Chapter 1 - To be fat or not to be fat

WARNING to readers: This story may induce an appetite which only donuts can satisfy. Plenty of people who have read this say it made them very hungry (I think I should get a commission from Krispy Kremes). So grab a donut or two (or a dozen), and sit back and enjoy.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you love chubby females, don't be discouraged! There's something interesting here for you in the form of a plump donut-pusher. This story is basically true, and occurred in the spring of 2005. Maybe it's not so much a story as a meditation on how I made the life-changing decision to purposely gain weight.
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Some days, the whole world seemingly conspires to fulfill my secret, scary fantasy -- that I want to grow a bit fatter, that I'd like to gain some weight. No wonder so many people have trouble losing weight in this society. And no wonder so many are overweight. I understand all that now.

Everything edible in our society screams: "Eat me! Eat me! You know you want me! Come on; take me home, and eat me! I'm delicious!" From food commercials on TV to all the temptations in the grocery store to billboards to restaurant menus to all the fast-food and junk food, calories and fat grams are gushing toward me. There's no escaping all the food that seems destined to rush into my mouth and land upon my midsection as fat, fat, fat. This seems wonderful and mystifying.

And more than a little scary.

Now, one thing that makes this whole predicament seem so odd is that I have always been fat admirer myself, a male who loves everything about pleasingly plump females -- including their getting plumper. And now, in the springtime, I get aroused seeing many young women display their midriff bulges of winter weight gain. I had never thought about me getting fat until it started happening to me. And I certainly would have never thought in a million years that getting fat would actually start turning me on. The fact that fattening is arousing me so much still seems remarkable and unbelievable.

I have always been one who has admired a chubbing female as she gains weight. And I had always been pretty much of a hard-body muscular little guy who never had to worry about gaining so much as an ounce. All that has changed now that I am nearing 30 years of age. Not only do I not worry about getting a belly; I think I may be enjoying it. And at the same time, I worry about releasing what seems to be an insatiable appetite. I wonder where this may all end.

On top of all that, my lover Annie is apparently enjoying the little bit of extra flab around my midsection. She kneads it and rubs my belly, and tries to grab my little love handles. She even says she wants them to get bigger and more grabbable so she can hold onto me better. And I really know how she feels! When we first met, she was thin; I wasn't even physically attracted to her at first although I quickly fell for her.

However, the years have wonderfully gathered around her waist, thighs and hips in the form of lovely soft rolls of adipose. Her figure has grown into the ideal form for any male easily entranced by female plumpness. Her deep navel and protruding paunch are a sight to behold, and her bulging body is a wonder to hold. So I realize, now that the tables are turning, just how excited she may be about this fat on me. She calls my little pudgy fat rolls "even more Zonker to love." Sometimes, she encourages me to eat more, playfully serving me a plate-sized slab of lasagna or getting me an extra bowl of heavenly hash ice cream. But even she doesn't know that I am contemplating gaining even more weight on purpose. I haven't told her yet. I'm still deciding.

I wonder if I really want to go through with this weight gain thing, and while I wonder, my body has apparently decided for me. Whether I want to get fat or not, my body has fallen in love with eating. Love? Mmmm, more like lust! I lust after delicious food. My appetite seems to increase daily, and I know I am eating what would have been gargantuan amounts of food for me just a year ago. I know that I am chowing down and not letting up for one minute in my pursuit of tasty treats. I feel like I am really enjoying eating for the first time in my life.

And I am, no doubt, getting fatter.

Already this year, I have gained six pounds, and that was as of two weeks ago. I haven't checked recently to see what my daily feeding frenzies are doing to the numbers on the scale. I'm a little scared to do so. In mid-April, I weighed 161. I am just four pounds shy of being officially "overweight," according to BMI (Body mass index calculator at www.bmi-calculator.net/ Check yourself out if you dare!). To me, though, I already looked overweight, even before these last few pounds.

Back around Thanksgiving, I pictured myself as a stuffed turkey. And I gobble-gobbled all the way through the holidays. Two years ago (and going back at least 11 years ago), I weighed no more than 135. About a year ago, it had crept up to 145, and after this last Christmas's gluttony, I was at 155. And now, I'm sure I am "overweight," at least 165, but getting on the scales will really screw up my denial about getting fat. Not to mention, it might cause some conflict if I start denying my hunger for food and desire for gaining weight.

I know I am obsessing about all this, about food, about my weight, about my seemingly little bit of chub which some days seems destined to grow into a big fat belly. Anyway, I feel as if everything happening around me revolves around food and getting fat.

Every time acquaintances look at me, they seem to look approvingly at my little belly. Do I imagine them smiling or looking at me scoldingly? And my co-workers stop at my cubicle and tell me, "Brownies in the kitchen if you want some." Or "We had a meeting, and we have a lot of food left over. Come on down and get some if you want." And they know I want some; they can tell by my tightening waistband that I am enjoying eating to the max.

Every ad on the TV seduces my tastebuds (all those chocolatey swirling images - drool!). Every message on the internet dwells on these issues, all those e-diet popups with their focus on tape measures and scales and cute lovely women with little bitty potbellies, all the weight and height and clothing size scales. All this is really turning me on.

And turning on my appetite as well.

Even the songs coming over the radio seem to sing just to me and say, "What a wonderful day to just eat and grow bigger!" Just this morning on the car radio, I heard Queen's "Fat-Bottomed Girls." And the lyrics seemed to speak just to me:

Hey I was just a skinny lad
Never knew no good from bad
But I knew life before I left my nursery - huh
Left alone with big fat Fanny
She was such a naughty nanny
Heap big woman you made a fat boy out of me

Actually, I realize that I've always misheard those lyrics. The last lines words really say "you made a bad boy out of me." Well, I like my version better. And it doesn't matter what the words are, these last few months' indulgences are gathering on my waistline, certainly making a fat boy out of me. And fat bottom girls like my lovely Annie do make my rockin' world go round! I imagine Annie making a fat boy out of me, serving me all kinds of fattening treats, as she sometimes does. And recently, as I said, she seems to have increased her need to feed me. Even without Annie's help, though, I'm doing fine on my own, just pigging out in ways I would never have done when I was younger. "Fat-Bottomed Girls" may just become my personal theme song, my anthem, something to listen to while I eat Krispy Kreme donuts, one after another after another . . .

Okay, I admit it. It's as apparent as my growing gut. While I try to eat pretty healthy foods, Krispy Kremes are my guiltiest pleasure; they tempt me like nothing else could.