Chapter 1

PRESENT DAY:

I can feel the sweat dripping from my forehead – thick layer of perspiration forming on my bare and bloated belly …buttons had burst long ago. I pant trying to stay ahead of the wedges of luscious buttery cake being pushed between my lips…food inflating my chipmunk cheeks. My gut aches, so overfed – couldn’t possibly budge from my equally overstuffed chair. More and more cake pushed between clenched teeth…mphfff…can’t speak to say please stop…mphfff…mphfff…mphfff…so stuffed can only grind and swallow…cheeks overstuffed…a piñata busting with treats…gut aching – the pain of being stretched too taunt.

I plead with him with my eyes to stop…but he knows my secret desires, fully understands my long buried fantasies. He understands everything and knows deep down I don’t really want him to stop. But, he did stop then…prolonging my anguish, putting the food just out of reach…so bloated can’t stand…can’t move. He reaches out and lightly brushes my belly. A shiver goes up my spine. I would have gasped if not for my face still swollen with chunks of cake.

Mphfff…mphfff…mphfff…lah…lah…my tongue is released and only crumbs remain. He lays my head back on his hairy chest and makes me take a long drink of water. Glug...glug…glug…glug…glug…glug...g lug…glug…glug…glug…glug…glug…glug…gl ug…he slows but doesn’t stop the flow. Belly rounding out, heavy on my lap. He lays his hand firmly on the top of my swollen mound. I scream, my suffering revealed. He stops stands back to assess his work. He attentively reaches out and touches me…more gently this time…I cry out again – can’t bare the touch – so much built up pressure – ready to explode.

A WHILE BACK:

I was a cute kid. The kind my mother said belonged on the jar of baby food. When I was about five, I was officially discovered by a talent agent. So, my mother put me into modeling. I started out quietly – a few catalog shoots here and a few there. This quickly turned to more catalogs wanting me to model and then exposure in many prominent magazines and a television commercial by the age of seven.

My parents were thrilled. My father had been sick for some time with cancer and the medical bills had been mounting. The money I made really made a difference. That was until I turned eleven. I hit a cold spell between eleven and fourteen. I had become an adolescent, a tween – not so cute anymore – the punk kid stage. Then came the zits to make it even harder to get looked at and then the weight gain. I was becoming round and pudgy; my body responding to the extra calories a teenaged boy consumed.

My mother freaked. “You can’t get fat, Steven,” she’d say. “No one is going to hire a fat model.”

She enrolled me in track. I ran the fat right off of me. I then began playing soccer and then began pumping iron like crazy. The weight came off and stayed off especially with the addition of a strict diet – vegetarian and drinking lots of water. Sometimes, I’d deliberately drink so much, my belly would bloat – swell really large. Sometime, I’d do it with diet soda, the bubbles further inflating me, expanding me; I’d rub my big belly enjoying the feel of it, knowing that I could never get this way if I wanted to continue modeling. I had to suffer for my art, so to speak.

When I hit 16, I had a slender 28-inch waist, hard, muscular shoulders and abs. The jobs flew in fast and continued into my early thirties. I was a hit, a babe magnet. Everyone wanted my body on the cover or on the pages of some magazine. The pressure to remain thin was intense. I struggled valiantly to keep up a body I was never meant to have. I starved myself, refusing to indulge in meat and fatty foods. I didn’t drink beer which would add too much weight. I pushed myself with backbreaking workouts, popped laxatives like candy, and blew myself up with large enemas…drank so much water I thought I’d burst. But, also I loved to inflate myself …to feel the sheer indulgence of being able to let myself go – get fat even if it was a fake fat – rubbing myself until I was hard.

It was around this time that I discovered Dimensions online. It started out as a curiosity. I found myself strangely attracted to men with large, bulbous bellies. Then I began reading the stories. I was totally hooked. It became a secret obsession. No one knew that I lusted after men. No one knew that I would bloat myself with water, secure myself in super tight clothing that made my swollen belly push out of my jeans. I’d lean back and rub my tortured belly as I read stories of men and women fattening, eating to their hearts content, and growing so, so round. Then I’d eat and eat until my belly hurt – rebelling against my forced starvation. This resulted in paying a heavy price later…the guilt…the scale moving forward… more deprivation and exhausting work outs to get rid of the pounds.