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A cautionary tale - my journey to superchub status
| Looking back, I guess it really all started when I hit 30. I was living in London, had a well-paid job in the city and had just bought my 2 bedroom apartment in Kennington. I was living the stereotypical gay life, hitting the gym 4-5 times a week, drinks with friends in Soho at the weekend, partying until late generally followed by a casual fuck with some guy I’d picked up at the club. I was pretty good looking with tousled dark brown hair and green eyes and a gym honed body that I paraded in tight fitting clothes. At just over 5’ 11” tall and weighing in at around 180lbs my body was the very model of lean, toned muscle. But despite living what outwardly appeared to be an amazing life, deep down I was not happy. I’d never had a relationship that lasted longer than a couple of months and I had a secret desire that I felt ashamed of and consequently kept deeply buried. And what was that secret desire? Well, I was attracted to big guys, actually not just big guys, huge, obese guys - guys with enormous bellies whose everyday lives were dictated and restricted by their sheer size. But more than that, I didn’t just fancy those guys, I wanted to be one of those guys. I found the idea of gaining weight deeply erotic and would get hard just imagining the transformation of my body from toned, lean muscle to doughy, soft, sensual fat. But I could not bring myself to embrace this side of my personality, finding myself struggling with the dichotomy of being both turned on and revulsed at the thought of getting hugely fat. And the latter had been winning the battle. Of course, I had joined Grommr to satisfy what I considered to be my strange, perverse desires but I really just lurked on the sidelines, jerking myself off looking at guys who transformed their bodies into mounds of soft, blubbery fat, never really plucking up the courage to engage fully. But as I hit 30, feeling depressed about how my life seemed to be going nowhere, I started to chat with a guy called Jack who was to play a pivotal role in my life from there on. He was about 5 years older than me and was what most would call skinny - about 5’ 10” and 130lbs. He’d been a member of Grommr for a long time so it was pretty apparent that he was interested in encouraging and feeding rather than gaining himself. He was engaging, interesting and almost hypnotic and I found myself opening up to him in ways I’d never done with anyone else. We chatted almost daily for several weeks and he encouraged me to fantasize about what I’d like to become and how he could help me get there. It seemed quite abstract and I was happy to play along, not for one minute considering that I would actually act on any of the scenarios we played out, no matter how horny they made me feel. He seemed like such a nice guy and I eventually agreed to meet him for a drink in Soho. I didn’t take much time deciding what to wear - after all, I was heading to a bar in Soho and I was preprogrammed to wear tight fitting clothes to accentuate my physique and show just how much time I spent at the gym. I threw on some skin tight jeans and a white fitted shirt, stretched tightly across my shaved pecs and unbuttoned low to show off a fine silver chain with a sleek pendant resting between my pecs. The short sleeves looked almost painted onto my guns showing off my toned arms to perfection. I arrived at the bar early and ordered a gin and tonic which I downed quickly before Jack arrived. For some reason, I was both nervous and excited about meeting Jack in person and had a gnawing feeling in my stomach thinking about where this could lead. He was late arriving having texted to say he’d missed his train so I had almost finished another gin and tonic by the time he sauntered into the bar. He wandered over checking me out from head to toe. He smiled at me before commenting that I was even more buff in person than I appeared on camera. I was flattered and pumped out my chest a little more to give him a good look at my pert pecs. He didn’t respond in quite the way I was expecting but in person, he seemed very affable and even more likeable than he had been online. Although it was the first time we’d met physically, we already knew a lot about each other and the conversation was easy and free flowing. An hour and a half later and I was polishing off my 4th gin and tonic and was consequently more than a little tipsy. At that point Jack winked at me and suggested that we went for something to eat. I didn’t argue, knowing that I needed some food to soak up the booze. Jack knew a great little pizzeria at the far end of the street and that was when I discovered his powers of persuasion. I was pretty ravenous and allowed him to order while I went to take a slash. When the food arrived I was a little surprised to find he’d ordered three large meat and cheese loaded pizzas along with cheesy garlic bread. “Whoa” I said “Someone’s hungry!” He just smiled and said, “I guess that’s you!” I laughed and said that I wouldn’t be able to eat more than one pizza. “Ha! We’ll see about that.” he said quite forcefully. “You know deep down this is what you really want. And I’m gonna make sure you get what you want!“ “Actually, I’m really not sure!” I stuttered back. “OK” he replied “See how you get on. Look it’s just one meal, if you really don’t feel good at the end, we’ll just chalk it up to experience and you can move on”. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t looking for a friendship, let alone a relationship, unless it was going to embrace feeding and gaining. Whether it was my booze intoxicated mind, or the fact that I found myself becoming hard as he talked about how amazing my body would be as the fat accumulated or whether I just wanted to explore where the friendship would go but I found myself agreeing to give it a go. At least for that meal! After all it was just one meal, nothing that would wreak irreparable damage that couldn’t be sorted out with a few extra gym sessions. And so I found myself tucking into the first of three pizzas. When I started to feel full and struggle to eat more, Jack knew just how to get me to settle down, relax and then eat another slice. I think he might have had 1 or 2 slices of pizza but I managed to polish off the rest and all the garlic bread. I was absolutely stuffed and my stomach was hard and bloated and the buttons of my shirt were straining over my protruding gut. We settled the bill and as we left the restaurant I was acutely conscious of how my very fitted shirt was stretched so tightly across my distended stomach that the placket was gaping slightly showing a little bit of pink flesh between each button. I suppose I should have felt at least a little embarrassed as people glanced disapprovingly as I stumbled out but I found myself enjoying the attention and my dick was rock hard. It was now after midnight and too late for Jack to get a train back to his home so we agreed he could stay over at my place. As we walked back to my apartment from the tube station, he stopped in at a 24 hour convenience store and emerged with a sheepish look and a bag with 3 tubs of ice cream. “The night is young” he said slyly. I let us into my apartment and showed him the spare room before slumping on the sofa, rubbing my very round, bloated belly. Jack emerged from the bedroom in just his jocks and grabbed one of the tubs of ice cream from the kitchen counter. “No more” I protested to him, “I can’t eat another thing!” “Of course you can” he said in a very persuasive tone before pushing me back onto the sofa, straddled across my body and started to feed me the ice cream. At the same time he started to rub his hand over my dick which was hard and bulging visibly through my tight jeans. The sensation was incredible and I found the ice cream sliding down almost effortlessly. He then unzipped my jeans and my dick leapt out and he alternated between massaging and sucking my dick while feeding me more and more ice cream. Despite being fuller than I had ever been before, and in some considerable pain from my bloated gut, the combination of pain and pleasure was intoxicating and I kept guzzling down the ice cream. Jack was a master at his craft and kept edging me, easing back before I climaxed while forcing me to keep eating the ice cream. Eventually, as I polished off the third tub of ice cream he allowed me to climax and I shot my load all over the sofa. Looking back, that was the first time that I had consumed nearly 10,000 calories in one evening, which at the time seemed huge but now, whilst not routine, is hardly a challenge! I woke up the following morning to find Jack in the bed next to me. He was awake and scrolling through texts on his phone. I was feeling pretty hungover with a dull stomach ache but I was relieved to see that my belly had sunk back to its normal shape and size. He looked over at me and said “How are you feeling champ? I’m impressed with how much you managed to consume considering that was your first time!” “Yeah I was surprised that I managed to keep going.” I replied “But, oh my god, that was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever climaxed like that before - you sure have an incredible talent!” “So where do we go from here?” he asked. “Look, I’m not sure.” I responded truthfully “Last night was fantastic but I’m not sure I can embrace this, I’m too self conscious and don’t know if I can handle the negative judgement that will inevitably come.” Jack looked at me keenly “Look dude it’s your choice but I think you will not only get great pleasure from it but will also find fulfilment. Looking at how easily you let yourself go last night, and how aroused you got by me just talking about how fat you’re gonna get, I can see that this is a key part of your personality and ignoring it will always leave you feeling a bit empty. No pun intended!” He grinned at me. “And you can always stop at any time if you feel it’s not what you want. Come on give it a try.” Deep down, I knew I wanted what he was offering but I was still plagued with uncertainty. What would people think? What would my friends think? Fuck, what would my parents and brother think? Their fit, good looking son/brother transforming into a fat slob. The shame. “Look, you don’t have to decide right now” said Jack “but I did pop out to the shop this morning and I have a little treat for you!” And with that he popped out to the kitchen returning with a box of donuts. “Let me show you what life could be like.” and with that he started to feed me one donut after another, all the while massaging my dick sending me deeper and deeper into ecstasy with each bite. Again, he alternated between giving me a hand job and sucking me off and I was almost delirious with erotic pleasure. Fuck, I thought to myself, this is incredible, I could do with making this a routine part of my life. And so, when I’d polished off the 12 donuts and he’d finally let me shoot my load I was feeling so aroused and sexually and physically sated that I decided that I owed it to myself to give it a go, at least for a while, to see how things developed. What harm could it do to embrace my desires for a few weeks? He ordered in brunch, and then an Indian takeaway, all the while giving me hand and blow jobs, expertly bringing me to the brink of orgasm before easing off while the stuffings continued. It was a day like I’d never experienced before and by the end of it I was utterly spent! My gut was round and hard with all the food I’d consumed and my dick was red raw. But I was in a state of semi-euphoria having had one of the most intense and satisfying days of my life. Jack was getting ready to head home and he looked at me as he opened the front door. “So dude. What’s next? Do you think this is what you want? Do you want more? I’ve had fun and I think you did too.“ “Fuck, yes I did!” I replied, “This has got to go down as one of the best weekends I’ve had in a long time.” I could feel my dick growing hard again and I knew I wanted more. “Let’s give it a go.” I found myself saying “I’m not saying that I’m all in for the long term but if this is how much fun it is then I definitely want more!” Jack shut the door and sat me down. “OK,” he said “We’re going to have to set some ground rules if you’re going to get the most out of this.” And so he laid out a meal plan, snacks that should be consumed throughout the day as well as giving me a gainer shake recipe which he instructed me to drink every morning with breakfast and then again last thing at night before bed. And most excitingly we arranged to meet up the following weekend for another feeding session with all the added benefits! “But,” he said and his tone turned quite intimidating and forceful, “I want evidence that you’ve been following the plan otherwise there’ll be no weekend reward!” And so we agreed that I would video myself having my breakfast shake and send it to him every day and would then FaceTime him in the evening as I was preparing and drinking my bedtime shake. I dutifully followed the meal and snack plan and ended each day with a FaceTime call as I consumed my final shake of the day. Each of the shakes, loaded with maltodextrin, double cream, bananas and weight gain powder, packed over 1000 calories and, with the all the snacks I was consuming in between my bulked-out meals, I was averaging over 6000 calories a day. Before I knew it, the weekend had arrived. Jack turned up at my front door at about 11am on Saturday morning, leaving at 7pm on Sunday night following a frenzied weekend of almost constant feeding and sexual stimulation. Looking back, I realise that he was just embedding the association of feeding and getting bloated with sexual pleasure and almost making the two inseparable. It was blissful and intoxicating and I found myself wanting it more and more. I began wishing my weeks away so that the weekends would come around more quickly. Initially, my routine did not alter much - I kept going to the gym but religiously followed the meal, snack and gainer shake plan and each weekend he would come over and we would find creative ways of getting me to consume as much food as I could handle before the physical pain of a hugely bloated stomach would have me reeling. Inevitably, despite keeping up with my usual gym routine, the additional calories started to make themselves noticed, at least to me. Within just a couple of weeks, my six-pack had disappeared being covered by a small layer of soft fat and a small paunch had started to develop, becoming visible through my gym tees. I found myself getting a boner when I saw my tee shirt stretching around my belly but I was still not ready for it to be blatantly obvious to others so bought some looser fitting work shirts to disguise my slowly expanding girth. I found myself becoming fascinated with my changing body and would knead and play with the fat on my belly, squishing and prodding it, finding myself becoming hard and dripping cum as I did so. And of course, as each week ticked by, Jack would arrive for the weekend, weigh me and then reward me for my efforts. I’d graduated from just getting hand and blow jobs and he was now fucking me as well. Surprisingly, although I prided myself on being verse, I had historically preferred to top, but with Jack, I found I was taking on a more and more submissive role. Just over 2 months after our first meet up in Soho, I hit 200lbs and had a bit of a wobble. I remember looking at myself in the bathroom mirror and noticing some very slight stretch marks on my belly and feeling both excited and also a little repulsed. Shit, I thought, it’s not too late to turn back, I should stop now and lose some weight. I let Jack know my hesitations and stopped drinking my gainer shakes for the rest of the week. When Jack came around that weekend he was not happy with me and informed me that if I would have to make up for lost calories before he gave me any pleasure. I learned how controlling he really was but was so desperate to be pleasured that I submitted and allowed him to force feed me until I was in such pain that I physically couldn’t eat another mouthful. Only then did he fuck me but by then he’d managed to magnify the feeling of deprivation and subsequent longing to such an extent that I found myself promising to never skip meals again. So I was back on the gain train with Jack taking on a more and more domineering role. But, to be honest, I found that to be a turn on as well. The feeling of almost giving in and handing over control to someone else was thrilling. I’d have an excuse. “I didn’t do this to myself, someone else forced me to do it.” I’d be able to say if anyone asked me. But I knew full well that I had actually just enabled it to happen. Obviously my weight continued to creep up. The fat accumulation started to affect areas other than just my stomach and I noticed that my normally firm and round pecs were becoming softer and starting to droop slightly. My muscular arms and legs, normally hard and defined started to lose their definition but not their size. Jack also started to play with my fat as it started to build up, kissing it and jiggling it, almost worshipping it, just heightening the pleasure and ingraining the sense of eroticism with the growing fat. After around 4.5 months I was up to just over 220lbs and Christmas was approaching. As usual I went to my parents for the holiday. I had seen them a couple of times since I’d met Jack and although there had been some raised eyebrows, they had been very diplomatic, not saying anything about my increasingly apparent weight gain. But it was the first time I’d seen my older brother for at least 6 months and he couldn’t stop laughing when he saw me. “Jeez bro, did you eat yourself for dinner? What the fuck have you been doing? Looks like you didn’t just skip leg day at the gym but every day!” he mocked when he saw me. It was exactly the reaction I’d been expecting from him but I hadn’t expected it to hit me quite as hard as it did. It also seemed to give my Mum the courage to express her concern and suddenly every conversation seemed to be about my weight gain. There were comments at every meal, tutting when I grabbed a snack and a constant focus on whatever I was eating. I began to feel a bit panicky that maybe I’d let things go a bit far. “I’ll lose it in the new year” I reassured them. The apparent normality of a usual family Christmas, chatting about typical family issues on top of the comments about over eating made me start to doubt what I was doing and question my choices. By the end of the 5 day break with the family I resolved to tell Jack that I’d gone far enough and was going to stop. I had already made plans to spend New Year with him but when I told him what I was feeling he got really annoyed and said that he was going to make alternative plans. “What the fuck’s the point?” he asked “if every time someone questions you or makes a comment you just decide to stop. I think I made it clear that I’m not interested in a relationship with you that doesn’t involve feeding and helping you to gain weight. Dude, I’m a feeder. If this is not what you want, I’m out. I’m not gonna waste my time any longer.” I was so conflicted. I lived for my weekends where the feedings and sex sent me into an almost trance like state and the pleasure was almost too intense that the thought of giving them up completely seemed a step too far. But if I wanted that, I had to embrace it all. I thought about it and realised that it wasn’t just the sexual pleasure that I craved, it was also the feeling of a bloated belly and a softening, expanding body. Fuuuuck I thought to myself. What is it I really want? To please my family and adhere to social norms or to live the life I really want, experience pleasure like never before and get the body that, deep down, I know is what I really want. Fuck fuck fuck! I found myself pleading with Jack to spend New Year with me and that I’d get my head and mindset into the right place. “You know what happened last time” he said “Well now you’re gonna have to prove that you’re serious. If you really want this then you will have to let me take control, no ifs, no buts. And no pleasure until I say you’re ready.” “OK, OK” I said, not thinking that he would withhold the pleasure part for too long. New Year’s Day fell on a Saturday that year so we had an extra day’s holiday before returning to work. And boy did he make me earn the sexual pleasure, making me wait a full two days during which he forced me to eat more than I thought was humanly possible before finally rewarding me by fucking me raw. After that, I never again said anything to him about wanting to stop gaining knowing that I would end up paying for it by being denied the stuffing and sex that I so craved. If I’m being really honest, at that point I still had a bit of a love hate relationship with being fat. I loved the sex and Jack playing with my developing fat rolls but also felt a bit of self-loathing when I saw people looking disapprovingly at my belly and the buttons on my shirts straining with my increasing size. But I was all in now and pretty much knew I would agree to do whatever Jack instructed. It was around that time that Jack upped the ante and said that we would be doing things a bit differently. I think that, having seen me waver, he knew that he needed to take more control but also to spice things up to keep me hooked. He took on the role of being my master, ordering me to eat on his command, chaining me to a chair while funnel feeding me gallons of fattening gainer shakes, tying my arms to the bed posts while teasing and stuffing me with an array of food. All the while expertly playing on the interaction between feeding and sex to have me craving the pleasure and locking in the association that one couldn’t be achieved without the other. I found it deeply erotic and the thrill of submitting to his every desire an incredible turn on. The pleasure I got from feeding became so deeply ingrained and intertwined with sex that I found myself craving food so that I could get the pleasure of being fucked. As I found myself eating more, my appetite started to grow in tandem. So it was only mid-February when I found that I had gained another 12 lbs. My gym routine was becoming harder and harder as I gained weight so when Jack ordered that I cancel my membership I didn’t put up an argument, after all I had been skipping more and more days anyway. And then there was no turning back. It wasn’t much more than 6 months since I’d first met Jack and I’d ballooned from a toned 180lbs to an officially obese 235lb. There was no hiding that I was fat now. Sure, I’d graduated from slim fitting, medium shirts to XLs but they could not hide my increasingly large belly. My arms had become flabby and the build up of fat on my thighs started to chafe as I walked. My once firm gut had developed a slight overhang and my face had started to become a little puffy with my cheeks filling out and just the hint of a double chin starting to form. Quitting the gym meant my metabolism slowed even further and the weight seemed to pile on even more effortlessly. I was still having gainer shakes before bed every night and my new eating habits had become ingrained with snacking constantly throughout the day all but routine. And of course the amount I was eating at each and every meal had pretty much doubled since I had first met Jack. On our one year anniversary since we’d first met Jack arranged to take me out for a meal to celebrate. “We’re going to the pizzeria where we had our first meal” he informed me. “We’ll meet at the same bar for a drink first” he said “It’s time you show those Soho gays exactly what a fat slob you’ve become!” I became immediately hard when he said that as I knew that my size would definitely be noticed and people would find it difficult not to stare. I looked at myself in the mirror as I was getting dressed to head out. I’d hit 280lbs a couple of weeks earlier and had an array of angry, red stretch marks adorning my large spherical belly which was now hanging low enough to obscure my belt buckle. Fuck, I thought to myself - that’s 100lbs in just one year. What am I going to look like in another year? I ran my hands over the stretch marks marvelling at how thin and tight the skin seemed to be. In a perverse nod to our first meeting I’d put on a pair of black jeans - no longer the skinny jeans that had been my preference but now relaxed fit to accommodate my expanding thighs. I pulled on a XXL white button down shirt. The buttons strained around my belly as I tucked in the shirt and it pulled tightly across my chest. I noticed that my areolas surrounding my nipples had increased in size noticeably as my pecs had gradually transformed into flabby moobs. I marvelled at how different I looked compared to that fateful night just a year ago and my dick was hard at the sight. I couldn’t resist pleasuring myself and jerked off before heading out to meet Jack. I knew he’d not be impressed if he knew I’d had a wank so kept quiet about it. Conversely to the first time we met, he was already in the crowded bar when I walked in. “Hey fatty, this way!” he shouted across to me from a table on the far side. I knew that he did it to draw attention to me and I felt a little self conscious with my cheeks turning red as I pushed my way through the tightly packed drinkers towards Jack. My large stomach brushed against people as I wove across the bar and the disapproving stares were more than obvious from many of the guys. But just the fact that I knew people were staring at my oversized body sent a shiver of excitement down my spine and I pushed my gut out just a little further to accentuate it. We downed a couple of quick drinks before walking to the pizzeria, which after all, was the main event. Unsurprisingly, Jack took control and placed the food order. Again, there were three large pizzas but only after I’d eaten a main-sized portion of macaroni and cheese with a side of garlic bread as a starter. I finished up with an enormous ice cream sundae loaded with whipped cream, syrup, chocolate sauce and nuts. Jack had only eaten a single slice of pizza, watching me devour the rest with surprising ease. It was incredible how much my appetite had grown and how my capacity for food had also increased enormously. Sure, I was full, so much so that I let out a loud belch as I finished my sundae, but I was not in agony as I had been that first night. “Who’s a good boy!” praised Jack “Well done fatty! Someone deserves a treat!” Jack had taken to calling me fatty over the last few months which initially I’d found quite jarring but now just seemed to be apt. We headed back to my place for the usual feeding and fucking session with Jack leaving the following morning confident that I had put on at least another pound or two over night. I’m guessing, but it was probably around that time that my body had reached the point where things had shifted permanently and my metabolism was changed forever. But there’d also been another change, a mental one. As I got bigger and bigger and my body transformed from firm and muscular to soft, doughy and in places, decidedly squishy, I found myself not just being turned on by the changes but actually relishing them. I would look at myself in the mirror, noticing every new little fat roll, prodding it and jiggling it. I would walk around feeling my fat bouncing as I did so, my dick stiffening with each laboured step. Sure there were times when I found myself getting anxious about what I was doing, but as the months passed, I was becoming not just more and more comfortable with my growing body but also more and more contented and happy with my choices. That’s not to say there weren’t some downsides. The health ones were to come later but It was the changes within my friendship group that hit me hard first as it started to exclude me. I’d had a group of 4 mates since uni days and we’d done practically everything together. We met up almost every weekend for drinks, dinner and clubbing, hit the gym together, had been on many holidays over the years and generally just enjoyed each other’s banter and company. But when I met Jack, suddenly my weekends were otherwise occupied and I saw the guys much less frequently at the weekend. Sure we’d still workout together but as I started to gain weight and couldn’t keep up the pace they were less keen to stick with our former routine. They’d initially ribbed me for my weight gain thinking it was just a temporary blip, but as the months went by and instead of dropping off it kept growing, they became more distant and I found excuses cropping up as to why they couldn’t work out with me or hook up for a drink in Soho. Whether they were embarrassed at being seen with someone who clearly appeared to have a weight problem and was not just fat but obese, or we just had less and less in common and they couldn’t relate to my changing attitude to food, we drifted apart and I saw them less and less as the years went by until the only time we met was during an occasional chance encounter. Thankfully my work involved sitting at a desk so I whilst there were comments about my increasing size, my ability to carry on funding my lifestyle was not affected adversely as I got bigger and bigger. I found that food, and what my next meal would be, became the most important and pressing part of my day. I started to experience hunger pangs quite soon after finishing a meal which I needed to quell by constantly snacking on crisps and nuts. And I couldn’t have a cup of coffee without it being accompanied by at least a couple of donuts or cup cakes. Not surprisingly my increased sugar intake, not to mention the weight gain, began to take its toll on my general health. I’d been for a check up with the doctor who had been somewhat shocked at my weight gain and counselled me, unsurprisingly, to exercise more and eat less. My blood pressure was at the top end of normal and he was worried that my blood sugar was also on the high side. “I want to see you again in three months to check how you’re doing.” he instructed. Within those three months I’d ticked over 300lbs and the doctor was unimpressed with my excuses. “I’m going to put you on blood pressure medication which at 32 is not something to be proud of.” he reprimanded me. “If you’re not careful and don’t lose weight, there is every likelihood that you’re going to develop diabetes. You’re not there yet but it’s just a matter of time.” You would have thought that this would jolt me back to the reality of what I was doing to my body but even though I was very much aware of the consequences of what the doctor was saying they didn’t quell my desire to continue gaining and my appetite was not affected at all. In fact I was now at the point where the more I ate, the more I wanted to eat. It was like my body had a mind of its own and no matter what I did it was going to continue getting bigger. That being said, I did hit a bit of a plateau not long after I weighed in at 300lbs. And despite continuing to eat as much as ever, my weight barely increased for a couple of months. It was at this point that I sensed a change in Jack. To be honest, we’d never really developed what I would call a boyfriend style relationship (we were at best, fuck buddies), I had nevertheless become very close, and in some ways, dependent on him. It was almost like he felt he’d done as much as he could for me and was getting bored as my weight stubbornly hovered around the 300lb mark. He started to make excuses about why he couldn’t come over and his visits became less and less frequent and after about 5 or 6 months they stopped altogether. I went into what you could describe as a mild depression as not only had I lost my usual friendship group, but now I’d lost my feeder. On reflection my depression actually helped kick start my weight gain, albeit at a slower rate than I had been used to as I found myself staying in most nights and ordering takeout while binge watching TV shows. In fact the only time I ventured out of my apartment was to go to work or to the supermarket to stock up on food. It took a while but about a year after Jack had stopped coming over I had hit the milestone of doubling my starting weight - weighing in at a hefty 360lbs. I was learning to cope with living as a morbidly obese man. My belly was no longer the nice, rounded shape it had been with my overhang now pulling it down so that while it still protruded hugely it was much flatter at the front. I had developed quite a large fat pad that bulged out below my now considerable overhang. My thighs had filled out to such an extent that my legs were forced apart and splayed out from the knees so that my walk was becoming more of a waddle with each increasing pound. Whilst my belly was still the most noticeable thing about me, my pecs were now large, fleshy moobs and I had developed rolls of fat on my back so that my arms no longer hung vertically to the ground but rested on the fat at a wider and wider angle. I had a fully fledged double chin and my face was round and chubby. I found myself walking less and less and avoided stairs at all costs as my knees had started to get quite painful with the pressure placed on them. Summers became uncomfortable as the sweat would accumulate between my fat rolls making them irritable and itchy. But none of that lessened my desire to continue gaining. I had the odd meet up with a feeder from Grommr but didn’t build up the same type of relationship with them as I’d had with Jack. However I did make some new friends through Grommr who were either gainers themselves or just really big guys. There was no judgement and it was just easier to be with people who you didn’t have to explain to or justify why you were so overweight. Not surprisingly our socialising centred around getting together for meals at home and many meals out. The pandemic arrived at the beginning of 2020, about 4 and half years after I’d first met Jack and my weight had continued to climb during that time so that I was well over 400lbs when we went into lockdown. I was paranoid about contracting Covid, knowing that people who were overweight were amongst those with the poorest outcomes. So I stayed in, had groceries delivered, worked from home and effectively didn’t leave my apartment for over 6 months. Consequently when we eventually emerged from lockdown I was over 50lbs heavier. But probably the biggest impact the pandemic had on me was on my overall health. Having done almost no physical activity, I found when I ventured out that I had very little energy and practically no stamina such that I was barely able to walk the 100m to the nearest convenience store without having to stop several times to catch my breath. On top of that I found I was getting chest pains whenever I exerted myself more than just a little which was quite scary so I booked an appointment to see my doctor. He was unsurprised when I shuffled into his office even larger than the last time he’d seen me. “Doc, everyone’s gained weight over lockdown” I protested as he admonished me, but he just shook his head “Yes, I know” he said “But what concerns me is the amount you’ve gained, and the speed with which it’s happened. You used to be fit and healthy and now I’m really concerned that you’re going to get to a point where your mobility is severely restricted. Is that what you want?” I didn’t answer. He did the usual checks and measurements as well as taking blood which he sent off for analysis. My blood sugar came back sky high and I was formally diagnosed with type II diabetes just shy of my 36th birthday. Thankfully I have so far been able to keep it under control with oral medication. My blood pressure too was up but again brought back under control with an increased dose of my usual tablets. Another area of my health that I haven’t already mentioned is the fact that I’d had to start using a CPAP machine when my weight was still in the 300s. My sleep quality had deteriorated to such an extent that I was constantly tired but the machine worked wonders once I got used to the feeling of having it strapped to my face overnight. So where am I now? My belly has become so large that bending over is really difficult and pulling on socks or trousers is a real challenge. Reaching under my belly to do up a belt has become almost impossible although I now mostly wear trousers with an elasticated waist so it’s less of an issue. My fat pad is now so big and fleshy that it largely encases my dick and reaching my dick is a real struggle so I find it almost impossible to jerk off. Even taking a piss is complicated - my arms just won’t reach around my gut to allow me to grip my cock. Not being able to wank myself off is something I have found really difficult to come to terms with. It is extremely difficult, if not impossible to find anyone that wants to pleasure, let alone have full blown sex with, an enormously obese guy. Sex had always played a large part of my life, fuck, it was pivotal to my kink that led to me gaining in the first place and losing this has left a hole which I’ve effectively filled with the joy of eating. But I’m not going to lie, if I could find someone to feed and fuck me I would be more complete again. Now when I look at myself in the mirror I hardly recognise the man looking back at me. My face seems so much bigger with my cheeks so large and puffy that they look like a hamsters. I wouldn’t even say I have a double chin, my neck has all but disappeared under a wide layer of fat and my head just seems to rest on that layer of fat emerging from my rounded shoulders. My moobs are now so large that they rest on my enormous belly when I’m seated. My nipples have also increased hugely as my moobs have grown. When I’m standing my distended belly hangs so low that it almost obscures my fat pad completely. The stretch marks have mainly disappeared but the accumulation of cellulite means the skin on my gut is no longer smooth but dimpled and lumpy in places. My arms are wide and flabby resting on my rolls of back fat at an angle of about 45 degrees from my body. Fuck, even my fingers are fat, looking like sausages hanging off the end of my hands. My legs splay out and my thighs, also dimpled with cellulite, are wider than my entire body had been before I started gaining. Any kind of physical activity is an effort but then I guess that’s just normal for someone who weighs over 500lbs. Even walking from the bedroom to living room has me out of breath and I think back to the days when an hour spinning class at the gym barely had me breaking a sweat. Yes I do occasionally find myself thinking what my life might have been like had I not started chatting with Jack. Would I still have found gaining on my own or through someone else? Or would I still be hitting the gym and living a “normal” life? Would I have found someone to share that life with? I don’t think I believed back then that I would ever get this fat, in fact I never even contemplated it. Initially I thought that 250lbs would be huge and getting there would be a huge achievement. But I think I programmed both my mind and my body to want to get bigger and while my mind was in control initially, my body took over and I was powerless to stop it. Would I change things? Silly question really. Even if I wanted to there’s no way I could go back. I’m always hungry. Food is central to my life and yes, eating does bring me pleasure. But if I’m truthful, the fact that I’m longer capable of doing everything I’d like to, has taken some of the shine off being as big as I am. I don’t think I have ever really got to the point where I’m totally contented. I’m not unhappy with being as big as I am and will probably still continue to gain but the idea of immobility definitely does not appeal. I do however recognise that I will probably need to get some help if I get a whole lot bigger. This is just who I am now. Maybe not ecstatically happy, but a morbidly obese guy, comfortable with the choices he’s made, who will continue to enjoy life and food and we’ll see where that takes me. | |
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