JENNIFER 01/09/01 - Lovely, tiny Jennifer goes on and on in my waiting room, chowing chocolates directly out of the box and not knowing how I watch the stretch of the jaw, the slight gulping in the throat. At most 110lbs, soaking wet, but I can fix that.
01/14/01 - A bag of cheese fries and a sliced steak sandwich. She seems to like it. She eats at least two. I've taken away her wallet and keys, but so long as I keep the beer and sandwiches coming she doesn't seem to mind. Besides, she seems to be winning money at snooker.
01/21/01 - That rubbery flap of flesh over her panty line is precious. She paces her room and begs to be let out, realizing this is fiction and fantasy. I slip double cheeseburgers in a few times an hour, messing with the lights. She sleeps and wakes and thinks a week instead of three days goes by, and then she is quiet. I am dying to be in there with my tape measurer. I can see her figure getting softer.
01/31/01 - No fooling with other patrons in our nonexistent bar now. Jennifer is refusing to eat, so a pair of friendly, bear-like fellows are helping her see the error of her ways. A 5 gallon can of cheese sauce seems in her future. Some deep-fried taco-ish things are likely also, as she seems to enjoy making herself suck down those fatty tubes. Easy to force, and not even a lot of tears. I haven't even had to say "please."
I massage that fat belly with vitamin E and the grease from my hands left over from feeding her. We shred the clothes and send them in to a corner. She grunts like the pig she really is.
02/13/01 - Jen has outgrown her cotton panty line a week or so ago. Hard to say which she likes more: my work with the tube or to be forced on her own. The appetite stimulants seem to work wonderfully, although a gain of 2 lbs a day is hardly "spectacular." She ain't cattle, though maybe we could try something to help.
02/24/01 - A size 12, only. All this work and only a size 12! Granted, a sweet little lap at the knee, and she licks up anything I tell her at this point...cheese sauce? Why not. A bucket of chicken? Eat it up.
03/13/01 - The rolls from the undies are getting exciting. Jen is getting so slow and helpless, wallowing around the pool. Most of her clothes are tight, or simply don't fit. Everything I bring home can't keep up. She is a sow, with her stomach beginning to poke out and rub against her knees.
04/16/01 - Jen sleeps 14 hours a day or more, and eats in whatever time is left. She knows she is a sow, and that is ok with her. Her fat fingers press the buttons to mix up the weight gain shakes she loves. 300 and 350 lbs go by fast. Jen and her legs disagree about how gravity should behave.
I am falling on love. I save the best strawberries for late in the day when it is my turn to feed Jen.
05/09/01 - Jen can't move fast anymore. I rouse her from a fudge-induced coma to move her to the van, and she waddles dutifully from side to side. Her hips roll like a titanic canoe in heavy seas. She allows me to squash her plush bottom into the double wide door. A few more rolls and she won't make it. That feels lovely to me. Her bottom is stretched wide enough for me to shove, but I can't hug her all the way around.
06/13/01 - Jen won't stand on the scale. I am thinking she is in the 400s, but it is hard to tell. Her belly dew-laps at her knees and she has a chin on her third and forth chin. I wish her to finish each and every sandwich I leave at her elbow, and I can leave a lot.