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Blimpbelly's Story
by blimpbelly

Nearly everyone I meet online wants to know how I got this big, so I decided to write the information down once and for all. Then I thought I might post it onto Dimensions website. I just hope people enjoy reading about my getting fatter as much as I have enjoyed getting fatter.

I'm told I was skinny as a rail when I was very young. I don't really recall. What I do remember was having my tonsils out when I was six and then always wanting to have something to eat. Also -- for those amateur psychologists out there, this is probably Very Significant -- my mother was hugely pregnant with my little brother then, and I can remember thrusting my little tummy out and wishing I was as big as my mom.

I stayed in the "plump" category through my teen years. That was just when they started calling things "plus sizes." I was also pretty fit for my size because I used to gallop around a lot (one of the offshoots of being as fascinated by horse stories as many a young girl is). When I went to high school, I lived far enough away to qualify for free bus service, but I wanted to take an extra class, which meant I would take PE after school and miss the ride home. The first couple of years I walked home, but my senior year I rode a bike to and from school. I mention these details to explain why my legs have always been strong and muscular -- something I appreciate very much now that I have so much more weight for them to carry around.

I had been raised in southern California, but didn't want to commute to college, so I looked elsewhere to continue my schooling. I chose a state college in northern California that had a strong teacher training program -- that being my career goal at the time. The student health center required a physical exam before the admission process was complete, and I remember weighing 180 pounds just before starting my first semester. (I thought that was rather interesting at the time because I had weighed 140 or so when I was 14 and I wondered if I were always going to weigh my age times ten.)

The week before I left for school, a bunch of girls from my neighborhood decided to go to the beach for one last fling. They weren't really close friends -- I didn't have any -- and I'm pretty sure they included me because they all looked thinner compared to me. Imagine their dismay when the incredibly handsome lifeguard practically ignored them and spent much of his time talking to me!

His name was Jim and he was going into his senior year at UCLA. He was 6'3" tall with the proverbial swimmer's build; dark blond hair and green eyes and a beautiful smile. He was a management information systems major, but he liked a lot of the things that interested me -- like baseball and jazz and a little history and science stuff; action adventure movies and mystery stories -- that kind of thing. I had never in my life had a guy enjoy my company for so long, and I loved every minute of it.

The toughest part came at the end of the day. It was time to leave and my "friends" were obviously getting very annoyed with me. When I pointed that out, Jim just chuckled.

"They're not used to being ignored in favor of someone they don't think of as attractive," he observed.

"You think I'm pretty?" I hadn't really thought of myself that way. I guess I believed he had been hanging around because of who I was inside; no one had ever shown any appreciation for my well-rounded form.

"I think you've got the potential to become truly beautiful," he replied. "Come back when you've put on another hundred pounds and then we'll talk about pretty." He gave me a quick hug around the shoulders and then pushed me towards the girl whose car I had come in. Of course I never told anyone else what he said. It was difficult enough for me to imagine someone wanting to see me bigger. I think I rather dismissed his words as trying to make me feel better about myself. I certainly didn't plan on acting on them.

Except that life rarely goes as planned. Being away from my parents for the first time, and out of sight of maternal foodwatching, I freely indulged in snacks I had previously had only in limited quantities. More particularly, I was bringing home those big bags of M&Ms and the half-pound Hershey bars; I could drink as much Coke and Dr. Pepper as I wanted; and the housemother cooked great quantities of relatively cheap but filling foods -- lots of macaroni and cheese and mashed potatoes and gravy.

You can pretty well figure out what happened. Because I had always preferred loose-fitting clothes, it took a while before I noticed I was putting on a significant number of pounds. I spent Thanksgiving with my roommate's family because my folks decided to go out of town for a conference that weekend. When Christmas break rolled around, my weight gain could not be denied. Even I had noticed how much bigger I had gotten. My skirts were stretched tight over the new bulk of my midsection, and my heretofore modest bosom was starting to overflow my bra cups. My mom marched me to the scale: 205 pounds. I had gained 25 pounds in a little over three months.

Thus began a pattern that was to continue throughout my college years. Whenever I was home, my food intake would be restricted. I would lose five to ten pounds over summer, then go back to school and regain the weight and add a little more. I had to put up with this because my parents were funding my education, and I knew I could not hope to get a decent paying job without it. But I loved the way my little pot belly continued to grow. I loved how it felt to smooth lotion over my skin -- too late to prevent the stretch marks I had acquired during my first year's fairly rapid gain, but an extremely pleasurable experience nonetheless.

I also became aware that I had long been fascinated by fat people. I began to buy the tabloids that featured stories about extremely fat individuals, and would always check each year's new Guinness Book of World Records under the subject of Fattest People. I wondered what it would feel like to be so huge, to carry such a great amount of fat around, especially in the form of a big, round belly (which was where I was accumulating fat the most).

My studies kept me fairly busy, however, and I never put on weight quite as quickly as I had my first few months at school. By the time I graduated in June of 1992 with a degree in liberal arts, I weighed 250 pounds. When I put on the rented graduation gown, I realized that my belly now bulged out beyond my bosom. When I walked across the stage to receive my diploma, I did so with that belly proudly thrust forward. (As you might imagine, my mother hated my graduation photos. I rather liked them.)

That summer, I went to work for a temporary agency doing all kinds of word processing work. I thought it would a temporary job, until I could complete my fifth year of school for my teaching credential. What I learned was that employers would ignore my size in favor of my fast, accurate typing -- as long as I worked through an agency and did not threaten their health and safety statistics directly (and as long as they had some cubbyhole to tuck me away in so customers wouldn't have to see me).

When fall rolled around, I was earning pretty good money, and I decided to put off returning to school for a year. I also moved out from my parents' house. I couldn't stand the constant yammering about my weight. At my own place, small though it was, I could eat what I wanted -- and I did. I began to put on more weight, slowly, but surely.

My apartment also featured one of those hand-held shower massage units, and I learned how very, um, stimulating a shower could be. I had been concerned about my personal hygiene because with my belly growing bigger and bulkier in front of me, it was becoming more difficult to reach where I needed to in order to keep clean.

Having learned how to pleasure myself, I began to fantasize about what it would be like to grow my belly fatter and fatter. Stroking my belly, especially the extremely sensitive underside, would turn me on. I would seek out more pictures of fat people; looking at them and imagining myself growing to that size would get me excited, too. I found a letter in an old Penthouse whose author admitted to liking fat women, and I began to imagine such a man caressing my belly and encouraging me to grow even bigger.

I attained 300 pounds in February of 1994. I remember how I enjoyed looking down at how fat I had become. My belly not only jutted out in front of me, but was beginning to hang down in front of and alongside my thighs an inch or so. And, those "love handles" were wide enough to hide my hands when I slid them underneath and hefted my belly -- meaning they were about four inches wide on each side. It was beginning to dawn on me that I was really getting big.

Oh, and I was extremely pleased that most of my added weight was going into my belly rather than my hips and thighs, although I would've enjoyed having bigger breasts, I think. I was up to 3X shirts and dresses, size 50-52 on top -- mainly because of my broad shoulders and expanding girth rather than any great quantity of bosom. I measured 54-55-60, as I recall. I remember telling myself I was five feet around -- no wonder I started feeling fat! And I wanted to get much fatter, that I knew.

One unfortunate side effect of my increasing size, however, was that the temp agency sent me out on fewer and fewer assignments. My outstanding skills were being outweighed by, well, my weight. The branch manager took me aside and asked me if I might rather enjoy doing transcription work at home, because she had several clients who needed overflow help but did not have the space or equipment to have someone work on-site. I thought it was a good idea for a number of reasons, not the least of which was being able to eat whenever and whatever I wanted to while I worked. I wouldn't have to spend so many calories getting around. And I wouldn't have to spend so much money on new work clothes as I grew, either.

So it was that one day in February 1994 (okay, it was the 16th, I remember very clearly -- as one does with an emotionally significant date) that I was dropping off a batch of work to a client in Santa Monica. I was told that there was another batch of tapes for me to take, but if I could wait for another hour, one of the associates would be able to finish one more tape for a real rush project. It was lunch time, so I said sure, no problem.

I went to a nearby deli and had them make a double meat pastrami and cheese sandwich on sourdough, then headed to nearby Palisades Park to eat it. On the way, I stopped at a convenience store and bought a half gallon of milk to wash it down with, and on impulse, a quart of Haagen-Dasz vanilla ice cream. I took my lunch to a bench that looked out over the ocean; the weather had been ominous earlier but was clearing into fluffy clouds and sunshine, which was why I was able to find an empty one.

I sat down and spread my legs to accommodate my growing belly more comfortably -- why I always wear long skirts -- and began to eat. I finished the first half of the sandwich, relishing the fatty pastrami and smooth, rich cheese, then gave in to the impulse to stroke my belly while I drank about a quart of the milk. I had just started into the second half of the sandwich when I heard a voice behind me say, "You came back."

It was Jim. I was surprised at how quickly his name came back to me. It had been how many years -- five and a half? But he had obviously made an impression. That February day, however, instead of wearing the red shorts of a lifeguard, he was wearing a very expensive business suit. I also remembered his last words to me, and smiled. "I put on those 100 pounds you asked for," I said, "and about 25 more."

"I can tell," he replied, "and you are even more beautiful than I expected." He sat down on the bench next to me and encouraged me to continue eating. As I finished the rest of the sandwich, he told me how he'd spent the last five years or so. He had started his own software business during his senior year and it had blossomed with the growth of the Internet. He had set up his office overlooking the bluffs of Santa Monica because he enjoyed the view. "Particularly since that view allowed me to see you again," he concluded. I knew he was indulging in empty flattery; he had not been able to keep his eyes off my roundly bulging belly.

Then I filled him in on what I had been doing, including how I'd come to enjoy gaining weight and growing my belly. He asked me how big I wanted to get. I said I wanted to double my weight at the very least; I wanted my belly to bulge out past my spread knees and hang down towards the floor when I was seated as I was on that bench. Jim was trying very hard to be discreet, but it was obvious to me that he was extremely turned on by me, and that was getting me excited, too. We spent about an hour getting re-acquainted, and then I left to pick up my new assignment -- but not before making plans for dinner that night.

And the next night and the next night and the night after that. Jim made sure I never wanted for food. My body responded by putting on weight a little faster. When we got married in August, I was up to 350 pounds. I wore an Empire-design gown that emphasized the proud bulge of my expanding belly. My girth was up to 66 inches, and the "traditional" garter around my lower thigh took nearly a yard of elastic to make. (Jim's groom's men made sure another fat admirer among them caught it when it was tossed.)

My honeymoon was my first experience making love. In the course of our engagement, there had been times when we would be hugging and the firm bulk of my belly would be between us -- and Jim would suddenly excuse himself and disappear for a few minutes. Now we could enjoy ourselves completely. Wow! I had been increasingly turned on by my continuing growth, but it was nothing compared to what I felt knowing how my ballooning belly was turning Jim on. To feel his hands caressing my fatness was infinitely superior to doing it myself. At that moment, I knew I wanted to become as fat as I possibly could.

So, I ended my career as a self-fattened woman and began to be a dedicated feedee. Jim never used force. I enjoyed eating and he loved to encourage me. He used his ingenuity to adapt the household environment to accommodate my growing size and weight. As I approached 400 pounds, my back began to ache from the increasing weight of my belly. I would find every opportunity to rest the bulk of it on whatever surface I could. One day Jim brought home a typing chair with a broken spring on its back support. He cranked it up until the seat was supporting my belly. It was incredible what a relief it was for my back! I can honestly say that I would never have been able to manage my current size without that "belly carrier," as we came to call it.

I continued to gain throughout our marriage. Jim had found a marvelous doctor to look after my health. He weighed around 350 himself; obviously not going to harp about my weight. For his own sake, he had become knowledgeable about weight-related issues. I became pregnant late in 1996; I weighed about 480 at the time. When we had ultrasound done to check on the baby, our doctor extended the range of the scan to check on the rest of my internal organs. We found out that my kidneys are about the size of grapefruit (just not so round). Obviously my body was adapting to the increased requirements of my increasing size -- why my blood pressure has never been a problem.

It was during my pregnancy that my belly took on the shape that gave me my nickname of "Blimpbelly" -- and the ultrasound gave us the explanation. To no one's surprise, my abdominal muscles had been stretched by my large deposits of fat inside the muscles and my even larger quantity of fat hanging off the front. As our baby girl grew, there wasn't much muscular support to hold her close, although she was well-cradled in a resilient cushion of fat. To the ultrasound operator, it looked as though she were stretching out in front of me, and my belly took on a slightly pointed shape to accommodate her.

Our daughter was delivered in May 1997. She was 26 inches long and weighed 15 pounds. The delivery wasn't as rough as "the experts" thought it would be. I weighed 550 at the time, then dropped to 530 after delivery. And yes, Nettie was a big baby, and she had a huge appetite of her own. I would nurse her for what seemed like hours. I had finally developed some decent breasts and it felt like I was constantly producing milk.

So, the two of us were both gaining weight and Jim was in heaven. When it became obvious that I would not be able to use a standard computer keyboard because my growing belly made it nearly impossible to bring my hands together, he had one of those ergonomically designed keyboards cut in half. Each half sits on the respective arm of a chair Jim designed. It has a steel frame and is firmly stuffed with cotton batting that will not break down under my weight. The arms were designed to angle in when I was smaller and then adjust outward as I got wider. My legs are apart, with my feet up, and my belly hangs down between them. Jim knew how much of a turn-on it is for me to feel gravity pulling downward on the increasing weight of my paunch, so that's why he made my chair that way.

Whenever Nettie wasn't sleeping, it seemed she was hungry. We started feeding her cereal a little earlier than "the experts" said to, but she handled it well. When it became obvious that she was getting much fatter than even chubby babies, Jim and I decided that we would not force her to eat anything, but neither would we restrict her appetite.

When she was six months old, she weighed 40 pounds and people began to make rude remarks about abusive parents. We stopped taking her out so much in public. Her belly was so big her arms and legs couldn't reach the floor to crawl, but she would pull herself to her feet when she was almost a year old. Jim rigged up a reinforced tot walker that would support her weight so she could move around -- similar to what my belly carrier was doing for me. (He also had an extra-large child seat made for her so she could ride in the car.)

We were one big happy family -- until the 4th of July 1998. Nettie weighed 80 pounds, and I was up to 610. I had doubled my weight from the day I was reunited with Jim and my belly had just "broken 100" a little while earlier (another goal I had fantasized about). Jim was so proud of his "big women" that he took pictures of us. Some were perfectly presentable pictures of us in (custom-made) dresses. And there were a couple of pictures of me in my two-piece swimsuit. Well, you had to take the second piece on faith because, although the top could be seen covering enough of my breasts to be decent, my huge belly hid the bottom half completely and the ties on the sides of my hips were under the layer of fat that constituted my "love handles."

I was rather antsy to see the pictures and prevailed upon Jim to drop them off at a nearby one-hour photo shop. He decided to take Nettie along and let her get out a bit. (She really enjoyed riding in the car.) On the way there, they were hit by a drunk driver who had been "celebrating" his independence with a couple of six-packs. My only consolation was that they were killed instantly and did not suffer.

I went into shock. I ate almost mindlessly, trying to fill an emptiness I knew could never be filled. Before Jim was killed, his company had received a number of offers of buyout. I sold it to the highest bidder. I found out that Jim had taken out a $3 million life insurance policy the day he found me on the park bench. And there was a wrongful death lawsuit that added a bit more to the bankroll, although it also resulted in a number of weirdoes showing up to hassle me. Between requests for handouts and tirades against me for either (a) becoming so grotesquely obese (their words), or (b) allowing my child to get so fat, or (c) all of the above -- I have been forced into a kind of seclusion. On the advice of my attorney, I do not give out my telephone number to casual acquaintances (which includes online friends).

I started slowing down on my food consumption around holiday time (1998) as I began to cope with my loss in other ways. I knew I had packed on an enormous amount of weight, though I hadn't weighed myself in the interim. My housekeeper had taken care of all the mundane details of my life all that time. She shopped for ever-increasing amounts of groceries, and spent much of her time cooking and baking. She also contacted my dressmaker for a couple of larger caftans. My only consolation had been how rapidly my belly was swelling, and when I finally felt strong enough to put on the dress I had worn the day Jim was killed, I almost orgasmed when the seams split.

That gave me the courage up to climb on the scales just before Christmas. I was amazed to find that I had gone over the 700-pound mark. No, I don't expect anyone to believe that I could put on 90-some pounds in a little over five months and not notice the added weight. But I had been putting on poundage continuously for five years. I had grown used to coping with the ever-increasing weight of my belly. It was not until that moment that I began to take pleasure in that growth again.

Since that time, I have gone online and discovered the proverbial "whole new world." I have met people who did not make rude remarks about my size. Indeed, there have been many who have expressed sincere admiration for how very fat I've grown and have encouraged me to continue gaining weight.

And I intend to. When I reached 600 -- my first goal, double 300 -- Jim and I talked about how much fatter I wanted to get. I was feeling quite strong at the time. Although my belly was becoming more difficult to maneuver with because of its increasing weight and bulk, I was still quite mobile with the help of my belly carrier. (The original typing chair has been replaced with a custom-made sling-and-tubular-framework affair on wheels.) I reckoned I could probably handle another 200 pounds fairly well, and we spoke semi-seriously about the possibility of getting to 1001 pounds in the year 2001.

Also, the encouragement I have received to date has caused me to increase my eating -- a pleasure in and of itself -- and my rate of gain has gone up from two or three pounds a week to about five pounds. Right now I'm eating 11-12,000 calories a day, although some days I go even higher. I anticipate that I might have to go up another 2000 calories or so as more calories are required to maintain the additional weight.

As of April 15, 1998, I weigh 770 pounds. (I'm 5'6" tall, and my current measurements are 86-112-114.) According to our best calculations (me and the seamstress), my belly weighs well over 425 pounds -- probably closer to 450. When I stand with my back against the wall, nearly all of a yardstick can be hidden behind the profile of my belly. If I didn't use my belly carrier, my paunch would hang down to an inch above my knees.

I am becoming reconciled to the idea that I did not cause my husband's death, and there is nothing wrong with having photographs to record my continuing growth. I am starting to look around for a good, fat-admiring photographer to take pictures of me -- pictures that will show off how very big and heavy my belly is. Maybe when I get up to 800 pounds, the second goal I talked about with Jim....