Chapter 1

While it came upon me slowly, I am now sure that it was there all along and that I was born this way in the same way as my sexuality. When I was at primary school, aged seven or eight, I started being attracted by boys of my own age who were plump. It cannot then have been a sexual attraction. But I seemed to be attracted to their rounded bodies and their obvious lack of athleticism and the way they were treated and teased. I tried to make friends of them so I could observe more closely the experience of being fat. From the beginning, what I really wanted was to be physically like them: rounded, obese and confined to clothes that came in "sturdy boys" sizes. Instead, nature had given me a stick-like body: thin and weedy. I hated it.

As I reached puberty when I knew definitely that I was gay and made no effort to hide the fact, the urge to be fat and my obsession with it continued. In fact it increased. If I had ever thought that this was just a passing phase that I would grow out of, my experience told me otherwise. Now I found the thought of being obese to be sexually arousing too. Why? It was not just the look but the stigma of being fat which attracted me to the idea. Overweight in most people's minds is a curse. Fat people are open to ridicule. They are the butt of jokes. Obesity does not attract sympathy but thoughts that the person is a glutton, greedy, weak and lacking in self control. No sensible person would allow themselves to get so out of condition, particularly at a young age. In a fashion and image conscious age, fat people really could not participate. They generally wore what they found fitted them. They were never going to look good in clothes so why bother? I remember one boy was baited by the others at dinner time as everyone around him made pig-like honking noises as he ate. Boys also honked when they passed him in the corridor. They made everyday a misery for him with which I empathised and wondered what it would be like if I were him in the same circumstances. For others their obesity was used against them as in the derogatory names they were given: Fatso or Jumbo. At the prom they were likely to be left on the side. So for that matter was I. Nobody really fancied a skinny bespectacled nerd either. So we sat out the dances together, longing for the whole event to end. We were always the last to be picked for any sports team; the bottom of the barrel. Those who were popular, tended also to be good at sports or cut a dashing figure. Plump boys could never be that. They were always the ones panting behind everyone else in games or at the gym. Yet despite this, or probably because of it, I yearned to be one of their number.

The more I fantasised about being obese and jacked off thinking about it, the unhappier I became about my own figure. It was if I had been captured in the wrong body by mistake. Somehow it was not, or should not, have been me. By my mid-teens I also knew that I was not going to be able to shake off this obsession of being fat. I would try for a while and thought that I had succeeded, but it then returned with greater force than before. The compulsion became successively stronger like an incoming tide. And as it became stronger, I became more dispirited about it. I tried to fatten myself up but these efforts turned out to be futile. I would over-eat for a while. I did not seem to get anywhere and I just felt stuffed and uncomfortable. Whatever I threw at it, my metabolism was up to the task and I returned to exactly the same weight as before. What I had accepted is that you can be a thin gainer or a fat gainer but I would never not be a gainer. It was also obvious that I would much prefer to be a fat gainer, given the choice.

It was only when I moved away from home that I could really seek a relationship that would help. I also realised that I was not a complete freak. There were others like me . It was the first time a felt free to talk about it but, even then, I could not confide in friends or family. They would not understand, I felt sure. They would just think I was crazy.

When I was nineteen and I had the good fortune to meet through the Internet a very special encourager. There was nothing bullying or aggressive about him. He was as sexually aroused at my gaining as I was. My gaining was the centre of everything we both did together. The process had always to be enjoyable. He was a master at gauging exactly how to achieve this without it ever making it arduous. So my transition to becoming fat seemed to be entirely natural. For the first two months gradually he altered my diet both in terms of content and size. As the weeks went by my diet became more and more concentrated on food and drink full of sugar, fat, starch and carbohydrates. The food was always tasty, mainly junk food fare, which is actually the food most of us are happiest eating because it tastes good. Somehow my appetite kept pace with the subtle increase in intake. At the same time, I also had a gainer shake at the end of each day. This was also enjoyable. It was a pint of cream, two big scoops of dextrose and something generally sugary and calorific. But it slipped down easily even though it was very rich. I did not tire of it because he rang the changes with different ingredients: ice cream, cake mixes, spreads, soft drinks, crushed biscuits and sweets and, even on occasion, peanut butter and other nutty ingredients. I also started to snack more until this became a constant throughout the day as was drinking copious amounts of Classic Coke. This increase in consumption was erotically arousing in itself which gave my increasing enjoyment of food another highly satisfying dimension.

In the first two months I put on nearly thirty pounds. While I was far from being fat, my torso had thickened and softened and there was the first signs of a belly emerging which gave me something to admire and fondle. Incipient love handles started to appear. This was all greatly encouraging. Now under my tee shirt a small bulge started to show; the very first stirrings of becoming overweight. This both motivated me and aroused me to say nothing of my encourager who found it a massive turn on too. These first two months were greatly incentivising. I knew now I could do it and became what I wanted to be. I was also certain I had made the right decision and I was not going back. The prospect of being obese was open to me. Over the balance of the first year I added another thirty pounds or so. I was now obviously overweight and it was showing, particularly my belly which had become much more prominent so there was no disguising my weight gain, and arousing comment, particularly rather unflattering remarks by my family. Little did they know how encouraging that was. I wanted to be called fat and I was on the cusp between over-weight and obese. What may have been difficult at first was now easy. Eating had given me an appetite and I was slowly becoming heavier. It was fantastic. I have never been so stimulated or so sexually active. I had also never been happier.

After that my weight gain slowed down to about thirty pounds a year; sometimes more, sometimes less. There were times when I gained nothing at all and then, as if a dam had broken, the pounds came. I think the pace of my weight gain was important. The process was as exhilarating so it was planned that I would enjoy each change to the full. The changes to your body as you transition from thin to fat are broadly the same for everyone with variations around a constant theme. Soon I really started having a belly which hung over my waistband. My back was thickening with rolls of fat culminating in rounded, soft love handles. I was fast developing moobs. My thighs were thickening noticeably too and my arse was growing. Some fat guys have no bottom to speak of. I was going to be lucky and have an ample one. Less prominently I put on weight everywhere, on my neck, arms, hands, calves and ankles. Then the first stretch marks appeared: that too is a rite of passage. Later my belly, sides and thighs would be crazed with them. There was an inner elation every time I grew out of one size of clothes into another. As I knew I was going to out-grow my clothes fairly frequently, I had a very limited wardrobe and, when I replaced clothes, I have tended to buy cheap clothes, cargo and track pants, polo shirts and hoodies, on the internet which are available in a wide range of sizes. For the most part I am now around a 4XL, moving towards 5XL. If I can, I wear sports clothes such as track suits and track pants, and trainers. I like the incongruity of a really fat and unathletic person wearing them. They are also comfortable. I tried to buy the same style just a size larger so that it did not seem that anything had really changed. But it had. Steadily I grew to my first target: 280 pounds. I was four years into the regime when this happened. Now I was officially morbidly obese. That seemed to change everything. I was now taking on the gait and posture of someone who is genuinely fat. Without my really realising it as it happened, my posture altered to support my growing belly as my back arched to carry the weight, pushing my shoulders and bottom back and my head slightly forward. Also, as my thighs thickened and rubbed together, my walk changed with my stride going more sideways than forwards. The fatter my thighs became, the more this happened. I also felt obese in a way I had not before. I moved more slowly, I was much less agile, I lost my breath more quickly, felt hot most of the time and sweated more profusely. I also received insulting comments and catcalls from the teenage boys that loitered in gangs the streets around where I lived. Little did they know I secretly relished their insults: I had arrived...