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If was as if a switch had been turned on
I do not know why it can happen but sometimes an event occurs that seems to flick a switch internally and nothing is the same again. It seems as if you are designed that way but a particular sight or thought is necessary to set it in motion. Until that time it has remained dormant and unknown. Once the switch has been turned on, it cannot be turned off. The process is irreversible. |
This is how it happened to me. I was on train back home from London when he came on at Leicester. The train was not particularly full but he seemed to make a bee-line to the seat opposite me. I suppose he had become completely used to the stares he attracts as he was by any standard grossly overweight. He squeezed in with difficulty and sat diagonally so that his colossal stomach did not rub up against the table between us. Even sitting diagonally he took up most of the seat and certainly no normal sized person could have sat in the other seat. Fortunately the arm rests could be pulled up so his ample backside and thighs could spread over into the adjacent seat. One would normally expect to be repulsed by a young person, who must have been my age of eighteen or even younger and at this age was already hopelessly out of shape and condition. What would his future be like? What health issues was he courting? But that was not my reaction at all. I was riveted by him and could not take my eyes off him, Fortunately his eyes were closed for most part as he was listening to music through earphones attached to his iPhone, so I could examine him in his every, beautiful detail without him being aware of it. His clothing for a start was completely incongruous. It was all designed for sport and all in a serviceable, glossy polyester. His gigantic legs were covered in voluminous track pants, which made no attempt to go round his waist but rather under the fold of his stomach. On top he wore a replica Man U shirt under a hooded tracksuit top. The shirt which must have been in the high XLs, I did not know they came in such sizes, was body huggingly tight so that I could see every roll of flesh and the exact shape of his protuding stomach and man boobs. In fact the shiny fabric accentuated the folds. Under a baseball cap was a typically obese looking head with small features submerged in puffy fat cheeks and rising directly out of his shoulders as his neck had disappeared behind rolls of fat. I should have been revolted by this but I was not. Far from it I was fascinated by the way he looked. He looked fantastic. Periodically his podgy fingers would caress his boobs which was an incredible turn on. Thankfully there was a table between us or else he might, had he opened his eyes, have spotted the tent in my own trousers and a little circle of pre cum at its apex. From massaging his boobs his hand moved downwards to stroke and massage his protruding stomach. It was magnificent. Then in response to an itch his hand pulled up his shirt a little to reveal a white quivering mass of blubbery flesh with fine stretch marks all over it. The scratching over he withdrew his hand put left this shirt riding up his torso just a little so a tantalising glimpse of his gigantic stomach remained. Later his hand burrowed under his stomach to scratch his private parts. On seeing this, I simply could not control myself any longer and creamed my trousers. I had never seen anything quite so arousing.
No long after that, the object of my attention started scrabbling around his backpack and brought out a tube of Pringles and two cans of Coke. For the rest of the journey to the next station, Nottingham, he slowly consumed the contents of everything rubbing the crumbs away from his mouth and chest with his chubby hands from time to time. The more I looked at him, the more I wanted to be like him. I could think of nothing more satisfying than being grotesquely obese just like him. In my eyes he was incredibly sexual. I cannot explain my reaction but it was as real as it was instant.
When he got off the train, I thought for a moment and decided to follow him out of the station. I knew I could always use my ticket on the next train in an hour's time. Leaving the station he walked up the hill towards Market Square and stopped at the nearest MacDonald's. I followed him to the entrance of the restaurant, still feeling sticky and damp around my crotch. Inside, I could see him through the window ordering two double cheeseburgers, a large portion of French fries and a large Coke. I waited until he had sat down and did the same, giving an identical order but sitting on the other side of the restaurant with a clear view of him. When he had consumed his meal he returned to the counter ordered another large portion of French fries and walked out with them. I then did the same but walked back to the station where I had plenty of time to finish them off, even though I felt bloated and slightly sick.
When I arrived at Sheffield, I went into a chippie near the station and ordered another large portion of chips, not that I felt remotely like them but the meal kept my stomach distended which looked good. Tea was waiting for me when I arrived home and with difficulty I ate that up too. Later I planned to go to the pub with some mates and I would make sure I had some crisps and pork scratchings with a few ales. Without really reflecting on it that much, I had resolved to eat as much as I could. In the days that followed it became a more carefully articulated plan. If I could consume at least 5,000 calories a day, then I was bound to start to put on some weight. The two practical problems to this were how I was to afford it and when was I to do all this eating. I was pretty clear that I needed a job any job which would tide me over until I went to Uni that September in two and a half months time. If you want a job badly enough, you will get one and I found one with a delivery company on a zero hour contract basis. The zero hours turned into plenty of hours. I just lied to my Mum about exactly what those hours were. This allowed me to leave the house a little early to take in as calorific breakfast I could manage. I ate as much and as unhealthily as I could and then had a large junk food blow out before returning home to eat whatever Mum had prepared. Periodically throughout the day, I drank cans of Coke. For the most part I felt uncomfortably full but art least my bloated stomach start to look at little more prominent.
As a discipline I wrote out everything that I consumed and made an estimate of each day's calorie intake using the tables available on the internet. With determination I kept the daily total well above 5,000, without a day's slippage. To do this. I had a stockpile in my bedroom of catering packs of peanut butter, chocolate digestive biscuits, Pringles, crisps, Doritos, Mars bars and the like and several 1.75 litre bottles of Coke. This I would raid when I slipped below the daily target or just felt like exceeding it by a little bit more.
The first few weeks were a great disappointment. I seemed to be exactly the same shape and weight but just feeling stuffed. I suppose the job was physically demanding which did not help. Then things started to change a little. I knew I was putting on some pounds, over the period about twenty pounds, but nobody really noticed. Certainly nobody commented on it. What I had also done at the beginning of the process was to kit out in sports clothes: Adidas tracksuit, polyester sports shirt and trainers. They were ideal for working. By the end of the summer holidays I knew that they were becoming a little on the tight side so I replaced my kit in the expectation of further weight gain immediately before setting off to Uni without anyone noticing the change.
When I went to Uni I was much freer to eat as much as I liked but I needed money to fund it so I worked behind a bar several evenings a week to make ends meet. I also pigged out as much as I could in res, having seconds of anything fattening like copious slices of fried bread and baked beans for breakfast and potatoes with every meal; several portions of them. And through out the day I drank cans and cans of Coke with the objective of drinking at least ten. When I could I went to nearby fast food outlets for extra meals and became a frequent customer of a hot dog stall where I found I could polish off two or three dogs without difficulty. This all cost money so I was always broke. But the treatment was starting to show results. During my first term I put on another thirty pounds. Now everyone started noticing as I was clearly overweight for an eighteen year old, having added some fifty pounds since leaving school. What was even better was that it seemed to have been concentrated on my stomach, giving me a distinct paunch. My parents were most concerned about it when I returned for Christmas and insisted I saw the doctor, who pronounced their was nothing wrong with me. All I had to do was to do more exercise and lose weight; the first of many injunctions from doctors to do the same. Obviously I ignored the instruction and went on eating putting on another fifteen pounds over the month at Christmas which was an ideal time to pig out as their was always more food around than anyone could possibly consume fully. I had a damn good try nonetheless. I was now developing an even better pot belly, a little roll under my chin and love handles but in my eyes I was far from obese. I was also slipping seamlessly into ever larger sizes of the same clothes. Although I did not feel obese, in fact I felt exactly the same even though I had evidently put on a lot of weight since I had left school, about sixty five pounds in all but I was now officially obese. I was most gratified about that.
During the next two terms and the Easter holidays the eating regimen continued and so did my putting on weight. Several things were changing. I now had no difficulty in eating large meals. The French say that "eating gives you an appetite" and I think it is true. In fact I needed regular and substantial meals and really looked forward to them almost as soon as the last meal was over. I also felt thirsty most of the time and drank copious amounts of Coke without ever seeming to slake my thirst. It also seemed that my metabolism had changed. It was as if all the eating had overwhelmed it. But there were other changes too. I was now undeniably obese and that was altering everything about me: the way I moved, how I felt and the way others perceived me. What was strange is that those around me just assumed I had always been fat, even if they first got to know me when I arrived at Uni much, much thinner. What they saw was what they had always imagined me to be. That was not the same as those who had known me at school when I was barely over one hundred and forty pounds by the end and my new size was the subject of comment. It also started to effect my social interactions. As the first year was coming to an end and our days in halls of residence were nearly over, I found it much more difficult than I had anticipated to find shared accommodation. There was an inbuilt prejudice against a fat person living with you. Perhaps they did not want to be seen with me or they feared I would eat them out of house and home. So when I eventually found a place, it was not with the group I had been with during my first year. Sadly all my house mates were slim so I did not have any kindred fat spirits to be with. And, yes, they accused me on occasion for eating them out of house and home! However, for all its adverse consequences, I really enjoyed being fat, particularly now I was becoming the genuine article. My stomach had really expanded to the extent that standing straight I could not see my feet. My bosoms were growing well, my nipples expanding and everywhere were growing rolls of fat, which like my fellow passenger the year before I enjoyed caressing and stroking. My soft rolls gave me a happy feeling of accomplishment. To think it was all mine.
Finding a holiday job as a fatty was much more challenging. Restaurants and bars, where you have never worked before don't want you as you might not fit past the tables easily. Anything that demanded real physical work or agility was now beyond me. But now, rather than part of a plan, I needed money just to keep going. Eventually I found work in the back office of a despatch logistics centre covering for a girl on maternity leave. It was very dull work but it was sedentary. I also found in my little office cubicle, I could snack all day. By the end of the summer I had passed an important milestone. My Body Mass Index rose to over 40. I was now morbidly obese and my body was set in the shape it has remained since, even though pounds of fat have been added to it since and more are coming. My face was typically plump with my features partly swallowed up in my fatty cheeks. I had no neck to speak of just a prominent double chin and rolls of fat on the back of my neck. My arms and hands were typically fat and podgy. In fact my hands had also become more artless in handling things as if the fat prohibited fine movements. In comparison my buttocks were not that huge but out of them grow fatty puckered thighs hanging over knees which topped chubby carves and feet. My back was a series of rolls of fat which extended under my arms, the last of which rolled over my waist at the back and sides. In the front I boasted magnificent bosoms which had really grown and below that my pride and joy: an enormous distended stomach ravaged with stretch marks and extending outwards in a huge hemi-spherical roll which hung down over my private parts. With its expansion my naval made a deep prominent hole in the middle. I love to sink my fingers into its wobbling mass and move it up and down and pat and caress it. I try to wear my trousers over rather than under it to emphasise my girth but it does mean I am constantly hitching up my trousers. If I do not do this my stomach is likely to protrude below the bottom of my shirt: the hallmark of the truly fat. When I sit, my stomach sags over my thighs and conceals part of them. Below, my penis has all but disappeared, an inch or two in length only showing, as it has been submerged in fat. So just like the man in the train, I am the real deal in every way.
So for my second year of Uni I started off as one of the fattest students in my year and the fattest in my faculty. This was where I wanted to be. Living out of res I seldom prepared my own food but ate in fast food restaurants and snacked continuously, washing everything down with regular soft drinks, usually Coke. My limited wardrobe had been regularly jettisoned for larger sizes and I was well into XL territory and facing that happy consequence of weight: very limited choices of clothing. I had long ceased to have any inclination (or ability) to be fashionably dressed or even remotely good in clothes. I still favoured sports clothes though. I like the incongruity of wearing clothes designed for activities in which I obviously could no longer participate because of my size. That was something that appealed to me about my fellow train passenger. My weight was also taking a toll on my health but that too was part of the journey I was on; a journey I had deliberately set out to take. I was not complaining even though I would have preferred less aches and pains in my joints and back, no skin rashes and to have sweated less. My blood sugar was already elevated which makes me a prime candidate of type 2 diabetes. But that is a problem for another day. I was living for the moment and enjoying each and every one. I still do.
By the time I graduated I was over three hundred and fifty pounds and on a weight for height basis I must have been about the fattest, if not the fattest student to graduate that year. I was happier at my weight achievement during my student days than the 2.1 I was awarded for my degree. I had now moved into the more elevated ranks of the super obese with a BMI in the 50s. And then it happened shortly after graduation. Following a visit to London I saw him again. Exactly like the last time he boarded the train at Leicester and entered the same carriage. Perhaps he always waited for the train at the same place on the platform. However, he did not sit opposite me this time but further down the carriage so I could only get tantalising glimpses of him and one more thorough examination when I went to the toilet. He was larger than ever but still wearing very similar clothes. I was catching up but he was still ahead. He looked as great as he did when I first set eyes on him; really sexy. I wanted to thank him but it was difficult to know how such a gesture would be received. I wanted to more than thank him, I wanted to get to know him. I desperately wanted him as a friend. I just felt that he would understand my compulsion to become as fat as him. I could not think of anyone else in my immediate circle who would. When the train stopped at Nottingham I had already resolved to leave with him. So two grossly over weight men in their early twenties at the most could be seen lumbering down the stairs and out of the station. I hope that gave someone pleasure. At least I had the enjoyment of seeing him waddle slowly ahead of me taking in every ripple of his fatty body, knowing exactly where he was going and what he was going to do. Yes, he went straight to the counter at MacDonald's and gave the same order as he did last time, So did I. I waited for him to sit down and sat at the same table. "I hope nobody is sitting here". I asked.
"Nope", came the reply in a non-committal tone.
"Look, I see we have ordered exactly the same", I said cheerfully, hoping to elicit some conversation in return.
"Hmm", was the only answer I received as he continued munching away with scarcely a break between finishing one mouthful and taking the next. He ate at incredible speed as if he had not eaten for days. He did not savour his food but shovelled in down his throat as if it was simply fuel to keep him going. I suppose I was doing the same but I had not appreciated it. Like me he must have been ravenous most of the time. But it was clear that there was going to be no conversation between us. That was too bad. When he had finished, he got up, wiped his mouth with the back of his podgy hand, burped and then brushed any crumbs real or imagined off his voluminous chest and stomach. I was so glad that I could make the same movements over my distended body, just as I had so dearly wanted to do when I saw him for the first time on the train. I knew what he was going to do. "Cheers", I said.
"Cheers, mate" he replied with a broad smile which really pierced me. He looked fantastic. I smiled back wishing I could engage him and get to know him. That is what I wanted more than anything else in the world. Before I could say anything, he turned and walked in his laboured way, thighs rubbing together with that now familiar sound to me of polyester swishing against polyester, back to the counter to order another large portion of French fries. Then he left. The man, who I never thanked but who has had the biggest single influence on my life, was gone. I have never seen him again. Shortly afterwards I went up and ordered another double cheeseburger and large French fries to eat at the station and two chocolate muffins for the rest of the journey. The excitement had given me an appetite.
Nearly a year has passed since that brief encounter. At that time I had a clerical job in our local council offices and I was still living at home. My parents had accepted that their only child, unlike anyone else in the family, was very fat. I was then approaching four hundred pounds and just about to become a proud member of that most exclusive group the super super obese with a BMI in excess of 60. I had already started to suffer from many of the handicaps of being very obese. I had a variety of health issue, the most serious being respiratory problems which also effected my sleep so it was with me always. Everything was an extra effort: washing, dressing, finding a seat, getting into a car, nearly every action as it happens. And, yes, I continued to be the object of incredulous stares wherever I went. I knew what was in people's minds. They were thinking, "How on earth did that young person get into such an appalling condition?". But I liked this too. I did not sign up for a fantasy. I wanted the real thing and I was given it. Thank you, stranger, you do not know how much I owe you.
Not long after that with the help of my parents with the deposit I bought a small studio flat on the outskirts of the City. I was happy in my new accommodation. I could do what I wanted without reference to anyone else. I was quiet a solitary person with a limited social life. But I was happy with that too, being quite self contained. I must have been living away from home for about six months when a colleague at work got married and I, along with the rest of our small department, was invited to the wedding and the reception afterwards which was held in a local country hotel. As you can imagine I am not a great party animal and when the speeches were over and the dancing began, I stationed myself near the buffet table and watched what was going on. The last thing I wanted to do was dance. As I was standing there eating extra portions of trifle and ice cream, a younger man approached me and started talking. He was about the same height as me, slightly built with reddish unkempt hair and blue, smiling eyes. We talked about nothing in particular; just small talk. But he had a charming humorous way with him that made me laugh. We must have been talking for about fifteen minutes when he said, "Let's grab a drink and go outside. I can't stand the noise in here".
So we did just that. It was a cloudless, summer evening so it was still light. We found a seat in the garden and just talked some more. Again nothing particularly earth shattering. Josh, for that was his name, who was a first cousin of the bride, was working as a graphic designer. He had just started having completed art college. As far as I could gather he worked in a team which was involved in designing new corporate identities for large corporations. It all sounded quite grown up and much more interesting than the City Council's accounting department in which I worked where any excitement was entirely incidental to the work. An hour or so must have passed when I could her a voice shouting for those needing a coach to go back to Sheffield. I was one of that number. So I said to Josh before I left, "Can I see you again?"
"Sure, I'd like that? he answered, "When?"
"Give me your mobile number and I'll call you tomorrow", I replied. So we exchanged numbers. As I walked away, I looked back again. There he was, waving and smiling broadly.
"Fuck, I thought to myself, "He's fucking great". I had never been captivated by anyone like that before. I was walking on air.
The next day I called him and we arranged to meet at my flat after work on Friday. He had a car and it was not that far from where is studio was located. We could plan what we wanted to do then.
So Friday evening came around. I was a mixture of excitement and dread. Excitement because I was seeing Josh again and I had thought of very little other than him since Saturday night. Dread because I was worried that on knowing me better he would decide that I was just not his type. While we hit it off so well, we were opposites. He was obviously creative and artistic. I did not have an artistic gene in my body. He was lithe and athletic, fashionably dressed. I was the antithesis of style and an elephantine lump. In fact for the first time since I had become so big I regretted the fact I was so large. Nobody would want to be seen with this colossus. His friends would rib him and he would be mortified and embarrassed. I was hardly a catch. More a beached wale.
On Friday at six the doorbell rang and I opened the door to a smiling, effervescent Josh. "Great to see you again. I've looked forward to it all week", he said as I greeted him.
"So far so good", I thought. "Come in, can I get you something to drink?"
"An ale would be fine", he replied as he put his backpack down on the floor and walking into the sitting room. So I fetched him a can of ale and a can of Coke for myself. These were soon consumed and we had a second and a third and onwards. We just talked and laughed. The conversation moving seamlessly from one topic to another. He had no trouble in making me laugh, I am sure most people found him very good company but he made me feel I was good company too. Before we knew it, it was nine o'clock. "Shall I order something in and we can watch something on Netflix?" I asked.
"Great", was the reply. For Josh everything was "Great". The world was great and he was on top of it. So I ordered my usual takeaway from Pizza Hut and doubled it: pizza, garlic bread, cheesy nachos, cheese cake and large Coke. When it arrived it looked enormous. "Sorry, I have over-ordered. I often do, that is why I am in this terrible shape", I said, "Just eat what you want."
"Looks great. I'm starving". I was starving too. But then I generally was. It was a continuing state. So we tucked in. I expected Josh to eat around the edges and then stop. But he did not. He really did seem ravenous. In fact I could not eat all my pizza or most of the sides so he volunteered to finished those up too. After that we turned on the film. At first we just sat together on the settee, glancing down periodically to look at the rounded , stuffed stomach of my new friend. I wanted to hold his hand, at the very least. I knew he was gay. I knew it from the instant I met him. I felt sure he must have known the same about me. Not that I had come out or anything. As the film progressed, Josh spread out on the settee and rested his head on my stomach, which yielded to cradle it. Again, every instinct said I should caress him but I did not. I think it was because I was just overwhelmed. I had not expected this. Later during the film, he pulled back my shirt exposing the enormity of what was underneath, a wobbling mass the colour of lard as I had not been in the sun with my shirt off for years. Again he laid his head on my stomach this time kneading my stomach and thigh with his hand. He had severely bitten nails which he gnawed on continuously so his fingers were damp but well rounded and soft. His kneading was rather like that of a cat. If he could have purred I feel sure he would have been doing it now. He was particularly feline as he lay there curled up his right hand working its magic across my body. He seemed completely at ease. As his fingers worked on my stomach and then under my waistband around my groin, I was becoming more and more aroused. I was absolutely erect and my whole body flexed rhythmically with sensual pleasure. I do not think either of us was concentrating on the film anymore. In fact I have no recall how it ended or whether we saw it out to the end. By now Josh was on his knees in front of me, kissing and licking my stomach as he fondled my breasts with his delicate, clammy finger tips and his tongue paid special attention to my naval careful exploring is extent. It was a source of intense enjoyment. It was driving him on. He clearly responding to my body almost as an act of worship. Could this be true? It was my first reaction when I seen the man on the train but I had never done more than fantasise about him. This was very different. But again, could it be true?
As his fingers worked down my undulating sides, he reached my waist band and pulled my trousers and pants down and off my legs. His head then buried itself under my stomach and gave me a tongue fucking which was awesome. I could not control myself as I writhed in exhilarating pleasure. I tried to hold back as long as I could but I simply erupted into his mouth. Swallowing as hard as he could he drank me down and then licked up all the spillage, leaving not a drop. Standing up he gestured to me to take off my shirt and then lie on the settee. Now he pulled off his clothes climbed on top of my mountainous frame, his face buried in my torso, his hands grabbing hard to rolls of fat on my sides as he rubbed his cock against mine, groaning every few thrusts. Gradually the rhyme quickened as did his moans until he reached a crescendo. All I could do is to repeat his name again and again until he sprayed cum across my front. I have never experienced anything like it. For a while we just lay there in each other's embrace. "I think it is time for bed now", he said after half an hour or more had passed, "Shall we go to bed?". On the way to the bedroom he made a detour to the front door to take out a package from his backpack. "I thought you might like them", he said, holding up a paper bag. "Actually, I could do with some too, ther're my favorite doughnuts".
Once in bed we started on the doughnuts. There must have been a dozen of them in the bag. "I'm completely stuffed", he said, "Please rub my tummy". So I did. It was rounded but as tight as a drum. As I did so, he moaned in pleasure, while at the same time eating one doughnut after the next; not leaving many for me. When he had finished, he bent forward and kissed me, "I'm stuffed and I'm shagged but I've had a fucking great time. Thanks Kev, I'm about to crash". With that he turned over and within minutes was fast asleep and dead to the world so ending the most fantastic evening I had ever experienced until then.
That night and for the whole of the next day, we talked, we laughed and we ate junk food delivered to the flat and when we were not doing any of those things we were having sex. By now I was certain that my figure was a turn on. I loved Josh just the way he was, even though he was tiny compared to me, being nearly three times his weight. He left on Sunday evening with the promise of his return next Friday and return he did. Within a few weeks he had moved in permanently. I could not have been happier. Even things that would generally annoy me did not seem irritating at all. For example, I am very neat and tidy, finicky to the nth degree. Josh was a sloven. His hair was a mess; his clothes were a mess; and he left a mess wherever he went. I was happy to tidy up after him or even leave the mess of food packaging, cans and clothes where they lay.
What surprised me was that Josh made no attempt to change the way I catered for us both, which was how I fed myself when I was alone. I was a serial snacker and most of what I ate at home and when out came from fast food outlets. It was a diet rich in sugar, fat and carbohydrates and very little else. That is what I liked. Josh seemed to thrive on it too. But he did not really put on any weight. Certainly not at first. After three months living with me, he may have put on a few pounds but not much more. His clothes still fitted him. It was about this time that I introduced Josh to my parents and came out about my sexual orientation. My parents were visibly disappointed but graciously accepted it as they did Josh. My Mum also badgered Josh to start encouraging me to do something about my weight. "But I like him they way he is, Mrs. Harris", he answered.
"Oh, that's not possible", she responded
"Honest, Mrs H, he's just great", he replied with a slight chuckle and giving me a little surreptitious wink.
As the weeks turned into months, Josh certainly started to gain a few pounds. He now had a small but prominent stomach and his body was losing its condition. Could I detect the start of bossoms and widening nipples? Just the first vestiges? But I did nothing to encourage it. Generally he ordered and he made the decisions what we bought in the way of food and snacks and where we went out to eat. It just seemed he had a liking for exactly the same unhealthy foods as I had. Now he was starting to strain in his clothes, which meant his wardrobe needed replacing. I tried to delay the change as long as possible as I liked the way he looked with little bulges showing through tightly stretched fabric and a straining waistband. For work he still wore the same trendy fashionable clothes in a larger size, which still looked great on him. During the weekends he dressed more like me in sportswear. This suited him well and as his stomach started to swell out over the top of his pants, it was accentuated by the way the folds of the soft fabric of his shirt were draped over it.
He also appeared to be eating much more than I was. In fact during this time my weight stayed remarkably stable. Maybe I was eating less by subconsciously letting Josh eat more of my share of the order. Certainly by the time he had been living with me a year, he was undeniably over-weight, having put on more than eighty pounds. There was no denying it now: he was podgy all over and looked even better for it. My Mum accused me of leading Josh astray but, as he explained to her, that was not the truth. "No, Mrs H, he's trying to make me cut down and do some exercise".
"Exercise?", she replied, "He wouldn't know exercise if he fell over it!"
But Josh was being truthful. As he expanded, I felt that just like I had done, he was deliberating putting on the pounds by eating more than he knew full well he should. Also, like me, I suspect that, what had been a bit of an ordeal to start with, became quite quickly a compulsion. He was eating because his body called out for it. A large intake was becoming a necessity as it had for me. His stomach had expanded to accommodate it.
Over the next year Josh steady became heavier and developed the typical physique of the morbidly obese. By the year end he was over 300 pounds. While I was still much bigger than him, he had on a slightly smaller scale the same podgy limbs, rolls of fat and prominent soft fatty stomach. His thighs now rubbed together as he walked resulting in him having the same waddling gait as I had. His shape also changed in other ways. Somehow the weight on his lower legs may them splay out at the knees and form an awkward angel with his ankles. He no longer had to buy clothes when he had outgrown his present wardrobe as I had a cupboard full of clothes that fitted him but were far too small for me. The only difference was that he seemed to look much better in my hand me downs than I did. The fashion clothing for work had to be jettisoned as he was beyond the standard sizes for that, so his wore mine for work as well. He was also developing some of the health issues I have.
My weight increased but by small increments, Josh on the other had continued at a much faster rate. By the third year of his living with me, we decided to enter a civil partnership. It was a real commitment to each other. By then we were both well over 400 pounds with Josh now being slightly heavier. Our wardrobe was interchangeable. Josh's family held me completely responsible for his physical deterioration. I had transformed a goodlooking, athletic man into a huge flat slob. So they cut him off and never contacted him. My parents, on the other hand, really warmed to him. Mum took to him as if he was her son. It was lovely to see. She also accepted both of us as we were without be at all judgemental, either as to our sexual orientation or weight.
Recently, we were lying in bed planning what we would do that weekend when I said to Josh that I have often wondered what would have happened if I had not asked whether he would have liked to see me again. What, I often thought, would have happened if he had declined. Josh smiled. "Did you think you were going to get away that easily? I had determined to see you again almost as soon as I set eyes on you. I still remember so vividly when I walked up to you standing near the buffet at your mate's wedding. As I stood near you, I was transfixed. Perhaps, I had never been so close to a really fat man before. But something happened. It was like a switch had been flicked. I found you and your physical appearance absolutely captivating. It is the most erotic and arousing thing I had ever experienced. I knew then, although I did not know the implications, that I had to get to know you and to become like you, as large as you. It was an absolute compulsion which I could not avoid. And that is what I have done. I could not be happier and more fulfilled".
Since then we have both explored every roll and undulation of our bodies. I know every stretch mark, pucker and crease. I love it all. Josh insisted I cut my nails short so that I did not scatch his tender, distended skin as I fondled and caressed his ample body. It has been a journey together. We share similar health issues, but the wonderful thing is we share them. To think it all started with one chance encounter and then a second. But it was as if we were being guided all along. So the fates have been kind, very kind.
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