The day i went from feeder to feedee

Chapter 1

As I write this, it's the day after July 4th; a day in which many hot dogs and ice cream treats were consumed. My pants are tighter than they've ever been, and I've never been more excited. Thinking about it makes me hard, because later tonight, I know how my spouse is going to react to how fat I'm getting. Later tonight, she's going to have her plump hands all over it. She will squeeze my tits...she will grab my belly...and she will tell me how pleased she is; how she wants me even fatter.

And I want for that, too. I want to wake up tomorrow morning and be over 800 lbs. I want a belly big enough to pry my legs apart while it reaches for the floor beneath my seat. I want to waddle. I want to know the mechanics of moving my arms and legs for the simple task of maintaining balance as I make my way from the living room to the kitchen. I want my entire body to jiggle in response to each step I take. I want to lean over the bathroom counter, and fill the entire sink with fat. I want to feel my belly brush against the doorway as I shuffle sideways through it.

I didn't always want this. At least not for myself.

My admiration for enormously fat people dates back to the 1980's. We had fat characters in cartoons---like all generations seem to have---but in those days, the best access you had to enormously fat people came in the form of gag gift cards in places like Spencer's, or the pictures in the Guiness Book of World Records for the World's Fattest People.

In the 1990's, before Fantasy Feeder existed, you had daytime talk shows, and not all guests were there to be rescued by Susan Powter or Richard Simmons. In fact, most of them weren't. Most of them were confident, gorgeous women who told their admirers to stop hiding, and to make themselves known. Some of them even wanted to be way fatter than they already were, and that's how I learned about feedism.

Then, the internet came along, and changed everything about how we lived. If you had an internet connection, all you had to do was type in 'BBW' or 'BHM' on your search bar, and you'd be transported to world where all of your hedonistic desires were waiting for you. Everything you ever wanted to see or know was right in front of you, and at your fingertips.

In 2020, COVID-19 came along, and the world changed yet again. Gyms in my neighborhood were closed by the end of March, not to be reopened for another year. It didn't take long for my eating habits to catch up with me, because if you have nowhere to go to burn the calories you consume on your cheat day, then your cheat day should really just be removed altogether.

Mine was not, because seriously, who the fuck wants to give up ice cream and donuts in exchange for more of the daily, small, tiresome servings of grilled chicken and broccoli?

Only four months into the pandemic, and my arms and chest were softer than ever before. The latex bands I bought for resistance exercises at home were doing absolutely nothing for me. My body required repetitive lifting of heavy loads to preserve its look and features, and without it, I was becoming a heavy load myself.

I tried walking during lunch breaks, and I'd get in a minimum of 10,000 steps a day, but it wasn't offsetting my eating program, which relied mostly on meats and greens, with all sorts of fun stuff on Saturdays.

Slowly, I was losing this battle, but it wasn't the end of the world. I was somewhat accepting of my defeat. With my love of feedism as strong as it is, I was starting to wonder what was stopping me from trying it myself.

The answer was 'my wife'. We had been together for many years, and she was used to seeing me with a muscular upper body. A feedee herself, I wondered how she might react to the potential of a fat husband, and whether or not our marriage will be strengthened or weakened by turning into a mutual gaining relationship.

I had to know, and in the summer of 2020, I finally asked. Some of these quotes were modified to maintain our privacy, but overall, you're about to read the conversation we had.