The fat files

Chapter 1 - brody

Brody:
Sweat rolls down my thick, bare neck as sun pounds down on my back, the layers of fat soaking up the summer heat. My joggers screech on the court as I sway from side to side, catching the lime green tennis balls that keep blasting towards me, urging my body to move this way, then that. My precious, distended belly, this whole time I’d been playing, had been bouncing exposed along my waistline, bare rolls of fat and glorious stretch marks on display as the point score rose.

Fat men, like myself, wouldn’t usually be found participating in this level of activity, but I had always loved the thrill of running that last mile or catching that impossible shot. It’s just how I was built, and that active personality didn’t change after I met Marcus, my boyfriend and my feeder. He was always really encouraging of my love for exercise, saying that the muscle mass will help me maintain health even as I pursued my other passion: eating. I had always known I’d want to be fat. It was never in question, even after I discovered the social kaibosh many people viewed it as. It had just always occurred to me that I wanted for my body to be like the men that I would see in the store, grabbing multiple tubs of rich ice-cream in their chubby arms and dumping them in the shopping cart, filled with sugary treats. Marcus really helped me with this dream, and as we settled down in a nice suburban neighbourhood, we got to work. By the end of our first year together, I had packed on a good 90 pounds and was averaging at about 350, a good starting weight. Cut to present day, and I’m making my way to 450.

It is in this suburban neighbourhood which I am playing tennis. Long gone are the days of shame and anxiety when people looked at my large frame with disgust, and now, when the temperature gets hot, I have no problem shrugging off that shirt and just playing, which was what was happening right now. It is so freeing to let my body move with my movements, feeling it wobble and bounce as I won the match. A formidable opponent I was, it seems, one that Marcus could not even beat. I was proud of myself, as I’d always worried that after fulfilling my dreams of getting that lardy, sumptuous belly I’d have to drop being athletic as well, but luckily, that is not the case.

Marcus walks off to grab a drink from the fountain as I collapse onto a bench, exhausted. I use this quiet moment of bliss to observe my growing body. Bar the muscles I have built up, my fat is actually quite soft, a fact I like quite a bit. I enjoy the sensation of being able to run my hands over my rolls, sinking them in whenever I please. Two orange sized breasts expand from my sweaty chest, but the true piece de resistance is my huge belly, who’s comforting weight bears presence on my large thighs, flopping down over the waistline of my basketball shorts, basically the only form of pants that I can wear comfortably. As is the life of a feedee.

Using my discarded t-shirt, I wipe the sweat away from my tanned brow, pushing a lock of soaked hair out of my eyes, to see where my lover was at. To my surprise, I see his muscular frame slowly crossing the road, approaching a teenager who seemed to be staring in awe at… me? Usually I’m used to having people stare at me, but this time seemed different. He seemed, was it appreciative? That couldn’t be.

I watched them exchange a few words, and then a smile began to spread over the teens face. From what I could tell, the elated boy was thanking Marcus, even going as far to hug him, to which my boyfriend responded awkwardly, prying the kid’s hands from around his waist and leading him over to where I stood. Confused, I approached the two and queried about the occurrence, to which Marcus responds:
“This is Callum. Get used to that face, because he is moving in with us. Brody, you are getting a feeding partner.”
My jaw drops open.