he saw the big pot of spaghetti boiling. "We having company?" he asked.

"Just making some extra for your lunches while I'm at work. Looks like you got hungry this afternoon."

"That's no joke. Weirdest thing, I was feeling full and I was still hungry at the same time."

"Must be those new pills. Are you hungry for dinner?"

He certainly was. He had his usual portion... and then took seconds. Extra butter in the pasta, extra meatballs. For once my own appetite for food was dwarfed by my fascination with his. I don't know what else we talked about that night; I was transfixed, watching him shovel it in. Finally he leaned back and sighed deeply, "God, I am so stuffed."

"I love watching you enjoy your food," I admitted earnestly. "There is nothing sexier than a big handsome man packing away your own home cooking." An understatement of absurd proportions.

"You always say that... why do you always say that?" he asked. He was serious; he absolutely didn't get it. But I wasn't ready to blow my own cover yet. I tried to imagine my reaction to suddenly learning he had a fetish for, say, whips and chains. It wasn't pleasant. I could not bring myself to say any more. And I didn't; I just suggested that we skip TV and head for bed... where the after-dinner sex was explosive.

Without being too explicit ... try to imagine you've been married to someone for years. You love each other body and soul. The sex is good; at least there is always plenty of it. You think you know your partner inside and out. You think you've seen all her moves and moods and attitudes, and sexually she's pretty vanilla. Then you wake up one fine day to find she has turned into a nymphomaniac. Wouldn't your mind be blown?