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Hello. My name is Nicky, and this is a tale of difference, of acceptance, and of learning to love yourself. What there is that makes me "different” has been found, by me, to be incontrovertible, and impervious to peer pressure of any sort. As someone old enough to remember having a corrective block put on a pencil to encourage my writing with my right hand, rather than my left hand, I know that if something was meant to be, then that is how it should stay.|
I guess that everyone wishes they could stand out as someone different, someone interesting – someone with whom you wish to know. I know that is how I am, because people always made sure I knew I was different, but rarely with my own interest, or well being, at heart – knowing you’re a short, precocious, red-haired boy with an effeminate air about you is more than enough. At school, I learned to put my head down and get on with work while the usual homophobic jibes flew overhead. Back then, I never thought of myself as gay, although I would never think to identify with something held with such contempt.
Anyway, from the age of about seven onwards, I learnt to keep myself to myself, because that was better for me. Of course, I was never interested in the girls I saw at school, but my view was that I went to school to learn – if I wanted anything closer, that would come later and, because I deferred that important part of my growing up, it took me a longer to realise what interested me when it crossed my path.
Because my first school was rather limited on space, we would change our clothes in our mixed-sex classrooms for physical education lessons. We were all only about eight years old, so there was nothing naughty about it. My eyes, however, could not be stopped from being transfixed on the bellies that poked out while we changed – something about the "wholeness” of the round shape must be primal to me.
Fat is a democratic factor for me – if you wish to look imposing, but welcoming, calm and inviting, grow a plush layer of softness around you – love its sensuousness, its flow, its bounce, its exaggeration of your best attributes. Perhaps it was seeing such a person one day, standing out from those around, and feeling empathy, that would later sprout my effort to reflect my new-found desire – I remember setting up my first attempt to gain, buying a cheap bathroom scale, and seeing my sixteen-year old, five-feet four-inch body grow from 125 lbs. to 131 lbs. in a month, thanks to easy access to school vending machines.
The small, soft pillow that grew in front of me provided welcome warmth, a feeling of oneness, of home – my free-standing, self-sufficient nature, coupled with a chance reading of Jack Kerouac’s "On the Road” in my local library, pushed me straight into Beat poetry and novels, and my discovery and acceptance of Buddhism – no longer would I perceive myself as someone who felt a tinge of guilt for not believing in a god, so long as I held myself up as a morally upstanding person in my own eyes. At that point, I could listen to myself ask, "Am I hurting anyone with my innermost feelings? Can I be fat?” and get back the answer hoped – "Yes.”
I got the grades that will help me through life, and I was a proven, dependable, hard-working individual – to me, I knew I could block out negativity, but the only way to assure that confrontation never arose, I became a surface-happy individual, hiding his real personality for "at home.” I should have known this is unhealthy, but I didn’t consciously make this persona – and anyway, if it worked for me, who was to complain?
At college, I studied exactly the subject I wanted – film. For three years, I learned about stories, how they are made, and how people react, how they emote. Through this learning about how us humans work, I began paying more attention to myself – I realised I was that sort of person that everyone can treat as a friend and, while still observing the rounder sort of lady, I did note my resentment when the girlfriend of my best mate, Jody, turned up to take him away – we never talked...
I realised my ultimate goal in life – I always loved writing stories, but with the new tools I learned, I could create an outstanding piece of work. I tried a screwball comedy script as part of my final assessment, and was marked highly for overall structure and characterisation - although the relationship between the leads were, apparently, not fully convincing...
I had an outlet for what was becoming industrial-strength sexual frustration, but I noted the interesting effect it had while on my way to climax. My stomach capacity was increased by my sporadic stuffing efforts, but this was making itself known through my heavier breathing. Realising I was practising the circular breathing that would be better applied to learning the saxophone, I was feeling my stomach size – and increasing the need to fill that space. A new sexual practice was born.
The running around in finishing my degree melted the weight that should have settled on me, but upon entering the real world – a place I later decided was not for me – there was no going back. My 140 lbs. resting point became 165 lbs. within a year, but because it arrived through the stress of finding a job, and the strains of my eventual courier post, I wasn’t happy with the new weight – it hadn’t appeared with my consent. If only I had recognised the real me, gasping at the back of my unconscious mind, begging to be unleashed and revel in my new-grown flesh...
One day, lifting a box up a flight of stairs, a very cute delivery driver greeted me. He was a giant teddy bear of a man, with not an ounce of muscle to be seen – my greatest thrill was the view of his underbelly, flowing over his jeans and peeking just under his t-shirt, which I glimpsed from the stairs. At that moment, I had a warm, fuzzy feeling – what he was, I wanted for myself. I was still unsure about from where these feelings came, but I thought best not to ruin the moment.
My buried feelings were unearthed – what I also saw in bigger women, I wanted for myself. Did I like women in the same way that I realised I liked men? No. I thought of the soft, cute man again. Women were attractive, and fat women were attractive, but not in the same way. I also realised those copied of "Men’s Health” I had bought, ostensibly to get tips on muscle growth, were never really bought for the articles.
Man, woman, fat, thin – it’s all people.
I understood why I consistently failed to make close friends – my mind was too confused as to what my definition, and expectations of a friendship were meant to be. I realised how my need to be headstrong had made myself a lonely figure – my childhood bullies had claimed their victory, while they forgot about me, and got on with their adult lives. I realised what I had become, and I hated it.
I finally realised what I had always been, at the tender age of twenty-three. Something had to be said – for my own good, my soul was to be laid bare, to breathe.
I told my parents – they wondered what took so long. In coming out, I learned I could trust people, and that I can live my life in the open. Feelings should never be kept under wraps, unless you deliberately don’t want to understand them. My tears heaved in great anguish as I left behind a life spent hidden away, and built my resolve for a new life in the open air.
My priorities were set – I will achieve my dream of making a living as a writer, and I will find someone with whom I can share my life. My life will be led without denial of any sort, particularly after my parents said I looked a little tired.
I took a look at my boring, utilitarian body in the mirror, and could not see myself staring back. An aching pit in my stomach told me I could change that, and an afternoon stuffing based upon a morning supermarket trip was what I felt I needed. The fuller face, the wider hips, the thicker arms and legs, and the bigger belly of which I now had an image were what I craved, and I felt that now will be the time I let it become reality for me.
Three months of relaxation at home, comfortably living off my savings, amassed from never going anywhere in the evening, brought me to 190 lbs. Presumably, I was sure that, if I kept gaining, my body shape changing further, I will look less awkward. I had grown outwards, but my belly had yet to crest down – for that reason, it became a goal.
It was then I received an e-mail – I had only sporadically kept in contact with Jody when we finished our degree studies, which I felt bad about, but Jody’s move from our home on the south coast of England to the city of Manchester made such contact rarer. Jody had made a great leap in his writing career, becoming the editor of a weekend supplement for a local newspaper. He wanted someone to act as a temporary replacement for his restaurant critic, who was taking a holiday – two hours later, Jody received a frenzied, but structured, review of the gourmet restaurant in the high street. That night, the OK was given for me to make the trip north.
Just like at college, I would be bunking with Jody for a fortnight, but I was not anticipating the level of welcome I received. Knocking on his front door, Jody answered, put his arms around me, hugging me into the house, and gave me a big kiss on the lips – this was not a development signalled in a previous e-mail. What was now called his "girlfriend phase” was an attempt to keep up appearances, which he dropped very quickly – he was single for our last year at college, and he told me of how he wished he could have made a move on me. Jody didn’t know how to explain himself...
The following two weeks were profound for both of us. No secrets were left, I distinguished myself at the newspaper, and Jody learned what turned me on. My covering period at an end, I was made "Village Correspondent,” as a fresh face to cover Manchester’s gay community. My belongings were sent for, as I moved in with Jody, relishing what my 200 lbs. body could become while under the influence of its once-secret fan.
Fat, gay, happy, fulfilled, horny, loved – at least I can say I got there in the end.
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